#like... with my walls. but also? in General. but also? for a Bedroom in particular. but ALSO? kms kms kms

[sergle]

do you guys want to look at some floorboards with me. edit: okay yes you got me I was gonna Post Floorboard no matter what. but help me out here... I'm trying to choose between these. and I'm ready to start losing my mind abt it.

with it kept in mind that this is The Bedroom, the one w the green walls. and you gotta use a little imagination bc obviously the boards will be laid out brick-style and not side-by-side but still. I want to KNOW... what the people think.

also if you are so inclined... pls give me your hot take on Why you think one is better than the other. I'm collecting data over here edited: if it helps, this is the wall color, & you can get a general idea of the Look(tm) of the room

[anantaru]

DAY 26 — DEGRADATION

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — jing yuan, luocha

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, degradation, very mean, very rough as well, slight power imbalance

𖧡 — JING YUAN

"i can't believe you let yourself get fucked like that,"

jing yuan utters down on you, "yet you feel so disgustingly good," and his soulless eyes that look anything else but friendly, are pin pointed on your every reactions— although the moment that you clench around his length due to his words setting a literal fire on your wet sex, he holds back any shameful sounds for a good minute, yet his uneven breathing was giving it away, the general was enjoying this. 

you finally flutter your lashes up to look up at him, your expression drenched in a haze with his own remaining flat and distant— and a slight scare claws at your gut when jing yuan curls his palms under your knees to place them on top of his shoulders before looming his complete weight forward, on the brink of splitting you in half.

it stung a little, yes, but at least he allowed to you to take a good, deep breather before he continued— you do have to admit to yourself that it was rare for jing yuan to treat you like a human, or without any belittling undertones at that.

situations like these in particular had become a comfortably familiar norm of your usual reunions— it would always start with jing yuan calling you to his bedroom, next commanding you to remove your garments for him before he'd let you lay down on his bed, with no words said out loud, but you felt the connection in the pit of your stomach, a warm, coming-to-life tingle that couldn't be a made up or remain an imagination.

despite the fact that he fucked you senselessly, once enticed in your hot cunt he'd never stop until he hasn't filled you up with his seed at least three times in a row, and you welcome him, dearly, his fingers holding over the curve of your hips as you grind yourself into his movements, the repeated clench of your walls around his cock making him twitch violently through your ringing sensitivity.

jing yuan hung his head low and let out a heavy sigh before resting it against your forehead, rewarding you with a small smile, which was new to you but you didn't mind— right now, your body was under a lot of overloaded pleasure and a comforting flood of a hot sensation crawled up your entire body, tears and drool coveting your entire face.

"at least— ugh, you're useful for this," jing yuan mutters a curse before he fucked you harder, never releasing his cock from your tight confines until you're gritting your teeth together, forced to being pushed back against the wet mattress with both of his hands clasping around the headboard and keeping you how he wanted you to, pounding into you with increasingly harder thrusts that you're screaming at the top of your lungs, your swollen pussy feeling like on fire every time you met his cock bulging inside your cunt.

𖧡 — LUOCHA

"don't you dare waste my time," a crumbling moan flutters from your parted lips as luocha first moves his hips into you— and the moment you feel him plummet into you, you're so far gone, he didn't even try properly and you're at his mercy, as always, showing the painful truth of the situation.

"all you can think about is this, yeah?" he spat and he could only imagine how hurt you felt by his words as you frantically ache for him to fuck you already, "—how revolting,"

luocha wasn't necessarily mean to you, although he wasn't nice either. sure, he knew his way around your body and how to make you scream his name just when he felt like it, but there wasn't an inch of tenderness nor passion, it was almost like a business proposal— you show up, undress yourself and fuck him. while you do not mind and consented to this kind of relationship, you also wouldn't challenge him on changing his ways with you, with the power he supposedly held being wildly frightening to outside spectators.

even though you were burning up from being caged under a much larger person, your fear of being unable to breathe steadily was cut off by the feeling of luocha biting down on your lower lip and nibbling on the flesh as he continued thrusting into the almost suffocating heat inside of your trembling frame. the man growls in an equal amount of pain and pleasure when he felt your blunt nails dig into the flesh of his shoulders and paint him with red marks that manifested all over the scratched open skin.

his thrusts, keeping them fast and shallow, while luocha's eyes, were distant and barely looking at you— but he does enjoy it, you were a firm believer in that, there was no way he'd still be this hard and aching if he wouldn't like you at least a little bit, obviously ignoring all the times where he had been calling you filthy words out loud.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 68 (A House Fire with No Fire on Spooky Party Day?!)

While Heather and Conrad got ready for guests to arrive, Malcolm sent a few pictures of Ash dressed in his bunny costume. Going trick or treating in the building today, he reported. Heather smiled.

Glad you're all having fun, she wrote back. Civility with her son's father could be nice.

Focused on the party, Heather was determined to redeem herself after her botched attempt to throw a Spooky Day party back in high school. This time, she made sure to note it was a costume party, and all her guests confirmed they'd show up dressed accordingly!

Her youngest sister, Hazel, arrived early with her fiancee, Nicola. They were staying the night in the upstairs guestroom, excited for a short getaway on the coast before their upcoming wedding.

"The decorations look great!" Hazel gushed. "Spooky record player!"

"Does anyone smell fire?" Nicola sniffed the air. "I hate fire."

"I don't smell anything," said Conrad. The only thing he smelled was his spinach and cheese omelet.

They went about the afternoon and finished setting up for the party. Conrad left for a short walk with Gord, and the fire Nicola smelled finally materialized in the bedroom! Heather, Hazel, and Nicola ran toward the flame, screaming incoherently, until Heather finally grabbed an extinguisher and put out the blaze.

From the delayed fire, they suffered damage to a bathroom countertop, mirror, Heather and Conrad's bed, and a bedside table. A cluster of wall hangings also burned, but considering how long the flames had burned invisibly, they were grateful the damage hadn't been any worse!

(I assume the lack of a visible fire for so long was a glitch, but I'm also at a loss as to how it started. They lost a decor hairdryer in the blaze, but it doesn't even plug in. Sorry for walls down in the second shot when the fire finally showed up, but I was kinda flabbergasted!

The fire actually looks like it started in the bedroom - I thought bathroom at first, so we could blame the Scare Seeker lot trait which was on when the fire began! Also yes I bought a bassinet in anticipation before they lost the baby and it's just sitting there waiting. Didn't burn!)

They managed to replace the damaged furniture, clean up, and get changed into their costumes before guests arrived. Conrad had time to finish the spooky cookies, and Heather handed out candy to a few trick or treaters. One in particular made her smile.

"What planet are you from, Master Yoda?"

"Everyone knows Yoda's home planet has never been confirmed," scoffed the masked child. Impressed, Heather gave her extra candy.

Just like in high school, Heather painted herself blue to dress as a Twi'lek, determined this time to get at least one picture of herself for all the effort. She was all dressed up and prepping some last minute treats in the kitchen when Conrad the Sexy Mailman walked in.

"Say, there, sexy alien lady. Did you have any mail you need delivered?" He shook his hips in his tight bicycle shorts, and Heather nearly abandoned the stove to drag him to the bedroom.

"Don't tempt me. This blue paint will get everywhere."

Instead, they posed for a couple photos to send back to Malcolm.

Tell Ash we say hi. Happy Spooky Day!

Heather carved pumpkins as guests arrived, while Conrad challenged one of his coworkers to a game of chess. They'd invited all Heather's siblings, but Kris and Holly were busy with their newborn daughter, Tetra, and couldn't make it.

But Uncle Karl arrived in a gladiator suit with his husband Mortimer. "They send their love and asked us to bring home some spooky cookies and candy!"

Heather's high school friend, Dylan, arrived with her husband Gavin, and Heather greeted them with a smile. Gavin's rented spacesuit made for an awkward hug, and Dylan showed up in the same Twi'lek costume and blue body paint as Heather. "I'm so glad you could make it. And you got my text!"

"I don't know why you were afraid to wear such a revealing costume by yourself. You look great! But I have come all the way from the planet Ryloth to join you here on Simlandia for the evening's festivities. I look forward to observing human behaviour in such a strange environment."

Heather laughed. "How's life with two kids under four?"

"Way harder than life with just Pearl," said Gavin. "Whenever Darrell cries, she starts crying, too. Thank goodness her mom agreed to watch the kids tonight. If Dylan and I don't let our hair down a little, we might go insane."

"He's exaggerating...kinda. We love them, but we're happy to get out of the apartment for a while," said Dylan, sipping her Spooky Day-themed 'blood' cocktail.

River and Cass showed up with her mother Bella Goth, and Everett danced the night away with Spencer. Even Heather's parents, Daisy and Neal, stayed until late.

Taking a break from dancing to Latin Pop tunes blasting from the Grimophone, Everett joined Heather outside. She was carving a pumpkin and enjoying the temperate evening, and Heather's costume nearly knocked him over with nostalgia. "You still look incredible in blue paint. Hope you got some pictures this time."

"This was a much more successful Spooky Day party than my first attempt, thank you very much."

"You and Conrad are great hosts."

They caught one another up on their sons and laughed together in the moonlight, but after everything they'd been through, and where they were in their lives now, their high school kiss under the stars was a distant memory.

"It's funny, you and Malcolm both dressed up as pirates this year. And Malcolm Landgraab as a pirate is just...there's this old story about a pirate queen who cursed the Landgraabs," she said.

(I put Malcolm in a pirate costume on purpose, Everett just appreciates giving me symbolism with Heather's two past loves dressed in the same costume that happens to remind her of the curse she fears will harm her son!)

"I'm not a fan of Malcolm Landgraab, but I trust in the Watcher far too much to put any stock in curses."

Heather shook off the conversation. A priest couldn't talk to her about curses or raising the dead. For the first time in her life, she couldn't talk to her best friend. She glanced through the kitchen window, where Conrad was chatting with Bella Goth. These days, he was the person she could tell everything.

Before he stood to head back inside, Everett smiled. "It's nice to know you know how to throw a costume party, after all," he teased. Heather laughed to herself.

Though she'd worn the same costume as she did back in high school, she was such a different person now. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

[infamous-if]

I’m curious what the RO’s homes/bedrooms look like because I think it can tell a whole lot about someone 🤔

I'M GLAD YOU ASKED. I was actually ruminating over what Sev's room/apartment, in particular, would look like the other day.

Seven's room is very dark to me. Black walls, a lot of band posters plastered everywhere. It's a mess but an organized mess. Very much what a music enthusiast's room would look like in a 2000s teen movie lol. They've never grown out of the 'fanboy/fangirl' phase so they'd just have posters all over, they have a dresser of vintage records on one side and a mirror full of photo booth pictures and photos of their life tacked to it. Their bed is never made, mostly because Seven is always in bed when they're home. Seven has clothes strewn just about everywhere but they claim to know where everything is. A lot of ripped-out pages of scrapped out song lyrics on the floor. My imagination of Seven's songwriting process is a lot of pacing, a lot of humming. They get their best ideas while doing other stuff like cleaning and cooking. Outside of their room, their apartment is also messy with a lot of novels strewn about. Seven is very sentimental so every gift they've ever gotten is on display. Their bathroom is clean but messy; just a lot of hair products and makeup everywhere. Seven's "I just rolled out of bed" look is a stylistic choice lmao

I can imagine Sev being a very annoying neighbor to have since they always have music on and they're always singing. Seven has never actually cleaned their place quickly because of all the times they stop to have a mini concert in their living room. Seven is fun when they're alone lol

Orion's is expectantly clean and very minimalist. His room is barren, a plain black bed with a metal headboard. He always has incense burning and has an air purifier and a lot of tech. Everything is spotless and there's not anything out of place. Orion's place is a lot of dark furniture, a lot of leather, and a lot of gray and white in terms of looks. He has a large glass balcony that he likes to do work on in the mornings. I imagine him to have a large closet with all just suits on one side and just...straight up black clothes on the other. Orion isn't one to wear anything colorful. His neighbors love him and want to connect with him but Orion is not interested lol More than a few times he'd come home and just plops himself on his couch and falls asleep due to how tired he was.

