#the save slot is going to take the most work of all the setting screens but maybe not??? i might be able to just import my old code...

[starlightshore]

Learning Spanish is still fun and exciting I'm making progress. I'm not good at spelling (let alone in english) and the new vocabulary words don't stick long. But it seems doulingo does a good job of reiterating the words over and over and I'm speaking it as I do it. Hoping everything goes well 🙏

Side note: I'm screwing up the save file bs it's still bricking my PC. Will have my coder and I look at it to see what I'm doing wrong. Either I missed a save_game() or saving onto the struct is cost heavy. I don't THINK saving a struct would do that??? It's not writing onto the file so it shouldn't be intensive. >_>

(Context: remaking my game's systems again and switching to my coder's top down engine)

Soy tambièn working on the credits screen and its looking... so cute! I took inspiration from how Shrek 2 did it's credits with the lil manuscript artwork for each section. I gotta format some arrays correctly to my liking (likely going to have to not use a 4 loop for the inside as I'm gonna do a fun spacing thing that requires hard-defined draw_set align) but I should be done with 3/4ths of the main menu screens when that spacing is done! Nice.

I've coded these setting menus like, multiple times each (2-4 times depending on which one) so I can knock these out quick lmao but augh they're a pain to redo each time. (Different save data each time so I can't just copy/paste) I also redesigned the menus and they look sliiiick

[dailypersonamodding]

Friday, March 31, 2023

In Persona 5 Royal, just before New Year's, Joker has a strange dream in Shujin Academy as he transitions into Maruki's Cognitive Reality. But how does this scene work, on a technical level? Strictly speaking, like this. Gross.

Let's go step by step and cover what exactly is going on here. In P5R, every time slot of every day is controlled by a "Scheduler" BF File. BF, otherwise known as Binary Flowscript, is a low-level bytecode scripting format created by ATLUS back in 2004 that most Persona games use. The game loads a Scheduler function based on the current timeslot, and each function is named after the timeslot it occurs on, so we can determine this takes place on Year 1, December 31st in the Late Evening.

It's important this takes place on the Late Evening instead of next morning, as the shading and coloring data of Shujin Academy at night is much more moody and appropriate. Additionally, at night, all NPCs in Shujin are despawned.

After turning off the Date UI, the game loads Event ID 485_310, a sort of precursor where Joker wakes up confused in Maruki's Office.

Afterwards, the script sets COUNT values 18 and 22. COUNT values are special integers stored in the game's save data but often come with special properties. 18 and 22 set Joker's current field model ( .GMD ) and animation set ( .GAP ). 18 parses the integer as several arguments, in this case loading c0001_117_00.GMD, while 22 loads the requested field animations in BF0001_212.GAP. c0001_117_00.GMD is his Velvet Room Prisoner attire with GAP 212 being a slow, shambling walk.

After setting many flags in the game's memory linked to specific features like disabling the main Triangle menu, the game sets COUNT 0X10 ( A.K.A 16 ) and calls Keyfree Event 651_103. While a regular Event in the game is a regular cutscene, a Keyfree Event is a sequence where you're allowed to walk around. Take for example, any chase scenes or special sequences. Keyfree events work by essentially overriding every file associated with a specific field, whether it be trigger data, npc placement, script functions, etc, and replacing it with special curated Keyfree files.

Interestingly, this Keyfree chose specifically not to include a modified INIT script, so the scene where joker glances around and assumes he needs to go home is actually performed by the normal Shujin Academy INIT script every time you load into the field. This is why COUNT 16 is set before loading the Keyfree, the Shujin Academy INIT checks this value to determine which of several Keyfree story sequences it's in to pass onto MAIN_65110100_MidnightSchool_Ready()

After setting the Place Name from Shujin Academy to ??? - ??? and redundantly setting Joker's model and animations, EVT_CA_START() applies a wavy Chromatic Aberration to the screen, making it appear hazy.

The rest of the script is dedicated to making joker walk into the hallway and setting up the Blue Butterfly you chase, which is actually an NPC!

Set along the hallways are various invisible trigger boxes that activate the function EVT_CA_BUTTON_ANIME(), a special function created mostly just for this scene that temporarily paints the screen blood red while increasing the strength of the hazy Chromatic Aberration.

This is how the Keyfree event mostly plays out! Various invisible triggers exclusive to this Keyfree are hit that tell the game to move the butterfly farther away while playing specific voicelines and at the very end the last trigger plays a normal Event showing Joker rejecting the new reality before proceeding on with Year 2, January 1st! That's all for now, see you soon!

[gillie266]

Yeein' On That 'Haw Ch. 15-- Interlude: Broadband

I had no idea what I was getting myself into. 

That was my thought as I sat in my shitty car, hand still resting on the gear shift that I had just set into park, other hand gripping the steering wheel with enough force to turn my knuckles white. I debated slamming my forehead against the wheel and just… sitting there, letting the horn wake up this entire neighborhood. But I didn’t want to be an asshole, so I remained upright. 

It was early. Early enough for the sun to be over the horizon, and early enough for the daily rush hour traffic to have made the drive to the abandoned museum a lot harder than it needed to be. In the passenger seat sat my dad’s old toolbox and a small bag filled with whatever spare parts I could find in my parents’ garage. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I knew it was going to take a while. I wasn’t super tech savvy– the most complicated thing I had ever done with a computer was install mods to Minecraft, and even that took me approximately two hours. And I guess I set the computer’s running priority to Minecraft so my shitty laptop could even run all the mods, but I don’t count that. 

After a long, well-needed pep-talk in my car that certainly made me look like a psychopath to passersby, I unlocked the doors and stepped into the chilly morning. I glanced around the area, making sure I wouldn’t be seen, then did what I did before and climbed into the museum through a first-story window. 

The area was exactly as I had left it, save for an atmosphere change as a result of the extra light in the room. I was relieved about that; I did bring a flashlight, but I wanted to avoid using it for fear of irritating any critters that nested in the dark crevices that were definitely there, but I hadn’t seen them yet. 

I cautiously climbed the creaking, dilapidated stairs to the third story, where that arcade cabinet remained where it had been for years. I took a breath to calm my nerves before approaching it.

Since plugging it in worked last time, that was what I did this time around. I knelt next to the machine and fumbled for the cord before plugging it into the wall outlet, flinching when it immediately jumped to life despite expecting it. I stood to my full height and backed up to look at the machine once more. It prompted me to insert a quarter– I did. 

When I selected ‘continue’ and scrolled all the way down, I found the save that I had discovered before, but it was different this time. Instead of there being three party members: ‘(Y/N),’ ‘Norm,’ and ‘Spunch,’ one was missing. The cowboy had vanished from the party screen. That gave me pause. Had something happened? Did I do that somehow? I shook my head. That probably wasn’t it. It might have just been an interface glitch; God knows this cabinet was probably ancient and glitched all the time. 

After ensuring that the machine was working as intended, I took another step closer to the machine and reached upward to grab either side of it near the top. It took all of my strength to tip it onto its side without dropping and breaking it, but I managed to do it. Damn, that bitch was heavy. 

With the cabinet now sideways on the floor, I pushed it slightly away from the wall so I could sit between it and the wall, allowing me to access the back of it. Once I could mess with it, I popped open my dad’s toolbox and found a screwdriver before unscrewing a panel on the back of the machine. It clattered to the ground, and I peered inside with my flashlight. I yelped in abject terror when a rat leapt out of the hole and skittered along the ground before vanishing into some crevice. I sat there, stunned for only a moment before continuing my investigation. 

Getting closer to the opening, I found small, VHS-tape-like slots with random strings of numbers and letters printed on them. With my limited computer knowledge, I assumed that was the saved data. I didn’t want to mess with that– for all I knew, it could delete (Y/N) from the machine. I didn’t think that was a good idea, so I left it alone. 

The rest of my investigation into the hardware of the arcade cabinet is kind of a blur. I remember finding the save data, the processors, and a shit ton of cords that I couldn’t fathom figuring out what each did. But other than that, the inside of the cabinet was, strangely, mostly empty. That confused me to no end. Were arcade cabinets really that simply made? Why were they so big?

Though, one thing did stand out to me. There were small boxes attached to the inner wall of the cabinet that were lit up with pale blue light. They resembled small containers, and many wires connected each of them to the motherboard. The lights emitting from the boxes had various levels of dullness, some being completely burnt out, and one still bright enough to hurt my eyes when I looked directly at it. 

Okay, I had to do something other than look at the inner works of this cabinet. But I wasn’t sure what do to. Anything I did could have potentially had adverse effects on (Y/N) if they were inside. I couldn’t believe I was doing this because of a vague idea. But I’m nothing if not committed, even if my commitments are ridiculous and unfounded. So, in a moment of impulse, I retrieved a pair of wire cutters from the toolbox and blindly reached into the machine. With a sharp intake of breath, I cut the first wire the tool made contact with. Stupid, yes, but my dumb choice didn’t seem to have any affect on the machine. When I looked inside after cutting that wire, I found that one of the brighter-lit boxes on the inner wall had dimmed just slightly. I let out a huff of relief.

“Okay…” I muttered to myself under my breath. “Cutting random wires. Good strategy, Vi, you got this.” I was obviously being sarcastic with myself. Why I did this, I’m not even sure now. 

Y’know how in, like, cheesy action movies, there’s always the bad ‘suspenseful’ scene where the super smart scientist character has to disarm a bomb? And it always comes down to the red or blue wire? And it doesn’t actually have any suspense because the character has plot armor and you know they’ll be fine? Yeah. Messing with this arcade cabinet felt like those scenes, except actually suspenseful because… well, it was real life, and I didn’t know what cutting these wires would do. But I just kept cutting them, trying to avoid cutting the wires connected to the saved data. 

It seemed I was cutting random wires for ages. Maybe it was just my short attention span, but I noticed how haphazard I had become when cutting these wires. I had been on my knees on the slightly moist carpet, arm buried in an arcade cabinet, for long enough that my muscles had begun to ache. And I was getting hungry, although I suppose that was my fault for forgetting to eat something before coming here. 

Eventually, I halted my movements with a long sigh, retracting my arm from the cabinet. I used my other hand to massage the part of my upper arm that was pressing against the opening and now had a large red welt. I stood and walked back around to the front of the cabinet to get a look at the screen. The title screen had returned to view, but the music had cut out, leaving an almost eerily silent image. Of course, I knew a demon probably wasn’t going to crawl out of the screen and murder me, but once again, I had an overactive imagination. 

Just as I was thinking about the possibility of being attacked by some supernatural creature from the machine, I heard what sounded like gentle chittering emerging from behind me. I immediately whirled around to see what I thought was a raccoon, but once I looked at it a little closer, I found that it was a badger. I drew in a mildly panicked breath. Badgers are the cutest goddamn thing ever, but they are… mean little bastards. 

Before I was even given the chance to try and shoo the damn thing away, it was leaping in my direction, coaxing a panicked sound from my lips as I took a step back to avoid its teeth. In doing so, the back of my shins hit the arcade cabinet, causing me to trip and fall over it with a gasp. My back hit the ground behind the cabinet and I found myself in an uncomfortable, awkwardly bent position with my legs kicked over the cabinet. Then I saw the badger jump over the cabinet and land practically on my face. I knew better than to let it bite me– the last thing I wanted was to explain to my parole officer that I needed treatment to prevent myself from dying of rabies. So I lifted a hand to pinch its jaws together and used my other hand to grab the animal and toss it off of me with a grunt. 

I used this opportunity to turn over and push myself to my feet, backing away from the badger, which had begun frothing at the mouth. Shit, it really did have rabies! It began stalking toward me, preparing to pounce, as if I were nothing but prey. I wanted to grab something from the toolbox to use as a weapon, since I was pretty sure there was a big enough wrench to fend off a badger, but I was already too far away from it. Not only that, but if I were to lean over to grab something, that would give the animal an opening to jump on me. That was a less-than-ideal outcome to this situation. 

I glanced over my shoulder to see the old standing lamp in the corner that once helped light the room when the building had power. I had barely clocked it earlier outside of a wayward thought about how ugly the lampshade was, but now it seemed like a half-decent weapon. I reached out, grabbed the lamp’s stalk, and swung it in front of me in a threatening manner. “Back off!” I shouted at the badger, hoping nobody could hear me yelling at seemingly nothing. Realizing my mistake, I flipped the lamp over in my hand so I could use its base as some sort of bludgeoning weapon.

The animal didn’t back off, only made a mildly terrifying noise before moving closer. Whatever, I wasn’t afraid to kill an animal, I would only cry about it for… I don’t know, hours later? I impulsively took a swing at the badger, which unsurprisingly missed and caused it to jump atop the arcade cabinet and hiss loudly at me. Once again, so it couldn’t jump at me again, I raised the lamp above my head and slammed it down in the direction of the badger. I heard a dull crashing noise before realizing that I had completely missed the badger and, instead, hit the arcade cabinet. I cursed under my breath and took one more swing, finally hitting the badger and sending it flying across the room into a wall. 

I froze, bracing the lamp over my shoulder like a baseball bat, and watched the badger as it hit the ground and fell into a heap. I waited and watched for any movement, but it seemed the animal was unconscious, or… I shook my head. I couldn’t think about that– I had created a dent in the machine, and I had no idea if that had screwed it up. Dropping the lamp and heaving a sigh of relief, I dropped to a knee to peer inside of the machine and make sure I hadn’t broken anything. 

Sure enough, I most certainly had. The dent in the exterior of the cabinet had damaged several of the odd boxes that were glowing earlier. I mumbled some admittedly nasty things under my breath and reached inside, pulling one of the broken boxes from the cabinet with relative ease. I was silently praying under my breath to whoever was listening that I hadn’t just killed (Y/N) on accident, while simultaneously thanking them for giving me the chance to figure out what exactly these boxes were. 

Now that I had the chance to look at them more closely, the boxes almost seemed… engraved. It had the standard black, plastic surface that one could expect from most hardware, but there were small, rune-like engravings carved along their edges. I traced my fingers along the edges, feeling the grooves under my fingertips, before gently probing open the supposed lid that had come loose when I… y’know, smashed the cabinet in with a lamp base. 

As soon as I opened the box, electricity ran through my fingertips, causing me to hiss and drop it onto the carpet. I suppose I should have expected that. I gingerly picked the thing back up as if it were made of glass and turned it over in my hands, peering inside. More engravings lined the inside, and I could have sworn I felt a gentle wind exiting the container. Now I was convinced that this had to be some sort of magic– wind doesn’t just… stay in containers. 

But what the hell was this thing? Did it contain, like… a soul or something? Did I just eradicate somebody’s soul? I shook my head and regretted it immediately when I felt it swim with confusion. If you had told me just a few months ago that magic was real, I… probably would have believed you, because I’m a dumbass. But a normal person wouldn’t believe you, which is my point. 

I paused. Maybe destroying this box caused something to happen in the game? I stood from my position on the floor and stepped over the machine, then used what strength I had to return it to its original upright position. I winced looking at the dent; this cabinet was probably wildly expensive. A collector would kill for something like this, and I busted it with a lamp base. Christ. 

I inserted a second quarter into the machine and began looking through all of the different menus– settings, credits, and the continue menu until I noticed something. There was one save file that seemed to be completely broken. The words were unintelligibly garbled, the avatars glitched out, and there was a ‘Save File Corrupted’ label plastered over where I would press to continue the game. I tilted my head. So it did do something. 

My gaze returned to the box, which I still held in my free hand. This was strange. So destroying these things corrupted the save files they were attached to… but they didn’t directly hold the saved data. This was confusing. But they were my best shot. 

I circled the machine and knelt back down, looking inside of the panel that I removed once again. I spotted the remaining glowing boxes and hesitantly reached back into the toolbox to retrieve a wrench. I took a steadying breath before reaching into the machine. 

[emeraldcatears]

Making a Grass Autotile (part 3)

It's time to see how the tiles look in the game.

The first thing to determine is where to put them. I made a grass tile and a dirt path that are intended to be ground autotiles so those should be put in the game as part of the A2 block - the second group of the A tab.

The full image for this needs to be 768x576 pixels in size. I'll go ahead and open a new picture for this step.

The RPG Maker assets standards page shows how this is meant to be laid out.

These can be further adjusted in the database to be designated field or area type. If I'm reading this correctly this can determine how they interact with other tiles in the A2 portion of the tileset.

If Block A is "Field" then the transparent parts of the second and fourth tiles will autofill with the first and third tiles respectively. Otherwise, these designations seem to refer to how the tiles stack on the layers when mapping with auto-layering.

I believe "Field" is outdated and changed to "World" type in the most current MZ version I have.

Since World Type seems to be used for, well, overworld maps I'll go ahead and just make this Area Type and lay the tiles out without worrying about how the transparencies fill in like I would if I used World.

In short all that is to say I'll just paste my two tiles in next to eachother in the first two slots.

They look so lonely!

