#How To Build A Steel Workshop

[thatbugkidd]

Cyn and Uzi have a particularly.. interesting relationship in this AU

Their dynamic is a tedious journey of manipulation, mistrust, and gradual vulnerability with one another!! In the beginning their relationship is definitely very tense, with Uzi suspicious of any of Abso's subordinates and Cyn very manipulative and demeaning. Despite this, they do have a deep rooted respect for each other, not that either of them would admit it. It is a bit overshadowed by Cyn's manipulative tendencies and uzi's defensive hostility. Its.. not super healthy. But they still have an undeniable attraction to each other. Cyn admires Uzi's bite, and willingness to talk back to her, something few others do.

And Uzi might oddly admire Cyn's confidence, her ability to turn any situation to her advantage. She's quick on her feet and has wits, Uzi can respect that.

Uzumi, more generally known as Uzi, is quietly renowned for her innovation and knack for building weapons, which catches the attention of the head crime lord, Abso. Cyn is tasked with keeping an eye on Uzi to make sure she doesn't become a threat and is kept underway. here's a little snippet i planned for their first meeting hehe

Cyn enters the tattered workshop uninvited, leaning casually against the doorframe, smirking as she takes in the scattered tools and half-finished contraptions.

"So this is where the magic happens. I expected something... less chaotic. But then again, chaos has its charm."

Uzi, without looking up, coldly responds "If you’re here to buy, I don’t sell to Abso’s lackeys."

A harsh scoff was heard, Cyn exaggerating faux offense, "Lackey? Ouch. I like to think of myself as... freelance talent. Though, I do have a certain reputation to uphold."

Finally looking at her, unimpressed, Uzi snarls her nose "Yeah, I’ve heard. ‘Queen of Cyn.’ What, did you come up with that yourself, or was that Abso’s idea?”

Cyn chuckles, moving closer to inspect one of Uzi’s gadgets.

"You’ve got a sharp tongue, I’ll give you that. But I’m not here to pick a fight. I’m here to talk business. You and I—we’re not so different, you know." She trailed off, tracing the rough metal of the gadget, "we're both just trying to get by."

Uzi snatched the gadget out of Cyn’s hands, glaring at her, "We’re nothing alike. Now, leave before I show you how fast this thing can melt through steel."

Cyn grinned, leaning in closer "Oh, I like you."

The arcane au has been a lot of fun so far, I'm enjoying giving it its own story. >:3

Unfortunately small little update!! My mental health has been taking quite a dip and with holidays coming round, I'm just really stressed out as of late so activity may drop for a bit while I focus on myself. I got some art backed up that I'll try to be posting :3 but I'm gonna spend a couple weeks taking it slow and doing some art studies, games, etc bc my art has just been frustrating me so much!! If it had a physical vessel I'd beat the shit out of it rn tbh BUT just wanted to give a little heads up

[tinyraptorhands]

Logan awoke that balmy summer night to the sounds of a hammer on iron, and the smelting furnace being turned on in the workshop adjacent to his and his wife's lovely home. He sat up, running a hand over his tired eyes.

"Peach, have mercy..." he mumbled, his sandrock drawl thick with sleep. "Not again..."

He threw the covers off his body, swinging his feet over the bed and onto the cool wood floor. He threw on some pants and some old boots, not even lacing them up as he scratched his stubble, walking down the stairs to the front door.

He walked outside, eyes roamed over to the larger shed, where he saw the lights on. "Dammit, woman..." he huffed, walking over.

He leaned on the doorframe, arms folded. There you were- his wife, Sandrock's best builder this side of the Eufala, 8 months pregnant and building a large steel frame for a commission.

At 2 am.

"Darlin'." He called out, rubbing his jaw. You didn't notice him as you welded the steel frame, soldering the metal together. The torch roared as you worked expertly. "...Darlin'!!" He called again.

You turned, looking ridiculous-your hair a birds nest, barely held back with a drafting pencil stuck in it, face covered in a welders mask. Your nightgown was now smudged with oil from one of the recycling machines, and on your feet were one of his boots, too big on you. Your arm length gloves looked too big on you as well, and it just made you look more ridiculous. "Uh?" You made a noise of acknowledgement, or rather, confusion.

"...What the hell're ya doing out here??" Logan deadpanned. You took off your welding mask, and you were smiling dumbly.

"Finishing this commission! I couldn't wait till morning once I remembered that I actually *did* have enough steel to-"

Logan interrupted you, "Darlin', honey, love of my life-it is two AM. You are 8 months pregnant and you are literally playing with fire!" He said, exasperated. You blinked.

"...I mean, I wouldn't consider this *playing*-"

"Not-not my point!" He huffed, "you need all the rest you can get! I thought we agreed you were gonna go on maternity leave for a spell, not...doing this!" He gestured to the large frame, studs still glowing hot from your welding.

You whined. "But it's so BORING! And baby woke me up anyways! So I snuck a commission in! And it's not that bad anyways, not a huge project at all-"

"That is a *huge* frame!! How are you gonna-" He let out an exasperated noise. "...Okay. Level with me here, master Builder. This. This is the *last* project. And when it's done, you are gonna have me and a few men get this outta here, and you are gonna sit that pretty behind down, and continue baking our baby. You get me?"

You pursed your lips. "...I mean, can we tweak our rules here-"

"No. Or I get Dr. Fang to babysit you."

"Damn!" You cussed, sucking your teeth. The doctor may look weak, but he also knew how to make you feel guilty for neglecting your health. (You wouldn't forget the time you passed out in the desert only to see his dissapointed face hovering over you the next day.) You hated making people disappointed. "Ffffiiiiinneee!" You whined dramatically, throwing your arms up in defeat.

"And you're coming inside, finish this tomorrow. You look a sight." He added.

"But I'm on a roll!!" You continued to pout, but didn't fight as he took your gloves off and welding mask off your head, setting then on your work table.

"Two. AM." He repeated. You groused, mocking him under your breath as he scooped you up-bridal style. He just chuckled as he walked out with you in his arms. You reached over him, shutting the light off, still pouting.

"You know I love you, my crazy builder?" He smirked down at you, using his hip to close the workshop door. You rolled your eyes, and smiled fondly.

"Yes, yes. And I love you too, my handsome yakboy." You sighed, leaning your head against his chest.

"Hey, now. That's daddy yakboy, to you." He teased back.

...

"...Actually, that was a bit weird to say, let's stick with the handsome yakboy thing." He said, rethinking it. You nodded.

"Yeah, lets." You deadpanned.

((I just imagine female builder being an absolute gremlin workaholic, even while heavily pregnant and Logan, being the best husband ever, just being like..."ma'am, I adore you but please, stop it." And builder is like, "lol no." ))

[blughxreader]

Hi no your world building idea on the financial implications/restrictions of the purge are making me chew through steel actually. Because sure it keeps getting higher and higher financially, but that means that people (who don't just succumb to illegal means) start to develop weird cultures around it.

Like people who decide young that they would rather just make themselves as likeable as possible in hopes of getting a yandere for themselves the same way some people hope to become house spouses. Obsessing over looking and behaving perfect to the point of not knowing who they actually are outside of performing this role 24/7 (because who knows when their potential meal ticket might be watching? Where they put cameras? You can never risk breaking character. You have to be the character and hope they never find out the truth)

Celebrities in interviews talking about how they wanted to be famous in part to have resources to find the best darling and then keep them. People trying to become a celebrity's darling just so they can try and network their own career.

People add keeping their darlings on the list of lottery winning fantasies. Talking about the way they'd decorate their rooms and the things they'd give for mental and emotional enrichment.

Purge sympathizers who argue its an honor for you to be chosen as a darling since it means an easy life for a year. Darlings being financially taken care of, sure, but dealing with people taking them even less seriously as individuals because of the ""privilege"" to the point that then asking for basic rights or ammendments becomes a war against them being framed as greedy or demanding. (They already financially support you, and now you're insisting that they let you outside too??? What's even the point of kidnapping you then?? So what if it's for medical and dental care, that just means people who aren't your yanderes touching you, examining you, not a chance).

