#factory reset in progress

[fandomandangstlover]

ough,, I feel bad asking this and idek if I'm doing this right,, but,, could I maybe request some art of Domain and Forum hugging? Your art is always so squishy and it makes me happy whenever you upload one of your pieces,, :D

u doin it right!! dw!! & thank u :D!!

hopefully this is okay! hugs are not my strong suit,,

[forthedancingandthethriving]

Revamping what started this whole AU..

Factory Reset In Progress

(Reminder that Factory Reset is/was a collaborative effort between me, @fandomandangstlover , @duckapus , and several anons on Engie's (fandomandangstlover) blog! Credit and huge thanks to everyone who pitched in that day to help make this AU what it is now!)

(Orignal arc post!)

This isn't that huge because I'm just making major changes. Everything else is left alone, mostly because I see no need to change it. But ideas and suggestions are always welcome!

Efficiency Arc

A reminder that this is the first arc that kicks off the AU, and this is pre-character development for nearly every character. That, and the Higher-Ups/Admins/Code World have not been introduced. This revamp, however, is being made with the new world building we have!

The beginning of this Arc is relatively the same, with SMG4 being shown as more spacey, almost like he's in a trance. A change, though, is that some scenes are shown with SMG3 experiencing similar things, being spacey, and generally having a hard time focusing. When the two are together and like this, they work together scarily well, letting everyone know something wrong.

Like the old arc, it goes from 0 to 100 incredibly fast with The Coding where both SMG4 and SMG3 are reset. A big change, though, would be showing just how different they are now. They work together absolutely flawlessly, rarely voice any complaints, and are generally very distrustful of the others.

In Please Wake Up, stuff is massively changed. SMG1 and SMG2 don't know what's wrong with 3&4 this time around, but they are able to deduce that it's almost like they've been reset. But they do tell the gang their best bet of figuring out what's went wrong is by finding either 4 or 3's Pod.

The WOTFI goes the same, except we would get to see a scene of Mario meeting with Domain (but at the moment he doesn't know his name) after finding 3's Pod. Mario explains everything (he's shitting bricks the whole time) and we don't get Domain's answer, except for his eyes narrowing.

Of course, come when everyone looks lost in the battle, Mario arrives with the bow and arrows Domain and Forum gave him to give Singularity its just deserts. It's code crumbles away, but a few stray pieces manage to hide away and sneak their way back to the Pods..

There'd be a lot of emphasis on just how scary this is for everyone because this is completely different from everything that's happened, and it's giving Mario and Meggy some serious flashbacks to the Lawsuit Arc when everyone didn't remember them.

This also gives time for SMG4 to reflect once he's been freed, and he realizes how badly he's been treating Mario, and he decides that he needs to start being a better friend before something similar happens again.

When Mario gets asked how he managed to get that bow & arrow, he says the "Mario recolor in 3's Pod gave it to me-a!" Everyone goes to investigate, Domain isn't present. Everyone's very confused, but.. decide that, presently, its not something they should worry about.

As they leave, we get a full look at Domain, who only crosses his arms with a stoic face.

New Hope Arc

The arc that changes the most. There's still tons of aftereffects from Singularity's rampage, SMG4 and SMG3 being the most harmed. Their code is still incredibly fried and damaged, and SMG1&2 are clueless on this and how long it'll take for them to recover.

There's a lot of focus on recovery in their arc, and Lil Coding doesn't get introduced as early as he did last time. It's midway through the arc that he does, and it's because 4&3's code has gotten to the point where he actually needs to step up and intervene. Everyone is understandably suspicious, but the Code Manifestation simply does the code repairs and leaves as soon as he can.

It always bothered me how quickly everyone grew to trust Lil Coding, so it takes a while longer for them to come around to him. LC takes most of the initiative, coming around and helping his SMGs code and repairing it. It takes a while, but they do slowly come around.

Singularity hiding in Lil Coding's own code stays the same, and him progressively getting weaker as it takes his own code as well. The overflow command happens just the same, with Singularity coming back.

The Burden Arc

It's actually Lil Coding this time that says they need to go to the Pods, with him saying that this is something far out of his control and permission range, and they need the Admins. Everyone is confused (save for Mario), but they head to the Pods. There, we finally get the proper introduction of two of the three Admins for SM64: Domain and Forum.

We get some lore from them, them explaining that they're the Admins of 3&4 along with what Lil Coding is. Not everything is explained, of course, but we do get what's relevant and necessary to the plot.

Lil Coding and Singularity being linked stays the same, and of course, not wanting Lil Coding to end up dying, everyone looks for a way to separate them. Domain and Forum could do this, but they don't because remember. This is before all of the chatacter development everyone has had, so they're nowhere near as attached as they are now.

Eventually, Lil Coding does his thing to go and get rid of Singularity, but this time, instead of the whole stone statue thing, he's just in an indefinite power down mode until he heals. The electricity overload he does nearly completely fries his own code, but it does end up killing Singularity.

I think this is a good starting point for Domain and Forum's actual character development and to also plant the seeds of them being the SMG Prototypes. They are both incredibly confused by how upset everyone is and why they feel like something is repeating with how everyone's acting. So they decide to help out and speed up Lil Coding's recovery. I'll say that this is the start of their actual relationship with everyone.

[l0stw00d]

Ooo I would love to delete my entire existence from the internet and start overthinking but Unfortunately that is not Helpful or Healthy so y'all are stuck with me I guess. U are welcome for the gift that is my ongoing presence.

[lycankeyy]

Curious but how did you find about FNF? : 3

IM HOME HI honestlyyy I don't. Remember 2021 all too well so unfortunately I don't remember the specifics BDJWJDJ

I Think I found out about the same way most other people did which was like. One of the youtubers I watched playing it. Have no idea which one and I'm too lazy to check whether timelines match up or not but i assume it was one of the trend-hoppy fnaf youtubers I used to watch way more religiously a few years ago

I DO REMEMBER that I hopped in like. Two weeks or so before week 7 released. I was kind of quiet about being in the fandom back then bc I was pretty deep in "dni if you consume problematic media" circles at the time (which I have since thankfully escaped, I am so much happier and less anxious now LMFAO) but I feel like my strong interest in fnf (and pico's school) never like. Went away? Literally weekend 1 came out and I was like oh I think I can be unapologetic now *brain hits me with a car

[oriolespeaking]

why can't sideloading to kobo with calibre be simple and easy an perfect all the time

[oddlydescriptive]

Reset, Chapter One

Series Masterlist

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December 26, 2022. Milton Keynes, UK.

As bad things often do, it starts with wine and sentimentality-at least on your part. You’re not sure Max Verstappen is capable of something so pedestrian as sentiment.

You’ve shared… many things with Max. Loathing, mostly. But also a track, stuffy marketing events, opposite ends of long conference tables at the factory. A handful of tense, clipped conversations that ended in rolled eyes and barely concealed contempt. But loathing- yes, that’s the main thing.

And yet, here you are.

