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the-witches-you-couldnt-burn · 3 years

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When it all falls down

Hi guys! I was meant to post this earlier but life happens :(

I have so many fic ideas but not enough time to write & post them. The completion of this fic will be my priority tho!

(Edit) previously named ‘Life as a pawn within the Devil’s deal’

Ao3

Story Masterlist

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CHAPTER THREE: Buried alive

Warnings: injuries, sexism, pre-panic attack symptoms, torture (not explicit) and mentions of child birth (and death caused from it), forced pregnancy & imprisonment.

The haunting voice of the king cut through the foreboding silence that coated the room. It bounced off of the decrepit stone pillars, and the ceiling crumpled under the reverberation.

Lady Talia dragged her towards the throne, her body screaming to get far away from this man. Marinette was pushed forward, forced to kneel before ‘her King’. His throne was made out of a rusted iron and withered thorns peaked through its cracks. The king, although hidden from the world, was adorned in every finery known to man. A deep emerald green tunic and pants were joined by a solid gold belt. Gemstones lined the clasps of his cape, connected by three gold chains of differing lengths. The crown that graced his salt & pepper coloured hair consisted of polished obsidian jewels embedded into the golden spires.

Mari’s eyebrows furrowed. She was taught that each of the royal family were only garbed in opals & obsidian (as they were the family’s signature gems) plus their birth jewel. But his majesty seemed to be wearing more jewels then she could name, none seemed more important than the rest.

“So this is the one you chose as Damian’s promised?” He glared down at her. The girl kneeling before him had nothing special about her in appearance other than expensive clothing. What enraged him was that she kept her head high, but her eyes never met his, they were locked on the wall behind him. His frown deepened, his wrinkled skin pulled and folded; suggesting that a frown was a popular expression he wore. “She doesn’t look like much.” His toxic green eyes shifted to his daughter, “Are you sure you got the correct girl?”

“Yes father I have not failed you. This is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, future head of the Miraculous Order. She is their best warrior and will be an asset to the continuation of our bloodline.”

The Mistress’ nails dug into the girl’s shoulder, the pinpricking pain caused her to grimace. She stifled any thought of correcting the hag. It had been years since she took guardian ship of the Order, or in their terms; that she actually the current head. Some of her friends even had dubbed her as their ‘princess’ and that spread around the camp like a wildfire.

His burning gaze scanned every inch of her face before his eyes traveled down her body. Under his stare she felt violated, his contempt and lechery felt like hands running over her skin. “Her only duty is to produce strong heirs, don’t let her be deluded into becoming a hero.”

He waited for either woman to challenge him, it would be a fruitless venture but some still tried. If only his wife had produced a suitable heir, but Melisande had given him a daughter instead. That wretched woman had died during Talia’s birth, escaping her duty of giving him a son. As he reminisced on her, he was only plagued by the thought of how he could have married someone so weak.

He refused to marry again after her, he didn’t want his legacy to be tainted further. And although his daughter was born from weakness she had redeemed herself by birthing a son. Her spouse, Lord Wayne, wouldn’t have been his first pick, but their affair bore a strong prince. His daughter learnt from her mother’s failures and (under his guidance) had become one of his few trusted associates.

“Well?” He boomed, Marinette flinched away. Another sign of weakness. He raised an eyebrow at her, enticing her to comment. “What do you have to say about all this?”

‘What do I have to say?’ She repeated, this surely was a trap, a test. One wrong word and she would be done for. She wanted to scream that she was a warrior not an incubator, and yell at him for deceiving the world.

But she didn’t. Damian’s words from earlier that morning caused her to metaphorically bleed like an open wound.

Her eyes met his, and she is reminded of Damian’s eyes, a stunning evergreen forest comes to mind. But Ra’s eyes weren’t like Damian’s or even Talia’s, his eyes held so much scorn that made them worse then toxic. His eyes held a nuclear explosion behind them and memories of the suffering that came after.

“If the last empire failed,” She paused, taking a breath to conceal her malice. “Why do you think your’s won’t?”

“Because whilst the previous empire thought they were immortal—“ he leaned forward, his face inches away from hers. “I know I am.”

‘Is that how he lived? That is to say if he died in the first place.’ Her body subconsciously moved away but Talia held her in place, his breath was hot and suffocating. She sent a silent prayer to Damian that she was sorry, but the only way she could hold her tongue was if she stitched her lips shut.

-x-

A figure stumbled into the young couple’s room, leaning against the now closed door gasping for breath. Their entry was preceded by rushed footsteps and proceeded by the slam of the dark oak door. Damian watched from the smaller room, the expanse of the appartments was coated by darkness. The shadowed individual walked closer to the lit lantern sat atop the bedside table. The flickering incandescent, cast an orange light upon the person, revealing Damian’s first assumption; his bride, Marinette.

A sob escaped her quivering lips, and the prince noticed her gleaming tears creating trails down her pale cheeks. She collapsed on her bed, crying. He internally debated about whether to invade her space when she was in such a vulnerable state or give her the illusion of privacy.

Looking down at his hands, he remembered the grit of dried blood that once collected underneath his nails. His childhood (if you could call it that) was one of bloodshed and pain. The room looked bigger now and his breathing became infrequent. The bassinet by the window was stripped bare and now became a microcosm of the imprisonment and restriction he faced within the palace walls.

Hands clenched tightly into fists, his nails tempting with the idea of breaking the skin of his palms. He desperately grasped an invisible rope, willing it to ground him. Tremors shook Damian’s body as her cries returned to muffled sobs. ‘Grandfather would be disgusted,’ when had he become so weak?

She had cast a spell over him, projected her despair onto him. What was she crying about anyways? Being sad was being feeble, and being feeble lead to disloyalty.

