Hi there. I'm Vi and this is my second request thread. Main one can be found here.
What I'm looking for? I'm Vi and welcome to my second Off-Site request thread where I look specific for Sapphic pairings. Angst, drama, trauma, pain, all that stuff that hurts. Romance. Dark worlds. Struggle. Hurt and comfort. That's what I'm looking for. Slow burn. Strife. A bit of pain and suffering. Emotions. Basics • Time Zone: GMT+Something • Writing Style: Third person. Past tense. Fluid with post length. Mirroring. Check out This or This for an examples. • Average Reply Length: ~400-1000+ words • Long-term/Short-term: Any • Posting Frequency: Either multiple times a day or at least once a week. • Character References: Drawn references preferred but don't mind real life photos. Either or, mixing two styles rather jarring. Anime art is very hit or miss. Manhwa art is good. • Communication: Always happy to chat. • IRL Gender: I do not care.
This city was a harsh place. The world was. Worst place to live in America. But still, everyone wants to be here. And some are just here because they don't know any better.
Sophie Gray was one of those. Born and raised.
She wasn't a merc. She wasn't a runner. Not anymore, she used to be. But she couldn't take the heat. So a change in carees was in order. Or something like that. A low-life like herself can't be picky with jobs. Money has to come from somewhere. It all started with small gigs. Simple errands. Now she is the girl for everything for people that make more in an hour than she does in a whole year.
In some way Sophie got lucky, she had something of a job that didn't involve getting shot at on a daily basis. Only any other day. Everything girl wasn't the official title. There was no official title. She just did what was asked of her by her bosses or whoever got her number and that the cash to pay. Who was her boss? A rich corpo bitch that prefers not being named. Not being known. It wasn't the only person she worked for but probably her most loyal one. Loyal being a relative term here. Whatever pays the bills.
At least that's how Sophie saw it. She couldn't affort to be picky. Not in this city. Not with her background. Nobody cares about a street rat, a former runner that didn't make it, no matter how good looking. And Sophie looked damn fine. Tall-ish, fit, curves in all the right places. A nice face to look at. A even nicer ass to stare at. Ample breasts. The list goes on and on. She was a looker. Women of all ages used their looks to their advantage in the city. Sophie did too, sometimes. Everything with in reason.
Today was one of those days were nothing seemed to happen, for better or worse. The streets were buzzing with excitement like every day while the sun mercilessly beats down. Same shit, different day.
Sophie sat leaned back on one of the stools of a street food vendor while sipping on a drink. Dark brunette mane brushed to one side. A cheap pair of sunglasses resting on the tip of her nose. Her left ear pieced from lobe up to the top. The nails of her free hand drumming staccato against the counter where just minutes before her plate was.
The flimsy sheets of plastic of the vendors stall offering much needed shade. She wasn't here for the street food. No, Sophie needed something better. Something to distract her from the boredom and numb the mind. Neither was hard to come by. Clubs, bars, cheap alcohol, and slutty women. Sophie wanted the former while trying not to be one of the later herself.
Club 'Cherry PoP!' was only a few blocks away. One of those clubs where one could relax and forget the time. Warm and cozy with decent drinks and music that was bearable. Her mind mulled over the possibility of waking over, spending some time there.
Her thick rear clad in low rise skinny jeans. One foot on the ground while the other rested on the metal ring of the stool. A pair of high-tops sneakers on her feet. A lot of walking meant comfortable footwear. A kitschy T-shirt loosely hanging of her shoulders under synth-leather jacket she wore. Everything in this city was fake.
She was about to get up and do something as the call came.
Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight. The numbers on the display of the elevator quickly changed as it shoot up the floors of Yamamoto tower. Sooner or later it would come to a stop with a pleasant ping. Fifty-seven it read on the display. The elevator wasn't one of the main one's one would find in the lobby of the building. No, it was one of the many more discrete elevators one would find in the more hidden corners of the building. This was more practically made to lead to Anastasia Webb's office.
It was a spacious office. High ceiling, nearly two floors high. Dark marble flooring. Was it real? Probably not. Neither was the leather that covered the two, square chairs in front of the similarly square desk. Behind said desk was a big window. Well, the whole back wall was one big window with a view over the city of Neo Eden. Rain ran down the glass. The neon lights of the city blurring behind the water droplets.
