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batarella · 3 years

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3 birds 1 stone - chapter 2

‘Dick, Jason, and Tim. Supposed brothers 'till the end, until all three fall in love with you. Who wins your heart?

The man who earned it, the man who stole it, or the man who always had it?’

A/N: You guys. I can’t thank you enough for the response. It only pushes me harder to create something with the best of my abilities. Each and every one of you who took the time deserve the whole world.

WORDS: 6529 WARNINGS: NONE

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

Again.

Hands to the sides, swinging, letting them be with the natural air’s flow, to the wind that was subtle, yet could break even the tiniest bit of focus. Hair up so tightly, your scalp started to hurt, but that could be ignored. You stretched your neck to the right just to ease that slight discomfort that probably wasn’t there at all, but one you’d put the blame on if the next one goes wrong.

One deep breath in. This shouldn’t be so hard the fifth time.

“Go.”

Sprinting down the dark blue mat, you let the non-existent wind take you. You let your feet fly you high up into the sky. You let your limbs take control over your mind. Closer. Closer. The vault was right in front of you.

Hands up to the ceiling, you pushed your feet hard against the ground, bent over so you could place your weight down onto your arms just as your powdered palms hit the floor, then you were in circles, letting your body flip to its own will, letting it take its place suspended from the surface, then your hands felt the rough exterior of the vault, you pushed yourself further up. One, two flips. Then it was all a blur until your feet landed on the mat.

Just slightly, you almost fell off balance. Just a bit.

But if this were the Olympics it would have costed quite the number of points.

When you opened your eyes, Dick was there coming to you, clapping his hands. You smiled at him and he handed you your water bottle.

“How was it?”

“Really good. You’re getting better.”

You scoffed. “I almost fell at the end.”

“Stop being so hard on yourself.”

You drank the whole bottle and wiped your lips with your sleeve, which you probably shouldn’t have done considering it was covered in both your sweat and powder.

“How old were you when you could do that?” you asked the other gymnast. “Eight? Nine?”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t exactly the best at it.”

Your head shaking, you sat yourself on the ground and Dick joined you.

“Last night was too close a call,” you said. “I could have died. Someone else could have died.”

“Trust me. It happens so much more often than you think. To everyone.”

You scratched the back of your neck. “This happens way too fucking much with me.”

“I know it feels that way, but even Bruce makes a wrong move every once in a while.”

That was different. He gets shot almost once a month. Man’s lucky to be alive at all without a sped-up healing factor or Jason’s Lazarus enhanced body system.

Then Dick reached over to grab your hand. “We have each other’s backs. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

He squeezed your hand, and something in you wasn’t exactly sure if you should believe in yourself to protect him, no matter how much you wanted to. But his hand was warm, reassuring. Only that could make you believe in him just a bit more than you believed in yourself.

The only other acrobat in the family. He knew your struggles. You knew his. Dick certainly was going to be there for you just as he always had been with your training. If not for him, you’d still be struggling to swing around poles.

So you just took in his little words that always kept pushing you forward. You held his hand back.

“You really don’t think I’m the worst fighter in the family?”

He snorted. “Is that what you really think of yourself?”

“Yeah…”

“You’re not. Come on, don’t say that. And don’t blame yourself. I saw you drawing on your sketchbook this mornin-“

“Dick, you did not-“ you growled.

“You have talent. You were raised as a gymnast but you have the heart of an artist. I can tell. You should practice more often. Don’t punish yourself for not being the best at the same things as everyone else.”

Then Dick started pulling you up. “Come on. Let’s watch Anchorman to cheer you up.”

Chuckling as you swept your hair back, you both left the gym and went straight for the theater room.

You weren’t exactly sure if you could point out when you fell in love with him. With what words he’d said that pushed you to do better, with what training session that placed you one step closer to being as good as he was, with what look in his eye that tickled your soul. You just knew it was with all of them, gradually adding up. At the end, it was far too late to turn back.

-----

Bruce Wayne looked exceptionally handsome to say the least.

And it wasn’t exactly to your cause or fault. You based the painting off of a photograph he’d given you from a few years ago, a portrait taken from his office to place in the Wayne Enterprises website Tim had built. Save for the fact that you took too long with his fairly recognizable angular jaw, everything went smoothly. His hair was swept back, quite longer than the length it was of today. A few grey strands near his ears, ones that couldn’t be seen if you didn’t look too long. His eyes, a bright, beautiful shining blue had two little dots of white near the iris where the light had reflected.

You managed to hide his jaw with a few stubbles of hair near his chin, which didn’t exactly do as much cover as you’d hoped, since Bruce didn’t want a full beard. But with the angles and the shadows, the tanned beige that was his skin looking perfect against your imaginary brightness. He looked towards the left, eyebrows up as if watching something that delighted him. A black suit and a red tie over what could be seen on his chest, he looked like the other old Waynes in the hallways of the manor, stuck to the walls for the past decades without motion, though his had the perfectly placed taste of modernity and charm.

That was the biggest one you had to lug into the manor. Bright and early that morning, you got all of Bruce’s commissioned works and brought them to the foyer. Two portraits, one of him and the other of Thomas and Martha. And the last one being a painting of Wayne Manor. You had them standing by the staircase, where Bruce should come down to by now before he heads for work.

You sat on the bottom step on the stairs and waited, arms on your knees. No one was up yet, or had come down for breakfast.

And you were still so tired. Not until four am that morning, you finally had your minute shed of sleep, until you had to wake up less than two hours after that, then you rushed here. Resting your chin on your hand, you closed your eyes, let the buzz on your head lull you to sleep.

“Mornin’ pretty bird.”

Not exactly with a grunt, but with the slightest hit of annoyance, you opened your eyes. Jason wasn’t shirtless, at least. So you thankfully you didn’t have to suffocate at the sight of chest. Still, he was sweaty and fresh from the gym. His hair was a bit damp, shirt stuck to his skin like perfectly molded clay. And of course, his cheeky little grin whenever he teased you.

“Hi,” you said, then you yawned.

“You here to hand these paintings to Bruce?”

“Yeah.” You chose to stand up, brush off the tiredness and force yourself to talk. “What do you think?”

He stepped back, eyed all three of them with his lips flattened into a light pout. You stood beside him and watched how his expression didn’t change, not even when he leaned in to look at the details on Bruce’s face.

“Bruce has an age spot near his mouth.”

“He does?”

“Yeah. And his nose is a little crooked from a recent injury.”

You just scoffed. “Well, sorry I haven’t been around lately to notice.”

“Nah, that’s okay.” He placed his hands into his pockets. “They’re good.”

“Thanks.”

“Thomas’s eyes look uneven-“

“Come on, man, give me a break,” you snorted.

Jason laughed. “I’m serious.”

Eyes rolling over and your arms hugging your chest, you cocked your hip to the side.

Jason’s eyebrow raised when he laid eyes on the manor painting, and it was amusing to watch him, someone who actually had a handful of criticisms and wasn’t afraid to lay it on you.

The only one who has never bought a painting from you, showered you in compliments almost everyday, or spoiled you with unnecessary babying. Jason didn’t exactly look unimpressed. In fact, you knew he had an interest in the classics, especially books and art. So he knew what he was talking about. And really, the spoils were to cushion your trauma, which you didn’t exactly ask for, so it was refreshing.

In fact…

If there was anyone who didn’t treat you any differently before and after the incident, someone who still looked at you the same and didn’t make you feel like a burden to make feel better, it was Jason.

And you appreciated that.

So all he gave you was a pat on your shoulder, then he tightened his duffel bag on his arm.

“Well, I’m off. Good luck, pretty bird.”

You just nodded at him as he headed out the manor’s foyer. His arm was up, waving at you, then you looked away before you caught yourself and your lingering eyes on his stomach, where his long coat had parted open, where his shirt so slightly raised up.

You agreed to coming to the manor solely for the fact that it was the only available time for both parties.

You agreed to that, totally without a fresh-from-the-gym Jason Todd in mind.

Yes.

Totally.

Keeping your wandering head in check, you heard loudening footsteps coming from above. A large man in a suit fixing his blue tie swiftly made his way down the steps.

“Great. You’re here.”

“Mornin’ Bruce.”

He gave you a peck on the cheek when he reached the bottom step. “Take your look.”

Eyes wide and grin inescapable, Bruce went over to the three paintings you had laid out. A satisfied hum, (or was it a grunt?) when he leaned over to look at his own portrait, at all the little details Jason had mentioned. Then a smirk crept up at the painting of his parents, his mother especially. The beautiful brunette, probably more beautiful than anyone else who’s ever lived in this manor, had on a flowy white dress, hair up in curls much like a 1920s flapper girl. Then his father, Thomas, an eerie mirror image to his son’s face and gloomy expression. He was on a lounge chair with his fingers over one another. Martha had on a smile, Thomas did not. Bruce looked satisfied.

Then he was full on amused when he laid eyes on all the little details you managed to capture with your painting of Wayne Manor. It’s castle-like structure. Incredible gothic architecture with little gargoyles and angels on the ledges. Then there were the uprooting vines on its groundwork’s sides. The green moss forming over its walls. Windows tinted black. Towers on each corner rising almost four stories high. You might as well have accepted a commission from the Queen to paint fucking Windsor Castle. It far more difficult than Wayne Tower or Times Square or any skyscraper there was.

That’s why you were particularly proud of that one.

“Outstanding as usual, Y/N. You’ve gotten even better over the past few months.”

You just shrugged. “Thank you.”

“Have you decided to go on with the auction?”

Ah. The auction. No, you haven’t pondered long on it. No, you still weren’t so sure if you should. Yes, you’d like that money.

“I don’t know Bruce…”

He fixed his suit. “These can go for a few thousands. Easy. And a portion goes to that charity you wanted-“

“The Children’s Burn Unit.”

“Yeah. That one. It’s amazing as it is.”

“I’ll think more about it. Thank you, Bruce.”

“The money will be sent over to your account. I have to head to the office now. Thank you.”

A hug and a kiss, then Bruce put on his winter coat left the building out into the snow. You went over to the first portrait to take it off from the easel.

You could take a cab back, or ask Alfred to send a driver for you, which you weren’t sure if you should. Though you were dead tired and wanted every bit of sleep you could get, that limo just seemed a lot more comfortable than a smelly taxi. Maybe if you asked now you could-

“Hey, Y/N.”

You froze.

“Let me help.”

Hair dancing on his head as he floated down the stairs, Dick rushed over to your side and started helping you with loosening the easel’s grip on the canvas. Everything happened so quickly you swore you heard something short circuit in your cerebellum and you couldn’t lift a finger when he set you aside.

Then you cartoonishly shook your head, then coughed a bit of a laugh. “Dick, it’s okay-“

Dick smiled, then handed the canvas over to you while he folded up the easel. He looked fresh out of the shower. Hair swept back now that he was still, skin looking radiant and tan, mouth up in his award-winning smile. He brushed his hair back as he went on to the second easel. You took care of the third one.

“Where you headed to this morning?” you asked.

“Nowhere. I knew you were coming over today. You didn’t forget our movie date, did you?”

Coughing out the speck of lint that you breathed in when you inhaled too quickly, you fumbled with the easel, hoping they wouldn’t fall off from your arms, then you just settled them against the wall along with the other stuff you had laid out. Breathe in. Then out. Arms on your side, you (far too casually) sighed. “Of course not!”

When he’d finished with the cleaning, Dick went over to you, smiling, staring straight into your eyes. And you were undeniably unmoving. You just hoped your eyes, cheeks, and most probably your trembling mouth wouldn’t be speaking to him in your place.

“I..” you swallowed. “What are we watching?”

“There’s Something About Mary.”

“Oh,” you sounded intrigued. “I love that movie.”

“You okay watching it again?”

Of course. Of course. Of course. Of course. I’d watch fucking Shrek ten times over if it was with you.

“Sure.”

You went with him up the stairs, laughing, chatting. You couldn’t stop watching Dick’s bright little simper and the way he’d look at you with his head down. It was one of these moments, definitely. You didn’t know when, what day or hour. But you knew it was because of the way he’d look at you, the way that had helped get you to reach this point of no return.

When he helped you train, flip vaults, leap in the air, hold your hand as you swung around poles and did cartwheels, when he trained you the same way he was trained, an acrobat’s way of fighting. All those hours in the grounds, rewarded with a night of movies and popcorn.

When you lost your leg, you lost all that. You lost a part of you had treasured so much overtime. He tried making it up by being there when you painted, told you how great your paintings were, buying them when he didn’t need to.

It wasn’t the same. Nothing was ever the same. But you’d take any time with him over anything.

Never mind how you didn’t stick around in his head when you weren’t in the room anymore the same way he was practically glued to yours.

A rush of cold air unexpectedly gusted against you when you stepped into the theater room. The aircon had been turned on, for quite a while it seems. Two seats propped down on the center of the second row, where you both usually sit on. Two bags of popcorn on them, with your favorite drink sitting on the arm rest. The movie was on pause on the title screen.

Dick had prepared everything for you before you even got to the manor.

“Are we celebrating or something?”

You tried to ignore the fluttering that was happening, at the sweetness, kindness of his looks. Though saying it was kindness would be more fitting than sweet. You plopped down onto your seat and settled yourself in. Dick took the one next to you, with a wide-open grin you wanted to watch even more than the movie.

“Play.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

His friends say stop whining,

They've had enough of that.

His friends would say stop pining,

There's others girls to look at.

They've tried to set him up with Tiffany and Indigo,

But there's something about Mary that they don't know.

Your lips up your cheeks looked quite pleased, though you hadn’t an idea if your eyes were doing the same. They were glued to the screen, but your hands wouldn’t stop twiddling with the same piece of popcorn on your fingers. You weren’t nervous, as was the same with any other time you hung out with Dick, but again, you wanted to be cautious.

And it was going to be even more difficult to be just that when nothing has ever felt softer, more serene, more exciting than any other time with him. Dick was here, just mere inches away from you. The time you had, how much you used to enjoy just talking to him over anything. His lame jokes that make you laugh to this day, his compassion.

You just wanted to lean into his shoulder and stay there for the rest of the movie. For the rest of the day. For the rest of the week. Dick made you feel like you could spend every day with him and never get tired of anything he does or says. Like you were in an amusement park. A day of excitement. You could scream your heart out and let every voice inside you be heard. The days seemed brighter, the nights seemed prettier. Everything. The whole world just lit up when Dick was there.

And most of all, you could be yourself and he’ll make you feel like there’s nothing about you you’ll ever have to change.

Like you can be the worst at something and he would be there, helping you up, training you to do better, telling you how much of your effort won't go unnoticed and how you let your mind wander with his words and…

People look at you, at him, and think you fell for him for his looks.

It wasn’t that at all.

Dick laughed when Ben Stiller had his penis caught in his zipper, and you laughed along, pretending to know what was going on, but with the side of your eye, you were staring at him, at his eyes, at how the blue popped out when it was lit up by the bright white light of the screen.

It wasn’t just his looks.

It was all of him.

But you let things be. You never made a move. Neither did he.

You already lost time with him after the incident, and more so were you going to lose him when he was about to get married. Even just as friends, as nothing more than that, you wouldn’t trade what you had, those training sessions and movie marathons, over anything. When he had Kory, everything about him was going to be wiped out of your life forever.

But he was here now, as much as you hated how things came to be, how much he had to get hurt in the process just so you could get back what you had with him. You hated it. But there was no changing it now. He was here. For as long as you hoped.

So you finally ate that first piece of popcorn. You set your own mind’s countless thoughts to that one corner they’ve grown accustomed to hiding in. You watched the movie. You laughed when you had to. Everything was as it was all those years ago. There was no pretending that maybe he was going to see you the same way you saw him, because however he saw you now, whatever was going on no matter how platonic, you were content. It made you happy enough.

Hair on your skin standing up in the air, Dick leaned in to whisper something in your ear.

“This dog fight’s the most 2000’s thing I’ve seen.”

You laughed, “You sure it isn’t the outfits?”

You turned your head over, which proved to be a big mistake because his face was so dangerously close to yours. Your smile faltered. You were staring at him so stupidly still, you swore you just wanted to bury your head into the pile of popcorn and die.

But again with your muscles and nerves defying your head, because you didn’t even back away.

Dick smiled at you.

Then he looked down, and you realized he was looking at your hand. Suddenly every bit of flesh in your body warmed to the touch, your skin burned but in the most delicate, elusive scorch you could still pick out, yet it wouldn’t hurt your senses. Dick took your hand and held it so tightly, his thumb resting between your fingers, then he swayed it around to bring you comfort.

You wished it wasn’t as casual as it actually was, yet it brought that wonderful little rush up the veins on your neck, your nerves calmed. Everything was okay. Nothing felt better.

“I’m glad we get to spend time again.”

You couldn’t bear to look at his face anymore. Your hand was loose, it refused to return his tight hold in fear of him letting go or of anything being too much. You turned to your lap, watched your feet sway about. Eventually, Dick let go, but you were going to remember that feeling on your skin, how his palms rubbed against you and how nicely he seemed to fit within the spaces of your fingers.

An hour or so passed, you were quiet. You didn’t say anything and neither did he outside the little remarks and the laughs, or even his feet brushing against your shoe. Everything felt like the eminence and the little snaps and sparks that were so nice to hear when you sat a few feet away from a fireplace.

His shoulder was so close to your head. You swore you could count the inches with your own fingers. Just a little. Just a bit. The slightest push and you’d be against him. He’d be holding you. Dick suddenly shifted in his seat and he was even closer to your cheek. Fingers on the arm rests, you were already so close to touching. Half your attention was to the screen and the other was that pull that made you want to just fall into him, never to go away.

But of course, you didn’t.

When the movie ended, Dick stood up and patted your shoulder. Your bowls of popcorn were long finished, so were your drinks. You watched him get up, stretch his arms.

“Thank you,” you said to him. An eyebrow of his rose to his forehead. “Why thank me?”

You shrugged. “You prepared all this.”

“Don’t sweat it. We should do this again. Tell me when you're coming over next.”

And at that, you wanted to tell yourself you should come over more often, do what you can to be at his side, actually work to pursue him, to spend as much time with him as humanely possible. Doesn’t matter if he actually does fall in love with you or not. For your own sake.

But to say you even had hope left was a lie. You don’t. Never had since years ago. It wouldn’t matter if you came by every week or none at all. Nothing was going to change. Just that little moment of happiness that won't ever last. Moments like these.

You’ve spent too much time pretending, hoping, wishing things would go your way, until eventually you reached that point where you weren’t sure what was your way was anymore.

So you weren’t exactly thrilled at the thought of getting to be with him more often, just like you weren’t so ecstatic when Dick told you he was permanently moving back in. Because if anything, if you were being completely honest with yourself, you were too burnt out and have gone through the worst, most agonizingly frustrating mountains of yearning and pining that no matter what he did that could hurt or reject you, without his intentions, you wouldn’t be the slightest bit surprised. If you were to do anything beyond that, it would only worsen the pain.

All those years, and you never told Dick how you felt. You never wanted to tell him. You never felt the need to.

And as if the world did it on purpose, in came the whole reason why that thought continues to be even with Kory out of the picture.

A beautiful head of red hair peaked in from the theater’s entry way. “Hey, you two.”

Dick waved at her. “Hey Babs.”

Yeah. Holding on was your own little way of self-torture. Babs came in. “Am I late for the party?”

“Yeah. Movie just finished.”

You stood up from your seat, finally, then dusted off your pants. “Hi, Babs.”

“You staying over for the day, Y/N?”

“Not really.”

The three of you stepped out of the little theater, walking behind Dick and Babs like a friend who couldn’t walk beside her other two friends because the sidewalk was too narrow.

“Dick, I need your help over at the cave.”

“Sure. Right now?”

“Yes. That okay?”

Dick looked over to you. “Y/N-“

“I should head home,” you said. “Or go up to Tim.”

“Tim?”

“Yeah. He told me to stop by his room when I deliver Bruce’s paintings.”

“Oh.”

Smiling at him even with what little time you had eventually came to an end, you walked up to the stairs and waved. “I’ll see you.”

“See you.” You lingered your gaze, and Dick returned that gaze at you up the steps as he made his own way down to the library with Babs. One last smile, then he was out of sight.

Nothing new. Nothing you weren’t already used to.

Things are less painful when you weren’t pining after him anymore.

It was sad how easily you shrugged that off. As you went down the bedroom halls, feet lightly pattering onto the red carpet, you knocked three times on Tim’s door. A grunt. Then you peaked inside.

Tim must have been working all night, because he definitely looked like he just got into bed a few hours ago, and it was still well in the morning. Hair was a complete mess. Body slumped onto the mattress like a carcass. His mouth was wide open and leaking with drool. Nose all scrunched up from being smushed into the pillow. He was half-awake, because one eye was slightly open and staring right at you. When you closed the door, you heard him grunt again.

“You alright there, Tim?”

He closed his eyes and ignored you, and you just laughed at how dark his under eyes were and how completely exhausted he looked.

But he was undeniably adorable. You went over and got a pillow, playfully hitting his head.

“Stooooop,” he groaned.

“It’s almost nine in the morning. Aren’t you heading to the office?”

“I just got home from the office.”

“Shit.” You sat on the bed beside him, then you reached over to fix his hair. He started to tense, but he didn’t brush you off.

“Stay at home for once. Just a day. Give yourself a break,” you said. Tim opened one eye again, then he groaned.

You started taking your shoes off. This asswipe was going to need you here to make sure he doesn’t drown himself in a tub off coffee again just to pull himself off the bed, so you were going to make sure he doesn’t leave.

“I thought you wouldn’t be here until afternoon,” he yawned.

For some ungodly reason, an image of Jason’s abs flashed into the back most corner of your head like a fucking projector. Only for the shortest spilt second, and still it was long enough that you’d notice it. You immediately brushed it off.

