#* TBD ╱ should i stay or should i go.

[llondonfog]

[v-arbellanaris]

i love adding more people to my block list btw

also: i have no interest in debating this with you people anymore. anyone sending me an anon about it, gets blocked. x

[curiosityjams]

*

[multiicolor]

its midnight merr chrimbis

[zazikels]

i’m gonna sound like a hater but all I can think when I see walking wake is 

[dotsunflowers]

.

[charliemwrites]

Hiiiii! So I’m not super thrilled with this but I’ve been having a time of it at work so I worked on this when I could 🙃

Not sure if there will be a second part yet tbh we’ll see!

Edit: almost forgot to add that the gorgeous divider below is by @gildui they have some absolutely beautiful cod themed dividers.

Carrion

Reader comes back Wrong

Content: implied/referenced torture, injury, suicide reference/implicated “pact” (by background character), lack of wound care

The breakup was bad.

Not in the top 3 of Simon’s worst nightmare-inducing memories - but likely top 5. He certainly wakes up chest aching and eyes burning often enough for it to be a solid contender. He’s haunted by tears that dripped like acid and the cracks in your voice deafening him.

On bad days, he thinks he can still see you shuffling down the halls, eyes sunken and red-rimmed, dark circles and chapped lips. Anger giving way to resignation giving way to pain and sadness. The rest of the team tight-lipped and wincing, no sides taken, shoulders and ears offered equally in commiseration.

Your misery wanted no company, though.

You didn’t tell Simon that you were leaving. Gaz let slip over a subdued but obligatory game of cards, you’d be gone for a long time - loaned out to Laswell.

Simon didn’t go to see you off. Didn’t ask why you were leaving or accuse you of being too immature to be on a team with him. He didn’t wish you good luck, stay safe with the rest of the team on the tarmac at 0-dark when you took off.

He should have.

Price says you’ll be gone for six months. Just six. It’s better this way, he reminds them when Johnny balks. His eyes are on Simon, though, when he adds that you need to get your head on straight, and you weren’t able to do it with them.

So. Six months.

Simon stops expecting you on his left. Stops smelling your shampoo lingering on bits of clothes he pretended not to notice you steal. He still dreams about you begging him not to push you away.

183 days come and go.

On day 184, Laswell sends word - your temporary team likes you quite a bit. They want you to stay on for one more month… one more mission… one more…

Six months turns to ten.

312 days since you left; since you were home.

The team hasn’t stopped leaving a space for you at their tables, right between Gaz and Price. You miss your own birthday. Laswell says she’ll pass along well wishes.

The situation changes. A target resurfaces. All hands on deck, including yours.

374 days. Twelve months and some change.

They don’t spend the holidays with you, but there’s a stack of presents waiting in Price’s office. Your mugs have collected dust in the back of the rec room cabinet.

Laswell says you’re still deployed on one last mission, return TBD. Soon, though.

487 days. Still TBD. Soon. Really. Just some loose ends to tie up.

561 days. There was some trouble during exfil but you’re alright. Just a bit of recovery.

You’re coming home.

590 days. You’ll land at 0700 tomorrow.

It’s been 591 days since Simon last saw you. Since any of them last saw you.

Laswell has come to deliver you personally, a kind of apology for keeping you away so long. She’s the first off the transport and you’re right behind her.

Your hair is shorter. Much, much shorter. There’s a new patch on your jacket - memento from your temporary team, Simon figures.

Apart from that, you look… almost exactly how you did when you left. Dark circles under your eyes, mouth drawn and tight. There’s invisible weight compressing your shoulders, urging them in and down. But you’re there again. Just the way he remembers.

(Why are you the way he remembers?)

“Long time, no see,” Gaz calls, reaching for you.

There’s half a beat, you blink. Hesitate.

Then you grin and reach back.

“Missed my pretty face, did you?” you reply.

Johnny laughs and brings you in for a hug. You twitch hug him back, patting his shoulder as you pull away.

“Good to have you back, Sergeant,” Price says, shaking your hand.

You turn to Simon, nod in greeting, expression pleasant. “Ghost.”

So that’s how it’ll be? Alright.

“Sergeant.”

That night, you go out for drinks with the team and Laswell. Simon goes along to show there are no hard feelings.

(Not that you seem to need reassurance. It’s not even that you’re not looking at him. You are. Whenever he speaks, the rare times he does, or if he shifts in his seat. Your gaze doesn’t linger or jerk away, you treat him like you do Johnny and Gaz and Price.)

When Johnny mixes up your usual for Price’s, you don’t even seem to notice. But Simon does.

“When did you start drinking whiskey?” he wonders.

You used to swear you’d never like it, claiming it tasted like boot polish and the “Boys Club” wasn’t worth the indigestion it gave you.

“Someone from my other team,” you say by way of explanation.

You don’t ask for another whiskey. Laswell gets the rest of your drinks for that night.

Simon turns into the rec room two days later and finds you already there. There’s only the light above the sink on, and you’re staring at the steady drip, drip, drip from the faucet. A cup of black coffee cools in your hand. You’re already wearing gloves.

“Sugar’s in the left now,” he calls.

Your head twitches, something pops in your neck.

“Oh, thanks,” you chirp, turning for the cabinet. “Sleep okay, LT?”

“‘Bout as well as I ever do,” he replies gruffly, sidling up next to you for the kettle.

You hum. There’s a yellow packet in your hand. (Didn’t you used to like the blue one?)

“I get that,” you sympathize.

He snorts. Since when?

“Do you?”

When he glances down, you’re not looking at him. Instead, you’re trying (and failing) to get the sink to stop dripping.

“You know that’s been broken for ages,” he says.

At least as long as the 141 has been around. You tried to fix it once when you first joined up, too, with no luck.

“Right,” you say. A little too quickly, a little too agreeably. “Well, anyway, enjoy your tea, Lieutenant.”

