#part of me is wondering if i should finally try out controller for pc but

[twistedappletree]

i caved and preordered DA: veilguard lmao

[sixeyesonathiel]

told the nerd to film it and he exported inside me instead!

pairing — tech nerd!gojo x fem reader

synopsis : you crushed on him for months, watched him dodge every advance like you were malware. so you dressed up a little, played a little dumber—and now he’s got you spread out in pixels and moaning in surround sound. worst part? you kinda want him to do it again.

tags/cw — masturbation, degradation, praise kink, dacryphilia, marking, overstimulation, explicit language, filming, voyeurism, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, rough sex, dirty talk, power dynamics, obsession, lingerie, virgin weeb satoru, questionable but effective way of seducing ur crush. 13k wc, 18+ only, minors DNI.

a/n : plz don't nitpick about how a fashion vlog shouldn't be like that bc that's the point. toru doesn't know the difference because all he watches is 2d girls

the compressor’s peaking again.

satoru squints at the waveform, drags the threshold down two decibels, then listens back to the same three-second clip of voiceover for the tenth time. it’s a podcast intro, some wannabe influencer droning about mindfulness. he doesn’t care. he’s just here to make it sound less like it was recorded in a bathroom.

“sounds like shit,” he mutters, even though it’s clean. crisp. perfectly balanced.

it doesn’t feel right. nothing ever does. he tweaks the bitrate, checks the export codec, wonders if he should build a custom ffmpeg preset. maybe write a quick script to batch clean all future files—something to shave off a few milliseconds of his life. his fingers hover over the keyboard, itching for efficiency, for control.

ping.

discord overlay glows in the corner of his ultrawide monitor, a neon-green intrusion on his meticulously organized desktop. he freezes. the notification pulses like a heartbeat.

you.

he stares at it, lets it sit there like it’s radioactive. doesn’t even remember keeping you added. your username—something stupid with a heart emoji—feels like a splinter under his skin. he should’ve purged his contacts months ago, but here you are, slipping through the cracks of his digital fortress.

hey. remember when u edited our project? can u help me trim some vids pls…

his jaw tightens. of course you’d ask now, at 2 a.m., when he’s neck-deep in audio plugins and caffeine. his fingers hover over the keyboard, poised to dismiss you.

“no,” he types, then erases it.

“what kind of vids,” he tries, but deletes that too. too eager. too curious.

after a solid twenty-five seconds of overthinking, he finally sends:

i guess. send what you have.

he leans back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. his room is a cave of glowing screens and scattered energy drink cans, the hum of his overclocked pc the only sound besides his own shallow breathing. he shouldn’t care. you’re just another art student, another distraction. but his pulse betrays him, thudding a little too hard in his throat.

flashback.exe

he hated group projects. despised them. a bunch of useless art students in overpriced streetwear, trying to make films with no understanding of pacing or continuity.

they’d fumble with premiere pro like it was rocket science, leaving him to clean up their shaky cuts and mismatched audio tracks. he always ended up doing 90% of the work, and he preferred it that way. control was his god, and he worshipped it.

but you were different.

not better. just... a different kind of stupid.

you showed up late to the editing suite, glitter pens spilling out of your bag, heart stickers plastered on your water bottle like a middle schooler’s diary. you called the lav mic a “weird nipple thing” and giggled when he glared at you. once, you spilled your lip gloss on the soundboard, leaving a sticky pink smear he had to scrub off with isopropyl alcohol. another time, you asked if uploading to drive made your data heavier, and he almost threw you out.

but.

you let him do whatever he wanted.

you didn’t hover or micromanage. you just sat there, cross-legged on a swivel chair, watching him cut scenes like it was magic. you leaned over his shoulder, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath, your wide eyes reflecting the glow of the timeline.

“whoa... you made it feel like a real movie,” you whispered, like he’d just parted the red sea.

you smelled like something artificial. strawberries, maybe, or some overpriced body mist from a mall kiosk. your hair was always tied with a ribbon—pink, blue, sometimes yellow, always obnoxiously bright.

he didn’t care.

he told himself he didn’t.

but he remembered. every fucking detail.

the zip file lands in his downloads with an obnoxious ka-chunk, snapping him out of the memory. he doesn’t rush. just opens it like it’s any other favor, like his heart isn’t clawing at his ribcage. the folder name stares back at him: “pls help <3”

typical.

he clicks it open, expecting shaky iphone clips of cafes and shopping hauls. maybe some cringe tiktok dance you think is cute. he’s ready to hate it, to scoff at your lack of framing or shitty lighting.

but then—

you appear on screen.

not just appear. you perform.

you’re biting your lip, laughing into the lens like it’s your lover. wearing something stupidly short—a skirt that barely qualifies as fabric, hugging your thighs like it’s painted on. you spin around in front of your mirror, the camera catching every angle, every curve, like you’re being filmed for someone else. someone who’d appreciate it.

you pose. cock your head. giggle. the sound is loud, breathy, smiling when you speak. “do you think this is too short?” you ask, tugging the hem of your skirt, your fingers lingering just a second too long.

he blinks.

backs the video up three seconds.

watches again.

your laugh echoes through his headphones, a little distorted, a little too close. he pretends he’s checking the audio, tells himself it’s for sync, that he’s just doing his job. but his eyes are glued to the screen, to the way your skirt rides up as you twirl, to the flash of skin that makes his breath catch.

he watches again.

his mouth is dry, his tongue heavy against his teeth. your skirt flips up higher this time, and you gasp—like you’re surprised, like you didn’t mean to show that much. but you don’t stop filming. don’t cover up. just... laugh, a sound that curls around his spine and sinks into his gut.

he doesn’t even realize his hand is moving until it’s there, slipping under the waistband of his sweatpants. his fingers brush against himself, and he hisses, the contact sharp and sudden. he’s already half-hard, his body betraying him before his brain can catch up. the room feels too warm, the hum of his pc too loud, but he doesn’t care. he can’t care.

he rewinds the clip again, pauses on the frame where you’re mid-spin, your skirt flared just enough to show the curve of your ass. his hand wraps around his cock, slow at first, tentative, like he’s testing how far he’ll let himself go. the texture of his own skin is rough, familiar, but it’s not enough. not when it’s you on the screen, laughing like you know he’s watching, like you’re daring him to lose control.

he strokes himself, a tight, deliberate rhythm, his thumb brushing over the tip where he’s already leaking. the sensation jolts him, makes his hips twitch in the chair.

he imagines it’s your hand, your fingers—small, soft, probably clumsy, but eager. he pictures you kneeling between his legs, looking up at him with those wide eyes, your lips parted like they are in the video, glossy and pink and begging to be kissed. or more.

the video plays on. you’re bending over now, adjusting your hair in the mirror, your skirt riding up to expose the thin strip of your underwear. he groans, low and guttural, his hand moving faster.

the sound of your voice—teasing, playful—fills his headphones, and he closes his eyes for a moment, letting it wash over him. “do you think this is too short?” you say again, and he wants to answer, wants to growl that it’s perfect, that you’re perfect, that he’d rip it off you if he could.

his grip tightens, his strokes growing erratic. he’s not gentle with himself—never is. it’s all pressure and friction, chasing the edge as fast as he can.

his free hand fumbles with the mouse, scrubbing the timeline back to the moment you gasp, to the split-second flash of your thighs. he loops it, the clip stuttering in time with his breathing, with the slick sound of his hand working himself over. his cock throbs, hot and heavy, and he imagines it’s you—your warmth, your wetness, the way you’d probably whimper if he touched you like this.

he’s close. too close.

his vision blurs at the edges, his pulse hammering in his ears. he shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be jerking off to your stupid video like some desperate creep, but the shame only makes it worse, makes it sharper.

he pictures you catching him, walking in right now, seeing him with his pants down and his hand on his dick. would you laugh? would you blush? would you get on your knees and—

he comes with a choked gasp, his hips bucking up into his hand. it’s messy, spilling over his fingers, onto the hem of his shirt. his chest heaves, his head tilting back against the chair as the aftershocks ripple through him. your laugh loops in his headphones, oblivious to the wreck he’s become.

it’s filthy. it’s desperate.

ten minutes later, he’s cleaned himself up, his hands steady again as he trims the file like a good little editor. he cuts out the shaky parts, stabilizes the footage, adjusts the audio so your voice doesn’t clip. it’s clinical now, professional, like he didn’t just fall apart to the sight of you. he names it something sterile: “vlog_cut_1.mov.”

he exports it twice. once normally, for you. once... not. the second version is raw, unedited, every twirl and giggle preserved in crisp 4k. it gets copied to a different folder, buried in a directory labeled “shader_study_2022.” he tells himself it’s in case you need a re-edit. a backup. that’s all.

when you text back:

thank u!! lol i owe uuu :3

he stares at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. his heart’s still racing, a faint tremor in his fingers.

he types “anytime :)” and erases it. sends:

np.

what he doesn’t say: he rewatched the part where you bend over six times. he had his dick in his hand by the second loop. he renamed the close-up to “test_render_asscloseup.mov” and hid it behind three layers of subfolders.

he doesn’t even like tiktok girls.

he’s into 2d, girls with big swords and bigger tits, drawn in sharp lines and impossible proportions. he once bought a dakimakura because the shipping came with a free pin, and it’s still shoved in his closet, one corner stained from a late-night mistake. real girls are messy, unpredictable, too much work. but now?

he’s thinking about the way your laugh dipped when you turned around, the way it caught in your throat like you were nervous. the way you looked into the lens like you knew someone was watching.

someone like him.

next day, you walk in like a fucking weapon.

pink fuzzy shrug, low-rise jeans that sit dangerously low on your hips, a sliver of stomach peeking out like it’s 2004. your hair’s up in a ribbon—pink, of course, swaying as you move. you’re all glitter and confidence, a walking distraction in a lecture hall full of tired students and flickering projectors.

he scoffs under his breath. “tacky.”

but his heart’s pounding, a traitor in his chest. his fingers twitch against the edge of his laptop, betraying the calm he’s trying to project. you slide into the seat two rows ahead and twist around, grinning like a cat, like you know something he doesn’t.

your eyes catch his for a split second, bright and teasing, and he forces himself to look away.

he opens his laptop, types random garbage into a terminal window—some half-baked python script he doesn’t even care about. he runs a fake compile just to feel busy, to drown out the way his blood is rushing too fast.

you lean over to whisper to the girl next to you, your laugh spilling out, loud and careless. your hair tosses, and he swears he catches the scent of your perfume drifting past in invisible waves. saccharine, overwhelming, like strawberries dipped in sugar syrup.

his brain short-circuits. he snaps his headphones on, the cord tangling in his haste. not to listen to music. not to block you out.

to replay your giggle.

he’d isolated the audio last night, cleaned it up with a high-pass filter, boosted the mids to make it crystal clear. exported it as a high-quality .wav, tucked it into a folder labeled “audio_ref.” he tells himself it’s for study, just good reference for future projects. but he loops it now, the sound of your laugh layered over faint lo-fi static he added for texture. it’s you, distilled into a three-second clip, filling his skull.

he closes his eyes and pretends you’re saying his name. satoru, you giggle, breathy and soft, like you’re leaning over his shoulder again, watching him work. satoru, you made it feel so real.

the lecture drones on, but he’s not listening. he’s lost in the rhythm of your voice, the way it dips and rises, the way it makes his skin feel too tight. he shifts in his seat, adjusts his hoodie, tries to ignore the heat pooling in his gut. he’s not supposed to want this. not supposed to want you.

but he does.

the thing about addiction is that it never announces itself.

no dramatic thunderclap. no internal monologue screaming, ah yes, now i am a pervert. it’s quiet. insidious. it sinks in like static, crackling at the edges of satoru’s brain until he’s not sure where his old self ends and this new, wretched version begins.

it’s not like he’s not already a pervert who gets off from pixels. this simply wasn’t his brand of perversion.

that night, he stayed up longer than he should’ve. stared at code for so long his ide crashed, the screen flickering to black as if it knew he was wasting his time. not that he got anything done. 

he just kept switching tabs—your final cut in vlc, some useless bash script in vscode he pretended to care about, then back to your video, the timeline frozen on that twirl, that gasp. his fingers shook when he closed the laptop, but sleep never came.

and now it’s the next day. mid-afternoon. the sun is doing that thing where it turns his apartment into a blinding box of heat and regret. his ac hums like an old man, wheezing against the sticky air. he’s sprawled in his chair, one leg slung over the armrest, staring at the ceiling fan like it might tell him how to stop.

ping.

another discord notification. he doesn’t even flinch this time. your username glows, and the filename attached makes his stomach do a weird little roll: “try-on2_raw.mov”. his eyes linger on the heart emoji you’ve tacked onto the message, like it’s a personal invitation.

hiii! ty for the last edit, ur a lifesaver <3 can u check and trim this one too? i’m trying smth new but idk if it works… lmk what u think pls!!

he clicks download. no hesitation. doesn’t even pretend to care anymore.

the file loads into his editing software like second nature, the premiere pro interface blooming across his screen. muscle memory. routine.

he’s done this a hundred times—except never like this, never with his pulse hammering in his throat and his mouth already dry.

the video starts the same way as the last—handheld, messy lighting, your voice trailing in from offscreen as you fiddle with the camera angle. no mic, of course not. just raw cam audio, unpolished, real, every breath and rustle amplified. he leans closer, like proximity to the screen will make it less dangerous.

“okay—wait, hold on,” you mutter, slightly out of breath. there’s a plastic rustle, fabric scraping skin, the light jingle of a zipper. he catches the sound of your nails tapping the digicam accidentally, a faint clack-clack that makes him picture your fingers, probably painted some ridiculous color, fumbling in that endearing way you do. 

“ugh… come on…” your voice drops, a frustrated huff, low and throaty. “mm—sorry! this one’s hard to pull up.”

then—zipper slides. metal on fabric, slow and deliberate, like it’s teasing him on purpose. you let out a sigh, long, slow, just a little too satisfied, like you’re savoring the release of pressure. the sound coils in his gut, tight and hot.

he freezes.

his mouse stays hovering over the playhead, the cursor trembling slightly. blood is already rushing south, his sweatpants tightening in a way he can’t ignore. his breath catches, shallow and sharp, and the worst part?

you giggle.

“probably got the wrong size,” you say, tugging the dress up higher. the hem catches on your thighs, rising indecently, the fabric clinging to your skin like it’s reluctant to let go. “don’t tell anyone i didn’t try it on in-store first.”

he swallows nothing. jaw tight. the room suddenly feels suffocating, the ac’s hum drowned out by the thud of his own pulse. your lip catches between your teeth, a flash of white against pink gloss, and the camera catches that too, lingers on it like it knows what it’s doing.

you glance at the lens, eyes half-lidded, like you’re waiting for approval, like you’re asking him directly—do you like this?

satoru’s fingers twitch.

one hand stays on the mouse, scrubbing the timeline back three seconds to hear that sigh again. the other hand moves before he can stop it, slipping under his waistband, brushing against the heat of his skin. he’s already hard, achingly so, the kind of hard that makes his head swim.

he wraps his fingers around himself, slow at first, testing, like he’s not sure he’s really doing this again. but the sound of your voice—breathy, teasing—loops in his headphones, and he’s gone.

he strokes himself, deliberate and tight, his grip almost punishing. the video plays on, and you’re stepping into frame now, the dress half-zipped, hugging your curves in a way that makes his throat burn. your thighs shift as you adjust the hem, and he imagines them under his hands, soft and warm, parting just for him.

his thumb swipes over the tip of his cock, slick with precum, and he groans, low and broken, the sound swallowed by the hum of his pc. he pictures your fingers instead, clumsy but eager, your nails grazing his skin as you try to keep up with his rhythm.

he’d guide you, show you how he likes it—fast, rough, no mercy.

you sigh again, and he speeds up, his hand moving in time with the rise and fall of your voice. “this one’s kinda tight,” you murmur, tugging at the neckline, and the fabric stretches, exposing the swell of your chest.

he wants to rip it off, wants to hear you gasp for real, not for the camera but for him. his strokes grow erratic, desperate, the slick sound of his hand filling the room, obscene and unstoppable.

he scrubs the timeline back again, pauses on the frame where your dress slips, where your underwear peeks out—a thin, lacy thing that makes his vision blur. he imagines pulling it aside, imagines the heat of you, the way you’d whimper if he pressed himself inside.

he’s close, too close, his hips twitching up into his hand. the video loops your giggle, that satisfied sigh, and he’s drowning in it, in you.

he pictures you catching him like this, walking into his apartment right now, seeing him with his pants down and his cock in his hand, flushed and leaking. would you laugh? would you blush? would you drop to your knees and let him finish on your lips, glossy and perfect and—

he comes with a muted groan, his head tipping back, eyes screwed shut as his release spills over his fingers, hot and messy. his breath shakes, a ragged exhale that leaves him hollow. the aftershocks pulse through him, and he slumps in his chair, the video still playing, your voice oblivious to the wreckage you’ve caused.

he pauses the frame. your mouth is mid-word, forming the shape of “oops,” lips parted just enough to make his chest ache. he wipes his hand on a paper towel from his desk, crumpled and stained from earlier sins. doesn’t look at himself. doesn’t think.

exports the file without touching a thing. names it “final_edit.mov.” then saves another copy, the raw footage, every sigh and rustle preserved. he names it “jesusfuckingchrist.mp4” and buries it in a folder labeled “misc_ref.”

he tries to normalize it.

“it’s just grading,” he mutters the next time he opens the project, the lie sour on his tongue. “just adjusting white balance.” but the playback bar hasn’t moved from your thighs. he doesn’t touch the colors. not really.

he zooms in under the excuse of checking “grain smoothing,” but it’s just your lip, caught between your teeth, your breath clipped at the edges like you’re holding back.

he tells himself he’s just learning.

every artist has their muse, right? except now he edits to your audio. he used to play podcasts, background noise to keep his brain from spiraling.

now? your breathing is layered into the timeline, a track he’s labeled “vox_ref.” he loops your laugh in reverse, lets it pan from left to right like it’s some surround sound experience.

“this is practice,” he whispers, dragging eq curves around nonsense, boosting the highs until your voice is sharp and intimate. “i’m experimenting with filters.”

right. filters. filters until your voice sounds like it’s right by his ear, like you’re whispering in bed, your breath warm against his skin. he plays a clip of you saying “do you like this one?” over and over, the words detached from context.

he doesn’t even care what you’re referring to anymore. he’s got that part memorized, the way your voice dips, soft and unsure, like you’re asking him to love you.

the next class is worse.

you walk past him in that fuzzy pink shrug thing, one sleeve slipping off your shoulder, and it’s like a bomb goes off in his chest. the fabric clings to you, soft and teasing, and he wants to grab it, pull it down, see how much skin you’ll let him have.

you lean down to plug your charger in, your jeans riding low—too low, the kind of low that makes him wonder how they’re even allowed on campus. he catches a glimpse of your underwear, a flash of lace, and his brain whites out.

he glares at his laptop, scoffs under his breath. “that outfit’s… desperate.” the word feels like a blade, sharp and mean, but it’s all he’s got to keep you at a distance.

your head tilts, innocent, eyes wide like you’re genuinely curious. “you think so?” you say it like you mean it, like you don’t already know the answer, like you haven’t watched your own footage and seen what he’s seen.

he shrugs, keeps scowling, doesn’t look at you. his fingers grip the edge of his laptop too hard, knuckles white. behind the screen, he’s got a paused frame of you licking lip gloss off your thumb, minimized in the corner. it’s been open since he got here.

his file structure is disintegrating. he used to name things with logic—timestamps, project codes, version numbers. now his desktop looks like a manifesto, a digital shrine to his unraveling. “vlog_tryon_final.mov.” “edit_3alt.mp4.” “fuckmeagain_laughcut.mov.” there’s a folder called “NOT work (unless)” that he doesn’t even open anymore, too afraid of what he’ll find.

he tries to draw a line, but it’s blurry. always blurry. he doesn’t know where the edit ends and obsession begins. when he dreams, he dreams about zippers—except they’re not zipzers. they’re your legs, parting slow and deliberate, your breath hitching as he pulls you closer.

a new text lights up his screen:

 hey! idk if the last one looks good… should i redo it? it felt kinda awkward lol sorry T_T

you sound insecure, unsure, your words dripping with that self-conscious charm that makes his chest hurt. he stares at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard, his mind spiraling.

you don’t know, do you? you don’t know what you’re doing to him, how your voice alone is enough to make him hard again.

he types:

looks clean. don’t worry about it.

satoru watches the word clean sit there like a fucking lie. his dick twitches, traitor that it is.

he hates himself.

but he opens the raw file again. scrubs through, frame by frame, until he finds that timestamp—where you moan, soft and accidental, like you didn’t mean to let it slip. he watches it, his headphones sealing him in with the sound of you. he exports that single second, names it “moan_finalgodhelpme.mp4,” and tucks it away like a secret he’ll never confess.

the timeline sits open, your frozen frame staring back at him. he doesn’t close it. doesn’t want to.

it starts with static in his skull.

not the loud, electric kind that chokes you up or begs to be noticed. it’s quiet. a whir, like an old fan that never shuts off, humming behind his thoughts. when satoru drags his mouse across the screen and sees your name still on the folder, it buzzes—faint, familiar, a sickness with your scent.

he changes the name from “NOT work (unless)” to “ARCHIVE_21,” moves it to a different directory, pretends it’s work, or dead, or both. but the static doesn’t stop. it clings, sticky and warm, like your laugh looping in his headphones.

it doesn’t help.

not when he dreams in highlighter gloss and those half-bitten whines you make when stretching, your body arching just so. not when he wakes up rutting into damp sheets, mouthing your name like a damn prayer, his hips jerking against nothing. the shame burns, but it’s not enough to make him stop.

satoru’s trying.

really.

he takes up freelance gigs, edits wedding footage for some guy he hasn’t spoken to since second year. overlays cheesy filters, mutes the groom’s ugly laugh, syncs the vows to some overused acoustic track. it’s clean. respectable. sterile enough to make him itch, like he’s wearing someone else’s skin. but the folder’s still there, buried in his drive like it knows he’ll come back.

2:03 a.m.

his inbox pings, a sharp sound that cuts through the drone of his pc fans. your name lights up the screen, and his chest tightens before he even reads the message.

hiii satoru!! sorry for the late send, been sooo busy <3 can u take a look at this haul vid? i tried smth spicy but idk if it’s too much… lmk what u think pretty pls!!

march haul (raw).mp4

he knows he shouldn’t. there’s no logical reason, no business context, just the weight of your words—spicy, pretty pls—sinking into his gut. but his hands move on their own, clicking download, the progress bar filling like a fuse burning down.

click.

of course he does.

the video starts soft, your bedroom light diffused to a golden haze, casting shadows that dance across rumpled sheets. it looks like you’ve been tossing in them all day, the fabric creased and inviting.

you’re in lace—barely. something soft pink and flimsy, a slip of fabric that clings to your curves like it’s begging to be torn off.

your thigh’s out, one leg bent just enough to draw his eye, and the camera’s angled low, too low, like you meant to frame it this way.

“god, i hope this one fits…” your voice is breathy, a little strained, like you’re fighting the fabric. you adjust a strap, your fingers lingering on the lace, and your lip catches between your teeth, glossy and pink, a casual gesture that’s anything but. his breath stutters, a sharp inhale that burns his throat.

“oops, sorry—too much cleavage?” you laugh, not to yourself but at him.

he knows it.

his cock knows it, twitching against the seam of his sweatpants. the screen shakes as you set the camera on something unsteady—a stack of books, maybe—and it rocks just as you turn around, hips swaying, your ass hugged by that tiny thong, the lace cutting into your skin like a claim. you glance back over your shoulder, smirk poised like a dagger, eyes glinting in the soft light.

“i bet you’d pause right here, wouldn’t you?”

he does.

the video cuts mid-breath, and he doesn’t hear the silence. he’s frozen, hand halfway down, brain wiped clean. the frame lingers on your ass, the curve of it framed by lace, and his mouth is dry, his pulse hammering so loud it drowns out the static.

ping.

march haul (real).mp4

oops. wrong send lol. this is the real one!

his screen is still painted with the freeze-frame of your ass. his dick’s straining so hard it aches, a dull throb that makes him shift in his chair. he doesn’t respond, doesn’t move for a full minute, just stares at the message, the word oops taunting him. then—

he saves both files. drags them into “ARCHIVE_21” with a trembling cursor, his fingers clumsy on the trackpad. he opens the raw one again, slower this time, one hand on his lap, the other fisting his sheets until the fabric creaks.

you’re back on screen, adjusting the strap again, your laugh curling through his headphones like smoke. his hand slips under his waistband, and he’s already leaking, the tip slick and sensitive as he grips himself.

he strokes slow, deliberate, savoring the friction, but his mind’s elsewhere—on the hentai he’s spent years jerking off to, the doujins with dog-eared pages and cum-stained corners.

he pictures you like those girls, bent over and begging, your lace thong pushed to the side as he fucks you from behind, your moans louder, needier, than anything you’ve let slip on camera.

he imagines pinning you to those rumpled sheets, your thighs trembling under his hands, your ass bouncing with every thrust. no teasing giggles, no coy glances—just you, fucked out and whimpering, his name on your lips as he buries himself deep, so deep you can’t think.

his hand speeds up, the slick sound obscene in the quiet of his room. he scrubs the timeline back, pauses on the moment you turn, your smirk sharp and knowing.

he wants to wipe it off, wants to fuck you until you’re too wrecked to smile, until you’re clawing at the sheets and sobbing his name. he imagines your cunt, tight and wet, gripping him as he pounds into you, the lace of your thong rubbing raw against his skin.

it’s not enough to watch you anymore, not enough to stroke himself to your voice—he wants to ruin you, wants to feel you break under him, wants to make you his in a way those 2d girls never could.

he cums with a low, breathy whisper of your name, his hips jerking up into his hand. it’s intense, almost painful, spilling over his fingers and onto the hem of his shirt.

his chest heaves, his vision blurring as he slumps back, the video still playing, your laugh oblivious to the mess he’s become. he opens it again, doesn’t touch himself this time—just watches, memorizes, eyes glassy and mouth parted.

at one point, he swears he moans with you, a soft sound that slips out unbidden, his body betraying him even when he’s spent. when he edits the “real” file, he’s a machine. no stutters, no slips, just sharp keystrokes and surgical cuts, trimming shaky frames and boosting your voice until it’s crisp.

the guilt claws at him, a dull ache in his chest, but it only makes the next orgasm worse—and better. he exports it, names it “haul_march_final.mov,” and saves the raw file to a new subfolder: “stills_ref.” he doesn’t name the second copy. doesn’t need to. it’s just for him.

he plays it cool in class. “wow. another fit straight outta your grandma’s closet,” he scoffs as you pass, voice dripping with mockery, lips curling into something lazy and mean.

but his gaze flickers—just once, low and quick, like he’s checking for danger. and there it is. a flash of soft pink lace against the curve of your thigh as you shift your bag higher up your shoulder. just a sliver. deliberate.

he knows that lace. knows it from the raw footage, from the way it hugged your skin under golden light. his smirk falters for half a second, a crack in his armor.

you turn your head, slow as syrup, and smile at him over your shoulder. it’s airy, innocent, ditzy enough to play dumb, poisonous enough to feel like a threat. “mm? that bad, huh?” your voice is light, but your eyes linger a moment too long, sharp and knowing, like you’re peeling him open.

you take your seat two rows away, crossing one leg over the other with careful grace. your skirt rides up, just enough to show the edge of that lace again, and your fingers toy absentmindedly with the hem, brushing the fabric like it’s a game.

he doesn’t blink.

he knows what’s under that skirt, knows the way that lace bites into your skin when you move just like that. he’s seen it in soft lighting, tangled with shadows and sighs. he knows, and you know, and neither of you say a word.

he can’t breathe.

his hand trembles as he grips his pen, scrawling nonsense on the corner of his notes—random numbers, jagged lines, anything to keep his fingers busy.

someone’s asking a question about identity and performance, something about how we present ourselves versus how we wish to be perceived, and satoru’s already halfway to standing.

