#i know what it’s like to survive on nothing but expired canned goods

[moriphyte]

mom: do you wanna take this food home?

me:

[impishjesters]

Rambley x Homeless!Reader (SFW)

relationship: can be read platonically or romantically notes: the reader has no gender or pronouns used. Rambley might comes off sounding a little protective/yandere, it's entirely up to you if he's just being protective or a yandere. A/N: There's not much to work with for Rambley content but I had this little idea and it's been eating away at me so I tried to write a bit of it. I might work on the main story itself just for myself for shits and giggles.

Rambley always hates it when you leave the park. He knows you don’t have a choice, the park no longer has food and anything that had been left behind has long since molded. So he knows there’s nothing he can do about it, you’re only human after all.

It’s been forty minutes since you left, forty long minutes since Rambley saw you off at the furthest screen he could reach by the entrance. He prattled on about strangers, avoiding sketchy-looking areas, the whole spiel as if you hadn’t been surviving on your own all these years before finally taking up a home in the abandoned Indigo Park.

A whole hour and a half passed before Rambley picked up movement at the entrance, quickly flicking to life on the screen, face mushed against the screen. He saw you carrying an armful of plastic shopping bags—and most importantly you looked unharmed.

You spot Rambley awaiting you on the screen and approach him excitedly, showing the bags of your latest outing. “I scored some good stuff!”Rambley pressed his face further into the screen, his face a mix of worry and relief all in one. “You’ve been gone for one hour and thirty-two minutes!” He leaned away from the screen but kept his hands on the edges of the screen. If he could shake the monitor you know he would. “I’ve been worried sick! What if something happened to you? I-I can’t help you if that happens!”

Although it’s not uncommon for Rambley to have a little freak out every time you leave Indigo Park, this was a little more than his usual freakout. A brief look of worry washes over you as you step away and further into the park, missing Rambley’s expression as he frantically follows to a different screen as you head straight for one of the screens more at your height in the shop.

“Hey, Rambley it’s okay! I’m okay.” You set the bags on the ground and give him a little spin around, showing you were completely unharmed. “I’m sorry for taking longer than my usual hour.”

Rambley’s eyes flick around the screen as he examines you, his ears pressed flat before he determines you don’t look more messy than normal. “Okay…” His mood completely shifts, ears perk, and eyes curious. “So whatcha get?!” Surely you got good stuff if it took an extra thirty-two minutes and forty-three seconds to get.”

Turning away from him you roll your eyes and lift the bags up, setting them on the nearby counter. “The first aid kits here still have bandages but any ointments are expired, so I managed to get some antibacterial ointment and a little bottle of iodine.”

The raccoon oo’s and ah’s each item you pull out, chin resting on his little paws with fascination and curiosity.

“The lady was also really nice and gave me a discount for the toiletries.” You placed down two bottles, one of shampoo and another of conditioner, as well as two cheaply wrapped bars of soap. It’d probably feel like shit on your skin but the scent was okay and it beat staying covered in filth all the time.

Beggers can’t be choosers after all.

His nose twitched slightly when he saw the soap bars, he couldn’t smell it but he just had an inkling those little bars held a cheap perfume smell to them. Stinky.

You show him a cheap little sewing kit with some thread to fix up your old clothes, a bottle of pain meds and two cheap washcloths. Rambley eyes another bag behind you that seemed far more full than this bag had been.

“What about that bag?” He pokes the screen and you look at the bag he’s pointing at before abandoning the items in your hand with excitement.

“Ah!” The bag rips slightly as you pull it across the countertop and open it up. “The lady also gave me a really good deal for these cans, they’re all dented but otherwise completely fine.”

You hold one of the dented cans up for him to see and his face scrunched up. “Is that safe to eat still? It’s not damaged?”

“It’s not opened and that’s all I care about.” You shrug your shoulder and start taking the cans out of the bag, rattling off the various canned goodies.

Rambley’s face shifts through each food you list off, some with curiosity and some with disgust. Thank god he can’t eat, some of those sound awful! When you’re finished showing him the cans he exhales and watches you from his usual position on screen.

“Well, I’m glad you got a lucky haul!” He shrinks a little on-screen and fidgets with his hands. “So… this means you won’t have to leave the park for a few days at least, yeah?”

After you finish checking over that you weren’t missing anything you hum in thought. “I should be good for a little bit yeah, I still have the rest of my stuff.” You glance over at the pile of things Rambley kept safe for you when you were gone, making sure it was still there.

Of course, it was, nobody but you had been dumb enough to break into the park and wander around. In hindsight you’re very grateful that you did, it led you to Rambley, which led to having a consistent place to sleep, a home.

“Oh goodie!” Rambley danced on the screen before flicking to one of the much larger screens. “How about you put that all away and tell me about all the things you saw? Don’t leave any details out!”You tuck your new belongings with your old ones and make yourself comfortable at the counter, not sparing a detail as you recount your trip into the city.

[ghostboneswrites2]

Seeing as how you didn't want to put the pregnancy test surprise in my last request. Maybe you could in this request. Can you do it as a birthday surprise for Daryl? The reader has been keeping track of days, and noticed that Daryl's birthday was coming up. She found out that she was pregnant a month before his birthday. She made a trip to Hilltop to get an ultrasound done. When she presents the ultrasound and pregnancy test to him, he freaks out at first, worries on if he would be a good father or end up like his dad, worrying about if the reader would end up dead after giving birth like what happened with Lori. But, the reader confronts him and encourages him that he would never be like his father and that nothing will happen to them. Can end with them having a baby or not.

Warnings: none? Pregnancy / fear of not surviving birth. Allusions to Daryl’s past abuse.

        With a soft smile, you hummed to yourself as you folded the print of your ultrasound and slipped it in the delicate little gift box, underneath the hand carved arrowhead you had worked tirelessly on for weeks. It was carved from obsidian, a process which left your fingers covered in abrasions from the splintered black glass. The final touch was a piece of plastic with two pink lines on it.

        You carefully slid the lid onto the box and tied some twine around the whole thing to keep it secure. You tucked it into the side table drawer and smithed your shirt down. 

        Daryl would be back any minute now. It was his birthday, and aside from the small gift you made for him, you had known exactly what you were going to give him for the past month now. You tracked your cycles pretty well without access to birth control. The condoms had mostly expired by that time anyways, so it was really all up to date and how fast a man could pull out. 

        You were just grateful that out of anyone you chose to take that risk with, it was a man who would burn down entire cities to keep you safe — a man that would tear down the grandest walls to make you happy. 

        At first you were afraid, at first you couldn’t calm the racing thoughts and worst case scenarios that clouded your mind. Once the initial anxiety at simmered down some, though, you felt excited. When Daryl’s birthday grew near, you knew it would be the perfect surprise for the perfect man.

        When the doorknob clicked, you took a breath and tried to present yourself as casual. “Hey, love.” You grinned as the archer stepped inside. 

        “Hey.” He greeted, kicking his boots off and dropping his crossbow on top of them. 

        “Hungry?” You asked. “Carol brought us some pasta.”

        “Nah. Not yet.” He shrugged as he slunk down into the couch. He thee his head back and shut his eyes. He was exhausted and you could tell. You sat beside him and brushed some stringy hair away from his face. 

        “Happy birthday.” You told him sweetly. He peeked at you through one open eyelid. 

        “Hmm.” He hummed. “How’d ya know that?” 

         “Well it’s the same as last year, and the year before, and the year before..”

         “Uh-huh.” He shut is eye again. 

        “I got you something.” You singsonged. 

        “New boots?” He guessed. 

        “Nope.” You shook your head, popping the ‘P’.  

        “Socks?”

        “Um… No, but, you do need some new ones, by the way. I can only see so many holes before they’re no good.” 

        “Alright… Last guess. RPG?”

        “No!” You slapped his arm. “You really gotta let the RPG thing go, man.” You chucked. He smirked a little, eyes still shut. 

        “Okay. Three wrong guesses. I guess I’ll just show you.” You sighed, pushing yourself up off the couch and approaching the side drawer. You couldn’t tell if it was excitement or anxiety or general anticipation that was festering in your stomach and chest. Whatever it was, you gulped it down regardless and pulled the little white box from the drawer.

        You plopped back down beside him and held the box out. He peeled his eyes open and sighed, looking down and taking the box. He glanced at you once, hiding the little smile that creeped at the corners of his lips, and pulled the twine to unravel the knot. 

        Somehow you expected him to go for the arrowhead first, picturing him choosing the least exciting part first. However, he immediately noticed the pregnancy test and took it into his fingers, setting the box down. He stared at the pair of pink lines for what felt like ages, before he looked up at you. 

        “You?” He asked. You raised an eyebrow. 

        “Well, I wouldn’t be gifting you anyone else’s pee-stick.” You joked. He reached down and pulled the ultrasound print from the box. 

        “Where is it?” He asked. 

        “Can’t really see it, but… it has a heartbeat.” You said gently. He grabbed the arrowhead next, admiring it for a moment before tucking it into  the inside pocket of his vest. 

        His eyes welled up. 

        “‘M a dad?” He whispered. 

        “Yeah.” You smiled. 

        He stood up quickly, test and photos in hand, an excited grin shamelessly shining from cheek to cheek. 

        “W— well that’s— it’s great!” He choked. You stood to embrace him but as soon as your feet flattened on the ground, his face fell. He began pacing. You watched him with worry. 

         “Daryl…?”  

        “I need some air.” He grunted. He stormed outside and plopped on the front steps, lighting a cigarette. He took a long drag as he stared down at the glossy piece of paper in his hands. There it was; a little life forming inside you, and he was responsible for it. He had to teach this person right from wrong, had to teach them survival and how to treat others. He was meant to lead by example, yet he had no idea how. He wondered if his father felt the same way once upon a time. He wondered if he was on his way to becoming the same man, the same dad. 

        He took another deep drag before you stepped outside and stood behind him. Oh god, he thought. What about you? What was to become of you? How hard would this be for you? Would you suffer the same fate as many women over the course of history? Would he lose you the way Rick lost Lori? 

        “Daryl.” You whispered. 

        “This ain’t right.” He mumbled. 

        “Don’t say that.”

        “It ain’t!” He snapped. “I ain’t cut out to be a father! You could die! This ain’t a game!”

        “I’m not gonna die.” You insisted, sitting and hugging him from behind. You rested your head against his back, piecing together the words you meant to say. “And nobody’s a better fit to father a child than you.” 

        “Nobody?” He scoffed. “Right, ‘cause I had a real good example.”

        “You had a great example of what not to do, so the only thing left to learn is what to do. Which, we can both learn, in time. With experience. Like all parents.” 

        “If you even make it that far.” He gulped, blinking back tears.

        “I will. And we’ll both come out on top. We always do.”  

Join the taglist! || Masterlist

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s

[babydollmarauders]

MEDIA MANAGEMENT — JACK HUGHES (23-24 SZN PART 16)

au masterlist

notes: i’ve been extremely busy and had no time to take screenshots, so all photos (except one) are from the actual photographers!

y/ndevils00

liked by john.marino97, dawson1417, and 329,615 others

y/ndevils00 we are not beating the loser allegations

we lost 3-6 tonight against the airplanes and their brick wall!

i assume everyone was reacting the same way as babygirl, slut, and i… cussing at the tv

BUT BET YOU CAN GUESS WHO SCORED TONIGHT BASED OFF THESE PHOTOS!

THAT’S RIGHT! BOTH OF MY PRETTY BEST FRIENDS SCORED GOALS TONIGHT!!

MARASCHINO CHERRY WITH HIS FIRST OF THE SEASON AND DAWG-SON WITH HIS THIRD!! I’M SO PROUD OF MY BESTIES!!!