Sebastian's home is large but sparsely decorated. He has a big TV to play his video games on and it's what you'd think is a stereotypical young guy's place: brown couch, some video game memorabilia, and some sports stuff. He has a huge gamer computer setup he built himself. He uses it for games and for coding and general data stuff. Sebastian likes displaying all of his goodies and stuff and he doesn't touch Maya's room, which is much like Seven's in that it's super cluttered with music stuff and posters. Sebastian's house is what a default sims house looks like: nothing stylish, just generic furniture.

Victoria and G's is luxurious that leans more to anything that they like they just toss it in there. Huuuuge with plushy colorful couches and overpriced designer furniture. OH! If anyone has seen Cara Delevigne's AD...that's what their house would look like. Just chaotic everywhere with so many knickknacks and things that it's like an assault on your every single sense. Funky wallpapers, leopard rugs. A lot of that, surprisingly, is G's doing. G was very set on designing their house. They're barely home and live mostly in hotels anyway so it doesn't really matter.

August's is pretty generic; gray walls, purple bed. They live with their family (August was supposed to live with a roommate but I changed it to better fit their route) and Clare tends to be the messy one. I would say August's room is half and half, it's pretty empty but what they do have takes up a lot of space like their drum set and their huge speakers. The house is big (August's parents are pretty well-off as politicians) and very Grecian in appearance. August doesn't have much knickknacks and things like Seven. They're pretty detached to sentimental things like that. It's a very standard room, the centerpiece definitely being their drums. They have a huge computer set up, though, like a gamer set up like Seb's but they don't use it for games lmao

[wingedshadowfan]

the 'breaking expensive glassware' scene in ninth house is so important for darlington's character (it's essentially an extension of 'the moths' scene)

first of all. he's a man of knowledge and preparedness. he believes he knows all there is to know and that makes him prepared for it. alex easily challenges that belief, breaks his rules.

“It wasn’t the ritual.” “Was it the blood?” “No. One of them grabbed me. You didn’t say that was going to happen. I—” Darlington couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re saying one of them touched you?” “More than one. I—” “That isn’t possible. I mean …” He set down his wine, ran his hands through his hair. “Rarely. So rarely. Sometimes in the presence of blood or if the spirit is particularly moved. That’s why true hauntings are so rare.” Her voice was hard, distant. “It’s possible.” Maybe. Unless she was lying.

his very obvious disbelief and distrust toward her is understandable - not only is what she's saying so incredibly unlikely, but he's also read her file. he has some surface level knowledge of her life and the state she was in when sandow recruited her. she's an uneducated, untrained, unprepared, a juvenile, an addict with no prospects (he never stops to consider how she got to that point, deems it irrelevant) who somehow wound up the only survivor at a murder scene. what incentive does he have to trust her?

His Dante, the girl he would gift with the keys to a secret world, was a criminal, a drug user, a dropout who cared about none of the things he did.

she was fortunate enough to be born with what he considers a gift - the ability to see grays - something lethe took notice of and rewarded generously. that's the only reason she's here. she has no other redeeming qualities to him, unlike each of the thousands of lethe house candidates he was supposed to review and pick from, that opportunity, that honor ripped away from him. this would've never happened, if not for her.

“You need to be ready next time. You weren’t prepared—” “And whose fault is that?” Darlington sat up straighter. “I beg your pardon? I gave you two weeks to get up to speed. I sent you specific passages to read to keep it manageable.”

she doesn't mean him in particular, but he predictably misunderstands (and i'll explain why). he's confident he did the right thing, that he did enough. he readily gave her what was most dear to him in a silver platter - his knowledge, the key to this world of mystery. partially he did it for lethe, partially he did it because he felt for her (referencing he moth scene here). he doesn't take lightly to being accused of being wrong, of having done the wrong thing. especially by a seemingly ungrateful newcomer throwing a temper tantrum after fucking up and possibly even lying about why.

“And what about all of the years before that?” Alex stood and shoved her chair back. She paced into the breakfast room, her black hair reflecting the lamplight, energy sparking off her. The house gave a warning groan. She wasn’t sad or ashamed or worried. She was mad. “Where were you?” she demanded. “All you wise men of Lethe with your spells and your chalk and your books? Where were you when the dead were following me home? When they were barging into my classrooms? My bedroom? My damn bathtub? Sandow said you had been tracking me for years, since I was a kid. One of you couldn’t have told me how to get rid of them? That all it would take was a few magic words to send them away?”

“They’re harmless. It’s only the rituals that—”

Alex grabbed Darlington’s glass and threw it hard against the wall, sending glass and red wine flying. “They are not harmless. You talk as if you know, like you’re some kind of expert.” She struck her hands against the table, leaning toward him. “You have no idea what they can do.”

“Are you done or would you like another glass to break?”

his distrust also very reasonably drives her mad. she's sick of not being believed, not being trusted her whole life - even here at lethe, where magic is a widely accepted fact, people like him, who've never had to live a day in her life, with her ability, still think they know better. she's supposed to be safe, understood, helped here. she isn't. she's only being used for lethe's agenda. and darlington? he perpetuates that fact. he's her mentor, for fuck's sake. she'd barely began to trust him when he showed her magic, when he taught her to protect herself. she must've misjudged him. he did all that for lethe, not for her, just like how he covered up the almost butchered ritual from scroll and key.

“Why didn’t you help me?” said Alex, her voice nearly a growl.

“I did. You were about to be buried under a sea of Grays, if you recall.”

“Not you.” Alex waved her arm, indicating the house. “Sandow. Lethe. Someone.” She covered her face with her hands. “Take courage. No one is immortal. Do you know what it would have meant to me to know those words when I was a kid? It would have taken so little to change everything. But no one bothered. Not until I could be useful to you.”

this is why he misunderstands. she doesn't challenge him directly, she attacks lethe, but he's taken it upon himself to assert lethe's authority, to protect its credibility and integrity from such accusations. he's embodied lethe. it's a part of who he is now. he considers himself an extension of it, its golden boy, its gentleman. so this criticism, he takes personally. but it's not about him.

Darlington did not like to think he had behaved badly. He did not like to think that Lethe had behaved badly. We are the shepherds. And yet they’d left Alex to face the wolves. She was right. They hadn’t cared. She’d been someone for Lethe to study and observe from afar.

He’d told himself he was giving her a chance, being fair to this girl who had washed up on his shore. But he’d let himself think of her as someone who had made all of the wrong choices and stumbled down the wrong path. It hadn’t occurred to him that she was being chased.

he's not a fool. he pieces it all together. he realizes she's right, she isn't lying. his blind trust in lethe prevented him from seeing it all before. her records start making sense. her anger now and her fear earlier start making sense. but that doesn't mean he's equipped to help her, to comfort her, to deal with the weight of what it all means. i imagine her sudden depth and pain must've scared him. he was raised by his grandpa who thought the solution to everything was alcohol, ice and manners. only thing darlington seems to have added to that list is breaking things. and alex seems to already be well versed in that.

After a long moment, he said, “Would it help to break something else?” She was breathing hard. “Maybe.” Darlington rose and opened a cupboard, then another, and another, revealing shelf after shelf of Lenox, Waterford, Limoges—glassware, plates, pitchers, platters, butter dishes, gravy boats, thousands of dollars’ worth of crystal and china. He took down a glass, filled it with wine, and handed it to Alex. “Where would you like to start?”

[hyuuukais]

.・゜-: ✧ :- FICTIONAL REALITY .・゜-: ✧ :-

pairing • bang chan x fem reader

synopsis • fiction or reality? y/n preferred the former, escaping into another world, escaping her problems. so what happens when reality takes that away from her; wiping her own story-in-progress off both her laptop and beloved usb? and what happens when she opens the door in the middle of a crisis to none other then the love interest of her novel... and he's holding her usb?

warnings • general, y/n is lowkey scared of storms

MASTERLIST | NEXT

CHAPTER ONE • REALITY CHECK (1.4K)

Living in a small town meant knowing everyone, and everyone being known for something. For Mrs. Yang down the street, it was her sassy attitude at the ripe age of 85 made you forget she wasn't a young lady anymore (her words). Or the Hans on the other side of town, always having something going on in that little house of theirs. At this point, they were considered daily entertainment for their neighbours or whoever else they ran into that day.

For Y/N, it was being a bit of a recluse.

Holed up for days on end doing God knows what, only leaving to go to work at the little bookshop on Main Street. People wondered what you got up to in your big house, much too big for just one person. Did you ever get lonely? Did it ever feel like too much? How in the world did someone so young manage to buy such a property?

Having lived in the town for just over a year, and working at the bookstore for a few months less, one would think you'd have made at least one friend.

Wrong.

Of course, you had regulars you'd chat with, or people around town to share a casual conversation, but no one to really hang out with. You didn't mind. All it meant was more free time to work on your novel.

Tonight, in particular, you didn't mind. Outside was dark, rain pouring and hitting your windows harshly. Thunder booms, and lightning blows up the sky. It was a wonder anyone still had power. Tornadoes weren't common to this town, but it was still a worry for you, occasionally glancing uneasily out of the window directly behind your desk.

Hunched over your laptop and typing furiously, you only flinch slightly at the next thunderclap, too invested in your own writing to pay attention to the outside world. What was out there right now that you couldn't conjure up yourself?

(...maybe a social life).

It was getting late, and knowing that you'd have to succumb to sleep soon, you save the latest draft onto your trusty USB. Like yourself, the USB had been through some shit, any design originally on it wiped clean, leaving a plain, scuffed-up silver body. Dangling off of it was a small keychain with your address written on it, just in case.

As if the universe saw you click save deciding, alright, we're in the clear, the house went dark.

"Good timing," You mutter, swiveling your chair around and preparing to get up.

Shoving your feet into some plush faux-fur slippers, you turn around to grab a long-forgotten coffee cup, illuminating the desk with your phone's light.

"Wait-" You pause, hand outstretched. "Did my laptop die? Really?"

You groan, throwing your face into the palm of your hand. Last time you checked, the battery was nearly full, and you intended to keep it that way in case sleep escaped you. It was also just a weird coincidence; your laptop dying at the same time the power went out?

Just... pure coincidence, right?

Right.

The pounding against the house draws your attention away from the mystery, shrugging it off. Creaks sound as you walk down the long hallway, toward the master bedroom. Having an old house meant being unable to walk quietly; you knew this all too well.

Hand against the wall, you feel for the doorknob to the room. Despite owning the house, it never truly felt like yours, and you still struggled with the concept of having your own bedroom again after-

"Stop that," you scold herself. "Don't think about that right now. You've done so well today."

