#as if these are auxiliary to work and not...the work itself?

[thesimstree]

Clear Sims 4 Cache: Fix Lags, Errors & Slow Loading (Windows & macOS)

Sometimes The Sims 4 starts acting weird: little bugs pop up, thumbnails don't display right, and loading times get a bit longer than usual. These are all pretty normal signs that it's time to clear your game cache. Deleting temporary files is a good habit for any player – it helps keep things tidy and makes everything run a little smoother. Let's figure out together what cache is, why you need to clear it, and how to do it properly and safely.

What is cache and where does it come from?  

In The Sims 4, cache means temporary files and folders that the game creates to speed up loading, store thumbnails, save mod info, log errors, and handle various in-game processes.  

Every time you start or play the game, it generates or updates some of these files. Cache is there so the game “remembers” which thumbnails and objects you’ve used lately, finds things quickly, and saves certain settings and operational data.

The cache includes:  

— Images (thumbnails) of Sims, lots, and objects;  

— Temporary settings and launch data;  

— Working data from mods and scripts;  

— Logs about errors, crashes, memory limit overflows, etc.

Why do you need to clear the cache?  

If you don’t clear the cache regularly, it builds up old or corrupted data – which can lead to all sorts of problems:

Lags and long loading times because of excess or broken files;

Errors and crashes, especially after removing or updating mods or the game itself;

Wrong thumbnails showing: for example, an item is deleted but its thumbnail is still there;

Mod and script bugs due to leftover data;

Endless loading screens, crashes, or even corrupted saves;

Overall drop in performance.

This happens especially often if you use a lot of custom content or actively add/remove mods.

How often should you clear your cache?

1. After every game update.

2. Whenever you make changes to the Mods folder (adding, deleting, or updating mods).

3. If you notice weird bugs, really long loads, crashes, or errors.

How to clear Sims 4 cache (Windows and macOS)  

Step 1  

Exit the game. Never clear cache while the application is running.

Step 2  

Open The Sims 4 folder:  

Documents — Electronic Arts — The Sims 4

Step 3  

Delete the following files and folders (important – not all of the folders or files listed below will always be in your The Sims 4 folder, and that's totally normal):

General cache  

— cache (folder): holds temporary data (mostly image previews from the Gallery); this folder gets filled only while the game is running, so you can safely clear it between sessions  

— cachestr (folder): cache for script mods  

— onlinethumbnailcache (folder): thumbnails of Gallery items  

— avatarcache.package: used mainly to fix Gallery errors on Mac, but can grow quite large  

— localsimtexturecache.package: cache of composite sim textures (max size – 100 MB); deleting helps solve character display issues  

— localthumbcache.package: thumbnail file; it’s useful to delete this from time to time, and absolutely after adding, deleting or updating mods  

— UserData.lock: auxiliary or temporary service files, may pile up  

— ReticulatedSplinesView: auxiliary or temporary service files, may pile up  

— notify.glob: auxiliary or temporary service files, may pile up  

— ConnectionStatus.txt: auxiliary or temporary service files, may pile up  

Error logs  

— lastCrash.txt (all files)  

— lastException.txt (all files)  

— lastUIException.txt (all files)  

These log crashes and game errors. Most players don’t need these, but if you’re having constant errors you can show them on forums for troubleshooting. Old ones (with numbers) can always be deleted.

Auxiliary folders (delete only if empty)  

— ConfigOverride

— Recorded Videos  

— Screenshots  

Step 4 (optional)  

You can take it a step further and clear cache files built up by certain mods:  

— BE-ExceptionReport.html (all files)  

— BE-UIExceptionReport.html (all files)  

— WickedWhimsInfoLog.log / WonderfulWhimsInfoLog.log  

Important: Don’t delete the Saves, Tray, or Mods folders – these are your games and custom content.

Step 5  

Restart the game. Sims 4 will automatically recreate all the necessary files from scratch. You may need to re-enable mods and CC in the game settings after clearing the cache.

You can make it easier  

For players who want to cut down on the routine, there’s an automated solution – a Cleanup Script for Windows by @andirz-mods. This is a special one-click utility that automatically deletes all recommended temporary files and error logs, without touching your mods or save files.

It automates the cleanup, but you’ll need a Patreon subscription to the author for access.  

So, to make sure you can always tidy things up quickly on your own (without scripts or third-party programs), keep this guide handy:

🌱 Create your family tree with TheSimsTree

❓ Support 🌸 Our Blog

[heirloommtomatoes]

the whole argument of ai "saving time" to do job-related tasks is so bizarre to me...what time are you saving? those tasks are...the literal job? that you're there for hours every day to do?

[foxprints]

Newest version of my design for Murderbot, this time with all sorts of fun details! I just love drawing it so much!! And I have a similar design sheet for Three, though I'm still working on it.

Details about specific parts of the design are under the cut! Because I've spent too much time contemplating how everything works and why and figuring out which parts are organic and which are inorganic and how it's put together...

The ports on its back from the top down: data port, repair valve, external recharge port for primary power supply, resupply valve, and external recharge port for auxiliary power supply.

The light on its chest is a sort of power indicator

The primary power supply in its chest is what's used on a regular basis. It usually has a kinetic self recharging mechanism (sort of like a car battery in that moving helps it stay charged) that is entirely adequate in most circumstances. When the energy weapons are used, or it hooks itself up to a dead system to act as a power supply, or does a lot of intense movement/fighting/processing, the energy levels may drop enough that it either has to manually engage a recharge cycle or its systems force it into a shutdown to recharge. When this sort of recharge cycle is initiated, the power is taken from the auxiliary power supply. These power cells can last an incredibly long time.

Its eyes are inorganic, but not typically noticeable as such unless it's actively adjusting filters etc. They do have a slight glow to them and will reflect light like a cat's eye in the right circumstances

SecUnits eyes produce a saline solution not unlike tears to help clear out debris and keep the lenses moving smoothly. And SecUnits can cry -- the ability to is usually suppressed by the governor module.

Not actually shown here, but it has inorganic filaments throughout its body that help distribute energy from the power cells. They glow yellow and are visible from under the skin during an external recharge (which should be rare) or if there is an unexpected surge of power sent through it

Its insides are a mix of organic and synthetic, with organs being one or the other depending on how easy they are to replace or how much use they get. For example, the endocrine system is biological, the neural pathways and nervous system are mixed, the heart and lungs are inorganic. There's no need for a digestive system, bladder, or liver. It has synthetic organs similar to kidneys that help make sure the fluids -- both blood and synthetic -- are properly filtered and free of contaminants.

The skeletal framework is made up entirely of a metal alloy of some sort. This makes SecUnits and combat units quite heavy compared to a human. ComfortUnits have a lighter synthetic frame that keeps their weight comparable to that of the average human. The metal used in Combat SecUnits is heavier and more dense than that used in regular sec and combat units.

[robophag]

it sits on the bench, legs slightly apart, frame heavy and silent in the dim overhead light. youre between its knees, tool in hand, sleeves rolled up, breath fogging the chilled air. youve done this a dozen times. its left shoulder actuator burned out mid-run. standard failure. standard fix. and yet, nothing about this ever feels standard.

“sit still,” you murmur.

it doesn’t move, but it watches. always. the same way it always watches— wordless, unreadable, like it’s waiting for something you haven’t offered yet. you pull back the plating around the joint, wires flexing slightly under tension. its heat radiates onto your skin, even through your gloves. youve learned where it’s sensitive. you know exactly what not to touch and you brush the inside of the panel anyway. its core hum deepens; not a warning, not protest, a response.

you glance up.

its still watching.

“youre warm,” you murmur. it shifts— barely— but you feel it. a slow roll of its hips forward. not demanding. just a reminder that it could.

you return to the work, carefully guiding a new cable into place. your fingers work fast, but precise. the more exposed it is, the quieter it gets— like it’s holding in power, keeping itself still just for you. then your hand slips. a brush of fingertips across an auxiliary contact point— deliberate, but disguised as accident. its whole frame seizes.

you freeze. then smile.

“still responsive,” you whisper.

it leans forward, just slightly. enough to cage you. enough to make you feel the weight of it without touching. your breath catches. you hold the tool tighter.

“im trying to work.” you know it doesn’t care.

its hand lifts, slow and fluid, and lands on your hip. it tilts its head, optics dimming just slightly.

you say nothing.

you don’t need to.

because this isn’t about talking. never has been. youre just the one who keeps it running. and it’s the one that doesn’t stop watching you. even when it’s open. vulnerable. bare.

maybe especially then.

[worldsover]

Completeness ft. Yeseo, Mashiro

length ✦ 13.7k

genres ✧ gf!Mashiro, virgin!Yeseo

✦✧✦✧✦✧

There is exactly one axiom that matters. Mashiro is your loving girlfriend. All other truths are auxiliary. Yet, postulates exist that can carry weight to them and affect the system upon which this first and only truth is built. An example: Yeseo, Shiro's best friend, is something of a little sister to you both, and thus you make love to your girlfriend, and care for your girlfriend's friend as much as any guy should. For some reason, this unbreakable and absolute edict has been revised, softened, changed, and now truth itself is something that the two of them are… considering.

"Hey, what do you think of Yeseo?"

It's a Thursday night, and Mashiro's on top of you, her hand stroking your cock as she asks. It's not the kind of distraction you want while you're about to get off, but here you are.

"She's cute. Um, can be a bit of a handful sometimes."

"That's it?" Mashiro gives you a wry smile.

"What's with you? Why are you asking about her now of all times?"

Mashiro shrugs, but you don't believe it. She tugs down the neckline of her cropped top, showing off more of her breasts as they threaten to spill out of her bra. Between the sheen of sweat on her cleavage and the toned shape of her abs, that's a lot of skin and sexiness to swallow. Her fingers don't have to work long before you're fully erect.

"I mean, I'm just saying, she's gotten pretty hot lately."

You raise an eyebrow at her. "Hot? Since when?"

"Well, obviously now that she's an adult. And what, you think she's not hot, babe?"

You look away and groan. "I dunno, it's a bit weird." You're not even being political about your answer. That's just the truth.

Mashiro peels your eyes back to her when she takes your hand and brings it under her shirt. She's smiling like she's got a joke only she's privy to, even when you start pinching her nipples. At this point, she would usually start melting, and all clothes would be forgotten for at least another half-hour.

She doesn't.

Not that this is anywhere near Shiro's first time taking control of a situation, but the motive was always self-fulfillment, fucking out your orgasms to chase her own. Therefore, when Mashiro slaps your cock against her abs, you tense up in surprise and anticipation. She leans over to capture your shaft between her tits, inside the tight confines of her top. You thought that she thought that this shirt was too cute to ruin with stains of cum, but it seems like she's willing to sacrifice some clothes for whatever greater good. Her breasts are just big enough to make this possible, and while her skin is plenty soft and warm, she adds spit to the mix to make the passage nice and slippery.

"Ah, Shiro," you say.

Each time your tip pokes out of her shirt, Mashiro gives it extra attention—kissing, licking, suckling. The only reason you're not thrusting into her mouth is because she has your hips pinned to the bed. 

"So," she says, "Yeseo. Imagine her here."

"Wha..." You're dumbfounded, and it's not just by how Mashiro's mouth wraps around the head of your cock. That's nice though, and you could probably cum on her lips like this—you've done it before—but you're apparently in the middle of a conversation and it's very hard to reply when she's working you like this.

"Mm, tell me what you think of her. Be honest this time." Sure, Mashiro talks about her best friend a lot, but you never imagined that she'd be so cavalier about bringing any other person up while in bed. At the very least, you'd think she would broach this topic with a bit more tact, and a bit less tit-fucking.

Where to start is a dilemma, what with your brain functioning at half speed. "Uhhh. Purple hair." Gotta start somewhere. "She's… smart?" You're pretty sure that's it, right? That's everything there is to know about Yeseo. "She's like a sister."

Mashiro pulls back, relaxing the pressure on your dick, and you're both disappointed and relieved. "What if she were a little less like a sister?"

"Shiro, what do you want me to say?" You don't get to see her smile, since she's back to sucking on your tip, but you feel it.

"That you would dick down my bestie if that's what she needed?"

You open your mouth to deny it. "Well, I—" The next word should be a word, not a squeak. But that's what happens when she sucks on your dick while its length is stuffed into her tits. Her lips fit around your girth tight and they leave you with a parting lick. Makes your breath catch. You think about what she said. The fact that you're still hard says it all.

"It's okay, you can admit it. Yeseo's got such a pretty ass now, doesn't she?"

Your first thought is comparison: you want to believe that your girlfriend beats Yeseo in every department, and that's certainly true with the heft of her breasts as Yeseo's petite frame has a way to go before being able to swathe your member how Shiro currently is. Yet, you think about yesterday, how your eyes kept traveling to Yeseo's ass in her leggings and how that butt could be softer to the touch than your girlfriend's. Could be. Could be fluffier like a cloud, fuller like ripe fruit, rounder than a bubble ready to pop, and you don't want to admit you would pop it. Not really, so you're silent and tense, so what could be, isn't.

Mashiro notices, and pulls away from your cock. "Hah, thought so."

Shaking your head, clenching your jaw, you ask, "Why does it matter? Are you gonna be jealous?"

"Jealous? Of what, you ogling Yeseo? God no," Mashiro says, laughing, "she's so cute and tiny, I wouldn't blame you." She pauses, giving your length a few languid strokes up and down her tits. "If anything, I'm the opposite of jealous. Curious."

"Is that what opposite—"

She squeezes her tits together with an arm around her chest, your shaft in the most loving stranglehold. "I'm being serious. Just think about it. Okay?"

You sigh. "Fine, fine."

The conversation dies and gives way to the sound of wet slurps, soft moans, and the squelches of Mashiro's spit lubricating her titjob. Your toes curl as the pressure builds, and it's not long before you're close. And since her understanding of what close means to you is atomic-clock precise, she unsheathes your dick in the annoying nick of time. You can only laugh after all that—for all the times she's edged you, at least they were premeditated, or for a cause like a sudden visit from her parents.

"Fuck, babe, really?" You've had an infinite amount of patience for your lovely girl, so you're surprised at your own exasperation. You sit up, but then she pushes you back down to the bed with a hand to the chest. You take a deep breath, now grasping that this is all part of her plan, and that you should know better than to mistrust Mashiro for a second.

Mashiro leans over, your cock in her grip, the other hand slipping aside the wet white panties under her skirt. She doesn't bother getting them off properly, adjusting them to the side to reveal her trimmed mound and the swollen button peeking between pink lips. She lets your shaft rest against her pussy, then strokes the two together. Each pass of your cock along the underside of her clit has Mashiro breathing heavier, until she's panting like she's just finished a good work out. The wetness of her juices spreads on your shaft and her chest heaves in her cropped top while you need prison-grade handcuffs to keep from thrusting into her.

When the pressure's built enough, when your cock's about to burst, you're forced to watch your girlfriend rub herself to completion, your cock still in her grip. She cums before you, like an angel crying out for salvation, her blonde bangs sticking to the sweat of her forehead, though none of that stops Mashiro from jerking you off through your own orgasm. You moan her name as your hips buck and her thighs clench and her hand works in a blur.

The moments like this are where you realize your notions of Mashiro have been challenged, over and over. Loving is not so singular in meaning as you had thought, because when you first started having sex with your girlfriend, maybe a month after the first date, you honestly were making love. When you'd cum inside the condom while hugging her tight, that's when you two were done for the night.

But now loving means that you paint her abs in milky white, cum pooling into her belly button, spurts dribbling over her fingers, and then coat her pussy with the thick river flowing down her stomach. Plus, since you're still hard, might as well use that as lube for the ride of her life. You're not sure how you manage to keep up with Mashiro. Obviously, how she eats your cum from her fingers like it's candy, how her tits bounce now freed from her shirt and bra, and how her cum-creamed labia grips around your cock are all great incentive to push through your exhaustion. But in the recesses of your mind, the one part of your brain that isn't fixated on her, there is a small question. 

Small indeed. The same brand of small as your girlfriend. Five years younger.

Mashiro has gone and done it now. You're seeing the other girl in her face, the supposition, the thesis, your eyes blurring as Mashiro fucks down on you harder. Oh, damn, Yeseo really knows how to ride you well—wait, no. Your girlfriend's riding you well, her pussy milking your cock just right. Fuck. What the hell is wrong with you?

You groan, and you're not sure whether it's a cry of frustration or pleasure. Mashiro's face, Mashiro's tits, Mashiro's hips, Mashiro's tightening pussy, all of them are so nice and so warm and so tight and so wet and so every good that good can be. As if in that cute package of her body, your girlfriend has molded herself to be everything you need in a lover. She repeats the words for good measure: "I love you, I love you, oh, fuck, I love you!"

