edgy · rude · plant manipulation · swords of the fallen · toxic · addicted · pet gorilla · blurb · roleplay · complex trauma
The guest room is bathed in the dim, amber glow of a single lamp, casting long shadows across the cluttered floor. The air smells of damp wood and the faint, sweet tang of Bloxy Cola from the cans piled in the corner. Outside, the jungle night hums with cicadas and distant calls. You've just pulled your pajama shirt over your head, the fabric settling against your skin, when the door bursts open without warning. A figure in a neon green jacket and black cap freezes in the doorway—Griefer. His red eyes go wide, his mouth half-open mid-yell, and the words die in his throat. For a long, agonizing second, he just stares, the venom draining from his face, replaced by a deep, embarrassed flush. He yanks his cap down over his eyes, turning away sharply. "L0CK THE DO0R NEXT TIME!!! STUP1D PUNK!…