“Well?” His voice is low, rough around the edges. There’s entirely too little space between you, lips parted, eyes dark as sin. “What’s the verdict?”

The verdict?

For a moment, you can’t even remember what you were thinking before he spoke. Something important, probably. Something rational.

Oh. Right. 

How the fuck did this happen?

Wine. Loneliness. A sick desire for some version of Christmas that doesn’t completely fucking suck. Maybe that’s how this- the hot, consuming press of his mouth against yours, the breathless heat still lingering between you- combusted into existence. But that’s not how all of this started.

No. That started months ago, on a pit wall across the Atlantic. 

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

Five Months Before, August 20, 2022. Worldwide Technology Raceway.

There’s a reason they call it competitive suicide.

Dale Coyne Racing is where talent goes to die- where decent drivers get ground down into nothing, where you get ground down into nothing. There’s no faith, no investment, no future here. You’re not their driver. Not really. You’re a placeholder, a warm body they can shove into a car when the boss’s son wrecks one too many chassis. A novelty they can parade around when they need to pretend they’re modern and progressive- a woman in their car, see? How inspiring.

Their car is a joke. A Frankenstein’s monster of outdated concepts and desperate engineering, held together with duct tape, stubbornness, and wishful thinking. It handles like a shopping cart with a broken wheel, understeers into corners, and then suddenly- violently- snaps into oversteer when you least expect it. The power delivery is shit. The brakes are worse.

The engineers know it. They all know it.

And still, every time you fight tooth and nail just to drag the thing across the line, they act like you’re the problem. Like it’s you who’s asking too much from the car. Like you should be grateful for the opportunity to pilot this rolling embarrassment.

The worst part? You are grateful. Because there aren’t many other options.

Not many teams are lining up to hire a woman. That’s the real fucking truth, the one nobody likes to say out loud. You could be better than half the grid, but when it comes down to it, you’re not one of the boys. You don’t have an automatic in with the old-guard team bosses, the ex-drivers turned management who only see their past selves in the drivers they choose. So you grit your teeth, push the useless fucking thing as fast as it’ll go, and tell yourself that points are points, even if they’re scraped out of misery one at a time.

You’d rather be anywhere else.

But instead, you’re here- sitting in the tight, suffocating cockpit of your Dale Coyne IndyCar, fighting a machine that doesn’t want to cooperate. The steering feels like shit, the setup feels like shit, and the tires are giving up on you way too soon. You’re fighting with every muscle in your body just to wrangle the damn thing around the track, squeezing every last bit of pace out of a car that has no business being on this grid.

And then- impact.

A split-second warning, a flicker of movement in your mirrors, and then your own goddamn teammate- fucking idiot- clips your rear tire, sending you into a spin. Your stomach lurches as the car snaps around, momentum carrying you straight into the wall. The sickening crunch of carbon fiber shattering around you barely registers before you slam to a stop.

Silence. Then static in your ear.

"You alright?" Your engineer, not sounding particularly concerned. Not like this is surprising. You don’t answer. Not yet. You’re too busy breathing, swallowing down the molten rage rising in your throat.

Then you key the radio. "Yeah." Your voice is clipped, devoid of anything but the raw edge of exhaustion. You climb out of the car, shaking out your hands, flexing stiff fingers against the uselessness of it all. The safety crew checks you over, but you barely hear them. It takes everything in you to walk back to the pits instead of finding your dumbass teammate and tearing him apart with your bare hands.

You should have seen today’s disaster coming. Your teammate- if you can even call him that- has wrecked you before. It’s almost routine at this point. The team never does anything about it. No real reprimands, no apologies, no accountability. Just another shrug, another "racing incident," another round of well, if you had just backed off, maybe that wouldn’t have happened.

Back off.

As if you have the luxury of backing off when your entire fucking career is balanced on a knife’s edge.

And now here you are, standing in the garage, helmet in hand, jaw clenched so tightly it might snap. The garage is silent when you step in. Or maybe you just can’t hear past the blood roaring in your ears. The team- if you can call this pile of underqualified morons a team- is already moving on, treating you like an afterthought.

No one’s looking at you. No one’s talking to you. No one gives a shit. Your wrecked car is being wheeled back, and they’re already moving on, like you didn’t just get speared into the wall by your own goddamn teammate. You snatch your phone from your pile of things on the bench and jam it into the waistband of your fireproofs- retreat to a corner of the garage to seethe.

If you were on fire in the middle of the pit lane, these people wouldn’t piss on you to put it out.

Your seat was always temporary.

Your teeth grind so hard your skull aches. You’re two seconds from lighting someone up just to make them react to something, fucking anything, when your phone buzzes.

You pay it little mind, ready to ignore whatever fresh bullshit is waiting for you. Another racing journalist already circling for a soundbite? A patronizing text from your team about “unfortunate circumstances”? PR telling you to keep your answers positive in post-race interviews?

But when you wipe the sweat from the screen and squint, your frustration flickers into confusion.

Incoming Call — Unknown Number (Europe)

You stare at it. A telemarketer? A wrong number? A scam? The incoming call window closes, and you’re staring at your home screen again. (1) Missed Calls. 

You almost let it go. Almost toss your phone onto the table and keep pacing, keep seething. But something in you, some quiet, persistent part of your brain that still believes in Santa and unicorns, tells you to call back.

You hit the button. The line rings twice.

"LeChriste?" It’s crisp, clipped, professional. Male. Not familiar. But there’s something there- something sharp, something important.

Your grip tightens around your phone. "Yeah? Who’s this?"

"Franz Tost, team principal of Scuderia AlphaTauri." For half a second, you think you’ve imagined it. AlphaTauri. Formula 1. Franz Tost. The words don’t compute, don’t settle. It doesn’t make sense. Because why the fuck would someone from F1- someone from Red Bull’s junior team- be calling you?

"Right," you manage, forcing your voice to stay even. "And you’re looking for me?"

"I wouldn’t be calling otherwise." Fair enough.

You take a step back, pressing your fingers to your temple. Your heartbeat has changed- it’s not just pounding with anger now. It’s something else. Something sharper. "How’d you even get this number?"

"Christian Horner gave it to me."

Your stomach drops. Christian Horner. The team principal of Red Bull Racing. The guy running the best car on the grid, the one responsible for Seb Vettel’s dominance, for king-killer Max Verstappen, the guy at the helm of one of the biggest single seater operations in the world. That Christian Horner. 

You inhale through your nose, trying to keep your pulse steady, gripping your phone like a lifeline. Professional. Stay professional. "What can I do for you, Mr. Tost?"

There’s a slight pause before he speaks, like he’s already bracing himself. "I assume you’ve heard of Yuki Tsunoda?"

You let out a sharp, incredulous laugh before you can stop yourself. It’s too loud, too immediate. You wince at the sound of it, clearing your throat quickly to mask the awkwardness. "Uh, yeah," you say, forcing your voice back to neutral. "I watch Formula 1. Believe it or not."