In front of the window, inside of the office of course, was a figure. A feminine one. Dressed in a dark grey pants suit. Blazer and slacks. Red shirt underneath. Firm synth cotton or something similar. Expensive, typical corpo stuff. Imposing. That was the idea. One of my many suits in rotation with her dresses and skirts.
Her raven hair pulled up into a neat bun. Silver jewelry adorning her ears and fingers. Not so much that it would seem tacky. But enough to be noticeable.
The woman had her back towards the entrance of the office, her head ever so slightly tilted to one side. The faint echo of voices could be heard. She was taking a call.*
*It had been years. Six? Seven? Anastasia couldn't remember. Her life had changed a lot ever since she fought for her life on the streets. Not that so much has changed in that regard. Corpo life could be just as ruthless if not more so. Said ruthlessness was the reason for to this meeting.
Anastasia had called for someone special. Well, for people to find and pick that someone up and deliver. Keep everything hush-hush. Everything in her life was hush-hush, even the recent attempt on her life. The details were murky, even to Anastasia herself.
An attack on her way home. Motorcyclists. A gun fight ensued. She killed two of the attackers herself. But it wasn't enough. One of them landed a hit with a poisoned needle. The poison was of an unknown origin. Nobody could tell her who made it or where it came from. The purpose, on the other hand, was clear. To kill her. Well, it failed. Not that she just walked away from the incident without a scratch. Anastasia spend weeks in the hospital. Until last week she was bound to the wheelchair. Walking was still rough. Fatigue. Weakness. Muscles atrophy. Not all muscles. Not the important ones. As any person in her position, she had high-tech implants. The latest stuff. Technology that saved her live. Protected vital organs.
She had spend weeks being bound to the hospital bed after the attack. Some of the strength returned but it wasn't like before. It maybe never would be. The medical report came from her doctor she trusted. A women she knew.
Who attacked her and how they knew the route of her vehicle was a mystery. What wasn't a mystery was that changes had to be made. Most of her protection detail either died in the incident or was let go. Irregularities showed up here and there but nothing that lead to anything conclusive. People wanting her dead wasn't anything new. Cost of the doing business.
But that wasn't as important now. Someone was waiting for her attention.
"Bye." The call ended, she hung up. Yet, didn't turn around. Her eyes lingering on the reflecting in the window.
Slowly she swiveled around in her chair to face the woman with her golden eyes.
The sun stood high above the city, mercilessly beating done on its inhabitants. Neon lights of the night replaced by relentless brightness of the California sun. Not that the neon lights ever went dark in this city.
The city was awake and buzzing on this morning just minutes before 10AM. But back in the alley behind the Dynamo bar the sounds of the city were muffled. The bar was common hangout spot for the criminals of the area, at this time of day it was mostly empty except of some regulars that started drinking early or never stopped in the first place.
The alley had some advantages. It was quiet, more or less private, and the nearby buildings offed some shade. Parked in the shadows was a black sports coupe. Only someone close to the car would one be able hear a particular sound bouncing of the walls. A wet, lewd '*plap plap plap*' mixed in with soft moaning coming from the passengers side.
Cassandra 'Cassy' Shaw had turned thirty-four just a few weeks ago. Telling someone's age could be hard in this future. Much was fake or had transcended flesh.
At that moment she was engaged in an activity that hardly was one to be proud of. Upper body bend over with her elbows resting on the lifted passenger seat of her car, knees resting on the frame. The open door offering little to no privacy (because apparently nobody makes doors that open normally in the future), not that it mattered too much.
The alley was deserted and close off from the public by metal fencing.
There she was spending her morning with her panties and jeans pulled down around her soft thighs. The neon pink color of her thong offering a stark contrast to her otherwise dark gray trousers. A loose sleeveless tank-top with the logo of some long forgotten band hang off her shoulders while offering a hefty amount of side boob. Like so many things in her possessive it had seen better days. Fortunately, or unfortunately, she was wearing a matching pink bra underneath. The garment tightly hugging her ample breasts under the piece of cotton. A shoulder holster stretching over her upper back, hugging her toned frame with. A heavy pistol swinging along with every thrust.
Her ample breasts enough to easily fill out most hands. Perfect shape. Perky and gravity defying it seems. Were they real? No. Unlike her ass, she had paid to get those. But who hasn't paid for some 'upgrades' in this city? Not like anyone could tell the difference. Not like anyone cared.ere they real? No. Unlike her ass, she had paid to get those. But who hasn't paid for some 'upgrades' in this city? Not like anyone could tell the difference. Not like anyone cared.
