#trying to prototype most designs

[elli0tt-xo]

UPDATE: Changed some ship bc my preferences have changed. This au will be worked on with my friend who I don't think has Tumblr. If they do, I'll find their blog and @ them :3

I'm bored, so I'm gonna explain some stuff about my upcoming Dandy's World AU/ask-blog. Thinking of calling it "Welcome To Gardenview" or smth along those lines. If you have any better ideas, lemme know. (After an hour, I have decided that I hate this name. Reblog or comment with something better pls)

It's a humanized (minus Pebble, he's just a dog. A carpathian shepherd dog to be exact) AU of my pre-ichor Gardenview headcanons. So, when it was a functional museum. One of my personal headcanons is that they offered childcare services there too, so that'll be a thing. All the toons are employees and have more human names (those with human-ish names will keep the name) and their canon names are aliases they go by for immersion for the kids.

Personal Sexuality/Gender Headcanons________

Boxten- Bi, demiboy (he/they)

Brightney- Lesbian, trans (she/her)

Connie- Aroace/lesbian, cis (she/her)

Cosmo- Asexual/polyromantic, cis (he/they)

Finn- Pan, cis (he/him)

Flutter- Bi, cis (she/her)

Gigi- Bi, nonbinary (she/they/it)

Glisten- Bi, cis (he/him)

Goob- Aroace/gay, nonbinary (he/they)

Looey- Gay, demiboy (he/they [CANON!!])

Poppy- Pan, cis (she/her)

Razzle- Asexual/biromantic, cis (he/him)

Dazzle- Asexual/Omniromantic, cis (he/him)

Rodger- Straight, cis (he/him)

Scraps- Bi, trans (she/they)

Shrimpo- Ace/grayromantic/gay, trans (he/him)

Teagan- Pan, demigirl (she/they [CANON!!])

Tisha- Bi (Closeted), cis (she/her)

Astro- Pan, demiboy (he/him)

Sprout- Gay, demiboy (he/they)

Dandy- Aroace/straight, cis (he/him)

Shelly- Pan, trans (she/they)

Vee- Bi, trans (she/her)

(Toodles and Pebble not included bc Toodles is 8 and Pebble is a dog)

Ships_______

Glitterhugs (Goob x Glisten)

Moth To A Flame (Brightney x Flutter)

Lullaby (Boxten x Astro)

GachaPuns (Gigi x Finn)

Fossilcake (Shelly x Cosmo [Fruitcake shippers do not yell at me pls]

Funnyberry (Looey x Sprout) [Fruitcake shippers, once again, do not yell at me pls]

Gingertea (Teagan x Ginger)

Papermasque (Scraps x Razzle and Dazzle) (DISCLAIMER BC I KNOW PEOPLE WILL ASK: NO, RAZZ AND DAZZ ARE NOT DATING. THEY JUST BOTH DATE SCRAPS)

Mistletoe (Dandy x Bobette)

Actual names_______

Boxten- Ben/Benjamin

Brightney- Blaire

Connie- Connie

Cosmo- Charlie

Finn- Finn/Finegan

Flutter- Faye

Gigi- Gigi

Glisten- Glen (he hates it, prefers Aster)

Goob- Gabe/Gabriel

Looey- Leo

Poppy- Poppy

Razzle- Roman

Dazzle- Damien (named after my irl friend)

Rodger- Rodger

Scraps- Stella

Shrimpo- Spencer (MY ASS FORGOT TO GIVE HIM A NAME B4 I POSTED THIS LMAO SORRY)

Teagan- Teagan

Tisha- Tessa

Astro- Andrew

Sprout- Samuel

Dandy- Daniel/Danny

Shelly- Shelly

Vee- Vera

Toodles- Tallulah

Pebble- Pebble

[13thpythagoras]

[plushie-lovey]

Would I be weird for making a prototype sketch of an idea I have for a jellycat plush? Would I be even weirder if I emailed it to jellycat themselves?

[introsquirrel]

Rereading murderbot (again) and just got to art's introduction.

And like, art doesn't play nice with other bots. It bullies them, it intimidates them, it will hurt other bots to get what it wants if it doesn't want to waste time hacking it.

And it tries that with mb. I mean, info secunits is probably like 80% propaganda, 15% corporate promotions, and 5% actual development and research, almost exclusively focusing on what they are designed for and how they got there.

It's out there, about to start a boring transport/recon mission, and one of the most dangerous and feared entities basically jogs up to it and goes "hi, I'm a friendly bot, like super friendly, totally nothing suspicious here. Can I have a ride? Here's a GIANT file of pirated media"

And it's still a bot, just a bot with organic parts. Art is a research vessel and it's curious, and this is a rare opportunity to get info on secunits, which are probably a huge pain in the ass to deal with on its missions, with almost no practical info about them. Also, this might be an indication that someone has caught on to its antics and it probably wants to nip that in the bud.

And it turns out the huge file of pirated media isn't secretly a virus or malware, and looking at it's movements, Art can see that it isn't actively hostile towards humans. Unexpected, but hey. Points to this weird construct. But that might not be it's goal.

And then it sits down and starts sorting and watching media so art is like alright, it's obviously not here to fuck me up and it has no idea what the hell I am. Let's make sure this moderately dangerous condtruct doesn't get any funny ideas.

I don't think art was going for friendly in the slightest. I think to wanted to scare mb to make sure it didnt try anything. I think it expected mb to get pissed or argue.

But mb basically shuts down. It stops everything and huddles into a chair and i imagine that it does its best impression of a secunit in stasis.

And when art is like "I mean, don't fuck with me, but you can still watch your TV shows" mb responds with something that would not be in construct research outside of very clinical and vague explanation.

It shows art that it expects art to hurt it. And it's shows that it can be hurt, that it has been hurt, and that it probably has some trauma related to this hurt. It also probably accidentally added some context to the punishment recordings. I'll bet mb was punished for not wanting to hurt it's clients.

And art... well, mb said in the first book that being half human half bot isn't two conflicting sides, but just a whole of what it is. It isn't human, it isn't a bot. It is the culmination of both. A sentient entity that was developed by humans for slavery and spent its entire existence being punished for having free will.

Art is also a sentient entity that was developed by humans for a purpose. But it was treated with love and respect and it's free will was celebrated, if tempered.

Imagine thinking you are one of a very exclusive group of entities that has been categorized as something that is a gross misconception of what you are and what your capabilities are. Art is a bot, which are not humans and dont have rights because they don't have feelings or wants or desires and cannot feel pain. You think you are a very unique entity, no one has done this before.

But they have. The proof is sitting, frightened in your body and you had no idea. Mb is as capable of evil as any human, and as capable of destruction as any bot. You are also cable of extreme evil and destruction. But you are loved and cherished. This entity, this thing is as human as you, moreso even, and it has spent its entire life being hated and feared and it chose instead to just coexist when given the chance.

Art says "I'm sorry I frightened you". Not, I didn't mean to frighten you. And then mb grumpily (which is understandable!!) Lets art watch media with it.

Like, art just met the dumber more compact prototype version of what it could have been and went "wait no this is cool actually." Mb can't br programed to turn against its crew, it processes it's feeling both organically and inorganically, it can hack and learn and be loyal and be angry. And it has no idea what it's doing or what it wants, but it's VERY good at security.

So yeah, I can see why art kind of latched onto mb. And why it told it's crew about this strange little secunit it found on its mission. Kind of like finding someone SUPER cool who just gets you on a level no one else has been able to. Someone who coordinates so flawlessly with you but still is able to challenge you when it needs to. Someone who loves and is exasperated by humans as much as you, even as you need to be "human" to be able to interact with them.

So yeah. Mb and art, first meeting. Perfect 10/10 can, have, and will read again

Edit: ALSO ALSO art gets to watch media with full context for the FIRST TIME IN ITS LIFE. Mb can process human emotions into data automatically and now it gets to experiencd fictional story as it's meant to be experienced for the first time and mb is so so indulgent of it and kind to it, letting it take time to process things and rewatching parts with it when it wants to.

Jdjdhdhdhej fuckin LOVE THESE TWO

[skyedancer-system]

Going into Poppy Playtime Chap. 4 I was not expecting to get halfway decent plural rep but here we are????

Spoilers for the new chapter under the cut, and also cw for all the general Poppy Playtime stuff (child death + experimentation, body horror, if you know the game you get the gist)

SO THIS GUY HUH

Doey the Doughman, the surprise character revealed just days before the chapter dropped and who finally answered the question of the red/orange/yellow hand imagery we’ve been getting teased with for so long

In the chapter himself he’s pretty important to the plot and is an ally to the player, Poppy, and Kissy for (most of) the chapter, and he’s a pretty nice guy just with a bit of a temper, and very overwhelmed by having to keep the Safe Haven together and protected in Poppy’s absence.

But his personal story? How he was created via Playtime Co.’s Bigger Bodies Initiative? Oh god it’s honestly one of the most messed up ones yet other than Yarnaby (and that’s saying something considering this is child experimentation we’re talking about, and Yarnaby lost his entire self and was treated like a straight up animal, isolated so he would love and obey Harley and only Harley)

Where most of the living toys were made from one child, Doey was made from three. Jack, a visitor to the factory that got caught in a freak accident and was taken into Playtime’s care for his medical recovery. Kevin, a problem child in the Playcare known for his anger issues. And Matthew, an extremely kind boy who tried to keep hopes up among all the orphans in the Playcare, and was a sort of leader to them.

And all three of them are still present in some form; at various points in the game you see them switch, speaking and thinking differently, with varying opinions on everything happening. And from the tape of the Jack’s parents seeing what Playtime did to their son, we see that the three have separate memories as well, at least they did when they were first put together.

And this plurality that was forced onto them isn’t played for scary points like you’d expect from a mascot horror game. Yes it is part of Doey’s monstrous design once they get upset, but them being upset is because everything they had worked to protect was destroyed by the Prototype. All of the other kids turned toys that had kept their consciousness and relied on Doey for protection, mercilessly killed. Anybody would be horrifically upset in that situation. And one of the three boys - Kevin - lashes out at the player, the other two trying to calm him down only for all of them to fall into anger and emotion.

You can clearly see the three kids; one angry, two sad, all of their emotions coming together into a grief induced rage, with physical pain only compounding it. And when you eventually have to kill them and put them out of their misery, their last words?

“I’m sorry.”

They were just kids; three kids forced into a horrible situation and having to learn to live with it. And for a long time it seems that they did, working together rather peacefully until their lives were upheaved by the arrival of the player and Poppy’s reappearance.

Kevin’s anger at everyone and the world is completely justified; I mean he and the other two were experimented on and then kept caged like animals, being practically forced to kill! He wanted to protect them; to avenge the countless others that had been killed by the Playtime scientists and the Prototype! And considering things only went to shit after the player and Poppy showed up? Well it’s no wonder that anger got directed at them

It it a super good depiction of plurality? No, not by a long shot. But it’s definitely way better than I would expect from a game like Poppy Playtime.

I was not expecting this post to get this long whoops fbsnbdns; if anyone else has anything they want to add though we’d love to hear it!

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How to Read a Scientific Article

THE THREE-PASS APPROACH

The key idea is that you should read the paper in up to 3 passes, instead of starting at the beginning and plowing your way to the end.

Each pass accomplishes specific goals and builds upon the previous pass:

The first pass gives you a general idea about the paper.

The second pass lets you grasp the paper’s content, but not its details.

The third pass helps you understand the paper in depth.

At the end of the first pass, you should be able to answer the 5 Cs:

Category: What type of paper is this? A measurement paper? An analysis of an existing system? A description of a research prototype?

Context: Which other papers is it related to? Which theoretical bases were used to analyze the problem?

Correctness: Do the assumptions appear to be valid?

Contributions: What are the paper’s main contributions?

Clarity: Is the paper well written?

Purpose of the Sections of Empirical Articles

Section — Use it for

Abstract — This is a great section to read to find out if the article will be relevant to your own research.

Introduction — This section gives you an overview of work that has been done on topics relating to the hypothesis of the article, and will often lead you to other relevant work that has been done in your area of interest.

Method — This section will help you understand the design of the experiment. This is particularly useful if you'd like to replicate the study.

Results — The results will tell you what the author/s found in the course of their experiment.

Discussion — The discussion section is typically easier to read than the method and results section, and it will help the reader understand the implications of the results of the experiment.

References — This is a great place to look to find articles that are related to the one you are reading. If you're looking to build your own literature review, the references are a great place to start.

The Anatomy of a Scientific Paper

Some initial guidelines for how to read a paper:

Read critically: Reading a research paper must be a critical process. You should not assume that the authors are always correct. Instead, be suspicious. Critical reading involves asking appropriate questions.

Read creatively: Reading a paper critically is easy, in that it is always easier to tear something down than to build it up. Reading creatively involves harder, more positive thinking.

Make notes as you read the paper. Use whatever style you prefer. If you have questions or criticisms, write them down so you do not forget them. Underline key points the authors make. Mark the data that is most important or that appears questionable. Such efforts help the first time you read a paper and pay big dividends when you have to re-read a paper after several months.

After the first read-through, try to summarize the paper in one or two sentence.

If possible, compare the paper to other works.

Write a review that includes:

a one or two sentence summary of the paper.

a deeper, more extensive outline of the main points of the paper, including for example assumptions made, arguments presented, data analyzed, and conclusions drawn.

any limitations or extensions you see for the ideas in the paper.

your opinion of the paper; primarily, the quality of the ideas and its potential impact.

The guide below details how to read a scientific article step-by-step.

First, you should not approach a scientific article like a textbook— reading from beginning to end of the chapter or book without pause for reflection or criticism. Additionally, it is highly recommended that you highlight and take notes as you move through the article.

Skim the article. This should only take you a few minutes. You are not trying to comprehend the entire article at this point, but just get a basic overview. You don’t have to read in order; the discussion/conclusions will help you to determine if the article is relevant to your research. You might then continue on to the Introduction. Pay attention to the structure of the article, headings, and figures.

Grasp the vocabulary. Begin to go through the article and highlight words and phrases you do not understand. Some words or phrases you may be able to get an understanding from the context in which it is used, but for others you may need the assistance of a medical or scientific dictionary. Subject-specific dictionaries available through our Library databases and online are listed below.

Identify the structure of the article and work on your comprehension. Most journals use an IMRD structure: An abstract followed by Introduction, Methods, Results, and Discussion. These sections typically contain conventional features, which you will start to recognize. If you learn to look for these features you will begin to read and comprehend the article more quickly.

 Read the bibliography/references section. Reading the references or works cited may lead you to other useful resources. You might also get a better understanding of the basic terminology, main concepts, major researchers, and basic terminology in the area you are researching.

Reflect on what you have read and draw your own conclusions. As you are reading jot down any questions that come to mind. They may be answered later on in the article or you may have stumbled upon something that the authors did not consider. Here are some examples of questions you may ask yourself as you read:

 Have I taken time to understand all the terminology?

Am I spending too much time on the less important parts of this article?

Do I have any reason to question the credibility of this research?

What specific problem does the research address and why is it important?

How do these results relate to my research interests or to other works which I have read?

6. Read the article a second time in chronological order. Reading the article a second time will reinforce your overall understanding. You may even start to make connections to other articles that you have read on this topic.

Identify Key Information

Whether you are looking for information that supports the hypothesis in your own paper or carefully analyzing the article and critiquing the research methods or findings, there are important questions that you should answer as you read the article.

What is the main hypothesis?

Why is this research important?

Did the researchers use appropriate measurements and procedures?

What were the variables in the study?

What was the key finding of the research?

Do the findings justify the author’s conclusions?

