#Technology content submission | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zineobiology · 11 months ago

Text

Welcome to the Zine O’Biology (closed! Release January 25th 2025)

A multi-fandom Star Trek Zine.

Do you have strong opinions on Vulcan fra’als, Cardassian tails, or how the heck Trill symbionts reproduce? We want to hear from you!

The Zine O’Biology is a fictional comparative xenobiology academic journal set in the Star Trek universe. If you’ve always wanted to wax eloquent for up to 3000 words about your theories on alien biology, welcome to your new home!

We want all your theories about all your favorite aliens! This is a friendly but competitive academic journal where the content of every paper is a little bit suspicious (is this paper based on rumor or fact? What is the methodology?) and some competing authors leave snarky comments on one another’s work. So just like a real academic journal, except ours features the Great Green Anthurium.

We welcome xenobiology articles on all Star Trek aliens from all series!

The final format will be a PDF that you can scroll at your leisure or print at home in order to have a physical copy of the Zine. (This way there is no money involved.)

--SEEKING SUBMISSIONS FOR--

Alien biology articles

Alien biology artwork

In-Universe advertisements

Letters to the editor

ALIEN BIOLOGY ARTICLES

How do Andorian genders work? Are Cardassians actually lizards? Why do Klingons have so many redundant organs? What’s the biological purpose of Bajoran nose ridges? What’s the best cement mix for emergency surgery on a Horta?

You’ve been pondering alien biology for years. This is your chance to infodump all your favorite theories to an eager audience of your fellow nerds!

Articles will be separated into two categories: reproductive biology or general biology. Yes, we also want all your theories on what every species is packing downstairs…and how they use it.

Journal articles should be fun and engaging, but also written in your interpretation of a pseudo-academic style, since this is a highly respected Federation xenobiology journal. If you want to keep things more lighthearted and less academic, check out the section on Letters to the Editor.

ALIEN BIOLOGY ARTWORK

If you have independent illustrations about alien biology we would love to see them! If you would like to provide illustrations for one of our journal articles, tell us what species you want to illustrate and we’ll do our best to match you up!

Art should be in a square, scaleable format, printable at high resolution at 4x4 inches.

JOURNAL ADVERTISEMENTS

Even in a post-need future, academic journals will need a little extra funding. Submit your ads for Ferengi Oomox Creme, Self Sealing Stem Bolts, Gently Used Federation Technology, and, of course, “reproductive aids.” The weirder the better! Have fun with it!

All art needs to be printable at high resolution

Ad Sizes:

full page: 4.5" x 7.5"

Column: 2.21" x 7.5"

Half Page: 4.5" x 3.75"

Square: 2.21" x 2.18" (i know its not a perfect square but trust me)

Half square: 2.21" x 1.1"

Banner: 4.5" x 0.83"1.75

LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

Do you have a great idea, but it’s not enough to fill out a 3000 word article? Submit it as a “reaction” to a previous journal article. Feel free to lay into a mythical researcher who does NOT understand why their biological theory is wrong and yours is right!

Max length 800 words. Enjoy making these plenty frothy!

WE NEED SUB-EDITORS!

The creators of this Zine are all notorious Vulcan Fuckers. Since we want the Zine O’Biology to be open to all alien species, it is only logical that we seek your expertise.

We’re seeking fans from all over the Star Trek universe to spread the word that yes, it’s time for us to all come together in the spirit of explaining how our favorite aliens come together.

Sub-Editors will be in charge of helping us solicit articles and art for their specific race of aliens and editing those articles in order to fit into the Zine. If we don’t have a sub editor for a species, we’ll do our best, but the chapter on that species won’t be as good as it would be if folks with real fanon knowledge were involved.

WANT TO GET INVOLVED, BUT YOU’RE NOT A WRITER OR ARTIST?

WE NEED:

Graphic designers to help with Zine layout

Social media promoters

Alien art and article wranglers (ie: get your fannish friends involved!)

--HOW TO GET INVOLVED--

Fill out the Art or Writing (Applications now closed) Google Form letting us know your interests or reach out to the Editor in Chief at [email protected]

DEADLINES:

August 1, 2024: Last date for everyone seeking an art or writing partner to submit their request. We don’t guarantee you’ll be partnered up. It depends on how many people are interested and what aliens they want to draw/write.

August 18, 2024: Art/Writing partners notified. NOTE: it’s both fine and encouraged if you want to submit as a team from the start! This is for people who do not have a partner and would like us to find them one.

August 30, 2024: Final call for all journal authors, artists, and advertisers to let us know what species they’re working with, how many submissions they plan to send, and whether their submission will be general or reproductive biology.

October 30, 2024: All art, advertising, and journal submissions are due

We hope to have the Zine O’Biology ready for your enjoyment by New Year’s Eve 2024. We all have full time jobs and lives, so that date may change depending on the volume of submissions.

FAQ

What if my biological theories are totally different from another author’s?

Yes. Perfect. We love it.

We want to see everyone’s theories! Canon gave us scraps, but together we will make a meal! Expect to see many mutually contradictory articles. That’s part of the fun!

What about Smut?

Yes, we are accepting E rated submissions! The journal will be separated into two sections:

General Biology

Reproductive Biology

General Biology is everything but the genitals

Reproductive Biology should include actual descriptions of the mechanics and biology. Think of it as creating reference material for smut writers and artists.

501 notes · View notes

fangdokja · 1 month ago

Note

i keep rereading your yan marine corps! x fem reader. what was reader's role that she had to follow the marine's... adventure?

"You’ll never escape me—not when I’m the only one keeping you alive."

❤︎ Synopsis. In a world where death is mercy and survival means suffering, he claims you as his, promising protection through fear, control, and a twisted love that will leave you questioning if escape was ever truly possible.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured (AHD) : A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Marine Corps x Fem. Reader

♡ Oneshot. #2 - The Devil Who Saved You

♡ Word Count. 3,153

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non-con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, descriptions of gore and human suffering, themes of violence and dystopia

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr content guidelines involving minors, some plot details of the original story were changed to fit the platform. If you want the true original story, please look at the author's official website or Ao3.

♡ A/N. I'm glad you enjoyed it :)). I'm surprised you're rereading it a bunch. But, I guess people do technically reread anyway. Sorry, slipped out of my mind. It just makes me happy seeing underrated works get credit, whether fandom or other stories I've written. So, thank you. Anyways. Technically, this was an ask. But it's a nice idea, and I've already had it in my drafts since before. I was just postponing lore dump with Yandere! Marine Corps, due to other works. Anyways. All I knew before, in all honesty, is that it's war time. But, time to pull out the fantasy skills and world build! Wooh! And to be honest, I'm hungry to write some gore crumbs like my familiar writing style, ahh. So, here, I present to you lore backstory (well technically part of the backstory). Hope you all enjoy it (also, sorry I talk a lot in notes).

♡ Music. Levee & Brick (Down to This) by Graffiti Ghosts

The world had fallen into an abyss so deep it seemed there was no end to its descent. The wars that came before—those waged for borders, ideologies, or resources—were merely preludes to this ultimate collapse. What erupted now was not war; it was annihilation. A calamity that turned cities into craters and humanity into prey. Every shred of civility burned away in the endless fires of desperation. The air was thick with the ash of the old world, a grim veil that painted the skies an eternal gray.

You had lived a different life once, one of relative normalcy in the dwindling days before the collapse. Back then, you had a future, a purpose, something as simple and human as hope. But that had been stripped away when the world’s powers unleashed devastation so complete it birthed horrors no living creature could comprehend. Technology had become a weapon of eradication, bioweapons and nanotech turning survivors into deformed creatures of flesh and steel, feral and mindless, hunting whatever moved. Rogue factions—remnants of militaries, mercenaries, and scavengers—rose like carrion birds, preying on the remnants of humanity.

In this hellscape, survival was no longer a matter of luck but of submission. Submission to those strong enough to carve their will into the earth and impose their dominion. He was one of those few. A towering force of unyielding violence, a soldier molded by decades of carnage, by a war that had reshaped him from a man into something closer to a machine of flesh and blood. The United Corps, once a venerated military institution, had fractured into splinter groups, each operating like a self-contained warlord’s regime. He was among their best—a leader, an executioner, a strategist, and now your captor.

