#also it's occured to me that i should keep track of how many times i've watched it but atp idk where to start

[a-passing-storm]

I FOUND MY MATRIX DISC!!! FOR THE FIRST MATRIX!!! THE WORLD IS A KIND PLACE.

[badaslovie]

jealous kisses

pairing: bada x reader

summary: bada and tatter were seen holding hands at a concert and you can't help but feel jealous.

warnings: 🤏🏼 suggestive

wc: ~ 1.5k

a/n: sooo i've never written before and honestly it's not the best, please spare me. also absolutely no hate to tatter i love her 🫶🏼

your head found a place in Bada’s lap as you both lounge around on lusher’s couch; her fingers tracing their way up from your cheeks to play with strands of your hair. you lean into her touch, reveling in her affection. it’s rare these days –with all the filming– for you both to have a moment to breathe and just enjoy the day. bada took this opportunity to have a movie night with you and the rest of team bebe, as a sort of team bonding moment, and lusher was nice enough to offer her apartment as the meeting place.

“what time did you tell them to come?” you look up from your phone to face lusher, who’s sitting on the couch diagonal to you.

“minah texted in the group chat that they were heading up so they should be-” your attention turns to the door at the ring of the bell. “-here.”

you sit up straight –cuddling into bada’s side as she wraps an arm over your shoulder– to make room for the others as lusher makes her way to open the door for the rest. they each pile in taking off their shoes and coats, greeting you three with hi’s and hugs.

“i brought snacks! everyone’s favorites!” cheche waves around the snack-filled bags in her hand.

everyone settles into their respective spots on the couches and excitedly dig into their snacks while searching on their phones for movies that the team could agree on.

“oh my god unnie did you see the picture the fans took of us? at the concert last night.” tatter hands bada her phone, you peek over to see a picture of bada guiding tatter to their seats by her hand. you knew bada and tatter were just good friends, but that didn’t stop your stomach from churning.

“this is so funny people are theorizing that we could be in a relationship, but little do they know…” tatter giggles, hinting at the lack of awareness the public had of your relationship with bada. you two are private about your relationship, to keep your peace away from prying eyes and also because you are on competing crews for swf2. you’re starting to regret that decision.

the others also giggle at the predicament, each saying a variation of how the public would be surprised to know the truth, unaware of your tense body sitting quietly next to bada.

“hey, are you alright love? you seem tense.” bada asks, giving your shoulders a light squeeze.

“uh yeah. i’m just gonna use the bathroom really quick.” you pat her leg and stand up. your head was spinning with so many thoughts that you didn't notice the others quieting down as they watched you beeline down the hall.

you lock the door to the bathroom and turn to face the mirror above the sink. your reflection looked like a blur; your mind racing with the event that just occurred, to all the comments swf2 contestants would make and all the times they were being touchy with bada. but bada would always set boundaries, some distance when anyone would get closer than what she knows you’re comfortable with. and usually you didn’t mind her holding hands as a platonic gesture, you did with your crew and friends too, but the comments just ate at your insecurities. your relationship might not be public, but you weren’t sparing with your affections, so why weren’t comments made about you two?

you turn on the faucet and attempt to wash away the lingering worries. you unlock the door to head out after drying your face, only to be stopped in your tracks by the sight of bada with her arms crossed, leaning against the wall. her brows were furrowed and her gaze was on the floor before she realized that you had opened the door. her eyes full of concern soften as they meet yours.

“you got up so abruptly and looked pale. are you sure you’re okay?” she steps forward to examine you closer, her eyes searching your face for any sign of illness.

you nod your head. “yeah i’m fine, i just needed a moment.”

“if this is about the picture, you know tatter and i are just friends right? you’re the one i want, no one else.” she reaches up to tuck a loose hair behind your ear and slides her hand down to rest by the base of your neck.

“i know… i just needed a moment to pull myself together.” you sheepishly look away, avoiding her eyes. 

"hmm i see..." she hums, stepping forward again and backing you into the wall as she places an arm above your head. 

“is someone jealous?” she brings her head down trying to meet your eyes and you catch a glimpse of her knowing grin. 

“you’re so cute when you’re jealous,” she coos, nudging your chin up with her finger to get you to meet her eyes. “you get all pouty and embarrassed.” her eyes trail down to your lips and like a pair of magnets, her lips slowly find their way to yours. her slow gentle kiss, the warmth of her touch, lulls you for just a moment.

when she pulls away, your eyes make contact for a moment before you avert back it to the wall.

“why are you still avoiding my eyes?”

“i can’t look at you right now.” you mumble.

she lets out a chuckle. “and why is that?”

“because…”

“because…?” she raises her brows expectantly.

“because! If I look at your pretty face right now, it’s just gonna remind me how every other girl thinks you’re pretty too and i can't stand it!” you huff out.

she bursts out laughing, throwing her head back.

“it’s not funny.” you whine, shoving her shoulder.

“maybe just a little.” she says, which makes you pout more –drawing her eyes back down to your lips. she brings a hand up to cup your jaw, pulling your face close enough that you feel her breath on your lips.

“i might hug other people, might even hold their hand… but my lips belong on yours.” her eyes still intensely staring at your lips, her tongue instinctively pokes out to wet her lips as she grazes your bottom lip with her thumb, pushing down on it a little.

“i only kiss you” she pulls you in to connect your lips, a little harder than the last. the kiss grew a little rougher, sloppier before she pulls back. “like this.” bada leans her forehead against yours, trying to catch her breath. you could see a string of your mixed saliva connecting your lips. from the way bada smirks, you can tell she noticed too.

“i only touch you like this.” her hands slide down your body slowly, making sure to take her time. she grazes over your clothed chest, down to pull you at your waist making you arch your body into hers, chests flushing together.

she looks down at where your bodies touched, biting back a smile, before reconnecting your lips. you can tell she was getting needy by how eager her kisses were. her tongue brushes over your bottom lip asking for access, which you give, letting her tongue explore yours. you wrap your arms around her neck, wanting her closer, needing to feel more of her. you feel her fingers dip under the seam of your shirt, grazing lightly over your skin. as though a light graze was not enough for her, she brings her warm hands up your shirt to feel more of you. she stops just above your rib cage, thumbs almost dipping underneath your bra.

“fuck baby, i love how you feel.” she pants out. her touch and words spread warmth throughout your body and your hands instinctively find their way to the back of her neck, giving the hairs a slight tug. she moans into your lips. the sounds of sloppy kisses and her quiet moans echoing through the halls send heat between your legs. as if she can sense it, bada pushes a leg in between yours barely grazing where you need her most. you tug at her hair a little harder for being a tease.

“ah, impatient are we?” she groans, loving the slight pain that shoots down her neck.

“YOU TWO BETTER NOT BE MAKING BABIES IN MY BATHROOM!” the sound of lusher’s voice booming from the living room breaks you two apart.

“THAT’S NOT EVEN BIOLOGICALLY POSSIBLE.” bada yells back, rolling her eyes.

“we’ll continue this later.” she smiles, giving you a quick peck.

bonus:

“so did y’all pick a movie?” bada asks nonchalantly as you both sit back down on the couch.

“yeah, but uh… unnie you smudged your lipstick a little.” kyma pointed at the side of her lips.

bada eyes widen as her hand quickly shoots up to wipe at her lips. the other girls laughed at bada incriminating herself.

“idiot you didn’t wear any lipstick today.” you swatted her hand.

[velangdon]

AMATIVE→Michael Langdon: Chapter 1

The oppression in my chest remains constant with each step I take. I can occasionally feel tears welling up in my eyes, but I try to keep them at bay. Though I feel an oppressive knot settling in my throat, preventing me from breathing freely, I summon enough courage to approach the entrance of the Palace where the last and greatest party of the cooperative is going to take place.

Despite not yet finding the answers or the adequate reasons to understand how so many people here can feel comfortable celebrating an event that will mark a before and after in the world, the end of everything and everyone, the end of an era and the beginning of another.

Everyone is celebrating the future deaths that will occur tomorrow.

My body is trembling, and although I'm trying my best to keep my legs from collapsing at this moment, I cling to my father's arm. Gripping the fabric of his coat sleeves between my fingers and taking gentle steps to maintain my balance due to the anxiety and nervousness my body is experiencing.

"Calm down, Vitney. We're just approaching the entrance."

My father's harsh voice echoes in my ears, and my stomach tightens as I hear his words. I can't keep calm in a celebration like this, and especially not when I know the secret behind it all.

As we approach the entrance, the knot in my throat continues to tighten, preventing me from uttering a single word. I want to look at my father, but I know that doing so would only dig my own grave since my emotions would collapse and my vulnerable gaze would cause problems between us, not to mention I would receive a lecture from him calling me too sentimental about simple things.

Unfortunately, what seems simple to others is as important to me as my life itself. And this celebration is no exception.

After what feels like an eternity, we finally arrive at the entrance of the Palace where a man and a woman are welcoming all the guests. The woman, who appears to be no older than 25 years, wears an elegant dress with many details in the sleeves, but it's a very dull gray that makes her look sad and drab even though she gives a friendly smile to all the guests. She is in charge of collecting the invitations, and her partner, a man with tanned skin and a friendly expression, is in charge of keeping track of the guest list. He also wears a suit that seems expensive, but it's the same depressing gray as the girl's dress. My mind wanders a bit regarding their role here, which, although they don't appear to be slaves, they somehow manage to give off the impression of being servants of the place. And for some reason, a pinch registers in my chest as I dwell on this naive but profound thought.

When it's our turn for the reception, the girl in the gray dress gives me a sweet and cordial look. I make my best effort to return the same kind of friendly look, but I'm so overwhelmed by all my thoughts that I can barely manage to give her a smile. To my father, who is engaging in small talk with the man in the gray suit and making sure our names are on the list, I give a discreet and suspicious look. He looks so excited to be entering here that it gives me shivers.

"Everything is in order, your names are on the lists of second-tier guests" The man at the reception tells us. "Welcome, and don’t forget to grab a black mask from the box at the end of the hallway. The theme for this last celebration is a masquerade ball."

The mention of a masquerade ball surprises me a little. I've never had the depressing opportunity to attend a cooperative party, but I was completely sure that all the times my parents had attended similar celebrations, the theme was never taken into account, except for the dress code. And I didn’t know if it was something I should be worried about or not, but the idea that this could be deeper than it seems makes me feel anxious and impatient.

I'm lost in my thoughts until I feel my father gently pushing me to start walking again. The woman and man in the reception area lift a pair of elegant silk curtains in a deep crimson color that covers most of the palace entrance, and gesture for us to enter. I hold onto my father's arm tighter, practically just following his steps, unable to control myself.

As we enter the palace, I realize how gloomy and drab the atmosphere is. The decoration is so gothic, elegant, and dreary that I feel as if I am in a castle from the 18th century. The lighting is dim, but it allows me to see a bit of the style of the place, where the walls have details in gold and black. There are some chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and the light they emanate is a peculiar reddish tone due to the candles, which are the same shade. The windows have arches as the main detail, and the glass they are made of is slightly dark, as if it has some extra-material that does not allow light to pass through completely. Additionally, there are statues at each corner of what appear to be angels made of marble. They are enormous but beautiful, and it is easy to notice that they are very expensive. I can't completely distinguish the identities of the angels, as they are not familiar to me. But as we move farther and farther in, finally my gaze is frozen on one of the marble angels situated on the side of me, next to a dark hallway leading to deeper stairs. I force myself to stop walking and stand in front of the divine image.