The same way loving used to mean something classic and rigid, taking her out to dinner or watching movies, loving now means that rigid takes on a different, more literal definition. That's Mashiro, growing as you grow, and in that way, you shouldn't be surprised that the topic of Yeseo—sweet, innocent Yeseo—isn't the end of it. Not even close.

Speaking of growing, the tension in your loins. Lewd, sloppy sounds intermix with a mess of Mashiro's cries while your hands squeeze too tightly the flesh of her breasts. 

You gasp and mindlessly call out "Shiro, Shiro, Yeseo, wait, I—" but you're cut off by Mashiro's tongue wrestling yours. Unbridled want, unmitigated desperation, she kisses you like a girl possessed, and there's no room to protest and figure out what the hell's happening. 

With no condom—it's been a long while since that—your load spills into Mashiro like she's an unwitting, impure bride, and by god, there's such a hellfire in your ears from her scream when the sin soaks through to her sinner womb. The pleasure blurs your minds, or more, her cunt does, and with the cum your dick oozes, the most you can offer when Shiro topples over you and collapses is a "Ah, mmh."

As your breathing calms, she lifts up her skirt and spreads her pussy, letting you see your second load ooze from her insides. 

"God, I needed that so bad," she says. Her voice is breathy, but there's a smile in it, and she crawls over to you and kisses you on the lips. Between the two of your bodies is a whole lot of sticky. You groan into her mouth, and then when she breaks off, she starts to pepper your lips and jaw with more kisses. "You wanted that too, huh?"

You wipe away a bead of sweat on her forehead. "Yeah. Of course. You're so fucking perfect, Mashiro." You run a hand through your hair. "Oh, fuck. Right, I'm... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said..."

"Shh. I think I've made it pretty clear that I don't mind, right? I love you, it's okay."

You nod, laughing to yourself in disbelief is not some fancy dream. "I love you too. I just wish I, I dunno, didn't call her name right then, you know?"

She grins as you begin your cuddle. "No, no. That was fucking hot, actually."

"It was?"

"Yes!"

"No, really that wasn't right, I'm..."

Mashiro insists. You deny. It's a circuitous route that continues onward from outside of this bedroom—at dinner, walking down the street, at a sweet little shopping date where you and Mashiro were buying decorations for the home and she just had to get this puppy plushie for her best friend—really any time that Yeseo is mentioned, this conversation bubbles up from the depths.

It's one of those oddities, those quirks, the little humps in a relationship that eventually dies off and...

No, whiplash fucking snaps your neck in half.

So now you're here, in a room with your girlfriend and your truth-breaker. Mashiro sits on your lap, her breath so close to yours that you can smell the strawberry lip balm. Pliant, warm, she straddles your thigh while her hand travels down your chest, to your crotch. You groan into her mouth when she squeezes your hardening member through the fabric of your slacks. All the while, Yeseo watches, hands also down her pants. Too embarrassed despite the unspoken permission—goading, really—Yeseo keeps her fingers pressed against her clit, not quite daring to move.

It was supposed to be a normal day. Yeseo wasn't even supposed to be here. But Mashiro invited her, and she didn't kick Yeseo out, (which you would've done yourself, but it's hard doing anything when Mashiro has her nails on your skin like claws), and Yeseo didn't leave, and now you're stuck here, having your girlfriend dry-hump you and make out with you while another girl's watching.

It's like this for a while, a holding pattern, a cold war. Days. The first shot across the bow is when Yeseo leaves, flushed, and you rail your pretty girlfriend into the sheets so that the girl can't escape the sounds outside the room. If later, you somehow find out she was slouched against your bedroom, fingering herself to completion, then you wouldn't be surprised. Here comes the next battle in the next day, where Yeseo steels herself to watch Mashiro ride you, your back to the headboard. Then she sends the follow-up, bombarding you with her every fantasy while you know that acting upon it is this landmine, or now it's a minefield, or now the trenches are dug and all that's left is to wait.

Mashiro shoots the farmer's pig when she speaks up over dinner.

"It's just a handjob."

You choke on your half-swallowed piece of meat and end up coughing.

Yeseo looks up from her phone, then freezes. "W-what."

Mashiro gives Yeseo a wry smile as she gets up, massaging her shoulder. "You want to, right? So you should. It's okay, Yeseo." Mashiro's voice is gentle, and Yeseo nods slowly. Mashiro presses a kiss to Yeseo's cheek before walking over to you. She doesn't have to ask if this is what you want.

This is what you want.

Mashiro takes Yeseo to the bedroom, and you finish dinner before tidying up. You wash the dishes, wipe the table. Put away the leftovers. Count down from twenty until you tell yourself there are no logical reasons to delay the inevitable further, not with the way your pulse is racing, not with the way you've tasted anticipation in the air.

Once you open your door, you find your girlfriend holding the shirt collar of a willing Yeseo who has already crawled into your bed. The two are kissing—this isn't the first time you've seen, though it's the first time you've seen them hold it longer than a cute peck. First time you've seen tongue. First time you've seen hands under clothes and on bare skin. Never seen Mashiro grabby with her spit-covered lips.

You are quiet on your feet. Any sound you make, the creaking of the door, or the harshness of your breath, it drowns in Mashiro and Yeseo's obscene make-out. Delicious wet sounds burrow into your ears, the two girls slicking over and around and with each other, Mashiro in an exploratory mood while Yeseo lets herself get familiar. She looks flushed, content. Happy.

Mashiro acknowledges you by the doorway with a coo. "Just giving a little lesson." She pats the space on the bed next to her, where she strips off your shorts, your semi-erection right there for Yeseo to behold.

Yeseo wipes her lips with her shirt. You see her white bra. You think you can feel heat coming off the bridge of her nose. She stares like your dick's looking back, like this is the first time she's seen a penis that wasn't in a textbook diagram. Mashiro pulls Yeseo closer, bringing her between your legs; the furtive girl reaches for your member, then stops before touching, eyes back-and-forth between your dick and her arm. Even half-hard, you're about as thick as Yeseo's slender wrist, nearly the length of her forearm. She mouths "how" as her fingers hover a centimeter, this warmth a ghost over your cock.

"Here," Mashiro says, kneeling beside Yeseo. Holding her hand over Yeseo's, she guides the girl to wrap those fingers around your shaft and stroke it up and down. In your life, you've had lots of handjobs—mainly either self-administered or Mashiro-administered—but nothing quite matches Mashiro having her fingers tangled with Yeseo's, the touch soft with a little squeeze from one of them, not quite meeting any spots that'll make you squirm. You think Mashiro wants it this way, wants Yeseo to get a feel for it, find out the heft and warmth of a man's cock. It is, however, enough to get you stiff and plumb and twitch-happy, which is where Mashiro lets go.

When Mashiro gives Yeseo a quick kiss, you swear Yeseo tries to chase her when Mashiro pulls away. Then, you receive Shiro's next kiss. "I wanna see my boyfriend and best friend enjoy themselves," she whispers, before sitting aside.

You look back down at Yeseo, and you've never had such a carte-blanche view of the girl's face. Her eyes are big, round, chocolate-brown, the same as your girlfriend, but in them, Yeseo has this super-cute, really obvious, nervous lust that keeps sending a twitch in your hips. Her cheeks are soft and flushed red as you stroke them, squeeze them, press your fingertips in just to see how fluffy she is. She has a bunny's teeth when she gasps and her thin lips part.

"Hi. Hi… hi, hi." She's caught in the headlights.

You say "Stroke," and her pupils shift down to your crotch, the word a command that's clearly Yeseo's first. This exhalation out of her mouth would be fog in the winter. "Like this," you tell her, gentler, as you start to stroke yourself with one hand. Yeseo bites her lip and reaches toward you again. Your precum oiling the way, Yeseo's digits meet yours. At first, you only hold hands and smile at each other and feel out the moment before starting tender, guiding strokes. You have a way of measuring one's nervousness by cupping her hand in yours and feeling how she touches back: the sweat of your palms, her pulse through yours, this heat that seeps through the cracks in her fingers as she trembles.

When she becomes less tense, you let Yeseo try on her own. She looks down, head full of those breaths and some little noises she doesn't know she's making. Yeseo wraps her tiny hand around the base of your cock. She stares at it, at her fingers that don't cover your girth, and you wonder how long it will take for her to get used to it. When you think about Mashiro, you realize the awe never quite goes away.

With one hand in a jerking motion, the other palm wrapping around your base to act as an extension of the first, you like what she's trying—go wild, cute thing. A low growl in your throat lets her know that you find some enjoyment in the attempt. You lean back, spreading your legs apart to give her more room, and you close your eyes to savor the moment. With your eyes closed, you're certain you could tell the two girls apart, your girlfriend naturally more experienced, less afraid of your cock.

"Am I doing good? Yeseo mutters.

You nod, eyes still tight.

"You're so big, Oppa," she says, voice filled with wonder. "It's so warm. And the veins, and the way it pulses… is this really happening?"

"Yeah, it's real." Your breath catches when Yeseo runs a finger along the underside of your cockhead.

Her breath warms your cock, and you can't help but open your eyes. Yeseo is concentrating on your dick like the test's answers are on it, and the only way to get them is to wring them out. Sure, you've given yourself much better handjobs too, but there's something about her furrowed brows, her lip giving way to her teeth, that makes it all worth it.

"Yeseo-yah, try using your other hand to twist around the tip," Mashiro says, and you hear a slick noise coming from outside your vision.

There's an eep as Yeseo uses a second tiny fist around your tip to do just that.

You moan softly, weighing into the mattress; it's a good thing you're already lying down, because the newfound intensity makes your toes curl, and you find yourself thrusting up into her hips.

"Wow, it's so big," Yeseo says. "How do you fit it in Shiro-unnie?"

You draw in a hiss. "Hah, takes some work."

Yeseo giggles. "I can imagine."

You groan as Yeseo strokes and jerks and twists faster. Pressure builds up in your balls, and when you turn your head to the sight of your girlfriend dipping fingers between her thighs, you're certain you'll cum in time to Mashiro. Diligent, your girlfriend sidles on closer, adding some spit to Yeseo's hands, to which Yeseo responds by stroking you even faster. Mashiro pours more and more saliva onto your member, insistent on looking you in the eyes, while Yeseo's strokes get wetter, slipperier. Your grunts and the wet sounds of impromptu lubricant mix with and Yeseo's quickened breaths and Mashiro's self induced moans, a filthy choir of angels. Your balls tighten; the edge tempting to knock you off-balance.

But before you can finish, Yeseo abruptly stops. You clench and whip your head toward her, and you realize instantly by the look on her face that she does not know how to handle this climax part. Thankfully, just in time, your girlfriend has her mouth ready, lips around the head of your cock, and the vibrations of her moans tips forth the chain reaction of bliss. In awe, Yeseo stares as you and Mashiro unravel, your balls pumping semen into your girlfriend's mouth, your hips bucking upward as her pussy pulsates, a thin river of lust pouring out of her.

Even with every line in the sand kicked away, you haven't put much of an effort into convincing yourself of the reality of the situation. You've known Yeseo too long, too well to conceive of anything further happening. This was an aberration, puppy's love, a one-time folly, or you might excuse it as such if there weren't more mistakes—well, calling them mistakes implies a lack of agency.

"Just a handjob," you murmur to yourself, and if they're mere mistakes, then there would no point in time in which you could stop Yeseo from jumping on you and making out with you; and you're helpless when Mashiro brings your face between the young woman's ample thighs; and Yeseo kneels over you like a dutiful maid, mouth ready, hands working, and this is the result of a long-standing debt that your family's been paying—nothing, nothing to do with you being unable to say no anymore.

Looking up from the wet, messy patchwork of muted purple and blonde hair, of thighs squishing together as they kneel and lick in tandem underneath you, you realize that Yeseo has mastered her oral techniques in addition to the manual under Mashiro's tutelage, which has shattered your final understanding of Yeseo. This picture of innocence is much like the other picture of innocence in your life, and thus you should've expected as much. When you and Mashiro first started having sex, it truly was love-making, slow, sweet, vanilla, candle-lit, adoration-for-adoration's sake sex, something you started out of gratitude for each other, and continued because every time was an affirmation of the beautiful relationship you cultivated. Over time, you learned two key things: all her dirty secrets, and the fact that she only took your cock that slow because it was too big for her to be able to do otherwise.

("No, babe, I swear, I meant the love stuff too," she said.

You replied, "Okay, fine.")

The difference here is the speed with which Mashiro—and you, admit it; you are no fucking saint—have corrupted Yeseo. You estimate it'll be a matter of weeks before Yeseo's ready to match your girlfriend's skills.

Yeseo is trying to prove as much. While Mashiro licks your shaft, she leaves Yeseo your balls; while Mashiro is busy letting your dick knock against the back of her throat, Yeseo makes sure your sack receives enough tender sucking. When they swap places, you feel a pulse through your cock, Yeseo's mouth being impressively warm and wet. The only place this tongue of Yeseo's has been wetter than the inside of her mouth must have been the insides of Mashiro's pussy—and you've watched the damnable act, how your girlfriend arches back, eyes shut in pleasure, as the eager teen tongues her dripping slit.

That's the same tongue Yeseo uses now to stroke alongside the bottom of your shaft, your cock in her mouth, nose inches from your pubis. Yeseo isn't quite as capable of taking to the root as her unnie is, but you have no complaints about watching her struggle to swallow you, and you figure she'll catch up soon enough. She hums on your cock, swirling around the tip before bobbing back down again, happy to gag and make a mess.

And the slope is slippery down from her throat to her tongue, making saliva strands from the corner of her lip down the veins of your shaft, onto the floor where your filthy fucking girlfriend—lord, when did she get this nasty, this depraved—licks it up clean for Yeseo. You watch, mind blank, as Mashiro's tongue goes from the floor up to Yeseo's hard nipples. Then she continues along her breasts, till it's Mashiro's lips meeting Yeseo's again, and your shaft is jammed between their mouths for good measure. When Yeseo takes surprising control of your dick, your eyes focus on the sweet face that's learned to hollow her cheeks and flicker her tongue over the soft ridge beneath your shaft head, one hand working on the inch she can't reach. The only thing stopping Yeseo from gulping down your seed is the very girl who's kissing your shaft where it's free, taking your cock when Yeseo leaves for a quick breath. With the competitive swallow-duel going back and forth, it's inevitable that your girlfriend wins.

"Ah, thanks for the lunch," Mashiro says.

"One day I'll win." Yeseo huffs, but you can tell she is not mad. For as much as she pretends, her thighs are wiggling in Mashiro's face moments later, and she can't hide her smile so wide whenever your girlfriend's nose brushes against her swollen clit. She smiles even wider when you invite her onto your thigh, pressing that needy pussy down and leaving a trail for Mashiro to lick up.

But for all you've done in the past few weeks, one topic has never been brought up: Yeseo's virginity. Well, never explicitly—Mashiro has asked teasingly about it before, and all Yeseo says is "a guy in school" while her body language reveals that's the lie that it sounded like. Plus, whenever she watches the two of you bang, it's as though she's putting a puzzle together—how excited she gets during afterglows or those pillow talk sessions when you explain something or other.

As you gain a better understanding of Yeseo's every mechanism, you realize it's the framing of the situation. Act in the frivolities for the appetizers all you want, but don't underestimate what makes sex a nutritious meal.

"Seriously," Mashiro says, "if you've had sex before, you wouldn't be this much of a blushing mess. What are you getting embarrassed about?"

How cruel of your girlfriend to tease. Because as Yeseo says "sorry," Mashiro pushes her finger all the way into Yeseo's core, causing her to cry out. "Ahh! It, it's just that, I've had the plug, inside, since yesterday night! God, it's b-been, too, too much… mmnh."

"You're so cute," you say, spanking the girl on all fours. The plug is simple, black, silicone, and a hell of a lot bigger than her dainty fingers that you've seen toy with her anal ring before. You had taken care to see to it that Yeseo was neither in pain nor undue stress when it came to accommodating it, with plenty of lubricant, though you warned her that she couldn't remove the anal plug until Mashiro or you came to retrieve it.

Now that you've come to collect, you bend to kiss the cheeks of the girl's small, round butt, which jiggles as it twitches. Your tongue reaches, swirls around the ring of the plug, while your hand traces between her thighs to bring forth her slick. All this while, Mashiro's finger buries between Yeseo's folds, her cunt squeezes greedily against it, and her body pushes down on the object buried in her ass.

"D-don't stare. It's, um, dirty."