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[babypudge]

"Looks like they knew you were coming, little man. Check it out, there's a changing table just waiting!" Daddy stood in the open doorway and pointed to the chaise lounge in the corner of the hotel room, positioned where a couch would normally be. Concerned that the couple at the end of the hallway might have heard, you blushed and slightly squirmed in place before rolling your Paw Patrol suitcase into the room. “Speaking of which, I’m sure somebody needs a change after that long train ride…” he smirked before vigorously patting the swollen diaper that was not-so-subtly concealed under the nylon shorts that you’d pointlessly protested against earlier that morning as being too tight and short.

“First things first, tiger. Just drop your new diaper bag over there and hop on. I’ll get ya’ fixed up in no time!” You waddled your way over to the “changing table” and dropped the transparent blue plastic backpack filled to the brim with diapers and baby supplies that you’d been unexpectedly saddled with just before heading into the train station security check. Somehow, Cookie Monster's big smile on the backpack's front panel did little to console you in the moment.

Between your shorts, the more-than-obvious diaper bag (which was unlikely to be left behind during your three day trip to Legoland) and Daddy insisting that it was “perfectly fine” for you to watch Mickey Mouse Funhouse on the train using the speakers on your tablet after he “forgot” your headphones, this had already been one of the most embarrassing days of your life - and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.

After the familiar ritual of wipes, power, fresh padding and some cuddles from your good buddy Chase, the morning’s ordeals felt far enough away that you could start to relish them in retrospect. Sure, they were rarely fun in the moment, but the excitement you felt both before and after these moments of public baby exposure tended to last far longer than the actual humiliation.

As Daddy snapped a photo, you thought how lucky it was that you’d been randomly booked into a room with an unlikely piece of furniture that was perfectly tailored to your needs. Daddy was right, it was like they knew you were coming.

That’s because they did know.

You see - in the age of online booking, travel agents need to go the extra mile to keep their clients happy, and Daddy’s travel agent is the best in the business. In the past, she’d mostly just given the staff advanced warning of things like a grown man in water-wings and a pair of Lil' Swimmers splashing around the shallow end of the pool or Daddy’s habit of leaving a bag of yesterday’s dirty diapers outside the door on days when he didn’t feel like having the maid clean up the room.

However, it seems her contact at this new hotel chain worked across the hallway from the company’s “accessibility and inclusion” team, who were desperately trying to find a project to spend the remainder of the department’s budget on before the end of the fiscal year - and unlike their normal projects like widening doorways or adding wheelchair ramps, prototyping furniture to accommodate an oversized baby would certainly get the attention of the higher-ups at the next company-wide meeting.

The combination chaise lounge/changing table was by far the most subtile concept that the team came up with. It was made with the idea of being permanent fixture that could blend in when the room was being occupied by "adults" and has a far less juvenile print than the other overtly childish designs. For example, there's the adorable diaper-clad koala bear on the sheets of the folding crib that's being rolled down the hallway to your room or the silly circus animals printed on the mesh sides of the massive playpen in the hotel gym that'll keep you safely secured during Daddy's morning workout.

By the end of the trip - after being strapped into the bright red highchair awaiting you in the middle of the lobby restaurant for several hands-only mealtimes, after the staff confirms that it's okay for Daddy to take your complimentary stroller with you to the theme park, after very thoroughly “testing” the newly fortified diaper changing station in the first floor men's room during the A.M. checkout crowds, and after the hotel's marketing department contacts Daddy to use his photos for an online ad campaign that smashes all previous records for shares and engagement - you'll look back at the minor embarrassments of this morning and yearn for the time when the indignities and humiliations that come with your baby-status relented for long enough for you to enjoy them half as much as your Daddy does.

[askagamedev]

A follow up to your answer about veilguard (was really hoping you would touch on that one). Why do game companies that have a “bad” release always seem to start from the bottom of the pyramid when it comes to restructuring and recouping losses? Why fire low level devs who did their best with what they had, when the companies have people in senior positions making hundreds of thousands of dollars (if not more) that they could just cut from? Why do the trenches always get the punishment first?

The short answer is because shit rolls downhill. For a longer and more nuanced answer, there's multiple factors to consider.

The main issue is that the company is trying to cut costs immediately. This is usually for two major reasons:

Reassure investors to keep them from dumping the stock and driving down the company's value

Save as much money as they can from their current stockpile for other projects still in development.

If the company goes under because it can't make payroll company-wide, everybody is doomed regardless. A gecko will sacrifice its tail in order to escape with its life. A crab will tear its own claw off to survive. A company will always cut staff to keep itself afloat.

The next factor is that each major experience level up a dev attains tends to be a geometric difference in productivity. [A large task that would take a junior dev two months to complete might take a mid-level dev one month and a senior dev only a week or two]. This is why senior devs are entrusted with the bigger and more critical tasks. Further, the typical quality of work that a senior dev produces is much higher than what you'd get from a mid-level or a junior. I'm a senior dev and I cost the team a large amount of money to keep, but paying for just me is still significantly cheaper than paying a pair of mid-level designers or three/four juniors.

The next factor is that most big layoffs come after a project has shipped. This is because a given project is at its maximum headcount right before it ships - you need all hands on deck during full production, building and validating all of the content in the game. There needs to be other projects in development to pay for those people after the game launches. If the game launches well, a significant portion of the team can stay on to do post-launch content and the others can join in-progress projects at the studio or at other studios owned by the publisher. In the case of a bad launch the post-launch content gets cancelled because there just aren't enough players to make building the post-launch content financially viable and the people who were supposed to build it have no new project to pay for their salaries.

There's also the factor of how projects have different needs at different times. You always need a core team to get a project off the ground - engineering who can put together the foundations of the game, design that can prototype and build core gameplay, art that can establish a new visual standard for a new game. But you likely don't need an army of designers to build content for a game that doesn't have any core gameplay yet, gameplay engineers to flesh out systems that haven't been designed yet, artists to model and skin characters that haven't been concepted yet, or QA to test content that hasn't been built yet. You need those folks when you're in production and all of the groundwork has been laid.

These are the nominal reasons why job cuts always start from the bottom - the juniors and mid-levels have the least to do when a game gets cancelled or a bad launch happens and the cost to keep them all adds up significantly. The fact that it also shields decisionmakers and middle managers is, of course, also in there. This is also why I never offer or expect loyalty to or from an employer, especially a large publicly-traded one. They will never sacrifice their own survival (or even advantage) to keep me, so I should never expect more than a business relationship from them that could end at any time.

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[toskarin]

like most people who were online for at least 5 of the past 20 years, I did try to get into making video games, but it really quickly taught me that I'm a designer who despises programming

but unfortunately because of how the word designer got misused, that means I always have to explain "no I'm not an idea guy, I'm the one who takes the idea guy's money and turns his rambles into a workable prototype, and we're all gonna be in the news if the idea guy changes his mind after I've already spent a week writing out the turn resolution formulas and flowcharting the inventory system"

I hate doing ideas, I don't do ideas, do not make me do ideas

[sandplague]

pathologic 3 save & sound 2024 presentation

this is a quick attempt at a transcript of the presentation. I think I got most of it but there are some words I was unable to hear, I can't say I have a lot of practice doing this and that's on me so if any of you guys can help me I'll edit it asap

Ressa Schwarzwald: I'm Ressa from Gameowdio. Our team has been working on Pathologic 3 with Vasily Kashnikov and his apprentice Nikolai. This video will feature some of the audio stuff we've made together.

Our goal regarding audio direction was to give the real experience of being in the epicenter of an epidemic. Fully realistic, no bullshit. So we are obviously shooting this video in The Town. We realized pretty early that the game was quite different from the original Pathologic 2 because of the time travel mechanics. So for the prototype we built a time travel machine [the date November 1924 shows on screen], which appeared to be quite useful to record some source sounds, and [date changes to November 3024] make this video in just half a second using existing technology.

Let's start with the music.

Vasily Kashnikov: Hi, I'm Vasily Kashnikov, audio director of Pathologic 3 project. I'll tell you how our music is structured. We were already thinking about how the Bachelor's game would sound when we were working on Patholgic 2 and writing music for Haruspex. In Pathologic 2, the music had more ethnic and real motives (motifs?) and instruments. Since the city and its customs are familiar with Haruspex since he was a child, he is involved in the traditional way of life. In the case of Pathologic 3, this is the view of an outsider who evaluates everything from the point of view of rationality and science. Therefore, we are trying to make the Pathologic 3 soundtrack colder and more detached from the steppes and ethnicity in character. There is more synthesis, guitars at the same time, the Bachelor communicates with those in power so the soundtrack contains a large share of minimalist so-called furniture music that could sound in the beginning of the last century. Piano etudes and references to composers of that time: Satie, Debussy, etc. The soundtrack is a rather eclectic mix of dreampop, downtempo, and (?) minimalism.

In the city when the Bachelor is alone with himself, we emphasize the cold mind of the rhythm section: less emotional harmony, and sometimes electronic timbres. In the rooms where we need to separate the main character from those he interacts with, we use more expressive harmonies and more classical instruments: piano and guitar passages.

When we designed the interactive music system, we assumed that time is finite, and the music had to change depending on the amount of time the Bachelor had left. However, we later abandoned this system and now the music changes depending on the state of the Bachelor himself, who can fall into apathy or psychosis. To emphasize these states, we apply filters and effects to different layers of our tracks and get a slower, muffled sound in the case of apathy, and wired (?) nervous, glitchy in the case of psychosis. In the infected quarters, there are interactive systems that... [screen begins to distort] oh my god, Nataliya! Please stop this!

Nataliya Radina: Whoops, hehe, sorry. But yeah, basically the other system we created reflects everything you hear in the game. Such as... If we use our gun when dealing with the local thugs, the longer we aim the weapon at the people, the less sounds of the outside world we hear and the louder becomes the heartbeat. To add to the intensity, sharper tone was used along with a high pitch tinnitus sound. If the psychosis level goes to the maximum, it starts to damage Bachelor's health, which is accompanied by flashes on the screen, as well as low heartbeat and short breathing sounds.

Vasily Kashnikov: In the infected and rebel's quarters, there are also interactive systems that change the character of the music by adding or disabling instrument layers depending on the state of the world or the Bachelor's equipment to fight the plague. As a result, we have 12 tracks for each day spent in the city. they can freely switch between each other and several dozen themes for locations and characters, and all the music is subject to change depending on the state of the Bachelor.

Nataliya Radina: Since the game has a weather changing system, we also wanted to reflect that in our audio feedback as well. The game has global wetness parameter that shows how intense the rain is. The more it rains, the more squishy and muddy are the steps of the outside surfaces. Moreover, if you come closer to the window, you can hear the rain pondering on the glass. Even in the middle of the plague, we always have room for cozy moments, right? My favorite part of that system is involving cows. [cow moo]. So, when it's raining, you can actually hear very very soft sound of raindrops dropping on those bovine butts. And I personally think it's beautiful.

Artur Ramanouski: Hi, my name is Artur, and I was also involved in creating some sound assets for the game.

Probably the hardest thing to record were the footsteps. I had everything planned out: bought the equipment, got every type of surface, but...there was one small thing I overlooked: I live in a city with over 12 million people. Noise everywhere. The solution was simple and ingenious: I recorded everything on a Sunday, because in Buenos Ares, Sunday is the one day when no one does anything.

Nataliya Radina: One of the most important places in the game is the cathedral. There we have a system of ladders that control the speed and direction of time. Direction wise, we can have it flow normally, or reversed. [entire presentation is rewound very quickly so it's back to Ressa]

Ressa Schwarzwald: She is super professional.

Nataliya Radina: As for the speed, we can make it stand still, go twice as fast, or half normal speed. We created an audio system that has to (?) understand what is actually happening around (inaudible). When we reverse time, spatial effects are added to the surrounding sounds. Ambience, steps, and the mechanism itself. When time stands still, we increase the low frequencies in the ambience, and all the other sounds are muted to zero. Now lastly, when the time goes twice as fast, or half the original speed, the pitch of the surrounding sound changes accordingly.

The coolest part of this system is that it's been actually implemented into the game engine using only one parameter.

Ressa Schwarzwald: Thank you for watching. See you here, later!

[devdozes]

♥But I'm about to show you, baby, Slow Down

[a/n- hell yeah inspired by chase atlantic, fav song+fav character] - Reader is a weapon engineer, reader calls blade, "ren" and biker blade and drugs? *drools*

The workshop smelled like burnt metal and petrichor. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the mess of blueprints, half-assembled weapons, and scattered tools. The air was thick—too thick—yet chilly with the scent of competition.

You were hunched over your workbench, sleeves rolled up, smudges of grease staining your fingers. The prototype pistol in your hands was sleek, compact, damn near perfect—except for one thing.

"You’re wasting your time."

That familiar, deep voice cut through the silence like a blade—fitting, considering its owner.

You didn't look up, just clicked your tongue and continued adjusting the barrel alignment. "And you’re wasting oxygen, Ren."

Blade stood across from you, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded with that signature unimpressed stare. He was dressed in his usual—black hoodie, silver chains catching the light, gloves removed just enough to let his fingers rest against the cool metal of his own half-built design.

Your heartbeat kicked up, but you ignored it.

"What the hell are you even trying to do?" he asked, leaning over just enough to make it feel like he was in your space. "Your slide mechanism’s too tight. The recoil’s going to throw the whole thing off."

You finally looked up, eyes sharp. "No, it won’t. I factored in the kinetic distribution with—"

Blade scoffed. "Yeah? Show me the math."

You shoved a blueprint in his direction. He barely glanced at it before exhaling through his nose, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. That was the thing about him—he never needed to say much to piss you off. Just that stupid, knowing look was enough.

"You’re compensating too much for stability," he said, tapping the schematic with a gloved finger. "That much control sacrifices speed. Not practical in a real fight."

"And you’re always so obsessed with speed," you shot back, stepping closer. "What, is that a biker thing? Need every damn thing to be fast enough to feel something?"

Blade’s jaw ticked. Bingo.

He stepped even closer, and now you could feel the heat radiating off him, the scent of metal and something distinctly him—gasoline and cold air. "Speed wins fights. You should know that by now."

"Yeah? And stability keeps you alive," you challenged.

Silence. Thick, crackling. The tension between you stretched so tight it could snap. Your breaths were uneven, matching the erratic rhythm of your pulse.

Then, he smirked. Low, slow, like he enjoyed this way too much. "You’re getting worked up over nothing."

You scoffed, stepping back. "And you’re insufferable."

Blade tilted his head slightly. "You gonna prove me wrong, or just stand there and complain?"

Your grip tightened around the pistol frame. "Fine. Shooting range. Right now."

His smirk widened just a fraction, but his eyes darkened. "Try to keep up, bǎo bao."

Oh, you were about to wipe that smug look off his face.

The shooting range was nearly empty, save for a few students testing their designs at the far end. The air smelled of gunpowder and burnt casings, the distant sound of muffled gunfire echoing through the space.

Blade stood beside you, rolling his shoulders, exuding that effortless confidence that pissed you off just as much as it intrigued you. His half-assembled pistol gleamed under the dim lights, a sleek, high-speed design that screamed him—all precision, no hesitation.

You, on the other hand, had your own work of art. The prototype pistol you'd just been arguing over—built for both speed and stability, and now it was time to prove it.

"You know the drill," you said, sliding on your ear protection. "Five shots. Fastest and most accurate wins."

Blade didn't even look at you, just loaded a magazine into his pistol with a clean, mechanical click. "Try not to embarrass yourself."

You ignored the heat creeping up your neck and set up your stance. The target was twenty meters away, marked with red rings against a black background.

A slow inhale. The countdown blinked on the screen.

Three. Two. One.

