#Spotlight Software | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

baeddel · 6 months ago

Text

tirade on pirating software. 1.7k words.

i recently read a post by someone who is anti-piracy (better: against making copies of software). they said that if you can't afford something you should wait for a sale or find a free alternative. and then they said that the only time that they find piracy (better: finding a copy online) acceptable is for games that are so old that you cannot buy them from a licensed vendor, but only from resellers, because in that case the developer doesn't get the money anyway.

i feel like i could make a sort of loophole argument in this framework, which is that i can watch ebay until the game is listed by a reseller, and then pirate it, because i'm no longer making a choice between paying the developer or not paying, but paying a reseller and not paying, and i've decided not paying a reseller is morally permissable.

but i think it can go a little further. they specified developer. i should pay the developer. even though i don't buy directly from the developer, but a licensed vendor. but the vendor's surcharge is not worth bringing up.

this is because we don't believe in following the law, exactly, and thus you should follow all copyright laws for that reason. it's because of, usually, one of two reasons: developers deserve to be compensated, or that we have a moral obligation to support the developer.

on the first view, the "just deserts argument", it's not clear to me that the moral obligation to not pirate is watertight in this case (when i said "pirate" before, i made a silly gesture, meant to indicate that i'll say that for brevity, but am not acquiescing). a developer deserves to be compensated for their work; but what do they deserve exactly?

does every developer deserve to become as rich from their game as Notch, and every time they don't there's been an injustice? you probably don't think that.

do they deserve some particular amount that we would say is 'fair'?—it isn't unjust if they do better (although you might think so, and complain about how much of the spotlight they take up compared to others just as deserving), but we only require that much success of them. this might be dependent on the kind of game that it is, for example, a better game deserves more success. if that's the case, then we've exonerated at least some pirates; so long as the developer is as successful on the market as they deserve to be, we've done nothing wrong.

you might say that it's wrong to pirate games that haven't yet reached the threshold of just success, because you place them in jeoprady of never achieving the success they deserve. further, you might say that this threshold is epistemologically unknowable to human beings (see: click), and therefore in practice you can never justify piracy, because you never know if a game has reached the threshold of justice. pirates, therefore, gamble with justice, and only Minos will pay their winnings.

i think this would be a good argument, except that i don't understand why i, as someone who wants to download a copy of the game, am the one who bears the moral responsibility. if the success of this developer is a matter of justice, then surely we all bear that responsibility, even people who don't play videogames. therefore we should all purchase and promote every game, and so forth.

this isn't what any anti-piracy advocate believes, even if they seem to take a deserts line. instead they restrict our obligations to participating in ordinary market mechanisms. the game is being sold as a commodity; therefore people should buy that commodity from a point of sale apporved by the producer, and so forth. it's taken for granted that the anarchy of the market is the right way to guarantee justice, and other possibilities are never explored. ultimately, the deserts argument naturalizes capitalist relations. once you remove these blinders, the mechanism for delivering justice it actually proposes seems obviously unreliable and unsatisfactory (in fact, i believe this criticism applies to all deserts arguments).

here i will quickly add my complaint against the second argument, that we should support the developer. the argument runs: if you like a developer, you should support their work by purchasing their products. i am a lot more sympathetic to this argument and so i won't spend much of the post attacking it. it's enough to say that it suffers from the same problem we just mentioned: why is participating in ordinary market mechanisms the best way to support the developer? capitalism is likewise naturalized by this case when it is advanced as a moral argument against piracy. therefore we can run the same argument: if we have a moral obligation to support game developers, then it's not clear to me why only potential players have that obligation, and so forth (but this time the criticism doesn't apply to all similar arguments, just this one).

however, it often isn't advanced that way, and as a pragmatic argument i tend to agree with it. in fact sometimes they actually have a case for participating in normal market mechanisms: DMC fans want you to buy DMC games because then Capcom will look at their sales figures and decide it's worth making another game. you could argue that they still have capitalist blinkers on because they only advocate you buy one copy, the one you'll play, which is how the game is sold. maybe they should be asking you to buy a hundred copies or whatever. but we don't want them to do that, LOL. and the feeling is usually that there are limits of what you can ask out of someone; when one DMC youtuber was spending quadruple digits on a DMC-themed gacha, his viewers expressed concern and encouraged him to stop. so cheers to DMC players.

in fact, there might be ethical reasons to only ask someone to purchase a copy of something in the normal way: when i try to get you to buy one of Xraftstar / Charity / Porpentine's games, i am doing it because i personally want my friend to succeed, and i want to see their art recognized. this is a kind of moral motivation, but it's the morality of rendering personal obligations; you are not likewise obligated. however, i of course feel there are limits on what i can ask of you, and so, unlike when i make donation posts for my friends who are struggling, i'm only comfortable encouraging you to purchase a copy of something i think will actually render a use-value to you (even if you could still obtain it in other ways and get the same use-value).

but anyway, why specify the developer in the first place? the work put in by the publisher, the developers and maintainers of the platform its sold on, the bandwidth of the payment processor, and so forth, all get left out of the question, even though they are all more or less necessary parts of the normal market mechanisms we're encouraging you to participate in.

i think it's obvious that the anti-piracy advocate of this kind doesn't actually want to advocate for participation in the market economy, like Bush during the recession. they want to be just by the developer because they see the developer as a fellow individual like themselves; they actually want to cut through the market alienation and simply do right by another person. therefore all of the other capitalists who make money off the sale—publisher, platform, payment processor—are just more big companies, perhaps even leeches we'd be better off without.

it's funny, because historically this view was used to support piracy when it came to music. you used to see a lot of charts like this:

how much of a CD goes to the label, manufacturers and distributors, to show how little really goes to an artist, to shut down people who said you should buy the CD to support them. there's a sort of naive anarchism underlying this: i want to help the individual who made the music i love, who needs manufacturers and distributors anyway?

in this kind of simple moral reasoning, resellers really get shafted. they're seen as scalpers, taking money without producing any value. no one says: 'make sure to support resellers!' thus we never ask who the individual behind all of the market alienation the resller is. whoever they are they don't deserve the money. then, when you are poor and struggling, and cannot afford to buy things for yourself, what do people tell you to do? sell your games, CDs...

but i don't want to be too sarcastic here, because there is nothing funny about this impulse to reach through market alienation and connect morally with another individual. it is the essence of emancipation. but hear my argument: purchasing commodities from them is an unsatisfactory way to realize it. it's true that you can certainly help someone by buying what they sell; many of us rely on this to a greater or lesser extent, and, pragmatically, i hope we'll all buy Nadia Nova's next game and put food in her belly. but systematically, not in this or that case, but as a general moral principle, the commodity form, the exchange of cash for things or copies of things—this is the very thing that reproduces these conditions of alienation in the first place. and these relations—their predictability as a feature of the market, or even their scarcity as a part of a volatile and impermanent system—is what habitually places the developer in a condition of alienation from their labour, coaxing them to give up their so-called intellectual "property", then forbidding them from using the games they made; or by seducing them into placing their music on a platform, then offering them increasingly small margins and less control; or to post their content (qua sex workers) on a paywall platform, which then imposes complex payout structures to keep them from claiming their earnings. and so forth. the desire to reach through all of the noise and support the individual is inevitably captured, redirected, and fed upon in as many ways as it can be, until the whole thing crashes down and the cycle starts again.

therefore, should you purchase or pirate the next game you want to play? Remember Ptahhotep: "The noble who sitteth before food divideth it as his soul moveth him; he giveth unto him that he would favour."

167 notes · View notes

f1ghtsoftly · 3 months ago

Text

All The Women’s News You Missed This Week

3/10/25-3/17/25

Furious protests erupt in Bangladesh after an 8-year-old girl succumbs to injuries she sustained after being brutally raped. Indian health workers strike for better working conditions. The Queen sends a letter of support to Giselle Pelicot. The Supreme Court will take up conversion therapy bans in a Colorado case and in Kentucky state lawmakers have voted to protect the practice. Ukranian women’s organizations struggle without US funding.

In a piece of good news, Fatou Baldeh, a campaigner against the practice of FGM, has been named Time’s Woman Of The Year.

Want this in your inbox instead? Subscribe here

Opinion and Investigative:

As the US backslides, can China claim moral high ground on women’s rights?

