#the “level structure” stuff is that there's Operations

[dravidious]

Got the laser, tool switching, and passive vitals damage working, polished the vitals display, and started on some level structure that also got me to finally put in a background. It's looking pretty decent now! It'll look even better once I find decent sprites for the Things

[cozymochi]

Do you have any advice on how to emulate the twist style? I'm genuinely struggling to wrap my head around it.

NOPE! I wish I did! Because! I’m not sure how to describe what I’m doing in the first place. I just kinda… go. (And anyone who has watched any drawing stream of mine can probably attest to that. Assuming anyone watched them actively, I doubt it sometimes.)

I was just formally taught how to draw what I see (this applies to real-life stuff too, it kinda goes hand in hand), and I just have a nasty lifelong habit regarding stuff I like. If it looks a certain way, I wanna draw it the same way or at least as close as I feasibly can get to it. 😩 This is like…. Years worth of somewhat unrelated knowledge + training just being applied to this goofy stuff. I draw wildly different art styles as a habit hobby.

For twst in particular, I’ve mentioned it elsewhere a couple times, but I did spend a good 2-ish years just trying to acclimate myself into training my hand to get used to how it works at all. It really is just… 80% staring at their model sheets or generic renders, and 20% me just… GOING!

I think people can easily tell when I’m not staring at a model sheet vs when I am lol. I do really like Toboso and her staffs artwork, and I’d like to get closer to understanding it, but there are things that she and her staff know how to do that I still don’t know how to accomplish. And those “things” are elements that I’m currently not able to identify in theory or in practice. Let alone articulate in words either if my meandering and vague way of talking about it is any indication lol. (Im not trying to be 1:1, that’s literally impossible for any human to do)

All I do is just look at it. A lot. I just try to draw what I see and go. Though, I’m sure that’s not exactly helpful or even practical “advice”, especially in just typing. Believe it or not I also can only wrap my head around it so much. And even then, I’m still not satisfied nor confident with where I’m at. Mostly due to my own limits. It’s not easy.

….

Then again I also don’t know how to explain or give “advice” on the fly on something that broad just in general. I wish I could be more useful with a more satisfying answer but, I’m not sure how I would. I wanna be helpful but I’m genuinely drawing a blank.

[elumish]

I've been reading Iron Flame by Rebecca Yarros, and it's gotten me thinking about how worldbuilding is multilayered, and about how a failure of one layer of the worldbuilding can negatively impact the book, even if the other layers of the worldbuilding work.

I don't want to spoil the book for anyone, so I'm going to talk about it more broadly instead. In my day job, one of the things I do is planning/plan development, and we talk about plans broadly as strategic, operational, and tactical. I think, in many ways, worldbuilding functions the same way.

Strategic worldbuilding, as I think of it, is how the world as a whole works. It's that vampires exist and broadly how vampires exist and interact with the world, unrelated to the characters or (sometimes) to the organizations that the characters are part of. It's the ongoing war between Earth and Mars; it's the fact that every left-handed person woke up with magic 35 years ago; it's Victorian-era London except every twelfth day it rains frogs. It's the world, in the broadest sense.

Operational worldbuilding is the organizations--the stuff that people as a whole are doing/have made within the context of that strategic-level world. For The Hunger Games, I'd probably put the post-apocalyptic nature of the world and even the existence/structure of the districts as the strategic level and the construct of the Hunger Games as the operational level: the post-apocalyptic nature of the world and the districts are the overall world that they live in, and the Hunger Games are the construct that were created as a response.

Tactical worldbuilding is, in my mind, character building--and, specifically, how the characters (especially but not exclusively the main characters) exist within the context of the world. In The Hunger Games, Katniss has experience in hunting, foraging, wilderness survival, etc. because of the context of the world that she grew up in (post-apocalyptic, district structure, Hunger Games, etc.). This sort of worldbuilding, to me, isn't about the personality part of the characterization but about the context of the character.

Each one of these layers can fail independently, even if the other ones succeed. When I think of an operational worldbuilding failure, I think of Divergent, where they took a post-apocalyptic world and set up an orgnaizational structure that didn't make any sense, where people are prescribed to like 6 jobs that don't in any way cover what's required to run a modern civilization--or even to run the society that they're shown as running. The society that they present can't exist as written in the world that they're presented as existing in--or if they can, I never could figure out how when reading the book (or watching the film).

So operational worldbuilding failures can happen when the organizations or societies that are presented don't seem like they could function in the context that they are presented in or when they just don't make any sense for what they are trying to accomplish. If the story can't reasonably answer why is this organization built this way or why do they do what they do then I see it as an organizational worldbuilding failure.

For tactical worldbuilding failures, I think of stories where characters have skillsets that conveniently match up with what they need to solve the problems of the plot but don't actually match their background or experience. If Katniss had been from an urban area and never set foot in a forest, it wouldn't have worked to have her as she was.

In this way (as in planning), the tactical level should align with the operational level which should align with the strategic level--you should be able to trace from one to the next and understand how things exist in the context of each other.

For that reason, strategic worldbuilding failures are the vaguest to explain, but I think of them like this: if it either 1) is so internally inconsistent that it starts to fall apart or 2) leaves the reader going this doesn't make any sense at all then it's probably failed.

[drdemonprince]

what do you think is the answer to dealing with the stereotypical “roommate won’t do dishes bc of trauma/sensory issues”? like sure that’s possible it’s difficult & people should be aware of their needs, but when it begins affecting other people, i feel like someone has to consider other solutions—i.e. using paper plates instead of ones they have to wash. it’s also complicated when racial & gender dynamics come in to play. and then when i think on myself as an autistic white trans guy how can i both recognize where i need support but balance it with not recreating bad dynamics? I’m just not sure how we have these conversations while still validating folks experiences & dismissing their problems. we all deserve help but we also can so easily overly rely on others & burn them out especially if we have privilege over them. disability, especially invisible disabilities often become a shield for white folks & men it feels like to get away with shitty behaviors

I honestly think that a big problem people encounter in navigating such issues is that they make what is ultimately going to have to be a personal negotiation of limits and needs into something that is far more symbolic and abstract. it's almost impossible not to, if you care about social justice issues, and I think there are good intentions when people try to be mindful of how race and gender alongside interplay with this stuff, but in practice a lot of times people use their political ideals as a reason to argue against their own feelings or to not be honest about their feelings. people feel like they don't have the right to say that they cannot do something or need support, or that they're pissed off, in an individual level relationship, because they are treating both themselves and their roommate or partner as a symbol of an entire group. I think a person has to be able to tell their roommate when they are being an asshole. I think a person should just be straight up if doing the dishes is something that's not generally going to happen for them -- in unmasking autism I profile Reese Piper, an autistic sex worker who just straight up tells her prospective roommates that doing the dishes is not something she can do, so then they know what they are getting into and can work around it. honest conversations about what a person is and is not capable of and what they need really can vanquish a lot of so-called weaponized incompetence and other domestic issues long before they occur. but all parties involved have to be operating based on good faith. unfortunately not everyone is, sometimes people use their identities or their roommates guilt around structural oppression in order to pressure them to do things that they cannot do, and conversely it is very common for a white or TME roommate to weaponize anti blackness or transmisogyny against a roommate who speaks up about any inequity and portray them as the aggressive one. but I think before somebody gets way way too much in their own head about how a particular conflict looks or what structural issues might be relevant in the aggregate, they really have to start from a baseline level of self-acceptance and the ability to articulate both which household tasks are hard or impossible for them, and when they are fucking cheesed at their roommate for not doing what seems like their fair share. if you feel like you can't name those things, you're never going to actually have a respectful functioning relationship.

[canmom]

my favourite metaphors tend to be physical/computer science ones: the feedback loop, the dynamical system, the state space, the instability, the self-organising structure, the mapping from x-space to y-space, the nth-order approximation, the evolving population, the compression algorithm, the cellular automaton, the fractal structure, the soliton, entropy. as far back as 2018 i was conceiving of gender transition's relation to society as akin to bubbles in a fluid.

i like to spice it with some more occult stuff now and again, the egregore in particular (used in preference to similar, more atomic concepts like 'meme' or 'semiotic sign' or 'stand alone complex' mostly because i like the vibe) - but that's a flavour of occultism that suits this habit of thought, isn't it? a notional abstract entity that emerges from the dynamics of a complex system, such as multiple minds? i view magic mostly in this light: a human tool for apprehending the large scale behaviour of humans. as such my go-to examples of egregores are things like 'countries' or 'organisations' or even 'gender'.

anyway i don't think this is a bad way to look at the world, i think it often leads to interesting left field approaches to subjects, but just because i invoke all these sciencey concepts does not actually entail any rigour. I'm operating on the level of analogy and i don't want to pretend otherwise. i try to be careful to keep the technical definition in mind, but it's not like I'm writing differential equations down, or even that you could in a lot of cases... and i tend to dislike the rhetorical invocation of mathematical concepts when other people do it, i am kind of a hypocrite lol

[omamervt]

I think that a flaw in a lot of the more ambitious horror RPGs I've read is that they all tend to go for the pitfall of Lovecraftian horror, but mechanize it, so it very often seems to end up as "roll to see if you lose sanity."

Some games, like Absurdia, handle this fairly well by not making it about your mental state along the way. It's more like... You can only handle pushing yourself so much before something bends or breaks.

but others, like Call of Cthulhu, seem to kind of operate on a "because I said so" type logic. From the APs I've listened to, at least, the GM seems like they just have the power to call for you to roll to Stay Sane or whatever. But it ends at the same destination, that dealing with The Horrors has a negative mechanical effect on your character, and if they experience too much Horror, you lose your character. the same as if they just die.

While this is interesting to think about from a narrative perspective, I think it ironically discourages players from playing like they're characters in a horror story. Which means everyone is operating on, like, Scream logic, where everyone is playing as The Guy Who Knows He's In A Horror Movie, even if they don't say it out loud.

What I'm MUCH more interested in, although I'm not sure how compatible it is with long-form play, is a game whose whole reward structure is built around Getting Your Player Characters To Do Stuff That Gets People Killed In Horror Movies.

Split the party! Go have sex in the guest bedroom while people are dying downstairs! Give in to the monster's threats/demands! Hide the weird not-quite-dog thing that followed you home under your bed for the night! Yeah, the killer will DEFINITELY fall for that trap! Wander off alone without telling anyone where you're going! It's FINE! If you survive, it's how you LEVEL UP!

[thydungeongal]

hi, hope this is a no-brainer for you, so it won't clog up the asks as much: what are MC-moves and fronts doing in PbtA-games?

I've been looking into a few, cause I'm curious about that operation on several levels you talked about, but something about the MC moves just doesn't seem to click, while I understand the players' just fine. they read to me as an abstract "do whatever"-sort of thing, while very insistent that you do them, and some idea behind it all that I can't fully grasp. the game seems to want the world to move in certain ways, for certain outcomes to emerge, but also indifferent as to which ones, and I'm not sure what to do with that... I can have the landscape Disgorge Something, or Announce Badness, but what then?

did you encounter similar struggles before or know what the games are being opinionated about there? It feels like the answer should be obvious but I keep missing it, and like my issue somehow relates to the system's scalability. hope you can help!

So, this might be stating the obvious, but the key thing to understanding the MC Moves is that PbtA games have asymmetric mechanics. Players and the MC use different sets of mechanics to interface with the fiction, and this has to do with the game being structured as a back and forth between the players and the MC but also with the MC having control of more things, so the game has simplified mechanics for the MC. This stands in contrast to most traditional RPGs where the same set of mechanics formally applies to every character, whether PC or NPC, in the fiction.

In D&D when the GM announces that Goblin Steve (an NPC) is attacking Gonad the Barbarian, that's simply an announcement of an attack roll being invoked, and that mechanic is utilized by Goblin Steve identically to how Gonad the Barbarian would use it. In PbtA the MC announcing that Goblin Steve is attacking Gonad the Barbarian would be them making a move (Announce Future Badness, Goblin Steve's attack), and according to their principles they would then turn to the player and address Gonad with a "what do you do?"

That's an example of a "soft" move, a division that doesn't exist formally in most PbtA games, and that is how MC Moves work normally: the MC is always making Moves but never actually saying their name (in the above example the MC simply described Goblin Steve attacking Gonad in the fiction, they didn't say "I am Announcing Future Badness!") and most Moves will simply throw the spotlight on the character and prompt them to react. However, the MC is always at liberty to make a move that follows, and if the only move that follows from a character's action is "Make them Eat Shit and Die" then that's the only move the MC can make. Usually that move would probably only happen when a player rolled a 6- on a move, because that is one of the specific circumstances where the game asks the MC to make the hardest move they can.

In terms of the fiction and the mechanics, in D&D Goblin Steve is a medium through which the GM can make attack rolls at the player characters (using the same set of mechanics as the players); in PbtA Goblin Steve is a medium through which the MC can make their MC Moves (using their own set of mechanics).

Anyway so that's a really top down view of the structure, but MC Moves are really important to understanding what kind of things the game you're playing cares about, and a good, thoughtful set of MC Moves is as important to a PbtA game as a good set of basic moves and playbooks. They are effectively a checklist for the MC to the effect of "this is the sort of stuff that should be happening to the PCs in this game."