“sorry. washroom.” his voice cracks halfway through the lie, too sharp, too rushed.

satoru stumbles into the men’s room like he’s escaping a crime scene, the door clicking shut behind him. palm flat against cold tile, forehead pressed to the inside of his wrist, he tries to breathe, tries to think of anything else—code, deadlines, the wedding edit he’s behind on.

but it’s you.

always you. your smile, your laugh, the lace peeking out like a taunt.

he’s already hard, already leaking, the front of his jeans tight and unforgiving. he fumbles with the button, shoves them down just enough, and grips himself, his hand shaking as he strokes.

he closes his eyes and sees you—not the you in class, not the you playing dumb, but the you from his fantasies, the you he’s built from hentai panels and late-night desperation. he imagines you on your knees, lace thong pulled down, your cunt glistening as he fucks you against the bathroom sink.

no giggles, no teasing—just raw, desperate need, your moans echoing off the tiles as he slams into you, his hands bruising your hips, your body arching to take him deeper.

he wants you messy, wants you marked, wants to fill you until you’re dripping, until you’re his in a way that’s permanent.

he strokes faster, his breath hitching, his teeth sinking into his knuckles to muffle the groan clawing up his throat. he cums hard, too fast, his knees buckling as it spills over his hand, hot and shameful. he shakes, gasping, his forehead slick against the tile, and thinks of lace. thinks of lip gloss. thinks of your voice saying “oops” like it’s a sin.

it doesn’t take long for his desktop to become an altar.

the background’s still you, a freeze-frame from the first video, your lip gloss shimmering and fingers caught mid-twist in your hair. he tells himself it’s temporary, just a visual reference.

it’s been three weeks.

folders on folders: “hauls > favs > zoom_ins > stills > pantyshots.” “audio_samples > moan_loop > breath_only.wav.” “color tests > gloss_ref > lips.png.”

some nights, he replays a single frame just to watch your mouth form the word “fuck,” slows it down, isolates the syllables, pretends you’re saying his name instead.

the worst part?

you’re still pretending nothing’s changed. still calling them “favors,” still sending content like it’s work, like it’s nothing.

but your outfits are shorter, your giggles stick to the air longer, your eyes linger like you’re testing something. and when you purr, “you’re sooo good at this, satoru,” with that saccharine lilt, your voice curling around his name like a caress, he bites the inside of his cheek just to keep quiet. fists the sheets at night and prays.

he moans your name in the dark, face hot with shame, and hates how much he wants you to hear it.

satoru’s become sleep-deprived, dark smudges nesting beneath his eyes like fingerprints left behind by guilt or obsession or both. he wears his glasses more lately, less out of need and more as a buffer between him and the world—between him and you.

the lenses catch the glow of his new triple-monitor setup, a sleek beast he told himself was for coding, for editing, for multitasking. not for keeping your videos looping on the side monitor while he pretends to work on the main one. not for that at all.

your folder’s pinned in quick access, a permanent fixture in his file explorer. he keeps it open in the background at all times, a digital pulse that hums alongside his pc fans. second nature now, like breathing or wanting. not unlike a shrine.

in class, he pretends to take notes, his stylus scratching nonsense on his tablet. he’s not. he’s watching a gif on his phone, hidden under the desk—a loop of your tongue dragging slow across lip gloss, eyes soft with focus like you’re painting yourself pretty just for him. the gif’s only three seconds, but he’s memorized every frame, every flicker of your lashes. his thumb swipes to replay it, again, again, until his vision blurs.

ctrl+shift+eject brain.exe.

three days pass, and you haven’t messaged. he checks your chat thread more than he breathes—opens, closes, re-opens, scrolling through your old texts like they’ll reveal something new. every flicker of hope is a false start, a phantom ping that makes his chest lurch. he’s pathetic, he knows it, but knowing doesn’t stop the itch.

then:

ping.

april haul (suits).mov

hii satoru!! new haul vid for u to check <3 tried some swimsuits this time, hope it’s not too boring to trim hehe. lmk what u think!!”

he nearly drops his phone, his thumb smudging the screen as he fumbles to download. his new setup hums to life, the main monitor flashing with code he hasn’t touched in hours, the side monitor already open to your folder.

he drags the file into premiere, the timeline blooming across the screen, but his eyes are on the raw video, already playing on the right monitor, your voice spilling through his headphones like honey.

the video’s different this time. the camera’s lower, like it’s been left on a desk or shelf, pointing slightly upward to frame you from your knees to just above your head. your bed makes a cozy blur in the background, sheets tangled like an invitation.

you’re in a bikini top that isn’t trying very hard to stay on, thin strings knotted loosely at your neck and back, the fabric barely containing you. “mmm. does this scream summer, or slut?” you giggle, feigned innocence like frosting over heat, your voice curling around the words like you know exactly what they’ll do to him.

you play with the strings at your chest, tugging, adjusting, your fingers brushing the swell of your breasts. then, softer, breathier, to the lens: “baby, help me pick…”

baby.

it breaks him all over again, a crack that runs straight through his chest. his cock twitches, already hard, straining against his boxers.

everything after that gets softer, lazier, dangerous in how intimate it feels. there’s no performative energy now—just casual, candid seduction, your movements slow, like you’re not hurrying for anyone. like you know exactly who’s watching and how long he’ll linger.

when you shrug a dress off your shoulders, you sigh, the sound catching in your throat. when you twist to adjust a strap, you hum, low and absentminded. and when you struggle with a clasp at your back, your fingers fumbling, you moan—soft, unintentional, a sound that slips out like it surprised even you.

satoru’s thumb slams the spacebar, pausing the video, rewinding three seconds to hear it again. he watches the way your lips part, the way your brows twitch, the way your body shifts like you’re chasing the sensation.

he’s already leaking, his boxers damp as he shoves them down, his hand wrapping around himself. the side monitor loops the raw footage, your moan playing over and over, while the main monitor holds the paused frame of your parted lips. he strokes slow at first, his grip tight, his thumb swiping over the tip where he’s slick and sensitive.

his mind slips to the doujins he’s hoarded, the hentai he’s spent years chasing—the girls with flushed cheeks and desperate eyes, fucked raw and begging for more. but now it’s you, not some inked fantasy, and it’s so much filthier.

he imagines you sprawled across your bed, that bikini top ripped off, your thighs spread wide as he fucks you deep, relentless, your cunt clenching around him as you sob his name. no teasing, no giggles—just you, wrecked and dripping, your nails clawing his back as he takes you again and again, each thrust harder, messier, until you’re nothing but his.

his hand speeds up, the slick sound loud in his room, mixing with your looped moan. he wants you pinned beneath him, wants to feel you squirm, wants to fuck you until the bed creaks and your voice breaks, until you’re begging like those hentai girls, your glossed lips trembling as you say his name—satoru, please, more.

he imagines filling you, his cum leaking down your thighs, your body marked by him in ways he can’t unsee. it’s not enough to watch, not enough to stroke—he wants to own you, wants to make you his in every way those 2d fantasies taught him to crave.

he cums hard, forehead pressed to his desk, a low groan tearing from his throat as it spills over his hand, his keyboard, the edge of his new setup. his breath is ragged, like he’s run a marathon, his glasses fogging slightly as he gasps.

the side monitor still plays, your voice oblivious, your moan looping like a hymn. he doesn’t stop the video, just slumps back, spent and shaking, and watches again, his hand twitching like it’s not done.

it doesn’t take long for his room to reek of sweat and sin.

he edits shirtless now, sometimes in boxers, always hard, always leaking. every file’s renamed with trembling hands: “wifey_take7.mov.” “wifey_raw.mp4.”

he syncs your sighs to his lo-fi playlist, turns it into a lullaby, falls asleep to the sound of your breath. sometimes he slows your voice just to hear “baby” dragged out into velvet, makes gifs of your hands skimming your hips, kisses the screen when he’s drunk enough to forget shame.

you, on the other hand, don’t break character.

in class, you chew your pen and lean forward, the arch of your spine exact, your cleavage subtle—barely a tease, just enough to make his throat tighten. he looks away with a clenched jaw, adjusts himself under the desk, twice, his jeans unforgiving.

you whisper to a friend and giggle, and he lipreads, thinks he sees the words “can’t wait,” but maybe he’s hallucinating, maybe not. it doesn’t matter.

he starts responding to the clips aloud.

“fuck yes, that one.” “spin again, baby.” sometimes he mumbles your name like a prayer, sometimes he chokes it into his pillow. every orgasm has your name carved into it, a brand he can’t erase.

one night, he opens a file to edit, drags it into premiere, but he doesn’t touch it. just watches, headphones in, barely breathing. not a content creator now, not a student, not even a man—just a creature of need, and you his ritual, his muse, his goddess.

the screen shows you adjusting the straps of a silky babydoll, the lighting warm, your thighs bare, half-tucked under you as you sit prettily at the edge of your bed.

“okay, so this one’s… like, totally giving ‘come to bed’ energy, right?” you giggle, voice light, teeth sinking into your glossed lip as you bounce once, soft and natural, the fabric barely covering your chest.

satoru groans low in his throat, not even trying to hide it. “it’s giving bend over,” he mutters, lips twitching, his side monitor looping the raw footage, his main screen frozen on your smile. “fuck, look at you…”

you reach behind you, struggle with the clasp, wiggle your shoulders like you’re teasing whoever’s behind the camera. “oof. that’s tight… should i size up?” a breathy laugh follows, your sigh melting into it.

he licks his lips, your audio crystal-clear in his headphones. you’re right there, talking to him. “nah, baby,” he croons, eyes fixed on the curve of your spine as you turn. “tight’s perfect. keeps the goods in place.”

you blow a kiss at the lens. “hope you’re not bored yet,” you say with a wink. “i saved the cutest for last…”

you bend off-frame, your ass peeking just above the edge of the bed, round and inviting in cotton panties with lace trim, and when you rise again, your hands hold something sheer and tiny. “tadaaa,” you whisper, eyes glinting with mischief. “this one’s for my favorite viewer.”

00:05:46—satoru slams the shortcut, timestamp saved. a second later, he screenshots, then again, then again, frame by frame, until he finds the exact one where your lip’s caught between your teeth and your ass is still halfway in the air.

“fucking perfect,” he mutters, breath uneven. he pulls the image up on his main screen, zooms in, sharpens it, runs it through noise reduction. the side monitor loops the raw video, your voice sweet and teasing, while the right monitor plays a gif of your earlier moan, your lips parted in that soft, accidental sound.

his hand’s already moving, shoving his boxers down, his cock springing free, hard and leaking like it’s been waiting for this. 

he grips himself, rough and urgent, no pretense of patience. the new setup’s perfect—your video on the side, his code on the main screen like he’s working, but it’s all you, every pixel, every sound.

he strokes in time with your giggle, his eyes flicking between the gif of your moan and the screenshot of your ass, his mind spiraling into the filthiest corners of his hentai-soaked brain.

he imagines you on that bed, face down, ass up, the babydoll hiked to your waist as he fucks you so hard the headboard cracks. he wants you screaming, wants your cunt pulsing around him, wants to pull your hair and make you look at him as he fills you, over and over, until you’re a mess, until you’re his completely.

his strokes are frantic, his breath hitching, his hips bucking into his hand. he pictures you tied to the bed, like that one doujin he read last month, your wrists bound with those same bikini strings, your thighs trembling as he fucks you through one orgasm into the next.

he wants to cum inside you, wants to watch it drip out, wants to push it back in with his fingers and make you lick them clean. it’s not enough to jerk off anymore, not enough to dream—he wants to break you, wants to make you real, wants to fuck you until you’re as addicted to him as he is to you.

he cums with a choked growl, his head tipping back, glasses slipping down his nose as it spills over his hand, his desk, the sticky mess splattering his keyboard.

he’s shaking, gasping, his chest heaving as the side monitor loops your voice, your “baby” purring like a mantra. his wrist’s sticky, his room a haze of sweat and shame, but he doesn’t care. he’s not even really here.

you’re everywhere now—three monitors, three altars, your image burned into his retinas. he’d worship on his knees if you asked.

the next day, another file:

april haul (closeups).mp4

sorry! idk if this one’s helpful but i liked the shots hehe

he doesn’t unzip his pants. doesn’t need to. he’s already throbbing from the inside out, his body reacting to your name alone. he clicks, watches, kneels, and whispers your name like a benediction, the static in his skull louder than ever.

it starts with a ping.

innocuous. a single pixel shift on the main monitor mid-code, just as satoru’s debugging a script for a deadline he already missed. his side monitor hums with your last video, paused on that frame where your lip’s caught between your teeth, and the third monitor’s open to a half-finished render he hasn’t touched in days. he glances lazily at the notification, expecting another reminder from suguru to shower or eat—

but no. it’s you.

hey… do u do filming too?

his fingers freeze. heart jams, a dull thud in his chest. the cursor blinks, waiting, mocking. he doesn’t think. doesn’t breathe. his glasses slip down his nose, and he doesn’t fix them. the words burn into his retinas, and his cock twitches before he can process why.

yeah. totally. what kind of shoot?

he sends it, his thumb trembling over the enter key. no reply. not for five whole minutes. the wait is a crucifixion, each second stretching into eternity. he keeps opening and closing the chat, rereading your words like they might shift into something dirtier, something more.

his triple-monitor setup glows, your frozen frame on the side monitor staring at him, lips parted, eyes glinting. he’s already leaking in his pants, a damp spot spreading against his thigh.

then:

just a casual thing. home setup. come over?

he reads it twice. three times. his breath catches, sharp and shallow, like he’s been punched. come over. your dorm. your space. he’s hard, achingly so, his boxers tight and unforgiving. he doesn’t reply, just slams his laptop shut, grabs his camera bag, and stumbles out the door.

he shows up twenty minutes later, barely remembered to wear deodorant, definitely forgot his dignity. his high-end sony alpha mirrorless—loaded with a lens that costs more than most people’s rent—bounces against his chest as he knocks. his palms are slick, his glasses fogging slightly from the heat of his own nerves.

you open the door with a giggle, wrapped in a pastel pink robe that might as well be air. it clings to the curve of your waist, parts at the thigh, revealing soft skin that makes his throat burn. your hair’s still damp, sticking to your collarbones, and the scent of vanilla lotion hits him like a drug. “thanks for coming! i’m kinda nervous…”

he wants to bark out same, but his jaw locks. he swallows instead, the motion too loud in his ears. “no problem.” his voice is gravel, like he’s choking on his own want. he steps inside, and your dorm swallows him whole—warm, cutesy, a pastel fever dream of plush throw pillows, fairy lights, and a pink velvet couch that looks too soft, too inviting.

he’s already imagining you bent over it, your robe hiked up, your moans echoing off the walls. it smells like you sprayed your strawberry perfume over every surface, dizzying, suffocating. his glasses fog again.

he sets up the tripod with shaking hands, the sony’s weight grounding him just enough to keep from falling apart. you bounce around the living room, humming, fluffing pillows on the couch, fixing your gloss in a heart-shaped mirror propped against a shelf.

“does this lighting make me look washed out?” you ask, stepping back, tilting your head. then you bend to adjust a lamp, and your robe parts just enough to reveal the gentle curve of your ass, bare except for a sliver of lace.

he sees. pretends he didn’t. fumbles the lens cap, twice, the plastic clattering to the floor. his face burns, but he keeps his eyes on the camera, adjusting settings he doesn’t need to touch.

you brush past him again and again, your bare arm glancing his, silk whispering across his knuckles when you pass. he smells shampoo in the air, thick and sweet, and it’s you, all you, sinking into his lungs. “you nervous?” you tease, voice light, a giggle curling at the edges.

he scoffs, wiping his palm against his jeans, the denim rough against his slick skin. “pfft. nah. i’ve filmed worse.” a lie, bold and brittle, his voice too tight to sell it.

“worse than me?” you pout, stepping closer, close enough that he can feel the warmth of your breath. “ouch.”

“i didn’t say that.” his voice cracks, a hairline fracture. he’s too aware of you, of the way your robe slips an inch, of the way your eyes glint like you’re playing with him.

you tilt your head, wide-eyed, all fake innocence. “sooo… you have filmed pretty girls before?”

he falters, breath stuttering in his chest. he’s a virgin, hasn’t touched a girl in years, hasn’t wanted to—not when hentai’s been enough, when doujins have been his only lovers. but you’re real, and you’re here, and you’re breaking him.

“no one like you,” he says, unfiltered, raw, the words slipping out before he can stop them.

your lips curl, slow and sweet, a smile that says i know. “hm. figured.”

you disappear into your bedroom for a few minutes, the door clicking shut. he pretends to adjust the white balance, tweaking settings on the sony that are already perfect, but really he’s staring at the door like it owes him salvation.

his cock’s throbbing, a dull ache that won’t quit, and he shifts, trying to ease the pressure. the living room feels too small, the pink couch too soft, the fairy lights too intimate. he’s imagining you sprawled across that couch, your robe gone, your thighs spread, his camera capturing every gasp.

the door opens. you emerge. lingerie set, pale and sheer, a mini skirt that barely qualifies, lip gloss freshly reapplied. you look like a doll, saccharine and sinful, every curve a taunt. “can you help me zip this?” you turn, bare back exposed, the zipper halfway up, your spine a perfect line that begs to be touched.

he steps forward, too close, his exhale brushing your shoulder. his fingers graze your skin—soft, warm, real—and you shiver, a small, deliberate tremor. he pulls the zipper up with trembling hands, the metal catching once, his breathing uneven. the distance between you shatters into nothing, the air thick with static.

“you’re doing this on purpose,” he rasps, low in your ear, his voice rough with want.

“doing what?” you whisper, fake innocence thick as honey, your head tilting just enough to catch his eye.

you look back at him, lashes fluttering, lips parted, glossy and pink. he breaks.

“fuck.”

he grabs you, his hands rough on your hips, your mouths crashing together—teeth, tongue, gasps. your lip gloss smears against his cheek, sweet and sticky, and he groans into the kiss, devouring you.

you moan into his mouth, legs wrapping around his hips as he lifts you onto the counter, the edge biting into your thighs. you’re silk and heat and sin beneath his hands, and he’s forgotten everything else—his camera, his code, his shame. only you exist now.

you feel his hard-on through his jeans, pressed against your thighs, and he’s panting, his breath stuttering against your skin as he kisses down your jaw, your neck, the ridge of your spine. his mouth is everywhere, like he’s starved, like he’s trying to memorize you with his tongue.

his glasses slip down, and he grins against your collarbone. “need to get a better look,” he mutters, a flimsy excuse to lean closer, until the fog of his breath warms your skin. he bites your collarbone, hard, groaning when he leaves a mark. “wanna see that in playback.”

he drops to his knees without hesitation, a virgin’s worship, reverence born from years of hentai and nothing else. his fingers dig into your thighs, spreading them wide, and he groans like he’s just found salvation. he runs his tongue along the inner part first, slow and teasing, so close to the lace of your panties but not touching what you want.

you try to close your legs, but he forces them open, his grip bruising, his mouth finding the wet spot through the fabric. “fuck, you’re soaked,” he growls, voice muffled, his tongue dragging heavy and slow, the lace rough against your clit. “been wet for me this whole time, huh? fuckin’ tease.”

you whimper, hips bucking, and he moans into you, the vibration making you gasp. he licks through the panties, relentless, his glasses slipping halfway down his nose but he doesn’t care.

“you taste better than i dreamed,” he says, his voice hoarse, hentai dialogue spilling out like it’s natural. he sucks at the fabric, tongue pressing harder, and you’re trembling, your hands fisting his hair as you grind against his face. he’s messy, desperate, his moans louder than yours, like he’s the one about to cum. you do, hard, a cry tearing from your throat as you shudder against his mouth, and he doesn’t stop, lapping at the soaked lace like it’s his last meal.

he presses his cheek to your thigh, sticky and glistening, looking up at you with glassy eyes. “first one’s mine,” he says, grinding his hips into the floor, his jeans tight with his own need. you don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it. he spreads you open with his fingers, peeling the panties aside, watching your hole twitch with a hunger that makes his mouth water.

“look at that,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice dripping with awe. “fuckin’ perfect.” he slides two fingers in, slow at first, then deeper, curling them just right, like he’s memorized every doujin panel that showed him how. “shit—i’ve seen this in hentai but it’s better. fuck, it’s real.”

his fingers pump, slick and steady, and you’re moaning, head thrown back, the counter digging into your hips. he adds a third, stretching you, his free hand jerking himself through his jeans, matching the pace of his fingers inside you. “so tight, baby. you’re gonna feel so good around my cock.”

he spits on your pussy, a quick, filthy gesture, his eyes locked on yours as it drips down. “they never show that part right in hentai. had to test it myself.” you moan, loud and broken, and he moans louder, his fingers slipping out with a wet squelch. he licks them clean, slow, eyes fluttering shut like he’s savoring you. “fuck—want it all.”

he stands, trembling, his jeans tented painfully. “can i?” his voice is small, almost pleading, a crack in his bravado. you nod, and he fumbles with his belt, shoving his jeans down just enough. he lines himself up, his cock thick and leaking, the tip brushing your entrance. “you’re so warm—holy shit—you’re squeezing me—fuck—”

he slides in, slow at first, gasping as you take him, your cunt tight and slick around him. he’s a virgin, but he knows this, knows the rhythm from years of jerking off to scenes just like this. he freezes, trying not to cum, his glasses fogging as he pants. you clench down, deliberate, and he slaps your thigh, a quick, sharp sting that earns him a whine.

“don’t—fuck, don’t do that yet.”

he pulls out, just to slam back in, harder, the counter creaking under you. his rhythm’s sloppy, desperate, but he finds it, each thrust deeper, rougher. “look at you,” he growls, his voice pure filth, hentai dialogue spilling free. “taking my cock like a good little slut. you love this, don’t you? fuckin’ made for me.” he licks the tears running down your cheek, his tongue hot and greedy. “crying already? baby, i’m not even close to done.”

you moan his name, and he loses it, his thrusts turning frantic, messy, like he’s trying to ruin you. “film it. show me what you see,” you gasp, and he fumbles for his phone, almost dropping it with how hard he’s shaking.

the camera app opens in a blur of fingers, then steadies, the lens catching you spread wide beneath him, thighs trembling, pussy stuffed full of his cock. he holds it there, watching the way you flutter around him, his breath ragged. “watch this later and see how ruined you look, baby,” he pants, voice hoarse, wild.

he leans in, still recording, whispering filth against your ear. “that’s right. take it. cry for me. i want you loud.” his other hand drags the mic closer, the sony’s external recorder capturing every slick thrust, every broken sob, every wet squelch, loud and obscene.

he fucks you harder, the counter shaking, your tits bouncing with each thrust. “gonna fuck you on every piece of furniture in here,” he growls, his voice low, unhinged. “that couch? gonna bend you over it. that table? gonna spread you wide. your bed? gonna fill you till you’re screaming.”

you clench around him, and he groans, his hips stuttering. “fuck, you like that? you want me to wreck you everywhere, don’t you?” you nod, gasping, and he slaps your thigh again, harder, leaving a red mark. “say it, baby. tell me you want it.”

“i want it,” you whimper, voice breaking, and he grins, feral, his thrusts turning punishing. you cum again, a shuddering mess, your cry echoing in the mic as your cunt pulses around him, slick dripping down your thighs. he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, his cock throbbing as he fucks you through it.

“gonna fill you up,” he pants, his voice cracking, hentai fantasies spilling out. “gonna cum so deep you’ll feel me for days. you want that, don’t you? want my cum dripping out of you?”

you nod, moaning, and he loses it, slamming into you one last time as he cums, a guttural groan tearing from his throat. it’s hot, messy, spilling inside you, and he keeps thrusting, shallow and desperate, like he’s trying to push it deeper.

satoru doesn’t stop.

in fact, he lifts you, his arms wrapping under your thighs like you’re weightless, his cock still buried inside you, slick and pulsing. your head lolls against his shoulder, your breath hot against his neck, and he groans, low and guttural, as he carries you toward your bedroom.

the air shifts as he crosses the threshold, your perfume hitting him harder here—floral and sugary, the same scent that clings to your pillow, your wrist, your everything. it’s thicker in this room, curling around him like a trap, and he kicks the door shut behind him, the click loud in the quiet.

he pushes you toward the vanity, your back meeting the cool glass of the mirror with a soft thud. he bends you over it, slow and deliberate, his hands guiding your hips until your cheek presses against the surface, your breath fogging the reflection.

“look at you,” he groans, angling his phone to capture the scene—your flushed face, your glossed lips parted, your eyes half-lidded in the mirror as you whine in embarassment.

“pretty little thing, still trying to act innocent.” his voice is rough, edged with hunger, and he shifts his hips, thrusting shallowly, keeping you pinned, reaching for your lip gloss.

you mumble something, a weak protest or plea, but he shuts it up with a swipe of your lip gloss across your mouth, his hand trembling as he paints your lips pink, the applicator slick and messy.

“perfect,” he says, pulling back just enough to admire the shine, the way it catches the light. then he pushes in again, deeper, and you both moan, the sound mingling in the air, caught by the sony’s mic still recording from the tripod in the corner.

he kisses you messily—gloss smearing, lips hungry, teeth clashing as he grinds his hips, slow and torturous, never breaking the rhythm. the camera stays on, the phone propped against a perfume bottle, capturing every gasp, every shudder.

“taste so fuckin’ good,” he mutters against your mouth, his tongue chasing the sticky sweetness. “gonna kiss you till you’re dripping everywhere.”

satoru lays you on the bed next, gentle but urgent, his hands shaking as he props his phone against a stack of books on your nightstand, the camera app open, framing you perfectly—your body sprawled across the pastel sheets, thighs parted, lingerie barely clinging to your skin, the sheer fabric of your top stretched tight over your chest, the mini skirt hiked up to expose the lace of your panties.

he climbs over you, his glasses slipping down his nose, and pushes your legs up, hooking them over his shoulders, the angle forcing you open, vulnerable.

“fuck, you feel like heaven,” he says, voice cracking, almost reverent, as he slides back inside you, slow and deep, the heat of you pulling a groan from his throat. “i’m never gonna stop, baby.”

each thrust is deliberate, his hips rolling to hit that spot that makes you arch, your nails raking down his arms, leaving red trails he’ll stare at later.

he kisses you through it, his mouth sloppy and desperate, swallowing your moans like they’re his lifeline. the bed creaks under you, the fairy lights casting a soft glow over your tear-streaked face, and he’s lost in it, in the way you clench around him, so tight it’s like you’re made for him.

“so fuckin’ perfect,” he pants, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot and uneven. “taking my cock like you were born for it.”

he tugs at the straps of your lingerie top, pulling it down until your tits spill free, the sheer fabric catching under them, and he groans, his mouth latching onto a nipple, sucking hard until you whimper, your hips bucking against him.

but it doesn’t last—he needs more, needs to see you break in ways he’s only imagined in the dark of his room, his hand on his cock and your videos on loop.

he pulls out, his dick slick and throbbing, and grabs your hips, flipping you with a low grunt. he drags you up by the waist, positioning you on your knees, your ass high, your face pressed into the sheets, the skirt still bunched around your hips. his hand slides up your spine, pushing your chest down, arching you just right, and he yanks the lace panties to the side, not bothering to take them off.

“this is what you get for teasing me all these days,” he growls, his voice unhinged, as he lines himself up and thrusts in, hard and deep, the slap of skin sharp in the quiet room.

you whimper, muffled against the pillow, and he fucks harder, each thrust rocking you forward, the bedframe rattling, your moans spilling free despite the fabric. his phone’s still recording, propped precariously, catching every angle—your arched back, your trembling thighs, the way his cock disappears into you with every brutal snap of his hips.

