#they should text only if strictly necessary

[ataraxianne]

Ladybug blocked him after this

[janmisali]

the official jan Misali styleguide

so uh I decided to compile together a bunch of rules that I've come up with over the years for myself for how I write videos. this is not comprehensive and is unlikely to be genuinely useful to anyone (very few of these are things I'd consider to be "good advice" for anyone else who wants to make videos, they're mostly just how I personally do things), but here we go anyway!

text

text should be typeset in Noto Serif by default, using other fonts for their specific aesthetic effects on a case by case basis, always presented in contrast with Noto Serif

text should be white, on a black background, with keywords highlighted in teal (#008472)

text should use justified margins, unless this looks bad or is too hard to do with the specific program being used

the pronoun "I" should always be capitalized

proper names should usually be capitalized, but may be left in lowercase to convey a less formal tone when appropriate

the name "jan Misali" should be written with a lowercase "jan" and a capitalized "Misali", following toki pona capitalization conventions (and in general, all toki pona text should follow toki pona capitalization conventions, only capitalizing proper names)

brand names with irregular capitalization such as "YouTube" should always be in lowercase ("youtube") as a sign of disrespect

words may be capitalized for Emphasis, but this should be avoided sentence-initially

avoid capitalization for any other purpose (such as sentence capitalization or all caps) unless this is done to imitate a specific style meant to contrast with the default Misalian style

in addition to the aforementioned teal-coloring and capitalization, words may also be marked as emphasized using italics

these three styles of emphasis should be used for different purposes: teal for keywords (emphasis primarily to aid in reading), italics for spoken stress ("normal emphasis"), and capitalization for the Other Kind (meant to get the reader to slow down and pay attention to the Specific Wording of the emphasized section, but without drawing immediate visual attention to it in the way teal text does)

punctuation should only be used when it is strictly necessary for the text to be parsed or when it conveys meaningful information about how the text would be read out loud (the apostrophe does not count as punctuation for the purpose of this recommendation; it is included as part of the spelling of words it appears in)

the word "amateur" should be spelled "amature" without explanation

numbers should be written out in full as words, unless they're being used for alphanumeric codes, entries in a numbered list, years, or a video about math

text should be written word for word as it would be pronounced out loud, including filler words ("um"s and "like"s) and contractions, following the manner of speech outlined in the next section

narration

everything should be written in a formal but conversational tone, with hesitations, filler words, and stutters carefully inserted to make it sound less "written", as though the narration is one continuous unscripted infodump

however, nothing should ever genuinely be unscripted. everything should be phrased very carefully to convey information precisely and efficiently in a way that is easy to understand

there should be some sort of attempt to pronounce non-english words authentically, especially with proper names (unless there exists a common-enough anglicized pronunciation that you can be confident is more likely to be understood)

nothing should be written in a way that assumes that the audience knows less about the subject matter of the video than the narrator, except in very rare cases where this assumption is appropriate (such as when using an explicitly educational style, or when the subject is so niche that acting as though everyone already knows about it would be actively detrimental). information should always be presented as though it's a recap of common knowledge ("right?"), something that the narrator only learned relatively recently ("apparently"), or something that the narrator is unsure of ("I think")

jokes should never get "in the way" of the actual video. they should serve a purpose just like everything else. (the key question to keep in mind here is "if someone doesn't find this funny, what could they take away from it instead?". the answer should be something like "it would just be information presented in an unusual way" or "it would just be an awkward transition between two unrelated topics" or something. if the answer is "nothing, it would just be a joke they're not getting" then it had better be a really funny joke to justify its existence.)

calls to action should be avoided. the video should respect its audience members to make decisions for themselves, and only directly tell them what to do in exceptional circumstances

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for reporting my previous place of employment for shady work practices?

Disclaimer: this would be strictly petty revenge for firing me - while illegal, technically, the malpractice doesn't harm anyone.

This might get a little long.

Backstory:

I worked a receptionist position at a family-owned funeral home (in the US) where recently, the managing funeral director was replaced from a highly respected individual by a couple from a different state that had come out of retirement and were completely changing everything - some for the better, most to their liking... and some that while legal in their home state isn't allowed in the current state we are.

I had a strong feeling out the gate that the person out of the two that would end up becoming my direct supervisor didn't like any of the current staff, which got solidified when during a meeting she pretty much stated it would be her way or the highway.

Sometimes when we're slammed, we all work through our lunch and don't get a break for 8+ hours at all, so instead of forgoing eating altogether the entire staff got used to just scarfing down their food super fast at their desks.

We also don't have company cellphones, we only have landlines, and the way we dispatch our team to go pick someone up after they pass is to call the person to make sure they're available, and then text them the needed info (we also don't get a stipend to offset our cell bills).

Dilemma:

Tuesday morning, I got fired due to "gross insubordination" for a. eating at my desk and b. using my cellphone to call the dispatch team. The owner himself fired me, and was pretty rude and, imo, pretty heartless about it (due to some events that occurred on Sunday, I had to call out of work Monday, and when I asked if I should prep myself for the meeting since I had a rough weekend, he responded with "well, it's about to get worse").

He already had my final check in hand (which had a copy of my timesheet with the days that I skipped lunch marked as "busy" or "no lunch cover") along with a termination letter, so he didn't even care to hear my side of the story.

Since I was the receptionist, I've got receipts on some, if not most, of the slightly shady things that they were doing (i.e. selling insurance without a license, selling insurance under a different identity, breaking some state statutes from false advertising, etc etc), and was thinking about reporting them to the necessary agencies.

Its possible that this could lead to the place getting shut down (i dont doubt that the fines would definitely add up) and leave people without work (which is my main deterrent but out of everyone that works there, only a few of the original staff is still there - the rest have either quit or are actively looking), but at the same time, if they continue unchecked they're gonna keep getting away with it, keep making bank, and with the state we're in being a right to work state, as long as they can frame it a certain way, they can use anything at all to fire someone.

So... WIBTA if I went through the proper channels to report them for their malpractice and have them audited?

What are these acronyms?

[a-local-idiots-shitpost]

Mc get´s kidnapped by Angel fanatics also Solomon get´s a part

I´m very creative with my titles (sarcastic) also should be obvious but Luke´s part is strictly platonic

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Simeon:

so both of you were just walking around when weirdos clad in white kidnapped you

this was a confusing scenario but he actually didn´t try to find one you always find your way home and two you can handle everything that is thrown at you

and just like he thought you appeared a couple of hours later standing in front of the Purgatory Hall building covered in blood

Simeon just scolded you for covering the entrance hall in blood again, this happened so many times that he´s thinking of banning you from the house

but for now he´s excusing you behavior because he was actually worried about you and just wants to spend time with you

Luke:

do these guys even know the Angel they are trying to meet is a literal child?

like hell you´ll allow these weirdos to bother Luke, they already scared him enough with just taking you away in front of the poor guy

if Luke get´s nightmares because of them Simeon would ruin their life, if you don´t kill them yourself of course

and sadly they aren´t so smart as to jut let you leave and keep living

for a Human to have caused this it was a pretty gruesome sight, but hey we are talking about a Human who has pacts with the Seven Rulers of Hell and enjoys living in the Devildom

before getting back to Purgatory Hall you changed your clothes no need to worry the child more than necessary, but not before texting them and saying you are alright and back

afterwards you, Simeon and Luke just did a puzzle together and poor Luke was so worried he didn´t want to let go off, he even promised if he ever sees those people again he will give them a stern talking on why such actions are bad

Solomon:

you honestly don´t know if this was the Sorcerer´s associations idea or if Thirteen manipulated them

anyway they decided to take you away from Solomon with the words they are saving you from him

which everybody knows is them trying to save you from his cooking, which honestly was incredibly nice for them usually it´s every Human, Demon and Angel for themself

and good for them you managed to calm everybody down because Solomon was ready to just march in there and take you by force, no one but him is allowed to monopolize his favorite (and only) apprentices time

for you it was nice in the Sorcerer´s association they thought you forbidden Magic and some to protect you from Demons and other creatures trying to harm you and they just threw Solomon out after everything calmed down

he might have been allowed to stay if he didn´t offer to make cookies

[charlie-but-not-slimecicle]

pinned post :]

felixisfruity -> charlie-but-not-slimecicle

hi there hello! i’m Charlie but i also go by Felix, Jay, Max, Dash, and Steph! (pick one or use them interchangeably, whatever you like)

feel free to ask me to tag anything for you - if you don‘t want me to see anything use #dash don‘t look

i may add more names in the future, they may be character names, but know that i am a singlet im just a silly guy with a buncha names

see my pronouns page for specifics - pronouns are he/she + neos and im bigender now :3

serious time. unfortunately, i have to make my dni

DNI IF YOU ARE:

radfem/TERF/whatever people who don’t think trans women are women are called

transphobes and homophobes in general

racists, xenophobes, basic dni stuff

an 18+ or strictly NSFW blog. if im on your dni, dont interact with me either

ashton b codecicle formerly known as swagaythor

additionally, please don‘t come to me with discourse about fandoms im not in or syscourse (remember: i am a singlet and i do not have a say in the matter)

blocking me: no hard feelings. mutuals, followers, and strangers alike feel free. i‘d much rather you did that than sit mad at me

here are my tags

#felix babbles - original text posts

#max mail time - asks

#jay hyperfixates - posting about whatever my hyperfixation is (currently: NPMD)

steph‘s purgatory - me ranting about the hazbin hotel because i can‘t escape it (added this tag for filtering!) ((if you like the show you should probably block it! but i don‘t care if you do. like whatever u want))

extras:

my hyperfixations right now are theatre (musicals in this case, namely hatchetfield) and jrwi

pls use tonetags if possible, but really only when you deem necessary! i don’t need them a lot but they’re helpful

also try to tag trypophobia (holes/bubbles) please 🙏

erm go check out my boyfriend @codecicle’s blog because the two of us are the

*i actually really like chip as a character this is a bit :]

dnd sideblog (specifically for my campaign Inferno) - @homophobicfaggot

[cynicalraccoon]

Knockout: Terry, look at this hot mama I found today. 🔥😩 

Soap: Whoa! Is that a Great White?!

Soap: Is that real?!

Gaz: Knockout, you having fun without us?

Ghost: Terry? 

Price: That better just be a really clear video on the internet, Knockout. 

Malia checked her phone for Terry's response, only to wince when she saw that she sent the text to the wrong group chat. 

Knockout: Sorry. Sent that to the wrong number.

She deleated the text and video. Then set it to Terry. A moment later, her lips twitched when she heard her phone buzz one after the other. 

Terry: First, Why are you that close?! 

Terry: Second, she's gorgeous! Much better than the monster spider you showed yesterday. 

Rowen: I question your tastes sometimes, Mal. 

Rowen: But she is pretty when viewed from behind a screen. 

Fey: Isn't that what all men say when watching porn?

Rowen: Women say it too when reading about or watching fictional toxic men. 

Terry: Only when they're sexy.

Fey: Amen to fictional sexy men. 

Alan: What's going on? 

Alan: I saw porn and then a prayer to fictional men.

Fey: We're making a cult.

Rowen: No! Don't include me in your fetishes!

Alan: A normal day, huh? 

Malia chuckled at her chaotic friend group, flopping on the bed in her hotel room. She was on leave for a week. It was a small treat to get away from the stress of the military for a bit. Of course, the stress would never go away until she either died or retired. 

Malia: Just showing them a video of a shark i swam with today.

Alan: Aquatic female fatale over here. 

Alan: Safe? 

Malia: Me or the shark?

Malia: Aren't I always?

Alan: Both. 

Terry: Mom and Dad are flirting again~ 

Rowen: 🤢

Fey: *sigh* young love

Malia: 🖕

Malia: fuck off.

The week went by in what semeed like the blink of an eye, and the day for Malia to return to base arrived; to her diasppointment. At least she had some photos to remember the trip. 

