#One who played its part and got out of the system

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

Outcasts.

Synopsis: Outcasts who rushed their wedding? no quality comes out if rushed.

Word Count: 1,120

Karina X Male Reader

Tags: Angst.

You were both trouble—but different brands of it.

Karina, the infamous valedictorian with a cigarette tucked behind her ear, skipping class like it was part of her schedule. Teachers hated how she made a mockery of the system—disappearing for days, then walking into exams and acing them with a half-smirk. She was all red flags and sharp eyeliner, but god, she made being untouchable look beautiful.

Then there was you—golden boy of the basketball court. Cocky, hot-headed, the kind of kid who got suspended on a Friday and scored thirty points on a Saturday. You had a reputation: mouthy, reckless, but too damn good to bench. You made headlines. You got away with it

You and Karina didn’t speak much at first. Just exchanged glances in the hallway. Her eyes said, “I know your type.” Yours said, “I’m not your type.” But both were lying.

It started with detention.

She was sprawled across the back desk, headphones in, scrawling equations like they were poetry. You were throwing a ball against the wall, counting the seconds it took to bounce. Bored out of your minds, too proud to admit it.

“Keep that up and I’ll smash your ball,” she said without looking up.

You grinned. “You watchin’ me, Karina?”

She rolled her eyes. “You wish.”

But she was.

And you were watching her too.

Weeks passed. Detention turned to smoke breaks behind the gym. Smoke breaks turned into bike rides at midnight. You learned she played the piano—beautifully, violently. She learned you hated silence more than anything.

You kissed her in the locker room after a bad game. She tasted like mints and recklessness.

“We’re gonna ruin each other,” she whispered against your lips.

You didn’t deny it.

The school called you distractions. The rest of the world called you wasted potential. But when it was just you and her, nothing else mattered. She wore your jacket. You showed up to her debate competition like it was the playoffs.

People said you two weren’t supposed to last.

But you weren’t listening.

You were too busy trying to bend the coin.

So you could finally be on the same side.

It was cold, but not the kind that bit—just enough to make the air feel heavier. The moon was doing its job, silver light stretched across the water like a half-hearted apology. You were fresh off a win, bruised knuckles and sweat still clinging to your skin.

She handed you a bottle. Nothing fancy—just something that burned going down and felt warm when it hit.

You both sat with your backs against the railing, sneakers tapping against the wood. Her hoodie smelled like smoke and cheap perfume, your jacket stained with victory and exhaustion.

Karina took a long sip and exhaled. “We’re outcasts, y’know?”

You nodded, watching the water ripple. “Yeah. But with value.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Value?”

“Yeah. You’re smart—like, freak genius smart. I’m athletic. We’re not just noise, we matter. They’ll get it eventually.”

She laughed, but it wasn’t her usual one. This one cracked a little. “What’s the point of value when the holder ain’t worthy of it?”

You turned your head. She was staring straight ahead, eyes glassy. “Like, picture a chipmunk… but it’s got a bomb. Like a world-ending one. That’s us. Holding power we don’t even deserve.”

You stared for a moment, then cracked a dry smile. “That’s the most Karina metaphor I’ve ever heard.”

She snorted. “Shut up.”

You took a sip. Felt bold.

“Whatever. I think we should get married, Karina.”

Her gaze snapped to you, unreadable.

You didn’t back down.

She watched you, searching. Then she smiled—not wide, just that small, dangerous kind. The one that made your chest tight.

“You’re an outcast. I am too,” she murmured, leaning her head back against the pier post. “They say you get drawn to someone just as fucked as you.”

You leaned in just enough to meet her eyes. “So that’s a yes?”

She didn’t say anything.

Just passed you the bottle.

And kept smiling.

The wedding was barely legal. A two-day blur in Vegas sealed with a $99 chapel special and half a tank of gas. She wore white—not because she planned to, but because it felt right. You wore your letterman jacket under a wrinkled blazer, like a kid trying to play grown-up. You both laughed through the vows, slurring your way into forever like it was a dare.

There were no formal photos. Just shaky selfies and a blurred shot of you two kissing outside the chapel neon. She signed your name wrong on the marriage papers and grinned.

“Guess I’m yours now.”

And you looked at her, steady and soft.

“You’ve always been.”

For a while, it was magic.

Magic in the way her bare feet padded across your apartment floors. In the way old records crackled through cheap speakers. Magic in burnt pancakes at midnight. Shared showers when the water heater broke. Nights on the balcony, chain-smoking under a sky too wide for your small lives.

You were poor. You were messy. But you were in love, and that made the world feel tolerable.

Until time did what time always does.

You had morning practices and aching muscles. She had long silences and disappearing acts. You craved structure. She needed freedom. The life you rushed into suddenly felt too small for the both of you.

She forgot to pay the rent. You forgot to kiss her goodbye.

She stopped waiting up. You started sleeping on the couch.

The dishes. The noise. The silence.

Everything that used to feel light began to carry weight.

Then one night, over a dinner that neither of you touched, she looked up at you—fork suspended mid-air like the thought had just landed.

“We really thought this was forever, huh?”

You stared back, throat tight.

“Didn’t we mean it?”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t cry. Just offered a tired smile.

“We meant it. We just didn’t know what forever costs.”

She moved out in June.

No fight. No screaming. Just a small envelope on the counter—inside, her wedding ring and a Polaroid from that Vegas chapel. The one where you’re both laughing like fools, like you truly believed love could outpace reality.

You kept the photo.

Because letting go of the memory felt more painful than holding on to the lie.

Years later.

You spot her at a gas station just outside town. Hair longer. Eyes quieter. She’s wearing someone else’s hoodie, holding a bottle of water like she’s just passing through.

She sees you. She smiles.

You do too.

No mention of vows.

No mention of what went wrong.

Just a nod between two people who once thought love was enough—

and learned, gently, that sometimes it’s not.

Love without action is dead.

[imperial-rhone]

Samuel Collins.

Should this name mean anything to me?

[k0mmari]

Endless Abyss(kinda)! SY AU

First things first, this is very much inspired by this post by @/rainbowsmagicandshit and @/allpiesforourown, HIGHLY recommend reading that fist just to get a glimpse of where I started off, but do note I have accidentally deviated from the original idea a bit, so uh, oops ig.

This was born out of a mix of different ideas (as usual), so think of this as ‘The AU where SY is a demon, and also the Endless Abyss, and also my excuse to have Binghe possibly make a harem consisting entirely of SY’s’, or, as I like to call it:

As per usual, Shen Yuan has died. It happens to the best of us, and of course, he died while reading the glittering piece of trash that is Proud Immortal Demon Way.But, as he is in the process of getting snatched away by the System, something goes wrong, and the System has to quickly redirect itself and it causes SY to get knocked out of course.

His soul scrambles to find a new host, and it manages to find someone suitable enough. When SY wakes up though, he isn’t greeted by the sight of a roof, or a forest, or anything remotely familiar; instead, the moment he regains consciousness, he’s senses are flooded with as much information as possible. It’s like a computer with too many tabs open, but in this case, you can see all the tabs at the same time and all of them are playing the most obnoxiously loud videos possible, in fact, everything feels so overwhelming even thinking becomes too much.

What SY doesn’t know is that he has transmigrated into the body of a Titan, an almost extinct godly demon race that only existed in the confines of Airplane’s first drafts, and it turns out shoving a human soul into the body of a deity doesn’t bode so well, since what the human mind is able to process doesn’t even come close to what a Titan is able to feel. So because SY can’t get a hold of his own mind, his control of his own body is also not great, and he is completely unaware as his newly acquired body goes on a rampage.

See, SY is currently in a very old version of the Demon Realm, so old in fact, Heavenly Demons still rule over the Realm. It really is quite a shame that SY wasn’t in his right mind at the time, and instead of being able to observe how ancient Heavenly Demons governed demonic society, he instead accidentally set on a path of destruction, with the casualties being anything that had the bad luck of standing in his way. In fact, the destruction got so bad a few of the Heavenly Demons rulers, who notoriously hated each other, settles on a temporary peace agreement and joined forces to stop the mad Titan.

SY, in his frenzied state, didn’t even notice as hundreds of years went by as the Heavenly Demons tried to stop him, and also barely noticed when they finally managed to chain him down and cast him away to be forever banished to the Endless Abyss. His body, once so tall it grazed the clouds, was torn apart, with each of its different parts sealed away in various locations as an attempt to diminish the Titan’s power. It worked, actually, and unbeknownst to the demons, SY slowly began to get his thoughts in order; the event that finally pushed him to coherency was when a few of those Heavenly Demon rulers got greedy, and while sealing away SY’s body parts, attempted to harness his power for themselves, and tried to create legendary weapons out of his flesh and bone.

Most of them failed, a Titan’s power to overwhelming for even a Heavenly Demon to handle, but one of them succeeded, and created a powerful sword made from the Titan’s own heart: Xin Mo. Unfortunately for the creator of Xin Mo, it didn’t take long for them to fall into madness and eventually succumb to Xin Mo’s power, casting themselves away to hold onto the sword forever in the same valley SY’s hands were sealed; but it is as they say, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, and while Xin MO’s creator perished, they managed to take enough power away from SY for him to finally be able to think.

It had been a thousand years at this point, and SY’s first coherent thought was that he desperately needed a break, and that in all these years, he hadn’t managed to get a single glimpse into the world of PIDW, and what a waste! Specially since he was now in the most interesting area Airplane had managed to create, he was itching to explore the world. Of course, in his current state he wasn’t exactly able to move (having his limbs cut off certainly didn’t help, but apparently it had been so long since he was imprisoned that his Main Body had started to fuse with the Abyss? Really, more of a slight inconvenience than anything), but he also had become tired of his Titan body with it’s Titan feelings, and so he decided to split his consciousness and create a small army of human sized avatars who were later dubbed his ‘Watchers’, who’s sole purpose was to explore the Endless Abyss and send their findings back to the Main Body (in bite sized, easy to understand thoughts).

It is the first years of his Watchers wandering about that SY finally understood what had happened to his body, and figured out that Xin Mo was a product of his flesh. He figured that since demons tried to use his body for malicious purposes before, with one even succeeding, he decided that one Xin Mo was enough, and came up with a plan: He was going to piece his Titan body back together as a means to prevent anything of the sort happening again, but he was immediately going to seal the Titan body away again, as to not have to deal with it’s overwhelming power.

As the Watchers were sent to locate his body parts again, one of their first findings were the hands, which also meant the resting place of Xin Mo itself. How lucky, he thought! He could just take the hands away and maybe leave one of the Watchers guarding Xin Mo so when Luo Binghe eventually comes to retrieve his sword, SY at least can catch a glimpse of his favorite protagonist! He wasted no time, and while his avatars tried to unseal his hands, one of them went to move Xin Mo, just so it was out of the way, and in doing so the sword retaliated and ended up disintegrating the poor Watcher. What a rude sword, going against its own body.

Fine! If Xin Mo was going to be difficult so be it, and SY formed a new plan: before reuniting his Titan body back together, SY send his Watchers to keep an eye on as much of the Endless Abyss as possible and the moment Luo Binghe fell in, he would turn to hugging the protagonist’s thigh and help him survive the harsh environment as long as Binghe took Xin Mo. Well, it should be no problem, right? Binghe was fated to get the sword one way or another, and SY is sure his involvement will be small insignificant enough that it won’t be much more of a side quest for the future Demon Emperor!

Now, if he were a half human, half Heavenly Demon teenager who just got pushed into hell by his teacher, where would he land….

*

So, as you can see, this is mostly more like SY’s origin story lol, but I’ll probably write Binghe’s first meetings with the Watchers sometime soon (hopefully).In the meantime though, enjoy some more of the bonus sketches I did while figuring out the AU, and of course, if anyone has any questions or thoughts about this, feel free to send them to me!

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

ASL brothers HAIKYUU!! AU!!!!!

Day one of Self Indulgent month for me! I love these three, i love haikyuu, i love killer whales!

(The Naval Academy is this au’s version of marines)

For those who dont know, in Haikyuu (and prob in real life too but in my experience its not as important as they make it in the anime) The "Ace" of the team is the person who primarily scores points via spiking. Theyre the Hard Hitter, basically.

Design talk👇

Originally, i was gonna make their school mascot just "The Pirates" but i couldnt figure out a clever pun with the school name so i scrapped it in favor of an animal mascot. I figured I would have a wider range of puns that way.

I landed on Orcas as the mascot because I think they really embody a pirate way of life. Theyre strong, hang out in groups of a mix of found family and their actual family, hate the rich, and theyre fun loving! And also im a bit biased because theyre my favorite animal, but hey, i said its self indulgent month, didnt I?

Their school name is a play on the word for Killer Whale (Shachi シャチ) and the word for 'knowledge' (Chishiki 知識), i just smashed the two words together. I'm very proud of myself for coming up with that given i dont speak japanese at all.

Anyway, with their designs, I was taking inspiration from orcas to match the design themes of haikyuu. Ace's hair is bleached on the underside to look like the underside of an orca's body, I made ace and sabo's eyes look more whale-like, the clip in sabo's hair is meant to resemble to spots behind orca's eyes, and I tried to make luffy's hair look more like it's round and spiking down more than i usually do.

Ace is wearing a ''way of the ace" shirt in the first picture, Luffy is wearing a shirt that just says "VOLLEY BALL" because i think it would be funny if he wore a bunch of those Zero-context-poorly-translated-random-english-words shirts that theres a bunch of in Asia. Sabo dyes his hair like delinquents do, but it doesnt much look delinquent~y because of how soft it looks. He means to do it to make him look like a delinquent though. Sabo still has his scars in this au, but he uses his hair, arm braces, and leg braces to cover them up. LUFFY AND ACE HAVE FUNKY SOCKS BECAUSE NO ONE CAN TELL THEM (or me) THEY CANT. Sabo wears athletic socks though because he's a debbie downer. He defends himself saying “It’s practical” and Ace and luffy call him “practically a Debbie Downer.”

Luffy is very good at receiving from growing up with Sabo and Ace practicing setting and spiking with eachother and assigning Luffy as Ball Boy. So he got the libero position from that cuz sabo and ace put in a good word for him. Nepotism.

I didn't feel like coming up with designs for them, but Zoro and Bepo are also on their team (theyre in the fifth image sitting on the right of the line of students). Koala and nami are student managers, Robin is the teacher manager, and Franky is the coach. all other straw hats/luffy friends, rev army comrades, and whitebeard brethren are in the stands. Im trying to keep the ages consistent with how they are in canon.

I didnt do a very in depth research, but i couldnt find what Japanese schools have as mascot costumes. and given no one wears any costumes in haikyuu for their team, i can kind of assume they dont use them over there. But unfortunately for them, I'm American. And part of the backbone of our schooling system, is Vaguely Unsettling Mascot Costumes. My sister says my design for it looks like its from Club Penguin, and i find that delightful. [moment of silence for my billions of fallen Puffles, taken from me in The Shutdown] Anyway.

I thought I was clever coming up with the equivalent of the Marines in this au being a Naval Academy. And their mascot being Seals, famously the animal that gets the absolute Worst Of It from orcas. Get shit onnnnn

I believe thats about it, thanks for coming to my ted talk :)

[rottingghosty]

The Ghostling of Space | DC X DP

i’m working on the next part of the realms pr au trust me i am but i got this tiktok my fyp and suddenly i’m thinking of a NEW au for dc x dp. video is at the end i came up with this at 2am (like usual) so there will be errors

prompt: Danny’s the Ancient of Space, he spends most of his time floating around space because he’s on a vacation by his council to enjoy his life as a baby ghostling and a young prince since he’s still too young to rule so he has someone as a regent (not sure who yet). So he’s just going around, passing various planets and solar system. He’s essentially swimming around because he looks more like a mer than a human.

Danny should’ve realized that someone was going to notice him at some point, he didn’t realize it’d be a few years after Clockwork had spat him out in this universe. He’d been enjoying his time witnessing the birth of stars, of nebulas being born and the death of a solar system. The universe he was in made his core thrum with life, he’s gotten to feed it heavily that it puts his main obsession on the back burner. He skims his finger tips through the stardust of a star that had been born, molding and shaping it until it joins its brethren to form a constellation for the planet he was curled around.

The planet had no life yet but he knew that would change one day, he could feel its core yawning and turning. It’d get its push once Life had the opportunity to focus on it and breathe into the core. He was balance, his essence seeping into the planet’s core as he does his part of aiding the formation of a baby solar system. His body twists as he swims languidly through the vaccum as he does flips and turns. Moving through space with his newly formed tail felt like he was in the ocean, the movement so naturally and freeing.