“look at that pussy,” he says, his free hand gripping your ass, spreading you open for the camera. “so greedy, swallowing me whole. you love this, don’t you?” he tugs your hair, pulling your head back, forcing your cries to echo. “louder, baby. let the whole fuckin’ dorm hear you.”

he slows, just to torment you, his hips grinding deep, making you squirm, your overstimulated body shaking under him. you’re teary, sobs catching in your throat, but he doesn’t care—he wants you loud, wants you broken. he leans down, his chest pressed to your back, and bites your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark.

“cry for me,” he whispers, his voice rough, his hand slipping around to pinch your nipple, twisting until you gasp. “wanna hear you fall apart.” he pulls out, leaving you empty, and you whine, a desperate, keening sound that makes him smirk.

“patience, princess,” he mocks, slapping your ass lightly, the sting making you clench around nothing.

satoru guides you up, turning you to face him, and pushes you back onto the bed, climbing over you. “wanna see you ride me,” he says, lying back against the headboard, his hands gripping your hips as you straddle him. he tugs the skirt off completely, tossing it aside, leaving you in just the stretched-out lingerie top and soaked panties.

“bounce,” he growls, his eyes locked on where you sink down onto him, slow and deliberate, your cunt stretching around him as you take him inch by inch. “show the camera how you fuck me.”

his phone’s angled to catch it all—your tits bouncing, still half-caught in the sheer fabric, your thighs trembling, the way you gasp every time you drop down, taking him to the hilt.

you move, your hips rolling, your hands braced on his chest, and he’s sweating, his glasses slipping, his breath ragged. he doesn’t let you slow, his hands lifting you, slamming you back down, making you take him deeper. “that’s it,” he says, voice hoarse, his fingers digging into your ass, leaving bruises. “fuck yourself on my cock. show me how bad you need it.”

you’re sobbing now, tears streaming down your cheeks, but you keep going, your moans loud and broken, your body shaking from the overstimulation. he reaches up, ripping the lingerie top off completely, the fabric tearing with a sharp sound, and gropes your tits, squeezing hard, his thumbs brushing your nipples until you shudder.

“these are mine now,” he says, his voice pure filth. “gonna mark ‘em up so you can’t hide.”

he’s close, too close, but he’s not done.

he pushes you off, gentle but firm, and stands, pulling you with him toward the full-length mirror by your closet. he spins you, pressing your chest to the glass, your hands splaying against it, your tear-streaked reflection staring back.

he kicks your legs apart, his cock nudging your entrance, and slides in, slow and deep, his breath hot against your ear. “look at you,” he says, his lips brushing your neck, his hands caging you against the mirror. “look at my cock ruining your pussy.”

he thrusts, slow at first, watching your reflection—your tears, your drool, your gloss-smeared lips, the way your body shakes with every snap of his hips. “you wanted a nerd? this nerd’s gonna fuckin’ break you.”

he fucks you harder, the mirror rattling, your moans bouncing off the walls, loud enough to wake the neighbors. “so fuckin’ pretty,” he pants, one hand slipping to your clit, rubbing messy, relentless circles. “gonna cum all over my cock, aren’t you? gonna make a mess for me?”

you nod, sobbing, your body trembling, and he slaps your ass, the sting sharp, making you clench around him. “say it, baby. tell me you’re mine.”

“i’m yours,” you gasp, voice breaking, tears streaming, and he cums with a raw groan, spilling inside you, hot and thick, his hips stuttering as he rides it out.

he doesn’t pull out, doesn’t stop, his cock still hard, still twitching as he fucks his cum deeper, the slick sound obscene. “not done,” he mutters, his glasses fogged, his voice wrecked. “gonna make you cum again.”

he keeps going, relentless, his thrusts slower but deeper, each one pushing his cum back inside, making you shake. his fingers on your clit are merciless, circling fast, and you’re oversensitive, your body convulsing, your moans turning to desperate cries. “satoru—fuck—too much—” you sob.

he only slaps your thigh, sharp and stinging, and leans in, his lips grazing your ear. “too much? nah, princess, you can take it. wanna feel you squirt for me.”

he angles his hips, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, and you’re gone, your body locking up as you cum, a gush of wet heat soaking his cock, dripping down your thighs, pooling on the floor. he groans, loud and broken, his hips jerking as he cums again, another hot rush filling you, spilling out around him.

“fuck—look at that mess,” he pants, his hand smearing the slick between your legs, rubbing it into your skin. “all for me.”

but he’s not done. he pulls you back to the bed, laying you on your side, one leg hooked over his arm as he slides back in, his cock still hard, slick with your cum and his. “one more,” he begs, his voice cracking, his glasses crooked. “gimme one more, baby. need to feel you again.”

he thrusts slow, deep, his hand slipping between your legs to tease your oversensitive clit, and you’re crying, tears streaming, your body shaking from the intensity. he bites your neck, leaving marks, and whispers, “love it when you cry for me. so fuckin’ loud, just how i like it.”

he shifts, rolling you onto your stomach, keeping you pinned as he fucks you into the mattress, his hand pressing your face into the sheets. “gonna cum all over you,” he growls, his thrusts turning sloppy, desperate. “gonna fill you up till you’re leaking me for days.”

you cum again, a shuddering, broken mess, your sobs muffled against the pillow, your body convulsing as you squirt again, weaker but still enough to soak the sheets. he cums with you, a third time, his groan hoarse, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you, the mess dripping out, pooling under you.

“fuck—baby—” he gasps, his voice wrecked, his body shaking as he collapses against you, his glasses falling off completely, clattering to the floor.

“mine now,” he whispers, hoarse and ruined, his forehead pressed to your back, his breath hot and uneven. “you’re mine now.”

you nod, too spent to speak, your body limp, your reflection in the mirror a blur of tears and gloss and him, the phone still recording every ragged breath, every whispered “fuck” as he pulls you closer, not letting go.

but then silence swells, heavy and slow, filling the room like a fog. the air’s thick with the aftermath—sweat, cum, and the lingering sweetness of your perfume, still clinging to the sheets, to him.

satoru’s hands tremble where they hold you, one slipping down to fumble with his phone, stopping the recording with a clumsy tap, the other pressing flat against your stomach, grounding him, grounding you. your breaths are too loud, ragged and uneven, syncing in the quiet like a metronome.

he leans away slightly, just enough to grab a towel from the edge of your bed, awkward in the afterglow like he just realized he desecrated a temple. his glasses are gone, lost somewhere in the mess of sheets, and his hair’s a disaster, sticking to his forehead, damp with sweat.

“shit,” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper, too quiet for the boy who was growling filth ten minutes ago. “did i—i mean. that wasn’t too much, right?” there’s a crack in his tone, a flicker of panic, like he’s replaying every thrust, every slap, every sobbed moan he pulled from you.

you don’t answer at first, too dazed, too wrung out, your body still humming from the overstimulation, your thighs sticky and trembling.

your silence makes him spiral.

“fuck, i knew it. i pushed too hard. i got carried away—i was recording—fuck—i didn’t even ask—” his words tumble out, frantic, his hand raking through his hair as he sits up, eyes wide, searching your face for any sign of regret.

you turn to face him, slow and sore, your cheek pillowed against your arm, the motion making your body ache in the best way. your eyes are still wet, lashes clumped with tears, lips kiss-bruised and sticky with half-worn gloss, swollen from his teeth. you stare at him—this boy, this dork, with his mussed-up hair and the panicked look of someone who just lived out a lifelong fantasy and now doesn’t know what to do with it.

“i’m okay,” you say, your voice shredded, raw from screaming his name. “jesus, i’m so okay.”

he exhales, a shaky rush of air, like he’s been holding it in for hours. he collapses back against you, burying his face in your neck, his lips brushing the bite mark he left earlier. “fuck, you scared me,” he mumbles, his voice muffled, warm against your skin. then, quieter, almost unhinged: “we just speedran my entire hentai folder.”

you laugh, a weak, breathy sound that bubbles up despite the ache in your ribs. “i know.”

“i didn’t even know i could,” he says, his voice small, like he’s confessing a sin. “i haven’t even done that in vr.”

you snort, the sound catching in your throat. “nerd.”

he groans, but it’s not annoyed—it’s mortified, the kind of sound that comes from knowing he’s exposed himself completely. “i’m never gonna recover from this. i glossed you like a fuckin’ bratz doll. i glossed you.” his hand gestures vaguely at your lips, still shiny and smeared, and you laugh again, the sound softer now, your body too tired for anything more.

you roll over fully, tugging him down into the blankets with you, the pastel sheets tangling around your legs. he follows like a kicked puppy, his head resting on your chest, his breath warm against your skin. you can feel his heart still racing, his body still trembling from the high.

“i just,” you mumble, your voice barely audible, “wanted you to notice me. back during the group project, you never looked at me. just your laptop. even when i wore that stupid short skirt.”

he goes silent, his fingers pausing where they’re tracing lazy circles on your hip. then, in a voice so small it barely carries: “…you wore that for me?”

you nod, your cheek brushing his hair.

he lets out the tiniest, most violated gasp, like you’ve just rewritten his entire reality. “i thought you were just one of those girls who always looked hot. like, default setting.” his voice cracks on the last word, and you can’t help the teasing smile that tugs at your lips.

“no,” you say, your tone playful despite the exhaustion. “i was trying to seduce the dumbass with the mecha desktop background.”

he muffles a sob into your chest, half-laugh, half-groan, his arms tightening around you. “i love mecha…” he says, like it’s the most tragic thing in the world, and you hum, stroking his hair, your fingers catching in the sweaty strands.

“i know.”

a long pause settles over you, the kind that feels like it could stretch forever. the fairy lights twinkle softly, casting shadows across the room, and your perfume lingers, mixing with the musk of sex. his breathing slows, but he doesn’t let go, his body still pressed to yours like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

then he lifts his head, his eyes serious, stripped of the wild edge they had before. “can i… hold you properly? not like—y’know—breeding press. like, real holding.” his cheeks flush, like he’s embarrassed to admit he wants something soft after all that.

“you already folded me in half like a love letter,” you whisper, but you shift into his arms anyway, letting him pull you close. he wraps around you, tight, needy, his hands trembling like he’s still processing you’re real, not just pixels on a screen. his hold is desperate, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you, every curve, every soft inch, in case this never happens again.

“don’t make fun of me,” he says, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “i think my crush on you just speedran into obsession.” there’s a rawness to it, a confession that feels too big for the quiet, but it lands soft, like he’s finally letting it out.

“you’re the one who begged for one more while crying into my shoulder,” you tease, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

“stop,” he groans, burying his face deeper, his arms tightening like he could squeeze the embarrassment out of himself. “i’m gonna die.”

you press a kiss to his forehead, slow and deliberate, your lips lingering on his sweaty skin. “you’re not gonna die,” you say, your tone soft but firm. “you’re gonna eat me out on friday and wear your glasses while you do it.”

he whimpers, a pathetic, needy sound, his hips twitching involuntarily against your thigh. “say less,” he mumbles, his voice wrecked, but there’s a spark in it, like you’ve just lit something in him again. you giggle, wrapping your leg around his waist, pulling him closer, your skin sticking to his in the humid air.

and in the quiet, as you’re both drifting off—sore, sticky, still catching your breath—he says it again. not ruined this time, not even possessive. just low. certain. like he’s already planning his next sin.

“mine.”

you don’t answer. just smile into the pillow, heart pounding. because maybe you are. and maybe you’ll let him prove it again.

especially once he finds out what cosplay you ordered last week.

friday’s going to be filthy.

[wordarttmn]

Omori observations 5

Pau

I kinda wish Berly was actually getting into battles with us, during the ball quest

it’s pretty weird how she just disappears while there

Artics

Still figuring out the controls (especially wrt follow-ups, the directions aren’t always intuitive)

Good thing i know where the ball is because not being able to explore would have been annoying

I really want to talk about the color palette. Everything that’s "ground" or "sand" or "wood" is heliotrope pink of all colors. And the green is light emerald. i’m using stabilo color names because those were the pens i had growing up, and from the moment i got my first box of pens at age 6, those two colors stood out to me. They looked a bit odd, like they didn’t belong. (as a result i used them a lot at the beginning, and had to replace these pens early) They were also rare colors at the time, i wouldn’t have had them in anything less than the 40-color box, and stabilo wasn’t using them for anything until at least 2017 and the pastel colors trend thingy.

Also i focus on that because that surprised me. I was trying to draw stuff from Omori and couldn’t find the right colors until i landed on these in march (the last ones i would have think of). Because i was interpreting the pink sand as "yellow" or at least orangeish, and the trees as a more natural green. Because real world experience of colors twists our brains like that.

In addition what also stands out is that headspace doesn’t use the color black at all. Lines and anything that should be black is either purple or dark blue. This is also something i did at 6 (partly because the black was on the pen box’s lower level and took more time to get to).

This makes Omori stand out a lot more of course.

Ortès

Berly re-merged into Omori. Will she let us explore at least?

I haven’t been to the left of the forest because of the berly quest.

This game does this thing where it introduces very early on mechanics you can’t use until much later, to encourage you to backtrack.

Berly won’t

I don’t really care to avoid enemies because i keep one-turning these bunnies.

Pujòu

i’ll check up on Berly later i have some exploring to do

Gonna pause the game soon though because i have to switch trains

Kinda poetically i’m pausing at the fictive train station and the real one at the same time.

Forest Chillin’. Our first upbeat remix of Trees… there will be a lot of these.

Will get up soon. Just… give me a bit.

Mood.

The neverending Es of Beeeeeeeee so you never know when to stop pressing and she starts speaking again.

All bees are female so i’m making the safe bet.

Somehow i still failed

Dacs

Spending my time talking to all of those npcs because this part of the game goes much faster when you know where you are going

Note to self: try to understand Darville’s backstory if it’s possible

Another thing i’ve seen already but won’t be able to access until much later.

I wonder what happens if you meet leafie while having killed 0 bunnies

This train is much wobblier than the previous one. I wonder if i really should be using my PC here. Though it’s heating much less at least.

Level 5 finally! Learnt Bread Slice.

Wise rock. Good thing i have clams.

Well about that -

Morcencs

Back at the foggy bridge. i’ll come home through the western path.

Find myself using pass to Hero way too often because it’s the best way to do a lot of damage before those enemies get the time to do anything

Heh

i’m starting to use stab and one shotting those lost sprout moles.

You get to read Omori’s opinion on every item..

AHA! Took me a while to find it.

When Omori is hurt everything gets a little deep fried

Time to learn how to headbutt! i’m surprised the next station is still so far away. I guess that’s the moors of Gascony for you

You got a BUTT CERTIFICATE and a CONCUSSION

17%. I’ve been playing for over two hours, and my pc risks shutting down before i reach Otherworld and/or Biganòs. I’ll continue tomorrow!

[thessalian]

Thess vs Basic Misunderstanding

Quick break from the workspace because there's a thing I kind of want to get down on "paper". See, I've been reading the reviews of the Horizon: Forbidden West PC port - I know it was reviewed as a game on the PS when it first came out, but I wasn't reading those because I couldn't have it yet, y'know? Anyway, obviously these new reviews touch on the game in and of itself, and at least one part of one particularly meh review kind of stuck with me.

I'm not talking about the one that keeps insisting that "you're not playing it at its best with mouse and keyboard; you need a controller". Though that one ... fuck you, I cannot use a controller, and I'm playing it just fine, thanks.

No, it's the one that talks about how stupid it is that a "video game protagonist" is taking off solo instead of accepting the help of her new-made friends on a mission that could prove fucking deadly. Because apparently all "video game protagonists" are supposed to be likeable. (Part of me wonders if the reviewer would have said that if Aloy was a man, but never mind.)

See, the thing he's not getting is that games aren't just about the end goal of the final mission. They're not just about the bosses, the fights, the exploration, the mechanics. No, Aloy's journey isn't just over physical distance - and no protagonist's journey should be. And her journey was about not being an exile anymore.

She had exactly one person her whole life who cared about her. One more who was willing to speak to her. And one who was just about willing to loophole the system where Aloy wasn't supposed to exist. That kind of thing will stick with you, especially when a first attempt at approaching kids her own age got a rock thrown at her head. And when she won the right to call herself one of the Nora? There was a nasty attack, and a lot of people - including her fucking father figure - died. Said father figure, in fact, died to save her. Now, she couldn't deal with that at the time, emotionally, because she had a mission - to save her now-people and all people from destruction at the hands of HADES.

But it's a long journey to the Forbidden West, and a longer time scouting for the thing she needs so desperately to save the world, and don't you think she'd be kind of attempting to cope with that? Probably badly, since she hasn't exactly got grounding in that whole "dealing with people" thing?

Especially when you consider the other thing Aloy couldn't dwell on - people becoming fond of her. People liking her. People wanting to help her. The last - hell, practically the only - person who ever did that died doing it. On one hand, she probably doesn't want more friends in her life because she doesn't want people to die. On the other hand, there are people she's fond of and she doesn't want them to die most of all. So yeah, she's going to slip off on her own and do the dangerous thing. And probably a part of her is going, "If I save the world, maybe I'll be worthy", and a part of her is going, "I was literally created to do this, and anything else would let my creator and progenitor down, and that includes other people", and most of all, "People? Nice people? People who like me? HOW POSSIBLE? WHAT DO I DO WITH THIS?". Frankly, dealing with monster dinosaurs and smarmy assholes from the far past is probably easier.

But this reviewer goes on about how "Varl gets shortchanged because all of his character development is offscreen" and I'm like, "I get that side characters are important, but ... you do get that Aloy is the main character, right?" So the reviewer is impatient about Aloy's character development but whining that this other guy doesn't get enough attention in Aloy's fucking game?

I haven't got that far into it - more bullet points later, honestly - but I just got angry about that bit. Like, why are we so impatient with a female protagonist who doesn't always know how to deal with people because she never fucking had to, who is now trying to internalise the fact that she is worthy of help and affection and care?

I swear, I still wonder what this guy's take on it would be if Aloy was a dude.

[lemongingerart]

Chapter 1 - Departure (I)

Fic summary: The second arc of my Armitage Hux x OC fanfic, “chocolate cookies and tarine tea”, in which both need to deal with the mess they got into (and each other, eh eh eh). Involves cookies that won't be eaten and tea that will get spilled. Same goes for certain feelings... they are going to be hungry ant thirsty 😏

You can find the link to AO3 and other chapters on Tumblr in the pinned message on my dash, both for the first and second arc 😊

Rating: Explicit. This is going to be very NSFW. So, Minors, do NOT read or interact. 18+. Family, friends and colleagues, please don’t read this. :’-)

Tags & warnings: TRoS fix-it (kind of), Hux!lives, Hux doesn’t like Kylo, Not a Redemption Arc, maybe a little bit, shameless fem!OC insert (there are cliches but entertaining ones imo), slow emotional burn, medium sexual burn, Enemies to Enemies With Benefits to Lovers, Hux is still a villain don't forget, Virgin Characters, masturbation against the door, pinv, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Awkward Sexual Situations, Past Child Abuse, dubious first kiss, Dom/sub Undertones, Mental Breakdown, Unprotected Sex, wet Hux, that deserves a tag/warning on its own, Minor Character Death

I will add tags as we proceed in the story, please let me know if I forgot one!

Taglist: @mylifeisactuallyamess, @morby and anyone who’d like to join 🥰

A/N:     Hello dear, it's been a while! I wasn’t actually planning on publishing yet (I still need to finish up the header and the last scene) but after attending star wars celebration I am so high on Hux again! As an extra, I'm also uncharacteristically impulsive. This is not going to end well, ah ah ah.

Arc 2 has been written, up till some very *interesting * scenes! The whole thing got out of hand a bit, I already have almost 23k words for part 1 of this arc (part 2 will follow with the same amount, but still working it through) I should be able to more or less update on a regular basis for the next 11 chapters now, since I only need to review them!

Because I know some of you have read arc 1 a good while ago, let me give you this short recap: Hux, Miko and PC just left Utapau Four and are heading to Taris, so they can obtain the coördinates to the Resistance base. Hux has been in a stressful and frustrated mood (at least, more than usual), while Miko is gloomy from trying to deal with her new reality: she might not be able to return to her home for good.

Get ready for a whole whirlwind of (mis)adventures.

Armitage was looking to the everlasting hyperspace clouds, as if he was paying attention to it for the first time in his life. If Miko wanted to start a conversation - which she certainly didn’t - his intense gaze would've stopped her from doing so. She wondered what he was thinking, looking so serious and focussed on the void ahead.

This time however, she mused, the silence didn’t feel loaded and somehow had turned into something comforting. They had an actual plan and could focus on the upcoming mission. Everything was more or less under control. 

Miko felt like she finally had the time to study her companion. From the seat she was in, she noticed he was frowning deeply, and she could guess by that serious stern look on his face, he was thinking about the current bantha poodo he was in. 

She sat back in the co-pilot 's chair while keeping an eye on his side profile. She knew by now he had done some horrible things - based on her father's reaction - although she didn't know the exact details. 

Thinking back to the way he introduced himself to her with so much flair, his previous position within the military must’ve meant everything to him. The First Order was probably the only life he knew. And she doubted one could become a general by playing along nicely, so he probably has done and sacrificed a lot to get in that seat. 

Still, he betrayed all that. For what?

Her mind wandered back to the time he miraculously woke up beneath her, onboard the Steadfast . She really was convinced he was dead at the time. She could remember the shock she felt, when she unceremoniously had fallen down on his limp body. But the memory was blurred by the storm of emotions and adrenaline she went through that moment. 

Did I really somehow… revive him, like he said? How could that be even frigging possible?  

The girl looked at her hands and slowly turned them around, trying to see if something happened if she tensed the muscles in her fingers. 

Of course, it was to no avail, making her wonder if he was just making things up for some obscure reason. But why would he do that? 

Nothing made sense these past days . The chaos, violence, the unexpected get-away, everything was wearing her down.

She slowly looked back to the ex-general and noticed how his jaw was slightly moving. 

Was he grinding his teeth… again ? 

At this moment, she was absolutely positive this man was full of frustrations and looking at the bags under his bloodshot eyes and his pale skin, the stress was eating him slowly but surely. 

She closed her eyes. If she was not going to stop paying attention to him, she was going to start getting worked up as well, and that wouldn’t help them any further. 

After a short pause, Miko felt relatively at ease again and decided to follow Hux’ gaze, so she started staring at the hyperspace clouds as well. They were somehow enchanting, the slight rotation of the ship making the clouds swirl and giving the space outside a dreamy aura. 

Honestly, right now, this all felt like a bad dream. She had always wanted to leave Utapau Four behind, and she used to fantasise about steering her own ship, drifting through hyperspace, from system to system. Seeing the most beautiful parts of the galaxy. Looking for a place with more purpose to land. 

She once wished for adventure, but now, the sting of hastily having to say goodbye to her father, maybe for good, was reminding her that she wasn't living her dream. This was all too real and absolutely not how she wanted to leave her home behind. 

She felt the urge to cry slowly rising from her chest, but she refused to give in to those feelings, especially around that pompous manipulative asshole. She gulped and kept her head down, trying to find tranquillity once again.

Only a few seconds later, she noticed a small but very irritating noise originating from the left. She looked back at Hux, who was now grinding his teeth so loud she could hear it from her seat and it was not helping her current emotional state.

Kriff.

‘Could you please stop doing that?? It’s not good for both your teeth and my headache’, she said, grumbling, only then realising she was again talking before thinking things through. 

This frigging bastard had almost choked me to death, if it wasn’t for PC , she hastily reminded herself, cold sweat appearing on her backside.

But the next thought that entered her worked up mind, were those glassy eyes again. Almost instantly she felt her cheeks go red, betrayed by her own thoughts, so she swiftly diverted her attention to the other side of the shuttle and gulped. She sincerely hoped he wouldn't turn around and see the blush under the dim light.

Unfortunately, Hux decided to redirect his energy from destroying his teeth to destroying any hope for a normal conversation, and he slowly faced her. 

‘Just who do you think you’re talking to?’ he replied with a low voice, giving her a dangerous look, as if she had done something extremely rude. Her body already involuntarily responded to his words and made her turn her attention back to him, momentarily forgetting the blush and trying to process his rude comment.  

Was this the tone he normally used when a subordinate had messed up pretty bad? she absently considered, trying to find a way to explain that this reply was somehow socially acceptable in Worst Order context. 

But, despite trying to negate the brusqueness in what he just said, she could not get rid of the feeling that he was intimidating her, that was for sure. And, combined with the reason she had been blushing before, he was tearing her apart with these most confusing thoughts.

Right now, under his persistent, piercing gaze, she felt like she couldn’t breathe easily, feeling mixed emotions of anger, inadequacy from her part (and for what? He didn't have anything to expect from her), getting slightly terrified and some other burning feeling from her abdomen. One that matched well with her pink cheeks.

She abruptly closed her mouth and looked away with a defying glance. There was no good verbal response she could come up with, especially since she felt like he turned her into a mess so easily. 

This was a conversation she wouldn’t take any further, because it was going to end in the both of them shouting again, and maybe worse. 

The next few seconds, her discomfort only escalated further into distress. Miko felt like she was walking on thin ice, scared to accidentally provoke him. Not that she was convinced there were any actual triggers, but the thought of his hands around her throat tended to do that to her. So, she decided she didn’t want to stay in the same room with him any more and left the cockpit without a word.

Armitage watched Miko’s back when she retreated from the cockpit. He made notice of her posture, which wasn't reflecting her usual defiance. Unlike their other unfortunate encounters, she looked a bit resigned but mainly confused, most likely too emotionally disturbed to be thinking clearly. Her face looked a bit worked up, too.

Thinking back on what he just said to her, he may have been overreacting due to his train of thoughts. She didn't actually say something offensive, although it was much more straightforward than any other conversation he has had in the past years. 

Taking into account that she already looked off, he hoped she wasn’t going to do anything stupid because of his response.

Given her mood though, he opted not to go after her, and wait in the cockpit a little longer. The atmosphere was already loaded enough and he wasn't looking forward to more energy consuming drama or useless fights. 

He automatically turned his attention back to the hyperspace void in front of him and picked up where his thoughts were left, before her intermission. 

The stress started eating at him again. He wasn’t used to having time for anything, and now he sat there, waiting, counting the hours before he was to be delivered to the enemy, at his own suggestion, no less. 

Was he going to be able to break Ren? How much more did he need to give up so he could remove that idiot, who knocked him from his ambitious trajectory? Is it all going to be worth it and what's going to be left of the First Order in the end? Will there be a chance for him to start over and get in charge again?

There had to be, it was the only life he knew. He had been there, only a little five year old boy, when the Order rose from the ashes of the Empire. So many sacrifices, harsh decisions and risks were taken to become what they were. He personally had pushed himself to the limits, over the limits, sometimes to the brink of insanity, to achieve greatness for the First Order. 

His mind wandered further,  thinking back about the choices he made, the career path he chose and pushed himself forward for.  The way he crawled up to the chain of command.

Yes, corruption was within their ranks. He wasn’t clean of those tactics either, but that’s part of the game. He learned those tricks from his father. 

Armitage grimaced at the thought of the latter, and how he made sure the younger Hux understood his teachings. 

There’s no way one could keep his hands clean in achieving leadership. But at least, he knew how the giant war machine worked, something Ren lacked. They all underestimated him, they didn't understand how far he was willing to go and up till now that had always worked in his advantage. 

The empire had shown that a strong hand was imperative to attain peace, but it was too flawed. And with insane emotionally unstable idiots like Ren at the top, the First Order was risking the same end. Something had to be done.

But, after literally leaking the Emperor's message to the resistance and letting high ranked resistance members escape, will he ever be able to seize command? Maybe he did go too far, this time? 

 He didn’t have many allies left. Phasma perished as did Snoke. Lower officers like Mitaka could prove to be loyal to him, given Ren’s outbursts on the personnel. But in high command, he was losing popularity because of Starkiller and the Fulminatrix.

