#coldbox

[120krrnie]

i think i have a problem

this is gonna be hell to tag isn't it

[raisingred]

Can you perhaps draw Transition from coldbox mechanic?

I would love to see them in your artstyle!

Here's the ref if you need it

[megazimbluerayvelds]

The end of the Evadare and Void Saga, but the unexpected return of Bonfire!! 🪵🔥(it sucks that there is no campfire emoji)

[toochizombie]

aqua coldbox and geek dance (and a small pixel)

[undercover13agent16]

Gremlin trio.

(Breathette belongs to @sapphiel btw)

[lavenderatampa]

mindi

mindi is 20 years old she was built on August 31 2003 2 years later on November 7th they built her twin siblings Ria and struck

[the-redacted-box]

“someone” (me)

Someone remade Breathette in some character creator, and I really wanted to redraw her~

[captain-preston-apawllo]

Colony Showcase (and an Update): The Starstruck Timeline!

The Starstruck Timeline has gone past 1000 cycles, and I've accomplished more with this colony than I have in the past five years! I've had Oxygen Not Included since 2019 and that was on a Macbook Air- whose CPU got fried 3/4th to death by 2024...thankfully I got a new laptop earlier in the year.

The coldbox has been expanded to hold a flox farm and some living space- although I haven't finished furnishing it, so sealing a dupe in the bottom of the carbon dioxide sea won't be a reality just yet.

The industrial brick is chugging right along, but is still a power-hungry mf- which is where my new setup has come in:

I've created a tree farm supplied by a hot pwater geyser, and while shipping isn't as efficient as it could be, it sends down enough lumber into this second industrial brick to create ethanol, and that gets fed into a petroleum generator, which has shored up my demand for natural gas. My next plans for the colony are to create a full rodriguez in space so I can vent out the excess oxygen to the void while sending the hydrogen down...I could make a steam turbine, but extra hydrogen generation seems safer for now.

And here is the surface of my base! And the rocket I've had sitting here for hundreds of cycles cause I still haven't gone interplanetary...I will eventually, no doubt about it, but I want to get this base fully sustainable first, and I'm almost there, I can feel it! Finally, some portrait photos of the entire colony:

And as much as it hurts, I'll have to set it aside- I've got still got college to attend to, and by god I will NOT have another Rimworld moment. (Also the frame rate has dropped below 30fps which means it's stopped being fun and started to reach the slogfest part of any colony simulation, which, props to ROG, took like 700 more cycles than it would've taken on my Macbook.)

I will get back to it- but I'm very proud of how far I've come ^w^

[valdiis]

FFxiv Site Write #1: Steer

((Ah yes, Site Write. That time of year when I fool my followers into thinking this shitpost blog contains FFXIV content.))

The Shirogane manor house was a common gathering place for the monster hunters of Nightingale Company. Sure, everyone had their own places now and they didn't need this home for wayward souls - but somehow folks kept gravitating back to it anyway. Even Aeluan had his own little house on the beach in La Noscea. Although the manor held some bad memories for him now, it held plenty of good too. And it had the easiest access to Arli's cooking.

Aeluan was in the middle of availing himself of some of that cooking - leftovers in the coldbox - when Shev Mhalikh walked into the kitchen.

"If you're looking for the curry," Aeluan said as he closed the oven, "it's going in my belly in ten minutes. You're too late."

"Aww!" Shev groaned. "But Arli's curry!"

"Too. Late."

"I'll wrestle ya for it."

Aeluan gave Shev a squinty eyed look. At one time, he'd have taken that offer in a heartbeat, because even though Shev had been beefy, he was much smaller than Aeluan. That was less so the case now. Add in the tall ears and he actually topped Aelu by a few ilms.

"No deal. I got to it first, it's mine."

Shev crossed his - still beefy - arms across his - just as beefy - chest and pouted. Nevertheless, he watched as Aeluan dug out a bowl and a spoon and a fresh few handfuls of rice to cook on the stove.

Aeluan filled a pot with water and set about cooking rice to put his warmed-up curry on. For a few moments, the two friends stood in the kitchen in companionable silence. Aelu, for his part, was working up his nerve. He had a question. One that had been burning in his breast for days now and he could think of no one else to ask it.

"Hey Shev?" he blurted out as he stirred the rice gently.

"Yeah, Blue?" By this time, Shev was leaning a hip on the counter, arms still folded, as he watched his friend cook.

"You're into polyamory." It was a bald yet true statement. Aeluan didn't see Shev roll his eyes at it. "So. Hypothetically. What would you do if you came across two people already in love who showed interest in you?"