You sigh wearily, crossing the floor and flopping onto your bed, sinking slightly into the mattress. The lightning grew more frequent, and although you lay in the comfort of your blankets, warm and safe from the outside world, unease settles in your stomach. Eventually, you struggle to sleep, but only to be plagued by visions of the past.

•

You woke in a cold sweat. Your blankets were thrown off halfway to the floor, and you gripped a pillow so tight you didn't know how it was still intact.

A headache formed under your brow bone, eliciting a groan. Carefully, you stand, taking a deep breath before moving out of the bedroom. Your morning ritual was more or less the same every day; it started with tea, a book, and feeding the stray cat that lived in the forest nearby. However, today felt off, even more so when you look into the home office to see your laptop open to the login screen.

"Didn't you die last night?" You question the air, heart pounding in your ears as you approach the seemingly haunted laptop.

But there it was- battery fully charged.

"There's no way..." You log in, face going pale.

The screen was blank.

All your files gone.

Your novel gone.

"No, no, no, no!" You shout, hands raking through your hair. "This cannot be fucking happening!"

You click everything you can, but to no avail. Nothing worked. Tears brim at the corners of your eyes. This was the second time losing your work, barely making it through the first time. But back then, you were only halfway through. Now?

All you needed was your perfect ending.

Trying to keep calm, you remember- you always keep a backup on your USB. The one that's supposed to be in your laptop. The one that's missing when you look down.

"Are you joking?" You barely choke the words out.

Panic was starting to overtake you, arms numb, chest tight, fingers gripping the edge of your desk. Calm and collected was no longer an option; you needed to find that USB and you needed to find it now. Papers flew as you ripped your desk apart in a frantic search, drawers open, stationary everywhere.

A knock on your door, barely heard over your own heavy breathing, ripped you away from your thoughts. It was only now you could see your destruction. You can't help but laugh, picturing your future self groaning at you now for making her have to clean up this mess.

You jog downstairs, ready to tell whoever it is they caught you at a bad time, but when you open the door, you're rendered speechless. Why? Because standing in front of you is a man who looks exactly like the main love interest of your novel and-

What the fuck?

"Hey!" The man holds his hand up. "Sorry to bug, but I found this while cleaning up last night. I always see you with your laptop, so I figured it was pretty important to return asap."

He holds his palm out to you, and sitting in the center is your missing USB.

"How did you..." You grab it from him hesitantly, confusion written all over your face.

"I gotta get going to open, see you around?" With his final words, he smiles and waves goodbye, descending the front steps before you can reply.

Baffled, you shut the door, trying to process what just happened.

"How is that possible- that's literally not possible," you speak to yourself, voice barely above a whisper. "He's... no way? Nuh-uh. I have to be dreaming."

But you're not- after hours of your master plan to fall back asleep and wake up in the real world fails, you finally accept it. Somehow there's a man walking around town you've never noticed before who's exactly like the love interest you created (right down to the Australian accent!) and somehow he acquired your USB during the night and-

Wait.

"The USB!" You nearly shout, covering your mouth.

You rush into the other room where you're laptop sits in sleep mode. After clicking a few buttons, it turns back on, and you're quick to plug your usb in. Anticipation runs through your veins as the folder pops up.

"No," you breath, defeated, shoulders sagging. There's a document, but it's not your novel.

Although it's not what you're looking for, the document piques your interest. It's labeled "OPEN ME!" and you, being you, click on it. Yeah, it could have been a virus, or just something gross, but hey. After everything? How could you resist? The document loads, showing a mostly blank page save for one sentence in the middle;

"CALL HIM! XXX-XXX-XXXX."

And when you open your phone, he's already in your contacts.

"Cafe guy?"

•▪︎•▪︎•

notes • first chapter 🙊 i can't wait to write & share more of this story !!!!!!!! :)

taglist • @yongbbokkie

TAGLIST CLOSED

[dcficrecs]

I'm A Good Pretender - Chapter 2: I Got Lots Of Problems

By shipNslash on AO3

My last post was an excerpt from the first chapter of this fic. I've finished it now and I like most of it, but there's something in Chapter 2 that I just have to talk about. This whole fic is a Robin origin story. It has seven chapters, so it drawfs in comparison to the 'Firework' fic by paganpunk2 on fanfiction.net (I posted about that too, maybe my favorite fanfic ever). Still, I really like it. It's written with excerpts from days. It starts with day zero, where Dick's parents are killed and Bruce comforts him. Day one is him meeting Alfred at the orphanage, and it goes all the way to day 262, where Commissioner Gordon meets Robin.

Anyway, in this particular excerpt, Dick is scheming to sneak out of Wayne Manor and kill Tony Zucco himself, and has to guilt trip Bruce in order to be alone long enough to escape even though he feels bad about it. He likes Bruce, but he isn't quite a father figure to him, yet. Dick has inherited Bruce's old bedroom, something very sentimental to Bruce. The excerpt starts with Bruce giving a tour of his old room. Bruce also gave Dick a note, saying to ring the service bell when he wakes up. He does, and it calls Bruce to his room. Dick keeps the note in his pocket. Also, a slight trigger warning for mentions of sexual abuse against a child.

So Bruce awkwardly shows Dick around the cavernous bedroom. The dresser is full of generic clothes in his size and Bruce promises they can get his stuff from their trailer later today and go shopping soon for anything he's missing. He shows him how to work the computer at the desk and the TV on the wall, and even points towards the staff lift at the end of the hallway that will take him directly to the kitchen. The bathroom is in the bedroom and almost as huge, with a sink and toilet and a big shower/bathtub combo already filled with a bunch of different soaps.

"I wasn't sure what you'd need," Bruce mumbles when Dick comments on the variety. "We have different hair types."

That's…surprisingly thoughtful, Dick thinks, and Bruce's folded note feels like it's burning a hole in his pocket.

He ignores the guilt and smiles. "Thanks, Bruce. I appreciate it."

"I want you to be comfortable here," Bruce whispers back, even quieter than normal.

Dick pushes the guilt down, down, down. Now is as good a time as any and Bruce is already uncomfortable. Now if Dick can just get him to leave…

(Never talk about sex, Mama always says, grown ups hate when kids even mention sex.)

"What about rules?" Dick asks, pitching his voice a little higher and widening his already big eyes just a little bit bigger. "One of the older boys at the detention center said rich people only foster kids to warm their beds. I don't know what that means, but I'll try, if you teach me."

And bingo.

Bruce's pale skin goes practically gray and he flinches back until he's outside of the bathroom. "That- No, I- You won't ever-"

"Did I say something wrong?" Dick asks, adding in a small sniffle and not letting up on the eye contact. (He's already learned that Bruce Wayne hates eye contact.)

The man is still backpedaling, now well to the hallway. "No! No. I'll… see you at breakfast." When he steps out of the room, his shoulders sag. "Kitchen. Eight." And then he's gone, latching the door shut behind him.

Dick sighs and flops against the bed. That was almost too easy. He feels… kinda bad.

Still. Eight o’clock. That's just over three hours, according to the clock on the wall.

"Alright," he mumbles to himself and carefully rocks to his feet. "Like Mama says, make a list."

So, he does.

Stretch my poor, atrophying muscles

Shower off the scent of the detention center

Find out where Haly's went

Sneak out

Catch and murder Tony Zucco

Run away to (re)join the circus 

There, that doesn't seem hard now that he's made a list- Mama's always right.

Something about "I don't know what that means, but I'll try if you teach me," is literally so well written. Obviously, gross, but Dick using something that makes Bruce obviously uncomfortable to his advantage against Bruce is so Dick coded. Dick absolutely knew what it meant and purposefully used it to horrify Bruce. Guilt tripping Bruce Wayne is so easy, as long as you're Dick Grayson. He's a little gremlin and I love it. Also, the list he makes is adorable, literally went from zero to a hundred real quick.

[aero-dienamics]

Generation Loss || The Ler of the Cabin

PART 2.

Summary: As Ranboo continues exploring the cabin, he finds a new friend. He helps him escape in hopes of leaving this place together.

Word Count: 3823

TW: Swearing ????

Authors Note: GAHHH DAMN !!! Thanks for all the support!!! My like goal for each fic will probably be about 35 likes in 3 days to keep me going!!! I just didn’t expect you guys to like the first one so much

Fair warning, this fic is VERY lee!sneeg heavy for no reason in particular.

Part 1

⚠️ This is a sfw tickle fic!! ⚠️

———

Finally, back on track.

Now that the Slime man was gone, Ranboo could continue his search for some exit. He took a deep breath to steady himself after the encounter. Since he now regained free roam of the cabin, he decided to take a good look at the gameshow room. The first thing Ranboo checked out was the walls. He somehow never noticed that they were covered in slime, making the room feel even more claustrophobic. He looks up to see the ceiling also covered in gunk. That's just unnecessary.

Shaking off the disgust, he continued to walk around, finding more slime-covered objects and eventually just an entire jar of slime. Ranboo knew he would throw up if he looked at anything else. He was desperate to find a way out of this strange place. As he walked to the room's exit, he saw another door in the corner of his eye. Ranboo decided to go up to it, quickly inspecting it. Thankfully, there wasn't any goo on it.

"I might as well," He sighed, slowly turning the doorknob and opening the door.

Stepping through the door led Ranboo into yet another new area, but this time it looked more like the cabin's main room. It was a type of storage room, but the only items in there were antique kid's toys. "What the hell? What is this place?"

With nothing else to do and nowhere else to go, he decided to look around. The first item that catches his eye is an old dollhouse. Its presence felt oddly familiar to him. He walked around to the front of it to see a normal-looking house. Something about it seems familiar to him. In the bedroom of the dollhouse, there was a small lock. It was closed, which isn't helpful, but Ranboo puts it in his pocket anyway.

His curiosity was piqued, and he continued to check the corners of the room, finding creepy dolls and a lot of cobwebs. He even finds a white towel on one of the shelves. Considering the room's dirty, the towel was surprisingly clean, so he took it.

The last object he found was a letter opener. For something that opens notes, it was surprisingly sharp. With that, his pockets were completely full. Ranboo was about to press on with his search, but something unexpected happened.

"Yo, yo, wait, who is that?"

Ranboo turned around quickly at the sudden noise he just heard. He thought he was alone.

"Hello?" Both Ranboo and the voice called out at the same time, both equally confused. Ranboo initially thought it was the Slime Demon, but the tone of this person's voice was different. It had a much softer edge to it.

"Where are you?" Ranboo questioned, trying to pinpoint the source of the voice.

"Duh, I'm in here," The voice said very matter-of-factly.

"That's not very helpful…"

"You know, the cage in the corner, there's a tarp…"

"Cage…?" Ranboo slowly pinpoints the source of the voice to a small cage in the corner of the room. He removes the tarp to see another person. It wasn't the slime demon; it was someone entirely different. It was a man in a blue and white hoodie and a grey ballcap. He seemed friendly enough.

"How the hell were you looking all the way over there?" The man spoke in a semi-annoyed tone. Ranboo shrugged.

"I don't know, I don't have a good sense of direction. Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Sneeg, nice to meet you," Sneeg smiled happily, sticking his pinky through the grates of the cage for Ranboo to shake.

