#there are very few small instances where it’s more complicated than that and we’re allowed to feel different

[madlyn5ever]

Anyone when a Grey’s character they don’t like cheats: they’re a horrible person! They deserve every ounce of hate they get because they cheated on my cinnamon apple baby! Crucify them and you know what attack the actor online about how much we hated the storyline too!

When a character they love cheats: well, you see, there were extenuating circumstances. You see, what had happened was, it’s like, well. It’s kind of like, you know. You see they’re just a sweet little sugar ball and they were going through a hard time. They were just in love you can’t change how you feel! It’s just different because- it’s different! I swear!

[system76]

Behind the Scenes of System76: Industrial Design

Since moving into a factory space in 2018, System76 has delved deeper and deeper into manufacturing hardware in-house. Three years later, we’ve introduced five Thelio desktops, fine-tuned the hardware, developed our fully configurable Launch keyboard, and optimized our production processes. Helming the design process is Mechanical Engineer John Grano, who wears a number of different hats here. We sat down with John this week to discuss industrial design and the team behind our beautiful open source hardware.

How would you describe industrial design for people unfamiliar with the term?

To me, industrial design is basically the art of making something into a usable product. In industrial design, you have to balance looks and function, and that drives your form. It’s kind of like hardware UX in that it’s really important to have the right feel. If you can make the system connect better with people, they’ll like it more. Adding that softness we do with Thelio, like slightly rounded edges and darker wood, it makes it a little more approachable to have a semi-natural looking system and not something that’s blinking at you with red lights all the time.

System76 itself is a group of hardcore programmers and people that are really into Linux, but I think the idea of trying to democratize Linux is extremely important. If you can create something that doesn’t have that robotic aesthetic, it will provide people with something that feels more familiar and usable. No one really wants to go sit in a car that looks like a square with wheels on it. They want something that makes them feel something, maybe openness or comfort, when they’re in it.

What inspired you to get into mechanical engineering, and how did you end up at System76?

The way my brain works lends itself well to engineering, for better or for worse. There’s a lot of really solid engineers who don’t have much creativity, and then there are a lot of people who have great creative ability, but can’t do math. I kind of fluctuate in the middle; I wouldn’t say I’m the best at math or the most creative person in the entire world, but I have enough of each that the combination pushed me towards mechanical engineering. I like working with my hands, and it’s more of a study of how things work in the real world versus computer science, which is a purely digital and nontangible practice.

During school I worked mainly as a bike mechanic, and that helped me to think about how to build things better. That led me to my first internship at a bike company working in a wind tunnel, which was really fun. Realizing that I could probably never get a job there—or at least one that would pay me enough to live—I started working at an environmental engineering company, where I prototyped scientific sampling systems for R&D that would process materials with all these gasses at really high heat and tried not to die. It was kind of fun making these large-scale systems that were basically just gigantic science experiments, but I didn’t really have the creative outlet I wanted in terms of making something that looks good.

One of the main things that drew me to System76 was being able to have a solid influence on what tools we were able to use and how we were going to push the design. In the past three years, it’s pretty wild to see what we’ve been able to accomplish coming from a completely empty warehouse to being able to crank out parts.

I had also previously, while working at these scientific instrument companies, been working with a local company to design and develop a cargo bicycle, so I had that experience as well in terms of consumer product development with overseas manufacturing. I think that helped get me in the door here.

Let’s talk a bit about your team. Who do you collaborate with on a typical day?

It’s a very small team and everyone does a lot. I pretty much lead the mechanical engineering team slash design team...slash manufacturing team. Being a small company, we are all wearing a bunch of different hats. Aside from doing the initial design work on all of our Thelio desktops and the Launch keyboard, I also program our laser-punch machine and our brake press and run through all of the design for manufacturing hang ups that show up. Those changes tend to be a result of our current tools, and internal capabilities.

Crystal came on last August as our first CNC Machinist. She heads up all of the machining, trains our operators, makes sure our parts are coming out in a nice clean fashion, and has done a lot of work on minimizing machine time and maximizing the parts we can get out. She also provides really great feedback on what's possible and what kind of special fixtures or tools we'll need to make for a specific part. Around the same time we picked up our first Haas 3-axis CNC mill to start working on the Launch project. That led to some other opportunities to make parts for Thelio and improve the feel of some of the parts that we were pumping out.

We just hired Cary, who came from a similar background as me in consumer product development, as well as low-scale scientific machine development. He’s going to help build manufacturing tools for us, and he’s only been here now for two or three weeks. Going forward, Cary will be heading up the Thelio line long-term, and I’ll be moving to some interesting R&D work.

And Zooey?

Zooey doesn’t really do much. She just kind of sits there and waits for people to feed her their lunch. I take her out for walks during the day so she can get away from everyone petting her. She doesn’t like when they do that.

What was the R&D process like for Launch?

Launch is a less complicated product in that we don’t have to deal with things like cooling. Even dropping a PCB into aluminum housing deals with multiple processes, like using the laser and CNC machine. This was a start to looking at those processes to see how much time it takes to produce parts, the costs going into making them, and monitoring the cutting quality. You have to be familiar with the machines and know what you’re looking for when you see a tool going dull.

We first let the software experts do their thing and optimize a layout they wanted for their programming life. Then I was given that template, built a couple of sheet metal chassis that we wired up to test that layout, and made a bunch of little changes to that to get that right secret sauce for our keyboard-centric workflow in Pop!_OS. Once we got a sheet metal product that we were sure was going to be usable, we decided officially that we were going to pursue making a keyboard. That came with a whole new set of manufacturing requirements that we would have to look into.

We spent a ton of time working on pocket profile. When you look at a Launch, you’ll see that it’s not a perfect rectangle. That’s because when you’re using a mill, you have a round tool, so you can go through and get close to a pretty small radius on the corner, but you can never make it exact. If we wanted to get a very small, tight pocket, we’d have to use a very small cutter that takes an extremely long period of time.

We’re taking raw billet, which are these huge 12-foot-long sticks of aluminum that we cut down to get our final product. We went with a rounded rectangle so that we could use our cutter and decrease the overall time to machine that part. There was a lot of work in that and making sure the pockets were all 13.95mm versus 13.9mm versus 14.1mm.

We also did a lot of R&D on how we go about putting the angle bar on. Magnetic assembly seemed to be a good idea. We went from trying to glue magnets in to doing what's called press fitting. The bars come right out of powder coating while they’re nice and warm, when the aluminum is slightly larger than when it cools down. Those magnets aren’t actually adhered to anything in the bars; they’re squeezed in nice and tight from the aluminum cooling and contracting around them. That’s called a press fit, and doing that makes the process faster and less expensive.

It’s similar with the bottoms of Launch; we have steel plates that we press fit into that part as opposed to gluing or screwing, but that we do before powder coating; steel rusts, and we don’t want someone opening up their keyboard in a year and finding a little bit of rust floating underneath their super high-end PCB. So we do that, sand it down, use our media blaster to clean off the surface from the tool paths you see from the mill, and then we powder coat it through and through.

Word on the Denver streets is that Thelio Major is getting a redesign soon. What does that entail?

We’re bringing Thelio Major a lot more in line with Thelio Mega in terms of a different PCI mount for graphics cards, because we know that’s been a pain point for a lot of our users. We want to provide a little bit more robust installation for these graphics cards, which continue to increase in size and weight. The NVIDIA 3000-series cards are almost a pound heavier in some instances, and that’s a lot of weight to be shipping across the country.

We also want to continue to make Thelio Major cooler and quieter when it’s running with these new GPUs. Our new brake press allows us to make radius bends on parts, so we’re starting to run through R&D of a laser-welded external. It’s a wholesale departure from us using custom brackets and 3M VHB tape. That will provide a nicer finished product to our end user, and it’ll allow us to make our product faster with less material and less steps.

What qualities do you look for when adding someone to the team?

Creativity is extremely important. As a small manufacturing company, our priorities can shift on a day or in an afternoon where we don’t have the full line of product anymore. There are all sorts of examples in the past few years of times where you have to react pretty quickly. The motherboard’s been EOL’d, or we have to change our sheet metal design, build a new part, things like that. Making sure that someone can adapt to those changes on a moment’s notice is one of the key parts of the job.

We also want people who get excited about a new challenge and have the desire to keep improving something. I look for people who like to make things and go back in and refine it and not hold it up on this pillar. It’s good to not look at something like it’s perfect.

You have a lot of love for your Audi. What do you love about it over other options?

I like German cars. We have a family of them. They’re high-performance and not too expensive if you do all the work on it yourself. There’s a huge after-market community that tunes and changes these cars, which is pretty fun. Plus I prefer the metric system. Having a standard system drives me nuts, because what the [REDACTED] are fractions?

My real love, though, is bikes. I love tuning and riding bikes, and I love that more than I like to work on cars. It comes out of tinkering. I work with carbon fiber, I’ve done a lot of repairs on bikes over the years—there’s a certain sense of freedom you get from riding a bike that you can’t get from anything else. Not motorcycles, not cars.

[rumpledgoldenweaver]

A Weekend Away

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling February prompt “I think we’re lost”. Also @fluffapalooza if it’s still open :) Read it on my blog: https://earlyrisingwriting.home.blog/2021/02/14/a-weekend-away/

An opportunity arises for the Gold Boys to spend time together away from Storybrooke’s prying eyes.

Malcolm Gold – he’d adopted his son’s cursed surname, Stiltskin didn’t seem right, it only served to remind him of the anger he’d felt when naming his baby boy. He didn’t want anything to do with the name Peter Pan any more, Gold was a fresh start – was beginning to rue the day he’d agreed to joining his rapidly expanding family for a weekend at Rumple’s forest cabin. It’s like the tree houses in Neverland Neal had explained but on the ground. It’ll be fun Papa, his son had told him through obviously gritted teeth, Malcolm hadn’t missed the discreet elbow to the ribs Rumple had taken from Belle as she’d added that it would be an opportunity to talk away from the scrutiny of the towns folk. Henry had kept a commendable straight face at that remark considering she was referring to at least half of his family. Malcolm liked Belle. She was honest, trusting but not to be crossed. Just what his son needed to keep him in line. It was mainly because of her he’d agreed to come along.  

Malcolm had also been grateful to Belle for her advice regarding clothing in this new land. Although Rumple’s suits looked sharp, he didn’t want that many layers. Neal’s clothes were a bit too casual so he settled on trousers Henry had called Chinos, shirts with buttons, thin jumpers and boots called Timberland. Today he was particularly glad of the boots. Rumple had used magic to transport all the necessary clothes, food etc to the cabin, leaving Malcolm, Neal and Henry free to arrive on foot. Henry had been so excited at the thought of a hike through the forest with his Dad, no one had the heart to object.

“I think we’re lost” Malcolm tried to get his bearings however the trees all looked the same, he had no idea how far into the the forest they were.

“Lost Boys” sniggered Neal. Henry snorted which made his father laugh even more.

“Following the leader, the leader, the leader” sang Henry “We’re following the leader…”

“Wherever he may go” Neal joined in, the two of them dancing round in a circle.

“Very funny”

“You have no idea” laughed Neal “Have you seen the Disney film about Peter Pan yet?”

“The what?” Malcolm was still bemused by the popular cultures of the world he now lived in even though he’d got a better grasp of how it actually worked.

Henry grinned the kind of wicked grin Rumple would have been proud of “You’ll love it Gramps, especially Hook”

Neal’s eyebrows rose at the use of Gramps in relation to Malcolm

“What? I call Rumple Grandpa and Malcolm didn’t like Great Grandpa so Mum suggested Gramps”

“Which Mum?” though Neal had his suspicions

Henry didn’t answer but the glint in his eye was enough. Emma had an evil sense of humour.

“One of you must have been to this cabin before?”

“Neal shook his head “I arrived in town not long before the trip to Neverland but Papa and I weren’t exactly on friendly terms back then”

“I haven’t been either, I didn’t know Grandpa was my Grandpa and my mums weren’t about to let me hang out with The Dark One”

“Wonderful”

Neal looked around for minute or two, then as if some secret signal had been given he made an abrupt turn and set off down a path “Come on. It’s this way”

~

“Rumple will you please stop fussing. We have enough food to survive a small siege. There is no need to summon more”

“Have you ever fed a twelve year old boy? If his appetite is anything like Bae’s at that age then…” he felt a lump rise in his throat.

“Rumple?”

“Then I want to make sure there’s plenty”

“Oh Rumple” she hugged him hoping to both reassure and pull him out of this melancholy. He pulled her closer, nuzzling her hair, whispering a thank you sweetheart. Belle moved to kiss him and for the next couple of minutes there was a feeling of peace between them.

“Hi Grandpa Hi Belle sorry we’re.. oh…” Henry looked embarrassed at interrupting.  Belle giggled, Rumple never even turned round as he replied “Hi Henry”

“Are they here?” Neal’s voice carried through the door.

“Er...yes…they are.. here…”

“Is something up?” Neal strode into the living room and stopped dead “Oh for pities sake you two get a room!”

Rumple did turn this time “This is my cabin Bae and my room”

“Not in front of the wee ones eh Laddie?” Malcolm chuckled.

“Indeed”

“Rumple..” there was a warning tone to Belle’s voice “remember what we talked about”

“Hmm”

Ever the diplomat Henry piped up “Is there anything to eat? I’m starving”

“Yes of course Henry” smiled Belle “in the kitchen”

The young boy disappeared, returning within five minutes carrying a plate loaded with burger, fries, onion rings, various dips and salad. Rumple gave Belle a told you so look.

“He obviously appreciates his food” Malcolm watched in amusement at Henry giving the burger his full attention.

“Takes after his father” Rumple nodded towards Neal as he too went to the kitchen and brought back a plate piled high.

Conversation remained light hearted as they ate, comments about both Neal and Henry having hollow legs because of their hearty appetites. Rumple found he was nearly enjoying himself. Nearly being better than not at all as Belle reminded him earlier.

“Where on earth did all the food come from anyway?” Malcolm asked as he debated which of the many desserts to try.

“I summoned it” Rumple replied reaching for a cupcake.

“Magic” Neal raised a suspicions eyebrow.

“Only to bring it here. It’s not magic food. I’ve paid Granny’s chef triple his wages to cook a steady supply especially for us”

“Fair enough” Neal took a satisfied mouthful of cake.

“More tea anyone?” Belle stood up and began collecting the various cups and mugs strewn around the room

“Coffee if you have it please”

“Of course Bae, I’ll put the pot on. Coffee has it’s own magic Dearie” he twirled his arms, turned on his heel and practically skipped out after Belle.

The expression on Henry’s face was priceless.

~

When everyone had eaten their fill, plates, cups and cutlery washed, dried and put away by hand not magic Rumple keenly pointed out, Henry suggested they watch a film. Malcolm being particularly interested in the idea of a a “moving book” being shown on something called a TV screen. Then began the debate over which one to put on. Whilst there wasn’t a great deal of choice amongst the DVD’s at the cabin, Rumple would be happy to summon whichever was decided on. Mostly it was left to Neal and Henry as they had the widest knowledge of such things. It seemed to Malcolm to be a very complicated process.

“Nothing over a PG”

“Awww Dad! I’m twelve! I can watch..”

“No. Your Mothers would find a hundred ways to kill me, bring me back to life and kill me all over again if they found out you’d watched anything remotely inappropriate”

“Grandpa would protect you”

“Oh no no no” laughed Rumple “Do not bring me into this. I argued with both of them over many things but even I have limits”

“What about that.. Disney thing you mentioned on the way here? Would that be allowable?”

All eyes turned to Malcolm.

“You mean Peter Pan?” Henry looked sceptical.

“Yeah.. that. I’d like to see it”

Rumple and Belle exchanged a look before he got up and went into the main bedroom. There followed the sound of keys turning in locks and a safe being opened.

“You keep Disney DVD’s in a vault Papa?”

“Along with a few other items I was unsure about at first yes”

“Such as?”

“Such as none of your business son” he walked back into the living room brandishing the disc ���You can do the honours Bae”

It could, Belle mused to herself long after everyone else had retired for the night, have gone a lot worse.  For instance everyone agreed that the physical resemblance between the cartoon and the person was actually rather accurate. They had all laughed like drains at Captain Hook. Belle honestly thought she’d have to give medical attention to Rumple and Malcolm as their hysterics gave way to mighty coughing fits. Neal and Henry sang along with the songs, Never Smile At A Crocodile didn’t go down very well with Rumple at first but he saw the funny side in the end. When it came to Following The Leader, the youngest father and son immediately leapt to their feet and began dancing round the room in a repeat of their antics in the forest earlier.

“So that’s where that song came from” groused Malcolm.

There seemed to be an unspoken agreement to not discuss certain details regarding film versus real life, for that Belle was grateful. She knew the relationships in that room were complicated, messy, quite possibly very unhealthy and could keep Archie Hopper on Rumple’s pay roll for decades. Whilst she believed talking about these issues was healthy, this weekend was not the time or the place. For once no one was arguing, for once certain townsfolk weren’t around to stick their well intentioned (or otherwise) noses in. She wondered if inviting her own father for a weekend here might help ease tensions between him and her boyfriend. Maybe leave it a month or so before she suggested that.

“What are you smirking at?” Rumple came from the en suite,  pulled the bed covers back and climbed in bed beside her. Her eyes gleamed with mischief.

“Don’t you dare Belle” he warned, which was the wrong thing to say because of course she dared.

“Never smile at a crocodile..”

“I’m warning you young lady”

“No you can’t get friendly with a crocodile…” she sang between giggles.

“Right then”

And he proceeded to show her how friendly crocodiles could be when they wanted to.

[allsassnoclass]

my only weakness (you know all my secrets)

I have had the great fortune to participate in @ashesonthefloor‘s Halloween fic event this year!  Honestly it was a blast and I’m super excited to see everyone else’s creations!

Event Masterlist

For this event, we all were assigned a pairing, then got to choose from a list of prompts.  My prompt was as follows: “You’ve told me three separate times now you have a vampire kink and I’m starting to wonder if you know I’m a vampire.” Or, pretty explanatory. One person is a vampire. The other has a vampire “kink”. (Can also be them saying they like the aesthetic, or trying to hint that they know and don’t mind. Literally do what you want with it) I strayed a little bit, but the prompt idea is still there!  Hope you enjoy!

Michael is having a hard time figuring out if the amount of vampire jokes and references is due to Ashton knowing his deepest, darkest secret, or if that's just his sense of humor.

Read on ao3

1.

The first time it happens, they’re heading to their first date.

Michael hasn’t really dated anyone since the 90s, because dating is complicated.  He doesn’t age.  He can’t eat regular food.  Going out in the sun is dicy at best and results in extremely painful sunburn at worst.  He shows up in most mirrors now, because they rarely have silver backing anymore, but pictures are a no-go because his eyes cause a lens flare.

The last person he went on an actual date with was Calum, because they’ve been friends for centuries and figured they might as well give it a go.  Michael wishes they could have worked, but it took some making out before they both agreed that, as much as they love each other, it’s all platonic.  The date itself was fun, but there were no romantic butterflies to be found.  Michael has seen Calum naked many times before, and while he can appreciate a handsome man, when it’s Calum it does nothing for him.

Ashton is very handsome.  He’s also funny, and passionate, and he’s got more than enough snark to speak Michael’s language.  He’s got tenacity and determination, and for some reason part of that determination got directed towards getting Michael on a date with him.

He didn’t have to work very hard.  Michael said yes at the first opportunity.

For the first date, Ashton asked if he could pick him up, so Michael waits nervously in his living room, listening to his grandfather clock ticking.  (He’s had it since 1733.  It was made specifically for him by the clockmaker, a parting gift because if Michael stayed in the area for too much longer, his lack of ageing would get suspicious.)

(This is such a bad idea.  Even if this date goes well, Michael can’t be in a relationship with a human for very long before his secret will slip.)

His phone vibrates with a message, and he nearly jumps out of his skin before he realizes that it’s just Calum, not Ashton about to cancel or spring a sudden change of plans.

Cal: have fun on your date ;) wow him with your Biting sense of humor

Michael: i hate you the puns got old centuries ago

Cal: you love them

Michael’s doorbell rings, startling him enough that he fumbles his phone and effectively cutting off any sort of argument he may have started to get into.  Michael stands from the couch, takes a deep breath, and answers the door.

Ashton looks really fucking good.  Michael has only really seen him in their work clothes, when Ashton is writing up articles about the local music scene and Michael is busy approving things to put on the website, but he dresses up very nicely.  His hair is artfully tousled in a way Michael knows must take a little bit of time, and Michael thinks there might be just a hint of glitter under his eyes that would make his heart palpitate if it still did stuff like that.  His shirt is short sleeved, showing off his arms nicely, and there are roses printed against the white fabric that match the ones in the bouquet in his hands.

Michael doesn’t know the last time someone gave him flowers.

“Hi,” Ashton says.  “You look amazing.”

Michael feels like he’s underdressed now.  He’s got on a black long sleeve, because the sun hasn’t fully set yet and he’s trying to cover as much skin as possible, and a pair of black jeans.  It’s a nicer shirt of his, something name brand that he can afford due to decades of saving here and there, but he’s well aware that his overall style leans more casual than dressy.

“Thanks,” he says.  “You look absolutely fantastic.”

Ashton glances down and smiles, pleased.  Michael likes that he can make him react like that.

“I got you flowers,” Ashton says.  “I hope you aren’t allergic.  It wouldn’t be the end of the world, but I’d feel silly.”

“I’m not,” Michael smiles, taking them from him.  There are a few sprigs of lily of the valley tucked in amongst the roses and ferns, and he takes a deep inhale.  He loves the sweet scent of roses and how lively fresh flowers can appear to be even when they’re dying.  Maybe it’s self-centered, but he likes to think there are some similarities between him and the plants.  They’re not alive anymore, but they’re still going, and they can still bring people a little bit of joy for a few impermanent moments before moving on.

“I’ll put these in some water.  You can step in for a second, if you want.”

He had excessively cleaned the entry and living room earlier in the evening, paranoid in case something like this forced Ashton inside.  At least now he’s certain that there’s nothing incriminating lying about.

“Nice place,” Ashton says.

“Thanks,” Michael replies, already booking it for the kitchen to grab a vase.  Once he gets there he takes a moment to try to stop the slight shake to his hands and compose himself.

You are an ancient, immortal being who has lived through the fall of empires, he scolds himself.  You can handle one date with a cute boy who brought you flowers.

Ashton beams when Michael says he’s ready to go.

“I was thinking we could walk, if that’s okay,” he says while Michael locks the door behind them.  “It’s not far.”

“Are you going to tell me where we’re actually going, yet?” Michael asks.  Ashton mimes zipping his lips.  The only information he gave Michael was that it’s going to be a pretty casual setting (and yet he showed up to Michael’s door looking like that) and that Michael won’t have to eat.  That’s something he specifically requested, making up a bunch of excuses about being gluten free and severely lactose intolerant and giving a list of other allergens a mile long.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Ashton laughs when he pouts.  “Come on.”

He grabs Michael’s hand to start leading him down the street, and Michael absolutely will not admit to himself how nice it feels, warm and alive against his.

They go through some basic small talk on the way there, touching on current work projects since they’re in different departments and learning a bit more about each other’s families.  Michael makes an excuse about his being in Australia and tells Ashton about Calum instead, and Ashton fills time by describing his mom and siblings.  It’s cute to see the way he lights up, seeming radiant in the light of the setting sun that Michael has to squint harshly against.

“Wow, you really don’t like the sun,” Ashton says eventually.

“What? Oh, not really, I guess.”

“I should’ve known, but I wasn’t sure if all of you are fully nocturnal or not.”

“What?” Michael asks, alarm bells ringing.  “Why would you--what makes you say that?”

Ashton shrugs nonchalantly.

“You know.  You’re just so pale and pasty,” he says, obvious tease in his voice.  “Definitely closer to a creature of the night than an early bird, I’d guess.”

He’s joking.  Ashton has not, somehow, discovered his secret ten minutes into their first date.

“Oh fuck you,” he laughs.  “Not all of us can have perfect natural tans.  I burn really easily.”

“Do you glow in the dark, too?  Turn fluorescent under blacklights?”

“Shut up,” Michael says, but he leans a little into Ashton as he says it to let him know that the banter isn’t unwelcome.

“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”

Michael doesn’t have a chance to ask what he means before Ashton is pulling him towards the doors of a large building.  He holds it open for him like a gentleman, and Michael misses the contact of their hands but appreciates having all of his senses free to process the new environment, which is full of a plethora of new sights, sounds, and smells.

“Roller skating?” Michael asks, looking around the large arena.  It’s dim, but his eyes adjust immediately to take in the wondrously tacky carpet outside the rink, highlighted in brief bursts by rotating colorful lights.  Loud music plays over the speakers, and in the arena people in small groups or pairs are making their way around the track.  He can smell fried food and various types of beverages coming from a bar in the corner, mingling with the scent of unfamiliar people.  He takes it all in for a moment, then dials back his senses to make it more bearable.

“It’ll be fun,” Ashton says.  “Willing to give it a go?”

“Definitely.”

They go get their skates, and Ashton pays for the shoe rental and the entrance fee.  Michael hasn’t been roller skating in probably around a decade, and he’s excited Ashton picked this as their date location.  So many date ideas these days have to do with food, the only thing Michael absolutely can’t participate in, but Ashton found something that will hopefully be fun while still allowing them to talk and get to know each other better.

“Ready?” Ashton asks.  Michael nods, and then they step out into the rink.

Ashton, it turns out, is worse at roller skating than Michael is.  That makes sense, because Michael did it a lot in the 70s and 90s and has gone a few times since to keep it fresh, and Ashton isn’t awful, but there are a few instances where he wobbles and his hand immediately reaches out to grab at Michael’s arm before he rebalances and apologizes.  Michael laughs at him good naturedly and does a few circles around him until Ashton huffs and Michael slips an arm through his.

“Come on,” Michael says.  “Once you’re used to this in about fifteen minutes, I’ll race you around the track.”

Michael wins the first race, but Ashton wins the second, although Michael is giggling too much for it to count, in his opinion.  They spend a lot of time making laps and talking, and Michael skates backwards to show off at every opportunity while Ashton dances to the songs that come on over the speakers to make him laugh.  It’s one of the best nights Michael has had in a long time, and by the time they leave they’re both walking slowly, stretching their time together as much as possible.

“I had a really good time tonight,” Ashton says when they finally reach Michael’s door.  His front light makes the glitter under Ashton’s eyes sparkle, and Michael technically doesn’t have to breathe, but his breath still catches.

“Me too,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“So...do you want to do this again?” Ashton asks.

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot.  I’ll take you out, next time.”

“Okay,” Ashton smiles, ducking his head.  Michael catches a faint blush on his cheeks, blood rushing up to color them, and he loves that he sees Ashton like this.  At work, he’s always cool and level-headed, confident in what he says and strong in his opinions.  Michael has managed to turn him bashful, and that is possibly the best thing to come out of the date.

“I should let you get on with your night,” Ashton says eventually.  Michael tries to find some sort of excuse to get him to stay, but then Ashton leans forward and presses his lips to Michael’s cheek, soft and lingering.  When he takes a step back, Michael wants to pull him in again to memorize the scent of his skin and feel of his warmth.

“Good night,” Ashton says.

“Night,” Michael makes himself reply.  Ashton smiles again, then sets off down the street.  Michael watches him, smiling when he glances back and waves again, and continues to stand on his front stoop until Ashton is fully out of sight, even for him.

His phone buzzes as soon as he steps inside, and Michael pulls it out in case it’s something important or work related (or Ashton).

Cal: how was the date? or are you two still going…?

Michael: really fucking good

2.

On the third date, Michael gets to see the inside of Ashton’s apartment.

Michael took them stargazing for their second date.  There was a meteor shower he wanted to try to watch, anyway, and he found a good spot outside the city where it would be mostly visible.  Ashton likes being outdoors, and Michael doesn’t mind it at night, so he drove them out of the city, made the trek up a hill, and laid out a blanket for them to cuddle up in.  All in all, it was a great night.  Even the car ride to and from the location was amazing, because Michael told Ashton to make a playlist for it and they spent the entire time discussing favorite songs.  Ashton is such a snob about it sometimes, since he’s a music journalist and is always evaluating in his head, but there were a few surprises that he put on there simply because “good music doesn’t always have to be good music, Michael.”

Ashton kissed him on the cheek again when Michael walked him to his door.  Michael thinks that something so simple shouldn’t occupy so much space in his thoughts, but he’s been replaying it in his head over and over.  It’s a little distracting at work, especially when he gets one of Ashton’s articles to upload to the website.

They head to Ashton’s right after they both clock out.  Ashton doesn’t live far and typically walks (he really likes walking places, Michael has noticed), but Michael drives them so he’ll have his car handy at the end of the night.  It’s a relatively nice building, and Ashton holds the lobby door open for him, which counts enough as an invite to allow him to enter.  They take the elevator up to the fifth floor, then Ashton unlocks his door and steps in.

