I've been on a Sailor Moon kick recently, but aside from Strike Fiss's Sailor Moon: Omoi series, i've been having rather poor luck at finding anything engrossing to read, and given the huge variety of experience and depth of knowledge of the subject of fanfiction here, I was hoping for some suggestions? What in your opinion are the best Sailor Moon stories out there?

Something that popped up on the FFML this weekend reminded me of a fic that I lost when I accidentally nuked my carry-around archives about 18 months ago. I haven't had too much luck trying to find it with Google, so I thought I'd throw a description out to see if people recognize it and can point me at a copy.
It's a Ranma-is-split-into-boy-and-girl story, but it starts off well after that happened. "Ranko" got sick of basically being treated like garbage and headed off on her own. The story actually starts with Akane finding Ranko and telling her that Ranma needs a kidney transplant, and Ranko's the only viable donor. Ranko throws her out, but ends up secretly going and offering her kidney. Dr. Tofu's involved, and maneuvers things so that the secret's blown, and Ranko gets pulled back into her apologetic family. Still, the one thing Ranko really wants she can't have -- Akane. Akane solves this using Instant Jusenkyo and Happosai's incense burner, and the story ends with two happy couples: Ranma-Akane and Male Akane-Ranko.
Anyone have any ideas?
-- Bob
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...The President is on the line
As ninety-nine crab rangoons go by...

I did say in the other thread that I wasn't on much of late. But I popped in this morning with Lora'Lai and found that we had the prestige to do some major renovations. You won't see much difference yet - but the entire plot has been expanded. I intend to open up a new wing off of the main entrance hall soon. In going through stuff I noticed an old in-game e-mail from Wide Receiver that I had somehow COMPLETELY missed, and I'm sorry about that. In regards to that, expect to see as part of the expansion an arcane enhancement table or two.
What we're going to need right now is a LOT of prestige to make this happen, though. We really _can't_ expand into the new wing without more power generation. Don't worry about control. That's covered. But the generator is straining to keep up with what we've already got. I already have a turbine generator ready to go and space enough to put it in, but the actual placement cost is about a million away now. I could ALMOST place the damn thing already, but there was no way to make it fit on the old plot without giving up major portions of what we already have. And I'm loathe to do that. Just as soon as we've got the prestige, I can place the turbine and start opening up the new wing.
One of the things I want to do is consolidate our teleporters into a couple of large rooms, instead of spread out like they are. As well as the workshops. I want ONE large workshop instead of 2-3 rooms. With the expansion, we've got enough room to juggle things around and reorient things without losing equipment in the process.
So... get on your mid-level range characters and turn on Supergroup mode and go bash some bad guys! Or those of you at level 50, go do a Shadow Shard Task Force or something. And we'll have some cool new stuff in a couple of weeks to a month!-Logan
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"This kind of thing tends invariably to devolve into the kind of "No, Nakajima, THIS is true power!!" argument that only really works if you're yelling it from the cockpit of a giant robot . . ."
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... But World of Warcraft has been eating my free time. With the new expansion coming up, I've been getting more involved trying to gear up my level 60 Warrior so as to be able to explore beyond the Dark Portal without being at too great a disadvantage. Been doing Dungeon runs with guild members and tying up loose ends in quest turn ins and the like. Getting stuff ready for an Onyxia raid, etc.
I still love CoH and intend to keep playing and all, but if you don't see much of me the next couple of weeks, you'll know why. ^_^-Logan
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"This kind of thing tends invariably to devolve into the kind of "No, Nakajima, THIS is true power!!" argument that only really works if you're yelling it from the cockpit of a giant robot . . ."
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Just a req for an origin story/ship registry entry for World Watch One - it ties into my lifting.Wire Geek - Burning the weak and trampling the dead since 1979

Dynamistress from our coalition partners Liberty F.O.R.C.E. just sent me an email saying that LF is trying to strengthen its ties to coalition members, and that she's been assigned the position of liaison with The Legendary. She wants to know who her main contact with the Legendary -- her counterpart -- will be so she can establish contact with them.
Now I can do this, except my schedule doesn't always let me play Eva as much as I'd want to. I gave Dynamistress Shizuru and Lora'Lai's names as contacts for now (in addition to me), but I wanted to see if anyone was interested in taking on a specific duty as our liaison to the LF. So... any volunteers?
-- Bob
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...The President is on the line
As ninety-nine crab rangoons go by...

