#Express or Upgrade Port

[pretentiousbrownie]

have I got some holes for y’all :3

anyone want pics of my holes?

[cipheramnesia]

Graft

In my rest time between one novel and the next I'm enjoying myself making a little spun sugar story about a cyberpunk pussy heist. It's meandering and heavy on imaginary slang but it's fun for me so here is the first half or third or so of it

First thing DeeDee noticed, her usual morning orgasm, or "morgasm," hadn't gone off.

She was late, and splashers crowded her A/V specs, screaming flashing neon yellow red blue promises, 10 water rat guaranteed each spin, stop here twenty percent off premium-vu, act now to get free oxy-sub, plus about fifteen past due blasters for her leg mods, dayclix, manudex upgrade, face plate, other parts. She could see a narrow sliver of her room through the MAds, and she had a scrips balance lockout from the cockout. Groaning with irritation, clawed her way off the cot to the 12-key hardline, unfolded her tongue socket and jammed the bcomp line in, clattering the set in frustration.

Half the blasters, most of the splashers dipped. She got back audio and waist downs and rolled. "Whoooo turned my hot shots off? Who left the wallEMP off!" Micro drones winged around the room popping ad spray and sonics, a few were clamped on her with other past due notes. "Water ration overdue, water ration exceeded" circled her biomech cat ears. Swatted a two or three, fell on the wall switch to jam on the Flyswatter. DeeDee figured a couple hundred overall went pop, trailed smoke down. Ad dust everywhere from the spray. One was on her face?

"I'm not best pleased!" she said to no one, expressing her displeasure. Swept dust and drone crumbs with her feet to space clear in her studio apartment slash office slash workspace slash bedroom slash kitchen, and crashed on the deskchair, slapping dpatches along her limbs and a compstik into her faceboard. "No hotshot no swatter, noncon facejacked?" She untangled her hair from the ecb-plugs on her face tech and grabbed her digiplate because she was slumming it, pouted while the scrips and drips that got dug into her software and hardware ate the big edit to the sky.

While she was waiting around for the MAds and spamware scan [MAdaSS], she finally got to look over the C-Clamp chastity boot locked to her pelvic slot with optional NoPro (tm) insert for prostate denial. "What's this horseshit, who did I fuck last night?" DeeDee did not know what horses were, she imagined they were a kind of bird. Pinged out for her custom built EX neurosynth neovag and got fuckall, which pissed her because the whole point was fuck all.

One by one her debuggers chirped, hopped onto her palm, drawered em, and slapped her basic as fuck face of the day on. Blessed she was with pristine sight of the world, not a nagnote or payscram in sight, just vext message notes, siggies, and a small alarm bell. "Shit, better get to work!"

Shoved cargo shorts over her cock locked personal pleasure slot, work boots, tanktop ("Asparagus for President" it said, from the infamous three way sudden death vote-off of '76), and jammed her comxcon into a free arm port before she flipped the sign to open at her door. "Gosh that was close, any customers?" She looked, a khakicollar dude held up a laptop plaintive, "My browser won't-" DeeDee slammed the door, "No customers! Another perfect day, hang up." Vext notes blinked aside for serious business now. She threw her shorts off. "Time to get outta this contraptamajig."

One angle grinder, one band saw blow torch, three axes, twelve hammers, and eighteen screwdrivers later DeeDee fucked her way through one after the other, even tried to plink the code. All this pouding and plethora of penetrarive pelvic parts frustrated her to rolling her bedsheets into her crotch and grinding on the best metal chastity could buy. She drooled all over her aching synthezized nerve spots, "fuck me I can't even cum, what's wrong with the world these days?"

Vexts, vexts, she clicked the note up it said: ANSWER YOUR CALLS and >:( >:( >:( >:(

The incoming piddy was the UNKNOWN ID scrap, she dropped a spam cage on it and replied 8===D~~~ GFYS and binned it mid-[... is typing]

Fuck fuckity fuck work, DeeDee needed some downtown deep sea diving. She climbed out the window, being more reliable than stairs or elevator. Nothing worked in the damn building except gravity.

Short and sweet broke beat sidewalk street, she hit so many concrete cracks, DeeDee figured the local maternity wards had to be a massacre. A couple dozen micros blasted ad spray and sonics, she flipped a bug zapper and swept em. Ads were going old school, nanoswarms warred over wallspace in constant barage of microsensors, hurling rainbow swirls that paced over the odd window and traffic signal promising six months free tubespace per dayclix.

ANSWER YOUR CALLS RIGHT NOW 😡😡😡😡

"Oh fancy fucks spending on the megs per pixel now?" DeeDee spamcanned again (GFYS) and freeloaded on a driverless with a buncha other local goons. "Hey ratbot, you headin to the VFW too?"

"It's a coffee barrr, Draftie," he replied. DeeDee called him ratbot because he was a planned obsolescence warbot with artificial intelligence generated by a rat brain daisy chain, real preschooler level tech these days but cheap and easy at the time and twice as disposable as a human soldier. "And for the last time my name is Wendell. Wendell Crawford."

She still didn't know why he had a Boston accent, the whole city had been totalled in the second Great Mega Pileup Traffic Jam six years before the manufacturer date on his tread guards. He called her Draftie because her legal name was Draft Dodger due to a mistake in one of her prison ID cards. "C'mon, it's Morca's."

"Ignore her, babe," Bobby, ratbot's partner, tugged him a fraction of an inch away on the driverless rooftop. Legally speaking Bobby was Wendell's owner because the corporate manufacture-state that made him refused to recognize his personhood. Morca's owner, SCREE Chirt-Chirt ascending EEE, had been helping with their legal battle, but they hadn't made much progress. Total bullshit, DeeDee thought but last big corplex suit against SCREE Chirt-Chirt ascending EEE made em keep her in life support parts forever, cleared out all mines from international waters, and her entire species were considered a recognized nation encompassing all oceans on Earth. Did great things for the environment, terrible for the war business.

They hopped at the block, batted some more ad spray and DeeDee knocked some local splashers with the hotshot, enjoyed watching ratbot snap micros in half with his plastic fingers, inhuman accuracy, "Still got it babe," said Bobby, hugging his blocky arms.

They pushed through the big, rocketproofed front doors under a blinking neon "Morcha Latte" sign, inside was all plastic and vulcanized rubber with DV light and fake windows to make the warehouse sized bunker building feel cozy. SCREE Chirt-Chirt ascending EEE claimed it was stress tested up to three directs from sunburst corebuster and who was going to argue with a two storey cyborg?

The overheads churned out the latest scrape40, whatever they were listening to at the bottom of the ocean, today DeeDee thought it sounded like angry plinko machines fighting while she caught lyrics she understood in bits and pieces, "Strangle me, strangle all my life, drag us through the silt and kill in the light," or something like that. She was a regular at Morca's because she got SCREE Chirt-Chirt ascending EEE all her jailbroken subscription free parts - sourcing and scouring unclocked mods and squids was her gig anyway. She dumped her ass into a rickety old carbon fiber woven chair between the door and the juke wall. A bunch of hipsters had early adopted save to disc memory uploads but went with vinyl to capture the true soul, now they spent all day slotted into the giant juke machine with impulse fed nerve endings bathed in chemically sterilized vats of coffee.

DeeDee unzipped her shorts and capped the chastity blocker. ARE U SEEING THIS? vexted to Portland. They knew all the high mods, probably could crack her case, she thought, right before let's just say a jolt, a singing high note, transported her from crotch to sternum then dropped her cold. Half a sec from climax, she looked around the room her digiplate all 0_0 not finding a shred of note, til the second song struck her off her seat and got her writhing on the rubber. Customers at the other tables lifted cups and rekeyed their MAdaSSes to tune her out.

"Hot pants!" she yelled, "Liar pants, falsehoods and flame!" Real old gen VR heads turned in annoyance as she pirouetted through tables and rattled silverware clung to the espresso countertop. Her legs kicked about in frustration as she got edged up and dropped. "H-hey Velllma, mind if I borrow the steamer a hot sec?"

"Sure DeeDee, you know you only gotta ask hun. Want-want s-some sug- Sorry, still got that old tick." Velma was a self-operated point of sale holodrone who DeeDee had jacked, glassed, and juiced to someone more independent for handling orders at Morca's, and she'd done a recent SRS download to her visual interface.

"You're the best Vel." Few seconds later DeeDee steamed her crotch full blast trying to bust herself free or bust herself off.

ANSWER YOUR CALLS NOW OR YOU'LL NEVER CUM AGAIN, BITCH

She slipped off the espresso machine and answered from the floor with her feet still resting against the countertop. "Who are you, and what was the safe word? Last night's a blur."

"No safeword. We have your cunt. Meet at the bench, corner of Morgan Stanley Park Avenue and Kern Holding Street. Alone, one hour."

It was one thing to jailbreak, but DeeDee knew her limits and line trace was one so she snagged and bagged the pins and held a little inside sacrifice to Portland, the premier polymath polycule who surgically interconnected their brains inside a single body to share one another for life. One bit of Portland code gold and she'd be swimming in pussy. "You're on the floor, DeeDee," reminded Velma.

"This is my thinking space, hush up while I ponder the infinite." She could a couple a SCREE Chirt-Chirt ascending EEE's legs pacing, shaking the floor, could catch a word back in the beyond warehouse room where a couple cracked up Kilowais were chattering out notation and legal docstacks for Flathead Ford. The Kilowais, KBW trademarked AI, were way old corpsec, patented and trademarked download of a heavy hitter bandsaw from his day, couldn't be pirated off the base personality unless they morally agreed to void their warranty, lots in the circ. Ford was SCREE Chirt-Chirt ascending EEE's lawyer, fighting the landslide for ratbot on the orca's tab.

PORTLAND WILL SEE YOU NOW, DeeDee flixed over from the viz to the vurt. "Are you still thinking dear?" Velma asked, pointedly moving her legs to start espresso dripping, DeeDee assumed the obvious silently as penance. "How's it hanging y'all, got any hot new brains to hook into the juice party?" Loaded upside down in the polygon pleather chair, Portland ran clix and adspace in a tasteful wall scroll, kind of an art to the exploit, less brute force than DeeDee's prefs, the smooth outer chassis for Portland said "I'm punching out in a minute."

They were an individualized amalgamation of three physical brains psychosurgically visected into one another, enabled to a custom body and lifetime committed to singulamory. "I'm cock locked out, Port, listen," DeeDee shoved two fingers to her mouth and slathered her togue along them for a sensiosync to the cursed crotch clamp. Portland's digits ghosted through the stats, pulled em and vexted. "What's the damage, how much and how soon?"

"Custom work, charming darling." Portland leaned their trilateral symmetric body back, waved away the middle and spread up DeeDee's alt, nerves and all. "Fused the long way up your spinal cord. Biolocked, meat stuff. Not our forte, darling, and you couldn't afford it if it was." Portland sighed, overcome with vaporous boredom. "Even if we knew the lockout, custom viropicks run more than your last ten years income, pussycat."

"Fuck my life, stay outta my taxes, gimme something at least." DeeDee yanked her slobbered fingers out.

"It's good work, better than you're ever worth, and I'd know - I sourced half your body."

"One third but whatever."

