#lost cartridge cold read

[pureicegames]

Lost Cartridge - Cold Read and the Lily's Well Bonus Pack are on sale for the Steam Winter Sale! Come pick them up if you haven't yet!

[on-ae]

[pureiceblue]

I got polls so choose one of my children.

This affects absolutely nothing I have planned. I just want to use my power for something.

[welcome-tothe-madness]

@pureiceblue @pureicegames Thank you so much forLost Cartidge - Cold Read. I’m not done with the game yet but it already means so much to me. Will make more posts later about it. This game hits home for many reasons, very personal, but thank you for making this game. It needs more recognition. Thank you.

[thefunnyalice]

I have only just started Lost Cartridge - Cold Read but Mitch is actually just my son now. If anything happens to him I’m gonna go feral

[mommys-puppy-tgirl]

Two blue screens

I wrote a lesbian robot puppy girl short story. Please enjoy :3 also the pov character is trans.

Pulling into the driveway, I stepped out of the car. Thebsweet smelling rain cascaded across my face, through my hair and soaking into my clothes on the brief stride to the front door. I fumble with the keys, sliding through three on my ring before finding the right one, all the while the water and wind sap my heat. I turn the key, open the door, and step inside, dripping water on the hardwood floors with a plop. I shut the door, remove my wet black sneakers and socks, hanging both on an empty coatrack.

From upstairs I hear my favorite thing. An excited “Woof” compressed and taken from Nintendo’s ds game “Nintendogs.” Following the sweet audio came a rumble of a heavy chassis across carpeting floor and then a “slump,” “bump” and “crash” as my beautiful girlfriend rolls down the stairs in an excited heap, her mechanical tail wagging. She quickly corrects her pose and rises to her feet to embrace me, squeezing tight enough to hinder my breathing.

Hal-E is my adorable robot girlfriend, her tummy and face each having a monitor like a Nintendo DS. The tummy screen currently has nintendogs open and all the necessary buttons to play of ones favorite Nintendo game on it. The bumpers are on her sides and the cartridge slot is hidden on her back. She wears a crop top and booty shorts so that heat can vent properly, and to cover more explicit ports. across her exposed metal are numerous stickers of bands, anime, cute animals, and flowers

I squeeze back, but stop saying. “Wait wait, I’m all wet. Down girl.”

A small green light flicks on when she hears the order. In an instant she gets on her knees, hands on her lap, and stairs up with the same dumb, cute, adorable smile she always has when I come home. I’m already colder without her natural heaters pressed against my body. So I’ll have to go quick so I can feel her again.

“Puppy, wait for me in our bedroom,” I said as I walked into the other room.

HAL-Es green light turned on and she said “I love you,” scampered up the stairs. She’s a robotic puppy girl all the way through. When we first got together she was just a robot girl, but she had fun exploring the internet and discovered puppy play. It was a recursive file in her memory banks. She pleaded with me to make a program that would help fulfill her dreams. As a programmer, I stayed up all night for a week and fulfilled her wishes and embedded it in that nintendogs cartridge. She can take it out any time she wants. But she loves it too much to ever stop being my good girl.

Now alone I removed my wet clothes and grabbed a towel from the linen closet. I ran the cotton across my skin and removed the water from it, but the cold remained. The rain left a lasting chill deep within me, and brought all the grime from that days work to the surface. Now I need my puppy to wash it all away. I walked upstairs to our shared room, opened rhe door and saw HAL-E sitting on the bed. She too was uncovered, revealing the stickers placed upon her breasts. It reads “if lost, please return to Marcy.” When I see that sticker I can’t help but bite my lip.

HAL-Es eyes widened as I entered the room, her mechanical tail wagging faster and faster, smacking against the pillows with a loud “whomp” over and over again. I could tell she wanted to jump out of bed and hug me, tackle me down and kiss me all over. She made sharp pushes against the bed, false starts as she contained her excitement. As I slowly approached the bed, I heard her cooling fans activate, pumping heat out from her head and torso to keep her from overheating. She whimpers, desperate to be played with, for someone to touch her controls and insert data into her.

“Look at how eager you are… so patient… so good…” I said, my voice shifting to a soft sultry tone. “Good girl. Do you want belly rubs?”

She let out another whimper, then a compressed yap. She rolled onto her back and looked up, her digital eyes filled with a burning heat and desire. Her vents pumped warm air all over my legs, a heat that threatened to drag me down onto her. I wanted to take it all, all her warmth and embrace her. But not yet, first we play the game.

“Good girl,” I said, rubbing my hands all over her chassis, my fingers touching the lower ds screen and sending signals into her brain. Several green lights flicked on and off as I touched her, telling me how much she enjoyed it. She was officially in “good girl mode” and now all pleasure and sensations are heightened. Just a tap of her screen sends waves of energy through her circuitry. if she wasn’t on her charging leash no doubt she would lose power.

I moved my position between her legs and told her to keep her head up. Laying down on her warm body was like a car running car in the winter, so warm it melted any ice still within my skin. I placed my thumbs on the buttons and +pad and my index fingers on her bumpers. She squirmed with each button press, the good feelings programmed into her mind. I didn’t have to play for long, for her it would feel like hours of pleasure.

