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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

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Words, Words, Words

Prompt: Hey, prompt idea! I would love some roman angst where after POF he stops talking and the other assume that he's mad at them when in reality he is unable to speak. As a selective mute myself, I would love to read a fic like this! - anon

it's been a while since I've posted fresh Roman angst and WOW did this jump out at me and go hey do you wanna project really really hard onto a character?

Read on Ao3

Warnings: Roman is nonverbal for a lot of this story and some of the things he does when he’s upset by that are self-destructive, nothing explicit

Pairings: the found family kick aint stopping

Word Count: 4128

He didn’t do it on purpose. He swears, he—he didn’t do it on purpose.

He just couldn’t talk.

It—it hurt, of…of course, it hurt to—to see the fallout of his bad decision explode with such…disastrous consequences. It hurt to see Patton so upset and confused because everyone was expecting him to have answers that he didn’t and—and Roman will take the blame for that, that’s his fault. And it hurt to see Logan so upset even when he was just there in his lowdowns and he—he didn’t have to be so cruel to Logan, that’s his fault too. And it—

…it hurt to see that he really is just as awful as Remus, even if J—

No. It doesn’t matter.

Roman messed up. Really, really bad. And he’ll take the blame for that, he will, he—he knows he hasn’t been the best at accepting the blame in the past, but…he’ll take this one.

But he didn’t do this on purpose.

Roman doesn’t know whether it’s because he’s Creativity, or whether he’s the Ego, or what, but sometimes he just…can’t speak. Sometimes his words machine will just…stop working and he won’t be able to speak. He can normally still write or text, and he can understand when others talk, he just can’t say anything.

The others don’t know, at least he’s never told them. He doesn’t want to be a bother—or have them start to make fun of him when he can’t defend himself—so he normally makes his writing days the ones where he can’t speak out loud. It’s a good way to make sure no one’s worried about why he’s shut up in his room all day or why he’s not speaking much at dinner. Plus, what kind of a prince would he be if he couldn’t talk?

Don’t worry, he knows he’s not a prince.

But the others like Prince Roman. Or rather, they like the narrative function that Prince Roman fulfills. So he does his best to make sure they…get that.

But he didn’t mean for it to happen, not like this.

He…he knows he messed up after the wedding. He sunk out and made it to his room and fell to his knees, hurt from everything and then some. The bruises hadn’t shown through his costume or gotten too far down his sleeves, but he—he still felt them. He tried to get up and make it to the shower to just wash off the day—the week—the month but getting his arms up to peel away the costume left him panting and he just wanted to curl up and sleep until everything stopped hurting.

He managed to get himself into the shower and felt his tongue become lead in his mouth.

He cleared his throat to try and make a noise but all that escaped was a soft rush of air.

It…hurt.

It wasn’t gone by morning. Most of the time he can sleep it off or—or if he just gives it some time he’ll—he’ll be fine but it wasn’t gone. His tongue lay there, useless, and he couldn’t say a word.

That was okay, though, he could—he could make this a writing day. He wouldn’t dare touch anything he wanted to make for Thomas, his hands would shake too much and he—he doesn’t know what Thomas wants anymore so he wouldn’t get it right even if he could try.

No, no, he could…he could write things for him today.

Not as a reward for his atrocious behavior, not anything that would be read by anyone else or be useful in any way, but just to…to get some of the worst bits of him out so he wasn’t absolutely abominable when the others wanted him again. Yes, today he could…write.

‘Writing,’ what an interesting word for being willing to sit and bleed for others to see.

Roman’s words don’t so much as pour out of him as much as he sets his fingers on his keys and then can’t control his typing. He just—it hurt and he knows that no one else would want to hear about his hurt so he pours them out into the blank spaces in the white page and tries to imagine that maybe, maybe, someone would read them and see how badly it hurt and pull him close and tell him that everything would be okay.

If maybe, if he wrote a story good enough, if he made it hurt enough, someone would care.

He sits there and pours into the blank document until it’s panting and weary from the torrent of words, until his hands ache and the tips of his fingers are worn warm and raw from the click-click-click of the keys. Until the hurt he feels gathers up into a small, dark well just under his tongue, right in the bottom of his jaw, itching and screaming to get out. It leaks out down his arms, making the inside of his wrists tingle as he types.

No one will read this, no one will see it. These words won’t see the light of day anytime soon.

And Roman’s tongue is still made of lead.

He takes his words and lets them tumble clumsily out of his hands, trying in vain to scoop them up and shove them out of his mouth instead but his tongue won’t cooperate. He knows he can’t talk, that he can’t force it, that trying to make it happen will only lead to more pain.

But he wants to try.

When his words aren’t back by the next day, he swallows what’s left of his pride, which isn’t much, and goes out to face the others.

He finds Patton first. Patton doesn’t acknowledge him, so he sits politely down on the couch with a notebook and waits, trying to see if his words will come out through the pen instead of his tongue. But Patton doesn’t talk to him unless he’s asking if Roman wants a drink and well, Roman doesn’t—doesn’t need words for that.

Patton looks so disappointed in him.

He wants to try. He wants to open his mouth and tell Patton he’s sorry. Sorry for everything. He wants to. He wants to.

He opens his mouth and his tongue deflates, useless, just enough for him to sigh and hunch his shoulders in defeat.

He doesn’t want to disappoint Patton, he wasn’t trying to disappoint Patton, he wants to apologize and be better, but he can’t.

Perhaps that is the true disappointment.

Logan is next to appear because Logan is Logan and Roman loves him and Logan always gets his cup of coffee in the morning before breakfast. He walks down the stairs and also does not look at Roman which is fine because that is what Roman deserves but he wants to try.

He opens his mouth to call out to Logan or Patton but his tongue is so heavy and he can’t. He can’t speak. He should be able to speak, he should be able to say something to Logan, he should be able to tell him how sorry he is but he can’t and he’s useless.

His pen stands frozen on the notebook pages, leaving a big, dark, useless well of ink.

Logan sits down on the couch with a book and his coffee. He doesn’t look up at Roman. Roman stares at him, pleading, hoping that Logan will look up and meet his gaze, and maybe, just maybe, he can see how sorry Roman is and it will—something will be better.

“Don’t stare at me, Roman, it’s rude.”

Roman’s cheeks burn as he looks away. Logan didn’t move his eyes from the book once.

He picks up the pen and watches it drip onto the page. The pages are wet, now, so much so that when he tries to pull them apart they stick together, the lines threatening to tear as he tries to separate them.

He leaves them be.

The next few hours are spent in a loop of trying to open his mouth to say something and only a soft rush of air escaping. He tries to hold it behind his hand and say please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so awful, I’ll be better, I promise, but the words won’t come. His tongue is taunting him, he decides, by pressing insistently up against the back of his teeth until he has to open his mouth only for it to refuse to produce words.

He wants Logan to explain to him that talking works for him too. That the vocal chords and the muscles of the throat moving together build up pressure behind the larynx, which then chops up the stream of air to produce a steady oscillation for a sustained sound. He wants Logan to say it in that voice of his that makes it so everything makes sense so of course, Roman, you can speak, it’s okay. Everything is okay.

But Logan would never say that, not to Roman, because Roman’s words aren’t worth Logan’s time.

When Virgil comes downstairs, he tries. He really tries. He opens his mouth and everything and takes a deep breath and—

Virgil marches straight over to Logan and sits down, his head on Logan’s shoulder and the two of them could not be paying any less attention to Roman.

The wind gets knocked out of him. His mouth falters closed. He tries to open it away but his jaws are stiff and gummy, his teeth aching in his mouth as he tries to just talk. He just wants to say something, he just wants to apologize, he just waits to be sorry and have them all know he’s sorry, he’s so sorry, but they won’t know because he doesn’t have words.

The words he wants to say are queuing up at the back of his throat, weighing his mouth down and he wants to say them, but he—he—he can’t. He wants to tell Virgil that he’s sorry he’s been the worst friend ever, that he’s sorry he’s so awful to their famILY, that he’ll go away and leave them all alone if that’s what they want but he can’t say a damn word of it out loud and he’s going to cry.

But he can’t because crying isn’t words and the only thing the others want from him is words.

If Virgil notices him trying, which he probably doesn’t, he’s kind enough not to say anything.

Roman is terrified when Remus comes.

Because Remus is loud and loves nothing more than to make Roman’s life harder. If Remus knew he was nonverbal right now, his best bet would be to leave as quickly as possible because he—

Wait, no.

If Roman wanted it to be best for him, he would leave as fast as possible. But Roman doesn’t know anything anymore so he doesn’t move.

Remus, as it turns out, doesn’t care about Roman—which, why would he?—and instead flops proudly onto the floor and begins to talk animatedly with Logan about something.

Roman wants to say sorry. Sorry that he’s never done anything right when it comes to Remus, sorry that he thinks being compared to him is the worst thing possible, sorry that he’s Roman and Remus is stuck with him.

But his tongue is lifeless.

So he is quiet, flipping aimlessly through his notebook, looking for something to give his words back.

Was he selfish yesterday? Did he use all of them up on something no one would ever see? No, no, that’s not how it works, he just—he knows he should be able to talk, maybe if he just waits a little longer, his words will come back.

But then Janus appears.

And Roman needs to be able to talk now.

Because he needs to tell Janus that he’s sorry. That he messed everything up and he’s awful and he knows it and he’s so, so, so sorry. And he needs to know that it isn’t a lie, that Roman is genuinely sorry and he just needs to speak, if he could just open his mouth and say something and say that he’s sorry and—and—

Janus stops and looks right at him.

Roman’s breath catches in his throat.

Janus’s eyes narrow.

Please, please, I’m sorry, let me say I’m sorry, I can’t speak, I want to speak, let me speak—

Janus’s face cools into stone and he deliberately turns away.

Roman wants to scream.

He scrambles away from the living room and his hands fly to his hair, squeezing, pulling, trying to rip the sound from his throat because it won’t come otherwise. Trying to reach deep inside and find something, some word, some sound, some thing just to make it so he can talk, say he’s sorry, say anything.

The computer screen blinks mockingly at him. Come on, it taunts, where was this agony when you were pouring your words out onto me yesterday? Why do you ache so badly now when you know you can’t do anything about it? Is it worth it?

Nothing will ever be worth this. To have them there, right in front of him, and not be able to tell them how sorry he is.

A silent scream is the best he can do.

It doesn’t stop. His tongue doesn’t flicker back to life. Even after two days, three days, four, he still can’t manage to speak. He can’t manage to open his mouth and make a single word come out. He tries. He sits down in front of the computer and glares at the screen, forcing his mouth to make the shapes and forcing his vocal chords to make the sounds.

He never gets further than a single word.

He rushes, slurs, cheats in any way he can, and doesn’t even manage to get to the end of a sentence.

He’s panting, in tears, trying, trying, trying so hard to say something, anything, because if he can say one thing, he can say more, and if he can say more, he can tell them how sorry he is.

Roman would gladly give up all the words he doesn’t have to be able to say ‘sorry’ again.

(Logan, downstairs, glances up from his book.

Virgil is sprawled next to him on the couch, his head resting against Logan’s thigh. Patton is sitting on the other end, Virgil’s legs in his lap as he talks to Janus. Janus sits in the chair, his own book forgotten on his lap. Well, almost forgotten as he tugs it out of Remus’s grasp as he makes…something on the floor.

“It’s been quiet recently,” he remarks to himself, “almost…peaceful.”

Virgil shifts. “Yeah, I know. I kinda like it.”

“So do I.” He glances down and, after a moment of hesitation, slides his hand into Virgil’s hair. “Is this alright?”

“Yeah, L, that’s fine.”

“Aww, you two are cute.” Patton grins at them. “It’s been nice lately, hasn’t it?”

“Mm.” Janus tugs the book out of Remus’s reach again. “Remus, I certainly understand what you want with my book.”

“Art, Janny.”

Janus rolls his eyes fondly but his gaze softens as he takes in the room. It has been quiet. A good kind of quiet.

He doesn’t know it didn’t happen on purpose.

That Roman isn’t being quiet on purpose.

He didn’t do it on purpose.

Because when has anything Roman’s done on purpose been right?)

——————————————

Thomas sighs, his hands on his hips, as Patton and Logan begin to bicker for the third time in the past ten minutes. Across from him, Virgil is fidgeting uncomfortably as his gaze flicks back and forth between Janus and Thomas.

“Guys, are you really not going to do anything about this?”

“Oh, yes, because that’s how we solve every problem, just make me deal with it.”

“Okay, first of all, I said you guys meaning you and Thomas, second—“

“Oh, here we go, another lecture, oh goodie.”

“That is not what I’m doing—“

And now Virgil and Janus are fighting too. Thomas resists the urge to bury his face in his hands. Barely. Just barely. He shakes his head. The Sides aren’t normally this hard to manage, typically it’s just a matter of everyone actually understanding what’s going on and then one of them will propose a solution and they’ll all wrangle it around from angle to angle until he finally gets a workable one.

Not this time.

He’s not sure why nothing’s working, but everything that’s been proposed just sounds like another problem, not a solution. Why coming up with ideas is so hard today, he doesn’t—

Wait.

Has…has Roman said anything today?

Thomas glances at Roman. Roman stands where he always does, watching the others with a strangely blank look on his face. Thomas frowns. Roman…Roman doesn’t look great. He looks paler than usual, his face is a little poofy.

“Roman?”

Roman looks at him, his brow quirked.

“Do you…have any ideas?”

Roman’s face falls and he swallows. Thomas’s frown deepens when Roman shakes his head sadly.

“Hey, wait,” Virgil says, turning to face him, “Thomas is right. You haven’t said anything all meeting.”

“You have been remarkably quiet. Especially for you.” Logan adjusts his glasses. “Have you not come up with a single idea?”

“Okay, guys, wait—“ Thomas tries.

“No wonder we aren’t making any progress,” Virgil cries, throwing up his hands, “it’s because the guy whose job it is to come up with ideas isn’t doing anything!”

“That…would explain it.”

“Come on, kiddo,” Patton says, looking at Roman, “you must have something.”

Roman just shakes his head again.

“Of course he doesn’t want to share it with us,” Virgil growls, “he’s probably waiting for us to figure it out for him because he’s still mad.”

Patton sighs, shaking his head and putting his hands on his hips. Even Thomas wants to flush from the disappointment in his voice. “I understand being mad at us, kiddo—I’m not happy about it, but I understand it—but taking it out on Thomas? That’s really selfish of you.”

Roman flinches, his hand going to his chest. Janus rolls his eyes.

“Oh, Roman doesn’t know what that word means, remember? He’s all about selflessness, not selfishness, no, not a single selfish bone in his body, Roman.”

Virgil snorts.

“I am also disappointed,” Logan sighs, “but not surprised. But seriously, Roman, I think this temper tantrum of yours has gone on long enough.”

“Watch out, he’s gonna say it’s not a temper tantrum.”

Is…is this how they are to Roman all the time? Thomas stares at the other Sides in confusion. Has he just never noticed how mean they are to each other before? Or is this…new? He looks back at Roman and opens his mouth to say something when he notices Roman’s hand is still on his chest.

And…moving.

His thumb is tucked against the top of his fist and Thomas watches as it circles once, twice, and stops. Once, twice, and stops.

“Roman,” he says softly, cutting through the growing voices of the others, “Roman, why are you sorry?”

“What?”

“Thomas, what’re you—“

“That—this—“ Thomas makes the sign himself—“that’s the ASL for ‘sorry.’ Remember?”

