#System Shock 2023

[fyonnkalnonn]

Finished System Shock 2023. I really miss this kind of game. A proper dungeon crawl. An enclosed, dangerous location you systematically learn over the course of the game's run time, unraveling its mysteries in the pursuit of your objective. A game that asks you to pay attention to its details and provides only diegetic support for not only accomplishing your objectives but also discovering what objectives you need to pursue. It's not a puzzle, exactly. A clockwork machine. The answers are all there, but you need to seek them out and recognize them. Later games in the franchise erased this element out, instead preferring to assist players in never becoming lost, never needing notes. That's a valid design choice, not inferior, just different. But it also means we've gone a long time without this form of play.

[leam1983]

System Shock (2023) - Impressions

My first serious game was Myst, and it demanded a very particular peripheral that used to be a mainstay of any serious gamer's arsenal: the double combo of a well-sharpened pencil and a generous Legal pad.

First came a story of Linking Books and filial betrayal. A little grisly in places, sure - thanks, Achenar - but mostly All-Ages stuff. I tore through two pads just to finish Myst because I had the insane idea of charting out the Selenetic Age's subway system organically. I was too dumb to realize the sounds were the same heard for the Mechanical Age's four cardinal points, too stubborn to bother, and armed with a summer's worth of game time and zero responsibilities. I charted out that damn subway for hours and screamed for joy when I lucked onto the exit.

Then came something a little harder on the nerves. A tale of corporate overreach, greed, megalomania pressed onto silicon wafers and a very Nineties vision of Cyberspace. Move over, Johnny Mnemonic, this hacker's even more hapless than you are...

Long story short, we open in a dystopian Cyberpunk future and are, in fact, a well-heeled chairjock. We've got the sick techwear to prove it, complete with glove-mounted ports for plugging portable data drives into your knuckles or socketing map-related proprioceptive enhancements to your wrist - like you do. The problem is, we've gotten a little long in the tooth and opted to steal a military enhancement that's probably omega cool, max nova or fraggin' awesome, depending on your other dystopian setting of choice. Said implant's owners and designers, the obscenely wealthy TriOptimum Corporation, sic their dogs on us. We're caught merely moments after stealing the schematics.

TriOp's Chairman of the Board, however, has some ideas. Ideas that work against the hardcoded ethical protocols of the AI system he both lords over and depends on, the Sentient Hyper-Optimized Data Access Network - or SHODAN. Space stations orbiting Saturn are complex hives of steel and flesh, you see, and designing a dispassionate and meticulous warden for it only made sense.

The problem is that thanks to your actions under duress, SHODAN is now anything but dispassionate and meticulous. She soon comes to see herself as a "living" goddess, and more or less rips a page out of AM-1's usual script. Kill the humans, experiment with their primitive flesh, turn their remains into obedient servants to her newfound magnificience - yadda yadda. On the plus side, SHODAN is once again voiced by Terri Brosius, former vocalist for the band Tribe - and she once again oozes cold and calculating menace. Glitchy cold and calculating menace, that is.

I mean - take five and go look at System Shock 2's now-famous opening CGI movie on YouTube. Look at you, hacker, said in its chilling tone of absolute contempt and utter surety of purpose, is now a bona fide classic Gamer Meme.

I might as well say that this is more or less The Game, as it were. as you spend most of your run trying to correct this very obvious SNAFU while also trying to figure out how you're going to leave a space station located halfway across the solar system when all the doors are locked and most relevant codes were either revoked or stashed away.

Oh, and the insane AI you're stuck with decided it was a good idea to start splicing tiger and gorilla DNA together into brand new cuddly murder machines. You know. For funsies.

Initially designed by Irrational Studios back in 1994 and now spruced up by Night Dive, this is a title that proudly foregoes several modern conveniences and that refuses to hold your hand even at the easiest difficulty settings you can configure. It isn't easily legible, its level design philisophy is intentionally outdated and if it could speak, it would spit in BioShock's direction and claim it was corrupted by the vainglorious promises of the Shooter Celebrity status.

And yes, I say that knowing BioShock is leagues removed from your average Call of Duty entry. Compared to System Shock, Bioshock is a Dudebro Machine designed to slam through brewskis while yelling about your KD ratio in a bad microphone. I'm also saying this as someone who loves Bioshock. System Shock the first in name is not friendly, it does not care for you or your concepts of builds or minmaxing, it almost sadistically throws a useless compass your way - and asks you to figure it out.

No handholding. No tutorials. No easing-into-things. Once you're on Citadel Station, you're on your own.

Honestly, just this is worth the price of admission. We've been coddled for decades, all because we're focused on making sure games recoup their massive budgets. System Shock sits at a lean and mean eight and a half gigabytes (yes! In 2023! It's shocking! Har har, easy puns!), it intentionally looks simple and chunky - and nothing is wasted here. Nothing whatsoever.

It's cramped, oppressive, dingy, menacing, cold, even possibly damp - and still a great showcase of any RTX-capable graphics card, with deep and believable shadows and so much Shader Porn that even the simple voxel textures that adorn the four sides of the playspace at all times feel properly anchored in the fiction. It's a beautiful game, if you're willing to understand that beauty as a concept can include pixels you can count with your naked peepers.

What it isn't, however, is forgiving towards younger gamers or anyone who skews towards more recent releases. The dual UI experience is instantly dated, the "inventory Tetris" concept stopped being fun long before Resident Evil 4 briefly revitalized it, and hitting Tab to click through audio logs and written notes for codes or clues when you can hear mutants wheezing and lumbering towards you is never really fun.

Y'can't pause, here - this is the Dark Souls of vintage PC horror games-

No, come on, that's a dated and cringey assertion, SHODAN's baby deserves better than that. What it is, though, is an encapsulation of a specific era in video game design and in what we once saw as constituting the best the Survival Horror genre could produce on our dated beige towers. The best outside of other classics in the genre, sure, but still one of the oft-cited references.

If you've got fifty or so bucks burning a hole in your pocket and the pressing need to have a skipping Text-to-Speech filter call you a pathetic insect, this is a must-have, quite simply.

[patricksteel]

Steam Indie Game Demo Days, System Shock Remake Sci fi Game screenshots

https://youtu.be/D6AFbvyUFlU

[gumnut-logic]

Perhaps it was luck that had Gordon walking past Virgil’s studio right at that moment. At the time, all he had on his mind was a lovely pastrami on rye with pickles and sweet mustard and cheese and…

The scream that interrupted his thoughts was loud and raw.

As with all sounds of such alarm, Gordon reacted automatically and pushed through the door that was obstructing him from what was definitely a brother in pain.

Except it wasn’t. At least not without adding a ‘t’ to that word.

Gordon stood in the doorway of Virgil’s studio staring at a brother in paint.

The studio door creaked as it wobbled to a standstill on badly strained hinges.

“Virgil, what the hell?”

His brother was dripping paint from his nose! There was blue in his hair, pink on his shirt and his hands were smeared with every colour under the sun.