A brow shot up nearly as high as Shev's erect ears. "Tha's not a question I expected from ya. Why d'ya ask?"

Aelu quite studiously did not look up from his rice. "Just curious. What would you do?"

"I don't know," Shev answered honestly. "I've never come across a situation like tha'. Each one's unique."

"I know. Besides, I'm just asking what you'd do. Being a polyamorous person and all."

Shev studied Aeluan for a long moment. "Hypothetically," he deadpanned. He didn't believe it for a second. For his part, Aeluan didn't notice that fact. He was oblivious to Shev's disbelief. He was glad, though, that he didn't have ears like an Elezen to blush and give away his thoughts. Truth be told, the answer was extremely important to him. As his friend suspected, it was not a hypothetical question.

"Mmhm."

"I'd really have to get to know 'em an' see if it was a real interest, y'know?"

Aeluan stopped stirring for a second too long.

"Who'd ya meet?"

And that tell-tale blush that would've shown on ears (if he had them) found purchase on his tanned cheeks instead. "Nobody. It's just hypothetical," Aeluan said as he tried to steer the conversation away from reality.

"Mmhm." A moment of silence passed. "Is this abou' tha' courtesan Kismet mentioned? He said somethin' abou' you takin' a fruit basket somewhere?"

The big Raen made an undignified squeaking noise, like a mouse being trod upon. It sounded a bit like "No!"

Shev chuckled and shook his head. "Talk it out with 'em. Communicate. Tha's the biggest part. Make sure everybody's on th' same page, y'know?"

"But what if they belong together?"

"An' ya think ya wouldn't?"

"Hypothetically."

Shev snorted softly. "It's yer road t' walk, Blue. Ya won't know 'til ya talk it out with 'em."

The little timer next to the oven dinged and Aelu set aside the rice in favor of pulling out the reheated curry pot.

"Are ya sure there's not enough t' share?"

"I've seen how much you eat, Shev!"

(Shev belongs to @chocoblep!)

[echo-goes-mmm]

Silas and Wren #3

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: briefly mentioned past non-con, implied future non-con

After the tour, Master still wanted to play a game. Wren braced himself for something painful, or at least embarrassing, but to his surprise Master led him to the sitting room and got out a box of dominoes. 

Oh. That kind of game.

Wren didn’t know the rules, but Master seemed excited to teach him. It was kind of fun playing games. Wren would never have been allowed to, in another Master’s house. 

It was thrilling to play like he was a person instead of a slave.

At first he wasn’t sure if he should lose on purpose, but Silas kept showing him the winning pieces he could play so he figured it must be okay to win. 

They played a couple of times before Wren’s stomach began complaining. He wasn’t going to say anything, but one of Master’s pointed ears twitched. Silas glanced at the clock. 

“I suppose it’s dinner time for you, isn’t it?”

“I can keep playing if you want me to, Master.”

“No, no. You should go eat.” 

Wren helped Silas gather up the game pieces. Master led him back to the east wing, thank goodness. Wren wasn’t sure how to get back.

Master Silas ordered him to return to the sitting room after he ate. Well, he did say “please” and it was more of a question, but Wren knew better. He could spot a trap. 

Was Master going to drink from him after he ate? He seemed friendly so far, and it was a considerate gesture. It didn't hurt either. Dealing with Master’s vampiric diet might be the easiest job he’d ever had.

He opened the pantry. He’d never been assigned cooking before, but he had a little experience. Lots of Masters wanted a bite to eat after sex, and sometimes their cooks weren’t up at that time.

Hmm. What should he have for dinner? There was a coldbox too, with butter, eggs, cheese, fresh meat, and lots of veggies and fruit. 

There was no way he could eat so much before it went bad. He would have to tell Master carefully. He was pretty sure Master Silas had no humans before him.

He found a small package of what looked and smelled like ground sausage. There was spinach in the coldbox as well, and a jar of tomato sauce and dried pasta in the pantry.

That sounded pretty good all put together.

The box of pasta had a lot written on it, but ‘8-10’ caught his eye. Experience told him that meant ‘cook for eight to ten minutes’. Perk of making friends with servants.

There was a bottle of oil in the cupboards. He drizzled a little in a deep pan and began browning the sausage. After it looked done, he opened the sauce jar and poured it in. He added a handful of spinach. Yum.

The pasta did take eight minutes, and he smothered it in the sauce. Could he really pick his meals every day? 

