#instance variables

[hyp3rfixation-h3ll]

burgertron HATE ged prep . burgertron PILEDRIVE WHOEVER MADE IT SO THAT YOU HAVE TO TAKE 4 SEPARATE TESTS TO GET A PIECE OF PAPER THAT SAYS YOU DID IT into THE FUCKING DIRT!!!!!!!

[loveletterworm]

I didn't say before in my previous post but the enemy spawning is happening through what I will one day consider the worst combination of a string of functions that exist only to call other functions which consist of what will eventually be a normal-size switch statement that consists of 3 or 4 extremely long switch statements* of all time

*(That will eventually have coroutines in them once I read the documentation for the coroutines again and remember how they work) **(Assuming they work )

[fruitmouse]

was the only first shift part-timer at my job to not quit like 2 weeks in and my manager said he “knew i was a stayer from the moment [he] met [me]” which is like. just manager talk but i’ve been thinking abt it a lot for some reason

[deoidesign]

A general cane guide for writers and artists (from a cane user, writer, and artist!)

Disclaimer: Though I have been using a cane for 6 years, I am not a doctor, nor am I by any means an expert. This guide is true to my experience, but there are as many ways to use a cane as there are cane users!

This guide will not include: White canes for blindness, crutches, walkers, or wheelchairs as I have no personal experience with these.

This is meant to be a general guide to get you started and avoid some common mishaps/misconceptions in your writing, but you absolutely should continue to do your own research outside of this guide!

This is NOT a medical resource!!! And never tell a real person you think they're using a cane wrong!

The biggest recurring problem I've seen is using the cane on the wrong side. The cane goes on the opposite side of the pain! If your character has even-sided pain or needs it for balance/weakness, then use the cane in the non-dominant hand to keep the dominant hand free. Some cane users also switch sides to give their arm a rest!

A cane takes about 20% of your weight off the opposite leg. It should fit within your natural gait and become something of an extension of your body. If you need more weight off than 20%, then crutches, a walker, or a wheelchair is needed.

Putting more pressure on the cane, using it on the wrong side, or having it at the wrong height can make it less effective, and can cause long term damage to your body from improper pressure and posture. (Hugh Laurie genuinely hurt his body from years of using a cane wrong on House!)

(some people elect to use a cane wrong for their personal situation despite this, everyone is different!)

(an animated GIF of a cane matching the natural walking gait. It turns red when pressure is placed on it.)

When going up and down stairs, there is an ideal standard: You want to use the handrail and the cane at the same time, or prioritize the handrail if it's only on one side. When going up stairs you lead with your good leg and follow with the cane and hurt leg together. When going down stairs you lead with the cane and the bad leg and follow with the good leg!

Realistically though, many people don't move out of the way for cane users to access the railing, many stairs don't have railings, and many are wet, rusty, or generally not ideal to grip.

In these cases, if you have a friend nearby, holding on to them is a good idea. Or, take it one step at a time carefully if you're alone.

Now we come to a very common mistake I see... Using fashion canes for medical use!

(These are 4 broad shapes, but there is INCREDIBLE variation in cane handles. Research heavily what will be best for your character's specific needs!)

The handle is the contact point for all the weight you're putting on your cane, and that pressure is being put onto your hand, wrist, and shoulder. So the shape is very important for long term use!

Knob handles (and very decorative handles) are not used for medical use for this reason. It adds extra stress to the body and can damage your hand to put constant pressure onto these painful shapes.

The weight of a cane is also incredibly important, as a heavier cane will cause wear on your body much faster. When you're using it all day, it gets heavy fast! If your character struggles with weakness, then they won't want a heavy cane if they can help it!

This is also part of why sword canes aren't usually very viable for medical use (along with them usually being knob handles) is that swords are extra weight!

However, a small knife or perhaps a retractable blade hidden within the base might be viable even for weak characters.

Bases have a lot of variability as well, and the modern standard is generally adjustable bases. Adjustable canes are very handy if your character regularly changes shoe height, for instance (gotta keep the height at your hip!)

Canes help on most terrain with their standard base and structure. But for some terrain, you might want a different base, or to forego the cane entirely! This article covers it pretty well.

Many cane users decorate their canes! Stickers are incredibly common, and painting canes is relatively common as well! You'll also see people replacing the standard wrist strap with a personalized one, or even adding a small charm to the ring the strap connects to. (nothing too large, or it gets annoying as the cane is swinging around everywhere)

(my canes, for reference)

If your character uses a cane full time, then they might also have multiple canes that look different aesthetically to match their outfits!

When it comes to practical things outside of the cane, you reasonably only have one hand available while it's being used. Many people will hook their cane onto their arm or let it dangle on the strap (if they have one) while using their cane arm, but it's often significantly less convenient than 2 hands. But, if you need 2 hands, then it's either setting the cane down or letting it hang!

For this reason, optimizing one handed use is ideal! Keeping bags/items on the side of your free hand helps keep your items accessible.

When sitting, the cane either leans against a wall or table, goes under the chair, or hooks onto the back of the chair. (It often falls when hanging off of a chair, in my experience)

When getting up, the user will either use their cane to help them balance/support as they stand, or get up and then grab their cane. This depends on what it's being used for (balance vs pain when walking, for instance!)

That's everything I can think of for now. Thank you for reading my long-but-absolutely-not-comprehensive list of things to keep in mind when writing or drawing a cane user!

Happy disability pride month! Go forth and make more characters use canes!!!

[yamitheyin]

i should probably make a tag for this uty modding arc i'm going through

[t4t4tclethian]

Are you planning on writing fic for the vessel of the moon au? <- *kicking my feet and twirling my hair*

In the meantime though, i love that soup group are here, and I'm wondering if you have plans for any other hermits and what roles they might play in the story? And I'd love to hear more about the worldbuilding you've done, especially the religion/deities, I always find that stuff really neat. Are there other gods or goddesses besides the moon and magma gods? And do you have any thoughts on how people worship the different gods?

i’m not sure if i’ll turn this into a fic- i do want to, and i’ve outlined it as if i’m going to, but motivation’s been running a little thin lately and i’m a little worried i wouldn’t have enough to write the whole thing. that’s the hope, though, and talking about it on tumblr is a way i hope to flesh out some of the bits between points a and b!

i’m hoping to include all of the hermits if i can- i don’t have everyone’s voice down, so i don’t know how well that’ll work. so far, i have specific ideas for impulse, skizz, tango, zed, and doc, some ideas for iskall, stress, mumbo, ren, and hypno (they hunt monsters!), and i’m thinking grian has Some sort of obsessive love/hate situtionship with the sea deity.

(i want to draw a lot of what the hermits are doing from season 9, and then translate that to this au. if that means grian’s started a murder fishing cult, then oh well that’s kind of funny and a good plot hook)

the gods work a little abstractly, partially because i think abstractly and partially because when you’re at that magnitude there isn’t much else to be. the gods are highly powerful beings, whose power is given an extra oomph because they are also a Concept and a Domain. these gods power and run nature, and abide by certain rules in their dealings with mortals and each other.

beyond the moon and magma gods, the ones i currently have written out are the sea deity, wind gods, land spirits, and the storm god. there is no known sun deity.

the land spirits are also different from an earth god. each land spirit is essentially a tiny god that rules This Chunk Of Land In Particular. there is no one earth god, nor will there ever be (mostly for balancing reasons).

every town or settlement has at least one shrine, for people to burn offerings and pray to the gods for aid or protection or whatnot.

different groups of people are also more likely to follow certain gods. for instance, Drifters like gem usually burn offerings to the sea and wind gods as thanks for their protection (after their homeland was destroyed, the ocean and wind offered the dragonish peoples sanctuary at sea), and gem in particular would likely also burn offerings to the moon goddess and any other gods she might meet along the way (because i haven’t figured out the entire pantheon yet)

there’s also the matter of demigods. while it’s possible for a mortal to ascend to godhood, it’s also rare- the gods tend to offer demigodhood to people who look like they might get too close, which is a lot less powerful, but still semi-immortal and deeply cool. none of the hermits are gods, but several are demigods of some sort.

the gods of this world don’t really need worship or belief to function, so they don’t actively encourage it as much

[just-honey-dewd]

I'd say several, at least a handful -- whatever number that allows him to still seem well-adjusted on the surface instead of completely detached and unfazed. Homura would prolly scoff at his number of dives /j

I also wanna say he has checkpoints regularly planted near dates that are close to important nodes he's experienced (or just generally when he thinks CXS's in danger), and doesn’t usually do full game over resets yk? It would explain why he took a picture at the hospital in s2,

took a picture of Vivian in Yingdu ep 1 (the Vivian incident seems like an organic snowball effect caused by CXS's defiance of LG's instruction, so LG seemed to not have it all under his controlled foresight),

and also in Yingdu, he meets CXS around uni instead of high school (i.e. that flashback from s1e5)

I think the reason Yingdu's first meeting is set later than high school could be because in his most recent previous dive, LG only lets himself meet CXS around university time for whatever reason.