Apocalypse World has a really good example in it: it has an MC Move called "Make them buy it." Apocalypse World is a game about scarcity and Barter as a resource is not something characters can count on to be able to top off all the time. The game is telling you that if a character needs something, they should never just have it at hand, but they should have to purchase it. Can't afford it? Tough luck. What do you do?

Similarly, Dungeon World is a dungeon game, so of course it cares about resource attrition. This is why it has "Use up their resources" as a move.

Fronts are a bit more complicated a topic but to understand them you need to understand that PbtA games are insistent on the MC being as much a member of the audience to the story unraveling in front of them and not a singular person telling the story to everyone else, and as such it wants the MC to take part in keeping the story feral and unpredictable. Fronts are one of the few prep tools the game offers, with the point of them being that they are effectively a toolkit for the MC to draw badness from so that when making moves they will still be drawing them from somewhere.

They are a prep tool but a minimalist one for the sake of making sure the MC doesn't overprep and put the story on a set of rails: they have multiple ones to remind them that even if the characters might be singularly focused on a specific danger, there are others waiting in the wings.

Fronts and dangers are usually supposed to be established based on the first session: if the first session involved a gang of raiders, then the game is basically nudging you to say "hey remember those raiders? Wouldn't it be cool if they were, like, a part of your ensemble? So then when you use them again the players will be like holy shit, it's those raiders again!"

In some ways they are a tool for the MC to limit the focus of the story on those things that have turned out to matter for the player characters during the first session, to keep the cast relatively small. And they're a very effective tool for making sure that while the specific events of the story are still unpredictable, the cast at least stays within reasonable bounds.

Or you know that's how I see them. Anyway I hope that helped at all.

[what-even-is-thiss]

Speaking of politics, would you have any advice on becoming more politically aware? I've been trying to read the newspapers more and watching news and looking up stuff I'm not familiar with. Is that a good start? There's just so much I don't know. It feels like jumping in season 15 of Grey's anatomy without watching any previous seasons

That’s a great start! But if you want to be fully caught up on the previous seasons the first step is to make sure you understand whats going on right now is to understand the basics.

Make sure you understand fully the structure of all levels of government that have authority over you. How your national government works, how your state or provincial government works, how your local governments work.

Next, try to understand major political parties. What they say they believe in, what their opponents say they believe in, roughly what their history looks like and how they’ve changed over time.

The next step is to understand major media sources. Almost every media source has a place they generally fall on the political spectrum. Almost every media source also has someone funding them. Knowing how your sources are funded and where they stand politically will tell you what their biases are and help you more easily compare information.

Once you have an intuitive understanding of these basics then it becomes a lot easier to research stuff you don’t understand and more fully understand what proposed policies will mean if they’re implemented.

It’s also a good idea to roughly understand the governmental structures of countries that your country is allied with or your major trade partners with because they’ll often come up in the news. It’s not necessary to understand them as in depth as your own country but it’s good to have at least a rough idea of how things operate. Because international relations are also a part of local politics.

If you’re in the US, AP News is a good relatively non partisan news source if you only have the time to check one thing. A lot of local newspapers buy articles from AP News which themselves can skew left or right so they’re generally a trusted source by people on all different points of the political spectrum. But like anyone else they’re not totally free from bias so if you’re confused about something it’s always good to compare sources.

You don’t need to understand every single detail about everything. Having a rough idea of what’s going on in most aspects is good enough that you know where to look more in depth into things when they confuse you.

It’s great that you’re trying to become more politically aware! I encourage that! Remember to not rely on social media for your news.

[airandyeah]

Sins (Alpha Geto X Omega Gojo X Omega Reader) Part.20 (Finale)

My Masterlist Series Masterlist Warnings: Obvious A/B/O dynamics, fated mates, suggestive comments or actions, just generally Minors DNI-just in case. This will be similar to Pink Pony Club, where I just mark every chapter as 18+ Last part! Thank you to all of my readers and otherwise supporters, this has been a wild, fun, journey. I hope you'll enjoy the rest of my A/B/O series' and any of my other fics/content. Thank you again, and have a nice day/night.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting the beach in hues of soft gold and warm orange. The sound of waves rolling against the shore mixed with the laughter of your children—your daughters, both just as mischievous as their father, and your son, a perfect mix of Suguru’s calm and your own stubbornness.

They ran through the sand, tiny footprints trailing behind them as they shrieked and giggled, chasing each other with seashells and splashes of water.

Satoru sighed dramatically, flopping back onto the blanket. "You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been this exhausted in my life. Even running a mafia wasn’t this hard."

Suguru snorted, reaching over to ruffle his white hair. "That’s because they’re your daughters. They’re just like you—loud, dramatic, and completely unhinged."

Satoru gasped, hand over his heart. "Excuse me? They have your little evil mastermind streak! I caught them plotting against me yesterday."

You smiled, watching your daughters tug your son along, making him the unwilling participant in whatever grand scheme they were planning. "At least our son is a little more level-headed," you mused.

Suguru hummed, tilting his head. "For now. Give him a few years with those two, and he’ll be just as bad."

Satoru grinned, sitting up to kiss your temple. "At least they’re cute," he murmured.

You leaned into him, eyes soft as you watched the three of them shriek with laughter, chasing each other through the surf.

"They’re perfect," you whispered.

Suguru sighed contentedly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as the three of you sat together, watching the sunset and the little family you had built—one that would always, always be full of love.

Nanami had grumbled for weeks about their decision, sighing heavily as he signed off on paperwork and handled the mess they left behind.

"I should have known you'd dump everything on me," he had muttered, rubbing his temples as Satoru grinned at him from across the table, completely unbothered.

"Come on, Nanamin, you were practically made for this job. You love rules, structure, all that boring stuff."

"That doesn’t mean I wanted to run the entire operation," Nanami shot back, exasperated. "You can’t just leave the mafia like it’s a hobby, Satoru."

Suguru had simply chuckled, patting Nanami’s shoulder. "You’ll be fine. Besides, it’s not like we’re leaving you completely alone—Shoko’s still here oh and Higuruma still stops by, and we trust you more than anyone else."

Nanami sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose before muttering, "That doesn't make me feel better."

But in the end, he let them go.

Because for the first time in their lives, Satoru and Suguru wanted peace—real peace. They wanted quiet mornings and lazy afternoons, wanted to wake up beside you without worrying about blood on their hands.

They wanted to raise their family without the weight of their past looming over them.

And as you sat there now, watching your children play under the sun, listening to the soft laughter of your mates beside you, you knew they had made the right choice. ~~~ Satoru crossed his arms, sighing dramatically. "Alright, which one of you is going to explain why the cat is covered in paint?"

The twins, identical white-haired girls with guilty expressions, exchanged glances before looking at their younger brother.

The little boy, Suguru’s son, simply grinned—mischievous and far too pleased with himself. "It was an experiment."

"An experiment?*" Suguru arched a brow, tilting his head. "Go on."

The twins immediately started shaking their heads, their tiny hands flailing as they tried to protest. "No, no! Don’t listen to him, Papa! He’s lying!"

"Am not!" the boy shot back, puffing out his chest. "I just wanted to see if Moose would look cool with stripes like a tiger."

Satoru pinched the bridge of his nose, trying very hard not to laugh. "So you thought covering the cat in orange and black paint was the best way to do that?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically. "Uh-huh!"

"And you two?" Suguru turned his gaze to the twins, who suddenly seemed very interested in their feet. "Did you help?"

One of them—Satoru’s little copy through and through—huffed. "...Maybe."

The other twin pouted. "But it was his idea!" She pointed aggressively at her brother, who merely smirked.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "You guys do realize Moose is white, right? That’s not coming out easily."

From the corner of the room, Moose—your ever-suffering, patient cat—huffed loudly, looking absolutely done with life as he sat covered in streaks of orange and black.

Satoru finally broke, snickering as he leaned against Suguru. "You gotta admit, he does kinda look cool as a tiger."

"Satoru!"

"What? I’m just saying!"

You knelt beside the tub, sleeves rolled up as you worked a generous amount of dog-safe shampoo into Moose’s paint-streaked fur. The massive, long-suffering cat let out a low, grumbling sigh, clearly displeased with his predicament. You had to use dog shampoo just because it would power through more of the paint than cat shampoo-

"Oh, don’t be so dramatic," you muttered, rubbing at a stubborn patch of orange on his side. "It’s just a little paint. You’ve been through worse."

From beside you, Hime— His black cat girlfriend —sat perched on the edge of the tub, tail flicking as she watched over Moose like a concerned nurse. Every time one of the kids got too close, she let out a small, disapproving mrrp as if scolding them for their crimes.

"See? Even Hime knows you guys messed up," you said, glancing at the guilty trio of children who were each holding their own tiny washcloths.

"Sorry, Moose," one of the twins muttered, gently scrubbing at him.

"You still look kinda cool, though," her sister added under her breath, making her younger brother snicker.

Moose groaned, as if lamenting his fate.

You sighed, shaking your head fondly. "Alright, alright, let’s just get this over with before your fathers get back and start another interrogation."

The kids giggled at that, getting more into the task, their previous mischief momentarily forgotten.

As the warm water ran through Moose’s fur, slowly washing away the evidence of their little experiment, Hime stretched out a paw and delicately tapped his nose—perhaps her way of telling him it would all be over soon.

You smiled softly, watching them all.

Chaos and messes aside, you wouldn’t trade this life for anything. ~~~ Some days, you genuinely couldn’t decide what was worse—the kids or Satoru.

Like today.

"It was a perfectly reasonable idea," Satoru huffed, arms crossed as he sat on the kitchen counter like an oversized child who had just been scolded.

"You tried to teach them how to shoot a gun," you deadpanned, rubbing your temples as you pointed to the three giggling culprits, who had very nearly shot through the damn ceiling. "They’re barely out of their toddler years, Satoru."

"Exactly! Start ‘em young!" He grinned, ruffling one of the twins’ white locks. "How else are they gonna become prodigies?"

"Orphans," you corrected. "The word you’re looking for is orphans."

Suguru sighed from his place at the kitchen table, sipping his tea with the patience of a saint. "You should’ve seen him earlier," he muttered. "Tried to get them to do a ‘cool entrance’ like he does at work."

"And it would have been cool!" Satoru argued, waving his hands. "Until someone—" he shot a look at his son, "—decided to get ‘creative’ and ended up in the pantry instead."

The boy in question looked smug, rocking back and forth on his heels. "I was hungry."

You groaned, running a hand down your face. "I swear, sometimes I don’t know who’s worse—"

"Satoru," Suguru answered without hesitation.

"Hey!"

The kids cackled, clearly in agreement. Even Hime let out a small mrrp of approval from her perch.

You sighed, shaking your head. "I should’ve known this was a lost cause the moment I married you two."

Satoru beamed, pulling you into his arms. "And yet," he purred, pressing a kiss to your cheek, "you wouldn’t change a thing."

You wanted to argue. You really did.

But then you glanced at your family—at the kids giggling, at Suguru’s fond amusement, at Satoru’s unrelenting, ridiculous grin.

Yeah. You wouldn't change it for anything at all. ~~~ Nanami’s wife was a godsend.

There were days when the chaos of three little monsters—your three little monsters—became overwhelming, and just when you thought you’d lose your mind, she’d show up at your doorstep with that gentle smile and an offer that had you nearly in tears.

"I’ll take them for the day," she’d say, already bending down to scoop up one of the twins. "You three need some time to yourselves."

You didn’t argue. You couldn’t.

She was amazing with children, the kind of person who could calm even the most restless pup with a few soft words and a warm hug. And the kids adored her, always clamoring to spend time at “Auntie’s” house, where they were spoiled beyond belief. Even Nanami, as exasperated as he pretended to be, secretly enjoyed having them around.

So on those days, you, Suguru, and Satoru finally got to breathe.

To just be mates again, instead of parents.

Some days, it meant slow mornings in bed, tangled in sheets and warm limbs, making up for all the nights you had been woken by tiny voices calling for you. Other times, it meant sneaking away to a private dinner, hands clasped under the table, whispered confessions of love like you were still newly mated.

And sometimes—especially when Satoru was feeling particularly smug—it meant indulging in activities that reminded you just how you ended up with three pups in the first place.

No matter how you spent the time, by the end of the day, when you picked up your children—now full of stories and sleepy smiles—you were always grateful.

Grateful for Nanami’s wife.

Grateful for the love that surrounded you. On the rare days you had to yourselves, the three of you barely made it out of bed.

It always started the same way—waking up in a warm tangle of limbs, the weight of Suguru’s arm draped over your waist, Satoru’s face nuzzled into your neck. For once, there were no little feet kicking at your ribs, no tiny voices calling for breakfast, no urgent need to leave the safety of your nest.

And none of you were in any hurry to change that.

Satoru was the worst—shameless in his clinginess, wrapping himself around you like a second skin, murmuring about how you belonged here, right here, forever and ever. Suguru wasn’t much better, though he pretended to be—always the calm one, always composed—until you shifted just right and the deep rumble of his growl betrayed his restraint.

You weren’t any different.