Not all us fen want to be in space, you know. Folks like me, say, who get airsick real easy. 'Sides, I like my creature comforts. Those fenships tend to be a bit cramped. 'Cept for those folks from West Virginia. Now they had the right idea.
Anyway, there's a lot of us. The fen in space don't think highly of us, I know. They call us "fendane", like we were something less than proper fen because we didn't pack up everything and take off for orbit in an 82 Ford, because we're not out there working on the Mars terraform. Well let me tell you, bud, sometimes it's harder to stay at home and change the world you know than to travel halfway across the system and change a world you've never seen before.
I'm not the only one to feel that way. There are a lot of folks who share my opinion, folks who think the balance of goverment and people has shifted to someplace where the government and its cronies in industry and organized crime have all started thinking of the people as their little toys and servants. There are a lot of folks who want to see that changed. We're not putting anything "back the way it was" -- most of us aren't fool enough to think things were much better in the past, and some of us are historians enough to know it was pretty damned worse at times. Doesn't matter. There's an idea involved -- the same one behind the Declaration, behind the Constitution, the one that got shoved aside as soon as the Government settled down into "business as usual".
We aim to change that. And not by gallivanting out in space.
The folk in space do have a few good ideas. Front companies, foundations, things like that. We set one up. One of the things we did with the 'wave made us a lot of money fast. (Not going to tell you what it is, because we're still going to be using it every once in a while.) We put that money into a not-for-profit group of our own making, a cross between a charity and a college, sort of. We didn't name it what we actually call it, that would be a dead giveaway. It was enough that it just existed.
Then we, as the foundation, got busy. Built us a couple supercomputers with the 'wave, complete with AIs. Used them to worm our way into a few systems here and there. Changed a few records. Hid a few people from the eye of officialdom. Righted a few wrongs while we were at it.
And we bought us a bunch of used cars. Trans Ams from the early 1980s. Refurbished them. Kitted them out, you might say. And waved the lot.
And now they're on the road, criss-crossing the country, righting wrongs and fighting the kind of folks who want power over other folks. Their drivers don't exist, not in government records anyway. Neither do the cars. Our AIs with their hooks in the DMV systems all over the country make sure of that. But the people recognize them when they come to town. And they know what name to give them.
They call them the Knight Riders.

Christmas time is here.. Time for Joy, and time for Cheer..
I stared blankly at the plain brown wrapper on the coffee-can sized package the postal clerk had handed me earlier. I had an idea what was in it, and I wasn't sure how I felt about it.
In the aftermath of That Con, a friend of mine had privately admitted to having a small supply of 'wavium, pure strain, before the guacamole incident. I'd asked her for some, and crossed her palm with the thirty piece of silver for shipping, and a few more for her trouble.
No problem there, I make damn good money fiddling with radios for a local utility.
But now I had a can of Handwavium. Some people were saying this was the new Messiah, magic come to earth, a grey goo nightmare waiting to happen, the story was different depending on who you asked and how much they had been drinking. I thought it was possibliity in a jar, myself.
I retired to the garage, and firing up a cigarette, I started unpacking the 'glass and steel' bins and buckets from my ill-fated alcohol-based-rocket-fuel-production experiment, idly wondering if that corner of the yard would ever grow grass again as I did so. Once I had my tools out, I set the can on my stainless steel bench and unwrapped it.
The coffee can size and shape made perfect sense now, with the bright and cheerful 'Folgers' logo staring back at me. The lid was duct-taped on rather agressively, and I cut it off carefully, removing the tape and lid to reveal.. a quiescent grayish ooze, with no movement or changes to indicate anything.