He stood up, the internal debate was over, all the mental diplomats were slaughtered by the strongest; pride. Rubbing his eyes he broke out of her theurgy. He walked to the bedside, picking up a blanket along the way. When he reached her, body still racking whilst she blubbered, he wrapped the large grey blanket around her shoulders.

Marinette flinched on contact. A cloud could touch her and she still would’ve shied away. Her hair was a mess and stuck to her sweat coated skin. Craning her neck she looked up at her offender, only to find her groom.

Damian’s eyes. They were so similar to... His Highness’s eyes were the last this she saw before the pain penetrated her skull. Her throat was rubbed raw from her screaming which had melted into cries. Is she not even safe in the place she was meant to sleep?

“Take this as a warning—“ pain all she felt was pain, her ears rung from the sound of flesh beating flesh. “Next time you’ll know not to question things above your position.”

CRACK

She screamed.

Damian scanned her face, her eyes were puffy and red. But that wasn’t it. Her left lid looked darker than it should and her bottom lip was busted.

“Who did this to you.” He struggled to keep his tone neutral as she stared into his wide eyes. His mothers statement from several years ago flashed into his mind, “Her position is determined by this marriage Damian, and through you, the Order has a secure future. This union gives us more power and provides them with protection.”

Protection. What use was this marriage if it couldn’t supply the one thing her kin wanted for her; safety.

He looked down upon her beaten face, her skin was tender as blackish-blue bruises waged war. All of a sudden it didn’t matter who committed this atrocity, nor did his thirst for revenge. A pit formed deep within his chest, he had a feeling he knew the answer to his own question.

He turned, rushing over to the closet, Marinette’s arm burned at the removal of his hand. She tilted her head, wiping her eyes as she peered over, watching what he was doing. He had grabbed multiple sets of dark clothes before hastily walking into the bathroom, he returned with the empty linen laundry hamper.

He stuff the items into the hamper before turning back to her, the prince looked almost frantic. He marched back up to her, kneeling, he held her hand between his. Locking eyes with her, her jaggedly cut hair falling similar to that of a curtain as she tilted her head down.

“We have to leave.”

“What?” As if it was a reflex she responded before she could process what he said. ‘Leave?’ This was his home, his kingdom. Why would he want to leave. Her head hung as self-deprecating comments caused her to spiral, ‘I have caused him so much trouble that he feels the need to leave, so that he’s legacy isn’t disgraced further.’

“I cannot ask you to do that.” All of the snark and jest was torn from her leaving her as a husk. “Please,” Her hoarse voice cracked. “I do not wish to cause any more havoc.”

“And I cannot allow for anyone to harm you,” he paused, her eyes shimmered underneath the glow of the lantern light. “You are my wife.”

She softly smiled at the acknowledgment of their status, he had never called her anything other than her name. The ‘my wife’ comment didn’t mean much due to the nature of their arrangement but it still meant something, no matter how minuscule.

“We can’t leave, bad things will happen if we do.”

"There is never going to be a perfect answer." He squeezed her hand, an act of reassurance to give her some form of comfort. “Sometimes the choices we must make have cons alongside their pros."

Taglist:

@thesunniestdays @jayjayspixiepop @toodaloo-kangaroo

#maribat #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #damian wayne x marinette dupain cheng #daminette #when it all falls down #arranged marriage au #royal au

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seitjun · 5 years

Text

eat your heart out

freewood // 4k+ words // demon/human au

descrption: There's rumors about the house that Gavin's moving into, centering around the supernatural. But it's a free house in this economy, Gavin doesn't believe in that sort of thing, and he's polite enough to probably not piss off any supernatural creatures that do live there. Absolutely nothing could go wrong. (or in which Gavin lives in a definitely supernatural house, his friends are concerned, and Ryan is the demon who lived there first trying to get the new owner's attention. Not like Gavin notices any of it anyway.)

extra notes: this isnt serious at all, its just a cheesy horror romcom which is the best genre really. for @viridianchance who created this fuckin fantastic idea.

also available on AO3 here!

The Texas heat pounds against Gavin’s body, and with no clouds in sight, the sun’s rays are full force. Even after years of residence, the heat is still his worst enemy after living in muggy London. It worsens with spring melting into summer being a nasty occasion for allergies, and he scowls as he steps out of the car. He has to peer through squinted, watery eyes at the building they’ve stopped by.

It’s a fairly large home, complete with two levels and a wide front porch, white paint splashed everywhere. A grey, cement path leads from their parking job to wind around the side and back; an odd place for a garage, but at least the path is decorated by colorful planters and shrubs. At the front of the home, windows litter the entire plane and light up what little they see of the interior.

The house isn’t bad on the outside, but it is an impressive difference from Gavin’s old home. It’s almost got a Southern farmhouse charm, Gavin muses, when a low whistle and some gravelly steps creep up. It takes Gavin out of his examination of the house, peripherals catching the sight of tattooed arms.

“Your grandfather gave you...this?” Geoff mumbles under his breath, eyes running over the house. He shoves his hands in his pockets – an indicator of a less than pleasant thought running in his mind, as Gavin’s learned over the years. Geoff looks dubious. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

Gavin rolls his eyes, nudging Geoff’s shoulder. “It’s the only house in this area of the land, you twat. Used to be a literal farmhouse, but when Grandad bought it in retirement days, he turned it into this.”

He can see Geoff process the information slowly, before the man shakes his head in disbelief. It’s not an incorrect reaction, really.

“It’s just that...this house doesn’t look like what I expected. I mean, your crazy bastard of a grandfather raved about hauntings here before he had to be carted off,” Geoff says. “I thought it’d look more...rusted and abandoned. Like a place that Alfredo wouldn’t enter, calling it a ‘white people horror movie’ again.”