From what Michael can see, it’s a nice apartment.  The entry, kitchen, and living room flow easily together, and there’s a hallway off to the side that Michael assumes leads to the bathroom and bedrooms.

He can’t step over the threshold.  He hasn’t been invited in this time, not explicitly enough for him to freely enter despite knowing that Ashton wants him there.

“My roommate is out for the night.  I swear I cleaned before I left for work today,” Ashton says, puttering around the living room and picking up what looks like a stray sock, righting the pillows on the couch and straightening some books on the coffee table.  Michael leans against the doorframe and watches him.  Fluffing the pillows doesn’t really matter to Michael, but if it makes Ashton feel better it’s no hardship on him.

Ashton finishes, then glances around until he spots Michael still in the hall.

“Oh.  I didn’t really invite you in, did I.”

“It would’ve been the polite thing to do,” Michael teases.  “I’d hate to intrude, you know.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Ashton says, coming forward and taking both of Michael’s hands in his.  “Michael Clifford, I formally invite you into my home.  You are welcome here whenever you’d like.”

“A simple ‘hey, come in,’ would’ve been sufficient, but thanks,” he laughs, stepping forward.

“Absolutely not,” Ashton says.  “If you’re going to be vampiric about entering my home, I’m going to treat you with the proper respect, Count Clifford.”

Apparently the vampire jokes are going to be a thing.  Michael can work with that, instead of panicking over it.  If he turns it into a bit, maybe Ashton will brush things off longer.

“Thank you, mortal.  Now, I vant to suck your blood,” he says, exaggerating the awful stereotypical (absolutely false and insulting) accent.  It gets a laugh from Ashton, though, which is what he wanted.

“If you manage to beat me at chess, I’ll let you,” Ashton says.

Michael hasn’t let himself think about Ashton’s blood.  He can control himself very easily around humans, and bloodlust isn’t really a thing with him unless he hasn’t eaten in over a week.  He has a specific concoction that he picks up from the magic shop like clockwork, a mixture of animal blood, some herbs, a few drops of human blood (humanely donated), and whatever the fuck is the flavor for that batch, but that doesn’t mean he’s completely forgotten how amazing it tastes to drink pure, living blood.  It’s incredibly intimate, and Michael hasn’t been that close with a human in a very, very long time.

“Okay,” he chokes, once the silence has stretched on too long.  Ashton quirks an eyebrow at him, but moves to get the board games without comment.

Michael loves board games.  He loves all games, really, and he mostly deals with video games now to keep as up to date as possible (and because he doesn't have to invite friends over to play most of them).  What’s nice about games, though, is that they can change every time.  Michael has been playing chess since it was invented, but he’s never played against Ashton, and it’s going to be an entirely new experience.

Unfortunately, Ashton is extremely good at chess.

“What the fuck,” Michael says, king toppling after a five-move checkmate.

“Darn,” Ashton replies, faux innocent.  “I guess there’ll be no bloodsucking tonight.”

“Wait, I want a rematch.  I’m good at chess, I swear.”

Ashton wins twice more before they move on to another game.  They cycle through a few before landing on a card game from Ashton’s family, one that Michael hasn’t heard of or played before.  It has a lot of complicated rules, and Ashton walks him through it slowly.  If Michael feints misunderstanding more than necessary just to have Ashton’s focus on him, leaning close to look at his cards and explain the best moves, then that’s his business.

Michael doesn’t realize how much time has passed until Ashton’s stomach grumbles loud enough for him to hear.

“How is it already nine o’clock?” he asks.  “Shit, you haven’t eaten yet.  You could’ve had something.”

Ashton just shakes his head.

“I’m not going to eat in front of you if I don’t have anything to feed you, too,” he says.  Michael wishes it were possible for him to digest human food, because while Ashton does have a nice amount of blood he could tap into with permission, somehow Michael doesn’t think that’s on the table

“I have a weird meal schedule, anyway,” he says.  “I eat a really big lunch, then only something small late at night.  I really don’t mind.”

“I’ll remember that for future reference,” Ashton says.  “Although someday I hope you let me feed you.”

It is such a good thing that breathing is an option for Michael, rather than a requirement.  Ashton may not have any clue how what he’s saying sounds, but that doesn’t mean Michael isn’t affected.

“We’ll see,” he says, although there’s no chance that’ll ever happen.  “I should probably head home, anyway.”

Ashton checks the time.

“You can stay longer if you want.  My roommate will be back soon, but he wouldn’t mind.”

Michael wants to stay, but he’s not sure he’d ever leave if he did.

“I think I’ll go.  I’m not sure we’re at the “meeting the roommates” stage yet.”

Michael stands, and Ashton follows to walk him out.

“I had a good time.  Again,” Ashton says as they walk down the stairs.

“Me too, even if I think you were somehow cheating at chess.”

“Hey,” Ashton complains, then pauses.  “I was going to say that jealousy isn’t a good look on you, but everything is a good look on you.”

“Shut up,” Michael says.  “That’s not true at all.  I have made some bad fashion choices in the past.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Ashton says.  Michael wishes he could show him the pictures from the 80s, as embarrassing as they are.  They reach the bottom landing entirely too soon, but Ashton walks him out to the parking deck until they’re standing next to his car.

“So,” Ashton says, squaring his shoulders.  “We’ve been on three dates so far, and I really like you, Michael.  Hanging out with you has been some of the most fun I’ve had in a long time.  I was wondering if you wanted to officially be my boyfriend.”

Fuck.  The smart thing would be to cut this off now, before either of them get too attached, because Michael already thinks it would absolutely shatter his non-existent heart if Ashton found out and thought he was a monster.

“Absolutely,” he says instead, because he’s an idiot who wants what he can’t have.  “These past few dates have been the most fun I’ve had in a long time, too.”

Ashton beams, like the sun breaking through clouds.  He has dimples, and Michael really wants to press his fingers into the divots.  He just wants to touch Ashton everywhere, really, to feel the soft skin and know that there’s blood bringing heat to it from his heart to every corner and crevice.

There’s something so absolutely tantalizing about how alive Ashton is.  Michael knows that he can’t be more like him, not even if he was actually alive still, but he’s content to have him near.  He’d be content to watch from a distance, honestly, but if Ashton wants him close then Michael is going to stay close.

He should not be this whipped after only the third date.

“Well,” he says once they’ve spent too much time grinning at each other silently.

“I should let you go,” Ashton says.  “I’ll text you.”

“I’d like that,” Michael says.  He goes to open his car door, but Ashton’s hand on his wrist stops him.  He leans forward and to kiss Michael on the cheek, just like the past two dates, but this time it lands a bit lower and closer to the middle.  The corner of his mouth hits Michael’s and lingers there for just a second longer than he can bear.

“For fucks sake,” he breathes, then slots their lips together properly.  Ashton smiles into the kiss before he can get it under control and properly kiss back.  Maybe it’s dramatic to say that this kiss feels like it’s filling some hole in Michael that he didn’t know was vacant, but Michael is a dramatic guy, and there’s something special about the way their noses bump and how instinctual it is to shift closer.  Michael doesn’t really want it to end, so he gives Ashton another peck before pulling away fully.  Ashton’s eyes take a moment to flutter open.

It’s definitely far too early to be in love, but Michael is very self-aware after being around for so long, and he knows he’s going to have to actively try not to fall head-over-heels for Ashton.

“Have a good night, Ashton,” Michael says.

“You too.  Drive safe.”

Michael keeps his composure as he pulls out of the parking space, aware of Ashton’s eyes on him.  He manages to keep it together all the way home, actually, but the moment his door shuts behind him he’s leaning against it, giddy with a crush and wondering what he’s just gotten himself into.

3.

Movie nights become a bit of a thing.  It’s a low-maintenance way to spend time together, and sometimes they’re both too tired after grueling work days or hard weeks to be around a lot of people.  Michael’s house has a pretty nice tv, and he has an extensive movie collection, including some horrible b-movies on VHS that Ashton finds endlessly amusing.  A lot of Michael’s favorite moments are spent snuggled up on the couch under Ashton’s arm or with his feet in his lap, watching the way the light from the screen plays off of his face more than the movie itself.

Ashton hasn’t seen the Twilight movies, which is almost a travesty.  Michael watched all of them in theaters with Calum, both of them weirdly captivated with how completely bonkers and inaccurate they are, and they’ve seen them often enough to quote them almost completely to each other at the drop of a hat.  Michael is tired today, and he wants something he doesn’t have to pay much attention to.

He sleeps significantly less than humans do, but that doesn’t mean that staying up for the past week and a half straight was a good idea.  He was also on his feet more than usual at work, and everything is hurting a little.  His body has better-than-average healing, but it’s also over a few centuries old.  Today, he’s feeling it.

Edward has just gotten the first sniff of Bella and looks like he’s about to puke when Ashton turns to him.  Michael is leaning against the corner of the couch, head lolling to the side and feet tucked up next to him.  He’s been looking at Ashton and letting his thoughts drift, and he should probably be more embarrassed than he is that he was caught at it.

“What’s up with you today?” Ashton asks.  “You’re suspiciously quiet.”

“Tired,” Michael says.  “My feet hurt.”

“I can help with one of those things,” he says.  “Give me your feet.”

“What?”

Ashton gestures until Michael uncurls, stretching his legs out until his feet land in Ashton’s lap.  He starts at Michael’s ankles, gently rubbing and then moving to the bottoms of his feet.  Michael jumps when he presses down on a particularly tight tendon, but it’s already feeling leagues better.

“I can’t believe you’re touching my feet,” he groans as Ashton presses a knuckle into the center, making his toes curl.  “That’s so gross.”

Ashton snorts.

“I don’t mind, but I’ll wash my hands after if it makes you feel better.  I just want to make you feel good.”

Michael’s face would be completely inflamed if he had the blood for it.

“Shut up.  This better not be a fetish for you.”

Ashton laughs this time, a full belly laugh that Michael would enjoy hearing more if it didn’t make him stop the massage.

“Would that be a deal breaker?” he giggles when he’s calmed down enough.  Michael takes a moment to evaluate if he’s actually joking or not, because he really likes Ashton and has loved being his boyfriend for the past couple of months, but feet might be where he draws the line.

“No, I don’t have a foot fetish,” Ashton says after a moment of Michael staring at him like a deer in the headlights.  Michael lets out a sigh of relief.  He can be adventurous about stuff like that, and he’s been around long enough to try basically everything, but someone being aroused by his feet will always be just a little too weird.

“Do you have any embarrassing fetishes or kinks?” Ashton asks conversationally.  “Just… for future reference, if that’s something you want.”

They haven’t done anything besides some lazy making out, which Michael is grateful for.  He likes that they’re taking their time with it.  He doesn’t want to rush this, but the thought has crossed his mind before.

He swallows.  Ashton’s alternating between glancing at the tv and paying attention to his massage, and Michael doesn’t know if he should be grateful that he’s not trapped under that gaze or upset that he doesn’t have Ashton’s full undivided attention.

“Nothing embarrassing,” Michael says.  “I’m open to a lot of things, but I really like being taken care of.  I’ve been told I can be demanding and needy.  Sometimes I like… being held down, I guess.  Nothing excessive, but…”

He’s an extra-strong, extra-resilient being.  Every time he feels like someone else has the control, it’s a special kind of rush.

Ashton glances at him from under his eyelashes, the blue-green light from the tv casting strange and otherworldly shadows over his face.  Michael swallows thickly again.

“I like taking care of my partner, so that works out,” Ashton says.  Michael nods.  Ashton turns back to the tv and tilts his head in consideration, putting his neck on full display.

“You know,” he says, “I never really was into biting, but now…” He trails off, then brings a finger up to his neck, tracing along the length of it subconsciously.  At least, Michael hopes that it’s subconscious.  The air is thick with tension, and if Ashton is doing this on purpose than he knows a lot more about Michael than he’s let on.

“It might be nice to be marked up a bit,” Ashton says.  He glances at Michael, the corner of his mouth turning up in a small smile.  “Maybe Bella had the right idea, going after a vampire.”

Michael snorts and the tension dissipates like a balloon popping.

“I hardly think anyone in this movie counts as a real vampire.”

“You don’t think real vampires sparkle in the sun?” Ashton asks.  “Darn.  What’s the point of vampires if you have to dump glitter on them for the sparkle effect?”

“You’re an idiot,” Michael laughs.

“I’m the idiot?  You’re the one who’s all the way over there when you have a perfectly good boyfriend right here who’s ready to cuddle you.”

Michael rolls his eyes and shifts to tuck himself against Ashton’s side.

“Happy?” he asks.

“Very,” Ashton says, taking a blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over them.  It’s cozy.  Michael sighs in contentment.

“Do your feet feel a little better?” Ashton asks, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“If you want to take a nap now, you can.”

Michael hums and seeks out Ashton’s other hand, tangling their fingers together sloppily.  He’s tired, but he probably won’t drift off.  He has all night for a power nap, and right now he doesn’t want to miss a second of his time with Ashton.

4.

The door bangs shut behind them, and Michael doesn’t have a moment to reorient himself before Ashton is on him again, lips incessantly seeking his and body caging him against the wall.  Michael’s own hands are already slipping under his shirt, desperate to feel the warm expanse of his back and pull him even closer.  He’s always run cold, even before he was turned, but right now he feels like he’s burning up from the inside out, flames igniting with every point of contact between them.  Ashton gets a hand in his hair and tugs, and Michael makes a noise he wasn’t expecting to come out of him.

Don’t drop your fangs, don’t drop your fangs, don’t drop your fangs, he repeats to himself.  It’s typically effortless to keep his fangs retracted and unnoticable, but he hasn’t done this with someone he truly likes in a very, very long time.  He can’t allow himself to get so mindlessly overwhelmed that they slip down.

Ashton detaches their lips to take a breath, and Michael takes the opportunity to trail kisses over his jawline and down the column of his throat.  Ashton hums into it, the sound reverberating through his vocal chords, and Michael nips at his throat to turn the hum into a groan, sucking at it again to ease the sting.

There’s a particular feeling of satisfaction at leaning back briefly to take in his progress, knowing that the blood is pooling just under the surface of Ashton’s skin.  When he returns to his ministrations with a slightly harsher bite, Ashton jolts, rocking into him.

“Fuck, Michael,” he breathes.

“What do you want to do tonight?” Michael asks between kisses, trailing over his collarbones now because Ashton never buttons his fucking shirts.

“Anything.  Everything.  I--” He’s cut off by another groan that dissolves into a breathless laugh.  “You’re so fucking distracting; get back up here.”

He tugs on Michael’s hair again, guiding their mouths together.  It’s easier than breathing to let Ashton take control, and Michael could stand here all night and let himself be kissed against the wall if there weren’t other things he wanted to be doing in the bedroom.  Still, he whines when Ashton pulls away.

“I know you don’t sleep, and I’ll keep up as much as I can,” Ashton pants.  “I can’t fucking wait to take you apart.”

“So do it,” Michael says, not able to care about how desperate he sounds.  “No one’s stopping you.”

“You’re such a mouthy little shit,” he says, leaning back in for a kiss that Michael feels all the way down to his toes.  They don’t part again until they’re in the bedroom and falling onto the mattress.

-/-

Afterwards, Michael watches, amused, as Ashton fights to keep his eyes open.  They never turned on the lights, but Michael can see just fine with his vampire eyesight and the early rays of sunshine beginning to paint the sky outside in pinks and oranges.

“Just go to sleep,” Michael laughs, tracing another mindless pattern onto Ashton’s ribs.  “We’re done.  I can’t handle anything else.”

“Weird to sleep when you’re not,” he mumbles, eyes already slipping closed again.  “Can feel you watching me.”

“I won’t watch you,” Michael says.  “I’ll probably fall asleep right after.”

Ashton snorts halfheartedly.  Michael rolls his eyes, then nudges Ashton onto his side and fits himself behind him.  Ashton sighs and relaxes again almost immediately, a heavy weight at his front while Michael slides one arm under the pillow and anchors them together with the other.  He gets a great view of Ashton’s sweaty and tangled hair, and that’s about it.

“There,” Michael murmurs.  “Now I can’t watch you.  Happy?”

Ashton hums.  He’ll be out in less than a minute.

Regardless of all of Ashton’s jokes about Michael never sleeping (he resents that he looks tired enough at all times for that to be an assumption), Ashton managed to tire him out.  He doesn’t need to sleep right now, but there’s no harm in it.  He lets the steady push and pull of Ashton’s breathing and the heartbeat he can barely feel under his palm lull him, and he drifts off soon after.

5.

“You want me to meet your family?” Michael asks, eyes wide in the face of this new information.

“If you’re comfortable with it,” Ashton says nonchalantly, but the way he’s avoiding Michael’s eyes tells him this conversation is anything but casual.  He’s focused on throwing things into a blender, raspberries and peaches joining ice cubes and yogurt for a smoothie that Michael has watched him make dozens of times before.  Michael can drink smoothies if they’re blended enough, and honestly he’s got a bit of a blood hunger going on because the last batch of his concoction from the magic store tasted gross and he’s supposed to go in today to get the new one.  Still, a smoothie wouldn’t help with that, and he turned down Ashton’s offer in favor of a cup of coffee, wanting a warm mug in his hands.  He’s glad to have something to keep his arms from flailing at this new curveball, in any case.

Ashton turns on the blender, the angry sound filling the previously-serene morning.

He can’t meet Ashton’s mum and siblings.  He’s a vampire, and he’s already entirely too attached to Ashton as it is.  It’s easy to fantasize about revealing his secret and Ashton being okay with it when it’s just the two of them, but there’s no way he can get to know his family only to break their heart when he has to leave Ashton for his own good.

Michael can’t watch Ashton grow old without him.  He could do it for a few years, maybe a few decades, and he wants to spend as much time with him as possible, but eventually it would get too hard.  Michael’s good at running, and he’s good at being alone.  It’s harder to do both of those things with a family involved.

“That’s a big step,” Michael says once the blender stops.

“I’ve met Calum, and you said he’s closer than your family.”

“Against my will!”

Calum had insisted on meeting “the guy who’s got you wrapped around his finger,” and Michael had been powerless to stop it.  They get on like a house fire and Michael gets teased about five times more than he used to, but he secretly loves it.  Calum and Ashton are by far the two people he loves most in the world, and it’s nice to see them also enjoy each other.

“Michael,” Ashton says, pouring his smoothie into a glass and still refusing to look at him, something unfamiliar in his expression, “I’ve never gone this long without introducing them to someone I’m serious about.  They really want to meet you.”

“I--I want to meet them, too, but…”

Ashton sighs and finally faces him head-on.  Michael has never felt this small.

“Are you serious about us?”

“Of course,” he says, but it comes out more like a question, and he watches something shutter in Ashton’s eyes.  He turns back to the blender, starting to dismantle it so he can rinse it properly, always trying to keep the kitchen neat, and Michael knows that he has to say something to try to fix this, anything to stop the sad slope of Ashton’s shoulders and that hurt look in his eyes.

“Ash, I have to tell you something,” he says before he can think twice.  Ashton hums, and Michael steels himself for whatever reaction is about to occur, whether he has to bolt for the door or not.  “I--um, well, I…”

He hasn’t had to confess to someone in over forty years.  He doesn’t know how to do it anymore.  He swallows and tries again.

“I don’t really know how to say this, but… I mean, I--”

“Shit,” Ashton exclaims, something clattering in the sink.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asks, and a second later the metallic tang of blood reaches his nose.

“Cut my thumb on the blender blades,” Ashton says, turning around and sticking the pad of his thumb in his mouth.  Michael stares at him, unable to move.

The thing is, Ashton’s blood smells really good.  He knew it would, because if he loves everything else about Ashton it makes sense that he would love him down to the blood in his veins and the DNA it carries, but this is the first time Ashton has split skin in his vicinity, and it’s more to handle than Michael thought it would be.  He’s hungry, and he’s upset, and Ashton is right there in front of him, bleeding.

He shakes himself from that train of thought.

“Are you alright?  How bad is it?” he asks.  Ashton takes his thumb out of his mouth to check, and that just makes the smell intensify.  Michael feels a bit of saliva pool in his mouth and swallows it back.

“It’s not too bad,” Ashton says.  “It mostly just hurts, but once the bleeding lessens I’ll put a bandaid on it and it should be fine.”

He goes to put it back in his mouth and glances up at Michael, freezing at whatever he sees there.  Michael doesn’t know what his face is doing, or why his posture feels so stiff, or what the fuck he’s supposed to do with Ashton just standing there with a bleeding thumb, and for a long moment they just stare at each other.  Michael forgets to breathe.

Slowly, like he’s coaxing a startled animal towards him, Ashton reaches out his hand towards Micheal.  A drop of blood drips off his thumb and onto the floor.  Michael couldn’t move even if he wanted to.

“You know,” Ashton says, low and calm, “you could help me stop the bleeding, if you wanted.”

Michael stares at him, not comprehending the words, when he feels two pinpricks on the inside of his bottom lip.

His fangs dropped.

“I have to go,” he says, scrambling out of his seat and hastily putting his coffee on the table.  He probably spills some, but he can’t look back to check, shoving on his shoes and sprinting out the door, Ashton’s questions echoing behind him.

Shit.  Shit shit shit shit shit.

He’s scrambling for his phone as he tries to unlock his car, tears starting to cloud his vision with the panic.  He presses Calum’s speed dial as soon as he gets the door open, tearing out of the parking space without putting on his seatbelt.

“Hello?” Calum finally answers.

“My fangs dropped,” he says, consonants coming out in that strange way they do when his mouth has more teeth than usual.

“What happened?” Calum asks immediately.  He knows how serious something like this can be, especially for someone like Michael, who tries so hard to avoid it.  He sniffles and blinks the tears out of his eyes so he can see the road better.  Calum’s house is close, and he just needs to get a few more blocks before he has backup.

“I was with Ashton and he cut himself on a blender.  I--we had a fight, or--I made him feel bad, in any case, and I haven’t eaten enough, and then he cut himself and I felt the fangs and ran out of there with no explanation.  He’s going to hate me.  I’ve ruined everything!”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Calum says, but it’s not like Ashton is his boyfriend.  Michael doesn’t know how to recover from something like this.

Calum tries to console him for the rest of the short car ride, stopping once Michael pulls into his driveway to turn an assessing gaze on him instead.  His expression tells Michael that he’s leaving much to be desired right now.

“Alright, Mikey.  Let’s get you out of the sun, yeah?  We’ll figure this out.”

He holds out his arms, and Michael falls right into them, letting Calum lead him into the house.  His fangs still prick at his lips, a sharp reminder of everything he ruined due to one second of lousy control.

+1

The bell to the magic shop digs as they enter, and Michael pulls down his sunglasses.  Calum got him to stop crying and gave him a bit of his own leftover concoction, because he hadn’t drunk all of it due to the taste, either.  It was enough for Michael to be able to get his fangs back under control, but it doesn’t stop how miserable he feels about the way he left, or the conversation they were having beforehand.

He can’t let himself be around Ashton if his fangs are going to drop like that.  He would never hurt him, he knows that, but there’s still the potential that he can’t ignore.  Ashton’s safety and comfort isn’t something he can risk.  Even if Ashton was somehow okay with him being a vampire, they wouldn’t work.

Michael has known this since the beginning.  He let himself fall in love, anyway.

There are three missed calls and over a dozen text messages that he still has to try to answer on his phone.  There’s no way to do that without breaking both of their hearts, but Calum told Ashton that Michael is physically okay and that he’d talk to him tomorrow.  For now, he needs to sort through his own feelings and calm down, and for that they need to pick up the weekly blood supply.

“Hi!” the witch at the counter says.  His name is Luke, and Calum’s been flirting with him ever since he started working there.  It would be cute if it didn’t make these excursions so tedious, and if Michael himself wasn’t currently mourning what is soon to be the end of an absolutely spectacular relationship.

“Our usual, please,” he says curtly.  Luke glances between him and Calum, who gives a beaming smile, then heads to the back storage room.

“Maybe it’ll taste less like shit this time,” he mutters.  Calum nudges him, but doesn’t get the chance to say anything before the bell over the door chimes again.  Michael knows who it is before he turns around, the scent and rhythm of his heartbeat as familiar to him as the back of his own hand.

Ashton freezes in the doorway.  He has changed into a sweatshirt, the one he wears when he’s having a bad day because it feels like a perpetual hug without having to be touched, and Michael is probably going to cry again.  Out of the three of them, Calum pulls himself together first.

“Hello, Ashton.  I didn’t know you frequented this shop.”

“Ashton!” Luke says, returning from the back with their order in a crate.  “Did you bring it?”

Michael finally notices the tupperware in his hands when he hands it to Luke, who opens a corner and sniffs.

“You know each other?” Michael asks.

“Oh, sorry!” Luke says.  “This is Ashton, my roommate.  I’d never eat lunch if he wasn’t there to bring it to me.”

“You’re the roommate?” Michael asks.  In all of their months of dating, he never managed to meet the roommate, even though Ashton has known Calum for weeks.  Weird schedules and Michael’s aversion to meeting and possibly getting attached to more people prevented it.  Luke looks between Michael, Calum, and Ashton, and then a lightbulb hits.

“You’re Ashton’s Michael!”

“How many other vampires named Michael do you know?” Ashton asks, and Michael reels back, Calum’s hand on his spine the only thing keeping him upright.

“You know?”  Ashton frowns.

“Michael, I’ve known since the first day I met you.”

“Wh--you never mentioned it!”

“I made some references, then figured it wasn’t something you were comfortable talking about.”

“Wait,” Luke says.  “You know Ashton is a minor deity, right?”

“What? ”

Michael turns desperately to Calum, because none of this makes sense, but Calum is having some sort of silent conversation with Luke.

“You two need to talk,” he says eventually.

“I need to show Calum something in the back, anyway,” Luke says, grabbing Calum’s sleeve and tugging him around the counter, shutting the door to the storeroom behind them.  It’s not the slickest move that Michael’s ever seen, but he’s having a crisis and can’t be bothered to laugh at Luke for it.

“So,” Ashton says.  “It seems there’s been a bit of miscommunication here.”

“You’re a deity?” Michael asks.  Ashton starts to blush, which is cute.  He clasps his hands together and nods once.

“Yeah, my entire family is.  The religion died down centuries ago, so it’s mostly our belief in each other that’s keeping us alive.  I’m basically just an immortal human now, but I’ve been around long enough to recognize other non-humans when I see them.”

“And you’ve known I was a vampire the entire time?” he asks.  Ashton nods.  “Oh.”

“I thought that you knew that I knew,” he says.

“I didn’t,” Michael says.  “I thought you would hate me when you found out.”

“I could never hate you,” Ashton says, taking a step forward and reaching for him before he aborts the movement.  Michael looks at his feet and wonders if what he says next will change that.

“My fangs dropped earlier, when you cut your thumb.”  His voice is steadier than anticipated, but he can’t help but brace himself for Ashton to back away or run screaming.  He doesn’t do either of those.

“Is that why you left so quickly?”

He nods, shame pooling in his stomach.

“I was offering, you know?  I wouldn’t have minded if you had a taste.”

“But I didn’t know that at the time,” Michael says, focusing on the shame so he doesn’t do something horrible like start thinking about what it would really be like to have some of Ashton’s blood.  “I just… lost control.  I can’t do that.  I won’t let myself.”

“I think you’re being a little hard on yourself,” Ashton says gently, stepping closer until he can put his hands on Michael’s arms, then sliding down to grasp his hands.  “Can you look at me?”  Michael tries, then shakes his head.  “That’s okay, and your fangs dropping earlier is okay, too.  You had a lot on your mind, were probably a little hungry, and I was waving my bloody finger under your nose, even if you didn’t recognize it as an invitation.  What’s important is that you didn’t try anything without asking.  You didn’t hurt me; you removed yourself from the situation.  I would say that that’s keeping things pretty under control, wouldn’t you?”

“But I could’ve hurt you, even if I didn’t.”

“Michael, you’re not a mindless beast,” Ashton says.  “The fact that you’re this upset about your body’s natural physical reaction shows that.  You’re not going to do anything to hurt someone else like that.  You have to trust yourself.”

Michael wrinkles his nose, then finally makes himself meet Ashton’s eyes.  There’s nothing but compassion there, no fear or disgust.

“You’re not going to hurt anyone,” Ashton repeats.

“I’m not going to hurt anyone,” Michael agrees.  “I can trust myself with that.”

A grin breaks out on Ashton’s face.

“Good,” he says.  “I trust you, too.”

“And, about meeting your family,” Michael starts.

“Don’t worry about that,” Ashton says.  “I was a little pushy.  We can talk about it and figure out something that works for both of us.”

“I was going to say that I’ll do it,” Michael says.  “Half of my worry had to do with me being a vampire and you and your family being unsuspecting humans, but that’s not an issue anymore.”

“What about the other half?”