LOOK AT THAT PHOTO OF MY MARINARA SAUCE AND MY LUKEY POOKIE, HUGGING AND SHIT!! SO CUTE!!! (they miss me so bad) ((they were comforting each other))

anyways, good luck in pittsburgh on thursday! try not to lose this time!

p.s. that third photo is the outcome of my secret agent photo taker yelling “y/n says hi!” ! doesn’t Johnny look so happy to hear he can never escape me?!

p.p.s. nothing to do with this game, but congratulations to Sid the Kid on his 13th career hat trick! … i thought he had more tbh

tagged tmeier96, john.marino97, lhughes_06, dawson1417

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user25 did you just… go out of your way to subtly dig at Sidney Crosby? 😭

john.marino97 i thought i left you in Jersey and then i hear your name and look up to see you on facetime with a random person!

y/ndevils00 you love that you can never get rid of me 🥰 you’re stuck with me forever!

john.marino97 four years and counting… do i ever get a break?

y/ndevils00 nope!

user73 four years? but, John only joined the Devils last season?

tmeier96 i scored a goal too, you know?

y/ndevils00 yeah… you’re pictured aren’t you?

tmeier96 barely! and no congrats for me!

y/ndevils00 fine, attention whore! congratulations on your goal in a game in which we still did not win

tmeier96 i’m ignoring your sass and saying thank you anyways

y/ndevils00 asshole

tmeier96 bitch

jackhughes hey, that’s my girlfriend, Meier!

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes it’s okay baby, i can fight my own battles

y/ndevils00 HEY! I’M JACK’S GIRLFRIEND, MEIER!

jackhughes ah yes, you did so well, lovely Dove. so proud of you

user02 goddamn John looks FINE AS HELL

user81 fr! y/n has a hot ass boyfriend and some hot ass friends!

dawson1417 THANK YOU BESTIE NUMBER 3!!! I MISS YOU SO MUCH!!!

y/ndevils00 I’LL SEE YOU SO SOON, BFFL

lhughes_06 yes, we’re absolutely mentally falling apart without you. idk how we’re still alive

y/ndevils00 i was wondering the same thing tbh. who else is gonna tell you not to eat an expired protein bar?

lhughes_06 i would’ve been fine

y/ndevils00 you would’ve gotten your stomach pumped and missed the game

lhughes_06 i don’t believe you

y/ndevils00 how did you survive this long without me?

_quinnhughes our mom

lhughes_06 @/_quinnhughes shut up, huggy

nicohischier i think you cursed more than we did

y/ndevils00 can you blame me?! these fuckers suck!

nicohischier i- you can’t say that

y/ndevils00 sure, i can! i just did!

ehaula WE suck?! YOU suck!

y/ndevils00 @/ehaula yeah, and Jack loves it!

ehaula UNCLES DON’T NEED TO KNOW THESE THINGS

nicohischier NOBODY NEEDS TO KNOW THESE THINGS

y/ndevils00 @/ehaula prudes

jackhughes Dove, what have we talked about?!

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes that i have to stop talking about our sex life on my instagram 🙁

jackhughes mhm and what did you just do?

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes talked about our sex life on my instagram 😔

jackhughes so what do you have to say to Haulzy and Cap?

y/ndevils00 @/ehaula i’m sorry for making you privy to Jack and i’s bedroom shenanigans 🫤

[ladyyatexel]

Friends, Romans, Tumblrites, lend me your reblogs.

I'm Xel and I live in a society! I think there's a solid chance you do also! So you may relate to the profoundly crappy thing that happened to me and that I once again need a community assist.

I lost a temporary job that was supposed to turn into a permanent job in June because no one there felt safe enough to retire. Only two of us in the apartment were under 50. One of the crew was over 70. Three were chronically ill/disabled. No one felt safe enough to leave in order for me to stay, so I was trained for basically 6 months for nothing.

I have survived on savings from that job until this point, but I'm at the point where I cannot pay rent. I'm looking into getting help from sources more local to me but the internet has always felt like people who cared about me more than the people I share DNA with, really.

Many of the social services that I was signed up for expired the day that I was supposed to be told that I would be a permanent hire, and since that didn't go down, now I have to start it all again from the beginning, and there are gaps in my security net.

I tell you all of that just to say that I am actually trying to do things, I'm not here to just beg and coast along on some sort of lavish lifestyle where I, uh. Keep living in this dodgy apartment with my cat.

I don't want to bore you with an itemized list, but like 2,000 US dollars would get me through September and October without being worried about it like every 3 minutes. My rent is 700 and change, if you would like to know that. So I'm looking for like September and October rent and money to renew my driver's license, pay a few utility bills, buy a bag of cat food, and refill my medications.

If you have the notion to toss help at an internet pal or the extended reblogged acquaintance of an Internet pal, as is more likely the case, probably, that would be super rad of you.

I'm an artist! You could get things with images on them from me! I sell buttons, prints, and commissioned illustrations if that's your thing. My commissions are going a bit slow as of late - I only recovered from being not really able to walk like 2 months ago, and so I'm doing a lot of catch up like everywhere else in my whole life and trying not to spend too much time at a desk since it aggravates the spine thing that was the problem in the first place.

To be honest, it would be a greater help to me to just receive some Aid rather than full-on commissions, but I completely understand feeling fishy about people getting something for nothing and also feeling bad for being a charity case on the internet, so I'm not opposed! If you want to chat about that, I have a commissions post on the side or top of my blog depending on where you're looking at this!

Ko-fi contains my buttons and is a good place to toss digital dead American presidents if that suits you. I will get hit by some PayPal fees in this process but, I'm willing to call that a call for help on the internet tax.

I promise I'm a real person and not a bot who has made up a cat and is pretending to have interests. My blog has been here since 2010! I've met people on this website in person and everything. I've had embarrassing obsessions no bot would bother coming up with. Speaking of:

Similarly to times before, I would like to be able to do something in order to feel like I have earned some kind of support, and as of my birthday last week I have resolved to try very hard in the next year to conquer my fear and absolute mortification about many of the things I make, so I will once again go digging into my archives for things I can post for you to enjoy as thanks and tribute! I also have a poll running right now to see what kind of buttons people want!

Thanks for taking a look! Be nice out there, take care of your spines!

[mars-and-the-theoi]

Low energy Devotional Acts for when you don’t have a lot of energy (or time, or money, etc.) pt. 9

🔥Hestia🔥

- put on one of those fireplace videos, or light a candle, or if able light your own fire in the fireplace (or have a bonfire)

- listen to a devotional playlist for Her

- if able do some cooking/baking

- if unable to do that gather some recipes either online or in any cookbooks you may have!

- watch a cooking/baking show

- try your hand at making bread

- watch home renovating, decorating, etc. shows/videos

- if able do some cleaning- doesn’t have to be anything huge just something small like maybe just picking some socks up off the floor or something

- enjoy a hot drink (tea, coffee, hot cocoa)

- watch your comfort movie/show

- if able learn how to knit, crochet, etc. or do some if you know how and are able

- if unable watch knitting or crocheting videos/tutorials

- if able (in every sense of the word here) spend some time with your family or text/call them can be your blood family or chosen family or even your good friends! (Family can be anything you want it to be imo)

- look up important home keeping skills! And watch videos or tutorials on them if you don’t know them (like mending clothes, ironing, etc.) which are all good skills to have ((I add this one because I know at least in America home ec classes have been cut and are pretty much nonexistent like I went through it in middle school but then they got rid of it once I went to high school and in hs it wasn’t mandatory like it was in middle school))

- read up on how to be a good host or guest

- if you like hosting events plan your next gathering

- go through photo albums or pictures and reminisce on the happy, funny, and joyful moments

- if able donate to a food bank (I personally go through my kitchen about 6 times a year-I do a lot of the kitchen work/organizing in my family as I do the cooking so y’know I’m already there so I may as well-and whatever I haven’t used or no longer have plans for I donate! Ofc make sure it’s not expired first and also if able include things like a manual can opener and such! So even though I don’t have too much money myself this system enables me to still be able to help which personally makes me feel good as I grew up utilizing those things so it’s nice to help!)

- if you have pets spend some time with them! They’re important family members as well! Maybe spoil them with their favorite treat and/or activity! Cuddle with them! Just let them know they’re valued and loved family members as well

- be kind to the homeless (yes, even the “bad” ones they’re ppl too and unnecessarily cruelty isn’t helping anything)

- look up ways to help the homeless and if you’re able help out or volunteer or donate (I might make a separate post on stuff to donate as there’s a lot of stuff some folks don’t think about when it comes to giving donates and such)

- hell you could even volunteer or donate to an animal shelter! If that’s more for you and something you’re more comfortable with! They’re homeless too are they not? (I do some volunteer work at the animal shelter myself so I’m very passionate about this)

(and if you have to utilize anything like food banks or government assistance in any capacity work on not feeling bad for needing those things. I know, easier said than done trust me I know again I grew up using those things. But you’re simply getting what you need to survive. And there’s nothing wrong with that. You’re not bad, you haven’t failed, you’re not a leech, etc. you’re just someone trying to survive and there’s no shame in that. There’s no shame in needing help. And not only is that a great devotional act in itself, it’s also just great in general. I do a lot of activist work and such and trust that there’s people who care and people who-again, like me-get it. You’re okay. You’re still a good person. And still deserving of good things.)

[cerise-on-top]

141 with an asthmatic s/o? Forever obsessed with your writing!

Hello! Thank you, I'm glad to hear you can like my writing! I'm not sure I did this request justice since I don't have asthma and I don't know anyone who has it either, but I tried! Thank you for the request!

TF141 with an Asthmatic!S/O

Price: He knows so many people, there’s bound to be one or two who have asthma. So yes, he is a bit familiar with the condition. He knows the basics, what it is, how it can be treated temporarily, what causes it. He knows more about it than the average person, but he wouldn’t particularly know what to do at first. It’s not something he really thought he’d ever be confronted with. He’s always aware of your inhaler. If you forget it, he’ll make sure twice and thrice that, at the very least, he took it with him. While he knows you can’t always get to it, he’ll try his best to take it with him wherever the two of you go. You having asthma is on his mind more often than he thought it would be. What if you die in your sleep? Would him smoking cause an asthma attack to surface? He’ll be so incredibly worried about you when you get sick. While he’s not sure any of it works, he’ll try to find other remedies that might help, and even if it’s just a spoonful of honey. Yes, he would ask you if you know of anything that might help you already and make sure he always has it on hand, but if you’ve only recently developed it and don’t know much more than he does, then he’ll do his research and find something aside from your inhaler that might help. Since he usually stays calm, even in the most dire circumstances, he’d be pretty good at calming you down when you’re hyperventilating. Gives you instructions on how to breathe so you could calm down yourself, he knows a few techniques himself. While those need to be trained, he will teach you those so you might be able to help yourself if you need it.

Gaz: The first time he hears you cough like that he grows worried. Are you sick? Do you need medicine for your cough? He doesn’t think much of it at first, but when you tell him you’re asthmatic he does grow a bit worried about you. While he is aware it’s likely not as worrisome to you anymore as it is to him, since you’re used to it, he will always ask you if you’re alright. Willing to learn about it, but would prefer so from you over some sources on the internet. He has a lot of questions about it, and from your answers, more questions would arise. What causes asthma and how did you get it? Can he even help at all or are his hands bound in this situation? What signs does he need to look out for? How long can you go without a remedy? He needs to know how much time he has before something dire could happen. He always makes sure your inhaler isn’t expired and keeps your nebulizer somewhere it’s easy to reach. Will ask you if you’ve been to a program or something similar that helps you with living with your condition. If not, then he would actually go there with you. Whatever it is he can get his hands on, even if it’s just some info that might help with your inflammations, he will take it. He knows that, realistically speaking, there’s fairly little need to worry, but he also knows that the brain won’t survive long without oxygen. Tries to keep you calm during an attack, tells you to sit upright after getting you away from whatever trigger there may have been. Although he’s usually a big fan of going on a run with his loved ones, he might just keep it to walks with you unless you insist that nothing could happen.

Ghost: He’s probably among the least worried out of the bunch until you have an attack. Your remedies will always be nearby and you will never run out of them as long as he’s around. Your meds will always be there, and so will you inhaler or nebulizer, it’s all good. He knows those are the two things that are most effective, but he, too, will do research on how he could help you. Like Gaz, he will be a bit skeptical when it comes to all of it and will ask you if any of it actually helps. If he gets a yes from you, you can be certain he’ll get it, but if it doesn’t he won’t waste too much time on it. While he may smoke from time to time, he doesn’t smoke very often. He’s far from addicted to it, so he has no qualms about stopping either, but he does so more out of worry for you than anything else. As soon as he sees any of the signs he’s learned about coming, he’ll have your remedy in hand, sit you down and quietly hand it to you. Generally speaking, he’s rather calm about it all since he assumes you know best regarding what you need to do in order to live a long and happy life. If you need him to give you some reminders, he’ll never forget even a single one, but otherwise he lets you do your own thing. Might ask you how you feel every once in a while to make sure you’re actually doing well. While he may not be a big fan of aspirin or ibuprofen due to your condition, he’ll try to find something else that might help you when you have a headache. He may not be the best at talking, but he’ll try to talk you through your stressful episodes.

