#AND IT'S A HORROR ANIMATION AIMED AT ADULTS

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝑔𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝓍 𝑔𝓃!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Half a brutal week of finals, your idea of short recovery is simple: horror games, dim lights, and your boyfriend Sol breathing in your ear through voice chat like he isn’t actively trying to ruin your focus. It was supposed to be just another cursed indie night — you, the monster, and a few well-aimed insults...

...until Sol’s reactions hijack the match entirely. One death screen, one whispered apology, and one desperate Discord call later, and suddenly you’re the one getting hunted — not by pixelated nightmares, but by your very real, very flushed, very wrecked boyfriend begging for your attention like his life depends on it. Turns out, surviving finals was the easy part.

…Surviving him? Yeah, good luck with that.

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: soooo, on April 7th, while I was supposed to be studying for my psych and chem midterms, I stumbled across some [ art ] by @bonw0n — and yeah, I was this close to dropping everything to write this immediately. I behaved… mostly. Might’ve snuck a few "study breaks" to get some of it out. I’ve seen others write for this request too, so here’s my take — hope you love it, dearest.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: sol x gn! reader, smut, masturbation, voyeurism, mutual pining, voice kink, begging, desperate sol, one-sided voice chat (at first), tension so thick you could choke on it, accidentally turning him on, slight corruption kink if you squint, dirty thoughts two idiots falling harder than they realize, and sol is down bad and it’s so funny.

April is hell for college students. fucking tell me about...

Anyone who says otherwise has either dropped out, is lying, or majors in something unserious like something dumb—underwater basket weaving.

It’s exam season—a month-long bloodbath where coffee becomes a food group, sleep is theoretical, and your notes look like they were written by a madman mid-breakdown. You’ve been living in libraries, buried in color-coded flashcards and PDF textbooks you don’t even remember downloading. Your backpack weighs more than your will to live, and your playlist? Just sad lo-fi beats and the occasional mental breakdown.

But you did it.

You clawed your way through a few of your finals already, each one more cursed than the last. You turned in essays with hands that felt like claws, circled scantron bubbles like your life depended on it. And when the last “Submit” button was pressed today—you didn’t cry.

You almost did. But instead, you stared at your ceiling for twenty minutes contemplating existence… then decided to not kill yourself with another night of studying.

Tonight? You earned a break. And your poison of choice?

Well, overall, after exams, most people do one of three things:

Talk about the exam like it was a shared war trauma.

Vanish the second time’s up—those lucky bastards just evaporate into thin air.

Crash into bed, possibly start crying because of overthinking. Bonus points if you start crashing out.

Then there’s the rest—out at some crusty frat party, doing keg stands like their brain cells aren’t already on life support. Or sparking up until they’re spiritually ascending, eyes redder than the F they just got in psych stats. But not you.

Oh no, you? You’ve got taste. Elegance.

Horror Video Games.

And not the cute, fluffy kind either. You’re not out here playing some "build your dream town" simulator, collecting adorable animals with quirky little personalities who talk about their feelings. Nope, not you. You're not clicking through endless dialogue trees in a visual novel where every decision leads to either a hug or a heartbroken confession—though, let's be real, you’ve totally dipped your toes in those a couple of times. It's fine. No one's judging.

But nope, you're deep in the muck of horror.  The darker, the better. 

The more twisted, morally questionable, and "I probably shouldn't be playing this at 2 AM" the story is? That's the kind of game you're downloading like it’s got a bill overdue. You don’t need to sip on some overpriced vodka. You don’t need to hit the vape and pretend you’re too cool for life.

What you need is pure, unfiltered psychological trauma in 1080p.

Forget a chill evening—you want to feel like your mind might short-circuit at any second. You need the cozy glow of your LED lights bleeding across a desk littered with energy drinks and half-functioning headphones. You need your haunted little playlist of indie nightmares and "this game is banned in 12 countries" storylines.

This is your version of therapy. Replacing exam stress with the emotional damage of a pixelated ghost child whispering from behind a locked door.

There’s just something magical about sinking into your chair like a sentient blanket burrito, headset on, game booted up, and letting the real world dissolve into static.

Just you, the dark, and whatever fresh hell is waiting around the next virtual corner to emotionally ruin you. Again.

That was all you could think about during your god-awful fifty-minute-long lectures—well, that and how your professor’s voice sounded like someone chewing chalk while reading a textbook aloud. Especially on your longer days, where it felt like your brain was actively trying to escape through your ears or your eyes get heavy—despite sitting right up front of the class you deadass fall asleep in the middle of lecture…

Still, you powered through. Took notes. Faked interest. Dodged a group project like it owed you money. You even hit the library for a hot minute, pretended to be productive, and then finally dragged yourself back to your dorm like a half-dead NPC on a quest for salvation.

First stop? Food. 

You threw something questionable-but-edible into the microwave leftover take out you ordered yesterday and stared at it like it held all the answers to your suffering. Greasy, hot, probably taking a year off your life, but comforting in a ‘screw it, I survived today’ kind of way.

Then came homework. Ugh. 

You sat down, cracked open your laptop, and forced yourself to speed-run your assignments like you were defusing a bomb. Brain on autopilot. Tabs everywhere. Safari sounded like it was about to take off with your laptop. But you got it done—somehow. Whether your answers make sense? Always, make sure to check everything before you turn in, timestamp and all.

Then finally—finally—you hit the shower.

The hot water came down like it had a personal vendetta, absolutely obliterating your stress, your regrets, and possibly your skin barrier. You just stood there, letting it scald you like a rotisserie chicken, steam turning your bathroom into a sad little sauna with zero luxury but maximum existential crisis.

You hummed. You danced. You nearly slipped. You played that one song—the one you’ve been listening to on loop for days like it’s the soundtrack to your life’s fake documentary. You know, the one that starts off giving you chills and ends up giving you a migraine once your brain decides it’s time to ruin it. Classic move.

Then you stood there longer than you needed to, contemplating your next victim in the horror game queue. Real priorities.

Afterward showering, you did your usual post shower routine then you pulled on your favorite set—something soft and chill but definitely showing more skin than necessary. But who were you trying to impress? No one. You just liked how your blanket felt better that way. Priorities.

Besides, the whole point was to feel the warmth of your blanket better. You wrapped yourself in it, a cozy cocoon, and sank into your gamer chair, legs tucked beneath you, heart already settling into that familiar rhythm.

Your desk was a beautiful kind of chaos—lived-in, deliberate, curated for comfort and carnage. At the center of it all stood your mid-sized monitor, propped on a stack of mismatched textbooks like some sacred relic. It bathed the room in soft, moody colors, its screen already alive with the eerie flicker of the horror game’s menu.

Game boxes were stacked like grim little trophies on your shelves, each one a memory of a night spent half-screaming and half-laughing, usually with Sol on the other end. 

Twisted monster figurines stared blankly from their perches, arranged meticulously from “mildly unsettling” to “this one gave me a complex.” And the posters? Cult-classic psychological thrillers and cursed films—tattered at the edges, warped slightly by years of devotion. They stared back at you from the walls, their looming silhouettes shifting every time the screen flashed with static or movement.

Your gamer chair was a throne, worn-in just right—soft, broken in by years of sleepless nights and stress-fueled gaming binges. Draped across it was your oversized blanket, the one that swallowed you whole and made you feel like a cryptid rising from a cocoon. There was something sacred about that chair. It knew things. It had been with you through exam week breakdowns, existential dread marathons, and now, it was your command post.

Your controller was resting on the desk beside you, waiting.

The game was already launched, the lobby open, and your headset nestled comfortably over your ears. The built-in proximity voice chat was activated—just you and Sol in your own little bubble. The room was quiet but not silent. The faint buzz of the monitor, the gentle hum of your fan, the occasional creak of your chair when you shifted—it all became part of the ambiance.

And right on cue… Sol was already online.

His username—pumpkinlover00—pulsed softly in the game lobby like a heartbeat. Waiting. Always waiting. Same time, every night. Like a ritual. Like a promise.

There was no need for a message. No awkward small talk. No fumbling attempts at icebreakers. You two had long since passed that stage. This was muscle memory now—deadass unspoken rhythm built on laggy screams, ill-timed reloading, and the electric hum of shared adrenaline.

You reached for the controller, the soft click of your grip syncing perfectly with the moment his voice crackled through the in-game chat.

“Yo,” Sol murmured, his tone rough and low like he hadn’t spoken all day—maybe he hadn’t.

You grinned, stretching out in your throne of a chair and tugging the blanket tighter around you. “Yo yourself,” you said, thumbing through the loadout menu lazily. “By the way… when were you gonna tell me your gamertag was pumpkinlover00?”

There was a few seconds of silence.

Then, a sigh. The kind that screamed regret.

“It was a dare,” Sol said, as if that explained anything.

You snorted, already grinning as you adjusted in your seat, “Yeah, okay. But pumpkinlover00, though? Be honest. Did you also bake it a pie and whisper sweet nothings to your jack-o-lantern?”

“You keep talking and I will leave you mid-extraction,” he warned, dry as dust.

“Do it. I’ll tell everyone in the dorm that you made a shrine out of pumpkin guts and played Linkin Park while crying.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t just tell them,” you said, spinning your controller in hand with flair. “I’d make PowerPoint slides. Full color. Transitions. Soundtrack.”

He groaned, however you heard the little snort of laughter he tried to bury. Then his eyes landed on your own in-game tag floating proudly above your character’s head: DumpsterSnacc_.

“…You named yourself after trash food,” he muttered.

“Excuse me? I named myself after a rare and powerful snack born in the fires of poor life decisions and gas station cuisine. I am the forbidden flavor.”

“Sounds like you were found in the dumpster.”

“Bold talk from a guy whose username sounds like a seasonal candle from fucking grocery store.”

He laughed at that—low, sudden, genuine. “Alright, alright. Let’s see which one of us gets ghost-murdered first.”

The game flickered to life with its usual guttural startup scream, the kind that sounded like it had regrets and 3 unpaid debts. Your mission scrolled across the screen in grim text, paired with a deep voiceover that could narrate your funeral.

You selected your loadout: flashlight, flares and, of course, your unshakable sense of superiority.

“Alright, Pumpkin Spice,” you said, cracking your knuckles. “Ready to yank some haunted toaster ovens outta Satan’s basement?”

Sol chuckled. “Lead the way, Snaccrifice.”

The screen cut to black. And the horror began. Eveything loaded in with an unholy screech—part static, part radio distortion, part something that sounded like it came from a throat that shouldn’t exist.

You and Sol had just booted up the latest co-op indie horror hit: R.E.P.O. session. A physics-heavy, proximity-voice nightmare where you and a friend sneak into abandoned, rotting buildings to repossess cursed artifacts... all while being stalked by something that learns how you play.

Smart. Fast. Shapeshifting. The kind of monster that knew your patterns better than your therapist. Naturally, you both took it dead seriously. It was so serious, in fact, that your characters were dressed like absolute clowns. Literally.

You had picked grey skin with the bright neon outfit, oversized heart sunglasses, and an inflatable donut ring as a belt. Sol, not to be outdone, went full chaos: Green skin, a banana suit, and ski goggles, paired with bright orange gloves. His character model moved like a confused mall Santa.

“I swear to god,” he muttered through the proximity voice chat, distorted by digital reverb, “if we die looking like this, I’m logging off forever.”

“No you’re not. You're emotionally attached now,” you replied, confidently stomping your ridiculous pink boots toward the first hallway.

You’d already picked your roles.

You were the lead retriever—the brave idiot who runs in, grabs the cursed junk, and throws it back like it’s Black Friday at a pawn shop.

Sol? He was the cart dude—your ever-loyal partner who stayed behind just far enough to avoid immediate death, but close enough to catch whatever hell you flung his way.

He pushed the in-game collection cart behind you with janky, glitchy physics, the wheels squeaking like it was haunted by a grocery store demon. You turned around dramatically, forcing your character model to do a sudden 180.

Because the game used proximity-based voice chat, this also forced your character and Sol’s to make deep, intense eye contact. Eye contact that was only made worse by the exaggerated googly eyes stuck to your sunglasses. “Alright,” you said in your Serious Voice™, stepping forward with authority.  “Game plan.”

Sol’s character nodded, “Hit me.”

“We’re hitting the west wing first. Storage room. There's an artifact in there worth at least $1800 in-game bucks. Probably cursed. Probably breathing. I’ll go in, grab it, scream if I die. You stand back, push the cart, and if something runs at you, throw it my way and run.”

There was a pause.

“That’s… that’s your plan?” he asked.

“It’s a working plan.”

“It’s a dumbass plan.”

“It’s our dumbass plan.”

You both stared in silence again, your avatars breathing heavily, noses almost touching on screen. Sol finally sighed. “I hate that I trust you.”

“I hate that I’m the brains of this operation.” You smirked, turned on your flashlight, and marched forward.

The darkness swallowed you both whole. 

Behind you, the sound of a cart creaking along… and the soft jingle of a banana suit bouncing into the unknown.

You were just finishing loading a creepy little porcelain baby head into the cart—its painted eyes were scratched out and it laughed when you dropped it, so that was great—when the game's staticy radio pinged.

Incoming call.

Username: Hyugo_WasHere

You froze. So did Sol.

“No,” Sol said immediately, full volume, the word sharp enough to slice the tension. “Do not answer that.” Too late. You were already clicking accept.

The call connected with a loud, cheerful “Yooo! Pumpkin Boy! You in that haunted IKEA game?”

You grinned. “Hyugo, you tryna R.E.P.O some haunted junk with us?”

“Am I?” he said. “Am I ever. I’ve been watching Sol’s stream on Discord on mute for like ten minutes. Sol’s scream when the mannequin fell was a chef’s kiss.”