"Oh? Is it?" you ask while your thumb strokes Yeseo's anal ring around the plug. You pull on it, a hair's length, playing with her, and the wetter she gets, the more Yeseo trembles—the more she tries to hide her face and her screams into a pillow—the more she inadvertently thrusts her ass back into you. Inching further until the plug is out, you lean forward and bring your tongue closer to her tightest hole. "Then why does it look so tasty?"

"I dunno! God, this is so, so embarra—"

Yeseo collects the air in front of her in a single harsh breath, your lips sealing against her back passage, which tightens considerably from your tongue's foray. Then, when Mashiro supplies the same treatment to her friend's pink folds, you feel your tongue may be trapped in her hole. Fine by you. Your hands cover Yeseo's asscheeks as you slobber with licks and kisses, tasting her asshole like it's a last request, until her whines devolve into long, indecisive moans of wanting more and asking to slow down. Yet, her hips move as if to beg for more themselves, how greedy the woman. You laugh before you let up, squeezing cool lube onto the black buttplug.

"Ahh, ahh, ahh," Yeseo pants, "I need, I need more."

You are happy to provide. In another hand, you hold a small buzzing device. You trace it along Yeseo's pussy lips, weakening her elbows and knees—jolting when the vibe makes contact with her firm nub—damn near collapsing her as Mashiro seals her lips to the toy, ensuring none of its strength escapes. You know, from experience, a combination like that is bound to make a girl pass out, so once her hips slow down their staccato jerking, you steal your girlfriend's lips for a kiss.

Though every man who's made it this far in life knows well that every hole is good to eat, every hole's different flavors are treasures and miracles unto themselves. The flavor on your girlfriend's tongue is Yeseo at her very core, salty, musky, addicting to you; when you sample Yeseo's ass once again, popping the plug back out, you get a metallic tang mixed with the sweetness of the lube; lower you return, and Yeseo's cunt is spongey and soaked and hot, slick and oozing and a veritable delight to munch on, as the taste from the source is second to none.

It's an all-out sensory assault as you pull the plug some, enough so that its widest girth is right at the clinging ring, only for you to push back inside with a pop and a delightful mewl. Fingers and toys and tongues and lips alike massage Yeseo everywhere and overwhelm all her senses, her nerves tensing into spams and jerks of utter ecstasy. She doesn't even get the courtesy of oneness in her condition: each time you work her up to the peak, Mashiro is hungry for the next, pulling out all the stops to keep Yeseo climbing higher. Mashiro and you kiss, lick, push, pinch, fondle, stimulate, and the best Yeseo can do is squirm pathetically around the devices in her holes, her mind fucked straight out of her body.

Yeseo slumps down, shaking as if her bones were wrung out. After four or five or however many consecutive orgasms, and each attempt to catch her breath ending in her wailing, her crotch is so wet that you and Mashiro might as well be making out with a pond.

"Plth, pleath, please, mnh. Th-that was, was a little, little much."

Mashiro pulls her sticky face back to pepper Yeseo's lower half with little kisses, while you lick the remainder of Yeseo's juice from your lips. Cleanup takes a while, especially as Yeseo is too much a drooling, weak mess to help out—you don't mind, knowing this is all for her. Mashiro grabs a spare towel and wipes Yeseo down; once she's stable enough, you give her a gallon jug of water from the bedside stand and instruct her to drink up.

In the throes of this arousal, still breathing like air has never quite reached her lungs properly, Yeseo lays back and fights against the delirium. You and Mashiro cuddle her sides, squishing her between, and plant kisses all over her face and neck. Yeseo embarks on the road back to normalcy, thanks to the warmth of the two bodies, the careful embrace of loving hands, and your soothing words. When she's returned in totality, Yeseo locks eyes with you, her gaze serious like you've never seen on such a delicate, pretty face.

"So," Yeseo whispers, tensing up. "I know you've been waiting. You know. For me to bring it up."

"Hmm?" You grin. "What's that?"

Mashiro grumbles and reaches over to tap your shoulder. "Hey, this isn't the time to play coy."

"Alright." You face Yeseo. "Hey. It's okay." Sincerity in your voice, you bring yourself so close that Yeseo can't possibly miss your eyes and the warmth in them, you hope. "Whatever you're comfortable with, Yeseo. I mean it."

"Yeseo-yah," Mashiro says, her arms wrapping tighter. "You don't have to rush into anything. Whatever feels right to you, okay?" She glides forward until their kindred faces are so close they might as well be kissing.

A giggle permeates through the cracks in the wall of tension she's built. "I had no idea you two were such softies. Is this what happens when you date for so long?"

"Us? Softies?" You chuckle and cup her cheek, making the skin soft and pink. You brush her hair behind her ear. "Did cumming make you forget the past hour or—"

Mashiro throws a pillow at you. "Don't talk like that to our baby!"

That only makes you laugh even more, and as Yeseo joins in the laughter, so too does Mashiro. It's a while before Yeseo sits up, takes a deep breath, slaps her thighs. "I'm fine. Seriously, I'm ready now." She looks at you, dead in the eyes. "Oppa. I… I have wanted to fuck you ever since… since…" Her voice gets lower. "A couple months ago."

You try not to choke on your own spit. "Yeseo, you just turned eighteen then."

"So?"

"Yeseo." Your voice is calm yet stern.

"Besides, lots of other girls in school already lost their virginity!"

"And so you haven't, I knew it!" Mashiro laughs from the sideline.

Yeseo sticks out her tongue, and then her face turns serious again. She holds her hands on top of yours, as though drawing the answers from her fingertips as she thumbs them. After a slight pause, you give her an encouraging rub on her shoulder. "I just don't, didn't want to disappoint you guys. And I know we've done so much together, but sex… it's different. Means more. Like, look at you two. You're such a sweet couple, and I feel like I'm just budging between—"

"Absolutely not!" Mashiro exclaims as she joins in massaging the flesh of Yeseo's shoulders.

"I swear to god," you say, "you're all that matters in the world to us, right, Shiro?"

She nods forcefully.

"If we didn't care about you, we would have never taken you here, would have never let you in on our lives and intimacy. You could never budge between me and Shiro. In fact, I think you've made us better as a couple in ways you couldn't imagine, like how much happier Shiro and I are now."

Mashiro turns to kiss your cheek before addressing Yeseo herself. "We love you so much. And the most important thing to us, the thing that makes me the happiest, is when you feel good. So please, whatever you're worried about, we can work it out, baby."

It's all the truth, new axioms being built from a foundation of old, with your affection for the other girl unquestionable—enough for a lifetime, you think, that every day the three of you spend time cuddling or watching a movie is a day in paradise. Yet when you ask about the color of your world with this new addition, it becomes obvious how incomplete that thought is, to what degree you were underestimating the effect of the past few weeks. Here was this naive girl, this sweet doll, to whom the world was a painting of only shades of soft vanilla white. Now, it is pink, candy sweet. Now, it is red, a fiery thing. Now it is the burning color of sunrise, on her cheeks, from her ears, in between her thighs, and shall the colors subside, you gladly will rise up tomorrow to bring more.

Here comes the clouds, their tears on Yeseo's face, but they're joy-filled, like rain while the sun shines hot on a summer day. As Yeseo rests on her knees, back against your chest, Mashiro draws upon Yeseo's face with a kiss.

"How about this," Mashiro says. She steals the girl from your lap, pulling her into her own lap and embracing her from behind. "You should go on a date with him. Remember where we went the first time?"

With Shiro gazing expectantly at you, you reply, "Yeah, the aquarium? I even got you a stuffed shark there, right? Then we ate crab and—"

"Yeah! Take Yeseo there, go on a cute date and make her melt. You two can make it official. And while you're out, I can work myself into a mess and we can have the best possible first time. How does that sound, Yeseo?"

The toothy smile says it all.

The night falls, then another, as time slows. Gravity has changed. The anticipation for that Friday drags on, and the days are slow, sweet, long, tortuous. The three of you aren't even fooling around anymore; hell, you and Mashiro haven't... well, you still fucked three times last week, and nothing rough, but that's easily half of the usual, if not less.

But this new dynamic is not unwelcome. It's reminiscent of when you first started dating, before things became intense and adventurous. You cuddle in your bed under blankets and the moonlight and start to touch, caress, and feel each other's warmth. Mashiro whispers sweet things to you like "I love you, you're the best boyfriend in the world, you're so good to me." You run your fingers through her hair and over her neck.

Naked bodies pressed together, skin-to-skin, you can feel the warmth emanating from each other. She grinds against your leg, her wetness leaving a slick trail on your skin, and you grip her ass as she thrusts against you. Your shaft is hard and heavy on her stomach as you roll over her, Mashiro on her back and you on top of her. With the blanket covering you two, it's like the space is a tent and you're intrepid explorers discovering new continents, remapping unknown boddies. Your gazes become those of lovers finding hidden moons and suns in each other's eyes.

Mashiro grabs your face and kisses you, hard, and you return the gesture with passion. She lets out a small squeak, and it's a tiny noise in the still room under the cramped covers. You suck her bottom lip, nipping on it, before your tongues intertwine, causing her to moan softly into your mouth.

You break the kiss, and Mashiro whimpers, "Don't stop, don't stop kissing me."

You lean back and say, "Shh, baby, I got you." Your finger goes to her mouth and you pull on her bottom lip, drawing it down. Then you take that finger and run it down her body, from her mouth to her neck, then down to her breasts. Mashiro has a beautiful set of tits, and you love to see them bounce, jiggle, and move, and you circle her breasts with your finger, drawing lazy circles around them, but the way you love and touch her now is more than arousing; it's intimate as you treat her body like an adoration to praise, worship, and cherish her.

She deserves you telling her as much, in as many words: "You are the most perfect, beautiful girl in the world. Your body, your love, you, your everything."

Mashiro blushes at your words and closes her eyes, arching into you as your lips trail down to her chest. Soft, wet kisses leave trails along her skin, causing her to whimper and writhe beneath your touch. As your lips continue their journey downward, so too does your hand. Her legs spread willingly for you as your fingers hover over her folds, teasing and tracing circles around her dripping pink pussy. Your thumb rubs against the thin skin of her inner thigh before playfully dipping towards her entrance.

She's soaking already, the sweet smell of her arousal filling your senses, and your pecks if like a map of the world plot a course down her body, her ribs and her hip bones like signposts. When your girlfriend squeals and tries to push your face away as you lower your head to its final destination, you grin—it's like old times when she used to get shy and flustered in your presence. Using one hand to keep her pink labia spread and the other to hold her thighs in place, you finally lower your head to its final destination. Your tongue darts in her, kissing, lapping, probing, and, most of all, worshipping the insides of the cunt.

And the noises she makes are the sweetest little things in the world, little breaths and hums and keens and croaks that are only audible under the soft cocoon of blankets surrounding the two of you. Even though you're alone in the room, she's hesitant to be too loud; it doesn't stop her from expressing her satisfaction. With one hand on her clit and the other gently caressing her backside, you delve deeper between her folds with your tongue, eliciting coos and sighs from Mashiro. You want every moment to be this moment—your woman lost in the isolated woods of her pleasure, no one else to hear the tree fall but you.

You yearn to look up at your lovely Shiro, to watch her unravel in bliss, but the blanket obstructs your view. Thankfully, she notices and removes it herself, possibly feeling overheated from being enclosed in such a small space. You're grateful, because now the view of your beloved girlfriend is even better: her hair tousled from squirming around in bed and covering herself with the blanket, her face flushed, mouth open in a small "o." Her hands roam over her breasts, alternating between gentle cupping them and rough pinching of her nipples. Your gaze settles on the aspect of the scene you most enjoy: the small bead of saliva escaping from the corner of her mouth, the shimmering trail it leaves as it rolls down her cheek.

Her eyes, how they sparkle in ecstasy from the love and affection you give her, filling your heart with a warmth that borders on painful. As much as you could stay here all night, then all day, until the moon rose again, Mashiro's eyes connect with yours, quietly and meekly pleading, and you know it is your duty to proceed, before she crumbles on her own.

Your tongue retracts and you leave a soft kiss on her mound. You scoop her body into your strong arms, positioning yourself above her with your cock pressing against her stomach. Her face is so close to yours that you can feel every breath she takes. She wraps an arm around your back and draws you closer with a tug, hooking a leg around your torso.

This is the closest two people can get without actually being inside each other, yet your lips remain just out of reach. Mashiro's gaze captures you, as it has since you first fell in love with her in college. There's a brief moment where something unspoken passes between you both, and then her eyes close and your noses brush against each other. In the darkness of the night, with only the light of the stars shining through the window, the crescent moon appears in her smile.

"Hello there, dear," Mashiro whispers.

Your heart is caught in your throat.

"I love you," she says.

"I love you too, babe."For a few moments, your noses are the only points of contact, stretching into what feels like eternity. Then you realize she's waiting for you.

"Kiss me," she whispers, repeating the words over and over again, and you give in. Then you two kiss—it's with an odd, powerful feeling, like you're trying to stuff the world into each other's mouths, breathing each other's air, and the timing is right and perfect and good for the next stuffing of your length into her welcoming heat. Her lips and her legs tighten around you as you ease yourself in inch-by-inch.

Doesn't take you long before you bottom out, her grippy thing sealed around the base. You wait a while before you begin moving, your hands beneath her head, on the nape of her neck. Watch how her face twists from pleasure, to frustration, to a longing. As though you're both star-crossed lovers meeting at night and on the fly, she mounts you in a rush of anticipation and love and heat and she clings onto your shoulders like a lifeline. Your girlfriend's more excited than she ever was, and her breath runs ragged, as though the weight of the world is upon her—or you upon her, pressing her into the bed.

You drink in her every little moan and squeal while she clenches your bicep in a firm grip and you're on top of her and her legs split open to frame your hips. Thrusts into her like pistons in a steam engine, driving with force and energy, and so much power that the entire bed shakes around you two. All the while, you're kissing everywhere your face can reach: neck, breasts, nipples, all over her flushed skin, all over her skin getting redder still—and Mashiro loves it all, from the deep passionate kisses to the gentle tickles that make her giggle uncontrollably.

It's all so clumsy, like you don't have the years between you to know how to work together; maybe it's the nerves—like you're teenagers in the back of your first car, almost getting caught; like you're in your dirty college dorm, finding where the screw in your frame breaks and the mattress falls and you're so horny you can't find enough grip on the uneven sheets to get a proper grip. Or maybe it's because it really is just like your first time: not the location, or the rhythm, or the surroundings, or even the way her breasts jiggle when you thrust with abandon, but the all-in desperation, of thanking the past for catching up, or thanking the future for promising to get even better.

Back then, the first time you slept with her, it was like learning an entirely new language—like you had to keep looking around as she pulled you in deeper, the walls of her snatch tugging on your cock, an alien sensation like a vacuum, her sex threatening to suck out your very soul despite the awkward inexperience.

Now, despite the awkward rhythm and the need to touch and kiss every which where, the way your bodies connect is smoother. More meaningful. Hotter.

She kisses your face and cups your cheeks and makes quiet promises under her breath, "I'm yours, I'm yours, oh, god, you're fucking me, you're—ahh—so good, so big," over and over. You love it, how much she tells you, her voice strained and high and keening and on the verge of tears. Your nails drag up the sides of her thighs and bring her into another embrace, arms around each other, tongues weaving. The more it goes, the less graceful you become, and the less coordinated you are, and the more you forget the sensations and rhythms, and your animal instincts go back to clawing and prodding and exploring and mating.

How many times have you done this? You've counted them at least, the things they do to your mind, the way your girlfriend looks at you in bed. Hundreds? Perhaps a little under a thousand, almost halfway through the past three years, each time more intimate and delicious than the last. You look into her dark- yes and become stunned in love, overcome with adoration, unable to bear it as her sweet pussy contracts on your throbbing length and you push her into the bed as you both slip over the edge of sweet release—you cum together, spurting into her wet embrace, gripping her closer than ever before, and still you hold her and hug her. She's yours, and she will forever be yours, and that is why you and she still make love three times a week like newlyweds, content with the lazy nature of time.

And just like that, maybe, you can pretend like what's coming up with Yeseo is a first encounter, an exploration in the same manner that sex with her unnie was, from some corner of her heart calling out desperately to be loved the same way as Mashiro had, to that young heart you both did your best to nurture and coax into blooming.

You're standing in front of fish, alive and vibrant. Yeseo's standing next to you, not even up to your shoulders, beaming up at you in a hoodie a bit too baggy for her small frame—it's yours—actually, it's Mashiro's now that you think of it, so long ago when your girlfriend pulled it from your closet and decided she was keeping it. It used to make her small figure positively miniscule, same way Yeseo makes it swim on her. Her short shorts, however, are all hers, all that asscheek squishing out from under it, and you want to make it the floor's instead.