“I just thought we’d get it over with for the day.”

He turned his head over to bury it against the pillow to drown out the light coming in from the window. You walked over and pulled the curtains to a close, as with the other ones, until his room was dim enough for him to actually get some sleep.

Tim’s desk was an absolute mess, and he probably didn’t notice how his laptop was so close to falling over the edge, with half of it sticking out of the table. You closed and placed it all the way back against the wall, then the mounds of paperwork he’d piled over the surface that was blowing up all over the place. You didn’t care if he was going to rant on about touching his stuff. You placed everything into a neat pile, set them at the side where it was all easily seen, then you went over the drawers to start fixing them one by one, because even with them closed, there were still pieces of paper sticking out of them like a bomb had gone off inside the wood.

He was snoring now. Audibly snoring. You looked back at him and tried not to laugh.

Then you went back to the drawers.

You hadn’t an idea what to expect, or that you should be expecting anything at all.

But whatever those expectations were, none of them were could come in the slightest bit as close to what you found on the bottom most drawer, where more pieces of paper were inside, though these definitely had been ripped out of a sketchpad. Your sketchpad.

Even when you hadn’t expected it, it didn’t exactly surprise you.

You opened the drawer and found dozens, if not hundreds of drawings and sketches, all made by your hand. The one on top, of course, was the most recent one you’d given him, from the night at the office with them sitting on the railings together. It was slightly crumpled, which meant Tim had brought it with him around before placing it in the pile.

Then you went over the next ones, ones you don’t even remember sketching until then. There was one from that trip to the country, when you and Tim went out for a drive and you drew the skyline and the mountains, which he asked for when you got home. Then there was one when he asked you to draw a bird that had flown into his room. It took you minutes, probably the worst, most rushed out sketch you’ve done. But it was a bird. You could tell it was a bird.

You were smiling through it all, going over the sketches that meant so little to you back then, something you would have otherwise thrown in the trash when you were done. Everything was still neatly folded and piled, unlike everything else in his desk.

Another of the Watchtower that one time with an emergency and you all had to rush up there to help, then there was one of him being a goof, sleeping on the lounge chair that you’d done over a few quick minutes before he eventually wakes up and catches you. One of Ace. One of Bruce.

Drawings you don’t even remember doing.

But what really caught your breath was at the bottommost pile of sketches, ones you were sure you didn’t draw yourself.

Because no matter how long you’ve been drawing faces, or how many people you’ve sketched even when they just pass by you in the street or in the subway. No matter how good you’ve gotten over time or how people tell you to keep going, you’ve never in your life drawn a portrait of yourself.

And there, hidden amongst the other pieces of paper, though distinct from the kind of paper you had from your sketchpad, were several sketches of you.

And it undeniably wasn’t from your hand. These were sloppier. The hand didn’t seem so steady. Haven’t been drawing for long. At least as long as you did.

But they were all of you.

You sitting on the chair by the fireplace. You in your old suit. You painting in front of an easel. You with the family. You sitting on the stairs.

And there were quite a few with just your face. Looking at the side, looking straight at him. Smiling from ear to ear like you were listening and seeing something that amused you so much. These were more recent, as the details got better. They weren’t as good as yours, but they were good enough that anyone would be able to recognize the way your eyes smiled just as brightly as your lips.

It was embarrassing, because you never liked the idea of yourself as a subject for your own work.

But you knew. You just knew.

Tim drew these himself.

And it might be because he wanted to learn how to draw as good as you can to have more in common, because he wanted to draw you the way you drew him and return the favor. It might be because he wanted to be closer to you and your passion, have a taste of that world with you in it just to feel like you were in the same dimension as him, close that gap where he couldn’t touch.

It might be because he wanted to keep you in his memories and make those memories into something he could hold and look at, just as you would with him and everyone else you loved.

Or it might be to show you how much he’d paid so much attention to the littlest details on your face, memorized them, kept them at the back of his mind he’d so easily recall, show you how much those details meant to him and how he wouldn’t let even one slip away from his gaze.

Something in you was pulling, tugging, and it didn’t exactly hurt as much as it was wonderfully buzzing. You placed everything back into the drawer and breathed in.

One deep breath.

Then you stood up, pulled on the little sofa chair he had on the side of his bed, then sat on it to face him. The lights were dim, and everything was quiet around you.

Smiling as you stared at him with his pillow all drenched with his drool, his snores getting louder each minute, you pulled out a little sketchpad from your pocket and a pencil.

Then you started with the outline of his face, half of it stuck into the pillow, then his hair that was all spread out and sticking to the air.

He was beautiful. So cute. Handsome far beyond average. No different from his brothers, from Bruce.

If there was one thing you realized when painting Bruce’s face, his eyes particularly,

It was that Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian were all an eerie splitting image of him, never mind how not all of them were even blood-related.

Brothers.

It was sweet to think about, with them, Steph, Cass, Duke, all having each other’s backs with them being just that. You and Babs just kind of sat in with the Waynes, as some kind of extension to their bond, but not exactly to their kind of level to be considered brothers.

You weren’t pursuing Dick. You haven’t for years. And if he was asking you to come over, spend time with him alone, give you that little bit of hope you’ve long said goodbye to, you weren’t exactly sure what to think.

Because you were afraid that if anything was ever going to move forward, you wouldn’t be able to control how it ends. The fall would be greater than anything you’ve ever had to go through in your life. Because if in any way, Dick would be yours, the pain you’ve had for so many years will turn out for the worst. You’ll lose him and actually lose him. And Dick was so easy to lose, so easy to be stolen away from you, like he could just slip and move on, and you’d be stuck there, in the same place as you were today.

Dick scared you, and it wasn’t in any other way than for that reason.

Tim was security, comfort, relief, and home. The kind you could come home to after a long day and fall into a little bubble of just you. Nothing could ever possibly happen to you, or put you in danger when you were in his arms.

His arms. One of the best things to draw, in fact. They were lean and strong, and they were reaching up the headboard, one over his head and one under the pillow. You kept sketching out his body formed under the thin sheet of the blanket over him, then you skipped out on the bed and everything else.

You ripped out the drawing and placed it on the desk for him to find in the morning.

This might be the start of that little push you needed to move forward.

That push you needed to start choosing him.

Again.

You were still unsure, with all that history you thought you’d left behind, but you were, in fact, sure that Tim loved you more than anything you’ll ever come to understand.

You sat on the edge of the bed. He stopped snoring. His mouth was closed now and he was sleeping peacefully, though not as deeply.

You reached over and unlatched your prosthetic leg, slipped it off from your knee and set it aside against the bed.

Then you lied down on the mattress, shifting and inching closer to face him directly. You could feel his breath, hot but light. You were smiling with your faces so close together, at the sight of his eyelashes so peacefully resting on his cheek and his lips stagnant and unmoving, though his nose would occasionally twitch like a bunny’s and his chest was lightly rising.

You moved even closer to him until he was barely three inches away from your face.

When you delicately brushed your finger down his cheek, Tim’s one eye fluttered open. You smiled. He smirked back.

Your hand stayed on his face, then just as you drifted off to sleep, you felt his arm reach over your waist, staying there until you awoke in each other’s arms.

-----

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

A/N: WADDUP HOES. HOPE U LIKED THIS CHAPTER CUZ IT’S ABOUT TO GET EVEN MORE CHAOTIC

MAIN TAGLIST:

@everyartistwas-firstanamateur, @sarcasmismyfirstlove, @damned-queen-of-gotham, @idkmanicantenglish, @wunderstell, @birdy-bat-writes, @get-loki, @everyday-imfangirling, @comic-nerd-dc, @multifandomgirl-us, @multifandoms916, @icequeen208, @offendedfishnoises, @egdolan, @xemiefx, @arkhamtoddler, @elsenthal, @mythicbitchx, @lucy-roo, @roseangel013bf, @loxbbg, @reclusive-chicken-nugget, @l-inkage, @http-cherries, @shadowsndaisies, @river9noble, @zphilophobiaz, @annoylinglyaries, @knightfall05x, @hyp-oh-critical, @satan-s-ass, @1-800-starmora, @flowersgirl02, @nahcho, @thatonecroc, @trixie-bb, @daddyissuesmademe

SERIES TAGLIST:

@spaceservicestation

#dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #reader insert #batfam #batfamily reader insert #dc comics #batman #3 birds 1 stone #3 birds 1 stone series #batarella #batarella series

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thelightofthingshopedfor · 3 years

Text

so it turns out I have gay relatives in my extended family. like, at least few of them, at least two of which are still alive--one of them married his husband relatively recently as a fairly old man (because. you know. presumably he had to wait until it was legal) but was apparently out in the 70s and my conservative grandparents still sold him their house at the time to keep it in the family. another one is closer to my dad’s age and he’s been in semi-regular contact with her on Facebook because they’re both interested in tracing and preserving info from their shared family tree (and, hilariously, her dad was also gay I guess?).

and I’m--kind of overwhelmed about this? mostly in a good way! but like...I had no idea. I mean it doesn’t seem unreasonable that there would be somebody, because my extended family is pretty big, but there wasn’t anybody I’d actually met, and I was raised super conservative/evangelical because my parents were both raised conservative because my grandparents have always been conservative, and the extended family I knew best growing up (my dad’s brother and his family) were also pretty damn conservative, so I just...sort of assumed I was either the first queer in my general family circle or the first one to be at all open about it. and I’ve also been worried that my grandparents specifically would have a problem with that, which is a big part of the reason I haven’t made any effort to visit them since 2016...and now I find out they sold a house to their out gay cousin in the 70s. I mean I have no idea if they’re still in contact with him at all or if it was a very close relationship at the time, but according to my dad, everybody knew about it and it just...wasn’t an issue, apparently?? the family was generally cool with it??

which, I mean...that does make me feel better about the chances of my grandparents deciding they can’t have anything to do with me until I stop being queer and liberal! (I’ve also discovered recently that my grandpa’s brother, and presumably a lot of other people on his side of the family, are a lot more progressive than my grandparents are, so I’m simultaneously like...cool, that also indicates my chances are better than I thought, and I’m frustrated that I just happened to be born on the fundie side of the family!)

and I’m honestly really, really touched that my dad told me this stuff, because he’s acknowledged me being ace but has basically dealt with me being otherwise queer by pretending I haven’t said anything even when I literally bring it up in conversation (which, yes, I kind of make an effort to do sometimes, because I don’t want him to be able to ignore it, and it pisses me off when he does). but then last night we went to this outdoor concert and he was like, by the way, there’s some family history tidbits it occurred to me you might not know about and might want to know, and then he told me about these gay relatives that I didn’t know I had. I mean, talking about family history and showing old pictures isn’t at all unusual, but this was...intentional and specific, telling me about my gay relatives because he thought I’d like to know, and showing me pictures from the 70s of, like, my grandparents hanging out with a gay relative or two like it was no big deal, and more recent pictures of the wedding between two old men I didn’t know I was related to. and honestly I got a little emotional about it at the time, and I’m tearing up again because the pictures are on Facebook and I’m looking at them going holy shit there was a gay wedding in my family. I have gay relatives I can maybe talk to and get to know. my own grandparents might not care, actually, that I’m queer.

but at the same time--

my grandpa was a Democrat, a long time ago--a state legislator for the party, even, before he switched parties. I don’t know why he switched. all I know is that he and my grandma have been very conservative for as long as I’ve been alive, which is why my dad’s always been so conservative, which is why I was raised in this toxic, compassionless ideology and didn’t even begin to realize I might be queer until after college. hell, it’s the reason I cringe at a lot of bigoted things I used to believe, and all I can really do to make myself feel better about that is to remind myself that I did change, drastically if gradually, once I realized it was an option--and to hope that I didn’t actually influence anyone when I parroted all the fundie stuff I was raised believing. to the best of my knowledge, my grandparents have been single-ticket Republican voters for a long time and probably still are--I know my parents were when I was growing up, too, and although I’ve gotten my mom to stop reflexively voting for particularly awful Republicans, I strongly suspect my dad still mostly votes GOP. any time political stuff comes up, he just wants to argue with me, either because he figures I don’t know what I’m talking about or because he’s the type of person who always thinks it’s fun to play devil’s advocate (which is...the same thing really, at least when he does it, because it sure seems to be based on the premise of “well you don’t really know what you’re talking about because I bet you haven’t considered this”). I’m sure my grandparents still watch Fox News. I know my dad at least used to listen to a lot of Rush Limbaugh. I know he still thinks Ronald Reagan was one of our truly great presidents. he acts like he’s enlightened or whatever but I remember the mocking shit he always said about things like multiculturalism, sensitivity training, feminism (except he talked about “women’s libbers”), liberals in general, and basically anyone who didn’t think various equal rights issues were done and dusted by the 80s at the latest.

(I have a very specific memory of a time on a family vacation at some point in the 90s when the Supreme Court, I guess, had just upheld a ruling that kept gay marriage illegal, and my dad encountered this old guy looking at a headline about it who asked him, “does that mean queers can’t get married?” my dad confirmed it did, and the old guy said, “Praise God!” and my dad told us about this later like it was a very funny joke. he even added that he was tempted to answer “no, sweetie, we can’t,” with an affected effeminate voice and a limp-wrist gesture to match, just to mess with the old guy a little, but even then it was obvious to me the old guy wasn’t the one really being mocked.)

and this whole time they had gay family members, knew they had gay family members, apparently didn’t hate them as individuals or even think they were particularly wrong for being gay, and...they still supported these hateful pundits, still voted for politicians who would make queer people’s lives materially worse, still passed this shit down to the next generation and the generation after that. and it has probably never occurred to them that there could be something wrong--or even just dissonant--about that.

I don’t know what to do with it. it’s a good thing, and I’m happy to know it, and I’m still genuinely very touched that my dad realized this was something I specifically would want to know, and...there’s all this other ugly stuff wrapped up with it too. and I don’t know what to do with it.

#homophobia #queer stuff #exvangelical #family issues

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youllallriseintheink · 3 years

Text

Lasting Melodies, chapter 2: Now I Only Sing Alone

About ten days ago, I thought I’d make a story for Jack Fain and Sammy Lawrence, showing their snippets of their lives together from their first performance to Jack’s untimely death. I was not planning on it being two chapters and almost four thousand words long.

I hope you all enjoy this.

---

“And that’s how ah lost my old set of keys to a pack of stray cats! Anyhow, can ya tell Sammy that I’ll need to borrow his? He’d probably kill me if I did it myself!”

“Sure thing, Wally. Just... try to make the next set last a few weeks, alright? Budget is tight.”

It wouldn’t have been the first, third, or probably tenth time Jack had visited Sammy during their supposed break period for just that reason. Jack knew by now how much Sammy hated being taken out of the zone while writing music, so he just wrote down that Wally needed keys, put the note on Sammy’s desk, and tried to leave as quietly as possible. Just as he was leaving, he heard Sammy laugh drily.

“I couldn’t avoid you here if I wanted to, could I? It’s like a diet I keep cheating on.”

Jack didn’t know what to say to that. Sammy turned to look at him.

“Well, whatever. Let’s consider this break period over. Let’s get some lunch today, discuss some things.”

Thankfully, noon came fairly quickly- Jack’s heart rate hadn’t settled since Sammy invited him to lunch.

“So... obviously keeping my distance didn’t work, but we can’t just go back to the way things were, either.”

“Yeah. Look, I know that you’re with Susie now, and that’s okay. But have you figured what you wanted out of life, yet?”

Sammy sighed. “I guess. I always figured I’d be doing something bigger with my life, but Joey does treat me well. It’s hard to admit that you’re just comfortable enough to settle.”

Jack nodded. “And I mean, you are making a name for yourself! Joey worships you, most of the music department either fears you, envies you, or lusts after you, and everyone knows your name. It must feel great.”

“I meant making a name for myself outside the studio. But yeah, as far as working in Joey Drew Studios goes, I guess I’m pretty lucky. Are you staying here, too? I know a part of you wants back in the limelight.”

“Nah. This is a crazy place, but hey, I get to dedicate myself to my favourite thing and work under my best friend. I do miss being a stage personality, but that was always a long shot. And I’ve realized that I don’t need people to notice me like that.”

“Good, because there’s something I’ve wanted to ask you. So... Susie already knows that I’m bisexual. I haven’t asked her yet, but if you could join us, would you?”

Jack was taken aback. A part of him wanted to say yes, but he knew it wasn’t a good idea. “Sammy, no. You might swing both ways, but I don’t.”

“Then don’t sleep with her?” Sammy said as though the solution was obvious.

Jack sighed. “Fine. That’s not my hesitation. Look- if we did that, who would you be showing off to your parents on Christmas? Who would you be saying your vows to?”

Sammy became defensive. “It’s not like I can give you that anyhow. Susie wouldn’t be taking anything away from you that wasn’t already out of reach.”

“You aren’t getting it. I was fine with keeping ‘us’ a secret, but I don’t want to be your dirty secret while you’re openly with someone else. Especially not... someone you kind of left me for. I’m sorry. Plus, I’ve been seeing someone else the past couple weeks.” He said it as gently as possible, but he knew they weren’t the nicest words to hear.

“Oh,” Sammy said, annoyed and disappointed.

Jack searched for a way to soften the blow. “Susie does seem like a great girl, though- I’d love to get to know her better. Why don’t you bring her to that new bar in town this Friday night, and I’ll bring my new partner so you can meet him?”

Sammy muttered a “sure,” finished up quickly, and left, clearly annoyed.

Sammy’s annoyance had dissipated by Friday night, thankfully. Susie and Jack’s new partner got along, and things seemed to have gone back to normal between him and Sammy. It seemed like they’d be just fine as friends.

---

“Just so you know, Jack- Susie recently underwent a serious life change. It’s not exactly easy for her, so please just be supportive, okay?”

“Sure- isn’t that what I do best?” Jack promised. Neither of them were exactly strangers to Susie Drama- something similar had happened a few weeks ago when Susie had been replaced as the voice of Alice Angel. Or so Jack thought until Sammy pointed her out from the crowd.

“Susie?”

“Yep.”

The woman bore little resemblance to any human being. Her skin was white as chalk, her arms and torso were too thin and elongated, her eyes were too big, and she had horns and a painful-looking halo growing out of her skull. It was as though an alien had read a written description of an attractive woman and attempted to make one out of plastic.

Jack forced himself to look away out of politeness.

“Yeah, please don’t act shocked. She’s gotten enough of that already,” Sammy requested. Jack nodded in response.

Later in the day, when she was sure Sammy wasn’t around, Susie confided in him that she was already having second thoughts about her new body. “Don’t tell Sammy,” she’d said. “He’s... a part of this, and he’d feel awful if he knew.”

For the first time, Jack began to question just what Sammy was involved with.

---

Sammy had been looking over sheet music when he felt Susie’s ice-cold black hands squeeze his arm like a vice.

“Sammy, I need you to lock me up!” she begged, fear and hot tears building in her eyes.

“Susie, why-”

“Just do it! No questions, please!”

“Calm down... Uh, I’ll...” were there any rooms in the studio that could only unlock from the inside?

Suddenly, Alice shoved past him, into the middle of the music room. Allison, who had been speaking with Jack, barely had time to turn and notice her before Alice had tackled her against a wall. Everyone backed away in terror as Alice ripped off Allison’s chestnut-brown hair and began banging Allison’s head against a wall until there was blood on her scalp and dripping out of her nose. Norman could be heard descending the stairs from his projector booth. He pushed through the crowd and tore Susie away, leaving Allison, bruised and half-bald, to crumple to the ground.

“Okay, someone call the ambulance for Allison,” Norman barked, still restraining Alice as she squirmed and struggled. Then, he turned to glare at Sammy. “And you get the people who will look after this.”

Sammy shuddered, suspecting, not for the first time, that Norman knew his secrets. But he couldn’t not handle the situation, and so he did as he was told.

Within five minutes, Alice was being escorted away by three large, burly men in dark green GENT uniforms.

“Tell them to record what you can without me,” Sammy muttered to Jack. “And tell them not to bother me under any circumstances. And... can you meet me after work?”

“Of course,” Jack replied.

Sammy nodded in response and then disappeared into his office for the the rest of the workday.

When Jack met up with Sammy at the end of the day, he still looked as fragile as spun glass- understandable after what had happened.

“Hey... do you want to come over for the evening, see if we can distract you from this?”

Sammy said nothing, but stood up and wrapped his arms around Jack. Jack held him for a while and let him cry. Jack was shedding a few tears, too- Susie had been a good friend, and it seeing her snap like that would have shaken anyone up.

“It’s okay. I’m sure that wherever they took her, she’ll be fine. They’ll help her get back to normal. Hey, if you want, we could visit her in the asylum, see how she’s doing-”

Sammy looked to Jack, trying to find the words as to explain that that wasn’t possible without saying too much. Somehow, Sammy didn’t think Jack would let him cry on his shoulder if he knew that Susie would never see the light of day again, and it was partially Sammy’s own fault.

“I know you want to tell me something. You don’t have to right now. Alright?”

And for the moment, he didn’t. But in the future, he’d have to be more careful.

---

Susie’s capture was felt by the whole music room, and not just because she was no longer lighting it up with her smile. There was an air of unease, of mystery on everything now, as though the next act of violence could be perpetrated be anyone and at any time. It pushed Jack to spend more time holed up in the sewers, and Sammy to build his own private sanctuary. Once Allison returned to work a few days later, the distrustful feelings gradually began to dissipate for most.

But not for Sammy. The effects of Susie’s capture, or something related to it, seemed to linger on him for months.

Sammy had grown paranoid around the others, and more people spoke amongst each other about what might have snapped in his brain than were willing to risk speaking to him directly. Jack worried for him, but Sammy refused to say what was bothering him, and increasingly refused his (or anyone else’s) company. He felt as though there was little to do to help him.