Digging the photos out of her duffel bag, Malia hung them up on the wall to join the already quite sizable collection of photos. 

They varied in subjects; animals, locations she had been deployed in, and even photos of a few locals.

When she was settled, the brunette changed into her uniform. She felt the persona of Knockout settle over her like one of the combat gloves she wore on duty. Well, it was an overstatment to call it a persona. More like a mask. A necessary precaution to seperate herself from caring about her teammates more than what was strictly professional. 

Malia shook her head and left, striding to the mess hall. It should be around breakfast now, so 141 should be there. If not, it didn't matter. 

As usual, the mess hall was loud when she entered. 

"Knockout!" She heard Soap's accented voice to her over the chatter. Looking over, she spied him at the table with Ghost, Price, and Gaz. The Scot was beckoning her over with a mischevious smirk on his face. 

She would admit, they were handsome and their personalities weren't too bad. Ghost's voice was a bonus too. But just because of those two and a half things, that didn't mean she would risk her career to spread her legs. She was neither one of those fanfic girls from the stories Terry had happily read to her nor was she a barrack's bunny. 

She worked hard to gain her reptuation on and off the field and have people take her seriously. And it had payed off. Besides, the chaotic and bloody enviornment that inspired trauma, corruption, power trips, betrayal, and assholish behavior wasn't conductive for anything other than a work relationship.

Malia blinked when Soap called her name again. She gave him a curt nod and got her food before walking over to the four. 

"There's that infamous scowl." Soap said, sitting down. "Was beginning to miss it." Malia echoed his action, shooting him said scowl. 

"You have Ghost." She said simply. 

Soap chuckled. "Not the same. I can't see his." 

Ghost, sitting across from Malia, rolled his eyes. With his face hidden behind the mask, the action spoke clearly of his unamusement. Deep brown eyes-just a few shades darker than hers-slid to the woman. 

"Have fun with your sharks?" He asked gruffly. "Or, your "hot mommas"?" 

Malia almost choked on her eggs when she heard his words. Price raised a brow, one side of his mustach slightly raised, while Gaze and Soap snickered like two children. 

She glared at Ghost, noting the faint amusement flashing through his eyes. Damn him. 

"Never say that again." Malia huffed, setting down her apple juice. Even with his voice, hearing him say "hot mommas" was weird. "And I did. Was relaxing. Moving to other topics now." 

"But I want to hear more about your trip." Soap prodded. "Where did you go?" 

"Who's Terry?" Gaz added, wearing a cheeky expression. "Boyfriend?" 

Nope. "Personal." She replied, a bit of bite in her tone. But they were not deterred. They had seven years to get used to her rough personality. Hell, aside from Price and a few others, they didn't even know her real name.

Soap groaned, almost leaning on Ghost. "Come on, Knockout. We barely know anything about you since you came on the team. At least give us this." 

"I'll tell you mine when Ghost tells his." 

Gaz smirked when the Scot frowned. They all knew Ghost was tightlipped about his personal life and past. It was like trying to pull teeth from a bear. 

Price shook his head with a soft chuckle. "There will be a day where you won't have Ghost to hide behind anymore, Knockout." 

Her scowl turned into a smug smirk, saluting him with her cup. "When Hell freezes over completly, Captain." 

A/N: I haven't played Call Of Duty. I only know bits and pieces of information about the characters. Why I decided to write this? Well, I wanted to test an idea I had to branch out of my comfort zone a bit and see if one of my ocs would fit in cod. I got inspired by the many fanfics on here and other platforms that I've read and liked.

[trashpandato]

But we are real, real

“Who scheduled a meeting at seven in the morning?” Lena hissed, tapping the keys on her laptop with more force than strictly necessary.

“Um,” Jess cleared her throat, hovering near the door, “I believe you asked for this time slot specifically when the meeting was set last week?”

Lena pursed her lips. She had indeed done that, but that didn’t change how unhappy she was with that decision now. 

“Don’t let me do that again.”

“Of course, Miss Luthor,” Jess promised, scurrying out of Lena’s office before she could be subjected to any more harsh questions only minutes into their work day.

The meeting was…fine. Productive, even, once Lena managed to swallow down some snarkier comments that were on the tip of her tongue. The coffee Jess had brought her part way through helped a little as well. But then Lena got wind of an issue in the lab and she stormed downstairs without a second thought, sent the lab techs home with a few not-so-friendly words and mumbled something about “always having to fix everything myself” before throwing herself at the task for a couple of hours.

She was so engrossed in her work that she forgot about her scheduled call with Sam at lunch, and when her phone buzzed for the third time in as many minutes, she was about to throw it against the wall.

“I’m busy,” she snapped when she finally answered the call without even looking at the caller ID to confirm who she was subjecting to her foul mood. “A fact that should have been clear after I didn’t pick up the first two times you called.”

“Whoa there, grumpy pants,” Sam replied, a slight chuckle in her tone, “someone’s got a short fuse today.”

Lena sighed. “Sam. It’s been a day from hell.”

“Lena,” her friend’s voice softened, “you know you can just text me and reschedule our call, right?”

Lena sighed again. “Right. Sorry.”

“What’s going on? Is this a work-related hell or something else?”

“An early meeting with investors from Switzerland, and you know how rough those can be, and then a lab emergency that I’m currently fixing myself, and then I have to call my mother later today.”

“Well, that sounds unpleasant but like a pretty normal day for you,” Sam remarked, and even though Lena wanted to disagree and tell Sam that this really had been a supremely shitty morning and she had every reason to be a little irritable, thank you very much, she knew her friend had a point.

“Either way,” Lena mumbled after a moment, “I have to finish fixing this. Rain check on our catch-up call?”

“Fine. But maybe find one of those squeezy stress balls so you don’t end up biting anyone else’s head off today, okay? Well, except your mother. Go ahead and bite with gusto; she deserves that and more.”

Lena rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Love you, Lena!”

Lena disconnected the call and glanced down at her phone. There were a few notifications, some news alerts and stock market statistics, and the reminder that she had missed the two earlier attempts from Sam to call her, but no texts from the one person she really wanted to hear from. Sighing, she locked her phone, stuck it in her pocket and returned to the task in front of her.

When she went back to her desk later that afternoon, she found a man snooping around in her office and she was about to reprimand Jess for not alerting her about the intruder when the man reminded her that she had ordered him to complete a security check of her office that afternoon.

“Right,” Lena said curtly and waved at him to proceed with his task while she sat down at her desk to deal with a litany of unanswered emails that had piled up while she was in the lab.

Lena ended the afternoon with the call from Lillian, which was as unpleasant as she had expected it to be. It included the usual commentary about Lena not being equipped to lead the company, a few pointed questions about a delayed product launch and a small dip in stock values and ended with Lillian reminding Lena of everything she had ever done wrong in her mother’s eyes. By the end of it, Lena was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go home and drink a very large glass of wine and have a hot bath, preferably at the same time.

When Lena was just about ready to call it a day, finishing up one last email to request a full status update from the lab technicians by noon tomorrow, a small knock made her look up just in time to see Kara step into the dimly lit office. Lena looked back down at her laptop to check the time. It was almost nine. Lena sighed.

“So Jess tells me you’ve been on a tear today. Bad day?”

Kara’s voice was light and teasing, but Lena could see that she was looking at her intently, taking in Lena’s stiff posture and tired features. Lena was about to give Kara a summary of her no good, terrible, very bad day, but what came out instead was:

“You didn’t text.”

“What?”

“You didn’t…you always text me in the mornings. You didn’t today.”

A crooked smile settled on Kara’s face as she walked towards and around Lena’s desk. She crouched down in front of Lena’s chair, her warm hands settling firmly on Lena’s thighs.

“Are you telling me that the reason you’re grumpy and made life miserable for Jess and everyone else today is because you didn’t get your customary good morning baby text?”

Lena pressed her lips into a thin line, unamused.

“I didn’t hear from you all day. I was worried.”

“Hey,” Kara said softly, bending forward a little to catch Lena’s gaze more fully. “There was an emergency. I’m sure you saw the news? I know you did and I know you saw that I was fine, otherwise you would have called Alex and made her day difficult. It just took a bit longer than expected to deal with the cleanup afterwards.”

Unable to form words with Kara’s face so close and her hands so warm and steady on her legs, Lena could only manage a small nod.

“So what’s this really about?”

Lena broke their eye contact, choosing instead to focus on her hands in her lap for this next part. 

“Well, maybe I do like getting that text in the morning? A reminder that this isn’t some elaborate fantasy that my brain made up? That you’re real. That we’re real?”

“Lena,” Kara murmured, moving one of her hands to cover Lena’s fidgeting ones. Kara waited for Lena to look up again before leaning forward to press a soft kiss to her lips. “We’re very much real, okay? And if you need more reminders of that throughout the day, I can make that happen.”

Lena nodded, unable to speak past the small lump in her throat.

Then Kara leaned forward again for another brief kiss before sliding her arms under Lena’s legs and picking her up and out of the chair, a move that resulted in a surprised little squeak from Lena.

Kara smirked. 

“Now, how about I take you home and show you just how real we are?”

[mattodore]

Did Matthias do anything illegal in his life? What I mean is morally unacceptable behavior that hurts people. If so, why did he do that?

I mean, has he killed someone? Has he beat someone up? How many times has he done it or has it only been occasionally? Do people find him rude? Should people be afraid of him?

I’ve said this about Matthias before, but he’s someone who’s had violent thoughts and urges ever since he was a child. I do think there’s a possible genetic factor at play there, but I also believe that the way he grew up left something chasmic in its wake, this gouge in his chest that he’s been clawing at ever since. Matthias was severely neglected as a child and his development was… slanted, for lack of a better word. There’s something warped in his head, you know? He’s a product of his upbringing.

To give you a picture of Matthias’s childhood, I want to make it clear that he never had any toys. His nursery was nothing more than a crib in a room. No bright colored walls, no alphabet blocks, no pop-up books. He didn’t play, or… not like most children, at least—not how you’d normally picture a child playing. His childhood was spent alone despite the sheer number of staff on the grounds of the estate. If Matthias reached for a hand or wanted comfort from a nanny or another member of the staff, he’d be pushed away. There was no emotional or physical warmth in the Evanoff household and a harsh line had been drawn between Matthias and everyone around him, including his parents, who he saw no more than a handful of times when he was young. What little socialization Matthias had was… well, it was nothing more than giving orders to attendants or having discussions with his tutors about the subjects he was studying. The staff were forbidden from interacting with Matthias more than was strictly necessary and the effect that had on him can’t be understated.

You can see, then, these early building blocks for cruelty being laid out. As a precocious child whose only real social connection with others was formed through analysis and study, it only made sense that Matthias found himself reaching for the books in his father’s library whenever he could, and through that those very same blocks began to stack. Play for Matthias was deconstructing humanity through history, through fiction, parsing through dense text in the ever-present child’s curiosity: but why? And Matthias’s father was an excessively cruel and frighteningly violent man, so his taste in literature certainly reflected that. This is also what I mean when I say there’s a genetic factor at play with some of Matthias’s impulses. Some of it’s inherited. In a way, he gets this from his mother’s side, too, although she’s a different kind of violent… a hands-off kind. I mean, that violence is how Matthias wound up being tortured for three years while trapped in a “therapeutic” reform school. It’s just as cruel, but it pretends to be righteous. So there’s this snapping violence and this opportunistic kind.

I’m saying all of this because I think it gives context to how much control Matthias exhibits over himself and his violent urges now as an adult. Sure, when he was younger he would react, he’d deride and break and hurt, but he doesn’t do that anymore. It’s not that he feels guilt over the impulses he has—there’s no shame there at all, really. To him, it’s just in his nature to get these flashes, these sudden images of brutality. They’ve been there all his life, you know? It’s normal to him. The only reason he doesn’t act on them is because he had impulse control beaten into him at the reform school and because he’s learned that the social contract is something that he can use to his advantage to get whatever it is he wants. He charms and obfuscates now. In that same vein, it’s not often that people find him to be rude, because he keeps his disdainful and unsavory thoughts to himself. You’d have to be someone who’s incredibly perceptive in order to see through Matthias… which just so happens to be Theo to a T.

