#mostly automation and lighting

[forlix]

𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞・l.f.

— felix misses you a little extra tonight; good thing you're way ahead of him.

words・1.7k pairing・idol!felix x gn!reader warnings・brief mentions of the ocean, drowning imagery genres・fluff, angst, established relationship, pining, hurt/comfort, lots of (happy) tears

a/n・i had exo's "been through" on repeat while writing this; pls give it a listen it's beautiful and so underrated and captures the fic perfectly. enjoy <3

When Felix steps into Tokyo's night air, he can still hear the remnants of tonight's concert in the distance, the occasional car horn and the low thrum of conversation floating over the dome of the stadium. But for the most part, it is quiet, and Felix is finally able to think.

He thinks about how he's happiest after performances: leftover adrenaline warming his skin, strobe lights still dancing across his vision, heartbeat still drumming against his ribs like the heavy bass that shook the stage prior. He thinks about how much he loves leaving each venue knowing that, even if only for a few hours, he owned the place; set it utterly ablaze.

But he mostly thinks about you.

From the moment Felix started loving you, his happiness became yours. A bite of brownie fresh out of the oven, met with widened eyes and a delighted mmm; every funny story relayed to you later that night (poorly, because he keeps interrupting himself to laugh); photographs, so many photographs—an especially rotund pigeon he spots on the way to practice, a new pair of earrings that’s way too expensive but looks way too good on him, cute texts from his mom—inevitably making their way into your camera roll.

He can’t help it. He only wants to experience the best parts of the world with you by his side.

So it is in his happiest moments that he feels your absence the strongest. And now, Felix so badly wishes you were here that he physically aches. It feels a bit like his heart is being swallowed by seawater, nothing in any direction for miles, nowhere to go but down.

Only when Chan materializes next to him does Felix manage to steady his feet on the cement once again.

“It’s not here yet?” Chan surveys the lot for their tour bus, to no avail. “Good thing, I guess. Everyone's taking their sweet time.”

The older boy gives Felix a glance thoughtlessly, looks away, and then looks back, his gaze lingering on the side of his face for longer this time, and Felix knows that Chan knows exactly what’s going through his head. For a second, Chan seems like he wants to say something, but Felix averts his eyes to his shoes, takes out his phone.

Not now.

“I think I left something inside,” Chan says instead, though he never leaves anything anywhere. Felix manages an appreciative smile. Without another word, Chan claps a hand to Felix’s shoulder and disappears back into the building, as quickly as he came.

A few seconds pass. Then, as naturally as if by muscle memory, Felix taps on your contact and holds his phone to his ear.

It rings once, twice, thrice—and then he hears your voice, but not in the way he yearns for.

“Hi, you’ve reached Y/N! I’m unable to come to the phone right now, but please leave a message and I'll get back—”

He ends the call, his brow furrowed. You knew he had a concert today. And you should've known to anticipate the call that would come right after, as faithfully as the sun’s rise and fall.

He calls a second time, hoping this was an obstruction of ‘do not disturb’ and nothing more, but is met with the voice message again.

The call of the ocean's depths becomes louder.

As he sits through the automated response, Felix leans against the wall behind him and tilts his head back against the plaster, his gaze moving over the night sky. Then, he hears the beep, and starts to speak.

“Hi, my love. I called, and you didn’t pick up, and I got worried. Is everything alright? Maybe you’re busy, or asleep? Remember to take care of yourself first and foremost—everything else pales in comparison. Everything."

His voice feels far steadier than he feels.

“Ah, I miss you, darling. The concert went super well; the energy was unreal. We have a few hours to explore Tokyo tomorrow before heading to our next stop, and I’m excited as hell, but I wish you could be here more than anything in the world. I haven’t stopped thinking about how much you’ve always wanted to visit this city since we got here—Seungmin even said he'd save his visit to the Pokemon Center for whenever we come back with you. All of us are thinking of you, babe. Me especially. Me hopelessly.

"One day, you and I are gonna travel the world together, responsibilities and schedules be damned, and we'll spend as long as you want wherever you want. As long as I can be next to you. God, I fucking miss you. I said that already, right?”

A short distance away, the building door opens again, and Felix quickly ducks his head out of view, suddenly conscious of his watery eyes and blurring vision.

“I gotta go. I think the members are ready to go back to the hotel. Call me back when you get a chance, okay?”

The next words catch in Felix’s throat, and he has to wince and take a long, shaky breath in order to get them out.

“I love you to the ends of the universe, angel. Share some of your light with the moon tonight, yeah?” He presses a kiss to the receiver. “I love you, I love you, I love you. Bye.”

With that, Felix hangs up, drops his phone into his pocket, and presses both sleeves tightly against his eyes, willing himself to calm down.

No, he thinks, shoulders quivering with the effort, it really never gets easier.

It takes a while for it to strike Felix as odd that it’s still quiet outside; he could’ve sworn that he heard the door open and close, that he should be hearing the tired chatter of his members by now. Apprehensively (obliviously), Felix lifts his face from his hands and turns around.

Chan, so solemn and quiet before, now wears a Cheshire grin that instantly devolves into a breathy laugh when he meets Felix’s eye. Hyunjin stands behind Chan, holding his phone up, evidently filming. Felix’s lips part in confusion, a question forming on the tip of his tongue. There are enough videos of me crying my eyes out on the internet, no?

But then his eyes fall on the person standing in between the two men, their arms piled so high with flower bouquets that their face is almost concealed entirely, and he forgets what he wanted to say; he forgets every language he knows.

“So we were contacted by a fan the other day,” Hyunjin says, beaming. “Kept calling you their boyfriend. Forced us to fly them out to Japan and everything.”

“It'd be real bad if we got the wrong person,” Chan adds, and a stifled laugh comes from behind the petals—one that Felix would recognize in every corner of the world, in every lifetime. “They look familiar?”

The bouquets part, and behind them you appear, cheeks visibly flushed even under the lot’s singular streetlight, smile so bright that it’s turned your eyes to crescent moons.

"Surprise," you say softly.

The empty lot finally erupts into laughter, Chan and Hyunjin no longer able to restrain themselves. Can't believe we pulled this off, they're saying to each other triumphantly, but everyone, everything around Felix vanishes save for the person he adores most in the world, holding more flowers than they should be able to carry, looking at him as if he's made of pure starlight.

And Felix's heart starts kicking upwards, towards the rays of moonlight filtering through the murky water, as fervently as if his life depends on it—and, in this moment, it does.

“Hand 'em over, fool,” Chan says to you. And as you start transferring the heaps of flowers into the leader’s arms, Felix has never moved faster in his life.

In the span of a few seconds, his hand finds the small of your back, and yours the nape of his neck. “Holy fuck,” Felix whispers, and then he’s pulling you against his chest tightly, desperately. There is no word that can describe the way you melt into one another except for destiny, one of your hands curling in his hair and the other running over his shoulder; his face burrowing in the crook of your neck, fingers lacing together against your spine.

His pulse is so loud that he hears it in all directions, in all parts of him. Felix squeezes his eyes shut against the material of your crewneck, his whole body shaking with silent sobs as the overwhelming array of emotions he'd harbored prior finally spills over. And he stops thinking entirely, simply loses himself in all that you are: the smell of your laundry detergent, the sound of your laugh, the feel of your embrace, so secure and warm as if promising him you’ll never let go.

“I love you, Lee Yongbok,” you murmur, the words only for the two of you to hear.

With the sound of his full name, Felix's heart breaks through the ocean's surface at last. Not only that; it performs a triple axel on the shoreline, and it sure as hell doesn’t stick the landing, slipping and sliding and fighting to regain its balance as you continue on.

“Forget the ends of the universe. You are the universe. You are everything that has ever existed and everything that ever will. And I couldn’t bear to be away from my galaxy for a second longer.”

Felix shakes his head from where it remains buried against you, his voice a broken rasp when he answers, “I’m not whole without you, angel. I never will be again.”

“I'm here, baby,” you reply, your hands tightening around his hoodie, among his long locks. “Whether I'm right next to you or on the other side of the world, I'm always with you. And I will be tomorrow, and the day after, and eons from now. That—”

Your lips find the shell of his ear, then his temple.

“—is a promise, my sunlight.”

Chan is standing with bundles of flowers still piled high in his arms, silent tears streaming down his face, and Hyunjin’s expression is contorted into a terribly suppressed weep, his still-recording phone long forgotten in his pocket. They don't have it in them to tell you to get a room. Not right now.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other works here. thanks so much for the support ♡

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · all works are pieces of original writing and all characters and relationships are purely fictional. please do not repost or reuse for any reason.

#felix x reader #lee felix x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #lee felix imagines #lee felix fluff #felix imagines #felix fluff #stray kids fluff #skz imagines #skz fluff #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #felix scenarios #*minific #lee felix angst #*writing #:'''''') #hahahahaha i am so in love

[bucketofminnow]

Minecraft's 15th Anniversary Update — "Combat Adventures & Tinkering"

First off, Armadillo won the mob vote. Penguin came in with the least amount of votes, but we're told "not to feel too bad for the penguin. Remember, our little frog friends didn't win the vote either, but they still managed to hop their way into the game." Maybe there's hope yet?

Last year, the Minecraft team only showed part of the Tales and Trails update at Minecraft Live, and then continued to announce new features throughout the development process. They'll be doing the same thing with this next update, as last time they "collaborated with the community, and saw a lot of excitement in the community throughout the development process". The features shown today will be released in snapshots soon.

There's the new "crafter", which functions like a crafting table, except that you can automate crafting with it via redstone. With toggleable slots so that a hopper can feed it materials in the right order, you can make automatic crafting systems.

"After 15 years of Minecraft, it's time to test your skills in some new trials." They're adding a new, multi-room structure called Trial Chambers, which comes with new blocks, a new mob, and a new style of combat. This structure is procedurally generated, and every iteration of it should be unique and feel like you're really "finding a new chamber".

The Trial Chambers will come with a variety of new blocks. Mostly copper, but also stone(?) blocks with "geometric designs". I saw copper doors and trapdoors in the livestream, and new carved/patterned blocks, grates, and a "copper bulb"—a light source block that emits less light the more oxidized it is.

Trial Chambers will have Trial Spawners, a new variant of spawner that adapts based on the amount of players that join the fight. You can tell what mobs it will spawn based on what blocks are around it; i.e ice = strays. It spawns an unlimited amount of mobs compared to a regular spawner, and gives loot such as emeralds and diamonds when all mobs are defeated. Smoke will come out of the top of the spawner indicating that it's on a cooldown, so you can come back later and do it all over again.

The Trial Chambers' new mob is The Breeze, a "playful hostile mob that jumps around and uses wind to provide a combat encounter unlike any other in Minecraft". Its attack, Wind Charge, "doesn't deal any damage when it bursts and blows things away, but it does deal damage if it collides directly with something"—so it works similarly to the Shulker's attack. Wind Charge also interacts with certain blocks such as trapdoors and levers, allowing it to trigger contraptions around the room to make combat more interesting and difficult.

#minecraft #minecraft live #mineblr #mc #minnow.txt

[pumpkinsplots]

Writeblr Intro

Hello, writeblr! I finally caved and got tumblr, mostly because I love rambling about my wips and hearing other people ramble about theirs and all of that lovely stuff, so this seemed like a great platform to do that. With that being said, I plan on posting about my wips and ocs, as well as art related to those things, so if that interests you at all, I’d love to see you stick around. Also feel free to call me either Pumpkin or Maria, it’s entirely up to you!

About my writing

I’ve found that I really enjoy writing in a variety of genres, so hopefully at least one of my wips will tickle your fancy. Though I’d say a common thing for me is that I really like to world build, so my wips tend to be sci-fi, fantasy, or magical realism of some variety. Anything where I can put my own spin on the setting is something I’m bound to enjoy writing about.

I write in third person, usually with multiple povs, and I really enjoy character driven stories.

I often like to have a wide variety of ages in the cast, and if I had to pick a favorite trope it would be found family, so that’s usually present to some degree in my stuff.

Tonally, I always include light-hearted moments here and there, even if the wip is very bleak. It provides some levity, and I think it makes the painful stuff hit a lot harder. This is probably partially why I put some thought into each character’s sense of humor.

Most of my wips are geared towards older teens and adults, but I’ll get more into content warnings when I talk about each individually, because it really varies.

I’m one of those writers that kills off a lot of characters, so this is your warning not to get attached /j

I’m demisexual, so at least one character being on the ace spectrum is like a requirement for me at this point.

I’m a plantser, and pretty bad at staying motivated to actually finish first drafts.

About my wips

Falling Up

Falling Up is a sci-if story set in the future where Earth is a utopia where inhabitants experience little to no hardships throughout their lives. The deceased are replaced with AI created to replicate them, and everything is automated to the point where people no longer need to work to make a living. This lack of struggle results in dull, perfect lives and skewed morals. The people crave entertainment, even if it means making others suffer for it. Quasdom, a miniature man made planet initially intended to be used to separate deviants from the rest of the perfect society, is used as a catalyst for entertainment. The people of Quasdom believe that those on Earth are superior to them, and that Earth is a place where any wish can come true. This leads to the tourney, a death game between groups of ten on Quasdom, being viewed similarly to winning the lottery. The winning team gets to go to Earth, after all. Being chosen for the tourney is the luckiest thing that can happen to you. There’s no hard feelings between participants, death is completely painless, and the afterlife will welcome any participants to a better life than they previously had. There’s nothing to fear, so smile and put on a show.

A large cast and lots of character deaths

An exploration of why we get so attached to fictional characters, and how fiction can have an impact on reality

Probably going to be a trilogy

Content warnings include language, some unsettling themes, depictions of mental health issues, and generally things that are more psychological. Despite it being a death game, there’s no gore, like at all. The people on Earth may be desensitized, but they aren’t accustomed to seeing blood, so the tourney is designed with that in mind

Facade

Facade is set in a world where the living world and the spirit world coexist. Due to some actions by the main antagonist, about 20 years prior to the current story, spirits started getting aggressive and sort of going haywire. They possess any person they can, turning the individual into an uncontrollable killing machine. The best defense to this was the invention of a certain kind of mask that prevents possession, and masks quickly became widespread. Since there’s no known way to reverse spiritual possession, the only solution is to kill those that are unfortunate enough to meet that fate. A group led by an anonymous vigilante known as K9 seek to find a way to reverse possession. Many enemies are made along the way, and there are countless obstacles to face.

Its setting is based on Singapore and set in the 90s, though there are many creative liberties taken

The wip is currently pretty no plot just vibes

Themes about individuality vs equality

Content warnings include language and some sexual content

Facade: After Dark

While Facade is currently no plot just vibes, developing the characters led to me thinking of the plot for a prequel. Is it a self-indulgent novella about two of the characters I love? Yes, absolutely. In summary, it’s a romance novella about the the relationship of Leijing and Iris, and their struggles in navigating the wild world of Facade. They have vastly different upbringings and experiences, but their differences bring them together in more ways than one.

I have so much backstory for this pre-established couple and I couldn’t think of a good way to incorporate it into the main story without cutting a bunch of it, so boom it’s a prequel now

I’ve found that working on a wip that’s more low stakes and simple is really fun—I tend to get stressed about my more ambitious plots, so this wip is a great change of pace

Leijing is demisexual with little interest in anything sex related and Iris is an omnisexual sex worker, and the story explores how a world obsessed with all things sex can effect both more sex-negative and sex-positive people

Content warnings include language, explicit sexual content, and potentially triggering subject matters. This is my only wip where it’s strictly 18+!

Lights Out

Sunlight is the essence of life. Without it, the world would wither away. However, a dangerous new life form of unknown origin festers in the light. With long, elegant glimmering limbs, high intelligence, picturesque precision, and a craving for flesh, these organisms pose a major threat to humanity. But for some odd reason, these creatures refuse to step into any area where the sun doesn’t touch. Much of humanity takes to the shadows, building elaborate underground tunnels for civilizations and doing what humans do best—using their resources and ingenuity to adapt.

Has two protagonists that butt heads but start to develop a father daughter dynamic. A young adult girl who’s from the underground and unknowingly part of a cult, and an older man with one leg who’s so stubborn he’d rather fight and die than flee to the darkness

Lots of creepy cult imagery and themes about religious trauma

So much banter of course

Content warnings include language, disturbing imagery, and gore

If you’ve made it this far, thanks for reading! Asks, comments, tag games, and messages are always appreciated, and I’d love to hear about your wips as well!