I decanted the ooze into a glass tun and considered my next step...

A YEAR LATER.
I heaved the head off the big Cat Diesel and set it gently on a rollycart, then scrubbed and wiped until the engine ahead of me was clean and bright. Reaching into the cylinders with a brush, I spread on a thin layer of 'Wavium Black, a strain I had fed on motor oil, premium unleaded, trucking magazines and Bob the Builder episodes. Coating the inside of all six cylinders carefully, I then applied traces of 'Silver', a blend fed on golden age Silver Surfer comics and cut with elemental mercury and activated charcoal.
My mind fixated on what I hoped would happen, I got down under the motor and sprayed off the motor oil from the crankshaft, repeating the same process as the cylinders. A couple of additional areas got the treatment, and I started bolting covers and 'wavium treated gaskets on as I cleaned up. The sun went down and the temperature started to drop as I finished bolting the head back on the big Diesel, and I was shivering as I unplugged the ECM and headed back to the shop.
In the heated, well lit shop, I considered the ECM, unsure what was going to happen next. I had developed a few strains of Handwavium for specific mechanical applications, but I had nothing going that seemed appropriate for computers or computing power. I decided on a course of action, and put the little engine computer module in a small sorting tub, bedding it on pages ripped out of a heavy equipment wholesale catalog that ran fairly heavy on stories and reviews. I drew a can of base 'Wavium from one of my holding tanks, and poured a layer into the tub, filling it a touch above the ECM.
I said a quick prayer under my breath, still unsure as to whom or what I was praying, and shut off the lights. I fired up the pickup and headed home, worried and hopeful about the next day.

Ten acres won't improve itself, so it was with a happy grin and a hot coffee that I greeted Sparky as I arrived at the land the next day. He'd already been at work, and the happily grumbling Cat he climbed down from seemed to indicate that my work had at least 'not failed'.
"Morning Sparky, the Cat seems to be running good today"
"Yeah, boss, but that new ECM didn't fit into the old brackets, I had to fabricate one this morning"
I nodded sagely, masking a deep and shivery excitement. We walked over to the idling Cat, and as I laid my hand on the engine compartment cover, I swear she leaned into my hand and purred. Sparky gave me a curious look as I, with a shit-eating grin, opened the compartment and checked the fit of Sparky's new bracket, which was perfect. The ECM was now bright yellow, and signifigantly longer, with a large Cat logo on it's upper side. I reached forward and scratched it behind the connector, and the Cat shivered in pleasure, it's engine note dropping to just above 'stall'.
I grinned at Sparky and explained what I'd been up to last night, and he shook his head in disbelief.. and the work of clearing the land went a lot faster, with a Cat that thought it was a cat, and needed ear-scritches and pets as well as diesel and hydraulic oil, but seemed to have almost doubled it's available pushing power.

