#paths that cross gameplay

[thebeeandtheplumbobs]

And with that we end Milows rotation and give the lovebirds some privacy.

[sundyyle]

The entrance of my normcore island!!

[nordsea-horizons]

slow progress..🌱

[westonsims00]

𝘙𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴: 𝘓𝘰𝘶 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘴: 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘔𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘢 𝘓𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘺: 𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘓𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘚𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘮 𝘚𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘮 𝘉𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪: 𝘓𝘰𝘶'𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘛𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘩 𝘒𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘪-𝘕𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘯: 𝘓𝘰𝘶'𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘔𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘰 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘴: 𝘓𝘰𝘶'𝘴 𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳

[whyeverr]

No need for a resolution to max their Cooking skill next year, we managed to squeeze it in before midnight! And somehow we're halfway through the Gourmet Cooking as well. (Is it just me, or does that one fly by?)

Of course, shortly after crossing the halfway point to someday opening their own restaurant, the official rules were updated to also allow unlocking via completion of the Appliance Whiz aspiration—which seems a lot simpler of a path than maxing 3 cooking skills... Something to consider! 🤔

[gender-euphowrya]

brother a tale of two sons was such a nothingburger game i can't believe it got a remake

[smallmariofindings]

In Super Mario 64, normally, all enemies patrol their respective areas and during regular gameplay, it is rare to see Bob-ombs crossing paths with other enemies. Whenever it happens, it reveals that they are set to explode when any other enemy is near, even if their fuse is not lit and they are merely walking around.

A shell-less Koopa Troopa will run around completely randomly if left alone, and by observing it for a long enough time, it will eventually run into a patrolling Bob-omb, dying as shown in the footage.

Main Blog | Twitter | Patreon | Small Findings | Source: SM64 (NA, N64)

[trulyhblue]

Until We Moved Away

Kyra Cooney-Cross x Swedish! Reader

Warnings — fluff, coarse language, childhood friends w/ benefits

A/N — cried maybe three times in the past three hours because I had to rewrite this since it was deleted 🤭 Anyways, enjoy KCC content bc there definitely isn't enough on here!!

_______________________

When you met Kyra, you weren't quite sure what to think of her.

You were a Swedish international and had made your debut from a very young age. You were talented, well known within your country, and made it your life mission to make your family, country, and yourself proud.

You kept to yourself most of the time, choosing to focus on your career and paint a path for your future by working hard and improving on every aspect of your technique, gameplay, and overall performance. You had never played outside of Sweden before, and you were content with your decision. You were privileged enough to live close to home, within driving range, and know your way around. You weren't confused by the language, or troubled by anything in your day-to-day life. You were passionate about your job, you lived football, and you were determined to do anything in your power to win.

When you met Kyra, your mindset seemed to change.

Kyra was from Australia, and the Swedish language was foreign to her. When you first met, the girl complimented your sweater. In return, you told her the Hammarby jersey she was wearing suited her. She sent you a wide, warm smile, and you returned it.

From then on out, your relationship continued to be like that.

Kyra was very charismatic. She often held a lot of energy, and you were fortunate enough to witness it as you grew to know her more. The girl wouldn't know what to do with herself during the long bus and plane journeys, so she decided that talking your ear off was an appropriate solution.

The Australian wasn't very good at planning things, and you quickly realised that you were her guiding hand early on in knowing her. When Kyra didn't have a proper place to stay, she moved in with you permanently, only two weeks in. When Kyra was stuck with understanding your language, you made an effort to try and learn English, just so the familiarity of home would somewhat comfort her.

Kyra experienced homesickness from time to time, which you never really felt before, so you tried your hardest to make her feel at home by buying Australian snacks or making time to research some Australian movies.

When your schedules were empty, on the rare occasion that they were, you made the effort to show her around Sweden, hoping she’d find solace in a foreign country and find similarities between your home and hers.

When the opportunity arose, you managed to find time to get the two of you two plane tickets to Australia. You weren't quite sure how Kyra would react, but grateful was an understatement.

You found yourself falling for the girl in ways you never thought you would. Australia brought something out of the girl. You weren't sure what it was, but a certain aura enclosed her with an entity of warmth, solitude, and contentment. Kyra was in her element, and you felt bad not seeing how being away from home for so long could affect someone as it did to her.

When the World Cup rolled around, you were certain that you were completely and utterly in love with Kyra.

She had asked you on dates before, and you were blind to see them as simply hanging out. It wasn't until you both were due to fly to Australia, ready to prepare with your respected National Teams, that you realised how desperate you were to make that girl yours.

You weren't sure why you didn't just ask then and there, but you had kept the feeling to yourself in case it ruined the relationship you already had.

The two of you would text every night, talking about how it was both your first World Cup and the excitement surrounding it. While you both were relishing the adrenaline of each victory that passed, not realising that the two of you might verse each other.

You were there during the France versus Australia game. You were enamoured by the atmosphere of the crowd, and overwhelmed by the cheers, chants, and excitement around Women’s Football and the impact this tournament has had on the sport as a whole.

You were nervous when Australia lost to England, feeling the weight of your loss against Spain pulling taunt to your heart. You were disappointed in the outcome, not only because you weren't making it to the finals but because you felt like you had let your country down. It was no secret that your contract with Hammarby was ending soon, and no one but you felt as if your performance was costing a renewal.

Kyra had told you a million times how hard you were on yourself, and you always shook it off and told her that it was just passion. You still believed that. You were extremely passionate about everything regarding football. But if Kyra was right about one thing, there was always something more important.

It was clear to everyone in the stadium that both teams were still grieving the loss of the finals. You were exhausted from the games you had played this past month, and fatigue riddled you through the final minute of the Bronze Medal match. You hadn't spoken to Kyra since consoling her after her game against England, knowing that the ambiguity of tonight’s game might tamper with open wounds.

You weren't ready to face the girl after a month of not seeing her. You wanted to hold her, talk to her face-to-face, and tell her how proud you were of all that she has done for her team, her family, and her nation. That girl was all you cared and yearned for. Kyra was this beaming light that you could always confide in, and now that you were competing against her felt like a stab to the chest.