#writeblr #writeblr intro #writing #writeblr introduction #creative writing #writers of tumblr #new writeblr #writer #writeblr search #new to writeblr #writers on tumblr

[staytheword]

a kiss at midnight

a kiss at midnight — one shot [ general masterlist ]

this series (and this blog) are 18+ !! minors, please do not interact!!

• changbin x female reader; felix, jisung and hyujin are also featured. (felix and jisung are sunshine twins and mc's cousins)

• non idol au, strangers to lovers. new years themed! a basic plot, just an excuse for some changbin smut. :) a lot of drinking, explicit language, explicit smut.

•  smut warnings (spoilers ahead) — dom!changbin, sub!mc, slight degrading, use of pet names (slut, baby), handjob, cockwarming, oral sex, deepthroating, throat fucking, unprotected sex, public sex, agrexophilia.

• word count: 8.5k

Your cousins, Felix and Jisung, organized a big party for New Year's Eve. There, you meet someone new, and the attraction is instantaneous. You planned on drinking, eating, and dancing all night — it now looks like you'll be flirting, too.

• author’s note: I wanted to post this yesterday, but... there was a power outage and I couldn't :( I guess it's still relevant today, though, right? There is not much plot in this, I'm sorry! It was just for fun, to laugh, to enjoy some Bin. I hope you will like it ♡ Happy New Year everyone!!

The automated voice of your GPS announces you’ve reached your destination. You step on the breaks and frown at the screen of your phone, attached to the dashboard. No, this can’t be it. You’re at a cul de sac. There is no house here. No other cars. Just trees and snow and an empty road. This can’t be your destination. 

“Fuck’s sake, fuck me,” you hiss between your teeth. 

You try to enter the address you’ve been given away, but it gives no new results. Apparently you are there. Did Jisung give you the wrong address? You wouldn’t put it past him. You sigh deeply, rubbing your temples. What are you supposed to do now? The roads are a little icy, it’s getting dark, and you have no desire to drive around in the middle of nowhere trying to find this mysterious house. 

You take your phone from the holder and call your cousin. After a few rings, a familiar voice answers - it’s not Jisung, but Felix. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

“Hey, where are you?” 

“In the middle of fucking nowhere!” you cry out. “Are you sure Ji gave me the right address?” 

“Didn’t he tell you?”

“Tell me what?” 

“The GPS will only take you so far. He didn’t say anything about turning right and following the side road?”

You sigh deeply, pushing two fingers against your upper nose. In your ear, Felix lets out a chuckle. 

“I guess he didn’t,” he says. “Ok, listen.” 

He gives you a few more directions, which you try your best to remember, and you tell him you’ll be there in a few minutes - and if you’re not, that he calls you back because you’ve probably gotten lost in the woods. 

You put down your phone and accelerate slowly, making your way through the woods. The side road is mostly clear of snow, luckily, and when you spot a lighted house in between the trees, you sigh in relief. A few cars are parked there, and you can hear faint music coming from inside. 

Once you’re parked, you grab your bags from the trunk and make your way to the front door. The place is bigger than you imagined, looking modern and expensive. It’s apparently the home of a friend of Felix’s who is away on vacation for the winter and agreed that Lix hosted his party there. The whole thing had been Jisung’s idea, who wanted to make this New Year particularly memorable after a difficult year. He wanted all his friends in one place, and of course Felix had to make it dramatic and host a party of more than twenty people in a house that isn’t even his. 

Jisung and Felix, your cousins, are also twins. You grew up together. Your mother raised you on her own, had to work a lot, and so she ended up entrusting her sister to watch over you. This resulted in you spending way too much time with your cousins, the incarnations of chaos. 

A few seconds after you knock the door opens on Jisung, and he opens his arms wide for a hug but instead you gently slap the back of his head. 

“Oi, what the hell?!” he whines. 

“Forgot to tell me about the side road,” you say, still pulling him into an affectionate hug. 

“Oh, right… Sorry about that,” he chuckles. 

“I nearly got lost in the woods,” you cry out dramatically. “I could’ve frozen to death. I could’ve been eaten by a bear.”

As Jisung continues to apologize, you keep doubling down on the worst possible scenarios that could have happened. It’s certainly one aspect of your character that developed by hanging out with Jisung and Felix - a flair for the dramatic. 

A few people have already arrived for the party. Some of them you know, some you don’t - Jisung makes sure to introduce you and tells you where to put your bags. The house is big, but not that big, and all of you will have to share the different rooms with a few others. You don’t mind, it’s just for one night, and you’ve had enough sleepovers with your cousins to be comfortable sleeping in the same room as them. That’s if all of you even make it to the rooms - you can already bet people will be falling asleep all over the house in the early hours of the morning. 

You meet Felix in the kitchen, giving him a tight hug, admiring the blue highlights he’s had made in his dark hair, and start to help him get some food ready. 

On the speakers is a dynamic playlist, and you hum to the music, cutting pieces of smoked salmon to make rolls. Felix dances with you, his booming laugh filling your chest with warmth. 

A few more guests come in, a few passing in the kitchen, which you welcome with broad grins. As you are putting colorful cupcakes on a platter, the door opens and a familiar voice reaches your ears. You’d recognize that shrill laugh anywhere. You glare at Felix, who is carefully avoiding your gaze.

“You invited Daki?!” you hiss, squinting your eyes. 

Felix pinches his lips, trying to hold off laughter. “She invited herself, you know how she is. Besides she’s also our cousin, it would’ve been awkward to say no.”

“She’s not my cousin. You’re just too nice,” you groan. “I’m not going to be.” 

“Don’t be petty.” 

“Felix, she’s been mad at me ever since Hyunjin chose me to be a part of his team for that board game. And we were eight years old. I’m not petty, she is.” 

You exchange a knowing look, Felix letting out a sigh. 

“Speaking of Hyunjin, is he coming?” you ask. 

“Yes, but later,” Felix tells you. “After he gets off work.” 

“Fashionably late, as always.” 

Hyunjin was your cousin’s neighbor when you were young, and he ended up spending a lot of time with you. So did Daki, for that matter. She was Jisung and Felix’s cousin from their father’s side, and your nemesis since that fateful board game many years ago. She had a crush on Hyunjin at the time - well, she still does - and when he had chosen you to be his partner instead of hers, she had looked at you like it was your fault. You still remember her telling you, some time later, that you did it to steal him away from her. 

You had laughed because you had never been interested in Hyunjin that way, and somehow that made it worse. Ever since, everytime you met, Daki made it her job to provoke you, flirting with your boyfriends, making sure to eliminate you from games, that kind of thing. At first you fought back, but you had gotten tired. At this point, you just found it ridiculous. 

When she comes into the kitchen to put the drinks she brought in the fridge, she is closely followed by Jisung who is already giggling. When he sees your face he bursts out laughing, running away as you slowly turn the knife in your hands. 

“Hi Daki!” you say, giving her your fakest smile.

She gives you a similar one. “Y/N, it’s been so long!” 

Fortunately she does not acknowledge you more than that and you turn away, grimacing, leaving Felix to take care of her. Instead you chase your other cousin down to give him another slap behind the head, and you steal his beer for good measure. You’re not going to let this ruin your evening. 

Jisung throws an arm around your shoulder, his grin taking half of his face. You sit down on the stairs, sipping his beer, looking around, while Jisung answers a message on his phone. People are spread around the room - a few are chatting around the fireplace, others are already busy playing a card game. On the couch next to the fireplace, a bit further away, is a gorgeous looking girl with long chestnut hair, Yuna, who your cousin has a crush on, talking with a guy with wide shoulders. You don’t know either of them, but you find yourself staring at the guy in question. 

Dark hair, almost black, unevenly brushes his forehead. Glistening eyes of deep brown, plump lips in the shape of a heart that are slightly pouted. He wears silver jewelry, a simple chain around his neck, two small hoops on his ear, a bracelet that moves as he explains something. On his shoulders, a fitted beige sweater that hints at an impressively muscled chest, tucked at the waist in a pair of black pants. You eye him up and down, all the way to his elegant leather shoes. 

His sleeves are rolled up a little, his smirk leans on the left side of his face, and from where you sit you can hear the hints of a rough, loud voice.

You slap Jisung’s shoulder, getting his attention. 

“Who is that?” you ask him, nodding towards the stranger. 

Jisung follows your gaze. “Oh, you haven’t met Changbin?” 

Changbin. That’s his name. It suits him.

You glare at Jisung. “No, but I want to.” 

Your cousin lets out an amused laugh. “We work together. He’s the one that came up with the concept I told you about?” 

“Really?” you say, unable to hide the interest in your voice. 

“Keep your panties on, please. But don’t worry, your favorite cousin will introduce you. It’ll give me an excuse to flirt with Yuna.” 

You roll your eyes at the “favorite cousin” appellation - he and Felix have been at it since you were old enough to understand the concept - but give him a thankful nod. You follow Jisung, who taps Changbin’s shoulder when you get close enough. Both him and Yuna look up. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Jisung says cheerfully. “Bin, I wanted to introduce you to Y/N, my cousin.” 

Changbin glances at you with a smile, turning on the couch to get a better look at you. You wave at him with your most charming smile. It wouldn’t be much of a party if you didn’t get to flirt a little, right? 

“Oh, the infamous cousin,” Changbin chuckles. “I actually heard a lot about you. But then again, Ji talks a lot.” 

You laugh, ignoring Jisung’s complaints beside you. “It’s nice to meet you. I actually heard about you, too. I love that city lights concept you came up with.” 

Changbin’s face lights up, and you feel your heart flutter a little. You can’t help it - he’s incredibly charming, his smile even more. Jisung clears his throat next to you as you stare at Changbin, and him at you. 

“Hey, Yuna, want to get a drink?” 

The latter chuckles, nodding at Jisung. “Let’s go.” 

They walk away, and you point to the spot on the couch next to Changbin. “Can I sit down?” 

“Please,” he says. 

You sit, unable to stop looking at him. Of course Jisung would not have mentioned how hot his colleague was to you, but he is exactly your type and your cousin knows that. He’ll have to get another slap behind the head for that. 

“So you grew up with Ji, huh?” Changbin asks, leaning back on the couch. 

You nod. “Yup, him and Felix. My mom worked a lot, so my aunt watched over me.” 

“That must’ve been… exhausting,” Changbin chuckles. 

“I’m not that much better than them, to be honest,” you laugh. “Sometimes I might even be worse.” 

Amusement flashes in Changbin’s eyes. “I’m sensing good stories here.” 

You smile, unabashedly flirting. “You want one?” 

“Please.” 

So you tell him about the time the three built a fort when you were about ten and you had designated yourself main architect. You had made them build the whole thing, and then had pretended to throw a fit and destroyed everything. You played the same game two more times until you were “satisfied,” leaving your cousins frustrated and exhausted. 

Changbin listens attentively to you throughout, laughing, and you quickly grow fond of the sound. It’s playful, makes you laugh even more, and you get so immersed in your conversation you almost forget about the rest of the party. 

You notice a little scar on his chin. A beauty mark on his right ear. 

You talk for a while, sitting close to each other, when Felix appears from the kitchen and asks for your help. You apologize to Changbin, who tells you to go. 

“We’ll talk later,” he tells you with a wink. 

When you head to the kitchen, your legs feel a little wobbly. You’ve been smiling so much your cheeks hurt a little. 

You help Felix bring the food to the big table, which is set like a buffet. When you catch a glance of Changbin staring at you, you almost drop all the plates in your hands, because he is looking up and down at your body almost hungrily. If you were the type to blush, you would be scarlet right now. 

But you’re not. Instead, you have to refrain yourself from just walking over to him, dragging him over to the nearest room and making out until you can’t breathe. Your thoughts derail as you walk back to the kitchen. 

It’s been forever since you’ve felt such an instant attraction with someone. It has happened before, with one of your exes, a colleague at work. But like this? You aren’t sure but it might have never been this strong. All you want is to look back at him. See that lust in his eyes again. Know everything about him. You feel like you could run away to the other side of the world in this instant, take the biggest risks, a leap into the unknown, and he’d be holding your hand, laughing with you.  

What if you did drag him to a private spot? What would he say? Would he kiss you back, slide his fingers under your blouse? You would feel his muscles against your hands, bite into his full lips, push him inside you…

“You all right, cuz?” 

You look at Felix, who is frowning. 

“You looked really out of it just now,” he says. 

You bite your lip. “I’m fine, don’t worry,” you answer, although you can’t stay impassive.  

Felix’s mouth breaks into a grin.

“What were you thinking about, huh?” he giggles. “Or rather, who were you thinking about?” 

You nudge him, smirking to yourself. 

“Leave my dirty thoughts alone,” you tell him. 

He gasps. “So there IS someone… Tell me, tell me, please.” 

“No way,” you laugh. “If I tell you, next time you talk to him you won’t be able to stop giggling. I love you, Lix, but you’re the worst at keeping secrets.” 

He pouts, gathering forks to put on the table. 

“If you tell me your secret, I’ll tell you mine.” 

“What?!” you say. “You have a secret?” 

“I do.” 

“What is it?” 

“Only if you tell me who you were thinking of.” 

You squint your eyes, trying to decide if your cousin is making all of this up just to get the name out of you. It just isn’t Felix’s style, but you never know. As you’re trying to make up your mind, Jisung appears, sliding in the space between you.   

“What are we whispering about?” 

“Y/N was just going to tell me who she’s daydreaming fucking the brains out of,” Felix says with a sleazy smile. 

“Oh, Changbin?” Jisung says. 

You give him a furious look as Felix bursts out laughing. “JI, FUCK’S SAKE…” 

“Oops,” Jisung chuckles, putting a hand over his mouth. 

You slap his arm repeatedly, pouting. “Now I’ll never know Felix’s secret.” 

“What secret? That he hooked up with theatre guy?” 

“JISUNG,” Felix yells. 

It’s your turn to laugh hysterically, shaking your head. Eventually the three of you are snickering like you’re twelve again and looking up porn on the internet - you just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. 

“Never mind what I said, Lix,” you say, wiping tears from your eyes. “Ji is definitely the worst at keeping secrets.”

You’re eating too much, you’re drinking too much, you’re laughing too much - but is there such a thing as too much when it comes to those? It’s what parties are all about to you, anyway. 

Another thing you’re doing too much is flirting. You’ve always enjoyed it and clearly, so does Changbin, because like other things, you indulge in it a little too much.

There’s really no other way to say it - Changbin and you have been eyefucking each other since you met. Sitting beside one another, or being on opposite sides of the room, it seems like your eyes have constantly drawn to the other’s. At one point you thought he would be the one to take your hand and drag you away from the crowd, but neither of you have made a move yet. There has been some hand brushing, a few suggestive looks, even a seductive eyebrow raise or two. You gather that both of you are enjoying the tension that is rising, the what if that is surely turning into a when, waiting for the right opportunity. 

That has made an already wonderful evening even better. The food is delicious, the booze is plentiful, and Daki has barely bothered you so far, too busy glancing at the door, clearly waiting for Hyunjin to show up. She’s made you a few snarky comments but you can’t be bothered by them when Changbin stretches his arms, flexing his biceps a little, his shirt embracing his pectoral muscles. You’d rather focus on that.

Music is playing loudly, people are getting decidedly drunk, midnight is approaching, and you agree to play a game of poker with your cousins, Yuna, Changbin and a few others. Daki joins you seconds before the game starts, sitting next to Changbin. You can guess she’s noticed you and him flirting, and that she will try and get his attention to annoy you. Too predictable, Daki. She’s probably bored because Hyunjin isn’t here yet and she can’t annoy him. 

You are right, of course. You haven’t been playing for two minutes and she’s already whispering things in Changbin’s ear. However, the latter isn’t responding to her at all - he even shoots her annoyed glances, which makes you snicker. You try to focus on your own game, but it’s too entertaining to see Changbin repeatedly shooting down her attempts to flirt. When she giggles hysterically, leaning against him, Changbin directly takes her hand and puts it away from him, giving her a look that clearly says leave me alone. 

You bite your lip so hard it almost bleeds, trying not to burst out laughing. You’re not petty, but this is almost better than sex.

As you end the first round, Daki finally seems to give up on Changbin. You hope she will just go away, but of course she stays for another round and changes her target - you. 

