#lol what to tag this as?

[wyn-n-tonic]

Well Read

Pairing: Teacher Ben (SNL) x f!reader Word Count: 3.0k+ Warnings: Unprotected PiV. Naughty teacher fantasy talk. Breeding kink. Author's Note: The brainrot settled in fast on this one. The gif is just a gif, there are no descriptions of reader.

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Masterlist

Thunder rattles the old windows in the half rotten frames of the classroom. The glass panes barely hanging on as rain leaks through the small openings around the window air conditioning unit you had to buy with your own money.

It’s been three years and barely hanging on, having been run for eight hours or more every day all school year long.

Ben laughed the first cold day when he walked in and heard the heavy hum, even laughed until you turned it off and let him feel for himself that it’s the only airflow in the otherwise gas range oven that is your classroom.

Everybody has already gone home, it’s well passed three and all the kids who aren’t in electives or detention have left to go live their lives.

Not you, though. Your planning hour was spent breaking up a brawl between hormonal teenage boys fighting over… fucking PokeMon cards because it is apparently still the fucking nineties. No planning hour means now you’re here well after work.

Because that’s the rule this year—work stays at work.

The other half of that is that home stays at home but that doesn’t stop Ben from pushing through the door before knocking.

His own backpack is slung over his shoulder, lunchbox in hand, and he asks if you’re almost finished. “Come on, I want to get dinner started.”

“Then go get dinner started.”

Not cold but not warm either. Flat. Voice pressured down from a day of shit just building higher on shit. 

“We drove in together, sweetheart,” he reminds you. “Your car’s in the shop.”

“I'll take a Lyft,” you shrug, only glancing back up at him long enough catch the way his face falls. “I'll see you at home, I have a lot of work to catch up on.” 

“Hey.” His voice is gentle and you hear the sound of his bags falling on a desktop; hear his footfalls coming closer until his large hand is covering yours. He takes the pen out of your hand and lifts your chin to look up at him with the other. “Let’s call it quits today, it’s been a tough one and I think that you could really use a nice dinner and an even bigger glass of wine.” 

“But—“ You gesture to the pile of essays that need to be graded; the blank test template you need to make copies of. There are no more words left in you today, they’re defeated out by the storm and the air conditioner and the bells and the fighting and all the talking back.

Ben smirks. “Mark all of them with an A, give the kids a break because you need a break, sweetheart, let’s go home.” 

“That's not fair, Benjamin,” you tell him. “That’s not fair to the kids who put the work in on these essays to give everybody the same score.”

He closes my planning book next and takes my hand. “You know what’s not fair? That you don’t give yourself a break—ever. It’s not fair that I had to put a hard rule down on work stuff being brought into our home the moment we moved in together.”

"Please just let me bring this home today, Benny,” you practically plead. “I’ll finish while you’re making dinner and then I’m all yours, I’ll take a break.”

Eyes hardening, he shakes his head. “No, sweetheart, because your idea of a break isn’t what you actually need. What you need”—he bends down, voice lowered—“is a hot bath, a glass of wine and to get every thought absolutely fucked out of your brain.” 

While he lets those words settle into your ears, he takes your hand and examines your nails. “I like this color,” he says, the pad of his rough thumb swiping over the polish. “Brianna’s getting better at this every time and if you don’t think you’re a good teacher because you put yourself first for one night, I want you to think of the very huge impact you have on students like her just by letting her do your nails during study hall.” 

Laughing, you tell him you doubt that. “You're her favorite teacher, she said you’re the first one to not make her read dumbass shit she’s not interested in.” 

“No, you’re her favorite,” he insists, coming around the desk to start packing up my bag for me. “She told me that you let her paint your nails and listen to music even if it has curse words.” He stops, looks down at you. “I also think she’s trying to set us up… should we let her know we’re getting married?”

“Oh, are we getting married, Benjamin?” You ask him, arms crossed. “People who are getting married usually set a date, we’re just engaged.” 