"Lucifer" I quietly whisper to myself, as I am surprised and confused by the sight of the statue of the angel.

I can hear my father sighing next to me, and clearing his throat. My mind races for a moment and something in my chest presses firmly.

"What's surprising you so much, Vitney?" my father asks, a hint of confusion in his voice "There is nothing there"

"The statue, don't you see it? It's Lucifer, the angel..." I reply, pointing to where the statue is. His gaze is so confusing that it makes me want to cry.

"I said there's nothing there, Vitney. Enough" he says harshly, grabbing my wrist with some violence and dragging me away from there, making me walk quickly. "It's already late. We should have been at the celebration for half an hour"

I feel like protesting because of how harshly he speaks to me, but something forces me to keep quiet. The palace belongs to the cooperative, or at least that's what I understand. This means that everything here, including the decorations, are symbols that belong to what this society is. My father has just denied having seen the statue, but I'm sure that the marble angel was Lucifer.

Why does the cooperative have a statue related to the fallen angel?

"Vitney, you have to stop daydreaming" He puts his palm under my chin, forcing me to look at him "I need you here, darling. You know that this celebration is very important to me and your mother, don't you?"

"But dad, I was just..."

"Vitney, no. That's enough. We will enter the celebration and you will put a big and beautiful smile on your face, do you understand? You are my daughter, the daughter of one of the most important cooperative members" he says, squeezing my chin hard, making me gasp for air from the pain "Don't you dare ruin this, Vitney"

His words hit me hard in the heart. Again my throat closes and the prickling in my chest returns. I have never been enough for my father, and my role has always been to be what he wants me to be. The perfect daughter who acts like a shy and well-mannered young lady. Always wearing the most expensive and elegant clothing; the type of woman who has her life mapped out and resolved.

But none of that is who I am.

My father removes his grip from my chin and observes me sternly. Tears form in my eyes, but I hold them back to remember I have makeup on and my vulnerability will likely cause even more anger in him. I lower my gaze to the floor for a moment, until in my vision I see a very elegant and feminine mask in silver and gray tones with some crystals embedded in the edges, as well as lace around the corners of the mask. My father makes a gentle gesture for me to take the mask and place it. I do as he asks, tying the ties of the mask behind my head, a little clumsily because my fingers tremble softly.

"You look beautiful. Now all you need is to remove that bitter face and smile a little. I know you can do it, darling"

I take a deep breath and nod uncertainly. I try to smile as best I can, but I know it comes across as more of a grimace. My father's face lights up in response to my silly expression, and he puts his arm through mine. We walk down the hallway again, and with his free hand he puts on the mask he chose to use. There's nobody around, but the murmurs and music are starting to build. My body tenses a little, and the mere idea of being about to enter a celebration full of greedy and sick people like the cooperative makes me nauseous.

After a few minutes, we arrive at another long passage, but this time there is a delicate shimmer of light at the end of it. Some laughter and shouts of excitement approach, and a shiver runs from my feet to my head.

"Your mother must be completely hysterical not to see us coming." my father says, guiding me towards the entrance at the end of the corridor "You will have to explain the reason for our delay to her."

After hearing his comment, I press my lips together and frown slightly as I divert my gaze towards the new room we are approaching to. Many people belonging to the cooperative are in front of us, and they seem happy and incapable of allowing anything to ruin this moment that is so important to them. Some women are wearing high-end designer dresses, and utterly stylish masks. Men are wearing suits tailored from exclusive materials, and some masks are eerie. I don't know if I'm awestruck or scared, but the surprising thing is to see the repetitive colors in the outfits of everyone.

Red and Black.

As we move forward, the music becomes clearer and the murmurings a little softer. There are walnut wooden tables everywhere. Some attendees are sitting taking appetizers, and others are simply drinking their glasses or having a pleasant conversation. My eyes move from one person to another, and I realize with a start that some impudent and curious glances are directed at me and then at my father. I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead, but the corners of my eyes betray me and before I realize, I realize that all the attention is centered on me.

It could be because of my dress that doesn't even match the theme or the fact that we arrived with a visibly late delay. But in any case, discomfort begins to affect me, and I have never wished for anything as much as I want to escape from here.

"Look, there is your mother. I'm going to introduce you officially with important people. Be kind and polite, Vitney. It's the only thing I ask of you."

He points to a table in the corner of the room where a group of women and men stand, their masks and masks even more unusual than those of the other guests. I squint my eyes a little, distinguishing my mother thanks to his jet-black hair tied in a typical bun on the back of her neck. I see her laugh joyously, and for a moment her smile is contagious, spreading the delight that she emanates.

In a short moment, she throws a quick glance our way as we approach her table. Her lips part in surprise at our appearance.

"Vitney, my princess!" My mother screams enthusiastically. She quickly rises from her seat and runs forward a little, making her heels clatter against the fine marble floor "You look beautiful, sweetheart!"

She gasps with excitement and hugs me tightly as she reaches me, closing my eyes for a moment, as I feel the sensation of my eyes forming more desperate tears.

"I apologize for the delay..." I reply in a low voice, hugging her around the waist "I was just a bit nervous, and Dad got frustrated again, as always..."

My mother sighs and then separates from me. She gives the people seated at the table a quick glance before turning to me and walking with me to a place away from everyone. She strokes my arms and shakes her head softly.

"It's understandable sweetheart, these kinds of celebrations can be overwhelming and ... especially knowing that it's your first time in our world." She smiles. "Don't let your father ruin this last night for you"

Don't let your father ruin this last night for you.

An impulse of disappointment grips me, and again the oppression in my chest weakens me. My mother's words sound so harsh and true that I want to burst into tears. I don't know how I can bear being in this place, considering that the Apocalypse is around the corner. And that surely anyone who is underneath one of those masks or masks is the mastermind behind the next catastrophe.

My mother hugs me again, and even though I try to prevent it, I'm feeling emotional again. Tears run down my cheeks like a river, and I hold her tightly. I can feel that some people are looking at us, but the only thing I can think about is staying close to the only thing that has helped me stay on my feet since I was a child, and that's my mother.

It feels like a farewell, and that's what hurts the most. Because I'm sure she has no idea what's going to happen with us either, even though my father made it clear that the cooperative has built a kind of bunkers around the world to serve as a refuge for the elite.

We are supposed to be part of that elite.

"Don't make it sound like a farewell, Mom" I reply with a quivering voice "Please. We'll be fine, right?"

She looks at me, smiling sadly. She strokes my hair without saying anything, and then joins her hands with mine. More tears form beneath my eyes, and now I cannot stop them. She gives me a gentle squeeze on my hands. I'm about to ask her for all possible explanations she can give me because desperation is killing me slowly, but quickly she takes me by the waist, turning me to the opposite side of the room. She squeezes one of my shoulders, and I watch her in confusion.

"Mom, what are you..."

"Vitney, be quiet. Your father is coming here" my mother squeezes my shoulders, looking in a specific direction "Stand up straight, dear"

A few seconds later, my father is already standing in front of us. He wears an overly visible smile on his face and moves to my side, separating me from my mother's arm.

"Dear, you're coming with me. I need to introduce you to someone" my father says with enthusiasm, placing a hand on my waist and leading me through the tables "Be on your best behaviour, okay?"

"Who do I need to meet?" I ask, a bit irritated, not understanding the situation.

My father does not reply, and he forces me to keep walking between the tables, holding on to my wrist firmly. I want to get out of his grip, but he is stronger than me, and he does not notice my discomfort. I am a few seconds away from yelling at him to let me go, when a voice becomes present behind us, and my father stops abruptly. He turns quickly and forces me to do the same. I lower my gaze and close my eyes, refusing to face my reality.

"Good evening, Mr. Lacey" an unknown but authoritative, discrete, and masculine voice reaches my ears. It speaks to my father. I tremble a little but do not have the courage to look. "It's a pleasure to have you here, I thought you might not come"

"Sir, what an honour. Of course we would be here, we just had a small mishap" my father responds and laughs nervously.

I squeeze my fingers around my father's arm, and feel his body leaning towards me. He squeezes my waist and I jump in place a little.

"Stop acting like a frightened, immature girl. Be educated, Vitney. You have the most important representative of the cooperative right in front of us" he whispers in my ear in an ironic and aggressive tone. "You are already a woman, you have to stop running away from everything around you"

A tear runs down my cheek due to the hostility of his words. I have no choice, but I feel so anguished and nervous that I don't dare to look anyone in the eye. My father squeezes my arm aggressively, as a warning to let me know that he won't repeat things twice. Finally, I take the courage to open my eyes and lift my gaze. My vision is clouded by tears, but I manage to glimpse the outline of a man in front of me.

"Miss Lacey" the voice makes itself present again, and this time it speaks to me. I freeze in my place, but the man moves, walking in my direction.

I can't answer. I know that if I do, I'll start crying.

"My name is Michael Langdon and I am the representative of the cooperative" the man says in a formal tone "It is a pleasure to meet you, miss."

Then, for some unknown reason, as I hear his name, I feel my heart skip a beat. And I realize that I am on the verge of falling into my own perdition.

[Hey! The first chapter of "Amative" of my Michael fanfic is finally published. It was quite a challenge because my English is not very good and my novel is originally written in Spanish, and if there are any errors, please have patience as I still struggle a bit to translate my story into English.

I hope you enjoy the chapter, btw. <3]

[tosodev]

Devblog 003:

Forgot my password to tumblr this morning and wound up making a hugely complicated password generator so it wouldn't happen again and so I could actually remember it.

Now time for actual dev content:

Since all the VFX has really been done and dusted I don't have any cool gifs to show you (that and I don't want to make them since it was really complicated.) So today I will have boring ass regular-degular screenshots. Sorry!

So first off I've implemented the save-file ranking system, of which there are 3 ranks. Silver (the basic one), Gold (the one that you get for doing something tdb), and the Rosegold (which you'll get for having the gold one and then doing something extra on top of it). I also have the hearts counter in place, which track how many "boss heros" you've killed so far. While your normal every day run of the mill hero's will be pretty easy and flimsy (and namely, randomly generated), these boss heros will occur at specific times or under specific conditions and will be like you took a high level dark souls player (me) and dropped them into your dungeon. And, as you can see, there are 5 of them. Which means they get harder. Pause for dramatic effect.

Next up I have the states of gameplay after you load a file. They have their names in the top corner of the screenshot for simplicity as well as their own color scheme which I discussed a little bit about in 002.

So in order we have:

The Combat Sate (red) : Which is for the player to use their own attacks and powers to directly combat the heros, seeing as you're the final boss and all I felt like you should be able to defend yourself. Also adds an extra layer to game design.

The Sponsor State (yellow): Will be your main way of getting GOLD which is the primary currency for all "static" buildings, traps, walls, etc. You'll accept them and they'll become visible in a sponsor tracker that I've yet to add, where you can see how happy the sponsor is with you and, in turn, how much gold they're willing to give you per day or let you spend on certain items.

The Editor State (blue): Pretty self explanatory, will allow you to place units, move units, walls, traps, etc again.

The Dialouge State (purple): This is where your little advisor goblin, which I've named Bartholomew because I thought it was funny, will speak to you. He acts as the tutorial guy for the beginning part of the game but will later on just kind of help with some more automatable tasks. Such as "if x is y then z". This is more of a later if I have time thing as it's complicated on paper so it might be more complicated in practice.