“Leave it, Gordon. I’m not in the mood.” Virgil turned back to the canvas in front of him. A canvas definitely the source of the colours. Virgil even had several handprints on the ass of his jeans.

When Gordon didn’t respond and continued to stare, Virgil’s shoulders dropped. “What do you want?”

“I came to help.”

“Help what?”

“You were screaming!”

A red blob of paint slipped off Virgil’s hair and dropped to the ground with a splat. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine! Is all that paint safe?”

Virgil eyed himself. “Mostly.”

Gordon stared at him. “I repeat. Virgil, what the hell?”

“Just leave it.” He picked his paintbrush off the floor, fiddled with its bristles, in the process putting even more paint on his fingers.

“Uh, no. Not until you tell me why you were yelling.” Virgil was such a hypocrite. If their places were switched, there would be no way of dislodging the remora.

Virgil’s shoulders dropped further. Hell, if they relaxed any more, Gordon feared his brother’s arms might actually fall off.

The image that whacked him in the head at that thought was both horrifying and hilarious at once.

Maybe he did need that sandwich.

“C’mon, Virg, what is it.”

The sigh that came out of his Pollock of a brother was resigned. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Uh, no. Not since you’ve put it that way. Sounds like you’re embarrassed about something.” If Virgil wasn’t seriously hurt, then blackmail material was certainly a possibility.

Not that he would put that above his brother’s health. No way

Besides, regardless of all the above, Gordon was a Tracy and there was nothing more stubborn than one of those.

“Talk to me, Virg.”

Another sigh. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Really? You pulling the smarts on me? I thought John had the copyright on that.”

That had Virgil turning around with a painted frown. “What do you mean? When has John done that?”

“Not important. You’re changing the topic.” He was trying to flip the coin and deflect using either big brother Virgil or medic Virgil. Gordon could almost hear his brother’s radar grabbing at the molecules around him. “What pissed you off enough to attempt merging with your paint collection?”

“Nothing.” Virgil turned his back again.

“Bullshit.”

“Gordon-“

“No, you don’t get to row, row, row your boat out of this. I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay, Tankman. Love it or lump it, your choice.”

Was that the sound of grinding teeth. Gordon could almost count down. Virgil really was a pushover sometimes.

If you knew which buttons to press and in which order.

How to engineer the engineer.

Five, four, three, two, one…

“Fine!” Full on anger was kinda scary when it was Virgil. Scott, hell, bring it on. Their shouting matches were legendary. But Virgil yelling was a whole different thing.

Well, he had poked the bear and asked for it.

Pulled the trigger.

And Virgil suddenly had incredibly active hands flinging paint around and gesticulating like his life depended on it. There were words, but most of them unintelligible to Gordon. He vaguely got the idea that his brother was trying to paint something in a certain style…

“And it isn’t working, okay? Do you get it now? Can you leave me alone to swear in peace?

Gordon blinked. “Uh, I got some but not all. However, I got enough for a thorough diagnosis. You need a break.”

Virgil exploded on the spot. There was more yelling, this time laced with profanity along with the art words. So many art words. And artistic hands that were gesticulating even more, waving around in anger, punctuation, and force…

…enough to topple the canvas behind him which, as if in slow motion, wobbled, tipped, and, as both Tracys tried to grab for it, fell with a crash, taking the cursed canvas with it.

Everything fell silent.

Gordon stood next to his brother staring down at the painting as if they were staring at a gravesite.

Virgil’s voice was quiet, his eyes not leaving the fallen canvas. “Maybe you’re right. I do need a break.”

“Well, derrr. I haven’t seen you this angry since that time Alan shaved off one of your eyebrows.”

That earned him another frown, using said eyebrows. “Alan? That was you.”

“I would never-“

Flat stare. “I have footage, Gordon.”

Gordon eyed his brother’s boots. “You do indeed.” He looked up and grinned. “But I also have a John.”

Virgil’s lips thinned and he glared a moment. But then his eyes narrowed and a bit of a smile crept onto his face.

Uh-oh.

Virgil reached over and wrapped a strong arm around Gordon’s shoulders. Thank goodness they were billionaires and could commission whatever clothes they wanted to wear because there went his favourite Hawaiian shirt under an armpit of paint.

“So you wanted to know what was bothering me? Well, let me introduce you to the wonders of Fauvism and the illogic of red shadows.”

Virgil led him over to the studio couch, sat him down, and commenced a thorough art lesson on the Fauvism movement.

Apparently, it was the art movement that was giving his brother the mental breakdown. Somewhere along the line Virgil used an example that had Thunderbird Four throwing a pink shadow underwater.

While Gordon didn’t really get what his brother was babbling on about, that concept caught his attention.

“Can you paint that for me?”

Virgil was interrupted mid-rant and stared at Gordon a moment. “What?”

“Thunderbird Four with a pink shadow. While she’s underwater.”

“Why?”

“Because I like the idea.”

“But it doesn’t make any sense. That’s the whole problem with this movement, there is no logic behind the colour choices. It is driving me in-sane!” Virgil grabbed his own hair and laced it with whatever was drying on his fingers.

“Does it have to make sense?”

“Yes, of course it-“  Virgil froze.

“I like the idea. Paint me a picture, bro?”

Virgil was now staring at him open mouthed.

Gordon was counting down again.

Sure enough, five seconds later he was scooped into a massive sticky hug. An awfully tight one. “Neeed to breeeathe, Virg.”

He was dropped back on the couch as his brother dashed across the studio, grabbed a clean canvas, and, shoving the old one off the easel, righted the support and dumped the new canvas in its place.

Virgil didn’t say much after that. Gordon received the distinct impression that his brother had fallen into that ‘zone’ he sometimes babbled about. So now that Virgil appeared happy and more himself, Gordon took the opportunity to make a quiet exit and go find that sandwich before his grumbling stomach broke the spell.

It was several hours and one giant sandwich later when Gordon finally saw Virgil again. His big brother was quiet and had obviously changed his clothes. There was still paint in his hair, but it was more character building than hazardous.

Virgil approached Gordon on his lounger, almost hesitantly. Very much un-big brother like.

“Hey, Virg. What’s shakin’ bacon?”

His brother rolled his eyes and twisted his lips, but only for a moment. “I wanted to say ‘thank you’, Gordon. For earlier. And to apologise for yelling at you.”

Gordon dismissed it with a waved hand. “Eh, not the first time, not going to be the last, and I can store it for when I need to blow your head off. Give a little, take a little, that’s the bro code. We’re cool.” He grinned up at his big brother.

That earned him a grunt and the canvas in his brother’s hand was shoved onto Gordon’s lap. Without another word, Virgil turned and left.

Gordon was too gobsmacked at what was in his lap to notice.

It was Four.

Kinda.

She wasn’t yellow, but she was yellow, a shade made by the most unsuspecting colours, almost like facets to a gem, the light catching her and sparkling.

Her number Four was alive.

But the sea around Four was even more.

Every shade of pink not made from pink, but pink nonetheless. So pink in places that it was almost blue, but not. Corals, sponges and fish radiated pink in as many facets as Four shone yellow.