Ranboo hesitantly and carefully shook Sneeg's pinky. The masked man tried to smile back with his eyes, but it was obvious he was nervous. "You as well. I'm Ranboo. Have you been trapped in there all by yourself?"

Sneeg chuckled nervously. "What? No, I'm not alone in here. Don't you see my friend Frank here?" Sneeg pointed to the skeleton next to him.

Ranboo raised an eyebrow, observing the lifeless skeleton. "You mean that skeleton right there?"

"Skeleton? What are you talking about? Frank is very much alive," Sneeg said, picking up his skeleton 'friend.'

"He looks dead."

Sneeg gasped at Ranboo's audacity, covering Frank's 'ears' to shield him from Ranboo's harsh words. "Shhhh, he's very self-conscious."

"Frank… that name is so familiar. I think that slime guy killed him."

Sneeg's eyes widened. That was probably the most appropriate and only response to a mention of that man's name. "Slimecicle? You interacted with him too?"

Ranboo is slightly glad he isn't the only victim. "Yeah? What'd he do to you?"

"Well, he made me play this game show, and when I got the first question wrong and spun the wheel, I got tickled for a day straight. Then he put me in this cage because I passed out."

"Jesus Christ. That's horrible."

"Hey, it could be worse."

"What could be worse than getting attacked and then being put in a cage?"

"Being put in two cages."

Ranboo let out a half-hearted chuckle, feeling the weight of their shared experiences. "Yeahhh, alright, cool. I'm gonna try and get you outta here." Ranboo backed away from the cage and knelt down to the lock that was holding Sneeg. The only things he has in his pockets are the three keys he 'used' to enter the last room, a letter opener, and a lock. He initially tried using the keys, but when that didn't work, he just started yanking on it. "No, that didn't work... uhm."

"I don't know what to do. All I have is this lock." Ranboo pulled out the lock he found earlier, swinging it around his finger before presenting it to Sneeg.

"Wait, what kind of lock do you have?"

Ranboo looked down at the lock, squinting at the label. "It says it's a master lock."

"What kind of lock is on my door?"

"… A master lock as well."

"Just kind of slam them together. The easiest way to open a master lock is with another master lock."

Ranboo shrugged and complied, having no faith that this'll actually work. He used all his strength to smash the lock on the cage with the other lock. To his surprise, the lock opened and fell to the ground.

"I'm surprised that worked." Ranboo slowly got up before opening Sneeg's cage. "Be free."

"Eh, I'm too scared to go first. Frank, you gotta test the waters for me." Sneeg picked up Frank and pushed him closer to the exit.

"I swear to you, it's fine, just come out."

Sneeg ignored Ranboo and threw Frank out of the cage, looking around to see if anything was going to attack him. "Frank! Is it safe?"

This whole ordeal made Ranboo realize he just found another eccentric person. "… I think everywhere is safe for Frank."

After a few seconds, Sneeg finally decided to join Frank, slowly stepping out of the cage and taking a deep breath of freedom. He turned to Ranboo with a grateful smile. "Thanks, man. I was stuck in there for so long."

The man stretched his body before picking Frank back up and holding him in his arms like an Amazon box. For being locked away for god knows how long, The man looked surprisingly well-kept. He didn't have an odor and he didn't look dirty. Well, at least he wasn't covered in slime.

"So, how long have you been in there?" Ranboo asked, expecting Sneeg's answer to be a short period of time.

"A month or 6," Sneeg said nonchalantly, acting like it was normal.

"What."

"Yep. I've just been chilling in there with Frank," Sneeg responds, putting Frank on a little toy horse in the room. "Don't tell Frank this, but if you didn't come sooner I would've ate him to survive."

Ranboo nods slowly, no longer feeling safe around the new person he found. ".. ok… I'm gonna look for more items… you... do you…" He said as he slowly walked to the other corner of the room to pretend to look at stuff.

Sneeg notices a giant box in the middle of the room, opening it and looking inside. "Why is there such a big box in the corner of the—"

"AHA!!" Slimecicle pops out of the box in the corner clumsily and awkwardly. Ranboo yelps and Sneeg looks at him in surprise. How long was he in there? Ranboo didn't see him come in, so he either just appeared, or he had to be in there for a while.

"I see you've fallen for the oldest trick in the book! AHAH.. ehh, hold on.” He looks at himself in proximity to Sneeg, realizing that he can't reach him.

"Uh, can you come a little closer, Sneeg? I need you to stand right here on this inconspicuously marked X."

"Oh, no problem!" Sneeg said happily, taking a big step closer to the slime demon. Ranboo looks absolutely befuddled.

"Thanks. NOW YOU'VE FALLEN FOR THE OLDEST TRICK IN THE BOOK! PREPARED TO BE SLIMED, SNEEG!"

"AHHH!" Sneeg screams, but he doesn't run; he doesn't even make an attempt to move. Ranboo is clearly signaling for Sneeg to get out of there, but it's like he isn't paying attention. Ranboo felt semi-responsible for the man he had just let out of a cage, but he didn't know what to do.

"I gotta get extra goopy for this," Slimecicle said, shaking his hands quickly. After a while, the amount of slime on his hands became noticeably more prominent, and it looked greener.

Slimecicle reaches his extra slime hands up to Sneeg's neck before spidering his fingers across his sensitive skin. Sneeg immediately and scrunched up his neck.

“Ohoho my gohohod, gross!” Sneeg reaches up to Slimecicle's hands to try and pull him away, but all that does is get more slime on him.

Slimecicle scoffs, pretending to look hurt. "You guys are so rude. Calling me gross. You deserve this!"

“Fuhuhuck, Ihihim SOHOHORRRY!!” Sneeg's laughter raises an octave in surprise as Slimecicle's hands move down to Sneeg's shoulders, squeezing and pinching them to his heart's delight.

"WELCOME TO THE GHOULDOM! YES!" Slimecicle manically laughed like an evil villain as he continued to tickle Sneeg.

Ranboo doesn't wanna watch, but he can't look away. It was highly flustering to watch, especially since he imagined how it would feel if it happened to him.

“RAHAHANBOO, A LIHIHITTLE HELP?” Sneeg reached out to Ranboo, allowing Slimecicle to sneak his hand under Sneeg's armpit and start quickly and gently scratching his fingers on his soft skin. This caused Sneeg to throw his head back in ticklish agony.

Ranboo quickly backed away, adverting his gaze and avoiding the situation. “Nooo… sorryy…. No thank you."

Slimecicle shook his head in disappointment. "What an asshole. Can't believe you wanna help that guy. I can fix that, though!"

Ranboo felt terrible for not helping Sneeg but didn't want to get involved. He thought if he kept his distance and maybe ran in a few seconds, he'd be fine. But before he could finish contemplating his bail, Slimecicle let Sneeg go. Fortunately, Sneeg looked the same (except he was now covered in a bunch of slime), but there was something different about him. Something off.

"What did you do to Sneeg?" Ranboo questioned, trying to sound intimidating. His tone just came off as fearful.

“Sneeg is no more, Ranboo! This is EVIL Sneeg!”

The only thing that made Evil Sneeg different from regular Sneeg was that his hat was now backward.

"GET HIM, SNEEG!" Slimecicle cheered Sneeg on, looking happy and proud of himself.

"Hey, buddy? What're you doing?" Ranboo's voice quivers as he takes a step back, a wary expression on his face. Sneeg, a mischievous glint in his eyes, wiggles his fingers at Ranboo, sending a shiver down his spine. Before Ranboo can protest any further, Sneeg pounces on him with surprising agility.

Ranboo's protests turn into muffled laughter as Sneeg begins to kneed his fingers into Ranboo's ribs. He squirms and wriggles, desperately trying to escape the relentless onslaught. "Sneheheeg! Snahahap OUT ohof ihihit!!" Ranboo's words come out in gasps between bouts of uncontrollable laughter.

But Sneeg, under the influence of the slime, seems impervious to Ranboo's pleas. He smirks, his fingers dancing across Ranboo's sensitive ribs.

"Sneeg can't hear you, Ranboo! He's under the influence of my slime!" Slimecicle exclaims with an evil laugh, his voice dripping with mischief and amusement.

Ranboo's laughter mixes with frustration as he struggles against Sneeg's relentless tickles. "Why ahahahare you soho strohohong??" He manages to giggle out, his breath hitching with each ticklish sensation. No matter how much Ranboo pushed on Sneeg, he wasn't strong enough to push Sneeg off of him.

Sneeg's grin widens, enjoying the playful power he holds over Ranboo. "Why are you so weak?" he teases, his fingers precisely finding every ticklish spot. Eventually, Sneeg's fingers found their way to a place that Ranboo couldn't seem to avoid: his belly. Ranboo tries to protect himself, but Sneeg's fingers easily slip under his defenses and onto Ranboo's belly, slowly tracing little circles on Ranboo's skin.

The tickling continues, unabated, as Ranboo's pleas grow louder and more desperate. "SNEHEHEHEEG! GEHEHEHET AHAWAY!!" His voice strains with both laughter and a plea for mercy.

"No can do, Ranboo!" Sneeg replies, his laughter intertwining with Ranboo's. Ranboo grabbed his towel from earlier and began wiping the slime off his head and shoulders. It was a bit hard to concentrate, but eventually, Ranboo got enough goo off of Sneeg to make him stop.

Ranboo sighed in relief as Sneeg sat up, looking confused. He flipped his hat back around, turning to the slime demon.

"NO, HE'S TOO DRY!" Slimecicle cried out in dismay. He looked over at the edge of the box and down at Sneeg. "How do you feel, Sneeg?" Slimecicle questions.

Sneeg shrugs and gets off Ranboo. "Fine."

Slimecicle rolls his eyes and sinks back into the box. "Shit."

Ranboo pats Sneeg on the shoulder. "Glad to have you back, Sneeg," He says before noticing how much slime was on Sneeg's shoulder. He just kind of wiped it off on his pant leg.

Slimecicle, who was looking disappointed, sat awkwardly in his box.

"Can you close the box?" He asked sheepishly.

"Oh, yeah," Sneeg complied, closing the box on the demon.

"I'LL GET YOU NEXT TIME!" Slimecicle calls out as his voice fades away.

Ranboo chuckles and shakes his head. "He said that last time, and he still hasn't gotten us."

"So, what now?" Sneeg says, shrugging.

Ranboo thinks for a second, "I guess we try to find a way out of here. The only door that I haven't opened is that side door up front."

"Then let's go."

Ranboo leads Sneeg back through the rooms of the cabin before arriving in the room he originally woke up in. They stop at the chained up door, stuck on what to do next.

How are we gonna get these chains off this door?" Sneeg pondered, his fingers running along the cold metal links. The chains seemed impenetrable, their presence a barrier to their escape.

Ranboo joined him, studying the chains with a thoughtful expression. As he reached out to touch them, an unexpected surge of energy flowed through his fingertips, causing the chains to crumble and fall to the ground with a resounding clatter. "Oh, well I guess that worked out," he remarked, a mixture of surprise and relief evident in his voice.

With the obstruction removed, they pushed open the door, revealing a dimly lit bedroom beyond. The room exuded an eerie ambiance, with antique furniture draped in faded fabrics and shadows dancing along the wooden walls. A picture of what appears to be the slime demon was hanging on the wall. Sneeg stepped cautiously inside, taking in the peculiar atmosphere. "Oh. It's a bedroom?" he mused, his voice laced with uncertainty.