You were assigned to him by pure chance—or perhaps cruel design. In this new order, value wasn’t measured by money or power but by the usefulness of flesh and mind. And you had been marked as useful. Perhaps it was your background—your knowledge, your resilience, or simply the misfortune of catching his attention when your convoy was intercepted by his unit. The corps didn’t merely take prisoners; they assessed, dissected, and consumed whatever remnants of humanity they deemed salvageable.

And he deemed you salvageable.

There were no illusions about the nature of his claim over you. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t mercy. It was obsession, possessive and cruel, born of a warped sense of necessity. “You belong to me now,” he had told you in that deep, unrelenting tone, the heat of his breath warming your face even as the chill of his words froze your soul. “Out there, they’ll rip you apart for the scraps on your bones. With me, you’ll live—if you behave.”

The battlefield was safer than the no-man’s land outside his dominion. That was the most damning truth. To run from him was to dive into a living nightmare where survival wasn’t a goal but a punishment. Outside his protection, death was not granted quickly.

You’d seen it. You’d heard the screams echoing through the wastelands, watched the crude factories churn with suffering. He’d forced you to look once, pressing your face against the window of a blood processing plant as tears streaked down your cheeks. “This is what’s waiting for you if you run,” he had whispered, his voice devoid of sympathy. “With me, you’re mine. Out there, you’re theirs. Decide.”

────────────

The smell hit you first. It wasn’t just the copper tang of blood; it was the rancid stench of rotting flesh mixed with chemicals—formaldehyde, acid, and something sour that clawed at the back of your throat. You gagged, instinctively raising a trembling hand to cover your nose, but he was quicker. His large, calloused fingers wrapped around your wrist, dragging your arm back down with enough force to make you whimper.

“Don’t look away,” he growled, his voice low and gravelly, vibrating like a distant explosion. “You need to see this.”

You didn’t want to see. You didn’t! But he held you there, his unyielding grip on your wrist a silent command. He stood just behind you, close enough that his breath fanned across the back of your neck, hot and suffocating.

The factory loomed before you like the mouth of some great beast, its jagged, rusted metal teeth glinting in the dim light of the sulfur-stained sky. The air outside had been foul, but inside, it was worse—a miasma of decay and despair.

The conveyor belts stretched endlessly, carrying bodies in various states of disassembly. Some were intact, their limbs hanging limply as they were dragged by crude metal hooks. Others were barely recognizable—mangled flesh and shattered bone mashed together in a grotesque parody of humanity. You tried to look away, to focus on the machinery, but even that was a nightmare of grinding gears slick with gore.

A loud, wet squelch drew your attention to a nearby station. A corpse—a woman, or at least what remained of her—was hoisted onto a steel slab. Her eyes were still open, glassy and staring, as if frozen in the moment of her death. A mechanical arm descended, its blade glinting dully under the flickering industrial lights. It carved into her chest with a precision that was almost surgical, splitting her ribcage open to reveal the organs beneath.

You felt bile rise in your throat as another arm extended, pincers gripping her heart. It yanked the organ free with a sickening suction sound, sending a spray of blood across the walls and floor. The heart was deposited into a waiting vat, where it joined dozens of others, floating in a viscous, murky liquid.

“They don’t waste anything,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion, as if he were explaining the workings of a simple machine. “Every part has a purpose. The skin for leather. The bones for tools. The organs for… whatever the hell they need them for.”

Your knees buckled, but he caught you, his arm snaking around your waist to keep you upright. “No,” he hissed, his breath hot and sharp against your ear. “You don’t get to faint. You’re going to watch. You’re going to understand.”

A scream tore through the air, high-pitched and raw, and you realized with horror that some of them weren’t dead. Your eyes darted to the source of the sound, landing on a man thrashing against his restraints as he was dragged toward another station. His legs were gone, severed at the thighs, and the stumps had been crudely cauterized to keep him alive.

“Please,” the man sobbed, his voice hoarse and desperate. “Please, just kill me. Just—”

The blade came down before he could finish, cleaving his remaining arm from his body. His scream turned guttural, the sound of a soul breaking, before it was cut off entirely by a needle plunging into his neck. The liquid injected was thick and black, spreading through his veins like oil. His body convulsed violently for a moment before going still.

You turned your head, choking on a sob, but he gripped your chin and forced you to face the scene again. His fingers dug into your skin, bruising and relentless.

“This is what happens without me,” he said, his voice a low snarl. “You think you can survive out there? Think you can make it without my protection? Look at them!” He shook you slightly, as if to drive the point home. “This is what you are without me—meat.”

Tears streamed down your face, hot and shameful, as you stared at the conveyor belts and the countless bodies reduced to parts. You couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop the nausea that twisted your stomach into knots.

Another scream pierced the air, this one an elder's. Your head snapped toward the sound, and your heart plummeted. A thin figure, frail and sickly, was strapped to a table, his wide, terrified eyes fixed on the approaching machinery.

“No,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “No, no, no…”

The machine didn’t care. The blades descended, and you squeezed your eyes shut, the image burned into your mind even as you tried to block it out.

He didn’t let you escape even that. His hand tightened on your jaw, forcing your eyes open. “Don’t you dare look away,” he growled. “This is reality. This is what’s waiting for you if you run.”

You broke then, sobbing uncontrollably, your body wracked with shuddering breaths. He held you there, unyielding, until you were too weak to fight. Only then did he pull you close, his grip on you shifting from punishing to possessive.

“That’s right,” he murmured, his tone softening in a way that was somehow more terrifying. “You understand now, don’t you? You’re mine. And as long as you’re mine, this will never happen to you.”

His lips brushed against your temple, a mockery of comfort as he whispered, “But if you ever forget, I’ll bring you back here. And I’ll make you watch again.”

────────────

The battlefield stretched like a bleeding wound across the earth, jagged trenches carved into the mud and ash. The remnants of what had once been cities were nothing more than skeletal buildings clawing at the smog-choked sky. The air was thick with the acrid tang of burning fuel and the gut-wrenching stench of charred flesh. Bomb craters bubbled with viscous, oily water that gleamed under the pale, radioactive sun. It was a place where hope had been smothered, where humanity’s last breaths came in choking, gurgling gasps.

He stood before you, his shadow long and oppressive, a monolith of muscle and bloodied steel. His armor—if you could call the piecemeal, blood-streaked remains of his tactical gear armor—clung to him like a second skin, the fabric worn thin and blackened with soot. In his hand, a rifle dangled lazily, as though he didn’t need it. And he didn’t. He was a weapon unto himself, his body and mind honed by decades of violence, cruelty, and war.

“Do you remember this place?” His voice was a low rumble, scraping against your nerves like a blade dragged across bone. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, bore into you with a force that made your knees weak. “Where I found you?”

You nodded faintly, though you didn’t trust your voice enough to speak. Your silence wasn’t just fear—it was a learned response, a survival tactic you’d mastered in the years since he’d claimed you.

“Do you know what they were going to do to you?” He crouched, bringing his face level with yours. His presence was suffocating, his frame dwarfing your own. His voice dropped lower, almost tender, as though sharing a secret. “No, you don’t. You only saw what they let you see. Let me show you the rest.”

He yanked you forward, his grip on your wrist unyielding, and led you toward the edge of the battlefield. The ground squelched beneath your feet, a revolting mixture of mud, blood, and something viscous that you didn’t want to identify. In the distance, the ruins of an old hospital came into view. The building leaned at an unnatural angle, its walls crumbling but still intact enough to conceal the horrors within.

“You’ve seen death,” he said, his tone conversational, as though discussing the weather. “But you haven’t seen what people do when death isn’t enough. When they want to break you first.”

The interior of the hospital reeked of antiseptic and decay. The sterile smell of chemicals clashed with the unmistakable odor of rot. The walls were streaked with dark stains, their origins uncomfortably clear as you stepped over discarded limbs, the flesh marbled with gangrene and crude surgical scars.