---

The sound of a beating heart echoed off the walls of the sewers. The ink demon grinned. The walls of the infirmary had been no match for him, and though the sewer’s thick concrete walls would most likely present more of the problem, being able to stretch his legs after months spent in one room was extremely satisfying in and of itself.

Meanwhile, Jack was frozen in fear. The creature- lord only knew what it was- hadn’t seemed to notice him yet. Jack holed up under his desk, praying that it would pass him by.

The pumping sound grew nearer.

And nearer.

Until it seemed to stop directly in front of him.

Jack carefully put his head to the ground, trying to get a peek from under his desk without making a sound. It only allowed him to see a couple feet in front of the desk, but it was enough to show that the shadowy tendrils that surrounded the creature were mere inches from him. The creature took a step forwards, and Jack could feel the creature’s shadows wrapping around him, stealing his heat, and spreading from his hands to encompass his whole body. He was paralyzed.

The ink demon tipped over his desk, grabbed him by the leg, and dragged him over his desk and to the center of the sewer, where it held Jack’s head under the tar-like ink until he drowned.

---

Not for the first time, Sammy stepped into the passenger seat of Joey’s Pontiac. It was Thursday, and they always met on Thursdays to study and practice magic together. The experience was usually, well, magical- Joey had finally found the way to be a God in Sammy’s life. But apparently, not today. Sammy sat, arms crossed and silent, for at least a minute before speaking. “Where is he, Joey? What happened to Jack Fain?”

“You tell me!” Joey said in earnest surprise. “What’s happened to him?”

“He’s been missing for four days. That’s what’s happened. He punched in on Monday and never punched out. He won’t pick up his phone, and his partner doesn’t know where he is either. Don’t tell me you didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“I honestly didn’t.”

“Nothing new came out of the ink machine?”

Joey sighed heavily. “A new searcher came out of it. But that doesn’t mean anything! It could be anyone!”

Tears sprung up in Sammy’s eyes. “Drop me off at my place. I don’t want to do this tonight.”

Joey didn’t believe for a second that Sammy was only quitting for tonight. He was losing him unless he did something. “Really?” Joey said gently, “Something like this, while tragic, should encourage you if anything, shouldn’t it?”

Sammy looked to him with tired, mournful eyes.

“Think about it- if we don’t keep learning about the machine, we’ll never learn to reverse its process. Susie, Jack, anyone else who ends up connected to it- you need to keep working with me here so that we can set them free.”

Sammy laid back in his seat. “Look- I’m not going to be good company tonight... but that’s your problem. Go on, drive to the studio. Let’s do this.”

“Good. Good man.”

That night, along with the ink angel that bore no resemblance to Susie and the four or so other ink creatures that Joey or some GENT worker had locked up previously, Sammy saw a swollen searcher in a cage. If it recognized him at all, it showed no sign of it. It was a few days before Sammy managed to sneak down and give him back his hat.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #my fanfiction #sammy x jack #sammy lawrence #susie campbell #Jack Fain #joey drew