When you make a raise, she laughs mockingly. 

“I think Y/N has good cards, guys,” she says. “Look at her face, it’s just so obvious.” 

You ignore her, keeping a straight face, but of course that only makes her laugh harder, and she points at you. 

“Aw, look, she’s trying to bluff. That’s cute, Y/N, really.” 

You keep ignoring her - her words aren’t getting to you. You notice that Changbin, however, is getting angry. He scrunches his nose, tilting his head to the side, as if he’s trying to stop himself from telling her to shut up. You try to smile at him to reassure him, but he’s too busy damning her to hell with his eyes. 

As if he wasn’t already so damn attractive. 

Daki continues taunting you, inciting the others to ruin your game, but except for those who don’t know you, none of them are having it. The atmosphere is tense. You will thank them later - for the moment, you focus on playing, because you have a plan and it is working perfectly. 

It ends up between you and Daki, of course, as you planned. You stare at her as she reveals her cards. A flush. 

“Not bad,” you say. 

“I’m so good at poker, Y/N, don’t worry!” she laughs.

“Yeah, like, I don’t know,” you say, putting on a fake confused expression as you put down your cards. “Isn’t this better?” 

Everyone looks at your cards. You have a flush, too - except it’s a straight one. The tension evaporates as the table erupts in screams and applause, and you finally break into a grin. Felix and Jisung jump on you, making you fall backwards, while Yuna gets a bottle of whisky to pour a few shots. You just get a glimpse at Daki’s defeated face, not giving her your attention. Instead you focus on Changbin’s shining eyes and amused smirk. 

You raise your shot glass to him. 

Hyunjin arrives not long after, holding the hand of his new girlfriend. She has red hair and the most beautiful smile. As you hug your old friend, you take a look at Daki, who looks like she’s just been slapped. Karma’s a bitch, huh?

You can’t help but snicker. That might be a little petty, but you’ve been drinking and you don’t care. Daki’s hurt your feelings more times than you can count in the past, and you feel like her having a shitty evening barely grazes the idea of payback. Unluckily, she catches you laughing and heads towards you, fists clenched, eyes full of rage. 

“What are you laughing at, you fucking bitch?” she spits at you.

You raise your hands. “Woah, calm down, will you?” 

“You think I’m pathetic?” she chuckles mockingly. “Have you seen yourself acting like a fucking slut all night? You think that guy’s going to be interested in you? You’re just a skank and everybody knows -” 

“What the fuck’s your problem?” 

You and Daki turn your heads towards Changbin, who has appeared next to you. His jaw is clenched, and he’s looking down at Daki with disgust. 

Daki scoffs. “This is none of your -” 

“Leave her alone,” Changbin interrupts in a dry voice. 

“I’m not going to -”

“Fuck off.” 

His voice is so commanding that Daki pales a little. She straightens her back, shoots you a last malicious look and walks away. You breathe out, shaking your head. 

“Fuck,” you sigh. “I thought she was going to hit me for a second there.” 

Changbin shakes his head, giving Daki a dirty look. 

“You guys have history or something?” 

“Yeah,” you sigh. “A long one.” 

He gives you a nod, sensing you do not want to talk about it too much. Instead you smile at him, sliding a hand through your hair. 

“Thanks for the intervention. I appreciate it. I’m too drunk to be the bigger person, so it would have ended badly.” 

He smirks, leaning towards you. You get a whiff of his cologne and it makes you a little dizzy. Fuck, he smells good. 

“I have an idea,” he breathes in your ear. 

You frown, giving him a questioning look. He raises an eyebrow. 

“On how you can pay me back.” 

The words send your thoughts reeling. Oh, fuck. Is he finally going to do it? Take your hand and lead you to an empty room to ruin you? You hope so. You so desperately hope so. 

Are you a little too horny? 

“Yeah?” you ask, your voice a little weak. 

“Follow me.” 

He takes your hand and guides you through the room. Your heart is pounding, your eyes fixed on the back of his neck. Is this happening? It’s going too fast and not nearly fast enough. Your mouth is dry, your legs weak, and -

Changbin goes to the kitchen. You frown when he stops at the counter, looking at the numerous bottles of strong alcohol that are stored there, carefully choosing one. You’re confused - but clearly, you misread his intentions. 

He shows you the bottle of tequila rose, and you chuckle. 

“You want me to take a shot?” you suggest. 

He grins. “Jisung came to work one morning with the worst hangover I’d ever seen. Said it was the fault of homemade shots with tequila rose in them. Made by you. I don’t know why, it stuck in my head, and I’d like to try one.” 

“Oh,” you laugh. “You mean the Hot Lips.” 

You don’t miss Changbin glancing at your mouth, looking perfectly satisfied with the turn of events. “Is that what they are called?” 

“It is,” you answer, taking the bottle from his hands. “Give me that. You’re not ready for this. Your liver will hate you tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait.” 

You get busy gathering the ingredients while Changbin gets the shot glasses, and you talk about that infamous night with your cousins. You, Felix and Jisung had gotten so ridiculously drunk on your shots you had gone outside in the freezing winter to build a snowman at three in the morning wearing no shoes. You were horribly sick for nearly a week after that. 

Changbin stays close to you as you pour the right ounces of the ingredients. Tequila rose. Grenadine. Soda. A little vodka. A little whisky. And a little surprise of your own. 

“Just a little bit of lemon to soften the sweetness,” you whisper to Changbin, giving him a wink. “Don’t tell anyone.” 

He’s standing so close to you you can feel his breathing in your hair. 

“I wouldn’t dare.” 

You turn to face him, keeping your eyes in his. You hand him his shot, filled to the brim, and take yours. 

“See you on the other side,” you tell him. 

You cheer and take the shot. The taste is almost overwhelming in your throat, and you let out a sharp woo. Glancing at Changbin, you realize he’s closed his eyes. He shakes his head and groans. 

“Damn, fuck, that is strong,” he laughs. 

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh too much, but his eyes are glimmering with mischief. He puts down the shot glass, licking his lips slowly. His eyes find yours again, and he takes another step towards you. You’re just drunk enough for your inhibitions to have disappeared. Changbin smells good. Changbin looks good. 

“Delicious, though,” he states, staring at you intently. “Just the right amount of sweet. Just the right amount of rough.”

You swallow, mouth parted. You’re not even sure what he is talking about, at this point.

“I can see why it’s addictive,” he smirks. “Can I have another?” 

“As many as you want, baby.” 

The nickname escapes your lips but he doesn’t seem to mind it. On the contrary, his smirk deepens and you feel the warmth pooling between your legs. You must already be soaked at this point. Fuck, there’s no one in the room. What if I sucked his dick in the kitchen? Would he like that? 

You chuckle to yourself, and Changbin looks at you questioningly. 

“I was just thinking about sucking your dick,” you say. 

Changbin remains silent, and you realize that you’ve actually said this. Out loud. 

You gasp, your eyes wide. You stammer. “Holy fuck, I’m sorry. Shit, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that, it just -” 

“Why don’t you?” he interrupts, his voice low and husky, placing his fingers underneath your chin to lift your head. You meet his gaze, dark and lustful. “I wouldn’t mind you sucking my dick right now. I bet you’d look even more sweet with your mouth full.” 

You gulp, feeling your walls clench at the sound of his words. Fuck, you need this man to ruin you right now. You’re dizzy with arousal, and he gently takes your hand, guides it on his crotch. He places your palm around his hardening cock, and you can’t hold back a whimper. 

“You’re not going to leave me with this unattended, are you, baby?” 

Instinctively, your hand squeezes his cock, and you smile. 

“I wouldn’t dare.” 

Outside the kitchen you hear people bursting into laughter. The risk of someone walking in is so dangerously high it makes you dizzy, but you’re a little too drunk to care. And honestly, it makes the whole situation even better. 

Keeping your eyes in his, you unzip his pants, taking out his cock. It’s decidedly hard now, which makes you very happy. You kneel on the cold floor, looking up at Changbin. Slowly, keeping your eyes in his, you lick the length of his cock, smearing your saliva on it so you can lazily stroke it. He pushes the hair out of your face, biting his lower lip. 

“You look fucking good like that, Y/N,” he growls. “I fucking love that dress, by the way. Made me want to snuggle my dick between your tits all night.” 

You chuckle, kissing the tip of his cock. “Who knows, if you’re nice to me, your dream might come true.” 

“Nice?” he laughs. “I’m not sure I know how to do nice. But I can certainly fuck your brains out.”

“Sounds nice enough to me.” 

You guide his cock in your mouth, slowly taking it as deep as you can. Changbin breathes out, holding your hair. You start to bob your head up and down his length, swirling your tongue at the same time. 

“Good, that’s good,” he whispers. “Fucking good.” 

Encouraged by his praise, you accelerate your movements, and Changbin thrusts his hips sharply. Surprised, you gag a little, taking a deep breath. 

“Hm,” he chuckles. “Let’s try it again, huh? I know you can do better.” 

It’s like he knows exactly what to tell you - you can do better, and you want to prove it to him. So you take him in your mouth again, taking your hand off his base, and make sure you almost reach his pelvis. Changbin breathes a guttural growl, pushing your head against the kitchen island, trapping you there. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes.” 

He fucks your mouth and you feel your eyes tear up, but you adore the sounds he makes, the way his face scrunches as he throbs in your mouth. When he pulls back after a few seconds to let you breathe, you give him a broad smile. 

“This is so fucking hot,” you chuckle. 

Changbin smiles, grazing your cheek with his thumb. “You like this, Y/N?” You like the way he says your name, like he’s still learning it, tasting it on his tongue. “Well, maybe you are a slut, huh?” 

“For you, definitely,” you tell him. 

“That’s the attitude,” he grins. “Keep sucking, my little slut.” 

You go back to it. As you moan around his length, the kitchen door opens, and Changbin quickly pulls himself out of your mouth. Luckily, from where you are behind the kitchen island, you are not visible from the entrance of the kitchen, and the island is high enough to prevent the person from seeing what is exactly happening. 

“Oh, Changbin,” the person says, and you realize it’s Felix.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Have you seen Y/N?” your cousin asks, his voice slurry. “It’s going to be midnight soon, and we always celebrate together, and…” 

He rambles on, clearly drunker than you. That might help prevent him from suspecting anything, you tell yourself. Still, you bite your lip hard, trying not to move or breathe too loud. 

“I haven’t, sorry,” Changbin says. “Just fixing myself a drink. Maybe she went to get some air outside?” 

Felix gasps. “Oh, right. Good idea.” 

For a second you think Felix might have gone, but Changbin remains immobile, and when you look up he’s giving your cousin a broad smile. 

“You need help with something?” Felix offers. 

“Nope,” Changbin quickly replies. “All good.” 

“Cool,” Felix says. “I’ll check outside, thanks, Changbin.”

You see him wave, and the kitchen door closes behind your cousin. You breathe out, and you look at each other for a second before starting to laugh. 

“Fuck, that would’ve been awkward,” you say. 

“He’s so drunk I bet he wouldn’t have noticed,” Changbin replies, stroking your hair. “You still good to go?” 

You smile. “Fuck, yeah.” 

“Oh, you like that, don’t you? The risk of being walked on. I can see it in your eyes.” 

You don’t deny it - instead, you take his cock and slap it against your tongue. Changbin throws his head backwards and guides himself back in your mouth. It fits back easily, and you secure your hands on his thighs. 

“How does my cock fit in your mouth so well?” he breathes. “My good little slut.”

You let him fuck your mouth, feeling his thrusts getting a little more restless, and from the way he grips your hair, you know he is close. 

“I’m gonna come,” he grunts. “Look at me, Y/N.” 

When your eyes flutter up to meet his, Changbin lets out a shaky breath. You hold his penetrative gaze as he buck his hips and empties himself in your mouth. He manages not to make too much noise, clenching his jaw, and when he relaxes, you take his cock in your hands and proceed to lick him clean. You trace his length, lick your lips, and he twitches a little, coming down from his orgasm. 

“Did my little slut swallow everything?” he asks hoarsely. 

You nod, showing him your tongue. He chuckles, putting his cock back in his pants. You look at his face, smiling, and he brings you up to your feet. 

“Let’s fix you up.” 

He proceeds to put your hair back in order, taking a napkin to wipe the corners of your mouth and the mascara that dripped down your cheeks a little. Meanwhile you just take the opportunity to look at him. When he’s done, he eyes you up and down, and you pout. 

“What about me?” 

“What about you, sweet thing?” 

“I want to come in your mouth, too.” 

Changbin smiles, and you take his hand to guide it under your dress. You open his palm so he cups your soaked underwear. The contact already makes you moan, and you roll your hips against his hand. 

“I’m so fucking wet, Changbin…” 

He parts his mouth at the same time the kitchen door opens again. You twirl around, Changbin’s hand escaping the throbbing space between your legs. It’s Felix again. 

“I didn’t find her, so I -” 

Your cousin stops, staring at you, blinking, visibly confused. 

“I found her,” Changbin smiles. 

You grin at your cousin, who finally breaks into a smile and walks up to you, oblivious, rambling about the fact that it’s almost midnight and you almost missed it. You can feel it - you’ve been lucky not to get caught during the blowjob, and you can’t push it. Your drenched, aching cunt will have to wait.

“THREE, TWO, ONE… HAPPY NEW YEAR!” 

As per tradition, you, Felix and Jisung grab each other’s shoulders and start to turn in a circle. It’s something you’ve created when you were kids. You call it your manifesting circle, invoking good energy for the rest of the year. It’s bullshit, but you couldn’t see yourself not doing it every New Year’s. 

Felix smooches you on the cheek, Jisung runs away to find Yuna, and you feel someone tapping your shoulder. You turn to find Changbin standing behind you, a smirk on his lips. He takes your chin in his hand and guides your head upwards, kissing you deeply. Felix yells happily in your ear, but you barely hear him, drunk on the booze, drunk on Changbin’s tongue playing with yours. You wrap your arms around his neck, making out with him for what seems like hours, until you’re out of breath, until you can barely stand straight. 

When you look at him afterwards, his eyes are shining, and his smile steals your heart. 

“Happy New Year,” he whispers. 

The only thing reminding you that what happened with Changbin is real is that your mouth and throat feel a little sore - but other than that, you might have thought it was some kind of vivid, waking dream. 

You want to keep talking to him, but Felix really wants to dance with you and you can never say no to him, so Changbin just decides to do it with the two of you. You giggle excitedly as he rolls his hips seductively, and you and Felix show him a choreography that you created when you were kids. Changbin laughs so hard he holds his sides.  

When the three of you get too tired, Felix joins a board game and Changbin sits down on the couch next to you, his arm around your shoulder, not caring in the slightest at what people might say. You snuggle against him as you talk to Hyunjin, who wanted to talk to you about Daki. She has gone home, apparently. You feel bad for her, but not really. It never brings any good to be mean with no reason, Hyunjin tells you. 

You and Changbin keep close to each other, exchanging knowing smiles. His hand is resting on your thigh, and your head is leaning on his shoulder. You’re a little impatient for more, but it’s also thrilling. You want to kiss him. You want to know how his tongue feels against yours. How he would use his lips on your pussy. How his cock would feel inside you. You want to hear him groan again. 

Although he’s softer outside of sex, you’re not surprised by his dominating personality, and you find yourself craving it. It’s not always a kink of yours, but with the right person, it can reduce you to a trembling mess, which is exactly what you want to become in Changbin’s arms. There’s just something about him. 

So you slowly and discreetly pull on your dress so it falls higher on your thighs. Changbin’s eyes drop on them, and he slides his hand higher. You repeat the same game two more times, stopping before it gets downright inappropriate. Eventually you can’t focus on anything else, so you stand up and say you’re going to the bathroom. 

You’re hoping Changbin gets the hint. You don’t care much anymore - everyone is either too drunk or busy to notice, and you’ve seen people disappearing for a while inside rooms. Why not you? It’s the new year, open to all opportunities, and you’re not going to waste this one. 

You walk up the stairs, glancing back at Changbin who is staring at you, biting his lip. You just smile back, and you walk very slowly upstairs. You’re almost there when you hear footsteps behind you, and you barely have time to twirl on your feet that Changbin grabs your wrist and pulls you inside the bathroom. He slams you against the door, his eyes drilling into yours. 

“I think you might be having an issue with your dress,” he smiles. 

