#making a note to consider making things sharper/less bubbly when i finally start working on personal projects

[twinklepuzzle]

As a software developer who mostly works with web apps, I may have an answer for this. And there's two main points that I want to address: 1) why are things bubbles and 2) why is *everything* bubbles.

Why are things bubbles?

This one I don't have as much of a definite answer for but my hypothesis boils down to "it looks more modern". It looks more modern because things *used* to be all squares. At first I'm sure they were squares bc squares are easier to make (the computer doesn't have to do any math or anything, it's just straight lines), but squares look older. Side note: I think this is also part of why things aren't shaded as much (think of the old windows XP start button, how it had shading to make it look like it had volume. Now it looks "old" bc it was on windows XP which is old).

So, round == modern, square == old. Bc things used to be square and we can show off by making things *not* square bc computers can make curves now when they couldn't when computers were new. It doesn't matter if it actually looks *new* new anymore, so long as it doesn't look *old*. (Bc businesspeople, stakeholders, etc care a lot about not looking outdated. Fun fact: ppl in certain manufacturing niches *hate* things that look too modern and will reject software that looks too fancy)

Why is *everything* bubbles?

Software devs want you to be able to quickly and intuitively figure out how to use their site/app/whatever. A big way to make that easier is by maintaining consistency between sites. Consistency is why you know what certain icons mean (even when they aren't super obvious); the same icon is used for the same thing in multiple places, so you just know that's what it means (and it's confusing or annoying when the icon is used for something else). It's how kids know that a floppy disk is the save icon even tho they've never seen or used a floppy disk.

You might think "okay, that makes sense for icons and things that are actually *functional* but what does that have to do with shapes?" and that's a good question!! The thing is that because things have gotten so consistent, and people hate change (remember when Tumblr moved the reblog button to the bottom of posts and everyone was mad?), I could see the assumption being made that users will immediately notice how sharp a site is and will be disoriented or annoyed or otherwise put off because it's different. So nobody wants to break the trend bc what if it makes people reject your app as a whole? Then you've put in all that effort for nothing, and your target audience will not be reached.

So everyone wants to look similar in form to everyone else bc consistency is good. To differenciate their app, they focus on color palettes or a unique feature or fitting a specific niche, rather than interesting shapes or layouts.

Also. Just realized this could be relevant, but there's a tool/library/package that you can use on your website for free; it's called Material and it's made by google. It's easy to use, and it has built-in animations and things that seem really fancy and are normally difficult or annoying or time-consuming to set up from scratch. So it gets used a lot! And Material, afaik, makes things rounded (if not bubbles) my default (you can apply your own styling to it but I don't think most ppl bother beyond size and color).

In conclusion

It's because it looks modern, is convenient, and makes it easier to get used to an app/makes the average user less likely to reject the app on the basis of it being different. I'm not saying that those things are the views of the general public, or that they're particularly accurate, but they're based on what I've seen and heard a lot in my work and schooling (and from what other more experienced devs have said they've heard).

It isn't *necessarily* a good or a bad thing; part of it is almost certainly driven by capitalism, some of it is probably out of desperation or feeling like they *have* to in order to be/stay relevant, and some of it is just thinking it looks clean/cool/modern. I don't have any real suggestions for how to change it since it *is* so pervasive, but if you really don't like the bubbly look, be vocal about it and support things that use a sharper look!

The purpose of this was basically to infodump and maybe bring up some interesting points, give an insider perspective, whatever. I personally like a rounded look and a square look, they're both good for their own reasons.

oh the notes bubble is disgusting. get that out of my sight

[autumnslance]

Prompt #28: Attune

((This got much longer than expected. I blame DadCat. This really leans on my ideas on shuffling the timeline of Job quests and MSQ events for Aeryn’s story))

The rafters shook from the force of the winds outside, but the Church of Saint Adama Landama was sturdier than it appeared, holding against the sandstorm as it had so many others.

Even if it was a bit creaky.

“Glad we got those new window panes in and the shutters repaired,” X’rhun said from the pew where he lounged, his extravagant hat pulled over his eyes. “We can all stay snug--and far less sandy--in here until the storm passes.”

Aeryn didn’t respond; if she had nodded he obviously couldn’t tell with his eyes covered, and so he reached a gloved hand up to pull his hat just far enough aside to look at the young hyur woman, in the next pew--turned so these back rows faced one another, for visitors to wait to see the priest. She was watching one of the shuttered windows, a faraway look on her face.

X’rhun sat up, swinging his legs back to the floor, the thump of his boots striking the wood not even getting a twitch from her, though it had been audible enough for Father Iliud and Marques across the sanctuary to look up briefly, before returning to their own holy work. X’rhun leaned forward, contemplating Aeryn. He knew someone lost in memories when he saw one, and this young lady was in danger of getting mired in her own thoughts.

X’rhun cleared his throat and pitched his voice low, but a tad sharper than necessary. “Aeryn? Feeling all right?”

She did start this time, blinking as if waking, realizing where--and when--she was. She focused in on X’rhun quickly and gave him a smile and a nod.