Geoff pauses. His eyes rove around the building frequently, unable to reconnect Gavin’s grandfather’s stories with the polished home. “Guy went mental for the last decade of his life about demons. And now, he’s actually passing it down to one of his grandkids? Full offense, Gav, it doesn’t sound like a good thing honestly.”

Gavin is by no means a strong believer in the supernatural (not like Geoff), but he’s not stupid enough to completely cross of their existence. The supernatural is just like the extraterrestrial in his eyes – no ways to prove them, no ways to disprove them. It’s just him and his belief, and the truth is that there is no truth. The only proveable thing here is Gavin’s unwillingness to be an asshole to potential creatures who could fuck him over.

“It’s a nice house, I’ll give your grandpa that, but fuck. There must’ve been some truth to what was spouting off before he died! The house hadn’t managed to be bought by anyone here for a reason.” Geoff grimaces. He runs a hand through scruffy hair, concern laced in his twisted expression, before he crosses it across his chest. His leg is jittering, posture tense, and eyes unable to stop watching everywhere; he looks ready to bolt.

Gavin looks over the house again – takes in the white color with blue accents, the tall and graceful beauty it objectively is. In another universe, people would’ve been fighting for a chance to own the home; Gavin would have even called the place homey enough to start a life there, a soft charm hidden in the place and large enough to host a nuclear family. His grandad did a good job of building the place.

But as it stands, Gavin’s internal praise clashes with the horrific ravings from a man on his deathbed. The same man who built a home with bare hands and destroyed it with his delusions.

“I know you’ve already paid for the movers, and the truck is coming soon, but…” Geoff pauses, mulling over his words. If the situation hadn’t been so fraught with the unknown, Gavin would have poked fun at the constipated expression. “You don’t have to move into the house, y’know? You could have just accepted it from your man’s will, but let it rot unused. Hell, I don’t mind paying for more movers to truck your stuff back to my place.”

“Aw, Geoffrey, you’re really that concerned for me that you’d pay for something?”

Geoff flicks Gavin’s nose, and he huffs when Gavin whines to clutch at the affected area. “Don’t be a baby, it was barely anything.” He rests his hands on his waist, looking imposing for once; a protective nature and fear of the unknown could do wonders to people. “I’m afraid of anything supernatural, and I don’t like the thought of you living where there could be something like it lingering here. Maybe it’s Southern superstition, but…”

“Geoffrey–”

“Look, maybe I’m coming off as too much but I don’t want you dying on me. You’re basically my kid, Gav, and I’m already a crybaby at the thought of you moving out. I don’t want to be an even bigger crybaby at your funeral.”

Something inside Gavin sobers up at hearing Geoff sound so genuine. Living with Geoff for nearly a decade now, he’s closer to Geoff than anyone else; he knows Geoff’s love language is all about what he does for people, not what he says. For Geoff to voice out such a sentiment, his concern is strong and raw, ready to take any hits for Gavin’s sake. Geoff has always been like that, fatherly and protective in the oddest yet kindest ways.

Gavin bumps their shoulders, keeps close by his surrogate father’s side with a small and crooked grin, and he gives a quick, one-armed hug. Gavin hopes he looks reassuring but judging from the snort on Geoff’s end, he must have missed the target by a mile. Whatever it takes to lift the worry, he reasons for now, even if Geoff will make fun of his face later, when they’re less afraid and more sure.

“I’m not gonna die here, and you’re not getting rid of me that quickly,” Gavin says. “Plus you’re so attached to me that you’re gonna visit me almost every weekend. You’ll keep me alive, if so I only avoid you being mad at me!”

Geoff raises a brow at the assumption, but Gavin finds no sign of denial coming from his end. Instead, there’s an exasperated expression encased in a fondness Gavin’s been used to ever since he started to live with the older. Familiar and reassuring, Gavin doesn’t feel bad at the smirk that’s tugging his lips when Geoff slings an arm around him.

“You really will miss me, huh? I can see it written all over your face.”

“Shut the fuck up. We almost had a decent family moment for once there before we gotta start moving your shit in.”

“Geoffrey, c’mon– Agh, not a noogie! I just fixed my hair this morning! Shit, that hurts!”

////

“Look, you probably deserved that noogie. You just won’t tell me what you did for Geoff to give you one.”

Michael’s voice is tinny over the phone speaker, but the blase tone of his voice is near palpable. He doesn’t seem even bothered by the update, the faint clicking of a controller managing to travel to Gavin’s side; he sounds more annoyed at the death of his character than Gavin’s pain.

“ Michael, that’s mean. You were supposed to be my best friend, my boi,” Gavin whines, leaning close to the phone set on the counter for Michael to hear his misery more clearly. First it’s cleaning dishes after a late dinner and failed game of rock-paper-scissors, and now it’s a best friend betraying him. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“Yeah, well, Geoff’s my boss here,” Michael scoffs. “And besides, it’s ‘cus I’m your best friend that I can say that shit. I know you, and I know you like to act like a dumbass.”

“Oi!”

“Look, why else would you live in the house your crazy grandfather left you? Which, by the way, real fucked up considering the stories he told you. Did he hate you or something?” Michael questions.

“W-What? No, he liked me a lot!” A flustered splutter escapes, and Gavin yelps as he nearly drops a plate into the sink; first night here, he doesn’t want to already face a casualty on top of the haunted comments. “Michael, you almost made me drop a plate!”

“Not my fault, butterfingers. I was just askin’ a real question, because your grandad said too much detail for that stuff to not be real.” Michael pauses, and Gavin can’t hear any of the old game noises from before; Michael must have paused the game too. “I don’t believe in it, just like you. But I mean...evidence is evidence, y’know, man?”