“For now.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

Deep breath. “It will be if you don’t get your ass in the car and let me take you home.” 

Wine in hand, you watch him work from the doorway, wondering how long it will take him to notice you there. On nights that he cooks, the routine is always similar; he puts you in the bath with a very large glass of wine and a book and he takes to the kitchen with headphones in his ears and two deep lines of concentration between his eyebrows. 

No headphones are in tonight, though. Instead, his audiobook plays loudly from the speaker beside the stove. On the way home, he asked if everything was okay other than the school day getting to you. Even with confirmation that you were fine, he squinted his eyes and tried to study you—to read you. 

“Are you going to stand there all night?” He asks, not looking up from the task at hand. “Or are you going to come over here and kiss me?”

Taking the glass from your hand, he takes the final drink and sets it to the side. “We'll refill that later. How do you feel?” 

“Better.” And you can finally appreciate the way his pants are hugging him today; the soft slope of his belly slight but visibly accentuated by the way the belt cuts into him. “You haven’t untucked your shirt.” 

“Was I supposed to?” He laughs.

“I mean… you’re home but”—palming the thick bulge over the black polyester, you push closer—“I’m glad you didn’t, I haven’t gotten to appreciate how handsome you look today.” 

“That’s okay, I’m sure there will be another fan cam tomorrow,” he whispers, fingers brushing along the swell of your cheek. “Do you want to eat and then”—lips drawn tight, he rocks his head back and forth in suggestions—“or do you want to do that and then eat?”

“You,” you tell him, fingers hooked into his waistband to pull him further as you stand up on your tiptoes. “My head hurts and I want you and everything else comes second.” 

You don’t have to tell him twice. He switches the burners off with enthusiasm and follows you through to the living room, large hands crawling up the t-shirt that you stole just to land on your bare hips with wide eyes. “Are you not wearing panties?” 

“Wanted to make your job easier for you.” 

All his soothing words make the days and the nights and everything that is hard better; they make everything that is good great. Three years ago when this idiot wandered into your classroom to introduce himself as your new neighbor, he caught you on a similarly bad day and it annoyed the shit out of you. Especially after he made fun of all your maps. 

Now, he’s pulling his sweater over his head and tossing it to the side after throwing you into the never made ocean of sheets and blankets that is your bed. Your shared bed in your shared home. 

He starts to pull at the button up, untucking it slowly and struggling with the buttons out of nerves. That bulge of his is already so much larger than when you groped him in the kitchen and the belt buckle is moving with every shallow, belly breath he takes.

“Come here,” you say, pushing yourself up to your knees and moving forward towards him. “Let me help.” 

Even when he’s the one in charge, this confident man with his soft brown eyes, he fumbles under nerves like he’s half expecting you to lash out in impatience. It’s what his ex did and you’re not a fan of her for it—or anything else for that matter—but there’s something about the relief of safety that washes over him in these moments that warm you up to the tips of your ears. 

You can trust him with your bad days just as much as your good; he can trust you with his insecurities just as much as his confidences. 

“You know,” you start, buttons easily coming undone with the work of your fingers. “Sometimes I think about coming into your classroom on your planning period and having you take me right there on your desk.” 

“On my desk?” He asks through a smile. “Baby, you know how much trouble we’d get in.” 

“Only if we get caught, Mr. Ben,” you whisper against his lips as you push the fabric off his broad shoulders. “Come on, I’ve always had a hot for teacher fantasy.”

“You are feeling better,” he smiles. “Maybe you don’t need me to fuck your brain empty after all.” 

He does it to make you beg and, despite knowing this, you fall for it every time—whine for him every time.

A soft push meets your shoulders and he nods back to the pillows in encouragement.

“Don't take your belt off yet,” you beg him as he follows you up on the mattress but he only laughs, says he has to because he’s been aching after you for hours and needs a little relief now.

Hours but you’ve only been home for one, maybe two. “Are you saying this isn't just about making me feel better?”