Logan looks back at Roman who does it again. “So it is. But—Roman, why are you communicating using ASL, which none of us are fluent in? Most of us aren’t fluent in, my apologies, Janus—“ Janus waves him off— “why not just say that you’re sorry?”

“Roman,” Thomas asks, still quiet, “can you speak?”

They all watch in silence as Roman slowly shakes his head.

“What do you mean you can’t speak?”

“Probably just that, Virgil.” Logan adjusts his glasses.

Thomas spares him a glance before refocusing on Roman. “Are you okay, buddy?”

Roman looks at the ground. Virgil watches him for a moment before leaning to Logan.

“I’m gonna guess that’s a ‘no.’”

“How long has this been happening?”

“Yes or no questions, guys,” Thomas reminds, “and…not too many.”

“Right.” Logan takes a breath and when he speaks again, Thomas furrows his brow at how much softer Logan sounds. “Roman, has this been happening since the beginning of the meeting?”

Roman nods.

“Has it been happening for longer?”

Another nod.

“How long,” Virgil asks warily, only for Logan to hiss ‘yes or no’ in his ear, “right, um…has it been happening for longer than a day?”

Roman nods, studiously avoiding eye contact. Janus bites back a curse.

“Roman, have you not been able to speak since the wedding?”

When Roman nods again, Thomas has to bite back a curse of his own. Virgil doesn’t.

“Fuck, Princey, why didn’t you tell one of us?”

“With what words,” Janus spits, “and who’s to say we would’ve believed him?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Patton murmurs, reaching for him, “I’m so sorry.”

At this, Roman shakes his head furiously.

“Hey, hey, easy, Princey, it’s okay, what was that for?”

“He seemed to really dislike the idea of Patton apologizing…”

“What were you apologizing for, Roman,” Thomas asks instead, “before we—before?”

Roman nods.

“Yeah, bud, you were apologizing, do you remember what for?”

A nod.

“He’s saying ‘yes,’” Virgil murmurs.

“Yeah, we got that.”

“No, I mean—“ Virgil sighs— “you asked him what he was apologizing for and he’s saying ‘yes.’ That means anything you could ask him if he’s apologizing for, he’d say yes.”

“So…” Logan looks back and forth between them. “He’s apologizing for…everything?”

“Yeah.”

And Roman nods.

“Oh, sweetie,” Janus says softly and whoa, that’s…unexpected, “you don’t need to do that.”

Roman’s mouth hardens stubbornly as if to say yes I do.

“You can’t be blamed for not being able to speak, Roman,” Logan says gently, “it’s not your fault.”

“Kiddo,” Patton calls when Roman still looks unsure, “are you mad at us?”

Roman’s head snaps up and he shakes his head frantically. Patton holds out his arms to soothe him.

“And we’re not mad at you, sweetheart, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

“Let’s call it here,” Thomas says, giving Roman a nod, “we can figure this out later.”

“What do you need, Roman,” Virgil asks, “how can we help?”

“That’s…definitely not a yes or no question.”

Thomas frowns. Then he reaches out a hand.

“Hey!” Remus pops up, manic grin and all. “What’s shakin’, bacon?”

“I do not think bacon shakes, Remus.”

“Sir Francis Bacon?”

“What?”

“You two gotta stop watching Phineas and Ferb,” Virgil mutters.

Remus just grins and turns, freezing when he sees Roman. Thomas blinks and Remus’s entire demeanor changes.

“Ro-Bro? Roro, you okay?”

Roman looks up at him. Remus lays a hand on his shoulder.

“You nonverbal?”

Roman nods. Remus wraps his arms around Roman’s waist.

“I’m taking this,” he announces, “bye!”

Thomas chuckles as Remus sinks out, Roman in tow, even as Patton and Virgil rush after them going ‘let us help!’ Logan just rolls his eyes fondly and follows them. Thomas catches hold of Janus’s cloak before he can leave too.

“Are you guys always like that to Roman?”

Janus gives him a strange look. “You mean are you always like that to Roman?”

“What?”

“We’re you, Thomas,” Janus says bluntly, “we’re the physical manifestation of what goes on in your head. Or have you forgotten that your main way of problem-solving is to summon metaphysical color-coded versions of yourself and talk to them?”

“Your point?”

“The way we act is how you see us. We behave how our respective parts of you behave.” Janus gives him a look. “If you think we’re being mean to Roman, what does that say about how you feel about your Ego or your Creativity?”

Oh.

Oh, no.

“Take better care of yourself,” Janus says, softer now, “and it might surprise you.”

“You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

“I think,” Janus says, looking far too smug as he pulls away, “you mean that you can’t help yourself.”

Thomas scoffs as Janus disappears but after a few seconds, his words start to make sense. He turns to grab his laptop and opens it, finding a blank document and watching the cursor blink.

The others might not be able to listen to Roman, but he always can.

“Alright,” he mutters to himself, “let’s see what Roman’s got to say.”

General Taglist:@frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @crows-ace @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734 @triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo @cerulean-watermelon @puffed-up-bees @meltheromanstan

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!

#dragonbabbles #sanders sides #fic #roman sanders #roman angst #roman sanders angst #virgil sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #sympathetic remus #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #janus sanders #logan sanders

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melsie-sims · 2 years

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Check in tag!

Thanks @zosa95 for the tag! It’s been a long while since I’ve done something like this! 💙

Why did you choose your URL? My IRL nickname is Mel and my middle initial is C. Combined, it sounds like Mel-sie. Those of you that are pronouncing it with a hard S are technically wrong but that’s okay. I think most of you probably imagine it as Mel-Zee at this point. 😂

How long have you been on Tumblr? I've had this specific Simblr account since May 22nd 2020, so almost two years now. I had a personal trash tumblr before that I’ve since abandoned. I’m sure it’s been over five years since I originally joined the platform.

Do you have a queue tag? All of my posts are queued by default. I don’t... just post. The only ones that aren’t are reblogs and “just chatting” posts.

Why did you start your blog in the first place? I wanted to share my sims content, write stories and meet other simmers. Mostly I wanted a place to dump all of my sims screenshots.

Why did you choose your icon/pfp? I really need to update it since it isn’t autumn anymore... but Winona is one of my favorite sims and I thought an orange/autumn theme would look cute. That was last September.

Why did you choose your header? Same as above!

What's your post with the most notes? OK I’m really dumb, but how do you find this out?? I did go through the last couple weeks’ of posts and found this one had double my usual notes so...

How many mutuals do you have? I follow a lot of people and have a little over 500 followers so... I’m sure some of you I probably follow back?

How many followers do you have? 554!

How many people do you follow? 493!

Have you ever made a shitpost? Nothing to cause drama/target other simmers... but I have whined about EA a few times. 😂

How often do you use Tumblr? It varies, but lately pretty much every single day. I open the app whenever I’m bored to look at posts... and add to my queue after every play session... so sometimes daily? Sometimes every few days?

Did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? Noooo. I’m not good with conflict so I’m very grateful for this! I’ve been fortunate not to get any trolls or haters in my comments section so far.

How do you feel about 'you need to reblog this' posts? I don’t really know what those posts are? If they’re the posts asking for money for so-and-so reasons, usually involving very personal life struggles... then I ignore those... sorry. I don’t reblog a lot. If I like a story/challenge/series I’ll reblog the first post and link to the story/challenge/series’ tag. I also reblog some cc.

Do you like tag games? YES! I love them and definitely don’t do them often enough! I do take a while to reply sometimes though... but definitely don’t hesitate to tag me! I don’t mind at all! 💙💙

Do you like ask memes? Probably? I don’t know what those are. I know, I’m a terrible member of the community. I don’t know anything!

Which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous? I don’t really keep track of notes... but lately I think @eurosimmer has been doing pretty amazing!?

Do you have a crush on a mutual? Pffft wouldn’t you like to know. 😏

And that’s it!! I’m tagging @cyazurai, @gutsberries, @witheringsims, @eurosimmer, @micrathene-w & @katmk36. Feel free to ignore this if you’ve already been tagged or don’t feel like answering.

#non-sims #just chatting #tag game #check in tag

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arrthurpendragon · 3 years

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OC Community Building Stuff

I’ve been researching how to make communities work and pondering how to apply practices to the OC Community for a few weeks now.. I’m gonna say some things that not everyone will agree with. You’re more than welcome to unfollow me, but please don’t send me hate.

What helps make a strong community? Or make a community work? Literally the first thing you Google will tell you:

Recognition

Team Outings

Fitness / Sports Teams

Volunteering

Purpose-designed spaces

I’ve been in the community for awhile now and I’ll give you my take on things. It doesn’t mean that it is the only take on the piece, but here’s what I’ve noticed in my nearly 7 years here on Tumblr.

1. Recognition - everyone reblogs those posts that say you should “reblog people’s art/fics” But from what I’ve seen, most people never take that to heart and put the work in themselves. Some expect people to see that post and then to reblog their stuff. But it’s a two-way street. People then will complain that it shouldn’t be tit-for-tat but what world have you been living in? Most things come at a price. For most people (in case you haven’t noticed, life isn’t always fair), you have to put in what you want out of it.

How to fix this issue? Reblog people’s stuff. I have met people out there who are more willing to reblog my stuff because I reblog their stuff. Like people’s stuff. Review people’s fics. Send them asks. Follow random new blogs that seem OC they will likely follow you back (I know for fact this is true. Not everyone but many)

You have to help foster the experience you want. If you want recognition, try your hardest to recognize others.

2. Team Outings - I think this is one thing some people are already doing in a sense. Giveaways. Read & Reviews. Review exchanges. I think our problem is that we are burning out the people who take the time to do this for the communities.

How do we fix this issue? Host a giveaway or exchange. Spread it around so that we aren’t burning out our OC community friends. Maybe you can’t make graphics, that’s okay! You can still host and see all the cool things. OR host a review exchange. The more events that different people make, the more people that can feel welcome. Maybe one person isn’t comfortable with person A but they are with person B - it’s not competition - it’s just another opportunity.

MAKE SURE YOU DO NOT TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THE PEOPLE HOSTING! it doesn’t hurt you to say thank you. As someone who hosts quite frequently the number of people who don’t say thank you is astonishing and usually those are the people who tend to ask and ask and ask.

Make sure people know they are appreciated! I rarely - RARELY felt appreciated when queuing stuff for ocappreciation. Most people would come to be like “you made a mistake” but not realizing that fingers slip, that people try their best, that people don’t put information on the post and I have to guess. But I RARELY got a thank you for reblogging the posts. People just expected it because it was tagged, like they were entitled to ocappreciation - hence why I stepped back several times. (May try to restart it again, but I digress)

3. Fitness / Sports Teams - This one was a bit harder to qualify in the OC community, I’ll fully admit. BUT what it boils down to is a people you like to spend your time with. These are called friends. Do you work out with every person in your acquaintance? No. Just because you aren’t in a “friend group” doesn’t mean it’s exclusive. Honestly, for the most part if you approach someone in the community, they’ll reciprocate. But again, everyone expects someone to recognize them struggling. Imma be honest, I haven’t felt like I’ve had “close friends’ here on Tumblr until maybe the past year or two and I’ve been here for almost 7 years. You don’t always find your niche right away. But I don’t hold any malice or hate toward anyone. Anyone is welcome to approach me.

How do we fix this issue? Be patient and try to find your people. You might not “fit in” with a certain group and THAT’S OKAY! They don’t have to be your besties, they can be acquaintances that you are nice to. That’s how it works in real life too. Don’t expect everyone to be your best friend. But stilll be kind to people and respect other people. If you want to be friends with someone because you think they’re cool - reach out to them. Chances are, they might be looking for a friend too, but a lot of us are introverts are afraid to make the first move. Someone’s gotta make it - or everyone is gonna be miserable.

4. Volunteering - I feel I covered most of this heavily in #1 & 2. Randomly go review someone’s fic without prompting. Send them an ask (it can even be on anon) Reblog other people’s stuff. Join a discord group. Thanks people. Host a giveaway or exchange. It takes everyone to build a community.

5 Purpose-designed spaces - There are SO many oc blogs, whether is is ocappreciation, allaboutocs, or other fandom-related blogs...

*side note interact with those blogs too so people know they aren’t wasting their time reblogging and queueing stuff because it can be burdensome*

There are also Discord groups - you just gotta find them. Maybe if you read this and have an OC discord group, just say in the notes that you have one if people are welcome to join.

In conclusion, to improve this community there is something almost everyone in the community can work to strive to do better. But we can’t let only a few people be the ones to do all the work and then burn out.

If you’re fed up with “the community” then try to help fix it instead of complaining about it. I bet if we worked on these 5 things, we could make the OC Community a better place.

#oc community #ocappreciation #allaboutocs #oc community building

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adelaidedrubman · 3 years

Text

look at that, i’m finally posting fic that isn’t just a joke. trying to get back in my groove with a really old kinktober prompt from this list i didn’t get done in time. posting now in the spirit of forcing myself to return to my “do what the fuck you want” era but also genuinely nervous because it’s been so long since i’ve posted anything semi serious let alone smut so queuing for 5 AM on a monday with no tags and hoping nobody actually sees it <3 if you do, keep scrolling

wordcount: 7k

pairing: john x jestiny | pre-reaping au: part iii | part i | part ii | (no need to actually read, pure smut)

warnings: NSFW!!!!!!! oral sex. throat fucking. rimming. inadequate discussion prior to any of these things. all of the aforementioned occurring on a church altar. arguably semi public? (debate of the hour, actually). proceed responsibly.

John knew, of course, that Deputy Rook would be the officer to respond.

For one, because he knew she was on duty, both from the schedule Nancy dutifully provided him at the beginning of every shift and from his own… information collection and personal intervention, which he knew had ultimately resulted in her schedule being shifted so that she was on duty for most of the weekend, only being granted a brief reprieve on Friday evenings (the time she’d given him the most trouble) before ultimately having to report back bright and early on Saturday morning, granted just enough time to sleep before doing the same song and dance on Sunday, finally allowed a “weekend” off on Monday and Tuesday, and…

Well, it’s not that he would ever plan his own life around her schedule, but he was certainly aware of it, as much as he was aware of every other mundane ongoing in the county.

And yes, perhaps even after he knew the necessary evidence should already in place he’d waited (less than twenty four hours) to officially “discover” the crime he was requesting an officer respond to. Not to plan things according to her schedule, of course, but…

But he was well aware that he was finally calling it in when she was the only officer on street duty, with less than an hour left on her shift. And he hoped that meant she’d be eager to finish up business and leave, and be less likely to give him grief about reporting the matter at all. That’s the only reason he stalled on reporting, truly.

He reassured himself of as much as his heart jumped in his chest at the first sound of tires crunching against the gravel road, causing him to leap up from the pew and scurry towards the window to ensure it was in fact a Hope County Police Department cruiser finally popping up over the horizon.

He studied the faint outline of his reflection in the window for a moment as he mentally rehearsed the interaction he’d accounted for (not planned), fluffing his beard and slicking back his hair before making his way to the door, heart giving another offbeat flutter as he confirmed the flash of copper hair visible from the driver’s seat.

“Deputy,” he greeted with a smile as she finally exited the car, leaning casually in the doorway. Her presence did lend the air a certain electric quality. Sure, they’d been together before, and alone. But never in the broad daylight, and so far from any other civilization, removed as Eden’s Convent was from the main roadways. “I’m relieved to see you’re finally here.”

She merely rubbed fingers against obviously tired eyelids, trying to massage away bags before looking up at him with bloodshot eyes. “You wanted something?”

“To report a crime,” he said matter-of-factly.

“You couldn’t have done that at the station like last week?”