“Just normal meeting-the-family jitters,” he says.  “They’re really important to you, and I don’t want them to hate me because I didn’t meet them earlier.”

“They won’t hate you,” Ashton says.  “You’re a delight.”

“I hope they share that thought.”

“They will.  I love you, so they will, too.”

Michael feels like he’s going to burst.  He also feels menally exhausted from this entire affair and the emotional whiplash it’s giving him.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.  Ashton answers by leaning forward, and Michael sinks against him, melting into the feeling.

“So,” Calum says loudly, startling them both.  “Are you guys good now?”

“What do you think?” he snips.

“I don’t know, Luke,” Calum says, turning away from Michael and towards him.  “Do you think that they’re good now?”

“They did look rather cosy,” Luke says.  “In fact, I’d say that Ashton looked ready to pledge himself to Michael as his personal blood bank.  His little ketchup packet, if you will.”

Calum bursts out laughing.  Michael tries to be affronted, but Ashton starts laughing incredulously next to him.

“Ketchup packet?  Is that what I’m reduced to?”

“There are worse titles,” Calum says between bouts of laughter.  Luke looks ridiculously pleased at this development.

“Please never refer to him as my ketchup packet again,” Michael says.  “I’m begging you not to.”

“If the fangs fit,” Luke says, which makes Calum dissolve into laughter again.  It’s not even funny.  Honestly, they deserve each other.

“Come on,” Ashton says.  “Let’s go back to my place.  I want to hear all about your vampire antics from the olden days, now that I know you’re okay with talking about it.”

“Only if I get to hear stories about being a minor deity,” Michael says, grabbing his part of the blood order.  “Cal, you’re paying for this one!”

They’re out the door before Calum can protest, and Ashton puts an arm around his waist as they walk.  It’s uncomfortably sunny out, but Michael feels no rush to get back inside.  They’re both immortal, and they’ve got the rest of their lives.

[scintillating-galaxias]

all the time in the world

(read it here on ao3! sorry for the double post of this, i’ll delete the other one now that this one is properly up :,)

-

Perceptor suppresses a yawn as he watches Brainstorm's servos fly over the keyboard to their command console. Perceptor had finished his own tasks long ago, and although he's spent many nights alone in berth while Brainstorm continued to work, he refuses to let him stay here again. So he quietly waits from the doorway, watching his partner's as he hunches over the console. He can tell his partner is tired because instead of being a fluttering blur, Perceptor can actually make out the individual digits of Brainstorm's hand with shocking clarity. Other than the rapid-fire tak-tak-tak of the keys, their lab is almost entirely silent.

It's unnatural for quiet and Brainstorm to exist in the same instance of space. Where one exists, the other does not. But his usual muttering and noisy methods of working had ceased long ago, snuffed out by frustration. Now his work is punctuated only by sharper sounding stabs at the keys or huffs of dissatisfaction. Usually, there's something to be said for when Brainstorm's so focused on his work he forgoes his usual ruckus. It's like his intensity is so compelling, it demands every drop of attention from absolutely everything in the room. Perceptor himself is no less affected by this phenomenon, willingly drawn in by the enigma that is Brainstorm. But knowing it's only happening now purely because he's so exhausted somewhat dampens that fierce swell of adoration.

For the fifth time that night, Perceptor calls, "Brainstorm, please come to berth."

"I've almost got it," comes the predicted response. "Jus' one more test. Last one, I swear."

"You said that seven trials ago."

"Funny how that works out," mutters Brainstorm. But he still doesn't move. After a moment, Perceptor sighs and crosses the room to slot himself right beside Brainstorm. One arm loosely wraps itself around Brainstorm's, and the other loops around his middle. Brainstorm stiffens for a moment, then with one long, hissing exvent, sinks against Perceptor.

"I hate being smart," he moans.

"That's a first for you."

"I can't get my stupid processor to shut up about this thing. I need it to work so I can fraggin' recharge, but I keep messing up 'cause I'm tired." He huffs and throws up throws up the arm not being held by Perceptor exasperatedly. "I just don't get it. I was doing great a few hours ago, and then I just—fizzled out. Blanked. Totally blanked. I don't 'fizzle out,' Percy! I don't 'blank!'"

"You do when you overwork your systems for cycles on end," Perceptor chides gently.

"Eh, I've done worse for longer. You shoulda seen me P.T.S."

"P.T.S.?"

"Pre-timecase success. It's a working title. You would've had a conniption."

"That's not better. You understand that's not any better, right?"

Brainstorm shrugs and resumes typing. Perceptor idly examines the complicated equations and diagrams on the screen. Brainstorm's latest project involved a new form of teleportation technology that, hypothetically, would completely rework the field of space-time travel. Only, right now, it's only capable of spitting out distorted and completely unusable drinking cubes in different places in their lab. Hundreds of them fill the disposal bin in the back. A few more spill onto the floor. Perceptor has one on his desk that vaguely resembles a bit of waste left by alloygator labeled "NW-BS-TST238." It holds approximately a single mouthful of energon and is simultaneously one of Perceptor's most useless and most dear possessions.

"You're working yourself beyond efficiency," Perceptor hums, bumping his helm against Brainstorm's. "You can only go for so long before your efforts begin to go against themselves. You need to recharge."

Brainstorm's arms strain slightly towards the console. Perceptor squeezes him a little bit tighter in response. "I can't stop now," he says reluctantly. "I really have something going here and if I—"

"And you'll think of something even better tomorrow," Perceptor says, unwinding his arm from Brainstorm's to instead thread his digits in between his to hold his servo in the same loose grip. "You always try to make things better. You don't settle for enough. That is only a small fraction of what makes you extraordinary." He presses a soft kiss to the side of Brainstorm's helm. "But that doesn't mean you can completely omit recharging as a necessity for your function. Come."

"Maybe that's what I should work on next," Brainstorm says half-jokingly. Perceptor shoots him a flat glare. "Kidding. I couldn't give up coming online beside you anymore."

Perceptor's monocle fogs up a bit with how quickly his faceplates heat. "Well," he says as diligently as he can, "we wouldn't want that, would we?"

"Pit, no." Brainstorm finally lifts his servos away from the keyboard. "You're right, though. I'm probably gonna end up deleting everything here tomorrow anyway."

He hits "save" and steps away from the console. Or, he at least tries to. Perceptor suspects Brainstorm somehow forgot someone was holding on to him because he stumbles right over Perceptor's pede and only stays upright because of Perceptor's hand on his waist. "Huh," he mumbles.

"Tired, are we?"

"You can't prove anything."

Perceptor chuckles as he gently begins to lead Brainstorm out of the lab and guides them down the darkened hallway to their shared suite. Now that he's out of the lab, Brainstorm seems completely unable to halt the exhaustion washing over him. He falls silent once again, concentrating on placing one pede in front of the other. Perceptor is still practically carrying him by the time they reach the door to their hab suite.

As he enters the code to their suite, Perceptor asks, "I wasn't aware of any upcoming expos."

"Nah, 's a personal project." Brainstorm furrows his browridge slightly. "I think I kinda hate not having a deadline. Back in our original universe, there was always something that necessess—nessess—" He yawns. "Ugh. Required a schedule. Something to work for. A mission, or some weird new way someone got hurt, or, hell, Whirl getting bored. And now... Yeah. There isn't one now, and that's weird, so I gave myself one. Don't get me wrong," he adds hastily. "I love being here, being with you. Infinite universes? Frag yeah! I just haven't... adjusted." "I think I understand."

The door opens. Perceptor steps into the room and carefully maneuvers Brainstorm into the berth first. Everything about him screams fatigue. His biolights are practically pink with how weak they are; Perceptor is the one to move his drooping wings out of the way when Brainstorm can't even summon the energy to do it himself; his field is feeble and fluttery. Perceptor tsks and moves to plug Brainstorm in, only to frown when he sees the dismaying low numbers on the readout attached to their berth. System failure surely would have been imminent if Brainstorm had spent even one more cycle without recharge.

"Sorry."

"For what?"

"Worrying you. I don't mean to."

Perceptor smiles as he sits down on the edge of the berth. "I know you don't," he says quietly, stroking Brainstorm's wing with a light touch.

"Good."

Perceptor plugs himself in, then goes to lay down right up against Brainstorm, who sleepily shifts his arm enough to allow Perceptor to nestle in close to his chest. Like most fliers, Brainstorm runs warm, and Perceptor can't resist nudging around their limbs a bit to maximize their contact. Judging by Brainstorm's happy sigh, he doesn't mind the arrangement either.

They share a few long, slow vent cycles together.

"It's incredible, really," Perceptor says.

"What is?" "That we're... free. From our planet. Our old lives. The war. Everything." Brainstorm doesn't answer right away. Perceptor wonders if he's finally fallen into recharge. His field is still enough to make him think so. But after a moment, Brainstorm says with a voice fuzzy with sleep, "Never really thought about it." "We can finally create without fear driving us, or anger, or revenge. We can invent not because of mortal peril, but for our own satisfaction. Your very existence was created for the name of the war. Mine, perhaps less literally so, but most of my function was still spent with the Wreckers or inventing the next biggest weapon, our newest shield, the best way to mobilize ourselves to fight or to run." "But that was then." "That was then," Perceptor agrees softly. "This is now. There's no need to run. There's no need to fight. There's a new purpose for us in this universe." He kisses Brainstorm's chest plate, right over his spark, and smiles when he feels Brainstorm's frame rumble happily beneath his lips. "And we have all the time in the world to find it."

[bbnibini]

PSISLY: An Obey Me!CYOA – forty-seven🔖

[ I like it. ]

(Mammon's affection -60)

{ OPEN STATUS : YES

> approved > displaying capture targets

Mammon: 30♡/100♡ Satan: 85♡/100♡ Barbatos: 0♡/100♡ Lucifer: 5♡/100♡

CLOSE STATUS : YES >approved }

It started raining as you spoke, familiar with the scent of petrichor in the air as it hit the earth. Perhaps because of it taking your attention, you mistook Mammon's calm expression with a wistful one for a fraction of a second--gone immediately from your peripheral as he told you, "Forgive me, but we must run." His statement led both of you to an awning of a nearby restaurant. Thanks to his quick response, both of you were only slightly damp, although from the way the rain was turning into a downpour, as well as the clock inching every second closer to your curfew, that may immediately change. Mammon acknowledged that and looked over to your side.

"Allow me to find both of us an umbrella. We cannot stay here for long." And you nodded despite still being weirded out by his mannerisms.

The moments of your lonesome with a downpour just a few steps away from your small safe space led you to a trail of idle thoughts. You wondered about the strange way he was behaving, the reasons behind his actions and most of all, your alarming attraction to a side of his that you weren't very used to. The way he spoke reminded you of the elusive Mammon who wrote you the letter---fancy words filled with love and affection, hinting of shyness and melancholy at every passage. A reserved love that threatened to pour out with every apology, with every praise or pleasantry it pretends to be interested in, masking away the three words that seemed to permeate despite its veneer of propriety. A love that regrets, but loves you despite all the reasons that seemed to argue against it. A love that felt burdened but kept on loving, unnoticed by an oblivious you. A love that loved enough to share jokes and even lighthearted conversations with you despite the weight of its sacrifice. A love perhaps a little too heavy for someone like you who had only noticed it until now--yet despite the weight of its feelings, you'd want to give it a chance.

Why? Because it felt like its sender, who adored you so much (almost to an unimaginable extent), needed it too---to be loved and cherished unconditionally. A wonderful person that deserves a love only equal to his own. That was why you wanted to love Mammon, willing and perhaps even excited to see the side of him he had been trying so hard to hide behind his empty vitriol and threats. You wanted that Mammon to feel that he is also loved, and will be loved despite it all. But who were you to decide for him? Why did you feel not a hint of worry or care once he started acting strange? Why were you excited about his change instead? Was it terrible of you to feel anticipation over it? Any conclusion to your thoughts had to end prematurely with his arrival. He seemed to have run a considerable distance, for the usually energetic him was panting in front of you.

"I apologise for taking so long. Here." he handed you a plain, black folding umbrella as he wiped himself with his wet handkerchief.

"What about you?"

"I'm already wet, so using an umbrella is useless. You however, might catch a cold. Now hurry before Lucifer goes home before us."

You can't argue against that, so you reneged. Hating the silence consuming both of you, you kept on conversing with him as you walked home.

"I'm sorry for making you run in the rain. It must have been difficult getting  an umbrella."

"Not really," Mammon sounded almost bashful. "Rather, I felt bad for taking it."

"Taking?" he didn't purchase it?

Noticing your confusion, Mammon answered. "There were actually two of them: a disposable one and this one near the park. The nearby shops have already sold out of umbrellas, so I was left with no choice but to…borrow it."

Pfft!

The old Mammon would have grabbed both umbrellas without a care. This new Mammon was amusing, however. "So why did you only take one?" you couldn't help but ask.

"Why? Well, it would be the right thing to do. What if other people are stranded and are in need of one to get home?" he sounded almost offended while he explained his reasoning to you and it took all of your being not to point out his adorable pouting as he spoke.

"This isn't so bad…"

"Pardon?"

"You. This...you. It's weird but I like it. I really like it." You smiled at him. "Why did you randomly decide to act like this though? Did you lose a bet or something?"

You thought you were in the middle of a lighthearted conversation. Your smiles should already be telling, and so was your playful tone, but Mammon suddenly stopped walking. There was a frown on his face, a look of hurt you recognised at the many instances where his feelings had been overlooked--a mean word spoken out of affection but still carried wounds and scars.

Have you…hurt him?

"Do you really like it that much?" his polite tone sounded forced. "Perhaps you would prefer it if I stay this way?"

The rain was loud on your ears, the black umbrella on your hands colliding with the downpour and creating an uncomfortable, crackling sound. You felt your shoes stepping on a puddle as you were stopped his gaze. His hands were balled into fists, threatening to burst a vein with how tightly it was clenched. Yet…only confusion seemed to register in your emotions, oblivious to the weight of your own words.

"I don't understand Mammon."

You heard him sigh.

"I'm not sure what you're implying but, I like you. Am I supposed to say I hate that you're acting like this, even if it's a lie?"

He looked…tired---the rain not helping to cause an illusion of tears on his spectacled face. If not for the small smile gracing his features, you would have assumed you made him cry as well. Then again, would someone who you hurt look at you so gently? His wet hand laid atop your head.

"You're right. Liking someone shouldn't be so complicated. As long as you like me, even if it's a lie, you'll never leave my side, won't you?"

Blinking, you answered obliviously. "Well, I have a few more weeks left. And even then, we'd still see each other, right?"

Laughter had been his answer to you, along with the long-drawn silence accompanied by seemingly endless rainfall. Silence continued to loom between the two of you even as you fussed over him to take a quick shower and get a fresh change of clothes so he wouldn't catch a cold once you got home. Dinner had been the same as usual, albeit with forced conversations that you couldn't bear to pretend on not noticing. Perhaps he noticed as well, and was rather affectionate with you (probably because of it) once you two were alone. Questions were raised over his strange behaviour, but he had been avoidant, even unaccommodating with his answers, only focused on the warmth of your hand under the dinner table; his lukewarm responses, although polite reminded you of his impulsive old self---his old self that you began to wonder if it's ever coming back.

[ MEMORIA 8: ~Chasing an Illusion~ unlocked ]

>Read now

💌💌💌

Lately, you've been getting concerned questions from people around you:

"Is something wrong?"

Define "wrong". On what grounds should you, in your otherwise not-so-wrong state feel…wrong? While Mammon had continued to act weird, you didn't really mind it. It wasn't wrong. So why is everyone saying otherwise? That there's something wrong with the two of you? You can both be weird at times (read: all the time), and Lucifer didn't seem to mind it before…(sort of). So why is he so concerned now?

"Looking at the two of you is painful. If you two are fighting, talk it out. Make your last few weeks in this exchange program count. Are we getting ourselves clear?"

aRe wE gEtTiNg OurSeLvES cLeAR?

…not. That was a terrible Lucifer impression. Levi wouldn't have let you live it down if he heard it. Lucifer? Yeah, good luck living. Silently thankful for the privacy of your own thoughts, you feigned reverence and pretended you were listening to him.

Why are they acting like this? You didn't understand. Mammon had been wonderful lately and even took you to an amusement park as an early gift for finishing the final exams. That's less than a month by now; everyone was still busy with festival preparations and your date that weekend was the final rest day you're going to have for a long while. Realising the thoughtfulness of his gestures earned him your incessant words of affection. He wasn't cute anymore when he hears it, but his smile was beautiful and made your heart skip a beat. Everyday was bliss. He treated you like a princess and made you feel that you're loved, and you try your best to let him know that you feel the same way. So…why is everyone telling you to go back to normal again?

…isn't this normal? Shouldn't they be happy that Mammon is now a changed demon?

You thought that Lucifer would be your final lecturer for the day until you heard someone knocking at your door.

"Are you still awake?"

Oh good. First it was the Father, now it's the Son. Who's next? The Holy Ghost?

"Yeah. Come in, Satan."

It suddenly felt really warm, which was ridiculous because it was raining outside. You rolled up your sleeves as you asked Satan to come inside, offering him a snack from your stash which he politely declined.

"It will only take a while. I just wanted to say something to you."

You were smiling from the outside, but you were screaming your lungs out on the inside. You wondered if Satan could tell.

"You might be tired of hearing it already though."

Oh, he could. Then again, if he knows, then why is he repeating what everyone else is saying to you? Isn't he supposed to be the mom friend? Can't he see this is already stressing you out?

"A bit…I'm tired of telling everyone we're fine. If Mammon wants to act like that, then just leave him be. He's trying his best to change, so why is everyone concerned about that?" Really. Someone tell you. When you ask, they just look at you with pity, as if the answer was right in front of you all along. Satan reacted the same way as you threw in your usual rhetoric, growing contemplative.

"It's something you should realise for yourself. It's not in my place to say it."

"If it's something I should already know, then why can't I already know? This is ridiculous, Satan. What are we doing wrong? We're happy, so why is everyone treating it like it's a problem?"

You regretted your own words immediately. You saw something new in his eyes. Anger. New as it was never directed at you like this. Though only for a few moments, it was enough to stun you into silence. Fear. What have you done to make him snap? Are you the villain in all of this? Why?

"He's been cursed for a while. Didn't you notice?" He spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Or have you enjoyed playing house with him so much  to spare any thought for his feelings?"

"Excuse me?!" you cried. "Cursed? Mammon? I already asked him if he's okay and he said he is! He's been improving lately! He even paid Levi back and never got into trouble anymore! So what if it's a curse? Isn't this what you all wanted?"

Crash! went the empty vase on your desk as you backed away from Satan who had cornered you. He was holding his anger, you could tell; he didn't want to hurt you. Still, you felt fear as you locked eyes into each other, seeing his cruel emerald eyes sucking you to its pent-up anger within.

"I lifted it this morning. Do you know what he said to me?"

Your lips quivered in reply, feeling a film of cold sweat on your body at his every word.

"He said, turn me back."

What?

"Concerned now, are we?" he said mockingly. "If your so-called farce of a relationship with him is happy , then why would he go so far as to ask the witches to turn him into a different person? Tell me, won't you?

.

.

.

.

.

Who do you really love?"

No. He's wrong! You love Mammon! You're happy together! He told you he loved you and you said the same! Heck, you were all over each other this afternoon!

You heard a sound come out of you. Your eyes stung from the realisation that you had been gasping for air. You smelled Satan's cologne burying your nostrils, his arms warm and gentle as he soothed your back. What was he saying? Why couldn't you hear him?

Love. Love.

What was wrong with your love? Didn't you love Mammon? Your wonderful Mammon who was more than what he seems? His gentleness and unexpected shyness, his hidden eloquence, the gracefulness of his movements, his small yet loving warm smiles directed only at you..

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Is that really Mammon?

You knew you loved him at some point. Did getting to know him…disappoint you? Is that why you pretended there was still love in your heart? No! You love him, you still love him! Your Mammon. Your one and only Mammon. So…why didn't you notice he was hurting? Why were you pushing him to change when he didn't want to? You asked Satan's question back at yourself over and over, while the real one kept calling your name to try and calm you down. You wondered how you slept that night, or if you slept at all. You wondered how many hours had passed since you learned of the truth. How many knocks there were at your door, how much you stared at your uninteresting wall, hoping for something to happen there that would make you...feel something again. You wondered how much of a monster you've become, placing your unrealistic ideals at someone who genuinely loved you. You wondered how much he had been hurting since then. You wondered if you even had the right to say sorry to him for being a grade A bitch. For hurting him, for being an oblivious prick that fell in love with a stupid letter, and not the actual person who wrote it.

And that's what you're only good at. Wondering. Dreaming. Hoping.

…is there any way to fix this?

Why are the two of you circling at each other and not talking,ACTUALLY talking at all?

That's when you started to notice.

There was stiffness in his gestures now; awkward, lacking its usual class--Satan was right. You're tired of closing your eyes at what was glaringly obvious.

"Mammon?" you decided to finally tell him everything the moment when you two were finally alone and you have gathered your bearings.

You need to tell him the truth. You don't even care about being forgiven. You just didn't want to hurt him anymore. Not if all of what he had been doing was out of desperation. Not if he was losing himself in the process. Your heart ached when he directed a smile at you. It was funny that just a day ago, that same smile caused your heart to race, making you feel butterflies all over. Now? You just felt disgusted with yourself. Sick to your stomach. Repulsed. You're a horrible person , you heard a voice say in your head. No, you don't deserve him at all. It added, not even giving you a chance to retort.

"I think we need to talk."

"Oh? Is it about the festival? Did you decide to wear something special after all?"

Oh god. That innocent smile. You hated the thought of it disappearing for good. Then again, you already hurt him, so why don't you hurt him even further?

.

.

.

"Are you alright? You're sweating bullets."

He asked you in concern as you got lost in your thoughts. His warm hand touched your cheek and you couldn't help but hold it so it wouldn't let go.

"No," you began, plucking out all of your courage to look up at him. "We're not okay, aren't we?"

His face paled. "W-what do you mean?"

Something was holding you back from saying your next words. It felt like something was blocking your mouth from saying anything further. Something hurt in your chest as hesitation slowly consumed you, leaving your concerned lover's queries only in painful silence. You tried to swallow it back, hoping that it would go away, but it only continued to spread further, casting dark shadows around your heart.

Should you really hurt him further? After all that you've done?

"I'm sorry, Mammon. This is all my fault, isn't it?"

Ah, his smile was gone , and you were only left with Mammon clinging to you tightly. His voice trembled as he spoke his next words.

"I can change. I will. I'll go back to normal. Is that what you want?"

Normal ? You wanted to cry. So even he was deluded as well, poisoned with the twisted love you had for each other. If you're already the villain in this story, then why not act more villanous? Why just stop there?

"No, I don't want that Mammon. It's unfair. Maybe we should---"

"No! I ain't letting ya!"

You couldn't breathe.

"Mammon,"you began again."You're miserable. This relationship isn't healthy for you. For us."

"No! I didn't hear anything!" he clung to you tighter, shaking his head over and over. "It's okay! I didn't hear ya. We're good. I'm fine. We're happy, aren't we?"

"No we're not. Your brothers are worried about you. About us. Why cling to a love that isn't even yours?"

Your ears rang with his screams. Raw, guttural and painful--screams that eventually turned into sobs. His nails dug into your back, as if holding onto there for his dear life while truth's cruel abyss was slowly pulling him in. You couldn't do anything for him. Kindness will only make him hope, and you've had enough of that now. Try as you to pull him away, however, he stuck to you. Cloying, desperate, hurt. And you, the villain who started it all could only look on, denying the tears that threatened to fall on your own eyes.

"It's me! It's my fault!" he said repeatedly, trembling in your arms. "I lied to you! I kept it a secret from you! I'm sorry! Don't leave me!"

"Calm down, Mammon. Ple--"

"I DIDN'T WRITE YOUR DAMN LETTER!" he shouted, his breaths heavy at every syllable spoken. "The one I wrote was sent to the wrong locker!"

You couldn't believe your ears. More than that…

You hated how hope bloomed in your heart.

>continue to next scenario

[ladyknight33]

Hero of Numbani: A Review

So I finally got around to reading this book. In short it is cute. Written for grade school children much like Efi, age 12. A lovely dip into the Overwatch world for fans of the game by bringing in in-game interactions and voice lines. If you play the game you immediately get the characters’s voices in your head because of them. Also prolific use of current lore, mainly by way of the Overwatch Cookbook. The favorite foods of the characters liberally referred to throughout the pages.

The protagonist Efi is adorable in trying to balance the life of a genius with life as a child. The story is as much about this struggle as it is about the building of Orisa. The transformation and teaching of an OR-15 “Idina” is the catalyst for Efi’s growth as an individual. Without spoiling too much of the plot, Efi and her friends navigate the struggles of relationships, both with family and friends. The lessons learned are important for young people to learn early and this book allows its readers to experience such turmoil and joy across its pages.

Forewarning, I’m going to get a little critical here on out. 

While I enjoyed the attempt to expand Overwatch Lore and develop their characters with a backstory, it generally felt stilted. My initial takeaway thoughts were on why the Overwatch animated shorts and comics felt approachable to all ages but the Overwatch prose/short stories felt limited to school age children. 

My personal opinion, probably from reading too much epic fantasy by Robert Jordan and Elizabeth Haydon, was that the world Drayden wrote for Numbani relies heavily on the reader having played the game and experienced the Numbani map. Very little description is given to fill in the non Overwatch fan of this world 

Perhaps my favorite piece of description was for Efi’s iconic look. Drayden took the time to try to put into words the African clothing for us non-African readers. Trying to describe ethnic clothing for people who have never seen it before and have no idea what the items of dress are called is complicated and time consuming. I appreciate the effort and it will take me a few more readings to really understand what the items of dress actually look like. But for Efi, Drayden did more than that. She explained the personal history of each item Efi wears in the above picture. It gives the reader a clear sense Efi’s personality and what’s important to her. This is all for a purpose within the plot, but I felt these descriptions were among her best in the story.

Perhaps the most complicated part of writing is the pacing of the plot and warring with character development. Obviously Efi and Orisa are the protagonists and it is their growth that is most important to the story. The side characters such as Efi’s friends felt more like a list of names. While reading the story, I did not get a good sense of their personality or even their physical description. Efi’s cousin Dayo got the most attention of the group for his use of a cane and spectacular costume sense. Yet as a three demential character even he seems lacking.

This is easily justified by the story length and target audience. I’m clearly not part of the target audience. I read in-depth and get discouraged when reading works I cannot get lost in. For the target audience, this is appropriate but not challenging in its use of English. Again, I’m comparing my childhood favorites of Brian Jacques and Mickey Zucker Reichert to a totally different genre. Do not let it detract from the enjoyment of the Drayden’s story.

Another difficulty is making “baby” characters interesting. Both Efi and Orisa are children. They do not have the long complicated backstories that most of the Overwatch characters have. We’re reading their adventures as they happen. Nor do they fall easily into a hero trope. They do not have a lot of experience to draw upon, so we get to read about their mistakes and lessons learned. Some instances don’t seem plausible, but I had to remind myself that this is a future world and Efi is a genius so the power of the suspension of disbelief must be strong. 

The most troubling issue for me within this story, is how Efi does not seem to have a mentor. No guiding light beyond the collective memory of Gabrielle Adawe and the idealization of Overwatch. Efi sets out on her robotic misadventures without an elder to ask questions of. Sure this would make some of the misadventures impossible, but it also would make the world more believable. 

While building Orisa, Efi’s priorities seem scattered with no real plan. This leads to multiple failures. Efi takes on an insurmountable task for anyone much less a 12 year old. It would stand to reason one lesson to be learned is not to be afraid to ask for help. I don’t think this is conveyed through this story as there are many instances where Efi assumes full responsibility for problems beyond her control or capability. Again, I’m not the author so I do not know Drayden’s decisions beyond this might not be the story she wanted to tell.

Now we cannot have a story without discussing the antagonist. In some respects the obstacles Efi overcomes is her own family’s expectations and limitations. The clear conflict comes from Doomfist. His act of stealing back his Gauntlet and destroying the OR-15s is the beginning of Efi’s story. Everything before was setting the stage.

Doomfist does not receive much “screen time” within the book. He is a background threat. He shows up, causes chaos, and remains a haunting threat into the future. Drayden tries to set up his terror by comparing it to the previous Doomfist: The Scourge and to the Omnic Crisis. All of this through Efi’s view point of the scant memories she has of her family.

The Reader may not get a true sense of the threat and danger, but Drayden does well to describe it around the lens of a child who had been shielded during the worst of the terror.

Doomfist himself is a flat character within this story. The reader knows his story from his character release, not from Drayden’s The Hero of Numbani story. Efi and her friends mention the jail break, but there is little context to it. He serves only as the grand obstacle and test of Orisa’s abilities. 

Let’s not forget Lucio. 

He’s like the prize inside the cereal box. 