He considered doing the dishes, but Silas was expecting him. He’d do them later.

He got turned around a little, but eventually he found the sitting room again.

Master was sitting in an armchair, a book in his hands. He knelt at his feet and waited for instruction. 

“You don’t need to do that. These chairs need someone to sit in them besides me, after all,” said Master, closing his book. Oh, that was nice. Wren sat on the adjacent couch.

“Do you like to read, Wren?” 

“I can’t, Master.” Silas set the book on an end table.

“You never learned? I thought humans had schools for their children.”

“Slaves aren’t sent to school. There’s no use for it, and a waste of time when we could be working.” Master frowned.

“I suppose that makes sense. But aren’t there tasks that you need literacy for?”

Wren shrugged. “There’s servants for that.”

___________________

Silas made a note to teach Wren how to read. Books were one of life’s greatest pleasures. He couldn’t imagine not being able to read his novels. And it would be easier to make conversation if they could talk about books.

“Master, may I ask a question?”

“Of course. Please, always feel free to speak your mind,” he said. Thank goodness, it was hard to start every conversation.

“Thank you, Master. I was just wondering, aren’t you hungry? You haven’t eaten all evening.” It hadn’t occurred to him that Wren might know as much about vampires as he knew about humans.

“Vampires eat once a day. I ate this morning.”

“Oh.”

“I won’t drink from you often, I promise,” he reassured Wren. That was probably what he was getting at, in his own roundabout way.

“I, um, I don’t mind that much. But won’t you need to drink from me every day?”

“Nope. Vampires buy blood. It would make you sick if I drank from you that much,” he explained. 

Wren thought it over. He looked like he had more questions.

“You can ask me anything, if you want. I don’t mind.”

“It’s nothing, Master.”

___________________

Well that answered one question. And now he had permission to speak, which was new.

But he still wondered when Master Silas would expect to bed him. Asking would be rude, no matter what privileges Silas gave him.

He was handsome, at least. Tall, dark black hair, gray eyes. Wren couldn’t deny how attractive he was. Even the sharp teeth were... something.

He wanted to believe that would make his duty easier, but experience had almost always proved him wrong in that department.

It was never easy, it could only be not as bad. 

Master would be in the latter category. He didn’t need to numb Wren’s neck that afternoon, but he did. And his lips were so soft. Silas didn’t need to provide him a bedroom, but he did. And his eyes were so pretty.

Master Silas wouldn’t need to be gentle either. But maybe he would.

Hopefully he would.

taglist: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @secretwhumplair @freefallingup13 @mylovelyme @whumpzone @paintedpigeon1

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @kaylinalexanderbooks!

Five Lines Tag

Rules: post a line from your WIP that follows the prompt

My prompts, which are: A line about the weather A line about a secret A line said sarcastically A line about home A line about an animal

Let's see what MG3 has in store

A line about the weather

“Avymere!” they hissed, waving eagerly.

The Duchon jumped, spluttering slightly as they squinted in confusion. Elsind caught the exact moment when they put together who the strange human shouting at them was. The changeling jogged up, a mirthful expression on their face.

“Greetings.” Avymere gave them a nod. “Enjoying the weather?”

Elsind couldn’t have honestly told you if it was sunny or cloudy, they just took Avymere by the hand, practically hopping in excitement. Tentatively, a smile made its twitching way onto Avymere’s face as well. It looked terribly strange sitting there. Not the sort of expression crafted for portrait sittings or cabinet meetings. This wasn’t a smile Avymere used often, as it was a rare honest one.

A line about a secret

“Cool your jets,” Astra made a soothing gesture. “We’ll be fine. These jobs’re gonna get done, no matter how much Antonin thinks he can stall for time. Besides, even if he is a pisswad, helpin’ us is in ’is best interest.”

Marius shook his head. “You don’t understand. Maybe you would if you’d actually thoroughly read the contract. Antonin isn’t going to give you shit once you finish the third job. It says in the contract that you must accept his decree of completion for the agreement to be fulfilled. I don’t know how to make it any more clear, but he’s not going to give you that godsdamned decree.”

“But why?” Mashal crossed his arms, confused, while Astra gave an indignant scoff in the background. “We— We’re trying to keep this city from being conquered. The entire Montane family will be killed if Vermir gets her way. He has no reason to not work with us.”

“Oh, you poor kids.” The banker sighed, shaking his head. “Do you know what a wartime economy would mean for this family’s finances?”

