#hope you stick around to see the final product 👀

[eoieopda]

Yoongi + “runaway bride” I’mma leave this one up to your interpretation bc I know I’ll love it either way and also wanna see what you come up with 👀

oooooooh!!! v excited by this prompt, lol. this is, um, going to hurt kind of a lot at the beginning, but stick with me!!!! also, i accidentally made this >3.3k words….. which i will proofread when i am no longer exhausted 🤪

the one with yoongi and the fucking hydrangeas

ft. POV shift, pining & correlating angst, reader who’s🎵 a runner she’s a track star 🎵, a #nonspon vans product placement, a very unfortunate namjoon (sorry, buddy,) childhood idiots in love

Yoongi sat in a seat chosen specifically for him not because he wanted to, but because he knew how much time you’d sacrificed in writing every place card by hand.

To be clear, he’d never wanted to attend this rehearsal dinner in the first place. Unfortunately, he knew the stakes. That wasn’t something he’d dare to say out loud — especially not to you. Not in that restaurant while you fluttered between tables and shined your warm light on every single guest, one by one. Not ever, because you’d slipped through Yoongi’s fingers the second Namjoon slid that ring on yours.

If, in twelve hours’ time, Yoongi could force his deflated body out of bed, he’d have to watch quietly while you got away for good.

There was nothing he could do about it, either, so he swallowed that grief with a mouthful of bibim nengmyun. He knew it wasn’t the food that tasted so bitter on his tongue; however, on the off-chance that it was, he followed suit with another ill-advised swig of makgeolli.

During the two subsequent hours he sat and stewed at that table, Yoongi had lost count of just how many glasses he’d had. His eyes never lingered on the bottle, sticking instead to you and the smile that didn’t seem to spread beyond the curve of your lips. Every now and then, you’d glance his way — and every time you did, there was a microscopic twinge at the corner of your mouth.

It felt like a signal, something cryptic, but he wasn’t in the proper headspace to begin making assumptions. For the first time ever, you’d hit Yoongi with a look he didn’t know what to do with, and that fact drove him insane. This was what he was afraid of, after all — that the invisible string between you would be re-routed to someone else, and the telepathic link you’d always shared would disappear with it.

Your friendship had started early because your respective mothers had grown up together, and found each other once again as adults with two kids each. Back then, both of your front teeth were missing and — if Yoongi made you laugh too hard at routine, weekend gatherings — banana milk would occasionally fly out through the gap. He was nine-years-old and had no concept of it, but now he knows that he loved you then.

He loved you when you were ten, and you kneed a classmate in the dick for bullying Yoongi on the basketball court. You were two years younger and half his size, but you were a force to be reckoned with.

He loved you when you were fourteen, and a wave of brand new hormones made you a little bit of a fucking nightmare to be around.

At seventeen, twenty-one, still.

Now.

There, while everyone around him clinked their chopsticks against their glasses and Namjoon accepted the crowd’s wordless demand that he kiss you.

Yoongi had done well enough with your previous relationships. None of them made him feel like this, though, and he’d spent two years unable to put his finger on why. Sandwiched at that carefully chosen table between his mother and older brother, it finally clicked: None of them ever threatened to last.

Yoongi had never been a particularly hopeful person, but buried deep in the back of his brain, there had always been a crumb of it. Part of him, however stupid, thought you’d end up together at a dinner like this. All of this was the last nail in the coffin, the alarm clock screaming that it was time to wake up.

Suddenly more nauseous than he’d ever been before, Yoongi scooted his chair back so abruptly that it scraped along the floorboards. Just as quickly, he got to his feet and made a beeline for the exit. Of all the heads that turned to watch him leave, yours was the only one he noticed in his peripheral vision. He could feel your eyes on his back — pictured how confused you must look — and it only made his stomach acid churn faster.