In the first room, a soldier lay strapped to a gurney, his body contorted unnaturally. His chest had been split open, ribs wrenched apart like the wings of a grotesque bird. His heart was missing, the cavity where it had once beat filled with a tangled mess of wires and tubing. The machinery whirred softly, pumping fluids through his veins and forcing his lungs to expand and contract in shallow, mechanical breaths. His eyes were still open, rolling wildly in their sockets as they locked onto you.

“He’s alive,” the man behind you whispered, his voice a mix of mockery and menace. “Barely. They like to see how far they can push the human body before it gives out. Sometimes they even stitch people back together, just to see how much more they can take.”

You gagged, your stomach lurching violently, but he grabbed your chin, forcing you to face the horror. “Don’t look away,” he commanded, his tone sharp and unyielding. “You need to understand. This is what was waiting for you.”

He dragged you into another room, this one colder, darker. Rows of tanks filled the space, each containing a murky, greenish fluid that distorted the shapes inside. At first, you thought they were bodies, but as you moved closer, you realized they were something worse. Limbs were fused together in impossible configurations, heads sprouted from torsos without necks, and eyes blinked independently in faces twisted beyond recognition. The creatures floated listlessly, their expressions a grotesque mix of agony and confusion.

“Human experimentation,” he explained, almost lazily. “They weren’t trying to kill you. They were going to use you. Turn you into something like this. A weapon. Or worse—a resource.”

You stumbled backward, but he caught you, his arm curling around your waist with a possessive strength that left no room for escape. He pressed his lips to your ear, his voice a dark caress. “I killed them all for you. Do you see now why you belong to me? Why you owe me your life?”

He pushed you onward, through rooms filled with horrors you couldn’t have imagined in your darkest nightmares. A man impaled on a series of metal rods, his skin flayed back to expose muscle and bone, still breathing through a series of tubes jammed into his throat. A woman with her limbs replaced by crude prosthetics, her mouth sewn shut but her eyes screaming. People of all ages locked in cages, their bodies twisted and deformed, their cries muffled by gags soaked in blood.

“This is what humanity has become,” he said, his voice cold and detached. “This is what I saved you from. You were a prize to them. A rare find. They would’ve broken you in ways you can’t even imagine.”

You fell to your knees, the weight of it all crashing down on you. He crouched beside you, his bloodied hand gripping your chin and forcing you to look at him. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, were filled with something dark, something terrifyingly close to affection.

“Don’t forget this,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Don’t ever forget who saved you. Who you belong to. Because without me…” His voice trailed off as he gestured toward the carnage around you. “This is all you’d ever know.”

You sobbed, the sound muffled against his chest as he pulled you into his arms. His embrace was as suffocating as it was unyielding, a cage that you could never escape. And yet, in that moment, you clung to him, because the alternative was too horrifying to bear.

────────────

So you stayed.

Not because you trusted him. Not because you wanted him. But because the alternative was infinitely worse. And yet, staying came with its own horrors, its own chains. His obsession didn’t shield you from his cruelty; it only redirected it. He was a man who didn’t just command obedience—he demanded submission. Every glance, every word, every trembling breath was a reminder of your place beneath him. When he touched you, it wasn’t with gentleness. His hands were calloused and bruising, gripping and claiming, leaving marks that would never fade.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he would say when your eyes filled with defiance or despair. “You’re still alive because I allow it.”

The world outside was dead, a barren wasteland of mutilation and starvation, yet with him, the torment was suffocatingly personal. He didn’t just want your compliance; he wanted your surrender. His words were a scalpel, cutting into your psyche with surgical precision. He would pull you close, his breath hot against your ear, his voice low and gravelly as he whispered promises of protection intertwined with threats so visceral they made your stomach churn.

“You’re mine,” he’d say, his hand resting possessively on your throat. “Every inch of you. Every thought. Every breath. Try to take that away from me, and I’ll show you what real pain feels like.”

There were moments when his control slipped, when the line between protector and predator blurred beyond recognition. He would keep you close, his body a cage of muscle and violence, his gaze piercing through your facade of composure. The way his hands roamed wasn’t tender—it was invasive, a reminder that he could take whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and there was nothing you could do to stop him.

And yet, you didn’t resist. Couldn’t. Resistance wasn’t a choice. Not here. Not with him.

The world outside was unlivable. The world with him was unbearable. Between the two, you chose to endure.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “A Heart Devoured”: @definetlythinkimanalien , @floooring

104 notes · View notes

kitsuren · 7 months ago

Text

DEMO // PLAYLIST

Flirting with Death is a 18+ Otome-like action dark romance in the form of an interactive fiction. The game focus will be mostly into character and relationships development, exploring how you interact with the world and the reactions to your decisions.

Take charge of Eris, a newly (and forcibly) inducted operative of a shadowy organization, as she enters a world way more twisted from what she is already used to.

The game will be released chapter by chapter and it will be entirely free after completion!

You died. For all your life, you have been making bad decisions after bad decisions and this time your luck ran out. During your years working with the wrong side of the law you had seen the good, the bad, and the ugly. What you never expected was that your choices would take you into a maze of lies and backstabbing capable to bring countries to their knee. Something big is happening and you are not in the small leagues anymore. To bring down titans you will have to ally yourself with the shady HADES Project, a group with dubious objectives and even more dubious reasons. In a race against time you will have to do the unthinkable before it is too late. There is no right or wrong in this game and the stake is your second chance in life. The clock is ticking. Grab your power suit. Gather your allies. And remember: Trust no one.

Play as a female gender locked protagonist;

Customize your Eris: decide on your past, specialization, appearance, and attributes, bringing your character to life;

Romance one of the 3 initial ROs, each of them having their own unique route that explore the story trough different perspectives;

Make decisions that impact the people around you for the good or the bad;

Use state of the art never-seen-before technology, including your very own power suit so you will never die (again!) during a mission;

Choose between 5 classes that will assist you during the various dangers that will follow you and your team as you try to solve the mystery;

Be a a righteous vigilante or a complete menace to society;

Kick a billionaire in the face (or not)!

This game is rated +18. Not only it will touch on heavy subjects, but it will also contain:

Graphic depctions of violence; Strong language; Unhealthy coping mechanisms; Guns and gun violence; Manipulation tactics; Explicit sex (if chosen); Taboo relationship; Toxic relationship; Mature content; (This list will be updated if and when necessary!)

Yes, the protagonist is gender locked: This is my first time coding an IF and I didn't want to bit off more than I could chew. Not only that, I wanted to mix the otome/josei genre with the interactive format. Maybe it will work, maybe not.

This game is a ROMANCE first and foremost: You will not be able to opt out of it. I am aware that some people are not fond of this type of content and yes, you as a player will have the choice to have (or not!) sexual content/pda, but you will not be able to get out of locking into a romantic route.

Cold, cynical, and incredibly sardonic, Phobos is all objective, giving up on any and all distractions and not being afraid to do whatever it is necessary for the greater good. His no-nonsense attitude and his constant tries to intimidate anyone into submission turned him infamous in the organization. His morality is almost black and he doesn’t care about the sacrifices that he needs to do to obtain the desired result. Killing for him is second nature, but most of times he will let Deimos talk him down from his murderous rampage. At least until he decides that the more approachable way is not being efficient anymore.

Friendly, good natured, and helpful. Everyone who knows Deimos has the impression that the man is not fit for this kind of work. He is well regarded by anyone across HADES and normally tries to resolve everything without violence, doing a really good work as a “face” in his Kerberos Unit. But don’t be mistaken, even preferring to not harm innocents, Deimos is a perfect killing machine, honed by his past to be the perfect assassin and torturer. He has an approachable personality, but when working he only focus on the job that needs to be done. Can be quiet work focused and hyper fixate on the mission, which feeds his insomnia.

With zero chills to give and almost always having and anxiety attack due to Phobos and Deimos shenanigans, his boyish appearance masks very well his personality and he constantly runs with the power of coffee and spite. As a handler he is extremely methodical and professional, being proficient with first aid, tech, engineering, and plan making, even if his ADHD tries as hell to hinder his plans. Being a genius, he mostly always lose patience with stupidity and prefer to work by himself. Chaos is the youngest handler in HADES history and by far one of the most respected, at least by name, since he is the only one capable to make Phobos and Deimos to actually shut up with just a glare. Can be a tad dramatic and fatalist, but he rarely is wrong. His favorite phrase is “I ain’t paid enough to deal with this shit” (Yes, he is.).