The beauty of things here is that I don't need a full set of tiles to start testing how they look in-game. I just have to have the ones I've made so far and can always save over this with a larger set later.

I'll go ahead and save this as Custom A2 and put it into the project.

Simply go to wherever you've got the project you're adding a your tiles to saved and open the img folder and find the tilesets to add your own. Make sure it's a PNG file.

Then open RPG Maker and open the project you saved the new tiles into and open the Database.

From here go to the tilesets button and the available sets appear. In this case I'll create a new set rather than just adding mine into an existing one.

At the bottom of the screen I can make room for a new set by changing the maximum and increasing it as needed.

Then find where you want to put the tilesheet. In this case I want it in A2 (Ground) so I select the image from the dropdown. Instead of appearing as the full image I made it displays the two tiles as just their representative pieces (the 48x48 section in the top left of the six-tile pattern that makes an autotile).

I honestly don't need to do much else at this point since this is just about putting them into the game to see how they look, but this is also the part where things like passability and terrain tags are set. They don't matter at this stage of the learnalong, though. I could also put other tilesheets in teh A1-E slots but I'm not worried about that at the moment.

Next I go to a map (in this case MAP001) and select my custom set for the tileset.

From there I can just draw the tiles I made into patterns the way I would the default assets!

Now, that took a while. While I know part of the time came from pausing to explain each step for the sake of the learnalong and that I'll get faster with drawing tiles with practice, it is important to take time to consider how long an original tileset takes to put together.

In other words, it takes hours upon hours to make a workable set of original tiles. If that's something you find doable then this post is also an appreciation of the time and effort that goes into it! It's "simple" in theory but it takes time and making them look good is a skill honed by practice. To everyone who puts the effort in: seriously, you all rock.

If you're not the type to put your own set together there are loads of other options for both free-to-use and paid tilesets made by others. Please appreciate the work put into each and every one of them and credit them as you use them.

[bellainexile]

Playing With Dolls Mods, Group 1

I spent so much time and brain energy on this, it turned into a Tumblr. Make of that what you will.

This is a reasonably thorough comparison of IQOL vs. Fashionist vs. Tot Custom. The main features I was looking for were thrall customization, from physical appearance to outfit changing, including on crafting thralls, while also retaining ease-of-use and keeping complexity down. (Emberlight, for example, has such features, but also is rolling in a bunch of other stuff.)

The TL;DR here is: My pick is Fashionist. The shard system is nonintuitive and a little clunky, but works once you know what to do, and can technically do everything: change appearance, warpaint, clothes, whatever. And for just changing clothes, the Fashionist bench is even simpler. Put outfits on the Fashionist armor stands and choose which thrall and which outfit--or thralls, cause you can change people en masse--and go. Plus it has other useful, related features that I'll get to, and it plays (mostly) nicely with IQOL, if you'd rather have access to the advanced sliders.

Most importantly, Fashionist is the only real valid all-in-one solution. IQOL can't change crafting thrall outfits, and Tot Custom can't modify crafting thralls at all.

Okay, now to dig into things:

Fashionist

The core of Fashionist involves learning its Knowledges for its thrall bench, stands, and the mirror (which you craft in your inventory when you unlock it). These aren't overly cheap (the mirror takes silver and a fragment of power, for example). So by default, you do sort of have to 'earn' it, like everything else in the game.

You CAN change your character's appearance with the mirror (you do 'apply code' if you want to change YOUR appearance). But the mirror's main use is to create Shards. You can do anything you want in the creator with how you want a thrall to look, including swapping gender, voice, etc. Then you create a Shard (and can change the color swatch to tell them apart) and it shows up in your inventory. Add it to a thrall's inventory or a crafting bench with a thrall in it, and Use the shard. You'll go to a menu where you can select stuff you do or don't want to change. By default, everything that was still on your character when you made the shard, including your outfit, is saved to it; so uncheck what you DON'T want to carry over. (But you CAN change a thrall head-to-toe this way, by dressing up your character how you want them to look.) Sometimes I'll get some flickery graphics issues on this screen, and I don't know what ALL the options do, but it does work.

Using the Fashionist Mirror:

The Shard to modify a thrall's appearance:

The screen that appears when you use a Shard, with options to use. Click Apply to make the changes

Before and After on a crafting thrall, using ONLY the Mirror. (Equipping the desired outfit and warpaint and editing appearance with the Mirror and then creating a Shard and using it on the crafter.)

The Thrall Bench

You craft the Thrall Bench with your hammer. When you open it, you get a menu like this:

You'll have a list of all your thralls in range in the middle (and you can search/filter). On the right are all the mannequins nearby you have set up (the mannequins are part of the Fashionist Knowledges you learn and craft). You put the outfit you want on your thralls on the mannequin, go to the bench, and select the thrall(s) to dress, and then Distribute.

(Hey, short-shorts are for everybody.)

And you can still apply Dyes and whatnot. Which, in fact, brings me to some other features: Color Picker: When you go to dye stuff, you'll have a "Color Picker" button in the bottom right. It'll let you choose from a range of colors from the get-go without using dyes. Unless you wanna be anal about writing down EXACTLY what RGB combos you use, though, I'll still use Dyes. Matching is hard:

Helmet Stands:

Saddle Displays and Dyeable Saddles:

Enhanced Styling: In the inventory screen, you have Style slots on the right and multiple Warpaint slots. You can lock in a transmog without mucking with your equipment:

In this, wearing Vanir armor for actual equipment, but Black Corsair leggings and boots on the right for style. Additionally, there are warpaint slots for head, torso, and hands, for mixing and matching, and the Warpaint color picker wheel at the bottom lets you change the warpaint colors. At the bottom, Weapon Styles, it'll automatically change a matching weapon to the selected skin.

In this, Punching Daggers are equipped, but the Relic Chakram style is applied. (It does not remove the gear for the style from your inventory and I'm unsure what happens if you remove it; if you don't transmog, you may have to carry both things, or it might 'lock in'.)

The mod is configurable and the color system, styles, mirror access, etc., can be altered or turned off. In the inventory screen, the blue Fashionist button all the way to the left has the mod configs.

Now for a mod it plays fairly nicely with (and which I used during testing), IQOL:

Improved Quality of Life

IQOL has multiple features that can be toggled and modified. The UI is dead-simple: Hit shift + M to bring it up and go through the tabs.

My Appearance: As you'd imagine, the first tab lets you edit character appearance. IQOL has its own UI for this and greatly expands the available sliders and range. Under Server Settings, each individual slider can be set to limit the minimums and maximums for all the customization settings. This looks tedious, but luckily there are some built-in limitations by default... though you can still push the sliders for some very strange appearances. IQOL also allows for finer color shading; you can pick colors from a color wheel for hair and skin. It also gives you drop-down options for voices and can adjust pitch, you can choose your crimes from the game start, etc.

By default, IQOL overrides the character creation screen at the new game screen:

We'll come back to the appearance customization since that's mostly what I focused on.

My Physics allegedly modifies... breast and butt jiggle physics. I did not test.

My Settings, pictured above, has all the toggles for the non-appearance related mod aspects, like the minimap, compass, map markers, and HUD options.

Server NPC Settings I think lets you modify the "default" appearance of spawned NPCs to be further out of its normal range. You can also choose to hide certain gear slots by default on NPCs, like helmets.

Server Settings sets up permissions to do various things with the mod, including permission to modify thralls, and sets limitations on what can and can't be edited and how far.

Modifying Thralls: Besides modifying yourself, IQOL also allows for straightforward modification of thrall appearances. You press E on a thrall to open the radial menu and select the IQOL option. You can copy a thrall's appearance to yourself, copy your appearance to a thrall, and also mess with saving/loading presets. Mostly you'll probably just take the option to customize the thrall.

This just opens up the customization UI directly on the thrall in the world. It does allow you to "spotlight" the thrall to see what you're doing. But the camera is odd (you'll usually start off with your point of view buried in a wall or a butt) and you'll have to mess with Rotate/Move to be able to see your thrall, especially crafting thralls.

They will not stop animating while you edit them, by the way:

IQOL cannot change thrall clothing. In fact, if you 'remove equipment' during customization, you can't actually put it back, which is why I've got the Cook in her undies in a prior screenshot.

Luckily, it pairs well with Fashionist, with just a few caveats:

IQOL lets you customize your character outside of normal boundaries. Fashionist does not. So when you use the Fashionist Mirror with a character edited with IQOL, you'll get a warning like the above. (This won't change your character unless you Apply Code.) What it means, though, is there's an order of operations if you want IQOL customization on your thralls:

Design your thrall as close as you can with the Fashionist Mirror, make the Shard, and transmute them with it. THEN use the IQOL editor to make further changes and refinements. If you try to modify a character with the Fashionist mirror that has already been changed with IQOL, you will lose any IQOL edits that are outside the game's normal limits and have to redo them. You'll still be able to change outfits with the bench and such, though.

I do think they pair well together. IQOL allows for just a bit more of that refining 'oomph' after Fashionist, allowing for a broader range of physiques, facial features, and hair/skin tones. And some of the added features I'm sure will appeal to some. However, while the 'default' set-up has some limitations on it, it IS mostly free-for-all for the shade pickers and physique changes, and the admin settings to set limits for each slider individually made me tired just looking at it. Something to keep in mind from a server standpoint. But some people really want green skin...

Other Mods: Before getting to Tot! Custom, I'll address a few other customization mods I threw in (and can be seen in some screenshots). Fashionist and IQOL work great with the game's vanilla assets, and even better with more options to use:

Barbarian Barber: Greatly expanded hairstyle options (men and women).

Immersive Armors: Adds a Customization Kit (which requires crafting) and allows you to make Crafting Reagents to make "skins", basically, for weapons and armor. Adds a huge amount of outfit and weapon options that have little to no stats and are meant for transmogs and styling only. Aims to be lore-friendly and stay within the bounds of the Conan setting. It also gives characters additional equipment slots to allow layering with jewelry, belts, capes, etc.

I will note, though, that the extra slots seem to need to be 'coded' to go there; so, for example, modded jewelry will go in jewelry slots, but the vanilla jewelry seems to just replace your equipment.

Okay, next up:

Tot! Custom (And Friends)

Tot I had to approach differently because it is it's own little ecosystem with a suite of mods made to go with it. It requires the Sudo Exile admin panel to function, and has a number of other mods, too, but aren't necessary. It explicitly won't play with Fashionist or IQOL.

I also took this opportunity to try out some of the customization mods designed for Tot: Exiled Aesthetics, Cookie's Skinnery, and Face It. This expanded warpaint, skin tone, and default face options.

Tot Custom by default opens its menu with Shift + B. This also opens the Battlepass. I had to rebind it to be able to use the mod.

So here's the thing with Tot: It is an advanced customization powerhouse. You can edit anything about your character about as much as you want. The possibilities are endless. I suffered decision fatigue. Sometimes my brain melted. You can configure even more warpaint slots than Fashionist. You can alter how shiny your hair is and you can give it highlights or undertones or streaks. You can make your skin shiny. You can set your default 'transmog style' from the get-go, where you always have that outfit 'illusion' set no matter what you equip. You can look at thumbnail previews of stuff before you select it:

You can set three different make-up slots and layer them, alter colors with a color picker, make them more or less vibrant, change tattoo colors, have moles and freckles... and, with things like the Skinnery, you can have fantasy skins, too. Or, with the Exiled Aesthetics, you can have intricate, lore-friendly warpaints from Stygia, or Shem, and others.

I actually gave up on the character creation options way before I ran out of things to look at.

On to the thrall customization, which... took me a bit to figure out. You have to wade through the admin/role setup screen for the Tot mod in order to unlock the ability to modify thralls with the radial menu. There's a LOT of admin options. I sort of just clicked through things until I could do what I wanted and give this rando Hyborian a glow-up:

It is impressive. But I struck out on the crafting thralls. If there is a way to modify them with Tot's system, I can't find it, and if it's buried somewhere in the admin settings, I don't have the heart to dig into it, and the fact that even the mod's Help page just hands you a 30minute Youtube video speaks volumes.

I'm not opposed to trying out Tot on my own terms where I can take some time to really learn all the different settings and admin controls. But it's easily the biggest learning curve and lacks what I considered an essential feature for my current purposes, especially since it won't play with any of the mods that could make up for it.

Some more quick verdicts:

Best Ease-of-Use: IQOL

Best Thrall Customization Suite: Fashionist

Most Advanced Customization Options: Tot! Custom

That's it for now, until I have a whole other mod grouping to tackle for some specific purpose. That will hopefully not consume most of a holiday next time!

[cricutmachinemaker]

How to Access Cricut Card Mat for Maker?

Crafting customized cards can be a fun activity, but one thing which matters the most is Cricut Card Mat for Maker. This is a 2x2 cutting mat that is designed to save users time and money. This card mat has four slots that fit all the card sizes. During the card-making process, you can make four cards at once without taking any kind of tension. However, it works smoothly with different cards like Insert cards & Cutaway cards.

This card mat supports not only Cricut Maker but Cricut Explore machine also. It is a reusable mat measuring 13 in x 16.25 in (33 cm x 41 cm). Other than that, it also works with different kinds of mats such as Cutaway Card, Insert Card, and many more. To know about the mechanism of the Cricut Card Mat for Maker, check out the given article.

Supplies Needed While Using Cricut Card Mat

To make their card look top class, all the crafters must have the following supplies along with them while creating cards. You must handle all these supplies gently without getting them damaged or ruining your project. The list of supplies includes:

How Does Cricut Card Mat Work on Maker?

If you are planning to host a party and want some glittery invitation cards, then Cricut Card Mat will help you. With the help of this card mat, you will be able to get four cards of your choice in a single go. Go through the section to learn about the mat mechanism on the machine.

Insert Cards

Cutaway Cards

After learning about mechanisms, it will become easy for you to create personalized cards by yourself using your Maker machine.

Conclusion

Through this article, you must have grabbed all the primary information about the Cricut Card Mat for Maker. The mat holds the ability to create four cards at a single time. We’ve also shared some questions that might answer some of your queries.

FAQs

Question: Will I be able to write inside the card while using the card mats?

Answer: To write inside the card, you just have to fold the card inside out and insert it inside the card mat so that the inside is up to the mat. Make sure that the drawing design by you is properly oriented and positioned on the preview screen.

Question: How many types of Card sizes are available for the users?

Answer: There are five different kinds of card sizes which include: R10, R20, R30, R40 & S40. In the size chart, R stands for Rectangular, and S stands for Square.

Question: How can I select the card size which I want to cut?

Answer: The Design Space automatically changes the card size settings depending on the material you’ve chosen. However, you can also edit it manually by selecting the size from the Material Size Dropbox on the Mat preview.

Visit: Cricut.com/setup design.cricut.com/setup cricut design space setup cricut.com setup mac

Source: https://installcricut.wordpress.com/2023/04/27/how-to-access-cricut-card-mat-for-maker/

[gertlushgaming]

Retro Goal Review (Nintendo Switch OLED)

 For this Retro Goal Review, we get to play it our way. From the Hollywood pass to the hospital ball, an absolute screamer, or a simple tap-in, We ponder questions such as will your game day skills match our managerial know-how? Are we a great man manager or will we lose the dressing room? And most importantly will that new striker you’ve just signed be able to perform on a cold, wet, night in Stoke?

Retro Goal Review Pros:

- Detailed pixel art graphics. - 71MB download size. - Own in-game achievements. - Football gameplay. - Full touchscreen support for all the menus and playing the game. - Controller/Joycon support. - Four difficulties - Easy, normal, hard, and extreme. - Five save slots. - Choose which side of the screen you want to be on every game. - Optional and repayable tutorial. - Turbo mode - 1 to 5 stars. - Camera settings - far, near and dynamic. - Scanlines can be turned on and off. - Weather types - on/off. - You run and play a football club. You can choose to work your way up from the bottom or pick your team. - Full team management from buying and selling players, hiring and firing coaches, formations, and tactics. - Players earn exp and level up to earn coins and improve their ratings. - Overall team rating. - Coins are used to upgrade team facilities, and stadiums and buy players/coaches, etc. - The game plays out where you can only do limited actions like move up and down, shoot/volley/header. - It's not an arcade or Fifa-style gameplay setup. - Constant replays of plays and goals. - Fast forward/rewind and skip replays. - A huge referee avatar pops up when issuing cards, free kicks, penalties, etc. - The game flow is you take over the game at key points and the rest is simmed. - Uses the same controls and gameplay flow as Retro Bowl if you have played that. - Shots can have a guide arrow come up to help with aiming/power etc. - A lot of fun. - A refreshing take on the sport. - Highly addictive. - Your club/team has a morale rating for the players and conditions for how well you are doing. - Achievements pop up as you earn them. - A little flag will show above a player's head if they are offside. - At the end of a game, you can choose who to praise or scold which affects bonuses and rewards. - Newspaper reports will show off accomplishments. - You can have teams approach you about sales and loan players. - Optional radar at the top to show player locations. - Tackling is automatic for the most part, you just line the player up but you can press for a hard tackle. - The controls are surprisingly tight and precise. - All upgrades to facilities take time to build and are measured in games. - Full stats and breakdowns of players, the team, and other teams. - Player info can tell you about them, their star rating, and then stats on performance and their overall fitness. - Set up to do a half or full season. - Set your favorite team. - Has multiple leagues in all European and world countries. Retro Goal Review Cons: - Takes a while to get used to the controls regardless of the touchscreen or controller. - Not real names but the team names are very close. - Your teammates get in the way a fair bit, especially in the box. - When your opponent is playing you just get a text pop-up saying what's going on. - The changing of your lineup is confusing as it doesn't give feedback on the dynamics of the team or even if the player actually plays in that position. - No way to rewatch previous games. - Can't upload or share replays. - No goal celebration variety or control. - Full or half-season is the only game mode, doesn't have tournaments or one-off matches. - No online play. - Doesn't have world teams just domestic. - Cannot create your own team and kit colors. Related Post: Retro Goal: Official website. Developer: New Star Games Publisher: New Star Games Store Links - Nintendo Read the full article

[phantomrose96]

Buds After the Frost

This was supposed to be a short warm-up writing exercise yesterday and then it got... longer. Enjoy!!