"The good news is, you'll probably not get spinal meningitis from the lockout, just don't leave it too long." DeeDee punched out and heaved a floor heavy sigh. "Guess I really better go make that meet, or I could desperately call everyone I know and owe." After desperately calling everyone she knew, DeeDee said, >:( to the ceiling, "I guess I'm going to the meet with these mysterious pussy theives. I spent good money on that cunt too!"

"How's that search going," Velma stood between DeeDee's legs and frothed artificially thickened protein strings for someone's café au lait.

"Velma... Velma, have I been karmically centered would you say? Have the scales of justice been tipped cruelly against me, the most innocent of girls? Would you walk on me for twenty bucks?"

So Velma kicked off her shoes but not even getting used as a doormat got her off the edge, then SCREE Chirt-Chirt ascending EEE looked through her office door.

"Velma, put your shoes on, DeeDee leave your shirt off and pay Velma another twenty." The average AlTrek 4X Infrantry Multiplier AC was rusting out in uninhabitable desert to the beat of radioactive decay, major outliers were in use for specialized valet parking and the life support framework for SCREE Chirt-Chirt ascending EEE, approximately 1/3 of an orca left over from an underwater mine in a corpwar trading route blow up.

No one argues with two tons of whale who already won a fight with the government and the major corptrade conglomerate general council strapped inside another 12 odd tons of mechanized power, DeeDee tucked her shirt behind her head and hoped someone around here appreciated her tits. >:0 "These are pristine, you jackoffs, classic CW models, OEM to spec!" She shoved them in the direction of the tables, no one looked.

"Dee." Flathead beckoned, DeeDee called to the beck and slashed backwards on a metal chair. "You're keyed up to vandal, girl. Listen, need a filter swap for my client. Upgrade the whole box if you can scratch it up, figure me?"

"Square it with me, Ford, my tits still hot?" (*´_`) She leaned way in, specced the side-eye from SCREE Chirt-Chirt ascending EEE through the tanktint windows, right figure whales are mammals too.

Flathead's oily eyes under that heavybrowed custom lawframe job in his skull slid along DeeDee, back to her digital pleading @_@ and shrugged. "You know I don't do organic."

"Fuck! I'm-" She pulled her shirt down. "I'm late, I'll hustle up a nextgen, usual rate."

"Sure sure. Clean it, client says this one makes everything taste like hot dogs."

"How's she know what a hot dog tastes like even where'd she get..." DeeDee vocalled on the downlow out the side office door, left ratbot and Bobby hankin paperwork in whatever new angle Ford was playing at. Color searing eyes blasted the world round her with sound again. Splasher and flasher swarmed the Mocra doors hungrily.

DeeDee swiped onto a delivery drone blowing down the sidewalk, vanished in a cloud of disintegrating adspray and splasher dust. Clix and spinners streaked her A/V edge while she fingerbanged the tamperfree(tm) deep into the loving waiting GPS and flushed it. Kern Holding halved the ad sprays, stuck her on a halfsec blind wait to cycle over the MAdaSS.

Didn't look half priced up over the viz, real park space and algea tanks, plastic green, trueviz rooftop boards and splashers all reigned in. Not many places scratched up enough to pay for gray but Kern and Morgan Stanely did. "Fuck where's this guy." Hustle and crowd pressed close round the bench powerbricks, all these droners worked virtual right on the walkway.

Coats slid up too personal in a curl, this guy has legs on legs and teeth like insect legs, curling open near DeeDee's whimsical cat-ear mods. "Let's private" it skittered those fine metal teeth to her mask glass, and made her go all >.<; with each word. "Whatever." She wrapped digits round multisegment hands and clasped private-public lines, perfect prophylactic for keeping conversing on the hush-hush without a fatal social disease.

"Why the cold brush, kittykat, doncha trust much," it thrummed in silk smooth inside sounds around the wire.

"Don't test my taps, snatcherino," she dropped an icicle hiss down the line. Hand in hand and out for a stroll through the walking workdead and high class bluemaroon adspray of the other side.

"Fair enough kitty, coulda had more playtime." It was wrapped up head to toe other than the segments in her hand and legs slipped in between bandages on its head. "Giving you a hot tip, fresh filter refurb, ex-corp sub and modded for ox, great deal for you. Free and install formatted."

"Real bargain bin I spec."

"No clones, no rebadge. I'll drop the pickup, all you do is courier like a good girl. No messing, no poking the drivers and wares, from your hands to the orca, and forget we talked. That's all." A ripple of excitement went through the walking workdead, furiously chattering through corp trades.

"Figure that filter's plenty safe. Figure that's why all the cloak n bullshit pussy snatching. Pure charity, no?"

"Trust, nothing's on your hands after this and you go back to nightly custom fingerbangs." Twenty insect legs curled around the cuff of its coat and withdrew.

"Might run this up a few contacts first."

"Might drop your filthy cunt in sulfuric acid if you do, clear enough."

"Distilled, fine, hit me with the deets."

Deet dusted, connect busted, DeeDee blew bowed kisses with fuck off finger flourishes while she walk backwards up an exec driverless, scuffing up the ten cent gloss on a two cent primer dip. Rolled with the high rollers through the Red Riser strip. She cut through the Whipping Whirlpool, high stakes operator she cut some autonomics for - head/body gamblers all got off on taking a chance on having their bodies wired in to fuck off enough debt to reattach their heads, double or nothing down to win a brand new model. Not a sale or soul DeeDee made, her personal opinion but no judgment. Slipped out the back door after a little slap and tickle pass through.

The back alley cut between WW and topline exec condoslugs, custom body stim tubes for a full home holistic virtual life, and the whole alley was packed with nimbyronment sentiels. Rained here so no one else got wet, wastecycle rats and sewer filters crowded up and down the black wet brick. DeeDee stepped live around the hyperaggro antipestation roachhives then out to the big blaze - adcolor burst wide round her as she hit the main road looking for drones and anthills.

No broker worth a salt shake missed out on bread crumbs and sugar crystals, and DeeDee doled em from her cargo pants pocket. Can't do acquisitions and void warranties without a big juiced net, a dropin with Guts was neg, hadda go pre-analog here full on prehistoric. Dime blaster swarmed each scrap, cheap motion sensitive, to small for spray. Rats bright and ready for fission snagged, but the bait made do and the march of Colony made its unerring path a bead of tiny black dots to DeeDee.

"Sweet sWeet sweEt bread Gluten carbo yeaSt verY Good sweet swEet yes." Couple hundred ants jeweled DeeDee's ears pretty as you please and twice as small. Colony sees all, knows all, lives everywhere, that singularly focused consciousness inside immeasurable ants. It all farmed belowground, and DeeDee got in the know when her mini-fridge busted.

No dropin, no line out, no unlink or download - just neko a horminga and her lips to Colony's ears.

[korpuskat]

Engineering Ecstasy

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (Gender Neutral, implied to have a vagina) Rating: Explicit WC: 2,065 Warnings: None

-----

Surrounded by tools and screens and lights, Ramattra stands in his workshop and stares at the device before him. It floats softly on a light pad. Beside it, a screen shows off its blueprints, complete with a cut-away view, to show where each piece will lay, where the sensors are suspended, the indicator lights. It's rather a marvel, if he's truly being genuine- the design is custom, the inlaid nodes are all cutting edge, fast and sensitive and durable. Every aspect has been nurtured and guided into the form displayed before him.

And this is the lowest he has ever felt.

Because the appendage that floats before him is an imitation of a human cock. A mockery, even, intended in every way to be better, but perhaps... familiar enough to not be off-putting. He hopes.

It's shameful.

Making the thing itself is not the problem. Life was meant to be enjoyed, omnics were meant to explore and seek new experiences and integrate themselves among humanity- sex was a part of that. Even at the monastery it wasn't unusual for those omnics that had the hardware to use it- and to discuss the implications of having it to begin with. But he did not envy his brothers and sister who were made with genitals. Ramattra had never seen the appeal; all the ecstasy and release from sensory overload could be achieved without any attachments.

He had not understood the desire until you.

You and your laughter that plays endlessly in his memory banks, your soft, fleeting touches to his plating that tingle hours after, your kind words that pull his mind from the task at hand. He's itched endlessly to reach out and touch you, to know what it is about you that's made his processors hang, caught endlessly in the minutia of your existence. And how he wishes it was just simple fascination- he hates how quickly it turned to him prodding at his own sensory nodes, plucking wires in his hips and wishing it was your hands instead.

This- the purple silicone device in his hand- is only the latest fantasy he's indulged.

After all, what if he were to finally approach you and you were uninterested in toying with his systems? And even if you were, he wouldn't be able to please you at the same time-- he would not risk an unintentional twitch of his hands. This... this was just an investment in the future. He hadn't quite gathered your input on the design or shape or size-- or expressed his interest in you at all-- but he'd invested time to research popular shapes, ones well-received by humans. This... he's fairly sure will please you, if you let him- and if it isn't to your tastes, then he'll make it again and-

...

He should probably test it, before he gets ahead of himself.

He takes the cock in one hand and examines the ports, where it will connect to his frame. He squeezes it, feeling the firmness of the silicone. Honestly, he isn’t sure what density he was aiming for; it’s so much softer than his plating, he has no idea what would be ideal. Not just for what you want from him either; if the silicone's curing has somehow distorted a wire or dulled the sensors’ abilities, then the whole design will have to be scrapped.

Ramattra's hands shake as he disconnects the paneling at the end of his torso. Before, this little crevice had only housed a chip for monitoring the health of his hip joints. Now that was pushed further back towards his spine- with a minor upgrade to allow for more precise movements, smoother rotation of the joint- given the purpose of the device, it felt appropriate to make sure he could use it correctly. Where the chip had sat before is a new plate with two jack outputs.

They line up with the ports, at least. Ramattra allows himself one more moment of preparation before slotting them together. The circuits connect at once- and the buses inside are still working, aligning themselves with his systems, synchronizing, adjusting the pre-loaded drivers, running a self-check automatically. The internal display of his model updates- and another wave of shame nearly makes him pluck it off again as the cock- his cock- appears on the diagram.

The self-check concludes, the indicator lights flash green- muddied through the purple- then match his preset red. Every system reports back: ready, online. Between his legs his cock stands proudly. The translucent silicone glows where the red lights shine just under the surface.

He could leave it at that…

but he should test the sensors. After all, they all might be online, but they still might need adjustments. He has no idea if the silicone has disturbed their functionality at all. Hesitantly, as though the appendage would burn him, Ramattra touches the surface above one LED. It's smooth and cool to the touch. Something prickles in his sensory subroutines, the data input on his cock is so minuscule and yet so sensitive.

He wraps one finger and thumb around the base. Instantaneously, warmth spreads through his circuits, settles into those wires at his hips. He strokes upwards-

”Aaah…” The noise slides from his voice box unbidden, a kernel-level reaction to stimuli coming forth unintentionally. And Ramattra would make a note to investigate that, to minimize uncontrolled reactions- except that every process is overridden by the drag of silicone on metal, on the rubber pad of his palm, on how every wire in his body is lighting up.

One stroke and it’s like you’ve breathed on every sensor in his body. And you- how does his mind always wander back to you?- your hands would be so much smaller, softer- delicate, even. You would- he shudders, delves into fantasy- You would start so slowly, fingers barely touching him. His hand mimics his thoughts, loosening until there’s barely any pressure, stroking so slowly it hurts. Maybe you’d be nervous- it’s okay, he would be too.

