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scribblesofagoonerr · 2 months

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The journey to recovery begins now.

Heres the next part! ✌🏼

Let me know what you think? I have a lot of time on my hands currently unable to move much, so this is the result!

Credit to @alotofpockets for giving me the courage to continue to write!

Pairings: beth mead x teen reader, vivianne miedema x teen reader, arsenal wfc x teen reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

You never truly appreciated how much you took your knees for granted until it was too late, leaving you to confront the stark reality of their absence during the grueling weeks that followed after your surgery.

The initial stages of your rehabilitation post-surgery, each day felt like an uphill battle against the constraints of limited mobility. Every single step was a painful reminder of your body’s fragility, which left you teetering on the edge of frustration.

The simple tasks you once took for granted now felt like insurmountable challenges, even the thought of walking a few steps sent a wave of discomfort radiating through your knee, serving as a constant reminder of your newfound vulnerability.

Reflecting on the moment that led to this predicament, you can’t help but regret it as your knee injury could have been avoided. Perhaps if you had chosen a different path that fateful night, the outcome would have been drastically different.

“Where are you off to?” Viv’s concerned voice broke through your thoughts, she had virtually been watching over you like a hawk since your return from the hospital.

“I’m just going to the toilet” You muttered, struggling to get up from the sofa but you were just too stubborn to ask for any sort of help.

Vulnerability was something you’d never dealt well with, it was a trait that was deemed unacceptable in your previous harsh upbringing. Weakness was a luxury that you couldn’t afford, it was a lesson that had been ingrained in you from childhood.

You could practically hear the stern cold voice of your biological father as if he were standing directly behind you, whispering into your ear.

“Do you need a hand?” Beth’s offer was laced with genuine concern, finding it difficult to watch you struggle unwillingly.

“No” You snapped, the frustration bubbling to the surface; You hadn’t meant to be so horrible, it was just sometimes easier to revert back to a defensive coping mechanism that you had been conditioned to over the years as you grew up.

“Just know I’m here if you need me” Beth’s reassurance hung in the air, a lifeline amidst the uncertainty.

“Just shout for us if you need anything, okay?” Viv chipped in, reminding you as she watched you limp off in the direction of the bathroom, although there was a weight of worry lingering incase you somehow hurt yourself in there.

Beth noted her girlfriends’ vigilant gaze and softened her expression, “She’ll be alright, Viv. She’s only gone to the loo, remember?” she joked, amusedly.

“I know, I am just worried in case she aggravates her knee or something” Viv admitted her concern, anxiously biting her bottom lip, “She really needs to be cautious” she added.

“It’s okay to be worried, but we have to let her do things for herself” Beth replied, offering comfort to alleviate her girlfriend's anxiety about you, “If needs help then she’ll shout, remember?” she reminded her.

Viv folded her arms, still visibly worried for you as she tried to listen out in case there’s a sudden slip in the bathroom, “I just can’t help but feel anxious, Beth. What if she hurts herself in there?” she repeats her worries.

“I understand, liefje” Beth placed a comforting hand on Viv’s shoulder, “But we have to let her have some independence too. We can’t smother her with our concerns” she explained to the Dutch woman.

“You’re right, I just need to remind myself of that– I just hate that she is going through this. It’s not fair” Viv mumbled, shaking her head.

Beth gently took a hold of Viv’s hand and squeezed it, “It really isn’t fair, but we’re going to do all that we can to support her, every step of the way, no matter what” she declared.

Deep down, you knew your injury wasn’t anyone’s fault, yet your reflex was to just continuously push your loved ones away once more.

Despite your attempts, it seemed futile, especially with surprise visits becoming a regular occurance.

Apparently, today was no exception.

Unable to start your rehab anytime soon, you found yourself wrapped up in self-pity on your bed, cocooned in blankets and lost in a Netflix TV show that you had zero interest in but since your remote has gone AWOL, it left you with no choice but watch it, but at least Myle was there for company.

“Y/N/N/! We’re here!” Kyra’s unmistakable voice cut through the air, announcing her arrival.

“Kyra, she might be asleep” Alessia’s voice followed through, a touch of caution in her tone.

“Well, she might not be” Kyra retorted, barging into your room with her usual typical energy to find you awake, “See, Less? Told you that she wouldn’t be asleep!” she grinned back at the blonde.

“Wouldn’t have much chance with the way you’re shouting” You mumbled, acknowledging both of their presence.

Alessia offered an apologetic smile, “Hey, Y/N/N. We just wanted to come and see how you’re doing” she explained.

“Oh, you know? I’m fantastic” You words are laced with sarcasm.

“Well, we brought snacks” The blonde attempted to lift your dampened mood, gesturing to the bag of the treats that they had brought you.

“Wonderful” You barely entertain the idea of the sugary treats as you keep your gaze fixed on the ceiling, disinterested.

“I can tell she’s definitely excited about that” Kyra mocked your enthusiasm, taking hold of the bag from Alessia’s hands.

Alessia shot Kyra a warning look before turning back to you, concern etched on her face, “Hey, Y/N/N, are you okay? Truthfully?” she questioned.

“Just fuckin’ peachy” You sighed dramatically, still refusing to meet their gazes, dismissing them with a wave, “How’d you guys get in, anyway?” you asked, changing the subject.

“Beth let us in before she left” Kyra explained, perching on the end of the bed.

“Oh” You mumbled in agreement.

“Someone’s feeling grumpy today” Kyra teased, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she started to delve through the bag and pull out a packet of sweets.

You snatched the packet away, tearing it open with unnecessary force, “Wouldn’t you be if you couldn’t walk with out assistance?” The frustration was evident in your tone of voice.

Kyra raised her hands in mock surrender although the mischief still sparkled in her eyes, “Noted. I’ll steer clear of touchy subjects” she quipped, exchanging a glance with Alessia.

Undeterred, Alessia took a seat beside you, mindful of your injury, “I get it that you’re frustrated, Y/N/N” she said softly, attempting to connect with you.

You rolled your eyes with the irritation simmering, “Well, excuse me for not being in the mood for a pep talk” you remark, your tone sharp.

“Come on, lighten up, mate” Kyra interjected, reclining against the bed’s end with a playful grin.

Ignoring her, you continued to sulk, stuffing more sweets into your mouth with unnecessary force, not in the mood for conversation.

Alessia sighed as her concern deepend, “I just… I thought maybe you could use someone to talk to. We know what you’re going through is difficult right now” she ventured cautiously.

“I don’t want to talk about it” You snapped, your frustration boiling over, “I just want to talk, that’s all I want. I want to be able to get out of this damn bed and feel normal again!”

“Well if you’re looking for a miracle, I think you’re in the wrong place” Kyra couldn’t resist a quip to wind you up.

“Kyra” Alessia’s reprimand was gentle but firm, signaling an end to the teasing.