It’d been when he finally drifted away from it and towards the Earth that was so similar to his back in his own universe he could never return that someone picked up his presence.

It’d been when he finally shrunk from his rather large size to something relatively smaller as he curled around a moon near Uranus. Away from any prying eyes as he allows himself to drift off into sleep.

It’d take someone to had been looking at one of Uranus’ moons to realize that something was curled around one, something large and green.

Captain Marvel could only stare in awe at the figure that curled around one of the moon’s of Uranus. The figure was beautiful, pale green skin that seemed to glow before dimming and brightening again. They seemed eel like if the way they seemed to move their body to curl around the moon of Titania. Where legs would have started, instead goes into an void of darkness, with a green glow that was a sickeningly shade of bright green that dimmed and brightened.

It was beautiful as it was eerie. The glow seemed to start from the hips and continued down its sides and tail, the fins flaring every time the creature seemed to breathe. A fin from at the top of the spine and continued down the entire back until it reached a stop before the end of its tail.

Captain Marvel knew that the other members in the Justice League were in awe just as he is, something about this being screamed otherworldly. It screamed magic and it made him very being thrum with energy he’s never felt before. He wanted to say something, to speak about what would be the best course of action to take to see if this being was a friendly or a hostile. Before he could even say a word, Constantine released a curse.

“Why is there a bloody baby ghost of the Infinite Realms here?”

TLDR: danny is very much a baby ghost prince living his life watching everything in space and making new things. he’s basically the equivalent of a baby god playing toys (planets and solar systems) and has no idea that he’s giving the JL and JLD a heart attack because oh my god that’s a baby ghost. but also OH MY GOD THAT’S THE BABY GHOST OF THE HIGH KING. still unsure who takes on the role for danny, pandora? cw? frostbite? a random oc? i know people use jazz as a regent but shes like a teen and deserves to live her life without having to deal with ghostly duties.

now danny’s got these people wanting to care for him cause he’s just out in the open in space and they don’t want the high king to get upset if their son is hurt.

(clockwork finds it very funny because if anything, they have to worry about upsetting anyone who danny deems as his)

[feminist-space]

"A funny thing happened on the way to the enshittocene: Google – which astonished the world when it reinvented search, blowing Altavista and Yahoo out of the water with a search tool that seemed magic – suddenly turned into a pile of shit.

Google's search results are terrible. The top of the page is dominated by spam, scams, and ads. A surprising number of those ads are scams. Sometimes, these are high-stakes scams played out by well-resourced adversaries who stand to make a fortune by tricking Google[...]

Google operates one of the world's most consequential security system – The Algorithm (TM) – in total secrecy. We're not allowed to know how Google's ranking system works, what its criteria are, or even when it changes: "If we told you that, the spammers would win."

Well, they kept it a secret, and the spammers won anyway.

...

Some of the biggest, most powerful, most trusted publications in the world have a side-hustle in quietly producing SEO-friendly "10 Best ___________ of 2024" lists: Rolling Stone, Forbes, US News and Report, CNN, New York Magazine, CNN, CNET, Tom's Guide, and more.

Google literally has one job: to detect this kind of thing and crush it. The deal we made with Google was, "You monopolize search and use your monopoly rents to ensure that we never, ever try another search engine. In return, you will somehow distinguish between low-effort, useless nonsense and good information. You promised us that if you got to be the unelected, permanent overlord of all information access, you would 'organize the world's information and make it universally accessible and useful.'"

They broke the deal." -Cory Doctorow

Read the whole article: https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

[moonsaver]

Where the Lamb does not Belong.

You're isekai'd into the world of Honkai Star Rail. Thankfully, you're taken into the Astral Express and continue your journey peacefully, until you reach Penacony. Something, or someone, seems to be causing your system to continually crash. Perhaps it's because you did not belong here at all.

Warnings: yandere, obviously. Uh, mentioned fracture(?)

A/n; reader is a tad forgetful and can brush off a few things, and get distracted slightly easily. But for the most part, i think it won't ruin the immersion. Its my first time writing something "self aware" related, and something like a character breaking the 4th wall. I really love these tropes but rarely write them. I hope i did it well. Its roughly 4.5k long. Enjoy.

----

“Ace!”

“It's not ace.”

“Uno!”

“March, you're supposed to say it after you put down your second card.”

“Oh, sure.”

…

“March, it's not your turn.”

“Huh?!”

You giggle, listening in on their banter. You're leaned up comfortably on Dan Heng's back, messing around with a level on Stelle's phone she hasn't been able to beat.

You hear a loud groan, a fwop as March drops on her back onto the bed,

“This is so confusing!”

“The rules are simple, you're just trying to rush things.”

Dan Heng takes the cards and settles them, tapping them vertically to level and gather them onto the little table. You stretch your neck to look back and catch a glimpse of March sulking. Stelle gently pries the phone out of your hands as you do so.

“Hey let's go through our photo album again!”

“It's the 6th time this month.”

You chuckle, getting up from Dan Heng's back as you feel him shift, moving over to situate yourself around the table aswell, the the bed dipping under your weight.

“I knew you were into photography but wow, this is something, March.”

You say, leaning over on the table, your elbow resting on it as your chin rests on your palm,

“Well, you better be grateful ‘cause I just finished up your entry!”

“My entry?”

You blink, confused,

“She's been dutifully taking pictures of your progress as a new member of the Astral express. I've.. learnt from experience It's better that you don't try to stop her.”

You laugh awkwardly, staring down as March excitedly flips through the photo book. It's a bit embarrassing now that you recall.

“Here! Look, look, look! I caught [name] in all their glory!”

“March..”

You awkwardly laugh, as Dan Heng looks over at the photo March points to in her photobook, 

You cringe as you see your own expression, dull and groggy, a stark contrast to the bright letters and stickers decorating the edge of the photo that's glued tightly onto the page. You're drooling, to top it off.

“Hehe, [name] looks cute here don't they?!”

March points down to another photo right below, blurry in the midst of action. Your hazy figure is sitting up on a bed, Stelle draped over your lap while in charge of watching over you when you first appeared.

“I should have stayed to watch over, instead.”

Dan Heng comments under his breath, glancing back momentarily at Stelle, her chin hooked over his shoulder after having abandoned the game, seemingly more interested in the collection.

You chuckle softly,

Where did it begin exactly?

You boarded as an official member of the Astral Express about a few months ago, a gold brooch handed over to you, and many new faces who welcomed you onboard. You remember being home one day, going to sleep and hoping, just hoping that all of your worries and stress would just.. disappear. Your head hit the pillow and then-

You woke up. Here.

Suddenly you woke up in the very game you played to relieve your stress. Ironically, that moment you woke up was one of your most stressful memories, panicking at the situation you were in–

“Aw, dang it. I got defeated.”

All of you look over to Stelle, and to the red screen on her phone. You chuckle, as March sighs and shifts the topic.

You yawn and settle back onto the bed, leaning on a pile of pillows as March and Dan Heng continue their banter, taking this time to go through your stats, swiping and tinkering on your phone.

You've reached a higher level now. Having unlocked many items and even levelled up some basic features which allowed you to at the very least, defend yourself.

You read through the archived stories, gazing over all the past dialogue you've shared with this trio from the “main quest” ever since you boarded. Your friendship level with many had increased gradually over time, and shot up with the trio, as expected.

“[Name]..”

Stelle whines, pushing her phone back to you. You giggle, taking the device from her hands,

“Alright, I won't get distracted this time.”

-

This was your first expedition as a new member of the Astral Express. Which didn't help considering you were going into Penacony of all places.

You were nervous – how was your presence going to alter the timeline? Maybe a less “on screen” role like Himeko's? Or maybe you should have just stayed back with Dan Heng? But the experience, materials and all sorts of gizmos Penacony was going to offer.. It was too tempting.

And here you are, in the lobby. Himeko and Welt continue negotiating with the young woman at the reception. You were already on edge, but it seemed things just had to go wrong as well.

To distract yourself, you fidgeted and anxiously viewed the prologue to Penacony the system had just offered to you, repeatedly scrolling up and down on your phone, tapping your foot, pacing around the hotel a bit when–

A hand came up to your shoulder.

“It seems you're quite worried.”

You looked back.

It's Robin.

“Sorry, uh, we're.. having difficulty with the check-in and..”

You momentarily trail off, almost lost as you look at Robin. Her in game model was beautiful, but now that you're standing in front of her, it's almost.. mesmerising. Her eyes are beautiful – deep and ethereal. Pretty pink lips and softly dusted cheeks, her hair wispy and framing her face just the right way. You're awestruck for a moment, before panicking and snapping out of your daze.

You're at a hotel lobby for aeons’ sake!

“O-Oh, uh, my family is–”

You turn over to see Himeko and Welt continuing to go back and forth with the young woman at the reception, and turn again to see March and Stelle slightly off in the corner talking anxiously.

“They seem lovely.”

Robin smiles at you. And suddenly, your eyebrows and shoulders relax. Your jaw slightly slacks. Something about Robin seems to soothe you more than you ever thought.

Your eyes trail over to the bar in the corner;

Friendship level: 0

Right. She's still a stranger, in this timeline of events.

You're snapped out of your thoughts momentarily as another, unfamiliar voice speaks up from the crowd – a blonde man, addressing your fellow trailblazers.

This can't be good.

You walk up, regrouping with March and Stelle as they watch it all happen.

–

The golden hour was a familiar map to you, particularly because you'd loved exploring the place back when you used to play.

But actually being there is stunning.

The yellow lights brighten up the night-like atmosphere in a beautiful, classy way. It's almost as though you're in an old film, the way everything around you is hazy and glowing. There's laughter in the background and shimmering lights somewhere in the distance, drinks and the smell of food occasionally wafting in the air from corner cafés or so. You wander, awestruck at the sight of the landscape when–

You bump into someone, a small sound leaving you at the impact.

You look back to take a look at the stranger - more to try and ground yourself into this “dream” and your current reality. You were in Penacony. And all of this was physically interacting with you, regardless of how miniscule you must be. Whether you would have been reincarnated as a Cafe owner, or an NPC, or anyone else. As long as you were on Penacony, you were going to be a part of Sunday's grand plan.

You zone out, the hazy cacophony of ecstasy in the background blurring in the crowded space of your mind, thoughts overarching and bubbling up.

Beep!

You look at your phone, buzzing as quests pop up. You take a moment to look around the various shops, before your eyes land on a cozy cafe.

It won’t hurt to rest for a moment.

–

“Shit, shit, shit..”

You curse to yourself, frantically tapping on the screen and trying to fix this mess.

“Just– cooperate damn it..!”

Your teeth gnaw at your lip, biting and peeling off bits of the skin. It stings, but in your anxious state, you barely pay mind,

Why was the system not cooperating with you?!

None of your teleportation points worked, you weren't levelling up, barely any of the trinkets given by completion of quests were being used up! It was rudimentary junk in your inventory and now for some god awful reason, your entire system was going haywire!

System error: freespace is occupied!

System error: unavailable tab

System error: unable to access tab

System error: unable to complete..

“Yeah, yeah I got it you little-”

“Is something the matter?”

You gasped under your breath, a chill shooting up your spine as you turn around,

“No, no! Nothing, haha just.. uh..”

You awkwardly shuffle, pretending to look into your bag,

“You seem to be having trouble.”

Sunday's poised figure contrasts your sweaty, nervous, fidgeting one, as you only panic more at his words.

“Oh, just.. well.. it’s my first time visiting another world, so..”

“Ah, first time jitters? I’m faintly familiar.”

You chuckle awkwardly, but your humour doesn't seem to be exactly matched. Sunday’s smile doesn't widen or lessen, and neither does he chuckle. You realise how uncanny he looks in the dim lights of the Golden Hour barely illuminating his face in the alley.

“You seem to have been separated from your group. Would you like me to accompany you on your way back?”

“Sure–”

Warning: you are currently interacting with an influential figure. Proceed with caution.

“..you seem hesitant.”

You look at the glaring notification on your screen - akin to when an amber alert pops up, or when an earthquake warning resounds.

“..uh, I think.. I’ll be able to find them on my own. I should be fine.”

“I insist. As the representative and Spokesperson of The Family it is my duty to ensure the safety and relaxation of guests in the Dreamscape.”

Shit. This guy isn’t giving in.

You hesitate, a bead of sweat forming on your forehead and grazing the top of your eyebrow,

Beep!

Optional: would you like dialogue suggestions to be displayed?

[Yes]

[No]

[No – do not ask again]

You sigh internally. At least this system knows how to assist you when you need it.

“Shall we?”

Sunday beckons you to follow, as the pop-up blinks away, before you get the chance to select.

There’s no getting out of this. You’re just gonna have to suck it up and be careful.

“..sure.”

-

Sunday doesn’t remember when it exactly began.

Strange patterns, predictable dialogues, and the anomalies that occured..

Right after Sunday discovered your name.

He watched as the cup from the trash pile slipped and fell onto the pavement. Your name was written on it – messily and hurried. The cup rolls down a bit before hitting the side of his shoe. Sunday watched it with indifference, opting to simply move it aside before he spotted it. Your name. But it wasn’t supposed to be.

An alias? Maybe. It was different than the name administered in your profile. 

He opted to push it back for later; but it was an interrupted thought as he walked ahead and watched you fiddle around with your phone, buzzing constantly as you cursed at it.

He breathes out, before deciding to approach you.

–

“Alone?”

“Alone.”

You respond, your eyes embarrassed and watching the various shuffling of feet in front of you, the crowd forming in front of the Rollercoaster you were too scared to go on.

Well, it's rather you haven't been able to go onto them.

Stelle and March offered you to join, and usually you'd be able to accept the invitation pop up, but as of recent, your system has been going haywire. The system probably narrowed down the scenarios you'd be allowed to participate in,in order to control the situation.

So you stood there, your mood dampened as you accepted that the system would not allow you to partake in the ride with your friends, shaking your head and telling them to go on instead, leaving you behind.

And Sunday saw all of it.

Or rather, just that you haven't gone onto the ride.

“Are you afraid of heights?”

“No, nothing like that.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. Even if you were.. he's not exactly the person you'd tell it to, anyway. You ignore the buzzing of your phone as it displays the same warning, jaded and moody as you'd been denied a great opportunity to have fun.

“..there is a new bakery that's opened up in the corner. Would you like to visit?”

You blink, and look at him, confused. He seems to have understood your confusion, and follows up,

“Until your companions have had their fill. Just for a cup of coffee.”

You hesitate, humming in contemplation. You look at the options displayed;

Options:

 □ “Sure. Let's go.”

 □ “sorry, my husband's waiting for me on the express.

 □ “No thank y–

 System Error: no options available

You sigh. You really need to do something about these errors. You nod,

“Sure. Let's go.”

…

The bakery was warm, and lively. As soon as you entered, the faintly sweet smell of pastries and the waft of coffee enveloped you two. You gawked at the mesmerising scenery, while Sunday asked for an available booth that's more hidden from the public eye.

The seats were soft, and pliable as you took your seat, still taking in the view of the bakery. You hear Sunday clearing his throat and tapping the table, your gaze shifting to him. He points to the menu. You understand his cue and take to reading it, your eyes scanning the plethora of options as Sunday does the same.

“Have you.. been here before?”

“I have visited once in the past. With my sister.”

“Ah, how is Robin?”

Your eyes settle on a particular option, as the silence between you two fills with comfortable conversation,

“She has been well. Are you looking forward to her performance at the coming Festival?”

You blink as you realise. How could you forget? The entire reason you and the rest of the crew even came to Penacony! This was the guy who was gonna put everyone into a coma!

“O-Oh, uh, yes! March has been talking non-stop about it, so..”

You chuckle awkwardly, flustered as he caught you a bit off guard. He hums, his face indifferent and neutral as your words process in his mind.

“I suppose I shall expect you in the audience, then?”

“March will drag me to the front, so you'll probably get a clear view of me in my uncomfortable glory.”

That seems to elicit a small, soft chuckle from him, as his eyes land on a specific item on the menu, seeming to have decided his own liking.

“Very well. I'll look forward to it.”

Soon enough, a waitress comes up to the table, and begins taking your orders.

–

“It does seem a tad scary, but the view is always beautiful in the Astral express.”

“I'm sure of it. It sounds wonderful.”

Sunday listens to you dutifully, as you continue talking. Somewhere along the way, your discomfort at the awkward silence between you two led to you talking and filling in the silence, your coffee cup hanging idly in your hands. One thing led to another, as both of you started talking about your childhood memories, tea flavours, desserts, and so on. You find Sunday has been easy to converse with. You'd been ignoring the constant buzzing of your phone – most likely achievements or quests that popped up constantly wherever you went.