And you- you would see how he’ll try to be still, to let you explore him, and you’d see how badly he needs more. You would be kind to him, wouldn't you? With those soft smiles, you wouldn't deny him. At least, in his fantasy. His grasp tightens again, thinks only of your little hands on his cock.

Each motion brings fire through his circuits, a haze to his mind. You… oh, you could do this to him as long as you wanted. Forever, maybe, if it always felt like he was burning from the inside out. Maybe... you would touch him elsewhere, too. Perhaps bracing yourself against his chest or shoulder, or exploring his ribbon cables or along his neck, down the sensitive, covered wires of his spine. He can almost feel you, your weight across his thighs, stroking with one hand and holding him close with the other- and he would hold you, splay his hands across your back and lean in closer to press his array to your forehead.

The thought alone has him shuddering, warmth spreading in his chest and-

and he needs more.

He would whisper to you, May I have you?, but even in his own mind he sounds desperate, aching.

It wouldn't matter, because you would say Yes, of course, I'm yours.

He groans aloud at the last one; yes, yes, he wants- he needs you. To have you, not just in physicality, but in every other way he can imagine. And he imagines much. Like how you'd move, how you'd reveal yourself to him. It isn't what lies beneath that excites him- it's you doing it at all, showing him what you hide from everyone else. Letting him explore you the same way, though he's not sure what you would feel like. Most of his experience with human skin and flesh is not what he wants to associate with you, so he skims this part of his fantasy until he's prodding between your thighs.

The internet has helped him visualize this part. He may not know what sensations you would provide him there, but he can picture your face when he slides into you. How your brow pinches, how your lips part- and you would be so wet for him-

and suddenly the drag of metal and rubber on silicone is not nearly enough. He needs- he needs to know how it would feel, that slickness you would surround him with. His workshop table provides an obvious option. A bottle of machine lubricant would be close enough- anything at all to sate the impulse. He pours the oil over his hands- and thinks of his fingers covered in your arousal instead.

When he strokes this time, there's hardly any friction at all. A smooth glide from root to tip has him throwing his head back, voice box crackling out another broken moan. All of that burning inside becomes liquid, waves of hot pleasure that crash over him with stunning ease. His hips twitch into his palm- and he lets the instinctive chase of desire take over, fucking into his fist with abandon.

He imagines you on top of him- and oh, he'd have to be so gentle with you, but he can't with himself now. He'd hold you, careful with his hands when his hips aren't. You'd cling to him, barely keeping yourself up as he fucks you- and he likes that, how you'd melt against him in pleasure. The pleasure he gives you. You would trust him with this, that he wouldn't harm you. And in turn, the moans he's heard in his research would be nothing compared to the noises from your lips. Would you be loud, quiet? Would you call his name- oh, yes- an overheat warning pops into his HUD, he likes that. How you'd sound saying his name, moaning it in broken tones, like his staticked voice as he pleases you until you-

his frame shudders as he strokes himself faster, imagines how your face would twist and pinch as you'd near your end with him. Would you tremble when you finished? And inside, what does it feel like in-

His ventilation falters, half his fans seizing as tips over the edge. Pleasure floods the same wires he used to manipulate, a white static rushing through every logic circuit, drowning out every thought as his body rushes to dump the excess sensory input. Heat surrounds him- literal heat, as his processors run and run with no coolant pumping. A droning noise fills his workshop- and it takes much too long for him to realize it's his own synth.

A pop-up tells his release vents have opened- a quiet hissing of steam and hot air rushing out somewhere. His fans resume their buzzing pace as he finally begins to cool off.

Ramattra falls back onto his workshop table and lays there, waiting for his systems to completely refresh- and enjoying the lingering tingles like sparks between wires. After only a few moments the high has passed, systems flushed and returned to working order. An automatic check returns ready, online across every parameter.

And Ramattra is left with his own cock once more standing proudly between his thighs. Perhaps that would be awkward for you, in the time afterwards.

Afterwards. When you're flushed and panting and curled up next to him- you would stay, wouldn't you? He's read humans need care once the activity itself has concluded. His refresh would mean he could tend to you in whatever way you needed; sustenance, contact (though, he would have to purchase pillows), perhaps he could clean you. A stray thought slips by, the image conjured before he can stop himself: What would you look like with...?

The shame returns, but Ramattra suspends the feeling and adds a note to the blueprints of his cock- should he make another, he'll add a fluid reservoir tank. It's practical, he argues. Self-lubrication would make this much easier.

With an internal tank he could leave his fluids on you- in you. Non-toxic- in case you wanted to... A prickle of stray electricity runs down his spine. His fist curls around the silicone again, still slick with oil. With the thought of your tongue peaking out to taste him, he can't stop himself from beginning to stroke again.

After all, another set of data would be very useful...

[milfstalin]

[...]

Ultimately, this story about Pakistan is more properly understood as one about the contest between China and the U.S. that pits the rest of the world in the middle. Chinese officials, we learned, regularly told their Pakistani counterparts that Beijing doesn’t see the contest as zero sum, that it’s okay to be friendly with both major powers. The U.S. does not quite see it that way, and Pakistan knows it. The result is the story below. If you’re at all interested in foreign affairs, we think you’ll find this one enlightening.

[...]

In October of 2022, a pivotal year for Pakistan, military chief Qamar Javed Bajwa finally won what he had long been striving for: an official state trip to the United States. His mission was explicit; a document prepared for Bajwa ahead of the visit is titled, “U.S. Re-Engagement with Pakistan: Ideas for Reviving an Important Relationship.”

[...]

From New York, Munir Akram, Pakistan’s representative to the United Nations, began reporting back cables highlighting “sarcastic” comments from his Chinese counterpart, who openly tweaked Akram about Pakistan’s sudden swing toward Washington. In private conversations with their Pakistani counterparts over the past year, as reported by Pakistani diplomats, Chinese officials have expressed displeasure with Islamabad for “switching camps”—rather than merely seeking open relations with both countries.

Now, with their U.S. gamble failing to pay off, Pakistani officials have become increasingly frantic in their efforts to repair relations with China, including, asthe documents reveal, by granting China approval for a military base at the port of Gwadar—a major and longstanding strategic demand of Beijing—and authorizing joint military operations inside Pakistan.

[...]

Internal reports emphasize Pakistan’s wish that its relations with the U.S. and China not be “zero-sum.” “What the Pakistani military prefers is to be able to maintain a balance between their Chinese and U.S. military relationships,” said Adam Weinstein, deputy director of the Middle East program at the Quincy Institute and an analyst on Pakistan. “They believe that if things are balanced, both sides will have an incentive to keep relations strong.”

Despite this preference, a classified internal Pakistani intelligence assessment judges China to be a more “natural strategic ally” than the U.S., with whom Pakistan is deemed to share “limited” strategic interests.

Facing such loss of trust from a key ally, the documents also show that Pakistan’s military-backed government privately promised Beijing a long-coveted concession: a Chinese military base in the key port city of Gwadar. Gwadar is a key node in China’s Belt-and-Road Initiative—the last stop in a land corridor through Pakistan that would connect China’s economy westward, and make it less reliant on shipping transit in the South China Sea. 

In return, Pakistan asked for a major upgrade in economic and military assistance from Beijing in order to insulate Islamabad from the fierce reaction from the U.S. such a deal is expected to provoke.

[...]

This August, Pakistani government sources vented frustration to the media over their failed reconciliation with the U.S., lamenting the meager benefits that mending ties had brought. Government sources told the Express Tribune that “Pakistan’s reliance on the United States to secure the IMF package was not yielding the results.” This week, the IMF announced a decision to consider Pakistan’s loan request at an upcoming meeting slated for September 25, raising hopes that a deal may still be secured.

Pakistan’s private concessions to China come as the U.S. State Department has continued to publicly defend the military regime from criticism over its role in rigging elections this February, gross human rights abuses inside the country targeting the press and civil society, and an ongoing crackdown on supporters of now-imprisoned former Prime Minister Khan. That crackdown now includes credible threats to Khan’s life, as he continues to be held in government custody despite repeated rejection by the courts of the charges against him.

“We believe good governance, long-term capacity building, and sustainable market-based approaches that let the private sector flourish are the best paths to sustained growth and development,” the State Department told Drop Site News in its post-publication statement. “Our partnership with Pakistan spans the full range of regional and bilateral issues, including increasing trade and investment, strengthening security cooperation, promoting regional security and stability, building climate resilience, supporting democracy and human rights, and expanding people-to-people ties.”

The rigging of elections this February was met with general indifference in Washington, as has the ongoing suppression of press and political activism in the country.  On the economic front, Pakistan’s imploding economy has consumed Western aid with nothing to show for it but soaring inflation, blackouts, an internet slowed to a crawl, and joblessness. 

18 Sept 2024

[imitationgame77]

Murderbot and ART reading each other's mind

Murderbot claims that ART does not read its mind – that it really knows Murderbot well. But sometimes, it DOES appear as though ART is reading Murderbot’s mind. As if its inner thoughts are leaking into its private feed where ART is sitting and watching.

Here are some examples:

[Quote]

I hate it when ART is right. “I can’t do anything about that.”

You can’t alter your configuration.

I could see the skepticism through the feed. “No, I can’t. Look up the specs on SecUnits.”

SecUnits are never altered. Skepticism intensifying. (Artificial Condition, p.42).

[Comment]

How can see the skepticism through the feed, unless they know each other very well? Murderbot has observed and calibrated ART’s various responses through the hours of joint media viewing, and can now interpret subtle changes in the feed. Basically reading ART.

[Quote]

Its arms were bare, and there was no metal showing and no gun ports. This was not a SecUnit.

I was looking at a sexbot.

That is not the official designation, ART said.

The official designation is ComfortUnit but everybody knows what that means. (Artificial Condition, pp.89-90).

[Comment]

I mean, how can ART tell that Murderbot is looking at a ComfortUnit, thinking of it as a sexbot, without reading its mind?

[Quote]

Without drones, I couldn’t see what it was doing. ART had switched over to Iris’s feed, using her enviro suit camera, and the resolution at this distance wasn’t good. ART needed a field equipment upgrade. Wait, a human would look at it, right?

ART said, Look at it. It’s obvious you’re avoiding it.

Maybe I’m a nervous human who’s afraid of bots, I told ART, but I looked at it anyway. (System Collapse, p.13)

[Comment]

By the beginning of System Collapse, ART is practically always in Murderbot’s head in order to monitor its stats. Murderbot also has the constant awareness of ART’s activities, because of their practically wall-free intimacy. ART can probably hear anything Murderbot is thinking in language (human or machine language) unless Murderbot tries very hard to think privately.

In this scene, it is also sweet that Murderbot does as told by ART, because even though it hates when ART is right, it knows when ART is right (which is always).

[Quote]

(Obviously this is not actually what I’m upset about, it’s just easier to be angry about B-E Unit1’s fuckup and/or disregard for minimum client safety.)

Safer to be angry about it, ART said on our private connection. (System Collapse, p.15)

[Comment]

It really is literally reading Murderbot’s thoughts.

[Quote]

I should have paid more attention. I’d fucked that up, too.