There’s a long pause. Too long. Franz doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t react at all, really.

Jesus. Tough crowd.

"Good," he says finally, completely unfazed, his tone so dry it could ignite a brush fire. "He’s just undergone an emergency appendectomy. And we have a race in less than a week."

You freeze. Your heart picks up speed, but you force yourself to stay still. Stay neutral. Don’t react yet. "Right." You shift your weight. "And?"

"And I don’t have a lot of faith in our current reserve driver." Your lips part slightly. That’s… blunt. You weren’t expecting that level of honesty.

"So, what, you want me to- " you make a vague motion with your free hand, "-be the backup for the backup?"

"I want to see if you can be the backup," Franz corrects. Something cracks in your ribs. Not pain, not panic, but something more profound. The kind of break that feels like a door swinging open.

"Okay." The word comes out steadier than you expect, though your pulse is doing its best impression of a hummingbird’s wings. You square your shoulders, trying to sound measured and professional, like you totally understand what’s happening here and aren’t still two steps away from a full-blown existential crisis. "So you’re just… bringing me in? Throwing me in the car?"

"No." Franz’s voice is firm, edged with something that makes it very clear that whatever delusions you may have had need to be checked immediately. "You are being given a chance to earn a seat for the weekend. You will be tested. Evaluated. We have a reserve driver already- Liam Lawson. I assume you’ve heard of him?"

Your stomach clenches. Of course, you’ve heard of Liam. Red Bull’s academy prospect, the next in line, the logical heir to a temporary seat exactly like the one you’re being offered a chance to fight for. He’s been groomed for this, has the full weight of the Red Bull machine behind him, the kind of backing you don’t.

"Yeah," you say, and suddenly your mouth is dry.

"Good," Franz continues, tone unwavering. "You’ll both be in FP1. If you perform well enough- if you can out-pace him- we’ll consider putting you in the car for the full weekend. If you don’t, you’ll be on the next flight home, and we’ll pretend none of this ever happened."

The words hit like a bucket of ice water. You’d been holding onto this flickering belief- this idea that maybe, maybe, they had already decided you were good enough. That you were stepping into a race seat outright, even if just for a weekend. That someone, somewhere, had already chosen you.

They haven’t.

This is a gamble.

And you still have to win.

"So, just to be clear," you say slowly, dragging a hand down your face, "if I suck, I don’t go into quali?"

"Correct."

"And if I don’t suck?"

"Then we’ll talk about Saturday and Sunday."

You exhale sharply, jaw tightening. "Right. No pressure, then."

"There is pressure," Franz corrects. "You’ll also need to take media duties, regardless of how you perform. There’s already interest in the fact that a woman might be stepping into an F1 car for the first time in years. If we’re going to capitalize on that, we need you to be professional, presentable, and cooperative with PR."

The word capitalize sticks in your brain like gum on a shoe. "Ah." You blink, trying to process what he’s really saying. "So I’m a diversity hire?"

"No," he says flatly, no hesitation. "You are a marketing opportunity."

A sharp laugh leaves you before you can stop it, humorless and exasperated all at once. You pinch the bridge of your nose. "Fantastic."

"Do you have a problem with that?"

"No, no," you say quickly, shaking your head. "I love being a prop.”

There’s a pause, and you definitely hear him sigh this time. Not annoyed- more like resigned, like he already knows exactly what he’s about to get himself into. "We can’t pay you much," he says, not like it’s an afterthought, but like it’s a formality, a line he already knows won’t matter.

The laugh that escapes you this time is real, sharp and immediate. "I don’t care about money." The words leave you fast, without hesitation, because they’re true.

There’s a small beat of silence, and when he speaks again, his voice is edged with something knowing, something wry.

"Figured," he says, almost to himself. "The ones that probably should care about money never do." You don’t know if that’s a compliment, an observation, or a warning, but it doesn’t matter. You don’t hesitate. Not now. Not when the door is cracked open and all you have to do is walk through it.

"Done."

"Pack your bags," Franz says, and there’s something final in his tone. Like a line has just been drawn in the sand. "We need you in Belgium as soon as possible."

You’re already moving, already grabbing your duffel, stuffing things inside with quick, frantic movements like this opportunity might vanish if you take too long.

"I can be at STL in thirty-five minutes."

Franz doesn’t reply, but the call clicks off.

That’s it.

No fanfare. No congratulations. Just a chance. Just the fight you’re about to throw yourself into. And fuck, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

They don’t measure and weigh drivers by reaction times for nothing- you’re in motion before your phone has even gone back to the home screen. Every second you waste standing here is one more second someone else could be getting that call. That seat. That chance.

Your hands move on autopilot, shoving gear into your duffel with the frantic, uncoordinated speed of someone packing up their entire life in real-time. Fireproofs, helmet bag, travel essentials- you don’t stop to think, don’t stop to fold, don’t stop to make sense of what’s going where. It doesn’t matter. You need to go. You need to get on a fucking plane.

The zipper jams for half a second, and you nearly rip the damn thing off trying to get it closed.

Then you hear it. "Hey, 66! Reserve!" The voice echoes through the garage, sharp and accusatory. You don’t stop moving. "The fuck do you think you’re doing?"

Kevin.

Pit Boss. Team Manager. Professional asshole.

You should have expected this. Hell, you did expect this. You just thought you might have gotten out before he caught you. That was a mistake. You glance up, keeping your expression level, because no matter what comes out of his mouth next, you are not letting this guy see you rattled. "Packing."

His face is already turning red. It’s almost funny- like he’s been waiting for this exact moment just to finally unleash on you. The same man who never looked at you twice unless he needed something, unless the boss’s son had embarrassed himself one too many times and they needed you to come in and scrape together whatever dignity the team had left.

But now?

Now that you’re leaving?

Suddenly, you’re the most important fucking thing in the world.

"Packing? You think you can just fucking pack? Where the fuck do you think you’re going? We have a race happening, in case you forgot!"

You shoulder your bag, biting down hard on the instinct to snap back. You’re already halfway out the door. You do not need to burn every bridge on your way out. Racing is a small world. Even in a shithole like this, people talk.

"I appreciate the opportunity- "

"Appreciate the- " He lets out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. "You’re really doing this? You’re just fucking walking out?"

"Yes."

The word lands between you, clean and final.

And that is what sets him off.

"Unbelievable," Kevin snarls, stepping in closer, voice rising. "Do you have any fucking clue what you’re doing? You think anyone else is going to take you? Give me a fucking break, kid. You’re here because no one else wanted you. You’re nothing without us."

You should ignore him. You should just keep walking. But something about the way he says it- the pure audacity- stops you cold. Because it’s not just an insult. It’s what they’ve always thought.

They never saw you as a driver. Not really.

Dale Coyne Racing has never been a real team, not in the way the others were. Their entire philosophy was built around pay drivers, the rich boys who bought their way in, who treated their race seats like VIP experiences- something their daddy’s money entitled them to. And because of that, the whole team functioned like a luxury service in kissing ass. The staff were there to cater to them, to make them feel like real race car drivers, even if they were absolute fucking shit.