Her heavy rump on display, bare naked and gripped tightly by a pair of hands. The perfect bubble butt. Juicy and jiggly. Spankable and fuckable. Behind her one of the barkeepers of the place. Rhythmically thrusting in and out of her wet pussy. Wanton folds tightly gripping the shaft. All while Cassandra's facial expression was a mixture of mild lust and utter boredom.
Using the time she checked her nail polish for a moment, matte black. Lips half-open. Moaning in rhythm with each thrust of the man's hips, keeping up the façade that she was into it as much as he was. Not that she disliked it per se. She craved sex to an unhealthy degree. The man had something she wanted. She had something he wanted. A list of names. It was a simple exchange. There were other methods to get said list.
Soon the man tightened his grip around her hips, digging his fingers into her succulent flesh. A grunt followed only a moment later. She answer with a whorish if subdued moan. He came. She didn't. Vaguely feeling the warmth of his release inside of her as it filled out the empty space of the condom.
"Are you done?" she asked while he was still catching his breath.
His answer was a slap connecting with her lush cheeks before pulling out. Cassandra hissed while quickly turning around. The cool barrel of a gun, not the one from her holster, pressing against the underside of the man's chin. It was one of a few guns hidden around the car, this one came from between the cushions of the passenger's seat.
"Woah, woah!" he replied while lifting his hands in surrender. His half-erect cock on display, used condom still his member.
"The shard," she demanded. Slowly the man, who's name she forgot, reached for his neck slot to pull out the data-shard. Cassy accepted it with her free hand, a cocky smirk tugging on her plush lips. All with her panties around her thighs. "We're done here," she sighed after inspecting the contents of the shard, slowly lowing her gun.
"What the fuck, chica?! We had a deal! Fucking loco," he barked while taking a few steps back. His right hand busy pulling off the condom of his softening dick before throwing it over his shoulder towards the dumpster a few meters away. "See you next time," he added while pulling up his pants before disappearing into the bar through the back door.
Cassandra waited, leaned against the frame of her car, until he was out of sight. Once he was out of sight she threw the smaller gun onto the passenger seat. It would be hidden under the cushion of the seat again like it had been before she pulled it out.
Now that her hands were free, she finally reached for the strings of her thong. Stopping for a moment as she looked down. The gusset of her underwear showing the sights of being wore for a few days. Lightly discolored form arousal and droplets of urine. A long sigh escaped her lips as she pulled her thong and jeans up, wiggling her rear into them before closing her belt.
She looked around only to see that the alley was empty. While leaning against the frame of her car she reached towards the dashboard. Without looking she found the pack of flavored cigarettes. Popping one of those genetically engineered sticks between her lips and lighting it a second later. Cassy took a long drag while letting her eyes wander. There was nothing interesting to be seen. Not that one could except much from a back alley. Dumpsters and dirt. The typical trash of the city. And a freshly discarded, nicely filled condom. Her eyes lingering on the thing for a few moments while she enjoyed her cigarette.
Her hair was as much of a mess as her life. The sides and back shaved. The top of her hair pulled into a something akin to bun. Dark brown with faint red at the tips.
A dry, dismissive chuckle escaped her lips. Some absurd thought crossed her mind. Throwing her head back she looked up into the clear sky while exhaling the smoke. Sweet nothingness, peace of mind for a short moment.
The silence was soon interrupted by an incoming call. No caller ID. That could only mean something stupid.
Reluctantly she picked up with an unwelcoming "Yeah?" Skipping all the superficial greetings stuff.
The voice at the other end was one of some Corpo drone. It wasn't the usual cold and monotone type. Cassandra knew on who's behalf she called. A side gig she could hardly say no to, well she could but part of her was curious enough. While listening to the voice, she slipped out the data shard she just got, placing it into a small metal case before pocketing it. It had to wait.
She still had time before the meeting. Standing there leaned against her car she slowly started to shift around ever so slightly. She had to pee. Her eyes wandering over to the back entrance of the bar. She could go inside and use the bathrooms but she'd avoided seeing the idiot behind the bar again. Instead she yanked her jeans and thong down before sliding into a squat. Fingers tightly wrapping around the bunched up fabrics between her knees while using her free hand for support against the car. Too much beer. It wasn't the first time she squatted besides her car and it wouldn't be the last time either. Cassandra looked down at the puddle forming between her feet with a long sigh and a 'what the fuck am I doing with my life'-expression on her face
Too lazy to look for a tissue she just wiggling her butt. A shower and a fresh set of clothes was on the agenda for today anyway. Pulling her pants up for the second time today, something told her it wouldn't be the last time either.