A line said sarcastically

“Oh, Avy….” Elsind sighed sadly. They got up and, from the sounds of things, began to put together a small tray of food.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Avyemere choked out. Even talking made their leg hurt. “I should be strong enough. I’m meant to be. My people deserve better.”

“Better than some elf half-delious with pain and stress? Yeah, I agree. But also, you deserve better, too. You shouldn’t have put that much pressure on yourself—no one should have to.” The bed dipped as Elsind sat back down. “Why don’t you get some food in you, take your meds, and see if that helps? I guarantee at least some of this is just your body wanting calories so it can heal your leg.”

Glancing over, Avymere saw that Elsind had prepared a small plate of cut fruit from the little coldbox at the end of the room, as well as a mug of steeping tea. Again, they felt even more tears threaten to break past their eyes at the sight.

A line about home

Here, away from the crowd, Astra could admit to herself that she was terrified. Divine magic or not, Vermir had nearly killed her twice before, and that was before she’d taken the sorcery of half a city. However, her terror was a strangely resigned thing. This was odd, as Astra had never been resigned about anything a day in her life.

Tomorrow’s gonna happen, she thought. I might die, I might win, I might end up lookin’ over a world conquered by that eikodoro monster knowin’ I was too weak to stop ’er. All I do know is that I’m tired a’ bein’ scared. Let’s just get this nonsense over with and call it a day. I miss my cat. I miss my folks. I wanna go home and get scared about little, petty things for a while.

A line about an animal

Tramping through the mud were dozens of hardbitten teamsters, all calling and crowing like birds greeting the sun. Horses snorted and stamped, so much bigger than Elsind had ever imagined, and much smellier, too. Wagons stood in rows like tarp-covered neighborhoods. The wind flowing down from the looming Siegewall Mountains whipped at hair, clothes, and anything not nailed down, kicking up massive clouds of dust that caused Avymere to cough uncontrollably.

“How do we know how to talk to?” Elsind asked, tapping his fingers nervously. Given the noise of the crowd, he nearly had to shout to be heard.

“We need to….” Avymere trailed off as they peered through the crowd. Their expression remained a serene mask, yet Elsind was a connoisseur of faces, so he picked up on the subtle furrow of their brow. The Duchon was as lost here as he was.

I'll tag @leahnardo-da-veggie @wyked-ao3 @jev-urisk @daisywords @theink-stainedfolk and anyone else who wants to play :)

Your prompts: A line about the weather, A line about a secret, A line said sincerely, A line about a house, A line about water

[120krrnie]

doodles featuring the uh the mods (and version) i have grown to obsess about

[raisingred]

your art is awesome!!

i wanna ask if you could draw these two from the mod coldbox mechanic, guy on the left is cube and the other one is snare (my favourites)

thank you in advance

[recitedemise]

𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗲'𝘀 𝘁𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗱𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘄𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀. Nestled along the coast of Waterdeep, it is both sunlight and the insistent cling of salt that Gale's grown to find exceedingly soothing. It is the bastion of his comforts, outfitted with a grand assortment of a thousand enchantments. Charmed, it is far larger on the inside than it appears on the outside, and nestled in its rooms wade about a million secrets. A wizard's tower, after all, should be as much an enigma as the mage themselves.

Entryway.

Upon entering Gale's home, one would be welcomed by a sectioned off room, the house separating its guests from the rest beyond this point. It is nondescript, all deep woods with the warmth of a far away fire, sure, but plainly put, is not what one expects from a wizard's home. There is a mirror by the door, and before it, a little end table with an aging candelabra. There is a thick, fine drape that rests snug at the arch walling off the tower's entryway, and there is a plush, old rug sat in front of the door. Framed, there hangs a painting of a garden by the right-most wall. The decor is dated, speaking of an aesthetic veering on 'dark academia' and here, there is an enhancement Gale placed to thwart those not explicitly welcomed--hold person, in the rug, can hold you still.

But at least the shy smattering of hanging plants can keep you company.

The first floor: Entry way, living room, kitchen, and washroom.