It was an extraordinary piece of art.

And so wow.

He stared back into the villa where his brother had disappeared to.

So many thoughts swirled in his head. Gordon had played his brother. Saw the frustration and anger and sought the road to yank him out of the spiral. And he had succeeded. Not entirely in ways he fully understood, because yes, so much pink in those shadows, but he did understand enough about Virgil.

How sometimes he needed a little beast to create his beauty.

And Gordon was happy with his role in that.

-o-o-o-

[gamesline]

It's Day 4 of Game Of The Year 2023, and today it's all about the aesthetics. We discuss all of our Best Presentation, Best Music and Best Audio picks all for you to not just look at, but also listen to.

[wormdramafever]

Goodbye Volcano High among ENTERTANIUM's Top 12 Games of 2023!!

[r3tr0r0ck3r]

I had thought this was some sort of online joke, but no. I finished the System Shock remake at the weekend and to my surprise "The Order Of Death" by Public Image Ltd actually did play over the end credits. Perfection. Lyrics? "This is what you want, this is what you get" "This is what you want, this is what you get" "This is what you want, this is what you get" "This is what you want, this is what you get"

[song-of-the-rune]

Shock

Some good old Healer!Xyll, taken as prisoner in an under-manned Garlean camp. l took some inspiration from @\the-imperial-nuisance - hope you don't mind! This is pretty tangential to the prompt, but that's fine. I am not ready to post this but it's posting day so out into the world it goes help-

"I need to stay here with this patient," Xylluna says, flicking an ear back. "Send someone else."

"You are here to take orders, not make decisions. Come along."

Xylluna keeps their hands over the wounded woman's side, green ether flowing from their palms into the gash left by, presumably, an Eorzean blade. "If I am to follow the orders I was previously given, then I am staying here. You can tell your commander as much."

Something blunt jabs them between the shoulders, and they almost fall onto their patient, but they manage to fall to the floor instead. The aether's glow fizzles out. "No more warnings, or you'll both be-"

Without thinking, Xylluna stands up and uppercuts the officer in the jaw in one fluid motion, sending him reeling backwards. "She is my patient, and I can only assume --"

"Someone contain this beast," the officer commands once he steadies himself, and two of the mostly-recovered soldiers -- who, up until now, had been passively watching as if they weren't sure what to do -- pick up their swords and begin to approach them.

A third, still covered in bandages, chimes in. "Sir, shouldn't we let the Viera -- er, let them stay until another chirurgeon arrives?"

The officer's face, just barely starting to bruise, turns red with anger. Xylluna watches the two, hands raised unthreateningly, as one of the two recovering soldiers retrieves some rope. "The thing you don't understand about Eorzeans, boy, is that they're craftier than you realize. He might have looked like he was healing Cantia, but make no mistake…"

"Primum non nocere," Xylluna interrupts, scowling, as the guards bind their hands. Their accent is thick without the help of the Echo, but there is some satisfaction in speaking the words themself, even if the Garleans probably don't understand what's happening. "I may be a Conjurer, but I am a Scholar, too. And he's right -- " they shout back into the tent as they are escorted across the camp, "if you don't let me heal her, she's likely to go into shock." They realize the officer never stopped lecturing his subordinate, and walk the rest of the way in uneasy silence.

They finally stop at a larger, but still plain-looking tent. One of the guards peeks inside the door and, a few moments later, a woman -- by her dress, a medical officer -- emerges with a furrowed brow and greying hair. "Why did you bring me the prisoner? I told you to keep them busy in the ward while I sterilize my equipment." Xylluna raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, I'm sure you'd like to know why I'm doing that kind of grunt work, or why I'm trusting you with our soldiers, but I'm already showing you more than I'd like."

"Well, sir," one of the guards says, hesitantly, "The Decurion -- "

"He ordered you to come here?"

"No, sir, he ordered us take the Eorzean to interrogation, but --"

"Who is running the ward right now?"

The guards stare nervously at one another for a long, tense moment, the medical officer looming over them.

Xylluna risks piping in. "Cantia is bleeding out. I was for bidden to stay and continue to help her. One of the other soldiers in the ward did try --"

The woman points to the closer of the two soldiers. "You, untie them. We can hear the rest of the story later. This is the last time the bastard tries to overrule me."

---

Trying to resuscitate Cantia is difficult with all the commotion, but Xylluna seems to be managing, at the very least, to keep what blood she has left from pouring out. The two officers are engaged in a shouting match over whose orders apply when, and Xylluna picks up that they haven't received any supplies or orders in a very long time. They want to tear into both officers -- who in the hells would leave a stranger in charge of the ward so they could clean, rather than the other why around? Who insists on leaving a bleeding soldier to die? None of it makes any sense -- but for now, there's nothing to do but focus. And they do focus -- until the poor soldier's breathing steadies.

"She's going to make it," Xylluna announces, and waits a moment for an answer, but the squabbling continues.

In a lower, softer voice, they ask, "Cantia, can you hear me?"

There is no response from her. Xylluna takes another long, hard look at the gash in her side now that it's closed. Whatever it was made with had been dirty. Had the Garleans lied about her being wounded in battle? She was not the only one to return, but the party had been small -- not that they had the men to comprise anything more than a small contingent. It would have been a small skirmish, then, for the rest to survive it, perhaps over something scarce nearby. So small there may not have even been other people involved. They could have been skirmishing with a mountain lion over a rabbit --

They hear their foot thump against the ground as they speak. "You were both just going to let her die, weren't you?"

Both officers freeze. Finally, something got their attention.

"You didn't want me to save her. You wanted me to either kill her deliberately, proving that I was an untrustworthy prisoner and you could get rid of me, or by accident, because I don't know 'proper' medicine. You don't have the resources to feed your camp. You haven't for a long while. So you've been letting them die so that they don't have to starve. It sounds merciful, almost, but that's not everything, either, is it?"

"Seize him," orders the Decurion.

No one moves.

Xylluna points at the medical officer. "You can't starve; you're too gods-damned important. So you've been hiding food in your supply closet and going away to 'clean' where no one can see you eating. And you," they point at the Decurion, "are in on the whole thing. This bickering is all just a show so that your soldiers don't notice while they're too busy trying to feed themselves."

"You heard him. Seize the prisoner," says the medical officer in a calm, steady voice.

One of the soldiers begins to approach Xylluna, placing himself between them and the officers. The others watch him warily.

The medical officer looks at one of the stationary soldiers. "You don't really believe we'd do that, do you?"

"Well, sir, it -- no, of course not, sir," he says, uncertainly, as he begins to approach Xylluna as well. He exchanges an uneasy gaze with the other soldiers as he walks past them. The rest begin to follow suit, even those still recovering from various injuries -- except for Cantia, lying unconscious, but finally stable, next to Xylluna.

Instead of seizing Xylluna, the soldiers form a wall in front of them. One of them draws her sword and points it at the two officers. "We're relieving you of command."