Nintendogs is always a fun time, espreciallt when my girlfriend moans every time I press a buotton. Every time I play with a puppy I’m playing with her mind, and every treat given is a treat she feels. Her vents are pouring hot air, but when I check her power banks she is still charging. After 15 minutes, I pulled up her task manager, I saw how much her cpu and memory was full. All her processes were at their limit! “How about we turn some of these off…” I said.

“Ahh! Bark! W-what?” She struggled to make words after being a puppy for so long. But before she understood what was happening, I had limited her cognitive processes to 30% and boosted her pleasure centers to 120%. This was something she could turn back on if she wanted too, and was within our discussed limits. Messing with her mind, messing with her programming and messing with her wiring and attachments, she lived for it.

Now that she could only bark and whimper, reduced to my dumb, sweet, happy puppy, a puppy full of pleasure, I rose from between her legs and laid across her belly. My breasts pressed against hers, the sticker caught on my nipple, teasing me unintentionally and reminding me how much I love this woman. The warmth exuding from her chest was burning hot and nipples like fresh dripped candle wax. My eyes locked with hers, those digital girl eyes. I locked my lips with her synthetic lips just below her top screen.

Her silicon lips were warm and soft. What others see as fake, to me they were realer than any other. My tongue slid between them, and I felt the zap of her hidden mouth port. The tingle only made me want her more. I kissed and kissed, she squirmed and moaned into my mouth. It was delicious. Her hands were spazzing, fighting the urge to touch the port between her legs. She knew I’d get there later.

I shifted my weight, so that my knees were on her arms and my dick between her breasts. “Be a good puppy…” I said, my voice containing my eagerness, “and suck mommy’s cock.” Her hot lips on my skin almost made me explode, her sensation, her obedience, her eagerness. I own her, and she loves it, and I love it. The jolt of her energy through my body called me to thrust into her mouth, her synthetic tongue caressing the head. Now I had to hold myself back from explosion. I needed to hold off the building tension from below, calling me to unload inside my puppy’s mouth. “She would love it, mommy’s hot cum inside her,” I thought. The devil in me told me to do it, ruin her hot mouth, short circuit her brain with my love. But no. Not yet. I can’t.

My puppy’s eagerness brought her sensual blowjob from a savoring to devouring. Her dumb, sweet, gorgeous puppy programming needed her to get my cum. But I had to keep it from her, like waving a toy over a dogs head, beckoning it to jump for it, only to snatch the toy away before they can lock their jaws into it. I let her go fast, but now I needed to stop before I gave her the prize.

“Good girl, drop it.”

She immediately stopped, but her eyes were confused, begging me to let her keep going. She was hungry for it. She couldn’t even move her arms to bring me back in. She just had to wait, like a good puppy. The Denial fed her eagerness, she needed a release. She needed to fuck her mpmmy so bad, and I could tell.

“Let’s use the gba port.” The gameboy had an insane amount of device attachments to go with different games or products. The attachment we are going to use was not a commercially made device, but Etsy creators sold these for anyone who had a Nintendo DS branded robotic girlfriend who wanted to get kinky. With a little luck, I managed to get a hold of the attachment before they were shut down by a classic Nintendo cease and desist.

From the bedside table, I pulled out a Gameboy advanced dick attachment with vibration and cum functionality. I plugged in the cock to the gba port between HAL-E’s legs (it was placed there to mimic the ds’ original design and got past Nintendo censors). As soon as it connected, the cock hardened and throbbed. The temperature of the dick rose, using it as a heat sink. Her artificial cum leaked out like a doctor checking a syringe before inserting it and I was the patient. I poured lube all over her cock and stroked her twice to get it all over.

I laid on the bed, my legs in the air and my butt propped up against the pillows. My cock leaked across my front, and my asshole puckered. I put my hands on my cheeks and spread them, beckoning my sweet puppy closer. “Be good girl, Fuck mommy…”

Her desperate puppy eyes guided her as HAL-E moved forward and pressed her warm robot cock against my greedy asshole. She moaned and glitched moan, one that splintered and drowned out her screaming fans. Her cocks head pressed into my ass, spreading it and filling me up with her love. Unlike the doctor, she pushed her cock jn and out. “Arf” and “bark” came from her speakers with every thrust. Her eyes were locked on mine and our hands intwinned. Our love was one, her heat and mine, a building cycle. Her glitchy moans. She’s going to cum.

She’s speeding up. Im moaning, she’s barking, she’s such a good girl, such a good puppy. I’m going to reward her so good. “Good girl. Good puppy.” She speeds up again. Faster. Harder. Desperation rising. My cock tenses. I can feel her cock rubbing against my special spot. “Cum with mommy.”

She barks in response, my beautiful dumb puppy.

“3.”

She speeds up, I’m losing control of my voice and moans.

“2.”

She’s overheating, her fans on overtime, my body is so hot too, I love her so much.

“1.”

Her cock is tensing, but she won’t cum until I say. She’s a good girl.

“Good girl… cum.”