...

The doors opened for Maddie Fenton with a pneumatic hiss. Pressurized nitrogen released, splitting open the vacuum seal on the door as its twin halves slid apart, slotting into the wall-mounted sleeves. The nitrogen misted out, cold and dry, air currents catching in swirls around Maddie Fenton’s lab coat. Her feet thocked against hollow metal, amplified by the coldness and the vastness of the containment room beyond.

She paused short of the specimen’s cell, mindful attention drawn to the panel of controls nested rightmost against the wall. The monitor read out stats, tracked metrics of the specimen’s heartrate and blood oxygenation and blood pressure. Dials beneath the screens offered her means of interaction, manipulating the cage’s environment without needing to tamper with it by hand. She ignored these, as she had been ignoring them the entire time, and paid mind only to the single switch which would seal shut the doors behind her.

She pressed it. Another pneumatic hiss followed, locking out the world behind her. Her breath curled, cold. She and the specimen were alone.

“No coffee this morning?” he asked.

Maddie sat down at the control panel, elbow leaning against the dashboard for support. She turned to the cage. “No. One of the interns broke the pot last night. New one should be delivered today.”

Phantom let out a huff of air. “You mean in this whole gigantic mega-hyper-futuristic government lab, there’s nothing that can stand in as a coffee pot?”

“I wouldn’t stay employed long if I tried using equipment to brew coffee.”

“Use one of the big ectoplasm beakers. Ectoplasm washes out with soap and water. Just suds it up and throw it in the coffee maker. I’m an expert about these things.”

“It’s more about protocol.”

Phantom waved her off. “’Protocol.’ Bureaucracy is standing between you and a delicious cup of ectoplasmic coffee, Dr. Fenton.”

Maddie looked forward now, taking him in. He’d hovered to the front of the cell, translucent reinforced glass separating him from the rest of the lab. Green eyes shined above a cheeky smile, a dusting of loose white hairs falling over his eyes, the rest of his bangs swept slightly to the side. His tailed flickered, his aura pulsed, his vital readings blipped out steady, normal, healthy.

“Phantom?”

“Yeah?”

Maddie paused.

“Why are you still here?”

The ghost boy let out a small guffaw. He motioned his arms around him, hands waving. “I dunno. Maybe the big ghost-proof box I’m in has something to do with it?”

“The shield is down, Phantom,” Maddie answered quietly. She set her eyes to Phantom, investigating. “…I put it down last night. It’s down now. You knew this.”

Phantom took just a moment too long to react, eyebrows arching up. “Oh, huh! Nope I didn’t notice. I mean it’s not like I’m constantly throwing myself at the barrier to electrocute myself so no I just didn’t try getting past it last night so I didn’t notice.”

“Phantom,” Maddie said again, voice measured, words stern. “You saw me crank down the dial that controls the shield.”

“Well I don’t know what all those buttons and dials do.”

“Yes you do. You’ve been observing me since day 1. You knew.”

Phantom kicked back in the air, floating a fraction back and higher. “Well maybe I thought it was a trap, I dunno. Or maybe I just like to get in your head, you know? What unpredictable thing will Phantom do next! Gotta write another 200 equations about ghost theory to figure that one out, Dr. Fenton.”

“Phantom.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you not want to leave?”

“Oh I wanna leave.”

“Then why aren’t you?”

“We’re having a conversation. That’d be rude.”

“Will you leave as soon as I exit the room?”

“Who knows?”

“Phantom.”

“Yeah?”

Maddie stood. She left her chair and the control panel behind. She walked up to the specimen cage instead. It was cubic, a skeleton of metal bar ribbings with a metal mesh that plastered the glass sides like a membrane. The top anchored to the ceiling, the bottom—raised by about a foot—anchored to a pedestal on the floor. Maddie stared through the mesh into Phantom’s eyes.

“Is there anyone who realizes you’re missing?” she asked.

Phantom chewed on the question. “Nah. Well um, trick question, actually. Probably not. Assuming I do this right, then no one has even realized I’m gone.”

“Do what ‘right’?”

“You know that thing about Clockwork I explained?”

“You said he’s the ghost that controls time and reality.”

“Yeah. SUPER powerful.”

“And you said you …were from one of those other realities.”

Phantom nodded. “Maybe I touched some things in Clockwork’s lair I wasn’t actually allowed to touch. Jury’s still out on whether I’m in trouble for that or not. I’ve been a little too ‘stuck in this reality’ to know if Clockwork is pissed. But yeah, I got um, bopped into your reality instead of mine. So technically my reality is lacking me right now, and yeah there’s people there who’d know I’m missing.”

Phantom flipped upside-down, as though laying on his back. He rested his palms beneath his head, elbows out, suspended in an invisible hammock, head tilted far back so that he still stared at Maddie. “Especially since it’s been, what, a month that I’ve been gone?”

“2 weeks.”

“What? No way. I’ve been here absolutely forever it has to have been at least a month.”

“This is day 14 of your observation, Phantom.”

Phantom blew a strand of hair out of his face. “Anyway. Two weeks is still long enough to have a search party out on my butt. But whether or not that’s happened is up to – it’s kind of a Schrodinger thing. Because here’s my strategy. Assuming Clockwork hasn’t banned me from reality-hopping forever, I can just get him to send me back to my own reality at the precise moment in time I vanished. And then bam, no one ever knows I was gone. And it makes no difference whether I do that today, or next week, or next month. So assuming you eventually let me go, then I’m all set there.”

“You say that almost like you don’t care when it happens.”

“I dunno, more like I’m just not losing sleep over it. It’s not like I have a say in the matter. You do. I don’t.”

“Is the time you spend here just meaningless, to you?”

“I wouldn’t say meaningless. I’m still aging goddammit.”

“You’re a ghost.”

“I’m complex.” Phantom flipped right-side-up again. “If I start growing facial hair, send me back. I’m gonna have some awkward questions to answer if I show up again with a ghost beard suddenly.”

“…And what if I never send you back?” Maddie asked, careful with her words. “How does your plan work if you stay here forever? If I destroy you first?”

“Um. …It doesn’t, I guess.” Phantom set a hand to his chin, thinking. “Yeah um, please don’t do that. I don’t wanna worry my whole family like that.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“What part?”

“That you have a family.”

“I mean. I think that came up in Interrogation Session #3. Consult your notes.”

“I just have a hard time believing you.”

“Because I’m a ghost?”

“Yes.”

“I’m a complex ghost.”

“I know. You keep saying that.”

“It’s true.”

Silence filtered in between them.

“…What is your family like, Phantom?”

Phantom stiffened a fraction, his eyes finding Maddie’s and shifting away. “Oh, you know, family.”

“Do they exist here too?”

“Huh?”

“You’re from another reality, at least you’re claiming you are.”

“I gotta be. The me from this reality died 6 months ago, didn’t he?”

“The you from most realities is dead, Phantom. You’re a ghost.”

“A complex ghost.”

“The you from this reality was destroyed 6 months ago.”

“Which you validated with your own sciencey equipment, right? You said so! So you know I’m not lying. Unless you think I recombobulated myself from being a protoplasmic smear on the sidewalk.” Phantom caught himself, registering the flinch in Maddie’s body. He deflated a bit, eyes averted. “S-sorry. Inconsiderate phrasing.”

“Why?” Maddie asked, tone flat, blunt.

Phantom’s eyes shifted back. “Um. Just. You know. That accident was. There were um, you know—”

“Human causalities.”

Phantom squirmed. “We don’t have to talk about that, you know? No one wants to talk about that. Okay as a ghost I guess ‘talking about how I died’ is sort of a bit more normal, but this is weird yeah, ‘talking about how an alternate-me died permanently’? That’s morbid. No one wants to talk about that.”

“Okay then. You can go back to answering my previous question.”

“Um. I forget.”

“Does your family exist in this reality?”

“Um, well who really knows, you know? I had like a grand total of 20 minutes of freedom in this reality before you captured me, so, don’t ask me like I’m any kind of expert about your reality. What’s it matter?”

“I want to know if there’s anyone in this reality who’s mourning you.”

Phantom’s face schismed with surprise. His front dropped, and the first look of genuine emotion sank into his glowing eyes. “Woah… That’s um, weirdly nice, of you, I guess. Why do you… want to know?”

Maddie said nothing.

“I. Um. I think the answer is no? So don’t um. Worry about that. If you were worried? Which is weird. I’m the enemy, aren’t I? Evil spooky ghost to be studied?”

“I’m not so sure what you are…” Maddie answered. “I heard you got destroyed trying to save them.”

“The um… the human casualties?”

“Yes.”

“I said we don’t have to talk about that.”

“Phantom.”

“What?”

“Do you know who they were?”

“The… casualties?”

“Yes.”

“Come on we’re on a different topic now.”

“Do you know who they were?”

“I don’t—how’m I supposed to know? I don’t know how I died here, you know? You think I’ve got some kind of like… parallel-universe death vision?”

“So you don’t know?”

“N-no.”

“I have a different question, then.”

“Okay, good, because I haven’t been liking these previous ones.”

“Are you staying just to keep me company?”

Phantom faltered. He looked left, then right, hand scratching at his chin. “I’m staying because I’m in a ghost-proof box.”

“It’s not ghost-proof anymore. The shields are down.”

“I feel like you’re circling around some accusation I’m not smart enough to follow. This feels like entrapment.”

“Then I’ll be more direct.”

“Oh no there is an accusation.”

“I think you do know how you were destroyed in this universe, Phantom.” Maddie took a step forward, and she let her left hand touch the glass, eyes focused on her fingers. “I think you know what happened at the Nasty Burger.”

“That’s—um—the human food… consumption… location… that the local human adolescents meet at, yes?”

Maddie looked up, and she locked Phantom with her stare. He squirmed, and he relented.

“I um…” he continued. “I—yeah—yeah, okay? I know about the Nasty Burger accident. It was supposed to happen to me too in my reality but I—Clockwork—stopped it from happening in my reality.” Phantom glanced left, right, as if staring beyond the confines of his cage. “When I first got knocked into this reality, I went to go find the Fenton portal so I could try to refind Clockwork and fix this and… Well it wasn’t there. And I tried to find some people I know and… I checked out the library in case the Fentons just lived somewhere else and. I um. I found the articles.” His eyes focused on hers again. “They all say you were the only survivor, yeah…?”

“I was sick, that day. It was just a cold. My husband Jack went without me.”

“I’m sorry…”

“It took my daughter and my son too.”

“I’m so sorry…”

“And it destroyed you.”

Phantom opened his mouth, but no words followed.

Maddie looked up.

“You knew this. You’ve known this ever since I captured you.” Maddie let her hand slide away from the glass. “Did you let me capture you?”

“Why would I let you capture me?”

“Because you feel sorry for me.”

Phantom’s eyes flickered about, unwilling to meet hers. “…Nah. Nah. I don’t—come on ‘sorry’? I’m a ghost you know? Bane of humanity! We’re enemies. You were just too skilled a hunter and you captured me.”

“And yet you won’t leave.”

Phantom lapsed silent.

“I um… I wasn’t happy to read about—to know the, the thing at the Nasty Burger happened here, okay? That’s something that I kinda didn’t want to believe existed in any reality anymore, but I guess… And if you were still alive. I was… maybe just kind of happy to see you? That you were okay. And still hunting. That was kind of, like a small relief.” Phantom glanced away, back again. “I wasn’t evil, you know. In my reality or this one. I care about what happened to the Fentons…”

“You let me capture you. …And you did it because you thought it would be a nice thing for you to do for me.”

“I Just—I thought maybe, um… I mean when you phrase it like that. I mean what else could cheer up renowned ghost hunter Maddie Fenton quite like a ghost subject to study? Me, especially? The ghost boy or public enemy #1 or whatever. I’m fun, aren’t I?”

Silently, Maddie pushed away from Phantom’s cage. She moved to the control panel, stiff movements and numb fingers. She entered the release code into the console, and unslung the key from her neck to twist into the override, and she threw down each successive lever in the row of four lining the top of the mechanisms.

The scrape of glass sliding away sounded behind her. All four walls of Phantom’s enclosure dropped away, metal mesh sliding away piece-meal. Phantom stared at her, blinking, floating in place.

“You’re free to go, Phantom.”

“I—uh—well hang on, I don’t think the Guys In White would be too happy about that. You can’t just let me—”

“Go, Phantom.”

“They could like, fire you.”

“I don’t care about this job.”

“I—come on, you still wanna study me, don’t you? Chat with me? If you feel bad maybe just get me a couch and some video games for my cage then I’ll be—”

“Phantom.”

“What?”

“Go home to your family.”

The half-hearted smile dropped from Phantom’s face.

“Come on. You can’t just evict me on such short notice. I’m not ready for Clockwork to kick my ass so soon.”

“Go home.”

“I’m not in any rush! I like talking to you. Don’t you—don’t you like talking to me too? In like a scientific way?”

Maddie lowered herself into the chair by the control panel. She leaned forward, arms pooled in her lap, eyes to the floor. “You have a family to get back to, Phantom.”

“It’s—there’s time travel shenanigans! Like I said they don’t even know I’m gone.”

“Every single day, Phantom,” Maddie looked up, eyes stern, “…I wish every single day that my own family would just come back home. I won’t do the same to you. I won’t do the same to your family.”

Phantom said nothing. A somber acceptance sunk into his eyes.

“They’re… alive, you know. In my dimension.”

Maddie dropped her head, and she blinked away the wetness in her eyes.

“I actually… in my dimension I’m kind of closer to the Fentons than I think the, the Phantom in this dimension was. It’s… complex.”

Maddie said nothing. Silence built between them.

“Jazz is um… Jazz is applying for colleges, y-you know. She got in early-acceptance to Yale but um, we all—they all—visited Columbia last month and I think that’s what she wants the most. I can see Jazz in New York City. I think she’d rock it.”

Maddie blinked again. Tears plicked into her lap.

“…Should I stop?”

“Jack… Tell me about Jack.”

“Oh. Yeah he um… big and goofy as ever. He’s got some kind of eight-armed-octogun he’s working on. I know because I was his target practice, involuntarily by the way. He keeps trying to merge “Fenton” and “octopus” together with mixed results. We—Mo-addie—you… are still trying to talk him out of ‘Fentoctopus’.”

Maddie’s ribcage shuddered, a repressed sob, a repressed laugh.

“And Danny?”

“Danny… um… Danny is...” Phantom’s shoulders fell a little bit. He looked away, and then back at Maddie. “He loves you. I know that.”

Maddie blinked, and blinked again, and her eyes wouldn’t clear.

“And are they happy?”

“They’re happy.”

“Am I happy…?”

“You’re…” Phantom’s tail bounced. “You’re happy, I think. I like to think so. I think you’re very happy. You have a great family.”

Maddie nodded.

“Now go.”

“But I still—”

Maddie reached forward, and she grabbed the ecto-gun propped against the control panel. She lifted it into her shoulder, and flicked the safety, and the charge built along the rising whine.

“Go.”

Phantom balked. He blinked. He kicked away from his wall-less cage. “Not forever. I’ll be back. You won’t be alone here forever.”

He was gone.

And Maddie was alone again.

…

Clockwork surveyed the boy in front of him whose head was bowed nearly to the floor, white bangs trailing along cobblestone, hands clasped, apologies repeated, begging case made.

Clockwork ran a hand along his beard, which unfurled, drew back, undid itself with the shifting of his form to a simple child.

“So let’s see. You have the audacity to break my rules andbeg me to meddle on your behalf in the time stream, all in the same breath? Apologies don’t usually come with additional requests for favors.”

“I know,” Danny’s head dipped lower. “You can punish me however you want for touching the restricted timelines but you have to help it, or let me help this one timeline. Please, please just send me back to the Nasty Burger incident so I can save it.”