Despite this, you played your heart out. You made sure to keep your defence in the back line strong throughout the ninety minutes, hoping your forwards could break through Australia’s incredible midfield and defence. You were waiting anxiously for the final whistle to blow, relishing the final moments of such a brilliant tournament to be over, hoping the weight of the competition would fall off your chest the moment it was done.

Kyra played her heart out like she always did but with this new-found determination to prove herself. Every tackle, pass and shot was full of purpose and meaning. You watched her effortless talent shine through throughout the match, enamoured by her flawlessness in every aspect that she flaunted.

Your exhaustion sent you to your knees when the referee blew the full-time whistle. You were standing by yourself near the middle of the pitch, burying your face into your hands as they trembled. The adrenaline from the game, and every game you had played that past month, fizzled out from under you. The crowd was drowned out by your heaving breathing. Every muscle in your body ached. You wondered how your family back home was feeling. You wondered whether they were celebrating your third-place win.

Your home, your country, your nation; you hoped and prayed that they were proud of you and your team’s efforts, for you put everything you could into it. You so badly wanted to tell everyone watching that you tried your best.

Your thoughts were flooded into nothing when a soothing hand met the waistband of your shorts. You felt a familiar figure lean into you, the hand moving under your jersey and rubbing comforting circles across your back.

“Always beating me, aren't ‘ya, Älskling?” She muttered, her usual smug tone streaming through. There was no hesitancy in your movements as you sunk into her chest, hugging her chest and sighing as you took in the girl’s familiar scent.

“You played so well, Kyra.” You muttered, your tone much more sincere than hers. “You and the girls deserve the medal more than anyone else.”

“Oh, shush, you're just being modest,” Kyra replied, taking her spare hand and massaging your scalp. “Y’know what I deserve? Some love and affection from you, that's what.”

“What? Is the Kyra Cooney-Cross admitting that she missed me?” You scoffed, nuzzling your face into her neck. She was holding you up by now, keeping your body flush against her own as she rolled her eyes and huffed.

“Go back to being modest.”

You took her words as a sign to prop yourself up, smiling when you caught sight of the flush of her cheeks. “I missed you heaps, if that helps.”

“Oh yeah?” She answered, finding a loose strand of your hair and tucking it behind your ear. You bit your lip, smiling down to where your bodies entangled.

“What's next?” You asked. It question was ambiguous, but the Australian in front of you seemed to have a grasp of understanding as to what you alluded to.

“Kiss me and find out.”

You didn't have a chance to react, feeling Kyra’s lips push up against your own. Her hand reached your cheek, moving her lips against yours, smirking when you started to reciprocate the action.

You must've stayed like that for a while, since you pulled apart feeling out of breath. The flush on both of your cheeks meant a beat of silence, pulling you into your own little bubble that shielded you away from the stadium full of people.

“Wherever you go, I go,” Kyra stated, letting your thumb run a path over the freckles that covered her nose.

You nodded and smiled, and she did too.

___________________

hammarbyfotball

hammarbyfotball — Girlfriends that move together, stay together 💚🤍

Wishing Y/N and Kyra all the best for their Arsenal journey in North London.

Congratulations Girls 🙌🏼

Comments:

user12 — HELP THEY REALLY EXPOSED THEIR RELATIONSHIP IN THE GOODBYE POST AHAHHAHA

^ wowwoso — they like ‘Not my problem now, BYE’ 😋

yourusername — Will miss you!! Thank you for this opportunity 💚

* liked by hammarbyfotball

Kyracooneyx — admin has no shame lol

^ yourusername — Kyra. Log. Off

^ user78 — HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA

wosothings — after that absolute makeout sesh we all saw I think we all saw this coming 😭

^ kxxfan — I'm still in mourning.

^ user77 — no bc why did the camera pan to someone crying to these two shoving their tongues down each others throat I WAS SHOCKED.

y/nkcc — THIS IS HOW I FIND OUT THEY’RE LEAVING???????? i am grieving leave me alone.

matildasswed — admin saw that kiss and thought those two had hard launched.

_______________________

arsenalwfc

arsenalwfc — let's welcome two more gunners to North London!

Hammarby Legends Y/N L/N and Kyra Cooney-Cross sign with us after a masterclass World Cup ahead of the 23/24 season!

___________

Comments:

User22 — THERE IS NO WAY OMGGGG

Stephcatley — welcome girls!!! ❤️

Caitlinfoord — HAHAHA CALLED IT @ mackenziearnold

^ mackenziearnold — shut up.

kccfanx — Hammarby banked after selling these two🥲 just over 700k 💀

^ user90 — they've just lost two of their best players… I think they’ll need all the money they can get in order to replace them.

Bethmead — looking good in red girls 🥰🥰

user34 — both of them joining straight after the world cup kiss???? Coincidence?? I think not 🤭

^ wosox — they really said together forever

yourusername — Thank You ❤️

*liked by arsenalwfc

Hammarbyfotball — congradulations!!!

^ user88 — happy for them BUT IM IN MOURNING

^ user2 — I'm distraught.

kyracooneyx — yeah the Aussie tan @ yourusername

^ caitlinfoord — simp

^ alannakennedy — simp

^ mackenziearnold — simp

^ kyracooneyx — I was talking about mine but ok.

^ wosofan — HAHAHAHAHAHA

user2 — gonna miss them in Sweden

^ IK 😭😭😭

cooneyxfan — are they really soft launching their relationship with a transfer post????

^ kyracooneyx — yes lol.

^ cooneyxfan — AINT NO WAY

_______________

[aventurineswife]

So, reader decided to play mouthwashing due to its positive reviews and how it became popular enough to gain fandom. Maybe Ratio, Aventurine, Kafka, Blade, Silver Wolf, Jing Yuan and Jade decided to watch reader as they play? How would they react to this game's plot, it's characters and opinions?

HSR Characters Reaction On Mouthwashing

Tags: Kafka x Reader, Silver Wolf x Reader, Blade X Reader, Psychological Horror(not the actual fic but the game), Character Study, Game Reactions, Manipulation, Redemption, Survival, Dark Themes, Self-Destruction, Fractured Minds, Immortality.