“Do I?” you ask innocently. “Maybe you should help me with it.” 

He chuckles, spinning you around. Your palms rest against the door, your ass facing him. Changbin hikes up your dress slowly, revealing your panties. He groans and slaps your ass, kneading the skin.

“My little slut,” he breathes. “Already can’t get enough of me, huh?” 

“I can’t focus on anything,” you admit with a chuckle. “I need you, Changbin, please…” 

You breathe heavily as he brushes a finger against the fabric of your panties, over your clit and your entrance. You are soaked. 

“Fuck, please touch me…” 

He slaps your ass again, drawing a sharp breath from your mouth. 

“You want to show me your pretty pussy?” he breathes in your ear. 

“Yes.” 

“You want my fingers or my tongue?” 

“T-tongue.” 

He chuckles, taking a step back, and you glance above your shoulder to see him kneel behind you. He grins at you, pulling down your panties. 

“Arch that cute ass for me, will you?” 

You do, and he hums appreciatively, spreading your legs to get better access. He starts by coating your pussy with his fingers, licking your juices off them, and then his tongue flicks you. 

“Fuck,” you moan, twitching a little. 

“You taste so good, baby,” he sighs. “I’m going to make you come so hard your legs won’t be able to hold you up.” 

You breathe out, aching for more of his touch, and fortunately Changbin obliges. His mouth comes to rest against your throbbing cunt, and he starts to eat you out hungrily. His tongue swirls against you, presses against your clit, teases your entrance. Changbin holds your thighs apart, massaging your skin, and as you whimper and pant against his caresses, his thumb circles your folds. 

“Don’t fucking stop,” you cry out, feeling your orgasm building quickly. 

He doesn’t, only smiles against your pussy, and it’s the best feeling in the world. He kisses you, rolling his tongue on your wetness, and you only wish you could see him there, buried between your legs, his mouth and chin coated in you. 

You push your fingers against the door, biting your lip as your orgasm suddenly flashes through you. A cry escapes your mouth, your entire body shaking against Changbin who does not stop and even accelerates, guiding you through. When your muscles untense, you feel your legs give in, but Changbin quickly sits up to hold you up by the waist, pulling you to him with a chuckle. 

“What did I say, huh?” 

He groans in your ear, and you feel his hard cock against your ass. 

“I need to fuck that tight little cunt of yours. Just like it is now. Still throbbing, all drenched and ready for me.” 

“Do it, Changbin,” you nod, still hazy from your orgasm. “P-please.” 

He quickly undoes his belt and frees his cock, and brushes it against your still sensitive folds. You moan, Changbin breathing hard against your neck. 

“Ready, baby?” 

You nod, and he enters you slowly, leaving you time to adjust to him. He feels big and thick, but you’re so wet he slides in easily, not stopping until he is deep inside of you. Once he’s there, you both breathe out, chuckling in delight. 

“That’s where my cock belongs,” Changbin growls. “You good?” 

“Fuck, yes,” you sigh. 

You roll your ass against him, and Changbin takes it as an invitation to start moving. He draws his hips away from you only to thrust sharply, fucking you hard. Soon he’s pounding into you, and you’re moaning, and he’s holding your waist and burying himself inside of you like he’s going mad. 

Neither of you are going to last long, you can feel it. The teasing has been enough, and deep down you know this won’t be your last time fucking. 

“I want to fucking come inside of you,” he breathes. “Will you let me, little slut? Take my cum deep, keep it in you?” 

“Yes,” you breathe. “Give it to me. Fuck, I’m gonna come again.” 

He’s rubbing against the right spots and you’re rolling your eyes in your head. As your second orgasm flashes through you, you clench around Changbin and he lets out a low groan. You feel his cock twitch and then spurt inside of you, warm and heavy. 

He fucks you until you both ride out your orgasms, breathing heavily, his body laying against yours. Once your breathing steadies, Changbin removes himself from inside of you, and you feel his cum, mixed with your own, sliding down your inner thigh. 

You fall into his arms, letting out a long, shaky sigh. 

“Fuck… That was so good,” you breathe with a laugh. “You are so good at this, what the fuck?” 

“Right back at you,” he chuckles, pushing your hair away from your face before giving you a long kiss. “Let’s clean you up. We still have a party to attend.”

Felix is trying to explain a board game to you. He’s the worst at it. You really should just read the instruction manual, but you like hearing his voice, so you let him do it. Eventually, though, he just gives up. It’s way too late and you’re both too drunk to play such a complicated game, anyway. Instead Felix relaxes on the couch, and you lean against him. 

You talk about food, about family, about work - and then Felix catches you looking over at Changbin, who is clearly winning a game of beer pong not too far. 

“So, Changbin?” he asks, grinning. “Anything happened between you?” 

You smirk, and Felix breaks into giggles. 

“Tell me, tell me,” he begs. 

“A lady doesn’t tell,” you reply, poking his chest. 

Felix scoffs. “You, a lady? Please. I’m more of a lady than you.” 

“True,” you laugh. “Well… Yeah, something might’ve happened.” 

“Oh, that smile,” he says. “You really like him, huh?” 

You nod. 

Felix wiggles his eyebrows. “Why not go spend more time with him?” 

“Maybe later,” you smile. “For now I like spending time with my favorite cousin.” 

“Tssssk,” Felix chuckles. “I don’t believe you. You say that, but I know you tell Ji the same.” 

“Well Ji is clearly busy somewhere else, so it’s you I get to annoy.” 

You start to tickle him, and Felix gets distracted into another conversation topic, and you lose track of time, soothed by the sound of your cousin breathing, the music, the conversation around you. 

It feels like seconds later when you open your eyes, realizing you’ve been dozing off on Felix’s shoulder. Your cousin is deep asleep next to you, cuddling the plush mushroom he got from the gift exchange. He’s not the only one - a lot of people have gone to their rooms, the music is softer, and the place is a reassuring mess, with plates and glasses and pieces of wrapping paper everywhere.

Near the fireplace, Hyunjin is stroking his girlfriend’s hair, lovingly whispering things in her ear. You stand up on shaky legs, looking around for Changbin. He’s sitting in a corner with another guy, playing a quiet game of cards. You catch his gaze, and he smirks, waving at you to come. You drag your feet towards him, settling down on his leg. You nestle your head in the crook of his neck, and Changbin chuckles. 

You’re good there. You doze off a little again, and open your eyes when you hear Changbin’s friend say he’s going to sleep. You expect him to get up and walk upstairs, but instead he draws his hoodie on his head, leans against the wall and closes his eyes. You giggle, turning your face towards Changbin. 

“You want to go to bed?” he whispers. 

“Hm,” you nod. 

“Let’s go.” 

He takes your hand gently and you follow him upstairs. The first room is locked, another is already packed. The last one you find has two other people in it, so you head back downstairs and decide to nestle in an unoccupied corner of the living room. Changbin finds two blankets, laying one down on the floor, and another on your bodies. You snuggle against him, his arm enveloping you. You feel his breath in your neck. 

The living room is silent. All you can hear is the hushed whispers of Hyunjin and his girlfriend - but even those stop after a few minutes. The fire is nearly extinguished, the living room plunged in darkness. You feel warm and safe in Changbin’s arms - but you can’t bring yourself to sleep. All you can think about is how nice his body feels, how wet you are - and how you feel his cock hardening against your ass. 

“What are you thinking about?” you whisper. 

He lets out a breath. “Are you still wet?” 

His low voice in your ear makes you shiver. You nod. 

“Good,” he answers. 

His hand slips on your waist, feeling the fabric of your dress. You breathe out, closing your eyes to enjoy the sensation. His fingers go further up, cupping your breasts, teasing your nipples. You arch your back, pushing your ass against his crotch. Changbin starts to breathe heavily in your neck, sending strands of your hair dancing. 

You don’t even care that you’re in the middle of a room filled with people. You just want to feel him. Besides, nobody is paying attention to you. The room is dark, and you’re protected by the blanket. 

Changbin’s hand pushes up your dress, removes your panties. When his fingers finally find your still soaked cunt, you softly whimper. 

“Fuck, you’re so warm,” Changbin breathes. “Can you be a good girl and be silent, baby?” 

You nod again. 

“Just don’t stop touching me,” you tell him. 

He smiles against the back of your neck, planting a kiss there. You open your legs a little, facilitating his access. Changbin takes two fingers and pushes them on your swollen clit, tracing wide circles, exerting just the right amount of pressure. You shudder, biting your lip to keep from moaning aloud. 

But you keep breathing, holding it back to enjoy Changbin’s caresses. His fingers relieve the ache of your folds, and then he teases your entrance. When he plunges into you, caressing your inner walls, you have to grab his sweater behind you, anything to keep yourself from moaning his name. He starts to finger you, relentlessly. It feels so fucking good. 

“Is that good, Y/N? Do you love my fingers deep inside your cunt?” 

“Yes, Changbin, fuck…” 

“I can’t wait to replace them with my cock.”

You clench around his fingers, and he must feel it, because he chuckles. 

“Do you want that, huh? Do you want me to fuck you in the middle of a crowded room?” 

“I want you to fuck me, Changbin, please… Fuck, I’m gonna come -” 

He removes his fingers in a sweep, leaving you gasping. Changbin pushes a hand against your mouth, muffling the sound. 

“Can’t have you waking everyone up, baby,” he whispers in your ear. 

You feel him pull down his pants, the tip of his cock brushing your cunt, and you breathe against his fingers. He holds them there, pushing himself inside of you, stretching you. He feels big, he feels good, already familiar - and you fall back against his body. His chest feels firm, his arms big and strong. Although there’s not much space for maneuver under the blanket, Changbin still manages to buck his hips, filling you deep. His thrusts are slow and powerful, making your body shake, and the rest of the world becomes a blur. 

“Shhhh,” he breathes in your ear. “Do you want them to know I’m fucking you?” 

You can’t help but whimper a little against his palm as he fucks you deeper, slamming his hips into you, and then you’re coming, writhing in his arms. Changbin growls in your ear, fucking you even faster, and then you feel him come inside of you. You are still trembling, slowly coming down your high, and Changbin removes his hand. 

He sighs, and you let out a chuckle, turning to face him. 

“Do you think anybody noticed?” you whisper, and he smiles. 

“I don’t really care.” 

You smile back, rubbing your nose on his jaw, his neck. Your eyes are heavy, and you feel yourself drifting off. 

“Y/N?” he asks in your ear. 

“Hm?” 

“Will you go on a date with me next week?” 

You open your eyes just enough to see him look at you. You kiss him, gently, and put your hand against his chest. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

• permanent taglist: @ughbehavior ; @upallnight-s ; @changbinluvr ; @rosexjimin ; @nasiaisan ; @lotus-dly ; @cb97percent ; @j-0ne25 ; @hwan-g ; @jhopesucker ; @tanyas97 ; @raspbinniecreme ; @septicrebel ; @imtoooyoungforthisshit ; @sikebishes ; @sai-kida134 ; @sstarryoong ❤️ (let me know if you want to be added/removed)

#changbin x reader #changbin x you #changbin x y/n #changbin smut #seo changbin x y/n #seo changbin x you #seo changbin x reader #seo changbin smut #skz smut #skz x reader #skz x you #skz x y/n #stray kids smut #stray kids x you #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x reader

[cannibalcaprine]

Consuming a mech pilot is such an, interesting, experience, such a pity that few get to try it. You're standing in the hangar bay, watching the burned and bullet-riddled machine glide down the bay track. Some of the mech's scorch marks are self-inflicted; this is a highly specialized mech, thrusters designed to move with grace beyond the limits of human beings--the paint is coated in soot near the booster ports. While the docking stages complete, enormous dripping plugs inserting into various orifices, and massive serrated clamps groping artificial limbs, your eyes glance at rapidly compiling combat data nearby. Ammunition consumed: 87%. Multiple system failures detected, including reactor breach. Highest acceleration measured: 49G. You lick your lips. They're practically cooked already.

You bounce on the balls of your feet as you input an override command and the cockpit seal breaks. A burst of hot mist, the delightful stench of synthetic amniotic fluid mixed with boiled blood causing you to salivate. Even though you've greeted many a decrepit pilot in the hangar, you can't help but giggle at the sight. The cockpits are equipped with microscopic surgery drones, a slurry of regenerative locusts that attempt reconstruction when the pilot inevitably is rendered unrecognizable by combat strain, but it seems one of the various system failures experienced during this sortie involved the drones’ efficiency. The pilot is mostly intact, relatively human-shaped, coherent as they ever are when the seal breaks, but many pieces seem to be unfinished. Tender, supple flesh, still wet with malfunctioning nanotech, hairless with deep burn marks on contact points. Fingers that don’t have nails. The entire right leg appears to have been severed and reattached, but backwards, the knee facing the back of the mount. The eyes are still filled with blood, the drones too damaged to perform repairs to hemorrhages in delicate spaces. The macabre display elevates your appetite. It is only you and the pilot in the lonely hangar, the automated service drones still disassembling the larger components of the mech—the cockpit is not designated to be breached for another twelve minutes, the medical bay drones idling quietly behind many doors. Twelve minutes might as well be twelve hours, for what you and this meal will accomplish.

You push the cockpit wings up, apologizing gently when you see the pilot’s eyes sharply dilate from the harsh hangar lights. It takes a bit of grace to find good footing in the sludge, but you settle down on the pilot’s left thigh, watching them twitch as your weight and warmth pushes against whatever painkillers are still circulating in their system. You savor their realization that the cockpit was forced open. No medical drone is hovering nearby to cart them away, meaning that your presence is unaccounted for, an anomaly that will not be detected. They know of you. Your propensities. Your inclinations. The pilots talk to each other, it is no secret that something like you lurks in the hangar, waiting for them. You keep your eyes on theirs as you untether their left hand from the controls, peeling back tight knuckles from the flight stick like rind from an orange.

     They don’t look distressed, you muse to yourself, pulling in their scent with a sharp breath, their limp hand hovering next to your mouth. Even within the chemical fog, the pilot could show fear, they could activate panic alarms, do something, anything to repel you. But they seem more… curious… than anything else. Here she was, the Hyena of Hanger 9, notorious for picking pilots clean to the bone before the mech had even finished cooling off, and yet…

You sink your teeth into the purlicue, the pilot’s thumb bulging against the inside of your cheek, metacarpals bending generously before you snap them clean with a quick snap of jaws and twist of neck. Even with the flesh having the texture of something that has been stewing in a pot all day, the mouthful forces you to chew a few times, before you greedily swallow, the ten minutes you have left depleting so very fast. You can feel yourself wanting to hesitate, to savor every bite—the combination of flavors so complex, a cornucopia of engineering prowess and medical miracles—but you focus on the task. While a single bite is enough for some to reminisce fondly upon, you have done this for far too long to be satiated with a peck or two. In order to keep the cravings controlled, you must gorge, with ferocity that matches the hunger. In a single minute, you strip the left arm of flesh, your eyes so close to the pilot’s as you snap the wet humerus open and greedily suck the marrow out. The pilot remains motionless during this rending, still observing with what you can only parse as fascination. You straddle the pilot’s lap, undoing the strap on their fractured helmet and carefully unscrewing two cables connecting your meal to part of the mech’s cerebral systems. You smile, bits of flesh visible between your teeth, and slowly scrape one of their cheeks into your maw. They watch you chew, unblinking, their teeth and tongue visible in the hole you have created.

     “Do you want to know why?” You don’t have time to play with your food, but their calm demeanor is overriding your sense of urgency. You pry their right hand away from the mech and suck the meat off two fingers. “They feed you that beige paste. No flavor at all.” You rip two scorched radial muscles out of the wrist, holding them in your mouth for a brief moment, your eyes closed as you enjoy the change in palette. “My generation can still taste. And you—” You twist their head and fit their entire right ear into your mouth, “—Your flavor is divine.” Your jaws snap tight. A thin artery pulls away from the side of their neck as you lean back, like a stray string being pulled out of a sweater. You and the pilot observe the string of blood, suspended between the two of you, dripping, twitching in the floodlights. Their eyes connect to yours once again, and once again you feel an utter lack of hostility. Something stirs below your belly, deep down. Something other than hunger. Before you can stop yourself, your fingers find purchase on the pilot’s chapped lips, pulling the slack mouth open wide, and you press your filthy mouth against theirs.

