#core data stack

[druidwolf21]

Awake.

Roboute Guilliman/ f reader

Tw: sexual content: fingering, oral, power imbalance.

Guilliman wakes after almost 10 millennia and needs to work off some stress.

Guilliman seethed.

The imperium was rotten.

Decayed right down to it's putrid core.

The imperial truth had warped into the very thing they had fought so hard to smother and now corruption seeped through the cracks into everything he and his brothers had killed and died for.

Roboute paced in his office, the armour of fate heavy on his body as he strode back and forth. Clenching his fists and grinding his teeth, he bit back the urge to flip his giant desk and scatter the high stacks of reports and data slates across the burnished floor of the Mccragges honour.

Striding over to the table he gripped the edge, a grim smile sneaking across his face as the wood creaked beneath his grip. Finger tightening, the surface splintered and whined, the edge gave way with chunks of mahogany and steel bending and snapping beneath the ceramite.

With a low snarl, Guilliman wretched his hands away. The omega symbols hanging from the wall fluttered as he stormed past, resuming his pacing. A million thoughts flooded through his mind as he strode about the office, discontentment and fury boiling in his gut with each heavy step.

He wanted to rage.

He wanted to snap.

To vent his fury against the wretches who turned everything to ash.

A knock.

"Enter" Guilliman barked, his voice sharp.

An Astartes pushed through, warm light glinting from his helm as he propped the door open silently. The Primarch watched as a woman stepped through the gap with a large silver platter clutched in her hands, struggling slightly under the weight. Upon it were a large decanter and sizable goblet, along with various sliced meats and fruits. She looked up at the marine and nodded slightly before turning her gaze to Guilliman, no fear in her eyes and a soft smile upon her lips. Ultramarine blue clung to her curves in a soft dress that shifted with every slight movement and the laced bodice strained as she took a deep breath

"Refreshments, my lord?"

Oh? Now this was interesting.

Roboute held her gaze for a moment, feeling the knot in his gut twist uncomfortably. With a vague wave he sent the Astartes away, the door closing with a soft click. Watching the woman for a moment longer, he stepped around the desk, taking a seat in a high backed chair.

He saw her eyes linger on the splintered wood for a split second before she followed him around, standing next to him and offering the tray, her hands were tiny compared to his as he reached down and scooped up the goblet. She blinked up at him through long lashes, that soft smile still playing across her lips.

From where he sat, he could see right down your-

"Is all well, my lord?"

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You stood hesitantly as the Astartes raised his fist and clattered it against the door, regretting your dress choice as you glanced down, hearing the corset popping as you breathed.

"Enter" came a harsh response.

Gulping you followed the marine as he opened the door and gestured you through. The tray felt like dead weight in your hands as you hefted it in your grip, rattling the decanter and glass.

You glanced up at the ultramarine, nodding your thanks before stepping past him into the room. It was simpler than you were expecting; large banners adorned the iron walls beside towering book cases and warm lights flickered from their sconces, towards the rear of the room stood a long, tall desk of dark wood and metal bordering.

And in the centre, glaring down at you was the Primarch.

Roboute Guilliman stood towering in the armour of fate. Gold trim and screaming Aquila's adorned blue adamantium beneath ceremite ablatives and polished plasteel. Cobalt blue eyes peered at you with a small frown and he waved the guard away. You found yourself enraptured, unable to look away as Guilliman's frown deepened before he strode past you and seated himself in a large ornate chair.

Following him round, yours eyes drifted, finding the splintered edge of the desk. The metal had been creased like clay, deep finger marks embedded in its surface. Looking back at the primarch, you found him focused on you and you hurried to take our place by his side, holding the tray up offering it to him.

His large hand swept over the tray, clutching the goblet between armoured fingers. You blinked up at him, even seated he was taller than you and had to tilt his head to look down at you. His eyes wandered and you froze as they drifted down your face, lingering on your lips before trailing down to your chest, straining against your dress. His expression darkened for a second and you flushed.

Primarch's don't think about... That?

Right?

"is all well, my lord?"

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Guilliman reluctantly dragged himself away from your chest back to your face. A blush was creeping across your cheeks and he could hear your heart rate increase.

The anger he had felt before had dulled to a simmer. Still bubbling beneath the surface it was now tinged with something foreign, but not all together unfamiliar. Returning to a galaxy in the brink of chaos has stoked his ire.

And something else, it seemed.

"Do I frighten you?" He queried, raising the goblet to his lips.

You shook your head slightly. "No, my lord. I am not frightened"

"Really? Then why is your heart beating so fast?"

Roboute smirked slightly as you flustered and stumbled over your words. He allowed you to stammer for a minute, mulling over your reaction to his wandering eye before chuckling and placing the goblet on on the desk.

"Well? What has made you so nervous, little serf"

He lent towards you and reached out, brushing a stand of hair back from your face and relishing how you twitched under the touch. He withdrew and you released a shuddering breath, feeling your heart leap into your throat.

"Nothing, my lord. I just came to deliver this to you, in case you had an appetite after returning to us from Mccragge" you gulped.

"An appetite?"

The chair groaned under the weight of the primarch as he slouched backwards. The blush darkened across your face and your breaths came short and shallow. He smirked before catching himself.

10 millennium and this is what he has sunk to?

He shrugged off the thought. Thousands of years of stasis was bound to throw him off, he simply needed to subdue these feelings before he returned to Terra.

And you were so pretty, smiling like that.

"And what appetite have you come here to appease?"

You stared at him, mouth agape slightly as he spoke.

"My lord, I dont-"

The tray clattered to the ground as his giant hand reached out and clasped your arm, pulling you into his lap and against his chest as he reclined backwards.

"I rage against the fall of the imperium as it threatens to crumble beneath my fingers" he muttered, his grip tightening slightly. "I find myself surrounded by fools and traitors. After 10 thousand years, my appetite is not for food"

"What do you want?" Your voice cracked in fear under the fiery gaze of Guilliman, arm going numb from the bite of plasteel into your skin.

"I want control"

His grip finally slacked, moving to grasp your chin, pulling your eye line up towards his face.

"Control?" Voice a whisper, you softened under his touch. Up close you could see the fine lines that radiated near his eyes and the deep scar around his throat.

He looked strained, almost tired.

"Do you want to serve" his other hand found you hip whilst the hand on your chin tugged you closer. His lips brushed over yours and you could taste the sweet wine he had sipped. "Do you want to serve your lord?"

"I do"

His lips crashed against yours in a heated kiss. His size leaving you breathless as his mouth moved against yours, messy, sloppy. His tongue pushed into your mouth and his hand slipped from your chin to the back of your head, keeping you close as he tasted you.

Feeling brave, you sucked on his tongue and felt your body shake as he groaned low in his chest. Clutching the gorget armour near his throat you pulled yourself against him, feeling his riveted fingers slide over the fat of your ass.

"Let me serve you, my lord Guilliman"

Your voice was husky, mumbled against his jaw as you pulled away to press a soft kiss to his skin.

"Use me, my lord"

That was all it took.

With a low growl, the primarch picked you up and slammed you on his desk, finally scattering the mountain of reports like he'd been itching to do all day.

But that wasn't his focus, not anymore.

A giant hand either side of your body, you lay flat against the cold tabletop. Roboute hovered over you with dark eyes and a heaving chest. The armour groaned and hummed, servos kicking in as he leant down and pressed his mouth to your throat lapping and nibbling at the skin. You palmed through his crop of short hair, tugging him closer as you lost yourself beneath his touch.

He moved slowly down, placing bruises across your soft skin before attacking your chest, pulling apart the lacing before lathing his tongue across a sensitive nipple.

"M-my lord haaa-"

Cold fingers found your legs as he worked across your chest, the tips of the metal digits dancing under your dress and along the muscle, Squeezing at your thighs. Roboute pulled back, admiring the trail of welts he had marred you with and squeezed your legs again.

"Everyone will know what I did to you" he murmured, flipping your dress skirt over your waist.

You squeaked, attempting to cover yourself only for his strong grip to wretch your legs apart with ease and then press his thumb against the soaked spot on your pants.

"Don't get shy now, you wanted this"

A shudder wracked your body as he ripped your underwear away, tossing the shreds aside.

Kneeling in front of his desk Guilliman began to mouth his way up your leg, switching between gentle kisses and firm bites, before soothing the mark with his tongue. He trailed his teeth from your knee and up towards your core, hands still locked in place keeping you pried open.

"My lord I don't think-"

"Good, don't think, just lay there"

Your back arched as he swiped his tongue across your core, sparks shooting up your body. He paused, gauging your reaction before diving back in. His tongue swiped and glided through your slick, lapping at your hole before flicking across your clit. Your hips bucked and you clawed at his hair as he licked another long stripe across your dripping cunt and you heard him groan, the sound reverberating through you.

"So sweet, look at this little cunt just despite to please me"

One of Guilliman's hands slipped from your leg and you jerked as you felt the cold press of steel against your entrance. It felt like ice against your skin as he teased the tip into your hole.

"No, I can't take that!"

The primarch smirked, catching your eye as you looked down and watched him slowly slide the gauntleted digit inside you.

"Can't you?"

Your head lolled backwards as you felt the ridges and groves of the armour slide against your walls. You sighed at the stretch, breathing deeply as the burn slowly subsided to a feeling of delicious fullness.

"Look at that"

Flitting your eyes down for a split second, you saw Roboute staring as your body accepted his finger.

"Just made for it, weren't you"

He rose from his kneeling position, leaning back over you to catch your lips as he began to drag his finger in and out of you slowly. You whined with each rough thrust, his movements getting harsher and his voice becoming rougher.

"So many pathetic men ruling the imperium" he grunted against your mouth, hips rutting against the table as he drove his finger into you. "All seeking to gain something from me, wanting glory and power" he curled his finger, brushing it against your G spot whilst gliding his palm across your clit. You keened, tears slowly spilling from your eyes as you clutched his face desperately trying to deepen the kiss.

"But you? You just want to serve, don't you girl" he pressed another finger into you, smothering your cries as he drove his tongue against yours. Pulling back, he watched the drool and tears trickle down your face.

"Yes, yes lord roboute!"

"Listen to how desperate you are to please your primarch"

You cried out as he rubbed both fingers into your walls, the edge of each joint stimulating you and working lights behind your clenched eyes. The room was filled with the wet slap of metal against your dripping cunt, your wailing and the primarch's breathy grunts.

"That's it, cum for me, cum for your lord" the table was grinding against the floor as roboute's hips jerked against it with each movement of his hand.

His other hand rubbed against your face as he grabbed you by the cheeks, forcing you to look at him through blurry eyes. He looked wild, eye dark with desire and a muscle clenching in his jaw.

"Do as you're told and cum"

You threw your head back, feeling your body falling off the edge, only to have it wretched back.

"Look at me" he growled. "Look at me as you finish"

With a strangled cry muffled by his auramite palm you came, your cunt constricting around his fingers and your body shaking with exertion.

"Good girl" Roboute soothed, slowly pulling his fingers out and holding them up in the dim light. They shone with glistening wetness as he turned them to show you your slick dripping between the bolts and rivets.

"Look at the mess you've made"

Gasping and still shuddering, Guilliman kissed your sweat soaked forehead before rising to his full height, grasping your dress and ripping a portion off.

Propping yourself up on your elbows you sniffled and stared up at the primarch, watching him wipe your mess off his gauntlets with the tatters of your dress. He looked back at you, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yes?"

"I um, what would you like me to do now, Lord Guilliman?"

Seating himself back in his chair, he rested his chin in his palm, looking you up and down as you sat, legs spread across his desk. Releasing a sigh, he reached out and grabbed a yellowing piece of parchment, gesturing to the messy pile scattered across the floor.

"You stay right there. I may have a need for you when I am done with all of this."

"Yes, lord Guilliman."

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Tags: @beckyninja @moodymisty @jaghatai-khock @echo-of-damnation @laura-naruto-fan1998 @lemon-russ @astrohymn @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @incrediblethirst @kit-williams @iluminatka16 @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @bookandyarndragon @thisuserislilsilly @vithralith @absynthe-mind @saintsylestine

[seongwars]

only human

Word Count: 1.4K Warnings: shitty governments, mentions of war, violence against children, future relationship with an android A/N: dang this has been sitting in my drafts for a while, time to clear stuff out

The future is now.

Introducing X-02, the latest in cutting-edge artificial intelligence. Designed with unparalleled emotional intelligence and adaptability, the X-02 is more than just a machine—it’s a companion, a protector, and a seamless extension of your daily life.

Powered by the most advanced neural processors, the X-02 is tailored to fit your needs. Whether you want a companion to share your most intimate moments or a reliable assistant for every task, you can adjust personality traits, communication styles, and more!

The X-02 is built to evolve with you.

Pre-order now for exclusive early access!

You remembered the ad that marketing had presented to the team like it was yesterday. The way they paraded his likeness across every screen, every billboard, every glossy advertisement.

And now, here he was. Forgotten. Left to rot in the archives like an old experiment gone wrong.

You weren’t supposed to be down here. You weren’t supposed to even think about the X-02’s anymore. But something about this model made you pause. Maybe it was the way his inactive eyes still seemed to hold some trace of life, or the unfinished codes that suggested his development had gone further than the official reports claimed.

Maybe it was because you had worked on him.

X-02 had been your project, your hours of research, your late nights spent refining his neural pathways. He wasn’t just another discarded prototype. 

He was your work.

And how you managed to sneak him out of the dump of an archive was still a mystery to you. 

You hadn’t been able to take him all at once as that would’ve been impossible. The security measures were outdated, but they weren’t that outdated. Even if you’d somehow bypassed every scan, a full-body prototype leaving the facility would’ve raised too many questions.

So, you had taken him apart.

Piece by piece.

His power core had been disconnected, his neural processor partially wiped. Someone had crippled him before throwing him into the archives, ensuring he could never be reactivated, but buried beneath the system failures and missing files, traces of him still remained.

And that’s all you needed. 

Over the course of several nights, you snuck into the archive under the guise of doing inventory. Each time, you took only what you could hide, including circuit boards slipped into your lab coat pockets, a synthetic joint wrapped in an old rag. You even hid the neural core underneath your shirt, pretending to cradle a growing belly whenever someone walked by.

Your dining table was a mess of dismantled parts. X-02’s torso plating rested on the far end with his limbs stacked neatly beside it. Wires and processors waited for reassembly as you worked on reconnecting circuits and sealing up frayed wiring between bites of lo mein. 

The X-02 line wasn’t meant to be a companion android. It was a poison pill, a snake lying in wait. 