When he finally made it out to the patio behind the restaurant, Yoongi’s suspicions were confirmed: closed for the season. Fitting. He wasn’t in the mood to heed the signs, so he stepped carefully — one leg at a time — over the hip-high metal gate and gulped down sharp, late autumn air. As he did, he begged himself to get his shit together for you, if not for him.

He spent several minutes out there, maybe even hours, sitting on a bare, metal chair and glowering out at the trees at the edge of the property. He hated himself, he realized, for how easily he wasted time. Let it slip by unnoticed while he stood still.

The clock seemed to mock him, ticking faster from behind him as if time was going to outrun him again.

At least, that was his first guess.

Yoongi quickly learned that the clicks weren’t signaling the passing seconds; they were broadcasting the urgent beat of stilettos on brick. So, having figured that his mother had appeared outside to gun him down, Yoongi glanced over his shoulder and braced himself for the be-all, end-all of scoldings.

What he got instead was you and the undeserved concern that caused your eyebrows to furrow.

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly once you reached the gate. With your manicured hands on the cold metal, you shivered, but you didn’t seem to notice. “Did you eat too much of the gochujang? I definitely did, and now I’ll be up all night with heartburn.”

Yoongi felt as though he’d been punched in the chest. The memory caught him in a riptide, beat him bloody against the rocks because he could’ve sworn he was sixteen again, stacking old encyclopedias under the headboard of your bed. He’d read somewhere online that, while sitting upright in a chair can exacerbate reflux, sleeping at an angle could help.

He was dizzy when he blinked back at you and saw your lips moving. He had to focus hard to figure out what you were saying.

“You remember that?”

Yoongi struggled to even out his breathing; he had no hope at all of finding the plot he’d lost. “Huh?”

You grinned and it made up for all the stars that had been hidden by grey clouds overhead. “The encyclopedias,” you chuckled, “They worked, you know.”

Yoongi didn’t mean to say it. He knew it before, during, and after it slipped out of his mouth that it was the worst goddamn thing he’d ever done, but he couldn’t stop himself — couldn’t shove the bullet he’d shot back into the gun. With the way it exploded through his chest — I love you — he was surprised that his body was still intact. No viscera sprayed out from the exit wound, no stains appeared on your chic, white cocktail dress.

You opened your mouth but closed it soon after, so clearly stunned by his unsolicited admission that you couldn’t find the words. Yoongi had no expectations whatsoever when it came down to your reaction because he hadn’t meant to provoke one in the first place. Even still, the wounded look on your face was worse than anything he might’ve imagined.

The two of you stood in tense silence for so long that Yoongi’s soul had nearly ejected itself fully from his body.

“That’s not fair,” eventually came your shaky reply. You clenched your fist tight around the top of the gate to anchor yourself and stammered, “Yoongi, that is not — Why would you —”

As soon as he aimed to take a step in your direction, your shock gave way to a scowl that could’ve boiled him alive.

“Why would you dump that at my feet? Tonight, of all fucking nights, Yoongi — seriously?” You snapped, though it sounded like a sob. “What am I supposed to do with this now?”

Now?

He didn’t know how to respond. He was paralyzed, inside and out, and he deserved it. Who the fuck was he, forcing the burden of his feelings onto you?

Selfish. Stupid. Out of time, as usual.

The makeup you always took so much time on started to run alongside your tears. Yoongi had seen you cry before, though he’d always been the reason you stopped, rather than started. He hated every single one of those muddied, black tears because he knew you. He knew you would have worn waterproof mascara if you’d had any reason to anticipate crying on your special night.

“I’m getting married in the morning!”

Your reminder was a dagger flying out of your mouth, sticking him right between the ribs. It stung as images flooded his mind — of you and Namjoon, your guests, and your out-of-season, imported fucking hydrangeas. It hurt even worse to see how badly you shook as you glared at him.

“Yoongi — fuck!”

Before you walked away, your eyes locked on his for a fraction of a second. In that moment, Yoongi promised himself that it was the last time you’d ever have to see his face.