You leave the packet of sugar behind. Unopened.

You’re back and it’s like it used to be - not just before you left, but before the breakup. Before there was ever anything to break up.

Your time away seems to have given you whatever space from Simon you were hoping for, because you act like there was never anything at all.

He’s half expecting, dreading, that you’ll pull him aside at some point. Ask for a word after dinner, or swing by his room before bed. Talk about the break up now that cooler heads prevail and 19 months have sanded down the rough feelings. Seek closure, maybe.

But you don’t. The weeks pass until a month has gone and you never exchange more than easy pleasantries with Simon. You give him space, give him privacy. Things you never used to give him much of before, for better or worse.

You fool around with Gaz and Johnny, trade quips with Price, and follow Simon’s orders. Train recruits. Write reports.

You’re back, better than ever.

So why does it feel like Simon’s still waiting for you to return?

You’re always dressed now, head to toe. Day or night, rain or shine. From the neck down you’re in full sleeves, long pants, boots and gloves.

It doesn’t occur to anyone until you’re sweating through your compression shirt in the gym. Wipe your shiny forehead for the dozenth time before Johnny says, “why not just take it off?”

“It’s not that bad,” you laugh, waving him off.

When you lie down to bench press, Simon notes the bottom of your shirt tucked tight into your waistband. He exchanges a glance with Johnny - he’s seen it too.

You used to dress in shorts and sports bras during exercise, a towel over your shoulder. In the common room, you’d mill in tank-tops and boxers. Even used to trot down the hall swaddled in a towel or robe, mumbling that you forgot a razor or some other toiletry before showering.

“What, did ye get an embarrassing tattoo or somethin’?” Johnny asks finally.

You blink at him, expression bemused. “A tattoo? Why do you think I have a tattoo?”

“Yer covered up like a nun on Sunday. It cannae be comfortable.”

You snort. “Just because you’re allergic to clothes, MacTavish…”

“Allergic?! Wha’s tha’ s’posed t’mean?!”

Gaz barks a laugh. You grin and continue your workout.

Simon tries not to be disturbed by the name “MacTavish” coming off your tongue for the first time since you met.

It’s your first mission since you’ve been back. You have new gear, a new handgun. Something’s been carved into the side of the barrel in Cyrillic, Simon can’t read it. A new callsign.

(“What kind of a name is Carry-on?” Johnny teases, but he doesn’t quite hide the unease in his eyes.

You snort and lace your boots tighter. The edge of you sleeve inches up, revealing the curve of a glossy scar that wasn’t there before.

“You’re one to talk Mister Maybelline.”)

Someone painted an upside down cross on the temple of your helmet with their finger. You thumb it before stuffing it over your head.

“You ready for this?” Gaz asks, knocking his knee into yours. The two of you have been paired together for this mission. (Was it Simon’s imagination, or did you look annoyed that you would have a partner?)

“Always,” you reply.

Simon doesn’t hear what happens, but Gaz looks shellshocked when you haul him into the helicopter during exfil. You shake him a bit once everything is secure and the bird’s in the air.

“Garrick,” you shout, “c’mon, where did he get you?”

It takes him a second but he blinks, offers his arm for your inspection. You move with a speed even Simon is impressed by, tearing into the nearby med kit almost viciously. Gaz is patched up in record time and you sit back with blood on your hands, barely even seem to notice as you wipe them carelessly on your pants.

(You used to be more squeamish, weren’t you? You used to be the last one they asked for medical care because seeing your teammates in pain made you nauseous.)

“What about you?” Gaz asks after a small eternity.

You yawn. “What about me?”

“You got nicked too, didn’t you?”

Simon takes a second look at you and now that Gaz mentions it, you’re soaked in blood. Wet patches on your vest, your pants, dripping down your boots. It takes him a moment to notice the tear in your thigh, shredded flesh visible when you rock with the wind turbulence.

“Did I?” you wonder, glancing down like you only just noticed it.

Johnny curses, reaches for you - but you wave him off.

“It’s just a scratch,” you reply. “Barely even feel it, no worries.”

Then why is it still bleeding?

When the team lands, you hop off the heli without so much as a wince. Droplets of blood lead all the way back to your room.

(When Simon asks Nikolai about the hand-etching on your gun, he says the word means “promise.”)

In the after-action report, your callsign isn’t “Carry-On.” It’s Carrion.

Laswell takes you off the mission two months later, a joint assignment with KorTac. They send three operators to work with TF141 - Stiletto, Konig, and Nikto.

On the transport to infil, Simon notices the Russian inspecting his handgun in a seat separated from the rest of the squad. He recognizes the Cyrillic carved into the barrel this time: Promise.

It’s an eerie, creeping suspicion. An anxious fog rolling in.

It’s not one single thing that trips an alarm in Simon’s head, but a steady collation of oddities over months. A single arhythmic beat, a note off key. Just once or twice, but over and over until he can’t notice anything else.

You act just like yourself except for all the minute ways you don’t.

You smile big and wide, sunshine bright, when they make a good joke. Your laugh is still the same, bubbling up in your throat, head thrown back. You smell the same when you pass Simon in the hall, shampoo and soap that’s haunted him for a year and a half.

It’s insidiously subtle; he can’t pinpoint what it is for the longest time. Your mannerisms are almost too practiced, the cadence of your voice too measured. A missing turn of phrase you often used, replaced by something unfamiliar.

Simon dismisses it as guilt-laden paranoia. The two of you ended on bad terms with a year and half worth of space between. He’s hardly one to gauge what’s normal for you anymore.

And besides, the few times someone else has noticed at those tiny yet all-too-obvious inconsistencies, you shrug it off as something you picked up while away.

But he catches Johnny’s brows furrow one afternoon as you light up a cig (after swearing for years that you’d never pick up the habit) and Simon knows he’s beginning to see it too.