If Efi were ever to have a mentor, Lucio is a great fit. She idolizes him. Drayden wonderfully gets inside the mind of a “tween” to show how captivated she is about the music icon. He is the voice of reason and encouragement Efi needed through this whole story.

Lucio shows up much like a guest star. We get a greater sense of his character and personality through his interactions with Efi. Yet we are still left to develop out sense of him from the gameplay.

His purpose within this story is that of a “fairy-godmother.” To give the protagonists exactly what they need at exactly the right moment. This is a very useful tool in writing. Here I do not feel like it was well disguised at all. Time constraints or author’s choice; it is not a bad placement or use of character. Just not my preferred. 

If you have made it this far, thank you.

In short this story is cute and an easy summer read. It has all the charm of a child’s cartoon show. (Netflix, if you’re listening, this would be an excellent addition to your animated line of shows. I’d love to see it in the vein of the animated short for Doomfist’s reveal.) The dynamic of these over the top characters are perfect for the small screen. The brightly colored and exquisite atmosphere of Numani deserves center stage. 

Even with the heavy use of in-game dialogue and voice interactions rather than new developments, this story was worth the read. Not the masterpiece or lore rich epic I’m hoping for. Stylistically cute. A shout out to fans, but not a gateway to non-fans. If you read this book, you must have prior knowledge of the characters and setting from the game and character releases. 

All that said, I do hope there are more stories. The listing of The Hero of Numabi as Overwatch #1 gives me hope. I would love to see more lore rich stories that can stand alone without relying heavily on game play, where every other sentence seems like it is borrowed from the game.

Efi and Orisa may seem like periphery characters now, but they hold promise to boost the Overwatch world. 

Side note: I love the original Overwatch cast. But reading this story has made me want to see more Lucio in the future. Lucio feels like he could be the leader Overwatch needs and deserves in order to bring it back into respectful prominence. 

[musicprincess655]

So this was written for the SamFlam Gift Exchange run by @watchsamuraiflamenco for @maid-of-the-golden-deer! I hope you like it.

“What do you think was the hardest part about when she went missing?” his therapist asks. 

Hidenori resists the urge to scowl at her. He doesn’t like talking about her in general, the time she went missing in specific, and he doesn’t particularly want to talk about it now. But, as Mari has pointed out before, she’s not footing the bill for the best trauma therapist in the city for him to sit there and glare at her, so he sighs and tries to give her a real answer. 

“I didn’t...know,” he starts, halting, because he’s never been asked to put it into words before, never been asked to do anything but grieve and then get over it, and he didn’t even manage to do that right. “I didn’t know what happened. I didn’t know if she was dead, or maybe she needed my help because she was stuck somewhere, or maybe kidnapped. Or maybe she wasn’t in trouble at all. Maybe that time she said she’d drop out of school and run away and join a wandering theater troupe, maybe she wasn’t kidding like I thought she was. Maybe she was happy. But I didn’t know.”

The thing is, intellectually, Hidenori knows what he’s doing, knows he’s the one sending messages between him and her. It’s a trick of knowing without knowing, thinking around himself, and it sounds hard, but he’s just so used to it, like his brain’s run itself into ruts he can’t quite get out of. He’s getting...better at acknowledging it, but better isn’t good, not yet. 

Maybe he should feel guilty for using the memory of a girl he loved to soothe everything he feels, but he’s not there yet, either.

“So, lack of closure, then,” his therapist says. Her name is Tsukino, and instead of the kind-eyed older woman he expected her to be, she’s only ten years older than him, and remarkably good at not putting up with his nonsense. It had grated on him when this started, but he recognizes it makes her a pretty perfect fit for him. “The text messages give you some kind of closure? Allow you to know?”

It’s a difficult line of questioning. Sometimes, Hidenori is okay with exploring the fact that he’s the one sending messages from her phone. Sometimes he retreats behind his ability to not know that, and any questions on that topic are useless. 

He’s willing to at least give it a shot today. 

“I guess,” he says. 

“And what if you were to get real closure?” she asks. “Even if it was bad, do you think that would still be better than not knowing?”

And just like that, Hidenori is done giving this a shot for today. 

“We’re...taking a break.”

It’s been a year since she started her trip, and Hidenori has had varying success with distancing himself from her. He’d sent her a message last week - him to her, not the other way around - asking to take a break for a while, since they hadn’t seen each other in so long. 

“Is that because of someone else in your life?” Tsukino asks. 

Yes, Hidenori thinks, and waits to feel guilty, and doesn’t. 

“Maybe,” he says instead. 

Tsukino lets the non-answer slide, and shifts her position. 

“How’s Masayoshi doing?” she asks. 

This is easy. Hidenori could talk about Masayoshi for their entire sessions if he wanted. 

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe the trouble that idiot found himself in this time,” he says, rolling his eyes fondly. “Listen to the wild idea he came up with…”

***

Despite what the media would have everyone believe, Masayoshi has interests other than superheroes. Sure, they’ll always be his favorites, but he managed to hold a pretty demanding job for years before all the Samurai Flamenco stuff started, and he does things other than sit in his house and watch superhero movies. Just because that happens to be his favorite thing to do doesn’t mean he doesn’t do other things. 

Take now, for instance. He’s plastered to Hidenori’s side, pointing out where cherry blossoms are starting to bud. It’s at least a month until they bloom, but Masayoshi is excited anyway. He’s not exactly like a little kid, but the simple joy he takes from something so small could be pretty easily called childish. Hidenori thinks he might find Masayoshi too naive if he didn’t know this is Masayoshi’s way of taking a break from all his World President duties. 

Sometimes, not even superhero shows can cut it when what Masayoshi really needs is a change of pace. 

“We should bring a picnic when they bloom,” Masayoshi says. 

“You know curry isn’t a very good picnic food, right?” Hidenori teases. 

“Goto-san!” Masayoshi complains. “I can cook other things now!”

“Sure you can,” Hidenori says, but it’s unbearably fond even in his own ears. “I’ll just end up making sandwiches myself.”

“You’d do that?”

“Sure.” 

It’s so easy to agree to when he knows Masayoshi’s eyes will light up at the promise. Masayoshi likes to take care of people, likes to be the reason they’re happier, the reason they’re okay, but it’s only more reason that he needs someone to look after him. 

It’s the real reason Hidenori started going to therapy in the first place. Sure, Mari hounded him up and down about it because it had worked so well for her, she and Moe have never been happier, at least give it a chance Goto-san. In the end, though, it took Mari pulling out her trump card. 

“You can’t belong to him if you still belong to her,” she’d said, nodding at an oblivious Masayoshi talking to Moe. 

And God, but Hidenori wanted to belong to Masayoshi. Wanted them to belong to each other. 

So he called the therapist she recommended, and when he balked at the cost, Mari offered to cover all the costs. Hidenori had protested - he’s an adult, and this is a decision he made for himself, he won’t accept charity - but Mari wouldn’t hear of it, insisting it was her gift in gratitude for the kindness he’d shown her. 

And. Well. She did live in his closet for a good long while. 

“Do you think we have to plan early to get a good spot?” Masayoshi asks. “Won’t there be a lot of people?”

“It probably won’t hurt to plan ahead,” Hidenori agrees. 

“Should we invite people?”

“It might get complicated to plan around everyone’s schedules.” And Hidenori kind of wants this to be a date for just him and Masayoshi. 

“Still…” Masayoshi trails off as Hidenori’s phone rings. “Are you expecting a call?”

“No,” Hidenori says, pulling it out. Usually, the only people who call him are work or his mother. Sure enough, his mother’s contact information is on the screen. “I’ll take this quickly.”

His mother probably just has something she wants him to come down and fix, or she wants him to come down more often in general. 

“When are you going to be back?” she asks as soon as they finish exchanging greetings. 

“Mom,” Hidenori sighs. “We’re talked about this. I have a job, I can’t just leave whenever I want-”

“You haven’t been watching the news?” she asks, surprised obvious in his voice. 

“From back home?” Hidenori asks. Why should he? She always tells him the town gossip whether he wants it or not. “No, not really.”

“But it’s about…” she trails off, and takes a deep breath. “They found a body.”

***

So, as it turns out, all that stuff people say about going numb in times of trauma is less true than anything has any right to be. All that stuff about feeling like nothing is real? Yeah, Hidenori wishes. 

He can’t remember anything feeling more real. 

By the time he makes it back home, preparations are already complete for the funeral. He doesn’t actually get to see the body. Not that he’d be able to recognize anything if he had. After all these years, she would have only been a skeleton. They’d have identified her through dental records. 

He did bully a local policeman into taking him out to where a couple of kids playing in the woods found her body. He had a vivid memory of that exact spot. He must have passed right by her and never noticed in the search. 

I could have given you this earlier, he thinks. He looks over at her parents. There are a few tears in her mother’s eyes, but not the unrestrained grief most people would expect of a mother losing a child. Her parents had mourned the loss of their daughter in a way Hidenori never could. I could have given you the closure you needed back then.

But in the end, he’s the only one that needed the closure. 

Hidenori expected to be a mess at the funeral. He was certainly a mess when she first went missing. He remembers crying, remembers cutting himself off from everyone who tried to help him. 

But having everything come together like this, losing any way to pretend it’s not real, and feeling everything he never allowed himself to work through all those years ago, it’s almost like it shorts him out. He stands there, unmoving, unflinching, as the storm rages inside him. He wishes the funeral would go by in a blur, but he feels every excruciating moment, right until he’s the last one left by her grave. 

He doesn’t have a coping mechanism for this. 

As stuck in the moment as he is, he’s instantly aware of the warm weight at his shoulder. Masayoshi leans into his shoulder, not enough to push, but just enough to let Hidenori know he’s there. 

“She’s gone,” Hidenori says. His voice doesn’t sound like him. “All this time, she was just gone.”

And then all the grief he didn’t work through all those years ago crashes too hard, and the tears start coming. 

Masayoshi pulls him into a hug, tucking Hidenori’s face into his shoulder. Hidenori clings to him and sobs, awful, heaving things that wrack his body and pound his ribs, the physical manifestation of a grief that was pushed down for far too long. He holds tight like Masayoshi can keep him from breaking apart, and maybe he can, maybe he’s still the hero he always has been. 

Masayoshi never lets him go. 

“I can’t make it go away,” Masayoshi says. “But I can stay. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t…” Hidenori gulps. The worst of the sobs are done, and now he’s just soaking Masayoshi’s suit. “You can’t fight this off.”

“I know,” Masayoshi says. “But you still don’t have to do it alone.”

Hidenori just holds on, and as his crying finally stops, he feels a quiet inside himself that hasn’t been there in years. 

***

“Hey, so, happy thirtieth birthday,” Hidenori says, laying a bouquet of flowers at her grave. “It’s supposed to be a big deal.”

“Goto-san, help me with the food,” Masayoshi calls. 

“Yes, stop spacing out and help your husband,” his mother chides. Hidenori turns to see Masayoshi struggling with the containers, trying to pass food to everyone at once, and her parents chuckle at his antics. 

Maybe it’s strange to have this picnic with his parents and the parents of his ex-girlfriend, but it’s become routine over the years. Hidenori comes out to lay flowers on her grave on her birthday every year, and allows any grief he has inside him to come out, and when he’s done, the people who loved her remember her. 

And the horrible ocean of grief that lives inside him gets smaller as the years pass, becomes something quiet, something that shaped him but not something that defines him. 

Masayoshi never left. Hidenori never expected him to break that promise. He’s still here, and so is Hidenori, and they can say goodbye to her and step forward together into the future, and that, Hidenori thinks, is a life. That’s what it’s made of. Stepping forward, and doing it together, and spilling rice on the counter or sauce on their hands and laughing and cleaning up and crying and moving on. 

This is a life. It���s the one he built. It’s the one he’ll keep.

[justheretobreakthings]

Kings Over Aces - Chapter 8

(Previous Chapter)

Word Count: 3,994 (Total Word Count: 30,980) Read on AO3 My house, my rules, my ko-fi

Story Summary:

The Voltron Coalition has an alliance in the works with the resource-rich planet of Yuipra, and it’s the paladins’ job to keep on the king’s good side while the deal is made. That shouldn’t shouldn’t be too great a challenge; after all, they’ve courted plenty of planets before for the sake of alliances.

Unfortunately, things are made much more complicated when the king takes a special interest in Keith.

Fic content warning for attempted rape.

“Fancy a sparring partner?”

After one finishing blow to the training bot, Keith lifted an arm to wipe away the salty sweat dripping down his forehead into his eyes and turned on his heel toward the source of the voice, the bot evaporating in a puff behind him. Allura stood on the edge of the training deck, dressed in her pink armor and with her dormant bayard in her hand.

“Allura,” he said. “When, uh, when did you get here?”

“Just a few doboshes ago,” she answered. “But, I didn’t want to speak up until you finished off that bot, didn’t want to interrupt.” She tilted her head. “You all right there, Keith? You’re redder than usual. You haven’t been in here all morning, have you?”

Keith shrugged. “I was getting out of practice. Had to make up for it.”

“Mm.” A hint of a frown passed over the princess’s features, but she didn’t say anything more about it. “Well, if you still want to keep training, I’ll be happy to join you. You can catch your breath a bit if you’re sharing the load.”

Keith grimaced. “Actually, ah - ” He let his bayard return to his resting state in his hand. “I was just finishing up. The deck’s all yours.”

“I see. You’re certain you don’t want to do some light cooldown exercises? Better for your muscles that way.”

“Nah, I’m okay.” He rolled his shoulders back and started toward the exit. “Some other time.”

The frown on Allura’s face deepened, no longer just a hint. “I hope I didn’t put you out by interrupting here. If you want me to go, give you some more time on your own to train - ”

“Forget it, it’s fine,” Keith muttered.

He ducked his head as he stalked past her toward the door, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t a hard grip, and it was high enough on the arm to only be touching the sleeve of his tee shirt, not his skin, but he still had to bite back a wince at the sudden contact.

“Keith,” Allura said slowly. “You’re allowed to be angry at us, you know.”

Keith took a step back. “Hm?” he said, lifting his head to meet Allura’s earnest gaze.

“You’ve been keeping your distance from me, from all your teammates. And of course, I suppose that’s only natural, after… after everything. But I hope you don’t feel that you need to keep that distance up forever. We’ve all come so far, in becoming a team, you especially. I just would hate to see this mistake making all of that for naught. However severe a mistake it may have been.”

Keith said nothing, and after a few ticks of hesitation, Allura continued. “We’ve apologized, I know, but that’s still very little. And I know we’ve had talks with you before, about your, er, your volatility...”

“My temper,” Keith said flatly.

“Well, yes.” She took a deep breath. “And we’ve all noticed that you’ve been uncharacteristically… restrained, ever since returning from your evening in Yuipra. I just want to make sure you know, you don’t need to be holding back for our sake, not right now. It’s not healthy, and, well, you are perfectly within your rights to be angry with us.”

“...Yeah. I guess.”

“So I’ll understand if you, er - if you need to yell, if you need to snap. I’m glad that you’re finding an outlet, of course.” She gestured with a wave of her hand to the training deck around them. “But if there’s more that you need to let out, you’re free to. Better to have it in the open, yes?”

A pause reigned between them, Allura watching Keith with a furrowed brow and pursed lips, her posture stiff as though she were bracing herself to absorb the blow when Keith exploded. But instead, he finally sighed. “Look, Allura,” he said. “I was mad, okay? I was pissed off. I was mad that I came out to you all and you treated it as an inconvenience, I was mad that you made me do that stupid date training, I was mad as hell at the way Olren was treating me that whole night. But once I got chained to that goddamn bed, I was too busy being scared out of my fucking mind to be mad, and after it was all over? I was tired. I’m tired, Allura. I’m just tired. Don’t really think I’ve got the energy to be angry with everyone right now.” He shrugged. “Wouldn’t do any good to scream at you guys anyhow. It’s over.”

“Keith - ”

“I really don’t know what you want from me right now.” He ran a hand through his hair, grabbing at the ends when he reached them and tugging. “You’ve all said your piece, I’ve said mine, and I’m coping. So why are we talking about this?”

“I only - ” Allura swallowed. “I only want to ensure that you’re aware that we’re there for you. Your whole team is. And if there’s anything we can do to help get things back to normal, we’d be more than happy to.”

“Back to normal,” Keith repeated. “Like, back to the way things were before Yuipra? Or before I became the black paladin? Or before Voltron? Ship’s already sailed on all of them, Allura. And if you’re seriously suggesting that we try and pretend all this shit didn’t happen - ”

“No, stars, no, that’s not what I’m trying to say,” Allura said, looking properly aghast. “Of course I’m not suggesting that, we oughtn’t sweep anything under the rug. I meant - I only meant - ” With a sigh, she stepped back, leaning the back of her head against the wall, somehow still managing to regal despite the posture. “I only want to make things easier, however that happens. For our team’s sake. For your sake. And I don’t know how.”

Keith pursed his lips, crossing his arms.

“There have been plenty of times since our Voltron team began,” Allura continued softly, “When I just wished I could somehow magically undo everything. All the conflict, all the hard decisions we’ve made. All the wrong ones. Every instance when any of us ends up hurting. Of course, there’s not enough magic in the universe to manage that. And there’s no good to come of just wishing it.”

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride,” Keith mumbled.

Allura quirked a brow at him. “What’s that?”

“Oh. Just some Earth expression. Shiro’s said it to me a couple of times, in the past.”

“But what does it mean?”

Keith shrugged. “No clue. Never asked. Just, you know, he says stuff like that so confidently, I tend to just kinda accept it. He’s pretty much got an endless supply of proverbs and stuff, they can’t all be winners.”

“I suppose… He’s worried about you too, you know,” said Allura.

“Shiro?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Figures. He’s always worried about me.” He paused then, tightening his arms where they were crossed over his chest. “He’s - he’s been different, hasn’t he. Ever since he came back.”

Allura hesitated. “Well, I imagine the stress of captivity takes a toll, and the strangeness of his role on the team changing. It’s understandable if he’s having some difficulty.”

“The other day,” Keith said softly, “He asked if I was okay, and I said yes. And he said, ‘good.’” Without conscious thought his thumb moved, beginning to make small circles against the curled knuckle of his index finger. “He never takes my word for it when I say I’m okay.”

“Were you okay?”

Keith didn’t answer, and Allura sighed. “Right. I suppose I should already know the answer.” She took another long, slow breath, before continuing, “Pidge told me that you mentioned feeling that you need a break from Voltron. Is Shiro part of that? Or is it just due to what happened on Yuipra?”

“It’s - it’s a lot of things. Yuipra, Shiro. Being Black Paladin. Just… a lot of things.”

“Do you think that perhaps you need more leisure time at the Castle? Or do you want to try refocusing your duties away from so much time spent on Coalition recruitment? Something else?”

He let another long pause pass between them before quietly answering, “I’ve, uh, I’ve been thinking - I’ve helped out on a couple of those Blade of Marmora missions, lately. I’m an official Blade, and I think I can be of more use to them.”

Allura’s brows shot up. “You’re thinking of switching to the Blade full-time?”

“We’ve got Shiro back now. I’m just thinking about where I’m probably most needed. And, well - ” He shrugged. “The Blade never has to worry about diplomacy.”

“And you’re - you’re certain you want to do this?”

“I haven’t made concrete plans or anything, but… I’ve been thinking about it. It seems like it could be a good option.”

“I… I see.” Allura’s brows pinched as she frowned pensively, and she continued slowly, as if she were carefully, individually, picking out each word. “I would be… disappointed, to see you go, as I’m sure your other teammates would be. Especially on unfavorable terms. But… if you decide it’s what would be best for you, I will support you. We owe you that much.”

“You guys don’t owe me anything,” Keith mumbled.

Allura smiled sadly at him. “That’s a charitable thing to say, Keith, but patently untrue. If anything - ”

She was cut off by a beep overhead, and they both looked up at the sound of Coran’s voice over the PA system. “Allura, to the bridge, if you will. We’re receiving a hail from Yuipra.”

Allura and Keith caught each other’s startled eyes before Allura pulled up the comm unit in the gauntlet of her armor. “Coran?” she said. “What is this in regards to, specifically?”

“Ah, erm.” Coran cleared his throat. “Apparently Yuipra wants to do some negotiating.”

“For the alliance? We’ve already messaged them, we could not have been clearer that we are no longer interested.”

“No, er, now they’re actually interested in, er… reparations.”

“They have got to be joking,” Allura whispered, before shutting the comm, turning on her heel, and marching out of the training deck.

Keith dropped his bayard, letting it lay where it fell, and hurried to catch up with her, matching her brisk pace as they set off down the hall together. Allura glanced warily toward him, but didn’t slow her step. “You don’t have to come, Keith,” she said.

“What, you don’t want to risk me going off on him?” Keith snapped.

“That’s not it. I simply meant, well, the last time you saw Olren, he was, er… I just imagine it’d be difficult for you to dredge that up. Are you sure you’d be all right, seeing him again? Hearing this?”

Keith nodded after only a brief moment’s hesitation. “I’m sure. Like hell am I gonna give him the satisfaction of knowing I’m hiding away from him.”

Allura pursed her lips thoughtfully before slowly replying, “If you’re certain.”

“Besides,” Keith added, “I’ll wanna be able to look him in the eyes while you all tell him where he can stick his reparation requests.”

They made it to the elevator that led to the bridge, having to pause and hold the door open at the sound of approaching footsteps that turned out to belong to Lance and Hunk. “You know, Coran only called me up to the bridge,” Allura said as they slid into the elevator.

“Yeah,” said Lance. “But he said it was Yuipra calling. Come on, you can’t expect us to just wait around for you to finish up to find out what they want. ‘Sides, if they’re calling to declare war on Voltron or something - ”

“They’re not,” Keith grunted. “It’s something about ‘reparations’.”

Lance’s brows shot up. “Wait, isn’t that, like, compensation? What the fuck do they think we need to compensate them for? They’re the ones who attacked Keith!”

Hunk sheepishly reached a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. “Well, uh, to be fair, I did shoot up a lot of the decorations in the palace when we were holding those guards off. You know, as distractions. And because, um, it just felt right…”

“They’re lucky we didn’t just smash the palace to pieces,” Lance said, crossing his arms.

The elevator door opened then, and they stepped out onto the bridge, Allura hurrying to join Coran at the control console. Shiro and Pidge had beaten them there, it seemed, as Shiro was already bent over the screen beside Coran, Pidge bouncing on tiptoes behind them to get a glimpse.

Coran was speaking to a monitor on the console. “It is hardly the time for us to be quibbling over - ” He paused and turned as Allura strode up beside him. “Ah, there you are.”

“Go ahead and move the call to the overhead monitor, Coran,” Allura said.

Coran glanced uncertainly back toward where the other paladins were joining the group on the bridge. “Are you sure we should all be here for this call?”

“It’s not like no one here knows what happened,” Keith said. “They can stay.”

“Erm, I was actually asking Allura to decide - ”

“It’s Keith’s call,” Allura said. “If he’s fine with the others joining, then so am I. Overhead monitor, Coran.”

“Right, of course.” And after a couple of taps on the console, the enormous holographic screen popped up, and Keith felt his blood race at the sight of the figure centered in the shot. King Olren appeared just as polished as ever, hair slick beneath his polished crown and cape perfectly aligned across his shoulders, golden guards standing half out of the frame on either side of him. But now, his face bore none of its old pretense of hospitality. His mouth was pressed to a firm line, jaw stiff, and his eyes were narrow and cold.

Last time Keith had seen those eyes, they had been boring into him lecherously, hungrily, ready to devour Keith whole. The memory of it made his skin crawl, and he shivered involuntarily, wishing he had made a detour to his room to grab his jacket before following Allura to the bridge.

A finger tapped against his arm, and he flinched away before seeing that it belonged to Hunk, who quickly yanked his hand back at Keith’s reaction. “Sorry,” Hunk whispered. “Just checking that you’re okay.”

Keith swallowed and nodded. “I’m fine,” he whispered back.

“Your highness,” Olren said as his eyes roved to Allura. His voice was low, direct.

“Olren,” Allura replied, and Olren scowled at the address. “We’ve already established that our dealings with your planet are over. Why have you contacted us?”

“I already informed your advisor as to the purpose of my call,” Olren said. “My palace’s staff has completed assessment at the damage done to our building, the art and artifacts therein, and the health of myself and several members of my royal guard.”

“Did they now,” Allura said flatly.

“I wouldn’t take such a flippant tone with me, Princess,” Olren said, his scowl deepening. “You cannot expect that your attack on my palace would be ignored. In addition to structural damage your paladins’ weapons caused to my entry hall and entire east wing, many of our furnishings sustained irreversible damage, several of which are of great historical significance and cannot be replaced. Additionally, members of my guard have sustained severe injuries due to your attack.”

“That’s an occupational hazard that they should have seen coming,” Allura said. “More importantly, I would hardly call what my paladins did an ‘attack’. They had every reason and right to defend one of their own, whom you assaulted and violated in the first place.”

“Ah, yes, your red paladin,” Olren said. His eyes roamed along the bridge to find Keith, and when they landed on him, he could feel ice forming in his gut. “A pity, that things had to end between us the way they did. Especially when we could have had such a fortuitous alliance. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I was not hurt by your repudiation, Keith.” He clicked his tongue. “We would have been beautiful together, you know.”

Keith’s vision of the king was blocked as Hunk suddenly stepped in front of him, arm out to hide him entirely from Olren’s predatory gaze. Even though Keith couldn’t see Hunk’s face, the set of his shoulders and the redness climbing up his neck spoke to just how pissed he was.

He wasn’t the only one. Pidge managed to dodge around Coran to slam her hands against the console and snarl up at Olren. “Oh my god, don’t fucking talk to him like you’re a couple who had a bad breakup! You tried to rape him! You’re a fucking monster and you know what, we can turn this castle ship around right now and - ”

“Now, now, Pidge,” Coran said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “We’re not going back to Yuipra. Not to attack, and certainly not to compensate for any ‘damages’ they claim.”

“We are more than entitled to recompense for the damage you’ve done!” Olren snapped. “The appraised monetary cost of material damages to my palace probably nears the value of your entire castle. And that’s not even accounting for bodily damages - ”

“To be frank, your majesty,” Shiro spoke up, the regal address dripping with sarcasm, “There is absolutely no damage Voltron possibly could have inflicted on you and your palace that could even come close to what you tried to do to Keith.”

Olren scoffed. “Either you are simply horrifically naive as to the worth of myself, my palaces, and my resources, or you absurdly overestimate the value of your paladin’s virginity.”

“Ex-fucking-scuse you?!” Pidge cried, as Shiro let out a wordless splutter of indignation and Keith began to shake. Whether out of anxiety or fury, he couldn’t say.

“That is quite enough,” Allura said. “Voltron owes you nothing. Keith owes you nothing. And if you are even incapable of speaking of him with some semblance of decency - ”

“You owe me plenty! You assaulted me in my own home, in my own private chambers! One of your little paladins rendered an indefensible attack on my person which my palace’s healer assures me very nearly left me impotent!”

“Only nearly?” Lance said. “Shit, sorry, I’ll kick harder next time.”

Olren ground his teeth as he glowered down at the paladins. “You are playing a dangerous game, paladins of Voltron. You have given up a partnership that could very easily turn the tides of a war. None of Yuipra’s own allies would dare provide any help to you either, not after we inform them how the Voltron Coalition has treated us.”

Keith’s own jaw set as his blood reached its boiling point, and with a deep breath, he stepped out from behind Hunk. “We don’t need your alliance,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady and sharp. “We don’t need you. And if this is how you form alliances, I’m betting it won’t take much convincing for your ‘allies’ to side with Voltron.”

Olren’s lips curled, his shark-like smile looking more grotesque than ever when paired with the deadly look in his eyes. “I wouldn’t be so quick to make threats like that, boy. If we decide to take you seriously - ”

“Then once we’re done with the Galra Empire, we’ll know who to take down next.”

“You insolent little - ”

“We are finished here,” Allura cut him off, striding up to the control console. “On behalf of the Voltron Coalition, I would like to state with the utmost clarity that we have no desire to conduct any further dealings with you and your planet, and inform you that any effort you take to go on the offensive against us will be met with resistance and retaliation.” She glanced over her shoulder toward Keith before returning her gaze to Olren. “And on behalf of my paladin, I would like to invite you to take your demands for reparations, and shove them up your arse.”

She shut off the screen before Olren could respond, and brought her hands up to cover her mouth. “Oh, that was so inappropriate to say,” she said softly. “Oh, ancients, that was so undignified…”

“Nah, it was great,” Lance said, striding up to her and giving her a hearty slap on the back. “Sure as hell was a lot more dignified than what I would’ve suggested for him.”

“The nerve of that guy,” Pidge growled. “If I ever see that fucker in person ever again, a hard kick in the nads is gonna seem like a spa day in comparison.”