When you were little, you pictured your wedding day like a moment ripped straight out of Cinderella. In your head, you’d wake up to birds singing at your window and mice scurrying around your feet, eager to dress you in a gown of epic and magical proportions. It’d be perfect. For years, you’d been sure of it.

In reality, there was no waking up because there hadn’t been a single second of sleep to begin with. No beauty rest, no sweet dreams of marital bliss — just you, feeling as if you’d swallowed a car battery. It sat heavy in the pit of your stomach, let acid burn all the way up to your esophagus. And it’d been all too easy to toss and turn in your hotel bed, which laid perfectly level on top of a plush, floral rug.

You crawled out of bed without the assistance of altruistic rodents and shuffled your dead weight over to the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. For once, your imagination had been accurate. Your puffy eyes were red in the aftermath of all your tears. They ached above circles so deep and dark that they would’ve alarmed you if you hadn’t expected them.

Namjoon had seen you at what you both believed to be your worst. Neither of you could’ve ever predicted that the Corpse Bride would be the one staggering down the aisle towards him. He’d love you anyway, you knew it, no matter how you looked. But if he knew what you spent all night toiling over…

You shook your head and abruptly turned away from the mirror. There were several of your dearest friends bustling around the room next to yours, all of whom were waiting on you. Swallowing hard, you headed for the adjoining door and promised yourself that the only person you’d let down today would be you.

You lost all track of time when a blur of hands went to work on you. If you’d closed your eyes while you dissociated, you could’ve pretended that your assistants were those woodland creatures you used to dream about. But you couldn’t close your eyes, couldn’t sleep through this part, couldn’t let your mind wander all the way back to that patio.

It’d been terrifying, staring your own heart in the face like that. More than anything, it was confusing because it didn’t look like you expected it would — not like an organ at all, but a person. You’d gotten so good at ignoring it that you couldn’t reasonably expect yourself to recognize it. It knew you, though, and loved you. Apparently, it always had.

As you sat in that hotel room, far away from the patio, you pictured every other moment you wished Yoongi had said what he did. The thousand times you’d thought for sure he felt the same, and all the ways you distracted yourself when you resigned to believing he didn’t. Every person you dated until you finally managed to move on —

“— please, love?”

You blinked rapidly to force your eyes to focus. In front of you, your mother stood with a knowing smile on her face and a sokchima in her hands. You didn’t need to ask her to repeat herself; you took the hint and rose slowly to your feet.

“I was nervous on my wedding day,” she hummed as she pulled the undergarment gently over your head. “Hungover, too, but your grandmother does not need to know that. Frankly, I’m surprised she couldn’t tell with how bloated I was when she helped me get ready…”

The bright scarlet chima followed without so much as a word from you. Your heart slammed helplessly against your rib cage when your mother proceeded to tug the sleeves of your jeogori up your arms. This moment should be special, you thought bitterly. All you wanted to do was cry; to apologize to your mother for your total inability to care while your wedding happened around you, not for you.

Soon enough, you were dressed. Your friends and older sister gushed about how beautiful you looked — the perfect bride — like you weren’t caught in the web of an anxiety attack. Like it wasn’t all wrong, and you weren’t dangling on the precipice of your life’s greatest mistake. Like you hadn’t spent so much of your hard-earned money on invitations and greenhouse-grown, special-ordered fucking hydrangeas.

Like you could catch a fucking breath under all the layers of your hanbok.

Sensing that a moment alone was necessary, your mother kissed your cheek and ushered the others out the door ahead of her. Before seeing herself out, too, she stalled in the threshold, turned back around to look at you, and exhaled through a pause.

“I left your shoes by the dresser,” she chirped.

The gentleness of her tone was reassuring, but there was a faint gleam in her eyes that caught your attention. Before you could ask after it, she nodded firmly once and let the door click shut behind her.

Alone again, your instinct was to do the same thing you’d spent ten consecutive hours doing — burying yourself under pillows and crying until you ran out of tears. But you had run out, which was precisely was the problem. You had no options left, nothing left to do but lean in.