A soft sigh left her lips while she rubbed her hands on the sides of her jeans. Stepping over the puddle she created before rounding the front of the car sliding into the driver's seat. All the doors closed and a few moments later she was back on the street.
Traffic was annoying as always but not a major issue as she drove towards mid-town. Towards the business distract where all the skyscrapers of the big corporations are located.
Fuck this city.
Artificially colored eyes were glued to the main screen of her terminal. The numbers didn't look good. The reports coming in didn't either. A new notification popped up. Another missions report. Failure. No casualties. Not that she cared. A long, frustrated sigh breaking the silence as she leaned back.
Jane Thornton was a one of the many corpo-drones grinding away in counterintelligence.
This job would be the end of her. Trying to climb the corporate ladder had been the end of many before.
Jane leaned back in her chair.
Ample, gravity defying breasts. Perky and gravity defying it seems. The red fabric of her undershirt stretched tautly. A black blazer jacket matching the black office slacks hugging her long lets and plump rear. Heart-shaped bubble butt, waist, toned thighs, and abs on top of it all. Tall even without the black leather heels with red sole she was currently wearing. Some could, and would, say she was the 'whole package', at least from the outside. But so were many in this city. Beauty was deceiving and often fake.
Her naked neck leaning up to her raven black hair. Pulled and tied into a tight bun on top. Neatly pulled together. Fulling whatever expectations were once set by the corpo dress code.
"Fuck," she muttered under her breath while relaxing in her office chair in her small dimly lit office. It was barely more than a desk and a chair, the multiple monitors and terminals on her desk and above the main attraction.
And the numbers didn't look good. Corporate warfare was hell even for an agent like her. Probably even more so. All those fuckers on the streets were just hired guns. Had no stake in any of this. No, she had to report to her boss. Another failure. At least the stock prices couldn't be pinned on her.
Jane gritted her teeth, longing for a smoke.
Her hand reached for the first drawer on her right, fingernails perfectly polish with a fresh coat of matte black. Quickly finding the pack of synth flavored cigarettes.
Fuck, she needed more than just a smoke to get through this day. The first meeting with her new boss was in fifteen minutes and all she had was bad news. Don't shoot the messenger is not something everyone around here followed.
Nobody really know what happened to her old boss. Rumors has it he was transferred to South America. Other's say parts of his body were pulled out of the river a week again. Both were equally possible in this world.
The unexpected notification of an incoming call shook her enough to elicited another "Fuck" over her lips. A sigh following before she answered. It was one of her colleges from another floor.
"What?!" She hissed.
"Well, aren't you in a good mood. Read the news?"
"Yes. Not looking good. How is your floor doing?"
"What do you think? It is chaos. Heads are about to roll. Already delivered the news to your new boss?"
"Not yet." A long, heavy sigh followed. "The meeting is in..." A short pause. "Twelve minutes."
Awkward chuckle came from the other end of the line. "Fuck. Nervous?"
"Nervous? I'm about to pee my pants. Rather not be pulled out of the river tomorrow morning." She ended with a nervous chuckle of her own.
"Gotta go. Talk to you later. And stay dry."
"Fuck off."
She looked down at the pack of cigarettes on her desk, there was no time left for a smoke. Hopefully they let her have one before putting a bullet through her brain. Gallows humor.
Maybe Corpo wasn't the right job for her after all. Maybe she would get to do some field work. Or maybe the new boss wasn't that bad after all. Only time would tell.
The world was a harsh place. This city included.
Being a mercenary, merc for short, didn't make life any easier but it paid well. If one survived whatever job was offered that is. Many did not. Some became legends, in death. Many became nothing. Forgotten and discarded.
The trajectory of Evangeline's life was leaning more towards the latter than the former. While she wasn't bad at her job, a deadly killer, she was far from getting any closer to becoming one of the greatest. A legend people talked about while getting drunk. Not that she wanted to. Not that it matter. Just like 99% of the city, she needed money. All she knew what to kill. Survive. Working for those that could afford her. Afford hiring people like her.