We both fucked that up, ART-drone said. No, it doesn’t read my mind, it just knows me really well. I should have banned refreshment items containing stimulants earlier in the day. (System Collapse, p.133)

[Comment]

Even if ART isn’t reading Murderbot’s mind (which I think it is), ART’s choice of expression is also spot-on.

[Quote]

On our private channel, I asked ART-drone, Is it one of ours?

There’s a 66 percent chance, ART-drone replied. If after our first message they decided to send assistance, they could have met the second pathfinder en route and received the map coordinates that would allow them to locate our exact position.

[…]

Sometimes the thing where it’s like ART reads my mind goes both ways. I said, But you don’t think it is.

No. (System Collapse, pp.191-192).

[Comment]

Murderbot says “it’s like ART reads my mind goes both ways” – even if it is not literally reading its mind, they are so attuned to each other’s processing patterns, that by noting spikes in the feed activities, they can read each other.

For more thorough analysis of implicit communications between Murderbot and ART, I wrote this piece on AO3:

[1000sunnygo]

From Punk Hazard to Wano and beyond, there were two notable changes in Law.

Somewhere between Dressrosa and Onigashima, he had a massive power upgrade.

Personally, I think Eternal youth surgery is an awakened ability (surgery fruit born from the wish to carry out impossible surgeries -> awakening should be the ultimate surgery to exist) and Law concocted several elements of it to come up with the awakened abilities that help him in his fight. Anyway, it's possible that Law was working on his awakening at Punk Hazard but the sudden decision to set sail with SHs left it incomplete, he only perfected the abilities before the raid at Wano. Other than that, as Rayleigh says, "near death" experiences allow someone to get stronger, which likely helped in his power boost.

And then there's the change in his mentality. There's a subtle but clear character development.

From the beginning, Law's style was to initiate something bold (saving Luffy at Marineford, being the mastermind of rocky port incident, breaking the Gear at Punk Hazard that eventually led to Kaido's downfall).

But then he would step aside and leave the stage for the bigger players - Blackbeard, (Koby), Ochoku for the "rocky port incident", Kaido to defeat Doflamingo. Declaring his faith in Luffy and saying Luffy makes miracles come true, preaching "D's will being another storm" passively as if it applies to someone else and not him, even though he's a D himself.

A shift was taking place during Dressrosa, when he decided to face Doflamingo instead of relying on Kaido.

Taking down Doflamingo was his lifelong goal yet he intended to leave it to others to complete. Only after Luffy egged him on to take matters in their own hand, he expressed his wish to kill Doflamingo.

It started as a "wish" but then he was determined to finish him off even if it's the last thing he does.

I agree with the interpretation that Law's passive mindset most likely stemmed from learned helplessness rather than personal style. Doflamingo had never once spoke to Law as someone more than a mere subordinate, and Law was subconsciously trapped by that identity even after staying away from Doflamingo for over ten years; an astounding level of control.

Only after Doflamingo was out of the picture, Law found the freedom to be a proper Pirate captain. Which helped in the rapid upgrade in aura and power post-Dressrosa.

The quest to search the meaning of "D" was one of the first major missions to carry on by himself, for himself. He didn't propose another alliance, he didn't want to ride Luffy's coattails. He wanted to find the treasure One Piece himself for his own cause, if it meant having to compete the Straw hats for it.

But the problem is, Law had no long term plan for it. He didn't decorate his crew with strong fighters, his style was to take the enemies by himself with his men only providing support. Law appeared to have some confidential knowledge (ie. burn scar man) to place a wager, but it was not enough. The fall of Heart pirates was inevitable.

Since he always kept his crew away from trouble until this point and avoided the spotlight, I wonder if Law knew this would be a likely outcome if they properly exposed themselves. Oda says his characters sometimes act as if they have a will on their own. Curious about where the story takes him from here.

[h9o6]

[NEWS] Extended demo released! Download & Play now!

Hello! Today's update is super exciting because as the title says...

The extended demo of MY DEAR☆LOVE has been released!!! (Windows only)

After two long weeks of hard work (and many cups of coffee), we are happy to finally share what we have been working on!

We apologize for the delay. The development of this extended demo had taken longer than expected due to us working more hours for our day jobs, but it was our goal to release it this weekend, and we are glad that we were able to achieve it despite the setbacks. 

Extended Demo features:

Estimated 1 hour play time. The full version, MY DEAR☆LOVE PLUS+, has an estimated play time of 8-15 hours.

Meet the male love interest Atsuya and side character Hayato Arihara.

Stat-raising simulation mode is now playable! It can be accessed from the title screen.

Cooking mini game is now playable! You can make curry in the story mode, or make omurice in the mini game mode (accessible from the title screen).

Visual novel mode that extends to the end of the prologue.

1 full colour CG featuring the male love interest Atsuya.

Save/load feature and general settings menu with a toggle for Main Character portrait.

Keyboard input is available; please refer to the "Read Me" text file included in the demo file.

Japanese or English language option available in settings from the title screen only.

We apologize there is a bug in the cooking mini game: In the part where you cut the ingredients, the knife will not be aligned with your cursor in fullscreen mode. To avoid this, at the tutorial screen, switch to window mode by pressing the F key or F4 key on your keyboard. We are working on resolving this and will provide a fix as soon as possible.

*The game is in development. The demo does not represent the final game. CG gallery is not available in this demo. Please email us at hnineosix@gmail.com if you encounter any errors when playing the demo. 

Due to time constraints, we have had to prioritize certain functions and omit other aspects. However, we plan to release a version 2.2 update that will further enhance the player experience and provide fixes. 

Plans for the version 2.2 update:

Enhanced functions of the stat-raising simulation mode

More character sprite expression

More "cut-ins" which are in-game visuals that complement text

Enhanced graphics and staging effects, camerawork, etc.

Fixes to the GUI and other minor fixes

With the release of this extended demo, the mini demo will be removed from our game page on itch.io. Thank you to everyone who gave it a try! This week we will be progressively updating our Kickstarter campaign with new screenshots, Epilogue DLC story reveal, samples of the digital artbook, a teaser video, and possibly a teaser of our next game (a double-protagonist dating sim with optional GxG/BxB content!).

MY DEAR☆LOVE is set to release as a free game in early 2025. Our Kickstarter campaign, at a funding goal of $6,500 CAD (approximately $4,720 USD), is to fund the development of an extended version that will feature more upgrades, including new gameplay, more mini games, more CGs and story endings. We are dedicated to making this game a reality, and if we could have your support, we believe we can deliver it at its full creative potential and provide a even more enjoyable player experience. If we manage to reach the corresponding stretch goal of $11,000 CAD (approximately $7,987 USD), a MacOS port will be developed.

In closing, we would like to take a moment to show our appreciation for the support we have received. H9O6 is a small indie studio consisting of two creative minds (and a cat!) with big dreams. We hope this extended demo will show you our dedication to game-making and other creative pursuits. Your support means the world to us and motivates us to strive for the best we can.

Thank you for reading and enjoy the new extended demo! ❤

[caycanteven]

To Steal A Ship

hehehe i wrote more and will continue to write more. Motti belongs to @mothiepixie and Lex belongs to me &lt;3

Lex rehoisted her leather duffle against her shoulder as she followed her new captain toward the harbor. The sun wasn't blistering with it's early rise that morning, but the warm rays and cool sea breeze was a delicate reminder of the day ahead and many to come. The smell of saltwater was strong, though not as strong as the gutted fish smell as the two pushed their way around the docks toward the supposed ship her new captain acquired. "Someday I'll have somethin' like that," Motti spoke up with a pointed finger.

Lex hummed, raising a brow and following Motti's gesture to a brigantine anchored in the port. She acknowledged the woodwork and it's fine craftsmanship, a fine merchant ship no less. Her one eye landed on the beauty at the bow, a figure head of a mermaid who's hand outstretched to rest underneath it's bowsprit. It was most certainly a sight for a sailor's sore eyes. "Aye, that ship is a sight," Lex chuckled softly and shook her head good naturedly. "Merchant ship," she noted openly as she pushed through two large fisherman who crowded her. She gave them a glare, before taking Motti's side.

"Ye right," the captain nodded with a thoughtful hum, "I could of afforded a ship like that long ago, but for now I got the best I could."

Lex raised a brow again at the hint of a past her new captain had yet to share. She'd never pry for the information, though she admitted she was curious. She knew she wasn't from the same upbringing as herself, but if she wasn't, then how did she get to this point?

"So ye got a ship, then?"

Motti nodded, "'course I got a ship. Ain't much, but it's enough."

Lex and Motti stopped at last next to a schooner, who's appearance and care was much less than the merchant ship they shared appreciation for. Lex's single eye considered the vessel and it's hull. Not a large ship, but not a sloop; it was a good starter boat, but if her captain even dared to sail the seas in search of the Black Fiend, she'd need to upgrade it eventually.

Perhaps they could manage a few minor bounties, or goods transportation for local merchants between ports. It would be a decent start, but a long, long time before they'd be able to afford a brigantine of their own. It wouldn't be as nice as that other brig--especially if it were to have a figure head as nice as that--but it would be their own.

Lex followed Motti onto the rickety catwalk joining the dock and the schooner. She hummed and pressed a boot into the dock, testing her weight on the wood, fortunately finding it sturdy. Lex leaned against the mainmast as she dropped her duffle on the deck. She watched contently as the captain expressed how she came to own such a vessel.

"I was lucky 'nough the old bastard who had this before was so willin' to part with it for what I had," Motti huffed and placed her hands on her hips as she tapped her boot's heal against the ships deck. "Had'er repaired a bit but could be better, I suppose."

Lex hummed in agreement. "Aye, she'll do," she chuckled softly.

Motti smiled appreciatively and held her chin proudly, "I plan to head to the port south here in two days time. Lookin' fer more work, of course, but maybe some more crew." Seeing Lex nod, she felt confident enough to breach her next subject.

"Can ye sail?"

Lex shot Motti a confused look mid bite of an apple she pulled from her leather duffle, raising a brow and grunting in affirmation. "Aye...?" she replied, though curiously before biting into the fruit.

Motti smiled and only gave a nod, before turning to explain what else was available on the ship as well as her plans to gain a small fortune and where she believed the Black Fiend would be next.

Lex, on the other hand, was suspicious and refused to let the topic drop. She wiped her lips of bitter juice, her mouth full as she questioned her captain carefully.

"Can ye sail, Cap'n?"

Motti stiffened, shifting uncomfortably on the deck as she looked over her shoulder sheepishly toward her crew member.

"...ye can't sail, can ye?"

"...no."

Lex sighed with a groan under her breath. She shook her head, realizing what she was getting into when it came to this new captain; it supported her suspicions more so. However, as she stood straight, she refused to question her captain further and she decided to do the next best thing.

"Aight, cap'n, I'm gonna have to teach ya then."

"What? Really?!" Motti exclaimed happily, but Lex eased the captain back onto the heels of her boots with a stern look.

"Aye, but ye hold ye britches," she began, "cause ye got no clue how to steer a boat, ye can't leave port. Gonna have to teach ya quickly if ye plan to head to the next in two days."

