#not beta read we die like og ghost | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

konigbabe · 2 years ago

Text

heartburn

Pairing: John Price x fem!reader

Word count: 4.5k

Tags/Warnings: established relationship; (emotional) hurt/no comfort; angst; smut; p-in-v sex; soft sad sex turned rough(ish); female reader; female anatomy; fem oral receive; cunnilingus; unprotected sex; spoilers in the upcoming tags; breakup; heart break; cheating accusations; unintentional exhibitionism

Summary: Dressed in nothing but your desire, England was an entirely different beast. Ready for the remarks, John stomped into the shared bedroom, legs freezing upon the sight of you—skin bare, eyes wide, heels on but clothes not.

Part of my A to Z kinks game [L is for lingerie]. Inspired by Power by Isak Danielson.

masterlist • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

Like a starved animal, begging for every ounce of you; to feel every inch of you. He already stole your heart. Took a part of you with him whenever he got deployed. Lost it on the battlefield; returned with gifts instead.

All you wanted him to do was make it up to you. Make it all go away, rip the rest of your heart out, leave an empty cave inside your chest only to fill it up with his essence. Only him.

John’s arm tightened around you when your lips brushed over his. Chasing that spark, that electrifying flicker. The gentle brush of your tongue over his lips, a silent cry; or a plea.

There isn’t much to save, anyway. Is it really worth trying?

Words spiralled in your head, the sour taste of cheap wine painting your tongue crimson red, making your world spin with each step. You watched as the wine splashed on the bottom of the sink, few droplets bouncing onto the rim, some clinging to your fingers.

The walk upstairs took way too long. Lights out. The strong flame of the candle cast dancing shadows over the kitchen counters. The perfect blend of musk, patchouli, sage and mahogany cologne remained you of him; Midsummer’s night—it served as the accurate distraction from the bittersweet loneliness.

The doors to the bathroom smashed open as you stumbled inside, hands shooting to rip the sweater off of your body only to notice it already gone; probably discarded on the way. Untying the knot on your sweatpants, you undressed completely; the chilly air coming from the simple white files caressed your heated flesh. The lukewarm water started filling the bathtub as your eyes fell on the beige bag, resting on top of the unmade bed. Lonely and abandoned. With a dizzying step into the bedroom, your blood-painted nails scrapped the soft, silky fabric.

The car ride was silent, only his fingers drumming on the steering wheel breaking the quiet. Heart racing, Price was eager to finally get to his destination; home, to you. A day earlier, mind already filled with plans on how he’s going to make it up to you—all the missed time, the months of lonesomeness he caused you.

The sun had already begun to dip below the horizon by the time he and his men landed back in England. Painting the sky in a wash of oranges and pinks. By the time he was already pulling up onto the familiar street, the darkness set in. Moon shining bright, enlightening the empty front porch of your shared bungalow; the one you designed and he help build with his own hands.

Still in uniform, John parked the car next to yours. His eyes remained focused on the front door; waiting that maybe, just this time, you’d come out. Welcome him with open arms, that adorable smile on your face. In that pretty sundress he bought you last time.

(“For the neighbour’s welcoming party,” his lips touched your forehead momentarily, hand warm on the side of your neck. The light gold necklace he gave you after returning from the previous deployment shone in the sunlight as he stood before you, a soft smile hidden underneath the overgrown beard. But in the end—

—he had to leave the morning of the party, leaving you to participate alone. As always.)

Rubbing his hands together, eyes fixated on the slight flicker of light in the kitchen, John came to the conclusion that you weren’t coming. That he had to go, fish the keys from his pocket and actually enter the house by himself.

“Good evening, Mr Price,” a soft voice genuinely surprised him while closing the door, causing him to slam them shut harsher than he intended. Looking at the pavement, he registered a woman walking her dog; the black tight pants blended into the night, making it look as if she was floating, matching a dog’s fur as it stood by her legs. It was big, strong, and John was sure that if the dog wanted, he could’ve easily dragged the woman by the leash.

She was pretty—made John feel sick with himself for even thinking about that.