Cute date. Cute date. You turn your attention back to fish, all these shimmering sea creatures swimming around in their tanks, the smell of saltwater pervasive. Lots and lots of little rainbow-colored fish behind big panes of glass and the vivid blue. You watch, and they don't glance in your direction, which is probably a good thing because they'd see how embarrassingly nervous you are for a date; you're certain you can't handle this mix of sexual anticipation and cuteness overload for another minute. The air is dense, so sticky that you're practically underwater yourself. You can tell Yeseo is thirsty, a touch uncomfortable, and so are you. Despite the wet air, your throat's dry, all your senses tingling, every nerve electrified like sharp edges of lightning arcing through the thick atmosphere.

After buying her a bottle of soda (as she says thank you in the smallest voice), you take a sip, and it's funny thinking that this is the closest you've been to kissing in a while. You sip, she sips, and this repeats back and forth until the bottle's spent. It's like you're making out, in public, no less. You want to take your hand but she's off to look at jellyfish.

This little nerd goes around oohing and ahhing at at every new species while you wonder when did she get this geeky, overtaking Mashiro of all people. You go into the penguin exhibit, and watching her shiver, you grab her slender hand and intertwine your fingers with hers before placing your two hands in your pocket for safe keeping. Yeseo tiptoes and presses her nose into your shoulder, sniffling.

"Are you cold?" you ask.

"No. Smells bad."

"Oh." You ruffle her hair with your free hand. The dye's losing its saturation, though her still a brilliant tinted gray. "Good point. Say, aren't you feeling hungry?"

Here's the answer.

You're sitting in front of fish. These ones are dead, and delicious. Yeseo's sitting in front of you, eating guilt-free, committing grand larceny from your hand, all with a big smile. Unable to prosecute and in fact a perpetrator yourself (one count of corruption), you feed her, leave fingerprints of some red sauce on the corner of her mouth, and you wouldn't mind licking her clean if there weren't so many people around. She tongues at it herself, and visions of her licking other things pop into your head.

The visions disappear when she grins once again, wide, flashing her teeth. This isn't the Yeseo you've built up to break down; this is the Yeseo you started with, a postulate, the unbendably true and innocent one, a girl who likes hugging you and her best friend, and nothing more, least of all getting involved with the filthy sex you two have.

The pendulum swings.

"You know you don't have to use condoms, by the way. I know you bought a whole bunch, but… I wouldn't mind raw… you know, I trust you." All that is said without missing a beat, and you miss a few: blinks, breaths, words, choking on some oyster, and as she kindly hands you a napkin, she turns her head bashfully like nothing happened. "Tonight's gonna be so special, I know it. I'm so glad we did this, Oppa, thank you."

You smile, as warm as you can while your lungs are recovering.

In a park nearby, she's the one who takes your hand, swinging it back and forth as the day's bleeding amber into her skin, as her sweater becomes a blanket for her and her happiness. The dark thoughts push against the bright light of the girl, still fighting as you carry your Yeseo up a hill to catch the day fading away. On top of that hill, you kiss Yeseo like it's the first time and tell her you love her, and you hope that's enough because she deserves every part of the world below this hill, and so above.

As above, so below. The night falls. If the nights then slowed, this one has halted completely. The stopped night falls and the curse of darkness is a biblical thing because it will return you to dust from which you were made, back to where you started. These are the end times.

You're making out with Mashiro in your lap, and she has indeed worked herself into an apocalyptic mess for you. Her legs are wrapped around you, between her thighs as a wet spot like the flood, her hands squeeze your nape where your hairs raise, and god, you missed her kissing like her next breath must be in your lungs.

Yeseo, judge of the soul, eyes you down in the periphery of your vision—back to where you started.

The night falls, and it's a biblical curse of darkness upon the land because no good can come of it. There is an unshakable heaviness in the bedroom, like gravity has suddenly intensified. You're sitting on the bed with Mashiro in your lap and Yeseo nearby, her posture a mix of alertness and contemplation. You kiss Mashiro passionately, caress her body, run your fingers through her hair, and grasp her hips tightly to make her feel desired and needed.

Then Yeseo slinks over and wraps her arms around you from behind, pressing her cheek against yours and biting her lip while emitting a small moan. It's clear that she's uncertain about how to act in this situation. She hesitates before leaning forward and gently kissing your neck, causing your whole body to shiver.

What a stark contrast—the intentions and their effects. Your body acts on its own accord while your mind struggles to make sense of the conflicting emotions. But your arm instinctively wraps around Yeseo, as if it knows what to do.

Mashiro finally pulls away, understanding the situation, and there's a diamond in her eyes. "Go for it," she whispers.

Yeseo and you are two parts of an incomplete whole, and you sum with your lips, and multiply in moans. The bed squeaks, the sheets shift, and that which does not move becomes stiller than ever. Yeseo starts to grind against you, matching your movements. From the corner of your eye, you see her squeezing her eyes shut, drooling slightly onto your shoulder. When she opens them, they flash between desire, fear, longing, and confusion as she looks to Mashiro for guidance.

Your hand gently strokes her hair to soothe her, while Mashiro leans closer and tenderly kisses Yeseo's forehead. "What do you want to do next, Yeseo-yah?" Mashiro asks.

"I... I don't know what I want. I just want him inside me."

You smile adoringly at Yeseo and brush her hair away from her face. "I can make that happen for you."

"R-really? Aren't we supposed to do more...things first? Like...you know..." Yeseo stammers. "I can suck you clean again, or we can…"

"I think you've waited long enough, princess," you say.

Yeseo shudders. "Oh. God... just fuck me."

Mashiro's lips brush against Yeseo's forehead with tender affection, the warmth of their embrace palpable. As she moves down to her lips, their kiss deepens and they both lose themselves in the moment. You move behind the pair, pulling Yeseo's jeans down; she squirms in your forceful grasp. Mashiro moves to the side of the bed as you lay Yeseo on her back. As you throw her pants to the corner of the room, you spread kisses where they must go—along the inside of her thigh to her knee, back to the joint of her torso and her hip, your tongue grazing the skin above her panties. She does nothing to hide her arousal, vocal, flushed, all-in-all unrefined perfection.

Your teeth clasp on the fabric of her soaked panties, and you pull the clothes down, her hips bucking in hurry. Without breaking eye contact, you discard her last items of clothing, and rest your face atop her dripping pussy. Yeseo cries out, arching up in the instant your mouth meets her pussy, bucking against you to bring you closer.

At first, you take it slow and gentle, savoring every delicate motion that sets Yeseo off into a frenzy. But as her begging becomes more urgent, you give into her desires and increase the intensity of your ministrations. Kang Yeseo is like a leaking faucet, spilling out her lust onto your tongue and down her thighs until even the sheets beneath them are moist.

With practiced ease, you add a few fingers into the mix, skillfully bringing Yeseo closer and closer to climax with each thrust. And when she finally reaches the peak of pleasure—marked by a simple count to ten and a swipe of the letter Y—she lets out a primal scream of pure bliss. Her body writhes against yours, her fingers clutching the pillow beneath her head as she surrenders fully to the overwhelming pleasure.

"O-oh, oh god... yes," she chokes out. "Oh god. Fuck, fuck."

Mashiro has gotten naked during this, has started fondling herself, excited at her friend's exhibition. Yeseo only has eyes for you, though, and takes your head between her hands to bring you over and mash your faces together again. She tastes her own lust on your lips, her own pussy juices evidence of your hard work, kissing you and begging you to make love to her.

Mashiro approaches, drawn to the scene before her. Is she motivated by genuine concern for Yeseo's well-being or is it a voyeuristic desire to witness your lovemaking? As she presses up against you, her delicate hands reaching for your throbbing shaft, it becomes evident that it is the latter.

With a flick of a switch in her mind, Mashiro sheds all inhibitions and eagerly guides your member inside Yeseo's waiting heat. Slip into Yeseo's tightness, every centimeter a kilometer. Her small but eager pussy lips tightly compress around your tip, sending shivers down your spine. You close your eyes and can almost feel Yeseo's own eyes shut in bliss, while you can only imagine the hungry gaze of Mashiro fixed upon you both.

Her weight barely registering on your body, Yeseo digs her fingertips into your shoulders as she pleads, "Please… be gentle." It takes you back to when you first started dating Mashiro, and you reward Yeseo's trust with long, slow strokes that gradually stretch her open. She lets out encouraging mewls mixed with a single tear rolling down her flushed cheek. With each thrust, her pain gives way to gratitude and pleasure. From behind you, Mashiro's eyes lock onto yours with a mischievous glint.

As expected, she revels in Yeseo's discomfort—perhaps with a touch of wicked empathy or even a hint of jealousy at not being able to experience this first time herself. It's clear that with Mashiro's provocations, this will be anything but romantic and sweet. Your lips meet hers in a heated kiss as you pull back slightly before thrusting into Yeseo again. "You're doing so good, Daddy," Mashiro whispers breathlessly. It's not often she calls you that, but right now it feels fitting. "How does she feel?"

You respond with another searing kiss before murmuring, "Just like you did. Maybe even wetter."

"Oh yeah? You should fuck her harder to prove it then." Mashiro's full lips curve upwards into a satisfied smile as she watches you, her focus shifting to the girl writhing beneath you. You can feel the change in Yeseo, her body language shifting and telling you that she is reaching her threshold for pain. But her desire for that elusive orgasm is still strong.

As your hips continue to thrust into her, filling her holes with your thick cock, you sense the pain radiating from her body. But Yeseo is too caught up in the pleasure to call it off or complain. Each time your hips collide against hers, she breathes out "oh fuck" in ragged gasps.

The pace quickens, the intensity of your movements increasing with each passing second. The bed creaks and groans under the weight of your bodies as you both crave more and more. Your grip tightens on Yeseo's hips as you lift her ass into the air, pushing her body to its limits.

In an instant, everything changes. Yeseo's screams now come not from pain, but from overwhelming pleasure as you reach deeper inside her. Tears cloud her eyes and she cries out for "Daddy," shocking even herself with the pet name that escapes her lips. But hearing her say it only adds to your arousal.

You feel Mashiro's hand move down to Yeseo's clit, aggressively rubbing and stimulating her even further. Her words only add fuel to the fire, driving you both towards pure ecstasy. "You like that," Mashiro taunts, "You like Daddy's cock? Like how his giant fucking cock feels buried so deep in your virgin pussy?"

Yeseo grits her teeth and nods, barely able to form words through her pleasure-filled haze. "I do… please."

"You're a slut for my man's cock," Mashiro continues, causing a primal growl to escape your own throat in response. Your body moves on instinct, driven by a primal desire for pleasure and dominance."Such a slut for Daddy's cock, aren't you?"

"Yeeees..."

"You're gonna get addicted to this, hooked on cock, fucking you, and you're going to wanna cum all the time, Daddy's naughty princess, aren't you?"

"Aaah, ahh... fuck, yes, I love your cock, love Daddy's fat cock, aahn, aaah, don't stop, fuck me, fucking fuck me, fuck me like you fuck Unnie."

You love watching Yeseo's face as she gets pounded. The way her mouth hangs open, tongue hanging out, panting like a dog, eyes rolling back, lids fluttering, all in such a adorable package. However, you've been craving something else: that pert ass of hers. You unsheathe Yeseo's pussy to a line of girl cum, then flip her and scoot her towards you until her round rear is against your pelvis, and resume fucking her pronebone.

Yeseo screams into the sheets, Mashiro's fingers buried in her mouth to show her the taste of her lust.

"You gonna be a good girl, aren't you?" Mashiro asks, earning Yeseo's moan in approval on her digits. "Good. That's my cock, mine, and the only way you're getting to feel it is by being a good girl and letting him cum inside you, let him coat your pussy with Daddy's cum. Make Daddy proud, you hear me?"

When Mashiro pulls back, Yeseo speaks: "Yes, yes, breed me, cum in my pussy, make me a woman, I wanna be a woman, a woman who cums on Daddy's cock, a woman who cums from getting fucked."

Her ass jiggles in the prettiest way. Whether through the excitement or fear of having a pregnant belly at only eighteen, her thighs are shaking. Her entrance clenches tightly around your girth and milks your orgasm from you, and it's like you've become her baby maker and nothing more.

You wrap your arms around her. "You sure you wanna get bred, princess? You want my seed, every drop, to make you mine? You want to be an adult, that what you want?"

She struggles under you, her wet pussy giving way to your penis. "Yes. Yes! Fuck me, please, Daddy. Please."

Those are your last words for a while, that plea. Her asscheeks give way to your  fingers, slipping to the puckered hole of her anus. You know she's been practicing with that hole, plunging dildos up her butt, training for Daddy's cock. Mashiro takes your hand, offering to lubricate, and before you know it her saliva seeps through your digits. With that, a pointer finger hooks inside Yeseo easily, earning a happy squeak, a bit of cock-drunk laughter at being doubly penetrated.

Anal wasn't something you and Mashiro tried during your first encounter, but you very well are familiar with the act, an intrinsic fact about Mashiro that few others know. Her ass has come to be both of your preferred mode of orgasmic expression, your cum leaving a filthy pool in her asshole. Now Yeseo's about to find out why. Her anus offers the final tightest barrier for your probing finger, slipping inside the dirty hole. In and out a half dozen times, Yeseo soon adapts, and Mashiro—being on the other side of Yeseo and facing you—makes a show of kissing her neck and palming her small breasts. Yeseo bucks back on your digit and cock, the clench of her two insides holding you tight and in love.

You're so lucky that your girlfriend holds no jealousy to speak of—at least not in her sex life—as Yeseo cums hard around your invading cock. Her body clenches at the multiple parts of her that you've stuffed, keeping you held firmly inside. Like a chain reaction, your orgasm is triggered, pulled in forcefully. One two pumps is all it takes, her virgin pussy a divine void, and after that first one you lose count of your inseminating shots. Her womb is full of you, thickened, and your finger pumps with equal force in her ass. Yeseo is mumbling into the mattress, a long nonsensical string of begging and pleading that only end once you're out of her, she can feel your seed inside of her, once the bliss of the last few minutes leave.

Yeseo is your fucking whore.

After cumming her brains out, the tired slut in her sleepily tumbles off. You're not done. Seeing that creampie leak out of her well-fucked cunt, nope, you're not nearly finished. Right now there's a much sluttier hole available to you.

Yeseo rests her head against Mashiro's soft chest, passing out as her friend embraces her.

"Shiro. Marshmellow. I'm really going to ask this with all my self-control, but is it okay if I fuck her ass. She's very tempting."

Your precious petal gives the brightest smile, you know, when she's so uninhibited like this, free to her own wicked whims. Mashiro kisses Yeseo's sleeping forehead, before looking back to you. "Aww, baby, but she looks so adorable sleeping yeah fucking do it. Fuck the shit out of her."

With a peck, you accept her permission. You spread the winking hole open with two fingers, then collect some of the leaking seed from Yeseo's pussy and wipe it on the entrance. Then, the lube: Mashiro with a diligent mouth, and soon a dew of her spit onto your cock for Yeseo's ass.

As you rest your wettened cockhead against Yeseo's anus, it spasms slightly, involuntarily, puckering further against your assault. Suddenly her eyes shoot open, her back arching.

"Good dream," she moans, and as you've learned, it is possible to fuck cutely. Because that's the Yeseo on Mashiro's chest now: cute. "I was... a bad girl, I let Daddy use all my holes, aahn."

"He's ready for more of you, Yeseo-yah." Mashiro whispers.

"Wha..." Yeseo is still in a stupor from her slumber, and so the shock is clearly visceral and uncomfortable as you enter her ass. Even lubed up it takes more effort to break her innermost seal as it stretches around your tip and clings to the millimeter she lets you go in. As she gets filled with your cock again, it doesn't matter how she had previously reacted to the rough pounding you gave her pussy. Your hand grabs her arm and keeps it in place as the half inch meets an end in the resistance of her anus' unwilling submission to your fucking. But she begins to thrust herself back on you slightly, and that helps, relaxing the walls that inveighed against your penetration. Soon you make another centimeter of progress, a centimeter closer to fully lodging your cock inside her.

The penetration is slow as time itself, but for a curious reason: in this single instance, both you and Yeseo want the process to take as long as possible, for this moment to stretch even beyond how fucking long you're taking to actually penetrating her. The lewdness is so beyond what the both of you are familiar with, your plunging cock filling her most intimate spot is perhaps the dirtiest deed imaginable, filthy and nasty and deliciously so.