It had been too long since the three of you had time to just be, without work, without pups, without the exhaustion of everyday life pulling you away from each other.

So, you took your time.

Soft kisses turned desperate, lingering touches became possessive, whispered words of love melted into needy pleas. They worshipped you—like they always did—Satoru all teasing smirks and breathy laughter, Suguru’s hands firm and steady, grounding you between them.

Hours passed—maybe more. You weren’t sure. Time had no meaning when you were here, wrapped up in them, drowning in their love.

By the time you finally surfaced from the haze, exhaustion pulling at your limbs, you knew the rest of the day would be spent much the same way. ~~~ It was a quiet afternoon when your oldest twin came home, all giggles and excitement, practically bouncing as she kicked off her shoes. You barely glanced up from the kitchen, distracted with dinner prep, but the moment the words left her mouth, the atmosphere in the apartment shifted.

"Mama! Guess what? I have a boyfriend!"

Silence.

A slow, creeping dread settled over you as you turned to look at your mates.

Suguru, who had been reading on the couch, had frozen mid-page, his grip tightening until the paper crinkled under his fingers. His eyes lifted, dark and unreadable, as he processed the words.

Satoru? Oh, Satoru lost it.

"A what?!" The chair he had been lounging in scraped harshly against the floor as he sprang up, dramatically clutching his chest as if he had been stabbed. "You’re six! What do you mean, you have a boyfriend?! Who is this little punk?! What’s his last name? His address?"

Your daughter blinked up at him, entirely unbothered. "I’m eight, Daddy. And his name is Haru! He’s really nice! He—"

"That’s it. We’re moving." Satoru spun on his heel, already reaching for his phone. "Suguru, pack the bags. We need to take our baby somewhere where boys don’t exist."

Suguru finally moved, standing up at his full height, the deep rumble of a very displeased Alpha filling the room. "What does this Haru look like?"

Your daughter, oblivious to her impending doom, just shrugged. "He has brown hair! And he gave me a juice box today! So now we’re dating!"

Satoru made a wounded noise. "Is that all it takes?! I’ve given you way more juice boxes than some random kid—do you know how many sweets I’ve snuck you behind your mama’s back?! Where’s my love?!"

"You’re already married to Mommy and Papa," she reasoned, rolling her eyes. "You don’t need a boyfriend."

Suguru pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply through his nostrils like he was trying very, very hard to keep his composure. "We need to meet him."

"No, we don’t," you interjected, stepping in before things spiraled. "She’s eight. This is just a childhood crush, and you two are not going to scare some poor boy away just because he shared his juice box."

But neither of them looked convinced.

Satoru crossed his arms, scowling. "I want a background check."

"Satoru."

"Just a little one! Just a peek at his family records!"

Suguru nodded in agreement. "If he’s going to be around our daughter, we should at least know who he is."

"You’re both insane."

"We’re protective," Satoru corrected. "There’s a difference."

Your daughter huffed. "You guys are overreacting. Haru is really nice! He said my hair clip was pretty today!*"

Suguru growled.

Satoru snapped his fingers. "That’s it. We’re sending her to an all-girls school."

"We are not sending her to an all-girls school," you sighed, rubbing your temples.

Your daughter, meanwhile, seemed unbothered, skipping toward her room as if she hadn’t just shattered her fathers’ worlds. "I’m gonna call Haru! He said we can play games together!"

As she disappeared down the hall, Suguru sat back down with a heavy sigh, while Satoru slumped dramatically against you. "Baby, this is horrible. We weren’t ready for this."

You rolled your eyes, but you let him bury his face in your neck, his distress comical. "She’s a child, Satoru."

"Yeah, well, she’s our child," he muttered. "And no little brat is stealing her from us."

Suguru was already on his phone, searching. "Haru, huh? Let’s see what we’re working with."

"You two are not stalking a child."

They didn’t answer.

And suddenly, you knew—this was only the beginning. ~~~ It was as if one wasn’t bad enough.

One by one, all three of your children came home with news that had their fathers on the verge of absolute meltdown.

First, it was your eldest twin with Haru. Then, not to be outdone, her sister declared that she had a boyfriend now too—some boy named Daichi, who apparently shared his pudding with her at lunch. Pudding. That was all it took. Satoru nearly combusted on the spot.

And then, just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, your son, your baby boy, came home and casually mentioned that he had a girlfriend.

A girlfriend.

Satoru nearly flipped the dinner table. Suguru looked like he had been personally betrayed.

Your mate’s fork clattered onto his plate as he turned to your son with an expression so deeply unamused it could have frozen hell over. "What did you just say?"

Your son, the traitor, just kept munching on his rice like he didn’t just deliver the final blow. "I said, I have a girlfriend. Her name is Hina. She told me I was handsome, so we’re dating now."

Satoru made a choked noise. "That’s not how it works!"

"You two got together because Papa called you pretty," your son reasoned, utterly unfazed. "So I don’t see the difference."

Suguru visibly winced, while Satoru looked personally offended. "That’s completely different!"

"How?"

"Because I was an adult! You’re six—you don’t even know what a girlfriend is!"

Your son, deadpan, sipped his juice. "I do. It means she likes me the most."

"She likes you the most?!" Suguru finally spoke, his voice dangerously calm. "Who is this Hina? What’s her last name? Where do her parents work?"

"Oh my god," you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Not again."

Satoru, meanwhile, was on the verge of hysteria. "That’s it! The girls were bad enough, but now even our son is getting stolen?! This is an attack! This is a conspiracy! They’re trying to take all our babies from us!"

"It’s not that serious," you sighed.

"It’s worse," Satoru whined, grabbing you dramatically. "Our babies are growing up! It’s all downhill from here! Next, they’ll be sneaking out, then getting married, then—"

"Married?!" Suguru snapped, hands slamming on the table. "Over my dead body!"

Your son blinked at his fathers, then turned to you. "Are they okay?"

"No," you answered bluntly. "No, they are not."

Satoru groaned. "We should have had more kids. Just a few more. Then we’d still have some left when these ones abandon us."

"They are six and eight years old," you stressed. "No one is abandoning anyone."

"Yet," Satoru muttered darkly. "Yet."

Suguru exhaled slowly through his nose, clearly trying to collect himself, before he leveled his son with a look. "Listen to me, sweetheart. No dating until you’re at least thirty."

Your son frowned. "But Papa—"

"Thirty," Satoru repeated firmly. "Maybe thirty-five, if we’re feeling generous."

"That’s not fair," the boy pouted. "Hina says we’re going to get married one day, too."

Suguru let out a slow, dangerous hum. "Married?"

Your son nodded happily. "Yeah! She said I’m her soulmate, so we have to!"

Satoru collapsed.

Suguru stood up, rolling his sleeves like he was about to personally interrogate a six-year-old. "I need to have a word with her."

"You are not hunting down a child," you said, grabbing his arm before he could storm off.

"I just want to talk to her," Suguru lied.

Your son, bless his soul, just kept eating like he wasn’t fueling his fathers’ descent into madness.

Meanwhile, in the other room, the twins were playing with their dolls, completely ignoring the chaos they had created.

Satoru, face buried in his hands, let out a wounded sigh. "I’m too pretty to be this stressed."

"Oh, shut up," you muttered.

Taglist is always open for anyone! Just comment, send an ask, or a DM and I'll add you! Taglist: @purpleicing , mini-kunoichi , @gravity-valley , @jinjen , @c0quin , @makingtimemine , @asweetblueberry2 , @vyxte I think that's everyone who asked to be tagged, I apologize if I missed anyone!!! Perma-tags: @thenightperson

[vanilladollette]

Hii! Could you make a fic where fem!reader is a new doctor that came to work in the same hospital where Yeo-jeong works and he slowly starts to fall for her? Maybe she somehow found out about arrangement between Dong-eun and Yeo-jeong and she wants to help them and maybe three of them enter poly relationship later (if you're okay with that, if not, then just Yeo-jeong and reader).

Revenge Is Sweet But Love Is Sweeter

Pairing: Moon Dong-eun x female reader, Joo Yeo-Jeong x reader, Poly Dong-eun x reader x Yeo-Jeong

Summary: A dedicated neurosurgeon, drawn to the intricacies of the human brain, finds herself entangled in a complex and quiet relationship with a brilliant plastic surgeon, Yeo-jeong, and his mysterious partner, Dong-eun.

Word Count: 2.5k

Author's note: I was thinking about writing a Poly Dong-eun x reader x Yeo-Jeong. You came at the right time XD Also, I'm not very familiar with Medical stuff. I just googled things so don't came at me pls 😭🙏🏻

As a child, I had a clear sense of direction about what I wanted to be when I grew up. The idea of becoming a doctor captivated me from an early age, not just because of the opportunity to help others, but because of my fascination with the intricacies of the human body. I became especially drawn to neurosurgery, a field that seemed to combine precision, science, and problem-solving in a way that was both challenging and profoundly rewarding. The idea of being able to make a difference by performing delicate surgeries on the brain or spinal cord fascinated me endlessly.

I remember vividly the first time I saw a documentary about neurosurgery, watching in awe as skilled surgeons navigated complex brain structures with such care and expertise. The more I learned, the more I was fascinated by the brain's complexity and the way even the smallest mistake could have such significant consequences. This mixture of high stakes, incredible responsibility, and the possibility of saving or improving someone’s life made neurosurgery feel like the perfect path for me.

I spent hours reading about the brain, watching medical shows, and talking to doctors, always seeking more information. The idea of understanding how the brain works, diagnosing conditions, and performing surgeries to treat them became my dream. It was clear to me that this was more than just a childhood aspiration—it was a passion that ignited a deep curiosity about the world of medicine and the human body. I knew that one day, I wanted to be in the operating room, making life-changing decisions, and helping people through some of the most difficult moments of their lives.

When I began medical school, the reality of becoming a neurosurgeon hit me. The long hours, the exhausting rotations, the never-ending studying—each moment felt like a test of my endurance. But every time I walked into the operating room, the adrenaline would hit, and I would remember why I was there. Even after countless nights of little sleep, I never lost sight of my goal. It wasn’t just about performing surgery; it was about saving lives, offering patients a second chance, and showing them the potential of their own recovery.

My journey wasn’t without its challenges. There were moments of self-doubt, especially when I saw my colleagues excel or when I stumbled through a procedure, unsure of my next move. The pressure of the profession is immense. Every decision you make could determine the course of someone’s life, and the weight of that responsibility is unlike anything you experience in other fields. Yet, as time passed, I began to gain more confidence, not just in my abilities, but in my calling. I started to trust my instincts and approach problems with a level of calm that was necessary in surgery. It was a quiet confidence, earned through countless hours of practice, observation, and mentorship.

Eventually, I reached the point where I was no longer just observing surgeries—I was performing them myself. The first time I was handed a scalpel during a procedure, my hands shook. It was the culmination of years of training, but at that moment, it felt like all of my hard work had finally come to fruition. I was responsible for someone’s life, and the weight of that was immense. But as the surgery progressed and I felt the rhythm of the operation, I knew this was where I was meant to be.

I soon started working at Seoul Joo General Hospital. It was there that I met Dr. Yeo-jeong.

At first, he was a name I had only heard in passing—a brilliant plastic surgeon with a reputation for being both meticulous and compassionate. What intrigued me most about him, however, wasn’t just his skill—it was the quiet depth in his eyes. Beneath his easy smile and warm demeanor.

We first crossed paths when I was assisting on a case that required both neurosurgical and reconstructive expertise. Watching him work up close, I was struck by his precision—each movement purposeful, his mind always three steps ahead. He had a way of speaking to patients that instantly put them at ease, as if he truly saw them, not just their injuries.

Our conversations started off clinical, strictly professional. But as time passed, I found myself drawn to him in ways I hadn’t expected. There was a gentleness in him, a kindness that felt rare in a field where detachment often became a survival mechanism.

Though Yeo-Jeong wasn't the only person I began to notice. I started to notice Yeo-Jeong sneaking off to speak with a woman with light skin, dark brown eyes with double eyelids and sleek, straight bobbed black hair, that she usually wears loose, she has a thin figure and is of average height.

It wasn't that Yeo-Jeong was talking to a woman, it was that he seemed to be doing something suspicious with her.

The first time I truly took notice of the woman, it was late in the evening. Most of the hospital had settled into its usual nighttime rhythm—dimmed lights, hushed voices, and the ever-present hum of monitors. I had been reviewing post-op scans when I saw Yeo-jeong slipping out of the staff lounge, his posture subtly tense in a way that felt out of character for someone so effortlessly composed.

He met the woman near the end of the hallway, in the shadows between the vending machines and an emergency exit. Their conversation was quiet, but the intensity in their body language was undeniable. She had a stillness about her, a careful control that felt measured, as if every movement was calculated. Yeo-jeong, on the other hand, carried a weight in his eyes—one I recognized only because I had seen it before in patients who bore wounds too deep for sutures to mend.

Something about their exchange unsettled me.

At first, I told myself it wasn’t my business. Everyone had their secrets, even doctors who seemed to have it all together. But then, the next day, I saw them again. And the day after that. Each time, their voices were hushed, their gazes heavy with meaning. The curiosity gnawed at me.