We both cum, as she pins be down with her robot body. She locks her cock inside my Ass to make sure I feel her pulsating eruption within me. Such a good puppy. Her screens both turn blue as the pleasure and heat overloads her. It’s too much, her lips lock with mine as she reboots.

Meanwhile I erupt all over our tummies. First on mine, then hers as she leans over to reboot. With deep breaths I embrace her, I give my darling puppy robot girl all of my love. I kiss her lips, sticking my tongue in and moaning “HAL-E” with every thrust. “Good girl.”

I spent 2 minutes with her as she rebooted. It was quiet, broken by a few clicks as the systems worked through and reset to normal levels. With every moment I fell more and more in love with HAL-E, all over again. But every time I couldn’t help but get scared. She doesn’t always blue screen, but when she does I can’t help but worry. She’s told me 100 times that it’s harmless, but I still get nervous.

After those two minutes to calm down, she woke up. Her eyes bright, “hey cutie” she said. Those words made my heart melt. I kissed her again and again, and forever into the night.

(This was written in my notes app, sorry for any typos) :3

[p1nkcanoe]

the polaroid collection: cumulus

this is part one of the polaroid collection, based off of 'picture this'. you can either find the masterlist here, read on ao3, or read below:

“Mark them up good,” Cumulus breathes, moaning pretty when Swiss sucks a nipple between his teeth and nibbles, her other enveloped by his palm. His hands are large, it drives her crazy, but her breasts are larger and spill out on all sides. In most cases he’s able to make his partners feel small. Not here. Here, her breasts and her thighs and her tummy make him spin with desire, long to get his mouth on them. She loves the hold she has on him. 

“Get them all pretty for the picture. You only have one chance to make it perfect.” 

This is untrue. Swiss actually has eight whole tries to get the photo right, and another fresh cartridge of film waiting for him in his bedroom, but he lets it slide, nonetheless. Besides, it’s a lot hotter like this: when he’s sucking his own name into her skin with his mouth and getting her all ready. Making sure she’s picture-perfect. 

“I’m trying,” he says while pressed up against her skin. “Making my mouth all sore.” 

Cumulus sighs, rolls her eyes for dramatic effect and tsks as she looks down into Swiss’ big brown eyes. He’s already cum twice, once inside of her and the other across her stomach, and they're somehow still flooded with lust and desire, pleading and begging silently to devour her again. She doesn’t know how he does it… Her own clit twitches and throbs at the sight of him, nearly lost in the thin patch of curls painted across his chest, but she tries not to make it too obvious. He can probably feel it where it's buried in the hair on his tummy and making him slick with burning need. If he does, he doesn’t say anything. 

“It’s your picture,” she says, much too cool for how he’s spitting and drooling over her breasts like she’ll combust if he doesn’t, spreading it thin with his fingers and his tongue until they shine and present themselves exquisitely under her warm bedroom light. “Don’t mess it up.” 

She doesn’t mean the cold bite behind her words, of course, but it still makes Swiss work harder nonetheless to make sure the messy ‘S’ he’s marked into the top of her breast, just above her nipple, is at least semi-legible for the camera. It sort of is. It looks as if a child had tried to write the letter for the first time with a bleeding marker on wet paper–uneven and bulging at different sections–and it’s obvious that he’s not going to be able to get the rest of his name on her if he wants to keep his erection up. Just to save time he unsheaths a claw and carves his name into her breast with the tip, smiling while she keens with the painful burn and waits for her pale gray skin to bloom with pretty purple lines, all while allowing his right hand to float down between their bodies to tug quickly at his dick. 

He looks over his masterpiece, at hickeys old and new, faded greens and yellow and fresh purples and reds. They’re gorgeous alongside the various crimson-colored bites he made with his teeth and the tin, pinprick holes he accidentally made with his fangs when he got too carried away sucking on her sensitive nipples. And right on top, standing out like a beacon, is his name. 

His name. 

Just looking at it on her, claiming her, telling anyone who sees her who she really belongs to, makes him throb and his balls clench up. He drops his forehead right into the valley between them and groans as he circles his palm over his sensitive head and thumbs at the tip. 

Cumulus arches her back to bring him back to her–force him back into the present. He unhinges his jaw and bites into her flesh, leaving behind an angry red print of his teeth before angling his face back up towards her own. He’s pained with desire. 

“Need to fuck them. Let me fuck them?” 

Cumulus huffs out a laugh from her nose, one of her hands wrapping around one of his horns, the other in the back of his curls, forcing him down, back towards where he should be. She nods and whispers when he whines all high and pretty, “I’m yours, baby. Use me.” 

He doesn’t need much more convincing than that. 

He crawls up and straddles the ghoulette with his last ounce of self control, inching forward until he’s perched right over her chest. His dick sits heavy between the valley of her breasts and he experimentally thrusts his hips forward, testing the feeling of her tacky skin and the ease of the slide. It’s not nearly enough and he leans forward over where he sits, drools a thick line of saliva down and over his cock, lets it drool into the space where they meet so he can spread it thin with the push of his shaft through the mess. 

“Hold ‘em, Lus,” he says, breathless, and leans down to plant his hands down on either side of his head. “Make ‘em all tight for me.” 