So what I mean by this is that now when Matthias does actually act on these thoughts, these urges that dig at his brain, there’s normally a catalyst to them—this trigger that sends fire all through the synapses in his body. Matthias is incredibly loyal to Imani and Theo and he’s someone who’s very protective of them. Throughout his early teen years, back when he and Imani went to the same boarding school, he was constantly shielding Imani from the brunt of the corporal punishment that came with the turf. At that age he was volatile and would even hit back at times, but he knew that would land him in solitude and separated from Imani for days on end, which he just couldn’t have—not if he wanted to make sure nobody hurt her. He learned restraint for Imani’s sake then, but it wasn’t until he was trapped in the reform school that that restraint was fully drilled into him as a result of psychological torture and abuse.

He’s quick to offer a slicing comment, to give a chilling smile, to go eerily still and intimidate with his stare alone, but now as an adult he doesn’t often get physical unless provoked. He keeps it in and he holds himself back, this taut tension in his jaw only there for a moment before the mask submerges him again and holds his head under water. It’s really only when Theo’s involved that Matthias just… God, he really just can’t help himself. The cracks widen and he gets physical. It’s vicious. He has all this strength now, this imagination that only ever comes alive when he’s thinking of this, and he’s had years of experience in actual brawls that were just horrible—he’s been ganged up on, hit with metal chairs, humiliated and jeered at while bleeding everywhere, ripped out of bed and kicked until his ribs broke… It's safe to say that he takes pain like it means nothing to him now. So he swallows the blood he tastes when a hit lands and just plows through like it’s the only thing he knows how to do, like it’s programmed in him. It’s animalistic. It’s vengeful. It’s rapturous.

Like I said, seeing harm come to the only people Matthias loves has a disastrous effect on his self-control. Imani’s in a better place now that she’s an adult, but Theo… well, Theo’s been hurt by a lot of people—his parents, faces at clubs, ghosts from his past… too many instances to even begin getting into each of them. And Matthias has to unravel red yarn before a board and string together all of these physical reactions Theo has around some people, has to tilt his head as he replays the tapes and rewinds through remarks Theo’s made that felt off even before Matthias knew there was something going on there. Theo doesn’t talk about his hurt, doesn’t talk about anything that could make him weak, that exposes the nasty underbelly of his private life, so it’s up to Matthias to pick up on what’s been left unspoken. The specifics may not be there, but it’s enough to see Theo flinch at the sound of his own name being called, to watch him freeze up when a hand raises too fast, to track Theo as he checks the locks once, twice, three times in a row before he moves away. Matthias notices it all and he’s an eye for an eye kind of man. He can’t even help himself there, has no restraint when it comes to Theo, so… he handles it.

The furthest Matthias has ever gone, the worst he’s ever injured somebody, was when he nearly killed someone from Theo’s old summer boarding school. Theo managed to stop him, but only by a hair’s breadth. Matthias could have gone to prison for that one, he easily could’ve, but… there were circumstances and, when it comes down to it, Matthias is obscenely wealthy. In the end, he got off scot-free from attempted murder while the other party was hospitalized. He handled the rest without physical violence, though he certainly wanted to finish what he started. But, at the end of the day, Theo comes first, always.

He’s certainly engaged in far more illegal and immoral activities (his little blackmail moment was a personal favorite of mine), but physically he’s never gone so far as murder (though he’s not opposed…) and while he’s definitely lost control and grievously injured some people, I’d say he’s only ever hospitalized a handful. He keeps himself in check… most of the time, at least. He honestly doesn’t fly off the handle for no reason. If you keep your hands to yourself and watch your mouth then you don’t have to be afraid of him in that way. Still, it’s better to just keep your distance. He has too much fun pulling strings.

[discar]

HZD Terraforming Base-001 Text Communications Network

Chapter 45 | Prev chapter | Next chapter Chapter Index

FlameHairSavior: Alva, did you lose something?

DIVINER: ...no?? Not that I know of!

DIVINER: Though now I'm worried!

MARSHAL Kotallo: I thought you were planning a journey.

FlameHairSavior: Yeah, I'm here, I just found something that I thought might be Quen.

FlameHairSavior: [Skiff.jpg]

DIVINER: Wellll... it could be? I don't want to sound arrogant, but we're probably the only people who have the expertise to make something like that! But it's just a small boat, and not one I've seen before!

DIVINER: Where did you find it?

Icarus: I sent her to the place the Tenakth call the Burning Shores.

FlameHairSavior: That makes me sound like your errand-girl.

Icarus: It's not my fault if the title fits.

HIMBO: HA! HE'S GOT YOU THERE!

FlameHairSavior: Hey!

MARSHAL Kotallo: You do tend to take up more tasks than are strictly necessary.

ADMIN [Zo]: I feel like someone mentioned the Burning Shores before.

β: its hollywood

DIVINER: Gasp!

HIMBO: DID YOU FORGET YOUR GIF OR WHATEVER?

DIVINER: If you're in Hollywood, did you find any archives?? We could finally have our movie night!

FlameHairSavior: I've been a little busy.

DIVINER: Right, right, sorry!

DIVINER: Where exactly did you find the boat?

FlameHairSavior: [FleetsEnd.jpg]

FlameHairSavior: Outside this Quen settlement.

ADMIN [Zo]: Perhaps you should have mentioned that earlier.

DIVINER: YOU FOUND THE LOST FLEET?????

β: and made a joke about it

HIMBO: YEAH, I THINK THAT'S A BIGGER SURPRISE.

DIVINER: We thought they were all dead! We were never able to get in contact with them!

FlameHairSavior: All their Diviners are dead. It's just soldiers and sailors.

FlameHairSavior: Oh, and Compliance Officers. A lot of Compliance Officers.

DIVINER: Oh dear.

ADMIN [Zo]: Is that as bad as it sounds?

DIVINER: Well, the fact that Aloy is texting us means they didn't manage to confiscate her focus...

FlameHairSavior: Yeah, but they're pushy about it. It doesn't help that the sailor who brought me in, Seyka, stole a focus from one of the dead Diviners.

DIVINER: That is in DIRECT violation of our holy tenants! There's no way she can get away with that! The Imperial FAMILY couldn't get away with that!

FlameHairSavior: Admiral Gerrit didn't seem that worried.

DIVINER: He's alive!?

DIVINER: Wait, why am I surprised? That man would probably survive a mountain falling on him.

FlameHairSavior: I did get something of that impression.

DIVINER: Well, I'm sure he can keep Compliance from doing anything too drastic. Did he let the sailor keep her focus as well?

FlameHairSavior: Yeah. Since no one else is willing to touch it, it's clear she's the only way they're going to get the data.

HIMBO: WELL, HOOK HER UP! LET US TALK TO HER.

FlameHairSavior: And let you drive her away? No thanks.

β: i can hack his focus so he cant talk

ADMIN [Zo]: Please do not tempt us.

FlameHairSavior: No, I don't want to overwhelm her. She hadn't even figured out how the radio worked until I showed her.

HIMBO: YEAH, THAT'S FAIR. IT'S PRETTY CRAZY AT FIRST, AND SHE DOESN'T NEED TO BE DISTRACTED BY SOMEONE AS ENDEARING AS ME WHILE SHE DOES THAT.

Icarus: Will someone explain to me why you all put up with this man.

FlameHairSavior: He's good for lifting heavy objects.

HIMBO: AND I'M FINE WITH THAT!

DIVINER: Wait wait, Aloy, you said they're looking for data? Is that why they never came back??

FlameHairSavior: No, sorry, I should have explained.

FlameHairSavior: They crashed here and lost a lot of crew. Including Seyka's sister, their only navigator. Some are dead, but Seyka's sister is just missing. I'm unclear on the exact timeline, but I think this has something to do with Londra.

ADMIN [Zo]: Who?

β: walter londra

β: one of the zenith

Icarus: He fled to the Burning Shores when he realized the battle at their base was lost.

HIMBO: WHEN EXACTLY DID HE RUN?

FlameHairSavior: I don't know. Does it matter?

HIMBO: DEPENDING ON WHEN HE RAN, HE MIGHT STILL HAVE HIS SHIELD INTACT.

FlameHairSavior: ...shit.

Icarus: I misspoke. He split off from the Zeniths shortly after landing. I believe I told you this already.

FlameHairSavior: It's been a busy day.

Icarus: He should still have his shield. Though if he has not come out to personally confront you yet, I suspect that is a good sign.

FlameHairSavior: Yeah, I guess.

FlameHairSavior: Anyway, their last Diviner died at some ruins. Seyka managed to use his focus to get his last images and piece some things together. Except now she can't get into those ruins, because Londra set up a tower that shoots down anything that gets too close.

FlameHairSavior: Which, by the way, is how I met Seyka. Got my sunwing shot from under me.

DIVINER: Oh no!!

ADMIN [Zo]: But you're fine?

FlameHairSavior: Yeah, I landed on sand, it was fine.

β: i dont think thats how it works

FlameHairSavior: So I met Seyka, met the Quen, did some stuff, went to the tower.

FlameHairSavior: Oh, and that reminds me: Alva, do your ships have engines? The big ones, I mean.

FlameHairSavior: I'm just trying to figure out why a couple random Quen sailors and engineers managed to build a skiff with an engine, but your entire empire couldn't build them for the big ships.

DIVINER: No, you're right, our ships are almost entirely wind-powered. I was part of the group that argued against engines, actually!

ADMIN [Zo]: Wind-powered?

β: she means the sails

ADMIN [Zo]: Ah.

DIVINER: The problem was that we couldn't build engines quickly enough. We learned sailing from the Legacy, but engines had to be designed from scratch! It was a huge endeavor! It would have pushed back our departure by months, if not more! We decided that it was safer to leave sooner, with proven technology.

HIMBO: SO THE SMALLER ENGINE IS EASIER TO MAKE.

DIVINER: Exactly! Lower margin of error, too!

FlameHairSavior: Yeah, Seyka mentioned jumping out of the boat when something goes wrong. The water is pretty shallow here.

DIVINER: Not really an option on the open ocean!

FlameHairSavior: Seyka and I just destroyed the anti-air tower a few minutes ago. I thought I'd give you guys an update.

ADMIN [Zo]: We appreciate it.

HIMBO: WAIT WAIT, YOU CAN'T JUST SKIP OVER THE WHOLE THING!

HIMBO: HOW DID YOU DESTROY THE TOWER?

MARSHAL Kotallo: Indeed. I find it doubtful that it was undefended.

FlameHairSavior: It was a trap.

ADMIN [Zo]: For you specifically?

FlameHairSavior: Yeah, there was a message he recorded for me. I don't think he knows I'm here yet, but he was ready for the possibility.

FlameHairSavior: The tower unfolded into this strange machine and started shooting at me, but we managed to take it down. Couldn't have done it without Seyka.

MARSHAL Kotallo: I am glad to see that you understand the value of working with others.

FlameHairSavior: Hey, I just finished leading an assault on the Zenith base. I know how to work with other people!

MARSHAL Kotallo: And then you immediately sent us off on our own missions and jumped at a chance to fly halfway across the region.

β: without taking anyone with you

FlameHairSavior: What, did you want to come?

β: no

β: but you could have asked

FlameHairSavior: ...oh. Sorry.

β: its fine

ADMIN [Zo]: Division of labor aside, I am glad you're finding more allies, Aloy.

FlameHairSavior: Thanks.

FlameHairSavior: Beta, Alva, I was going to ask you about hooking their Diviners back up to your network.

β: i thought you said they didnt have diviners

FlameHairSavior: They have to appoint new ones eventually, right?