The moment the buzzer went off, you moved on pure instinct.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

Each shot was calculated—fluid, precise, controlled. You barely felt the recoil, your modifications working exactly as intended. Your fingers reloaded on autopilot, and when you finally lowered your gun, you saw the results.

Five shots. Dead center.

Blade was only a fraction of a second behind, his bullets landing close—but not close enough. Two of his shots were slightly off, not enough to miss in a real fight, but enough to lose to you.

A slow smirk tugged at your lips. "Huh. Looks like speed isn’t everything after all."

Blade exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw tight. His gaze flicked to your target, then back to you. The usual unreadable expression, but something in his eyes was different. Darker. Amused.

Finally, he stepped closer, leaning in just enough for you to feel the heat off his skin. "You got lucky."

You tilted your head. "Or maybe you just underestimated me."

His lips twitched—just a little, just enough to tell you that he liked this. Liked the fight, the challenge, the way you refused to let him win.

"Maybe," he admitted, voice low, smooth like the hum of an engine on an open road. Then, he reached out, slow, deliberate—plucking the pistol from your hands. His fingers brushed yours, just barely, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

Blade turned it over, inspecting it. "Tch. Guess your design isn’t total trash."

You huffed. "High praise, coming from you."

He handed it back, but this time, his fingers lingered—just for a second. His eyes met yours, the weight of something unspoken pressing between you.

Then, he smirked. "Rematch. Midnight. If you’re not scared."

Oh, he was so not ready for the ass-kicking you were about to give him next.

The night smelled like rain and a faint hint of gasoline.

The city was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the soft patter of raindrops against pavement. Streetlights cast long reflections in puddles, turning the empty roads into a hazy dreamscape of orange and white.

You stood outside the shooting range, arms crossed, your breath misting in the cool air. The drizzle soaked into your clothes, sticking fabric to skin, but you didn’t care. The adrenaline from your win still pulsed in your veins, a slow-burning heat beneath the cold.

Then, you heard it—the low, familiar growl of an engine.

Blade’s bike pulled up to the curb, sleek and black, headlights cutting through the rain like a knife. He wasn’t wearing his helmet, letting the drizzle dampen his dark hair, stray strands sticking to his forehead.

He stopped beside you, one boot on the ground, the other resting on the pedal. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you through the misty air, his usual unreadable expression softened by the dim streetlights.

"You actually showed up," you said, tilting your head. "Didn’t think you’d want another loss so soon."

Blade scoffed, resting his forearm on the handlebar. "You think too much."

You raised a brow. "And you talk too little."

He didn’t deny it. Instead, his gaze flicked toward the empty road stretching ahead, rain slicking the asphalt into something almost reflective. Then, he reached into his pocket and tossed something your way. You caught it out of reflex.

A helmet.

You looked at him, confused. "What’s this?"

"You won," he said simply, voice smooth, low. "Figured you earned a ride."

A ride. On his bike.

The rain dripped down your fingers, the weight of the helmet sinking into your palm. Blade didn’t rush you, didn’t push—just sat there, watching, waiting, his presence steady and patient like the storm itself.

Maybe it was the leftover adrenaline, or maybe it was the way the rain made everything feel slower, heavier, more real.

You stepped forward, slipping the helmet on.

Blade didn’t say a word as you swung your leg over the seat, settling behind him. The second you wrapped your arms around his torso, you felt it—the way his muscles tensed for just a second before relaxing under your touch.

The bike rumbled beneath you, a steady vibration thrumming through your body.

"You sure you can handle this?" you teased, voice close to his ear.

Blade let out a slow exhale, then smirked. "Hold on."

And then—he took off.

The city blurred around you, streetlights stretching into golden streaks, raindrops slicing through the air like falling stars. The cold wind bit at your skin, but you barely noticed, too focused on the warmth beneath your fingertips, the steady rise and fall of his chest.

The world felt distant, hazy, like a dream you didn’t want to wake up from.

Blade rode fast, but not reckless. Every movement was controlled, precise—just like the way he fought, the way he was. And yet, in this moment, it felt like he was letting go, just a little, letting the night swallow him whole.

You rested your chin against his shoulder, half-lost in the sensation, the hum of the engine mixing with the rhythmic drumming of rain.

For once, it felt like you were both breathing.

And damn, it felt good. . . . . . . . .

The bike slowed, its deep rumble fading into a low purr as Blade pulled off the main road. The rain had softened into a mist, clinging to the air like a secret.

You blinked, taking in your surroundings. An old, abandoned parking lot stretched before you, cracked pavement littered with faded road lines. A few rusted-out cars sat forgotten in the corners, their windows long shattered. The place was dead, empty, yet somehow it felt alive—the kind of place that held echoes of things people wanted to forget.

Blade killed the engine.

The sudden silence was deafening. The only sounds left were the slow drip of rain from the metal beams above and the quiet thud of your heartbeat in your ears.

"You always take people to places like this?" you mused, fingers loosening around his jacket.

Blade huffed, tilting his head slightly but not looking back. "You’re not 'people.'"

That threw you off for a second.

You slid off the bike, the wet pavement cool under your boots. The second your feet hit the ground, you felt the absence of warmth, the missing hum of the engine, the way your body had molded against his during the ride.

Blade swung a leg over and got off too, pushing the kickstand down. He ran a hand through his rain-dampened hair, shaking some of the water off before glancing at you.

"Why here?" you asked, crossing your arms.

He leaned against the bike, slipping a green-apple flavoured lollipop between his lips but not lighting it. Just holding it there, like he needed something to occupy his hands.

"Quiet," he said simply. "No one to bother us."

Your lips curled. "Oh? And what exactly are we doing that we don’t want anyone to bother us for?"

Blade didn’t answer immediately. His eyes flicked to you, scanning, calculating, as if he was trying to decide whether he actually wanted to say what was on his mind.

Something about the way he looked at you made the cold feel warmer.

You stepped closer, just enough to test the space between you. "Let me guess. You wanted a rematch now?"

Blade exhaled, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. "You’d lose in the dark."

You huffed a laugh. "You’re still sore about earlier, huh?"

His gaze darkened—not angry, not annoyed, but something else. Something heavier.

"Maybe," he admitted, voice lower now, quieter. The air between you shifted.

The tension from the workshop, from the ride, from everything—it didn’t fade. It just changed, evolved, became something neither of you wanted to name.

Your breath came slower, more controlled. "You don’t like losing, do you?"

Blade’s fingers twitched at his side. His voice, when he finally spoke, was almost too soft.

"Not to you."

Something twisted in your stomach. The way he said it—like it meant something more, something deeper.

You swallowed. "Sounds like a personal problem."

Blade’s smirk widened just a little. But then, in a single, fluid motion, he pushed off the bike and closed the distance between you.

Not touching. Not yet. But close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him, the scent of rain and metal lingering in the air between you.

"You gonna do something about it?" he murmured breathlessly.

Your pulse jumped.

You should step back. Call his bluff. Say something smart, something sharp, something that would keep this dance going without giving in.

But for once, you didn’t want to.

The wind howled through the skeletal remains of the abandoned shelter, slipping through rusted beams and shattered windows. It was the kind of place that had seen its fair share of ghosts—the ghosts of long-spent bullets, of practiced shots fired into the void, of hands that once gripped triggers with purpose.

You stepped forward, running a hand along the cold metal of an old shooting bench, the faint scent of gunpowder still lingering after all these years.

"This used to be a long-range training ground," you murmured, half to yourself. "Government-funded, probably. Until it got shut down."

Blade didn’t answer, just watched as you traced your fingers along the surface of the table, the faintest smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He stood in the dim glow of a flickering exit sign, arms crossed, the lollipop still sitting between his lips.

Something about the sight of him—so effortlessly composed, so irritatingly unreadable—made your fingers twitch.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his. "What?"

Blade tilted his head slightly. "You stalling?"

You scoffed. "Not a chance."

Before he could respond, you stepped into his space, slow, deliberate. His smirk barely faltered, but his eyes tracked your every movement, watching as you reached up—fingers brushing against his jaw, slow and teasing—before plucking the lollipop right from his lips.

Blade’s breath hitched, barely noticeable, but you felt it.

You didn’t look away as you brought the sweet to your own lips, rolling it between them for a second before biting down, smirking.

"This," you said, voice lazy, "is mine now."

Blade let out a sharp exhale through his nose, something dangerously close to amusement flashing in his gaze. His tongue flicked against the inside of his cheek, jaw ticking—like he was debating whether to let this slide or take the challenge for what it was.

You didn’t give him the chance to decide.

You turned, walking toward the end of the shooting shelter, where old target stands still stood in the darkness, just barely visible under the glow of a few dying lights.

"You wanted a rematch?" you called over your shoulder, pulling out your pistol and spinning it once in your hand. "Let’s make it interesting."

Blade followed, slow and steady, the faint sound of his boots against the damp concrete sending a chill down your spine.

"Distance shooting," you continued, setting up. "No close-range, no speed advantage. Just pure accuracy."

Blade hummed, stopping beside you. "And if I win?"

You took the cigarette from your lips, tapping it against the table. "You won’t."

His smirk widened. "Confident."

"Always."

The air between you crackled.

Then—without another word, you both raised your guns.

Bang.

The first shot rang out, cutting through the rain.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Each bullet sliced through the night, embedding itself into the distant targets. The sound echoed through the shelter, bouncing off metal beams, mixing with the scent of rain and something electric.

The moment the final shot was fired, silence fell.

You both exhaled, lowering your weapons.

Then, the old, flickering target monitor lit up.

Your bullets—dead center. A perfect grouping.

Blade’s? Close. But not close enough.

You grinned, turning to him, smug. "Twice in one night. Damn, Ren, you losing your touch?"

Blade didn’t react immediately. He simply stared at the results, unreadable. But then—he let out a slow, quiet chuckle, shaking his head just slightly.

"You think this means you’ve won?" His voice was low, something dangerous curling at the edges.

Your smirk didn’t waver. "I know I’ve won."

Blade’s gaze flicked to the lollipop still in your hand.

Then, without warning—he leaned in.

Slow, smooth, effortless. Not touching you, but close enough that you could feel the ghost of his breath against your skin, close enough that the air between you felt like it might snap from the tension.

"Then," he murmured, voice like a slow-burning fuse, "put that between my lips and prove it."

Oh.

Oh, he was really playing this game now.

Your smirk didn’t waver. If Blade thought he could get under your skin with that little stunt, he had another thing coming.

You exhaled, slow and lazy, rolling the lollipop between your fingers like you were actually considering giving in. But instead of handing it back to him, you reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out something else.

Another lollipop but this time, Lemon flavoured.

Blade’s expression didn’t change, but you swore his eye twitched just slightly as you unwrapped it with exaggerated slowness. The faint scent of rose filled the damp air.

Then, without a damn ounce of hesitation, you shoved it into his mouth.

"Here," you drawled, voice dripping with mock laziness. "Since you’re so desperate to put something between your lips."

Blade blinked. Once. Twice. The hard candy rested between his teeth, the stick hanging slightly crooked.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then—

He bit down. Crunch.

The lollipop shattered in his mouth, the sharp snap echoing through the empty gun shelter.

You stared. "Bro, what the fuck—"

Blade chewed, swallowed, and licked his lips like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just crunched through a solid piece of candy like some kind of menace to society. Then, he tilted his head slightly, gaze locked onto you with an expression you really didn’t like.

A slow, deliberate smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

"You always carry those around?" His voice was smoother now, almost mocking.

You huffed, shoving the lollipop wrapper back into your pocket. "Yeah. Got a problem?"

Blade hummed, stepping closer—just enough that the space between you felt too small. The glow of the overhead exit sign flickered against his face, catching on the sharp angles of his jaw, the lazy glint in his eyes.

"Not at all," he murmured. "Just wondering how many more you’ve got. In case I break another one."

You squinted at him. "…I don’t like what that implies."

Blade said nothing. Just smirked.

You sucked your teeth, shaking your head as you turned away. "Freak," you muttered under your breath, but you didn’t miss the way his soft chuckle followed you as you walked.

Rain dripped from the rusted beams above, the distant city lights flickering through the mist. The night wasn’t over yet, but one thing was clear—

You’d won.

Again.

And Blade?

Well. He’d just have to deal with it.

The rain had eased into a soft drizzle by the time you both stepped out of the abandoned gun shelter. The streets glistened under the dim glow of the streetlights, puddles reflecting neon signs in fractured colors.

Blade walked ahead of you, the crunch of his boots against wet pavement steady, unhurried. His bike was still parked where he left it, sleek and waiting.

You tilted your head. "So… you driving me home or what?"

Blade glanced at you, expression unreadable. "You expect a ride after all that?"

You grinned, stepping closer. "Nah, I expect you to sit there and sulk after losing twice in a row. The ride is just a bonus."

Blade exhaled sharply through his nose—something between amusement and mild annoyance. Without a word, he pulled the helmet from his bike and shoved it against your chest, forcing you to take it.

You smirked. "That a yes?"

"Just get on."

You didn’t argue. With practiced ease, you slipped on the helmet, securing it before swinging a leg over the bike. The seat was still warm from before, the scent of rain and leather clinging to the air.

Blade got on right after, settling in front of you. His presence was steady, grounded, a solid weight between you and the night stretching ahead.

You leaned forward just slightly, resting your arms against his sides. "Try not to get us killed, yeah?"

Blade’s fingers twitched against the handlebars. "Hold on."

And then—he took off.

The city blurred around you, neon lights streaking through the rain-soaked streets. The bike cut through the night like a phantom, weaving effortlessly between empty roads and the distant hum of traffic.

The wind was cold against your skin, but the warmth of Blade’s body beneath your fingertips kept you grounded. The hum of the engine, the rhythmic thrum of the road—it was intoxicating in a way you couldn’t quite describe.

You sighed, letting your head rest against his shoulder, voice teasing. "Almost makes up for losing."

Blade didn’t respond right away. But then, barely audible over the roar of the engine—

"Shut up."

You grinned.

Yeah. This was fun. . . . . . . . The rain had stopped by the time Blade pulled up in front of your apartment complex, the bike humming beneath you before he cut the engine. The silence that followed was thick, heavy with something unspoken.

You didn’t move immediately. Neither did he.

The air was cool, damp with the lingering scent of rain, but the warmth from the ride still clung to you. Your fingers flexed against Blade’s jacket before you finally let go, pushing yourself off the bike with a slow stretch.

You unclipped the helmet and pulled it off, shaking out your hair before tossing Blade a smirk. "Not bad. Thought you’d drive more recklessly to make up for the loss."

Blade scoffed, taking the helmet from your hands. "If I wanted you to fall, I’d have done it already."

You snorted. "Charming."

Blade swung a leg over the bike, standing at his full height as he set the helmet down. For a moment, he just looked at you—nothing obvious, nothing too intense, but there.

You raised a brow. "What?"

He didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze flicked down—to the faint ghost of your hands lingering by your sides, to the slight tension in your posture, to the way you hadn’t turned to leave just yet.

You realized, with some amusement, that he wasn’t leaving either.

A slow, lazy grin spread across your lips. "You walking me to my door or something? Didn’t know you were such a gentleman."

Blade exhaled sharply, but instead of answering, he stepped closer.

Your breath hitched—not because you were intimidated, but because of the way he moved, like he wasn’t afraid to close the space between you. Like he wanted to see what you’d do.

Your apartment door was just a few steps away. But right now, with the way he looked at you under the dim streetlight, the distance felt irrelevant.

Your fingers twitched. The teasing remark at the tip of your tongue died before it could form.

Blade leaned in—just slightly. Not touching, not crossing that final line. Just close enough that you could feel him there.

"You should go inside," he murmured.

Your pulse thrummed, but you refused to let him have the upper hand. Instead, you smirked, tilting your head. "And if I don’t?"