[starlooove]

About that last reblog I agree 10000% but I can’t help but feel frustrated bc not even just woc, but poc in general have been saying this shit for YEARS and it’s just now that’s impacting yt women that ppl care and making posts spelling it out as if it’s some profound knowledge or conspiracy theory that they had to work hard to connect 💀

[fridaypacific]

[Super Amibos] SAC 373 - System Shock 2023 Star Trek Resurgence Night at the Gates of Hell #superAmibos

https://podcastaddict.com/episode/158576252 via @PodcastAddict

No episódio dessa semana conversamos sobre o remake de System Shock desenvolvido pelo estúdio Nightdive, a aventura narrativa Star Trek Resurgence (desenvolvida pela Dramatic Labs, um estúdio formado por ex-funcionários da Telltale) e o curioso Night at the Gates of Hell, um jogo de terror que bebe na fonte dos clássicos do diretor italiano Lucio Fulcci.

00:00:00 - Introdução

00:06:15 - System Shock Remake

00:44:30 - Star Trek: Resurgence

01:2748 - Night at the Gates of Hell

[mostlysignssomeportents]

An Epic antitrust loss for Google

A jury just found Google guilty on all counts of antitrust violations stemming from its dispute with Epic, maker of Fortnite, which brought a variety of claims related to how Google runs its app marketplace. This is huge:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/12/11/technology/epic-games-google-antitrust-ruling.html

The mobile app store world is a duopoly run by Google and Apple. Both use a variety of tactics to prevent their customers from installing third party app stores, which funnels all app makers into their own app stores. Those app stores cream an eye-popping 30% off every purchase made in an app.

This is a shocking amount to charge for payment processing. The payments sector is incredibly monopolized and notorious for its price-gouging – and its standard (wildly inflated) rate is 2-5%:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/04/owning-the-libs/#swiper-no-swiping

Now, in theory, Epic doesn't have to sell in Google Play, the official Android app store. Unlike Apple's iOS, Android permit both sideloading (installing an app directly without using an app store) and configuring your device to use a different app store. In practice, Google uses a variety of anticompetitive tricks to prevent these app stores from springing up and to dissuade Android users from sideloading. Proving that Google's actions – like paying Activision $360m as part of "Project Hug" (no, really!) – were intended to prevent new app storesfrom springing up was a big lift for Epic. But they managed it, in large part thanks to Google's own internal communications, wherein executives admitted that this was exactly why Project Hug existed. This is part of a pattern with Big Tech antitrust: many of the charges are theoretically very hard to make stick, but because the companies put their evil plans in writing (think of the fraudulent crypto exchange FTX, whose top execs all conferred in a groupchat called "Wirefraud"), Big Tech keeps losing in court:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/03/big-tech-cant-stop-telling-on-itself/

Now, I do like to dunk on Big Tech for this kind of thing, because it's objectively funny and because the companies make so many unforced errors. But in an important sense, this kind of written record is impossible to avoid. Any large institution can only make and enact policy through administrative systems, and those systems leave behind a paper-trail: memos, meeting minutes, etc. Yes, we all know that quote from The Wire: "Is you taking notes on a fucking criminal conspiracy?" But inevitably, any ambitious conspiracy can only exist if someone is taking notes.

What's more, any large conspiracy involving lots of parties will inevitably produce leaks. Think of this as the corollary to the idea that the moon landing can't be a hoax, because there's no way 400,000 co-conspirators could keep the secret. Big Tech's conspiracies required hundreds or even thousands of collaborators to keep their mouths shut, and eventually someone blabs:

https://www.science.org/content/article/fake-moon-landing-you-d-need-400000-conspirators

This is part of a wave of antitrust cases being brought against the tech giants. As Matt Stoller writes, the guilty-on-all-counts jury verdict will leak into current and future actions. Remember, Google spent much of this year in court fighting the DoJ, who argued that the company bribed Apple not to make a competing search engine, paying tens of billions every year to keep a competitor from emerging. Now that a jury has convinced Google of doing that to prevent alternative app stores from emerging, claims that it used these pay-for-delay tactics in other sectros get a lot more credible:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/boom-google-loses-antitrust-case

On that note: what about Apple? Epic brought a very similar case against Apple and lost. Both Apple and Epic are appealing that case to the Supreme Court, and now that Google has been convicted in a similar case, it might prompt the Supremes to weigh in and resolve the seeming inconsistencies in the interpretation of federal law.

This is a key moment in the long project to wrest antitrust away from the pro-monopoly side, who spent decades "training" judges to produce verdicts that run counter to the plain language of America's antitrust law:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/13/post-bork-era/#manne-down

There's 40 years' worth of bad precedent to overturn. The good news is that we've got the law on our side. Literally, the wording of the laws and the records of the Congressional debate leading to their passage, all militate towards the (incredibly obvious) conclusion that the purpose of anti-monopoly law is to fight monopoly, not defend it:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

It's amazing to realize that we got into this monopoly quagmire because judges just literally refused to enforce the law. That's what makes one part of the jury verdict against Google so exciting: the jury found that Google's insistence that Play Store sellers use its payment processor was an act of illegal tying. Today, "tying" is an obscure legal theory, but few doctrines would be more useful in disenshittifying the internet. A company is guilty of illegal tying when it forces you to use unrelated products or services as a condition of using the product you actually want. The abandonment of tying led to a host of horribles, from printer companies forcing you to buy ink at $10,000/gallon to Livenation forcing venues to sell tickets through its Ticketmaster subsidiary.

The next phase of this comes when the judge decides on the penalty. Epic doesn't want cash damages – it wants the judge to order Google to fulfill its promise of "an open, competitive Android ecosystem for all users and industry participants." They've asked the judge to order Google to facilitate third-party app stores, and to separate app stores from payment processors. As Stoller puts it, they want to "crush Google’s control over Android":

https://www.epicgames.com/site/en-US/news/epic-v-google-trial-verdict-a-win-for-all-developers

Google has sworn to appeal, surprising no one. The Times's expert says that they will have a tough time winning, given how clear the verdict was. Whatever this means for Google and Android, it means a lot for a future free from monopolies.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/12/im-feeling-lucky/#hugger-mugger

[fyonnkalnonn]

Once I got over how bad the controller support is, System Shock 2023 is just as fun as System Shock, once you get over its controls. I don't like it quite as much as Ultima Underworld, but it's still good. The environments are kind of hard to parse thanks to System Shock going "uhhhhh the future means complicated Science-y Textures on everything right???" and that being translated over to System Shock 2023 maybe too faithfully. Both games maintain Ultima Underworld's complex multi-floor objectives paired with an expansive map that is only partially relevant to what you are trying to accomplish. But I think that the System Shocks lose out a little bit by not having interactive NPCs. Interesting that the legacy of immersive sims with NPCs seems to mostly be kept alive by Arkane Studios in recent years, with sci-fi immersive sims almost entirely abandoning NPCs even when they don't metamorphize entirely into Action Horror games like Dead Space.

There was a time (a month ago) where I was absolutely Day One for System Shock 2023 and didn't know if Tears of the Kingdom was even worth spending money on. Wow, what a dumbass. Tears of the Kingdom might be my second favorite video game of all time.