I'm just having so many thoughts and it's your fault (affectionate)

FROTHING AT THE MOUTH

Incredible ideas. The culture around the Purge is so interesting.

Like imagine a Yandere who’s dreamed of having a Darling their whole life, only for a bigger and badder yandere to show up and kidnap them? Anyone can kill and be killed. Darling, Yandere, and Normal aren't permanent labels.

There would be Darling seminars, where people could learn how to catch the attention of a high-value yandere. Or Yandere seminars, on how to maintain passive income and keep the darling reliant on you once the captivity period ends.

And maybe early in post-Purge captivity, there are mandatory and voluntary workshops for Yans and Darlings to learn how to coexist together in accordance with the law.

I actually love your ideas. Lottery winning fantasies? Kids dreaming about their future Darlings instead of weddings?

It's easy to map out the laws in a world like this, but culture is so multi-faceted and intricate. I'm actually barking at some of these ideas

Sorry this took so long to respond to haha. Your ideas were so good that i had to think for a while about how to add to them.

[slashersiren]

Did you ever wonder what is it like to be Asa Emory’s neighbour?

Here you go:

Asa Emory x Female Reader

Silk and Steel

You moved into the old townhouse a week ago. It was quiet, tucked between two ivy-choked buildings at the end of the block. The neighborhood was old money, the kind of place where people wore polite smiles but never waved. You liked that. You didn’t know your next-door neighbor. No one did. They said he was a recluse. A university entomologist, if you believed the whispers. Always quiet. Always alone. Always watching. You noticed him first on a rainy evening, through your kitchen window. A tall silhouette framed in the house next door, backlit by rows of glass terrariums, insect wings shimmering like stained glass. His face was hidden in the half-light, but his posture was straight, deliberate. There was something unnerving about it. He didn’t flinch when you noticed him. He simply raised his glass. You froze. Then… raised yours.

The next time you saw him, you were carrying groceries. A bag slipped from your arms and before you could curse, he was already there, crouched beside you like a shadow from nowhere. His voice was soft.

“You should let someone help you.”

You laughed nervously.

“Someone like you?”

He tilted his head slightly.

“Someone capable.”

It shouldn’t have thrilled you but it did. Over the next few weeks, he became… familiar. You didn’t even realize how often you saw him until one evening when you caught yourself lingering by the window on purpose. He was in his workshop again, examining a butterfly pinned beneath glass. He didn’t look at you. Not directly. Yet you could feel his awareness, like the cold tip of a scalpel brushing your spine.

“Do you like insects?”

He asked one day, his voice like silk soaked in ice water. You were standing at the fence line between your properties. You hadn’t noticed him step outside.

“I think they’re fascinating,”

You said honestly.

“Beautiful but also… unsettling.

“Good,”

He said, almost smiling.

“You understand them.”

“I try.”

You added a bit suprised. He studied you then. Not your face. All of you. It didn’t feel sexual. It felt like cataloging, like he was mapping your shape for something you didn’t quite understand. Weeks passed. You started dreaming of clicking sounds and dark corridors. Of glass walls and quiet breathing just behind you. You woke up sweating. Hungry. Cold. Sometimes you swore you heard things in your house, tiny metallic clinks. But when you checked the locks, they were still turned. Nothing was missing. Then one night, you found something on your porch. A glass case. Inside a dead moth. Wings spread delicately. Pinned. Preserved. You picked it up with shaking fingers. On the bottom, etched in faint ink, a Latin name:

Eubaphe mendica. You looked it up later. It meant: The Beggar. You didn’t sleep that night but you dreamed.

[memen18-m5r3]

new installment in my authleft lore saga ヾ(•ω•`)o this one's adding details to the things i've established in my previous posts so feel free to check them out for context (it's under "authleft family drama" tag now).

quick recap of what's going to be relevant here: the steel factory where all of authleft lives appeared long before any of them and as if by itself. this + the chthonic atmosphere of the workshops lead some to believe that this building is "alive". with its own will and needs.

Commie suspects Trotskyist of subversion and usurpation of production (how's that bad, you might ask? well, nobody knows what's gonna happen if production were to ever seize...and Commie's not risking it), and takes him out when no one's looking. Does it with a heavy heart, but believes it to be for the good of the family (or so he tells himself to better sleep at night).

There's no solid evidence, no go-to suspect (Trot wasn't popular with the rest of authleft for various reasons, at this point it could be anyone 'cept selected few), and no body. Therefore, the common story becomes that Trotskyist "disappeared" on the factory grounds. Naturally, Commie keeps quiet about his participation in this disappearance. Trot gets proclaimed dead after a while of him being MIA. It's a precedent that has never happened before so everyone's a little freaked out. Posadist searches under every pipe, but finds no trace of his father. It's at this moment when intrusive thoughts and voices turn more and more frequent for Posad. Gradually he is pushed towards the idea that it was the factory itself that ended Trotskyist.

This creates and fuels fear and paranoia regarding the factory's machines, and given that Posadist serves as a mechanic, he becomes unable to perform his duties. Which is a problem. Commie doesn't go straight for the kill this time as he finds Posadist more pliable, as well as less of a threat (and they need their mechanics). So, Commie tries to "fix" his nephew, but he doesn't know how to deal with this kind of situation and ends up making it worse, solidifying the delusions. Posadist reaches a point of breaking, where he starts to consider the factory an extraterrestrial technology or even a life form sent to Earth by a more advanced communist civilization. Not only does he fail to do his job, now he actively interferes with production.

Commie, in his final attempt to reason with Posadist, blurts out that he (Commie) is the one guilty of Trotskyist's death. This revelation comes too late, however, as it falls neatly into the conspiracy theory. Posadist calls his uncle an "alien accomplice", but he won't take him alive, for he himself almost got in touch with these alien creatures, and that he has something greater to offer them. Posadist hides in the factory's depths, and that's the last time he is seen in his "normal" form.

TL;DR: Commie kills his brother out of personal suspicions, then drives his nephew to psychosis with inept attempts at psychological help (and lying...lots and lots of lying). For the greater good tho!

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 95)

The addition of a second, third and forth pod meant that the frame of the escape shuttle was finally beginning to take place, aluminum and titanium wrapped around in a welded cylinder and thrusters mounted at the back to push it out of Copper-9s atmosphere.

It was mounted on steel scaffolding, facing the sky in all it's patchworked glory as worker drones dotted around it welding peices together and double- triple checking that everything was done to the best of their ability.

There could be no test flights or second chances- this had to work first time.

Along with the framework of the shuttle came month 5 of Uzi's pregnancy, along with N's birthday.

Which was today.

N was now officially twenty years old- an adult by everyone's standards and solidly out of the ‘almost adult’ limbo he'd been stuck in a couple years.

N fought vehemently against any sort of party for his big day, preferring that focus remained on the construction effort, he could celebrate when they were in space… safe.

That… may have had something to do with how possessive he'd been over Uzi lately… he couldn't bare to patrol too far from her, his sweeps getting into tighter and tighter circles.

He'd felt territorial around her since… well, since she'd gotten pregnant. But now it felt like all his sensors were dialed up to eleven at all times, alert to every little sound, movement, change in the air.

Like his entire body was in constant anticipation, waiting for… something.

Knowing J was still out there wasn't helping, every nerve in his body alight as he paced on all fours on the roof of the building that inhabited their nest- which they had both been spending much, much more time in since the baby started moving.

He wasn't the only one exhibiting this pacing, expecting behavior either, Uzi was doing much of the same, though slightly differently- in the form of collecting everything even remotely warm and soft and piling it in the nest and then obsessively rearranging the inside over and over again.

She was still working on the ship, sure. Her blueprints were the ones being used for it's construction, she was in the workshop every single day to either plan the next expedition for another pod, or to work on welding the frame together herself. But the second the work was done it's like they were both taken over by the urge to just… pace.

V was also struggling to contain her baser instincts, though in a different way- she was bringing food up into the nest, most of the time a scavenged limb or head (that did always end up eaten or drunk in it's entirety after everyone else was asleep) and fighting back the desire to pull Uzi into a session of grooming and preening that they would both find embarrassing.