Soap: Out of all of them, he’s probably the least worried. Just tell him what you can and can’t do and he’ll take a mental note of that. Also please tell him what you want him to do and what he, under no circumstances, should do. He’s a smart cookie, he’ll remember what you told him and will act accordingly. Does some research as well, but not as much as the other three since he trusts you. It’s not that he doesn’t care in the slightest, as soon as he hears you cough he’ll be all over you the first few times, but you know best. Like Ghost, he’ll always make sure your inhaler is never expired, that you have the meds you need for anything, that sort of thing. Soap also smokes here and there, but he won’t quit as readily as Ghost. Like he has always done before, he’ll make sure to either smoke on the balcony or steer clear of you whenever he exhales the smoke. Although he hates having to do so, he will get away from you when he does smoke. Considering he’s a rather active man, he’d love it if you actually went on a jog or to the gym with him. While he will always make sure you’ve got your remedies with you, he won’t stop you from getting some exercise in. Once he does witness you getting an asthma attack, he’s a bit less calm about it all. Sure, he remembers what you told him, but he will be a bit shaken the first time. Whistling while exhaling doesn’t sound like the most natural thing, after all. He tries not to show his panic, but his eyes do betray him a bit in that regard. After he witnesses your first attack, he, too, gets a bit more obsessive over you having your inhaler with you whenever you can. He’ll smuggle it wherever he needs to as well, consequences be damned.

[716chr]

Chihiro Natsuyaki Novel - “Choose Me!”

Track 3 - Semi-Final

From the apartment window, the sight of a setting sun could be seen.

My younger sisters, who were in elementary school, were still anxiously staring at the entrance.

Still dressed in my middle school uniform, I reassured them many times,

“It’s okay. If Mom doesn’t come home, your big bro will find us something to eat.”

But the truth is, even I was waiting for Mom’s return.

Once or twice a year, she’d come home in high spirits and say, “You must be hungry.”, while setting out bentos for us. I wished today was one of those days.

But since that seemed unlikely, I searched the kitchen shelves, only to end up with half-eaten cornflakes and furikake.

I sighed, realizing we were out of rice.

What should I even say to my little sisters? Not knowing what to do, I sat down on the kitchen floor and noticed the comic book I’d left on the shelf after I started reading it yesterday. Big sis got it from a used bookstore, and it’s now pretty worn out after being read for so many times.

It’s a manga where a Heisei-era gyaru is the main character, and it’s my most beloved book.

Upon opening it, I saw the life of a cheerful, energetic, and the strongest Heisei-era gyaru ever being depicted. Reading the story alone made me feel uplifted.

“She’s so cool….”

I muttered to myself unconsciously.

After all, the Heisei-era wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, right? There were really tough times too. Yet, she gathered all the things she thought were sparkly, things she loves, and dressed up in her own style. Despite everything, she maintained an unbothered attitude as she continued to smile and flashed her signature peace sign.

The most powerful way of living.

I wish I could be like that too.

In my ears, the tune of a Heisei-era idol song starts playing. Humming along, I stood up, dance lightly and spin.

At that very moment, the small, dirty kitchen seemed to sparkle.

…..If I could become the ultimate gyaru-minded, dazzling idol, I wondered if everyone would love me then.

Those were my thoughts back then.

It was during the “13Choose!” audition.

Completely absorbed, almost nothing else was on my mind.

Only the routine of waking up early in the morning, intensely practicing singing and dancing, which dragged on until the dead of night.

Since our smartphones were confiscated, we were practically cut off from the outside world. Some kids even cried due to the anxiety.

We were constantly being judged by people, sometimes being chosen if lucky, and sometimes not if unlucky…..

No matter how hard I worked, I found myself endlessly swayed by the “likes” and “dislikes” of mere strangers, which caused my emotions to become increasingly pressured.

Once the show aired, surprisingly, I somehow survived multiple rounds of selection.

Maybe my pink hair stood out and caught people’s attention.

Despite comments made about me saying I was great at dancing, yet bad at singing, and just decent at rapping, I received more viewer votes I thought I would.

Although it was edited out, the trainers gave me their full support, for which I was really grateful for.

Now there are 33 contestants left. We’ve finally reached the semi-finals.

That day, the next mission was announced: Perform a cover of classic songs.

What's more, some of my favorite Heisei-era songs were included. And of course, I was overjoyed and picked my favorite song.

——If you can make it to the semi-finals, it’ll keep the show engaging.

At that time, the words the director said to me on our first meeting kept flashing in my mind.

I’ve already made it to the semi-finals.

In other words, I’m as good as expired goods from this point on.

That’s why I decided I’ll give it my all.

I wanted to be seen as worthy of being a finalist.

33 contestants were randomly divided into different groups to perform their songs.

Individual evaluations were important, but if the group didn’t win, there’d be no recognition whatsoever.

That’s why, I volunteered to be the group leader, even though it wasn't my strongest suit. I wanted to push myself to grow.

But there were still some others in my group who weren’t good at either dancing or singing.

“Are you just here to play?”

The cold words coming from the trainer on that day’s lesson chilled the atmosphere.

One person was scolded, and called out by name. It’s obvious from the looks of it that his face instantly turned pale in that moment.

Once the trainer left, the person who was scolded dashed out of the rehearsal room in tears.

Unable to ignore the situation, I, both as a leader and a friend, went after him. As I comforted him who was crying in the corner, hearing him uttered, 'I'm done, I give up,' nearly brought tears to my own eyes.

……I know how that feels; That feeling of wanting to give it all up.

Despite your best efforts to hold on, each day feels like a never-ending struggle filled with anxiety.

You can't help but imagine how much relief it would bring to just let it all go. It's agonizing to long for something that remains unattainable, no matter how badly you wish for it.

But even so…… Even so, I just can’t ignore this blazing feeling of not wanting to give up here, in this place.

“It’s okay. Just take it one step at a time, okay? I believe you can definitely make it. I’ll be here with you ‘til the end.”

To comfort him, I began listing off all the good qualities and traits he has. When I returned with the boy who had now stopped crying, the other group members looked at us worriedly.

With my resolves tightened, and as cheerfully as possible, I tried to quell everyone’s anxieties.

“So, as y’all already know, we’re doin’ a Heisei song this time, right? That’s why Chii’s here with a suggestion! How ‘bout we all dive into a Heisei gyaru mindset together? First, let’s give ourselves a good pep talk! When we can't do it and feel frustrated, who's the one we're most upset at? Ourselves, right? So let's get mad at ourselves first, and then let's cheer ourselves up!”

In front of everyone who’s still wearing cloudy expressions, I’ll take the lead and be the demonstration.

“Chihiro! Stop fucking around already! You’re absolutely useless yourself too! Don’t fucking think you can become an idol acting like that! You’re just a worthless scum who needs to push yourself harder!”

Facing the massive mirrors plastered on the wall of the practice room, I hurled insults at myself with everything I got. When I glanced back, the other members were taken aback. I laughed and kept going.

“But still, I'm thankful for all the effort you've given so far. I have faith in you. And you've got incredible groupmates there with you.”

I could see everyone’s eyes getting misty. I hope that my feelings could get across to them; that I, too, believe in them.

“Don’t give up, Chihiro! March on with a spartan mentality!”

After I finished my part, I gestured to the other members, urging them to go on ahead.

The guy who was crying just a moment ago inhaled sharply, and shouts at the mirror,

“Stop crying! Instead of wasting time crying, put in the effort! You can do so much better than this!”

After venting out his frustrations, his face brightened, and now he’s smiling, saying, “I’ll definitely get through this!”, as a form of self-encouragement.

Laughter broke out, and everyone gave themselves a good scolding. After that, we all praised and cheered each other up. By that point, everyone was already grinning. We shifted our mindset once again and focused entirely on our rehearsals.

Our performance was a success. Bonded by the strong ties we made during rehearsal, we challenged ourselves to surpass our limits in both dancing and singing.

Results are the reason for victory; if you win, those votes add up to your ratings.

We all embraced each other in celebration, and even Komu-kun, who’s from a different group, said, "I could tell that Chii and the others would win the moment I saw you guys perform."

I felt satisfied to have achieved this. It was as if every void in my heart had been filled for the first time.

I even felt that sense of fulfillment.

Until I watched the on-air broadcast.

——Stop fucking around already! You’re completely useless too!

What is this?

What on earth… am I watching right now?

I don’t understand any of this. On the screen, the footage showed me yelling and losing my temper.

It happened when the contestants were gathered in the hall to watch the program that recently aired.

Everyone was rattled when they watched the scene of me yelling.

The “Chihiro,” I said before I started yelling, was edited out.

The member who ran out of the rehearsal room crying after being scolded by the trainer was edited to make it seem like he ran out because I yelled at him.

The boy in question, who was sitting nearby, looked at me in panic. The other members whom I went through the same challenge with turned to look at me, and called out worriedly, “Chihiro….”.

I could only smile warmly and reassure them with my gaze.

Because……. I’m their leader, after all.

But truthfully, my mind was a mess. My heart was pounding and I felt like throwing up. It felt like raw hostility and malice were suddenly being rained on me.

They gave us back our phones for an hour after the broadcast. We’re allowed to check social media, but posting was a no-go.

Breaking the rules is an immediate ticket home. So I can’t even post to say, “That was a misunderstanding.”

If I can't defend myself, it’s best if I don’t look at it.

That was what I planned, but after locking myself in my room alone, I ended up giving in and went on an ego-search.

I knew. I knew it well, even before looking, that it would be a huge disaster.

My personal SNS account was flooded with a massive amount of hate and abusive comments.

“Low-life”, “Scum”, “Kill yourself”, “We don’t need power-harassing idols like you”, “So you were actually a piece of shit”, “Not gonna support you anymore”, ……

Everything in front of me began to spin.

Why? Why was it edited like that?

…..Was it because I’m no longer needed after the semi-finals?

My heart pounded so fast that it hurts.

My breathing became shallow, and I felt like I’m going to collapse at any moment.

As I crouched on the floor, I desperately comforted myself.

——Stay strong, Chihiro. Don’t let this break you, Chihiro……

The me on TV was just a fake.

A version of me edited for convenience. A false image created by the director.

……That’s right, Chihiro Natsuyaki is still safe and sound.

It’s “Chii” that everyone hates.

An alert sounded in the hall, signaling the time to collect our smartphones.

Knowing being late will lead to a penalty, I slowly rise to my feet.

I mentally urge myself to switch it up, switch gears.

After leaving my smartphone in the basket in the main hall, Komu-kun started talking to me in front of the fixed camera.

“Chii….. Are you okay?”

They're filming us right now, right? We’re clearly reflected in the camera lenses, right?

I knew he was genuinely worried about me, but I couldn’t help but wonder why he chose this place to ask.

I only smiled brightly and threw out a peace sign.

“Absolute~ly! Chii would say he’s feelin’ super duper hyped with all this attention he’s gettin’, y’know? Feelin’ totes Very Lucky right now~!”

Aware of the camera's presence, I folded my arms and wondered out loud, "Did I go overboard back there?”

“Since it’s a Heisei song that Chii got mad respect for, the ‘Chii’ vibes just couldn’t be contained at all, oopsie ♪”

Playfully pressing my fist to my forehead and sticking my tongue out.

This isn’t me. This is "Chii."

It’s "Chii," so people could think whatever they want.

That‘a what I thought.

With the mindset of the ultimate gyaru, Chii can sparkle and smile brightly, and because of that,

——He’d never get hurt, no matter what.

Track 1 | Track 2 | Track 3 | Track 4 | Track 5

[erraticalart]

Saw Fortress II

Well, is this what you've been waiting for?