Warnings: Strong Language, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Mentions of Mental Health Issues, Psychological and Emotional Distress, Dark Themes of Suffering and Redemption, Self-Harm (Implied, Related to Destruction and Pain), Death and Death Imagery.

A/N: I haven't fully watched the whole gameplay, so this might a bit ooc but I do know some basics of what happened and all I gotta say is: I hate Jimbo‼️🧍‍♀️ also shortened this to three characters because tags won't take the others and I probably would've to write each characters individually for their reactions on each characters so sorry if this disappoints you :')

Kafka lounged gracefully on a velvet chair, her fingers tracing the rim of a crystal goblet filled with a dark, undisturbed liquid. The soft glow of the screen reflected off her red wine-colored hair as she observed the game unfolding before her. Mouthwashing, a psychological horror game that had garnered significant attention, was the latest entertainment distraction.

The game's plot piqued her interest immediately—stranded in space with dwindling supplies, a mutilated captain, and a fractured crew. Kafka found the dynamics between the characters fascinating. The tension, the fractured relationships, and the slow unraveling of sanity… it was like watching a perfectly woven web fall apart. She couldn’t help but admire how the developers had manipulated the player into becoming complicit in the escalating violence.

Her eyes narrowed at the unraveling storylines. "So, it’s a game of power and survival," she mused, sipping from her glass. "But with a touch of madness, I wonder if the creators intended to turn the player into the true villain. The emotions on display—guilt, betrayal, desperation—can only lead to one outcome: unraveling."

Kafka's attention shifted to the player’s choices. The tension between the crew members, the twisted relationships, and the manipulation—it felt familiar. She was a master of persuasion, a manipulator of emotions, but this game was something different. It made her wonder how the player would handle the sense of culpability for the crew’s inevitable downfall.

"I suppose," she mused, "this is what makes games like this addictive—the slow collapse, the control one has over others... It’s almost poetic, in a sense." She couldn't tear her eyes away from the screen as the final moments played out. Jimmy’s tragic end, believing he had redeemed himself by placing Curly in the cryopod, was something Kafka could relate to—a misguided belief in redemption after irreversible actions.

Turning her attention back to her glass, she smiled softly. "I would have handled it differently, of course. But I suppose that’s the beauty of these games—they allow us to explore paths we’d never dare take in reality."

Silver Wolf sat cross-legged on a low sofa, her sharp gaze fixed on the screen as the game's opening scene began. Her fingers twitched in a restless, almost instinctive motion—an impulse to hack, to break the system and rewrite the story as she often did. But she forced herself to focus, her curiosity about the game's mechanics outweighing her usual inclination to manipulate.

The dark and gritty atmosphere of Mouthwashing quickly drew her in. The world-building was minimal, but what Silver Wolf found compelling was how the game subtly forced players into moral corners with each choice. The crew’s personalities were rich with flaws, and the tension between them was palpable. Her fingers flexed, itching to dive deeper into the psychological undercurrents, analyzing each interaction like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

"Not bad," Silver Wolf muttered, studying the way the plot twisted and turned with each new revelation. The complexity of the relationships, particularly Jimmy's unraveling sanity, fascinated her. "It’s like hacking a system, but instead of codes, it’s the characters' minds. The more you understand them, the more control you have over the outcome."

She watched intently as the player made choices, her eyes narrowing when the characters’ fates grew darker. “Hmph, some people just can't handle the game. They don’t see the bigger picture. It’s all about the challenge, about beating the odds. It’s not just survival—it’s about making it through with your mind intact. The chaos is part of the fun.”

Silver Wolf tilted her head as she saw Jimmy make his fatal choices, his mental state breaking down under the weight of guilt and fear. "That's one way to go out," she muttered. "Pathetic, really. I would’ve used that moment to break free, to rewrite the whole scenario. But I suppose that's why it's not me playing."

She smirked, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Still, I can appreciate the game's challenge. It's not about winning, it's about seeing just how far you can push the boundaries before it all collapses. Just like the game of life." Her fingers idly tapped against her knee. "Maybe I’ll try a new strategy next time."

Blade stood motionless in the shadows, his piercing eyes fixed on the screen as Mouthwashing unfolded before him. The plot resonated in ways that few things did—survival at any cost, fractured relationships, and a constant drive toward self-destruction. His cracked sword, an eternal symbol of his fractured existence, almost felt lighter as he watched the characters’ struggles.

The captain, Curly, with his tragic fate, reminded Blade of his own cursed immortality. Mutilated, unable to speak or act, yet still alive—trapped in a state of perpetual suffering. Blade’s gaze lingered on the screen, his mind replaying his own endless cycle of death and rebirth. He saw in Curly a reflection of his own fate: an unending existence that could only end in violence and ruin.

"What a pitiful display," Blade muttered, his voice low and cold. "Surviving only to slowly lose everything—your sanity, your humanity… That’s what this game is, isn’t it? A slow descent into madness, with no way out."

He watched as the crew's relationships deteriorated, one by one. Jimmy’s spiral into madness, his attempts at redemption, and the eventual tragic end... it all felt too familiar to Blade. "How weak," he whispered, his fingers twitching at his side. "No honor, no purpose. Just mindless survival."

Yet, there was something in Jimmy's desperate final act that resonated with Blade. The desire to find release, to end it all after causing so much destruction. It was the same goal Blade had sought for so long: an end to the suffering, an escape from the endless pain of immortality.

As the game neared its conclusion, Blade’s eyes narrowed. "They think they can redeem themselves," he mused. "But redemption is a lie. There is only the inevitable conclusion—endless destruction." His hand brushed the hilt of his broken sword. "This is the true path. There is no escaping it."

The game ended, and Blade remained silent, his expression unreadable. "A fitting end," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But not my end."

[leftoverghosts]

in the valley of shadow

hades!art x persephone!reader. past art x tashi.