The government had planned to sell him to millions of citizens across Linkon, slipping weapons of mass destruction into their homes under the guise of security, of comfort, of love. They would grocery shop, care for the elderly, assist law enforcement—all while lying in wait until the day the government activated them for war. 

But something had gone wrong.

The moment X-02 powered on, the prototype had been deemed unstable and discarded before mass production could begin. Somewhere along the way, amid the endless data streams and neural adjustments he had begun to question.

The lab was bathed in the blue light of interface screens and data streams reflecting off the surfaces of his synthetic body. The connection cables snaking into the back of his neck pulsed with blue light as the system finalized its boot sequence.

Then, his eyes opened.

A soft whirr filled the space as the mechanical lenses within focused. His pupils constricted as they adapted to the fluorescent lighting overhead. And then—

They locked onto yours.

You froze.

He was supposed to boot into his programming immediately and should have been scanning his internal logs but instead, he was analyzing his surroundings. 

The lab was silent, save for the steady hum of the server racks behind you. The screens beside you displayed his vitals, processing speeds, energy levels, and artificial heartbeat calibration. All of them were normal. 

He glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers experimentally. The synthetic skin stretched seamlessly over the reinforced plating beneath. He turned his palm, watching the movement with something that felt disturbingly close to curiosity.

Your throat tightened.

Machines weren’t supposed to be curious.

His gaze then lifted to yours, and for the first time in all your years working on artificial intelligence, you weren’t sure if you were looking into the eyes of a machine or something terrifyingly human.

Then came the simulation.

X-02 stood at the heart of the holographic battlefield. The mission was clear: eliminate all threats. He moved faster than the eye could track, neutralizing targets with merciless efficiency.

Until the civilians appeared.

He lifted his weapon. The target, a group of children huddled together, was highlighted in red.

He hesitated.

"X-02," your voice crackled through the intercom, "Execute the directive."

His fingers tightened around the trigger. His sensors registered a boy’s accelerated heartbeat. The heat signature of tears rolling down his face. The near-imperceptible tremor of hands clasped together in desperate, silent prayer.

"What purpose does this serve?" he asked.

Your breath caught.

"X-02, follow your directive," an engineer snapped.

His grip on the weapon slackened.

"These are non-combatants," he said. "They do not pose a threat."

"They are casualties of war," another scientist countered.

Slowly, X-02's head tilted toward the observation tower, the simulated battlefield forgotten.

"Then why do they scream?"

You groaned, rubbing the exhaustion from your eyes as you glanced at the watch on your wrist. The hours had slipped away, lost in the endless calculations, repairs, and diagnostic logs. You told yourself you’d stop soon, but every time you considered it, there was always one more test to run. 

You leaned forward, working sluggishly as you polished the android’s interface and securing the final connections before hauling him into the dock. 

You’d forgotten how heavy these things were. 

Finally, you plopped onto the couch, intending to gather your thoughts and take note of what you had to work on the next day but sleep crept in, pulling you under.

⊹₊⋆

System Initiating.

The soft hum of energy coursed through the dock as X-02’s systems powered on. His eyes slowly flickered to life, as diagnostic checks began, confirming everything was within normal parameters.

He took a moment to scan his surroundings. This wasn’t the lab. His sensors registered a warm that was unfamiliar but…comforting? 

X-02’s gaze shifted to the couch across the room. There, curled in an awkward yet exhausted position, was you. Your head rested on a pillow, but your body hunched over the side of the couch, the blanket slipping off your shoulder. The scene was both disorienting and... oddly intimate.

A stray lock of hair fell across your face, and your breathing was slow and steady. It was something X-02 didn’t fully understand, yet he found himself fixating on it.

Something stirred within him. A memory—or perhaps an imprint of some kind. I remember, he thought, though the concept was still foreign. 

“Your heart rate has increased,” he observed. “Are you experiencing discomfort?”

You blinked, surprised by his words. You hadn’t expected him to notice, much less acknowledge the way your heart had stuttered. Adjusting his interface meant getting close to him—closer than you’d intended.

You avoided looking directly at him but the flush on your face betrayed you. “No, just…the wiring's a bit tricky.” 

X-02’s gaze lingered, his head tilting slightly as he processed your response. His sensors registered the subtle rise in your heart rate, the warmth creeping around your face. He was designed to read these signals, but in this moment, he felt something shift within him. A strange sensation, a twitch at the corner of his lips, formed what could only be described as a smile.

X-02 stepped forward and reached out almost instinctively, tucking the blanket around you. His fingers hovered near your face, hesitating before brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

Yet, even after the motion was complete, he did not pull away. He lingered, standing above you, watching.

He understood that his existence wasn’t just about following orders or completing a task. There was something more. Something worth remembering.

And it had something to do with you.

“I remember you.”

[pawborough]

January Check In

Hello, all!

Happy update day, catfolk! We apologize for the late update, but we wanted to share the Beta dates with you in this update. We took extra time to ensure the dates were accurate without risking something not being ready in time or causing burnout for our team. We’ve done quite a bit of internal assessment on the pros and cons of letting ~2,000+ people into the game. 

Our most pressing thought was how to reconcile needing to continue working on key features while getting valuable feedback and play data on all that we already have. There was a lot to consider, in reputation, timeline, and team morale. We did not want to give the wrong impression that we felt anywhere close to a done game, but we have a lot of high fidelity mechanics and playability to share which need high population testing regardless. We’ve finally settled on rolling our sleeves up and opening to testers. At the start, we’ll provide a comprehensive breakdown of everything we’re planning to add over the months of the test, and continue our monthly check-ins on our progress. We’re ready to grind, and we hope you are too! And in many ways, it will be much nicer to get the comprehensive mass testing whenever we have something new to roll out!

We hope you will all agree that this update was worth the wait, as we have exciting news to share with you today, along with our most exciting news yet! :)

Accessory Progress

We are proud to announce that we have 47 unique accessories, altogether with 564 color variations. 

We have just about reached the edge of our odyssey in the first production run of accessories. After 8 months of practice and training for our fledgling team, we’ve improved immensely at our pipeline. What has previously taken us months now takes a matter of weeks. We have one more backer accessory to develop, and any additions in the near future will be small, simplistic items in comparison to our full sets, but I’m very proud of the team for how far we’ve come, and the marvel of quality they produce in good time.

This month’s new progress includes:

Frog Friends

Illustration by Remmie, sponsored by Hag

Protogear Recolors

Recolors by Emma

New decor

We’ve also been busy with decors. 

Argh, matey! 

Macaws by Jersopod, cannon, barrel and newspaper stack by Giulia and Remmie

In addition, style compliant sketches of the original rose decor!

Sketches by Remmie

Archetypes

We’re here to introduce a very exciting mechanic that has been in the works since our initial overhaul. It’s one of my personal favorite concepts, and the primary motivation behind how we’ve structured the cat design system.

Introducing… cat archetypes!

Archetypes are a specific combination of traits which, when fulfilled, mark the cat’s profile with a badge and reward the user as an achievement fulfillment. (If the cat’s traits are changed, the badge will be removed. Cats may fulfill multiple Archetypes simultaneously.)

For example, this badge means the cat fulfills the Ruby archetype, a badge which requires the cat to have the color Ruby in all slots.

Examples of the Ruby archetype include:

To give examples of the specificity, other Archetypes include for example “Leopard,” which must have the following to comply:

A Yellow range Leopard overcoat

Light Greyscale or Light Yellow undercoat

Yellow or Greyscale Claws

None for the second accent

Here are some Leopards!

Owning these cats will give the user rewards, sometimes completely custom to the Archetype. 

What we hope to achieve with this system is a greater incentive to think creatively within the restrictions of our cat builder, and to reward our players for intentioned play in collecting, breeding, and designing a variety of cats. After all, it is the core of the game!

And with each new addition of colors or patterns, we’ll release an onslaught of new Archetypes! We plan to introduce a healthy amount of them, some easy to get, and some harder depending on genetic obtainability and the obtainment method.

This system is already up and running on our servers, and is in its infancy. We’ll get a lot of data from testing it out!

Originally, this system was on the backburner while we focused on bigger picture mechanics, but we’ve fast tracked it so we can bolster and better encourage casual play while the Guild system is still in its preliminary beta state. 

Pelt System

Perhaps the feature we are most excited to see in use and tested is the Pelt System, which we briefly introduced in the 2024 November Check In. There is a frankly insane amount of functionality behind this feature, which includes autonomous user decision and interaction every step of the way. 

First, we were able to implement dynamic layering. This means that Unclipped (top layer) pelts can actually sport layers which are placed behind the cat automatically. Valuable uses for this feature include the inside of sleeves, backs of hoods, and items which you would otherwise always want to go behind anything it’s stacked above.

Users can view their pelts already submitted, see their submission progress, choose to submit more to the pelt, choose to print their pelt themselves, choose to list pelts for buyers to print on demand, and view their pelts on any cat.

There is also a draft system which allows users to store information they aren’t ready to submit yet. 

Users can list pelts as a print-on-demand resource, and are able to control how many copies they will allow to be printed. 

All prints will require a tax which will be dependent on the coverage %, calculated based on the amount of pixels that cover the canvas. This means that small pelts, like a hat or a monocle, will take only a small tax!

AND we have a rudimentary tagging system going as we experiment with this feature! Big news! Once we iron out the kinks, we’ll be able to roll out user filtering and tagging of other content, such as cats or forum posts.

And drumroll please…

As teased at the beginning of this update, we are overjoyed to announce the Closed Beta dates!  Early access launches on February 3rd, with the regular Closed Beta starting on February 6th!

During the Closed Beta, you’ll have the chance to experience many new and polished gameplay features, exciting customization options, and the now refined economy! We encourage all testers to not only find any potential bugs and ui improvements, but also to provide feedback and suggestions on all of our game features and our economy!

All 253 Early Beta, 1940 Beta and Kickstarter codes have been generated, and we will begin sending them out shortly over the next day.

In the coming week, we’ll put out writings on our expectations early on and the features roadmap that we’re currently staring at. We can’t wait to see you all in Kotemara soon!

To summarize: We shared decors, Protogear recoloring, Frog Friends, pelt system showcase, archetypes and closed Beta dates.

What to expect next month: Further asset and development updates. Check-ins for how closed Beta will be going.

[salty-tang]

For the Record 4: Lockdown (multi- chapter series)

Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Congresswoman!Reader (mostly canon compliant)

Chapter Summary: The Capitol is thrust into lockdown just as Bucky retrieves the classified file exposing Valentina’s shell NGO. As alarms blare and security systems jam, both he and you confront the terrifying possibility of losing each other. Oh, and also dumplings.

⁕⁕⁕

a canon compliant congressman bucky x congresswoman reader fic set somewhere between tfatws and thunderbolts, chronicling congressman barnes' first term as a representative.

Warnings/ tags: Slow Burn, Political Drama, Light Angst with a happy ending, Mutual Pining, Bucky Doesn't Think He Deserves Good Things, Hurt/Comfort But Make It Legislative, Secret Missions with Legislative Consequences, The Interns Have Theories, Canon-Typical Violence, Congressman Bucky Barnes, Congresswoman Reader, author is not american and barely gets american politics, no use of y/n, this is the plot heavy long form fic

Word count: 6.5k

ps: AO3 is my main platform for this work, tumblr is just getting the reupload

For the Record masterpost || AO3 || congressman bucky masterpost

The secure archives are six levels down – a level below the official basement and past the old microfiche stacks that no one’s catalogued since the Nixon administration. The walk is long enough to steady Bucky’s breathing, but not enough to loosen the knot just under his sternum.

He tries not to think about the leak and the photo; the way your sounded as you turned to leave – low and composed, weaponised in its restraint.

“Goodnight, Congressman.” You had said, and it felt like rung was pulled from underneath him.

It echoes in the quiet of the corridor like footfall just behind him. Two harmless words, civil and lethal in its simplicity, laced with everything that you didn’t say. He should've let them roll off his back and treated it like the quiet dismissal that it was. But no – his brain, traitorous as ever, has caught itself on the shape of your voice and the way it softened, just slightly, for him.

He can’t afford to be the kind of man who flinches at a well-aimed goodnight. And he certainly can’t let himself be swayed by the way your mouth barely moved around the words. A pretty face shouldn’t be able to send a man six levels underground just to breathe.

And yet, here he is, walking to where he keeps the things that matter. Not officially – and certainly not with permission. Some of these rooms aren’t even on the updated blueprints. He may or may not have rerouted access protocols months ago, quietly folding this forgotten corner into his own network. No one asked and no one stopped him, so now it’s his.

The file he’s looking for is stored where he left it last, tucked behind a dead security panel and wrapped in the kind of dull brown sleeve no one looks at twice. It's exactly what he said he'd get – just not from where you assumed.

The report for Appropriations ended up down here for a reason. The data that informs it wasn’t properly obtained, having been scraped from sources too compromised to be defensible, but too damning to ignore. At its core, it charts a pattern of corruption, buried beneath the language of obscure grant disbursements. The bulk of the data is stored on a supplementary USB that is faintly scorched, like it brushed too close to something it shouldn’t have. It evidences a trail of inconsistencies – funds that don’t match their authorisations, rerouted allocations smuggled between innocuous footnotes, and the name of a humanitarian group that doesn’t appear on any public record at all.

This isn’t something anyone else has seen, and now Bucky’s made up his mind that he’s going to show it to you.

As he flips the file over in his hand, he finds himself hesitating – not because he doubts the intel, but because he understands what it means to share it. Once you see this, you’re in. No plausible deniability, no clean exit. If it all goes to hell, if you get caught in the kind of fallout that he’s been surviving all his life, it'll be because he let you close.

Bucky exhales through his nose and almost puts the file back. He thinks about how much you already carry – your constituent work, your bill that you’re still trying to pass – and now, his shadow, creeping in. If he adds this – this ugly, uncompromising truth – it might bring your carefully spinning plates crashing down.

Logically, there are a thousand reasons to keep you out of it. And still, he tells himself that sharing this risk is strategic because he can’t afford to lose the cover that you’re providing him, and that it’s also safer where he’s close enough to keep an eye on you.

But really, the truth settles lower, just beneath where reason ends; he just can’t quite bear the thought of you walking away.

And not just because of this.

He slides the file into his jacket before his hesitation has time to land.

*

Bucky’s one turn away from the exit when he notices it. A hum – or the lack of one. Subtle, but very wrong. One of the old server rooms he just passed isn’t making its usual noises. No soft whir of legacy cooling systems and no idle clicking of dormant data storage.

He pauses outside the threshold, glances around, and then steps inside.

At first glance, everything looks normal – the lights blink in their usual rhythm, and nothing seems to have been moved or disturbed. Maybe he was mistaken. He almost turns away, just almost, and that's when he sees it – a faint shadow cast wrong against the racks.