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nataliedanovelist · 4 years

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GF - Tiger Stripes

A gift for @siro-cyll, cuz they’re the best and I love them and lowkeygotahugecrush, but anyways! They’ve inspired me so much the last few weeks by just being them and I wanted to do something special. I hope you like it! - N.S.

~~~~~~~~~~

With the soft, warm steam coming from his mug, the pleasant early-morning sun baking his naked chest, and the cool breeze awakening his senses gradually, it would be an understatement to say that Ford was comfortable.

The breeze ruffled his fluffy charcoal-gray hair playfully before disappearing, leaving behind a still Summer's air. While it is true that he became cold easily, one of the reasons why he wore turtleneck sweaters all year-round, the star his planet revolved around warned his exposed skin pleasantly and Ford felt no anxiety nor unpleasant chill as he stood on the porch, watching the day begin.

The aged scientist sipped his hot caffeinated drink, something he had excruciatingly missed while out in the Multiverse, but over the last ten months he had been home, Ford had taken full advantage of the Columbia-imported beverage and revisited his old habits with each mug. He took in a deep breath; with Bill dead, the remarkable start to a day, his brave choice of attire, and the fact that he was back in Gravity Falls for the summer, surrounded by loved ones, Ford was flooded with a sense of peace and he felt at home.

Of course, that wasn't to say he wasn't at home on the Stan O' War II with his brother; he and Stan had the time of their lives on that boat, sailing the Arctic ocean and fulfilling the dream they had shared since their childhood; and they looked forward to continuing on their adventure when the summer ended. Still, Gravity Falls has always been and always will be where Ford felt at home, felt like he could be himself, and while those characteristics applied on the Stan O' War II, here in the Mystery Shack two little bundles of joy made it even better.

Speaking of, she was opening random doors like the creep she admitted to being, wondering what all had changed since she and her brother had arrived for the summer. Mabel pleasantly found that, all in all, not too much had changed. Some more things had been moved into storage to make the Soos and his Abuelita's move easier when summer ended, and some things were moved around for convenience's sake, but no great change that threw the teenage girl for a loop; this was still her true home and her family was still here.

Mabel skipped to the kitchen to fix herself a cup of Mabel Juice to satisfy her appetite until her Grunkle Stan would make his world-famous Stancakes. As she poured her homemade drink into a glass, she noticed the used coffee-dipped spoon by the sink and when she looked at the coffee-pot, some of the dark, gross, adult drink was still in there, probably enough for two more servings, a second one for a sleep-hating scientist and one for Mabel's favorite conman.

Looking forward to spending time with him, as she always will, Mabel made her way to the basement to surprise Grunkle Ford with her presence. She was confused to find it empty, it being typical for her uncle to overwork, never ceasing, but maybe he wasn't in the mood to work. Or maybe he was working in another room. Mabel checked the private study on the second floor of the basement, but it too was empty. Then she checked the thinking parlor, astounded and also pleased to find it empty; if Ford wasn't working (which was a good thing in Mabel's book) then where was he?

Mabel decided to calmly roam the house for him, now halfway done with her Mabel Juice. Ford wasn't in the living room and it was unlikely that he was upstairs. Just as she was thinking to check his room, in case he went back there to drink his coffee in peace, Mabel decided to check the porch since she was so close to it. She opened the door and looked around, then made a big smile that was free from braces. Ford was standing to her right, a hand on his hip and another hand holding his mug, shirtless and enjoying the sun.

"G'morning, Grunkle Ford." Mabel said cheerfully and let the door close behind her

Ford jumped, nearly sloshing coffee on his hand, and his face turned red as he looked at his great-niece. His free arm was now crossed over his chest, trying to preserve some privacy, but it hardly mattered; he was still fairly exposed.

It wasn't uncommon for Ford to sit by the window in the Stan O' War II shirtless in the morning, but back there he was assured that Stan would not wake up until nine o'clock, plenty of time to finish his coffee and cover himself again. He never had to worry about someone seeing his torso and the many ugly scars that littered his skin, but he had overlooked that his beautiful niece was an early-bird, just like him, and he had misjudged the risk of being caught.

Ford cleared his throat. "G-Good morning, Mabel. Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, did you?" Mabel asked and stood next to him, watching the sun and blissfully unaware of how uncomfortable her uncle was.

"Y-Yes, I did, my dear." And Ford sipped his coffee to give him something to do that wasn't standing awkwardly.

Mabel also sipped her juice, smiling and happy. Ford casted glances down at her, waiting for her to make a remark or comment about him only being in his plaid pajama-pants, but she was distracted by the beautiful morning. Ford tried to move past his self-conscious fear, but that was easier said than done. Surviving out in the Multiverse had earned him a handful of battle-scars; old gun-shot wounds, scratches from monsters, chemical burns from acid, and most recently two discolored scars on his wrists and one around his neck, the burns Bill gave him as the devil tortured the scientist for information. Some scars he had received well before the Multiverse and some he had received willingly, but this was a conversation Ford was not ready to have with his innocent little girl and he hoped he could somehow avoid it today.

However, Mabel was an insightful, kind young lady, who was bound to notice when something was wrong with a loved one, so she glanced up at Ford and asked, gentle as a kitten, "Grunkle Ford, are you okay?"

Ford looked down at her and gave her a smile she almost bought. "Yes, I'm okay."

"Are you sure? Did you have another nightmare?"

Ford shook his head. "No, I slept soundly, thank you."

Mabel decided that she believed him and then looked down at his arm, about to take his polydactyl hand, but something else caught her attention and it made her smile. "I like your tiger stripes."

Ford raised an eyebrow at her. "Excuse me?"

"Your tiger stripes." Mabel clarified and softly touched some scars on his left arm that were from when a huge monster scratched him. Ford typically didn't like to be touched, but the girl was so gentle and only had the best intentions, so he held back a shiver and let her feel his skin. "They mean you're very brave. They look really cool!" Mabel's curiosity and fascination got the best of her; she moved her little hand up his arm and to his shoulder, where more scars laid. Her eyes sparkled like stars and she just kept on smiling at her uncle's body. "I especially like those big ones on your chest. Wow, you must be really brave!"

Ford bit his lip. He was completely and utterly speechless. Did she fully understand what he had to do to receive these marks, or did she believe they magically came to be when someone was brave? Did she have any idea what he had been through? Or did she really understand what she was saying at all. When Ford looked at her beautiful brown eyes, the brown eyes that matched his own, he knew that she did understand even if not fully. He wasn't sure if he wanted her to understand fully yet, but for now he could enjoy what a blessing his niece was. "Th-Thank you, Mabel. Really, thank you so much."

Mabel smiled with rosy cheek and held his hand. Ford squeezed her hand kindly in return. After a minute, Mabel pulled him to the couch by the hand and sat down, patting the seat next to her. Ford smiled and sat next to her, then allowed her to curl up against his chest and watch the sunrise. He blinked his misty eyes dry and wrapped a strong arm around her, much warmer with her and no shirt than any sweater could ever warm him.

#gravity falls #ford pines #transgender headcanons #siro-cyll #ford and mabel bonding #mabel pines #there's not enough sweater-twins bonding in the world #fanfiction

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iriswc1995 · 3 years

Text

Ash In Ordina

Chapter One: ‘Home’

The screech of the railcar grinding to a halt startled her awake. Ash peered from under her hood, instinctively grabbing the hilt of her sword. The car was empty save for her and a few wandering ghosts. It was difficult to see through the smeared windows. It was utterly dark outside. She sighed, wiping crumbs from her eyes and standing up. After a moment, the doors hissed open, and she stepped through.

The ‘station’ was hardly more than a platform of corrugated metal, dripping with rust, that bridged two sides of the yawning darkness below. Orange lights gleamed like eyes on the distant walls that did little to reveal the vastness of the dozens of floors extending above and below. Ash made her way across, combing fingers through her matted hair. Past the station, a blue light illuminated a lone figure leaning against the wall of the corridor. He had a boyish face, a mess of dreadlocks, and perpetual bags under his eyes. His left arm was a cybernetic prosthesis, which he waved as she approached.

“Heya. Glad you made it.”

Ash nodded and pulled her coat closer around herself. “Lead the way, Cygnus.”

She followed a few paces behind him through a labyrinth of oily hallways, trying to stay alert. There was never much in a given Tower to distinguish one area from another, save the occasional worn sign. What was different was the layout, and the people. Smells of dirt and skin and cooking meat surrounded them as they entered a crowded intersection crammed with dingy shops. This district had working traffic lights to dictate the constant flow of activity, which the pair pushed their way through as hastily as possible. A thin stairway led to an auxiliary floor, where Cygnus cut the chains on a gate that led to maintenance. Ash perked up a bit.

“Home sweet home?”

“Not yet. Watch behind us.”

Complex webs of pipes and wires guided them through the dark, claustrophobic maze. Cygnus didn’t say much except to warn her about a gap in the floor or the sound of footsteps approaching. Ash stayed relaxed. She trusted people who lived behind locked doors or in cramped spaces more than whoever was patrolling outside them. As much as she would trust anyone besides Cygnus, at least.

The arrival of more ghosts, pale and eerily indistinct like clouds of water vapor, signalled their exit from maintenance and back into a populated area. Cygnus slowed his pace as they entered a long living hall, lined with apartment doors and people who were either hunched over or entirely prone along its sides. A nearby sign read ‘District 17, Floor 3.’ Ash squinted.

“I thought you said you’d found somewhere isolated.”

“Again, we aren’t there yet. We’ve still got a bit to go. Are there ghosts around or something?”

“No more than usual. I hope you got some food, by the way.”

“Two large pizzas, right?”

She chuckled. They carefully wove through the carpeted halls of the district. Thousands of people could live in a single Tower, and the corporation heads tended to cram in a lot more than that. Ash wove disdainfully at buzzing flies and ignored the hands reaching out for her as they passed. It’s crazy the kind of thing that the city can make into a routine, she thought bitterly.

Then, her sword vibrated in its sheathe. Ash slowed her pace and looked around, flicking the hilt with her thumb to reveal an inch of the blade. A familiar surge of adrenaline pulsed through her. Her vision reddened, beginning to switch focus, blurring the halls around her but sharpening the humanoid figures, including the wisp-like forms of the ghosts. The sword was a slender katana Ash had held on to for almost ten years, and it was unlike any other piece of equipment she’d found. Glancing to the left, Ash saw a small group of wisps huddling together, but these ones were bright red instead of pale. Though they were partially obscured by a wall, she saw them suddenly begin moving downwards as a single unit, presumably down an elevator shaft.

“Ash? What’s up?”

Cygnus had stopped a little ways down the hall. Ash looked around for another moment before running to catch up.

“Nothing, for now.”

“We can’t stop for every skeleton bird ghost you see flying around.”

“That was one time, dude.”

He smirked and continued walking. The apartments fell away behind them as they climbed another set of stairs. Ten minutes passed before Cygnus stopped in front of a door that was dirty enough to look like it had merged with the floor and ceiling. Wires drooped haphazardly above their heads, some of them still sparking. He typed in a code on the number pad and the door lazily forced itself open. The lights inside flickered on. It was a laboratory, full of old computers lined up on desks. Every surface was coated in dust, and the shelves were lined with boxes that had long ago been combed for anything useful or valuable. What few tools littered the floor were rusted nearly to pieces. In one corner of the room was a set of monitors that looked newly-cleaned, hooked up to several smaller devices that no doubt belonged to Cygnus.

Ash sighed and stretched her arms, immediately settling into one of the darkest corners of the room. A small sleeping bag was already rolled up here; Cygnus knew her well enough to know she wasn’t going to be using any chairs. She started to unroll it as Cygnus sank down at his desk and started typing away.

“Where’s my pizza?” Ash asked.

A moment later, Cygnus tossed over an almond nutrient bar.

“Fuck yes.”

She tore into it without hesitation. It had been a while since it’d felt safe enough to rest. Their last hideout had been compromised so completely that they’d come a long way to find somewhere new, as far as possible from the patrols of Ordainers. An hour passed quietly, save for the tapping of keys and the rhythmic scrape of Ash sharpening her sword. She wasn’t even sure it ever needed it, but it was something to do. Surviving in this city consisted much of filling the silence. Ash stood up and sheathed her sword, leaning it against one shoulder.

“I’m gonna take a look around. I saw something with Red earlier.”

There was the heavy sigh she’d braced herself for. Cygnus stared hard at the empty space beside her. “Ash. We’ve been here all of five minutes and you’re already wanting to find trouble?”

“I’ll be more careful this t-”

“Every time, she says that every time and what do I do? Not much, just get walked all over.”

“You know that’s not what it’s like.” She walked over to Cygnus’ desk and put a hand down on it, waiting for him to look at her fully. He finally did, resting his cheek on his hand.

“It always starts like this. That’s all I’m saying.”

“This is important. I saw red ghosts. Something serious could’ve happened nearby, maybe a Dissonance.”

“Ugh. Fine.” He sat back, firmly rubbing his brow with his non-cybernetic hand. He always did that when he was annoyed. It was charming enough to make Ash smirk a little. Even when he was stressed, Cygnus always thought about things carefully. He took an earpiece from the desk and handed it to her. “Call me when you’re back. If the cops are chasing you again, don’t lead them back here.”

“Mhm, I won’t.”

“I mean it. I’m not getting in another gunfight. Good luck out there, I guess.”

----

Charred metal and snapped wires made her surroundings smell like a welding shop. Sickly white lights illuminated the elevator shaft at the end of hall, right where Ash had seen the red specters. It looked like it had been out of order for a long time, and wherever the car itself was stuck certainly wasn’t on this floor. Ash braced herself; before taking a running leap, wrapping her arms and legs around the steel cords suspended in the shaft. After getting a decent grip, she let go with her hands and allowed herself to slide downwards with the cords braced against her shoes and coat sleeves. Several minutes passed, and when Ash felt her muscles start to ache, she picked another opening in the shaft to leap outside again, now on a much lower floor.

She stared down a hallway that was so ill-maintained it was listing partially to one side. The floor was a mess of rubble and detritus, but the power still worked enough to illuminate the hall with the flashing signs and video advertisements that lined the area. Ash stepped carefully through the neon-painted darkness. It seemed like this had been a major thoroughfare of some kind at one point, but had gradually fallen into disuse as people migrated to higher floors. Sometimes it was almost surprising how decayed certain areas of the city could be. It was less so when Ash remembered that most Towers were so large, a missile could hit one part of it without people who lived on the opposite side noticing.

A red blur suddenly darted through her vision at an intersection up ahead. Another ghost. She walked up to where she had seen it and focused her vision, unsheathing an inch of her blade again. Ash had seen ‘ghosts’, for lack of a proper term, ever since she’d first claimed this sword, which she called ‘Red’ for simplicity’s sake. From the very start, it had been obvious it wasn’t a normal weapon, and it only became more intriguing as she learned its exact properties. In addition to greatly enhancing her strength, it had the ability to sense an afterimage of beings who had died but, as far as Ash could tell, not yet fully passed on to whatever comes next. The red ones in particular were those who had died fairly recently or in an especially brutal manner, still clinging to the memory of blood running through their veins.

However, the sword also left a murky redness in its wake that could be followed by Distortions - or anyone else with a means to track it. The perfect weapon for finding trouble, or for trouble finding you.

Ash made her way down a spiraling concrete staircase while checking the gun at her hip, making sure it was loaded and ready. While bullets were typically ineffective against the Distorted, she always had it ready in case she ran into a less paranormal opponent.

Emerging from the staircase, Ash entered a room so colossal that a layer of cold fog obscured the opposite wall. She blinked a few times, hesitantly stepping inside. It seemed like an old hanger of some kind for transport shuttles or private vehicles. Monolithic pillars supported a dizzyingly high ceiling, through which soft footsteps would echo like rolling thunder. Much of the hangar was flooded, knee-deep, with what Ash hoped was just dirty water as she waded through it, alert for any sign of movement.

She caught some when another ghost darted into a nearby office building, a crimson haze trailing behind it.

Ash followed, running up the stairs to the railway where it had vanished.

A few kicks to the thick iron door broke it open just enough for Ash to cut through the lock with her blade. It had been a while since she’d seen this many red ghosts in such a short time. This had to be a Distortion, a group of Harvesters, or maybe some kind of turf war between rival gangs.

The dark, brutalistic hallway of the office was eerily silent. Ash stepped inside. Her breathing slowed, hand tightening around Red’s hilt. The only sound was the water gently dripping from her cloak. One of the doors on the side of the hall was leaning open. Ash peeked around the corner.

The stench hit her like a solid wall. Rotting flesh. A single light flickered on and off above a sizable office space with desks, computers, cubicles, all in disarray and coated with dust. Stretched between them and along the ceiling were dark, ragged curtains that almost resembled party streamers. Whole cubicles were wrapped in them. Ash covered her nose and stepped inside, looking around. A stench this awful meant the deaths were recent. It smelled like a big pile of corpses - Ash lamented how well she could recognize that. Flies and moths danced beneath the broken light. On the chairs in front of each desk, an old suit and tie was draped, presumably the uniforms of the staff who worked here. All of them were drenched with blood. That accounted for some of the stench, at least. But there were no bodies.

Ash’s eyes flicked back and forth, her hands shaking. One of the curtains stretched across the entrance of a cubicle to her left. She experimentally nudged it with the hilt of her sword.

A sickening squish. A few drops of blood. Ash’s stomach turned, her eyes widening. Then, a voice.

“ᴡᴏʀᴋ ɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛɪɴɢ~ ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ… ʟᴇᴛ’ꜱ ᴀʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ~”

Scratchy and inhumanly shrill, the voice was shockingly close. One of the ceiling panels near the flickering light gently peeled aside, until an impossibly long, sallow-skinned arm slithered from the darkness. The panel thudded to the floor. A horrifying visage, an absurd facsimile of a human face, stretched and twisted, with bulbous eyes and stained teeth, smiled down at Ash.

“ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ ɪꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴅᴀᴀᴀᴀʏʏʏ~”

Ash drew her sword and leapt upwards, cutting at one of its arms, but like a skittering spider it retreated into the darkness. The muffled tapping of fingers filled the room before it slunk to the ground a short distance away, fully emerging this time. Its entire body was similarly twisted and elongated, and other than a vague humanoid shape and a head of patchy black hair, its overly-tight office suit was the only human thing about it, which only served to accentuate its monstrous, distorted nature. Ash gritted her teeth, pointing her blade towards it with both hands clasped around the hilt. This thing was disgusting, but it didn’t seem to have an overly adverse effect on her sanity. Hopefully that meant no mental hazards to watch out for. Its stance was spindly, off-balance. Mindless. She could win if she could corner it. She slowly circled her prey, simply ripping through the curtains of flesh with her body mass. The creature jittered and spasmed, lunging towards her with a clawed hand. She ducked, and slashed upwards, but it was too fast again, skittering across the rims of the cubicles.

“ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴏʜ ᴅᴇᴀʀ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴄᴏʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ! ᴡᴇ ꜱɪᴍᴘʟʏ ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴅᴇᴄᴏʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ! ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴅᴀʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴘᴇʀ ꜰɪꜱᴄᴀʟ ʏᴇᴀʀ!”

Ash took out her gun and aimed towards the creature. It continued moving in its frenzied pattern, and she aimed for a moment before firing three times. Two of the bullets connected, blood coating the wall behind it. As expected, it only flinched slightly, and began scuttling towards her again. Her eyes gleamed in the dark as she grabbed a nearby chair and twirled her body, throwing it as hard as she could. It thudded against the creature’s torso, and at the same moment Ash charged forward, cutting a red line across its waist. It let out an ear-piercing squeal, and a flailing arm caught Ash’s head, sending her sprawling.

It jittered in place for a few moments, a cacophony of screams and squeals, before suddenly charging directly for her. Ash tried to get to her feet, but its hand locked around her throat and carried her forward with its weight. Her spine thudded against the door she’d come through and they came fully through the wall. They careened over the railing, spiraling two dozen feet down to the hangar floor and splashing into the murky water. Ash’s head swam with color. She coughed, gagged, tried to reach for Red... its gnarled fingers were still locked around her throat. It picked her up out of the water, reaching high above its head. Its face wore a warped smile.

“ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴅᴀʏ~ ʙʀɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏɴꜱ, ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ~ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴀʟʟ, ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴀ ʜᴏʟɪᴅᴀʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋᴅᴀʏ! ꜱᴛʀᴇᴛᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʀᴍꜱ ᴡɪᴅᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴀʏ ʜᴏᴏʀᴀʏ~ ᴡɪᴅᴇ, ᴡɪᴅᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇʏ’ʟʟ ɢᴏ~”

Fingernails dug into the back of her neck and tore outwards, beginning to peel the skin from her spine. In doing so, its grip loosened slightly, and she swung back and forth to gather momentum before kicking it in the face. One of its eyes popped, oozing dark pus, but it didn’t blink or flinch. Ash’s lungs screamed for air. This was bad. She was too weak. Her gun wouldn’t work. Red was down in the water somewhere. Out of reach. Could she try to draw strength from it, even while she wasn’t holding it? She had never tried before. Seemed like now or never.

She closed her eyes and focused. Focused on the red haze. The smell of rust. Sharpening instincts. New sights and scents. The world condensing to the head of a pin. The tip of her blade. Blood. Thirst. Strength. Survival.

Crimson haze ebbed from Ash’s form. A guttural growl emerged from inside her, the raw sound of a desperate animal. The creature continued laughing, and began slamming her against the ground, again and again. Pain stabbed through her head, through her back. But if pain was wood, she was a fast-catching fire. She couldn’t muster as much strength as usual, but this had to be enough. Her throat screamed for relief, but she forced her hands away from the creature’s fingers and grabbed its forearms instead. She started to pull down, blood trailing from beneath her squeezed eyelids. She felt the creature’s misshapen bones start to bend. It squealed, shaking her back and forth, but she didn’t let go. She pulled harder. Harder.

SNAP.

Its arms broke at the wrists; its hands going limp around her throat. She fell to the floor, sucked in a breath, and quickly dived, swimming between its legs as it screamed. Her hand trailed along the concrete, searching.

“ᴅ-ᴅ-ᴅᴇᴄᴏʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ! ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʙᴇ ʟᴀᴛᴇ ɴᴏᴡ! ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴀʟᴍᴏꜱᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ!”

She felt it, and picked it up. Holding her blade aloft, she swept it into its sheathe and sprinted at the creature. Staggering, arms hanging limp, it turned to stare at her.

“ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴅ-”

“Shut up.”

Warped guts exploded from the cloven rift in the creature’s midsection, the inertia of the blow forcing it backwards. Ash twirled her blade, kneeled, and stabbed behind her, piercing what was left of its torso up to the hilt. Blood rained down on her. A few deep breaths later, she felt the creature’s weight begin to lessen. She stood up fully as it dissolved into blood and flecks of pale ash that began to disintegrate in the dark water.

Ash slashed the blade through the water to clean it before resheathing it, sighing and rubbing the back of her head. She watched the pool of viscous remains spread further throughout the hangar.

“If someone else were here, I’d say something badass, like ‘party’s over’ or something. But there isn’t anyone else here, so.”

She heaved another sigh and rolled her shoulders, starting to sluggishly wade towards the exit. Hoping Cygnus would be able to stitch up her neck so she wouldn’t need to find a surgeon again, she began the long climb back to her new home higher in the Tower.

#writersontumblr writing horror cyberpunk

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hypnoshatesme · 4 years

Text

Reminders

[[This is a...continuation, kind of, of You’re Home, for the anon who asked for more ace Michael :)]]

For the sixth time, Michael was checking the fridge. “Are you sure you’re going to be fine Gerry? If you need anything-”

Gerry had been watching him all day, as he fretted and hurried back and forth between his room and every other room, packing. Or doing anything but. Gerry was fairly sure that he had learned every corner of the apartment that might make any problems twice by now. He didn’t mind, though, because Michael had been gradually getting more and more stressed out as the day approached. Gerry had expected this.

He still couldn’t quite keep himself from chuckling as he answered, “Michael, I’ve been living on my own for quite a bit of my life. I’m fine, don’t worry.”

Michael sighed, closing the fridge - it was full, had been the last times he checked - and turned towards Gerry, who was leaning against the counter. He hadn’t bothered to get dressed today and was still wearing Michael’s pyjamas, which were basically his by now anyways.

The fact that Gerry’s clothes were literally in the next bedroom didn’t change the fact that he felt very cosy sleeping in Michael’s clothes. He also quite enjoyed Michael’s utterly smitten face whenever he saw Gerry like that in the morning. Even now his lips pulled into a small, fond smile as he took Gerry in, before he was back to stressing out.

“I know it’s just...this was timed badly.” Michael ran a hand through his hair, further messing up the braid he had to redo twice already. “I didn’t want to leave you alone as soon as you moved in.”

Gerry cocked an eyebrow, “Michael, I’ve been living here for nearly two weeks.”

“Well, but I haven’t been in my right mind for most of that time!”

That was one way to put it. Michael had always been the anxious type, but in the weeks that followed his last exam he was tight-stringed the whole time. The day right after they had celebrated the stress being over, but it really only got replaced by a new kind. Michael had barely slept. When the grades were finally out, he has released a breath so deep Gerry was wondering if he had somehow been holding that for two weeks.

Gerry laughed, “I wonder at your self-awareness. It’s fine, Michael. We’ll have plenty of time when you’re back, it’s only a weekend.”

He sighed, “I already miss you.”

“You’re being so dramatic. Come here.” He pulled Michael into his arms and squeezed him lightly. “It’s going to be okay.”

Michael sighed, “I...I don’t know. I haven’t been...there for so long. I’m just...I don’t know how it might go.”

Gerry had wondered about that. Michael didn’t talk much about his family, to the point where Gerry was surprised he even called them to share the news about finishing his studies. And then agreed to come home to celebrate. Michael didn’t seem entirely opposed to the idea, but still very anxious. Gerry didn’t ask. Michael looked nervous enough, and for all Gerry knew this might just be the normal thing to do.

“You’ll have me to text and call if you need, okay?” He rubbed Michael’s back gently.

“Yes, I know.” Michael pressed a kiss to his hair before returning the hug, "Thank you."