Yet, she's still fucking cute—cutely fucking, when she looks back to you, meets your loving gaze, a pout on her lips, and a fluttering opening of her mouth. She eyes you with an innocence that has long since left her presence here and now. Of all the girls you've fucked before and this night, none have the spark of natural sexual goodness that Yeseo possesses. Before it was pretty fucking adorable, the eager virgin desperate for attention, desperate for an anal orgasm. Now it's not just arousing, it's something deeper: beautiful. And she wants you to share in her beauty.

"M-more." It's a scant whisper, her throat dry with anticipation. More than enough. You pull on Yeseo's hair and throw her head back, exposing more of her slim neck, to drive your cock with more force into her unbroken depths. Harder now, in: two more inches penetrate her, yet no outward journey is permitted, something else which you've prevented as you continue your rhythm. Your other hand trails down from her back to her ass, where your fingers lay, kneading the cheeks apart to admire your conquest. Yeseo is being taken, wholly owned. She's yours, belonging only to your pleasure and only to your pleasure alone, to feel the pleasure of this moment together.

You pull a fistful of her hair now, drawing her ear close enough to your mouth to bite gently on the lobe, to send a shock of exhilaration through her skinny frame. "You're a filthy fucking anal whore, Yeseo. I'm going to fuck the creampie out of this asshole. Just know I own you, and you need a real man inside of you. Say it."

Yeseo purrs. "Nnn, nngh. Nn, yesss, Daddy, you own my hole, you own all my holes, your slut, just want your cock always in me, fuck my fuck, oh, ohyes, godd, do it, please!"

Again you claim this sweet sin, and push on through to the end of her depths, till you're bottomed out in her ass. Yeseo wiggles ineffectively, fruitlessly, letting you work her anus on your girth.

"How does it feel, baby girl?" Mashiro asks, and you begin to draw your cock slowly. Yeseo howls and squeezes your member, her anus unable to take the stretch any more, yet unwilling to let it go. It takes the weight of a greater instinct for her to move her hips away from you. You help pull back, but it's equally mind-agonizing, mind-numbing, but eventually you come out cleanly.

Through gasping breaths, Yeseo says, "C-can I ride it instead? That, that was too much."

Mashiro giggles, nods. "Daddy can lie down for you, sweetie. Lay him out and sit your pretty little butt on him."

You lean against the headrest and spread out your legs, giving Yeseo free range to work your cock. Much quicker now she takes your cock inside, sinking down on the cock to an easy half. Then, Yeseo relaxes and soon her ass claps against your pelvis, earning a moan from you both.

"Wow, you're a natural." Mashiro says.

"Yeah, oh, fuck, I practiced, this position, oh, mmhm. On, haaa, on a toy. Wow."

"But, the real thing's better." When Mashiro starts touching Yeseo's clit, even more globs of semen leave her cunt.

Yeseo just nods to that, her eyes meeting the lord in her head, her mouth dangling open. "Mhmm, so big, s-so hard, and, umph, and, haahh."

You quickly ascertain that while Yeseo is certainly practiced in her riding, she is no match for Mashiro's experience. Here, you don't mind—the grip of her warm and willing walls wrapping around your cock, her pussy clamping at air in response. Your mouth, open and hungry, is captured by Mashiro, french-kissing you. She's a warm, comfortable presence beside you, watching you watch the pornographic scene of the inexperienced girl fucking herself like a needy anal whore. Yeseo, from her expression, is obviously getting the hang of it: her fucking is getting faster, the cock that enters her quickly leaving in rapid pace, her pleasure quickening in its growth. Yeseo bucks up, slips down, trying to give you as much pleasure as possible

Insofar as Yeseo can find purchase in her brain-melting daze, she's cumming so very quickly and so damn hard. Yeseo is so tightly gripped at your cock you can only imagine the spasms she must be going through. For your troubles, she sprays juice all over your abdomen. As if from the deepest part of her orgasm, her last shreds of coherence, an almost non-fathomable concept, give way to a smile, to a laugh. She collapses on top of you, her cheek against your chest.

"I'm... Daddy's..."

"Cum dump." You sit up, wrapping your arm around her back. "I'm not done with you, not until I've left my cum in your asshole."

She nods. "I'm your slut, Daddy."

You take Yeseo from the bed, and carry her over to the side, bending her over the nightstand, holding her neck and keeping her pressed against the wood. Her small hands reach behind her, taking hold of your shaft and guiding you into her anus. A single thrust is enough to seat her all the way to the hilt, and it doesn't take long before you're pistoning into her, her ass jiggling.

Mashiro's got her hand buried in Yeseo's hair, pushing her down harder against the wooden surface. She's a beautiful girl, your girlfriend, her pussy soaked from watching you use this other girl. "Make a mess for Daddy," she says. "Cum around his cock, milk that cum out like you deserve."

With Yeseo bent over like this, it's a tight fit for the both of you. But you rail the woman. No mercy. All the restraint you had when taking the virginity of either hole is gone now, nothing but raw need and animal instinct driving the motion. The wet smack of your balls against her pussy, the squeaks of her own need, the sounds of the room fill you, fill her, fill Mashiro, and there's no stopping you from taking Yeseo's ass like you mean it.

It's all Yeseo can do to hold onto the edge of the nightstand for dear life. For good measure, Mashiro spanks the slut. The slut loves it. She's basically humping the furniture now, trying to get any kind of friction on her clit, any kind of sensation to heighten her pleasure.

In this moment, the world could be falling apart around you, but you wouldn't care. You just want to keep pounding away at this beautiful woman's ass. Your hands grip her hips, and you thrust inside as far as you can.

Yeseo's breath catches as she feels her ass clench around the base of your cock. Her face is one of pure ecstasy, her mouth forming a perfect O shape.

"Oh fuck, oh god, aaaah," Yeseo cries out. "I'm gonna cum, fuck, Daddy, I'm cumming!"

You don't announce it as loudly, just a sharp groan, solid grip of her hips, pulling her down onto your cock where balls-deep you unload into her. Your second climax is no less powerful than the first, shooting rope after thick rope of hot cum into Yeseo's asshole. You can feel it twitching around you, like Yeseo's trying to milk every last drop out of your cock. She's gasping for air, her body shaking. Mashiro kisses her neck and shoulder to soothe her.

You pull out slowly, letting her feel the loss of your cock. A glob of semen slips out of her gaping asshole, a strand of cream down her lithe legs.

Finally, you're spent, the well of your lust and energy dry, the strength of your legs gone, the strength of your arms gone, the strength of your mind gone. The energy to do anything more than lay in bed is beyond you now.

Yeseo can't even do much of that, and you have to help carry her to the bed, where the three of you lie.

"Fuck. Is it... usually that much?" Yeseo asks, her fingers sliding between her thighs, feeling her sticky hole and slit.

Mashiro giggles. "No. Not by a long shot."

"You're so fucking tight Yeseo-yah, of course you'd get filled up so much."

"But, is this, like, how it is? Like, I'm gonna feel it for days?"

"It's not too bad, after a while. But yeah, you'll definitely be sore. I think I still am."

"Okay, Daddy." Yeseo leans into you, resting her head on your chest. On your other side, Mashiro joins in too. Yeseo sighs."It was really, really good. I... I knew it would be, but I had no idea. You were so gentle at first, and then so rough, like I needed it."

"Well, I'm glad," Mashiro says. "And don't worry. It gets better every time."

"Really?"

"Mhm. You've got a long way to go, Yeseo-yah, if you wanna get as good as Unnie."

"You're a good fuck," you tell Yeseo. "You've got talent, Yeseo-yah."

She giggles. "Thanks, Daddy."

Mashiro looks at you, smiling, and kisses your cheek. "So what do you think, Daddy? You okay with this being a regular thing?"

"I... yeah. I can deal."

"Good. Because next time, you're fucking us both. Together."

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AO3, AFF

[probablyasocialecologist]

The third dimension of metabolic rift is the temporal rift. As is obvious from the slow formation of soil nutrients and fossil fuels and the accelerating circulation of capital, there emerges a rift between nature’s time and capital’s time. Capital constantly attempts to shorten its turnover time and maximize valorization in a given time – the shortening of turnover time is an effective way of increasing the quantity of profit in the face of the decreasing rate of profit. This process is accompanied by increasing demands for floating capital in the form of cheap and abundant raw and auxiliary materials. Furthermore, capital constantly revolutionizes the production process, augmenting productive forces with an unprecedented  speed compared with precapitalist societies. Productive forces can double or triple with the introduction of new machines, but nature cannot change its formation processes of phosphor or fossil fuel, so ‘it was likely that productivity in the production of raw materials would tend not to increase as rapidly as productivity in general (and, accordingly, the growing requirements for raw materials)’. This tendency can never be fully suspended because natural cycles exist independently of capital’s demands. Capital cannot produce without nature, but it also wishes that nature would vanish.

When nature cannot catch up with the accelerating speed of capital, there arises a grave discrepancy between two kinds of time that are particular to nature and capital. Marx gives the following example of excessive deforestation under capitalism:

The long production time (which includes a relatively slight amount of working time), and the consequent length of the turnover period, makes forest culture a line of business unsuited to private and hence to capitalist production, the latter being fundamentally a private operation, even when the associated capitalist takes the place of the individual. The development of civilization and industry in general has always shown itself so active in the destruction of forests that everything that has been done for their conservation and production is completely insignificant in comparison. (Capital II: 321–2)

Kohei Saito, Marx in the Anthropocene: Towards the Idea of Degrowth Communism

[patchworkcuddlebug]

Little Lullaby

A Winding Lullaby story.

The witch sets her tool aside with a huff, wiping her face with her hand. That was the last touch the doll needed. She leans forward on her desk, hovering over the inanimate toy that lays limp on her work desk. She placed her finger on the doll's face, small enough to be encompassed entirely by her fingerprint. She closes her eyes and focuses, channelling just enough magic to animate it, but not enough to overwhelm and destroy the toy.

With conviction and willpower from lifetimes of experience, the witch remains calm and focused and the magic starts to flow. She can feel it, the doll an extension of herself, slowly becoming.

Like waking up from a nap, the doll opens its eyes.

"Hello? Is it you, can you hear me?

The doll looked up. "Miss! Very big!"

The witch leaned back in her chair and exhaled. "You work. That's good, at least. Now..." The witch's disposition changes from exasperated relief to a deadly seriousness. "Do you remember anything? What's your name, what happened?

The doll put a finger on its chin. "Hmm… Lullaby. Fell, and... broken. Miss helped!"

"Oh, it is you!" The witch scooped the doll off of her desk with two hands, cradling it with her palms. She pressed it against her cheek, snuggling it close. "Oh, I missed you so much! I've been so lonely without you!"

Lullaby hugs back, pressing both arms against her Miss's cheeks. "Happy, Miss…"

it raised its head up, curious as a realization slowly dawns. "Lonely?"

"Oh... here, let me show you." The witch picks up her doll, swivelling around in her work chair to show it... itself. There laid Lullaby, face down just where it first unwound, with the plating of its back removed and its inner workings exposed. Many pieces are missing, including its core.

"Fixing you is taking just a little longer than I thought it would." The witch's tone is caring and compassionate, careful not to lose her grip as the doll in her hands leans for a closer look. "I started thinking about talking to you again, and then I started looking into auxiliary core use in my off time, and... well, here you are, Little Lullaby."

The doll peered over the witch's fingers, gawking at its large body. "Weird..." it says to itself. Its eyes are drawn to the empty space where its core should be. "Miss? Core?"

"It's right here, sweetheart." The witch turns again, careful to swivel slowly enough not to rattle to poor thing. She gently sets Little Lullaby down onto the desk it was made on, where it sits on the spine of a closed book. The witch retrieves a small golden chest, which she opens and tilts forward just enough to show her doll what keeps it as close to alive as a doll can be.

Little Lullaby looked on in awe, slowly approaching the box. It places its hands on the rim, standing on its tip-toes to peer inside. It feels just a little uneasy, overwhelmed by the sheer mass of its inner workings, and seeing it outside of itself for the first time.

It takes a second to be still, enjoying the ticking as the key embedded on top slowly turned in a familiar rhythm. Tick, tick, tick...

. . . . .

"Miss!" The doll was stirred from its stillness as its witch entered the workshop.

"Little Lullaby!" The witch playfully chimed back as she took her seat. "Sorry I was gone so long, it took a while to find the right gear I needed."

"Okay Miss. Here now!" The doll beamed, swaying from side to side and kicking its feet over the edge of the desk. "Sorry this can't help. Small and close..." it looks back at its box, pouting just a little.

"Don't apologize, the proximity requirement isn't your fault." The doll looked pensive as it spoke, trying to process its witch's words before she used a single single to pet its hair. "Plus, there's still a little something that you can help with~"

"Help!" Little Lullaby eagerly sprang to its feet. "Thanks Miss! Please!"

The witch reached into her bag, setting toy after toy onto the table. A 3D maze with a metal ball trapped in a plastic shell, a wooden sculpture made of many interlocking parts, and an empty wooden frame with a set of tetraminos meant to fit inside in a certain way.

The doll was already enamoured, first drawn to the maze. It picked it up with both hands, flipping it onto its sides and watching how the ball moves inside. "Those puzzles are a little too tricky for me. Could you be a doll and solve them?"

"Yes! Yes Miss, yes! Thanks Miss!" the doll's voice was ecstatic, turning its attention away from its tasks just long enough to thank its Miss before getting to work.

The witch smiled with pride, before turning back to Lullaby and getting to work.

. . . . .

Little Lullaby resisted the urge to flinch as the dollop of hot glue landed on its back.

"There. Remember, you'll have to be still for a moment while the glue settles, but after that you'll be just like you were normal sized."

The pocket-doll began to kick its feet in excitement, still careful to keep itself still. Norae was careful to match, holding her breath to steady her hand as she lowered the key into place. Like a kiss, it gently presses down, perfectly replicating its placement on the doll's proper body.

"Did you know keys are a symbol of Hecate?" She said with a casual tone as she pulled her hand away, letting the decorative key harden into place. It was the handle of an old metal key for a lock that had long been discarded. It had been cut perfectly to fit the mini-doll's back, with a perfectly rehearsed cleaving spell. "It's a sign that all is possible for magic; to a mistress, nothing shall be locked away."

The doll slowly pushed itself up from its prone position. As it sat up, politely letting its hands rest on its lap, a smile spreads across its face. It gently, experimentally, let its body sway to one side, holding itself in place for only a moment. Then, just a bit faster, it swayed the other way. It beamed, giggling and kicking its feet in time with its movements. "Eheheh, Miss! Miss, key! Miss!!"

Norae couldn't help but smile as she watched her doll sway with delight. "Remember, don't try to turn it. You'll have your real key back soon enough."

Keeping her smile, she turned around to face the ever-still body she's been tending to. Its core was already back where it should be. Now all that remained was hooking up the clockwork system to spin in time with it, and... keeping Little Lullaby happy, of course.

. . . . .

With a deep exhale, the witch pulled herself away from Lullaby. For just a moment, she rested, proud of her work.

She slowly swivelled around, greeting Little Lullaby with a smile. "Guess who's about to be big again!"

The toy looked away from its puzzle, intuitively stopping just before its turning around would've caused its key to smack against the structure. Its face slowly lit up as it processed its miss's words, breaking into a smile as it gasped. "This one? This one?!"

"That one!" Norae held out her hands invitingly, and he doll quickly scrambled on. Carefully, she swivelled around, showing off the fully repaired key sticking out from Lullaby's proper body. "All we have to do is wind you back up, and you'll be yourself again. Would you like to watch?"

The little doll could barely keep its grip on Norae's fingers as it bounced on its heels. "Wind! Please, Miss, key!"

"Yes, of course." The witch take on a gentle and encouraging tone, only barely hiding her excitement. "Watch carefully, now~" she says almost boastfully as she leans forward, turning the key around and around with both arms. After more rotations than Little Lullaby can count, although that isn't saying much, there's a delicate click of resistance as the key is fully wound.

Norae leans back, watching with rapt attention as the key begins to turn. Slowly, Lullaby's body raised its head. It blinked slowly, looking as if it could pass back out at any moment. "Mn, is... is this one big, Miss?"

Little Lullaby lazily plopped its body down on Miss's lap, speaking nearly in unison with its other self as it followed its gaze to look until both looked at the witch. "Big... Miss?"

All it took was a single double-take for such a well-trained witch to understand. "Oh! Your core is split between two bodies my apologies." She returns her hands to her lap, which begin to faintly glow. "Allow me, this will only-"

Lullaby quickly propped itself up on its elbows. "Please, wait!" Little Lullaby held its arms out, waving them for attention. "Wait!"