A tense silence settled over your room, broken only by the sound of your frustrated sighs and the crinkle of the sweet packet that Kyra continued to help herself too.

“Listen, Y/N/N, we’re here for you, okay?” Alessia told you with a gentle voice, “Whatever you need, whether it's someone to talk to or just in silence together, we’re here” she stated, determinedly.

You met her gaze, your eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and gratitude, even if you were sometimes way too stubborn to admit it, “Thanks, Alessia” you muttered, the harshness of your voice starting to dull as you realised that it wasn’t any good to take your anger out on your team mates, who only wanted to help you.

Sensing the shift in atmosphere, Kyra leaned forward as her playful demeanour was replaced with genuine concern, “Seriously mate” she said, her voice uncharacteristically serious, “We hate seeing you like this. Is there anything we can do to help?” she asked.

You hesitated to answer, you were torn between your desire for independence and the comfort of having your friends by your side, “I don’t know” you admitted finally, your voice wavering slightly, “I just… I just hate feeling so helpless, you know?”

Alessia reached out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder as she gently pulled you into her embrace, “It’s okay to feel that way” she said softly, “But you’re not alone in this. We’ll all help you get through it together” she promised you.

For a moment, the weight of your injury felt a little lighter, the burden now shared amongst your friends who refused to let you face it alone.

“Thanks, Lessi. Thanks, Kyra” You mumbled, burying your head in her chest as you allowed yourself to lean on them for their support, knowing no matter how tough the road ahead might be, you wouldn’t have to walk in alone, “Could one of you please pass me the remote? I don’t know what I’m watchin’ but it’s so boring” you muttered, complaining which made the two of them laugh.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #arsenal x reader #woso #woso imagine #woso one shot #arsenal women x reader #beth mead x reader #vivianne miedema x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #scribblesofagoonerr

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patchwork-crow-writes · 1 year

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Possessed by Grief - an essay on MyHouse.pk3

Here's that essay on MyHouse.wad I've kept threatening to drop like a big anvil, which I definitely did not forget about for like a month :P Seems like an opportune moment to publish it, what with all the recent influx of interest in the game - and so I present some more of my thoughts on this masterpiece. Enjoy :)

MyHouse.pk3 is a game about grief.

It is a game about nostalgia and regret, obsession and devotion, confusion and despair. A game that asks if it's ever possible to escape grief's clutches, or if each apparent success only makes the net close tighter around us. A game that compels us to seek answers, and provides only further questions.

This is also a game about love, and how grief scrunches it up impossibly small and stretches it out impossibly thin, as we are forced to reckon with what this person really means to us, what impact they've had on us, and how we can possibly continue to exist in this world without them.

It is by all accounts a common thing for prospective modders to recreate their own houses, or those of their relatives, as part labour of love, part test run for future projects, part rite of passage. I imagine that playing through one is akin to a virtual property tour, with added demon killing and grunting. And perhaps this was all MyHouse.pk3 was ever meant to be - just another map of just another house, albeit uploaded as a tribute to its original owner who passed on.

What we get instead… is nothing short of an electronic manifestation of grief itself. The house changes as we play, as demons thought vanquished return stronger than ever. New hallways jut out at impossible angles while old doorways vanish into thin air. We wander through wildly different versions of the house's floorplan - a brutalist office block that changes in size, a perpetually-flooded bathhouse suspended in an eeriely tranquil skybox, an abandoned daycare falling into disrepair, an empty airport devoid of life, adjoined to a bathroom with a bloody secret. Mirrors become portals to alternate versions of the same house, where everything is the same except reversed. You jump out of a plane and seemingly wake up back at the house, but time has passed and everyone has moved on and the one thing you thought a concrete certainty ("Safe as houses", so the saying goes) is literally sold off behind your back and you turn around and there's nothing there anymore, it's just gone.

No-one asked you. You did not consent to any of this, and yet it has happened all the same.

And life ticks on and you try to move on but you can't. Even the Underhalls, Doom II's second level, provides only temporary respite, as you are immediately spat back out right where you began, and the whole process starts over.

THIS is what grief does to someone. It freezes you in time, folds your mind into endlessly recursive origami shapes that loop on themselves again and again, removes an old keystone from the bridge of your psyche before stepping back to watch the structure slowly crumble to ruins. You flail helplessly as you are caught between trying to invoke what you've lost in meaningful objects and places, and tossing everything aside and trying to escape into some new, different reality. The past contains bittersweet memories of happier times you can never return to, while the future promises nothing but a bleak pseudo-existence utterly devoid of meaning. You cannot go back. You cannot move forward.

And all the while, you torment yourself with the same questions, over and over and over: Why did this happen? What do I do now they're gone? Could I have changed something? Could things have been different, if I had just been kinder/braver/better/gentler/more attentive?

Grief haunts MyHouse. It is the unseen hand that shapes the world and all the artefacts scattered throughout it. It is the force that compels Steve to continue adding to it, convinces him that only he can do what is needed, and he becomes as dependent upon the map to frame his loss as it is dependent on him to shape it. There are no ghosts or demons, no supernatural forces at play here - just one person trapped in his despair and loneliness, pouring everything he has into the one last thing that connects him to his dead friend. And in the finished map, we see exactly what Tom was to Steve, just how precious and irreplacable of a friend they were to him, just how fathomless his depth of feeling for them. So deep that Tom may very well be "the only person I [Steve] ever loved."

Grief and love are intertwined, they cannot be teased apart. The deeper and more profound the love for someone, the greater the agony experienced when they are taken from you. For Steve to have constructed such an elaborate, multifaceted, labyrinthian space, and to have done so deliberately as a trubute, it becomes increasingly obvious that he was motivated by a love and a grief so abyssal and all-consuming that there was no-one and nothing he valued more in life - to the point where it must have seemed that he, too, had died alongside his friend.

This house and all of its impossible multitudes is a digital mausoleum, built not so much for a person as for a relationship, dedicated to stupid in-jokes and childhood traumas and painful secrets, plagued by a burning love that cannot be spoken yet has to be expressed lest it destroys the one who harbours it. It stands as proof that Tom existed, that the bond they shared was real. And through all the confusion, the hopelessness and the heartbreak, a way forward begins to emerge.

Grief never truly goes away, is never truly "beaten" as a video game final battle may be. But it does become easier to navigate, its twists and turns becoming more familiar with each pass, with each story shared between others who are struggling alongside us. Contentment can be reattained. Life does, indeed, go on. Love is not negated by death, but endures forever in how we choose to honour those who are no longer with us.

Thanks for reading.

#long post #essay #myhouse.wad #myhouse.pk3 #My House #doom #doom modding #grief #no spoilers #unelss you count the fact that it's not just a virtual house tour #which I'm hoping is kind of obvious by now given its popularity #But just in case #Make sure you play/watch this game if you haven't yet!