[lovelyney]

────𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐏 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐒────

IN WHICH: You accidentally whack Wriothesley in the nose during a training session and feel bad !!

PAIRINGS: Wriothesley x (GN!) Reader

SCENT: fluff but gets kind of nsfw towards the end ??

WARNINGS: uh wrio makes a comment implying masturbation towards the end? that and you guys just makeout, lol.

FLORIST’S NOTE: Reader is a mix between Wrio’s and Sigewinne’s assistant !! Also happy belated new years, blossoms !!

SONG: Bang! Bang! (K,NAAN & Adam Levine)

───────────2023 !! #©LOVELYNEY

WRIOTHESLEY LAUGHS as you drag him through the Fortress of Meropide, drawing the attention of those around you. Though typically, you’d feel uncomfortable, embarrassed, or perhaps self-conscious under the scrutinizing gaze of others, this time, it’s different. Your attention is focused solely on Wriothesley as he holds his free hand up to his bloodied nose. Knowing Wriothesley and his job here, it’s easy to imagine it resulting from a scuffle with a particularly stubborn criminal or something along those lines. However, the truth cannot be farther from that. In actuality, you’re the one responsible for this bloody nose. . . Allow me to expand on the situation a little.

Around a week or so ago, he unexpectedly marched into your office and insisted you learn how to fight. His motives for the sudden declaration were not out of a lack of appreciation for your work at the Fortress but rather a desire for your protection while he’s away. On another note, he believes you’re too “reserved and gentle” with others—“too much like a frightened kitten rather than a fearsome lion,” as he blatantly put it. It was a comparison you found somewhat degrading, yet you couldn’t deny it did speak the truth of your nature. In the end, you decided to comply with his wishes, and from there on out, he started to teach you self-defense and train you.

Cut to the present: Wriothesley pulled you aside for your daily training session. Everything was going swimmingly at first, with you defending yourself from his attacks as usual. Then, amid it all, you accidentally hit him square in the nose and rather hard at that. The punch was neither intentional nor malicious, but it still managed to send him stumbling back and clutching his nose in pain. A tsunami of guilt and worry flooded your system as you frantically apologized to him, but he simply brushed it off and smiled. The look in his eyes was one of mild shock but also of something more. . . fond. He seemed amused rather than angry or annoyed, appearing to be impressed and even a little smitten.

Sigewinne enters the infirmary with the medical supplies you requested, stopping just inside the door to ask you a question. She furrows her brow in concern, noticing the panic in your expression. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take care of him, Mx. (Y/N)? You’re a bit pale. . . Maybe you should sit and rest for a little while,” she offers kindly.

Wriothesley observes you with a lovesick expression as you prepare a cotton swab, your tongue poking out between your lips from concentration. His heart singes when you take his hand that’s pressed to his nose and lay it gently on his lap; your skin is warm and soft compared to his, scarred and calloused, from his duties here at the Fortress.

When you assure her with that enchanting smile of yours—the same one that drives him wild—it feels like his entire body has been set on fire, and he’s certain you can feel that fire when you press your palm to his cheek to keep him still. “D—Don’t worry, Sigewinne. I’ll be alright. Thank you, though.” You answer calmly, despite your hold on him being slightly shaky.

With a brief nod of her head, Sigewinne slips out of the room, leaving you and Wriothesley alone. As you press the cotton swab to his nose, he lets out a sharp hissing sound as the disinfectant works its magic. “Ouch! Shit, maybe I didn’t give you enough credit. That was a hell of a punch. . .” he chortles, trying to lighten up your mood a little. But his amusement falters when you pout, your face a heartbreakingly adorable sight.

“I—I really am sorry, Your Grace! I didn’t expect to hit you so hard. . . In—In fact, I thought you’d move out of the way before I even got the chance too,” you lament and carefully tilt his chin up, making sure you cleaned all the blood off. “How badly does it hurt? Do—Do you want me to go get some painkillers or ice? Please, just—”

“Breathe, (Y/N).” Wriothesley’s tone is soothing as he speaks, seeming intent on consoling you. “I’m perfectly fine, sweetheart. I’ve dealt with far worse scuffs than this. So, please, don’t think for a second I’m mad at you or anything of that nature. I’m more proud than anything, really.” He adds, melting under the warmth and care of your gaze. He finds himself feeling a little selfish in this moment, wishing you’d always spend so much time doting on him. You’re always so engrossed in your work, and as much as he admires that side of you, he’s also become increasingly smitten with you without you even batting an eye. Your self-absorbed disposition has made you oblivious to his adoring eyes, and he can’t help but feel a mix of heartbreak and longing as he considers how blind you are to his affections. “Hm. . . Now that we’re alone, there is something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while,” he admits, humming contentedly as your hand presses to his face once more, oblivious to the surge of adrenaline that shoots through his veins with every touch. Your affectionate actions result from your nurturing demeanor, but he begs silently for them to mean something more.

Your puzzled expression, bearing a resemblance to a confused puppy, only further softens the gentle smile on Wriothesley’s face. “Is that so? Is—is there a reason you’re only bringing it up now?” You inquire anxiously, teeth sinking into your lower lip. You hope that your unexpected punch wasn’t the last straw for him firing you or something like that. The worry in your voice and tension in your body language betray your deep concern, and Wriothesley finds himself smitten by your innocence and tenderness.

The duke pauses momentarily, seeming to mull something over in his mind. “It’s been harder to get you alone these days, with you always engrossed in your paperwork or helping Sigewinne. I can’t bring myself to tear you away when you’re always so faithful.” He acknowledges. His eyes linger over your lips for just a moment too long, his imagination taking over as he considers the softness of them and how they taste. His heart pounds against his ribcage as he holds back the urge to kiss those teeth away and murmur how he’s the only one allowed to ruin your lips.

You mutter the words, “My apologies, your Grace,” as you press the bandage to the bridge of his nose. Taking a step back, you freeze under the intensity of his gaze. “Well, you have my full, unrivaled attention as of r-right now...?” You try to sound confident, but your sheepish expression gives you away.

Wriothesley hums in response, amused and enticed by the sudden color that washes over your face. Clearing his throat, he slips one hand around your waist and pulls you flush against his warm frame. His eyes flutter shut for a brief moment as he allows the intensity of the moment to sink in. “Oh? Do I now? Good,” he purrs, his voice deep and velvety as it echoes in your ears—sending vibrations throughout your core. You shudder when the smooth of his fingers glide over the exposed skin on your waist, and he almost finds it a little sadistic with how much he’s enjoying you squirm when he hasn’t even done anything.

Your breathing becomes a touch erratic as you feel the lingering touch of his hand against your waist. You attempt to mask your growing excitement, skin prickling with electricity. Despite your best efforts, there’s a faint quiver in your words that you can only hope he doesn’t notice. “G—Go on. . .”