So, as some of you may or may not know, Saw is getting a new movie, Saw X, in two days and I'm so excited for it to come out! I decided to pay tribute to this movie by making a crossover between Saw and, of course, Team Fortress 2. I've been getting interested and invested in the Saw franchise, from its story to the characters and especially the creative but deadly traps. Took me about 22 days to create as I had classes and needed to take breaks every once in a while, but I finally finished it and presented it to my brother as a birthday gift (as well as an official Fallout cookbook).

Now, for the fans of both Saw and TF2, I'll explain the reason why I chose the characters and their designated roles. It's time to play a game.

Character Comparison and Roles

Warning: Spoilers for the Saw franchise

RED Engineer: John Kramer aka Jigsaw - Well it's pretty much obvious why. They're both engineers. They both are talented in creating many different unique contraptions that are beneficial, but deadly and dangerous. Engie also has his morals, although it's way different from John's. Let's not forget that Engie can be somewhat a little sadistic and loves seeing his enemies go down, although John hates sadistic people despite the irony in his traps. Also, are we gonna ignore his Gunslinger taunt kill and his sinister, evil laugh? I'm not sure if Engie should have the Gunslinger with him, but I think it would be pretty cool to have it on him. Maybe in this version when he attempts to commit suicide and fails, but all he's left is a completely maimed hand, he cuts it off entirely and replaces it. It would be a pretty cool backstory as to why he has it and would make a really cool reveal to show to the audience. I wonder what Engie sounds like saying the iconic line "Game Over"?

BLU Medic: Dr. Lawrence Gordon - It's also pretty obvious why. He's a doctor. (Can you guess the reference?) Dr. Gordon is my favorite character in the series, and I love seeing the change and progress in his character from a doctor and trap victim in the first Saw film to John's favorable accomplice and in his words, "My greatest asset" in Saw 3D/Saw: The Final Chapter/ Saw VII (Yeah, I can't believe that movie has multiple names). In a way, it makes sense to have Medic as Dr. Gordon because just like how it was shown at the end of Saw VII that he and John worked great together, Medic and Engie are also seen working together in Expiration Date as lab partners. They both would work great as an amazing sadistic duo. Also, I think it's kind of cute to have Engie give Medic a prosthetic foot after he too cuts it off entirely. Not only would it make sense because Engie knows a thing or two about prosthetics, but it would show that Medic and Engie both have something in common: cut off what's unnecessary to help with your survival. Medic would also try to justify and reason Engie's actions. Also, I love Dr. Gordon's "Game Over" line, it's soooooo good!!! It's my personal favorite (Of course nothing beats John's iconic classic version). I could totally imagine how great Medic would sound saying that line!

BLU Spy: Detective Lieutenant Mark Hoffman - Ok, this is where things start to get a little interesting. Hoffman became John's accomplice after replicating his ideas and making his own traps that John never made himself. In a way, he's becoming Jigsaw. Just like how Spy can become and replicate any class, Hoffman also became more mysterious and secretive to his fellow colleagues and tried to frame Special Agent Peter Strahm as Jigsaw. In the end, when he gets caught, he goes against everyone and executes them, so the secret never comes out. Also, another reason why Spy is Hoffman and please tell me if I'm not the only one here who thought this when watching Saw: Did anyone else get Hoffman and Strahm mixed up because they almost look like the same person and it's always confusing when there's a scene that focuses on one of them but it's actually the other? I decided to have two Spies in the story with the BLU Spy as Hoffman and the RED Spy as Strahm since they look the same minus the color.

Miss Pauling: Amanda Young - You're probably thinking, "Why her? Is it because she just so happens to be female and I just filled her in that role?" Well yes, but actually no. It's because Amanda was very loyal to John, looking up to him, defending him constantly, and was very close to him. Miss Pauling fits that role when it comes to the Administrator, but here she's loyal to Engie. I feel like she likes Engie the most out of any other class, so she would definitely help him out as well as get advice from him. She also can get shit done when being asked to accomplish a task. Sadly, we know what's to come for Amanda. Just like how in the comics Miss Pauling fails to bring the Australium, Amanda fails in John's tasks as he reveals to her that she's part of another game. I do feel like Miss Pauling was stuck playing around in the Administrator's game and it was also implied that every year the Administrator sends people to assassinate her to see if she succeeds as if it's an employee review. So, yeah, Miss Pauling and Amanda both are stuck in pretty tight situations.

RED Pyro: Billy the Puppet - Ah, yes, who could we ever forget? The main icon of the series. Both Pyro and Billy have terrifying appearances that'll leave you quivering on sleepless nights. I used to fear Billy as a kid, but now I see him as endearing and strangely, but freakishly, adorable. Pyro is freaky-looking, but he's such an adorable bundle of flames. I could definitely imagine seeing Pyro riding on Billy's iconic tricycle. That would be so funny, cute, and scary. As for Pyro's voice, since Billy is voiced by John (and Hoffman, I think? Idk), I'm not sure if Engie (or Spy) should voice Pyro since Pyro speaks in muffles. Maybe they should, idk. I also don't know if Pyro should speak in mumbles from time to time or whether he should have the ability to move and just walk around or just remain seated. And, of course, I don't know if Pyro should do his iconic laugh (maybe sometimes, idk). What I do know however is that Pyro should definitely have the iconic Billy laugh.

RED Balloonicorn/The Combustible Cutie Cosmetic (Yeah, I know it's pink, but it's the RED team's version which is why it's pink): Pighead Mask - Oink! Or in this case, Neigh! The mask that John and his accomplices dress up as with the iconic robe (though I'm not sure if this robe should remain red and black or pink and black, maybe the first option should be for Engie since he's the leader while the accomplices get the latter, or not, maybe they should match Engie, idk). At first, I chose Balloonicorn since it's related to Pyro and I know he'll love seeing everyone dress up as one, but then I remembered that there's a cosmetic for Pyro as a mask called "The Combustible Cutie" that resembles Balloonicorn, and boy does that mask look freaking scary!!! It's really fitting for both Saw and TF2 as a whole! It's pretty funny and scary to imagine getting kidnapped by a herd of pink unicorns all because you've been very naughty.

I hope fans of Saw and Team Fortress 2 enjoy this lovely piece of fanart as this has become one of my all-time favorites to create. I was also listening to the Saw soundtrack specifically the Zepp/Main Saw Themes. My favorite being, of course, "Hello Zepp". It fits Engie and John's character theme even though it's Zepp's (although you can argue that it IS John's since it's his perspective since he's saying hello, which I agree). But my actual favorite is "Zepp Overture" because to me it sounds like a holy church. I especially like the way the string instruments sound. Yeah, I know you can argue that Dr. Gordon has a theme at the end of Saw VII called "Dr. Gordon Montage" and "The Final Zepp" but to me, I think this theme fits Medic the best because, y'know, he replicates that sound by playing an actual saw when you taunt which is both funny and adorable. And it really fits his character to be seen as a holier-than-thou and especially a God. This might also fit Spy, but idk. I'm not sure which themes work for Spy and Miss Pauling or even Pyro (if you want Pyro and Engie to share the same theme, then that's fine by me). I might need to go back and listen to all of them depending on the movies that Hoffman and Amanda appear in. Maybe some of you can suggest one. But anyway, please go listen to the Saw soundtrack, especially the Zepp/Main Saw Themes, it's soooooo good!!! I might as well argue that it's one of, if not, THE best horror themes out there!!!

Here's a link to listen to it while you look at the art or whether you are interested in the Saw series and its music:

Welp, like I said before, I hope you fans enjoy it!!! I just can't' wait for Saw X to come out soon on September 29!!! I just hope and pray the movie is good though. Well, let's just wait and see. But until then,

GAME OVER!

[themonstrousmenagerie]

✧.*✧.*✧.*✧The Sea Show part 1✧.*✧.*✧.*✧

The last months were turning into a blur. Kaiyo spent most of them rounding his tank, trying not to hit the walls when his muscles begged for a bigger usage, for bursts of speed in the cold waters of the sea. But there was no ocean. No cold water. Only the Monster and the small, small tank and the collar to make sure he wouldn’t jump out.

He couldn’t see anything beyond the glass, a thick material draped over his prison to hide him from the eyes of humans waiting for entertainment. 

A few months ago it would have bothered him, he would scream, bite, try to escape. But there was no point anymore. Monster wanted him to jump, he would do it to finally fill his belly. He wouldn’t get hurt if he let the humans pet him. He would survive if he listened to them. And that was the last thing he had left.

Everyone in the circus knows those steps. The clicking of the heels on the wooden floor sent shivers down his spine, and couldn’t stop the flinch when the Monster unceremoniously ripped the tank’s cover off, the stage’s lights blinding him for a second.

“Hey big boy,” Their smile is too sharp even for a deep sea monster, while their golden eye stays cold “Looks like the Patrons would like to see you first.”

“Ready to begin the show?”

✧.*✧.*✧.*✧.*

The cacophony of sounds around the arena made Kaiyo want to hide, from the smells, the shouts, from all of the shows, the training, from the Monster. All he could do now was to listen to them and get back to mindless rounds in his tank. All slowly exists as the Circus ate away his soul and hopes once his body expires, it would find its way back home.

All the months of training made him seize in place when the Monster rings their bell. One short sound, ‘swim up’. Kaiyo looked up, the trainer was standing just over the tank, looking down at him with this hungry, sadistic eye and a broad smile plastered on their face. Remembering the chain that used to haul him up, the mer eagerly listens to the command, touching the Monster’s outstretched hand with his nose. He can hear a quiet click and despises how it makes him feel happiness and relief. It means ‘good job’, he won’t be hurt now. 

“My dear Kaiyo comes from the far east sea, where he would come dangerously close to the shore and take the fishermen’s catch. While the residents wanted him killed, I have decided to save him, and in gratitude, he works here.” The mer can do nothing but grinds his teeth and let the Monster tell the fake story. His family was in the waters first. And then the humans invaded their territory, scaring away the shoals, forcing him to get closer and closer to the shore for food. And they caught him. He couldn’t even say a proper goodbye, the net hauling him from the sea and onto the ship’s deck in a few seconds. And the months on the road, when the Monster beat him into obedience, making him seek a fucking clicking sound and fear a head pat. He hated it, hated them, HATED THE WHOLE CIR-

Two short bells, ‘roll over’. His body thoughtlessly moved, showing his unprotected belly. He did not wince when the heels of their boots stabbed into his skin when the trainer walked on him, talking to the crowd about what he would do. If he focused, he could imagine his home, the sea full of life, cold water, his family grooming his scales, and the sun warming his body on the rocks. He wasn’t in the claustrophobic tank, the Monster using their power over him to reduce him to a simple show animal, and the fact that he let them do it. There was no going back, and all he could do was to reduce his pain before he died. He would not admit that each day spent there the thought was getting more and more appealing. A quiet whimper left his lips when the show master finally stepped off from him and he could once again immerse his whole body in the water. 

“Now, I ask you, Gentlemen, Ladies, and other Dear Guests, should our boy show what his powerful tail can do, or are you more interested in his hunting skills? I’m sure he would love to show you both of the activities”.

taglist:

Tag list: @whumpsday @firapolemos05 @sodascribbles @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @@dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

[nnycore]

Hunger was one of those annoying, unavoidable things about being a human.

Even though Johnny C. was pretty confident that he could survive on sheer force of will if he had to, living hungry was uncomfortable, and while there were plenty of sacrifices Nny was willing to make for the sake of becoming a feelingless, empty husk, hunger (at this time at least) was just a pointless preventable discomfort. 

And so he took to the kitchen.

