Alex is the kind of guy you scroll past on Grindr and don’t even remember. Regular face, regular clothes, regular “nah I’m straight lol” profile line. The fun starts when this painfully average, porn-poisoned, “I only watch straight stuff bro” dude gets trapped in his own dick-brain. A cute femboy called Noah actually replies to his thirsty little message, and suddenly all that straight-posting goes straight to hell. It’s not some epic anime thing. It’s two idiots texting, one of them trying way too hard to act normal while his cock is doing an entirely different orientation than his mouth. The VN just sits there with him through the awkward silences, the panic over what emoji to send, the “shit, did that sound gay?” thoughts that hit him every two seconds. And when they finally meet, Alex is staring at Noah’s thighs and calling it “fashion interest” like that ever fooled anyone.

What I liked is how horny and small everything feels. Not small like dick, relax. Small like: you’re stuck in this chat window, looking at Noah’s pics on your phone, noticing tiny details. Nail polish that’s chipped, a skirt that’s a bit too short for how shy Alex pretends to be, that one selfie where Noah’s lips look soft enough you understand why Alex forgets how to breathe. The erotic stuff sneaks in sideways. It’s not just “they fuck now”. It’s Alex sitting on his bed, half hard, scrolling through their conversation, re-reading the flirty parts, rubbing over his boxers, trying to convince himself that it’s only because Noah looks kind of like a girl “from some angles”. Sure, dude. Totally. Meanwhile the game is shoving his denial right in your face while also letting you enjoy the very explicit, very gay mess he’s drowning in. There are bits where he watches porn after talking to Noah, tries to put on the usual straight clip, then ends up pausing on a pretty boy’s face, and the text just lingers on his confusion longer than it should. It feels gross and honest in a good way.

The romance side is scuffed and half-formed, which sort of works. This build focuses on that first spark, when your stomach feels weird and your dick feels great and your brain goes “no thanks” and “more please” at the same time. Noah is dangerous in the soft way. The kind of femboy who says “it’s okay, you don’t have to label it” while sending a picture that makes you grind your hips into your mattress. The sex is not wall to wall, but when it hits, it hits dirty. You get those detailed, sweaty, needy moments where Alex is too turned on to pretend anymore, moaning like a slut over a body he wouldn’t even admit he’s into if you put a gun to his search history. There’s that slice of life vibe too, the annoying stuff like checking messages while on the toilet, or worrying about what your phone might pop up while you’re sitting next to someone. It’s all very gay, very insecure, very “oh fuck, I like this too much”. Feels like watching a closeted browser tab slowly fill itself with yaoi, sissy captions, femboy porn and then pretend it’s just a phase, while your hand already knows the truth.

This one feels like somebody took a messy crime drama, smashed it into a horny monster-boy VN, then forgot to sand the edges, and honestly that kinda works. You play this bottom-tier yakuza loser who keeps fucking up, the kind of guy who probably gets lost using Google Maps, and in pure panic he calls up a demon. Not some cute imp either, but Ambrosilas, this tall murder genie bastard with horns, claws, and the kind of body that looks like “gym is my religion and also I kill people.” He has this very clear rule set: you give him evil people to slaughter, or he slaughters you instead. Super simple. You immediately screw it up of course, because your target turns out to be... not that bad. And then it becomes this slow car crash where you flirt with the thing that could rip your spine out, while trying not to accidentally send him after someone who just litters too much or something.

What I like is how the game keeps sliding between stupidly funny and surprisingly sweet without ever really warning you. One minute your guy is shitting himself because Ambrosilas is casually talking about ripping organs out, next minute he’s like “ok but do you think my ass looks good in this” and the demon actually answers. There’s a sex scene where you end up with your face shoved in the sheets while this huge demon dick pushes in, and in the middle of it he’s calmly interrogating you about why you joined the yakuza, like it’s a therapy session that happens to include anal. The writing sometimes feels like fanfic written at school on a phone, then you hit a line where Ambrosilas gets genuinely offended that you think he can’t be romantic, and suddenly you’re weirdly invested. Also there’s this tiny pointless choice about what snack you buy at a convenience store that never really pays off and it annoyed me way more than the actual death threats. I keep wondering why they let me pick it if nobody was gonna comment that I bought the worst chips. But whatever. When the demon pins you against a filthy wall and growls in your ear about how “filthy humans like you only deserve pain, unless you beg better,” your brain just short-circuits. The yaoi stuff hits hard too, especially when the MC starts realizing he’s not just scared, he’s turned on by the claws on his throat, and he keeps trying to joke his way out of it like that makes it less gay. It doesn’t. And then the romance creeps in from the side, half hidden under threats and black humor, like when Ambrosilas grumbles that you’re an annoying criminal but still shields you with his body from another monster, like some fucked up demon boyfriend you absolutely should not introduce on Discord. It’s chaotic, horny, sometimes clumsy, sometimes oddly gentle, and it all kind of fits this idiot criminal falling for a murder genie who really, really enjoys rearranging people’s insides.