#announcement #flirting with death #twine if #twine game #josei jam #interactive fiction #if wip #dark romance

335 notes · View notes

scoonsalicious · 11 months ago

Text

Unwanted: Chapter 4, Unwelcome - Pt. 1*

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, Explicit Sexual Content - Minors: GTFO; I don’t serve your kind here - (oral (f receiving), unprotected PIV (only okay if one of you is a super solider who can't contract/spread, otherwise, wrap it before you tap it), bad jokes (should be a given at this point, really), dummies not understanding feelings.

Word Count: 2.6k

Previously On...: Bucky returned from his mission and your reunion got a little spicier than intended... not that either one of you is complaining! Deciding not to make it a one-time thing, you both agree to try a friends-with-benefits arrangement. What could possibly go wrong?

A/N: Yay! More smut! Aren't we all so lucky! <3 I magically managed to plow my way through writing Chapter 10 tonight, which means ya'll get Chapter 4, Part 1 a little earlier than I anticipated! I have to confess that I love the stupid banter between Bucky and Pocket. Their dumb playfulness is so #goals for me, lol. You've got a lot of fluff and such coming your way for a few chapters, meanwhile I'm at the point where I'm just writing all the angst and it is making me so sad. I subconsciously keep trying to fix it because I hate having them be at odds, but the story needs pain! And therefore I must make my babies suffer. Not right now, though. Right now is smut, smut, smut! Enjoy!

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @jmeelee @cazellen @blackhawkfanatic @les-sel @marcswife21 @buckybarnessimpp @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @erelierraceala

You sat in your office, head bent over the latest budget requests from your lab staff. You tended to be pretty generous when it came to project funding, but this $15 million request for a proposed shrink ray had to be some sort of a joke. Did they want a lawsuit from Pym Technologies? A knock on your door drew your attention away from the submission in front of you.

"Come in," you called out, putting the shrink ray proposal in your rejection pile. Bucky entered your office, flashing you a seductive smile as he closed and locked the door behind him.

Leaning back in your desk chair, you let your eyes rove over his frame as he walked toward you. He'd obviously just come from the gym, his muscles glistening with a sheen of sweat and his t-shirt clinging to his sculpted chest. The sight of him made your heart race, and you couldn't help but feel a now familiar heat building between your legs. He looked absolutely gorgeous. "You're not my GrubHub order," you teased.

"Not your GrubHub," he said, coming around to sit on the edge of your desk, "but I bet I can fill you up just as good."

You both stared at each other for a beat before bursting into laughter. "Oh my God, Barnes," you groaned, standing up and wrapping your arms around his neck. "That was absolutely awful." You kissed him, relishing the feel of his laughter against your mouth. "I can't believe I willingly let you put your dick in me, jokes like that."

Bucky's laughter faded into a heated gaze as his hands traveled up your sides, sending shivers down your spine. "Well," he whispered huskily, his lips grazing against the shell of your ear, "I'm glad you let me, because all I can think about is doing it again."

"Then it's a very good thing you locked that door," you whispered back, trying to ignore the wetness his words sent straight to your panties.

His fingers traced the outline of your jaw, his feather-light touch igniting a trail of desire along your skin. The familiar weight of his presence grounded you, drawing you closer. Together, like this, it was as if you were the only two people in the world, as if no one else existed.

"I've been thinking about you all day," Bucky confessed, his voice laced with a mixture of longing and hunger. "Couldn't focus on anything else but getting my hands on you."

"I've been right here." You took a hand and palmed him through his sweats. He was already rock hard, ready for you.

"Tease," he moaned, slotting his lips over yours again.

Your breath hitched as he kissed you, a surge of electricity coursing through your veins. The heat between you intensified with each kiss, fueling the fire that burned deep within. The taste of him was addictive, and you wondered how you had spent over a year in his company without kissing him before now.

“Fuck,” he hissed, pulling back from you. “I don’t have a condom. I could go get one, come back…”

You shook your head, not wanting to delay another moment. You knew the serum made him immune to catching or passing on any STIs, and you were clean. “I’m on the pill, Bucky,” you said, bringing your lips to his again. “And I wanna feel you. So fucking bad.”

“Thank God for modern fucking medicine,” he grinned.

Bucky's hands roamed over your body, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He expertly unbuttoned your blouse without taking his mouth from yours, revealing the soft curve of your breasts. His lips trailed down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin.

"You seem to have forgotten your bra, Pocket," he murmured before taking his mouth to your nipple, swirling his tongue around it and sucking gently. Your knees weakened at the sensation, and you gripped onto his shoulders for support.

"Mmm, Bucky," you moaned, arching your back as he switched his attention to your other breast, giving it the same lavish treatment. The wetness pooled between your thighs, leaving you aching for his touch.

He stepped back abruptly, his eyes dark with desire as he reached down to unbutton your skirt. "I've been dying to taste you," he murmured, his voice thick with need.

You eagerly stepped out of your skirt, revealing the black lace panties that barely covered your soaking slit. Bucky's gaze darkened further as he looked at you, hungrily taking in every inch of your exposed body.

"Fuck," he breathed, stepping closer to you "You wear these just for me?" You just smiled at him, biting your lower lip. You had worn them just for him, but he didn't need to know that. With one swift motion, he lifted you up and placed you on the edge of your desk. The cool wood felt delicious against your heated skin as Bucky hooked his fingers around the sides of your panties, pulling them down your legs and stuffing them into the pocket of his pants.

"Thief," you chastised, but he only smirked at you as he dropped to his knees in front of you, his warm breath fanning across your slick folds as he hooked your legs over his shoulders.

You grasped the edge of the desk, your heart pounding in anticipation as he leaned forward and dipped his tongue between your swollen lips. A moan escaped you at the first touch of his velvety tongue against your throbbing clit. "Holy shit, Buck," you groaned. "Just like that."

"I knew you'd be delicious," he moaned into you.

Bucky's skilled tongue worked its magic, flicking and swirling with an expertise that sent waves of pleasure radiating through your body. Your head fell back, exposing your neck as you surrendered yourself to the sensations he was evoking. Each lick and suck was like an electric shock to your core, building the tension coiling within you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him closer as he devoured you with an insatiable hunger. The intensity of his ministrations brought you to the edge faster than expected, the coil within you tightening with an urgency that demanded release. You whimpered, your moans growing louder with each pass of his tongue.

"Bucky," you panted, pulling on his hair to drag him up. "Bucky I need you. I need you right now." Your voice was desperate, your body craving the feel of his thickness inside you.

Bucky's eyes were filled with a predatory glint as he stood up, his lips glistening with the evidence of your arousal. He swiftly rid himself of his sweats, releasing his swollen, throbbing length that begged to be inside you. The air crackled with tension as he positioned himself between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips firmly.

"Tell me what you want, sweetheart," he growled, his voice rough with desire.

You locked eyes with him, the intensity of your connection sparking a fire within you. "I want you inside me," you gasped, your voice filled with a desperate need.

Without any further warning, Bucky plunged into you with a force that stole your breath. The sensation of being filled by him, stretched and taken to the brink of reason, sent shock waves coursing through every nerve ending in your body. You cried out in ecstasy, the sound mingling with his own groan of pleasure.

"Jesus Christ, Pocket," he moaned, "you're so fucking tight."

He set a punishing pace, driving into you with a raw need that matched your own. The sensation of him sliding in and out of you sent sparks of delight shooting through your veins. Your hands clawed at his back, urging him to move faster, harder.

Each stroke hit that sweet spot deep within you, igniting fireworks in your body. The desk creaked beneath the force of your movements, the sound echoing throughout the room.

"Fuck," Bucky grunted, his hips slapping against yours with a primal intensity, "turn around."

He pulled out of you and flipped you, bending you over the desk before thrusting back into you from behind. The new angle allowed him to hit you deeper than before, and you could feel the tip of him kiss your cervix.