Thad and Lizzy were less affected- Though both took up the habit of escorting Uzi everywhere she went like a pair of especially loyal gaurd dogs. Though now they were sleeping in the nest less and less, N was starting to urge them to sleep at home instead, keeping the nest occupied by three the majority of the time.

Which, finally, brought us to this very moment- V out on patrol/hunting for spare parts while Uzi took a break from adjusting every aspect of the nest to try and get her kit to play.

The incident at the playdate had Tera quiet, silently playing with her bat plushie, only chirping softly every so often instead of the rapid fire happy trilling Uzi was used to.

Considering it had been over a week since- Uzi was starting to get worried.

So she picked Tera up by the scruff of her onesie with her teeth and sat her in her lap, where the toddler just continued quietly playing, head angled to where her mother couldn't see her face.

“Tera.” Uzi called softly, and the solver kitten stopped, shoulders scrunched and bat held close to her chest as she still refused to look directly at her.

Uzi sighed.

“It was an accident baby bat, Daddy and I know you didn't mean to.” at this, Tera finally looked up, wriggling to get into her mother's arm.

“Sad.” Tera mumbled adding distressed warbles along with it, eyeslights knitted in an expression of contemplation that a toddler of her age simply shouldn't be capable of.

“He wa’scared-” She kept going, working the more complex words out of her mouth tentatively, struggling, but not as much as before. “-Of me.”

Uzi felt her core squeeze uncomfortably, threatening to unleash misdirected anger on a toddler she'd only met once.

“Why?” Tera asked, making Uzi blink, for starters, Tera was less then a year old and already asking introspective questions- something that she absolutely should not have the processing power for yet. But;

She really didn't like the direction the conversations was going.

“Oh… Jellybean.” Uzi lent down to hug her daughter, squeezing her tight before pulling away and putting a hand on the toddlers tiny head.

“We're… different from the other workers. We all are, Mommy, Daddy, Auntie V. We have different needs, and sometimes-” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “-sometimes people won't understand that.”

Tera took a moment to think about it, a loading circle appearing on her visor before she looked back up.

“That's mean.” She said, a very familiar glare written all over her face.

“Yeah. Some people will be, that's how people are. But there will be ones who will put in the effort to understand you. If you let them.” Uzi smiled reassuringly, her tail coming free to rest beside Tera as extra comfort.

Tera's attention went over to it, the tail cocking it's head as Tera cocked her own, she put both hands on it, thinking hard.

She nodded slowly. “Otay.”

“You wanna play with my tail…?” Uzi asked gently, snapping her tail playfully at her daughter; making her squeal in delight.

“Yah!”

Uzi grinned as her kit seemed to slowly regain her usual energy, biting and nipping and pouncing on the semi-indepentant head of her tail, trilling happily; her core whirred in delight.

Thump.

And here came the birthday boy.

N pulled back the sheet covering the entrance and crawled inside, stretching like a cat before flopping near Uzi lazily, grumbling.

“Find anything?” She asked, reaching down to tangle her fingers in his tousled hair, his tail wagged happily and his core began to rumble with the sounds of his contentment.

“No. Just more flesh.” He mumbled, lifting his head up slightly.

“How close?”

He paused for a moment.

“Too close, it's uh- it's moving faster then we predicted. I think the more there is, the faster it spreads.”

Uzi sighed.

“We have less time then we thought then… we still need a couple more thrusters, fuel… we're not even close to done.”

“I know.” N replied.

A tense silence filled the nest.

“I'll tell dad tomorrow… the sun's almost up.”

“What's the plan then…?” N almost smiled, admiring the way she did always seem to have a plan.

“We're just going to have to work on crunch time. I'll start working on the guts of the ship this week, we still need a way to recharge while in space.”

“We also need a place to go…we can't just wander aimlessly.”

“I know. I've been looking at old files from the bunker, there's an old satellite hub that might give us a idea of where to go.”

The air got more tense, heavy as lead and just as toxic for their health.

“Let's… try not to think about it.” Uzi said after a moment of feeling the dread creep up her back.

“I think that's what we're all doing…” N replied softly, tail hanging low.

“Happy Birthday.” Uzi near whispered, placing a kiss in his head that made his tail wiggle all over the place.

“Mm. Kinda not the best time to celebrate huh?” He admits, sitting up curl into her shoulder.

“Well…”

“We could always celebrate privately.” N's visor flushed, his tail kinked up straight before coming to curl around his mate, a playful chuckle leaving his mouth.

“Oh?” He hummed. Watching his kit wear herself out playing with Uzi's tail.

“Once she gets tired we can…” She whispered something in his audial that made him blush harder, but then he laughed before whispering something else into hers, which made her blush a shade of impressive violet, in response, he nibbled up her neck and a giggle bubbled out of her throat.

When he pulled back, they nuzzled each other's faces, sparks fluttering between them as he whispered the the words “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She replied, connecting them in a slow, passionate kiss that N ended up sighing into, stress evaporating off him like it was never there.

Next ->

[centrally-unplanned]

I have been taking my fit-and-starts second stab at playing Victoria 3 - I did a Japan run, and a Korea run, and this is a very frustrating game. It bothers me because its deep core is probably the best of Vicky so far. It understands that the appeal of these game is Factorio-esque; you want to build up this cool little supply chain that goes chug chug chug I make-a the widgets and numbers go up.

Vicky 1 was ofc just pure cheese; most goods could just be dumped on the global market with no buyer and do fine, certain goods were just hard-coded to be profitable, and insane things like 100% of import costs coming out of the government's budget pushed you towards a kind of samey, slapdash hyper-industrial mercantilism. Vicky 2 was the opposite - so opaque in its function that you as the player didn't really have agency over it, as the vaunted World Market just does its thing. Your strategies "worked" no matter what you really did though, so you just kind of followed basic "build factory in same territory as RGO" logic and let the system run itself. Both of these systems made for functional-but-not-exceptional gameplay loops.

Vicky 3 is more complicated than its predecessors, but in ways that makes how the economic system functions more concrete. You have local prices for goods, wider markets with clearly labelled high-and-low demand, and clearly defined "production methods" where buildings can commit to better tech at the cost of different inputs. As a player you can build factories, farms, and mines of a dozen different types anywhere, so you always have agency - and those new production lines gives you goals. Invent steel tools, so now your tooling workshops can make more tools but will need steel instead of iron as a input? You can switch over the lines...but make sure you have enough steel mills! And oh, that drives down the price of tools once you do it...so now your cattle ranches can justify switching their line to tool-assisted butchers! And now you make more meat, your local cost is low, but oh in the Russian market meat prices are high - as shown by that little gold coin icon it - so you can export it now!

Things are looped, contingent, and based on your decisions. It is simple, of course, you are making lots of little, easy calls that build you up over time - which is what makes it fun. It has to be simple, because otherwise it is a dizzyingly complex web of a million markets, it would never work. You feel like you are actually building the economy without being overwhelmed by it.

Which would be great if it wasn't stapled to one of the worst political & military systems I have ever seen, played with a UI God abandoned in shame.

So you can join the markets of other countries? Like you have your own market as a default, so you can click the "market" tab and it will show you how much wheat your country makes, how much iron it buys, etc. All good. But if you join another country's market, now that tab shows the collective market, everyone's wheat, iron, etc. Useful but like obiously I am not playing the market, I am playing the country; so how do I see how much wheat I make?

You can't.

You actually can't! Idk maybe they patched it in recently, but I couldn't find it and all the reddit threads I google from 2023 say you can't. Are you planning to declare independence and wanna see if you make enough food for your people? Too bad! Fuck around and find out I guess. I saw one thread where someone's advice was "save the game, declare independence, screenshot the new market, then reload". Quantum timeline level of experimental design going on in these guys' Bureau of Labor Statistics.

It isn't even the gameplay implications that bother me the most - this is a game about building an economy. You want to see what you built! And they stop you. It is baffling, and is just the tip of the iceberg - there are so many things like this. One of my favourites is that your "construction sector" is a hybrid of government and private projects, sometimes it is you spending the money, sometimes investors. Okay, cool, when it is you spending it comes out of your treasury, right? Well, yes, but the way they show that is when everyone spends it comes out of your treasury, but the private sector reimburses you for their share. Which you will not understand your first ~3 games, and instead just see huge red numbers on your budget screen and panic. And you are just left asking why? Why do that?