At least, that was your first guess.

Your list of choices expanded by one when you saw the well-worn pair of slip-on Vans your mother had set out for you.

Yoongi sat on the edge of his bed with his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands.

Only two meters away, a garment bag hung from the hook on the back of his bedroom door. That bag — and the crisp, black suit it concealed — lingered there for weeks in the shadows, untouched since the day he bought it. Even though it hadn’t left its hanger, he felt it smothering him throughout the night. It choked him while one thought ran circles in his sleep-deprived brain:

The reason he bought it was the same reason he’d never be able to wear it.

Sick of the way he’d trapped himself with his thoughts, Yoongi pushed himself to his feet and crossed over to the door. With the way he flung it open, knob slamming against the wall, he’d likely never recover his security deposit. It felt good, though, taking his grief out on that godforsaken suit.

On his way to his front door, Yoongi stopped short. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a cabinet he hadn’t opened in weeks. As he stared at it, the devil and angel on his shoulders warred over the action he wanted so desperately to take.

Sure, he’d recently — finally — quit at your insistence, but what did that matter now?

He gritted his teeth and shook his conscience off his shoulders with a shrug. Within seconds, Yoongi was on the other side of his kitchen, grabbing an unopened pack of cigarettes and the lighter that lay in wait next to it. He closed his hand tight around it so he couldn’t see the Hello Kitty stickers you’d placed all over the plastic; your attempt to dissuade him from using it in public.

Joke’s on you, he thought as he placed a cigarette between his lips, your plan backfired. Leaving your mark on it the way you had was the only thing that’d kept him from throwing it away — and the only reason he still had a lighter to use at all.

Yoongi opened his front door with one hand as he tried to ignite the lighter with the other. No matter how many time he flicked the pad of his thumb over those little metal ridges, nothing sparked. Defeated yet again, he slumped down onto the porch swing, closed his eyes, and willed himself not to break down over something so stupid.

He had no way of knowing how much time passed as he sat like that. He had no way to tell who those urgent footfalls belonged to, either. That is, not until panted breaths hit his ears and prompted him to open his eyes.

Admittedly, Yoongi had pictured you in your bridal hanbok more than once throughout the years. Half the time, it hadn’t even been purposeful. From first to third grade, you’d rambled to him about your dream wedding on your daily walks home from school. You spoke about it so often, in fact, that even he started thinking about what embroidery a mouse might add to the hem of your chima.

As the pair of you got older, you brought it up less, so Yoongi didn’t think about it often. The image crept up on him, though, once in a while. Every time you brought him as a plus one to your friends’ weddings because you didn’t want to dance alone; and he nearly told you that he’d always want to be your partner.

Or that time you cried through your worst ever heartbreak on his couch, lamented that you’d die an old maid, and never get to wear one.

Even as recently as last night, when he drank half a fifth of whiskey and grieved over the fact that he’d never get to see you wear one.

He couldn’t make heads or tails of the real thing, not with the way you’d doubled over to catch your breath; and bunched the ends up in your fists, presumably to prevent yourself from tripping as you — ran here?

“What did I tell you about the cigarettes?” You puffed, still with your hands on your knees and your face angled at the sidewalk.

Somehow, despite running five kilometers to Yoongi’s doorstep, you hadn’t displaced a single hair from your artfully crafted up-do. Your makeup hadn’t budged, either, which meant that the only sign of your expended effort was the tint of pink on your cheeks and the tip of your nose.

You’d outrun his train of thought in your scuffed, old Vans. Yoongi had to buffer for a moment in order to catch up, but the involuntary smile fighting its way over his mouth didn’t bother to wait. Eventually, he recited your long-suffering appeal, smirking all the while, “They’ll fuck me up, and I’ll have to be wheeled out onto the basketball court in an iron lung.”

“Exactly.”

With one last, deep breath, you returned to your upright position. The second you did, Yoongi was the one choking up.