"Can't ye just--"

"Aye, maybe fer a bit, but ye need to know how yer own ship works. A captain is only as good as their ship," Lex enforced gently. "Ye eventually can hire a helmsman," she muttered and put her hands on her hips, "but fer now, let's get ye sea legs underneath ye." Seeing Motti's excitement in her blue eyes brought a warm flutter to Lex's chest. She smiled and turned the captain and started explaining the parts of the ship, from bowsprit to port.

Lex wasn't quite sure what she was getting into when she told her captain she'd teach her how to sail.

Though losing the ol' schooner on the day before they planned to leave port was not what she anticipated.

Lex grunted, sitting against a post of the dock as she wrung out her hair. Thankfully, their belongings were salvageable and they only lost their rations planned for the trip, but the ship as a whole was the greatest loss.

How in Davy Jone's locker were they gonna get anywhere without a ship?

"Sorry," Motti mumbled defeatedly, wringing out the skirts around her waist as she grumbled curses beneath her breath. She was soaked, but Lex was more than thankful her captain knew how to swim at least. Sailing was one thing, swimming was another. Motti scowled at the water that left her flintlock's holster as she emptied it.

"Ye just need practice," Lex reassured softly, trying her best not to express her frustration so easily. She rubbed her face once her hair was efficiently not as drenched. "Gotta admit to ye cap'n, we ain' gonna be doin' any practicin' without a ship, or get to the southern port tomorrow." Lex picked up her boot to wrench it off, then poured out the water on the inside, a couple small fish flopping on the deck with the gentle splash.

Motti sighed and plopped down, hands on her freckled cheeks with disappointment and irritation knitted in her brows. "Aye, I'm aware."

Lex hummed, seeing the defeated look. She sighed, "Oi, cap, don't let--"

She jumped when Motti exclaimed proudly her sudden idea.

"Ye wha?!"

"Ye and I will steal a ship!"

Lex stared, baffled as she blinked. She turned her head and began smacking her ears, grumbling about the water making her hear things.

Motti, however, grabbed her hand and gave her a firm look of determination. "We steal a ship. Ye know yer way around weapons, I know my way around men."

"Ye just admitted ye like to get aroun'," Lex scoffed and raised her brow, but couldn't help the little smirk curling at her lips.

"Not like that. I ruin the hearts of anyone, sure, but I got my eyes set on someone already and we're gonna find'em no matter what," Motti snorted smugly. "How ya think I got that...well, had that ship?"

Lex smirked and chuckled softly. So, that was how she managed, she thought, she's a fine manipulator, if she's doin' it right. Can't blame her in this life, I suppose. Lex sighed, relenting to Motti's eagerness and contagious desire to cause trouble for their benefit. "Aight, aight. Ye got me on the hook, cap."

"So, ye got anotha ship in mind?"

"I think ye already know," Motti grinned.

It wasn't easy, but it certainly wasn't hard to get on board. The captain was right about one thing; men flocked to her as soon as she presented herself. Lex had to hand it to her, she knew how to get them distracted, but seein' as their plan was working so well, Lex took it upon herself to scope out the rest of the ship.

Weapons, rations, merchant cargo from a northern port, no doubt. She'd seen some of these things before, not to mention the crops that grew there were valuable to southern and central ports. This ship was full of it. They could likely sell it themselves and get plenty of gold in return.

Though one thing that had Lex's eye was a beautiful musket, made with mahogany wood and fine metal. It looked like it hadn't been used. Lex took care to examine the weapon and it's condition, before giving it a quick glance down the sight.

Oh yes, this was a beautiful weapon, indeed.

Lex's examination was interrupted at the sound of chatter muffled by the hull of the brigantine. Her immediate thought was of her captain, and she quickly got up with the musket in hand and it's pouch of ammo at her belt. She knew there were limited guards on the ship, but she was weary as she snuck around back to the upper deck. She crashed her back against the side and peeked over the railing.

The captain had her hands full; larger men, sailors that worked for the ship perhaps, were crowding her with rather disgusting grins. Lex narrowed her eye at the looks they had, and one had gotten close.

Far too close.

The glint of metal was all she needed

The crack in the air sent men and straggling fisherman on the docks into a surprised panic. The man, who's knife was bared before Captain Motti, fell lifeless as his dead weight hit the edge of the harbor's dock and into the waters below.

Motti, hands on her hat and eyes finding Lex on the ship's edge, quickly began to push her way past the men who'd yet to recover from the gun shot.

Though, at the sight of Motti breaking for the ships ladder, they seemed to realize they'd been run a rig. "Stop them!" Yelled a sailor, and another dove for Motti in chase.

Lex grunted and cursed under her breath. She needed to reload. She snarled and she grabbed her own flintlock from her belt and she lifted it in haste to take aim and fire once more.

A warning shot; the bullet whistled past with the second crack of the gun, scaring the man off his pursuit and falling face first into the wooden boards. That gave her captain plenty of time, she was certain.

"Sink me, ye savvy Cap?!" Lex yelled urgently to Motti as she climbed the ladder and joined her crew mate.

"Blimey. Ye I'm fine, ye ol' salt!" Motti huffed and she looked over her shoulder as the men started after them. She gasped as Lex pushed past her and cut the ladder with her knife, swift and quick.

"No time to watch them feed the fishes," she grumbled and she climbed the bridge to the helm. "Weigh anchor, we leave now! Ye remember how I showe'd ye the sails?" Lex yelled as she began to reload her musket, preparing for the worst.

Motti nodded fervently and quickly got to work without a second thought. It took time, but when they managed to haul the anchor back up, Lex was already at the helm and directing the ship out of port. Motti quickly joined her, the two of them witnessing the wind catch the sails with vigor and the boat forced through the waves.

"Aye! We're doing it!" Motti exclaimed.

"Not yet, Cap, still gotta outrun the fleet if they show," Lex grunted and jerked the wheel effortlessly left to steer out of port. Another crack sounded and Lex quickly ducked as did Mottie. "Blimey!"

Motti looked portside to see the sailor who'd fired. She grunted and grabbed her own flintlock. With quickness, she fired and held firm as the gun jerked upward following the bullet.

The captain didn't miss.

Lex smirked, surprised yet impressed. "Aye, ye can shoot but ye can't sail?!" she laughed ands he held to the wooden wheel.

"Sailin' is much harder than shootin', and one of them I learned when I was younga!" Motti smiled.

The two shared a boisterous laugh as they stole away with their prize, a brigantine fit for a crew to be, with a golden mermaid at it's bow.

[artistdove]

Ok so I finished the Epic Mickey Demo a while ago and here are my thoughts. I played it on the Switch. This is gonna be a bit long, sorry in advance. Gonna put a read more in case none want to be spoiled or read this, idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Graphics: Amazing. Everything has a new model even the characters, nothing looks like it was ported from the Wii and HD-ed. Though that does mean for the Switch it may glitch at times. Sometimes I would catch the models load and unload. Though some of the new models seem a bit odd when they do certain animations. Really it's Ozzy's model that had me double take. It's great, but when he puffs out his chest it looks a bit geometric instead of smooth. Idk maybe the light sources make it look bad. Mick's ears have a slight bug when the camera sticks for a bit as they are made to follow the camera. The cutscenes do seem to cut off abruptly. I was a spamming A quite a bit, but that shouldn't have caused such jumps. I only had one second of footage of the teacup ride before it cuts to the ruined Dumbo ride. Others seems too fast for the animation to fully play out too. The thinner rivers also look odd as they are brighter in color.

Animation: Flowy and sleek. Apparently, they erased the controller Mick holds in the old cutscenes. I didn't notice it. I did noticed that some of the animations looked new. They may not be, idk. I played this game on the Wii, so. But I swear, Ozzy makes a slightly different facial expression in the intro scene. The animation does feel a tad lifeless and buffered at times. It doesn't squash and stretch like it used too, heck Ozzy's shocked expression felt quite stiff. Mickey's jump animation seems floaty in how he transitions to it. I definitely notice some of the enemies get stuck in the stage animation and took a bit to gain control. The paint/thinner streaks are crazy. It either looks normal or breaks physics with how it hits objects. Breakable objects go brr cuz they put physics on those.

Sound: Sound doesn't seem to have changed drastically. I can tell there is some new sounds or ones I just never noticed. Like piano notes when Mick tip-toes. Ozzy's new little noise when he taunts Mick. New ink sounds for his movesets. Upgraded sounds for the grunts. Though, the volume is strange. In the beginning, there is like no sound. Music was definitely present, but I could barely hear the footsteps, Gus, robot, etc. I swear the machine's cranks were like blasting in the old game. It's so muffled, and I had the volume at like 25. Later, the volume was fine. Neither sound or music was out doing each other.

Gameplay: Not bad. The new movesets and dash feature is great. Buttons layout is odd, though again. I played it on the Wii so I am too used to motion controls for it. The Switch offers it, but only when you press the buttons to paint or thin. Other than that, your stuck having to aim it with the camera stick. Took me a while to get used to it. The other layouts are fine. There seems to be a new move with the Guardians on guiding them, but idk how that works. The game plays the same as usual. I will warn that when too many enemies are on screen, causes crazy lag. Most likely due to the high graphics and it being on the Switch. I got ganged up by Splatters.

Other: I can definitely tell that the game may need patch updates or something. Some parts felt behind or laggy. Wish there was more graphic options to help it run better on Switch. The motion control could have been better. I mean Skyward Sword got ported and that still functioned like it's Wii version. The new moves are neat but until the full game, I don't understand how useful they will be. The UI is neat. I understand the charm of the old ones. Least if they remake the sequal, they have those new assets. The characters icons or eh to me. Neat poster-look, but I like the 3D or sketchy style. Nice to have Gus be optional in his tips. He'll still force tips, but it's not near as often. Some stuff does seem to be missing. The only thing that comes to mind is the first pin found has no camera swirl, poor Mick just snaps his kneck. Didn't get to look at the concept art before I finished it, but nice to know you can zoom in and know who drew it. Even nicer that there is much more concept art. Menu is amazing. Sleek and easily readable. The new loading screens are great, I will be missing the old ones though. Main menu is also cool as heck.

Overall, I have hopes for this game. I am so excited to get the full release. I do feel that a tad more improvements need to be made. Probably doesn't help I have a console that has questional performance and quality, which is sad cuz Nintendo was known for that. Happy to see Ozzy be brought to a spotlight and Mickey be used again.

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

System Upgrade 0/17: Test Subject

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Echo, Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, Crosshair Set when Echo has been rescued from Skako Minor and is set to join Clone Force 99 Word Count: ~2550

Synopsis: Being rescued from the Separatists wasn’t the end of Echo’s ordeal, as the Kaminoans wanted to know exactly how he had been altered...

Content Warning: injury description, medical procedures, Echo in pain

"What are they doing to him?"

Wrecker's usually strident voice wavered with concern. He was pressed against the toughened viewing pane, hands spread, as though the contact might give him some insight into what was happening in the room below.

Tech pushed his goggles up his nose, glancing up from the datapad he tapped at and quickly away again as though the scene before them could not be viewed too long. "They are testing the extent of his cybernetic enhancements. Using the results of the scans they have already completed, the Kaminoans are now stimulating his implants one by one to find out exactly how they link to his nervous system."

"Yeah, but-" said Wrecker, wincing, "does he have to be awake for it?"