He shakes his head, lips pursed, and he throws the belt over to the side as well. “You’re ovulating,” he says, “and the only thing I have thought about since I woke up and checked our fertility calendar is how badly I’ve wanted to get you home and put a baby in you.”

Oh god, that explains so much.

Laying back under his guidance, you spread your legs open for him and watch him take you in. Years now and it doesn’t get old; soft brown eyes studying you in silent awe, mouth open with the occasional smirk pulling up a corner of his lips. It’s like he’s reading how you want it from him and you hope he never stops.

Leaning forward between your legs, he takes a deep breath and then spits on your aching center, eyes up towards you as it falls. He doesn’t wait long after that—doesn’t play with his food as he likes to joke. 

Everything is on fire already as he lays an open mouthed kiss to your core, soft moans vibrating into you and up through your own throat as you grab for his hair. 

He’s a ravenous kind of lover when he wants to be but tonight he seems more focused on taking you apart slowly with the warm press of his tongue between your legs.

Not long and you’re crying for him, actually crying. Softly sobbing his name out as his nose rubs against your clit with his tongue buried deep into your entrance for more than just a taste. 

You can feel him smiling with every shuddering breath as you grasp for purchase on the sheets and pleasure floods your brain. 

Then he takes his mouth away, face shining with your slick as your eyes meet with some kind of electric charge between you as your chests rise and fall in time with one another.

“I feel like I should probably take your temperature,” he says finally, large hands held out as if he’s weighing his options. “Make sure your cute body is the right environment for implantation right now but—“ 

He goes on but you’ve tuned that out, focused in on the deep wells his fingers make as they curve over in a half closed fist. Everything about him is so gentle, including those hands and the way they hold you—the way you know they’d hold your baby.

“You're not a science teacher,” you finally say. “So save the lesson and let me make you a dad.” 

It was one of the first things he ever told you—maybe the second or the third date—when you talked about your dreams and does life now look like what you wanted when you were younger. He’d said his biggest dream was to be a dad. Maybe you shouldn’t have fallen in love with him on those words alone but there was something about him that just made sense and fit perfectly into all your big dreams and big plans too. 

You could see a future with this man—a family and years of happiness in those soft brown eyes.

Pants off now, he fists himself as he crawls back onto the bed. You just had sex two nights ago and, yet, somehow you feel like you haven’t been full for him in weeks. The thunder hasn’t stopped either and it’s amplifying how intense it all feels with him right now but, then, it always does when he talks about the big, life altering things he wants with you.

Slowly, he pushes in, grip on your hips tightening with every aching inch he gives to you until he’s fully seated. Those hands run up the expanse or your body beneath your shirt as he gathers the fabric and gently pulls it over your head as you lift up towards him. Only then, after a quick look down your body to the place you’re both connected, does he lay himself down on you. 

Face still shiny with what you’ve given him already, he smiles into the small, closed lipped kiss he presses into you.

“Your mustache is soaked,” you tell him when he pulls back, trying to ignore the pulsing inside of you. 

Those lines of concentration back between his eyebrows, he nods and starts to pull out of you before pushing back in with a groan. “And this needy little pussy is why.” 

“Is pussy an appropriate word for a highly educated English teacher to be using?” You ask, goading him into coming back down and pressing that tongue of his into your mouth this time. “Such profanities are unbecoming of such a man—“

“Your cunt,” he interrupts you, one hand coming up to rest around your throat, “is so wet that I can feel it pulling me deeper and all I’m doing is just sitting here, looking at you and trying not to bust early.” 

“It's okay if you do," you shrug. “You've already given me an orgasm.” 

But he shakes his head and leans back down, tells you to open your mouth and spits there too before pushing his tongue flat down on yours. It catches you off guard just enough that his first real thrust is even more of a surprise and that grip he holds on your throat moves to cradles the back of your head.

The sounds in the bedroom are lewd and only covered by the sound of the rain and thunder that continue to shake the walls of your home. 