Beyond UI, the political system is just half-baked. It is "interest groups", each has baseline popularity, and verrrry slowly that changes as your economic structure changes (or revolutions). And to change laws you initiate campaigns to drum up support with roll dice to pass/fail. Which isn't a bad baseline, but it completely fails to capture how political change occurred in the era. Like the Meiji Restoration is "done" by you putting industrialists in power and kicking out the "landlords" lol. Japan didn't have industrialists then! Landlords are the ones who did the restoring of Meiji.

More importantly than inaccurate it isn't fun - to change a law you just arrange a coalition in power than kind of backs it, then pray you get good random events. In Vicky 2 they had a lot more railroad-style decisions and stuff you could do to capture history, "hit this military score benchmark and launch a civil war" kind of stuff. It wasn't complicated, and it was less organic, but it was pro player agency, you could take active steps to achieve it. In Vicky 3 it is mainly waiting or cheese - people often talk about getting the Meiji Restoration by deleting all your armies at game start and launching a civil war immediately that the AI will lose by default. A checkbox decision is better than that!

The military mechanics are the epitome of their "systems over gameplay" approach. What they wanted to do was two-fold; reduce micro in Vicky 2 where it is "click army to province" over and over, and "balance" the game by making combat not reward micro where players could cheese the AI. Very valid goals, I totally support it. What they did was built a system where armies auto-move to "fronts" and their AI can't handle it, but now as a player my agency over my units is gone so I can't fix it. The UI is awful, you can't even really tell armies to attack or defend, they just ~whim. You have to do a lot of clicking to fight the system - yes it is less clicking than Vicky 2, but in Vicky 2 that wasn't mentally taxing, it was fun enough to wage the war you wanted to wage. Everything was concrete and in your control.

Here...look, as Korea I declared war on China to gain independence. Then the UK - not my ally, just separately, declared war on China as well. So now we are kindaaaa on the same side? At which point half my army auto-reployed to Hong Kong because a "new front" had "appeared". One my one boat. Then the UK declared war on me as well and then 50% of my army was fighting the UK in the South China Sea alongside the Russians (???) while the other half of my army is sitting there at home facing the Qing troops along the Yalu River going "bro, wtf?". At one point a newly spawned army of mine tried to auto-redeploy to Senegal.

All of this is just so preventable - you wanna reduce micro? Make combat provinces really big. You just invade "Manchuria", no clicking from Jilin to Mukden, and have bordering armies support each other defensively or something like that so you don't have to dash back and forth. Don't try to make your AI "do it for you" because it clearly can't and you want to play your own game. I'm sure the above will get better as I learn the system but I can just see the hundreds of players who saw this system and insta-quit, because until you "understand" it, it stabs you in the back. Not what you want out of a game.

Anyway enough me whinging about the game for way too long - the fundamentals are strong in the end. I will test out mods, I could see an overhaul mod really fixing everything except maybe the combat (and then you just cope). I definitely want it to work, the potential is high.

[iamthekaijuking]

Curious here, what made you wrote Kamura and Mezeporta so unfavorably in your Polyptergya document lmao

So for kamura it’s both due to my distain for the village and some of risebreak’s choices.

Weird power scaling, mizu fire subspecies, replacing my beloved agnaktor with a lava dwelling variant of a species that lives in mud, not bringing back deviants and just making discount versions… resonance. Not to mention that due to how overpowered the wirebug system is, after about 300 hours hunting just becomes a frustrating game of “can I land my uber-damaging wirebug combo” which isn’t very fun. This isn’t to say that I outright hate risebreak, there’s a lot I do like.

Kamura itself does some really dodgy shit compared to what is standard for villages in the series. There’s quite a few quests where you go and eliminate monsters that haven’t even done anything just because Kamura doesn’t want them there. Yomogi is especially bloodthirsty and guilty of this (also her little dongo shop is lame, I don’t want stupid little rice balls I want my DELICIOUS FULL COURSE MEALS).

But my biggest issue is how the village handled the rampage. They make a big deal of not wanting to evacuate and let their village get destroyed, which is understandable. But. Their village is fucking tiny. The biggest building in their village is their steel workshop, and the rest is like 7 houses. The population of Kamura village probably isn’t even above 30 people. Instead of maybe fortifying that or building structures that might steer monsters away, which wouldn’t really be too difficult because fleeing animals go the path of least resistance, they instead built a massive several kilometer fortress filled with bombs, guns, dragonators, tunnels, and several steel gates that individually probably weigh more than all their houses combined. That is the definition of wasteful overkill. I get the reason why gameplay and theme wise, the rampage is the night of 1000 demons, but focus it around defending the village itself and not a narrow mountain path to it several miles away.

My dislike for Mezeporta is more to do with frontier itself and that I have to engage with it when making trees. Frontier started as a cool second gen spinoff, but over a decade it turned into an MMO full of arena battles, artificial difficulty, and overdesigned final fantasy looking god creatures that sometimes commit psychic attacks on a local opera singer?? I really don’t like frontier because it’s like if a creature grew inside a person and started wearing their skin after killing them to try and take their place, but it clearly doesn’t fit the creature and everyone can tell.

But when making phylogenetic trees it’s good to have large sample sizes because that gives you more accurate results, which means I have to include frontier monsters and then write about them. It would just be really jarring to earnestly write about a very subdued mainline monster on one page and then with a completely straight face write about a frontier monster with seven different rage mode novas that can kill god. So the best way I figured I could circumvent this was just “What if these are just really poorly studied animals and the people hunting and documenting them are really, really unprofessional and that makes everyone mad?”.

Also the Polypterygia tree will be the second to last one I update so look forward to that.

[heritagebrowser]

A selection of shots from details from Hôtel Solvay, a masterpiece by Victor Horta, a native from Ghent, who build the very first art nouveau style buildings.

This building could achieve the goal of Gesammtkunstwerk aided by the unlimited funds that were provided without compromises, a steel structure adorned with precious materials, an inventive ventilation system and it was the first house in Brussels to be completely illuminated by incandescent bulbs.

In 1894, Armand Solvay, son of chemist-industrialist Ernest Solvay, asked Victor Horta to design a house for him and his family. In the years that followed, the architect was given absolute financial freedom, which can be seen in the creative execution and the materials used. Everything in this stately mansion, down to the smallest detail, bears Horta’s stamp. In the 1950s, the Wittamer family established their haute couture workshop in the building and saved it from demolition and decay. And how! Their great care and the restorations they carried out helped the Solvay House to be inscribed on UNESCO’s World Heritage List in 2000. As one of Horta’s most remarkable creations, this work of art is well worth a visit!

[anthrophobixx]

can u share with us why/how you chose the typings for the characters like why karen fairy, why oliver ghost and so on

of course !!

Karen got the fairy type because fairy types are mostly known for being quiet, calm, collected, but also very hard hitting, which I feel like resembles Karen quite well

Oliver got ghost because of the spooky mansion !! At the end of his good route he talks about how the cinema was indeed haunted by ghosts, but he managed to befriend some of them. This was actually suggested by a different tumblr ask, since we originally wanted to give Oliver the electric type :]

Randy got poison, since poison types usually live in conditions that are deemed "poor" by humans, but they're infact optimal for them. That's kinda how they found Randy actually. Bro is also probably a walking hazard so it only makes sense. Not to mention the kind of poison type pokemon that exist that just...scream Randy Jade (eg garbodor, who's actually his strongest guy)

Gabby got electric since she works at a phone shop and her job is to fix phones, printers, typewriters, all that good stuff. Since she fixes items that require electricity we thought electric type was the most fitting. Even if electricity isn't always needed when repairing things, pokemon such as magnemite, magneton and rotom can be useful regardless as shown in the games

Jerry got normal since he is probably the most casual citizen in dialtown. He's just livin his life, got nothing too special going on, he's just a regular guy

Norm got fighting and I feel like it's kinda self explanatory why. Fighting types are known for being angry and aggressive, but also reasonable and kind once they get used to their trainers. Some fighting type pokemon are also known for wanting justice and they fight for whatever they feel is right (eg lucario). Sounds kinda like Norm imo

Mingus got dark because she's a corrupt mayor, but also because the dark type has the most cats. Majority of dark type pokemon are sassy and they all give off this weird mingus energy I can't put into words.