No-one answered his question. They didn't need Hunter's enhanced senses to hear Echo's howls of pain reverberating through the supposedly soundproofed walls.

Medical droids hovered around the prone patient; no, more like a prone test subject. Echo's torso and head were held steady with tightened restraints, his left arm similarly bound – the rest of him, those parts that had been rebuilt from metal and wire after he fell into the hands of the Techno Union, were dismantled and spread about like some 3D representation of a blueprint – one with a suffering clone at its centre.

A Kaminoan scientist glided serenely around the room, seemingly unperturbed by the ragged screams that tore from Echo's throat with each new touch of the droids to the metal ports installed in his body. The Batch watched as blue electricity arced from the droid into Echo's body, causing him to convulse as it raced along the exposed, trailing wires that the Kaminoans had laid out to map. Occasionally one of his detached limbs would twitch. Other times the heart-rate monitor that would stutter, or Echo's chest would seize completely as his breathing failed. Then another signal would be sent, and the screaming would start again.

Wrecker peeled himself away from the glass, turning his worried expression on Hunter. "We gotta help him."

Hunter stood immobile, arms folded and shoulders tense, his expression fixed in a fierce frown as he followed the steps of the procedure being carried out in the lab. The only outward sign that he was affected was the way his pupils dilated with each arc of electricity – the way his nostrils flared as each fresh scream reached his ears.

Crosshair was the one who answered, briefly removing the toothpick from his mouth to gesture with it. "What can we do?" he asked acidly, turning a withering glare on his brother. "They won't clear him for duty until they've satisfied their curiosity."

"But... Echo helped us," protested Wrecker, turning to him with his hands outstretched in appeal. "We fought alongside each other. We took down the Separatist ship."

"Correct," said Tech, "and the Kaminoans have read our battle report, as have the senior generals. But Crosshair is right; until they have satisfied themselves that they understand the functioning of his altered body – and assured themselves that he does not pose a risk to the GAR – then these tests will continue."

"Hunter!" Wrecker invoked his brother’s name in a desperate appeal, and finally Hunter's eyes flicked away from the scene in the medical room to meet Wrecker’s.

"We've done all we can for now," he growled from behind gritted teeth. "We vouched for him in our mission report. We stated that we would welcome him as a member of Clone Force 99. Now we have to wait."

Wrecker turned to plaster himself back on the window, gaze roving over the altered clone on the med table. Echo's pallid skin was coated in a sheen of sweat, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths as he trembled and panted, adrenaline coursing through the human parts of his body. One of the medical droids was carefully unfurling more cables from his abdomen, and the Kaminoan scientist leaned over and peered at the work with interest.

Wrecker slammed a fist in futile protest against the hardened glass, unable to tear himself away from watching. Tech moved to stand beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll be there for him when it's over."

"How long will that be?"

For a moment Tech tapped at the datapad. "They sedated him to dismantle the cybernetics. Then woke him up for testing. They will probably sedate him again at the end of the process.”  His voice shook just a little as he said, “It... may be some hours yet."

"Tech's right," came Hunter's low voice. "We'll be here for him. No matter what, he'll come out of this knowing there are people waiting who see him as more than a test subject."

Crosshair's shoulders twitched in an involuntary flinch. Tech glanced at Hunter and straightened his goggles unnecessarily before looking back at his datapad, anything to avoid looking at his brothers or at Echo.

If anyone was going to understand how it felt to be a Kaminoan test subject it was the four of them standing in the room right now, waiting to add a new brother in suffering to their ranks.

When Echo was sedated and the process of reassembling his cybernetic body begun the Batch finally ended their vigil, returning to their quarters. All four were subdued – few words were exchanged, even the usually energetic Wrecker sagging under the weight of the situation. Half-heartedly Hunter suggested they should take the time to rest, eat if they wanted. Nobody had to tell him they would not be taking him up on the offer. He hadn't expected them to. It was a command he gave of rote, falling back on routine when all else failed him.

It was a sombre atmosphere in their room, each one lost in his thoughts. Wrecker sat quietly in his bunk, toying with the plush tooka Lula, rocking it absent-mindedly. Crosshair dismantled his rifle, inspecting each piece – still spotless from when he had done the same thing this morning – then abandoned the task. Discarding his current toothpick and replacing it with a fresh one, he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling with a perpetual crease between his brows. Tech had found himself something to tinker with, tools laid out on the bench as he dismantled a scanner. Then, seeing the parts laid out before him, he quickly swept them into a box and rose to his feet, pacing the room with his datapad instead.

Hunter simply leaned against the glass viewing window, forearm raised and forehead resting against it, watching the fierce storm-lashed Kaminoan sea surge and flow. The tension radiating from him was palpable, and the others didn't try to approach him.

Night had fallen and the lights in the complex cycled to low before there was a beep of their room being unlocked. With a quiet hiss the metal door retracted and a medical table hovered into the room, guided by one of the Kaminoan droids that had been in Echo's operating room earlier. On the table was the unconscious clone trooper, pale and drawn and with a deep-etched frown that persisted even in his sleep.

Immediately the Batch were on their feet, and Wrecker was the first to the table. With a care belied by his size he tucked his hands under Echo's prone form, lifting him gently and cradling him to his chest. Hunter moved to stand in front of the droid, seeming to loom despite the droid's lack of response.

"How is he?"

"CT-1409's heart rate and respiratory function is normal. His neural activity is supressed by medical sedation. His recovery requires no further intervention or monitoring."

"Meaning he will wake up when the sedative wears off," translated Tech.

Hunter jerked his head towards his bunk in the corner, the tidiest of the four. "Put him in there, Wrecker." The medical droid was forgotten as the four enhanced clones clustered around the one they had adopted as one of their own.

Wrecker sank down to sit in Hunter's bunk, still holding Echo's unconscious form close. "He's so light," he said with an ache in his voice, looking up at Hunter with hurt in his eyes.

"He will improve," Tech reassured him, running a medscan over Echo as though he didn't trust the droid’s report. He didn't need to be told how delicate Echo's body was – he remembered carrying him during their escape from Skako Minor, the rescued clone's weight mostly due to his mechanical parts instead of muscle and bone.

"What he needs now is rest," Hunter said grimly. "The best thing is that he's been returned to us. That must mean the Kaminoans are satisfied that he isn't under the influence of the Separatists any longer." He reached out to Wrecker, resting a comforting hand on his upper arm near where Echo's head rested. "He'll be okay. Echo is tough – we've all seen that."

Crosshair's lip curled in a sneer. "He may be tough," he said, voice tight with bitterness, "but if I were him I'm not sure I'd want to be rescued, if that was what was waiting when I got back."

Hunter's jaw clenched tightly and he didn't reply. Whilst the clone troopers had been glad to see the return of one of their own they had thought lost, to the Kaminoans Echo was nothing more than a scientific and operational curiosity. He couldn't fault Crosshair's observation, even though he knew rescuing Echo had been the right thing to do.

"What if he wakes up and doesn't know where he is?" asked Wrecker with concern, looking down into Echo's troubled face. "He might think they're gonna start testing again."

Hunter glanced at the other two. Crosshair gave a short nod, and Tech a more emphatic one. "Don't worry, Wrecker," he said, gesturing to the bed. "We'll all pile in. The first thing he'll see when he wakes up is a friendly face."

Wrecker grinned and quickly shuffled to the middle of the bunk to make room for his brothers either side. Crosshair eased himself into the back of the bunk, resting his back against Wrecker's shoulder and tucking his long legs up, arms folded across his knees as he reclined his head and closed his eyes. Tech gestured for Hunter to take the other side, waiting for his older brother to settle himself before sitting down with his back to the side wall of the bunk and stretching his long legs across both Hunter and Wrecker's laps, forming a protective barrier across Echo's back.

Surrounded on all sides by his brothers, Wrecker squeezed Echo as tightly as he dared, arms gentle around the unconscious clone's fragile shoulders. "Don't worry, Echo," he whispered, his voice as soft and soothing as his brash vocal cords would allow. "We got you. You're safe now."

Dark… and cold. Two things Echo had known for so long, held prisoner within his own body as his mind was forced to compute battle plans for the Separatist army. But even that seemed preferable to the unrelenting agony of the Kaminoan testing procedures, every synapse in his body both natural and artificial lit up with pain over and over and for what? To see what wire went where? And no matter how he screamed and pleaded for it to stop they kept going, kept testing, and his throat was so raw that his voice gave out, and still he tried to scream only now no sound came out and the pain was so intense that his mind might tear in two-

Even the memory of it was enough to send hot lances of pain along his ragged, over-worked nerve endings and he convulsed, the involuntary shudder jerking him from the threshold of nightmare and into wakefulness and there was weight, he was restrained, he was still on the table-

The weight, a warm pressure against his body, shifted as he thrashed weakly. Long fingers gripped his upper arm and he tried to cry out, but his throat was so damaged that barely a croak escaped. He kept his eyes shut, afraid of what he might see if he opened them, but then the hand on his arm loosened and a scratchy voice spoke quietly.

"I wouldn't try and move if I were you, Reg.”

He recognised that voice. Now Echo opened his eyes, turning his face towards the voice and meeting the steely gaze of the sniper it belonged to. Crosshair offered him a slow nod, the fine line of his tattoo creasing at the edge of his eye as his mouth twisted in a humourless smile.

“If you keep thrashing about like that they’ll realise you’re awake, and it’ll be back for round two.” Crosshair’s sharp eyes darted towards the ceiling, and Echo followed his gaze to see the security camera that monitored the Batch’s room. He looked back to Crosshair for a moment and nodded his understanding, then took a deep breath and focused his attention on the rest of his body.

Everything hurt – a sharp ache of remembered pain, too fresh to bear looking at closely. But the pressure he had thought a restraint was the weight of tangled limbs folded round his traumatised body. The hand on his arm was Crosshair’s, the sniper resting with his cheek on the top of Wrecker’s shoulder. Wrecker had his chin tucked to his chest, snoring gently in his sleep, his arms still folded round Echo’s waist. On the other side Hunter dozed against the crook of Wrecker’s shoulder, one arm draped over Echo’s folded knees, the other over Tech’s shoulders where the latter had slumped against him in the night. Tech’s body was turned in towards the rest of them, his head on Hunter’s chest and an arm and leg thrown across Wrecker’s lap and Echo’s back.

Echo glanced back at Crosshair, his gaze questioning. The sniper’s narrow face had fallen back to its usual stern lines but Echo still found it a comfort.

Crosshair gave him a small nod, then closed his eyes to feign sleep again.

“Like I said… don’t try and move. You won't know peace like this again for a while. Enjoy it while it lasts."

Echo took another deep breath, feeling pain in his ribs as his chest expanded and wincing slightly. On his upper arm Crosshair’s long fingers tightened reassuringly, and at that simple gesture Echo’s eyes prickled with the tears he hadn’t shed throughout his ordeal – or at any time since they had rescued him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, the words little more than a rasp but he forced them out, heard himself say them aloud despite the pain.

“Don’t mention it, vod.”

Just barely, the corners of Echo’s mouth turned up in a smile. He settled back, laying his head once more on Wrecker’s broad chest and listening to his steady heartbeat, to the gentle breathing of the four clones resting around him. He still trembled a little at the thought of what he might yet have to face at the hands of the Kaminoans; he was sure they weren’t done with him yet. But for now the soothing presence of his new brothers was enough to lull him back to sleep – and this time, the nightmares were kept at bay.