The desk continued to shake as Bucky pounded into you, the raw power behind each thrust pushing you closer to the edge of release. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your moans filling the air as ecstasy rippled through your body.

Sweat dripped down both of your bodies, glistening in the dim light of the office. The urgency between you was palpable, a desperate hunger that consumed every inch of your being. You could feel the tension building within you, coiling tighter and tighter.

"I'm...I'm so close," you managed to pant out, your voice strained with need. "Don't stop, Bucky."

He groaned in response, his thrusts becoming more erratic, his hips slamming against yours with an almost brutal force. The sound of your bodies colliding filled the room, drowning out any other noise.

Bucky's gaze bore into yours as you turned to look at him, his eyes filled with a mixture of lust and adoration. His grip on your hips tightened even further, his fingers leaving imprints on your skin as he pistoned in and out of you. The sensations he stoked within you built to an unbearable peak, threatening to consume you both.

With one final powerful thrust, Bucky sent you hurtling over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. You cried out his name, your body convulsing as waves of bliss coursed through every fiber of your being. It was an explosion that left you breathless and trembling, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

Bucky followed suit, ropes of his spend spilling into you as he found his own release. He bent his body over yours, burying his face in the curve of your neck, his moans muffled against your skin as he rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm.

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was heavy breathing and the faint echo of your heartbeats pounding in your ears. Your bodies were entangled, sweaty and spent from the intense release that had just washed over you. Bucky's grip on your hips slowly loosened as he pulled out of you, his length slipping free with a wet sound.

ith a shaky sigh, you turned around and immediately collapsed back onto the desk, your legs trembling from the sheer euphoria that had consumed you moments ago. Bucky stood there, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes were filled with a mix of satisfaction and tenderness as he looked down at you.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before moving to stand in front of you. His fingers gently brushed against your cheek, wiping away a stray tear that had escaped during your climax. You reached up, intertwining your fingers with his and bringing them to your lips for a gentle kiss.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concern lacing his voice. "I didn't hurt you, did I? I went a little harder than I meant to."

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "No, Bucky. That was... incredible. You didn't hurt me, you made me feel amazing." You paused, looking up into his eyes, filled with genuine affection. "You always make me feel amazing."

His gaze softened, and he brushed his thumb against your cheekbone. You moved to hop down from your desk, but your knees gave out, refusing to hold you.

"Hey, I've got you," Bucky said with a laugh as he steadied you, supporting you as though you weighed nothing. He began slowly buttoning your shirt back up, then slid your skirt back up your thighs.

"I think you ruined my legs," you giggled as he planted a kiss on your navel before tucking your shirt back into your skirt.

"Sorry 'bout that," he said with a smirk as he straightened up.

You let out a shaky laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure you feel really bad about it," you grinned.

He leaned in close to your ear. "Not even a little bit," he whispered, as though it was a conspiratorial secret. God, just his proximity and the sound of his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

"Looking to go for Round Two already, doll?" he asked you as he took in your physical response to him with a smug smile.

"I don't think my desk can take another go at the moment, or my legs, for that matter." You tried standing up again and were pleased to find that, though your knees were still weak, you were able to hold yourself upright. You glanced over to see Bucky watching you with a shit-eating grin. "You look a little too proud of yourself, you know."

"Tell me it's not fully deserved." He grinned at you like a mother fucking cat who had just found a saucer of cream. You rolled your eyes as you began picking up the avalanche of papers that had fallen from your desk to the floor. Bucky came around and bent over to help set your office back to rights.

Once everything was back in its proper place, you stood back to admire your work. No one would know that you'd been thoroughly railed here just a few minutes before. You watched as Bucky picked up the framed photo you kept of the two of you on your desk.

It was from your trip to the New York Botanical Gardens last winter. Bucky had confessed to you that, due to spending so much time on ice while under Hydra's control, he'd developed an intense hatred-- almost fear-- of cold weather. So, when a particularly brutal cold snap had him feeling exceptionally out of sorts, you'd taken him up to the Bronx to visit the Enid A. Haupt Conservatory, where you spent the day meandering through the paths of the hothouse, surrounded by humidity and tropical plants as though you were in the middle of the rainforest. In the photo, Bucky stood next to you with his arms wrapped around your shoulders, your hands hanging off of his forearm as he leaned into you and kissed your temple. Your face was scrunched up into a ridiculous smile.

"That was a great day," Bucky said, tracing the photo with a flesh finger. "I don't think I ever told you how much it meant to me, means to me, that you did that for me." His voice had dropped to something deeper, softer.

You felt something in your heart flutter at his words, the sensation new and a little frightening. The sensation made you nervous in a way you couldn't identify. "Buck," you said, swallowing thickly, "there's not much I wouldn't do for you. I hope you know that."

His crystal blue eyes bore into you as he looked at you, almost as though he was waiting for you to say something more. When you didn't, he let out a sigh and placed the photo back on your desk.

Looking back up at you, the intensity was gone from his gaze. "You hungry? I figure we must have burned enough calories to justify a big lunch." His cocky grin was back in place.

"Yeah, that sounds perfect," you said, linking your arm in his and patently ignoring the way the contact sent a swell of affection through your heart. "Let me pop into the bathroom to clean up, and then we're good to go."

<- Previous Chapter / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

213 notes · View notes

manonamora-if · 1 year ago

Text

Interactive Fiction Showcase 2024

Showcase your Game!

The Interactive Fiction Showcase is a year-long "jam" meant to collect and showcase Interactive Fiction games completed in 2024, and show how diverse the Interactive Fiction scene is! And maybe: build more bridges between the community, help people finding their new favourite game/author...

Whether it is long or short, an easy adventure or a complicated puzzle, a strange experiment, a quick creation, or a years-in-the-making game, come show off what you've made!

Are you more of a player? Then, come check this page regularly for new submissions! Maybe leave a rating or a comment too :)

This is an unranked event.

Rules:

The Showcase is open to IF games in all of its forms: kinetic, choice-based, hyperlinks, parser, visual novels... As long as it is Interactive Fiction (there is interactivity and the focus of the game is on the text), the entry will be accepted.

The Showcase is open to IF games in any language.

Entries must be playable and in its complete form when submitted. Completed games in 2024, whose demo was previously public, are welcome. Games submitted to other events (jams/competitions) are welcome.

Entries can include NSFW content, as long as it is indicated in the submission.

Entries should not include any generated AI content - or it will be removed.

Spam or hateful content will be removed.

Creating Interactive Fiction:

Interactive Fiction is a text-based narrative medium, where players can interact with the story in some fashion (input commands, click a link/button, press key). There are many different ways of creating IF, and many different programs to do so. You can find some mentioned below:

Primarily HyperText/Choice-Based: Twine, Ink, ChoiceScript, Dendry

Primarily Parser/Input: Inform 6, Inform 7, PunyInform, Adventuron, ADRIFT

Other: Bitsy, Binksi, Ren'Py

and many more can be found listed in the IF Wiki.

If you are looking for other Interactive Fiction Events, discuss general IF, or ask question, you can visit the IntFiction Forum. (we also have monthly IF events over at @neointeractives)

Interactive Fiction Database and Archive:

IFDB

The IFDB, or Interactive Fiction Database, is an IF game information catalogue, creating a historical record of the IF landscape. The database is a community project, updated by its members, by adding titles to the directory, ratings games, writing reviews... If a listing has not yet been created for your game, please consider making one!

IF Archive

The IF Archive is an archive of Interactive Fiction games, and IF-related elements (walkthroughs, interpreters, articles, collections...). The Archive’s mission is to preserve the history and practice of interactive fiction and make it freely available to the public. If you wish to, you can upload a copy of your game to the IFArchive, through the IFDB listing of your game (recommended) or directly to the archive.

The IFDB and IFArchive, as well as the IntFiction Forum and Twine, are managed by the Interactive Fiction Technology Foundation. These programs are funded through individual donations.

Visual Novel Database

The VNDB, or Visual Novel Database, is a community project that strives to be a comprehensive database for information about visual novels. The database is updated by its members, by adding titles to the directory, ratings games, writing reviews... If a listing has not yet been created for your visual novel, please consider making one!