Callum got steel because he works with metal. His arms, legs and his head are made out of metal. There's pokemon that shed pieces of metal when they evolve (aron) so he doesn't only use his pokemon in battle, but also in his workshop, kinda like Gabby. I can't explain it any better sobw

Bunny got ice since he's "cold as ice" iykwim. Tried to give him as many passive aggressive pokemon as possible (and this includes alolan ninetales somehow)

Gingi doesn't have a specific type since it probably ate the gym leader guide book it got from the higher ups. It also doesn't keep it's pokemon in pokeballs since 1. no money 2. the concept of big ass creechurs being trapped in tiny balls terrify it and it doesn't want its pokemon to be "put in ball prison". Gingi also resembles the player in this au thing

Abel got fire since fire does resemble anger, but also power. Abel owns a whole ass funfair and is also part of the minglings !! Bro got plenty of power !! He is also angry at Gingi for wasting his time, bothering his employees and pissing on one of his attractions I totally didn't forget what it was but I remember it happening !! We tried giving him all the passive aggressive fire type pokemon we could find in the dex (he's also matching w his boywife bc love wins)

Mr. Dickens got psychic since psychic types are known for being the wise, knowledgable pokemon. Like fairy types, they're also calm, quiet and collected, but they got a lil touch of wisdom in there. They also represent the power of the intellect, which is pretty mr. dickenscore if I say so myself.

Theoroar got the dragon type, since theo doesn't actually give a damn about building a bond or relating to his pokemon. He wants the rarest, most powerful pokemon under his grasp and dragon types just so happen to fit in both of those categories. His logic is that his pokemon work for him and whatever gets him to the top he will use it

Hobo got all the gods. Dialga, the god of time, Palkia, the goddess of space, Xerneas, the goddess of life, Yvetal the god of death and Arceus the creator of it all and the being above everything. He probably has Groudon and Kyogre in his pc, since they're the god of land and the sea respectively. He got herdier for good measure, it's kinda like Red's pikachu in the johto games.

Tango and Billy are both rocket executives so they don't have a specific type they specialize in, but Billy has a more offensive team no pun intended, while Tango has a more defensive one

Shooty and Stabby well....they obv don't have a type they specialize in since they're pretty much just rocket grunts. Their goal is to become executives one day

[ruru195]

What if felix got amnesia because of an accident and forgot a good chunk of his life he forgets the questershis hos relationship with oz everything is a fog in denial when told he's woth oz because why would he deserve such a kind caring person

Absolutely.

THE ACCIDENT

It happened in seconds, too fast for anyone to react, too loud for anyone to ignore. The explosion tore through the workshop like a beast unchained, a result of a faulty experimental device Felix had been tinkering with. Oswald heard the detonation from the other end of the building and sprinted toward the smoke-filled chaos, heart in his throat.

He found Felix unconscious beneath the collapsed scaffolding, bruised and bloody, head bleeding from a blow against the steel rail. His body was a mess, but he was breathing. Oswald fell to his knees, calling his name over and over until help arrived.

Felix didn’t wake up for two days.

When Felix opened his eyes, he blinked up at Oswald with blank confusion. Not surprise. Not recognition.

“Hey… Felix?” Oswald said gently, sitting beside the bed, tears already forming as he reached for his hand. “It’s me. You’re okay.”

Felix stared at him, brows furrowing. “…Who are you?”

Oswald’s heart broke with a single thud. “What?”

Felix winced and turned away. “Where… where am I? What happened? Why are you calling me Felix?”

“Because that’s your name, love,” Oswald whispered. “I’m Oswald. I’m your—your husband.”

Felix’s breath caught. “That’s a joke, right?”

Oswald froze.

“Why would someone like you be with someone like me?” Felix muttered, voice almost childlike, as if the idea itself offended reason. “This is some mistake.”

Over the next week, the truth unraveled in the most painful ways. Felix remembered pieces, how to walk, how to fix machines, how to swear with flair. But his personal life? A fog. His emotions? Detached, flickering at best.

Every time someone tried to explain his life to him—his role in the Quester group, the bond with Mickey, his deep connection to Boris and Bendy, his fatherhood—he panicked.

He kept asking: Why me? Why would anyone trust me with children? With a husband? With love?

And when they showed him pictures, videos, mementos from their adventures together, he would either stare at them blankly or start shaking, whispering, “No, no, stop—this isn’t me, this isn’t real.”

It started as migraines. Then vertigo. Then episodes.

Whenever too much was said at once, Felix would clutch his head, fall to his knees, and tremble violently, overwhelmed by the tsunami of a life he didn’t remember. He’d scream sometimes. Other times he’d sob like a frightened child, begging them to stop telling him things he should know.

The worst night was when Oswald brought out a handmade photo album titled “Us”—their wedding day, their children, lazy mornings curled up on the couch. Felix took one look and passed out cold from the emotional overload.

Still, Oswald never left. Not once.

He cooked the meals Felix used to love, played their favorite music, brought him to familiar places hoping to stir something. He read to him every night, even when Felix rolled away. He never forced him to remember, he just stayed.

Because Felix was still his, even if he didn’t remember it yet.

One morning, Oswald found Felix sitting outside, absently fixing a broken toy truck—one of their kids’ favorites. It was a small act, quiet, almost subconscious.

The sunlight warmed Felix’s fur. The sound of wind chimes tinkled softly nearby. Birds chirped in the trees. One of the babies, Mia, giggled in the grass beside him.

And then—crack.

A bolt of memory hit him like lightning.

Flash. He was holding Mia up, twirling her, her laughter bright and real.

Flash. He was covered in flour, play-fighting with Oswald in the kitchen. Warm hands. A soft kiss.

Flash. The four kittens clinging to him, Oswald laughing as they all piled on like sleepy jellybeans.

Felix gasped.

His hands dropped the toy. He stared ahead, vision trembling.

“Mia,” he whispered, voice shaking. “Mia.”

Oswald, who had been watching from the porch, nearly tripped over himself getting to him.

“You remembered?”

Felix looked up slowly. “Just pieces. But… it felt real. It felt right.”

Oswald’s eyes flooded with tears. He didn’t speak. He just knelt beside Felix and held him tight, burying his face in his neck.

And for the first time in weeks, Felix didn’t pull away.

From there, it wasn’t easy, but it was real. The moments of déjà vu came more often. The bond rekindled not in floods, but in sparks. Felix began to trust the love he was told he had, because now, he felt it.

Not all memories came back, but his heart remembered.

And that was enough.

[mariacallous]

What’s fascinating about former U.S. President Donald Trump’s return to the White House is that he is both replicating former President Grover Cleveland’s rare feat of two nonconsecutive terms and is doing so on a tariff policy that would make Cleveland’s final successor, William McKinley, blush. The world may still be getting its bearings after Trump’s landslide victory, but historians of the 19th century are in fine fettle.

Trump, who took tariffs to new depths in his first term, has promised to make them the centerpiece of his second-term economic agenda—alongside tax cuts, a bigger deficit, possible cuts to the safety net, and a reversal of everything outgoing President Joe Biden has done.

The questions about Trump’s tariff plans boil down to: How big, how soon, how, why, and what happens next?

The “how big” is tricky. Trump talked about a 20 percent tariff on all trading partners and 60 percent on China. He also mentioned tariffs as high as 200 percent, and whether that’s for individual firms (such as John Deere’s foreign imports) or countries that cross him, who knows? Economic modelers do not yet have a way to peer into Trump’s mind.

The “how soon” is also hard to answer, because that depends on the why and how. In his first term, Trump was able to levy tariffs—to be clear, those are effectively taxes on imports paid by U.S. consumers and businesses—on everything from Chinese appliances to German steel. There were, and are, statutory means to do so, notably Section 301 of U.S. trade law that allows for tariffs on countries that compete unfairly, as China has manifestly done since it joined the World Trade Organization a quarter century ago. Imports assessed by the U.S. government to undermine national security, such as Turkish rebar used to hold up buildings, can be hit with tariffs under Section 232 of the 1974 National Trade Act.