And that’s something, isn’t it? Even Michael is hesitant of the place – brave, invincible Michael with more than enough skepticism and with no bone afraid of anything the world throws at him.

With a sigh, Gavin shuts the water off and sets the plate down, lest he nearly drops it again. He shuts his eyes, and he tries to figure out what to say when he’s both for and against the points that both Michael and Geoff had brought up already. It doesn’t help his pounding head, the thought that this house is beginning to feel like a nightmare so soon.

“Speaking ‘bout the house, how is it so far? Any bloody handprints anywhere, or maybe even a few dirt patches in the backyard?” Michael chuckles, an obvious attempt in trying to lift the mood. “Didn’t you say your grandpa left all the original furniture there too? Is it bloodied?”

Gavin turns to lean against the counter, only to wince when he sees the spilled water soaking into his shirt. “What’s your obsession with bloody furniture? Yeah, there’s furniture in rooms like the living room, dining room, patio, but nothing bad. Though the office upstairs has only bare furniture, while the guest bedroom doesn’t have anything!”

“Please tell me you’re going to make Geoff sleep there, on the floor, because that’s fucking cruel but funny.”

“Michael, please,” Gavin scoffs, “I’m making Geoff sleep in the single, furnished bedroom. The one used by my own granddad, before he had to move out to get help.”

Michael barks out a laugh from the other end, and it’s an infectious, bright sort of thing. It makes Gavin feel better against all the supernatural inconvenience about the house.

“You’re colder than I thought,” Michael finally utters through the dregs of his amusement. He settles down with a soft sigh, sounding more serious. “But really, you gonna be okay? You get scared easily in video games, I don’t want you to die of fright in that house, boi.”

A small smile tugs at Gavin’s lips despite the slight swell of exhaustion. As tiring the concerns would get soon, he appreciates the thought from some of his closest friends. Most of them would have never said it in such blunt terms – not when they could express it in punches, noogies, or general tackling. But this situation, the ‘moving about two hours away to a house with evil rumors’ isn’t very much the usual.

“Don’t worry, boi. I should be fine, since I don’t completely believe in that shite. Not yet anyway, I guess if this stuff keeps coming up,” Gavin hums. He gets back to washing the remaining dishes from the earlier takeout dinner, only to get stuck on a piece of stubborn dirt. “Besides, I also have Geoff to use a meatshield.”

A snort of laughter from the other end.

“The guy signs my paychecks, don’t let him die! Not until he gives me a promotion.” Michael sounds relaxed now, and the noises of a video game play again. “Maybe the demon could help a guy out here with some money. Like, I dunno, make a deal or–”

Thud!

Gavin startles at the noise from upstairs, even more so when it’s followed by a slew of loud cursing. The surprise morphs into fear, and Gavin chucks the plate into the sink, previous concern of breaking it disappearing, as he grabs his phone and sprints up the stairs. His eyes are wide as he follows the yells and almost runs into a doorway, worried about what he might find.

“What the fuck? What the hell was that? Gav?”

Their previous conversation is playing back in his head, Geoff’s anxiety in high definition while Gavin had brushed off the reasonable worries. Thoughts of oh shit, what if, and oh god run as if they’re the credits of a movie, and they blur together like how the world does as Gavin makes his way to Geoff in his soon-to-be office.

His heart thudding and eyes wide, the fact that he only finds Geoff squatted and swearing at a camera on the ground is anti-climactic. Thankfully so, considering the multiple concerns about the house, but Gavin can’t help the groan escaping him. He can already hear the start of Michael’s concerned bitching, asking for some sort of answer with expletives about being a British asshole and an Alabaman douchebag.

Out of all the things to happen here—

“Geoff, you bastard, I thought…” Gavin pauses to catch his breath, to calm himself down before he has an aneurysm. “I thought you got taken hostage by a demon or something!”

Geoff’s head jerks up at Gavin’s voice. It takes a moment for the surprise to be washed away with annoyance, processing what Gavin had just said. He waves a fist at Gavin, “Don’t make that sort of jokes with me right now, Gav! I thought I was actually gonna die when I heard the noise.” He grunts, gesturing wildly, “But turns out it was just this fuckin’ camera falling. Scared the shit out of me.”

Gavin shuts his eyes; he doesn’t get mad, not easily at least, but his composure had been slowly being scraped away every minute he spent in the house. Turning away to put off dealing with Geoff for now, he focuses on the still anger-fueled yelling on his phone.

“Gav? Geoff? I swear to fucking god, you better not be playing a prank on me in that demon bitch of a house–!”

“Michael, it’s fine, Michael,” Gavin’s quick to reassure, running a hand through his hair, “it was just Geoff dropping something. We just...got terrified after all the talk of a haunted house, I guess.”

“Really? Jesus Christ, I thought you found a dead body or something! And didn't you say you didn't believe in that shit, like seconds ago?”

“If we did, I’d be screaming, boi,” Gavin says, purposefully ignoring the last tidbit. He hazards a glance back at Geoff, and he huffs when the older man refuses to meet his eyes. “Michael, I’ll call you back after, okay? I gotta talk to Geoff about what happened, and it’s obvious that we’re a little jittery about stuff right now.”

Without waiting for a reply, Gavin ends the call. He’s been friends with Michael long enough to know that the other man’s going to be pissed and will tear him to shreds tomorrow, but that’s a tomorrow issue. That’s for future Gavin to survive, while present Gavin has to deal with an uncomfortable Geoff.