Ranboo followed suit, his eyes scanning the room's decor. "I wasn't expecting this," he admitted, his gaze lingering on an ornate mirror hanging on the wall. Its reflective surface seemed to hold secrets, whispering enticingly of hidden mysteries.

Sneeg's attention was drawn to another peculiar feature of the room. "Does that wall look real to you?" he asked, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the smooth surface before them. It appeared almost too perfect, devoid of imperfections or cracks.

"No, not really," Ranboo replied, his curiosity piqued. He rummaged through his pockets and produced a letter opener, its gleaming blade catching the dim light. "Here, I found this letter opener earlier. Maybe we can use it to slice it open," he suggested, extending the tool towards Sneeg.

Sneeg hesitated, a touch of concern in his voice. "Do we have to cut his wall, though? That seems rude," he voiced his reservations, mindful of the potential consequences.

Ranboo's response was firm, laced with determination. "He locked you in a cage, Sneeg!"

Sneeg groaned, hesitatingly taking the letter opener from Ranboo. "I don't want him to be super mad, though," he admitted, a hint of worry tugging at his features.

"Just cut the wall, Sneeg!" Ranboo urged, his voice betraying a sense of urgency and impatience.

"Ok, ok, jeez. You don't have to yell at me," Sneeg replied with a playful pout, accepting the responsibility. He took a deep breath, steadying his hand, before guiding the letter opener's blade towards the seemingly illusionary wall.

The blade made contact with the wall, and with a swift motion, Sneeg sliced through the deceptive surface. A split-second of anticipation hung in the air before their eyes widened in awe and disbelief.

"It looks like nothing's in there—OH MY GOD," Sneeg exclaimed, his voice a mix of astonishment and terror. A monster suddenly emerged from the darkness, grabbing him from behind. "HELP ME!"

"WHAT IS THAT?! IS THAT A SHARK? Maybe it's a pickle? No, it looks more like a lobster…" Ranboo's bewildered voice interjected, attempting to make sense of the horrifying sight before him. His words, a mix of confusion and nervousness, betrayed his attempt to cope with the terrifying situation unfolding in front of him.

"YOU'RE NOT BEING HELPFUL RIGHT NOW!" Sneeg's voice trembled with a mix of fear and frustration, his plea for assistance growing more urgent.

"SORRY! Sorry! What do you want me to do?" Ranboo stammered, his voice laced with anxiety as he struggled to gather his thoughts and find a solution.

"I don't know, just try and get me Ohohut- RAHAHANBOO!!" Ranboo was confused why Sneeg was suddenly giggling, but he looked down at the monsters hands to see they were poking all over Sneeg’s belly.

"Oh god, is it—of course it is." Ranboo immediately turned around and looked away, pretending to not notice the fact that the monster was tickling Sneeg right in front of him.

"Ranbohohoo, help me!!"

In a panic, Ranboo stammered, trying to convince himself that leaving was the right decision. "Nooo… I'm- I'm good. You got it. I'm gonna go!! I'm totally gonna go get help!" Ranboo says, giving Sneeg a thumbs up as he backs up.

"RAHAHANBOO! DON'T LEHEHEAVE ME HEHEHERE!"

"You totally got this!!" Ranboo's words, though intended to be encouraging, held a hint of self-doubt as he made a hasty retreat, leaving Sneeg on his own. He sped walked back into the main room, letting Sneeg's screams of laughter leave his ears until it finally faded away.

Ranboo was fine, but he felt wrong for leaving Sneeg alone with a monster. This was the second time he turned his back on him, and he didn't want to do it again. "I feel bad. maybe I should go back…." Ranboo then slowly steps back into the room he left Sneeg in, ready to face anything that might be in there. Yet, there was nothing.

"Sneeg? Helloo?" He called out, hoping for a response. Ranboo was met with nothing but silence. He looked at the hole in the wall, seeing no one around. Despite his better judgment, he walks into it.

"Sneeg…?" He calls out one last time. But, instead of finding Sneeg, he sees another familiar face sitting in a chair in front of him. Ranboo knew precisely who it was. "Ahhh, Jesus."

Slimecicle got up and turned to the other. It was apparent he was seething with anger and hate. "YOOU. You made a gross-ass hole in my wall. You fucked with my- my sharkiklester."

Ranboo tried to defend himself, his voice tinged with exasperation. "I didn't hurt it! But jeez, that thing needs to be put in a cage."

"A cage, huh?" Slimecicle scoffed, beginning to walk towards Ranboo with ferocity. "When I'm done with you, I'm gonna put YOU in a cage. AND THEN MAYBE I'LL PUT YOU IN ANOTHER CAGE!"

"Yeah, I'm not doing this again." Ranboo began to walk away, but Slimecicle grabbed him by his shirt.

 "I don't think you have a choice."

Ranboo pushes the demon off of him before wiping some slime off of him. "Look, Slimecicle, I'm not trying to fight you right now."

"That's all too bad, isn't it?? Get over here!"

Ranboo tries to protect himself, but it was too late; Slimecicle had Ranboo in his slimy clutches. Ranboo almost immediately started squirming around, knowing too well about what’s about to happen next.

"Please, I can't do this again!"

"You should've thought of that before you fucked with me!" Slimecicle then began digging his fingers into Ranboo’s armpits.

“Wahahait! Dohohon’t!” Ranboo started giggling as soon as the Slime Demon touches him, not being able to contain his laughter from everything he’s experienced today.

"You should be lucky I'm not covering you in Slime!"

“Thihis is juhuhust as bahahad!” Ranboo started thinking of ways to save himself, but his train of thought was suddenly cut off by a bunch of fingers poking at his lower back. “GAHAHAHA! WHAHAHAT THE HEHEHELL??”

"Oh! That's a new spot! I didn't think this spot would be that bad for you, but here we are!" Slimecicle says proudly before quickly scribbling his fingers against Ranboo’s back.

"FUHUHUCKING STOP!" Ranboo squeals through a mix of cackles and snorts.

"Oh, now you're cursing? How out-of-character of you." The Slime Demon says smugly, not letting up in the slightest.

Through all Ranboo’s struggling, the towel he had earlier started slipping out of his pocket. A great idea rushed to his head. In one swift motion, he grabbed his towel and started wiping the slime off of Slimecicle, making sure not to miss a single spot.

“AUGHH DAMN IT!” Slimecicle screamed, releasing his grip on Ranboo as he did so. The masked man didn’t stop for one second. He kept going until the demon was no more; Slimecicle was now just a green stain on a towel.

"I think… I killed a man.” Ranboo said in a shaky breath, laying on the ground. “Thank god."

[bettermiya]

Through the Wall

Pairing: Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader

Inspired by @ninefuckingoneone's comment! It's an honor!

WC: 2.6k Triggers: Kidnapping, Physical Violence, Non-Consensual Touching, Bondage, Stalking, Light Alcohol Drinking / Yandere adjacent. MDNI.

Summary: The man of your dreams is closer than you think. Horror!AU. The Boy!AU.

The job ad boasted an unbelievable salary, which included all expenses paid with a separate allowance, and you would be living with the family in a beautiful old house in the country. Apparently, groceries were delivered from a nearby village and the delivery person had agreed - thanks to generous tips from the house’s owners - to also bring up food from the local restaurants. The whole thing sounded a little too good to be true, but after months of job searching, you were growing pretty desperate. So, while questionably sober and despairing, you decided to send along your resume.

You woke to a response the next day asking for a time you could do a phone interview. Everything was a bit of a blur after that. You did the interview over the phone - the questions ranged from the normal to bizarre (“Do you have any children or family obligations that might prevent you from living onsite and being on call?” “Will you sign an NDA?”). You even did a follow up interview in person at a local cafe with a weathered looking, but well put together looking older gentleman, who claimed to be the owner of the house and the father of the child in question. He seemed a bit old to have a child of an age to need a live-in nanny, but who were you to judge? Especially when the money and benefits were so good. He meticulously went over the duties, reiterated the salary and allowances, stressed that anything you could want would be provided, and reminded you that the job required you to stay at the house at all times except Sunday, which would be your only off day.

Even after going through all of this, it didn’t become real to you until you were in the gentleman’s car with your suitcases thumping in the trunk, cutting through a thick barrier of trees down a long and winding drive. The car passed through a large iron gate that closed after you passed through, up and up to the circular drive in front of the giant country estate. The gentleman gave you a tour of the grounds, the garden in the back was of particular interest to you as a place where you could retreat in the warmer months.

He led you inside, showed you around the labyrinthine halls and the massive rooms- including a parlor, a library, kitchen, game room, and other rooms that had strange, old fashioned names and purposes that you immediately forgot. There was apparently a large basement and attached wine cellar that could be accessed through a door in the kitchen and an attic accessed through a pull down ladder that unfolded from the ceiling in one of the upper floor hallways. The second floor was nothing but halls and bedrooms. He showed you the door to the room of the child you would be taking care of, which was marked with a carved tree with sprawling roots and your room which had a carving of wildflowers. Apparently, these were the only areas upstairs you would need access to aside from the linen closets.

This was all things you had been expecting. What you were not expecting was the doll.

“This is Hajime Iwaizumi. My son.”

It was a life sized doll of a child that looked about six years old, carved from very soft wood. A detailed, sweet face was painted on the doll’s head and soft dark hair was carefully arranged in a short spiked style. The hair was disconcerting; it felt very much like real hair. The doll wore what looked like a school uniform with a blazer, little shorts, knee high socks, and shiny little shoes. You waited a long time in silence, staring at the doll, resigning yourself to the fact that this was likely some kind of television show prank.

It wasn’t. You were introduced to the doll. You were given a schedule you and the doll had to adhere to. You decided, in a haze of confusion and shock, to sign the contracts. After the first month of nannying a wooden doll, the gentleman and his lovely wife told you they would be leaving to return to their apartment in the city. You would have full run of what they called their ‘country home’ and their numbers in case of emergencies, but they would be going back to their separate jobs. You felt a little nervous about being in the giant, quiet house alone, but on the other hand, it was just you and a doll and sometimes the delivery person.

You agreed, and it was probably just because you were alone in the house that strange things started happening. You lost one of your shirts at some point between your laundry basket and the dryer. The house made strange noises from the walls, which the owners had claimed were caused by the pipes and HVAC systems, but they sounded an awful lot like footsteps and breathing sometimes.

Once you woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and thought you saw a figure silhouetted against one of the windows at the end of the hall. You screamed and ducked into one of the rooms, but when you finally gathered the courage to peek back into the hall, you saw it was only the curtains fluttering. The window was apparently opened a crack, enough to let the night breeze in. You closed it and locked it.

By far the strangest thing you noticed was that food seemed to be disappearing faster than you were eating it. One Saturday night, you bought yourself a pizza. You distinctly remember putting the box with a few pieces left into the fridge for the next day, but Sunday when you opened the box, it was empty. You did get a little tipsy that night on light alcoholic drinks you were able to coax the delivery person into bringing with the orders, but surely it wasn't enough to cause you to forget eating the rest of the pizza. Right?