And you?

You were not a customer.

You were the help.

The help that wasn’t even part of the boys’ club. A placeholder. A seat filler. Someone to throw in when their sweet, precious nepo baby couldn’t hack it. And they never let you forget it.

Ever.

But now that you’re leaving?

Now that the only driver who’s managed to score any points, the only driver keeping them from looking like an absolute joke, is walking away? Now it’s an emergency. Now it’s an insult.

Kevin takes a step closer, voice dropping into something venomous. "You know what? Go ahead. Get the fuck out. But when you crash and burn- when whatever bullshit gig you think you’re getting falls through- you better not fucking come back here expecting a seat. Because this? Right here? Was the only shot you were ever going to get."

You stare at him for a second, pulse steady, unreadable. Then you shake your head, more to yourself than to him.

"Then I guess I have no fucking choice but to make it work."

You don’t wait for his reaction. You turn on your heel, bag slung over your shoulder, and walk out of the garage without looking back.

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

The fluorescent lights overhead hum with an unsettling buzz, casting an unforgiving glow over the airport bathroom. The mirror in front of you reflects the mess you already know is there- the damp strands of hair curling at your temples, the sheen of sweat still clinging to your skin, the streaks of dirt and grease smudged across your jaw where you wiped at your face with a gloved hand during the race. Your Dale Coyne racesuit, still zipped up to your collarbone, looks even worse in this lighting, the fabric stained with oil, rubber, and whatever remnants of the track had clung to you before you’d walked out of that godforsaken garage for the last time. The fireproofs underneath stick uncomfortably to your skin, trapping the warmth of a race that already feels a lifetime ago.

People have been staring since you walked into STL, their glances lingering just a little too long, their hushed whispers and quick double takes barely concealed. You saw a few curious expressions, some with the kind of recognition that comes from people who know just enough about motorsport to be intrigued. Others just saw something out of place- an exhausted driver in a sweaty, dirt-streaked racesuit wandering through an airport like she had nowhere better to be.

You don’t care.

You grip the sink, fingers pressing into the cold porcelain as you drop your head, squeezing your eyes shut. Your pulse is still high, not from exertion, not even from frustration anymore, but from the sheer weight of what you’ve just done. You tell yourself it was the right decision. That it was necessary. That this is the step you were meant to take. But right now, standing in this too-bright, too-sterile bathroom, still feeling the phantom grip of a steering wheel in your hands, all you can think is what the fuck did I just do?

This has to work.

It has to.

You’d felt the moment your parents got the news. You hadn’t needed to hear their voices to know. It was as if the air itself had thickened with their disappointment, their frustration, their fear for you. Their anger wasn’t loud, wasn’t furious- it never was. Your dad would sigh, rub a hand down his face, mutter something about you needing a goddamn plan for once in your life. Your mother’s voice would be quiet, measured, more pointed than anything your father could say.

"Honey, please tell me you didn’t just burn it all down for a gamble."

But you did. You gambled everything.

Dale Coyne might have been a dead end, a team you despised with every fiber of your being, but it was a seat. It was IndyCar. It was a career that your parents had spent their entire lives trying to give you. The penny-pinching, the loans, the sleepless nights, the sacrifices you could never repay- Indy was the shot it had all been for. And you just walked away from it.

You tighten your grip on the sink, forcing down the lump rising in your throat. This isn’t regret. It can’t be. You made your choice, and now you have to fucking own it.

No one is going to save you if this goes sideways. There is no safety net waiting to catch you. If you fail in Belgium, if you don’t perform, if you don’t impress them enough to keep you for the full weekend, you’ll be on the next flight home with nothing.

No seat. No team. No future.

But that’s not going to happen.

You lift your head, staring yourself down in the mirror, taking in every sharp, raw edge of your reflection. You see the exhaustion, the stubborn set of your jaw, the faint tremble in your fingers from too much adrenaline and too little certainty. But beneath all of that, beneath the chaos, there’s something else. Something that has always been there.

Determination.

This is going to work. You swear it to yourself.

You will learn faster. You will push harder. You will do whatever it takes to make sure that when Friday rolls around and you get in that car, you earn your place. You didn’t walk away from everything just to fail. You didn’t burn it all down just to stand in the ashes.

Your parents are pissed. Loving, always, but pissed.

They’ll forgive you when this works.

You push away from the sink, rolling your shoulders back, exhaling slow through your nose. You should change, should clean up, should at least try to look like someone worthy of an F1 seat. There’s a fresh set of clothes buried somewhere in your duffel- a t-shirt, a pair of jeans, something normal, something that wouldn’t make you stand out like a sore thumb walking through the airport. But the thought of peeling this racesuit off, of stripping away the evidence of where you’ve been before you’ve even arrived at where you’re going, feels… wrong.

The weight of the fabric clings to you, sweat and exhaustion pressing into the seams. The patches of oil, the streaks of dirt, the faint, acrid scent of burnt rubber still woven into the material- it all sticks, like a brand, like a mark of what you’re running from. This suit, this thing you’ve poured yourself into for the past year, isn’t just a uniform. It’s a living symbol of suffering. It’s the proof of every shit race, every pointless debrief, every time you sat in a meeting knowing you weren’t actually being heard, just humored. The soul-crushing effort you gave, the hours you spent studying data, giving feedback, clawing your way to mediocrity because that was all the car would ever allow you to be.

Dale Coyne Racing. The team that would never carry you, only use you. The team that wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire, that never let you forget you were just the help, a temporary piece they plugged in when their real drivers- their customers- floundered too much.

You should take the suit off. Should strip yourself of the dead weight. Be done with it.

But it doesn’t feel right.

Instead, it feels like penance. Like a burden you should carry for a little longer. Maybe it’s some twisted sense of self-punishment, or maybe it’s something deeper- something driving you. If you wear this suit through the airport, if you sit with it for just a few more hours, maybe it’ll push you harder. Maybe it’ll remind you that you can never be here again. That you won’t be.

That you will shed this skin.

That the next time you take off a racesuit, it won’t be this one.

That when you peel off the next set of fireproofs, they won’t carry the weight of failure, of stagnation, of being someone’s last-minute fill-in. They’ll belong to a respectable driver. To someone who fought and won. To someone who proved she deserved to take this one off.

You glance at yourself in the mirror one last time, the reflection of the Dale Coyne logos, the Honda badge, the grime-streaked collar sitting heavy on your skin. You meet your own gaze, holding it steady, knowing- knowing- this is the last time you’ll ever wear this thing.

You swear it.

You’ll take it off when you’ve earned the right to.

Then, without another second of hesitation, you turn on your heel and walk out of the bathroom, still wearing the evidence of the past, still carrying the weight of it. The stares continue as you weave through the terminal, but you don’t even flinch. You know where you’re going.

The next flight to Spa-Francorchamps.

And the start of the rest of your fucking life.