“It’s an urgent crime this time,” he lamented, stepping back into the vestibule of the church and waving for her to follow. “And there might be fresh evidence to investigate.”

She let out a long, groaning exhale, massaging her temples for a beat more before strolling up the steps to meet him. “What’s the crime?”

“Trespass.”

“You’re going with trespass again?”

“I’m reporting,” he spat out, sharp and firm, “A trespass, yes. Or anything else you see fit to charge it as.”

“Great,” she said with a roll of her eyes, before letting them fall along the doorway he stood in. “So did they break in here?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You wouldn’t know?”

“I wasn’t there.”

“Of course not.”

“And I haven’t found any evidence of use of force at this door, although we do keep it unlocked, so —”

“So there by definition couldn’t have been, so we should move on to whatever the fuck it is you do want to show me.”

He huffed, giving her an indignant look before waving her on through the greeting room into the main building. “But I noticed footprints,” he said, pointing down to the imprints left in flakes of sawdust atop the red carpeting of the aisle, as he stepped just to the side of it. “And that made me think something was off.”

“Uh huh,” she grunted. “And you caught someone breaking in when, exactly —?”

“I didn’t,” he waved away, continuing on, leading her towards the projector broadcasting onto screens hanging on either side of the main stage. “Until I checked our security camera footage the next day.”

“Okay.”

“And you won’t believe what I saw.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“You will,” he agreed with an emphatic nod. “This video was taken at 1:42 AM last night,” he explained, before pressing play.

He looked over his shoulder to confirm her eyes were adequately trained on the screen as she followed him up towards the stage of the church, gaze bouncing between her and the image of three shadowy figures stepping into the hallway he played on screen for her.

“There,” he exclaimed, finally pressing his thumb down on the power off button. “You see?”

“Seems like some folks came into your church late last night,” she scoffed.

“Right,” he nodded again. “And of course I don’t yet have enough evidence to prove it without further investigation, but I highly suspect it was one of the hooligans King’s Hot Springs Hotel just next door is constantly renting rooms to, which the owner would be responsible for under dram shop provisions, which —”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand “So what do you want me to put in the police report, exactly?”

“Well,” he began, enunciating pointedly, “I’m hoping everything I’ve reported.”

“Right,” she agreed, flopping down her hand again. “I can jot down a note somewhere John Seed thinks someone came into his church, but what do you want me to actually report?”

“A trespass,” he hissed back, impatiently.

“I mean,” she deadpanned, eyes still half lidded. “You haven’t shown me anything to report as a trespass, or any other crime, so far.”

“Haven’t shown you —?” he began in disbelief. “Haven’t shown you anything?! Deputy, I am currently showing you —”

“You’re showing me a fuckin’ church, John,” she spat out with a sneer. “If you could show me any evidence of property damage, that’d be one thing, but even if everything you were telling me was true, you cannot fuckin’ trespass upon a goddamn church.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied, still slow and measured and ringing with politeness as he paused with thoughtful calm to accentuate the contrast with her belligerent rudeness. He shifted his arms back to press palms against the raised stage of the altar behind him, lifting himself to sit casually at its ledge, smiling to himself as she darted eyes to the side to quickly conceal the way they’d automatically settled at his lap as he propped himself up. “Is your contention that we should be denied equal protection under the law simply because we’re a place of worship? You’re refusing to investigate simply because we’re a church?”

“My contention,” she hissed, hooking thumbs into her belt loops and jutting her chin upward in a pitiful attempt to appear suddenly energized and intimidating as she stepped forward and glared up at him, “is that churches are by definition not covered by the criminal trespass statute.”

He bent at the waist to lean down and meet her challenging glare, flaunting his high ground. “It would be unconstitutional to exclude churches from the protections of the trespass statute. The Free Exercise clause of the —”

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ —”

“— of the First Amendment explicitly prohibits excluding from a publicly available protection —”

“— excluded from fuck all, we responded to the fucking call didn’t we —”

“— based purely on the status of religious affiliation —”

“— sure as shit does not prohibit a content neutral definition that happens to exclude your fucking situation, which if you took the time to think through this dumbass plan you’d know is —”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he shouted, pitch still rising with the polite inflection he used the first time even as his volume grew loud enough to echo off the church walls, because for some reason that one tried his patience in earnest. “Are you really qualified to decide I’m exempt from reporting a crime on constitutional grounds? Are they teaching the First Amendment at the Montana Police Academy now? Please, tell me, Deputy, what’s the response code for a violation of our most basic civil liberties?”

She pursed her lips together as she gave him a wide, closed mouth smile that made dimples emerge just as amber eyes narrowed to glare at him, slapping an open palm down on the carpeted floor he sat on to signal she’d lost her patience too.

“They’re teaching it in fuckin’ grade school, John,” she replied in a tone both softer in volume and higher in pitch as it hissed from the back of her throat, with an inflection that seemed designed to imply she really did pity him for not already knowing. “It’s one fucking sentence in a document written over two hundred years ago, even us simple folk have gotten around to —”

“With two hundred years worth of case law! Which I suppose they must have taught you at —”

“Don’t need fuckin’ case law to read the fucking statute, which the Police Academy does teach,” she spat back, forcefully enough for him to feel the heat of her huffing breaths fall against the exposed portions of his chest, making it very difficult for him to resist arching into it, or tugging at her hair to pull her away from him, the vile creature. “Which if you didn’t bother to check, requires the suspect to have entered or remained unlawfully in an occupied structure —”

“Or the premise of another, if you didn’t bother to read on to the second subsection, which apparently you don’t —”

“— says the man who read the Free Exercise Clause before the Establishment Clause, apparently —”

“— and just in case you haven’t checked, this is privately owned property, legally indistinguishable from any other privately owned building —”

“Oh, is it? Then what do you pay in taxes on the place, John?”

“ — completely irrelevant, it’s private property!”

“— that you represent as open to the public,” she replied with a scowl, leaning in closer, puffed out chest nearly touching his abdomen as she stepped forward to stand defiantly between his open and dangling legs. “So I don’t see how someone entering a building open to the public could be guilty of trespassing,” she said with a bored roll of her eyes.

“The same way any privately owned business —”

“So is your fuckin’ contention then,” she sneered, cocking her head with a crinkle of her nose, “that privately owned establishments that open their doors to the public maintain their right to exclude visitors?”

“Of course.”

“Well,” she drawled with a slow roll of her tongue to draw out the ‘L’ sound, tapping a hand atop his knee. “I’m sure Mary May Fairgrave will be thrilled to hear that, because it’s my understanding some jackass has been coming in her bar every Friday night claiming she can’t kick him out because —”

“— would be a violation of the First Amendment to exclude on the basis of religion —”

“— on the basis of you not fucking buying anything, which if you —”

“— and besides that go there during regular business hours, which —”

“— which bars have, on account of bein’ businesses, whereas a fuckin’ church —”

“— would be illegal to treat us differently simply because —”

“— would be illegal to give y’all special treatment and not recognize the differences between —”

“— for special treatment, only asking to be treated exactly the same as —”

“So is your contention then,” she barked loudly enough to echo off the walls in interruption, “that, aside from the fact that Mary May pays her fucking taxes, your church is otherwise, for all intents and purposes, legally indistinguishable from the Spread Eagle?”

“Yes, and entitled to all the same protections.”

“No differences?”

“None de facto, for our purposes.”

She pulled the corners of her mouth down and curled her upper lip, making the indents of dimples sink into her cheeks and the creases of wrinkles scrunch along her little nose, and truly only she could behave atrociously enough to make the sight more infuriating than adorable.

“So I should just ignore that it’s a place of worship, and treat this place…” she paused to wave in gesture, letting her shoulders shrug with a forced mimic of a single huff of laughter, “exactly like I would the Spread Eagle?”

“If that little thought experiment helps you to do your job, then by all means.”

“Alright,” she chirped too pleasantly, pursed lips now curling into a smile, dimples deepening further.

“Alright,” he repeated back.

“Alright,” she agreed again, raising auburn brows.

“Al —” he only managed to spit out the first syllable in repetition, the second swallowed down with a sharp gasp for air as she reached a hand forward to press flush against the front of his jeans, rubbing her palm up and down along the seam with a rush of sudden, shocking friction. “I — Jessie, what the hell are you… Fuck —”

“Per your fuckin’ orders,” she rumbled, a breathy mix between a purr and a growl, “I am treating this place exactly like I would the Spread Eagle,” she explained plainly as she paused the brushing of her hand to grip him tightly, bringing her free hand to the small of his back to scoot him further towards the ledge of the altar and into her touch. “And this is usually the best way to get you to shut up there.”

“For fuck’s sake J — Deputy Rook,” he forced himself to hiss out with biting disapproval, despite the way his hips began to rock forward of their own volition, then jerked sharply upward to chase her touch as she lifted her hand to work at his belt instead. “We are in the middle of…” he trailed off, unable to finish the statement even to himself, digging teeth into his bottom lip as his eyes trailed along the rows of pews.

“We’re on private property, John,” she cooed, honeyed thick with venom, tugging at his waistband with now practiced efficiency to push his pants and briefs down to his ankles. “No real reason to treat it any different, is there?” she taunted, brushing fingers along his thighs and eyes along arousal now fully exposed and undeniable and aching for her touch.

“In fact,” she hummed, bringing the hand to his neckline instead, pulling him down to briefly soothe him with an unusually tender kiss as she turned fingers to the buttons of his shirt, “we’re on your private property, outside of open hours,” she added in a warm pant against his lips as she parted, undoing the final button of his shirt before shoving a hand against his now bare chest to push him down to lay flat atop the platform then sliding the fingers along his sides, back down to the legs she settled between. “I think we could even get a little crazier than we do there, don’t you?”

And with that her lips found the head of his cock with the same undelayed swoop downward that her hands found the tops of his thighs in, pinning them down flat to keep him in place as she dipped her head to take him in her mouth, restraining him from fully arching into the delicious sensation.

Fuck, he cursed internally as she slid pursed lips back up just as quickly, leaving a pleasured shiver of skin crying out for more in her wake.

But god, was sucking his cock really what qualified as ‘getting crazy’ to her, though? He might have misjudged just how adventurous the little devil was. It could have easily been called vanilla if it not lent a certain novelty by their particular location (which was a distressing drawback to him, of course, something to push out of his mind to enjoy himself). And, well — the fact that their ledgers on head given were notably unbalance thus far, and of all the sinful things they had done it was the first time he was feeling the warm plush of her mouth around him.

And fuck, the fact that she was fucking good at it, he admitted to himself with a quick little spasm of his spine, hips bucking upward and a hand shooting out to grasp at the back of her neck, tugging with restless frustration along the stray baby hairs falling from that damned tight twisted braid she always seemed to wear on duty, wishing desperately he had a full loose mane to pull a proper fistful of.

Instead, he was forced to simply settle for brushing fingers up the base of her skull, slipping beneath the beginning pleats of her braid to thread between taut strands and press downward in eager encouragement for her to keep going.

And she responded to his touch with her own little show of encouragement, shifting the hands pinning his thighs down to bring one up to press against the base of his pelvis, causing the pressure already flooding him there to shoot a quick, dizzying bolt of electricity through his length, making him twitch rigid in her mouth. She slid the other hand towards the center to massage along his inner thigh with a contrasting gentle, almost teasing caress.

But no amount of gentleness could stop him from thrusting his hips up freely now that he was allowed the purchase to do so, almost ashamed at how quickly he shed any hesitance brought by their location to fuck freely into the slick pressure of her mouth and tight grip of her hand now wrapping around the base of his cock.

He tossed his head back against the floorboards in full surrender to it, bucking more frantically as she egged him on with equal parts roughness and gentleness; the tight pumping of her fist at his base and the sweet stroking of her fingers up the sensitive skin of his inner thigh reassuring him that she could take every little thrust.

Although he was quickly losing the ability to restrain himself, anyways, as ecstatic pressure seemed to build from every source. As the bobbing of her head to slide the warm pressure of full, pursed lips and flexing tongue down his length kept picking up speed. And the grip of the hand pumping along the expanse of length she couldn’t swallow clenched ever tighter.

And the hand brushing along his inner thigh kept creeping up and up and up, until he had to spread his legs wider just to accommodate the gentle, teasing fingertips along their path, and were then tickling along the creases at their top and still inching further, and — was she — ?

He swallowed and gasped, throat suddenly dry with the realization. They’d reached just past even, and he could no longer deny understanding of the meaning of the way they danced along the soft skin of his inner cheeks now, asking silent permission, daring interruption of their clear path.

An interruption he simply couldn’t bring himself to make when the thrilling shiver each brush of fingertips sent up his spine grew stronger and more focused the closer she came to his center. Until the shiver was finally a jolt that made his arched spine stiffen straight as she finally brushed along the sensitive rim at the crevice she spent so long teasing, and he shot up to his elbows at the sensation.

“J-Jessie,” he whimpered out in pleading, without being able to focus lust flurried mind on exactly what he was pleading for.

Her only immediate answer was the sudden upward flick of tawny eyes to train directly on him as she swallowed him yet again, gaze trailing along the quiver his bottom lip gave in response to the ghosting brush of her thumb along his hole.

“Jessie, please,” he panted out a little more desperately, willing himself to really mean it as a signal to pause this time.

John forced himself to break from her stare and focus eyes blurred from being squeezed shut tight to the point of watering on the rows of pews behind her, dart from the arched windows and aisles of red carpeting that served as visual evidence of just where they were. God, it was bad enough he’d been weak and at the mercy of sin enough to let her go down on him here — to even get aroused at her devilish tricks in the first place, for that matter. To add to that actually finishing here, and like that… “Fuck Jessie, we’re still — we’re still in —”

He still couldn’t manage to finish the thought before she jerked her head upward and let him fall from her mouth with a soft, wet pop of those now swollen lips. She let her fist loosen from around his base as well, while the hand between his legs stayed stubbornly in place, caressing teasingly just outside his rim.

Before he could even bother to choke out words again she rose to stand, now leaning over him in his place still half reclined and splayed out atop the altar for her, free hand moving to caress back and forth along the ridge of his hip bone as the thumb of the other finally pressed flush against the puckered muscles they’d been teasing the edge of.

“Fuck, you’re sensitive, huh?” she rasped with doe eyes wide in focus on his lap as if to show clearly that she’d seen the shameful, needy little twitch his cock gave in response to pressure against his hole even without hardness itself being touched.

“Jessie,” he whined out uselessly yet again, completely paralyzed between asking her to stop out of shame and staving off the worse torture of losing her touch.

“John?” she rumbled hoarsely, her soprano particularly gravelly in the afterglow of his fucking her throat.

“Will you just fucking —” the words caught in the dried and sore flesh of his own throat to stick there painfully as she continued. He thrust grasping hands out to wrap around her arms just above the crook of her elbows and pull himself more upright, look into her face more directly.

“Let’s finish this at my place,” he offered, best compromise he could think of, even though the mere ten minute wait of the car ride even felt intolerable to him at this point, badly as he needed her. “Take me home, if you’re inclined to touch me like that,” he reasoned, knitting brows upward in pleading. “We’ll actually have what we need there, to do it properly and — fuck,” he gasped as she gave another quick brush along wrinkled skin, biting into his lower lip before continuing. “And could take our time, and wouldn’t —” And wouldn’t be in the building he was entrusted with keeping holy. “And not have to rush. Come on, we can forget the police report, if you’ll just take me home now.”

But the soft smile that spread along plumped lips seemed more smug than acquiescing, pulling slightly crooked to one side. “You’d forget this entire little stunt of yours just to get my fingers in you?”