“It fell from the ceiling,” Sol hissed. “And it grabbed my shoulder. You would’ve screamed too.”

“I would’ve shot it,” Hyugo replied flatly.

Sol groaned, already defeated. “I swear to god, if he logs in—”

“He’s already at the party,” you said casually, watching the character list update.

A second later, a new player spawned in the safe zone, cyan color. And dressed like a goddamn menace. Hyugo’s avatar was in tight metallic leggings, a sparkly vest, and a jester hat with bells that jingled with every movement. His character moved with the swagger of someone who wanted to be shot first.

“Why are you like this?” Sol muttered.

“Stealth is a suggestion,” Hyugo declared, spinning in place.

“You’re going to get us murdered,” Sol added.

But you? You were already laughing. “Let’s go, Yessss, let’s go team. The ghost’s not ready.”

As the mission progressed, the building changed. Literally.

The layout shifted the deeper you went, doors that led to supply closets now opening into winding hallways, entire wings that didn’t exist in the beginning of the match suddenly sprouting up like tumors. The wallpaper pulsed. The ceilings dripped. Somewhere in the distance, something screamed like it had teeth where lungs should be.

You, Sol, and Hyugo pushed on. Slowly, methodically.

You led the charge, grabbing cursed relics and slapping them into the cart with casual violence. Sol stuck close, flashlight flickering, cart wheels creaking, muttering price estimates like a haunted appraiser.

Hyugo, despite all odds, actually helped. He wandered ahead with a scanner, pinging valuable loot and joking in proximity chat about how your footsteps sounded like wet noodles. “$1200 mirror up here,” Hyugo called once, voice crackling. “Probably possessed. Can I make it kiss itself?”

“No,” you and Sol said at the same time.

Still, you were doing fine. 

The cart was getting full. The radio said Extraction Ready in 3 Items. You were winning. So, you split up briefly—Sol stayed behind with the cart while you moved into a shadowy side room to grab what looked like a golden antique camera. It was twitching in your hand as you placed it in the cart with a clang.

That’s when Sol ran in. Not walked. Not jogged.

He sprinted in like something was directly behind him, eyes wide, headset audio crackling with his panicked breath. “Gun.”

You looked up. “What?”

“Gun!” he barked again.

“Dude, what—?”

“GUN!!” He was just repeating it now, flailing his arms like his in-game model was having a seizure. “BIG—GUN—HE HAS A GUN—”

“Who has a gun?!”

“THE BLIND GUY!!” Sol whisper-shouted. “HE ALMOST SHOT ME!”

You blinked, slowly crouching. “You mean the monster has a gun? Like an actual gun?”

“Yes! A fucking shotgun. Like He’s blind, but he’s got aimbot—he hears you, and just—” Sol mimed a gun recoil. “Pop. Dead. No warning. No build-up. Just excellent ass hearing and bullets.”

You snorted. “So what I’m hearing is: don’t make noise.”

Because the Blind Huntsman was coming.

The cart was half full, sitting between the overturned desks and office rubble. You had all scrambled to hide, moving fast as the soft, dragging footsteps of the Huntsman echoed from the hallway—his boots heavy, and his breath sharp, unfiltered, like someone breathing through shredded cloth.

You dove under a busted-ass metal table in the middle of the room, the thing barely standing on three legs and draped with old-ass hanging wires and paper folders that probably hadn’t been touched since the building caught its first haunting. The light was dim, pulsing like a dying heartbeat from some emergency light in the hall. Dust settled thick on the floor, the smell of old rot and burning metal clinging to the air.

Across from you, Hyugo’s stupid cyan avatar ducked under another table, practically hugging the wall like some horror-movie goblin. He looked so ridiculous in that clown-ass outfit y’all let him pick, and the way he moved just made it worse—jerky, crouched, twitchy, like someone who was definitely going to get caught first.

And then there was Sol. Goddamn Sol. Man had one job—hide. But instead of tucking under a desk like a normal person, he panicked and wedged himself behind the door. Behind. The. Door. Like the Huntsman wasn't gonna swing it open and yeet him into next week.

Earlier, before shit hit the fan, he had said all calm like, “I’m gonna scope the hallway next. The cart’s almost full. Let me just—wait, hold on—” His mic clicked. That dreaded click.

You knew something was wrong. So did Hyugo. 

Both of your avatars shifted ever so slightly—tense, alert.

Then Sol said it. “I’m getting a call.”

You silently screamed. Huygo’s shoulders went up like “no way this idiot’s serious.”

You hissed, “Sol, no—”

But he said it. Out loud. “Hello?”

The door didn’t creak open. It detonated—BOOM.

The sound rattled your headset so hard your mic peaked. Splinters flew, chunks of drywall exploded like confetti, and dust swallowed the whole room. The screen shook like a natural disaster, and you actually jumped IRL, heart hammering. Sol’s body got flung back like a ragdoll—slammed straight into a metal filing cabinet, bounced, and crumpled like a puppet with cut strings. It was the worst-looking hit you’d ever seen in-game. Just flopped there, half-folded behind some drawers.

And yet… somehow… the bastard lived.

He slowly sat up, stunned as hell. Twitchy, like he had just experienced every lifetime trauma at once. His mic crackled in all staticky, and he muttered: “…what the fuck.”

You were dying. Not in-game. In reality. Trying so hard not to lose it. Your whole body was trembling from how bad you wanted to laugh. You slapped both hands over your mouth and held them there like a makeshift muzzle, eyes wide, shoulders shaking.

You peeked out at Sol’s avatar.

He was looking dead at you.

And you felt it. The shame. The betrayal. The comedy. Whoever coded that eye tracking in this cursed game deserved an Oscar. Sol just sat there, traumatized, and stared at you like “you saw that, didn’t you?” And yeah. Yeah, you did. And it was the funniest shit you’d seen all week. Then Hyugo’s dumbass peeked out too.

Hyugo peeked out from his hiding spot—real slow, real cautious—and locked eyes with Sol first. Sol’s avatar, still slumped against the cabinet like a traumatized Victorian ghost, stared back. No words. Just… the kind of look that said "Don't you dare."

Then Hyugo turned and looked at you. Your own avatar, tucked safely under the rust-ridden desk, met his gaze with the same energy. A silent pact. Do not make a sound. Not a breath. Not a giggle. Not even a pixel twitch. 

And Hyugo? He was trying, man. He really was.

You could see it—his character model shook slightly, his shoulders giving that telltale twitch. Like he was holding in a sneeze. You knew the warning signs. The snort was coming. And then—“Pfft.”

CRACK.

The Blind Huntsman didn’t even hesitate. Didn’t pause. That cursed bastard snapped around the second he heard the slip. One single shot. Pinpoint. Surgical. Hyugo’s head went supernova. Cyan body parts everywhere. His avatar’s body slammed into the edge of the metal table with this sickening clunk, arms flailing once before collapsing in a stiff, horrifying ragdoll motion. His limbs twitched for half a second… then silence.

Just the head left. Rolling. 

Like the Huntsman said, “shut the hell up” with extreme prejudice.

Dead. Instant. No revive. No second chances.

The man got deleted like he owed the server money.

You were fully biting down on the sleeve of your hoodie now, hands over your face, trying not to scream with laughter. Shoulders shaking, breath hiccupping through your nose like a possessed hamster. Your eyes were stinging from how hard you were crying—silent tears of pure, uncut chaos.

Sol’s mic crackled again, dry as hell. No emotion. Just raw judgment. “…I hope you get haunted, bro. I really do.”

You couldn’t even answer. You were beyond words. The cart you were supposed to be pushing? Yeah. You just stared at it. Like maybe if you focused hard enough, you could will the mission to complete itself.

And the Huntsman? Still there.

Pacing slow. Heavy boots echoing through the static haze. He hadn’t forgotten. Not about Sol. Not about you. He was still walking. Still waiting for someone to slip up. And you could feel it—He was pissed.

You and Sol managed to slip out while the Huntsman circled the wreckage, still checking corners like a paranoid ex. You bolted left, Sol darted right—no words, just instinct and pure panic-fueled coordination. Both of you were half limping, half sliding into the hallway, ducking behind the rusted lockers and broken shelving until the Huntsman's heavy steps grew distant.

There was a long, quiet beat once you were safe.

Then—“…Did we just leave Hyugo’s decapitated ass in there?”

You stared at Sol. He stared back. Then you both turned to look at the cart you’d spent ten minutes loading, still sitting abandoned in the middle of the room next to Hyugo’s... head. 

“Motherf—”

The next ten minutes were pure stealth-game agony. Crawling back, avoiding cameras, sensors, trying not to alert any monster. You had to watch the Huntsman loop its route three times before Sol gave you the go-ahead. He moved to the body. You got the cart.

Teamwork, right?

Eventually, you loaded the final files, got the cart into the hallway, and hit the extraction point with barely a second to spare. The screen faded to black.

Round complete.

The next scene dumped the three of you back into the familiar starting truck. Same cramped space. Same dim, flickering fluorescent light humming overhead like an anxious fly. The air in the truck felt heavier than before, like it still remembered the chaos from the last round.

Sol stood in the corner, arms crossed, glaring at absolutely nothing with the weight of every bad decision Hyugo had ever made. You were perched on one of the benches, legs pulled up, hoodie sleeve still a bit damp from when you nearly choked on your own laughter earlier.

And then there was Hyugo.

His avatar spawned in silently, just standing there for a long second like he was processing his own digital funeral.

Then he exhaled like someone twice his age. “…damn, I got clapped.” 

That was all it took.

You started laughing again, that quiet, breathless kind that rocked your shoulders and made your stomach hurt. Hyugo cracked up beside you, doubling over, no shame at all.

“Who the hell answers a phone call in the middle of a mission, bro?” you snorted, elbowing his character like it could knock some sense into him.

Sol didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. Just slowly raised his arm and pointed at Hyugo like he was pressing a mental “report player” button.

“That's what your ass get,” he said flatly. “Prank-calling me mid-hide with your creepy-ass burner number? You deserved that karma in 4K, dumbass.”

Moving on, the next map flickered into existence as the truck doors groaned open. Bright, sterile white lights cut through the foggy interior, revealing a massive abandoned science lab, all clean metal, reinforced glass, and flickering emergency signs that suggested terrible things had happened here. The air was thick with strange green mist hissing from the vents, swirling in ghostly patterns around overturned desks and shattered containment pods.

Hyugo was still sprawled on the floor from his latest brush with death, groaning dramatically. You and Sol stepped over him like he was part of the scenery.

"Science lab, huh?" you muttered, adjusting your gear.

"Great," Sol sighed. "Haunted test tubes. Love that."

Hyugo finally pushed himself up, grinning like he hadn’t just been yeeted toward acid twice in the last five minutes. “Oh, y’all are gonna love this.”

He opened his inventory with a smug flourish, the soft chime echoing like a game show reveal. And there it was:

The Hourglass.

Not just rare—stupid rare. Glowing in vibrant shades of purple and pink, pulsing slightly like it had its heartbeat. The mist around your group even seemed to freeze for a second, as if reality itself was like, wait, what.

You and Sol both just stared. At it. At Hyugo. Then, back at the Hourglass, like you were waiting for a hidden camera reveal.

“You found that?” you asked, taking a cautious step forward.

“Yup,” Hyugo said proudly, hands on his hips. “Just vibing in the vents. Found it near a corpse. Thought it was lore or something.”

Sol blinked like a tired professor dealing with the world’s most dramatic intern. “Hyugo.”

“Yeah?”

Then it happened.

Hyugo’s model jerked slightly, like a status effect triggered, and when his mic crackled back to life, he was no longer speaking like Hyugo. No. Now, he was channeling something deeper. Something ancient. Something theatrical.

He straightened up with cartoonish grandeur and spoke in the slow, wise tone of a final boss monologue. “Sunny,” he began—Sol’s cursed nickname—“I have acquired… the capsule.”

You blinked. “The what?”

“The capsules. Of time. The very essence of fate distilled into radiant fragments. This—” he gestured dramatically to the Hourglass, “—is our salvation. Our burden. Our destiny.”

Sol deadpanned. “…You’ve been holding it for three seconds.”

Hyugo ignored him. Spun on his heel with dramatic flair. “We are going to win this game. For the realm. For the vent corpses that came before us.”

You crossed your arms. “Hyugo—”

“If it means I have to sacrifice my life…” Hyugo continued, raising one hand to the digital ceiling like a knight accepting a divine quest, “so be it. Let my KD be shattered. My dignity obliterated. My outfit scuffed—”

Sol raised his weapon slightly. “Don’t tempt me.”

Hyugo gasped. “You would turn on me now, Sunny? After all we’ve been through? After I carried you through that cursed stairwell map with the glitchy ass doors? Have you no heart?”

You tried not to laugh. Failed.

“Onward, you two!” Hyugo declared suddenly, pointing dramatically at the truck doors as they creaked open to reveal the misty lab ahead. “We must go! For glory! For loot! For Sunny’s tragic lack of skills!”

Sol muttered, “I have skills—”

“SILENCE! The prophecy unfolds!”

And with that, Hyugo bolted forward, cape fluttering—he didn’t have one, but you felt like he did—into the ominous green mist, yelling something incoherent about “ether trails” and “data packets of destiny.”

You glanced at Sol. Sol glanced at you.

“I’m not reviving him when he gets face-checked by a mimic chest,” Sol said, voice flat as asphalt.

You tilted your head, smirking. “You know we’re following him anyway.”

“…Yeah. I hate that,” he muttered, already moving.

Without a second of hesitation, Sol opened his inventory with the resigned grace of someone prepping for a ritual he swore he wouldn’t take part in. One swift flick later, he pulled out the gun—the gun. Sleek, matte black, gold trim. The kind of in-game weapon that costs 7,000 currency, your soul, and your firstborn. Came with a single magazine and a kill count higher than most player stats.