Job after job. One more dangerous than the last. Ever closer moving towards an early grave. That was until one day she got an offer she couldn't refuse, even if she thought about it for a long time.
Evangeline, or just Eva for short, was many things. Deadly was only one of them. She was also beautiful. Naturally beautiful. A tall woman with an amazing body. A lovely face. Perfect bubble butt. Fit. Shapely. Closer to perfect. In another time, another world, she could've been a model. A few adjustments here and there. A few enchantments and she would fit right in with the high-society up in the towers overlooking the city.
And that was probably the reason for the offer. Everyone had heard about the kind of offer. A cliché at this point. Rich man or woman wanting a plaything. Something to keep them company at a social gathering. To look good. Arm candy. Escort as some call it. A whore if one was blunt.*
In the end, Evangeline accepted the offer. Three years ago. Now she nearly forgot the feeling of a gun in her hand. The weight. The recoil. Forgotten the hiss of bullets flying past her head. Adrenaline rushing through her veins. Her life as a merc in the past. No longer dressing in jeans, boots, and bomber jackets.
Nowadays it was dresses and pencil skirts. Pantyhose and high-heels. Expensive underwear. Cheeks colored with rouge. Lines of charcoal decorating her eyes. Lips red as crimson. Fakes smiles and giggles filling her evening.
Well, maybe not everything had changed.
The money was good. The sex too, sometimes. Surprisingly enough it was rare for her to sleep with a client.
But behind it all. Behind the façade there was emptiness. A void that she couldn't fill. Every client. Every event. Just another day. Going through the motions before returning to her small apartment. She never moved, even after making more money. Time stood still here.
Over time guilt had crept into the back of her mind. Something akin to survivors guilt. At least that was she figured. A few years ago she put her life on the line for every job. Now she is earning money on her back. But than again the smut was only a small part of the job. Job. Somehow she stumbled into this. An easy way out. An opportunity. Deep down she knew why she stuck with it, she was too scared to return to the streets. No matter how much of a deadly killer she was, she had trained to be, one mistake could mean the end of the streets.
All the people she had left behind. Friends. Enemies. Lovers. For better or worse. All to chase the dream of the high life.
A fighter all her life and now? Nothing. A whore. Once the word upset her. Not anymore. There was some truth to it. Escort. Whore. Doll. What does it matter? What difference does it make?
She sat there in her lounge chair by the window, a flavored cigarette between index and middle finger, held up in the air. Her other hand reaching for the phone. A new message. A new job offer. It had no effect on her expression or mood. Levelly she opened the message.
Taken
Emerald green eyes gazed mindlessly out over the equally green fields of Tython. Her mind far away from away from where her body was.
"Master Katya. Master Katya? Mas.."
"What?" Finally she snapped out of her trance, forcing a smile on to her lips.
A young Padawan ,out of the group she was training this afternoon, stood by her side asking for her attention. Asking for guidance. *How could she even give guidance?* She ignored the intrusive thought.
"You're done? Yes, of course. Let's move on to meditations" Time moves fast sometimes. A moment of daydreaming turned into many, many more moments. If only she had time to indulge.
"Focus on your breathing. Feel the force." She mused in a soft tone guiding the students in their meditations, hoping for more quiet as the Padawans focused on themselves. Katya tried her best to ignore the dampness between her thighs. Signs of arousal that soaked her not-so-Jedi-like lace panties she got from a shop on Coruscant. The cause for all of this were visions of passion and lust. First it started as dreams but soon she daydreamed about her dreams. Getting lost in her own thoughts while in meetings or, like currently, training young Padawans on their way to becoming Jedi.
Katya was a woman with many assets besides her capabilities as Jedi. Ample breasts that could distract even the most dedicated Jedi and Sith alike. Perky and gravity defying.
Years of training and discipline had paid off. Athletic frame, flat stomach showing no signs of over indulgent. A body that showed dedication of the mind. Skin creamy pale without any blemishes but a few small scars, reminders of fights lost and won.
In some of the more vulgar areas of Coruscant, creatures of less refined taste would probably call her backside a 'fat ass' if she'd walk passed without looking like a Jedi. Heart-shaped bubble butt on top of toned thighs. Long legs. On the taller side of average height.
Her light brown hair was cut short in the back. A braided tail running down the right side of her face. A common style for Jedi. Layers of beige and brown robes covering her body. Again, a style familiar for anyone that saw a Jedi before. Years of being in the order had rubbed up on her.