And then there was that huge factor he hadn’t taken into account properly. 

Pryde. 

He knew of the sick prick and his reserve forces, but none of the acting officers of the First Order out in the outer rim were aware of how Pryde had strengthened their numbers so fast. The so-called allegiant-general had become a powerful and influential player. Suddenly, the tables had turned and both Pryde and Ren almost succeeded in removing him from the board of command.

Then came Palpatine 's message, and it was as if it announced Hux's demise. Pryde convinced his loyal allegiant officers that going after the message would bring them significant strategic advantages, while Ren was not open for reason.  Hux was automatically on the other end of the bargain, and thus enemy number one within the Order's upper ranks. 

How convenient for both. 

He felt his palms grow sticky beneath his leather gloves. He could try to come up with alternative tactics, go over the scenarios over and over again, but he already knew in the back of his mind that there was no better option than the way too risky plan he had picked now.

His jaw felt stiff and was starting to hurt from the constant pressure, the sting bringing him back to the present. He sighed deeply and rubbed his nasal bone.

On second thought, getting into some drama or a fight with Miko suddenly feels much more appealing than drowning in these thoughtlines , he scoffed.

A/N: I'm ignoring Sloane for a minute because we don't know what happened to her, same goes for Thrawn. They will have a cameo later on though! I love them too much not to include them 🥰

[hacked-by-jake]

Take you home ²

𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞...

>𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟷

Summary: Jake can’t accept that this has been done to you, the thought torments him, and all he wants is revenge, and he gets it.

Words: 4,2k

Genre: Angst / Fluff

Warnings: Swearing, insulting

A/n: Well, hi.

So, this one has taken on some dimensions again, they weren’t planned, about 3k. Now, it is a bit more. Actually, the whole thing should not be quite so extensive, but well, once Jake starts, he doesn’t stop.

Thank you alls so much for the support in part one, I was really surprised. And thank you very much for wishing Part Two, which means a lot to me. ❤️

So, that’s a bit more related to alternative two of part one. Actually, it was supposed to get a little darker and generally the plan was different. The ending should be different and longer, but I think it’s good as it is now.

I hope you’ll like it.

And apologize for the mistakes.

(I think I wanted to say more but I forgot xD)

Anyway, have fun, stay healthy and take care of yourselves.❤️🌹🎭

There lies the hacker now, in the early morning hours, not even the sun has risen already, wide awake, full of emotions and agitated.

In his arms, you, fortunately asleep, deep and firm.

He also wanted to sleep, he has been trying for two hours but it doesn’t work. And how should he? After the past hours it is practically impossible to sleep.

The only reason you sleep is probably the effort you had to experience. Your body was finished after the shower. You were still shivering from the adrenaline, agitated and yet so terribly tired.

So now he lies here, doesn’t know what to do with himself, doesn’t know how to react, how to feel. TThe pure fear that lay in your voice when the call came suddenly, gives him goose bumps again, crawling all over his body.

This fearful tone of your voice won’t let it go.

What if he hadn’t been there in time? If he hadn’t been able to save you in time? If it took him a minute longer? If something had gone wrong?

He can’t even imagine what could have happened. At this horrible imagination in his head, he pinches his eyes tightly. Try to remove the images from his head that make him sick, he would like to vomit, so horrible is the thought of it. He shakes his head, tries to drive away the thoughts, but they don’t go away. His fingernails drill deep and firmly into the skin of his palms. It hurts, it’s uncomfortable, and if he still squeezes even harder, he’ll start bleeding, but he has no control over it. In his mind, the worst scenarios circle and he can only imagine, if even he feel so bad now, how bad did you feel in this moment?

He controls himself to be quiet, exhorts himself to loosen up again so as not to wake you. You need sleep. You deserve sleep. But these pictures, these fucking pictures, they're not going away. The imagination that someone would touch you- NO!

The hacker opens his eyes wide! He must not go in this direction, he must look straight out and make sure that you get your revenge, as you deserve! That he protects your honor, that he makes everyone see what happens when someone wants to do something bad to you.

He’s Jake, one of the best hackers in the world and now he’s gonna show what he’s capable of.

-

His breath is so heavy, so full of anger and hatred, so full of negativity that he would like to hit the next wall.

He bites his lower lip when he thinks about leaving you here alone. He needs to be in his study. He just has to find out who this guy was. That bastard.

Just really reluctant, actually he would just like to lie here with you, but he has to, he's winds cautiously out of your embrace.

He can’t lie here and wait, he has to do something. Now!

Even if he feels weird with it, he opens the laptop that is in his bedroom and directs it so that he can see your sleeping shape. He will simply connect the laptop to his PC to keep an eye on you. As soon as you get restless or wake up, he could be with you right away.

That’s how he’s gonna do it.

He gives you a final and gentle kiss on the forehead before going to his study.

-

After he has prepared his work setup and everything is ready, he wastes no time and immediately gets to work. Quickly scan the data of the man who was tracking you.

Everything that had ever happened in his life, the hacker would find out now. And of course, the most important information is quickly obtained.

Name

Age

Date of birth

Address

All bank accounts

His social security number

Where he grew up

As what he works

What friends he has

With whom he is friends

His pets

On what elementary school he went

On what high school he went

Who his parents are

The siblings

All information about each individual family member

And at the very end, the police certificate of conduct with all the information who are important for him. And that’s more interesting than he thought. The further he read the information from the police, the more his emotional state changes.

It starts with drug abuse

Bodily injury in two cases

Insult

Gun possession

Domestic violence against his ex girlfriend

....

The list is shockingly long: a two-year stay in a prison, probation and community service.

The further Jake read, the more worried he is that he couldn’t have been there in time with bad luck. But he’s all the happier he could save you.

At the same time, he’s thinking about telling you who the guy is, because he doesn’t know how you’re gonna take this information. But he would worry more about that later.

As he glances at the laptop’s camera, a smile creeps up on his lips. Meanwhile, you are lying on his side of the bed, your arms are tightly wrapped around his pillow and your head is pressing into the soft fabric, as if you were looking for his proximity in your sleep.

How perfect can a person be? How perfect is this beautiful being lying in his bed? Immediately the tingling starts in his stomach, as always when it comes to you.

He’s so terribly in love. So insanely strong.

Again, he begins to regret that it has not progressed further between you. Everyone knows that he loves you, and everyone knows that you love him. And yet you both have not yet managed to finally do what you both so much want. But the fear of destroying everything is so great. You two spend so much time with each other, become best friends, best friends who feel more for each other than just friendship.

In addition, his fear of putting you in danger is added. He is not a simple man, no one who prefers a regular daily life, no fixed working hours, no fixed income, even if he earns more than most others. As a hacker you have one or the other possibility. Nevertheless, he is still wanted by the government. Not as strong, and the danger is not as great as it was a few months ago, but it still exists.

But last night’s incident somehow inspired him to think, and he feels different when he thinks about it. He wants you, he wants you with everything you have, he wants you by his side. He always wants to protect you, he always wants to be there for you, he wants you by his side, he doesn’t want to live alone in this apartment anymore. He doesn’t want to be alone anymore, he needs you, he has always done it and he will always need you, he wants you so bad!

This incident clearly shows that life is always uncertain, and this incident shows him that he is lying to himself. He wants to be able to say that you’re a couple, he wants it so badly. So fucking urgent.

"I want to share my life with you," the hacker murmurs, driving through his face with his hands. Now his thoughts have drifted in another direction again, but you’re just sitting in every corner of his mind. You are the biggest and most important part of his life and that since the first time you met.

But now something else is more important. After that, he can think of you a lot, but now revenge counts.

He breathes in and out again before turning back to the screens and begins to gather more information.

-

About half an hour later, he releases himself from his cramped posture. The further he delves into the life of the man, the more aggressive he becomes.

This guy’s not a petty criminal, the way he thought he was, this guy’s got dirt on him through and through.

And the further he reads, the more he wonders why this guy is on the loose and not in a maximum security prison.

From organized crime to gang activities. Drug dealing, counterfeit money, prositution. All the shit every gang is involved in.

Disgusting chat histories, images, threats of other people, extort protection money. And the hacker just assumed the guy is just a disgusting bastard. But he thought wrong.

And yet, it’s actually only good for him, really very good, because Jake has now a lot more options than he thought.

He thinks hard about how to proceed. How best to tackle this whole situation, so that he has the best chance of success.

But what’s also positive for is the fact that this guy really doesn’t deserve anything other than what the hacker’s up to.

To destroy a person’s whole life is actually nothing that he would do; he simply cannot reconcile this with his morality. Even if it’s about you, but now he’s not just doing it for you, he’s doing it for everyone. This is a favor he does to the whole society.

Oh and he’ll do it with pleasure.

-

Meanwhile, he has gained access to the man’s laptop and can take a closer look at the living room. He also got lucky and found some camera shots taken by a bakery that is on the street where you were being followed.

Unfortunately, it has no sound and yet it is more than enough. He saved the recording and censored you on it.You don’t have to be broadcast in video format all over the world.

But it is still clear that he's persecutes you. It is more bad than quite recognizable on the videos that he is angry and that he shouts something, but when you see the video, everything is explained by itself.

That was number one on his list.

Let's continue with point two.

And point two is a summary of all the information he could find that could even remotely involve anything criminal.

And this is a really long list, he can prove everything, he can prove every single point. With all the information that will help.

Videos, chats, pictures, recording of conversations. Locations, meeting places, other names.

Because his plan has changed, and it’s not just about destroying this man anymore, it’s about destroying all the criminals around him.

-

Point two, finish! Now, point three, and that’s the confrontation with the man.

The most important information is in front of him as he puts on his headset and leans back relaxed.

The recording program runs as soon as he turns on his microphone. The recording is automatically converted into the computer voice and then sent as a video along with his sign, the eye, as a gift to his new friend.

He puts one leg over the other and folds his arms in front of his chest.

"Hello Ted, my identity doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you’ve made some serious mistakes, and about this, I will teach you now."

-

And send.

Soon the man’s cell phone will start ringing, and it will only stop when he gets up and then listens to the hacker’s nice message on his laptop, which will breaking his little world in which he lives.

But it’s his own fault.

A look at the camera of his own laptop tells him that you still sleep quietly and calmly, which makes him happy. -

The ringing of the mobile phone and the terrible ringtone of the persecutor annoy the hacker so slowly. He didn’t think it would be that long before Ted wake up. But when it finally happens and a door is opened, a slightly arrogant grin appears on Jake’s face.

It’s Showtime.

"What the hell?" grumbles the sleepy guy as Jake makes the video file pop up.

The eye flickers on the screen and Ted skeptically approaches it.

He pulls back his desk chair and sits down.

"What the fuck?" he hisses angrily and pushes a button on the keyboard.

"Hello Ted, my identity doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you’ve made some serious mistakes, and about this, I will teach you now."

Amused and eager, Jake follows the course of the situation.

Ted becomes more and more hectic, the more facts the computer voice enumerates. He probably didn’t expect this to ever come to light. He wildly presses all the buttons he can find, tries to turn off the laptop but he has absolutely no control over it.

At the very end, after all the crimes have been enumerated, the computer voice informs him that he has video footage of his nocturnal activity.

"That was a big mistake, Ted, and it’s time you understood that you understand how unimportant you are in this world"

-

After Jake has decided to leave Ted alone, with the knowing that he can now say goodbye to his life as he knows it, he move on to point 4.

And point 4 involves sending all the information to everyone who can do something with it. But don't worry, that’s not the finale.

The finale will be something special.

Everything collected is sent first to the police in Duskwood. He doesn’t think much will happen, but the police will certainly not be the agency that will take care of Ted, in the end.

After the police, Jake sends the information to his place of work. He won’t be needing the job in a few hours anyway even longer.

Then his sister gets an e-mail with everything there is about her brother. Because Jake found out that poor girl always had to take care of him. Had to pick him out of the cell at night, had to pick him up of the hospital one or the other time and things like that. Among other things, good Ted broke into her apartment once, but this was not reported to the police. Jake saw in a chat that Ted promised to stop doing criminal things. This didn’t work out that way. The hacker feel sorry for the sister, she certainly doesn’t deserve it and yet this is about more than just that.

And after all the important people have received the information, he finally go to the final, which the hacker is most looking forward to before he can finally return to you.

Back to you, to his bed where you lie, this day can’t be more beautiful, can it?

Well, the morning show on TV sounds good, doesn’t it? The channel is littered with scandals and really unscrupulous means of getting attention.

No one will be angry with him if the actual broadcast is interrupted for a few minutes to do something good. And to appease his vengeance. All he has to do is fade in everything, play the video and the rest would come by itself. The spread on the Internet. The information is forwarded to other authorities like the State Police Authorities as it is about more than just the pursuit after revenge for his love. Gang crime is not liked by the state.

So then, curtain up, the final begins.

-

About half an hour later, now it is shortly before 9  in the morning, the whole took longer than he had expected, he sinks back on the soft mattress. Satisfaction spreads and seeing you sleep so peacefully also makes him tired.

Carefully he pulls the blanket over himself and then grabs again around your body to bring you back into his arms. He hides his head in your neck bend and a few moments he falls asleep with a smile on his face.

He couldn’t stop himself from posting some things on Ted’s Instagram page for his personal feeling. Pictures that Ted prefers not to watch for the Internet, but Jake doesn’t care; in a few hours, Ted will never have access to the Internet again. Hopefully Ted makes friends in prison fast, or it won’t be so funny for him.

Well, don’t mess with the hacker’s love.

----------

When you open your eyes, Jake still lies peacefully asleep beside you.

His hair stands wildly off his head and he has put his arms protective around you. Immediately a feeling of home spreads within you and you smile.

His body nestles warm against yours and you wish you could always wake up like that.

Bu, if you didn’t have to use the bathroom.

Carefully peel out from under his arms without waking him.

With leaving Jake’s arms and getting out of bed, the first pictures of last night immediately come back into your head. A few moments you stare at the wall before you shake your head. You don’t want to think about it. Actually, you never want to have to think about it again, you just want to forget it, focus on everything that’s more important now. And this is you, your feeling that you don’t want to get involved in this situation, you don’t want to leave room for this man. You don’t want him to have room in your life, and you don’t want to investigate any further. Actually, you don’t want to know who this guy is. You just want to focus on how lucky you were, that everything went well, that Jake saved you, and that nothing happened to you.

Jake!

You want to focus on Jake! And most importantly, that you finally want to be with him! He was there to save you right away. He was ready to help you immediately, he protected you, especially the way he protected you. The way he sounded, as if he was doing everything he could to save you. And this irrational fear that this could not work with you two, it’s bullshit! You want him with everything he has and you don’t want to be just friends anymore. You long for his lips, for his kisses that don’t just go on your forehead or cheek. You want to finally be able to say that you are a couple, you want him so badly, so damn badly.

Like a miracle cure, the thought of Jake really distracts you. You didn’t even know where your thoughts went, it just happened. But it always is, it’s just in every corner of your mind.

-

After you left the bathroom, you turned on the coffee machine. You’d stay awake and pass the time until Jake wakes up and you could have some breakfast. While the coffee is cooking, you drop down on the small sofa in the hacker’s living room and decide to pass the time with a little bit TV.

You switch through the channels looking for something interesting but don’t really find something you like.

When the Coffee machine gives you confirmation that the hot drink is ready, you quickly jump up and leave the remote control there.

While you prepare your coffee, you listen to an advertisement about an electronic toothbrush and then one about the latest vacuum cleaner.

With your cup you go back and then put a thin blanket from the sofa around your legs.

The News Show that you sometimes see starts broadcasting.

And you really expected a lot, really a lot, but you never expected what was actually going on.

While the news announcer reports on a gang crime, a picture is displayed. There’s a man to be seen, and you’re a thousand percent sure that’s the man who chased you yesterday.

Silently and with your mouth open you are listening as a whole gang was arrested, warehouses and factories were stormed. Drugs and counterfeit money were confiscated and in the end, how a hacker uncovered all this.

During the narration about hacking another channel and the materials shown there such as images and video, your heart begins to beat faster and faster.

And when it is shown what was published there, you put your hand infront your mouth in shock.

"Oh my-" you watch the camera shots where you can clearly see the street, which is only a few streets away from your apartment.

And then you see a censored shadow running, a few moments later a man.

You and the man who was now identified as Ted.

Jake.

That was Jake, you know it!

You don’t know how to react. While the pictures and videos scare you, since this man met you yesterday, you feel moved to tears on the other side. When the hell did he do that?

Did he do it because of you?

Where does he get so much information? Sure, he’s a hacker but THAT?

When the news anchor finally ends her post with the words "This man will probably never see the light of day again" and "The whole Internet speaks about this man and the victim who was persecuted by him. When you see this, we wish you all well!"

You have the feeling that you are breathing again for the first time. Like you’ve been holding your breath all this time without noticing.

You stutter at things, try to explain, sort out and understand your feelings. But somehow, just like last night, it’s too unreal.

"You shouldn’t know that in this way"

Startled you turn around as Jake’s sleepy voice appears behind you.

He's leaning in the door frame and yawns once.

With an open mouth you stare at him, "Did you-?" but you break off immediately because you have no idea what to say.

"Is everything okay? Shouldn’t I have do that? I wanted to tell you myself but now it’s too late. I wanted to teach you gently," explains the hacker, and his gaze slowly turns into a worried one.

"Did you- I mean- you were -" you stutter, can’t bring out a normal sentence. Point you to the TV, to you and back to Jake.

"I’m sorry, MC, I didn’t mean to hurt you or anything," he explains straight away." It was just, I don’t know, I was so mad! I still am! This disgusting bastard was following you, he-"quickly breaks off. His hands are clenched into fists, his eyebrows pulled together and his breath accelerated. However, he doesn’t want to remind you unnecessarily, even if that didn’t work out so well through the news. He really has to hold back from screaming completely and somehow making sure that Ted gets more than what he already has.

"No Jake, I-I" you just can’t find the right words and before you know it, you threw yourself awkwardly over the sofa, rolled over it and stood two steps later directly in front of Jake. Without control, you reach into his neck with one hand and pull his head down towards you. Not quite gently your lips hit on his.

And just as quickly as the kiss came about, you finish it as quickly.

"Oh, um, I... so.. I-" you laugh nervously, still holding his head. "Um, sorry?"

Jake also laughs nervously.

"I shouldn’t have done that," a little embarrassed, you let go of his neck and kick a few steps away from him.

"No, no, everything was fine, I thought it was great, so I mean-" a slight redness adorns Jake’s cheeks.

"Sorry" you mumble with a much too high voice and try yourself on a grin that probably looks like you’re in pain. Jake makes an waving off hand move, then it’s quiet between you for a moment. You chew on the inside of your cheek and let your foot slide across the floor in a semicircle, "Did you..- Did you say you thought it was great?" You ask as unimpressed as possible, as if it were a question about the weather.

Jake’s eyes grow big, "Did you find it bad?"

"No, no, of course not!" you assure him quickly." It was great, I would do it again and again."

You sigh.

Smiling, you put one hand to your forehead and look back at the hacker. Jake smiles too, and then you start laughing out loud. Until you have to hold your stomach and the first tears run out of your eyes.

"We’re so ridiculous," you chuckle, shaking your head over you two.

"Do you think?" Jake asks, grinning, "I find us great together"

"Me too" you agree and look back at him.

"Jake I-"

"MC I-"

At the same time you start to speak and then both of you are immediately silent to let the other go first.

"Do you first" you offer and he returns it to you.

"No, I’m fine, say what you wanted to say," you confirm.

"I can wait, you start"

You’re twisting her eyes again.

However, Jake understands this wrong and at the same time the magic words leave your lips "I love you"

Masterlist

-

And thank you @a-d-alison your submission gave me a lot of motivation🤭❤️

-

[felassan]

Mass Effect development insights and highlights from Bioware: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development

This is the Mass Effect version of this post.

[In case you can’t read it the subtitle in the bottom left logo above is “Guardians of the Citadel”]

Note: Drug use is mentioned.

Cut for length.

Mass Effect 1

ME began its life in a vision document in fall 2003

Codenamed “SFX”

Conceived of by Casey Hudson and a core team from KotOR. Its genesis was the intention to create an epic sci-fi RPG in an original setting that BioWare owned (so they could have full creative control), and in a setting that was conceived of first and foremost as a video game

Initially players could control any squadmate, but they wanted it to be about Shep and for players to be focused on Shep being a battlefield commander, rather than on switching bodies

By the start of 2004 its story was shaping up. Initially humans landed on Mars in 2250 and discovered evidence of an ancient alien race and a powerful substance, Black Sand, which rapidly advanced tech to the point that FTL travel was possible. (My note: obviously now the Prothean artifacts on Mars & associated mass effect force tech enabled this in the final canon, but I wonder if aspects of the ‘Black Sand’ naming-type & powerful substance stuff was rolled into red sand from final canon) Humans were suddenly capable of travel to multiple star systems and made contact with a multitude of other species. At the start of the first game, these species together with humans had a fragile peace, with focus placed on the political center of the galaxy, a hub known as Star City, later renamed the Citadel

Multiplayer was a vision for the series as far back as 2003. The plan was for ME1, an Xbox exclusive at launch, to take advantage of the platform’s online components. Early designs saw players meeting in one of the central hubs to interact and trade items in their otherwise SP adventures

By 2006 it had the name ME and the story was more specific, with the theme of conflict between organic and synthetic lifeforms. The story’s scope now stretched across 3 games and included scope for full co-op MP

They tried to do MP in every game, discussing it from the get-go, but it always just fell by the wayside. “When you’re trying to build something that is a new IP, on a new platform, with a new engine, you’ve got to really focus on the core elements of the game.” 

The conversation system prototype was made in Jade Empire, and some of ME’s earliest writing was done in an old JE build. At first there was no conversation wheel. Paragon was “Friendly” and Renegade “Hostile”. In the prototype Shep was a silent unnamed Spectre. Many conversations in the prototype about the player’s choice in smuggling a weapon through Noveria made it into the game

In said prototype a merchant referred to themselves as “this one”, though the word hanar never appeared. The PC in it also had the option to end a conversation with “I should go”. In the prototype also, Harkin was voiced by Mark Meer

An early version of the Mako got used as the krogan truck in ME2

Early concepts of the Citadel were drawn in pencil by CH. A piece of concept art of its final design was painted based on a photo of a sculpture near Aswan, Egypt

As with any new IP naming it was a struggle. They put out a call to all staff for ideas, did polls, made a name generator that combined words that they liked in random ways and made pretend logos of ones they liked in Photoshop to see if they could make themselves love the name or find visual potential in it. (Some of these names are in the pic at the top of this post.) CH liked “Unearthed” as it was a reference to Prothean ruins dug up on Mars and humanity’s ascendance going away from Earth. They knew the game would have a central space station featuring prominently so some of the ideas were based on that - “The Citadel”, “The Optigon”, “The Oculon”. “Element” was another one they had in mind due to the rare substance in the game 

CH: “I was a big fan of John Harris’ book Mass, which had epic-scaled sci-fi ideas, so that was a word that came up often. Many of the names came from the idea that the IP featured a fifth fundamental physical force (in addition to the known four of gravitational, electromagnetic, strong nuclear and weak nuclear) so the word ‘effect’ came up pretty often.” Ultimately none of the ideas really felt right. One Monday morning they were going over the names and Greg Zeschuk said he had an idea on the weekend: “Mass Effect!” CH: “I said, ‘I don’t hate it’, which in the naming process is a high compliment. And it stuck!”

CH on Shep’s Prothean vision from the beacon: “It was hard to imagine how we would do this. CG was - and is - really expensive. Instead I wanted to try doing it through photography and video editing. So I went to a local grocery store and bought a few packages of the weirdest looking meat that I could find. Then I set up a little photoshoot in my basement, complete with some electronics parts and some red wine for juicyness.” He used these props to create a video sequence where the photos were rapidly cycled and blurred, along with production paintings, to create the scary vision an organic/machine experiment on the Protheans. These mashups were also used as inspiration for concept artists and level designers who were working on these themes

Tali used to be called Talsi

On the licensing side they often joke that they’re licensing N7 not “Mass Effect” due to N7′s popularity

There was a confidential internal guide to the IP in 2007 to help devs along and summarize/synthesize the vision etc. Some excerpts from it are shown in the book and this is the first time the public have ever seen them

Early versions of Asari had hair

Asari were designed as a nod to classic TV sci-fi (with human actors wearing obvious makeup and prosthetics to play aliens)

The turian design guideline was “we want them to be birds of prey”. They also wanted a range of alien types, some close to human like Asari, while others were to be a lot further away, like turians

BioWare patented the conversation wheel, which was a first for them. CH had been frustrated with reviews of Jade Empire that said that the actioncentric game was too wordy [with its list dialogue]. “I’m like, story is words. [...] What is it about our games that is making people feel like they’re wordy?” Then he thought “In a game you kind of need to feel like you’re continuing to play it. Maybe you should continue feeling like you’re playing it actively into the dialogue.” “[The wheel] kind of gave a new experience with dialogue when you did start to react based on emotion, and that’s ultimately what we’re trying to bring out in our games”

The original krogan concept was based on a bat “with a really wide squidgy face. We just used its face on top of this weird body and it kinda worked”

Geth musculature was based on fiber-optic cables, with flexible plates of armor attached

The vision for the IP was 80s sci-fi inspired space opera

The concept art of Saren lifting Shep by the throat inspired a similar scene in-game. The staging wasn’t planned til designers saw that art

A squadmate with Shepard on the way to meet Ash in an old storyboard was called Carter. Early name of Kaidan or Jenkins?

Bono from U2 was kinda instrumental in bringing us ME lol

Finding the right cover art for ME1 was notably tricky

Matt Rhodes got his start drawing helmets for ME1, including one which would become Shep’s “second face”. He estimates he drew between 250-270 different ones

Some of the sounds in-game were people smashing watermelons with sledgehammers and sticking fists into various goos

The audio team had fun trying to slip the iconic main theme into unexpected places throughout the MET. “We were very aware of how powerful that track was for the fans and it was tempting to overuse it for any moment we wanted to make really emotional”.

The theme was creatively repurposed in ME3: slowed down and reworked as the ambient sound for the SR-2. “If you listen to it for a really long time, just stand in the Normandy and listen, you’ll actually hear the notes change slowly. It doesn’t sound like music, it sounds like a background ambiance, but it’s there.” (My note: Well no wonder the Normandy feels so much like home?? 😭 sneaky..)