Why US abortion restrictions matter beyond borders

Serbia’s Femicide Record Undermines Claims of Progress on Women’s Rights

The GOP’s Next Target? No-Fault Divorce and Women’s Right to Leave

Lorraine Kelly: Diversity push is leaving working-class people behind

Women, girls bear brunt of cyberbullying against persons with disabilities

“IT’S ALL IN YOUR HEAD”: ENDOMETRIOSIS PATIENTS AND THE PROMISE OF ALTERNATIVE MEDICINE

LGBT:

Supreme Court will take up state bans on conversion therapy for LGBTQ+ children, in a Colorado case

Angry response to how transgender lawmaker Sarah McBride introduced

A new anti-LGBTQ+ bill in Hungary would ban Pride event and allow use of facial recognition software

North Dakota Senate rejects resolution asking US Supreme Court to overturn same-sex marriage ruling

Kentucky GOP lawmakers vote to protect conversion therapy

Women’s Rights:

Iran: Authorities target women’s rights activists with arbitrary arrest, flogging and death penalty

Louisiana woman pleads not guilty to a felony in historic abortion case

Risks of state abortion reporting mandates outweigh the benefits, an advocacy group says

Iran using drones and apps to enforce women's dress code

Kentucky lawmakers add specific medical exceptions to the state’s near-total abortion ban

Driving ban puts brakes on young women in Turkmenistan

Ukrainian women’s rights organisations struggle as US aid suspended

Male Violence:

Search for US student in Dominican Republic intensifies

Things to know about the former megachurch pastor charged with child sexual abuse

Airman charged in killing of Native American woman who went missing 7 months ago in South Dakota

UN experts accuse Israel of sexual violence and 'genocidal acts' in Gaza

'He strangled me without asking' - experts say choking during sex now normal for many

Sean 'Diddy' Combs pleads not guilty to updated indictment

Disabled author swamped by hate speech after social media post on feminism

Women Fight Back:

Haitian women commemorate International Women’s Day spotlighting broken justice system

How Iran's 'Woman, Life, Freedom' Protests Live On Today

FGM campaigner honoured with Time magazine title

Teacher ordered to remove signs from classroom, including one saying 'Everyone is welcome here'

Mother of woman who died after Georgia’s six-week abortion ban calls for law’s repeal

Women Radio amplifies African feminist voices

Texas midwife accused by state’s attorney general of providing illegal abortions

BBC presenters settle sex and age discrimination dispute

Queen sent letter of support to Gisèle Pelicot

Yasmeen Lari rejects Israel's Wolf Prize over "continuing genocide in Gaza"

Fierce protests as eight-year-old rape victim dies in Bangladesh

India's frontline health workers fight for better pay and recognition

US arrests second pro-Palestinian Columbia University protester

Women in the News:

Democrat Rebecca Cooke to again challenge US Rep. Derrick Van Orden

Brown Medicine professor and doctor deported to Lebanon despite having valid visa, court filings claim

Woman arrested in US for allegedly holding stepson captive for 20 years

WATCH: Woman trapped in car films as tornado hits Central Florida

'For holding a wombat, thousands threatened my life'

Judge says Fani Willis violated open records law, orders her to pay $54K in attorneys’ fees

Feel Good Stories and Feminist History:

The forgotten story of the woman who invented the dishwasher

The Mexican women who defied drug-dealers, fly-tippers and chauvinists to build a thriving business

Early members of Philly’s roller derby league face off in a match circa 2005-2006. Jeff Fusco/The Conversation U.S., CC BY-ND Philly Roller Derby league turns 20 - here’s how the sport skated its way to feminism, anti-racism and queer liberation

'We couldn't get jobs in sexist garages - so we set up our own'

5 Major Historical Movements Led By Women In Rajasthan

Arts and Culture:

‘Just be radical’: the feminist artist giving Matisse a modern punk twist

The film exploring loneliness of migrant workers

'Santosh' review: Feminist police drama confronts harsh truths

Shabana Azmi On Feminism And Her Powerful Role In ‘Dabba Cartel’

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: I want my books to be read in Africa

Cannes award-winning actress Dequenne dies at 43

Legendary Russian composer Gubaidulina dies in Germany

Book Review: Patrycja Humienik’s powerful debut poetry collection is a conundrum worth mulling over

13 Nonfiction Books to Read This Women’s History Month

As always, this is global and domestic news from a US perspective, covering feminist issues and women in the news more generally. As of right now, I do not cover Women’s Sports. Published each Monday.

#char on char #feminism #global news #news #lgbt

111 notes · View notes

campaign-spotlight · 2 months ago

Text

Season 4 launches June 11

This is our biggest season yet - more sit-down interviews, on-site recording at game nights and conventions, Jake and Reilly playing games together, custom music, and some big experiments. Our guests continue to be ridiculously thoughtful and interesting. Reilly is hard at work editing out Jake's incoherent tangents and Jake is hard at work tracking down all the games our guests mention offhand so that we can link to them in the show notes.

Our show is entirely produced, owned, and operated by the two of us. We've kept the show independent so that we can ensure our guest's privacy, our guests can speak openly about sex and drugs and piracy and other corporate-unfriendly topics, and we can have control over the advertisements. If you're enjoying Campaign Spotlight, and you want to support us as we keep paying the production bills and putting in the hours to make this show for all of you.

Subscribe and leave a review

Our show is a lot of unscripted audio-only long-form conversations, which is not optimized for virality. We'd like more people to keep finding the show, because that's how we find out about cool new campaigns and find more guests for subsequent seasons. Help feed the various algorithms by liking, subscribing, leaving a review, or whatever the options look like on whatever platform you're using.

Tell a friend about the show

If you've already done all of that, tell another human in your life about Campaign Spotlight! We're pretty much everywhere you find podcasts, including Spotify, Apple Podcasts, and YouTube - or even straight from the RSS feed. (If your friend is listening to podcasts on a platform that doesn't have Campaign Spotlight, let us know, because Jake needs to fix that.)

Call in and tell us about your character

Why not support Campaign Spotlight by actually coming on the podcast yourself? We've set up a hotline (724 320 2020) where you can call in and tell us about your cool character (or even about your campaign!) and we'll feature it on the show. If calling in and leaving voicemail seems daunting, you can send it to [email protected] instead.

Subscribe to our Patreon

If you're in a position to help pay for our hosting expenses, the con day passes, and all the software Reilly uses to make the show sound great, the best way to do that is supporting us on Patreon. It's $3 a month, and having that recurring financial support is invaluable in letting us plan out the show. We also have a Ko-Fi which does pretty much the same thing.

Advertise on the show

Have you published your own game? Are you a professional GM looking for clients? Do you have some other cool creative project you want people to know about? Advertise it on Campaign Spotlight! Our rates are reasonable, our audience is great, and your support will absolutely help us keep the lights on around here. Send us an email at [email protected] for more information.

If you have any questions about any of this, feel free to DM us or email us at [email protected] or send us an ask. Thanks so much for listening to the show. This project has become a huge part of our lives and it's sincerely such a joy to share it with all of you.

#ttrpg community #tabletop #roleplaying games #ttrpg #indie ttrpg #dnd #dungeons and dragons #podcast

65 notes · View notes

riaki · 2 years ago

Text

thrifted romance | megumi fushiguro x reader

synopsis: you’ve never really spoken with megumi before, so when your friends leave the two of you behind on a snowy night, you take the opportunity to get to know him.

wc: 6.2k... SO SORRY I GOT CARRIED AWAY cw: swearing, college au, noncurse au, i don’t thjnk there’s anything else ??

this got way longer than i intended it to be and i rushed to grind it out so it may not be coherent.. if so i apologize :’3 and this one’s late but i hope the content makes up for it ! enjoy meemow barely proofread!

it's a late winter evening when you meet up with megumi and your friends on the side of the street— cozied up in puffy layers and a long blazer stained with coffee splashes and a few hot chocolate smudges here and there.

fall had melted away with the slow gradient of leaves from the trees, sinking into fluffy piles on the sidewalk that soon became coated and replaced with light snowfall; the first of many problematic inches. midterms were just around the corner, and with it meant late hours spent pulling all-nighters that left you exhausted, eyes dark around the edges with a lack of sleep; breaths of minty hot chocolate and coffee from the amalgamation you'd concocted to at least pretend to get into the holiday spirit.