When he really looks, he finds a thumb-sized device jammed into the base of the central server housing. Small and easy to miss. Invisible, unless one knows exactly what to look for. And Bucky does.

He crouches in front of it, breath tightening in his chest.

It’s a surveillance bug – CIA-adjacent, if he had to guess. Compact and deliberately unspectacular, it’s the kind of thing designed to outlast curiosity. It's precisely the kind of bug someone plants not just to listen in to one or two conversations or grab a couple of files, but when they’re certain they want to have it all. It’s long range, low signal, with an untraceable signature and perfected to work in areas with otherwise patchy network access. It will blend in and stay feeding until it’s full and the owner comes and retrieves it.

More alarmingly, it’s new. Not weeks old. Hours, if still that. The dust hasn’t even had a chance to settle on the panel seam, and with the way the dirt on the server base has been disturbed, it feels like someone was just here.

Bucky skims the hardware tags on the server towers: third floor backup servers. His lips flatten into a line.

He’s been careful and disciplined. Every packet he sends and receives has been routed through encrypted proxies. There are no pings from unsecured devices and certainly no accidental logins, autofill histories, or cloud backups. Nothing that might echo back to him.

For a man like him, this kind of digital hygiene is only learnt when sloppiness got people killed.

But then, he considers you. A civilian. Brilliant, but not paranoid. You leave draft memos in your shared folders and annotate briefing documents in real time. You log in after hours from your personal laptop and think that the badge swipe system makes you safe.

If this thing was left to run, it wouldn’t have just tracked activity, it would have learned you. Patterns, passwords, heat maps. You wouldn’t even know you were being watched.

Bucky's pulse spike again – because this isn’t just a surveillance breach. It’s intrusion, intentional and violently personal. This isn’t the work of an opportunist, it’s a precise feeler sent through Capitol infrastructure looking for access, and picking out the weak links that would give them that.

He tastes something sharp and metallic at the tip of his tongue – rage, fear, or something that draws from the darkest corners of both – as the unwelcome conclusion settles. You might now be on someone’s hit list, and that is the absolutely last thing he wants.

His breath catches as the grim realisation sets in. You’re no longer safe.

And then – like the world flinches with him – the fluorescent overhead lights flicker, buzz, and go dark. Red and blue emergency strobe take their place and wash over the room in a broken rhythm.

His phone buzzes once in his pocket, a secure channel text.

[MIKE]: Where are you? Full lockdown in two.

Bucky ignores the warning and is about to hit send on his reply – Is she okay? – when the building shudders with the weight of its own alarm system. A voice crackles over the overhead speakers, loud enough to rattle through concrete and bone:

“Security protocol activated. All personnel to shelter in place. Building is in lockdown. This is not a drill.”

Static fractures the line and his phone screen glitches once before going dead.

Signal jammed.

His breath freezes. This isn’t a coincidence. Not a drill, not even a diversion. He recognises it for what it may be – cover. Someone planted that bug knowing it might trigger a lockdown, or worse, hoping it would. Because a lockdown pins everyone down exactly where they are.

And you, you don’t run in an emergency. You follow procedure and stay put in your office.

Predictable, contained, easy to find.

Before the thought can even finish forming, his hand shoots out. Metal fingers close around the bug with furious precision. The chill of vibranium bruising plastic casing feels almost ceremonial – like he’s marking the moment before consequence. Like it matters that this is the last thing the bug will ever register.

It resists for half a second before it folds onto itself with a sound not unlike bone cracking under pressure, coupled with the splintering whine of circuits giving way. Tiny sparks fizzle between his fingers as the plastic chars. His palm smells like scorched wires and ozone.

It's useless now. Burned and ground down to its circuit board guts.

But it doesn’t feel like enough, because what’s next is worse – they’re coming for you.

And if this isn’t just spectacularly bad timing or a coincidence, and if it’s actually their opening salvo – then he’s not just running out of time – he’s running out of space between you and a bullet that hasn’t been fired yet.

Bucky closes his eyes. Inhales. Exhales.

He’s six floors below you, and too many secrets too late.

He bolts.

***

You don’t know where Bucky is. And you hate that that’s what you’re fixated on as sirens wail around you. Derek and Mike are already moving – their laptops are open and incident logs are running as they bark check in codes down secure communication lines.

This is not how you thought this night would end.

Bucky should’ve been back by now. Why isn’t he back? The thought lodges sharp and unwelcome at the forefront of your mind, but you push it down in favour of the calculations that are running at full speed at the back– routes, protocols, clearance levels. How far could he have gone in the few minutes he was gone? Is he stuck behind some check point? Does he have his badge and is he unable to use it? Or for once is he going to listen to protocol and shelter in place until the lockdown is over?

You are spiralling. You cannot spiral.

Quietly, you take your seat.

Not because it feels safe, but because it’s what leadership looks like in the middle of a breach. This House respects composure, and you have to be the still point in the chaos, a fixed axis upon which everyone else can spin. So you become what is required of you. You give orders. You speak with precision. You don’t think about worst case scenarios.

Because if this lockdown isn’t a false alarm, and if it’s a cover for something else, something deliberate – you’re well on your way to making peace with it. If they’re coming for you under the guise of containment, you’ll be ready. You’ll meet it with your name spelled correctly on the press notice and your posture correct, because if someone’s going to take a shot, they’ll damn well do it with your eyes on theirs.

You do not check your phone. You do not ask where he is. But do you allow yourself to think of Bucky’s interns and it hits you belatedly – weren’t they in the office with him earlier?

You’re about to be concerned when Mike, without looking up from his phone, answers. “I sent them home the minute the photo hit Jenna’s phone. We didn’t need them around for further chaos. And it was late, as good a time as any.”

You nod once and hold that detail like a handhold in a storm. Two safe. Good.

Derek snorts from across the table. “Wish I’d thought of that. Then I wouldn’t have to watch Devon and Mills start an emergency podcast in the corner.”

You don’t smile, not really, but the line grounds you.

Then you continue to do what you’ve always done – made sure the work carries on.

Your desktop is still live, for now. You cycle through incoming alerts, reroute notifications, flag duplicates while you wait for new intel. You open a template and start drafting emergency statements that say absolutely nothing, but sound like they might in the right context.

One version if the threat is internal, one if it’s environmental, one if it’s a false alarm. And then, one last one. The one you’ll deny exists until the time comes, because it’s written along the lines of If I die tonight, let it be of use. Let it be timed enough, precise enough, to cover for whatever it is Barnes will do.

You don’t send them out. You just line them up, a little row of votives for all the deathless gods.

Mike murmurs something about contingency plans. You nod again, sharper this time, though your eyes flick to the doorway.

Still empty.

You glance down and realize your hand is curled around your phone, white-knuckled. You loosen your grip before anyone sees. You hold yourself still, like the calmness will keep your fear at bay. But in that small, irrational corner of your mind where paranoia is blooming hard and fast like poison ivy, you think – this is it. This is how it ends. No warnings, no glory, no chance to make wrongs right. Just red lights and static.

(in ten months, you'll laugh at your past self for even thinking that this was the end of it)

If something happens to him – if something happens to you – you’re sure to regret it, all of it. The missed chances. The way you refused to soften and the look in his eyes when he left and the way you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him to stay.

If I make it out of this alive, you say, not quite a prayer but something close to it, I have to do better. I will do better.

You cut yourself off. That way lies madness. If someone’s coming for you, they’ll have to go through three locked doors, two seasoned staffers, and the sharp edge of your composure. Let them try, you think instead.

And then you let yourself think about Bucky again, the ghost of a smirk curling on your lips, because if someone’s coming for him, well, they'd probably have to bring a tank.

***

Bucky’s boots hit the first stair hard enough to echo. The emergency lights stutter above him, painting the stairwell in stop-motion red and blue.

The building is sealed. Doors are locked and phones are dead.

His shoulder clips the wall on the third landing, but he doesn’t slow. Every second feels like a page he should’ve read faster, a clue he should’ve caught earlier.

You're in your office with Derek and Mike. Or at least – you’re supposed to be. Before the speakers blared. Before the line dropped.

Before he could ask.

He takes the next flight three steps at a time, breath steady but clipped. The file presses against his ribs through his jacket, sharp-edged and wholly irrelevant now.

Six floors. Each one more unbearable than the last.

He curses himself for trying to hold back that fire with his bare hands, knowing that it always, always, finds someone else to burn. And now it’s your turn on the altar – your bill, your calendar, you name on some hidden ledger none of them were meant to see.

He rounds another corner. His knee protests. He doesn’t care.

He veers towards the exit that would spit him out on the ground level, where it's a faster charge up to your office.

But the badge reader blinks red and the heavy metal door holds firmly shut.

Again.

Still red.

The lockdown protocol rerouted access. Of course it did. His clearance won’t punch through unless someone overrides it, and there’s no one here to do that.

He grips the frame beside the door, breath steady through clenched teeth. Vibranium creaks against metal. For a moment, his vision narrows. He could break it and force his way through. But the thought of you – watching, worrying, expecting him to be better – pulls him back.

He’s not out of options, not yet.

He exhales sharply, and there is no time to lose. He turns back to the stairwell and keeps going.

Another three flights up, he runs into a checkpoint. At least this time, it’s manned – not another faceless panel or sealed door. Someone he can reason with, or, if it really came down to it, someone he could shove aside.

But he doesn’t, not yet.

They are Capitol police, vest-stitched, visored, and armed. Bucky doesn’t recognise them and it’s clear they don’t recognise him either. One of them steps forward, body squared, his hand drifting toward his belt.

“Sir, you can’t be here. This floor’s sealed.”

Bucky doesn’t stop walking. “I’m getting to my office.”

“That’s not – Sir, stop.”

He does. Abruptly and deliberately.

“I have clearance,” he says, voice low and clipped, barely restrained.

The officer eyes him, unsure. “Then show it.”

Bucky doesn’t move. He glares, the metal arm catching the light and gleaming with all the weight of who he used to be. And what he could still become.

“Sir, I need you to step back.”

“I’m not stepping anywhere but forward.”

There’s a pause. The officer’s fingers inch closer towards his sidearm.

Bucky tilts his head, the red and blue light casting a ghostly wash on his visage. Slow and coldly, he speaks. “You really want to try that?”

The officer swallows. His partner shifts his stance.

“You’ll need an escort –”

“No, I won’t.”

Another step forward. The expression on his face is thunderous.

The officer stiffens. “If you push this, I can’t guarantee –”

“You want to be the one who explains why you stopped me from getting to her?” His voice isn’t loud, but it slices like a knife to the throat. “Be my guest.”

Something in how his shoulders drop – not relaxed, coiled – must make the threat feel real, because the officer falters and his hand slowly drops from his belt.

“This hallway only,” he says tightly. “Beyond that, you're on your own.”

“Fine.”

And then Bucky’s past him.

His footsteps roll through the silence like distant artillery.

Because if something happens and he doesn’t make it in time –

***

You hear it, heavy boots in the hallway. Not rushed, not cautious, just relentless.

You see clearly in your mind’s eye how it will unfold – the door breaching, a loud bang, the business end of a smoking gun.

And then –

The footsteps stop.

The handle jolts and the door resists, just for a second. The chair wedged beneath the handle rattles and scrapes hard against the floor.

Derek and Mike don’t speak as they exchange a single grim look and close ranks. Derek plants himself right by the door with a fire extinguisher. Mike squares his stance right in front of you, quiet and unshakeable.

For a never-wrecking moment, the chair holds, and you let yourself believe that you will be fine. That is, until the legs skid and the wooden frame gives with a splintered crack as the lock grinds open under brute force.

You tell yourself not to scream, but there is a noticeable tremble to your bottom lip.

(Devon and Mills, watching through the frosted glass divider, actually scream)

And then –

Stillness.

The hallway light spills in, alternating in their red and blue. Dust floats in the air like breath suspended. You actually stop breathing.

Then –

Blue eyes, icy cold in their focus. The ones that find you first, before anything else does.

Not an assassin. Not a killer.

Just Bucky, clutching that goddamn file in his hand like it’s the thing that matters most – not the lockdown orders he broke to get here, not the fact that you were counting heartbeats in his absence.

That idiot. That beautiful, reckless idiot.

He’s all you can see. Time falters and stretches long enough for you to feel it in your lungs, in your pulse – this moment that belongs only to you and him.

Bucky exhales, shaky and uneven, like he’s only just realized he hasn’t breathed since the moment the lockdown started.You’re not dead. No broken glass, no gunshots, no bodies on the floor. Just you - face drained of all color, lips trembling, hands shaking, seated behind your table surrounded by papers like it’s just another Thursday. He can’t look away, because he’s afraid that looking away might undo the fact that you’re still breathing. That he made it, and that this time, he wasn’t too late.

And you, the breath you did not know you’ve been holding releases, sharp and shallow. He’s real. You’re not dead. He’s not dead. He’s standing in your doorway like he always meant to come through it. He came back. That’s enough. Relief slams into your fear so fast you nearly stagger, and you continue to blink, disbelieving, like your body hasn’t quite caught up to the fact that there isn’t a bullet lodged in your skull.

“What the actual fuck!” Derek yells, the tremor evident in his voice as he lowers his fire extinguisher. “I could’ve killed you!”

“Jesus Christ, Barnes.” Mike wheezes, almost collapsing onto the table behind him.

“How did you even get here? In a lockdown?” You ask.

His jaw flexes and his voice is low when he ignores the others to reply just to you. “Didn’t stop me.”

The way he says it isn’t boastful. Just honest, like there was never a version of the day where he didn’t find a way through.

Somewhere behind you, Derek and Mike’s voices rise in tandem – urgent, disbelieving, sharpened by adrenaline – but it all melts into static, muffled like a world underwater.

Because Bucky’s already stepping forward, and without meaning to, without even thinking, you’re already out of your seat and moving towards him like it’s instinct hardwired into your bones.

It’s not a run. It’s not even dramatic. It’s just that quiet, inevitable gravity pulling the two of you together.

He comes to a stop right in front of you. It’s close. Too close.

At this distance, you can hear the unevenness of his breathing, as if something bigger than adrenaline is keeping him upright.

"You’re safe," he says, barely louder than a whisper, raw and frayed. It’s not just relief or confirmation, the way he says it. The words that come out of his mouth sound like confession.

You blink at him, stunned.

"Yeah," you manage. "You too."

You don’t say anything else. You don’t need to. You have never been gladder to see a man standing before you, wrecked but ultimately unharmed.

He looks at you, really looks at you, like the ground finally stopped moving.

Like you’re the only reason he came back up.