“I’m your neighbour,” she followed with her name, catching onto the man’s confusion, “I had a welcoming party few months back. Your wife came. Brough Shepherd’s pie, said you baked it together.”

He felt his throat tighten; the pie was meant to be your lunch. You made plans to bake a cake together for the party or go buy wine. Yet apparently, that cake was never created. It made him wonder—what did you do after he left? In the early hours of the morning, when the sun was still half below the horizon. He left you in the bed, his old shirt clinging to your sleeping form, exposing a sliver of skin on your hip, the curve of your waist. It made him question himself; When was the last time he saw the skin of your torso? Traced the scar under your collarbone? Kissed the softness of your breasts?

“Girlfriend, she’s not my wife,” John interrupted the woman, swallowing to relax his throat.

The woman’s lips parted, “oh, well, um—who knows,” she shrugged, watching her dog sit.

But John knew; he saw the outcome, the impending ending. And you did too. The neighbour didn’t, she didn’t see what was going on in your house.

“She sure is very lovely,” the woman rambled on but John’s mind already drifted elsewhere, not really paying any attention to the neighbour no more.

“Have a nice evening,” he dismissed her. Back practically turned to her as he marched toward the front doors. The dog barked; he wasn’t sure if it was at his looming figure, covered by the night, or a random squirrel hidden somewhere in the trees surrounding the whole neighbourhood.

The smell of cedar and vetiver enclosed John, the candle’s fire barely surviving at the bottom of its thick glass. It made his head throb, the strong scent overwhelming his senses. Entering the room, the kitchen was a mess; used plates still laying on the dinner table, glasses stained with red substance thrown into the sink, one of them cracked at the rim. His fingers traced the line. One slight push and the glass would explode under his calloused fingers.

Two plates.

Two wine glasses.

Candle still lit.

The chair you always sit on carelessly untucked, blocking the way to the door.

His legs moved on their own accord, stopping at the bottom of the staircase.

Your sweater, inside out and hanging on the wooden railing.

Heart bleeding. John stomped onto the stairs, heavy breathing, he felt a pile collecting at the bottom of his throat, threatening to spill over.

The silk material hugged you tightly, exposing the flesh of your exhausted body. Lips painted burgundy red, matching the colour of your bleeding heart, your eyes stayed fixated on the reflection in the mirror, shadows from the lit lamp cast onto the side of your face contouring the pale skin.

Door swinging open, your breath hitched. The sharp light being turned on blinded you temporarily. A broad silhouette stood at the door. One hand extended, palm resting on the wooden material; John’s eyes scanned the bedroom first. As you stayed by the dressing table, feeling the cold surface calming the nerves.

He was back.

His name leaving your lips pulled his eyes toward you. You were alone. He exhaled, confused. The zircon blue raging with a storm as John takes you in; after months of separation and only hearing your voice, he mentally beats himself for forgetting the way you look. Especially now, barely dressed as if you were awaiting his arrival—or someone else’s, his mind wanders.

John’s gaze shifted from yours, eyes sliding over the barely covered body of his lover. Of you. The way the clothing highlighted your curves, the straps of the suspender belt hanging in the air loosely, begging to be clipped to the stockings that hug your legs, the soft muscles emphasized by the heels. He always knew you were beautiful, he made sure to let you know on every occasion he had; he used to. Looking at you now, at that moment, you looked breathtaking, magnificent. Made him bleed with a primal instinct—one held back by the heartburn spreading inside him.

It’s your name, escaping his chapped lips in a silent prayer that pushed him inside the lit bedroom.

“Is someone else here,” he breaks the silent wall between you, shattering it to pieces.

Eyebrows furrowed, you watched him turn the lights off again, leaving only the soft glimmer of the lamp flowing over your silhouette on.

“Why?”

Hip gently resting on the side of the dressing table, your fingertips fumbled with the clasp of the belt.

“I saw the kitchen,” John’s steps turned light just as the tone of his voice, the storm in his eyes dying down, softening the hardened features on his face. The same face you dreamt about every night.

Oh.

The rest of the alcohol was like a warm current, but then the coolness of the air touched you. Like a snowflake, the liquor evaporated from your system upon John’s words.