Keith let out a shaky breath and hugged his arms around his middle. “Hey, uh,” he said. “What he said, about having Yuipra go up against the Coalition - ”

“Not to worry, Number Four,” Coran said. “I can guarantee it’s an empty threat. Siding against the Voltron Coalition would make them appear to be on the side of the Empire, and the other planets in their sector would never stand for that. Definitely wouldn’t be worth their while to risk something like that.”

“Good,” Keith sighed. “Just, God, if a whole other war started over this - ”

“It won’t,” Shiro said. “That’s one thing you won’t have to worry about.”

“Quite right,” said Coran. “Our fight is with the Empire alone, just like always. And even if that changed, I assure you, we would stand by you, until the end.”

“Thanks,” Keith mumbled.

Allura turned away from the console, starting toward the bridge’s center. “For now we should work to put Yuipra behind us,” she said. “Yes, we didn’t get the Yuipran alliance, but we understand now that we didn’t need it, not as badly as we had thought. There are other planets we can look toward to join our Coalition, and we’re going to need to get back to it. The sooner we start looking into new alliances, the better.”

“Of course,” Shiro said with a nod. “Should we start making plans to resume diplomatic efforts?”

“Coran and I will need to begin correspondence with some new planetary representatives to determine where specifically we’ll need to visit and what tactics we’ll need to employ, but yes, we should. In the meantime, I believe we can resume group training this evening. We may not be making attack plans toward the Empire at this precise moment, but that’s no reason to get complacent.”

The other paladins murmured their assent, and Allura turned to Keith. “Keith,” she said. “Are you, er… how are you holding up?”

“Fine,” he said automatically. At her skeptical look, he amended, “I mean, relatively. Fine as could be expected, after, um…” He gestured toward the front of the bridge where the holographic screen had been.

Allura nodded. “Understandable. Well, you are free to join us in training this evening, and in our diplomacy efforts once we begin them. Or you are free to sit them out, if you need the time. Whatever you decide, I’ll support you. We’ll support you. No matter what.” Her gaze was intense as she spoke, the weight of her words clear.

“Allura?” Shiro said. “Are you, uh, getting at something?”

“That’s not really for me to - ”

“Yeah,” Keith interrupted. “Yeah, she is.” He took a deep breath. The others were all gathered here, all ready to defend and support him. And he was grateful for that, he truly was. Grateful for the anger they’d shown toward Olren on his behalf, grateful for their efforts to make things right.

But he still needed time. He wasn’t ready yet to fully move past what had happened, and he needed the space to do so on his own terms.

And now seemed as good a time as any to tell them that.

“I’ve… been doing some thinking,” Keith said. “About what I need to be doing right now, and where I need to be. And, um, well - we need to talk…”

[phoenotopia]

2020 March Update

Happy New Year! Well, I guess it's a bit late for that...

Much of what transpired in the past few months will fall under polish and bug-fixing. Will and I have a mutual friend who got married, so I had the occasion to visit Will to attend the wedding as well as have Will playtest the game in its most complete form yet. He logged 24 hours of playtime and just reached the entrance of the final dungeon. Then we had to call in for the night since it was 5 AM, and I had a flight to catch in the morning.

His completion rate where we stopped was 42% of Heart Pieces, 33% of Energy Gems, and 44% of Moonstones. So... I think we have a pretty lengthy game!

This will take a while to playtest & polish... Will's daytime profession is QA Engineer so he's pretty great at catching bugs. From his playtest, we jotted down 200+ items to fix/adjust. Some as small as a simple misspelling, and some more significant (like Gail being unable to jump when standing at the edge of a steep slope). I'm about half-way through fixing that list...

(Will’s living room where much playtesting was done)

Here are some other things we've accomplished in the past few months. A lot of it falls under polish and bug-fixing, which won't sound outwardly impressive, so I'll dive in a bit under the hood.

-------------------------- Item Balancing --------------------------

There are over 200 items in the game. Of which, 90+ are healing items. While much of their flavor text was already written, their stats weren't yet finally decided. So a large effort was spent to balance them as well as possible. Initially, I balanced items by observation (ex: "The player is relying on this item a lot, so I will nerf it...") Now, I've moved to a more systematic way of doing things. I made an equation that takes in all of an item's parameters, and spits out a score. The higher an item heals, the higher the score. The longer an item takes to consume, the lower the score. And so forth.

As usual, I used google spreadsheets, since they support equations. I could tweak the values of a healing item, and immediately see how its final score was affected. I also made use of automatic color formatting, so a field becomes highlighted red, if it's particularly bad, or green, if it's particularly good. Of course, the sheet is just a guideline. The aim wasn't to make all items have the same final score, but that they made sense for what they were and when you could get them. Late-game items tend to have higher overall scores versus early-game items. Some items, like doggy biscuits, have notoriously low scores across the board - as a joke!

-------------------------- Cooking Systems --------------------------

Another thing that had to be done with the healing items was finally determine their cooking sequences. 38 healing items could be cooked and will transform into something else. The way I specified that an item could be cooked was to add a a little snippet to an item's "meta data". An example would look something like, "COOK,57,62,ABXY,10,1.5,1".

In order, this specified the item_ID that would result on success (57), the item_ID that would result on failure (62), the button sequence (ABXY), the time you had to complete the sequence (10 seconds), how quickly the cursor should move (1.5x speed), and if the item multiplied on success (1). The system appears simple enough - but it was actually extremely inefficient!

For one, this system didn't allow random button sequences - all "berry fruits", when cooked would have the same button prompts and in the same order every time (ABXY). Initially, I thought having set button sequences would be a feature, but in practice, it was less fun. 

Two, this system wasn't human-readable at all. I'd see a sequence of numbers, forget what they were, and have to look them up over and over.

But the biggest problem was that you couldn't evaluate an item's cooking difficulty from these numbers without manual testing. At 1.5 cursor speed, how many times does the cursor pass the center panel in 10 seconds? Maybe that's 15 times... for a 4 button sequence, the player has 11 opportunities to miss - that's too wide a berth for failure. The system also had variable penalties - if you misspressed a button prompt you loss time on the cooking meter. If you didn't press anything, you missed the opportunity, but not the time - but the clock was still ticking, so you did lose time, just not as much. In the end, the difficulty of cooking each item was all over the place. It was also possible to create "unwinnable" scenarios if I made the button sequence too long, the time too short, or the cursor speed too slow. Testing each item manually to ensure doability was too tedious and unreliable - it was a mess!

Which is why, the underlying cooking system was revamped. The new meta data looks like : "COOK,57,62,seq_length,5,spd,1.5,ease_add,2". This is a lot more readable. Beyond the first 3 entries, the arguments could be specified in any order. And their meanings were easy to understand.

"seq_length,5" means a random button sequence of 5 will be generated (no need for me to personally generate it)

"spd,1.5" means the cursor moves at 1.5x speed. I could also leave this field out to get a default value of 1x cursor speed.

"ease_add,2" - the biggest improvement to the system is how we now approach difficulty. We streamlined a miss-press and a missed opportunity as the same level of "mistake", and difficulty is framed as, "how many mistakes is the player allowed to make and still have a successful result?" By default, the player is afforded the ability to make 2 mistakes, and "ease_add,2" bumps the number of allowable mistakes to 4. We then automatically calculate how much "time" the player should have to cook something based on its cursor speed, how long the button sequence is, and how many mistakes the player is allowed to make. This was a more sensible and efficient system that let me knock out all 38 healing item cook sequences in one sitting!

-------------------------- Badges Nearly Done --------------------------

As you may recall from the last update, I was working on implementing the badges.

Thinking up the badge and having its graphic drawn is just the first half. Underneath, the code also needs to be made to track all the relevant player stats - how many times the player fished, ate, got money, used a certain move, etc. Some badges require extra guards, because they can be spoofed. For instance, the "Treasure Hunter" badge is obtained when the player has collected XXXX RIN through the course of your journey. However, there is something like a "gold exchange" in the game, where you could circularly trade gold and RIN to boost this number artificially. It's important to guard against cases like those.

So far, 30 of 33 badges are implemented. The last three have to do with late-game things that have inter-dependencies that we're still figuring out. The Speed running badge for instance is still dependent on two things. One, I need to speed run the game a few times to see how fast it's possible to beat the game and decide finally what's a reasonable time-limit. Two, there's actually a time-keeping bug which can inflate the game time if the system is left in sleep mode. I don't expect either things will be too hard to figure out - just gotta find the time for it.

-------------------------- Script Extra Polished --------------------------

We continued to polish the script, which I thought was basically done before. We added some extra NPCs here and there, and fleshed out the world with lore text where it seemed appropriate. In the end, the game's script ballooned to over 100,000 words! Hah... It's definitely DONE now however!

Some interesting things I noted as I was polishing old text - there were quite a few instances where Gail talks. I began the game's development with the idea that Gail should definitely talk since I wanted her to be a more active participant in what she chose to do. But I discovered later that if Gail talks, but only talked a little, she comes off as a very reticent person. There's no middle lane here - you're either all in or all out.

If Gail was a silent protagonist, she still talked symbolically. She is understood to be talking based on how people react to her - kinda like Link. So that's the direction I went with in the end (again). When Gail has occasion to talk, it comes in the form of a player dialogue choice. She also has an inner voice when she needs to remind the player to do something.

Another reason I went with this direction, is for brevity. Take this exchange for instance: QUEST GIVER : Can you help me find this super rare ingredient? GAIL : Maybe. I can't make any promises...

If Gail is silent, I can reduce those 2 lines to 1. QUEST GIVER : Can you help me find this super rare ingredient? GAIL : ...

-------------------------- Business Taxes --------------------------

Not too exciting, but new year means I gotta do taxes for the business. They're a lot more complicated than personal taxes, and more expensive! Since the game hasn't sold anything, you would think there'd be nothing to file. Hah! If only... The business is there so we can act as a legal entity and record expenses for when we do start selling. I really want to focus on making games, but there’s a small percentage of it that is sometimes boring and dreadful (-_-) ... still it needs to be done.

------------- Why no Public Beta Testing? -------------

As you may have noticed, I haven't put out any public calls for testing help despite being at that stage. Some have offered to help, which I appreciate! But sadly, I cannot accept. Here's the story for that.

Two and a half years ago, I got my hands on a console dev kit - that's very exciting, so I hurriedly took the steps to convert my dev station to be console-capable. After about two weeks, I had the console version working and integrated into my workflow, so all appeared good...

4 Months later, an artist needed an updated PC build to test some new art assets, so I went to build a new PC version. We use Unity, so generally you just need to click your desired build target, and hit "build". However, I now discovered that by attaching the console "hooks" into my work environment, I could no longer build to PC... It was possible, from my end, to test the game from the dev station in dev mode, which was why it went undiscovered for so long.

I did try to excise the hooks, but proved unsuccessful after a day of work. I decided to take this as an opportunity to focus exclusively on the console version first, which afforded me some niceties. Knowing that there's a standardized control scheme meant I could make full use of the control stick for the fishing mini-game. I also didn't need to create a rebindable keys menu - which is a MUST for PC versions... Most importantly, it lets me focus on making the one version as good as possible before moving onto the next. I have NO idea how those other guys release on all platforms at once...

Chalk it up to inexperience. In my defense, this will be my first commercial release, so bear with me. Don't worry, I still plan to make the PC version! It's a bit unconventional, but we're just going to go in the reverse direction of the usual. Console first, then PC, then other consoles. Wherever it makes financial sense, there we will be. (Sorry Ouya!)

Back to the original question - that's why I haven't sent out any public calls for playtesting. Current playable builds of the game are locked to my console dev kit. So actual playtesting unfolds in a very closed setting. Like what I did with Will, I literally sit behind the playtester, breathe down their neck, and watch them play, taking notes all the while.

But since I'm observing the player directly, even just one playthrough nets me a TON of bugs and adjustment tasks. So it evens out I think.

-------------------------- Trailers, Release Dates, etc. --------------------------

Alright, get your frowns ready...

We finished two trailers, and they're raring to go. BUT! We can't show them yet... We're sort of at an awkward spot where we're waiting on some conversational threads to conclude. Say we win a slot in a show - that'd be a HUGE plus for us - but that may also be contingent on us having NOT shown anything substantial yet. The game in its unrevealed state is a negotiating chip. So we're trying to leverage that... and you can only do the reveal once...

We also want to have some "actionable" items in the trailer - a launch date you could mark on your calendar, a wishlist, a website you can visit, etc. So since those things aren't entirely lined up yet, we can't let the trailers rip just yet...

Right now, I can only say we're *aiming* for a late Q2/early Q3 launch. But I can't commit to anything concrete yet. As soon as we know, we'll happily sing it from the rooftops. I hope I can update this blog sooner with good news, but if things move slowly again, I'll send out the next "we're alive" update 2 months from now (end of April).

I know it's frustrating to have nothing major after so long still, so I captured some gameplay footage... May it sate your hungers!

-------------------------- Footage 1 : Fishing --------------------------

You've seen pictures of the fishing, but never video of it in action. Well, here it is!

(And right after I uploaded the video, I noticed there actually was a video of fishing before. D’oh)

The idea is simple. First, get the lure in front of a fish, and assuming the fish isn't scared, it will soon bite. Then begins a fight sequence, where your energy meter is pitted against the fish's energy meter. Whoever's energy outlasts the other's wins.

The fish's resistance is represented by a red moving circular subsection. You fight the fish by pushing the control stick and keeping it on the subsection, which will dart around and try to escape you. Bigger and tougher variants of fish will do a "shake" which will reverse the wheel. When the wheel is reversed, so too are the controls, so it gets extra tricky!

While fishing, your energy meter doesn't recover, so one of the ways you level up your fishing ability is by finding energy gems to increase your max energy. There's another way - but we'll keep that a secret.

-------------- Footage 2 : Kobold Boss Fight --------------

You can actually skip the next section if you'd prefer to be surprised and you find your hunger for info sated. That's how I prefer to consume the games that I know I'm going to get. If you're still hungering for info, and you don't mind the slight spoilers, then feel free to proceed!

The next video shows the new Kobold Boss fight. Let's take a moment to reflect on the old game's visuals and how far it's come...

(we've come a long way since the time of the flash game)

You'll notice the Kobold boss has a name now - Katash! He's a significant enough character that he's earned it. The second thing you'll notice is that he looks better!

Some people have humorously pointed out that the old boss looks like Wolf O'Donnel from Star Fox. There's a funny story behind that. Basically I asked an artist to draw me a space wolf. And the artist, whom I'm assuming wasn't familiar with Wolf O'Donnel, drew that - all of it - all the animations and everything. The first time I laid eyes on it, it was already done, so it was too late to ask for edits. So I just ran with it.

That was seven years ago. Nowadays, I know to involve myself more in the process. I ask for just the design first, and we don't move forward with animations until we're happy with the design. Life lessons!

By the way, if you like Katash’s personal boss theme, give it a lesson on Will's Sound cloud (LINK)

-------------------------- Fan Arts -------------------------- Lots of fan art came in over the past 3 months!

This one is a pixel animation made by Pimez, and shows Gail singing a Christmas carol in various parts of the game. So cute! Years ago, I too was making little animated gifs for my favorite games, so it really brings me back!

This one was made by cARTographer (twitter link) after a request by Deli_mage, so thank you both. Gail rocking stylish boots with a pose that shows confidence in her batting skills. Very anime - Love it!

Another submission of laptekosz of the Last Song of Earth area. Whereas the last picture depicted the night sky, now the orange trees are lit by a rising sun. Artfully done! Kinda makes me want to eat eggs. I hope you'll like the new Last Song of Earth area just as much :D

A new artist to the scene, Not_Quin, submitted two pictures, one of Gail and one of the Sand Drake re-imagined as a centipede. I'm always a fan of these re-imaginings! I like how it's spiky all over and appears to be wearing a skull mask. The Sand Drake is often pointed out to be too similar to Zelda's Dodongos, so maybe a long slithery body would have indeed served better. Fun fact, long ago, when we were working on Phoenotopia 2 in earnest, we actually had a giant man-eating worm planned - WIP animation depicted below. One day... one day...

Negativus Core made two cool new arts! I'm really impressed by their use of unique perspective! Having characters run towards the screen or reaching close to the screen from afar is tricky since the proportions get all distorted - but not an issue for Negativus Core! Love the blur on Gail to show speed, with 66 in focus - really skillfully done! And the cube. Amazing!

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

I'm really honored by the huge fan art community. Thank you all! 

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

Our presidential forecast, which launched today, is not the first election forecast that FiveThirtyEight has published since 2016. There was our midterms forecast in 2018, which was pretty accurate in predicting the makeup of the House and the Senate. And there was our presidential primaries model earlier this year, which was a bit of an adventure but mostly notable for being bullish (correctly) on Joe Biden and (incorrectly) on Bernie Sanders. But we’re aware that the publication of our first presidential forecast since 2016 is liable to be fraught.

We’d like to address one thing upfront, though: We think our model did a good job in 2016. Although it had Hillary Clinton favored, it gave Donald Trump around a 30 percent chance of winning on Election Day,1 which was considerably higher than other models, prediction markets, or the conventional wisdom about the race. Moreover, the reasons the model was more bullish on Trump than other forecasts — such as detecting a potential overperformance for Trump in the Electoral College – proved to be important to the outcome.

Also, we’ve found that FiveThirtyEight’s models — including our election forecasts since they were first published in 2008 — have been well calibrated over time. Candidates whom our models claim have a 30 percent chance of winning really do win their races about 30 percent of the time, for example.

So if this were an ordinary election, we’d probably just say screw it, take the 2016 version of our model, make some modest improvements, and press “go.” We’d certainly devote more attention to how the model was presented, but the underlying math behind it would be about the same.

We are not so sure that this is an ordinary election, though. Rather, it is being contested amidst the most serious pandemic to hit the United States since 1918. So we’ve been doing a lot of thinking about how COVID-19 and other news developments could affect various aspects of the race, ranging from its impact on the economy to how it could alter the actual process of voting.

Put another way, while we think “ZOMG 2016!!!” is not a good reason to rethink a model that tended to be pretty cautious in the first place, we think COVID-19 might be.

What’s different from 2016

In the end, our model still isn’t that different from 2016’s, but let’s run through the list of changes. After that, we’ll provide a front-to-back description of how our model works.

First, a number of changes in the model are related to COVID-19:

In forecasting how much the polls could change, we now account for more components related to uncertainty. Two of these components include estimating i) economic uncertainty and ii) the overall volume of important news, both of which are very high under COVID-19. These offset other trends — such as greater polarization — that would lead to less uncertainty.

We’ve put a lot more work into our economic index: i) extending it back to 1880 to capture a fuller range of economic conditions, ii) adjusting it for increased partisanship and iii) developing an economic forecasting component to reflect potential changes in the economy between now and November. This is important because most projections forecast substantial improvement in the economy before November.

We attempt to account for additional uncertainty in Election Day results because turnout will potentially be less predictable given the pandemic.

We allow COVID-19 to be a factor in determining covariance. That is to say, states that have had high rates of COVID deaths and cases (such as Arizona and New York, which otherwise don’t have that much in common politically) could have correlated outcomes. Likewise, we also consider covariance based on a state’s anticipated rate of mail voting.

With the party conventions being substantially scaled down and largely held virtually, we’re applying only half of the usual “convention bounce adjustment” (see below for more on the convention bounce adjustment).

Other changes fall more into the category of continual improvements we’re making to our models that aren’t directly related to COVID-19:

Since 2016, we’ve made various changes to how our polling averages are calculated, as described here.

We now account for changes in how easy it is to vote in each state, as empirically, this yields higher turnout and a higher share of Democratic votes.

The model is now more careful around major events such as presidential debates that can have an outsize impact on candidates’ polling averages. If a candidate gains ground in the polls following one of these events, he will have to sustain that movement for a week or two to get full credit for it.

We’re running only one version of the presidential model this year. Things are complicated enough in an election held during a pandemic without getting into “polls-only” and “polls-plus” forecasts. Nor is there a “now-cast.” Our polling averages are the best way to reflect the current snapshot of the race, but the snapshot is not the same as the projected Election Day outcome.

The rest of how our model works involves three major steps. What follows is a pretty detailed walk-through, but I’ll be more circumspect when discussing steps described at more length elsewhere, such as in our 2016 methodology guide.

Step 1: Collect, analyze and adjust polls

Our national and state polling averages, which we began publishing in June, are the first steps we take in building our election forecast. We detailed our process for constructing those polling averages when we released them, so I’ll just review the highlights here.

Our polling averages are intended to be as inclusive as possible. We don’t want to have to make a lot of arbitrary decisions on which polls to include. But please review our polls policy for some exceptions on when we can’t use a poll in our forecast. Sometimes there are also delays in adding a poll until we can get more information about it.

Polls are weighted based on their sample size and their pollster rating, so higher-quality polls have more influence on the forecast. And if there are a large number of polls from one polling firm, the weight applied to each individual poll is discounted so no one pollster dominates the average.

Our polling averages reflect a blend of two methods. The first is a relatively simple weighted average, and the second is a more complicated method based on calculating a trend line. Of the two, the trend line method tends to be more aggressive. So early on in the campaign, we rely mostly on the more conservative weighted average method, while in the final few weeks, we mostly use the trend line method — that means our polling averages become more aggressive as Election Day nears.

The polling averages are subject to three types of adjustments:

The likely voter adjustment, which reflects that polls of likely voters and registered voters differ in predictable ways, adjusts polls of registered voters2 to make them more comparable to likely voter polls. Generally speaking, this means that Republicans (such as Trump) gain ground relative to Democrats when applying a likely voter screen, although this effect is mitigated when the Republican is an incumbent. Indeed, polls this year that have both a registered voter and likely voter version usually show Trump doing slightly better in the likely voter version. However, he does only modestly better, gaining around 1 percentage point on average.

The house effects adjustment, which detects polls that consistently lean toward one party or that consistently have more (or fewer) undecided voters than other polls of the same states, and adjusts them to correct for this. For example, Rasmussen Reports polls typically have very Republican-leaning results. So this adjustment would account for that. However, polls are allowed to retain at least some of their house effect, since an apparent house effect over a small number of polls could reflect statistical noise. In calculating house effects, the model mostly uses polls from the same state, so a polling firm could theoretically have a Trump-leaning house effect in one state and a Biden-leaning house effect in another.

Finally, we apply a timeline adjustment, which is based on a poll’s recency, and adjusts “old” polls for shifts in the overall race since it was conducted. For instance, say a poll of Arizona last month showed Biden up 3 points there, but there’s been a strong shift toward Trump since then in national polls and polls of similar states such as Nevada. This adjustment would shift that older Arizona poll toward Trump.

As we noted, the calculation of the polling averages is the first step in calculating our forecast. But they are not the same thing.

One time when this distinction is particularly relevant is following major events such as the debates and party conventions. These events sometimes produce big swings in the polls, and our polling averages are designed to be aggressive following these events and reflect the changed state of the race. However, these shifts are not necessarily long-lasting, and after a couple of weeks, the polls sometimes revert to where they were before.

Therefore, the model relies only partly on the polling average of the race after one of these events happens. For instance, say there is a debate on Oct. 1 and you’re looking at the model on, for example, Oct. 5. It will use a blend of the post-debate polling average from Oct. 5 and the pre-debate polling average from Oct. 1. After a week or two (depending on the event) though, the model will fully use the post-event polling average because it no longer necessarily expects a reversion to the mean.

In addition, our presidential model has traditionally applied a convention bounce adjustment that reflects the predictable boost in the polls that a party tends to get following its convention. Clinton surged to some of her biggest leads of the cycle following the Democratic Convention in 2016, for example. However, three factors could mitigate the convention bounce this year.

First, convention bounces have become smaller over time, likely reflecting a reduced number of swing voters because of greater partisanship. Based on current levels of polarization, for instance, we would expect a party to poll about 5 percentage points better at the peak of its convention bounce on the day just after the conclusion of its convention, with the effects fading fairly quickly thereafter. This is down from past convention bounces that could sometimes be measured in the double digits.

Second, as mentioned before, we are applying only half of the usual convention bounce adjustment this year because due to COVID-19, the conventions are being scaled back.

Third, because this year’s Republican National Convention occurs the week immediately following the Demoratic National Convention, the effects could largely cancel each other out — Biden’s bounce could be derailed by Trump’s bounce, in other words. Because Trump’s convention occurs second, the effects of it might linger for slightly longer, but the model expects the net effect to be small given that the Democratic convention will also be fairly fresh in voters’ minds.

Thus, the convention bounce adjustments will be small this year. Polls conducted in the period between the Democratic convention and the Republican convention will be adjusted toward Trump by around 2 or 2.5 percentage points, depending on the precise dates of the polls. And polls in the two to three weeks after the Republican convention will be adjusted toward Biden but only very slightly so (by less than 1 full percentage point).

Step 2: Combine polls with “fundamentals,” such as demographic and economic data

As compared with other models, FiveThirtyEight’s forecast relies heavily on polls. We do, however, incorporate other data in two main ways:

First, the polling average in each state is combined with a modeled estimate of the vote based on demographics and past voting patterns to create what we call an “enhanced snapshot” of current conditions. This is especially important in states where there is little or no polling.

Second, that snapshot is then combined with our priors, based on incumbency and economic conditions, to create a forecast of the Election Day outcome.

Enhancing our polling averages

At the core of the modeled estimate is FiveThirtyEight’s partisan lean index, which reflects how the state voted in the past two presidential elections as compared with the national average. In our partisan lean index, 75 percent of the weight is assigned to 2016 and 25 percent to 2012. So note, for example, that Ohio (which turned much redder between 2012 and 2016) is not necessarily expected to continue to become redder. Instead, it might revert somewhat to the mean and become more purple again.

The partisan lean index also contains a number of other adjustments:

We adjust for the home states of the presidential and vice presidential candidates. The size of the home-state adjustment is much larger for presidential candidates than for their running mates. The size of the state is also a factor: Home-state advantages are larger in states with smaller populations. We also allow candidates to be associated with more than one state, in which case the home-state bonus is divided. For Biden, for instance, his primary home state is Delaware (where he lives now), and his secondary state is Pennsylvania (where he was born). And for Trump, his primary home state is New York (where he was born), and his secondary state is Florida (where he officially claims residence).3

We also adjust for what we call a state’s elasticity. Some states such as New Hampshire “swing” more than others in response to national trends because they have a higher proportion of swing voters, which can cause wider fluctuations from cycle to cycle. The elasticity scores we’re using for 2020 are based on a blend of each state’s elasticity in 2008, 2012 and 2016.

And finally, we account for changes in how easy it is to vote in each state based on the Cost of Voting Index, as researchers have found that states with higher barriers to voting tend to produce better results for Republican candidates and states with lower barriers tend to lean more Democratic.4

We then apply the partisan lean index in three slightly different ways to create a modeled estimate of the vote in each state.

First is what we call the “rigid method” because it rigidly follows the partisan lean index. In this technique, we first impute where the race stands nationally based on a blend of state and national polls. (Most of the weight in this calculation actually goes to state polls, though. National polls play relatively little role in the FiveThirtyEight forecast, other than to calculate the trend line adjustment in Step 1.) Then we add a state’s partisan lean index to it. For instance, if we estimate that Biden is ahead by 5 points nationally, and that a state’s partisan lean index is D+10 — meaning it votes 10 points more Democratic than the country as a whole — the rigid method would project that Biden is currently ahead by 15 points there.5

Second is the demographic regression method. Basically, the goal of this technique is to infer what the polls would say in a state based on the polls of other states that have more polling. In this method, adopted from a similar process we applied in our primary model, we use a state’s partisan lean index plus some combination of other variables in a series of regression analyses to try to fit to the current polling in each state. The variables considered include race (specified in several different ways), income, education, urbanization, religiosity6 and an index indicating the severity of the COVID-19 situation in each state, based on the number of cases and deaths per capita as recorded by the COVID Tracking Project. (Technically speaking, the model runs as many as 180 different regressions based on various combinations of these variables, but there are limits on which variables may appear in the regressions together in order to avoid collinearity, as well as how many variables can be included.) We then take a weighted average of all the regressions, where regression specifications with a higher adjusted R2 receive more weight but all regressions receive at least some weight.

Third is the regional regression method. This is much simpler: It consists of a single regression analysis where the dependent variables are a state’s partisan lean index, plus dummy variables indicating which of the four major regions (Northeast, Midwest, South, West) the state is in.7

We then combine these three estimates to create an ensemble forecast for each state. The rigid method, which is the most accurate historically, receives the majority of the weight, followed by the demographic regression and then the regional regression.

Then, we combine the ensemble forecast with a state’s polling average to create an enhanced snapshot of the current conditions in each state. The weight given to the polling average depends on the volume of polling in each state and how recently the last poll of the state was conducted. As of the forecast launch (Aug. 12), around 55 percent of the weight goes to the polling average rather than to the ensemble in the average state. However, in well-polled states toward the end of the campaign, as much as 97 or 98 percent of the weight could go toward the polling average. Conversely, states that have few polls rely mostly on the ensemble technique (and states that have no polls use the ensemble in lieu of a polling average).