One evening, after finishing a particularly grueling surgery, I found myself walking toward the hospital’s rooftop for some air. I hadn’t expected to see anyone there, let alone Yeo-jeong and the woman standing at the edge, their conversation just low enough that I couldn’t make out the words. But I saw the way she placed a hand on his arm, the way his jaw clenched before he finally nodded.

It was then that I knew—this wasn’t just a friendship. This was something far more complicated.

I wasn’t reckless. I knew better than to pry into things that weren’t my business. But the next time I worked alongside Yeo-jeong in the operating room, I couldn’t stop myself from stealing glances at him between incisions, watching the way his hands moved with precision even when his mind seemed distant.

When we finally finished and were scrubbing out, I broke the silence.

"You've been distracted lately." My tone was casual, but the weight behind my words was anything but.

Yeo-jeong paused mid-motion, his fingers still slick with soap. For a moment, I thought he might deflect, offer a charming smile and change the subject. Instead, he sighed, his expression shifting into something more guarded.

"It’s complicated," he finally admitted.

"I’m a neurosurgeon," I replied, rinsing my hands. "Complicated is what I do."

He let out a quiet laugh, but there was no real humor in it. He dried his hands, then turned to face me fully. "It’s not something I can explain in a few words. But she—Dong-eun—is someone I owe a lot to. And I made a promise to help her."

There was a heaviness in his voice, a history I wasn’t yet privy to. But I had seen enough to know that this wasn’t a simple matter of old friends reconnecting. There was something deeper—something painful.

"If you trust me," I said carefully, "I want to help. Not just with whatever this is, but with you."

He studied me for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether letting me in was a mistake. Then, finally, he nodded.

"Alright," he murmured. "But if you step into this, there's no turning back."

The words hung between us like a thin wire stretched too tight, trembling under the weight of something unspoken.

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t waver. I met Yeo-jeong’s gaze with steady resolve, even as a quiet storm brewed in his eyes.

“I’m not the type to turn back,” I said simply, drying my hands on a towel before tossing it aside.

For a moment, he only studied me, his expression unreadable. Then, with a quiet exhale, he nodded, a silent acknowledgment that I had just crossed an invisible threshold.

I didn't press him for details right away. Trust, especially in a place like this, was a delicate thing—built slowly, piece by piece. And though I had caught glimpses of something shadowed beneath his usual warmth, I knew better than to demand answers before he was ready to give them.

Instead, I did what I did best: I observed.

I watched the way his fingers tensed when his phone buzzed in the middle of rounds. The way his smile, so effortless around patients, sometimes faltered when he thought no one was looking. The way he always excused himself at the same time every night, vanishing for long stretches, only to return with a quiet, unsettled air about him.

I didn’t need to be a neurosurgeon to recognize the signs of a man carrying a burden too heavy for one person to bear.

And so, I waited.

It wasn’t until nearly a week later—late at night, long after most of the hospital had emptied—that he finally spoke.

We had just finished assisting on an emergency case, our scrubs still damp with sweat, adrenaline still lingering in our veins. Sitting side by side on a bench in the on-call room, he rolled his shoulders back, exhaling slowly before turning to me.

"You really want to help?" His voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it. A final chance to walk away.

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Something in him shifted then. A slow unraveling of whatever had been keeping him silent.

And so, he told me.

Not all of it—not yet. But enough.

Enough to understand that the woman I had seen him with, Dong-eun, wasn’t just some acquaintance. She was someone he had sworn to protect, someone whose pain ran deeper than any wound a scalpel could mend.

Enough to realize that this wasn’t just about him. That whatever battle he was fighting, it wasn’t over.

And that if I wanted to be a part of it, I needed to be sure.

After that night, things changed.

Yeo-jeong didn’t shut me out anymore. He didn’t keep his distance. If anything, he seemed to seek me out more often—whether it was a quiet nod in the hallway, a brush of his arm against mine during surgery, or the way his gaze lingered just a second too long when he thought I wasn’t looking.

And then there were the nights.

The stolen conversations in the dimly lit stairwells. The moments of quiet honesty between shifts, where he would let his guard slip just enough for me to see the exhaustion beneath.

It wasn’t just attraction—not in the fleeting, surface-level way I had once assumed. It was something deeper, something built on trust and understanding.

And maybe that’s what scared me the most.

Because the closer I got, the more I found myself drawn into the gravity of him—of them.

Dong-eun remained a mystery, always just out of reach. But I saw the way she looked at Yeo-jeong when she thought no one was watching. The way he softened around her, in a way I had never seen him do with anyone else.

There was love there.

A complicated, tangled kind of love.

And yet, when Yeo-jeong looked at me, I couldn’t ignore the way my chest tightened, the way my own feelings had begun to shift into something I wasn’t ready to name.

It was past midnight when it happened.

A brutal, hours-long surgery had left us drained, our bodies heavy with exhaustion as we stumbled out of the OR.

We should have gone home.

Instead, we found ourselves in the empty rooftop garden, the city stretched out in glowing lights beneath us.

Yeo-jeong leaned against the railing, rubbing a hand over his face before exhaling sharply.

“She wants to meet you.”

I blinked. “Dong-eun?”

He nodded. “She doesn’t trust easily. But she knows I do.”

Something in my chest tightened.

This was more than just an introduction. It was an invitation—into something neither of us fully understood yet.

"Okay," I said.

His lips twitched, almost like he was surprised I hadn’t hesitated. "You don’t even know what you’re agreeing to."

I stepped closer. "I know enough."

For the first time that night, he smiled. A real smile—soft, almost disbelieving.

"You’re something else," he murmured.

And then, before I could second-guess it, I reached out, my fingers brushing against his wrist. A test. A question.

He didn’t pull away.

Instead, he turned his hand over, palm up, letting my fingers slip against his.

A choice.

A beginning.

Meeting Dong-eun was like stepping into another world.

She was everything I had imagined—sharp, observant, carrying an aura of quiet intensity that made it clear she had spent years learning how to survive in a world that had never been kind to her.

She didn’t trust me. Not yet.

But she trusted Yeo-jeong.

And for now, that was enough.

The three of us fell into something unspoken, something fragile yet unbreakable.

Late nights in the hospital turned into stolen hours outside of it. Quiet conversations over coffee. Moments where lines blurred between friendship and something deeper.

I could feel it in the way Yeo-jeong's hand would linger on mine just a second too long. The way Dong-eun’s gaze would soften when she saw the way I looked at him.

We never spoke about it—not directly.

But I could feel it, thrumming beneath the surface.

A choice waiting to be made.

A step waiting to be taken.

It wasn’t a grand declaration. It wasn’t some dramatic, life-altering moment.

It was quiet. Subtle.

A late night at Yeo-jeong’s apartment, exhaustion heavy in our limbs, the space between us shrinking until there was no space left at all.

Dong-eun sat across from me, studying me with those sharp, knowing eyes before finally exhaling.

“You really want this?”

She wasn’t just asking about him.

She was asking about us.

I met her gaze, unflinching. “Yes.”

Yeo-jeong let out a quiet breath, his fingers brushing against mine where they rested on the table. Dong-eun looked at him, then back at me.

And for the first time since I had met her, she smiled.

It was small. Almost imperceptible.

But it was there.

A beginning.

And this time, there really was no turning back.

[mjrtaurus]

I don’t think the Dragodile Divorce happened because of Luffy. I think it happened because of Doflamingo.

With the way I’ve structured things in my headcanon stuff with Crocodile, he was already a warlord by the time he meets Dragon, and he was with Dragon for a couple of years. This would require him to keep in some level of contact with the World Government to retain his title during that span of time, he and Dragon likely had an agreement of some sort with this. Don’t rat the Revs out to the Marines, and they’ll get him the help he needs from Iva.

But that was the initial agreement, and as their relationship changed, so did the terms.

Crocodile doesn’t like to be under anyone’s thumb, and has clearly held onto his idea of “Utopia” for quite a while. With the Navy, he is under orders until his position is either revoked or he gets killed. Said position comes with the lovely perk of not being directly antagonized by the Marines, but it’s still a cage and he knows it. He can’t build his empire behind gold plated bars.

With the Revolution, they have aligning goals. Take down the ruling class and establish something new. With the Revolution, he has equal footing. With the Revolution, he has Iva. With the Revolution, there is no cage. All he has to do is not jeopardize their operation, or sell them out to the World Government, and he’s in the clear.

So he uses his wealth and status as a Warlord to further the cause under the table. He is happy to be compliant to the Marines when he knows that he’s going to fuck them over in the end.

So it’s agreed between him and the Revs to go to Alabasta. It suits his power to be on a desert island. It suits his cutthroat nature to pick off smaller pirates. It falls in line with what the Navy expects of him.

Except he’s there- on revolution business at least- to sway Cobra into seceding from the Twenty Kingdoms. Cobra and the Nefertari Dynasty is already a black sheep among the world nobles that they chose not to ascend to Mary Geoise with the other Ninteen, so secession wouldn’t be wholly unexpected, either.

Except… Someone knows something about the world and the weaponry in it that most don’t. And said someone- chaos incarnate as they are- puts a nagging little thought in Crocodile’s head.

Doflamingo- either purposefully or unintentionally- reads Crocodile’s desire to go to Alabasta as a desire to seek out a superweapon documented in the country’s poneglyph. He lets a few ideas slip into Crocodile’s head, and he lets the paranoia do the rest.

Pluton would be a game changer for the Revolution, if only they were morally bankrupt enough to use it. Crocodile knows Dragon demands that change come from the will of the people rather than a show of force, but the answer could be right there…

So he goes after Pluton in secret, because he knows Dragon would disapprove. His relationship with the cause- and with Dragon- crumbles as a result as more and more of his time and resources are spent on locating the weapon.

And if he ever does locate it, Doflamingo will snatch it right out from under him for his own purposes. All Crocodile is to Doffy is a tool to do the dirty work for him.

[arc-misadventures]

So for vtuber AU, several of the girls and/or boys from the academy have already made their debut in your entries. So I thought what if "Errantry" reacted to the recent re-debut of one of the members of the cabal, which is a short anime

the jepella rebelion

The VTuber: Maiden of the Cabal

Errant: Well, well, well. Look who’s back.

Errant smiled at the camera as he finished the video. He hadn’t expected an old acquaintance from his past to reemerge, it was certainly unexpected, but a welcome surprise nonetheless.

~~~Stream Chat~~~

GoodDoggo: Who is she?

FallenDesire: You know her?

Lucious: She’s pretty.

QueensGuard: Sounds like you know her.

~~~~~~

Errant: That everyone is, FallenEmbers. No wait, Fall4Me, she goes by that now, that’s right. I knew her back when I used to play, The World of Remnant: Hunter’s and Monsters. It was this massive mmorpg that I played back in the day, it’s where I got the name, and design for my, VTuber avatar, The ErrantryPaladin. Fall4Me was, FallenEmbers back then. Hence my confusion.

Errant: It’s nice to see her coming back to the VTubing scene. I heard she was on before, but something happened. Oh, well I’m just happy she’s back, and hope she does well.

~~~Stream Chat~~~

GrimmKitty: So you do know her.

HellJumper1337: Were you friends?

~~~~~~

Errant’s body fell back in his chair as a deep breath of air escaped trough his nose. He looked heavenlyward as he wistfully remembered the old days.

Errant: I did know her, we were friends… of sorts. I met her back when the, World of Remnant: Hunters, and Monsters mmorpg was at its peak. I was still my lonely, Huntsman self while she was a, Huntress in the service of the, Cabal, the in game version. I never knew this when we first met, we just stumbled across one another, and did some missions together. Just because I played alone doesn’t mean I didn’t occasionally team up with other players. Little did I know she was trying to recruit me into the, Cabal.

Errant: Now, you have to understand something about how the, Acadimies, and the Cabal’s organizational structures work before I continue. You see to join a, Academy you as a player had to reach a minimum level of level ten to join an academy. This was to ensure that all new members were relatively skilled, no greenhorns, and the like. Basically, they wanted the new players to know the basic understanding of the game.

Errant: So once you joined a, Academy your characters bio gets the tag of: ‘Student of academy ‘X.’ And, once you reached level fifty you graduate from the academy, and become: ‘Hunter of ‘X’ academy.’ This was basic stuff to tell where people were from. You get different stats bonuses, and equipment based upon which academy you graduated from, not to mention players with certain individual characteristics tended to gravitate towards certain guilds. Giving each their own unique flavour to them all. The Cabal however, didn’t operate like that.

Errant: The Cabal recruited its members. Whether they be from, Atlas, or Shade Academy, it didn’t matter, their members would find you, scout you, and if you passed their tests they would offer up an invitation for you to join. While a graduated Hunter from, Mistral Academy would be said in their character profile, It wouldn’t say you were a member of the, Cabal. So its members could be anyone. This added a rather unique feature to the games overall gameplay. But, as I said; to join the, Cabal you had to display certain characteristics that the, Cabal would find desirable, and then they would invite you to join them. That’s how they did it to me, when FallenEmbers tried to recruit me.

~~~Stream Chat~~~

QuitenDown: Sounds like the beginning of a love story.

HellJunper1337: Yeah, a tragic one.