"I'd rather hurt with you than be happy with anyone else."

warnings: dark obsessive art ala hades. use of she/her for reader. no use of y/n. not beta read.

nori says: sfw—i know i said blurbs would be nsfw, but obsessive art takes a lot of me!! crazy to get this same quote for him twice, but i had so much fun!!! as always, xoxo.

word count: 2,000?~

You were twenty three, freshly graduated and just beginning to dip your toes into the world of professional tennis. The bright lights, the buzzing crowds, the endless possibilities—all of it felt like a dream. But among all the faces and all the players, one stood out to you like no other.

Art Donaldson.

Seven years your senior, he was a legend amongst Stanford Alumni and seemed to embody everything you strived to become. His confidence on the court seemed unshakable. Yet, there was something about him that held a shadow, a darkness that made you wonder if there was more beneath that perfection his wife demanded of him.

You first crossed paths with him at a Donaldson Foundation event—an annual gathering where up-and-coming talents like yourself were invited to volunteer with children who had an interest in tennis.

You’d always admired him from afar, reading about his triumphs, watching his old matches, and marveling at how effortlessly he dominated the game. But meeting him face-to-face left you speechless. His gaze was penetrating, as if he could see right through you.

"How’s it feel to be the next big thing?" he asked with a knowing smile, his warm voice enveloping you.

It was a simple question, one you could have easily answered thanks to your media training in college. But as you looked into his eyes, something inside you stirred.

“I’m just starting out. Still have a long way to go,” you gesticulated wildly, trying to appear humble.

He chuckled, a sound that was full of harrowing amusement. “We all start somewhere, but not all of us get to where we want to go.”

You smiled nervously, but the words stuck in your throat. He was magnetic. Something about him made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt before.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

From then on, whenever you found yourself in the same vicinity as the Donaldsons, Art would make a point to seek you out. Your discussions were never long, but they always left you feeling exhilarated.

When you won, his compliments were overflowing. But when you lost, his analysis of your gameplay felt like a puzzle, filled with subtle warnings. You told yourself it was just his love for the game and his drive to push those around him to be their best.

It would have been easy to romanticize his intensity, to make excuses for the way his eyes lingered a bit too long or how his questions about your career felt overly personal, but you gave him the benefit of the doubt.

He was married, you knew that.

Tashi was always by his side, a constant presence that kept him grounded in the public eye. But there were moments when you could see the cracks in their united front. They manifested in the way he looked at you during the press events, or how he’d make a point of saying goodnight to you in crowded rooms when the evening grew late.

You convinced yourself that it was all harmless. That Art saw something in you, as a fan and a mentor of sorts. A fellow athlete who could understand the sacrifices, the pressures of the game.

He had a way of making you feel desired, whether it was a fleeting touch on your arm or a lingering look that made your heart race. You wanted his attention, and he gave it to you. But you were naive enough to believe it was just admiration.

It wasn't until later that you realized Art wasn't someone who admired from afar— he wanted to consume you.

There was a moment—a turning point—that you would look back on, your heart in your throat, wondering what you’d been thinking.

You were alone in a back hallway of a hotel during a tournament. Tashi was elsewhere, surrounded by other players and the media, and Art had found you, waiting for you just outside the elevator.

“I saw you play today,” he said softly, tenderly moving away the hair from your face. He was too close for this to be considered friendly, but you didn’t push at him. “You have something, you know. Something special.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, feeling your cheeks flush under his touch.

"With the right team behind you, you could be more than just a player," he continued, pressing you against the wall as his voice dropped even lower. "You could be everything. Let me help you."

It wasn’t the words that alarmed you. It was the way he said them, as if he had already planned your future for you. The weight of his gaze felt like chains.

“I don't need anyone's help," you blurted out before pausing to think. “I’m doing this on my own.”

Something shifted in Art's expression, for just a moment, he looked almost vulnerable. He wasn't just the fierce and intense athlete you idolized; he was human. “You don’t have to be alone.” He brushed his lips against yours softly, “I can show you how much more you can be. How much more you can have.”

And that was when it hit you—the real reason you were drawn to him. It wasn’t the tennis. It wasn’t the accolades or the fame. It was that, for the first time, someone powerful had noticed you. Someone who could offer you everything— success, the world, and something darker and more alluring than you ever imagined.

But before you could respond, before you could step closer to the edge of that precipice, a voice called from down the hall, pulling you back to reality.

It was Tashi, her tone commanding, and when Art turned to look at her, there was a fleeting trace of annoyance on his face.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he offered you a small, almost sad smile, and then turned to walk away.

You stood there, breathless, heart pounding in your chest.

You had slipped from his grasp. For now.

But you knew that Art was a man who didn’t let go easily.

And sooner or later, he would come for you again.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The locker room was eerily silent, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Another win on the court meant nothing to you, as the weight of failure in your personal life pressed against your bones. Your racket bag sat slumped against the bench, abandoned like a forgotten piece of yourself. You rubbed at your temples, exhaustion and frustration clawing at you in equal measure.

“You played well,” came a voice from the doorway, warm and unmistakable.

Frightened, you looked up.

Art stood there, leaning casually against the inside frame of the only exit. He was dressed impeccably, as always—dark slacks and a perfectly tailored dress shirt you had given him, made him look more like a businessman than a retired athlete. His piercing blue eyes, with that gorgeous speck of brown, were locked onto you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

In one hand, he held a bottle of pomegranate juice— your favorite drink.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice clipped, though you already knew the answer. Art was not one to listen to mortal things like court orders.

“I’m your coach, remember?” he shrugged, stepping inside as the door swung shut behind him. “It’s my job to be here for you.”

You stood up, putting the bench between you and the man who you hoped would soon be your ex-husband. “I told you I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want you anymore.”

If anything, your words seemed to amuse him. “You’re upset,” he said calmly, as though addressing a child. “You’re not thinking clearly. I’ve done everything to help you—your sponsorship, your career, your success. That’s all because of me.”

Your stomach turned, upset that you were unable to deny those words in their entirety. “You manipulated me. You isolated me from everyone who mattered. I didn’t ask for any of this!”