Rapid blinking did nothing to stop the tears pricking at the inner corners of his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat to the best of his ability, but he couldn’t shake the inexplicable flutter in his chest at the sight of you. You’d always been perfect, but this was —

“Oh, my god,” he croaked, thoroughly melted from the inside out.

Yoongi stood before his brain could signal his legs to do so; or remind his hands not to drop the phone, lighter, and cigarettes he’d been holding. His eyes, on the other hand, knew exactly what to do. He drank in your appearance like he’d spent the last twenty-two years wandering, dehydrated in the desert — and in a way, he had.

You blinked back at him with swimming eyes as if you’d found sanctuary, too. Suddenly aware of what you were gripping, you opened your fists and let the fabric flutter down to the ground. While smoothing out wrinkles that didn’t exist, you asked softly, “Not bad for a bunch of mice, right?”

“Look just like a dream,” he replied just as gently.

Yoongi’s hands, which were thankfully now free, reached out and grabbed yours. You followed his lead as he spun you, twirled under his raised arm until you ended up with your face mere centimeters from his.

“Yoongi,” you breathed. Your eyes danced from his, to his lips, and back again. “If you wait another twenty-two years to tell me how you feel, please pick a time and place that is mutually convenient. I swear to God, I’ll —”

It came out much more easily the second time than the first; and when it did, it felt more like a beginning than a bomb:

“I love you.”

#re: the one with yoongi and the fucking hydrangeas #jade’s requests #jade’s drabbles #2k drabblepalooza #myg #min yoongi #yoongi #bts #bts drabble #yoongi drabble #bts imagine #bts scenarios #yoongi imagine #yoongi scenarios #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #trashlibrary

[fujowebdev]

📔FujoGuide Spotlight #3: Zine Demo📔

With the cast spotlights out of the way (find the links at the end of the thread), today we want to focus on the actual product we'll be putting in everyone's hands: our Version Control zine.

If you're just joining us, you can get this zine in your eager fujin hands (and help us reach our stretch goals) by backing us on Kickstarter.

If you want to follow along with the demo, you can find it here as a PDF.

Before we go into the nitty-gritty details, we chose Version Control as our first topic because, while working with both beginner and experienced coders, they reported it as the most life-changing (but intimidating) skill they gained. It also helps them join open-source projects!

Keep reading for lots more!

Remember: all you see here is a work in progress, and things may and will change in the zine. Our campaign is a love-letter to Japanese productions like otome games and "cast full of hot boys" anime. Similarly, our zine calls back to Japanese fan productions, a.k.a. doujinshi.

As you likely noticed, we pride ourselves on committing to the bit. This zine is no different. For example, Boba-tan, pitched as the revolutionary brain behind our educational devices, is both its fictional author and protagonist. After all, who doesn't love a good self-insert?

After this, the zine follows a simple pattern: a comic explains the current plight of our protagonist, a new character/technology is introduced, and then we dive deeper into concrete examples of how the technology is used in a practical workflow. We keep it light but useful!

Let's show, not tell! Behold, our first comic by @tempural (🎨) and @essential-randomness (🖋)! Boba-tan, deadline quickly approaching, manages to wreck her website! #relatable

Fear not! Terminal has a simple solution, which we fully endorse: Boba-tan, meet Git! (bonus HTML cameo 👀)

Next is Git’s character introduction featuring @brokemycrown's amazing art. This page serves a double purpose: it adds depth to the character (and some laughs), but most importantly it's a memorable way to help the core concept immediately stick in the reader's brain.

And now we finally reach the core of our offering, that is our actual educational material. The current version (remember, a work in progress) was planned by @essential-randomness, written by @enigmalea, and reviewed by our technical writing consultant wiredferret.

After the campaign, we plan to work closely with backers to deliver material that truly works. But while the content is in flux, you can see the landmarks of our experience: simple explanations that don't shy away from the technical details, with hot men sprinkled all around!