“I was lonely,” you exhaled, “I am lonely.”

I am lonely; your words haunted him, a pestering melody he could not get out of his head. Dizzying him, stunning his legs to the freezing point. The forlornness of your words enveloped him, choking him. It was as if someone had slipped a razor blade into his chest.

Just at an arms reach. Fingertips sparking with small jolts of electricity, all John wanted was to touch you, run his palms over the curve of your waist, touch the wet skin of your cheeks. Whisper sweet nothings in your ear—just as he used to.

Now he felt like a stranger in his own bedroom.

“I thought that maybe,” a tear ran down your cheek, the droplet leaving a wet trail behind as it reached your jawline, John’s eyes following, “maybe, if I just pretend hard enough; maybe I could get my brain to believe that—”

His hand moved to wipe away the tears, but he could feel something more pressing than the sadness in your eyes.

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you, John,” his name felt heavy on your tongue, unnatural.

A series of No cascaded from his lips, a stark contrast to the love that had filled the room previously. Arms lingering on your cheek, the rough tip of his thumb caressed the contours of your cheekbones while his heart wept in time with yours. His arm sneaked around your naked middle, brushing over the silky soft belt, fingertips dipping slightly underneath the fabric to feel just a little more of you. A desperate attempt to keep you close.

Your fingernails scratched the unkept beard, the mess on his worn-out face as if trying to hold on to something that was already slipping away. Feeling the rough texture. The pricking of his facial hair. Palm resting on his bruised cheek, the fading blend of purple and yellow partly hidden by the beard. Exhaling, feeling the weight of your bleeding love on his war-stained shoulders, he closed his eyes, letting his head fall into your hand.

John’s arm tightened around you when your lips brushed over his. Chasing that spark, that electrifying flicker. The gentle brush of your tongue over his lips, a silent cry; or a plea.

One last time.

His nails dug into the soft flesh of your back, gripping the belt. Moustache scratching your upper lip, his teeth enclosed over your lower lip. A whimper escaped your throat. And he swallowed it. Like a starved animal, begging for every ounce of you; to feel every inch of you. He already stole your heart, your mind. Took a part of you with him whenever he got deployed. Lost it on the battlefield; returned with gifts instead.

Your back met the edge of the drawer, hips flush against John’s. Hand grasping the back of your head. Desperately holding onto the softness of your hair. Lips crashed over yours, his tongue swiped over the tip of yours, tasting the saltiness mixed with the sourness of the wine you bought earlier. His despair tasted of tobacco, sweet and spicy. And urgency.

His name felt plaintive as you whimpered against his lips.

Leaning into you with his whole weight, you welcomed the suffocating feeling. Nails marking his exposed biceps in crescent shapes, his beard tickled your chin, the edge of your jawline and neck as he tasted your skin, planting sloppy, open-mouthed kisses everywhere he could reach. Tongue slithering over the sensitive skin, soothing the aching bruises he kept creating.

“You’re beautiful.” I’m sorry.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous.” Let me make it up to you.

And you did; all you wanted him to do was make it up to you. Make it all go away, rip the rest of your heart out, leave an empty cave inside your chest only to fill it up with his essence. Only him.

Hand sneaking underneath your knee, he caressed the fabric of the stockings before hooking your leg over his broad shoulder. The tip of your heels dug into his back. Poking the taunt muscle as the man knelt in front of you; before you. Tantalizing touches left a trail of dire longing over the apex of your thighs. One that lingers long after John moves away.

Palm warming the inside of your thigh, his lips trace the damp centre, feeling the wetness seep through the thin material. He missed this. You. Yet he couldn’t shake off the feeling in his heart. Just for this one night, all he wanted was to be selfish and pathetic. Just for tonight. And your moan, the way your hips bucked into his lips as he breathed in your scent, you felt the same.

One last pathetic goodbye.

He cursed. He was a bloody captain; and not just any captain—a member of SAS, founder of 141. A hunter. A killer. A damn good sniper, he’d say himself. Able to face many dangerous terrorists, druglords, and took down a whole underground organisation; but not able to face the truth of his love life. To face you.

Rather opting for a sad fuck. He felt like a coward.