“Those distractions?“ Art’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained steady, one of his eyebrows raised in question. “You think they cared about you the way I do? No one else would go to these lengths for you. No one else could understand you like I do.”

“This isn’t understanding, Art. This is control.”

“Control?” he echoed softly, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. He was a man full of contradictions—each calculated move wrapped in a smile. For every decision made without your knowledge, there had been a kiss or a whisper to try and soothe your apprehension. It had worked before, and there was no reason to believe it wouldn't work now. To him, this was a tantrum that he was tired of waiting for you to finish. “Is that what you think this is? No. This is love. Love that no one else will ever be capable of giving you.”

“I’ve heard this before, Art. You’re hurting me like she hurt you.” You did not have to say Tashi’s name to be understood by him. She had been the one before you, the one who had owned him, in a way that still haunted him, even now. The thought of her, the reminder that Art’s heart had belonged to someone else, made a bitter knot tighten in your chest. It wasn’t just about jealousy—it was about the fear that he would never truly be yours the way he had been hers. “You still think about her,” you accused, your voice trembling with inadequacy.

“It’s not her, it’s you,” he replied, shaking his head. “I’m always thinking of you. I’d rather hurt with you than be happy with anyone else.” You sucked in a breath, upset that his declaration excited you and he knew—he knew the power he held over you, and he would never relinquish it.

He had already decided your fate. He was your captor, and you were his prize.

“I’m leaving,” you said, your voice fearful but resolute. “You can’t stop me.”

Art’s gaze flickered, and for the briefest moment, you thought you saw something crack beneath his calm facade. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by a chilling certainty.

“Try,” he said, his lips curling into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His voice, low and laced with menace, seemed to echo in the space around you. “You don’t understand, do you? This isn’t something you can just walk away from. Not anymore. We’re married.”

The words hit you like a thunderclap, the truth of them shattering the last vestiges of resistance in your chest. Art wasn’t just a man obsessed with you. He was a man willing to destroy everything in his path to keep you by his side. The world you thought you could escape to was gone. You were his wife, bound to him in ways you hadn't yet fully understood until now.

You frozen in place as he took a slow step forward, and watched as his gaze was drawn to the small but noticeable tan left behind by the missing wedding ring on your finger. His brand.

You could sense his anger just by the way his lips slightly parted as he reached for the bottle of juice and unscrewed the cap, taking a slow, deliberate sip before offering it to you. You gaped at the bottle in his hand.

A rush of panic flooded your chest, but before you could speak, Art closed the distance between you. His fingertips brushed against your cheek as he forcefully pulled you towards him, crushing his lips onto yours. The kiss was hard, demanding, as if he were pulling your very soul from your body. His tongue slipped past your lips, and you whimpered, caught in the web of his obsession.

The taste of pomegranate juice lingered on your palate, sweet but tainted, just like everything else Art had ever given you.

He pulled back just enough to whisper, his breath warm against your skin. "We are one. As we were always meant to be."

Your pulse raced, heart pounding, as you tried to regain some semblance of control, but his grip on you was relentless. He wasn’t letting you slip away again, not after everything he’d done to claim you.

And with every second you stood there, you could feel the walls closing in, just like the dark, silent underworld that had already begun to welcome you home.

[snickerdoodlesart]

So what if your rain world ocs meet the canon characters

my rain world ocs are so boring because the only perspective I think about them in is a gameplay/campaign standpoint...

but based on the timeline Starbound would likely cross paths with Spearmaster. Both being bioengineered slugcats, I think they'd share some sort of kinship.

Starbound would be like Spear's younger cousin who doesn't know what the words "please be quiet" means. Their respective goals would split them up before Starbound's sporadic jumping and ceaseless screaming could drive Spear away.

Abyssal's storyline takes place closest to Saint's campaign. Abyssal can't really leave the water but they'd poke fun of Saint when or if they can. Weird fluffy green thing with no gills..

Knowing Saint (do we at all??) their stoic and. saint-like demeanor would bore Abyssal into bothering some poor salamanders instead.

[thebeeandtheplumbobs]

[iovebarca]

Barça Bond - Fermín López

Authors note: i'm trying to write as much as possible the next few days because exam szn is here and i have a lot of studying to do🙃 so send requests! 🫶🏼

Warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, just fluff i think

WC: 850+

Summary: You and Fermín, both players for FC Barcelona, developed a bond during training. Despite an injury you suffered defending him, Fermín supported you. Your friendship turned into romance despite teasing from teammates. Supported by your peers, you faced the future together.

You were passionate about football. Every kick of the ball, every sprint down the field, fueled your love for the game. You played for FC Barcelona's women's team, known not just for your skillful footwork and strategic gameplay, but also for your unwavering dedication to the sport.

Fermín was a standout midfielder for the men's team, admired by fans and teammates alike for his agility, precision passes, and ability to read the game. He seemed to glide across the field, effortlessly orchestrating plays and leaving opponents in his wake.

Your paths first crossed during a joint training session organized by the club's coach. As you and Fermín found yourselves on opposing sides of a practice match, there was an immediate spark of recognition. You had seen him play before, of course, but being on the same field together ignited something new—a sense of camaraderie mixed with a hint of rivalry.

Throughout the session, tensions rising on the field. One of the opposing players had been playing particularly aggressively for no reason, and it wasn't long before a heated exchange erupted between them and Fermín.

Without a second thought, you rushed to Fermín's defense, stepping between him and the other player. "Hey, ease up! It's just a friendly scrimmage," you said firmly, trying to defuse the situation.

But before you could even finish your sentence, the other player lunged forward, knocking into you with unexpected force. The impact sent you stumbling backward, your feet tangling beneath you. With a cry of surprise, you fell to the ground, landing hard on your side.

Pain shot through you as you lay there, momentarily stunned. Fermín's voice sounded muffled in your ears as he knelt beside you, concern etched on his face. "Are you okay? I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for this to happen," he said, his hands hovering uncertainly over you.

Gritting your teeth against the pain, you managed a weak nod. "I-I think so," you replied, wincing as you tried to sit up. Fermín's arm slipped around your waist, helping you into a sitting position as he continued to apologize profusely.