Next, we combine the enhanced snapshots in each state to create a national snapshot, which is essentially our prediction of the national popular vote margin in an election held today. The national snapshot accounts for projected voter turnout in each state based on population growth since 2016, changes in how easy it is to vote since 2016, and how close the race is in that state currently — closer-polling states tend to have higher turnout. National polls are not used in the national snapshot; it’s simply a summation of the snapshots in the 50 states and Washington, D.C.

We know this is starting to get pretty involved — we’re really in the guts of the model now — but there is another important step. Our national snapshot is not the same thing as our prediction of the Election Day outcome. Instead, our prediction blends the polling-driven snapshot with a “fundamentals forecast” based on economic conditions and whether an incumbent is seeking reelection.

Polls vs. Fundamentals

I’m on the record as saying that I think presidential forecasting models based strictly on “fundamental” factors like economic conditions are overrated. Without getting too deep into the weeds, it’s easy to “p-hack” your way to glory with these models because there are so many ways to measure “the economy” but only a small sample size of elections for which we have reliable economic data. The telltale sign of these problems is that models claiming to predict past elections extremely well often produce inaccurate — or even ridiculous — answers when applied to elections in which the result is unknown ahead of time. One popular model based on second-quarter GDP, for example, implies that Biden is currently on track to win nearly 1,000 electoral votes — a bit of a problem since the maximum number theoretically achievable is 538.8

At the same time, that doesn’t mean the fundamentals are of no use at all. They can provide value and gently nudge your forecast in the right direction — if you use them carefully (although they’re hard to use carefully amidst something like the pandemic).

So, since 2012, we have used an index of economic conditions in our presidential forecast. In its current incarnation, it includes six variables:

Jobs, as indicated by nonfarm payrolls.

Spending, as indicated by real personal consumption expenditures.

Income, as measured by real disposable personal income.

Manufacturing, as measured by industrial production.

Inflation, based on the consumer price index.9

And the stock market, based on the S&P 500.

All variables are standardized so that they have roughly the same mean and standard deviation — and, therefore, have roughly equal influence on the index — for economic data since 1946. The index is then based on readings of these variables in the two years leading up to the election (e.g., from November 2018 through November 2020 for this election) but with a considerably heavier weight placed on the more recent data, in particular, the data roughly six months preceding the election. Where possible, the index is calibrated based on “vintage” economic data — that is, data as it was published in real time — rather than on data as later revised.

Although the quality of economic data is more questionable prior to the 1948 election, we have also attempted to create an approximate version of the index for elections going back to 1880 based on the data that we could find. (It’s extremely important, in our view, to expand the sample size for this sort of analysis, even if we have to rely on slightly less reliable data to do so.) Our economic index for elections dating to 1880 (see below) is expressed as a Z-score, where a score of zero reflects an average economy. And, as you can see, extremely negative economic conditions tend to predict doom for the incumbent party (as in 1932, 1980 and 2008).

The economy is a noisy predictor of presidential success

FiveThirtyEight’s economic index as of Election Day, since 1880,* where a score of zero reflects an average economy, a positive score a strong economy and a negative score a weak one

Year Economic Index Year Economic Index 1880 +1.37 1948 -0.29 1884 -0.18 1952 +0.21 1888 -0.25 1956 +0.07 1892 +0.71 1960 -0.01 1896 -0.15 1964 +0.70 1900 +0.56 1968 +0.23 1904 -0.23 1972 +0.46 1908 -1.03 1976 +0.26 1912 +0.13 1980 -1.71 1916 +0.75 1984 +0.86 1920 -1.52 1988 +0.09 1924 +0.44 1992 -0.29 1928 +0.15 1996 +0.36 1932 -2.34 2000 +0.36 1936 +1.55 2004 +0.01 1940 +0.77 2008 -1.34 1944 +1.01 2012 -0.10 2016 +0.08

*Values prior to the 1948 election are based on more limited data and should be considered rough estimates.

But, overall, the relationship between economic conditions and the incumbent party’s performance is fairly noisy. In fact, we found that the economy explains only around 30 percent of the variation in the incumbent party’s performance, meaning that other factors explain the other 70 percent.

We do try to account for some of those “other” factors, although we’ve found they make only a modest difference. For instance, we also account for whether the president is an elected incumbent (like Trump this year or Barack Obama in 2012), an incumbent who followed the line of succession into office (like Gerald Ford in 1976) or if there is no incumbent at all (as in 2008 or 2016). We also account for polarization based on how far apart the parties are in roll call votes cast in the U.S. House. Periods of greater polarization (such as today in the U.S.) are associated with closer electoral margins and also smaller impacts of economic conditions and incumbency.

One additional complication is that the condition of the economy at any given moment prior to the election may not resemble what it eventually looks like in November, which is what our model tries to predict. Thus, the model makes a simple forecast for each of the six economic variables, which accounts for some mean-reversion, but is also based on the recent performance of the stock market (yes, it has some predictive power) and surveys of professional economists.10

Although we’ll discuss this at more length in the feature that accompanies our forecast launch, the fundamentals forecast is not necessarily as bad as you might think for Trump, despite awful numbers in categories such as GDP. One of the economic components that the model considers (income) has been strong thanks to government subsidies in the form of the CARES Act, for instance, and two others (inflation and the stock market) have been reasonably favorable, too.

In addition, Trump is an elected incumbent, the economy is expected to improve between the forecast launch (August 12) and November, and the polarized nature of the electorate limits the damage to him to some degree. Thus, one shouldn’t conclude that Trump is a huge underdog on the basis of the economy alone, although he’s also not a favorite to win reelection as elected incumbents typically are.

The closer to Election Day, the more our model relies on polls

Share of the weight assigned to polls and the “fundamentals,” by number of days until the election

Days until election Polls Fundamentals 0 100% 0% 5 97 3 10 94 6 25 89 11 50 84 16 75 79 21 100 74 26 150 65 35 200 57 43 250 47 53

However, our model assigns relatively little weight to the fundamentals forecast, and the weight will eventually decline to zero by Election Day. (Although the fundamentals forecast does do a good job of forecasting most recent elections, there are a lot more misses once you extend the analysis before 1948. So keep that in mind in the table, as the assigned weight is based on the entire data set.) Nonetheless, here is how much the model weights the fundamentals up until the election.

As of forecast launch in mid-August, for instance, the model assigns 77 percent of the weight to the polling-based snapshot and 23 percent of the weight to the fundamentals. In fact, the fundamentals actually help Trump at the margin (they aren’t good for him, but they’re better than his polls), so the model shifts the snapshot in each state slightly toward Trump in the forecast of the Election Day outcome. States with higher elasticity scores are shifted slightly more in this process.

Step 3: Account for uncertainty and simulate the election thousands of times

As complicated though it may seem, everything I’ve described up until this point is, in some sense, the easy part of developing our model. There’s no doubt that Biden is comfortably ahead as of the forecast launch in mid-August, for example, and the choices one makes in using different methods to average polls or combine them with other data isn’t likely to change that conclusion.

What’s trickier is figuring out how that translates into a probability of Biden or Trump winning the election. That’s what this section is about.

Before we proceed further, one disclaimer about the scope of the model: It seeks to reflect the vote as cast on Election Day, assuming that there are reasonable efforts to allow eligible citizens to vote and to count all legal ballots, and that electors are awarded to the popular-vote winner in each state. It does not account for the possibility of extraconstitutional shenanigans by Trump or by anyone else, such as trying to prevent mail ballots from being counted.

That does not mean it’s safe to assume these rules and norms will be respected. (If we were sure they would be respected, there wouldn’t be any need for this disclaimer!) But it’s just not in the purview of the sort of statistical analysis we conduct in our model to determine the likelihood they will or won’t be respected.

We do think, however, that well-constructed polls and models can provide a useful benchmark if any attempts to manipulate the election do occur. For instance, a candidate (in a state with incomplete results because mail ballots have yet to be counted) declaring themselves the winner in a state where the model had given them an 0.4 percent chance of winning would need to be regarded with more suspicion than one where they’d had a 40 percent chance going in (although a 40 percent chance of winning is by no means a sure thing either, obviously).

With that disclaimer out of the way, here are the four types of uncertainty that the model tries to account for:

National drift, or how much the overall national forecast could change between now and Election Day.

National Election Day error, or how much our final forecast of the national popular vote could be off on Election Day itself.

Correlated state error, which reflects errors that could occur across multiple states along geographic or regional lines — for instance, as was relevant in 2016, a systematic underperformance relative to polls for the Democratic candidate in the Midwest.

State-specific error, an error relative to our forecast that affects only one state.

The first type of error, national drift, is probably the most important one as of the launch — that is, the biggest reason Biden might not win despite currently enjoying a fairly wide lead in the polls is that the race could change between now and November.

National drift is calculated as follows:

Constant x (Days Until Election)^⅓ x Uncertainty Index

That is, it is a function of the cube root of the number of days until the election11 times the FiveThirtyEight Uncertainty Index, which I’ll describe in a moment. (Note that the use of the cube root implies that polls do not become more accurate at a linear rate, but rather that there is a sharp increase in accuracy toward the end of an election. Put another way, August is still early as far as polling goes.)

The uncertainty index is a new feature this year, although it reflects a number of things we did previously, such as accounting for the number of undecided voters. In the spirit of our economic index, it also contains a number of measures that are historically correlated with greater (or lesser) uncertainty but are also correlated with one another in complicated ways. And under circumstances like these (not to mention the small sample size of presidential elections), we think it is better to use an equally-weighted blend of all reasonable metrics rather than picking and choosing just one or two metrics.

The components of our uncertainty index are as follows:

The number of undecided voters in national polls. More undecided voters means more uncertainty.

The number of undecided plus third-party voters in national polls. More third-party voters means more uncertainty.

Polarization, as measured elsewhere in the model, is based on how far apart the parties are in roll call votes cast in the U.S. House. More polarization means less uncertainty since there are fewer swing voters.

The volatility of the national polling average. Volatility tends to predict itself, so a stable polling average tends to remain stable.

The overall volume of national polling. More polling means less uncertainty.

The magnitude of the difference between the polling-based national snapshot and the fundamentals forecast. A wider gap means more uncertainty.

The standard deviation of the component variables used in the FiveThirtyEight economic index. More economic volatility means more overall uncertainty in the forecast.

The volume of major news, as measured by the number of full-width New York Times headlines in the past 500 days, with more recent days weighted more heavily. More news means more uncertainty.

In 2020, measures No. 1 through 5 all imply below-average uncertainty. There aren’t many undecided voters, there are no major third-party candidates, polarization has been high and polls have been stable. Measure No. 6 suggests average uncertainty. But metrics No. 7 and 8 imply extremely high uncertainty; there has been a ton of news related to COVID-19 and other major stories, like the protests advocating for police reform in response to the death of George Floyd — not to mention the impeachment trial of Trump earlier this year. Likewise, there has been as much volatility in economic data as at any time since the Great Depression.

On the one hand, the sheer number of uncertainties unique to 2020 indicate the possibility of a volatile election, but on the other hand, there are also a number of measures that signal lower uncertainty, like a very stable polling average. So when we calculate the overall degree of uncertainty for 2020, our model’s best guess is that it is about average relative to elections since 1972. That average, of course, includes a number of volatile elections such as 1980, 1988 and 1992, where there were huge swings in the polls over the final few months of the campaign, along with elections such as 2004 and 2012 where polls were pretty stable. As voters consume even more economic- and pandemic-related news — and then experience events like the conventions and the debates — it’s not yet clear whether the polls will remain stable or begin to swing around more.

It’s also not entirely clear how this might all translate into the national Election Day error — that is, how far off the mark our final polling averages are — either. In calculating Election Day error, we use a different version of the uncertainty index that de-emphasizes components No. 6, 7 and 8, since those components pertain mostly to how much we expect the polls to change between now and the election, rather than the possibility of an Election Day misfire.

Still, our approach to calculating Election Day error is fairly conservative. In order to have a larger sample size, the calculation is based on the error in final polls in elections since 1936, rather than solely on more recent elections. While polls weren’t as far off the mark in 2016 as is generally reputed (national polls were fairly accurate, in fact), it’s also not clear that the extremely precise polls in the final weeks of 2004, 2008 and 2012 will be easy to replicate given the challenges in polling today. Given the small sample sizes, we also use a fat-tailed distribution for many of the error components, including the national Election Day error, to reflect the small — but not zero — possibility of a larger error than what we’ve seen historically.

There could also be some challenges related to polling during COVID-19. In primary elections conducted during the pandemic, for instance, turnout was hard to predict. In some ways, the pandemic makes voting easier (expanded options to vote by mail in many states), but it also makes it harder in other ways (it’s difficult to socially distance if you must vote in person).

This is a rough estimate because there are a lot of confounding variables — including the end of the competitive portion of the Democratic presidential primary — but we estimate that the variability in turnout was about 50 percent higher in primary elections conducted after the pandemic began in the U.S. than those conducted beforehand. Empirically, we know that states that experience a sharp change in turnout from one cycle to the next are harder to forecast, too. So we estimate that a 50 percent increase in error when predicting turnout will result in a 20 percent increase in error when predicting the share of the vote each party receives.

Therefore, we increase national Election Day error, correlated state error and state-specific error by 20 percent relative to their usual values because of how the coronavirus could affect turnout and the process of voting. Note that this still won’t be enough to cover extraordinary developments such as mail ballots being impounded. But it should help to reflect some of the additional challenges in polling and holding an election amidst a pandemic.

When it comes to simulating the election — we’re running 40,000 simulations each time the model is updated — the model first picks two random numbers to reflect national drift (how much the national forecast could change) and national Election Day error (how off our final forecast of the national popular vote could be) that are applied more or less uniformly12 to all states. However, even if you somehow magically knew what the final national popular vote would be, there would still be additional error at the state level. A uniform national swing would not have been enough to cost Clinton the Electoral College in 2016, for example. But underperformance relative to the polls concentrated in the Midwestern swing states did.

In fact, we estimate that at the end of the campaign, most of the error associated with state polling is likely to be correlated with errors in other states. That is to say, it is improbable that there would be a major polling error in Michigan that wouldn’t also be reflected in similar states such as Wisconsin and Ohio.

Therefore, to calculate correlated polling error, the model creates random permutations based on different demographic and geographic characteristics. In one simulation, for instance, Trump would do surprisingly well with Hispanic voters and thus overperform in states with large numbers of Hispanics. In another simulation, Biden would overperform his polls in states with large numbers of Catholics. The variables used in the simulations are as follows:

Race (white, Black, Hispanic, Asian)

Religion (evangelical Christians, mainline protestants, Catholic, Mormon, other religions, atheist/nonreligious)

A state’s partisan lean index in 2016 and in 2012

Latitude and longitude

Region (North, South, Midwest, West)

Urbanization

Median household income

Median age

Gender

Education (the share of the population with a bachelor’s degree or higher)

Immigration (the share of a state that is part of its voting-eligible population)

The COVID-19 severity index (see Step 2)

The share of a state’s vote that is expected to be cast by mail

One mathematical property of correlated polling errors is that states with demographics that resemble those of the country as a whole tend to have less polling error than those that don’t. Underestimating Biden’s standing among Mormons wouldn’t cause too many problems in a national poll, or in a poll of Florida, for example. But it could lead to a huge polling error in Utah. Put another way, states that are outliers based on some combination of the variables listed above tend to be harder to predict.

Finally, the model randomly applies some residual, state-specific error in each state. This tends to be relatively small, and is primarily a function of the volume of polling in each state, especially in states that have had no polling at all. If you’re wondering why Trump’s chances are higher than you might expect in Oregon, for example, it’s partly because there have been no polls there as of forecast launch.

Odds and ends

Whew — that’s pretty much it! But a few random bullet points that don’t fit neatly into the categories above.

The model accounts for the fact that Maine and Nebraska award one electoral vote each to the winner of each congressional district. In fact, these congressional districts have their own forecast pages, just as the states do. For the most part, though, the statewide forecasts in Maine and Nebraska just reflect the sum of the district forecasts. However, because not all polls provide district-level breakdowns in these states, the model also makes inferences from statewide polls of Maine and Nebraska, too. In total, the model calculates a forecast in 54 jurisdictions: the two congressional districts in Maine, the three in Nebraska, the other 48 states and Washington, D.C.

In 2016, as well as in backtesting the model in certain past years (i.e., 1980, 1992) we designated “major” third-party candidates such as Gary Johnson and Ross Perot. We defined major as (i) a candidate who is on the ballot almost everywhere, (ii) who is included in most polls and (iii) who usually polls in at least the mid-to-high single digits. There is no such candidate in 2020.

However, we do predict votes for “other” candidates in each state. The predictions are based on how many third-party candidates appear on the ballot in the state,13 whether write-in votes are permitted, how much of the vote a state has historically given to third-party candidates, and how competitive the state is (third-party candidates historically receive fewer votes in swing states).

Electoral College ties (269-269) are listed as such in the model output. This is a change from past years, where we used various methods to break the ties. We do not account for the possibility of faithless electors or candidates other than Trump and Biden winning electoral votes.

Got any other questions or see anything that looks wrong? Please drop us a line.

[kumkaniudaku]

The Love Tonight (1)

A/N: A request by @queenbutterfly2018. Thank you for keeping my creative juices flowing. Even if it does take me 7000 years to finish things. 

Summary: The family bonds over Beyonce and a classic movie. 

The Love Tonight (2)

"And I just can't waaaiit...to be KING!"

CoCo silently bopped her head from side to side in the kitchen as she split her attention between washing the dishes and her kids enjoying the third showing of The Lion King in as many weeks. 

Noah let out a small squeal of excitement followed by a laugh that caught Micah's attention. 

"No, Noey! We don't laugh during this part. It's really serious!" When the youngest of the pair responded with a gurgling babble, Micah let out an agitated groan before continuing her explanation. "Simba could get hurt. He didn't listen to his daddy, and now the heenas are looking for him. That's why we have to listen to Mommy and Daddy."

"Good lesson, baby girl," Tasha called from the kitchen, adding a wink to her praise when Micah turned around to acknowledge her mother. 

From the moment she could focus on moving images, Micah became enamored with Simba's timeless tale. Her big eyes would sparkle when she would hear the movie's main theme, the song often doubling as the only sound to keep her quiet when she was restless. 

When she was three, Micah insisted that she would not participate in Halloween festivities if she could not dress as Nala. Her first eating utensil set, big girl underwear, and bed set featured the beloved characters. Even as she found other interests, The Lion King was her first love. 

"Mommy, your favorite song is coming! You gotta sing it!"

Micah wiggled around in her seat while Tasha took a break from cleaning to join her on the couch. Pulling the little one into her lap, CoCo cleared her throat to mimic Scar. 

"I know that your powers of retention are as wet as a warthog's backside. But thick as you are��pay attention! My words are a matter of pride."

Noah perked up as Micah joined the song, becoming the third voice in a chorus of off-key voices. Together they fumbled over lyrics and laughed until their stomachs were sore and the song was over. 

After a moment of silence to catch their breath, Micah broke the silence. "I wish Daddy was here to sing too. He likes to sing the Simba and Nala song with you."

"I know, baby, I know. But Daddy has to be at work."

"Work is mean! Tell him to come home and play!"

"Dadadada." Noah's chanted, adding his two cents in the conversation to make both ladies giggle. 

"How about we call Daddy so you two can say all of this to his face. How does that sound, Pookie Butt?" 

Cheering and made up songs bounced off of the living room walls before echoing on the other side of the phone when Chadwick finally answered. 

"Sounds like I'm missing out on a party back home," he laughed. 

Across the country, the sun had long allowed the moon to have its place in the sky. Chadwick sat in his dimly lit bedroom clad in worn lounge clothes with sleep forcing his eyes half-closed. 

"You sure are. We're watching your favorite movie. Wanna take a guess?"

"Whaaat? Where's my girl? She wouldn't watch The Lion King without me, would she?"

"I only watched a little! Not even the pig song!" 

"You didn't get to...should I sing it," he questioned, already knowing the answer. 

"Yes! Sing it!" 

"Nah, it's time for bed. Mama wouldn't be happy if I did." 

Chadwick put on an award-winning acting performance to sway Micah's opinion before she turned to make a case for why she deserved a song from her favorite singing partner. 

"Please, Mama? Please, please, please, please, puh-LEASE!" 

"Sure, sing the song, Dad." 

While Micah squealed in pleasure, CoCo made sure to give her husband the finger as discreetly as possible. 

"You can do that for as long as you like when I get back, love," he assured with a wink. 

"Sing it, Daddy! One, two, three!"

Straighten in his seat, Chadwick took a deep breath and comically poked his chest out. "WHEN I WAS A YOUNG WARTHOOOG!"

Before her daddy could finish the most boisterous line in the entire film, Micah doubled over and laughed until her whole body vibrated with joy. Even Noah joined in on the laughter despite nodding in and out of sleep in his walker. 

"Sing it again," Micah requested between gasps for air. "Sing it again!" 

"Nuh-uh. It's time for you and another cub to get to bed. Maybe we can sing it in the morning when you're on the way to camp. How's that sound?" 

"You promise?" 

"Double pinky promise, baby girl. First thing in the morning." 

Though visibly upset, Micah accepted the terms of the deal. "Okay. Goodnight, Daddy. I wish you could come home tomorrow." 

"I wish I could too, little one. See you in a few weeks. Be good for your Mama and be nice to your brother." 

Another round of goodnights sealed the deal, sending Micah off to her room to wait on Tasha to tuck her into bed. Chadwick followed her movements as far he could until she was out of camera view. His sad eyes betrayed the smile on his face and caught his wife's attention. 

"I know it's tough, baby, but she understands why you're away. She's just missing you tonight." 

"Doesn't stop me from feeling like the worst dad ever. Now I have to make it up to her." 

"Please, do not send another doll to this house or I will burn it. Send a Birkin instead!" The line on Chadwick's end went silent as he froze and stared. "Hello? Can you hear me? Is this thing frozen?" 

"It ain't frozen. I'm just givin' you a minute to hear what craziness you just said to me." 

"So I don't deserve a bag?"

"You deserve a bag so much that you have a shelf in the closet to stock with as many as you can buy." 

Tasha opened her mouth to respond but found herself interrupted by the sound of toys hitting the hardwood floors close to her. After quickly assessing the situation, neither of them could withhold their laughter. Noah sat slumped in walker with thumb in his mouth to self soothe, deep into a dream that had him smiling with his eyes closed. 

Finally calming down, Chadwick allowed a yawn to slip past his lips. "Alright, baby, I have to be on set early tomorrow." 

"Goodnight, handsome. Sleep well, and don't send any more gifts to this house." 

"You don't tell me what to do, T. Bye!" 

There was no time for Tasha to protest any of her husband's statements as he ended the call abruptly. In the weeks that followed, he would vaguely hint at a surprise when talking to or about Micah. When pressed for further intel, Chadwick would smirk as if he were hiding the most interesting secret in the world, the twinkle in his eye brighter than any star in the sky. 

CoCo began to suspect the true nature of the surprise when she received confirmations for two booked nail appointments and a separate dress fitting. Questioning the keeper of secrets proved to be futile until he returned from work at the tail end of a busy weekday night. 

Micah met him at the edge of the driveway with unbridled excitement, waiting for him to step out of the car and scoop her body into his arms. Once the house was calm and sharing a meal around the dinner table, Chadwick pulled an envelope out of his pocket and quietly sat it on the table. 

Taking a look up while chewing her food, Tasha eyed the package. "Is that a check for me?" 

"No." 

"Plane tickets?" 

"Tickets, but not for a plane." 

"Is it a letter from the Tooth Fairy," Micah inquired. "Because I lost my front teeths. Mommy found them and said the Tooth Fairy would give me monies, but that was a long time ago. I think she forgot."

"She spent the money on dance lessons," Tasha mumbled.

Chadwick cut his eyes at CoCo who mouthed 'what' in response. "Anyway...remember when we told you there was gonna be a new Lion King, Mikey?" 

"Yeah! You said we could see it if I read a whole book by myself. Are we gonna see it?"

"We're gonna do more than see it, baby girl. We are going to…" Chadwick paused for dramatic effect, waiting for a drumroll that Tasha reluctantly provided. 

He listened to her rapidly tap her fingers against the glossy wood grain tabletop. Soon, Micah joined the spectacle, leading the charge for Noah to slam his hands against the tray of his high chair. Chadwick's grin spread across his face as the tension and noise in the room built to deafening levels. 

"Aaron! Spit it out, darn it," Tasha hollered, careful to censor her language. 

"Okay, okay! We're going to...the premiere!" 

For weeks, Chadwick had played this moment in his head countless times, and each encounter ended with the members of his family singing his praises and running around the house in excitement. Instead, they met him with two blank stares and senseless babbling. 

"What's a...a...premiere? I want popcorn." 

"Chad, she's six. Explain why a premiere is better than just going to the theater on Cheap Tuesday. I would also like an explanation." 

As Micah looked between her mother's sarcastic smile and her father's eye roll, she found herself still very confused. She'd only been on a few red carpets in her short lifetime, and none of them involved a brand new movie. It was unreasonable to expect a child to enjoy the bright lights associated with such an event, much less an entire movie without any outbursts or excessive moving. Chadwick hoped that an introduction through the Lion King would be an adequate test run for future instances. 

"A premiere," he started as he lifted Micah out of her chair and into his lap. "Is when special people get all dressed up to see a movie before everyone else. All the people that are in the movie are there too." 

"So I get to see the movie with Timon and Pumbaa?" 

"Well, kind of. You'll meet the actors that play them." 

Micah thought for a moment. "Are these big people that play dress up like you?" 

"Sure... let's go with that." 

"Is Mommy and Noah gonna come with us?" 

"Just Mom. Noah's still too little. But we'll get the DVD when it comes out, and then he can see it at home." From the corner of his eye, Chadwick could see Tasha giving him a thumbs up for his attempt at explaining such a complicated matter to a child. Micah, however, still had questions. 

"I guess I'll go," she shrugged. "Do I get a new dress?" 

"My girl asks the important questions! That's what I'm talking about!" 

Laughing, he shooed his wife away to answer the question. "You drive a hard bargain, Princess. Yes, you and Mommy get new dresses." 

"Yay! I want sparkles on my dress! Wait, I want it to look like mommy's dress. What is your dress gonna look like Mommy? Big and poofy like a princess?"

"Girl, I think we should-" CoCo halted her rand and dramatically covered her mouth to whisper-speak to Micah. "I think we should go to another room because somebody is a little too nosey. Meet me in your room." 

Her dramatic wink was excitedly returned before Micah focused her attention on dashing out of the dining room and up the stairs. When she was out of earshot, Chadwick turned to his wife and smiled. 

"Make sure you go easy on my pockets." 

Standing, Tasha quickly adjusted Noah on her hip and pretended to flip her hair. "Sparkles are expensive, baby. We'll try our best. You just make sure you can keep up." 

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[the-desolated-quill]

A Stronger Loving World - Watchmen blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. if you haven’t read this comic yet, you may want to before reading this review)

When people read Watchmen for the first time, I’d be surprised if any of them expected the story to end like this.

A Stronger Loving World opens with the aftermath of the fake alien arriving in New York and slaughtering millions. Three splash pages of harrowing artwork by Dave Gibbons. Corpses littered everywhere. Blood in the streets. Giant tentacles wrapped around various landmarks. It’s an extremely unsettling opening and lets the reader know that Gibbons and Alan Moore are not fucking around here. Doctor Manhattan and Laurie arrive to see the carnage and deduce that Adrian was behind it before heading to Antarctica to confront him. After several confrontations involving Manhattan getting disintegrated again and Laurie pulling a gun on Adrian, it’s revealed that Ozymandias’ plan has worked. The nations of the world have put aside their differences and decided to cooperate for fear of an impending alien invasion.

This then leads to the big moral dilemma. What Adrian has done is despicable, but he has succeeded in bringing about world peace, and revealing the truth behind the giant squid runs the risk of dooming the world all over again. So what would be the heroic thing to do?

Well there’s no point asking these characters because as the graphic novel has been emphasising again and again, these guys are not heroes.

This is an extremely complicated moral conundrum with no real right or wrong answer, and I very much appreciate how Alan Moore doesn’t try to shove one down our throats. I also like how each character comes to their decision. Doctor Manhattan is of course a godlike being who sees beyond our world and so shares a somewhat similar view to Adrian’s. That the deaths were justified because the end result is peace. Rorschach on the other hand cannot square what just happened with his own rigid morality, and refuses to keep the secret, vowing to tell everyone the truth, which leads to Manhattan killing him. Nite Owl meanwhile, being weak willed and pathetic as ever, decides to go along with Adrian’s plan, but it’s less to do with him agreeing with Adrian and more to do with the fact that the moral implications are so hard to comprehend that he doesn’t even want to try, instead taking the path of least resistance. Finally Silk Spectre, so shocked by everything she’s learned and witnessed, clings to the one stable thing she has. Dan. The two then have sex, serving as a dark inverse of the sex scene in A Brother To Dragons. In both instances, sex is used as a metaphor for power, but whereas the motivation in the first was Dan overcoming his own inadequacies, the second is both Dan and Laurie desperately trying to retain whatever shred of power and independence they have left after such a shocking and twisted act of mass murder.