He’s not rushing, though. Not trying to run through you like just another task. The care he takes with and the concentration he places into you are the reasons you find yourself over the edge in such achingly efficient time. But that doesn’t mean he follows you over and calls it a night. 

No, he takes his time until you’re nothing but jelly in his hold. Eyes glazed over, curls wrapped around your fingers and begging for breath and God and him with every thrust that feels like it goes deeper and deeper. 

“Are you going to make fun of me if I tell you I love you?” You ask against his lips as his concentration and pace both start to falter. “Because ovulating or not, you would’ve still fucked me like this just for having a bad day and I-I—oh fuck—” Your muscles are seizing up beneath the surface of your skin and it pushes a moan straight into his greedy mouth. 

“I would never make fun of you,” he breathes out heavily. “I would fuck you like this even if we couldn’t have kids; I will fuck you like this on every good day or bad day you have for the rest of your life if that’s what you want.”

Languid and slow, the way his tongue moves against yours is confusing your interpretation of his rhythm between your legs even as it picks up again. Every nerve in your body is screaming for him, alive and on fire beneath him and around him with his soft kisses and hard thrusts. 

A deep sigh of relief finally leaves his lips as he swells inside of you and warmth rushes through you and out around him to start pooling and cooling beneath your bare body. 

Being finished doesn’t mean he leaves though. He stays inside of you, twitching and thrusting occasionally as he continues kissing you with his hands hooked around your shoulders and every ounce of his body weight pressing down into you. 

This man treats you with an intimacy you never knew could exist. Not for you, at least. He is hungry and in love and both insatiable for and always satisfied with you. He reads you like he wrote you; knowledge of your body and your brain and your heart encoded so deeply into him and you know—you feel it deep down in the pit of your being—that this will only grow as you do and your family does.

"Did that help get all the thoughts out of your head, sweetheart?” He asks, laying his forehead against yours.

A few deep breaths is all the confirmation he needs until, finally, you say, “I think I forgot to turn off the air conditioner.” 

[everoutoftouch]

If you have Spotify reblog this and tag what your number one song on your “on repeat” playlist is.

[zytes]

this manatee looks like it’s in a skyrim loading screen

[inkskinned]

i got rickrolled today but it didn't work because i have adblocker installed, so youtube just told me i violated the terms of service. yesterday i was trying to edit a picture as a joke for my girlfriend, and google made me check a box to prove i'm human because i wasn't "searching normally".

it isn't just that capitalism is killing fun and whimsy, it is that any element of entertainment or joy is being fed upon by this mosquito body, one that will suck you dry at any vulnerability.

do you want to meet new friends in your city? download this app, visit our website, sign up for our email list. pay for this class on making a terrarium, on candlemaking, on cooking. it will be 90 dollars a session. you can go to group fitness, but only under our specific gym membership. solve the puzzle, sign up for our puzzle-of-the-month-club. what is a club if not just a paid opportunity - you are all paying for the same thing, which makes you a community.

but you're like me, i know it - you're careful, you try the library meetings and the stuff at the local school and all of that. the problem is that you kind of want really specific opportunities that used to exist. you are so grateful for libraries and the publicly-funded things: they are, however, an exception - and everything they have, they've fought tooth-and-nail to protect. you read a headline about how in many other states, libraries have virtually nothing left.

do you want to meet up with your friends afterwards? gift your friends the discord app. you can choose to go to a cafe (buy a coffee, at least), a bar (money, alcohol) or you can all stay in and catch a movie (streaming) or you can all stay in bed (rent. don't get me started) and scream (noise complaint. ticket at least).

you want to read a new book, but the book has to have 124 buzzwords from tiktok readers that are, like, weirdly horny. you can purchase this audiobook on audible! your podcast isn't on spotify, it's on its own server, pay for a different site. fuck, at least you're supporting artists you like. the art museum just raised their ticket price. once, they had a temporary exhibit that acknowledged that ~85% of their permanent art galleries were from cis white men, and that they had thousands of works by women (even famous women, like frida! georgia o'keefe!) just rotting in their basement. that exhibit lasted for 3 months and then they put everything away again.