They stayed like that for a moment but Gerry knew Michael would want to leave soon, even if it was still too early to be worried about missing his train.

“Okay, I should get going, I guess.” Michael pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll text you when I’m there. Take care and...tell me if you need anything, okay?”

Gerry nodded, “Will do.” He squeezed Michael’s hand one last time, and Michael smiled before leaving the kitchen and getting his things.

Gerry brought him to the door and they shared a short kiss before Michael opened it.

“Take care yourself,” Gerry mumbled.

Michael smiled, “Will do. Until Monday.”

Gerry nodded and waved his hand as the door closed behind Michael.

Gerry had a Leitner to hunt for over the weekend, so he kept himself busy. It was still a little strange to return home to an empty apartment. He hadn’t spent too much time in it on his own before, and it suddenly felt foreign. It never had before. He had spent plenty of time in it even before moving in.

Even though he spent plenty of nights alone in his bed, it just felt strange knowing that Michael wasn’t on the other side of the wall.

It was late, but when Gerry checked his phone to work through the messages he knew Michael had sent while he had been looking into the book. He saw that Michael was still, in fact, online, which was impressive considering he had barely slept the night before. Gerry pointed that out to him, but couldn’t deny he was glad to see the typing symbol from Michael as soon as he sent the message.

Things apparently seemed to be going fine, which was good to hear. Michael had found a couple of things in his old room he wanted to bring back and apparently met some of his old friends. When Gerry inquired about why he was still awake, he explained that his old room felt weirdly familiar and foreign at the same time. While he apparently had calmed down a little when he arrived, he was feeling anxious again.

Gerry suggested calling, but Michael was afraid to wake anyone, so he tried to help via messages. It was way past 3am when Michael stopped responding and Gerry knew he'd regret staying up so late in the morning himself. Though at least he was exhausted enough to fall asleep without much fuss.

Sunday flew by and when Gerry checked his phone at night there were only a couple messages throughout the day. He guessed it made sense. It had been the day of the actual celebration, and considering how drained Michael usually got from such gatherings he probably had had little trouble falling asleep.

There was still something soothing to answering the messages he did have. It reminded him a bit of the beginning, when they had spent many a night texting instead of sleeping, neither wanting the conversation to stop despite being tired. He smiled a little as he sent a - rather rather belated - ‘sweet dreams’ before turning the screen off and trying to find a comfortable sleeping position.

Monday came and with it the anticipation of having Michael back. It really shouldn't have been this dramatic but Gerry did miss him. He decided to channel his own nervous energy into baking some muffins. It wasn’t something he’d done before - at least not on his own - but he had helped enough times to be confident he could make something without setting the kitchen on fire or something.

Gerry was just closing the oven when he heard the door being opened. He smiled, washing his hands before going to meet Michael at the door. Michael was stepping out of his shoes when he arrived, but Gerry didn’t get to say anything before Michael threw his arms around Gerry’s neck and pulled him into a tight hug.

For a second, Gerry was too surprised to even react. He felt Michael bury his face in his hair, letting out a relieved sigh. Gerry returned the hug, then, and Michael melted into it a little.

“Everything alright?,” Gerry mumbled, a little bit worried.

"Yes,” Michael sighed. “I...I'm just glad I'm home again." Gerry heard the smile in his voice and relaxed.

"I missed you, too," he chuckled, squeezing Michael a little.

Michael straightened up, sniffing the air, "Did you bake something?"

Gerry grinned up at him. "Muffins in the oven. Just put them in."

Michael returned his grin with a wide smile, "Okay. I’ll just take a quick shower while they’re baking, then.” He stepped away from the hug, picked up his bags and started walking to his room.

Gerry nodded, "Do that, love. What do you want to drink?"

"I think I could do with tea," he called back before disappearing into his room.

Michael felt much better after his shower, as usual. He changed into something comfortable before walking into the kitchen, following the sweet smell. Gerry was cleaning the counter when he entered, back to the door, and Michael halted.

He hadn’t noticed before but Gerry was wearing a dress he had never seen before. It left his back fully exposed - how had Michael missed that? - revealing the row of tiny eyes along his spine.

Michael felt oddly watched as he dragged his eyes over them, despite being rather used to the sight on the mornings Gerry spent in his bed. He finally tore himself away from the door and stepped up to Gerry, running a finger over the eyes. Gerry shivered, looking up at him.

"Perfect timing. I just got the muffins out." He smiled as Michael bent down to press a lingering kiss to his lips.

"New dress?" His finger wandered back up to Gerry’s neck.

"No, I found it again recently." He grinned up at him "Felt like wearing it."

"I love it." He pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade. "You have such a pretty back."

Gerry chuckled, "Thank you. Let's eat on the couch." He said nodding towards the plate he had been putting the chocolate muffins on. "Can you grab the tea?"

Michael nodded and did as told before following Gerry to the couch. Michael let out a content sigh when he sat down, closing his eyes for a moment. He had missed the comfort of their couch.

"Guess I wasn't the only one you missed?" Gerry teased.

Michael opened his eyes again and grinned at him. "Jealous?"

"Incredibly." Gerry grinned resting his head against his chest. "So, how was it?"

Michael sighed, "Odd? It...it wasn't too bad. But it's weird...I haven't been there in so long? And they...well, I'm no longer the same person I was when i left? But they expect me to be so I try but...it's exhausting, honestly. After taking so long to get more comfortable with...myself."

"Sounds like it.” He took Michael’s hand into his and squeezed it, “Why don’t you update their perception?”

Michael bit his lip. "Not comfortable with that. We don’t- never really...talked? That much."

Gerry could understand that. Communication wasn't really a thing with Mary, either. He could feel that there was more to this but Michael didn't want to talk about it. Hel sometimes took a while to organise his thoughts before he dared to speak them. Gerry was fine with that. He bent forward to get a muffin of the plate and gave it to Michael, who accepted it gratefully.

Before biting into it he looked at Gerry. "What about your weekend? Busy?"

Gerry shrugged, sipping his tea, "A bit. Followed a false lead at first which was annoying...but in the end the book was easy to snatch."

Michael watched his face and ran his finger over a small scratch on Gerry’s jaw, "New acquisition?"

Gerry sighed, "Yeah well...it was easy but it could have gone smoother."

Michael chuckled, wrapping one arm around him to pull him closer. Gerry sighed, melting against him. Michael bit into the warm muffin.

Gerry looked up at him. “Are the muffins any good?”

Michael nodded, “A bit dry.”

Gerry shrugged, taking one for himself. “Guess you’ll have to help me again next time.”

Michael chuckled and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Gladly.”

They spent the rest of the day on the couch, neither wanting to leave the other’s presence for too long. It wasn't like they had any other plans in the first place, so they simply decided not to move from it. Michael's hand eventually found his way back to Gerry's back, drawing patterns, following the eyes with his fingertips, and Gerry melted further into the touch.

“Can I kiss them?”

Gerry’s eyes fluttered open again, "Huh?”

Michael smiled at the sleepy expression, pressing a quick kiss to his eyebrow. “The back tattoos. Can I kiss them?”

Gerry nodded slowly, sitting up and turning his back to Michael, “Sure. It’s been a while, I guess.”

Michael hummed in agreement, running his fingers through Gerry’s hair and pulling the hairtie out that hadn’t been doing much in keeping his hair in place for a while now. He brushed through the slightly mussed hair with his fingers, smiling when Gerry leaned into the touch. Michael considered for a moment, before deciding to put the hair into a bun.

The dress covered up the eye right at the base of Gerry’s neck, but not the thin scar disappearing into his hair, so Michael pressed his lips to it, fingers dancing over Gerry’s back. Gerry sighed contently as Michael moved to kiss his way down his spine, one eye after the other. He hugged his knees, resting his face on them as he enjoyed the feeling of Michael’s lips down his back, eyes fluttering close.

Gerry was faintly aware of Michael probably putting himself in some ridiculous position to reach the lower back. There had been a lot of shifting and readjusting if all the rustling Gerry had heard was anything to go by, but Gerry was too cosy to bother looking. He didn't want to interrupt the kisses, either.

"That can't be a very comfortable angle," he ended up mumbling anyways, partly to keep himself from falling asleep.

Michael chuckled against his back, "I don't know what you're talking about, this is the most comfortable I've ever been."

His tone was teasing, clearly a reaction to Gerry’s own blissful one, and he wrapped long arms around Gerry’s middle, pressing his face into his back with a sigh. He couldn't really complain about discomfort - even if he was half-hanging off the couch by now - with Gerry’s warm body right there. He had missed the warmth, the scent. Michael definitely had missed home, even if it had only be a weekend, even if Gerry was surely going to be gone for longer one day for one of his hunts. He’d deal with that then. Right now he only wanted to enjoy being back.

"D'you want dinner?" Gerry yawned when it was getting dark outside the window.

Michael eventually had had to admit he was getting rather uncomfortable, so they had readjusted their positions, Michael now comfortably lying on the couch, head in Gerry’s lap. He looked like he was close to nodding off as Gerry twisted one of his curls around his finger, feeling rather tired himself.

Michael blinked up at him and yawned, too, before sitting up. "Uh...no. I think I'm fine."

"You think too much," Gerry teased, pressing his lips to Michael's jaw. "Bed?"

"You sleep in mine tonight," Michael mumbled, wrapping his arms around Gerry and pulling him close.

"That an order?" Gerry grinned, pressing his face into Michael's neck.

"Yes." Michael kissed his hair before slowly getting up and pulling Gerry along to the bedroom.

Michael was clearly still mulling over whatever was bothering him the next day. He had woken up early and left the bed pretty much right away, which was unlike him. Gerry could just feel that something was bothering him. He was antsy, worrying his lip while still looking at the empty plate in front of him where his breakfast had been.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Gerry tried.

He shook his head, "I...no. its nothing really…"

Gerry caught his eyes, "Well, I'd listen to nothing, too, you know."

Michael gave him a small smile, "I do. And thank you, but..." He sighed.

Gerry shook his head, “Okay.”

There was no point in forcing him to speak, even if something was clearly bothering him. But he still disliked seeing Michael upset. Maybe a little distraction would help.

"How about something to get your mind off it, then? There's a exhibition I wanted to check out this week."

His smile went a little wider. "I'd love to."

It was a cloudy day as they made their way to the tube. People were staring at them, some not even trying to be inconspicuous. Michael was used to it by now. It had been a little uncomfortable in the beginning but he had managed to calm down when he realised the eyes were mostly on Gerry. Which he understood.

Besides the obviously eye catching aesthetic, Gerry was a rather intense presence. His neutral expression looked about as neutral as his usual getup. He looked like he was ready to start a fight any moment, eyes somehow becoming more intense when he spaced out rather than going out of focus, mouth in what looked like a tight, pissed off frown.

Michael still remembered the first time he had caught that expression in the low light of the bar. He had been equally scared and drawn to it. It had been the most beautiful thing he'd seen that night and he had spent a fair amount of time staring himself. That's why they were here after all.

He brushed a little at the memory watching Gerry’s face from the corner of his eyes. He didn't even seem to notice the eyes on him. Or he didn't mind. Michael wished he could be like that. Oh, now Michael was staring, too. Gerry’s face hadn’t become any less beautiful since he had started seeing it on a more regular basis. As usual, Gerry noticed him staring, meeting Michael’s eyes with a knowing grin. He squeezed his hand.

“You’re going to walk into something.”

Michael’s cheeks flushed red as he quickly looked ahead again and mumbled, “Ah, I’m sorry. I...got distracted.”

Gerry’s grin only widened. “I can see that.”

He still wondered if Michael would ever stop getting lost looking at him. It was still somewhat odd, but Gerry couldn’t deny he quite enjoyed the attention. And the expression hadn’t even changed after he told him about the books and fears and all. Part of Gerry had expected Michael’s eyes to meet him with fear or concern, or maybe even to look at him like his mother, without seeing him. It had been an irrational thought, but Gerry was still filled with relief when the very next morning Michael let his tea get cold because he got too distracted watching Gerry’s face with the usual dreamy expression. It was nice to be looked at like that.

Still, Gerry would rather he watched where he was going while walking. The grin didn’t fade from Gerry’s lips as they walked on.

Michael let Gerry lead the way when they arrived at the gallery. They had been to one before a while ago and Michael had realised, then, that Gerry loved them. It wasn't much of a surprise. Michael had noticed all the art-centred books in Gerry’s apartment. He still hadn’t realised how passionate Gerry could be about it.

It had been quite the experience to see Gerry talk so much in such an animated manner, eyes bright as he found something particularly interesting in whatever piece they were looking at. Gerry wasn’t quiet, necessarily, but he rarely talked about something for that long. The only time Michael could remember that happening was when he told Michael about the fears and all. And he hadn’t been happy while doing so.

Had Michael not been utterly smitten with Gerry before, watching and listening to him talking this excitedly about anything would have probably made him fall in love with him. It was the most wonderful thing Michael ever experienced and he had came back from that date with the urge to read some of the books Gerry had mentioned, learn about the things he had talked about so the next time - if there would be a next time - he could understand him better, and maybe contribute to the conversation instead of just watching and nodding and hoping the date just never ended.

Michael hadn’t gotten to do too much of the reading with university keeping him occupied, but he did feel a little more prepared this time as Gerry started talking. It was great, because now he occasionally knew exactly what to say to make Gerry continue, and Gerry’s eyes would light up at some of the questions, clearly more than happy about Michael showing interest in what he was saying. It was the most lovely expression on a face Michael could never get enough of in the first place.

It was raining when they made their way back outside after having walked around for hours. Neither had looked at the time and the light from outside had been the same overcast grey since morning, so they got a little lost. They didn’t complain about it. If it hadn’t been for starting to get hungry, they might have stayed even longer.

Gerry was about to walk out into the rain, but Michael caught his sleeve and pulled him back. Gerry gave him a confused look and Michael got out the umbrella he always carried, earning an eyeroll from Gerry.

"It's barely raining, Michael."

Michael raised an eyebrow and looked out at what wasn’t quite a downpour, but certainly was beyond a drizzle. "I disagree,” Michael said, opening the umbrella, “And even if it were, a little rain can get you just as wet and cold." He pulled Gerry close so it would cover him too. "And I don't want you to catch a cold or something."

Gerry wrapped his arm around Michael’s, chuckling, "I can't even remember the last time that happened."

Michael returned his grin. "And if you let me it’ll stay that way."

Gerry shook his head, still grinning, before walking into the rain with Michael. Gerry didn’t know if he would ever get used to the feeling of being doted on, cared about like this. It certainly still felt weird, but Gerry embraced the warmth it always made him feel. He leaned his head against Michael’s arm, a soft smile on his lips as they made their way home.

Michael was having trouble falling asleep. The rest of the day had been rather uneventful and he had hoped the distraction would have been enough to let him sleep, but he had no such luck. Doubts were always most difficult to keep out at night, for some reason. He lay forcefully still, trying to breathe as softly as he could, trying not to wake Gerry.

When he felt Gerry shift next to him, not in the way he sometimes did in sleep, but in a rather deliberate manner, he knew he hadn’t succeeded. Gerry was looking at him, eyes a little bleary. He had managed to fall asleep, somewhat. But not enough to not notice that Michael was struggling doing the same.

“Michael?” Gerry’s voice was still thick with sleep, “Can’t sleep?”

Michael sighed, sitting up. “No.”

He bit his lip, trying to determine whether he should just finally talk or let Gerry sleep. He could just take Gerry’s bed. He knew Gerry wouldn’t push if he just said he didn’t want to talk and left. But Michael was getting frustrated. No matter how much he tried not to think about it, his brain didn’t stop.

Gerry was sitting up next to him, turning to face him. “What’s keeping you from sleep? You were quite tired.” He stifled a yawn, blinking a couple times to try to wake up.

Michael felt a pang of guilt watching him. As cute as he looked like this, Michael shouldn’t have disturbed Gerry’s sleep. He might at least try to not make it pointless that he had.

“Are you still...okay, with this? With...me?”

Gerry took a moment to catch on. It had been a while since Michael had asked him. He seemed to have gotten a lot better with not constantly being worried about Gerry having a problem with his asexuality. Gerry furrowed his brows.

“What makes you think I might have changed my mind? Did I do or say something?” Gerry at least couldn’t remember anything, but then again, sometimes he didn’t quite know what might make Michael spiral into anxiety.

“No! No, it was...you know how it is-” Michael stopped himself, shaking his head, “No, actually, you probably don’t, sorry. But there’s always a lot of...personal questions when family gets back together...or friends. It just...it made me think?”

Gerry’s eyes narrowed. “Why? What did they say?”

“Just...the usual?” He sighed, playing with one of his curls, “About the right one surely changing my mind, considering whether you are said right one if you didn’t…” He bit his lips. “I shouldn’t let it get to me but...I did. I mean, what if they are right? Maybe they know better, I don’t know, I-”

“I don’t think they can know better about how you feel than you do yourself.”

“I don’t know how I feel sometimes, Gerry,” Michael mumbled.

Gerry sighed. “You know how you feel about this. Or it wouldn’t be bothering you.”

“I mean...yes.” Michael hesitated, “But they sound very convinced about me being wrong.”

Gerry raised an eyebrow. “People sound very convinced about the shit I run into on jobs not existing, but I assure you it does.” He took Michael’s hand, “You know it does.”

He sighed, "it's not really the same is it? If they'd be attacked by a monster they would change their mind. But there is no...proof. For me."

Michael was clearly underestimating human denial, but that didn't seem relevant right now. Gerry simply put a pin in that and decided to tell him about that later.

"You don’t owe anyone any proof, Michael.” He squeezed his hand, looking at Michael’s face. “Are you comfortable? Happy? With how you - we - are right now?”

Michael returned his gaze, “I am, but what about you Gerry? I want you to be those, too."

Gerry took his other hand, shuffling closer. "I am. Believe me. I'd tell you it that'd change, but I just...don’t see that happening just because of your sexuality, Michael.”

Michael looked at him, uncertain. “Are you sure?”

“I am.” He leaned against Michael’s arm and sighed, “I think you're perfect the way you are."

Michael rolled his eyes, “Oh yes, I imagine you must love being woken up in the middle of the night to help me out of the anxious rabbit hole i’ve fallen into.”

Gerry grinned, "I do. Would never say no to spending some time talking with you."

Michael blinked, a little confused, and blushed, mumbling, "That's a bit much, don't you think?"

"You can't expect eloquence from me before sunrise,” Gerry yawned.

Michael squeezed his hand. "I meant more that it sounds a bit cheesy"

Gerry considered for a moment, before shrugging and looking up at Michael’s face through sleepy eyes. "What? You dislike my cheese?" He somehow still managed to sound teasing while also sounding tired. Mostly, he was just managing to look really cute.

Michael carefully brushed a strand of hair out of his face, smiling. "No, I do. It’s my favourite.”

Gerry pinched his eyebrows together sceptically, "Considering you don't seem to like any cheese, that doesn't sound like much of a compliment."

Michael huffed out a laugh, slapping Gerry’s knee gently. "Oh, shut up.”

"Might need help with that," Gerry mumbled with a wide grin, batting his lashes.

Michael rolled his eyes, grinning himself as he let go of Gerry’s hands to bring his own to Gerry’s face instead. Gerry looked at him expectantly, making Michael chuckle a little.

"Let me assist you," he mumbled, before pressing his lips to Gerry’s.

Gerry returned the kiss for a moment, slow and sweet, before pulling away and running a hand through Michael's hair.

"Do you feel better now? Do you believe me?"

Michael nodded, "Yes...thank you. I do. I know I shouldn't let comments like this get to me but...well."

He sighed, defeated, following the line of Gerry's cheekbones with his thumbs. Michael did believe him, he did. That wasn't the source of the problem. Michael just couldn't quite believe he got so lucky.

"It's fine." Gerry smiled. "Guess we can all do with a reminder about things once in a while."

"Oh?" Michael raised an eyebrow, "What do you need a reminder for?"

His smile turned into more of a grin, but it looked a little tight. "Maybe the fact that this is okay despite me clearly bringing you in danger? The apartment has protections but I’m still sure it'll only be a question of time-"

Michael shook his head, determined, curls bouncing as he did. "Not a detail I consider reason to give you up."

Gerry rolled his eyes. "Same with your asexuality for me, okay? And I might add that one of the two is probably not going to get either of us killed."

"Okay." Michael's smile was apologetic. "I'm sorry I kept you from sleep to have the same conversation all over." He pressed his lips to Gerry's forehead.

Gerry hummed, "'Tis fine. Do you think you can sleep now?"

Michael nodded and let go of Gerry's face to lay down again. He was tired - had been before - but the tight knot in his stomach that was keeping him awake was loose now. He wrapped his arms around Gerry when he laid down again, too, and it didn't take too long after mumbled 'goodnight's for sleep to settle over them.

#gerrymichael #mostly fluff some anxiety #asexual Michael

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fyrapartnersearch · 4 years

Text

|| 𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖞𝖊𝖗𝖘 ||

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𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝑒 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎…

𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝒶 𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝑒𝓃𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉…

 haha ^^

 To all the curious ladies and gents out here, you may call me Imp.

Short, sweet and straight to the point. ;)   I am a lady in her twenties, with a strong penchant for roleplaying, writing, and drawing. The Holy Trinity if you will. I am a huge nerd and aesthetic lover boy - plain and simple. One of my main passions being video-games, illustrations, comics, live-action films, series and anime/cartoon shows, elements that shaped me during my years of growing up.

  It’s been a while since I’ve posted my first ever ad on any website, and I was very much positively surprised by the amazing people that have reached out to me.

And since I am a greedy little mf, I wanted to fish for more partners. I’ve been roleplaying for a few years now and gradually gathered a good amount of experience throughout the years, but it’s always fun to meet and learn something new.

   Name: Imp  

Age: 27 years

  Experience: 11 years  

Preferences: 1:1 Roleplaying

  Partner: Should be at least [18+], but I rather much prefer my counterpart to be 21 years or older   

EMAIL: [email protected]

I am a very creative sort of individual with hundreds of ideas constantly occupying my little impish head. And I am very spontaneous too, so I can always adjust to a new setting, depending on how good and compelling the concept is.  Inspirations come from various sources and origins, be it a fandom (an already existing universe) or an original storyline. Please read through these paragraphs carefully before you decide to contact me! It’s important to avoid any misunderstanding later! And I would less likely respond to a message with the title ‘Hey, wanna rp?’, since I hadn’t had any good experiences with these said messages. Thank you.    °°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.· ☥ ·._.·°¯°·.·° .·°°° °°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.· ☥ ·._.·°¯°·.·° .·°°°

   Communication: It’s certainly chill. You can talk to me about whatever occupies your mind since I am very open and always happy to listen to others. I also tend to be chatty, sharing a meme or a joke every now and to loosen up the mood. If you consider choosing me as your roleplaying partner, be sure to maintain a certain consistency. I have nothing against going on a longer break or even a hiatus, but the whole `ghosting stick´ is something I have no patience for. So if you’re unsure of upholding a stable, long term partnership, feel free to skim past this ad.    Plotting: Also very important to note! I am fairly quick when it comes to building new characters, concepts, premises, storylines, backstories, etc… This means there is certain flexibility available which allows me to adjust. Even though it is a hobby, I am still extremely passionate about good storytelling and interesting character arcs. I hope to meet someone who is just as enthusiastic and willing to put in the same amount of effort as I am. If it’s only me who’s pulling all the weight, I will lose interest fast, just to get it out there. Aside from that, I love going a little crazy with the possibilities and push things to their absolute limits. Of course within the boundaries of the given setting.   Pairing & Romance: Okay, right off the bat, I am a hopeless romantic through and through. I enjoy good and strong chemistry between characters just as much as the next, and this will be no exception. I prefer the good ol’ MxF pairing because I have more experience with this. But I also like playing a FxF dynamic or MxM. Everyone is welcome! When it comes to pairing itself, I want to make sure our creations are compatible, for I hate forcing characters into a romantic relationship for the sake of progression. A natural flow is what I am aiming for. ;)   Mature? Yes, very much so: Adult and taboo topics are absolute. There’s no way around it because, in my stories, it is a running theme. The adult world is not easy to handle, but it’s definitely interesting to explore. That includes violence, cursing, shocking content, and all that dark stuff. My limits are few, safe for a couple of minor pet peeves that I have, I am pretty much open to some experimentation. When it comes to action-heavy scenes (be it an intimate situation between two characters or something on a cataclysmic scale), I won’t fade to black since I am not a huge fan of censoring. However, I will not force or push my partner into something they are not comfortable with. If you want to know the extent to how far I am willing to go, what sort of content or how detailed my writing will be, you can ask me directly. As for smut or lemons, whatever you call it, it will never be the focus of any of my roleplays, but I enjoy a good erotic scene with a lot of tension (if they are good).    Boundaries: Not a big fan of things like pedophilia, necrophilia, scat, bestiality, or those dreaded ‘futas’.  Inspirations and interests: There’s a pretty broad spectrum of what I deem interesting and inspirational. From fallen angels and demon/monster hunters, mages, criminal masterminds, cybernetically enhanced characters to futuristic dystopian settings, ancient kingdoms who have fallen against the test of time. All of it causes my heart to skip a beat. For original content, I’ll just give a brief list of bullet points of the general themes that fall in line with my current interests.   Writing: My texts are lengthy, detailed, and elaborate. Third-person is usually my preferred way of playing my character unless there’s a special case where an exception can be made. Word count usually fluctuates, though I have a standard form of 400-500+ words per response. It also highly depends on the given situation. I don’t want to set anything in stone… just to give you a basic idea of what you’re in for. I also expect my partner to have an at least adequate, if not decent grasp on basic grammar and punctuation.    Doubling: Yes, absolutely! If you are prone to doubling, chances are I might accept you as my partner straight away! Although I have nothing against the simple form of roleplaying, doubling is something I’ve done since my first time joining.    Characters: Very character-driven with the main focus being on interaction. I take my time writing characters and love nothing more than well-structured sheets that illustrate the vision of their creator. (But!) There’s no need to write 10-20 pages worth of character information, but I wouldn’t want to limit you either. As for the depiction of the given character, I won’t be as presumptuous as to tell you what sort of medium you can and cannot use. Face claims such as photos of real models, illustrations, 3D models, drawings or descriptions are all okay. As long as it gets its point across, I am happy.   Aversions: A few minor things that irritate me, or let’s say, aren’t really my style are one-liners, low effort responses and out of character behaviors in canon characters. We all have different takes on characters, which is totally fine by me since I basically do the same. Though if the character acts and behaves unlike their personality dictates, it will break the immersion. I hope to stay true to my own words when saying this. If it happens on my side, just let me know! Another pet peeve of mine is that one plot that has been done time and time again…. and I’ve grown quite jaded towards it, which is ‘supernaturals trying to fit into human society’ thing… I mean, I’m not opposed to borrowing from this idea, but for me, it grew old pretty fast. Speaking from experience.   Passione: My wish is to find a partner whom I can have a good time with and develop some chemistry. After all it is a fun hobby. We both should have fun with what we’re writing. Brainstorming among other things is one of my favorite things to do. To see how things unfold and how the characters react to the given situation is the highlight of any story.