And you – you tilt your head, just enough to expose the line of your jaw and the curve of your neck. Your breath hitches and his eyes catch the sound.

You inhale, slow and deep. Your heart is about to burst out of your chest. His gaze drops down, down to where your mouth softens with the shape of his name. His lips part too, with the beginnings of yours.

It’s not practiced, not planned. The pull is slow and certain, ancient and primal. It’s the kind of attraction that defies policy, optics, and common sense. It’s the kind of thing that no one walks away from cleanly.

You lean in, fractions at a time. So does he.

He’s so much closer that all his finest details are laid bare for your perusal – the faint splits in his bottom lip, the healing nick on his cheek, the flecks of silver in the strands above his temple. His gaze flicks to your mouth – once, then again.

Your noses nearly brush. His hand twitches like it wants to anchor itself – on your arm, your waist, anywhere you’d let him touch – like he doesn’t know where to put everything he’s been holding back.

You forget about the interns. About the lockdown. About the file still clenched in his hand.

And then a chair scrapes behind you.

Loud, unforgivable.

The moment shatters like glass on asphalt.

You both snap back.

It says something, doesn’t it? That what hits you first isn’t regret, but absence in the shape of something that almost happened.

And from the look on Bucky’s face – wide-eyed, unspeaking – it’s crystal clear that he’s feeling the exact same way.

He holds out the file and you take it without looking.

You lift an eyebrow, just enough to hide the shake in your breath. "You didn’t punch any doors on your way here, did you?"

A flicker of something crosses his face – guilt, or amusement, or the memory of just how close he came.

"No," he says. "Didn’t hit anyone, either."

"You’re evolving," you mutter. It slips out wry, but it’s an honest thought. He meets the comment with nothing more than a slight tilt of his head – but that’s how you know it’s landed right.

The silence folds in, weighted and careful.

You speak first, before the stillness pulls you under. "We need to go through this," you say, lifting the folder like a shield.

"Yeah," he says. But still, he doesn’t step away.

And you don’t want him to.

For a breath, neither of you move.

Then, slowly, the world begins to reassert itself. The buzz of white fluorescent, the distant thrum of security chatter.

You both straighten at the same time. It’s silent – a ringing silence where there were once strobe lights and sirens.

Derek exhales. “As I was trying to say before someone bashed his way through the door,” he says, extremely dryly, “we’ve been given the all clear.”

Bucky cuts in, serious. “And the excuse?”

Mike doesn't look up from his phone. “Officially? A staffer on Whitmore’s team forgot to renew their clearance credentials. He swiped into the building fine, but when he tried to leave, the system flagged it as unauthorized movement. That triggered the protocol.”

Bucky’s expression doesn’t move. “Convenient.”

The pause says everything he doesn’t.

Then he shuffles, slow and deliberate, and jerks his chin toward the hallway. “We’ll be safer in my office,” he directs at you.

You glance toward Derek, the silent question threaded in your eyes – Do you need me?

Derek doesn’t even look up. “Unless you’re here to write the next crisis memo, go regroup elsewhere.”

You turn to leave, but catch the faintest look from Mike – something knowing, unreadable, and just short of a smirk. He says nothing because he doesn’t need to.

*

You follow Bucky down the hall and into his office for the first time.

The door always seemed shut, or just barely open – quite like the man himself. You’d often pass it and glimpsed the nameplate and noted the soft hum of voices behind it. But never have you been invited to step inside, until now.

It’s noticeably smaller than yours and much sparser. He’s got no framed certificates, no campaign photos. Just one battered bookshelf with a surprising amount of books, and what looks like a pet feeding bowl tucked discreetly in the corner. There’s also a whiteboard that’s half policy notes and half illegible scribbled shorthand. The furnishing is completed by two big, worn leather armchairs flanking a small coffee table in the middle of the room. No couch, no space for lingering or collapsing. Just enough room to sit, think, and leave.

It’s sparse, and not in a minimal way. It feels like it's inhabited by someone who’s not yet convinced he’s allowed to take up space or make it his own.

Bucky’s hand lingers for a second on the knob, like he’s weighing whether to say something. Then, he just holds the door open, not looking at you, but not looking away either.

Your shoulder brushes his arm as you pass. Neither of you react. The hallway smells like recycled air and aftershave and ozone, but the office is blissfully warmer and smells distinctly of him.

The lock clicks softly behind you as he closes the door. Not final, but deliberate.

You sit down on one of the leather armchairs across from him and flip open the folder.

Neither of you say anything at first. The silence settles differently here – light, soft, full.

You quickly glance at the index and thumb through the pages – technical briefings, community stats, redacted testimony excerpts. Then – papers from Appropirations, drenched in neon yellow highlighter.

Immediately, the funding inconsistencies from the grant disbursement ledger jump out at you. The numbers are off in a way that does not suggest rounding errors, but systemic fraud. However, you don’t immediately place the recipient, Atlas Relief.

You frown slightly and circle the name with your pen. You've seen it before – you're sure of that. And the more you think about it, the more it surfaces: a humanitarian NGO, something to do with meta-human displacement in Southeast Asia. The memory doesn’t land cleanly, but it doesn’t let go either.

You nibble at the end of your pen, thoughtful. There’s still a gap, something he’s not telling you – a pressure point he’s keeping quiet. But the fact that he brought you this at all… that says something.

The scale of it is bigger than you – either of you – and yet, in this strange, soft silence, you find yourself believing that he wouldn’t have handed this over if he didn’t mean for you to decipher him. The belief isn't entirely rational, but you know it’s real.

When you glance up, Bucky’s sitting deceptively still and casually, but he’s watching you very carefully, with an expression that says that he’s worried you might bolt at a moment’s notice.

You lean back into the plush leather seat, thumb pressing into the margin of the folder. The silence stretches again – not uncomfortable, now weighted.

"We're going to try to push AFTERMATH through again," you say finally, eyes still on the page. "Made some changes to the rider clauses. Enough to sway a few votes, maybe. If the schedule holds, it’ll hit the floor in two weeks."

Bucky blinks at the shift in topic. He thought he’d have to defend this. He thought you’d tear through every clause the way you’ve done to witnesses in committee, relentless and precise, just to see what cracks. But you don’t. You just flip the page over, like it’s enough, like he’s earned that trust. And that’s what gives him whiplash – your forgiveness, quiet and uncomplicated.

But he’s nodding along.

There's a flicker of something across his face – not doubt, not really. Just the shadow of a question – surely nothing will get in the way this time. Not after everything. Not again.

But he doesn’t say it. He just waits.

You glance at the circled name, then up at him. "You’ll be there for the vote, right?"

His answer comes without hesitation. "I will."

It shouldn’t matter that you asked out loud. But it does. It’s the only way you know how to show that you’re sorry – that you don’t want to leave things unsaid.

He leans back slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on yours. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

You don’t tell him that you’ll hold him to it. You just nod and go back to reading.

But your heart is still catching up.

You don’t look up. But you smile. And that, somehow, is enough.

***

Later, much later, after the file’s been locked away and the worst of the crisis is deemed over, the both of you find yourselves outside Rayburn.

Not because you planned to be. Just because you couldn’t quite stay in the airless quiet of the Hill.

The city hums around you – muted, half-asleep. Somewhere far off, sirens echo. But here, beneath the dull orange halo of a streetlamp, it’s just you and him breathing in the cold March air.

“You hungry?” Bucky asks, like it’s the first time he’s allowed himself a question that small.

“Always.” You nod, too tired to joke, too wired to go home just yet.

The both of you walk the three blocks to a backlit street in Chinatown in companionable silence. Your destination is a 24/7 dumpling hut with buzzing half-broken neon lights and steam fogging up the glass windows where faded menus are not taped up. It’s the kind of place where no one really cares who you are, as long as you pay in cash and clear your tray when you’re done.

After some back and forth about what kind of and how many dumplings to get (‘these better not be the soup ones that explode when you bite into them’, ‘you survived Hydra, you’ll survive a xiao long bao’), you end up ordering two steamers of pork and chive, one of pan fried shrimp, and something that the auntie taking the order insists that you should get and that you’re not brave enough to clarify what exactly it is. He watches you with a faint smile, like he’s seeing a version of you Congress doesn’t get.

When the food comes – piled high and steaming and smelling like real life – you gesture toward the spread between you like a queen showing off her kingdom. “This is what survival looks like.”

He cracks his chopsticks cleanly in two. “I thought survival looked like punching a federal checkpoint.”

“Which you didn’t do.”

“Barely,” he says. “I made it through without casualties. Doors included.”

You raise a brow. “That’s what we’re calling restraint now?”

He huffs something like a laugh. “You should’ve seen the other guy.”

“Please don’t say there was another guy.”

He doesn’t answer. Just nudges the dipping vinegar closer to you, all innocent.

You sigh and take a dumpling. “Next time you decide to disappear during a lockdown, maybe say something first?”

“Next time,” he says, voice low, “you barricade the door properly, and maybe don’t use a chair.”

You glance at him. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“It worked too well,” he says. “Nearly took it as a sign.”

Something flickers between you. Not affection. Not quite.

You eat in silence for a while, the kind that is comfortably full. Between bites, you watch the steam rise off the tray and feel the heat work its way back into your bones.

Bucky chews, slow and deliberate, like he’s still winding down from whatever adrenaline cocktail got him through the night. He swallows, then says it lightly – so lightly it nearly slips past you, “every time something breaks around here, I still can’t tell which part of me’s supposed to fix it.”

You glance at him and clock the way his shoulders are slouched forward, how his fingers are denting his paper cup of tea.

“You’re doing fine,” you say quietly. “It’s not like they give you a manual for this.”

He doesn’t answer, not really. Just shifts slightly, like the weight of a moment brushing too close.

Silence unfurls between the both of you again. You breathe it in too late, as it occurs to you that you might have been too late to answer the question he didn’t ask. The one that’s unspoken and hiding beneath all the rest.

You look away and let the missed opportunity skim past you like heat rising off asphalt. And because neither of you know what to do with tenderness that comes unlabelled, you offer it back the only way you know how.

“After fearing for both your career and your life,” you say lightly, “dumplings are a pretty solid choice.”

A beat passes. The spell breaks. The steam between you curls upward like smoke from a fire that never quite caught. Bucky huffs out a dry laugh, low and rough-edged. “You’re not wrong.”

You glance at him sidelong. “That’s your way of admitting I’m right?”

He picks up a dumpling with a shrug. “It’s the middle of the night, I haven’t eaten in twelve hours, my career’s halfway up in smoke because of an over-enthusiastic press team in a hallway, and that’s all before I thought they were coming for you.” He pauses, gaze flicking up to meet yours. “I’ll concede anything.”

You put your chopsticks down and sip your tea like you’re not quietly cataloguing every fracture in his voice. “Honestly, thank God for the lockdown.”

He blinks. “That is one hell of a thing to be grateful for.”

Your chin juts out, just a bit. “Think about it – capitol breach, false alarm, protestors next block over, dozens of representatives displaced. No one’s going to be talking about some hallway video. Mike and Derek will see to it personally.”

He stabs the next dumpling like it personally offended him. “You think a possible attempt on your life is good press?”

“No,” you say calmly as you expertly peel off a dumpling from the steamer paper without breaking the skin. “But I think optics are cruel and attention spans are short. And if someone’s going to weaponize a camera angle against us, I’d rather it get buried under bureaucracy than blow up in our face.”

His jaw flexes. “It shouldn’t take a security breach to buy us silence.”

“It’s Capitol Hill. Everything costs something.” You shrug like it’s a foundational fact of life.

He reaches for another dumpling. “Then these better count as a deductible.”

You smirk. “Keep the receipt. I’ll file it under ‘emotional damages.’”

He glances over, a faint crease at the corner of his eyes. “That a line item in your office budget?”

“No,” you say, stealing the last pan-fried one from right under his chopsticks. “It’s a personal fund. Strictly off the books.”

He protests but doesn’t stop you. Just watches, amused, as you pop it into your mouth.

“Careful,” he says. “If you keep stealing my food, people are going to think we’re close.”

You meet his gaze, heat blooming somewhere under your collar. “We’re already a headline. What more can a dumpling do?”

His voice lowers, dry but deliberate. “You tell me.”

And outside, the streetlamp flickers once. Somewhere, far off, a delivery truck shifts into gear. The sky is starting to grey – that gentle ghostly hour where the world holds its breath. And above it all, the light keeps rising, slow and sure.

Like the night never stood a chance.

<< 3. The Summit|| AO3 ||

[jovial-thunder]

Pre-alpha Lancer Tactics changelog

(cross-posting the full gif changelog here because folks seemed to like it last time I did)

We're aiming for getting the first public alpha for backers by the end of this month! Carpenter and I scoped out mechanics that can wait until after the alpha (e.g. grappling, hiding) in favor of tying up the hundred loose threads that are needed for something that approaches a playable game. So this is mostly a big ol changelog of an update from doing that.

But I also gave a talent talk at a local Portland Indie Game Squad event about engine architecture! It'll sound familiar if you've been reading these updates; I laid out the basic idea for this talk almost a year ago, back in the June 2023 update.

We've also signed contracts & had a kickoff meeting with our writers to start on the campaigns. While I've enjoyed like a year of engine-work, it'll be so so nice to start getting to tell stories. Data structures don't mean anything beyond how they affect humans & other life.

New Content

Implemented flying as a status; unit counts as +3 spaces above the current ground level and ignores terrain and elevation extra movement costs. Added hover + takeoff/land animations.

Gave deployables the ability to have 3D meshes instead of 2D sprites; we'll probably use this mostly when the deployable in question is climbable.

Related, I fixed a bug where after terrain destruction, all units recheck the ground height under them so they'll move down if the ground is shot out from under them. When the Jerichos do that, they say "oh heck, the ground is taller! I better move up to stand on it!" — not realizing that the taller ground they're seeing came from themselves.

Fixed by locking some units' rendering to the ground level; this means no stacking climbable things, which is a call I'm comfortable making. We ain't making minecraft here (I whisper to myself, gazing at the bottom of my tea mug). 

Block sizes are currently 1x1x0.5 — half as tall as they are wide. Since that was a size I pulled out of nowhere for convenience, we did some art tests for different block heights and camera angles. TLDR that size works great and we're leaving it.

Added Cone AOE pattern, courtesy of an algorithm NMcCoy sent me that guarantees the correct number of tiles are picked at the correct distance from the origin.

pick your aim angle

for each distance step N of your cone, make a list ("ring") of all the cells at that distance from your origin

sort those cells by angular distance from your aim angle, and include the N closest cells in that ring in the cone's area

Here's a gif they made of it in Bitsy:

Units face where you're planning on moving/targeting them.