Bug report: “Mako Tornado”. There wasn’t enough friction between the tires and the ground, causing testers to lose control of the vehicle and send it spinning into the air like a tornado. “As it turns, the front end comes up, and then it starts spinning and spinning and spinning and spinning faster and faster and faster until it just flies up in the sky” (My note: Sounds like a regular day in the Mako to me)

Cerberus originally had a bigger role in this game. It was cut but they had a whole explorable outpost. “I called it Misery,” says Mac Walters, “It was this planet with a little outpost that said ‘Welcome to Misery’”. Everything on the outpost was shit - dirty worn stuff, no windows, no kitchen, the vehicle bay was open to the elements etc

The Reaper sound is literal garbage. Some audio designers went on a recording trip to a national park. One of them got fixated on a garbage can, “a metal bear-proof receptacle with a heavy lid that creaked horribly when opened”. “It was like, ominous, spooky, tonal and almost musical. I decided to throw a mic into the garbage and record it moving. I didn’t know what it was going to be until later”

They were making lots of noises to record like throwing logs and rocks around. An old couple peered at them through the window of their camper van in the woods and must have called the cops because then the cops showed up, pulled them over and told them to stop. The cops towed their car (the driver’s plates were Cali plates and expired), drove them to Edmonton outskirts and then the audio producer Shauna got a call and had to go pick them up “like three little boys”. “We got a stern talking to”. Once back they were playing around with the garbage sound, editing it etc. Casey heard it and proclaimed “That’s the sound of the Reapers”

Preston Watamaniuk: “There are things I could have done to Mass 1 to make it an infinitely better game with better UIs” and some simple cuts and changes. “But when you’re living with it, it’s very hard to see those things”

BioWare Labs

As social media and smartphone games exploded, BioWare dedicated a small team dedicated to exploring opportunities here - BioWare Labs

Mass Effect: Galaxy used a unique graphic art style and static visual presentation common in visual novels. It has the distinction of being the only iOS game BW have made during their first 25 years

Scrapped ideas were a 3rd person space shooter called Mass Effect: Corsair and 2 DA titles - a strategy game and a top-down dungeon crawler starring young Wynne. (My note: Maybe the corsairs stuff was rolled into Jacob’s backstory in 2, the Alliance Corsairs)

Corsair was a very short-lived project that never got its feet under it. It was a spin-off on Nintendo DS featuring a behind-the-ship perspective and branching dialogue. At one point it had MP. The idea behind it was basically “ME: Freelancer” - fly your ship around, do missions, get credits. It had a limited branching story but was a gameplay-centered experience intended to fill the gap between ME1 and 2. That gap ended up being filled by Galaxy

Galaxy and Corsair’s smaller screen allowed concept artists to use bold colors and a simplistic character design style to help those games stand out from Shep’s story

Nick Thornborrow did some art for Corsair but was worried his art style didn’t fit ME. He moved to DA where he feels his art style fits better

Lots of BioWare VAs and even a lead writer and the VO director are drawn from Edmonton’s local community theater scene, which is vibrant. Think this is how Mark Meer got involved

Mass Effect 2

Player choices carrying over was a first for BW

Dirty Dozen-inspired plot

Its plot is a web of conditionals (see Suicide Mission)

Was more of a shooter than anything BW had made since Shattered Steel

There was 2 camps on the team, those who wanted to push combat and systems forward and redefine the ME experience and those who wanted to make a true sequel, with the same gameplay and systems but a new story. Karin Weekes: “I think it ended up being a good push-pull. It felt like a pretty healthy creative conflict”

“ME2 was a game you could hold up to someone who argues that games aren’t a serious medium and go ‘Oh yeah, then why is Martin Sheen in this?’” Sheen was their first pick for TIM

The idea for TIM came from a mash-up of concepts CH had collected over the years. The name “Illusive” originally came from his pitch for naming DAO’s Eclipse engine, a word inspired by Obi-Wan’s line “It’s not about the mission, Master. It’s something... elsewhere. Elusive”. “I thought, what if we called our next engine 'Elusive', but used an ‘I’, and then it’s like ‘Illusion’. [...] I still really like the word with an ‘I’ and what it conjures”

When ME1 DLC was in production, CH had been watching a lot of CNN, specifically Anderson Cooper. “How is one guy travelling to all these places and never looking tired and always being able to speak with clarity?” CH says it seemed almost superhuman. “What if there was someone who is the absolute maximum of the things you would aspire to be, but also the worst of humanity?” Cooper, though not evil, became an inspiration for TIM down to the gray hair and piercing blue eyes

Inspiration for TIM’s behind-the-scenes role pulling political strings came from Jack Bauer’s brother Graem in 24. Graem “can call up the president and tell him what to do and hang up, because he’s so connected and so influential”. Sheen had played a president and his performance brought gravitas and wisdom to the role. He had quit smoking, but the character smokes. He didn’t want to fake it, but he also didn’t want to smoke, “so he actually asked for a cigarette” to hold so he could stop his words to take drags with natural cadence

Writing was still pushing to write and revise lines hours before VO started. A series of problems like injury and some writers leaving for other opportunities left it so that Karin, Lukas Kristjanson and editor Cookie Everman hand to land the story safely, with PW helping where they could. Lukas: “We took over the writing bug and task list, and I can’t stress enough how much [Karin and Cookie] did to get ME2 out the door. There’s no part of that thing we didn’t touch”. Karin: “That was the most dramatic 2 weeks of my life”

Initial fan reaction when they started promo-ing ME2 was very negative because people didn’t want to know about new chars like Jack and Mordin. “[fans were like] ‘Get them out of here. We want our characters from the first game’. But then when they played them, those became some of the most popular chars [of the series]”

Concept art of Thane has an idea annotation saying “Face can shapeshift?”

At one point when designing Thane concept artists sent multiple variations of him to the team asking them to vote on which was the most attractive

Most of the Normandy crew was written by lead level designer Dusty Everman. Lukas gave him advice in the evenings between bugs

BioWare Montreal made ME2 and 3 cinematics

CC for Shep was based on tools used by char designers to create in-game chars. Under the hood similar tools existed to create aliens

Aliens were much easier to animate than humans. When something is human it’s very difficult to make it look realistic and you can see all the mistakes and everything

Over the holiday period in 2007 CH worked out a diagram on a single piece of paper that would define the entire scope and structure of the game. The diagram is included in the book

Bug report: “I shot a krogan so hard that his textures fell off”. At one point shotgun blast damage was applied to each of the pellets fired, and shot enemies ended up with just the default checkerboard Unreal texture on them after their textures got blown off

Blasto was meant to be 1 step above an Easter egg but his fan popularity prompted them to bring him back in ME3

They rewrote chunks of Jack 2 days before she went to VO. She was the only one they could change because all the other NPCs were recorded. They redesigned her mission by juggling locked NPC lines and changing Shep’s reactions by rewriting text paraphrases to change the context of the already-recorded VO

Lukas snuck obscure nods ito ME2′s distress calls. In the general distress call for the Hugo Gernsback, there’s BW’s initial’s and Edmonton’s phone number backwards. In a fault in a beacon protocol there’s the initials and backward phone number from Tommy Tutone’s “Jenny”. In 2 other general distress calls there’s initials and numbers from Glenn Miller Orchestra’s “Pennsylvania 6-5000″ and initials and numbers from Geddy Lee and Rush’s “2112″ respectively 

Mass Effect 3

“The end of an era marks the beginning of another”

ME3 “marked the end of Shep’s story”

Saying bye to Shep was as difficult for devs as it was for players

JHale’s final VO session included Anderson’s death and romanced Garrus’ goodbye. “We were in the session and we both just started crying”, Caroline says. “I couldn’t come on the line to give her notes because I was crying, and she was crying. And so there was just this minute-long pause of like, nothing, nothing, nothing - just silence through the airwaves. And then I came on and just told her that I was crying and she said ‘I’m crying!’” They talked about these anecdotes also here on the N7 Day reunion panel

The Microsoft Kinect voice support required devs to teach Kinect hundreds of commands in a variety of accents across multiple languages. The result was useful but made for some awkward moments. Numerous players accidentally said “geth” or “quarian” while making a particular decision and accidentally killed Tali

MP chars were voiced by cops and military people

The helmet on one of the MP chars was originally designed for cancelled project Revolver

The payload device at the end needed to attach to the Citadel while essentially serving as a giant trigger. “It ended up becoming quite the engineering feet just to visualize how this thing would move and connect to the Citadel”

Concept artists explored creating an anti-team, where Kai Leng was almost an anti-Shepard essentially, with an elite squad to counteract your team. This idea never went beyond concept phase

ME3 Special Edition was released on Nintendo Wii U exclusively. This exclusive version of the game includes Genesis 2 (a sequel to the original Genesis comic) and unique gameplay features that took advantage of the touchscreen GamePad. For years Sonic Chronicles: Dark Brotherhood had had the honor of being BW’s only game made for a Nintendo console

FemShep regrettably didn’t feature in major ME marketing til ME3. Later releases like DAI, MEA and Anthem have taken increasing care not to gender their protagonists in cover art

To capture combat sounds they took a trip to CFB Wainwright, a military base southeast of Edmonton. They got a big tour of it and were allowed to record anything they could find. The tour ended with them getting to drive and shoot tanks (real shells). The force of doing that sent waves through Joel Green, he felt his whole chest compress when it went off; the perfect sound for the Black Widow! After the trip the soldiers let him keep the shell he fired and it’s been passed on like a torch to various devs since

Kakliosaurs began life as a joke in the writers’ room after John Dombrow placed a Grunt figure on a t-rex toy he had on his desk. Lore was brainstormed to justify the mash-up before someone asked, “Why don’t we put this in the game?” They loved it so much Karin had custom coffee mugs made

Bug report: For a while Tali’s final romance scene would fire when she was supposed to be dead

“Balancing combat: how designers in ME3 entered an ‘arms race’” - the solution to players feeling OP vs players feeling frustrated by really strong enemies is to find a good middle ground, but for designers Corey Gaspur and Brenon Holmes, it was war. Brenon designed enemies, Corey designed guns. Corey “was obsessed with bigger, heavier guns. We had this sort of informal competition where he’d make this crazy overturned gun that would just murder all the enemies, and then I tuned some stuff up to compensate”

Brenon had to invent new ways to “stop Corey” and this led to the Phantoms. Corey had in turn designed consumable rockets that could wipe out entire waves of enemies. He must’ve figured this would make short work of Brenon’s space ninjas, but Brenon had other plans: “I had just added the ability for her to cut rockets [when Corey was playing MP and he was watching]. She cut the rocket in half... Corey just turns and looks at me and is like: ‘Really dude? I just shot a rocket at this Phantom and she’s fine? Not even damaged? Zero damage?’” 

This friendly rivalry helped elevate ME3′s gameplay. Corey had a knack for making a gun feel so good to fire it had his fellow designers scrambling to keep up. It was his version of balancing. Before Corey sadly passed away he mentored Boldwin Li in all things weapon design and the arms race continued

Corey designed the Arc Pistol. It was causing problems for enemies because it was too powerful. It seemed hell bent on staying that way, Boldwin would tune down all its stats and it was still doing 3x the damage it should have been doing. “I was like ‘What the hell?’, and then I looked closer. It secretly fired 3 bullets for every pull of the trigger! Corey, you sneaky jerk”

The day it launched there were midnight launch parties across North America including one near the BW building. Numerous devs sat at long tables greeting fans and signing autographs as the fans picked up preorders. When midnight struck the line was long enough that it took several hours for some fans to get their game. One particular fan is remembered: “It was 3am. Some guy drove up from Calgary with his friends. He was like one of the last people in line. I think he was sort of tired-drunk. He threw himself across the tables, pulled up his shirt and shouted ‘Guys, sign my abs!’ And like I did, because he waited so long. It felt impolite not to. So I hope he enjoyed his copy of ME3″

For designing Protheans concept artists had free reign to design something that read as ancient

Before the concept art team had the story of the game to work toward, they explored wild ideas of their own including an image of the crew stealing back the Normandy to go after the Reapers

Jen Cheverie was testing scenes and was initially excited to be testing Mordin scenes, til she saw she was testing the Renegade version of his death. “This is even before like all of the audio and everything was in, so you didn’t even have the sad music. I remember sitting at my desk and my hands just went to my face when I saw that the gun Shep pulls on Mordin is the gun he gives Shep in ME2. I burst into tears and was crying for the rest of the day. People are waving to me as they walk by and I’m like, ‘It’s ok, I’m just killing my best friend’” 

There’s a segment called “Shepard’s story ends”. Casey on the ending: “There’s a whole bunch of things that come together to make it incredibly tense and emotional for players. I think the biggest one was the sense of finality, that whatever it was that happened in that very last moment... was it.” 

Wrapping up the story was a massive feat. In a way all of ME3 is an ending. Its final moments were the players’ last with a char they’d been with all the way from Eden Prime

“And while the critical reception of the game was extremely positive, many fans were unsatisfied with the ending, which became one of the most controversial in the history of games.” CH: “We were, on one hand, at the end of a marathon trying to finish the game and the series. But as devs we also knew that there would be more. We knew that we would continue to tell the story. In retrospect, we didn’t fully appreciate the tremendous sense of finality that it would have for people”. He envisioned an ending that posed new questions, something in the tradition of high sci-fi that left players dreaming about what that particular galaxy’s future could hold. “Frankly, there’s a lot more that we could have and should have done to honor the work players put in, to give them a stronger sense of reward and closure”

AAA games are massive undertakings with a million moving parts. Somehow they come together but even the best-planned projects don’t turn out quite like devs hope. From start to end video game production is a series of compromises. It’s rare if not impossible for devs to ship a game they’re entirely happy with. “I think that people imagine that when you finish a game, it’s exactly the way you wanted it to be. But whether people end up loving or hating the final result, we work hard to finish it the best we can, knowing that there’s a lot we would have wanted to do better. I think that’s true of any creative work”

As the dust settled after the initial reaction to the ending and later its epilogue, meant to show the wide-reaching ripple effects of Shep’s final choice, “players emerged mostly asking for one thing”. CH: “Now, most of what we hear, after both ME3 and MEA, is ‘Hey, just go make more Mass Effect’. And that to me is the most important thing. Knowing that players want to return to the ME universe is what inspires us to press on and imagine what comes next”

Mass Effect: Andromeda

By creating a new ME in a new galaxy the team was challenged to put their own visual stamp on the game while keeping it true to the franchise

Being the first ME game on a new gen of consoles meant for more detail

“Massive transport ships called arks populated with salarians, turians, humans, asari and quarians” made the risky jump to the Cluster

MEA was the first time BW had truly codeveloped across 3 studios: Edmonton, Montreal and Austin. The bulk of the work especially early on was done in Montreal, which was composed of a handful of Edmonton expats and heaps of experienced devs who joined from elsewhere specifically to bring a new ME experience to life. Series vets in Edmonton then came on to contribute writing, cinematics, design and QA, along with leadership from creative director Mac Walters and the core Production team. Austin writers and level designers also joined the fray

“It took a new team to take ME beyond the Milky Way”

Mac: “A lot of people in Montreal joined BW as fans of the franchise, so they just had this passion, and it felt like it was more like the days of Jade Empire, where a smaller younger team gets to do something for the first time. Even though it wasn’t necessarily a new IP for me, it felt fresh and new because of that. The team was just super excited to be working on it”

Early plans had the player exploring hundreds of worlds, procedurally generated, allowing for a nearly infinite variety of experiences. But as development wore on, it became clear that the game narrative required more specific, hand-touched level design on each world to keep the story focused and the experience engaging. “The plan was to give players numerous uncharted worlds to explore. Designers worked hard to come up with procedural elements that would make such planets special. Eventually the team made the difficult decision to abandon procedural planets in favor of more memorable hand-touched alien worlds, each with a specific story to tell”

One challenge was defining what ME meant without Shep. Care was given to include many of the MET’s key species. “Ryder recruited turian, asari, krogan and salarian followers”. Like Shep Ryder represents humanity’s hope for a peaceful coexistence among aliens who had long operated without human contact

Beginning with MEA the team decided that with few exceptions vehicles in ME have 6 wheels. Early Nomad concepts were bulkier. Later ones focused on its ability to move over its ability to protect itself from hostile fire, underlining the themes of exploration

German concept designer and auto-motive futurist Daniel Simon was contracted to create the Nomad and Tempest. The Tempest’s final design took inspo from the Concorde 

Concepts for angaran fighter ships have the following notes: “Two doors swing open, wings rotate down to function as landing struts, the landing struts split open. It has a spinning turbine engine 

Despite being set a galaxy away and some 600 years after Mordin’s death, there was a time when he had a cameo. It wasn’t cut due to running out of time however, it was cut due to drug references. John Dombrow explains: “One day I had to write a small quest for Kadara. I thought it’d be amusing if these 2 guys living way out on the fringes in a shack were growing plants for uh, medicinal purposes, and needed Ryder’s help with it. It occurred to me, wouldn’t it be amusing if Ryder had the option of actually trying ‘the medicine’ to see what would happen? And I thought, what if it turned into some hallucination that somehow involved SAM - like maybe SAM would sing? But why? How could I motivate that? Then it hit me. Who else in the ME game sings unexpectedly? MORDIN. As a nod to him I wrote SAM singing Modern Major-General. It got even better when our cine designer John Ebenger wanted to take it even further. Bless him, he came in on a Saturday to do a special hallucination showing Mordin himself. It was great. Til the fateful day we were told MEA had already been submitted to the ratings board. That’s when you declare things like drug references in your game. Mordin fell under that category which meant it was a no-go. We were too late”

Ryder’s white AI armor contrasts Shep’s iconic dark armor (intentional design)

Concept art for Ryder involved experiments with cloth (cloaks, ponchos, capes - “Pull here to release cloak”) and asymmetrical design elements

For alien design, there’s a few exceptions but humanoid figures are the ME standard and this persisted into MEA

Kett and angara concepts explored striking lines and textures 

– From Bioware: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development

[phantomnostalgist]

An Interview with Peter Karrie

From “POTO: The Phantom of the Opera Magazine”, Millennium Edition (2000), published by Carrie Hernandez. (This btw is the greatest Phantom fan publication ever made, and if you ever see it on eBay you should snap it up. I don’t even have my copy because it’s with Paul, who conducted this interview with Peter in 1994.)

Enormous thanks to @panto-of-the-opera for typing this interview up for me!

Peter Karrie, interviewed by Paul Day Clemens: 

Since falling under the spell of “POTO” (the day the Original London Cast album (OLC) became available in the U.S.) I’ve seen many fine –  and a few brilliant – Eriks but only two performers have ever made me feel I was in the actual presence of the Phantom himself. One was Michael Crawford – yes, he really was that special  (and you can forget the OLC which is but the palest shadow of what he was like on stage!) – and the other is Peter Karrie.

Commanding, dangerous, elegant, chivalrous and heart rending with an unparalleled physicality and wealth of detail, Peter not only made the role his own, completely, but by some rare and strange alchemy, somehow managed to make me forget I was watching a performance at all.

Thrilled, hypnotized and deeply moved, it was not until visiting with Peter after the show that the full impact of his transformation hit me. How could this warm, funny, soft-spoken, down-to-earth guy possibly be the same man I was watching on stage not an hour before hand?

Therein lies the difference between craft – albeit of a rare excellence – and true inspiration. Dare I even say greatness?

Yeah, I dare. For Mr. Karrie’s Phantom is simply one of the greatest portrayals by an actor in the musical theatre that I’ve ever had the privilege of experiencing.

I had the great pleasure of interviewing Peter at length in December 1994 in Toronto as he was getting ready for the Far East tour of “POTO” and what follows here are never before published excerpts from the interview. – Paul Clemens

Paul Clemens: Do you find that the role of the Phantom makes enormous demands on your voice, in terms of the wear and tear of doing at night after night? If you had a sore throat, for instance, would you be able to get through the show?

Peter Karrie: Yeah.  You learn I guess. All professional singers in theatre have to cope with colds and sore throats. Otherwise you’ll be forever off ‘cause it’s a breeding ground of germs. And you develop your voice for stamina over a period of time where you’re doing eight shows a week. You have to. You have to survive it.... So, basically, yeah.

You take the angel [scene] for instance where [the Phantom is] absolutely broken. I’ve had very, very bad laryngitis and I’ve sung that and it sounded great! Simply because you’re breaking down in your voice is all kinds of scuffed up and cracky, you can enact it. But the show takes horrendous wear and tear on the body. It really does. You end up playing mind games with the role.

PC: That’s interesting. How so?

PK: Well, it’s such a powerfully written piece for the actual Phantom. You have to portray a person who’s schizoid, psychotic... and it all sounds very grand and technical. But the actual emotion of it can cut only come from the inside. And so you continue fighting with it.

 [Note from Christine posting this in 2021 - Erik isn’t actually schizoid or psychotic (not that either are “bad” things). I know this is pedantic of me to point out, but I pointed it out at the end of Ethan Freeman’s interview from the mid 90s so I’ll point it out here too.]

PC: I imagine you found a core within the character of identification, something you had an understanding of and could feel a great deal of sympathy toward.

PK: Yes. You have to put yourself through the gambit of it. You have to be the Phantom emotionally for that time, and then it comes out quite naturally. You don’t have to think about it.

PC: Do you find, after all the times you played the role – first in London and now in Toronto – that the emotions are still immediate for you?

PK: Oh, yeah. But as I say, there’s wear and tear. When the mind gets tired then you find you get into problems.

PC: How do you keep the role fresh?

PK: There are all types of hand holds all the way along, from the time you start ‘til the time you finish. I guess the majority of it is set in the rehearsal room where you rehearse at a certain level into a certain standard, and it becomes automatic. But each show will always be different because you have a different audience, different weather conditions, you have different musicians playing in the pit, you have different people you’re playing opposite. So you will always get a variation on the theme. And so that, coupled up with what you’ve put together in rehearsal so you get a fairly high standard of performance every night, merges together. And so you do get a different show every night. But, as I say, it’s a very wearing role. More so than Jean Valjean, where you’re virtually on stage for three and a half hours. But I find the Phantom far more draining.

PC: I can imagine. Whenever you’re on stage you’re at peak intensity and you run the emotional gamut. So that, combined with the vocal demands, must make for one walloping experience.

PK: Exactly.... That, coupled with the exposure. You’re so exposed on stage. Whenever the Phantom does appear, it’s either him on his own, or it’s him with Christine, and something powerful and moving is happening. He doesn’t appear with the chorus – barring the “Masquerade.”

PC: For that reason, a number of the actors who have played the role have complained about a sense of loneliness and isolation. I wondered if you felt that way about it?

 PK: No, I haven’t felt that. But I’ve always mingled with the rest of the cast and crew. I can’t abide all this keeping the door shut. So we open the door and play rock and roll music.

PC: Do you ever feel hampered by all the makeup involved?

PK: You get used to it. Totally. In fact, there are times when you forgotten you’ve got the mask on in the wig lady has to ask you for it. And you think ‘What? I’ve already given it to you!’

PC: That’s right – you wouldn’t be able to feel it, would you? Because it’s actually touching the appliances rather than your face.

PK: You feel it slightly. You know, if you first put it on you’d know it’s there. But after a while... But the wire band ‘round the head lets you know it’s there! And the edge of it catches you sometimes. But no – it becomes part of you. And as for the lip which is built up top and bottom ‘round your mouth, you get used to that as well.

PC: Has it ever come loose during a performance?

PK: Oh, God yeah! We’ve had some great moments where it’s been hanging off. That’s a bit gross. And the bald cap’s come loose in the back, so you do the Second Lair with one hand ‘rounds the back of your head holding your bald cap in place? [laughs] Yeah, you’ve got some good moments.

PC: How did you find the voice which is so distinctive?

PK: Well, that, once again came from the feeling inside. It was like once you had all that stuff on, and I discovered the walk, and kind of latched onto his intention, the voice just followed.

PC: Your interpretation of the line “You try my patience“ is unforgettable. So chilling. I was wondering how that evolved.

PK: Well, I felt that was the climax of the man. That, literally, for me, is where he turns ‘round and he’s at the actual peak of his hate, his frustration. I knew I had to find something which made that moment special. It was set to be special by the music and the way it was directed. That was the key to the man.

PC: It’s as if your voice came from some deep well – as if it bubbled up from some deep, dark place.

PK: That’s right! That’s exactly how I felt it. And then when Christine kisses him it’s like he can’t believe it. “I’ve won!” That euphoric feeling... “She can suffer this face! I think I’ve got her! I think, yes, she does love me!” And then, as he reaches out to touch her... a moment.... He’s taken in the scene of Raoul hanging as he went back to her... and then, all of a sudden, it struck a chord.... “Hang on....” And then the realization hits him: “She’s just doing it for him. She’s literally giving me her self to save him. She loves him... She can never love me the same as she loves him.” And it’s all a kind of mental game there. And you’ve only got split seconds to get the audience in on it, so he has to be kind of demonstrative in his actions.

PC: After the kiss, there was a moment where you sort of winced, pulling away from her twice like a wounded animal, your right arm almost becoming spastic... there were so many levels, all going simultaneously.

PK: He’s coming to terms. All these thoughts are rushing through his head and he’s off balance. Everything has shaken him and he’s lost his façade of “everything-under-control.”

PC: And the body is breaking down.

PK: That’s right. He’s been stripped of everything just by having to face himself – and face the truth. That one clear moment where he realizes this is wrong – this is all wrong – this is not how it should be.

PC: And when the phantom cries “GO NOW AND LEAVE ME!” – you built each word into a series of escalating crescendos which was tremendously effective, I thought. Very powerful.

PK: It’s all the process of him actually coming to terms with himself. It’s as you say – one after another, one after the other – then finally she’s gone and he’s left.... This is after she’s given him the ring and she’s gone... And he looks... and he sees the empty throne. And he knows that’s all his life is.

PC: That’s very moving. Do you ever find that the final words – “It’s over now the Music of the Night” – are difficult to get out with all the emotion you’re experiencing?

PK: I did at the beginning, yeah. Sometimes I used to get caught up in it, which is a dreadfully dangerous thing, ‘cause then everything tightens up and you get the proverbial lump in your throat.

PC: It’s sort of walking a bit of a tight rope, isn’t it?

PK: Yeah! [laughs] That’s right. And then there’s a moment where I can get space to subdue all that and concentrate on doing the last bit. That’s where he’s got the veil in his hand and she’s in the boat comin’ across the back singing with Raoul and I say “Christine I love you” very, very quietly, and very broken, and then I can take some breaths which calm it all down and get myself kind of poised for the last bit. ‘Cause that’s gotta be kind of the statement: “You alone can make my song take flight.” That is the statement of release. It’s like a rhetorical statement – you will always be the music of my life. And therefore I can’t change it.” It’s that feeling he’s got in his body. He bends over backwards. And then the final moment is where he turns around and wipes it clean. And he does it in a far stronger attitude than anything else he does... “It’s over now the Music of the Night.”

PC: I’ve read that you feel he’s starting a new life at that point.

PK: Yes! Yes... When I’m walking to the chair, I let the veil just drop behind, and I think to myself “It’s over. Now what else is there? There must be something else... It’s over.” And you do it with such a final flourish – the cape and everything – you’re back in control of yourself. You’ve had the osmosis. You’ve come out of the one period of your life which actually threatened to ruin you, and you’re now standing on the threshold of another one.

PC: Oh yes. It’s wonderful to hear what’s going through your mind as you’re doing the scene. And the impact of that final scene is tremendous. Do you have a favourite scene in the show?

PK: That would be it.  ‘Cause it’s only six minutes long, that Second Lair. And in that six minutes you literally travel from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other. It’s a whole journey.

  MORE BELOW... Keep reading, it’s a long interview, with plenty more thoughts and content about Phantom, including some really funny classic mishaps.

PC: The show obviously touches a universal cord in many of its audience members, sometimes to the extent that a bracket (sizable) number of people see the show again and again. Men and women openly moved to tears by the play are common sight in Phantom’s audiences. And yet, paradoxically, a substantial number of critics have charged the show with having no heart.

PK: I think they’re being very unkind. There are some Phantoms – just as there are leading men and women in any show – who do not commit themselves quite as much as they should do.

PC: I’ve seen that it does make a difference in the overall impact of the show.

PK: It makes a big difference, yeah. ‘Cause eight times a week to commit yourself to it to it as it should be done is hard work. But once you get used to it and once you get into it you can’t do it any other way. At least I can’t. They said to me many times, like when you’re feeling rough or whatever, “Can you mark it a little bit? You know just take it easy. You don’t have to give one hundred percent.” But you see, it’s not a question of giving that. That’s just the way I do it. If I start altering that, I am altering a lot more than just singing a lift show. You’re altering a thought process which I can’t control. I wish I could mark it. It would be a lot bloody easier! But you can’t. You have to do it as you do it when you do it, and that’s it.

PC: I believe you hold the record for the most injuries sustained by any actor playing the role.

PK: Touch wood it’s never been completely death-defying! [laughs]

PC: Is it true that you asked if you could actually ride the chandelier down to the stage at the end of Act One?

PK: Yes. But I’m afraid the insurance people did not exactly share my enthusiasm for the idea.

PC: The stories about technical mishaps are legion. Can you relate some of the more memorable moments along those lines that you can recall?