Ten acres isn't much land, I reflected that evening over reindeer sausage and sourdough biscuits. Between me and Sparky, the rought layout we'd been working on sat, areas in green highlighting our current progress.
"At this rate we're going to be working all through this winter.. finish up in early '09", Sparky said, digging into his own plate.
"Yeah, but we can at least pour the cement this winter, it's Portland, it'll cure."
"Roof over the cut and heat it?" Sparky asked, and we fell into the comfortable shorthand of two old friends, discussing our strategic goals.
Spring, '09
The basic shapes and structures were finished. A near-square rectangle of land, the edges walled in a 'Wavium based cement we called 'Grunt', because it ended up being so damn heavy and strong. We figured the three-meter thick border we had put on the land could take anything short of a city-killer kinetic energy weapon, and we weren't too sure it couldn't take that, this stuff was _tough_. A one-foot square pillar spurred off the wall had resisted everything we had, including 'Kitty', the 'waved Cat 936 wheel loader that had been the backbone of our work, and was the matriarch of our little fleet of construction and work vehicles.
various hangars and structures dotted the landscape, all enclosed in the foot-thick 'roof pillars' that traced our boundaries. I bumbled along the access road in one of the few un'waved vehicles in the fleet, an old Suzuki ATV, and considered. Ten acres, tons of cement, hundreds of gallons of diesel and thousands of dollars, every scrap of money I could beg or borrow. My father, and Sparky's father had both taken out second mortgages to pay for equipment and supplies.. We were committed, perhaps overcommitted, financially. Without some financial help and advice from other Fen, we could easily end up in a world of hurt.
I saw the gate rising, and bumbled my way over.. maybe this was the carbon fiber strakes for the overhead dome..

It was. a whole bloody lot of ten-foot carbon fiber rods, light and strong, and a truckload of bracketting and assembly tools for them. We had developed a plan based around the willow huts used by some of the Native peoples, and we were fairly confident in it's success. Given that even willow grew far too slow for our current timetable, we'd decided to use a signifigantly faster growing plant that was almost as strong.
The Fireweed sprouts were coming along nicely, and we staked each one with carbon fiber stakes, tying the plants with nylon ties and coating with handwavium. Dusting the whole assemblage with carbon fiber dust and praying, I moved right along.
The day was still young, so I cruised down to the engine bay. Drawn from innumerable anime and sci-fi shows and my own fevered mind, the engine was a Whedonesque rotating nightmare, turning over just above idle now to provide electricity and airflow for the rest of the complex. I considered the massive spindle, checking the battery levels and fuel flows and status indicators. Given how the engine responded to near-constant attention, I needed to get a maintenance officer down here. Who was I kidding, I needed a Kaylee...

Everything was coming together. Assuming the 'grow-a-dome' theory worked out, we'd be ready to go by september. And, so far, noone had so much as sneezed at the building and working we'd done. We were far enough out that cops and feds weren't welcome, and there was enough other constructiong going that we had remained unnoticed.. so far.
soon. I patted the engine gently, looking forward to the day when it would crank over hard, bringing us out of the 'surly bonds of earth' and into the Out There...Wire Geek - Burning the weak and trampling the dead since 1979

Opinions, please, before I write something that tramples the setting's unspoken assumptions...
1) If your ship tows something, how does the towed item count toward your ship's mass, and thus its maximum speed?
(If the towed item doesn't count toward the ship's mass and top speed, then the Virgil Samms could put every other courier out of business by towing cargo containers around at 0.2c...)

2) How closely can ships stay in formation? Do the drives interfere with each other so ships have to have a noticeable minimum separation, can two ships touch while under full power, or something in between?

2a) How easily can two ships tow the same object? Is it simply a matter of hooking two tow cables to the object, or do the ships' engines need to be specially tuned to within 0.000000001% of each other's performance, or something in between? Or is it possible at all?

3) Is the standard ship's "speed" drive a gravity-effect drive of some sort?
(I know we were discussing this, but I don't recall coming to any consensus... The two extremes: If all the "speed" drives work on the same principle, then the 'Danes should be working on replicating the operating principles with hardtech. If they're all different, then ship repairs may be nearly impossible for lack of parts. Where on the sliding scale do we want to sit?)

-Rob Kelk
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012

Linkage
Lighthouse posted:
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Will this event also give out extra prestige based on the number of members in the sg like last time?
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No, there will not be a prestige grant to SG's like last time's Double XP weekend.
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Well, that was not what I wanted to wake up to this morning. I guess the new GLI and GLL bases will be a bit more spartan than planned.

Global: @Jimmy Amp
"Broad-minded is just another way of saying a fellow's too lazy to form an opinion." -- Will Rogers