“Yes,” he sighed, feeling creeping shame at how easily he made the concession, but not as much as he was sure he’d feel letting her continue sucking him off and playing with his asshole on a fucking church altar. “You can do whatever you like to me, if you just leave with me now.”

He felt briefly hopeful with the sprawling flush of pink creeping along her cheeks at the promise.

Before she clicked her tongue against her teeth and shook her head in the negative, finally removing the hand from between his legs and shifting arms up to press forearms against his, holding him by the elbows.

“Sorry, baby. I’m still on the clock whether you’re done making up fake crimes for me or not,” she whispered with a devastatingly chaste kiss to the sweat slickened skin of his forehead, gripping his arms to guide him back flat again. “But I’ll still take care of you best I can,” she added, trailing those same butterfly kisses down his torso, along the bones of his hips before finally gripping the base of his cock again.

And she met the swift upward arch of his hips from the sudden pang of pleasure sparking through him anew with a kiss to the tops of his thighs to ease the tensing limbs back down, ghosting her kisses inward again as she crouched between his legs. She trailed lips upward in the same path her fingertips had walked moments early, finally pressing a kiss to his inner cheek.

Then a warm, heavy breath fell along his cleft, practically already wetting him with its steaminess, the promising heat of it making his cheeks and thighs tremble in involuntary jerks of parting and unparting to chase that ever building storm of sensation, rewarded with stray little kisses that made him gasp for air, and —

And fuck was she really going to put her mouth on him there? And while they were here? In the middle of — fuck, he couldn’t allow himself to even think about it, squeezed his eyes shut tight so that he didn’t even have to look at the reality of where he was as she finally closed the last bit of distance to press that warm, thick tongue against his hole directly.

An embarrassingly sharp gasp caused his chest to heave as she dragged the plush cushion of her tongue forward along his hole to just beneath his sac, let out as a choked groan as she flicked it back down to slide the slick underside along the same path.

“Fuck yes,” she craned back slightly to purr without slowing the pumping of her hand, plump bottom lip barely brushing against his hole now as she mumbled the words against his skin. “Don’t hold back any of those pretty noises for me, baby. I want you to let me hear just how good it feels. I want you to be so fuckin’ loud for me God himself can hear how good I make you feel.”

And fuck the wretched, wrecked cry he bleated out in response to that could be heard echoing all the way off of the high beam ceilings in offering, shame at himself and anger at her chased out with the white hot molten rush jolting through him from the massage of her tongue flush against his entrance and a harsh stroke of her hand to glide precum dewing at his tip down his full length, making everything on him slick with want.

She flexed that full, flattened tongue for a few more beats of luxurious giving, as if to make sure every little nerve sparked to life to greedily accept her generous pressure before she lightened it to more teasing force. And then finally slid tongue back until just its tip trailed along the outermost edge of the sensitive ring, slowing the stroke of her hand as she did.

“Fuck,” he cursed, slamming a fist down in frustration at the abrupt retreat. “Stop fucking teasing already,” he hissed, arching frantically, scooting forward so that his thighs now rested fully atop her shoulders, legs practically wrapping around her neck. (In the back of his mind he noted what an ironic reversal it was of the first position they’d ever found themselves in, but couldn’t bear to dwell on it, on the thought of anything but getting more more more.) “Q-Quit fucking around and just g-get me off if you’re going to do it.”

But he knew the moment she neglected to meet his outburst with usual scolding for being too demanding, instead bringing her free hand up to cradle his thigh without bothering to lift her head or retract teasing tongue to spit out a clever retort, that it was useless. He was condemned to lay back a helpless mess of pealing moans and restless squirming as that wet tip circled him, slowly but surely creeping in towards where his body begged most for attention.

And fuck, after more gasping breaths than he thought he could survive in waiting as she continued her cruel path, at least she was merciful enough when she did finally reach his opening, stiffening her tongue to not waste another second not lavishing him with its full attention and finally building back up the pace of the hand wrapped around him. She lapped and licked at his entrance relentlessly now, driving him into a whole other gear of needy frenzy.

Until finally she set a steady rhythm in flicking her tongue to poke just barely past the ring of delicate folds and tightly clenched muscles, a regular pace of tiny wet tip pumping along the rim, just deep enough to tease him with an echo of the sensation of getting truly and properly fucked.

God, it was somehow both too much, sending his nerves into overdrive, and also not enough, making him desperately wish there was by some miracle proper lube around so she could do more than just teasing laps, thrust those free fingers currently digging into his thighs deep inside him instead.

But alas, surely not. They were, after all, in the middle of a church, he reminded himself with a sick little thrill that traveled through him with a deep shudder.

His thighs quivered in their place rested atop her shoulders from the rush of it, only growing more needy and shaking from her hand brushing up and down to soothe the tremor, rewarding him in tandem with a tight squeeze of the hand pumping his length and a deep, gravelly moan hummed against his skin, vibrating through every hungry nerve ending, sparking all the way up his spine and making him clench and tighten.

His hand curled and clawed restlessly at the carpet of the altar as he bucked hips against her mouth to frantically chase the sensation, gripping for purchase, for anything to anchor himself as he strained and pushed against her flexing tongue. The hand caressing his leg wrapped around to pull it outward, spreading him out even more to give herself better access, then slid up his thigh up to reach for his desperately grasping fist instead, twining their fingers as her tongue increased its pace. Her mouth stayed too busy pressed flush against him to speak, but she gave another rising hum in encouragement, squeezing the hand she held as her thumb brushed up and down along his skin in the embrace.

And it was that gentle little stroke of her thumb against the side of his hand that truly drove him over the edge — the fact that fuck she was really touching him so tenderly, affectionately, while the tip of her tongue wriggled in his ass.

It was simply too much, made every part of him tremble, locking that sweet caressing hand in a shaking vice grip while his rim fluttered to cling to her flexing tongue and press it against every greedy nerve ending and his cock gave those final begging throbs in her hand.

And it just felt too easy, so safe to fall apart when she had him like this, to let that deep quaking consume him and finally allow everything to snap in pulsing release.

“Oh, fuck yes, I’m — god yes, I’m fucking there, yes, Jessie,” he stuttered out incoherently as he was flooded with it, last overwhelming blaze igniting along his skin as he thrashed in surrender to the power of those waves of absolute ecstasy, carried by them without a care for the senseless ways his body and mouth moved as warm spurts of release fell along his torso and hips. “Yes, oh god, Jessie, fuck yes, my Jessie, so good — love it, Jessie. My sweet Jessie, make me feel so — so so good.”

His babbling cries slowly faded with his climax, and he collapsed back against the altar, laboring to catch his breath, lungs amongst the parts of him still frantically contracting and struggling to relax as he came down, hand still entwined with hers, that sweet little stroke of her thumb staying steady, brushing along skin to soothe him even as her grip slackened and her hand unwound from around his softening length to massage around the base now tingling with gentle relief.

“God, just look at you,” she rasped, as hoarse and teasingly lilting as ever as she finally lifted her head from between his legs.

He threw an arm over his eyes in sudden impulse to hide in response to the remark, certain he must in fact look as absolutely ruined as he felt. Not to mention it occurred to him for the first time that this was the most exposed she’d ever seen him, in his position sprawled out with shirt unbuttoned and pants around his ankles as warm sunlight spilled through high arched windows to fall along every inch of naked skin.

And he was already bracing himself for more bitter mocking from her, furrowed brow already slanting downward in resentment as he tried to jumpstart hazy mind to begin brainstorming a retort for whatever she was sure to attack first — a barb about the location, certainly, but she’d probably throw in something about the scars, or how pathetic he looked with his legs still spread, or —

“No fuckin’ fair for you to get to look this beautiful,” she grunted just under her breath before leaning down again, slipping a hand under his back before pressing her mouth against him to once again brush tongue along skin, kissing away the release coating his stomach.

Every planned jab melted away with the soft warmth of lips trailing along his skin, so that all he could do was arch upward to meet her.

Fuck. Beautiful. He hadn’t even realized beautiful was something he could feel, only something he could be with enough meticulous preening. But there was nothing else to describe the warm glow that swelled in his chest as she kissed up it, finally settling with her nose nuzzled at his neck.

“Jessie,” he hummed, finally pulling aside the arm cast over his eyes to rest behind him to prop himself up to rise, fluttering eyelids open to meet the tawny eyes now hovering above him.

Beautiful. Fuck, she was so beautiful too, eyes twinkling particularly golden caught with magnified sunlight and framed with lightly smudged charcoal of eyeliner smeared by sweat, cheeks rosy from the warmth of the summer day and the heat and energy generated between them, lips still so puffy from pressure and glossy with lingering saliva that he simply couldn’t resist just how kissable they were, craning his neck that last bit of distance to press them softly against his.

He settled into that comfortable relief of afterglow he so rarely actually savored as she moved her mouth against his with that same uncharacteristic sluggish tenderness, pressing more weight into his right hand to extend his arm and lean further into her as his left reached to her waistband to begin working at undoing her belt buckle.

“John,” she gasped softly into the kiss, before pulling back, straightening to sit back on her shins between his legs, scooting away until her knees were at the edge of the altar, gently shepherding him along to follow from the supportive hand still cradled at the small of his back.

“My turn,” he sighed against the lips he’d barely parted from as they readjusted themselves, still barely separating now as he murmured words against them. “Want to hear you screaming my name like that now. Want to make you feel that good.”

But her warmth was gone before he could even slide leather through metal, strap slipping through his fingers instead as she hopped down from the platform with an awkward chuckle.

“I, uh — I’m good, that’s alright,” she laughed, tugging at her belt loops to readjust her jeans before smoothing at their front. “Pretty much got what I wanted already.”

Comfortable warmth curdled and boiled over into stinging bitterness heating his insides yet again. “You don’t want me to touch you?”

He bunched fists into silk to throw his shirt back over his chest and regain some semblance of dignity, jumping down into his wrinkled pants just the same as the possibilities raced through his mind. So what then, was she now repulsed by him? Or had she just wanted to humiliate him while she maintained her own innocence? Or did she simply —?

“John, please.” His runaway train of thought was derailed by her overly casual scoff. “I told you, I am an on duty professional. I’m not gonna sully the badge by trying to get my rocks off on the clock.”

His mind realigned itself to race again to conjure the most biting response he could to that. Perhaps that she’d already sullied the entire department the moment she set sinful foot into it. Or a threat laced remark about how he could already have her stripped of the badge for abusing it to coerce him into doing something so shameful when he was just trying to innocently report a crime. Or perhaps simply pointing out she clearly cared about the sanctity of the uniform about as much as she cared about the sanctity of his church, which was…

“Plus I gotta hurry on back if I expect to get this dumbass report filed in time to still make it to happy hour at the Spread Eagle.”

Righteous fury smoldered and fell, reigniting a more petty anger.

“So you’re agreeing to file the report now?” he questioned, regaining his prior authoritativeness with a rise in measured tone and steady march forward to follow her down the aisle towards the exit.

“Well, yeah,” she replied almost boredly, turning around one last time to lean against the doorway at a slanted angle with forearm propped against the frame, flashing him an equally crooked smile. “What can I say? I found your oral arguments on the subject very convincing,” she added with an infuriatingly smug wink. “Besides, not like I had a fucking choice anyways. Yeah, you’re probably makin’ the story up, but no fucking shit a church is protected by trespass laws.”

He drew a deep breath in, puffing his chest out further as he approached to loom over her. “So you knew the entire time that —”

“Oh, what?” she huffed, lifting her chin to blow a hot puff of air against his lips with the words without adjusting her posture to even their heights, making a theatrical show of being completely unintimidated. “Is that annoying?” she asked in an overly whiny tone, with a crinkle of her nose and an overly sweet cock of her head to the side with feigned innocence. “When someone digs their heels into a stance they know is legally fuckin’ baseless just for personal gain?”

He slammed a hand against the wall and bent at the waist himself to mimic her in propping himself there casually, craning his neck down to flaunt how much larger he was than her still. “I could see how that would be frustrating. Particularly if your opponent’s only goal in putting forth a bad faith position seems to be dragging out an argument that —”

“That could have ended a long time ago,” she finished for him with a sharp, exaggerated nod, finally straightening herself to stand and taking a step back in the greeting room, flashing a final smirk before turning. “And saved everyone a lot of hassle. Speaking of which,” she added with a parting wave of her hand, strolling towards the door to the outside this time. “Unless you have anything material to add, like I fuckin’ said, I’d like to still make happy hour.”

“By all means,” he boomed with a flourish of his arm towards the exit she was already passing through. “Although I’m sure you’re already aware that also happens to be the time I like to do public outreach, and by now I’m sure you’re also certainly aware —”

“That there’s nothing I can do to stop you,” she barked without turning around, continuing towards her car. “‘Cause it’s a public place in a free country, after all. But that’s the exact same goddamn reason I’m not gonna let you run me out of there, because I have just as much right to be there as —”

“As I do,” he cut her off, now standing in the open doorway, feeling sunlight against his cheeks directly this time. “And I won’t be run off either, just so you know.”

“Alright!” she called out to him in acknowledgement with a last toss back of her head as she swung her driver’s side door open.

“Alright!” he shouted back in agreement, making sure to hurry the word out loud enough to be heard before her door finally slammed shut and she cranked the engine.

And he swore he saw her mouth the syllables of ‘alright’ one last time in the rearview mirror, and if satisfying some childish urge to have the last word in the matter, if only to herself.

So he muttered the word under his breath himself one last time before balling his hand into a fist and swinging it to turn around and stomp back into the building, down the corridor then circling around off to the side to watch her drive away through one of the main hall windows, police cruiser slowly vanishing over the horizon.

And so, after all that had happened, he ultimately ended the encounter much the same way he began it: staring out the window, stroking his beard, plotting their next interaction in his head.

#nsft #ok edit to add to tags since yall found it anyways 🙄#otp: stop bothering these nice folks #writies and wordies

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vbee-miya · 4 years

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✧︎How To Shift✧︎

disclaimer : before I start explaining anything you have to know that everyone’s shifting experiences and adventures are UNIQUE and different for what you will / you have experienced.

part i || currently on || part iii

➺︎ How I prepare for a successful shift

Background knowledge : before I successfully shifted I did some prior research to what shifting was. I made sure that it was something I would feel comfortable doing. Though at that time I didn’t really care for whatever shifting was. TikTok made it blow up, but it’s not the best source of information. Rather I went through articles back in 2015 actually and shifting realities have been a thing. So with this knowledge I thought I would put it to the test to see if it was actually real or not. First time I did it it was no good. I just ended up falling into a deep *lucid dream.

* note - lucid dreaming is when the dreamer is aware that they are dreaming and is able to gain control over the dream, the dream narrative, and the environment. the thing people confused about shifting with lucid dreaming is because both feel vivid and real. Mind you this, that was also me. But in my opinion what separates lucid dreaming to shifting is that the reality doesn’t change. In lucid dreams the reality stays the same as the current reality that’s why usually when you wake up you didn’t wake up in the same place/position as when you started. As for shifting your body stays stil and it’s only your consciousness that is moving around. if you watch naruto think of Ino Yamanaka. She’s able to move her consciousness into a different body than hers almost resembling a ‘different reality’ and while she does this Shikamaru Nara or Chiji Akimichi have to make sure that the body not only gets harmed but is moved. So that the consciousness can have an easy pathway to go back to the ‘original vessel.’

Making sure you have a proper environment : lucid dreaming wasn’t just one thing that caused me to fail in the shifting process, but it was also because I didn’t have the right environment to do so. I’m Filipino and in most traditional Filipino households. They’re loud. Shifting requires medication and focus. And I’m the type to not be able to focus in such loud areas. So making sure that you have a comfortable safe place to prepare for you shift is ideal.