“It’s already been saved.”

Danny faltered. He looked up.

“You died at the Nasty Burger incident that night,” Clockwork elaborated, form shifting older. “There is no you to ruin that future. That timeline is safe. It’s a very lucky timeline.”

Danny blinked. “N-no. No that’s not what I mean. Save it like you saved my timeline.”

“That did happen. You’re describing your own timeline.”

“I mean do it to THAT one.”

“You are misunderstanding timelines.”

Danny lapsed silent. Worry bled into his eyes, and Clockwork sighed.

“There is no undoing timelines, Danny. There is only forking them by meddling in the stream. All futures and pasts you witness exist, and do exist, and continue to exist,” Clockwork paused, “with the exception of realities I needed to cull, to prevent utter catastrophe.” His gaze fixed on Danny. “The futures that your evil self destroyed, I did have to cull. And culling a reality is not to be done lightly.”

Clockwork motioned with his staff. “There were a handful of surviving realities that I was able to save. That room you meddled in without my permission—they contain the realities off the main track where, for one reason or another, something else succeeded at destroying your future self. …Your own deaths, in fact. In every one of those realities, Danny, you are dead.”

“I don’t…” Danny shook his head. “So then just tell me how to save that one I was in, okay?”

“Oh, that’s easy.”

“How?”

“You don’t.”

Danny said nothing. Clockwork shifted young.

“You can let it live on in that room, or you could ask me to cull it, Danny. You could ask me to cull every reality in that room, so that the main branch, the one you’re from, is the only reality in existence. So you never have to worry about any existence where your family is unhappy. And it will be that way until you, or I, or someone else, meddles with the timestreams again, and more splits occur.”

Still, Danny said nothing. Clockwork continued.

“Sometimes, a mass culling of realities is healthy for the tree of time, like pruning a plant down to its stalk to survive an unforgiving winter, or a terrible disease. But I did that, just recently, to save all of time from the blight of your future self. It would feel cruel to snip off the first buds that have come after the frost.”

Danny lowered himself to the floor.

“Okay…”

“Okay?”

He nodded. “Okay. Just. I have a different question then.” He looked up, a young devastation wet in his eyes. “Can I still go back and visit that reality, sometimes?”

“No. I cannot give you permission to do that.”

“Please!”

Clockwork spun his staff. A portal swirled into being in the space between him and Danny. Washes of color formed patterns, shapes, objects, images. Like a mirror, it reflected Clockwork’s lair beyond its shimmering surface.

“This is a portal back into your own reality. It is set to the location and the time that you vanished. Go there, and leave through the Fenton portal, and nothing will be amiss.”

“No. No no I won’t. Clockwork you have to let me—”

“I am doing you a favor, Danny, getting you home after you caused more trouble. Do not make further demands of me.” Clockwork curled forward, old, sallow skin sagging, and he turned his back to Danny.

“You have to give me permission—”

“I am the only one who has permission to meddle in realities, Danny. This is an absolute.” Clockwork glanced over his shoulder. “And because this is an absolute, I have no reason to have a lock on the room housing those budding other realities.”

Danny blinked.

“I wonder if anyone might break my rules anyway. I wonder if anyone might be nosy, and enter that room anyway, and water the plants in that greenhouse without my permission.” Clockwork stared forward again.

“Clockwork…”

“Luckily I am the master of all time. I would be able to see this coming. And maybe plan for it. If ever such a person would come into my lair, and meddle in my timelines, and try to spread a bit of his own kindness to the realities he couldn’t quite save, I would be fully prepared to stop him.” Clockwork spoke into the green abyss beyond him. “Unless, maybe, I were to accidentally have my back turned.”

Silence trailed after Clockwork’s words. He kept his back to Danny, staring into the abyss of swirling green ether beyond.

“…Thank you,” Danny answered, quietly. “I’ll be back.”

“I imagine you will. Those realities may get lonely without you.”

When Clockwork glanced back over his shoulder, both Danny and the portal were gone.

[todoscript]

making out until your phone interrupts you two

characters: bakugou katsuki, midoriya izuku, todoroki shouto

genre: fluff, suggestive

word count: 2.8k+, 850-1000 words per character

warnings: characters are aged up, suggestive and mature content, implied sexual content, minors please beware

author’s note: how did these get as long as they did 

copyright 2021 todoscript, all rights reserved. i do not allow my creations to be published or translated anywhere else.

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

As your soft hands brush along the nape of his neck and pinch at strands of ash blond hair, you feel his larger, calloused hands run along your thighs. Your lips come back for each other, hot and needy. Bakugou bites down harshly on your bottom lip, eliciting a squeal that grants him an opening to pry his tongue into your mouth to melt with yours. You follow in the frantic rhythm he sets, barely keeping pace as your grip on the slim fabric of his black tank top wrinkles in your curled fingers. Smirking, his hand runs up the skin beneath your shirt. He finds your squirming all the more amusing the more he rubs and gropes.

“Aw c’mon, babe. No fun if you’re already turning into pudding this fuckin’ early. Show some resistance, why don’t ya?” He eggs you on, but doesn’t cease in his ministrations, and in fact, only makes it harder for you to show any kind of fight. You detach your lips from his, pouting profusely with a scrunched nose. He looks back at you, expression sly and slick, well aware of what he’s doing. Well, you’re going to be sure he doesn’t get the last laugh.

Shifting all your weight onto his upper body, you move him over to lay down on the couch. He peers at your form towering above him, curious as to how you go about turning the tables against him tonight. His palms are flat on your thighs, remaining there as you settle your hands on his shoulders to balance yourself. You move your head down so your lips can touch and Bakugou cranes his neck slightly to meet you in the middle. However, a clamor sounding from a phone on the coffee table sends a rift in the atmosphere you’ve established and the incessant chime captures both of your attention. Your eyes go wide before blinking in realization that it’s your phone that’s going off right now.

Much to Bakugou’s dismay, you begin moving off of him. You get up to reach for your ringing phone, but his hand grabbing your wrist is faster.

“Don’t you dare answer it,” Bakugou orders, failing to suppress the blunt annoyance in his tone.

“What if it’s an important call from work?”

Hearing your response, he begrudgingly lets go of your wrist, sitting back on the couch, and grumbling beneath his breath.

“Fuck, it better not take long then.”

You playfully roll your eyes at him. You take a glance at the screen before pressing the green icon and nestle your phone next to your ear.

As you converse with the person on the other line, the blond is glaring knives at the device, no doubt mentally sending curses to whichever asshole decided to interrupt the mood just when things were starting to get good. Now he’s contemplating as to why he was generous enough to let you answer the damn phone in the first place. Shoulda just chucked that thing into the next room, left to be forgotten as the two of you would’ve been occupied with much more important matters.

In retaliation with his thoughts, he abruptly pulls your body into his lap, legs on either side of his thighs, straddling him. Being so occupied with your phone call, you don’t have much opportunity to comment on his behavior. In fact, Bakugou actually doesn’t allow you any opportunity.

Without warning, he plants his mouth on your neck, proceeding to nibble and suckle with just the right amount of pressure that makes you jolt in his lap. A small squeak leaves you, the noise eluded by the other person on the line thanks to you shifting your phone away from your mouth in time. You glare at the blond, silently asking with pointed brows what the hell he thought he was doing. But Bakugou only finds amusement in your struggles.

“Go on, keep talking, princess,” he mumbles loud enough for only you to hear and you feel his lips curl against your skin. You notice his hands busying themselves, tugging at the hem of your shirt, but despite that, you can’t do anything but continue with your conversation, unless you want your caller to start suspecting you’re undergoing other… activities as you were speaking to them.

You are so gonna get it later, mister. You mentally note your promises of retribution before returning to the chat while trying to ignore Bakugou’s mischief to the best of your ability.

After powering through the next couple of minutes of exchanges—your replies hastening and voice hitching whenever Bakugou’s ministrations became impatiently persistent—you finally say your hurried goodbyes, hitting the end call button.

That acts as Bakugou’s cue to pounce on you. He swipes your phone right from your fingertips and tosses it half-hazardously on the couch, out of your reach.

“Katsuki, you—!”

The moment you open your mouth to say something in retort, your words are cut off. Bakugou’s lips slot with yours to resume your intimate lip-lock, even more intense than earlier by how he barely allows you to draw a single breath.

“Oh no you don’t. No fucker is going to interrupt us this time, I’m going to make sure of that,” is the last he says before hoisting you up from your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist, and leading you both to your bedroom.

MIDORIYA IZUKU

Entering your living room, Midoriya finds you lounging on the couch with the TV on, curled up with a blanket and watching the latest episode of a show you’ve been following. He stretches out his muscles as he approaches you, body aching at every extension of his limbs. With his groans sounding rather exasperated, you face in his direction.

“Tired?” you question as Midoriya takes a seat beside you.

“Yeah, just a bit. The villains keep getting tougher these days,” he answers, cracking his knuckles, craning his neck to relieve a particular spot that’s been bothering him. You open up the blanket to let him take refuge in your warm haven and he scoots closer to you.

As expected of being the Number One Hero, his duties to the populace only grow more challenging with each passing moment. But he knows better than to complain about the job he was so heavily entrusted to by All Might. Besides, nothing beats saving the day and putting a smile on every citizen’s face. Well, nothing… except maybe spending time with you at the end of the day.

“I’m proud of you though, Izuku. You’ve been working so hard lately,” you say sweetly as your hand goes to massage Midoriya’s neck, rubbing at just the right areas that make him relax beneath your touch. “So proud of you.”

“Y-Yeah?” Midoriya doesn’t mean to stutter, but he fights back a groan when your fingers slowly travel up to his scalp.

“Yeah…” Your voice is tenderly hushed between you two, leaning in closer, to the point where your faces are seconds from touching. With your fingers still twined in his curly green hair, you angle him ever so slightly to meet the smoldering look in your eyes. It doesn’t take much for him to mirror the expression, eyes growing equally lidded and just as desirable. Then, before you had even realized it, you both closed the distance.

Tongue and teeth immediately clash. Midoriya is quick to overpower you as you let out a giggle, being forced to lay back on the couch. With your show inevitably about to be forgotten, the green-haired male smoothly reaches for the remote on your side before pointing the off button at the TV and tossing it to the ground.

He cradles your head from behind to bring your lips impossibly closer. Your hands remain laced through unruly emerald strands, occasionally tugging at his scalp, evoking a hum that vibrates between your lips coming together again and again.

When you finally separate after a rather lengthy session of lip-locking, your breaths are ragged—faces hot. He stares down at you, transfixed by your swollen, plush lips that he wishes to dive down again for more kisses.

“God, what did I ever do to deserve you?” he asks—a rhetorical question, but you smile at it nonetheless.

“I should be asking you that, Number One Hero.” You cup his face in your hands, thumb delicately brushing against those endearing freckles of his as you’re about to pull him down again.

But, just as your eyes close, waiting for your mouths to meet, the world splits open at a blaring echo crashing upon you. You abruptly halt your movements, watching as Midoriya does the same, eyes blown wide. You both turn your heads in the direction of the sound coming from the phone next to the kitchen.

“The phone…” Midoriya murmurs, wondering who would be calling at this hour. But upon glancing over at the wall clock, you remember something. It was actually around that time you were expecting a phone call from a friend of yours anyway. It had entirely slipped your mind after being so caught up in your make-out session with him.

“Sorry, Izuku. It’s probably for me,” you inform, an apologetic smile on your face as he slowly gets off you, allowing you to cease the ringing in the distance.

Sitting up on the couch, he watches you traverse to the kitchen, his elbows resting on his thighs. He drops his head into his hands, noticing his leg hopping up and down restlessly. It’s hard to come down from his high after getting worked up like that, and with that phone call appearing out of nowhere, he’s not sure what to do with himself other than not to get too excited.

Despite that, Midoriya musters the most patience as he possibly can. I mean, the amount of times you’ve been interrupted by Midoriya’s own urgent calls coming from his agency warrants him to exercise some self-restraint, knowing how riled up you could get at times, yet still kindly letting him go about his work like the saint you are.

But after a long day of patrolling the city and defeating foes, all Midoriya desires at the moment is to drown in all the love you have to offer him and leave everything behind to think of only you and him together. He overhears your conversation due to the silence spread across your living space, making out bits and pieces but never taking the time to distinguish the topic of your discussion.

No good, he thinks. Midoriya resigns to the fact he simply can’t keep as still as he would like, already getting up from the couch to seek you out. When he finds you, you’re laughing into the phone, likely finding whatever your friend said humorous, but when he wraps his arms around you, you jerk in surprise, that same laughter replaced by a quiet squeal. You feel Midoriya’s head tuck itself in the space linking your neck and shoulder, planting a single delicate kiss on the exposed skin. He glances at you, emerald eyes gleaming in a silent plea.

You smile in reply, understanding what he wants as you hold up a finger to tell him to give you a moment. “Um, sorry, I’ll have to call you back later. There’s something I have to do right now,” you say into the phone and after exchanging farewells, dismiss the call.

Turning in his arms, you come face-to-face with the relieved look in his eye. “Baby couldn’t wait?”

He releases a sigh, smiling warily. “You know I can never wait when it comes to you.”

TODOROKI SHOUTO

Fresh and clean out of the shower, you toss your towel around your slightly damp hair as you walk into the bedroom. Todoroki is already there waiting for you, sitting on the edge of your shared futon while checking something on his phone. Upon hearing your footsteps, he glances up, and smiles as soon as your eyes find each other. He clicks his phone off and sets it to the side before beckoning you over with spread arms.

You kneel in front of him and lean into his comforting embrace. His body is just the right temperature against you that soothes the heat abiding your skin from your steamy shower. Feeling you melt into his chest, he tilts his head, pressing his nose into your hair, and notes the fragrant scent of your shampoo that harmoniously washes over his senses.

“You smell… nice,” he comments, nuzzling his nose to your neck.

Honey… and vanilla…

You giggle at the tickling sensation. “I would hope so, considering I just took a shower.” Todoroki hums at your humor, lifting his head to find your eyes. He takes a moment to pay every detail its utmost attention, from your misty hair to the warmth flushed on your cheeks as his knuckles graze over your skin. You look away from his punctilious gaze, his gray and turquoise eyes making you feel small.

That won’t do, he thinks.

Before you can even process his actions, he leans forward to capture your lips. Taken by surprise, a faint sound floats above your mouth that is quickly swallowed by him.

Again… and again… and again.

As you let yourself surrender to the fervent kisses, Todoroki maneuvers you two onto your futon, where he hovers over you, lips never once parting throughout your movements. You hum in delight when his tongue immerses itself in your mouth. The gratuitous feeling doesn’t stick for long though.

A ringing sound resonates above the futon, and your attention is immediately diverted. Your motions falter beneath him, causing you to fall off beat now that your mind has one more thing to worry about. On the other hand, Todoroki is least bit concerned over the noise, unrelentingly nibbling at your lips to try and elicit more sweetness from them. Unfortunately, his fun is cut short as you lay your hand on his chest, lightly pushing him away so he removes his mouth from you.

“Shouto... My phone.”

Todoroki glances at the phone in question before returning to your form, disheveled under him. He gives you a look of indifference. “It can wait,” he states simply, about to dive down to resume what he started, but you don’t concede so easily.

“It could be important,” you reason.

Releasing a sigh, Todoroki allows you some space to turn over on your stomach and reach out for your phone, the chiming desisting as you answer it and greet whoever decided to call you at this time of night.

The conversation you’re having flies over Todoroki’s head. The only thing on his mind right now is you finishing the call and continuing where you two left off, praying it won’t take long.

However, eventually his impatience gets the best of him. His eyes wander the room simply to return to you—laying with your upper body propped on your pillow as you hover the phone next to your ear. He peeks at the small droplet of water trailing your hair just before it falls atop the skin of your neck. He seems almost mesmerized by it as it begins its trek down your collarbones, reveling in the enticing sight despite how ordinary it must be to the common eyes. For him, it just makes things all the more difficult to sit still.

Needy and with little to do, he shifts toward you.

“Right, and I– Ah!” your sentence slips on you mid-speech as you feel something cold touch the nape of your neck.

“Y/n? Everything alright?” your caller asks, static voice laced with concern that you almost overlook when the chilling sensation on your neck returns. You turn your head and discover Todoroki bending forward to place his lips repeatedly on your neck. You can’t tell if his lips are particularly colder than usual or if you’re still a little heated from your shower. Either way, the heightened sensitivity raises goosebumps on your skin.

“I-I’m fine! I just bumped into something, is all!” you reply, though your voice pitches, feeling Todoroki’s equally cool hands graze your back under your shirt.

“Oh, please be careful! The fatigue must be catching up with you after such a long day, and I did call you at a pretty late time, huh? Tell you what, we can talk about this again tomorrow morning so you can get your rest for the night, okay?”

You are beyond grateful for the convenience bestowed to you. Though, you honestly think resting is surely the last thing on a certain someone’s mind right now.