Teeth sinking into the plush flesh of your thighs, hard enough to leave prints, making you moan his name in a series of cries. Maybe if he marked you enough, painted your skin in love bruises, it would make you stay. Tie you to him in an insurmountable knot.

Your hand sneaked into his hair, feeling the strands move around your fingers. Head resting on the mirror, John’s lips brushed over your centre again, eliciting another wishful moan from you. The dull throb inside your abdomen intensified. You needed him. To feel his touch, the stretch of him inside. Heaving a groan, you begged the man to do something; to stop punishing you already.

He wanted it to last forever though.

“Fuck,” he cursed, pushing your panties to the side and collecting the wetness on the tip of his fingers, “you’re dripping, love.”

Somehow, it felt foreign to hear him use the l-word again. Shutting your eyes harshly, the muscles at the back of your thighs stretched uncomfortably as John stood up; your ankle hooked on his shoulder, he could feel the coolness of the heel against his cheek.

“Open your eyes,” his lips kissed your instep, “please.”

You followed his humble request. Watching as the zircon blue of his eyes turned sapphire, his fingers traced your red-stained lips, smearing your juices over them before you sucked his fingertips in; eyes never leaving his, fixated on the way the lipstick stained his skin. He wanted the colour to ooze into his skin. To tattoo it in, make it stay.

Your hand tugged on his shirt. Tongue swirling over the fingers, cleaning them. The taste of brine and salt filling your senses, John quickly discarded his shirt, throwing it behind with careless behaviour—lips crashing onto yours with a new-found desire.

The kiss was short. Aggressive, messy, sloppy. But too short; soon followed by him back on his knees, your underwear pooling around your feet as his mouth latched onto the throbbing nub of nerves. Fingertips teasing your entrance, sending shockwaves throughout your bloodstream, igniting that dying fire inside you.

Hands grasping the side of the drawer, John kept a hand around the suspender belt, gripping it like a collar to steady you. Tongue swirling around your clit, he devoured you like a man starved of water. The sides of his beard tickled your walls—The fork of his nose parted your lips and sent shivers through your body as he lingered on your clit, giving it a flick or two before tracing the length of you again. Then another flick. Another taste.

Tongue swirled and lapped, dipping into you so that he could gather more of you for himself, satisfying his greedy desire for you, selfishly chasing after this hunger to savour you—until finally you heard the knot of desire tighten inside your abdomen, like a violin string too tense to play, until at last it can hold no more and snaps with a great final note that reverberated into silence.

You felt like a coward. Instead of pursuing the man you loved with the remaining pieces of your heart, here you were, letting him savour you—the only way both of you solved your problems. Only this time, as the knot inside your abdomen tightened, with John’s finger scraping your sensitive, gummy walls, this was the last problem to be solved.

“John.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he murmured against your walls, beard scratching the inside of your thighs. Heel digging into the naked flesh of his shoulderblade, you desired to bring him close, to swallow him whole, keep him locked between your legs for the rest of your life; never letting him leave.

Adding another finger, he scissored them inside you, tongue swiping over your leaking juices as his thumb toyed with your clit. White hot flashes shot through you; erasing every thought from your overdriven mind, leaving nothing but the feeling of scorching hot pleasure, bubbling inside you like a volcanic vat near explosion.

You felt his lips curl into a smile. Something you wished to see but the blinding feeling of pleasure too overbearing to allow your eyes to open. Lips parted, his name mixed with moans as he curled his fingers against your sweet spot. His eyes locked on your face. Watching. Memorising the way your mascara smudged underneath your eyes, casting a blackish shadow. Or your lipstick, smeared around your parted lips. In his eyes, you looked like a goddess—to be worshipped, loved, taken care of; not left alone.

Back arching, spine rippling with each new wave of bliss, John’s hand gripping your belt moved to your thigh, holding you steady while you reached the dizzying peak. The sound of your cries a symphony to John’s ears. He never stopped; his fervent passion hadn’t diminished, if anything it only grew more intense as he relished in the taste of you.