With Fermín's support, you managed to stand, albeit shakily. Together, you made your way off the field and towards the club's medical center. Fermín stayed by your side the entire time, his worry evident in every glance he cast your way.

At the medical center, the club's physiotherapist examined you carefully, checking for any signs of serious injury. After a thorough examination, they reassured you that it was just a knock and nothing more. Relief flooded through you, and you couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

Fermín smiled at your reaction, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm glad you're okay," he said softly, his hand reaching out to gently brush against yours.

You smiled back, feeling a warmth spread through you at his touch. "Thanks for staying with me," you said, grateful for his presence and support.

As the season progressed, your teams continued to train together, and you found yourselves drawn to each other during breaks. You struck up conversations about soccer tactics, shared favorite players, and joked about the highs and lows of training sessions.

Off the field, your friendship with Fermín blossomed into something deeper. You discovered that you had much in common beyond soccer. You both loved the thrill of adventure, whether it was trying out new restaurants in town or playing fifa together.

As your bond grew stronger, so did the whispers among your teammates. It wasn't long before they began teasing you about your obvious affection for each other. At first, you brushed off their comments, but as you spent more time together, it became harder to deny the truth—you were falling for Fermín, and he seemed to feel the same way about you.

One evening, after a particularly intense training session, Fermín asked if you'd like to grab a post-practice snack together. You agreed, and as you sat across from each other in a cozy café, sipping hot chocolate and sharing stories, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

As the weeks turned into months, your relationship with Fermín deepened. You supported each other through tough games, celebrated victories together, and lifted each other up in moments of defeat. You discovered new sides to each other—the vulnerabilities hidden beneath the confident facade on the field, the dreams and aspirations that drove you both forward.

Eventually, your relationship became an open secret among your teammates, who wholeheartedly supported you. When you finally decided to make your relationship official, it felt like the perfect culmination of everything you had shared—the victories, the defeats, the laughter, and the tears.

Standing side by side on the field, hand in hand, you and Fermín knew that you were each other's biggest fans, both on and off the pitch. And as you faced whatever challenges the future held, you were confident that together, you could conquer anything.

[writingdevil]

Tongues and Teeth (STP)

(This is my first attempt at a Slay the Princess piece because I've been obsessed with it for the last few months.I apologize if it's really bad,or if the characters appear OOC because I haven't watched the gameplay in awhile-I'm trying not to spoil too much for myself because I'm planning on getting the game.Anyways!Enjoy!)

*

Paranoid opened his eyes,chest burning and nerves going haywire,and that was when he realised two things.

One:He had his own body.

Two:He wasn't breathing.

Instantly,he began sucking in as much air as he could,as if he was suddenly going to run out of oxygen at any moment.He couldn't help it though-he wasn't used to keeping himself-Paranoid-alive, he was always good at keeping Him alive,the Decider.

But the Decider had left them.He had left them all for the Princess.

Paranoid bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut, wrapping his wings around him in an attempt to block out all his surroundings,at the daunting woods and that dreaded path.

Too much.Everything was already too much-

"Finally awake,Jitters?"

Paranoid froze,fear pinning him to the ground,and he could feel his own heartbeat pounding in his chest now,and then he realised that he wasn't in charge of only breathing anymore-he was in charge of his whole body,and he needed to move.

He scrambled to his feet,head dizzy at all the sensations overwhelming him,and he spun around until he saw the person speaking to him.

It was one of them,one of the pieces of the Decider. He was leaning against a tree with his arms crossed,wings splayed out wide,casting him in a dark shadow.Paranoid didn't know which one it was-they had never been bodies before,they had just been voices.

But then the-voice?-started walking towards him,a swagger in his steps,and a familiar smirk on his face that Paranoid knew,that he was certain to be the embodiment of an-

"Opportunist,"he said in low tone,taking a step back,even as the other bird just smiled and gave him a mock bow."Hello to you too,Mr.Paranoia.I was wondering when you would wake up."

"Why?"he demanded,becoming unnerved with how large the other's wings are,even when he was a few inches shorter than Paranoid."So that we can find the others-what else is there to do?"Opportunist replied,and that was when Paranoid remembered the situation at hand.

The Decider was gone.The Princess was gone.It's just them now.

He managed to push the panic away long enough to ask,"You haven't seen the others?"Opportunist shook his head,not a feather coming out of place at the action."Nope.I woke up not too long ago,and then I found you.I was waiting for you to wake up."

"Why?"Paranoid repeated,now wrapping his wings around him for comfort.Opportunist looked surprised for a moment,before motioning towards the path with a wing as he said,"Well,surely the two of working together will be better,yes?"

Yes,but this was Opportunist-the backstabber,the one who was loyal to no one but himself,the one that Paranoid could never trust.He had to have some ulterior motive.

"I don't trust you,"Paranoid hissed,crossing his arms,feeling the tips of his claws digging into his arms.What a weird feeling.The cold one must be having a field day with all these new sensations.

Opportunist didn't seem that offended,putting his arms behind his back-what was he hiding- as he said,"Why not?I'm just as worried about the others as you are.Don't you want to find them?"

"Of course I do!"Paranoid snapped,wings and arms snapping out in anger,taking a step forward,and Opportunist didn't even flinch at the sudden movement,only giving him an encouraging smile.

"Right,so the best thing to do is work together-"

"But what I don't get is why you care about the others."

There had to be a reason.Maybe Opportunist had spotted a danger or a Princess up ahead on the path,and was leading Paranoid to use as bait.That made sense.Opportunist just needed him for something,and it was bound to be awful-he was certain it would be.

In his spiral,he almost missed the nervous crack in the other's smile,but he still gave Paranoid a friendly look as he asked,"Why wouldn't I care about our feathery friends?Who knows what they're dealing with right now-"

"Oh piss off with that!"Frustration and fear were twisting in his chest now,and all he could think to do was lash out."We both know that you don't care about anybody other than yourself.You didn't even trust Him at times.So I can only assume you have something terrible planned for me,so that you can get your way."