“Sorry ‘bout that, bud,” is the first thing to spill from Geoff’s mouth, less panicked and more sorrowful. He picks up the fallen tech, and his thumbs gently examine the outer shell of the camera, running over every groove to catch any possible damage. “I thought I put the camera in the middle of the desk, but I guess I bumped into it pretty hard.”

He looks over it once more with a furrowed brow, before he hands it back to Gavin. Geoff shoves his hands in his pockets and tries to avoid eye contact with Gavin, tries to stay away from any more contact with the camera. “I don’t see any outside pieces ruined at least. Maybe it was more of a loud noise than actual damage.”

Gavin pores over every part he can see with a pointed intensity, his fingers examining the sensitive planes. There’s a thin scratch right at the corner, and he figures that’s where it must have come into contact with the floor first; at least nothing popped off or went screwy, he thinks as he fiddles with clicky buttons and rolling adjusters. A moment later, he boots the camera up, finding nothing wrong with the screen — thankfully — before he takes a candid shot of Geoff without warning.

“Woah! Gavin, what the fuck?”

“This dumb photo of you is your payment for dropping my camera, Geoffrey,” Gavin grins. No damage done, no reason to stay mad. It’s one less thing to worry about after the flurry of shit that this house has left on Gavin’s life already. “Besides, had to check if the photo taking was okay or not! Nothing bad, luckily.”

He turns the camera to show the preview screen on the back; in bright digital record, Geoff’s face is contorted into a horrible confused and fucked-up expression as his movements blur him partially. The flash had been on too, and it illuminates all the wrong curves of Geoff’s face. “Well, besides your face at least. But hey! This should be your photo on the company site. What a trustworthy face of a founder of a multimillion company.”

“Gavin, don’t you dare send this to Burnie–”

“I’ll think about it,” he interrupts. “Besides, maybe the photo will expose the demon or ghost supposedly living here with me. What if it ends up behind you in the photo?”

“Don’t fuckin’ say that, dickhead!”

Geoff shudders at the mention of the supernatural stories of the area, eyes glaring at the empty space of the office and shoulders hunching up. It’s almost as if he believes he could see whatever was terrorizing the place with a dirty look, maybe even cleanse it with his fear scent and fatherly protection of Gavin.

Gavin ignores the glare, and he continues to peer at the image of Geoff. It really does look like a photo he can use against the older man for pranks, but his brows furrow when he catches something that shouldn’t be present. A quick swipe to remove dirt from the screen and rapid blinking to clear his sight yields no change.

His eyes can’t tear itself away from the corners of the photo where shadows almost form a vignette around Geoff. Dark and misty, its presence is almost ominous with the rumors from his grandfather bolstering a small curiosity inside him. But a shake of his head to dispel those thoughts, and Gavin is back to a normal looking photo – no shadows present.

He frowns, but he doesn’t question it; it must have been his earlier jab at Geoff getting into his head. It’s probably nothing but a damaged internal piece he can’t reach for now or a few dead pixels on the screen, forming after the camera’s fall. No need to dwell on it or worry Geoff about what Gavin just witnessed or hallucinated; Gavin can stay a skeptic for tonight.

////

Gavin wakes up late the next day after staying up until two am to finish setting up his bedroom. Though bedroom is giving it more credit than it’s actually worth if he’s honest, Gavin grumbles.

He sits up from his mattress on the floor, and there’s a dull ache running down the length of his back, near his spine. A few twists and cracks of his body settle the ache down, but sleeping on the hardwood floor with a thin mattress isn’t doing his back any favors. He doesn’t want to focus on the impending inevitability of aging, and just thanks the world for letting him get some good sleep.

Busy from his sudden, morning crisis, Gavin hadn’t looked around his room. It’s not until he stands up, rubbing at his eyes and scratching a patch of his happy trail, that he realizes what a fucking mess it’s turned to.

Almost every box of his personal items is opened, its contents strewn about in a haphazard manner — as if someone had been rummaging through them to search for something that they themselves didn’t know. Clothes, books, personal hygiene; anything he could think of, there was at least one item of it littered the floor. And looking around, Gavin fears all of his socks have lost their matching significant other. The worst part of the entire scene, really.

He groans, wondering why Geoff had to pull a stunt like that already. Did he really think that he could get away with it? Who else is there in the house besides them? The demon?

Gavin yells with a frown, “Geoffrey!” His brows are furrowed as he stumbles out the doorway, still groggy and waking up. He hears the thundering footsteps coming up the stairs, and he pulls a half-hearted scowl as he meets Geoff’s eyes. “D’you really pull a prank on me this morning? Now my entire room is a mess, Geoff, and it didn’t look like that when I went to bed!”

Geoff reels back. “Huh, the fuck you mean I pulled a prank? If I wanted to pull a prank, I would’ve signed my name on it and drawn a dick,” he defends. “When would I’ve had the time to do it anyway? I’ve been busy all day unpacking shit and cooking you lunch, asshole!”

“Then how did this happen, when I opened the one box to get to my clothes?!” Gavin steps out of the doorway and gestures behind him, arms flailing in wild arcs and an irritated temperament. “I fell asleep in a clean room!”

Geoff pokes his head through, and Gavin sees the way Geoff’s eyes widen; he turns his head every which way, taking in the state of the bedroom, before he hears the muttered swear under Geoff’s breath. They trade glances and vague gestures, as if it’d clear up whatever happened or maybe even the room itself. It’s after a minute when Gavin pauses and finally realizes the slow building confusion on Geoff’s face.

“Christ...you didn’t do it, did you?” It’s posed as a question, but there’s nothing uncertain in his tone. He falters, staggering back to press his hands to his face and leaning against the wall next to his bedroom door. “So, then it had to be me? But I really did only open up the one box for sleep clothes…”

He mumbles incoherently trying to track down exactly what he did yesterday, going so far to count all the different actions on his fingers.