To say that Nny’s kitchen was barren was an understatement. His fridge contained exactly four items: a carton of milk that expired a month ago (why did he even buy that? he’s lactose intolerant), a tupperware full of something unidentifiable (he really didn’t want to know what was in it), a jar of pickles (great for snacking!), and a single cucumber. His pantry wasn’t much better; all he had there were some cans of tuna (also expired, he accidentally bought them in oil instead of in water and refused to touch them), a bag of chips (only the crumbs were left), and three cans of spaghettio-s. There was also the matter of his lack of tableware. And proper cutlery. He had the basics: ice cream scoop, pizza cutter, a fork, and of course, knives. Lots and lots of knives. Nny was like a magpie when it came to those things. Any time a new knife caught his eye, he just had to have it. Whether it was the design of the handle, the curve of the blade, or the way it caught the light, something about them just drew him in. Of course he didn’t need it. He knew that. His set of kitchen knives could get the job done just fine. Hell, he could probably do his job with a spoon if he had to (actually, that’s not too bad of an idea… maybe that ice cream scoop would come in handy? FUCK that’s why he bought it! damned memory problems…). 

That’s not the point, though. The point is, Johnny’s living space was absolutely abhorrent, and he had nothing to put his fucking spaghetti-o’s in and the screams from the basement were getting loud enough to be annoying. Fuck he didn’t have time for this, he had things to do! People to kill! Walls to paint! Well, one wall. Regardless, he was a busy man.

Nny grabbed a can and a knife and headed down the stairs. While he walked, he worked the blade of the knife around the edge of the can, cutting the top off with a horrible screeching noise. He really should just invest in a can opener. Once the top was hanging on by just a shred of metal, he ripped it off with his teeth and gulped the pasta down. A glob of sauce missed his mouth and landed on the stairs with a plop. 

“God… DAMMIT!” he screamed. 

“Are you gonna pick that up?” a high, croaky voice asked him.

Fuck, on top of this, he had to deal with a stupid disembodied rabbit corpse following him around, squeaking out useless suggestions. Well, not useless, he supposed. He just didn’t want to hear it. 

Nny glared at the floating head. “Fuck off, Nailbunny. I’m not in the mood today.”

“You’re never in the mood, Nny.”

“And why do I have to be, huh? Who am I trying to impress? Because it isn’t you, it isn’t the doughboys, and it sure as hell isn’t the people down in the basement.”

The rabbit pouted. “Alright, I see how it is… but what about that little kid, huh? What’s his name… Tom? Todd?”

“Squee?”

“Yeah, him. Don’t you want to be a good example for him?”

“If Squeegee is looking to me for an example of anything other than what not to do, he’s already too fucked to be helped.”

“Aw, come on, don’t say that! You have plenty of good qualities.”

“Like?”

“Well… uh…” the rabbit faltered. “You’re very polite.”

“I kill people, Nailbunny,” he deadpanned.

“Well, when you’re not killing people, you’re always very nice. Even when you are killing people you can be polite.”

“Like hell I am! Name one time I’ve ever been nice to someone I killed.”

“There was that one guy… Almost a year ago, remember? You two had a nice chat right before you killed him. Very enlightening. I could see you being friends with him if things had gone differently.”

“Yeah, if things went differently. Which they didn’t. Now are you going to let me clean up my mess or what?”

Nailbunny said nothing and drifted away in response.

Nny sighed. Conversations with his head-voice-entity-things were always exhausting. Why were they so adamant on him questioning everything about his existence? Why did every conversation have to be deep and thought provoking? Was it not enough to simply chat about the weather? Or how ironic the death he planned for his latest victim was? Honestly, he put so much thought into the way he killed and there wasn’t even anyone around to appreciate it. But then again, he might just be talking to himself, and if that was the case, he didn’t even want to think about what subconsciously psychoanalyzing himself meant for his already nearly non-existent mental health.

“Nobody fucking helps me in this house,” he grumbled as he retrieved the cleaning supplies from under the kitchen sink.

Returning to the scene of the mess, Johnny realized just how small the glob of tomato sauce was. He had gotten his heavy duty stuff (yellow gloves instead of his usual black ones, a mop, and some windex) out for nothing. “I guess I’ll just…” He paused, dragging his hand down his face in exhausted frustration. “...get a towel then.” As he turned to slink back up the stairs, the steel toe of his boot caught on one of the steps, sending him tumbling down into the basement. Johnny C. landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, his mop and cleaning supplies scattered around him. He groaned, annoyed at the unexpected turn of events. As he struggled to get up, he heard a soft, timid voice from the corner of the basement. 

The source of the disembodied voice stepped into the dim light, revealing a young boy with wide, fearful eyes. It was none other than Squee, the kid from the neighborhood who always seemed to cross paths with Johnny in the most unfortunate situations. "Uh, hi, Mr. Nny. Are you okay?"

Johnny C. scowled, attempting to save face despite the embarrassment of his fall. "Of course, I'm fine. Just testing the structural integrity of the stairs, you know, for safety reasons. How did you get down here, anyways?”

Squee looked skeptical but didn't press the issue, instead fidgeting nervously with his fingers. "I-I heard noises, and I thought it was safer down here. But then you fell, and I didn't know what to do." He hesitated before asking, "Um, why were you screaming and making a mess upstairs?"

Johnny sighed, realizing that the evidence of his spaghetti-o mishap was still splattered on the stairs. "Just hungry, Squee. And those damn voices in my head won't leave me alone."

Squee furrowed his brow, clearly concerned. "Voices? Like, in your head?"

Johnny waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, don't worry about it. Just annoying chatter. Happens all the time."

As Johnny started to gather his cleaning supplies, Squee tentatively approached. "I... I could help you clean up. If you want."

Johnny blinked, genuinely surprised by the offer. He was used to people running away from him or, at the very least, avoiding any involvement with his chaotic life. Squee, on the other hand, seemed genuinely willing to assist.

"Well, kid, you might regret saying that, but sure. Why not? Just don't get any blood on you," Johnny replied with a smirk.

Squee hesitated for a moment before nodding nervously. Together, they began to clean up the mess on the stairs, and Johnny couldn't help but notice the mixture of fear and curiosity in Squee's eyes.

As they worked, Nailbunny floated into view, watching the unlikely duo with a bemused expression. "Looks like you found a cleaning buddy, Nny."

Johnny shot a glare at the floating rabbit head. "Shut up, Nailbunny. It's just a one-time thing. I don't need help from anyone."

But deep down, as he glanced at the timid yet determined Squee, Johnny C. couldn't deny that maybe, just maybe, having someone around wasn't the worst thing in the world.

[manonamora-if]

The Roads I Maybe Should Have Taken

The TRNT Post Mortem

Oye oye! As was promised, so it is! The Post Mortem for The Roads Not Taken (which hopefully won't be as long as the actual game...)

Follow me into my journey of once again speed-running my way through a competition, and coming out scratched and bruised and still not learning my lessons!

First, some links:

if you haven't played the game yet, I recommend you do before reading this!

you can find its IFDB page here (if you want to leave a review?)

and the STF version source code here for the code curious!

shortened version of the PostMortem on IntFic

Then, a little Table of Content:

The Idea

The Story

The Implementation

The Reception

The Do-Over?

And finally, we start! (under the break because it will be long - LoL at me writing 1/5th of TRNT as a Post Mortem)

I should preface this Post Mortem with I entered the SpringThing on a whim. I had just come out of a conga line of competitions and game jams since last Summer (log of release/update), and had plans on finishing working on other projects instead of this one (which I probably should have... sorry The Rye in the Dark City for abandoning you...). But I obviously didn't do that because here was another new fresh game! And then another two of those just after... whooops...

The idea for TRNT just popped into my brain one day and would not leave me until I implemented it, no matter what (yes, I am still weak willed, I have not learned my lesson from The Thick Table Tavern, the one about not rushing a project and publishing it at a later date when it is truly ready). I did have that thought in the back of my mind that if I do do this, it would be very likely I would end up with a repeat of TTTT, as in: half-full drink with too much ice, and expired garnish falling from the very pretty fancy glass.

Also I did not start working on the entry until the SeedComp was in its voting round (so around the 4-5th of March?). I really wasn't kidding about the speed-running thing....

Another thing: I had never created a parser game before this point AND suck real time at playing them! This was also indicated in my Author's comment.

Nothing obviously stopped me anyway, because here we are...

1- The Idea

A few weeks before the opening of the SpringThing intent, the French IF community was streaming some older parser entries, including Aisle* and Pick-Up the Phone Booth and Die, two games where the player can only do one action before the game ends. I'd never really experienced this kind of game before (the closest being having a sudden death/continue the story choice). It packed a punch, it was funny, and also so very weird. It left me dissatisfied and super intrigued. I wanted to try and do that too someday. *Funnily, someone on the French IF discord thought DOL-OS had been inspired by Sam Barlow's work (it wasn't, but TRNT def was).

Not, I am not going to be hella pretentious and full of myself by putting TRNT on the same level as those games (because I don't think I did a good enough job to merit a comparison), but the one-action-only gameplay and multiple endings drew me in (I love abrupt endings, cf P-Rix). I've mainly written longer form of IF rather than short bites, and I thought it would be fun to try to constrict myself as much as possible, by having just one thing, one action, one outcome.

And also: parsers. I had only dabbled with the Choice-Based/Hyperlink format, so I thought it was time to try the last unexplored part of my IF journey: parsers. Since the SpringThing Festival is a nice place to experiment, I thought why not try to make one then! I could not have survived the anxiety of the IFComp reviews for that one...

Still, it was not going to be without a challenge. I had very little experience with parsers, and I honestly didn't think I could learn how to use a parser program in such short amount of time*, when I had a lot of other stuff at the same time. So I thought, why not make it in Twine**, at least I know this program inside-and-out(almost). There would not be a steep learning curve there... What could go wrong? *lol at me, having made an Adventuron game in a non supported language in about 2 weeks after that, without ever having tried the program beforehand. I could totes have managed!! **Also, when I got set with Twine, I realised how fun it would be to maybe put people's expectations upside down by doing something you're not supposed to with Twine... or parsers!

Well, it was going right at first...

2- The Story

I really wanted to recreate the same gameplay of Aisle with its only-one-action-and-it's-over, so I started listing possible actions and put them into a context where this choice of action would mean everything for the PC - because it is the only action you have. Which might not have been a good take? Aisle works because the setting is incredible mundane, and there are no stakes.

The context pretty quickly drew itself as the player will chose a profession/career path, and if they do/choose something wrong, then...😬too bad for them, they made their choice, deal with the consequences. While, in reality, we are not stuck in a life because of one choice, but with a myriad of them (and still we can change this trajectory), it's still a big pressure you get as a youth, having to choose where to go and what to do when you are done with highschool, and what path to take. It's a lot of responsibility that sometimes feels like it will affect/haunt the rest of your life. Do I still have some of that school/parental pressure from when I had to make that choice ingrained somewhere inside? probably...

But the more foolish idea was to let my brain continue to think more about that context and create a world and story further than the choice. Instead of going forward with the consequences and the hints of what could have happened or just let the choice being the centre piece, the brain just went backwards and created a society (some sort of futuristic one) and vaguely described beings (that are not humans), and the ritualistic culture of this society, etc... While it was fun to think about all of those, and maybe provided a fun setting and enticing story for the player to go through the game, there might have been a bit too much of it. I think, in hindsight, this may have devalued the choice itself (which became even more watered down when I continued on writing the first screens).

And so, the job choice soon became the player is going through some sort of ritual (v trope-y) to determine their place in society. If it has a vibe of The Giver, it shouldn't be too surprising, the book is on my shelf.

So we still have the one-choice-to-rule-them-all, but now there is a also backstory and setting... and I have to include it somewhoeeven if it means cramming it somewhere, anywhere.

Oh wait, I thought, I'll just make it like a prologue to build anticipation for the choice!

And so the brain went on zooming again to create the waiting room, and the agonising walk in the corridor, and the finding your way to the altar, before you cant finally make your choice..... only to end up with two(-ish) paragraphs for each endings. wow - what a good balanced game this is becoming...

Speaking of endings, I had originally listed over 50 actions, each planned to have a different ending.... only to end up with about 11, 7 of those were actually related to the final countdown choice. It made me sadder than when I cut onions :(

It wasn't just the player that needed to make...

At this point, we were two weeks away from the deadline. I had the backbone of the code (-ish), a good third of the writing wasn't complete (and this was mainly those 11 endings), and no one had tested the game yet. There was no way I could have included all 50 original options if I wanted to make the deadline. might have been good in hindsight to remove those choices, especially with the current command system.

So choices had to be made and a buttload of planned things had to be cut. I narrowly managed to finish the needed endings in time (which required re-writing some of those into a fake choice), at least.