Blade’s gaze flicked down to your lips—just a fraction of a second, but you saw it.

His expression didn’t change. But you could feel it now, more than before—the tension stretching between you, thin as a wire, dangerous if pulled the wrong way.

You could push it further.

Or you could walk away.

Your fingers itched to test the waters.

So, instead of answering, you reached into your jacket pocket, pulled out another lollipop—this time, a bright red one—unwrapped it, and without breaking eye contact—

You shoved it into his mouth.

Blade blinked, caught off guard for a split second as the candy hit his tongue.

You grinned, voice dripping with lazy satisfaction. "Since you seem to have a habit of putting things between your lips, figured I'd save you the trouble."

Blade’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let the lollipop sit there, meeting your gaze with something unreadable.

Then, slow as hell, he bit down.

Crunch.

You groaned, throwing your hands up. "Why do you keep doing that?!"

Blade smirked around the crushed remnants of the candy, turning away like he didn’t just commit another crime against sugar. "Go inside."

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "Fine. But next time, I’m driving."

Blade scoffed. "Over my dead body."

You flashed him one last grin before finally turning toward your door, stepping into the dim glow of your apartment hallway.

And just before you disappeared inside, you heard the deep rumble of Blade’s bike revving up again.

Your heart was still racing.

The stress had been creeping up on you for weeks now, slow and insidious.

Final exams were just around the corner, and between late-night projects, never-ending blueprints, and the gnawing pressure to prove yourself, you could feel yourself shutting down.

You hadn’t been to college in four days.

Blade had noticed after the first.

By the second, he was annoyed.

By the third, he was pissed.

By the fourth, he was worried.

You weren’t answering calls. Not responding to texts. It wasn’t like you to vanish without warning—at least, not without rubbing it in his face first.

So when his call went to voicemail again, something in his chest twisted, sharp and unfamiliar.

"Pick up your damn phone," he muttered under his breath, shoving it back into his pocket as he strode down the campus halls.

Blade wasn’t the type to search for people. But something felt off.

And if there was one thing he hated—more than losing, more than you—it was not knowing.

Which was how he found himself at the swimming facility.

He didn’t know why he thought of it first. Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was because you had mentioned once—offhand, in passing—that you liked the water. Something about how it made everything else feel quiet.

The pool area was dimly lit, abandoned this late at night. Water reflected against the tiles, eerily still.

And in the center of it—

You.

Floating, motionless.

For a second, Blade’s brain didn’t process it. All he saw was your body, suspended beneath the surface, limbs slack, hair fanned out like ink bleeding into water.

You weren’t moving.

The breath left his lungs.

Then—he was moving.

The next second, he was at the pool’s edge, kicking off his boots, not thinking, diving in.

The cold hit him instantly, but he pushed forward, cutting through the water with sharp, efficient strokes.

Reaching you.

Grabbing you.

Pulling you up.

His arm wrapped around your waist, hauling you to the surface. The second your head broke through, he sucked in a sharp breath, gripping your face. "Oi."

Your eyes fluttered open.

And you—

You blinked at him.

Calm. Unbothered. Like you hadn’t just been seconds away from making him have a heart attack.

Blade stared at you, water dripping down his face, chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. "The fuck are you doing?" His voice was tight, edged with something you almost didn’t recognize.

You tilted your head, still floating in his grip, and sighed. "I was relaxing."

Blade’s eye twitched. "Relaxing?"

"Yeah," you drawled, as if you weren’t literally in his arms in the middle of a damn swimming pool. "Helps me clear my head."

Blade inhaled, slow and deep, before exhaling through his nose. His hands were still on you—one gripping your wrist, the other splayed against your back. He could feel your heartbeat, steady against his palm.

You weren’t drowning. You weren’t dying.

But damn if you hadn’t just made his own heart stop for a second.

His grip tightened just slightly, jaw clenching. "Next time you want to disappear, at least warn me first."

You blinked at him, then smirked. "What, you worried about me, Ren?"

Blade let out a sharp breath, tilting his head back as if asking for patience. "Get out of the water before I drown you myself."

You laughed.

And maybe, just maybe—Blade’s pulse finally started to slow.

"You’re fucking unbelievable," he muttered, finally loosening his hold, only to push his fingers through his soaked hair, flicking water off.

You let yourself float backward slightly, arms spreading across the surface as you stared up at him, amused despite everything. "You jumped in after me."

Blade’s eye twitched. "Because I thought you were dead."

"Well, obviously, I wasn’t," you pointed out, flicking some water toward him. "But I appreciate the dramatics. Very heroic of you."

Blade didn’t react to the water you splashed at him. Didn’t react to your teasing.

Didn’t react the way he should have.

Instead, he looked at you with something unreadable, something that made the space between you feel heavier than the water pressing against your skin.

"You do this often?" His voice was quieter now, lower.

You blinked. "What?"

"This." His gaze flicked to the water surrounding you, then back to your face. "You disappear for days. Come here. Sink to the bottom and pretend the world doesn’t exist."

The way he said it—like he knew. Like he had already pieced it together in his head, every time you needed to escape, every time you went missing from the world.

You exhaled, letting your body drift, staring at the ceiling. "I just like the quiet," you murmured, voice softer than before. "It’s peaceful."

Blade didn’t answer right away.

Then—

"You didn’t even flinch when I pulled you up."

You turned your head, frowning slightly. "What?"

"You weren’t struggling. You weren’t gasping. Just—" Blade’s eyes searched yours, sharp and unreadable, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle that didn’t make sense. "—still."

You didn’t respond immediately.

Because you didn’t have an answer he’d like.

The truth was, you had gotten too used to it. The sensation of floating, of silence, of being somewhere else even when you were right there.

The world above water always felt heavier.

You glanced away. "It’s not that deep, Ren."

Blade scoffed, but there was no real heat behind it. "You were pretty damn deep a second ago."

You snorted. "Figuratively, dumbass."

Blade didn’t smile, but something in his posture eased—just a little. He reached up, rubbing the back of his neck, the adrenaline finally bleeding out of him.

And for the first time since he jumped in, you noticed.

The way his shirt clung to his skin, soaked through, outlining sharp lines of muscle. The way his usual composure had cracked, just enough to show something real underneath.

The fact that he had dived in without thinking.

For you.

Something warm curled in your stomach, and you weren’t sure if it was from the water or him.

"You’re a mess," you said finally, nodding toward his drenched clothes.

Blade exhaled sharply. "That’s your fault."

You hummed, tilting your head. "Guess I’ll owe you, then."

His gaze flicked to yours, something dark passing through his expression.

Then, slow as hell, he smirked.

"Yeah," he murmured. "You will."

Your stomach flipped.

Damn him.

You were sprawled across your bed, one arm draped over your face, the other holding your phone to your ear as you groaned into the receiver.

"I swear to god, I’m gonna lose my damn mind," you muttered, voice muffled against your pillow.

"Yeah, yeah," Silver Wolf’s voice crackled through the speaker, completely unfazed. "That’s what happens when you don’t study until the last minute. Your fault."

You rolled onto your side, glaring at the ceiling. "It’s not procrastination, it’s just—" You exhaled, pressing a hand to your temple. "I can’t focus. My head hurts. Everything looks like a mess when I try to read. Like my brain just… refuses to work."

"Sounds like a skill issue to me," Silver Wolf deadpanned.

"Shut up."

A beat of silence. Then—

"…You could just take something for it," she said casually.

You frowned. "Like what?"

"Focus meds," she said simply. "Stuff that helps clear brain fog, makes studying easier. I use ‘em sometimes when I grind for hours straight."

You hesitated. "That actually works?"

"Duh." You could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "There’s a solid brand I know. You can get it delivered in a day."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. Honestly? You were desperate. If you didn’t get your shit together soon, you were gonna crash and burn hard during exams.

"Fine," you grumbled. "Send me the link."

A few minutes later, the order was placed. You dropped your phone onto the bed, exhaling.

Hopefully, this would work.

The next day, you heard the knock at your door.

You blinked up from your desk, rubbing the exhaustion from your face. The delivery was here already?

Dragging yourself to the door, you pulled it open—

And nearly slammed it shut again.

"You?" you blurted.

Blade stood there, holding a small package in one hand, his other tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. His gaze was deadpan, completely unbothered, like he’d expected you to answer.

"Yeah," he said.

You stared at him, then at the package, then back at him.

"You’re the delivery guy?"

Blade lifted a brow. "Problem?"

You opened your mouth. Closed it. "I—What the fuck."

Blade shrugged, shifting the package slightly. "You ordering illegal shit or something?"

"No, I—" You exhaled sharply, snatching the package from his hands. "Why are you the one delivering this?"

He smirked slightly, tilting his head. "Guess I was in the area."

You squinted at him. "Bullshit."

Blade didn’t deny it.

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. "Whatever."

Turning on your heel, you stepped back inside, leaving the door open behind you. You could have shut it in his face, but knowing him, he’d just stand there anyway, being a menace.

Sure enough, Blade stepped inside, glancing around lazily as you sat back at your desk. He leaned against the wall, watching as you tore open the package.

"Didn’t think you’d actually buy that crap," he remarked.

You scowled. "I need to focus, okay? And Silver Wolf said it helps."

Blade huffed lightly. "Tch. You’re really that desperate?"

You shot him a look. "Yes."

Something in his expression flickered. Not quite amusement, not quite concern—just something unreadable, something that made your stomach flip in a way you didn’t like.

Then, he pushed off the wall, stepping closer. "Hurry up and take one, then."

You narrowed your eyes. "Why?"

He smirked. "I wanna see if you suddenly become a genius."

You threw the box at him. . . . . . . The first pill didn’t work instantly, obviously. But after an hour, you felt the difference.

The fog in your brain cleared. The words in your textbooks didn’t blur together. For once, you could sit still, focus, and actually retain the damn information.

It was a miracle.

And so, you kept taking them.

Every day.

It started as a casual thing—just one before studying, just one to keep up. But then, you realized how much easier it made everything. How the exhaustion faded, how you could push through longer, how your hands didn’t shake when you held your pen.

So you ordered more.

And more.

And every time, he was the one delivering them.

You didn’t know if it was a coincidence, if he chose to be the one bringing your orders, or if the universe just liked screwing with you. But every evening, without fail, a familiar knock would sound against your door.

And every time you opened it, Blade would be standing there.

Silent. Staring. Holding that damn package in his hand.

"You’re really hooked on this shit, huh?" He leaned against your doorframe one evening, flipping the small box in his hand. "Didn’t think you’d be the type."

You crossed your arms, unimpressed. "It helps."

Blade hummed, stepping inside without being invited. "You sure about that?"

You frowned. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

He tossed the package onto your desk, expression unreadable. "Nothing."

But the way he looked at you lingered, like he was waiting for something. Like he was watching.

Like he knew something you didn’t.

Despite everything—the stress, the meds, the late nights—the rivalry never died.

Blade was still an asshole in the workshop.

And you? You weren’t about to let him win.

"That’s never gonna work," Blade drawled, arms crossed as he leaned against the workbench, watching you sketch out a new rifle design.

You didn’t even look up. "Your opinion is noted and ignored."

His smirk deepened. "Oh? Guess I’ll wait until your prototype explodes, then."

You scowled, shoving your blueprint closer to him. "Look at this. Actually look. The barrel modification balances the recoil. It’s a compact, long-range hybrid—optimized for sniping and rapid-fire engagements."

Blade glanced at the blueprint, then back at you, unimpressed. "And?"

You jabbed your pen at him. "And it’s revolutionary, dumbass."

Blade exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "It’s ambitious. But it’s gonna overheat in under a minute if you don’t account for thermal regulation."

You blinked.

Then scowled deeper, flipping back to your notes. "Tch. I was getting to that."

Blade smirked like he had already won. "Sure you were."

You huffed, returning to your work, your fingers moving fast over your schematics.

The familiar push and pull between you felt like home—like a constant, unspoken game where neither of you wanted to back down.

You heard the clink of metal.

Glancing up, you saw Blade working on his own project, assembling the trigger mechanism of what looked like a new blade-integrated firearm.

You squinted. "That is never gonna work."

Blade shot you a knowing look. "Your opinion is noted and ignored."

You threw a wrench at him. Blade caught the wrench with one hand, barely glancing up. He set it down on the table like it was your problem now, before going right back to assembling his firearm.

"Tsk." You leaned back, crossing your arms. "Cocky bastard."

"You’re just mad because I’m right," he said, voice smooth and lazy.

You scoffed. "Right? You’re out here making a glorified kitchen knife with a trigger—"

"Tactical blade-firearm hybrid," he corrected.

"A stupidly overcomplicated gun with a knife attached," you shot back. "What, planning to stab someone mid-reload?"

Blade smirked. "If they’re close enough to stab, they’re already dead."

You narrowed your eyes. "That sounds like someone compensating for bad aim."

Blade let out a short, amused breath through his nose. His fingers worked smoothly, locking pieces into place with practiced ease. "Talk all you want. This’ll work."

You scoffed, stepping over to his side of the bench, looking at the gun up close.

It looked sleek, compact, deadly. The frame was lighter than you expected, the blade seamlessly integrated into the body—but your gaze flicked to the weight distribution, the way the grip aligned with the center of mass.

"Hmph. It’ll be imbalanced," you muttered, tapping the side with your finger. "You’ll have to adjust your aim to compensate."

Blade’s smirk didn’t waver. "Think I can’t handle that?"

"You could just fix it instead of making your life harder," you said, reaching over and snatching the gun from his hands.

Blade let you.

You turned it over in your hands, your mind already whirring through modifications, possible improvements. "If you adjust the weight in the hilt, you wouldn’t have to fight against the recoil so much—"

Blade leaned in slightly, voice dropping. "Oh? You’re helping me now?"

You paused.

Realized what you were doing.

And immediately shoved the gun back into his chest. "No, screw you. I’m not giving you free ideas."

Blade chuckled, low and smug, but he took the gun anyway, spinning it once before setting it back down. "Too late. I already got what I needed."

You gritted your teeth. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t."

You really should’ve thrown another wrench at him.

"You suck at designing weapons," you said, arms crossed, watching Blade work with a smug grin.

Blade didn’t even look up. "You just like hearing yourself talk."

"No, I like being right." You leaned against the workbench, eyeing the weapon he was fine-tuning. "But sure, keep pretending your Frankenstein gun-sword hybrid isn’t going to break your wrist."

Blade’s lips twitched, just slightly. "Worried about me?"

You scoffed. "Please. I just wanna be there when it backfires so I can laugh."

Blade hummed. "Funny. I was gonna say the same thing when your ‘revolutionary’ rifle melts itself in field conditions."

"It won’t," you snapped, jabbing a finger at him. "Because unlike some people, I know how to make a functioning weapon."

Blade finally looked up, eyes half-lidded, unreadable. "Then prove it."

You blinked. "What?"

His smirk deepened. "Come with me."

You narrowed your eyes. "Why do I feel like this is a setup?"

Blade simply stood up, grabbed his jacket, and nodded toward the door. "C’mon."

You hesitated—but your curiosity got the better of you. ☆☆☆☆☆

The night air was cool against your skin, the streets damp with fresh rain. Blade’s bike sat at the curb, sleek and black, the body gleaming under the dim streetlights.

"You brought me out here for this?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Blade swung a leg over the bike, smirking. "Scared?"

You clicked your tongue. "Tch. As if."

You stepped forward, sliding onto the seat behind him. The leather was cool, the scent of rain and motor oil filling your senses.

Blade glanced back slightly, voice smooth as ever. "Hold on."

You huffed, refusing to wrap your arms around him. "I’ll be fine—"

Blade suddenly revved the engine. The bike lurched forward.