I see a lot of Yingdu!LG's visible moments of being caught off-guard as a sign of not having dived that far back in a long time. But to what amount of times he's dived maybe a few months or so can't be said. Maybe enough to have ran out of all suitable photos he's taken recently?

feel free to add your thoughts below if you want!

[unboundprompts]

advice for a character who grips control like a lifeline. who wants to be in charge of every little thing because whenever they're not in control of something something bad could happen. has happened. they can't let a single variable be wild or in someone else's hands

How to Write a Controlling Character

Backstory Rooted in Trauma or Guilt

This character likely has a history that has ingrained the belief that they must be in control or face devastating consequences. Perhaps they once trusted someone else with something crucial—a promise, a responsibility, or a life-altering choice—and that trust was broken in a way that had lasting repercussions. For example, maybe they lost someone because they weren’t “careful enough,” or they experienced a betrayal when they trusted another person’s plan.

They might frequently flash back to this moment, possibly catching themselves thinking, If only I’d been the one in control, this wouldn’t have happened. This memory fuels their need to keep a tight grip on everything, especially if they’re in high-stakes situations.

Rigid Daily Routines and Habits

This character’s day is probably packed with small rituals and routines that give them a sense of security. From double-checking door locks to setting multiple alarms, they rely on routines to give themselves a sense of order. In fact, they might be nearly ritualistic about small actions—checking emails three times before sending, never leaving a task halfway finished, or meticulously arranging their workspace.

Even something as simple as making coffee can become a precise process. If someone moves one of their tools or a file from their desk, they may feel a spike of frustration or even anxiety, seeing it as a disruption to their personal “system.” They could feel that control in their daily life is the only thing keeping chaos at bay.

Intensely Observant of Details and Mistakes

They are hyperaware of mistakes or inefficiencies in others, mentally cataloging things like a coworker’s slight lateness or a friend’s disorganization. They may feel a sense of superiority (or frustration) over people who don’t “have it together” and take it upon themselves to organize or “fix” things for others.

In conversation, they might cut people off or “correct” them even over small points, often justifying this to themselves as necessary. For instance, if someone shares a plan that seems half-formed, this character could immediately dive in, pointing out potential problems or filling in details.

Controlling Relationships and Social Situations

This character struggles in relationships where they aren’t the dominant or organizing force. They might instinctively take over when making plans with friends, micromanaging even casual hangouts to make sure everything goes “right.” For example, they might pick the restaurant, plan the travel route, and check weather forecasts—assuming that if they don’t, no one else will think of these things.

When someone resists their attempts at control, they can respond defensively, often turning cold or resentful, unable to understand why anyone wouldn’t want them to manage the situation. Statements like, “Fine, but don’t blame me if this doesn’t go well,” are frequent in their interactions.

Extreme Anxiety or Panic When Control Is Taken Away

When things go beyond their reach, this character might experience panic, as if they’re suddenly powerless. For instance, if an unexpected roadblock prevents them from handling a task (like a canceled flight they needed to board, or a plan that falls apart), they might spend hours trying to regain control, calling every contact or frantically exploring alternatives.

Their reaction may feel extreme to others. Even minor setbacks—such as a colleague taking initiative on a project or a friend planning something without consulting them—can trigger a disproportionate response, like clenching their fists, pacing, or silently stewing as they feel the situation “slipping.”

Inability to Accept Help or Collaboration

Their controlling nature makes it hard for them to collaborate, as they believe their methods are the only ones that work. For them, accepting help feels like an admission of weakness or failure, so they rarely delegate or ask for assistance. If they do reluctantly accept help, they are constantly supervising or “suggesting” things, making it feel more like they’re still in charge.

In a team setting, they might take on all the major tasks, either out of distrust in others’ abilities or a feeling that no one will match their standards. Their motto could be something like, “If you want something done right, do it yourself,” even if that means working late or burning out.

Reluctance to Show Vulnerability or Need

Since vulnerability and control rarely coexist for them, they avoid showing weakness at all costs, preferring to mask stress or struggles as “just part of the job.” If they do become overwhelmed, they’re more likely to shut people out, saying, “I’ve got it handled,” even if it’s far from true.

When people push them to let go or share the load, they might lash out, accusing others of “just not understanding.” They often see their intense responsibility as a form of sacrifice, justifying their behavior with, “If I don’t handle this, who will?”

[diamonddaze01]

Error 404: Feelings not Found

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f!reader | wc: 4.0k genre: fluff, electrical engineering student wonwoo (pulled out my textbooks for this) warnings: loserboy core a/n: for all my fellow left-brained girlies who have never really understood feelings. sometimes, all you have to do is feel // now playing: when he sees me // thank u kae @ylangelegy for the song suggestion and betaing ily muah!

summary: Wonwoo has always been comfortable in the world of logic.  But his crush on you? A catastrophic anomaly in his otherwise perfectly functioning system.

Wonwoo has always been comfortable in the world of logic. Numbers are predictable, formulas are consistent, and circuits behave exactly as they’re supposed to. But his crush on you? A catastrophic anomaly in his otherwise perfectly functioning system.

It’s not like he planned for this. (Wonwoo plans for everything.) He planned how to tackle his midterms, down to how much coffee he’d need for optimal brain function. He planned his study schedule for finals week with a level of precision that could rival NASA’s launch timelines. But he didn’t plan for you—didn’t account for how you’d waltz into his life, smiling like it was easy, and throw every variable he’d ever known into disarray.

Take last week, for instance. You’d borrowed his notes in Signals class after the professor’s lecture turned into a chaotic sprint of equations, leaving most of the class scrambling to catch up. Wonwoo’s notes, as always, were pristine—straight lines, perfect margins, not a single smudge or scribble.

“These are amazing,” you’d said, eyes scanning the page before handing them back. “Your designs are so clean.”

Simple, right? A harmless comment. But by the time he’s back at his desk, staring at his notebook, the words replay in his mind like an unsolved equation. Somewhere between “clean” and the way you smiled, his brain spins out of control, dragging him into an entirely unnecessary analysis.

By the time the clock strikes midnight, he’s halfway through a list of possible interpretations for the word clean.

Did you mean clean as in technically proficient?

Or was it a general observation, like, “Oh, clean lines, nice work”?

Was it just a filler compliment?

Wait, what if you didn’t care about the project at all and were just being polite?

…Or were you flirting?

By the end of the day, the list has ballooned to 27 points, each item meticulously numbered and annotated with follow-up questions. He’s considered:

The tone of your voice (friendly, teasing, or something else entirely?).

The duration of eye contact (exactly 2.3 seconds—long enough to register intent?).

The statistical likelihood of romantic interest based on casual interactions in a shared academic setting.

He even creates a small flowchart titled “Compliment Probability Breakdown” in the margins, complete with arrows leading to various outcomes: “Casual comment” → “Friendly disposition” → “No further analysis needed.” Except, of course, he does further analyze. He always further analyzes.

Mingyu finds him later that night, still hunched over the notebook with a pencil tucked behind his ear. “Wonwoo, what are you doing? It’s a compliment, man. Just take it.”