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FANDOM:

  I love roleplaying fandoms just as much as I have a blast with building something original universes. Worldbuilding is my preferred cup of tea… but if we opt for something more fandom inspired, I highly welcome in on expanding on the given universe and add some original lore too!

Hellsing: Haven’t done that one before and I am curious as to how things play out, especially in such a dark and mystifying universe like Hellsing. There’s a lot of subject matter that we can delve into, plus I am a big fan of powerful vampire characters!

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure: I would love you for this. No, seriously, I would. This fandom has sucked me into a downward spiral and there’s no possible chance of escaping this inescapable void. The absolute insanity of this franchise had me hooked from the second I laid eyes on it and I would be forever ecstatic if you’d message me on behalf of roleplaying Jojo. I have plenty of ideas for this one, just you wait.

Full Metal Alchemist: One of my favorite mangas and animes ever made. Recently I’ve begun rewatching FMA Brotherhood and felt a small hint of nostalgia swelling inside my blackened heart. I’d be open to play it, though it is not one of my top cravings at the moment.

Justice League / Young Justice / Justice League Dark: Huge DC fan, though I much prefer the animations and comics over the live-action cinematic. Let’s just say, I like the expansive and dynamic set of possibilities and deep, well-written cast. For instance Hellblazer Constantine or Raven.

Bayonetta: Need I say more? Let’s dance boys!

APH Hetalia: That includes the 2P version ;)

The Boys: Well.. the 2nd season came out. And I am simply stoked.

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ORIGINAL:   

Supernatural: From angels to demons, from gods to monsters, I’ve seen it all and I absolutely love it. There can be any sort of creature or being involved, ranging from vampires to sirens to elves, you have it. However, I’ve never done something quite relating to angelic beings and their offspring before. I’ve read up on Nephilim and angels and found it rather fascinating, and it’s a different approach from the usual vampire vs werewolf cliche.  

Crime and intrigue: I never stray too far from the supernatural path, but hell, there’s nothing better than some good old gritty mafia inspired stories with a complex cast of characters and a solid storyline.

Sci-fi and urban fantasy: So this could be basically anything from genetically engineered superhuman (superheroes / - villains) with a dark take on the human psyche, dismantling the idea of heroism and villainy. Or a world where mankind began their interstellar journey to colonize neighboring planets, galaxies before transcending their own humanity by merging themselves with deadly technology. I have a few plans for this…

Historical and mysterious setting: So one of my favorite eras is the Victorian time period, 30s - 40s - 80s, Renaissance or Ancient times during the rise of the Egyptian / Roman / Sumerian Empire. During these times, a dark discovery was made by man, learning that they were not alone in this world. In fact, they weren’t even the supreme race that destined themselves to dominate the world, for another race of humanoids have lied dormant deep beneath the earth, slumbering through the millennia only to be re-awakened by a cataclysmic event. These ancient humanoids are gods among men, superior in every way imaginable, and they have made it their mission to reclaim their right to rule. But their nature is not what most people think it is…

The idea: I have an idea for a plot, in which I can give you if you ask for it. It is however merely a suggestion for what we could write - not a mandatory thing. If you don’t like the idea, we can always figure stuff out and keep on home-brewing till we find something we both can enjoy. There’s no need to immediately end things if the first thing doesn’t really fire you up.

  °°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.· ☥ ·._.·°¯°·.·° .·°°° °°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.· ☥ ·._.·°¯°·.·° .·°°°    If you’re still here and haven’t fallen asleep reading through my loooong paragraphs, then I would like to thank you for bearing with me this far. I am looking forward to your messages.   Have a wonderful day!

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hollenka99 · 4 years

Text

The One Where Jackie Takes Each Day As It Comes

Summary: Chapter 1. Jackie may not have a home but he’s meeting some friendly faces.

@bupine @badlypostedeverything

Spotting all the daily newspapers declare it was February 13th 2019 that first morning had been rough. Part of Jackie had wanted to believe it was a really elaborate prank. But the lads wouldn't be able to do something like that. Especially given the state they'd gotten themselves in at Stuart's party. Maybe it hadn't been a bad thing that Jackie decided to go easy on the alcohol. At least he didn't enter the next century completely hammered. Seeing couples out on Valentine's Day causes him to reflect. He spent that day missing Chris, which he had been in two minds about. And Nate. God knows how he'd be able to return home to 1986, if he could at all. Perhaps getting thrown three decades into the future was the thing he needed to sort that mess out internally. The risk of the band going their separate ways because two members broke up sounded more attractive now. Sure beat them disbanding because the drummer disappeared indefinitely or was presumed dead. Yeah, he would split from Chris to be with Nate if he had the chance now. It was the old question niggling in his mind: didn't he deserve to be with the one who made him happier than the other? Not like all that relationship drama mattered much when he had no worldly possessions except for his clothes now. Fuck the shit with those two anyway. He'd rather have Caoimhe in his arms any day. Whatever happens to her with him gone, Jackie hopes she is kept safe and loved. Okay, so maybe he was going to get teary about some things. There was no point exhausting himself with tears regarding all this. How would giving himself a massive headache help matters? It got worse the more he accepted his drastic life change. Dwelling on it all hurt. Bridget, Annette and Spencer must all be adults by now. His friends were in their 50s, like he should be himself. They all must be unrecognisable to him now. Like he said, dwelling on the currently inaccessible past was redundant. Instead, he did his best to find somewhere dry to sleep at night. Days were spent on the lookout for food. At least there was a water fountain near the bus station. It's fine. It's not like this is his first time taking each day as it came. He'll manage, one way or another. It's while Jackie is preoccupied with drinking someone's discarded hot chocolate that a man approaches him. The stranger's curls remind him of how his own hair used to be, prior to its current style. Freckles litter his face too. The smile seems genuine but he's been in this situation before. Jackie decides to cautiously give this stranger the benefit of the doubt. "You know how to play guitar?" American? Canadian? He doesn't know enough about those accents to distinguish them. "...Yes." "Here." The guy holds out his guitar case. "I don't need the change anymore. Got a decent job now and all that." "Thank you but I can't." "You look like you could do with a source of income. Stealing isn't exactly a reliable method of feeding yourself. Which reminds me..." An oat bar is retrieved. Through part of the plastic wrapping, it is visibly crumbling. "I'll admit, not in the best condition. Sorry about that. Still, please take it." Well, don't look a gift horse in the mouth and all that. "Thanks." "No problem. I'm Joel, by the way." He winks, heading a few feet away. "Jackie." The ground crumbles in front of where Joel stood. Straight up vanishes as if it hadn't existed in the first place. It wasn't like Jackie had never met someone with powers before but... it was certainly impressive to see this sort of stuff first hand. The outstretched leg, meant to be taking a step into oblivion, is retracted. There is a pause. Joel turns to face him once more. Still there is continued hesitation. "Listen, I shouldn't be saying this but... things are going to change soon. Just be careful. Anti's about and he likes targeting people who can uh, easily disappear." "Anti?" "There's a killer on the loose and I'd hate to see your face on the news for all the wrong reasons." And like that, Joel hops backwards into the hole. Jackie takes his advice and plays during the day. Playing acoustic guitar simply makes him miss rehearsals with the lads. Guitar wasn't even his instrument. That had been drums. Even so, their type of guitar had been electric. Not much comes from busking. He's rusty, he knows. He continues playing songs he recalls off by heart in the hope of earning a pound here and there. He supposes the public secretly question why he sang nothing but hits from 30 years ago. Days blur. The last time he'd bothered to check the date it had been the 21st. He didn't keep track of how many days ago that was. The wind has been blustery all day. It was for this very reason that Jackie had spent the majority of it as sheltered as he could. He notices a man passing by his spot who seems unaffected by the bad weather. He walks by as if they hadn't been suffering strong winds recently. That's not the only odd thing about the stranger. His choice of fashion is very interesting. His entire outfit is purple apart from the covered half of his face and his gloves. The white mask resembling a cat's face reached the top of his cheeks. To complete the look, the mask extends into triangular ears. Jackie feels the guy hitting his head must hurt even more with those attached. Jackie's presence must have been caught in his peripheral vision. Cat Guy halts and turns to him. Surprise transforms into a warm smile on his face. "Hey, I don't think I've seen you around here before. I'm guessing you haven't been living like this for long?" "About a week or two. Haven't been counting." "Tell me you at least have something to cover yourself with at night." "I try to find somewhere relatively warm. Ish." "Dude, it's February." "Yeah, tell me about it." Cat Guy removes his backpack. From it, he retrieves a water bottle and a blanket. "Good thing I tend to carry some stuff around. Ham or cheese?" "What?" "Sandwich." The stranger presents him with the gifts. Once Jackie takes the blanket and water, the superhero holds out an object encased in tin foil. "I tend to make ham and cheese ones. You're not vegan or a lactose intolerant vegetarian, are you?" "No. I'll uh... take the ham, thanks." "Oh, by the way, what's your name?" He could say John. Or Bartholomew. He doesn't have to say Jackie. Shit, he could say his name was Sean if he wanted, seeing as that was another form of his name. He didn't have to even provide a name that was half true. But eh, fuck it. It's not like this guy will find a Jackie Mann born in Ireland during the late 90s. "Jackie. And what should I call you, Mr Super Cat?" "Super Cat, wow." He laughs. "That's a new one. Well, I'm known as the Magnificent Cat around here. A bunch of people shorten it to Cat." Cat? Yeah, that sounds cool. The superhero carries on with his day a minute or two afterwards. He sees him tossing a sandwich and making brief conversation with the black woman situated on the corner of the street. Mondays and Thursdays rapidly become Jackie's favourite days of the week. Cat always swung by at some point in the day, making sure those living outside had certain necessities like food or some money. He had a habit of apologizing for not being able to give more than £5, as if that was a tiny amount to provide to each homeless person he catered to around the city. They typically talk but it never lasted long before Cat had to carry on with his rounds. Once, the superhero had to excuse himself due to a burglary being reported. Jackie also liked seeing this other guy who kept popping up over the days. They'd first met when Jackie had been performing Billie Jean. Marvin was a really nice, frequently sparing 2 or 3 pounds whenever he passed by Jackie. There were also their conversations. The topic didn't matter. They also varied in length but by far fulfilled his social quota better than Cat's busy schedule could. It was pleasant to have someone to talk to. Either way, he had two people in his corner which was two more than he'd expected. The first week of April is laden with rain. Waking up to a damp blanket sucked but it was hardly like he had anything else to cover himself with. At least it was gradually warming up now. The last thing Jackie wanted was hypothermia, let alone getting sick in general. He must be getting his days mixed up because he thought Cat's last visit was on a Thursday. Yet here he was, walking around as he tended to do. Jackie didn't hear him chatting with anyone else like he'd expected him to. It didn't matter. It was getting fairly late anyway. It wasn't as if Cat was prohibited from strolling around in his costume. Plus, he was under no obligation to be as social as he typically was. Saying hi to him as he passed wouldn't hurt though. "Cat! It's good to have a dry spell in the middle of all this bad weather, huh?" Jackie chuckles. "How are things going?" The superhero halts abruptly at this. It's almost like he didn't expect Jackie to be there. That was a little odd because this was his usual spot. However, he decided to brush it off as Cat having a long day. His theory is further solidified when he doesn't seem as in the mood to talk today. "Hey. Things are good." Cat smiles thoughtfully. "Actually, I've been meaning to show you this new community centre that opened recently. They're letting people sleep there if they want. It's technically within walking distance from here but it's much easier to get there by car. Want me to take you there?" He obliges Cat's generosity. They chat about how foot traffic had significantly dropped in the past few days due to the downpour. Cat points out his black car. He motions to Jackie that he'd be sitting at the back because unfortunately, there was a bunch of clutter in the front. The door is red when he grabs the handle. A couple blinks confirm it is still red. The darkness of the evening must have been confusing his ability to see colours properly. It also may be linked to this headache that's appeared out of nowhere. He really hopes this isn't a sign the rain has negatively affected his health. He'd rather focus on how lovely the interior of Cat's car was. The doors lock internally. He moves his head to direct a remark about it to Cat. Except it's not the superhero at all. There was no costume, only a dark hoodie. The first feature that causes him to stare when Cat faces him were those eyes. Was there even anything other than black in them? The hair too. He's never seen Cat without his mask on but he didn't think it would be dark green. Had Cat looked so pale all those other times? He's not certain. He definitely knows that grin belongs in Hell. "Funny how easily people will follow you if they think you're a friend. Isn't it?"

#jumbled au #my writing #writersofjack #jackie mann #the magnificent cat #antisepticeye #tw kidnapping #but it's more... luring away in this chapter

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ofstormythoughts · 4 years

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What Happens at the Toy Box Part 1 with @OneCheekyGal

Raine

••I wasn't quite sure what to make of my non-grand-opening Grand Opening, but Birdie's had done surprisingly well in the first few months, even considering the challenges that came with 2020. I had sorely lacked in marketing myself but it seemed I had garnered enough local fanfare by word of mouth, I’d even sold out of some of what I had on offer. I felt greedy in my happiness despite all the effort it took to realize this dream that spanned more than my own lifetime. The only way in which I had announced my arrival into the scene was via introduction to the surrounding business owners and shop managers. There was a sole location that had evaded me. The Toy Box had managed to both pique my interest and stoke a sadness when I tried to stop by. Clearly it was not a store for children as the name would imply by a glance from afar. Thankfully it was in my nature to cast a deeper line into the sea of curiosities. I wondered the story behind its extended closure and during some lulls in my own foot traffic, I was prone to imagining its caretaker had been swept up into a torrid love affair and was sailing around the world with an incomparable lover. The wind held the secrets of The Toy Box at bay, sadly, so I was left to my own musings. It had become a habit to glance across the way before I opened and I held a silent yearning to see the sign switched from “Closed” to whatever elusive welcome alerted the passer by the store was open for business.

This was why when I stepped out to tend the garden and saw the door open that hadn't been since my arrival, excitement quickened my pulse. It was silly, really, but I wouldn't feel my induction into the local scene had been completed until I met this last neighborhood retailer.

My next appointment wasn’t scheduled for an afternoon and I could use a technology break. Setting up the online store was not on my list of favorite things to do. Locking up Birdie's temporarily, I sprung into action, lest I miss my chance and face that closed sign. I nearly skipped across the street before happily crossing the threshold that had been to date a gatekeeper to my curiosity. A bright but genuine smile curved my lips as I approached the petite and pretty girl behind the register, sure to keep a proper distance since I wasn’t wearing a mask. Maybe it had been my daydreaming of her whereabouts, but on sight of her alone, I found my interest in her story piqued even more than all the wares for sale. I tried to keep my gaze from wandering and my eyes from widening at all the things, some which I wasn’t completely naive to, others that had me clueless about their potential use.••

Camille:

*The decision to temporarily close my shop so I could take a vacation had given me heaps of anxiety and a weight of worry on my shoulders that felt heavier than the Costco sized bag of cat food I liked to buy for Betty. I had considered hiring someone temporarily while I was away, but the efforts of training them for such a short period of time seemed like more of a hassle than losing the week’s worth of sales.

What had started out as being closed for a short holiday had unexpectedly turned into something much longer. I had been out of the country enjoying the sand and sun when the travel restrictions and the COVID pandemic had been declared, and upon my return home, a mandatory quarantine had been instituted which meant the shop doors would unfortunately be staying closed.

Fortunately, my online shop was already well established and after an emailed Newsletter to my customer list indicating orders could still be placed during the brick and mortar closure, the lull that my vacation created gradually picked back up. My rainy day savings had helped during the months where in store purchases were entirely obsolete. In my time away and then the subsequent closure, the small cluster of businesses in the area surrounding mine seemed to stay fairly stagnant, with the exception of a new shop that I had completely missed opening, I could only assume it happened while I was away. I hadn't planned to make the time to introduce myself. New businesses tended to avoid mine. God forbid someone admitted to knowing the owner of a sex shop...not that it phased me anyways. The day I had been phased to re-open the shop, I used a wedge of wood to prop the door open to help get rid of the stale air while I dusted for the first few hours. I didn't expect a rush of customers even though I had made a re-opening announcement on the shop’s website with the new hours, and had sent out a discount code to my email list in the hopes of drumming up some more sales and maybe even some foot traffic. It felt good to get back to my old routine of keeping busy and taking pride in what I had built up over the years. It was while I was in the middle of organizing a new countertop display of novelty single condoms that someone walked through the open door. My smile, the one that was reserved just for customers came back to my lips easily, just like old times and as I angled the stand next to the cash register just so, I greeted the lovely looking redhead and tried to guess in my mind what she might be here for...a game I sometimes liked to play with myself just for fun.* Hello, how can I help you today?

Raine

•• I was immediately disarmed by the friendly body language of the girl that I was meeting at long last. My eyes betrayed me by stealing glances at the various displays which were successful in drawing the attention of a complete sexual novice, hoping the color of my cheeks was not as evident as the warmth I felt there. I could only imagine that someone with more experience would be quick to spend their savings based on the appealing presentations alone. I felt oddly at ease and out of place all at once, perhaps the impressive and colorful water wall behind the shop’s mistress was at work. I couldn’t help but appreciate that her store had its own water feature befitting its personality just like my own at Birdie’s.•• First, apologies for my barging in without paying mind to whether or not you were actually open. I saw from across the street that you were no longer shuttered and I was too excited for any patience. I’m Raine and I just opened up across the way. •• As I smiled, I caught a glance of a beautiful and fluffy white cat circling her legs, wrapping its tail around her, perhaps to state “She is mine.”•• I have been eagerly awaiting your return, there was a void because you’ve been nowhere to be found. Maybe the universe wanted me to save the best for last.

Camille

*The way the girl looked around with wide eyed curiosity as she approached had me titling my head and feeling momentarily stunted when it came to a guess of what she might possibly wish to purchase. She had the look of uncertainty until she spoke and then surprise took hold of my features before I could school them back into place.* Oh! You don't have to apologize. *As I peered through the window in the direction of where she indicated, I mumbled to myself how I hoped the welcoming committee had been nicer to her than they had been to me before I turned back to her and extended my hand to shake hers out of habit before I could stop myself, I laughed awkwardly and pulled my hand away, remembering to keep my distance.* It's very nice to meet you, Raine. I'm Camille and this here is Betty. *I bent down to pick up my cat and lifted her up into proper view.* Usually she hides away in the back but since today is the first day back after closing, she hasn't left my side. *As Betty nuzzled against me, I smiled for the comfort she brought then sat her back down and made my way around to the other side of the counter.* It's very sweet of you to want to introduce yourself...so did you open pretty recently, then? I was closed briefly for a holiday before the pandemic started and had to stay closed.

Raine

•• Nodding in immediate reaction as not to interrupt Camille before she was done speaking.••

Yes, three months ago, but we must have just missed each other for your sabbatical because I have been here for about five renovating. If you need any help settling back in, I’d be happy to volunteer. I haven’t made too many acquaintances and I am just getting my bearings, really so there are no social distractions to be had.•• I hoped I hadn’t been too forward. I had never much been desperate for human contact, but there was a smidge of isolation seeping in on the year anniversary of losing my Birdie. I tried to concentrate on the sweet of the bittersweet at my opening, but of course had been confronted with pangs of my loss. Daring another peek around, smiling as another blush warmed my cheeks. •• Not that I think you and Betty don’t have it handled. Do you mind if I take a look around? •• I was a mermaid out of water but that didn’t mean my curiosity was not at a healthy level. The range of items in my immediate view offered plenty of options for my perusal without my naivety making me completely foolish in front of my new kitty-corner shop neighbor.••

Camille:

*I couldn't help the smile that took hold of my lips when Raine offered to help me settle back in...and it clicked in my mind that I should have been the one to make that offer given how long the shop had been opened. I was starting to feel like I didn't deserve her kindness for how oblivious I had been to the renovations across the way. Thankfully her question brought me out of my mind and the pondering of what else I might have missed while my toes and head were in the sand.* Please, take your time and browse as much as you’d like. *Not wanting to make her feel like I was hovering or being one of those nosy shop owners, I moved back around to the other side of the counter to continue with the display I had been working on, speaking loud enough for her to hear without being intrusive.* I don't have much to do in the way of settling back into things, but I’d love to take a look around your place when you're not too busy. *As I waited for Raine to reply, the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside the shop demanded my attention, and an old familiar feeling of what it was like to be busy returned along with a pang of guilt for being away so long. That feeling slowly faded and was quickly replaced with interest as I watched the gentleman exit his truck and begin to walk across the parking lot, headed straight for the shop Raine had pointed out as hers. Turning back to see if she noticed, I called out to warn her.* Hey, um...Raine...I think you might have a customer…

Raine:

••My reaction of a sigh to the call to duty was uncharacteristic, but spoke to the fact I instinctually would like to get to know Camille and the setting of her shop was too perfect to urge me out of my hermit comfort zone. With the slightest reluctance I turned towards the door. I also knew whoever it was hadn’t made an appointment. While I was still allowing walk-ins, I had to limit the number of people in Birdie’s to three.••

You’re welcome to come across the way with me, if you’d like? I am not done exploring your shop, so either way, I will be back.

••With a little more quickening in my steps, I exited, hoping Camille might follow. I passed the man as casually as possible, but was greeted with thoughts that made my nose crinkle, as it was plain he was looking at my ass with graphic intentions of what he’d like to do to it. I flushed again, this time in embarrassment and anger, and not at all out of flattery. My eyes pinched closed just before I unlocked my door, the sanctuary and water feature running through the floor calmed my wild emotions and allowed me to form a smile that though unauthentic, would fool the man when he caught sight. He didn’t hesitate to return the smile, though his was dripping with sleaze. “Just back from lunch? Maybe next time I’ll get here earlier so you won’t have to eat alone.” I gagged at the back of my throat and wished to shove politeness aside, but with a little more cleverness than the man deserved.•• Too bad my lunch table is reserved for one and booked months in advance.

••I focused on the blessed sound of the water while he honed in on my chest with beady eyes, I turned out of view when he pestered me with more intrusive questions. “Boyfriend? Husband?” His pause was not long enough before he added, “Girlfriend? I’m more than willing to share.” I ignored his utterly insulting insinuations, refusing to satisfy any of his base curiosity, instead I fetched a bottle of Camphor essential oil, known to be used by monks to suppress sexual urges, smiling as I took his hand, dotting the top between middle and ring fingers with the oil.•• This is on special today. ••winking, though I felt like I must immediately return home to scrub myself clean for providing him any kind of returns to his advances•• Just for you.

••I made a show of using my own, house made blend of hand sanitizer as his smile somehow got creepier. It seemed like at least an hour had passed since I left the Toy Box, though I knew for certain it has been a short few minutes. “Oh, I didn’t come here to make a purchase. I’ve been watching you come and go and… decided today was the day I’d let my fiery little redhead crush in on the secret.” My eyes flared wide and the creepy crawlies multiplied from head to toe. Stupefied and appalled, I shook my head vehemently.•• I suggest you leave, go home and clean those binoculars you’ve been using, that way the next time you look you’ll see I’m not interested.

••”I wasn’t using binoculars --” Pointing out the door, my lips in a set in a stern line, frustrated with myself for entertaining any of this stupidity.••

Camille:

*I nodded at Raine when she excused herself with haste for her customer. I understood completely. New businesses were hard to turn a profit the first handful of years and each sale was important toward ensuring one’s livelihood. Not wanting to encroach on her sale, I took my time gathering my keys to lock the door but before I could, Betty snuck her fluffy white self out, circling my feet and curling her tail around my leg. With a smile, I scooped her into my arms and locked up my own shop, not at all concerned about missing out on a customer. There hadn't been any all day while I had been cleaning anyways.