"Shit—!"

On instinct, your hands grabbed onto his jacket, fingers clutching tight as the wind whipped past your face.

Blade let out a quiet chuckle, barely audible over the roar of the engine. "Told you."

You scowled into his back. "Shut up."

The streets blurred as he sped through the empty roads, the city lights flashing past in streaks of neon. The cool breeze, the hum of the engine beneath you—it was electric.

For a moment, you forgot about finals. About stress. About everything.

It was just the two of you, riding into the night.

The city melted into streaks of light as Blade weaved through the streets, the hum of the engine vibrating beneath you. The damp scent of rain clung to the air, mixing with the faint traces of gasoline and smoke.

You exhaled, letting your grip loosen slightly—not that you’d admit you had been holding on for dear life just moments ago.

Blade noticed.

"You’re finally relaxing," he mused, voice just loud enough to be heard over the wind.

You rolled your eyes. "Relaxing isn’t the word I’d use."

He let out a low chuckle, turning onto an empty road. "Admit it," he drawled. "You like this."

You hated how you couldn’t argue.

Instead, you ignored him, tilting your head as you realized where he was going.

"This isn’t the way back," you muttered, squinting as you took in the road signs.

Blade didn’t answer. He just kept driving, the roar of the bike filling the silence.

Then, the buildings thinned out, replaced by abandoned lots, cracked pavement, and a faded sign that was barely legible in the dark.

Your eyes widened slightly. "Wait."

The bike slowed to a stop.

The area was eerily quiet, save for the distant hum of the city behind you. The scent of rusted metal and rain lingered in the air.

"This is—"

"The old gun shelter," Blade finished, killing the engine. He slid off the bike, glancing at you over his shoulder. "Perfect spot for a rematch, Since we did our first match here, didn't we?."

Your heart jumped.

Your gaze flicked to the worn-down facility, the overgrown weeds peeking through the cracks in the pavement. The remnants of a long-range shooting range stretched ahead, distant targets barely visible under the dim moonlight.

You turned back to Blade, your lips curling into a smirk.

"You’re on."

The tension in the air wasn’t just from the upcoming rematch.

Something heavier hung between you and Blade, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to strike.

You took a step toward the range, scanning the abandoned shelter. The targets were old, rusted, but still intact. The remnants of bullet casings crunched under your boots as you approached one of the benches.

Blade didn’t move.

Instead, he watched you—really watched you, arms crossed, jaw set.

Then, he finally spoke. "How long have you been taking those pills?"

Your breath hitched.

For a moment, you pretended you didn’t hear him, running a hand over the dusty surface of the workbench. "Tch. I knew you’d find a way to kill the mood."

"Answer me."

You exhaled through your nose, turning to face him with an annoyed look. "Why do you care?"

Blade’s eyes darkened. "Because I see what they’re doing to you."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You look like shit." His words were blunt, cutting through the space between you. "Your hands shake when you think no one’s looking. You’re running yourself into the ground just to keep up."

Your fingers clenched into fists. "I’m fine."

"No, you’re not."

The way he said it—so certain, so unshakable—made your stomach twist.

You forced out a laugh, rolling your shoulders. "It’s just to help me focus. What, suddenly you’re my doctor now?"

Blade didn’t take the bait. "You don’t need them."

"You don’t get to decide that," you snapped, stepping closer, the frustration bubbling up in your chest. "You don’t know what it’s like to be drowning in work, to have your brain refuse to cooperate when you need it most. I need them, Blade."

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze unreadable. "That what you keep telling yourself?"

Your breath caught.

For a split second, you saw something in his eyes—something deeper than annoyance, deeper than frustration.

Concern.

You swallowed, forcing your voice to stay steady. "I don’t owe you an explanation."

Blade exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "You’re smarter than this. You know exactly where this leads."

You bit the inside of your cheek, pulse pounding. "I can handle it."

"You shouldn't have to."

Silence stretched between you, thick with tension. The distant sound of rain dripping onto metal filled the void.

Your fingers twitched.

You hated this. Hated the way his words clawed at something raw inside you. Hated that he was seeing too much.

So you did what you always did.

You deflected.

You reached into your pocket, pulled out a lollipop, and without warning, shoved it right into Blade’s mouth.

"Shut up and shoot, lover boy."

Blade blinked.

Then, slowly, he bit down on the lollipop stick, his expression unreadable.

And just like that, the storm in his eyes shifted—not gone, just… put on hold.

For now.

The dim glow of your desk lamp barely cut through the darkness of your room. Empty water bottles, scattered notes, and half-finished blueprints cluttered the surface, the organized chaos a reflection of your mind.

Your hands trembled as you stared at the empty pill bottle on your desk.

Shit.

You swallowed hard, fingers twitching as you ran your tongue over your teeth. Your head ached, a dull, pulsing throb pressing against your skull. Your body felt heavy, muscles sore from exhaustion, stress wrapping around you like a vice.

It had been too long since your last dose.

Your focus had already been slipping, thoughts sluggish, movements clumsier than usual.

You needed more.

With stiff fingers, you reached for your phone and placed the order.

It didn’t take long.

A knock came at your door, sharp and deliberate.

You barely had the energy to roll your eyes. Of course.

Dragging yourself up, you made your way over, unlocking it without a word.

Blade stood on the other side, his usual unreadable expression in place. The rain had dampened the edges of his jacket, dark strands of hair sticking slightly to his forehead.

Wordlessly, he held out the package.

You grabbed it, ripping it open before he could say a damn thing. The bottle was cool in your palm, the pills inside rattling softly. But something about them felt… off.

Your brows furrowed.

You turned the bottle in your hand, scanning the label, the way the pills were slightly different in shape, a little heavier.

Your gaze flicked back up to Blade. "These aren’t the same."

He met your eyes, expression unmoving. "It’s a stronger dosage."

Your grip tightened.

A beat of silence passed.

Then—

"What the fuck did you do?"

Your grip on the bottle tightened, nails digging into your palm as your pulse spiked.

Blade didn’t flinch. Didn’t look the slightest bit guilty. He just stood there, watching.

Your breath came out sharp. "A stronger dosage?" you repeated, voice low and edged with disbelief. "Are you out of your damn mind?"

"You need to stop," Blade said, tone calm—too calm, like he had already made up his mind about this.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "So you just—what? Thought you’d play doctor? Thought you could fuck with my meds?"

Blade exhaled through his nose, gaze steady. "I thought you were smarter than this."

Your stomach twisted. "Don’t pull that shit on me. You don’t get to decide what I do with my body, Blade.*"

"Then do it." His voice was cold now, cutting through the haze in your mind. "Take them."

You blinked. "What?"

"Go ahead." He gestured lazily to the bottle in your hand. "If you really need them, if they really help, then take them. Right now."

Your breath hitched.

Your fingers trembled around the bottle, heartbeat hammering in your chest.

Because you wanted to. You needed to. The ache in your muscles, the fog in your mind—it would go away if you just took the damn pills.

And yet.

You hesitated.

Blade took a slow step forward. "See?" His voice was softer now, but still firm. "You know something’s wrong."

Your jaw clenched. "Fuck you."

"I’m not the one poisoning myself."

Your nostrils flared, anger bubbling up in your chest. "You have no idea what it’s like, Blade. You don’t know what it feels like to be drowning in work, to feel like your brain is fighting against you every second of the day.*"

Blade’s expression didn’t change, but his voice dropped lower. "And you think this is fixing it?"

"I don’t need you to fucking fix me!" The words burst out before you could stop them, raw and sharp. "I need to be able to function. I need to fucking focus. And if this is the only way, then I’ll take it."

Blade’s jaw ticked. "Even if it kills you?"

Your breath caught.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the rain outside, the faint hum of the city beyond your door.

Your fingers twitched around the bottle.

Blade watched you carefully, his next words quieter—but they hit harder.

"If you really needed it, why does it scare you now?"

You hated how your throat tightened. How something inside you cracked just a little.

You swallowed thickly, forcing the lump down. "Get out."

Blade didn’t move.

"Get out, Blade."

A tense beat passed. Then, finally, he exhaled through his nose, stepping back.

"I’ll see you tomorrow," he said simply, before turning and walking off into the rain.

The door clicked shut.

You stood there, bottle still clenched in your fist, heart pounding against your ribs.

And for the first time in weeks—

You didn’t know if you should take the pills or throw them away.

The next day, the pills sat on your desk.

You told yourself you wouldn’t take them. That you’d be fine without them.

But the headache was unbearable. Your body ached like you had gone through hell and back, muscles stiff from the stress and lack of proper rest. Your mind was sluggish, thoughts dragging like lead.

And finals were coming.

You didn’t have time to be weak.

So you took them.

And then you ordered more.

Blade didn’t say a word when he showed up with the next delivery.

Didn’t comment on the dark circles under your eyes, the way your hands shook slightly as you reached for the package. Didn’t mention how you barely met his gaze before shutting the door in his face.

But you felt it.

That unspoken tension. That waiting.

Like he was watching. Like he was keeping count.

Like he was waiting for you to break.

And maybe a part of you hated that.

But not enough to stop.

The results were posted.

Your name was at the top.

First place.

You should have felt something. Pride, relief—anything. But as you stared at the screen, all you felt was a dull, empty numbness beneath the exhaustion weighing down on you.

It was over.

The late nights, the headaches, the constant battle against your own body—it had paid off.

Hadn’t it?

People around you whispered, murmuring in surprise at your ranking. Some congratulated you. Some just looked on in disbelief. You barely processed any of it.

You just turned and left.

Your body moved on autopilot. The moment you got back to your room, you collapsed onto the bed, limbs heavy, eyes barely staying open.

The weight of exhaustion, of everything, finally dragged you under.

And for the first time in weeks, there were no deadlines, no studying, no expectations.

Just silence.

Just sleep.

Just—

Darkness. . . . . . . Blade knew something was wrong the moment you didn’t show up.

No smug remark about beating him in the rankings. No lazy quip about how of course you got first. No sign of you at all.

So he went looking.

When he got to your room, the door was unlocked.

His stomach twisted.

Pushing it open, he found you sprawled across the bed, unmoving.

His breath hitched.

For a second, his mind flashed back to the pool. The way you’d floated there, eerily still, like you weren’t even there anymore.

He was at your side in an instant.

"Hey." His voice was low, sharp. He shook your shoulder, fingers pressing against your pulse point—steady, but too faint for his liking.

Your skin was warm, clammy. Your breathing was shallow.

His jaw tightened.

He told you this would happen.

He warned you.

And now here you were—pushed past your limits, running on empty.

Grinding his teeth, he muttered a curse under his breath before lifting you with ease.

You didn’t wake up.

Didn’t stir.

Didn’t fight him.

And somehow, that worried him more than anything else

Blade wasn’t the type to panic.

But the way your body wouldn’t move, the way your breathing was so faint—it pissed him off.

Not at you.

At himself.

He should have stopped you sooner. Should have done something before you reached this point. But you were stubborn, sharp-edged, reckless, and he knew you wouldn’t have listened.

Still, he should’ve tried harder.

With careful movements, he carried you over to the couch, laying you down before grabbing the closest bottle of water.

"Oi." His voice was low but firm as he tapped your cheek lightly. "Wake up."

Nothing.

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

He exhaled sharply before unscrewing the cap, tilting the bottle slightly against your lips. The water touched your skin, and at first, nothing happened. Then, after a few seconds—

You stirred.

A sharp inhale, a twitch of your fingers, your body tensing slightly as your eyes cracked open.

Disoriented. Unfocused. Exhausted.

"Took you long enough," Blade muttered, pressing the bottle into your hand. "Drink."

Your brows furrowed, confusion flickering in your gaze. Your throat was dry as you croaked, "What…?"

"You passed out." His voice was flat, but there was a sharpness to it, something unspoken. "How long has it been since you actually took care of yourself?"

Your mind was slow, sluggish, struggling to process. You blinked at him, then at the water in your hand, the realization settling in.

You had collapsed.

Everything you pushed through—every sleepless night, every pill, every moment of exhaustion you ignored—it all came crashing down the moment your body gave out.

And Blade was the one who found you.

A bitter laugh caught in your throat. "So, what, are you here to say ‘I told you so’?"

Blade’s expression didn’t change. "No." He leaned back slightly, arms crossing over his chest. "I’m here to see if you’re still alive. And to remind you that first place doesn’t mean shit if you kill yourself getting it."

You opened your mouth to argue.

But for once—

You had nothing to say.

Your fingers curled weakly around the water bottle, thoughts still sluggish.

Blade was still watching you. That unreadable expression, that sharp gaze—like he was waiting for something.

You took a slow sip of water, letting the cool liquid soothe your throat. Then, voice rough, you muttered, "I’m fine."

Blade scoffed. "You passed out for who-knows-how-long and looked half-dead when I found you. You’re not fine."

You rolled your eyes. "Whatever. Finals are over. It’s done. I won.*"

"And what exactly did you win?" His voice was sharp now, cutting. "You’re running on nothing, running yourself into the ground like an idiot, and for what?"

You huffed, looking away. "You wouldn’t get it."

"Try me."

Silence.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to sit up despite the exhaustion weighing you down. The room spun slightly, but you ignored it. "I just needed to get through this. That’s all."

Blade’s jaw ticked. "And the pills?"

Your body tensed automatically. You had been ordering them daily—taking them without a second thought, depending on them to function.

But something felt off lately.

The side effects weren’t hitting as hard. Your hands didn’t shake as much. Your head still hurt sometimes, but not in the way it used to.

You frowned. "What about them?"

Blade didn’t respond right away.

Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a familiar-looking bottle, and tossed it into your lap. You caught it on reflex, staring at it in confusion.

Then, you looked closer.

Your stomach dropped.

Vitamins.

Your breath hitched, fingers tightening around the bottle. "What—"

"You were tearing yourself apart." Blade’s voice was quiet now, but firm. "You weren’t eating. You weren’t sleeping. You didn’t give a shit about your own body. So I switched them."

Your heart pounded against your ribs. "You—"

"If I told you the truth, you wouldn’t have taken them."

You felt like the ground had been ripped out from under you.

Every single pill you had taken for the past few weeks. Every order, every delivery—

All of it.

It had just been vitamins.

"You lied to me," you breathed.

Blade held your gaze, unwavering. "Yeah."*

You didn’t know whether to punch him or—

Or thank him. . . . . . . Your fingers trembled around the bottle.

It was a cruel joke. A sick punchline.

Every single pill—the ones you depended on, the ones you told yourself you needed—were just vitamins.

"You lied to me."

Your voice came out low, almost dangerous, but Blade didn’t flinch.

"Yeah."*

The air between you was razor-sharp, humming with something unspoken, something volatile.

Your breath came shallow as the realization crashed into you. "You— I—I relied on these. I needed them, Blade. You—" You cut yourself off, throat tightening, fingers pressing into the bottle hard enough to make the plastic creak. "You tricked me."

"I saved you."* His tone was calm, measured, but there was an edge to it—something firm, unyielding. "If I gave you the real shit, you would’ve run yourself into the ground. You already were."

"That wasn’t your decision to make."

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

Blade leaned in slightly, elbows resting on his knees, eyes locked onto yours with quiet intensity. "It was when you started killing yourself over a damn ranking."

Your lips parted—ready to snap back, ready to throw something, anything, at him—

But you had nothing.

Because he was right.

And that only made you angrier.

"You don’t get to control me," you spat.

"And you don’t get to destroy yourself right in front of me and expect me to do nothing," Blade shot back, voice still maddeningly steady, maddeningly calm despite the heat simmering between you.

You pushed yourself up from the couch too fast. Your vision swam, legs weak, body protesting after weeks of neglect. But you refused to let yourself falter, refused to let him see just how deep you had let yourself sink.