Wonwoo glares up at him, a little defensive. “Compliments can have layers.”

“Compliments are not onions, dude. Sometimes people just say stuff because they mean it.” Mingyu grabs the notebook, flipping through pages of scribbled notes and diagrams. “Wait, are you seriously tracking eye contact now?”

Wonwoo snatches it back with a huff. “It’s for clarity.”

“Clarity,” Mingyu repeats, shaking his head. “Okay, listen: not everything needs a breakdown. Maybe she just thinks you’re good at this stuff.”

The suggestion should feel reassuring, but it only creates more questions. Do you think he’s good at this stuff? Wonwoo’s chest tightens as the overanalysis starts up again, his brain racing to decode every minor interaction between you two.

And for the first time in his life, he wonders if there’s a problem even logic can’t solve.

The first time Wonwoo realizes he might have a crush on you is during a Circuits lab. The task is simple: build an EKG circuit. The professor’s voice echoes in the background, laying out the steps, but Wonwoo doesn’t need instructions—he’s already ahead, mentally piecing together the circuit in his mind like a jigsaw puzzle.

You, him, and Soonyoung are grouped together. Soonyoung, true to form, spends more time spinning a pen between his fingers and accidentally dropping it than actually contributing. “What’s a diode again?” he whispers, squinting at the diagram. Wonwoo doesn’t bother answering. He’s focused on soldering the components, the familiar rhythm of it calming.

Then you lean closer. Close enough that he catches the faint scent of your shampoo—something floral, light, completely unexpected.

“Wow, you’re fast,” you say as Wonwoo expertly attaches a capacitor to the circuit. There’s a trace of genuine admiration in your voice, enough to make him falter. “I’d probably still be looking for the resistor.”

The comment shouldn’t faze him. It’s just a compliment, nothing extraordinary. He glances at you, briefly, before immediately looking back at the board. It feels safer not to meet your eyes for too long. “Uh, it’s color-coded,” he manages, his voice steady but quieter than usual. “You just… follow the stripes.”

You laugh softly, the sound threading its way into his chest like a loose wire connecting where it shouldn’t. “Yeah, but it’s not that simple for everyone,” you say, brushing a stray hair out of your face as you turn your attention to the circuit.

The way you say it makes his chest feel strangely tight—like you’ve taken something as mundane as resistors and turned it into a compliment, like you’re saying he’s not simple either. It’s a ridiculous thought, and yet it roots itself in his mind.

Wonwoo’s hand, soldering iron poised mid-air, doesn’t move. His brain, which usually fires on all cylinders, freezes like an overloaded processor. The soldering iron hovers dangerously close to the board, but all he can focus on is the way your hair catches the light, the way your fingers curl around the resistor as you inspect it. Wonwoo doesn’t mean to notice, but suddenly he can’t stop noticing—the way the fluorescent light reflects in your eyes, the faint trace of soap on your hands when you adjust a wire, the warmth radiating from your voice when you hum quietly in thought.

It’s not until Soonyoung gently clears his throat that he realizes his brain has completely stopped functioning. His usually razor-sharp focus is now cluttered with incoherent static. 

“Wonwoo?” you ask, leaning back slightly to meet his eyes. There’s a hint of concern in your voice. “You good?”

He panics. “Uh. 100 ohms.”

Your brow furrows. “What?”

“Uh—100 ohms,” he repeats, gesturing vaguely at the resistor in your hand like it explains anything. “That’s… its resistance.”

There’s a beat of silence, thick and awkward. You blink at him, clearly trying to piece together whatever he’s just said. Then you burst out laughing, shaking your head as you turn back to the project. “Okay, resistor boy. Whatever you say.”

The sound of your laughter leaves his chest feeling tight, like someone’s replaced his heart with a capacitor about to blow.

Soonyoung, who’s been watching the exchange with far too much interest, smirks. He leans over the table, stage-whispering, “What was that?”

“What was what?” Wonwoo mutters, focusing on the soldering again, as if he can undo the entire exchange by sheer force of will.

“You’re usually all cool and robotic,” Soonyoung teases, wagging his pen like it’s some kind of magic wand. “That was… weird.”

Wonwoo shakes his head quickly, but the heat creeping up the back of his neck says otherwise. “I don’t know,” he mumbles, the words barely audible over the hum of the soldering iron. “I think I glitched.”

“Uh, yeah. Glitched hard.” Soonyoung grins, nudging him in the ribs. “Man, this is going to be fun to watch.”

Wonwoo groans, his ears burning. The circuit in front of him makes perfect sense—the resistors, the capacitors, the impedance of the op-amp—but nothing about you fits into a neat schematic. And for the first time in his life, that terrifies him.

Now, weeks later, Wonwoo is in his room, utterly consumed by the mess on his desk. It’s an anomaly in itself—Wonwoo is meticulous, his workspace usually a shrine to organization (he always says: clean desk, clean mind). But now, papers are scattered like fallen leaves, covered in scribbles, equations, and bullet points that grow increasingly frantic as they spread across the desk.

The centerpiece of this chaos? A flowchart spanning two pages, taped together like some sort of grand engineering blueprint. It’s titled, in block letters: “Signs She Might Like Me Back.”

Wonwoo taps his pen against the paper, staring at the branching lines as if sheer focus might make them reveal the answer he’s been agonizing over. Beneath the title are subcategories labeled “Physical Cues,” “Verbal Indicators,” and, his personal favorite, “Ambiguous Behavior That Could Go Either Way.”

Under “Physical Cues,” he’s written:

Smiles when she sees me.

Leans closer during conversation (but what if it’s because of background noise?).

Touches my arm (happened once, inconclusive).

Under “Verbal Indicators,” there’s a bullet that reads:

Complimented my handwriting. Significance unclear.

He’s in the middle of adding a new branch—“Initiates conversation (specific or casual?)”—when the door bursts open without warning.

“Wonwoo, what the hell are you doing? It’s 3 AM.” Mingyu strides in, holding a bowl of instant ramen and a look of mild concern. His gaze lands on the desk, and his expression shifts to outright amusement. “Wait… what is this?”

Wonwoo freezes like he’s been caught committing a federal crime. He instinctively moves to cover the flowchart with both arms, but it’s far too late. Mingyu steps closer, craning his neck to read the edges of the paper that Wonwoo couldn’t shield in time.

“‘Compliments: Genuine or Polite’?” Mingyu reads aloud, his voice rising in barely-contained glee. He sets the ramen down and leans over the desk. “‘Smiles frequently—friendly or flirty?’ Wonwoo…” He looks at his friend, wide-eyed and grinning. “Are you seriously trying to analyze feelings right now?”

“No,” Wonwoo lies, far too quickly. “It’s… theoretical.”

Mingyu snorts, dropping into the chair beside him and spinning it halfway around before leaning forward. “Theoretical? Dude, this looks like the final project for your psych elective. Come on, what’s the problem? Spill.”

Wonwoo hesitates, gripping his pen like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality. But the weight of weeks of overthinking finally tips the scale, and he lets out a long sigh, setting the pen down.

“I just don’t… get it,” he admits, gesturing vaguely to the papers. “Feelings are so inconsistent. They don’t follow any rules. There’s no formula to predict intent, no way to be certain what someone means. How do people know if someone’s interested in them? How do you know when to… I don’t know, do something about it?”

Mingyu leans back in the chair, arms crossed as he considers the question. “Easy,” he says after a beat. “You stop thinking about it so much and just ask them out.”

Wonwoo blinks at him, utterly horrified. “That’s… illogical. That’s guessing. That’s like building a circuit without testing the components first. What if the whole thing explodes?”

“Yeah, well, feelings aren’t supposed to be logical,” Mingyu says with a shrug, grabbing the bowl of ramen and slurping a mouthful. He claps Wonwoo on the shoulder with his free hand, grinning around his chopsticks. “Face it, man. You’re screwed.”

Wonwoo stares at him, expression blank but mind racing at a million miles an hour. “There’s got to be a better way than just… guessing.”