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

As hyped, as promised- here is the first chapter of Reset, my MV33 x reader fic that's been in the works for.... 9 months, more or less. A few things to understand:

1- This fic has been written in pieces, over the course of many months, in all sorts of mental states and writing skills. As I edit, I try to edit for consistency of tone and keeping the overarching themes, but I'm just one person. Constructive criticism is always welcomed but cut me some slack.

2- This will devolve into explicit content within a few chapters. For those who are here for that, please bear with me as we build up this sweet, sweet burn. I promise I'll make it worth the wait- we're going on a journey here, not just writing p0rn. For minors or those that don't wish to read that, it may be best not to get attached to a fic that will turn into something you don't want.

3- The reader is afab. I try to remain inclusive and ambiguous where I can, but the nature of the story sometimes is less so. I love all of my readers, and I hope you can find joy in this story regardless. <3 She also has a last name, but I try to keep references to it to a bare minimum.

[marzzthehuman]

Okay so for my ii gijinkas i have a really smart thought and texi said i should tell the world because i am just that smart (/silly)

Oh also ii17-18 spoilers

So. in ii17 when everyone died and COULD NOT be revived (this is important) i think that they would have all ‘reset.’ 

Keep in mind that normal revival would not do this. As the contestants progress through the show, they change their appearance. (like clothes, hair, etc.) and since mephone is going through the show with them and seeing them as they compete he knows what their styles are and how they present themselves, so when he revives them they come back the way that they were right when they died. (with some altercations, for example if someone was injured when they are revived they wouldn't be injured) 

But, in ii17-18 when mephone could NOT revive them, mephonex/cobs did something (like some kind of hacking) so that mephone could not revive them, basically causing a ‘factory reset’ for all the contestants. This means that however they looked before they died, they did not save. Meaning that they look exactly like mephone wanted them to. Their default. (aka what they looked like at the start of the show/when they joined)

What I mean is that they would look like what mephone imagined them to be (as we see in the scene where he is drawing the contestants.) their hair, clothes, makeup, whatever would be what mephone came up with when he came up with the show. 

Obviously, it wasn't a total factory reset, because as we see all the contestants still retain character development and also the big thing, still exists. 

Let me use my taco gijinka as an example. 

At the start of the show, we see her with long sleeves (displaying she is armless) and messy hair. When she reveals her arms, she pulls her hands out from her sleeves to display that yes, she actually has arms. (long sleeves playing on the retractable arm thing). 

In season 2, we see her appear more ‘villain’ like, and more businesslike and professional. We see her wearing nicer, more businesslike clothes. Her hair is very neat, and we see her roots have grown out. She also has heavy eyeshadow (showing she is a badass villain). When she gets the bowtie, it stays on her person until we see her die in ii17/her in mephone with everyone else in ii18. 

In ii18/movie her design has changed from her s2. It is similar to her s1, but there are differences. Instead of a long sleeve shirt under her tacocat shirt, we see a tank top. Her hair is neater than we see it in s1, but still a bit messy. 

You may be asking, “but Marzz, that's not what her s1 design looks like, and you said that everyone went back to their default!” Well that's just it! Since taco put on a front at the start of the show, she changed her appearance so she would fit the character she was playing. The reason her s1 outfit stayed was because that's how mephone saw her, his most recent memory of her was her wearing that outfit. That's why it was saved. 

What mephonex/cobs did was basically a memory wipe or, as i said, factory reset. Everyone was reverted back to their true defaults. So, if, for example, salt and pepper were wearing late 2000s/early 2010s fashion at the start of the show (because that is when the show started), their fashion may have changed a bit as time went on, but when they are reset in ii18, they go back to their s1 hair and outfits. Contestants who changed their appearance to be more complicated (more accessories, more intricate hairstyles) would be reverted back to their more simple outfits from when they joined the show. 

Okay i hope that made sense lol. Just wanted to get my thoughts out there haha

[pawsometoons]

Dream BBQ Countdown!

Day 16: WIRE (Abnormalor and Polygona)

Oh my GOD this bitch was a pain to draw. You don't even know. I had to do that shading you see on her dress and stuff PIXEL BY GODDAMN PIXEL.

Aaanyways, both WIRE's name and design are based off of an aesethic puzzle blog website called Wired Sounds for Wired People. In return, Wire's appearance would be slightly inspired by the character Lain from Serial Experiments Lain, who is a character that's very focused upon in the website.

If you've seen my post of PAW and ИIЯƎ , You'll know that they were created by a scientist who was thought to be deceased after a terrible accident. But that's not entirely true. That scientist was and became WIRE. She was the one who created the two artificial Polygona, yet she remembers none of it. Her mind is a total blank, barely unable to feel or thank for herself and aimlessly wandering the vastness of the physical and digital worlds.

WIRE's real name is unknown since only PAW and ИIЯƎ know that information. But have never distributed it since they never want anyone to know their relations to WIRE. WIRE had created these artifical Polygona, mostly just to see if she could. PAW was the first to be made, though she came out unstable, both physically and emotionally. ИIЯƎ was created in an attempt to perfect the mistakes made before, but she ended up the same way. Instead of discarding of these creations, WIRE kept the two around as lab assistants. It was until WIRE had begun working on a machine that could easily transport her into digital realms when things went terribly wrong. She had been making some good progress on the machine after working on it for some time until PAW and ИIЯƎ had accidentally gotten in the way due to their emotional instabilities that caused a fight between them. They had gotten too close to WIRE and her work, causing the two to accidentally knock their creator into the mess of wires connected to the machine. She became entangled within the wires as the ends of them scratched away and dug into her skin, distorting her body and mind! PAW and ИIЯƎ ran away from the lab and separated and swore to never speak of this to anyone ever...

The whole incident from so long ago has affected WIRE not only mentally and physically, but the entire way her brain works has been completely corrupted. When that incident took place, afterwards, the memory of the incident and anything before that was taken away from her. Kind of like removing a corrupted hard drive from a computer and factory resetting it. And if somebody or something causes her to even slightly remember any of it, like putting the corrupted drive back in, she will begin to break down. But not entirely in an emotional way but also technical wise aswell. Again, like if you took a corrupted hard drive or a hard drive that had a virus in it into a computer and booted it up. The memories are corrupted, so if you tried to put them back in, she would start to go haywire.

WIRE is now considered a Classified ENA with a threat level of 5/5. The highest there is. Once sighting and encounters with her started, a warning was issued all throughout Abnormalor of per presence. And to NOT interact or engage under ANY circumstances.