Fun fact: we also used Git & GitHub to collaborate on the zine itself! Thanks to Vivliostyle's powerful tools for typesetting with code, @essential-randomness and @enigmalea were able to use the techniques we're teaching to iterate together without stepping on each other's toes!

And that is all for today! We hope you're now even more excited for this guide to soon be reality. Although we hit our initial goal (🎉🎉🎉) we still have many stretch goals to go. Help us smash through them in this final week by backing us at our Kickstarter page.

If you missed the previous spotlights and wish to learn more about our characters in the Localhost HQ and Browserland spotlights.

#fujoguide #codeblr #kickstarter #gijinka #web development #webdev #vivliostyle #css #git #terminal #github #html #aria #and of course boba-tan! #zines #original zine #contributor spotlight #spotlight

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

Girl, im in the same boat as you. After the pandemic, things are finally starting to pick up pace for me and I began this year busier than ever. My twitter account was starting to collect dust and spiderwebs, and I said ok, perhaps this is it. It may be time for me to find a different hyper fixation or a new hobby. But these bitches saw me walking out the door and pulled me back in. See? Now this is why I got into kpop. It takes so little to make a woman's heart soften, and yet most days I had to sit through the most unhinged and boring drama ever. Listen, I just wanna be entertained, is that too much to ask?

Well, today it looks like my prayers have been answered. I woke up to some delicious baemin content. Loved that they showed us a little bit of the rehearsal, and have you seen how jimin talks to his hyung? I don't know how taeyang deals with the urge to pick him up and take him home. He's so strong and brave 🫡 then we finally got the live jimin has been promising since last year and i cant believe he keeps getting prettier and cuter every time i see him. How can a grown ass man be that cute and lovely? And he keeps talking about how much he's working and all the things he's preparing... honestly I'm trying not to get my hopes up, but really when it comes to jimin i cant help but get excited. And then, jk's weird ass back at it again! which i was especially glad for because I missed his live yesterday AND with the addition of jimin's comments?? he really got me feeling things ngl I was giggling and kicking my feet, I can't say I wouldn't pay them money just to see jimin tie jungkook's hair. I'm just a girl you know...

So yeah, just like that, I missed a good chunk of my morning looking for translations and staring at my phone like a dumbass. Maybe some other day i will find a more productive way to waste my time, but for now it looks like I'll stick around 😮‍💨

Girl!

We're having almost the same experience 👀

In my case, I don't need another hyper fixation or anything. I've had enough of such intensities since 2020, but as you said, mostly it's just witnessing mindless drama and the usual bullshit. And on top of that, in terms of the music and other content, what is there left for now? I've been through almost everything BTS. I'm not gonna write about the same thing until I get grey hair. Which means I'm left with paying attention to the solo projects. And since life's too short for me to spend time writing or watching what people do, especially if I don't care much about them, I'm left with the biases. Jungkook is on a break (those saying he's not getting work because the company doesn't offer him opportunities are simply demented) and the only one left is Jimin. And his solo work is starting to pick up and it's really the only relevant thing right now for me.

The problem is that it's become a habit. Keeping up to date through social media, which means that as much as I try to avoid it, I still have to see things and people against my own will and I'm too far into this thing and in my life in order to pretend that I still want to pay attention and write about it. I mean, lately I've made my position even clearer than it was before because it just doesn't matter at the end of the day. I'm in a speeding train caught on fire and at some point I will have to jump. Because I know what awaits me out there. Instead of reading and debating daily fandom bullshit, I can dedicate more of my time to watching films and pick up my dusty books from the library, knowing that there's no way I can be as disappointed as I feel after 2 hours in bts/fandom spaces. I need that dose in order to remind myself that there are things that bring me joy and I don't have to witness stupid people writing nonsense on twitter.

I also have fun here, with its ups and downs. But there's the risk of becoming repetitive and that's the death of passion. No thank you.

And then there's days like this in which it's fun again, starting with that performance rehearsal and ending it so nicely. I missed it. Like you said, I want to be entertained. That's all. And that includes everything, from frivolous aspects like watching JK eat chicken on a vlive, to a song release, a Fashion Week appearance or putting out a fascinating portfolio.