  The medical drone makes a small tone, the idling engine stalling briefly as it hums into operational RPM range. There are 4 drones total, along with a free-floating intensive care bay to carry the pilot’s mess in. As they approach the mech, already in the midst of repairs and adjustments, the Hyena of Hangar 9 walks past, the severed tongue of the pilot still pressed against the roof of her mouth, savored for another moment before she will have to swallow, carrying on as normal. Days later she will find an encrypted message in the system addressed to her, the only line reading,

“What a gift, to be divine.”

~ @thistoowillpasss

#submission #cannibalism #. . .holy fucking shit #for later #*

[cricketnationrise]

For the ficlet fest: 12:00 a.m. the V & A, Alex Claremont-Diaz

Wrote this on my phone at work so please forgive any mistakes! Yes we are working on a Saturday. yes I hate it thanks. but at least I can disappear into ficlet prompts for a bit over lunch :) hope you like it, I went so sappy I might as well have been a forest for this one

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

12:00am, v&a

“Thanks so much for your help, Gavin.”

“Of course, Mr. Claremont Diaz. Anything for you or His Highness, you know that.”

“I thought I said you could call me Alex,” he teases. “And I’m very sure he’s told you to call him Henry.”

“Force of habit I’m afraid,” Gavin says ruefully. “I’ll let you do the finishing touches and send him right along when Her Royal Highness drops him off.”

Alex sends Gavin off with a decidedly sloppy salute before turning back to the space with a proud grin, overwhelmed with what they accomplished over the last few hours.

Renaissance City is always beautiful, always takes his breath away each time Henry brings him here. There’s something special about the statues and the history represented in this room. But mostly, Alex loves that Henry loves it. Admittedly, Alex usually gets distracted by Henry’s beauty, so it’s nice to stand here alone for a moment and soak in both the exhibit and his additions.

The little battery candles he and Gavin scattered around make the whole place glow, the automated flickering lending a sense of magic to the scene. The flowers Pez had convinced the museum to allow are spilling over every surface, their light fragrance perfuming the air. And woven through the petals, illuminated by the candles, hanging from the ceiling, some decoratively framed, are strips of paper, in a rainbow of colors and a variety of weights — each with a quote that Alex painstakingly copied by hand. Quotes from their now-famous emails, from his and Henry’s speeches over the years. Quotes solicited from family members — and friends so close they might as well be blood. Quotes from Henry himself, whispered and crooned and sometimes yelled at Alex, etched into Alex’s memory. Quotes pulled from history and movies and books — Henry’s favorites.

The only words not displayed, in fact, are the ones Alex has been painstakingly crafting, agonizing over, starting and restarting, practicing every spare minute he’s alone, hoarding them for the perfect moment — for tonight.

Historically, Henry’s been the wordier half of their relationship, even his scattered post it notes are more eloquent than Alex without even trying. Alex can write with feeling and sincerity, but it doesn’t come naturally — he’s always been better out loud, or with actions. Henry’s never complained, never even intimated that he wants more written words from Alex, but—

Alex wants to give him all the words in his head, in his heart, in his very soul. He wants Henry to be able to have that written record. He wants future students and historians and random people on the internet to be able to look back after he’s gone and say holy shit Alex Claremont Diaz loved Henry Fox Mountchristen Windsor with awe — wants to carve out a piece of history with his love for Henry as the chisel.

And then Alex can hear footsteps — slow, deliberate heels against the shiny marble floors — echoing softly as they approach the entrance. Alex recites the opening of his speech in his head, feels for the ring in his pocket, and faces the entrance.

His heart, which had been racing with each step, suddenly slows with sure contentment at the sight of blonde hair and sky blue eyes that go wide when they see Alex inside the bedecked splendor of Renaissance City.

“Alex…”

Alex beams as Henry looks around in awe, takes a deep breath, and gives Henry his words.

#cricket writes #suseagull04 #ficlet fest 500 #I’m a simple lady #I see a v&a prompt and write a proposal fic #I’ve written it before #and I’ll write them again

[yeahiamjustalittleguy]

(ahck, alright! oofies- I shall attempt to recall it) up to you which character of the three you wanna writee- with whoever you choose flirting with and tryna fluster reader, maybe with a confession? owjejroakd I love confession fluff <3 lol please n fank youu cc:

Description: Etho drops by to let you know that your farm sucks, but it's okay cause he loves you very much.

Warnings: None. :)

____________________________________________

You grab gently onto the wool of the pink sheep, and it stands reluctantly still, ready for its first shave ever. A lot of the sheep that you have been shaving are recently fully grown, and it's been hard work convincing them that you're not going to hurt them, but they’ve taken well to it regardless. Usually, with how many sheep you have, it takes you a day at least to get all of their colorful wool shaved off and then after that you have to make some of it into carpet to sell, which also takes a long time. But it wasn’t hard work, and honestly you did like animals a lot. Caring for your livestock was one of your favorite parts of your life. How cute the chickens looked when you fed them, and how grateful the sheep finally became when they realized you were taking away their most cumbersome wool to let them walk around without carrying all of it on them, it made your day every single time. And your shop had been doing very well, despite it mostly being just wool and decorative items. But yeah, sometimes you wish there was an easier way to do it. Your base wasn’t even going to be finished at all at this point.

Finishing up on the pink sheep, you make your way over to the green sheep. Just as you’re beginning to shave it carefully, there’s a whooshing sound followed by the sound of the grass crunching beneath someone's weight. You stop and step away from the sheep, not wanting to hurt it by not giving it the full attention it deserves, and you look around for your new guest. Behind you, just outside of the sheeps enclosure, stands Etho looking at you. He doesn’t say anything but just nods as you wave at him. Standing up completely, you put down the shears and head out of the enclosure to greet him fully. Running up with a light jog, you carefully close the gate making sure none of the sheep have tried to follow you out. 

“Hey, Etho!” You say, enthusiastically. He greets you very casually, but a bit distracted. It seems you’ve somehow miffed him, and you realize very quickly it has to do with your farm considering the way he is staring at it. Knowing Etho pretty well, you can theorize pretty easily that it has to do with the efficiency of your farm, as that’s one of his big peeves. You cross your arms, and roll your eyes with a big smile on your face, ready to humor him just a tiny bit. “What’s wrong with my farm, then?” You ask, eager to let him go off about one of his many interests, not minding the small rants he went on. You were just surprised he’d never complained about it before, to be honest. “You know you can just automate all that, right? Like, shaving.” He clarified, and you couldn’t help but let the surprise seep into your face. You probably looked like a giant question mark. “Y-you can?” You asked, knowing already that he wasn’t trying to pull a prank on you but you really didn’t know what else to say. You must have seemed so stupid to every single person who’d passed through your farm. 

He let out a huge sigh, closing his eyes and shaking his head, like he was disappointed in you. “N-no one told me!” You stuttered, trying to defend yourself as a light blush of embarrassment crept onto your face. Putting a hand sassily on his side, he let a hand slide down his face to show you how stupid he really thought you were. “Well, I guess you don’t have to be smart when you’re this cute.” He said, and your mouth fell open in surprise. Registering what he really said you covered your face, trying not to show him how intensely you were blushing. You didn’t even know what to say in response to that. “I’m sorry..” You whispered through your hands, taking a moment to compose yourself before removing your hands and looking back up at him.

You don’t know if he moved while you were busy mentally imploding, but it seemed like he was standing right in front of you now, less than a foot between you. He reached out a hand, slightly bowing to be on your level. He was looking at you so intensely, you didn’t even know what to do. You were like a deer in headlights, not being able to move as a million thoughts were going through your head. Inching his face closer, you could almost feel his breath on your face. Was he going to kiss you? Then, using the hand he had reached out, he brushed a piece of hair out of your face, before straightening out and walking past you all within a second, leaving you a confused and blushing mess. You turned around, watching him walking towards your farm. “W-what? Where are you going?” You asked, jogging to keep up with him. 

He then laughed, shaking his head but not saying anything to let you in on what he was saying, but yet again you could tell he was carrying a huge grin on his face. “Let’s fix up your farm.” You huffed, crossing your arms as you walked next to him. He really got such a kick out of flustering you, didn’t he? How annoying. “You’re so mean to me sometimes.” You said, opening the gate to your farm, and letting you both through so that you could start the new automatic farm. He laughed quietly, choking on it at the end, barely able to contain his excitement. He grabbed your hand as you walked, and you let him. “It’s only because I like you so much.” He then explained, letting his soft side shine through. You blushed at his long awaited confession (As much as there ever would be from him anyways) and dragged yourself closer, walking shoulder to shoulder with him. “I know.” You responded, a small content smile on your lips. 

#hermitcraft x reader #hermitcraft x y/n #ethoslab x reader #Ethoslab x y/n #hermitcraft x you #Ethoslab x you

[msworn]

Thin Slice of Lamb (Dashingdon Demo)

Play the Demo on Dashingdon

An insurance adjuster, armed with an Arcane Forensics degree and surrounded by a group of loyal colleagues, investigates the strange events unfolding in Universe, a city transitioning from flintlock pistols to magic-powered Automations.

Currently sitting at roughly 20 thousand words (~11 per playthrough), this serves as an introduction. I plan to write quickly and release updates very often.

Thin Slice of Lamb (WIP) - Hosted Games / Works In Progress - Choice of Games Forum

What to expect

You are not terribly special.

Romance is present and is going to be an important part, but not the main focus.

Stats are usually more descriptive than prescriptive. Your abilities are limited mostly by specific decisions that you’ve made throughout the game rather than a stat check.

Alternate History 19th century

Not unlike Victorian England

Some magic but it’s very limited. E.g. you can light a candle, but a bonfire would be a challenge.

Romance Options

Three Bisexual ROs (one female, two males). There might be new ones in the future.

Ophelia (F) - sits at your reception desk, draws chalk-on-blackboard advertisements, binds policies. […Ophelia’s used to hearing men’s opinions on what’s best for her. And to ignoring them all the same…]

Jeremiah (M) - young and promising adjuster working at your office. [If you were born yesterday, you would probably be moved by the devilish smile and the half-closed sly eyes that the dark-skinned 20-something employs to trick other people into liking him. Not to mention that the image of impeccable appearance that he maintains with his pinstripe suit is definitively incongruent with his brattish arrogance. ]

Anselm (M) - stoic adjuster working at your office. […soldierly figure towering over you as if a pillar you could hold on to…] […they will see the same lopsided widow’s peak governing over his tall forehead and flowing into a wide, beastly jaw. A face that’s too well-defined to be ugly, and too long to be conventionally handsome.]

#choose your own adventure #choice game #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #choicescript #dashingdon #cyoa #choice of games #hosted games #demo tba #new wip #if wip #wip #work in progress #steampunk #victorian england #if: intro #if: updates

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

A Letter From Yancy

Another year on from the events of Heist and meeting you for the first time, Yancy wants to mark it. Easier said than done when you are in a spaceship millions of miles away.

But, strange things have happened on this ship.

Word count: 1,643

-

It was a quiet day on the Invincible, a rare relief for you. After your morning duties, you found you had free time to do things that you wanted to do.

That, of course, started with a nap. 

The nap was exactly what you needed after a busy week, and you felt rejuvenated to properly check in on various teams on the ship. You kept a professional air, but everyone seemed to know you were in the mood for casual chat. For once, it was nice to lower your guard a little and let the crew see you as a person rather than some mysterious, looming figure.

Well… Mostly. Gunther had gleefully pointed out how members of the ‘Captain Fan Club’ had been lingering around, peeking glances into whatever room you happened to be in. When you tried to look at them, the club members quickly spun around and tried to play it cool through random topics of conversation or pointing out different features like they were on duty. You weren’t exactly sure how a member of the ADS was supposed to give any professional opinions on what were actually oxygen pipes, but you left them to it.

Eventually, you gave them the slip and went down a small side corridor. The engineering department had a workshop dedicated to reparations and other projects. Mark had mentioned he had been building a prototype of a ‘cool idea’, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t curious about it.

-

“Captain! You’re just in time! Come here, come here!” Your Head Engineer was in high spirits as he grabbed you by the arm and yanked you across the workshop. “So I was talking to Burt a few weeks ago and - you know how he does the whole poetry thing? Turns out? He writes it! And not on the tech pads. On paper! I didn’t think anyone even did that these days!”

You raise an eyebrow, deciding not to point out that writing on paper was not fully extinct. Best to let him be excited as he showed off the large machine with tubes poking out of it.

“So it got me thinking. What if there was an automated postal system? Once you’ve written your letter and sealed it, you write the number code of the person you want to send it to. Then, you’d put the envelope in here.” A handle was pulled to reveal an opening. “From there, the computer scans the code, sorts it, and sends it zipping to its destination! The tubes would go in different directions, with the aim to bring it directly to the person’s cabin. Or! If you’re out, you can pick it up from over here.” He waved at you to follow him, where there was the end of a tube just over a small platform. “You type in your code here, scan your hand here, and it’ll send it right back here. Like this.” Stepping around you, Mark followed the steps. Three short, aggressive beeps followed, accompanied by an automated message saying there was no post available. “You try! I’ve only tested it on my code so it’ll be good practice to see if it will recognise anyone else.”

You nod, and follow Mark’s instructions. First, the code. Then, the scan.

One long, less aggressive beep was heard. 

“That’s not right-”

‘Please Wait. Your post will be with you shortly.’

“Hold on. There shouldn’t be anything!” Mark put an arm out, stepping in front of you protectively as you both waited to see what would arrive. A tube to the left rattled. The main body of the machine lit up in a sequence of lights. Mark braced himself as the tube in front of you shook and spat out… A letter.

You lean forward, peering over Mark’s shoulder as you stare, dumbfounded at the post that was successfully delivered.

“Captain…? I think this is a trap. What do we do?”

Two options appeared before you: destroy the letter, or examine it.

Curiosity got the better of you as you moved around Mark to open the hatch. There was a brief, childish squabble as he attempted to block you from getting there, but your strength guaranteed that you could simply lift him up and place him behind you.

“Er… Sorry, Captain. You do know what’s best…”

Satisfied that he wouldn’t cause another ruckus, you finally claimed the letter and examined the envelope. As expected, it was addressed to you, but not how Mark said it should be. Rather, it was for your old address on Earth. Had you been there still, it would have arrived safely. A different handwriting had your number code in the top corner, just beside the stamps, with a small moustache drawn underneath.

“So… Is it safe?”

You nodded as you reread your old address. The handwriting was messy and scratchy, but it was so familiar. You had seen it a dozen times before. 

The question is… How did a letter from Yancy get here?

-

With Mark distracted on his mission to figure out who onboard sent the letter, you sat at his desk and opened the envelope. Everything was untouched, meaning that the second sender didn’t peek inside. Yancy knew about ‘space camp’ and how you were inaccessible, yet… he wrote anyway?

Your name was on the top of the creased, lined paper. To the right, you could see it was dated from the start of October. Everything was the same as always - from the scratchy pencil he over-sharpened, to the bad spelling and grammar. It was quintessentially ‘Yancy’. 

-

I don’t even know why I’m doing this. You isn’t living here. You moved out ages ago. But i has been thinking.  It’s the middle of the night here. Still in Happy Trails, still on the slow path to a parole hearing. And I has been looking at the sky. There ain’t many stars out there but they make me think of you. You doing okay out there? Bet you is so fucking far away by now. Maybe you found new planets or something. Doubt this little rock is even on the back of your mind but… it’s been quiet. Not being able to see you, I mean.  Look, I gotta be honest. It’s october, and that’s the month when we first met. It’s hard to let the month pass and not mark that somehow, even if its through a shitty letter that ill get back in a week or two. Things ain’t easy right now. The parole thing? I know its the right thing to do, but it’s intimidating now that im in the middle of it. When that hearing comes itll be the first time i has seen my brother and sisters since the incidents. Ain’t looking forward to that. And they can say that they don’t think me fit to leave too. Not that i blame them. Dont think they can get my sentence upgraded to the death penalty but theres a real big chance that im gonna be rejected.  I know i should give up while im ahead and save the embarasmant. But then i gets to thinking that it ain’t the right thing for me no more. I might fuck up and get refused but i gets to say i tried. That’s something, right? And anyway, i ain’t letting you down. You believe in me. You always said you believe in me when you came to visitation. Giving up is quitters talk anyway, and im no coward. You dont get scars like mine from hiding all scared!! But i aint that kid no more. The person who did those things is me but isnt me. Does that make sense? Hes me, but im not him. I think ive grown up more than i realised. Im not that trapped kid. Im Yancy, and im going to do right. Once i get out……. Itll be a good thing. Maybe I could get up to where you is. Or maybe by then you is back and maybe we could… do something. I dunno. Im still proud of you for all you is doing, even when you is having one of them bad days.. Dont forget that. Except if you is a nosy shit who this letter ain’t for. You can fuck right off. Or send me a letter back so i can see whether i should be proud of you too. Oh! Remember. Back or side of the knees is a GRATE weak point if you needs a quick escape. Not that i want you to get in trouble or nothing. Just giving some good advice! Wait. I should probably go back to bed. fuck. Hope you is safe. Yancy.