Your eyes widened. “Sol—”

Before you could even finish your sentence—BANG. 

Hyugo collapsed like a folding chair. A single headshot. Dead. Instant. No fanfare. His body rag-dolled across the floor and slammed into the lab wall with a sad little clunk, the Hourglass clattering beside him like a dropped Fabergé egg. “…WHAT THE HELL?!” Hyugo’s mic exploded back to life as his model twitched on the floor.

You exhaled. “What the helly?”

Hyugo groaned. “What the helly??”

“What the helleante?” “What the helleon musk?” “What the helleberry pie?”

“What the Hellebron James?” “What the Helly Rae Jepsen?” 

“Guys.” Sol’s voice cut in, calm but worn, like a man hanging by a single thread of patience. “Shut the fuck up.”

He walked over, still holding that overkill gun in one hand like it weighed nothing, then, without missing a beat, used the grab function to hoist Hyugo’s limp avatar off the ground. His digital arms dangled, legs flopping like a sack of potatoes in skinny jeans. “Bro—BRO,” Hyugo shrieked, squirming. “Put me down! What are you doing?! SOL—Sol stop—STOP—”

You trailed after them, watching like an exhausted parent witnessing their two chaotic ass sons take very different approaches to conflict resolution. 

“Sol. Come on.”

Sol’s avatar stopped just at the edge of the glowing, toxic pit bubbling in the middle of the containment zone. The green light cast eerie shadows across the lab walls. He slowly turned his character model, head cocked toward you.

One word. “Justice.”

“BRO I’LL BUY YOU A SKIN,” Hyugo screamed. “A WHOLE PACK! LIMITED EDITION! I’LL PAY FOR IT WITH MY OWN CURRENCY—”

Sol took a step closer to the pit. Paused.

Hyugo whimpered. “Please don’t Wario-yeet me into acid, I’m useful…”

Another step. The acid hissed below, eager. Hungry.

You raised a hand like a referee about to blow the whistle. “Sol. We do need him to activate the switch in the next room. You remember the puzzle door.”

Sol sighed, heavy and reluctant. “I hate teamwork.”

Hyugo, still dangling: “I LOVE teamwork.”

After a long moment, Sol dropped him. Hyugo screamed like a dying fax machine as his avatar plummeted toward the acid below—arms flailing, mic peaking—until you lunged. Frame-perfect grab. Caught him by the hoodie just before he splashed into the bubbling green abyss. His scream cut off immediately. For a second, the whole game seemed to lag, his body glitching mid-air as you held him up like some divine intervention.

Silence. Then: “—Y-you saved me,” Hyugo breathed.

You dropped him. He hit the floor with a loud thunk.

"Don't thank me," you muttered, brushing off your sleeves. "I just didn't wanna hear that scream again."

Hyugo groaned, rolling onto his side. "You two are bullies."

Sol casually reloaded his gun. “You’re welcome for the content.”

Hyugo sat up, rubbing his digital head like he could still feel the gunshot. “I’m getting a new squad.”

"You say that every round," you smirked, already scanning the lab. Beyond the glowing acid pit, the corridors stretched into eerie, sterile hallways, the green mist rolling between shattered glass panels. 

Oh, yeah—and the rest of the game? Oh, it completely fell apart. What started as a semi-coordinated dungeon crawl quickly devolved into Hyugo’s personal chaos playground.

You were trying to play with some semblance of focus. Sol was attempting to maintain professionalism, a beacon of composure in the chaos. And then there was Hyugo, who effortlessly turned the entire game from a tense "sci-fi horror dungeon crawl" to a wild, unhinged improv comedy show—complete with light war crimes.

He was a menace. No—he was the menace. A digital gremlin incarnate. One moment, you’re creeping down a shadowy lab corridor, the eerie hum of the ambient music seeping into your headphones, the air thick with tension. You’re on edge, weapons ready, your mind focused on the mission at hand… and then—BOOM.

Big Sean’s “I Don’t F*ck With You” intro explodes through team chat, its intro blaring like a furious soundboard god had just unleashed chaos upon you. You whip around the corner just in time to see Hyugo, arms flailing, sprinting full speed through a doorway, the music pounding in the background. Behind him? A grotesque, duck-shaped miniboss, honking like a malfunctioning bike horn and spewing acid everywhere.

You couldn’t help it. 

You were dying from laughter, struggling to even aim properly, your screen a blur from tears of hilarity.

Sol, on the other hand?

“TURN IT OFF,” he growled, weapon drawn, hands visibly shaking with frustration. His usual calm demeanor? Gone.

Hyugo didn’t even flinch. “I WOULD RATHER DIE!”Instead, he leapt. A full-on swan dive off a second-story catwalk, arms spread wide in dramatic, angelic fashion, while the music still blared through the speakers. His avatar ragdoling gracefully down to the depths below, and that ridiculous duck miniboss followed right after.

You? Hysterical. Barely holding it together.

Sol? “I hope it eats him.”

The only thing more ridiculous than Hyugo's antics was the fact that you all still couldn't stop.

The next round? It was a complete disaster.

You were trying to maintain some semblance of control, moving stealthily through a high-alert containment zone. Alarms blared in your ears, the shrill sound slicing through your focus. Enemies were everywhere, ready to pounce at the first sign of trouble. Sol was on point, carefully lining up a perfect shot on a sniper perched high in the rafters. It was the kind of moment that made you feel like you were finally in control.

And then, suddenly—LOUD BABY CRYING.

The mic exploded with static, the shrieks vibrating through your headset. You froze, your camera whipping around to see what the hell was going on. There, crouched behind Sol, was Hyugo.

And he wasn’t even doing anything. He was just vibing. No weapons, no tactics. Just existing, silently in the corner. 

The worst part?

Every time you looked directly at him, he shot off like a rogue NPC with a death wish. His character zigzagged around the hallway, darting every which way, a trail of baby wails following him like an ominous echo through the halls. It felt like you were being haunted by the ghost of daycare past, each screeching cry more absurd than the last.

Sol's jaw was clenched so hard you could practically hear his teeth grinding together. He spun on you, his frustration practically palpable. “I’m this close to uninstalling.”

You shrugged, not even bothering to hide your grin. “Let him live. He’s the only one distracting the minibosses.”

Sol’s glare could’ve burned a hole through steel. “He’s distracting me.”

Of course, things didn’t get better.

You were one artifact away from completing the mission. 

Going back for the legendary Hourglass. 

A cursed, time-warping relic that everyone knew was crucial to the final steps. You had made it this far, fighting tooth and nail to stay alive, to push forward. The whole mission had come down to this one piece.

Sol exhaled slowly, trying to keep it together. “Alright. Where’s the Hourglass?”

Before you could even answer, Hyugo shot up from the corner where he’d been hiding, far too excited. “Ooh! I’ll get it!”

You and Sol both said it in unison. “NO.”

You pointed at him, voice firm. “I’ll get it.” 

You sprinted off, cursing under your breath as you dashed through the corridor, praying to every god in existence that Hyugo wouldn't somehow decide to follow you and make the situation even worse. The last thing you needed was him trailing behind you like a damn toddler in a toy store, causing chaos at every corner.

When you finally returned, panting, gripping the eerie-looking relic in your hands, you were met with a sight that made your blood boil: Hyugo, standing atop a console, looking absolutely delightful in that damn ugly seasonal cosmetic hat.

He spun around like he was auditioning for a low-budget action movie, and before you could even blink, he started blasting the most obnoxious clapping sound effect. His character mimicked a ridiculously exaggerated movement, like he was giving backshots to Sol's and yours.

That was it. You were done.

No more laughter. No more tolerance for his nonsense. The mission was right there, within reach, and yet here he was, ruining everything with his antics.

You slammed your hand down on your mic key. “Hyugo, what the hell is wrong with you?” you growled, voice dripping with annoyance. “You can’t be serious. Every time we get anywhere, you turn this game into a circus. We’re not here to play dress-up and throw sound effects around. This isn’t a comedy show!”

You glared at him through the screen, fury bubbling up. “I’ve been trying to finish this mission for hours, and all you’ve done is run around like a damn gremlin, causing chaos and wasting everyone’s time! I swear to god, if you don’t knock it off—”

Hyugo, of course, just stood there, you knew for a fact that he’s grinning like an idiot behind his fuck ass character. The last shred of your patience snapped. You looked at Sol’s character on the screen, knowing he was feeling the exact same way. Sol’s normally calm demeanor was clearly strained, but he wasn’t saying a word.

“Hyugo,” you seethed, “I’m done. Just—get out. If you can’t take this seriously, then don’t waste our time. You’re a walking distraction and a complete menace. Maybe if you stopped playing clown, you’d actually be useful for once.”

Without waiting for any kind of response, you spun around in your seat, fingers slamming against the buttons in a blur of frustration. The shot rang out, and with a satisfying pop, Hyugo's avatar’s head crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

There was a long, tense silence. You were still fuming, but you didn’t care anymore. Hyugo was out of your hair. The relic was in your hands. The mission was finally going to be over.

Or so you thought.

Then, out of nowhere, his voice crackled through the mic, calm and far too chipper. "Alright, I’m logging off for the night," Hyugo announced, as if he hadn't just spent the last hour turning the game into a goddamn circus. "I’m gonna play something else. This is... yeah, this is too much for me."

You blinked, taken aback. He was serious? After everything? You were half-expecting him to jump back in and say, "Just kidding!" or somehow start another round of chaotic shenanigans. But no. This time, he wasn’t even bothering to tease Sol. No baby were crying sound effects, no loud meme noises blaring through the speakers, no swan dives off catwalks. 

You let out a long sigh as the weight of the chaos slowly lifted from your shoulders, but just when you thought you could finally call it a night, Sol shot you a look that could only be described as a challenge.

“Don’t tell me you're actually done,” he said, a smirk creeping into his voice. “Come on, it’s late, but we’re so close. You’ve gotta finish the level with me. I dare you.”

You raised an eyebrow. You were exhausted, physically and mentally. 

The idea of continuing felt like a cruel joke, but you knew one thing: Sol wasn’t backing down, and he had a way of wearing you down with that competitive streak of his. "Fine," you muttered, giving in. "But if I regret this in the morning, I’m blaming you."

Sol gave you a look through the camera—equal parts smug and tired triumph—as you queued up a new level, eyes bleary but still gleaming with challenge.

“You sure?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, stretching like a smug cat. “This one’s deep in the DLC vault. Real freakshow hours.”

You smirked, fingers already flying across the controller. “Bring it on, coward.”

What loaded next was an obscure, borderline-broken DLC map—one of those buggy, cursed messes made by a dev who clearly needed therapy and a hug. Everything about it was off: the lighting was dim and sickly, the corridors were way too narrow, and worst of all, voice proximity was cranked up to hell. It didn’t just pick up speech. It picked up breathing.

Neither of you noticed it right away—until Sol whispered a dumb joke and the monster twitched on the screen.

“Oh hell no,” he muttered, sitting up straighter. “This thing reacts to voice pitch?”

You hummed, too tired to even laugh properly. “Mmhm. Screeches at loud noises, tracks whispers like a bloodhound.”

“Great,” he deadpanned. “So basically, I die if I sneeze.”

You forged ahead anyway, navigating through the maze of twisted hallways and creaky floorboards. The monster’s guttural growls kept brushing up against your nerves, but your exhaustion forced you into a kind of laser-focused calm. Your voice dropped lower, slower, softer—soothing, unintentional, intimate.

“Go left,” you murmured. “No—wait... not yet... okay, now. Stay close to the wall.”

There was silence on Sol’s end. Long, uncomfortable silence.

“Why are you... whispering like that?” he asked, voice a little thinner now.

You didn’t even look up. “Monster hears pitch. Screams attract it. I’m trying to not to get us murdered.”

“Sure,” he said, and then quieter, “It’s just... wow. Okay.”

Another corridor, another wave of tension. You were crouched behind a rusted shelf, heart thumping, flashlight flickering like it had stage fright, as the game’s monster—this twitchy, multi-limbed freak that sprinted at sound—skulked somewhere nearby. 

You leaned into your mic, voice steady, low, breath soft. “Hold your position… grab the crowbar… don’t move… until I say so.” Smooth. Silky. Calculated.

And then—“Sol?” Nothing.

“Sol?” Still nothing.

You peeked down the hallway just in time to see Sol’s in-game avatar standing completely still like some tragic mannequin left in a post-apocalyptic mall. Just… chilling. No movement, no reaction—man really just decided to embrace the void mid-mission. Then, out of the shadows, the monster shrieked like a dying lawnmower and launched itself at him.

“SOL—WHAT THE FUCK?!”

You screamed his name like he’d walked into oncoming traffic. His character didn’t even flinch. He just stood there, stoic as hell, right until the monster decapitated him with enough force to send his character’s head flying halfway across the screen like it owed him money. 

“Oh my god—SOL, YOU DIED, YOUR HEAD—YOUR FUCKING HEAD WENT INTO THE SKY.”

Still no response. 

Just the sound of the monster doing a victory screech and your own mic picking up your frantic panting as you became the hunted next. Now it was your turn to run. You booked it, chart in hand, tripping over half-looted shelves and whispering panicked commands to no one. You were not about to leave those high-priced relic items behind. No way. That shit was worth more than your character’s life, and you were committed.

You could feel the vibration through your controller ramping up—like it was trying to match your pulse. The sound of claws scraping concrete got closer. Louder. 

Then—“Nnnh…” A noise. Quiet. Way too quiet. But there.

You froze mid-run. “Sol?” No answer.

“…Are you—are you for real jacking off right now?!”