PK: Well... there’s been so many of them now. There’re many, many boat stories. And the same thing happen to Colm, has happened to Michael, has happened to ‘em all. The boat has a life of its own. The monkey also has a life of its own. That can be very temperamental... I’ve had some excitement in the Angel, where people have tripped over wires and tipped it up while you’re inside it, and you’re hangin’ on for grim death... I fallen off the proscenium, yeah...

PC: [laughs] you say that so cavalierly.

 PK: [laughing] Cracked a couple of legs and so forth. And the Star-Trap, the same thing. I’ve fallen down that the wrong way... In London one day, the Star-Trap didn’t open at all. So you did the “Your chains are still mine – you will sing for me,” and threw the cape – I always threw the Cape up to make a trail as you go down the Star-Trap. So the trail came down and I hadn’t gone anywhere. In the cloak – they had a bigger cloak for the Masquerade then – and it just piles on top of me. And I couldn’t get it off because you’ve got the mask on. So it ended up with the two managers having to lead me off! [laughing] I mean, here you’ve got this dreadful creature saying [puts on a creepy voice] “Your chains are still mine – you will sing for me!” And then, all of a sudden, the managers are saying [whispers] “Come on! This way, this way!”

PC: [laughs] In one of the U.S. Touring Company performances, the Punjab lasso failed to work, and so Raoul just fell to the floor and lay there writhing as if he were in the grip of some supernatural force.

 PK: [laughs] many times things go wrong with a bloody lasso! One time I was over here in Toronto, Byron Nease [Raoul] all of a sudden acted like an invisible hand had gripped him ‘round the throat – the noose was nowhere, it was on the floor many miles away from him – but he’s going [Karrie makes some strangling sounds] and it was as though he was being thrown—forced backwards! And he got to the grill and his hands came outstretched and he was like held there by and invisible force...

PC: Yes – the “magnetic grill!“

PK: Yeah! And I just looked at him and I started laughing. it was like a three act play to get him to the back of this grill...! But I think the funniest thing is words. The things people say. Quite innovative and inventive. I remember when I was in the wings doing the “seal my fate tonight...” and sometimes your mind wanders. It’s that mind-game I mentioned about concentration. You have to keep focused all the time – blah blah blah. And so I’m saying “seal my fate tonight... I hate to have to cut the prisoner short...” Prisoner short? Prisoner short? And I thought, no, that can’t be right. And I’m thinking that while I continue singing... And the words have gone ‘cause I’m singing “but the ducks warring in...” And I said “ducks warring in??? – By now I’ve turned away from the monitor ‘cause I’m singing on an off-stage mike – and  I’m lookin’ at my dressers. And I’m waving to them as if to say “Tell me the words! What are the words??”  And now I’m singing “Let my destiny ride, ‘cause my music’s afire!” And I sang it as though I’d been singing those words all my life! Loud... And of course I’m falling around. And the conductor – I can see on the monitor – he’s laughing and waving! The baton had gone to hell!!

 PC: [laughing] That’s marvelous!

 PK: But what was the funniest thing what the poor people on stage! ‘Cause you had the managers and everybody else all walking ‘round in this trance – like, floaty, floaty choreography. And all of a sudden, as soon as I got to “ducks warring in” – by all accounts – they as if on cue, turned up stage; all of their backs to the audience! And they all walked to the back of the stage! And they’re all laughing and laughing, ‘cause it got it worse and worse. The more I was singin’ the wrong words the more they were laughing! ...And when I came on for my bows that night, all the course we’re going “Quack, quack!” ...So the next night I got changed I did my sound-check, and all of a sudden there’s a call over the tannoy for a meeting in the greenroom. And I went there, and I thought, well, somebody must be coming down to see us. And all of a sudden, over the gentle hubbub in the greenroom, I could hear on the tannoy my voice doing this “cut the prisoner short, but the ducks warring in...” and everybody started laughing. And then all of a sudden, the company manager showed up and presented me with a cassette – they record every show, you see – and the company had the words printed up and framed, and they presented it to me with the cassette. And that’s how I know the words so well!

PC: I’d love to hear that sometime!

PK: I learned from a very early age that if you’re gonna sing the wrong words, sing them as loud and convincingly as possible. And everyone in the building will think you’re right and everybody else is wrong.

PC: Of course. Because that if they haven’t seen the show before, they’re not going to know.

PK: That’s right. It’s so true, because I had people in that night for that magic moment, and they didn’t know anything was wrong at all.

 PC: [laughs] Be honest with me – are you tired of the music after all this time? For example if you’re in an elevator and you hear a song from Phantom do you just want to scream?

PK: No. I get out of the elevator. You do try to escape from it after doing eight shows a week... A number of times we’ll go into a restaurant ,] my wife Jane and myself, and we’ll sit there. And all of a sudden you’ll hear the music come on – Phantom. And you think, oh God! You don’t want to be reminded of it when you’re out enjoying yourself. But I’m not tired of the music when I’m performing it.

PC: You’re about to take Phantom to Singapore and Hong Kong. I understand that their audiences tend to be rather formal. I believe it is considered disrespectful to make too big a display of appreciation. That will be quite a change for you. How do you think you’re going to handle it?

PK: I did a satellite link up the other day with about forty reporters from the Far East, and the same questions came up then – “How are you going to cope with the way Singaporean and Hong Kong audiences show their appreciation?” And I told him as long as they enjoy the show, I don’t care... It’s quite funny actually, because when I started off working in Britain, I used to do clubs in the Northeast which is the hardest area prefer performer to work in. [laughs] The miners – it’s a big mining area – and they didn’t used to applaud. They threw ashtrays onto the stage.

PC: [laughing] Ashtrays?!

PK: That’s right. You do a Sunday lunchtime and they’d all be sitting reading the Sunday newspapers. You walk onto the stage and there’d just be a sea of newspapers. And at the end of the number, if they liked you they drop one hand onto the table, pick up the ashtray and throw it onto the stage as a mark of respect. Or are they’d just bang the table with one hand two or three times. But still, never, never, did they come out from behind the newspaper. Not unless the performer was of the female variety.

PC: [laughs] Your rock band – Peter and the Wolves – how long did that last?

PK: About four years, I think.

PC: Are there any records available?

PK: I doubt it. What records were made have probably long since been turned into ashtrays!

PC: To be thrown on stage by miners, no doubt! ...Well ,a final question: in Phantom, when you’re up in the Angel, do you ever feel a mad desire to plunge headfirst into the audience?

PK: No. Quite the opposite.

PC: Not a serious question, but I appreciate the answer nonetheless.

PK: The desire to jump off is never further from my mind.

PC: Sometimes I wonder the way you move around up there!

PK: [laughs] It does get a bit hairy up there sometimes! But it depends on which way it swings. If it swings left to right, you’re okay, but if it swings front to back then ya’ got trouble!

PC: This has been a delightful interview, Peter. Thank you.

PK: My pleasure.

-  Paul Clemens

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 280: I Am Red Riot

Previously on BnHA: The pro heroes over at Gunga Mountain struggled against Gigantomachia and the League until finally Midnight was all, “fuck it, let’s just put the kids in charge.” Momo immediately got to work organizing a sophisticated counteroffensive involving an exploding swamp, a bunch of sedative cans, and a massive coordinated team attack. I gotta tell you guys, it’s really something to watch a large-scale group attack in which all of the team members are actually competent. I don’t know what Japan put in the water when all these sixteen-year-olds were growing up, but that shit has paid off big time, and basically the only reason Machia hasn’t gone down yet is because he cheated and was all “sneeze” and the kids all got blown away because they are little and because he is really, really big. Anyway so then Dabi set the forest on fire because he loves doing that, and the chapter ended with Mina using her Acid Man attack to make herself FUCKIN’ FIREPROOF so she could charge through the woods ready to save the day and stuff!

Today on BnHA: Mina launches herself straight at Machia like the beautiful corrosive wild child she is, but then everything goes to shit when she recognizes him from that one time she almost got murdered while giving a strange man directions. Just when it’s looking like she might get killed for real this time, KIRISHIMA SHOWS UP TO SAVE THE DAY AND SHOVES HER TO SAFETY AND IS ALL “BOTTOMS UP” AND HEAVES A LITERAL CAN OF WHOOPASS RIGHT IN MACHIA’S MOUTH. At this point the grown-ups are all “oh wow look at that, time for us to take over for you kids now, don’t worry we’ve got it all under control” because Oh Those Wacky Pros and all that, but at least Majestic finally deigns to show his face so that’s a plus! The chapter ends with us cutting back to the Jakku battle, where Tomura is curled up in a little ball all “curse you heroes, how dare you [checks notes] save people all the time”, which is a real take and a half. Anyway so things are looking up, which can only mean everyone is about to die. That’s how it works, right. Shit.

HOLY SHIT LOL

THIS IS MINA. SHE’S REALLY COOL AND SHE CAN MELT PEOPLE. um, the hell kind of tagline is that?? holy fucking shit?? “melt and succumb”?? IS THE SUCCUMB PART REALLY NECESSARY. IS THAT NOT ALREADY IMPLIED. it’s like saying “die and then perish”, which actually sounds really badass and I’m about to make it my new go-to threat actually so you know what never mind. where the fuck were we anyway

“IS EVERYONE SAFE” some absurdly bad-at-gauging-situations kid from class B is yelling while the forest is on fire and all the kids are recovering from having been catapulted fifty miles by King Dodongo’s windy yeet breath. of course they are safe, sweet child. of course everyone is absolutely fine, why the fuck would they possibly not be safe after something like that

KAMINARI NOOO MY POOR SWEET BABY

AT LEAST HE’S STILL CONSCIOUS ENOUGH TO MAKE STUPID JOKES. holy shit this baby got concussed to hell and back and then Machia turned him and the others into precipitation and he wasn’t in any kind of state to even try to land safely, I hope to god someone caught him

Sero is all “is there anyone still in range!” and damn, I like that he’s taking charge and trying to regain their momentum. he is so criminally underrated. I feel like he’s in the top six or seven of class 1-A kids who I would most trust to take charge. which is very high praise because that class has a lot of charge-taking kids

SPEAKING OF

it “probably” can’t get through her acid, she says. my god. sometimes the spirit of Plus Ultra just takes ahold of these kids and it’s like, I want to ruffle their hair proudly and then grab them by the shoulders and shake them vigorously because WHERE EVEN IS YOUR SELF-PRESERVATION WHY DO NONE OF YOU HAVE IT GODDAMMIT AIZAWA REALLY SHOULD HAVE EXPELLED YOU GUYS AFTER ALL

man. and yet I really do love this “be the one who can do it” stuff. what a heroic fucking attitude dfjfklks. I’ll just go put on my humongous sandwich board that reads GIANT FUCKING HYPOCRITE and go stand in the corner

damn it this week’s scan is annoyingly dark, it’s really hard to tell what’s going on but it looks like the pros are attacking Machia and the League at long last. way to go guys it only took you seven years but you finally hopped to it

MINA WHY IS THE ACID COMING OFF OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD. PUT IT BACK!!!

I KNOW SHE’S NOT GONNA DIE DAMMIT BUT AHHHHH AHHHHHH AHHHHHHHH

okay what the hell is up with these weird zen proverbs though

“your fear stricken heart”, “the shortest path”, what the fuck even is this. whose thoughts are these. normally these translations are honestly decent enough but I gotta say this time around I’m totally being thrown for a loop lmao

(ETA: FYI I’m only just now realizing that he was saying the shortest path to Master, as in Tomura, not “master” as in to master something fjkldjskf lol some delayed reading comprehension there. so basically he’s just bitching about how annoying these little “flies” are proving to be.)

JESUS CHRIST

okay is it just me, or is Gigantomachia suddenly showing intelligence in his eyes instead of mindless animal instinct the single most pants-shitting thing you’ve ever seen?!! holy shit. the way he just LOOKS at her out of nowhere all of a sudden?? holy fucking shit DO NOT HURT MT. LADY OH MY GOD I’M FREAKING THE FUCK OUT. AND DON’T YOU DARE HURT MINA EITHER!! JUST FUCKING DIE AND PERISH

but also though, is that recognition in Mina’s eyes?? because even though this dude is 80 feet tall now, her encounter with him a couple years back had to have been one of the more memorable experiences of her young life. damn I was wondering when this would finally come into play

OKAY YES THE NEXT PAGE IS A FLASHBACK OH SHIT

this has nothing to do with anything but Mina just has the prettiest hair, btw, and this “just woke up covered in acid” look is a particularly good one on her. it looks so soft and fluffy, like damn. this is like Shouto-hair-billowing-in-the-wind levels of pretty here

NOOOOO

oh my god holy shit?! putting her back in the school uniform to show the slip in her mentality is a PUNK MOVE, HORIKOSHI, and I respect the shit out of you for it you manipulative bastard. goddammit. bracing myself for the incoming wave of Mina feels... here they come... they’re a lot... let’s see if I can latch on to anything I can actually figure out how to describe in words

okay well here’s one, my respect for Mina’s bravery just went up like a thousand percent in this instant, because now we know this was actually such a traumatizing event for her that hearing Machia’s voice again years later immediately sent her into a full-blown flashback. she was that scared and yet she still stood up to him and didn’t hesitate. and now I’m remembering how her knees just buckled right afterwards, and just...

and this visual, though!! what a brutally effective way to show that in her mind she went right back to being that scared middle schooler again for a moment. god fucking damn. holy shit you guys is Kirishima fireproof because if he comes waltzing out of the woods next I don’t even know what I’m gonna do. lolo kids getting traumatized left and right this arc is fucking merciless

um eXCUSE ME!?!?!

YOU MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF SHIT LET GO OF HER RIGHT NOW OR I AM GONNA LOSE IT!!

THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT!!

holy shit he could have fucking snapped her neck like that??! I don’t like this at ALL WHAT THE FUCK

OKAY SERIOUSLY

I’M GONNA NEED ANOTHER KID TO STEP IN HERE WITH A LAST MINUTE SAVE LIKE RIGHT THE FUCK NOW, OR I AM GOING TO THROW MY COMPUTER OFF A FUCKING CLIFF AND MOVE TO THE DESERT AND BECOME A HERMIT AND NEVER READ MANGA ON THE INTERNET AGAIN

OH THANK GOD

TODAY WE SPELL “REDEMPTION” K-I-R-I... ETC. THERE’S A LOT OF LETTERS BUT YOU GET THE DRIFT!!!

holy fucking shit y’all. I mean, it’s not like it came out of nowhere, like the setup could not have been more obvious, but let me assure you that none of the predictability lessened the actual impact of this moment in the SLIGHTEST. Horikoshi really wrote a flashback scene one hundred and thirty five chapters ago and planted it, watered it once a day, and patiently waited for THREE LONG YEARS until he could finally harvest the badass fruits of his labor in the midst of his most epic arc to date. I’m so fucking hyped I’ll even forgive him for sacrificing Mina’s big moment and having her get rescued, because it’s such a good reversal. he didn’t freeze up this time. he promised himself he’d never freeze again and he didn’t and he saved her and god fucking damn. anyways so now Machia is going to treat him like a fucking action figure though but he’s a solid little dude he can take it hopefully

NO WHAT IS THIS!!! STOP KILLING MY MOOD!!!

she better not be dead!! SHE BETTER NOT FUCKING BE DEAD I WILL RUN MY PC THROUGH A PAPER SHREDDER AND GO AND LIVE ALONE WITH MY FEELS ON A MOUNTAIN IN TIBET

CHINTETSU!!

well we know he’s fireproof. another callback at the least expected of times lmao

so Tetsu’s all “yeah Kirishima’s not really all that fireproof but he totally ran over here anyway to save you. oh wait that probably wasn’t very comforting of me to say.” maybe that’s why it seems like he might not have actually said it out loud, now that I’m reading this over again. good call Tetsu

ARE YOU STANDING UP AND CASUALLY STRETCHING OUT YOUR BACK

I CAN’T EVEN BELIEVE HOW MUCH I HATE THIS GUY RIGHT NOW. WE’RE REACHING LEVELS OF HATRED RESERVED FOR NAZIS AND PEOPLE WHO WALK TOO SLOWLY IN FRONT OF ME IN A GROUP SHOULDER TO SHOULDER INSTEAD OF SINGLE FILE SO I CAN PASS IN FRONT OF THEM. YOU’RE A FUCKING TOURIST IN NYC YOU PIECE OF SHIT

lmao he’s just dropping this random hero person and letting him fall to his doom wheeeeee

remind me to leave all of the League of Villains’ texts on read for the foreseeable future. goddamn. I still love you guys but also, fuck you so damn hard

OHO A LIL RED SCALY BOI ISN’T DONE YET!!

real talk, just between you and me, I’ll lower my voice so that Kirishima can’t hear. so uh. we all agree that even if Kiri is fireproof and squishproof, that little can of tranquilizer juice technically shouldn’t have been, right? but we’re all going to hush and pretend like it was anyway for the sake of not spoiling his big moment. even though I am crossing my arms and tapping my chin with my finger while doubtfully glancing to the side

anyway here he goes!

YEAH KIRI GO GETTIM [stage whisper] there it is, in his pocket. should’ve burned. we won’t discuss it

OH FOR FUCK’S

TOGA YOU LITTLE WIENER BUT WHAT’S THIS ABOUT “MY HALF” NOW????

DID HE GRAB MINA’S MID-AIR?? IS HE REALLY REACHING INTO HIS BACK POCKET AND FUCKING UNZIPPING IT RIGHT NOW WHILE HOLDING ON TO NOTHING AND PRESUMABLY FALLING THROUGH THE AIR. DID A LITTLE BIT OF OCHAKO’S QUIRK RUB OFF ON YOU OR WHAT

OH SNAP SON HE REALLY DID THE THING HOLY SHIT???

AND TOKAGE FLEW OVER AND SAVED HIM AND NOW TANKS ARE SHOOTING AT MACHIA, LMAO WHAT IS THIS. MOMO HOW MANY GUNS DID YOU MAKE

Shouji standing there trying to be useful any way he can. are eyeballs really that much more effective if you make them the size of tennis balls and hold them up above your head. legit question, I don’t really know how eyes work

okay after 45 seconds of googling this my impression is that no, they are not. well good on you for giving it the old college try anyway though Shouji

oH MY GODLKDLK?!?!

DID SHE SAY WHAT I THOUGHT SHE SAID, DID SHE SAY MAJESTIC, ARE WE GONNA SEE MASJKESLTKCI DSFLKJL

oh my god he really is the Magic Man dude??? TIME TO DUST OFF MY INVENTORY OF ADVENTURE TIME QUOTES

(ETA: AHH FATGUM AND GANG ORCA ARE THERE TOO YESSSS!)

“that’s enough depending on some interns” oh, okay. now that they’ve done all your work for you. I see, I see

so now Gigantomachia is LITERALLY UNHINGING HIS JAW I can’t fucking believe this dude you guys. everything he does is just like, ARE YOU SERIOUS

please go to sleep already. thanks to you I have my keyboard set to capslock as the default for the duration of this chapter

ARE YOU SERIOUS YOU FUCKING WAITED UNTIL MAGIC FUCKING MAN SHOWED UP TO TEACH US MAGICAL LIFE LESSONS AND NOW YOU’RE CUTTING BACK TO THE TOMURA FIGHT?? WHY DO WE KEEP LETTING THIS MAN GET AWAY WITH THIS

oh my god you guys they really fucking did it

I guess that Howitzer slash fire punch combo really was that potent huh

anyway so now Endeavor is standing there making a big speech instead of reaching into Tomura’s pocket and taking the bullets that he doesn’t know about and shooting him with one asap. dammit Endeavor

aaaaand Tomura is firing back with the wisdom of Shimura Fucking Kotaro of all people

well you sure convinced me. damn I don’t know what I was thinking. heroes suck you guys. how dare they help other people all the time

so now he’s all “PERIOD, EXCLAMATION POINT!!”

take that Endeavor. you heard the man. it’s not destruction without conviction, as god as his witness he will have you know it is destruction WITH conviction. something something the great sage Shimura “I hurt my family for absolutely no reason at all, fuck this ‘helping others’ bullshit” Kotaro. I hope you packed your textbooks because you just got SCHOOLED. I hope the person who ordered you signed up for delivery notifications because you just got SENT. I HOPE YOU LIKE CAPITALISM BECAUSE YOU JUST GOT OWNED. I HOPE YOU CHOSE PAPER AND NOT SCISSORS BECAUSE YOU JUST GOT ROCKED

what an absolutely, unreservedly bizarre place to end the chapter lol. we’re really just done with this week, just like that. Majestic showed up and Gigantomachia opened his chin like a garage door and Tomura is all “you may have won the battle but you suck” while he buys time for Aizawa to suddenly sneeze or something so he can make his terrible comeback and continue Horikoshi’s Traumatize Every Kid in Class 1-A 2020 campaign. what an arc this is my friends. what an arc

[myreaderacademia]

Changes

Here’s a few of the boys reacting to an S/O who struggles with sudden change.

I’m so sorry I don’t k ow how to put a read more on the mobile app! I’ll edit one in when I’m on my PC!

These are my own experiences, only, I don’t have someone to validate me or make me feel better. I’m always left feeling humiliated when I have a meltdown over something so stupid. There is a mention of skin picking in Gang Orca’s part.

I wish I could just be normal.

Aizawa

Aizawa really didn’t think it would bother Y/N so much. It was just a few things that had been moved on the desk - a tissue box moved, miscellaneous items left on the chair from the cleaners moving it.

Once a month a deep clean happened in the office and things were moved, it had always been like that but Y/N had forgotten. They hadn’t been able to move their things out of the way and now they weren’t in the right places. Aizawa watches as they try to place everything back exactly as it was, tears in Y/N’s eyes and a tremble in their hands.

Everything is back to how he remembered but its not good enough apparently. Y/N is still adjusting things, “The faculty meeting is starting soon, I thought you wanted to print off the notes?”

“I can’t.” He’s taken aback by the crack in their voice and the tightness in their tone, “I can’t get it to look right. Why did they touch everything? They’ve messed it up and moved the screen and it’s not right, I can’t get it to look right again!”

There’s a long pause and Aizawa knows that Y/N knows that the others are starting to wonder at the their irrational, illogical, behaviour. “Come on,” the man takes their hand and gently coaxes them away from the desk and from the room to a secluded outside balcony. “You can put everything back again…”

Y/N shakes their head back and forth, squeezing his hand tightly, “I can’t! I forgot and they moved things and they’re not right and I know it’s stupid but I need to make the changes! Otherwise… Otherwise its just, I don’t know, it’s stupid!”

Aizawa doesn’t usually offer hugs outside of their privacy but he pulls them in and holds them, tight enough that Y/N feels a little more secure and a little more in control. “It’s not stupid. You’re not stupid.”

All Might

“I thought it would just be us?” Y/N’s eyes have widened and their expression is so akin to panic that Toshinori pauses in putting on his jacket. They were supposed to be going out for coffee and he had mentioned that a few friends were going to be there too.

“I thought you liked them?” He wasn’t aware of any tension between his friends and his lover - had he missed something?

Suddenly, Y/N feels as if their stomach is in knots and they’re feeling too hot: like being car sick without the car ride. “I do, I do like them, I just didn’t know and I need to change, I can’t wear this… And I need to do my hair and -”

Toshinori can see they’re getting worked up and their breathing is coming in little gasps. It’s not quite a panic attack but it’s enough to worry him. He quickly guides them to sit down and sits beside them, a firm, comforting hand on their back. “You look perfect, it’s just coffee and we’re not going anywhere really fancy. What is it? What’s got you like this?”

He waits for Y/N’s breathing to equal out a little and for them to relax under his pal. Before gently probing for an answer so that he can fix things. “Sorry… I get anxious around people, even people I know and I hadn’t prepared myself to cope with more than one person today. I’m sorry, its weird.”

“It’s not weird,” he was relieved it was something he could help with in the future, “Do you need more warning next time?” They nodded and he pulled them close, “I won’t spring people on you if I can help it, we don’t have to go today, if we do and you feel overwhelmed just squeeze my hand tight - I am here.”

Gang Orca

Something was different about Kugo’s office.

It wasn’t unusual for him to work a little late from time to time and he always offered to let them wait for him on the sofa in his office. As Y/N took a seat, their eyes swept around the room - something was off. It took a moment but they finally realised that the tall cabinet that held previously worked files was gone. The wall was blank and there was, what felt to Y/N, a void.

It shouldn’t bother them, it wouldn’t bother them… It wasn’t a problem. It was a piece of furniture and Kugo didn’t have to advise them everytime he wanted to move or remove something from his own office. Y/N’s foot started to tap lightly on the floor and they unconsciously reached beneath the sleeve of their top - seeking.

Gang Orca notices the shift in Y/N’s mood and notices their lack of usual interaction whilst he finished up paperwork. He places his pen down and approached them, noting the bouncing knee, their bottom lip sucked into their mouth and clamped between tongue and teeth. Kugo spots the unconscious picking behaviour that he knows happened when Y/N is upset. The large man carefully captures their hands, separating nails from raised skin in the process of healing, and holds them in one of his. “What’s happened?”

Y/N shakes their head, bottom lip still held prisoner; it’s rediculous. They know it’s a dumb, stupid, inexplicable thing to be upset by, to be getting so worked up over. It’s humiliating and Kugo won’t understand and he’ll judge them and…

A muffled sob spurs Kugo to stroke over Y/N’s head and press their foreheads together, his cool, smooth skin soothing the clammy one beneath it. “The cabinet…”

“The cabinet?” He looks at the space and doesn’t ask anything further. Y/N doesn’t deel well with change. They need a prewarning , they need time to get used to the idea and have a small breakdown if needed. This would pass and they would feel embarrassed over something they deem ‘silly’ but Kugo wouldn’t hold it against them for even a second. “I should have warned you, I’m sorry, Y/N.”

He would ask them later, when they felt better, if they wanted to help him pick out a new one.

[immortalcoelacanth]

HLVRAI Oneshot: Degrade

Once again based on the Abscond AU by @godros​ and this one does require a small bit of context so I’d totally recommend checking it out if you haven’t already! Quick note that this one is Tommy centric but there is bits of shipping here and there so keep an eye out for it ;)

Word count: 1475

Summary:  Gordon wasn’t the only one breaking down.

After interacting with Tommy, most assumed that he… was not the sharpest tool in the shed. He was often perceived as being very naïve, lacking awareness of what was going on in the world around him. Others felt that he wanted to act like a foolish child and insulted him behind his back. 

These people usually did not last long in Black Mesa, not showing up for work the next day after muttering their insults. None of the staff questioned it or knew better than to question it. 

Overall, few held Tommy’s intelligence in high regard, and as such it was also thought that his observations skills were just as bad if not worse. 

Something which was far from the truth. 

Tommy typically allowed his emotions to take center stage in controlling his reactions, instinctively responding to things rather than thinking it out first. It was why he was always so emotional, easily saddened by negative events or cheered up when a good thing happened. 

Like getting a Beyblade or drinking soda!

Being able to talk to his friends also made him very happy, so when Benrey had approached the Science Team and told them all that Gordon was back, Tommy was ecstatic!

Mr. Freeman was back after having been gone for so long! It had been depressing waiting to see what their friend would do, when he would free them from this place. Tommy had noticed how much quieter Dr. Coomer was, and how Bubby’s angered shouting was a shadow of what it used to be, and then there was Benrey… 

Sad, lonely Benrey who seemed to count every second Gordon was gone for. Tommy had noticed the tallies that Benrey kept on the wall, occasionally adding one more, and tried to ask what they were. 

He had gotten no answer. 

It had been heartbreaking to watch the hope slowly dwindle in the group, Tommy himself had been relying on Sunkist to keep him upbeat, but now everything was better! The Science Team was whole again! Everyone was happy! They could have fun and explore!

Except… after some time passed Tommy noticed that things were not okay. 

