Hello, and welcome back to “FNG,” by Richie23! I’m your host, SC, joined by myself, and there was really no good reason that it took me this damn long to update the riff. In fact, I procrastinated so hard on this that I’ve completely forgotten where we ended off last time.
Operative SC: Something about an airport?
I’ll probably look at the previous posts later and feel dumb for forgetting, but for right now, I’m just gonna assume it’s not important and forge ahead.
Operative SC: The SC Method: “Uh, shit, well, let’s just go with it and hope for the best.”
Works like a charm.
Operative SC: Except when it doesn’t.
Which is frequently.
~TRIGGER WARNING: BORDERLINE PEDOPHILIA IN NARRATION~
*Shades sits in the riffing chamber in utter silence; the lights are on, the computer hums softly, but in an unusual twist for the Library, nothing of importance, or even silliness, appears to be happening*
Shades: …Hm? Oh, I’m just waiting. I was told that I had a surprise coming. It’s been… about six hours now, so I’m a little bit worried that I’ve been led on. That, or bloody Bifocals is busy making some horrible new device to kill me with under the pretense of it being a gift. But, fuck it, it’s Christmas, or it will be in three days, so-
*SC, dressed in an ill-fitting Santa costume, bursts through the door and hurls an overly large, bulging red velvet bag at Shades, before quickly slamming the door and locking several hundred varieties of lock, including a solid steel bar through the handles*
Shades: Bloody hell!
Open the bag, you’re welcome for the present, this was all Contacts’ fault.
Shades: I don’t want to open the fucking bag! You said Contacts! And you’re barring the door! That always means bad things!
Look, you little shit, I may or may not be accessory to one of the worst-planned heists in the history of mankind, and for all I know, a platoon of Asari soldiers could be on their way in force as we speak. Apparently, this is Contacts’ Christmas gift to you, so open the fucking bag so that I can dispose of the evidence, tell Contacts you got your present, get General Skullfucker and her Merry Band of Commandos off my ass, and never speak of this day again!
Shades: How did you get wrapped up in a heist?!
OPEN THE GOD DAMNED BAG!
*Shades undoes the knot in the rope tied around the bag and dumps out dozens upon dozens of military-grade firearms – notably, these firearms appear to be of sleek, though alien, design*
Shades: …What was the heist?
Contacts broke into a major weapons distributor on Thessia.
He heard you say that you thought Asari firearms looked neat.
Shades: How did you get involved?
He threw the bag at me while looking for a hiding spot.
Shades: I mean, I’m flattered, but we’re going to have to fake our deaths and change our names.
Hello, and welcome back to “FNG,’ by Richie23! I’m your host, SC, joined by myself, and last time, one or more bitches were flipped in the comments regarding some painfully bad suggestions from the fic’s reviews for how to improve an already terrible gun design. Meanwhile, in the fic, a squad of Rainbow operators sat around holding their dicks at an airport while Robert(s) got held up by English customs.
Yeah, not a whole lot happened last time, admittedly.
Operative SC: Thankfully, the writing in this is so bad that we somehow failed to notice that it was all padding.
Maybe you did, I knew it immediately. That whole part of the chapter was just dudes sitting around in an airport, how could it have been anything else?
Operative SC: I was kind of hoping that Richie would just have some random terrorist attack occur at the airport, because I saw “squad of operators” and “airport” and immediately began thinking of the No Russian mission in Modern Warfare 2. That would’ve been some action, at least.
And you thought a team of Thermite, Twitch, Glaz and Thatcher would be the guys to handle it?
Operative SC: I mean, I’d have to rig up some high-tension bullshit to get it to work, but there’s at least one scenario in my mind where they’re the perfect team for the job.
“SC! What gives? This isn’t that OC-making tip you traded Bats for!”
You’re right: it’s not. That’s because I feel like, with my current riff, this is a topic that needs addressing now, rather than later on down the line. Oh sure, the OCs in that fic are shit too, so I could have gone either direction, but considering my terrible habit of just not writing my riffs, I suspect it won’t be too long before I have the OC one done and ready to go.
However, for today, we’re going to focus on a facet of writing which is of critical importance if you want anybody to take your story seriously: spelling and grammar.
Hello, and welcome back to “FNG,” by Richie23! I’m your host, SC, joined by myself, and last time, we bounced back and forth between Thatcher and Thermite chatting about how
complete ass-backwards bullshit cool and awesome their new recruits sounded on paper, watching Jon and Citrus continue hating each other on a plane ride, and watching Six give Thatcher and Thermite a critical mission objective to lead a fireteam to Heathrow and secure the dipshits as they disembark their plane.
made a bunch of half-assed excuses completely justified why it took me so long to complete one chapter of this riff, whilst simultaneously giving Chosen Undead SC perpetual nightmares.
Operative SC: Now he’s clinging to the chandelier, chucking Soul Arrows at anybody who tries to get him to come down.
Frankly, I’m amazed he found a chandelier strong enough to hold his weight. Guy’s in, like, sixty pounds of armor.
Hello, and welcome back to “FNG,” by Richie23! I’m your host, SC, joined by myself, and last time, our two idiots got recruited into Rainbow and met each other in person, and for some reason, they really didn’t like each other. Also, Rainbow got a look at their files, and for reasons beyond my comprehension, the response was not, “oh fucking great, we picked up a pair of jackasses.”
Also, this riff took longer to write up because I was busy slaying vampires, and prior to that, got yoinked into Sakai’s damn Creepypasta riff against my will.
*Various pained-sounding spoopy noises*
You know, pasta authors, it really says something when I can kick the crap out of your monsters.
~TRIGGER WARNING: PROBABLY RACISM AND GANG VIOLENCE. EDGY AUTHOR CONTINUES BEING EDGY~
Hello, and welcome back to “Love Amidst The Blood,” by CalvinHobbesGatsby! I’m your host, SC, and last time, we met Barrett, a goffik girl who lives in a family of fundamentalist religious nutjobs and can’t stop thinking about vampires. Ever. It’s a little worrying, actually. Also, CalvinHobbesGatsby annoyed a fair portion of the comments section with their incredibly lackluster depiction of religious extremism, in particular due to how much it read like the author was just looking for an easy target to vilify, and more or less outed themselves as what I already had them pegged for: a dumbass edgelord.
Well, luckily, we won’t have to put up with this crap for very much longer, because this week is the final chapter, “Nines.”