“Look, Gavvers, it wasn’t me for sure, but if you don’t remember doing it, it might not be you either,” Geoff says. He fiddles with the constantly present bracelets on his wrists at Gavin’s inquiring look. “I know there’s only the two of us here, so shit dictates that it had to be one of us who did this. But maybe shit was wrong, and there could be a way to not be us?”

Gavin squints. It takes a moment for his brain to process stuff. “What are you on about? I just woke up, and I’m still too tired for this, Geoffrey–”

“What is there to not get? I’m saying it could be the actual demon or ghost or whatever living here! It’s trying to fuck with us, or get us out of here!”

“Geoff,” Gavin whines. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with this right now, even if he did just wake up from a decently long sleep; hell, he doesn’t have the energy to deal with anything supernatural now or ever. Again, he doesn’t believe in them, not like how Geoff does, and he hasn’t done anything to piss anyone off besides Geoff himself — there’s no way it could be a demon or whatever. He’d be dead by now.

All it took was a good sleep to remind him of that after yesterday's fiasco and Michael's question. There probably is nothing unusual here, just paranoia.

“It probably was just me, alright? And no, no, don’t give me that look,” he huffs, giving up on his counting fingers mission to cross his arms. “I’ve sleep walked before, done some weird crap during it, and this might be one of those moments. You’ve seen how forgetful I could be sometimes, even if I did do this before I slept last night.”

Geoff still looks wary. His eyes can’t stop darting between Gavin and the trashed room. “I’m just saying it could be a possibility, so we can both be aware of it,” he reasons as he reaches to hold onto Gavin’s wrist gently. “It doesn’t hurt to be careful, kid. I’ve always been told horror stories of the supernatural, and there ain’t no way at least one story isn’t true.”

The irritation and the fight leave Gavin, almost as if a deflating balloon, and Gavin feels smaller standing next to Geoff, like a kid again. Feels more exhausted at the simple sight of Geoff being fearful and worried for his life, but Gavin understands.

It’s exactly like yesterday’s situation when Gavin had stormed up the stairs to get to Geoff after the thud, his closeness with the man fueling his own protective urges. He can’t blame Geoff for it when Gavin had the same reaction, and if anything, it means more — fearful, superstitious Geoff is willing to stay with Gavin in the haunted house just to keep him safe.

"Okay, I’ll be more careful and open about this whole...supernatural business. It probably isn’t anything, but if it’ll keep the gray hairs off you,” Gavin concedes. "You might have to start dyeing your hair, if something does happen!"

Geoff rolls his eyes, but he tucks Gavin close to his side, cheek resting against Gavin’s temple. “You’re such a piece of shit, I can’t believe I agreed to come out here,” he chuckles. He drags Gavin with him down the stairs, humming, “Alright, time to eat lunch now! All the food’s probably gone cold now though, and I’m blaming you for it.”

“Geoff!”

Their bickering continues all the way down the stairs and into the dining room, and the bedroom door behind them closes shut.

#freewood #rtah #ragehappy #seiju writes #i didnt beta this much please forgive my mistakes and just general awful writing

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cellerityweb · 6 years

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60 Seconds! Where will you be when the World ends?

What would you do, if you knew that the world is about to go up in nuclear flames? What would you take and who would you safe, if you had only 60 seconds to decide? Here’s your chance to find out.

Robot Gentleman is a small indie games studio from Poznan in Poland and famous for their debut title »60 Seconds!«, a »shelter survival« game that was released back in 2015. Dominik Gotojuch, who worked as an AI programmer on the ›Fable‹ and ›Witcher‹ games, is the founder of Robot Gentleman and was quickly joined by Juliusz Zenkner, who helped him in not only giving birth to the studio but also at creating their first game. »The AAA way of making games simply wasn’t creative enough for me,« Dominik says. »This prompted me to start Robot Gentleman and after a crazy garage development haze together with Juliusz, we’ve pushed out our debut title 60 Seconds!. Since the studio’s beginnings in 2015, our team has grown to become a humble 10 people strong, including our Writers and Designers Berenika Gotojuch and Radek Smektala, our Producer Piotr Zygadlo, our PR and Marketing mastermind Anastazja Kulinska, Unity Developer Mateusz Pusty, our 2D Artist Agata Bednorz, our very own QA specialist Paulina Vera Szmidt and, last but not least, our 2D Artist and Animator Mateusz Lewicz.«

The Fun of Survival

»60 Seconds! is a crazy mixture of adventure and survival game genres set in the post apocalyptic American suburbia,« Juliusz explains. »In many ways it’s a bold combination of skill based and strategic gameplay with a strong narrative experience. Every playthrough is uniquely randomized to make the game different every time you play it, which makes it a bit of a rogue-like, as well.« »The game takes place on a typical, quiet day in the 1950s American suburbia,« Dominik goes on. »Until it isn’t when the nuclear bomb alarm goes off! As the head of the family it’s up to you to rush through your house and gather any supplies useful to your survival within the next 60 seconds – one minute before the nuclear bomb drops. And of course you mustn’t forget about your family! Collecting all your stuff and family and getting into the fallout shelter is just the beginning. Day by day, you will have to survive and make the best of whatever and whoever you took with you. The entire gameplay revolves around a 1950s model family, taken directly out of a stereotypical advertisement from those times. We have Ted and Dolores with their children Mary Jane and Timmy. Each of them has their own quirks and character, but the players need to discover those for themselves.

Robot Gentleman have good reasons to be happy. After their debut’s success, the team is working towards the release of 60 Parsecs!.

What if the World Ends in…?