“Right! Thank you..! Have a good night!” With that, you promptly end the call. Repositioning onto your back, you cross eyes with Todoroki, making a point at hardening your expression and seeming offended. Though the man knows it’s more so a facade than anything and that you’re not actually angry at him.

“Oh, you..!” You emphasize your words with a bump of your fist against his shoulder, albeit with minimal strength.

He chuckles at your pouty lips, leaning down for a peck before moving some hair out of your face. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” he admits, the curve of his lips bordering on a smirk and a genuine smile that you find hard to be mad at.

“Shall we resume where we left off then?”

[forthegothicheroine]

The King in Yellow, 1949

Much of this story is true.  Warnings in the tags.

When I had pneumonia in my early teens, my mother brought home an armful of VHS tapes from the library to alleviate my misery.  Knowing my snobbish preferences, she had grabbed copies of whatever she found in black and white.  I remember something musical that I suspect was Busby Berkeley, I remember Mildred Pierce (a bad choice, as it turned out- the plot includes a young girl dying of pneumonia), and I remember a period piece called The King.  I faded in and out of consciousness while I watched it, but it soothed me while I was awake and filled my fever dreams with sparkling images.  I could never find it at the library again, nor at Hollywood Video or even early Netflix (once my father got the subscription service where you could order practically every DVD.)  It was a bit odd that it seemed to be so obscure, given that it starred old Hollywood legend Ingrid Bergman (and, although I initially forgot it, Marlene Dietrich.)  But even big stars make films that fall by the wayside in public memory, and it seemed that this was one of them.  Google was no help, and at the time that was that.

I didn’t see the film again until I was watching Turner Classic Movies at my grandparents’ house.  I loved watching that channel with them while filling out the crossword puzzle that came in their little TCM catalogue (all of it based on movie trivia, the only kind of crossword puzzle I’ve ever been any good at.)  I recognized a certain scene where Bergman stood on a balcony, looking sadly at the moon.  Her face had an expression of unutterable melancholy, and the crescent moon reflected in each of her eyes, giving the impression of two moons in one sky.  I had very little time to catch up on what I’d missed before we had to go meet my cousins at the local Italian restaurant.  I knew logically that the movie would be long over by the time we returned, but I turned on the channel anyway.  Of course it had moved on to the lesser known Alfred Hitchcock film Stage Fright, but then I heard Marlene Dietrich sing before I could reach the remote to turn the tv off in disappointment.  I knew that I had heard her sing before, and I knew it had been in The King.

Dietrich’s singing often comes across as somewhat campy today, with its Rs pronounced as Ws and it’s up-and-down tone.  Madeline Kahn parodied it brilliantly in Blazing Saddles, such that it was a bit of a disappointment when I finally saw Dietrich’s western Destry Rides Again and found it to be lifeless and inconsistent next to the parody.  Still, we remember her voice for a reason, and when I remembered it that night, I knew that its sardonic loneliness had rung through The King and made me shiver in my dreams.

The TCM schedule didn’t list The King in its time slot, but something else.  If I had taken down the name, maybe it would have helped me find it.  Sometimes the same movie runs under multiple names.

I didn’t see the film all the way through for many years, after I graduated college.  I had found a web page that listed public domain film noir, including one called The Masked Guest.  The website described it as a costume noir, and I curiously clicked on the link.  Once I took in the credits running on the youtube window, my eyes grew wide and I did not move from my place on the bed until the movie had run its course.

The credits did indeed list it as The Masked Guest, but I recognized the strange repeating design on the title cards.  They told me that in addition to starring Dietrich and Bergman, it was directed by Fritz Lang, and a character called The King was credited to “???”  (I hadn’t seen that kind of credit since the first Karloff Frankenstein.)  When the King finally appears on screen, though, it is unmistakably Orson Welles’s voice that booms out from behind his elaborate costume.

Here are the things I understand about The King, or The Masked Guest, or The Man in Yellow, or any other title I’ve found for it on public domain archive searches.  Dietrich and Bergman play princesses named Cassilda and Camilla, respectively.  Though Dietrich’s accent is German and Bergman’s is Swedish, they blend together to give the film the impression of being set somewhere on the map that I can’t quite find.  The scenery and camera angles are very Freudian, with a great deal of archways and pillars.

The first act of The King involves frankly dull romantic plotlines, and the only thing that really saved it was the feeling that the suitors were supposed to be insipid, a suspicion lended credence by the fact that the love interests were listed so low on the credits.  Dietrich is the scandalous sister and Bergman is the responsible one, though each takes on aspects of the other as the film goes on.  Dietrich sings her song at a party, dressed in a fake 17th century gown and leaning against a piano.  Although just a moment ago she had been laughing and joking with her gentleman friends, her song takes an abruptly serious tone (not seductive, not sentimental) as she tells the story of a city lost to time and memory.  Bergman slips away from the party and onto the balcony, where we see that wonderful shot of the moon in her eyes.  Is she mourning?  Is she longing?

Dietrich cuts off the song by abruptly screaming “Not on us, King!  Not on us!”  She flees the party weeping and shaking, and from there on the film goes mad.

Though uncommon, it is not unknown for movies to switch between black and white and color, done most famously in The Wizard of Oz.  The film The King recalls here is the silent Phantom of the Opera, which had a masqued ball scene tinted in shades of red and green that tried to provide a whole spectrum of color.  The effect is even odder in the masqued ball scene in The King- the only color that appears is yellow, highlighting things like candlelight, Dietrich’s hair, a passing gown, a vase of tulips.  It also highlights one particular masked figure, whose expressionless mask was decorated with a black pattern against a sickening yellow canvas- the same pattern I had seen in the opening credits.  The color of his costume causes him to stand out from the crown even when he is far off in the background, just one head among many others.  It must have taken long and painstaking hours of work to color in every frame.

Dietrich still seems broken up days after her song, though Bergman tries to coax her into joining the dance.  Finally, at midnight, Dietrich goes out to face the party, but only to demand that every guest remove their mask.  The yellow man with a voice that once warned America about a Martian invasion tells her that he wears no mask.  Bergman reacts with disbelief, but Dietrich starts laughing like a woman unhinged.  As she laughs, the yellow hue seeps out of the King’s clothing and face- if that really is his face- and begins to color the entire ballroom crowd.  I think that what follows is bloodshed, but if there is any carnage (doubtful under the Production Code censorship), the blood must be tainted yellow and splashed across the camera like daubs of paint.  Dietrich’s laughing face is doubled and tripled on screen until it dissipates, but even when it has faded offscreen, it feels as if her ghost continues to watch the proceedings.  

By the end of the scene (filled with German Expressionist camera angles and mad violin screeching), only Bergman remains alive, cowering behind a grandfather clock.  It does not hide her for long.  The King steps towards her and extends his hand.  Reluctantly, but with a fatalistic expression, Bergman takes his hand.  They walk away together hand in hand.  The screen shifts back into black and white, and then the credits roll before we can get a good look at all the bodies in the scene.  The credits say it was based on a play called The King in Yellow, although Raymond Chandler of all people apparently had a hand in the screenplay.

As I said, that’s what I think I understand.  It’s an oddly experimental art film for the era, and it may be awaiting rediscovery by the film festival crowd.  I feel as if I alone know about it, though that obviously isn’t true.  It is my little secret; I tell myself that my husband doesn’t need me to show it to him, it would be too odd for his taste.  I’ve rewatched it many times, even if it seems like each time I search for it I have to find a different video platform or torrent.  Naturally, no subscription site has it available.  Maybe I am the last person who will ever watch it.  Maybe no one will ever think to look for it again after me, and it will be completely forgotten.

When I was hospitalized, they let me use my laptop at night before I went to sleep (no power cord, though, in case I tried to hang myself.)  I found a youtube link for The Man in Yellow, and I watched it every night.  It wasn’t a soothing sort of movie, but having it in my mind all day and then watching it in the evening allowed me to think as opposed to crying endlessly while the other patients shot me awkward looks.  I clutched the childhood stuffed animals my mother brought me when she visited, and I always held them extra tight when the masquerade scene started.

I watched the movie when I had to move away from my beloved San Francisco.  I watched the movie when I lost the last of my grandparents.  I watched the movie when a doctor unwisely took me off my medication and I couldn’t manage to eat for a month.  I watched the movie when the whole world got sick and we all locked ourselves away from each other.  I don’t mind that I don’t entirely know what it means.  I don’t mind the nightmares.  In the hospital they kept telling us about mindfulness exercises, and maybe the fact that I can focus on every aspect of the film so closely that all else falls away is the reason I keep coming back to it.  I’m being mindful.  I’m not letting any stray thoughts invade my head.  I’m just watching and waiting for the next beat of every scene, leading inexorably to that yellow-stained bloodbath.

Streaming media doesn’t last forever, and each time I find The King, I worry that it will be the last time I ever can find it.  My efforts to download it have so far been unsuccessful, odd considering that it is in the public domain.

When I watch The King, I am once again a child in my bedroom being cared for in the throes of agonizing sickness.  I am once again sitting on the couch with my grandparents in front of the tv, both of them alive and lucid again.  I am once again in the hospital, all alone except for my stuffed animals and the staff trying to keep me alive.  The film reflects in my eyes like the crescent moon in Ingrid Bergman’s gaze.  It sings to me.

I am determined to find a way to obtain The King under any name so that I never have to worry about losing it.  During some of the worst times in my life, it is the only thing that has kept me sane.

[fybillielourd]

I grew up with three parents: a mom, a dad and Princess Leia. I guess Princess Leia was kind of like my stepmom–technically family, but deep down I didn’t really like her. She literally and metaphorically lived on a planet I had never been to. When Leia was around, there wasn’t as much room for my mom–for Carrie. As a child, I couldn’t understand why people loved Leia as much as they did. I didn’t want to watch her movie, I didn’t want to dress up like her, I didn’t even want to talk about her. I just wanted my mom–the one who lived on Earth, not Tatooine. I didn’t watch Star Wars until I was about 6 years old. (And I technically didn’t finish it until I was 9 or 10. I’m sorry! Don’t judge me!) My mom used to love to tell people that every time she tried to put it on, I would cover my ears and yell, “It’s too loud, Mommy! Turn it off!”–or fearfully question, “Is that lady in the TV you?” It wasn’t until middle school that I finally decided to watch it of my own accord–not because I suddenly developed a keen interest in ’70s sci-fi, but because boys started coming up to me and saying they fantasized about my mom. My mom? The lady who wore glitter makeup like it was lotion and didn’t wear a bra to support her much-support-needed DD/F’s? They couldn’t be talking about her! I had to investigate who this person was they were talking about. So I went home and watched the movie I had forever considered too loud and finally figured out what all the fuss was about the lady in the TV. I’d wanted to hate it so I could tell her how lame she was. Like any kid, I didn’t want my mom to be “hot” or “cool”–she was my mom. I was supposed to be the “cool,” “hot” one–not her! But staring at the screen that day, I realized no one is, or ever will be, as hot or as cool as Princess F-cking Leia. (Excuse my language. She’s just that cool!) Later that year, I went to Comic-Con with my mom. It was the first time I realized how widespread and deep people’s love for Leia was, even after so many years. It was surreal: people of all ages from all over the world were dressed up like my mom, the lady who sang me to sleep at night and held me when I was scared. Watching the amount of joy it brought to people when she hugged them or threw glitter in their faces was incredible to witness. People waited in line for hours just to meet her. People had tattoos of her. People named their children after her. People had stories of how Leia saved their lives. It was a side of my mom I had never seen before. And it was magical. I realized then that Leia is more than just a character. She’s a feeling. She is strength. She is grace. She is wit. She is femininity at its finest. She knows what she wants, and she gets it. She doesn’t need anyone to defend her, because she defends herself. And no one could have played her like my mother. Princess Leia is Carrie Fisher. Carrie Fisher is Princess Leia. The two go hand in hand. When I graduated from college, like most folks, I was trying to figure out what the hell to do with my life. I went to school planning to throw music festivals, but always had this little sliver of me that wanted to do what my parents pushed me so hard not to do–act. I was embarrassed to admit I was even slightly interested. So when my mom called me and told me they wanted me to come in to audition for Star Wars, I pretended it wasn’t a big deal–I even laughed at the concept–but inside I couldn’t think of anything that would make me happier. A couple weeks later I went in for my audition. I probably had never been more nervous in my life. I was terrified and most likely made a fool of myself, but I kind of had a great time doing it. I assumed they would never call me, but after that audition, I realized I wanted to give the whole acting thing a shot. I was definitely afraid, but as a wise woman once said, “Stay afraid, but do it anyway … The confidence will follow.” About a month later, they somehow ended up calling. And there I was, on my way to be in motherf-cking Star Wars. Whoa. Growing up, my parents treated film sets like a house full of people with the flu: they kept me away from them at all costs. So on that fateful first day driving up to Pinewood, I was like a doe-eyed child. I couldn’t tell my mom, but little sassy, sarcastic, postcollege me felt like a giddy, grateful middle schooler showing up to a fancy new school. On that first day, my mom and I sat next to each other in the hair and makeup trailer. (Actually, she wasn’t really one for sitting, so she paced up and down and around me, occasionally reapplying her already overapplied glitter makeup and feeding Gary, her French bulldog.) Between glitterings, the hairstylist crafted what was to become General Leia’s hairstyle, then it was on to me: little Lieutenant Connix. Funnily enough, my mom had more to say about my hairstyle than her own. Even though she complained for years about how the iconic Leia buns “further widened my already wide face,” she desperately wanted me to carry on the face-widening family tradition! Some people carry on their family name, some people carry on holiday traditions–I was going to carry on the family hairstyle. So after we tested a few other space-appropriate hairstyles, we decided to embrace the weird galactic nepotism of it all and went with the mini–Leia buns. She stood in the mirror behind me and smiled like we had gotten matching tattoos. Our secret-handshake hairstyle. On the first day of this thing I could now call “work,” I walked into the Resistance Base set for rehearsal and J.J. Abrams, the director, told me where to stand and what to do–basically just press some pretty real-looking fake buttons. But I have to say, just pressing those buttons and observing the rest of the scene was one of the most fun things I had ever done. I had no lines in the scene, but my mom kept checking on me like I was delivering a Shakespearean monologue. “Are you O.K.?” she asked. “Do you need anything?” I scoffed at her maternal questions like a child embarrassed by her mother yelling goodbye too loud in a carpool line: “Mommy, go away! I’m fine. Focus on you, not me!” In the moment, I was humiliated that my mom was moming me on my first day of work, on the Star Wars set, of all places. But now I realize she was just being protective. Sets are extremely intimidating–I was too green at the time to know that–and she assumed I would be scared as hell. But weirdly, I wasn’t. At risk of sounding insane, something about this bizarre new world made me feel right at home. I had found a place with an empty puzzle slot that perfectly matched my weird-shaped puzzle piece. That night, on the long London-traffic-filled ride back from set, she turned to me and smiled. “Bits,” she said. “You know, most people aren’t as comfortable on sets as you were today. Especially on the f-cking Star Wars set, of all places!” (Excuse my language, but that was her language.) “This might be something you should think about doing.” At first I laughed, assuming she was kidding. But she continued to look me straight in the eye with no inkling of irony in sight. My mom was telling me I should act–my mom? The lady who spent my entire life convincing me acting was the last thing I should do? It couldn’t be true. But it was. I haven’t had many moments like this in my life–those aha moments everyone talks about. This was my first real one. My mom wanted me to be an actress. That was when I realized I had to give it a shot. She used to sarcastically quip that she knew all along what a massive hit Star Wars would be. As with most things, she was kidding. She was absolutely and totally beyond shocked by the massive global phenomenon that was the first Star Wars trilogy. It changed her life forever. Then, when it happened again almost 40 years later, she was even more absolutely and totally beyond shocked. It changed her life yet again. But that time, it changed my life too. I thought getting to make one Star Wars movie with her was a once-in-a-lifetime thing; then they asked me to come do the next movie and I got to do my once-in-a-lifetime twice. On our second movie together, I really tried to take a step back and appreciate what I was doing. I couldn’t tell her because she’d think I was lame, but getting to watch her be Leia this time made me feel like the proud mom. Watching the original Star Wars movies as a kid in my mom’s bed, I never imagined the lady in the TV would get older and get back in the TV. And I definitely never imagined we would end up in the TV together. But that’s where we ended up. Two little ladies in the TV together–Leia and little Lieutenant Connix. We wrapped The Last Jedi a little less than six months before she died. I went back to L.A. to film the show I was on, and she stayed in London to film the show she was on. One of the last times we spoke on the phone, she talked about how excited she was that the next movie in the trilogy was going to be Leia’s movie. Her movie. She used to say that in the original movies, she got to be “the only girl in an all-boys fantasy.” But with each new Star Wars movie, the all-boys fantasy started to become a boys-and-girls fantasy. She was no longer a part of a fantasy, but the fantasy herself. Leia was not just a sidekick one of the male leads had on his arm, or a damsel in distress. She was the hero herself. The princess became the general. My mom died on Dec. 27, 2016. Two days after Christmas, four days before New Year’s and about a year before she was supposed to appear in her final Star Wars film. Losing my mom is the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. I lost my best friend. My little lady in the TV. My Momby. And I inherited this weird, intimidating thing called her legacy. Suddenly I was in charge of what would come of her books, her movies and a bunch of other overwhelming things. I was now the keeper of Leia. About a year later, J.J. called me into his office to talk about the plans for Leia. We both agreed she was too important to be written off in the classic Star Wars introductory scroll. This last movie was supposed to be Leia’s movie, and we wanted it to remain that, as much as possible. What I hadn’t known–and what J.J. told me that day –was that there was footage of my mom that they had collected over the years that hadn’t made it into the movies, footage that J.J. told me would be enough to write an entire movie around. It was like she had left us a gift that would allow Leia’s story to be completed. I was speechless. (Anyone who knows me knows that doesn’t happen very often.) J.J. asked me if I would want to come back as Lieutenant Connix. I knew it would be one of the most painful, difficult things I would ever do, but I said yes for her–for my mom. For Leia. For everyone Leia means so much to. For everyone Leia gives strength to. For my future kids, so someday they’ll have one more movie to watch that Mommy and Grandma were in together. So they can ask me about the lady–now ladies–in the TV and tell me to turn it down because it’s too loud. I grew up with three parents: a mom, a dad and Princess Leia. Initially, Princess Leia was kind of like my stepmom. Now she’s my guardian angel. And I’m her keeper.