Experimenting with different methods : remember when I said that everyone has different shifting experiences? I meant that in actual terms. there’s at least over 5+ ways/methods to shift. and I tried five of them and I only one felt comfortable to my liking. Which was the raven method. In much simpler terms it’s where you make sure your in one spot and you make sure that your limbs aren’t touching each other so almost like a star fish laying down. It’s silly, but there’s ways to not make it look so pathetic looking I guess. But as I was stating earlier there’s many ways/methods. And YouTube has plenty of them explain different process in much better ways.

Getting into the mindset : yes before I shifted I had no faith or motivation to push myself to shift. that’s one of the reasons why I wasn’t able to shift well. because I’d keep giving in. I really just didn’t care. However when I found out about affirmations and scripting I hated the idea of doing it because I wanted to shift just like that without the need to keep scripting. But I tried it and around the second maybe third week of doing this alongside the scripting it also didn’t work. So then I found out about subliminals. I figured using a meditation audio would help and it made the process go smoothly, but at the cost that the process of me shifting and getting into my consciousness would take a really long time since I’m not really spiritual. So accessing my deep inner consciousness was hell. Another thing that helps is when you say you affirmations when you do decide to meditate and such. Affirmations or messages like “I will be safe, I will have a safe shift, I can shift.”

Short story on how I shifted : To make a long story short eventually I tied the raven method, 30 minute meditation audio, then a certain subliminal audio over 10 minutes long in queued (so I wouldn’t have to have any problems of getting out of my meditation phase), and saying the affirmations and manifestations at the back back of my head I was slowly able to feel myself falling deeper into my consciousness, but it’s funny because I didn’t feel like I was going to fall asleep. Eventually the deeper I went the atmosphere around me started shifting slightly. I wanted to open my eyes but I knew that’ll eff things up so I waited. I kept getting deeper and deeper as the reality and atmosphere around me started to change. My head felt like it was getting clear my body temperature was actually heating up which apparently isn’t something that’s too rare to experience when first starting to shit. Anyways so going back to the first post/point can’t quite remember when I said this, but when starting to shifting you want at least some confirmation that you’ve shifted so in my case it was that I’d feel mist like drips on me. And I did. Next thing I knew I was walking through the gym doors my vision was hazy and I saw Shinsuke Kita in front of me and I low-key have ptsd from him.

The “importance” of scripting for beginners : i was arrogant enough to think that I wouldn’t need to script, but turns out I did. It helps a lot actually. Um to summarize what I want to say if you just shift willingly with out any prior knowledge of what you’d do. You’ll end up like me in my first shift to HxH. Something will go wrong and it’s not like a lucid dream where you can erase that. The bodies and such in that shift will know that such thing happened. Of course as the shifter you have the power to change that once you come back to your cr script that such thing never happened then shift back to your dr. Scripting is also important for just mentally reminding yourself why your there. So as I got used to the process of shifting I was able to shift without using the subliminals/meditation audio and I was able to reduce my affirmations by what I wanted to ensure happens during the shift. Rather then saying like oh “I’m the manager for Inarizaki high”or “I’m a smart student and school is easy.” Like as I continued to shift I didn’t need to say things like that. It was more of like “in this shift, this time I have to remember I have to talk to so and so.”

Anyways that’s kind of all I have to say about shifting. I hope this helps some people for more clarifications and such you can always ask google. 🧍🏻‍♀️ but ask me as a last resort because if not I’d probably end up confusing you more. Have a lovely rest of the day 💜

#shifting #how to shift

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ravennm84 · 4 years

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Career Advice

Hi everyone!! This story was inspired by a news anchor that I saw on TV, and thought to myself “what would happen if Alya asked that woman for an internship and showed that woman the Ladyblog.” There wasn’t originally going to be Alya redemption, but I decided that the girl needed some love too. Warm-Fuzzies and please enjoy!!

Alya was practically vibrating in her chair as she sat in the reception area of TVi News. She had heard from Aurora and Mireille that there was a summer internship opening and that she should submit an application. She had spent an entire week working on her resume with her mom’s help, citing her blog as experience. Her mother had told her that she might want to double check all her stories before going in, but already knew that she’d be fine. After all, she was an awesome reporter.

There were four other people in the room with her, and she was definitely the youngest. Two of them looked like they were university age and the other two probably attended lycee. That meant that they likely had a bit more experience than she did, but Alya was confident that her blog would set her up for the win. Not only that, Lila had put in a good word for her with the higher ups of TVi News. All she had to do was nail the interview and the internship was hers!

It was about an hour and two interviews before her turn came. Holding her head high; she grabbed her tablet and portfolio, straightened her skirt, and walked in as smoothly as she could in her heels.

The person conducting the interview was Claudia Ramonte, a no-nonsense kind of woman that always seemed to be on a deadline. She preferred people always be on-point and despised people that wasted her time. She was a legend in the industry, she had been an investigative journalist for over 20 years before going into semi-retirement by helping run the company and hiring new journalists. It was said that she had an eye for who had talent and who was just playing journalist. And if you fell into the latter or made the mistake of insulting her craft, you could kiss any hopes of making it big in the industry goodbye. So as soon as Alya shut the door behind her, she put on her most professional smile and extended her hand to her.

“Mme. Ramonte, Alya Cesaire, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She gave her a slight smile as she shook her hand. “When I saw that a kid in college was applying for the internship, I thought that you were either an idiot or you had a pair of steel balls. Show me which one it is.”

A little taken back but her forwardness, Alya’s hand shook slightly as she pulled her resume from the file and handed it to her. “As you can see, I’ve been running my blog, The Ladyblog, for close to a year and a half now.”

“Everyone and their mothers have blogs nowadays, Cesaire.” The woman scoffed as she tossed Alya’s resume onto her desk and turned to her computer, typing quickly. “Every candidate I’m interviewing today has at least two blogs, multiple news articles in their school newspapers, or videos from their college news or radio stations. What is it about your blog that makes you think that you are more qualified than any of them?”

Alya faltered for a second but wouldn’t be deterred, she was an awesome reporter and she would get this internship. “I’ve conducted multiple interviews with different celebrities; including Ladybug herself, other heroes of the Miraculous Team, the daughter of a diplomat who is also Ladybug’s best friend…”

“So have others, Cesaire.” She sounded bored, as she continued reading something on her computer screen.

Squaring her shoulders, Alya kept going. She refused to back down when she was so close to her internship. “I have also done extensive work on recording akuma battles and have compared my footage to other sites. None of them get as close or in depth as I do.”

“And why do you think that is, Mlle. Cesaire?” Her voice going cold

Alya blinked, not expecting the question. “Um… well-”

“Reporters and journalists are not to engage in dangerous situations that are considered life threatening. Whether someone is part of a staff or freelance, they are not to enter danger zones on their own, which you have apparently done numerous times. I will admit that when it comes to journalism, it is never without risks; but no story is worth your life.”

“But there’s no real danger, Ladybug always-”

“A terrorist is a terrorist, Cesaire.” The chill in the woman’s voice gained a hard edge. “And the attacks that have been done by the akumas have, on more than one occasion, shown the potential to be fatal. Should there be even a single time that Ladybug and Chat Noir not pull through, that could result in thousands of deaths. If you think that any credible news source would allow their people to do what you’ve been doing; then you’re more than an idiot, you’re a reckless idiot.”

Then she turned one of her computer screens towards Alya, which was queued up to the Ladyblog. “And from what I’ve seen from your blog in the two minutes you’ve been in my office; you are not only reckless, but mediocre in your work as a journalist. I have looked through multiple posts and have yet to see a single credible source mentioned. So tell me, how can you think that you are qualified to work here if you cannot follow the most basic rule of journalism and check your sources?”

“I can assure you, everything I post is completely true!”

“And I’m just supposed to take your word on that? Hardly.” She turned the screen back to herself, then started playing the first interview she had done with Lila. Mme. Ramonte played it for only 15 seconds, in which Lila claimed to be Ladybug’s best friend after she had saved her life, before pausing the video and looking at Alya. “If Lila Rossi, the daughter of a diplomat, had been saved by Ladybug, there would have been multiple articles and recordings of the incident. I just did a cursory search and the only link that came up connecting Rossi and Ladybug is your own blog.”

Alya was speechless. She wanted to say that Lila was telling the truth, but what reason would there be for Mme. Ramonte, who continued playing Lila’s interview, to lie? She stopped the video again a few seconds later, after the tale of saving Jagged Stone’s kitten from being run over by a plane on an airport runway. The look the legendary journalist gave her was that of total disgust and anger.

“Do I even need to list all the things wrong with

this story?” When Alya didn’t say anything, Mme. Ramonte went off on her, practically ranting. “Firstly, Jagged Stone has been quoted multiple times as being allergic to animal fur, and would not own a cat. Second, no one would allow a minor onto a airport runway, as it would be seen negligence and possibly as an act of terrorism. Even if she had saved some cat from being run over and Jagged had been grateful, no self respecting musician would write a song about a minor that was not their daughter, as doing so could have him labeled as a pedophile. You are very lucky that M. Stone has not seen this interview, because if he had, you would have been served with lawsuits for slander. So, I’ll ask again. Is there anything to keep me from saying that you are nothing more than a wannabe-journalist that isn’t fit to work at a news stand?”

She wasn’t even sure how to respond. Alya had been so sure that her blog was perfect, but after what Mme. Ramonte had said and how she was looking at her, she really did feel like an idiot for believing what Lila had said. Especially since she should have known better.

She now remembered when she flew to Spain with her parents when she was younger and how far away the landing strip was from the airport. There was no way Lila would have been able to see a kitten from that far away. Alya also remembered how she wanted to go outside and play, but her father told her that only authorized personnel were allowed outside at the airport. Then there was Marinette, the designer had mentioned how she couldn’t do certain designs for the rock star because he had fur allergies from when he was a kid.

Oh no, Marinette has been saying for months that Lila was a liar. Ever since she had seen Lila’s interview. And since she designs for Jagged Stone, she would know that Lila was nothing but a liar. She was also the one that got me my first exclusive with Ladybug, so she’d probably know that she was lying about that, too. And I had the nerve to tell her that she was just being jealous… I’m a terrible friend and an even worse journalist.

Looking back up at Mme. Ramonte, she was barely able to hold back tears as she shook her head. “No, Madame. There is no excuse for such shoddy journalism, it doesn’t even deserve to be called that. I apologize for wasting your time.”

The woman’s features softened slightly, but not by much. “You’re still very young and have a lot to learn about journalism, Cesaire. If I ever see you in my office again, I’ll expect more from you than any other candidate. That means looking out for your safety, knowing what is okay and not okay to publish, and checking your stories through multiple, reliable sources. I would also recommend killing your blog and starting new, the Ladyblog will become toxic to your career if it continues. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Alya couldn’t help but stare at the woman across the desk from her. Despite not deserving it, Mme. Ramonte had given her very sage and constructive advice that just might save her career in the long run. If she killed her blog now, started a new one or two, and followed her advice; by the time she finished lycee, she might be able to use them as proper references for her future career.

“Thank you, Mme. Ramonte. I won’t forget this.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Cesaire,” she waved her hand dismissively. “I’m going to remember this and I will be telling other news sources about your blog as well, to make sure you never repeat these mistakes again. So, if you are really set on being a journalist, don’t just prove it to me, prove to everyone that you are better.”

“Still, thank you. Have a nice day, Mme. Ramonte.” Alya stood from her chair but paused before she turned to walk away. “So you know, I think I’ll be doing one final post on the Ladyblog, to admit my mistakes and all the things I reported incorrectly on my blog, along with the sources to back it up. Sort of a final expose to rid myself of the bad energy from my blog, so I’ll be able to move forward.”

The woman gave a nod of approval. Before waving her out of the office.

Alya kept her head high the entire way out of the building while doing her best to remain calm, or else risk attracting an akuma. As a bit of a cleanser, she sent a text to Marinette.

To FashionGurl: You were right about Lila. I’m so sorry for not listening to you. Can we talk on Monday?

A few minutes later, she got a text back.

To FoxyJournalist: You can come by today if you want to talk.

To FashionGurl: Sorry, I’m going to be busy. I have a new story to write about that liar, one that will have multiple sources, showing everyone exactly the kind of person she is.

To FoxyJournalist: Can’t wait to read it!!

~oOo~

What followed for Alya was a very long weekend writing out every story/lie that Lila had ever told her and the class, research into Lila’s old schools, staking herself out in front of the Italian Embassy until Ambassador Rossi came out so she could introduce herself, and then a long conversation at a cafe with the very angry and distraught mother. There were a lot of questions, show-and-tell with the videos on Alya’s blog and news reports from Lila’s old schools, and then the recommendation that she go to speak with M. Damocles and Mme. Bustier.

Monday morning saw Alya going into the bakery before school, telling Tom and Sabine the truth about Lila, and then grovelling at Marinette’s feet for being such a terrible friend. One thing she did not hesitate to show the Dupain-Chengs were the records and news reports she’d found pertaining to Lila’s old schools. Tracking Lila’s social media, Alya had found three schools and discovered the kind of mayhem the girl left behind.

One school had a perfect student named Gaia, much like Marinette, bullied until she was expelled. Another school showed another popular girl named Alessia had “fallen” down a flight of stairs and broken both of her legs, a few ribs, and one of her arms. Even though there were multiple eyewitness reports that Lila had pushed her, the Italian girl moved before she could be brought up on charges. The report from the most recent school made all of them sick. A girl named Ludovica had been stalked, harassed, and bullied over social media beginning the day Lila joined the school until the day the girl committed suicide. A quick backtrace on the account showed that it had been set up by Lila Rossi.

It was quickly decided that Sabine would be going to the school to have a word with the principal and teacher. Alya gave them a thumb drive with a copy of all the information she had found, she had multiple copies, so that if they decided to pursue legal actions, they had evidence to back it up.

At school, Alya went to class while Sabine took Marinette M. Damocles' office to speak with him and Mme. Bustier, since the woman was decidedly absent from the room. She had barely sat down when Lila entered the classroom, spouting off some story about meeting Ryan Reynolds over the weekend. Alya barely suppressed her snide grimace before hiding it with a smile.

“Really, Lila? That’s amazing! Did you get any pictures? I would love to post them on my blog?”

Now that she was watching, she saw the girl flinch when asked for actual evidence before putting on a sugary sweet smile. “I didn’t get a chance, my phone died.”

“Oh that’s annoying. Where did you see him?” She asked, pulling up the movie star’s Twitter account. “Because you were here in Paris over the weekend but according to his social media, he was visiting his home town in Canada this week.”

Alya definitely saw the girl scowl that time. “Oh, he just said that so he could come here without anyone knowing. He’s researching a role here in Paris and I was showing him around until my mom called me home.”

“Didn’t you just say that your phone was dead?” That got the classes’ attention, as they had just heard the girl say that was the reason she hadn’t taken any pictures. Lila was about to spout some new excuse; but Alya, who was now channelling her inner Mme. Ramonte, raised a hand to cut her off.

“Don’t even bother coming up with another lie. I know you’re full of crap and it spills out of your mouth with every word you say. And before you try to accuse me of lying, taking Marinette’s side, or bullying you; I think you should know that I spent the majority of the weekend looking into everything you’ve told us.”