#interactive fiction showcase #itch io #interactive games #interactive fiction #interactive story #visual novel #IF #VN #IFDB #IFArhive #Sidenote: the real reason was wanting to better keep up with independent releases #(outside of competition/jams) and itch is not great at finding stuff…

182 notes · View notes

fireflysummers · 1 year ago

Text

Heroes, Gods, and the Invisible Narrator

Slay the Princess as a Framework for the Cyclical Reproduction of Colonialist Narratives in Data Science & Technology

An Essay by FireflySummers

All images are captioned.

Content Warnings: Body Horror, Discussion of Racism and Colonialism

Spoilers for Slay the Princess (2023) by @abby-howard and Black Tabby Games.

If you enjoy this article, consider reading my guide to arguing against the use of AI image generators or the academic article it's based on.

Introduction: The Hero and the Princess

You're on a path in the woods, and at the end of that path is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin is a Princess. You're here to slay her. If you don't, it will be the end of the world.

Slay the Princess is a 2023 indie horror game by Abby Howard and published through Black Tabby Games, with voice talent by Jonathan Sims (yes, that one) and Nichole Goodnight.

The game starts with you dropped without context in the middle of the woods. But that’s alright. The Narrator is here to guide you. You are the hero, you have your weapon, and you have a monster to slay.

From there, it's the player's choice exactly how to proceed--whether that be listening to the voice of the narrator, or attempting to subvert him. You can kill her as instructed, or sit and chat, or even free her from her chains.

It doesn't matter.

Regardless of whether you are successful in your goal, you will inevitably (and often quite violently) die.

And then...

You are once again on a path in the woods.

The cycle repeats itself, the narrator seemingly none the wiser. But the woods are different, and so is the cabin. You're different, and worse... so is she.

Based on your actions in the previous loop, the princess has... changed. Distorted.

Had you attempted a daring rescue, she is now a damsel--sweet and submissive and already fallen in love with you.

Had you previously betrayed her, she has warped into something malicious and sinister, ready to repay your kindness in full.

But once again, it doesn't matter.

Because the no matter what you choose, no matter how the world around you contorts under the weight of repeated loops, it will always be you and the princess.

Why? Because that’s how the story goes.

So says the narrator.

So now that we've got that out of the way, let's talk about data.

Chapter I: Echoes and Shattered Mirrors

The problem with "data" is that we don't really think too much about it anymore. Or, at least, we think about it in the same abstract way we think about "a billion people." It's gotten so big, so seemingly impersonal that it's easy to forget that contemporary concept of "data" in the west is a phenomenon only a couple centuries old [1].

This modern conception of the word describes the ways that we translate the world into words and numbers that can then be categorized and analyzed. As such, data has a lot of practical uses, whether that be putting a rover on mars or tracking the outbreak of a viral contagion. However, this functionality makes it all too easy to overlook the fact that data itself is not neutral. It is gathered by people, sorted into categories designed by people, and interpreted by people. At every step, there are people involved, such that contemporary technology is embedded with systemic injustices, and not always by accident.

The reproduction of systems of oppression are most obvious from the margins. In his 2019 article As If, Ramon Amaro describes the Aspire Mirror (2016): a speculative design project by by Joy Buolamwini that contended with the fact that the standard facial recognition algorithm library had been trained almost exclusively on white faces. The simplest solution was to artificially lighten darker skin-tones for the algorithm to recognize, which Amaro uses to illustrate the way that technology is developed with an assumption of whiteness [2].

This observation applies across other intersections as well, such as trans identity [3], which has been colloquially dubbed "The Misgendering Machine" [4] for its insistence on classifying people into a strict gender binary based only on physical appearance.

This has also popped up in my own research, brought to my attention by the artist @b4kuch1n who has spoken at length with me about the connection between their Vietnamese heritage and the clothing they design in their illustrative work [5]. They call out AI image generators for reinforcing colonialism by stripping art with significant personal and cultural meaning of their context and history, using them to produce a poor facsimile to sell to the highest bidder.

All this describes an iterative cycle which defines normalcy through a white, western lens, with a limited range of acceptable diversity. Within this cycle, AI feeds on data gathered under colonialist ideology, then producing an artifact that reinforces existing systemic bias. When this data is, in turn, once again fed to the machine, that bias becomes all the more severe, and the range of acceptability narrower [2, 6].

Luciana Parisi and Denise Ferreira da Silva touch on a similar point in their article Black Feminist Tools, Critique, and Techno-poethics but on a much broader scale. They call up the Greek myth of Prometheus, who was punished by the gods for his hubris for stealing fire to give to humanity. Parisi and Ferreira da Silva point to how this, and other parts of the “Western Cosmology” map to humanity’s relationship with technology [7].

However, while this story seems to celebrate the technological advancement of humanity, there are darker colonialist undertones. It frames the world in terms of the gods and man, the oppressor and the oppressed; but it provides no other way of being. So instead the story repeats itself, with so-called progress an inextricable part of these two classes of being. This doesn’t bode well for visions of the future, then–because surely, eventually, the oppressed will one day be the machines [7, 8].

It’s… depressing. But it’s only really true, if you assume that that’s the only way the story could go.

“Stories don't care who takes part in them. All that matters is that the story gets told, that the story repeats. Or, if you prefer to think of it like this: stories are a parasitical life form, warping lives in the service only of the story itself.” ― Terry Pratchett, Witches Abroad

Chapter II: The Invisible Narrator

So why does the narrator get to call the shots on how a story might go? Who even are they? What do they want? How much power do they actually have?

With the exception of first person writing, a lot of the time the narrator is invisible. This is different from an unreliable narrator. With an unreliable narrator, at some point the audience becomes aware of their presence in order for the story to function as intended. An invisible narrator is never meant to be seen.

In Slay the Princess, the narrator would very much like to be invisible. Instead, he has been dragged out into the light, because you (and the inner voices you pick up along the way), are starting to argue with him. And he doesn’t like it.

Despite his claims that the princess will lie and cheat in order to escape, as the game progresses it’s clear that the narrator is every bit as manipulative–if not moreso, because he actually knows what’s going on. And, if the player tries to diverge from the path that he’s set before them, the correct path, then it rapidly becomes clear that he, at least to start, has the power to force that correct path.

While this is very much a narrative device, the act of calling attention to the narrator is important beyond that context.

The Hero’s Journey is the true monomyth, something to which all stories can be reduced. It doesn’t matter that the author, Joseph Campbell, was a raging misogynist whose framework flattened cultures and stories to fit a western lens [9, 10]. It was used in Star Wars, so clearly it’s a universal framework.

The metaverse will soon replace the real world and crypto is the future of currency! Never mind that the organizations pushing it are suspiciously pyramid shaped. Get on board or be left behind.

Generative AI is pushed as the next big thing. The harms it inflicts on creatives and the harmful stereotypes it perpetuates are just bugs in the system. Never mind that the evangelists for this technology speak over the concerns of marginalized people [5]. That’s a skill issue, you gotta keep up.

Computers will eventually, likely soon, advance so far as to replace humans altogether. The robot uprising is on the horizon [8].

Who perpetuates these stories? What do they have to gain?

Why is the only story for the future replications of unjust systems of power? Why must the hero always slay the monster?

Because so says the narrator. And so long as they are invisible, it is simple to assume that this is simply the way things are.

Chapter III: The End...?

This is the part where Slay the Princess starts feeling like a stretch, but I’ve already killed the horse so I might as well beat it until the end too.

Because what is the end result here?

According to the game… collapse. A recursive story whose biases narrow the scope of each iteration ultimately collapses in on itself. The princess becomes so sharp that she is nothing but blades to eviscerate you. The princess becomes so perfect a damsel that she is a caricature of the trope. The story whittles itself away to nothing. And then the cycle begins anew.

There’s no climactic final battle with the narrator. He created this box, set things in motion, but he is beyond the player’s reach to confront directly. The only way out is to become aware of the box itself, and the agenda of the narrator. It requires acknowledgement of the artificiality of the roles thrust upon you and the Princess, the false dichotomy of hero or villain.