You still keep up the doll’s routine. You feel ridiculous, but it would have been wrong to take the family’s money without doing the job you had been hired to do. You dress the doll. You take the doll for walks outside in a little wooden wagon. You read out loud to the doll in the library. You play music loudly (always loudly, they were firm about this, speak loudly, play the music loudly, as if the doll were hard of hearing). You take your meals with the doll. (Yes, you had to make a portion of the meal for the doll, set a plate of food in front of the doll, then scrape the food into a compost bin afterwards. They were firm about this as well. Sometimes, you leave the room to do something and come back to find the plate empty, but you don't like to think too hard about that.)

It has been three months. You are well into your routine, and, at the end of the day, your life is rather peaceful. You just finished tucking the doll in for the night and decided to take a long, relaxing bath in the antique, clawfoot tub. You lean back your head against the back of the tub, taking in the scents of the candles you lit on the counter and the bath salts you poured into the steaming water before you got in. It is quiet and peaceful. You have headphones in so that you do not hear the strange noises from the walls or the general settling of the house.

Your music is not too loud, but loud enough that as you lay there in the tub, dozing, you do not hear the footsteps.

You don’t notice another presence in the room at all until you feel something brush against your scalp. You lift your hand, thinking with some small jolt that perhaps an insect had crawled in while you weren’t paying attention- this is a country house after all- but what you feel surprises you. Your fingers intertwine with someone else’s. A hand is resting on the top of your head; someone’s fingers slide away from yours and comb through your wet hair. The touch is a little rough, and despite your shock and effort to remain very still in case they did not notice you notice them, you give a little squeak when their fingers snag in a tangle of your hair.

Your hands cover your mouth. The hand freezes. After a few, tense heartbeats, you feel the hand return to combing through your hair. When it reaches the tangle again, the person’s other hand presses to your scalp, holding down to keep your hair from pulling as they work out the tangle. You are trembling in the tub, trying to decide whether it is better to remain still or if you should try to bolt. But the figure is so close, and it would take precious seconds to stand and step over the rounded edge of the tub, seconds in which the intruder could grab your arm or hair and pull you back.

A thick, calloused hand slides to your shoulder and dips beneath the water; the tips of rough, dirty fingers with broken nails slide over your clean skin, leaving smudges in their wake. You feel a hot breath against your cheek. They are leaning over your other shoulder, breathing onto the coil of your ear and down the side of your neck. You can’t take it anymore. You grab the edges of the tub and launch yourself up onto your feet. Your shoulder bangs against the figure’s chin, and they grunt, more out of frustration than pain.

You manage to throw a leg over the edge of the tub, but as you are shifting your weight to swing the other out so you can run, you slip. You fall out of the tub, banging your knee and elbows as you go down. Pain explodes through your left knee, which took the brunt of your weight when you hit the tiled floor, and you cry out. You’re screaming now, because you’ve remembered screaming is what you should be doing. You can hear the heavy footsteps approaching from behind you, slowly. Then a sound echoes through the halls and both your scream and the intruder’s footsteps go silent.

The doorbell.

You remember now. You had called in a food delivery before getting in the bath. Something from that Italian place you like and wine. You had been planning to be freshly washed and smelling of your body spray and shampoo when you opened the door. You were going to flirt with the cute delivery person, invite them inside… With renewed purpose, you scramble to your feet and dash out of the bathroom into the hall. The intruder must have been surprised by your speed, you think, because the heavy footsteps take their time to follow you. Maybe the intruder is debating whether to stay or flee now that someone else is here.

The delivery person has saved your life, you think. You’re going to give them the biggest tip of their life. You practically launch yourself down the stairs and skid across the foyer. You’re naked and dripping with water and suds, but you don’t care. You fling open the door and find the delivery person standing there with your food and a bottle of wine. Their face goes through the gamut of emotions before settling on deep discomfort. Perhaps they had known your intentions, but this is coming on too strong. They open their mouth to speak, but you see the color drain from their face as their eyes drift slowly over your shoulder to stare at something behind you.

“We have to go!” You say quickly, not daring to look back. “There’s someone–”

You reach for their hand, but they take a step back. The fear on their face is slowly draining away into something like disappointment. They remain there in the doorway, blocking your exit, but they don’t seem to be moving to help either. The footsteps are right behind you now. Your blood is roaring in your ears. A powerful arm wraps around your middle; the other around your chest. The intruder’s face presses into the top of your head. The delivery person sighs. “Do you need help getting her back in, sir?”

You couldn’t have heard that correctly. The person behind you rumbles. The delivery person averts their eyes. “Sorry, sir. Do you want me to bring the food for you?” Suddenly you’re being lifted up. The arm around your stomach hooks beneath your knees; the one that had been crushing your chest now catches your back as you tumble. You look up into the face of the intruder and find a wooden mask staring back at you. The mask is very similar to the carved, wooden doll with a gentle flush painted on the cheekbones and painted, smiling lips, but where the eyes should be, there are two perfectly round holes. You can see real, human eyes staring at you through the holes.

The masked figure carries you back through the house; you’re too shocked and too winded from your screaming and your brief flight toward escape to put up too much of a fuss. The delivery person is following behind you both. Your strange party goes up the stairs and to the room with the tree carved into the door. The room inside is the same as you remember, except at the back of the room there is a door that wasn’t there before. You all go through the door and step into a small corridor behind the walls. It leads to another room that sends a fresh jolt of panic through you.

There is a bed with thick leather shackles attached to the posts of the thick, antique head and foot boards. There are polaroids all over the walls- of you. You taking care of the doll. You sleeping. You showering. You living in the house over the past few months. The masked figure drops you on the bed and only then do you start fighting again. The figure slaps you across the face so hard you see stars; you don’t fight anymore.

“Hajime!” The delivery person huffs. “Your parents said to take care of them! If you break them, I can’t fix them like I fix your other toys.”

The masked form- Hajime - gives a soft sound then strokes your stinging cheek. “Sorry.” His voice is low and gruff and sounds like it hasn’t been used in a long, long time. Before you can entirely regain your senses, Hajime has dressed you in a pair of your underwear and one of your baggy t-shirts, both items that had gone missing over your stay. He shackles you to the bed and turns to take the food from the delivery person. The delivery person hands it over and waves their hand.

“I’ll lock up after I leave and let your parents know everything went smoothly.” They wave to you then disappear.

Hajime is a perfect gentleman. He sets out the food and feeds you. He offers you sips of wine in between bites. The food is delicious. The room is dim except for the amber glow of a few candles. Under other circumstances it might have been romantic. Hajime’s eyes shine behind the mask. After you stomach all the food you can, he eats a little then settles beside you. You have been taking care of the doll all this time.

Now it’s Hajime’s turn to take care of you.

[mrhaitch]

HIHI Mr. Haitch! I’m back with more questions and a fresh fun fact!

Who mainly cooks in your relationship?(if there even is a main cook) Is there specific dishes either of you like cooking more?

Opinion on robot waitresses? Or AI in general?

Colour of your bedroom walls vs what colour you wish it was?

FUN FACT: I know of 2 large mercury puddles. The first is a art piece by: Alexander Calder made in 1937. It is a mercury fountain and is beautiful. I think it’s in Barcelona right now? The second is a telescope. So telescopes use a specific lens called parabolic lenses and weirdly enough the shape that liquids make when spun round and round at high temps is also a parabola so therefore can be used as a telescope lens. And so there is a large puddle being spun quickly so that it creates a telescope lens which can only point upwards.

1. Historically it's been an even split, but lately I've been working full time so Haitch has taken the brunt of it. I've always liked making spaghetti and meatballs - always made my own.

2. Firmly against - AI in all forms should enhance human life, not replace it. It's great for handling large data sets and identifying patterns quickly, but they're pretty much junk at the moment. Expensive, overblown junk.

3. They're a kind of full pink at the moment, I think? No particular preference as I'm rarely in there except to sleep.

4. These are getting better and better. I recall the first emperor of china had an obsession with mercury - consuming ridiculous quantities over the years.

[ccghastly]

you got me curious! What are your headcanons for the citadels towers? or do you have any really niche hcs?

Mad Max Fury Road Headcanons

Hi Anon! Thank You SO MUCH for asking! It really does mean a lot to me. To answer this I'm gonna have to go on a bit of a rant, as I've thought about this too much and have put far too much detail into these particular headcanons. I'm also gonna be answering this back-to-front.

I hope that's okay.

War Boys and Bedrooms

(I really didn't mean for that title to look so much like an innuendo, but I'm not mad about it)

We're starting with the Niche Stuff cause I think it's a bit more interesting and fun to read.

Most Warboys sleep in The Pit, the lowest level of the second tower.

In the early days, when there was less space, it was tradition for crews to carve and dig out the walls, making their own alcove to claim. This has largely fallen out of practice, as the turn over rate of the warboys leads to there almost always being empty alcoves to claim. Infighting over alcoves that are considered 'the best’ remains rampant. 

Warboys are also known to carve out personal nooks just about anywhere the wall depth allows, rules were quickly implemented about what walls can and cannot be carved into, to prevent the citadel from coming down around their ears. To circumvent uncarvable walls, Warboys will embed hooks into the walls or ceiling to securely suspend beds and platforms, building these nests absolutely everywhere. 

Imperator alcoves are called ‘grottos’. They’re among the highest levels of the second tower, have windows, multiple rooms, bedding, and direct access to aquacola.

The Coma-Doof Warrior was granted his own Den as a reward from Immortan for his singular talents, at his own request most of his rooms are open to the sky(for premium sunbathing), with many hammocks of varying sizes strung up in every room. His rooms have the same amenities as an Imperator's Grotto and are connected to a smaller lower floor that he arranged to be given to his Drummers and crew.

Warboys commonly bunk in alcoves with their crew, in nooks within the dorms that are unofficially separated by role, in a personal nook/nest, (rarely)in their imperator’s grotto, or in an alcove with their friends allies.

The general opinions of the warboys on the bunks goes, from least cushy chrome to most: Nest, Nook, Alcove(commonly just ‘Cove’), Grotto, Den, Trove(Immortan&sons rooms), Vault(the wives)

Now onto the more nitty-gritty stuff!

The Citadel: Towers, Levels, and Floors

In my headcanon the towers of the Citadel are organized into Levels and Floors, typically with multiple floors making up each level. Every level and some floors are named, ostensibly for ease of reference, but mostly for my amusement. Each rank of person in the Citadel is separated into a different level within the towers. We'll go tower by tower.

The Levels of the First Tower of Citadel, listed highest to lowest(with named floors):

The Garden

The Crown(Vault, Trove(Immortan&Sons), Gallery/Balcony)

Immortan’s Court(Parlour(milkers), Aviary(high breeders))

The Levels of the Second Tower of Citadel, listed highest to lowest(with named floors):

The Greenery

The Doof Den(Coma-Doof's rooms, Drummers Alcove)

The Grottos(Prime's Grotto, Furiosa's Grotto, etc)

The Court(Nursery(cubs), Roost(damis), Abbey(low breeders))

The Kennels(pups)

The Shops(Wheel Shrine, Blood Bank, Organic-Mechanic/Bloodshed, Garage, TradeHaul)

The Lift(the floor that is the lift’s main stop, which is its own level)

The Pit(Wreck(recreation), Mess(cafeteria), Clay Pools, Dorms, Alcoves)

The Third Tower

Staffed by and home to lifted wretched and a few full-lifes to manage them, it contains:

The Kitchens,

The Mill & Mill-rats,

Waste-Workers,

Plumbers,

Tannery & Tanners,

GateKeepers rooms,

Etc.