A pause. Then, barely audible through your headset, a low mumble:

“Keep talking… please,”

“I AM IN A GAME, YOU SICK LITTLE FREAK! THERE IS A DEMON CENTIPEDE THING TWO FEET BEHIND ME—I AM FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE—AND YOU’RE TRYNA BUST?!” 

The controller was still buzzing in your hands like it had a personal vendetta. Maybe it was the in-game monster. Maybe it was your own nerves. Or maybe—just maybe—it was Sol, breathing way too hard in your headset and dragging your sanity down with him.

And the worst part? It was funny. Because you'd forgotten—actually forgotten—you were even dating him. You were so used to Sol being somewhat mean, clingy, pouty, and generally up in your business that his little habits no longer register. Until now. Until this very cursed match. Because this? 

This was a whole other level.

Just when you rounded the next corner—BAM. The monster dropped from the ceiling vents like it had a grudge, tackled your character, and splattered your health bar in one hit. Your screen flashed a dramatic, unforgiving red:

YOU DIED.

You blinked at the screen. Jaw slack. Controller limp in your hands.

“…Are you kidding me?” you said, voice cracking. “I just got jump-scared to death because you decided to moan in my ear like we’re in some low-budget audio drama.”

Nothing. Just silence. Then, his mic crackled.

There was rustling, a shift, the soft sound of movement, and then Sol exhaled. Shaky. Like he’d just run a marathon—or committed a sin.

“I-I’m sorry,” he muttered, breathless and too soft for comfort. “I couldn’t help it. Your voice… it was driving me crazy.”

Your face went hot. Neck, ears, everything. You curled your toes on instinct. That stupid familiar twist of heat hit your stomach before you could even think to shut him up.

“Sol,” you hissed, but it came out more like a whimper.

“I—can we switch to Discord?” he asked suddenly, almost desperate. “Please, please, Pumpkin. Just for a sec. I need you to see what you’re doing to me.” He begged, using said nickname.

Your heart stuttered. 

You weren’t proud of it, but the way he begged—soft, needy, breath catching like he was barely holding it together—yeah.

You were a little turned on.

Fine. Maybe more than a little.

You stared at the screen, still frozen on your defeat, the red YOU DIED taunting you like it knew exactly why. The headset felt suddenly too hot on your ears, like it was echoing back his voice over and over again. Your fingers flexed around the controller like it owed you an explanation.

“Sol, we’re in the middle of a game,” you muttered, but the protest was flimsy, half-hearted at best. Because let’s be real, your fingers were already flying to open Discord with the kind of speed that betrayed just how curious you really were. How desperate, aww.

“Then quit it.” His voice was a rough whisper, thick like honey poured over gravel, dark and syrupy-sweet. “Quit the game. I don’t give a damn if it’s ranked, or cursed, or if the final boss was personally designed by the devil anymore. I just need—”

A low, broken groan tore from his throat, vibrating through the call and sending an electric shiver straight down your spine.

“—need you to look at me.”

And when the video call connected?

God. You looked. And you immediately regretted it.

The screen flickered to life, and there he was—Sol, wrecked and breathless, like he’d been fighting for control and lost. His black and neon-green hair was a disheveled mess, sweat-damp strands clinging to his forehead. His shirt was rucked up past his hips, revealing the sharp cut of his abdomen, the tantalizing dip of his V-line—like he’d gotten impatient, like he’d been touching himself just thinking about you—well, of course, all he thinks about is you after all.

Bruises littered his skin, dark and possessive, marking him up in a way that only made him look wilder, more feral. His red-orange eyes were blown wide, pupils swallowing the color, glassy with desperation. His hands trembled where they braced against his desk, mic discarded like even that was too much to hold onto.

“You did this,” he accused, voice raw, wrecked. A confession. A prayer.

Your throat went dry. Heat flooded your veins, crawling up your neck, your cheeks, your ears—everywhere. You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to sting, just to keep yourself from whimpering.

“You’re insane,” you breathed.

Sol nodded, feverish, eager. “For you? Every damn second.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out shaky, breathless. “We were just gaming—”

“No.” His voice dropped, sharp and dangerous. “You were gaming. I was trying not to lose my goddamn mind listening to you—your threats, your fucking voice, whispering curses like you were trying to ruin me.”

“I was not!” you protested, weak, already squirming. 

“‘I’m gonna shove this bat so far up your undead ass, you’ll respawn with it sticking out your mouth,’” he quoted, verbatim, voice dripping with accusation. His gaze burned into you, unwavering. “Tell me that wasn’t filthy. Tell me you didn’t know what you were doing.”

You swallowed hard. “Okay,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe that one was a little hot.”

His grin was wicked, triumphant, as he leaned closer to the screen, like he could taste your surrender. “So,” he murmured, voice dipping into something dark, hungry, “still think we’re finishing that match?”

Your cursor hovered over “Rejoin Game.”

Then, with a slow, deliberate click, you closed the tab.

“…I hope that monster knows it died for a very good cause.”

Your breath hitched as Sol leaned back, his fingers hooking under the hem of his shirt with a slow, deliberate smirk. "You wanna see more?" he taunted, voice dripping with sinful amusement. "Then say it."

Your lips parted, heat coiling low in your stomach as you narrowed your eyes. "Take it off. Now."

A sharp, breathy laugh escaped him as he obeyed, dragging the fabric up and over his head in one smooth motion. His chest was perfectly—toned, flushed, his pierced nipples glinting under the dim light of his room.

You hadn’t noticed before, but each one was adorned with a small silver med-sized bars, the metal catching the light as his breathing quickened. "Fuck," you muttered, biting your lip. “Aww, you’ve been hiding these from me?"

Sol’s grin was all teeth. "Not hiding. Just waiting for you to ask."

Your gaze raked over him, lingering on the way his stomach tensed as he shifted, his fingers toying with the waistband of his pants. "And what else are you hiding, huh?" you challenged, voice dropping into something darker. 

"You gonna show me everything, or do I have to make you?"

A shudder ran through him at the command, his pupils blown wide. "Fuck—" His fingers trembled as he undid the button, the zipper sliding down with a hiss that sent a jolt straight to your core.

And then—"Holy shit."

Your eyes locked onto the glint of metal there, nestled along the length of his cock, a delicate Frenum piercing tracing from the tip down to the flushed, aching pink of him. He was big, thick, and heavy in his hand as he gave himself a slow stroke, the silver bead catching the light obscenely.

"You—" Your voice cracked. "You’ve had this the whole time?"

Sol’s breath came in ragged bursts, his free hand gripping the edge of his desk. "Yeah," he admitted, voice wrecked. "Thought you’d—ah—like it."

You did. God, you did.

“Play with yourself,” you ordered, rather quickly—voice dripping with dark command, leaving no room for hesitation. “Let me see how pathetic you look when you’re desperate for me.”

A sharp, wounded whine tore from Sol’s throat, but his hand obeyed instantly, sliding down his stomach to wrap around his cock—already hard, already dripping, the metal of his Frenum piercing glinting under the dim light. His fingers moved in slow, torturous drags, his breath hitching as he squeezed just the way he knew you liked to watch.

“Fuck—fuck—” His hips jerked, chasing his own touch, his thighs trembling. “Tell me—” he gasped, voice wrecked, “tell me how I look.”

You leaned closer to the screen, lips curling into a cruel smirk as you drank in the sight of him—his black and green hair sticking to his sweat-slicked forehead, his pierced nipples pebbled tight under your gaze, his abs flexing with every ragged breath.

“Like a whore,” you purred, low and filthy. “All these piercings, all these pretty little decorations—just for me to look at, huh? You like showing off? Like knowing I’m staring at your cock and thinking about how mine it is?”

Sol moaned, high and broken, his free hand flying up to pinch and twist at his nipple, the metal barbell catching the light. His back arched off the bed, his whole body shuddering. “Yours,” he gasped, voice cracking. “Always—fuck—always yours.”

You watched, transfixed, as his fingers moved faster, his strokes turning messy, needy. His other hand kept playing with his nipple, tugging at the piercing just to hear himself whimper, just to feel something sharper.

And God, you were losing it too.

Your thighs pressed together, trying to relieve the ache building between them, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. Not when you could see the way his cock twitched in his grip, the way his stomach muscles clenched as he got closer. Not when you could hear every broken gasp, every bitten-off moan.

Your mind raced with want—with the desperate, clawing need to have him here, in your room, on your bed, begging for you to climb into his lap and ride him until neither of you could think. 

You imagined his rough, massive hands dragging down your body, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he whined into your ear. You could almost feel the heat of his skin under your palms, the way his muscles would tense as you traced every scar, every bruise, every inch of him.

And his piercings—fuck. 

You wanted to lick them, to bite down just hard enough to make him gasp, to suck his nipples until they were red and swollen. You wanted to taste every part of him, to sink onto his cock and feel that Frenum piercing drag inside you, hitting every perfect spot until you were both sobbing.

But most of all?

You wanted to see those eyes—those obsessive, red-orange eyes—locked onto yours as he came undone beneath you, whispering your name like a prayer.

"Be careful with yourself, pretty boy," you murmured into the mic, voice dripping with false sweetness—but the tremor in your breath gave you away. Your fingers slid between your thighs, slow, teasing, just enough to make your hips twitch. "Wouldn’t want you to break before I’m done with you."

"Sol," you breathed, voice dripping with sin as your fingers traced slow, teasing circles over your own skin—just watching the way his eyes darkened, the way his breath hitched when you bit your lip. "You have no idea how badly I want to touch you right now."

His throat bobbed, his grip tightening around his cock like he was barely holding on. "Fuck—tell me," he begged, voice already wrecked.

You tilted your head, letting him see the hunger in your eyes—the way you ached for him. "I’d start with your face," you murmured, dragging your fingertips down your neck, mimicking the path you’d take on him. "Kissing you so deep you forget how to breathe. Then your neck—" 

Your teeth grazed your lower lip, just imagining the way he’d shudder. "Biting you just how you like it. Gentle? Or hard enough to make you whimper?"

Sol’s hips jerked, a broken sound escaping. "Hard—fuck, please—"

You smirked, dragging your nails down your chest, watching his gaze follow every movement. "Then I’d take my time with these," you purred, rubbing your own nipple just to watch him lose it. "Your piercings—god, I’ve thought about them so much. The way they’d feel against my lips, cold metal and hot skin. I’d tease you until you were begging me to move lower."

His breath came in ragged pants, his hand moving faster, desperate. "Lower—where—?"

You let out a slow, sinful laugh. "Guess." 

Your fingers trailed down your stomach, lower, lower, until his eyes burned with recognition. "Oh, Sol," you sighed, voice thick with want. "You liar, such a bad boy. All this time, you never told me about this." 

You licked your lips, imagining the weight of him, the way that frenum piercing would feel pressing against your tongue. "I’d take my time tasting you, savoring every inch—until you were shaking, until you couldn’t stand it."

Sol’s back arched, his free hand gripping the edge of his desk like he was about to snap. "You—you knew—?"

‘No," you admitted, your own fingers slipping between your thighs, moaning softly at the contact. "But I dreamed about it. About how it’d feel when you fucked my throat, when that little metal bar hit the back of my tongue. You’d try so hard to be good, wouldn’t you? But I’d make you lose control. Make you push deeper, until I was choking on you—until you came so hard you screamed."

He let out a strangled groan, his thighs trembling. "Or—fuck—or you could ride me," he gasped, his voice raw with need. "Take what you want, use me—‘

You cut him off, “Fuck—fuck—fuck—“ 

Your breath hitched as you rocked against your own fingers, Sol’s blown-out, filthy gaze locked onto you through the screen. He was watching—watching every twitch of your thighs, every shuddering gasp, every slick, desperate stroke of your fingers. And God, the way his lips parted, his chest heaving, his cock twitching against his stomach—like he was made for this. For you.

"That’s it, pumpkin," Sol groaned, voice wrecked, his fingers digging into his own thighs as he fought not to touch himself yet. "Look at you—fuck—look at you, taking yourself apart just ‘cause I’m watching."

You whimpered, arching off your gamer chair, your free hand fisting the blanket. "S-Sol—"

"Tell me," he demanded, his voice rough, needy. "Tell me what you’ve been thinking about. What you dream about when you’re pretending to focus on your goddamn finals."

Your hips stuttered. Fuck.

"Y-You—" you gasped, your mind spinning with him—Sol, yours, always yours, forever yours—jumping on him, riding him, your mouth around your cock as you ordered him to take it and be still until he was sobbing your name. Or maybe him pounding into you—vice versa if you have to be honest, his thick cock splitting you open, filling you up so good, so perfect, slow and deep one second, then brutal the next, fucking you senseless until neither of you could think—

"Fuck, Sol—!" You bit your lip hard, your thighs trembling. "I—I want you—inside—want you to fucking ruin me—"

A sharp, punched-out moan tore from Sol’s throat, his hand finally—finally—wrapping around his cock, stroking hard, fast, like he couldn’t hold back anymore. "Yeah? Where?" he growled, his hips jerking up into his fist. 

"Tell me exactly where you want me, pumpkin—"

"E-Everywhere—" you whined, your fingers working faster, your body burning. "My mouth—my hole—fuck, just—fill me up, Sol, please—"

"Fuck—" His head tipped back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. 

“J-just you—fuck, you cumming so deep inside me—gonna make me drip with it—" You moaned, loud and shameless, your climax crashing into you like a fucking tsunami—and just as you came, shaking, screwing your eyes shut, you heard Sol break.

Sol’s breath hitched, his rhythm faltering. "I’m—I’m close—"

You locked eyes with him, your own pleasure coiling tight, unbearable. "Then come," you demanded, your voice a dark, delicious command. 

"Come for me, Sol. Let me hear how much you need this."

And when he did—when his whole body shook, when his voice broke into a desperate, pleading cry—"Ngh—pumpkin.”