At the end, I strayed quite a bit from the Aisle concept of a mini intro - one action - an ending puzzle-y feel (and making the player piece the story together from the endings), to arrive at... well... this anxiously geolian walk to one's doom (or dream). Making the story quite... well... linear.

And from going somewhat wrong, it went a little wrong-er...

3- The Implementation

Wanting to avoid the headache of learning a new program, I had settled on Twine pretty much from the start (SugarCube, because that's how I've been rolling for the past almost 2 years!).

The big problématiques of this project were:

Twine is not a parser program (duh)

SugarCube has its limitations still (and macros that don't always work the way you want to)

I had never written a parser game before and suck at playing them (thank you, French IF streams that helps me enjoy them without experiencing the frustration of not finding the right combo!)

I still suck at JavaScript/jQuery to do weird things with the page (and probably fix all those issues)

and well did I already say Twine is not a parser program?

So I tried to get to the basic of parsers (an input box and text revealing itself onto the page when a command is entered) and prayed for the best. Easy, right?

WRONG!

SugarCube has an input box, but can only autofocus* inside one specific place (so you can't lock it somewhere else but the passage itself, which means you need to add it to every screen...) and when the passage is first loaded (doesn't work if the input box is added later on). *I have also hurt some kitten by overusing autofocus, which was only compensated by offering the the SugarCube God some bug reports about it so those issues could be fixed for the next update (TBA). But you really are not supposed to use autofocus as much as I did... 😬

SugarCube has an input box, but you can only move to another passage after you press Enter. So you can't have some fancy input checks, and you stay on the same page... without some custom listener macro* that is (Bless you Maliface and your Listen Macro) - or I guess some JavaScript code, but who has time for that... I had included a button as an alternative to confirm the commands (which was how I had coded it for DOL-OS), but it would have made the parser experience much worse if using Enter would not have loaded a response (this was a criticism from DOL-OS, which now that I know how to fix, I really should do so...). *at least until the next Sugarcube update which will include a listener.

SugarCube has an input box, but doesn't have a bank of commands, or set object indicator (like with the parsers). While you can technically separate the inputed words with some JavaScript**, whether you do so or not will end with the same amount of spaghetti code at the end, with the different conditional statements for each actions on each screen to show the correct text bits (mine amounted to almost 600 lines of code for 7 screens... without included the printed text! -> see the source code). Now that I've messed around with Adventuron, I can see how easy it is to make a parser game (set up commands and rooms and interactive object), when you have a bank of built-in commands and not have to worry about how to add the new text on the screen. Twine really added a new layer of complexity to this.... Was there a better way of doing this? probably, but don't look at me to find it. *this was how the name chosenname command came to be, and how it only printed the chosen name on the following screens. That and the autofocus being messy...

SugarCube can add text bits to a page, but unlike parser programs, it won't automatically scroll down to the bottom of the page, or at least to the added element. Adding a scroll down to the bottom or scroll up to the page was not too hard (I had some leftover js code), but it was not the solution: the UI is mobile/tablet accessible (smaller screens), which means scrolling to the bottom would make those players having to manually scroll back up (and I am usually quite verbose in my writing). So very much EH.... NOT GREAT! After quite a lot of testing, broken pieces of code, way too much swearing, and re-doing the base of the UI, I did manage to find a solution.... a month into the review/voting period.

But even with those limitations, I pushed through. I knew it was possible to make it work, so I either tried to find work arounds (and gave up the scrolling, at least until the deadline), and pushed through, banging my head against my desk because of what was achievable...

LIKE BUILDING A WHOLE COMMANDS SYSTEM...

Wanting to make things easy for myself (and the players), I thought maybe removing all verbs would make it easier to go through the game, even when having to interact with objects or people around. Enter the bolded word* from the text as the input, press enter, and read the new text! *It was important for me to have some sort of "easy" mode where the interactive things were obvious to the player, coming from a scene where parsers are not the norm/favoured.

Simple right?

This idea... stopped working as soon as I introduced physical actions (sit, stand, jump, etc...), directional actions (the story might be linear but it still has multiple rooms), but most importantly as soon as I wrote flavour texts for one same object. Even if I could get away with removing X/LOOK/EXAMINE*, adding verbs at the end was a necessity (I didn't want to see all the already written variation go to waste...). *I did include look in the code, but mistakenly didn't think about its synonym <- shows the no-knowledge of parser, and not having a bank of commands built-in.

So verbs were added, and then some of its synonyms (but evidently not the most important ones 😬), and then some prepositions just in case, and noun synonyms with adjectives because of how it is described in the text, and then.... so on and so forth. And because of how SugarCube is set, I ended up with lines like this at the end:

<<if ["initiate", "look initiate", "look at initiate", "remember initiate", "initiates", "look initiates", "look at initiates", "remember initiates", "recall initiate", "recall initiates"].contains(_cmd)>>

(and this is not even a correct or complete command list, since it is missing EXAMINE and X)

Et rebelotte for all the interactive words on the page, as well as the added variations requiring another set other verbs. There's not really a verb/noun aliases list to help...

BUT WAIT

Because I always like to make it difficult for myself and not think of the amount of work my ideas/plan will require, I had to make some bits of text appear only once (even if some commands could be used more than once on that page) OR removing the player's ability to make a different action when they do a specific one AND have some bits of text only appear after a command has been used on that page. Pushing the player through extra invisible gates on top of the different rooms. I could have made it easier on myself to break scenes further than I had already done, but nooooooo

And I did this not just once. BUT THREE TIME! When the player is called to get in line, in the corridor, and just before the big doors.

I could have fed myself for a whole week with the spaghetti that came out of my code.

But Manon, I can hear the little devil on my shoulder say, Why all the whining and excuses? You could have stopped if it turned out to be a bad idea, especially if you couldn't implement it properly. Why not have made the story in something else than a parser?

Well...

because Time (wa)s running out and I wasn't going to let all this hard work go to waste by changing everything up at the last minute (it could have worked/been easier, that's true)

because it was still a fun puzzle to solve, even if frustrating most of the time,

because you learn more when you fail than when you win

I'm not a quitter :P (hiding my too many WIPs waiting for me....)

Even if I doubted myself with finishing the game on time, I still pushed myself to cross the finish line, since I knew I would not have finished the project otherwise. Thought it could have been fun to get the 12 angry men passing judgement on my Twine monstrosity making a mockery of parsers had I submitted it to the very serious ParserComp instead. /jk lovingly

So after some "extensive" testing (rushed in the last week, because I am a nightmare to people, sorry @groggydog and @lapinlunairegames for making you go through this, but also thank you for your help!!), I made it to the end!

Well... barely. Ended up with a few bug fixes update along the way.

4- The Reception

(it was like that in my heart)

Like TTTT, this was not explosion of praise and accolades. And I fully expected it. You can't make experiments omelettes without cracking a few programs/rules eggs. At least my omelette didn't have too many eggshells :P

Looking at the numbers, at the time of writing this posts, TRNT is currently sitting at 5 stars (4 ratings) on itch, and 3-1/2 stars on IFDB (2 ratings)*, with 4 reviews on the Forum (bellow the median/average this festival). None of the ratings game with reviews/comments. *When some of the reviews will be moved to the IFDB, I do expect this average to get lower. The itch one is nice (really happy 4 peeps loved it!), but most people only rate when they didn't like it or when they loved it.

As for the feedbacks gotten, they came from a few sources: the people who playtested TRNT, dms on Tumblr and the Forum, the Twine server, and the awaited reviews on the Forum.

Overall, the people who liked the game really enjoyed themselves, from the writing and the worldbuilding being intriguing, or how pretty the UI was. Even with the issues raised during the festival, quite a lot of people (who sent me comments) thought the experiment was either a success, something really cool, or impressive considering the limitations (of the festival and/or of the program). Even in the more critical comments, this experiment was seen as an interesting one to be commended (with a bit of a why did you bother... sprinkled in there). Someone told me TRNT reminded them of the Divergent series (and fair comparison, considering the whole ritual to put you in one job for the rest of your life).

The most surprising thing was that people who never played parser before (or didn't really liked them) found the game entertaining and fun to go through, managing to get to the end without too many issues; while the reviewers with more experience in the genre had a bit more restraints due to the command system I put in place.

Whether my giddiness about verbose writing was to the liking of the player or not, I was honestly happy comments about my grammar didn't make much of an appearance this time around (yay, progress!), and that I would get kudos for the vague story behind the experiment itself, and the structure of the story itself.

But this doesn't mean that it was all sunshine and rainbow here. TRNT had some obvious issues, which should have been squashed during the testing phase had this one been longer (yet again, me speed-running through comps when I should take my time... when will I learn...). There were two main ones: the commands and the UI.

The biggest issue came from the commands, being either unclear or confusing, especially when it came to the cardinal direction, the choice of synonym for the actions, or special actions like the name input. Even if you could go along the story with just a noun or press C until you reached the end, missing important verb commands did not help the game feel complete (EXAMINE/GET/the shortcuts). This is where having some Parser knowledge/experience would have come handy, he.... As for the cardinal directions, it was probably most confusing because I used them as synonyms for forward/back/left/right instead of N/S/W/E (that and it wasn't clear where you were able to go in the text either). Quite a few players were also getting stuck in the corridor (after you come to a stop, you hear some thing up front and your choices are to move to the side/jump or stand still). Special actions like the name input or the final choice were felt a bit off/broke immersion. Party due to the way SugarCube is, partly due to how I organised the game. Having a simple input where the player is asked for their name before the game start and have a say name command, might have worked better there. That and a better hinting system. Fix for those TBD.

Closely followed was the UI being annoying (which ;-; bc I pride myself on creating good UI, but it was fair critique), from the scrolling being an absolute ass, to the confusing bolding of the start of passages being the same as the interactive words (if you didn't change the colour in the settings), to the back/replay last choice command on the END screen not going to the right spot, or the responses of computing an inputted command not appearing/being confusing (in relation to the scrolling), some quirks with the UI being wonky for some screen sizes, etc... Thankfully, all those have been fixed.... but too late for the reviews already published. A quick revamp of the UI base + solving the scrolling issue + slight reformatting of the printed new text bits solved if not all of those issues. Still... too little too late... That's what you get for making a UI in a large screen and only checking different width but not different heights....

A SIDENOTE ON WHY PARSER AND NOT HYPERTEXT

Or me going a bit on a rant. Scroll down to pt 5- The Do-Over to resume coherent levelled conversation.

Still, making a parser a Twine was a CHOICETM, which didn't work for everybody. I don't know if it was because the game was put forth as a Twine game before being a parser, or because the story was maybe a bit too linear/not very interactive compared to other parsers, or because I set out to make a parser before thinking of a story and it showed for some, (or probably because the parser system was not very well implemented) but I did have a few commenters wondering if my choice of making it a parser was the correct one, as in why would you use parser when hyperlinks would have probably worked better?

Maybe a cop-out answer would be Why not. Why not try to break the rules and the codes of what is a Twine game or what is a parser? Why not push Twine to where it is probably not supposed to go (sorry, TME)? Why not blur the lines of the divides between the subgenres of IF? I wrote some part while having a bit of a fever, and my notes had Why not make parsers less puzzle-y/more linear choice-based like? and oh boi is it good to re-read yourself... Cause yiekes what a load of BS.

The other part of the answer is Because experimenting and doing weird thing is fun! Doing weird thing, writing bad code that should probably not work but it does, putting the program on a lifeline, making up stories that are nonsensical, etc... and breaking people's mind in the process with what could be done. Also it was just fun to find out whether it was just possible to do it at all. The rush of happiness when you the puzzle is solved is so incredibly gratifying. It was really fun to try something different (for me but also for what Twine can generally do), to solve a puzzle of mashing two things that don't/shouldn't go together, to find what makes them tick and make it all work, and to challenge myself to do something new (did I mention before it was my fist time making a parser?). AND, having fun creating! And the SpringThing has always been a beacon to promote experimentation with the genre and more out there stuff. So it's was kind of like the stars aligned or something :P

Also Because it was possible!That one is pretty self-explanatory...