The idea for 60 Seconds! first came up in summer 2013. »We were developing two other games with our own technology at that time,« Juliusz recalls. »Encouraged by the tool-set offered by the Unity engine, we decided to give it a try by making a small 3D game to test its capabilities. The premise was simple: what would you do if you knew the world was about to end in 60 seconds? That was the beginning of 60 Seconds!, and to our knowledge it was the first shelter game to be released – two weeks before ›Fallout Shelter‹ came out, to be precise. With our take on the nuclear shelter survival gameplay, we’ve decided to focus on a bigger picture, composed of two stages. The game begins with a skill-based crazy 60 seconds run, which has long-lasting consequences for the second and obviuosly longer part of the game – the process of survival. We went for a story driven ›choose your own adventure‹ style of gameplay, instead of pursuing the simulation-approach that is favored by similar titles. Our intention was to tell a story (and a unique one, every time you play!) of this one family experiencing the beginning of the apocalypse first-hand. Whatever items or family members you grab within those 60 seconds before the bomb drops will affect the following course of the story. Within your house you will find a vast number of different items that you can collect,« Juliusz goes into detail. »Certain items such as gas masks, a radio or first-aid kit are obviously crucial for survival. And then there are other items and much less obviously important supplies like a deck of cards maybe, or a boy-scouts-handbook, which can all be of essence just as well! There are so many story events that can take place every day in the apocalyptic wasteland and it’s up to the player to decide which items are used to resolve the problem at hand. And depending on his or her decisions made, player may defeat enemies, gain friends, just get by or loose it all. Sometimes, using a specific item is far worse than doing nothing at all, while some other time you can trade your rifle for a can of tomato soup. Mmmm, tomato soup!«

Cherish Your Family

Besides the types of items you may choose to collect, your family also plays an important role and affects the course of action. The more family members you take with you, for example, the more food you will need to survive. »Actually, it all depends on how much the players value their fictional family. However, those who are selfish and safe no one but themselves, may run into unexpected dangers that wouldn’t be an issue with more people present. On the hand it’s hard to go on an expedition without any family members staying behind, simply to guard the shelter. On the other hand, being alone in the bunker, without anyone to speak to, is not exactly healthy. You might start to hear voices in your head!«

An Active and Creative Community

Players from the community got creative pretty soon and they still are today. Some were making up individual challenges, trying to play the game in very specific ways, for example by collecting only certain items or family members. The »soldier challenge« for example is played by leaving all of the family behind, while only collecting equipment like weapons, gas masks and supplies. »We absolutely weren’t planning that. The gaming community surprised us all with the ideas it had, and there have been lots of different scenarios. We are not sure who started this trend, but it has been really popular and it still generates new challenges. By far one of the craziest challenges we’ve seen,« Juliusz continues »was the ›extreme rainbow challenge‹, where different colours where the theme for every few days. For example, from day 1 the theme colour is red, so you have to eat soup. Following day 21, the colour is green, so you have to say ›yes‹ in every event that occurs for the next couple of days.« In a game that’s all about staying alive, a player’s success is determined by the length of his survival. »Our first champion was one of the expo visitors at PGA 2014. He survived for exactly 111 days. To award his accomplishment, we named an achievement after him. Fittingly, it takes 111 days of survival to unlock it. After the game’s release, we’d seen a number of gamers survive for more than 365 (!) days, which makes it a full year – quite a long time to stay in your fallout shelter. Of course we have been rebalancing the game, so the difficulty of staying alive for that long has varied since the game’s original release.« Juliusz elaborates. »We absolutely appreciate all the feedback we get! From time to time we stumble over ideas that overlap with some of those we already had in mind. Every now and then, however, we discover something that is completely new and inspiring to our work. While making new games, we listen carefully to what people hint they would like to see and experience, but in the end our games are our vision. That’s the simple reason why we’ll always prioritize our own ideas – and we’ve got tons and tons of those and we’re already having problems fitting all of them into our titles.«

A Colorful Apocalypse

Compared directly to titles like »This War of Mine«, 60 Seconds! has a rather colorful and cartoony style. Does it impair the game’s serious undertone? »Every design approach has its advantages and disadvantages, but we find that using dark comedy mixed with a comic book art style can be a extraordinarily powerful tool to transport a serious message. It may seem more distanced at first, but we feel that the stark contrast to the grim reality that the game presents, makes the underlying message even stronger. We did not want to go for a cheap and obvious showcase of the theme, instead we opted for a more subtle presentation.« Juliusz explains.

A Modern Times Survival Guide!?

Despite the humorous style, the game’s message is still pretty dark and serious and following the news on North Korea and the United States it might not feel that funny anymore. »There is something about living in Eastern Europe,« Juliusz continues, »that makes you think about war, history and the philosophical aftermath of all which happened in the 20th century. If you look at it closely you see that this is the most active post-apocalyptic scene in the world. Games like »Fallout« or books like »Metro 2033« are big hits in Poland and its neighbouring countries. During the development of 60 Seconds! the nuclear war theme seemed like a setup, the whole scenario wasn’t very likely to become reality, not in a short-term anyway. Recent developments in world politics unfortunately contradict that assumption and put us all in danger. We would prefer that sort of apocalyptic vision of the future to stay an element of fiction within games, books and movies.« It better does because with that said, 60 Seconds! clearly focusses on dark humour and enterainment rather than preparing its players for a potential nuclear holocaust. »At the beginning of the production we did a lot of research on housing, interior design and fashion of the 1950s,« Juliusz explains. »Creating the characters from 60 Seconds! together with their house was a bit of a challenge, as we wanted to the setting feel true, just like an average 1950s suburbia. At the same time we didn’t want to make it look like a caricature. We initially had a few issues with the perception of our work, as some people did not recognise it as 1950s. This only changed after we purposefully added a number of this specific era’s icons, such as the Cadillac-esque car. And considering the contemporary fashion, with all those 2015 vintage trends, the typical clothing of our characters that were inspired by said 1950s, actually did not stand out that much. For the survival part of the game, we did some research on shelter construction, but we had to alter certain things and standards for the sake of gameplay purposes. The same applies to »survival 101«. There are a few survival aspects in 60 Seconds!, which are quasi-realistic, but it was never meant to be a simulation. Therefore a lot of the game’s survival techniques are so absurd, we do not recommend trying them at home! Also, we have absolutely no knowledge of the potential side effects of a strict tomato soup diet.