“C’here,” you murmured, gripping the side of his neck to bring his lips to yours. Tasting yourself on his tongue, sweet and tangy, you swallowed his guttural groans. Fumbling with the belt on his pants, he quickly dropped them to the ground, not bothering to step out of them as his hands undid the hooks of your bra with expertise; the same passion you used to have years ago.

He hissed when your fingers wrapped around his cock. Already semi-hard, your name cascaded from his lips, stained by you; he crashed his mouth against yours again. Pressing his body onto yours with a throaty grunt, hands holding your face steady, you could feel his leaking tip press against your middle. With your hand locked in place by the tight squeeze of his body, he rocked his hips into you.

The air was pungent, filled with moans and grunts; John’s hands moved to your thighs, gripping the plump flesh harshly as he hoisted you onto the drawer. You spread your legs apart, accommodating his narrow hips, feeling the precum stain your centre, press against where you wanted him the most.

John’s hand rested on the side of your neck, thumb brushing over the edge of your collarbone. Lips latched onto the other clavicle, he guided himself inside you. Splitting you apart, slowly taking more of you with him.

And you let him.

You let him take all of you.

Your palm rested on his breastplate. Feeling the coarse hair splattered across his chest. The taunt muscle underneath the scarred flesh, feeling the rapid beating of his broken heart. Taking you apart, filling you up.

When his cock finally kissed your cervix, he stilled. Both of you relishing in the close feeling of the other, feeding off of each other’s desire. He felt the surge of power you got over him. Pulling out with a tantalizing pace, he could feel your walls sucking him in. Like a mockingbird in a cage, his heart sang the song of you; desired, broken. Lonely.

“I love you,” John stumbled over the words in a desperate attempt to cage you in with him.

He rested his head into the crook of your neck. Sucking the skin between his teeth, his hands enveloped your breasts; squeezing the soft tissue, tracing the indents, remnants of the scars around them. Steadily thrusting, feeling the tight, desperate squeeze of your walls, he groaned into your skin. Thumbs tracing over the hardened and sensitive flesh of your nipples.

“John,” a moan left your lips, “stop,” and he did, immediately upon hearing your words. Face buried in the crook of your neck, he moved backwards only for your legs to tighten around his narrow waist, stopping him from pulling out. Confused, his burning eyes met yours, the tip of his nose brushing over the heated skin of your cheekbone.

“I want it rough,” you mumbled, heels digging into the taunt muscles of his asscheeks as if to emphasize your request.

Pushing him off of you, the heels clicked on the floor as you leapt to the ground and turned around. Hands on the drawer, legs far enough to make you bend, you presented yourself to him. Ass pressing onto his hardened cock, there was absolutely no shame inside your body. Nothing but pure, primal desire to feel him deep inside, the deepest he could’ve possibly gone.

To forget it all.

And John was willing; willing to give you everything he could. Every inch of him. Every piece of his heart. Every beat of it. Tear his skin for you. At that moment, he’d give up everything; something he should’ve realised sooner but understood only now.

John's hand was like a vice grip on your waist, so strong and yet still gentle, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body as his fingertips skimmed against the fabric of the lingerie. He squeezed, feeling the flesh move underneath his palm. His knee nudged your legs further apart, making a shiver run down your spine as the cool room air slithered over your exposed, glistening walls. The tips of his fingers explored you with an urgency, feeling how ready and willing you were for him;. how willing you looked.

Guiding his thick cock to your waiting core, he paused—the swollen crown of his cock lightly brushing against your slick nub. A soft moan leaving your lips, your hands gripped the edge of the drawer tighter. With a push of your hips back, you rocked against him, silently pleading, begging him to give you what you wanted. Craved. Needed.

And he eventually did.

A soft growl escaped his lips as John finally pushed into you.

The tightness of your walls encased him, sucked him in with desperation. Grunting, he stayed deep inside you. In slow motion, he pulled out before ultimately giving up. Letting go. Hands grasping your sides, surged in and out of you with ever-increasing fervour. The heat between you built into a crescendo of pleasure, threatening to consume you as it built into a soft wail.

The room was soon filled with the sounds of your wetness, taking John in. With every thrust, it felt like the blunt head of his cock plunged deep inside you, splitting something within you with a dull ache. Like opening your cervix, the pain mixed with pleasure just right to make your mind go blank. Cock-drunk on John; his thrusts drawing his name out of you.