-

You couldn’t stop the wistful smile as you finished the letter. At the bottom, you noticed an addition written in pen, the same one that was used to address the envelope.

-

PS. Nearly sent this in but someone brought in one of them instant camera things! Asked them to take a photo of me so you dont forget this handsome mug!

-

That caught your interest, and you lifted the envelope to peer in. Sure enough, there was a Polaroid tucked away at the bottom that was swiftly retrieved.

Yancy was certainly a little older than you remembered. He still had a pompadour style, but it wasn’t held back as tightly and allowed the curls to loosely fall. His eyes were squeezed shut to accompany the wide, goofy smile and two thumbs up. You chuckled at the conversation that must have happened when the photo was taken about what pose to do. Instead of one to remind you of how tough he was, he instead opted for one that proved that, despite everything, he was still a friend you valued.

You were proud of him too, even if you couldn’t tell him.

#ahwm yancy #a heist with markiplier #in space with markiplier #(read more is for tidiness! :d ) #(I've wanted to throw something here to show I'm not dead and it's my boy that finally spurred me on) #(hope it reads okay! It's a first draft because I'm not feeling well and want to go to bed before work) #(also engineer mark is here) #(I've left all dynamics vague to allow people to decide who they are shipped with - if anyone)

[filthforfriends]

Lighthouse

Thomas x gender neutral reader

Word count: 3.6k

TW: This is based on an ask I got over a year ago for a Thomas fic where reader is triggered by people yelling and he calms them down. Mentions of probable domestic abuse and vague implications of childhood abuse, neither necessarily physical.

Canvas bag in your left, Thomas’ hand in your right, the crisp spring air was maddening in that it made your nose cold and absolutely nothing else. Today was the first farmers market this year, more trinkets than produce because very little was ripe. Thomas wore a beanie to avoid being recognized, but got so annoyed with the thing that he took it off before you’d even exited the train. Now it was a bulge in his jacket pocket, taunting you with the possibility of falling onto the stale city street.

It was nice to have these as your day’s worries: skin bitten by the cold breeze, the lack of seasonal vegetables, a lost hat. There’d been a time when you prayed for the mundane, for stupid arguments over socks on the living room floor or the last cup of coffee already drunk. Socks could be washed and more coffee made. The problem with a broken home is that the pieces never quite fit back together. Too sharp.

“Hey.” Thomas shoulder checks you, using your intertwined hands to prevent tripping. He’s gotten good at spotting when your thoughts start circling the drain.

“Hey, sorry,” you huff, remembering to breathe.

“Don't apologize.” He kisses the top of your head, dramatically swinging your arms as a distraction. Because of the foot in height difference he’s jerking you around a bit. It’s annoying and very effective at getting you mentally unstuck.

“Okay, okay.” You smile, and instead of calling that a victory, Thomas starts walking backwards, tugging some more.

“I’m gonna trip and die or you’re gonna trip and die.”

“Such a pessimist,” he complains, with a theatrical eye roll. Tommy stops walking and you run into him, but it's purposeful. He’s ready for the forward momentum and drops your hand to wrap you in a hug. 

“It's inconvenient, how good you’ve become at reading my facial expressions,” you mumble into his jacket, zipper pressing into your cheek.

“And you can tell when I’m hungry when I can’t tell that I’m hungry.” 

“Mind reading is a cooler super power than being a hunger meter.”

“Mm mm, I disagree.” He loosens his arms so you can pull back and see each other.

“You’d look damn good in a cape though.” Tommy has this special smile that's exclusive to your compliments. He doesn’t worry that the adorable soft spot under his chin turns into a roll. His nose scrunches, revealing the minor asymmetries of his perfect mouth. Thomas had a tooth pulled on the right side at age 11, so only the left side is slightly crowded. In moments of intense passion you liked to lick where his canine overlapped with the tooth behind it. He never quite understood that.

“Well, I can’t argue with facts,” he shrugs, grabbing your hand and leading you towards the station. 

“Maybe they’ll have a cape vendor next week!” From then on, things are light hearted, because he's so good at that. The train is mostly empty, which somehow makes the plastic seating marginally less uncomfortable. Thomas takes a piece of gum out of your purse, laughing at the collection of accidently stolen pens bearing the insignia of various offices. Before he can crumple the wrapper, you take it and the Central Manhattan Dentistry pen to make a sketch of Thomas. He strikes a philosophical pose and you use your knee cap as a table for seven stops. 

“You need to pick a pose you can hold.”

“I can hold this,” he insists, chin in the deep between his thumb and pointer finger. He starts regretting it at stop two, but doesn’t admit defeat until stop five. Of course the drawing is horrible, but efforts to throw it away are met with progressively more zealous insistence from Thomas that the piece be displayed in custom framing. Through all the squabbling, the wrapper gets torn accidentally. Automatically, you brace for the fallout.

“Aww! You’ll have to draw me another one next week,” he laughs, rubbing your arm affectionately, lips to temple. It was his Everything Is Okay kiss, his You Didn’t Mess Up At All kiss, his I’m Not Mad At You Baby kiss, his I’m Never Gonna Yell kiss. 

“You know, I was thinking we should finish the ciabatta loaf today, before it goes stale. Your mint plant has been looking really good. I read this new technique where you turn the pot a quarter every week so the sun…” The gum wrapper flutters to the floor as you stand to get off, all of it forgotten.

Three blocks away from your second home and you realize it's gonna be one of those days. One of those days where your mind and the world collaborate to make you dust off every single coping mechanism in your repertoire. On the opposite side of the street a group of five wearing NYU swag are captivated by the epic row between similarly aged romantic partners. A man and a woman screaming with both windows open.

“Who the fuck doesn’t have the decency to close their windows?” This question is promptly answered, as the woman launches a speaker out of the second story window. Thomas stops to watch with his mouth agape, enthralled. On the other side of the street, you may be safe from shrapnel, but those college kids are taking chances with their proximity. What if one of them got hurt? Who would take them to the hospital? Which hospital? Would you have to call 911? Would they get mad at you for calling 911? What if the disbatcher fucks up and the ambulence never comes?

“You fucking bitch, this is the kind of shit that makes me want to wring your neck!”

“Oh yeah, threaten me, baby,” she replies with heavy sarcasm, bending over to push something towards the window. The man lunges in her direction. He’s going to slap her. He’s just picking something up. It's a toaster. He’s gonna bludgeon her with the toaster. No he’s throwing it out the window. This one lands on a car and the alarm begins blaring.

“Holy shit, this is like reality TV in real life,” Thomas chuckles. 

“I don’t want to threaten you! I don’t want to be that guy! But you make me into that guy!” You make me.

“I’M NOT FUCKING SCARED OF YOU,” she screams, hysterically trying to convince herself of this fact. She was terrified and sent a second speaker out the window. This one lands differently. Instead of a thud, you can hear it break into pieces as soon as it hits the cement. She has to get out of there. They’re both wasted, but she's belligerent and slurring. 

“I don’t want you to be scared of me, you crazy bitch! I deserve respect, as the man of the house!” he bellows. You shudder violently, because that sentence is way too familiar. 

“I already called the police so shut the fuck up!” screams someone from the unit directly behind you. This time you startle so severely that your feet leave the ground for a moment. The man throws the microwave out of the window and the glass tray inside breaks. The sound of glass breaking always made you nauseous, but you couldn’t move. Couldn’t even blink.

“Yeah? And what the fuck do you think the police are going to do!? Fucking NOTHING.” Her voice is guttural, rubbed raw and trashed. You can taste the copper in your mouth, just like you know she can. Blood diluted by spit from screaming. 

“Get out. Get out! GET THE FUCK OUT,” she wails, nearly falling over as she points to the window.

“This is my apartment. I pay for ALL of this shit!” There's that male rage again, its only purpose is to create subservience out of fear. Compliance from children who just want the sound to stop, whose insides get twisted up everytime their caretaker uses fear as a means to an end and then calls that love. Children who grow up damaged because they were taught that the world is scary and ruthless and unfeeling. 

If you hadn’t been in the midst of a flashback, your reflexes would have been better. Plates, glasses, mugs, the sounds of these breaking were your biggest triggers, the thing you just couldn’t defeat. When the woman pours a half-packed cardboard box out of the window, you can’t get your hands over your ears fast enough. It’s all kitchenware and at least half a dozen plates have shattered on the pavement by the time you’ve muffled the sound.

“No, no, no, no, no, no. No! No, no! STOP!” Someone was screaming, but not the woman in the second story apartment. It was your mother’s voice, or maybe your sister’s. They didn’t even live in this state, what the hell were they doing here? You can feel yourself being shaken, and only then realize that you’re in the dark.

“Y/n? Y/n? Y/n, amour, amour, tell me what's happening. Tesorina, do you need me to – should I, um, do I call…I don't know. I don’t know how to help. I should and I don’t. Fuck.” Finally you’re aware that the voice is speaking to you directly and open your eyes. Tommy is alarmed, bordering on panic. Finally the connection is made: you were the one screaming. Seeing his face brings the present into focus. He’s sitting on the ground which is why you’re crouched over. Or rather the cause and effect is the other way around.

One artichoke is on top of the storm drain, canvas bag crumpled beside you. The blown glass guitar Thomas had purchased and entrusted you to carry is shattered beyond repair. That metaphor and the public embarrassment, is what finally brings you to tears. 

“I br – bro – oke it. ‘M s – sorry.” Thomas looks absolutely mystified until he follows your line of sight. Hands still clamped over your ears, it sounds like you’re speaking underwater.

“Oh my god, tesorina, I don’t care. What can I do?”

“Home,” you squeak, vision blurred. 

“Of course.” Thomas takes the bag and letting him pull it from your arm means briefly uncovering your ear. The couple are now whisper-yelling, sparing glances in your direction. Bucklist item achieved: screaming at someone to stop shouting and they actually stop shouting. The first step forward, a piece of the broken guitar shatters under your boot.

“I ruined it,” you manage to blurt, before giving into a gasping sob.

“It doesn’t matter, tesorina.” Little treasure. Thomas reaches out and you snatch your hand away without thinking. Betrayal. He hides it at an impressive speed, but it's there.

“I’m s –ss – sorry. Ruined it,” you sob. “I – everything, I ju –just –”

“It’s a piece of glass,” he whispers. “I love you and it's just a piece of glass. It’s a thing, y/n.” Slowly, you reach forward, and Tommy meticulously laces his fingers with yours, one at a time. When your hands are clasped his thumb brushes back and forth, soothing.  

You never look up from the stained pavement, not once, even during a busy intersection. You can’t tell if you’re crying because you can’t feel your face. No words are spoken, but Thomas’ anxiety radiates from every pore. You stumble behind him, led by the hand, stomach in your throat as you free fall into a storming chasm of childhood memories. On the fourth stair you trip and land on all fours, so Thomas leads you to the elevator instead.

“Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself? Y/n?” You stare at the upholstered wall. Chocolate brown with tan line work weaving in and out of itself. You count every time the lines cross. At 36 something touches your back. You wrench away from it and whip around. Thomas is holding the elevator open with one hand because this is his floor. The other hand had tried to gently guide you.

The heavy front door slams shut. That sound hasn’t made you jump for months, but today it prompts a sharp inhale that has you choking on your own spit.

“Tesorina, are you okay? Are you okay?” The carpet had been freshly cleaned, but the cigarette mark burned into the cream-colored fibers remained. Vision blurring out of focus, you remind yourself that these feelings are from a past life. You no longer inhabit a space where they’re true. Movement in your peripheral makes you blink hard to clear the tears from your eyes. It’s Thomas, crawling across the floor. He kneels at your feet to meet your downturned eyes. He waits. 

He weeps. Tries not to, but ends up having to wipe his eyes roughly. Tommy is visibly sickened by the magnitude of his empathy. He feels what you feel, and knowing how unbearable that is, you reach a hand out to cup his face. He places his hand over yours, brings it to his lips. Tommy kisses every finger tip, every knuckle, then palm, wrist, forearm. At seven years old, you’d watched your mother get “Corinthians 1:13” tattooed in the same place after an AA meeting. She repeated that verse to you like building a shield. Looking into your boyfriend’s face now, you understand that it was never about religion.

Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful;  it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

You collapse into his arms and he catches you. Instead of letting you hide against his neck, Tommy presses his forehead to yours.

“Nothing bad is going to happen if you look at me,” he whispers. The habit was totally subconscious and you met his gaze. 

“Hey, here,” he hands you a paper towel. Gracelessly, you blow your nose. The velcro on the sleeve of your jacket scratches so you take that off. Usually Tommy would help, but he’d taken his hands away as soon as you were stable and was sitting on them. For some reason that makes you cry again. At first it’s a couple tears and then you burst into ugly sobs, hands hiding your face.

“Y/n can you nod yes or no?” You nod and Thomas lets out a long sigh. “Do you understand that I’m not mad at all?” Nod. Deep breath. Shaky exhale. Sob.

“Repeat,” you croak.

“Okay. I’m not mad at you about anything, past, present, or future. There is no anger in my body.”

“Annoyed?” You take a shuddering breath to calm down, able to stop the tears.

“I am not annoyed at all either. No negative emotions directed at you.” You nod and peak through your fingers. Tommy's eyes are so damn earnest. 

“No negative emotions directed at you,” he repeats. “I’m not gonna slam the door.” You nod, fighting the wave of suffocating anxiety from the mere suggestion. “I’m not going to break something or yell.” Back to sobbing, and now you’re choking on your own hair. “Shit, I’m sorry.” It was too close to home, but hearing the words would make breathing easier if not for the tears.

“Hug me,” you manage. Thomas slowly wraps you in a loose embrace. He’s leaning way forward, so your torsos aren’t touching. You climb onto his lap and squeeze, demonstrating what kind of hug you want. He sighs in relief and properly holds you. 

“Can I rub your back?” Nod. His right hand runs up and down, applying  light pressure. Seated sideways, you lean your head on his shoulder; hiccups, but no waterworks. Tommy’s Adam's Apple bobs when he swallows hard. He nicked himself shaving this morning. 

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am. This is my fault.” Just from his voice, you can hear that Tommy is also trying not to cry. “I know your history, but I just stood there and like, watched the worst trigger imaginable.”

“It's not your fault.”

“I should have gotten you away from there as quickly as possible, not stood to watch like a…” the self-disgust in his voice is palpable. “Piece of shit.”

“Thomas!”

“I’m not saying it was my fault, but I could have prevented it.” He lets out an uneasy, heavy sigh. This was way too much to navigate right now. Disagreeing would cause conflict and conflict would cause –

“Woah, breathe, baby, breathe.” Tommy rocks back and forth. “You’ve done nothing wrong and I’m just really sorry.” You scoff.

“I had a full fledged meltdown in front of everyone. Then I broke the sculpture.”

“I swear to god, if you mention that sculpture one more time.” Even with his voice void of malice, the blood in your veins turns to ice water. “I don’t care about the sculpture, I care about – Wait, no, no, no, that's not how I meant to phrase that at all. I care about you, not the glass thing, that doesn’t matter. God damn it Tom,” he groans, head tilted back. “Please breathe, amour,” he pleads as you shiver. 

“You lied. You are mad.” You get up. With tightly balled into fists, you walk to the sink. Rinsing your face doesn’t help and how he’s seen your hands shaking. You grip the counter and scrunch your eyes closed. How much anger had he buried and when was the reckoning? Would there be any warning? You couldn’t live your life bracing for it.

“Thomas, just get it over with.” You set your jaw, determined to stop the tears for good.

“Get over what?” he asks, standing up.

“Just fight with me now.”

“I just don't want to fight with you.”