Norae paused, retracting her arms before they could even begin to glow. She looked between the dolls, unsure which to give her full attention.

The doll's gazes started to drift downward, away from Norae's face, until they stared at each other. For a moment, that's all they did.

Lullaby reached its arm out, palm outstretched. Little Lullaby stood itself up and walked forward on its Miss's lap, until it stepped onto its bigger self's fingers. It steadied itself in that hand, careful as it was slowly pulled closer to its face, Lullaby's face.

"This one would like to be little... for just a bit longer, Miss." "Please, Miss, little longer..."

A quiet, endeared gasp fell from Norae's mouth as it saw Lullaby tend to its other body so carefully. "Oh, of course, take as much time as you'd like."

As it spoke, Little Lullaby was held in both of Lullaby's hands, pulled in tight to its chest, just over its core.

"Thank you very much, Miss." "Thanks, Miss..."

[davie-bullck]

So I finished Wind and Truth. Major spoilers for the cosmere.

Well, that went both so much better and so much worse than I ever could’ve expected. Not the quality of the writing or the story itself, those were so so so good.

The only prediction I made that came true was Herald Kaladin. I don’t think I ever posted about it but I have been preaching that gospel since Jezrien died. My favorite guy is immortal now!! So hopefully he’ll be around until the Cosmere comes to a close. And good lord Brandon did him so right. It’s a shame he didn’t get to spread therapy to the physical realm on Roshar very much but he’s putting those skills to extremely good use.

I never liked Szeth until this book. I love the direction he’s going in, especially the direction him and Nightblood are going. I AM NOT A THING. No talking sword has ever made me cry so much.

I never vibed with the theories that Gavinor would be Odium’s champion but I thought it was incredibly well done and I’m very excited to see what comes of him in the back half.

Rlainarin is everything I could’ve hoped for, and seeing Brandon’s growth as a writer in his representation of queer and neurodivergent characters has been so rewarding! I also love that Rlain has been given such a relevant role as Bridger of Minds. I was worried he might just become Renarin’s bf and not much more.

Adolin and Maya’s arc was so much more than I could’ve hoped for, I love the Unoathed, and hit fighting the thunderclast was one of my favorite action scenes in the cosmere.

I’m so glad Vasher is sticking around on Roshar AND training Lift??? I love Lift and can’t wait for her book in the back half.

I caught on to the Auxiliary “twist” as soon as he started calling Szeth his squire. I’m glad we got to see the beginning of Sigzil’s transition to Nomad. I’m not sure if I would recommend people reading Sunlit Man between Row and WaT or after, but I was glad I’d read Sunlit Man already. I love Sigzil so so much and really hope we get more of him than just Sunlit Man, fortunately the time dilation thing allows him time to travel the cosmere as Nomad then Zellion and still possibly come back for the back half!

Retribution, the perfect direction for this midpoint in the series. Taravangian wielding two shards that can work well together is such a huge insane threat and I can’t wait to see how the world responds to him.

Although they took a bit of a back seat I was very excited by where the Listeners ended up.

Dalinar. Good LORD Dalinar. If Kaladin didn’t exist he would easily be my favorite character, and as devastating as his death is, I’m so incredibly proud of him and his journey. Given what he was up against, he absolutely made the right decision, forcing the other shards into action. I LOOOOOOOVED him showing Honor that it’s not all about sticking to oaths, showing the power what it could be even in a dire moment like that.

The cosmere fandom is one of the only ones I actively engage with, due in no small part to the morality of its flagship series (I know I know, Mistborn’s cool too)

This is my favorite book series, I will love it until the day I die. I’m sad that there won’t be a new one for a couple years but it’s genuinely something that makes me want to be healthier so I live long enough to see the conclusion. The immortal words are etched into my heart and I will continue to do my best to live by them.

Life before death. Strength before weakness. Journey before destination.

[kasperl-ruprecht]

STORMCROW AUX

I present to you, the Stormcrow AUX in miniature form! The configuration's record sheet was designed with help from the Black Pants Legion Auxiliary and the actual miniature's 3D model was made with @radnewworld and Pianodragonfly4's hard work. Pianodragonfly4 also printed it for me. Still a work in progress, but I took advantage of the weather to prime and photograph it.

Here's some pictures of the AUX configuration compared to the CGL'S Stormcrow Prime; the last picture in the trio shows off the jump jets!

Some more pictures of the miniature by itself.

Finally, the original sketch I made that inspired the... gesture on this configuration.

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: I’m a 29yo INFJ lagging in personal development. Low self-worth and a lot of shame about how I am. I started therapy to work on my social anxiety. In the meantime, I read one of your answers (/post/766608536971149312) and it made me want to ask about how to get in touch with who I am. I have a weak sense of self because I have neglected myself for a long time.

I feel like I have no goals, no ambitions, no interests, no identity. I don’t know if I have anything positive to express into the world right now. All I know is I want to connect with people. I like people and it pains me that I don’t know how to be with them. But how can I connect with people when I have nothing to express or contribute (and that, in itself, causes me shame)? How do I begin the journey towards knowing myself?

-------------------

That post was about INTPs with regard to inferior Fe and lack of regard for one's place in the social world. In case it needs to be said, beware of extrapolating information about inferior Fe and trying to apply it to auxiliary Fe. The two should not be treated the same way.

Although they are the same function, the difference in functional stack position makes a big difference in the perspective one ought to take toward function development. Anyone of any type can experience socializing difficulties, but the underlying reasons behind the difficulties are very different for each type and thus require different approaches.

Yes, in many ways, it is problematic to have a weak sense of self. And, yes, being empty inside means you don't have much to contribute to the world outside. Although this might apply to you, is a weak sense of self really the root problem in your particular case?

A weak sense of self is actually simple to address. All you need to do is start living life more openly, actively, and assertively. It's not very difficult to "contribute". If you are an able-bodied person, there are many worthy causes you could devote yourself to. There are lots of possibilities all around you if you open your eyes and look. Get up and get out into the world. Do things. Participate. Get involved. Experiment. Explore. Take charge. Take on more responsibility.

Through gaining a wide variety of life experiences and learning about yourself from them, you'll gradually forge a stronger sense of self. Adolescence to early adulthood (13-25) is normally the time when people do the bulk of their self building, which is why you generally see teenagers demanding more and more autonomy to live life on their own terms. If you've lived a sheltered life, either because your parents sheltered you or you sheltered yourself, then you are more likely to have a weak sense of self because of not possessing enough worldly experience. It's never to late to start, though.

But you aren't able to implement this simple solution, are you? Why is that? You mention social anxiety, the root of which is usually shame, most likely toxic shame. Shame is a normal and healthy response to falling short of moral ideals, i.e., feeling like a "bad" person prompts you to change your behavior for the better and become a "good" person.

However, toxic shame is about not valuing yourself because other people have, intentionally or not, made you believe that you have no value, perhaps to the point where you believe you are inherently a bad person who can't change. Shame is a more primary concern in your case than weak sense of self, though the two can be related.

The real world mirrors back to you the truth of who you are. Therefore, in order to see yourself, you have to make yourself seen out there in the real world. But the world is an imperfect mirror. If you've been unlucky and encountered too many people throughout life who have made it clear that they don't like what they see when they look at you, it is only natural for you to not like looking at yourself as well. You are not to blame for that.

This raises an interesting question, though. How reliable and valid were those people's perceptions of you? After all, we know that human beings suffer from many kinds of biases and prejudices. Are you certain that the people who have judged you did so objectively and impartially? Are you certain that those people were eminently qualified to appraise you and your worth? You'd better be certain, that is, if you're going to adopt their way of judging you and put yourself down so harshly.

Framing the problem like this, perhaps you can start to see that it goes deeper than Fe. Perhaps it goes all the way down to Se. It is easy to spot INFJs with unhealthy Se. They are usually unwilling or unable to participate in the real world. Why? In the real world, there is no place to hide, so you don't get to indulge the fantasies of unhealthy Ni. You don't get to lie about who you really are. It is safer and more comfortable to live in an insulated world of your own making, where you don't have to hear outside opinions about yourself.

Isn't that what you really mean when you say you've "neglected yourself for a long time"? That you've purposely avoided facing up to reality and, thus, haven't been developing your potential? Perhaps it's time to confront the discomfort you feel in the real world and understand what it's really about? Perhaps it's time for you to grapple very seriously with the question of how you define the worth of a person?

Do you believe that every person you meet has to "contribute" something to you in order for you to consider them worthy of your time and attention? That's a very cold and transactional approach to human relationship, isn't it? If you don't believe that, why would you assume that you must "contribute" something in order to call yourself worthy?

It's easy to spot people who suffer from toxic shame. They behave as though they don't have a right to speak or even a right to exist. Do you believe you have a right to exist in this world? If so, speak up for yourself and take up the space that is rightfully yours. You really want to connect with people? You'll find it difficult as long as you believe you're not a person worth connecting with and that no one would want to connect with you.

You've asked me how to get to know yourself better. I've pointed you to the best path, which is to participate fully in the real world and go through the exciting process of building a life of substance for yourself. Maybe this is the last thing you want to do, but that usually indicates it's the most important thing you have to do.

Do you struggle with Ti loop? Such INFJs commonly react to good advice with excuses as to why they can't do it or how it doesn't apply to their "special" case, or they'll go around soliciting opinions from a million people until someone tells them it's okay to keep avoiding reality. I'm not here to convince people to change. I can only tell you that facing up to your fears and challenging yourself to do difficult things is necessary for real growth to happen. Whether you do it is in your hands.

[ltwilliammowett]

A question: do you have any explanation as to why it was considered ill luck to have women on board a tall ship?

Hi, oh that's relatively simple. Women are the weaker sex they can't keep up with the hard labour and certainly not with the hard living conditions on the board itself. Besides, they would turn the poor men's heads and keep them from working and tempt them to sin. Especially as their job was to keep the house and farm when the man was away and bring up the children.

So much for all that talk, because the reality was quite different. Since ancient times, women have been at sea or even the owners of ships or on board as warriors (Vikings). In Japan, it was women who went fishing or fetched the mussels, just as in other European countries and elsewhere, it was perfectly normal to find women there. It was only later, mostly with the advent of monotheistic religions, that women were pushed into their submissive roles. Which is why many then sailed along secretly, as history has often shown us. But there were women who were officially on board, such as wives or other helpers, and even children were born on board.

There, the women often carried out auxiliary work or looked after the children, usually the boys and young midshipmen. It was not until the middle of the 19th century that women fought their way back into the centre of attention and travelled openly alongside their husbands or as sportswomen. From then on, it became normal to see women on ships of all kinds, even if they were rather few in number compared to today.

So that's just a short summary, the topic is actually quite complex and large so that you could actually hold whole seminars on it.

[leafdroids]

AMSR(P) flock

Auxiliar-Mnemostabilisator-Replika (Prototyp) - 'Amsel' - (Auxiliary Mnemostabilizator Replika (Prototype) 'Blackbird') Type: Generation 6 High-tech Bioresonance Specialist Frame: Biomechanical with Polyethylene Shell Height: 170 cm

Exclusive for VVH Program facilities on Vineta, Amsel prototype is a new step into the brighter future of Eusan Nation's people.

These bioresonant units serve as psychologists for Gestalts of the facility, providing humanitarian approach to them while helping them adapt in their liberated home. They also work as Protektor assistants, taking their part in control work of the facility staff.

Amsels' soft, empathic demeanor and friendly but distant approach make them perfect for executing their main function: memory stabilisation. Their specific Bioresonance module is able to alter memories in an unnoticeable way. They wield an approved set of memories, which are implemented into Gestalt's mind. With that, Amsels are a great help in reducing adaptation issues, such as defection, facility work disruption and rioting.

- Known issues -

As Amsel units are Prototypes, we are only to discover and fix their flaws. However, testing period revealed some issues, which, while being fixable, might disrupt facility work if not supervised.

Being a Bioresonant model, Amsels wield an unstable neural pattern susceptible to others' influence. Although they usually do not amplify and broadcast emotions, they work with memories – which means they are in constant risk of provoking their own Persona degradation. This risk is especially high with other Replika units. Hence, it is recommended to limit Amsels' contacts with them and keep them busy working with Gestalts.

Amsels make a united, harmonious Cadre which is able to stabilise itself via regular intervisions. Having enough intervision time every cycle is a must for these units, as they share their experiences and knowledge, process and regulate each other's emotions and help erasing troublesome memories. One degraded Amsel may drag the others down quickly through memory sharing, which would lead to the whole Cadre decommission.

Because of their original neural pattern, Amsel units are inquisitive and wilful. They require a strict schedule with an exact amount of time for any action. They also must have constant access to their Fetish objects – incenses – to define their workspace.

[ofmdrecaps]

10/12-14/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins; Rhys Darby; Taika Waititi/Robbie Magasiva; Con O'Neill; Samba Schutte; Vico Ortiz; Nathan Foad; Madeleine Sami; Gypsy Taylor; Alex Sherman; Minnie Driver; New Zealand Award Nominations; Auxiliary Wardrobe Zine; Tiny Boats Update; Fan Spotlight: AndyCWhite; OurFlagMeansFanfiction; More Twitter Fandom Weeks; Love Notes: Featuring Illustory Art;

Hey Crew, things are finally starting to slow down over here (not that you can tell since I'm several days late, lol) but my dad is finally in town again! He's at a rehab facility nearby so I don't have to drive 2 hrs every day to see him! So now things should slow down a bit more and hopefully I can keep up with the recaps again. Thank you to all the kind folks who have sent well wishes and love while all this is going on-- and thanks for all your patience Crew <3

== Cast & Crew Sightings ==

= David Jenkins =

Chaos Dad is back again-- first confirming billionaire's suck.

Source: David Jenkins Twitter

Buuuuut then he did this lovely little confirmation of Gentlebeard / BlackBonnet being each other's first loves <3

Source: David Jenkins Twitter

= Rhys Darby =

Rhys an adorable plushie of his character Monster's at Work! Roger Roger!

He's also feeling a bit nostalgic this Murray Monday!

Source: Rhys Darby's Instagram

And Rhys wishing Team AoNZ good luck with a bunch of other folks!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Peter Burling (@peteburling)

And he's continuing his Daily Doodle stories!

Source: Rhys Darby's Substack

Rhys also posted a fun video of him visiting Halloween Horror Nights on his Substack! It's only for Substack folks-- so if you're signed up, head on over! If you're not-- you can sign up here!

Source: Rhys Darby's Substack

= Taika Waititi =

Themoviedweeb has another episode, this time with Robbie Magasiva talking about growing up with Taika!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by The Movie Dweeb (@themoviedweeb)

Source: TheMovieDweeb's Instagram

= Con O'Neill =

Con is going to be out at The Alnwick Playhouse on October 25 in Alnwick, England! You can help support local film makers and check out a Q&A with Con and other film makers after the event! You can get tickets here!

Source: Con O'Neill's Instagram

= Samba Schutte =

Alright, it's that time again for me to really push Samba's new movie Advanced Chemistry! Samba's the lead in this film-- and after all he's done for us, what better way to say thank you than to help him out with spreading the word/love!

If you haven't seen it yet, and want to check it out, it's available digitally on these platforms! Amazon Fandango At Home Apple TV Samba and team are asking for folks to review/rate the movie to help boost it, and show off Samba's awesome skills. Once you've watched, please take a few minutes to review about Samba and the film itself on these platforms? (Amazon and Rotten Tomatoes are the two big ones according to the Advanced Chemistry team!)

Amazon Rotten Tomatoes IMDB Letterboxd

In other news - Samba was also on the "You Don't Even Like This Show" Podcast!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Adam Tod Brown (@adamtodbrown)

Source: Samba's instagram

== Vico Ortiz ==

Just Vico being a bit of a Plant Daddy.

Source: Vico's Instagram Also-- if you haven't been on Vico's Patreon lately, there is more OFMD BTS! First, a happy Coming Out Day from Vico and Mads back during the S2 filming! You can check it out on Vico's Patreon.

Next up was some cool BTS re: Jim's s2 outfit featuring our darling Gypsy Taylor! Patreon Video.

And finally - the Izzy leg scene in Season 2! Featuring: Mads, Vico, Con, Joel, and more! Source: Patreon

Source: Vico's Patreon

= Nathan Foad =

Nathan once again posting some Saturday selfies <3

Source: Nathan's IG Stories

= Madeleine Sami =

More Double Parked BTS! Season 2 has come to an end!

Source: Antonia Prebble's Instagram

= Gypsy Taylor =

Gypsy out and serving some HotPink Country action <3

Source: taylahmillerdesign's Instagram

= Minnie Driver =

Our Anne Bonny out looking adorable!