You take another sip from your coffee as Sunday takes his initiative to talk, listening to him well, and chuckling slightly at one or the other thing. 

“I came to know tea is supposed to be made with hot water, but by then I'd gotten accustomed.”

You giggle, slightly in disbelief,

“Well, do you like iced tea now?”

Sunday shakes his head,

“I prefer coffee, more than that. Perhaps due to needing it more than a preference..”

His eyes trail to your cup, as you hold it in your hands. You follow his gaze,

Is something wrong? He'd been glancing at your cup a few times now, but you didn't comment on it before.

“Is.. something wro–”

Your words are cut off as your phone loudly rings, making you almost fumble and drop your coffee as you hurriedly take your phone.

It's March!

Crap, you forgot.

“Sorry, I uh..”

You scroll through the plethora of notifications, almost all of them missed calls and various texts.

“It seems your companions were searching for you.”

You look up, as Sunday looks into the distance, Stelle and March running towards you.

–

It was strange how things progressed since you came to Penacony.

Some of your equipment took ages to level up, the others taking barely anything before they hit their maximum level. Your friendship level progressed pretty highly on some days, and barely moved an inch on other days. 

Your friendship level with Sunday, on the other hand, shot up to a 5. Not even anyone on the Astral Express had that level.

You only noticed it a fraction before you cleared all your notifications at once, swiped away before your finger had the chance to tap on it. 

Regardless, that wasn’t your exact concern as of late. The story of Penacony had been well under way now, and things were starting to pick up. 

As of recent, you haven't been able to remember the quest contents as much as you used to, only remembering enough in the last moment to avert an extremely bad decision – at least for yourself. Your own personal missions left you alive by a hair's breadth.

But if that didn't upset you – your crew did. The pressure of everything happening on Penacony seemed to have started to weigh down on your team, as they barely regard you anymore. You could technically blame it on the system – it's been trying desperately to revive and fix itself as the game progresses. You might be interfering with the inner workings, so you suppose it's only natural the game tries to limit your interactions with the world.

So for the most part, you've resigned yourself to be an NPC; walking around all of the tourist attractions, getting who knows how many cups of coffee, trying on various clothing items, and occasionally running into Sunday. The first few times, you awkwardly fiddled with your phone for optional dialogues, but as time went on, you felt more comfortable. Regardless, it's not like anything you say can technically avert him from his current plan. It's been in the schemes for who knows how long? As of now, it's less complicating to remain ignorant and act unknowing, and enjoying another walk with him as he surveys the Dreamscape. Considering how close you two might be getting, you'll probably end up telling him a few secrets from your past.

-

“The Grand theatre is Penacony’s main attraction.”

Sunday’s face is illuminated by it in the distance, as he stands, staring at it. His voice is barely audible, seemingly as if he speaks to himself. But that idea is swept under the rug the moment he turns slightly to you.

When was this cutscene? You curse your memory, the fog of your mind still not cleared from when you first came to this world,

“Have you decided to attend?”

Truthfully, you didn’t want to. Considering the story, you actually knew the event wasn’t going to happen. But in the case it did..

Options:

 □ “Ill be there first in line to enter.”

 □ “Im thinking about it.”

 □ “probably not..”

“..I have.”

You hesitantly answer.

“You haven’t made up your mind.”

Sunday states, more as a fact than a question. You can’t blame him, considering the hesitance apparent in your voice.

“..out of everyone, I’d hoped you would have attended.”

The options flicker and appear, but before you can press and respond, he continues,

“I understand. How has your family been?”

He turns to face you, you stay silent for a moment, before humming and clicking on an option,

 □ “They’re alright.”

□ “I hope they’re all okay.”

 □ “I wouldn’t really know..”

“Ah, uh.. we’re all kind of in our separate ways right now, so.. I wouldn’t really know.”

“I see.”

Both of you stand in silence, as you follow his gaze to the glowing theatre. After a moment, Sunday breaks his silence,

“When I was a child, I was particularly soft-spoken. Back then, Robin used to stand up for me frequently.”

Your ears perk up slightly. Is he talking about a childhood memory right now?

“One day, she wasn’t around, taking a few extra music lessons. The other kids were simply curious enough to take me in.”

You hum, listening to him intently. Your eyes gaze over his features – softly shaded by the cold light of the theatre, and illuminated by the yellow lights of the path.

“We were all kids. One of them pulled and broke my wing that day.”

You gasp, involuntarily. Ouch.

But sunday only chuckles at your reaction, his eyes downwards and distant. You don't think he finds it funny.

“But do you know? Right after that - they visited me. Day after day. Every step of recovery. Every recess when I had to sit back, they accompanied me. I thought about it recently. Humanity is worth saving.”

You stay silent, before smiling. The silence seems pleasant over you two, as you stare at the Grand Theatre in the distance.

“That, is when human spirit and strife first piqued my interest.”

You blink, and turn to look at him, the smile on your face faltering,

“What must the weak, the misfortunate, and the falsely accused do to gain balance within this world?”

You’re left speechless for a moment. It seems even the system cannot exactly provide you any dialogue options, as you glance over to your phone.

“..balance in the world isn’t achievable, which is why the human spirit strives to fix it.”

You stay silent, listening to him.

“Would a bird that cannot fly be allowed to, simply because it yearns to? Would it be righteous of you, or of the bird, to allow the freedom and death of the vast sky? Is it still righteous, if you withhold its freedom?”

He inhales, slowly, speaking in a low voice, wavering.

“Is death the only comprehensible freedom life offers, beside slumber, to the weak? Is that truly freedom?”

Sunday turns to look at you – his golden eyes almost searing into your soul.

You break out into a sweat, panicking as you check your phone, desperately trying to find an option when–

 System Error: options not available

Shit, shit, shit. Holy crap. Can you even speak right now?

You're left silently staring at Sunday. He stares back before resigning to quietly look away.

You should leave.

—

Your memory seems to be strangely affected – either because you haven't been able to adjust to the new world, or you just haven't been able to adapt to Penacony.

You groan and slump into the couch of your room, in the real world. You keep forgetting to charge your phone – which isn't technically a hassle; you can access the same menu options, it's just more.. time-consuming. Not to mention you lose your only source of dialogue option pop ups.

How long has this been going on? You knew Penacony had a vast and complicated storyline, but living it feels entirely different. Feeling it is entirely bizarre. No wonder your head's spinning.

But thankfully, it should end soon. Your last quest is to face off Sunday in his boss form. You and your members have decided to meet up at the Grand Theatre, where the event will take place.

You place your phone into charging, and right on cue, March pops up into your room. She stumbles around your room a bit the moment you turn your back, even hear her drop and accidentally knock over some items on her way, simply laughing at the girl, as you continue packing up and preparing for the final “showdown”. You disregard her words, when she tells you she felt something push her.

-

You're not sure when the next cutscene plays.

You're in the grand theatre; just having defeated Sunday, and collectively waiting to return to the Astral Express. This is when you meet Boothill and Black Swan, where she wakes you up using Misha as a fallacy within Ena's dream.

But you aren't waking up.

You've just been stranded in the empty grand theatre after the darkness lifted.

You try to turn your phone on – but its busted. March must have disconnected the plug when she stumbled across a few things.

You sigh, irritated and antsy, choosing to walk ahead and look warily at the mechanical statues. The quest description is empty; devoid of any explanation. The title is vague and doesn't indicate much. Are you stuck in the loading screen? What the hell is going on?

And just as you are about to shout out for help – Sunday appears. There he is, on the stage. But this time, there's no spotlight. He stares down at you, emptily. You're creeped out for the lack of a better word, feeling your skin crawl with every second he stares. The silence is paper thin and thickly dense at the same time; electrified with tension and the unknown.

He makes the first step, slowly descending down and towards you.

“You are an outsider.”

System error: cannot process dialogue

“You do not belong here.”

System error: cannot proceed further

“I do not belong here.”

System warning: further interaction in this context may lead to irreversible da–

Sunday's hand rips through the warning, causing it to glitch violently, and disappear. You're scared, your throat constricting and your heart almost lurching out of your chest as he continues walking towards you, eyes searing into your soul,

“We do not belong here.”

Beep!

 Options:

 □ We do not belong here

 □ I do not belong here

 □ You do not belong here

 □ We belong together

 ■ There is nothing else left for you here. You cannot turn back. There is no other option.

The screen glitches out, as Sunday stands before you, his hand reaching out,

“Tell me. What is your name?”

You can't access anything – the menu, the quests, your inventory, nothing. You stare almost endlessly in horror, as Sunday speaks of your real name.

You shouldn't have used it on that coffee cup.

-

[redr0sewrites]

🌀 A/n: long awaited strip poker shmilk fic ,,,,

🌀Cw: smut, strip poker, mentions of intoxication/alcohol, switch!Shmilk, souljam play?, oral (f receiving), sexual tension

🌀reader is afab/fem and mentioned to be wearing a skirt

🌀 top dividers / bottom divider

perhaps agreeing to such a tantalizing game with the Beast of Deceit had not been one of your most brilliant decisions. maybe it had been the alcohol in your system that had influenced your stupidity, (or maybe you were simply bored), but you had not expected to end the night practically half naked in front of the cookie who was supposed to be your boss. in all honesty, you yourself aren't even exactly sure how you got into this compromising situation.

what had started off as a night of drinking and gambling amongst coworkers had turned chaotic when Candy Apple Cookie stole (and then proceeded to chug) all of Black Sapphires wine, to which he drunkenly responded by chasing her around half of the Tower of Deceit, much to yours and Shadow Milk Cookie's amusement. however, the pair had eventually worn eachother out, and went back to their respective rooms to go to sleep, leaving you alone with a definitely more than tipsy Shadow Milk Cookie.

the two of you continued the same activities you had been playing before, assorted cardgames and other oddities as you bet on meaningless prizes- nickels and dimes, the last jelly star, your favorite mug- this continued until long past midnight, and eventually, Shadow Milk came up with, in his words, a "much more interesting" proposition- strip poker.

"oh c'mooonnn it'll be fuuUunnn!" his lilting voice had rung out, teasing you due to your slight hesitance. the rational part of your mind was telling you to refuse, but the smell and taste of alcohol was so potent it seemed to fog your senses, and his gaze was entirely too warm, almost uncharacteristically so. just the sight of his enthusiasm broke your resolve, and you agreed, matching his vivacious mannerisms as he excitedly retrieves a deck of poker cards from his pocket dimension. all of this led up to the present, in which Shadow Milk Cookie was doubled over in laughter in front of you as you pouted.

"how can someone be soooo terrible at poker?" Shadow Milk is practically wiping tears from his eyes as he floats through the air, giggling at your dismay. so, admittedly, maybe you had overestimated your poker skills, but you had hoped to win at least one round- but nooooo.

"you have to be cheating," you complain, and another wave of giggles overcomes the cookie in front of you.

"moi? cheat? dost thou truly think so lowly of me?" he sighs dramatically, his sing-song voice rings through the air as he floats across the table until his face is inches away from your own, so close that you can practically taste the alcohol on his breath. as he contorts his body to be upside down in the air, he leans in to add, "maybe its just you who sucks!" he accentuates his words with a boop to your nose before pulling away so suddenly you almost get whip lash.

"its impossible that you could have gotten two royal flushes back to back without tampering with the cards in some way!" you retort, and Shadow Milk Cookies grin grows ever wider.

"uh uh uh!!! not impossible, just improbable, toots. nothing is impossible when you're like me," he tutts, before floating back to the other side of the table.

"don't be a sore loser now, i'm suuurrree you'll win the next round~" he coo's condescendingly, before looking you up and down. "so, what layer are ya gonna lose now, hm?"

"oh, fuck you," you grumble again, and he cackles. "oh, you are hilarious! can't do that while you're fully clothed, poppet~" you flush, but before you can open your mouth to retort, he cuts you off. "now, you've lost again, fair and square, hm? so it's only fair that you follow the rules of the game, am i right? if it's too hard for you to choose what to take off, i can always pick for you~"

you shake your head, already contemplating your next move. you had fruitlessly delayed the inevitable by already having taken off your shoes and socks one by one, and then each piece of jewelry you were wearing individually- much to Shadow Milk Cookies complaints. however now, you were stuck. it was either your sweater, your skirt, or your tights that had to go- you certainly weren't going to rid yourself of your undergarments, and you had no other options. after a moment of thought, you slowly pull your sweater over your head, silently saying goodbye to the warmth of the bulky fabric as you toss it to the side amongst the rest of your clothes.

Shadow Milk Cookie titters with laughter as you turn back towards the table, and looks you up and down with an unreadable expression. you shiver, and not just from his scrutinizing gaze, but from the chill of the tower itself. you hadn't realized how cold it was until now, and you shift your bra and rub your arms in an attempt to warm yourself. meanwhile, Shadow Milk Cookie occupies himself with dealing a new deck, humming softly and purposefully not looking at you as he tosses cards to your side of the table.

it isn't long before you begin to play again, but it's difficult to focus on the game when you're embarrassingly cold. besides, temperature aside, you felt as though you were on display. its not that you didn't trust Shadow Milk, in fact, you probably trust him a bit too much; but it was certainly awkward that you had lost so many times and he continued to win almost effortlessly.

as you continue throwing down cards almost mindlessly, your thoughts begin to wander. what would have happened if he had lost? what item of clothing would he take off first? his bulky collar, revealing his neck? or maybe his large cape, or even his puffy sleeves, revealing his arms and wrists. or possibly even his one-piece suit altogether- you stop that train of thought immediately. now was not the time to get distracted, especially not with those types of thoughts. sure, he was incredibly attractive, that you wouldn't deny, but he was also an immortal, and more importantly, going to win. you don't want to make a fool of yourself, and you need to focus on winning, or else-

"HAHAHAAH!" a delighted cackle fills the room as Shadow Milk throws down his hand, revealing a straight flush. immediately, you groan, burying your head in your hands before throwing your cards to the floor.

"thats it, i quit! how on earthbread do you keep getting such a good hand??!" you turn exasperatedly, ready to storm out the door, and Shadow Milk blocks your path instantly.

"ah ah ah! c'mooonnn just one more round? i'll even go easy on you!" he teases, and you glare at him. he's floating firmly in your way, and as you move to step around him, he simply shifts in front of you again with a shit eating grin. with an irritated groan, you light heartedly shove him, attempting to push him out of the way, but he barely moves an inch in the air, leaving your hands planted on his chest and a mocking grin stretching ever wider on his face. immediately you try to pull away, but deft hands snake around your wrists, pulling you in close.

"ohhohoh, getting handsy, are we? no one ever told you to play nice?"

"says the cookie who rigged poker," you grumble, and he snickers. you're close to him again, and it's ever more obvious that he's looking you up and down in the same fashion of a predator eyeing its prey. mismatched blue eyes travel over your body, and you fight the urge to preen beneath his gaze.

"m' not playing another round," you mumble, and Shadow Milk sighs dramatically.

"leaving me already, hm? and here i thought we were just about to have some fun...."

"i'm not- im not leaving altogether,"

"oh?" Shadow Milk lets out a tantalizing hum before leaning in impossibly close, so much so that your breaths cross and noses are brushing. your chest heaves as you clear your throat under your breath, struggling for words as he locks you both into what seems to be an elaborate game of chicken to determine who will pull away first.

suddenly, Shadow Milk Cookie pulls away, twirling you around in an erratic circle before popping his lips together.

"well! seems that we have come to an impass. why don't we settle this in some other fashion, hm?"

"what do you propose?" you follow along with his game, gently pulling your hands from his grip and crossing your arms.

"oh, i think you already know~" he coos, a mischievous glint already forming in his eye.

"maybe i do," you hum, leaning in towards the cookie in front of you. "but i want you to say it."

a beat of silence passes as you stare into those heterochromatic eyes, and you almost begin to worry that you've pushed the flirting too far until Shadow Milk giggles once again.

"oh, feisty you are! i knew you were my favorite for a reason" you blink at the praise, and before you can even process his actions, Shadow Milk Cookie pulls you up, up, up into the air in a floating dance of sorts, twirling you around in a delighted manner as you yelp in surprise. instinctually, you wrap your legs around his waist as nimble hands hook beneath your thighs, forcing you to effectively cling to him in the air.

"put me down," you hiss, to which Shadow Milk simply giggles.

"ohh, i will! why don't we settle this somewhere else, hm? why not in bed?"

you blink again, unsure if you're processing the question correctly. in bed?

"are you asking to sleep with me?" you blurt out, and he glares at you fondly.

"if you want to put it so crudely, then yes, yes, fine. by the witches, were you always this dense?"

you splutter, stumbling over your words as he looks at you amusedly.