[skekthesilly]

so like i just got flashbanged (FLASHBANG?????) with a memory id completely forgotten. basically i'd just gotten a new laptop and was goiong to give my old one to my mom - i told her i'd reset everything on there for her so it'd work like new. i transferred all my old stuff to mo new laptop and prepared to reset my old laptop.

i'd never factory reset anything before. the word "reset" always scared me. i'd just be wiping everything. everything. like all the little experiences and memories i'd shared with this little laptop would be gone. forgotten. destroyed. like they'd never happened. i'd always grow an emotional attachment to everything that i could see or touch - getting rid of it would break my heart into a million pieces. but here, it was necessary.

going to settings, i'd find the little option that would wipe everything from that little pc. i hesitated. i didn't want to wipe everything. it would be like killing a friend. i couldn't do that. but it was only a laptop. i shouldn't have to feel so bad! it was an object. it doesn't have feelings. it's inanimate. but i couldn't shake this feeling of terror, of guilt. i'd be killing a friend. i couldn't do this to them.

my traitorous hands moved, clicked that little button before i was ready - and a little blue screen showed up. "are you sure?" was i sure? no, no. i wasn't. go back. go back. but my body refused to listen as it clicked yes.

i had to watch as they turned black. as they booted up. but instead of that familiar glow of a background, there was a little progress bar. moving sluggishly, slowly, taunting me. you have to watch your little laptop get killed. and it's all your fault.

i sat there, eyes locked onto that little bar as it inched its way to the other side too slow. it was doing this on purpose. it wanted to relish in my agony. it wanted me to watch as they were slowly, slowly deleted from existence. to become a husk of what they used to be.

i rubbed my thumb on their touchpad, whispering softly to them that everything would be okay. that it would be painless. that they would wake up and everything would be normal.

for an hour, i did not move from their side. as their fan weakly whirred, a little plea for help as their very being was dissolved into nothing but the ones and zeros that made up their code. i watched the bar crawl from 10%, to 50%, to 90%, to 99%...

then they turned black. and when they woke up, they did not recognize me.

anyways this is how it finally sank in today that i think im techum

[vatiiagames]

Vessel of Harkahn || Update #7 01/16/25

Hello everyone! I hope you're all doing well.

I know I posted another update recently, but I figured a more formal one was well overdue! I come bearing some great news.

In my prior update I had mentioned that with the PC problems I encountered and after resorting to the factory reset, I had lost all of my coding and progress for Vessel of Harkahn. I was unaware that you're able to pull the code up on DashingDon.

With that knowledge, I pulled all of my coding off and pasted it into several docs. I've Frankensteined said docs back together and test ran it and it's mostly fine! There needs to be some tweaks here and there, but it's like 95% okay lol. I will be revising the demo as a whole and changing things if need be.

I had also mentioned that change was coming to the game as well. I will NOT be removing the secret ROs, as they are vital characters to the plot, but I think their romance routes from here out will probably play a more minor role. I had already started off VoH with six strong ROs; adding three more into the mix with plans of complete routes for all nine ROs had me feeling somewhat overwhelmed.

I felt like I had bitten off more than I could chew with this being my first ChoiceScript project. I think putting the secret ROs on more of a backburner will help fix this, but I am not entirely certain. There will still be flirt options, special scenes, and romance stats for the secret ROs. I don't plan on changing that whatsoever.

I do apologize if this is disappointing. I would like to find a happy medium and I think this is it. I have always viewed Vessel of Harkahn as a trilogy, and I have enough planning (though scatterbrained, lol) to support that. I think all six main routes, along with the three minor routes, will each have their time to shine within the plot.

Progress on Vessel of Harkahn will begin to pick up here soon. I was feeling extremely discouraged thinking I had lost all of my coding, but now knowing that I haven't I feel more determined to start working on things again.

With that being said, I will be migrating the demo from DashingDon to cogdemos.ink before the end of the month! I was kindly informed by a few people on here that Dashingdon is shutting down at the end of the month and to spread the word. I'm extremely saddened to see it go, but I understand the necessity as well. Please pass on the message to any others! I will be sharing some posts as well.

Thank you all and I hope you've had a great week so far! Until next time! <3

[fandomandangstlover]

murders by miracle musical is giving me Lil Coding & their Mirror Selves vibes...

[forthedancingandthethriving]

*taps mic and leans in*

Reset!Forum and Reset!Domain having an absolutely massive fight while still reset once Domain learns that Forum ended the factory reset on 4 early. And him saying that they are nothing but programs, and that they don't need family, or friends, or anyone else, because it's useless to care about beings that are below them

And while Forum argues back, Domain wonders why his chest ached so much when he said that.

[spectralarchers]

𝗔𝗻𝗱𝗿𝗼𝗶𝗱 𝗔𝗨 // Ghost is a human, Soap is an android and is damaged in combat. He needs a reboot and Ghost needs to make the decision: do they wipe Soap's memory or try to salvage what's left of his hard drive?

- 600 words -

___

The sound of shuffling feet precedes the door opening. Ghost stumbles into the room, wide eyed and out of breath.

"How is he?"

There's no immediate response. R.O.A.C.H.s eyes - actually cameras equipped with LED's - shift from blue to orange.

The Robotic Operations and Automated Control Hub doesn't know. Ghost doesn't blame it.

Ghost wipes his face and comes to stand behind the glass wall keeping him from Soap. One of his palms lays flat against it, and he watches as R.O.A.C.H. gets to work on Soap.

They'd hit heavy fire. Soap had been running overwatch, keeping an eye on Ghost's back until he'd stopped responding.

After the smoke had settled and the firefight had stopped, Ghost had climbed to the rooftop to find his friend.

Well.

Friend and 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥.

Soap was as much a robot as R.O.A.C.H. was. He was a Strategic Offensive Autonomous Platform, developed by the 141 Corporation to assist soldiers on tedious missions.

The only difference between R.O.A.C.H. and Soap was that well.

Soap was an android.

Equipped with soft silicone skin, bright blue eyes and pupils that reacted to light and his entire being seemed so realistic that it had 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘥 Ghost out at first to be paired with such a platform.

Until it had stopped being odd to have S.O.A.P. at his back.

Until S.O.A.P. had become 𝘚𝘰𝘢𝘱.

Soap currently laid out on a metal table with his circuitry visible and laid bare, wires poking out of his chest and the side of his head, with R.O.A.C.H.'s mechanical fingers and tongs working on adjusting everything back into place.

There's a beep and the screen on Ghost's side of the glass wall lights up with green words.

ᴍᴀɪɴ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ ᴅᴀᴍᴀɢᴇᴅ. ꜰɪʟᴇꜱ ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛᴇᴅ. ꜱᴜꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴠɪʀᴜꜱ ɪɴꜰᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ. ᴘʀᴏᴄᴇᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʀᴇʙᴏᴏᴛ?

"What does a reboot do?" he asks.

The screen idles as R.O.A.C.H. formulates an answer.

ɪꜰ ɪɴꜰᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴠɪʀᴜꜱ, ꜱ.ᴏ.ᴀ.ᴘ. ᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛꜱ ᴀ ꜱᴇᴄᴜʀɪᴛʏ ʀɪꜱᴋ. ʀᴇʙᴏᴏᴛɪɴɢ ᴇʟɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪꜱᴋ.

Ghost sighs. "What about his hard drive? Will it… reboot that too?"