The entire class watched the Italian girl’s olive skin turn a sickly white. But Alya wasn’t finished, this girl had been attempting to do the same to Marinette that she had done to Gaia, Alessia, and Ludovica. And as her BFF, she was not going to stand aside and let that happen. “I have piles of evidence that you were never in Achu and have never met Prince Ali, you were just playing hookie. I’ve got evidence that you are perfectly healthy and have never suffered from any of the diseases or ailments that you’ve claimed to have since returning to school. I’ve also got evidence that you have never met any of the celebrities that you claim to know. That includes Ladybug.”

Not so surprising, Lila attempted to turn everyone against Alya by turning on the tears. “That’s not true! I would never lie about all of that. You’re just saying that because you’re mad at me for not getting the internship!”

When the class looked back at Alya, they were surprised to see her grinning like a fox. “Did I forget to mention exactly how I know you weren’t in Achu? Or how I know you're perfectly healthy and don’t know any of those celebrities you’ve claimed to be close to?”

She paused, mostly for effect before going in for the killing blow. “Your mom and I had a very in depth conversation yesterday when I ran into her outside the embassy. She wasn’t happy about your interviews on the Ladyblog, and she was confused as to why you were claiming to be Ladybug’s BFF when you’ve been telling her for months that she and Chat Noir were a couple of lazy, incompetent, and downright terrible heros; which was why the school was closed.”

If it were possible Lila paled even more before turning to run out the door. The door swung open just as she was reaching for the handle, and was met with an upset Mme. Bustier. “You are needed in the Principal's Office, young lady.” To the surprise of everyone there, Lila attempted to shove her way past their teacher. But the woman was faster and grabbed the girl by the arm in a firm grip before escorting her out of the room.

When the first bell rang a few minutes later, M. Harpele came in to act as the substitute until Mme. Bustier was finished with her meeting.

Marinette returned to class before their teacher did, smiling bright as the sun and visibly more relaxed than anyone had seen her in weeks. She sat down beside Alya and gave her a tight hug while whispering “thank you” over and over.

“I take it things went well for you instead of Lila?” Alya grinned.

Marinette giggled. “She tried convincing her mom that all of us were akumatized and were trying to ruin her life, but she wasn’t buying it. Especially when M. Damocles showed Mme. Rossi her school records. Mom demanded that Lila give a formal apology and confess everything to the class, or she would get the Board of Governors involved. When Mme. Rossi found out that Lila tried to get me expelled, she lost it and started talking about a catholic reformatory school in Italy. Lila looked like she was going to be sick when she heard that.”

“It’s not perfect, but it’s what she deserves.” Alya shrugged before looking Marinette in the eye again. “I’m really sorry, girl. You’re my BFF, I should have listened to you when you told me Lila was a liar.”

“No, I don’t expect you to listen to me every time. I just wanted you to check things out and make sure that you weren’t being taken advantage of.” Then her brow creased. “I’m curious, what brought all this on?”

“Let’s just say that I just got some much needed career advice.”

#alya redemption #lila salt #ml fic #lila karma #friendship #alya salt

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thetomorrowshow · 3 years

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unless you take your army back

Hello and welcome to the sequel to my work i will make the sky collapse! You honestly do not have to read the first one to understand this one--the first was a Crutchie-centric whump-focused refuge story, and this one is about his recovery and Jack coming to terms with what happened (and maybe some,,, sprace).

So yeah! This is chapter one! Content warnings will be posted at the beginning of each chapter :) This is a queued post, so as soon as I have time to post it on AO3 I’ll update this with the link.

cw: blood, brief description of injury

On the same day they won the strike, there were a good dozen kids clamoring to be a newsie, appearing out of nowhere with the sole purpose of bothering Jack. He didn’t really want to care--they could be a newsie all they wanted--but the problem was they all needed a start-up fund. They all wanted Jack to foot the cost of their first papes and first week of room and board, and though he had just gotten a job offer and an improved living overall, he just didn’t have the time or money to train so many penniless kids. So he sent them to Spot Conlon, of course.

It was pretty clear that these kids all came from the Refuge, which had just been shut down by the governor. Jack had never been happier than he was when he saw the cop drag Snyder away in chains. The nagging question that was slowly coming to the front of his mind, though, was where was Crutchie?

Katherine had been here for the short celebration, but had seemed distracted and had left almost immediately, without giving Jack a chance to ask after his brother. He wanted to go look for the kid, comb through the Refuge and the streets surrounding it, but Davey had regretfully told him he couldn’t leave. He was the union leader, and a nice official union it was at that. He actually couldn’t even sell right now, he had to return to Pulitzer’s office and continue working on a bunch of paperwork registering the union or something. Pulitzer had told him that they would be working together occasionally due to his new position as leader of the Newsboys Union, which apparently meant that whenever there was a problem on either of their ends they had to include the other in their solving of the problem. It made sense to Jack, what he didn’t get was why he had to read a billion papers telling him it made sense.

Katherine did not ride with him and Mr. Pulitzer in the carriage back to his office, and she didn’t come and see him when he left late in the afternoon, but maybe she was just at work. There was a lot to report, after all. Jack wished it didn’t hurt. There was no way it was intentional, they all had a lot going on right now. It wasn't like he'd gone looking for her, after all. He'd see her tomorrow, cross paths on the way to work.

What with all the stressful arrangements and intense discussions, Jack was more tired than he usually was by the time he entered the lodging house. In later days, he wished that he had spoken to Mush, waiting anxiously outside. He wished that he had not gone with Pulitzer to his office, and instead sought out Katherine straightaway. Most of all, he wished that he had gone personally to the Refuge, made sure to set those kids free himself.

He didn’t do any of those things, though. Instead, he walked home from Pulitzer’s office, nodded to Mush, and went straight inside.

Katherine was there, which was odd, but certainly not unwelcome. According to Race, she had spent time with them without him, just celebrating with them and getting to know them all. That was fine, but most girls didn’t seek out a bunch of street rat teenage boys as preferred company.

Not only was Katherine there, but half of the newsies were seemingly just waiting by the door, dropping what they’d been doing and standing to stare at him. Sure, Jack was something of a celebrity now--and he had betrayed them more than once, which could be the reason also--but they looked almost guilty.

“Jack,” Katherine started, and Jack saw that sorry look on her face and his heart dropped. What could this be about? He’d been with Pulitzer all day, so it wasn’t like the old man had turned on them. Where was Crutchie? Was he--he couldn’t be. Right? No.

“Jack,” she said again, and now she was crying. Jack wanted to kiss the tears off her face, tell her she never needed to cry again, but he couldn’t. He had to know--his stomach was roiling, threatening to toss up whatever bite he’d eaten earlier. Something had happened, and it--it couldn’t be--

“It’s Crutchie,” Katherine said, and Jack had a brief moment of huh, so that’s how swoonin’ feels before he was on his knees. He can’t have died. Crutchie was--well, Crutchie. He was just as capable as any newsie, could sell papes twice as well as half of them, and was stronger than anyone Jack knew--certainly far stronger than himself. But if Snyder--if the Refuge--if--

“He’s alive,” Katherine hurried to say, kneeling on the floor beside him, and Jack let out a choked laugh, only just realizing he was crying.

“Ya couldn’ta said that sooner?” he asked weakly, and Katherine sniffled, trying to regain composure.

“He’s alive,” she repeated, “but he isn’t doing well at all. He wanted to see you, but I think he’s still asleep.”

In seconds, Jack was back on his feet, pulling her up with him. “Let’s go,” he said, pulling her towards the bunkroom. “I gotta see ‘im.”

He ignored her cries of “Jack, wait, you have to know--” and took the stairs two at a time, yanking open the door as soon as it was in front of him. The room was dead silent for once, and only one bed was occupied (despite the fact that he’d told Romeo to rest up today after the strike). Over by the open window on the far wall, a figure was laying in the only bed without a top bunk (the one that belonged to Jack, seeing as he was in charge).

Jack could barely hold back a retch as he came closer, seeing the matted hair crusted in blood, but sticking straight up, same as always. Crutchie was sleeping almost peacefully on the bed, the blankets tucked around him messily, as if one of the boys had tried his very best to arrange it like a mother would. His face was swollen and cut up, almost unrecognizable as his brother, though his neck was what caught Jack’s attention. A brownish-purple bruise in the vague shape of a gripped hand was found there, where the fingers had dug in marked by little round black bruises, a sick imitation of a constellation crossing his brother’s throat.

Jack’s fists curled into tight balls as he stared down at Crutchie, seeing red. The rest of his body was hidden by the covers, excepting a stiff arm that was tightly wrapped in gauze. The collar of his undershirt was the only part of his clothes visible, and it was stained brown and torn.

There were two sides of Jack warring for dominance. One screamed at him to storm down to the county jail right this moment and give Snyder everything he deserved. The other side tried to pull him to the floor, weeping at Crutchie’s bedside. Jack fought both, not wanting to seem weak in front of Katherine, who was watching him with that soft-concerned look on her face that he had already come to know too well. He needed to get alone, needed space, needed a moment to cope with what he’d just been confronted with so that he could best help Crutchie later.

Jack calmly left the room, replying something along the lines of fine, just need a minute when Katherine asked tentatively if he was okay. Then he walked slowly down the steps and through the main room, where all of the newsies watched him silently. He nodded vaguely in their direction. Luckily, none of them asked any questions. If they had, Jack wasn’t sure that he would’ve been able to hold back the sobs.

Finally he was outside, and here he could run. Run he did, all the way around the side of the building and up the fire escape, running and running until all that existed was the clang! of his feet against the metal and the wind rushing past his ears. Then he was climbing the ladder to the very top, where only a week ago he and Crutchie had woken, excited to start striking for real.

Jack had woken early that morning, and had taken the time to sketch out the New York skyline against the starry night sky. It was a frequent subject of his, but that morning he had filled in himself and Crutchie, sitting on the roof closest to the perspective, curled up and reaching toward the stars.

When Crutchie had gotten up, they had made mundane small talk, both trying to hide nervousness that showed too plainly. They eventually stopped talking around it, laughing and joking about it directly, before deciding--no, vowing--to not let the other come to serious harm or danger. Then they had gone downstairs, ready to wake the other boys and get on with the revolution.

The last promise--maybe the last one ever--that Jack had made to Crutchie, and he’d broken it not even hours later. On the rooftop now, Jack kicked the low wall angrily, then again and again. What was wrong with him? How could he focus so intently on these--these mundanities, paperwork and politeness and whatall, while Crutchie was suffering so? How had he not been here for him, when he arguably needed Jack more than anyone else at the moment?

He kicked the wall one more time, then threw himself to the floor. What kind of leader was he? He’d betrayed everyone, almost left Crutchie; then when he’d gotten his head on the right way, he hadn’t done anything to make sure the kid was all right!

“Jack?”

Katherine. She would come up here, tell him it was okay, that it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t want that. It was his fault, and he couldn’t have anyone denying it or he might just explode.

“Leave me alone,” he called back, barely keeping his voice from breaking. Silence, then a sigh and the sound of soft footsteps going down the fire escape. Good.

Jack drew his hands across his face, taking in a shuddering breath. He had to pull himself together. He couldn’t dream about leaving anymore, that would just make things worse. He had to be here for Crutchie, and the other boys. Prove that he wasn’t a scab.

He hadn’t eaten any supper, but he didn’t really care. It was dark enough that he shouldn’t have a problem resting. Add it to the tired ache in his bones and he’d be out in no time. He’d get up when everyone else went to bed, then he’d stay up the rest of the night with Crutchie, be there in case he had nightmares or woke up. He had to be there for him. He had to.

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writingonjorvik · 3 years

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Can We Discuss Game Hiatuses?

I want to preface this enter post with the comment that I am absolutely not saying "Oh, if you're not enjoying SSO, you should just leave the community." That's a bad argument used against criticism that I do not promote. However, I am going to talk about how if you're not enjoying SSO, why you should take a pause from playing.

I'm going to generally credit @centeris2 on this topic, because while I'm not using direct quotes (because private convos aren't exactly the style I want to use for Can We Discuss), we had a long conversation about this topic and she made a lot of good points for this that I wanted to discuss. Some of these points are based on her opinions, a lot of out thoughts blurred together so it's hard to directly credit, and she gave me the ok to talk about it and use her thoughts.

In any case, let's start with the fact that it is perfectly normally to like something and still drop it for years at a time, or to not directly engage with it. For instance, I adore the Legend of Zelda franchise (were it not obvious from my recent to be rescheduled event), but I haven't personally picked up a LOZ game for a year-ish now when I replayed Minish Cap. That doesn't revoke my LOZ fan card, that's a perfectly normal thing to do. Most of you will have done this throughout your life, more and more recognizably as you get older.

This however can get blurred by fandom. It is very often that folks with hyperfixations on a thing, who may or may not engage with something more regularly than other media, will get involved in fandom and make a lot of content for that fandom. These people can produce loads of content on a piece of media and this can fuel a community, even if the rest of the community isn't actively engaging with that media. It also doesn't specifically mean that people with hyperfixations are constantly engaging with that media. Going back to that LOZ example, I wrote LOZ fanfic for years without actively playing more than one LOZ game maybe a year or two. Content can be queued, be entirely original outside of the media, and still last a long time and engage with the fandom at large.

The point is to say, even if you make content and enjoy a piece of media, you don't have to actually be playing/reading/listening/watching it constantly. In fact, normally modern fandom culture makes that pretty easy to do, though it can sometimes make us feel like we're still engaging directly with the media even if we're technically not. But it's good to take a step back and acknowledge that. A lot of younger fans in fandom have a hard time with this, which is why I'm taking the time to point it out. A lot of young fans will hyperengage in a fandom because they want to be involved in this fandom they love, only to burn themselves out and be turned away by their frustration. It's important then to acknowledge this scenario to encourage better, healthier involvement with fandom. Still, in this situation, you can easily bow out of a fandom if you need to take a break and then come back when something new happens in it, like a new release or update. This may feel like a fandom "dies" when a piece of media ends, but for active media, it's a normal and healthy thing to do.

SSO on the other hand does not encourage the ability for people to take a break, or at least it does it at the detriment of the player. Because of the weekly updates, players are constantly checking for the chance that there is something interesting coming out. This is somewhat addressed by the monthly roadmaps the team has been putting out, but that also just extends the period of time people are waiting for news and they're still staying in the release cycle for more clarification. For instance, we know Silverglade Village is getting an update at the end of the month, but knowing SSO's release cycle, are they going to tease some more of the changes? Are they going to reveal how wide the area of update is going to be? Will any NPCs get updates with it? This is still in the weekly cycle and it keeps players from building up actual suspense for updates if we know when content is coming out. It also takes away a lot of suspense when the content isn't main content, like new areas or story. While the suspense for the Fripp quests I would say were quite large, I wouldn't say that any of the other updates have shared the same attention. This is why most companies will release roadmaps for quarters or for a year.

And this isn't to say that SSE as a company shouldn't be releasing media content weekly, they should. That's good social media. But there are ways to engage with fans that don't drag out a reliance to engage weekly, things like community contests, highlighting fans, or promoting fanmade content. But when every update is super in the eyes of social media, fatigue and apathy are going to start to kill actual excitement unless it's something major.

I don't think it's a secret that I think the weekly updates aren't good for the game on the development side. I think it creates a pseudo-crunch culture on the developers so that they can't work on larger projects that players are asking for, like an engine overhaul (it took FFXIV two years to do theirs, when are the devs supposed to have time on SSO to switch now). But, I also don't think it's good for the players. Yes, there's something every week, but how are players actually engaging each week and how much time can we build up anticipation or get excited when each week that gets diffused by something that's not super exciting the majority of other weeks? Which doesn't mean that that content is bad, but it clearly builds frustration in the community to have "filler" content. When's the next story quests, when's the next map expansion, when's the next major mechanic being added, etc. We're constantly discussing the next big thing and then finding reasons to be excited in the meantime. This does not spark joy.