It started with small things, tiny details that no one really paid attention to other than him. Noticing that Gordon grew frustrated with his hair, how the tie never seemed to work and hold it up properly. Benrey seemed to enjoy this development, taking the opportunity to occasionally mess with Gordon’s hair and annoy him, while Dr. Coomer suggested several tips to keep his hair neat and orderly. 

Only Tommy wondered why the hair tie no longer worked despite appearing to be perfectly fine. 

From there things only grew worse, watching Gordon stumble and bump into obstacles that he should have been able to easily avoid, seeing how often the man rubbed his eyes and blinked, like they were blurry. It was only after he tripped over some rubble, a fair-sized chunk of concrete and fell to the ground, that Tommy decided to voice his concerns. 

“Uh, M-Mr. Freeman?” He began, watching as Dr. Coomer quickly looked Gordon over to make sure he was not hurt. “Are… are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” Was the oddly cheerful reply, Gordon messing with his glasses before smiling up at Tommy. Dr. Coomer helped him get to his feet while Bubby and Benrey watched from off to the side. 

“You’re more of a deadweight than I remembered!” Bubby snarked as Benrey let out a sigh and lazily smiled. 

“damn bro your middle name must be… uh, two-left-feet or somethin’.”

“Benrey, don’t you dare-”

“gaydon two-left feetman.”

“Benrey sometimes I want to strangle you.”

With Gordon back on his… feet, Dr. Coomer rejoined Bubby just in time to hear the other scientist sigh. “Damn, this ship is gonna hit more icebergs than the Titanic!” 

Fortunately, Benrey and Gordon failed to hear that remark while Tommy silently wondered what such a thing was supposed to mean. After failing to answer his own questions, he decided to ask once more if their friend was alright. 

“Mr. Freeman are… are you sure you’re okay? You looked kinda…” Tommy paused as he tried to figure out how to word the next part. “Distracted?” 

“I was just thinking about things and didn’t notice that rubble, it’s okay Tommy.” Gordon said while offering him a reassuring smile. 

“thinkin’ about finally sending me a friend request?”

“No Benrey! I don’t even have a Playstation!”

“laaaaaaame.”

While the typical banter was certainly reassuring and helped Tommy calm down, there was no shaking the quiet voice in the back of his mind that continued to insist that something was not right, that something bad was going to happen to Gordon. It put him on edge kept him that way as they explored the desolate map, chatting and joking about things. 

If only Tommy had listened to that voice and voiced his concerns, perhaps things would have turned out differently. 

Gordon’s condition grew worse, eyesight deteriorating to the point of where Dr. Coomer and even Bubby were trying to convince him to take a break, sit down and relax as they figured out how to help. Benrey seemed to be in denial, still joking and occasional talking about random topics. Tommy had practically glued himself to Gordon’s side at this point, hovering over the man and trying to see if he could help in any way. 

“M-Mr. Freeman c-can I get you a… a soda?” His words were starting to fracture a bit due to the stress, but Tommy did his best to keep himself together for his friend. “There-there might be a m-machine somewhere. I could always, uh, g-go and-”

Gordon shook his head, cutting off Tommy’s rambling. “Nah, I’m okay. You don’t need to worry about me.”

He smiled, a small, pained smile, and Tommy worried all the more. 

Both Benrey and Gordon insisted on moving forward despite there being no real reason to and the objections from the rest of the Science Team. Unfortunately, their concerns were paid no mind as the two continued to press forward, forcing the rest of the group to follow and make sure nothing else happened. 

Not that any of them thought they could stop whatever was happening. 

“You’re both a bunch of fucking morons if you think any of this is going to turn out okay!” Bubby had cursed while pointing at the duo in denial, fortunately without a gun in his hands. “I thought Gordon was supposed to be smart!” 

“what? i’m not smart?”

“Of course not! You think Playstation is great when everyone knows that PC is the best for playing games!”

“but-but how am i supposed to… uh… how do i get playstation plus then, huh? i want my free games.”

“It’s called pirating-”

“That’s illegal!” Tommy wailed. “That-that’s stealing!”

“It’s only stealing if you get caught.” 

This good mood was fleeting as soon enough the Science Team found themselves encountering another hurdle. 

Gordon’s hand glitching and twitching as the skin it was made of faded away and was replaced by a blocky texture, becoming nothing more than a projection of what it had previously been. 

The group all stared in shock and horror, and even Benrey seemed to be at a loss for words. And then pure, absolute, chaos broke out. 

Dr. Coomer rushed to Gordon’s side as the man sank to the ground, clearly in shock as he tried to touch the phantom hand, resulting in his fingers passing through it. Bubby started cursing and yelling, not at anyone in particular, however Tommy had a feeling that some of his insults were addressed to two people in particular, and Benrey… 

Benrey looked… guilty. Eyes looking at everything except Gordon while standing as far from the group as possible yet still being close enough to see what was going on. 

“Mr. Freeman?” Tommy whimpered, causing Gordon’s glitchy eyes to fixate on him. “We-we should go b-back. You need to g-go back. You… you can’t-”

He smiled that empty smile, one that seemed so unconcerned with himself, and reached out to pat Tommy’s shoulder. His phantom hand phased through it, and Tommy flinched sharply. While no words were said, the unsettling interaction was more than enough to convey several worrying things to Tommy. 

Why did Gordon seem so unconcerned with his own safety? It was… scary to see him acting like this! Maybe it was the shock? He hoped it was. 

Naturally, this put their exploring to an end for now. No one disagreed with that decision thanks to a quick glare from Dr. Coomer, and how gloomy Benrey had become. As the group sat in silence and got some rest, Tommy curled up and pressed his face into his knees so no one could see his tears. 

They had enough problems to deal with, they did not need another. 

                                         xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I had to contribute a bit of angst to this AU, it’s in my nature! Also to my followers Also I apologize once more for the change in the focus of the content I’m putting out!

I hope you all enjoyed reading!

- ImmortalCoelacanth

[tttinytrash]

((Ok so in my head Blue is a reluctant pred. He likes it, but it takes a lot to make him not just feel overwhelmingly guilty about enjoying this even if it’s safe. So have some Swap Sans vore! I wanted to play more with the pred’s pov since my last couple were more prey focused. Also sorry for making it a not romantic thing but my ace butt prefers it that way. Friends should be able to cuddle friends, dammit! But I guess if you wanna you can squint and just assume Blue has a budding crush and/or is in denial of a crush. Regardless, enjoy!))

Sans was so pleased with his and his brother’s house on the Surface. It was about the size of their home back in Snowdin and even better, it came with a new friend! The little borrower in their walls, a female named Lark, had lived there before the two moved in and had been quickly sussed out between the skelebrothers. (Benefits of magic.) After some tension in the beginning, she was now almost part of family! She was certainly the best roommate Sans could have asked for. 

She loved hiding in Sans’ bandanna to go with him on his morning run, and was glad to help with cleaning the nooks and crannies Sans was unable to reach. But she also loved taking naps and staying up late with Papyrus, and finally gave the taller brother a run for his money in his video games (after Undyne made them a properly sized controller). Their interests were a harmonious blend between the brothers which meant she’d be equally likely to be found perched on the shoulder of either brother whenever she wasn’t taking time for herself in her holes in the walls. 

As for right now, she was laid on Papyrus’ sternum. Sans was slouched in the corner of the couch, and Papyrus pillowed his skull on a cushion laid in Sans’ lap. They were all watching a movie, and apparently all three had underestimated how gory the horror film would be. Papyrus was the least affected, but Sans was a wreck and the borrower was only mildly better. When Lark cracked and ducked to hide in Papyrus’ hoodie pocket Sans used it as an excuse to quit before the end. 

“THOSE HIGH RATINGS WERE SO MISLEADING, THAT WAS AWFUL!” Sans declared in disgust, relieved beyond words that the horrible movie was gone. (No. He was not suppressing the sounds of his bones rattling, thank you.)

“yeah, not my cup of tea either.” Papyrus then directed his attention to his pocket, patting it lightly and asking “you wanna stay in there, tiny tot?”

Sans didn’t hear it, but could tell the answer was an affirmative as Papyrus mounted the stairs. 

Sans finished putting the room back in order and trotted up after his brother, going into his own room to get ready for bed. It was pretty late after all, and he had to wake up bright and early to get a head start on his training!

Once he could no longer distract himself with bedtime prep and cleaning, however, Sans quickly found he couldn’t get the film out of his mind. It felt like the worst scenes were imprinted in the back of his eyelids. Ugh, he didn’t want to be alone.

To Paps’ room he went, relieved to see the light of his computer shining dimly from under the door. He wasn’t asleep then, yet. He reluctantly opened the door and froze at the sight before him. 

Papyrus was sat at his PC, still in his hoodie but he’d at least switched to PJ pants. This was normal, Papyrus did have a tendency to do most of his sleeping in the form of daytime naps rather than at night. No, what shocked Sans was seeing the borrower sized pair of legs hanging out of his brother’s mouth. He couldn’t help the horrified gasp when those legs disappeared with the quiet sound of a gulp.

The gasp obviously alerted Papyrus to Sans’ presence, and he greeted “hey bro. how long you been there?” He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, and Sans didn’t miss that he appeared to be swiping his thumb over his belly under the cover of the fabric.

“LONG ENOUGH! WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?!” Sans fully entered, obviously confused and flustered.

Papyrus shrugged. “they asked.”

“WHAT?!”

“they asked me to take em in, bro. they wanted to hide. what’s with you? you know this is safe, i used to take you in too.”

“YES, YOU’RE RIGHT. BUT I WAS A BABYBONES!”

Papyrus just looked at Sans, shrugging again. He turned back to his computer.

Sans left, movie forgotten completely. He was eventually able to fall asleep, but spent far longer than he’d admit thinking about it and feeling guilty about blowing up like that. He KNEW it was safe, like Paps had said. So why did it bug him so much? Sleep came before an answer, unfortunately.

------

Breakfast the next morning was something Sans wasn’t particularly looking forward to. He made an extra effort to make a lavish assortment of waffles, cut fruit, and even made pancakes with M&Ms tossed in the batter like he knew Papyrus liked.

Papyrus eventually came downstairs, Lark carried in his cupped hand. The smell of cooking food usually woke him up, and if the borrower had followed his sleep schedule she was ordinarily dragged along. They both perked up at seeing the spread before them, before the lanky brother seemed to catch on to his sibling’s bribery.

“apology breakfast, bro?”

Sans sighed and faced his brother, gloved hand wringing the hem of his apron, “YES. I OVERREACTED LAST NIGHT AND I AM VERY SORRY. WHAT FRIENDS OR DATEMATES DO BEHIND CLOSED DOORS IS THEIR BUSINESS.”

Both Papyrus and Lark laughed at that. Before Sans had the chance to be insulted Papyrus explained.

“bro, nah. w-we’re just buds.”

“Nothing there, Sans. Promise. Don’t tell me you’re getting jealous, now.” she added.

“I AM NOT!” Sans squeaked, blush tinging his cheekbones.

She was still laughing, giggling a little extra in fact as she teased “You wanna give it a go, there Sans?” Snicker, “Need tummy cuddles too?”

Sans felt his eyelights go out and the blue glow of a blush burning his whole skull. Amid the uproar of laughter, he swiped the plate he’d set out for himself (waffles with strawberries on top) and skittered retreated up to his room.

He heard their laughter, and will admit he felt relief when he heard his brother called up “sorry, bro. but now we’re even, yeah?”

However, that relief that his breakfast gesture had worked was completely overshadowed by shame. Oh gosh please no, that feeling can’t be right can it? She hadn’t meant it, but she was right.

Sans did want to try it.

Delta help him.

------

The thought had been creeping into his mind no matter how much he tried to sweep it under the rug throughout his whole morning jog. He even ran an extra mile, but couldn’t outrun the problem. She hadn’t come with him this morning, so he found her instead on the coffee table when he came back. Papyrus was up taking a nap apparently, snd she was playing a game on her own. 

“Hey Sans, wanna play? There’s a co-op mode!~” She called, having paused the game.

Ugh, he couldn’t stand to look at her now. His tongue had even manifested unbidden. “N-NO. SORRY. I’M SPARRING ALPHYS TODAY, AND I WOULDN’T WANT TO BE LATE!” 

She bought the lie, and he got out of the house with no issue.

...But he had no plans with Alphys, no errands to run, but also couldn’t go home.

Well crap.

He’d ended up at the Librarby. He ended up there a lot the past couple of days. He knew Papyrus and Lark were getting concerned, but didn’t know what else he could do. 

For now, he was home. When his brother was around he could forget the intrusive thoughts. Just being alone with her was the trouble. So he was happy to watch another movie, and this one was absolutely making up for the awful horror movie that had afflicted their last movie night.

Eventually, the singing humans finished the closing number, and the credits began to roll. So Sans cleaned up the room, and Papyrus trundled up the steps with the borrower cupped in his hands. Once he was done cleaning, Sans bounded up the steps himself and dipped into the bathroom to swap into his pajamas.

Lark was sitting on his pillow when he entered his room. 

Sans would deny the startled squeak that slipped out when he caught sight of her til he dusted, but she didn’t even look amused. That didn’t bode well.

“Sans, is there anything wrong?” she asked.

“WHAT? N-NO! WHAT MAKES YOU ASK THAT? I HAVE BEEN ACTING EXTREMELY NORMAL!” Sans lied. Poorly, he knew.

“Sans. We both know thats not true. Did I do something wrong? Because you’ve been avoiding me. Paps noticed, too.”

“YOU’VE DONE NOTHING, EVERYTHING IS FINE!”

“...is it about Papyrus taking me in?”

Sans couldn’t actually muster words, just feeling his magic heat his cheekbones uselessly.

She sighed. “If it really bothers you that bad, we’ll stop. It’s not worth losing a friend, ok?”

“N-no... that’s not it...” Sans had even lost his usual volume, which made her take notice.

“Then what, Sans? I’ve been wracking my brain for days.”

Sans finally sat on the end of the bed. “...It was taking in stuff... But I’m not upset about you two doing it. It’s what you said that morning.” Sans felt so vulnerable, but as she’d put it, this wasn’t worth losing a friend.

“What? About you wanting to too? Oh, I went too far teasing you didn’t I? I’m sorry, I’ll lay off-”

“You were right.”

She faltered. “What?”

“I can’t stop wondering what it’s like. I’ve never taken anyone in before, and you two so clearly enjoy it. But I would never want to make you, So I’ve been trying to avoid the issue. But I think I just ended up avoiding you. I’m sorry.”

She looked confused for a solid few seconds, then slumped and gave a comically loud sigh of relief, even punctuated with a breathy giggle. “That’s all?”

Sans was now even more uncomfortable. “Yes?”

“Dude, then take me in! I’m fine! If that’s all the issue is, that’s such an easy fix.” She even took the extra initiative to bound over the span of the bed, straight for the skeleton before her. She only stopped a few inches short when she realized he was recoiling.

“Oh. It’s an easy fix for me, not so much for you. Huh, bud?” She asked quietly.

Sans made an unhappy noise, and that was answer enough.

“Ok. If the problem is me not wanting to, that’s clearly not an issue. Is it nerves because you don’t know what to do? I can walk you through it. Really, Sans, I actively want to do this, because maybe it’ll help close the gap we made between us. If you really don’t want to, then that’s fine too but just know the reluctance isn’t on my end, ok? I love and trust you just as much as Papyrus. Promise.”

Sans forced himself to relax, and cycled a breath. Thinking about it, he had no reason to refuse. And honestly, he would be happy to put his self-quarantine to an end. So he nodded. “Ok, but only if you’re sure.”

“Yep!” They beamed up at him, reaching upwards in a clear request to be picked up.

He gently cupped his hands around them and lifted them off the mattress, up to his face. “Ok, what do I do?”

“Why don’t you open up? I’ll get in myself, just bring your hand close ok?”

Sans had to take a moment to breathe, but did open up his mouth. His tongue had manifested itself by this point, so that wasn’t an issue. But that also meant he felt and tasted their hands when they were set down. He was going cross eyed to watch her progress as much as the angle allowed, but she seemed to have no issue and slid in easily. He was surprised by the lack of friction, honestly.

She scooted a bit father forward, making him lose sight of her feet, and called “Alright, go ahead and close your mouth. Makes the next part easier.”

He did so slowly, and felt butterflies knowing what the “next part” was.

“Good, you’re doing fine. Now tilt your head back, just til I start to slide back. Once I hit the back you can swallow.”

Sans tipped his skull back ever so slowly, until he felt her weight shift backwards. Once she hit the opening of his throat he instinctively gulped, which caused him to jolt a bit in surprise. 

He felt the magical tubing thread along the front of his cervical vertebrae, felt the weight of her body tugging downwards, every little twitch of her tiny body. His fingers flew up to his neck, fingers ghosting over her form contained within himself, until he lost her progress under his clavicles.

It almost felt like his soul was gently bumped aside to allow her to pass through his chest, which left a calm fuzzy feeling. He felt a slight pressure at the top of his belly, then she spilled in fully. 

His soul fluttered like a caged bird, could she hear that? Feel it? He pulled the hem of his shirt up, making his magic transparent so he could check on her. 

“A-are you alright?” he asked, watching her reorient in the new space.

“Peachy! You did it, Sans.” She smiled up at him, utterly at ease.

Seeing that she hadn’t been harmed, his soul settled into a more typical rhythm. “I did, thank you for helping. Please let me know if you want out, alright?”

“Will do. Glad to see you’re calming down.”

“You could tell?”

“Can’t hide much from this perspective. I could hear how uneven your breathing was. Here, maybe this will help to wind down.”

What was she doing? Ooh, he loves the shocks he got when she moved. Her hands were on the floor now, she started to move her hands in circular patterns...? Oh.

Sans melted. That was such a nice feeling, who knew his belly was so sensitive? He dropped his shirt, letting his magic go opaque.

“That’s really nice, wowie. Is it ok if I move though?” He asked.

“Go for it. Lie down if you want.”

He did just that, getting under the covers. He felt her slide around, and once she seemed to resettle, she resumed her rubbing.

Sans purred, which she giggled at. He was feeling far too good to care, dignity be hanged. He laid a hand over where she rested, doing his best to run at where he thought her back was. He felt her lean into the indirect touch, which made him smile.

“Y’know, I can stay overnight if you want.��� Lark piped up after a few minutes of silence (barring the happy skeleton sounds).

“I think I’d like that.” Sans replied, feeling pretty sleepy. “Are you sure you’ll be comfortable?”

“Oh yeah, no issue there. You guys are pretty cushy inside, despite the boney exterior.”

Sans chuckled at that. “Ah, good.”

She stopped rubbing (which he was a little sad about) and moved until he felt her weight go still by his spine. 

She fell asleep quickly, her weight going limp and heartbeat (which he could feel if he concentrated) slowed.

A very content skeleton followed his tiny friend into the land of nod not long after.

[bltngames]

SAGE 2020: Fan Games

I’d hoped to have this article out a little bit sooner, but I overestimated how long it would take to write about some of these games. Whoops! Like I said when I outlined the posting ���schedule” on the first day, we’re playing it fast and loose, so this is just what you get.

Today is the day I talk about fan games! And even though SAGE has “Sonic” right there in the acronym, it’s always hosted fan games from all types, so today we’ve got Mega Man, Mario, Rayman, and even fan games of fan games, if you can believe it.

Sonic Pinball Panic!

Pinball is one of those things where I’ve always been obsessed with it, but never very good at it. And now, with access to digital pinball collections like Pinball Arcade and Pinball FX, I don’t actually find myself playing as much pinball as I thought I would when I was 14 years old. Still, I find myself fascinated by a good pinball table, and this honestly caught me off guard. This could very easily be an official DLC release for one of those aforementioned pinball collections and I wouldn’t even bat an eyelash (in fact, if you ask me, this is better than Pinball FX, which has always had weird ball physics). This looks, sounds, and functions exactly like a real pinball table should. My complaints are minor: for starters, the table feels kind of easy. I’ve never been a pinball wizard, but I was losing balls left and right here and it still took a good 15 minutes before I finally got a game over. Score accumulation is also pretty slow; most pinball tables will dump millions and millions of points on you, but here, it felt like a struggle just to reach the 379k I finished with. Both contribute to the fact that the table feels a little flat, like it’s missing a spark to really put it over the top. And, third, it would be nice if it had controller support. The keyboard works just fine, here (it’s just pinball, after all) but I find that the triggers on a controller feel really good with pinball flippers, and mapping the plunger to the right stick is great, too. This is a Unity game, so I wouldn’t think it’d be that hard to hook it up to the controller mapper. Still, I came away impressed.

Mega Man: Perfect Blue

There are two things out there that always give me pause: fan-made Doom level packs, and Mega Man fan games. Fan made gaming content generally has problems when it comes to difficulty balancing anyway, but these games have earned a certain reputation for their difficulty, which creates a problem when you have content made by fans, for fans. This insularity means these things are usually way too hard for what I would consider “normal” people (read: casual fans and outsiders). Add on to the fact that I’d even say that there are official Mega Man games with bad difficulty balancing, and you have a recipe for frustration. Sadly, this is how I’d characterize Perfect Blue: though this introductory level isn’t impossibly hard, it’s definitely pushing that edge where it’s not very accommodating to someone who hasn’t played and finished every Classic Mega Man game ever made. It almost immediately throws you into scenarios where you have jumps you can barely reach, insta-kill spikes, and enemies that not only actively dodge your shots, but invincible enemies that launch counter attack homing missiles. And then it starts making you juggle all of this stuff, together, at the same time. None of this is insurmountable as long as you’re paying attention, but as a very casual Mega Man fan, it’s an unfriendly first impression and makes me worried about what the rest of the game is going to be like as the challenge naturally ramps up. For those hardcore Mega Man fans among you, the rest of this is solid, at least. The presentation and controls are excellent, and the new sprites are beautiful. It’s a game I’d love to enjoy when it’s done… but I’m assuming I’ll be left out in the cold. A shame, really, because there’s so much promise here.

Sonic and the Mayhem Master

There’s a lot to like about this game, but there’s a part of me that really wonders if this should even be considered a Sonic fan game. Mayhem Master’s depictions of Sonic and Amy Rose are atypical to put it mildly. Here, Sonic seems to be a bookish nerd of sorts, a sidekick to Amy Rose, who has been turned into a burnt out, cigar-smoking detective. Most of the game plays out as half an adventure game, half an RPG, where you roam around the world talking to NPCs and gather clues while being assaulted by random battles. The battle system is super off-the-wall, too, perhaps taking inspirations from games like Mario & Luigi and Undertale. This means that battles aren’t passive -- you spend most of each fight dodging or nullifying incoming attacks with simplistic action-based commands. It’s weird, and different, and occasionally even a little bit overwhelming. That’s kind of the whole game, really. It’s the sort of thing that really doesn’t feel like a Sonic game at all, but it also doesn’t feel bad. The artwork is very charming, I’m interested in seeing the characters develop, and there’s plenty of worldbuilding and mystery. Would this still be as intriguing if you removed the Sonic connection, even if it’s so threadbare? That’s a hard question to answer. I know that some of my interest in this game is seeing how it spins more familiar Sonic elements into something that’s completely different. Worth checking out, for curiosity’s sake if nothing else.

Sonic and the Dreamcatcher

This is a fairly brilliant little game with two unfortunate quirks. If you didn’t know, the special stages in the original Sonic the Hedgehog were inspired by an arcade game of the era called Cameltry, published by Taito in 1989. Now, Sonic’s special stages were different enough from Cameltry that it wasn’t a case of Sega outright stealing the gameplay, but there’s a clear lineage there, and it only becomes clearer when you compare the special stages in Sonic 4 Episode 1 to Cameltry (spoilers: in that game, they’re nearly identical). Dreamcatcher is also from this lineage, but is infinitely more charming than either Sonic 4 and maybe even Cameltry itself. The idea is that you must collect a specific number of blue spheres in order to reveal the Chaos Emerald, after which you have a limited amount of time to find and collect it. It’s very simple, but the presentation really sells the game’s charm. It’s just a game that looks good and sounds good, with an interesting premise executed very well. Also, you get a dedicated “& Knuckles” button to spawn infinite Knuckles to help you collect blue spheres and bash enemies. Being able to have unlimited numbers of these guys sounds like it would break the game, but once that countdown clock begins, the last thing you need is 20+ echidnas clogging up the route back to the emerald. The first quirk this game suffers from is that there’s only two levels. Parts of this have a very “game jam made in a weekend” vibe to it despite the rock-solid music, sound, and gameplay, and only having two levels contributes to that. Hopefully more are coming in the future. The other quirk? You can’t actually download this game -- it’s embedded in a webpage. I’m sure this is to make it easy to play on any platform with a web browser (phones, PCs, etc.) but I find myself greatly desiring a hard copy of this game that can live on my computer forever.

Sonic Galactic

Now here’s just a good old fashioned Sonic fan game. Though it clearly takes inspiration from Sonic Mania’s aesthetics in some places, it’s clearly doing its own thing, featuring not just the core cast of Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles, but also Fang the Sniper, and even a brand new character named Tunnel the Mole. Unlike a lot of Sonic fan games at SAGE, this appears to be using something besides Clickteam Fusion, Game Maker, or Unity. Here, it’s the “Hatch Game Engine,” whatever that is. Whatever the case may be, the game runs very well and is basically indistinguishable from just playing Sonic Mania. Visuals are sharp, music’s good, the two included boss fights are surprisingly fun to fight -- everything seems to be in order. As a result, there’s not really a lot to say. This is just a good, fun game. Anything else I’d say would come off sounding like nitpicks. For example, there’s no way to set graphics options yet, so the game is stuck in 2x Windowed mode. Fang and Tunnel are cute additions, but I wonder how much utility they have as characters. Unless I missed something, Fang’s pop gun is mainly for a weak double-jump ability, and Tunnel’s ability to dig and ricochet off floors, walls and ceilings is cool, but it doesn’t have quite the universal utility of Tails’ flight or Knuckles climbing and gliding. It’ll be interesting to see how or maybe even if their abilities have a chance to grow into something special. Anyway, like I said, those are nitpicks, so try to give this a shot if you can.

Sonic Robo-Blast!

Remasters seem to be a bit of a theme this SAGE, between Sonic Triple Trouble 16-bit, Sonic 2 SMS, Sonic 1 Revisited, but this is perhaps the most surprising of them all: a loving remaster of the original Sonic Robo-Blast. SRB1 was perhaps one of the first true “landmark” fan games, given that it was basically a whole entire game that people could play. It's not a stretch to say that SRB1 probably helped kickstart the fan gaming community that still survives to this day -- I certainly owe my involvement in the community to seeing SRB1 for the first time. The problem is, as historically significant as the game might be, it’s nearly impossible to go back to nowadays -- it’s much, much too dated to be any fun. This remaster completely re-envisions SRB1 as a regular Sonic game, while also pulling in gameplay elements from Sonic Robo-Blast 2. It’s a bit of a time paradox mindwarp, but it helps give it a bit more personality than just making a bog-standard 2D Sonic. It works, aided by the fact the sprites, music and overall presentation are fantastic. The only downside is the Act 2 boss, which commits the cardinal sin of taking away player agency and making you wait around far too much. Here’s hoping this gets finished, because it’s definitely on my radar now.

Super Mario Flashback

This has been floating around for a few years now and I’m glad to see it’s finally starting to get some more substantial content as it moves towards becoming an actual game. That being said, this is also one of those games that’s kind of hard to talk about because it’s just… really polished. The art is incredible, it controls exactly like a Mario game, and there’s already a decent mixture of ideas at play in the demo. Anything else I’d say would sound like nitpicking -- like, for example, the backseat game designer in me wonders if maybe the game is prioritizing aesthetics a little too much. This is a wonderfully animated game, absolutely gorgeous, but some actions, like the butt-stomp and the wall kick, feel a bit sluggish, and I think it’s because they show off fancy animations. Even if it’s a split second, waiting for Mario to attach to a wall to kick off of it feels slow. Really, though, that’s an insignificant complaint. This demo is still well worth checking out.