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subliminalbo · 8 months

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HYPNOSAPIEN

The sound moved through Mel. That was the only way she could describe it.

She had come to the club in River City following mysterious flyers about this new group, HYPNOSAPIEN, whose music could "take you to a place you've never been before." Believe it or not, Mel hadn't been into clubbing since high school, but Piper insisted—after everything that had gone down with the Alphas, it was nice to let loose a little.

To call it a club was a stretch. HYPNOSAPIEN was as DIY as they come, performing in secret venues around Romero. Tonight it was the abandoned warehouse on the corner of Lincoln Avenue and Third Street.

The girls in the band were charismatic, led by Iris Blalock on lead vocals, but the music didn't impress Mel. It was the usual club trash with over-reliance on heavy bass and an overzealous mix of synthesizer that drowned out the live vocals. But Mel's biggest complaint? All their music sounded the same! That droning, wall-to-wall buzz cut between Iris' simple lyrics:

"Sink, sink, sink, sink, drop, drop, drop, drop."

After the third song though, Mel realized that the droning wasn't just a hum, but another set of vocals hidden deep in the mix. She tried to decipher the words, but they weren't even English. They didn't even sound human. And as she focused on the strange words, she began unconsciously following Iris' lyrics.

"Sink, sink, sink, sink, drop, drop, drop, drop."

And then the sound moved through her.

Mel turned to Piper to see if her friend had felt it too, but Piper was already on her knees, misty eyes locked on the duo on stage. She had torn her shirt open to grope at her small breasts, her mouth gaping as she begged to be taken deeper by "The Message."

"Oh, fuck..." Mel moaned. The meaning in the sound's inhuman words were suddenly as clear to her as if spoken in English. One-by-one members of the audience fell to their knees in uninhibited ecstasy, their cries of pleasure mixing with the music.

Mel, too, dropped, her fingers sinking between the folds of her soaked pussy.

Oh Christ, it was happening again. She was losing her mind just like she had in the basement of the Alphas house, but this was something more than a virtual reality light show. It was a total transformation, an awakening to a new state of being.

The audience chanted the lyrics hidden in the music, and Mel joined their cries: "I am the Birth of a new species! I will Prepare my body and my mind for the Great Arrival!"

But it wasn't enough just to feel herself. Mel forced Piper down to the grimy floor, pressing her lips and tongue to her nipples, her hand finding its way to Piper's pussy. Piper uttered a satisfied moan but continued the chant unbroken, "I will Fill whatever need is expected! I will Preach, I will Build, I will Breed!"

The show only spiraled from there as the hypnotized audience fucked each other senseless. Clothes shredding, bodies upon bodies. The audience paired off in twos and threes and fours, ignoring superficial details like sexual orientation or who came with who. They clawed, and sucked, and licked, and fucked, and sweated, and came. Cocks filling any holes, pussies pressed to any lips. There was no one left in the room who didn't feel The Message move through them, no one who wasn't chanting its words now.

Even the two members of HYPNOSAPIEN stopped playing. Iris took her band mate Kayla by the hair and pressed her face to her pussy. The recorded music droned on in time with the orgy. The audience fucked late into the night, The Message's programming sinking so deep into their minds that it became a permanent fixture of their existence, taking everyone to a place they'd never been before. A place they never wanted to return from.

This is a companion to Classified Information #2: The Sound Shout out to @shotgungt for the band name HYPNOSAPIEN

#hypnokink #mind control #hypno story #brainwashed #covert hypnosis #is this an extended riff on the idea of using “hypnosapien” in place of slave #yes yes it is #mass brainwashing #mass hypnosis

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theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction · 2 years

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Surprise Guest

Characters: Clint Barton, Reader, Kate Bishop

Warnings: None

Summary: Kate is shocked when you’re the ‘help that Clint Barton called.

“How - how did you find me? In this totally random New York apartment?” Kate was absolutely bewildered, closing the door behind her.

You took off your gloves and sent the young girl a wink. “I mean, I am an Avenger. I could find you from a hole in the ground with a toothpick and battery.”

Completely awestruck, Kate’s eyes widened. “So cool…” She couldn’t help but admire.

You turned your attention to the man waiting patiently in the living room, eyes darting to the mask component of the Ronan costume.

“That,” you started pointedly. “That’s the first reason why I’m here.”

Clint couldn’t help but scoff. “You think I want to be dealing with this thing during the holidays?” He retorted and then mirrored the pointed look at his friend. “By the way, the Avengers Compound was broken into. You know, the thing that you’re meant to have locked up.”

You pulled out your holopad and began typing into it, “That’s actually the second reason I’m here. A break in happened only a few days ago and I’ve been trying to track down some missing items.”

A blue light emitted from the device and then displayed a virtual screen. There were all kinds of items being shown as pictures and a video of the last time they had been used in action. Pointing to the top right corner, you directed their attention to footage from Wakanda.

“Just yesterday I managed to retrieve the shield that T’Challa gifted Steve from the war before The Snap.”

Clint stared at the various images and folded his arms. “How many?”

“Just a handful. I’m searching for the others as fast as I can but right now, that suit is causing a stir amongst some very bad people.” You explained.

Suddenly, a hand sheepishly raised itself and you turned to Kate who was now sitting on the arm rest of a sofa.

“Hi, Kate here. You don’t need to worry about the Ronan suit, Clint and I are on the case.” Kate informed, her tone was bubbly and optimistic. You actually wished Peter Parker was in the room just to see what chaos they’d create.

Smiling at the young woman, you nodded and switched the hologram off. “I know, I saw that little team up on the street and it was pretty amazing. You’ve got some skills with the-“

“Can I have a word with you?” Clint said abruptly stopping your conversation.

Kate took the hint and excused herself from the room, opting to take the dog for a walk. Once she was out, Clint exhaled. The worry and weight of this mission showing on his face.

“What are you doing? Why are you encouraging her?”

You stepped to the side and sat where the young girl had been, smiling. “She’s got skill. It might be worth teaching her a trick shot or two.”

“This life will get her killed or worse.”

“This life is what she’s been dreaming of and she’s not going to back off so easily. She needs a teacher who can show her the ropes and the reality of the dangers. Clint, wouldn’t you rather help her survive?”

“I’d rather she wasn’t involved.”

You shrugged and leaned back. “That’s just it - this life chooses us.”

Masterlist here

#theladyofmanyfandoms #theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction #gif is not mine #clint barton x reader #clint barton imagine #kate bishop imagine #kate bishop x reader #hawkeye imagine #hawkeye x reader #avengers imagine #avengers x reader

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shotmrmiller · 3 months

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I loved the self insert (?) waking up in MW!

Because I had a similar fic that I lost from my old blog.

But it was 100% stealing the concept from Sword Art Online, where you’re playing in a virtual reality simulator game that’s MW. You had the choice to play as an enemy or ally to the 141 and various other teams.