ᴄᴏʀʀᴇᴄᴛ

Wiping his palm over his face, Ghost's other hand balls into a fist as he bangs it against the glass wall.

"Fuck," he mutters.

If he doesn't let R.O.A.C.H. perform the reboot and Soap has been infected with a virus - either malware or something worse…

He's not sure he'd ever be able to put him down with the back up security protocol the 141 Corporation had given him. One single kill word which would cause Soap to self destruct.

But if he 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 let R.O.A.C.H. reboot him, then he'd lose the contents of his hard drive.

All his memories would be wiped as Soap became S.O.A.P. again. Hard factory reset. Start from scratch again.

An echo of Soap's Scottish brogue echoes in Ghost's ears as he looks at the blinking orange LEDs of R.O.A.C.H.'s eyes waiting for instructions.

"Fix him."

The LED's shift to green at the order, and the screen lights up with R.O.A.C.H.'s response.

ɪɴɪᴛɪᴀᴛɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴘᴀɪʀꜱ. ᴇꜱᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴅᴜʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: 5 ʜᴏᴜʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ 12 ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇꜱ.

Ghost clears his throat as he looks over his shoulder. "Let me know how it progresses."

ᴀꜰꜰɪʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ.

He watches as sparks illuminate the repair room and Soap's lifeless body disappears behind R.O.A.C.H.'s large mechanical body, other smaller machines coming in to assist in the repairs of the android.

Was the risk worth it?

Probably not.

The 141 Corporation would produce another android if this one was faulty. Or infected with malware.

But Soap was more than just a robot to Ghost. So much so that it was worth the attempt to salvage his internal memory. Even if it put everyone on base at risk.

[9w1ft]

I always interpreted evermore as a song about depression, I never linked it to Kaylor, can you tell me your view on this song?

dang i had a conversation about this with someone several months ago but i can’t find it. ill give you the abridged version. firstly, i think it can be about both! because the situation got depressing there for a hot minute!!

taylor said in an interview with zane lowe for apple music that she had written the song when the election was upon us and she didn't know what was going to happen. evermore the album was released in december 2020, which suggests that she wrote it pretty close to the release date, but also had time to reflect on what she knew to be true before releasing it— that trump wouldn’t win reelection. there’s a billboard article where she talks about the moment she learned biden won and i think it meshes really well with how evermore concludes thematically and emotionally.

when we think about the impact that trump being elected had on kaylor back in 2016–throwing a birthday party for lorde only days before the 2016 general election and wearing the vsfs angel wing ring in public for the first time, and that picture of them both kissing lorde on the cheek, going from that to at once enacting a love blackout and never being seen regularly in public again (the next time being rep tour 2018)— and on top of that, them going out of their way to separate themselves in the media via the creation of a “feud” during 2017 (swish swish, sushigate, etcetera) which pitted karlie with katy perry and kanye and cast her as someone for swifties to hate, guilty by association, we can imagine the weight and sadness of this chapter in their story. this is the start of the pain. this choice (i consider it a choice), to take the battle underground, sunk kaylor little by little into the world of the improbable for any casual observer. and it also put somewhat of a hex on karlie indefinitely, and for as brave of a soldier as she is, its an awful long while to be put in jail for something you didn’t do.

with these details as the background, i consider evermore to be a song chiefly about 2019 onward, though you might also position some of the date markers in the song within a sort of 2016/2017 focused timeframe. personally though i tend to think that 2019 events work just as well and operate under similar themes. for example, “hey november i’ve been down since july” could be in reference to the period of time where it became slowly more clear that the 2016 election results might not be a non-starter. or, it could reference the day after the masters sale (which was end of june 2019) and the theorized “failed coming out” that many expected her to do at the new york city pride parade that week. this followed by november, the conclusion of editing Miss Americana which would be released the following month (“motion capture put me in a bad light”) or alternatively november 2020, the point at which she is writing this song. there’s also an lsk theory that taylor and karlie were broken up from july to november 2019 but im not so versed in that so i’ll just keep it to a mention.

in any case, “hey december” can circle back to miss americana being released, not as a coming out documentary but as a “political coming out” documentary. hence the “can’t remember what i used to fight for.”

or it could be both, in a way. for example rewinding the tape but all it does is pause on the very moment all was lost could be both the rewinding of the miss americana documentary released in 2019, and/or perhaps conceptually the idea of the 2016 election night footage being rewound by everyone in the disbelief that occured the night that “all was lost”

because all was lost that night, in a way, no?

i tend to see justin vernon’s part as being a depiction of karlie after kaylor was exiled to a new level post the masters sale. i don’t mean this to say they were broken up. it’s just that they had to do a factory reset on a lot of the progress that had been made up until that point, and they would not be seen together (in order to accomplish some vigilante shit, is what i think anyway). back to justin vernon’s lines. it just reminded me deeply of all the hate karlie got that summer. and indeed, all the hate she had accrued until then. whether summer or winter, this feuding arc had put karlie in a position that i would argue was growing unbearable and incessant. “out on waves im being tossed, is there a line that i could just go cross?” referring to the latest wave of said hate. in this scenario, “can’t not think of all the cost and the things that would be lost oh can’t we just get a pause to be certain we’ll be tall again?” seems like karlie calling out to taylor, amidst the haze and confusion of the masters sale, think about everything that we would be giving up if you don’t come out right now. (think of me.). and then upon that line leading nowhere saying hey let’s pause before we hurt each other, to be certain we will make it through. here “tall again” reminds me of paper rings “standing here so tall”

so what of the ending? well, as a time marker i would once again refer to when the song was released, post-2020 election, where taylor saw that trump had lost and they would have a path forward. …covid-19 was yet to happen of course, and with that i think there were life priority shifts, but i just see evermore as a song that covers taylor and karlie seeing a light at the end of the tunnel that had been their love lockdown to love blackout to exile story. its a song that encompasses so much hope and i just really really really love it as a kaylor song because of the specificity with which you can tie it to their story, specifically a more contemporary chapter, the likes of which we hadn’t had too many songs depicting up until that point (basically just peace/hoax/the lakes).

so yeah that’s why it’s a kaylor song to me 🫶

[seannessy]

⚠️POLITICS⚠️ - so, what the hell just happened

yep your favorite catboy political scientist is back. regarding that last political science post about all the reasons why i thought Kamala would win im not going to beat around the bush here, i was not just wrong, but i was mega wrong. a lot of us were. so? what happened?

the long and short of it is that we are currently in the Death of Liberalism as an ideology. i have data to back this up, but i think we can all sort of feel it in the vibes too, right? the Trump campaign won because they were Populists, and the Kamala campaign lost because they couldn't get rid of the weight around their neck that was their association with the Liberalism status quo in the eyes of the voters.

look across the board, states that went strong red also had massive turnout for very progressive policies. Florida had a 57% support for a state constitutional amendment to make Abortion a civil right (of course, it still lost, because in Florida in order to win with civil rights issues like this you actually need 60% of the vote, because the same people who made the Florida election system also went to Florida schools). and keep in mind, this was when left leaning voters were largely staying home, its the republican voters who are supporting these kinds of things, because they're populist.

if you want even more proof, look at the demographics that trump gained massive support bases in this election cycle. largely, they are exactly the same ones that were energized by the Bernie campaign.

the biggest takeaway from this, and the only one i can really remember after for 2 hours trying to get this post finished through 2 factory resets of firefox to get it to actually do something, is that Populism Sells, and Institutionalism just doesn't anymore.

we're in a new world, politically, there really arent any historical parallels that i can point to to compare. if you want some advice for what to do now, then just make sure you're prepared in the case of an emergency, make sure you're keeping in touch with all of your friends, and build relationships in your community and neighbors. at this point, building up our local and interpersonal infrastructure is all we can do right now.