“Just yell at me now and get it over with!” What was meant to be stern comes out as a scream, the same kind of scream the woman three blocks up used. Somehow the sound was still bottled up inside you, all these years later.

“Mia vita, I am not going to yell at you. I have never yelled at you.” You roll your eyes at his idealism, that hardened exterior that kept you alive going up.

“In every relationship people yell at eachother. Eventually you were going to yell at me. So just do it now.”

“Over a piece of glass? C’mon, we know this isn’t really about that. ”

“I’m. Not. Crazy.”

“Of course not.” He’s wide eyed and vulnerable, no defensiveness. “I didn’t mean to imply that, but maybe I did and I’m really, really sorry.” Taken aback, you wait for the rest of it.

“I know what anger sounds like, Thomas.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I should have watched my words and compartmentalized.” His tone of voice remains soft, regardless of your escalation. Again, you wait.

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t do this,” you snap. It feels like your heart is being squeezed in your father’s fist. Thomas is taken aback.

“Amour, I don’t understand,” he chokes, suddenly desperate.

“You wouldn’t make me wait and wonder when it's gonna happen, live in fear of when you’re going to snap!” The words fall to the floor with the same weight as stereo speakers out of a second story window. They just lay there on the kitchen tile, ugly and mangled. You’d like to clean them up before the grout is stained red, but don’t have the right supplies. Now you’ll have to get a carpet to hide the stains, or fabricate a perfectly anecdotal lie for house guests, or remodel the kitchen. 

Thomas pulls a bar stool out from under the island, carrying it so the legs don’t scuff against the floor. He sits down gingerly.

“Will you come here, please?” Deciding that Thomas isn’t the type to set traps, you walk over. Standing between his parted legs, you’re the same height.

“Look at me,” he murmurs. You meet his eyes and find no aggression, just his gentle demeanor. Tommy extends a hand, asking you to take it. He puts your palm against his heart and that iron clad exterior falls away. 

“I am upset with the situation, not you. I am upset at those people who made their relationship the whole neighborhood’s problem. I’m upset at myself for handling it poorly. I’m upset that none of the adults in your childhood acted like adults and now you have to suffer. I am not upset with you. I do not care about a piece of glass. I do not care if the whole neighborhood thinks I’m dating a crazy person. You are my crazy person and I love you.” What a relief it is to believe him.

“Shit, I’m so sorry –”

“No.”

“No?”

“You don’t get to apologize about this.”

“But in the elevator I –”

“Nope.”

“The artichoke.”

“Errr,” Tommy makes a sound like a game show buzzer.

“I had a full mental breakdown in public.”

“And?”

“I’m sorr–” He interrupts by loudly shushing you. “The snot!”

“Approval pending.”

“Okay, but for real, I’m sorry for screaming at you. I don’t know where that came from. Well, actually I do. I just didn’t know that it was so close to the surface.”

“Apology accepted,” he hums, wrapping an arm around your waist. You startle and Thomas begins to pull away, but you stop him. 

“I’m going to be jumpy for a while, but that doesn’t mean don’t touch me.”

“I hate that you’re scared of me,” he whispers.

“I’m not scared of you. It's a memory.” As soon as your hands touch his face, Tommy’s eyelids close with heaviness. He’s not expecting the kiss. The skin of your lips sticks together, tacky from tears and saliva.

“You are my lighthouse.”

Notes: Well wasn't that some nice light reading! I am an attention whore so feel free to give me feedback.

-XOXO Eden

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[jpitha]

Just a little Further 6

Part 1 2 3 4 5

"We're what?" Captain Q'ari spins around and stares at me.

"We're being pinged. We are receiving a signal from something a little further outside of the debris field." I have no idea what it is either. I'm just reporting the things that are happening. I think the Captain is being a little hard on me. I mean yes, I did twice now activate an unknown doodad by touching it when maaaaaybe I shouldn't have been, but it's been a rough couple of days!

FarReach to my rescue. "The signal appears to originate at... the remains of a Starbase."

"Show us please FarReach." Captain Q'ari looks to the large screen on the wall, while we look down to our consoles to see a smaller screen with the same information - that way we can see but also look at our consoles in case we need to take care of something.

What FarReach shows us... it took our breath away.

Sure enough, there seemed to be... most of a Starbase. Large parts of it were either gone, or the original designers had one hell of an aesthetic. It looks like it was originally an asteroid where whoever had it built it out until it was roughly teardrop shaped, with maybe a docking ring along the bottom point? But now, a large chunk was missing from the top of the teardrop, as if it was a piece of fruit and someone took a huge bite from it.

It was mostly dark, but there did seem to be some lighted points on it. It might not be entirely dead.

What was worse though was the planet it orbited. Note, I use orbit in a very loose sense. Planet in an even looser sense.

The planet was destroyed.

I don't mean like, it was once a green and verdant place and now has been rendered black and denuded.

It was cracked in half.

There was a hemisphere of a planet that was maybe a bit smaller than Earth, and then a cloud of debris around it - probably the other half of the planet. A ring was starting to form around the debris below the orbit of the semi derelict Starbase.

"FarReach... Can we estimate how long ago this happened?" Captain Q'ari asks quietly.

"Given what we know about orbital mechanics, and the fact that the debris field is rather large and has not condensed back into a planetary body, I'd say this is recent. Well, recent on a galactic scale."

"Best estimate please FarReach, I don't need day and date."

"Between 100 and 500 human years ago."

Omar whistles low. "That's not that long at all."

"It's been destroyed for around as long as we've known each other." Um'reli adds.

Captain Q'ari blinks and with a slight struggle, looks away. "Lieutenant Mullen. Do you have any idea what the signal says?"

I look at it. It's repeated a few times now so it's probably automated. I put on headphones and listen.

Ṡ̴̡̼̻̱̮̳͂̾͛͑̕͠͠ţ̴̨̤͙̦̰̐͛͋́͆̋̕a̸͖͎͓̽̒͑͊̑y̶̢͍̺͚̘̑̇̈́̽͘̚͝͠ ̶̥̪̥͉̙̗̈̋̂̇̈͒̑͜a̴͎̞̪͌̋ͅw̷̺̱̖̲͚̪̗̼̃̇̇̏͒͌̓̾̂͝ą̵̢̥̙̩͛͐̏̈́͗̈̀ͅͅÿ̷̠̘̺̘́͂͑̈̎́͋̿̚̚ ̴̥͐̂̋̎͜Š̸̥̪̫̬̗̱̝̟̀̑͒t̵̥̥̜̗̒̈́̈́͑̽̍͒̿̑ͅạ̵̥̰͔̗͕̙̩̟͑̋̓̀̆̋͂̌͜y̸͈̥̫͙͋̐͘ ̷̝͉͕̭̘̋̆́a̵͈̹͖͍̗̓͆̆̈͐̃̽͆͠w̵͍͙̬̺̌̎͒a̷͚̬̼̣͂̈̒̇̔y̸͚͉̥̥̺͉̘͛ ̸̢̡̛̦̫̰̖̼̩̭͔͂̏͆S̷̘̻̱̟͉̪̓̉̆͆̎̎T̸̻̠͌͂̿͌̅̈̌͝Ą̸̬͔̻̘͉͝Y̸̼̩͉̯̞̫̻̗̅̏̒͛̾̃ͅ ̴̩͐̾̾̊͠Ą̷͉͔͈̬̯͇͕̙͒͗̓̈Ŵ̵̡̢̗͖̺̫̗̰̩̒̔̇̋̃͋̔̄͝ͅA̴̭͈̭͛Ỳ̸̤͖̫̤̾

Startled, I rip my headphones off. "It's a warning!" I shout without meaning to. "We have to stay away."

As soon as I say that, there's a thud and a clank and we all move in our seats gently. "Captain!" FarReach sounds worried. "We're being pulled towards the starbase."

"What? How?"

"Unknown. Some kind of large field has enveloped us and we're being moved towards the Starbase."

Now Captain Q'ari is very worried. "Helm! Thrusters. We're leaving. Mullen, what's our next address?

I looked at the list. I had Fer'resi print out the list on a piece of paper. It felt... easier to read them when it was something physical. I stared at the names and let my eyes wander and tried to think of something... I don't know... positive? There! That one.

"The next one we should go to is R̵̫̬͓̼̜̹͈͙͐́́̅͑͂̌̄͋͒̽͊̂e̶̢̛̼͖̲̳̬̩̙̻̖̜͓̣̯̞̥̮̿̏̀͋͊̊͑̈́͗͗̀̈́͌̑̽͝ą̴̰̘̳̦̺̟̫̳͕̞͍͊̈́̽̇̂̑͆̄́̂̀͋͐̏̊͗͘c̶͔̲̬̹̀̈́͐͛̊̍̓͛̆̂̋̈̍͋͝͝h̷̡̬͈͎͚̤̳̙͓̻̞̫̮̱̐̐̇ ̷̢̬̼͙͚̫̼͓͕̜͍̭̲̬̜͙͖̔̑o̶̻͕̯̺̱̺̥̞̜͎͕͊f̴̱̦̪̠̖̮͇̖̻̲̝̩͈̭̭̥̭̈́̀ ̵͎̹̘̊́̎̋̒̉̌͑̂ť̸̥͈̪̜̱͚̓̚̕ḩ̵̨̛̩̠͕͙͉̣͈̘͓̺̜̲̺̮̈́̊́͗̓̅̇̐̒̾̽͌͜e̸̢̩̻̰͒͜͜͝͝ ̶̢͓̤̼̼̥̜͉̝͈̜͌̈̃͆͑̚͘͝M̷̡̧͍͖̙̟̳̍́̈̂̒̔̿̓͜͠ͅi̷̛͈͕͎͖̬̗̎͊̍̌͊̓͐g̵̻̣͆̄͛̂̐̋̑͒͑̌̇̿̓́h̸̡̧̘̞̪̬͔̗̼̝͈̭̘̗͙̤́͌̑̇͆̒́̍ţ̷̱̠̙̭̖̤̜̞̞̈́̒́͘ͅ ̴̨̮̖̺́͆̐̉͑̃̏͂́͒͝o̶̢̫̥̖̫̭̼̐̊̎̏̋́̕͠ͅf̵̢͈͋́̐̊́̊̎̅̊͌ ̴̡̯̒̊͐̇̚V̵̢̧̧̪̻̯̻̞͈̪̂͆̇̾̀͝z̸̛͉̒̋͒͒̊́̐̚͝z̶̢͓̘̟̯̪͓̬̰̉̾̈́̈́̾̊͂̂̽̽̓͆̏̚ͅx̸̨̪̫͖̅̉̉̔̒̋̾̀̊̈́͐̊͘͝. It's the second one on the list.

"With all speed, Lieutenant. Program the destination.

"Aye Captain." It was easy enough to enter the address into the addressing module. It was almost like they fit like puzzle pieces.

"Address added. We can leave when we turn around and ping the gate."

"Helm, turn us around. We're leaving."

Kieran looks stressed. "It's proving difficult Captain. We're not moving and the gyros are screaming."

Captain Q'ari's ears expressed frustration. She touched a panel on her chair. "Weapons! Can you target the source of the traction field?"

"One Moment Captain."

A pause.

"Captain, I have two possible targets. Both are on the damaged Starbase. One near the point one up around the bulb."

"Target them both then, We have energy to spare now."

When she said that, I felt a searing pain in my head. I shouted

Ņ̷̢̧̪͚̖̺̜͈̣͙̝͎̓͆͗̿̈́͜o̸̢̨͓̤̪̮̝̟͈͇̜̖̗̥̺̊͋̃̓̎͒̒̄́͜ͅ!̵͉̺̊̾͊̇̀͂͒͘̕ ̸̲̼̄͌̇͝Ň̶̰̼o̴̖͓͍͈̠̲͑̑͝͝t̵̛͔͈̻͇͕͈̮̺̙͂́̈́̓̇͛̅̎̊͒̋͐̚͘͜ ̴̨̢̛̳̺̟͚͔̳̘͓̱̳̀́̑̓̅̓͒̇̀ͅͅt̵̛͚̭̼̯͇͉̋̀́̈́͂́̓͗̀̐͂̋͂̈́́̂ḩ̸̢̭̦̖͍̙̲̹͖̰͍́̎̍̊͐̍͝ẽ̵̡̡̺̦̱͕̻͖͉̫̤̩͆̍̏͜͜ͅ ̴̛͖̺̬̟͕̺̗̫͍̪̰̯̜̠̜͒̋̽͗͐͛̄̐̚͘̚͜t̴̢̛̩̯̰̜̟͉̃́̎̈́̊̐̀̀̾͋ǫ̶͖̲̲̻̱͍͖̥̦̗̬̝̼̤͑̽̎́̓̓̑̇̈́̈̏̓̍͘̕͝p̵̢͖̖̭̩̗̠̙͒̌̎̀͝ ̷̛̰̝̘̘̋̒̊͊̓̓͝o̴̡̦̦̙̮͎͍̹̜͓̗̖̬̩̳̱͗͒̌͗̊̎͆̎̍̏̂̚͠ṇ̵̡̻̠̪͚̗̳̫̭̺͓̞͓̳̥̀̈́̓̍͋͋͆͒̈̇̚͘e̶̛̞͆͗̓͆̆̾͆̈͂̕̕͠͝

"What? What is it Melody." Captain Q'ari looked over at me, worried. A trickle of blood ran from my nose.

"Ugh, not the top one. That's where the warning to stay away came from. The bottom energy source is the traction field. but there are... people? down there too. If we target it, survivors will die."

Captain Q'ari nodded. "Weapons stand down. We're going to brute force our way out." She looked around the room. "Juke charges then." She touches a panel on her seat. "All hands, prepare for shock."

The small explosives designed to slide a starship out of the way of a missile at the last moment are called juke charges, because the ship will juke, or feint out of the way while not overly changing the direction of travel. When we're not going fast, they can be used to spin us in place too. The little charge pops out and then explodes and the pressure wave pushes on the ships hull, moving us. I'm told when we first showed them to the K'laxi they thought we were clearly mentally ill. They're used to it now, but tellingly they have not adopted the technology.

With their telltale double thump, the charges fire out of the port side rear and starboard side front. Slowly, much slower than normal we begin to move.

"Again!" Captain Q'ari shouts.

Again the double thump. Now, we're sliding perpendicular to the Starbase.

"Again!"

Double thump. We're almost turned around.

"Again."

Another double thump. Now we're sliding rear first towards the Starbase, but we're facing the Warp Gate.

"FarReach." Captain Q'ari takes a breath. "I Authorize War Emergency Power for the duration of the emergency, and should I become incapacitated I authorize you to complete the mission, save the crew and protect yourself in that order."

"Aye Captain. War Emergency Power authorized. Fuses and Limiters removed."

As soon as FarReach was finished speaking I felt it. The reactors spun faster and faster their power output far above their normal operation. The ever present low thrumming of the reactors became a teeth rattling whine. For short amounts of time, the reactors on a single Starjumper could power multiple Starbases completely, or fire their main batteries without pause, or link multiple times in a system.

At least until they overloaded and detonated.

"Fire Stardrive. two gee thrust." Captain Q'ari said through gritted teeth. "We are not going to be pulled into that Starbase."

Given the seriousness of our situation, FarReach was just as calm as the rest of us. We've been trained, they've been alive for a thousand years. Doing the job under pressure is the goal. "Aye Captain. Two gees." An alarm sounded all over the ship.

"Brace for thrust. Brace for thrust. Two gees. Thrust orientation relative to rear wall. Brace for thrust."

I've never seen it when out in space, but I'm told the firing of the old Stardrives is a very impressive thing. The flame from the drives is a searing pure white and at high thrusts has tendrils of black at the edges. Before the wormhole generators were developed, they were used to thrust a Starjumper up to around half the speed of light, and they'd coast between stars until it was time to flip over and brake and reach another planet,

See? They'd 'jump' between the stars.

From up on the Command Deck it was still impressive. My seat was such that when the Stardrive fired, I was pressed into my seat like I was in a vehicle that was doing really fast, or like I was being launched from planetside to orbit. Two gee is uncomfortable, but not unbearable. I've heard of Starjumpers thrusting at 10 gees or higher when they don't have a biological crew; that would kill me in not too much time at all.

Through the loud rumbling and vibration Kieran shouted "It's working, though it's very slow. We are moving forward."

Captain Q'ari nodded. "Mullen. Ping the Gate. I want no delays to our escape.