“Good luck finding it,” Mingyu says, standing up and taking his ramen with him. “But if you don’t make a move soon, she might just think you’re not interested. So, you know… keep that in mind.”

Wonwoo sits in silence long after Mingyu leaves, staring down at his flowchart. His pen hovers over the paper, but he doesn’t write anything. For once, the calculations feel insufficient.

And maybe, just maybe, Mingyu’s right.

The thing is, you keep throwing off his system. Wonwoo’s world is built on rules, a place where inputs lead to predictable outputs. But you? You’re the glitch in his perfectly functioning program, an anomaly he can’t solve no matter how many late nights he spends overanalyzing.

The way you laugh at his deadpan jokes—it’s too loud for the library but not loud enough to draw attention, just enough to pull his gaze toward you. It doesn’t matter that you’ve already heard that joke during last week’s study session; you laugh anyway, and the sound is unreasonably addictive. The way you ask for help even when he knows you don’t need it. Like last week, when you slid your notebook toward him with a confused pout.

“Can you help me with this? I don’t get it.”

He barely glanced at the equation. “You’re way too smart to not understand this.”

And then you laughed, a soft, warm sound that curled around his chest and lodged itself there. That laugh earned a solid 15 points on his internal ‘Possible Signs of Interest’ checklist, though he later downgraded it to 10 because he couldn’t account for external variables like your naturally kind disposition.

It’s infuriating. Why do feelings refuse to conform to logic?

He tries analyzing every interaction, mapping out probabilities and outcomes in the quiet corners of his mind. He’s drawn tables, diagrams, even flowcharts in an attempt to parse out the truth.

Was the way you leaned closer during study group last week a sign of interest? Or were you just trying to hear him better? Did the way you laughed at his dumb, offhand comment in class mean something? Or do you just laugh like that at everything?

Take today, for example: You brushed past him on your way to class, smiling and throwing over your shoulder, “See you at study group later!” That brief moment derailed his entire afternoon.

Did you linger when your arm touched his? Or was that just an accidental graze? Was your smile just friendly, or something more?

And why does he care so much?

Wonwoo spends the rest of the day distracted, his mind looping through possibilities like an endless algorithm stuck in an infinite while-loop. What’s worse is that he doesn’t even know what he wants the answer to be. A part of him craves certainty, some definitive sign that he should act on these feelings. But another part—a quieter, more cautious part—fears the idea of ruining the tenuous balance between you two.

Because what if he’s wrong? What if you’re just like this with everyone? What if he makes his move and you pull away, looking at him like he’s a problem to be solved instead of someone you enjoy spending time with?

By the time the study session rolls around, he’s teetering on the edge of complete disarray, not that he’d ever let it show.

Or so he thinks.

Because two hours in, he miscalculates an integral. An integral. Wonwoo never miscalculates anything.

You catch it immediately, tilting your head as you lean closer. He can feel the heat radiating off your skin, the soft rustle of your notebook as you shift it toward him.

“Are you okay, Wonwoo? You’re usually so precise,” you say, your voice light but with an edge of curiosity.

His ears burn. “Just tired,” he mumbles, avoiding your gaze as he corrects the mistake. He doesn’t add that it’s your proximity short-circuiting his brain, or that the way your hair falls over your shoulder is infinitely more distracting than any differential equation.

Your smirk lingers in his periphery, and he wonders if you can tell just how fast his heart is beating. He wonders if you feel the same strange, unexplainable pull that he does.

The study session stretches late into the evening. Most of the group has already packed up, and you’re the last one still typing away at your laptop when Wonwoo’s caffeine miscalculation finally catches up to him.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep—just the faint hum of your keyboard and the warm glow of the desk lamp. When he stirs slightly, he feels a ghosting touch against his face.

Your fingers are gentle as you slide his glasses off, careful not to wake him. He feels the cool metal leave his skin, followed by the soft brush of your thumb near the mark his nose pad left.

His heart lurches, and he has to force himself to keep his breathing even. A dozen thoughts rush through his mind all at once:

Is she doing this because she likes me?No, she’s just being considerate.But she’s touching my face.What does that mean? What does it mean if she’s touching my face?

He clenches his fists against the urge to open his eyes, to meet your gaze and demand answers. Instead, he forces himself to focus on the moment—the sound of your quiet breaths, the occasional click of your mouse, and the warmth that radiates from your side of the table.

For a fleeting moment, he thinks: Maybe emotions don’t always need to make sense. Maybe, just this once, he can let go of the need to understand everything.

Maybe, just this once, he can let himself feel.

Wonwoo doesn’t know how it’s come to this. One moment, he was perfectly content at home, considering a quiet evening spent debugging code or reorganizing his bookshelves. The next, Mingyu and Soonyoung were in his room, looming like conspirators with matching grins.

“You have to come,” Mingyu had said, tugging at the sleeves of Wonwoo’s sweatshirt. “It’s social interaction, it’s good for you. You’ll thank us later.”

“No, I won’t,” Wonwoo deadpanned, crossing his arms.

Soonyoung leaned in, holding up his phone with a smug look. “You sure about that? Because I might have accidentally taken a picture of that Venn diagram you made the other day.”

Wonwoo froze, his blood running cold. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, but I would.” Soonyoung’s grin widened. “And I bet someone would find it very… interesting.”

That was how he found himself lacing up his sneakers with a grim expression, muttering under his breath about betrayal and bad friends.

Now, standing awkwardly at the edge of a crowded house party, Wonwoo is reminded why he hates these things. The music is too loud, the lights are too dim, and there are far too many people moving unpredictably around him. He’s already considering texting Mingyu and Soonyoung to demand their exact location when he spots you.

You’re standing by the makeshift bar, laughing at something someone said, your smile so effortless it lights up the room in a way the cheap string lights never could. Wonwoo doesn’t mean to stare, but his feet move before his brain can catch up. He tells himself it’s because you’re familiar, a safe point of contact in an otherwise chaotic environment.

But deep down, he knows better.

“Wonwoo?” you call out, your eyes lighting up as you notice him approaching from the edge of the room.

He halts mid-step, caught somewhere between relief and apprehension, and forces out a casual, “Hey.” His hands disappear into his pockets, his fingers fidgeting with loose threads, unsure what else to do.

You grin, leaning one elbow against the counter, your drink swaying lazily in your other hand. “You don’t seem like the party type,” you tease, tilting your head to study him.

“I was... coerced,” he replies flatly, and the corner of your mouth quirks up as you laugh.

“Oh, let me guess.” You raise an eyebrow, pretending to think hard. “Mingyu? No, no—Soonyoung. Or both? Definitely both.”

“They’re... relentless,” Wonwoo admits, almost sounding offended, but there’s a faint twitch of a smile at the edges of his lips.

“Wow. Dragged out of your hobbit hole just to stand here and glare at people? They must’ve bribed you with something really good.”

He looks away, almost sheepishly. “Something like that.”

Your laugh rings out again, easy and unforced, and Wonwoo feels a little lighter despite himself. “Poor you,” you say, your voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Do you need a drink to cope? A strong one?”

He snorts. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Well, you made it out of the house, so I guess that’s something,” you say, stepping closer. “Though you do look like you’re two minutes away from bolting.”

He shrugs, his gaze flickering between you and the crowd. “It’s not my scene.”

“And yet, here you are,” you point out, your tone playful. “Is it for Mingyu? Or Soonyoung? Or…” You pause, a slow smile spreading across your face. “...someone else?”

His brain short-circuits at your words, but he does his best to play it cool. “I think they just wanted to ruin my night.”

“Hmm,” you hum, unconvinced but amused. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. It’s always fun seeing you outside your natural habitat. Like spotting a rare Pokémon.”

“Am I supposed to thank you for that?” he asks dryly, and you grin.

The two of you ease into conversation, the party blurring into background noise as you chat. Wonwoo listens intently, hanging onto your every word as if your voice alone could drown out the overwhelming din around him. He’s not even sure how much time has passed when you lean a little closer, the shift in your tone catching his attention.

“So,” you say, a conspiratorial grin tugging at your lips. “Do you have anyone you’re crushing on?”