His back arched off his chair, his cum flying—literally hitting his camera with a wet splat, his cock pulsing in his hand as he kept stroking, milking himself through it, his moans filthy, pathetic, perfect.

"Shit—look what you did—" he panted, his voice wrecked, his cum streaked across the screen like some kind of obscene trophy. "Fuckin’—everywhere—"

You laughed, breathless, your body still buzzing. "Mmm… should’ve been inside me instead."

Sol’s eyes darkened, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Next time," he promised, his voice low, dangerous, "I’ll make sure none of it goes to waste."

Then, with a smirk that sent a fresh jolt of heat straight to your core, he leaned closer to the camera—and licked a stripe right through his own mess.

"Fuck," you breathed.

Sol just grinned, his lips glistening. "Better than video games?"

You groaned, throwing an arm over your face. "Shut up."

He laughed—warm, bright, yours—and you couldn’t help but smile.

The screen between you flickered with the remnants of what just happened—Sol’s chest still heaving, his lips parted, his skin flushed down to his collarbones. You both just breathed for a second, the air thick with satisfaction, the kind of exhaustion that curled warm in your stomach.

“Fuck,” Sol muttered, voice rough, dragging a hand down his face. “We’re gonna have to clean this shit up.”

You snorted, stretching lazily, your muscles loose and tingling. “Your camera’s never gonna recover.”

He glanced at the mess streaked across his lens and groaned, but there was a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Worth it.”

You both took a second to recover—him wiping his screen with the hem of his shirt, you grabbing tissues to clean yourself up—moving in comfortable silence, the kind that only came when words weren’t necessary. When the heat between you spoke louder than anything else.

Then, softer: “Exams fucking suck,” you sighed, flopping back onto your chair, legs still trembling slightly.

Sol huffed a laugh, rough and warm. “Tell me about it. I think my brain’s just soup at this point.”

“Same.” You grinned at the ceiling, still feeling the ghost of his gaze on you. “But at least we’ve got this.”

“This?”

“Yeah. This.” You gestured vaguely between you, as he shifted in his seat, giving you another glimpse of his toned stomach, the way his sweatpants rode low on his hips. “The games. The dumbass voice chats. The… other stuff.”

There was a pause.

Then, so quiet you almost missed it—

“This is the only part of the day I actually look forward to.” Sol admitted.

Your breath caught. “…Yeah,” you murmured after a beat, voice softening. “Same.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was loaded—warm and electric, like the air right before a thunderstorm. Then Sol broke it, his voice dipping into something teasing but dangerously sincere.

“Your voice is dangerous, you know.”

You laughed. “Why? ‘Cause it almost got you killed in-game?”

“No.” His tone shifted, low and deliberate. 

“Because I think I’m kind of into it.”

“Oh my god—” You grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it across your room, your face burning.

Sol laughed, the sound bright and unguarded, and you could picture him—sprawled back in his chair, smug as hell, that lazy grin playing on his lips.

You both laughed it off—mostly—but when the moment settled, neither of you moved to leave the call. The screen stayed open, Sol’s heavy-lidded gaze still fixed on you, lingering like he was memorizing every detail.

Fuck. The night couldn’t end like this.

You glanced at your clock. “…I don’t have another final until Friday.”

Sol’s eyebrow arched. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You bit your lip, then slowly—deliberately—spread your legs, letting him see the mess you’d made, still glistening between your thighs. “So… you could come over. Bring snacks.”

His breath hitched. His fingers twitched against his desk, like he was fighting the urge to reach through the screen.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough.

You smirked, then—just as his eyes darkened with hunger—you poked at the screen, sticking your tongue out before abruptly ending the call.

Leaving him with nothing but the image of you.

And another hard bulge in his sweatpants.

“Fuck,” Sol groaned to the empty room, already scrambling for his keys. He grabbed his jacket, his pulse racing. 

Yeah. This was so much fucking better than video games.

The call between you and Sol was already too much—voices tangled in panting breaths, the slick, filthy sound of skin on skin, the way Sol whined your name like a prayer. It was overwhelming. Distracting. So much so that you didn’t even notice the other set of ragged breathing.

A third participant in the call.

Hidden in the shadows of the voice channel—camera off, letting go rugged breaths —Hyugo sat frozen at his desk, bathed in the dim blue glow of his monitor. All he’d meant to do was pop in, apologize for trolling you both earlier, maybe convince you to queue up another round. But then he’d heard your voice. Sol’s voice. And then—

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

His fingers, which had been idly scratching at his thigh, froze. His breath hitched, sharp and sudden—like he’d just taken a hit straight to the chest.

This wasn’t just a call.

This was filth. A live, unfiltered, obscene performance—and he was the unseen, uninvited spectator.

And that alone made him hard, fast.

It wasn’t long before Hyugo’s baby-blue hair, usually tied back in a neat half-pony, now hung loose—sweat-damp strands clinging to his flushed cheeks. His lips—god, his lips—were bitten raw, his teeth sinking into the fabric of his own shirt to stifle the pathetic little noises threatening to spill out.

He hadn’t meant to stay.

He definitely hadn’t meant to touch himself.

But the way you talked to Sol—low, commanding, dripping with filthy promises—it wrecked him. The way Sol begged for you, voice cracking on your name, the way he whimpered when you teased him—

Hyugo’s hand was already slipping past the waistband of his sweats before he could stop himself.

“Fuck,” he breathed, silent, trembling.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. Wasn’t supposed to be listening.

But god, the way you talked about ruining Sol—

His cock twitched in his palm, already leaking, already aching as he quickly fisted himself, trying to be quiet. He could’ve put himself on mute, but—

The risk of getting caught turned him on more.

So he tested himself, gagged by his own shirt, watching his cock pulse in his grip, his thighs tensing as he fought to keep his hips from jerking forward.

He should leave. He should close the call.

But instead, his fingers tightened, stroking slow, so fucking slow, just to drag it out, just to hear more.

By the time Sol left the call, Hyugo was ruined.

His thighs shook. His free hand clutched at his own shirt, dragging it up to his mouth to bite down as his hips jerked forward—

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck—

He barely had the presence of mind to grab a few napkin from his desk, cupping it over the tip just as his orgasm ripped through him—a silent, shuddering cry muffled into fabric as he spilled into his palm, his cock throbbing with every pulse.

“F-fuck—!”

He slumped back in his chair, chest heaving, skin burning, his cock still twitching as he dabbed himself clean, careful not to let a single drop ruin his precious gaming setup.

Disgusting. Pathetic. And so fucking good.

He still couldn’t believe you two—blissfully unaware, oblivious to the fact that he’d just come to the sound of you and Sol falling apart.

Hyugo’s lips curled into a shaky, guilty smirk.

"Maybe I should still be annoying in y’all’s games more often," he thought, breathless, wicked. 

This wasn’t better than video games, but—Fuck.

He didn’t mind shit like this now. He’d take it every damn time.

…y’all… should I write a threesome? jkjk…

Also... not gonna lie, writing this made me like Sol. Just a tiny bit.

[sparrowlucero]

i enjoy ur bird abode thoughts! I was a genuine enjoyer of the show when it was airing, I’m no die hard fan though and love to see ppls personal takes on the overall story/plot. Im curious if you also would agree or have any thoughts on the impacts The Mouse’s cancellation had on the shows ability to be more than it was? srry im not super eloquent with my words, but basically ur response to that ask got me wondering if part of the reason the show like genuinely wasnt all that ground breaking or unique in the end plot wise (other than the villain faces consequences in the end ig) as far as YA/Teen animation goes, was because of The Mouse’s inability to let the writers flesh out the show before gutting it? i have a negative bias toward The Mouse franchise and obviously dont know anything about how writing a show under the eyes of a franchise that big would work, its just smth that rattles around in my head and wanna know what u think!

Well to an extent, but I think it's much more the effect the studio had on how the owl house started out as rather than it not getting a full season at the end - It didn't escape my noticed that the show was initially announced as being a "horror comedy" when it doesn't really seem like either, especially by the second season, and yeah, the original pitch bible is obviously aiming for that much more than the show proper is as it goes along (and is honestly seems quite a bit more funny, weird, and dark, with an overarching plotline about a giant bug being used to religiously suppress people, eda able to cure her curse by killing luz, and one of the major characters being a teen boy awoken from a sleeping curse who ends up being a weird little bigot because he's from the 13th century, among other things)

(side note, i just noticed they actually specifically describe the thing i assumed the show was gonna be about here. huh.) but ultimately the bulk of the show that was actually made seems very influenced by a writing team that was genuinely interested in making a tropey YA fantasy story rather than just being mandated to. I mean even in what aired you can see the show sort of settle in ways that feel less like studio interference and more like, you know, art students creating their ideal fantasy show, like how King is clearly Eda's roommate who's funny because he looks like and sounds like a little dog despite being an adult man at the beginning but by the end they've made him her adopted sad backstory son who's explicitly a child. While I think a third season would have made the show as it existed better, because they clearly didn't get to finish the plot they wanted to (frankly to the point where some major aspects of the show are a bit confusing, I'm still not sure what a grimwalker is), I don't really fault the show for that but also don't think that hypothetical season (which pretty clearly would have been mostly about the magic school teens going to normal school) would suddenly flip around into something that I personally found interesting and subversive. Nor should it, really; again, it being Queernorm Harry Potter thing is clearly the intended appeal of the show, it's not really a flaw but just not a genre I'm personally interested in when compared to what I initially expected the show to be.

HOWEVER I will say they robbed little weird girls of their representation and that can't be forgiven

[thewadapan]

Spent today checking out The Amazing Digital Circus and Murder Drones, and god, the kids today have it so good when it comes to this sort of content. When I was a teen, I was obsessed with Red vs. Blue and RWBY, which I think it's fair to say are the equivalents of the time, and the sheer gulf in terms of writing quality and production value is stunning. I hear there were some rumblings of unprofessional conduct from the production company, which would hardly be surprising considering this is yet another guys-working-from-their-basement success story, but much bigger companies with much shittier business practises consistently put out much worse content than this.

The Amazing Digital Circus is definitely the better show of the two, thanks to its slam-dunk premise and some great writing from Gooseworx. The producers have talked about aiming to fill a perceived gap in the market between kids' cartoons (The Boss Baby) and adult animation (Bojack Horseman), and I think they have successfully threaded the needle to create a very unique tone. There's a sense of these works existing totally outside the mainstream media machine; they're not getting BBFC rated, but you just know millions of kids are watching them. It's on YouTube and the fact that it looks like some Frozen Spider-Man kids' slop just means da parents won't question what their kids are watching.

But truth be told, there's nothing objectionable about the content of The Amazing Digital Circus whatsoever. It's unusually metatextual and loosely apes the aesthetics of much darker media, touching on slightly more existential themes than your typical kids' cartoon, but it still has a lot in common with those same cartoons. The zany characters are all fairly one-note, and the emotional arcs of the episodes are honestly quite straightforward. The second episode in particular has an absolutely textbook plot structure to it. It's a far more self-assured and traditional style of writing than you ever see in this kind of independent work—certainly far more so than Murder Drones, which is written by an insane person.

More than anything, I'm reminded of how I felt watching Puella Magi Madoka Magica: that it's a very solid work of fiction, but that the people who'd get the most out of the work are isolated teens struggling to make the transition into adulthood. Certainly if nothing else, the fandoms of these shows must be bringing a lot of kids together around the world. I adore this soundbite from Goose: "Above anything else, I just wanted it to feel kind of lonely." You see Pomni's worldview shatter, she suddenly finds herself in a body that feels completely wrong, and she has to construct a new kind of belonging for herself.

As for Murder Drones, that show's absolutely fucking nuts, yo. The writing is at once painfully basic and utterly incomprehensible. If someone just sat down and explained the plot straightforwardly, it would be fantastically boring. But man, the presentation, the sheer delight the animators seem to approach every scene with...! I'd say it's clearly trying to use "the characters are robots" as an excuse to expose da kids to some absolutely shocking levels of gore, much like the Transformers movies, but midway through the series it starts straightup swapping the oil and wires for blood and bones and you've got to respect that.

The writing itself is so excruciatingly irony-poisoned that it goes beyond cringe and somehow wraps back around again to being sincerely funny. The show kind of wants to have its cake and eat it in terms of constantly lampshading how flat and cliché the emotional plotting is, but also clearly aiming to genuinely tug at the heartstrings and whip fans into a frenzy. And it kind of succeeds, I think! The way it veers between bizarrely high-effort implementations of memes, seriously cool fight scenes and horror visuals, and big emotional moments is very disarming. If The Amazing Digital Circus is an attempt to faithfully rework the American-cartoon formula for a slightly older audience, Murder Drones aims to crib the aesthetics of high-school cartoons while actively rejecting every traditional narrative technique used in those stories. Which means it's kind of bad, which means it's also kind of great.

If it's not already, then within a couple of years it will be deeply cringe to have ever been into Murder Drones in particular or (to a slightly lesser extent) The Amazing Digital Circus, in much the same way that everyone seems embarrassed to admit they were ever a Homestuck fan. But like with Homestuck, I feel like these series are genuinely pushing at the frontiers of storytelling in a way that's commendable and might inspire new kinds of writing once the fans grow up.

ENA is also pretty good, for the record.

[theresnottimeinhopi]

I thought to myself; "what if there's ever a character who parallels Ren in many aspects and who did everything in their best to help him after finding him one day again, after 'mysterious' months of being missing, with the necessities and afterwards with fateful bittersweet departure, they thought they helped him to return to normalcy in the end, without ever knowing how deep down psychologically fucked Ren truly was because he never really showed his actual self around them and did not tell them what truly happened to him throughout those months."