And finally the Shop State, which is basically completed apart from adding content and listings to it. This is where you buy units and everything else. You can use souls and/or gold but some units also come with a "gold/souls per day" stat, which since these monsters are your employees, will mean that you need to pay them per day. Lest they overthrow you. Gwa gwa gwa.

Right now all the listings are randomly generated and have some placeholder text as the description, but it does it's job and I know it works. As you can see here, "433" is the name of the item, "10x" is the quantity, "33g" is the basic one-time payment price and "82g/d" is the price you'd have to pay per day (obviously this will more than likely be souls since walls and traps will probably not have a gold price, but I hear dragons are pretty greedy...) And then the "Lorem ipsum" text is where the description would go.

Purchasing already works and gets added to an inventory not yet accessible to the player (today me's problem). So all I gotta do is just add in the rest of the gameplay loop elements and it should actually be playable (I say that as if that's not a lot of work.)

Ok well that's all for day 2. I'll open an ask page or whatever to answer any questions about OVERLORD while I'm working but don't expect me to keep up with it too closely.

That's all folks!

Katlikesnero

[mapplejuice]

Don't forget - Your choices still matter.

Another Deltarune analysis, featuring a non-techie person explaining a bit of tech and why we should probably be aware of it.

Since the day of its release into the public eye, Deltarune has made it a point to tell us that "your choices don't matter" -- whether "you" refers to either Kris or you as the player. Toby's already confirmed Deltarune to have one ending, and the game pokes a lot of fun at giving you choices only for your answer (if it even lets you answer) to be inconsequential. This came as a stark contrast to Undertale, where e v e r y choice mattered in the most unexpected ways. Even the choices we thought we erased, the choices we expected no consequence from, could come back with a vengeance later in the game.

So, before we get to into things, let's talk about how Undertale can make your decisions bite you in the ass.

Undertale has a relatively small SAVE file, with only about 500 lines and flags altogether. In your computer's local app data, you can see up to three true SAVE files: file0, for your actual game; file8, referred to as "Flowey's" file; and file9, which is the auto-save file. Within these files, the game stores your name, inventory, room, and your progress through the story (along with other things). On a typical reset, files 0 and 9 are erased (file8 is suspiciously spared, but surprisingly not our target).

What doesn't get erased during a normal reset is the undertale.ini file.

Unlike the SAVE files, you don't need to interact with a SAVE point to update your .ini--it's automatic whenever certain events occur. And unlike your SAVE, which usually keeps track of events as a "yes" or "no", the .ini is a counter, meaning it also keeps track of the amount of times you've witnessed a given scene or done something.

Here's a snippet of my current .ini file as reference. Among other things, we can see my pie preference (Bscotch = 2), how I've killed and spared Toriel once each (TK = 1 and TS = 1), that I've already walked through New Home the first time (Tale = 1), how many times I've died (Gameover = 1; I got cocky in the Undyne fight), and how many times I've walked through the final door (Won = 5). All of these entries affect what the game does, whether it's Flowey directly taunting me or Goat Mom getting deja vu over butterscotch pie.

In short: Undertale uses an external file to keep track of everything you've done, not just everything you've saved. It's honestly a very simple and effective strategy to make your video game meta. Doki Doki Literature Club actually does something pretty similar, using an external "persistent" file to keep track of what scenes you've played out with each girl and what leg of the story you're in. By having a file outside of your saves, something that can be updated in the background without extra action, you can effectively give your characters a ripple-proof memory-- or thereabouts, anyway.

Savvy players, however, will notice that Deltarune still doesn't do this; when you erase a file slot, there's no residual evidence of it both in the game and in the files. And that's true! There's points to be made about how the SAVE files seem to "hide" certain flags, like your vessel choices and your Eggs (which I could DEFINITELY talk more about in the future), but all of these choices are still confined to the same run.

But Deltarune may not need an all-encompassing persistent file-- just one that sees what you're still doing.

So far, there's only one event within the entirety of Deltarune that hints at the game reading not one, but all of your SAVE files at the same time: when you talk to Seam in Chapter 2.

If you've defeated Jevil in any one of your active CH1 files, you can access the Shadow Crystal and Jevilstail/Devilsknife in any of your CH2 files, even if they're not directly linked. Seam will even talk about you defeating Jevil, and be surprised when you say that you haven't. On first glance, this probably just looks like an anti-frustration tool; after all, the Jevil fight is one of the hardest in the entire franchise, and making players beat him in three different runs might be asking for a bit too much. Perhaps it's nothing...

...But how do we feel about the dr "config" file versus "true_config"? Because I'm a little sussed out.

Lo and behold, opening up the dr.ini file reveals a summary of all your active save files (both CH1 and CH2, in-game and end of chapter) in one place. Unlike undertale.ini, it's a much shorter summary with only 8 variables per SAVE. InitLang, Room, Date, Time, and Name are all self-explanatory; "UraBoss" refers to the secret boss fight of the chapter (0 = not fought, 1 = won violently, 2 = won peacefully).

But how about that difference between Love and Level?

I wonder how that changes during a Snowgrave run, or if future chapters include their own "Weird Route".

I wonder why the other files need to know.

Perhaps Ralsei was right--and perhaps, should we continue anyway, our consequences are not confined to one timeline.

[neonpaperlanterns]

Sometimes I wish I kept better track of what I ramble about and how many times I've rambled about it.

Like these rambles, I wish I kept better track of em so I would know if I sent too much or if I actually only sent a few in my dreams. Dreams are weird.

That's not my neighbor little story request.

Since I am absolutely in love with Monstrous protector. Think you could do a little story of the doorman being a Doubleganger?

Them just perfecting their look each morning, stepping outside their room to say hi to their neighbors and heading on downstairs.

Little bit of them battling their instincts to feed or kill the humans around them. Gets momentarily found out by a double who'll beg them to open the door, maybe excitedly stating how easy it would be... How tempting it is.

After the day is over, doorman goes home to their knowing roommate who gives them some... Food. To get his energy up.

The only real reason I can think on why doubles would wanna kill humans so badly is like how vampires work.

Hope you are having a wonderful day with One piece strangling ya with laughter!

-Sunny Anon.

[A/n: Which world would you rather live in? One with aliens that take on our forms to kill us or one were a toy company went unchecked and committed the horrors? Also I have been dying to write for that's not my neighbor so thank you!]

[part two]

The Doorman

Their awake before the alarm goes off. Pushing themselves up they flinch when their feet make contact with the cold floor. Toes curling slightly as they contemplate crawling back into bed.

But they can hear Sunny in the kitchen. The smell of sizzling meat and coffee gradually start to fill the apartment. So reluctantly they shuffle across the hardwood, regretting their own hubris of rejecting the slippers their roommate had gotten them. And now they had to live with it.

"Good morning " They croak out as they enter the kitchen.

"Oh mor-!" Sunny cuts off with a jump, their eyes wide as they bump into the counter.

"What's wrong?" They ask, brow furrowing in confusion as the reach out a steadying hand. Elongated nails and sickly green skin with a spiderweb of black veins reaches out for Sunny. They halt in their movements, mouth falling open as they stare at their arm.

"I'm sorry I didn't...." They trail off, worry weaving its way through their tone as they look at themselves.

"No don't be." Sunny is yanking open the fridge, the sound of clicking bottles and tupperware dragging across glass fills the room.

"I didn't meant to react like that. It's been so long that it took me by surprise." A container is being placed on the counter and pushed towards them.

"Are you alright though? This isn't normal." They didn't know what to tell them. Sunny was right, this wasn't normal. There were few incidences that would cause them to revert back to their original form. But as far as they knew none of this had occured.

"Maybe you should call in sick today." Sunny suggested, their gaze filled with concern. Shaking their head, they popped open breakfast.

"I can't. We don't have any replacements right now." An metallic scent wafted up from the container, its contents made their gums pulse. Teeth ached to tear into the meat but they restrained themselves. Instead grabbing a fork like a person. A cup of coffee slid across ceramic as Sunny sighed.

"I still think you should. Just to be safe." Sunny grumbled and they couldn't help a grin that tugged at their mouth. Getting up they placed their hands on Sunny's shoulders.

"And I just want to keep you safe. So I have to go to work." Their friend frowned at them.

"I just worry, ya know?" They knew, they worried too. And that's why no matter what they had to go to work.

Sitting at the desk they were hyper aware of the fabric that covered their skin. Of every last fiber of hair. Of their tongue. Of every time the blinked. How many teeth they had.

It was maddening.

"Your ID?" They inquired, tongue rolling as their throat felt full of wool.

"Oh yes of course." Ms. Stone's voice was drowned out by the steady beat of her heart. They could see it pulsing in her neck. Could practically taste the organ as they gripped their knee. Puncturing holes in the pants that they are sure Sunny would complain about later.

"I'm terribly sorry." She said as she slipped her identification through the slot. Their hand shook as they gave it cursory once over. They knew she was real but appearances must be kept.

"Thank you." They pushed the entry button a bit too aggressively but Ms. Stone didn't seem to notice. Jabbing the close button they ran a hand down their face. Their breathing labored.

This wasn't okay.

What was wrong with them?

"Excuse me." A bored sounding voice drawled from the other side of the glass. Snapping their head up, a friendly smile at the ready they stopped.

"Oh my stars." The thing wearing Nacha Mikaelys face gazed at them. Eyes uncomfortably wide as a grin that showed too many teeth spread across its face.

"You're inside." It was awed as its hand came to rest upon the glass. Leaning closer its breath fogged up the pane.

"Let me in." Its tone dripped with poisoned honey. They knew what would happen if they hit that green button. And they wanted to, oh they wanted to. It's been so long. They could find Ms. Stone and sink their teeth into her jugular. Her heart beat no longer steady as they ripped her throat out. The taste of fresh, warm, tangy blood made their head spin.

It's. Been. So. Long.

Was that what was wrong with them?

That they have been denying something so fundamental to their species that they were coming apart at the seams?

They should let them in. Do what they were meant to do. It would be easy and normal and it would feel so good.

But then the worried face of Sunny popped into their head. Freezing their hand in place. If they let them in Sunny would not be safe. They would have failed their job. The one thing they are risking everything for.

A vicious snarl left the other as they smashed the emergency alarm. The shutter closing as they painstakingly dialed 3312. They could hear it's fists banging as it screeched something truly unholy.

Swallowing down the bile that threatened to choke them they tried to breath. They could hold out a bit longer. They could do that for Sunny. After all it was their job.

[hudine]

This one is something I’m working on. Not on AO3 yet because I want to have a good portion of the story already wrote. It’s about Jaskier and others becoming Witchers. In Jaskier’s case because his family is cursed that the second son ends up being taken for training to become Witchers. The only reason this never happened to Jaskier was because no one was making Witcher’s anymore. Also Jaskier’s father Alfred Pankratz isn’t exactly who Jaskier thought he was either. Working title atm is Second Son’s Legacy. Has potential to become a warlord AU just not the typical one with the typical characters and so on.

Warnings: Cannon? What’s Cannon?

Part 2

@xxxx|}:::::::::::::::::::::::::> <::::::::::::::::::::::::{|xxxx@

Geralt was preparing to return to the path, planning to meet Jaskier in Oxenfurt in a few weeks. This would be the second year that the bard insisted on joining him since their fateful meeting in Posada. Last year, Jaskier had shown up uninvited after tracking Geralt down. This time, Geralt had decided to rendezvous with him intentionally, ostensibly to keep the bard from getting injured while searching for him. At least, that's what he kept telling himself—not that he actually enjoyed Jaskier's company.