(a fruitless effort, though— if not for your failure that warned you to stay out of mixology, but the way your roommate's cat had knocked over your mug and ruined the flashcards you'd been wrestling with and looked completely smug with itself.)

really, though, there was absolutely nothing jolly about school, or exams. so when your favorite inefficient, sidetracking study buddy had offered to spend the weekend out, who were you to say no? nobara had offered to go find a club, but it was far too cold out to frolic around in skimpy clothing and your expensive winter coats were much too valuable to risk being stolen in the haze of drunken students and sweaty bodies. so, you'd decided to go shopping, because what else is there to do with her? besides the usual karaoke session with the upperclassmen she seems to like so much, of course.

turns out, it'd had been a group endeavor. or, more accurately— a group of four, unlike the duo you had previously thought you'd be going out in. yuji and megumi were there too— friends from separate majors; you'd heard that yuji was involved in the uprising surge of software engineers and computer science majors clambering for a shot in the world of big AI tech companies, even though he supposedly was about as computer-smart as your teetering old grandma ripe with age, permanently stuck in her rocking chair crocheting the days away.

megumi, on the other hand, was a mystery. you'd shared a few classes together; his chipped dark nails that shone the same blue as his esoteric eyes beneath the warmth of the glowing sun, and his inky black hair that spilled over the collars of his simple gray sweatshirts like effortlessly graceful calligraphy on paper had captured your attention as smooth and seamless as the daylight turned to darkness, days cut short by the onslaught of cold. even so, you'd never brought yourself to interact much— he seemed like he'd prefer to keep to himself, if the way he'd disdainfully scoot away from anyone who tried to approach him and turn up the volume of his headphones indicated anything. you had laughed to your friend and called it introversion to its finest, only to promptly shut up when his unmoving gaze landed on you, leaving you feeling like a clown on the stage, rimmed by rich dark red curtains and a wooden floorboard as the beaming spotlight shines upon you imaginary button nose, hot and glaring under his gaze.

even though you'd approved of his music taste once you snagged a few notes by the ear, you'd really thought his taste in fashion was too bland to be the type of person to shop with nobara— her meticulous style and image were much brighter and more flamboyant than megumi's jaded attempts at a splash of color through the occasional blue argyle or layered turtleneck. still, those were better than yuji's paltry attempts at fashion; at least the myriads of color on nobara's figure were coordinated. the pink-haired boy with funny scars on his face would probably have been better off learning graphic design or art, with the disasters of clashing colors on his person.

and he'd gotten the opportunity to demonstrate his questionable tastes on the chilly evening, when black ice had begun to form on the roads and the soft light of boutiques with slow jazz flowing from the speakers filled your frost-bitten red ears as you walked up to the shade of a nearby lamppost. once you'd all met up, nobara had hooked an arm around your elbow and dragged you off, leaving the boys to follow along like it was walking dogs.

honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if you were— at least, with yuji. he carried nobara's bags like she was the next princess in line, without complaint and with the little fearful quivers that dogs get in their legs whenever their owners scold them for barking or misbehaving, much like how nobara would yell at yuji if he dropped a single cream linen sweater or ruffled pink cami.

megumi, on the other hand, was far too lethargic and quiet to be considered any kind of canine. although the weaved bracelet on his left wrist with a cute little puppy charm you caught sight of when he'd rolled his sleeve up implied otherwise. the only reason he'd even had to do that was to rub the sickeningly sweet orange blossom hand sanitizer nobara had spritzed on each of your palms after you took turns petting a stray cat, one that seemed to take a great liking to you and megumi in particular.

the night seemed to drag on forever; pale yellow lights and holiday decorations blurred into swathes and bubbles of color in your vision as the hours passed and the caffeine from the cute little coffeeshop you'd stopped at earlier began to wear off.

but there had just been something magical about that evening; spending time with friends (albeit, more like acquaintances) had granted you a much-needed break from cramming your mind with an overflow of information that was sure to spill out the moment you answered the last exam question. so, when it was almost midnight and it was time to retire to your bed, you'd insisted on staying out for just a little longer while nobara and the rest returned to their dorms to catch some sleep. yuji had complained something about his legs cramping, but you were feeling giddy, and the stars were twinkling just as bright as the light in nobara's eyes were when you told her you had to soak in the fresh air for as long as you could before being locked in to study again as she laughed and headed home with her pink dog-boy escort in tow.

megumi had mumbled something about staying with you since it was late and he wanted to make sure you were safe. you didn't think too much about it, because if you did, you were sure you'd end up with a faced even more flushed than it was frostbitten from the cold.

so, here you were, strolling down the quieter side of town, a brooding boy with inky dark hair and hands pale with blue veins shoved into the pockets of his jacket trailing behind you. he had one airpod tucked into his pierced ear; you assumed he hadn't brought his headphones because yuji would be there to prattle and babble. even so, you were content not to say anything, so there was plenty of opportunity for him to wear both. but he wasn't. you decided not to linger on it.

you'd just finished writing a silly little note out of the crisp snow gathered on the windshield of some stranger's car; the flakes were cold and biting on your skin, leaving it feeling numb with little droplets of icy water when you pulled away to admire your handiwork.

"actually, maybe i shouldn't be doing that." you decided after a moment, mumbling under your breath. it was just a little message with a whiskered smiley face, but the headlights on the car and the bumper seemed to form a frown at you when you stepped back, shaking its motorized head at your vandalism.

"you think?"

megumi's voice sounded from behind you, a little weighed down by the cold with a wisp of warmth leaving his lips like a powdery exhale, curling into the prickly night air. he was standing on the sidewalk, observing you all prickly-like as if you were some flagrant toddler he was babysitting. you still had to get used to the way his voice sounded after rarely hearing it; the few crumbs you got when your professors forced obligatory presentations onto struggling students had sent this warm, fuzzy feeling collecting in your stomach at the rich tone of velvet it held. not rough or overly deep, but smooth and reassuring. the kind you could fall asleep to; like there was a lullaby just waiting to be poured from his tongue with little scratches in the indent of his tone.

of course, you hadn't heard enough of it to make such an assumption, so when you heard the little quip framed with irritation at the edges, it wasn't all sugary sweetness like you imagined.

"yeah, well, sorry i like to live a little," you huffed, rubbing your hands together in an attempt to resuscitate some warmth back into them with a small little sigh.

"you call that living?" he scoffs a little, cocking an eyebrow at the vandalized toyota behind you. now, it just looked a little sad; imaginary eyebrows over the red lights droopy in disappointment. you followed his gaze, before looking back at him and making a sour face as you stepped onto the sidewalk.

"maybe we just have different tastes, y'know? doesn't mean we don't have to get along like this," you mumbled, shaking your hands out a little to get the remaining snow droplets off before stuffing them back in your blazer pockets. "just like itadori and nobara. one has terrible taste in fashion and the other doesn't, but they both like their bright colors." you feel satisfied with yourself for that one, but clearly, megumi doesn't feel the same. but the corner of his pink lips seem to quirk up just a tiny bit, and you feel pride blooming in your chest.

there's just something about the way it looks— an almost implausible smile coaxed onto his lips by something particularly amusing, reaching his dull blue eyes in a way that made their usual tedious apathy morph into something like fondness, or appreciation. adding a shine to his navy irises the lamp light overhead could only hope to mimic. then again, you didn't let your mind linger on it for too long like usual— so instead you chalked it up to the one other thing that had caught your eye besides the sharpness of his jaw and the handsome slimness of his face: his jacket.

you take back what you said about his style and its blandness before— it would be unfair to what he was wearing right now. just a simple black turtleneck (one that you were sure he'd worn to the early morning wednesday lecture you had a few days ago, when the sun was still bright enough to catch on the condensation of the cup of lemonade your white-haired, oddly sweet-toothed professor had), and black jeans, but the vintage racing windbreaker hanging from his shoulders brought it together in a way that was unfairly seamless; all dark blues and stripes of checker; a neutral grayblue that reminded you of the sky on rainy afternoons, trudging about the shopping districts in tokyo. there were a few brand patches here and there, some red bubble lettering of names you didn't recognize in patches of color that brought out the shade of his eyes. maybe the labels of those energy drink brands you often caught him running on when the shadows beneath his long dark lashes seemed heavier than usual.

all that to say he looked good. like, seriously good. you didn't know how you hadn't noticed all night— but now that you had, it was hard to keep your eyes from his slim and tall silhouette (not that he minded). the jacket really complimented it.

"that's a neat jacket. where'd you get it?" you asked after a moment of chilling silence; he'd probably noticed you looking, and you prayed he didn't think you were checking him out. although, if that meant getting your hands on one of those windbreakers, you wouldn't really mind. he glanced up at you, tearing his attention from the sad snowy toyota camry that seemed worn past its years at the newfound attention on megumi's racing jacket. he blinked a little, and you didn't miss the little flake of frost on his eyelash; probably caught from brushing past a windowsill earlier. by now, most shops were closed; even so, the street still felt warm and safe. well, maybe it was to be credited to a person rather than the concrete— but like you had been all night, you ignored it.