(are you meant to give 'etc' its own bulletpoint? I've no clue)

I hope all that makes sense. If anyone has any questions I'd be more than happy to answer them!

[schismusic]

In the shadow of the horns: meditations on Team ICO's works – 1. Shadow of the Colossus

[DISCLAIMER: Since I cannot assume you people are all in the know and have played the game like five times, have gotten every extra item and found every last secret location, got all the achievements on the PS3 and PS4 versions of the game, have taken all seventy-nine steps to enlightenment, and are so obsessed with intersecting points that your bedroom wall looks like a re-enactment of the Pepe Silvia conspiracy theory, I have to tell you that the following article includes HEAVY, HEAVY, OH-SO-HEAVY SPOILERS for Shadow of the Colossus. Reader discretion is warned.]

[DISCLAIMER 2: you can absolutely bask safely in the knowledge that I have not done any of the things listed in the first disclaimer. I mean, I have played the game more than once, the first time on PS4 and the second on PS2. Whatever.]

It has at this point been a good five years or so since I'd last played the Team ICO games, so as I went to dust off my ol' trusty PlayStation 2 Slim I got reminded of how the world is a fucked up place and decay exists as an extant form in life, by way of the PS2 no longer reading discs. I mean, nothing I can't fix with a 1mm x 1mm square of duct tape or some isopropyl alcohol in the best case scenario, but I wonder: for fuck's sake, did it have to be now? At any rate, I decided to bite the bullet and finally download PCSX2 so I can play the games (and I promise, the BIOS and game ISOs are all mine, so no piracy involved this time). Playing these particular games on a PC feels especially weird to me, in that I can see the blocky ass graphics meant to be seen and blend in on a CRT in all of their squared glory, but not even that is immersion-breaking or ruins the aesthetics – which is a testament to the strength of the team's art direction and design philosophy. This is especially true considering I'd only played the PS4 Shadow of the Colossus before.

Since I can already hear the raging crowd under my window, let me clarify before I get drawn and quartered by an angry mob of PS2 purists.

I did, of course, get my first exposure to Shadow of the Colossus when it was but a humble PlayStation 2 technical marvel (and, later, a PS3 remaster of that same PS2 technical marvel). It was, in all likelihood, through an unofficial PlayStation magazine that was published here in Italy – even though the original format was technically bought from a Spanish publisher – by the name of PlayGeneration. I was always one console generation behind the rest of the world around me, so the magazine allowed me to stay in touch with new technological developments and new titles coming out. I ended up remembering the original critical reaction to, I don't know, your Deus Ex: Human Revolution or your Dead Space or even your Yakuza 4 (which was actually my first exposure to the series, about fifteen years before I actually got to play it myself) better than the actual games themselves, in a lot of scenarios. But what this magazine had, especially, was a whole two-page spread in every issue where they re-reviewed a number of PS2 games, usually showcasing relatively hidden gems – one that stuck with me particularly was their review of Xenosaga Episode I: Der Wille zur Macht, a game that I went on to never play due to my absolute ineptitude at JRPGs. Every issue also included an archive of their older reviews, which for the longest time would reserve a cute little half-page to PlayStation 2 games, with the editors' definitive scores and one-sentence opinions on them. Among these was Shadow of the Colossus, 92 out of 100. I was fascinated by how, well, plain and effective the title was – a non-descript sequence of words that tells you nothing and, as I would later learn, still tells you everything you need to know about the game.

Symbolism of light and shadow, stories that seem to be coming out of children's books (it's always fascinating and, admittedly, quite funny to recall that the original Japanese title of the game is ワンダと巨像, "Wanda to Kyozou" i.e. "Wander and the Colossus"), a unique capability of striking the player in the teeth with a sense of anemoia welling up from somewhere deep within. A friend of mine who's currently playing ICO for the first time mentioned a great emotional response on his part upon revisiting the prison area of the castle – considering exclusively gameplay time, this is a place you're only shown once, about five hours before you come back to it. To better define this feeling for the purposes of this piece, I decided to replicate the closest thing I could achieve: nostalgia. Specifically, I pulled up some old articles I wrote for a gaming blog I helped run between the years of 2020 and 2022, re-read my old impressions of these games, then realized the more I read those (quite pitiful) articles, the more I was thinking "fuck, why don't I just play these again?", which of course led me to what I was saying at the beginning of this article. Running in circles already, aren't I?

One thing I will say: I still believe some of the points I made in those articles to be valid. Specifically, I like the idea of focusing on what the gameplay means. Story and lore analysis of these games is inherently encouraged by the games themselves and their presentation, and therefore way overdone, but I will recommend Leadhead's recent analysis of ICO as a metaphor for escaping an abusive household and Folding Ideas's classic on Shadow of the Colossus as "a game about letting go", as well as admit a certain fondness for the theory of the shared narrative universe as espoused and exposesd by Max Derrat. None of these things will necessarily be central to my own piece, but it's cool to have them, y'know? My main point will have to do with what the games themselves present as their case study. This means analysing and pointing out game mechanics, in and of themselves, as carriers of meaning and implications. As a consequence, for my own ease, I will borrow quite heavily from the old articles (the originals are in Italian, you can find them compiled here, and they are better read in order of release). Lastly, I had originally meant to make this only one article, but it seems to me like there's already enough material for me to stop yapping about methodology and start getting my hands dirty.

God's a short guy, you know, he started in the mail room and, y'know, worked his way up, invested well.

(Tom Waits, in this commercial for Franks Wild Years, directed by Chris Blum)

You're a short guy, as well: too short for your horse, anyway. You carry a special sword – which you stole – and a bow. There's a dead body bundled up in a big ass heavy blanket and you've got that with you, too. It takes a really long time and some seriously deranged route choices to get there, but what do you know – you're good enough to reach the Forbidden Lands, a land that is, well, forbidden, so you probably shouldn't be there. There's a creature, unseen, shouting orders at you out of a window that physically makes no sense architecturally, in two different voices. You have to destroy the statues on this temple's wall, but you can't do that directly, so you have to repeatedly stab gigantic, half-rock-half-flesh creatures that can and will swat you off their back like a mosquito. Only then you'll be able to bring this girl back to life – despite her cursed fate, and the fact that you're in a place called the fucking FORBIDDEN LANDS, and the fact that it hurts more and more to breathe with every colossus you beat.

Every core mechanic in this game is a display of strength: to hold on, to stab, to eat. As Mono – that is, according to the manual in the PS2 version of the game, the name of the girl whose corpse you brought here – cannot, in all likelihood, want anything anymore, it's safe to assume that all of the actions you, the player, undertake in the game are to be understood as the explicit will of Wander, the protagonist. This is a relevant distinction to make. Wander is not you, you are not Wander: why else would he refuse to jump off cliffs, or hesitate when you push him off of ledges? I've always liked thinking about Team ICO's work as a sort of hyper-stylized version of what games like Another World or the original Prince of Persia for the Apple II (even though Fumito Ueda probably played the Amiga port of the game, all things considered). Seeing it this way, the more evident influence these titles have had on Team ICO's game mechanics lends itself quite well to what I'm trying to say. The Prince and Lester Knight Chaykin are both painstakingly animated, frame by frame, in order to achieve a lifelike quality, but where both Jordan Mechner and Éric Chahi attempted a crude imitation of rotoscoping by frame-advancing VHS recordings of themselves or other models and model figures, Ueda and his team usually turn to hand-animation of their characters (or, in particularly bonkers cases like The Last Guardian, write up an algorithm to calculate feather motion in real time and burn a hole through your PS4). This seems to me like Ueda & Co. might be more interested in lifelike behaviour, as opposed to lifelike movement, and as such may be trying to conjure up a more psychologically driven type of narrative experience. And like all the best character pieces, there's usually very little people to deal with.

Let's look at it, and to do so we have to delve into spoiler territory, so reader's discretion is advised.

Agro, the only conventional living being other than Wander throughout a good 99% of actual game time, is a literal horse. As such, she does right by you, by virtue of you being, for whatever reasons you can think of, crucially important to her. Seriously, somebody else has already pointed it out: why is Agro so much bigger than Wander? Is it perhaps because they just happened to grow together and ended up adapting to one another, in ways more organic than getting a horse assigned to you by height? Judging by literally every single minute of game time, the two of them seem almost telepathically locked into each other's thoughts, and Agro goes so far as to allow herself to get killed (functionally speaking, at least: there's a reason they shot broken-legged horses in Western movies, and that reason is it hurts like a bitch and the horse simply never fully recovers for that, at least not with veterinary techniques from the eighteen-hundreds) in order for Wander to fuck off and turn into Dormin. Speaking of which, Dormin are the only other character who speak to Wander for a good 99% of cutscene time, and their only motivation seems to be coming back to this godforsaken earth to wreak havoc on those who sealed them – Emon and his guards, who also seem to be mostly interested in fucking you up specifically so that Mono does not get resurrected. Then again, who the hell asked Mono what she wants? I'm not exactly in the habit of directly asking questions to the dead.

…okay, I was lying, considering what my last two long-form posts were about. But I guess what I'm saying is: Wander is literally the only person who intentionally refuses to be open about his motives. Sure, he wants to resurrect Mono. But why? Had they ever met before she had to die? Did she openly express to him how she did not want to die? I hate myself for even considering this question, but what if her fate actually is cursed? How did Emon kill her, anyway – actually, did Emon kill her himself? What did Wander even do to steal the sword, since – considering Emon and his men literally rode all the way to a place they themselves have religious prescriptions not to defile – it must have been heavily guarded or kept in a secure area? A good number of the colossi are not aggressive unless provoked, too, so this means Wander intentionally goes out of his way to fuck with extra-planar powers beyond human comprehension. Ultimately: what if, beyond all the ad-catchphrase rhetoric of "how far will you go for love", this guy was just being a self-centered prick?

It's as good a guess as any, really – here's a piece analysing Shadow of the Colossus as a trans allegory, for instance. But since it's as good, it's worth entertaining it. I also don't plan to present it as an inherent stroke of genius: not per se, at least. What I like about considering this game a metaphor about pulling your head out of your own ass is that – in a spectacular demonstration of understanding what the fuck you're talking about, the likes of which are unprecedented (and nigh-unsurpassed, apparently) in the gaming world – the game never hits you with the "YOU SHOULD STOP PLAYING TO WIN" argument. This is Wander's doing, not yours, which is why the guy goes to the Forbidden Lands in the intro cutscene, before you have any agency at all. Now this guy's stuck in this (stunning-looking) pimple in the middle of the planet's buttocks, where a dark supernatural force's physical manifestation has been torn asunder into sixteen rock-and-flesh mechas and it's his ass on the line to give the dark supernatural entity whatever the fuck they want, otherwise the lady won't be reborn and wouldn't that be awful?, but that also means that you are, essentially, just invited to sit in, scream at the screen for a good ten hours or so at this motherfucking idiot climbing moving mountains, and partake in Fumito Ueda and his gang's own study on negative interaction in videogaming.