"Wolf, grab your sword and come with me. A group is approaching the keep. The others are already taking their positions," Vesemir interrupted, pulling Geralt from his thoughts.

"What? How is that possible? The pass should be closed for another week," Geralt said, trailing behind Vesemir.

"I'm not sure, perhaps the weather's been milder than we thought. Just stand behind me and look intimidating," Vesemir advised.

They waited at the gate. Before long, they spotted a group walking up the path. One member held a long stick with a large pair of white ladies' bloomers tied to the top, serving as a makeshift white flag. Vesemir visibly relaxed as he seemed to recognize some faces.

"Do I even want to know where you found ladies' underwear up here, Alfie? It must be harder to locate those than an actual flag. Is that your younger brother Boris? And your nephew Derek? Ah, Gweld, Merck, good to see you're both alive, especially after going MIA since the sacking," Vesemir greeted them.

"We stepped away from the path… separately. We thought it was for the best," Merck mumbled, looking down.

"I don't care if you joined a traveling circus and became clowns," Vesemir retorted. "You could have at least sent word that you were alive. We've been mourning you."

"But we left the path," Gweld started, his voice trailing off at the stern look on Vesemir's face.

"Forget the bloody path! I've lost too many people to care about that as long as you're alive!" Vesemir exploded. "Now go run twenty laps for causing us all to worry."

"Twenty laps…" Merck began. Gweld, who was roughly the same age as Geralt and one of the few who had survived his training year, started moving. Merck, who was only a century younger than Vesemir, followed reluctantly.

"Don't make it thirty and an hour on the training dummies," Vesemir warned in a dangerously quiet voice.

"Yes, Master Vesemir," Gweld responded, pulling Merck along to start their laps.

"You haven't lost your touch, I see," said Alfie, who had been holding the makeshift flag.

"Just because you were one of our mages doesn't make you immune to drills," Vesemir shot back, still visibly annoyed.

"Sorry for my absence. I was hiding from the Brotherhood. They disliked that Witcher mages were outside their control. I arrived here like everyone else, but that year they wanted an apprentice mage more than a Witcher. So, I was trained by the mages at the keep. The Brotherhood also resented that we trained mages in-house, so they fanned the flames of discontent until the pogroms occurred," Alfie explained.

"At least tell me the children you portaled out with are safe," Vesemir said, his posture sagging. He had instructed Alfie to escape with the youngest children, those who hadn't undergone the Trial of the Grasses yet.

"Yes, they're safe, and I found good homes for them. Being the brother of a Duke has its advantages. He used his influence with the king to grant me a small holding in Kerack and even arranged a marriage for me. I was concerned about having a second son due to the Pankratz curse, which tends to turn second, sometimes third, sons into Witchers. Luckily, I ended up as one of the mages instead," Alfie continued.

"And did you have a second son?" Vesemir inquired.

"Yes, his name is Julian. We're a lot alike, and we don't always get along. Since no one is making Witchers anymore, he chose to become a bard. He's been following your pup Geralt," Alfie replied.

"Wait, Jaskier is Julian? I suspected he was nobility by his demeanour, but to think he's the son of one of our own mages," Geralt said, visibly stunned.

"He's also half-fae on his mother's side, which explains his talents as a bard. He has a fae's gift for charm and eloquence. He's technically a legitimised bastard. Surprisingly, my wife didn't mind when he showed up on our doorstep. She fell in love with him instantly. I suspect he might be her favourite, but let's keep that between us when we find him," Alfie confided.

"Find him?" Vesemir asked.

"He's gone missing. His friends at Oxenfurt have no idea where he is, either. He simply didn't show up to teach his classes one day. My eldest son's twin boys, who are ten, are also missing, along with my daughter's second son. In fact, everyone accompanying me here has missing family members who still maintain some connection to their family origins," Alfie elaborated.

"That explains why you have a few from the Cat, Bear, Crane, and Manticore schools with you," Vesemir concluded.

"We're here to find out if any of the Wolves or Griffins, since they reside here now, are still in contact with their families. We want to make sure everything's alright with them," Alfie confirmed.

"Alright, boys! Stand down and return to your tasks! It seems we don't have an attack on our hands," Vesemir called out. Up until that moment, only he and Geralt had been visible, but now Witchers began to emerge from their various hiding spots. Some were tucked away in clever alcoves, others had makeshift hideouts, and a few had even buried themselves in the snow. All told, there were around twenty.

Lambert cautiously approached, brushing snow off himself. "I still keep in touch with my sister. She says she's old now, especially since she became a grandmother. I visited my hometown a few decades ago, not to see family, but to hunt a vampire. She knocked the vampire out with a frying pan when it attacked her daughter. She then yelled at me, reminding me that I'm still her baby brother and should visit more often. I've been going back every year since."

Vesemir raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "Seems like I chose the wrong child surprise from that house. A frying pan, you say?"

"I swear by Melitele it's true! I just hope the kids and their kids are safe. Do you have any idea what's happening to the victims?" Lambert inquired.

"We're not entirely sure, but we suspect someone is trying to create more Witchers. My research notes were stolen, and I believe Stregobor might be involved, possibly working with Nilfgaard," Alfie responded. "You see, just before the sacking, we had a breakthrough in understanding why some survive the Trials while others don't. It boils down to genetics and bloodlines."

"So that's why they're targeting Witchers’ families. But how could anyone trace that? Most of us were too young to remember where we came from," Geralt mused.

"You've never brought a child here, so you wouldn't know," Vesemir began.

"Even though we claim neutrality, our schools are on lands governed by some king or another. We're obligated to follow certain laws, including record-keeping. Most kingdoms required us to document the boys' origins—names, places, dates, and so on. The capital cities also kept copies of these ledgers. It was simply easier to comply than to defy a monarch and risk conflict," Alfie explained.

"Let's move this conversation inside. It's cold out here, and I'm sure our guests and mage would appreciate a warmer setting after their journey," Vesemir suggested, leading everyone into the keep.

@xxxx|}:::::::::::::::::::::::::> <::::::::::::::::::::::::{|xxxx@

[flythesail]

Holiday prompts!!! Going with

45 - Is that my scarf?

74 - Can you help me put the star on top of the tree?

85 - Yeah, I've never made a pie before, but how hard can it be?

do any or all or whatever your heart desires! ❤️🦝✨

Thank youuu!! Starting with #45 but I might have to come back for the others haha. For you <3

Also on ao3

It's late when they make it out to Fernwood. So late they probably should have waited until tomorrow, but Nancy had never been one to wait. 

The snow crunched under their boots, more ice than snow in the places the snow began to melt and then refroze with Horseshoe Bay's temperamental weather. 

Nancy's flashlight caught on the bark of the trees, bare branches, and tracks in the snow from her footsteps earlier today. 

"It should be somewhere over here," she said, stopping in a small clearing. She shined her flashlight around a large fallen log. 

When the map was created, the tree was still standing. This tree was half-decayed and frosted over with a sheet of ice. But if they could find the tree, they could find wherever it was Earl Dorsey hid that box over half a century ago. 

“Nancy,��� Ace said, his sigh coming out as a frozen puff. “There are hundreds of trees in the woods. It could be any of them.”

“Yes,” she said, the beam from her flashlight waving across the snow as she gestured with her hand, “but it was also in a clearing about the size of this one.” 

“And how many other clearings are the size of this one?”

Nancy spared him a glance. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his coat, and his hat was tugged down over his ears–strands of his hair poking out the bottom of it. 

It wasn’t like him to complain. Out of everyone, he was normally the first to say he would tag along. Often times he didn’t even say it. Where Nancy went, he went too. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, shining the flashlight toward him. She was careful to keep it lower so it wouldn’t shine in his eyes. “I thought you liked the woods.”

Somewhere off in the distance, a branch cracked, snow falling with it. 

Ace shivered. “It’s cold.”

A small smile flickered across Nancy’s face. “That’s it?”

“You’re not cold?” 

Nancy shrugged. She hadn’t really noticed. The box was all she could think about, so it never occurred to her just how low the temperature had dropped tonight. 

“Come on,” she said, walking toward another clearing. “This will only take a few more minutes.” 

Ace trailed behind her. “You’re really not?” he asked. 

Nancy stopped suddenly, and Ace bumped into her. “This scarf is pretty warm,” she said, turning to him. 

His gaze dropped to the collar of her coat, where red yarn was just barely visible. 

“Is that my scarf?” he asked. 

“Maybe.” Nancy shrugged, turning to head further into the woods. 

“I asked you if you knew where it was, and you said no!”

That was technically true. He did ask, and at the time, the scarf was nowhere to be found. Eventually, of course… Nancy found it in the mudroom, buried under the other winter apparel they dropped at the door before heading inside the house. 

But by that point, Ace had been missing his scarf for so long, she figured it deserved a new home. 

And it was warm. Knitted by Rebecca with the best yarn you could get from the craft store. Soft and cozy, so unlike the scratchy scarf Nancy normally wore throughout winter. 

Nancy stopped again, shining her flashlight up and down a particularly wide tree trunk. According to Earl’s granddaughter, he had carved his initials into the base of the tree too. But with so many years having gone by, the odds of his initials holding up to weather and the growth of the tree alike might not be great.

Ghosts and supernatural entities were Nancy's typical domain, but business at Nancy Drew Investigations was slow over the holidays, and if searching for a buried family heirloom was what kept the lights on at Icarus Hall—so be it. 

She turned to Ace, who was now bouncing on his heels in an attempt to stay warm. 

“Do you want your scarf back?” she asked, reaching for the end of it under her coat.

He shook his head. “You keep it.”

“You sure? You seem a little cold.”

At least that got him to smile. "Then you'd be cold." 

"Maybe I'm just more suited to winter than you." Nancy walked around the perimeter of the tree. "How did you handle it when you were an Eagle Scout?" Winters were practically eternal in Horseshoe Bay.

Ace stopped near a different tree, clicking on his own flashlight to examine it. 

"I was first to earn my fire-making patch." 

Nancy's flashlight flickered, and she smacked the side of it with her gloved hand. 

"So if I ever need someone to start a fire, you're my guy." 

"Depends. What are you setting on fire?"

"You're the one who's cold. Does it matter?" 

The beam of her flashlight grew steady again, and she moved to the next tree over. 

There, just at eye level, were two faint letters. 

E.D. 

"Found it!" she called. 

Ace joined her at the tree. "Nice." He shined his flashlight over the letters. "Now what?" 

"Well, the ground is too frozen to dig anything up. We'll have to come back next week." 

"Nancy." 

"Come on," she said with a laugh. She grabbed his hand to pull him along with her. "I'll give you your scarf back." 

He shifted so his arm was around her. Now tucked into his side, Nancy realized she had been cold. 

"I don't believe you," he said. 

"I mean… I wouldn't mind keeping it." 

"I wouldn't mind having it back either." 

Nancy glanced up at him, catching a flash of his smile even in the dark of the woods. 

"Then I guess we'll just have to share." 

Two weeks later, one more box was under the tree on Christmas morning. 

**********

Ryan picked it up, checking the tag before handing it over. 

"For you, Nancy," he said. 

She took it, careful with how she removed the wrapping paper. It clearly wasn't from Ryan. He was terrible at wrapping, and Carson was more of a gift bag guy. 

Nancy snuck a glance at Ace. He was sitting on the couch, and casually took a sip of coffee. His face gave away nothing as he watched her from over the rim of his mug. 