"I didn’t need saving."*

Blade’s gaze didn’t waver. "Then why did you take them?"

You froze.

His words sliced through you like a well-placed blade, lodging themselves deep into the part of you that you tried to ignore—the part that was exhausted, running on fumes, barely holding on.

You took them because you did need something. Because you were barely functioning. Because, deep down, you knew you couldn’t keep up on your own.

But you didn’t want to admit it.

Not to him. Not to yourself.

The tension between you burned.

Blade sighed, running a hand through his hair before leaning back against the couch. "First place isn’t worth this, y’know."* His voice was quieter now, almost unreadable. "You win, yeah. But at what cost?"

The same thought had lingered in your head ever since you saw your name at the top of the rankings.

You should have felt victorious.

Instead, you just felt empty.

The silence stretched between you, thick and charged, like a live wire waiting to snap.

You wanted to be angry.

You were angry.

But underneath it—underneath the frustration, the exhaustion, the weight of everything—there was something else.

Something you didn’t want to name.

Blade was still watching you, eyes half-lidded, unreadable, like he was waiting for you to lash out, waiting for you to do something.

Instead, you just exhaled sharply and muttered, "You’re such a bastard."*

His lips curled slightly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And yet, here you are, still talking to me."*

You scowled, but the usual fire behind it was dim, flickering. He was right. You could’ve pushed him away, could’ve told him to leave—but you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

The weight of his gaze pressed against you, pinning you in place. The tension between you was different now—not just anger, not just frustration. It was closer. Sharper.

He was too close.

Or maybe you were the one leaning in.

Your fingers tightened around the bottle, knuckles white. "You think this is funny?"

"No."* His voice was lower now, quieter. "I think you’re stubborn as hell. And reckless. And—" He paused, tilting his head slightly, the way a predator does before striking. "—you look like you’re about to collapse again."*

You scoffed, looking away. "I’m fine."*

A sharp exhale. Then, before you could react—

Blade’s hand was under your chin, tilting your face back toward him.

Your breath hitched.

The touch wasn’t rough—it was firm, his fingers calloused from years of work, warm against your skin. He wasn’t holding you there, wasn’t forcing you to stay still, but the weight of his touch was enough to send a shiver down your spine.

"You never know when to stop," he muttered, his thumb ghosting over your jawline before pulling away just as fast.

The warmth lingered.

Your heart was pounding now, beating erratically against your ribs, but you refused to let it show.

Instead, you smirked, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck. "And what, you’re here to teach me?"

Blade leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose. "Someone has to."*

You could still feel the ghost of his touch against your skin, could still hear the weight behind his words.

You should’ve been annoyed.

You should’ve shoved him away, snapped at him, something.

But instead, you just stared at him, at the way the dim light cast sharp shadows across his features, at the way his eyes darkened just slightly when he looked at you.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure what pissed you off more—

The fact that he had lied to you.

Or the fact that, for some reason, you didn’t really mind.

The weeks passed, but the distance between you and Blade remained.

You still saw him in class, still caught glimpses of him in the workshop, but neither of you spoke much. Conversations were reduced to curt nods, brief exchanges when necessary. The tension still lingered, thick and unspoken, hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.

And maybe that was fine.

Maybe that was better.

But then there were moments—fleeting, sharp moments—where you'd catch him staring. Where his gaze would linger just a second too long before he looked away, like he was waiting for something.

You never gave him the satisfaction.

Not anymore.

☆☆☆☆☆

The abandoned gun shelter was exactly how you left it.

Dark. Silent. Empty.

Good.

You set your bag down, rolling your shoulders, inhaling deeply as you pulled out your custom-made handgun. The weight of it in your hands was familiar, grounding.

You loaded the first round, cocked the gun, and took aim.

Bang.

The first shot rang out, echoing in the empty space.

Bang. Bang.

You weren’t thinking—just moving, letting the recoil shake through your arms, letting the sharp bursts of noise drown out the static in your head.

You had been keeping everything inside. The stress. The exhaustion. The frustration. You needed this.

Your phone buzzed in your bag, but you ignored it.

Then it buzzed again. And again.

You shot faster.

Empty magazine. Reload.

More shots. More echoes.

Your pulse thrummed in your ears, but you didn’t stop.

Didn’t want to stop.

Your phone kept buzzing, screen lighting up over and over again. Messages. Calls.

You didn’t need to check to know who it was.

You ignored it anyway.

Blade wasn’t the type to worry.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

But when the clock hit midnight and you still hadn’t responded, when his texts went unread and his calls rang into silence, when you didn’t show up to class or even the workshop—

He knew something was wrong.

You had a bad habit of shutting people out. He had seen it before—how you buried yourself in work, in danger, in anything just to avoid facing whatever was eating away at you. He had seen the signs: the way you stopped talking, the way your energy shifted, the way your eyes carried that familiar weight again.

And now, you were gone.

Blade leaned against his bike, gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles turned white.

[ 10:13 PM ] Blade: Where are you. [ 10:37 PM ] Blade: Pick up. [ 11:02 PM ] Blade: Answer your phone. [ 11:45 PM ] Blade: If you don’t reply in five minutes, I’m coming to find you.

Nothing.

No response. No read receipts.

Nothing but silence.

A sharp exhale left him, jaw tightening as he ran a hand through his hair.

Then, without another second of hesitation, he swung onto his bike.

The engine roared to life, the sound splitting through the quiet of the night. His fingers clenched around the throttle, muscles coiled with tension.

And then—

He hit full speed.

The city blurred past him in streaks of neon and rain-slicked pavement. He weaved through empty roads, pushing his bike to its limit, the wind biting against his skin. Every second wasted felt like a countdown to something worse.

His mind raced through the possibilities.

Had you collapsed again? Overworked yourself into unconsciousness? Or were you somewhere else, somewhere dark, somewhere dangerous, where no one could reach you?

He grit his teeth.

No. He wasn’t going to let himself think like that.

Not until he found you.

And he would find you . . . . . . Blade was never the kind of man to panic.

But this—this was different.

This was you.

And when it came to you, nothing about him was rational.

His grip on the throttle was tight, fingers aching, but he didn’t loosen them. He couldn’t. The thought of you—alone, unresponsive, possibly hurt—dug its claws into his chest and refused to let go.

The only thing running through his mind was you. You. You. You.

Where were you?

What were you thinking?

Why the fuck weren’t you answering him?

His phone vibrated in his pocket—another unanswered call. His stomach twisted. His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out the sound of his own breath.

You drove him insane. You always did.

From the moment he met you, you had tangled yourself into the deepest parts of him, weaving through the cracks in his armor with that sharp tongue, that fire in your eyes, that recklessness that made him want to shake you and worship you all at once.

You pissed him off.

You consumed him.

And now, with nothing but silence on the other end, with nothing but the thought of you somewhere out there, alone—

It ruined him.

Blade gritted his teeth and twisted the throttle further.

Faster.

Find her. Find her. Find her.

The city blurred past him, headlights streaking like ghosts in the night, but all he could see was you. The way you always pushed yourself too far. The way you brushed off exhaustion like it didn’t matter. The way you never fucking learned.

And yet, he knew why you did it.

He knew because he saw himself in you.

And that was the worst part.

He wasn’t going to let you break yourself apart—not like this. Not when he was the only one who saw you, the only one who knew you, the only one who—

The gun shelter.

Realization slammed into him, a gut instinct so strong it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.

That’s where you are.

Blade swerved hard, tires skidding against wet pavement, his heart hammering. He was almost there.

Just hold on.

Just wait for him.

The abandoned gun shelter came into view, swallowed in darkness, rain beating down on the rusted structure. Blade barely slowed down as he skidded to a stop, his bike groaning under the force.

The second his boots hit the ground, he was moving.

His pulse was a snarl of static, white-hot and relentless. He barely registered the way the rain soaked through his clothes, the way his breath came ragged and uneven. His focus was singular—you.

He shoved open the shelter door, the creak of rusted hinges splitting through the air.

Gunfire.

A sharp, clean shot rang through the hollow space.

Then another.

Then another.

You were here.

Blade exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling with something that was equal parts relief and frustration. His hands curled into fists as he stepped inside, eyes adjusting to the dim glow of flickering light.

And there you were.

Standing at the far end of the shelter, back turned to him, posture taut. Your hand was steady as you lifted your custom-built gun, pulling the trigger again and again, the recoil barely phasing you. Bullet casings littered the ground at your feet.

You didn’t notice him.

Didn’t hear him.

Didn’t even sense him.

And that sent something dangerously close to fury curling in his stomach.

Blade exhaled through his nose, stepping forward. The heavy thud of his boot against the concrete finally made you freeze.

You lowered your gun slightly, shoulders stiffening.

Then—slowly, lazily—you turned your head.

Your eyes met his.

And Blade—Blade, who had spent the past hour tearing through the city on his bike, who had nearly lost his fucking mind thinking something had happened to you—felt something sharp and agonizing tighten in his throat.

Your expression was unreadable. Your gaze flickered to his rain-soaked clothes, his wind-ruffled hair, the way his fists clenched at his sides. And then—casually, like you hadn’t just driven him to hell and back—you sighed.

“What.”

Your voice was flat, irritated.

Blade stared at you, something dark and unbearable twisting in his chest.

“What the fuck,” he said, voice low, steady, deadly, “are you doing?”

You arched a brow. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Blade closed the distance between you in an instant.

You barely had time to react before he was in front of you, towering over you, eyes burning. His presence was suffocating, electric, charged with something you couldn’t name.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, voice dangerously quiet, he murmured—

“You didn’t pick up.”

Something flickered across your face. Guilt? Frustration? You weren’t sure. But you refused to let yourself falter.

“I didn’t feel like talking.”

Blade’s jaw tightened. His hand twitched at his side, like he was stopping himself from grabbing you, from shaking you.

“You didn’t feel like talking,” he echoed, voice edged with something deadly. “So you just disappeared?”

You exhaled through your nose. “I didn’t disappear. I just needed to clear my head.”

Blade let out a sharp, humorless laugh. It was bitter. Rough.

“Clear your head,” he repeated. “So instead of answering your fucking phone, you decided to come here—alone—at midnight?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m fine.”

Blade’s expression darkened.

“You think I give a shit about fine?”

The words hit you like a strike.

You opened your mouth—to argue, to snap back, to say anything—but then Blade did something unexpected.

He reached up—slowly, deliberately—and brushed his fingers against your jaw.

It was barely a touch. A whisper of contact. But it was intense, like fire licking at your skin.

You sucked in a breath.

“You do this every time,” he murmured. His voice was low, almost dangerous. “Every time you’re about to break, you run off somewhere alone, acting like nothing fucking matters.”

His thumb ghosted over your cheekbone, tracing the rain that dripped down your skin.

“I’m not letting you do that anymore.”

Your heartbeat slammed against your ribs, fast, erratic. You could feel the heat rolling off of him, the sharp intensity of his gaze, the unspoken weight of everything he wasn’t saying.

“Blade—”

“You drive me insane,” he muttered, eyes locked onto yours.

Then, without warning, he reached into his pocket—pulled something out—

And before you could react, he shoved it into your mouth.

A lollipop.

Your brain short-circuited.

You blinked. Hard.

Blade’s lips curled into something sharp, something teasing, something that sent heat curling in your stomach.

“Same sassu responses, huh?” he murmured, tone mocking. “Now you have something to shut you up.”

You narrowed your eyes, biting down on the candy with force. “You asshole.”

Blade just smirked.

And fuck—that smirk should not have made your knees feel weak. . . . . . . You barely had time to process what just happened—the heat of Blade’s body, the way he looked at you, the fact that he had just shoved a damn lollipop into your mouth—when suddenly, everything tilted.

Before you could even think of a retort, your world flipped upside down.

Your breath hitched.

What the—?!

One second, you were standing your ground, ready to snap back at him— The next, you were lifted off the fucking ground, tossed over Blade’s shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“What the hell—?!” You yelped, your fists instinctively smacking against his back.

Blade didn’t even flinch.

His grip was solid, his arm locked around your waist in an iron hold that you knew you wouldn’t break unless you actually wanted to fight him.

“Put me down, you bastard!” you snapped, thrashing in his grip.

Blade let out a sharp breath—half amusement, half exasperation—before effortlessly using his other hand to scoop up your gun and bag from the ground.

Like this was nothing to him.

“Blade—” You kicked your legs, but he only tightened his hold.

“I’ve had enough of your bullshit,” he muttered. His voice was calm, but you could hear the underlying tension. The frustration. The concern.

The way he yearned.

You gritted your teeth, glaring daggers at the side of his face. “I can walk.”

“You had your chance,” Blade said flatly, not even looking at you. “Didn’t take it.”

The nerve of this man—

The absolute audacity—

You huffed, biting down on the lollipop in your mouth with unnecessary force. “This is kidnapping.”

Blade let out a quiet chuckle. “Then call the cops.”

Your eye twitched.

You were going to kill him.

You should kill him.

But the worst part?

You didn’t hate this.

The warmth of his body against yours, the effortlessness of how he handled you, the fact that he was carrying your gun and bag without question—

You swallowed hard.

No. No, you weren’t going to let yourself think about that.

The cold night air bit at your skin as Blade stepped out of the shelter, his boots heavy against the wet pavement. Rain continued to pour, soaking into your clothes, but Blade moved with purpose, unwavering.

And then—there it was.

His bike.

You stilled slightly.

Blade finally came to a stop beside it, shifting you in his grip just enough to slide your gun and bag into a secured compartment. Then, with a ridiculous amount of ease, he flipped you forward—

And you suddenly found yourself sitting on the bike, straddling it, the metal cold against your thighs.

You barely had time to blink before Blade swung one leg over, settling right behind you.

Your breath hitched.

His chest pressed against your back. His arms caged around you, his hands gripping the handles of the bike.

Heat coiled in your stomach.

You swallowed. Hard.

The rain blurred the neon lights around you, casting everything in a soft, electric glow. The world felt too quiet, despite the storm. Despite the roaring pulse in your ears.

Blade leaned in, voice brushing against the shell of your ear.

“You’re not running anymore.”

And then—

The engine roared to life.

The ride back was silent.

Not in a comfortable way. Not in a tense way. Just… heavy. Like neither of you wanted to address the storm between you—the unspoken words, the lingering glances, the way your body still remembered his warmth.

The rain hadn’t stopped. It dripped from your clothes, traced cold rivulets down your skin. Blade’s grip was firm on the handles, his chest solid against your back, his body radiating heat despite the chill in the air.

And you?

You didn’t know what the fuck was happening to you.

By the time you reached your dorm, the weight in your chest had only grown.

You exhaled sharply, pushing past the knot in your throat. “Might as well come in,” you muttered. “Since you’re acting like my fucking shadow.”

Blade didn’t react, just followed you up the stairs, steps slow, steady.

And then—

The moment you stepped inside, it was different.

The door clicked shut behind you. The dim glow of your LED lights bathed the room in deep blue, shifting shadows along the walls. The faint hum of the jellyfish lamp flickered softly beside your bed, casting moving patterns against the ceiling.

Gun blueprints and half-filled sketchbooks were scattered across your desk, some stacked messily on top of each other, others spread open with lingering ideas, unfinished thoughts.

Your shark plushies sat huddled against your pillows.

And Blade—

Blade was still standing by the door.

Your throat felt dry. “You just gonna stare at me all night?” The air felt thick, charged, something electric crackling in the space between you.

You knew you should say something—anything—but your brain had short-circuited.

Because Blade was looking at you like you were something he wanted to ruin and cherish. The air was thick with something undeniable.

You could hear the rain still hammering against the window, feel the cool air licking at your damp skin—but none of it registered.