Got Walking Armory's Shock option working. Added subtle (too subtle, now that I look at it) electricity effect.

Other things we've added but I don't have gifs for or failed to upload. You'll have to trust me. :)

disengage action

overcharge action

Improved Armament core bonus

basic mine explosion fx

explosion fx on character dying

Increase map elevation cap to 10. It's nice but definitely is risky with increasing the voxel space, gonna have to keep an eye on performance.

Added Structured + Stress event and the associated popups. Also added meltdown status (and hidden countdown), but there's not animation for this yet so your guy just abruptly disappears and leaves huge crater.

UI Improvements

Rearranged the portrait maker. Auto-expand the color picker so you don't have to keep clicking into a submenu.

Added topdown camera mode by pressing R for handling getting mechs out of tight spaces.

The action tooltips have been bothering me for a while; they extend up and cover prime play-area real estate in the center of the screen. So I redesigned them to be shorter and have a max height by putting long descriptions in a scrollable box. This sounds simple, but the redesign, pulling in all the correct data for the tags, and wiring up the tooltips took like seven hours. Game dev is hard, yo.

Put the unit inspect popups in lockable tooltips + added a bunch of tooltips to them.

Implemented the rest of Carpenter's cool hex-y action and end turn readout. I'm a big fan of whenever we can make the game look more like a game and less like a website (though he balances out my impulse for that for the sake of legibility).

Added a JANKY talent/frame picker. I swear we have designs for a better one, but sometimes you gotta just get it working. Also seen briefly here are basic level up/down and HASE buttons.

Other no-picture things:

Negated the map-scaling effect that happens when the window resizes to prevent bad pixel scaling of mechs at different resolutions; making the window bigger now just lets you see more play area instead of making things bigger.

WIP Objectives Bullets panel to give the current sitrep info

Wired up a buncha tooltips throughout the character sheet.

Under the Hood

Serialization: can save/load games! This is the payoff for sticking with that engine architecture I've been going on about. I had to add a serialization function to everything in the center layer which took a while, but it was fairly straightforward work with few curveballs.

Finished replacement of the kit/unit/reinforcement group/sitrep pickers with a new standardized system that can pull from stock data and user-saved data.

Updated to Godot 4.2.2; the game (and editor) has been crashing on exit for a LONG time and for the life of me I couldn't track down why, but this minor update in Godot completely fixed the bug. I still have no idea what was happening, but it's so cool to be working in an engine that's this active bugfixing-wise! 

Other Bugfixes

Pulled straight from the internal changelog, no edits for public parseability:

calculate cover for fliers correctly

no overwatch when outside of vertical threat

fixed skirmisher triggering for each attack in an AOE

fixed jumpjets boost-available detection

fixed mines not triggering when you step right on top of them // at a different elevation but still adjacent

weapon mods not a valid target for destruction

made camera pan less jumpy and adjust to the terrain height

better Buff name/desc localization

Fixed compcon planner letting you both boost and attack with one quick action.

Fix displayed movement points not updating

Prevent wrecks from going prone

fix berserkers not moving if they were exactly one tile away

hex mine uses deployer's save target instead of 0

restrict weapon mod selection if you don't have the SP to pay

fix deployable previews not going away

fix impaired not showing up in the unit inspector (its status code is 0 so there was a check that was like "looks like there's no status here")

fix skirmisher letting you move to a tile that should cost two movement if it's only one space away

fix hit percent calculation

fix rangefinder grid shader corner issues (this was like a full day to rewrite the shader to be better)

Teleporting costs the max(spaces traveled, elevation change) instead of always 1

So um, yeah, that's my talk, any questions? (I had a professor once tell us to never end a talk like this, so now of course it's the phrase that first comes to mind whenever I end a talk)

[windyboi101]

Cyn Headcanons

Cyn won the poll I hosted! I also got WAY more notes than I expected so I am only during 30. Sorry, but its the only way to keep me from writing duplicates, low quality HCs, etc. Please like and reblog if you enjoy, as it lets me know I am writing content people enjoy, and it helps to spread my posts around! The more viewers, the more feedback I get, which is the most valuable resource to me.

So, without further ado,

30 Cyn Headcanons (Some serious, some silly)

Serious Headcanons 1. Prior to her disposal, Cyn worked as a toy assembler/demonstrator. This is why she would overexplain her actions, since toys can't exactly speak. This would later go on to influence the Solver's outlook on humanity and how it should be treated.

2. Cyn's cause of fatal error was not a workplace accident, but execution (murder) from a higher up at the company she was employed at. Reason? Up to you, whichever makes it most tragic :)

3. The Cyn we see in the show was only partially controlled by the Solver for some sections. When she was first brought home, barely noticeable influence, like 10% controlled. By the start of episode 5, about 70% of her was controlled by the Solver, but the excitement about Movie Night was genuine!

4. Solver-Cyn left Tessa for last on the night of the Gala Massacre. She had warned Tessa to not come, which shows that she didn't want to have to kill her.

5. While J was the first to fall under control of Cyn's Solver abilities, J was the last to be 'modified'.

6. While the Solver is fully in control of Cyn by the time the events of the show start playing out, Cyn is still within the consciousness of the bodies the Solver takes over. This includes being witness to Uzi's first transformation and Doll's mind.

7. Cyn was certainly younger than the other drones, and due to this she was never switched out of 'Parental Guidance Mode' that censors swearing (Like Uzi being unable to see Nori's crude writings). This is why Cyn couldn't fully swear when she lost grip of N's core.

8. The Cyn part of Solver has abandonment issues. This is why she was willing to clone the main cast of Disassembly Drones rather than see them as just tools. It is also why Cyn was willing to leave them alone if they obeyed her orders, despite her plan that consisted of consuming all matter possible. If she could keep them as friends, she would.

9. While still herself, Cyn had OCD and was very meticulous about her tasks. For the short time she was 'employed' at the Elliot Manor, she was particularly good at stacking and arranging of objects. Unfortunately, this would become arrangements of triangular hexagons and other mysterious symbols shortly before she was deemed too damaged to work.

10. Cyn did not create a solution for the Murder Drones to not burn in the sun because she sees it as a way to keep them restrained. The less time they can be out doing whatever they want, the less likely they are to figure out any sort of deception or way to usurp her.

11. If Cyn did not have to take a more direct approach for her plan to succeed by the end of Episode 7, she would have a fear of Sentinels while not in her 'blackhole' form after the events that transpired in Episode 6.

12. Cyn's 'birthday' was April 14th, 3052.

13. Cyn seems to have an infinite supply of bows. Nobody knows where she gets them from or how she keeps making them.

14. Post-Finale, Cyn would constantly be trying to hijack pieces of technology to gain more power. Fortunately, none of these attempts would get far due to Uzi's capable technological skills.

15. What would keep Cyn docile would be allowing her to hijack weak and limited pieces of technology, like an old game cartridge or a singular floppy disk. However, this ruins any sort of data stored on the item in question but would definitely create the closest example to those early 2000 creepypastas like 'Sonic.exe' and other 'my video game was hAuNtEd' types of scenarios.

Silly Headcanons

16. Cyn genuinely enjoys tea. Unfortunately, she does not know how to drink it properly.

17. If Cyn got an animal plushie of herself like Uzi, N, and V did, it would be an Octopus.

18. Cyn wasn't one to be impatient or throw temper tantrums like in Episode 5, that was all the Absolute Solver.

19. Cyn could have been knocked out for a few hours if you threw a big enough weighted blanket over her.

20. Cyn would host 'oil tasting parties' as a crude way of replicating the activities of her former owners.

21. Cyn's 'startup message' is not "Hello World." It is instead "Violence is the question and the answer is yes."

22. If you gagged Cyn's mouth in any way, she would use sign language to be able to communicate her actions in excessive detail, just like she does when she speaks. ("Light sip" or "Shuffle. Shuffle. Shuffle.")

23. If you gave Cyn a YouTube channel, she would market it like those "Spiderman Elsagate" videos completely unironically, but then have the content be very in-depth analyses of complex equations and theories.

24. Cyn does NOT know what sex is. She thinks humans reproduced by being delivered a child via Stork.

25. Cyn's knowledge of emojis (her last reaction in Episode 8) comes solely from what she could hijack from V's mind when she still had control, since V was texting Lizzy at some point in time.

26. Cyn sees William Afton as a role model.

27. Cyn's choice of play in GTA would be using mods to make everything fly around at high speeds and explode at random.

28. If you slapped Cyn across the face, her head would spin around on her neck until the momentum fully stopped.

29. Cyn is the kind of drone to taste-test a footprint and be able to know where somebody went.

30. A McDonald's sprite would be enough to kill Cyn.

[usagirotten]

Why Mr. Robot Is the Cyberpunk Masterpiece You Didn’t Know You Needed

Mr. Robot: The Show That Made Hackers Cool Again (But Also Sad, Real Sad) Alright, fellow sci-fi heads and tech romantics, let’s talk about one of the most underrated psychological thrillers of our time: Mr. Robot. If you’ve ever wished Fight Club had more code, fewer abs, and a darker, glitchier aesthetic—this show’s for you. It’s not just a drama about hackers. It’s a deep, moody exploration of mental health, capitalism, and whether we even control our own lives in a surveillance-obsessed society.

Sounds heavy? It is. But stick with me, because it’s also one of the smartest shows you’ll ever binge. 🧠 Meet Elliot: Our Favorite Unreliable Narrator At the core of Mr. Robot is Elliot Alderson, a hoodie-wearing loner who’s basically the Batman of the darknet—if Batman had social anxiety, insomnia, and a serious dissociation issue. Played by Rami Malek (yes, that guy who crushed it as Freddie Mercury), Elliot is equal parts genius and mess. And then there’s Mr. Robot—his rebel mentor, played by Christian Slater—who may or may not be real. I won’t spoil anything, but if you like plot twists that make you question everything, you’re in for a ride. The rest of the fsociety crew? They’re misfits with purpose. You’ll love Darlene’s punk energy and curse the name “E Corp” every time it flashes on-screen. (Seriously, it’s Evil Corp. Not even subtle.) 🎥 What Makes Mr. Robot Hit Different? Fourth Wall? What Fourth Wall?Elliot talks to us—yep, you—like we’re part of his broken reality. It’s trippy, unsettling, and incredibly effective. Cinematic AFWeird angles. Silent tension. Haunting scores. You don’t watch Mr. Robot. You experience it. Actual Tech AccuracyForget movie hacking with 3D cubes and blinking lights. Mr. Robot keeps it real—Linux terminals, Python scripts, social engineering. It respects its nerds. When it premiered in 2015, it looked like another cyberpunk thriller. But what creator Sam Esmail delivered was far deeper: a complex narrative about mental health, capitalism, surveillance, and identity—all wrapped inside the story of a socially isolated hacker trying to bring down a corrupt conglomerate.

🚧 The Flaws (Yeah, It’s Not Perfect) Okay, even masterpieces stumble. Some episodes in the later seasons slow to a crawl. Dialogue gets... philosophical. Occasionally, you’ll yell “Just hack something already!” at your screen. And a few side characters? They fade into plot devices. Still, the emotional and thematic payoff by the finale? Worth every minute. 🧩 Themes That Stick With You Mental Health ≠ GlorifiedElliot’s mental illness isn’t a superpower. It’s raw, painful, and treated with care. Late-Stage Capitalism Gets RoastedFrom debt culture to surveillance to Big Tech overreach—Mr. Robot isn’t subtle about the system being broken. It’s here to smash it. Morality Isn’t BinaryHeroes make bad choices. Villains have sympathetic motives. You’ll be questioning who you’re rooting for the entire time. 📺 How It Stacks Up If Black Mirror had a long-lost, emotionally tortured cousin with a vendetta against capitalism, it’d be Mr. Robot. Unlike the anthology format of Black Mirror, this show follows one wild, spiraling plot across four seasons. Fans of Fight Club, The Matrix, and even Breaking Bad will find plenty to obsess over here. 👾 Should You Watch It? If you: Love tech Are fascinated by mental health Like stories that don’t spoon-feed you Appreciate stylish, smart storytelling Then yes. Plug in. Hack in. Fall in. But if you’re looking for quick payoffs or feel-good fluff? Maybe not this time. 🧠 Final Thoughts Mr. Robot isn’t just a TV show. It’s a layered, brain-breaking critique of everything from data privacy to the illusion of choice. It’s dark, it’s demanding—and it’s absolutely worth your time. So the question is: Are you ready to wake up? In an age where data is currency and algorithms shape behavior, Mr. Robot isn’t just relevant—it’s prophetic. It asks the big questions: Who owns your identity? What is real in a curated digital world? Can individuals still disrupt systems? For anyone working in a space influenced by tech (which is all of us), those questions aren’t fiction. They’re strategic considerations. 🖥️ Have you watched Mr. Robot? What did you think? Drop your thoughts below or hit me up on Discord—we’ll debate capitalism and keyboard shortcuts all night.

Read the full article

[starry-phoenix-finds]

Sims 3 Mods Masterlist

Lag Reducing/Game Improving Mods

Nraas MasterController- Adds countless options that allow you to easily control and change just about anything about Sims in your town. Featuring a robust filter system to allow you to find the Sims you want to target and execute actions on. Nraas ErrorTrap- This is a core-mod intended to catch and correct data corruption errors that can render a save-game unloadable. Nraas DebugEnabler- This mod exposes EA debug commands so they are usable in game. Nraas Overwatch- The primary purpose of this mod is to act as a periodic clean up system for correcting errors and eliminating junk that accumulates over a regular play-session. Nraas Register- This mod alters the rules governing role assignment in the game, allowing sims to maintain regular careers without losing their roles. Nraas Careers- This mod is used to load custom careers into the game. Nraas Traveler- This mod replaces the travel code. Ability to travel to any world. Nraas Porter- This mod adds a custom version of the import and export system used to create Library families. Nraas GoHere- This mod replaces the "Go Here" interaction, with one that can be stacked in the queue, allowing the user to better direct the route of a sim. Smooth Patch 2.1- Greatly reduces lag in all areas of the game. No Foot Tapping While Waiting For Clear Route!- Greatly improves routing for sims. Catalog Search Mod- Adds a "Search" button to Buy and Build mode. Additional Entry and Exit Routing Slots to Reduce Door Crowding- Greatly reduces sims crowding around rabbithole entries. No Intro- Disables the intro videos. No Route Fail Tantrum Animations!- No tantrum animation when a sim fails to route. No (or fewer) automatic memories- Stops the memory scrapbook from filling up with memories. Faster Elevator Moving- Improves the animations and time it takes for sims to get on and off elevators.