"am i supposed to take that as a yes?" he teases, and you groan before nodding, cheeks flushed in embarrassment at his directness.

Shadow Milk chuckles at your flustered expression, and before you can even blink, an inky blackness surrounds the two of you. it isn't the first time you've been inside one of his portals, but it is still just as jarring as the world begins to reform around you. you find yourself in a magnificent bedroom decorated in lavish navies and blacks, with silver decals and a recurring eye motif all throughout the decor.

you smile a little when you notice the cards you, Black Sapphire Cookie, and Candy Apple Cookie had jokingly given to Shadow Milk on his birthday just a few months prior sitting proudly on a large desk that you assumed to be his. you were so absorbed in your surroundings that you barely noticed Shadow Milk bringing you towards a large, plush bed before he tosses you down amongst the pillows.

you let out an undignified yelp as you settle among the pillows, and pretend to ignore Shadow Milks' responding snicker. still hovering above you, Shadow Milk slowly descends until he's pinned you down on the mattress, straddling you while firm hands hold your wrists to the bed. he looks down at you, seemingly lost in thought before he ever-so-slowly leans down and presses a surprisingly gentle kiss over your lips. he moves to pull away, but you reciprocate more than eagerly as you lips chase after his. the kiss slowly melts from soft and almost uncertain to passionate and messy, and you pretend not to hear the almost breathy whine he lets out when your tongue runs across his bottom lip, begging for access.

he lets you in almost instantly, and you practically melt into his mouth as you explore it with your tongue. eventually, you pull away, panting and shaking as a thin trail of spit connects your mouths. Shadow Milk is flushed, and his eyes avert from your gaze as a blue tint covers his cheeks.

you have a growing suspicion that the beast of deceit is not nearly as experienced as he lets on, and this is practically confirmed when you roll your hips up to meet his. theres already a prominent bulge forming in his suit, and you watch him carefully as his lip twitches and cheeks flush. he's desperately trying to hold his composure, but he seems almost uncharacteristically unsure. nonetheless, you find it embarrassingly attractive, and it gives you an unprecedented surge of confidence.

you push up against the hold he has on your wrists, flipping you both over so that he's the one pinned to the bed. the cookie beneath you looks up at you in surprise, but as he's about to voice his complaint you smother him in another kiss. he obliges, melting beneath you as you straddle him, grinding down on his clothed cock. the only layers between you both are his suit and your tights and panties, and your desperate for some friction.

you roll your hips languidly against his, setting a slow but steady pace as you grind against him. he moans into the kiss, messy and impatient, and his hands dig into your thighs in an attempt to steady himself, leaving runs in your tights. you pull away from the kiss again, and he stares up at you, eyelids heavy and lidded with lust. his souljam clinks against his chest, and an idea forms in your mind.

an experimental hand trails up from his hips to his chest, slowly reaching for the glowing blue souljam. Shadow Milks eyes widen, but before he can say anything, you run a gentle hand over the surface of the souljam. the reaction is immediate, as Shadow Milk cookie throws his head back with a wanton moan. his hips buck up against yours fervently, entire body shaking as you toy with the essence of his very being.

you don't get far in your ministrations however, as Shadow Milk flips your positions once again, a mixture of irritation and arousal evident on his face.

"hhah- that is not something for your grubby hands to touch," he hisses, eyes foggy with pleasure.

"seems like you enjoyed it though," you tease, and he growls.

he pulls away for a second, but before worry and doubt can lodge itself in your mind, he snaps, and you immediately find yourself bare before him. you flush, immediately noticing his nude form as well, admiring his smooth skin and narrow waist. he crawls back on top of you, and your eyes widen at the sight of his length- long and slender, with a few curls of navy hair at the base, and overall very, very pretty. you gulp, but before you can ask how the fuck is that going to fit inside of you, he slides down lower onto the bed so that he's between your legs. you look at him questioningly, and he grins up at you maliciously.

"aw, did'ja seriously think i wouldn't prep you first? i know i'm a lot to handle after all. besides, you don't know how long ive wanted to taste you..." his gaze darkens focusing in on your cunt. a slender finger runs through your folds, and you let out a needy whine as he finds your clit almost instantly. he circles it teasingly, watching as you gush and clench around nothing. you let out a needy whine, rolling your hips in a desperate attempt to get him to just do something, and he tutts.

"ah ah ah! patience, my dear. let me savor this,," he coos, leaning in to lick a hefty stripe up your cunt, and fuck, it feels good- his tongue is monster-esque, long and forked and a pale shade of blue. it flicks perfectly over clit as he devours you, sucking and slurping at your pretty cunny as though he's a starving predator and you're a delicious meal. you mewl, grinding against his face and clamping your thighs around his head as he laughs.

"there she is... go on, embrace it, hm? be as greedy as you want, poppet, embrace that deceit that comes so naturally to you~" he murmurs, almost talking moreso to your cunt than to you. he's meticulous as he makes you unravel, alternating between sucking on your clit and fingering you and letting his tongue explore your hole. it isn't long at all before you feel the cord in your stomach start to tighten, and you let out a embarrassingly loud moan as he focuses in on your pearl.

"fffuck, Sh- Shadow Milk, 'm gonna-" you choke out between moans, clenching around his tongue as your orgasm washes over you. Shadow Milk cookie guides you through it, still licking and sucking until your thighs are quivering from overstimulation.

"o-oh, shit, t'too much," you whine, pulling away as he giggles.

you pant, struggling to catch your breath as you look down at him through hooded eyes. he's peering up at you through his lashes, looking absolutely delectable between your legs. wordlessly, he sucks the remainder of your juices off of his fingers without breaking eye contact with you, and you swear your heart flips in your chest.

"you still up for the big finale?" he teases, crawling up to your level and pressing a dramatic, sloppy kiss to your lips. you welcome him in easily, embracing the passionate makeout session with fervor as you come down from your post orgasmic high. he hums into your mouth, and you realize you can taste yourself on his tongue. that alone invigorates you, and you roll your hips up against his once more, finding his cock already at full mast.

Shadow Milk Cookie lets out a soft groan as you grind up against him, and the hand not wrapped around his waist comes up to tug at his hair. he lets out a needy whine into your mouth as you tug harder, and he shudders as your nails dig into his scalp. hm. "clearly something he's into,,," you think, mentally cataloguing it for later.

Shadow Milk cookie slowly begins rolling his hips down against yours, soaking his dick with your juices. his tip catches your clit and you both whine in tandem, waiting for an excuse for him to just slip in. you roll your hips harder to meet him halfway and he whimpers, breath hitching as he slips inside you. your gummy walls clench around his tip as he slowly pushes in, barely holding back as he registers your discomfort. finally he pushes in all the way to the hilt, and you both shudder.

"hhah, that feels.." you trail off, moaning softly as he begins to roll his hips. his pace is slow at first, but it soon picks up speed as he grows ever more eager. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as your hips collide, his length filling you up and brushing against your g spot so perfectly that your seeing stars. your clit grinds against the base of his abdomen oh-so-nicely as his pace grows faster and faster, the blunt head of his cock practically abusing your walls. you clench around him tightly and he mewls, hips stuttering as he struggles to maintain composure. immediately, you sense a way in, and flip yourselves over, pushing him down against the mattress once again. he squirms, trying to fight for dominance, but you shush him.

"just relax," you murmur, watching his eyes go wide. "let me set the pace, hm? surely the all mighty beast of deceit deserves to be pampered," you coo, and he blinks up at you, eyes almost hazy with arousal. clearly, flattery worked in your favor.

in an instant, you sit back down on his cock, and Shadow Milk throws his head back in a wordless mewl of pleasure. your pace is unrelenting, and you can already feel your second orgasm of the night building up. you snap your hips against his, hands finding his slim waist and marveling in the way his stomach quivers in pleasure with each roll of your hips. Shadow Milk Cookie looks up at you hazily, almost taunting you.

"h-hnghh, surely y-you can go faster than thi-hn!" he mocks, cut off by you grinding down hard against his trembling cock. your pace becomes impossibly faster, watching in real time as he practically melts beneath you, writhing in the sheets. your orgasm is drawing near, and you can tell his is too by the way his thighs begin to shake.

"ffuck, 'm close," you murmur, and the cookie below you nods, too fucked out for words.

"aww, you close too? 'm gonna need words, baby," you tease, and he glares at you. "u-uhmghh, 'm close-" he mumbles, stuttering between moans as his thighs quiver.

"that's it, good boy," you whisper, the praise slipping out automatically. Shadow Milks' eyes widen, and before you can even say anything else, his eyes roll back and he lets out a mewl as his orgasm washes over him. you clench around him tightly, watching as he falls apart. his orgasm brings you over the edge, and you come undone, clenching around his cock and drenching him in your cum. you continue to grind down against him for a few more seconds until he's whimpering, scrabbling at your hips to pull you to a stop. you slowly pull off of him, flinching in overstimulation as his cock slips out, flaccid against his tummy as you collapse beside him. immediately, Shadow Milk curls up beside you, uncharacteristically clingy.

"that was... wow." you trail off, and Shadow Milk Cookie snorts.

"really? is that all you can say?"

"oh, well how would you describe it, oh mighty scholar of description?" you grumble, and he snickers. a comfortable silence fills the room, before you turn towards him to engage in some teasing of your own.

"...so, good boy, huh?" Shadow Milk Cookie glares at you, burying his head in the pillows.

"shut it! if you bring that up again i'll gag you next time," he hisses, and you blink.

"so there is going to be a next time?" you say delightedly, and he groans.

"forget it, forget it!" he turns away from you, and you giggle. you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling his back flush against your chest. Shadow Milk hums softly, and despite your better judgment, you press a soft kiss to the nape of his neck.

"i'd like for there to be a next time," you mumble against his inky hair. "i'd like for there to be many."

and then Shadow Milk explodes because he is emotionally constipated and unable to be vulnerable ever. kabloom !!! in all seriousness tho,,, AAAAA. soo excited this is done and i actually quite like it ! yippee !! i hope its not too ooc,,,, ANYWAYS LMK IF U ENJOYED AND PLSSS SEND IN SOME SHADOW MILK OR PURE VANILLA ASKS 😈 ALSO BLACK SAPPHIRE COOKIE TOO !!!

[wordsofwhimsy]

❀ꗥ～𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 ～ꗥ❀

❀ꗥ～ Part Three ～ꗥ❀

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x Southern Belle!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, slice-of-life, southern charm still thick as molasses in the middle of a snowstorm, Mark starts tweakin’ a lil’ bit on the low LMAO

Word Count: 2,449

Synopsis: Mark shows up to school early only to be immediately wrecked by you, who’s handing out muffins & heartache. Mark finds himself caught between charm, jealousy, and the slow realization that he is already in waaay too deep.

a/n: thank you for the feedback on the poll but y’all are just as torn on the direction to go with this thing as I am ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i really don’t want to drag this series out too longgg cause i feel like y’all will get sick of her, but there is so much fun potential with them!! so when i do wrap it up i definitely still plan to do random drabbles/blrubs/headcannons. so if you have a particular scenario you want to see played out with these two let me knowww

read part two ❀ꗥ～Here! ～ꗥ❀

The next day, Mark got to first period a full fifteen minutes early.

He wasn’t trying to be extra—he just, y’know, happened to wake up earlier than usual. Showered for an extra minutes. Stared into his closet for even longer.

It was row after row of sweaters.

Gray sweater. Navy sweater. Slightly-different-gray sweater. The exact same maroon one he wore yesterday, and probably twice last week.

“Why do I own so many sweaters,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s not even cold.”

He glanced at the clock. He had exactly twelve minutes to leave the house if he wanted to be on time. But today wasn’t about being on time.

Today was about impressing the southern goddess who fed him homemade pie and called him sugar like it didn’t wreck his entire nervous system.

He yanked the maroon sweater off its hanger and immediately dropped it again. “No. You wore that when you met her. You can’t wear a sweater twice in a row, she’ll think you’re... sweater guy.”

He reached deeper. Somewhere in the back—past the knit graveyard—and he found an old, forgotten denim button-up he hadn’t worn in ages.

“…Okay. Alright.” He held it up, inspecting it like it might bite. “It’s not not cool. It’s fine. You’re fine.”

By the time he was out the door, he was buttoned up, hair freshly styled, smelling faintly like his dad’s aftershave (too much? was it too much?), and on track to arrive at school earlier than any teenager had ever willingly arrived before.

He passed one of the janitors on the way in. The guy looked at him weird.

Mark nodded like a man with a mission. “Big day.”

The janitor grimaced and went back to mopping.

Mark made it to class so early the lights weren’t even fully on yet.

He sat down, tried to play it cool, tapped his pen like he wasn’t losing his mind.

And then—you walked in.

Suddenly the semi-lit classroom felt too bright.

You were wearing another one of those flowy dresses—soft blue this time, with little white daisies scattered all over like a watercolor painting. Your hair was curled again, bouncing around your shoulders, and there was a tiny yellow bow tucked just behind your ear.

You were smiling, too. Big and bright, like it wasn’t still technically dark outside.

Mark forgot what breathing was.

“Good mornin’, sugar!” you chirped, dropping into the desk beside him in a way that almost made the hard plastic seem comfortable. “Ain’t it just the prettiest day?”

Mark looked outside.

It was overcast. Kinda windy. A bird hit the window and flopped off.

“…Yeah,” he croaked. “Gorgeous.”

You opened your notebook with a little hum, pulling out a pen that had a fuzzy pink pom-pom on the end. Different from your rhinestone student pencil from yesterday. Of course you had a whole arsenal of beautiful writing utensils.

Mark stared at it like it held all the answers to the universe.

“I brought peach muffins today,” you said, casual as ever. “Meemaw said I should bring a whole batch with me ‘cause they were too good not to share. I figured I’d bring you one.”

Mark’s felt like a fist had closed around his heart. “I’d die for a muffin.”

You laughed, light and lovely, not even fazed. “Well shoot, I don’t want you dyin’ for one. You just wait ‘til lunch and I’ll hand it over easy, no crime involved.”

Mark stared at you, helpless.

You turned your face to the window with a little sigh, completely unaware you’d just accidentally ruined him for every other girl on planet Earth.

The bell rang.

Mark didn’t even notice.

He was too busy falling deeper in love with the girl who brought sunshine and muffins into first period like it was nothing.

He was still riding the high of being called sugar and getting a personal smile when the classroom started to fill in.

You were already sitting beside him, scribbling little daisies in the margins of your notes and humming to yourself like you were the only one immune to Tuesday energy. You pulled a small zip-lock pouch from your tote and opened it to reveal a cluster of wrapped muffins, all neat and warm and clearly made with care.

“Good morning, sweetheart!” you said brightly—to the teacher.

Mark watched with stars in his eyes as you stood, walked to the front desk, and handed the teacher a muffin with both hands and a smile. “Mama always says nobody should have to start their day without a little somethin’ sweet.”

The teacher blinked, clearly caught off guard, then smiled back. “Well... thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

Mark practically swooned. Look at her, he thought. She’s so thoughtful. She’s so considerate. She’s like a vintage greeting card but better. An actual saint.

You turned around, still holding one more muffin in your hand—and then you walked right past Mark’s desk.

He froze. Wait. No muffin for him?

But then—worse—you stopped beside Brian.

Brian. The kid with glasses thicker than bulletproof glass. The one who wore suspenders without irony. Who once gave a ten-minute speech in class about his favorite graphing calculator.

You handed him a muffin.

“There ya go, sugar,” you said sweetly. “You always look so focused in here—I figure you deserve a treat.”

Brian turned bright red. “Oh! Uh! Thanks! That’s, um—wow. Thank you.”

Mark, from two desks away, silently short-circuited.

Brian?? He liked Brian! Brian was harmless! Brian was also now the luckiest man alive and probably didn’t even know it!!

Mark stared blankly at his own desk. The jealousy was illogical. He knew that. You were just being friendly. It was who you were. That was why he liked you so much.

Still.

He looked down at his empty hands, then at Brian, who was carefully placing his muffin into a Ziploc bag like it was a museum artifact.

Mark was still trying to pretend he didn’t feel weird about the whole Brian Situation™ when you turned back to him with your usual sunny grin—muffin bag in hand.

He straightened in his seat like a dog hearing the treat bag rustle.

“Don’t you worry, darlin’,” you said, tapping the top of the bag like it held gold. “I got your muffin all safe and sound for lunch.”

Mark blinked. “Oh—cool. Thank you.”

“But,” you added, eyes twinkling, “you look like you could use a little somethin’ sweet right now.”

His heart started to race. “I—I mean I—uh—”

You reached into the bottom of the muffin bag, broke off a little piece of golden, peach-flecked heaven, and held it out to him between your fingers.