~~~~~~

Errant: So, whilst on a mission to find some rare metals to upgrade my gear I stumbled upon, Ember. Ahh, I liked to call her that, because it was quicker to say, and I’m lazy.

Errant: So, it turned out she was also looking for the same minerals that I was. And, since the area we were in is an a royal bitch to fight in we decided to team up, and we made a deal: She gets the first ore we find, then I get the next. Simple as that. We made off with a lot of ore that day… Anyway, after that we parted ways, but stayed in contact, we would occasionally join up on missions together, and generally had a blast. And, then she told me the truth, she was a member of the, Cabal, and wanted me to join.

Errant: Honestly I always had my suspicions about her. She always felt distant, and overly cautious around people. Anyway, I… I don’t remember what I said, but I remember arriving at the, Cabal’s headquarters in the, Grimm Lands, where she gave me a tour of the place. I learned how their operatives operated… ha… That sounds weird doesn’t it? ‘Operatives operated.’ Sounds like improper english, but no, it’s correct.

Errant: Uhhh… where was I…? Oh yeah! So, I learned the ins, and outs of how their operations worked, met some of their members… And, then I betrayed them by luring a, Titan Class Grimm into their base…

And, with those few words his chat exploded into a shower of startled, confused, and dare say, aroused comments.

~~~Stream Chat~~~

UWU_Knight: You did what?!

Lucious: Titan Class?!

RighteousPotato: Why would you do that?!

LRDirection: You betrayed them?

KinSlayer: Betraying an evil organization is one thing, but YOU betraying anyone is another thing entirely!

HellJunper1337: Evil, Errant confirmed!

RunnerDowner: Why?!

LouderDesires: Cue the sexy art!

PokéGirl69: Sexy evil smile~!

LitteDragon: You betrayed someone?

~~~~~~

Errant looked at the last comments before he rolled his eyes, and continued on with his tale.

Errant: Now, before I go on about how I did it, first you must learn why I did it. So, the Cabal was mostly jokesters; nothing overly evil, evil, just general bullies who raided supply lines, and caused the occasional, Grimm attacks on an innocent village. It annoyed people, but they added spice to the game. However, that commonly held opinion changed when the, Apprentice Massacre happened…

Errant: For context, we called players who were below level ten apprentices; They’re not at a high enough level to become academy students since they’re still in training so we called them apprentices. So, the Apprentice Massacre was an infamous incident where a bunch of, Cabal members got together, and started hunting down, and killing apprentices for the hell of it. Now this may not sound that bad, but there was a game mechanic where every time you die you’d lose one level. It happens every ten levels; say you’re level twenty seven; and you die eight times, you won’t go down to level nineteen, you’ll stay at level twenty. So, need I explain what happened, when a bunch of, Cabal members started killing a whole lot of apprentices?

~~~Stream Chat~~~

RunnerDowner: No way?

SumPenny: They dropped them to level one?!

KinSlayer: That’s mean!

RighteousPotato: What did they do spawn-camp them?

LunarFlower: I heard about this!

HeadHunter: I was there when it happened, it was brutal.

~~~~~~

Errant: Yeah, over a dozen, Cabal members who ranged from level thirty to forty started basically spawn camping, and killing apprentices in the starting area. There was about… seventy apprentices there, and they were completely outclassed by even the weakest members. So it was a slaughter, they tried to put up a fight, but what could they do?

Errant: However, fortunately for the apprentices, and unfortunately for the, Cabal members, I was there.

He smiled a wicked smile as he remembered that day, and more importantly what he did that day. It was the day that legends were born, and he was the start of them all.

Errant: I was in the area walking to the next area to do some quests I picked up, when I came across the, Massacre. I made a quick message to the Academies, and several, Hunter’s I was acquitted with for back up, and after that I went on a bloody slaughter. The Cabal members didn’t know what hit them! I mean, I was a solo player in my seventies, and it didn’t matter how many of them there were, I had soloed plenty of, Grimm hordes before so this was a cake walk for me.

~~~Stream Chat~~~

QuitenDown: I bet you looked really cool when you did that

Dragondeeznutz: Bet he looked hot too

VulpineRanger: He’s always hot.

GrimmKitty: But he can be hotter!

HolyNevil: True.

GermanLeopard: Good point

~~~~~~

Errant: I looked cool, least that’s what people said I looked like, chat. Back to the story, it was much easier when other players came in, and started protecting the apprentices with me. But, to make a long story short we managed to beat them off, and save the apprentices. A whole lot of things changed in the community after that happened.

Errant: Mostly codes of conduct, recently Graduated Hunter’s now had to mentor, and protect apprentices until they become students. A right of passage if you will. And, people’s general hatred towards the, Cabal, and what they did. People went inquisition on their asses. Specifically the, Atlas Academy, they really went after them.

Errant: …

Errant: Which now that I think about it actually makes sense since it’s, Atlas. If you know the lore, you’d understand.

~~~Stream Chat~~~

HellJumper1337: What did they do?

RangerFang: We went ham on them

BunnyDownUnder: Witch hunt baby!

LunaFlower: They hold grudges.

WinterBitch: Yeah, they’re a spiteful bunch.

~~~~~~

Errant: Yeah, they’re a spiteful bunch. I’m not spiteful, no I’m not spiteful at all chat.

Errant: I am however… very, very… Vindictive~! Ah~hahaha~!

Errant gave off a roguish smile that as he chuckled as he remembered all the incidents he scored his revenge against those that wronged him. His dark chuckle, and devilish smile brought an explosion of heart emojis throughout his chat feed.

Errant: Ahhhh… Good times.

Errant: Anyway, so I had a grudge against the, Cabal because I thought that what they did was cruel. People may tease, or prank apprentices , but what they did pushed the line. So, when FallenEmbers showed me to the, Cabal base I knew what I wanted to do. You see, the Cabal headquarters was located in the, Grimm Lands. And, there is a whole mess of, Grimm there: From Beowulf, Apathy, Beringals, Chimera Grimm. Delta to Alpha Class. And lastly, Titan Class.

Errant: Now, you may be asking: How does the, Cabal operate in the Grimm lands without getting attacked? Simple: They get covered in a Grimm repellent that prevents, Grimm from attacking you. The Grimm will attack you if you don’t attack them. So… I went over to one the nesting, Titan Grimm’s, and I… woke it up.

Errant: Titan Class Grimm tend to… incubate until they reach a certain… No, no that doesn’t really make sense… How do I explain this…?

~~~Stream Chat~~~

Corgimorgi: Waiting for the butterfly to hatch from its cocoon?

~~~~~~

Errant: Yeah, that’s works, thanks, Corgimorgi. It slowly grows in its cocoon until it hatches, and marches off to one of the kingdoms, and unleashes all hell upon them. If rumours arise that one of these were sighted, and, all available, Hunter’s is tasked to go out, and confirm if there is one. Everyone is terrified of these things, the first one that was ever encountered levelled, Shade Academy. It took them months irl to rebuild the academy, and it took them a year to reclaim all the land, Vacuo lost to a surge of, Grimm attacks.

Errant: At the time of the attack, Vacuo had a strength over nearly seven hundred members, and they barely, barely manage to defeat it. They had to call for help from other academies to kill the damn thing! So… How do you think the, Cabal managed to deal with a, Titan Class Grimm with barely two hundred members?

~~~Stream Chat~~~

GoodDoggo: A bloody slaughter.

Gundam#UWU: They most likely got curb stomped!

HellJumper1337: I almost feel sorry for them.

KinSlayer: Did you stay to fight it?

~~~~~~

Errant: Nope! I got the hell out of there after it started attacking their headquarters. I let them burn! It took them days, like a week to kill it too. I know because I poked the bear, and I got Exp from when it died! Went up three levels because of that. I basically crippled the, Cabal for months after this! They couldn’t do a damn thing to anyone, they were so busy trying to rebuild they couldn’t be bothered with messing with anyone else.

~~~Stream Chat~~~

Likelyaghost: So you destroyed the, Cabal all on your own?

~~~~~~

Errant: No… I crippled the, Cabal all on my own. The Scorpion Incident… That, that killed the, Cabal…

Errant went quiet as he remembered a rather uncomfortable event that had transpired years ago. He took a deep sigh to calm his nerves before he continued to tell his tale of years gone bye.

Errant: So that’s how I met, Fall4Me. You know… I never told anyone that I was the reason the, Titan Grimm attacked the, Cabal. Fall4Me never contacted me again after the attack… I wonder why; Did she know I was the cause of the attack? Maybe that’s why she never contacted me… Probably called me a traitor for betraying her trust, and our friendship…

He stared off into the distance as he pondered these questions in his mind. He sighed another deep sigh before he shook his head, and readdressed his stream.

Errant: It matters not… What’s done is done. For that was then, this is now. So chat, to welcome back an old… acquaintance. We’re gonna raid her! Send her my well wishes, and welcome her into the fold chat!

Errant pressed the button, and sent his chat onward towards, Fall4Me’s stream with a smile on his face, and a roguish smile on his face. Thinking of all the good times they had together, and he couldn’t help but wonder, where did is long lost friend disappear to? But, most important of all:

Why is her model wearing an eyepatch?

~~~~~~

Fall4Me’s Stream

~~~~~~

Fall4Me: Hello everyone, I am Fall4Me, and welcome to my stream.

Fall4Me: I am a, Huntress in the service of the, Grimm Cabal. And, I hope you enjoy watching me as we plunge the, World of Remnant into absolute chaos~!

Fall4Me: Here we will have discussions about very things: Music, video games, and various other things that… Hmm? What the?

The howl of a Beowulf echoed throughout the stream to signal a notification. One that she had not expected on her debut stream.

Fall4Me: I’m being raided? By who…?

~~~Stream Chat~~~

HellJumper1337: Hi, Ember!

GrimmKitty: She’s pretty

BunnyDownUnder: Love the eye

FallenDersires: Errant sends his regards!

Dragondeeznutz: Whoo raiding!

~~~~~~

Fall4Me: Ember? Wait, how do you know that na… Wait… Errant? ErranrtyPaladin! H-He sent you?

~~~Stream Chat~~~

HellJumper1337: Yeah, he told us all about you

Corgimorgi: It was a cool story

SummerDaysNightmare: Were you friends, he didn’t sound certain about it?

~~~~~~

Fall4Me: We are… were friends of sorts. But, tell me chat, what did he say about me?

There was an eagerness, and an honest desire to know about how her long lost friend felt about her, and she hoped her new found audience could answer her questions.

~~~Stream Chat~~~

DungeonSiver18: Why listen to us when you can watch him talk about you?

QueensGuard: Yeah, watch his vod!

~~~~~~

Fall4Me: Hmmm~? Now doesn’t that sound like a novel idea~! Alright chat, let us see what our beloved, ErrantryPaladin thinks of us~!

~~~

Fall4Me: Ahh, I remember that day, I was looking for, Gundrite. It’s a rare metal used for upgrading a, Hunters gear. I was looking for the ore to upgrade my weapons; I had a pair of twin swords that I could stick together to use as a bow. I wanted to increase my damage output, and then I stumbled across, Errant doing the same thing. Just as we found our first piece of, Gundrite.

Fall4Me: I thought we were about to have a fight over who got the ore. But, he said I found it first, and it was mine to take. It was… surprising really. I often tend to get into fights against players while looking for rare resources. It surprised me more so that he recommended that we team up to gather more resources together. And, it worked very well. I got more then enough ore. It’s not a surprise really, a level thirty, Huntress, and a level forty, Huntsmen such as ourselves is a very powerful duo to face against.

~~~

Errant: ‘And, then I betrayed them by luring a, Titan Class Grimm into their base…’

Fall4Me: HE WHAT?! He sent that damn, Grimm after us?!

Her eye ignited in flames as she looked on his smiling face as he unapologetically admitted his crime.

Fall4Me: It took the entire, Cabal nearly two weeks to kill the damned thing!

Fall4Me: It levelled our training grounds, obliterated the landing pads, decimated the hospital, and spawn camped the entire, Cabal for weeks! Seriously it’s aoe attacks were so strong that a player would die, then respawn, and then be killed by its next aoe attack! There wasn’t a single one of us whose level wasn’t reduced to a tenth!

Fall4Me: Then we all got branded as, Titan slayers, and everyone knew that a Titan awoke in the, Grimm lands meaning we were easily marked out as cabal members because of that! We couldn’t go into the field because of that!

Fall4Me: We were crippled for months, and we never made it back to half of our original strength. It was hell!

Fall4Me: But, why?! Why would my sweet, noble, Wolf do this to us? Why…?

~~~Stream Chat~~~

BunnyDownUnder: She said ‘my wolf’

FallenDesire: Another one?

LRDirection: But why is he a wolf?

Lixxen: Guy knows what the ladies like

QueensBeedom: It’s his roguish charm

~~~~~~

Fall4Me: Lets continue the video, perhaps he’ll explain why he did this…

~~~

Fall4Me: Oh…

Fall4Me: The Apprentice Massacre. That most certainly explains things…

~~~Stream Chat~~~

Gundam#UWU: Were you a part of it?

Dippernipper: We know you’re evil, but are you that evil?