DIVINER: If they haven't yet, that means it's most likely all the apprentices died as well! Though perhaps Admiral Gerrit will find a way to allow this Seyka to be promoted!

FlameHairSavior: Maybe. I wouldn't bet on it, though.

DIVINER: No. Neither would I.

FlameHairSavior: I've been trying to convince her to leave them behind. Maybe she can even come back to the Base. The way they treat her hits a little close to home.

β: youve picked up another one havent you

FlameHairSavior: Another what?

HIMBO: I'LL ADD HER TO THE BETTING POOL.

FlameHairSavior:  Fine, whatever. I'm going to spend some time exploring before we move on.

DIVINER: Oh!! You're still going to find some movies, right??

FlameHairSavior: ...I'll keep an eye out.

DIVINER: [FistPump.gif]

Chapter 45 | Prev chapter | Next chapter Chapter Index

[dira333]

Frustration - Aomine Daiki x OC reader

requested by @shoulmate​ - just a little fluff, hope this is what you had in mind. 

It hadn’t even been that hellish a week. She had seen worse before.

But she’d barely gotten any sleep over the weekend, pouring over her textbooks instead of napping because one assignment was kicking her ass and another was threatening her to become her undoing.

Queenie had needled her into coming along for an outing until she gave up. 

She knew she should have skipped that even before she let herself give in and say yes. But Queenie was beeing annoying in the way she was draped over her bed to make sure Yori wouldn’t just go and fall asleep on them. And Kin had begged her too, anxious over the fact that she was going to have to lead a scrappy baseball team through a rather unimpressive tournament just because the original Coach had fallen through and she had been too nice to say no. The fact that the rest of their group was going to watch had set her already uneasy nerves even more on edge and Yori had to keep Queenie from mentioning the fact that it had been Akashi’s idea, afraid her roommate would finally lose her mind.

If she was honest to herself and that she usually was, she’d only gone because she’d barely been able to spend time with Daiki that week, had missed his presence in the library and his random as hell texts in between classes.

He was busy with training and they weren’t a couple, not really, but he had started leaving something like a kiss on her temple when he thought she was deep asleep. 

She could have said something, could have addressed the topic multiple times, but she didn’t want to be the one nagging him about it. He either did something about it or he didn’t.

The thought of him being too lazy to do that was a real threat, however, and it kept her on edge.

Three days later she’d barely gotten more sleep in and even her skin felt on edge as if Daiki’s presence had been a drug and she was running out of it.

She wished she could be different, cling to his arm like Momoi did shamelessly with that Kuroko guy. Instead she greeted him like he was nothing more than a friend, some bro who helped her with homework or building a cupboard, and ignored the fact that his pretty blue eyes had been glued to her lips a bit longer than strictly necessary.

She left the library when she realized that her battery was dying and she’d left her charger in her dorm only to get a message right as she had set up camp in her room.

“Where are you?” She could hear his posessiveness drip from that three words and shot herself in the leg by following her instinct of playing it cool, teasing him over text.

“Sorry, can’t all be about you, loverboy.”

He didn’t respond and she bit into her lip, arguing with herself. She’d wanted to see him so bad, just take a nap with his arm around her, but she couldn’t drop her skin like a snake, change herself into someone she was not.

The next day she found herself in the library again, charger with her, coffee already refilled twice. 

Agitation was bubbling under her skin, likely stemming from the amount of coffee she’d already consumed and the lack of sleep she’d had endured to finish her half of the group project.

Only to get smacked in the face with the fact that the other half of the project hadn’t been done at all and her partner was down with the flu, leaving the work to her.

Her phone beeped with a message and she ignored it. 

She wasn’t a fan of sprinting through her work but she’d do anything to get this project done and over with.

And she was in the zone, fingers racing over the keyboard until someone smacked the table she was sitting at, coffee spilling over the keyboard and her fingers.

She shreaked, the sound catching in her throat.

“Shit, sorry.” She knew that voice but she didn’t dare to look up from her screen, frantically saving the document in case the screen went black.

Something soft landed on her hands and she realized belatedly that it was a shirt. She turned to see Daiki, shirtless, bent over her at an awkward angle, trying to wipe the coffee away with his shirt.

“Have you lost your mind?”

“I said I’m sorry.” He grumbled. “Move your fingers, I can’t see what I’m doing.”

“You-” Her voice broke again. When was the last time she’d drank anything? 

“It was an accident. There, your Computer is all safe now.” He dared to flash his teeth in a cheeky grin.

She wasn’t sure if she should start to cry or scream. Or maybe laugh hysterically?

“Oi.” He paused and she realized belatedly that she had started to breathe weird, almost hyperventilating in what she assumed was her body trying to cry, scream and laugh at the same time.

“You okay?”

“No.” Her knees gave away a little and she felt arms circle around her immediately, her nose bonking awkwardly into his shoulder when he pulled her close.

“Let’s lie down for a bit.” He pushed her towards the loveseat behind them and she struggled against him, determined to get back to work, but too weak against his grip.

“I need to work, Daiki.” She hissed when he plopped her down, draping himself over her like a weighted blanket that was also very demanding.

“You need a break.”

“I can’t slack off.”

“No one’s slacking off. You’re Queen Coolness, you can stay calm about this.”

It was a cute nickname, a little stupid, but cute and it seemed to be the one thing that undid her, tears running down her face.

“Oi.” He said again, not really helpful, until he seemed to regain some manners, slipped to the side of her and pulled her closer.

“It’s not that bad,” he tells her softly and it’s such a stupid thing to say but such a Daiki thing to say too, she lets her head rest on the swell of his bicep, allows herself to take a breathe.

“I’m so tired.” She admits and feels him nod somewhere above her, his chin digging into her hair.

“That’s why you gotta nap. I’m sorry I couldn’t be around more.”

“It’s not like you could help much.”

“I can be very helpful.” He disagree easily.

“I don’t to win a Basketball game right now, sorry.”

He snorts. “I can do other things too. What kind of help do you need?”

Exhaustion is pulling at her limbs, now that she’s lying, and her eyes grow heavy as she talks. She tries to describe it, how it built up on itself until she cracked beneath it.

“Missed you, too,” she mumbles at the end, hoping against all odds that he did not hear that.

But his mouth presses into her hair again, that weird little thing he does when he thinks she’s asleep. But she’s not asleep now, just very fast on her way to get there.

“Missed you too.” He mumbles back or at least that’s what she thinks she hears before sleep rolls over her like a warm wave.

She wakes up to her face pressed into Daiki’s abs. 

It’s not the worst place to wake up in and he snorts when she tries to wipe drool of his skin.

“Take me out on a date first.” He teases ands she rolls her eyes softly.

“This sunday okay?” She teases back and he surprises her by pulling her up so fast she’s about to get vertigo from it when his lips meet the soft corner of her mouth in what’s got the the worlds awkwardest kiss. 

“What was that?” She asks, unable to hide her amusement.

“Hush,” he tells her, clearly flustered, “I was trying to speed things up a little. But if you’re just going to tease, I’d rather tell you how amazing I am instead.”

“Oh yes, tell me, enlighten me.” It’s so easy to play around, now that she’s rested a bit more and she can see the relief wash over him. It must have been unsettling to see herself so different.

“I tracked down that little shit you’re partnered with. Turns out he’s not really sick. His part of the project should turn up any minute.”

“You did what?” She*s speechless. “How did you do that?”

“Kagami owed me a favor. I cashed it in.”

“You’re telling me Kagami has the connections to do that?”

“Connections, yes. He’d never be able to threaten someone into doing their homework, but I think Himuro doesn’t mind doing that for him.

“Your friends are so weird.”

“Ah.” He smiles. “Good thing you’re not dating them, then.”

She smiles back. “Good thing indeed.”

[insomniac-ships]

Hi! Hey! Hello!

Are you proship and want a chill place to hang out? I have a Discord server now! I'll put the rules under a read more, but here's some real quick information!

》 Proship safe! Ages 13+ welcome!

》 PluralKit for systems of all kinds!

》 Custom/Personalized roles and colors!

》 Largely inclusive of good-faith identities!

》 Tons of channels for fandom, art, and more!

》 Well-vetted and safe!

Please be aware that I may be a little bit picky about who receives invites. This is to keep the server members safe from targeted harassment and keep the server safe from raids. All invites will be single-use, but will not expire!

If we're mutuals, or I see you in my notes or the proship tag frequently, you'll get an invite with no issue!

About custom/personalized roles and colors:

🔶 All roles are strictly cosmetic with the exception of the moderator, gaming, and NSFW access roles. 🔶

In #🏷role-requests, please include:

▸ your desired role name (whatever you want, really!)

▸ the hex code of your desired role color (ex. #DAF7A6)

Would you like to join? Send me a DM!

Server rules under the cut!

➼ 1.) Be Respectful

Simply treat others the way you wish to be treated. Intentionally bigoted or inflammatory behavior will result in being banned.

➼ 2.) Keep it Civil

Everyone has differing opinions and views. Please keep things civil and agree to disagree if necessary. If you are asked to change the subject, please do so. Polite and respectful debate is perfectly acceptable. Argumentative and obstinate behavior is not.

➼ 3.) Profanity is Fine

However, please refrain from using sexual, insulting, or defamatory language toward other users.

➼ 4.) No Spam

This includes but is not limited too: loud/obnoxious noises in voice chats, @mention spam, character spam, image spam, and message spam.

➼ 5.) NSFW Channels are for Adults Only

Access to NSFW channels will be provided if asked, as long as you are over the age of 18. Minors will not be given the role. Lying about your age in order to gain access to NSFW channels will result in a ban.

➼ 6.) Mind the Blacklist

Please be mindful of the blacklist! Provide trigger warnings when necessary outside of spoilered text.

〚 Example:

TW specific blacklisted topic

||Text containing the mentioned blacklisted stuff.|| 〛

If you need anything added, please let me know! If you'd prefer to do so anonymously, you can send me an ask on Tumblr instead.

For those of you with access to The Nope Zone: blacklisted topics in the Nope Zone category do not need to be spoilered, but should still be warned for accordingly!

➼ 7.) New Rules may be Added as Needed

An announcement will be made if new rules are added, as well as when the blacklist is updated.

Three Strikes and a Baseball Bat

We operate on a three strikes system, with the addition of a Mega Strike dubbed "a Baseball Bat".

《×》×《×》×《×》×《×》×《×》×《×》

► A user will receive a strike if they break server rules. This is usually a verbal warning and a 10 minute time out if necessary.

► A user will receive a Baseball Bat depending on the severity of the rule breaking. A Baseball Bat is the equivalent of two strikes. Two Baseball Bats is a kick from the server.

► Each strike will last 30 days.

► Baseball Bats last 60 days.

► Users will be informed when they get a strike, as well as the reason why.

► Instant bans will be doled out in certain circumstances, including but not limited to:

encouraging suicide/self harm, victim blaming, serious threats of violence, doxxing, stalking, deliberate use of hate speech, etc.

《×》×《×》×《×》×《×》×《×》×《×》

If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask!

[amadeusgame]

My goal for this month was to completely remake the demo with my new mechanics and have it in the private playtesting phase.

Actual status: the demo is currently about 90% remade, and I should have it in front of playtesters next week. My excuse for not completely meeting my goal is I have also been spending this month producing and mastering the GameBoy Advance-themed concept album THOUSANDS OF PIXELS IN YOUR HANDS, which drops 1/1/24! My piece for it samples sounds from a GBA cartridge surgery and is based on the Castlevania: Circle of the Moon soundtrack.

That aside, I am happy to announce that;

A new demo for Amadeus will release Friday, February 2, 2024!

With the upcoming demo, this itch.io game page will be rebranded and renamed to reflect the title of the full release - A Riddle for Thee ~ Episode 1: Waltz. I didn't think too far ahead when I initially named this page, because releasing the full game felt very far off back then. But at this point, it's definitely going to be a reality. I've spent about 6 months laying the groundwork I need to make it happen, so I want the new demo to lead smoothly and directly to the release of Episode 1 (and beyond).