A few of her fellow Jedi had already noticed her absentmindedness over the last few weeks but it was nothing that raised any flags so far. Not that it likely would, she was a respected member of the order. A Jedi Master. Sound of mind and body. Who would dare to question her? Yet, here she was struggling with those visions. Beckoning calls of the dark side? Perhaps. The visions spoke of lust and passion. Often coming to her at night, when she was alone in her chambers. The visions guiding her hand between her legs. To her breasts. Causing so much pleasure. So much conflict. Jedi are supposed to be masters of their emotions.
*There is no emotion, there is peace.*
*There is no passion, there is serenity.*
Over and over she repeated those lines of the code. Repeating the mantra yet it didn't calm her mind. It didn't not keep the visions at bay.
Bathed in sweat she awoke with a jolt from yet another dream. Another visions she wouldn't dare to put into words or writing. Too ashamed from what she saw, from what she felt. Sitting on the edge of her bed, her night robe came loose from twisting and turning in her sleep. Sweat running over her exposed decollete before running down between her breasts. Chest heaving up and down from gasps for air.
Something had to change...
The soft humming of the engine vibrated through the ship.
A woman stood in the middle of her ship's hanger, facing the most important equipment in her possession. The Armor. That wasn't it's official name. Powered Exoskeleton was the name it's inventor used. The 'EXO' part in the model name reflected that to this day.
The idea had plenty of names. power armor, powered suit, cybernetic suit, robotic armor, cybernetic armor, exosuit, hardsuit, exoframe and a few more. It didn't really matter. Most people just called it Armor.
An powered exoskeleton with an human user inside, a pilot.
Every Armor needed a pilot.
The pilot for this one was Elizabeth 'Nova Liz' Bishop.
Nova was her bounty hunter name but everyone called themselves Nova. Sounded cool.
She stood tall at 6'0 feet. Toned abs body. Heart-shaped bubble butt. Currently clad in a dark purple with a hexagon pattern for stabilization body suit with the zipper at the front half-way open revealing much of her skin. Not that it mattered much. One of the advantages of living along. The suit firmly hugged her curves and she had plenty of those with ample, gravity defying breasts. Toned thighs, long legs. Firm yet soft.
Platinum blonde locks with black roots and pink tips messily framing her face. The hair barely reaching chin length. Many pilots kept their hair short. It wasn't a requirement to use the armor just made things simpler. Less messy. And things often got messy out there.
The ship. The Armor. Everything belonged to her. To her alone. Alone on this ship. The ship itself was meant for up to five people but she lived alone. Having customized to fit her needs over the years.
Bounty Hunter. Mercenary. Gun for hire. Any of those descriptions fit her profession. She did whatever the client wanted as long as money was and it didn't interfere with her morals. And the universe had plenty of need for people like her. Countless planets without law and order. Undiscovered worlds with unknown dangers. Roaming pirates. Deadly gangs. The list of threats was long. There were many people like her. Former soldiers, ex-gang members, people with low morals, and anything in between. There was no shortage of work.
[Here was an extensive description of the armor that I cut for the sake of brevity]
Her ship was currently on autopilot. The relative silence was interrupted by a beeping coming from the cockpit. Destination reached.
Neo Aurora.
A buzzling city on the planet Caphurn. Unlike many free cities around the system, it enjoyed relative safety and was a popular place for merchant to sell they wares. It was also the most popular placed for mercenaries and does that were in the need of mercenaries. Liz visited had multiple reasons.
She needed parts for some repairs on her armor. First and foremost. But not only that, she also wanted to restock on supplies. And there was an order she had made some time ago ready for pick up.
And, of course, find a new job. So her schedule for the next two to three days was filled out
There really wasn't any other city in this star system. Easily visible from far above the atmosphere. Sprawling lights covering half the planet.
*"You have permission to land in bay 581-B. Have a pleasant day and welcome to Neo Aurora."* The friendly, feminine voice came through the speakers. Elizabeth didn't had to do much besides doing some changes to the autopilot. The ship would do the rest on it's own. Landing in such big ports like Neo Aurora was mostly automated to save time and avoid accidents.
None of those are set in stone. All my prompts are just ideas. Inspirations. Examples of what I like and how I write.
Roleplaying is cooperative writing and I'm more than happy to hear your ideas or work on something together.
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