He freezes. The words settle in his chest like a sudden, unsteady weight.

Does he? Of course, he does—you. But his brain stalls, caught between the truth and the absolute terror of saying it out loud. Instead of answering, he scrambles for something—anything—to say.

“I’m going to make an app,” he blurts out, the words tumbling from his mouth before he can stop them.

You blink, tilting your head. “An app?”

He nods, trying to steady his voice even though his heart feels like it’s about to burst. “Feelings confuse me. So I’m taking all the data I’ve collected and making an app to tell if someone’s interested. Algorithms are easier for me to understand, anyway.”

Your expression flickers between confusion and amusement before a slow smirk spreads across your face. “What data, Wonwoo?” you ask, setting your drink down and stepping closer.

His throat goes dry. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“Because if you’ve been collecting data,” you continue, your voice teasing as you close the distance between you, “I’d love to hear about it. What have you noticed?”

His pulse skyrockets as you reach for his hands, gently guiding them to rest on your waist. The warmth of your touch sends his mind spiraling, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. Your hands slide behind his neck, your fingers brushing against the sensitive skin there, and he feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff.

“I don’t know how much more obvious I could have been,” you murmur, your teasing tone softening into something warmer, more certain.

His mind blanks. He should say something—anything—but all he can do is stare at you, completely undone.

Then you lean in, your lips brushing against his, tentative at first, as if waiting for him to meet you halfway. And when he does—hesitant but earnest—you smile into the kiss, your fingers tangling gently in his hair, and it feels like the world stops spinning.

For Wonwoo, everything finally clicks.

It’s not a Venn diagram or a flowchart, and it doesn’t follow any logical formula, but it makes sense in a way he can’t explain. The way your hands fit behind his neck, the warmth of your body against his, the soft sigh that escapes you when his hands tighten on your waist—it’s all the proof he needs.

When you pull back, his head is spinning, but you’re still close, your breath mingling with his.

“So,” you say, your tone light but your eyes impossibly warm. “Do you still need that app?”

He chuckles softly, the sound unsteady but genuine. “No,” he admits, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips. “I think I’ve got all the data I need.”

You laugh, and the sound is music to his ears. For the first time in weeks—months, even—Wonwoo feels like he can stop overthinking, stop analyzing every little detail. He doesn’t need an algorithm, a chart, or a diagram to tell him what’s in front of him. Because some things don’t need to be solved.

Some things just need to be felt.

[onelinerbust]

Cas, a twenty-year-old Computer Science major, blended into the leafy, tranquil campus like a beige wallflower. His uniform consisted of oversized hoodies, perpetually stained sweatpants, and thick-rimmed glasses that magnified eyes glued to lines of code. Weekends were spent in the dimly lit computer lab, fueled by instant ramen and the glow of multiple monitors. Girls were an abstract concept, a theoretical variable he'd never quite managed to debug in the real world. His friends, equally nerdy and socially awkward, were his digital tribe.

One Thursday afternoon, while mindlessly scrolling through his phone during a particularly tedious lecture on algorithms, a notification buzzed.

*bzzt bzzt*

It was a text from an unknown number. He almost ignored it, mistaking it for spam, but the first line that popped in the notification snagged his attention. "Tired of being a beta, Cas?"

As he clicked the message, it's a long text that quite simply put.....jarring, offensive, and sounds like something that comes out from the particular corner of the internet that people thought dudes like Cas subscribed to

“You think this is all you deserve? Skinny arms, hunched shoulders, living in the digital shadows? Bullshit. You’re a white, all-American Alpha male. It’s your birthright to dominate. To take what’s yours. To conquer. Pussy is yours for the taking. It’s your reward. Liberals are weak, fags are pathetic, socialism is cancer. Real men build empires, not safe spaces. Imagine: Steel cut biceps, a chest that screams masculinity, the confidence to take any woman you desire. That's your true self, buried under layers of soy and self-doubt. It’s time to claim your birthright. Just accept it. Embrace what's right and you approve this message,"

As Cas finished reading, a peculiar tingling sensation spread through his body as his head started to spin. It started in his fingertips, then surged up his arms, across his chest, and down his legs. His clothes felt suddenly… constricting. He glanced down. The baggy sweater seemed to shrink-wrap around newly defined pecs and biceps. His sweatpants, once loose and comfortable, now strained against thicker thighs. His posture straightened, shoulders broadening, neck thickening. Even his face felt different as his jawline hardening, the soft, almost cherubic roundness vanishing in instance.

As the finality of the transformation hit him, he blinked, and his reflection in the phone screen stared back, completely foreign. The thick glasses were gone, replaced by 20/20 vision as if he went through that LASIK surgery he discussed to his parents back during Christmas. His hair, once thin and greasy, was now styled into an effortless slight curl. His posture, gone was the timid slouch; in its place stood a posture radiating an almost predatory confidence as he absent-mindedly checked the set of abs that adorned his torso like an armor. His eyes, previously sparkled with knowledge but filled with anxiety, now held a flinty, assertive glint. He instinctively knew the transformation went beyond just his body, it's something more. A surge of testosterone, or something akin to it, flooded his senses. He felt….....powerful. Angry. Entitled.

He flexed a bicep, a ripple of lean muscle confirming the unbelievable shift. The air around him seemed to crackle with a newfound energy. The leafy, predominantly liberal campus all of a sudden felt like his personal domain, ripe for the taking. A smirk curled his lips. This new reality, this aggressive, dominant persona, felt… right.

Around him, it seems like no one noticed anything weird that one of their kind just transformed into an entity clearly not belonged in a Computer Science major classes. So, without hesitation, a new thought, crass yet compelling, took hold. Maybe it's time to onboard everyone to be on the same page as him then. He opened his class group chat, his fingers now moving with a certainty and speed he'd never possessed. He copied the transformative text, added a casual, "Lol, check this sh*t out," and hit send.

Within seconds, replies started flooding in. "WTF is this, Cas?" then, "Dude, are you serious?" followed by a confused, "Wait… I feel kinda… different?" A flicker of amusement danced in Cas’s eyes as he watched a ripple of confusion, then a dawning understanding, spread through the digital ether. He caught a glimpse of Trey, a lanky classmate, across the classroom, smiling at him with a smug knowing smirk in his now much more handsome, confident face, his fingers about to press "Enter" and spread the chaos further

Leslie, this quiet red-head girl no one would even look twice right behind Mark, abruptly altered to become this fit babe fitting to be fucked by the now handsome jockish Mark. Her once dull, short hair turned into this blonde messy bun, her eyes sparkled a rather antagonistic glint as her clothes turned into a set of alo apparel looking more fitting for a yoga session rather than an algorithmic lecture.

The subtle tremors of transformation had begun. Cas leaned back in his chair, a predator surveying his newly claimed hunting ground, the suggestive, transformative text message now an unseen virus, rewriting the reality of the campus, one insecure nerd at a time.

[timmydraker]

Thinking about Vampire Tim AU and him saving Bruce via turning.

None of the Drakes are actually Vampires, at least not permanently. It was a very strange instance that occurred out of pure chance and coincidence.

A pregnant Janet Drake in a foreign country having a run in with a starving vampire rouge that bite her just a few days before she gave birth.

Instead of the curse spreading to her, the labour of her child pushed and the spreading of lifeform spread to her baby as it was born. The child looked healthy, had no inhuman features, and they assumed her being so sick was simply the fact she was about to give birth.

Tim doesn’t realise what he is for a while purely because his parents are vegan and, until he was seven and had some beef from a classmates lunch, hadn’t had any blood enter his mouth.

Having to teach himself everything, Tim learned to manage both his hunger and abilities as quickly as he could. He studied history and mythos and did several test to figure out the limits to what he needed and could do.

He learnt that he could heal via blood, that he could go without air for days, and that his hearing was normal though his sense of smell was enough to distinguish blood types.

He learn that he could go two weeks without blood before it became a problem, but if he pushed it past three weeks he would start to experience literally decay.