There will be several changes and additions in the new demo in addition to all of the new mechanics. The currently live project was a proof-of-concept; this new project really is a demonstration of what the full game will be. Look forward to it!!

The main point of this devlog is just to announce that. So mark your calendars! ...For those interested, though, I'll still go over the following topics in more detail below:

Rebuilding The Demo: Process

Rebuilding The Demo: Current Status

Recreation/Inspiration (as always!)

Resources: linktr.ee/amadeusgame | amadeus-game.com

Details below the readmore!

Rebuilding The Demo: Process

The overall process can be distilled to a very simple (lol) 3-step process:

Take a hammer to the old demo

Rebuild and take notes

Use the process of rebuilding to finally fix big underlying problems you've ignored for the past year and revel in how much easier your life will be moving forward now

1. Take a hammer to the old demo

Dismantle everything dependent on the old scripts that are all connected to each other. Purge.

This part was difficult. I had built so many new mechanics in my test scene, but in order to implement them in existing scenes I had to replace all of the old scripts that were all hooked up to each other and reduce the game to an unplayable state before I could start rebuilding. What made this so difficult was that it felt like moving backwards: I was turning a playable (if obsolete) scene to an unplayable (but necessary to add all the cool new stuff) state. In the middle of this it really felt like I wasn't accomplishing anything at all and that I was moving farther away from my goal, even though that is completely untrue.

2. Rebuild and take notes

Start inserting new scripts and prefabs - taking notes along the way. INCLUDING notes that go "whoops, I didn't realize from my test scene, but X is broken now."

I cannot over-emphasize the importance of taking notes at this stage. I was adding interact mechanics, text mechanics, movement mechanics, UI updates. There was so much to rebuild for each scene, and the only way to make sure I was rebuilding each scene the same way was to take notes of my process and follow it for each new scene.

Please don't actually read this image, as it reveals a lot more than I would strictly like it to in terms of how well put-together this game is.

I started with the "simplest" scene (one that is a pure visual novel scene, only relying on the text and UI stuff with  no movement or player interaction save for advancing the text) and took step-by-step notes of everything I needed to do to make it playable again. What prefabs do I drag in and where? What reference objects need to be dragged in to which scripts? Then, once it was rebuilt, I moved on to the shortest interactive scene and made additional sections in my notes for movement and interaction mechanics. I also - VERY ESSENTIALLY - created 2 more sections: "Bugs (game-breaking)" and "Bugs (quality of life)." Here I jotted down everything that was messed up or broken in these new scenes that I didn't anticipate from my test scene.

Because, boy, even if everything works perfectly smoothly in the test scene, there will be new bugs that arise when you go to implement in other scenes. There was one issue with handling transitions from full-body screens to "close-up" screens that only arose in one scene that has specific properties the others don't. It took an absurd amount of time to troubleshoot and, in the end, was solved by adding two lines of code to one script changing the value of a single bool. That was one of those problems that wasn't satisfying to resolve... it just made me salty that such a persistent problem had such an obvious solution. On the plus side, I am now much more practiced with using the animator to isolate/identify problems, so next time a similar issue comes up it should be resolved much more quickly!

When rebuilding, I learned to first try to get everything mostly working and just write down the bugs I knew of to deal with later, not letting the process of troubleshooting every issue interrupt the primary task of Putting Everything Back Together But Better. If I let fixing bugs stand between me and finishing the rebuild, I would never finish the rebuild. Write it down and fix it later.

3. Fix big underlying problems

As a lazy person, I am not incentivized to fix big underlying problems if the game works as it is. This is why there is a lot of spaghetti in my game's code.

However, also as a lazy person, I am incentivized to make my own life easier when I don't feel like doing repetitive things over and over. So in the process of rebuilding the demo, it became clear that I was having to do certain very manual things way too often. Like manually resizing the text box for every individual line of text in the game. (Yes, that is really how it was put together originally...) Since I had to figure out how to use vertical layout groups for my scrolling text backlog that grows as you read more and more text, it was much easier to use the same principle to make a textbox layout group and just have all of my text objects as children to that parent, which would automatically resize them to the proper dimensions. So much easier to implement, and ALSO so much easier to tweak moving forward if I need to!

This is just a single example, but there are a lot of things like this that I never would have fixed if I didn't do the important first step of taking a hammer to the old demo and rebuilding. Everything was too interconnected and too dependent on the way I did things originally, bad habits and all. But since I had to tear it apart anyway to add the new mechanics I built, it ended up being easier to fix a lot of big issues like this, too.

Most of these fixes aren't going to be immediately obvious to the player, but I'm hoping it'll be obvious in aggregate that there's a bit more elegance in how things are put together now. A seasoned programmer would still look at my code and pass out, but compared to before, it's all much more wisely constructed. Hooray for learning!

Rebuilding the Demo: Current Status

New mechanics are implemented in every scene except for 1. That last scene should not present new problems that haven't already been noted or addressed from the previous ones, but never say never as I have learned. I still anticipate this going quickly, at which point I'll put it in front of playtesters for feedback on how it all feels and fix what's still egregiously broken.

The meat of the next month and some change will then be dedicated to art, narrative, and polish. I have already spent more time than I really hoped to purely on the mechanics, and now that I have baked my cake so to speak it's time to decorate it. I want to replace and update a lot of art assets now that I have a concrete concept for art direction. I want to tweak certain dialogue and descriptive text to foreshadow and set up plot points I've decided on. I want to add more fun things for the player to click on. I don't know how much I'll be able to add before the demo release, but at the bare minimum, there are many art assets and at least a couple music assets I'm excited to work on.

Even if it's the same core game, I really want this new demo to feel like a whole new experience. I'm really excited about it. I hope you are too!

Recreation/Inspiration

It never stops being important to acknowledge other media that inspires and influences me! It also never stops being important to do things for fun even when you're busy.

Truthfully I did not read more of Tsukihime this month like I expected to. I had a lot of Christmas presents to make and no time to dedicate to that much of A Commitment. Instead, I DID set aside time to check out a couple other indie/solo projects on itch - ever since I met and talked to a bunch of small indie devs at Seattle Indie Expo, I've really enjoyed looking at the work of other small & solo teams. It's affirming to know other people are also out there doing a ton of work by themselves, and that a one-person team can still make really incredible games.

This month I checked out:

- It Paints Me by Endysis. A short gothic horror VN. I really enjoy visual novels by creators with strengths that I lack, I find them both inspiring and insightful. The visual and sound experience in this was really cohesive in a way that none of my work is (I am, for better or worse, very much a "go in thousands of directions all at once and see how it comes together" kind of creator) - the illustrations and sounds were incredibly effective in coming together to set the tone of the story.

- Karambola by Holy Pangolin. A very unique point-and-click puzzle game. I was immediately struck by the way this game uses two distinct styles of illustration "against" one another, which is exactly what I intend to do in Amadeus. It was also a really good reference for communicating feedback to the player using audio/visual cues and not words. I will of course be using many words, since I am writing a visual novel, but in games learning how to communicate gameplay without a wall of text instruction manual is of dire importance. This was a really cool experience.

- Kit (demo) by Endysis. I had this on my radar since I liked It Paints Me so much, which was made for a game jam; I wanted to see what this creator would do in a project completed on their own schedule. I was absolutely enamored. I meant to only start it out at around 10pm and ended up bingeing the whole demo because I simply couldn't put it down. There are, in fact, many things from this game that I am also exploring in Amadeus, but elaborating further risks spoiling one or both games. The use of music in storytelling in particular was both moving and inspiring. If you like gothic horror I cannot recommend this enough.

That is a wrap for this month, and this year. I hope you all had/are having a wonderful holiday season. I don't think I'll be posting another devlog before the new demo drops, so... I hope you enjoy it when it's ready!!

[messrsbyler]

ok nic i see your rw&rb kiss scene and raise u the gay tension kitchen scene:

Steve is on the phone with Robin, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose and back aching from hunching over the counter he's seated on, when he hears rustling down the hall. He freezes, mind instantly jumping to worst-case: Will and El live across the palace from here, and Jonathan had very pointedly not spoken to him more than strictly necessary after their cursory public appearances earlier, so it can't be any of them. Maybe it's the PPOs or his own security, but, more likely, an intruder who is coming to stab him to death for, like, contaminating precious royal soil with his American blood or some shit.

Steve likes to keep things positive, clearly.

(It would still be better than having to deal with Jonathan again, the snide section of his brain snarks in response, louder than usual after being multiplied by his exhaustion and overall barely contained rage at this whole situation. That is, the situation he caused, by dragging the heir of a country down onto a table holding the world's most expensive cake and nearly starting another World War, but- whatever! He's not thinking about it.

As long as he doesn't have to deal with said heir more than strictly necessary.)

Unfortunately, the universe is a cold and merciless place, and the person who comes padding into the kitchen is not a vigilante come to put him out of his misery, but is, in fact, His Royal Fucking Highness himself.

"Hold on," he hisses to Robin, who had been mid-tirade and splutters something indignant at him that he ignores entirely, opting instead to hang up on her and make a mental note to apologize over text later. Ask for forgiveness, not permission, or whatever. His life motto, at this point.

Jonathan is different, now, out of his fancy royal clothes and cold exterior. He's half-awake, shoulders slumping as he yawns, wearing a yellow sweater and pajama bottoms. He has earbuds in, and his feet are bare, and his hair is very clearly lacking in whatever usually makes it stay perfectly gelled on his head.

He looks, alarmingly, human.

His eyes land on Steve, and he freezes, eyes going wide in mild horror. Steve stares back blankly from his perch on the counter, phone slack in his hand even as it lights up immediately with three inevitably irritated texts from Robin at having been hung up on.

Jonathan tugs an earbud out, shoulders going tense again, back to their usual infuriatingly rigid posture, but his eyes stay crinkled around the corners, mouth pink and slack. Not that- not that Steve is looking at it.

"Hello," Jonathan says hoarsely, and if Steve didn't know better he'd think Jonathan was embarrassed. He coughs. "Sorry, I was just, uh. Cornettos." He gestures vaguely to the refrigerator.

Steve blinks. "What?"

A muscle in Jonathan's jaw twitches, either in annoyance or amusement, and he opens the freezer, rooting through it until he locates a box of ice cream cones labeled Cornettos across the front. "I ran out."

Any upsetting feelings Steve might have been having - something approaching fondness, maybe, at Jonathan's sweet and sleep-rumpled appearance - dissipate immediately. "Do you raid the kitchens of all your guests?" he demands.

"Only when I can't sleep," Jonathan says, which does not make it better. "Which is always," he adds, which still does not make it better, but does make Steve feel slightly worse for thinking so. "Didn't think you'd be awake."

This is a fair assumption, and it should annoy Steve that he'd assume anything about him in the first place, but he's tired and jet-lagged and out of it, so he only sort of manages a weird little nod. Jonathan eyes him warily, slowly sliding a Cornetto out of the box like he's waiting for Steve to tell him not to. When he doesn't, Jonathan unwraps it cautiously and holds it there, still looking at him with that inscrutable expression.

Steve expects him to put the remaining Cornettos back and leave. Jonathan does no such thing.

"Have you rehearsed what you're going to say tomorrow? In front of the press?"

Ah. There's the annoyance again. Just when Steve was starting to miss it. "Yes. Obviously. I'm not a complete idiot."

Jonathan's face twitches like he begs to differ. "I didn't mean it like that," he sighs, weary. "I just meant- do you think we should rehearse or something?"

Steve frowns. "Do you... need to?"

"I don't know. Thought it might help." Jonathan shifts his weight from foot to foot, looking oddly anxious.

God, he's insufferable. Steve has never in his life met someone wound so goddamn tight. And that's saying something, coming from someone who encounters Nancy Wheeler on a regular basis.