[ljsarts]

Happy ofmd season 2!! I'm going a totally regular amount of insane over the first three episodes ( im lying I haven't been this excited for a season in a long long time)

Anyways here's my old Oc (from the Scylla's revenge art template And crew) Nero now upgraded with some romance betrayal and angst!

Aka : Accidentally saving the pirate assassin who's been sent to kill you who you totally didn't have a one night fling with at port.

Alt text :

Two pirates the right pirate where's a red loose fabric top embellished with hand sewn flowers and leaves with top surgery scars visible beneath the fabric. They have green trousers tucked into brown laced boots . They have brown hair in a loose bun and a beaming smiley expression, they look down at the left pirate figure dressed in reds and purples a loose embellished waistcoat over a grey top with red epillets and purple laced up trousers with brown belts around their thighs. A knife is tightly held behind the left figures back hidden from view. Both figures hang over the side of a ship the left figure looks distraught while being held above the ocean waves (bottom left) by the right figure who holds onto and treads on thick rope netting.

[avernusfuries]

“Enemies can't break your spirit, only friends can.” Asharen says with a soft expression. Baldur's Gate was a big city from what she had heard, but she had heard Karlach speak about what was sure to await them: Gortash and what his actions had meant. Karlach had survived, more than survived she had climbed out of true adversity and now claimed her life with a true warmth that not many others would have kept "But not even that could break yours."

Do I have a bg3 verse for Asharen? No. She is a sorcerer that joined the cause to help this group during act 2 despite not having a brainworm herself

Fuck, she didn't know the half of it. Had Karlach not had her spirit to begin with, she had little doubt that she wouldn't have survived as long as she had. Trudging through demon guts, gore, fire, brimstone -- all of it -- was not something she was keen on returning back to. Zariel had treasured her like some prized piggy, sent off to market, and as much as she hated to admit it, that had come with a few benefits. Rations, though the food disintegrated into ash the second her teeth had sunk into it. Water, that quickly thickened in her mouth and was a hard thing to swallow. Weapon upgrades. New armour.

She'd been armed to the tits and teeth, and the endless supply of soul coins she'd kept strictly for consumption. Then there had been the mechanic in question: A sourfaced old sod, who had coughed into her open chest cavity when he tuned her up.

It wouldn't be the same if she returned, because Karlach would not return with her head bowed, nor would she come humbled as she expected her to. The paladins of Tyr had been a message: If I cannot have you, no one else will. Zariel had applied what she had known of others in the past. They would come back with their proverbial tails between their legs. Not Karlach. Karlach would go out on her own terms as she had always promised herself that she would do. First port of call: kill Gortash. Second: Beeline to Dammon so he could work his magic on her engine. Two plans felt as good as any.

Karlach liked Asharen. She was smart, sensible, clever with magic. There had been a part of that wondered whether or not she would risk her eyebrows taking a little peek at this engine of hers, but Karlach had immediately argued that she needed at least two drinks to show her what was under the hood.

So she'd bit her tongue. Searched for Dammon in the grove. Stabilised it enough that she wouldn't outright die when she got a little too excited, or fired up. All pun intended. For the first time in the tenday they'd trudged through muck and mire (and the Underdark, a place that had given even Karlach the heebie-jeebies), she ducked her head. It was an uncharacteristically sheepish gesture, though it was quickly chased up by a smile.

"It'd take a lot more than that to take out old Karlach. What I lack in book smarts, I make up for in... Spirit, but also I'm just really hard to take down. Always have been." It was an attempt at a joke, to chase away the bashfulness. "Think we all have something of an unbreakable spirit, though. All these tadpoles. These stories I've heard from everyone. We're a tough as nails bunch, and I'm really, really really glad to have met you all."

[girls4etho]

I GOT SOME GOOD FUCKIN NEWS!!!!

installing pjsk on my moms phone to see if itll workbc shes getting a nee phone probably befire my birthday and then i wouldnt need a tablet

[zvaigzdelasas]

Prime Minister Narendra Modi of India received an enthusiastic welcome on Monday when he arrived in Port Moresby for the first visit by an Indian head of government and to meet with 14 visiting leaders of the Pacific Island Forum countries and territories. Papua New Guinea’s Prime Minister James Marape stooped to touch Modi’s feet on arrival, welcoming him as the “leader of the Global South”.

United States Secretary of State Antony Blinken also visited Port Moresby at the start of the week. Blinken was standing in for US President Joe Biden, whose much-anticipated stopover in the country was cancelled, along with his planned subsequent visit to Australia, because of the crisis in the US Congress over the federal debt ceiling. Blinken signed two important agreements with Papua New Guinea during his visit: a Defence Cooperation Agreement and an Agreement Concerning Counter Illicit Transnational Maritime Activity Operations.[...]

These two visits were only part of a broader, substantial uptick in external engagement in Papua New Guinea. In April, British Foreign Secretary James Cleverly visited the country, signing a defence framework agreement. It’s understood Indonesian President Joko Widodo will be there in June.

France has also recently signed a status of forces agreement with Papua New Guinea. Meanwhile, Australia is negotiating a security treaty that is expected to substantially upgrade its longstanding defence cooperation agreement.[...]

This activity all reflects the increasing importance of the Pacific Island countries in the strategic calculations of the democratic powers amid growing Chinese influence and heightened US-China tensions in the region. This is particularly true of Papua New Guinea. It’s the largest nation in the region by far, located only a few kilometres from Australia, near the intersection point between Asia and the Pacific.[...]

The updated defence arrangements between Papua New Guinea and the United States, combined with the now-established pattern of senior US-Pacific political dialogue, recent growth in regional US development support and the upgrading of its regional diplomatic network, provide some corroboration that a long-promised American recommitment to the Pacific is finally under way.

The text of the Defence Cooperation Agreement will not be officially released until it is formally adopted into US law. However, the signatories have indicated that it updates an old status of forces agreement and aims to strengthen Papua New Guinea Defence Force capabilities, including in humanitarian assistance and disaster response, and will allow for increased joint military training.

A draft leaked to the local media before the Blinken visit suggested the US might have substantial access to Papua New Guinea facilities.

Students at several Papua New Guinea universities protested against what they saw as a lack of transparency about the defence agreement. They expressed fears it compromised the country’s independence by bringing it more firmly into the US sphere of control. Some opposition political figures spoke of the risk of angering China and thus inviting potentially harmful repercussions for Papua New Guinea’s economic security.

But Marape and his government stood their ground. Marape argued the agreement had “nothing to do with China” and Papua New Guinea’s sovereignty remained intact. He also pointed to his government’s “healthy” relationship with Beijing and China’s status as an important trading partner for Papua New Guinea. He has firmly rejected accusations that the arrangements for visiting US military personnel would violate Papua New Guinea law.[...]

Papua New Guinea will nonetheless remain committed to its “friends to all, enemies to none” foreign policy approach. It will continue to leverage its growing array of relationships for its economic development.[...]

While Chinese investment and development support for Papua New Guinea actually remains very limited compared to that of Australia, it looms large as a trading partner. Chinese state-owned enterprises are now heavily engaged in Papua New Guinea, particularly its construction sector.

27 May 23

[hectorlykos]

Masterpiece, re-experienced. — A Persona 3 Reload Review

Persona 3 Reload - 9.5/10 Hours Played - 127 hours (one run) Completion - 100% Platinum trophy Out of all the remasters/ports that Persona has received, this is the first time they made an actual remake and it was absolutely amazing. This really shows how much the Persona team has improved over the years in terms of understanding graphics, art style, game design and combat. Almost every single aspect of this remake is better than the original, adding lots of quality of life mechanics that made it significantly more fun while also being faithful to the source material. This remake is a testament of how Persona grew as a series over the years from a niche JRPG to being out in the spotlight as a bonafide AAA game. The original game already had a phenomenal story that will forever resonate with its audience, but P3R took that and further improved it to still tug the hearts of people who played the game multiple times now. Making all the social links fully voiced definitely made all of them more memorable and entertaining even those that were pretty bad like Kenji's. P3 has some of the best but also some of the worst social links in the series, which is one of its biggest critiques. I also appreciate the new addition of night time bonding with party members as it made the dorm feel more lively compared to the original. It also made the cast feel a lot more closer as friends, because it only felt like the original cast were only people working at the same goal instead of being genuine friends. It's not on the level as the friend group in P4, but this is def more than P5 which I appreciate. The new linked episodes of the male cast who disappointingly still do not have a social link were good enough to excuse its absence.

While most of the soundtrack stays the same, the new songs and covers were great. The new battle theme (It's Going Down Now) is probably my second favorite in the series. Color Your Night is an absolute bop and the new dorm music was great. In terms of graphics and art style, the original and remake are like night and day. There are more attention to detail and more expression in the environment throughout Tartarus and the city which made it feel more alive and vibrant. Some people tend to point out that the new vibrant look of P3R does not match the themes of the original's dark and gloomy, but I honestly think this new change is better. For a game that discusses the nature of life and death, making the game begin with a more colorful and cheerful city that is contrasted by the depressing and scary tones of Tartarus masterfully shows the contrast between both concepts. Additionally, as the story goes on, the city also becomes more dark and depressing similar to Tartarus which helps signifies the turmoil that is going to come to the world. It makes it feel not like a transition, but a convergence of light into dark. With this, not only does the change feel more intense, but it also matches up with the current situation of the game which is just amazing environmental storytelling.

Aside from that, the new QOL changes in the simulation gameplay and combat gameplay made the game more enjoyable. It is now way easier to upgrade social stats and social links with the new arcana cards you receive in Tartarus, night bonding and using the dorm computer. It actually made it more possible to complete all the social links in the game in one playthrough, which I did without any guides. In the combat side, the new changes were just amazing. Adding huge mechanics such as Shift (called Baton Pass in P5) made all the battles feel more smooth, plus the new Theurgy mechanic (which I hope will be also in future Persona games) added a unique special move for each character that helped them have more difference in their ability as a party member. Changing between different members was fun as the remake engages players to have different compositions depending on conditions.

However, the most important and easily the best change in the game is Tartarus. In the original, it was one of the most tedious and most excruciating experiences of all time. While great as a concept that matches the themes and storytelling, it's "fun" aspect was just not there. It was just an near endless grind climbing through up the floors that are almost identical to each other without any variety or additional mechanics and structures that could have made the struggle bearable. Thankfully, all of this was improved by the remake by not only making the floors better to look at, but also adding more variety into it with the Great Clock and Monad Doors which helps with both leveling up and gaining more resources that would make your team better. Not only that, the new dash and ambush mechanic made the pace of Tartarus way faster as it helps with faster advantages instead of just stalling and waiting for enemies to turn their backs. Back then, I used to just hate Tartarus and say to myself "GET ME OUTTA HERE" while now I just say "YOU CAN'T GET ME OUT OF HERE". It's a miracle what the folks at ATLUS has done, props to the team.