He relaxed and returned the smile. “We haven’t much else to do at the moment; care to share what’s so occupied your thoughts?”

As if he didn’t know--still, he and the old priest had been trying to get the naturally quiet girl to open up, even a little, after what she had been through.

She seemed to consider his request, clearing her throat and wetting her lips with the last bit of water in her cup. “The first time I came to this part of Thanalan, there was a sandstorm then, too. I was traveling with one of the archons--Thancred. We hid in an abandoned house he knew of, had used before. Just us and our chocobos, and naught to do but talk. Spoke more that evening than I had in awhile--I get the feeling he did, too, in a way.” She stopped, looked to say more, but then simply shrugged.

“Was that when you killed Ifrit?” X’rhun asked.

Aeryn looked at him. “That wasn’t supposed to happen,” she said. “We came to Drybone to investigate the kidnappings, and found amalj’aa involvement. We feared one of the sisters here might be working with them, but were able to clear her--it was a merchant from Ul’dah. He led a unit of Flames and myself into an ambush, in those ruins up the road.”

She paused again, looking down to pick at a loose thread on the edge of her jacket.

“Whereupon they drug you to the Bowl of Embers, domain of the Lord of the Inferno, and you won your fame by taking down the primal single-handed,” Xrhun said, repeating the tale told with varying degrees of exaggeration in taverns across Thanalan.

Aeryn’s frown deepened as she kept studying the stray strand. “Do you know what happens to those the primal tempers?” She asked, whispering.

“I...No, actually,” he replied. He sometimes wondered, and there were rumors, but it had never been information he had need to pursue.

“There’s no cure,” she whispered. He had to strain to hear her. “No way to reverse it. The primals can’t temper me--the Echo protects me. Everyone else--the merchant, the Flame soldiers, the amalj’aa--became Ifrit’s puppets. No other thought in their heads but him.”

A shiver ran through X’rhun. “Dear gods,” he whispered back.

She looked at him, mist gathered in her grey eyes. “They will work tirelessly to resummon their deity,” she told him. “So, with grief and regret, they are executed. In secret. I didn’t know, until Thancred told me, after--he had been delayed, so wasn’t caught in the ambush. Came with more Flames, and we escaped, but it was too late for the unit I was with.”

“And it is kept secret to prevent panic,” X’rhun said, woodenly. There was the old, righteous rage rising in his breast and making his tail puff, but he fought it down. Such thoughtless passions belonged to younger men, and had caused him enough trouble in his youth when giving in to them.

Making himself stay objective now, he was able to note a curious thing: Aeryn had neither refuted nor confirmed the stories of her battle with Ifrit, let alone boasted of it--her concern was entirely for those souls lost to the Inferno.

It tracked with her rushing to rescue that girl, and her surprise at his willingness to share the reward, when Aeryn had arrived too late to do aught but help escort the child back to her family.

“And the storm put you in mind of all this?” He asked.

She nodded. “I remembered the storm where Thancred and I talked, and then the investigations, and then the Bowl of Embers, and after.”

And here he had been afraid she was reliving her battle with Titan and what had come after that--the sisters had told him of the state of the Scions’ bodies, and he had even seen a few for himself, as they were cleaned, wrapped, and buried in the communal graves. They had deserved better, but the number of dead and the heat had dictated necessity.

“I still don’t know where Thancred is. Where any of the living Scions are, if they’re still alive, and I feel...useless, sitting here. I don’t know where to go, or what to do, but there must be something,” Aeryn said, the words coming in a sudden quiet deluge. Her nails had pulled the thread entirely, ripping a line in the fabric. “The ones that were taken could be in any of the Castrums scattered through the realm, or as dead as our colleagues I had to bury. The ones who weren’t taken I don’t know if they know to come here, but it’s been days already and no one’s come, and the linkpearls are just static.”

There it was. X’rhun reached over and put a hand on hers, stopping the violent pull of thread. She froze for a moment, then seemed to go boneless, shoulders slumping, head down, loose black hair obscuring her face, but she was likely blushing. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“Naught to apologize for,” he assured her, giving her hand a squeeze. She was struggling to maintain her composure; he felt the trembling through her slim form. “I’m actually quite glad you’ve expressed your frustration.” She did not look at him fully, but her puzzlement was evident. He smiled. “You tend to be quiet, keeping things rather close to your chest. But there are times a body just must express all it feels. There’s nothing wrong with that, my girl.”

Iliud was ushering Marques and Ourcen out of the sanctuary, leaving only X’rhun and Aeryn and the howling winds outside. The door to the priests’ living quarters clicked shut.

X’rhun kept his hand on hers and counted in his head. He was not quite to two minutes when she asked, shakily, “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” He kept his voice as gentle as possible. Not what he expected, but it was a start.

“I haven’t known you long,” she said. “But you’re one of the genuinely kindest souls I’ve ever met. You help people and enjoy the simple, bright things in life, and smile--and I know it’s despite so much pain, carried in you like a weight…”

He wondered about that; Aeryn knew he was Ala Mhigan, had fought in the rebellion and attempted resistance, but her phrasing made him take a note for later examination.