And also,

"what if, the said character, is also someone who isn't meek, someone who went through horrors just as well but managed differently and can and is an actual physical threat who can fight back." (realistically, I don't think a fox can withstand the sheer compact muscular and downright menace force that is an oversized jungle cat whose natural instinct is aiming straight at the back of your cranium, maybe the prefrontal cortex if feeling extra).

Genuinely, jaguars are horrifying, they have the most powerful bite force out of the rest of the big cats which can break the bones and armour of a crocodile and they bite directly through the skull of a mammalian prey between the ears to deliver a fatal blow to the brain, unlike most cats reaching for the neck. Cherry on top, superb stealth hunters, they may look steroid-ridden ridden but they're as silent as the crickets.

So of course, I had to create Renée Sereno Novo, my beautiful babe (Zach Hadel's voice), my librarian lady turned to academic librarian in a prestigious university that Derek used to enrol in (let's be real, Derek definitely did not last here long, a nepo baby after all, my original headcanon, do not steal plz) because not only do I want to make a character that is blunt and takes no bullshit yet with the perfect balance of exemplifying "my God, where were you when I was at my worst with those impeccable communication skills and emotional intelligence, babe", trust, being able to communicate your feelings is sexy, but also someone who can kick Ren's buttocks (both BTD2 + TPOF), because there times when I feel that twink needs to be humbled (affectionately). But more heavily towards Fox, I need that politician-looking clown to wear a dunce hat and have tomatoes thrown at him (affectionately).

For those who know Goodnight/Oyasumi Punpun (and I vividly imagine Ren's life after Strade's death to be the same functions that of adult Punpun, as to how he manages to become a wealthy man afterwards years later is a mystery to me, if not us, but I see suggestions of him possibly being a landlord because of constantly moving in and out and I believe it quite frankly), she is essentially a bit similar to Sachi Nanjou, and the Sachi to Ren's Punpun, especially regarding one trying to help the other get back on his feet and the troubles that transpire from it (because of course Ren, low self-esteem yet also wanting to gain control over his own life and rejecting pity).

Hm, I need to reread that manga after years, not the best option during those lockdown years but goodness gracious was I enthralled in the writing and psychology.

Now, I wonder if I can finished that WIP...

On a little note, I feel like that Beastkins, lore-wise, are so heavily underutilized and there are so many ideas and potentials you can get around them, I plan to give out my headcanons because I am afraid it will make the blog long enough as it is.

Another note is that, in my humble opinion, when making a Beastkin oc, design-wise, GO WILD, GO CRAZY, take advantage of that creative juice and try to add some traits that the animals they're based on have, because my God, it is so thrilling and really makes a proper distinction between them and humans besides the typical ears, tails and claws. For example, Renée's nose is purposefully reminiscent that of big cats as seen by her wide nose and even in the eye shape instead of the atypical upturned eyes, since big cats actually have round eyes, it's just their eyes are hooded and they have that natural kohl eyeliner that makes it seem snatched as well as their long and sharp inner eye corners, it makes a *mwah* significant effect and emphasises the feline traits, perfect example are the Navi's, obsessed with their facial anatomy.

But that is all I have, time to ponder if I will ever fully write her backstory down on paper or if I will mentally write and leave it stored in my wrinkly brain as always.

[otakween]

Digimon Next (2005) - Volume 1

It's been awhile since I've read a digimon manga that didn't have an anime attached to it. This one came out around the same time as Digimon Data Squad/Savers. Manga is definitely not this franchise's strength, but I always enjoy reading them nonetheless. Since they're aimed at kids they tend to be pretty cozy and lighthearted (even if they're talking about world destruction haha).

This one seems derivative as heck, but hey, digimon loves repetition.

Ch. 1

Damn, this has almost exactly the same premise as the V-Tamer manga. Tsurugi is into digimon battling (v-pet style) but, oh snap, he has a super special digimon that no one else has ever seen before in the game! Deja vu much?

To be fair, this manga is the reverse of V-Tamer in that the digimon get sucked into the real world instead of Tsurugi being isekai'd into the digital world. (Edit: Nope. That is not what happens). That's kinda fun. I think I prefer this option because I've always found the digital world to be pretty lame tbh (sometimes they get creative but a lot of the time it's just barren emptiness).

Aggressively generic character designs so far. I kinda liked how they referenced goggles making Tsurugi "look like an anime hero" and how they were a choice he made for his video game avatar.

Tsurugi giving major Daisuke vibes with the soccer and being kinda dumb.

Interesting that the in-game partner digimon were non-speaking (like in Digimon World) but then started talking in the real world. Not sure what the logic is there...

So this has nothing to do with Savers other than coming out around the same era and using digimon introduced in Savers (as seen in the cover art above). I'm intrigued to see what manga-exclusive shenanigans we get up to here.

Love the horror-esque panel of the Kuwagamon. Didn't expect something with that vibe here.

Ch. 2

Ah yes, the Digimon human character archetypes of "rival" and "girl."

Ami calling Digimon babyish but then specifying it's the battle part she objects to was pretty funny (yet then she's excited to watch battles?) Very 5th grade behavior.

Why is everyone so desperate to get their friends to play arcade-style digimon in this world? lol. They're like "STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING, DIGIMON SHOULD BE YOUR NUMBER 1 PRIORITY AT ALL TIMES!" Again...5th graders. It's no wonder they're demolishing 20-somethings with all this free time.

Shou is (was?) Tsurugi's childhood friend but is a total asshole towards him. Not sure if we're just supposed to accept that as his dark persona or if they're actually not friends and had a falling out...

I guess focusing on raising digimon is a valid play style, but it's kinda funny because all of the parameters you get from raising digimon are for battling. Like they even tell Ami, "you don't have to battle, you can also shop at the equipment store!" Like...what do they think the equipment is for?

Ch. 3

Wait, so the train station wasn't the real world? I'm kinda disoriented now. I guess there's the real world, the VR world, and the digital world. But also...the VR world and digital world are connected.

The writing is so cheesy. The "reveal" that Knight was Shou all along was so underwhelming. They haven't even told us a single thing about Shou, so why should we care? They just keep saying "Tsurugi's childhood friend" over and over. At least give us a flashback or something to get more emotionally invested in.

It feels kind of weird to call something that can naturally occur in a game "illegal." Also, were there no admins trying to stop the hacker? I guess this is one of those "adults don't really exist" worlds

Ch. 4

Some weird tonal whiplash going from peepee poopoo humor to Piccolomon getting violently stabbed (complete with blood!)

Jesus...is EVERY digimon villain going to have the same motive? Guess what the motive is this time? Barbamon wants to restart the digital world and awaken some mysterious digimon 😑😑😑 Groundbreaking stuff.

On the plus side for originality, for once the villain isn't a sexy effeminate dude but an ugly goblin man instead. I actually really like his design. It feels like some thought went into it at least. I like his poncho and giant beard.

Of course we gotta collect the MacGuffins (digimemories) to save and/or destroy the world. What else is new? I was interested to see if the digimon types lined up with the Digimon Story games and I think they mostly do (except for maybe mutant?)

Piccolomon said "Trailmon don't work like real trains, they go where they want" but then he said "Trailmon move based on the will of the rider." Which are kinda contradictory ideas, but okay. Maybe it's like, they go where they want if the rider is weak willed...

Ch. 5

It's been awhile since there's been a "little brother" (I was gonna say shota but that feels creepy) character in this franchise. I guess Tomoki in Frontier would be the most recent. (Ikuto feels too independent to count). I like Yuu's oversize outfit, but why is it kinda giving Chinese military uniform?

All the minions in this manga are butt ugly. Also, why are they called "commandments?" I thought maybe it was just a mispelling of "commandant" at first, but I guess not.

Being able to manifest food out of a digivice is new I think...reminds me of Spy Kids food lol.

Pretty weird that they neglected to draw GeoGreymon's bracers in his intro panel, considering that's what I use to tell GeoGreymon and Greymon apart lol.

The deaths in this are pretty violent! Seeing a crying Wormmon being torn in two made me sad :<

Ch. 6

I rolled my eyes a bit when Ami was like "I can't believe they got sucked into the game!" and then there was immediately a panel of her booting the game up. GIRL! I can't tell if she's dumb or did that on purpose to save them.

I wasn't crazy about Waspmon's design but CannonBeemon is amazing (kinda looks like something out of Evangelion or something).

In this chapter they reveal that there are "natural" digimon and "artificial" digimon. Not a new concept really. In the past we've seen synthetic digimon and digimon springing from human imagination like Guilmon. I don't think they've ever been called "artificial" before though. That feels a little mean lol.

So I guess Yuu is sickly IRL but not in the digital world. Have we ever seen the digital world "heal" people like that before? Closest I can think of is Koichi but that was different.

[cafecourage]

Late to the party but can I request just- spoiling the Chain with love and affection and care (including First!) because these boys deserve it

- Softie, who can't remember if this has been asked for already

I think these can combine nicely. 😊 Because all of these boys have a lot of trauma I am going to make a Hc’s to cover everything.

Time:

This man crumbles when you care for him. He is literally always the person that take's care of others so having someone care for him is new. Even if he knows your not flirting he is still receptive to it. Though Time is going to try to give back everything.

Making Time flustered is actually fairly hard. Yes, I just said he crumbles when cared for. However, he more or less soaks it in. Getting him to go all red and mushy and just flustered is extremely hard. You can pull out all the stops and he will not stray from that calm exterior. Maybe he would be blushing but its not as bad as you when he goes to fluster you.

The most nightmares that he would have are from OoT however the most comforts he needs is more from the Majora's Mask adventure.

Because most of the things he has been through was when he was a child, he probably has some sort of childhood memory lost from it. But its more of he knows what happen but the memories he would have just aren't there. It's not like he can see it in his mind eyes. Though I would imagine he would have nightmares of the future hyrule he saw in the adult timeline. That part of the adventure was more horrifying to him then the child portion of the adventure. When this happens he tends to not go back asleep unless you urge him to. He really doesn't want to wake up in a future with out those he cares about.

Time, I would think still has some anxiety towards not being able to keep track of the days. It's mainly because he did lose track of the time while in Termina and he does flinch every time when a clock tower bell chimes. Time has kept most of his masks including the ones with spirits inside, though he assumes they had moved on to the afterlife at this point as even he can sense the lack of magic. Honestly on days that he is more anxious, you would need to ground him. Hold his hand. Give him a hug. Quiet reassurance.

Twilight:

Twilight's suffering comes from abandonment. I am just gonna call him out. He might have a body horror fear, aiming on himself as transforming into a wolf is disgusting and painful.

Honestly even though it hurts he will still become Wolfie to feel some comfort from the other boys. Just as much as he goes wolf to help the others with comfort. Twilight isn't one to ask for physical affection mainly because he was used to just receiving it

What he wants for affection is hugs and kisses. He needs that reassurance that everything is going to be ok. That your not going to leave him as well, also that everything is going to be ok. He really just needs the love and attention.

Twilight's second worse fear is that he will be left alone for the rest of his life. He has abandonment issues which mixing with his wolf protection instincts is just a complete mess of emotions. Just sit his butt down when he gets overbearing a hug him. From that moment on just ban Twilight from moving. If he needs to walk he is gonna have to carry you.

Sometimes you would also need to drag Twilight away to a more quiet location. Being turned into an animal also heightens your senses. We both know the boys are loud. So if its pampering time. You two wont be seen for hours :D

Warriors:

Warriors will rather die then let his demons be known. Which is really good that you know about his adventure! But seriously, Link hates his weakness showing even in private. The man has bad anxiety, he consistently feels like he is being watched. It's not just because of Cia, but knowing that she was always watching him the whole time didn't help, he also had to deal with traitors.

That being said Warriors is another Link that needs the silent affection and comfort. He might twist it on you. That just so he can twist what it looks like to other people. He will 100% take advantage of 'comforting you' to comfort himself as well. Don't point it out, don't even mention it. He will stop and get defensive.

That being said if he is hurt, then call him out on it. Warriors is more willing to be comforted because he is already hurt. He loves his hair being played with, its an instant relaxer for him when he isn't on high high alert. For example, at bed time he is out like a light, but if you play with his hair while walking through town he will tease you.

Warriors is going to need reassurance from time to time. He doesn't think anyone in the chain is going to betray him. But his brain just tells him to always be on edge just incase of an attack. I think when you get to know him better you would be able to notice it. In case of this emergency. There isn't much you can do, other then hold his hand through it. Distracting him wont do much but when he focus's on you he feels a bit better.

All this to say he doesn't get much sleep. He actually is a nightmare when it comes to nightshifts and wont wake people up because he is to anxious to not be awake and on watch. You might just have to throw him down on the bedroll and lay on top of him.

First:

First is hard to read. No matter how long you've known him. It's hard to know if he is ok. You just know that sometimes First comes up to you, hug you and not say anything. You can be in full conversation with someone and he just hugs you from behind. Face in your hair as he takes in your present.

He really doesn't want you to disappear on him. First lost a lot of people then almost lost his life. So let him just seek you out when he is feeling a bit... out of body.

First in general wont tell you what's the matter with him because he doesn't know what's wrong half the time. I image first is a bit no brain cell type. So like when there is a out of body moment it just confusion. Also it doesn't happen to often.

If he does look bothered by something or maybe a bit more out of it then normal. Hugging typically works. Kissing works as well. But he adores hugs and will pick you up so he could cuddle.

Either way you want to spoil first? Cuddle or hugs. Just make sure your touching him that's all he wants. Adores it even.

[akesthe]

𝖄𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝕸𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖆/𝕬𝖓𝖎𝖒𝖊

Happy Sugar Life

Happy Sugar Life is both an anime and a manga. I watched the anime, although it was very difficult to get through. The age difference between Shio and Satou is horrific. Thankfully the two aren't sexualized at all. This would've been a great yandere anime if the age gap wasn't so large and/or they were both adults. Satou is a very interesting yandere, especially when you can see how her aunt has affected her.