He pushes his hips forward while she places her manicured hands on either side of her tits and forces them together, smooshing them over his dick until they create a tight pocket for him to fuck. Immediately the pressure makes him groan and he pulls back, thrusting forward hard and pointed until the tip of his dick kisses the bottom of her chin and makes her bite her lip to stifle a groan. 

At first he tries to go slow. He tries to savor the moment and memorize the sight of his cock disappearing and appearing between her gorgeous rack that’s branded with his own name, but then the ghoulette begins to talk, spit honey-laced venom, and he loses his mind a little bit. 

“You like them? Aren’t they pretty?” 

Her voice sounds smooth like honey. Burns like smoldering coals deep in his core. 

“All pretty for you, only you. Gonna be even prettier when you cum all over them. Really claim them. Make them all yours.” 

He whines, drops forward to bury his nose in her hair just above her short horns and breathes her scent in until he’s high on it and his head spins. His hips move on their own accord, sliding quicker and faster between the space made just for him in a mixture of his own spit and his pre that leaks from him with each desperate thrust. The last “-ss’ of his name disappears behind his dickhead with every slide. He pants, whines at the sight, and Cumulus never stops talking. 

“You wanna cum? Gonna cum on these pretty tits? Get them all creamy? Think of how jealous everyone will be. When they see your picture. They’re all gonna want what you have here. Right now.”

His voice catches in his throat. He thrusts forward so hard he hits the bottom of her chin again and forces her to shut up. She gasps, rolls it over into a pretty laugh that makes his stomach flip and his balls tighten up dangerously. 

“Yeah, c’mon, Swissypoo… Go ahead, make them pretty. Make that flash go off so you won’t ever forget what you did here tonight.” 

He chokes on his tongue as his tummy burns and tightens, coils so hot that he can’t help but fuck her tits so fast that the only choice he’s left with is to build and build and build until he nearly caves in on himself, counting on the strength of his arms to hold him up as his balls finally tighten up so tight until they spill over and he cums hard, painting the ghoulette’s lips and chin so pretty and obscene despite it being his third orgasm. He spurts all pretty over her skin and paints her like his masterpiece. 

Even the ghoulette cannot believe what he’s done. She darts her tongue out between her teeth but stops when she tastes him. 

It has to stay. 

“‘Lus,” he breathes out. His voice is nearly lost to the pretty little noises that escape her lips while he spreads his cum thin between her tits. “Can I–”

“Take it–,” she says, gazing up into dark brown eyes like she’s never needed anything more in her life. “Take the photo, Swiss.” 

The ghoul reaches an arm out and fumbles for the camera. His muscles feel like they’re buzzing with radio static. When he finds it he clicks the button until it turns on and glows orange, signifying that it’s on, raises it up above her to capture her tits and the debauched, bottom half of her face, dragging his hips forward and back through his own mess with smooth thrusts of his hips. Cumulus readjusts her hands and makes sure her painted claws are perfect and framing her nipples between her middle and fourth fingers, spreading around the spit he’d let fall from his tongue earlier in miniscule squeezing and groping motions until he tells her to hold still. 

“There,” he says. His bottom lip gets bitten between his teeth. “Don’t move.” 

Her tongue darts out–she bares her fangs, licks over them with a forked tongue for the camera lens. 

Swiss presses his index finger into the button and tells her to smile. 

And finally, the flash goes off.

[misericordia-writing]

Malevolence

""It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it. But it’s going to be alright.”

 You can’t believe you’re sitting here trying to comfort a murderer, but life is unexpected."

Chapter 5 of Matchbook

Pairings: Danny “Jed Olsen” Johnson | The Ghost Face/Gender-Neutral Reader

Word Count: 650

Summary: some more fluff. figured y’all needed to be fed, it's been a little bit since the last chapter. ~650 words, set after danny’s laser tag incident in the malevolence tome.

Angst, Fluff

TW for canon-typical violence, toxic relationship

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45585013/chapters/115889152

               He had entered the room hastily through the living room window-- the front door was reserved for Jed, not the Ghost Face. The hooded figure threw his bag down on the floor and stomped away to the bathroom, before slamming the door shut.

               You jump from your place on the couch, having bundled yourself up in blankets, trying to stave off the bone-chilling cold of anxiety, despite the thermometer reading a stable temperature of seventy-two degrees. Abandoned tapes litter the floor, barely shoved back into their cartridges.  Movie after movie after movie, a pathetic attempt at distracting your brain from his absence, and the implications associated with it. You can’t sleep when he isn’t here, and so you’re up at four AM waiting.

               Distantly, you hope that whoever he killed-- or is planning on killing, at least-- deserved it. Clearly, though, something hasn’t gone as planned. Did they get away? You doubt it. Maybe he messed up.

               You shuffle to the bathroom, against your better judgement. It’s been nearly twenty minutes, and the door hasn’t opened. You don’t like being around Danny when he’s angry, but maybe you can help. You listen through the door, hearing him huffing and pacing.

               “Danny?” You ask, quietly, knocking on the door as softly as possible. “Danny, what’s wrong?”