[link Ko Otani - The Opened Way here]

Dormin is banished again in violence, the bridge pylons collapse by magic in on themselves as Emon and the guards make a hasty retreat out into civilised land. Wander is now a bawling, screaming horned baby – the first of his kind, some would argue: like a mark of Cain of sorts. But sure enough, the reborn Mono has no problem picking him up and, if we are to give credit to the special illustration in the Japanese PS3 re-release of the game, helping him grow into a healthy, beloved horned kid. And Agro, despite her broken leg, still finds her way back to the shrine of the cult, and climbs to the secret garden on top of the building, finding a fawn. An animal that means rebirth.

Negative as opposed to positive, of course – that would be The Last Guardian, which we will be talking about when I can be arsed to open up my PS4, drive the literal soot sprite motherships living amidst its circuitry out of the case, and then play the console-disintegrating performance-tanking game again. I swear I actually like that game, for fuck's sake…

Like I said, the game has mostly actions aimed at offense (admittedly you can, thank fuck, pet Agro both while standing next to her, and when you're on her back and she's standing still, which I think is actually a key mechanic to explain what The Last Guardian would later try to do), and it says a lot about Wander as a character. There is no contextual command near Mono, there is no interaction with any of the other animals in the Forbidden Lands (I think I saw a tortoise in the PS2 version a while back – did I dream it up?) that isn't hurting them or killing them or maiming them for your own personal gain or just as an accident on your journey to the next checkmark on the list or, potentially, just for shits and giggles. Essentially this guy barges in and destroys everything in his wake – including, whether he wants it or not, his sole companion. The immense irony of this is that Agro, essentially, sacrifices herself for some element of affection towards Wander: no special destiny, no sudden understanding of Wander's motives. Literally just the fact that this guy is her favourite human. But the game itself has to be taken to its gory, bloody end, through trials and tribulations, for it to reveal its actual statement on the matter.

[starsailores]

for the character ask game: holland a darker shade of magic, 20 26 30? and also anything you want to answer!!

it is autism time. obligatory warning for adsom spoilers, mainly for book three.

20 - a weird headcanon: not so much a weird headcanon as the first one to come to mind, but i firmly believe that this man is good with animals, without really trying. in general, i hc animals in makt (or white london at the very least) as being drawn towards magic, because it is heavily linked to survival, and that is part of it. but i also think most animals, particularly cats, would be fond of holland's demeanour, and he is the type of person to leave scraps of food out for strays wherever possible. and there was one cat in particular that hung around the castle while vortalis was king because holland grew a little too fond of it, and he eventually named it 'vofa' because of the way it snuck around the place like a ghost. if anyone asked, he would deny caring about it. but vortalis knew better and actively encouraged that cat to hang around more often.

26 - when do you think they were being the most 'themselves': ough this is an interesting one because holland vosijk is notoriously inauthentic. that being said, i can give one of two answers. the first is the easy answer, which is that he was most himself while acting as a knight to vortalis, because he was living and working alongside his closest friend (maybe lover. depends on my mood) and thus felt safe enough to let down his walls for a while and simply be himself (and this was before the danes fucked him over). the more difficult answer that fits into the canon timeline of adsom is when he and kell fight side by side in rosenal against the copper thieves, purely for the line 'holland had the strange urge to say more'. there were hints of him growing more comfortable around kell prior to this, and i do think he is most 'himself' in their interactions, but this one gets me because it shows that there is still a part of the old holland who wishes to discuss magic, politics, and the like, and attempt to forge relationships (be it for survival, success, or simply personal enjoyment)

30 - the funniest scene they had: most of his scenes make me either smile or cry regardless of whether they are funny or sad, but i often think about his first scene in book one, where he sneaks into rhy's bedroom, borderline flirts with him, leaves, finds parrish waiting outside the door, mutters something about sending one guard away only for another to take his place, and immediately makes the man forget he was there. there was no reason for him to flirt or act the way he did, he is just a silly and melodramatic little guy. and that was my introduction to him

[emmebearpaw]

Things I’m looking forward to upon moving out of my dorm, in no particular order:

Having walls to put posters up on again

being able to make noise without feeling a little guilty (my roommate literally hasn’t said anything about this I just feel guilty in general because normally people are not fans of me being noisy)

being able to turn lights on and off whenever I want without another persons input

not having the bathroom sinks be in the bedroom

all of the people I share a kitchen with have terrible dish washing habits so the kitchen currently looks like this (all the ones on the counter are clean and just haven’t been put away because putting them away is hard so it takes several days, except for the mug behind the sink which is full of hot cocoa mixed with soap and water and left to sit)

Why is half the counter dedicated to dishes

Not having to take out the trash and vacuum and clean the counters and why is there just a bag of trash next to the door, take it out? Why are there dishes in the dishwasher that have been washed and not put away? How long have those been in there? Can we take those out so we can get some dishes out of this god forsaken sink so i can wash my single plate and put it away immediately?

making phone calls or having zoom meetings and not feeling like I have to go somewhere else

i want to pace. Pacing makes homework like essays way better

oh my god how could I forget. I want one cabinet where I can store my food. One whole cabinet. Not like 3/4 of one because someone’s cereal box is creeping in

i also want to not have to Jenga all my food into the fridge and feel bad for having orange juice because it doesn’t fit in the 2 little spaces I claimed for my food day 1.

the previous two points + the fact there is no counter space (right now that one big clear area you see on the left is filthy and I couldn’t be bothered to clean it again so I used the tiny space on the right) makes it very difficult to make food more complicated than like… box of velveeta (which isn’t even the good box Mac and cheese brand but I don’t have room for milk and butter)

I never want to have to store food in my closet again (please please I’m running out of room in there and I don’t even have much)

desk item storage for things like paper (currently on top of my printer or in a drawer under my bed)

Not having my roommate have to walk behind me at my desk to get into her closet

having a mattress or bed frame I can actually secure a top sheet too so I don’t kick it off every 3rd night.

not sleeping 5 feet from someone else I do not know

being free of twin bed against only one wall. Because I’m too tall for a twin bed and it’s so tiny, if I roll over more than once in one direction I fall off. It was scary to sleep in this thing the first week.

[meg-noel-art]

My OC blorbos Sam and Lucy as kiddos! Also included an excerpt of chapter one of the WIP I’m writing for them! Enjoy!

Sam was only nine years old when she accidentally cooked her father’s prized sheep alive. 

It was an accident, of course. Up until that point in her short life, she had remained entirely unaware of her latent ability to harness the power of solar energy. Solar sorcerers were not unheard of. In fact, there existed guilds of many sorcerers of varying abilities all across the neighboring towns, cities and kingdoms.

And Sam was just a simple, lowborn girl - until she wasn’t. 

When one afternoon she stormed out of the little cottage she shared with her father and sick mother - angry that the world was insistent on worsening the health of the one person who cares about her most; her power revealed itself.

A scream and toss of a stray branch turned into a ball of flame that burst from her palm in searing, pulsing waves. Sam sleeve, along with the nearest - and dearest - sheep were instantly singed into non-existence. 

Sam blinked, frozen in shocked, eyes glued to the charred dirt where the sheep had once stood. The rest of her father’s herd ran in panicked circles, braying into the otherwise quiet afternoon. 

The noise drew her already frustrated father’s attention - and he stormed out of the cottage after her. He did not wait for an explanation, upon seeing his missing sheep and Sam’s smoking arm. I was always her fault, in his eyes. Unspoken, Sam was certain he blamed the waning health of his wife, her mother, on her too.

Even still, his prized sheep was enough to garner a more severe beating than usual. As Sam wept quietly in the corner of her room later that evening, hungry and bruised - she found her gaze drawn to the center of her right palm. Her skin looked no different than usual. Pale, calloused palms from working the small farm day in and day out. 

Part of her wondered if she’d imagined the flames. Perhaps a god had struck the sheep down out of spite for Sam’s very existence. Quite honestly, the possibility seemed more likely than the reality that she might be a magic wielder. Sorcery was for persons of high parentage - long lines of sorcery ancestry. Rarely, if ever, did magic show itself in a bloodline that hadn’t been imbued with said abilities for generations.

Quietly, Sam began to test her power as she grew. At first, the power was inconsistent, unreachable and random. As time passed, it became easier to tap into at will. However, controlling it was another challenge entirely. Despite her best efforts, attempting to regulate her power on her own led to accidents, damages and punishments. None of which ever stopped her from trying again. 

If Sam was one thing, it was headstrong.

///

Lucy Edevane was born with the weight of her family’s legacy placed squarely on her shoulders. From the very day she came screaming into the world, every second of her life was laid out before her. Every beat planned, every path accounted for. Every goal, hope and dream decided. Both she and her older brother were buried beneath burden before they could walk.

When she was four years old she was punished for painting the walls of her bedroom with the acrylics she’d stolen from her art tutor. Her mother, Emilia Edevane, had not only confiscated her paints and brushes - but she’d dismissed Lucy’s art tutor for an entire month. And Lucy was made to scrape paint from her own walls, with clumsy four year old hands. 

Her ability to control lunar magic surfaced when she was only five - two years younger than it had appeared in her brother. The Edevane family line was famous for their natural talent in wielding this particular and rare branch of elemental sorcery. Elias could as well - although Lucy attacked her studies and training with much more vigor than he had. And her efforts made themselves known as she progressed more quickly than her brother.

By the time she was twelve years old, Lucy was considered a prodigy by her family.

[thisbuildinghasfeelings]

hi anne <3 i'm not sure if anyone has asked you this yet, but do you have any concrete plans for any particular cross stitches in 2024? is there a 'holy grail' cross stitch that you aspire to complete (either this year or in general)? what do you find the hardest ting to cross stitch?

Thank you for asking, Lola! I love a chance to talk about my cross stitch! And oh, I have LOTS of plans!

I have 3 patterns completed and ready to be stitched after the one I'm currently working on. I have my Season 4 Tarlos, which will be the final (for now) installment in my Tarlos series. I have one ready to go that's going to be simply the text of every quote in which TK calls Carlos "babe" or "baby"--that one will take a while. And I have a smaller soulmates scene one that I recently talked a bit about here.

I also have a few patterns that I have started working on, like my Carlos Tomás Reyes project that will be the companion to Tyler Kennedy Strand. But that one still needs a lot of work before it's ready to be stitched.

And then I have about a million little half-formed ideas that I'll start to develop more once I get through the above.

As far as a 'holy grail' cross stitch, probably the only thing that might come close to meeting that definition is my Loft Series. I love the loft so much and I also love celebrating it in stitch form!

The first time I stitched the loft was this one, but I actually don't count it as part of my official Loft Series because it was one of my first attempts at creating a pattern--I still love it but it's not as elaborate as later attempts.

The first true installment in the Loft Series was the dining area, right now I'm working on the loft entrance, and I think I'll do at least one more and possibly two. I want to do a more elaborate version of their bedroom. And I'd like to attempt the kitchen. I might have exhausted all angles of the loft by that point. Though now that I think of it, maybe I could also do one facing the wall from the couch featuring Lou II's tank? So maybe 3 more.

The hardest thing, at least when it comes to creating patterns, is making detailed and recognizable objects. I don't think I'm all that good at drawing, and pattern making is sort of related to drawing, though it's more akin to creating pixel art. I have to sit there filling in boxes with different colors to create a recognizable object. However, I think I'm getting better. For example, on a recent project, I think I managed a passable dog and flamingo:

But I have a LONG way to go. I mean, there are people who can do things like this:

I am NOWHERE NEAR this level!

But maybe someday!