As I approached Raine’s store front, I could see her speaking with the man then pointing toward the door with a look on her face that was unmistakable. It was an expression I had used more than a few times, I had perfected it, really. Generally it was used on under-agers, and despite my petite size, worked very well. I was no pushover. But this guy was old enough to know better and to know he wasn’t welcomed.* Oh man, Betty. I wonder if our new friend needs some reinforcements. *Squaring my shoulders, I pushed the door open and painted on my brightest smile.* Hey, Raine. *I took my time looking around while holding Betty, her purrs from being in my arms and having her head scratched slowly began to fade with each step I took closer to the man who still couldn’t take the hint.*

I just adore the water feature you have here, it’s so lovely. *Satisfied with being close enough to my new friend, I picked up a jar on a nearby table, pretending to look at the label as he spoke again. My nose scrunched at his blatant disrespect and I waited to hear how she would handle herself. Betty, ever the excellent judge in character, hissed in warning from my arms, and I caught Raine’s gaze briefly, winking as I quietly let my guard cat jump down from my hold. It seemed she had very quickly taken offence on Raine’s behalf and moved to circle around her legs as she always did with me. From my spot out of the guy’s view, I mouthed at Raine to pick Betty up, if he got any closer, I knew the claws would come out.*

Raine

••I knew we’d only just met, but Camille and Betty were both quickly becoming essential to my survival. Their audience reinforced my backbone, especially when I witnessed Betty hissing. Animals were the best judge of character and I caught Camille’s wink and easily read her lips.•• I’m afraid you will have to go now. I have a private consultation. ••I wasn’t prone to lie, but I also wasn’t an idiot. I needed to ensure this man got the message the first time lest he think there was any question in my denial. The encounter was new to me, I hadn’t ever really been in this position, but I was in a new locale and I was certain it wouldn’t be the last time.•• I’m so sorry, Camille, he was just leaving…

•• “Before I go, can I set up a private… consultation?” My stomach absolutely turned over, most especially for the way he rolled over the words private and consultation.•• Consultations are for customers intending to make a minimum purchase of five hundred dollars. You can call to set it up when you decide you are interested in my inventory. Now please leave.

••I watched as Betty sauntered closer to me, stopping right by my feet. I was flattered by my newfound feline friend’s quick warming up to me. When she nudged my calf with her nose, I dipped down, gingerly picking her up and surprised when I was greeted with a purr of her approval before she turned her head to the man and let loose a low growl. I watched as the sleaze put his hands up in relent and started backing towards the door. “I’ll see you soon, beautiful.” Disgusted, once he left I let out a sigh of exasperation.•• Please tell me they aren’t all like that here? And thank you, complete lifesaver. You too, Betty.

Camille

*As I waited for the jerk to get the hint Raine was trying to send his way, I found myself biting my tongue. She was being too kind, in my opinion. And if this guy was in my shop acting like this, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell him off and kick him out. Then again, I could recall when my shop was new, years ago and I had to have a few similar experiences in order to find my grit. Raine would find hers, too, I was certain of it.

Setting the jar I had picked up back down, I slowly made my way closer to Raine, just in case dickwad decided to do something dickwad-ish. Fortunately, Betty had done exactly what I had hoped, and helped reinforce Raine’s request that he leave. As he moved past me on his way to the door, I smirked when he made eye contact, which probably wasn’t the greatest idea as we were left with his promise to return.

Ew. Gross.

I really hoped not. Moving toward the door, I smiled over my shoulder at Raine as I twisted the deadbolt...just in case and watched as he climbed into an older truck and slowly left the parking lot. I’d make sure to keep an eye out for him over the next week or so. Something about him felt...off.

Raine’s voice brought me back from my thoughts and I laughed lightly at her question, giving a small shake of my head.* Not all of them. Usually I get the creeps at my store given what I sell... and even then, it’s not very often. *Moving closer to Raine, I reached out to scratch behind Betty’s ears* A casual mention of knowing how to use a whip is enough to get them to leave pretty quick. Want me to show you how in case he returns? *My offer was mostly a joke...mostly.*

Raine

••I laughed at the offer while simultaneously blushing. I liked Camille, a lot, but to say I wasn’t intimidated by all her wares would be complete fabrication. Still, my world was fairly lonely and my desire to branch out and make friends well outweighed any embarrassment over my naivety. For truth, Camille was the first person I’d felt comfortable with and conversation was coming too easy. It had always been Birdie and me and I’d never had true friends, only passing acquaintances. I couldn’t live a cloistered life anymore, and though it made me nervous to open up, I had already made the first steps with Camille, I could only hope she wasn’t just being polite.•• Do you offer beginner courses or something that comes before beginner?

••Laughing again, I sat Betty down on the counter top and turned to reach for a bottle of a special elixir that I didn’t typically share with someone I’d just met, it was more reserved for requests of a special nature. I couldn’t help but recall that I’d blushed, too, when Birdie had first brought up the idea of concocting this particular blend of extracts, mostly for the reason behind it. She had gently encouraged me, in a way only she could get away with, to come out of the nunnery and embrace my sexuality. She’d imparted her blunt wisdom, insisting I didn’t need a partner to learn what I liked myself. I probably didn’t quite crack the mold of my prudishness in a way she had hoped I would, but I dared to believe that my entry into a sex shop and making an acquaintance of its proprietor would have both made her laugh and proud.

I snapped out of my happy reverie back to the present before turning to face Camille with the bottle in hand.•• Since you so kindly served as my protector and have additionally offered me whip training, perhaps you will indulge me in sharing something of mine with you?

Camille:

Pre-beginner course? Hmm. Let me think...maybe a paddle or a soft flogger to start with before we get you yielding a whip then. *My laughter joined hers and it left me feeling good despite the lingering creepiness that she wasn’t afraid or too intimidated to joke around with me. Sure I had a handful of friends, but it had been a long while since I could claim anyone as a close friend or a best friend for that matter. And after the encounter with the disgusting guy, I felt a bond of sorts with her, and had already decided she was someone I wanted to be around. Her humour, while it skirted the edges of an obvious innocence gave me the impression she already appreciated my brand of unapologetic crass. It wouldn’t take long before I would help break her free of that shell, and I was confident it would be without much effort, too.

When she put Betty down on the counter, I reached out to run my hand over her arching back, scratching through her white fur all the way down along her tail, letting it twist around my fingers the way I always did as I watched Raine grab a small bottle. My head tilted in curiosity at what the contents might be. A smile grew easily at her offer and I nodded without hesitation, not caring in the least what it was.*

You know you don’t have to pay me back for doing what any friend would do. That guy was gross on so many levels! *laughing with a shudder, I shook my head continuing on so she didn’t think I was being rude.* But that doesn’t mean I’m going to say no. What is it?

Raine

••Laughing openly at the softened suggestions, I continued to be at ease in Camille’s company. It had been too long since I’d laughed in such an organic way, the feeling rising with a genuine rush. Even if I had no use for anything at all in her shop, I was interested in what more I could discover from her expertise. Though I was verging on a comfort level that had me wanting to leave the mask down, I pulled it up out of respect for her and in order to share a more intimate distance. Leaning across the counter, circling my fingers around her wrists and turning her palms upward, I smiled behind the silk of my mask.•• This is called… Awakening. Think of it as a bridge from my world to yours. ••My brow lifted to communicate the intrigue I hoped was translating. I twisted the top of the bottle off, the scent of lavender and ylang ylang blooming in the air. Retrieving a dropper from my sanitized tray and filling it with the oil. I dabbed each of Camille’s wrists and then circled my thumbs over each drop, gently massaging it into her skin before another application to my own fingers. Leaning slightly closer, I brought my fingertips up and behind her ears to dab just behind them before the last application to either of her temples. There were other pressure points for full effect but asking even her permission to do that would not be appropriate and would involve removing clothing.••

The effect will be subtle but this blend should allow you to clear out stale energies while refreshing you and opening you up to new and arousing potential. ••I could feel my cheeks warm again as I struggled to find the words to basically say what it was without blurting that it was basically like opening up a dam for energy that could block a libido. I wasn’t being presumptuous about her circumstance, my intention was to have fun.•• It will leave you attracting complimentary energies to your own. ••Betty meowed and butted her head against Camille’s arm, drawing another laugh.•• Looks as though Betty approves, unless I am reading her wrong. ••Lowers my voice though we are alone in the store.•• You can use it in other erogenous zones… the dimples on your back, the sternum, the inner part of your knee…

Camille:

*I found myself slightly surprised when Raine pulled her mask back on and leaned closer. Seemed I was getting an up close and personal demonstration of whatever this “Awakening” stuff was. My grin grew as she spoke and began to massage the small drops of oil into my skin. It smelled lovely and light, which was nice.

As soon as she moved her hands to my ears I couldn’t help the soft laugh which was immediately followed up with an apology and explanation of being ticklish there. My laugher was short lived however because the gentle circling of her fingers at my temples earned her a sigh for how nice it felt. I was so focused on the beginning of what felt like a slight warming tingle on my skin that I nearly missed when she explained what the oil was meant to do.

Now. I wasn’t normally someone who lived any kind of holistic lifestyle but damn if Raine didn’t have me rethinking that with the way she spoke and the way the oil felt as she applied it to my skin. I wanted it to do exactly what she said it would. I needed a complete and thorough cleansing of all stale energies. The whole world needed it really, but I didn’t think she had that many bottles of her oil.*

Complementary energies? Hmm.

*I was considering just how that could ever be possible given the whole social distance pandemic thing, but Raine’s laughter at Betty’s usual demand for affections drew me from my thoughts and I laughed with her as I gave my cat a scratch beneath her chin and returned my full attention back to Raine. Her lowered voice despite the fact that we were the only people in her shop had it dawning on me. Suddenly the warm tingling sensations on my skin and her mention of erogenous zones had me laughing. Loudly.*

Oh, Raine. You are quite the surprise. I just clued into what you’re trying to say this stuff is. *laughing some more and giving my head a shake, I lift my wrist to my nose to give the oil a proper smell.* You just put arousal oil on me. How forward for you. *winking with a teasing grin so she knows I’m not bothered at all, I point at the bottle* I hope it works with the whole complementary energies. And if not, I do enjoy the way it feels.

Raine

••I beam for the compliment of being a surprise, while I twist the dropper into the bottle, sliding it Camille's way•• I insist you indulge in the rest of the bottle. Maybe not all at once. ••laughs again, finding the atmosphere having lightened considerably from just earlier.••

Dare I suggest you try it somewhere I didn't? ••bats my lashes in acknowledgement of my less than innocent rhetorical••

If you're open to it, I think you may find it delivers on its promise with time and in its own way. Match.com it is not. ••a laugh bubbles up for how silly I feel talking this way and about things I've never conversed about.••

I only ask your honest feedback. ••biting my lip behind my mask before I pull it back down for a reprieve•• And maybe we could get together socially some time? I would be grateful for your company in the expanse of my wide open calendar.

Camille:

*Giving Raine a bright smile, I take the bottle and laugh with an understanding nod.* I promise not to dump the whole thing on my nipples in one go. *My snort is loud as I laugh again, entirely unable to keep a straight face at the idea.*

I also promise to give you any and all honest feedback and I would be happy to be your guinea pig for anything else in the future. Unless it’s meant to dry me up like a prune in which case, no thank you! *While still holding the bottle in one hand, I reach for Betty, holding her in my arms as I consider Raine’s question to hang out.* I can do you one better than just getting together some time. Which, let's be honest here...people only say that to be polite and never actually plan to follow through. So, there’s a food truck that usually parks about a half block away, it’s amazing! Let me buy you lunch for this?

*Giving the bottle a little wiggle, I let Betty down next to my feet and nodded firmly, not leaving her an opportunity to decline.* There are even a few scattered tables we can eat at. I will just take Betty back to my shop, lock up, and meet you out in the parking lot in a few. And then you can tell me all about the other kinds of concoctions you have made.

*Moving to the door, I twisted open the deadbolt I had locked earlier and opened it for Betty to walk through first.* See you in a few! *Giving a quick wave as I let the door close behind me, I grinned when I saw Raine nodding back at me, not that I had given her any choice to object.* Look at us making a new friend, Betty. And on the first day back at the shop.

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blessuswithblogs · 4 years

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The Best Games of the Decade, By My Estimations

With only a good month (ACTUALLY LIKE A GOOD 24 HOURS HA HA I WROTE THIS BACK IN NOVEMBER) or so left of the 2010s (we are regrettably not quite far along enough to really start giving them jaunty names like "the Roaring Twenties" yet, but soon we will be free of this chronological no man's land) I find my thoughts turning to my enduring hobby slash interest slash everlasting shame: video games. While a decade is ultimately a fairly arbitrary point of reference, in the business of video gamesdom, ten years is a small eternity and some very significant games have graced us since the clock struck midnight on January 1st, 2010.

I might still be too young for this kind of nostalgia, granted, but I can't help but think about the game experiences I've had in the last ten years that have been altogether Important to Me. I am less interested in ranking these titles than I am in exploring why they made such an impact on me, and why, if we were to borrow the esteemed verbiage of one Sid Meyer, they stood the test of time. ...or less so, if they came out more recently. Sometimes on these lists I sort of scrimp and scrabble to actually fill it up with enough games and I have to sort of cheat and put things on there I haven't really played, but fortunately I am not so destitute that I have only been able to play one new game a year since this decade began. To that end, this is more of a personal list than usual, that will have less to do with "well the game was kind of a Big Deal........" and more to do with "well the game was kind of a Big Deal to ME."

Dark Souls The First:

This game will likely find its way onto many such lists in the coming days, because it is such a singular thing. Honestly, I would put Demon's Souls on here too, but that was actually like. 2009ish? At any rate, its spiritual successor was a marked improvement in most ways, expanding upon the core design tenets that made the unassuming FROM software ps3 title such an unexpected success: deliberate gameplay that demanded players go slow and respect both enemies and environment until they were sufficiently skilled and experienced, boss fights against extremely memorable monsters and also sometimes trees, strange asynchronous multiplayer that worked in spite of itself, and a meticulously designed world filled with oddities, grotesqueries, mysteries, and tragedies. Dark Souls was a phenomenon. "The Dark Souls of _____" is dig at gormless games journalists that endures and is relevant to this day. It created a whole subgenre that remains fairly untapped because of how much of a gamble it is to really go in on what made Dark Souls good in a game without that kind of name recognition and marketing blitz, and it changed the way the zeitgeist thought about video games in a lot of ways.

Inscrutability is an incredibly important part of the Souls experience. Abandon all hope of transparency, ye who enter here, because you're not getting it. The games were designed with the intent of being a sort of collaborative community puzzle, where players who stumbled on secrets and treasures in the game could leave down messages for others to alert them to hidden prizes - or just try to bait somebody to jump down a bottomless pit. Patches does that. A lot. It's kind of this thing. There is a very specific mood and atmosphere that Miyazaki and company were going for with these games that creates a sort of artistic catch-all for complaints I would level at basically anything else. "These weapons are poorly balanced." Yep. It's not really trying to be balanced. "Half of these systems are unexplained and nonsensical." Oh boy are they ever. "A giant man-sized baby just invaded my world and tried to kill me with a ladle." Yes, yes he did. The bizarre, fever dream ambiance of Dark Souls is enhanced by all of this. It will put a lot of people off and I can't really say "oh you just don't get it." because like no in any other game this would be bullshit nonsense for idiots. Souls just kind of makes it work by being compellingly baffling.

This murkiness also serves to highlight one of the core conceits of the game: the simple joy of greater mastery. Dark Souls starts you out with very little. You have nothing, know nothing, are nothing, and all the npcs you meet are pretty sure you're going to fuck off and die pretty much as soon as you break line of sight. On your first time through, that's probably true, too. The skeletons in the graveyard are infamous. As you claw your way through the game, as you learn more about it, you start to see measurable progress getting made. What was once a bunch of very tired men in armor giving you unsettlingly sinister laughs is now the outline of a story, vague but extant, with more waiting to be discovered. Where you used to flail around and die to random hollows in the undead burg, now you dance circles around them and paste them in one or two hits with your fancy weapons (or enormous wooden club, depending). A world that was once borderline impossible to actually traverse gradually opens up and becomes more familiar. In Dark Souls, death serves a purpose, and that purpose is not actually to block your progress. Its purpose is to get you to learn the game and get better at it. It's actually very player empowering in a way a lot of 'press F to pay respects' theme park rides are not. I'm probably treading a very thin line between thoughtful analysis (ha) and "you cheated not only the game, but yourself." here, but I'm going to stand firm in my belief that the way Souls games endeavor to make you improve yourself over time is a legitimate and meritorious way to design a game.

Of course, Dark Souls the First is very rough around the edges in spots. The second half of the game is somewhat infamous for being unpolished and kind of slapdash. The online was questionable, the PC port was laughable until the community went in and fixed it, Lost Izalith is a whole fucking thing, the works. The fact that it's so good in spite of the rough spots is, I think, what made it such a singular game. I'm one of those hopelessly sentimental idiot bitches who thinks that things that are imperfect are kind of charming and compelling in ways that very cookie cutter, by the book, technically competent but aesthetically bankrupt things are not. Miyazaki had a vision when he made this game, and that vision created an enduring legacy. That's worthy of respect in a way not many games are. It's messy and flawed but those flaws are just kind of endearing because they're proof that the developers were trying to push boundaries and be ambitious and make something new and interesting.

Dark Souls The Second:

Dark Souls 2 has a kind of weird reputation in the online net-o-sphere. There are as many opinions about this game as there are people who have played it. Sometimes more, honestly. I spent a lot of time kind of convinced it wasn't that good until some things clicked and I realized it was HELLA good. That you kind of need the DLC to get the whole picture is... unfortunate, but such is the age we live in. Going into this game, I thought that a second Dark Souls was unnecessary. The first had ended satisfactorily, and I had no desire to see FROM get tied down to the world of Lordran. The quote B Team unquote that developed 2 seemed to agree with me, and created what is one of the most metacognitive games I have ever played. Now, let's not get ahead of ourselves. When I say metacognitive, I do not mean it in the usual facile sense of, say, whatever Jonathan Blow has churned out recently that beats you over the head with the fact that you're playing a video game and you should probably feel bad about it or the way Doki Doki Literature Club does the Epic Subversions! of visual novels by trying to convince you that the game knows it is a game, but failing because it cannot overcome the limitations that it has as a static, unchanging lump of code. Dark Souls 2 aims higher. And you know me - I always try to aim high.

Dark Souls 2 deals with cycles. Most notably, cycles of futility. Cycles that are so enduring and perpetual that it matters not how you choose to resolve it, it will simply keep going no matter what you do. Drangleic is a hollow simulacrum of Lordran - and that is exactly the point. The familiarity and design consistencies between the two games is intentional. The curse of life is the curse of want. It took me a long time to really understand what Dark Souls 2 meant by that. The World of Dark Souls 2 is a sort of unending purgatory. Thousands upon thousands of undead have made the journey, linked the fire, perhaps chose to become the Dark Lord instead, only for some other undying fool to go and light it anyway. Each time, a new order is built upon the bones of the old, and in time, joins its forebears in the ashes of history. When I beat the game the first time and felt that the ending was unsatisfying, I failed to realize that was, again, the point. If the game had shipped with all endings in it, I think I would have been less miffed, but, well, the curse of life is the curse of downloadable content. If you choose to take the throne, link the fire, you have essentially accomplished nothing. Another age of Fire will begin, and then end, and so on and on into the ages, an unending litany of suffering and violence, because people cannot let go of what once was. They seek and scrabble to claim scraps of glory in a systemic nightmare of self-fulfilling prophecies and false dichotomies. When Aldia eventually arrives with the DLC packs, things really start to take shape.

Dark Souls 2 is a commentary on itself. An admission of the futility of trying to recapture the unique spark of the first game, and the necessity of doing something -different-. The playerbase hated it on release. It was both not enough like the first game and too much like the first game. It wasn't like, reviewbombing on metacritic hate, but the consensus rapidly became that 2 was just worse than the first game and kind of a bummer, a half-hearted cashgrab by a "B Team" while the really talented developers worked on Bloodborne. So, basically, they proved 2's central thesis completely correct. A hollow cycle of just repeating and iterating on what has come before serves nobody. In the words of Straid of Olaphis, "it is all a curse." That is the true curse in Dark Souls 2. An undead might link the fire to try and preserve their fading sense of self and memory, but it is but a temporary measure, a prolonging of greater suffering by bowing to an order designed to oppress. Before the Ringed City was ever a thing, Agdyne and Vendrick were here telling us about how Gwyn was so covetous of his own perceived right to rule that he cursed all of humankind into a twisted state of mutually exclusive ideas. Die as a mortal in the flame, or endure as an undead husk in the darkness, bereft of heart and soul. Or... does it even matter? All of this has happened before. It will all happen again.

Those who slave away eternally under this paradigm are doomed to never find peace or fulfillment, because it was not designed that way. Gwyn's fear was so great that he got entangled in his own karmic vortex, reincarnating over and over again with his other lord friends in slightly different forms and circumstances that would continue, eternally, to make the same mistakes in the pursuit of the same misguided goals. Aldia, the Scholar of the First Sin, is presented as one of the few beings in this entire misbegotten affair with an inkling of what is really going on. Both he and Vendrick knew that Drangleic was destined for the same dreg heap as every other civilization built upon the power of the soul, but all of their efforts to prevent this fall were for naught, because they were all confined by the same twisted system in which there can be no change or joy. It is only after Vendrick loses his nerve entirely and fades away into a mindless hollow and Aldia loses everything in his increasingly unhinged and ethically questionable experiments that he realizes that they were doing it all wrong.

I think I've probably gone on too long at this point so I'll try to be brief: the "true" ending of the game, made available after all 3 DLCs were released, involves gathering the power of truly mighty souls in a crown and using them as a sort of... loophole. The empowered crown does not cure the curse of undeath. What it does is prevent -hollowing-. The degradation of heart and mind. And after the final battle, you leave the throne behind. But there is a very important difference here from the Dark Lord ending of the first game. By finding this loophole, and rejecting Gwyn's order entirely, you and you alone have broken free from the endless cycle of suffering, and by doing so, perhaps gained the knowledge necessary to take the first steps into forging a new path entirely. Beyond the reach of Light, beyond the scope of Dark.

So yeah basically it's like Dark Souls the First, with some improvements and changes and what have you, so it's got the same fun to play deliberate explorey dark holey kind of thing going on, it just takes the concepts and runs with it to places I never would have expected a game to ever go. It is legitimately one of the only metanarratively aware games I have played (that I can remember, anyway) that sticks the landing, because it is not obnoxiously explicit about it. Undertale was fun and a worthwhile game by any reasonable metric, but it falls into the same trap as all the others: when you are acknowledged as the player of a game in anything more than a briefly comedic bit of 4th wall breaking, any hope of cleverness or thoughtfulness goes out the window, because it brings to light an ironclad truth of the medium: you, the player, are just as constrained in what you can do as the NPCs in the game, who are also fake. When they start haranguing you about about brotherkilling or being a cheating visual novel boyfriend or possibly girlfriend or what have you, it's just. Meaningless. It is a contrivance of the developer, specifically included in the game as a programmed possibility designed to be experienced.

Dark Souls 2 gets around this by not engaging with the player on that level of metanarrative. It deals much more in metaphor and allegory. It's not, like, especially subtle, but it is subtle enough to let your mind draw parallels without immediately blaring at you in comic sans "THIS IS A VIDEO GAME, KID" and taking you out of it entirely. It's a fine line to walk. A barrier between worlds has to be maintained for these stories to work. I'm the kind of player who will never do a renegade run of Mass Effect because I hate being mean and nasty for no reason, even to bits of code in a game, because I try to engage with it all in good faith and do my best to let myself buy into the illusion that these bits of code are characters with thoughts and feelings. When an angry flower man pops up and says "OOHOOHOO LOOKS LIKE YOU JUST RELOADED THE GAME BECAUSE YOU KILLED SOMEBODY" my first thought isn't "wow fucked up..." it's "oh well there goes my suspension of disbelief" because like. If you're going to call me out on that then fuck I can just go into the code and make you say "there is a frightful hobgoblin haunting europe, and its name is ligma" and like. Yep. Bow before my mastery. I guess. I don't want to get into a slapfight like that with Toby Fox. He seems like a nice person.

I don't know maybe this is just something unique to me, and other people can deal with these stories without immediately becoming depressed by the deeply artificial nature of it all. It's complicated. I will say that I like Undertale a lot, but the reasons that I like it come very much from the character interactions, spritework, and music, and not the time Flowey closed my game. It's just the same pony island bullshit as its always been. "OooOOoOOoh uninstall the game or you're actually just going back and messing with events for your own perverse satisfactionNNNnNNnN" fuck off dipshit it's all fake garbage for idiot children and I am not causing a cartoon skeleton existential agony by considering that maybe I could play this fun game that I liked and payed cash dollars for again. Now, all this considered, my next game on the list might be surprising...

Nier: Automata