Beowulf#38k: She’s evil, but will she stay hot evil?

~~~~~~

She laughed a whimsical laugh as she read her chat feed. Relishing in delight at their innocence.

Fall4Me: Oh chat, I am always hot; More often than not its metaphorically, but often at times its quite… Literal~!

Fall4Me gave the camera a sultry gaze before holding up her hand as she flexed her fingers as it was enveloped in flames. She held a blazing fist before setting it out, and resuming with his vod.

Fall4Me: But, no I wasn’t involved in the, Apprentice Massacre. Yes I was a member of the, Cabal, but I was off doing other things irl when it happened. Even then I wouldn’t have partaken in such an action. Because the headache they caused us because of that was an ungodly amount of work to fix.

Fall4Me: Well, we mostly went into hiding, and laid low for a while. I eventually went again to see if I could recruit, Errant to our side. He was a loner, and outcast I thought he would easily join the group. I thought he was genuinely interested in joining us. But, he appears more interested in how to destroy us. And, good gods did he ever manage to do so…

~~~

Errant: ‘So that’s how I met, Fall4Me. You know… I never told anyone that I was the reason the, Titan Grimm attacked the, Cabal. Fall4Me never contacted me again after the attack… I wonder why…’

She looked away nervously for a moment before readdressing her chat as she saw them flood her chat with the similar question of why she talk to her precious wolf after the attack.

And, why did she call him, ‘Her Wolf?’

Fall4Me: Oh… I was just too busy rebuilding the, Cabal to contact, Errant. Besides, I thought he would be upset if I tried to wrangle him into helping fix the mess the, Titan Class Grimm caused. Or, asking him to fix his mess as it were.

Fall4Me: Then the whole, ‘Scorpion Incident’ happened, and the, Cabal was done for. There was no chance of rebuilding the guild since members left; they all left, right, left, and centre. To the point it was only a, Cabal of one. No big battle, no final stand, it just slowly burned out, and poof! It was gone.

Fall4Me: I need to talk to, Errant again, explain some things, ask him how things are going. Reconnect with my friend for old times sake. Would you like to see that, chat?

~~~Stream Chat~~~

GrimmKitty: Yeah! That sounds cool!

HellJumper1337: Friends reunite!

BunnyDownUnder: Lets see where she stands

Beowulf#38k: Idk these two seem like a good pair

Lixxen: Old war stories sounds fun.

Helsreach: I bet he’d like to talk to you too.

RunnerDowner: Do eeet!

~~~~~~

Fall4Me: Alright then chat. Let’s go see what my noble, Wolf is there~!

///

Ahhh… This took days to finish… I just couldn’t finish it. But, it’s done!

I like doing these lore posts, it’s fun to let the mind make stories like these.

Do you guys enjoy these kind of posts, or are they just a bore to you? That’s just something I’ve been curious about.

Till later then.

[queenlua]

your post about adding excitement to a story by increasing the pressure on a character was not something i’d heard before and i found it super useful. are there any other pieces of writing advice you find foundational and would be willing to share?

glad you found that tidbit helpful!

first, i’ll give my default caveat of “i’m just some guy on the internet, so take this with however many grains of salt you need”

plus my general caveat on… all writing tips/tidbits/advice? which is:

i find that, past the basics of “knowing about exposition/rising action/climax/denouement” and such, most writing advice ends up operating as a dusty old toolbox i open up now and again.  something in my story's not working; i’m not sure how to fix it; i pull out my little toolbox of tidbits i’ve accumulated over the years and see if any of the screwdrivers and wrenches in there actually fit.  the kinds of tidbits that are useful for me may be ACTIVELY DETRIMENTAL to someone else; someone who chronically overtightens their screws probably shouldn’t be told “have you tried tightening the screws more :D;;;;” or whatever.  and in particular what works for me is probably oriented towards genre-y stuff.

BUT, Y’KNOW, GIVEN ALL THAT

here’s the tidbits i find myself returning to over & over!

* three is a very powerful number.  i have a tendency to write myself into situations where you have Two Interesting Characters Doing Verbal Head-Games With Each Other, and that stuff can be tremendously fun, but it tends to run out of steam very quickly.  adding a third character to the scene combinatorially increases the dynamics available for you to play with.  so if you’re stuck, throw someone else in there.  (relatedly this is why awful dinner parties are Peak Literature™)

* if you’re writing a romance: put a sticky note on your monitor that says “WHY CAN’T THEY BE TOGETHER NOW?”  if at any point you don’t have a good answer to that, you’ve fucked up; rework the plot.

* this is a shlocky tidbit from the South Park creators that totally works: list all the scenes in your story, and then, between each scene, see if they are connected by THEREFORE or BUT versus AND THEN.

so., e.g., “the ocean levels in Tellius are rising, THEREFORE kilvas wants to migrate from their sinking islands and onto Serenes, BUT Reyson is opposed to that move, THEREFORE…”

that gives you a stronger structure than, like, idk, “the war ends AND THEN kilvas moves to Serenes AND THEN Reyson and Naesala get in a fight…”

you want it to be mostly “THEREFORE/BUT” and very few “AND THEN”s.  just a tighter overall plot structure

* each scene should accomplish at least two things.  the most common two things for a scene to do are “advance the plot” and “develop a character”; i have a hazy memory that when i first read this advice, there was a list of, like, 1-3 other things a scene’s allowed to accomplish?  but i cannot REMEMBER that list, lol.  but use your imagination; i’m sure you can think of another valid thing.

i think this is more useful as debugging/editing advice than upfront advice—often, when you’re writing something, every scene will *feel* necessary, but upon reread, you’ll notice your attention is drifting, this doesn’t quite feel tight enough… and you’ll realize, oh, ugh, i just had three scenes in a row that existed Solely To Hit A Plot Beat; why don’t i combine those three scenes into one, condense the action, and also make sure a character’s doing something actually interesting/new while i’m at it.

(i think i see this plaguing a lot of novels that come out of nanowrimo in particular.  i mean, not me, because i don’t have the fast-twitch muscle required to do nanowrimo, but when i read other people’s nanowrimo stuff, it often feels like it was galloping through a bunch of plot beats without bothering to do anything else interesting.)

* if you're stuck on a particular scene/chapter, stuff to try:

delete the current sentence and start over

delete the current paragraph and start over

change the font and reread what you've got so far

open the document on a different screen and reread what you've got so far

print the thing out and reread what you've got so far

open a brand new document and rewrite the whole scene/chapter/etc from the start (NO PEEKING AT THE ORIGINAL VERSION)

go outside and look at a bird for a bit

take a nap

shoot a whiny discord message to a friend about it (even if it's solely rubber ducking, this can be helpful) (though if you have any friends who are good at writing AND ALSO willing to put up with your shit and offer helpful feedback AND ALSO you're not too mortified by your writing dilemma to share it with them, that's even better) (btw, any friends reading this: if you want to opt-in to messages like this from me, LET ME KNOW lmao, i'm really shy on this front!)

if you're DESPERATE: open a new document and just write out, like, "Character X wants Y. Character Z wants Q. These are the sources of pressure on character X. These are the sources of pressure on character Y. I want R to happen but I feel stuck because of M" and so on, just... really trying to dissect what the scene's trying to accomplish? most often, the outcome of this is, i'll notice in that "thinking aloud" document that i'm circling around some central question that I Don't Know The Answer To, and i need to answer that question to usefully proceed. sometimes this will be painfully obvious in hindsight. (e.g., sometimes you'll go back to your outline and you'll realize you've literally just hit the bullet point that says UGH OKAY THEY GET TOGETHER SOMEHOW I'LL FIGURE THIS OUT LATER, and you're like, ugh, fuck, it's now later, why is past-me such a bitch!) but them's the breaks. (in particular, i remember getting catastrophically stuck on a "meet the parents" story until i realized i was... avoiding actually writing out the "meet the parents" scene... which feels "well duh" in hindsight! but, like, hey, in order to write that scene, i needed to commit to some specific decisions on What The Story Was About, the same way artists gotta eventually erase a bunch of sketchy lines to commit to the Lines They Will Actually Be Inking, and that decision point feels hard and scary and no wonder i waffled lol)

okay so that's all the super-specific-concrete advice. here's some stuff that's more big-picture but i've still found personally useful:

* i once went to a talk where a novelist said she doesn't start writing a novel until she knows exactly what she wants it to look like on the bookshelf. as in: is it a schlocky trade paperback or is it a beautiful hardcover thing with fancy paper? does it have IMPACT FONT for the title or something handwriting-y? how many pages is it? and so on.

in service of this aim, she never writes any of the novel (no notes, no outlines, no snippets of dialogue, nothing) until she has that image vividly in her mind + she can't physically STAND not writing it any longer. for her, this process allows her to be sure that she knows what her novel is about—not necessarily in every single detail or plot beat (though, often she has a lot of that in mind before starting), but in terms of "what am i trying to say," "how do i want the world to look at it," etc, and she's found through hard experience that, while it's easy for her to start novels, it's often hard for her to finish them unless she has that crystal-clear image in her mind.

i can’t quite do her purity-of-method (my brain is scrambled eggs; i HAVE to write down snatches of dialogue and such before i get started on something or it all leaks out of my ears), but i see a lot of wisdom in it.  i do a lot of prewriting & thinking & scribbling out little snatches of dialogue and such before i really begin writing. i think everyone develops their own little heuristic for when they can be reasonably confident they know what their story is about, so you should try and figure out what that heuristic is for you & learn to trust it if you can? (a common one you hear a lot is "i have to know how the story ends / what the ending feels like," which makes sense; endings usually have a lot to do with what a story is About. i know NK Jemisin mentioned once she can't really start until she's nailed down the voice, and that also makes sense to me—you read The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms and it's very clear that her choice of voice is a large part of what drives the story, it has a propulsive force of its own; it's The Thing that blasts the whole thing open for her. for me, i'm not sure i have a tidy heuristic, but there's a point where i've written enough snatches of dialogue plus bits of scenes that i've unlocked some core thing that i'm really excited about—i keep spinning out bits of dialogue and setting and such that are related to that thing, i'm so excited to see how that thing plays out across the story, i look at my outline and see only possibilities and wonder instead of connective tissue that needs to be filled in... and then, yeah, i'll know i'm cooking, but not one second before!)

note that the story is allowed to surprise me & change on me once i get properly started—my longfic changed substantially when i realized Reyson’s perspective needed a LOT more room to breathe than i had accounted for in the outline, and then changed substantially again when i realized the butterfly-effect-style implications that keeping Leanne around had for my entire storyline—the ending wound up being TOTALLY different than what i'd originally planned!—but like, in that case, i don't think my sense of what the story was about ever fundamentally changed; i just added two more huge elements that orbited that about-ness. if that makes sense.

* i think about this passage from Bayles & Orland's Art and Fear a lot. i'm actually not sure that advice is helpful for literally everyone—i do see people who somehow manage to write the same fucking thing over and over, for years and years, and never seem to develop their craft or make any movement toward saying something interesting.

but i do think most people are developing something even when it feels like "the same thing over and over," and as someone who probably tends toward too little output, i found it a useful reminder that returning to familiar forms, themes, and characters across pieces is intensely useful if it gets you in front of the keyboard again, so don't stress over novelty too much. (i find, if i'm still returning to a particular form/theme/character, it's because i feel like i still have some interesting new perspective on it that's genuinely worth exploring. if i have actually exhausted a topic, i'll know it because i myself will get bored, but anyone else's opinion is irrelevant!)

* ursula k le guin's steering the craft is more focused on craft & nuts n bolts than plot-debugging-type-things but i thought i'd give it a shout-out here because i've just found it so perpetually useful over the years. in particular we could all stand to read our stuff aloud more often; that fixes a lot of problems and she goes on about that in detail in chapter 1 haha

* oh, also, re: my "put more pressure on the characters" advice—you've probably already intuited this, but i think i found that framing more useful than the kinds of "raise the stakes / make sure every character has Stakes / Wants Something" advice you're likely to find in screenwriting workshops, because this framing feels like a more... abstract... way of talking about the same thing?

like, often those two types of advice are addressing the same problem, but when i start off thinking about "where is the pressure on these characters," i don't just have to think "time to heap more pressure on them," i can also, like. observe. where the pressure points in my work are. i'm not presupposing a solution. maybe there's a ton of pressure but it's the wrong kind of pressure. maybe there's a ton of pressure but there's nowhere satisfying for that pressure to go. it's very woo/fuzzy but yeah i use the general principle of "pressure" to frame a LOT of how i think about story construction; maybe that'll be useful to you!

* FINALLY, i don't have a nice packaged heuristic/tidbit/tool-shaped thing for this one yet, but i've been thinking a lot about how much perspective really Changes Everything about a work. your choice of PoV should be exceedingly deliberate; you should be taking maximum advantage of your choice of PoV at all times (what do they know? what don't they know? how do they think about the world? etc); also if you're editing something and you're noticing a lot of unconscious perspective breaks, that's a warning sign something's going badly wrong in how you're approaching the story overall—perspective should just be unconsciously correct if you're hitting stuff right imo

OK WOW SORRY THAT GOT SO LONG but hope at least one of these lil bullets are useful for ya! happy writing~

[a-couple-of-notes]

Many people have already talked about the things that feel off-kilter in this episode--the lack of moons on the door, the aspect ratio not changing, the real quick turnaround from Jen--and I tend to agree. I think there's a good chance this ends up not being what it seems (and Alice hopefully comes back, I love her).