"oh, this?" as if he was wearing more than one jacket (it was cute), "i thrifted it." and for some reason, you didn't expect to be surprised, but you were. him? thrifting? the few western-fashion tailored thrift stores you'd been to with nobara had been lacking— not like you'd been able to stay in them long; the artificial ginger had this... beef with reused clothes. she liked her clothes clean and fresh from the press, even if you reminded her they could just be fresh from someone else's press. megumi must be familiar with the antiquated racks of varied worn graphic tees and frayed pants if he could fish something that classy from a thrift store.

then again, it's not like you had any experience to go off of at all.

"really? y'know, i've always wanted to go thrifting," you sighed, stretching your arms out, watching the fabric of your blazer wrinkle and curve to follow the movement of your muscles. a light dusting of snow coated the surface, like powdered sugar on tiramisu. that makes the coffee stains fitting. "but i feel like i'm bad at it." you said, stepping over a crack in the sidewalk, the rubber bottom of your sneakers brushing against a little clump of pine green weeds.

"bad at it?" megumi echoes, following you with a faint ruffle of smooth fabric, like the sound of a zipper sliding down. before, the world had been a cool shade of gray, like smoke rising from a cigarette or the blurry blue of the sky from the window of a speeding bullet train. but now, you let yourself soak in the sound of his voice, like grinded coffee beans and a smooth, soothing honey medicine for your throat on a sick day when you get to cozy up in your bunk bed and watch the clouds drift by.

it's nice.

"yeah. like, i wouldn't know where to go, or what to find, or what to look for..." you trailed off, rubbing your cold fingers together again as your breaths leave in little exhales of coagulating mist in the cold night air. now that it was late, it the temperature would only continue to drop.

you walked in silence for a little longer, listening to the scuffles of shoes against concrete, glassy with ice that had begun to creep up on the roads like a steady stream of seafoam from the tides.

"why don't we go thrifting now, then?" he asks out of the snowy blue.

you paused, and you almost smacked straight into a pole. "now?" you spluttered, turning around to face him. the look on his face was unreadable; a mix between exasperation, amusement, an attempt at stoicism, and something like affection in the corner of his lips as they curved upward. it was like a CPR compression; the smile that sent fuzzy electricity through your veins and reinvigorated your heart.

"yes, now." he said it like you were stupid, which you might just be, the way you stared dumbly at his face. "the place i got this jacket from is just over there," he said, jutting a ring-adorned thumb behind him. you had to lean up and peek around his shoulder to see it; you wouldn't've noticed if he didn't point it out. it was tucked between two buildings, a stairway downward into the store. the only thing indicating its status as a retail and thrifting store was the broken neon sign and painted red arrow that gestured towards the staircase.

"looks really shady. and it's late." you grumbled after you got over yourself, and he shot you an irritated look. that was all he really seemed to be doing tonight; that downward knit of his dark eyebrows and the slight pout weighing his lips down. not very suave, you think.

he swallows hard, and you aimlessly watch the bob of his adam's apple. "well?" he prompts, a hard edge to his voice despite the situation. you stand there for a little while, marinating in the growing cold until you cant feel the tips of your fingers.

"fine."

one accidental slip on the crosswalk and a few minutes later, you're stepping down the last wooden stair of the thrift store and into the building's basement; it's much bigger than you would've thought, with an expanse of layered clothing racks that obscure your vision, the corners of the walls clogged with cobwebs and years of dust build up. there's a faint lingering scent of cigarette smoke and cologne; something vanilla that you've caught clinging to megumi's wrists and neck on the rare occasion you brush past him. faint jazz spills from the speakers, something in a swing rhythm with the signature lilt of saxophone that makes you think you should be out enjoying a romantic fancy dinner instead of being cooped up between old wrinkly moth-bitten clothes. but you're here with megumi, so you convince yourself you don't mind either way.

"you sure this is the right place?" you asked, trying (and failing) to keep the obvious distain from your voice as you kick a folded 'floor-is-wet' sign from your path and step into the store. you can't even see the cash register from where you're standing.

"yes, i'm sure. can you stop complaining?" you can practically hear the eyeroll in his voice, and you're sure you could see it too if you just turned around. "trust me. it's not all shit." his voice softens, and you freeze up a little as he brushes past you; the corridors and margins are tight, so he has to turn sideways to fit. even so, a tag on your coat manages to snag on his jacket, and you hasten to unhook it before he can notice. he almost disappears into the racks, and you have to follow him, pushing your way through thick coats and worn graphic tees that have cracked logos and balls of lints clinging to them.

you're no thrifting expert, but you're pretty sure the store's supposed to be in better condition than this.

"hey." megumi's voice soon snaps you back into reality, and you look up from the mustard yellow top you were eyeing warily to meet his sedate gaze. "the good stuff's in the back. c'mon." he doesn't give you much room to argue even though it sounds like you're here to do drugs rather than find clothing, and before you can react he's reached forward to grab your wrist and tug you along. a yelp of protest almost spills from your lips, but you bite your tongue and let him drag you along, trying to extinguish the hue of cherry you know is making a home on the tips of your ears.

you brush past patchwork coats and a few leather belts that've tangled with the lace from the silk shirts next to them, but nothing really catches your eye, until you realize that he's let go of you only because of the lack of warmth around your skin and you focus yourself on the current again. you glance up at him, but he already has his back turned to you, sifting through a rack of black shirts that all look the exact same. maybe you have an untrained eye, though.

still, you can't help it when your gaze lingers over the back of his neck; one strand of dark hair has caught itself beneath the collar of his turtleneck, and it irks you. and you decide to do something about it because you'll know it'll bother you if you don't.

time seems to move in a liquid slow; things are blurring and there's no mothballs or ugly recycled coats to get in your way as you reach over and swipe your hand across his neck, hooking a finger beneath the strand and pulling it out of his collar. it takes you a moment to realize what you just did, and when you do, it's like there's a permanent mark seared into your index finger just from the touch of his skin against your own. you think he might have whiplash because he turns his head around so fast to catch your gaze before you can slink away, eyes wide and eyebrows knit, and you notice his bottom lip is snagged between his teeth.

he raises an eyebrow, but before he can utter a shaming word that'll only make you feel more embarrassed you shake your head vigorously, apologetically.

"sorry— it was bothering me. i hope you don't mind." you managed to say, the words spilling out in a rush before you turned away and slipped past him, disappearing into an aisle of dresses. you can feel his gaze burning cold holes into your back as you distract yourself.

you don't let yourself linger on what you just did— you seem to be doing a lot of that, lately, especially with him as you go through a few batches of clothing. by now, it's far past midnight, and you're feeling much more sluggish than you'd like to admit. you haven't seen megumi in a good twenty minutes save for the few times you picked up a few shirts and a cute diner jacket you thought would look good on him. he just thanked you bluntly, taking the bundle of clothing from your arms before walking away to the fitting rooms. you wished he'd stay to let you see the jacket.

you'd tried on a few things, discarding your blazer in favor of a cute knitted cardigan you grabbed, but nothing seemed to stick the way you'd like them to. it would be a great help if you had nobara to assist, but you were sure she was snoring away at home right now, and at the thought of your warm, inviting bed, your knees wobbled a little and you balanced yourself on the wall.

"hey— oh, you alright?" it's an unfamiliar voice; you lift your head up, looking for the source. it's a young boy— he looks to be about your age, maybe a little younger. there's a blue lanyard around his neck, and he's got a spattering of freckles on his hands, which are curled around the collar of a white linen shirt. he must be the one who's tending to the store.

"yeah, i'm okay. sorry," you said hastily, pushing away and rubbing the back of your neck. how embarrassing— he didn't seem to mind, though. he just smiled, big and bright and toothy. cute. reminded you of how toddlers would grin up at parents with those huge red lollipops in hand.

"no worries. i just thought i'd let you know that we're closing soon, since it's almost 2am." he said, shifting his weight on his sneakers. you nodded, about to give a hum of confirmation before another voice cuts through the slow jazz filling the stifling air above, all familiar in its smoothness.

before you could respond, though— "[name]?" megumi's voice rang out in the quaint little store, calling for you, and so you give the employee an apologetic nod before you turn and start toward the noise. you pass a mirror with a coat draped over the top, peeking your head around a tall rack of long skirts to catch sight of the raven head, in all of his glory. you notice that he's taken off his windbreaker.

"what’s up? we have to go soon," you reminded him, yawning a little and rubbing your eyes as you straightened up and stepped over to his side. there was another mirror in front of him, you noticed, with fading stickers pale in the dim yellow light stuck to the wooden rim. even so, with the smudges and the bare sheen of the silver, he looked good. that black turtleneck really suits him.

