#(( Where did June go?!?! ))

[creativitysloyalservant]

i have decided to break my lack of original posting on this blog to bring you my Thoughts on Rot in Paradise. because i played it as soon as i got up this morning and i have scoured for some opinions after finishing it, and now i have my own!!

(and also i posted this on twitter but twitter has such a Shit wordcount that i'm also posting my things here with More Detail)

so! spoilers under the cut, please go and play the game if you haven't. it takes literally an hour (it only took nearly 2 hours for me because i like voice acting by myself and exploring every nook and cranny) and it's also free. so maybe come back into the tag once you're done.

okay, so i noticed quite a number of people being confused and disappointed on the lack of an explanation for the monster. it's brought up in the story as the central thing driving the plot, but it's never explained on what "she" is, why she's compelling people to eat a ton of fish-related food or hell, metal, and why this doesn't impact June at all.

but you know what I think?

i think that that's the point. the focus of rot in paradise isn't supposed to be on the monster.

yeah, it's the thing that pushes the plot along besides June and the gang going on vacation in this island. it's what's causing that uneasiness from the moment that guy grabs June's arm at the drinks, to the sheer unnerving feeling of witnessing people going to the ocean to get Raptured basically. i know i personally felt a chill when i saw that one dude literally eating chains and the other hauling an anchor, as if they're trying to make themselves heavier so they get taken by whatever She is.

but that's not the main point! the main conflict is about June and her friends.

as people have pointed out, this game is about toxic friendships and relationships! it's foreshadowed in the conversation that June has with the gang about her cousin (which i will also get into), and it carries it through the way her friends are horribly warped by this ocean Creature. June goes on a silly little vacation trip with her friends only for them to become so so different from themselves that they lash out at her and even hit her in McCoy's case.

but she still sticks it out with them. through the whole game, even despite their verbal abuse, despite being slapped, despite them being people that she can hardly recognise. she stays with them for the whole game, up until the point where you are given the two options at the very end. and she could still stay with them.

because they're still her friends. she cares about them even if they still hurt her. from the way June still tells Carmen to tell June if she needs anything after Carmen literally tells her to shut up and leave, the way June worries about Vonnie eating seafood even though she continues to stuff herself despite being implied to either hate or make an active choice to not eat seafood, to the way June still trudges out to sea screaming for McCoy to come back to the shore as he wades further in even after he slapped her until her nose bled.

it mirrors the conversation about her cousin, the reason for why June was looking forward to the vacation. that while she did comfort her cousin through all of it, June clearly says that "they were dickheads, and she should have ditched them a long time ago".

but it's funny, isn't it? that June, an outsider to her cousin's friend group, easily sees the pain that her cousin's friends are causing her, and immediately calls it as it is. that her cousin should have left the second they hurt her.

and yet now, when her friends hurt her, even though this was a quick and sudden change that happened in a span of three days, June still sticks around. her friends are dickheads right now, and we can see that in the way they interact with June, but she still stays.

because they're her friends. and how could she just leave them like this if it's something that's causing them to be this way?

so no, i don't think the monster is supposed to be the main picture. we don't need to know what it looks like, or why it needs to do this to the islanders, or how it's even doing it in the first place. it adds to the scariness of the game, as per the Spooktober Game Jam, sure, but that's not the point. might be a bit disappointing to some, but that's not the point.

the point is about June, and the choice that she needs to make at the end of the game.

it's a choice on whether she chooses to be pulled deeper into the tides and be with the friends who hurt her and will continue to hurt her in this way,

or to leave them to their fates, whether deserved or not, and resurface to a world where she's alone without her friends.

and even though the first choice hurts much more in the long run, doesn't the second hurt even more in the moment? knowing that you're alone at the end of all of this?

even if it is the right choice, i'm sure the pain must be unbearable in the moment.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 23 - Brain

@jegulus-microfic June 23, Word count 506

Previous part First part

“How are you so good at this?!” Sirius cried as he lost again. James threw his arms in the air and whooped. 

“I’m an only child who went to a posh boarding school four hundred miles away. This is all I did when I came home for the holidays.”

“One more race?” Sirius asked, pressing start before James could say yes. 

“Reg has been gone for a while. Do you think he’s okay?” James wondered, checking his watch only to realise that he had no idea what time Regulus had gone out. 

“Where’d Remus go?” Sirius asked, pausing the game before they could set off as he looked around the room as well. James shrugged. 

“He was sitting right there the last time I saw him.” James pointed at the chair behind them. 