He watched; in the mirror—the way your lips stayed wide open, eyes closed as if you were trying everything in your power not to see his face. The pain indulged him. Maybe if he thrust hard enough, it would make you open your eyes—

—so he did.

Rutting against you, the sound of skin slapping skin echoed throughout the room. Your name spilled from his bloodied lips, the skin cracking with the pressure of his teeth as he bit down on it. The metallic taste drawing the taste of you out, away from his tongue. And he hated it. Hated that even his own body was washing you away.

Bending over your perspiring body, you felt his weight on your back, arms enclosing your ribs. Just for a second, you opened your eyes—the top of his head rested next to yours. And you could feel the wet taste of his tongue, lapping at your skin, kissing the flesh of your back. His thrusts grew reckless. John was losing rhythm, nearing his own high as he felt you clench around him.

It was the way he looked up—as if he felt your gaze upon him, your eyes met his in the mirror—and you let go; completely submitting to the tied-up knot inside you, a cry left your lips, his name mixed somewhere in it too. John’s stare trapped yours as he watched your face twist in bliss and pleasure. The one he gave you; was still giving you. Guiding you through the orgasm, fingers moving to circle your clit, prolonging the sweet feeling. He wanted you to remember this. Needed you to do it.

You felt him reach his climax seconds later; the primal grunt, laboured breaths, teeth scraping your bruised shoulder, lips moving to your back as his hands gripped your sides with his nails digging so deep it felt like he pierced your skin. But you didn’t care.

Bruises and scratches heal over time.

A broken heart doesn’t.

It remains scarred.

His lips stayed pressed between your shoulder blades, relishing in the bittersweet taste of your flesh. Fingers caressing the curve of your waist, he remained still. Seated fully inside.

Maybe that way—with him encaging you underneath—you wouldn’t leave.

But you both knew the truth behind the silent pleas.

She was unable to tear her gaze away from the window; her eyes wider and heavier with guilt with each passing second—guilt of observing something she shouldn't, guilt of not looking away when she should, and worst of all, guilt of feeling a strange thrill from it all. Her skin prickled, breathing grew shallow as she watched, mesmerized. Spellbound.

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soconfusedwithmylife · 11 months ago

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i love subnautica but dude is it buggy as shit lmao although! its one of its charms since its funky most of the time ESPECIALLY when its not happening to you. like i had a peeper stuck in the corner of my lifepod just rotating?? and it would close its eyes when i would come close or a shine light on it and open them back up when i go away or close the light. or like when a poor spadefish or boneshark gets yeeted across the ocean for no reason. is it funny to look back on a warper coming out of the sea to you like some fucked up little mermaid or a chelicerate busting through a ventgarden to attack you? sure. but is it fucked up in the moment? NO. the latter happened to my sister while i was there to emotionally support her on her way to get alan's whateverthefucks lmao. she loves and prefers below zero majorly over the og mostly because it was the first one she played and she grew attached to it over the beta,, she hates where they ended up with the finished product. i played like half an hour of it in the beta decided it wasnt for me. i get SUPER jealous of the seamonkeys and the mineral detector tho. ayoooo rip to you consolers but im different B) pc is superior in the way it literally lets you fuck around with however you want and you bet i Will Play God whenever applicable! what else do you play? also now that we are talking about games i have to tell you. i love you and and your writing. but the feelings ive felt when i read you put him in plat............. my boy should have been at least diamond from the start im still in tears from that chapter i still havent recovered to this day how could you do my boy like this. how could you doubt his epic gamer skills and gaming time management issues like this. please explain yourself before my entire life falls apart at your feet. also me, an adc main, reading "accidentally kill the large-"

my boy was holding it in by shEEr power of love. especially after they nerfed the fuck out of adc to the point mfs will be rolling up the lane with double ap or a fucking yasuo. why is there always a fucking yasuo on enemy bot lane. and why do they all share the same zombie braincell. yone did not die for this bullshit. and to answer your question it depends on where im sending the question from lol. like on mobile there is like a 300? i think? character limit while on mobile and something similar on pc if i go to your blog site and choose ask from your theme. but here is the thing. if i go to your blog from tumblr/user instead of user.tumblr, then click ask, it literally gives me the same box as if im making a post. so no text limit whatsoever and i can freely send pics and stuff, pretty neat B)