Opportunist spread his arms out and made a show of looking around the forest around them,and then bluntly asked,"Where is this danger that I apparently want to put you in?"

"I don't know,but you can't hide behind Him anymore,and there's nothing tying you down,so why are you still here?"

Paranoid panted,the burn in his chest a familiar one,but his throat aching was new.He's done his chant a million times before,and it's never strained him like this ranting had done.

They stared at each other,the silence tense and only making Paranoid believe that the other was contemplating the best lie to tell,until the other sighed,and his shoulders slumped in a way that let Paranoid know that this talk was at least tiring Opportunist out.At least that much was true.

Then,he finally said,"We don't know what's out there for us.We never got to that part.We never thought about what happens after the cabin.I'm not keen on finding out by myself."

"So?"

"So I'd feel safer with a friend by my side."

"Why me?"

"Well,you're one of the useful ones,Jitters."At Paranoid's surprised look,Opportunist rolled his eyes."What?You think I would be putting in this much effort for Mr.Lovey Dovey or that sad sack of feathers?No.I trust you to have my back.You're the automatic nervous system,after all."

Paranoid wasn't sure that Opportunist trusted anything,but he forced himself not to point that out.He still wasn't convinced,but at least he was telling him something,and that was enough for his wings to lower to the ground.

He took a moment to look at the woods around them,and a shiver went up his spine.All the different paths and choices and mistakes were made along this path,and the thought of making a decision for himself,was enough for his breathing to pick up dangerously.

But then there was Opportunist,moving to step closer to him,and he wasn't sure if the action was meant to be comforting or not,but his tone was soft as he said,"We're not just voices anymore. We have to make our own choices now,and we have to work together."

Damn it,he was right.Paranoid couldn't traverse these woods by himself,and they both knew it.But the thought of agreeing with a backstabber left a bitter taste in his mouth,and he looked Opportunist up and down warily and said,"So you think we could make a good team?Why not the stubborn one or the Hunted?Surely they'd be better protection."

Opportunist shrugged,making a noise of indifference,not entirely disagreeing."They're good, but they don't think the way you do,they don't worry about the same things as you do."

"I'm also the voice that doesn't trust easily," Paranoid pointed out,one hand preening the feathers at his chest,as a feeble way to protect his heart.Then,he clarified,"I still don't exactly trust you."

"You don't have to trust me,Jitters.You just have to work with me."

"I'm sorry,but I fail to see how we could be anything but disastrous."

"Think about it,"and then Paranoid couldn't move away fast enough as Opportunist draped both an arm and a wing over his shoulders,forcing his body to freeze and tense up.He couldn't help but notice that his own feathers looked thin,frail and utterly dead when compared to Opportunist's fluffy and vibrant ones.

"Being aware of the dangers around us and still doing what's going to get us to our goal-we'd be great together."Paranoid just hummed in response, too busy being alert for any tricks his companion may pull on him.

"Yes,but you could say that about any of the others, too. We all have a different goal that we think is the correct one.There was a lot of arguing."Paranoid was getting a headache just remembering the tiring debates he would have with the others-some who would constantly want to throw themselves into danger,or would be inclined to trust the Princess.

But as annoying as they were,Paranoid still missed them,a pang of longing in his heart that made his breath hitch.He wasn't used to being alone. Beforehand,no matter what the Decider did,all the voices were together,until the very end,even up to that mirror.

But now Paranoid was all alone,and he was hating every second of it.

"Doing everything you can to get out of a bad situation,doesn't sound too awful,now does it?"

But he wasn't alone,and even though Opportunist was nothing more than a selfish traitor,he was still a fragment of Him,and he was all that Paranoid had left now.

"Okay,"he softly said,and then he felt Opportunist stiffen,before backing away and quietly going, "Really?"

But it was the surprise on the other's face,that had Paranoid being alert all over again."Yes,I think you're right.Why do you look surprised?"

In the blink of an eye,Opportunist was grinning at him again,wings spread out with a certain glint in his eyes,as if the surprise had never been there in the first place.He chuckled,but Paranoid caught the sound of anxiety at the edges of it.

"I'm just happy,Jitters.Usually Hero is the only one you actually listen to."

Oh,Hero.The thought of their sweet and kind leader made another ache stab at his heart.He listens to him because Hero was one of the only ones he actually felt safe around.

"Well,we're going to find him soon enough,aren't we?That's why we're teaming up."

Opportunist nodded,his face so bright that it almost looked fake,but it probably was."Yes,yes,of course.Whatever you think is right,I'll do."

But he was the voice of the Paranoid for a reason, and he suddenly didn't like the way Opportunist was talking.He gave the other a suspicious look,wings tucked in as he said,"That-is what you want,right?Opportunist,tell me that's what you want."

Because that was the other thing about Opportunist-he simply sided with the majority, discarding his own beliefs in the favor of being on the winning side.He'd say anything if it kept him in the others good graces,so that it would be easier to achieve what he actually wanted.

But Paranoid was the only one here,and Opportunist had only told him why he wanted Paranoid-for safety,and knew that finding the others was what he wanted,but he had never stated what Opportunist wanted.

"What do you want,Opportunist?"

"I thought we were in agreement that-"

"Finding the others doesn't benefit you,so what's your big plan for me?"

"Jitters,I'm not going to hurt you-"

"I don't believe you!"

"I'm just as worried as you-"

Paranoid had had enough."Oppy,can you just put the mask down for five fucking seconds and be honest with me?!"

His scream echoed between the trees and the rocks,as he glared at Opportunist,who just had a look of soft shock on his face.He couldn't look at that.He couldn't feel guilty for a creature of many faces.

He blinked back tears,spinning around to put his back to the other-a bad idea,in hindsight,but he didn't care right now.

There was nothing but heavy silence,and Paranoid half expected claws to be ripping through his neck any second now,but he could never guess what actually happened.

"Is it so hard to believe,"came Opportunist's voice, but what startled him was how small it sounded, and he spun back around,only to blink in surprise at how he literally looked small right now.