#bmt asks

[tuffmallowinteractive]

Speaking on Nice Things:

A Tuff Mallow update 8/1/22

Have you taken the time to look back over the past three years? I hope when and if you do, you congratulate yourself for making it through. It has been a very difficult time for so many. I'm glad you're here and I hope you're well 💗.

I had to look back over the past three years and realize I'm doing way more than I thought I was. I've accomplished more than I realized I have and now that I'm revving up to share things with everyone, I'm actually proud and humbled as to where life and game development has taken me.

First of all,

Let's discuss The Closet Door! MANnnnn THIS GAME! I have so many emotions about it. It started as a little side project, and already it has grown into a full sized game with two mini holiday DLCs planned (I already finished one of them and plan to release it publicly this fall! 👀) I spent a lot of time fixing and trimming and adding script, CGs, sprites and redesigning the UI. I'm finally at a place where I'm like OK. TIME TO CLEAN THIS BABY UP AND RELEASE IT IN THE WILD. So I'm plugging any holes in my script and already adding assets to the code- we're in the final countdown now and I'm full of so many emotions about it- I can't even express them all. Just know a lot of love has gone into Faun and the gang. I truly love all of it for everything I could give it.

Coming Soon page is up so you know it's on now!

The demo page is gone, but the official full release page is up and ready for the countdown!

The next thing that may surprise you is that I am halfway through production of a related game as well. This game is called Lake of Reflection, and it is shaping up to be a visual novel/ interactive fiction hybrid that stars two unseeming protagonists finding their way through helping and healing on the heels of tragedy and trauma. I'm in the process of hosting a casting call, as there will be partially voiced lines in this story, which takes a slightly different direction from my usual storytelling design. This small game will most likely be released sometime late 2022 and only range about 20-30k words. I'll be sure to update everyone on the progress.

Lake of Reflection title screen

Also!! Sunset Memory Sunrise Promise is still on the rise in my dev tasks! It's already turning into less of a lone project and more of a collaboration involving so many talented individuals I am fortunate to meet let alone work with! I'm really excited to be moving towards the development of this game. I have wanted to work on this game so long and it has taken a lot of learning about myself as a developer and storyteller to get to this point. As The Closet Door finally comes to a full release, I will be actively working on production for SMSP with gusto and introducing you guys to all the amazing talent that will be responsible for ultimately bringing it to life. Keep your stations tuned in! There's so much to see coming up!

...Not what I meant by so much to see Demetri...

We have come so far

And it keeps getting better! There will be some pretty cool media creations releasing with insight to the games and their backstories, so I will definitely ping you on those as soon as they drop!

I'm also sitting down to revamp the Patreon and give it the professional love it has deserved all along. I can't wait to show you guys what Patreon and Kofi will look like starting this month 💕🔥💯

And uh... There's a comic I have been designing? And plan to release on Tuff Mallow website- (which is a thing!) as soon as the website is up and ready to share with the public- still working on responsiveness and fluid design that says "Marshmallow, but A Tough one". When I do, I can give you more info about these guys and the shenanigans they get into!

Your Wish or Mine~ (details soon!)

Thanks for sticking around and I promise to keep doing my best to create and release the works you guys have been inspiring me to make over the years. Things are about to move fast and I hope I can keep up! Either way, I'm better for the ware having you guys along for the ride with me!!

Stay awesome and I've got more posts coming up!

~AlwaysJmB

#otome #tuff mallow #hype #visual novel #otome game #otome news #art #amare game

[kirbyspixiecraft]

Nothing I love more then sitting down, sewing up my crafts, and listening to upbeat video game music to help me concentrate

This is an exciting project for sure. One that I think many people will enjoy seeing✨

#craft #crochet #sewing #yarn #mushroom #mushrooms #cottagecore #current wip #wip #crochet wip #super exciting! #hope you stick around to see the final product 👀