nah i think at the end of the day doing whatever makes you the most comfortable and happy regarding the uploads is the most important! i just liked having multiple days of something nice to me ya know? not necessarily the fact that it was split. and i love them both!! the reason i call it texas touya fic is because one, when i started reading tomura was still more like on the sidelines and it kinda stuck two, it rolls of the tongue easier than texas tomura i guess? but i love them both T-T both as texans and in general! oh and dont worry ill probably bore you till you tell me to go away or something and and and! have a nice day!

I almost wish my game was as buggy as yours sounds. It sounds hilarious and game enriching. Mine doesn't like to glitch up but that probably because I played on PS4 and 5. Right after original launch of plain Subnautica, I got to the lava castle but the containment area wouldn't load so I had to start a new save. Hours down the drain.

^legit me after going through the entirety of the game again. Reapers, warpers, ghosts, and sea dragons biting chunks out of my ass all over again. But it was soooooo fun. It's one of my fave games.

OMG the backseat support gamer!!! I had one of those too for my second play through of oh Subnautica! Good on you to emotionally and psychologically hype your sister for the spookiness. I really liked below zero the first time I played it since I was just super hyped to have more Subnautica period but playing them again, you can definitely feel a substantial difference in atmosphere and replayability. Below zero just felt cramped and not as scary while Subnautica was open to terror from any direction. I totally understand your first experience being your favorite though. Whoa! You played it in the beta??? That's awesome! I'm but a lowly console peasant (until I get my PC fixed 😈) so I had to wait for console release.

OMFG DUDE. I was literally going to make him diamond II or even master BUT I didn't want a mega mind gamer in the comments to be like "erm, tomura wouldn't be diamond. It's hard to get to diamond!!11!" So I lowered his stats and you know what's CRAZY?! Me and a friend were talking about this exact issue and she brought up how he should have been at least diamond and I said the exact same story lmao. So I will go back and edit him into diamond 💀 he deserves it. The CS steal is so real 😔 so uncalled for. So unsophisticated. Okay but playing yasuo is fun, going against a yasuo is cancer. The wind shield is op. (When I'm playing against a yasuo) but sucks balls and blocks nada when I play him. (It's a zombie braincell hivemind that we all take turns with)

You're a Tumblr pro dude. 💀 I hadn't used it since 2015 so I'm still getting the hang of it (it doesn't tell me when I get notifs btw so I'm sorry for leaving you hanging for TWO WEEKS)

It legit means so much to me that you find so much joy in my writing and have stuck with it even with the long periods between updates. I appreciate you and the time you put into talking to me. It means a lot to me and you're the coolest anon I know.

Oh! And other games I play are pretty much anything 💀 I try to not get into competitive games like overwatch, Apex, or CSGO because I get EXTREMELY competitive and start screeching like a wounded animal. I used to play league religiously until my PC broke and my laptops can't run it (it can but it's like I'm either crashing or playing on PowerPoint) so I'm saving to get a new processor so I can play again! I mained ADC (jinx and Ashe, sometimes Tristana) or Annie on mid (LOL) BUT other than those, I prettyuch like anything. My fave games are Horizon Zero Dawn, Fable 2, Binding of Isaac, Assassin's Creed 2, and Minecraft! I play lots of survival games like ark, the forest, 7 days to die, and so on. I like simulation games Sims (obviously), house flipper, power wash simulator or even farming simulator 💀. You name a game, I've either played it or know about it.

They are my loves. They are my special boys and I care deeply for their fictional existence. As Texans, futuristic jerkwads, and in general.

No way will you ever bore me. If anything, I'll bore you

ANYWAY I will literally talk forever if given a chance 😬 thank you for talking to me! I'm always so excited to hear from you! I consider you a good friend at this point. How long has it been? Like 3 months? Maybe more???

#anon

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