But in order to take a break, either you need to be on top of your Stable Care (likely to pull you back in), or just stop caring about your horses while you're away (unlikely considering the horse girl is strong in this community). The first requires Star Coins, which is arguably saying "You have to pay real money to take a break," and the second is actively punishing you mechanically for not being committed to playing. Neither of those allow the player to take healthy, normal breaks from the community to engage in other things. And that's an issue.

Yes, MMOs need regular engagement. Active servers and participation are a part of what makes them more marketable. But there are ways to do that without penalizing players. And I'm not suggesting that the care system needs to be entirely removed, but it does need to be entirely reworked so players can leave the game without coming back penalized. Things like the care system not affecting stats, but increasing your RNG for finding doubles of crafting items, or doubling your shilling rewards from dailies. WoW's inn system rewards players for taking breaks by double your exp gain longer depending on how long you were away. Others like Guild Wars 2 will give you log in rewards that build up to bigger prizes over time. There are ways to do this.

And I understand that a lot of folks like the current care system because it's realistic. But there has to be a line in game development where enjoyment in a game is prioritized over the realism of the game, not to mention the health of the player. Yes, the daily care system is more realistic, but if it is developing an obsessive habit of play to enjoy content that is, realistically, months to years down the line, that's not good for the player and should be changed so players can break from the game without coming back to punished controls. There are better systems that can still be realistic, things like crafting feed schedules to recover health boosts faster instead of having to see the vet, increasing how often the mood goes up so it doesn't take a whole week, changing it so when taking a horse for a ride the mood will increase every 10 or so minutes by engaging with a horse you like. Rewarding players for getting on and playing the game instead of making them dread missing when they should be coming back with excitement for the game.

All of that said, I want to encourage all of you to play more games where you can. I know there are system limitations, restricted budgets, and sometimes regional limits because of limited languages or just straight regionlocks. But in the same way reading makes you a better reader and writer, gaming makes you a better gamer (and developer/designer if you go that route). It helps you identify what you like in games and in the same way that reading other things makes coming back to your favorite all that much better, so does playing other games. I'm going to reblog this in a bit with some games I'd recommend with links to Steam and Epic and I'd encourage you all to do the same.

The takeaway I hope to give is that it's normal and healthy to take a break from games. You can still engage with media without directly engaging with it through fandom. SSE can do more to not penalize players for wanting to take a break, and should. And where you can, you should play more games and break for the health of your relationship with a piece of media you like.

#sso #star stable online #star stable #starstableonline #starstable #woj analysis #ssoblr #sso blr

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neproxrezi · 3 years

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Are you participating in the proposed dbd boycott to get them to do a game health update?

yeah, i wasn't sure at first caus "dont play the video game for a brief period" isn't going to work but "this company has put all its eggs in one basket and they are frankly quite neglectful of said basket, everyone stop buying anything ingame for 3 months" has me interested

more than 'fix the bugs' or anything else like that what i want to see out of the game is them being less god damn stingy with cosmetics (you should not have to pay $10 for ONE FUCKING COSMETIC) and addressing the grind. holy shit the grind in this game is so rough and it could be fixed fairly simply (i'm in favour of removing perk tiers, to cut a long post short)

hold on im gonna complain about dbd under a cut caus itll get long, i love this game so much but oh boy it has issues

it's been said a million times already but dbd's grind made more sense when there were like 4 or 5 characters per side, there are now over 20 and each new one introduces 3 perks to each side

I want to write about the grind in this game for a moment. There are 95 survivor perks in DBD. Every perk has three tiers. Some of them are great, and many are kind of pointless. Realistically, I'd bet you're only going to see about 15 of those perks in action in most of your games. However, if you unlock a perk to be taught to other survivors (which I tend to do even if I don't particularly want it, out of a mix of completionism and a 'may as well get it out of the way' kind of thing), you can't get rid of it. It's in your bloodwebs forever. 95 perks. 285 perk tiers. Let's talk about how long that takes to claim.

You buy a new character in the next chapter. You have every teachable perk unlocked. The new chapter really excited you, and you want to claim every perk on the new character (who I am going to name... Doug), so you saved a lot of bloodpoints in advance. In fact, you played for days and days and saved the cap, which is a million bloodpoints. You buy Doug, after much excited testing him out in the PTB. You spend all million points on Doug. Doug is now about level 35 to 40, out of 50. Hm. Well, time to keep playing. The bloodwebs kind of gave you a bunch of crap stuff on Doug, and you don't feel like running Power Struggle, Ace in the Hole, Babysitter and Breakdown, so you can't play Doug yet. You go play someone else.

Solo queuing as survivor is a mixed bag, and your games range from getting 10,000 bloodpoints (pretty rough game where everyone got wiped) to 27,000 (a great match, maybe with a bloodpoint offering). You save enough to get Doug to level 50. In the later levels, you start being able to get two perks a level instead of one. Let's say from level 1 to 50, you collect a total of 65 perks, because I don't remember exactly when it starts offering 2 per level. Okay, there are 220 perk levels left. Because of the game's propensity for giving you the same perk over and over to get you lots of perks at level 2 out of 3, of those 65 perk tiers you've probably got something like 20 to 25 actual perks. You're missing like, 70. Best case scenario, the ones you picked up include a lot of what you want. Most likely, you've got like half a good build and some gimmicky crap to slot in alongside it. Worst case scenario, which has happened to me plenty of times, you have like maybe one good perk and a pile of gimmicky crap. So. How long is it going to take you to get what you want?

There are 220 perk levels to go. After level 50, the webs are all the same size. It costs about 50,000 points to level up, and you get two perk levels per bloodweb. That's going to be 110 webs to get everything for Doug. Which is 5.5 million bloodpoints. Oh no. How many points were you earning per game again?

If you play with friends, you're probably going to do better. I find this to be true even if me and my friends are playing without voice comms or anything, because I just sort of know these people a bit better. I know my friend who mains Lisa Garland is a hook-diving bastard, so I don't need to go rescue anyone. Ace, god bless him, makes batshit altruistic plays, so I certainly don't need to go protect my teammates when he's out there doing things like this. I think I'm just going to sit on generators in the distance, think about our final gen spread, and try get us out of here. I'd say if I'm playing well, and accounting for offerings and WGLF stacks, with friends I average 30,000 a match and by myself I average 20,000. Playing killer I average more like 60,000, but playing killer is a bit stressful sometimes and I'm very indecisive about actually queuing up for it, so I probably actually get bp faster as survivor. I'm going to call the average per match across everything 25,000, because for every good game there are plenty where you underperform, or things just go drastically wrong. To earn 5.5 million points like that, you're going to have to play 220 matches. A game, including queue times and whatnot, can take ten to twenty minutes. That's... that's going to take a while. And that's ONE CHARACTER.

Now, on the survivor side you only really need to do this once. They're all just reskins of the same gameplay loop. On the killer side, you need to re-earn those perks for every new character you want to try out, because they're all different. Miiiiillions and millions of points. Hundreds of games. I have no problem with the game having a grind, but at this point it's absolute insanity.

In my opinion, removing perk tiers would cut the grind down to a reasonable level. There'd still be a grind, which I'm completely comfortable with existing, but it wouldn't be excruciatingly long, and you wouldn't have to spend as long dealing with bad perks.

HOWEVER, on top of that is the fact that they just. Holy shit the game updates slowly. I don't want to blame them for that in a way of like "these developers are incompetent and lazy", I really do love DBD to bits and I'm sure they do work very hard on it. That said, its update cycle is really slow. Reeaally slow. I wish they either had a bigger team, made balance updates faster (a handful of perk adjustments once every six weeks is... very very slow) or something to just try make the changes faster. Even when things do change it always feels so anxious and tentative, I wish they'd experiment more often. The time they disabled bloodlust to see what happened was really cool!

Yeah in short I just hope the grind gets addressed more than anything else, caus that's the part I actually think there's a relatively straightforward solution to. Also, I never got to play the older events where you could do shit like earn cosmetics, but they sounded way fucking cooler than the new ones. The halloween one last year was absolute shit, it's weird that their special events would get worse over time rather than better.

Buuut I agree with Scott Jund that the Resident Evil chapter was bad news for DBD's long term health because the one thing that would really give BHVR a kick up the ass is competition, and every time they land an amazing licensed chapter they become harder to compete with. They have an absolute monopoly on asymmetrical horror, and I honestly think the game would be in a better state right now if they had some competition >:[

#dibi #dbd #long post #i love dbd to bits i really do #but UGH it has issues

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revenant-dumpster-fire · 3 years

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Blog Update

(Ignore if not interested, but I’m looking for input so... I would be happy if you wanted to add to the conversation.)

TL;DR:

Blog Update: I will catch up on asks ASAP, fiction writing is done for 5 weeks (yay!).

Blog Question: Should I take art requests during my free time (or just vibe)?

Blog Question: Should I take short writing requests during my free time (or just vibe)?

Fanfic Question: Is the name “The Lost Files” good for the miscellaneous chapters, or do you have a better idea for a name?

Fanfic Question: Tumblr sometimes cramps my writing style, do you all prefer reading on here or AO3 and why (if you don’t mind expanding upon that)?

Blog Updates:

All the writing stuff is updated, ready to go, and is queued up for the next five weeks. That means I can focus on other things for a while!

For the main chunk of the blog, I would like to do the following:

Get the sitting asks done ASAP with art (if possible)

Get back to making Revenant art because I need to get my mojo back

On this note, I would like to try taking art requests (as long as they’re not too complicated). I know my art isn’t the greatest possible thing in the world, but the more I practice the better I’ll get, and... I really want to get better.

Would officially opening art requests be a decent idea? Or is this a prime way to exhaust myself during my five weeks off my main project? I’m not exactly sure how many people would get in on it, but it’s something I’ve wanted to do in order to expand my horizons a bit. At the same time I wouldn’t want to drown myself in requests and feel guilty for being unable to complete them all in a timely manner.

Also I wanted to do short writing request too for fun, just Revenant stuff with more flexibility than my main project. Would anyone be interested in writing requests? I dunno I figured it could be fun and really help me brainstorm a bit.

Fanfic Updates:

Oh hey, so if you’re here you probably saw the most recent part was posted. That’s the second to last chapter, and after that I have three more lost chapters lined up, meaning every Wednesday for the next five weeks [including this week] (bar me getting hit by a bus) I will have something to post. Yay!

Also, Just a Volunteer (Book #1) has been completely proofread, fixed, updated, and the final version is available on AO3 with all edits/fixes! Yay!

So... that wraps up the first book. It ends with lots of questions, pretty open ended, but it would be wrapped up enough that if someone wanted to find a break to read something else, it’s a good place to break.

After that’s done, the “The Lost Files” as I’m calling it (for now, may change the name to be more fun than that, feel free to leave suggestions) will drop one at a time. These differ from the main story in multiple ways:

They focus on different/new characters I’m adding to the fray

They are not in 2nd person POV (you/your)

They are in 3rd person POV (he/her/they)

They mostly avoid the Reader or Y/N character and focus on events she could not or did not see

They fill in the gaps and set up the insanity I want to write for book #2

I am not shooting for a 10K word per chapter ideal, it’s just however long it is.

I am very excited for these because I really just had fun with them. To give you an idea of what’s coming up:

Character piece and setting up an “oh fuck” moment for later

R e v e n a n t

An “oh fuck” moment

There will be more than those, but for now those are all written already.

As for Book #2, I am feeling like migrating completely over to AO3 for posting it (obviously including links on Tumblr as well)... I wanted people’s opinion:

Is there any reason you prefer to read on Tumblr rather than AO3?

You may wonder why I’d want to migrate off of Tumblr. On my side, it’s limiting to have to constrain myself to 250 paragraphs and messes with my formatting at times. I have also had people point out that the mobile app crashes and makes them lose their place or lose my blog entirely (if they hadn’t followed it), so... ack. Should I keep trying to post to Tumblr? Or if it exceeds 250 paragraphs just post a link?

But yeah, also if you didn’t read above, I’m considering doing short form writing requests. I’m guessing my fic readers would be the most interested in that, so what do you all think of that?

#q&a schedule #q&a #q&a fanfic

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threecrowsinatrenchcoat · 3 years

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Paint My Spirit Gold

Dukeceit Week Day 2: Green/Yellow

Fans of the YouTubers "Deceit" and Remus "The Duke" Sanders start to suspect that maybe, just maybe, the two of them are more than simple internet pals.

AO3 Link: [here]

Word Count: 2187

Warnings: n/a

@dukeceitweek <3

[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a watercolor-style painting of a snake. The snake appears to be made of melting chocolate, and there is a large bite taken out of its tail. Cherries and jam are leaking out of the snake at the bite wound. The snake's expression of horror is overly-exaggerated to the point of comedy. The caption reads: "liked your snake boi, @SerpenThyme. thanks for the inspo." /end ID]

A notification ding cut Janus off mid-sentence.

“Wow, someone left their cell phone on, so professional,” he said, giving the camera a dramatic eye roll. That someone was him, of course, because he was the only one in the apartment- just him and the running livestream- but that was no excuse not to be a drama queen about it. He finished wiping flour off his hands and grabbed his phone to silence it; but the notification made him pause. He flicked his eyes up toward the camera and gave a slight smirk.

“My goodness, I’m famous,” he drawled. “The Duke himself has graced little old me with some fan art.”

Most of the comments in the chat wanted him to show it, so Janus opened up Twitter to see the full post he’d been tagged in. It was a watercolor painting of the coiled-snake chocolate sculpture- lovingly named Jake by his viewers- he’d made for his YouTube video last week; it was wearing an expression of such comedic horror that Janus had to stifle a laugh. He flicked his phone screen toward the close-up camera on his counter so his viewers could see.

“How kind of you, Remus,” he said. “All of you should go scold him for what he’s done to poor Jake here.”

Most of his viewers would know he was joking- after all, they were the ones to nickname him Deceit when he provided neither a real or fake name for his online persona. They knew full well what he was like by now.

The oven timer dinged. Janus silenced his phone and set it aside.

“And our first batch of cookies is done. You know, why don’t we show the Duke some appreciation?”

[ID: An Instagram post by user @SerpenThyme. The photo is an artistically-framed shot of a stack of sugar cookies with green, yellow, and pink icing. Propped up against the stack is another cookie, with an intricate icing-drawing of an octopus. The photo appears to have been color corrected to have high contrast, low saturation, and a dark vignette at the edges. The Instagram user @OctoDukie is tagged. No caption. /end ID]

“You know, I have often been accused of actually being a little old lady, what with my fondness for knitted jumpers, rocking chairs, and incredibly fucked up murder mystery books. Today I am doing nothing to dispel this accusation, by making soup.”

The studio was dark and empty aside from Remus' workspace. Everyone else had left long ago, even his own brother, which meant that it was officially ass-o'clock in the morning (or, as most people called it, somewhere between 1 and 2 a.m.) But Remus was stuck in hyperfocus, honed in on putting the last touches on a commission that he'd been putting off for weeks. It's not that it was a tough painting- once he'd gotten started, it was actually a very creatively satisfying piece- but man, executive dysfunction could go suck a dick

“French onion soup, specifically. Because while I do like to pretend I am a classy bitch, I am also, regrettably, a lazy bitch with a distaste for anything that takes longer than one bottle of wine to make.”

Remus hated working in silence. It was stifling, almost suffocating. His brain needed noise like his lungs needed air. So when the studio had grown still and silent, Remus had flipped open his laptop and queued up some YouTube videos.