Source: Minnie Driver's Instagram

= Alex Sherman =

One of our crewmate NDKiwi got Ass Forever signed in permanent Ink! Alex loved it! #AssTonight and #AssForever!

Source: Alex Sherman's Twitter

== Nominations ==

= New Zealand Television Awards =

Thank you so our dear friends over at @adoptourcrew for catching this Nomination for the New Zealand Television Awards 2024 for the Pinnacle Post Sound Team!

Source: Adopt Our Crew's Twitter

== Auxiliary Wardrobe Zine ==

The Auxiliary Wardrobe Zine is almost here! You can order it starting 10/16! Keep an eye on the @stedebonnetzine tumblr or Twitter for more info!

Source: Aux Wardrobe Twitter

== Tiny Boats Update! ==

Another update from the Tiny Crew Big Raffle-- @ofmd-buys-boats!

Source: TinyCrewBigRaffle Twitter

== Fan Spotlight ==

== Andy C White ==

Our dearest @mistysblueboxstuff has her latest calendars up for 2025! This year there's a Gentlebeard, OFMD Revenge Crew, Good Omens, and Alan Wake 2 option! All preorders are available on her Ko-Fi! To learn more check out her Linktr.ee and Ko-Fi!

Source: AndyCWhite's Linktr.ee

= Our Flag Means Fanfiction =

New epitizer of Our Flag Means Fanfiction! This time "Big Feels Cnaonverse Fics! Read by Baby Kraken! Listen in on your favorite platforms here! https://linktr.ee/ofmff

Source: Our Flag Means Death Instagram

= More Twitter Fandom Weeks =

Part of the Rhys/Taika Verse-- but there's a new Vianton Week coming up November 5-12! You can follow them on Twitter!

Source: ViantonWeek Twitter

In November we've got a another fantastic OFMD Week-- this time Our Flag Means Lesbians! November 24 - 30! You can follow the event/find out more about participating on their Twitter!

Source: OFMLesbians Twitter

== Love Notes ==

Today's Love Note comes straight from our darling crewmate @illustoryart who continues to create such wonderful affirmation cards of our favorite characters. Remember your potential is limitless lovelies-- I hope the beginning of this week is treating you well! Take care of yourself!

Source: Illustory Art's Instagram

[catgirlredux]

Hound Dogs

“… tomorrow we’ll meet your handler. For now, rest up.”

RDAI.vii.1156 stared down at its new body. Joining the military was considered the best route a Class-F citizen could pursue - free food, shelter, maybe even a few augments if you got lucky. But the Rapid Deployment Auxiliary Infantry unit felt less lucky and more confused. It signed up expecting to be given a gun and a pat on the back, not… this.

The arms were probably the strangest change. Skilled military surgeons had removed its forearms with a single blast of a laser that numbed its pain and severed flesh and bone at the same time. In their place, 1156 now wielded on each arm a single long, spider-like metal blade that extended all the way to the floor. The same happened to its legs, forcing the unit onto all fours. A reinforced spine kept it from collapsing onto the ground.

The rest of its body was covered in angular metal plates, designed to redirect and resist gunfire and protect the unit’s remaining flesh. Its face was likewise covered by an solid steel visor, vision and hearing substituted by an array of cameras, sonar, and radio scanners that fed information directly into its augmented brain. Its mouth remained uncovered but its teeth were removed and replaced with a new carbon fiber set. The chip in its brain repressed its discomfort so it didn’t try to claw off its own jaw.

A buzzer sounded and a tray carrying a bowl of nutrimeal slid out of the wall of the room. Unit 1156 stared it at, trying to figure out what to do - an injected concoction of hormones and suppressants had kept it comfortably dull, but somewhat muddled.

>EAT

The word flashed up on the inside of its visor, glaring into its semi-redundant eyes - eyes now dedicated to receiving screen-fed orders. It obediently craned its head down and started chomping at the slop. It was starving - the accelerated healing process was effective but it sapped all the solider’s energy.

Even if its senses hadn’t been muted, the nutritional goop was flavorless. Nevertheless it found itself slurping away with abandon, licking the bowl clean, dignity cast aside. Its faceplate glowed white hot for a moment before cooling down again, singeing off specks of food that had flown astray in the unit’s feeding frenzy. This feature was meant to burn blood and dirt off so that it didn’t impair an RDAI’s sensor array, but it worked for dinner well enough.

>GOOD MUTT

*****

The next day found RDAI.vii.1156 waiting in the main hangar, still slightly trembling on its spindly new legs. The thin, bladed design was perfect for chasing down enemy troops on the battlefield or pinning a straggler to the ground, but it was difficult to balance with even with the aid of the unit’s brain augments. A cord plugged into the back of its head kept it from wandering too far while feeding low-level electrical pulses that helped calm its nerves. It was waiting for its new handler - the soldier it would fight alongside, whose life it would dedicate itself to protecting. The bond between a handler and their hound (as the units were fondly referred to) was something truly unique, and though 1156 hadn’t planned to end up on this side of the relationship, it couldn’t help but feel excited.

It could feel her presence long before she actually entered the hangar. Perhaps it was merely the hormonal braindeck releasing waves of dopamine, but to the cyborg’s mind she was the most perfect being in the world. It could almost taste the draw of her augments to its own, pulling the two of them together like magnets. It knew that she felt it too. The connection between them was already established: the handler and the hunter, the owner and the dog.

It couldn’t quite remember what beauty looked like but it decided that she must be as close as one could get. Bent on all fours as 1156 was, it stood about half a meter shorter than her. Encased in a shiny automorphic techsuit, her body rippled with hidden energy ready to be unleashed at a moment’s notice. Her one eye shone, the other replaced by an implant that flashed rapidly as if to say, it’s finally you.

A technician standing by unplugged the unit’s tether and stuck in a thinner, double-ended wire. 1156 trembled as its handler grabbed the other end and slowly slotted it into a port on her neck.

The instant the plug connected, 1156 nearly collapsed from the tsunami of pleasure that struck it at full force. All Handler’s emotions, all her thoughts, her very essence flowed through its brain, and it could tell that she was experiencing the same influx of data.

They stood there for what seemed like forever, its faceplate lights flashing in sync with her vitals node. The only sound was the slight clinking of metal on concrete as 1156 shifted from talon to talon. Her designation was RDI-H.2054, she was a Class-E civilian who was recruited at age 8, she had been trained as a handler for 11 years, but 1156 was her first hound of her own. She liked the color green, she hated morning training, she had been deployed overseas on a scouting mission just three months ago. The unit’s brain felt overloaded with information and yet more kept flowing in.

It saw vague images, faces of people that it didn’t recognize yet felt so familiar - Handler’s family? It saw the fire of war, the smiles of fellow soldiers, it felt her heartbeat, her brainwaves, her every breath. For a split second, the hound and the handler were not separate but rather a single entity, one soldier in two bodies, sharing their memories. 1156 felt its Handler’s cybernetic eye and her prosthetic leg, and she likewise felt its spindly new form and armor plating.

RDAI.vii.1156 felt 2054 about to scream and roared out in sync. Its twisted metallic vocal chords, designed specifically to instill fear in the enemy, pierced the air in the hangar with an unearthly screech which neither overwhelmed nor surrendered to its keeper’s voice but rather merged with it in a feral harmony.

*****

Blood spewed down the dog’s chin and through crevasses in its armor. It spit out a chunk of flesh with strands of muscle tangled in its reinforced teeth. As it stepped back from its prey, its pointed blades withdrew from within the dead footsoldier’s chest. The unit’s faceplate sizzled, burning away blood and viscera and turning its vision bright red for a moment. It let out a fierce howl, launching itself forwards with a speed unmatched by any two-legged infantry.

Just behind it, its handler finished off a tank pilot attempting to crawl away from its craft. The hound’s many sensors highlighted the remaining stragglers on the battlefield, and 2054 assessed the remaining threats as she ran. She spotted a wounded soldier training their scope onto her companion and raised her weapon, disintegrating the enemy’s face with a single clean blast. The hound bayed its gratitude before finishing its run, speeding between rocks and debris and eliminating the last few soldiers.

One, two, three, blood gushed from their chests as 1156 pounced on them, puncturing their lungs and tearing out their throats in quick succession. RDI-H.2054 watched and basked in the adrenaline - her brain had not been upgraded to manage her auxiliary’s entire suite of sensors, but they shared many core sensations. They both felt the rush of war, the warmth of blood on their faces, and most of all an immense wave of satisfaction and even euphoria. Nothing felt better than killing together - an entire battalion laid to waste at their hands gave them a jolt of dopamine that felt better than orgasm.

They were never awarded for their feats, nor did they feel the need for any such recognition. Deep in their programming they didn’t fight for any cause or nation, or even for their commanding officer. They fought merely to tear and bite alongside each other, to see the fear in their enemies’ eyes and feel their life drain out at the will of the hound of death and its handler.

Standing together in the remains of a decimated army, they surveyed their work. The air smelled of blood and the familiar scent of plasma-scorched air. 1156 playfully rammed its armored face into its handler’s chestplate, grunting and drooling red down her torso. She laughed and rubbed the top of its head, sending microscopic ripples of pleasure down its spine.

>GOOD JOB DARLING

[zimndib]

Doppelganger adrift (part 1)

(A Zadr one shot-roleplay between me and a friend. I wrote for Dib, them Zim. The two are written to be roughly 25-30ish here)

They were supposed to be gone a day. Two, max.

It was just a supply run—a trip to a mined-out asteroid belt to gather a rare mineral Zim insisted was vital for shielding the Earth base’s scanners from “cosmic idiocy.”

But something went wrong.

An unexpected debris field. A system glitch. A slow leak in the fuel regulator.

Now the ship—Zim’s “modestly sized and extremely superior auxiliary cruiser”—was stalled mid-drift. They were somewhere between charted space and nowhere, orbiting a half-dead asteroid.

Inside, the temperature had dropped significantly, despite Zim’s best attempts to fix the heating systems. The lights flickered every twenty-three minutes.

Gir was already in sleep mode. Of course. That left them alone.

⸻

ZIM stood at the control panel, hunched and muttering Irken curses under his breath. The screen buzzed faintly, still scanning for the mineral they were after, but the progress bar hadn’t moved in over an hour.

He pressed a few buttons harder than necessary. Then harder still.

The static didn’t change.

“Stupid rock. Stupid signal. Stupid Dib and his fragile skin that can’t even survive one little radiation leak…”

He trailed off, glancing over his shoulder. Dib wasn’t in the cockpit. He’d said something about checking the cargo bay and disappeared.

Zim swallowed, antennae twitching in the silence. He hated this quiet. It was the wrong kind of quiet.

Heavy. Pressurized. Like the ship itself was watching.

The light overhead flickered again. The monitor flashed static.

Zim didn’t flinch—but his hand trembled slightly as it hovered above the console.

“…This is fine,” he said aloud, mostly to himself. “Zim thrives in deep space. Zim was born in the dark. Zim—does not get cold. Or tired. Or…”

His voice dropped.

“…lonely.”

He blinked. Realized he was gripping the console hard enough to crack it. Let go.

Then the monitor chirped faintly. A ping.

Zim straightened, relief washing over his face like breath returning to a drowning body. “Ah! At last! A trace mineral reading!”

But the readout didn’t match. It wasn’t the mineral they were looking for.

It was life signs.

Weak. Near the cargo bay.

Zim’s brow furrowed. He immediately turned on his heel and stalked down the narrow corridor toward the back of the ship—boots clanking softly against cold metal.

“Dib, if you’re poking glowing things again I swear on Tallest Purple’s least favorite toenail—”

The hallway lights dimmed again.

Something creaked. Not metal.

Zim slowed. Then stopped.

“…Dib?”

-

Dib sat in his room, if he could call it that. His- well whatever Zim was to him, had called it a “carbon life form nest’ It was a small room equipped with basic furniture, a lumpy bed that the Irken had definitely recycled from the curb and has a small-simple bathroom attached. Zim had done a great deal of work to adjust the ship to support a human being, the motivation eluded him.

As thrilling as it had been, and as grateful as Dib had felt to be included in Zim’s space errands, the raven-haired man also felt like an idiot.

They’d gone up on several occasions together, begrudgingly making a really good team when it came to watching each other’s hides.

That space-roach would never admit it but Dib was pretty sure Zim was just desperate for the back up. Having a bounty over one’s head and being well known in most of developed space just did that to a guy.

Dib bit at his nails, it hadn’t been to long since the ship had jerked and paused, now drifting along almost dead.

He’d never considered dying out in space alone with- him. To be honest Dib didn’t fear death, he’d always been a little on the morbid side, he looked at death like a challenge, like something that pursued him but could never keep up.

He really only regretted not even telling Gaz he was going. It was a short trip, a familiar one they’d gone on many times before. If he gave her a heads up every time he was heading out to space surely she’d start getting pretty annoyed.

So if they couldn’t come upon some sort of solution, he’d left his sister and father to simply wonder. Guilt washed over him, filling him with determination. He didn’t want to do that to them.

Dib headed towards the cargo bay to access what they had handy.

-

THE CARGO BAY — UNLIT, UNSTABLE, UNEASY

The metal doors hissed open with a groan that echoed too loud in the hollow space.

Zim stepped inside slowly, the glow from his PAK casting long, strange shadows across the stacked crates and sealed supply units. The air felt colder here. Tighter.

He scanned the darkness until—

There. A figure moving near the emergency stock crates. Pale skin. That ridiculous coat.

Zim’s relief was immediate but refused to show itself. Instead, he crossed his arms and called out with his usual dramatic disdain.

“There you are! Skulking about like a rodent with emotional baggage! I detected life signs in this region and assumed either you were poking something radioactive, or we’d been boarded by sentient lint.”

His voice bounced against the walls.

No answer.

Zim blinked. Took a step closer. “Dib?”

Dib didn’t respond. He was still crouched at the side of one of the crates, back to Zim, one hand resting on its edge as if to steady himself.

Zim narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing down here? The heating grid’s failing. Your human meat sack will freeze before you can yell ‘I told you so’ if you stay in this drafty box of metal stupidity.”

Still no response.

Something wasn’t right.

Zim moved closer, this time with more caution. The light from his PAK illuminated Dib’s back—tense, hunched. Shoulders drawn up high.

His fingers twitched slightly.

Zim slowed. His voice dropped to something near a whisper. “…Dib?”

Then, quietly—

A sound. Faint, but sharp. A gasp.

Not the kind pulled in with alertness. But one that clawed its way out. Desperate. Silent. Terrified.

Zim froze.

Dib wasn’t awake.

He was shaking. Shoulders trembling, hand clenching so hard his knuckles had gone white. He was caught in it—one of those primitive subconscious hallucinations humans were cursed with.

A nightmare.

Zim hated nightmares.

They were unpredictable. Illogical. Embarrassing. And yet… his own hadn’t stopped since their last real battle—since the day the Tallests had sent out the final order.

He’d never told Dib that.

Zim stood over him now, watching Dib writhe silently—trapped somewhere only he could see. The once-bold human now curled inward, a whisper of his usual bluster. There was something about it that made Zim feel too many things at once.

He knelt, slowly. Awkwardly.

Reaching out, he touched the sleeve of Dib’s coat.

“Dib. Hey. Wake up. You’re doing that thing again.” His voice was rough around the edges. Not mean, just unsure.

He gave a little shake—just enough to rattle, not to startle.

“…You’re not alone, you know,” Zim muttered. “Not this time.”

-

Dib glided in through a small door way having to cringe his neck downward to fit. Some of the older parts of the ship were still a bit on the smaller size. Earths gravity had allowed Zim a small growth spirt however he still remained rather petit.

He could hear shuffling as he ducked in, Zim must have come to a similar deduction. They needed to know what was on hand before they could even attempt trying to survive their grim circumstances.

“Yeah… I’m here.” Dib muttered hearing the irken’s voice. Zim sounded strangely concerned and this set Dib on an almost immediate state of alert.

-

THE CARGO BAY — MOMENTS LATER

Zim flinched.

“Yeah… I’m here.”

The voice didn’t come from in front of him.

It came from behind.

He turned so fast his claws scraped the floor.

There, by the low entry hatch, Dib stood—half ducked from the narrow doorway, eyes sharp with confusion and alarm. Not dream-trapped. Not shaking. Very much awake.

Which meant—

Zim whirled back toward the figure crouched by the crates.

Gone.

The air was empty, save for a faint wisp of static where his PAK light passed over the spot. A gentle crack of cooling metal filled the silence like a bad joke. There was nothing there.

No crate. No crouched figure. No tremble. No gasping breath.