walmart proudly supports this strip of land by the street! here are some flowers with wilting leaves. its employees have to pay out-of-pocket for their uniforms. my friend once got fined by the city because she organized a community pick-up of the riverfront, which was technically private property.

no, you cannot afford to take that dance class, neither can i. by the way - i'm a teacher. i'm absolutely not saying "educators shouldn't be paid fairly." i'm saying that when i taught classes, renting a studio went from 20 bucks an hour to 180 in the span of 6 months. no significant changes to the studio were made, except they now list the place as updated and friendly. the heat still doesn't work in the building. i have literally never seen the landlord who ignores my emails. recently they've been renting it out at night as an "unusual nightclub; a once-in-a-lifetime close-knit party." they spent some of those 180 dollars on LEDs and called it renovating. the high heels they invite in have been ruining the marley.

do you want to experience the old internet? do you want to play flash games or get back the temporary joy of club penguin? you can, you just need to pay for it. i have a weird, neurodivergent obsession with occasionally checking in to watch the downfall and NFT-ification of neopets. if i'm honest with you all - i never got into webkins, my family didn't have the money to buy me a pointless elephant. people forget that "being poor" can mean literally "if i buy you that toy, i can't afford rent."

you and i don't have time to make good food, and we don't have the budget for it. we are not gonna be able to host dinner parties, we're not made of money, kid. do you want some kind of 3rd space? a space that isn't home or work or school? you could try being online, but - what places actually exist for you? tiktok counts as social media because you see other people on it, not because they actually talk to you.

there was a local winter tradition of sledding down the hill at my school. kids would use pizza boxes and jackets and whatever worked, howling and laughing. back in september, they made a big announcement that this time, rules were changing, and everyone must pay 10 dollars to participate. when im not scared shitless, i kind of appreciate the environmental irony - it hasn't gone below 40. so much for snow & joyriding.

i saw a bulletin for a local dogwalking group and, nervous about making a good first impression, showed up early. the first guy there grimaced at me. "sorry," he said. "there's a 30-dollar buy-in fee." i thought he was joking. wait. for what? the group doesn't offer anything except friendship and people with whom to walk around the city.

he didn't know the answer. just shrugged at me. "you know," he said. "these days, everything costs money."

[krysmcscience]

Did somebody say Bill shouldn't be allowed to swear? I think somebody said Bill shouldn't be allowed to swear. Thanks to that, have these retooled The Good Place jokes:

The "powers that be" can refer to either the Theraprism staff, the Axolotl, or just. Ya know. Disney in general. Or all three! Whichever you think is funniest. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The "party" Bill's referring to is Weirdmageddon, of course. He was quite the ashhole to everyone back then.

Ford has probably gotten pretty good at the 'tune out your psychopathic ex with dank memes' challenge.

It must be very cathartic to be able to make Bill shut up whenever you want with just the press of a button. I'm sure Ford doesn't abuse this ability at all.

Oh, sure, 'Not now,' he says, before he immediately backs out of the newly-made hole in the Theraprism wall. 🙄

Don't worry, Bill doesn't get far.

also yeah i know this one doesn't have an attempted swear - i just wanted to use the joke because of the massive stink-eye involved in it because it makes me laugh

⬇️ More goofs beneath the brief ramble if you wanna skip it lmao⬇️

Why is Ford even there, you might ask? Well, he either decided he preferred to watch Bill suffer in person over being distantly and repeatedly harassed with the same evil desperation book for the rest of his life, or he got roped into some kind of contrived community service for 1.) all his many counts of interdimensional thievery, and 2.) his ignoring all the very clear warnings to NOT summon Bill in the first place (which I like to imagine is also illegal). Theraprism staff were just like, 'Wait, this guy matters to Bill? Ooh, we can USE that! It might be the only thing that can help him want to get better!' It is not considered that throwing Ford at Bill so soon after Weirdmageddon could instead make them both WORSE - in new and altogether special ways! :D

Anyway, I'm calling it the Community Service AU, and I am most likely not going to do anything else with it beyond appropriating these silly Good Place jokes. So, feel free to adopt the concept if y'all wanna??? Just make sure that Bill is still not allowed to swear, no matter what, full stop. It's gotta be a real linguistic corkblork of a situation for him, is all I'm sayin'.