When the paper was all removed and set to the side, Nancy lifted the lid from the box. 

"Cozy!" said Ryan, peering into the box. 

Inside, lay two different colored scarves. One black, and one blue—the same blue as her Claw uniform from what seemed like a lifetime ago. 

"Who's that from?" Carson asked. He had a plastic bag in hand and was beginning to collect all the scraps of wrapping paper. 

Nancy ran her hand over the scarves. They were both soft, and she knew they would be warm too. 

She got up and joined Ace on the couch.

"Thank you," she said, leaning to give him a kiss. 

"You're welcome," he said, taking another sip of coffee. 

Nancy watched him, a smile playing about her lips. "Is there a reason you got me two?" 

He set his mug down on the coffee table, then put his arm behind her. "One for sleuthing. One for casual wear." 

"And so I give yours back?" 

Ace smiled, and Nancy laughed, moving to rest her head on him.

"I'll think about it."

[onlyjaeyun]

Hey Zadie, first of all I'm really sorry if I'm overstepping, I don't mean to come here and criticise and much less to sound hurtful, I've been an avid reader of your works and you're undoubtedly really good at what you do, I am almost immediately hooked onto your works but it almost seems like a pattern for you to eventually grow tired of your stories and works by the time the end rolls around. Of course this is only normal, things can get draining especially since you have a life outside as well as you should 💕 but I do think a lot of it is due to your frequency of updates being too high initially and then having mental slumps because people can get quite demanding though I'm glad you have an understanding audience, you also tend to get unfortunately quite affected by the crude words some idiots clearly spew and wander off track sometimes, it should be uour decision entirely when smut occurs or if characters forgive each other or if they are fine with things that the readers themselves may not be, you can't always please everyone. I don't really have anything I want to say that would sound hurtful but towards the end of most of your stories it's a sad thing but I only end up sticking around because I keep hoping for some kind of closure, the beginnings are always great and kind of de-escalate by the end, I do hope you can take a proper break after this and maybe be a bit more assertive about your boundaries and dislikes here so people can start minding their own business. Sorry if this was harsh.

hi baby 🤍 sometimes i'm surprised how well you guys know me already because you're absolutely right and you're definitely not overstepping.

unfortunately with both SB and CH i let those unnecessary comments get to my head and did things and changed up plots k never had intended to which resulted in me writing the stories for the readers and not for myself anymore. but i've finally realised what the problem was and why i started dreading the end of both smaus so much despite loving them as much as i do and i'm gonna make so many things so much more different than i did with my most recent smaus.

thank you for being so kind and attentive, i really appreciate your words of encouragement and reassurance, i love you so much 🤍

[wild-chaser]

So, a little follow-up on my recent creative breakdown:

I have come to the conclusion that I need to treat the outlining of my novel as a project in its own right, rather than just a side quest to get to the actual task. I have realized I put aside too little time for the huge undertaking that is the planning in itself. Especially since, again, I am very much a planner, not a pantser. I cannot just get by when I don't know the direction of the plot very well.

An additional problem that I have faced is that I have been on this project for so long - I have been coming back and forth, spinning this plot in my head, trying to make sense of it and spending random chunks of time working on it haphazardly - that now I've got so much legacy outline (think analogue to "legacy code" in programming) that it's just adding another layer of complexity.

I have come up with a lot of world building already, thought through the rules of magic and worked on many character arcs but... not in an organized manner. Once the inspiration to work hit, I just took a random item/plot point/character arc/etc. and worked on it, usually not finishing the thing within that one session, and then never really coming back to it the next one. Usually because those writing sessions were so distant from each other in time that by the time the next session came up, I have forgotten what I have been up to last.

As a result, I have plenty of notes, scattered across Scrivener folders and subfolders (and sub-sub folders), some printed sheets of paper, some notes in some notebooks, but it's just such a huge mess that I've got no clue what is really where, what is still to do and outline, what was done but needs an update, and what was done and is good enough so can remain as-is.

Now I want to attempt and actually tackle this Planning the Novel Quest in an organized way. That will include:

determining what needs to be planned or outlined -> so that I know when I can officially 'tick off' a task instead of coming back to it over and over again

making a physical (printed out or handwritten) plan of the Outlining Quest -> so I can keep track of the progress in a visible way

setting up some inner outlining rules, which include:

PRINT OUT the effect of the outlining once the task is done -> to have a physical 'world bible' and 'story bible' at the end of the process* *even if, obviously, once the story progresses, the outline and world can still be changed; but the changes should also end up being a physical mark (like crossing out and handwriting new ideas)

don't come back to redo the finished tasks until the entire process is finished (again, minor corrections in the previous tasks are allowed within reason)

The reason why I will try and make everything printed out or handwritten is that I when I outline in Scrivener or Notion or in any other digital way, in the long run I end up forgetting what I even have there. I come back to review the notes and find myself surprised on what I find. I am not sure why it is so, but I believe that the difference comes from the way one is always sort-of leafing through the entire notebook every time it gets opened and that briefly refreshes the overview of what's generally in there; whereas with notes scattered across Scrivener folders, I always need to intentionally look for something to find it. And I just frequently forget that some things even exist.

The next question for me is: how to outline the novel? What tasks are even there?

Every time I googled for answers, the number of options and ideas left me just apathetically rocking in the corner. Then it hit me: instead of finding new ideas, how about I just try to implement the old ones, but all the way through?

I have attempted The Snowflake Method of outlining many many times already. Even with this project. I was tempted to just say 'it didn't work for me', but then it occurred to me that I have never actually finished the process. I just repeated steps 1, 2 and maybe 3 several times over and over again, each time with a year or two in between the attempts. So how about I try to do it exactly as it is recommended to do, how about I follow the guidelines to the t.

But there is a minor issue with this method. It is not complete. When one tries to outline any story that needs the world building, there aren't any steps for that in this method. And I especially need those steps spelled out because I hate and suck at the world building.

Then it hit me - I dug out that book that I have had for years that have always slightly intimidated me - " Writing Fantasy & Science Fiction" by Orson Scott Card, Philip Athans and Jay Lake. While they do talk about story in general, they tend to focus and give a lot of tips when it comes to world building.

So my current plan is: I do The Snowflake Method + follow the world building advice from the book. The book divides the advice into: rules of magic, history, language, scenery - and those will turn into separate 'tasks' for me to complete, on top of just following the Snowflake Method.

Now, in today's writing session, my plan is to... plan. Analyze the steps in the Snowflake Method, make a huge and detailed to-do list for outlining, then print it out and keep it at the beginning of my Novel Outline Binder. Because I am Amy at heart.

[hghx2]

HGH X2 Reviews - An HGH Pills with no Side Effects? 100% Burn Fat, Boost Stamina!

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[kittykatinabag]

Ok so I'm doing a "bad" in academia right now.

As in, I haven't turned in any of my final assignments even though the deadlines are now approaching 3 weeks overdue (more than a month in one case). Fuck, I've barely started them.

And I've been trying to communicate this intense executive dysfunction to my therapist but we keep getting side tracked by other things that are probably tangentially related (as I'm learning most of mental health is), but not the issue of my extreme adversion to work of any kind.

The thing is she's already told me how this problem arose, in that the experience I was having while working basically made it so any work that requires people seeing results or sustained periods of higher level thinking is now wrapped in a trauma response that my mind is trying to defend against via my favorite defense mechanism of escapism. I wanted to dive deeper but our 55 minutes were up for that session and the next one went on another tangent.

But even thinking about that idea, I don't know how to fix it/solve it/live with it. Because it wrapped around a concept and not one or two particular actions. And a concept is flexible and takes many forms.

So I just sit, mildly stressed out, halfway checked out because most of me doesn't even really care about grades as long as we're learning but that's not how going to school works anymore, and slightly fearful that worst case dooms day distortion scenario of having this continue and the government of Ireland caring enough to just deport my ass back to the US where I'll have to move back in with my parents which will most likely send me full spiral back into suicidal ideation territory since they don't seem to understand or even want to understand how bad my mental health is when I'm living under the same roof as them in my shitty hometown.

But I know that's one of those cognitive distortions that cognitive behavioral therapy talks about (can't be bothered to look up the correct one, there's too many fucking terms in CBT), so I know that situation wouldn't occur in reality. But my mind still makes those thoughts, and I don't have the automatic mental chop to the head that non-mentally ill people have so I have to do it manually. It's just so tiring to have to do it all manually.

But yeah. Struggle bussing here. I wish the desperation I had when I was younger was still around but ultimately it's probably a good thing that's not really around anymore. I probably should switch therapists to someone who will actually challenge my thinking instead of circling back to my supposed low self confidence (which it's not low anymore. Trust me on that one), and only pointing towards solutions about 10% of the time. But that decision is for the me of three or so weeks from now since that's when my 8 initial sessions end. (Also side note I hate the way her room is set up, I might go into this in more detail later but it's one of my triggers that makes my mind itch. It doesn't send me into any anxiety attacks but I fucking hate it)

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Kinktober Day 27 - Forniphilia

Pairing: Marcus Pike x named f!Reader

Rating: E (explicit smut 18+ only!)

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: H-human furniture?! (forniphilia), BDSM vibes, very sexy art exhibitions, descriptions of (naked) bodies, D/s dynamics, sub!Marcus, Marcus needs A Fucking Break, Feelings? In my BDSM fic? it's more likely thank you think.

Summary: Marcus’s latest case brings him to a small, niche art exhibition to interview an artist whose gallery of explicit art had recently been stolen and defaced. The exhibition awakens something in him that he did not expect. 

A/N: @absurdthirst, this prompt HAUNTED me until I had to come up with some sort of idea because this was just too fun not to try. THANK YOU for the titillating Prompt List! Thank also you to @leslie-lyman, @honestly-shite, and @pedropascalsx who heard so much about this prompt that they probably don't even need to read this, it's already ingrained in their brains from how many times I've talked about it. I love you all, thank you for enabling me.

Masterlist | Kinktober Masterlist

That's it, Marcus thinks. This job is going to kill him.

He had always thought that it would be a bullet that took him down, but, as he stands in this little art gallery, he wonders if one can actually die of mortification. 

This case had already turned more than a few heads at the office. An artist's studio had been broken into, nearly all of her collection either stolen or defaced. The few paintings that had been left behind had made their way to Marcus's office, all splashed with accusations in brilliant vermillion. Whore. Filth. Pervert. The paintings themselves are beautiful, detailed, and masterful in their technique. They’re also incredibly explicit.

More than one visitor to Marcus’s office has stopped dead in their tracks and stared. Marcus, for his part, had been getting used to staring at a wall of cocks and vaginas as he had worked at his desk, but now he wishes that had been the extent of his discomfort. 

Marcus is supposed to be interviewing the artist whose entire collection had been destroyed tonight. He had been told that they were busy, at a friend’s exhibition, but Marcus had readily agreed to an interview at the small gallery, thinking it would be a nice, quiet place to talk to them about the case. 

He should have asked what kind of exhibition.

Marcus tries to keep his eyes pointed straight ahead, not letting his gaze focus on any of the… art. When he had first walked in, he had been gobsmacked by the sight: bodies–naked bodies, everywhere. A nude woman, balancing a lamp on their back, providing light for a fully clothed man reading nearby. Another man, apparently being used as a chair. Marcus had barely been able to keep a straight face, his cheeks turning bright red as he cast his eyes around in alarm, finding the title of the exhibition on the wall. Forniphilia: The Eroticism of the Inanimate.