This is also a psychological horror, the creators aimed for shock value. Do not watch if you are sensitive to sexual assault. There is representation of male sexual assault victims and female perpetrators. It portrays female on male assault as "funny" or "desirable" by making the victim a comedic character and making the perpetrator an attractive woman. They do show Taiyou's descent into madness from being assaulted, but do not portray him well at all. Overall, it could've been a great anime if it wasn't so uncomfortable to watch, so 4/10.

[josebarrmageddon]

9(2009) 15th Anniversary

My hype for this movie was through the roof. On top of it already looking unique compared to other movies coming out at the time, I saw it was produced by Tim Burton, who I was obsessed with growing up. I was 12 and my best friend, Kal, and I went to see it after school on opening day. It was also the first time I went to the movies without an adult, which my Parents were hesitant about before agreeing to let me see it. Kal and I walked out really liking it, but I became obsessed with it. I loved the characters, voice acting, backstory, visual designs, and world building.

Over the years, I’ve heard some complaints, like the plot being too simple and having little to no character depth, but I think because I saw it at the right time, I was able to fill in those blanks and just appreciated the things it did right. While now, its kind of quaint, I do remember feeling it was more mature and creepy and I liked it. I categorized it under gateway horror, as around the same time, I started delving more into classic horror and monster movies. It’s not necessarily aimed at mature adults, it’s aimed at the kids who are ready to see something a little bit more scary. That’s why the plot is easy to follow and the visuals and tone are intense. Director Shane Acker has talked about making more dark animated movies like this, but nothing’s happened. I know he’s still around working on visual effects for movies and making shorts, but I’d really love to see another feature from him. Hard to believe it’s been 15 years, but It’s still nice to see the 9 fandom occasionally pop up and remind me of simpler times.

- Jose Barr (9/9/24)

[immaterial-pearl]

Recs of my fav things with mental illness/trauma/neurodiversity representation that lets their characters be unpleasant and full people:-).

These are a collection of things I personally found relateable, over the course of my life. Almost all of these are aimed at adults (but not all!) and it's okay to disagree with me on wether these are good or not, but I put them on this list because I like them and I like how they portray complex mentally ill characters.

Here’s a randomizer that picks one at random!!!

Pieta, by Nanae Haruno. Genre: josei manga (josei is manga aimed at women, usually ones in their 20's). Two girls who struggle with mental health fall in love.

Dungeon Meshi, dir. Yoshihiro Miyamjima, original story by Ryoko Kui. Genre: fantasy anime. After his sister is eaten by a dragon, a man does his best to get her body back and revive her. In order to survive he decides to cook monsters with his party, instead of trying to travel with food from outside of the dungeon. Personal note: autism meshi. My personal favourite is Kabru, because he's literaly me when it comes to Being Totally Normal About Human Interaction.

Burnt Sugar, by Avni doshi. Genre: literary novella. A woman starts losing her grip on reality as her mother starts losing her memory. My personal opinion: it's just amazing, god, one of my favourite books ever, no book ever portrayed psychosis in such a personally relateable way, even tho I differ from the protag on so many levels.

Promising Young Woman, dir. Emerald Fennel. Genre: a deconstruction of revenge films. A woman traumatised by her friends suicide tries to avenge her.

Simon Snow triology, by Rainbow Rowell. Genre: ya fantasy and romance, deconstruction of chosen one stories, wizard school. Note: the exploration of ptsd mostly happens in book 2 and 3. The first book differs both in subject matter and tone, and was written originally as a stand alone. A typical chosen one protag defies the narrative set on him. Personal note: the way trauma reflected on protag's relationship with sex was so well thought out. Reread this out of nostalgia recently and found myself stunned on how uniquely well it's written.

Fleabag, screeplay by Phoebe Waller-Bridge. Genre: dark comedy, drama. A woman who seems aware of the fourth wall tries to cope with her best friend’s death.

Revolutionary Girl Utena, dir. Ikuhara Kunihiko. Genre: magical girl anime deconstruction, fairy tale deconsturction, psychological horror. A girl who wants to become a prince gets tangled in messy drama of the student council, after she wins a duel and accidentally becomes engaged to a girl they refer to as the rose bride. Personal note: FAVOURITE SHOW EVER, a queer classic, ectetera, the most complex show ever written in my personal opinion, the entire narrative is about patriarchy's evils, and damn, no show since did it better imo.

Boy meets Maria, by Peyo. Genre: romance manga. A boy falls in love with a member of his high school's theatre, who turns out to be a boy.

The Locked Tomb, by Tamsyn Muir. Genre: sci-fi fantasy horror. In a planet system of necromancers, a girl from a planet with a single living necromancer gets picked to be said necromancers swordwoman, when she tries to become a saint. Personal note: you will not believe the amount of Insane Undead Lesbians this series has. READ IT.

Bojack Horseman, main writer Raphael Bob Waksberg. Genre: dark comedy, animated sitcom. A horse/man way past his prime still lives off of money from playing in a 90’s sitcom.

My Lesbian Experience With Loneliness, by Nagata Kabi. Genre: manga memoir. A depressed woman who has trouble with forming relationships tries to have her first time with a sex worker.

Pinky and Pepper forever, by Eddy Atoms. Genre: horror, dark comedy comic. Two art student girlfriends try to survive art school, and later meet again in hell.

A pale view of hills, by Kazuo Ishiguro. Genre: literary fiction. An imigrant woman, recalls her first pregnancy and a short friendship she had back in Japan.

Neon Genesis Evangelion, dir. Hideaki Anno. Genre: mecha anime, psychological horror. A boy is forced to pilot a robot by his absent father who runs a para-military organisation. Personal notes: second favourite anime of mine, every character is their own shade of unwell, there is a reason this is a classic.

Fight Club, by Chuck Palachniuk. Genre: thiller, literary fiction. A white collar man loses his apartment and moves in with his strange working class friend. Personal note: even if you've seen the film, read the original.

The Bell Jar, by Sylvia Plath. Genre: literary fiction, semi-memoir. A talented writer fights her suicidality and depression.

Crying in H-Mart, by Michelle Zauner. Genre: memoir. The author recalls her mother's last months and death.

My Dark Vanessa, by Kate Elizabeth Russel. Genre: literary fiction. After her ex teacher is accused of sexual assault, a woman recalls her high school romance with him. Personal note: this is heavily inspired by Lolita, and even though I've read both I kind of prefer this book, fight me.

Summer, 1993, dir. Carla Simón. Genre: drama. A young girl spends her first summer in a new home after her parents die. Personal note: good representation of a young child processing trauma is so rare!!!!

My Broken Mariko, by Hirako Waka. Genre: josei manga. After her friend's death, a woman goes out of her way to find out why she died, disbelieving her friend would kill herself.

Everything, everywhere, all at once, dir. Daniel Kwan and Schienert. Genre: sci-fi. A woman discovers multiverse time travel while trying to do her taxes, and processes her troubled relationship with her daughter.

[damnfandomproblems]

"Ok but the ask you’re responding to is specifically saying that there’s a difference between depiction or endorsement and endorsement is a problem that many self-identified proship people are just refusing to acknowledge because it’s more convenient to argue every anti is against any bad thing being depicted ever. "

Here is the definition of endorsement: an act of giving one's public approval or support to someone or something

Here is the definition of depiction: to show or represent by a drawing, painting, or other art form

Please take notice of how the definition of depiction does not mention realism and how the definition of endorsement is specified as an act of giving public support/approval. If someone writes/draws something themed around abuse but portrays it wildly inaccurate, but they do not specifically say, "Hey yeah, I support this thing IRL," it is not an endorsement of that thing. It is just a depiction, however inaccurate, however inappropriately inaccurate

"You do get that pretty much all stories that depict murder, terrorism, torture etc. don’t portray it positively, right. Heck, terrorism is something people famously define by whether it’s justified or not, and there’s a fair few common terrorist tactics most will agree cannot be justified at all like bombing civilians and the like regardless of your cause (not the least because because they aren’t even going to further said cause). If a story said that someone was objectively in the right for doing a 9/11 analogue I doubt most “antis” would be cool with that."

Maybe it's because I don't engage with children's media, but most stories I read or watch flip-flop between portraying all those topics either accurately or inaccurately, and either positively or negatively. Children's media portray things as is because children's brains aren't fully developed and they need to be taught right from wrong, truth from lie, and reality from fiction. Once your brain is developed enough to separate the difference, bad things can be portrayed as good and good as bad because a strong moral framework that won't waver on just stories alone should have already been developed

Saw movies are just gore porn, same with slashers and most horror in general. You root for the villain because you watch those movies special for the brutal unexcusable violence, violence portrayed purely for entertainment and thus can absolutely be considered "romanticize" if not just straight up sexualized. John Wick, you root for him to kill all these people because one person hurt him, you root for him to take countless humans lives over the grief and pain of a singular animal life. You root for the glorified romanticized violence, cheer for it, in fact.

Also, with the attitude towards America today, I can already bet there are people already out their claiming that 9/11 was deserved, and those kind of people exist everyone, and that includes within anti groups. This argument is just a straw man fallacy. Also, more so than anything, if someone was to write a story from the perspective of someone who believes the attack was deserved, I can guarantee that it would most likely be, with 99% certainty, be aimed at adults. Adults, that I remind you, should be developed enough to understand that this is a story with an unreliable narrator, and that just because they the character glamorize the tragedy doesn't mean that they the person should too. Most proshippers and antis and everyone else not sucked into that toxic waste pit of shipping/censorship discourse would be able to accept that, and even if they think it's distasteful, understand at the end of the day it's just a story that trys to take into the mind of someone horrid to try and make sense of their horridness

"Also there’s a key factor you’re ignoring here. There are circumstances where it is justifiable to kill someone. Most concede at least self defense cases."

Definition of murder: the unlawful premeditated killing of one human being by another.

Definition of manslaughter: the crime of killing a human being without malice aforethought, or otherwise in circumstances not amounting to murder.

In most places, killing self-defense isn't murder, it's manslaughter.

Murder very, very rarely is considered justifed by most people. Manslaughter, however, tends to be more debatabled. But even then, debatable is the key word. Their is no definited, absolutely line in the sand of accepted manslaughter and unacceptable manslaughter. People absolutely do argue about self-defense killings. Some believe it's just as bad as murder. Some feel it's a gray thing where the killer still needs some of consequence, some believe it's fully excuseable.

What you see in movies more often than not, though, is murder, not manslaughter. It is deliberate and/or done after the threat has been lifted. More often than not, from my experience, it's revenge killings, not self-defense.

This argument is just morality wank and the "key factory" of "justifiably" is completely subjective. It's a variable, not the control

"Like, another ask tried to use John Wick as a gotcha because it’s a “toxic love and bad actions portrayed positively” or smth because John Wick being motivated by into killing several gangsters who broke into his home, killed his dog, and are shown to murder people (including a priest who worked for them), by his love for his dog. And somehow that’s just as bad as someone being in an abusive relationship and that being seen as a good thing."

Are you talking about a real being in an abusive relationship and being told that's good, or about a fictional character in a fictional relationship experiencing fictional abuse portrayed inaccurately? I am assuming it's inaccurate fiction you're talking about, fiction, that once again would be aimed at adults, who can understand that this depiction is inaccurate. Just like how they can cheer on for John Wick and his romanticized violence in the context of a story and hate that same violence when acted out in real life, they can cheer on for a fictional inaccurate abusive relationship in the context of fiction and hate that same abuse when acted out in real life

Not only that, once again, whether abuse or murder is worse, be it in fiction or reality, is debatabled. Many can argue that romanticized and/or real murder is worse than abuse because murder is final wherest abuse can be healed from with time and effort

"Like, absurd as that comparison is on its own, it also relies on that killing being equivalent to any other form of killing regardless of context. And that’s silly because obviously there’s a difference between killing someone in self defense or as justified retaliation (again, the mobsters in this example are in fact murderers of people too) versus just murdering innocent people. "

The difference is subjective, "justiced retaliation" is extremely subjective, all of this argument is subjective

"You can’t say that with rape, incest, pedophilia etc. There’s not a circumstance where that can be justified. Every case is horrible and unjustified, there are not types you can rightly portray as a good thing or as morally acceptable."

Don't get me wrong, I agree that real life rape, incest, pedophilia is all wrong, but there are people who disagree. Justifiably is always subjective in the real world, and laws in many places reflect that justifiably, child marriage is still legal in many places, so incest, and so is rape. If I was to really push and play the devil's advocate and come up with a 1 in a trillion bullshit argument, how justifiable would rape be if their was a gun to your head, maybe even to your familes heada too, and you werw told to either assult this person or be murdered? I could easily agrue that rape in that situation is justifiable under the argument that preserving life is more important than preventing momentary trauma

"I never thought I’d have to explain this but here we are."

You didn't have to do anything. You felt like a little knight, a ray of light, the hero abmist the icky villains who just couldn't stand aside. We're here because of your egotistical sense of self-righteousness, not of genuine necessity. Don't conflate the two

Posting as a response to a previous ask.

[harpagornis]

Fright Krewe review

Fright Krewe is one of Dreamworks' less talked about shows and it's a damn shame. Taking a page from Goosebumps and other horror aimed at children, ths show is atmospheric, creepy and not afraid to show blood and violence, while still remaining sufficiently light-hearted. It really feels like a young adult novel being translated into animation, barring some of the more childish dialogue from Stanley.

The show is truly an homage to New Orleans folklore and to Voudoun religion. The idea of the protagonists having powers granted from the loa isn't just a gimmick; there are episodes where actual religious practises are on display to call upon their powers. And of course there are a ton of obscure monsters that don't even have wiki pages.