Slay the Princess doesn’t actually provide an answer to what lies outside of the box, merely acknowledges it as a limit that can be overcome.

With regards to the less fanciful narratives that comprise our day-to-day lives, it’s difficult to see the boxes and dichotomies we’ve been forced into, let alone what might be beyond them. But if the limit placed is that there are no stories that can exist outside of capitalism, outside of colonialism, outside of rigid hierarchies and oppressive structures, then that limit can be broken [12].

Denouement: Doomed by the Narrative

Video games are an interesting artistic medium, due to their inherent interactivity. The commonly accepted mechanics of the medium, such as flavor text that provides in-game information and commentary, are an excellent example of an invisible narrator. Branching dialogue trees and multiple endings can help obscure this further, giving the player a sense of genuine agency… which provides an interesting opportunity to drag an invisible narrator into the light.

There are a number of games that have explored the power differential between the narrator and the player (The Stanley Parable, Little Misfortune, Undertale, Buddy.io, OneShot, etc…)

However, Slay the Princess works well here because it not only emphasizes the artificial limitations that the narrator sets on a story, but the way that these stories recursively loop in on themselves, reinforcing the fears and biases of previous iterations.

Critical data theory probably had nothing to do with the game’s development (Abby Howard if you're reading this, lmk). However, it works as a surprisingly cohesive framework for illustrating the ways that we can become ensnared by a narrative, and the importance of knowing who, exactly, is narrating the story. Although it is difficult or impossible to conceptualize what might exist beyond the artificial limits placed by even a well-intentioned narrator, calling attention to them and the box they’ve constructed is the first step in breaking out of this cycle.

“You can't go around building a better world for people. Only people can build a better world for people. Otherwise it's just a cage.” ― Terry Pratchett, Witches Abroad

Epilogue

If you've read this far, thank you for your time! This was an adaptation of my final presentation for a Critical Data Studies course. Truthfully, this course posed quite a challenge--I found the readings of philosophers such as Kant, Adorno, Foucault, etc... difficult to parse. More contemporary scholars were significantly more accessible. My only hope is that I haven't gravely misinterpreted the scholars and researchers whose work inspired this piece.

I honestly feel like this might have worked best as a video essay, but I don't know how to do those, and don't have the time to learn or the money to outsource.

Slay the Princess is available for purchase now on Steam.

Screencaps from ManBadassHero Let's Plays: [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]

Post Dividers by @cafekitsune

Citations:

Rosenberg, D. (2018). Data as word. Historical Studies in the Natural Sciences, 48(5), 557-567.

Amaro, Ramon. (2019). As If. e-flux Architecture. Becoming Digital. https://www.e-flux.com/architecture/becoming-digital/248073/as-if/

What Ethical AI Really Means by PhilosophyTube

Keyes, O. (2018). The misgendering machines: Trans/HCI implications of automatic gender recognition. Proceedings of the ACM on human-computer interaction, 2(CSCW), 1-22.

Allred, A.M., Aragon, C. (2023). Art in the Machine: Value Misalignment and AI “Art”. In: Luo, Y. (eds) Cooperative Design, Visualization, and Engineering. CDVE 2023. Lecture Notes in Computer Science, vol 14166. Springer, Cham. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-43815-8_4

Amaro, R. (2019). Artificial Intelligence: warped, colorful forms and their unclear geometries.

Parisisi, L., Ferreira da Silva, D. Black Feminist Tools, Critique, and Techno-poethics. e-flux. Issue #123. https://www.e-flux.com/journal/123/436929/black-feminist-tools-critique-and-techno-poethics/

AI - Our Shiny New Robot King | Sophie from Mars by Sophie From Mars

Joseph Campbell and the Myth of the Monomyth | Part 1 by Maggie Mae Fish

Joseph Campbell and the N@zis | Part 2 by Maggie Mae Fish

How Barbie Cis-ified the Matrix by Jessie Gender

#slay the princess #stp spoilers #stp #stp princess #abby howard #black tabby games #academics #critical data studies #computer science #technology #hci #my academics #my writing #long post

241 notes · View notes

jbk405 · 7 months ago

Text

I think I've found one of the key reasons why I prefer the old Expanded Universe to the current Star Wars content: Unique types of villains.

More specifically, people who weren't just Evil Force Users With Long Robes And Red Lightsabers. While there were always a few Darth Vader-clones that popped up to fill up space, so many of the Arc Villains were distinct not just in personality, but also how they were dangerous.

Grand Admiral Thrawn was a military tactician, which wasn't the point of any of the main villains in the Original Trilogy. Grand Moff Tarkin was a "Build a bigger superweapon and bludgeon the galaxy into submission" kind of villain, and Vader and the Emperor were mystical dark wizards. This isn't a complaint or criticism, but just pointing out that military tactics were never on display in the films since that wasn't the type of story they were telling. But Thrawn didn't have prophetic powers or Destiny, he had to analyze and plan around what he could learn about his adversaries. It's a different type of fight than Literal Magic. In the original Thrawn Trilogy, Captain Pellaeon frequently internally narrates how different Thrawn's style of leadership was to either Vader or the Emperor (Even if his art-analysis did verge on magic by itself).

Ysanne Isard was a political and/or espionage manipulator, which was even less a point of the Original Trilogy than military tactics were. She took advantage of the realities of actually needing to build a nation out of an underground military movement. With all of the dirty gutter politics, self-serving agendas, and logistics that doom so many revolutionary movements. I'm not as big a fan of her arc as I was when I was younger (I re-read the Rogue Squadron novels a few years ago and the writing quality is not as good as I remember, and Isard's plans frankly don't hold a lot of water), but the concept is still fantastic.

Warlord Zsinj on the surface seems like a merger of Thrawn and Isard -- he's a military commander who specializes in espionage -- but he also has a big focus that neither of them demonstrated: Business. While he still blows stuff up with his giant space ships and is sowing dissent through brainwashing and spycraft, he's simultaneously establishing a galaxy-wide network of completely-legitimate commercial businesses that he owns through untraceable pseudonyms. They fund his campaigns, give him influence on planets outside of his direct control, and allow him to control resources without any of his adversaries even being aware of it.

Even one-shot enemies like the Ssi-ruuk were so unique: They're invading the galaxy because their technology is powered by living souls and they want to harvest all life in the galaxy. That's messed up, and so distinct from the general "Take over the world" motivation of the Empire.

But as time went on, more and more of the enemies were just "Darth Vader Again". Another Jedi who fell to the Dark Side, or another long-lost schism of the Sith who rediscovered mainstream galactic society, or some other thing that is eventually resolved by a one-on-one lightsaber duel and a personal grudge against the Skywalker or Solo families. It definitely felt like they were out of ideas and kept running through the same villains over and over again.

This kicked into high gear after the Prequels came out, and continued in the new continuity after the EU was rebranded as "Legends".

I wish we could go back to the idea that there could be an enemy who wasn't super powerful in the force and consumed by Hatred Of The Jedi. With their own skills, their own methods, and something that makes them more than just another wannabe-Sauron. Pirates who are just pirates, marauding ex-Imperial Warlords who are just marauding ex-Imperial Warlords, and corrupt politicians who are just corrupt politicians, instead of revealing that Palpatine returned (somehow) all over again.

#This doesn't mean there aren't great Star Wars stories revolving around the new Vader-copies but there were just more and more of them #Star Wars #Expanded Universe #Legends #Thrawn #Grand Admiral Thrawn #Ysanne Isard #Zsinj #Warlord Zsinj #Ssi-ruuk #Ssi-ruuvi Imperium

97 notes · View notes

neurodivergent-arda-week · 14 days ago

Text

Neurodivergent Arda Week

Neurodivergent Arda Week will run from March 30 to April 5, 2025. This is an event to celebrate Neurodiversity in Tolkien's works. Although there are no characters who are explicitly Neurodivergent, many Neurodivergent folk have found themselves in Tolkien's world. All creations are welcome, such as art, writing, podfic, gifs, and more.