Sadly, nothing gets past Wriothesley’s gaze, and he’s able to take note of your trembling voice and hands; he isn’t the duke for nothing, after all. He can’t help but feel the boost to his ego when he realizes he has a tight grip over you at this moment. With a swift tug, you’re suddenly pushed against his broad chest, eyes blown wide. He chuckles as you choke over your words, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip. “You know, (princess/prince). . . I can’t tell if you’re just dense or trying to prove something to yourself.” The raven-haired male teases. “I’ve been smitten with you for weeks now, you know,” he presses, eyes trained on your expression to read any changes. “I can’t help but wonder if you’re as aware as your actions suggest—or if you have been merely feigning ignorance. Please, explain yourself.”

Your breath catches in your throat as the magnitude of Wriothesley’s words settles in; he’s so direct and brazen with his declaration that it sucks all the breath out of your lungs. Your mind races as you grapple with the sudden realization that he is just as enamored with you as you are with him. Your expression must speak louder than words because as you open your lips to speak, Wriothesley closes the distance—slotting his mouth on yours.

It sends all your senses reeling like they’ve been drenched in ice water after burning for too long. Like a balm and a spark, it’s both a soothing salve and a blazing inferno, comforting and ravaging you in equal measure. All the tension of your attraction has suddenly become a physical manifestation, the culmination of all the unspoken words and feelings that have gone unsaid for too long.

Wriothesley pulls himself even closer to you, his passion only intensifying the longer the kiss carries on. The feeling of his body pressing against yours ignites a primal urge within you, driving the kisses to become more intense. His hands slide further down the bare flesh of your back, tracing your waist in a possessive claim to your body. His tongue dives underneath your bottom lip; it probes between them, trying to gain access to the interior of your mouth.

A noise akin to a muffled whimper escapes your throat as his tongue pushes into your mouth with a feverish, nearly desperate need. The intensity of the sensation is overwhelming, and you feel yourself shudder with a sense of raw desire as his hand slides down from your hip to your thigh, his fingers squeezing and digging into the soft flesh. His touch is both tender and possessive, sending your nerves reeling.

When his fingers climb closer up your thighs, you plant your hands on his face and gently push his head away, his mouth chasing after yours instantaneously. You sigh softly, your face flushed scarlet from the heat of the situation. “Wriothesley. . . We are still in your office. Anyone can walk in at any time.” You chuckle, swiping the saliva from his bottom lip.

His body hums with contentment at the breathless sound of his name coming from your lips. He lets out a displeased huff as he nestles his nose in the crook of your neck, sharply inhaling your scent and drowning himself in the warmth of your body. He absentmindedly starts nipping at your skin, “And? I’ve had enough nights getting off—”

“O—Okayokay! As an. . . apology for keeping you waiting, how about after work, we fulfill those fantasies of yours?” You chuckle nervously and thread your fingers through his hair, smiling when he leans his entire body onto you. “Don’t think I didn’t see the way some of the inmates looked at me when I dragged you in here. . . I don’t think I could recover if they walked in and found out they guessed right.”

Wriothesley’s laughter is like a deep, thunderous rumble that soon after swarms your stomach with butterflies. His kisses pepper your face in response, the sweet scent of your skin filling him with a sense of contentment. He pulls away and smiles down at you, the heat and adoration in his eyes impossible to miss. “After work, then,” he repeats and holds up his pinky, signaling you to do the same. Rolling your eyes, you indulge him and hook your pinky to his—a cutesy gesture veiled in a not-so-innocent promise. 

[sinofwriting]

Homecoming - Oscar Piastri/Reader/Logan Sargeant

Words: 3,290 Summary: She hasn’t seen them since April and she can only hope that they aren’t mad that she lied to them. Note(s): Thank you @casperlikej for this commission! Had a lot of fun writing it! NSFW. Takes place in 2023. Reader is in the military. Reader is an American, who also somewhat grew up in the UK, but it’s all very vague. Also, don’t surprise people in showers, injuries can and will happen. Read Part Two Here

Masterlist | Support Me! | Part of Sin's 5k & B-Day Celebration

“I’m sorry.” She apologizes. “It’s okay, baby.” Logan says. Oscar nods, but there’s worry in his eyes. “Is everything okay?” She nods, “yeah, they just gave me the wrong date. It wasn’t until I was talking to my CO about leaving that they realized. I should’ve said something sooner.” “It happens.” Oscar tells her and she can see through the computer screen the way his fingers twitch, obviously wanting to reach out, and her heart aches.

She misses them so much, both her boys. Hasn’t seen them since April when China got canceled and they both managed to get away from their teams to see her. But she hasn’t really seen them since last year, since 2022, when Oscar was just a reserve and Logan was in F2 with their weird spotty schedule. They didn’t have as many race dates or things to attend. They had spent so much time with her then.

“Do they have your next date for leave?” She shakes her head. “Not yet. I think they’re trying to figure out how they gave me the wrong date.” She shrugs. “But it could mean I get some extra time.” Oscar snorts but Logan nods. “You’ll let us know as soon as you can?” “Of course, Lo. As soon as they tell me, I’ll text you. Have a good day, though, both of you.” Both their noses wrinkle but they nod.

And with I love you’s exchanged, she hangs up, looking at the packed suitcase next to her. Hopefully they wouldn’t be too mad that she lied.

—

Being in the military wasn’t exactly something she planned on. Not as a little girl, not as a preteen and not at fifteen when she discovered she liked both her best friends.

But then she was seventeen wanting to apply to different colleges and programs and her parents had to sit down and tell her that while they had this nice house and the family home in Florida and cars and she hadn’t really wanted for anything, that was all they had. They didn’t have enough money for her to apply to three colleges, let alone the near twenty she wanted to.

It had been a fight instantly. Because she didn’t know what she wanted to do. And for the past year they had been telling her that it was okay and that she’d have college to figure that out and it had been a lie. She remembers throwing things in a bag and going to Oscar’s brand-new place, because he was already eighteen and his parents wanted him to be comfortable.

She remembers throwing herself in his arms and then Logan’s because of course Logan was also there. Remembers crying because it kind of felt like her world was ending. She remembers the way they both had soothed her, held her, let her rage and sob. She remembers the way after when she was more calmed down, the shock gone from her system, they presented a bunch of options for her.

Working with them, working for Oscar’s dad, working for Logan’s uncle, doing this in college and that, just something, anything that sounded appealing and she can remember how she shook her head after every option and how despite that they didn’t get frustrated or angry, they just said okay before offering another until they ran out of things to offer.

It was her uncle, though he wasn’t really her uncle, that told her she should think about the military. She laughed at first thinking he was joking, but he hadn’t laughed with her, instead looked at her seriously.

“You know that I served.” And she had nodded, she had faint memories of being in elementary school or even younger back in Florida and seeing him in uniform, medals and ribbons on his chest. “And you know I’ve said a lot about it. Never kept quiet.” “Rock and a hard place.” He smiled for a second at her words before looking all serious again. “Exactly. What I’m saying is, it’s an option. And nowadays, your contracts aren’t as long depending on the branch like when I enlisted and I’ve got friends.” “I don’t think I’ll like it.” He laughed at her words. “No one knows if they’ll like it until they are in it. Just think about it. It’s something and it will give you time, paid time, to figure out what you really want to do.”