Overall a fun ride across two seasons

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

i do think sometimes people think special interests are like. having an interest that is very big. and yes that is part of it. it’s the most obvious one to an outside observer. but, like, that in and of itself isn’t a special interest. neurotypical people can get incredibly into hobbies. and i think it’s important to keep in mind bc i've started seeing people go around saying really ableist shit about special interests again bc they view them as just very intense hobbies but like. they’re not.

autistic people do not choose their special interest, for one. like, i've seen a lot of disdain and downright hatred for people who have special interests in “childish” things going around and like… no, autistic people don’t have “childish” special interests because they refuse to learn media literacy or whatever. a lot of people's special interests come from their childhood- of course an eight year old isn’t going to be consuming media aimed at adults, and like, autistic children grow into autistic adults? they don’t just shed their special interests. special interests can change over time, absolutely, but they also sometimes, like… don’t? that’s not something an autistic person can control. and even if it’s something they got into later in life… it’s actually very normal for adults to like. not solely engage in “mature” things. like for one parents exist. and older siblings and cousins and just in general like. most adults have child relatives somewhere in the family tree and like, spend time with them? but even with that aside like, well adjusted adults don't aggressively reject anything they consider childish. adults have had nostalgia forever. adults have enjoyed animation and games and other “childish” things forever. who do you think makes kids content? passionate adults.

and i've also seen a lot of disdain for autistic people just having objectionable special interests and like. okay but they literally cannot control that you know that right. they can control the way they engage with it obviously this isn’t an excuse to like, be an asshole or a bigot, but also like… you can’t really consciously stop having special interests even if you don’t engage in it you’ll have thoughts on it and process things through the lens of it it’s not something consciously controllable. like do you think i'd choose to think about nothing but extremely dark psychological horror minecraft child abuse like no that’s fucking weird as shit. i actively dislike one of the two creators involved but i physically cannot stop thinking about his stupid roleplay i have tried to stop and it lead to me self harming bc i couldn’t and the thoughts distressed me very badly.

on that topic- yeah, trying to “break” a special interest not only doesn’t really work bc it’s not like. a hobby. it’s something we constantly think about and a way of making sense of the world. it’d be like trying to get rid of depression by never allowing yourself to think of sad things like that’s not how it works. it also can be fucking dangerous. coping mechanisms exist for a reason, and throwing them out with no replacement or actual help involved can fuck you up for life. you're likely to either have a complete breakdown or get infinitely more unhealthy coping mechanisms. and while special interests aren’t a one to one analogy to coping mechanisms they’re closer to that than a hobby let me tell you. i see so many posts telling autistic people that they have to “break” problematic or even just fucking “cringey” special interests and like. bro 99.99% of the time it is not worth self harming or being institutionalised over. because that’s like, what happens if you deny yourself access to a tool that allows you to access the world? like please stop so flippantly basically asking autistic people to risk extreme burnout at best bc like. the creator interacted with someone who turned out to be a terrible person ten years ago with no reasonable way of knowing that. like c’mon. y'all just wanna see autistic people suffer and are wrapping it up in progressive coatings like take a LOOK at yourself.

like, sorry. you think it’d be so easy for this website to not be ableist. but no you’re back to just spreading flagrant misinformation about autism to try and sound better about yourself. like, are there some shitty autistic people who use their autism to be bigots? yeah, duh. but using that as an excuse to mock autism as a whole is completely fucked up. we can’t win unless we fight against ALL bigotry, and that means while bigoted autistic people are acting unacceptably using ableism to combat them only helps perpetuate those systems of harm. call out the bigotry, not a person's existence. and for gods sake, stop treating “likes the owl house” as a moral failing equivalent to that like no media literacy isn’t dead bc autistic people are cringey you’re just looking for smart sounding ways to justify treating disabled people as if they’re degenerating humanity and like. treating disabled people as if they’re degenerating humanity has a history that’s pretty incompatible with like, anti fascism and fighting for equality.

[dont-post-after-midnight]

It's official this time... Warner Bros. is FINALLY getting around to making another Gremlins movie, and honestly I'm both excited and nervous. Excited for obvious reasons but nervous because, well, there just haven't been a lot of good horror movies lately and the one's that do come out all look the same. They all have that "look" to them. That and they just haven't been all that scary or interesting in my opinion. I hope they don't miss the mark on Gremlins 3 and make it super generic. That and I must say, while I do love the Gremlins animated series and am happy it came out, ideally I would have liked something a bit more aimed at adults rather than a children's show. I hope that if they make another movie, it's actually pretty violent and mature, and I hope it also focuses on the gremlins a lot more than the human characters. I think I've mentioned this in a previous post but I honestly think that the gremlins franchise as a whole would benefit a bit better focusing on the gremlins and giving them actual personalities (i.e. Gremlins 2) and having them reincarnate during each iteration, whether that be a movie or a show. Idk, maybe that's just me and what I'd like but I think the franchise might be more captivating as a whole taken in that direction. Super violent, keeping the dark comedy, while focusing more on the gremlins than human characters. Ok I'm done rambling.

[origins-cheese-wheel]

I'll be honest, I don't like the trailer of the new game.

I feel like what made DAO appealing was lost somewhere along the way. I always liked how Origins was at times almost horror-adjacent, I loved the atmosphere always conveying that The Blight was everywhere and it was a truly dangerous plague. Its aura permeated every nook and cranny of that game. At times it even gave me nightmares, that's how powerful it was.

DA 2's heart remains unmatched. Everything always felt so real and once again you could feel the darkness closing in towards the end, you were rising to the top but at what cost? You were rising to the top, losing everything along the way. Despite the rushed production it remains a fan favourite and most people I know said they could navigate Kirkwall blindfolded lol

Then came DAI...which was...alright I suppose. That's all I can say. I won't shit all over it, I'm not claiming its trash but it definitely has its problems. Huge maps, countless fetch quests and personally, I never felt a strong connection with any of the companions.

BACK TO MY ORIGINAL POINT

Based on the trailer that came out, by now the creators lost their grip on what made DAO as impactful as it was.

I sure hope the artstyle won't be the same in-game as it was in the trailer because it feels very...juvenile? I'm not saying cartoons or more stylised animation cannot be aimed towards adults but this just feels like it's not part of the same franchise as the rest of the games. It doesn't feel cohesive. It just looks like it's pandering to a demographic that shouldn't even be playing Dragon Age.

Also, I never thought I'd say this but, not everything needs to be "funny". There doesn't always need to be some overused visual gag or a "witty" one liner thrown in. I'm not saying everything has to be fully serious at all times and no fun is allowed but...this just felt, as one of my best friends put it, "Marvel-y" (derogatory ofc).

I know this is probably making me sound like a pessimistic asshole but this is just how I feel. I never had overly high hopes for this game and by now the last bit of it has been snuffed out.

Okay, that's a lie, I'm secretly hoping everything will magically turn out okay and I'll be eating my words. 😭🙏

EDIT: YES IK WHAT WE GOT IS NOT IN-GAME FOOTAGE SO THE VIBE IN THE ACTUAL GAME COULD STILL BE WAY DIFFERENT

[mask131]

Creepy and spooky cartoons of my youth (1)

I want to collect, for this Halloween season, some of the "creepy cartoons" of my youth - animated series aimed at a young audience but still about creepy and spooky stuff, and that I encountered during my childhood or teenagehood. I decided to make it a two-parters, and in this first iteration I want to share cartoons I was not particularly a fan of as a kid, or following faithfully as a teenager, but that I did regularly saw or that marked me at some point, and thus were part of a sort of "general mediatic ambiance".

Starting with one I casually watched from time to time, "Growing Up Creepie". I shared a video about it earlier. The show aired around the time I got back from school on the afternoons one specific year, so usually I got a side-look at it on TV while munching on biscuits:

Another one I casually watched without ever going fully into it, but that was an... interesting watch, was Mona the Vampire. While watching it as an adult is VERY different from watching it as a kid, I was REALLY into the whole concept of "It's just kids playing games and incorporating real-life into their imagination world". Plus I was also very much into the concept of a vampire superhero-protagonist kicking the ass of monsters.

There was "Tales from the Cryptkeeper", which I would not have known the existence of, had I not borrowed a VHS tape of it at the local library when I was a kid:

"Esprit Fantôme". This is a French cartoon that aired VERY regularly on television in my youth. I never actually really watched it... I watched trailers of it, and fragments of episodes from time to time. I know the basic cast. But it never interested me as a kid, and I never completed a full episode ever. However I still intend to get a look at it now, because I wonder what all the fuss was about and why everybody liked it back in the days.

"Petit Vampire". The iconic and famous comic book of Joann Sfar was adapted several times as animation, but I am not speaking of the recent animated movie that came out - I am speaking of the first, animated series that was aired on TV. I only ever caught glimpses of it while switching through the channels, and on very rare occasions. I thought it looked cool and interesting, but I never got info as a kid as to what the show was about or where it came from. I only re-discovered it much later, as I looked into Sfar's work and discovered he had made "Petit Vampire"

"Zombie Hotel". Another one of those European shows. I honestly would not have included it on the list... Had I not been spammed with videos of it when looking at something else on Youtube. I had ENTIRELY forgotten about the existence of this cartoon until a month ago or so, and YET when I saw it I was all "DARN THAT'S THIS SHOW I REMEMBER! I don't know what it is about or who are these people but I KNOW THEM!". I still need to re-watch it to understand what was going on.

"Oggy et les cafards". Okay with this one I am cheating a bit, because it is NOT meant to be a creepy or spooky show. It is not horror for kids, it is not horror comedy, it is meant to be fun, wholesome, cooky, goofy... But if you know this show, you will know it is one of the most famous representatives of the "deranged animations" specific to France, and I never watched this show as a kid - half because I was not interested in it and I thought the style was ugly, but also half because this show creeped me out and disturbed me so much. The strange muteness of characters existing in a town seemingly out of "Vivarium", the laws of architectures and physics bending randomly at every scene as if this was Hell rather than the real world, and the random nonsensical jokes and absurd cameos that made this world feel like... like insanity. It did NOT like it - it was basically David Lynch for kids, or at last it was perceived as such in my young brain X)

I preferred to it "Les Zinzins de l'Espace" (Space Goofs), which worked on the same absurd humor and deranged animation, but that at least conveyed well and in a sympathetic and funny way the goofy caricatures and the comedic intentions - Les Zinzins de l'Espace was a safe show, and one of my favorites ; Oggy and the Cockroaches was like a surrealist painting that left me disturbed if I tried to think for too long about it, because I felt by instinct it would give me nightmares.

Next post will be about my actual FAVORITE creepy cartoons!

[prpfz]

🐳 hi! (20f, est, she her) looking for new roleplay partners to write long-term with. i am looking to write fandoms exclusively, adults only. you can find fandoms and some canon / canon ships below!

a bit about me — i’ve been writing for about eight years, at this point. proud literate to novella writer, and i nearly always surpass the discord character limit. i am multi-muse and enjoy writing a variety of canon and original characters. i write all genders and ship types and i appreciate a variety of everything! all of this means i do not engage in roleplays where both parties play one love interest for the other, i find writing only one gender or ship type or love interest and other similar things very limiting. in fact, i absolutely adore same-sex ships and writing multiple relationships and characters in general. i explore setting, emotion, thoughts, physical body language, etcetera etcetera, in my writing. however, quantity over quality! i tend to match the writing length of those i write with. i do not shy away from media-typical themes and violence.

castlevania : dracula + lisa, sypha + trevor, annette + richter, mizrak + olrox. just finished season two of nortune and i fear i am absolutely obsessed. would love to write something that takes place before or after it and explore the ancient religions and vampirism more! i am also very familiar with the original series, but i do not tend to write anything past season two of it.

jujutsu kaisen : satoru + suguru, satoru + sukuna, toji + sukuna, nobara + maki, yuji + megumi. i unfortunately do not write mahito, mei mei or her brother, and yuta, apologies! anime only! this means we can go wild for the story that takes place after the season two finale.

demon slayer : amane + kagaya, obanai + mitsuri, giyuu + shinobu, kokushibo + muzan, douma + kokushibo, akaza + kyojuro, tengen + kyojuro, giyuu + sanemi, shinobu + misturi, obanai + sanemi, kyojuro + giyuu. i do not write zenitsu. again, anime only! that means we can go wild with the story past season four.

star wars : leia + han, jyn + cassian, hera + kanan, alexsandr + zeb, plo + kit, baze + chirrut. anakin skywalker, asajj ventress, and bo-katan kryze are characters i do not write. i have seen essentially everything but mandalorian season three and i do not plan on watching that.

lover of — chemistry, slow burn, soulmatism, reincarnation, mythology, found family, enemies to lovers, lovers to enemies, tragedy, worldbuilding, lore, magic systems, character development, complex and nuanced characters, smut (though i am much more focused on plot), and literally so much else i literally cannot write it all down.

limits — vore, feet, underarm, bathroom kinks, pregnancy horror, explicit and unnecessarily reoccurring themes of rape and torture. do not interact if you use ai. not really limits but i do not do modern / powerless / etc aus (canon-divergence is absolutely welcome). media-appropriate face-claims, please!

platform & ooc — i plot and write on discord only, and i do not use tupper. additionally, i use in private discord servers for organization. i’m typically rather active throughout the day, though i do work, and i aim to give a reply a day or once every few days at the least. do not harass me for replies. with that said, i am spam-friendly! i love talking about characters and ships, making pinterest boards, etcetera etcetera! communication is very important to me.

if you’re interested, like this ad and i’ll reach out asap! we can see if we are compatible before moving to discord!

give a like and anon will get back to you