Neurodiversity is the realisation, celebration, and acceptance that there are many different ways for a brain to function. Diversity is a natural part of existence. All brains are valid and real, whether or not they may fit into categories. And the world needs every brain in order to function. There is no such thing as a “better” or a “worse” brain, they’re just different. And different is good. Diversity is a vital and natural part of our world.

Here are some prompts:

Day 1 - March 30 - Worldbuilding

Day 2 - March 31 - Characters

Day 3 - April 1 - Stimming

Day 4 - April 2 - Special Interests

Day 5 - April 3 - Assistive Technology

Day 6 - April 4 - Intersectionality

Day 7 - April 5 - Free Prompt

Submissions do not have to follow the prompts.

When submitting, please tag your post #neurodivergentardaweek and mention @neurodivergent-arda-week

Please include image descriptions on submissions.

Content or creators that endorse these prejudices are not allowed -

Homophobia

Transphobia

Racism

Ableism

Fatphobia and body shaming

Biphobia and panphobia

Polyphobia and sentiments against polyamorous folk

Radical feminism

Fascism and alt-right politics

Aphobia

#celebrate neurodiversity in tolkien's works!#neurodiversity #silmarillion #the silmarillion #fandom events #tolkien #lotr #neurodivergentardaweek #lord of the rings

33 notes · View notes

extra-stout-stories · 1 year ago

Text

About / Index of Stories

February 2025 Update: I'm tapering off my Tumblr use while I deal with real-world life issues, so I may not be around as often and will be slow to respond to asks and DMs.

Writer. Fat4fat switchy feedist and mutual gainer. Believer in fat liberation and responsible hedonism. IRL smallfat in pursuit of a sustainable balance between real life and my wildly kinky desires.

I'm here to share my fiction and have interesting conversations about the kink. I love to receive feedback, story suggestions, and thoughtful platonic messages about this endlessly fascinating thing of ours. DMs and anon asks are welcome; you can find my responses to asks at #ask extrastout. Minors DNI.

I'm a lifelong feedist who's been active in the community in the past. I'm taken by a partner who's fat but not a feedist, and this Tumblr is a outlet for this part of myself. Cishet male, but I follow inspirational bellies of all genders.

This account replaces @cigarette-smoking-bird, which was shadowbanned by Tumblr. As of May 2024 all my content from that account has been reposted here and @cigarette-smoking-bird has been deleted.

I reblog and signal boost frequently, so if you want to set notifications for my original content but don't want to be overwhelmed by reblogs, follow @extra-stout-content.

Index of stories below the cut. I write in a variety of genres and themes from wholesome to extreme, so please read the content warnings.

Stories

A Cat's-Eye View - A cat watches his human owner slowly give in to her desire to become fatter. (XWG, BBW to USSBBW, non-explicit, light romance. CW: Description of furniture breakage.)

Buffet Date - When fatphobic tourists with a dark secret interrupt a lovely dinner date, an SSBHM defends his lover from both social and supernatural hostility. Part three of the series that began with "Werewolf / Sweater Weather" and continued with "Full Moon." (SSBBW, SSBHM werewolf, buffet stuffing, romantic but no explicit sex. CW: Exhibitionism, protagonist is victim of fatphobia, werewolf-on-vampire violence.)

Contrast / Gift - A hedonistic fat queen receives a package with a very special gift. (USSBBW, fit male FA. CW: Explicit sex and cunnilingus.)

First Date / Creepy Cookies - When a BHM in Florida decides to take the plunge on a long-distance relationship with a witchy SSBBW FFA in New England, their first IRL encounter goes even better than he expected. (BHM to USSBHM, magical rapid weight gain, SSBBW feeder. Romantic, but spicy and mildly explicit. Lots of sexy descriptions of food. CW: Immobility, mobility aids.)

Full Moon - The couple from Kinktober 2023's "Werewolf / Sweater Weather" enjoys some bedroom fun on their favorite night of the month. (SSBBW, SSBHWW -- that's "big handsome werewolf." CW: The fine line between desire and fear; explicit sex, but mostly implied rather than descriptive.)

Hucow and Minotaur - A feedist couple enjoys some intense bedroom roleplay followed by aftercare. (SSBBW, size-unspecified male feeder. CW: Hucow play, mildly explicit sex, lactation.)

Immobile Weekend - When a feedee agrees to try a weekend of bedroom roleplay, he enjoys it even more than he expected. (BBW feeder, BHM to USSBHM feedee, XWG, romantic vibe, spicy but no explicit sex. CW: Immobility, mild discussion of health issues.)

Leashed / Hologram - In a near future where remote communications technology is just a little bit more sophisticated, you're a greedy fat pet with a stern but loving master. (Second-person feedee POV, gender-unspecified feedee and feeder, size-unspecified feeder. Mildly explicit with implied sexual intercourse. CW: Pet play, dominance.)

Marshmallow / Bondage - A fat dominant feeder and her even fatter submissive enjoy a night of bedroom fun. (SSBBW, USSBHM, femdom/mommy domme, orgasm denial, food play, light impact play. CW: D/S with roleplayed dubcon, immobility, bariatric equipment, cunnilingus and orgasm.)

Special Delivery - As a growing gainer's mobility diminishes, his regular delivery order takes an unexpected turn. (SSBHM to USSBHM feedee, gender-unspecified fat feeder, no explicit sex. CW: Immobility, bariatric tube feeding, brief moment of dubious consent.)

Stuck At Work - When two fat fast food workers end up in a tight situation, they discover that their feelings for one another are mutual. (Romantic soft feedist meet-cute, nothing explicit.)

The Weight Clinic - A fat man who's unsure about losing weight signs up for a very unusual treatment program led by a dominant doctor with an agenda of her own. (SSBHM feedee, SSBBW feeder, implicit XWG. CW: Dubious consent, drugs, medical and deathfeedist elements.)

The Weight Clinic: The (Brief) Return of Dr. Moore - Everyone's favorite mad scientist returns to introduce Feedist Kinktober '23. (Second person feedee POV, gender neutral. CW: Immobility, bariatric equipment, self-indulgent metafiction, threats of a terrible fate if you don't reblog my stories.)

Werewolf / Sweater Weather - On a secluded rural homestead, a man brings a meal home for his mate. (BHM, SSBBW, wholesome romance, non-explicit. CW: Wolf-on-stag violence.)

Short Vignettes

I post a lot of short vignettes, but I usually don't bother giving them titles or full descriptions. They can be read on the #feedist vignettes tag. I haven't put content warnings in the header of these short ones, but they're generally not too extreme. If you see something on this tag that you don't want to see and would like me to put a content warning in the tags, just shoot me a DM.

For my own reference, I've made a list of some of my more popular short vignettes indexed by title or first sentence, but check the tag because this isn't all of them.

"The Beach" (BHM, SSBBW, non-explicit)

"Fat tradwife of an equally fat husband" (What it says in the title)

"I can't believe I did it again" (First-person feedee POV)

"I can't believe I've done this to myself" (First-person feedee POV)

"It's not just about getting turned on by gaining weight" (Second-person feedee POV, wholesome feedism)

"Most people don't get turned on by food" (Second-person feedee POV)

"Needy, Greedy" (Soft domme, second-person feedee POV, mildly explicit, gender-neutral)

"Not Fat Enough" (BBW feedee, dominant USSBHM feeder, stuffing. CW: Consensual power exchange.)

"Plump Little Tummy" (First-person feedee POV. CW: Immobility.)

"Reblog if you're into soft XWG" (My most popular post)

"She gazes up at her reflection in the ceiling mirror" (USSBBW, breeding kink)

"That Little Bit Fatter" (Second person feedee POV, wholesome feedism, SFW.)

"When the outside world sees you, they don't see self-discipline" (Second person feedee POV)

"You didn't expect all the fun you could have with your fatter belly" (Second person POV)

"You never thought you would go this far" (Second person feedee POV)

"You used to stay fit for contrast's sake" (Second person POV, mutual gaining)

#weight gain fiction #feedist vignettes #wg fiction #mutual gaining #mutual feeding #gaining weight on purpose #feeding kink #fat4fat #mutual weight gain #mutual gain fiction #mutual feedism #ask extrastout

162 notes · View notes