As if they'd been summoned, the front door opened and Regulus and Remus walked in. 

“Wait, did you go with him, Remus? I thought you’d stayed here?” Sirius questioned Remus.

“I wanted some chocolate as well, but I don’t have Reggie’s number, so I thought I’d meet him there,” Remus explained, taking a huge bite from his own chocolate bar. 

“How are you eating that without breaking your teeth?” James said, amazed as Remus bit into the thick Tony’s bar as though it was nothing. 

Regulus passed around the other bars and James noticed that he gave Remus an odd little smile as if they had a secret between them. James thought he looked a bit stressed, but he forgot about it when Regulus gave him his chocolate bar. 

“Thanks, love,” He grinned, pulling Regulus into his lap and kissing him. 

“Ooooooo,” Sirius and Remus chanted together, dissolving into laughter when James and Regulus broke apart. 

“Come on then, Sirius. Press play and I’ll kick your arse again.” James said, picking up his controller. Regulus grabbed it out of his hands and settled himself on James's lap.

“I’ve not played for ages,” He smiled a sly smile at his brother. "I need to see if I'm still proficient," 

“Alright, then Reggie. Shall we have a little wager?” Sirius’s smile mirrored his brothers. 

“Go on then. What insane thing has your brain thought up this time that you want me to do?”

“If I win, you have to come with me and Remus to the club. James, you can come as well obviously,” Sirius wagered. 

“What?! No! That is insane! I don’t want to do that,” Regulus opposed, crossing his arms across his chest. James thought it sounded like fun, but he kept his mouth shut. 

“Just come, Regulus, for one hour, and then you can leave,” Sirius compromised. 

“Fine, but if I win you have to cook, vacuum and do all the washing for a month,” Regulus leant back against James's chest. "Including my underwear," James wanted to laugh, but the brothers were glowering at each other. 

“Deal!” Sirius stuck his hand out and Regulus shook it. 

“Deal,” Regulus returned. They held their controllers in front of them and Sirius started the race.   

Next part

[juggaloyaoi]

remember when i make art.. the happy sniling sisters

[gardenerian]

IAN GALLAGHER | SHAMELESS 6x12

[thegildedbee]

Pride: May 31st Prompt from @calaisreno

Here I am in August -- uggggh -- August! -- finally, at last, able to re-wind back to May 31st, and finish up my contribution to the May Prompt Fest, today and tomorrow, with the last two prompts. Last two prompts, you say? Surely you know, bee, that there is no May 32nd? Ah, yes, but I have decreed it to be thus, because I want to add one last prompt of my own for myself, in honor of @calaisreno,😘 and the magnificent, awesome festival they brought into being with the May writerly shenanigans! So much creativity unleashed, all at the invitation of one very special person.🤗 My word for tomorrow -- my own personal May 32nd🙃, as it were -- is: appreciative.

.................................................. This latest chapter and the previous ones are here at ao3. .................................................

The extravagant greens of the Cotswolds begin to recede from view, and John stretches at an awkward angle to catch a last glimpse of the dense forest canopy shot through with shafts of sunlight. He drops back into his seat and centers himself, shutting his eyes as he readjusts the earbud he’d jostled, smoothing his hands across the tops of his thighs, fidgeting, his restless mind acting like a needle skipping across a damaged vinyl record. 

His mind skirts the edge of lucid dreaming, and he makes an effort to surface, knowing that they’ll soon encounter the Severn and cross over into Wales. He gazes out the window, focusing on the outspread wings of a kestrel as it glides high above purple and gold drifts of heather and gorse, likely in search of prey, John supposes, but he thinks idly that it might also be for the sheer sport of being in command of the air.

The sharp edges of London’s stone and concrete abrade as each mile of track recedes, streets and buildings recollected as if glimpsed through infinitesimal droplets of fog. The opaqueness somehow eases the way for the broken pieces of his past life with Sherlock to reassemble in his mind. John closes his eyes once more, letting the illusory cordon that encloses his memories of his last days at 221B to dematerialize.

What first comes to mind is the dissonant clanging of the media that was the intrusive accompaniment to his and Sherlock’s movements when, unbeknownst, Moriarty had been toying with them. He remembers a feeling of disquiet pushing him off-center, sweeping his legs out from under him. He had sensed danger, although he’d not been able to identify why, and that had left him irritable and uncertain. Sherlock had borne the brunt of his roiled state of mind in their last days together, his friend becoming quieter and more withdrawn in response.