He hops off the counter, pleased that he's regained the upper hand. He'd been afraid of losing it, for a second there, when he'd been having those weird cartwheel-y feelings in his stomach at the sight of Jonathan's tousled hair and stupid fucking sweater. "Watch this," he commands, and relishes the way Jonathan bristles at it as he lines up a shot with his phone camera. The box of Cornettos on the counter, Jonathan's hand sitting next to it idly like he's not sure if he should withdraw it, the corner of his pajama pants just visible. Steve thinks it's important that people know that His Royal Douchiness wears blue and white checkers to bed.

"'Nothing cures jet lag,'" he reads off in a monotone as he types out a caption, watching Jonathan's expression shift from curiosity to irritation and back again, "'like midnight ice cream with @/PrinceJonathan.'" He pauses, glances up with a smirk. "Prince Jonathan kind of sounds clunky, if you ask me. I would have gone with Jon or Johnny or- fucking- Byers, or something. Title-wise."

Jonathan's lips twitch. "Do I look like a fucking Johnny to you?"

"Fair point." Steve goes back to his phone. "Okay, geotag the palace, crop, filter, and posted." He holds the phone up for Jonathan to see as likes and comments flood in. "There are lots of things worth overthinking, believe me. But this isn't one of them."

Jonathan frowns at him over his ice cream, which he's just begun to dig into. "I suppose," he says, doubtful. "Or maybe you just underthink."

"Fuck you," Steve says, but with significantly less punch than the last fifty times he'd said it. "Are you done?" he adds, because said lack of punch makes the weird fluttery thing in his stomach return in full force and he does not care for it at all. "I was on a call."

Jonathan's expression, which had been contemplative a second ago, shutters, then closes off entirely, and Steve feels something like regret.

Horrifying. He hates emotions.

"Of course," Jonathan says stiffly, all royal politeness, which does serve to make the fluttery feeling lessen but also, somehow, makes Steve feel slightly sick. "I won't keep you."

Steve's traitorous eyes trail after him as he leaves the kitchen, catch every stilted detail when Jonathan pauses in the doorframe, considering. "I didn't know you wore glasses," he says after a moment of contemplation, in an entirely unreadable tone.

He leaves Steve standing there alone in the kitchen, Robin lighting his phone up with furious texts and the box of Cornettos sweating on the counter.

PARKER YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY INSANE FOR THIS. ITS THEM. ITS SO THEM. DAMN YOU FOR PUTTING THIS THOUGHT IN MY MIND. i’ll be attacking back soon enough when you least expect it.

[vxnillite]

fluffy ZNoah drabble

Summary: it's just them training with gay tension and pining i cant come up with titles to save my life, sorry

Word count: 2212

[Edit: ok so i forgot to post this on ig, but then thought to edit it while i was here. nothing much changed, it even got 4 words shorter lol]

"I'm clocking out early today."

Kroi looked up from his work with genuine surprise. "But you're usually the last one out," he said.

Noah talked as they packed a small backpack with their water bottle and a change of clothes. They shrugged. "Z's giving me self-defense training or whatever."

"You agreed?"

"Shocked myself, too, actually." Noah slung a single strap over their left shoulder. "But she did have a point. She doesn't always come along for the school visits, and while the Na'vi are really skilled fighters, I guess it wouldn't be a bad thing if I were able to defend myself."

Grace emerged from the adjoined room. She looked oodly smug as she asked, "Is that the only reason?"

Noah raised a brow. "Should there be another?"

Kroi and Grace exchanged looks but said nothing. The latter smiled and patted Noah on the shoulder.

"Well, you've done enough at the lab today," she said, "Great work, as always."

The young scientist couldn't help but blush a bit, a bubble of pride swelling in their chest. They smiled. "Thanks, Grace."

"Alright, go get your strictly necessary training."

Kroi beamed, "See you at dinner, Noah!"

A slightly perplexed Noah waved goodbye as they left through the vacuum doors of the lab. They haven't told a soul, but they'd begun to notice the weird pattern of reaction whenever they mentioned the soldier to their friends, but Noah had never thought much of it, except that it was probably just a bunch of friendly yet fruitless teasing.

When the doors hissed to a close, then the other two scientists burst into lighthearted laughter.

"How are they so clueless," Kroi mused, "Z-Dog could outright tell Noah and they still wouldn't believe her."

"I made a bet with Dr. Patel that Noah might notice in two weeks."

The doctor mentioned chimed in from the other room, "You might as well hand me the money now, Dr. Augustine. That kid's never gonna notice that soldier girl's got a crush on them."

----------

Noah's phone buzzed incessantly while they were on their way to the SecOps wing, much to their annoyance. They already knew who was blowing their phone up and thought it better to just walk the entire way in relative peace. A few paces later, their phone still wouldn't shut up, so Noah yanked their phone out of their pocket and read the messages.

'u out yet?'

'where r u'

'hurry up im bored'

'stop ignoring my texts'

'damn u slow'

"Puta, ingay," Noah muttered to themselves as they punched in a response.

'omw :P'

'walk faster'

'no'

'oh i forgot'

'short legs ;)'

With a sharp click of the tongue, Noah quickly shoved their phone back in their pocket. The thought of just turning right back around and heading to their sleeping quarters instead seemed rather enticing now. As of late, Z had become bolder with teasing Noah around like that, and it's been driving them insane. The dumb jokes and that stupid laugh she made whenever she got a reaction out of Noah… All of it would be stuck in their head for hours, and Noah didn't know how to deal with it.

They started walking faster as they recognized the corridor leading to the SecOps training rooms. The volume of soldiers passing by was growing by the meter. Noah could feel the confused looks that some were throwing at them, while others, thankfully, seemed like they didn't give a crap about the scientist.

Noah looked closely at the room labels placed above the doors, trying to recall the room number Z had told them to go to—without much success.

Just how many training rooms do a bunch of these grease monkey musclebrains need?

Unfortunately, after racking their brain a bit more in vain, Noah had no choice but to ask Z. They were impatient enough as is, and they genuinely couldn't remember that tiny bit of information to save their life. They groaned as they pulled their phone back out of their pocket.

'room?'

'u forgot? :('

'nvm im going back'

Somewhere beside Noah, a bubblegum popped. "And, here I thought you were excited for training."

Noah jumped back a bit at Z just suddenly materializing in front of them. How did they not notice her?

Quickly composing themselves, Noah cleared their throat and said, "Stop playing games already. You were the one telling me to hurry up, weren't you?"

Z chuckled as she ruffled the scientist's hair. "Just wanted to see you sooner," she said, "Is that so wrong?"

Noah frantically pushed the hand off their head and looked around at the crowd in a panic. "Ugh, can you even hear yourself," they chided in hushed tones, "Just—! Let's just get to training already!"

They stormed off, and Z, knowing better, chased after Noah and pulled them along to the training room they'd be using, which was in the opposite direction that Noah was marching off to. Upon arrival, Noah checked first if it was empty. It was one of their conditions for this series of self-defense training with Z. The latter agreed, actually finding it ideal for her, too.

Satisfied that there was nary a human being in the room aside from them, Noah put their backpack down on a bench and plopped down beside it.

They looked up at Z expectantly. "So, what are we gonna do first," they asked.

Z stood across them, arms crossed under her chest. "First, have you ever had any sort of physical training before?"

Noah recounted their experiences on their fingers. "Failed high school phys-ed, used medical notes throughout college… Oh, and Kevin tried teaching me, but I guess I was a terrible student because I didn't learn shit."

"Oh, wow," Z chuckled, "We better get started then." 

The soldier cocked her head towards the small black bin by the door and spat the gum in her mouth straight in. The small spectacle shouldn't have been of any note to Noah, but it was. The fact lingered in the back of their mind, but they did their best to not let it show.

"Warm-up first," Z said as she motioned Noah over to the mat, "Some basic stretches can't be too hard for you, right?"

Noah snickered, "Don't count on it yet."

"Alright, nerd. Just follow my lead."

Z started doing some basic stretches. Noah seemed to be following along okay, but they kept tumbling over or losing their balance. At some point, it concerned Z, and she stopped stretching. When she spared Noah a little exasperated stare, the scientist stood up and looked back at her, confused.

"What's wrong?"

"Do the stretch we just did."

Although their brow was still raised, Noah just shrugged, then went back into the stretch. Z walked around them, humming in thought. When she came back to her spot, she had her conclusion.

"Your posture sucks, Noah," she said, trying not to laugh.

Noah immediately straightened up and clutched their braids, their eyes averted from Z in embarrassment in a fruitless attempt to hide their blushing face and ears. "Stop fucking giggling, you pinhead," they retorted, "It's not that bad!"

"Dude," the soldier wheezed, "It's why you keep falling over. It is that bad."

Noah twisted on their heel and began to storm off when Z caught their shoulders, then pulled them back towards the mat. "Don't just give up like that, idiot," she chuckled, "I didn't say I wouldn't help you."

"Still took a fucking sweet time to mock me, though," they huffed as they were dragged.

Z let them settle their feet back on the mat. "Alright, now do the stretch again."

"No."

"Noah."

"Ugh, fine."

A snarl and a string of curses came through as Noah redid the stretch. Z told them to relax as she went behind them and started correcting Noah's stance. But when she went to try and hold onto Noah's side, they jerked back and made a noise between a squeak and a yelp.

Noah, absolutely mortified, looked back at Z. It took the soldier a few seconds to process what she'd just heard.

"Was that… Was that you?"

Noah could feel their ears burning as frustration and humiliation created chaos within them. "You didn't fucking hear that!"

Z absolutely heard it, and she was suddenly in hysterics. "Noah, you're ticklish? Hah!"

"Shut the fuck up!"

"Oh my god. That's just cute," Z smirked, "Who would've thought?"

Noah thought their ticklishness was something stupid, embarrassing, and totally unbecoming of them — but never 'cute'. That tiny comment echoed in Noah's head, as well as the loud pounding of their heart. It felt extremely weird that, no matter how hard they thought, they couldn't come up with anything to snark back at Z with. So they just stood there, stunned, hair pulled over their reddened ears. The same couldn't be done to hide their face though, as it burned a deep, cherry red.

"You're blushing," the soldier teased.

Noah hissed, "I know that!"

Z's laughter trailed into a softer chuckle, then she asked, "How sensitive are you?"

Silence.

Z put a hand on her waist, looking expectantly at Noah. "I'm not trying to tease. I'm asking so I know how to help you in training."

Noah answered reluctantly, "It's really bad when I'm taken by surprise, like what you did just now. But I think if I see it coming…  it wouldn't bother me as much."

Having absorbed that little bit of information, Z went behind Noah again. As she guided them into the right position, she'd tell Noah beforehand if she was going to touch them and where. Noah still jerked back on reflex, but they tolerated the annoying tingling sensations until they actually eased into a sense of comfort. The feeling of Z's firm, heavy grip lingered on the areas she would touch, and it rendered Noah quite complacent to the soldier's instructions and helplessly flustered from the tiniest bits of praise.

When they got through the warm-up, Noah could barely feel their muscles burning over the heat they felt in their face. As soon as Z stepped away from them, Noah ran to the bench and chugged their water, purposefully turned away from Z as they mentally tried to calm themselves down.

It wasn't working that well.

"If you were that thirsty, you could've told me," Z said, both teasing and concerned. "And, don't drown yourself."

Noah drank almost the entire bottle of water and was panting as if they'd run a marathon when they put the tumbler down. They wiped away any stray water trails with the back of their hand, then turned back around to face Z.

"What's next," they huffed, expression steeled as if they weren't blushing crazily just moments ago.

Cute, Z thought. She stifled her laughter out of consideration for Noah's determination. "Alright, we'll start with the basics: just punching and kicking. Nothing too complicated"

An hour later, Noah was lying spread-eagled on the mat, drenched in sweat and eyes closed as they struggled to catch their breath. Every muscle in their body was screaming and Noah listened to their plea. They stayed still on the mat while Z looked on.

She snickered, "So, want to move on to lesson 2?"