Besides, when we started developing 60 Seconds!, we primarily focussed on the fun factor or rather the story angle. For us, the message was always there, but we had no intention of shoving it into anyone’s face. Presenting it in a clever and comedic way and making the post-apocalyptic world kind of funny and grim at the same time was a challenge. The game had to be fun and engaging to encourage players to read a lot and to captivate them with a consistent and interesting story about a family trapped in a fallout shelter. And it seems we did manage to pull it off, which still amazes us to this day.« »60 Seconds! was never meant to be a pamphlet for any message,« Dominik adds, »but it’s worth pointing out that the original vision for the game’s narrative and gameplay was based around the question of what would one do if he or she knew the world is going to end in a few moments. How would they react after realising that? Would they panic? Would they only care for themselves? The slapstick chaos that ensues in the scavenge part of the game is entertaining, but the comedy is here to disguise a very grim reality that awaits the protagonists after the bombs explode. The same can be said about a myriad of gameplay and narrative solutions we use in the second phase – the survival stage of the game. Absurd storylines, a cartoonish art style and the naivete of 1950s are combined to present a rather grotesque image of a degenerating family, battling the harsh reality of the post-apocalyptic America. It’s up to the players if they choose to focus on the scenario’s fun factor or reflect upon how grim the game actually is.«

The journal gives players an overview of the characters and events.

Challenges and Learnings

Every game poses a new challenge to its developers and 60 Seconds! wasn’t any exception – no matter if in regards to workflows, special tools or any possible hurdles and how to overcome them. »My past professional career was mostly focused on illustration, movies and animation, so everything we did working on 60 Seconds! was a brand new experience for me. Dominik already had experience in the games industry, so his point of view is different than mine. Working with the Unity engine, however, was something new for both of us. Oh, and finishing the game together, of course! After all it was our first proper game project, even though we have known each other for almost 15 years. Our workflow was unusual and everything but professional. It was pretty chaotic and irregular, mostly because we worked after-hours. Sometimes, our regular jobs made it impossible for us to finish the milestones we set for ourselves. There was a lot of experimentation and the fact that we worked remotely and mostly stayed in contact over Skype did not make the whole project any easier. A bit of a rookie mistake, for example, was to outsource all of the 3D models and animations too early in the process. We ended up with most of the graphics, even before we had any reasonable builds of the game. And speaking of builds: we did not make enough of them. In our current and future projects we intend to iterate more rapidly and produce frequent builds to give us much more insight into the game and into the direction that it’s headed. 60 Seconds! started as a completely different game. It grew and evolved over the course of the production. A lot was changed in comparison to the original design. The survival part of the game is in fact the result of the conclusions we drew from the development process, on which we decided to act upon in order to explore our vision for the game in an even more interesting way.« And in terms of real prepping? »Much less than I would like to, to be honest! A few important tips on how extreme the conditions in a shelter are, how claustrophobic such a situation can be and how much I enjoy the fact I don’t need to experience any of that in my life. Especially when I think that the shelter in 60 Seconds! has much more space than your typical fallout shelter does!«

In Hindsight

»Looking back, there a lot of things we would most certainly approach differently now, with all of our accumulated knowledge and experience. I’m pretty happy with the design… well, most of it, but there’s always room for improvement. From important decisions like marketing (when to start, how much to spend, how to approach) to small things that can be annoying in the longer run, like a bigger screen size for different aspect ratios. Looking back not everything we learned is usable anymore, since the industry changes dynamically. I might even say that some mistakes that we’ve made in the past, weren’t a big deal back then, but might turn out to be lethal for a project in the present day.« Dominik even goes a step further: »It’s very typical for creators of any kind to be fairly displeased with their work, especially when looking back at it. A 60 Seconds! made in 2017 would be different, for sure – but I don’t think it would be better. Perhaps more polished, but then again, I believe that the originality of our game was strongly inspired by the crazy, passion-driven development work that we put into it. It was both the great and the not so great ideas that shaped it into the game that it is. And that is exactly the game we wanted to make.«

About the Author:

Dominik Gotojuch is

Creative & Tech Director at Robot Gentleman.

Dominik originally intended to become an actor, but after getting a job at Lionhead Studios, it took him just a fortnight to realise what he really wanted to do for the rest of his life – develop games! And so he did, as an AI programmer for the AAA award-winning titles »Fable III« and »Witcher 3: The Wild Hunt«. With enough experience under his belt, he decided to pursue creating games the indie way. Thus, Robot Gentleman was founded.

Twitter: @gotojuch

Juliusz Zenkner is

Art Director at Robot Gentleman.

Juliusz dedicated his studies and early career to art, animation and filmmaking. For over five years he worked in the Oscar nominated post-production studio Platige Image, contributing to such acclaimed movies as Jerzy Skolimowski’s »Essential Killing« and Lars von Trier’s »Melancholia«. As the Art Director at Robot Gentleman, he has been shaping the art vision for our games since 2014, beginning with 60 Seconds!.

Twitter: @JuliuszZenkner

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