Maybe a bit more presumptuous of me: Because experimenting keeps Interactive Fiction fresh and exciting! I'm not trying to set a trend or anything here (honestly, it's not too strange, TRNT's weirdness kind of follows my previous work with TTTT and its mixology element, or DOL-OS with it computer interphase), but isn't fun to see what else can be done in IF, or what new area can be explored now that funky stuff has been tried, or what else should probably not be done (hopefully this doesn't apply to TRNT lol, I think it should be fun to have more parser in Twine). Even if my entry was not really a novel idea even in the gameplay (exhibit A, exhibit B, exhibit C), I still think there should be more weird stuff out there, so I contribute to that where/when I can! It'd be sad if IF became same-y and stale... It'd be fun if someone did something like this because they played TRNT and thought it was neat :P

And Because it didn't fit with my original vision of the game. Even if the game changed quite a lot along the way, the parser element was something I would not compromise with, no matter how good or bad the final product was. Sorry TME for the kittens lost in the autofocus of the textboxes...

I did wonder for a while how many people opened the settings at all 🤔

5- The Do-Over?

Ha.

Haha.

Hahaha.

No.

Honestly... If I was going back to the start, I don't think I would change anything. Even if the length of the testing was more than minimal (still haven't learned my lesson), even if I rushed into the competition (again, not learned my lesson), even if I made errors along the way (well, maybe fixing the UI earlier instead) or let the story stray that much away from the original idea (honestly it was probably for the best that it ended not being too close to Aisle at the end, I might have gotten eviscerated in the reviews). It did what it was supposed to do, and checked all the boxes from what I wanted to try. At the end, to me, it was a complete (and stressful success).

Will there be some changes in the future?

Just a bit, at some point, TBD and TBA. Just to fix the commands a bit, maybe rearrange some passages, add a bit more variation/hidden codex entries, maybe even a new ending or two! But it wouldn't go further than that. TRNT was an experiment through and throuh.

==================== THE END ====================

Anyway, my weird hybrid beast of a parser in Twine and I are done rambling about my awesome show of tricks that may or may not have landed badly and with a broken skateboard. We will go collect our ribbons, now!

Make IF weird, Do word crimes, Have fun

I do wonder if me submitting the game in the Main Garden rather than at the Back Garden played into the expectations of the reviewers, since the BG is meant for more experimental IF. But in the same vein, there was the Kuolema running on a Google Form and people flocked to it so 🤷 It's probably the quality that made things the way it is whooooops :P

[solaneceae]

shall we look at the moon, my little loon?

People didn’t get sick on Quesadilla island. Maybe because they always had potions and gapples on hand. Or maybe the Federation’s Rules simply didn’t allow it, another restrictive function shoved into server code to keep its residents happy. This Server, though… read on ao3

Red pebbles shriek under his step, rolling down the hill to reveal the sun-bleached bones of a long-dead tiger. The air feels sweltering even though the sun is setting, bathing Purgatory in long shadows. His backpack’s strap feels frayed between his fingers, against his shoulder. The friction hurts. Cellbit heaves his body up the last rocky steps, a bout of dizziness almost making him sway and fall off the cliff. But he catches himself, crouches down for a moment, breathes his way out of the creeping darkness.

His head is pounding, his brain cooking inside his fever-heated skull. But it’s nothing he can’t push through. He knows how to survive in the worst places, it’s what he’s good at. He raises his head, stares at the entrance of the hole he calls home. His eyes are always red these days, throat always raw from breathing in this tainted, sulphuric air.

(He remembers anger. Rage. Now he barely knows how it felt, bloodlust long since turned to regret and apathy. He has nothing left. Nothing to fight for, to kill for.)

(Except for one thing, maybe.)

“Baghs,” Cellbit calls out with a soft whisper as he crosses the mouth of the cave, steps deeper into the mercifully cooler air and dim lights of improvised lamps. He rips his gas mask off his face and lets it fall with a dull thud, rubs at the indents it left behind on his face. Kneels down, winces when his wounds sting and throb with pain under dirty bandages. “I’m back, patinha. Can you wake up for me?”

Baghera does not respond, quiet and still, curled onto her side on their poor excuse of a bedroll — more of a pile of hay at this point. He drops a damaged backpack onto the dusty floor, rummages through it in search of something. “I found water,” he produces a full bucket from his pack, sets it down and scrolls through his hotbar until a glass vial appears in his hand. He coughs as he fills it up — it hurts, acid and fire in his trachea. “Good water.” Even the water goes bad now, after a while. Sitting nauseatingly in their stomachs and making them hurl out whatever they had managed to eat that day.

“You need to drink something,” he pushes, shakes the other’s shoulder carefully. Baghera doesn’t stir.

People didn’t get sick on Quesadilla island. Maybe because they always had potions and gapples on hand. Or maybe the Federation’s Rules simply didn’t allow it, another restrictive function shoved into server code to keep its residents happy. This Server, though…

The Watcher made the rules here. And as server Host, it too had extended its protection upon them as they went at his beck and call, doing his bidding. They had done well as its bloodhounds, seeking and maiming, raining hell onto hidden bases and sinners alike. But ever since they had refused its last order, their privileges had seemingly expired. (‘kill the sinners’, it said. kill each other, it had meant. And they hadn’t, because above being loyal to the Watcher, they were loyal to each other.)

Their ‘benefactor’ had gone silent after that day. No more orders, but also no more protection, no more supplies appearing in their chests to keep them fed and geared up. Injuries that should’ve healed over in minutes now lingered, their armors no longer mending, their supply of food now rotting. Even their meagre wheat farm had decayed, the dirt too toxic for anything to grow. Which meant that they were back to square one, scrounging for scraps of food and hurting and hiding from disasters that they were no longer immune to. And in a place like this, it hadn’t been long before it all started to take its toll on them — too many disasters, too many wounds left to fester, and a mockery of a caretaker who no longer cared enough to keep them alive. 

The sickness had creeped up on them — from drinking that lukewarm and unclean water, from wounds wrapped in haste with no disinfectant. Cuts on their arms and legs growing red and swollen with infection, poisoning their bloodstream. Baghera had fallen to it first, eyes growing less and less focused as the days went on and nothing changed, red skies and sulphur and complete isolation. She could no longer hunt, too weak to run — so Cellbit left more often in search of the odd patch of wheat, as much as he loathed to leave her alone. “Baghera,” he tries again, shaking a little harder when the other doesn’t react beyond a vague twitch of her eyelids. She’s so warm, too warm, the fever just isn’t breaking despite all the damp rags (now dry and falling off of her as Cellbit shakes her limp form), and her feathers aren’t helping. “Please…”

(“Please don’t leave,” Baghera had pleaded the first time he had to go out there alone. “Please.” He had gone anyway, despite the aches in his limbs and the fever making the world too warm and fuzzy, because he had to. Came back with a lackluster haul of three dead rats and some sugarcane only to find his packmate curled into a tight ball against the wall of their cave, broken chirps and quacks tumbling from her bill endlessly. where, where, flock, scared, help, he recognized. Pale yellow and white softness littered the floor around her, some of it stained red, as she smoothed over her wings with her bill and plucked feather after feather until Cellbit cupped her face to make her stop. He started to plan around her after that, waiting for her to slip into restless, sticky sleep to leave.)

Cellbit sighs. Wipes the beads of burning sweat off his forehead, glares at the way his hand shakes from the fever. At least he can sweat it out — Baghera can’t, her breath coming up in short little puffs of too-hot air as she pants in her sleep, her body struggling to cool itself down. She looks awful — they both do to be fair, so much so that he barely dares to glance at his reflection in the water these days. He can’t even remember the last time he took a bath, and he doesn’t have enough ocelot in his code for grooming to be an option. But days of unconsciousness and delirium have left his packmate dreadfully thin, her feathers dull — she hasn’t preened them in weeks, water no longer rolling off of them without the oil. Her face is pinched in discomfort, her eyes swollen and bruised by weeks and weeks of restless nights spent tossing and being jolted awake by nightmares.

(He knows them all by now. White cloaks and needles, the few memories she regained of her childhood. Pomme dying. Cellbit, dying or leaving, her being alone. He holds her when she wakes, too weak to cry, because his own dreams taste of blood and flesh he knows a bit too well but it’s not as bad when she holds him.)

“Hey,” Cellbit gently rolls her onto her back and sneaks a hand under her neck to lift her head up. He feels feathers and heat, heat, too much. Baghera doesn’t react beyond a croaky whine, her chest heaving as she pants. “I’m getting some water in you, right now. Come on.” He slowly, ever-so slowly tips the glass bottle, lets a few drops fall into her open beak. She chokes on her next inhale, coughs painfully, and Cellbit whispers apologies in sheepish Portuguese, tilts her head up a bit more. At least she’s more aware now, cloudy eyes cracked open and darting around aimlessly. “Boa tarde, patinha,” he attempts a smile, but it feels more like a grimace on his face. Baghera hums, rests her head against his scarred-up arm. Mumbles something with harsh consonants and fricatives. “Didn’t get that, sorry.”

“Connard,” she croaks out, and oh, this he understands. She hasn’t spoken anything but barely-legible French in days, too out of it to bother with translating. “So you recognize me. That’s good. Maintenant bois,” he switches to heavily-accented French to make sure she understands. (The lack of, well, anything to do meant that they have spent plenty of time learning each other’s languages in the last few months.)

“Non.”

Stubborn as always. “Discute pas, Baghs. Ou je te donne du thé à la place.” He’s lying, of course — they do not have tea on hand. But the threat works, and the duck makes a weak sound of disgust. “Non, non…”

“Then please don’t fight me on this.” He gently grabs her hand-wing (a confusing anatomy, his packmate has) to curl it around the bottle, letting her feel the chill of fresh water inside glass. “Think you can do it yourself today?”

She can’t — her arms shake too much, her grip on the bottle too loose. So Cellbit pours the water through the side of her open beak, a gentle, slow trickle, until the bottle is empty and his friend silently nudges it with her bill. “Need more?” She nods. “Okay.” Good, that’s good, he thinks. She drains about half of the second bottle before she bats at his arm to make him stop, visibly fighting a wave of nausea. It fades, thankfully.

“How’d you feel about eating?” he asks next, and the look she gives him is hazy and unsure — but not a straight refusal. Food is scarce in this hell, even more so than water — and what little he finds is nothing like the softer things you would feed a sick person. Only the meat of the vermin that can’t outrun him (yet), and tasteless bread from the occasional wheat crops he stumbles upon outside. Still Cellbit tries, carefully ripping up and chewing tiny bits of meat and bread before feeding them to her — munching on solid food is a complex endeavour with no teeth, and if Baghera managed fine with just her bill before, she is no longer in any state to do so.

(He would make a joke about mama birds, but he does not find any levity in it. Not when the only person he has left in this world is fading away, right there in his arms.)

When she’s done (which she makes him understand by turning her head away from his hand), he shoves every soft material he can gather beneath her upper back and neck. Hopefully it will help her keep the food down this time. Manoeuvring her is hard despite how light she is, mostly hollow bones and feathers — but he’s so tired, and he kinda wants to throw up — the nausea getting worse the longer he stays up, vision getting hazy. 

“Tu penses que j’la verrai ?”

He blinks, sluggishly. Baghera’s words are slurred and quiet, which makes them hard to parse. “Mh?”

“Pomme.”

A startled mrrrp. Baghera never talks about her. Didn't even open that expansive journal of hers, the one they had found along with all those old blue and red signs amongst herds of bulls and flights of butterflies. She makes a weird sound as her head rolls to the side, like laughter, or maybe a sob. “J’l’entend, des fois. Placer ses panneaux… près de moi.” Her hands curl into fist-like shapes, briefly. “Et puis… j’me réveille, et elle est pas là. Elle sera plus jamais là.”

(He tries not to think of it. Of him. His egg, his baby, his brave and rambunctious kit. Pain and longing blooms inside his chest, thorns and blood-soaked petals, and he ignores it because packmate sad, packmate in pain, fix, fix.) “Baghs…” Cellbit reaches out to touch her shoulder, and she wails, a heartbreaking sound caught between a sorrowful wail and a distressed quack. “Baghs! Shhh,” he pulls her into a tight embrace, making sure she feels pressure from all sides, her head resting in the space between his shoulder and his neck. “Calma— pare, pare. Vai se machucar.”