Not everyone believes that the White House can hijack trade policy, since trade is technically still in the purview of Congress. But there is a lot of leeway for presidential action under numerated sections of old trade policy and the devolved authority that comes from having the courts side with the executive branch. He could do it all again or face lengthy fights in the courts, in which case it would be a while before his tariffs hit full swing. Nobody knows.

The “why” remains puzzling. Trump himself has mooted tariffs as a replacement for income taxes—an homage to McKinley. His supporters, on the other hand, say the proposed tariffs are only negotiating leverage to get trade partners to play ball. Play ball how? Trump’s “greatest deal ever” with China resulted in few U.S. exports and zero change in China’s manipulation of loans, laws, and subsidies to finance its export workshop to the world. U.S. tariff rates are now higher than those of most trading partners. If the United States has a gaping trade deficit—which it does, and it only grew larger under Trump—and if that deficit mattered at all, how would strong-arming trading partners redress that? Nobody knows.

Answering what happens next is perhaps easier: a trade war. Europe has already manned the ramparts; those poor souls in France who ride Harleys and drink Jim Beam will rue the day. China will let the yuan slide until its amphibious ships are ready to restore order. Emerging markets are buying sand for sandbags, only it has all gotten pricier overnight.

Europe, in the form of both European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen and bigwigs such as French President Emmanuel Macron, has already tendered an olive branch, fearing what it knows is in store.

[cathode-raygirl]

Salvation for a Broken Bot (Chapter 1)

An amateur repair girl finds a severely damaged android abandoned in a junkyard.

This first chapter is sfw but subsequent chapters will be 18+ only. Content warning for a description of a character in a state of disrepair with implied eye trauma.

If you have any questions or feedback feel free to comment or send me an ask!

Rose had visited the abandoned junkyard several times before, but this was the first time she'd come with the intention of stealing.

Half a mile away from anywhere of note, the only sign of civilisation was the distant hum of cars driving down the A22 in the distance. The sound felt relaxing to her, like the waves of the ocean.

She approached the chain link fence surrounding the complex. Someone had repaired the hole she used to enter last time, but she had come prepared. She rummaged around in her backpack and retrieved a pair of bolt cutters. Expertly praying apart rusty segments of fence with her tools, she breached the defences and found herself in a sea of discarded garbage.

From handheld items like phones and radios, to larger appliances like televisions and fridges, the junkyard had it all. But there was one particular prize she was looking for: A robot. It was rare but not unheard of for companies like Ashdown to dump their decommissioned workers in facilities like these, and she was planning on...

Hmm.

She wasn't really sure what she was planning on doing to be honest. Selling one for parts? Repairing it as a passion project? She told herself she'd figure it out later. There wasn't even a guarantee that there *was* anything here anyway. Better to not get her hopes up too early.

She gripped the scanner in her left hand. She'd spent the past week building it, the perfect device for combing for artificial life. The android designs that Ashdown Logistics pioneered had distinctive battery designs to accommodate for their intense workload, and it quickly became the industry standard. If she was able to locate a power supply with the scanner, she *should* be able to locate a bot. In theory. The scanner wasn't picking anything up yet though.

She turned on her torch and began walking deeper into the facility. The scanner's range wasn't particularly good due to the sensor she'd opted to use so-

Her eyes lit up in excitement. A figure! In the distance! Unmoving!

She crept up towards it, her eyes filled instantly with recognition: The body of a robot, slumped backwards over a pile of broken televisions, a steel rod driven perfectly through its left eye, pinning it in place. Most of its pure white hair had been torn away, the few remaining patches blowing gently in the wind.

Its chest had caved in as well, and the silicone plates that covered its rusted internals were covered with dirt and mould.

Rose wondered what had happened to it, how it could have gotten this damaged. It was hard to make it out in the state it was in but it seemed to be some kind of worker bot? Definitely not anything that would normally have combat experience, that's for sure. If any robot rights groups found out about this they'd be having a field day. But more than that... She wondered how her scanner never picked it up.

She ripped the steel rod out of its head and flipped it over. Its charging port was missing, a large cavity in its place. By the looks of it, someone had forcefully removed the battery and several other key components by the looks of it. What *happened* here?

A mystery like this was irresistible to her. If she could somehow repair it, she could interrogate it, and then she potentially had a story she could give to the press, or even one of the robot rights groups. They'd been springing up a lot recently and she was sure at least one of them would take interest. 

She dragged the bot through the muddy ground, through the hole in the fence, and loaded it into her car.

Rose sat on a chair in her workshop, staring at the android in front of her in contemplation. The first thing she needed to do was assess the damages and figure out if it was possible to salvage the bot. A more talented maintenance girl would probably know by now, but Rose was just a hobbyist, so she *really* needed to know what model it was. 

The sticker with this valuable information on had long since been washed away by rain, so she had no choice but to begin disassembling its head in the hopes of finding a motherboard. 

After half an hour's work, the bot's head laid sprawled out in pieces on her desk. She admired the beauty of the intricate mechanisms in front of her, how so many tiny parts could come together to form a believable imitation of a human face. At least, they would if they were in good condition. She could already tell that most of them had either rusted beyond repair or been badly damaged by the blunt force of the steel rod, so they'd have to be replaced. Still, the process should be simple enough once she got the model number.

Inspecting the motherboard, she noticed a peculiar chip with a pink heart on it. She'd never seen something like that before. She took a photo of it and made a mental note to reverse image search it later. Turning the board over, she was met with an unfortunate sight: The Ashdown Logistics logo, and the model number 4MB-3R. 

Ashdown's androids were known for being made with parts that were as closed source and proprietery as physically possible. They refused to release any data sheets or schematics, and the parts that *could* be bought were insanely expensive. No one, not even the smartest engineers of their rival companies had been able to figure out how to create even an imitation of their personality chips, so they held a complete monopoly over the robotics industry. 

Not only that, but the 4MBs were several generations ago. In fact, Rose was almost certain that they had been discontinued in 2002. By now, they were onto the 8MB range, which were mechanically unrecognisable from their 34 year old counterparts. 

Rose slumped backwards into her chair. There was absolutely no way in hell she would be able to buy any replacement parts for this, and she doubted that she'd be able to find any more 4MB units, let alone a 4MB-3R. She had no idea what the difference between the sub units even was, but she was certain it would be significant enough to hinder her progress.

She sighed. It looked like she'd need to take matters into her own hands. There *was* a crude accessory that was compatible with most androids she'd encountered before: A modified cathode ray tube screen could be used to visualise a robot's thoughts. With some training, she was sure that the 4MB-3R could teach itself how to use one as a face. It wouldn't be a great solution by any means but it'd definitely be better than having a caved in, unmoving face. And it wasn’t like the bot would be stuck with it forever, just until she found something better to use.

As for the rest of the body? She could replace the charger port with an external charging system she had lying around, and she was sure she had some spare torso pieces buried *somewhere* in her workshop. There were obviously a lot more parts missing but it'd probably be best to get the basic functionality working first. After all, she wouldn't want to put effort into building a body for an android that might not even be capable of turning on anymore. 

She gazed out her window wistfully, watching the cars pass by below her. In a way, Brighton looked like a giant circuit board, the roads forming tracks between the various buildings, which resembled cathodes, diodes and chips. Or perhaps it was the other way around, and circuit boards looked like cities. 

Despite living in a bustling city, she could never shake away the loneliness she felt in apartment. She was a single, lonely electron in a vast uncaring circuit board, but perhaps she'd be able to find a companion in the form of this bot. And if not, it'd certainly give her something to take her mind off things for a while.

[ Chapter 2: Reconstruction ]

[contreparry]

Happy Fridaaaay~ How about "The Star: What does hope in the aftermath look like for Rook and their love interest? When things feel hopeless, how do they act as each other’s light in the darkness?" from the Tarot prompts?