John makes a try at looking from the outside in; at first he fancies the vantage point as being as if looking through the sitting room window, but then grimaces. A rather ham-handed conceit compared to the actuality of the surveillance devices that were watching and listening 24/7. His mouth twists and he feels acid flaring up from his stomach. All he has to do is to imagine what Moriarty saw and heard being recorded.

He thinks back on the morning they’d been knee deep in newsprint, Sherlock flouncing about like an agitated heron in his blue dressing gown, exasperated at the faux bonhomie of being hailed as “Boffin Sherlock Holmes” in 48-point type in the Daily Star.

Sherlock had already clocked a reference to John on the inside, and tipped him to it. John had immediately begun vocalizing his dismay at the innuendo about his intimacy with Sherlock being hung round his neck, while his friend paced back and forth, seemingly preoccupied with dramatizing his annoyance at the mean-spirited gift of the deerstalker the Yard had given him.

He’d rounded on Sherlock, his voice urgent and heated, verbally grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him, telling him that the press attention had become too much, and that they needed to be careful.

Sherlock had stopped short and had asked him two questions: what had he meant about them needing to be more careful? And why was John so bothered about what people said about Sherlock in the press?

John had deflected – and, in his non-responsiveness, had signaled to the-most-observant-man-he-knew, that no, his questions didn’t warrant a discussion. He’d left Sherlock with the impression that John thought that Sherlock’s image – and, therefore, because of their close association, John’s image – was the paramount issue. He had only himself to blame, if, in warning Sherlock that the press would turn on him as a figure of note, that the conclusion that Sherlock drew from the immediate context was of John being convinced of the necessity of thwarting any implications that the two of them were more than colleagues.

John acknowledges that, were he to have been more aware, that he  would not have been surprised if Sherlock had thought that John was regretting their partnership. After all, John had spent the previous week correcting Sherlock in public. And, going forward, he would instruct him multiple times not to be himself.

In fact, he’d underscored his dismay by demanding that Sherlock keep a low profile, stay out of the news, confine himself to a case of little consequence. 

And Sherlock had heard him, and had done as he had asked. The next morning John had found him cloistered indoors, occupying himself with a case that kept him completely out of sight, given that he was examining written materials relating the facts of a case that had been said to be a suicide . . . back in the 19th century. And John had been oblivious to Sherlock’s deference, and had mocked him for it. That was the last moment that there was anything that Sherlock could have done to remain cloistered. Moriarty had been, of course, merely biding time until the moment had arrived for his grand re-entrance, pirouetting through the defenses of the kingdom’s strongholds as if they were tissue paper, detonating Sherlock’s inner psyche like a ticking time bomb.

As he scans the past, John wonders: If he’d been sharper, and quicker off the mark, could he have managed to disarm Moriarty's threats at the start, as the bastard lured Sherlock further and further into harm’s way? No, he decides, it wouldn’t have been possible; Moriarty would simply have mounted other threats. But there's the rub: John is a soldier, in a campaign where his objective was to protect Sherlock. Winning one battle wouldn’t have made them the victors in Moriarty’s war. But it could have won them some respite, by degrading the enemy’s efforts, slowing the chain of events by throwing a spanner in the works, buying them time to take stock, to bring in reinforcements, to gather more intelligence: to give them a fighting chance, by having secured a better position from which to do battle. 

John mentally braces himself for what comes next, the worst of it. In the last hours, he’d accused Sherlock of not caring for Mrs. Hudson (that was a cavalier bit of non-sense for the ages). And he’d accused Sherlock of having personal agency and responsibility for attracting the assassins, and, as a consequence, putting those around him in positions to have their lives taken from them.

He’d lashed out at Sherlock, calling him a machine, and, losing his temper, had responded to Sherlock’s statement that being alone protected him, by self-righteously declaring that “friends protect friends” – as he walked away from his friend, leaving his friend alone at St. Bart’s . . . and unprotected. As had Lestrade. As had Mycroft.

(He becomes aware of a notion niggling at the edges of his reverie . . . “Alone” at “Bart’s.” Bart's. Molly. Molly. Bart's. . . . is he overlooking that there may have been one friend who had remained at Sherlock’s side? Had Molly been at Bart’s? Perhaps? . . . He wonders . . .)