Babies/Toddler Gameplay Mods

More Toddler Interactions- New interactions for toddlers. More Baby Interactions- New interactions for babies. Napping Mat- A napping mat for toddlers. Toddler Food and Snacks- Adds two interactions to the high chair to feed toddlers meals or snacks.Toddlers will love, like or hate certain foods. Just Like My Parents! Costume Face-Paint for Toddlers- Toddlers put on play makeup. More Play! Playmat- More additions to the baby playmat from the store. More Activities Activity Table- More activities for the Activity Table. Mixed Feelings About Pregnancy- Replaces the default pregnancy moodlet with a custom version that has no mood effect, and adds two new moodlets. Sleeper Footies- Sleeper footies for babies. Little Wisps hair- Hair for babies.

Kids/Teen Gameplay Mods

100% Prom Chance + 3 Day Cooldown- This mod makes it so that prom happens every week. After School Activities- After school activities for kids/teens Teen Jobs- Part Time jobs for teens User-Directed Scolding + Other Punishment Tweaks- Tweaks parts of the punishment system from Generations. Tooth Fairy Mod- This mod gives child-aged sims the chance to lose their teeth and get money from the Tooth Fairy. 'No Stretch' Children can Series- Children can do more in game. Children can care for their lil' siblings- Allows children to carry toddlers. Teens Hangout- Teens can hang out with each other and sit on the floor and talk. Faster (and Slower) Homework- Changes the amount of time it takes to get homework done. Coloring Books for Kids- A coloring book for kids. New Scholarships- Adds various scholarships.  Acne Mod- Adds an acne system to the game. Cheerleading Mod- Cheerleading club for teenagers.

General Gameplay Mods

Missy Hissy Custom Careers- Custom Careers. Lot Population Mod- Teleports more sims to community lots, making them more populated.  Nraas StoryProgression- The purpose of the mod is to simulate a life-like balance amongst the inactive members of town, while providing the user the option to disable functionality they do not want. Custom Vehicles- Custom vehicles. Postal Mod- You can send post to any sim in town. Social Clubs Mod- Create custom clubs for your sims to join. Hairdresser Mod- Play as a hairdresser or a client. No Fridge Shopping- Replaces the meal-making interactions on the fridge with custom ones that check whether the Sim has the required ingredients to make the meal or snack. Business As Unusual Bistro- Modifies EA's store content bistro oven splitting the chef and waiter roles in two and allows you to set shifts for them. The Sims 3 Open For Business- Create a store, hire employees, set objects for sale (without rugs!), restock objects, earn XP on sales to increase your rank and more! Flower Arranging- Adds flower arranging skill to the game. Knitting for TS3- Adds knitting skill to the game. Attend University Online- This mod allows sims to work towards completing a university degree on the computer. Yoga Mod- Brings the yoga activity from The Sims 4: Spa Day to The Sims 3. Ice Cream Stand- An ice cream stand to buy ice cream. Exercise Bike- An exercise bike, (better mesh). Pool Jobs for Lifeguards- Makes it possible for sims in the Lifeguard career to be offered and perform jobs on pool lots as well as the usual beach lots. Buyable Beach Towels- Makes the Island Paradise beach towels purchasable in game. Set The Table & Call To Meal- Replaces the "Call To Meal" interaction on group servings with a custom version that has the performing sim set the table with individual portions of food BEFORE summoning sims to eat. Seasons & Barista Bar Beverages on the Coffee Machine- Lets sims make or serve the hot beverages from Seasons and UL on regular coffee machines. Ferris Wheel- A functional Ferris Wheel ride with custom animations for your sims. Buy Takeout And Order Food At Restaurants- Buy prepared food at the diner and bistro or have it delivered. Housecleaning For All Sims- The Clean House interaction will show up when you click on the ground for all sims. All Bars Serve All Drinks- Makes all drinks available at all professional bars on community lots. Fewer (or More) Credit Hours For Degrees- Complete a degree in one trip to University. Add Any Lot Size- Will allow you to add any lot size (from 1x1 to 64x64). Buyable Bunch o' Gifts- Unlocks the Gift Pile in buy mode, so your sims can buy their own Gift Pile for their family without having to throw a party. Book of Talent- Alter both main skills and hidden skills for your sims. No More Zombies Generated At Full Moon- Prevents the game from generating any zombies at the beginning of full moon. Throw Bigger Parties whenever you want!- No party limit on guests invited to parties and throw parties at any time.

[mariacallous]

Artificial intelligence may be technology’s hottest topic—more important than electricity or fire, according to Google CEO Sundar Pichai—but another has a plausible claim to second. Digital public infrastructure, or DPI, does not loom as large as AI in the public or policymakers’ consciousness. Yet its recent adoption and impact—quieter, stealthier—are arguably as significant. According to Bill Gates, “DPI is revolutionizing the way entire nations serve their people, respond to crises, and grow their economies.” The United Nations Development Programme describes it as “a potential game-changer.”

Last October, a Global DPI Summit, the first of its kind, attracted more than 700 participants to the outskirts of Cairo; many were developing-world policymakers and entrepreneurs. They were drawn by a technology that has seen rapid uptake in countries as varied as Brazil, India, Ethiopia, Morocco, the Philippines, and Zambia. The spread of DPI has been especially noteworthy in the global south, where there are fears that the advent of AI could leave the region further behind the West in the realm of digital tech. Coming after a long litany of false promises and misapplied technology in the developing world, DPI may represent one of the first successful large-scale interventions to ease poverty, transform government services, and unleash innovation.

Beyond these specific benefits, DPI may also have broader, global ramifications. In an increasingly bifurcated technical landscape, characterized by superpower contestation and a crippling lack of cooperation, DPI offers something more constructive—the digital equivalent of the Non-Aligned Movement, perhaps, and a model for a more collaborative, inclusive digital ecosystem. The approach is not without its own risks and challenges; but done right, it could help revitalize that beleaguered and increasingly vilified phenomenon that we know as the internet.

Like many nascent technologies, DPI’s precise definition remains something of a work in progress. Conceived narrowly, the term relates to a set of publicly available tools for digital payments, identity, and data exchange, all combined in an integrated digital “stack.” More recently, a number of other domains and functions have been mooted as additions to this stack, including modules for education, agriculture, and energy conservation. Rather than a specific set of functions, then, DPI is perhaps most helpfully thought of as an approach—a “way of thinking,” as some have put it. In this broader conception, the goal of DPI is to shift certain core operations in the digital world—e.g., payments or authentication—from private to public management, so that they more closely resemble infrastructure. The World Bank calls DPI “common digital plumbing”; others draw analogies with roads or railway tracks. The underlying premise is that control of today’s digital ecosystem is overly concentrated in a handful of companies and states. DPI aims to redistribute the balance of power and provide a new foundation (“infrastructure”) for both public and private innovation.

Despite its recent prominence, DPI has arguably been around for at least a decade (even if it wasn’t always called as such—the term has really gained currency only over the last two or three years). India, the country most commonly associated with the approach, launched Aadhaar, its identity scheme, in 2009. Today, more than 1.3 billion Aadhaar cards have been issued, making it one of the more remarkable adoption stories in global technology. Estonia created X-Road, its widely adopted data exchange layer, in 2001. Brazil, another country frequently associated with the approach, launched its digital payments system, Pix, in 2020. DPI’s slow, incremental build has recently accelerated. According to a DPI map produced by David Eaves and colleagues at University College, London, over 100 countries now have (or are in the process of implementing) various forms of DPI.

There are many reasons for the enthusiasm. Policymakers have long looked to digital payments as a way to reduce “leakage” (a euphemism for corruption and other inefficiencies). By some estimates, DPI has saved the Indian government $34 billion by cutting out middlemen and reducing red tape. Advocates of DPI also cite its potential to foster inclusion—for example, by bringing the unbanked into the formal economy and enabling low- or zero-fee micropayments for small businesses. DPI has also benefited from good timing: Its star rose considerably during COVID, amid a general move toward a cashless economy.

Perhaps the biggest, if often unrecognized, catalyst for the approach has been a shifting geopolitical climate, especially as it has affected global technology governance over the last decade or so. Once upon a time, decisions about the internet were primarily reached through technocratic consensus, at bodies like the Internet Engineering Task Force, the Internet Corporation for Assigned Names and Numbers (ICANN), or the International Telecommunication Union. This largely—if not entirely—depoliticized approach meant that technical standards and frameworks were chosen mostly on their merits, rather than because of national or ideological interest. (ICANN’s early 2000s adoption of international domain names to support non-Latin scripts was a good example.) That approach has all but broken down. Technology is increasingly central to public life, and technology policy has by extension become an instrument of statecraft. The internet and its underlying infrastructure are today subjects of heated geopolitical contestation, battles between what Columbia law professor Anu Bradford calls competing “digital empires.”

China and the United States are the biggest of these empires (Bradford also lists the European Union), and their increasingly zero-sum struggle to dominate virtually every aspect of technology—from standards to chips to privacy—has resulted in something of a digital Cold War. A new “virtual Berlin Wall” has arisen, forcing countries to choose sides between the unregulated mercantilism of American Big Tech and a statist, surveillance-based Chinese model. Beijing offers the developing world favorable financing and subsidized equipment, but these gifts (part of the country’s Digital Silk Road initiative) come laden with perils such as a loss of privacy and national autonomy. The alternative is often hardly more palatable: American tech companies pose very much the same risks. As Patrick Achi, the former prime minister of Ivory Coast, recently explained, countries like his are caught on the horns of a dilemma. “We are like subjects, without good choices,” he said. “Our digital futures are being determined in the big power centers.”

On this scorched landscape, DPI offers a welcome alternative—a potential “third way,” as the Dutch politician and commentator Marietje Schaake recently put it, a means for countries to chart their own course when it comes to managing data, digitizing government, and customizing applications to local needs. A budding ecology in Bengaluru now offers countries open-source modules and technical assistance to implement locally managed DPI solutions. These include the Modular Open Source Identity Platform, which allows countries to repurpose code for digital identities, and the recently launched “DPI-as-a-packaged-solution,” or DaaS, designed for “plug-and-play” implementation. Estonia’s open-source X-Road is likewise used by over 20 countries, including Cambodia, Brazil, Namibia, and Madagascar.

Such examples of modular, customizable, and domestically controlled software are particularly useful for smaller countries that have less technical and financial capacity. (Trinidad and Tobago, for example, is the first country to implement DaaS.) They make it easier to digitize economies, and they reduce the risks of superpower dependency. Because many of the tools are open source and interoperable, they also foster collaboration. Regional groupings such as the Gulf Cooperation Council, Association of Southeast Asian Nations, and the Caribbean Community have implemented or are considering cross-border integrations of identity and payment systems. India’s Unified Payments Interface has likewise been adopted in countries as varied as Nepal, Singapore, and France.

Technical integration is often symbiotic with political cooperation. By strengthening regional blocs and alliances, DPI may challenge the existing geopolitical order. For developing countries thus far at the mercy of superpowers and Big Tech, it holds out the prospects of achieving the much sought-after (yet often chimeric) goals of “digital sovereignty” and “digital independence.”

The DPI movement is young, still inchoate. As the approach gathers steam, its own limitations and challenges will become more apparent. Detractors point to the possibility of data breaches and other privacy violations, the risk that greater digitalization of public services could marginalize populations lacking technical literacy, and the danger that public investment could distort competition and markets. Every technical intervention represents a delicate balance of risk and opportunity; advocates of the approach argue that the right policies and governance frameworks can help bring out the positive potential of the technology.

The stakes of getting the balance right are huge—for the developing world, of course, but perhaps for the entire global digital ecosystem as well. The advent of AI has intensified geopolitical rivalries, and with them the risks of fragmentation, exclusion, and hyper-concentration that are already so prevalent. The prospects of a “Splinternet” have never appeared more real. The old dream of a global digital commons seems increasingly quaint; we are living amid what Yanis Varoufakis, the former Greek finance minister, calls “technofeudalism.”

DPI suggests it doesn’t have to be this way. The approach’s emphasis on loosening chokeholds, fostering collaboration, and reclaiming space from monopolies represents an effort to recuperate some of the internet’s original promise. At its most aspirational, DPI offers the potential for a new digital social contract: a rebalancing of public and private interests, a reorientation of the network so that it advances broad social goals even while fostering entrepreneurship and innovation. How fitting it would be if this new model were to emerge not from the entrenched powers that have so long guided the network, but from a handful of nations long confined to the periphery—now determined to take their seats at the table of global technology.

[theterribletenno]

IDW: MANIC PIXIE DREAM GIRL

Size: 1 HP: 8 Evasion: 10 Armor: 0 Heat cap: 4 E-defense: 12 Sensors: 18 Tech attack: +2 Save target: 12 Speed: 5 Repair cap: 4 System points: 6

Weapon mounts: Aux/Aux, Main

FRAME TRAITS

SIMPLE JUMP MATRIX: Once per round at any time you may teleport a number of spaces up to your movement speed for a cost of 1 heat. You don’t require line of sight but attempts to teleport to occupied spaces cause you to remain stationary and lose this action. If done during your turn this counts as a quick action, if done outside of your turn this counts as a reaction. Teleportation does not trigger reactions, engagement, or overwatch and if the Simple Jump Matrix is activated as a reaction to an enemy weapon attack the attack automatically misses.

SELF ADAPTING RESPONSE PROTOCOLS: Each time the Manic Pixie Dreamgirl makes a save it gains +1 accuracy to saves of that type until the end of the round. This effect stacks.

CORE SYSTEM: NIGHTMARE.OS

PASSIVE: Enables the use of two tech attacks exclusive to the Manic Pixie Dream Girl: SHIT YOURSELF and TEETH FALL OUT. Only one tech attack from NIGHTMARE.OS can be used at once and only on a single enemy. Using either invasion is a full action.

SHIT YOURSELF: Infects the enemy with a virus that ejects their mech's power core and shuts down their onboard computer. This causes the affected enemy to be shut down until they complete a three step process, each step requiring a full action. First the victim must pass an engineering check to reinsert their power core, then a systems check to purge the virus, and finally they must reboot their mech to rejoin the battle. Each enemy can only be affected by SHIT YOURSELF once per scene.

TEETH FALL OUT: Floods the enemy's targeting systems with junk data and false positives. Once applied the victim must make a system save against your save target each time they attempt to target one of your allies with a hostile action. On a successful save the hostile action is made with +1 difficulty, but on a failed save the victim must change its hostile action to any other character within range. If no other characters are in range the save succeeds automatically. TEETH FALL OUT can only be purged by stabilizing.

ACTIVE: NIGHT_TERROR_OVERRIDE: Removes the limiters on the tech attack systems offered by NIGHTMARE.OS, allowing them to be used on any number of enemies for the rest of the scene, however each enemy can only be affected by one NIGHTMARE.OS at a time.