"i know. i just wanted to ask for your opinion." he said, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. you tilted your head curiously, and he held up a deep mauve sweatshirt, with some varsity logo branded on the fabric. it had a nice touch to it; a warm color that reminded you of red wine and slow evenings. you were sure it had been one of the pieces you'd picked out for him, but you were too sleepy to recall. "you should try it on. i think it'd look good," you said, gesturing toward the mirror.

you think you must've said something wrong, because he looks at you for a moment too long before he seems to catch himself staring and he nods, a choked little sound leaving his throat which he hides by ducking his head down and covering his face with his long bangs. you think you're hallucinating the pink on his cheeks.

after a moment, he glances at you. "hold this," he shoves his jacket towards you, and you have no choice but to take it. doesn't seem like he's used to taking no for an answer, but you're certainly not the one complaining when he tugs the sweater over his head, ruffling his soft black hair as he steps a little closer to you, observing himself in the mirror while straightening out the folds and fixing his turtleneck. you were right— it does look good on him. almost unfairly so— you don't know how he manages to rock granny clothes so well, like he was born a retirement home's runway model.

unlike him, you're not a reticent shut in— and although you'd like to say you have no problem telling him how good he looks, it's still a little difficult when the words feel like they're lodged in your throat in order to prevent you from making a fool of yourself again. but you ignore it and push on.

"you look great. i think it really suits you," you breathed, shaking your head as your hands tighten around his jacket in your arms. he blinks, adjusting the collar before glancing down at you. you take a moment to really appreciate the sight— him, bathed in the soft yellow glow of the chipped lights overhead. despite the dilapidated store and the antiquated, worn clothing surrounding him, he still manages to look like some ethereal angel boy you'd stumble upon in a bookstore on a dreary winter's afternoon and never be able to get out of your mind again.

ink black eyelashes flutter when he blinks, framing his eyes like the bangs falling over his face when he turns around again to observe himself in the mirror once more before he takes the sweatshirt off. it catches on his turtleneck, which rides up when he slips the mauve sweater over his head, tussling his hair and exposing the dip of his pale hips, all muscle and flesh and bone, and you pray he chalks up the red on your face to the cold. the end of his belt dangles from the buckle as you hand his jacket back to him, fingers almost brushing— just barely out of reach.

a meager conversation flows between the two of you; you follow him through the endless maze of used clothing until you somehow stumble upon the cash register and he buys his sweater; the only thing he manages to buy after all this time spent milling about in a dusty, dinky little retail store. the boy from earlier helps check him out, and the icy glare he receives from megumi when he glances at you seems to fly straight past your head as you pick at your cuticles. the tips of your fingers are still red from messing with the frosty snow earlier. you wonder when the car owner will find your message.

it's almost freezing when you get out of the dusty shop, emerging from the smoke-stained alleyway stairs and into the cold night air. your breaths almost seem to form a precipitate, and the thought reminds you of the chemistry conversions waiting for you on your desk beneath the lamp, and you cringe internally. staying out for a few hours longer seems way better than succumbing to the never ending stream of worksheets and documents calling your name. you wonder if your charismatic professor will let you get away with a few assignments if you call in sick. are papercuts excuse enough?

the click of a lock behind you signifies the store's closing— the employee left through a back exit, it seems. and you realize too late that you left your blazer in the dressing room when you turn around and a sigh falls from your lips. megumi, paper bag in hand, glances over at you.

"you okay?"

you almost forgot he was there, in his brooding vintage racing jacket glory. you shake your head, before sighing forlornly again. he notices this, making a little face; his lips press together and his pretty eyes narrow. he thinks you sigh far too much. you'd look prettier if you smiled some more. he likes it when you do.

"i left my blazer in there, but he just closed it and it's so fucking cold out," you whined, bringing your hands to your face and rubbing your eyes tiredly. you're cold and your fingers are going numb again, and there's light snowfall. so much for not losing your coat at a club. you can't tell which one's worse. "sorry to complain so much, but do you mind if we—"

you're promptly cut off; the words on your tongue left unsaid, burning with the taste of bitter black coffee. your gaze trails from megumi's hand, the clink of his silver ring against the zipper rail of his jacket as his fingers curl around the fabric, up his arm to the sleeves of his dark turtleneck, rounding the curve of his shoulders and up his neck to his face. he's not looking at you.

the words that leave his wet lips are so small and hurried that you think you're hallucinating them; when you inevitably looked back at this moment later, you'd realize that he was being shy. he mumbles something under his sweet breath, and you ask him to speak up.

"i said, you can use mine." he repeats, louder than necessary as he finally brings himself to look down at you from under his lashes, biting the inside of his cheek. his voice is a little strained, and a soft breeze carrying the smell of cinnamon and fresh ice rustles his hair. you blinked, feeling like a deer caught in headlights over a layer of thin ice, ready to shatter at a moment's notice.

"oh— okay. um, do you have anywhere else you need to go..?" you said tentatively, reaching forward to take his jacket again. it was exactly like how you'd done back in the thrift store, but the vague sense of deja vu you get is accompanied by an endless fluttering of warmth in your stomach that melts away the winters and tiring exams, and the night seems to become a soft warm orange, as if someone's drained the cool hues from the landscape.

megumi just shook his head, reaching into his bag and taking out the sweater he'd bought earlier. he slips it on again, adjusting it over his shoulders and refusing to meet your eyes as he crumples the paper bag in his hands. you notice they're slightly trembling as he does it, fingers digging into the material with much more force than is really needed. his hair follows each movement of his head; the strain of the muscles in his neck when he swallows again and gestures for you to follow him back down the empty street, past cars coated in melting snow and jaunty yellow lights twinkling over the awnings of closed store windows, shut down for the night. the sweater suits him really well, you think; not too loose, but tight enough in the right places to send your heart racing a mile a minute.

you pull his jacket over your arms, tucking your sleeves in and zipping it up. it's big on you— that's no surprise, and you can almost taste the vanilla on your tongue, his cologne lingering on every fold of the insulated fabric. it's warm, and it feels like being enveloped in a tight hug. in megumi's head, he hopes— prays its him you think of if you ever feel that way again.

you walk in a stiff silence; both of you want to say something, but you're dancing around it, letting your words linger unsaid until the other breaks the ice first. it's only ever cracked once you reach the dorms, where you part ways. there's light snowfall, and a thin layer of white has coated his hair when you turn to face him. you reach forward, learning onto the tips of your toes to brush off the ice. his hair feels unimaginably soft beneath your fingers, slightly damp from the snow. but he's the furthest from cold when you pull away; his face is burning up.

by now, you can't bring yourself to mind.

"thank you," you said softly, sighing contentedly. you move to take his jacket off your shoulders and return it, but he stops you, holding a hand up. the expression on his face is unreadable, but his lips are pursed together in a way that makes you think he's pouting.

"don't worry—" a pause. " you can, uh. keep it. i know you wanted one. just... give it back when you want, yeah?" he says, curt. almost prude, if it weren't for the way he was avoiding your gaze out of embarrassment. it was like trying to play the world's most difficult game of whack-a'mole, attempting to catch his eyes and see the iceberg that's melted into pools of warm glittering affection in his blue irises. at the thought, you wonder if he likes arcades, and you make a mental note to suggest an activity to nobara the next time she has the urge for an escapade.

you don't bother asking him whether he's sure, because you don't want him to take his words back. so you linger there in a moment of silence, letting it hang over your heads like a warm throw blanket, cozied in front of a fireplace with a mug of hot chocolate in your hands. maybe a coffee mix like you'd attempted before.

angel boy clears his throat first to speak, all honey that links the syllables together like christmas ribbon; rich like orange flavored dark chocolate. "i'll see you later, then." it's short and sweet, but your heart is already flying so high on euphoria you can barely bring yourself to care, or suppress the giddy grin that's spreading across your lips.

yeah, you're tired. yeah, you're still a little cold and you think you need to thaw at your desk for a week until exams, but at least you've got his jacket to accompany you when your study buddy passes out first and you're alone on all nighters. frankly, you can't bring yourself to care— your head is spinning with the events of the chilly night, from crude messages in the snow to thrift store mothballs and lanyards, to one checkered racing jacket. but you don’t think it’s so bad when it threatens to stick to your memory, like chewed up gum under your professor’s desk. whether it’s from the students or the professor, that’s a mystery you’ll never solve.