John stays with what he remembers, asking himself: what if he had paused, had taken a beat, had really listened when Sherlock had said: “I need to think.” What if he’d asked Sherlock what he needed to think about? Might Sherlock have said something like: “Moriarty’s been screwing with us, John. Why don’t we double-check that this call about Mrs. Hudson isn’t a red herring? It will only take a few seconds.”

What would have been the result, if he had simply stopped at that moment, and opted to follow Sherlock’s lead? But he’d not done so, had he? And Sherlock had believed himself to be an object of scorn from John as the endpoint of the final problem barreled forward. 

John sighs, and rubs at his dry eyes, only making them hurt even further. He looks at his watch, if only to distract himself from the gloom evoked by his thoughts, and sees by the elapsed time that they must be near where they’ll make their descent into the tunnel that will carry them underneath the Severn. They are, and four minutes of darkness unspool, before they begin their ascent, and emerge into the light on the western shore.  

When they pull into the station, he knows now why he has come to Cardiff, why he had left London to arrive at this touchpoint from the past that had set in motion his and Sherlock's first case. There is no way, now, in the present, that he can undo how events had played out -- but he can bear witness to them, and try to sort through the confusion to find what truths he might discover. He will do what he can to protect Sherlock’s reputation, and to bring evidence to bear that will require the great and the good to see the stories spun by “Jim Moriarty” for the falsehoods that they are.

And he’ll also collect Sherlock’s cases into a more permanent form than as a set of blog entries. He makes a vow that he will write a book, and, in doing so, that he will take pride in setting down the adventures of Sherlock Holmes for posterity. 

And, perhaps, along the way, he will put into print the words that he should have said then: and to say them, now.

......................................

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @friday411 @peanitbear @original-welovethebeekeeper

@helloliriels @a-victorian-girl @keirgreeneyes @starrla89 @naefelldaurk

@topsyturvy-turtely @lisbeth-kk @raina-at @jobooksncoffee @meetinginsamarra

@solarmama-plantsareneat @bluebellofbakerstreet @dragonnan @safedistancefrombeingsmart @jolieblack

@msladysmith @ninasnakie @riversong912 @dapetty

.............................................................................

[sweetmoonbeam17]

the fucking realization that. this year we'll see the 10 year anniversary of httyd 2

[crossbackpoke-check]

Why I Am Not Coming In To Work Today [abridged], Jess Zimmerman

part one | part two

[empyreansentinel]

EVIL WOMEN IN YOUR AREA!!

[knifebaby3000]

“temple”, 1 july 23

[ugly-lizard-crab-thing]

Yiran: I'm so manipulative. I'm so selfish and self-serving, I'm edgy and I use everyone to my own ends regardless of the consequences

Literally everyone else @him: baby boy. Baby

Yiran:

He then embarks on a corruption arc with his evil gay vampire revenant situationship (who tried to kill him once before)

[knightlas]

BREAKING NEWSSFUCK IT WE GLIDE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[dungeons-and-dragon-age]

Me? actually trying to do tarot cards?? sounds fake

[solradguy]

Whenever I see someone being transphobic on twt in a bridget thread i reply with three pictures of my mains: ky kiske from ac+r, ky kiske from rev 2, and ky kiske from strive.

it self selects for people who actually play the game. it’s canon that he’ll fight off transphobes with the blade. and if they actually played guilty gear they’d get the underlining messages

While it can be really funny to bully these guys back, please keep in mind that nothing you can say or do to these people will hurt them or waste as much of their time as what they say will stick with you or waste your time. It might be funny to send them a bunch of Ky pictures, but what they're doing is laughing that the only response the people they hate can give them is sending a bunch of pictures of anime boys.

The only thing that works is blocking them. They've turned being an asshole into a recreational sport and getting any sort of response in return is a victory for them.

[cheswirls]

looking @ old fic i started when i was 14/15 is so funny bc im realizing once again why i never mark fics as abandoned even if its been literal years since i've touched them. specifically i was checking docs for stuff i started and either did or didn't post to ffn.

and its like. nothing is bad??? like i can see where my outside-the-box ideal of fic writing comes from. not just fics but writing in general, i'm p sure. even if it's a total cliche plot setup, there are details on each that rly make it stand out like oh yeahhhhhh i did have this great idea once upon a time.

funny too bc was it executed well in prose??? no absolutely not i wrote like shit when i was 15. would i revive an idea one day and revise it to be less cliche or cringy while still keeping the stand-out elements??? yea maybe. i might. everything i'm currently working on that i started from 2021 up to now still holds my supreme interest, but like i'm not gonna say never.