[dragon-kazansky]

Dangerous | Helmut Zemo

AU! Race car driver Zemo 😎

Gender neutral reader

Collage by @realremyd

[Masterlist]

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Part 6

The eve of race day. You had woken up early as planned. Zemo would be here soon to pick you up. You had packed a little case for the weekend, but you had spent the entire in nervous excitement.

You would be staying with Zemo. At his place. Just the two of you.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket.

Zemo: I'm outside.

You grab your bag and head outside, locking up behind you. Not at all surprised to find another car of his waiting for you. He was leaning against the hood of the car.

You smile as you approach him.

"Miss me?" You asked, teasing him.

"Every day since I left."

You laugh softly, but you could tell he meant his reply. Your poor heart was going crazy.

Zemo takes your bag and puts it safely in the car. You climb in while he does. Once he's in, you settle for the long drive down to the track. The radio plays quietly in the background.

"You can sleep if you like, I promise there won't be any speed racing along the way," he chuckles.

You smile as you get as comfortable as you can in a car. "I think I'll do that, an hour or so."

You're didn't even make an hour before you woke up, but a lot of distance had been covered. Zemo smiles at you as you shift in your seat, waking up fully.

"Coffee?"

You glance down to see two take out cups, steam still rising from them, slotted between you in cup holders. You smile as you take one.

"Thanks. You stopped for coffee?"

"The least I could do for coming to get you so early," he smiles sweetly. "I can pull over at the next stop if you're hungry, but we won't be on the road for too much longer now."

"I'll wait then. Thanks." You open the cup and inhale that delicious scent. A beautiful way to wake up.

Conversation is kept causal for the rest if the trip. Soon Zemo pulls up at a nice house. He wasn't kidding when he said it was bigger than your little apartment.

You climb out of the car and look up at it.

"This is nice."

"Thank you. It's just one of my houses." He comes to stand beside you. You eye him in slight suspicion.

"One of your houses? How many houses do you have?"

"Several. Most of them in Europe."

You continue to look at him with suspicion.

"I figured you had money because of all the cars, but I'm thinking there's more to it than that."

He gives a cheeky grin as he walks up to the front door.

"Perhaps."

Who is this man?

You follow him to the door and then enter as he opens it for you. The inside is super nice. Doesn't exactly looked lived in, but you can tell it's his place.

"Now this suits you," you say, looking around the room.

"Does it? You fit in quite nicely too."

You smile as you make yourself comfortable. Zemo drops your bag by the door and comes over to sit with you.

"I have something I want to ask you. I don't need an answer right away, but I want to ask you now."

"Why is it?" You turn tour body so you're giving him your full attention.

"I have been debating this for days, but what you say if I asked you to work for me?"

Your gaze flickers between his eyes, your brain trying to catch up with what he just said. Work for him? Like... work for him? What would you even do?

"You do realise I'm no mechanic. I make coffee for a living."

"I'm aware."

"What can I possibly do for you?"

"Assist me? Manage me?" He sat their smirking at you.

"Manage you? I don't know what in doing most of the time, and you want me to manage you? Don't you have a manager?"

"Myself."

"You can do that?"

"I can," he chuckles. "If you worked with me, you could be at every race. I would get to see you every day."

"You are honest to God serious?"

"I am."

You gaze down at your lap in thought. He was actually offering you a job. You would have so much to look up before hand, but what if you took it?

You look up to see him looking at you.

"I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask for," he says, smiling. He gets up and heads into the kitchen to make you breakfast.

You're already pulling out your phone, researching what you may need to help him.

It would be pretty cool to tell people you were the manager of Helmut Zemo. Certainly more exciting than the barista who makes nice coffee.

You eat, Zemo shows you the room he had made up for you, and then you both head out to see the car. You spend all day watching him go up and down the airstrip, beating his own record.

He was ready for tomorrow.

Race day. You're both up early. Zemo talks you through the day and what he has prepared for you. You're on the list for his crew, so you'll have access to the areas he team do. You still get to watch from his stand.

Of course, you arrived together. He parks up and you walk into the stadium. You're keeping your eye out. Zemo knows what for.

It's not until you're outside waiting for Zemo to change when you see them. Stark has arrived, in his gear, your friend under his arm as they wave at the crowds. All cameras on them.

He did it. He made it public.

Your friend was smiling away and waving at people, kissing his jaw and placing her hand on his chest.

Despite the display, it didn't seem real to you. She couldn't see it, but you could.

A hand is placed in your shoulder. You look up to see Zemo standing beside you. His eyes are on you, but you know he saw them.

"She may not forgive me, but I will not forgive him for breaking her heart when the time comes."

Zemo says nothing and nods once.

You turn your eyes away from the 'happy couple' and look at the car. It looked all shiny and new.

"You've got this today," you say, turning to smile at him.

"I know," he replies with a cocky smile.

You find yourself teaching for his hand and smiling softly at him. His fingers curl around yours.

"I'll be right here when you cross that finish line," you tell him.

"And then drinks."

"Ah yes, our date. How can I forget?"

"I have one more request before I go out there."

"Oh?"

Zemo brings you entwined hands to his lips and kisses yours softly.

"Call me Helmut. I want to hear you say my name at least once."

You smile.

"Alright. Then, this is for you, Helmut." You lean in and press a firm kiss to his cheek, caressing the other one with your free hand.

He smiles.

The way you say his name sets alight all those feelings be bad been trying to contain.

You pull away.

"You better go."

You can hear the racers being called to the starting line. He squeezes your hand and reluctantly lets go. You pick up his helmet and give it to him. Once it's on, he climbs into the car and you watch as he follows the other drivers. You quickly climb over the barricade to the stands and watch from up there, wanting to see his car for as long as you could.

You hadn't noticed the way your friend had been looking at you from across the way.

You stand on edge. You had this really good gut feeling in your stomach. Something was telling you this was going to be the day.

The lights change. The engines rev. You close your eyes to listen to the sound. It's the greatest sound in the world. The flag waves, tyres spin. They're off.

You don't even realise you're holding your breath.

The cars are out of sight so quickly, you then your gaze to the screen. Right there in front of you is Stark and Zemo.

They move in perfect sync around the track, not once colliding with the other. It's almost as if they're playing a careful game. Your poor lip will be so sore from your nervous nibbles.

Stark takes the lead for quite some time, but Zemo is right there behind him.

"Please. Please." You're whispering to yourself. You have fingers crossed, you're unable to stand still as you watch, you're pleading with whoever is listening.

The last leg of the race is approaching.

The standard across from you cheer loudly. That's Stark's lot.

You're beginning to doubt that feeling you had.

It all happens so quickly.

Just as you blink, that purple beauty of a car pulls ahead. It's as if it had been saving it's energy for the last hurdle. You gasp sharply as he pulls so far ahead, even Stark is confused. You're not sure if you dreamt it or it as that car speeds across the finish line.

You can't contain how happy you are. You run from the stands, jump the barricade and run as fast as your feet will take you. By the time you get down to the arena, all cars have crossed the line. No casualties on this day.

Zemo is out of his car, helmet taken from him by one of the others. He sees you coming and opens his arms. You're off your feet as soon as your arms around him. He's laughing in your ear.

"You did it! You did it!" You're laughing, smiling, cheering.

He puts you down, but he doesn't let go. You hold onto him tightly. People gather to take photos or to try and interview him, but neither of you care.

You pull back enough to look at him.

He kisses you.

Right there in front of everyone. Cameras are flashing, people are shouting his name.

No one else matters.

You smile against his lips.

You only let go when you have to. He gets taken off for his award, but you're not far behind. You're so proud of him.

Stark looks at him from the second place podium. Your friend on the other side from where you stand.

She doesn't look happy.

Once the formalities are over, Zemo returns to you and puts his arm around your shoudler. You're both smiling like fools as you walk back.

He beat Stark. He did it.

And he kissed you!

You're over the moon. This could honestly be pinned as the best day of your life.

It's not until you're out of sight from the press when he pins you up against the wall and claims your lips again. You melt against him, letting him kiss you over and over.

Neither of you were even bothered about the race anymore. He just wanted you.

You part, but only slightly.

"Zemo-"

"No."

"Helmut," you chuckle, "I'm accepting the job offer."

"That didn't take much convincing," he teases.

You roll your eyes and pull him back to you, kissing him again.

Meanwhile, in Stark's locker, your friend was going crazy. She was looking at her phone which was blowing up with images of you and Zemo kissing.

Today was suppose to be the day she could proudly go public about her and Stark, but even that had been stolen from them.

Tony looked at her from across the room.

"Let me tell you something interesting," he said, not all sounding affected by his loss today.

She goes over to hear what he has to say.

@ajeff855 @moonstuffsteve @sky-writes-stuff @lieutenantn @lostghostgirl94 @friday18eo @yaskna @my-blood-is-maple-syrup @gingerwriter97 @lunamooney2406 @wilder-fangirl @nectav @whovianayesha @thesuitkovian @cathrin2405 @deathtothepatriarchy @belle82devart @dxrksxul06 @killeromanoff @alex-the-nb @latenightartist-author @hb8301 @goddessofmischief03 @xxidontwikeitxx @themeanestlittlewitch @scuttle-buttle

[shinygoldstar]

DannyMay2021 Day 6: Core

Word count: 1073 (not beta'd)

Edit: AO3 added

“Jack? I think it's trying to trick us.”

.

They have been trying to get the device working since morning. The kids had already left for school when they finished the last few touches on the Fenton Core Detector. Theoretically it should take them to the source of the target ghost's anchor on Earth. And by disrupting the source, the core of the ghost’s existence, the ghost should dissipate without an anchor to hold them on Earth. They've saved the last sample they have of Phantom just for this purpose.

“Aand we're ready!” Jack proclaimed, brandishing the latest invention proudly.

“Here let's get it set up.” Maddie carefully inserted the glass slide with Phantom's preserved ectoplasm into the side slot. The screen blinked a few times then lit up green. It's ready.

.

They've been tracking the anchor all day. As easy as it seemed at first, it got confusing real fast. The screen's arrow took a couple of minutes to calibrate, spinning around a few times before it settling on a direction. They set off easily enough, the direction seems to be headed towards Casper High. The place is well noted for frequent Phantom sightings, suggesting that the ghost might have formed some form of attachment there while alive, it was one of the more likely locations to host Phantom’s anchor. But then things took a strange turn. Every once in a while, the arrow on the screen would waver as if in hesitation, sharply pointing out towards the direction where they came from before flipping just as quickly back towards the school. The first few times this happened it had led them on a merry chase, wasting time backtracking to follow a false lead before turning back towards the school. It had also almost gotten them to backtrack the RV into the park’s lake. They decided to ignore the arrow when it flipped again for the fourth time and drove straight towards the school. But by the time they got there, the arrow has changed direction. It seemed whatever might've been at the school is gone. Which led to the current situation.

‘Did we somehow tip it off that we're tracking it down it's anchor?’ Maddie wondered, rotating the device to check for flaws in the design. The arrow flipped again and pointed straight at her.  “Jack? I think it's trying to trick us.” Jack leaned over to look at the device. The arrow wavered a bit to the left, then slowly slid back towards the right, stopping when it points right behind them. Again. Jack frowned. He shook it a bit, the arrows spinning around to recalibrate again, this time settling due north. He grinned.

“There we go. It might think it's smarter than us but no ghost can escape from Jack Fenton! Let's go Mads, we’ve got a ghost to catch!” He revved up the RV engines.

Maddie took a sip from her normal thermos and nodded,

“Let's go.”

.

Where the arrow took them next was a bit of a surprise to them. Nasty Burger while not exactly new to Amity was also not that old. The building was constructed a few years after the Fentons had settled down in the city; if Phantom had attachments to the place, it must've been a relatively new ghost. ‘Did they know it back when it was alive?’ Maddie wondered. She didn't like the idea that it might have been someone they knew.

They entered the establishment, feeling a bit out of place amongst the teenage regulars frequenting the place. The crowded place, with its grease smeared tiles and loud chattering in the background didn’t seem like a place that held any connection to Phantom, yet it did according to the Fenton Core Detector. They strode inside, keeping an eye on the device while also scanning for something that might’ve belonged to the ghost. The teenagers, long used to the Fentons ignored them for the most part, occasionally glancing at them for signs to relocate seats. Maddie rechecked the device in her hand.

Again whatever the anchor was it's gone, the arrow twitches a bit towards the cashier but mostly stayed true to pointing southward. She sighed and waved Jack over.

.

It was late afternoon by the time they walked out of Nasty Burger, the kids would be home soon. Deciding to call it a day they headed home, detouring to grab a quick takeaway meal from their favorite place. Jack turned on the radio, flipping to his favorite channel and started humming out his favorite parts of the song. Maddie relaxed, snuggling further into her seat. They might not have made much progress today but she's not too upset about it. It's been a while since they did this, ghost hunting with just Jack keeping her company followed by a quick takeaway meal for dinner. Just like their early ghost hunting days. She missed it.

Soon enough their Fenton Works sign came into view, Jack drove over to the back of the house to park the RV. They got out of the RV, Jack holding the food while she took the device to return it to the basement lab to refine the sensors later. Walking into the house, Maddie glanced down at the device, curious as to where the arrow would point now that they’ve returned to the starting point. The arrow, initially pointing at the back of both her and Jack as it did earlier in the day started swaying again. As she walked further into the house, towards the kitchen where the basement lab entrance is located, the arrow started moving faster, swinging from behind her to in front of her then behind her again. She slowed her steps, paying more attention to the device now. Faster and faster the arrow swung until she wondered whether the ectoplasmic appliance in their kitchen is interfering with the device scanners. But it didn’t act up like this earlier in the morning when they left for the hunt. She shook it, trying Jack’s method. It didn’t work. Deciding that its lost cause Maddie dropped her arm holding the device and walked into the kitchen to greet her kids. Seems like Danny’s friends are here too.

“Hey kids, how’s school today?” she greeted before a beep and buzzing vibration in her hand interrupted her. The device is no longer showing the arrow. Instead the screen is blank except for the text displayed on the screen:

“Source found”

====

tldr: Danny’s anchor are his family and friends. The device is working perfectly fine but Phantom’s anchor kept moving around. Maddie never thought the anchors might include her and Jack so she thought Phantom somehow broke their device again.

[scrawnytreedemon]

Can’t sleep, mind going precisely 56 miles an hour, so I think I’ll finally get around to writing this.

Couples days back, I went ahead and finally psyched myself up to do the Zant bossfight.

Because I’d picked up where I’d left off yesterday, which was just before the boss room, obviously I was taken back to the beginning of the area. This gave the whole ordeal a trek, if a short one, what with the Palace of Twilight’s laughable length, and me more time to think.

I didn’t want to do this.

It sounds stupid, but I really didn’t want to do this. I’d cried the day before trying to psych myself up and failing, and I’d cried then, before the boss door, stalling by sweeping away the crystal-fog as best I could-- A meagre attempt at housekeeping, and a futile one. Of course I couldn’t. This isn’t that sort of game. This isn’t a game for failed attempts at kindness, at least trying to clean this awful, awful place for an awful, awful man going through awful, awful things. I was supposed to be a hero.

Heroes don’t make beds.

They don’t wash dishes, or hang laundry, or hold a rival’s hand,

They kill.

The trek didn’t stop past the door, either.

We still had to walk up the stairs. To the throne.

To him.