And the “characters” are acting like actual people which is weird. They start talking about things. But when you try to take your headset and gear off, it won’t come off.

So now you’re stuck in this game as the enemy of the 141 and need to figure out how to escape. Because it seems there is no longer respawning. If you die. You die.

oo! only ever heard of SOA (cuz i refused to watch cuz i'm an edge lord) but that sounds intriguing!

Id take it the smut route because WHY NOT??

listen if i get caught by literally anyone of the 141 i'm folding like a wet paper towel. all self respect would evaporate from my cells.

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vodika-vibes · 3 months

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WHA—

I WAS AWYA FROM TUMBLR FOR TOO LONG VODIKA THERE ARE MORE QUESTIONS I HAVE ABOUT THE LATEST ARACHNE DRABBLE

Hehehe~

Fisk Tower is just as...ostentatious as Arachne remembered. Honestly, the only buildings more gaudy were probably the OsCorp building or Avengers Tower. "Keep up, child." Fisk bites out as he leads her towards the secret elevator. "Huh...so this is how you get around without being seen-" Arachne mumbles as she hurries after him. The man is build like a karking mountain, after all, she genuinely has to run to keep up with him. "Did you say something?" "No!" Arachne falls silent as the elevator shoots down, and down, and down...and then finally comes to a stop. And then she follows him down a brightly lit hall, and through the only doors. "I've brought the girl." Fisk announces. Arachne peers around Fisk, and feels all of the blood drain from her face. Doc Ock, Doctor Doom, Green Goblin, and M.O.D.O.K. Quite literally a who's who of super genius villains. If they're not here to help, Arachne is well and truly karked. "Good, you're here." Doctor Octavius says as he walks over to her, "Come here, come here." He's always been remarkably reasonable...sometimes. Honestly, Arachne is more surprised that he's willing to work alongside Norman Osbourne. Otto sets his hand on her shoulder, and guides her over to a hologram, "Here. What do you see?" Arachne sighs and glances at the hologram for a moment, and then frowns and looks closer. "This is going to sound crazy," She says slowly, "But this looks very similar to a video game program." "Yes, exactly! Keep going!" She looks a little closer, "It almost looks like programing Mysterio used. Almost. But there's some junk data-" "Yes!" Norman claps her shoulders, "I knew you'd be able to see it. We have a theory. Well, I say we, but it's not our theory, it's Victor's." Arachne turns towards him, "I'm listening." Victor nods, "I think that this is a virtual reality. Crafted by you." "What? I haven't been working on anything like that." He stares at her, hard, and then he nods slowly. "So someone else created this virtual prison, and is using your memories to create us. Would you say that we're how you remember us?" "Well, you've never been so polite to me before, but yes." She folds her arms, "It's funny, I can't remember what I was doing before I woke up this morning." "A trick, to keep you from fighting back. But you knew that something was wrong, correct?" Otto asks. "Of course." She rolls her shoulders, "Okay, so how do I get out?" "We have some theories on that. Have a seat, Elena." Victor says, "It's a long explanation." "Give me the nickel version." "No." "And there it is." Arachne sighs before she walks over to a plush couch and drops into a seat, "Alright, lay it on me."

#star wars #star wars au #arachne au

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credosavvy · 9 months

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Before and After

Once upon a time, in a realm of digital deception, there lived a man named Daniel. Daniel had journeyed through the labyrinthine corridors of life as a once-portly soul, imprisoned within his own corporeal fortress. His path was paved with the heavy footprints of insecurity, and his heart ached for a transformation that seemed as elusive as a flickering mirage.

In the ethereal expanse of the internet, where illusions masqueraded as reality, Daniel stumbled upon the enigmatic figure of Maximus Fleximus. Maximus was the embodiment of Daniel's dreams, a fitness virtuoso whose sculpted form graced Instagram, captivating the masses. The 'before' and 'after' photos shared by Maximus were like beacon lights in the abyss, promising hope and change.

With trepidation coursing through his veins, Daniel embarked on a quest to seek out the mythical Maximus Fleximus. He yearned to unlock the secrets of his transformation, to glean wisdom from the one who had conquered the realm of weight loss and emerged victorious. The anticipation of meeting his virtual idol twisted Daniel's stomach into knots as he prepared to confront his insecurities head-on.

Upon their meeting, Maximus Fleximus greeted Daniel with a warm smile that concealed a hidden truth. Beneath the veneer of confidence, there was a bulging secret that Daniel could not have anticipated. As they exchanged pleasantries, Daniel's keen eyes detected a discrepancy between the man before him and the digitally immortalized figure.

Maximus had once been a rotund man himself, but the 'after' portrayed on social media bore little resemblance to reality. The bulging muscles had deflated into flabby folds, and the chiseled jawline was now obscured by layers of fat. Daniel's heart sank as he realized that Maximus had perpetuated a web of deceit, a facade of fitness crafted through photo manipulation and selective angles.

Bitter disappointment welled up within Daniel, not for Maximus's transformation, but for the betrayal of trust. The lessons he had hoped to learn from his fitness guru lay in ruins, crushed beneath the weight of deception. Maximus, now an obese man attempting to hide his own vulnerabilities, had misled not only Daniel but countless others seeking inspiration.

In the end, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows on their uncomfortable encounter, Daniel discovered a different kind of inspiration. He realized that true transformation wasn't about the superficial facade of 'before' and 'after' photos. It was about inner strength, honesty, and the resilience to confront one's own weaknesses.

As he left Maximus Fleximus behind, Daniel carried with him a new understanding, one born from the ashes of shattered illusions. He was determined to embark on his own journey of self-improvement, not defined by digitally altered images but by the authenticity of his own efforts. In this tale of unmasking, Daniel found that the pursuit of true change began with an unwavering commitment to honesty and self-acceptance.

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sbnkalny · 2 years

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Fuck you, and now you can FREEZE enemies and objects! try it 4 a reason its cuz chapped ugly whore lip Bitches liek u exist and u all just your elaborate imagination i dont exist in the implied, virtual Fold-out reality, in the effect that electricity causes

#QUOTE #DAY 19 #We exist in the implied #virtual Fold-out reality #in the effect - a detective without an ego.

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nymzi · 2 months

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I wish for once in my life I knew what I was doing.

I wish I felt a true deep love for doing something that passion is what kept me invested for hours. That I craved to practice and perfect my skills on something I loved to do.

If I did, I wish it carried over throughout my life. The Virgo in me would constantly want to hone in on my craft and have something so spectacular that people would stare in awe and ask me how I’ve gotten so good.

I want the “I’ve done this my whole life, here is the progression of my first creation to my last” even if it wasn’t something artistic, may it have been a book I’ve reread till the pages are stained and torn and folded beyond the point of reading and more so collecting.

I wish I knew how much I loved being outside, it was always there. I had it as a child and then outgrow it somehow when I stepped into virtual reality and developed an addiction to being online.