“Open up.”

Mark’s soul left his body.

He opened his mouth automatically, like he was under some kind of southern-fried spell, and you gently popped the bite in—still smiling, totally casual, like this was just what people did.

The muffin was warm and soft and ridiculous. A spiritual experience.

You went right back to your notes like nothing had happened.

Mark sat there in stunned silence, chewing slowly, eyes wide like a soldier returning from war.

LATER THAT DAY — LUNCH.

Mark was already outside when you arrived—waiting under the tree like a man on a mission, trying to act like he hadn’t sprinted there the second the bell rang.

You showed up, bright as ever, holding that pastel lunchbox like it was the Holy Grail.

“Well hey, handsome,” you greeted, sitting gracefully beside him. “Hope you saved some room. I brought you the biggest one.”

He smiled—more like grinned—more like beamed. “Yeah, totally. Been thinking about it all day. Like… not in a weird way. Just. Y’know.”

You laughed, pulling out your container.

Then, completely oblivious to the emotional avalanche you were about to cause, you added: “Oh! And where’s your little friend? The one from yesterday? I brought extra for him too!” You took another cheerful bite of your muffin and glanced around the courtyard.

Mark froze mid-chew.

“William?” he asked, already knowing where this was going.

You nodded, casual as ever. “Mmhmm. I could’ve sworn he was in line for those lil’ curly fries they serve.” You pulled the spare muffin from your bag, holding it up delicately in its wax paper like it was a peace offering. “Wouldn’t feel right eatin’ this one without givin’ it to him. Poor thing’ll think I forgot about him!”

Mark’s smile was pained. “Oh. Yeah. That’s… thoughtful.”

You grinned, totally oblivious to the internal meltdown you’d just triggered. “I’m pretty sure he’s still in there honey. Go get him!”

He blinked. “What?”

You laughed gently, like he was being shy. “Go on, darlin’! Tell him I saved one just for him. He can come sit with us.”

Mark’s brain:

💔 This was our thing.💔 Our spot.💔 Our tree.💔 Our muffin moment.💔 Our marriage announcement was going to go here.

But all he said was, “…Right. Be right back.”

He stood up slowly, like he was going to the guillotine. “You sure you don’t wanna… I don’t know… surprise him later?”

You laughed again and shook your head. “Now don’t be silly. Ain’t no sense lettin’ this thing go cold!”

He nodded, a broken man. “Right. Of course. Warm muffins. That makes sense.”

You waved him off with a sweet little, “Tell him I said hurry, before I eat it myself!”

As he turned toward the cafeteria, he muttered under his breath, “…I was gonna marry her.”

Mark all but slammed through the cafeteria doors, eyes scanning the room like he was hunting prey.

There. At the far table. William, munching on curly fries like it was just another day, chatting with some guy from math class like the fate of Mark’s entire romantic future wasn’t on the line.

Mark rushed over, practically skidding to a stop in front of him. “Will,” he hissed, out of breath, eyes intense. “Please don’t ruin this.”

William blinked. “Ruin what? What’s happening? Are we being hunted?”

Mark leaned in, voice urgent. “She sent me to come get you. You. Personally. She has a muffin for you.”

William raised both brows. “...Oh. So this is about Muffin Girl.”

Mark looked around, already twitching. “She’s waiting under the tree. Our—my—spot. Please, please, I’m begging you, don’t linger. Just take the muffin, say thank you, maybe one polite compliment on her dress if you have to, and leave.”

William paused, chewing slowly, savoring the moment like it was his own muffin.

“Wow,” he said. “You’re spiraling.”

“I’m in hell,” Mark whispered. “I am in hell and she’s passing out baked goods like this is a church potluck. I need this.”

William popped one last curly fry in his mouth and stood. “Alright, alright. Don’t rupture anything. I’ll be cool.”

“You won’t be,” Mark muttered, following him out. “I know you. You’re gonna make this weird.”

William grinned over his shoulder. “Buddy, you brought me a muffin invitation like it was a golden ticket. This is weird.”

Mark groaned.

You spotted them before they even made it halfway across the lawn.

Mark looked like he was dragging William toward you by the soul. William, on the other hand, looked entirely unbothered—curly fry in one hand, mild mischief in his eyes.

“Well there he is!” you called out, waving that sweet little wave that made Mark’s knees go weak. “I was just about to send a search party.”

William grinned as they approached. “Sorry, ma’am. He tracked me down like a bloodhound. Said I was urgently needed.”

Mark muttered, “I did not say urgently.”

You patted the blanket beside you without hesitation. “Well come on, then! I don’t wanna be handin’ out muffins while they’re all cold and sad.”

Mark shot William a look. One that screamed: Don’t you dare.

William, of course, ignored it completely and sat down like he’d been invited to a five-star brunch. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said, stretching out a little. “Beautiful day, huh?”

Mark stood awkwardly beside the blanket, hovering like he wasn’t sure if this was now a group event or if he should go lay down in traffic.

“It is!” You agreed with another beaming smile before handing William the wrapped muffin “Now these are peach flavored—my favorite,” you said, then added with a wink, “but I’m biased.”

William opened it like a kid on Christmas. “Man, you bake and you’ve got charm? Mark wasn’t kidding.”

Mark snapped his head around so fast it nearly detached. “What.”

William bit into the muffin like it was the last joy on Earth and moaned dramatically. “Holy crap. You trying to kill us with kindness? These are so good!”

You giggled. “Well shoot, if I knew y’all were this easy to impress I’d’ve brought somethin’ fancier!”

Mark finally sat down, a little stiff, very tense, watching William like a hawk. He took a bite of his muffin (a big one), and tried to look normal.

He did not look normal.

William, fully aware, turned to you. “So, how’d you learn to bake like this? You go to some kind of southern baking academy, or is this just genetic perfection?”

You laughed, delighted. “Lord, no! My grandma just taught me when I was little. Said a lady should always know how to whip up a good peach pie and a sharp comeback.”

Mark, halfway through his muffin and very much not chewing like a normal person, tried to chime in. "That's really cool," he said, muffled through a mouthful.

William glanced sideways at him with a smirk that had way too much knowing in it. "Didn’t know you were so into peaches, man."

Mark nearly choked. "I’m not—I mean, I am. I like muffins. Just—these muffins. Or... muffins in general."

You looked between the two of them, brows raised ever so slightly, and let out the softest little laugh. “Y’all city boys sure are funny,” you said, sipping your drink with a smile like this was all just playful nonsense.

Mark practically melted. God, she’s sweet, he thought. She doesn’t even know what she does to people. She’s literally just—

His eyes flicked sideways—and immediately caught William staring straight at him with a smirk that said everything.

Mark’s brain screeched back to reality like a record scratch. He cleared his throat, sat up straighter, took another too-casual bite of muffin.

“Anyway,” he said quickly, “uh… yeah. School’s wild, right?”

William didn’t say anything. Just took another bite of his own muffin, eyes full of judgment and joy.

read part four ❀ꗥ～ Here! ～ꗥ❀

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Blue states should play “constitutional hardball”

NEXT WEDNESDAY (October 23) at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, GEORGIA, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

Nothing's more frustrating that watching the GOP smash norms and decency to advance policies that harm millions of Americas, unless it's that, plus Democratic officials stamping their feet and saying, "C'mon guys, play fair."

The GOP's game is called "constitutional hardball." Think: Mitch McConnell refusing to hold confirmation hearings on Obama's federal judiciary appointments, not never for Merrick Garland's Supreme Court seat – then filling the Federal judiciary with the least-qualified, most FedSoc-addled lunatics in US history, all for lifetime appointments.

As bad as this is at the federal level, it's even worse at in the states, especially the Republican "trifecta" states where the GOP holds the governorship and the state house and senate, where shameless gerrymandering and legislative attacks on hard-won ballot measures are the order of the day. GOP-held state governments engage in rampant interstate aggression, targeting out-of-state abortion providers, publishers, and journalists.

This is a one-sided Cold Civil War, because state Dems, for the most part, are unwilling to play hardball in return (the closest they come is when, say, California sets strict emissions controls and manufacturers adopt them nationwide, rather than making special cars for the giant California market). Republicans engage in constitutional hardball and Dems refuse to fight back, a phenomenon called "asymmetrical constitutional hardball":

https://columbialawreview.org/content/asymmetric-constitutional-hardball/

Writing for The American Prospect, Arkadi Gerney and Sarah Knight make the case for symmetrical constitutional hardball:

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-10-18-playing-hardball/

The pair argue first, that the best way to get Republican state houses to play fair is to credibly threaten them with retaliatory action. They cite the recent attempt at a last-minute change the way that Nebraska's Electoral College votes are apportioned, which would have given all of five the state's EC votes to Trump. Maine threatened to effect the same change to its Electoral College system, which would have given all four of its EC votes to Harris. Nebraska surrendered.

But there's also a second advantage to playing Constitutional Hardball: it makes blue states better. For example, Minnesota gives free college tuition to exceptional low/middle-income students. Neighboring North Dakota got tired of losing all its smartest kids Minnesota schools and created its own subsidy. As Gerney and Knight point out, Minnesota (and other blue states) still has a huge advantage when it comes to attracting top talent, because attending university in a state with legal abortion is vastly preferable (and safer) than doing a degree in a forced-birth state.

Red states are bent on making life horrible for some really great people. The hardworking, talented Haitian migrants caught in the Springfield pogroms that Trump incited would be a fine addition to any blue state town – anyone who's got the gumption to haul ass out of a failed state and make their all the way to Springfield is gonna be a fantastic neighbor, citizen and worker, just like my refugee grandparents and father, who endured a million times more hardship than their neighbors ever did, getting to Toronto, finding jobs, and starting their family.

Influxes of young, hardworking immigrants are especially good for rural towns with dwindling populations. No wonder rural towns with above-average net migration swung for Biden in 2020.

All over America, families are despairing of their lives in red states. Whether you're worried that you or someone you love might need to terminate a pregnancy, or you're worried about gender-affirming care for you or a loved one, you can put your worries to rest in a blue state. Same goes for nurses and doctors who are worried they can't do medicine unless it accords with the imaginary dictates of Bronze Age prophets as claimed by pencil-neck Hitler wannabe Bible-thumper with a private jet and a face from Walmart. Fill the blue states with great schools, libraries and hospitals, and invite everyone who wants to do their job in a free country to come and work at 'em. Line every state border with abortion and mifepristone clinics, and set up billboards advertising the quality of life, the jobs, and the freedom in blue state America.

Every blue state public pension fund should ban investments in fossil fuels, and invest like crazy in renewables, especially in Texas, to hasten the bankrupting of the petro-kleptocracy that controls the state. Blue states should tack surcharges on goods imported from "right to work" states where unions are effectively banned, to compensate for the additional product testing needed to ensure that scab products are safe to use (ahem, Boeing).

Create joint occupational licensure rules across blue states: if you're certified as a teacher, nurse, hairdresser or auto-mechanic in New York, you should be able to carry that certification with you to Minnesota, California, or Maine. Create multi-state funding pools to build public housing. Offer med-school scholarships to the smartest red state kids, at universities where they'll learn evidence-based obstetrics rather than the Lysenokist nonsense taught at the Roy Moore College of Pediatrics and Obstetrics.

Dems have to get over their fear of "states' rights" and start playing state-level hardball. This doesn't mean escalating cruelty. Quite the contrary: every cruel measure enacted as red state red meat is a chance for blue states to extend a kindness, and capture even more of the best, brightest and kindest of the nation, creating a race to the top that Republicans can only win by abandoning their performative cruelty and corruption.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/18/states-rights/#cold-civil-war

[kittyykattxoxo]

talk so pretty but your heart got teeth (part 1)

pairing : rhea ripley x fem!reader

summary : you and rhea became quick friends after you joined the wwe, opting to travel and train together, but along the way you developed feelings for the eradicator. after a mix up with your reservation that leaves you without a room, rhea offers to let you stay with her. will you be able to survive the night? who knows.

word count : 1714

content warning : just a bit of a heated makeout session...this time ;)

The heavy hotel door clicked shut behind you as you tossed your duffel bag onto the nearest chair with a tired sigh. The day had been long - meet and greets, interviews, and hours of travel. Your muscles ached with fatigue, but the real reason that you were on edge had nothing to do with the schedule and everything to do with the other woman tossing her own bag down across the room.

Rhea Ripley.

You’d been friends for years - traveling together, training together, celebrating wins and comforting each other after losses. Hell, she’d been the reason you made it from NXT to the main roster in the first place. She’d become your rock, but somewhere along the way, you’d fallen for her. Hard.

You’d been able to maintain your composure for the most part, keep on a mask of indifference when it came to your real feelings, but lately it had been getting increasingly difficult to keep it bottled up. The signs were there in the way your heart tripped over itself whenever she flashed you her wicked grin, or in how your gaze lingered just a second too long when she peeled off whatever oversized shirt she was wearing and revealed her toned, tattooed body. 

And now, as if fate was having a laugh at your expense, the two of you had wound up sharing a hotel room before the next day’s event - one bed, of course. The hotel had somehow had a glitch in its system that left you without a room and, being the amazing friend that she was, Rhea had offered to let you stay with her. You’d thought about turning her down, but you were so tired that searching for another hotel seemed like too much of a hassle, so you’d agreed. After all, it was just one night, right?

“Hell yeah,” Rhea groaned, her voice filling the silence that had been in the room as she stretched her arms over her head, her shirt lifting just enough to show a tantalizing glimpse at her toned abdomen. “I need a shower or I’m going to pass out smelling like the airport.”

You barely heard her of course, too busy staring at the thin sheen of sweat still clinging to her collarbone, but eventually you managed to pull yourself together enough to let out a chuckle, trying to pretend that the sight of her exposed skin wasn’t driving you crazy.

Of course, she caught you looking. “See something you like?” she teased, a coy smirk on her lips.

You snorted, trying to play it off as if everything was just fine. “Nah, just admiring your dedication to hygiene, mate.” She laughed, rolling her eyes as she reached for her toiletry bag and sauntered toward the bathroom. As she moved, your eyes stayed on her a beat too long, drawn to the powerful curve of her thighs and the slight sway of her hips. When the door shut behind her and the sound of running water filled the room, you gave a sigh of relief.

“Get a grip,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head, though the traitorous throb between your legs let you know that you most certainly weren’t getting a grip.

You sank onto the edge of the bed, staring blankly at your phone, but it was impossible to focus when your mind kept conjuring images of her beneath the stream of warm water - her head tilted back, droplets gliding down her toned stomach, over her tattooed arms, between her breasts.. “Fuck,” you cursed softly under your breath as you squeezed your thighs together, the images sending a heat between them. When the bathroom door finally swung open twenty minutes later, steam poured out, curling around Rhea like something out of a fantasy. She strolled out in nothing but a thin black sports bra and a pair of sleep shorts that barely covered the swell of her ass. Her damp hair hung in wild waves around her shoulders, strands clinging to her glistening skin. Your stomach tightened and more images flooded your mind. She was a walking sin, created just to tempt you. “Your turn,” she spoke, oblivious to just how hot and bothered she was making you. You swallowed hard and made a beeline for the bathroom, needing to put distance between you before you did something stupid. You opted to take a cold shower, but the cold water did nothing to cool the heat burning under your skin. You stayed under longer than necessary anyways, forcing yourself to calm down. When you finally emerged nearly thirty minutes later, you found her sprawled across the bed, flipping through channels on the tv. Her legs were stretched out, one bent slightly at the knee, her foot tucked under the opposite thigh. The pose was casual, but on her it drove you insane anyways. “Anything good on?” you asked, clearing your throat as you approached the bed hesitantly. “Nah, just the same old crap,” she replied, though as she looked your way a smirk crossed her lips and she patted the empty space beside her. “Come on, I don’t bite,” she said, arching a brow mischievously. “Unless you want me to, of course.” It was enough to make your stomach do a slow flip. You hesitated still, but then a dramatic pout came across her face. “Seriously? You’re gonna make me cuddle myself over here?”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you tried to wipe away all hesitation before finally crawling into the bed beside her. At first, you kept a polite distance, but Rhea didn’t seem to be having it. With a playful huff, she hooked her arm around your waist and dragged you closer until you were pressed against her side. Your heart stuttered when her fingers absentmindedly started tracing slow, lazy circles along your lower back. The warmth of her skin seeped through your thin sleep shirt, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. You told yourself to relax - to enjoy the moment without overthinking it, but then you felt Rhea’s hand slip lower, her fingers brushing the curve of your hip and lingering there. You felt your breath catch.

“Rhea…” you whispered, but it came out as more of a plea than a warning.