Marcus awkwardly strolls through the gallery, looking for someone who might be the artist he’s looking for. All he has is a name, which makes it difficult. He scans the various guests, feeling too off-balance to approach anyone. Before he can gather up the courage to ask, someone beats him to the punch.

“You look lost,” a sultry, feminine voice calls out to him from his right. Schooling his face into something he hopes resembles a normal expression, he turns to look.

A beautiful woman looks back at him with an amused smirk on her face. She’s dressed smartly, in a businesslike pencil skirt and white dress shirt, typing on a laptop. She just so happens to be surrounded by naked men on their knees. One, she’s using as a desk for her laptop, another for a footstool. Yet another is holding a cup of coffee on his back. The last, she’s sitting on, using him as a chair. 

“I’m looking for Jacqueline Conrad,” Marcus says, ignoring the heat on his face. “My name is Special Agent Pike, I’m supposed to be interviewing her about a theft that occurred at her gallery last week.”

“Special Agent Pike,” the woman drawls, dragging out every syllable. “How nice of you to stop by the exhibition.”

“I was told she’d be here,” Marcus continues,  making a point to stare at the woman's forehead, and only her forehead. 

"I'll tell you where Jaqueline is if you tell me something, first," the woman says coyly.

"Sure," Marcus agrees, wanting to end the conversation as quickly as possible before his eyes run the risk of wandering. His cock is inexplicably half-hard in his pants, the sight before him far more erotic than it has any business being. He needs to go on a fucking date, or something, Marcus thinks to himself. He’s way too tightly wound if weird performance art is turning him on. 

"Do you like what you see, Agent Pike?" the woman asks with a knowing glint in her eye. 

Fuck. Marcus feigns ignorance. “As a lover of art, I understand that it takes on different forms for different people,” he answers diplomatically. 

“Look at you,” the woman croons. “A Fed with a brain.” She smiles, showing all of her teeth. “But spare me the party line, Agent. Tell me, do you like it?”

Marcus cocks his head to the side, considering. “I think,” he begins carefully, “that anyone would be hard-pressed not to be affected by the sight of so many naked bodies.”

The woman throws back her head and laughs. She picks up the steaming cup of coffee, takes a sip, and places it back down on the man’s back, who moans. Marcus can see the circular tinge of pink on his skin from the heat of it. He swallows.

“I like you, Agent Pike,” she announces, still smiling. “Thank you so much for stopping by to discuss my gallery. I apologize that I had a prior engagement tonight, I’m helping a dear friend with a show.” She sticks out her hand. “I’m Jacqueline.”

Marcus regards her hand warily. He prides himself on being a polite person, but he’d have to step onto the stage, among all of the bodies, to shake it. Eventually, courtesy wins out, and he steps forward to clasp her hand.

“You’re blushing, Agent Pike,” Jacqueline teases.

Finally caught off-guard, Marcus chuckles nervously and breaks eye contact. “When they said you’d be at an exhibition, I had pictured something very different,” he says.

“As you said, art takes different forms for different people,” Jacqueline says with a wink, “depending on your source of inspiration, Agent Pike.”

“Marcus,” he corrects, his face heating even further.

“Marcus,” she croons. “Sweetheart, I can see your… inspiration from here.”

“Ms–Ms. Conrad, I apologize, but I’m here for–”

“I know, I know,” Jacqueline interrupts. “We’re taking a little break in five,” she says, patting her chair’s butt affectionately. “And we can talk about the theft. Until then, why don’t you grab a refreshment and enjoy the exhibition, hmm?”

Marcus obeys, grabbing a little glass of punch from the refreshments table and keeping his expression aloof as he studies another exhibition: a curvaceous woman with massive breasts, draped in coats and holding an umbrella. The placard in front of her reads ‘Coat Rack,’ and a small, amused smile spreads across her face as she watches Marcus get the pun. 

Despite his best efforts, Marcus can’t help but glance back at Jacqueline. He watches as she murmurs something to the man she’s sitting on, stroking his hair with a small smile as he answers. Marcus can’t hear the exchange, but he can’t help but notice that the man’s cock is rock hard–flushed and weeping with how much he likes his predicament. His own cock twitches with sympathy. There is something inexplicably appealing about being used like that. Marcus tries–and fails–not to think about being in the other man’s place, feeling fingers gently stroking his hair as he just drifts, not needing to pay attention to deadlines or meetings or the endless string of unread emails in his inbox, but simply existing with another person.

“Marcus,” calls a voice over his shoulder, and he suppresses a shiver. 

"Ms. Conrad," he says, a little too brightly. He spins, plastering his agreeable ‘Friendly Agent’ smile on his face, the one that gets him through more doors than it really should. 

Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t–

“Isn’t Oliver brilliant?” she gushes. “He’s been working on this exhibition for quite some time. He’s designed every scene personally.”

“Oh,” Marcus says, nodding his head. “Right.” 

Play it cool, play it–

“Most people, when they see a new kink for the first time, are either disgusted right away, or they’re completely intrigued. They might not realize it right at that moment, but once it stews for a few days, it starts to eat at them, and they want to see more.”

“Is that right?” Marcus comments, his voice sounding just a little too high-pitched to be normal. “Ms. Conrad–”

“Jacqueline, please.”

“Jacqueline, I–the theft, were you aware of any threats to your gallery? Perhaps any attention from conservative groups, or–”

“I’m going to give you a choice,” Jacqueline interrupts. “We can discuss our business here, and you can leave, and I won’t bother you again until the conclusion of the case. Or,” she continues, leaning in closer, “you can come to my apartment and we can discuss the case–or anything else you’d like to talk about–in private.”

The conflicting offers bounce around in Marcus’s head. One the one hand, he stays here at this gallery, asks his questions, and leaves. On the other hand… well, he’s not quite sure what will happen if he follows this beautiful woman home, but she’s looking at him as if she understands exactly what is on his mind tonight. Say yes, his brain urges. Say yes and go home with her. Say yes and let go for one fucking night.

“Sure,” Marcus finally agrees. “We can discuss the–the case in private.”

Jacqueline purses her lips, her eyebrows drawing up in the middle, as if she’s looking at a very cute puppy. “You are too cute for words, you know that?”

Marcus’s eyebrows raise in surprise at her words. He isn’t sure what to say in response–he’s fine at taking compliments surrounding the job, but about him? He feels as if he’s been knocked off-balance by the praise.

Jacqueline palms his cheek. “You are,” she insists. “Poor thing. Come home with me, honey. I’ll make you feel good.”

Marcus follows her home in a daze. When she hands him a glass of wine at her apartment, she deliberately lets their fingers touch, and the light caress sends him down a path of no return–he will do whatever this woman asks of him tonight, and he knows it. 

“Why don’t you tell me what you liked about the exhibition,” Jacqueline murmurs in Marcus’s ear as he takes his first sip of wine, and he suppresses a shiver.

“I like, uh–” Marcus trails off, genuinely thinking of a good answer. Why did the exhibition speak to him, make his cock stiff in his pants when he was supposed to be there for the job?  “”I like–” he swallows thickly “–I like how someone can just be… static, I guess, if that makes any sense? LIke, just to uh, have the self-control to not move a muscle while–” he clears his throat. “In a weird way, it’s almost about being useful,” he continues, more quietly. “Being able to be there in a way that–that just involves being there, and nothing else.”

Jacqueline nods, as if the words coming out of his mouth are something more than gibberish. Her open expression prompts him to go on.

“I don’t want to think,” Marcus admits quietly. “I overthink everything. Work, relationships, everything. I try so hard to be everything to everyone. I’m so fucking tired of thinking.”

Jacqueline nods, her eyes full of understanding. She gets it. She sees him. 

“Tell you what,” Jacqueline says with a little smile. “I had to put on way too much makeup for this silly show. I’m going to take it all off and go through a little skincare routine. If you’re really interested, why don’t we take this elsewhere, and you can take off all of your clothes for me and get on your hands and knees in front of the sink.”

For a harrowing, endless moment, Marcus doesn’t move. He can’t. He feels stuck to the spot, legs glued to the ground by the weight of Jacqueline’s request. Marcus is always in control. Marcus is the one who gives in every relationship. Marcus is the strong one, the person with his head on his shoulders, feet planted firmly on the ground. 

What if he didn’t need to be?

Jacqueline’s eyes sparkle when Marcus’s hands finally move to loosen his tie.

Layer by layer, Marcus lays himself bare for her. He strips off his persona–the confident, collected Agent who allows every blow to glance off his shoulders without faltering, no matter how devastating. He shrugs off his shirt in the same way he’d had to shrug off his divorce, his broken engagement. He unbuckles his belt and steps out of his pants, the same way he’s stepped away from every bad thing that’s ever happened in his life, walking away with his chin up and never truly facing any of them. Few people would ever know that underneath it all, he’s a vulnerable man. 

With his heart in his throat, Marcus slides his boxers down, shedding his last barrier. Jacqueline watches the entire time, but it isn’t until he’s fully bare that she smiles kindly and steps in close to him, palming his cheek. 

“You’re a beautiful man,” she tells him softly. 

Marcus mumbles a low thank you, and Jacqueline’s smile widens. His breath stutters as he starts to walk over to the vanity, but he’s stopped with her gentle fingers on his forearm.

“Hang on,” Jacqueline says. “I want you to think of a word–something you don’t normally say in regular conversation. If at any time you feel uncomfortable in the slightest, you say that word, and we stop. Okay?”

A safeword. She’s asking for a safeword. Marcus casts his eyes around and lands on a classic painting of waterlilies hanging near the sink. 

“Uhh, Monet,” Marcus answers awkwardly.

Jacqueline smiles. “That’s perfect, honey.” She nods in the direction of the vanity. “Go ahead.”

“Monet,” Marcus immediately says, and she cocks her head to the side in confusion. “I–can I–may I kiss you?” he asks quietly. 

“Oh, you sweet thing,” Jacqueline breathes. “Yes, honey. Of course.”

Marcus is torn between capturing her lips gently with his and striding forward and crushing her against him. In the end, he does a mixture of both, taking her face in his hands and slotting his mouth against hers with a fervor unbefitting of what has thus far been a strange, kinky one-night stand.

Jacqueline opens to him willingly when his tongue seeks entrance, threading her fingers through his hair and tugging lightly on the strands. It's then that she takes charge of the kiss, angling Marcus’s head ever so slightly, and he’s all too happy to let her. He gives her everything he has to give, until she comes up for air, breathing heavily–something that gives him far too much satisfaction.

"You're trouble, aren't you?" Jacqueline teases against his lips. 

"I usually am," Marcus agrees, a playful smile coloring his words. 

"What are we going to do with you, hmm?" 

"I'm sure you already have plenty of ideas," Marcus says with a breathless laugh.

"I have a few," Jacqueline murmurs. She runs her hands down the planes of his chest appreciatively. "Right now, I want to see this big, strong man on his knees."

Marcus had thought it would be harder to take his place on his hands and knees. He had thought his ego might protest at the last second, that when faced with the reality of this bizarre situation he’d found himself in, he’d come to his senses and question the sanity of being, of all things, a fucking chair for a woman he’d just met. 

In reality, none of that crosses Marcus’s mind. It’s anticlimactic, when he finds himself on the floor in front of Jacqueline’s bathroom sink. He’s achingly hard for having done nothing but kiss her. He finds it’s the anticipation that’s making him so incredibly aroused–the idea that anything could happen tonight, and that he has absolutely no idea what to expect from this. ‘Furniture kink’ has never once crossed his mind as a thing anyone would do, much less him, but when Jacqueline sits in the middle of his back and reaches down to reassuringly stroke his cheek, it all feels so natural. Like it’s a normal thing he does with his partners.