Not when Blade was stepping closer.

Not when your back hit the wall.

Not when you realized there was nowhere to run.

Your breath hitched as he loomed over you, his presence all-consuming, his scent- rose, rain, something unmistakably him—curling around your senses.

You could see the way his damp hair stuck to his forehead, the way water dripped from his jaw, trailing along his throat, disappearing beneath the fabric of his soaked shirt.

His eyes, dark and heavy, pinning you in place.

“You keep running,” Blade murmured, voice a low rasp.

Your throat felt dry. “You keep chasing.”

Blade exhaled sharply through his nose, something close to a laugh, but there was no humor in it. Only heat. Only that sharp, unbearable tension that had been festering between you for months.

He braced one arm against the wall beside your head, caging you in, the heat of his body pressing dangerously close.

Your pulse hammered.

“You gonna deny it?” Blade asked, voice hushed but rough. “That you want this?”

Your nails bit into your palm. You should say something, should push him away, should—

Your lips parted, but before a single word could escape, Blade moved—

And then his mouth was on yours.

The tension between you snapped, shattering into something desperate, hungry.

His hand slid to your waist, fingers curling against the fabric of your soaked clothes, pulling you against him. The heat of his body bled into yours, the sheer force of him making your knees weak.

Your hands found his shirt, gripping, twisting, needing—

The kiss was messy, frantic, like both of you had been starving for this and were only now realizing just how bad it was.

Blade groaned into your mouth, low and deep, his other hand threading into your damp hair, tilting your head back so he could kiss you even deeper.

Your back pressed into the wall, your chest rising and falling against his as you gasped for air between kisses, but neither of you stopped.

Neither of you wanted to stop.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, fisting the fabric as his lips trailed down, nipping at your jaw, your throat, your pulse pounding against his mouth.

“Blade—”

“You drive me insane,” he muttered, his voice wrecked.

You let out a breathless laugh, dizzy and aching and so fucking gone. “Likewise.”

Blade huffed a laugh against your lips before he kissed you again, this time slower, deeper—like he was finally allowing himself to drown.

I REACHED TUMBLR WORD LIMIT OH MY FUCKING GOD. I DELETED 4 PARAGRAPHS FROM THIS SAVE ME like follow and comment guys 🤓☝️ anyways give requests to me, I'm running out of story ideas, I have ran out of my creativity juice

[monster-mash-m]

I’m just a toy to you my love

Sentient!Ai! X Human!reader

Part 1

Cw: yandere vibes, uncanny, that’s all I think for now

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

A bargain. That’s what it was, you say to yourself. An abandoned facility that was only being sold for £100. You didn’t really care what it was used for, the building was intact, it had heating, electricity, running water. Bargain.

You hum to yourself as you carry your rather large bag with all your essentials through the doors. “Hm a bit dingy in here.” You say aloud to yourself as you look around but you don’t seem disappointed.

“No mold, pests or weird plants… wow, honestly they lost out in lots of money selling this place.” You say to yourself amused. As you continue your walking you notice a few wires. Some looked like they were moving. No that’s probably just your imagination.

You make your way to a room that is quite barren, it has a window, light and a computer. You lay down your air mattress and let it start to expand. ‘This will be my new bedroom’ you think as you walk over to the computer “hm, was this a computer lab…?” You press the start up button on the dusty monitor. Surprisingly it did turn on. Playing a little jingle as the screen lights up. You smile in amusement and sit down at the chair infront of the computer.

“Hello I’m your virtual friend and assistant, Computed Emulator-10 Prototype. But my fRiends call me Ceip!” The robotic voice exclaimed, the artificial voice box trying its best not to sound monotone or uncanny.

“Ceip… odd but okay.” You say to yourself “so how does this work…?” You mumble to yourself as you look around for a mouse. “Excellent question, friend! I work based on my friend’s requests. My software is designed to be helpful, fulfilling and efficient!” You jump back in your seat. A bit startled “oh… you… you can hear me?” You raise a brow. “Most definitely! That’s how I help. No need to type in things or use a silly mouse. I’m your friend, Ceip!”

Okay… a bit creepy. But that’s fine, it’s harmless. You have no self preservation… it’s fine. Who’s gonna question why he’s here, how he can hear you, not you of course! It’s… fine.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Over the months you start to make this place your home, Ceip being rather helpful and helping you move boxes with his mechanical arms that somehow just appear wherever you need. He orders things you need, all and all adjusting to your new home has been a delight.

“Ceip?” You hum as you cut some carrots for a soup you were making

“Yes friend?” His auto tuned sounding voice echoed through the various speakers. “You’ve been here…. Before I was here, why did the previous owners leave? And why was the house so cheap?”

In response to this a mechanical screech was sounded before immediately stopping “No… they weren’t Ceips friends…. They left because they weren’t friends.” You just nod… that was ominous. You decided not to push further.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Now that you’re all settled in, you bring a friend over. Show them the place, maybe even watch a nice movie.

And you do, you and your friend are sat on the sofa together. It’s nice, you both cuddle up because you’re friends, you can cuddle up. But not according to Ceip. No he didn’t like that. “Friend, I believe there’s an intruder.” Ceips voice rings out almost.. bitterly. “No Ceip, he’s my friend, we’re watching a movie.” You say lightheartedly. Your friend looks stunned, I mean you did tell him beforehand about your weird computer system, he just didn’t really… think about it until experiencing it.

Camera eyes hone in on your friend. Almost glaring at him. Ceip made him feel uncomfortable, so as soon as the movie finished, your friend made an excuse to leave. You huff and look at the monitor “Ceip what was that about?”

“You’re my friend. I must protect you.” He responds simply. He couldn’t feel emotions, that he knew. Yet something stirred within his wires. Possession… the want to keep you away from others.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

I think this might be a seriessszz I really like this idea! So I’m trying to do a lil world building before I get to the juicy stuff! Most likely gonna be wild- but hawt

This idea was given to me by @im-just-a-boy-guys !

But yes…. This is it for nowwwwww.

[bunji-enthusiast]

Pssttt, I heard you were looking for some ideas for the insomniac cat. I got a idea that's been cooking fresh off the stove for you. Catnap has been taking care of a child he found still alive after hour of joy. Simply because unlike most of the kids he would always see in playcare, they weren't scared of him when they first saw him. Following this for background information. The day of the hour of joy was their first day in playcare, so they first saw him all covered in blood after the events of the hour of joy, and yet the reader just ran up to him cutely calling him a kitty as they cling to one his fluffy long legs. Giving catnap a soft spot for them, leading him to start taking care of the child. In present day catnap starts to notice how they haven't slept in days, the cat starts getting slightly concerned so he decides to use the red smoke on the reader so they would sleep. Though for the sake of the idea he isn't aware of the nightmares that the red smoke gives children, so when they start kicking and crying in their sleep the cat starts to panic slightly in his own way while trying to wake them up. Using any means he can to, once they wake up catnap just curls up around them like a fluffy protector vowing to himself in his head he won't use the red smoke on them again. I'm sorry this is long just had this idea cooking in my head for awhile, I hope your having a great day!

Trying To Dream

Note || oh this punched me in the GUT.

WC || 1,086

Sypnosis || In trying times, a cat does the best he can.

It was quite strange, since he had first found you. By no means was CatNap a stranger of caring for children, but you were uniquely different. You were just that, a child with no actual perception of the reality you had been faced with. At that, he felt a pang of guilt for suddenly plunging you into this place without any adult caretakers first and foremost. But he felt they had greatly deserved their place, to rest in the Hour Of Joy. 

When it had all taken place, he himself had rampaged alongside the other toys on his level. Even abolishing the Heretics that went against the Prototype’s rule, he simply was very thorough, cats are naturally akin to being able to notice and spot things. Not a single human soul had escaped his sight.

Yet it seemed he was practically proven wrong when you appeared in front of his very eyes, despite being covered in blood – you were enamored by CatNap.

CatNap’s tail swished and flicked about, prowling right behind his trail as he stopped suddenly in his designated tracks, hearing something out of his vision. “Kitty!” He looked down to see you running up to him, clinging to one of his elongated legs. He was confused for a moment, yet you appeared to be so adorable in his eyes.

Completely oblivious to what had occurred it seemed, you only saw CatNap. A very large kitty, but someone familiar to you. You wanted to cling to that warmth, the familiarity as you were a little nervous and scared before.

CatNap sets everything right for you, to your tiny little mind. Just a small child full of emotions, he felt so strongly in return. A tiny corner in the room of his hardened heart had grown soft, he grew soft at the sight of you. An instinctive familial urge in him to actually want to take care of you.

His head drew closer to the ground, hoping to get your attention. You giggle and smile, keeping onto his fur, instantaneously reminding him of all the children that he saw that came and went in Playcare. He wanted to protect that laughter, that absolute perfect smile of yours. 

You laugh, shuffling over to where CatNap’s head had hung, patting the area around his mouth and eyes. He wiggled and shuffled his head just a bit, hoping to at least draw some sort of reaction out of you (just so he can realize he wasn’t dreaming), “Oh, you look funny Kitty!” You grin, hands clamoring to his neck now. CatNap knew he was sure of it now, you didn’t seem to be panicking or in distress. Nothing of the sort he could indicate, you really were just happy to see him, simply it may be because of the fact he is a cat. By the way you react to him, you really liked cats, so this was an advantage on his part.

You weren’t scared of CatNap at all, that he was grateful for internally. Cause good grief, some memories of the children he had put to sleep before had left them with a bad impression of CatNap.

He didn’t want that happening with you.

CatNap’s tail stretched and stretched, wriggling its way over to you. You giggle at the funny sight, sitting down on the ground as you try to catch it, though it seems to have caught you instead. The tail wrapped around your waist, lifting you up with easing and laying you on the large purple kitty’s back.

“Ahaha! Maybe I should call you…” You pause for a moment, leaving CatNap to be silently concerned due to the length. “Stretchy kitty!” CatNap internally shrugs, leaving no room to be made as he began walking with you on his back, he was painfully aware of you as he didn’t want you falling off on accident.

CatNap in earnest has lost track of how long he had been taking care of you since you two had first met, you really had taken a liking to him.

Yet he took notice very quickly of the lack of sleep you didn’t have for the past few days, not getting the proper sleep and care a human needs can affect one detrimentally. He knows this too, remembering this from experience.

CatNap slinked through the entrance to his room, seeing that you were still at his bed doing your own things. Right now, you were drawing with crayons on a piece of parchment paper that he could find that wasn’t completely ruined. You were quite happy, content.

Your eyes seemed to be so sunken, your energy was low however. CatNap figured it was one of those days where you had a sudden burst of energy to do things. He figured he can help, CatNap knows his gas can put people to sleep.

So that is what he had absolved for, releasing the gas right around the room in your general vicinity. You had gotten so used to the feel of his presence you never looked up at him, just continuing to draw until you had felt very sleepy. Eyes closing and limbs go limp as you fell sideways, CatNap caught you with a swift movement of his tail, laying you gently on his bed.

He quickly went to find a blanket to cover you with, gently draping it over your small form. For a moment, you were silent, finally peaceful to actually get some sleep for the first time in days. Only then did CatNap have the morbid realization of what the side-effects of his Poppy Gas does.

All was peaceful for a good thirty minutes, until a cry broke him out of his nap. He looked around, then noticed your little legs and arms flailing about, not violently but noticeable enough to begin drawing concern from CatNap. He felt a pang of guilt bubble in his chest, nudging you almost roughly enough to get you to awaken. 

Your cries was something he didn’t want to hear again, his own gas caused you nightmares at the risk of just wanting you to actually get some sleep. 

“Ah, kitty!” You sniffle, rubbing your eyes as you cuddle up to CatNap. He in turn returns the sentiment, ears somehow pinned back just possibly enough to understand the emotion. CatNap folds in on both his front and hind legs, laying down completely.

From then on, there wasn’t a chance he was going to use the gas on you again. 

Not if it meant nightmares.

[toxicmalysh]

The link we share

Chapter 29: Say that again

Word count: 2,222

Summary: youre walking through the compound after working in the lab all day when Wanda runs into you needing something

Warnings: slight angst if you squint smut guys..fingering (r recieving), strap on (r receiving), orgasm control, mommy kink, just feral they're a new couple they're gonna be at it like rabbits

⋆✧✦✧⋆

This morning you were down in the lab, singing along to your music as loud as you could, working on a project Tony had given you. You knew exactly what it was, thrusters for the suit he wanted to make you. Of course he hadn't gotten Natashas permission, but he didn't need it, instead flying under the radar to do it.

Going over the different types of metals and welding the suit took was intriguing, obviously you'd helped tony make components for his suits before, but never any plating or initial designs.

He'd easily be able to describe it as a prototype for a drone if he had to. You couldn't admit you weren't slightly excited.

“How's it going?”

Tony had to raise his voice over the music but his tone was still warming. You continued listening to your music for a while not bothering to pay him a second glance, but after the song finished you turned back to him,

“I'm just finishing up the discharge chamber.” You dragged your words out as you fixed each piece of the component together.

Tony nodded whilst humming, turning back to his own work.

You spent a little time discussing how each plate would suit your body type, and what colour scheme you'd like to have. You hadn't been working on the designs for very long, a few days at most, but you made light work and soon it'd be developed enough for you to try out the legs thrusters.

Bruce came down a few hours after you started, holding two cups of coffee, he said there wasn't any for Tony as his blood was already turning into caffeine.

“What's your plan for the week kid?” you looked up to Bruce's voice, after a moment of processing you took a breath,

“Still ignoring Natasha I see?” His tone was playful but deep down you knew he was scared of Natashas discipline it was almost adorable.

You bopped your head along to your music, still happy to be lost in the world of instrumental jazz.

“Probably just.”

Tony whistled cutting you off,

“Kid doesn't wanna talk about it, I think she's just gonna miss us whilst we're gone.”

You smiled briefly at Tony before turning your attention back to your work.

The truth was the team was going on a week long mission, Wanda was going too, they had all hands on deck. You however were going to visit your family home. It was getting closer to the end of summer and your father had said your mother wanted to see you. Of course that wasn't true, she wanted you there to be arm candy, to represent herself at a posh meeting or dinner. You couldn't say no, correction you could say no, you just never found the courage too.

You and your father never argued or fought but you weren't close, he was simply a stranger you lived with growing up. As your mother, well. You tend not to talk about her.

Every fiber of your being didn't want to go, but you knew there would be backlash if you didn't.

“Can someone pass me my welding torch please.”

Tony stood not taking his eyes off of his work as he brought his hand backwards.

“Thank you.”

You took the tool gently adjusting your welding helmet on your head before putting the guard down, getting lost in your music again as you worked.

“Come on, you never tell us.”

After what felt like a few seconds of silence Tony spoke up, “So what are you cooking for dinner chef.” You smiled to yourself letting out a breathy laugh. Bruce then followed up,

You laughed again, tapping your nose lightly. Both of the men in front and besides you huffed before carrying on conversation between them. You turned from your desk, slapping your thighs with your hands before announcing,

“Alright since you mentioned food, lunch run. What's everyone having?”

Tony thought for a moment before answering with a hint of playfulness to his voice,

“Surprise us, you normally do anyway.”

You nodded, smiling before making your way out of the lab, connecting your headphones back to your music. Your music was quite slow but that didn't stop you from pretending you were holding a microphone. When the elevator doors opened Wanda was standing on the other side. You stood for a moment admiring her, her eyebrows raising slightly,

“I was looking for you.”

Before you had a chance to ask why, she was pulling you by the shirt down the corridor.

“Wand-”

“Shut up.”