After exiting the entryway, one would at last enter a hall, short, that leads to a cozy and admittedly half-cluttered room. Here, there is a coffee table, some leather seats in a shade of hemlock-green, and a winding staircase--fit with a red stair runner-- that goes, up, up, up (again, enchanted, some time manipulation steeped in the runner to shorten walk-time). In fact, should one look up, one would think Gale has furnished twelve floors at least, the ceiling like a pinprick with rich deep-gold tiles. It's evident this floor's hardly used, however, beyond the kitchen that is sat snug and half-walled off from the adjoining living room. The seats seem seldom used, not a crack or wrinkle in their delicate upholstery, and the cups lines in Gale's kitchen never used beyond the one. There's several books splayed about, a knitted blanket Morena had made him some decades ago--purple, his favorite, shade, of course--thrown about the sofa, and a myriad of paintings lined on the walls. There's a hanging light in the fashion of some brassy armillary. In the built-in shelves in the paneled walls, there rests even more books with some decanters of whiskey. There rests a wide circular window fit with an alcove right at the center wall, too, with a darling view of the waters with some hanging candles.

Beside the living room, the kitchen--again, very frequently used--waits, charmed with a fire that seems always to burn (safely, of course). At all times, something fragrant lingers within it, be it darling, spice-fruit tartlet or a succulent rack of ribs or lamb. Here, the fashion is a touch more rustic in nature, more dark-red bricks and taupe woods. Over his oven--black iron, a simple cast wood stove--rests an overhang of herbs, dried and half-self grown with the pots by his open windowsill, and the other half purchased from the ladies at the markets. He's a sizable coldbox charmed with a suspended chromatic orb of frost (it pulses, giving perpetual cool to the contents inside), beside countertops filled with all manner of jars. Gale makes his own jams, his favorite being a delightful, tart raspberry, and it with its fruity sisters and brothers rests bottled up with delightful cloths. Gale spends much time in here, and it's plain to see he lavishes it with love. Always, there is something delightful set up by the island counter that looks off into the rest of the living room--like a cake stand piled generously with something exquisitely vanilla. With a door nearby, Gale would explain it leads to his little pantry of hundur sauce. There, one will find, too, his notable collection of both red and white wines. An evening with Gale Dekarios is an evening with a five course meal.

The washroom set off by the staircase is humble, a tap of flowing water charmed to flow and stop when you so wish it. There is an ornate mirror, some suspended flowers there for a spot of freshness, and lit candles for ambiance. The small of something earthy and not too overbearing hangs everywhere, steeped in the towels and the wood of the little medicine cabinet.

The second floor: Two bedrooms, with their own personal bathrooms.

Here, you will find Gale's bedroom, and beside it, a spare. To note, no one ever uses that guest room considering, well, one would need guests to start off with. All the same, no would-be over-night stay would find themselves wanting. The guest room, adequately sized, opens up to face a wide, stained glass window-modestly so, just to allow some shades of gold to lick along the floors. A thick curtain dresses it up, its color a burgundy wine that pairs well with the dark woods and surge of white in the bedding. The best itself is a four post one, no veils yet to hang off of them. The large dresser is empty save for some spare things Gale has put in for Tara (spare collars, for example) and a couple of blankets he's never once used. It has its own bathroom as well, its tub charmed to, again, spill water and stopper it whenever you so wish. It's everything you need should you ever stay here, but admittedly, stripped just a bit of any personality.

Gale's room, however, is ride with personality. Here, you will find all manner of trinkets and wide-eyed wonders. It's dark wood again, and lived in, is effectively cluttered. There are books strewn everywhere, laid out on the floors despite two of four whole walls filled completely with tomes. He's a window at the one wall, opening to the scene of the city clamoring just beyond, its windowsill decorated with cups of wine, tea tins, and some pots of terracotta for when he deigns to play gardener. He's a large armillary in a state of perpetual spin, aligned with the real-time turning of the stars. His bed is large, a bed tray usually atop of it with smattering of peeled fruit and his read for the morning, sheets a dark, rich brown with the bedposts taken in dark-green curtains. There's a bed for Tara, too, laid there by one of his growing stacks of ancient reads. His carpet is patterned, a sliver of white to help brighten the space, with some cat toys strewn here and there and an armoire that's charmed much larger on the inside. Beside his bed, there rests Gale's private bathroom. It's impressive, tiled beige with dark woods that border on chestnut black. He's a whole array of bath salts, lotions and creams and shampoos and conditioners, everything combining to capture ascent of sage and jasmine sweetened just a sliver with a persimmon hue. His tub is actually dipped into the floors, a standing shower merely an overhang spout in the space beside the tub. There is incense here, too, that wafts at times with the hot steam of his usual luxurious baths--Gale, let it be known, a sucker for a spot of finery.

The third floor: Dedicated solely to Gale's office and study--dressed up with a terrace. Inside the study, Gale keeps his inheritance and riches.

Going up the stairs this floor has no landing. In fact, it's only a passing door before one continues traveling up towards the rooftops. The door is unassuming, something old and ancient with brass knockers as handles. However, belying its normalcy is the swell of magic and light that glows from crystals within.