Noah raised a middle finger at her, only for it to drop back down on the mat. They earned a hearty laugh from the soldier.

Z got her tumbler and Noah's towel from their bag, then handed both items to them, whom she had to pull up to a sitting position. They flung the towel on their head and started chugging down the bottle. It was empty in seconds.

"Ah, shit," they muttered, frowning at the empty bottle. Then they looked up at Z, their gaze soft and apologetic. "Sorry about that."

Z sat beside them. "Nah, it's fine," she said, "I've got an extra bottle in my bag."

"I'm real shitty at this physical stuff," Noah sighed. Training was rough, but halfway through it , they actually started having fun. They had to admit—and they really didn't expect it—their teacher was a pretty good one. But they couldn't help but feel bad about being so crap at following her directions at times.

Z laughed, "Yeah, you are." She patted Noah on the back and smiled. "But, you did good today. Tripped a few times, but hey, baby steps, right?"

Noah lightened up at the comment. "Right," they nodded. "Oh, by the way, I've got a pack of bubblegum in my bag. It's your favorite."

"You remember my favorite bubble gum flavor?"

"Uh, yeah, 'cus you're never not chewing on one."

Z suddenly tackled Noah into a headlock, laughing loudly as they tried to squirm out from under her arm to no avail.

"Isn't that sweet of you," she chuckled.

"Gago, bitawan mo nga 'ko!" [T/N: Let go of me!]

They tried pushing her off, but Noah's arms were twigs in strength compared to Z's. Yet as they cursed out the soldier, Noah was grinning and laughing along with her. Eventually, Z loosened her arm around their neck, and rested it over their shoulder. They didn't try to remove it.

"Same time tomorrow," they asked.

"You don't mind?"

Noah shook their head. Z grinned.

"It's a date, then."

[stackthedeck]

Please do give us the two types of fictional consent rant

Yes!! Okay, so there are two types of fictional consent, in-universe and narrative. Think of it like watsonian vs doylist or diegetic or non-diegetic music. (discussion of sex but nothing graphic and mentions of rape under the cut)

So in-universe consent is where the characters look at each other and say hell yeah I wanna fuck. It's not something that's particularly hard to establish. Often times in the debate around censoring mature acts from literature, works with no in-universe consent get targetted

narrative consent is much harder to establish. I think of it as you giving your consent to the writer. The reader kinda enters into a relationship with the text, but like all consent, it needs to be informed. The text has an obligation to signal to the reader through foreshadowing and tone that whatever sex acts happen are coming and you the reader should suspend your disbelief and feel a certain way about it. Narrative consent isn't established because it's the right thing to do, but because it's good storytelling.

So you have stories with in-universe and narrative consent. Congrats you wrote a sex scene and your reader enjoyed it! The characters wanted this to happen and so did the reader, whether that's because it's a slow burn with gentle hinting at a greater passion, the two characters locked eyes and felt a spark, or there was a half naked man on the cover, the reader knew what they were getting into.

Then you have no in-universe consent but you do have narrative consent. There's something impeding the characters' abilities to consent and the reader knows this, but the tone and framing make it so the reader isn't upset by this but continues reading for some kind of desired response. These are your bodice rippers, your sex pollens, your mating cycles, etc. A kidnapped princess can't really consent, but the narrative describes it as pleasurable and she doesn't feel bad afterward and so there's narrative consent. Why would someone want to read that? The prevailing theory is the displacement theory of sexuality. When society vilifies sexual pleasure in a group, that group feels shame around sexuality but they're still human and feel desire. These stories provide the paradoxical fantasy of receiving sexual pleasure while also having a distance from desire. The reader is in a position where they feel that they are not allowed to want, so a character that does not want but still receives, can be a gratifying experience. Not for everyone in the group that is made to feel shame btw and idk if I even believe this theory but it is a neat explanation

and that's only if the desired response is pleasure. Stories the have no in-universe consent but narrative consent can also seek out catharsis as the desired response and depict rape. The reader will have a "bad" reaction the same way they will have a "bad" reaction to a tragedy or horror, you know. Not everyone reading something dark is getting off to it you know. Sometimes you just want fiction to hurt and the story tells you that's what's going to happen, clearly signaling what's going to go down through tone and framing.

I'm tempted to call all stories with no narrative consent bad writing. Like if there's just suddenly a sex scene that you the reader weren't prepared for, that's bad writing. Often times texts don't establish narrative consent because they're simply not that good, not because they're trying to harm their readers. Have you ever read a sex scene and it's just really boring and then nothing changes afterward and the characters don't get closer because of it? That's a violation of narrative consent. Sometimes you're reading a horror novel and then there's a gruesome rape scene and woah you really didn't think it was that kind of novel. That's a violation of narrative consent

And like I don't think it's strictly necessary to call this concept consent because it's just the full effect of communicating with the reader through genre conventions, tone, foreshadowing, etc. But I like to call it that because I think trashy romance novels have really mastered this idea and sex is held to a very different standard than other acts in fiction. I think tragedies and horrors are also really good at his, at holding the reader through the catharsis, not just hitting them with the horrible thing, but sitting with them in the horrible thing and letting them have the fallout.

[kadavernagh]

Help in a Pinch || Regan & Fang

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The Medical Examiner's office PARTIES: Regan and Fang (going by "Sara") SUMMARY: Regan has crabs, and Fang is there to help! Billing herself as an expert at getting rid of crabs, Regan was all too eager to believe it, and hired her immediately. The crabs prove to be a little trickier than anticipated, but Fang gets bonus points for style.

Regan didn’t know anything about Sara Fukuhara, other than one very important fact: she was highly confident she could rid the morgue of crabs, for enough money. And the place was lousy with them. She needed the help. The crabs spilled out of the freezers when she opened them, they slashed their way into her yogurt containers, and they even cut the power at one point, mid-autopsy. It was unacceptable, and a real problem. So Sara was a welcome presence here.

She waited by the entrance of the morgue, shifting her weight between her feet. Marcy raised a brow, not used to seeing Regan outside of the basement unless strictly necessary. “It’s about the crabs.” Regan had offered, and Marcy’s curiosity quickly died down. When a young woman – perhaps about 30 years old – approached, Regan nearly jumped her. Hardly anyone came here uninvited, and she wasn’t expecting any next of kin to drop by. So this was probably Sara. Regan had to resist the urge to drop a wad of cash by the woman’s feet, she was so eager to have this whole mess dealt with. “Dr. Kavanagh. I believe we spoke online. About the crabs. You must be Sara. Right?” Please say you’re Sara. Regan stepped aside, a gesture to invite her into the morgue. “Anything you need, I can probably provide. We have a whole stockroom full of chemicals. I will help with your methodology however I can.” The crab that scuttled out from under one of the lobby chairs only pressed her further. “Should we start with that one?"

Fang, rather “Sara Fukuhara,” arrived at the morgue wearing a denim jacket over a white shirt and a pair of jeans. Not exactly an ensemble the real Sara Fukuhara would be wearing to meet a client, but to be fair, the real Sara Fukuhara wasn’t short on rent money. Also, the real Sara Fukuhara wouldn’t have to go all the way to the morgue to meet a client. Dead people don’t have shitty radios and cameras they needed to get fixed. Dead people were lucky. 

As soon as she saw someone at the entrance, Fang gave them a quick wave. “You the one with the crabs?” She asked nonchalantly, not even making any effort to quiet herself down despite noticing someone else close by. It wasn’t quite the question a stranger would love to answer, especially without the proper context, but the whole town had crabs, so…the confusion would be the stranger’s problem, not hers. “Sara? Oh, yeah, that’s…me. Do you have a box, though?”

“Yes, I have crabs.” Regan replied, without batting an eye. “We have established this. I think everyone has crabs right now. Though… some more than others.” Behind her desk, Marcy sniggered, and Regan assumed it was a funny text message or something. 

She took in Sara’s appearance, which contrasted with her own professional dress, as well as what most visitors to the morgue wore. But she was in no position to pass judgment. There was something missing though – some kind of patch, or hat, or other indication of what pest control company she was with. There was no logo to be seen. Thinking on it, had Sara even said this was her job? Regan wasn’t sure she wanted to know. “A box. I can get a box.” She nodded, serious, as if she’d just been entrusted with a highly important task. Regan held up a finger to say one moment and shuffled into the nearby storeroom. One of the boxes that had previously been full of PPE was nearly empty, so she set the remaining aside and darted back out with the empty box. She presented it to Sara with pride. “Are you planning on trapping all of them in this? Do you have a special lure for them?”

Pfft, Fang almost lost it at that reply. For a moment longer than she wanted, her face broke into an amused smile, though she tried her best to quickly chase it away by pursing her lips. “Yes, of course, everyone…has crabs…” The woman was making it hard for her to keep her composure but she managed. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to head straight here after a comedy marathon with the actual Sara Fukuhara. Fang didn’t seek such entertainment, but Sara was her landlady, so saying no would have endangered her living accommodations. 

“Special lure?” Fang took the box from the woman and raised an eyebrow at the question. They were crabs. What kind of lure would she need apart from kicking them all into the box? “I was thinking I’d just sweep them into a box. You guys have brooms here, right?” Fang was not animal control. She wasn’t pest control. She was definitely not a fisherman. She didn’t know a thing or two about handling ordinary sea creatures. But they were just ordinary sea creatures. How difficult could this job be? “By the way, half payment now, half later.”  

Regan blinked at Sara, trying not to hide her dumbfoundedness. All she was going to do was use a broom to collect them into the box? That was it? Such a simple solution, Regan couldn’t believe it was a solution at all. All of her previous attempts to contain the crabs ended in failure – more would appear as if out of thin air, or they’d start scrambling out of their makeshift prison. Sara knew what she was dealing with here, right? This was a strange species. Don’t question the expert, she mentally chided herself. She knew how it felt to be on the receiving end of that. “I just thought… I thought they would require something a little more than a box and a broom. Have you had success with this procedure in the past?” She squirmed a little, shifting her weight between her feet. 

Payment. Right. Regan forgot that people often asked for the sum to be split like that, before and after. Back in Saol Eile, the others simply bound each other to their word where payment was concerned; there was no need for trust. Though on occasion, some would still manage to get into a war of words and wit with each other, ducking their promises. But Sara was a simple human, and Regan needed to try to become one again, too. “Of course!” Regan pulled the clip of twenty dollar bills from her pocket and flicked through it with her fingers, ready to count, completely unaware that such an action might impact the cost. “How much will it be?” 

Surely she wouldn’t regret any of this. A crab-less morgue was worth clearing away any doubt. “Do we have brooms? Of course we have brooms. Many. What kind do you want? Oh, I should just show you. Follow me.” Regan scanned her badge by the door and allowed Sara deeper into the morgue, down the corridor and into an impressive storeroom of cleaning supplies. Those stenches could be stubborn around here. As could the stains. “Maybe you want the one with extra-firm bristles? Or the corn broom? Oh, we have a rubber one, too…”

“I mean,” Fang simply shrugged, as this was her first time dealing with runaway crabs. She did fight that one monster crab in Japan, though, but it wasn’t confined in a morgue. It was at sea, and she did almost die that time. Plus, there were, like, ten hunters with her, and she was just one of the soldiers, not even the general calling the shots. That was her mentor, the guy who died, whom she had wanted to avenge but failed to do so, as his killer left for this town and was killed by another slayer before Fang could get her hands on it. “It’s just crabs, right? How hard could it be?”

If Fang took a moment to consider everything else that was spoken and shared between them, she’d maybe realize that if it was that easy, the woman wouldn’t have hired her to do the paid job. She had the box and the broom. She could’ve done it herself. But Fang also knew that people here don’t really like doing jobs for themselves. They had the money, so why would they? “How much do you got?” was not something an experienced businesswoman would ask, but Fang was not an experienced businesswoman, so she asked the question without much thought. 