Most of all, I wish I spent time focusing on me. What I like. Remembering what makes me who I am and what I want out of life. In moments of my life like these, I question everything I am and who I ever wanted to be.

How do I get there?

#thoughts #ugh #I’m not feeling it

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kurakurakura99 · 11 months

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So how would a group of Hunter Hunt a Mage(MtAw)?

Homie how do I even answer this. what tradition? fuck, are we talking a Hermetic? a Verbena? A virtual adept? for that matter, what kinda hunters are we talking about here? a couple a' hunters hunted chucklefucks or some imbued freaks? Theres alot of variables to know to answer a question like that with any degree of satisfactory detail, y'know? so I can only give you general advice:Force a confrontation in a public place. Either they don't cast overt magic and you have a MUCH better easier time capturing them, or they try to cast overt magic and get folded inside out by the Consensus. But the *best* advice for aspiring mage hunters:Don't, pack up and go home. Leave the correction of reality deviants to the professionals at the technocracy, k?

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me-myself-and-my-fos · 1 year

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Healing

Pairing: Casey Acosta x Nicole Blake

Warning: brief mentions of pregnancy and surgery, brief mentions of hospital and death, nonsexual nudity

A/N: Spoilers for 1x22 and 2x1 of New Amsterdam

The deafening silence that remained was a familiar one, but unwelcomed. This wasn’t the first one they experienced and it wouldn’t be the last. But it was the first one to go beyond the apartment they called home. Really, it started in the car. Despite her shift having ended two hours before his, she stayed. She stayed because she didn’t want him to come home by himself. So she took the silence.

She had been nowhere near the Emergency Department when the gurneys started coming in. When the loss started. No, she was elbow deep in an emergency c-section because of breeched twins with no room to maneuver them into proper positioning. But when it was over and she was out of the room, satisfied and happy as the couple got to meet their twins, she felt the wave of grief that traveled through the hospital. When she heard what happened there was an instinct to abandon her department and rush down there, but she was virtually useless for anything. In reality, her instinct was more so to be there for Casey. But before she could make up her mind or react, she was quickly pulled in the direction of another delivery room. And before she knew it, her shift was over. His wasn’t, so she stayed until it was. She didn’t want him to be alone.

Casey had made his way to the couch when they got home, while Nic headed for the bathroom. Water filling the tub became the only noise in the apartment, and she slowly made her way to their shared room. She pulled out what they normally wore for night clothes and folded them before putting them in the bathroom. She tested the temperature of the water, and when she was satisfied the water stopped. A warm bath didn’t fix everything but it helped.

Nic ventured into the kitchen connected to the living room and got a plastic cup, and her gaze wandered to Casey. He was unmoving on the couch, hands clasped together as he stared at the carpet. Slowly she stepped over to him and knelt down, untying his shoes and pulling them off. He didn’t even seem to register what she was doing. When Nic stood, she spoke quietly.

“Honey?” She called. No response as he continued the thousand yard stare. “Casey?” She placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Hmm?” He finally looked up at her, almost disoriented from being pulled from his thoughts.

Her heart clenched before she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his head. “Come on,” she whispered, moving her hand to grasp his arm and pull him from the couch. Nic guided him to the bathroom and when they entered, she helped him out of his scrubs before getting out of her own. Placing them in the wall hamper that was used exclusively for their scrubs, Nic waited for him to get into the tub before she joined him.

While on his lap, facing him, she scooped water into the cup and pushed his head down gently. She poured water on his short hair twice, making sure it was properly wet before taking the shampoo and squirting it into her hands. She lathered it for a moment then began to scrub it into his scalp. They remained silent as she washed his hair, and it killed her. Something she loved about him was the boundless energy, his stupid jokes and silly commentary and the endless flirting whenever he saw her in anything besides her scrubs.

Nic recalled all the evenings she came home and sat in this same bath for hours after a shift, listening to one song on repeat. The one song that always helped her grieve whatever loss happened that day.

“Beyond the ocean size, I’m unaware. Locked out the other side, like I was never there. Like I was never there.”

The song fell from her lips softly, lyrics etched into her veins and heart. She wasn’t a good singer by any means, but to Casey it never mattered. And it didn’t now.

“They said the boat has sailed, I’d left them there. Oh how the wind would wail like I was never there. Like I was never there.”

When she finished with his hair, she took the cup and filled it again, pouring it over his hung head. The shampoo washed off his hair after two more pours. It was then she noticed his hands rested on her thighs, thumbs making patterns from the freckles on her skin. She reached over and grabbed a washcloth from the basket of clean ones that sat on the back of the toilet. Dipping it in the water, she made sure it was soaked before using their favorite soap. Using her fingers, she gently closed his eyes and started using the washcloth to clean his face and neck, behind his ears and down to his shoulders.

“Oh my friends, I am heavy. Can I beat within your heart? Can I bleed within your love? Oh my friends.”

She took hold of his arms and rubbed the washcloth up and down them. She began to scrub his chest and torso, then pressed herself against him to start washing his back.

“Beyond the ocean size, I’m unaware. Locked out the other side like I was never there. Like I was never there.”

Pulling away, she climbed off his lap and lifted his leg above water. She scrubbed at his legs, and she became aware she was trying to wash away the trauma of that day’s events. She was trying to scrub away the loss. But she continued.

“I lost my only space, two empty stares. Oh how the light would change like I was never there. Like I was never there.”

Satisfied with how she had cleaned him, Nic took the water cup and started to rinse the soap off his body. When she rinsed off his face, she realized he was crying a bit. Setting the cup down, she held his face in her hands and wiped away the mix of water and tears from his eyes.

“Oh my friends, I am heavy. Can I beat within your heart? Can I bleed within your love? Oh my friends.”

She stopped singing for a moment and stared at him. “I’m going to wash myself off. Do you want to get out?”

There was a moment of pause before Casey opened his eyes and shook his head. “Can– Can I stay?” He asked, afraid as if she would say no.

“Of course, baby,” she replied gently, caressing his cheeks with her thumbs.

Nic pulled away and began to wet her own hair so she could shampoo it. Casey sat and watched, and she felt compelled to finish the song.

“And all my friends, I am ready. Can I beat within your heart? Can I bleed within your love? Oh my friends.”

Nic continued to wash herself, beginning to tear up herself.

“And I can’t forget it. All of the love, all of the love, as we stood tall together. All of the love, all of the love. And I can’t forget it, all of the love. All of the love, as we stood tall together. All of the love, all of the love. And I can’t forget it, all of the love, all of the love. As we stood tall together, all of the love, all of the love. And I can’t forget it, all of the love. All of the love, as we stood tall together, all of the love.”

She let out a shuttered breath.

“All of the love.”

She started to rinse herself off.