It’s great because it demonstrates just how well Moore understands his own characters and how well we’ve come to know them. They behave exactly as we would expect them to and there’s something oddly satisfying about that despite the moral ambiguity of their decisions.

In fact lets discuss Rorschach for a bit, considering he’s the only one that refused to keep the secret. Bit surprising considering the horrid things he’s done throughout the graphic novel. What’s so different about this? Well it could be the sheer scale of it. Could be that he didn’t believe those who died truly deserved it according to his own strict moral code. Except I’m not entirely convinced. In the extra material provided in The Abyss Gazes Also, there’s a letter written by a young Walter Kovacs about his father. Or rather the person he imagines his father to be because he never actually met him. Apparently his parents split up because ‘he liked President Truman and she didn’t.’ Interesting in and of itself that Rorschach, a right wing bigot, was fathered by a Democrat. But wait, it gets more intriguing. He then goes on to write about how he believes his father was an aide to President Truman before talking about the events of Hiroshima and Nagasaki when the US dropped atomic bombs, killing millions. Except here he expresses that he believes that Truman did the right thing because it ended the war and saved millions more lives. Curious, wouldn’t you agree? So, in Rorschach’s mind, what made the nukes in Japan morally justifiable while Adrian’s giant squid in New York wasn’t? We can only really speculate at this point. Some think it’s because Rorschach has realised that there is no place for him in Adrian’s new world order, which I guess is kind of true, but I think it runs the risk of romanticising the character again. It could be that the nukes were a last resort whereas the squid was preemptive... maybe? Personally I think it’s just good old fashioned racism. Rorschach had no issue with the millions of Japanese lives lost because they were Japanese. The enemy. This is different. This time millions of American lives have been lost. To him, this is more than just mass murder. It’s an act of treason.

We may never fully know the reasons behind Rorschach’s actions, but it’s nonetheless interesting to discuss.

I also appreciated that we do get a moment where Adrian questions whether he did the right thing, expressing his doubts to Doctor Manhattan, to which he receives a cryptic response about how ‘nothing ever ends.’ (does Manhattan know what happens in the future? We’ll never know). It’s a nice moment that helps to humanise Adrian a little bit and remind us that he’s as flawed as all the other characters. The arrogant bravado he displays when he succeeds in achieving world peace could easily have slipped into pantomime villain territory if there wasn’t just this small moment near the end, possibly as the scale of the things he’s done dawns on him. Like the pirate captain in The Tales Of The Black Freighter, Adrian means well and his intentions are noble, but his actions are either highly questionable or just downright villainous. This is basically what Watchmen has been talking about since the start. Once you start taking more frequent steps outside the bounds of what is legally and morally acceptable, it’s not long before you’ve effectively joined the criminals yourself.

There’s a lot to like about A Stronger Loving World, however I do have a few complaints here and there. Yes, lets talk about that giant squid.

If there was ever a moment where Watchmen jumped the shark, this is it. And quite frankly I have no idea what Alan Moore was thinking at the time. So Adrian wants to unite the world together using an outside force that will encourage everyone to put aside their differences and team up with each other. Okay. Makes sense so far. But the plan itself requires so many leaps of logic, it kind of loses all credibility. Take for example the idea that it was cloned from a psychic’s brain. Well that came out of nowhere, didn’t it? Yes this is a world where a giant naked blue guy can manipulate atoms, but the story explained to us how this was possible, allowing us to suspend our disbelief. Now suddenly we’re supposed to believe that human psychics exist with no build up whatsoever. It’s just dumped on us, which makes it feel more like a convenient excuse than an explanation. Yes they do kind of foreshadow it with Adrian’s pet lynx Bubastis, but it’s a bit of a leap, isn’t it? It’s one thing to genetically alter an existing animal. It’s another thing entirely to create an all new creature with psychic abilities as though this was Build-A-Bear Workshop.

Not to mention, in order to explain how in God’s name someone can go from inventing electric cars to creating aliens, Alan Moore has to resort to a gigantic infodump in order to make sense of the bloody thing. The initial teleport incinerates people, then the psychic ‘death throes’ or whatever cause others to go mad and start killing each other, and then those even further away have bad dreams or something. Presumably the person furthest from ground zero probably has a moment where they forget where they put their car keys and leave the gas on. It’s just overly complicated and way too daft.

Also I can understand Adrian kidnapping scientists, but why artists and writers? And why tell them the creature is for a movie? Was no one a tiny bit suspicious of the amount of work, resources and effort being put into this supposed ‘special effect’? What about the fact that they were taken from their homes and put on a tiny island? Don’t they have families? Are any of them concerned about how ridiculously secretive this film production is? And more to the point, why let the rest of the world believe them to be kidnapped? If you’re going to go with the Hollywood movie cover story, why not just tell people that’s what they’re doing? I guess you could argue that Adrian was concerned this would draw unwanted attention to his plan, but... what?... them getting kidnapped wouldn’t have drawn attention?!

And then there’s just the sheer randomness of it. Why aliens? He doesn’t even plant the seeds for this anywhere. Maybe have some fake UFO sightings or something. He just dumps a dead alien on New York’s doorstep. Also, if genetic engineering is common knowledge, why would people assume it’s aliens? Surely government scientists testing the thing will discover it’s of terrestrial origin. Which leads to the biggest flaw. Would this plan really have worked? Killing millions of people in one city? Would that be enough to unite the world? Perhaps in the short term, but there’s no way you could possibly sustain that lie for so long. Plus, call me cynical, but considering how quickly Russia mobilised when Manhattan left the planet, surely it’s more likely they would take advantage of the situation while America was reeling from this act of carnage. If Adrian is supposed to be the smartest man in the world, I’m amazed he didn’t consider any of this. Maybe he has contingency plans in place, but I don’t know. It all seemed pretty final to me. He genuinely believes that this will fix everything. It just makes him look a bit stupid.

The whole giant squid plot has got more holes in it than a colander. Which is why (and I know I’m going to get some flak for this) I much prefer the version in Zack Snyder’s adaptation than I do the graphic novel. I don’t want to go into too much detail because I’d rather save that for when I review the movie, but I do honestly think Adrian’s plan in the movie makes more sense than the source material does.

Another side effect of having to explain the alien is that Silk Spectre’s story never gets proper closure. There’s a moment where Laurie confronts her mother over the fact that the Comedian is her father, but it all just feels a bit rushed and unsatisfactory. Especially when she starts talking about wanting to change her costume and start using guns, implying she’s going to be more like the Comedian in the future. It’s just too big of a leap in my opinion. One minute she’s distraught that her father was her mother’s rapist, the next she’s following in his footsteps. It’s such a sharp turn, it practically gave me whiplash.

That being said, I did like the little detail of Dan taking Sally Jupiter’s porn magazine, which I think implies how superficial their relationship is. They’re together because of the power and sexual rush they feel in their superhero identities, not because they actually love each other. Maybe that was what drew Sally to the Comedian despite everything he did. Who knows?

I also really like the ending. I haven’t been talking about the New Frontiersman in these reviews because it’s largely been inconsequential up until now, which is kind of the point. Seymour, a downtrodden, inconsequential man working a soul sucking job at a right wing newspaper, is suddenly given the power to change everything. Will he reveal the contents of Rorschach’s journal and thus expose Adrian’s plan or keep quiet in the name of peace? I want to believe it would be the latter, but considering his livelihood depends on his racist editor having material to rant and complain about, it would seem the world is truly doomed. 

As Doctor Manhattan said, ‘nothing ever ends.’

Hey guys! Thank you so much for reading these blogs. It took longer than I thought to write them, but honestly I think it was worth the extra time because there is just so much about Watchmen to unpack and I really enjoyed analysing this story. I’ve been wanting to review Watchmen for ages now and I’m very proud how these have turned out. I personally think it’s some of the best stuff I’ve ever written. Next I’m going to be reviewing the movie adaptation directed by Zack Snyder and then after that the HBO TV series. In the mean time, please feel free to like and reblog and share your own thoughts and feelings about Watchmen. Which character did you find most interesting? Do you think Adrian did the right thing? What would you do in Seymour’s shoes if you found Rorschach’s journal and discovered the truth about the giant alien squid? I’m genuinely curious :)

[jjonassevilla]

“What’s a good conversion rate for my landing page?” [New AI-Backed Research]

Imagine you’re an ecommerce business using landing pages to sell sweaters for miniature pigs. Recently, you’ve done a round of A/B testing—adding a little more oink to your calls to action, let’s say—and tweaked your social ad targeting to reach the hardcore piggy people on Instagram. 

After all your optimization efforts, your landing pages now convert at 3.57%. 

But actually…even if it’s a big improvement against your personal baseline, how do you know you should stop there? How do you know that your hard-earned conversion rate is worth celebrating? Heck, how would you even know if a 30% conversion rate is any good for pages in your industry? (Maybe everyone’s getting a fat return off of pig sweaters but you.)

It’s hard to be confident in the numbers when you don’t know how everybody else is doing. Doubt settles in. Maybe you’re missing out on reaching your conversion potential without even knowing it.

Well, we feel your pain. That’s why, at Unbounce, we’re on a continuing mission to answer the big question for you. It’s the one we hear time and again from our customers:

“What’s a good, bad, or average conversion rate for my landing pages?” 

That’s where industry benchmarks come in—and that’s why we’re thrilled to bring you a fresh (and free) new version of our Conversion Benchmark Report. 

Benchmarks can energize your digital marketing strategy in three big ways:

They’re a form of competitive intelligence. They help you identify gaps between your performance and what the rest of your industry considers to be a good conversion rate. 

Our benchmarks reveal data-supported best practices, and you’ll waste less time and traffic testing unproven optimizations that our machine learning analysis shows don’t necessarily work. 

They help you build a culture of continuous improvement in your organization. It’s harder for your marketing team to be happy with “just okay” if they’re seeing something to strive for.

Sure, some folks like to pooh-pooh industry benchmarking—“Why should I care how other marketers are converting? Why don’t I just focus on how I’m doing?”—but they’re your best window into what success really looks like. Going forward blindly, when you could have both eyes on the prize, is just silly. Oh, and these benchmarks were generated with help from an honest-to-goodness AI crunching millions of conversions, so the results are far more reliable than the anecdotal best practices often found online. As part of the Unbounce Conversion Intelligence approach to digital marketing, these machine-derived insights help you pair your hard-earned expertise with AI to create the highest-converting campaigns of your career.

Introducing the 2020 Conversion Benchmark Report

This year’s Conversion Benchmark Report uses machine learning to assist our data team in analyzing 186.9 million visits to 34,132 Unbounce-built landing pages. In terms of sample size, we analyzed more visits to these pages than the populations of Canada, Hong Kong, Mexico, Laos, and Ireland combined. 

For full context, the previous (2017) version of this report was also built on machine learning insights, but in three years we’ve refined our approach to provide tons more real, proprietary customer data to feed the machine. Now we have even better, more reliable outputs—as well as a few new ways to break down our findings, like by conversion goal. (These are boundaries we’re going to keep pushing, too.)

But what kind of info does the report contain? For one thing, you’ll find median conversion rates broken down to 16 key industries. In many cases, we’ve got wide enough sample sizes to sort them into subcategories too, so you can see how your brother’s pest control service measures up against your sister’s HVAC company. (Or how your uncle’s cybersecurity software converts against your great aunt’s cloud accounting platform.)

The Conversion Benchmark Report includes 16 industries broken down into dozens of subcategories.

Why do we report on median instead of average (mean)? Our goal is to provide you with a realistic picture of where you stand, so this year’s report lists median conversion rates as our measure of central tendency instead of the mean. We found this reduces the impact of outliers (like pages that convert five times better than the rest) on the final benchmarks.

Not clear enough? Then imagine you want to find out, on average, how many eyes people have. The median tells us they have two eyes. According to the mean, though, they have slightly less than two. Because outliers (people with one or fewer eyes) bring that number down.

Both these measures are correct, but which one would you prefer to rely on if your business is selling sunglasses?

What if your industry doesn’t appear in the report? For this year’s report, we’ve tried to be even more representative. With machine learning helping us to sort thousands of landing pages in a logical way, we’ve increased the number of industries covered from 10 to 16, and we’ve even added subcategories whenever sample sizes allow.

If you still don’t see yourself represented, though, compare your conversion rates to industries with similar audiences and conversion goals. While we don’t actually recommend comparisons between very unrelated industries (except for fun), let your judgment be your guide. 

A note on COVID-19. The conversion data in this report comes from 2019, so we realize it shows norms that have been disrupted for some vulnerable industries—like travel, events and leisure, restaurants, and medical practitioners. These benchmarks show what you can expect in stable periods, and they provide insights about how your visitors typically behave (and why they convert). We hope they’ll help you set up your digital campaigns for success—and inspire your rebound. If you face uncertainty, though, please also check out the COVID-19 Small Business Care Package for a roundup of useful resources to help lessen the impact on your business.

Below, I go into more detail about the findings and insights we’ve been able to pull from them. But if you’ve got an itchy mouse-finger, you can jump right into the Conversion Benchmark Report now. (It’ll open in a new tab.)

Going beyond the benchmarks

Benchmarks are tremendously helpful, for all the reasons I talked about above. (If you work for an agency, you know this already. They’re a baller way of showing the value of what you do—and helping clients determine their true conversion potential.) 

How do I best communicate with my target audience? 

In copywriting circles, the received wisdom is that clarity comes above all else. If you’re looking to put up the fewest hurdles possible between audience and offer, it can make sense to keep your vocabulary basic and your sentences tight and untangled.

Our data, however, complicates this equation. Is simple always better? Nope. It turns out that different industries tend to convert more often at different reading levels (and some see weaker relationships between conversion rates and readability than others). 

There are even cases in which it’s good to sound sophisticated. B2B companies offering lead-gen consulting or instruction, for instance, appear to benefit from more challenging language. We see a drop in conversion rates as pages become easier to understand. (Frankly, that’s not what we expected.)

When it comes to reading ease, pages for lead-gen consultants appear to benefit from being harder to read.

Our machine learning analysis enabled us to look at copy from 34 thousand pages. Each page is assigned a Flesch reading ease score based on the average number of syllables per word and words per sentence. More syllables and more words means more…harder.

Here’s roughly how the scoring breaks down:

What’s the perf word length for my landing pages?

While it’s true that shorter pages tend to convert better, many industries have sweet spots that break the rule—which means, if you’re going to create a long-form landing page, you should go this long. This is especially true in the wild territories beyond 200 words, where unexpected correlations between length and conversion rate have led many a marketer astray.

At what length do landing pages for family services convert best? The graph provides answers.

Depending on your offer and industry, you may find that you need to use more words to get your point across, but graphs like the one above can let you know what’s ideal. For family services, that’s 300-500 words (if you can’t get it shorter than 150 words). For other industries, it can be more or less. Whatever the case, creating variants based on our findings can definitely be a good candidate for A/B testing or Smart Traffic.

What emotions might relate to better conversion rates?

You likely know in your gut that people’s feelings can impact their decision to buy, but which ones actually drive conversions on your landing pages? To find out, we ran an ML-powered sentiment analysis that looked at emotion-associated words that might relate to healthy conversion rates—and which might even be slowing you down. 

(Spoiler: using trust words isn’t always advisable. “Trust us.”)

For SaaS, the concentration of anticipation words on a landing page correlates with its conversion rate.

When it comes to SaaS conversions, for instance, it turns out that language that conveys anticipation (words like gradual, highest, improve, and launch) sometimes correlates with better conversion rates. Or, to put it another way: as we find more of these words, we also often tend to see better conversion performance.

You can explore this example, and many others, in the report.

A good conversion rate is one you can improve upon.

When it comes down to brass tacks, all this benchmarking is valuable insofar as you can use it to build a better conversion machine from what you learn. How do you do it?

Explore the insights in this report. The report is broken down into 16 industries. How are your landing pages stacking up against the baseline? Are you way out ahead? Are you falling behind? Start with your industry, sure, but take a look at others too. There may be insights that are worth exploring outside your own arena.

Apply the data learnings to your own campaigns. Create a variant (or more than one variant) of your page that applies some of the insights we’ve provided. For example, you might dial down the jargon until you hit the optimal Flesch reading score. (You can use the free readability formula tool here to test it for yourself.)

Optimize and test. Keep in mind that data analysis reveals trends and tendencies rather than absolutes. You’re making informed decisions when you apply these learnings, but testing is still your best way to confirm. Run A/B tests or, if you’re short on the time or traffic to do so, just publish your variants and turn on Smart Traffic in the Unbounce Builder. It’ll use machine learning to automatically decide which variant is right for which visitors, and it’s otherwise hands-off. (If you’re looking for more ideas on how to build variants, I’d recommend this post from Garrett too.)

In short, this year’s report uses ML to identify opportunities you simply couldn’t spot without the processing power of a machine. Optimizing your pages doesn’t have to be aspirational. We believe this is the future of digital marketing—and, going forward, you’re going to see more and more efforts like this from Unbounce to help you enhance the skills you already have. (If you’re curious about what else we have planned, you can read more about our push to bring you Conversion Intelligence.)

Whether you sell pig sweaters, chicken harnesses, or something altogether more practical—are you confident enough to swagger into your next meeting, snap your suspenders, fire those finger-guns in your boss’s direction, and let everyone know about your team’s big win? “Soooooooo-ie!”

Take a gander at the 2020 Conversion Benchmark Report, and let us know what you think in the comments below.

from Marketing https://unbounce.com/conversion-rate-optimization/what-is-a-good-conversion-rate/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[amelee23]

I do | Kim Yugyeom

Summary: He made a promise he couldn't keep.

Characters: Kim Yugyeom, Mark Tuan, BamBam, Bang Chan (Stray Kids) and an unknown female. (It's an xreader don't worry lol)

Genre: Horror, Angst

Tags: Zombie AU, Blood, Gore, Character Death

Word Count: 3.150

They were inside the JYPE building when news hit the TV station. 

The announcement came out blaring, static hissing like it wanted to get alive. An outbreak, a mad scientist releasing a gas in a closed space of his lab only for subjects to escape.

Panic ensued, with gasps and minds refusing to work. The people in that small, dance studio that served as some sort of friendship reunion at the time, were JB, Yugyeom and his girlfriend, Mark, BamBam, and surprisingly, Chan of Stray Kids. They were all making plans, mentally preparing themselves for the worst.

"This building can hold us for a while. It's got oxygen supply, food, water, everything we need."

"But what if they get in?"

Before they could even develop a plan, Jaebeom was making his way out the door. He had been pacing around the room this whole time, something clearly bothering him.

"You got this, Chan." He said. "I've got another 3 to find. I'll look for Stray Kids as well." In that moment, Chan felt a pang of hurt. The entirety of Stray kids weren't there, what could be happening to them in this very moment?

"Let's promise to see each other again." And with that, Jaebeom was gone from sight.

Chan's stomach was twisting and turning. How could he, take care of this entire group of people, while his own teammates were God knows where? He wasn't sure of himself, but he wasn't sure of Jaebeom either.

"Hey, Chris. They'll be alright. There's nothing we can do from here." She brushed Chan's arm, who seemed to wince. He nodded, barely. At least she was there.

Despite Chan's best efforts, with everything happening, even a group as small as that started unbinding. Yugyeom wouldn't, for one second, let go of his girlfriend. He became irrational, in a way. Hectically looking over her shoulder; he wasted no second yelling at all his friends when something seemed unsafe. They ultimately had to understand him, as he was simply terrified of the idea that he could lose her. He gave up on everybody else, in a sense. Fate was too harsh on him, took away the time that he so desperately wanted to spend in a loving, peaceful manner with a significant other.

"Is he okay?" BamBam wasn't even trying to be quiet. They strolled the Halls of the JYP building. They put faith in that place to hold them safe, even if it was uncertain of its actually properties of holding back hordes of undeads. 

"He's absolutely terrified," She answered, looking down at the marble floor. They took a turn to find the storage room. "It's the first time I've been away from him for longer than 10 minutes."

"I mean, it's cute." Bam kept talking as the scanned the shelves. "But also highly annoying because he's acting like a child every time we mention how we're gonna need to get out of here eventually."

"Yeah, I know. He won't listen to Chan. Heck, he won't even listen to Mark - and he's probably the one with the most video game experience." BamBam chuckled at her remark.

They stacked a good amount of cans in their arms and headed out to get back to the others. Closing the door tightly, the corridors were white and quiet. BamBam grabbed the bag he previously left before the door, and opened it to reveal dirty silverware. It was his turn to wash it, so they stopped for the bathroom on the way. 

The water was spraying from the sink, resonating in that silence. At first, she thought it was a pipe malfunction. Something kept clicking, and screeching, but the more time passed, the more it sounded like glass; she wondered what Bam was doing in there. Calling him over, she regretted it exactly after - a splash of something, green, gooey, created a non-lit spot on the large windows. With dread, she turned around to find, the undead right there - was using some sort of fluids to stick to the window, roaming around the outside of the building. It's claws kept scratching the glass, but then the crevices we're filled with whatever bodily glue the creature was emanating.

As BamBam came out of the bathroom - the creature turned to look at them. She had to plaster a hand over Bam's mouth. They had never actually seen the creatures before, since they've always been locked up in the building. It felt like peace was once and for all over.

The creature sneered and cocked it's head, it seemed like it was almost smiling.

She and Bam stood motionless, holding their breath, for two, very long minutes before the creature became disinterested and climbed higher onto the building's window.

The problem was, the others were on the upper floor.

"Is taking the elevator a stupid idea or is stomping on the stairs even stupider?" Bambam fact checked, in a whisper.

"Are the stairs next to windows?"

"Yes."

"Elevator it is then."

They were shaking in their boots the entire ride. They kept expecting something movie like to happen - elevator turning off, a cord being broken, anything to bring them certain doom. But nothing happened.

As the doors dinged open however, there was a sudden gun shot. Yugyeom, Mark and Chan then came out running down the hall, b-lining to the elevator. BamBam held the doors open.  Shrieks were all they could hear, the elevator started rumbling, emergency lights turned on, and soon, they ran for their lives out of the JYP building. 

A billboard there, was blaring with sound, just across the street.

"This is an automatic message being transmitted non-stop to attract the creatures. They react to sound, I repeat, they react to sound. Security measures have been taken - it is strongly advised all unturned civilians move to the country side where the virus hasn't hit as much - we will send teams there shortly.

Every hour we send across two trains - one in the South with a loud alarm at the mid hour, to grab any stray monster's attention and allow you to get to the station - and one in the North, meant to collect survivors and take them to the country side. 

May luck be with you.”

"It's 15:17 right now..." Mark took ahold of Bambam's watch and read the time.

"Then, we hold out. Wait for the alarm train and try to get to the other station while it sounds." Chan motioned everyone to hide, as well as they could. Undeads roamed the streets, and they couldn't shoot another bullet. Chan was lucky to even remember there was a gun hidden in the head office. He didn't even question why it was there.

Exactly on time, the first train trudged on the railings. The monsters suddenly caught life from their mindless stroll, and pushed in the direction of the sound. They were walking all over each other, without any regards of harming each other. BamBam urged to say it, but to him undeads were straight up dumb.

On the low, quietly but fast, they passed by the back of the mass to make it to the train station. It was easy to get there with the empty, snowed in streets giving them no complications. The train station, wet and cramped, held no other survivors. Mark suggested that the others probably already left since they chose to lock themselves in a building instead of running...

However, something in Yugyeom seemed to change. He wasn't as much as a scaredy cat, but he was still protecting his girlfriend with all his will. Now, he was offering to go ahead on all instances even if he never shot a gun before. Scarily enough, he made Mark, Bam and Chan promise to always look after his girlfriend in case he never comes back; which was odd considering he had a mentality of wanting to spend every living second with her, just a few hours ago.

He, for the first time since the outbreak, held conversations without panicking, laughed with his friends, hugged them dearly. In fact, he didn't want a separate train compartment when the transportation method arrived. He wanted everyone in the same room, talking through the night. Chan grinned as he hung his arm around Yugyeom's shoulder, grateful for the sudden change. Still, Yugyeom wasn't letting go of his girlfriend's hand. It was a normal couple thing to do, Chan knew it. And for so much time, he couldn't imagine - that he'd continue to have his stomach twist seeing them together.

True to the news, there were barely any undead there. But if there were, suddenly another brave, human soul would shoot it dead immediately to clean the area. The fields were large and open, empty. They were greeted by the people there, introduced to the survivors - they had a chance at this. They settled into a pretty torn down warehouse at edge of the crops. Yugyeom insisted on that one because he liked the structure - had plenty of rooms which could be barricaded and approached from above. 

He looked at it, at the second floor, from his makeshift bed. He could barely make our little lights from the windows on the roof, but they reminded him of the good times.

It was around eleven pm on New Years, the house went quiet for a second. They were all split into groups, but Yugyeom and his girlfriend chose to be away for a bit, on the Christmas lights lit porch. It was chilly, but Yugyeom made sure to encase his girlfriend in a big back hug so the wind wouldn't affect her that much.

'Any new year resolutions?' Yugyeom spoke from above her, in a sweet tone. Even to this day, she still got surprised by how sweet and calm he could be one on one.

'Stay alive? I don't know. Just.... accomplish things.'

'Definitely.' Yugyeom laughed. 'I've got one.'

'Oh, you do? Wanna share? Or are you scared it's not gonna come true or something like that?'

'I think you're the only one that could make it come true.' For a second, she stood thinking.

'Me? Yuggie, you don't mean...'

'I know you don't like surprises so I thought I'd let you know. You still won't know exactly when, but... the ring's ready.'

'Oh my God, babe. I'll be waiting for it, then.'

Yugyeom span her around for a kiss, and she was sure there were tears in her eyes.

Tears streamed, and they wouldn't stop no matter what. The warehouse was dusty, but that wasn't the reason. Yugyeom pulled his girlfriend aside for a second, breaking off from the group. He had been hiding something, it was noticeable, but she felt her entire world crumble when he rose his shirt to reveal a gushing wound, pulsing with a green liquid. He was deeply scratched by an undead, and it wasn't a few minutes ago or anything like that, it happened when they got attacked in the JYPE building. He knew it was over for him, and he wanted to let his lover know first, before the others.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I know I, I promised. Promised a ring, a house, a dog, kids... I'm not even your husband yet but I'm a terrible one."

"Yugyeom, shut up, shut up for a second-! You're making this hurt even more..." Her reaction was that of a shock induced fury, she didn't know what to do with her arms, with her eyes, with her heart.

"Okay, I'll stop talking. You have all the rights to be mad." Yugyeom however, tried to keep calm. He knew how much this would hurt her. But he couldn't leave without telling her, it just wasn't right.

"No, no, no. I take it back. Don't stop talking. I want to hear your voice. Be here with me. Stay with me..." She didn't know if she could hold him close, she imagined he must be in a lot of pain. She clung to his shirt, and he knew she needed to feel him one more time, or until she can't no more; the pain didn't matter. Embraced like that, Yugyeom tried his best to keep it all in when Chan and the others called them back over. It wouldn't be something easy to hide, but he figured he should. Hide and run away before it was too late.

A few hours later, he realized it was perhaps too late to run. His mind wasn't as clear anymore - he couldn't really control his legs or keep balance. Everything about his body felt like it wasn't his anymore. He went to one of the rooms that would make it easy to trap him and eliminate him, and remained seated on the bed, with his back against the wall. He made his girlfriend promise she would leave, and lock the door. But she was seemingly dragging on time.

"You should get away from me." Yugyeom spoke. He felt his head twitch, involuntarily. "I don't think it'll be long now." 

"It's okay, baby. I'm, not leaving just yet." Both of them seemed calm, alike it was all a conversation over morning coffee.

"But you will, right? Don't let me hurt you." His voice was small, weak. The only thing that still functioned properly were his feelings, mouth was heavy to move, eyelids were refusing to open and close, but everything about him yelled how much he loved his girlfriend and wanted her to live on.

"You could never hurt me, love." She smiled, getting close to him. She sat on his lap, caressing his neck with her hands.

"You're a little...too...close." Yugyeom kept blinking at his lover, shaking his head. His sight was everywhere but where he wanted to focus it.

"Shush, hey. You must be tired. Let's take a little nap, okay?" She was sweet talking him, but Yugyeom was already losing consciousness. 

"Yeah, I'm... tired." The pain in his side throbbed, and his eyes went foggy. He looked at his lover and wrapped his hands around her, pulling her to his chest.