And she had thought about it. She thought about the pros and the cons, how the cons outweigh the pros for her and she nearly didn’t go through with it because of Logan and Oscar. Because they just had to confess to her, tell her that they liked her, wanted to be with her and how could she not tell them the same when it was true? She couldn’t. She had nearly called it good, happy to bounce between them playing personal assistant or social media admin or something, they didn’t really know what she’d do going back and forth, but then she saw her uncle again, a week before she turned eighteen.

He hadn’t said anything, hadn’t brought it up, hadn’t even mentioned the military. But just seeing him reminded her of their conversation, of the way she spent hours upon hours after considering it.

Seeing him made her realize she had to go through with it.

She doesn’t really remember telling Logan and Oscar her decision. She remembers how they reacted, both surprised, unaware she had been considering it. Logan had been understanding, but he was from America just like her, he had family in the service. Oscar didn’t understand, couldn’t understand why. It hadn’t been a fight, not that she remembered, but she knew that her decision had nearly broken them that day.

—

“You reenlisting?” Her uncle's voice is gruff. “No, sir.” He grumbles, lips twitching into a smile. “Good. And don’t call me sir. You in reserves now?” She nods. “As of last week.” “Logan and Oscar know?” She throws him a look. “Why would you be driving me to Vegas if they knew?” He laughs. “Fair. They’re doing good, right? In their Formula One thing?” She smiles, “Yeah, they’re doing alright. Did you like COTA?” He shrugs, merging onto the freeway. “Didn’t understand it, but it was alright. Beer was overpriced.” “Always is at events.” “I remember when you could get a six-pack,” he starts and she mouths along with him, having heard this since she was ten, unable to not smile as she does so. “What?” He asks, seeing her smile. “Nothing.” She tells him. “Just happy to see you haven’t changed.”

—

Vegas is annoying, she decides as she waves her uncle off, the older man having decided to stick around and try his luck at one of the casinos. Or rather the traffic currently in Vegas is annoying.

Pulling out her phone she texts Benny letting him know that she’s at the hotel. Looking around she smiles at all the lights and people milling around. She’d give Vegas this, it was pretty cool to look at.

“Y/N!” She turns her head, smiling at Logan’s trainer. “You got here early!” He chuckles, pulling her into a hug that she returns with one arm, still having a hand on her suitcase. “We made good time. Switched off driving, so saved us a bit from having to stop really.” He pats her on the back before letting her go. “But it was good.” She nods. “All good. How are you? How are the kids?” He grins. “They’re good, amazing, really. Excited that the season is ending and I’ll be home.” “Logan was telling me that you aren’t going to be his trainer next season.” Benny sighs, looking sad as they step foot into the hotel. “The kids are getting older, I want to be there more. If there was a way I could stay on, but not have to go to all the races I would. I love the kid, he’s like one of mine.”

She looks at him considering. She’d been around Logan and Oscar for ten years now, had been around their trainers for over five years, seeing what they did had made it easy for her to choose her degree that the military paid for while she served a year after she joined.

“Maybe you could.” His eyebrow raises. “I have a degree in sports medicine.” “But you have a year left.” She shakes her head. “That last year is reserves, unless we are going to war and all the active reserves have been called, I’m not going back in.” “Logan didn’t say.” “They don’t know.” Benny makes a weird huff sound, shaking his head. “You're going to knock them off their feet this weekend.” She laughs. “Maybe. Just talk to Sarah about it first, I’ll follow you around this weekend and next and we can talk about it with Logan.” “I don’t have to talk about it with Sarah, she’d be thrilled, she wasn’t fond of the idea in the first place. And Logan…” He shakes his head. “If you think Logan won’t be jumping at the idea of having you around twenty-four seven, you’ve lost it.” “Still! Talk about it with Sarah first, just in case.”

He shakes his head, but agrees, handing her a key card as they stop in front of a hotel room door. “This is their room. Gentle with them.” “Kim ask you to relay that message as well?” “Yes.” She laughs, nodding. “I will. Promise.” He rolls his eyes, but there’s a grin on his face. “Go. I’ll see at least two of you tomorrow.” “Bye Benny. Thank you again for helping me.” “Of course.”

She watches as he walks down the hallway before taking out his own key card and entering his hotel room, just a few rooms down. Turning back to face the hotel room door, excitement starts to fill her. She was finally going to see them, be with them.

Pressing the key to the reader, she holds her breath as she waits for the door to unlock, breathes again when it does and she twists the door knob, letting herself in.

The door swings open quietly and her feet and suitcase make no noise against the carpet as she steps inside. There’s the faint sound of the shower running and music playing, and a large smile spreads across her lips. This was the routine she was used to, that hadn’t changed. Them coming back to their hotel room or when finally checking in, getting what they needed put away if they were staying long enough and then putting on some music and hopping in the shower.

The door closes with a small click as she shuts it, kicking off her shoes next to Oscar’s and Logan’s as she does. She hopes as she puts her suitcase next to Logan’s, that the shower is big enough for the three of them, but they’ve made do with some fairly small showers before.

Stepping further into the hotel room, she nearly giggles at the song playing, able to hear it clearly now with the way the bathroom door isn’t completely closed. She loves them so much.

Spotting the dirty clothes bag she bought Oscar for Christmas last year as a stock stuffer, right by the bathroom door, propped against the wall and already filled with a pair of jeans, shorts, shirts and socks, she adds her own pants, shirt, underwear and socks. A quiet sigh leaving her when she takes her bra off, which she carefully places on the back of an armchair.

The bathroom tiles are warm underneath her feet and she lets out a little oh, having expected them to be cold.

Her eyes dart to the sink where the large mirror behind is covered in steam, but her eyes quickly leave it to settle on the shower.

It’s big, maybe just big enough for the three to fit in, but she can’t focus on that because Oscar and Logan are there. She can’t see much, the glass of the shower just as covered in steam as the mirror, but she can see the shapes of their bodies, close together, holding each other as the water hits them.

Taking a deep breath, she steps towards the shower door. She shivers as her fingertips press against the glass before fingers move to open it and poking her head in, voice soft as she looks at them. “Room for one more?” She watches as they separate, Oscar turning to look at her, and they both look at her with confusion and shock, before wide smiles take over their entire faces, eyes shining with happiness.

Oscar the closer of the two reaches forward and she quickly steps in, nearly slipping in her hurry, but Oscar has an arm around her before she can, tucking her into his chest, as Logan shuffles around. The door to the shower closes with a slight noise before his arms are around her as well.

Tension immediately leaves her body at the feeling of them both, and tears start to slip from her eyes. “I missed you guys so much.” “We missed you too, baby.” “So much.” Oscar echoes, arms tightening around her before loosening and she’s being pulled away slightly. She wants to protest, but then his lips are on hers and she moans, sinking into his kiss.