“So, Agent Pike,” Jacqueline says with a playful seriousness as she goes about her routine. “What made you want to be an art detective?”

Marcus huffs a laugh. “Flunked out of art school,” he answers.

Jacqueline laughs above him. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m really not.”

“So you aren’t making it as an artist,” she says, “and that makes you think, ‘fuck it, I’m joining the FBI?’”

“Well, it was–” Marcus shakes his head, reminiscing. “It was on a bulletin board outside of the lecture hall. It was becoming clear that I was not going to make a living otherwise, and it sounded interesting.”

“Did you always like it?” Jacqueline asks quietly.

“Being in Art Crimes? Yeah,” Marcus answers truthfully. “It was everything that was missing in my life.”

Jacqueline’s breath catches. “And is anything missing now?” she asks, a knowing timbre to her voice. 

“Well,” Marcus chuckles self-deprecatingly. “Not with the job, at least.”

“Oh, honey,” she tuts, but it’s not condescending, it’s empathetic. Marcus stiffens slightly as he feels Jacqueline’s hand gently stroke his hair back from his forehead. “You’re doing so well, you know that?”

To Marcus’s humiliation, a genuine whimper falls from his lips at her quiet praise.

Jacqueline giggles softly. “You are,” she insists. Her fingers card through his hair as her hand moves down the back of his neck to rest on his shoulders. “You have wide shoulders,” she observes. 

“Yeah?” Marcus asks.

“Very,” she murmurs appreciatively. “So thick.” 

Marcus watches out of the corner of his eye as Jacqueline removes the last of her makeup. She had been beautiful with it, and she’s just as beautiful without. She picks up a bottle of lotion and puts a little dot on her finger. 

"You're doing so well," Jacqueline says again. "You're very still."

Marcus had been desperately trying not to move a muscle the entire time, wanting to do a good job, and he finds himself preening under her soft praise. His last partner had never really complimented him for simply… being him. All his life, he was always praised for what he gave to other people, so he gave and gave and gave and gave–and of course, everyone took.

When Marcus had first walked into that exhibition and discovered an as-of-yet unexplored territory, he had assumed that playing these roles would be punishing or stern–not that he'd be sitting and making comfortable conversation, almost like a date. Except he's naked, being used as a chair, and his cock has never been this hard.

“I didn’t expect it to be like… this,” Marcus says quietly, breaking the silence.

“What did you expect?” Jacqueline asks, sounding genuinely curious.

“More… serious, I guess?”

She laughs happily. “Don’t let those faux-romance novels fool you,” she says. “Kink is supposed to be fun. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“I’ve never really thought about it that way,” Marcus confesses.

“Thinking about kinky stuff a lot, are you, Agent Pike?”

It’s his turn to laugh. “I do have an office full of genitalia, at the moment.” 

Jacqueline laughs again and sets a little container full of eye cream down on the counter with finality. “There,” she says. “All done.” 

“Yeah?” Marcus perks up. That… that was it?

“Yeah,” Jacqueline repeats, stroking his hair again. “You did a good job, honey.”

Marcus hums in appreciation, but she continues.

“I’d like to give you a reward, for being so good for me,” she says. 

“Oh,” Marcus says, dumbly. 

“You’re rock hard,” Jacqueline observes wryly.

“I did notice,” he answers teasingly, matching her deadpan tone.

“Behave,” she warns, sliding off of his back and kneeling beside him. “Or you don’t get your reward.”

“Sorry,” Marcus says automatically. 

“You’re cheeky,” Jacqueline says with a smile. “I like that.”

Marcus smiles to himself but doesn’t respond again. Is it too soon to fall in love with this woman?

“I’d like you to stay exactly as you are,” Jacqueline instructs. “No moving. And I’m going to stroke this pretty cock until you cum all over my floor, right where you are. Does that sound like a nice reward?” 

“Yes,” Marcus answers immediately, not bothering to hide his desperation from her. Too soon or not, he’s gone. 

Jacqueline hums in amusement, and reaches out to grasp his weeping cock. 

“Fuck,” Marcus hisses, dropping his head between his shoulders in relief. “Oh, fuck.”

“Shh,” she soothes. “You don’t need to say anything,” she murmurs. “You don’t need to move. Just feel it, okay? Just focus on how good it feels.”

Jacqueline starts to stroke him up and down, and Marcus can only close his eyes and whimper pitifully at her touch.

“That’s it,” she encourages him. “You don’t need to do anything else. No moving, no talking, just me, touching this perfect cock until you turn inside-out for me.”

Marcus groans at her filthiness. No one has ever talked to him like this, and it’s a revelation. 

“It’s so big,” she pouts. “Next time I’m going to take advantage of that and sit on it, instead,” she promises. “What do you think about that?”

“Yes,” Marcus exhales. “Please.” 

“I wouldn’t let you cum for quite a while,” Jacqueline warns him. “I’m going easy on you tonight.”

“Fine,” Marcus says immediately. “Whatever you want.” He finds that he means it–he’s putty in her hands. Anything she’d ask, he’d do in a heartbeat.

“Ohh, I like you,” Jacqueline breathes. “Yes, you’re incredible. Cum for me, I wanna see what you look like.”

Marcus nods thickly. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Gonna–”

“Shh,” Jacqueline reminds him. “Stay still, remember? Right now, you’re mine to use.”

The statement causes everything to draw up tight. With barely any warning at all, Marcus cums with a sharp inhale, forcing himself to stay still as he spills over her knuckles, coating the floor with ropes of his spend.

"Oh, honey," Jacqueline murmurs. "That was a lot, huh? You are pent up."

Marcus laughs breathlessly. "Been–Jesus–been a rough couple of months."

"I'd like to hear about it," Jacqueline says quietly, rubbing up and down his back as he comes down. "Not tonight–but if you're interested in doing this again, I'd like you to tell me about it while we do a scene," she explains. "Honestly, it may help you let some of it go."

"Oh," Marcus exclaims softly. "I–yeah, I want that."

Jacqueline laughs quietly. "Good," she whispers. "I think you're cute, and sexy, and fun,  and I'd love to get to know you a little better."

"Same," Marcus murmurs, smiling at the absurdity of asking to get to know someone better while naked, on his knees, his cum splattered on the floor beneath him. 

As if she's reading his mind, Jacqueline says, "You know, if we'd been doing this for a little while, I'd make you lick it up for me."

Marcus's brain goes fuzzy at her words, and he lets out an obscene noise, somewhere in between a whine and a moan. The image of him licking his own cum off of her floor, combined with the prospect that she wants to do this again is causing him to short-circuit.

Jacqueline laughs at the broken sound. "Oh, you like that idea, huh? You want to clean up your mess for me?"

"Do just about anything for you right now," Marcus says with a wry grin.

"Have you ever tasted yourself?" Jacqueline asks.

Marcus shakes his head. "No."

She dips her finger in it and brings a little drop to his lips. He sucks it into his mouth, the light salt of her skin combining with the slightly bitter taste of him on his tongue. 

"We're going to put a pin in that," Jacqueline is saying, "because this is the first time you've ever been a sub, and you're probably feeling a bit vulnerable, and I don't want to go too far before you're ready." She grabs a wad of toilet paper and wipes it up before Marcus can protest. "Sit up for me, honey."

Marcus rises to his knees and is able to look, really look at Jacqueline for the first time since getting down on the floor for her. She's right–he is feeling vulnerable, although he isn't entirely comfortable showing it just yet. But her eyes are warm and kind, and her expression is open and unguarded, and he finds himself already wanting more of this. It's not just her–it's everything, everything they've done tonight, the way he was finally given permission to just slow down for a moment, to do nothing. 

"You can kiss me again," Jacqueline teases with a glint in her eye.

Marcus doesn't need to be told twice.

*

[darkwood-sleddog]

Ok, this is a very genuine question, but could you please list out and maybe go in a bit detail on what's wrong with the whole AKC, and history? I've very curious with wanting to know when such a stress on looks and bloodline came to be, especially when older breeds were simply bred for a job.

The AKC and kennel clubs as a concept are not inherently a bad thing. I think registries are a GREAT thing, we should be keeping track of pedigrees and accepting registrations imo. What’s frustrating to me is the closing of stud books (meaning no new blood can enter breeds) and an unrealistic expectation/desire for perfection/uniformity and the attitude that surrounds that.

Dogs shows and kennel clubs came to be because people wanted a way to exhibit their breeding stock and compare them, so they could plan their breedings, they sprung up around cattle showing (and we can see the similarities to these two venues today). There’s a pretty nice article HERE. 

In the modern day, many people believe that a breeding is only reputable if the dog is both health tested AND titled to Championship. It was not always like this in the past, just go look at pedigrees from the early and mid century 1900s. Championship and often Grand Champion in the US have become expectations to prove ones reputability instead of proving the actual quality of the dog. Breeders that breed non-championed dogs can be ripped into by many people, believing that the dog has not proven itself to be breeding quality (often completely ignoring that the dog may bring other things to the breeder’s program like a good temperament, working attitude, genetic diversity, structural fixes etc).

The sport of showing, or taking conformation as a sport to excel in rather than what it is supposed to be (an evaluation of breeding quality in dogs) creates a competitive atmosphere which means that people will be acquiring or breeding a dog that meets what is most likely to win. This causes extreme uniformity (it is not unrealistic to expect breeds to be uniform and represent breed type across a spectrum in the breed, but for them to look clone like is, imo, not it). This competitive nature has gradually grown and grown over the years, as is natural (humans love to compete with each other). 

In addition, the show world is very “who you know” so judges are not necessarily impartial (and this is not a new thing in dog shows, the partiality of judges has been questioned since the beginning lmao) and well known judges may put up dogs related to their own lines or what they desire, creating a specific ring look. In a desire to win (be it conscious or not), many people will breed towards a ring trend and this is how many breeds have changed dramatically or subtly over time in addition to actual improvements and disprovements in structure and health that may happen over time with breeding programs. This creates an exclusive club that truly feels outing to those not on the “in” and the exclusive group of people will push their agenda, therefore forcing those with slightly differing dogs to look elsewhere (truly some of these people can be so nasty and the rise of social media has not helped this). This means that dogs that don’t fit the now very narrow view of the breed are pushed out of show circles or into non AKC show circles, effectively reducing the gene pool (because often AKC folks will look down on non AKC clubs in the US and not intermingle their dogs). In addition, in AKC dogs can be handled by a professional handler, somebody who makes money specifically off handling dogs in the show ring, creating further exclusivity (handlers can be expensive and is also connected very much to “who you know”), competitive nature, and includes a bit more capitalism. 

The extreme uniformity in many show dogs we see today is the result of closed stud books. When a stud book is closed you can’t add ANY new genetics, this makes it very easy to breed true to type (meaning when you breed a border collie to a border collie you will get more border collies for example), but as dogs are culled from that gene pool (perhaps they don’t fit the ring trend or have a minor flaw like a white marking), the dogs become very closely related. Especially when you are in show circles many of the dogs are even MORE closely related. This causes extreme uniformity because the show only people are unwilling to take dogs into their gene pools they deem “lesser” for being a bit different, but no less of the breed than their own. Now many breeders are aware of the dwindling genetic diversity in their breeds and conscious do things to help this, however it’s not enough of them imo.