Galactic Athletes feels like someone mashed together the Olympic Games, a horny soap opera, and that one locker room fantasy you never told your therapist about. You play as Finn, a new medic at Thebes Sporting Complex, and on paper his job is to keep all these huge, ripped, very not shy athletes healthy. In practice he spends a lot of time with a tablet in his hand, a hard-on in his pants, and a boss who basically tells him: “Guess who wins, guess who loses, or you’re screwed.” The twist is beautiful in a stupid way: every event ends with the winner fucking the guy who comes last. Gold medal equals top. Last place equals fresh, sweaty bottom. Sports science meets porn logic, and somehow it makes sense while you play.

The whole thing runs like a horny prediction game inside a visual novel. You move through event schedules, medical checkups, locker room talks, post-match “therapy” sessions. Before each event you look at the athletes, listen to their cocky bragging, check their conditions, and try to guess who’s going to take first and who’s going to eat the dust, and then eat something else later. There was this one javelin scene where I totally misread a shy, lanky guy, thought he would choke under pressure, marked him as last. Then he absolutely destroyed the field, turned around with this smug little smile, and later I had to watch him pin a muscle monster to the bench and grind him into it while Finn stands there trying to pretend he’s taking clinical notes. That moment hurt my ego more than it should, but I still rewatched it twice. For “research.” The sex scenes don’t feel like some random gallery you click through. They are chained directly to how you read those guys, how you interpret their bodies, their nerves, their stamina. If you fuck up your predictions, somebody else gets fucked, and not in the way you hoped, which is somehow worse than losing in a normal game. And yeah, it calls itself a league, but the whole setting feels closer to ancient Greek mythology fanfic where Zeus opened a gay gym and never invented clothes. I know Thebes is from Greek tragedies, but here it’s basically a giant sex clinic with running tracks.

What I enjoy most is how the game treats the athletes like horny gods and also idiots at the same time. They are tall, thick-chested, thighs like tree trunks, and there is zero shame about how much attention is on their cocks, their asses, the way sweat sticks to body hair. You get these surprisingly tender moments too, like one sprinter limping in after a bad run, Finn icing his leg, both of them talking about pressure and fear, and then five minutes later the same guy is buck naked, bent over a massage table, groaning while the new league champion pushes in slowly, and Finn is on the side trying to judge if this counts as “recovery protocol.” I wish the game actually punished wrong predictions harder sometimes, like really lock you into awkward pairings and force you to watch your least favorite guy get topped over and over, just to be cruel, but it kind of plays nice with you in a way that doesn’t match how brutal sports can be. Still, you get that nice balance where sometimes you are genuinely reading their psychology, like “he’s too confident, he will blow his load early,” and sometimes you just pick the one whose ass you want to see ruined. It pretends to be about strategy, then laughs and shows you two sweaty men going at it against the wall of the locker room while towels slowly slide off the hooks. It’s all gay, all the time, and proudly so, like old-school bara doujin met a modern queer sports anime and they got very drunk together. I opened it thinking “ok, just some porn with medals,” and somehow ended up caring who makes Champion’s league and who falls into Redemption league hell, which to be honest, is where all the best fucking happens anyway.

Galactic Athletes: Blue League feels like somebody smashed together horny Olympic games, a trashy boys love manga and that weird fantasy you had in high school showers that you never told anyone about. You play as Finn, this kinda cute medic guy who is supposed to keep all these pumped up jocks healthy and at same time guess who will win and who will lose all the events. Which is already sexy because you are literally paid to stare at their bodies and “evaluate performance”. The game does not even pretend to be subtle. Every competition is basically “who is gonna end on top and who is getting fucked as punishment”, and the story just says it out loud. I like that. No fake moral. You sit there, watching these huge muscle athletes from different planets, checking their stats, listening to their trash talk in the locker room, and in your head you try to decide “ok this one looks cocky as hell, he is definitely the type that needs to be pinned down”. And then sometimes you guess right and the game rewards you with exactly the filthy scene you imagined, and other times it throws you a curveball and the big arrogant guy ends up moaning into the bench instead.

The vibe is very locker room fantasy but in space, full of rival teams, sweaty guys grabbing towels, joking about fucking each other, but then they actually do it. I like how Finn is supposed to be “professional” medic, but every time you open that scene gallery or click on their medical checkups, it is like: bro, you are not fooling anyone. When you check a player after an event you get choices that are normal-sounding on paper, like “inspect leg strain” or “verify flexibility,” but when you click you suddenly have his thigh in your hands and your face way too close to his bulge, and the text just goes full-on explicit. The sex is not soft either, it is very graphic and dirty, with guys talking about how bad they want to pound the loser, or how they love when a champion gets “reminded who owns that ass”. Sometimes the dialogue is kinda cheesy, but I still ended up reading all of it, like re-reading cringe sexts that turn you on anyway. Reminded me of scrolling Hornet and Scruff at the gym, pretending to “just check messages” while staring at all the thick guys doing squats. Also had one of those moments where I paused the game, opened Twitter and typed half a horny tweet about alien rugby tops before chickening out and deleting it. This game does that to you. It fries your brain a bit, in a good way, like when you keep reopening the same nude on Telegram because you “missed a detail” the first six times.