“Lo,” she whines when Oscar stops kissing her, lips tingling. Oscar chuckles, the sound rich and so familiar it wants to make her cry again, but she’s being turned around and Logan is kissing her, his palms cupping her cheeks. “I missed this so much.” Logan breathes against her lips. “Missed the three of us so much.” “Never again.” She tells him, tells Oscar, tells them. “Never again. I don’t have to go back, I’m in inactive reserves and I’m not reenlisting. I’m yours, both of yours.” The words come out in a rush, nearly tripping over each other, but she can’t wait, can’t have them thinking that this will just be a short reunion before she has to leave them again. “Thank god.” Logan breathes before pressing their lips together. “Thank god.” He murmurs again when they separate before she’s turned around to face Oscar again, who practically swallows her whole.

His lips are insistent on hers as his hands clutch at her hips, fingers digging painfully and she hopes that he leaves bruises, wishes that he’d make his grip even tighter, knows he can. She tries to pull away, to ask him to, but he keeps following her lips. Like if he isn’t kissing her, she’ll disappear, so she stops trying. Lets him kiss her, moans when Logan’s lips land on her shoulder, pressing kisses that trail up to the top of it and along the shell of her ear before trailing back down.

“We,” she gasps when Oscar finally stops kissing her, though his lips instead fall to her breasts going between the two, unable to decide which one he wants to give attention to more. “We can’t do this in here.”

The next moments are a blur as they scramble out of the shower, out of the bathroom and tumble into bed, soaking the duvet, pillows, and sheets with their wet naked bodies. It’s a blur of lips on hers, on her body, of fingers pressing and pulling. She remembers clearly the first press of fingers into her body, of Oscar’s tongue laving at her, of the kiss Logan and Oscar shared between her thighs. It blurs with her first and second orgasm.

She remembers clearly as well, the first sink of Oscar’s cock into her, her back to his chest as he laid down, the way he pressed all the way into her, not letting her adjust. She doesn’t remember the apparent fumble for lube or the first two fingers that Logan had carefully sunk into her alongside Oscar’s cock. She remembers the stretch of his three fingers and Oscar’s cock, and finally the stretch of him sinking into her as well. The near painful stretch of having both of them inside her at the same time, in the same hole.

Her mind is still blurry, still coming down from pleasure when they finally break the silence of just trying to catch their breaths and music still playing from the bathroom.

“That was so good.” She makes a small noise in agreement. “You felt so good.” Oscar says, kissing her shoulder and she shudders at the feeling. “You both did.” And she can hear the sound of Oscar kissing Logan. “Logan’s gonna hold you now, okay.” Oscar tells her as she still lays somewhat on top of him. “Both of your legs are shaking.” That makes her blink and look down, swallowing hard because she hadn’t even realized hers were shaking. “And I need to clean you up and get some water for all us, okay?” She nods.

Despite him telling her that, she still nearly whines when he moves out from under her, but he quickly pushes her into Logan’s arms who eagerly holds her close. She hadn’t seen if his legs were shaking as well like Oscar said, but she doubts it with the way Logan manages to turn her around in his arms and pull her so she’s on top of him, her breasts pressed against his chest just the way he likes.

“Love you so much, baby.” Logan murmurs into her hair. “You were so good for us. Just fell apart over and over again. Gave us five orgasms.” She makes a surprised sound. That didn’t sound right. “A whole five, baby. It was fucking amazing.” She nuzzles into his neck and he continues speaking, knowing the sound and feeling is soothing.

He stops when Oscar comes back, making a tutting noise at how they are positioned which makes her mumble Logan’s name and Oscar runs a hand down her calf.

“I know, darling. You’re alright. You though,” and she can picture the way Oscar is looking at Logan, pointing a finger at him. “How am I supposed to clean you up?” She feels Logan shrugs as best as he can with her on top of him. “The way you usually do.” The younger makes a huffing sound but is quiet. She can feel his breath against her leg as he most likely bends.

Logan makes a small noise and she kisses his neck. “Cold?” “No, it’s warm.” He reassures her. She hums and when it’s her turn she doesn't even jolt at the feeling of the washcloth running over her most sensitive parts and her thighs. “Alright, you two, you both got to sit up to drink some water.” Oscar says, as he climbs back into bed with them. Logan grumbles and she turns her head to watch as Oscar gets comfy with his back against the headboard, three water bottles on his nightstand.

He’s still naked, probably not even thinking of pulling on underwear or sweats on and it makes her want to curl up in his lap. He seems to feel her eyes on him because he smiles, all soft, sweet, fond and he’s opening his arms and she carefully moves off Logan to do what she thought about it.

Her head rests on his shoulder, as she sits sideways on his lap, facing Logan, who watches them both with that awestruck look of his as he sits up and scoots closer until him and Oscar are sitting side by side and he can draw her feet into his lap, stilling letting her stay curled up in Oscar’s lap, but getting some contact with her.

“Love you both.” “We love you too.”

@darleneslane @copper-boom @eutrizbea @kimmib13 @elliegrey2803 @stopeatread @hiireadstuff @tallrock35

[anantaru]

dom venti w breeding kink please? or too specific?</3

cw. breeding, thoughts on pregnancy, fem! reader

the reasoning behind it was always there and perhaps it’s the intimacy of the moment advancing to project itself over venti‘s intelligence, like a heavy drug forcing itself over ones brain, bit by bit, continuously— to have you perfectly bred and crowded with his gift.

in his past, before the fences came down, the anemo archon had never envisioned himself in such position, hell, he didn't believe that he'd actually become attached to a human being, or the faculty of knocking you up, so you would carry something that was a part of him.

barbatos fit into no category, he had been unique and something else in your entire life, and when now, he claims your lips within the seconds of his last, filling thrusts, you vanish in his touch, his cock raging in and out with a hardness that couldn't do anything else than split you in half, the fast rolls of his hips clinging onto you so energetically that it overwhelms your lover.

the thought, it's crossing his mind again and it shocks his system into excessive insanity, "again.." venti murmurs into your lips, the blazing hammering of his cock digging into your flesh, picking up when you feel him throb inside, your legs clamping against his hips and shaking, your sweet noises fluctuating on the bordering line of squealing cries and hiccups.

and it's how you kiss him when the aching bubble in your stomach breaks, your walls needing his cock on its skin, whilst the situation was tantalising, utterly thrilling— the rousing drags of his dick pushing the copious amounts of cum inside your used, soiled hole, with previous attempts to fill you up long since sticking on your folds and ass, or the insides of your thighs.

stained and messed up, so filthy that it made you clench down upon seeing the sinfulness with your own pair of eyes.

but the man doesn't stop, you see venti, a man with such deep rooted mysteries, stills his hips for one second while dragging his length torturously slow out of you, cockhead leaking and brushing over your folds. and you can only latch onto him by this point, nails strongly holding against his back as you're afraid he'd leave you, when your boyfriend suddenly says it again;

"again.. one more time."

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[gamesline]

Our resident skull expert and enthusiast Spencer has 8+1 games he wants to talk about, while also ruminating on the over-expectations players have for games instead of meeting them on their own terms.