BUT I'm going to operate under the assumption that this was real until proven otherwise. In which case, this was by far the weakest-paced episode, on a macro- and micro-level, but I can sorta see where they're going with it.

Alice tied up her main story last week. I still think they could have found a good narrative past that--what's her identity beyond her mother? She could have leaned into the parallels with Teen, coming into her witchhood. However, in a 9-episode series, I can understand wanting to clear space coming over the halfway mark. So they kill her. Okay, that's a way to do it.

We saw in episode 4 that the coven is capable of true camaraderie and grace toward each other; I can understand the structural instinct to immediately juxtapose that against the selfishness and tension they also carry. Jen's turn was a bit fast, but not totally out of the realm for her character. I don't think she was ever advocating for the coven to kill Agatha (that was Rio), but she has always pointed them toward the most logical, most expeditious solution, with a healthy dose of self-preservation to boot. She shoves everyone out of the way to go down the oven escape route in Ep. 3, she sticks inside the protection circle in Ep. 4, she's always pointing out Agatha and Rio's weird shit. I buy at least the concept that her logical nature, survival instincts, and long-established disdain for Agatha would combine into some version of the attitude we see in Ep. 5.

Billy/Teen could go either way. They've certainly laid the groundwork for the reveal of his identity. His actions are...questionable, but again not out of the realm of possibility for his characterization. Despite what Agatha (seems to?) imply about his manipulations, the episode shows he lashes out after Agatha kills Alice. Not only that, but all the other witches (not just Agatha) move on like nothing happened. Of course he would be angry with all of them! The outburst is emotional, not calculated. I think this was one of the smarter choices in the episode; we've seen that relationship grow in small but consistent ways since Ep. 3. And it lends Alice's death a lot more narrative weight to have a character--y'know, actually care about and change because of it. Sorry, Sharon. (Sidenote: Personally, I'm questioning the song choice at the end credits--like, I get it, big reveal, Wanda Maximoff crown, but the tone and lyrics undermine how much Teen's actions are driven by his friendship with Alice/grief over her death. I don't think sowing doubt over whether he was the villain all along is worth compromising that.)

This is a wild swing of an episode that I don't quite know lands for me, but it's also the halfway point of the show. Maybe none of this is real and all the off-kilter stuff is setting up for something smarter. But if it is real--If they wanted to raise the stakes and shift the tone--this would be the time to do it. (Although I mourn the version of this story where they continued with fun Halloween hijinks, reluctant found family, and toxic gay cosmic entity situationships.) There is a very good chance that the back half of the show justifies and contextualizes the choices in Ep. 5. But without having seen that yet, it's just whiplash.

[hi-sierra]

Biologics, chapter 0.5

Hello, hello! I finally have added a significant amount to my story, Biologics, resulting in a total of ~4400 words. Not a whole ton, I know, but unfortunately life gets to ya. It isn't quite where I want it to be to consider a proper chapter one, but I feel like there's enough written for me to post. General warning that this is intended to heavily lean into the theme of "eroticism of the machine", so if that doesn't appeal to you, you've been warned. It does, however, have many general sci fi worldbuilding elements, so I hope it has a somewhat broad appeal!

So yes, if you already read the first snippet, that's going to be mostly a one to one repeat with some grammatical adjustments. Feel free to scroll down until you get to the new stuff. Flow-wise, there just wasn't a good place to break between the two sections.

Look at me rambling. And I wonder why I can't get any of this stuff done. Anyways, here it is!

Biologics

Pappy always said that manufacturing biological transportation was nothing knew. I mean, shit, humanity's been breeding horses for how long? To him, not much was novel about what was going on in the shipyards way out by Neptune when I was a kid.

But Pappy didn't know a lot of things. And he certainly didn't meet Roseanna.

The Federation Navy had experimented with Biologics for decades. The idea was to create self regenerating ships- organic matter that interfaced with the hull, moving new titanium plates and patches into place down to microscopic precision. If you had a living, growing mass interfacing with steel, a ship didn't have to head all the way back to the yards to patch up after every dogfight.

The first generation... worked. With a full time crew, that is. Full time people on deck jabbin the rigid, chitonous matrix full of growth hormones to get them to set just right. Full time onboard bioengineers to compute what signaling cocktail ya need to hit 'em with to get it to grow back right. Skilled onboard technicians to shave back the chitin when it tried to overgrow the titanium, and slap some new cells in to seed the process in heavily damaged areas. Less input material, less time in the yards, but far more manpower. Great for a Federation cruiser on deep space peacekeeping missions. Far too complex for small craft. Right?

Until some bastard put brains in 'em.

Well. A lotta suits would say that they weren't brains. They were a diffuse network of sensory neurons and ganglia, living inside the body of the ship, integrating signals from a skin of alloyed metal and fibrous protein, calculating power draw too and from various components, integrated with the mechanical and electrical components of the ship to precisely manage the "wound healing" process of the vessel. And of course, it just so happened that one of those ganglia was larger and more complex than the rest of them, and it just so happened that the computer interfaces with this ganglia exhibit complex, thinking behaviors on the level of human cognition, and it just so happens that most pilots and navigators reported them developing their own personalities.....

But of course, the Navy didn't want anyone to have some kind of pesky empathy in the way of their operations. And they certainly didn't want anyone side eyeing the rate at which they disposed of the damn things, just to let them suffer and rot. So as far as the official record was concerned, they weren't brains. But I knew different.

Like most people in the belt, I found Rosie on an... unsponsored field trip to the Neptune scrap yards. She wasn't a ship then. She wasn't much of anything. Not much more than a vat with the central ganglia and just barely enough of the stem cells needed to regrow a network. But I took her all the same. Brains were valuable. Few pilots outside the Navy had them back then. Nowadays, a black market for "brain seeds", a cocktail of neuronal stem cells and enough structural stem cells to grow your own into the chassis of your ship, was thriving. The Navy was pumpin' em out, and leaving them to die. It was cruel. Sometimes, being scavenged and resold was a kinder fate. But more often, some nasty piece of work would pick them up eventually, and treat them like just another goddamn ship. They may be vehicles, but they're a livin' being too.

I digress. I'd never do that to Roseanna. I make sure she gets proper care. And for a good, proper, working ship? That includes some good, proper work.

The asteroid we were docked in was one of my usuals- good bars, nice temp quarters, nice views of the rock's orbiting twin, and a spacious hanger for Rosie to rest in. The chassis I had imprinted Roseanna to was a 40-meter light skipper, with some adjustments for handling deep space trips, as well as some... personal touches. It was pretty much the smallest thing you could actually use to live in and work for long periods of time, but it got the job done. The angular design made the entire ship look like a wedge, or the blade of a bulky dagger. It didn't hurt that each bottom edge was fortified with a sharpened titanium blade, turning the entire sides of the ship into axe-like rams.

Those would probably come in handy today.

I approached Roseanna on the catwalk above her, marveling her alloyed scales. I could almost see her shudder in anticipation as my footsteps vibrated through the air above her. I took the steps down, and hit the trigger to open her top hatch.

When the news got out of the Navy scuffling with a rebelling mining station, an electric air raced across the station. Some went about their day as normal. Some resigned themselves to picking at the leftovers after the dust had settled. And some, like me, knew that they could get the finest pickings.

I slipped into the pilot's seat like it was an old boot.

"Welcome, Captain Victoria."

Rosie could talk, but more often than not, she chose not to. But she understood me just fine. Most of our communication took place using her three prerecorded lines- her welcome statement, affirmative, and negative- as well as a tiny screen showing a small, emoticon face. Many pilots chose to give their ships an elaborate render, but Rosie preferred it this way. It was the first face I gave her, from somewhere out of the scrap heaps, and she refused any offer I made to upgrade. Hell, she even had a hi-res screen for external cameras and comms, but she refused to interface directly with it. Secretly, I was overjoyed. To me, the little pixelated screen was her face. That was her voice. And it was beautiful to see her true self through them.

I brushed my hands across her paneling. Across the switches, the hydraulic controls for the plasma fuel, the steering, the boosts, the comms channels. The thing with Biologics was that you were still the pilot. For whatever reason, they hadn't quite gotten to the point where the brains could take over their own piloting. My personal opinion was just that their personalities lacked the ambition to. Cuz they certainly could take over some ships functions directly, and had the skill to do complex mechanical and electrical tasks. The Navy never let 'em drive, though, and most pilots didn't even know they could give them the ability to control any of the ships functions directly. But with a little help, a little bit of solid engineering, and a pilot that knew their ship... well, you could do a lot. And me and Rosie? We knew each other well. Over the years, I'd added some nice things for her, and she loved using them to help me out.

As my fingers touched the brushed aluminum controls, rimmed with chitinous layers affixing them to the ship, I could feel the walls around me holding their invisible breath. "Do you know what we're doing today, Rosie?"

Her tiny panel flickered on.

[...?]

"We got a scrap run."

[ ^_^]

[ :) ]

[ ^_^ ]

Her panel flicked between various expressions of excitement. My finger quivered on the main power, holding for a moment before flicking it on. The primary electronics of the ship hummed to life, and the parts Rosie controlled pulsed with it. My hands moved across the main functional panels- main hydraulic plasma valve, exhaust ports open, and finally, flicking the switch the start the plasma burner.

My hands gripped the steering. The hanger's airlock doors opened in front of me. My neck length hair started to float as the station's gravity shut off. I hit the switch to unlatch from the supports above. For a moment, we hang there. The dull crackle of the idling plasma burner is the only sound that resonates through Rosie's hull.

Go time. I punch the boost.

The station shakes. Rosie was never a subtle one.

The mechanics are deafened.

The crowd of spectators are deafened.

The other pilots in the hanger are deafened.

But me? The vibrations of Rosie's hull shuddering under me was the sweetest symphony my ears ever had the pleasure of hearing. As we shot out of that hanger, I found myself involuntarily humming a high note, harmonizing with the sweet rumble of my baby's acceleration as we shoot out into the inky, black expanse of space. The twin asteroids shot by us as we disappeared, leaving only the faint blue plasma trail from our engines.

My hand is firm on the boost, weathered hands tightly gripping the bar of the accelerator. I remember installing this thing in her- it was an aftermarket adjustment, not included in the usual light skipper chassis. Gently stripping away the back of her chassis, caressing her insides as I rooted the paneling, firmly attaching the tanks and burners on her insides... these hands had taken great pleasure in that. Bested only, of course, by the first time I had felt the thing roar to life.

And what a feeling it was. Rosie's entire chassis, biological and mechanical, shuddering under my grasp. The grip of my calloused hands on the boost controls, tight and sweaty around the ridged grip of the horizontal bar. The noises she made, as if to shout in glee and wild abandon at being unchained and let loose into the eternal field of space, as she was made to do. The gentle touch of her skin on my back, my body pressed in contact with the small fraction of hers that was my seat. I glanced down at her face panel.

[ :| ]

[ :D ]

[ :| ]

[ :D ]

[ :| ]

[ :D ]

[ :| ]

[ :D ]

My humming gave way to a chuckle, and then a wholehearted, exhilarated laugh. Someone was enjoying herself. The flickering faces on her panel reminded me of the happily panting station dogs back on Mars.

But as much as I would like this to just be a joyride, I had promised Rosie a scrap run. And the pickings were looking good. I glanced down at the nav. I was intentionally headed at a slightly indirect angle- Rosie's boost was her main attractive feature (both as a ship, and as a working partner), and the extra leeway I had in travel time let me strategize a bit more. I doubted we would be the first people there, but I figured we could get in before the main rush. The only trouble was darting in and grabbing something right from under the noses of the first locusts. The scrap field in question included a disabled heavy mining freighter, a goliath of the ship larger than some of the asteroids it made supply runs between. I assumed that most other scavengers would be approaching directly from our station, and the other stations in its proximity. With Rosie's boost, we could overshoot, hook around, and put the freighter in between us and the guns of the more violent craft. Rosie has no long range weapons of any kind- not only would they slow down her miraculous speed, but she didn't like them. I tried installing a small plasma cannon once, and she expressed immense distaste. Maybe they were too brutish for her, or maybe she didn't like the way they felt inside her, burdening her with pressure from the inside that didn't befit the delicate touches I usually graced her with. Rosie loved speed, precision, elegance, and stealth above all else. It's just the kind of ship she was.

That's not to say she was a pacifist, or defenseless. Quite the contrary. She just prefers a more... personal touch.

The navicom beeped at me. We'd reached the point where we needed to make that hook. My bare feet gently swept across the titanium flooring to the steering pedals. My right hand delicately gripped the steering joystick, while my left eased its grip on the boost accelerator.

"Ready for this, darling?"

[ >:) ]

I slammed the steering to the left, and Rosie gleefully complied. The wide bank of the turn as we rotated and soared through the sea of stars twisted my body in its inertia, compressing me further into her. As the angle straightened out to the proper heading, I punched the boost again, and Rosie roared forward.