“You ever notice,” Gaz begins slowly. You’re the only one missing from the rec room this evening, retired with a drawn-out yawn. “That Carrion always mentions being away, but never talks about it?”

Simon stills. Johnny’s eyes fly to Price, who’s grimly tapping at his crossword puzzle.

“The file’s redacted,” he says. He’s seen it too then, tried to investigate for himself.

“That’s normal for a mission like that,” Simon reasons carefully.

“I don’t mean the mission,” Price says. “I mean Carrion’s file.”

“This is a good movie,” you mumble from the armchair you’ve stolen from Price. “What’s it called?”

Simon exchanges glances with the rest of the team. No one points out that this is (used to be?) your favorite.

Price looks into the team you were loaned out to. All were KIA or remain MIA. All but one. His file has been scrubbed too, the only documents readable are discharge orders and a PMC contract, both associated with the callsign “Nikto.”

They’re running out of time.

Less than 36 hours on the clock with only one lead, and it’s a zealot with a suicide pact. Price and Laswell both took a crack at him with nothing to show for it. Even Ghost has gotten hardly anything and he’s running out of nails. With time, he might get something useful, but they don’t have much of that left.

In the anteroom looking into interrogation, you’ve been observing through the one-way glass with your hands in your pockets, head tilted, expression serene.

Price and Laswell are discussing strategy, contingencies. Gaz and Johnny are throwing in their two cents, but Simon… Simon is watching you.

Like medical, torture used to be your Achilles. You were trained like the rest of the team, but there was never any need for you to step into the room yourself. Hell, you were a last resort even for observation or emergency resuscitation. No one blamed you for having a weak stomach for information extraction.

But today, you glance over your shoulder and make eye contact with Laswell.

“I’ll handle it,” you say with an air of finality.

The room goes silent. Price opens his mouth, but it’s Laswell that speaks, voice hard with resignation.

“Do it.”

You don’t blink. “Yes, ma’am.”

You walk out the door without a backwards glance, shoulders loose but each step steady and purposeful.

“What the hell is going on, Kate?” Price demands.

Kate sighs, looks away as you enter the interrogation room.

“Let’s do this outside. It won’t take long to get that intel.”

The only thing she’s able to share is that you and your team were captured. For a long time. And then you’re already stepping out of the interrogation room, wiping your bloodied hands off on an old rag.

There’s an unusual glint in your eye, an unnatural stillness in your expression.

“Got what we need,” you announce cheerfully.

[normaltothemax]

“What, this?” He looks at the literal pole that’s sticking out of his chest before offering a shrug. “Nah, this’s fine. Just a flesh wound. Nothin’ serious.” The suit would heal him. Eventually. Didn’t mean that it wasn’t going to hurt like a bitch, in the meantime.

[felixbit]

huddling for warmth

── flufftober day ten, masterlist tbd bang chan x gn!reader, w. 0.6k

Right when things had started to get cold, the worst had happened to you. You were sitting in the morning with your boyfriend and realized just how chilly the apartment felt.

Checking your phone, you had gotten a message informing you the heater system was out and would take at least a day or two to get fixed again. Relaying this to Chan caused him to frown but run to your room and pull all the blankets from the bed.

"Let's stay warm then, yeah?"

You'd first bundled up into one of Chan's hoodies and walked out to the living room, seeing him laying out the blankets and pillows all nicely. You couldn't help but smile at his willingness to jump into damage control.

Just as he was setting up another blanket on the big couch he had gotten last winter, he turned and grinned at you. "Do you like it? I think this should be enough.."

You couldn't help but laugh at just how overkill he was going with this. "Chris, honey, it's more than enough."

"More than enough?" Chan shook his head, "I'm still freezing and I know it'll take me more than a blanket or two to warm up right."

"Well, I'm in one of your hoodies, I would advise you to do the same." You countered, and he shrugged.

"They're all practically yours now, anyway," Chan laughed and crawled under his pile of blankets, giving a sigh of relief.

Seeing him shiver slightly had you laughing again. "That blanket fort going well for you, big guy?"

"Absolutely, it's right on," Chan nodded and invited you in, "Warmed it up already a bit for you."

You nodded and obliged, cuddling up next to him as you let him drape blankets over you. The hoodie was already warm enough to get the cold to be less noticeable, but the blankets quickly took the concept of cold away entirely.

Chan had taken the responsibility of the remote, putting on a Netflix show for you to watch together. He had to lean over you to see the screen properly, giving him an excuse to wrap his arms around you and put his head on your shoulder.

"Hey, clingy koala."

Chan made a small laugh through his nose and a small affirmation noise. "Hey there yourself."

"Could I ask a huge favor of you? Because you've sold me on this blanket fort too hard and now I never want to leave."

"What's that?" He asked.

"Would you do the honors of making some hot cocoa? I know I had some mix around here somewhere, the stuff with the marshmallows in it, but I cannot be bothered to get up." You answered honestly.

You heard Chan snicker softly but nod, slowly detaching himself from the back of you and slipping out of the blanket stack he had made. "Anything for you. Plus, I kind of wanted something to drink."

You thanked him in a million words of praise, and he soon returned to you with two steaming mugs of cocoa in hand. Setting them on the coffee table in front of the couch, he quickly snugged back under the covers.

He returned to the position of being attached to you from behind, arms circling back around you. "I missed you."

"You were gone for like, two minutes, Chris." You replied in disbelief.

Chan sighed. "Two minutes too long. Two minutes in the freezing cold.."

"Okay, drama queen. Can I hit play on the show, please?"

"Only if you admit you love me and missed me dearly."

With a laugh and a sigh, you gave in. "I love you dearly, Christopher, and I missed you with all my heart."

"Aw, I love you too."

[maggiecc]

When the World Shifts (Finnick O'dair x reader)

Finnick O’Dair x reader

TW: It's about the Hunger Games, so murder, talks of death, Annie has panic attacks

This first part does not use Y/N, for the next part should I include it, or continue to disclude it?