Fang followed the lady inside the morgue, taking note of the whole scanning thing with the badge and the door, which impressed her. Fang thought it was like one of those sci-fi movies that the real Sara Fukuhara had introduced her, too. Some of them were a hit and a miss, not as entertaining story-wise as they were more impressive visually and potentially, but they were all decent time wasters. “Corn broom? The extra firm bristles should be fine.” Just in case she needed to knock the crabs unconscious. Just wallop them right then and there

“Here? Um…” Regan finished flicking through the bills. “$400. Will that cover your expenses?” Though, as she asked, she realized there weren’t any expenses so far. Regan had been the one to provide the box, and now the broom. But Sara’s knowledge and willingness were worth something, right? She folded $200 and handed it over to Sara. She also dug out the extra-firm bristle broom from the bundle of options, and delicately nudged it toward her. “I hope this meets your expectations. But if it doesn’t, there are other options available. And it might not. I apologize, but I don’t have a lot of confidence in this broom plan. The crabs have been resistant to these kinds of interventions.”

The crabs would be the ones to determine if it would work. And they weren’t going to wait around for Regan and Sara to formulate a plan better than the flimsy one they had. Quiet scuttling sounded from behind her, and from underneath the necklace’s glamour, Regan felt her wings twitch in disgust. She hated that sound. It was the sound of soiled yogurt and interrupted autopsies. Those crabs were menaces. One of them crabwalked out of the shadows, and seemed to be looking up at them with stalked eyes, its antennae bobbing with interest. It wasn’t alone. More scuttling, more spindly limbs and clacking carapaces. There were two, then three, then one fell from one of the storage shelves right on Sara’s shoes, and another, especially big crab nudged the heavy door, and it creaked shut on whining hinges. Regan jolted. Looked to Sara, who didn’t seem to understand the gravity of what had just happened. How could she? 

“That door does not open from the inside.

Fang’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the $400 but her hands were quicker in swiping half that amount out of the morgue lady’s hands. “Yeah, this should be fine,” she whistled internally while she remained emotionless on the surface, counting the bills to satiate her own curiosity. Or was it paranoia? Potato, potato. Or is it tomato, tomato? Either way, Fang was going to beat up as many crabs as she could to get the rest of that money. 

“Should be fine,” Fang was already looking over the broom in her hands when her eyebrow raised out of, well, curiosity. And maybe a little bit of paranoia. “How resistant?” Did the crabs here have massive, sharp pincers that could cut the bristles and maybe even the wood of the broom in half? Those didn’t sound like normal crabs, but also not undead crabs…yet. “Do these crabs stink like they’ve been dead for a while?” 

When a crab fell on her shoes, Fang immediately tried to step on it with all her might. It was instinctive, but nothing to brag about. A normal person would first assess the situation. But Fang was not normal. She was born Chinese, trained Japanese, and now stuck in a creepy American town with people who can’t even sweep crabs off their floors. “Wait… So, how do we get out?” Were they trapped there? With the crabs? Well, at least they won’t go hungry. Though, ‘they’ might not even refer to Fang and the Doctor

“Please,” Regan drawled, really not understanding what or why Fang was asking about dead crabs, but thinking she did. “All crabs smell like that, I think. They’re detritivores. And some of them are trying their darndest to get in with the cadavers. They still don’t smell quite as good as a – I mean, bad. They don’t stink quite as bad as a cadaver.”

Seeing Sara try to smash up one of the crabs with such gusto held some promise, didn’t it? Yes. So Regan would try to relax, even though the door closed on them. She was with an expert. And she was an expert in her own right, if it came down to survival. But it wouldn’t. Marcy was still here, up in the lobby. “I send a message to Marcy, she gets the storeroom keys, and lets us out.” Regan exhaled in relief, reminding herself that that probably wasn’t too complicated of a feat. Marcy would act quickly once she knew they were stuck here. Regan pulled out her flip phone and started a text to her, but a crab practically flew from the body bag shelf and landed right on Regan’s hand, pincers-first. 

“Ow!” She screeched, phone dropping to the floor as her thumb swelled and the dangling light above them burst into a hundred pieces. She gritted her teeth at the sensation of glass on skin, but it wasn’t nearly as surprising as the initial pinch. And something she had grown far more used to over the years. But now they were trapped, and in the dark. And her phone was on the floor, not visible, and surrounded by shattered glass and pointy crabs. That was probably just about what she deserved for reacting so rashly to the pain. You’ve endured fifty times as much and it no longer breaks you. Stupid. “Sara? Are you okay?” Regan called out in the dark. “I’ll just – my phone couldn’t have gone far. Unless the crabs took it and moved it. They wouldn’t, right? They lack that dexterity.”

Well, that wasn’t reassuring. Fang didn’t know what that word meant but the first thing that came to her mind was another word: carnivores. And then two other words followed that thought right away, omnivores and herbivores. The gears in her head started to turn, and she immediately frowned at the idea that was trying to force itself inside her mind. “Wait, does that mean what I think it means? Detrivores? They eat the dead?” That was more concerning to her than the morgue lady switching good and bad smells. In her defense, Fang thought she was just used to the stink because of her job.

“Who’s Marcy?” Fang asked without even turning to the Doctor, focused on stomping on another pair of crabs nearby. “You all right?” The slayer turned to her employer, never mind the fact that they were now in the dark. She could see in the dark. Most slayers could. There were exceptions, like that blind guy in Osaka, but he was a different story. Wasn’t even from that place. Kinda like her at that moment in time. “I’m fine. Yeah… They wouldn’t,” Fang stomped on another crab, the same crab that tried to take the Doctor’s hand off, before kicking on a couple more, trying to find the lost phone. “You sure Marcy’s on the way?”

When Fang first started training to become a slayer, darkness was her biggest fear. It reminded her of how her parents were taken from her, how she was helpless to save them, how it was the segue that brought their family into its demise. Fang overcame that fear, but it took her months. These days, darkness was her greatest ally. And it proved itself once again the same. Fang’s eyes were quicker to notice the glimmer of hope buried underneath the pile of scuttling crabs. With a few more kicks, she unearthed it finally, grabbing the thing before any of the shelled menaces could grab it back. Sure, her hand didn’t come out of the encounter unscathed, taking a few cuts here and there, but Fang has had worse cuts, bled from worse places. “Got it. Here. When Marcy gets here, you should get out, give me time in here alone. I’ll deal with the crabs."

“In a way,” she explained with a shrug, “They eat dead matter, detritus. Often that’s plants, but they’re opportunistic. You know, bottom feeders. Crabs. They’re not picky.” Regan could respect a creature that ate anything necessary to survive, but she didn’t respect when they broke into the morgue and started applying that principle to the bodies she watched over. “Marcy is the receptionist. You know, the person in the lobby who was laughing at something.” Regan explained, squinting in hopes that it would help her eyes adjust to the dark, but it didn’t help all that much. All she saw were some vague shadows she knew to be roughly where the towering shelves were located, and something that looked roughly like movement, which might have been Sara. Or a stack of crabs moving like a person. There was another blur of movement, this one followed by a deep, satisfying crunching noise coming from below – the sound of a cracking carapace if she’d ever heard it. “Um, I’m not… sure, actually. I don’t know if my text sent before that crab knocked my phone to the floor.” Well, actually, she had dropped it, but that was a detail that didn’t need rumination. 

Regan considered crouching down and sweeping her hands across the floor to find her phone, glass be damned, but it sounded as though Sara may have beat her to it. There were brushing noises, the soft tapping of glass against broken glass, punctuated by the occasional harsh crunch. How could Sara see in this darkness? “You must eat a lot of vitamin A. My eyes aren’t even able to adjust in here – I can’t see anything at all. It’s strange that you can.” Though not outside of the realm of plausibility, right? Regan needed to eat more carrots. Simple. But a glow cut across the dark, so bright it almost hurt, and Regan’s eyes widened when she realized Sara was holding her phone in her hands, recovered. 

“But the glass, are you…? You aren’t hurt, are you?” But of course, her priority needed to be getting the two of them out of there. She opened the phone back up and noted the text hadn’t sent – it was there waiting for her, with a string of incorrect key taps from when the crab dropped on her. Regan sent it like that anyway. We’re stuck in storeroom number 1. Please hedkfnvvc vsddv. It worked. She wasn’t going to wait for a repeat. Which was the right call, as she could feel something tumbling across the top of her shoe. She kicked the bothersome crab off, sending it flying in a direction she couldn’t see. “Are you sure you want to be left alone here? Is it part of your technique?”

Did that make them undead? Fang had to take a few seconds to think that through. They eat the dead. Doesn’t make them undead. When her small brain finally processed that thought, she immediately turned to the Doctor and asked without any hesitation: “Oh, yeah, is she single?” No thoughts, brain empty, or rather brain too exhausted to filter thoughts. “Well, yeah, I eat a lot of carrots. I’m like a rabbit,” Fang had used that exact same excuse so many times before, though this time, she omitted the joke about the stereotype of how much rabbits procreated. It just felt out of place in this situation. 

“Don’t worry about me, Doc,” Fang took her back as soon as the good doctor retrieved her phone, shaking it in the air, pretending the glass hurt her even so slightly. Of course it hurt, but not as much as it did most others. Fang had pieces of glass in her more times than she could count. From getting thrown through windows, smashed through glass tables, having things made of glass thrown at her. Probably explained her luck. “I’ll manage.” She always did. Even though it always cost her something. A few bruises, a cut here and there, broken limbs and appendages, and most regrettably, her late mentor. But that was just life for her, for a slayer, for a lost soul fighting to find her place in a world that doesn’t even feel like home anymore. Sometimes the pain is needed. 

Once the Doctor was able to get the hell out of there, Fang rained hell down on the crabs. At first she was just stomping them. Like they owed her money. Rent money. Fang was behind her payment, so her rage and desperation was unrivaled. Then, when she realized they didn’t seem like they were stopping, quitting, backing off, she took her katana, which she had earlier disguised as an umbrella. The real Sara was very creative with her hands, and she didn’t like asking a lot of questions, too. Fang slashed and cut as many crabs as her eyes could see. Anything that scuttled about? She would strike. 

But they were too many, too determined, and it started to seem like it was a useless attempt. Not even her furious screams could stop their onslaught. Eventually, Fang would have to give up, get the hell out of there, maybe chalk this defeat up to an infestation. These crabs liked to eat dead things, right? Well, there was plenty in this place, which meant these pests would rather die than give up all that delicious food. Gross.

And there was their salvation: the door clicked open, light flooding inside, as Marcy’s confused head peeked into the room. “Dr. Kavanagh? Are you both in here?” 

“Yes!” Regan exclaimed, turning to Sara, who was now lit up by the light pouring in from the hallway. The floor seemed to be moving as crabs migrated away from the open door to hide under the shelves. “Marcy, thank– I appreciate you coming to get us. You’re single, right? Oh, I’m not asking for me, I’m asking for – you know what, never mind.” Regan hopped over a couple of crabs and made haste for the door. Sara seemed content staying, as she’d said. “You’re certain? The door won’t be locked this time.” Marcy sniggered and headed back up, while Regan lingered and made sure the door wouldn’t lock when it was closed. “I’ll be in my office down the hall. Come inform me when you’re done, and we’ll proceed with the second half of your payment.”

But as Regan closed the door, leaving Sara in the dark in a room full of crabs, glass, and only some brooms to help deal with them, she couldn’t help but wonder what secret techniques were going to unfold in her absence. She waited outside the door for a moment, just in case. No call for help. Seemingly no regret. And within seconds, she could hear more popping and cracking of carapaces. But that wasn’t all. There were deep thuds like furniture scraping against the floor, whines like a crab boiling on a stove, and she was pretty sure the floor was vibrating with base, like music was playing. Above all of that were the grunts and thwacks and animal screeches. Her hand hovered over the doorknob, curiosity difficult to contend with. It was an ear piercing yodel that made her decide… this was one of those times where she would rather not know.