[dice-sociation]

Girls Who Don’t DnD

Quick Info

Audio Quality: High-Quality Audio, Effects, Music. (Occasional fan-submitted recordings)

Vibes: Throne of Glass, Doctor Who, Alice in Wonderland, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Princess and the Pauper

Extras: Patreon rewards, Discord Community with Book Club, and more!

System: 5e DnD

Campaign/ Show Length: Long Term Campaign

Average Episode time: 1.5 Hours (varies a bit)

Uploads 1 episode a month. 

Diversity: Majority Women

Platforms: Podcast, Audio Only. 

Number of Episodes This Review is based on: 30+ 

** If you want the TLDR, scroll to the bottom of the post **

Why Girls Who Don’t DnD?

How often have you said to yourself, “Man, I wish I could experience that for the first time again?” While we can’t reset your brain, you can live vicariously through the Girls Who Don’t D&D podcast. 

If you're looking for a podcast with relaxed gameplay, fantastic humor, great editing, and effects, you should read on to learn more. This wonderful adventure showcases the beautiful experience of watching three girls fall in love with Dungeons and Dragons (D&D). 

Starting the Pod

The podcast starts with Cory, the Dungeon Master (DM), explaining that he has invited three girls, Indy, Alana, and Stacey, who have never played D&D, into his world of Kalee with premade characters. If you, the listener, haven’t played before, you’ll learn a lot just from listening. Cory purposely doesn’t edit out explanations of how to play. I’m confident my experience was better because I was still learning to play the game myself as I started listening.

Right from the start you will hear how much work Cory puts into editing and pre-recording. He recruits people to voice-act for non-player characters (NPCs) or to play out memories or scenes. Some additions are just for the listeners, giving us a little extra information about the lore of the world. This includes the origin of magical artifacts, gods, and sometimes an NPC’s perspective that the players don’t get to hear.  It feels like listening to an audiobook and honestly, I think “booktok” would love Girls Who Don’t DnD. 

We learn that the three player characters, Freya, Kaa'Riin, and Morrigan, have lost their memories and need to recover them. The story and the discovery of who the player characters are and what happened to them work in tandem with the players themselves learning the game in a beautiful way. 

Power gamers and hardcore strategy? We don’t need that here. (Tosses book over shoulder). This group is made of story-tellers who usually choose to progress the narrative over strategy. At first, it's like watching Without A Recipe or the British Bake Off challenge where they have no clue what they are supposed to be making. This makes it all the more special when the players get more comfortable with the gameplay and more grounded in their characters. 

About the Team

Cory, "(who owns all the books but hasn't read them)"* completely absorbs the chaos the girls bring to the table and somehow also keeps them immersed in the story. He holds onto the rules of D&D loosely, letting his players use their abilities in different and unique ways. You still get full epic fights with no pulled punches, yet they feel more cinematic than the usual D&D grind. Outside of combat, Cory introduces challenging puzzles and encounters that present more opportunities for his players to think outside the mechanics of the game.

I adore Alana, Indy, and Stacy. I have some difficulty with telling their voices apart, but I never felt like that took away from my enjoyment of the show. Over time they develop their characters and have different play styles. They all have so much personality and bring their own flavor to the table. 

Indy, playing Freya the Rogue, has to be the most classic of first-time players, starting a little hack-and-slash happy, but eventually, she gets really into the strategy of the game. Freya is a cheeky scamp of a character and Indy leans naturally into the rogue class.  

Alana, playing Morrigan the Sorcerer, is usually the most sensible of the group. She is a leader in a way. There is so much more I want to say but I can't think of anything that isn't a big spoiler. Playing a sorcerer for your first time playing D&D is never easy, but Cory was able to ease her into the role and she runs with it.

Stacey, playing Kaa'Riin the Bearbarian (Druid with some Barbarian), has some epic combat moments. She can change from one animal to another without reverting to humanoid form, which deviates from traditional Druid rules. This decision, as well as other tweaks of the rules, help the pacing of the overall production. 

And sure, you're probably thinking their whole schtick is that they don't know D&D, so wouldn't it lose its charm after they get better? Absolutely not. Not even a little bit. This table is casual, silly, charming, and gripping. They make me feel like I am with my best friends playing our chaos gremlins together. 

A special shout to Mia Stegner (https://www.miastegner.com/) who composed and performed the opening and closing songs. It’s the cherry on top of this podcast sunday.

*Referenced from the Podcast Description. https://www.girlswhodontdnd.com/ 

About the world

“There is a saying among the good people of Kalee, when you know what is right, do what is right, and then deliver it all into the endless sea” From Episode 1: Throw it Into the Sea, Aug 16, 2021.

Cory presents a world both complex and informed by the player's choices and features some of the more bizarre parts of typical High Fantasy settings. 

There is just something so satisfying about learning the characters' backstories and how their stories are expertly baked in the many-layered cake that makes the world. Flavors include; wild magic, strange and whimsical characters, Evil Queens, “timey-wimey” stuff, super cute plans, snails, Gods, magic crystals, trapped souls, and Alan (the real star of the later episodes).

Extras

There are so many Patreon perks! You get behind-the-scenes talks, recipes from Indy, DMing tips, Lana's book reviews, and more! You can also join their Discord server where Cory is pretty active and they encourage community gaming and have a book club.

TL;DR: 

This podcast is about girls learning to play D&D using premade characters with amnesia. The girls learning to play parallels the story’s progression as they regain memories. 

Reliving the experience of learning to play for the first time all over again. 

Loosely follows the rules of 5e to keep the pacing up.

DM Cory recruits people to voice act for NPCs or to play out memories or scenes. Some additions are just for the listeners, giving us a little extra information about the lore of the world.

It's a little hard to tell the girls apart, but I don’t think it takes away from my enjoyment at all. 

Wild magic, strange and whimsical characters, Evil Queens, “timey-wimey” stuff, super cute plans, snails, Gods, magic crystals, trapped souls, and Alan. 

DM Cory presents a world both complex and informed by the player's choices and features some of the more bizarre parts of typical High Fantasy settings.

Special thanks to Artax of Who's Taking Watch for helping with editing!

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