Here's some Emmerich and Crow!Rook for @dadrunkwriting!

It seemed a hopeless case. Emmerich looked over Johanna's notes, the few things he recovered from Blackthorne Manor and her workshop as he desperately tried to piece together what it was his former friend was plotting. Her mind was as brilliant and sharp as ever, and she even retained her devious streak even in her half-lichdom. All of her notes were in code, and what little he retrieved he had to translate and piece together. It was a time consuming, hopeless business.

At least he had a vague idea of what she had already done. He hadn't gotten a good look at the Gloaming Lantern, but he felt the magic imbued in the cursed object. He heard the screams- those horrible, wretched screams of the dead and the damned as they suffered and were snuffed out like so many candles by an errant breeze! Emmerich was hardly able to sleep with those screams echoing in his ears.

But he knew what Johanna did. He knew enough. He dreaded it the moment he realized that they had a Hand of Glory in their possession. They were dealing with a brilliant and utterly ruthless necromancer without any sense of morality or ethics. He shouldn't have been surprised to find out that it was Johanna behind it all. Of all the necromancers he knew, she was the only one with the skill and ambition to throw in her lot with elvhen gods.

He only wished that she hadn't. He thought her better- no, perhaps not better, but certainly smarter- than this! How could she think that any of this would end up the way she wanted? How could she treat the spirits, the Dead, like little more than firewood to feed her ambition? If only he could understand, then perhaps he could get through to her and persuade her to abandon this course! But Emmerich knew he had little chance of that. No one could convince Johanna to do anything she didn't want to do.

Emmerich sighed and ran his hand down his face. How had she even gotten her hands on the Gloaming Lantern? Did she spirit it away from some vault hidden deep within the Necropolis? There were chambers that even he had never entered, so it was possible. She could have also made one. Johanna was clever and skilled at such arts. She could have decided to make her own if discovering the original was too difficult. But it was all useless conjecture, because the chief point was that Johanna Hezenkoss HAD a Gloaming Lantern, was being funded by the Venatori, and was going to use the artifact and all of her considerable skill to do... something. But what? If only he could piece together her lab notes and figure it out before it was too late!

"You've been at this all day, Professor," a low, rough voice remarked from somewhere behind. Emmerich jolted and twisted around, eyes darting around the lab as his heart raced wildly in his chest. Something in the shadows by the stairs stirred, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw-

"Ah! Rook. My apologies, I had not realized-" Emmerich exclaimed, but Rook raised her hand and cut him off with a shake of her head and a smile.

"I just arrived. Through the window," she explained. Emmerich glanced up at the windows that lined the tower. The open skies (and the floating bits of buildings that drifted by) reminded him of the Necropolis' many shifting halls, but the thought of climbing up and down buildings made him dizzy!

"The... I see," he replied. Rook approached his desk and glanced down at the papers, her dark eyes looking over his work with a critical light. He watched as she tucked a lock of short chestnut brown hair behind her long ear. Her hair was streaked with steel gray, and the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepened as she examined Johanna's notes.

"I am attempting to reconstruct whatever it is Johanna is working on, with what little we gathered from her laboratory," Emmerich explained. "But the effort is proving hopeless."

"Hopeless? I wouldn't say that, Professor," Rook said gently. "What do you need for your work?" She was so calm, so controlled, that Emmerich couldn't help but be honest with her even though she was practically a stranger. She was a Crow, at that! Crows had a deadly reputation for a reason, and he noted that Rook's knitting needles were unusually sharp. He ought to be cautious and not push his luck, but...

"Johanna's notebook," Emmerich confessed. If he had all the pieces together in one place, he would know what Johanna was working on and how best to stop her. But that would be impossible. He was lucky to have gotten away with what he stole!

"Hmmm..." Rook hummed, and she plucked one scrap of a letter from the pile and held it up to the light. "And where would she keep that? Her lair?"

"Knowing her, Johanna would sleep with it under her pillow. If she sleeps. I do not know how deeply her attempt at lichdom changed her physiology, but-"

"Under a pillow. That might be tricky. Is there anything else?" Her tone was casual, but Emmerich stared at her profile, at the slope of her nose and the sharp jut of her chin, at the little confident curl of her lips, and his heart picked up the pace once more. She was joking. Surely she was joking, or else she was mad, because she couldn't possibly be considering-

"Rook. You cannot think of breaking back into Blackthorne Manor to steal Johanna's notes!"

"We did it once, and I specialized in espionage in my day," Rook said cheerfully. "A notebook is easy, Professor, even accounting for my age." She turned her gaze towards him then, humor dancing in her eyes, and Emmerich's heart fluttered. Was she- surely not! He was simply imagining that lingering glance. He was ever the romantic. But... if it was possible... Emmerich cleared his throat and turned his attention back to his work. He could solve this. He would solve this! He only needed... time. That was all he truly needed.

"Emmerich. Please. And absolutely not. Johanna will be expecting you, and we can hardly afford to lose our leader because of my whims!" Emmerich said. Manfred, who was sorting through his books in search of a volume on lost Nevarran artifacts, hissed loudly. A wave of curiosity flowed over him, and he sighed.

"No, Manfred, a visit to Blackthorne Manor is the exact opposite of 'fun,'" Emmerich corrected him firmly, and he bore the responding disappointed hiss with as much dignity as he could muster. Rook shrugged, then laughed, rich and slightly rough, and she set the letter back down on the desk. Her hand brushed against his, bare skin against his leather glove, and he nearly shivered as her warmth leeched into his hand.

"Very well. Emmerich. But if you need someone to steal something for you, do let me know," Rook ordered before she stepped away. She retreated towards the door, disappearing down the hall, and Emmerich braced himself against the desk as his heart raced once more. That was- no, he was imagining it. That was just... friendship! A very forward overture of friendship! He'd been among spirits and in catacombs for a little too long and forgot how the living made friends, that was all!

"Oh, and Emmerich?" Rook called out, and he lifted his head to find that she stood in his doorway once more, half swallowed up by the shadows of the hall. Sunlight (or what could be called sunlight in this part of the Fade) caught the silver of her hair, and it gleamed as bright as polished steel.

"Yes?"

"You can call me Inas. If you like," Rook- Inas- said, her voice low and mouth stretched into a mischievous grin, and then she was gone and Emmerich was alone with his work and Manfred, who hissed something that sounded akin to a laugh. Yet what seemed a hopeless business before did not seem so terrible now. He could puzzle out Johanna's plans. It was well within his powers. And if not... a smile stretched across Emmerich's face as he picked up the page Rook examined.

If not, Inas could help him, like she said she would.

[chloes-awfully-soft]

Hello horny tumblr girls, I wrote this little tease, hope you like to.

Blue screen

Basically a smut tease, only slightly spicy.

“Hey, don’t you fucking dare touch that!”

The bot currently fiddling with a weathered screwdriver irreverently drops it back down on the operating tray she got it from. She’s been on the table completely naked, in various states of disrepair for four hours now, in and out of consciousness, getting essentially an entire rebuild after the disaster last night.

“You’re a fucking prick dude”

“Whatever, I’m not getting payed to be triggered by your bullshit.”

The gruff mechanic attaches the last panels necessary for Ava to walk around safely with worrying about water exposer or wires getting cut.

“I Can barely stay conscious still, are you sure you fixed me right? I feel like I’m watching myself live through a tv screen right now. And my head fucking hurts”

“Last fucking question Ava, yes I fixed you right you’ll be fine.”

“But…”

“Shut, the fuck, up okay.”

He snaps her calf plate into place firmly, very intentionally causing her a sharp pinching sensation. Ava glares at her mechanic.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you someday Steve”

“Ya, aight kiddo, go talk to the software engineer everyone in the building knows your fucking and make sure she gets your head screwed on right. You’re most likely very poorly optimized right now which is why you feel like a goldfish in a plastic bag.”