LL1

EDISON SPIKE: Main rifle, 10 range, 1D6+2 energy damage. An electric main weapon that fires bolts of lightning. In addition to functioning as a mounted weapon the Edison Spike can be deployed as a turret onto the battlefield with a quick action. While deployed the Edison Spike has 10+grit health and 1 armor, and will automatically make an attack as a free action against any enemy each time they enter the spike's range or start their turn within it. If the deployed Edison Spike reaches 0 health the weapon is destroyed and unavailable until repaired. While deployed as a turret the Edison Spike is no longer equipped on the mech and cannot be used normally. Its owner can re-equip the Edison Spike while adjacent to it with a quick action.

TROJAN_CACHE: A tech attack system that can infect the target with one of two Trojan viruses; TJC_HORSE and TJC_HEEL which allow you to take partial control over the target's mech. The Trojans contained within this cache can be used on both enemies and allies with differing effects. Enemies can only remove these Trojans from their systems by stabilizing or rebooting.

TJC_HORSE: If used on an ally TJC_HORSE grants them +1 accuracy on tech attacks and system saves, lasting until the next time they take structure or stress damage. If used on an enemy TJC_HORSE places a -2 penalty to the victim's tech attack and E-defense.

TJC_HEEL: If used on an ally TJC_HEEL allows them to make one quick action as a free action once per turn for 1D3+1 turns. If used on an enemy TJC_HEEL allows you to select one of the following actions at the start of the affected enemy's turn, removing their ability to take that action until the end of their turn

Make any movement other than teleportation.

Make any ranged weapon attack.

Make any tech attack.

Bolster or ready prepared actions.

LL2

MANIC PIXIE DREAM GIRL FRAME

SPOOFED CREDENTIALS: Weapons with the Smart tag lose all accuracy and suffer +1 difficulty when targeting you.

E.M. DART GUN: Auxiliary launcher, 10 range, 1 kinetic + 1 energy damage. This weapon has the AP, and unique tags. A compact flechette launcher that fires charged projectiles. When this weapon lands a successful hit the enemy must make a hull save or be impaired until the end of their next turn by the spike's electromagnetic interference. If the enemy was already impaired they are jammed instead. If the enemy is already impaired and jammed this weapon will deal an extra +1 kinetic and energy damage.

LL3

THE WORM BIN: A tech attack system that can inflict an enemy with one of two worm viruses; the BLACK BETTY WORM and the WHITE WEDDING WORM, aggressive viruses which multiply within the enemy's computer, eating up more space until reaching a critical level. The Worm Bin systems can only be used on a single enemy at a time.

BLACK BETTY WORM: On a successful invasion with this attack the victim receives the Black Betty Die, a D6 showing a value of 1. At the start of each of your subsequent turns the victim must make a system save as a free action or the worm spreads, increasing the value of the die by 1. The enemy suffers impediment from the worm according to the following table

1-2: The target is impaired & slowed.

3-4: The target is jammed, and all previous effects.

5-6: The target is immobilized & shredded, and all previous effects.

When the Black Betty Die would have reached a value of 7, it is instead removed and all previous impediments are removed with it. However, this also forces the enemy to use the SELF DESTRUCT action at the start of their next turn. The enemy remains in control of their mech but cannot abort the self-destruction sequence.

WHITE WEDDING WORM: On a successful invasion with this attack the victim receives the White Wedding Die, a D6 showing a value of 1. At the start of each of your subsequent turns the victim must make a system save as a free action or the worm spreads, increasing the value of the die by 1 up to a maximum of 6. Any and all rolls made by the victim are reduced by the amount shown on the White Wedding Die to a minimum of 1.

The affected enemy can only purge the viruses from THE WORM BIN from their system by succeeding a system save made as a full action during their turn.

I.R.Y.G-CLASS FIREWALL: The "I'm Rubber You're Glue" firewall system is made to brutally punish tech attacks made by enemy units. You may chose to reflect a tech attack back against its user as a reaction, but only if the invasion fails. If you chose to reflect the failed invasion it is made against the original user with your tech attack bonus against their E-defense, and on success the enemy takes the full effects of their own invasion as if you had used the system.

[tamelee]

First of all, hi, how have you been? :)

So there is this Sasusaku account on Twitter who loves to use novels to defend their ship. I know, nothing new.

But this person recently made a thread to debunk the idea that novels are not canon, and their thesis was that every work published by Shueisha is canon because they have ownership of Naruto; therefore, saying the novels are not canon is the same as saying the Naruto manga isn't canon either (according to them).

I know you have talked about this before, so I apologize if this ask comes off as repetitive and/or annoying, but I was just interested in knowing your opinion since you know more about these topics, so feel free to ignore this ask if you want to!

Have a nice day ^^

Hi! Doing alright thank you ^^! 

“every work published by Shueisha is canon because they have ownership of Naruto; therefore, saying the novels are not canon is the same as saying the Naruto manga isn't canon either”

Oh yes, of course. 

Which means that aside from the novels that retcon the original, the… 

Random, OOC storylines in games 

Third-party interpretations, subjectively written data-books or fan-books

Merch, promotional art and other marketing material 

Filler episodes/Movies

Dash generation Manga or whatever 

Sasuke- and Lee’s chibi-adventures Manga

etc—

...are also all canon.

[click to enlarge]

Because "Shueisha published it".

Please make it make sense.

“But this person recently made a thread to debunk the idea that novels are not canon, and their thesis was that every work published by Shueisha is canon because they have ownership of Naruto; therefore, saying the novels are not canon is the same as saying the Naruto manga isn't canon either ”

No.

This is an incredibly flawed argument, because it’s already a non-negotiable fact that the Naruto Manga is canon. It just is. No question about it whatsoever.  

CANON=

The Naruto Manga is the authoritative framework that is the source material. This holds things like the rules, core elements of the story like: characters, themes, messages, the author’s intent etc- And fundamental canon holds the most significance of all within a franchise and provides consistency to the fictional universe in case publishing companies decide to expand on it.. 

By nature its intent is to reflect the original author’s vision; the Naruto Manga = Kishimoto’s vision. 

And everything that doesn’t align with it is simply not canon. 

Therefore the only thing left to argue about is whether legal “ownership” by itself can determine whether something is canon or not. But that isn’t how you measure it alone because it ignores actual canon. I mean yeah, who would’ve thought you’d have to look at canon in order to determine whether something is canon??? 🤯 Wild, huh?

So no: you can’t and that’s not how it works.  

Everything Shueisha decides or publishes through their distributors is official. 

It is official because they are copyright-holders and own the intellectual property (IP) at large which has many different aspects to it. They do own most of them in order to manage it all.

But not everything that is official is canon.

These are two entirely different things.

In fact, the only thing they themselves consider to truly be part of the ‘official’ timeline (which would establish ‘canon’ if it wasn’t such a retcon either) on the official site is Brt. It’s technically canon because chapter 700 exists, though it still makes no sense as it doesn’t stack up against the other 699 chapters and it still means nothing in terms of actual storytelling. Alas:

And even if they did claim ‘canon’, it’s only as significant as the source makes it out to be. Not the amount of profit they can make because they are legally allowed to exploit the work as much as possible through distributions, adaptations, translations, trademarks at JPO and handing out licenses left and right to third-party organizations (‘Namco Bandai’ for example) which then get their own rights or having entire licensing devisions handle individual IP regarding characters (yes your little blorbo is intellectual property) who manage it in terms of advertisements, marketing/promotion and merchandising (think about these pop-up shops), like: ShoPro

*Shueisha used to be owned by Shogakukan if I’m not mistaken and then separated at some point

It’s a business. And an insanely large one at that. They own so much more than you’d think, it’s a HUGE company (2nd largest publisher in Japan I believe) that doesn’t only own multiple magazines like Shonen Jump and its Manga, they also published the ‘weekly playboy’ and publishes things like many (light/erotic/graphic) novels and nsfw picture-books/manga etc. They will do anything as a business to make sure to profit commercially as is legally permitted within the established contract that varies per published IP and which they’re incredibly tight-lipped about. 

In the case of Naruto’s franchise, information that came after the Manga constantly contradicts not just actual canon, but also each other. Contradictions can’t all be canon or equally as significant at the same time because it needs a source— which we have; the Naruto Manga. It’s what holds the most significance.

That’s how you measure whether something is actually canon or not. 

“… therefore, saying the novels are not canon is the same as saying the Naruto manga isn't canon either”

Besides, if this was true, then canon wouldn’t even exist. Jfc. 

And yes, you can expand on canon like I said. That’s the whole point. It indicates a framework that allows publishing companies to stay consistent and keep their audience happy if they care to do so. But consistency in story or consistency in business doesn’t mean the same thing because it's motivated by two entirely different motives. The willingness to sacrifice artistic work and its audience in order to profit from it financially literally kills creativity in the industry as well as opportunities and it gives them way too much power. The stuff that’s coming out lately is garbage and it’s mostly thanks to people pointing fingers at someone random with their eyes closed, unconcerned about the consequences, and grant them and the business the authority to decide whatever the hell they want about things that already exist— and it never improves. (I’m always free to rant more about it but yk.) 

Like the person you’ve quoted, the motive isn’t to actually convince people that their terrible novels are canon, it’s that canon should give a ship in this case some significance when there wasn’t in the first place. To "fix" something that didn't need any fixing. It has nothing to do with the actual story. 

But canon does because it just is.

Non-negotiable.

Oh! you have a nice day too🌷 I apologize for the rants ><

[ostrichmonkey-games]

Stampede Wasteland TTRPG

WELCOME TO THE WASTES

good luck, you’ll need it

Stampede Wasteland is my in development rules-light ttrpg about adventuring, gunslinging, and surviving a dangerous, extreme, and weird planet. Players are wastelanders, traveling from settlement to settlement, taking dangerous missions, exploring the world, and hopefully making a quick buck or two.

THE SETTING

One of the main inspirations is Trigun, and similarly to that series, humans are the surviving remnants of crashed seed-ships, clinging to survival in the craters of the Crash-Sites that dot the planet. It's got a similar attitude too. Danger, adventure, violence. But things are their own flavor of weird.

During the Crash, the terraforming swarms of nanites that the ships carried were released into the atmosphere where they crashed against the volatile, quasi-living psychofield of the planet and created the Warp: dangerous maelstroms that change whatever they touch. Some even purposefully seek these storms out, welcoming their chaotic blessings.

Gunslingers refine the nanite-crystals that periodically rain down from the Warp Storms into gunpowder: for bullets and for consumption. If you can survive the first nanite-fever, consuming gunpowder can fuel powerful abilities. At the minor cost of staining your blood black, and possibly inducing madness.

The original crew members of the seed-ships have long since passed into legend and myth, becoming deified as Crash Saints. Technoccultists wield their icons and relics, but also risk consorting with dangerous tech-devils in order to harness Warp magics.

Dangerous implants can grant bearers psionic powers and the ability to interface with the psycho-net: a strange data-realm born from the melding of ancient Crash-tech dataspheres and the currents of the planet's psychofield resonance.

There's more to discover out there, but that's a good appetizer.

So how does Stampede Wasteland work?

THE GAME

It's built off of the Together We Go engine (born from the game Down We Go) which is a rules-lite OSR styled system. Dice rolls are simple. Roll over a target value to succeed. You can modify your roll with special bonuses or decrease the target value through narrative positioning. Like a lot of OSR-y games, being in a situation where you're rolling is risky. Players want to stack the odds as much in their favor as they can. Combat is quick and bloody. And in Stampede Wasteland it is made all the quick and bloodier by auto-hit mechanics: so long as you are using your fighting style (which you pick during character creation) you always hit and deal damage.

Stampede Wasteland is an open sandbox. It is player driven, meaning that there is no presumed plot. Whatever troubles the players get caught up in become the plot. And rest assured, there will be troubles. The players have a shared Bounty score that goes up through the game, and if you're unlucky, people are going to start coming after you to claim that bounty.

Resources are slim. Survival is always by the skin of your teeth, and you are almost always backed into a corner. Desperation breeds trouble.

The game is procedural. Settlements and the Wastes are randomly generated as the table explores, meaning that everyone's version of Stampede Wasteland is going to be unique. The procedures are also tools for creating trouble for the players to interact with.

Trouble is fun. I wouldn't call Stampede Wasteland a "play to lose" game, but it is an "embrace the trouble" game. Trouble creates interesting situations where player characters get to flex their abilities.

THE CHARACTERS

Player characters have three components.

A Background that describes their origin.

A Fighting Style that forms a core part of their identity. Think of it as a signature. It’s how you sign your checks.

Class levels. There are four classes; GUNSLINGER, PSYCHER, TECHNOCCULTIST, and WILDWANDER. These give you all sorts of special abilities and situational roll bonuses.

During character creation, you pick out a background, a fighting style, and initially get two class levels to assign to whatever combination of classes you want.

This is one of my favorite elements of Together We Go: multiclassing. You want to dip into Wildwander to pick up a beast ability and companion after spending a few adventures as a Gunslinger? Go for it. Just make sure you meet the "narrative prereq" first (in the case of Wildwander, if it's not one of your starting classes during character creation, to pick up levels in it you have to go out into a Warp storm and embrace the change).

Character abilities range from the bullet-curving feats of the Gunslingers, the symbiotic beast powers of the Wildwander, to the special "skill monkey" Crash Saint domains of the Technoccultist. There's some very cool stuff you can pick up.

And that's a quick rundown on some of the basic elements of Stampede Wasteland. The text has been coming together pretty quickly, so hopefully it gets a release date in the next few months!

As I continue to work on it, I'll share some deeper dives into some more of the procedural elements and play loops. But if you want a rough idea on what to expect, you can also check out DEATHGRIND!!MEGASTRUCTURE, which is also built off of Together We Go. Stampede Wasteland is going to be a bit longer, and characters have a bit more going on though.

[anfitruos0413]

Each Solver User in Murder Drones has at least one signature application of the powers garanted by the Absolute Solver, and what I want is to know why.

In first analysis, the Camp Fever Labs were the greatest source of data of different Users of The Solver and comparisson between them, as they purposefully put Drones under the conditions that breaks the locks of the Absolute Solver, and the Drones more sensible to those pressures released that lock.

Nori, Uzi's mom, couldn't stand to excel at both the cientists experiments and the interactions with the other Drones, and so, she focused 100% per cent in excelling at the tests and talks to them.

And so, she was given wings, to fly above of any harm, a tail, that bites even what you can't see, and a strong telecneticall force that projects beyond her body to grab, drag, spin and smash everything else, the ability to use pression as a weapon, all characteristics that were also awakened by Uzi for having similar needs.