Tim disconcerted his saving grace was that the hunger wasn’t as uncontrollable as people made it out to be in movies and books. At most, it was just like normal human hunger or thirst, and he was aware there was a huge variable in him being raised rather poorly.

He keeps it hidden for years, but then when he’s nineteen Bruce dies.

Not Batman, Bruce.

They got in a car crash of all things, the other drive running after they drove them off the road on the extremely rare instance that Alfred wasn’t driving.

Tim watched the tree branch in his foster father’s chest for several minutes as he thought about his options. Bruce was dead upon impact, gone with only the last wisps of life hanging to him.

Bruce was a father.

Batman was needed.

Even though it would out what he was, Tim forced his several sharp teeth out, all needle sharp and long enough his jaw had to unhinge slightly, and bit into his own wrist. The fangs, an inch long each, dug into his skin painfully before moving to dig into each of Bruce’s wrist and then finally his neck.

Tim smeared the blood into all three wounds and then squeezed as much as he could into Bruce’s mouth.

He had no idea how he knew what to do, trusting the instinct the curse seemed to just… give him.

When Bruce begins to breath again, Clark finally shows up. It’s been a total of eleven minutes and Tim only realises that the other took so long because he had been off planet, yet he is grateful because if he had been there…

Tim instructs Clark on how to cover up the scene, removing the cars and getting Bruce to the cave.

Dick is freaking out, worrying over his brothers ripped clothes and Bruce’s clear injuries, but Tim is quiet.

He takes Bruce’s medical cot and leads them both into a containment cell and then seals it, implementing his own lock as well as one of Bruce’s so no one can open it. He can hear someone banging on the glass a few times but he ignores it to stand over his father’s side and wait for him to wake up.

Naturally, when the older man does he’s panicked and screening Tim’s name.

Tim smiles at him sadly before taking hold of his hand, which Bruce immediately process as wrong.

“Why aren’t I dead?”

Smile growing sadder before fading to an almost formal look, Tim squeezed his hand before pulling away.

“I know you’ve had your suspicions and I thank you for trusting me regardless, but you are right. I’m not human Bruce, and now… you aren’t either.”

He lets the worlds settle for just a moment before continuing, knowing the other will want all the information he can. They’re both so similar in that way.

“I was born a vampire, I will always be a vampire. I will explain that all to you soon, but what you need to know is this: you do not need to drink human blood, you will not loose control over your thirst if you allow me to train you, and yes I had no choice. Gotham needs Batman and I-… I need my father. I will not apologise for my selfishness, but I am sorry you have to be like me.”

Bruce is quiet but he doesn’t move to kick Tim out, nor does he shout at him or cry in betrayal.

He’s surprised, but not more than Tim had ever seen before.

It’s almost an hour of silence between them before Bruce speaks again, “You… you are actually nineteen?”

Tim scoffs and Bruce glares, which makes Tim smile more, “I am. My body will age until around twenty five, at least that’s my hypothesis. If you are turned you stay the age you were, but I was born.”

Bruce nods and after a moment reaches out for his son’s hand.

Another silence before he squeezes it, “Have you told the others about… this change?”

Tim winces, “I tried to keep us separated because I knew you would worry for hurting someone, but I knew Damian would break in if he couldn’t listen so…”

“Ah. Understood.”

Then, in another rare instance that Tim thought he wouldn’t see for at least another few years, Bruce opens his arms to him for a hug.

Naturally, Tim crumbles into his father’s arms and sobs louder than a war drum.

Bruce kisses his head and holds him tight, a vampire embrace.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hat in hand, thank you for your time, sex ed question: do orgasms from masturbation and orgasms from partnered sex actually feel different? Is it just the intimacy that makes people like it more?

hi anon,

great question, and I'm about to make a real meal of it.

so, first off, let's make one thing clear: the mechanisms that create an orgasm are the same regardless of the cause. no matter what's getting you off, regardless of what part of your body is being stimulated, it's the same nerves and muscles responding.

that may sound obvious, but it hasn't always. Freud, for instance, advanced the idea that vaginal and clitoral orgasms were fundamentally different, and that women who preferred to orgasm by touching their clitoris were less psychologically mature than women who preferred vaginal orgasms. fast forward to now, and we know the only difference between a clitoral and vaginal orgasm is that clitoral orgasms are generally easier, thanks to the incredible amount of nerve endings - and that many orgasms that result from vaginal penetration result at least in part from the large internal portion of the clitoris being stimulated through the vaginal wall. huge W for the clit!

now, having said that: just because the mechanics are the same doesn't mean that every orgasm is going to fee identical, or that every single thing that could produce an orgasm is going to actually work for everyone. sex with a partner can feel very different from sex with a vibrator which can feel very different from sex with just your hand, and even those individual methods aren't going to result in the exact same experience every time. there are a tremendous number of factors that influence arousal and sexual response, including many that have nothing to do with sex directly but nonetheless impact your body and mind and the way stimuli is received.

think of it as being similar to a meal - you could eat the exact same food, prepared the same way, two times and still feel very differently about depending on other factors in your day. when you're in a good mood, enjoying a day off, and able to sit with your food for as long as you like with no rush, you might savor the meal much more, take the time to appreciate the individual flavors and ingredients, and eat more in a single sitting. you might spend the rest of the day thinking about how good the food was, and look forward eagerly to the leftovers. whereas if you come to lunch on a short break from work, unable to devote much time to eating and already stressed out from an unpleasant day, you may be more likely to eat quickly to sate your hunger and zip back to work without taking much time to think about the food at all, because the meal is just fuel to keep going.

neither of these ways of eating are wrong; they both serve different needs and have a time and place. while I'd love to be able to cherish each meal, I'm certainly not going to pretend that I never eat just to have enough fuel to keep chugging until the next meal.

and, to extend this metaphor: we were imagining that was the exact same food, eaten under two very different circumstances. now factor in the infinite different kinds of food a person could eat in infinite different situations. now imagine that it's things that make you cum instead of food (which are still the same thing, for somebody out there, and to them I say congrats for speedrunning this one), and you've got a pretty good grasp on how infinitely variable the experience of orgasm is.

so: do orgasms with partners actually feel different? sure, but only in the sense that all orgasms can feel different from each other.

partnered orgasms can come with a lot of extra bells and whistles thanks to involving a whole other person (or multiple people), which opens the door to many more forms of stimulation than most people can manage on their own, as well as some inherent unpredictability - while you can, obviously, know exactly how you plan to touch yourself and receive pretty immediate feedback to how it makes you feel, but with other people you gain both the ability to be surprised and the necessity of much more communication than solo sex. all of that means that partnered sex can be a pretty substantially different experience than getting off alone - not necessarily worse or better, but definitely different, and definitely not just because of how the orgasm feels.

so why do people like it more? well, not all people do. for some people, it's vastly easier and more comfortable to just get off alone. some people like partnered sex but don't orgasm easily in the process; I'm one of those! I think I've had a grand total of one (1) sexual partner who could reliably get me off, but that didn't mean I wasn't having fun with the others - orgasm just wasn't a priority, because I went in knowing I'd probably need to finish myself off if I wanted to cum and didn't sweat it.

of course, the opposite also exists - for some people, masturbation doesn't do jack shit, and partnered sex is the way to go. some people only get off, or vastly prefer to get off, to scenarios that necessitate the presence of other people. some people aren't that interested in sex for the sake of sex, but like having a sense of connection with their partner(s).

and for many, there's no need to have a preference between getting off alone or with a partner in the first place - they're filling two different needs, without needing to be compared. why pit two bad bitches against each other? for me, getting myself off is easy and convenient, and having sex with someone else is a great way to play. both good, both serving totally different niches in my life.

tl;dr: variety in all things, babes.

[aventurineswife]

helos fre :3 random but any thoughts on self aware hsr 🙏🙏 ngl it's absolute peak to me cuz the fics I've read about it is so good I wanna digest it into my blood cells 😍🥰🥰/hj /lh

AHHHH I HAVE FEW BUT ITS PROBABLY NOT GOOD 😭🙏 (I might need to write a series about it in the future lmaoo)

The Express itself, and the crew aboard it, start referencing an "observer" that influences their journey. They might leave cryptic remarks like, "We wouldn’t have made it here without a guiding force…" or, "Are you out there, watching us?"