Ava stands on her own two feet for the first time since yesterday evening. She grabs her jacket, slings it over her shoulders, and starts walking to her girlfriend’s workshop. Her mostly bare, silver body reflects the light from small windows she passes and she makes her way down the stairs. Steve was the single most annoying person she’d ever met, but at least he was willing to put her back together despite calling her out for her bitchy behavior at every opportunity. She was trying her best to walk with confidence, but she was starting to blue out every few seconds. It was getting really bad. She might blue screen and be unconscious in one of the empty maintenance hallways for god knows how long. Before long, and after a couple concerning error codes she’s in front of the software workshop. She fumbles in her jacket pockets for her keycard. Eventually she finds it and slides it haphazardly through the reader on the wall. The door slides open and finally, after almost a full day of grueling repairs, she gets to see the most beautiful girl in the whole world soldering at her desk.

“Ava!”

The engineer clamors out from behind her desk and comes rushing to embrace the cold stainless steel plates that protect Ava’s sensitive internals. She lays a deep passionate kiss on her bot lovers lips. Ava blue screens.

[rythasbrenelle]

Prompt #19: Taken

Locke walked away from the merchant feeling quite pleased with himself. Showing up without the culprit of the crime was underwhelming, he had to agree. The Wood Wailers hadn't seemed pleased with him, nor were they impressed with his truncated version of events, wherein he found the merchant’s stolen goods and chocobo in a nondescript clearing, no masked Miqo’te in sight.

The merchant, however, had been overjoyed. Everything was returned, all was well, and though he’d lost a day of travel to the incident, what was one day if it meant continuing his journey with all of his wares returned to him?

So he’d gifted Locke one of his many fancy-looking rings, a silver piece bearing glittering gems of red, blue, and black. Locke strung the ring onto a leather cord, knotted it to make a necklace, and wore it under his shirt. He had no clue what the ring was worth, but that was a problem for later.

For now, he was content.

He would have been smart, perhaps, to return to Coerthas and his nook of a workshop. He could repair his arm there, and then he could resume his travels or even return to his boss. He’d earned two coin purses full of gil. It was more than he’d had in a good while. Surely it would cover rent. But the ring around his neck looked valuable, and he knew of no better place to get it appraised than Ul’dah. So he journeyed southward.

The next several days were comfortably lonely. Locke followed the road, through the fringes of the Twelveswood and down into Thanalan. Without a job to spur him forward, or a companion to drag him along, he traveled at a lazy, easy pace.

The sense that someone — something, more likely — stood just over his shoulder didn’t entirely vanish, regardless of how peacefully his days passed. It was there as he napped beneath the shaded boughs of a large apple tree, there as he fished from a secluded pond, there as he hunched by his campfire and watched the perch he’d caught cook to a perfect golden brown. It was a fact of the Twelveswood, as certain as the sun would rise and the seasons would change. He kept a fire burning low whenever he set up camp for the evening and slept with his arm slung over the scabbard of his Doman sword as if it were a stuffed toy, but otherwise, he accepted the forest as it was.

As he left the Black Shroud behind, the abundant trees thinned out, the paranoia of being watched dissipated, and the ground beneath his feet grew harder. The square silhouettes of distant buildings cropped up on the horizon.

The shadows had grown long by the time the road took Locke into the little mining town at Thanalan’s edge. The homes there were small, squat things, made with function rather than form in mind. He looked about as he ventured further, searching for anything resembling an inn.

The closest thing he found was one of two larger buildings. Unlike its similarly sized counterpart, it had a sign near the door — not that Locke could read it — and lacked a fence or gate, appearing more welcoming for it. He strolled up to the front and reached for the door.

On the other side, something thumped against the floor, footsteps rumbled, and metal clanged against metal. A gruff voice shouted. The noises rolled forward.

Locke took two steps to the side just as the doors swung outward, forced open by a crumpled figure thrown through the air. He hit the dirt hard, rolled once, and groaned but didn’t get up.

A wide silhouette darkened the doorway before lumbering forward. As sunlight fell on the Roegadyn, Locke noted muscular arms laden with scars, bloody knuckles, and a notched broadaxe slung over his shoulder, gray metal glinting. He spared Locke only a glance before continuing on to crouch by the man and rummage through his pockets.

The sounds of fighting rang through the building and spilled out of the open doorway, a cacophony of shouts and splintered wood and whistling steel. Though the action called to Locke, he followed the Roegadyn and squatted by his side.

“Whatcha doing?”

He didn’t look at Locke this time, eyes set instead on the few coins he’d collected from the man. “Taking what the cur owes,” he rumbled.

“Oh. Don’t look like a lot.”

“He’s short,” the Roegadyn explained.

“Huh? What’s that got to do with it?”

“You ask a lot of questions that don’t concern you. It’s annoying.”

Locke shrugged. “I’m curious.”

The Roegadyn scoffed but didn’t say anything else. His eyes settled on a thin band on the man’s left hand. He reached for it with heavy fingers and bloody knuckles.

Locke smacked the Roegadyn’s hand away. “Shouldn’t take that,” he said. “It’s an Eorzean thing, they got emotio— ah!”

He yelped and twisted away, avoiding the back of the Roegadyn’s fist. He half-scurried, half-dragged himself back and out of reach. The man’s thick fingers grabbed at empty air.

“This isn’t your business, boy,” the Roegadyn growled. He stood and squared his shoulders, throwing a shadow over Locke. “Back off.”

A thrill ran through Locke’s stomach, and his hand crossed his abdomen, coming to rest on the sword sheathed at his hip. He widened his stance, one foot in front of the other. Though he didn’t draw his sword, or even speak, it was an obvious challenge.

The Roegadyn grabbed his broadaxe, the leather braid holding it across his back slipping away from one shoulder. He hefted it and charged forward, a bellow erupting from his throat.

Locke didn’t need to See to slip past the axe. It was a sloppy, reckless swing, all brute force and no technique. He stepped in and ducked his head for the sake of his ears, felt and heard the rush of air above, and drew. His sword rasped against the sheath before carving through the air, striking as sure as a scythe harvests wheat.

But rather than flesh, metal found metal, sending a reverberation through Locke’s fingers. A Hyuran man had materialized between him and the Roegadyn, twin scimitars in his gloved hands, capturing Locke’s blade. Dark eyes flicked between Locke and the Roegadyn.

“Mind stepping back?” he asked Locke. A hollow smile flitted across his sun-kissed face, utterly humorless. “I’ve got business with the big guy.”

Locke frowned, considering. On one hand, he’d had a quiet few days and was itching for a fight, and the Roegadyn seemed like good practice. It would keep him sharp in case something more dangerous came up.

On the other hand, those swords the Hyur carried were nice. There wasn’t much in the way of embellishment, just a small maker’s mark on the base of each blade, but at a glance they were well-maintained.

I want to see how he fights.

“I’m still here,” the Roegadyn snarled, bringing the axe back around and swiping it at the pair of them. The arc was predictable, but the axe-head came in fast, strong as the man was.

The Hyur released Locke’s sword from between his own and dodged back in a smooth motion. Locke caught the axe with the flat side of his blade and retreated with the momentum of the blow, shoulder jarred from the impact.

Locke released his breath through his teeth with a small hiss. “Give me a show then, and he’s all yours.”

The Hyur looked at Locke, then back at the Roegadyn. “That’s an odd request, but if that’s what it takes. As you wish then.”

Locke sheathed his sword and trotted over to the man on the ground. He seized him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him along, away from the combatants. The man whimpered and kicked once in protest, but otherwise, he went along with it.

If the axe-wielding Roegadyn had an issue with Locke bowing out of the fight and pulling his quarry a few yalms away, he didn’t — more likely, couldn’t — do anything about it. His eyes were on the Hyur with the twin swords.

The Hyur darted in, quick as thought, swords flashing under the Thanalan sun. They bit into the Roegadyn’s leg once, twice, then they were gone, carried away as the Hyur danced back. The Roegadyn advanced, trying to close the distance, and the Hyur rushed in to meet him. He parried, dodged, slipped past the Roegadyn’s offense in a blink. Steel kissed the taller man’s side and arm, the swords coming away tinged red. Then the Hyur was gone again, graceful as a dancer, as hard to snatch from the air as a raindrop.

Locke felt a smile growing on his face. He sat back and watched the Hyuran man work, bright blue eyes following every elegant step and every flash of a blade, thoroughly taken with the display.