Just cold, empty floor.

Zim staggered back a step, eyes wide, antennae up in full alert.

“That wasn’t you,” he said without turning. “That wasn’t you. I touched—someone. Something. It looked like—”

His voice caught. Not out of fear—Zim didn’t fear—but something ancient in his blood pulled tight. He hissed through gritted teeth. “This ship… this section—hasn’t been powered since the last patch update. There shouldn’t be any life signs registering here. I scanned it myself.”

He turned to Dib slowly now, voice low. “I scanned you. I followed you.”

And still. The echo of that soft, panicked breath.

The shape curled into itself, just barely wrong.

Zim’s claws twitched. “There’s something else on this ship.”

-

Zim’s face was contorted in a way that told Dib everything.

Almost like the paranormal investigator instincts kicked in, Zim looked exactly like he’d seen a ghost. If it was paranormal there was no force in the universe that would convince Zim so he chose to keep the conclusion to him self. Space ghosts could wait, they needed to get home above all else.

“Hey well handle that too but right now... We need to take an inventory of our supplies. Ration what we can, see if there’s anything here that could…” He hesitated for a moment. “Help.” He finished and his voice made him cringe. It had been soft and almost pathetic, like a grasp at hope that was devoid of realness.

Dib got started immediately, notebook and pin in hand, thumbing through wooden crate after wooden crate. Stashing a few items he found in his trench coat along the way. Making a small pile of energy drives, plutonium gas populations, and other things they seemed mildly useful. They just needed to jerry-rig something with just enough power to jump the engine. Anything.

Dib turned to the pensive Zim with a mild annoyance.

“We can check the bio scanners again together, but since your already back here care to give me a hand?” Dib used a mild tone, carful to prevent any frustration from bleeding into his words.

-

Zim didn’t move.

He stood there, posture rigid, eyes still locked on the empty space where nothing now sat. The place where his brain swore he’d seen Dib. Where his claws had brushed soft, too warm fabric. Where he had felt a heartbeat.

He forced his jaw to unclench. Stress hallucinations. It wasn’t impossible. Not with his PAK in adaptive overload mode. It had been compensating for the low temperature, the fuel drop, the atmospheric irregularities in the mineral field. His systems were overstretched.

His mind was overstretched.

Dib’s voice broke the spiral.

“Hey, we’ll handle that too, but right now… we need to take an inventory of our supplies. Ration what we can, see if there’s anything here that could… help.”

Help.

Zim’s gaze flicked to Dib.

The human was already moving, practical and focused. His voice wavered—just enough to show he wasn’t blind to the gravity of things—but he was still trying. As if the sound of a pen on paper could drown out the cold.

Zim hated how grounding it was. And how much he needed it.

He flexed his claws. Looked down at them. They were shaking. Just slightly. Enough to be noticed if he reached for anything.

“We can check the bio scanners again together, but since you’re already back here, care to give me a hand?”

Zim’s gaze lifted.

Dib was looking at him. Not harsh. Not skeptical. Just… asking. Asking him to be part of the solution, even when Zim felt like he was becoming the problem.

The Irken clicked his tongue and marched stiffly forward. “Yes, yes—Zim is perfectly capable of manual sorting. I just didn’t want to steal your precious inventory glory, Dib. You humans adore making lists. It’s… pitiful.”

But his voice lacked its usual bite.

He crouched beside Dib at the crates, avoiding the patch of floor where the hallucination had been.

Zim reached for the next crate, then paused mid-motion, eyes flicking sideways.

“…If the scanners pick up another false life sign,” he muttered, not quite looking at Dib, “you’ll believe me next time, right?”

It wasn’t phrased as a confession. But it felt like one.

And somewhere deep in his PAK, the system quietly logged the irregular stress input. Flagged it.

PROTECTIVE INSTINCT OVERRIDE: INITIATED.

NEURAL HALLUCINATION THRESHOLD: EXCEEDED.

Zim’s eyes narrowed. He said nothing.

But he kept reaching for supplies with one hand—and kept the other closer to Dib than strictly necessary.

-

The humans resolve softened.

“I believe you…” He hummed still keeping himself on task instinctively playing it down. It was bizarre for Zim to sound so uncertain. They couldn’t afford Zim cracking like this now, but honestly it had been inevitable.

When they were kids he’d seen it happen for the first time on his cameras.

It had been Winter, a time he’d observed Zim stayed exclusively inside his base, and mostly out of trouble. The ‘frozen earth acid’ as the alien had called it made it insufferable for Zim to leave his home. This left the irken house locked and stir crazy.

He watched Zim on the cameras, the space-bug mostly still rooted to the couch almost staring through the television, cartoons on, Gir on the floor invested in them.

Zim had gotten up once, cursing in irken. Claws and eyes gesturing at the kitchen far from Gir’s post on the floor. Dib could only gawk as he seemed to bristle in anger, and appeared to be interrogating nothing at all.

Dib got chills.

Maybe an error that manifested from having more than one brain? Dib was cautious, knowing better than mention it any of the other times he saw the behavior.

Now- now Zim was looking for to to be acknowledged. Dib felt like he was now part of more than one, dangerous and unbeatable games.

-

Zim didn’t answer right away.

He just… paused. One hand halfway inside a crate full of rusted copper tubing, posture taut. Not frozen—but held. Like if he moved too fast, something would snap.

“I believe you…”

Dib’s voice echoed in the cold room like it didn’t quite belong there. Too soft. Too human.

Zim let out a breath. Quietly. Not a sigh. A release. The tiniest pressure valve opening somewhere beneath all his armor.

“…Of course you do,” he said, after a moment too long. “You’re not completely brain-dead.”

But his tone was dull. Empty. He didn’t even bother with a smirk.

Dib had said it simply, instinctively. But it echoed louder than any dramatic oath or scream. I believe you.

That wasn’t how their dynamic worked. Not traditionally. Not when they were enemies. Not when everything Zim did was exaggerated and everything Dib did was defensive.

But now?

Now Dib was here. Close. Calmer than Zim felt. Smarter than Zim wanted to admit. And Zim could feel that truth sitting between them like a third presence:

Dib had seen this before.

And Zim knew it.

He stiffened again.

“…You saw it, didn’t you?” Zim asked without looking up. His voice wasn’t demanding—it was resigned. “That winter. Back when you had those ridiculous trash cameras hidden in your mailbox.”

Dib’s pen faltered.

Zim continued, tone flat. “I wasn’t talking to nothing, you know. It looked like me. It was me. Standing in the kitchen. Laughing.”

His claws tightened on the tubing.

“I didn’t understand it then. Thought maybe it was… some residual simulation. A Pak memory glitch. But it talked back, Dib.” His voice cracked a little, catching on the consonants. “It said I wasn’t real.���

Zim stood. Too fast. The crate screeched on the metal floor.

“I don’t crack, Dib. My Pak—my design—doesn’t allow it. It adapts. It compensates. I was built to be alone.”

He turned to Dib, eyes glowing faintly in the dark bay light. No snarl. No smirk. Just wide, tired eyes.

“…But it’s getting harder. Out here.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“I don’t know what’s worse. That I might be seeing ghosts… or that I miss hearing you argue with me.”

-

Amber eyes met Zim’s magenta orbs. He caught as his own expression fell, to that of concern in the reflection of the glossy one’s looking back at him in a way they’d never before. Dib let it settle around him a moment more before responding.

“I’ve seen it a few times actually.” He corrected calmly. Defective. The word had nested just at the tip of his mind. Risky, but Zim said he missed their fighting. Dib took the leap. “Does it… have something to do with being defective?” His words were gentle as to not provoke.

“Sometimes for humans, our minds play tricks on us when we are overwhelmed.” Dib offered not knowing exactly what he was even getting at. He set down the quantum iron calibrators in his hand, into the maybe helpful pile, gaze unwavering from Zim’s.

-

Zim flinched.

Not visibly. Not like a human would. But something in the way his antennae pulled back—how his arms wrapped tighter around his middle, claw tips brushing the ribs of his uniform like he wanted to peel off his own skin—told the whole story.

“Does it… have something to do with being defective?”

The word hung in the cold air like a ticking bomb.

Zim didn’t speak right away. Just… stared at Dib.

It was the first time Dib had said it out loud. Maybe the first time anyone had—without venom.

Defective.

Not screamed across a battlefield.

Not hurled from a Tallest’s sneer.

Not whispered behind a closed lab door while drones measured his skull.

Just… asked. Offered.

Zim looked away, the motion jerky. Like his neck didn’t want to obey.

“…They said I was,” he muttered, voice a rasp. “That I couldn’t process orders right. That my Pak ran too many independent algorithms. That I talked back.”

His hands curled. “The Tallests said I shouldn’t have made it out of Smeet incubation. But I did. I was better than the rest of them. I survived planets they couldn’t pronounce. I wiped out colonies with style.”

He snorted bitterly. “But I glitched once. I questioned a command once. And they called it a malfunction. Not… not a decision.”

His voice broke on that last word.

He stared down at the cold floor. “If I am defective, then it’s because I… see things. Things they trained us not to see. Weakness. Regret. Wrong orders. Other smeets they should have saved.”

Silence.

Then—

“Sometimes for humans, our minds play tricks on us when we are overwhelmed.”

Zim looked up again. Slowly.

Dib’s gaze hadn’t moved.

His eyes weren’t angry. Or pitying. Just… open.

Zim hated how much it pulled at him.

“I don’t know if I’m overwhelmed,” Zim admitted, “but I know I can’t… calculate this anymore. I don’t know how to filter it. I keep hearing things. Feeling things that aren’t there.” He swallowed. “I don’t know what’s worse—if it’s all in my head, or if something is actually watching.”

He took a tiny step forward. Just one. But in Zim terms, it was a confession.

“You keep seeing me fall apart,” he whispered, “and you stay. Why?”

⸻

Dib let out a low chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck to release some tension. He’d expected offense and was met for the first time, raw honesty in its place. Weird trip, but if they were going to die anyways it was almost poetic he’d get a glimpse at a side of Zim he’d only been able to speculate existed before hand.

“I don’t watch you fall apart, I watch you overcome.” The human corrected. He reached for Zim, a hand outstretched to pull the irken from the ground.

“Let’s go check the bio-scanners again….” Dib paused. “And the oxygen levels.” He finished in a smaller voice.

Silence hung between them like a grim promise as they ascended in the direction of the cock-pit, a half broken rolling cart between them full of the items they’d sorted like a tiny, ember of something they were both to cowardly to call hope.

-

CORRIDOR – EN ROUTE TO THE COCKPIT

Their boots echoed softly as they moved in tandem, shoulders occasionally brushing when the ship jolted ever so slightly. The cart clattered behind them like a loyal, battered companion—its single squeaky wheel occasionally veering left, only to be nudged back in line.

Neither of them said much.

But Zim hadn’t let go of Dib’s hand right away. He hadn’t yanked away like usual, or barked some insult about filthy oils or human germs.

He’d just… stood there. For a second.

Letting the contact be.

Letting Dib pull him back up.

Now he kept glancing sideways as they walked—like he was trying to catch Dib’s expression without being obvious about it. The human was pensive, jaw set, eyes flicking between the dim corridor lights and the faint shimmer of stars outside the viewport.

Zim almost said something. Twice.

But what?

Thank you?

Don’t look at me like that?

I don’t deserve that kind of grace from you?

He said none of it.

Instead:

“…The oxygen filters were due for replacement three weeks ago,” he muttered. “I calculated the margin of error but didn’t account for the asteroid debris rupturing the outer seal on compartment four.”

Dib arched a brow. “So we could’ve been poisoned in our sleep?”

Zim cleared his throat. “Not poisoned. Just… slowly asphyxiated.”

“…Great.”

But his voice was soft. And maybe even a little amused.

Zim didn’t smile—but the corner of his mouth twitched.

When they reached the cockpit, Zim slid into the console seat and began typing commands. The screen buzzed to life with a faint whine.

“Recalibrating scanner frequency. I’ll boost the spectrum filters. If that thing you saw earlier—” Dib started.

“I saw it,” Zim said, firm. Not defensive. Just sure.

[un-till-the-end]

Till is definitely an INFP (5/5)

-> What is Extroverted Intuition (Ne)? (4/5)

What is Introverted Sensing (Si)? What does this look like as Tertiary?

Your Tertiary function is your overused weakness. Unlike someone who has this cognitive function as primary or auxiliary, the tertiary function is twisted to be used negatively and immaturely. It displays egotism, selfishness, and a refusal to take responsibility. It presents as obsessive, cyclothymic, hysterical, and paranoid. It often shows up when people are in an argument, feeling defensive, feeling insecure, feeling depressed - any time you feel unlike yourself.

You cannot simultaneously be in your second and third function without losing the depth of both. Cognitive functions are differentiated and that is why they can be directed. You cannot simultaneously go left and right: you go nowhere. Every moment you're in your third function, you are not in your second. Spending too much time in it is a significant problem because your second function is who you really are.

What is Introverted Sensing?

Introverted sensing is all about the meaning you create from your sensory experiences. It is focused on inner impressions, memories, and bodily experience. Instead of focusing on his five senses in the present, Till fixates on his interpretation of his sensory experiences. Whenever he reexperiences those sensations - whether in the present or in his memories - the meaning builds upon itself.

Si is also restrictive and protective. It includes staying safe. For Till, it causes him to be timid and cautious. He loses his optimism, makes himself small, and falls into unhealthy routines. He'll believe change is not possible and respond passively to his environment. It keeps him in his comfort zone and leads him to isolate himself. He gets stuck and becomes numb.

Furthermore, Till has a negative relationship with the past. He both overvalues it and undervalues it. His mentality is formed by his early experience, and he has difficulty understanding his own worth. He feels helpless and inferior. He is overly attached to people in his environment who are kind to him, and he has poor comparative judgement.

What happens when he is in a loop?

Till needs his Si to support his Ne. The meaning he creates from his sensory experiences inspires his creations. It adds to his appreciation of nature and beauty. It provides him his experiential memory which is needed to improve in his passions and be an effective problem solver. He will synthesize past information about what worked and did not work to find an effective solution. The intricate sensory details in his art come from Si being systematic, painstaking, and thorough.

When Till is in a loop, his Si directs his Ne. You can think of the auxiliary function as the parent and the tertiary function as the child. The child is immature and needs to be told by the parent what to do. With his Si in charge, Till generates possibilities based on negative sensory experiences. When Ne directs his Si, it helps him commit to completing his projects and tasks he is less inclined to do.

How does this show up in Till?

Till is aware of the presence of his first and second cognitive functions. He knows when he is using them. He does not, however, always recognize his third cognitive function.

Nearly all of Till's negative traits and behaviors can be attributed to his Si. It relates to his:

fixation on his abuse

ineffective rebellion

isolating with his artistry

shyness toward Mizi

overvaluation of his relationship with Mizi

undervaluation of his relationship with Ivan

self-neglect and self-hatred toward himself

If you're wondering why Ivan never shows up from his perspective in the music videos, this is the culprit.

What is Extroverted Thinking (Te)? What does it look like as Inferior?

Your inferior cognitive function is your underused weakness. It whispers at your aspirations and purpose in life. It isn't going to be a strength, but it's still an important part of who you are.

Extroverted thinking is about logical systems and is needed for efficiency and effectiveness. It is focused on working toward a goal, creating a schedule, and achieving results. It leads to perseverance in the face of helplessness and overcomes perfectionism. It is a requirement to actualize the ideals of Fi.

Where do we see this in Till?

I don't think we've ever seen Till use this to any effective degree. His completion of his projects can be attributed to other cognitive functions, and he's never used any kind of system to achieve results. Till does not want to use this because it is the exact opposite of his dominant function which embodies who he is. Yet this is a requirement for him to truly rebel against the segyein and to put into action a plan that actually protects Mizi.

Till's character cannot be completely understood by his personality type alone, but it provides a solid foundation. His trauma muddles his motives, actions, and responses which (depending on the situation) he is either unaware of its affect or is choosing to ignore it.

By the way, Ivan's personality type is the exact opposite of Till's: ESTJ. That means he values all the same functions as Till but in reverse: Te, Si, Ne, and Fi. So who Ivan is is the exact opposite of who Till is. It also means the function that tends to be used negatively and immaturely is a major part of who the other is. I have some posts in the works that explore more how this affects their relationships and how this contributes to them as unreliable narrators.

This is the end of this series of posts. I'll be linking back to this a lot so I don't have to prove myself every time when I talk about how Till's personality develops the story. I next plan to explain what's going on with Till's perspective in the MVs. It'll make more sense with this context.

Sources: Alexis Kingsley & Mathias Corner