Himeko and Welt have deep discussions about the metaphysical implications of being part of a "game." Welt's past in other dimensions makes him particularly reflective.

Occasionally, your Trailblazer might break the fourth wall and stare directly "out" of the screen. They’d ask questions like, "Why are you helping us? What’s in it for you?" Or even, "Do you think you’re doing the right thing?"

Their dialogue changes subtly depending on your in-game decisions, showing that they’re paying attention.

Kafka is one of the few who seems fully aware that you’re pulling the strings. She might tease, "How long will you keep playing this game? Or is it playing you?" It’s unclear if she means it literally or as a metaphor.

Pela starts digging into the concept of "higher dimensions" where powerful entities (like the players) influence their world. You might find hidden journal entries speculating about the possibility of unseen forces guiding their lives.

Characters start commenting on how often you farm the same materials or run the same domains (?). For instance, Dan Heng might say, "You’ve had me fight this exact enemy over fifty times… What are you preparing for?"

When summoning characters, some of them might react to being "chosen." For example: Silver Wolf might say, "Took you long enough. Were you saving for someone else?" While Seele could mutter, "You really wanted me, didn’t you?"

As beings tied to the metaphysical order of the universe, the Aeons might perceive your existence. Xianzhou scholars hypothesize that you are an entity akin to an Aeon of "Control" or "Fate."

The Stellaron within the Trailblazer seems to have an awareness of you, treating you like an ally—or a potential threat. It might whisper cryptic messages about your choices or consequences.

Herta becomes suspicious of the odd behaviors in the universe and starts referring to you as a "prime variable." She might even try to communicate directly through simulated events, asking for your cooperation.

Some characters, like March 7th or Natasha, might express gratitude for your care and attention. "You always bring me along… Do you think I’m special?" they might ask, breaking the fourth wall.

Certain antagonists, like Cocolia or Jade, might break from their usual dialogue to challenge your decisions. "You think you’re the hero? You’re just another player, aren’t you?"

A secret cutscene or dialogue could play if you act in unexpected ways, revealing that the characters have fully realized their reality. It could be bittersweet, with them either embracing or lamenting their lack of agency.

Aventurine might acknowledge your influence subtly. After completing a mission for the IPC, he sends a message: "Noticed your knack for efficiency. You deserve a little bonus for all the extra effort you 'inspire.' Don’t let it go to your head." He attaches an unusually large amount of credits, as though recognizing you directly for optimizing his profits.

Argenti might kneel before the screen during a heartfelt moment (or after a battle): "O noble guide, it is your divine hand that shapes my path! I dedicate my blade not just to the people, but to you. May your will continue to shine upon us!" He also gifts you rare items or sends messages of gratitude, as though you're a divine figure he serves.

AHHH I wanna write fics for certain characters or something (this could also lead to yandere themes depending if the person/anon reqs for it).

[serpentface]

how do you come up with the ways cultures in your setting stylize people/animals/the world in general in their artwork, i.e. jewlery, rock carvings, statues, etc? Each culture in your world seems to have a very unique "art style" and I love it a lot - makes them seem that much more 'real'. This is something I struggle with a lot in my own worldbuilding and I'd love to pick your brain if possible 😁

I think a starting point is to have a research process based in the material realities of the culture you're designing for. Ask yourself questions like:

Where do they live? What's the climate/ecosystem(s) they are based in? What geographic features are present/absent?

What is their main subsistence method? (hunter gatherer, seasonal pastoralist, nomadic pastoralist, settled agriculturalist, a mix, etc)

What access to broader trade networks do they have and to whom? Are there foreign materials that will be easily accessible in trade and common in use, or valuable trade materials used sparingly in limited capacities?

Etc

And then do some research based on the answers, in order to get a sense of what materials they would have routine access to (ie dyes, metal, textiles, etc) and other possible variables that would shape how the art is made and what it's used for. This is just a foundational step and won't likely play much into designing a Style.

If you narrow these questions down very specifically, (ie in the context of the Korya post- grassland based mounted nomads, pastoralist and hunter-gatherer subsistence, access to wider trade networks and metals), you can direct your research to specific real world instances that fit this general idea. This is not to lift culturally specific concepts from the real world and slap them into your own setting, but to notice commonalities this lifestyle enforces - (ie in the previous example- mounted nomadic peoples are highly mobile and need to easily carry their wealth (often on clothing and tack) therefore small, elaborate decorative artwork that can easily be carried from place to place is a very likely feature)

For the details of the art itself, I come up with loose 'style guides' (usually just in my head) and go from there.

Here's some example questions for forming a style (some are more baseline than others)

Are geometric patterns favored? Organic patterns? Representative patterns (flowers, animals, stars, etc)? Abstract patterns?

Is there favored material(s)? Beads, bone, clay, metals, stones, etc.

When depicting people/animals, is realism favored? Heavy stylization? The emotional impression of an animal? Are key features accentuated?

How perspective typically executed? Does art attempt to capture 3d depth? Does it favor showing the whole body in 2 dimensions (ie much of Ancient Egyptian art, with the body shown in a mix of profile and forward facing perspective so all key attributes are shown)? Will limbs overlap? Are bodies shown static? In motion?

Does artwork of people attempt to beautify them? Does it favor the culture's conception of the ideal body?

Are there common visual motifs? Important symbols? Key subject matters?

What is the art used for? Are its functions aesthetic, tutelary, spiritual, magical? (Will often exist in combination, or have different examples for each purpose)

Who is represented? Is there interest in everyday people? Does art focus on glorifying warriors, heroes, kings?

Are there conventions for representing important figures? (IE gods/kings/etc being depicted larger than culturally lesser subjects)

Is there visual shorthand to depict objects/concepts that are difficult to execute with clarity (the sun, moon, water), or are invisible (wind, the soul), or have no physical component (speech)?

Etc

Deciding on answers to any of these questions will at least give you a unique baseline, and you can fill in the rest of the gaps and specify a style further until it is distinct. Many of these questions are not mutually exclusive, both in the sense of elements being combined (patterns with both geometric and organic elements) or a culture having multiple visual styles (3d art objects having unique features, religious artwork having its own conventions, etc).

Also when you're getting in depth, you should have cultural syncretism in mind. Cultures that routinely interact (whether this interaction is exchange or exploitation) inevitably exchange ideas, which can be especially visible in art. Doing research on how this synthesizing of ideas works in practice is very helpful- what is adopted or left out from an external influence, what is retained from an internal influence, what is unique to this synthesis, AND WHY. (I find Greco-Buddhist art really interesting, that's one of many such examples)

Looking at real world examples that fit your parameters can be helpful (ie if I've decided on geometric patterns in my 'style guide', I'll look at actual geometric patterns). And I strongly encourage trying to actually LEARN about what you're seeing. All art exists in a context, and having an understanding of how the context shapes art, how art does and doesn't relate to broader aspects of a society, etc, can help you when synthesizing your own.

[directdogman]

Hi, I hope this isn't a bother. I'm trying to make a dating sim and want to have a section where the player inputs their pronouns (like you gave the option to in Dial Town). Despite my hours of effort though, I can't figure out how to do it. I'm using Visual Novel Machinery for Unreal Engine (because Unreal is required for the class I'm making this for). Even if you aren't familiar with it though, just the basic 'pull code from here and input there' would be so helpful. I'm sure I can piece it together in a way Unreal will understand with a bit of help. Legit though, I made unreal crash twice when I tried to run the initial code for it, so I'm at a loss. Side note: Your games are so awesome and a big part of why I want to make a dating sim to begin with. I wish you all the peace and love on planet earth!

Hello hello:

The trick is using a string for every instance of a pronoun in player dialogue (which is just a variable set of letters.) They, them, their, theirs, etc. Be careful when you set the system up as some pronouns don't conjugate for all cases. For instance, their and theirs are separate words, as are her/hers, but his uses the same word for both pronouns.