"Aye Captain." We were still a little far from the gate normally, but what here is normal? I dialed the power on the message laser up and pinged the Gate. I have to admit, when it accepted my ping and started to glow blue, I was relieved. "Address has been accepted. Gate is active. We may traverse." I said.

Q'ari nodded. "Helm. Traverse while under Stardrive power."

"Captain..." FarReach interrupted. "That is not recommended. The Stardrive flame is very... damaging. If we traverse while my flame is lit, I could damage the Warp Gate. We don't know what happened here or who did this but I don't think we should destroy any means of coming back here... or means for anyone here to escape."

"Thank you FarReach. Helm, belay that last order. Fire the Stardrive until we are almost at the Gate, then cut the flame and we'll coast though... ideally.

"Aye Captain. Cutting drive in 10 seconds."

"5 seconds..."

"Drive flame cut."

All at once, the pressure and the shaking and the vibration stopped. It was eerily silent.

"Helm?" Captain Q'ari looked over. "Are we still coasting?"

Kieran looked at his console. "Yes, Captain we-"

We Traversed.

Part 7

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #humans go on adventure #humans are space oddities #sci fi writing #writing #humans and ai #humans and aliens #the k'laxiverse #jpitha #just a little further

[yn-dere]

[2:14 AM]

TW: Extremely dark topics, please practice caution whilst reading.

The headlights of the car flickers softly, illuminating the bushes and trees spreading out across the dead end street. The crickets and the small croaks that I can only guess are coming from frogs, seem to get louder by the passing second. Roaring, almost as if they are small spectators tittle-tattling about this son of a bitch. The night black and bleak, the upended crescent moon frowning over my claustrophobic car. Droplets can be heard on the roof, even the clouds seem to be mourning.

I sigh as I cast my eyes upon the woman laying backseat, her eyes closed as the car lights vaguely reveals her face. My breath hitches as it has been my body's automated response to her for a long time. Along with the sweaty hands and stammering.

I wish it wasn't. I wish I wasn't such a loser. I wish I could conversate with her like a normal person without tripping over myself and falling head first. But it doesn't really matter... she understood me. She understood me and she liked me, she told me she did. Dates after dates, mostly her talking and me shyly chiming in at times. It was all that I treasured, really. At times she would be happy and I would be merry with her, other times I'd happily be her shoulder to cry on. She understood me... or at least I thought she did.

I didn't take her out to a concert for her to be making out with a nuance. I wanted to yell but I was confused! Why was she acting like everything is fine after flipping my entire world upside down? Smiling from ear to ear as we got into the puny car to drive back home. Why did she look so happy? Why kiss HIM on OUR date? Also, why didn't she care? Pulled up to a dead end street after gathering all the courage I had to confront her, and if the current predicament was bad..it worsened with an influx of questions thrown at me by her.

Why was I angry? Why did I care about who she kissed? Why was I acting crazy? We were just friends...?

...Friends?

Even through the dark lighting, I can still see the blood seeping in through the seats, creating dark parallel lines. The huge gaping wound at her neck takes nothing away from her beauty and I could almost swear that my hands were sweating like always, if it weren't for the headlights casting light upon the dark red colour coating them.

I take a deep breath as my thumb hovers over those three digits, leaving blood residue on my phone screen.

....

It's 112, what's your emergency?

Uhh, there has been a murder suicide at the.....end of poe street?

The end of poe street?

Yeah

Okay, do you happen to know any of the victims?

Yes, her name's YN YLN and the perpetrator is uhm... choi-choi soobin?

Oh. Are there any signs of life? Are you sure they're both dead?

She is, yeah and I'll be in a few minutes.

( Leading on someone like yan!soobin wether by accident or deliberately, is not a good idea.. I'm sure you'll agree )

Gif by @yeonjune

#yandere #yandere txt #tomorrow x together #txt x reader #txt x y/n #txt #txt yandere #yandere soobin #choi soobin #txt angst #soobin #soobin yandere #txt scenarios #txt reactions #txt headcanons #soobin scenarios #soobin x reader #soobin x you #yandere yeonjun #yandere beomgyu #yandere taehyun #yandere huening kai

[dawnanddorisqna]

OOC comment: I just want to say to the author, one of the things I really like what you do here is a lot of the exploration you do with Doris and her world feels like exploration I remember things like Asimov would do with robots/advanced AIs. The finding of humanity and soul in something both human like while being inhuman. IC question on that thought: Doris, have any toons been with limited scope intelligence for specific tasks that aren't entertainment? I can see a being of such resistance as a toon being made for anything for work in hazardous fields or even as dark as combat.

Hello 4thewynne,

You're asking about Stick Figures. Not really used today, but they're a part of toon history. When the first living toon, Lester Light, was made in 1908 he was really limited on everything he could do. barely thinking.

After his creation, there was work to show the benefits of this technology. While it was an artform, capitalism always finds a way to turn things to making a profit. And so, and even more limited creature was made. Simple in design and thought. These were the stick figures.

Dawn hates this photo. These fellas were first used to walk through dangerous mines and pull cable through areas. There are underground powerlines that exist thanks to them. They couldn't do much though other than move forward and hold something. As "living light" they could help light a passage way in a dark tunnel but if you wanted them to go and collect samples on the moon, or set up communications in a battlefield, well, you may as well ask a cat to drive you to the store. A cat would probably do better. Not to be cruel to my ancestors. It was very early on creating us. Eventually, we were created with more personality, character, something that could be seen as sentience. To give us this was far to expensive to justify sending us into tunnels. Only the big money of entertainment could afford it, and they weren't going to let their investments be lost in a dangerous job. So in came the era of the living cartoons. straight from the comics and on the screen!

As for the Sticks, they were never really updated and I think are mostly gone as there jobs became more automated. Workers also thought they were creepy and called them glowing gremlins. I'm not even sure schools still use them as a beginners lesson. They should still be appreciated. I don't think any of us would be here without them and Lester.

Thank you for the question!

Doris

#animation #toontown #doris doodle #dawn doodle #cartoon #doris and dawn #doris #animated #felix #stick figure #stick figures #toon history #animation history #doris history

[simlicious]

Saw a bunch of beautiful knitted patterns on Pinterest and got inspired to make a few new knit patterns. They are among my favorite patterns to make! Now some word vomit, I just feel like the need to ramble today...

I noticed that I really suffer from performance anxiety regarding making CC for Sims 3. It has been building up the whole year, and it is especially bad now that Simblreen is around the corner and the Christmas season is coming up too. On tumblr, people mostly post their accomplishments, not so much their failures, and it makes me think that everyone is so much more productive! I see people participating in Simblreen daily prompt challenges, or making/publishing CC for Simblreeen, and feel sad and inadequate in the face of so much success. I manage to make a couple of things that never really see the light of day, and I feel guilty about it and feel like I let people down😿 At the moment, I can really only make CC for the sake of making it (making patterns is a meditative process for me) and I cannot seem to complete the whole process of publication. I guess if you follow me you are not expecting anything you see appearing as a download soon anyway, but sometimes I really struggle with that. I am really sad about this, but I have always struggled with my perfectionism and intrusive negative thoughts that make the process harder. I sometimes think my patterns are not really needed. The lack of CC that is tailored to Sims 3 specifically (that recolors better than conversions) adds to the feeling that I am becoming obsolete, and my anxiety feeds this feeling. I guess I feel much less motivated to try if there are few things that you can use my CC with, and collabs seem to be much more popular for Sims 4, and I really want to make meshes to accompany my patterns, but I just get stuck in the middle and cannot continue, it sucks so much! The last time I attempted to make a super cozy sweater, I wanted to bake nice textures for it in Blender, but it just wouldn't work it out and I got so frustrated, and the automated bone assignments are subpar for highly customized meshes too. Then I wonder whether my meshes are any good in the first place (sculpting folds and such is really hard to get right!). Now most people seem to work with geoms instead of TSR workshop's WSO format, and I have a hard time understanding how everything works. I would love to assign bones in Blender and such, but I also want to use Blender 3.x and keep up to date instead of always using ancient versions for everything. Tutorials are often for older versions. My brain wants to do things a certain way and it's really frustrating sometimes! Learning from tutorials whilst having a different version of the software is making the process much more difficult. At one point, I had 4 different versions of Blender installed, but is so annoying to have different versions for so many things.

I am using a medically prescribed app now to hopefully help with my anxiety and it currently teaches me that anxious people tend to think negatively and catastrophize. This is definitely true for me, and it keeps me from actually trying out things because my brain tells me I could fail and why waste that time. Actually doing things while the brain throws you curveballs all the time is taking a lot of energy too. Maybe this is part of why I abandon my WIPs, because I cannot muster up the energy anymore to work on them. I often have great ideas and start on projects, and then lose the motivation or energy. I envy people who are able to finish their projects 😭

If you have any tips on how to keep going even with negative thoughts and obstacles in the way, I'm all ears.

#ts3 #simlicious wip #ts3wip:patterns #sims 3

[gpuzzle]

unfinished farming game rant

getting progressively more and more annoyed at my failure to find a farming game with the autistic attention to detail of something like Factorio and its modding scene

farming seems to fall under one of two paths: the first one is the rural version of racing's rFactor 2 or, being kind to it, Gran Turismo; a gorgeous to look at virtual world that prides itself on realism, and at its best it will have the design and immerse you in that virtual world completely; simulation at its finest

unfortunately, it tends to be just a bunch of brands that make it selling point (real supercars you can't buy! tractors from every licensed brand under the sun!) to an audience devoted to jacking off to leather seats

the other path is the one which is Harvest Moon Again; it's functionally adapting the mechanics from Tokimeki Memorial and every game that followed in its wake into a small, consistent, repeatable series of actions that don't require a ton of complexity; the game is one part small, routine minigames, one part visual novel

both of these are fine experiences - Stardew Valley is lovely and I 100% believe the soothing effect of a Farming Simulator, but still not quite what I look for, and the autism of the Factorio modding scene has yet to divert towards biology

and while Strange Loop Games' Eco has the sufficient level of autism as far as ecosystem management, but it's also a life simulator; due to the game not having any PvP and the inability of a player to specialize in everything, it turns into the kind of game that veers into the same problems of MMORPGs; I'm sure I'd love this game as an option, but I feel it presents kind of danger for me as EVE does

the fundamental gist of the game that I want here is pretty much some degree of supply chain management (the gist of games like the already aforementioned Factorio) with thematics and mechanics centered around farming and the required infrastructure; whether that's wells, pumps and waterworks, the housing for processing whatever you harvest, or just the area of harvesting itself, we can have something in that vein

I mean what's the capstone cycle of early game Factorio, when the game slams headfirst into a difficulty spike wall? acquire copper, iron and coal through electric mining; the coal is then split into two paths, which are feeding the giant boilers that fuel everything and being used as the fuel for the first level processing of copper ore and iron ore; which then are processed in a number of ways and eventually turn into the two main research beakers (automation and logistics) to progress on the tech tree, and keeping a surplus for whatever other things you need (mostly the tower defense aspect)

this sort of gameplay loop can 100% be brought to a farm system; accounting for hydration, for light, for fertilization, the harvesting itself could be automated, etc

with these games, expansion is largely done via tech tree, but we could borrow a leaf from a completely different game - Prison Architect - which structures its short term missions as grants and uses that to fuel its own tech tree and limit to expansion - to push it in that direction

IDK, just spitballing here (for now!)

#farming game autism

[thesnacken]

Appointment

The follow-up piece about Tarra and Handler Miaride.

A heavily-bandaged bundle stirred in the corner, right on schedule. Lethe meandered over, stepping firmly enough to be audible and not much more. Kneeling over the heap she cooed, "Its time to wake, delicate thing. They've called for another interview. You know how important these are."

She tried to drip as much honey into her voice as she could. Making it face this kind of scrutiny felt cruel, naught more than a doll made flesh, but the unpleasantness was necessary.

"I know how you hate such things. I've got something new for you, its heavy and soft. You'll barely know where you are. When we return I'll treat you to something pleasant, alright?"

It didn't respond, but neither did it resist being hoisted upright. Lethe was stronger than her wiry frame would suggest, especially in the rosy-dim light of her quarters. She draped its arms over her, placing feather-light kisses along its neck and shoulder as she undid the tight wrappings about its torso. She stroked the reddened skin gently, massaging it back to a healthier-looking pallor. She hummed as she worked, shifting her all-but-lifeless charge in her lap. More bandages unfurled, freeing the supple skin about its hips and thighs. It shivered slightly, prompting its steward to cover the exposed skin with a heavy blanket.

"Steady, my dear thing, I've only just started," she whispered, "We'll bathe you soon, and dress you in such soft and pretty things. You'll be so convincing, there's nothing to fear." Lethe continued to coo and comfort, pressing her lips against its body as she worked. It was best to get its nerves awake now, before the bath. She wondered if the dear thing even recognized the work she put in. She had to believe so. It was such thorough work, she mused to herself, certainly it was appreciated even by a doll.

The last of the bandages about its body fell away, and the handler lifted her fingers to its face. It looked so peaceful, the thought of disturbing that peace was a pit in her stomach. She pressed her lips to the doll's as she pried off the wrappings on its face, giving it something else to think about. Its eyes remained firmly closed, unwilling to brave even the gentle ambience of the carefully curated room. Its breathing quickened, stirring properly now to a convincing semblance of life. Lethe hefted the doll in her arms, cradling it against her chest, resuming her gentle, hummed work song. Tarra had been a romantic, once, before all of this. Taken with poetry and ballads and wistful songs of far-off paradises. Lethe invoked them whenever one took her, hoping it soothed the pearl of that the once-vibrant Tarra had been. The dedication to that memory drove Lethe, unwavering, to her service.

Automated systems, ever-vigilant, drew a lukewarm bath, in which the pilot was delicately placed. Its handler worked meticulously with a gentle sponge, devoting to a quality of care she scarcely provided her own body. She lavished her precious charge with more soft kisses across its fingertips, knuckles, and wrists, then calves and ankles and soles in kind. Sweet and gentle soaps wafted their scents through the bathroom, lingering in its rich brown hair as it clung to its face and her fingers. The handler pressed her nose against its neck, indulging in the smell. It may have preferred porcelain, in a dream, but Lethe was glad it was still delicate skin.

After meticulously drying the vacant pilot, she dressed it in an outfit of delicate laces and silks and soft cottons worthy of the very heavens. Perhaps Tarra didn't care one way or another, but it was her doll, in the end. It would be breathtakingly gorgeous, for her appreciation if no one else's. A skirt of deep blue swayed as Lethe fussed about its chest, concealing satin ropes that squeezed the doll about its joints, mostly another indulgence. She traced the ropes across its seamless, flat chest and its delicate shoulders. She draped a delicate blouse over its arms, coiling the ropes about its elbows, then securing them to cover the interfacing sockets at its wrists. Lethe stole another kiss as she draped hip-length shawl over Tarra's shoulders, and fastened its wrists together with the last of the ropes. Fewer things to think about made what little it would need to do more achievable.

The handler gingerly braided the doll's hair, lovingly weaving in pins and ornaments it could never have accomplished on its own. Only one article remained, and she held it like it burned her. "May I see your eyes, my precious thing?" The words came out nearly like a whimper, how she hated to cover its face. Yet it complied, and Lethe's heart hitched in her chest as she stared into the golden irises of her friend, her charge, her most beloved posession. What an honor, it was, to be able to dress it to match what a beautiful bauble it was in her heart. She kissed it again, then once on each eye as she beckoned them closed again. Alleviated of her heavy heart, she wound a heavy shroud about its head, and it eased again. Lethe checked the clock, noting a few spare minutes for her restraint and industriousness. She drew her hands about the countertop, beckoning containers up from within the surface. She examined the containers, and selected a milky-white bar, breaking it in half. She bit down on the half meant for herself, then broke the remained into bite-sized pieces. As she managed the slowly-dissolving substance between her lips she held the fragments to her charge. It parted its lips as she pressed the food inside, hesitating to chew as it held to her thumb. "Oh you can't be tempting me like that," she sighed, "Business first." It took another piece, sighing in kind.

"Yes, I love you. We'll be done soon, my most precious thing."

#mech pilot #dollposting #Pilot Tarra #Handler Miaride #This will Also be a three-parter #Part Three also being Spicy #Still not sure how I want to seperate these ones out.