Rhea hummed softly, her lips so close to your ear that you felt the warm puff of her breath. “Hmm?” Her fingertips grazed the bare skin beneath your shirt, slipping just under the hem and suddenly there was no more questioning whether it was an accident or not. You knew it wasn’t and so did she. You shivered slightly, her fingertips leaving a trail of light goosebumps over your skin. Your pulse quickened, the heat beginning to build low in your stomach as her hand continued to move, tracing lazy patterns over your skin. “You’re tense,” she murmured, her voice low. “Want me to help you relax?” You turned your face toward her, and suddenly you were far too close. Her eyes were hooded, but you could see how the stormy blue hues of her irises had darkened with lust. Her gaze flickered to your lips - she was giving you the chance to stop her. But you didn’t. Instead, you whispered, “Please”, almost as if pleading with her for more. That was all it took because within milliseconds her mouth crashed against yours, hot and insistent. You let out a soft, startled gasp, but she swallowed the sound eagerly, her tongue slipping past your lips. The kiss slowed after that, almost as if she were teasing you, her teeth nipping lightly at your lower lip before her tongue would follow to soothe it, allowing you to feel the cool metal of her tongue piercing. You melted into her, your hand moving to grip the back of her neck and pull her closer. She growled softly into your mouth at the motion, the low and primal sound sending a shiver through you.  Without breaking the kiss, Rhea rolled on top of you, straddling your waist. Her thighs bracketed your hips, warm and firm, as she pinned you down with just enough weight to make you squirm. She broke the kiss then, her lips moving first to your jaw before she began trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. You arched into her touch, whimpering softly when she bit down lightly on your skin before proceeding to soothe the mark with her tongue.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” she rasped against your skin, her breath hot and uneven. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this - I thought I was going to become an old maid waiting for you to make the first move.”

Your face burnt with heat at her admission, thinking of all the times before that you’d certainly wanted to take things further with Rhea, but had easily talked yourself out of them. You didn’t think she’d ever be interested in you, but you’d obviously thought incorrectly.

Rhea’s hands slid under your shirt, slowly dragging the fabric up, her dark nails lightly raking over your stomach. She leaned back slightly, her eyes still dark with lust, as she tugged your shirt over your head, discarding it on the floor nearby.

Her gaze raked over you hungrily afterwards, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “Fuck,” she muttered, almost reverently, before she lowered herself, her mouth latching onto the sensitive skin just above your collarbone. She sucked lightly, her sharp teeth grazing your skin just enough to make your hips twitch beneath her.

You let out a shaky moan, threading your fingers through her dark hair and tugging slightly. She groaned into your skin in response, the sound vibrating against you. Her hands began to slide down your sides before gripping your thighs firmly. Rhea spread your legs slightly, moving to settle between them. You replied by arching up instinctively, your hips rolling against her, desperate for more friction.

Rhea pulled back at the motion, just enough to meet your eyes. Her thumb brushed over your lower lip, her eyes hooded and smoldering. “No more running” she murmured.

You reached up to cup her face, nodding your head. “No more running.”

And then her lips were on yours again, the kiss slow, deep, and utterly consuming.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dungeon: Murder in the House of Dolls

Art 1, Art 2

Though once the prize project of a master artificer famed for bringing joy across the land, the Lyrebird theatre now moulders in obscurity, its once wondrous hall now a place where strange things lurk unseen.

Adventure Hooks:

A body turns up in the party's home city, a tattooed man dressed in antiquated robes like the king of a fallen empire, exanguinated from strange cuts that encircle his major joints. Investigating the tattoos reveals that he was part of a gang that made it's coin "acquiring" things for interested parties by any means. Careful reconstruction of his trail leads to a tumbledown neighborhood frequented by artistic types. Perhaps they can point the investigators in the right direction.

If the party aren't the type to be solving crimes, a fence they know has a job for them: breaking into some boarded up building and stealing some select doohickeys on behalf of a wealthy buyer. Never mind that the last crew she sent in never came back.

Following rumors of strange music playing in the night, or their own need to aquire materials on the cheap, the party might find their own way to the Lyrebird. Sometimes you just need an urban dungeon delve on the quick, yeknow?

Background: It was a brilliant idea in concept, a clockwork playhouse, a scaled up version of music box automata that could play out entire performances accompanied by a clockwork band. In practicality, the system could only be made complex enough to alter between four per-determined plays, and after the novelty wore off no one wanted to see a theatre that could only run the same shows season after season, to say nothing of the stiff performances of clockwork actors.

And so the Lyrebird faded from grand attraction to tourist trap to derelict curiosity. The owners boarded up the building once it was too, which hasn't stopped adventurous youths and enterprising scavengers from sneaking in to take trophies from time to time.

None of this sat right with the spirits of art and wonder that'd come to dwell within the theater in its early days, born from the amazement of those first few years. The show must go on, and with a little encouragement from a fey-curse newly levelled against all the artificer's creations, the spirits got to work staging new performances of their favourite productions... even if they have to get a bit creative when it comes to replacing the damaged puppets.

Challenges & Complications

Using the marionette performers, the spirits infesting the theatre have been capturing those who break into the playhouse and using their bodies in place of damaged automata. A number of them are dead, as being jerked around on fillaments through dance routines or suspended by them for hours, but a few of the most recent band of thieves are piteously alive and in desperate need of rescue. Breaking them out immediately will see the spirits sending an army of possessed marionettes after the party, so the best course of action might be in staging one of the plays and getting all the victims on set before cutting them down and bolting for the door.

Navigating the mechanical theatre will require the party to venture through the uncanny corridors of the puppet workshop, the precarious pathways of the flyloft, and the deafening clatter of the orchestra pit. Along the way they'll face not only rogue marionettes and the hazards of a derelict building, but also fey mischief like swapping the doors around or costumes waiting in ambush that charm the victim into thinking they're someone else.

Even when the party escape, the Lyrebird theatre isn't done with them. Some time later the party will find one of their allies murdered, the death posed unusually so as to resemble the climax of one of the plays. The wrathful spirits of the playhouse have cobbled together a champion of porcelain, wood, and wire, and sent it out into the city to perform their art before a live audience.

[the-orange-solace]

When I was a child, I watched an episode of Criminal Minds where a man had a split personality. A woman who killed other women who threatened the man she formed to protect. I remember her sitting in the dark on a couch, a cigarette in hand beside a lamp, as she spoke to an Agent about why she had to kill them, that it was to protect him. It was her entire purpose for existing.

As a child, I used to pace empty halls in the middle of the night and lay in bed, repeating in my mind that I would be the only being in my body. I will not break into multiple people. I will be in control. I have to be because, at the time, I believed I could break into those monstrous plurals you see on TV. The ones that killed their family after years of neglect, abuse, and wrongdoing. The ones you should be afraid of ever becoming, no matter who you are or your situation.

So I became terrified.

And yet, nearly every night, I'd look up at the sky or the ceiling and beg for something to change—to not be alone. I was stuck pretending I was a different character, a type of escapism that sometimes got out of hand, lost in an identity that wasn't my own. Looking up and imagining being taken away, every character I adored was by my side, caring for me in return. I had to keep going, be them, and exist in a world with them.

I'd made up stories, different realities, and places in my mind to escape to, as well as explanations for things my underdeveloped brain couldn't comprehend in the place I found myself within. I clung to concepts, characters, and situations that reflected my own, and soon, I no longer felt alone—not with all the escapism I conjured up, not with the different identities to help me face what was happening.

But I was in control. I was one being. No matter what. I had to be a single being because that was good. I had to be good.

I would never hurt anyone, and being many meant being bad. I couldn't be bad.

When I was a teenager, I started researching and getting involved in minority and disabled spaces. I loved being informed, the stories, the many perspectives, and the complexity of humanity. So it was no surprise when I shared a plural headcanon with a friend, and they felt safe coming out to me. They were many. They took my hand and guided me through a community I was fascinated with and wanted to aid and represent like so many others.

I spent years learning, staying silent as others spoke, just listening to everything I could. But then, one day, like so many others, I spoke through a different facet, a different identity I had created as a child. The many faces of me represented things I could not be, I could not hold, nor could I handle. I was struggling; some of me wanted to lash out. So she did. She lashed out.

As always, I was faced with kindness, listening ears, and aid that then pushed me more to the surface from drowning. But I never left; just another part of me was lost, right? Of course. People are complex. I deal with my emotions in a complex way. Of course.

My plurally disabled friend watched as I became more comfortable speaking through the identities I had, whether they were facets of myself or characters that helped me. Soon enough, the continuous "role-play" and "emotional processing" developed into normal conversation, a comfort, a relief.

They kindly approached me and asked if I was a system, too. They had never met anyone who spoke to themselves like I do, definitely not any singlets. None of our other friends did, in person or not, not even people in our families. It was just us.

The fear from my childhood arose. I couldn't be multiple; I couldn't be more than one. It was bad. But hadn't I learned about Plurality? All its ups and downs? Its complexities and nuances? I accepted it wholeheartedly; I learned and evolved from the demonized perception I was given as a child. So, why was it still bad?

Because I must be lying; I must be a fake, a poser. It was the only reason, wasn't it? I had seen so many conversations and arguments about fakes, those who wished to be special. Had I somehow become the harm they spoke of? How could I do this to a community I swore to listen to and fight for?

I obsessed over it, forcing the panic, dissociation, habit, and ease of speaking in multiple identities and beings of myself away. I buried it as deep as I could for the betterment of everyone else. The community didn't deserve such harm, and I wouldn't bring it to their doorstep if I claimed it to be something I'm not.

The loathing became so present it formed into tics that caused aches and disruptions in my life. Multiple stressors--along with an identity crisis--will do that to someone. So my shoulder and neck muscles ached from shrugging, flexing, and all the repetitive movements I couldn't stop without crying from the suppression. So I didn't. I let it disrupt and hurt.

Then, one day, someone, some random, unknown system to me out in the world, spoke about how it didn't matter what was real or not; it didn't hurt anyone. Plurality and the belief of it didn't hurt anyone. It hurt no one to discover themselves, to test the waters, to simply pry into yourself and learn. There was no shame in figuring yourself, or yourselves, out. There was no right or wrong, nothing to be ashamed of or fearful of. Just another part of living.

So I did. I poked and prodded. I gave my parts names, spoke to them in the middle of the night, asked questions, got to know them, and learned we couldn't talk through words at first but could emotions and sensations. I realized I couldn't find where my Plurality started or where it ended, that we—oh god, we—the idea was so surreal but...comforting—were so combined, living without specific individuality outside of me that there was no separation in sight. Not that I could figure out. For so long, I believed everything was just me. Only me.

But now it was someone else, too. These things that made no sense, these things that felt out of place or special, unique, and ever-changing could be someone else.

Someone else.

The more I reflected, learned, applied, and prodded, the more things made sense. Until one day, I looked at my friends, held my breath, and spoke. Stated that it like it was a sin for me of all people to say.

I was plural.

No one blinked an eye. No one questioned it outside of boundaries and clarification. It wasn't surprising that their childhood friend was many. How surprising could it be when they used so many different names for different parts of themselves to express hard things?

It was astonishing.

And here we are, years and years later, grown and still learning, living, fighting, but more in touch with ourselves than ever before with so many more sys friends and aquatints. More experiences, a better understanding.

It's not shameful to learn, apply, and reflect. You take nothing from anyone but your time and open-minded exploration of the world and yourself(ves). There is no evil in being human, living life, phase or not. There is nothing wrong with you, any of you, for existing or living. You just are. I embrace you, I embrace us, and I embrace everything that comes with a life of many.

So, if you're struggling, just know you're not alone outside the body. We know, and so do many others. It's going to be okay; you'll find yourself in time. Don't rush it. There will always be time.

[utilitycaster]

Hi, would just like to say thank you for writing up so much meta on campaign 3, it is keeping me sane seeing similar thoughts to what I’ve had written down coherently.

The last couple asks you’ve answered have got me thinking about how campaign 3 ended up like this (indecisive characters, weird nonsensical themes, only setpieces and maybe a ship or two being memorable) and I remember hearing that c3 was described by Matt as ”Pulpy” and I keep coming back to that and thinking that there was never even meant to be a big decision. From what I’ve read of old pulp fiction dnd novels it's pretty much “here’s the big bad go defeat/seal/slap them on the wrist, have fun on the way there with several cool setpieces and romance!” and I wonder if there was even meant to be a god debate at all or if it was just picked up in the middle of the story by the cast. It could explain why the characters wouldn't fit the story if this wasn’t meant to be the story.

Cause a character who goes with the flow is fine in those books and a character who only looks into what is thrust upon them works, but it feels like somewhere it tried to be more and just fell apart.

Because even now the story does feel pulpy but just held down by a narrative it isn’t handling well. 119 was a great episode and having the Raven Queen show up in the middle to give boons is an incredibly cool beat that would be memorable as hell but for it to end up as another god debate just sucks. But the rest of the campaign sort of does that with cool beats that end up dragged down in one way or another so its not unique I guess

I know you talked about the “pulpy”ness of c3 a while ago and was wondering if you had more thoughts now that we’re in the endgame for the campaign

I do - this is all rather speculative but in some discussions with other people one possible explanation that's come up is that Matt genuinely didn't expect the characters to be so hesitant to save the gods or stop Ludinus or sympathize with the the Vanguard, and has kind of pivoted to make a campaign that accomodates those doubts...but in doing so sort of fucked his end premise of "we must deal with Predathos". Which, you know, makes a lot of sense! What if Hearthdell was intended as a glimpse into why people might join something like the Vanguard to introduce an element of complexity to a party that (quite reasonably I might add) had said "these people are a fucking scourge on Exandria" but instead served to fan the flames of "well the gods didn't give me things when I asked so yeah we should let them be eaten"? What if the fetch quests to the Shattered Teeth or the scouting mission were like the quest for vestiges - something that the party desperately wished to do to achieve a deeply felt goal - and not something they had to be nudged along to do every step of the way? What if the party went into the final confrontation with any consensus or intention? Because then yeah a pulpier "you're taking on the Big Bad Ultimate Threat...but your MOTHER is on THEIR side" a la vintage superhero comics plays out much more coherently. I cannot stress enough that the cultural touchstone Matt brings up about the campaign is the 2012 Avengers film. Regardless of some posts I've seen (which tend to assume anything the cast has ever read/watched/played is an influence, which is. incorrect) that is your starting point.

The thing about all the "take a third option" and "status quo" talk surrounding this campaign is...this post is actually a good description of how it plays out in real life. Like yeah there's a lot of political constructs within the world that are stupid and unjust! However it is unproductive, naive, and idiotic to act as though just because you don't like them they aren't part of a complex system that needs thoughtful dismantling (at least, if you place any value on human life) or worse, that they simply don't exist because they shouldn't. Sometimes you genuinely do have two choices and neither is ideal and if you do not choose between them because you're holding out for a better option the choice is made for you, and often, it's the worse one. Sometimes there is in fact a problem caused by something stupid that you cannot undo in time to solve said problem, and it is selfish and childish to say "well I think this shouldn't be a problem" and leave it at that. You will fail in your endeavors if you do this. People will see that's your approach and stop listening to anything you say.

Bells Hells feel like that to me and it's not even entirely their fault. I think because Matt had such a clear endgame in mind in the sense of "face off against Predathos" and the party was so ill-suited, and the early pacing was genuinely already bad, he's sort of tried to pivot away by following every dumb idea Bells Hells have to perhaps funnel them towards that endgame. And this is a problem too, because it means the plot doesn't push back on them and they do not grow as people, which means that a lot of us are getting tired with their shit. It's telling that most of Bells Hells' loudest defenders are the "well, if you're traumatized, you're excused from all responsibility for your actions ever :)" types within the fandom because like, part of why people are sick of Laudna's shit (for example) is that it's like ok I agree you shouldn't have an evil wizard in your head but you do, so like, what are you doing about it. And because she hadn't done anything about it and because they had to get to Predathos we had our Deus Essek Machina situation, which to be clear, not mad about, but it also means Laudna never really learned or grew from this. And to be clear she's not alone; part of the frustration around Ashton is it seemed like they DID have a revelation around shardgate and then immediately discarded it.

There's many more factors I'm sure but just to sum up:

Matt has a very clear overarching plot in mind [and, also, probably was creating a campaign for characters who see point 3 had more realized worldviews and goals and investment in their communities]

Matt does not give the cast much guidance in creating characters for that plot; "pulpy" is really tonal and not even genre

Cast, having played characters specifically designed for the "complex and morally gray and must be from the continent the campaign is set on" campaign last, turn to wacky and go-with-the-flow types

Overarching plot kicks in; characters do not behave as expected

Matt tries to embrace/encourage this by getting the party to follow what they want to do

Go-with-flow/take no responsibility party doesn't know what they want to do

endless loop of a DM trying to adjust the direction of flow to a directionless party instead of imposing a direction/Cast trying to take direction cues from a DM who keeps throwing more options at them in the hopes one will appeal to them which turns into a "what do you want to do" "I don't know what do you want to do" situation.