You also have to account for case too. This is how I set it up (this is all done right when the pronoun is first entered btw):

1)let the user input a pronoun for each option. each pronoun is a different string, one for each pronoun type (you'll see my list below)

2)i then use a script command right after that to turn all of the pronoun strings entered to lower case. This is account for players possibly capitalizing the first letter in the pronoun instinctively. IE: characters won't say: "Hey, where's He going?" instead of "he going?", which is correct.

How you convert to lowercase is different for each programming language, but I bet there's an equivalent command in UE.

3)Then I copy each pronoun twice, essentially creating two duplicates for each lower case pronoun (so there's now 3 identical pronouns for her, three for hers, etc.)

4)For the second set, I run a command that capitalizes the first and only first letter of each separately (this is useful for if a sentence starts with a pronoun, meaning the first letter would be upper case in that sentence. EG: His cowboy hat looks RIDICULOUS.)

5)for the third set, i then turn the whole string upper case. this is useful for if a character speaks in all caps or if the character is shouting/emphasizing. (EG: "Where's HE going?!")

At the end, this is what my list of strings looks like, hopefully helping you visualize what I've done:

Then, when a pronoun is referenced in dialogue, I use the string that matches the correct version of the pronoun I need. So for he, i use #6 normally, #12 if it's the start of a sentence and #18 if the character is shouting. it's good to keep a list like this handy so you don't have to go looking every time you write dialogue.

The big other thing to watch out for is how plural pronouns affect verbs. He and she IS, but they ARE. I have the player tell the game whether or not their pronoun of choice is plural after they're entered it in and then simply load two separate versions of each sentence with one set for ises and one for ares.

You can also make some more blank name variables to use for verbs and have the game check if the pronoun's plural and then reference a string like with the pronouns (ie, having a string for is that changes to are if plural and using that in dialogue.) Both solutions generally work and I use both for different situations in dialogue.

Beyond that, I can't really give any engine specific advice, but this is how I do it. Best of luck with your game! :)

[fluff-n-cookies]

Hello :)

Could you please do and platonic Aizawa x daughter reader?

His daughter is in her teen years so she is being like really rebel and all that so they fought a lot, but one day she just breaksdown during one fight and starts crying and apologizing for being a shitty daughter?

I have been avoiding this for so long, and it's all because I have no idea how aizawa would handle something like this. because it goes against everything that Aizawa would try and teach his kid so this may be a little forcefully written, apologies.

TW : unhealthy parenting, mental illness, some suicidal thoughts, probably angsty shit, I dunno, read at your own risk.

We can start this by walking through how this may start in the first place. I think the best place to start is that reader's mom left her and Aizawa when she was very young, and Aizawa, assuming here he didn't understand how to properly tell her why her mother left her, never tells her why.

Now reader is very young so she might blame one of two things.

herself

her father

While both instances would technically work, I think the more favorable option is she blames herself since a young child would probably never blame an adult they look up to and hold dear as the problem.

Up to this point her father has been really kind to her so the only other variable is her, this spirals into social anxiety, low self esteem, and depression. all of which don't help when you have an absent mother and a neglectful father who is both a teacher and a full time hero, which leaves little to no room for children.

(this is also why I think it isn't realistic for Aizawa to keep Eri or a child without another non-hero caretaker. Fight me, I dare you.)

As time goes on, and this child becomes a teenager, she might not know how to properly express her feeling and after being misguided by factors like the internet, other adults, and "friends" she might take out the feeling of being abandoned on her closest caretaker and another source of her problems; Aizawa.

if you purposely yell at him or start arguments it's not going to be very fun because Aizawa has this complex where if his students or other heros represent incompetence or arrogance he expels them or ignores him rather than explaining it to them and helping them improve, this is especially with students.

and since he lacks a true connection with you as his daughter mainly because of his job(s) and past with Oboro which he is still trying to heal from keeping him from bonding with you, he'll treat you as a student like the rest of the teenagers he knows. and even then, you may actually be treated worse than his students because while he interacts with them daily, he interacts with maybe 1 hour every other day.

so from all that he simply ignores you, just stops interacting with you entirely, he's too tired for your bullshit. this action makes the wedge between you two even worse.

if you keep persisting though he will yell back but it's often really short and really loud. something like "SHUT UP" a cold "I don't care." before slamming the door in your face. He knows it's probably not right to do that to your daughter but let's face it. you're just this annoying teenager he legally has to live with if he doesn't want to lose his hero and teaching license.

this is where things actually get very interesting, because let's assume he stops approaching you entirely, you just live in the same house nothing more than that, and while you may act like you hate your father for ruining your family and neglecting you all your life on the outside, remember, you're still that little kid in second grade that blames yourself for your mother leaving and your father not caring for you.

so let's say you realize this and go back to blaming yourself for everything like you did when you where a kid but since your father stopped talking to you entirely explaining your faults to him maybe difficult.

this where my personal experiences come in, I've actually had this happen to me in my own life, and I truely hope that you'll enjoy it. thank you.

---------

why is it that the voices are the loudest in the dead of night?

the moon is gone, the birds are silent, there isn't a single light that shines on your tear streaked face, puffly, swollen, sad, just sad.

years of confusion, neglect, a lack of love in it's purest form.

all because of you.

it's all because of you.

it's sings so prettily, like it's a church choir spreading the word of the lord like it's common knowledge.

it's common knowledge that you are a terrible person!

it cackles.

the urge to strangle yourself to finally feel some relief has never been stronger.

lie awake in the dead of night, in pitch darkness, a proper scenery to match ones broken and cracked soul, be careful, you might hurt yourself, again.

however, one cannot weep in their wallows forever.

the night has to make way for the morning sun.

and a relaxed self pity has to make way to dread.

dread.

dread of him, he who you blame for everything, everything you know is your fault.

it's all your fault.

a click at the door,

the creak of the old wood and the hinges never oiled.

mild thumping footsteps that wander around the apartment that can barely hold your overflowing buckets of tears.

you can mumble out all your pleas.

pleas that this is all a terrible nightmare and your real life is actually one with a kind and loving mother and a supportive and encouraging father.

mumble out the little lies that you made up all these years to make yourself feel worse and other better.

"it's pointless to keep trying."

"I wish I wasn't here."

"why can't I just be happy?"

"it's all my fault,

it's all my fault,

it's all my fault."

the thin walls don't do those in mourning justice though.

for the wind is calm, the branches don't dare to move, the owls, the bats, the sleeping heros in training downstairs don't make a peep.

for the only ones alive, awake, aware, is a man beaten down and broken by society serving as it's protector, ignoring the one in most need of protection all this time. With him is a girl. a girl that's scared, scared of her mirror image that haunts her, a girl who's cried an ocean, screamed a thousand wails of pain, a girl lost in her own heart,

"No wonder no one loves you."

you lie again.

but keen ears trained from years of work with villains hears you, for the first time, he hears you.

not the rebellious teen he's seen yell out strings of pure hatred and fiery insults like he's her own worst enemy.

it's the girl who he saw waiting on the steps to their apartment all those years ago. waiting for her mama to come back home with the promise of cupcakes.

it's the girl who never smiled for the remainder of elementary school.

it's the girl who's heart withered way that autumn evening.

he heard the softest little voice in the dead of night. he heard his daughter cry

"No wonder no one loves you."

.

.

.

"But I love you."

for that whole night, for that whole night.

the peace was disturbed.

for that whole night, it seemed that the moon shone once again.

it may not be the sun. but it'll do for now.

Aizawa walked away shortly after that.

leaving a little girls and her mirror image to ponder.

ponder.

---------

Afterwards I don't think he'd talk about it too much, he's proabably approach you after breakfast the next morning and tell you "you can talk to him about it if you want." but not much more than that

he definitely would change his practices though. like getting you a therapist, taking the weekends off in favor of being around the house more.

he'll let you get used to his presence first like one would with a cat, and one day. maybe years later, or tomorrow, you'll talk to him.

you'll tell him you love him too.

and maybe.

just maybe.

the world will stop,

and everything will be okay.