“I want to see her,” she sobs, and Cellbit is so startled by hearing English again he doesn’t respond. “But I’m— ’m a bad person, failure. She was good, so good, she was my baby and I can’t go where she is.” A cough; it sounds so bad, like there’s fluid inside her lungs. Cellbit prays it’s not blood. “My Pomme is in Heaven, Cellbo, and I’m going to Hell.”

(Few of them believed in such concepts, back on the island — many were acquainted with deities, ruling over things such as Creativity or Death or Beauty, or with entities from the Other Side, yes. Baghera herself had chosen to give herself over to Chaos, but never seemed the type to adhere to more classical religious beliefs. But Purgatory had happened. Purgatory was something you didn’t walk away from unchanged — or at all, in their case. They were both sinners, as the Watcher had oh-so-helpfully drilled into their minds over and over until they broke.)

“It’s okay,” he whispers, and he could scream at how wrong that is, nothing is okay, our kids are dead, your only friend is dying and in pain, are you fucking stupid? “Shhh.” He places his lips on her forehead, winces at how hot it is still. She needs to cool down. “You’re not bad to me, patinha. You’re the best thing I have left.”

Baghera chirps and quacks unsteadily, eyes clouding over as she descends back into avianspeak. egg, egg, baby, where, nest, flock, where, help, and the trill-name she uses for Cellbit, several times over. Something like flock-blood-brother-me. “Estou aqui,” he murmurs, keeping one hand squeezing hers as he lays her back down to pick up the dry rags around her. “Je suis là. Avec toi.”

“You’re not going to die, are you? You’re not going to leave me?”

“I told you,” he hums, pouring cool water onto the rags and placing them on her chest, her arms, her forehead — he has considered just digging out a hole, filling it with water and dipping her into it instead, but he was afraid it would be too much of a shock to her system. “I won’t leave you. So you don’t either, okay? Stay.”

She doesn’t reply, eyes closed and chest heaving with short, hot puffs of breath. She’s out again.

Cellbit sighs, drapes one last damp rag over her tear-swollen eyes. He gently presses his forehead against hers, angling himself so her beak doesn’t poke at his chin — the rag is blissfully cool against his skin, but he can already feel the heat of her sickness radiating through it. “Por favor,” he whispers, aware she can’t hear him — let alone understand him. He lets himself sag against her, exhaustion pulling at him, heavy head resting upon her feathered chest just above her heart. He can hear it: rabbit-quick, restless, fighting. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. “Por favor. Viva. Pra mim.”

“No. We promised, right?”

“Right…”

“Você também me prometeu,” he slurs out, tendrils of darkness creeping in. He’s so tired, sick, and his entire being begs for reprieve. “Não… não me deixa sozinho. Não posso perder você também...”

"Please don't leave me."

"I won't. Never."

Within a dilapidated cave, Cellbit and Baghera drift. Atop the waves far away, a little motorboat sails, leaving white foam and inky black feathers in its wake.

[danosrosegarden]

dust bunny

{trigger warning: this writing piece recalls my experience with drugs, overdose, self-harm, and suicide.}

I'm going to pass out in a pool of my own frothy spittle while my bloodshot eyes roll back and my weakened heartbeat withers. Either somebody is going to find my limp, bloodied body on the carpet in enough time to take me to the hospital, or I'm going to die here. I don't care anymore.

What's more freeing than being released of the need to keep going? I was ready to lay down and rest, sink into the infinite black of sleep. I'd had just about enough of swallowing a handful of Benadryl each morning and driving to class, feeling crusted, thorny sleep poke at the corners of my eyes while my stomach gnawed on the pink pills and sloshed its acid around side to side, hungry for anything other than half a bottle of over the counter medicine.

I didn't give a fuck what I had to take, what old, probably expired prescription I had to dig up in the depths of my pill collection. My old bottle of Xanax was probably somewhere at the bottom of the drawer being eaten alive by dust. I'd find it.

When I come to in the dark, moonlit early morning, a short-haired, tattooed nurse is wiping my thighs with something that burns like hell and my parents are staring at me from small chairs across from my cramped bed. They look crunched in and uncomfortable. They look impossibly tired, ashen bags nibbling at the skin underneath their eyes. I burst into tears, and it's like my throat is a skipping record; I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. They say nothing, so I keep repeating it. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

There's no manual on what to say to your heartbroken and no doubt traumatized family after you survive an overdose, and that's all I could think to fill the air with. A thousand apologies soaked through with a warbling voice, salty tears racing down my pink cheeks, a bubble of snot popping from my right nostril.

I don't know what to feel now, recalling that late night/early morning with just a few scars left on my skin to heal and fade. Most of them are a burned, charred memory stuck in the back wrinkles of my brain.

I'm allowed to close my door and be alone now. I've been good. I went back to work at the end of the month. They say they missed me, give me cards filled with glittery, encouraging words and a pretty bouquet of blushing pink tulips.

I like to drive to the activity center and run on the track these days. I like to feel beads of sweat dangle from my hair and my heartbeat race, remind it that it's still here and kicking. Thank it for serving me so well when I cruelly raked it through the mud and carelessly picked at its veins.

I do what I can to remind myself I am alive, I am no longer collected dust at the bottom of the pill box. I am not the blackened rot that once ate away at my flesh, I am not the slashed skin or the chain-smoking on an empty stomach or the hungry acid eating away at my body. I am the cool autumn breeze blowing the tangerine orange leaves onto the yellowed fields of grass. I'm the tears welling in the eyes after a breath-stealing belly laugh. I am the light and the dark and before anything else, I am proud. Proud of where I go and what I do, proud of how I continue to exist despite it all.

I am here, and I have a life worth living. That's all I've ever wanted.

[blorbologist]

hi hi can i get perc’ahlia in the cat’s cradle WIP for the valentine’s thing? :)

Of course!! This one's a lil steamy, because it's a scene I've had in mind that will likely go in one of the last chapters :D

As Screwdriver sets about exploring his apartment, Percy busies himself putting his things away. Almost all his clothes end up in the hamper, besieged by cat and dog hair, so he starts a load of laundry. His work desk requires a quick dusting. Apparently something was left at the bottom of his trash and it reeks now, so Percy shuffles through his pantry and fridge for anything expired while he’s at it. He will need to do a run of groceries, soon - nothing fresh is on hand here after so long at Vex’s.

Tripping over Screws as he bumbles about from task to task is familiar. And yet his home feels alien. 

Not as though he could stay - that apartment is small on a good day. Vax’s presence would make an unpleasant day, especially as he readjusts to the night shift. Worse - he’d have no plausible deniability to sharing Vex’s bed, and oh, he really does not want to deal with a shovel talk from an extra cranky Vax.

So, a dozen half-finished chores splayed around him, Percy throws himself onto his couch with a sigh. Screwdriver chirps at the unfamiliar noise and stumbles over - he hauls her up to his lap before she can make a ruin of the furniture. 

A text from Vex as he scratches behind those dark little ears. ‘little princess settling in okay?’

Percy texts back, one-handed: ‘She will keep me busy. Everything needs steps for her.’

With that sent, his thumb taps out ��I miss you already’. Percy scowls at just how clingy that sounds - his wretched traitor of a cat bumps into send when she tries chewing on the corner of his phone. 

He’ll be fine. He can survive. They said they would take this slow - this distance, Vax being back, everything will help, right?

--

It turns out Percival’s lonely apartment is, 

a) a lot closer to their favorite bar than he realized.

b) a lot more cozy with Screwdriver living here.

c) a lot less lonely with Vex in it.

He’d almost call it homey, now, if he was not so thoroughly occupied being shoved against a wall. By Vex. His couch is right there -

“How has it taken this long?” she gasps, breathless, and her eyes are something he could grow in. She gets to a lot more gasping when he draws his free hand over skin.

“It’s been - fuck - three days, dear.”

“I know - that’s what I meant!”

They almost trip over the cat on the way to the bedroom. And again, when she invites herself in, all cheerful purrs and wobbling nods in delight to see one of her favorite people. Vex, half-undressed, is laughing her ass off as he evicts Screwdriver with feverish, embarrassed scolding. 

--

Send me an AU/WIP (see my pinned post) + a ship and I'll give you a lil romantic moment for them set in that universe! Either a whole complicated HC or a lil snippet <3

[merge-conflict]

The appeal of starting from the ending and working back is that you put a cap on every Might Have Been, every wandering tangent, etc. that your drafting mind might otherwise wind down. And there's nothing more irritating then having a good idea when wrapping something up only to realize you didn't have time to foreshadow it like you did the other 2 or 3 recurring consequences (TV writer woes).

Everything in the final conversation Abernathy has with Valentine has to be doing the work of two or three callbacks. Right now I've only hit the initial callbacks, and as I sketch out the ideas mentioned her in passing, which evoke certain strong emotions, then I know I need to do something with V's work involvement with Biotechnica, with some sort of clash with Jenkins, with what Valentine is like when she loses her temper. And I know that because it's what Abernathy is fixated on trying to control this breakup conversation, and also reveals what Abernathy herself is concerned about, and perhaps has been concerned about for a long time and never shown. (Or has she?)

Anyhow I love talking process, so this is the kind of skeleton script I'm going to be working backwards from. It will most certainly not survive exactly like this, but it's a good anchoring point:

<>

“If you tell anyone about anything, I’ll have you removed and handled as a double agent. You have been awful involved with Biotechnica lately.” - “I’m not going to warn you again. Do you understand?”

(dully) “You do that and they’ll know I was telling the truth.”

“It doesn’t matter what they know, it matters what they can prove.” (you know this. we've talked about this. don't be stupid.)

“I suppose next you’ll be asking me to use my new position to spy on Jenkins for you.” (petulant. bitter. a tool, you were always a tool, do you understand?)

“No. I know how you get when you’re angry.” (thinking. malicious. flippant.) “Besides, I thought you’d enjoy a chance to get your claws into him.”

(silently angry. is the implication that she’d do for him what she’d done for her? that she’s just a dangerous beast? that she knows her and her anger so well?)

“Well?”

“What do you want me to do? Beg for leniency? Make some emotional plea? You want me to ask if you ever even gave a shit about me? You want me to put on a show?” - “You wouldn’t believe a word I said anyway. Give me a cigarette.”

(hands one over, lights it. finally makes eye contact. this is real.) “Don’t look so glum. You wouldn’t have gotten half as far as you have without my help. You can cry into your bank account if you want, but it’s not like I’m kicking you out on the street.”

“Alright.” (inhale. peace. emptiness. drains her drink. drops the cigarette into abernathy’s.) “It’s done.”

<>

Re-reading this I already know I need to work in some reference to Valentine's mother and some warning/advice/celebration they have near the end of this reverse story. Something that ties back to her own failed marriage and divorce and dashed expectations. Something about finding a reason to keep going on until you can't bear to any more. Something that echoes the familial stubbornness which means Valentine in the damn things overlap will endure anything so long as she knows the expiration date.

The most fascinating part of writing these two to me is that Abernathy has this very strict rule about never admitting guilt or regret directly, but she'll say something like "I'd apologize but it's already done, isn't it?" and it's like YOU COULD STILL SAY IT! But she sees that as weakness. And Valentine picks up that same attitude here "What do you want me to do? Beg for leniency? Make some emotional plea?" They're mocking each other for the very normal human desire for acknowledgement. They're intelligence agents who think they're just making sure they're not fooling themselves (they're fooling themselves). Sincerity is only useful for pre-empting someone else trying to expose your vulnerability.

Anyway, they're operating on a certain set of fucked up toxic social rules that are in some respects even harsher than the normal corpo set. They're self-policing, because Abernathy is obsessed with gaining favor with someone who is a misogynistic homophobe, and she's playing for keeps against people who aren't reviled by this person. The idea might also come up that she doesn't NEED to be doing it to this degree, but she's warped her own idea of what she needs to do, and what kind of person she needs to be, and applied that to Valentine as well. The tragedy is that they love each other. They work well together. It's never going to work out. It didn't work out. But look at what they had, and how fucked up and funny and exciting it all was before it went to shit.