“Some days I cannot smile,” he admitted. “That weight is so much. But I do what I’ve done since the beginning: let myself feel it, know it’s a part of me--and, combined with those simple, bright pleasures in life--know it’s why I have to keep fighting. I might have to take a break now and again, but I can’t give up. Not when there’s still so much to see and do. So many to help along the way.” He studied her for a moment. “I believe you know similar about yourself already as well--even if you don’t yet realize it.”

Silence took over again, the wind rattling the shutters and he really was glad he and Marques had managed to get those extra nails and boards up before the weather turned. After another almost two minutes her trembling became full shakes, and she let out a rough, choked sound of anger as she finally allowed herself to cry.

He sat with her, holding her hand, as her anger and grief were spent--for now. The emotions would return, bubbling up from the deep well of her soul and threaten to overwhelm her again. Unless, of course, she had a better way to direct it.

X’rhun gave her time, lent her a lace-edged handkerchief to wipe her eyes. Before he could say anything more, however, she lifted her head and spoke. “In the Coffer and Coffin, you asked if I wanted to learn red magic,” she said.

“And you said you would think about it.”

“I’ve been thinking about it, when not--” She took a breath, already far more steady than previous ones had been. “Anyroad, before coming to Eorzea, I couldn’t really...do magic. Something wrong with my aetheric balance. But in Gridania, when I told E-Sumi-Yan that, he looked at me strangely and said my aether seemed fine. Y’shtola said the same, upon examining me. And then there’s this…” She held in her hand a pale green soul crystal. Focusing on it, he had the sensation of a sunny forest meadow, filled with the sweet melodies of flutes and harps and lilting voices.

“I’ve seen you with a bow, and have been bolstered by your Songs,” he said. “That certainly is its own kind of magic.”

Aeryn closed her fingers over the crystal, carefully returning it to her belt pouch. “I’ve always wanted to be a mage--I was going to help my brother, magic alongside his weapons. Life turned out differently than we had expected.”

“It always does,” he said, and was pleased to see her small smile.

“You really think I could learn the ways of the Red?”

“One more question, if you’ll indulge me,” X’rhun asked. Once she nodded her assent, he continued. “You’re rightfully angry about what happened at the Waking Sands. What will you do when you find the Garleans responsible?”

Aeryn frowned, black brows drawing together in thought. “I...suppose it will depend.”

“On?”

“On her,” she said. “The tribunus in charge.” Aeryn scowled at the memory, then took another calming breath before continuing. “What she says, does, when we meet. I expect it will come to blows regardless.”

“You want justice for the ones killed, hurt, taken?”

“Of course!”

“Do you want her to suffer for the pain she caused?”

Aeryn took her time answering. “Maybe? I’m not sure if that’s really true, though. It wouldn’t bring back the dead, or lessen the suffering of those she harmed. She just has to be stopped. Logically, that’s best done quickly. I just...don’t know how logical I would be if--when I meet her.”

X’rhun smiled. “An honest answer. The calling of a Crimson Duelist includes lessening pain and suffering, not adding to it--yet, we are also a calling of passion, and as fallible as any mortal in letting our emotions take the lead over our minds. Which is why I called you a kindred spirit, and offered you the mantle of the Red.”

Aeryn only looked at him, her grey eyes clear and curious.

X’rhun held a red, tear-shaped crystal in his palm. “I offered this before, and that still stands; we will journey together, and you will learn what I have to teach, building off the foundations inscribed upon this stone by generations of brother and sister duelists. If this path--and it is not an easy one, make no mistake--is the one you wish to travel, then take it.”

Aeryn did not move right away, but it was not hesitance he sensed from her, looking at the red gem gleaming against his black glove. After a moment, she simply took the soul crystal, cupping it in both of her own bare hands and holding it close to her chest as she attuned to the whispered secrets of mages of eld.

He felt an aetheric shift, and thought for a moment he saw a flash of red in her eyes. He blinked, and all was normal. How odd. Perhaps it was the late hour, the wine he had drunk earlier, and the ceaseless wind outside.

“A host of red mages committed their memories to this gem. And now it is yours,” X’rhun said. “Tomorrow, we shall begin your training. For now, I believe it’s time we both retired--assuming one can sleep through this godless wind!”

Aeryn smiled, taking his gentlemanly offer of a hand up as they both stood. They made their way to the common room where mourners, supplicants, travelers, and other visitors could bed down during their stay at the lichyard.

As he settled into his own bedroll, contemplating the shadows of the ceiling beams above in the dark, listening to the few others in the room as they breathed and shifted in slumber, X’rhun couldn’t help but grin.

A student, and a talented one at that. Her skills would make things decidedly easier, but he sent a quiet prayer of thanks to the gods that she had the heart of the hero she was already shaping up to be, if her prior exploits were any indication.

And, perhaps, he could help her learn a few things about dealing with the less pleasant side of being a hero, the pain and anger--gods knew he understood well enough, and had seen that request, too, in her gaze. It wasn’t only magic lessons she looked to him for.

A consideration for the morrow; for now, the wind was finally dying down.

X’rhun tipped his extravagant hat down over his eyes and dozed off.