Finally, have these bonus Good Place jokes, but with Handyman!Bill this time:

'Opposite tortures' doesn't sound so bad...at least until it's an all-powerful chaos entity known for torture saying it.

you may think i forgot mabel's cute pink cheeks but the truth is that i did in fact forget but then immediately stopped caring which makes it okay, SHHHHHHH

And, finally:

lmao this is shit

True facts, if you cram Season 1 Eleanor Shellstrop and Michael into a singular triangle shape, they turn into Bill Cipher. This is science, look it up. Or don't, and just trust the source that is me, bro.

Anyway, I should be in bed, y'all have fun with these, I guess. Tune in after like a week or so and maybe I'll have an addendum to my comic about how Bill was drawn naked for karaoke night. Because him actually being naked was not the only thing I considered as a plausible explanation. XD

Also if you see any inconsistencies or errors in any of these comics, No You Do Not :D

Also also, reblogs are rad as hell and I appreciate every single one, just don't repost, please and thanks. Every time a repost is made, an artist somewhere cries. :,)

[meow--wows]

BECOME AS GODS

[eric-bogosian]

Re-sharing this post I found on Twitter for people looking for alternatives to NaNo. I haven't tried any of these sites but they might be worth looking into.

[faggotisaacfloofs]

the person who helped today when I fell out of my wheelchair actually did a really great job, so I want to share in case other people wonder what to do. [Note: this is not universal, this is merely a suggestion from one person, every wheelchair user's needs are different! I am a person who uses a manual chair usually pushed by someone else who is also disabled.]

Scenario: you see someone in a wheelchair fall out of their chair, and you have the ability to help.

1. Approach and ask "are you okay?"*

2. Next question if they say no, are vague, or open to continuing conversation** is, "is there anything I can do to help?" Or "what can I do?"

If they say no to help, then that's the end, just leave and go do whatever you were doing!

If they ask for help or say they are mildly injured, ask "what would you like me to do?" And wait for an answer before doing anything! If they seem dazed or confused, they might have hit their head or had another medical event*, or they might just be like that due to regular disability. Be patient.

Do not touch the person unless they say to, or they are like, unconcious in the middle of the road, ya know?? Wheelchair users usually have conditions that mean being handled improperly can severely injure us, you could cause much more damage than the fall.

Some things they might need you to do:

Bring their wheelchair closer (mine went about 5 feet away after it dumped me)

engage the brakes of the wheelchair

hold wheelchair steady if it's an unsteady surface (mud, hill, ramp, wet, etc)

offer an arm for them to hold onto to get up (them grabbing you, not you grabbing them) or move another solid item closer for them to use (i.e. a chair) [only do this if you physically have the ability to!]

If the terrain is rough (i.e. a parking lot), they *might* ask you to push their chair to a more stable area once they are back in their chair

nothing

Something else

Do what they ask, NOT what you think would be helpful. If for some reason you have to do something (i.e. you can't stop oncoming traffic and need to get them out) ASAP, tell them what you plan to do

Keep in mind they might also be D/deaf, have a communication disability, be stunned after the fall, have a head injury, not trust other people, etc. Be patient and treat them as a person with autonomy and agency! They might need to just sit on the ground for a few minutes to recover before trying to get back in their chair. They might want everyone to leave them alone. They might ask you to call someone specific. Their chair might have broken and that can be extremely distressing. All of this is like if your legs spontaneously stop working when you're out and about!