No Betas, we die like Vikings.

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4:TBD

“On the third quarter quill game, the male and female tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each district.” Snow continued his speech, but you stopped being able to hear it, his words turning into static.

“No, No, No” You hear Annie mumble. You turn to look at her as she starts to shake, and her mumbles turn to screams. She had covered her ears with her hands and squeezed her eyes shut “NO, NO, NO!”

You wrap her up into your arms, stroking her hair, whispering words of comfort all while you felt the same. You too wanted to scream but screaming would do you no good and you knew this. You cannot afford to fall apart, not now, not with Annie here. The announcement of the quarter quell, that the 75th Hunger Games would be made up of victors meant your safety from the games was gone. You didn’t want to believe it, that it was possible, but Annie’s tears were enough proof for you to believe it.

Before you could think about reentering the games, you both jumped at the sound of a door slamming shut and footsteps running toward the room you sat in. You knew who it was, you wanted to get up and run to him, but you knew you could not let go of Annie. She clung to you as if you were her lifeline, and perhaps you were for the moment grounding her to remind her where she is something she cannot always tell. As the steps got closer you tried to think of what you should do, or say but there was nothing. The sound of the door being ripped open caused Annie to jump getting ready to fight an instinct all the tributes held. The other 2 victors of District 4 had entered. You turn to try and grab Annie but before you can grab her someone else beats you to it. Mags had her in her arms and started to sink to the ground with her as her cries continued. Finally being able to pull your focus from Annie you turn to look at the man who had yet to leave the entryway.

“Finnick,” you whispered the tears finally starting to fall “Oh Finnick.” You ran to him as he opened his arms to grab you. As you reach him you wrap your arms around him, and he mirrored you, one arm around your waist and one holding the back of your head, lacing his fingers through your hair. Your head was pressed to his chest and you could hear his heart racing, it was the only thing you could hear, even drowning out Annie who now was just whimpering in Mags’s arm. Your tears began to soak his shirt but neither of you cared about that. You did not know what to do, or what to say, so you just let yourself be held and pretend for a moment everything will be okay.

The night of the announcement was a whirlwind, the District 4 tributes all stayed together, few words were spoken that night, but many tears were spilled. You all held each other, only leaving to make tea, or grab tissues. The next morning when you awoke you noticed you were short a person, Annie and Mags rested together but Finnick was gone. You felt your breath quicken as you ran out of the room.

“Finnick? Finnick?” You tried to keep your voice low, you knew if you woke Annie and she heard you calling for Finnick she would panic again.

As you turned the corner you heard a response called from the kitchen “In here love.” 

“Finnick you can’t just leave like that!” You scold him, voicing raising by accident. You take a moment to close your eyes and breathe, knowing you need to remain calm in the coming days, working yourself up would not help. “When I didn’t see you, I got nervous I, I”

“I’m sorry darling, I wanted to get the food ready before everyone awoke so we could eat it again you all wouldn’t have to worry” He explained. 

You let out a soft sign, “ Alright well I’ll help you finish to make it go faster. Annie and Mags will be up soon.” 

The two of you start to move around the kitchen together, moving in tandem to finish the breakfast he had started. It was simple food, only toast, and eggs, all of you so sick to the stomach over the news you would not be able to eat anything else. As Finnick worked on the eggs you put the toast in and started to boil water for tea.

You turn to look at Finnick trying to gather your thoughts “Finnick we need to start”

“Not now,” He cut you off “Let's eat breakfast first and wait until Mags can speak with us too.” 

You silently nod, noticing his purposeful exclusion of Annie, and although you knew why it still hurt to think about. Annie had been doing so much better before the news broke, and thinking about how she was reduced to her state right after her games hurt you. She was like a sister to you, and seeing all her progress dissipate was almost as bad as the news itself.

You both simply look at each other for a moment, both thinking the same thing but neither of you speaking it. The silence is broken by the kettle’s whistle, both breaking your eye contact to return to your kitchen task.

Eventually, you both gather the food and drinks onto a tray and carry it back into the room with Annie and Mags. You place the tray down on the table and go towards the duo. You first wake Mags, giving her a light tap which wakes her instantly. She never fully sleeps anymore always being ready to jump awake at any noise or movement. She looks at you and her eyes soften, expressing all she needs to say. Next was the more difficult one, you put Annie’s head in your lap and start to hum as you stroke her hair, slowly getting louder and louder. Eventually, she jumps awake instantly screaming squeezing her eyes shut.

“Annie, Annie, it's me” You plead to her

“No, no no!”

“Annie please open your eyes, it’s me, it's us.” You continue and eventually, she opens her eyes and sees you. She stops trying to break out of your arms, but her shaking does not stop completely. You then get her to sit up, keeping her between Mags and you and Finnick puts the plates down in front of all of you. 

The silence continues as you all eat the food. It's difficult to swallow the food, every bite feeling like it is going to come back up, but you know now is not the time to starve yourself, not with the games looming overhead. Once you were all finished eating, you started to pile the plates but before you could bring them to the kitchen Mags took them from you to walk them back.

“I can,” you try to stop her, but she shakes her head to you. As Mags leaves you stand and then help Annie up. She was clearly still tired and although you have all been together, you don’t blame her, she had been tense the entire night. You bring her to the couch in the room and hold her hand until she falls back asleep. Once she was done you slipped your hand away from hers and let out a soft sign.

“We have to talk about this,” You tell Finnick, now that Annie is asleep you know you can no longer avoid speaking about the games.

“I know,” he replied, feeling the same weight as you. Mags then walks back into the room, and you all look at each other.

“What, what, what do we do?” You ask, looking at the other victors, unsure of where even to begin.

“We need to figure out who is going in.” Finnick responds “I am the only male victor, but the three of you have an equal chance of getting chosen.”