[lowpolynpixelated]

Bloodborne PSX One of the best fanworks on the web

Though the PS4 boasted and still boasts an impressive library of releases, for many (myself included) the system served to be bought for initially one purpose, to be the Bloodborne Machine. Most of the people in my life who had a PS4 during its generation either bought one exclusively to play Fromsoftware’s Nightmare Hunting Adventure or had initially got one solely to play the game and ended up getting more games afterward. It’s a phenomenon the game industry sees time and time again, with previous generations having swathes of fans buying entire consoles for one or two games. As far as games go though, Bloodborne is at the very least worth the price of entry. At the time, it was heralded as Fromsoftware’s most cutting-edge and impressive game to date. A gorgeous gothic world filled with creatures ripped straight out of H.P Lovecraft’s nightmares, a haunting soundtrack showcasing beautifully composed choral scores and a combat system that incentivized aggression and speed to achieve brutal and bloody efficiency. It’s no wonder then why Bloodborne still has such a large following behind it. Fans of Fromsoftware have hoped for a sequel or PC port year after year to largely disappointing results. But where the community shines is in its fanworks. 

From fanart, comics, music, animations, and even fan-made video game spinoffs, the game has been shown a monumental amount of love since its debut in 2015. One of these fanworks was released back in 2022 and has since become one of the most famous pieces of fan-made content surrounding the game, this of course, being BloodbornePSX by LWMedia. An incredibly impressive feat of coding and art direction, the game serves as a “Demake” of Bloodborne’s first Yharnam segment, made to look like and play as if it were made on the very first PlayStation console. With some custom-made areas and an entirely unique boss to boot the perfectly paced experience is both a treat to fans who have been orbiting the game since its earliest days and new fans looking for the best and brightest fanworks to interact with. 

The game has since gone on to be covered by a variety of news outlets all over the web, along with its creator receiving much-deserved attention for her efforts. One Lilith Walther (AKA b0tster on social media) holds the title of developer for the project. A long-time video game enthusiast and FromSoftware fan herself, she’s had quite an impact on the community I’m sure she’s very proud to be a part of. Later in the article, we’ve got an interview with Lilith herself about both Bloodborne PSX and her current project, “Bloodborne Kart”, but first, let’s talk a bit more in-depth about BBPSX.

(Official launch trailer for Bloodborne PSX, uploaded January 31, 2022 by LWMedia on Youtube)

Bloodborne PSX:

So, what exactly is Bloodborne PSX? To start, let’s answer what precisely a “Demake” is first. Demakes often have the goal of remaking the likeness of a game either stylistically, mechanically, or both, as if it was developed on retro/outdated hardware. Famous examples of Demakes include “The Mummy Demastered” developed by Wayforward as a sort of tie-in to the 2017 film “The Mummy” in the stylings of a 16-bit run and gun adventure against armies of the undead, and “Pixel Force Halo” by Eric Ruth games which take the prolific XBOX franchise and shrinks it down to a Mega Man-esque platformer reminiscent of the NES’ 8-bit days. Demakes are intensely attractive looking, not only into the past of video games and their developments but just how creative developers can be with games that they love and appreciate. Bloodborne PSX hits as hard as a Demake can in my opinion, blending masterfully recreated graphics with perfectly clunky early PSX gameplay quirks that go above and beyond to make the game not only LOOK like it belongs on the nearly 30-year-old console but feel right at home on it as well.

(A screenshot depicting the player character “The Hunter” facing off against two fearsome Werewolf enemies. Screenshot sourced from the Bloodborne PSX Official itch.io page)

Gameplay:

Starting off with the masterfully recreated clunk in the gameplay, Bloodborne PSX “shows its age” by hearkening back to a time when being seamless just wasn’t an option. Much like adventure action games of the past (and much UNLIKE its modern inspiration), you’ll be cycling through your inventory delightfully more than you’d expect. Equipping keys, checking items, and even the trademark weapon transformations are all done through the wonderfully nostalgic menu and inventory screens. Taking one of the foundational parts of Bloodborne’s combat system and making it such a more encumbering mechanic is nothing short of sheer genius when it comes to ways to really make you feel like it’s 1994 again. On top of this, the Hunter’s movement itself has been made reminiscent of classic action titles. Somehow, both stiff enough to feel dated and fluid enough to make combat that same rush of bestial fun found in the original, it goes a long way towards the total immersion into that retro vibe the game sets out to give the player. Anyone who grew up with Fromsoftware’s earlier titles like Armored Core and the King’s Field series will be very familiar with this unique brand of “well-tuned clunk”.

(A delightfully dated looking diagram showing off the controller layout for Bloodborne PSX’s controls. Image sourced from the Bloodborne PSX Official itch.io page)

Graphics:

Speaking of old Fromsoftware games, though, let’s talk about the absolutely bit-crushingly beautiful graphical work on display. As I’m sure you’ve seen from the videos and screenshots included in the article, BBPSX’s art style and direction are nothing short of perfect for what it aims to be. While playing, I couldn’t help but notice every little detail (or lack thereof) in the environments meant to emulate the experience of a game made on 30-year-old hardware. Low render distances, chunky textures, blocky polygonal models, just the right amount of texture warp, it all blends together to create an atmosphere that I can 100% picture being shown off on the back of a jewel CD case with a T for Teen rating slapped into the lower corner. While playing, something rather specific that called out to me was the new way enemy names and health bars were displayed in the bottom right corner of the screen while fighting. As a big fan of the King’s Field games, this small detail went (probably too much of) a long way toward my love of how everything’s meant to feel older. Other games trying to match the more specific feel of King’s Field, like “Lunacid” created by KIRA LLC, also include this delightful little detail, a personal favorite for sure. 

(A screenshot depicting the second phase of Father Gascoigne’s boss fight, showing off the game’s perfectly retro art style. Image sourced from the Bloodborne PSX Official itch.io page)

Sound design/Soundtrack:

But where would a game be without its sound and score? No need to fear, however, because Bloodborne PSX comes complete with a chunky soundscape that will make you want to check and see if your TV is set to channel 3. A haunting set of tracks played by fittingly digital-sounding MIDIs ran through filters to sound just as crackly as you remember backs up crunchy sounds of spilling blood with low-poly weaponry. Original sounds from Bloodborne have been used for an authentic sounding experience, but have also been given the CRT speaker treatment and sound like something you remember playing on Halloween 20 years ago. If you watched the launch trailer featured above then you know exactly what I’m talking about. The Cleric Beast’s trademark screech and Gascoine’s signature howl after his beastly transformation have never sounded so beautifully dated, and I’m here for every bit of it. Even the horrific boss themes we know and love from the original Bloodborne have been brought through this portal to the past. One of my favourite tracks, the Cleric Beast boss theme, might just sound even better when played on a 16-bit sound chip. It really cannot be understated just how much weight the sound design of the game is pulling. In my opinion, the only thing missing is that sweet sweet PSX startup sound before the game starts crackling through the speakers of a TV in the computer room.

(The Bloodborne PSX rendition of the Cleric Beast’s boss theme. Created by and uploaded to Youtube by The Noble Demon on March 20, 2021)

Interview with the developer:

Before writing this article, I had the absolute pleasure and privilege of talking with Lilith Walther about some developmental notes and personal feelings about inspirations and challenges that can come with the daunting task of being a developer. Below are the nine (initially ten, but unfortunately, a bit of the interview was lost due to my recording software bugging out) questions I posed to Miss Lilith, along with her answers transcribed directly from the interview. 

I’d like to start this section of the article by saying Lilith was an absolute joy to talk to. During the interview, I really felt like she and I shared some common ground on some topics regarding how media can have an impact on you and what sorts of things come with video games as an art form. After some minor technical difficulties (and by that, I mean my video drivers crashed), I started off with something simple. The first question posited was: “What got you into video games initially?” Lilith’s response was as follows: “When I was a kid, the family member of a friend had a SNES lying around. I turned it on and didn’t really understand. I was a guy on top of a pyramid, I walked down the pyramid, and some big ogre killed me. Later I learned that was A Link to the past.” and after a brief laugh continued, “A couple years later my parents got a Nintendo 64 with Mario64 and Ocarina of Time and that was it. Never put the controller down since then.” 

She then went on to describe what precisely about Nintendo’s first foray into 3D Zelda had hooked her. “I’ve heard this story so many times. It’s like you’re not even playing the game. You’re just in the world hanging out in Kokiri forest collecting rupees to get the Deku shield, and the game expects you to! It was just, ‘run around this world and explore,’ and that really hooked me.” I couldn’t agree more with her statement about her experience. Not just with a game as prolific as Ocarina of Time but many experiences from older console generations that could be considered “the first of their kind”, or at the very least some of the earliest. Lilith also described her first experience with a PlayStation console, stating: “Later on I got a PS2 which played PS1 games. I didn’t end up getting a PS1 until around the PS3 era, so I guess I’m a poser. I remember my sister bringing home Final Fantasy 9 when it was a relatively new game. If it wasn’t my first PS1 game it was definitely my first Final Fantasy game. Of course I went back and played 8 and 7 afterwards.” A solid answer to a simple question. 

The second question I asked was one starting to move toward the topic of Bloodborne PSX and its namesake/inspiration. Or at least the family of systems it was released on: “What PlayStation console was your favorite and why?” Lilith’s answer surprised me a bit. Not because I disagreed, quite the opposite, actually. But with such a big inspiration for her work being games from the PSX-PS2 generations, what followed was a pleasant bit of insight into one of her favourite eras of gaming, to quote: “I can give you two answers here.” To which I assured her she was more than welcome to, but she was set on having something definitive. “No no I’m only going to give you one answer. I can give you the correct answer that I don’t want to admit, but it was the PlayStation 3. It’s so embarrassing but I genuinely was hooked into the marketing of the whole ‘The cell processor is the smartest thing in the world’ and all that. It really seemed like the future of gaming and I was all about it. I think I owned an XBOX360 before but I did eventually get it and really enjoyed it. It took a couple years for some of the best games to come out but I really did.” A few examples she cited as being some of her most memorable experiences on the console were Uncharted 2, Journey, Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare, and Warhawk. All games I’ve seen on several top 5 and top 10 lists throughout my life within the gaming space. A delightful show of affection for a generation personally very dear to me as well, in which she ended the segment by declaring “Hell yeag”, a bit of a catchphrase she’s coined online.

Getting into the topic proper, my third question was one about her personal relationship with Bloodborne: “How did Bloodborne impact/appeal to your interests?” A question that received perhaps my favourite answer of the whole interview. From her response: ”Oh that’s a big one. Going to the opposite end of the poser spectrum, I was a Fromsoftware fan before it was cool. One of the games I played religiously on my PS2 was Armored Core.” A statement which made more sense than perhaps anything else said during my time with her. “Then later in the PS3 era everyone was talking about Dark Souls, this was when I was in college. I finally caved and got it and saw the Fromsoftware logo and thought ‘Oh it’s the Armored Core people!’ I played and beat it, really enjoyed my time with it. I skipped Dark Souls 2 because everyone told me to hate it, I still need to go back to that one.” 

It’s something I would recommend anyone who hasn’t played Dark Souls 2 to go and do. “Then Bloodborne came out and I thought ‘Alright this is the new one, gotta play this one’ and I was a huge fan of all the gothic stuff in the aesthetic. And how do I explain this, I do really like Bloodborne. I like the design, and the mechanical suite of gameplay, as a video-gamey video game it’s very good.” The tone shifted here to something a bit more personal. “But as well, I was playing it at a specific time in my life. I came out in 2019, I know Bloodborne came out in 2015 but I was obviously just playing it non-stop. It was just one of my ‘coming out games’, you know?” For those who maybe don’t understand the statement there, “coming out” is a very common term used within the Queer community to describe the experience of revealing your identity to those around you. Whether it be to family, friends, or co-workers, almost every queer person has some sort of coming out story to tell. Lilith is speaking in reference to her coming out as a trans woman. She elaborated: “Obviously I can only speak for myself, but I just feel like when you make a decision like that, that part of my life just ended up seared into my brain, you know? Bloodborne was there, so now it’s just a part of me. And it definitely influenced some things about me. It was there because I was working on Bloodborne PSX at the time, but it had an impact on something I’ve heard a lot of other Trans people describe.” She went on to describe the concept of “Coming out a second time” as sort of “finding yourself more within your identity” and becoming more affirmed in it. She described both Bloodborne and her development on Bloodborne PSX influencing large parts of her life, a good example being how she dresses and presents. As a trans woman myself, this answer delighted me to no end. I, for one, can absolutely 100% relate to the notion of media you experience during such a radical turning point in your life sticking with you. There are plenty of games, shows, music, and books that I still hold very near and dear to me because, as Lilith stated, they were there. All the right things at the right time.

Halfway through our questions, we’ve finally arrived at one pertaining specifically to the development of Bloodborne PSX: “What are some unique challenges you’ve faced developing a game meant to look/play like something made on retro hardware?”

Lilith answers: “So there’s two things, two big things. One is rolling back all of the quality of life improvements we’ve gotten over the years in gaming. Not automatically using keys is always my go-to example.” Something as well I mentioned in my short talk about the game’s gloriously dated feeling gameplay above. “That was definitely very very intentional. Because it’s not just the graphics, right? It was the design sensibilities of the 90s. Bringing that to the surface was very challenging but very fun. Another big part was, since it was one of the first 3D consoles, I wanted to recreate the hype around the fact that ‘ITS IN 3D NOW!’ So if you go into your inventory you’ll see all the objects rendered in beautiful 3D while they slowly spin as you scroll through them.” This is a feature I very much miss seeing in modern video games. 

She continued, “I think the biggest one was the weapon changes. Bloodborne’s whole thing was the weapon transformations. Like, you could seamlessly change your weapons and work them into your combo and do a bunch of crazy stuff, and I kind of said ‘that needs to go immediately.’ So now you have to pause and go to your weapon and press L1 to transform it, that was extremely intentional. So once I had those three big things down it all just sort of fell into place. Like the clunky UI and the janky controls. You need jank and clunk, and I think that’s why Fromsoft games scale down so nicely, because they are jank and clunk.” 

A point I couldn’t agree with more. Despite all the modern streamlining and improvements to gameplay, Fromsoft’s ever-growing catalog of impressive experiences still contains some of that old-school video game stiffness we’ve (hopefully) come to appreciate. She went on to make a point I was very excited to share here in the article, “It was just a lot of trying to nail the feel of the games and not just the look, right? Like I’m not trying to recreate a screenshot; I’m trying to recreate the feeling of playing this weird game that’s barely holding together because the devs didn’t know what they were doing.” In my humble opinion, something she did an excellent job with. 

Fifth on the list was a question relating to her current project, Bloodborne Kart, a concept initially drawn from a popular meme shared around social media sites like Tumblr when the buzz of a Bloodborne sequel was keeping the talking spaces around Fromsoft alight: “Anything to say about the development of Bloodborne Kart or its inspiration?”

Lilith answers: “So first off Bloodborne Kart is less trying to be a simulation of a PS1 game and more just an indie game. It’s not trying to be a PS1 game, I just want it to be a fun kart racer first. Starting off of course is Mario Kart 64, that’s the one I played back in the day. But I looked at other games like Crash Team Racing and Diddy Kong Racing, but also stuff like Twisted Metal of course. I always used those as a template to sort of look at for design stuff like ‘how did they handle what happens to racers after player 1 crosses the finish line.” The next portion of her answer was initially a bit confusing but comes across better when you consider certain elements present in BBK’s battle mode. “And also Halo, like for the battle mode. I had to do a battle mode and it kind of just bubbled to the surface. Split Screen with my sister was such a big part of my childhood. Thinking about Halo multiplayer while I was making the battle mode stuff.” 

Her answer to the previous question began to dip into the topic of our sixth question: “Are there any unique challenges or enjoyable creative points that go into making something like Bloodborne Kart?”