"yeah. see you around, fushiguro." you can’t say the same about the mystery that megumi is, though. in fact, you think you’re already one step closer when you turn around and part ways, catching sight of him in the reflection of a frosted window. he’s slipping both of his airpods back into his ears, crimson at the tips.

the sound of your shoes against the rug stairway fills your ears as you clamber back up to your dorm, eyelids heavy with drowsiness and face flushed a pleasant warmth. even when you finally get to bed, you can't stop your eyes from drifting over to the bundle of lapis blue fabric sitting on your desk, and your mind from the soft spoken boy with eyes like the night sky and inky hair like calligraphy.

you decide you don't think his style is too bad, after all. and when you tell him that the next morning when he's still sleepy and his lashes fall slow when he blinks the weariness from his eyes, you get to enjoy the steady flush that stains his cheeks and prompts a hoarse cough from his throat when he ducks his head away and grumbles something under his breath, probably about being offended you even thought he was boring in the first place.

and if you ever ask, the only reason he lent you his windbreaker that night was to replace the scent of mothballs and dust with your sweet-smelling perfume.

so, as it turns out, you're able to get your hands on one of those pretty vintage racing jackets— except, it wasn't a new one; it was his. nobara hasn't stopped pestering you with questions since you showed up to class the next day; the only thing you hear for the next week is how much she regrets leaving early.

apparently, it's all yuji's fault.

my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

#ahhh im really sorry this is late;; got busy with life like those ao3 authors but much less impressive #i really like jazz i feel like not enough people do #just listen to persona music sometime. its worth #sometimes i make up words but thats ok as long as people buy it. i speak english first language trust 👨‍🔬#i feel like reader is kokomi or whatever her name is from saiki k #at that one ramen place but its a thrift store.. pretending it’s not all that bad except reader doesn’t rlly try LMFAO #for megumi!!! everything we do is for him 💐#megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x you #fushiguro megumi x you #megumi x reader #megumi x you #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #megumi fushiguro #megumi fushiguro x y/n #billet-doux #and via thinks her titles r bad #I CAN FINALLMY. WORK ON MY CHRISTMAS EVENT

590 notes · View notes

lawyermurderer · 29 days ago

Text

Here's everything from my part of the POPSTAR'S SUPER ULTRA SCRAPBOOK ZINE @popstarzine!!! Everyone worked really hard on their artworks so check it out :)

First we have the final artwork!

With and without the spotlight :D Everything, except the spotlight, was done using traditional mediums and scanned individually. I'm really glad I could be a part of this and it being my first zine.

Take a look at the process video

Keep reading for details :o

Concept sketches and final sketch before painting

The sketch has the list of enemy characters and a few different thumbnail sketches of Dedede. The gist of the artwork was to show the characters working together to set up the fighting ring for the fight that happens in game with the 4 small paintings. With the middle painting being Dedede in the decorated room. I re-sketched 2 of the small paintings I was having trouble visualizing and some background and foreground bits.

This sketch was the original sketch for my piece before I was told I needed Dedede in it. I plan on coloring this, but I'm busy so it will just have to be a sketch for now.

Background and foreground

The background pattern is the pattern from the sides of the fighting ring, but without Dedede's face and symbol. It was made with alcohol markers and the white lines are painting with acrylic pen.

For the foreground, the light purple drape is from where the crowd sits, and the side banners are from the main fighting ring. Both painted with gouache with the side banners having paper stars I cut out using my Cricut and drew the gold with a pen. The bottom part of the foreground is the ropes and poles of the ring.

Paintings

Top left - The area the Waddle Dees are in is the room before the fight Dedede

Top right - Noddy and Simirror are on the covering the sides of the stage, but Noddy fell asleep and is not being helpful.

Bottom left - They are on top of the stage but looking up at the support beams

Bottom right - Also on top of the stage, but it is angled facing downward

Middle - I thought it would be funny if Dedede used his strength to step down on the ropes. Also, do you notice that Mario and Peach are in the crowd?

Stickers, stamps, & paper

Stickers - I lied when I said everything was made using traditional mediums >:) the stickers were drawn digitally, printed and rescanned. Yes, they're actual stickers and I will stick them on to everything.

Sticky note & breezes - Words on the sticky note were carved out of rubber carving blocks and using ink to stamp it onto a sticky note. The breezes are from the start screen of string breeze and are finger painted on paper with ink

Wax stamp - wax seal was also carved from rubber carving blocks. Scanning the wax stamp was difficult because it wasn't flat, so I took a picture of it instead

Scanner & Editing software

For the scanner, I used a Canon Lide 400 scanner and for the price it's a pretty good, but this is my first scanner, so I'm not sure how other scanners fair.

I used Affinity Photo 2 on my iPad to put everything together. I originally used Procreate, but after seeing the quality I realized I needed a photo editing program. So I used the free trial from Affinity to make the final artwork. Original I wanted the final piece to have a white border but decided against it and instead added shadows to make it look like a spotlight. Also added some shadows to some areas.

Everything but it's not scanned

Ok, thanks for coming to my art talk :D see you next time!

45 notes · View notes

rc-catalog · 23 days ago

Text

It’s that time again—our Creator Of The Month celebration is back, and this month’s spotlight is glowing brighter than ever!

Please join us in welcoming the endlessly talented Lola, @malbontesmrs, to the COTM hall of fame! 💗

From Procreate to her keyboard, Lola is a true architect of imagination—and we’re thrilled to celebrate her work all month long! To help you get to know the magic behind the masterpieces, we’ve put together a short interview where she shares her inspirations, her process, and more! 🌸

💬 1) INTRODUCE YOURSELF!

Hi, I’m Lola. And to be honest, I’m terribly boring.

💬 2) WHEN AND HOW DID YOU FIRST DISCOVER ROMANCE CLUB! What drew you in, and what made you stay? Were there any particular characters, stories, or moments that left a mark on you?

I discovered RC in April 2021, and played enough that when I re-downloaded the app after deleting it, I still had a profile. I actually more or less forgot about it, HS1 JUST finished fully releasing, and I remember reading up to where Vicky gave Bont the food from the school kitchens at least. I think I may have deleted the app shortly after that because of the CY Alexander scene . It’s also entirely possible that I just got too busy and didn’t put it on my new phone. When I redownloaded it in 2023, it was because an acquaintance suggested it, but even then I barely touched it until HS2 started releasing (though I did love SoS and probably played it like 3-4 times before then). I didn’t remember playing HS1 at all until after I played it again, so when I started HS2, and encountered Malbonte and Lucifer for the first time, all I could think was “omg, how could anyone like these jerks”. …anyway, that’s my husband and my other husband now, so I guess I figured that out. I guess all that is to say Alice’s HS brought me, kept me, and continues to keep me on this app.

💬 3) HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN CREATING? Can be both RC related and in general! What first sparked your passion for it?

I’ve been creating (in general) for a long time. I won’t say how long, but I’m probably older than most of those who know me realize 😂. But for RC, I only started in early 2024. I also only somewhat recently started working with digital painting (late 2023). I’ve been writing since forever, but I only recently started publicly posting my work as well. I’m generally not very social 😅

💬 4) DO YOU REMEMBER YOUR FIRST EVER CREATION? Again, can be RC related or in general! What was it, how did it feel to bring it to life, and looking back now, how do you feel about it?

The first creative thing I did for RC was the first three chapters of my long fic, Lux in Tenebris. I’ll talk about it in question 7 though, because I don’t want to get too repetitive. The first piece of art I posted in the RC fandom was a picture of Bont that I posted from an old account. I loved, and still love that piece. It was the first time I moved out of a more cartoony style, and inspired the HS2 portrait series I ended up doing later. link

💬 5) DO YOU HAVE ANY RITUALS OR HABITS WHEN YOU CREATE? A playlist you always put on, a time of day you prefer, snacks or specific tools/software?

I’m still working on my HS long fics, and I have a playlist I use for those (mostly Rok Nardin songs because they feel very applicable and they’re instrumental, so random words I’m hearing don’t end up in my writing). I write on my iPad with the keyboard attachment because I’m more likely to carry it around than a laptop. I use Word (bleh) because I need it for work anyway, but Word isn’t really friendly for HTML markup and that’s how I write my fics, so I have been considering other options (Rok Nardin Spotify playlist for those who might be curious). I also keep my fics in the cloud so I can access them on my phone in case inspiration hits while I’m at the doctor’s office or something. I save each chapter as an individual file, and for these fics I’ve been posting them as I write them. If I ever do another series like this again though, I may consider a different course of action because it does get a little stressful when writers block hits. My fics are long, and I try to post chapters every week or two, so I’m writing a looooot these days. If I have writer’s block (which has been happening more and more lately), I use different strategies. My bestie isn’t a RC fan, but she’s happy to let me run thoughts by her (which has come to some entertaining results from time to time). Sometimes I’ll just put on that same Rok Nardin playlist I use when writing and go for a walk, because it helps keep me in the mind of it so I can brainstorm. If that doesn’t work… I step away. Close my iPad and don’t even think about it for a bit, or move onto a drawing for a while. For art: No rituals, no things I do every time. I draw when the inspiration hits, and draw until I’m bored of drawing 😂. I have surprisingly very few abandoned WIPs despite this though. I use Procreate, iPad and Apple Pencil. Sometimes I listen to audiobooks while drawing. Sometimes I don’t. Drawing is a very, very casual thing I do. Fun fact: most of my art only uses two brushes and a heck-ton of smudging. Any additional brushes are stamps. I wish I could tell you which brushes they are, but “Brush 4” probably doesn’t help 🤷🏼‍♀️

💬 6) IS THERE A PIECE OF ADVICE YOU WOULD GIVE TO YOUR YOUNGER CREATIVE SELF? Or readers in general?