To fix some of these issues Champion and Grand Champion need to be reserved for truly exceptional dogs and I think for working breeds a working test prior to championship being attained would be appropriate and for companion breeds, a companion temperament test. Currently if a dog is campaigned for a length of time and the judges they are shown under are chosen carefully, they can champion (dogs need 15 points and 3 major wins for CH in AKC). Which is not necessarily then a mark of quality, just a mark of how much money/time the owner/breeder had to put towards the dog achieving points). A less exceptional dog may be campaigned for a long amount of time and a truly wonderful example of a breed may campaigned for a short amount of time and they will both be Champions (and unless you know what went on with that specific dog and aren’t very educated in that specific breed then how will you know the quality of Dog 1 is different than that of Dog 2 when they are given an equal stamp of quality from the show ring?) 

A more expansive grading of the dog’s quality (E for Exceptional through P for poor for example vs just points/Champion and above) would allow a greater diversity in the ring and a more nuanced explanation of what that judge/club thinks of the dog’s breeding quality (The Norsk Kennel Club has a system similar to this). Reduce entry fees. Ban professional handlers (reduction of capitalistic intent in the show ring), make Champion a mark of a truly exceptional dog, understand that not every dog is exceptional, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t breeding quality. Make health tests on parents mandatory for the registration of litters. Open stud books. Make registrations more easily to looked up/at. If a marking or coloring occurs naturally/historically within the breed it should be fine to show (I’m looking at YOU white shepherds). Would that make showing more complicated? Heck yeah. Would any of these changes be likely to happen? Heck no...the AKC is pretty stuck in their ways.

This is a really complex question, not one I’m able to answer in 100% accuracy in terms of why and how, other than....dog people are privileged. And they operate the AKC as such. I recommend looking into the literature from decades past and comparing them with prevailing attitudes now to get a better feel for how your breed of choice may have changed for better or for worse. Old breed literature and looking at how that literature evolves over time is a great insight into the ever morphing attitudes in the AKC.

[peekbackstage]

Thanks so much for sharing your perspective. I've found your posts very informative and appreciate your time and effort. I saw you mention something about XZ's team not doing a great job responding to the situation, though of course they aren't to blame for it. If you don't mind, would you share your thoughts on what a better response might have looked like, and what impact it might've had if they'd done things differently?

One of the things that stands out most to me is how unprepared XZ Studio was when dealing with a PR crisis. It seems to me like they most likely did not have a strong social media team at the time who would have been tracking any trends or conversations associated with XZ. (By the point at which 227 happened, XZ Studio had already been established for about five months.)

It is pretty standard to track your artist’s name and keep an eye on trending topics, especially to get in front any major issues. As 227 began to develop, had XZ Studio been tracking the development on social media, they could have potentially defused the situation very quickly when the big call to action first emerged from XZ fans to report a fanfic to the government. It was so out of hand, and there was no statement from either the company or the artist that it seemed as though both were complicit in allowing it to continue, which is precisely why so many antis emerged, incensed against XZ’s apparent lack of action to rein in his fans and guide them appropriately. 

Much of the backlash that occurred against XZ and his fans is because there was no initial response when the call to action first appeared - they could have essentially stopped it before it got too far and prevented AO3 and Lofter from getting banned. A simple statement from the artist and the management company to defuse everything could have potentially stopped the movement in its tracks, with the amount of influence XZ does have over his fans.

When things did go sideways, there still was no statement or even an apology from management or XZ, who was being criticized for the actions of his fans. Though it wasn’t his fault (technically), the ways in which his fans behave reflected poorly upon him as an artist and an influencer. Had he taken “responsibility” immediately and apologized, it might not have gone so far as a boycott against him that resulted in so many brands dropping him. 

What I think a better response would have looked like once 227 occurred would have been this:

1. Immediately issue a PR statement condemning the actions of the fans and take responsibility for not initially “guiding” fans properly. Apologize on behalf of the company, the fans, and the artist. Statement should also include a note that states the offending content is merely fiction and that there is no truth to the story. There is no reason to be upset over something that is not true or defamatory, as it is imaginary. (This would essentially be a coded statement denying a certain relationship to begin the process of dissociating and creating a different narrative.) 

2. Artist should issue a statement condemning the actions of the fans and apologizing as well. Call to action for any fans who might continue to act out to behave appropriately. Remind fans that fiction is not real, and to stop acting out against something that is imaginary. 

3. Meet with Weibo privately. Ask them to help with community management to ban accounts that are breaking their TOS. Do this very early on in the process. Also, invest a good deal of money to hire an entire social media management team or a company to heavily monitor Weibo and aggressively report accounts that are engaging in defamatory behavior and potentially breaking Weibo’s TOS. Take legal action against anyone who is actively breaking the law. 

4. Book an interview with a large media outlet or a well-known media personality. Allow and even encourage questions about the incident. Artist should condemn the actions of the fans who caused the incident and apologize to the public for their behavior. Artist should also say something like, “The story is fake/imaginary/fiction/not real.” (Saying something like that more or less demonstrates how dumb all of this is.) I am assuming that questions won’t be asked about AO3/Lofter being placed behind the Great Firewall due to China censorship. 

5. Dissociate from anything and everything that might allow others to continue associating the artist with the incident. In XZ’s case, that means dissociating from WYB, because he’s associated with said incident given the fact that this was all caused by a fanfic. Put a moratorium on kadians and any other potential “interactions” that would allow fans to continue to have “content” to discuss on Weibo. The point here is to change the narrative - this way antis won’t also have content they can use to criticize XZ.

6. While this is happening, call all brands and schedule meetings. Attempt to rescue the brand deals. For brands who are very unhappy, offer a contract revision to suspend the contract terms for a set amount of time (such as four months) to see if the issue blows over. (It’s better to put it on hold than it is to have to try and get a new brand deal, especially once the brand’s annual sponsorship monies have already been allocated for the year.)  

Potentially work with third party PR team to circulate rumors among XZ’s fanbase that he is losing brand deals to create urgency for a counter-campaign against antis trying to boycott XZ’s brands. If there are just as many people calling brands to support XZ as there are calling for a boycott, then it would potentially be a 50/50 toss up as to whether or not a brand deal manages to be saved. This might also lead to a surge of sales for all of XZ’s brands, which would then maybe demonstrate to the brands that XZ shouldn’t be dropped.

7. Track sentiment/feedback once all of the above has been completed. If all of the above didn’t help at all, create new action plan which might include withdrawing the artist from all activity for a set amount of time. 

So there you have it. Maybe a response like the above could have potentially ended up with a different outcome for XZ. Maybe it wouldn’t have helped at all and everything would have still been just as bad. We’ll never actually know. 

What I hope is that XZ now has a better team who can handle issues like this in the future, and that he will see a full recovery for his career this new year. If 2020 has proven anything to anyone watching, it’s that XZ’s consumer power is still massive, and that his popularity has not waned at all. The fact that he is still sweeping all the awards that require fans to vote, often winning by millions of votes, and the red sea that fans managed to put on for him during the Tencent awards are undeniable symbols of his enduring popularity.  

This kind of influence is staggeringly powerful - brands and media outlets that previously might have felt uncertain about XZ as an artist most likely will have positive sentiments towards him as a result. 

So, let’s hope that 2021 will be the best year for XZ. 

The future is full of possibilities and the sky above is endless.

Edit: @pepeyee Made it clear to me in the replies that I definitely did not clarify myself or my thoughts on all of the above well enough, so I will be writing a response to all of the above to further clarify some points so that there is no confusion about my stance here. 

[wet-towel-socrates]

Yuu Composes Themes for the Overblot Gang

Part 2: Azul, Jamil, Vil

Click here for part 1 and what my self imposed rules are.

Azul: Organization XIV

Okay this one is kind of a stretch but it's what I've got to work with. With this piece, composer!Yuu is much more focused on conveying Azul and the Tweel's aura. I personally love their dynamic, but I think Yuu still fears them and does not trust them, and so it comes out in this song. Here they lay out how it felt to walk into Azul's den for the first time, after hearing countless rumors and warnings never to go there, bc he and the Leech twins will eat them alive. It felt like they just signed over their life the moment they stepped in. The twins are watching them as they cautiously try to navigate the lounge, and no matter where or how many times they encounter Azul and the tweels, it always feels like the first time.

The actual piece is the theme for an organization of beings that cannot feel emotions, thought to be empty husks. The castle they live in is bare and everything is blinding white, and when a meeting occurs they sit in thrones that encircle and tower over you, literally. Everything about them, and by extension their theme, embodies the feeling of judgemental gazes glaring down upon you, knowing you are nothing but a small ant in their lair, yet there's something terribly wrong here that they're not telling you about. Something quite sad and somber. And I felt like the Mostro Lounge gang could relate to that. Then the bells ring at the 3:20-3:30 mark and it feels like toll of whoever unlucky enough to sign a contract with them that their time is over and they need to pay the price.

Jamil: The Road of Trials

Jamil was the only character that didn't have multiple song choices. It was this one from the start.

The name. I mean come on. Yuu would want to focus on Jamil's hidden personality as well as his day to day struggles, so they would compose this song to be lively but not in a jovial way. It's more like right off the bat he is being pulled in all different directions all at once by Kalim (like the 25 sec mark with the switch in flute, cello, and sitar[plz correct me on this]). It's all overwhelming (0:50) but he manages to keep his calm (1:00). There's still so much going on, but he holds on steady is the main theme of this piece. He has so much against him, and so much left to power through now that everyone knows how capable and untrustworthy he is. The cymbals sprinkled in the piece (0:42 and 4:01) also quite fittingly sound like rattle of a rattlesnake which gets extra points for me.

I think the change at 2:40 could represent how Yuu truly sees Jamil. There is so much more to Jamil that he's forced to hide and should someone get to see it, it would be a beautiful sight. But what really sells this track is the last 20 seconds of it: the booming drums and the crescendo of the strings feel like a omen for something harrowing, like a warning for his eventual OB. It's beautiful and also frightening, like a chill down Yuu's spine. It would be like their reminder for everyone listening that darkness sleeps within Jamil's heart.

Vil: The West Wing

I am the most iffy on this one. I thought "Possessed by Disease" by Keiichi Okabe had a perfect intro, like this festering wound that he's been scratching for years finally consumes him in envy, but it has a loop as well as vocals so I had to turn it down. As far as I'm concerned, "A Beautiful Song" IS Vil's theme and would be what Yuu would want to do, but it has lyrics and a loop so it can't count :'( Goddammit So this is what I felt fit the general vibe.

It's a film score, and I know Yuu would want Vil's to sound that way as just a little easter egg for him. As for the piece itself, Yuu would want to focus on the duality of Vil, as in this beautiful accomplished person everyone sees versus the hideous, envious feelings he keeps under wraps. I liked how classic this sounded as well, like you can tell this is a fairy tale taking place in a stone walled castle, something I can picture Vil himself inhabiting. The violins and harp within the first 1:30 both make the piece feel haunting and beautiful, and the song often goes back and forth between it.

After that when the beast in the movie makes his appearance, it starts to pick up steam and we hear violin cues (2:05 and 2:15) that Yuu could use to represent Vil's descent into seething hatred for Neige. And from there it just gets turbulent and self destructive as the Evil Queen herself. I picture between 3:20-3:30 that the cymbal and horn cues are Vil throwing things and destroying their room as they wonder what it is they're missing. What does Neige have that he doesn't?