I can't express enough how much I love this game. While P3 is still my least favorite out of the modern Persona games, it doesn't mean that it is not a masterpiece itself. As a game who made me cry the most in any piece of media ever, experiencing the game in a more modern way was special to me. The fact that this game, which I hold dear and close to my heart, is what I think is the least good modern Persona game, just signifies how amazing this series truly is. Please play it. It is peak fiction. It is fire. It is kino. It is raw. It is goated. It is a masterpiece.

[comfy-whumpee]

Spooked

Continuing the ‘mafia has a loyalty issue’ plotline... CN: guns and death threats.

@bloodybrambles​, @wildfaewhump​​, @ishouldblogmore​, @lektric-whump​​, @that-one-thespian​, @raigash​, @suspicious-whumping-egg​​, @eatyourdamnpears​

Joey Hancock had been working for Mr Dechart for almost a year. Before that he’d been a fence, and a decent one, but his eye for quality and detail had been better than required of someone pushing stock on the street. Someone had noticed and passed it up the chain, he’d gone through some extra training, and then came the promotion. Now, he was one of the quality assurance team.

There were lots of stops on a smuggler’s supply chain, and at any step along the way they ran the risk that someone would swap the goods for fakes. Joey’s team made sure they were always paying for the real deal.

There was a place for fakes and forgeries, Mr Dechart believed, and they had those in bulk elsewhere. But the real profit came from the luxury goods shipped tax-free and traceless. From tobacco to exotic meats, jewels to guns, whatever people wanted, they provided. Hell, they’d started the business with silk.

Joey hadn’t worked many places before he got into the mob. He’d done a fast food job, and a paper round. Working for old bitches with too much ego and not enough power had given him nothing to look forward to about work, but Mr Dechart was different. He listened, really listened. He trusted your opinions. At the same time, he was like everyone’s uncle. He told goofy jokes. He had Christmas lights put up and it wasn’t even the end of November. He was feeling out whether people wanted Italian or Chinese for the Christmas party.

Joey figured rich guys could afford to do stuff like Christmas parties, since they didn’t have to worry about making money all the time. For his own part, since moving up to the quality team, he’d bought a flat and upgraded every component of his PC. Even the graphics card.

Helped that those were shipped in, too. “We keep prices down,” the guys would joke. “Supply and demand.”

It was a good deal. Joey was always happy to do what it took to get a good life, the best life. Crime was no different.

Nor was snitching on his boss.

It wasn’t personal. He really did like working for the mafia. But there were some things he couldn’t get here; things money couldn’t buy. Mr Dechart wouldn’t know it was him, with how many people he had working for him. Joey was just some second-string QA guy who kept his ears open.

Of course, rumours started flying. Mr Dechart’s partner had been meeting with some higher-ups. There were loyalty issues somewhere and people wanted them sniffed out. There had been risks to Mr Dechart personally. Joey had heard a little about him being driven off the road one night, on his way to a meeting.

“He got shot at,” Laverne had told him, who knew the person who did Mr Dechart’s dry cleaning. “But he didn’t get hurt. We don’t know who it was, so people are on edge. We didn’t think anyone’d dare go for him like that.”

Joey looked surprised and pensive and didn’t say anything except, “Damn.”

In the weeks that followed, a few people got called away for meetings with Mr Dechart. They always came back and nobody seemed traumatised. Laverne went herself, nervous on the way there, happy on the way back. All fine. But nobody would explain what the meetings were about.

It was a month before Joey had his turn. He was in the warehouse on Southland Port and checking out some designer handbags, comparing them to the images he’d found online, and he got a shoulder tap. One of the personal guards had come for him. “Mr Dechart would like to borrow you,” he said, looking down at Joey on his chair without any visible expression. Pure neutrality.

Joey took a deep breath and reminded himself that this was the same as what had happened for the others. Nobody knew he’d said a few things to someone he shouldn’t have. Nobody knew what he’d bargained for. And they’d all do the same anyway, if they had the option.

He got up, leaving the bag on his desk. He quickly tucked his hands into his pockets, and then took them out again, not wanting to look too casual. He followed the escort to the office, where Mr Dechart had taken over that morning. He’d been waiting to get called in all day, today and all the days before.

Maybe someone pocketed a diamond, Joey thought hopefully. Maybe it’s something completely different.

As he opened the frosted-glass door to the office, Mr Dechart stood and smiled warmly at him. “Joey Hancock, good to see you.” They shook hands, his grip firm and palpably strong. Joey wasn’t short, but he was half the man’s size. “How have you been? I’m glad to see you’ve settled in here. Eduardo says you do good work.”

“Thank you, sir,” Joey said, trying to clear his throat as his words croaked. “I’m enjoying it.”

“Very good. The team have been performing well recently, though I can’t give sole credit to you. I’ve had only three complaints come back to us this quarter, so almost all the forgeries are being caught. There’s often a couple, or pieces that are just defective, but the more we catch, the better our connections value us.”

Joey nodded along, relieved as the conversation seemed to be on a familiar track.

Mr Dechart was wearing a pure white shirt you could see his muscles through, and he set an arm on his leg, showing an understated gemstone cufflink. Joey couldn’t tell if it was real; he’d never done jewellery, that was left for the real experts. The indication of wealth was subtle and classy, but god, it was scary. No amount of hard work could get Joey up there. This was a man who could buy his whole life from under him.

“Now, in terms of our meeting today, I’m sure you’re aware I’ve been having these one-to-ones with the team.” Mr Dechart smiled easily, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve heard rumours, I bet. I took a couple bullets, we knocked down the Mannington lot, and we had a little manhunt. It’s been a bit dramatic around here.”

Joey swallowed, unsure if he was meant to reply. He settled for a wobbly nod.

“I’ll be frank with you.” Mr Dechart leaned forwards, clasping his hands between his knees. His eyes were dark and magnetic. Joey couldn’t move. “We’re having a loyalty problem.”

His heart was hammering. Would everyone else have felt like this? The boss was terrifying when he wasn’t being a goof. Did Joey look more nervous than other people? Or had he already been found out? How?

“Is there anything you want to tell me, Joey?” Mr Dechart asked gently.

His throat bobbed. His stomach turned, churned and turned again. He shook his head slowly. If he admitted to it, he was dead. He knew he was. Mr Dechart only had three rules.

“I only have three rules.”

He knew the rules. They all knew the rules. But Mr Dechart said them anyway, methodical with each word.

“We don’t hurt children. We don’t keep slaves. And we don’t turn on each other.”

Joey thought he should nod again, but he couldn’t make himself move. Any slight twitch would give him away.

“Breaking the first two rules gets you in trouble. But the last one… That’s the big one. That gets you killed.”

He knew. He knew all of it already. His eyes were watering but he didn’t dare blink.

“Now if you’re innocent,” Mr Dechart continued, his eyes never pulling away, “I’m sure you’ll find that reassuring. You can head back to work feeling fine. There’s no risk to you. We’re just cleaning things up. You’ll keep your eyes and ears open, and pass on anything suspect you see.”

The words slid over him without sticking. He wasn’t innocent. Did they know? Could they tell?

“If you’re guilty…”

He couldn’t feel his hands.

“You should get your affairs in order. Alright?”

His whole body was buzzing.

“I’m expecting a ‘yes, sir’, Joey.”

His voice barely whispered as it left him. “Yes, sir.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Mr Dechart watched him, and Joey wondered if he was about to get a bullet to the head, right now. Was this it? Everything fucked?

When Mr Dechart rose, he flinched. Then he hurriedly stood too, surprised that his legs would hold him. They didn’t feel solid.

“Back to work now,” Mr Dechart told him, smiling that easy half-smile again. “And remember, if you’ve done nothing wrong, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Joey forced up a strained, desperate smile. “Thank you, sir.”

He felt the eyes follow him out, and tried for all the world to be as carefree as those before him.

 It was three torturous hours later that he finished work for the day. The time had passed in a blur, barely memorable now that it was over. He was pretty sure he’d done his work. He probably hadn’t just stood there the whole time listening to his heart pound in his ears. Someone would have noticed, and he’d been very careful to act normal.

The meetings proved Mr Dechart didn’t know it was him. Unless the meetings with the others had been to corroborate evidence, or warn them not to tell him anything, and maybe they all knew he was getting the chop but they hadn’t told him… But Mr Dechart had let him go. He was on his way home. So maybe it was all a bluff.

Either way, he wanted a backup plan. He wasn’t fucking risking getting shot. Once he was safely clear of work and in his car, he pulled over, and made a call.

“Martin speaking.”

The voice sounded calm. From a whole other world. He needed Martin to give a shit right now. “Martin, it’s Joey Hancock. They’re looking for the mole, they’re putting the screws on everyone. The boss is watching me. I don’t know if he knows. I need some protection.”

“Joey, slow down.” Martin was still calm. “What exactly were you told? Did they name any names or was it empty threats?”

Joey wanted to laugh, or maybe cry. A strange combination of both bubbled out of him. “You don’t understand. You don’t fucking understand, man. Mr Dechart doesn’t just sit on stuff like this. He’s going after the traitor ready to skin them. I’ve never seen him like that, he looked like he could kill me as a fucking afterthought.”

“Calm down, Joey—”

“You calm the fuck down! This is my fucking life. I wasn’t supposed to be in danger. I was supposed to do some shit for you and get the rest taken care of. You said, you s-said—”

“I know what I said.” Abruptly, the tone was soothing. Joey hiccupped back a sob. “We aren’t going to abandon you. You’re on your way to being one of us. We look after our own.”

We don’t turn on each other. Shit, he’s heard that before. But this asshole is all he’s got. “Okay. Fine. So what do I do? What do I do now?”

“You keep going.” Still, the soothing voice. Patronising, actually. Dickhead. “They don’t know who it is. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. So just act normal and forget about what you did for us. When things have died down, we’ll be in touch.”

“You’re abandoning me, you’re f-fucking leaving me to—”

“This is the safest thing to do. Running will make it obvious you’re guilty.”

“You were meant to make sure I could get away!”

“You will. When the time is right. Good luck, Joey.”

“You can’t—”

The call was ended. Shaking with rage and more besides, Joey thumbed the redial, but there was no response. The pulsing drone of the ring drove into his head until he threw the phone into the footwell and dropped his head against the steering wheel, letting out a shout of wordless frustration.

It was all so fucked. He’d said little things. Harmless things. But it had been shit about the Decharts’ kid. Harmless or not, it had crossed a line and he’d known it.

And he was meant to just keep coming and going at work like he was just a stupid, second-string QA guy.

He sat there wordlessly trying to work out an escape route for long enough that someone knocked on his window.

He looked over, wondering if he looked as shit as he felt. He rolled down the window.

“You okay, mate?”

“Yeah, fine.” Then he squinted at the face, cast in shadow from the sun behind him. “Do I know you?”

“Maybe.” Then there was a gun. “I know you. Put your hands on the wheel.”

Joey swallowed air. His thoughts blanked. That sure was a gun. Pointed right at him.

He put his shaking hands on the wheel. The familiar stranger reached through the window to unlock the doors, and got in the back. Joey glanced into the rear-view mirror, but he couldn’t see much. Half a face. A shoulder. No sign of what part of him was at the barrel.

This was all so very fucked.

“Alright, Joey. Nice and calm. Let’s drive back to the office, shall we?” The voice was almost in his ear. The man, the hand, the gun, were all too close. “Mr Dechart would like to see you.”