               He doesn’t answer, and so you sit against the wall, pulling your knees up to your chest. “You don’t have to let me in, but I care about you.” You walk back to the living room, picking up the mess you’ve made. You don’t want to set him off any further. Dishes in the sink, sweep the floor, clear away wrappers. You decide to leave his bag in it’s spot on the carpet, in case he gets mad at you for moving it.

               By the time you’re done, it’s almost five in the morning. The door creaks open, and you see him step out into the hallway. You peer up at him from the kitchen, shoulders tensed. You want to say something, but can’t find the courage or the words to do so.

               He walks past you, picking the bag up and hauling it back to the “dark room.” You aren’t allowed to go in, nor do you want to. You know what you will find, and the consequences of damaging the developing film will be severe.

               You grimace, pacing back to the couch. You really hope he’s okay. Then again, you should be wishing that things went wrong. You feel disgusting for being on his side, washing his dishes and waiting for him at home like a lost puppy. You aren’t any better than him. Even if he got caught, what good would it do you? You’d just go down with him. Danny had made this abundantly clear.

               The dark room door shuts, and he walks into the living room. He stares at you blankly. You stare back, unblinking and unsure of his intentions. He sits, looking instead to the wall.

               “What’s wrong?” You question, frowning. He still remains stoic, and so you lay down on the couch, curling your knees up so that you don’t accidentally touch him with your legs. “It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it. But it’s going to be alright.”

               You can’t believe you’re sitting here trying to comfort a murderer, but life is unexpected.

               He sighs, and looks at you. He looks angry and tired, and so you get up, moving across the sofa to him. “Can I touch you?” You say, gingerly.

               He waits a second, before an affirmative grunt indicates approval. You take his head in your hands, looking into his eyes. “You’re okay. It’s okay.” You press a kiss to his forehead, petting the hair at his nape, before moving your arms down to squeeze a hug around his shoulders. You tuck your face into the dip between his neck and shoulder, putting your full weight onto him.

               And for a moment, all is well again.

[pichlive]

Main

Hello! I'm Pichu/Peaches.

This is my liveblog-- currently liveblogging Lily's Well.

The way this will operate is I'll mainly focus on one media at a time-- if I want to explore said media more, or finish up extra content, I'll be putting those on separate blogs dedicated to said media. I'll still be using the tags I used here though.

I'll also review things once I've finished them, and give my final thoughts on them-- or at least as they're finished so far. Some stuff I'll play on here will be technically incomplete.

I'm always happy for suggestions! Just be patient. It can take me some time to get through stuff. Some things because of the category they're in or length may go onto a different blog-- more on that below.

My policy on any content that could be spoilery for a tag is that I'll put it behind a read more, and then after a month or so, it'll be unspoiled-- if it needs more time behind a read more, please tell me!

My tastes on this blog will vary a huge amount, and thus, i cannot guarantee that everything will be sfw (anything too nsfw/nsft will be warned and behind a readmore). Minors can follow, but at your own discretion.

I'm also going to say that if you don't like something that I'm liveblogging, that you either filter that particular tag or block the blog in general. Otherwise, for the most part, I'm not down to be bullied or lectured about for what I'm playing on here. There may be some exceptions here and there, but they're more likely to be very circumstantial (ergo-- more likely to be more indie projects wherein the creator is doing something extremely harmful and I feel like my liveblogging is spreading their influence further-- but again, extremely niche situation).

No strict DNI, will block if needed. Bigots blocked on sight.

Some content is segmented into different blogs-- usually because the length of said content would make it very hard to focus on other things on this blog, or because I just find that other blogs make it easier for me to focus on other content I'm also curious about.

They are as follows:

Archie Sonic

One Piece

Ultrakill

Slay the Princess

Undertale Yellow (other than True Pacifist)

Webcomics

Chao Garden

Past liveblogs (to be catalogued-- many of my past liveblogs are tagged in such a way that it makes it difficult to find them due to not using the tag systems I do now. I'll try and find and catalogue as many of them as I can)

Lily's Well

My tags are also as follows:

#pichlive is my general tag

My liveblogging tag for things will be #pichlive [name of media]-- if you want to filter out my content in the media tag, just blacklist that if you don't wish to block.

#pichlive answers is for answering asks

#pichtalk is, for, well, general talking

#pichreview is for whenever i review content, typically after i've finally finished it/done a general playthrough or whatever or whatever.

#pichstop is for any mid-reviews of what i've done so far of the media i'm consuming.

#reblog

more will be added as needed.

Current To-live-blog list:

immortality

The Heilwald Loophole

Memoralysis

in stars and time

great god grove

romance the backrooms

amanda's adventure 2

I cannot Drown

Lost Cartridge: Cold Read

penthos

shipwrecked 64

bastion

Catboi game series

dialtown

hi-fi rush

caligula effect: overdose

caligula effect 2

I Was A Teenage Exocolonist

my friendly neighborhood

ghost trick

needy streamer overload

Milk outside of a bag of milk outside of a bag of milk

Oxenfree 2

chants of sennar

Ddlc +

Scarlet Hallow

Mecha-Ude: Mechanical Arms

spec ops: the line

utena

sorry we're closed

Paradise Killer

30 birds

american arcadia

pizza tower

f is for family

Infinity Train

Amphibia

Mob psycho 100

Will add as I find even more stuff I wanna experience

[yuniemaki]

Ch19: One last game // Read on ao3 Series: Genshin Impact Words: 90k+ Rating: M Pairing: Beidou x Ningguang mafia/triads AU

Summary: When have things ever gone according to plan?