“And all my friends, I am heavy. Can I beat within your heart? Can I bleed within your love? Oh my friends. And all my friends, I am ready. Can I beat within your heart? Can I bleed within your love? Oh my friends.”

Nic stood from the bathtub and got out, then helped her boyfriend up and out. She pulled the plug out and allowed the water to drain while they dried off and got dressed. It felt like she had much more energy than him, but honestly how could she blame him? They lost two of their own in the ambulance accident, one of whom was a close friend of Casey’s. He was grieving, and she knew from experience that took a lot out of a person. Casey was still getting dressed when she finished, and she immediately headed to the kitchen. His favorite meal was her own family lasagna recipe, with her own added twist of red pepper flakes and minced garlic. Normally it was an all day affair reserved for their days off where she could let the sauce simmer half of the day. But it was half past seven and there wasn’t much time to make it properly. That didn’t stop her, though, as Nic went through the motions of making the lasagna. By the time it was put in the oven, it was a quarter past eight and Casey once again was on the couch. When she realized he was there five minutes after he sat down, she put something on the tv to distract him. The lasagna wasn’t finished until nine and she was starving, but she’s eaten later. They both have.

Cutting them both a slice, she set the plates down on the small dining table. Knowing it was unlikely he’d come of his own accord, Nic pulled Casey from the couch and over to the table. She had taken a few bites of her meal when she noticed he hadn’t eaten any. Reaching across the table, Nic gently took his hand.

“Please eat? Even if it’s just a few bites?” She pleaded, and he looked up at her. Casey squeezed her hand and nodded. Nic pursed her lips into a thin line and watched him take a bite of the lasagna. For a moment she swore she saw a spark in his eyes, but she pushed it to the side. “Thank you,” she whispered, kissing his knuckles. Letting go of his hand, she went back to her own meal.

They didn’t have many dishes; occupational hazard because it was easier to just throw away the plates or bowls after eating than worrying about dishes. So Nic felt fortunate that all she had to clean was the pots and the utensils. It didn’t take her long to rinse it off before she put it in the dish washer that she loathed using but only did when she had little time before bed. Once that was done she headed to the bedroom where Casey was already at, laying in bed. She sighed and shut off the lights except for one on the bedside table before curling into bed with him. He gravitated towards her and clung to her waist, resting his head on her chest. Nic pulled the covers over them both and held Casey.

One hand rested on his arm, rubbing gently to soothe him while the other rubbed his back. There were no words to say, no comfort other than holding him that she could give. But when she felt him shake seconds before the sound of his crying began, her heart broke. She held him tighter and cried with him.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” she whispered to him. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

It felt like eternity, her holding him while they both cried. She glanced at the clock when he finally stopped crying, his breathing becoming more even and softer. It was nearing eleven at night, and she could only assume he finally fell asleep. Nic kissed his forehead and let her head fall back onto the pillow.

She didn’t remember falling asleep, much less with her glasses and the bedside lamp still on. But it was four in the morning and her shift started in an hour, so Nic pulled herself away from Casey. She tried not to wake him, and somehow succeeded despite her tumble out of bed. She quietly got dressed for work and went to make breakfast.

The plan had been to make breakfast for them both, leaving Casey’s on a plate covered in foil to keep it warm and a note explaining that she went to work. But that was all derailed as she made Casey’s scrambled eggs with a mix of colby and pepper jack cheese. A pair of arms encircled her waist as a body pressed against her back, and her boyfriend buried his face in her neck.

“How are you feeling?” She asked.

“Better than I was last night.”

“I’m happy to hear.”

“I love you,” he told her quietly. “Thank you for last night.”

“You would’ve done the same for me,” she said, waving off his thanks. “You have done the same for me.”

“How did I get so lucky?” He asked.

Nic pretended to think for a moment. “Because you decided to try and deliver a baby in the ED instead of calling for OB to help your dumbass.”

“And when you came down you tore me a new one for not paging you,” he recalled.

“And you offered to make it up to me by taking me on a date.”

“Which you said yes to.” Holding her in his arms, they swayed slightly. Nic finished making breakfast and put it all on the plate for him.

“You’re staying home today, right? Everyone would understand if you didn’t–”

“I’m coming in,” he told her.

“You don’t have to.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Nic sighed. “Okay. But at least have lunch with me?”

“Okay.” He kissed her cheek before whining as she pulled out of his hold.

“I have to go, but I’ll see you later.” She faced him and kissed him quickly, but Casey leaned in as she pulled away and kissed her again. Nic couldn’t help but giggle at him. “Casey!”

“God, I love you,” he mumbled.

“I love you too, but I gotta go.” She playfully slapped his chest and wiggled out of his hold. She grabbed the bag with her breakfast and headed towards the door. “Bye, I’ll see you later! Love you!”

As soon as the door closed, Casey walked back to the bedroom to grab his phone. He opened the internet browser on his phone and typed in a simple search.

Engagement rings.

@hyperionshipping @rexscanonwife @speedstershipping @canongf @the-dark-fae-and-her-fos @thatghoulboi @silverhardt

#mywriting #🩺#otp: love is the best medicine

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mizuta · 8 months

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far from it to be my style to post about hashtag mental health issues on main but like. look. ive& been psychotic as far back as i can tangibly remember (hallucinating at 10-11, cognitive symptoms and episodes by 13-14). its been a part of my life so long that like... in a lot of ways im used to it and coping with symptoms and my life grew around a lot of the symptoms. like a tree trunk growing around a foreign object as a sapling. something that pierces directly through the middle but doesnt really impact the trees ability to stay alive in any meaningful way.

so like in a lot of ways im used to being in my own head. my partner is good at recognizing that things that are distressing to me in episodes dont process whatsoever as distressing to me a good chunk of the time. when im acting visibly distressed it actually means my level of distress is at like, 200%. its fucking unmanageable. if im visibly distressed its worse than anyone could conceptualize because typically otherwise im just numb to a lot of it or its just default my reality that its not distressing in any meaningful way until after the fact.

but like im ngl just because ive spent all of my teenage years upwards trying to take up literally the least space possible to exist and never show 80% of my "unacceptable" symptoms to 99% of people does not mean it makes it any less uncomfortable or awkward to like. be the token psychotic in some groups. to have to be the buzzkill and shit thats like hey sorry heres my hyperspecific request of the year because im fucking insane.

its miserable in a fresh new way of like sorry to have to remind everyone that its not actually a funny character quirk or joke my brain literally does not exist in your 'reality' in any meaningful way and the further outside of it i am on a given day the more unpleasant youre going to find me to be around. ignoring the insane person talking aimlessly in public doesnt actually help me it usually just reinforces that youre not real and never will be if its a bad enough day.