“We can’t let Annie go back in, she wouldn’t be able to handle it” you begin to explain “And Mags, no offense, but you cannot go back in there. You look so young for 80 but the other victors could be in their prime”

“No, you can’t” Finnick tried to argue but you cut him off.

“Finnick one of us has too, and I am the only one who stands a chance, you else? Annie can’t and I won’t let Mags.” He begins to open his mouth to argue but you don’t even give him the chance. “Finnick, please don’t argue with me on this, I won’t change my mind. Annie will need someone with her here, and I am the most capable in the arena.”

Finnick looked at you, battling with you without words until he eventually lost. 

“Fine, but we stay together and you cannot put yourself in any unnecessary danger”

“Okay, and the same goes for you, we get out of this together.” You put your pinky out.

“Together” He responds, wrapping his pinky with yours.

[jovial-thunder]

Lancer Tactics devlog

I'm gonna try out posting my ~monthly devlog roundup here as well. These suckers are glorified changelogs with anecdotes and gifs galore. Let me know if this is something you like seeing show up on your dash?

Map Editor

Got units able to be placed/deleted/moved in the mission editor

Can paint/remove command zones in the editor

Can paint minecraft-like terrain blocks in the editor

Can paint/rotate multi-tile props in the editor

Can edit unit character sheets and portrait via the editor

3D maps

Did a bunch of art tests with 3D mech models, provided by GeneralChaos, which we ended up deciding not to go with to keep things simple.

To avoid the can of worms that is animation, we'd have to lean into a static "tabletop minatures" aesthetic which we decided is not a style we want to be stuck with. By sticking with 2D sprites, we avoid falling into a sort of uncanny valley; it's easier to get away with not animating a 2D sprite than it is for a 3D model.

 We also experimented with 3D terrain. We decided to make a rule that the visual style for a piece of terrain should match its mechanical effect: obstructing terrain that you can't move through, such as rocks or buildings, will be in 3D, while non-obstructing terrain like trees will stick with 2D sprites.

Hooking up the 3D camera to follow events like movement and attacks did a LOT for making it starting to feel like it's cohering into an Actual Game™

Implemented cover! And an attack preview! Cover works by aiming a ray from the target to the originator (technically to and from each voxel of each, respectively, to handle size 2s shooting above size 1 cover) and tracking all the terrain blocks it hits (how we'll handle non-terrain hard cover TBD). I think I have it working according to Perijove's cover rules manual, but I'm sure there'll be edge cases to work out. This is a case where things are significantly simplified by working in squares instead of hexes; hexes have a lot more possible weird angles you have to deal with.

Re-added what I'm stubbornly calling Combat Popcorn; little bits of text that pop out when you use abilities and attacks.

UI & game screens

Added ability for the engine to show UI that's anchored to the game world via a little word bubble line but also stay on screen as the camera moves around.

Got word bubbles working; you can now write dialogue in the mission editor, hit playtest, and see it work in a mission! (it does actually translate correctly now; this gif is just from a bug I thought was funny)

Got ability effects mostly behaving appropriately again, including muzzle flashes. The easiest way to handle them ended up being NOT billboarding them so they always face the camera (like all other 2D sprites in the game); instead, I put them on a plane parallel with the ground and just spin them around the unit to point at wherever their target is.

Did some work ironing out our tooltip system. The standard in CRPGs these days is this kind of nested labyrinth of tooltops that you see in Baldur's Gate 3:

I Did Not Want to try and figure out how to wrangle that much UI, so we're instead opting to cap the nested tooltips at the second layer. You can lock a general tooltip for e.g. an action and then mouseover various items within that tooltip to get glossary definitions...

...and then instead of having those glossary tips be lockable/mouse-overable themselves, I collect all related terms to that glossary definition and let you tab through them.

Added skin overlay functionality to the portrait maker, enabling textures like scars, tattoos, stubble, and vitiligo to be applied to just the skin and not extend off into space.

Midway through writing this update, Carpenter sent me this gif of the randomization button working! There's a still a bunch of skintones/assets missing and a few are a bit janky, but it was exciting to start seeing the range of these lil freaks (affectionate) that this editor can create.

Mourning cloak license!

This is the one I'm probably most excited about: I did a bit of a content dive and implemented a basic character sheet + all Mourning Cloak traits and equipment. They don't have fancy graphics yet, but the weapons and systems can be added via the character sheet and used in-game.

It took a little under a day, including adding soon-to-be common mechanisms like bonus damage. This is great news in that it means the engine we've been building for so long in the abstract seems to do a great job in handling comprehensive actual game content, and that it looks like we've set ourselves up for success when it comes time to buckle down on churning that out.

I'm sure other licenses will come with unique difficulties (I fear the day it comes time to do the Mule Harness // Goblin CP) but I'm feeling good about it!

Vertical slice?

Taking a step back, the pressing question on my mind has been "when will we have a playable early access build?"

I was originally hoping for Feb/March, but what we've internally been referring to as the "3D cataclysm" has pushed everything back by at least three months, so the target for the first alpha build is now in May. So, ah, thanks for your patience! Seeing things come together, I've become more and more convinced that moving to 3D was the right call.

[liminalmemories21]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @welcometololaland, @heartstringsduet, @lemonlyman-dotcom, @strandnreyes, @bonheur-cafe, @carlos-in-glasses, @reyesstrand, and @whatsintheboxmh. Thank you!