1000% it’s that practice makes perfect. My art feels like a huge testament to that statement because (I think anyway) you can see the major improvements I’ve made in the last year alone. I have one CG that I like to practice new techniques by redrawing it, and I keep them in a row in my procreate folder so I can see the progression and my own improvement. It helps with motivation, but I find it also helps because I can take things I like from different versions to incorporate them into my style. I picked up a lot of technical skills and techniques by doing that. As for writing, I know it’s the most cliché advice ever, but write for yourself. Write what you want to read; chances are there’s someone else who wants to too. The nice thing about doing that, is that you can do whatever you want. And for both, don’t value your work based on its engagement. That was a tough lesson for me to learn, especially with my art, which hasn’t been getting very much engagement at all these days, and my new fic, which isn’t getting nearly as much in the way of comments as Lux in Tenebris did. What I’ve found though, is that every time I start to get bummed about the lack of engagement on BO&BR, someone pops up out of nowhere to tell me they’ve loved my stories and have been reading them for a while. The point is, just because I’m not seeing engagement, doesn’t mean it’s not there; sometimes people just don’t know what to say, sometimes they’re too shy to say anything, sometimes they mean to say something and it slips their minds. Either way, if you work on something you love, it doesn’t matter what other people think.

💬 7) CHOOSE 3-5 OF YOUR FAVOURITE WORKS AND RAMBLE AWAY! We want all the behind-the-scenes thoughts: What do these pieces mean to you? What inspired them? Were there any struggles you faced while creating them? What emotions or memories are tied to them now?

Lux in Tenebris – Malbonte x MC HS1 (long) fanfiction (Posted on AO3, rated E for occasional smut and canon-typical descriptions of violence / death)

I chose this one first for a reason, because it is by far the most meaningful project I’ve ever done (and to be honest, hopefully the most meaningful I’ll ever do). Lux in Tenebris is my entire 2024; I started it in January, and finished it in December— it’s over 255,000 words (1100 pages). I was (am? but it’s much better managed now) very sick in 2024, and I ended up in the hospital for over a month. Lux was my main project through the year, and it helped me get through the harder times; it is a tangible representation of my struggles that year. I love Lux, and I hope I always will. I know it’s not perfect, there were a lot of chapters I wrote when I was extremely unwell and could definitely use some editing, but I’m not perfect either. It was the first long fic that I ever fully completed, and it was the first project I’ve ever done that I legitimately made for myself and my own enjoyment; other people liking it was a very unexpected, and pleasant, bonus. (Though admittedly, I did at one point think how nice it would be if a non-Malbonte fan read it and became a Malbonte fan 😂. That didn’t happen to my knowledge, but I had a non-HS1 fan read it and enthusiastically love it, so I’m counting that 😄). It also wasn’t the story I planned in the beginning (I completely changed course around chapter 3, then totally committed to that change by chapter 7). I’m happy with the direction it took though. I poured my whole life into that fic, and I’m still working on the sequel. So yeah, it’s pretty important to me. I loved writing it, I love reading it, and I love talking about it. This fic is my baby.

2. The HS2 LI series

Similar to Lux in Tenebris, I worked on these portraits to distract me from being sick, and I wanted to work with a bit more variety of people. HS2 is (probably obviously) my favourite story on the app, and I wanted to honour it somehow, I guess. I actually want to do the series over, because I feel like I’ve learned a lot of new techniques and improved my art since then, but we’ll see. I have to finish the ABH series first. I actually find Dino and Lucifer to be two of the most difficult people I’ve drawn to get “right”, and those two portraits took the longest by quite a bit to do (Luci with his tattoos especially. Tbh, the more I look at it, the more I reeeeeally want to redo War and Astaroth too…) Anyway, yeah, it was a fun project that I did because I love HS2, and it was a lot of fun to work on. Of course with practice, as I’ve improved, I can see a lot more issues with these pictures than I could when I did them, but I’ll always love the project itself because it was a nice distraction from the things going on at the time. Dino / Lucifer / Mimi / Astaroth / War / Hunger / Malbonte

3. Black Obelisks & Blood Roses (Malbonte x MC HS2 fanfiction) – in progress sequel to Lux in Tenebris (Posted on AO3, rated E for occasional smut and canon-typical descriptions of violence / death)

I debated choosing this, but decided I can’t promote Lux without promoting the sequel I’m currently writing, Black Obelisks & Blood Roses. It’s only about 1/3 of the way done, but it’s already over 164,000 words (650 pages). I’m actively updating at least twice a month, but often more than that (and never less). I grieved Lux in Tenebris when it was finished. It literally felt like a piece of me died or something. I had started planning BO&BR very early into writing Lux, so I knew I was going to write a sequel, but I had every intention of taking a month or two between the two. I did not. I started this one earlier than I planned because I was so sad about finishing Lux that I had to. It’s been a lot more of a struggle to write, especially lately. I’ve got a lot going on in my life, and honestly, the subject matter is kind of a bummer sometimes. I’m only JUST coming out of Season 1 now in the fic. BUT, I still love writing it, and going back to my little world with Malbonte and Antigone. I just revealed my first major divergence from canon (and not-so-secret crossover), and I’m simultaneously nervous and excited. I’ve been planning this for months and I’m kind of freaking out that it’s already here. Anyway, my fics take a lot more of my time, so I tend to have a lot more feelings around them. I plot and plan constantly, readjust and rework plans as needed. Even still, I go with the flow while I write, and sometimes things happen that even I didn’t expect but they feel right, so it becomes part of the story. That’s my favourite part to be honest, when I write something and I’m like “damn, that wasn’t supposed to happen yet but it’s SO GOOD here”.

4. Raphael Portrait

I’m two characters (David and 🥰Cassiel🥰) away from finishing the ABH LI portrait series, but Raphael is the latest art piece I’ve completed, and definitely in my top 3 best pieces ever, I think (it could be #1, but I’m biased so clearly my best piece is Malbonte 😂). I’ve started experimenting more with open mouth smiles, which has been fun. I love Raphael’s smile, it’s just… ugh, so cute. I started working on pictures recently where I do the parts I don’t enjoy doing first, so that I don’t just kinda say “eh, it’s done enough”, aaaaand I’m pretty happy with that decision looking at this final piece. I’m really happy with how he turned out (especially his hair, haha and the light fixture in the background 😅). Unfortunately I’ve also been finding him a bit intimidating because I feel like he’s pushed the bar up. I haven’t even started the next portrait in the series (though I probably will the second I put this down because I’m suddenly feeling inspired) (update: I did in fact start it, but I’m still feeling intimidated by Raphael, so it didn’t get done by time of writing 😅).

5. Malbonte Portrait, CG Redraw

Last one! I wasn’t going to add this piece, but I think I’d be remiss if I didn’t because this is my practice CG! I have many, many, versions of this CG in my procreate folder, because I use it to practice, play with brushes, and teach myself new techniques. I keep them in a row at the bottom of my folder so I can see my progress, and refer back to things I like and don’t like about the ones I’ve done. This one is my favourite so far. I love Malbonte, so I’m always happy to complete Malbonte fan art. I think when practicing, especially if you’re going to do the same drawing over and over again like I do, it’s important to draw something that you enjoy doing. This CG is one of my favourites, and it’s a fantastic face-front portrait for practicing faces. I love it.

A huge thank you to everyone who took the time to read Lola's feature and celebrate her incredible work with us! And of course, thank you to all the amazing creators who submitted this month—we’re constantly in awe of your talent and passion.