"I love you, Yuggie."

"Love you." He whispered. 

His ragged breathing evened out, and he fell into a silent state. So silent in fact, that his heart stopped beating. She knew it was coming, clutching his shirt she began sobbing, looking up at him one more time. The pigment of his skin was almost gone, but he was still gorgeous. The same man that she fell in love with so many years ago - peaceful like an angel, but it wouldn't last long. With an aching heart, she let her head drop back on his chest, her shoulders shaking with a sob from time to time.

Mark was about to call them over to share the rations, dragging the full team behind him. Upon arriving at the door, Mark screamed out Yugyeom's name in horror. His hair was disheveled, his lover gently running her fingers through it, his neck veins were bright green and radiating.

"Chan!" Mark yelled, in pure shock, and the Australian ran over. BamBam was close behind. He tip toed over to her, carefully touching her shoulder. Tears welled up in his eyes instantly.

They needed some time. A few minutes to let it sink in, to ask questions, but it wasn't like knowing how it happened would change the outcome. Mark and Bam began blaming themselves, apologizing over and over. Yugyeom's eyes were moving underneath his closed lids. A short snarl alerted everyone.

"Hey, you need to move." Chan was the only voice of reason in the situation. He might be hurting their feelings with what he was saying, but he needed to. There was no way he was losing someone else, especially the woman he had an unrequited love for the past years, but couldn't have.

"Don't touch me, Chan." She said somberly. He was taken aback by her tone, but kept pressing.

"Please don't do this. Come one, you need to let him go." He tried to squat down and empathize, while BamBam was sobbing in Mark's arms.

"I've lived a great life so far-" She began talking, but Mark interrupted her.

"You're not saying what I think you're gonna say." She glanced over but continued her sentence anyway.

"-and I'm really thankful you guys were in it. But my journey ends here." Chan's veins came to view, as he was visually getting reddened eyes trying to hold himself back.

"So you'll die for him?" He spat.

"No, I'll die with him." 

As on queue, Yugyeom's arms suddenly sprang to life and he grabbed onto her torso, way too harshly. She didn't even wince in pain. She caressed his face, arranging his loose strands of hair.

"Shhh, baby. You're okay. You're safe. I'm here." She had clearly, gone mad.

With no words left to say, Chan grabbed BamBam and Mark and left the room. He made his way to the armory, dragging the other two broken souls.

"Which one of us has the best aim?" Chan asked, loading a magazine into the emergency sniper.

"I do." Mark admitted. The answer was obvious to BamBam, unfortunately.

"The moment Yugyeom wakes up, shoot him." Chan articulated his words harshly. Mark blinked a few times; although he knew it was coming, he still wasn't sure if he could do it.

"What if I hit her?"

"You won't." Chan seemed very determined. He wasn't going to let her do this, even if it was her literal one last wish.

Inside the room, Yugyeom was getting fervent. He already shown his teeth, he was hissing and groaning. His hands were clawing at his girlfriend's body, who was still calm in his arms. Before anyone could even notice it - Yugyeom opened his green, blown out irises. He looked his lover straight in the eye before his teeth ripped through her neck. Blood gushed, dribbled out, but before he could pull out that chunk of meat he was trying to rip out, he stopped. Face full of blood, with the female on his knees, bleeding out from an artery, it was like he remembered something. He howled something out, in the form of a question. It sounded like "You do." 

Half on her way towards passing, she answered him.

"I do."

Alarmed by the howl, the group rushed to the door, but it was all too late. Yugyeom was hissing, looking at the ceiling, twitching his head. His eyes shone in that dirty dark. She was limp in his arms, but he was still holding her up, seemingly uninterested in attacking her further. In fact, he was disinterested in the group as well. He spared them a glance, before looking back up at the ceiling and then letting his head drop on top of his lover's, closing his eyes. 

From afar, they both looked peaceful. 

[foolishmeowing]

Introduction to Time and Qualia in a Cruelly Pluralistic Reality

Scattered across a couple years of posting, I've been leaving notes on an interpretation of reality designed to either resolve or clarify a number of outstanding metaphysical problems, especially regarding qualia, time, and causality -- fundamental cosmological issues which at this point tend to invoke defeat, fear, desperation, and dismissal due to the difficulties involved in a topic which upsets the foundations of the language used to discuss it, the amount of effort already spent to reach this point, and the lack of engineering applications which might entice people to study, say, M-theory to any equivalent level of difficulty. Nevertheless, the world, anomalously, exists, and that validates metaphysics as a real line of questioning.

What this post is going to attempt to do is write as clear of an outline as I can of the anomalies I've been covering, given my lack of polished essaying experience. I will try to consolidate my synonyms and place them together naturally, with some bolding. These terms come from a mixture of continental, analytical, and classic sources, as well as natural word-pairings. They may differ from the same phrase used elsewhere; This is normal in philosophy, as it is a sparsely populated field which mutates quickly from point to point, and modern analytical departments only just began the task of indexing known options a couple generations ago. “Horizon” mutates with with every flicker of an ontologist’s coping mechanisms. To limit space and executive function, many present and historical alternatives to the systems as presented will be glossed over. Many (especially formal properties bound within their scope) can be adjusted without breaking core points. Some are incompatible with core points, and may be considered disproven, too narrow to account for evidence, or in need of attention. One reaches a point where there are many valid paths, and the only way forward is to take your torch down a long path. Because this is a slightly reader-friendly outline, arguments won't appear in as full form as they do elsewhere or upon request, so the phrasing is somewhat prescriptive. I hope it's clear enough that it might make sense without a metaphysics background after a few attempts; It’s literally a one-draft infodump.

Ontology is the study of what it means "to be." Its problems are cosmological on a scale which sets the context for causality, and are not limited to the grammatical properties of "being," though that is a primary starting-point for study. Ontology is usually only understood publicly in terms of the behavior of formal properties, which are traits which exist as regions in a world built out of relations between such parts, such that the properties of some parts make the relations defining the other parts necessary restrictions according to the common behavior of the whole pattern. Scientific laws, math, and language when it's being used to behave as if grammatical rules were the primary source of meaning, are examples of theoretical formal properties. There are many different ways of interpreting meanings in these disciplines according to the basic rules we build models on, but they converge in an attempt to describe properties in as purely logical terms as can be done, within human limitations. Theoretical properties, however, are abstractions made by cognition, and cognition is a process which results from the ground of the very causes which we are attempting to study. By being a product of how causality comes to give us physical consistency in general, the many ways of modeling basic formal laws aim to trace over truths about real formal properties.

Chemical and biological properties emerge from physical properties. If you wrinkle some common subatomic particles out of spacetime, the way they fluctuate about tends to pool them into blobs of common stable patterns called atoms, which are shorthand for small and complicated processes which tend to fall into a reliable larger-scale property. Parts of human intuition and scientific methods like to understand the world in a way that makes all properties of any kind that exist in any way be the consequence of a series of more complicated patterns emerging and pushing against each other around a simple universal property, objectivity, as if the fact of the world being logical were a thing in itself, a monad, which is something so elementary that it doesn't contain specific parts, and can't be said to change because it exists in a way that lacks the context for how we understand change, but we still say it does exist by tracing the properties of the physical world as obeying a common logical symmetry which validates the causes and consequences we find. This kind of monad transcends formal reality as a universal. Physical events are instances of objectivity. The difference between an instance and a universal is an ontological difference, which is a difference so fundamental that it refers to different entire kinds of way that something can be said "to be." Because grammar is a formal theory, the way "being" normally behaves in a sentence reflects the way instantiated objective events exist, but grammar is a loose description after a wet and tangled system shaped to endure constant mutation and error, and we can recognize deep differences and point towards anything we can get ourselves to think, even if we're in a world which doesn't restrict itself to formal patterns. We can recognize a different kind of reality for a transcendent property by seeing its effects, in this case the universal fact of any physical event to follow logical causal patterns.

Physical science makes models of physical properties by modeling the logic of causality, the pattern of necessity among formal events according to their unfolding from a core property of symmetry. There exist incompatible theories of logic which nonetheless reveal common patterns of objective behavior, convergently suggesting but not proving truths about how real formal properties work. For the past hundred years, we've worked largely with axiomatic set theory, where a variable handful of basic ideas about how to include or exclude objects from being organized into groups (x = x becomes explicit) simulates a starting point for emergence which doesn't behave like a monad at its core, but achieves a similar process of emergence-relations. Once a set theory is started, you can unfold principles where "the set of all sets containing x, y, and z, where x, y, and z are not each other, is The Number Three" (the way of constructing numbers differs according to the axioms used in a set theory, but nothing alters the nature of formal properties as being a network of logical tension), create a whole mathematical system, and express physical patterns you find in its terms. The relation between objectivity and formal events, or between starting axioms and more complex physical laws, is called ontological priority. In ontological monism, such as materialistic monism (physical monism really, but few people adhere to Aristotelian matter), a universal property is said to come "before," in a special ontological sense outside the context of spacetime, anything which is an instance of it. Many monistic ontologies exist, and they are not always physical or even formal. Many forms of monotheism are often, but not always, ontologically monistic, though it is normal for everyone to have special theological techniques for describing how divinity might escape even the concept of a center of being. There are also approaches to formal properties which do not use the mathematical Platonism of the transcendent monad, though I haven't seen them differentiate themselves very thoroughly, and because I am breaking from monism anyway, and they're designed to result in similar models of physics, they won't affect much here.

On its own, this kind of Platonic monism can make working models of physics, but it doesn't provide a full cosmology. Instantiation describes the relation between events and the universal principle which transcends them, but it doesn't describe why the unchanging and prior symmetry principle would have sufficient reason to be encircled by a complex pattern which can be divided into particulars. It fulfills needs following some observations, but there is nothing to make a secondary reality which obeys it necessary. It also only describes formal properties, and we can observe properties that cannot be formal, which is the source of most of the difficulty concerning consciousness, time, and being. Although the Platonic instantiation model of form can be replaced without disrupting other parts of my ontology, my break into pluralism allows additional support for the leeching a formal realm out of a formal monad.

There are other kinds of ontological difference, and because they come from ways of existing more basic than any purely logical system's range of meaningful effects, every ontological difference must be painfully understood in its own case. Outside of forms of monism, ontological differences push the limit of what might ever be described, as they don't interact according to their different identities unfolding from a common point, nor do they behave like one has ontological priority; They entangle as a secondary effect which must be investigated according to its property of accessing them, which will make more sense when I get to the example which causes this problem (qualia). First, I have to specify the formal aspect of time, which gets spiffy in pluralism. Ontological priority is an example of time distinct from spacetime, and because "time" refers to changes or differences which are distinct according to the direction they are traced or produced, any ontological difference found will play into a fuller interpretation of time. Some aspects escape our being, such as the succession of priorities, but some entangle us in the pluralistic confusion, such as the qualia problem. These lead to confusing questions about a "moving present" when issues that arise over ontological divisions are confused for patterns entirely within formal time, and sometimes become dismissed as linguistic quirks, though they don't behave as arbitrarily as "spandrels" should.

Physical reality has a version of time which behaves like space in that it's an expression of formal properties distinguished only by its particular shape. Formal time is a dimension in spacetime relative to a given entity, also called "entropic time," because "entropy" is the name of the texture which makes following one direction in time appear different from going in the other even though the world tends toward balance. Entropy is the tendency of things jostling around arbitrarily to go from a state we interpret as orderly to disorderly, because we interpret orderliness according to how something fits a shape meant to behave a specific way, and most ways something can change randomly will leave that ideal. Once something decays, the details of its form lose their value; It is more of a general resource to be recycled or disposed of, and this holds true down to the specific thermodynamic definitions of entropy as available energy being dispersed into ambient heat. At our scale we find ourselves in a world where things fall and shatter but don't jump up and bond, and even in biological evolution, where statistical effects are creating lines of tightly organized patterns -- life -- the net entropic effect of the planet absorbing sunlight into temporary structures which decay into scraps and heat keeps the same pattern of decreasing order on the large scale. Time in this sense measures how many events are "computed," so to speak, by reality when you trace a line, and like space essentially measures the increasing mathematical complexity of possible truths as "distance." Why we live in a world where spacetime is warped into this shape instead of something flatter follows the anthropic principle, where local spacetime holding the shape where simple formal properties have an opportunity to shuffle into the cognitive processes of complex organisms assessing their environments. If there are much vaster expanses of more probable shapes of emptiness further from familiar spacetime, they are lacking in processes such as becoming bored of those regions. This kind of awareness, of the proposition of the self and the environment as formal objects in a causal system as understood by a thought process built from that system, is sometimes called "consciousness," as in "being conscious that you're an animal," but propositional consciousness is different from the properties we focus on in phenomenology, which are now popularly known as qualia. This is where things get hard.

The mind-body problem is old as balls, probably older, but it has mutated drastically over history. Before modern psychology, and for that matter modern mathematics and ontology, our professionals had some messy models of causality with the laws of motion separated from "inherent" properties of chemicals and the like, and the phrase "mind-body dualism" still provokes an outdated picture where psychological properties of a person's thought processes were opposed to the physical properties of a body, and an undefined "free will" may have been on the mental side along with qualia. In modern philosophy, psychology is understood as emerging from biology and thus being a specific pattern in formal reality as a whole, along with the physical body. Psychology deals with behavior and cognition, and cognition is thinking in the sense of a chain of formal causes, which in the case of animal brains includes moldable systems which can turn bits of information into proposition-like patterns reflecting outside events according to the limitations of the causes which shape the system. What this means is that propositional consciousness is only formal awareness; The psychological objects in question are, as with anything physical, built out of the necessities of their relation to other objects in an ongoing network of relations, of a whole universe holding its force between its parts according to the symmetry of objectivity.

This is important, because there are "mental" properties which are not formal, and thus aren't psychological, but whose differing nature reveals them despite the strangeness which grows as one investigates. The conundrum they create is not a new one, being clearly specified at the start of modernity, having a longer history of study in Indian philosophy, and sometimes appearing with minimal differentiation in the Western classics. While their presence was never lacking and their incongruities sometimes apparent, though lost in eras when every theory came in floating fragments, their ontological importance is revealed especially by a strong grasp of the formal properties of reality, which must be understood as pervading reality as thoroughly as we do among the common ontology of physical sciences and the behavior of competing theoretical formal systems gaining traction on formal reality. We study the convergence of possible formal theories and estimate the nature of objectivity itself. We see the common structure of parts making necessary and possible facts about other parts. We desire consistency, and hone in on it. Our skill of memory, not only a collection of representations but also the marks made on us in general, relate to the probabilities of facts in the direction of the entropic past, while other parts of our thought bear the mark of patterns more and more likely to predict facts in any direction. Objective reality reveals itself only by its capacity to relate logically-imitable forms, though of course any given instance can provide barriers to available clues or skills.

Qualia are sensations in the sense of their actual, colorful presence. This doesn't just refer to sight, sound, et cetera, but also the sensation of thoughts moving and pressuring one another, or how recognizing a picture as a duck or a rabbit not only comes with pseudo-knowledge of what it is, but shifts the experience in a way that has sensual presence. The key to defining qualia is their immediate presence in live first-person experience, as qualities which are known by the uniqueness of their very presence. Qualia as such cannot be "hallucinations of qualia," because they are the presence of feeling itself, rather than the facts these qualities are interpreted as reflecting about the objective world of networked causes. It is true that qualia will change in line with the formal objects (brain signals in our case) they trace, but their obedience in undergoing the unique changes they embody according to the changes one follows along in formal reality is not a fact which provides any structural basis for a property to be a quality of substantial presence. The embodiment of the unique selfsame quality necessary to complete the meaning its own being as a presence is alien to formal existence; We relate it to the formal causality it traces, but presence-of-color isn't a property of a system of logical forces.

No theoretical formal system can make even a simplified model of this kind of presence, but they can show part of its disobedience without touching its actual ground. In math, the objects you study are relations among logical necessities, facts about how logical consequences in general would behave in a given formal situation, with errors according to how badly core axioms simulate the instantiation of objective events from the objectivity principle. The reality mathematical models trace is the relation of formal instances in general to the universal objectivity principle, and models of physical situations exist as specifics entirely within the range of possible mathematical facts, as is the behavior of emerging instances of a universal, and formal reality is observed to behave in a manner parallel to the essentials endpoints by which theoretical formal systems make or break themselves. Formal things exist by the tension of being a part of a whole, but there existence is made only in the tension itself; Even a complex instance has no substance, only necessity. When you write 1 + 2 + 3 = 6, both sides of the equation refer to the same universal situation (which is the aspect of any formal event in which a property will include the objects {a, b, c, d, e, f} where none are the same), and when you write 1 + x + 3 = 6, you make a necessity for for x = 2, but you could just as well make the same necessity with 1 + y + 3 = 6. It doesn't matter whether you use x or y to = 2, because they're only tracing over the fact in the context of the system of relations. Qualia seems to hold fast to physical events in our brains, but it traces over formal properties arbitrarily, the way x or y does. This is why there are famous philosophical teasers where people say "how do you know my red isn't your blue" or suchlike, because the presence of the uniqueness of quality in our real experience isn't a hollow nexus of the possible necessary states of other regions; They lends us their own kind of existence, and cannot be analyzed as a mechanism, but studying their ontological difference from formal objects, we can better understand other metaphysical problems which are normally stalled by adhering to purely formal ontologies.

This kind of presence, where "present" doesn't mean a location defined in a formal network but rather the glow of present experience, where its unique quality as something real is also the knowledge of its reality to its person, is an example of philosophical immanence; I tend to call qualia immanent qualities, to emphasize their way of transcending formal properties. The study of qualia is called phenomenology, which makes modern usage of "phenomenal properties" another term for qualia. Phenomenological suspension, or phenomenological reduction, or epoche, is any attempt to hone in on phenomenal properties by suspending your beliefs about the world your experience is a part of and observing the qualities which do not necessarily imply what you thought. If this sounds like a Buddhist meditation, that's because it can be; I've heard mention from Hindu and Buddhist students of phenomenology that there is a history of meditations on this topic. The method I explained here consists of identifying the behavior of formal properties in general, in order to better identify a large range of what could constitute a systematic idea of any kind, to bracket away and reveal the unaddressed properties of immanence. Staring off into space paralyzed in terror by the inescapability of the cosmic anomaly shining within your very soul is also a more meditative form of suspension

Phenomenal consciousness is the existence of qualia, the concern over which is popularly called the Hard Problem of Consciousness, and questions about it deal with ontology. It is different from propositional consciousness, which is a psychological awareness of one's position in local formal reality, that is, awareness of one's animal (or robot or whatever) context. Both phenomenal and propositional consciousness are referred to as "subjectivity," which is as problematic as phenomenology's obscurity ever is. "Subjectivity" refers to first-person awareness, which both are in their own way, but it usually carries connotations specific to propositional consciousness, which is that it is a small mind in a big world and can't know things for sure. Objectivity/subjectivity in formal reality is the difference between the unknown truth and our thoughts, but objectivity/subjectivity in ontology is the difference between form and immanence. Calling things "subjective" can invoke this confusion as much as the word "consciousness."

When you make statements about formal properties, you do so using “modeling” in a way which speaks to the ability of the object in question to be broken down into internal and contextual parts; networks of formal relations identical to the same truth. Statements about non-formal properties do not “model” them according to grounding structure, and though “qualia” are still the “object” of linguistic statements, the properties modeled in a discussion are the points at which they transcend formal properties and lead to statements about the general world capable of featuring such phenomena.

Although we only have reports of immanent qualities from other humans with similar patterns of propositional consciousness, other humans are the only pieces of spacetime we can reach a certain depth of communication with, and there's no good indication that any particular feature of propositional consciousness is necessary for a region of formal reality to inform immanent qualities. Immanent qualities find their ontological ground independently from formal properties, so a description of when immanent qualities would be found associated with a region of spacetime (like a flux of brain signals) is not a question of a physical system creating qualia, but rather creating circumstances which don't contradict the means by which formal and immanent qualities meet. Some suggest that such regions are anywhere a width of information in spacetime has an indeterminate interior effect which can change its outcome, as in the case of uncollapsed quantum blahblahblah, but neurologists consider it doubtful that indeterminate quantum effects can localize enough interference to regularly affect brain-scale cognition, and the separation of the information of quantum effects on the micro-scale from the causal chain of information in the human mind is a real separation. It may be that rather simple entanglements of formal properties at any scale could be reflected in immanent qualities, and that propositional consciousness only ever granted the ability to gripe about it.

The difference between phenomenal and formal properties is the modern form of ontological dualism, even when formal properties are divided into universals and instances. Dualism as such is more observation than theory, as the assumed starting point is the formal monism which produces logical language for science and expresses alternative in terms of how they deviate. Qualia appears to be an extra "kind" of thing, and when you give up trying to reconcile the properties you have two piles. It gets worse, though, so much worse. The inability of formal properties to generate immanent ones also means that it can't generate a way to refer to them and give sufficient reason for their unique contact. Likewise, because immanent qualities are not objects formed of tension against an environment of information-states, there is nothing in immanence to cause a complex of tensions, and immanent qualities are absolutely particular to their presence; They are not universals. Because they cannot necessitate each other, they cannot make a meaning which would "request" the impossible other to entangle with. Therefore, there must be properties which are neither formal nor immanent, which can be known by investigating the relation it invokes between immanence and form. This means I'm breaking dualism into a more open pluralism. They can be further studied by observing from phenomenological reduction that formal properties we take for granted often don't apply the way we expect and drawing what inferences can be drawn; Much of the progress in ontology following phenomenology consists of critiques of formal properties such as ontological priority being found less necessary than thought possible for alienated ontological properties.

At this point many lean towards granting ontological priority to immanence over form, which is a monism called called phenomenalism, or taking cue for other non-formal priorities to both in monistic idealism and others. They don't get much further than feeling some kind of monism as necessary and considering some other kind more likely than simple materialism, but a desire for monism has historically been a good motive for philosophical and scientific progress. I prefer facing Ockham's nightmare of necessarily plural elements.

Ontological plurality may help with a question leftover from the monistic version of the universal/instance relation, where instances seemed to obey the priority of the universal, but didn't have sufficient cause for there to be an unfolded level of formal reality at all. If being a part of a whole completed the reality of qualia, qualia would not be of the closed tunnel of a human experience; The fact of having a quality to shine demands its distance from the very idea of a whole, whose part have their meaning in terms of complicating from a common origin, full of need and empty of presence. It may be that the seemingly arbitrary existence of instantiated objective reality, separate from objectivity as a universal, finds its cause in the coexistence of immanence and the monad itself. The monad need not change or recognize the ontological alien as real; Collisions across ontological divisions do not need to be reciprocated, as symmetry of tension is a formal pattern. The effect which touches both immanence and objectivity may join objectivity as a paired ontological priority to instantiated objectivity, leeching the need for instantiation under its ability to access the immediacy of immanence, while the unchanged objective monad remains the central reference of objective causality and, to itself, still truly being in a state of not having done or coexisted with anything at all.

Because there are unique immanent realities found alongside the tracing of entropic time which cannot be reduced to its formal nature, phenomenal time is an ontologically distinct element of the time-complex. It is suggestive of the idea of "presentism" in time, where some kind of moving present moment is real, and which is opposed to eternalism, which is the idea that all possible times exist at once as a stable array of facts. Eternalism hews to the simple and symmetrical behavior of formal reality, while presentism is usually framed in a formal context which makes it flounder even as people rub their chins at the phenomenological issue that haven't yet grasped. Phenomenal time is rarely represented comprehensively in discussions of presentism/eternalism or A-series/B-series time, which draws confusion through purely formal assumptions.

Although qualia are informed by a common objective reality, they are not made from instantiation. This means that immanent qualities do not relate to each other the way formal objects do, along a continuum of one whole spacetime would compose them. They are, rather, accessed in a common encounter with the objective world, and just as their grounding principle is their own unique presence, they have an ontological difference between each other; Immanent qualities don't contain a negative tension of that which is not present, the way formal entities share the tension of a formal continuum, because that is a property which emerges in the separation of a whole. As immanence is beyond the context of form, so too are they beyond each other, yet inevitable by their common binding to an objectivity by a process they have no means to contradict. It might be more accurate to say the apparent common nature of qualia is a product of a filtering for access to one particular way to non-contradictorily exceed the properties of form, according to the behavior of horizonal properties.

It is valid to say there is qualia for the feeling of moving through time, unique to the interflowing context of ongoing experience, but rather than the present motion, there is also the horizon, which is the reality of the fact that these ontologically alienated properties have a reality beyond one's own deepest grounding. Horizonal properties are not inherent in alienated entities; That would suggest the behavior of a formal ontological priority being sufficient to build immanent qualities. Rather, just as alienated immanent and formal properties lack the context to create each other, so too do they lack the context to meaningfully contradict a property which does not contradict their necessities but rather produces an ontologically unique situation which must be studied according to the anomalies we find rather than possible constructs of pure reason. What we observe is the capacity of a non-immanent, non-formal property to access that which is alien to it and each other. It breaks from the behavior of formal properties in its refusal of priority, but so do immanent qualities. It breaks from qualia's substantiating presence, but so do formal qualities. Its exotic behavior may be less impossible than imagined, but phenomenology takes some getting used to in the first place, and this is the bleeding edge for me. The ontological difference between experience and the horizon is another example of an asymmetrical "relation" not formed by common tension on common ground. The horizon imposes distance upon immanence despite itself and questions the self-sameness of its reality without contradicting it. This transcendence is different from the transcendence of a universal from an instance because it isn't the transcendence of a prior; It is a vulnerability to the beyond, and it is this opening from the utterly external which provides another aspect of the time-complex as the horizon: ekstasis.

"Horizonal properties" isn't a phrase that's floating around, but "horizon" is. It's a slippery word, but it ends up as the best label I have for the non-formal, non-phenomenal property of the vulnerability to being drawn into a relationship with things they have no ontological origin with. Husserl and Heidegger both wove the concept of horizon into ontologies which habitually tended toward some manner of monism -- attempting to unite phenomenal and formal properties under a common ground they all manifest, even if it wasn’t their ultimate conclusion. Husserl was very speculative about ontological statements following from his focus on phenomenological methodology, but he steered toward building formal properties out of the behavior of phenomenal reality, while Heidegger’s unity was more teleological, looking at the synthetsized results of the alienated modes (in other words, human reality as we are, with entanglements across ontological boundaries) as if it justified them in a convergent function in disclosure, which I find still carries too much symmetry in relations across ontological differences. In both of them, their concept of horizon blend aspects I have separated between formal and horizonal  (Husserl's protention/retention and Heidegger's thrownness/ecstasies), and they developed proto-formal versions of past-likeness, future-likeness, or parallel-likeness around the nest of immanent properties. I take cues from Levinas and clear things into an open pluralism moreso than most phenomenologists, and my emphasis goes to showing properties neither formal nor phenomenal nor of common ground with them, with a focus on asymmetrical intersubjectivity.

There is another anomaly which calls to effects neither formal nor immanent. Although it can become inescapably apparent that immanent qualities demand explanation, and would be difficult to return to the denial of, the immanence itself shouldn't be sufficient cause for us to notice it and discuss it as target of propositional awareness. We can see our awareness of it as its presence, but as discussed, that isn't a property which should affect any arrangement of formal necessities. This helps push some towards idealistic monism, trusting the secondary position assumed for formal properties to be concealing the truth of immanence creating external necessities, but gives little opportunity for further development and often keeps re-entangling supposedly derived formal properties into the nature of "monism" itself. Our ability to bring phenomenology into our actions gives the image of a teleological cause, a need for a reason for the possible paths of physical causality to converge into one as unlikely as a sustained and coherent field of study around a phenomenon which shouldn't partake in the causality people speak from. For the forcing of this understanding of immanence into our discourse, this gnosis, we have the appearance of a hand of fate, which means a topic which needs to be unpacked and scrutinized. Simple tricks of overlapping necessities can create teleological illusions, as in the anthropic principle’s world of seemingly improbable life-sustainability being outlined by the lack of experienced consequence for expanses which don't produce life. This should go hand in hand with the study of horizonal properties and how vulnerabilities to exotic effects can be filled or restricted. Note that any anomaly in the causality of our discourse’s context in animal causality, such as the ability of this non-formal but inescapable qualia situation to become a topic which can be honed in on by human study, means the potential contents of our reasoning differ in a certain drastic way from anything we understand about the limits of potential linguistic analysis, and we cannot declare any particular metaphysical question as forever beyond us.

Because we find ourselves in a world where apparently fundamentally alienated properties are aligned in non-contradiction, our existence as living souls is not only our common drive of animal objectivity, or the substantial light of our present experience, but the capacity of the horizon to call on that which is not of our deepest core or the height of possible wisdom. Between us is not only the common ground of our animal motives, or even only the ethical weight of substantial experience which descriptions of biological pain-signaling are hollow of, but our reaching each other across and as a separation as utter as the separation of the mortal from the eternal.