His phone rings as he's [doing something - TBD]. "Dinner?" his mother asks brightly.  "TK said he's on nights this week." He glances at his desk.  "I was planning on working tonight," he admits.  "Catching up on paperwork."  Reading his father’s file.  Again. He hears bracelets clink as his mother dismisses that.  "Pfft, paperwork will always be there.  Come have dinner with your mother.�� I splurged the other day and bought caramel gelato, and I need someone to help me eat it." He is not naive enough to think that this is a request.  Closes his eyes.  "Sure, Mom.  Just give me 15 minutes to finish up, and then I'll head out." "Perfect.  I'll put dinner in the oven.  It should be ready right when you get here."  He pinches his nose.  Right, no leeway then.  His mother knows how long it takes to get from the station to his parents house at any time of day, and there are no acceptable excuses for leaving dinner going cold on the table. "See you soon," he agrees. Sends TK a text / you ratted me out to my mother? / then grimaces and tries to soften it with / 😁 / Gets back a screenshot of a text exchange that he has a sinking suspicion he was part of and ignored. / can I tempt you to dinner con tu suegra favorita? / ... / I guess you could bring your husband too / / on nights this week 🙁 / ... / do not tempt me to call in sick by telling me what you're making / He winces, because passive aggressive really isn't TK's style, and this is the text equivalent of forwarding an email that says 'per my previous'. Sends back / sorry, long day / and then / love you, stay safe / Gets back / ♥️ / in return, but nothing else.  And, well, that's a bridge he'll need to mend when they're both home again at the same time, wonders if donuts in the morning again will earn him grace, or if that would be seen as repetitious.

end of the day, so I'm not sure who's left to tag - so open tag to anyone.

(and, if I screwed up the Spanish, someone please tell me!)

[yerimacoustic]

𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙡𝙮 ♡ jun x reader

❝ 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙬, 𝙞'𝙢 𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙮 ❞

summary : you find a sense of familiarity in your sworn rival, jun, while exchanging anonymous letters with a stranger .

content warnings : jun x female reader, regency era au, mostly inspired by you’ve got mail, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, more tags to come . teaser is 1.4k words, full fic tbd.

this is a teaser for a jun bug fic!! read full fic here i’m busy but i was so excited to get this out so i thought i’d post a little sneak peek. it’s probably history inaccurate bc idk shit i’m purely going off vibes

i’m trying to get a tag list going so lemme know if you want in!

the walk to the post office was not tedious by any means. not when the promise of a new response in the form of a handwritten letter prompted you to move quickly and lightly on your feet. it had become a weekly routine, early morning strolls to the post house, as well as an awfully great way to start the week. 

the postmaster, otherwise known as your childhood friend, jeonghan, stood completely still behind the main counter with his arms folded across his chest. there was a knowing, mischievous glint in his eyes as he watched you quietly shut the door; he had been expecting you. just like he expected you every monday morning. 

it wasn’t long before the brunette pulled a small envelope from the series of shelves behind him, gently dropping it onto the counter between the two of you. “here you go. your gentleman’s love letter awaits.”

“good day to you too, mr. yoon,” you teased him and grabbed the envelope, taking note of the familiar wax seal in the front. a neat scarlet red circle with a lion in the center- the familiar sight always managed to bring a smile to your face. 

“hopefully he gives you some more clues as to his identity this week?” he called out to you as he strode across the tiny shop in favor of sweeping the floor. a look of feigned disappointment washed over his features as the sound of the bristles scratching across the floor and the envelope ripping open filled in the silence. “...perhaps not.”

just as your lips parted, the door swung open to reveal jeonghan’s assistant, karina. from the moment her eyes were fixed on yours, a mischievous glint akin to jeonghan’s filled her irises. “i thought i might find you here today. what news from the mysterious suitor?”

you shook your head before gesturing towards jeonghan, “i haven’t had the opportunity to read it yet. someone’s made sure of that.”

the man laughed from across the room, “it was never my attempt to keep you from reading it. i only wish that the two of you would at least give each other some hints as to who you really are.”

karina nodded in understanding before turning her back in favor of hanging her overcoat upon the rack near the entrance. “i hate to level with jeonghan in this case, but i’m curious about this mystery man, as well. have the two of you ever discussed meeting in person?”

“no, not at all. we’ve agreed to stay anonymous,” you explained as your fingers curled around the envelope in an almost protective grip. force of habit. “we know the risks but.. it’s quite refreshing, having someone to talk to without any of the societal pressures.” 

before too long, jeonghan had finished tidying up and joined the two of you near the entrance. “i don’t understand. you both are clearly fond of each other..”

“who said anything about-”

“and you have a lot in common,” jeonghan mused, eyebrows raised. “in your next response, you should ask him something personal. ask him about his occupation.”

without skipping a beat, you shook your head in protest. “thank you for your unsolicited advice, jeonghan, but i know everything i need to know about this man. good day, my friends.”

you waved goodbye to the inseparable pair, stepping towards the small door. of course jeonghan, who always had to have the last word, called out to you before you could shut it completely, “except for his true identity!”

his words prompted your lips to twist into a smirk as you finally found the right opportunity to open the letter. as you unfolded the piece of parchment, your smirk slowly dissolved into a genuine smile, finding beautiful familiarity in the cursive penmanship. as you took cautious steps on the beaten path, you read the letter carefully:

‘this weekend i had the pleasure of accompanying my cousins as they vacationed in the countryside. they rent a small cottage near the ocean during the summertime and haven’t bothered to invite me until this year. i wish you could have seen it; it was perfectly quaint and tranquil. we spent all but the entirety of the seventy two hours walking along the beach and hunting for seashells. a bit of a juvenile hobby, i know.

i’m not sure where this inkling comes from, but something tells me you enjoy the oceanside. i bet you keep a collection of shells and pearls hidden somewhere in your home. or perhaps you proudly display them for your visitors to see. next time they permit me to join them near the beach again, remind me to fill this envelope with shells to add to your collection. 

i know summer is your favorite holiday, and with that being said, i hope you find enjoyment in the final days of the season. take a stroll along the gardens or picnic with some of your friends. 

take some time for yourself, my friend.’ 