esp since i write fic first and foremost for my own need and specifically what i like to read, it makes it impossible to consider an idea i've thought extensively about "not worth writing anymore". anyway not making this too long i jus found everything interesting to consider

[dappersfm]

unfinnished wip

so i just remembered i have like 45 different unfinnished wips (aka like all my art) and i remembered i was going to make som e art for a sound i found on tiktok, i never finnished it duh but heres a frame of the "not animation but its like 3 different images that change when the time is right so its basicaly an animation but now im rambling and entirely forgot what i was talking about because my brain is entirely focused on being gay". i thought this frame was the funniest

[krikeymate]

Imagine: the core 4 is out on a hot day and they are just having fun around town

Mindy and chad are debating over something and sam doesn’t see tara anymore

She cant find her and eventually she hears crying

She finds tara crying and someone had made fun of taras scars since she was wearing a cropped shirt because of the weather. Her eyes look so sad

😟

Sam feels like she only turned around for a second, and then Tara was gone. That girl, she sighs. Maybe she should get the leash out after all. Tara likes crowds as little as she does, and she knows how anxious it makes her when she disappears like this, so she doesn't understand why she still does it.

She wanders back to The Twins splashing each other in the fountain, alongside several children, to let them know she's going off to search for their wayward companion. They wave her off, too busy in their water-based war. She hopes Chad will reign Mindy's competitiveness in. She's not getting involved if Mindy's caught publically feuding with a child again.

The sun beats down harshly, skin prickling under the heat. It's the kind of sensation Tara loves, but Sam can't stand it. She'd rather be inside lying in the dark, than out here, tanktop soaked with sweat and eyes burning even behind her sunglasses.

But she'd seen the way Tara looked longingly at the crowds outside enjoying the sun, and just known her plans for the day were ruined. So here she is, outside for Tara, and the girl is nowhere to be found.

If she went to get ice cream and didn't get one for Sam, she's going to be pretty upset.

She wanders past a couple of teenagers sniggering about... a girl with scars? She spins on her heel in an instant, slamming one of them against the tree they're leaning on. Turns out she doesn't have to worry about Mindy making a scene after all.

"The fuck did you just say," she growls at the kid, their feet barely touching the ground as she holds them aloft.

"Woah, hey-"

She ignores their companion.

"You think there's something ugly about scars? How about I give you a few of your own?!"

The boy is shaking like a leaf in her grip, spluttering.

"She got them fighting for her life, which is more than you'll ever achieve!"

She drops him to the floor, stepping her booted foot between his legs, a silent threat.

"Where the fuck is she?"

The boy points a quivering finger to the benches by the pond. Sam side-eyes the boys companion, a pathetic excuse for a friend given how easily he stood back with nary a word of protest. She makes a small lunge at him, enjoying the way he trips over his feet as he jumps backwards.

She finds her sister curled up on a bench, body hidden behind her legs and watching the ducks.

"I've been looking for you," she murmurs, plonking herself down beside her sister and throwing a sweaty arm over her shoulder.

Tara wrinkles her nose, trying to shake the arm off. "Sorry," she mutters, not looking her way.

"So, what're we doing over here? If you wanted to see the ducks, you could have just told me."

"I-" Tara bites her lip, glancing at Sam's feet. "It was just... a lot. More than I expected. Being..."

"Seen?"

Tara looks up, meeting Sam's eyes. She swallows.

"Some losers said something, huh?" Sam asks, the answer already known to her. She watches her sister blink back some tears, her head jolting forward in a nod.

Sam pulls her into her side. "They're just jealous they're not as pretty as you." Tara snorts, sniffling into Sam's shoulder.

"That's not-"

"True? Mmm, that's not an argument you're gonna win babygirl, don't try me." When Tara doesn't respond, Sam continues. "I set them straight anyway, and I'll beat up anyone who has something to say about your scars."

Tara sits up. "Wait, Sam, what did you-"

"So let's go get some ice cream," Sam says, loudly, speaking over her sister. She stands up, holding out a hand for her.

"Ice cream," she reiterates, brow twitching at Tara as if daring her to question her.

Tara squints at her, considering her options, but eventually, she reaches out and lets herself be pulled up from the bench.

Sam doesn't let go of her hand as she pulls them in the direction of the van.

"Should we get some for Mindy and Chad?"

"Nah, what they don't know won't hurt them," Sam jokes, knocking her shoulder against Tara's. The laugh she gets back makes braving the sun worth it. She'll do anything to keep hearing it.