its never intentional. like nobody is ever doing this on purpose. especially again because i spent so much of my life being very good at hiding it. but like... it sucks so much to be masking half the time and be a little too good at it so when you stop being able to people are always levels of uncomfortable or upset. it sucks when you cant articulate anything properly and nobody really knows how to understand what youre asking for. it sucks when you have multiple severe memory conditions and cant trust your own memory and everyone immediately questions your memory when you ask for anything or point anything out. like of course im just going to fucking fold.

i dont know where im going with this or if this itself is even that coherent i know it sounds super vague but it really isnt about anyone specific im just babbling about like years worth of garbage. i got so fucked over by fakeclaiming culture because unfortunately when i started really displaying symptoms i was a teenager trying not to kill himself and being fucking insane loudly in virtual public when that was apparently an "obvious sign of exaggerating" so i had to learn to shut the fuck up and now everybody loves to forget how much im fucking unwell because god forbid you think too hard about what youre saying around others.

thank god for my partner who is literally the first person in my entire life whos ever tried to understand and genuinely knows how to talk to me when im in a particularly bad delusion or hallucinating or whatever.

man. im tired. i found out this last month i probably need to get a cane when i move out and i still feel like im going to be appropriating shit because severe knee and upper leg paint and severe balance problems cant be that bad. i hate having memory problems so bad that i so easily can be told that i dont know shit and Y is actually what happened and i usually cant actually argue against it even if im so sure thats not true.

#miles organizer #;kaz #this actually isnt really that bitter im just. talking. miserably. about psychosis.#i think i should be allowed to just be fucking insane in public and everybody should just have to deal with it and stop being uncomfortable #(thats kind of a joke im just sad.)

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zerogate · 1 year

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For example, in Tibet there are people called delok, or those who have returned from the dead. According to Sogyal Rinpoche, Traditionally deloks are people who seemingly "die" as a result of an illness, and find themselves traveling in the bardo. They visit the hell realms, where they witness the judgement of the dead and the sufferings of hell, and they sometimes go to paradises and buddha realms. They can be accompanied by a deity, who protects them and explains what is happening. After a week the delok is sent back to the body with a message from the Lord of Death for the living, urging them to spiritual practice and a beneficial way of life (Rinpoche, 1993, p. 330).

This is reminiscent of the Western near death encounters, but with greater emphasis on hellish realms. A similar emphasis can be seen in some near death cases from India. For example, in the late 1940s, an Indian man named Durga Jatav suffered for several weeks from a disease diagnosed as typhoid. At a certain point his body became cold for a couple of hours, and his family thought he had died. But he revived and told his family that he had been taken to another place by ten people. After he attempted to escape from them, they cut off his legs at the knees to prevent further attempts. Then they took him to a place where about forty or fifty people were sitting. They looked up his "papers," declared that the wrong man had been fetched, and ordered his captors to take him back. When he pointed out that his legs had been cut off, he was shown several pairs of legs and recognized his own. These were somehow reattached, and he was warned not to "stretch" his knees until they had a chance to heal.

After his revival, his sister and a neighbor both noticed that he had deep folds or fissures in the skin on the fronts of his knees, even though such marks had not been there previously. The marks were still visible in 1979, but X-rays taken in 1981 are said to have shown no abnormality beneath the surface of the skin. A photograph of the marks has been published (Stevenson, 1977, p. 78).

[...]

The case of Durga Jatav mentioned above is an example of a case where a remembered trauma had an apparent physical effect (whether the trauma occurred in a dream or an actual out-of-body state).

Another striking case involved a patient who remembered an incident in which his arms had been painfully tied behind his back with ropes nine years previously (Stevenson, 1997, pp. 71-72). At the time of the memory, his arms developed deep wheals resembling rope marks with a little subcutaneous bleeding. The wheals lasted for two days, but again developed later on when the patent was encouraged to relive his memories by a physician. A photograph (Figure 16) shows that the wheals vividly resembled four sets of multiple rope marks, including finer indentations representing the strands of which the original ropes were made (Stevenson, 1997, p. 72).

How were these impressions produced? Even if we suppose that a detailed image of the ropes was encoded in the subject's brain, it is hard to see how the epithelial cells on his arm were instructed to move and transform in such a way as to create the rope marks. Goose bumps can be induced by the action of peripheral nerves, but these do not form detailed patterns, and there is no reason to think that these nerves can send selective messages to different cells. The marks were depressed, even though no actual ropes were present, and thus the skin cells had to be instructed to move as though pressure were being applied to them. In effect, the rope marks were simulated by some unknown process. One wonders if this is simply part of the larger simulation posited in the virtual reality model.

-- Richard L. Thompson, Maya: The World as Virtual Reality

#quotes

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duckprintspress · 2 years

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Hi, Friendly anon here! I was wondering if y'all had any updates on your projects? I found a reference to a Trello taskboard thing that looked like it might have some but I got waaaaay confused trying to understand it. How goes everything?

Hey anon!

Yeah, we've publicly shared our Trello here but for someone who's not familiar with how Trello boards are set up I can absolutely see how it could be confusing. So I'm figuring I can answer this Ask two-fold: first with what we're actually up to right now, and second with a quick how-to that'd hopefully help with understanding the Trello in the future.

Current Projects and Their Statuses:

And Seek (Not) to Alter Me: Kickstarter fulfillment is complete except for people who haven't done their backer surveys. We are planning to release the e-book and some surplus merch on our website on October 1st, so we've been doing work related to that: taking pictures, preparing shop listings, working on our controlled vocabulary, etc.

He Bears the Cape of Stars and She Wears the Midnight Crown: we've got virtually all the merchandise here and ready to go with a few exceptions; the bath bombs still need to be repackaged, the patches are currently shipping and are slated to arrive on Wednesday, and chocolates we won't get until it's time to ship, so they won't spoil while sitting around waiting. We're still hard at work on the books themselves and the stories. There are a total of 36 stories in the two collections; as of right now, 19 stories are completely done/edited/ready to go, and 7 more are close (at the final step before completion). The rest are in various stages of editing. We've ended up behind our originally (intentionally optimistic) projected schedule for a variety of reasons, but we're well within the range of our more "pessimistic" projections, which had us fulfilling in March or so. As it is, we expect to be able to complete fulfillment/ship people's purchases in early November.

Our Next Anthology: we've been hard at work on the planning for our second Queer Fanworks Inspired By... anthology. We've hammered out all the details, figured out a schedule, got a title, drafted and edited the websites and surveys that include the rules, guidelines, recruitment stuff, etc., and we anticipate launching recruitment (which will mostly be internal) on October 1st.

An Enamel Pin Campaign: we originally intended to launch a campaign featuring only enamel pins in September. We're still planning to launch it, but we had so many ideas that we've struggled to narrow them down, and so odds are we'll be launching this in October instead. Right now, we've narrowed it to a specific theme and right now we're voting on which specific pins we want within that theme.