–

jun waited three days for a reply, just as he did every week. he and his anonymous friend had fallen into a pattern of consistency, each of them sending a letter out to the other person once a week. even if he knew he could count on whoever this person was to send a timely response, his nerves got the best of him every time. the potential tone of the response occupied his thoughts at all times, keeping him up at night, keeping him from focusing intently on his work. 

this week it reached the point where he had to turn his chair around to face the window, hoping that the sight of the rolling hills and graying sky outside would clear his mind. summer seemed to come to an end as quickly as it had begun, the entire season passing by in the blink of an eye. he counted his blessings, realizing that he was indeed lucky to have at least one holiday during the season. even if it was at the very end.. 

a knock on the door pulled him out of his trance and he turned his chair back to rest in the proper position, tucked tightly under his desk. “come in,” he called out.

barely a minute had passed before jun’s personal assistant and lifelong friend, wonwoo, closed the door quietly behind him and strode towards his desk with an envelope in hand. “your mystery woman sends her compliments,” he mused, handing the letter to jun. 

jun’s eyes went wide. “you mean- you saw her??”

wonwoo shook his head, holding back an amused smirk as he watched the disappointment wash over jun’s features in real time. “no. my apologies.”

jun sighed, “just as well, i suppose. god only knows what chaos would unravel if anyone else in the household saw her.” 

wonwoo nodded stiffly, folding his hands behind his back. “right you are. maybe there is practicality in anonymity, after all.”

“still, i can’t help but wonder what she’s really like in person,” jun mused, leaning back in his large leather chair with his chin cupped between his thumb and index finger. “there are so many habits and manners of hers i don’t even know about. she could be.. much lovelier in person.”

the bespectacled man tilted his head, taking a completely different approach, “or she could be ill-favored and poorly mannered.” the quiet statement was enough to pull jun out of his daze, causing him to furrow his eyebrows in annoyance. “my apologies.” he repeated.

“there is no possible way someone who writes so beautifully is as ill favored as you say.” jun disregarded the man in front of him as he began to tear the seal off of the envelope, a silent command for wonwoo to leave him alone. conveniently enough, the door gently slammed shut once jun finally unfolded the small sheet of parchment. 

‘i am delighted to hear that you were able to enjoy the last remaining hours of the season with your family. the ocean sounds delightful. your suspicion of my enjoyment of seashells and pearls is a fair assumption, although, i gave up collecting a long time ago. hopefully you invest more stock in your collections than i did.

i’m afraid that i have no plans to take my leave before autumn begins as i’ve been much too busy. i don’t mind keeping an occupied schedule; it takes my mind off things and prevents me from overthinking. especially when i get the pleasure of meeting several people from different walks of life on a daily basis.

i know i say this every week, but it is always a pleasure receiving your letters. sometimes i can’t believe that we met through an anonymous literary discussion group. i’ve received a handful of letters from other attendees, but allow me to say that the discussions are utterly mundane compared to our conversations. it feels like i write to a friend i’ve known for years.

i eagerly await your reply, dear friend. 

[braindeathaoe]

Brain Death - An Oracle's End

“Welcome back, Oracle.”

Upcoming content may include but won’t be limited to: - Descriptions of intense violence, gore - Substance abuse - Ab*sive/Neglectful parenting - S**cidal/Homicidal thoughts and tendencies - Complete loss of self - Brain death This IF is not for children nor the faint of heart. However, I’ll do my best to integrate warnings preceding potentially triggering material. Proceed at your own discretion.

~In continuing, I hereby acknowledge that any exposure to that which I cannot handle is to the fault of none other than my own.~

——————————————————————————————————

Synopsis

Paradise is a beautiful city.

Encapsulating the very definition of Utopia, it is revered as the shining beacon of North Amerikas. And in 2 hours, it'll be destroyed — along with you and its citizens. But for reasons unknown, death will not take you.

You are an Oracle. A cursed soul doomed to live, perish and repeat your miserable existence in an eternal limbo. Alone, forgotten, disregarded. You've witnessed the carnage countless times; explored as many avenues as humanly possible. You have yet to conquer fate.

It's only going to get worse from here.

Being trapped in this loop for so long has had horrifying consequences on your mind. How many years of memories can the brain truly store?  That question may be answered soon.

Such a shame that nobody will be around to hear it.

——————————————————————————���———————

Features

Create and customize your Oracle, developing their personality through dozens of choices!

Be AFAB or AMAB, decide your gender, appearance and pronouns!

Explore the city of Paradise, meet new people and utilize your knowledge of past lives.

Uncover lost memories, and maybe find a way to influence them?

Solve the mystery keeping you trapped in this endless loop, or don’t.

Succumb to brain death.

——————————————————————————————————

Demo: TBD

——————————————————————————————————

Author's Note

Hello!

My name is Ricey! I'm the one writing this thing.

This is a passion project that I started out of discontent. In my personal opinion, there are a lot of interactive fictions out there that share similar problems.

Whether it be deciding for you how your character feels, what they say and do, or punishing players for not having the correct stats... It all feels so hollow and sometimes even immersion breaking.

(Don't get me wrong, sometimes there are plenty of upsides to a story to justify these "flaws". But the execution can be lacking, and unsatisfying. No hate!)

The goal of this IF is to give you, my dear reader, full creative control on how your character reacts, what they do with the information provided, and MOST IMPORTANTLY! To not tell you how they're feeling. That should be up to you to decide.

Of course, there will be exceptions to this rule. Some choices will trigger what I'm calling "Emotional States". And for narration purposes there may also be times that your Oracle feels frustration over something. But I will do my best to limit that.

Anyway, I'm done yapping for now. Stay hydrated! And stay tuned!

[jtl-fics]

Tbd? Perhaps?