His head was lowered,one hand playing with a loose feature between his claws.His wings were pinned against his back,and like this,Paranoid could really tell how different they were in sizes.But he swore that Opportunist hadn't been that tiny-but that was when it dawned on him.

The wings were the only big thing about him.

"-that I actually liked being part of a flock?"

For a split second,Paranoid saw it all then.The paralyzing fear in Opportunist's eyes,the same that he felt every day.Not just in this moment,but in general.Opportunist was afraid,the same as all the others.

Paranoid understood why he did what he did,why he lied and backstabbed-safety.It was why all of them did what they did-to keep Him safe,even from Himself.Fear will make you do anything to protect the people you love.

This was as honest as Opportunist was going to be, that he was allowing himself to be,all for Paranoid to trust him.This was his olive branch.

Paranoid didn't like it,but he could understand it, and maybe that was enough right now.

So he took a deep breath,and stuck his hand out. Opportunist just stared at his hand in surprise,as if this wasn't real.Paranoid rolled his eyes and said, "I'm sorry for yelling.Let's work together,and find the rest of our flock."

Opportunist stared at him for a moment,and he could see a shine in his eyes,and he wasn't entirely sure what that meant,before the other grinned and enthusiastically shook his hand."Oh Jitters,you can be a real sweetheart when you want to be!I assure you,with the two of us working together,we'll be unstoppable."

Before Paranoid could retort,Opportunist quickly yanked him forward,linking their arms and draping his wing back over his shoulders-essentially binding him to this decision now.But surprisingly enough,he felt okay about this.Not safe,but okay.

"Why do you call me Jitters?I have a name,you know."

"Yeah,but Jitters sounds nicer than Paranoid.You can give me a nickname if you want."

"Oh yeah?Like what?"

"...I-I actually liked Oppy.It's kinda cute."

"Oppy it is,then."

[failed-inspection]

Something I wish was talked about or explored more is the fact that Spearmaster appears to get affected when receiving a broadcast signal, as they get stunned and convulse for the entire duration of a broadcast, alongside the fact that you do not need the mark of communication to understand broadcast dialogue (I know this was probably done for the sake of gameplay purposes, but it doesn't make the implications any less intriguing!!)

How much do you think they would have understood? Imagine being a little animal on a mission, created to deliver something you do not fully understand by beings beyond anything you can comprehend, and as you walk across the abandoned landscape, you cross paths with a strange, plantlike structure.

The world around you comes to a halt, you fall to the ground, squeezing your eyes shut as the words from those higher beings pierce directly into your skull, for a moment, you can understand everything they're saying.

Their panic. The gravity of this dire situation you've been sent to help. Everything.

And then suddenly, their voices are hushed, you can open your eyes again, and time continues on as normal.

You still have a message to deliver, little beast.

[lesbiansforboromir]

I am sorry, but LOTRO is...like a LOTR game? The plot is good? It has which characters?

HAH you know that's such a good question, didn't even think to explain it properly.

LOTRO is an MMORPG (massively multiplayer online role playing game), think World of Warcraft-esque. It's about 15 years old so it's a little on the dated side graphics wise and it's gameplay is essentially landscape exploration and combat, with group content that goes from three-person dungeons to full 12-person raids.

BEING a 15 year old game the plot is... enormous. Like its hard to even talk about a 'plot' at this point, since there are about 30 different individual storylines for each zone strewn throughout a multitude of quests that see you talking to every character imaginable. Like 'which characters does it have'? all of them, LOTRO has all characters from lotr in it. LOTRO has characters you don't even remember in it. In LOTRO you get major questlines from Denethor's two unnamed elder sisters. In LOTRO they make you care about the men named amongst the dead in the song of lament after the pelennor fields, people you never speak too in the books.

You create a character and choose your race and begin to journey from the furthest west (Ered Luin, the Shire, Bree or Cardolan depending on choices) to the furthest east and act as a side character to the main plot of lotr. You cross paths with the fellowship at various points and develop relationships with all of them, up to and past the death of sauron (currently the game has expanded into Umbar, months after Sauron's defeat in game canon.) All of the game's story is told through quest dialogue, which you have to read, it's a hell of a lot of reading, whether thats reading what people are saying to you when you accept a quest or reading what NPC's are saying to you within quest instances and 'cutscenes'.

So there is an overarching plot, called 'epic book quests', which will take you on this journey, but it is dwarfed by the sheer number of surrounding tales going within each area you visit. Dunland is an excellent example, you have to travel through it to get to Rohan but what you're doing whilst you're there is investing yourself in the struggles, politics, dangers and cultures of the people who live in Dunland. And that is true for every area you visit, which inevitably makes LOTRO a massive worldbuilding and expanding project for middle earth. Like it's really hard to put into words quite how much 'plot' there is in this game. Some of it is good, some of it is not so good, some of it is so good it makes me want to bite the game, some of it is so bad it makes me want to bite the game, you will find 30 favourite plots and 30 hated plots and 100+ more in the middle.

Of course, this means LOTRO also creates it's own characters to fit into the world and get attached too, many of whom I now love and care for just as much as original canon characters. Like fucking Ayorzen. Oh my god. I love Ayorzen. You only meet him at level 110 in mordor and it takes you real life months of questing to reach that point. Not anything repetetive either, you do not grind exp in this game unless you actually want too, there are just that many quests and storylines between you and mordor that it takes you months to finish them all. Are some of the epic book quests kinda superfluous and make you run around way too much? Yes. I don't care about them, the point of lotro is in the smaller stories you find along the way. The game is about being able to walk, by yourself, no loading screens, from the Shire to Mordor and beyond and experience the minutae of middle-earth living whilst you do it. Hope that somehow answers your questions!

Oh it's also a dress up game, forgot to mention that, the lotro devs will disagree but this is a dress up game except you're dressing up TO journey through middle earth and you can unlock multiple outfit slots to customise that you can change your character into whenever you like, no restrictions on what you can put on your outfits regardless of levels or classes so long as you have wardrobe space. Unfortunately the game's armours are ugly as sin until level 50, though happily that's a shorter trip than it sounds, early game goes by much faster than the post-50 stuff.