Slowly, our target came into sight. Damn. This thing had taken some serious damage. Mining freighters typically weren't heavily armored- their only job was to get material from point A to B- but this one had clearly been through some serious modifications. Modifications that now lay in ruin. Titanium plating was scattered in a field around the core of the freighter. I couldn't quite tell what was stuff left behind by the battle, and what was the result of shoddy craftmanship- but it didn't matter. What did matter was that the entire thing had been split almost in half, and the scattered cargo that was leaking out. Cargo that most likely included half the weapon supplies of this little rebel faction. Would fetch a pretty penny, to the right buyer. And hell, if it was just gonna sit here unclaimed...

Ah shit. It wasn't gonna sit here unclaimed. Despite my best efforts, it looks like we weren't the first ones here. A larger scavenger gang had already arrived, and it looks like it was one of the ones I knew- Augustus and his lot. Most likely, they'd be after the weapons intact, one more thing to use to shakedown the scattered independent stations I always flitted between. He would not be happy to see me n Rosie here. What he called his "fleet" was a single, mid-sized carrier ship, about half the size of the freighter we were looting, and the dozen or so scout fighters and strip mining crafts he had looted from the Navy and various corps, and one Biologic that he called his. I respect that part, to be honest. What I don't respect is him immediately turning around and using that charge every goddamn station his ever-increasing "protection fees". Not to mention my personal disdain for the way he treated his ship. Didn't even give her a damn name. I digress. But any chance to loot something from under that slimebag's nose was a win in my book. I knew he wasn't gonna make it easy, though.

Welp. That's what our positioning was for. The side facing us was the main starboard face, and like the rest of the ship, it was peppered in small holes and gashes. Seems like the main damage had happened from the other side, and a few cables and scaffolds on the starboard just barely kept the two rear cargo compartments clinging to the front.

"Alright Rosie, time to creep it in slow. Be quiet, now, don't want them picking up a plasma surge"

[ :| ]

Ha. That was her "my lips are sealed" face. She's having fun with this already.

I cut the booster, coasting closer and closer to the bust open vessel. I eased the reverse thrusters ever so slightly, my fingers gently stroking the dual brake levers, lightly teasing at them to wait until we were as close as I thought we could be without attracted attention.......... before slamming both sides back towards me. For just one, crucial moment.

The goal here was to approximately match the speed and trajectory of a floating piece of titanium plating. Rosie's frontal blades were essentially that, anyways, so all they would see is a somewhat more angular piece of rubble. Hopefully they hadn't seen that same piece of rubble screaming out of travel speed, but I was cautious enough with my distances that I didn't think that was a problem. And they hadn't seen me yet. Once we were close enough to the freighter itself, we were blocked from their raw sightline, and Rosie was running quiet enough to not tip off any of their energy sensors.

But there was still no guarantee. Rosie, however, had no shortage of tricks. Something that she and I had developed together was a nice little bit of snooping. Well cared for and well trained, a Biologic brain had the problem solving of a human, and the computational power of a machine. But them together, and you've got a perfect decoder. And I happened to know that Augustus used an encrypted local frequency to keep his

"Alright Rosie, thinkin you can eavesdrop a little?"

Affirmative.

[...]

[...]

[...]

[...]

[...]

[...]

[..!]

:D

My comms crackled to life. "...7 heavy cannons in center-front portside bay, 3 replacement fighter hatchs...."

The comms crackled back and forth, with each pilot giving updates to what they were finding in their own little segment that they were slicing apart. Occasionally, I saw Augustus or the fighters flick between the slicing ships, overseeing their progress on the port bays. Good. Let them focus on the other side for now. Slowly, the fleet was overshadowed by the freighter. We made it. I released my breath- shit, didn't realize I was holding it- and took a better look at what we were dealing with. It looked as if the scattered debris field had mostly been the remnants of the hull, as well as light weapons for small craft and even infantry. They would fetch some small change, sure, but Rosie's cargo capacity was small. Packing efficiency was the name of the game. I saw the gash that it had all been flooding out of on this side- the entire freighter was covered in them- and peered inside. And ho boy, did my heart flutter.

Heavy cannons.

Jump-graded travel boosters.

Raw, precious metals.

And, hidden in the back corner, seemingly bolted into the wall.... a brain.

We'd hit jackpot, and potentially rescued a poor ship from abandonment, or worse.

"Alright Rosie. Time to get to work."

Affirmative.

And here was another lil something that made Rosie special- her manipulation arms . She always preferred that delicate touch, and wanted to interact with the world in a tactile, real way. So we worked on it. Together. I was tired of taking spacewalks to grab small pieces of scrap, or using the entire goddamn cargo bay on a piece that only had a tiny core, or scraps of precious metals inside. So we needed something that could pluck apart our finds. Do some light disassembly in the field, extract what was valuable, and load it in with the most packing efficiency possible. So I gave her arms- snake like appendages, coiled up in her cargo bay, with thousands of points of articulation. At first, I tried to make some kind of control system that I could use from the cockpit. But Rosie had a different idea. At her urged, I jacked them directly into the same sensory and motor systems that let her grip onto, position, and repair her hull. And by god, it worked.

When I showed her off the first time, no one had ever seen anything like it. Because there was nothing like it. A ship taking real mechanical control, over something so precise and delicate, was something that only a deeply intelligent, deeply skilled ship, with complex decision making and tactile movement could do.

And I was goddamn proud of her.

Every time she deployed them, I watched awe. Rosie gave a face of determination, and sinuous, metallic, tentacle-like appendages slid out in a bundle from the cargo bay opening on her underside. Each one was headed off by a different attachment- a precision laser cutter, a simple three-pointed grabbing claw, a drill, a tiny buzzsaw, camera that let me see what was going on, and more. Each one could be swapped out, depending on the task at hand. With eight of them slithering out from her cargo bay, though, there was usually something for everything. They extended out as a single bouquet, down through the hole of the cargo compartment, and split apart once inside. Each arm got to work.

Her observation monitor flickered on, giving me a view from the camera arm. I would've liked to get the brain out first, but two heavy cannons and a booster blocking the way anyways. We'd cut through that, picking off the energy cores and precious metals in the circuits as we go, and work our way towards the back. Rosie seemed to like the plan as well. My only job was to watch the comms, and watch the sensors.

I watched the camera as the petite tools of the arms excised and picked apart the titanium shell of the first heavy cannon. Her tools- the delicate 'fingers' of her arms- picked, pulled, tugged, and gently gripped every necessary notch, every joined titanium plate that needed to be undone, ever scrap of precious material. Firm, yet precise. Strong, yet never breaking or mishandling a single piece of cargo. As Rosie worked, my eyes darted across the energy sensors. I could see blips firing off as the ships on the other side of the freighter as the slicing ships worked and flitted between their stations from the other side. The comms crackled with their reports to Augustus- they seemed to be moving back and forth to the main carrier to drop off their hauls. It seemed like they had a lot to go through- we'd have plenty of time.

On the camera view, I could see a grabbing claw retracting back through the cargo bay. The first cannon had the back section cleanly excised from the massive barrel and chassis, leaving a path for the tools to get to the booster. The precious energy cell was sliding its way back into Rosie's cargo bay. God damn. She was quick with that. The laser cutter and saw were already making short work of the booster, too. We'd get to the brain in no time.

The chatter on the other line continued. We were still safe, but Augustus' crew had made more progress than I had hoped. Once the slicers had picked apart the port, they'd loop around to the starboard. We had to grab what we could as fast as we can- but I knew neither me or Rosie was gonna leave without that brain. Rosie gracefully sliced the fuel cell and ignition from the plasma burner, leaving the bracketing and vents behind. The second heavy cannon was soon to follow. Each cut through each piece had left a winding path towards the back of the chamber, allowing a physical path to what I had seen just barely poking through: a container for a genuine ship's brain. Rosie slid her camera arm in for a closer look.

The brain was bolted into the chassis of the ship, as well as some containers of growth factor. Seemed like the intent was to grow her in to this freighter. That was certainly an ambitious task, but if they knew what they were doing, it would be well worth it. A self-repairing, intelligent hauler as large as this one would be the heart and soul of resistance movements everywhere, supplying every backwater mining station or moon that longed to be free. Unfortunately, the brave and principled can still be stupid, and these chucklefucks had no idea what they were doing. Slapped in a random cargo bay, desperately trying to get growth out from there with no proper imprinting guidance... shame. If they'd've found me before running into the Navy, I might've helped them out. But at least now, we could give her a better life. I knew a lot of good, caring pilots that would take loving care of a fine ship like her.

From what I could tell, we were still safe from Augustus. Based on what I was hearing on the comms, each slicer was working on its last cargo hold subsection, and after that, they'd be poking around this side. We had to get this brain and get out.

Tenderly, her claw arm gripped the top of the brain's chamber, as her other fingers started working on the rivets. A saw would bust through part of the titanium bracket holding the chamber down, and when it got too close to the container itself, laser cutters took over, delicately slicing off each affixation point one by one. Rosie worked in a clockwise direction, first working down the three riveting points on the right, sawing off the bottom bracket, and then working up the rivets on the left.

C'mon Rosie. You got this. Just need the top plate....

"Finishing up there, slicer 5T?"

Shit. That was Augustus on the comms.

"Sure thing boss. Just gotta get this load to central. Mind if someone takes a peek on the other side for parasites before I get there?"

Shit.

"Sure thing. Fighter 3A, get your ass in gear and make a full pass of the ship."

An energy spike pinged on my sensor panels as the fighter revved up a booster.

"Gotcha boss. Starting at aft segment."

Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit

We still had a sliver of time before we were seen. They'd wanna get a good pass everywhere- there were ships far stealthier than us out there. But it was minutes at most. We had to finish up.

"Rosie, how're we doing there? You done?"

Negative.

[ ;( ]

"Fuck. Rosie, we gotta get outta here."

Affirmative. Affirmative. Affirmative. Affirmative.

Rosie-speak for "I know, I know, I know"

My eyes were fixed to the scanner and my cockpit windows for a visual, but I spared one moment to check Rosie's cam. She was finishing sawing through the top bracket. Just a little more....

"Aft clear, moving to starboard cargo bays."

The brain snapped off of the hull, and Rosie's claws were zipping it back to her cargo bay. I revved the engines into standby. The arms tenderly guided it through the path we had cleared, and out through the hole in the hull. We might be able to barely slip away without them knowing.....

I looked up through the cockpit, just as the dinged-up, formerly Navy fighter showed itself from behind a piece of debris. It froze for a moment, and then lined its nose to face me. Cannon ports shifted open, and slowly took aim.

"Well shit, Augustus, you're gonna wanna see this. Get your ass over here, I'm switching to public comms."

I heard slight fuzz as he switched his channel.

"Alright, leech, I'll keep this simple. You have thirty seconds to relinquish your haul before you join the debris."

For a single, cold moment, I swear I made eye contact with him through our cockpits.

[athletearrhythmia]

Reminder: needles *are* dangerous

Seeing a lot of needle and heart shocking content coming up again and I wanna speak on dark cardiophilia briefly.

I love dark cardio stuff. I've made no mystery of that. I'm not here to yell or shame folks for engaging in it; I do myself, up to limits I'm comfortable with. But anyone doing it, from mild breath play through sticking needles into your heart and shocking it, needs to remember that dark play is dangerous and can have serious consequences. It's not that people do it, but that people new to it may be naive and putting their hearts at serious risk without realizing. Back when I was a teenager someone put out excellent videos of what turned out to be fake heart shocking and I nearly electrocuted myself trying to recreate it, not knowing it was fake and with no idea that what I was trying would have literally cooked me. (I was trying to use an outlet. Yikes.)

Per needles in particular, here are a few big risks. An unsanitary needle can cause an infection. An overly thick needle can cause structural damage to the heart. But even if you're using a clean, thin needle, if you get it in the wrong place you can damage valves. I have seen this happen to folks.

The biggest risk though is inserting a needle into an artery on the outside of the heart and causing bleeding into the pericardium. This is a medical emergency that can only be treated with urgent open heart surgery. You have hours to minutes to get into the operating room if this happens or you will die. Folks *have died* at least twice that I know of.

This lives in tension with the fact that you actually aren't likely to hit an artery. They're small. However you can't be totally sure where they are either; the location of the heart in the chest is slightly different in everyone. It's like that game minesweeper, there aren't many mines but if you hit one it's game over. Again, a lot of people have done this tons of time and are perfectly fine.

With electricity, there's a similar level of risk for a different issue. This time it's instigating dangerous rhythms by shocking the heart in particular vulnerable windows. These windows are small, so again, plenty of people do this without issue. I know a guy who would go for a hard run, then stick needles into his heart and shock it. He did it for like a decade and then one time he got unlucky and went into a vfib arrest which he luckily recovered from pretty rapidly. I know another guy who arrested his heart at least 3 times, who has since removed his content and gone quiet, leaving me to wonder if he went too far.

To be clear I am NOT scolding anyone. If you know these risks and are willing to take them, I'm not going to lie, I like the content and want to see it. But I don't want anyone making uninformed decisions about the danger. You should certainly not try it just for attention. If it brings you joy, dark and twisted as that may be, and you know and accept the risk, it's your body. Just know what you're getting yourself into.