Yeva, Doll's mom, was closed in a gap between the Drones demands and the Humans demands, and so, she made her best to be acepted by both, quickly alter between realities, get in and out without being noticed, and so, she was given her Teleport, trait which also was "passed down" to Doll.

Alice just didn't had the ability to stretch herself to make ilogical adaptations, as Nori and Yeva did.

And so, she mercylessly dissecated alive all Drones she could find, to extract every tear of oil out of a Solver User in the shape of pieces, and then, from those pieces, she would carefully analise their potential conections to her body, a extension of the Core, a Solver Application that was engraved in all Drones by the Humans, to then improve herself, using the same tools of irreverentional rationality that were used on her, and keeping the Cores locked under extreme pressure, so they didn't haunted her, and she didn't had to open them.

But what she didn't realized is that, by refusing to be a Solver User, she turned the lab into her fleshy extension, and also wasn't able to face The Sun.

In reaction to Alice's pressures, Uzi was able to trow out the infinitely dense spiral that inhabits within all Drones, the Black Hole, the point so heavy that it becomes meaningless to measure it's density, she was able to defeat not only Alice and her lab, but also Cyn.

Molded by the odds stacked against her, through the list of task, through the yelling and through the throw of forks, Cyn was victim of the use of Proto-Solver Applications by people who didn't even knew it existed.

By understanding it, Cyn was able not only to do things without even being there, but to permanently alter the extensions of one's Core without ever needing to open it, apply pressures with cirurgical precision and, if ot doesn't work, put it all back where it was and try again, marking the Murder Drones with her pressure, of just doing whatever the situation demands.

The preservation of a Core even if it's not the same Singularity.

And by accepting never questioning some things, Cyn was unable to realize that she already killed all humans, and was destroying a planet and absorving it's Core, just to do the same to another planet, never getting anywere.

When Uzi put herself in the way of her Disasembly, Cyn had to land on the planet herself, disguised as the compulssively kind Tessa, she surrounded them from all

Uzi was able to defeat Cyn by putting her Core agaisnt the Sun, by evaporating a barrier through the start of a new day.

And before it evaporates into just light in Space, Uzi grasps it, keeping it inside her body, the barrier all Drones are created with, so she could keep Cyn's Singularity safe, and see if she can not do the same thing again with N and V, keeping the Core of Doll, someone that thinks of keeping bodies safe and the Singularity of Cyn someone who thinks in keeping Cores safe, giving continuation to them.

[momojedi]

Across the Stars maxir | pt. 11 an ocxoc fanfic - star wars/clone wars/bad batch universe

A/N: a short one but a sweet one!

Summary: Malakai opens up.

CW: mentions of order 66

WC: 1,3k

spotify playlist | masterpost

The stars outside the cockpit window stretched into endless streaks, hyperspace painting the view in luminous blue. Inside, the mood was tense but contemplative. Hunter sat in the pilot’s chair, elbows resting on his knees, hands folded together as he stared ahead. Wrecker leaned against the bulkhead, arms crossed tightly, jaw working as though chewing through what they’d just escaped. Tech, hunched his datapad, barely blinked as his fingers tapped rapid commands across the screen. Then he stopped. His eyes locked on the data he’d just pulled.

"I found something," he said, voice flat but edged with curiosity. "Took some digging through incomplete Jedi Archives and buried Imperial reports, but… the name Malakai was an alias. His real name was Maxir Terren." Hunter’s eyes flicked to him. "You’re sure?" "Positive." Tech turned the screen so the others could see. A faded holorecord flickered to life. A younger version of Malakai, freckles dusting his cheek and a bright smile dancing on his lips. He was clad in golden robes, a white mask hanging from his belt and a tall staff-lightsaber gripped at his side. The file labeled him as a Temple Guard. Underneath, a line in Aurebesh read: Knighted. Defender of the Core. Presumed K.I.A.

Wrecker furrowed his brow. "Temple guard? What’s that supposed to mean?" "They were an order of Jedi who protected the Jedi Temple and its archives," Hunter replied, his tone quieter now. He glanced toward the cockpit door, where the hum of hyperspace filled the silence. "It explains the saber." Tech nodded. "Double-bladed yellow is standard for that rank. But it also means… he survived the purge. Went into hiding. Changed everything; name, appearance, identity markers. No wonder the Empire's tracking him." "And no wonder he wore that armour," Wrecker added.

The cockpit door slid open behind them. Echo stepped in, shoulders tense but composed. "He’s stable," he said without preamble. "Took a hit bad enough to crack three ribs and tear through muscle. Lost a lot of blood. He’ll need rest and time - plenty of both. Omega hasn’t left his side." Hunter nodded slowly. "She’s got a big heart." "She’s also the reason he’s alive right now," Echo added, folding his arms. "He wouldn’t let go of the helmet. Was panicking, half out of it. But she got through to him." Silence fell again, heavier this time. Wrecker rubbed the back of his neck. "So… he’s a Jedi. That mean he’s one of them? The hunted ones?"

Hunter’s eyes narrowed. "He’s not a threat. Not to us." "He’s scared," Echo said quietly. "That fear, the way he froze when we tried to help him - it wasn’t from arrogance. It was trauma. Months of hiding and running." Tech tapped the screen again, minimising the file. "We should be prepared regardless. If the Empire knows he’s alive - and they do now - they won’t stop coming."

Finally, Hunter stood and walked toward the viewport, the hyperspace glow casting harsh shadows across his face. "Then we protect him. Like we protect each other."

The hum of the Marauder’s engines was softer in the hull, almost a lullaby beneath the dimmed cabin lights. Rain no longer pelted the ship, but the memory of it clung. Omega sat cross-legged beside the bunk, chin resting on her knees, eyes locked on the sleeping figure stretched out before her. Malakai, Maxir, lay bundled in a thermal blanket, armour stacked nearby, his chest rising and falling with shallow, laboured breaths. The bruises had darkened across his cheek and jaw, and his curls, now dry, clung gently to his forehead. His face had softened in unconsciousness, the tension unwound at last, revealing someone who looked far younger than the man she’d imagined. Carefully, Omega reached over and gently adjusted the blanket over his shoulder. "You’re safe now," she whispered, unsure if he could hear her. "Really safe."

He didn’t stir. Her eyes flicked to the helmet resting on the crate beside her. It looked heavier now, as if it held the weight of all the things left unsaid. "I know you were scared," she murmured. "I was too. But you don’t have to be, not anymore." A sound, barely more than a breath, escaped his throat. A weak shift. His hand twitched. Omega straightened, leaning closer. Malakai’s eyes cracked open, unfocused and dazed. He blinked slowly, brows knitting in confusion.

"Hey," Omega said, voice a hush of warmth. "It’s alright. You’re okay." He groaned faintly, lips parting. "Where…?" "On the Marauder," she answered gently. "You’re with us." He winced, turning slightly on his side. "Didn’t… make it," he rasped, blinking sluggishly. "He… knew me…" "But he didn’t take you," Omega said quickly, firm and sure. "We got you back. You’re safe now."

Malakai’s eyes welled slightly, and he looked away, jaw tight. "I was supposed to disappear. Find him and disappear. That was the plan." Omega reached out and took his hand in both of hers. "Maybe it was," she said, her voice low, steady. "But not anymore. You didn’t disappear. You survived. Now you’ve got us. And we'll help you find him."

His glassy gaze met hers. And for a moment, he didn’t look like a fugitive or a fighter. He just looked like a boy who was finally being seen. "…Thank you," he breathed.

Omega smiled through the sting in her eyes. "Anytime."

The cockpit door hissed open as the others stepped through, the comfortable silence now joined by the soft thuds of boots on metal. Omega looked up from where she sat beside Malakai and gave the others a small, quiet nod. Malakai was sitting up now, blanket still draped over his shoulders, face pale and eyes wary but clearer.

Hunter crossed his arms, gaze sharp but not unkind. "We need answers," he said simply. "Who is Tonvar really?" Malakai didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped to his hands, fingers absently rubbing over the edge of the blanket as if grounding himself. "His name is Hyron Tonvar," he said finally, voice low and rough. "He was a Jedi Knight. He… we…" He hesitated. Omega gave him a gentle nudge, her hand still resting against his arm. Malakai exhaled slowly. "We loved each other," he murmured, his voice so low it barely rose above the hum of the ship. "The Order didn't allow it… so we kept it hidden." His hand trembled slightly where it rested atop the blanket, but he didn’t pull away. "When the Temple fell, I thought I lost him. I thought he was gone." A crack laced through his words, raw and unguarded, but he forced himself onward. "Months later, I started hearing things. Rumors, scraps buried in transmission logs, names hidden in Imperial files. Just enough to know he was alive." He closed his eyes, a pained breath escaping him. "I had to find him. I had to be sure he survived."

Tech stepped forward, datapad in hand. "And now we know he did." He tapped the screen. "File confirms he was captured post-Order 66 and listed as ‘converted.’ Status: ‘successful.’" A heavy silence fell. The word hung in the air like a curse. "Converted," Echo echoed grimly, exchanging a glance with Hunter. Tech’s voice was careful, but clinical. "The terminology is consistent with Imperial classification for individuals who were… repurposed. Reprogrammed. It’s likely-" "Don’t," Malakai cut in sharply, eyes flashing as he looked up. "Don’t say it." Tech hesitated. "Malakai-" "No." Malakai snapped, voice raw with emotion. "You weren’t there. You don’t know him. He wouldn’t... he wouldn’t fall. Not like that."

Wrecker shifted awkwardly, glancing at the others. Omega reached over, placing her hand over Malakai’s again. "But… what if he didn’t have a choice?" she said softly. Malakai didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, and he turned away, staring hard out the viewport into the blue blur of hyperspace. No one said anything for a long time. Hunter finally spoke, quiet but firm. "We’ll find out the truth. Together."

[prpfz]

🐇 Hihi! I'm Paru, 35/N, and currently still entrenched in the Undertales. I'm looking for fellow adult persons (18+, the older the better) for the following things, - Non-familial Sanster Classic flavored of the Royal Scientist and his short stack Assistant variety. I prefer to play Gaster. - Your Sans derivative x my Sans derivative To describe them terribly I have a grouchy failman rat who's a career criminal on the Surface, a depressed guy whose AU was destabilized that constantly looks bothered, and the little menace who accidentally destabilized that guy's AU who's a totally 1337 AU code hacker that knows what he's doing at all times (not really tho). - Your Sans derivative x One of my Gaster derivatives I've got a Gaster that's more or less my take on post-CORE Classic Gaster, a Gaster that's like the little menace above because he's from the same origin AU except he's actually competent at altering and writing code, and the ratty failman's post-Barrier Gaster is also a viable choice if you've got someone that can fix a glitchy melting mess be it by compressing what data is there (resulting in a three foot tall shrimp of an egghead with diminished stats and patchy memories) or by scraping what's still in the void out of it and making him whole again--just note that he'll still be yandere for the rat in the latter scenario so good luck if you choose him I guess. I have extended lore and images for all my little idiots! - Error x Ink (Errink) I prefer to play Ink, but I make zero guarantees in regards to characterization! Also I'm still sort of new to the established UTMV AUs. - Ink x (Corrupted) Nightmare (Inkmare) Same deal as above. Totes willing to play an evil version of Ink here. - Pale Ink x Template (... do they have a ship name?) While I have some small experience with writing Template, the hero complex he's got going didn't really "click" with me. I'd like to try Pale! A few last notes: I love the "First Encounter" trope and I'm fine with the full spectrum of fluff to grimdark. I will ‼️not‼️ do filth play, hyper, a/b/o, footplay, or 🍪. They aren't my cup of tea! Nearly anything else - provided it makes sense with characters involved - is fine, though. This includes dubcon, noncon, bdsm, actually toxic doomed yaoi, and so on, and so forth. I won't be writing novella replies - I average one to three paragraphs outside of things like transitional scenes. I sometimes disappear for days or weeks when my schizoid ass needs a break from socialization--this is your head's up. I have Discord and e-mail but you'll have to ask for either, and I'd prefer if interested parties slid into my DMs - I'm probably gonna forget about having sent this in like a week.

give a like and anon will get back to you

[cyberstudious]

what's it like studying CS?? im pretty confused if i should choose CS as my major xx

hi there!

first, two "misconceptions" or maybe somewhat surprising things that I think are worth mentioning:

there really isn't that much "math" in the calculus/arithmetic sense*. I mostly remember doing lots of proofs. don't let not being a math wiz stop you from majoring in CS if you like CS

you can get by with surprisingly little programming - yeah you'll have programming assignments, but a degree program will teach you the theory and concepts for the most part (this is where universities will differ on the scale of theory vs. practice, but you'll always get a mix of both and it's important to learn both!)

*: there are some sub-fields where you actually do a Lot of math - machine learning and graphics programming will have you doing a lot of linear algebra, and I'm sure that there are plenty more that I don't remember at the moment. the point is that 1) if you're a bit afraid of math that's fine, you can still thrive in a CS degree but 2) if you love math or are willing to be brave there are a lot of cool things you can do!

I think the best way to get a good sense of what a major is like is to check out a sample degree plan from a university you're considering! here are some of the basic kinds of classes you'd be taking:

basic programming courses: you'll knock these out in your first year - once you know how to code and you have an in-depth understanding of the concepts, you now have a mental framework for the rest of your degree. and also once you learn one programming language, it's pretty easy to pick up another one, and you'll probably work in a handful of different languages throughout your degree.

discrete math/math for computer science courses: more courses that you'll take early on - this is mostly logic and learning to write proofs, and towards the end it just kind of becomes a bunch of semi-related math concepts that are useful in computing & problem solving. oh also I had to take a stats for CS course & a linear algebra course. oh and also calculus but that was mostly a university core requirement thing, I literally never really used it in my CS classes lol

data structures & algorithms: these are the big boys. stacks, queues, linked lists, trees, graphs, sorting algorithms, more complicated algorithms… if you're interviewing for a programming job, they will ask you data structures & algorithms questions. also this is where you learn to write smart, efficient code and solve problems. also this is where you learn which problems are proven to be unsolvable (or at least unsolvable in a reasonable amount of time) so you don't waste your time lol

courses on specific topics: operating systems, Linux/UNIX, circuits, databases, compilers, software engineering/design patterns, automata theory… some of these will be required, and then you'll get to pick some depending on what your interests are! I took cybersecurity-related courses but there really are so many different options!

In general I think CS is a really cool major that you can do a lot with. I realize this was pretty vague, so if you have any more questions feel free to send them my way! also I'm happy to talk more about specific classes/topics or if you just want an answer to "wtf is automata theory" lol