Here’s to you, Lola—you paint stories we can’t stop reading and write pictures we can’t stop staring at. Congratulations, and thank you for sharing your gift with us! 🩷

#romance club #rc catalog event #rc catalog cotm #creator of the month #divider by sweetmelodygraphics

38 notes · View notes

kccinstitutes · 8 months ago

Text

🌟 Celebrating Success at KCC Institutes! 🌟

We are thrilled to spotlight Vishal Gupta, one of our brilliant B.Tech (CSE) graduates, who has secured a coveted position as a Software Developer at Prutor! 🎉

Vishal’s journey embodies the spirit of innovation and resilience that we foster at KCC Institutes. His remarkable achievement stands as a testament to the dedication, skill development, and comprehensive learning environment provided at our institute. 👨‍🎓✨

Join us in congratulating Vishal on this well-deserved milestone as he embarks on an exciting professional chapter! 🙌

proudmoment #kccachievers #btechcse #softwaredeveloper #careersuccess #engineeringexcellence #studentspotlight #kccinstitutes #greaternoida #prutorplacement #futureleaders

64 notes · View notes

brain-usurped-by-bug · 10 months ago

Text

Sugar and Smoke

King Candy takes advantage of the luxuries of his new life, while still longing for the simple pleasures of his old.

Characters: King Candy/Turbo, Sour Bill, Turbo Twins (mentioned)

Tags: Smoking, bubble bath, eating lots of sweets, angst

Completed on September 15th, 2024. 1476 words.

...

The new skin felt strange. It was softer than he was used to, higher definition. The flesh was unscared, the eyes bright, the cheeks jolly. The cadaverous pallor, the sunken eyes, the body he had carried his entire life was gone, phased out, banished into electric aether.

It wasn’t what he had before. He could smile again, but it wasn’t the same smile. He had a car again, but it wasn’t his red rocket. He didn’t have the simple pleasures of his home world; the gentle wave of the pixelated green grass, the earthy scent of the simple dirt loop, the reliable company of the twin racers…

Whatever. He didn’t need them. He didn’t need any of it. It was old software; untextured, primitive. The players had outgrown it, he had outgrown it. It didn’t deserve him. What he deserved was this! A castle, hundreds of subjects hanging off his every word, glitter graphics, high definition, a spotlight, a crown! It was the least fate could repay him for his suffering, rotting unknown in crawl spaces for ten years.

His honey brown eyes bounded over the walls of his new domain, cataloged it, let his mouth water. Pink cookie walls, rainbow sugar glass, sparkling white icing. It had been a long, long time since he’d had a taste of something sweet.

At the urging of his tongue he dove in, flew through his castle, eager to see every room, sample every flavor. Devour it, all of it, literally and metaphorically. It was his, all of it, all of it!

He admired the paintings of ice cream landscapes, chewed the corners off the nightstand in the cheesecake guest room, let the swirl of the lollipops hypnotize him, Let chocolate doorknobs melt in his mouth, ran his palms up the twisting licorice banister, broke peppermint decorations off the walls and sucked them to points.

He was in the middle of licking the icing off a gingerbread headboard when he caught the movement of a stranger behind him. He leapt off the bed and hurried to make himself presentable. The stranger stared back, licking his lips, adjusting the cuffs of his purple suit. The stranger had that look on his face, the look of being caught in the act.

He approached, cautiously. The stranger approached, cautiously. They lifted their hands, fingers meeting on the mirror’s glass. The strange reflection turned its head, ran it’s peach fingers over the wisps of gray hair above its ears, squished the soft cheek, pulled at the corner of the lip, ran a red tongue over white teeth. It stood back a bit, dusted itself off. The reflection wore a purple tailcoat, gold puff pants, caramel leggings, a lace collar, a gold crown and a shimmering red candy wrapper bow tie.

Not a single color carried over, no textures, not a sliver of his old face. This was good. It was. No one would ever recognise him. Even he didn't recognise him. He left the room. The stranger moved to follow, then vanished as he shut the door.

…

His room…. His room…. Ooh… he couldn't make a decision on it. It was different. Very different from what he was accustomed to. There was a rug, a clean one. Gingerbread armoires, rock candy lamps, footstools, a fainting couch, a make-up desk, wallpaper, a four poster bed with satin curtains! All white and pink. There was no black plastic, no exposed wires, no oil, no rubber, no concrete, no trophy shelf. Just sugar.

He wanted to fix it. Bring in the scent of tools and grease, rust, motor oil and gasoline, antifreeze, real dirt, real grime. Was there anything real in this world?

He reached for the pocket of his jumpsuit. His fingers grazed gold silk. He chuckled nervously and moved a hand to the new pocket within the interior breast of his tailcoat. He removed the contents and laid them on the bed. His last cigarette. A nondescript lighter. The password to the code room written on the corner of a Tapper’s napkin. These three things were the only possessions he had deemed essential enough to take with him. His homemade beer bottle string lights, portable radio, cassette tapes, checkered flag pillow, the steering wheel of his old car, all had to be left in the bowls of GCS. They were too big. Too tied to his old name. They were useless anyway, he didn't need old junk dragging him down.

He took the cigarette between his teeth, lit the end, and let the smoke ease his rattled code. Tabaco lifted his insides, wafted from his lips, overpowered the smell of sugar. He breathed, out and in, tapped the ash off and kicked it under the bed. His softened gaze fell on the door to the bathroom. His personal, private bathroom. A luxury the greatest racer ever had yet to experience. A smile pinched the corners of his mouth. He slipped his possessions back into his tailcoat and locked himself in the new room.

The bathroom was pink and white, same as the bedroom, but it had more of the later color than the former. The floor was tiled with sugar cubes and the windows were made from frosted sugar glass, but the pink clawfoot tub was remarkably normal looking. Finally. He turned the wheel atop the gold faucet and watched crystal water flow. He frowned. This wasn't some strange candy water was it? He wasn't going to bathe in soda. He parked his cigarette between his first two fingers and leaned over the edge of the tub for a taste. Alright, it was just sparkling water. He could deal with that. He put the cigarette back between his lips, tossed in a bit of soap that promised a perfect bubble bath and stood aside to remove his clothes.

He found something to recognise once his model was striped to its base. The skin may be different, but he still had the same bones, the same basic shape. The oversized head, short limbs, long feet, pudgy belly. He shifted the cigarette from the right corner of his mouth to the left and stuck a familiar pose; chest lifted, right hand gripping a (nonexistent) trophy, left hand giving the thumbs up.

‘Turbotastic!’

He almost said, catching the phrase before it left his mouth. His arms fell to his sides. The cigarette drooped on his lip.

Careful, careful. You can’t keep anything from your old life. It’s gone. You're not getting any of it back. You're above it anyway, you've grown beyond. Throw off the old rags.

He breathed smoke from his nose, shaking his head and muttering nonsense. He tapped cigarette ash into the sink, turned the faucet off and eased into his bubble bath. The soap’s label had been honest, some of the bubbles were nearly the size of his head. It was probably scented like something sweet, but he couldn't smell it through the tobacco. The water was what he expected; warm, fresh. Cleaner than him, almost certainly.

He lay back. Soaking. Smoking his cigarette down to its filter. He started to hum to himself.

“Hmm… hm hm hm hm, hm hm hm hm, hm hm h-”

The trumpets of the Turbotime overture played between his ears. The cheer of the plywood crowd. The way his fingers gripped the wheel, the way he’d turn it at the south bend, the dust he’d kick up, the way the twins would curse him when it got in their mouths, the way he’d laugh. They would beat him up after the race sometimes, when he t-boned them or made them spin out, but they always forgave him in time. If they had lived, would they have forgiven him for-

No, no no no stop stop STOP. He had to stop thinking about it, it had to disappear, he had to forget. He needed a distraction. He should have brought his casetes, more cigarettes. He threw a bar of soap at the service button beside the door. He missed, badly. He threw a larger bar and hit it this time. A dreary voice crackled over the intercom.

“King Candy?”

“Sour Bill! I need music brought to my bathroom!”

A long pause. “Like… a band?”

“No no! A radio, a walkman, something along those lines!”

“Mmmm… we have a record player.”

“That will do. Bring it in.”

“Yes sir. What kind of music do you want?”

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Anything, something… something energetic. I need cheering up.”

“Yes sir. Is there anything else you need?”

He took a final drag, kept the smoke in his body as long as he dared, then let it escape. A ghostly tower, part of his soul fading into the air. He sighed.

“No, that will be all.”

End

Author's notes: this was my first time writing fanfiction since like, 2019. It was fun to write something short and in a very different setting than what I normally write in. :)

#my contribution #my writing #wreck it ralph #wreck it ralph turbo #turbo #turbotastic #king candy #fanfic #smoking #turbo twins

94 notes · View notes