10/23/24 WIP Wednesday (Closed) | TBD AU

Then Andrew came to Atlanta, to the wolves and…and Neil knows he never would have won that argument all those years ago for Andrew to let him go. Not when he’s so weak to Andrew, and he had been stupid enough to think that they could be friends. Neil could have friends and those friends could be safe. Then Andrew and him got closer and Neil told himself that they could even be best friends. Then Andrew-

“Uncle Neil?” Dion’s voice startles Neil out of his thoughts, looking up from his long gone bowl of pasta. There’s daylight streaming through the windows and Dion’s looking at him worriedly. “Did you sleep?”

Neil looks at Dion and down at the Wolves uniform and shakes his head, “I guess not.”

“It’s really not good for you to stay up all night.” Dion’s chastisement is far cuter than Kevin’s ever managed to be. “We don’t have to do practice together this morning, you should get some sleep.”

Neil wonders if Kevin would have been this endearing if Wymack had the opportunity to raise him. He dismisses the thought as he reaches over and ruffles Dion’s hair, “Thank you.” He gets up and Dion takes his plate before he can reach for it.

“Go to bed. I can handle this.” Dion says with pride as he walks over and puts the pasta bowl in the sink before turning and looking at Neil triumphantly.

[talkdutchtome]

Glitch - teaser

pairing . . . max verstappen x reader / mason mount x reader )

summary . . . when mason mount finds out that his assistant has been harbouring feelings for him for years, he makes it clear he doesn't feel the same way. but once he sees her become closer with formula 1 world champion max verstappen, he realises he may have underestimated his feelings towards the girl he has now pushed into the arms of another )

genre . . . angst )

song . . . glitch- taylor swift )

warning . . . tbd )

series masterlist . . . available here )

a/n . . . this is a little section of the first chapter as a little teaser for what's to come. hope you like it )

“Mason why did you and Y/N come in together, aren’t your places on opposite sides of the city?” Ben asked his best friend already knowing the answer to his question. Despite the fact that Y/N worked for Mason as his assistant, the pair were close, very close; so when they arrived to the party in the same car, Ben didn’t have to wonder too hard about the reason why. “Oh, she was at mine for a movie night last night and she was too tired to go home so she stayed.” Mason told his friend matter-of-factly, not seeing what the issue was or why his friend in front of him looked so annoyed. Even if you took away the widely inappropriateness of an employer having his employee stay at his house, there was the small issue of the fact that Y/N was madly in love with Mason and had been for years now. As much as she tried her best to keep it hidden, the only person in their circle that didn’t seem to know about it was Mason himself. Ben and Reece had a conversation a few days before, discussing whether they should tell Mason as from an outside perspective, even if it was unintentional, he did seem to be leading Y/N on; they both knew their friend extremely well, so they knew that he didn’t have the same feelings that she had for him and they knew that if Mason knew the full story there are aspects of his relationship with her that he might change.  

“Look mate,” Ben started, unsure of exactly what to say but knowing he needed to say something. “I think you should know that Y/N has feelings for you” Mason’s brows furrowed, completely taken aback by his friends' blunt honesty. “What? No are you sure?” he asked him, truly hoping that he was mistaken or playing some kind of prank. “I’m 100% sure, it’s obvious to be honest with you mate. You can see it in her eyes when she looks at you, she really truly loves you. Having her stay at your place and being that close to her, it’s going to make her think that someday you two could be more than friends, so if that’s not the case then you really need to reconsider doing things like that as it isn’t fair on her. Y/N’s a good girl, you know that she deserves to be happy.” Ben’s words make Mason’s head spin. Y/N was more to him than just his employee, she was one of his closest friends, but he really didn’t see her as anything but a friend. “Oh, fuck Ben what should I do?” Mason asked with his brain completely frazzled at this point, 15 minutes ago he was feeling great, he had just had a great day with one of his best friends and then then he came to a party to blow off some steam after a very stressful week, but now it seemed like everything had come crashing down. “I think you need to speak to her, make it clear that you value her friendship but you don’t see her as anything else, let her down gently.” he told Mason who simply nodded before starting to walk towards the girl in question who was at the bar talking to one of the other players girlfriends., the second Ben realized what he was trying to do he put a hand out to stop him from going over there, causing Mason to look back at him with a puzzled expression. “Maybe telling her right this minute isn’t the best idea though mate, considering you’re in public. Not to mention the fact we’ve all got that trip planned for the Spanish Grand Prix in a few days, maybe you should wait until after that. If things don’t go well that could make the whole trip so awkward.” Ben pleaded at his friend, but he could see on Mason’s face that his words were going in one ear and out the other. “Fine go, but be nice to her and you better not ruin the race for everyone” he relented, taking his arm off of his friend and letting him walk towards the unsuspecting girl.  

“Hey Y/N, can we talk?” Mason asked with no regard for the fact that she was already deep in conversation with somebody else. His bluntness combined with the pained look on his face made her recognize instantly that whatever he wanted to talk about wasn’t likely to be lighthearted. She hesitantly followed the man as he gestured for her to come along to a quieter part of the bar. Before she could ask what was going on, Mason had already asked her a question that made her stomach sink - “Do you have feelings for me?” She had absolutely no idea how to answer his question, of course she knew the answer; she had been pining after him for years at this point, but she just wasn’t ready for him to know that yet. “Will you please just answer my question?” he almost demanded, his harsh tone making her freeze. Looking up at her best friend with tear filled eyes she muttered the last thing he wanted to hear - “Yes”. Her voice was so faint that it didn’t come out as anything more than a whisper but to Mason it was the loudest thing he had ever heard. Y/N had imagined having this conversation with Mason so many times, imagined herself finally telling him that she loved him but in all her fantasies, in all her daydreams, he had never flinched like he had done just now. “Mason I -” she started but stopped in her tracks when she saw tears forming in her best friend’s eyes. “How could you do this Y/N, why would you ruin our friendship like this?” he asked her in genuine disbelief. Mason watched the girl stood in front of him stumble over her words, clearly not expecting to be asked that question, before putting her almost full glass down on the table and running out of the bar.