“So we have here three pounds of onions that we need to slice up, pole to pole. You’re going to cry no matter what, so if you have any memories you’ve been repressing since middle school, now is an excellent time to dredge those up.”

And if it happened to be 90% SerpenThyme videos, well. Sue him.

“Now the first rule of caramelizing onions: fast and sloppy is always better than slow and thorough… at least, that’s what every man I’ve ever slept with tells me.”

Remus choked and glanced over to his laptop screen just in time to catch Deceit's trademark smirk directed at the audience just for a moment. It was the deadpan delivery that always got him. Remus could barely hold onto a joke long enough to get through it without cackling mid-punchline, but this fucker could say the funniest shit like an off-hand comment.

He wiped his hands off on his jeans (what use were clothes if you couldn't use them as paint rags?) and pulled his laptop across the table. He typed out a quick comment, citing the timestamp of the joke, and after it was posted, he shut his laptop.

'Cause ass-o'clock was short for "get-your-ass-home-or-I’ll-kick-it" o'clock.

[ID: A screenshot of a YouTube comments section. The first comment is by user TheDuke, and reads: "10:42 wow, rude." The second comment is a reply by user SerpenThyme, and simply reads ";)" /end ID]

Janus plopped down on the couch with a slight groan. He didn’t need to stream today, but he really hated missing days. Besides… he was fine. Really.

He adjusted the camera until he was happy with the framing, and then checked the settings on his streaming software. Satisfied, he started the stream, and watched as his usual viewers rolled in.

“What do you mean I’m not in my kitchen?” Janus drawled, addressing the chat. He glanced around with an expression of faux-shock on his face. “My goodness, when did that happen?”

He chuckled, and then gestured to his surroundings. “Yes, we are in my living room today. If you must know, my closest and most trusted friend tried to murder me today- yes, Virgil, it was attempted murder and nothing less- and I survived with nary a scratch… and a broken foot, but that is beside the point. Anyway, I’m not allowed to stand for long periods of time, and I may or may not be somewhat inebriated by pain pills and couldn’t stand even if I wanted to. So we are cooking from my couch today.”

Janus paused for a few moments to read the chat messages as they popped up. A few get well soon’s, a few theories about the “attempted murder,” Virgil- who moderated his chat for him- vehemently denying the “attempted murder” but otherwise refusing to clarify the event, and a large volume of wtf why are you streaming today, take care of yourself comments, which made him smile. But one particular comment caught his eye, almost lost amid the torrent of an active chat: wait this kinda looks like the Duke’s living room?

“Oh, VampSuga,” he said, addressing that commenter in particular with a slight smirk. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. Anyway, since I can’t reach my oven from here, I thought some no-bake cookies were in order. For these you will need-”

[ID: A screenshot of a Discord conversation. The text reads:

“VampSuga: Ok ok hear me out. Dukeceit.

Starstruck96: who?

IneffableSnek: lmao

FeralBeauYasha: lol

VampSuga: Deceit and Remus Sanders! They’re totally dating. I will die on this hill.

FeralBeauYasha: Isn’t the duke w/ PatPat?

IneffableSnek: no thats his brothers bf

FeralBeauYasha: ohh

VampSuga: Did anyone see Deceit’s stream today? I swear that’s the Duke’s livingroom.

StarStruck96: idk that seems like a stretch

IneffableSnek: no wait i kno what u mean

IneffableSnek: im watching the duke’s old videos and that one where he shows off all his old weapons he’s in a living room kinda like deceit’s

FeralBeauYasha: They were acting all cute on twitter too

VampSuga: DUKECEIT” /end ID]

"Hey guys, been a while since you've seen my face and not just whatever my hands are busy with, when it's within YouTube's terms and conditions I mean. They used to be way more lenient…" Remus trailed off for a moment, then shook his head sharply and plastered on a grin.

"Anyway! In June me and a few other creators did a fundraiser for the Trevor Project, and y'all smashed the goal, so I let you decide what video I'd make this month." He paused, and gestured to the mountain of clothes piled behind him on the bed. "And you had so many juicy ideas to choose from, but you decided to dress me up like a Barbie instead."

Remus paused to scroll through his phone for a few moments. "Ah, ok, here we go. Twitter user YoonIsMyCat- oh, BTS, nice- sent in this first outfit. Uh… future Remus, put up the post here somewhere." He gestured vaguely to his right. "Y'all went with either a fuckton more clothes or a fuckton less clothes, which I respect. Apparently this outfit is called…” He squinted at his phone. “Amish chic? I take it back, no respect at all.”

Remus cycled through the outfits his viewers sent in, which ranged from the aforementioned “Amish chic” to “2008 rave attire” to “ok now you guys are just fucking with me” (which consisted of one of those big puffy snow coats, lime green in color; booty shorts with the shrug text emoji across the ass; fuzzy pink boots; and a yellow cowboy hat to top off the whole thing. It was awful. Remus loved it.) The mountain of clothes on the bed gradually became a mess of clothes spread across the floor instead, until there was just one outfit left.

“Ok so Twitter user VampSuga sent me this outfit that I’m gonna call ‘sexy librarian.’ I couldn’t find this exact sweater online, but-” he paused for dramatic effect, before brandishing a sweater toward the camera like a bullfighter. “My boyfriend had something that was close enough.”

Remus hopped up from the bed and switched off the camera so he could change.

“They’re going to lose their minds,” a voice drawled from the doorway. Remus threw his shirt at him.

“Shoo, I’m getting naked.”

[ID: A Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a selfie of YouTuber Remus “The Duke” Sanders, a Hispanic man with his hair dyed green and styled into a spiked mohawk. He is wearing a yellow knitted cardigan over a black button-up shirt. He is grinning widely at the camera. The caption reads: “my viewers pick my outfits! now live on youtube. go see what i look like as a sexy librarian!” /end ID]

DukeceitStan

first and only dukeceit shipper ig

DukeceitStan

wow there’s so many of you now! Hi!!

DukeceitStan

i want this to be canon so bad omg

DukeceitStan

i mean just look

[image]

how

[image]

cute

[image]

[ID: A series of three gifs featuring Youtubers SerpenThyme, aka Deceit, and TheDuke, aka Remus Sanders. Deceit is a black man with long, dreadlocked hair, and vitiligo patches along the left side of his face. Remus is a Hispanic man with green-dyed hair styled into a mohawk, many ear and facial piercings, and tattoos covering both arms. Each gif is edited so that the highlights are tinged yellow when Deceit is seen, and tinged green when Remus is seen.

The first gif depicts a close-up shot of Deceit’s hands as he carefully decorates a cookie with green and yellow icing. The cookie art he is working on appears to be a half-finished octopus. The gif then fades into a mid-shot of Remus, with his back to the camera, facing a canvas. The canvas is blank, and Remus appears to be laying out paints on a table to his left.

The second gif depicts Deceit seated at his couch, facing the camera. He has many ingredients spread across his coffee table (including oats, cocoa powder, and butter) and appears to be in the process of laying out several more. The gif fades to show Remus seated at a similar couch with a similar coffee table in front of him. The camera is angled slightly downward to better show the myriad of knives spread out across the table. Remus is gesturing wildly with a morning star held in his hand.

The third gif depicts Deceit in his kitchen. He is pulling on a bright, yellow knitted cardigan, and smirking toward the camera. The gif fades to show Remus in his bedroom, seated on his bed. He is holding up a similar-looking cardigan toward the camera and grinning. /end ID]

“Remus, it’s almost two in the morning. Come to bed.”

“I’m coming, sorry. Twitter distracted me.”

“Mm. I can’t believe the bird app is more distracting than I am.”

“You should try harder.”

“Come to bed and maybe I will.”

“Ok, ok, I’m coming. Hang on though, is it cool if I post this?”

“Sure. They figured it out anyway.”

“Sweet. Ok, Jannie, I’m coming.”

[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It reads: “Dukeceit is canon.” /end ID]

#dukeceit #dukeceitweek #remus sanders #janus sanders #sanders sides fic #kye writes

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kumoriyami-xiuzhen · 4 years

Text

Hakuoki Shinkai Hana no Shou Harada After Story Translation

This is my first post of the month, so I’ll start by asking you to please support me if you can through my ko-fi, and paypal or patreon which provides access to my hakuoki blog translations and early access to my postings. Also, please let me know if you have any hakuoki drama cds that you’d be willing to share that are on my Lookout List since i either do not have audio for those cds or do not have audio that I can share.... and if you are able to remove watermarks from a video, please contact me.

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i don’t really play rhythmic music games... but i gotta say, Deemo Reborn was amazing. my heart is feeling very hurt right now. highly recommend it.

Anyway, this is my translation of the Harada story from the Hakuoki Shinkai Hana no Shou Stellaworth pre-order bonus booklet「薄桜鬼真改華ノ章」ステラワース早期予約特典小冊子 (....I should really make the Japanese on these particular posts of mine uniform), which was translated from Chinese as always.

Kinda sad that it’s taken me so long to get to finishing these when I consider how the very first translation on my tumblr was for the Saito story and when i posted that... ahahahaaaaa...... lol. *facepalm.*

Now that this is done, that just leaves the stories for Souji and Heisuke (of which i have now queued) since I don’t have translations of the after stories for Shinpachi, Sanan, Souma, Iba, and Sakamoto (have scans for them should anyone want to translate them or commission someone else to translate them).

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Hakuoki Shinkai: Hana no Shou Stellaworth Pre-order Bonus Booklet After Story - Harada Sanosuke

Translation by KumoriYami

The boundless sky and horizon——

The war between the old Shogunate's forces and the New Government Army, and the fighting between humans and oni, had nothing to do with the country on the other side of the sea. And it was in that place, a [certain] man and woman were [now] living.

The man's name was Harada Sanosuke, former Tenth Division Captain of the Shinsengumi. While the woman in love with him was the young female oni who had decided to leave Japan with him, Yukimura Chizuru.

After Harada finished his daily firewood delivery, he rode back towards his beloved at home. Ever since coming here, his riding skills have improved by a lot.

After leading the horse back to the stable, he opened the door of this house, which looked a bit lonely in this cold weather.

"Yo, Chizuru, I'm back."

Chizuru, who was leaning over from where she was sitting down in a chair and mending clothes, lifted her head with a smile.

"Welcome back, Sanosuke-san. How was it outside?"

"It's still the same. Although I've been mentally prepared for a while, the coldness of winter here really can't match the degree of coldness in Kyoto."

As Harada spoke, he curtly sat down on his chair. The old chair looked as if it were to collapse at any moment, and made a creaking sound.

"But, it's thankfully very warm at home, right?"

Although it was difficult living in a foreign country where there was a language barrier, Chizuru wasn't the slightest bit dissatisfied, and was still smiling from ear to ear as she responded to his words.

Her appearance made him feel that he would never be able to fully express how thankful he was. Harada, who always felt a little ashamed about this, lightly tousled his hair.

"Nn...... indeed.”

Chizuru who finally finished mending the clothes, then quietly stood up.

"Please wait a bit. I'll go make you some tea."

"No need, I'll go make the tea, you go and rest.”

"But...…"

"Your body isn't just your own, so don't force yourself...… alright?”

The tone of his voice was slightly more forceful, which was why she sat back down into her chair again.

"Since that's the case, I'll leave it to you. Sanosuke-san.”

"Yosh! Just look forward to it, and watch me make you a delicious cup of tea.”

After, he tried copying the way that Chizuru made tea——.

"......Ah, sorry, I wanted to make tea like how you usually do.”

The tea that Harada made, was one that someone would have a difficult time calmly drinking. Having seen that, Chizuru made a new cup for him, which tasted quite good. The same tea leaves were obviously used, yet there was such a difference in the taste, and upon seeing this, Harada felt incredulous.

"Please don't worry about it. I'm already thankful for your intentions.”

"...…That so."

Truly, what a kind woman. once again Harada confirmed how kind she was.

When he was thinking about coming to this foreign country, she didn't utter a single complaint, and followed him in silence. Although this method was used to hide her from the oni clans that were pursuing her——.

(If she was born as a human, she wouldn't have had to bear such difficulties.)

Although he felt that Chizuru who had ended up with the Shinsengumi because of various reasons, it was why he tried helping her as much as possible, but it was in that period of time, that he found himself unable to look away from her. He didn't know when it started, but he felt that he was the only one to protect her.

(......No, she was no longer alone.)

As Harada thought this, he stood back up.

"Sanosuke-san?"

After she doubtfully called his name, Harada went over to Chizuru's side, bent his knees slightly, and then placed his hand on her lower abdomen, where a new life was.

"Ah......"

Gently caressing this small and growing life, his heart was brimming with warmth.

(I never thought that I would have a family.)

Because of his rough personality, his hometown wasn't able to handle him, and all sorts of commotions occurred whenever he went somewhere, which was why he cut ties to the place he was born.

(Originally, I thought that I'd be a man who would live like a stray dog, then die alone.....)

He never thought that he would be able to find someone to fall in love with, the chance to start a family, or even have children.

As he gently caressed her now swelling lower abdomen, he worriedly asked a question.

"How's your body doing? I heard that you had a fever a while ago."

"I'm all right, the people nearby have given me plenty of advice."

"What about the language? Were you able to understand it?"

"I've been able to understand a bit more of it recently. Otherwise things will be expressed using body movements and pen and ink/writing.

"...…So it was like that."

Chizuru then placed her hand against Harada's. The soft heartbeat and his warmth were both able to reach her palm.

"Hey, Chizuru."

Hearing the way his voice called out, Chizuru tilted her head.

"As long as I have you and this guy, I don't need anything else. Not even life."

Those were his honest feelings, but the moment he said this, Chizuru's expression became very serious.

"Even if that's a joke, please don't say that. If Sanosuke-san dies, this child and I will not survive.”

He already anticipated Chizuru saying this, but——

"I'm not joking. Ever since I met you, and since we've become husband and wife...…. for the first time, I know that there are things in this world that are more important than my own life and ambitions.”

His words made her blush.

"This...…"

Just from looking at her expression, it was obvious that she thought he was being too serious, but Harada truly felt that what he wasn't an exaggeration. No, if only words were used to convey his inner thoughts, perhaps not even half of them would be conveyed.

Harada lovingly brushed Chizuru's hair which drooped to her shoulders, then spoke.

"Don't worry. I didn't plan to leave you and this guy to die behind. Even if it looks like that, I'm very confident about how I never give up in life."

"..….I believe you."

In response to his trust, she showed a smile that was brimming with confidence. Seeing her like this, Harada involuntarily smiled back.

---End---

for some reason, i translated track 5 of something... now done track 5 and 6 (of 6) for that drama lol.

unfortunately, i only got half-way through june for my queue... ugh dammit. still that’s a decent start i suppose tho last week was my last “allowance” time for translating since i anticipate getting a lot busier now... [btw, the 4th ginsei no shou chapter for Saito is at 40% and will be at that completion level for a looong while. will need to have my queue reach november before i can earnestly focus on that game again]... also, i’m going to assume that with school, most of my game translation videos will take longer to get done (dramas are fairly easy since timing isn’t difficult to set as there’s no text that i need to worry about).

on the plus side though, the yuugiroku dramas are now being moved via cmd... though for some reason, i can’t see half the on-screen text in the programs i use right now... including notepad, which i use for subtitles, and nimble writer, which is the program i use to write i’ve saved my translations in... and i can’t even view my files properly cuz i can’t see any of the folders or file names...

#hakuoki #hakuouki #Hakuoki Other Translation #harada sanosuke #Yukimura Chizuru #Hakuoki Short Story Translation #hakuoki shinkai

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