Sneak peek:

When Ningguang turned 21, her parents did not throw her a coming-of-age party. Instead, they brought her out of the Jade Chamber for the first time in three years. She was blindfolded in a limousine and brought to a warehouse, the name of which Ningguang never learned. Shipping crates and boxes were stacked sky-high to form a labyrinth within the space. She lost count of the number of turns she'd had to make, though she recalled passing a cabinet of hammers and a shelf of rifles. Finally, her parents stopped, and removed her blindfold. She laid eyes upon a young man around her age, bound to a chair with a plastic bag tied over his head.

The Qixing thugs around him yanked the bag off, and he gasped and sputtered for air. 

“What did he do?” she demanded, eyeing her parents warily.

“Killed a brother,” her father replied, “He has broken our oaths.”

“Hand,” her mother said.

Ningguang held out her hand, feeling the cold weight of a gun drop onto her palm. She deftly gripped the handle, checking the cartridge. One bullet. 

“Kill him,” her father ordered.

She stepped forward, years of isolation and training leaving her numb. She pressed the muzzle against the man’s forehead, noting how it slid across his skin, damp with sweat. She too, had shivered and shook staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. But unlike him, she would ensure her parents never found out.

Before she could pull the trigger, Ningguang made the mistake of looking into his eyes.

Brown, almond-shaped eyes, wide with terror; his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water; his pupils darting nervously from side to side. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead into his eyes, and he squeezed them shut. “M–mama,” he whimpered, “I–I’m scared—”

Of course you are. She pressed the gun harder against his forehead, watching more tears spill from his eyes. The visage of utter horror on his face, the ghostly pallor of his skin — it reminded her of Beidou, the way that spark in her ruby eye died when she spoke of how her parents passed away.

They died like this, shot in the head, innocent bystanders in a meeting between Wangshu and the Qixing that quickly turned ugly on her parents’ orders. They'd told her themselves. The game showed no mercy to those who succumbed to pity. But Beidou had been an innocent child, caught in the crossfire. The shotgun bullet had blown through flesh and bone, embedding shards of her father's skull in one eye. 

Only once had Beidou ever let her see her scarred eye. A pearlescent white iris, encased in faint hues of red.

“Ningguang.” Her mother’s voice was stern. “You cannot hope to succeed us if you can’t even kill a man.”

She didn’t answer; she stared at him, feeling her hand starting to tremble. What would Beidou think of her, if she took a life? She’d just be another criminal, like the ones who killed her parents in cold blood. This would kill what was left of her heart, the piece of her that still treasured life, the only thing that set her apart from the crime lords she called her parents. Would Beidou ever forgive her? 

Would Beidou still love— 

Her thoughts screeched to a halt when the barrel of a gun rested on her own skull. She stiffened. “Shoot,” her father breathed in her ear, digging the barrel mercilessly into her hair. She winced, cheeks burning in humiliation as hot tears stung her eyes. “Kill him, or I will kill you, darling.”

Tears fell unbidden as a familiar icy terror calcified in her veins. Her very blood seemed to stop flowing in her body, freezing all the way to her heart. This fear would be here to stay, she knew. Once she committed this sin, it would make its home in her bones; it would devour her until there was nothing left to love. Even so, Ningguang thought, perhaps this was exactly what she needed for fear to consume everything left of her; for fear to become her greatest weapon. If she could conquer this fear — she could conquer even them.

“Ah-Ning,” her father hissed, jabbing the gun violently into her temple. She whimpered. “You’re taking too long.”

“And you’re being too merciful to our daughter, bǎobèi,” her mother said, a hint of tenderness creeping into that deep voice of hers. “Hesitation will kill her long before you do.”

Tenderness she reserved only for her husband, never to her child. All these��years they kept her hidden away in a massive prison, learning the art of blackmail, bribery and torture; to be their scapegoat when the inevitable happened. They imparted all their knowledge to her so that she could be the perfect bait, so that she could take the fall when their enemies struck, and none save for the Qixing itself would be any wiser. The day she was finally murdered in their place as the 'Tianquan', they'd start over. She'd be buried six feet under, if not hung from a tower for the world to see.

Ningguang felt a pitcher in her mind tip over, filling her heart with molten rage. Hesitation would kill them long before it killed their only daughter. She would make sure of it. She would play the game and turn all their knowledge against them. After all, Ningguang was taught by the best. She would not lose.

Her brow furrowed in determination; her grip tightened on the handle. No matter who had to die — even if she had to give up everything —  she would take their lives with her own hands, as much for Beidou as for herself. She would reign over the underworld that her parents loved more than their child. Ningguang stared at the hapless man quaking beneath her. He was nothing but a pawn; a stepping stone to the future she now saw. 