And I was there, laugh-crying, wishing I didn’t have to. That I could skip this pathetic ordeal.

I tried to turn around and leave.

Despite it only looking like a larger one of the many, many doors we’ve passed through this awful, nonsensical, poorly-designed excuse for a palace that no one could ever live in, it didn’t budge. There wasn’t any turning back. I had to go forward, because this is an action game, and violence is key.

The game takes the reigns. Link walks up to the throne, sword drawn, despite my deliberate decision to sheathe it. The narrative begins again. Midna sneers, and throws a taunt at him.

Zant sits, and smiles. Smiles like he thinks he still has some form of control, or knows full well he’s lost it.

You know, when I was working through the Palace of Twilight, I’d come to the realisation that... Zant locked himself in the throneroom. From the outside. Logistically, despite the good laugh I had over this guy locking himself in from the fucking outside, where his opponents can grab the key, he could get out easily-- teleportation and all. But even that aside, it still spoke to a level of hasty panic, that he would even keep the key outside, behind a waterfall of yet more shitty fog-crytals in the hopes that would deter them. Deter us.

How long had the guy been here, alone in that room?

We all know what happens next. Despite this being my first playthrough, I’ve probably seen this cutscene a dozen times. Zant has what amounts to an overly-dramatised autistic meltdown expositing himself and his motivations. That he was upset and felt like everything he’d worked for had been taken away from him. That he was angry, angry and fed up of being relegated to a half-existence. Midna retorts, Zant wails some more.

What gets me is that, when Ganondorf visits him, engulfs him in this flaming ball of fucked-magical-fuckery, he just. Stares. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything. Ganondorf speaks as though he’s already decided that, yes, you will do, we will make a pact and rule Everything together; I will live on through you.

Did Zant even agree to this?

I think, subconsciously or not, he accepted it, but it begs the question of whether or not Zant was capable enough to partake in it.

Whatever the answer, he’s clearly not capable enough to partake in this. This fight.

It’s laughable, that I’m expected to find victory in this.

The fight was a fucking slog, 90% of the time. Some of these boss-battles I hadn’t played in nearly two years thanks to the impromptu hiatuses I’m so fond of taking, so I didn’t know what the fuck I was meant to be doing half the time-- And when I did, it lagged to shit everytime this poor bastard fired projectiles, because I was playing on the gamepad, because why on earth would I play this on the goddamn TV? It was a sad, pitiful encounter that I had to laugh my way through and also mumble “what the fuck“ on several occasions because I guess somebody at Nintendo ate cheese before bed and the dev team were so desperate to patch something together for this guy’s sudden crisis that they threw it in-- I’m obviously having a good laugh, but What The Fuck.

I knock the guy down in the last phase of the battle, the only one where he isn’t mimicking something else and dizzies himself spinning like a hyperactive child, and the game takes the reigns again. Midna prepares her hair. I look away-- I’ve seen it before, many times before, and it’s cartoonishly grotesque for a game that relies heavily on somber semi-realism. Midna has her own crisis-- And yeah, yeah bossbabe, I feel it.

It cuts back, and there’s a Heart Container on the guy’s throne.

I.

I killed a guy, and now I’m collecting his lifeforce. I stormed into the bunged-up attempt of a fortress conjured up as a last defense by a man who’s fallen head-first into insanity, tore through any meagre security measure like butter, murder the guy when he’s having an episode, he dies a fucked up death, and then I collect his lifeforce.

Is that fucked up or what?

For all of Zelda’s endless violence, rarely do you actually kill “people.“ It’s the kind of stuff reserved for the end, for Ganondorf, or some other corrupted nigh-demigod on the brink of losing their humanity, or never having possessed it.

We kill Zant.

Zant barely puts up a fight, and we kill him. Zant gets summoned from the netherworld by Ganondorf in Hyrule Warriors; we put him there in the first place.

If we were to view this from a literal, like this shit actually happened and these characters are to be held accountable standpoint, then what we did was justified-- If not wholly, then mostly. Zant got power-hungry, committed what amounts to a bio-terroristic coup on the government, disfigured his rival, a woman notorious for her beauty, then proceeded to attempt the same thing with Hyrule, leading to the indirect death of at least the people who got transfigured into Shadow-Beasts in Kakariko, and attacks you first, then yeah, no biggie?

But I’ll be fucking real with you chief, I don’t find it... I don’t know, persuasive? Effective? Compelling, would be the best word, to think of it that way?

What Zant is, is a narrative tool. One that was set up to be this big, bad interloper who you need to Take Down and Save Everything, as per usual Zelda format. The justification for why we should hate him, if I’m going to be honest, feels contrived, most of the time. He does some bad thing off-screen, Midna gets pissed, Midna and everyone within a 12-mile radius explains why we should be pissed in a way that often feels borderline developer-hand-y-- And that’s. Well that’s how Zelda usually is.

It’s justification to commit violence.

--To be clear, I don’t say this in a political sense. I mean it in the very literal “hit/kill a guy“ sense. And in all honesty, that’s kinda inherent to the ethos of action games. We enjoy catharsis-- We enjoy taking down big things, it’s satisfying! I’ve played a little Hyrule Warriors-- Loved the feel of it. Violence is inherent to even the most benign of action games, and it is what it is.

Where it falls short for me, is that with Zant, I don’t feel like I’m taking down some great foe that I should justifiably hate.

I feel like I’m a clearly more equipped person breaking into a room, and bludgeoning a mentally ill person.

I’m autistic. I may slot in easier to NT society than most, but I am autistic, and it makes me deeply uncomfortable to see something I’ve fucking gone through be used carelessly as flavour for a prelude to violence. I have meltdowns. They’re relatively rare, and mostly in my room, alone, but I’ve also experienced one out in public. It was only sobbing, but there’s a special kind of horror, of humilation in knowing other people, strangers, family, what have you, are seeing it, and all you can think is how much you failed.

I can’t fully articulate why I cried so much during this, quite frankly, menial ordeal. I’m half-embarrassed to even talk about it-- Because then that means caring too much, and I can’t care too much over a poorly-justified character that wasn’t even intended to be sympathised with and that most of the fandom laughs at. And I can’t say I blame them.

I guess at the end of the day it comes down to the ever-present pity; some strange, childish commiseration I’d indulged in ever since I was six and cooing over Bowser and how awful everything was for him, that despite my continuous efforts, I can’t ever seem to explain.

I didn’t like the Zant fight. It felt empty,

And all did was sweep cobwebs and try to turn back.

[slashbitch2]

Wavelength

slight nsfw warning ;)

Eve had always felt that she stood out from those around her. That in every situation, in every group and at every point in her life, she was walking round on an entirely different wavelength. Although, living this way wasn't as direly lonely as it sounded, rather she learnt to appreciate the few and far apart moments with company. When someone would, for just a split second, understand her.

The first person to ever make her feel this way, and regrettably the only for a very long time, was Ted. He'd swept her off her feet and into a less isolated world, a concept so unfamiliar at the time that she'd allowed herself be dragged out to sea. Then there was Brandon, who she was told would change her whole world. And he did, for a while.

Brandon was her life preserver until his priorities changed; until Mother's day cards became Valentines day cards, movie nights were exchanged for house parties and homework for alcohol. But Eve wasn't the kind of mom to act as though this behaviour was unwarranted and abhorrent, so she let him wedge the door shut and clear his search history. She could cope with a little more distance.

Then along came Ted's affair, their crumbling marriage and eventual divorce. Before she knew it, she was drowning.

The all too familiar feeling of solitude reappeared, completely devastating for her when Brandon left for college. However, this time she swore that she wouldn't let it overwhelm her, and did everything possible to prevent herself from sinking. Which initially started with a class at a community college, and ended with her lying in the arms of both her colleague Amanda, and classmate Julian. And yet, after they'd hurriedly packed up their things and left, she felt no better.

Brandon was sitting on the porch when she found him later. His back was turned to her, but the hunched up posture and awkward shuffling said more than enough. In that moment, Eve reverted back to her old way of thinking. She came to the conclusion that she'd failed as a mother, that her mistake was unforgivable despite the years of morose behaviour and selfish demeanour Brandon had subjected her to.

For retribution, she removed Julian's number from her contacts, predicting that he wouldn't be able cope with remaining friends. He too immature, still in that irrational sulky stage of adolescence. Next, she specified to Amanda that what happened was a one time thing, though she was already way ahead of Eve, chatting casually like nothing had taken place that weekend. Her easy-going reaction was a nice break from the prevailing tension with Brandon, which she then mentioned to her friend.

She tried to casually bring the subject up in the same manner that she imagined Amanda would if the roles were reversed, acting like the issue was nothing to do with her.

"As much as I hate to use such an outdated phrase," Her friend said. "boys will be boys. "

Eve chuckled, though the general concern weighing down on her shoulders meant it came out as more of a scoff. "You can say that again."

There's a brief lull in conversation as Eve disinterestedly taps away at her phone while Amanda sips thoughtfully at her coffee. The silence is only invoked by an awareness of social standards, since there's much Eve wants to talk to her friend about, but feels would be inappropriate in public.

Eventually, Amanda's the one to break the silence. "Are you still looking for someone to fill in for Sarah?"

Eve's attention flickered back to the woman sitting opposite. "I am." She replied hesitantly, knowing that she ought to have posted the job advertisement weeks ago, but had forgotten.

"I know someone who'd be good." Amanda was sliding her phone across the table before Eve got the chance to respond.

The screen displayed what she could only assume was a job application, though the font was too small to actually read. Squinting, she picked up the device to try and glean some information about the potential applicant.

Amanda continued as Eve scrolled. "She hasn't worked with seniors before, but has managerial experience."

"Are you sure she'd want this job?" Eve asked apprehensively as she set the phone down. "Seems a little over-qualified to me."

"Yeah, she's serious about it." Amanda's expression grew more determined. "Y/N just moved here. Mentioned she was looking for a more lowkey kind of job."

Eve remained doubtful.

"She's travelled a lot. Had a lot of different jobs." Amanda took another sip of her drink. "But she said she wants to settle down somewhere. Get a job that'll take her to retirement- which was an exaggeration, but you get the gist."

"Well." Eve sighed. "You can't get much closer to retirement than working at a nursing home."

"Exactly. So can I pass on her contact details then?"

"Sure." She shrugged. Assuming that her friend's recommendation was genuinely helpful, then she would be saved from suffering through the tedious interview process, which was worth taking a risk for.

---

As Eve sat at her desk, the world around her faded into obscurity. Without Sarah as the assistant manager, she'd been suffocating under piles of neglected paperwork, only now forcing her way through it. The main thought motivating her was that you were due to arrive any minute, for what she'd described as a first informal interview. The idea of conducting anything more formal this late into the evening was unappealing. So, based on the unusual circumstance by which you'd applied, and the strange time slot reserved, the interview would be more casual.

Finding that her eyes were starting to strain, she granted herself a quick break to look round the office. Eventually she settled on looking out the window, content watching the world pass by. The day had been unexpectedly hot, and some of that humidity still lingered, but judging by the gentle breeze filtering in through a crack in the window, the evening must've started to cool. A soft pink colour filled the sky, darkening to orange where the sun had just set over the horizon. From the other direction, a deep blue had begun to filter into view, the only indication that night was approaching.

When her gaze drifted back to the room, she realised that the pink light was cast around the room, bathing every surface in a delicate glow. How the simple beauty of the evening had previously escaped her attention was a mystery. One that prompted Eve to take a break to admire it.

The break was short-lived, however, as a sharp knock at the door quickly stole her attention away.

"Come in." She called out but found her voice hoarse from disuse. She frantically cleared her throat as the guest entered.

Eve looked up at you and smiled politely, then down at her desk, then did a double take. Although she hadn't given enough thought to form any preconceived image of what you might look like, she certainly hadn't expected someone quite so attractive.

As soon as the label crossed her mind, she was already berating herself for it. You'd barely entered the room and were here for business, she couldn't let herself think of you in that way. It was wrong. Both professionally and morally.

"Evening." Your voice was deep, smooth and with an accent she couldn't distinguish.

Eve tried her best to smile amiably, though she was sure the emotion wasn't reflected in her eyes. Instead she scanned your body from top to bottom, lingering on your neck, and then your hands. The action was automatic. An unintentional response to her attraction- and there it was again. She'd allowed herself to get distracted barely ten seconds later.

"Hi." Eve was too quiet, her tone lacking the necessary command. She swallowed. "Please, take a seat." And smiled, this time more genuinely.

"Thank you."

She watched you stiffly slide into the seat, effortlessly demanding the attention of the entire room. Although Eve had known you for less than a minute, she'd already decided that there was something hypnotic about the way you moved. From the slight twitch in the corner of your lips, to the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Every movement, regardless of it being barely perceptible, had her mesmerized, however she was mostly fixated on your hands. How they couldn't quite settle in your lap, rather were wrung about anxiously until abruptly stilling.

Your hands falling limp dragged Eve back into reality as it dawned on her that she'd been staring for a little longer than appropriate. She literally had to shake herself out of the senseless state and clear her throat once more before she was ready to continue.

"It's nice to meet you." Jolted into reality, she outstretched her hand, which you eagerly met. Your grip was firm, matched with a confident yet humble smile that looked well practiced.

"And you."

Eve already understood how you'd succeeded at accumulating such an impressive employment history, as every second of the interview so far, you'd acted perfectly. Like you'd written the book on 'How to Handle Job Interviews.'

"Just call me Eve." Separating from the handshake, she dismissively waved her hand, unable to hold the eye contact for any longer. There was an inquisitive manner to the way you were watching her, as though you were trying to ascertain the most information possible from appearance alone. Being exposed to your scrutinising glare caused Eve to shift in her seat, though not from discomfort or uneasiness, rather from inadmissible lust.

As the interview progressed, her eyes continued to occasionally stray toward your hands. Despite how hard she was trying to stay focused, she kept catching herself unintentionally imagining how they'd look gripping her waist, pushing apart her thighs. And if she blocked out this particular fantasy, then her attention would shift to your neck, and how she'd love to bite down on the supple skin presented to her.

She'd hoped that her fling with Amanda and Julian would've suppressed her incorrigible longing for pleasure, yet still found her thighs pressing together as her imagination overpowered reason. All the scandalous scenarios flashing through her mind only grew more vivid, more frequent. An incessant stream of borderline pornographic images, which worsened her guilt as she struggled to focus on what you were saying.

The cool breeze from earlier seemed to have vanished, replaced by unbearable humidity. She could feel herself sweating bucket loads, and only flushed more upon realising that she must've looked a mess; with stray hairs framing her face, an inability to sit still and a layer of perspiration covering her entire body. You'd probably noticed by now.

"God it's been hot recently." You commented, playing with the neckline of your shirt.

Had Eve not been observing you so closely, she would've guessed this was general small-talk. But judging on how you'd acted so far, this was a strategically placed act of mercy, a way of excusing her, no doubt, dishevelled appearance.

"Yeah." Eve chuckled, twirling a strand of hair round her finger. "We could move outside." She suggested, then quickly added. "If you wanted to, that is." Her desperation to please you came as a surprise. The roles should've been reversed. You should've been trying to impress her.

Eve had undeniably lost all authority in the situation, which simply excited her further.

---

When Eve laughed, she scrunched up her face and closed her eyes, which was inconvenient even at the best of times. Right now, however, she'd never despised the quirk quite so much.

As inconsequential as the current circumstances would look to any passer-by, she wanted to commit every detail to memory. From the lingering pink hue of dusk, to the way you threw your head back as you laughed. In fact, she wanted to memorise everything about you. Since leaving behind her stuffy office, conversation had flown easily between the two of you, the matter of employment seemingly dropped in place of getting to know one another. You'd indisputably gotten the job. Eve knew it. You knew it. So both were happy to indulge in a lighter tone of conversation.

The topic had turned to worst first date experiences, so she had very few to share with you, though that didn't stop her from enjoying listening to your little anecdotes.

"What about you?" Taking a calming breath after an outburst of laughter, you paused to ask her the dreaded question.

In comparison to your story, her worst date was relatively tame. "Well." She scratched at the corner of her eye, considering whether she could exaggerate in some way. "I went on a date recently that I had to walk out of."

"Really?" You folded your arms, leaning back against the brick wall. "What happened?"

"Nothing. I guess it just didn't feel right." She shook her head, hoping to deter any more questioning.

"Fair enough. Sometimes you just know- right?"

Eve drew her eyes away from being locked on the ground, finally summoning the resolve to look directly back at you. She bit her lip, compelling herself to nod.

There was something about you that was pure ecstasy to her. While looking at you, she could feel herself falling deeper into the hypnotic state she'd been in earlier, unable to tear her eyes away and unwilling to try. In spite of the normality of the situation, it felt meaningful. Eve didn't feel so alone, so out of place. Which made no sense to her as she'd known you for barely over an hour.

"What did you do after?" Your voice was somehow deeper, eyes lidded and posture relaxed. "After the date." You clarified.