Sonic Advance 4 Advanced

This game seems like a greatest-hits of Dimps best ideas, spanning the first Sonic Advance all the way to Sonic Rush. There’s just one problem: the game seems broken. Now, my desktop PC is starting to show its age. I built it four and a half years ago, and though it can handle game like Gears of War 5 on high settings at 60fps, slowly, newer games seem to be leaving it behind. That being said, I don’t think a game like Sonic Advance 4 here should be running at what appears to be half its intended speed. It also originally launched in a teeny-tiny window (we’re talking, like, smaller than a postage stamp) and even though the options menu has a toggle for full screen mode, it doesn’t want to work. Something about this game under the hood seems to be struggling very, very, VERY hard. It’s a shame, because if this actually played at the proper speed, it seems like it might actually be an alright game, if a bit complex and busy.

Sonic 2 SMS Remake

Here’s a game I was all buckled in expecting to enjoy. Like it says on the tin, this is a remake of Sonic 2 for the Master System (and Game Gear), but with wide screen visuals and huge expansions to the mechanics, roster of playable characters, and levels. On the outside it seems really impressive, and to a certain degree it is, but something about the controls feel a little off. Sonic’s heavier here than he is on the Master System, perhaps to simulate “real” Sonic physics a little more accurately, but you can also pretty much stop on a dime, and the combination of the two feels awkward. The camera also needs a lot of work, as it’s basic at best and does a poor job of letting you see what’s below (to the dev if you’re reading this: there’s actually video tutorials out there on how 2D scrolling cameras work, it might be worth looking a couple of them up). It also leans into some of the tech limitations of the Master System, like how you aren’t given any rings for boss fights (and even hiding the HUD, a move done to save on resources for the large enemy sprites). I could be picky on a bunch of other little stuff, too, like how the flight mechanics feel, but there are other games to play at SAGE and I’ve got at least two more articles to write. Needless to say, this is a solid (impressive, even) foundation but it’s missing a lot of late-stage polish to clean up the tiny little rough edges.

Rayman Redemption

I tell this story every so often, but it was about three quarters of the way through Rayman 2 on the Sega Dreamcast when it struck me, suddenly: I love this game. I was being chased by a pirate ship through some rickety bridges and even though I was dying over and over and over again, I realized I had been enjoying Rayman 2 enough that I might put it in my top ten Dreamcast games. But that was 2002, and the years haven’t been so kind to ol’ Rayman. From the strangely celebrity-infused Rayman 3, to the tragedy of Rayman 4 (eventually becoming Raving Rabbids) to the endless, careless ports of Rayman 2 to every platform under the sun, one gets the impression Ubisoft maybe didn’t know what to do with Rayman. Especially now, when most of Ubisoft’s games are some form of online live service or cookie cutter open world experience (or increasingly both). But the fans know what they want. Rayman Redemption takes the original 1995 Rayman game and lovingly gives it a fresh coat of paint. The results are akin to what Taxman and Stealth did for Sonic CD in 2011, with wide screen visuals, improved controls, touched up level design, but gameplay that still feels faithful and accurate to the original experience. Except that Sega charged money for that, and here, fans have released this for free. Ubisoft’s loss, I guess. I didn’t play Rayman 1 until well after I’d finished Rayman 2, and I’ll admit, I kind of bounced off of it back then. It felt slow, and awkward, and when the difficulty ramped up, it got very hard, very quickly. Now, admittedly, I’ve only put about 30 minutes into Redemption here, but just the addition of a run button is incredibly welcome, and the retooled level design and powerup mechanics helps the game feel way less obtuse overall. It’s just a cleaner, tighter, more accessible and more polished version of Rayman.

Stay tuned for the next article: Indie games.

[jaybug-jabbers]

All-Glitch Pokemon Blue Run Pt10: Creating Hybrids

June,

To answer your first question, yes, the headaches are likely related to Superglitch, but you need not worry about them. It’s a side effect, but because you followed my steps closely, we’ve done our best to mitigate those effects. If you notice your name no longer shows up on your Glitchdex, er, don’t worry about it.

To answer your second question, you are almost ready to meet your new glitchmon. First, however, I suggest you pay a visit to the Daycare Center. A few of your party pokemon might be slightly mutated from the effects of Superglitch. Don’t worry, though-- the Daycare Center man is an old friend of mine and fellow glitchmon researcher. If you leave them in his care he can nurse them back to health, for a small fee. 

Finally, I strongly recommend healing at the Pokecenter before doing anything else. This step is very important if you want to save data on your Glitchdex. Ah, it’s a long explanation as to why that is, but trust me, it helps reboot the system so things function normally again. 

After all of that, you now will be ready to meet your new glitchmon friends! 

---

Professor,

All right, I completed your directions and then Teleported back to Lavander Town. When I  withdrew the new glitchmon, though, I uhhhh . . . ran into a bit of a problem. I immediately lost the pokeball.

I searched in a panic for like ten minutes before finding it. I’m not sure how I was so careless. Then I let the glitchmon out of the ball.

It . . . looks like it’s just a Charizard? I don’t get it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Charizard is really cool, but I thought this was supposed to be a glitchmon. At any rate, I named it Charmed.

She seems awfully shy, actually. I turned around for just a second and looked back and she was just GONE. It took me several minutes to find her again. You’d think it would be pretty difficult to lose a giant fire-breathing dragon, but apparently I’m talented.

-June

---

June,

What you have in your possession is no ordinary Charizard. That is Charizard ‘M, or glitchmon FF. 

This species needs careful handling when in your party. It has a ‘cloaking’ ability somewhat similar to a Kecleon’s camouflage, although more extreme. Indeed, this cloak is so powerful it can hide even the Pokeball it resides in, as well as other pokemon in its immediate vicinity!

You’re also correct in noting it can be quite shy. It takes a long time to establish trust with this species, and they rarely trust the nurses at the Pokecenter. You may need to potion them by hand if they see any sort of battle. 

I must give a word of caution, though; Charizard ‘M has also been known to accidentally induce mutations in pokemon nearby. Merely exposing pokemon to its presence is enough. Try to keep its pokeball a bit further away from the others, at the bottom slot in your party. You don’t want an accidental hybrid on your hands, after all.

-Professor Gingko

---

Professor,

I kinda wish you’d said something about that a little bit sooner. I had stopped to capture a Paras I’d found . . . and when I went to deposit things in the PC, uh. It was kind of disturbing. The Paras and my HM slave Kadabra had melted together. I wasn’t sure what to do. I thought maybe if I’d evolved . . . it, then that would force them apart, so I tried a few Rare Candies.

Didn’t really work, though? Now I just have a Parasect with all these strange moves. 

-June

---

June,

For goodness’ sake. Well, all you’ve done is ensured they remain fused together as a hybrid, now that it’s gone and evolved. You’ve lost your Kadabra HM slave for good, I’m afraid. It became the recipient for the hybridization process. You can still normalize what’s left of the Paras, however. If you return to the Daycare man and give him the Paras-- which should be currently hybridized with Charizard ‘M-- he should be able to get it back to normal. 

You’ll have to keep the Parasect as is, though.

-Professor Gingko

---

Professor,

Honestly? I’m ok with that. My new Parasect is pretty neat, and now is an even better HM slave then I had before. This Charizard ‘M has some cool abilities. I wonder what other bug hybrids I could make?

For now though, I’m keeping her at the bottom of my party, away from the other pokeballs. I’m taking along Wobbles, Fractal, Dustdevil, Giago and the new Charizard ‘M, and leaving Azure and Dirge in the PC for the moment.

Oh, and I spent some time exploring Celadon City at last. It was nice to finally do that. There’s some casino there that all the locals are talking about, so I gave that a visit. The games are actually pretty lame, but I’ve never liked gambling. I came across something weird, though-- there’s a basement to the casino. I went down there and it looks like the casino is just a screen for some underground illegal pokemon trafficking by a shady group of thieves. That's pretty wild.

The badguys weren’t too happy to see me there, but fortunately I could defend myself just fine with my team. It helped that I’d recently taught Ice Beam to Dusty. I also came across the Double Edge TM in that basement, so I taught it to Fractal, who now hits like a freaking meteor. 

After a little more exploring, I came across the HM for Fly, but I learned I didn’t have the air clearance to actually use it for travel unless I’d earned Lt. Surge’s badge. For some odd reason? So . . . I had to backtrack all the way to Vermilion and defeat the guy. After that, I could teach Fly to my Missingno. and get around MUCH easier.

This let me fly back to Lavander Town. I made the trip because I’d picked up something interesting in Celadon-- a Silph Scope. I figured I should use it and take a tour of that creepy tower.

The trip taught me a lot about my team. The climb up the tower was a slow and difficult one. Starting off, I ran into Oak’s damned grandson again.

His team wasn’t bad to face, although his starter had evolved to Wartortle by now. Still, I had picked up a TM from Lt. Surge, so Wobbles had Thunderbolt now. It was an easy kill. 

In general, Wobbles had no problem with any of Pokemon Tower. His Special is just sky-high. My other pokemon had to work a bit harder, though.

Gia is a defensive sort of poke. She’s not huge on offense, especially Special offense. But all her physical attacks were Normal type moves, which are useless against the ghosts. She was stuck chipping away at ghosts with her Surf, while the ghosts para-fused her. Fortunately she at least has so much bulk she sometimes came out on top of those fights. Gia’s fight style is all about long-term survival.

Meanwhile, Dusty struggled a fair bit because her stats are just not great in general. Despite that fact, she was scrappy and determined and could scrape by. Her speed also meant she could get in hits at vital times.

When paired together, Dusty and Gia could manage to take out the ghosts with teamwork. This was great, since Wobbles and my new Charizard ‘M had plenty of levels and didn’t need the XP at the time. My last pokemon on the team, Fractal, is the very definition of a glass cannon. Fractal could take pokemon out with his raw power, but only if he didn’t fall first. He was knocking himself out cold in a single hit if he got confused-- but he also sometimes knocked his foes out cold in a single hit. This is why I gave him Double Edge; his fighting style was hyper-offensive to an extreme.

After touring to the top of the tower, we took care of the local rowdy ghosts and some trainers rambling about something called ‘Team Rocket.’ I dunno, but the way they were dressed looked awfully similar to the creeps at the casino. Maybe they’re the same crew. I wasn’t paying much attention, to be honest. 

There was an old man up in the tower who talked to me after my battles, though, and invited me back to his house. Normally I’d nope the heck out of that sort of situation, but he seemed harmless enough. . . and he gave me a flute as a gift. He tells me it can wake up any sleeping pokemon. I have the perfect pokemon in mind to test it on.

-June

---

Glitchdex #: FF/255

Family: Charizard Hybrid

Type(s): Fire/Flying

Species Keyword: CLOAK

This shy POKEMON is so good at disguise it can even fool highly trained POKECENTER nurses. It only trusts its trainer to heal and care for it. 

---

End Notes

Glitches used/mentioned in this post:

* Making Superglitch useful

* Creating pokemon hybrids

* Charizard ‘M

* This Charizard ‘M was created by placing a normal Charizard named ‘Charmed’ in my sixth party slot and then using the controlled superglitch corruption mentioned in my last blog post. The Charizard ‘M that appeared in my seventh expanded party slot then inherented the ‘Charmed’ nickname once I deposited the first pokemon in my party into the PC.

Click for the next part of the series! 

This is a repost on a new blog. The original post was on Nov 30, 2019.

[mycupoffanfiction]

His Second Chance Part 3

Bucky x Reader

His Second Chance Masterlist

Bucky comes back from Wakanda with Steve, ready to begin his recovery from his days as the Winter Soldier, but there’s one thing he doesn’t take into account - you.

Warnings: Smutty thoughts, language, angst, fluff. 

Word count: Approx 2100

Masterlist

500 FOLLOWERS... WHAT?! I can’t believe 500 people want read my little stories, but thank you for the all of the lovely support! I’ve made a few friends on here since I started posting and seeing the regular readers on my blog kinda melts my heart because you like my writing enough to keep coming back and saying cute things and my heart is just aHHH.

Please don’t hesitate to leave suggestions or thoughts! TAG LISTS ARE OPEN! (Permanent and His Second Chance lists)

_____________________________

Knock, knock, knock. 

What an odd time for someone to be visiting your room. It was ten o’clock at night. You got up from your computer, your videogame paused as you padded across the floor in nothing but a large woollen jumper, your underwear and a pair of frilly socks. You weren’t too concerned about people seeing you in so few clothes, you’d changed into your combat gear in front of nearly everyone at least once, so it wasn’t like none of them had seen you in your underwear. You opened the door. Except for him.

 Bucky stood, surprised eyes trailing up and down your figure for a moment, his deep blue eyes were much less harsh and cold than they had been in the first couple of days and were much softer now. Perhaps you were just used to Bucky now, but he didn’t seem so intimidating anymore.

 Holy shit. Is she wearing anything under that jumper? Bucky almost gawked at the sight of your soft, bare legs. He so desperately wanted to reach out and touch your smooth skin, squeeze your thighs a little, feel them in his hands. No, stop it, stop Barnes. Control. Yourself. “Is there something wrong? Did I forget to shave a spot?” You wondered out loud, looking down at your legs, tilting your whole body at the middle to look, your beautiful hair cascading down. Bucky almost smiled at how cute you were, but he contained the smile, maintaining an inside smile. “N-no, sorry.” Bucky managed to get out. Stop fucking staring, my god!

 “Um, could you show me how to- I don’t know how to.” Bucky huffed at himself as he held up a DVD. “You want me to show you how to load that up?” You ask, pointing at the Star Wars DVD case he held in his hand. Bucky nodded, a bit more enthusiastically than intended. “Come on, I’ll show you.” You smiled, up at him, quickly bounding over to your PC to save your game just in case.

 Oh. My. Good fucking lord. Bucky found himself completely frozen as you sat on the floor in front of him, butt in the air, pretty red panties caught slightly between your cheeks, your jumper lifting just enough that Bucky had a slight view of your butt as you fiddled with the cables in the TV stand. You had no idea he could see, thinking your jumper covered it well enough. You should stop looking. No, look, it’s beautiful, she’s beautiful- no, Christ Barnes, cool it. Deeeep breath, she wouldn’t want you looking, it’s not fair. “Here we go!” You grinned over your shoulder, Bucky’s eyes immediately flicking to yours, hoping that you didn’t just catch him staring at your behind.

 “Did you want to try sitting on the sofa?” You asked, pointing at it as you got to your feet, bouncing a little. “Uh, yeah.” No, should’ve said no thank you. He nodded, stepping back so the backs of his knees were pressed against the sofa. “Okay, so this button pauses it, that one turns it off, oh and this changes the volume.” You pointed at the TV remote buttons. Bucky barely took in anything you said as he stared at you, the image of your pretty little butt in the air was well engrained in his mind and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to concentrate on the movie now. “Will you watch it with me?” He blurted out as you started to walk away. Bucky didn’t look you in the eyes as you spun on your heels to look at him, a huge grin making it’s way onto your lips. “You sure you want me to watch with you?” You asked, just to make sure. Bucky nodded, shifting awkwardly in his step. “Alright, let me get some cushions and blankets.” You beamed up at him before bounding off to find what you needed.

 You were cuddly, there was no doubt about that, but you were especially cuddly during movies and you didn’t want to make Bucky uncomfortable, so you opted to bring a whole host of cushions from your room for you to snuggle up to instead. By the time you came back to the living room, Bucky was still standing completely still in front of the sofa and you paused. “Do you want to try sitting, Buck? Or should I get you a dining chair?” You asked, glancing over at the dining table through the open archway on the other side of the room. Bucky shook his head, you weren’t sure if that was a no to sitting or a no to the dining chair, so you stood and waited for a moment.

 Come on, you did it with the dining chair, you can do it with the sofa. You saw how happy she was when you sat on the chair, if you sit on the sofa you might get to see that fucking adorable smile again. Bucky coaxed himself into it, finally, he dropped himself onto the sofa. He was as stiff as a board as he stared blankly ahead. Ooh this feels weird, so weird. Bucky looked over to see you absolutely brimming with excitement, a huge goofy, sweet grin on your lips as you bounced on the balls of your feet a little. How is she so happy for your small achievements? Is this even an achievement? She barely knows you and she’s all excited about you sitting on a goddamn sofa.

 “Is this okay?” You asked, collapsing down close to him, but not so close that you were touching. “Mhm.” Bucky nodded. No, I wish you were closer. “Want a blanket?” You offered, holding up the corner of a bright purple soft blanket. “No, thanks.” He shook his head. Bucky watched as you draped the blanket over yourself and cuddled up to your cushions. He watched as you shuffled and struggled to get comfortable as the beginning of the film started. More of his attention was on you than the film as he watched you try to get comfy. His eyes widened when you held one of your cushions close to your chest and stuffed another one between your legs. Damn cushions why aren’t I between her-. Bucky cleared his throat, making you glance at him. Why am I not one of those cushions? Cool it with the dirty thoughts Barnes.

 You got to about a third of the way into the movie, Bucky was fully engrossed at this point, but you were falling asleep. Bucky felt a little flutter on his arm and he froze up, stiffening and clenching all of his muscles. You’d accidentally touched his arm in your sleepy haze and Bucky immediately sat up in a bit of a panic, waking you up in the process. You quickly realised your hand was on his arm and you quickly retracted it. Shit, shit, shit. “I’m so sorry.” You breathed out. Bucky looked angry, his piercing glare fixed on you as if he was about to push you away or get angry at you. The way his eyes darkened and glared at you absolutely terrified you. He’s mad at you, shit he’s really mad, you fucked up. He’s gonna shout at you or shut you out or something. Panic bubbled in your chest and you felt your cheeks burn bright red, your breathing becoming uneven as you quickly sat up. “I’m so sorry.” You stressed, uttering apologies under your breath before bolting out of the room.

 Bucky’s heart broke seeing you so panicked. What had he done? Was it the way he looked at you? He wasn’t sure, but he knew he didn’t want you to go away. His heart sank as he sat back on the sofa. He really didn’t want you to go. He promised himself he wouldn’t stiffen up like that when you next touched him, he couldn’t because it scared you. Because he scared you.

 “Whoa!” Steve exclaimed as you practically threw yourself at him in the corridor, Steve letting his water bottle he was going to refill drop to the floor to embrace you. “I touched Bucky by accident and now he’s mad and- and.” You blurted out. Little did you know that Bucky could hear you from the living room. Oh… She thinks you were mad at her. He didn’t think he could ever be mad at you. Bucky listened to your panicked state. Well you really fucked that one up, the poor girl’s panicking to Steve because she thinks you were mad at her. Great job Barnes.

 “It’s alright, it was an accident, you didn’t mean to.” Steve tried to calm you, his voice soothing you and Bucky could only imagine the way that Steve was holding you. Maybe swaying you gently from side to side. He wanted to do that. “I’m sure he wasn’t really mad at you.” Steve continued. Listen to Steve, (Y/n), he’s right. Before Bucky could even think about what he was doing, he abandoned the movie and began walking down the hallway towards you both.

 Can’t back out now, Steve’s clocked you, (Y/n) can probably hear you too. Steve looked over at Bucky, he knew he hadn’t meant to seem angry; Bucky had shown on more than one occasion that he obviously liked you. He seemed to respond so well to your efforts, unlike Steve who he was still quite stubborn with, despite being closer to him. Steve just wasn’t sure if Bucky had taken to you because of your sweet personality or because you were undeniably beautiful, perhaps a bit of both.

 Bucky couldn’t quite find the right words, his mouth stayed dropped open, little stutters making their way out of his throat as he stood behind you, his gaze softening as you stayed glued to Steve. “I’m sorry Bucky.” Your voice was muffled. “I didn’t mean to.” You said into Steve’s chest. Please don’t be upset, please. Bucky didn’t know what to say and before he could even stop himself, his hand reached out slowly and rested on your shoulder. Steve looked at him surprised, but Bucky didn’t see it, he only saw the way you froze for a moment, realising that Bucky was touching you.

 You slowly turned, letting go of Steve, who took a few steps away from you both, still on the side if you needed him, but away enough that he wasn’t involved in your interaction. Bucky’s hand remained on your shoulder, your warmth under his palm soothed him. Touch was strange for him, at the same time as it feeling nice, he expected it to hurt and he had to force himself not to move away like you’d burned him. The fear and pain quickly subsided as you both locked eyes, staring at each other. “M’not mad.” Bucky mumbled, eyes soft and full of worry. Please believe me. Bucky’s heart was beating fast in his chest, he was sure Steve could hear it from where he was standing. “Can I touch you?” You squeaked out, Bucky nodded and took his hand off your shoulder.

 You slowly reached out with your delicate fingers; eyes trained on his flesh hand. Bucky stayed still, but calm as you extended your arm, fingers curling slightly as your hand neared his. Your fingertips gently grazed the back of his hand and you paused, looking up at him to check if it was okay. He gave you a little nod of approval and you gently slipped your fingers around his hand, going slowly until you were holding his hand properly. Bucky slowly closed his fingers around yours, on the inside he was screaming, but the outside was as void and as plain as usual.

 You hadn’t even noticed that Steve had left the two of you alone in the hallway while you shared your moment together. “Thank you for trusting me.” You whispered and you paused for a moment, seeing the edges of his lips twitch up into a smile that lasted only for a split second. Did Bucky just smile? Bucky just smiled. And it was because of you.

Bucky trusted you and it was the greatest feeling.

 You’re not ready for this, you idiot. Bucky felt like his skin was on fire while you touched him. You were so soft, so gentle, he wanted to enjoy it, god, he really fucking did, but he just couldn’t. The way your face lit up was addictive to him, he just wanted to see you happy, even if it meant sacrificing his own comfort. Seeing him try made you happy, even if it wasn’t what he wanted, but he’d never tell you that.

He couldn’t.

______________________________

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[starside-selfships]

Take a Break (short fic)

Author’s note: I have a more fluffier, vanilla (and semi-saucy) fic I really wanted to write and that I feel comfortable sharing, involving some sweet stuff with a hunter and his werewolf boyfriend. Hope you enjoy! (Also, I may or may not have kept the saucy bits secret, if you guys wanna see that part, just let me know!)

Setting my controller to the side with my soft smile growing into a wider one overtime, my boyfriend reappeared right in front of me, almost out of thin air as he dusted himself off and looked at me with disgust in his eyes. “I swear, that stupid housecat is always on my nerves, I don’t know how you’re friends with that beast,” He berated, obviously talking about one of my closest friends, the manticore that was dating the angel, earning a snicker from me. “C’mon, Kaz, she’s not that bad,” I joked as I pictured the usual quarrel between my boyfriend and my best friend. The ongoing rivalry and hatred between those two was just unpleasant at most and if I wasn’t friends with the manticore, Kaz would’ve probably let loose and would not hold back against her. “Not that bad, yeah right,” He hissed before letting out several huffs of air before slinking over to my side on the couch, my body shifting into it’s half human and half wolf state, in short, an anthropomorphic wolf. My werewolf state, well, that’s for another time. “It’s alright, princess,” I said sweetly, pressing my lips against the side of Kaz’s head, wrapping a fuzzy arm around him and bringing him closer to my form for him to relax. “We have the rest of today to relax, it’s okay.” I noticed the edge of his lips curling into a soft smile as he began to emit those lovely and soothing purrs, to me it was literally a drug. “Mmmmmhhh~” I released from my muzzle, closing my eyes and leaning my head back as the sound of Kaz’s purring, the crisp winds outside, and the minimal background noise, it was wonderful. It felt perfect.

“How’s my big, handsome puppy feeling? I meant to ask you earlier, but I got a little distracted,” Kaz questioned and this time, I was finally able to give him a simple answer, nothing complex, unless he asked for details of course. “I’m good, I’m really good, Kaz,” I answered honestly before looking back down at him and feeling my smile widen. “Like, I don’t want to go into details if you don’t want to hear them, heh,” Before I knew it, Kaz was on my lap in like seconds, his arms worming around my neck, causing my body to shiver from the touch, his emerald orbs locked onto my brown ones. “Tell me everything, Elijah.” And so I did. I told him about how I took the time to get my thoughts in order, how I kept focusing on the stupid and insignificant things happening around me and inside of my head. It was unhealthy and only filling me with intense amounts of despair. I explained the reasons behind it all, what caused it and among other things, how I dealt with it by listening to my favorite music, playing my favorite games, and turning off all my communications, taking a break from them to be able to spend time with him and him alone since being with him made me genuinely happy and relaxed. To have Kaz close to me or in my eyesight, it fills me with joy and makes my tail wag to no end. Nothing else in the world makes my tail wag faster. “So, that’s, heh, that’s my story.” I finished, realizing that I had been crying this whole time, feeling the tears from my eyes flowing down into my fur. Before I could even wipe my eyes, Kaz did it for me so I could easily see the tears in his eyes, the two of us becoming sappy messes after I explained how I was taking care of myself after the endless hours of sadness and negativity that surged through my mind. To be honest, seeing him teary-eyed was probably the reason why I was crying for Kaz wasn’t one who usually cries.

“I’m glad,” Kaz began as he was clearing choking on his words before he leaned closer and pressed his warm lips against my wet snout, closing his eyes in the process and pulling back so I could see the familiar look of love in his eyes. “I’m very glad. Hearing that, it...it makes me so happy to hear that, Elijah. I’m really happy you’re learning to take care of yourself more.” The look on Kaz’s face was precious, adorable, lovely, just perfect. It was a look I would cherish forever, that sweet smile, his eyes shining and gazing down into mine, his black and green hair that I loved running my hands through, along with his ears at the top of his head that he enjoyed me touching and playing with. Kaz was perfect to me. Yeah, a few people, including a friend or two, weren’t too fond of him and his personality, but to me, I loved that about him. How protective and defensive he would get, he would make me swoon majority of the time and whenever he walked by each other on our way to our different classes, my tail would go insane. “I love you Elijah.” The Hunter said to me, one of my wolf paws reaching up to massage his smooth, delicate face, being careful of my sharp claws, heck I’m pretty sure his were sharper than mine to be honest. Upon contact of my paw on his skin, the sound of his purring grew louder, filling my sensitive ears and putting me into a high, it was incredibly addicting, I couldn’t get enough of it. “I love you too, Kaz.” I replied, feeling myself getting excited at the sweet sound of his cat-like noises alone and it certainly didn’t help with how Kaz was beginning to glide his hands all over my form, probably sensing that I was starting to get lustful, all thanks to him. Thankfully, I managed to get control of my urges and returned back to my human form, my wolf ears and tail still at my head and backside, respectively. What came next was surprisingly, but expected.

“Hey Kaz, do you think we cou-mmmff!~” I couldn’t even ask him a simple question as he began to attack my lips with his own, my eyes fluttering and my body twitching in reaction. The contact of his tongue slipping into my mouth, searching for mine to gain dominance, his hands gripping and talons clawing my shirt so he could pull me closer to him as he kept himself planted on my lap as we continued to engage in our growing and rising heated makeout session. My hands found themselves gripping Kaz’s back, holding onto him as his bottom half began grinding against my lap, my arousal definitely beginning to show in the form of my tent that was poking at the hunter’s backside. The sound of our passionate smooching and moaning filled the room as Kaz’s warm tail wrapped around my leg, earning a shiver from me, which made Kaz softly giggle. Minutes had gone by and the two of us were, without a doubt, eager and horny messes. The craving of his lips increased once he had pulled away to breathe and speak, my hand secured on his legs that had been surprisingly wrapped around my body, I didn’t even notice when he did that. “Hey,” He said, trying to get my attention as I was lost in his eyes, of course, snapping out of my daze as best I could. “You think we should take this to the bed?” He questioned, earning a reaction from my heart pounding out of my chest loudly to the point where I was certain that he could hear it as well. Obviously, there was another part of my body that reacted in a similar, but very different way and I’m positive that he knew it too. “That sounds like a really good idea~”