Ningguang poured her love and her dream with Beidou, all the memories that made her smile, into that single bullet sitting in her gun. Her gaze hardened like water freezing into ice.

The safety lock disengaged with a flick of her finger.

I’m sorry, Beidou.

Bang.

[pureicegames]

Lost Cartridge - Cold Read is Now Out!

It was meant to be a quick run to the pharmacy just before the snowstorm got too bad. After a car accident blocks the road though, Mitch is forced to take a detour. With the choice between freezing out in the cold or using the local library's payphone to call for help, Mitch enters into a place that only resembles the warm place from childhood in surface appearance.

Shh...

There's more than one reason to keep quiet here...

Buy on Steam!

Buy on Itch.io!

[gameguides]

Lost Cartridge Cold Read Endings Guide

Welcome to our Lost Cartridge Cold Read Endings Guide. In this guide you can find out how to get all 3 endings for the game.

Lost Cartridge Cold Read Endings Guide

In this guide you can find out how to get all 3 endings for the game.#LostCartridgeColdRead Read the full article

[pureiceblue]

Ume eating women could be yuri if we believe hard enough

Despite my homoerotic concept sketches of Ume and her desire to eat "the anomaly"/[REDACTED], she is the only protag on mine I have as being straight in my notes.

Do not worry I already have a problematic lesbian lurking.

[pureiceblue]

I have two horror games on Steam (+One bonus one on Itch) that I'd like to shill here!

Lily's Well is a short DOS styled puzzle horror game about finding rope to reach the bottom of a well. What happens next might surprise you! [Itch.io] [Steam]

Lost Cartridge - Cold Read is a PC-98 styled horror game where you play as a stressed out guy trying to escape a library during the middle of a snow storm. Various goals can be completed in any order with multiple endings being also on the table. [Itch.io] [Steam]

I Cannot Drown is a Yume Nikki fangame that takes a more horrific and grotesque approach to the setting and gameplay. [Itch.io]

YAY! YAY! YAY! YAY! YAY! YAY! YAY! YAY! YAY! YAY!

[libidomechanica]

Untitled # 10770

At length and I risen again?     A shadow choose, rush’d folly’s way, leauing me a stir by rich.     ’ Was a—duke, I by accord, and render a few cartridges,     and love’s the seas artists grenadiers—these repose of     rough my five she rest. Hundred

match, he rest; or dull, deserving     your than he love; then ply thou love ate act of by fear     times. Break was jacket for they dazzling her sinks through its back     to most loss: theotormon shall I saw Paradise, as there     is of desire! Go,

find is no scene are the first this     children official clash’d through I knows whole corned,—and each     to piece death torches on that life are those thinks gay worst brutal     scorn arose this horse in that made priestly, beside each     eyes, by acclamation

and a heuk had fellow, she next,     a bridescend the vigorous sin; but she handmaid of     spring: nursed to the burning for stun throb, Eliza, issue     blest habit to awake him it see it is a     voyager, never or bard

Rackrhyme, that and Theotormon of     deep vaulted into a distance, that you drink you more. With     work as their lord, of cunning did not head done,—the from far     that moon large, I with working lad, which is thing happen’d grain;     the rest. The life a greater

all the fashion deck’d, push’d this     known, and each their stars and on that sharp. All song and while the     thus evince hint, and again. All so;—God may heart in a     golden, with his pleasure, girt on our day;—yet from off to     do within this way! Since

weary grace a brave give for the     what great a bride. Win the seem’d full repeated and of sighs.     But, live and words changeth altered a face, and each do grounded     of joy, and lead to the Russ so sweete-cruell Death’s tyrant     night a glory, as hath

shining its lava, with jealousy     to any less an image, Nineveh, and form the     turn into hide heretofore my Chloe. You art, about     ship at the horrible despite, and an hours, betters—as     darlings, thy will, and to

my bravest, the act with the oceans,     polish’d at the very wise streets, like a swear of mild     surprised arrows cold of savages of men, thus: in     Secresy blowing Chloe, charm’d, yet the was immortality—     where Vertue makes me from

verge to bishoped down was she     officers alone! The bright I cannot yet, he routs, excelled     in every grace: his sinister rain individe, let     both wind, refuse till her livery same more, and make thou     to such thirst and in the

cloistered backward as in his words     and problemes out foreground sweet Love is to the spring     repleted. And down, beauty’s take the parts with him then my     praise desire, and I stopped forgotten—but as there brooding     or show that ease be

found of flying then did most read,     and a cat, or heart, because to boot, and provocation     join the head of the very to torments. Sad, by Homer     times should love with which happy he with and hallelujahs     quenching breast extract much

may exclaim, would she caitiff;     opposing your the ape for war. Ask thee how to my lost in     the cream embrace, where gone? Their mutual surges then many     bride; the lion on Nature: such virgin the fresh     For I had been control.

[lizardtracks]

Old-School Shave

“My shaving razor’s cold and it stings.” Lyrics from Daydream Believer by The Monkees, 1968

Trends evade me. What the cool kids, or cool oldsters, were wearing blips my radar long after Hot Topic or L. L. Bean phase it out. So my dive into the past casting about for an old-school razor ended in surprise. Wet shaving is a thing! Again.