As she continued from her previous answer: “One of the biggest quirks of the battle mode I had to figure out was how to tell what team you were on at a glance, and that came back to Halo again. I started thinking about how you could tell in that game and it hit me that the arms of your suit change to the color of whatever team you’re on. It was just something I never even thought of because it’s so seamless. So that gave me the idea to change the kart colours, and that’s the most recent example of me pulling directly from Halo. It’s wild how a small change like that can turn your game from something unplayable to something fun.” I would agree. Tons of small details and things you don’t think about go into making seamless multiplayer experiences. Some of which we take for granted nowadays. She then made a point about one of the most challenging aspects of BBK’s development, “The most challenging thing was definitely the Kart AI. AI is just my worst skill when it comes to game development among the massive array of skills you need to make a game. It’s really hard to find examples of people coding kart driving AI, You know? You need to make a biped walk around you can find a million tutorials online but if you need to make something drive a kart, not really. I was really on my own there. A lot of the examples out there are very simulation oriented. Like cars using suspension and whatnot, but I’m making a kart racer. So I started simple, I put a navpoint down and if it needs to turn left, turn left, if it needs to turn right, turn right. And I just kept adding features from there.”

Moving onto our last three questions, we started to get a little more personal. Question seven being: “What’s your favorite part of Bloodborne Kart so far?”

Her answer was concise in what she was excited about most, quote: “The boss fights.” Short and sweet but she did elaborate. “Translating a big part of Bloodborne is the boss fights. So I made a short linear campaign which is basically AI battles and races strung together. Some of those stages are just boss fights which are unique to the rest of the game. When you make a video game you sit down and you make all your different modes of interactions, and then you make a multi-hour experience mixing and matching all those different modes in more complicated ways. I think the most interesting part is when that style tends to fall away and it ends up building something entirely unique to that experience.” An example she gave was the infamous “Eventide Island” in Breath of the wild, it being a unique experience where the game’s usual modes of interaction are stripped or limited, forcing you into a more structured experience that ends up being a majorly positive one. “That’s what the boss fights are in Bloodborne Kart. They do multiple game mechanics like a chase that ends in a battle mode. Like Father Gascoine’s fight where he chases you, and after you blow up his kart he turns into a beast and picks up a minigun.” That sounds absolutely incredible. It’s very easy to see why she’d pick the boss fights as her favorite element when they’re clearly intended to be such unique and memorable experiences. 

Our last two questions veer away from the topics of development proper and focus more on our dear dev’s personal thoughts on the matter. Question eight posits: “What’s your personal favorite part of being a game developer?”

After some thought, she gave a very impassioned talk about something she considers to be the best part of the experience: “When people who aren’t game developers think about game development they think of things like ‘oh well you just get to play video games all day and have fun’ but it’s not! Except for the 2% that is, and it’s near the end of development. When all the pieces fall into place and you start actually ‘making the game.’ Game development, especially solo, you’re so zoomed in on specific parts. Because you’re not making a game you’re programming software that’s what making a game is. You spend months working on different systems and then you actually sit down and make a level, and you hit play and it you go ‘Oh my god, I just made a game’. That part is what sustains me. It’s magical. That’s the best part when it comes to true appreciation of the craft aside from the reception.” An answer that I don’t think I could’ve put better if I tried. 

My last question is one that I consider to be the question when it comes to interviewing anyone who works on video games. Perhaps a bit basic, but heartfelt nonetheless: “Anything to say to anyone aspiring to be a game developer?”

Lilith’s answer: “Yes. Just do it. For real. This is what I did and it always felt wrong until I looked at more established devs echoing the sentiment. You cannot plan a game before you’ve started making one. The example I always bring up is the team behind Deus Ex wrote a 500 page design document for the game and almost immediately threw it out when they started development. Just start! You’re going to have unanswered questions and I think that trips people up. Don’t start with your magnum opus idea, start with something simple and achievable. I feel like a lot of people set out with the goal of making a triple-A game, and that’s good! But it can’t be your first game. Game development is creating art, just like any other form of art, and it’s like saying ‘my first drawing is going to be the Mona Lisa’ and it just doesn’t work like that. You need practice and development, and it’s difficult to see that because games take so long and so much, so it’s definitely seen as a bigger undertaking. But it’s still art. You’re still making mistakes and learning from them for your first project. Your next game will be better. View your career as a game developer as a series of games you want to make, and not just one big game.” A perfect response to an otherwise unassuming question. 

Lilith’s passion and love for video games were reflected very clearly in every response she gave during my time with her. Her dedication and appreciation for the art form can be seen in every pixel of Bloodborne PSX, as well as the development logs and test builds of Bloodborne Kart. I really do think that the way she answered my final question speaks volumes to the type of attitude someone should take up when endeavoring to make art as intensive as a video game. Whether it’s fanwork of a game that’s important to you or an entirely new concept, do it. 

(developer of Bloodborne PSX Lilith Walther, image provided by Lilith Walther via Twitter)

Closing:

If you’d like to check out the positively phenomenal experience that is Bloodborne PSX  I’ve included a link to the official itch.io page below the article, as well as a link to the official LWMedia Youtube page where you can check out Lilith’s dev logs, test videos, and animations about her work and other art. Thank you so much for reading, and another very special thank you to Lilith for setting aside some of her time to talk to me about this article. Now get out there and cleanse those foul streets!

Links:

Bloodborne PSX official itch.io page: https://b0tster.itch.io/bbpsx

LWMedia Official Youtube page: https://www.youtube.com/@b0tster

Lilith Walther Twitter page: https://twitter.com/b0tster

[qwertyprophecy]

Mortholme Post-Mortem

The Dark Queen of Mortholme has been out for two weeks, and I've just been given an excellent excuse to write some more about its creation by a lenghty anonymous ask.

Under the cut, hindsight on the year spent making Mortholme and answers to questions about game dev, grouped under the following topics:

Time spent on development Programming Obstacles Godot Animation Pixel art Environment assets Writing Completion Release

Regarding time spent on development

Nope, I’ve got no idea anymore how long I spent on Mortholme. It took a year but during that time I worked on like two other games and whatever else. And although I started with the art, I worked on all parts simultaneously to avoid getting bored. This is what I can say:

Art took a ridiculous amount of time, but that was by choice (or compulsion, one might say). I get very excitable and particular about it. At most I was making about one or two Hero animations in a day (for a total of 8 + upgraded versions), but anything involving the Queen took multiple times longer. When I made the excecutive decision that her final form was going to have a bazillion tentacles I gave up on scheduling altogether.

Coding went quickly at the start when I was knocking out a feature after another, until it became the ultimate slow-burn hurdle at the end. Testing, bugfixing, and playing Jenga with increasingly unwieldy code kept oozing from one week to the next. For months, probably? My memory’s shot but I have a mark on my calendar on the 18th of August that says “Mortholme done”. Must’ve been some optimistic deadline before the ooze.

Writing happened in extremely productive week-long bursts followed by nothing but nitpicky editing while I focused on other stuff. Winner in the “changed most often” category, for sure.

Sound was straightforward, after finishing a new set of animations I spent a day or two to record and edit SFX for them. Music I originally scheduled two weeks for, but hubris and desire for more variants bumped it to like a month.

Regarding programming

The Hero AI is certainly the part that I spent most of my coding time on. The basic way the guaranteed dodging works is that all the Queen’s attacks send a signal to the Hero, who calculates a “danger zone” based on the type of attack and the Queen’s location. Then, if the Hero is able to dodge that particular attack (a probability based on how much it's been used & story progression), they run a function to dodge it.

Each attack has its own algorithm that produces the best safe target position to go to based on the Hero’s current position (and other necessary actions like jumping). Those algorithms needed a whole lot of testing to code counters for all the scenarios that might trip the Hero up.

The easiest or at least most fun parts for me to code are the extra bells and whistles that aren’t critical but add flair. Like in the Hero’s case, the little touches that make them seem more human: a reaction speed delay that increases over time, random motions and overcompensation that decrease as they gain focus, late-game Hero taking prioritising aggressive positiniong, a “wait for last second” function that lets the Hero calculate how long it’ll take them to move to safety and use the information to squeeze an extra attack in…

The hardest attack was the magic circle, as it introduced a problem in my code so far. The second flare can overlap with other attacks, meaning the Hero had to keep track of two danger zones at once. For a brief time I wanted to create a whole new system that would constantly update a map of all current danger zones—that would allow for any number of overlapping attacks, which would be really cool! Unfortunately it didn’t gel with my existing code, and I couldn’t figure out its multitudes of problems since, well…

Regarding obstacles

Thing is, I’m hot garbage as a programmer. My game dev’s all self-taught nonsense. So after a week of failing to get this cool system to work, I scrapped it and instead made a spaghetti code monstrosity that made magic circle run on a separate danger zone, and decided I’d make no more overlapping attacks. That’s easy; I just had to buffer the timing of the animation locks so that the Hero would always have time to move away. (I still wanted to keep the magic circle, since it’s fun for the player to try and trick the Hero with it.)

There’s my least pretty yet practical solo dev advice: if you get stuck because you can’t do something, you can certainly try to learn how to do it, but occasionally the only way to finish a project within a decade to work around those parts and let them be a bit crap.

I’m happy to use design trickery, writing and art to cover for my coding skills. Like, despite the anonymous asker’s description, the Hero’s dodging is actually far from perfect. I knew there was no way it was ever going to be, which is why I wrote special dialogue to account for a player finding an exploit that breaks the intended gameplay. (And indeed, when the game was launched, someone immediately found it!)

Regarding Godot

It’s lovely! I switched from Unity years ago and it’s so much simpler and more considerate of 2D games. The way its node system emphasises modularity has improved my coding a lot.

New users should be aware that a lot of tutorials and advice you find online may be for Godot 3. If something doesn’t work, search for what the Godot 4 equivalent is.

Regarding animation

I’m a professional animator, so my list of tips and techniques is a tad long… I’ll just give a few resource recommendations: read up on the classic 12 principles of animation (or the The Illusion of Life, if you’d like the whole book) and test each out for yourself. Not every animation needs all of these principles, but basically every time you’ll be looking at an animation and wondering how to make it better, the answer will be in paying attention to one or more of them.

Game animation is its own beast, and different genres have their own needs. I’d recommend studying animations that do what you’d like to do, frame by frame. If you’re unsure of how exactly to analyse animation for its techniques, youtube channel New Frame Plus shows an excellent example.

Oh, and film yourself some references! The Queen demanded so much pretend mace swinging that it broke my hoover.

Regarding pixel art

The pixel art style was picked for two reasons: 1. to evoke a retro game feel to emphasise the meta nature of the narrative, and 2. because it’s faster and more forgiving to animate in than any of my other options.

At the very start I was into the idea of doing a painterly style—Hollow Knight was my first soulslike—but quickly realised that I’d either have to spend hundreds of hours animating the characters, or design them in a simplistic way that I deemed too cutesy for this particular game. (Hollow Knight style, one day I’d love to emulate you…)

I don’t use a dedicated program, just Photoshop for everything like a chump. Pixel art doesn’t need anything fancy, although I’m sure specialist programs will keep it nice and simple.

Pixel art’s funny; its limitations make it dependent on symbolism, shortcuts and viewer interpretation. You could search for some tutorials on basic principles (like avoiding “jaggies” or the importance of contrast), but ultimately you’ll simply want to get a start in it to find your own confidence in it. I began dabbling years ago by asking for character requests on Tumblr and doodling them in pixels in whatever way I could think of.

Regarding environment assets

The Queen’s throne room consists of two main sprites—one background and one separate bit of the door for the Hero disappear behind—and then about fifty more for the lighting setup. There’s six different candle animations, there’s lines on the floor that need to go on top of character reflections, all the candle circles and lit objects are separated so that the candles can be extinguished asynchronously; and then there’s purple phase 2 versions of all of the above.

This is all rather dumb. There’s simpler ways in Godot to do 2D lighting with shaders and a built-in system (I use those too), but I wanted control over the exact colours so I just drew everything in Photoshop the way I wanted it. Still, it highlights how mostly you only need a single background asset and separated foreground objects; except if you need animated objects or stuff that needs to change while the game’s running, you’ll get a whole bunch more.

I wholeheartedly applaud having a go at making your own game art, even if you don’t have any art background! The potential for cohesion in all aspects of design—art, game, narrative, sound—is at the heart of why video games are such an exciting medium!

Regarding writing

Finding the voices of the Queen and the Hero was the quick part of the process. They figured that out they are almost as soon as writing started. I’d been mulling this game over in my mind for so long, I had already a specific idea in mind of what the two of them stood for, conceptually and thematically. When they started bantering, I felt like all I really had to do was to guide it along the storyline, and then polish.

What ended up taking so long was that there was too much for them to say for how short the game needed to be to not feel overstretched. Since I’d decided to go with two dialogue options on my linear story, it at least gave me twice the amount of dialogue that I got to write, but it wasn’t enough!

The first large-scale rewrite was me going over the first draft and squeezing in more interesting things for the Queen and the Hero to discuss, more branching paths and booleans. There was this whole thing where the player’s their dialogue choices over multiple conversations would lead them to about four alternate interpretations of why the Queen is the way she is. This was around the time I happened to finally play Disco Elysium, so of course I also decided to also add a ton of microreactivity (ie. small changes in dialogue that acknowledge earlier player choices) to cram in even more alternate dialogue. I spent ages tinkering with the exact nuances till I was real proud of it.

Right until the playtesters of this convoluted contraption found the story to be unclear and confusing. For some reason. So for my final rewrite, I picked out my favourite bits and cut everything else. With the extra branching gone, there was more room to improve the pacing so the core of the story could breathe. The microreactivity got to stay, at least!

A sample of old dialogue from the overcomplicated version:

Regarding completion

The question was “what kept me going to actually finish the game, since that is a point many games never even get to meet?” and it’s a great one because I forgot that’s a thing. Difficulties finishing projects, that is—I used to think it was hard, but not for many years. Maybe I’ve completed so many small-scale games already that it hardly seems that unreasonable of an expectation? (Game jams. You should do game jams.)

I honestly never had any doubt I was going to finish Mortholme. When I started in late autumn last year, I was honestly expecting the concept to be too clunky to properly function; but I wished to indulge in silliness and make it exist anyways. That vision would’ve been easy to finish, a month or two of low stakes messing around, no biggie. (Like a game jam!)

Those months ran out quickly as I had too much fun making the art to stop. It must’ve been around the time I made this recording that it occurred to me that even if the game was going to be clunky, it could still genuinely work on the back of good enough storytelling technique—not just writing, but also the animation and the Hero’s evolving behaviour during the gameplay segments which I’d been worried about. The reaction to my early blogging was also heartening. Other people could also imagine how this narrative could be interesting!

A few weeks after that I started planning out the narrative beats I wanted the dialogue to reach, and came to the conclusion that I really, really wanted it to work. Other people had to see this shit, I thought. There’s got to be freaks out there who’d love to experience this tragedy, and I’m eager to deliver.

That’s why I was fine with the project’s timeline stretching out. If attention to detail and artistry was going to make this weird little story actually come to life, then great, because that’s exactly the part of development I love doing most. Projects taking longer than expected can be frustrating, but accepting that as a common part of game dev is what allows confidence in eventual their completion regardless.

Regarding release

Dear anonymous’s questions didn’t involve post-release concerns, but it seems fitting to wrap up the post-mortem by talking about the two things about Mortholme's launch that were firsts for me, and thus I was unprepared for.

1. This was the first action game I've coded. Well, sort of—I consider Mortholme to be a story first and foremost, with gameplay so purposefully obnoxious it benefits from not being thought of as a “normal” game. Still, the action elements are there. For someone who usually sticks to making puzzle games since they’re easier to code, this was my most mechanically fragile game yet. So despite all my attempts at playtesting and failsafes, it had a whole bunch of bugs on release.

Game-breaking bugs, really obvious bugs, weird and confusing bugs. It took me over a week to fix all that was reported (and I’m only hoping they indeed are fully fixed). That feels slow; I should’ve expected it was going to break so I could’ve been faster to respond. Ah well, next time I know what I’ll be booking my post-release week for.

2. This was my first game that I let players give me money for. Sure, it’s pay-what-you-want, but for someone as allergic to business decisions as I am, it was a big step. I guess I was worried of being shown that nobody would consider my art worth financial compensation. Well, uh, that fear has gone out of the window now. I’m blown away by how kind and generous the players of Mortholme have been with their donations.

I can’t imagine it's likely to earn a living wage from pouring hundreds of hours into pay-what-you-want passion projects, but the support has me heartened to seek out a future where I could make these weird stories and a living both.

Those were the unexpected parts. The part I must admit I was expecting—but still infinitely grateful for—was that Mortholme did in fact reach them freaks who’d find it interesting. The responses, comments, analyses, fan works (there’s fic and art!! the dream!!), inspiration, and questions (like the ones prompting me to write this post-mortem) people have shared with me thanks to Mortholme… They’ve all truly been what I was hoping for back when I first gave myself emotions thinking about a mean megalomaniac and stubborn dipshit.

Thank you for reading, thank you for playing, and thank you for being around.