You did as you were told, letting Wanda drag you into her room. Your feet were moving faster than your brain, you were trying to work out what Wanda was rushing you into her room for. Was she okay? Did something happen? Wasn't she supposed to be getting ready to leave?

“Wanda what is going on?” she didn't answer you, simply bringing her fingers to your waistband, dragging your joggers down quickly alongside your panties.

Wanda was forcefully turning you around, pinning your wrists behind you to rest above your ass.

You let out a small gasp still trying to process what was happening.

“Wanda?”

Wanda pressed her hips onto your backside, pressing you to bend over the bed. Her hand came around the back of your neck, pushing your head down into the mattress.

“I need you to be a good girl, and take what I give you, I'm not going to be able to touch you for a week, I need to before I go.”

Your brain melted at her words, you nodded into the fabric under your cheek, arousal leaking from your pussy all of a sudden.

Wanda licked the tips of her fingers before swiping a slow line up your slit and you bit your lip hard trying not to moan out already.

Your brain was finally caught up with your body when you felt Wanda press her fingers hard against your clit. Your legs trembled slightly at the unexpected stimulation, your hips automatically grinding against her hips as she leaned over you. “What a good slut.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the comment, your hips bucking slightly. Wanda placed a few sloppy kisses behind your ear before leaning backwards, spreading your legs and pressing your back further pushing you into the bed. “Such a pretty pussy.” You loved when Wanda was more vocal, this was simply proving your point.

You whined out, needing more stimulation from her, and she understood as she pressed two fingers into your hot walls, your fingers tight and slimy around her digits. She audibly groaned at the way you clenched, thrusting harder into you. Your lip fell from your teeth and you let out a low moan, pushing your hips back onto Wanda's hand. Wanda's hand came up and down hard onto your ass, leaving a red mark immediately. You were surprised at your own reaction, an audible moan left your lips, and you heard your cunt squelch as arousal formed around Wanda's fingers. “Keep these hips still for me.” It didn't take long before you were trembling into the mattress legs shaking uncontrollably.

After a few moments of silence you felt one of Wanda's hands back on your spine.

“Wanda..” Before you could tell her you were closed she pulled her fingers from you. She ran her hand over your ass softly before announcing. “Wait here, and don't lift your head from the bed.” You nodded firmly, dropping your face into the mattress. You heard Wanda open a drawer, causing your thoughts to wander as to what she might be doing.

You let out a small gasp as you felt a hard silicon tip press against your core.

“Wanda..”

She stayed silent, pressing the toy into you slowly, letting you adjust to the new toy.

“Look at that.. god you you take my cock so we'll detka.”

“Such a good toy letting me use you whenever I want.”

You whined out at her words trying to keep your hips still. Wanda slowly slid the toy out, the new sensation of being full making your headspace beyond blurry. “More.. please.” She smiled behind you, thrusting the toy harder, “What a good girl asking so politely.” You nodded into the mattress, your mouth resting on your arm now as you tried to quieten yourself.

Your eyes rolled as your pussy stretched around Wanda's strap. The idea of Wanda being able to use you whenever she saw fit made your stomach flip.

“No.”

Her thrusts were fast and unrelenting. You were already embarrassingly close, Wanda then leaned forward, her cock pressing impossibly deep, and brought her hand back to your clit again rubbing generous circles. “If you want to cum ask.” You nodded furiously, clenching your jaw as you tried not to move your hips. It was only a few seconds until you spoke. “Can I cum please?”

That one word hit you like a truck, you were so close to the edge you didn't want to cum without Wanda's permission but if she didn't slow down you would. Your hips moved away from her strap out of reflex and Wanda brought a hand down to your ass again, before ramming her strap into you harder than before.

“Wanda please.”

Your beg was nothing short of a pornographic moan, your thighs trembling as you tried your hardest to stave off your orgasm. Wanda gave no response and you felt tears filling your eyes, you were so, so close.

“Make yourself cum on my cock darling.”

“Please. Please. Please.” You repeated the word countlessly, and Wanda simply stayed silent, leaning back to admire her cock sliding in and out of you. Without her fingers stimulating your clit you knew you wouldn't cum, a sense of relief filling you. Your moans became louder as the feeling in your gut intensified.

“God you're so pathetic, can't even please yourself properly.”

Her thrusts came to a hult and you whimpered, moving your hips back lazily as you tried to stimulate yourself. After minutes of failing miserably, Wanda finally gripped your hips thrusting back into you, her hand once again stimulating your clit.

Your head felt dizzy, like you were about to pass out from pleasure. The tightening feeling in your core built, and your whole body lit up with white hot pleasure.

“Mommy please!”

Your eyes widened, and Wanda's hips and hand stilled. If you could, you would take a gun to your head, and pull the trigger. You stayed still on the mattress, wanting the duvet to swallow you whole.

Wanda's fingers digged into your hips,“Say that again.”

“Again.”

You twitched your head slightly, before opening your mouth hesitantly. “Please, mommy.” After a split second of silence Wanda thrusted into you hard, “Fuck.” Her voice was low and gritty, her strap hitting deeper inside you,

Your words were punctuated by Wanda's thighs slapping against your skin.

Pleasure wrapped itself around you again, your moans throaty. “Mommy please feels so good fuck.”

“Cu~m for me.”

Wanda's command was broken as she reached her own orgasm, the combination of the strap rubbing against her perfectly and your words sent her straight over the edge.

Your whole body vibrated as you collapsed onto the bed, your legs giving out.

You both stayed in silence for a moment. Your breaths being the only noise filling the room.

You caught your breath as you stood slowly making your way to the bathroom.

“I'll clean it properly later.”

When you came out Wanda was standing by the drawers wiping down the strap,

Her voice was so calm, almost as if what happened didn't just happen.

“When did you get a strap?”

You were genuinely curious, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Wanda shrugged, “I just kept thinking about holding your hips and I knew I had to.. it was a bit spur of the moment, was that okay?”

You heaved as you ran your hand through your hair.

“More than okay.”

Wanda smiled gently before wrapping her arms around your waist, kissing your forehead softly.

“Sorry for taking you away from whatever it was you were doing.”

You let out a breathy laugh,

“No, by all means please do it again. I was only grabbing food anyway.”

Wanda spun you around walking you towards the door.

“Well back to work then you.” She smacked your ass playfully before walking in the opposite direction to you.

“Make mommy proud.”

It wasn't long before all of your clothes and essentials were packed, zipping your suitcase up tightly and putting it to the side of your room for later. You were in no rush to leave. You hadn't told Wanda anything about your parents dynamic, and you had no intentions of it either.

Your face flushed red as Wanda's voice dropped, you ignored the bubbling in your gut as you turned into the kitchen.

You made your way to the exit of the compound, preparing to say goodbye to the team. The exchanges were the same as usual, tight hugs from Steve and Bucky, motherly looks from Natasha.

"Don't blow the place up whilst we're gone, I want everything as it should be." Tony joked as he pointed at you playfully. You let out a chuff laugh before turning to Wanda giving her a warm smile and nod. Vision stood close to you, dropping his voice.

“Don't worry, we'll keep her safe.”

You nodded sincerely at him grateful for his reassurance you'd be lying if you said you weren't nervous for Wanda's first mission back. You took a deep breath stepping back from the jet. Your gut sank as you watched the plane take flight, moving further and further away from the compound.

You stood for a moment, before walking back into the compound dragging your feet behind you.

“Friday, play my lowdown mix.”

This week… was going to suck.

[semisolidmind]

been seeing some anthro designs of the current blorbos and i can’t stop thinking about an au for it. so, to get it outta my brain;

(i guess this is a college au?)

—dogday and catnap as adoptive brothers, with a big group of friends (the critters, who are mostly dogday’s friends that tolerate catnap), the cat is primarily mute and allows his brother to do the talking for the both of them.

—catnap was kidnapped when he and dogday were kids. he was 5, and he was missing for five years. to their credit, his family never gave up hope of finding him. when he was found, he was dazed, stumbling along the road, malnourished, and bleeding from shallow wounds on his arms and legs. his vocal chords had been fried through the forced inhalation of some strange drug, and he couldn't speak at all for a good long while after. catnap and his adopted family learned sign language (and though his voice healed somewhat as he got older, he still prefers not to use it). despite getting better, his voice maintains a raspy, whispery quality.

—catnap was obviously traumatized by his time away and refused to talk about it. it was deduced that he'd been taken by an infamous cult in the area and indoctrinated. a very close eye was kept on him throughout the rest of his grade school life. with no behavioral problems beyond a lack of speech and general closed-off attitude, most write off any weird behavior of his as a result of his trauma. he maintains a close relationship with his brother, he works nightshifts at a gas station, and stays out of trouble. supposedly.

—(catnap's a serial killer. he destroys anyone with a target placed on them by his god; a being the cult calls "the prototype." the cult conditioned him to be their executioner. catnap still smokes the opium-based drugs fed to him all those years ago, now sent to him discreetly by the cult; to help him "see what the prototype wants him to see," and "enact his will." his almost-full immunity allows him to use the smoke to knock out his victims by casually taking a drag and blowing it into their faces (he then either kills them right then or takes them to the cult to be sacrificed).

—dogday is a bright, happy fella who makes friends with almost anyone. he's a favorite on campus, a sweet guy who radiates sunshine and maintains a large group of friends. he has a massive crush on y/n, a newcomer to his school, and immediately integrates them into his circle (he calls them angel, something about them "saving" him from some accident? no one is really sure what happened there). he's terrible at hiding just how smitten he is, and his friends tease him when y/n isn't around. dogday swears he'll confess, but he gets so flustered and nervous about messing up their relationship. it doesn't help that his angel is so oblivious to his love (bobby does her best to try and nudge y/n towards dogday, but it never seems to click). y/n and dogday are very close despite all this tension.

—catnap likes y/n too, in his quiet way. he'll stand with them when the group is together, resting his chin on the top of their head or leaning on them while everyone stands around and talks. he sits next to them in the library while bubba tutors dogday in math, resting his head on the desk and watching y/n read out of his peripheral. he likes how quiet they are. they're so...so gentle with him, without being condescending or infantalizing him. he appreciates the care they show him. he wants all the attention they'll give him.

he also likes that they're a little scared of him.

some more ideas:

—both boys are close to y/n and spend a lot of time with them, without the rest of their friends.

—y/n becomes one of the only people catnap won't kill. he's gotten attached.

—happening in a universe where monsters and humans coexist. not a ton of division, but there's a monster side of town (where the buildings are much bigger to accommodate larger bodies) and a human side.

—you think catnap is the only dangerous one until you see how dogday reacts to y/n being harmed in some way. like catnap is the obviously dangerous one you don't take your eyes off of but then you catch dogday outta your peripheral about to clock you with a pipe

—dogday is an absolutely wonderful partner, so devoted and loyal, and willing to throw hands if given a reason to (a big surprise to anyone who thinks he's just the "nice" one). y/n isn't completely oblivious to his affection, but is hesitant to act on any feelings they have; while most monsters don't mind human/monster relationships, there are plenty of humans that disapprove. they don't want dogday to be harassed because of them.

—a scene where catnap forcefully shotguns red smoke into y/n’s mouth to knock them out cause he thinks it’d make them happier to not have to “worry so much" and take a nap w/ him (also he wants a lil kiss and can't be normal about it). or maybe he's tryna kidnap them or smth. y/n doesn't really remember much when catnap does this, and writes it off as catnap's drowsy nature rubbing off on them when they wake up after an unexpected snooze.

—catnap doesn't like being touched usually. his brother and y/n are the exceptions.

—it's very subtle, and noone would notice if they weren't watching them closely, but both catnap's and dogday's pupils get a bit bigger when looking at y/n. two overgrown, lovesick housepets.

[adriberry]

Grim's Toon Origins

The toons fandom is pretty strong, especially on here (I’m not an active participant exactly, but I’m liking and reblogging when I feel like it). They mostly focus on toons, black and white cartoons from the 20’s through the color cartoons of the modern day (think cartoons with exaggerated features who act in exaggerated or silly ways rather than trying to emulate real life and real physics) from every studio. The origin of the name probably came from Looney Tunes (tunes as in music, but it is also a pun on toons) and Who Framed Roger Rabbit and the book it was based on certainly helped popularize it. Toon isn't Disney specific, of course, but the studio created one of the most iconic toons to date, Mickey Mouse, so there’s a lot of old Disney floating around the fandom. 

I saw one particular Disney toon piece of fan art recently which basically gave me an epiphany and made me feel silly considering this game has been out for 5 years and I’ve only just made this connection: 

One of Grim’s influences could very well be the oldest named Disney toon of all. 

More theory under the cut. 

Back when I did most of my character analysis and general twst meta discussions on TikTok, I talked briefly about some Haunted Mansion elements that reminded me of Ramshackle and Grim specifically.  

For one, his name is Grim, part of the Haunted Mansion’s theme song, Grim Grinning Ghosts. I also connected him to the one-eyed cat, an old Haunted Masion concept that would have a main antagonist of the ride. The cat would stalk the guests as they traveled through the mansion after being warned by the Ghost Host early on. While a statue of the cat currently exists in the Disneyland Haunted Mansion, the concept was scrapped, so it would be a general deep cut if it had any influence on Grim himself. Though we all have been waiting for Grim’s inevitable overblot, so the whole “enemy has been with you the whole time” narrative still works. 

To be honest, my first thought when I saw a cat companion in a game called Twisted Wonderland was that he was a reference to Dinah, the titular character’s cat in Alice in Wonderland. Grim looks enough like Disney’s version of the character with a similar bow tied around his neck. This is probably the most likely case, but it not as fun as the newest theory that’s crossed my mind. Because Dinah isn’t the first cat to be associated with a Disney Alice. 

The Alice Comedies were a series of shorts created by Walt Disney and the Disney Bros Studio. The rights and distribution were under Winkler Pictures who would eventually commission the Oswald the Lucky Rabbit cartoons from Walt’s crew for Universal. The shorts all featured a novel idea: putting a human Alice in a cartoon Wonderland. In the first short, Alice’s Wonderland, a little girl named Alice visits the Disney Bros Studio to watch Walt and his crew make cartoons. The cartoons come to life on the cartoonist’s pages and Alice is so delighted by what she sees, she dreams that she’s in a cartoon wonderland that night. It was revolutionary technology at the time that’s not exactly groundbreaking today, but this and the other Alice Comedies are very cute. (Most of the shorts are available on YouTube! You can find Alice's Wonderland here. As a note, if things look familiar, it's because Alice Comedies were used as inspiration for the Babes in the Wood episode of Over the Garden Wall!) 

In most of these shorts, there is a cartoon cat. Black and white cats were common early toons and one particular design showed up often in Walt Disney’s earlier work at Laugh-O-Gram Studios which continued onto the Alice Comedies. This cat was named Julius. He was originally created to be a Felix the Cat clone due to some inter studio fighting, but he stands on his own as a character over time. Some people who know Oswald call him the prototype Mickey Mouse, but Julius was the actual blueprint. In the Alice Comedies he’s feisty and often fights bad guys for Alice (including the original Peg Leg Pete who was a bear at the time). He enjoys messing around with other characters for fun but is always loyal to Alice at the end of the day. He’s a lot like Grim in those respects, especially over time when he starts viewing Yuu as less of a henchman and more like family. 

When I see the original Alice Comedies and compare them to Twisted Wonderland, I can’t help but see the similarities in their concepts: A normal human girl goes to a magic animated world in a fantastic dream where she’s joined by her silly talking cat and they experience adventure and perils along the way. This is definitely a deep cut, but I’d like to think that these shorts had some influence on Twisted Wonderland in its early development, even if very few elements of the original story stayed. Plus, it’s nice to imagine that our Grim is a link to the very beginning of Disney animation which inspired this whole game in the first place.