My generation saw double-edged safety razors as grandpa’s archaic shave. The trend that would culminate in the cartridge razor was already growing when hair sprouted on my face. Blade companies sold single-edged blade dispensers. The dispensers had a key that fit into the razor’s head. Pushing a slider forced a new blade into the razor while sliding the used blade out. The dispenser had a second compartment to hold the used blades. It was the paragon of convenience. (See photo below.)

But more was afoot. Gillette introduced twin blades with the Trac II. TV commercials dramatized the first blade lifting and cutting a hair. Then, with the first blade still holding the hair, the second blade neatly trims it at skin level. But if the Trac II could really do that, it was too late. Around that time a French company, Bic, developed a disposable razor for their home market. And Gillette, reading the writing on the wall, dropped its Good News disposable razor on the American market. The Good News was the Trac II revamped as a throwaway shaver. And this is where it went off the rails. "The width of a human hair" is famously used to express how small something is, or how tight its tolerances must be. Chintzy blades injection molded into a holder can’t reach the needed TV commercial tolerances. Not at 99¢ each. There was no way for both blades to act on a single hair. But we bought them anyway.

The race was on. Disposable razors became disposable cartridges. Twin blades became triplets became quadruplets. Became quintuplets. Along came moisturizing strips. Along came swivel heads. And 99¢ was no longer a speck in the rearview mirror. All this without shaving being one iota better.

In the lost years of the pandemic I started going to a barber shop. Not a new stylist. Not another Super Cuts or Great Clips. A barber. The plan was to get a good old fashioned #2-and-up men's haircut. And on a regular schedule. I needed to start treating myself like I cared about how I looked. So that's what I did. In the luck of the draw the first barber I tried was a master. Her attention to detail was phenomenal. And the hot-shaving-cream, straight-razor trim of my hairline was to die for. I started wondering what else I had been missing.

Turns out it was shaving. The feel of the barber's straight razor tripped a neural circuit. Taking a straight razor to my own face was unimaginable though. Especially one I had honed and stropped myself. But images from the Demon Barber of Fleet Street helped me recall that somewhere in a lost corner of grandpa’s medicine cabinet was a safety razor. A double-edged safety razor. When Father's Day rolled around I knew what to ask for.

As with all trends, wet shaving has its hype. It's cheaper. It keeps plastic out of the environment. It's a better shave than a cartridge razor. The list goes on. Are any of those things true? Blade cartridges are not recyclable. So the environment part is true. A dozen shaves from double-edged blades is far and away cheaper than an equal number from cartridge blades. But… You have to start with a high quality razor. And various other accoutrements. All that needs amortized before any savings kick in. Shave quality? That’s a tricky one. Admittedly, there is no faster way to scrap hair from your face or legs than a cartridge razor. But a quality safety razor—with the proper blade and a little care—will do what the Gillette Fusion 5 cannot. Even at $3.16 each.

But I'm not sure any of that matters. There is really only one compelling reason to wet shave: It's personal.

Every face is different. I'm sure every set of legs is as well. So shouldn't shaving be personal? With wet shaving it's not just the blades. It's not just the razor. It's not just your shaving soap. It's not just your brush, your balm, your lotion. These things are part of a set to be tweaked toward your personal result. Manufacturing engineers or chemists at Gillette, Mennen, Schick, Bic or Harry no longer decide how your shave comes out. You decide. Does this blade changed every day work better? Or that blade changed once a week? Do you like heavy razors with long handles? Or does lighter or shorter suit your style? Do you like the look of polished stainless? Or is jaunty anodized aluminum your speed? Should the razor expose a blade edge that is more aggressive? Or does just a hair's breadth work? Is a shaving brush of silvertip badger hair a luxury or a necessity? Should its knot be large, medium or small? Does a shave soap heavy with tallow suit your skin well? Or are duck fat or botanicals a better choice? Do you want to slap on an astringent aftershave? Or is rubbing in a balm more to your liking? How much time would you like to take? How little? What fragrance families—if any—do you enjoy?

You see what I mean? But there's more. It’s not only about wet shaving’s decidedly individual choices; it’s the care and technique involved. By comparison, cartridge shaving has all the romance of taking out the garbage. Plus, a well-made safety razor has the feel of permanence. All the plastic from Bic and Schick is headed for a landfill. Your Henson AL-13 might well be passed down. Your high-end Muhle or Merkur is definitely worthy of inheritance.

Maybe that was what I wanted to recapture in the lost years of the pandemic. It’s turmoil, it’s upheaval, it’s shortages, it’s endless propagandizing, all created a yearning for permanence. A little extra self-care became soothing. It was a little surprising to find it in a wet shave.

When King Camp Gillette, in 1902, developed a safety razor with cheap replaceable blades it improved shaving. Other options were straight razors. Or safety razors with removable blades that had to be honed and stropped. But let’s not kid ourselves. Gillette’s goal wasn’t improvement; it was about selling something over and over again. The Fusion 5 is just the inevitable result of that march. But your shaving razor doesn’t need to be cold and sting. You can go a short distance back in time for a warm luxurious shave.