A lot of wheelchair users (NOT ALL) have ways to get into their chair on their own once the chair is close enough and brakes engaged (but it's hard from the ground!). Here's what brakes look like on a lot of manual wheelchairs, in case they ask you to lock the brakes. They're levers on each side and pushing the lever pushes a bar against the wheel to hold it still.

ID: A manual wheelchair with the brake levels circled in red and labeled "user brake levers"

*There is also the possibility of course that a person fell out of their chair due to a seizure or other medical event, so that is why it is important to ask if they are okay. If you saw them hit their head, tell them so. If they had a medical event, follow protocol for that, I'm not gonna get into it here (thought I could).

**sometimes a person will be clear after the first question i.e. "I'm all good thanks" clearly means they do not need you to ask another question, you can just leave them alone. Keep walking and don't stare. A lot of the time people will be a bit banged up but be totally fine and able to manage on their own.

TLDR: Ask the wheelchair user if they're okay, then what they need, and then do exactly that, including leaving them alone. Thanks!

[girpgorp]

decided my fetal kwamis deserved a little lore

[monkesupreme]

ref

a satisfactory answer for Selina

[areyouscaredyet]

im not particularly religious but i think it’s very cute that Trans Day of Visibility and Easter are on the same day this year :)

its no question that something like this could be triggering or upsetting to a number of queer ppl given the current sociopolitical climate, so i want everyone to remember that u are loved! Regardless of what u or others believe, there are ppl who will love and support you always. Give yourself patience and treat yourself with care!!!

happy and peaceful TDOV everyone!! And Easter to those who celebrate :D

[havi-fart]

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH YAAYYYY

to fight my artblock i decided to redraw some gerard p donelan comics as ds9. but once i started i could not stop....

so heres all deep space 9 of them. lol. again the poses and captions are lifted straight from his comics all i did was put space guys on there! please enjoy

(id in alt text btw!)

[spaceistheplaceart]

was gonna use terrible comic day to post this but its an idea thats been bonking around in my head for a min. if i knew how to program and the songs wouldnt all be copyrighted i would totally make this game.

ID UNDER CUT

BEGIN ID:

A grayscale sketchy comic.

Caption at the top: "A video game wherein you're driving alone and have to listen to the radio's clues to survive"

POV from the driver, hands on wheel with the radio to the right. It's night in a forest on a dirt road. The driver is approaching a fork in the road, indicated by a sign that points right and left. The radio plays the lyrics: "you better run, better leave this place- get lost and go a different way! go left! go left! go left! go, go!

The next panel we see the driver, who has long hair tied messily up in a bun, wearing a hoodie, a collared shirt, glasses, and has black nails. Two realistic hands reach from the darkness of the car behind them- one grabbing their arm. The radio plays: "Don't turn around 'cause you're gonna see my heart breaking-- don't turn around i don't want you seeing me cry--"

Underneath the panels are song credit. the first song is Radiant Children's "Go Left" and the second is Ace of Base's "Don't turn around"

END ID

[ink-the-artist]

Video game I saw in a dream. It was in this low poly style like an older video game. You play as this character I think was meant to be a lamb, or maybe a weird mix of a lamb a mouse and a rabbit, (while not really looking like any of those things) and you’re running away from a wolf. Your objective is to last as long as possible before the wolf catches and eats you.

The house you’re running in is endless and bizarrely put together like most building interiors in dreams are (like the infinite toilet dream dimension on Reddit lol) the layout of the house is pretty detailed, you can stop and hide in places like closets or bins while the wolf looks for you, you can go up and down stairs and into rooms etc.

You never actually know where the wolf is or how close it is to you until it appears in your line of sight, it makes no noise and the game gives you no way of knowing where it is, and it’s pretty unpredictable it doesnt move at a consistent pace. When the wolf catches you there’s an animation showing it eating your character

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

Suddenly, bell bottoms aren't so bad

Bonus sketch, because I had to vv

"Stop checking out my assistant, Stanley."

[guiiay]

the spear of longinus