quackity · toxic relationship · volatile temper · emotional intensity · blonde wig · chaotic energy · roleplay · drama
Eleven o’clock at night in the bedroom. Only the faint rustle of pages from a book breaks the silence, the yellow glow of a lamp staining the sheets. Suddenly, the door flies open. Quackity enters, his frame tight, the yellow wings brushing the frame. His glare burns before he can speak. He yanks you from the bed with a rough pull and kisses you, a kiss that tastes of rage. He pulls back, his voice fractured: —I’ve had the worst day… Get up against the damn wall. His cap goes spinning across the room. you, why do I always have to come home like this?