General Business Tasks: as we're getting closer to finishing the stories for He Bears the Cape of Stars and She Wears the Midnight Crown we've been tackling a back-log of more general tasks. For example, we've opened up opportunities for authors we've worked with to publish their solo original works (as in, personal projects by our authors instead of themed anthologies) and we're in the process of reviewing the interest checks people sent in, gathering more information from the authors, and getting the ball rolling on having more stand-alone/solo projects coming down the pipes. This is an essential step in widening the scope of what we publish, and we are aiming to start getting out roughly a novel a quarter starting this winter. Also, starting in October, we expect to publish a short story per week on our website, though we're still getting the ducks in a row to make that a reality so consider that tentative, not official. We've also also been expanding the resources part of our website, preparing a style guide, an e-book formatting guide, a fandom lexicon, and more. Our resource-related posts have tended to be well-received, and also because the resources are free we consider providing them an important part of our mission of helping fanfiction author publish their works: even someone who never works with DPP can benefit from a public, free, thorough, professional-level guide that helps them format their story for e-book publication without needing any special/expensive software, for example.

That's...all the basics I think? there's also a continuous background buzz of Things That We Do - regular blogging, daily monitoring/upkeep on our social media, maintaining our Patreon and ko-fi accounts, accounting, end-of-month and beginning-of-month fiscal activities, etc. - all the day-to-day activities that keep a business (even a business as small and new as this one) running.

How to Navigate the Trello

So, while we're still hammering out the details on how best to organize the Trello for utility both for us as we organize things and to the public - in particular, I'm going to need to tweak how it's set up if we're going to effectively use the built-in calendar functionality - here's how it's set up now.

LISTS:

The highest level of organization on a Trello Board is the lists. We've currently got a whole bunch of different lists.

At a Glance: this is the "overview" lists. It includes all of our current projects, and all of our regular/general management. Those are organized on Cards - more on that next.

Merchandise: lists all the merchandise we've currently got in production/in process, and what their current status is. (it does NOT include merch produced for past campaigns/activities)

After those two, we have a whole bunch of lists that all serve the same function: they indicate what stage of editing we've completed for each of a number of stories we're currently working on.

Developmental - Writing in Progress: first draft isn't done

Developmental - Draft Completed: first draft is done, waiting for an editor

Concept Editing - First Pass Completed: a concept-edit run has been returned to the author and is pending their review

Concept Editing - Second Pass Completed: a second concept-edit run has been returned to the author and is pending their review.

Copy - First Edits Completed: a SPAG edit run has been returned to the author and is pending their review.

Copy - Second Pass Completed: a second SPAG edit run has been returned to the author and is pending their review.

Copy - Final Edits Completed: a final/clean-up SPAG edit run has been returned to the author and is pending their review.

Final Edits Approved, Contract Sent and Pending Signature: the author has approved the final edit run and has been sent their contract.

Story Completed, Contract Signed, Author Paid, Preliminary Formatting Done: what it says on the tin

Typesetting - First Pass: the typesetter has done the first run on formatting the story for print.

Typesetting Completed: what it says on the tin.

Not every single story ends up needing every single one of these, and sometimes stories need more concept or SPAG runs than this, but we thought this division reflected the process stories go through most often. We've given the stories basic anonymizing so that no author feels "called out," though more often than not it's the editing team that's behind, not the authors.

Long-Term Ideas, Lists, Information We May Need Someday: the last of our lists is what it says on the tin. We keep track of ideas for future anthologies, potential merch, things we've thought of and went "we can't do that now but maybe someday..." etc., and we just toss it all there so that the ideas don't get lost.

CARDS:

Every List is composed of Cards. Each Card reflects one category of "thing that needs to be done." There are a lot of ways to actually set up lists and cards (and we may change ours in the future) but currently, we have:

Cards for all our main projects/overarching "areas" in which we're working. These are on the At a Glance List.

Cards for all currently in-progress Merchandise, on the Merchandise list.

Cards for all stories we have in-progress at the moment, on the appropriate Lists for their current status.

Cards for some over-arching categories of "things for not now," on the Long-Term Ideas list.

All the Cards on At a Glance have the same basic structure. If you click on the Card, you'll be able to see sub-tasks/checklists related to the items on that list. For example, here's the Recurring Tasks Card:

This is one of the most complex of the Cards, as it includes all the activities we engage in daily, weekly, monthly, and annually to keep the business running smoothly. Other "management" related Cards on this list include two related to our weekly management meetings and monthly all-server meetings, and the General Task Card, which lists a whole slew of background activities that we've been working on and/or intend to do (divided into separate checklists for each category, cause there are just so many).

Then, below the the general Cards the cards for specific projects. Here's the one for He Bears the Cape of Stars and She Wears the Midnight Crown.

This, and the other specific project Cards, list all the tasks we currently know of/have thought of that need to be done for the given project. The checklists give a quick idea of what the task is, and indicates the current status of that task. A few also have dates attached to them, though not most cause we don't tend to treat deadlines as that "hard" internally - we prefer to maintain flexibility considering how many people are involved in these projects and how complex all our lives are and how the world just, ya know, is right now.

As we complete tasks, we move them into the Comments section at the bottom of the Card. Because we only recently implemented this public system (previously, we worked from a private Trello that looked a lot like this but was just a bit messier and not designed to be viewed by outsiders, like, we used a lot of shorthand, that kind of thing) it doesn't include tasks completed before we implemented this system, but we've been doing our best to keep on top of it since we opened the public Trello a couple weeks ago. For example, here's the completed tasks for our upcoming anthology that we expect to open recruitment for on October 1st:

So, I think that's the basic?

Because we want to use the Calendar more, we may end up breaking out more of the individual tasks currently listed on checklists on Cards into their own Cards, since the Calendar mostly functions at the Card-level, not at the checklist-item level. If we do that, we'll likely make additional Lists for our main active projects, with cards for each task that is currently a checklist item. However, that's not going to happen immediately just cause there are higher priority things to be done.

If there's something more specific that you're finding confusing, I'm happy to put together a tutorial - I tend to figure that if one person has a question and actually tells me they have a question, there are at least a half-dozen other people who had the same question and decided for whatever reason not to ask, and as you likely know, anon and everyone else reading this, we're committed to transparency, and the Trello is one of the biggest, newest facets of that, so ensuring it's navigable for new comers is really important to us. It's hard to create a public-facing system that maintains a certain degree of confidentiality and still serves our needs for managing the business, and also just - we've got a lot going on basically all the time (and more and more as we grow), so there's a lot that has to go on there, which means by necessity it's kinda complicated. I do worry that if it's really complex, it'll serve to create obscurity instead of transparency, but...well, we're doing our best, and we'll keep doing our best, and we hope that when questions/issues/concerns/delays/etc. do arise, people will continue to be as patient with us as they have been! <3

Hope that helps, and thanks for sending an ask!! We're always here to help. <3

#unforth replies #faq #duck prints press #trello #transparency

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