This room is what we are most familiar with: it is, as we have seen in game, Gale's study. And yes, it is by and large, Gale's most favored room--kitchen notwithstanding. Here, Gale's study is less a study and more a keep of ancient texts. His walls are littered with them, the copious amount of shelves not enough to cradle their wealth. Stacks of loose tomes can be found crawling up, up, up for the ceiling everywhere, and each one, he'll tell you, is one he's read once before--evidently not faking it like every other bookworm. He knows where each one seems to lay by heart, even the four hundredth manual in an uninspiring shade of brown. He's a crackling hearth, one he's charmed to run forever on and on, with a single chair and a sofa-too-many. He's a statue in a wait-high sizes dedicated to Mystra. He's spent more hours than he'd confess to kneeling before them, a memory he's no rush to indulge in again with any delight, both scrolls and flowers wreathing it like humble offerings. He's a piano he's manipulated to play when he desires, something of a tune that runs very soft and relaxed. At times, Gale himself will even pluck away the keys, the piano chair before it housing some rough compositions.

In this study, one will find a door, locked, to what houses whatever is of Gale's inheritance. Beside that door, one will also find the double doors to his brilliant terrace, outfitted with plants, a rug, and sun-warm sofa. Here, Gale likes to idle away his time, Tara in his lap and some wine on his tongue. In his year in solitude, he would rest here often, looking over the lullabied waters and its quiet ripples... Half mad, half yearning, and entirely wistful.

One can find some empty bottles of wine here with a heavy heart.

The fourth floor: A smaller room, something like an observatory.

Humble but absolutely dazzling, the top floor opens up to a darling observatory of sorts--not a proper room, no, but a mere floor with a railing that looks down to the lower, three-most levels. Here, the ceiling--again, those rich tiles of brown and gold--rest above your head, wide and unobscured of even a hanging light. Instead, there are candelabras set up about this book-littered room (with pillows, too, and a nice rug set up for casually laying) that flicker and whisper with its crackling song. Laid down on this floor, one would look up to that so-bare ceiling...and when Gale so whispers it, says those magical words, the ceiling seems to suddenly disappear, replaced with a ripple of the view of the stars. Here, Gale can trace the course of the twinkling cosmos. Immediately, the shine of the stars come to pale the combined wash of the candles, the atmosphere impossibly drusy and gauzy like silk. Gale likes it up here, relaxing in the majesty of the moon. Sometimes, he will find Tara flapping her wings here, a little trapdoor to the rightmost wall for her to come and go from when she desires. They will cuddle up together as she speaks about her nightly escapades of feline devilry. Gale, in a nest of pillows, will patiently listen.

[dopaminegyro]

came up wih this fun thing i like to call coldboxing you close all the doors and open your window all the way when its 40 degrees or less outside and see how much you can bundle up over time until the cold is too much or until its bed time

[raccoonfallsharder]

i was gonna finally draft one of the last window chapters today and instead i wrote a whole separate (short) smutty oneshot so uh. i dunno might post later this week? maybe ill post it the day after the domestic scenes/sweatshirt girl oneshot to appease the folks who were hoping for more smuttiness

an excerpt from

adorations 𖥔 ݁˖⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Later that cycle, he’d passed you while you’d been leaned against a bulwark on the portside deck of the Benatar, staring out at the stars pensively. Thinking. You’d passed him a small, uncertain smile, but you hadn’t said anything and you’d fastened your eyes back to the window — nervous now, he’d been able to tell. Why wouldn't you be? He’d taken to returning every comment you’d made in his direction with a sharp, barbed little stab of his own.

Rocket had continued on his trek toward the flightdeck, pausing in the kitchen. Hesitating. Then he’d huffed a breath and snatched an impulsive one of those sweet Xandaran cream-liquor drinks you like from the coldbox, and a blubber ale for himself. He’d handed you your glass bottle casually — wordlessly — not bothering to look up while he’d leaned against the opposite bulwark and crossed his legs at the ankles. Afraid to, if he was being honest. Then he’d cracked open his own bottle and watched the galaxies and nebulae spiral by.

He’d felt you staring at him, wide-eyed by the sudden shift in behavior. He’d felt you soften then, too.

Thank you, you’d murmured. That’s kind of you.

You’d said it like you’d believed it, too.

Yeah, with every passing interaction, he’d been increasingly certain he’d been a dick to you for no frickin’ reason at all.