The inquiry was personal, even without context that could be inferred. Eve hummed, delaying her response long enough to consider how much she was willing to divulge. "I-" She laughed nervously, suddenly embarrassed to confess. "I went swimming."

"Swimming?" Your eyebrows shot up, amused by the many connotations of her vagueness. "Where?"

Eve scuffed the heel of her shoe against the concrete ground, shamefully incapable of returning the eye contact. "Here." She admitted quietly, grinning as if in disbelief that she'd actually done it.

"Wow. I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting that." You took a deep breath, rendered speechless for a second. "So, you have access to the pool?"

Eve shifted restlessly, hesitant to pursue the topic any further. She knew where this was going, and that she shouldn't endorse this type of behaviour. But the heat wasn't helping, and neither was her overactive imagination. She was supposed to be responsible, but then again, so were you.

Inevitably the possibilities of what could be overpowered her better judgement. "Yes." She reached into her pocket, producing the coveted key ring and hanging it on her pointer finger.

Upon glancing up, she discovered you were watching her intently, indisputable lust reflected in your eyes. Eve found herself in one of those rare moments where she felt understood, on the same wavelength as someone else. The logical part of her brain argued that you were basically a stranger. That if she followed through on your shared idea, then your hiring and subsequent job experience would be forever tainted. But the possibilities were too tempting to ignore.

So when you asked. "Want to go swimming?"

She couldn't refuse.

---

You'd held her hand as she'd lead, the reasoning being that most the facility was shrouded in darkness. Though Eve liked the weight of your hand in hers, so she didn't bother to turn the lights on until reaching the pool. Only then did you separate, crouching down to check the temperature. You beamed with childlike joy as you waved your hand around in the water, skimming the surface then diving deeper down.

Eve grinned. Your pure happiness was infectious, the effect it had on her similar to being drunk. She was intoxicated from exhilaration. She would've been content watching you relish in the feeling of water running through your fingers for eternity, though to her dismay, you soon grew bored. And then to her surprise, you unabashedly began to strip. Her eyes were glued to the expanse of your back as you pulled your shirt over your head, and to the revealed skin as you tugged your trousers down.

She had to stop herself from stumbling back as the strange reality of the situation suddenly dawned on her. Instead, she reacted by comically clutching at her heart, clawing the fabric of her own shirt.

You turned to the side, looking at her out of the corner of your eye. "You coming?"

She chewed on her lip, pondering the two words in greater detail. This was you asking for consent, giving a final warning. You were both aware that this was an incredibly outlandish idea, an extremely irresponsible one that should've discouraged Eve. Yet it had the opposite effect.

Before she could overthink the consequences, her shaking hands were clumsily unbuttoning her blouse. At the unspoken confirmation, you smirked back at her, then without warning, threw yourself into the pool. The splash echoed round the room, proceeded by carefree laughter as you resurfaced and began leisurely swimming away from her. While you were busy, Eve took the chance to continue undressing without interference.

Her insecurities didn't emerge until it was too late, resolved moments later as she dove into the pool. The water was colder than she'd anticipated, but her burning desire dulled the intensity. Breaking through the water's surface, she inhaled deeply, grateful for the supply of oxygen. However, her breath was soon stolen from her as she noticed you were treading water directly in front.

Somehow, you looked even more beautiful now. With the wave's reflections dancing across your skin, your hair drenched and dripping. She wanted to chase after the droplets with her tongue, despite knowing she'd likely be met with the bitter taste of chlorine. But what really flustered Eve was the way you were staring at her; the hunger in your eyes that hinted at your intentions.

Your stillness was teasing her, the water practically stagnant around you both. Eve was becoming increasingly irritated, the heat between her legs only growing. So it didn't take long for her to snap. She lunged forward in an attempt to grab hold of you, though her hands couldn't quite clutch onto your slippery skin. She stumbled to the left, floundering around until you grabbed hold of her.

Upon securing her grip, she froze, due to both the sensation of your body pressed up against hers, and her embarrassment. She couldn't bare to look up, to face her awkward failure. After a beat of silence, she heard you laugh lightly. It wasn't necessarily unpleasant or mocking, but she insisted on keeping her eyes locked on the wall. That was, until your lips gently brushed against her ear.

"Were you trying to kiss me or drown me?"

She snorted, the tension leaving her body, then turned to rest her forehead on your shoulder. "The former. Definitely."

You laughed again. This time Eve joined in, happy to ignore what'd just occurred.

"Want to try that again, then?" You kissed just behind her ear, causing a shiver to suffuse across Eve's body. She waited a minute, expecting more before realising you intended for her to make the next move.

She glanced up at your face, fixating on your lips. You were so close. All she had to do was lean forward ever so slightly. One final glance to your lidded eyes confirmed you wanted the same- all she had to do was close the distance.

Taking a shaky breath, Eve shifted a hand up to cup your cheek, her thumb softly stroking your skin. There was no rush; you both wanted the same thing and were eager to revel in the experience. So, when her lips finally grazed against yours, there was no deep sigh or sudden change in pace, rather a blooming warmth in her chest. She was floating, both literally and metaphorically in a sea affection.

She kissed you again, this time with more conviction. Then fell backwards, her feet now comfortably resting on the bottom of the pool, her back hitting the wall as your grip on her waist tightened. You dragged a hand across her chest, causing her to gasp. Your touch was scolding compared to the cool water. A perfect balance between lustful heat and a mind-numbing, all-encompassing chill.

She raised her arms, flinging them around you and exhaling as her impatience reappeared. Though thankfully, you didn't make her wait long. Soon enough, your mouth had latched onto her neck, leaving messy kisses from behind her ear, to down by her shoulders. The feeling was pure bliss, encouraging her to lean into you and press your bodies closer together.

She didn't need to say anything. You seemed to know exactly what you were doing. Like you had her body memorised: every caress was perfectly placed, each touch just what she needed. It didn't take long for Eve to reach her pleasure, although she did spend a while in a dazed state of satisfaction, simply drifting in your arms. Eventually, she regained awareness to feel you tenderly nibbling on her lower lip, and eagerly reciprocated the kiss.

Motivated by the sudden fervour, she switched the positions, pushing you up to the wall.

"Get on the ledge." Eve murmured against your lips. She looped her arms under your thighs, ready to lift once you'd agreed.

Surprised by her abrupt confidence, you quirked an eyebrow, but obeyed nonetheless.

With you sat before her, she knew the evening was only just beginning, and judging by your breathless expression you felt exactly the same. This was one of those rare moments where Eve felt completely understood.

[hopeymchope]

How would you rank the 18 Class Trials from THH, DR2, and V3 from worst to best?

This is... virtually impossible for me, lol. Comparing the trials from each game to each other?

How about I just rank them within each game? That'll make it a little easier for me to deal with...

DR1

6) 5th. It's driven by lies and ultimately rushed to its end before the characters can draw any solid (pointless/meaningless) conclusions. So of course it's last for this game, and it’s probably last for the entire series as well. If there are any saving graces to this trial, it’s the surprise when your closest ally is willing to let our protagonist die... and that this trial contains the fake/bad ending route.

5) 3rd. Although the main culprit is pretty obvious from the jump, it requires some surprising twists to explain how everything got to be the way it turned out. But did I always find those twists plausible? Errrrm... not really. 

4) 2nd. Pretty good trial that's hurt for me by the fact that there'd barely be any need for a trial at all if a certain third party didn't dick around with the evidence for no reason. Also, the dual nature of Toko is an incredibly predictable reveal. Without those two aspects dragging it down, though, this could easily go higher.

3) 1st. Sure, the major hint given and, subsequently, the eventual culprit are pretty obvious, but this one establishes so much about how the trials work and how much the details you observe will matter that it’s still pretty fun that first time around. The initial surprise of the first victim makes for a great way to keep you invested in the trial experience. This trial is damn near iconic now, so it feels almost mandatory to respect it.

2) 6th. DR1 still has the best "final trial,” easily. SO MANY great reveals, and they all totally work for me. Nothing rings false or disappointing, and it also features Makoto finally coming into his own and taking the lead. I nearly labeled this my top pick for DR1, but...

1) 4th. It's easily the most emotionally dramatic/satisfying for me, and there’s something weirdly inspirational for me about Hina’s incredibly harsh stance during it. This one GOT ME IN THE FEELS, and in part that was because I saw so little of it coming. After the more predictable elements of the first and third trials, this felt like the writing was firing on all cylinders. 

DR2

6) 2nd. You have to accept a couple leaps of logic to make this trial keep flowing, and the fact that trial is ultimately reliant on someone noticing a candy that’s very small and hard to see while the person is also in a stressful situation and they are groggy from being drugged/asleep and it necessitates the person retaining this seemingly useless detail inside their brain .... that’s always bugged me.  The “escape route” conversation even retroactively raises questions about the first trial. Oof. On the upside, the reveals it brought us about Fuyuhiko and Peko were incredibly important, satisfying, and legit surprising turns. And it’s pretty cool how it’s basically a two-for-one combo trial because you have to solve the Twilight Syndrome case before you solve the current case. 

5) 3rd. Other people have pointed out the leaps of logic and missing pieces of this trial, but at the same time, the candlelight hanging is so intense and the ultimate reveal of the culprit is such a brutal turn that I have to give it some props. The culprit’s primary plan is ultimately one of the most ingenious in the series, IMO, and definitely one of the most twisted/fucked-up, which earns it some points. 

4) 4th. This is probably the single murder case in the franchise that I understood the absolute least about when entering the trial, for better or worse. On the one hand, that made it really fun to see the mystery gradually unfurl, but on the other hand, it made it tough for me to provide the right answers at certain points in the trial, leaving me fumbling. A big part of those issues was how it was initially hard for me to wrap my head around the nature of the funhouse via the provided 2D graphics... but once I eventually got there, I had to respect the creativity that went into devising such a “weapon.” Also, it can be hard to tolerate Komaeda in this trial. He’s even more of a know-it-all-but-reveal-none-of-it jackass than ever before, and his turn towards overt cruelty towards the others (and Hajime in particular) left me raging. The culprit reveal is good, but the motive does beg the question of why he didn’t just come forward from the jump.

3) 6th. There are a lot of great reveals in the final trial that totally reframe how you see the characters, and some of them are deliciously twisted. There’s also a ton of great dialogue provided, and in retrospect, it’s actually sort of neat to have one endgame mastermind reveal in this franchise that doesn’t involve the “They were hiding among us this whole time” trope. All that plus the surprise return of our surviving heroes from the first game! However, this is also where they officially reveal a core element of DR2 and its setting that I've never liked. This knocks the trial down a few pegs for me. Of course, by the time you reach the trial, I'm sure 99% of players have already figured that particular "twist" out. There’s adequate evidence to predict it in the first freaking chapter, and I know this because I DID predict it in the first chapter of my initial playthrough... which further hurts the supposed “reveal” of the island’s true nature when it comes around. 

2) 1st. Probably my favorite of the “first trials,” there are lot of components that go into this one. There’s a combination of two premeditated killers plus one spur-of-the-moment accidental victim, there’s a satisfying (though admittedly maybe too easy) reveal of the killer being one of the most unpleasant people to be around during the first chapter, and I really dig how audio became a very important component of the mystery due to the total blackout. This is also the part of the game where we learn just how twisted Komaeda really is, which is HUGE both in terms of its immediate shock factor for a total newcomer and in terms of its impact on the game as a whole. Of course, since it’s a “first trial,” it can’t be too complicated... but they still manage to confuse so many of us with “MEAT ON THE BONE” :P

1) 5th. Again, I will almost always give the most emotionally intense one the top slot. The “traitor reveal” is obviously THAT MOMENT in DR2. I also love how this one used the strange internal logic established early in the game RE: Komaeda’s luck to develop the eventual solution. And forcing us to make use of evidence gathered in multiple locations outside of the immediate site of the body/murder? That more complexity of that type that I see relevant to a trial, the more I appreciate it, and this one has loads of that stuff. Although I guess the investigation isn’t technically part of the trial itself... but it’s still very relevant to it. 

DRV3

6) 4th. I found this whole trial to be just... extremely predictable. Maybe it’s because I was so far into the series that I’d gotten used to its tricks by this point, but this was the most predictable trial for me since the first one in the first game. The whole looping/rollover map setup of the VR? Obvious. The murder weapon? Obvious. Our culprit’s ongoing confusion at everything discussed? Obvious. There were only a couple of points I didn’t have already figured out when I walked into the trial room, and those turned out to be basically irrelevant (such as the bottle of poison). The eventual motive is at least a surprise, but I also found it hard to accept that this culprit would really kill people over it. Overall: Super lame. 

5) 3rd. Another double murder trial, and once again one murder overshadows the other. The séance murder is definitely clever. Sure, you know the culprit pretty early on, but the methodology is the good part. However, the real fascinating one for me is the art lab “locked room” murder. Going into the trial, I couldn’t fathom how they were going to explain that one, and I found the answer both smart and satisfying. It’s funny to imagine how many times the culprit had to try that stunt with the lock before it actually worked, heh. This is probably the best of the three “double murder” mysteries in the series, but the trial isn’t as emotionally affecting as the 3rd trial in DR2 to me. Moreover, the trial loses points for the most infuriating Hangman’s Gambit of the series and especially for the motive reveal. When the killer’s motive can be boiled down to “they’re basically just a psycho serial killer,” it’s not very interesting.

4) 6th. The first part of the trial, which deals with re-assessing the first case? It’s pretty damn on-point. That leads to the mastermind reveal, which... isn’t great, really. It’s not a terribly interesting character to make the mastermind, they have no interesting motives or characterization to unevil, and they’re ultimately just a pawn behind another, off-screen group of masterminds. But then things get uproariously funny to me. The metatextual stuff is just so goddamn ridiculous. It’s frustrating and annoying how much of our not-mastermind’s explanation is clearly full of lies and half-truths that we’ll never have complete answers on, but that’s also part of what makes it all fascinating. We get to swap protagonists like four times! There’s a fake-out Game Over! These are really cool things. But it all leads down the road of our protagonist arguing that fiction does affect reality (yes, good), that fictional people can still matter (definitely) and that... fictional lives are equal in value to real ones? Uhhhhh slow down there, champ. That only works for YOUR universe, where fictional people can be made out of living, breathing individuals. But in light of the metatextual stuff you’re surrounded by, you kinda sound silly AF right now?

3)  2nd. Look, this is still incredibly irritating to me. Also, if you go down the alternate “lying” route at one point, you are forced to accept that these piranhas were somehow trained to only eat dead things, which is just... so deeply dumb.  But what is good is the entire ropeway conceit (which is a very significant part of the trial!) and the idea of the partition inside the tank. This was a murder with an elaborate, intelligent plan that is very well-executed. And the motive reveal? It’s one of the best in the series! I respect that stuff. (If I had the right to toss the execution in as part of the soup, I’d say that it’s also one of the series’ best. Let’s call it the icing on the cake.)

2) 1st. The writing that made this trial work is undeniably clever. The way the narration told us exactly what was happening without really telling us what was happening? It was a masterstroke of both great writing and perfect localization coming together. When it becomes clear during the trial what is about to happen, it’s a huge shock. The transition to another protagonist with the lights flickering out and back on is beautiful. Even the core concept of a protagonist who was willing to step up and try to kill the mastermind immediately is just deeply interesting. And obviously this one made my emotions run high. HOWEVER! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Kaede Akamatsu was a more interesting, unique, and compelling protagonist than Shuichi Saihara ever was. Ultimately, the protagonist-swap, no matter how well-written, was a mistake because they shifted us from a unique character with an interesting new perspective to a character who is, in many ways, “Makoto Naegi with even less self-esteem.” Yes, I know he has aspects that make him distinct as his own person, but there’s still just too much there that feels like we’ve done it before, and he never fully escapes from that. It feels like a massive waste and a huge missed opportunity to ditch Kaede like this. Now, if they had just done the protagonist swap in reverse — making us start out with Shuichi before flipping things over to Kaede — we could’ve had ourselves something amazing here.

1) 5th. I know I decided that I couldn’t rank all among each other, but if I did do that, I feel confident that the 5th trial in DRV3 would rank very high indeed. You go into the trial unable to even determine who the victim was due to the fact that two people are missing and there was nothing left of the body that spoke to an identity. Going into it, you naturally figure that one of the two missing parties has to be the victim and the other one is probably the culprit. But even with just two friggin’ suspects, the amount of turnabouts in the case that made me rethink all my assumptions was insane. Sure, the explanation for how the person inside the Exisal can maintain “character” is pretty damn thin, but once you get past that, I don’t think there’s a single false note in the trial. It even breaks unprecedented ground by continuing into another Non-Stop Debate after everyone has already voted. And of course, it culminates with a lot of intense emotion. Even the execution is emotionally satisfying! ..... although I’m not sure if I should count the execution as part of the trial, but hey, still. As far as Dangan trials go, the fifth one in DRV3 is basically a masterpiece.