Okay so let's just get this out of the way. Nier does a very famous thing at the end when you get the true ending where you are given the choice to forfeit your saved data in order to help another player get past the final boss, which is... the credits. So how is this different? Well, for one thing, it's not like the central narrative conceit of the game. The sexy android psychodrama functions perfectly well without it. It's kind of its own thing. It's... an expression of hope, kind of. An admission that you -care- about the fates of these characters, in spite of being bits of code, because their personalities and their world and the way they interact are all compelling and endearing, and you would give up something of tangible worth and importance to maybe give them a chance for a better outcome in somebody else's game, too. It's a very strange thing that I can think of no real equivalent for. You even get to put a little personalized message on the extra shmup ship you send over to help some other player get through to the end. It's an act that... kind of exists outside of the story, but also kind of in it. I think the important thing here is that the conceit is that you are making this sacrifice to help somebody else, not because a small goat child said something Foreboding. It's a confirmation that if a game makes you feel things, makes you think, maybe it wasn't just a waste of time.

So enough about that. What about like the other 99% of the game? A lot of people in my peer group are super sweet on the original Nier: Gestalt game. I played through it. It was... okay. Like it absolutely had very charming characters and story and all of that but it was just kind of a slog to play through and I kind of wished the entire game was just that segment where you're playing a text adventure. Automata continues to have very charming characters and story and all of that, but it also actually like. It's fun? To hit the buttons? Like, that Platinum pedigree isn't just for show. It's not the most technical game they've ever made, but it's fun and varied (shmups! shmups!) and there's some fun character customization and you even have a self-destruct switch which is always hilarious. The real attraction is the narrative, visuals, and gorgeous music, but it's also just a solid swordswingy dodgy robot smashy time irrespective of that. So like. Yeah.

The story and characters are very interesting and well done and goes to some very dark and uncomfortable places sometimes about the nature of memory, artificial intelligence, the often arbitrary labels we give ourselves, and the implications of sexy robot men with no junk. The nice thing about Nier Automata is that the events in game are fairly straightforward and relayed in a way that people who don't compulsively watch lore videos can understand without too much difficulty, so I don't really need to go into a detailed summary of why it's genius because of tHe AlLeGoRy. It kind of speaks for itself, for the most part. Does 9S want to fuck 2B or destroy 2B? Maybe some other verb entirely! We may never know. Well, I do know. He wants to fuck her. That is obvious. But it does not preclude the other, which is a salient and disconcerting point the game tries to make with that whole sequence. 9S has really had a rough time of it, you know? All that stuff in his own game and then he pops up on the First only to get his face caved in by the Warrior of Darkness. Rotten luck.

Basically, Yoko Taro sets out to say some things with his strange brainchild about androids with very big butts, but when you think about it, the attractiveness of the YorHa androids is also kind of a statement, too. If you're building something in your image, wouldn't you want to make it as sexy as possible? I would. Like, if you could make your machine children smoking hot, why wouldn't you? It's only polite. Nobody wants to be an ugly robot. Maybe the machine lifeforms would be having a better time of it all if they weren't put in categories like "short stubby." Anyway. Saying things. He says things. The game is thought provoking and evocative and at times very very sad. I love to cry. More on that later. I feel like I'm coming up a little short on this after my small dissertation on Dark Souls 2, but sometimes you need to fuckin. Get that kind of thing off your chest. Automata is challenging, but not Souls 2 challenging, where you kind of have to look in all the nooks and crannies and paid DLC packs to really get what it's trying to say. Though I think you fight the president of Square Enix in one of the Nier DLCs. That's pretty intellectually formidable.

Bloodborne:

It is no secret that I love the Bloodborne. It's very fun, very tight, usually works right most of the time, blood vials are shit but what can you do, and is one of the most visually arresting games like, ever. Ever ever. Behold! A Paleblood Sky! indeed. It's got the Souls pedigree to make combat fun and challenging, but its also very squishy and visceral and kind of grody in a good way because it ties in heavily to the themes of what really separates people from "beasts" and how more often than not we're just fooling ourselves. We're all rancid beasts. Hunger makes monsters of us all. It is this thematic strength, and the uncommon aplomb with which the game takes a hard left turn into "wait what the fuck???" town, that I regard it so highly. It's a game with a lot to say, especially about our narrow view of "intelligence" and the imagined "right" it grants us to subjugate and victimize those we deem inferior. The Victorian setting is no accident - a lot of the horror in the game draws heavily from classic colonialist sentiment and the erroneous conviction that all things are there for the benefit of Mankind (Glory to them, see previous) that commonly defines that era. Also that architecture is some spooky shit I tell you what. Even when there isn't a large spider man with a brain for a head hanging off of it. There are those, in this game, by the way. You thought you were gonna deal with werewolves? Bitch your eyes have yet to open, strap the fuck in.

Bloodborne is the coveted "what a twist!" game I so laboriously search for. A game that expertly leads you to believe some things, then gradually shows you that you are a fucking wrong idiot baby and now there are mushroom men from mars running around casting magic missile at you. It gets this right in part because the clues were there all along, if you bothered to search for them. The first part of the game is fairly expected of what the promo material was all about, save for some weirdness with dreams and cryptic mutterings of "Paleblood." Then, you know, some shit starts getting wacky. You start running into giantass monster men clad in the trappings of the church. The NPCs you talk to start becoming more and more unhinged. Sometimes you will be randomly lifted bodily into the air and die and it is fucking alarming the first time I tell you what. Strange men with bags start appearing in random spots, and if they kill you, they don't actually kill you - they put you in the bag and kidnap you, the only way to reach a certain area of the game early. This hidden area is filled with more bagmen and some very angry giant pigs, because those are in this game too. Then you finally enter the big cathedral at the center of town and its lined with really odd looking statues of aliens and you touch a weird skull and you get a vision from the Mothercrystal about how to progress, and you tell the password to the gatekeeper, and he's like "ok cool get in here" but actually he is a fucking dessicated corpse and this isn't Dark Souls there ain't no undead here. Maybe. Are there?

Then you get into the Forbidden Woods and there are like, the weird mushroom men, if you go looking for them, and snakes, and really BIG snakes, and men who are made out of snakes and kind of give you weird nostalgic memories of Resident Evil 4 and the las plagas sphagetti heads. And there are more statues and giant fucking gravestones? That are really unnerving? And also if you went poking around you might have also met Patches again, who is back, but also a spider, and he'll show you how to get into college, except the college is in a nightmare and full of slime people, which is actually pretty normal now that I think about it, and then you can go out into ANOTHER nightmare, which is just another obnoxious poison swamp but the winter lanterns live there and those things are a fucking trip. Anyway you get to Bergynwerth eventually and there are weird insect guys and weird disheveled looking fellas that literally eat your brains if they get close and this awful npc hunter (the real horror of the night i tell you what) who casts fucking megaflare and you FINALLY get to the center of it all and jump into the lake except it's not the lake, it's actually like a fucking pocket dimension and there's just a big spider chilling out. You have to kill it to progress. And then when you do things just REALLY go to hell. And this is to say nothing of the Old Hunters DLC. This game is a fucking nightmare and it's great. Easily one of the scariest games ever made, genuinely frightening and weird and it doesn't just lose its edge when you realize the monster is a big goofy man with a flappy jaw. You are the monster, and that monster is a tiny squid baby. You're a squid now! Because you ate umbilical cords! Why!? I DON'T KNOW! INSIGHT, MOTHERFUCKER!

So what I just described is probably sounding completely absurd, random, and borderline early 2000s era monkeycheese style humor, but you gotta believe me, it is only absurd. It's actually very deliberately absurd. A lot of people will say that Bloodborne is one of the only games to get Lovecraft right, but I have actually read some of that dreck and I will say Bloodborne really only shares some aesthetic DNA and nomenclature with the racist tentacle man who ate nothing but canned beans. The themes are actually very different. Lovecraft wrote of a paradoxical contradictory world where Unspeakable Elder Things lurked behind every shadow, ready to emerge and destroy everything, but they were also very apathetic and noncommital about the whole thing. They didn't actually care that much either way, but they were still Bad, because they were weird and alien and inimicable to human life because of that foreign aspect. Like Nyarlathotep was originally envisioned as a travelling black guy who would go from town to town and show people some awesome inventions and shit and that was supposed to be evil. The dude's neuroses about race permeated -everything- he wrote.

On the other hand, Bloodborne takes a different tack. One of the central theses of the game is that the Great Ones are -not- evil. In fact, they're rather sympathetic by nature and will do what they can to help, if asked. The horror of the game comes not from the actions of the alien monstrosities who are actually nicer than most of the humans, but from what the human characters do in the pursuit of knowledge and power. Atrocities are committed by the dozen in some vague pursuit of higher understanding, against both the citizens of Yharnam and the supposed cosmic horrors themselves. This point is driven home by the fact that a number of the more alien entities you encounter in the game aren't actually hostile at all. Rom, the Vacuous Spider, will just chill out with you indefinitely at the Moonside Lake if you don't strike the first blow, and doesn't even really begin to actively defend herself until you prove yourself to be a determined murder machine. Ebrietas, the Daughter of the Cosmos, is found minding her own business in an out of the way corner of the Upper Cathedral Ward, mourning Rom after you, you know, killed her in cold blood. Again, she is completely non-hostile until you start shit. In the Old Hunters, Kos (or some say Kosm) is actually benevolent sort of mother goddess to the people of a small fishing hamlet. ...until the "scholars" of Bergynwerth murder her in the name of science, too.

All of the evil and horror and stomach-turning cruelty in Bloodborne comes from corrupt systems of power run rampant, not something as facile as the supposedly intrinsic malice of beings different from us. The terrors of the cosmos are nothing before the vile, willful depravity of mankind itself. That's the idea at the heart of it all. The Great Ones, who exist on a higher plane of existence, seem to have largely left this cruelty behind. Even the Moon Presence, the principle cause of the Hunter's Dream, is trying to help Laurence and Gherman - it's just that it's so different from humans, its idea of helping is a bit. Strange. It's this really fresh and unique take on the genre, this byzantine tragedy of miscommunication, good intentions, and mortal greed, that creates one of the vanishingly few games at are actually frightening. It doesn't even have to sacrifice being a good game to do it! No hiding in closets from the scourge of screen blur and heavy breathing here. In terms of gameplay, it's probably the most refined of quintet. I'm unsure if I should count Sekiro with them or not. It's a much different thing. Trick weapons and hunter's garb are iconic, extremely stylish, original, and honestly just fucking dope as hell. You've got a hammer that explodes when it hits things, a giant pizza cutter, a katana you coat with your own blood to empower, a gunrapier and a gunspear, a giant... wagon wheel... because Miyazaki just really likes those I guess, a bow that is also a sword, a giant fucking ship's cannon you just carry around with you, a portable flamethrower, an... eyeball, that shoots space rocks, for some reason. Like the weapon design and selection alone is worthy of considerable accolade. Bloodborne is fantastic, play it if you can.

The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild

I was a little bit kinda wishy washy on putting this on here, but I think overall that it deserves a spot. In terms of story and themes, it's honestly a bit whatever. It's Zelda. Don't be an asshole to your genius daughter who knows like ten times as much as you do about everything I guess. Prince Sidon is a nice fishman. Link is like, distressingly, "this is a kids game!!" hot when you put him in certain outfits. I'm pretty sure every configuration of sexuality interested in the act of boning probably at least went "hoo boy" when Link put on the gerudo outfit. That is, of course, not really enough to qualify for such a prestigious position as one of the best games of the decade. Where Breath of the Wild shines is its world design, music, and the masterful layer of melancholy it drapes everything in. The ruined land of Hyrule is beautiful and sad in equal measure, the vistas enhanced by a fantastic soundtrack with an incredibly rich personal voice. It takes a very certain kind of design philosophy, in my opinion, to create an open world that is actually meritorious and worthwhile and not just an excuse to spend a lot of time hoofing it through vast expanses of nothing interesting. There is enough raw Stuff in the land of Hyrule, from enemy encounters to happening upon NPCs to just finding something really weird and inexplicable that you feel compelled to check out, to justify the massive open world.

I think the enemy design in particular is worthy of some praise. The game gives you a whole lot of tools to tackle any given fight. Sometimes you can just whack something with your sword until either the enemy or the sword breaks and that will work fine. Other times, you can literally do the Tao Pai Pai thing from Dragonball and launch a treetrunk into the air, surf on it, and land it squarely in the face of some unsuspecting moblin. This is a very popular speedrun strat. The sheer amount of Weird Stuff you can do in the service of ultimately saving Hyrule is a lot of lot of LOT of fun, things not many other games would let you do. There's also something to be said for the moments where you're exploring, minding your own business, and find yourself face to face with something fearsome and big and dangerous, like a Lynel in the frozen north or one of the big cyclops guys. It's heartpounding and exciting and really hits that "oh hell yeah let's fuckin FIGHT" button. And fighting in Breath of the Wild is a hell of a lot of fun! Probably the most its been in any Zelda game. Skyward Sword please go away you're drunk this was never a good idea. To me, Breath of the Wild is kind of the platonic ideal of an open world fantasy fuck around game. That used to be Skyrim, but BotW sort of made me realize you can actually have a functional game on top of all the aforementioned Fucking Around, too, and that sort of enhances the experience.

This might be a little weird and personal and I apologize, but I think the one thing that really sealed this game as something very special and significant to me was the moment I entered the Rito village for the first time. I was greeted with an utterly gorgeous piano melody that gradually unfolded into a soulful, excruciatingly bittersweet arrangement of the Dragon Roost Isle theme from the Windwaker. I admit that I was not in a good place in my life when I was playing Breath of the Wild. I was still reeling from some bad brain stuff. Be that as it may, Breath of the Wild is the only game I have ever played - hell, the only piece of art I have experienced - that has brought me to tears with nothing more than a song. When I realized what I was listening to, when the memories of a time when I was still a child with hope and trust and innocence and any faith that life would ever be something more than cruelty and suffering came flooding back, I had to put down my switch, go lay down, and just ugly cry for a while. It's honestly making me a little misty-eyed just thinking about. It was such a personal, intimate, keening feeling of... I don't really know. Nostalgia? Longing? Melancholy? Now, believe me, I love to cry. I am a crybaby. Things make me cry all the time. But not like this. This was something else. Something I still don't really understand, or can explain. All I know is that if a game can do that to me with just a few notes, it deserves to be here.

Salt and Sanctuary:

This is probably the most niche game for me. Even people who share some of my more eclectic tastes and sensibilities didn't like this game that much, but there was just something about this Metroidvania mashed with a Soulslike that hit some very primal notes in my soul. The art style, a weird mix of cartoony and utterly deranged, the enemy design, the bizarre way the world is put together, some extremely creative boss battles, and above all, some masterfully done atmosphere dripping with poorly understood dread and a sense of complete disorientation combined to create an experience that seemed to be made for me, and possibly me alone. It's not a flawless game. The music is fine, but somewhat lacking in variety. The character progression system is a good deal more complicated than it needs to be by any stretch of the imagination, as is the weapon upgrade system. The difficulty curve is uneven, and the raw inscrutability of the whole enterprise can make progression difficult in ways that it never really was in Dark Souls and Demon's Souls, which at least had the courtesy to point you in the right direction from time to time. The ending is a bit on the weak side.

Even now it feels difficult to really like. Elucidate on why I like this game so much. Maybe it's because it was the heartfelt effort of an extremely small team with more passion than experience? Because it's so unique and bold in ways other games are not, even while being a self-admitted derivative of Souls games? I just don't know. It's just such a fun and plucky thing, even if parts of it are kind of bad. It's not like, Deadly Premonition or anything where the badness is also the primary attraction. It's like, overall a good game? I believe? It's just that if it wasn't also kind of weirdly flawed and broken in some ways I don't think I would like it as much. God, I don't know. Just. Play it if you get a chance and see if any of this makes sense. One of the weapons you can use is a giant ass ship anchor, which is just fantastic, and you can start out as a chef, complete with a goofy hat and an extra helping of salt. Salt is important. Gotta keep those electrolytes up. You can also put a pumpkin on your head, and there's a boss called the Tree of Men which is just this giant torture machine that hates you and everyone else. It's so weird! The lighting is so moody and unsettling! The Queen of Smiles doesn't have a jaw! You have to brand your ass with a metal iron to double jump! ...hand, not ass, to be fair. But ass would be pretty funny. And horrifying. If you join the Iron Ones religion your healing item is just bread. And that is a fucking mood.

Super Mario Galaxy 2:

This one barely makes the temporal cut, but it was 2010 when it came out, I'm pretty sure. As a Mario game that doesn't have paper in its name, it's also going to be a bit fluffier and lighter on actual substance than pretty much every other game here, and I don't have that much to say. It's just this gorgeously realized and scored platforming adventure that's so tightly tuned you could play Smoke on the Water on it. It is the still the best traditional jumpy wahoo boing boing Mario game I have ever played. It just makes you feel good about space, and going to space, and seeing all the wonderful things in space. Though there most likely are not charming little obstacle courses themed around bees and and toy trains in space, the various cosmic phenonmenon on display on the map screen and in the background of some galaxies are close enough to what you might expect to inspire a sense of wonder and awe. SMG2 is like the purest expression of Let's Just have a Good Time design in games I have ever seen. It induces good feelings. Not everything has to be deep and troubling and thought provoking. Like, I tend to prefer it when they are, but there's always rooms for exceptions like this. Just fantastic. And the music though holy shit. Honestly I think the only game on this list that doesn't have a fantastic OST is Salt and Sanctuary, but it's still like. Serviceable.

Darkest Dungeon:

Let me start off by saying that Darkest Dungeon doesn't always hit the mark with its central conceit of stress management and the importance of mental health in your small army of adventurers. Nobody is going to start screaming abuse at their comrades or start stabbing them to death in a fit of paranoia because a skeleton spilled some cheap champagne on them. That said, I think that it -tries- to address these things is admirable, even if it is fairly easily boiled down into a simple matter of resource management and cost/benefit analysis. The reason I like Darkest Dungeon so much is that it is a game that excels at emergent storytelling. In terms of actual plot progression and character development, there is very little. You can have a party of four Occultists, each with the exact same backstory and with the exact same pact to the exact same eldritch entity, killing the exact same boss several different times. If you want. The dungeon crawling primarily serves as a vehicle for two things: the first and most obvious, the primary gameplay experience where you command your brave or at least foolhardy group of heroes to engage the ancient horrors of Grandpa's Party House. By itself, this is compelling and demanding. A bit like Dark Souls, Darkest Dungeon is a game that is fairly exacting in what it expects out of you, and it will not let you make mistakes without slapping you on the wrist and saying "no, bad." Similarly, it is a game where mastery is rewarded, but both in somewhat lesser degrees because DD is much more random and capricious in nature. The difference between a new player and an old hand is obvious, but sometimes even veterans can get completely dicked over by things out of their control.

That leads us into the second purpose: having the Ancestor narrate your constant struggle against Murphy's Law while completely hilarious bullshit conspires to send all of your highly trained and well equipped adventurers to the grave. Let me tell you a tale. I was fighting the Countess, the extremely powerful and dangerous final boss of the Crimson Court DLC. Everybody was afflicted with some manner of madness, and things were looking grim. She had shuffled my party around into a formation wherein some of them couldn't act without switching places. I ordered my vestal to switch places with Dismas, my highwayman. Dismas, however, was currently under either "selfish" or "abusive" status and simply refused to move. This meant that my vestal could not actually act that turn, and simply doing nothing incurs a penalty of stress damage. This stress damage was enough to put her gauge to the maximum, give her a heart attack, and kill her. Dismas literally murdered the healer by being too much of an asshole. I was beside myself at the time, but make no mistake - it was fucking hysterical. I later fed him to the final boss as penance for his crimes.

Darkest Dungeon is a grindy game that takes time and effort to complete. This is one of the biggest complaints leveled at it, and it's a fair one. On normal mode, though, you are more than capable of going at it inch by bloody inch, throwing corpse after corpse at the eldritch monstrosities until they at last drown in the blood and give up. No matter how grievous the setback, you can come back from it, unless you're playing on stygian/blood moon mode, which adds a fairly strict time limit and a hard cap on how many hapless adventurers you can send into the meatgrinder before the Nameless Thing That Ends The World wakes up and gives you an auto-game over. It's designed to be a long, bloody slog where shit goes wrong. Hopefully, in the upcoming sequel which I am very much anticipating not being able to play because I am poor, Red Hook can perhaps find a better balance with this. I am, for my part, fairly forgiving of grindy games, and at times even enjoy them. They were going for something with the way they designed DD, and I respect that. If you have the proper mindset of "whatever will be, will be" and learn to embrace the senselessness of death, your adventures in the Darkplace Estate will be both rewarding and oftentimes absurdly funny because your Arbalest was too depressed to eat anything, took more stress damage from starving, and then died of a heart attack, which then further stressed out the rest of the party. If that sounds more "oh my god that's awful" than "hahahaha you fucking dipshits" to you, DD might not be up your alley. But if it is, it -really- is. It's sort of the Dwarf Fortress principle, though Darkest Dungeon is far more user friendly and nice to look at. ...you know if you payed him enough the narrator voice actor would probably do a dramatic reading of Boatmurdered. Just saying.

Stellaris:

Stellaris is kind of the odd spaceman out on this list for a variety of reasons, but it shares the same kind of compelling emergent storytelling that Darkest Dungeon has. It's just less likely to be about how your alcoholic bounty hunter missed every hit against a fishman and went insane, and more likely to be about how you found this really cool Orb in space but it was in another empire's territory so you basically fabricated Space World War 1 to take it for yourself. Maybe that was just me. Much like the many habitable planets in any given Stellaris game, Paradox's grand strategy space game falls in the Goldilocks Zone of "accessible for mortal minds" and "satisfyingly complex." I'm not a huge fan of most Paradox stuff because I don't really give much of a fuck about kings and their crusaders one way or the other, but I respect them for what they are. Stellaris was kind of a proof of concept for me for that - given subject matter I actually liked (space!!!!), the various nitty gritty systems of planetary management and fleet organization and robo-modding and gene templates became compelling rather than overwhelming. They were, granted, still pretty overwhelming at first. The game still receives robust free updates and DLC even as of this writing, sometimes drastically changing the way the game is played (alloys! consumer goods! aarrrggh!) and making my 500ish hours of playtime seem a little less nonsensical. Look, a lot of that time was idling on the galaxy map while I did something else.

It's just really polished and technically competent and -enormous- and there's space dragons and sometimes you get to fuck a black hole. Stellaris doesn't really have a narrative, per se, save what you ascribe to any given game, but that doesn't mean the game doesn't have writing. A lot of very interesting, well written, and sometimes really funny flavor text can be found in the various anomalies and in-game events your science vessels will encounter as they uncover more of the galaxy, or sometimes a planet will have a mysterious portal to Hell on it, or maybe it's actually just a huge egg for a terrifying voidspawn. The game also navigates the usual 4X/strategy game dilemma of securing an early lead and just kind of chilling for the rest of the game by introducing midgame and lategames crises. It's not a perfect fix, but the ever-looming threat of a khanate space uprising, an AI uprising either from your empire or another, or ravenous space bugs from beyond the cosmos ensures that you have to keep at least a little bit on your toes. The presence of spaceborne aliens that range from "a nuisance" to "well gosh that thing is actually eating that sun this could be problematic" also ensures that you need to pay attention to both military and domestic aspects of governing. Stellaris happens in real time (though you can thank god pause whenever you want to issue orders) so there isn't really a Civilization equivalent of "oh the tiny pissant nations are declaring war, time to buy seven tanks with my enormous hoard of gold and run over their medieval knights" in Stellaris. Stuff always takes time to make, and it takes time to get in position, too. Space being exceedingly vast, and all that.

The lategame can get simultaneously get very overwhelming and very boring, but there are systems put in place to help automate the process of ruling a huge interstellar empire and one of the nice things about Stellaris is that you can kind of just. Stop whenever you want. There are technically win conditions, if you're into that sort of thing, but a lot of the time I will just play it through until I'm like "hmm okay im good" and then just either start a new game as an extremely different kind of empire or play something else for a while. It's kind of nice. The idea of "winning" in these games is always so weird to me anyway. I kind of like the framework where it's just kind of like. You tell a story, rather than try to win a game. Recent changes have made it much easier to actually achieve victory, however. Part of the thing that kind of encouraged my "eh i'll stop when i wanna" approach in the first place was how unreasonable some of the old victory requirements were. Occupy sixty percent of the galaxy? Excuse me???? Fuck off. Also, it's not like. A really salient part of the game like it is for most other games on the list, but Stellaris actually does have a pretty nice soundtrack. It's much more ambient in nature and there's not really enough of it for the amount of Game there is, but what's there is nice, even if you will probably end up turning it off and listening to your own music instead eventually.

============================= =Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers= =============================

Alright so if you've like actually looked at my twitter or talked to me or to someone about me for more than two minutes, it's probably pretty obvious that I really like FFXIV. An unhealthy amount. I will cop to that. FFXIV is an MMORPG. Let's start with the basics. I enjoy the game's gameplay a lot. I would not have put 6 years of my life into playing it if I did not, I'm not a Dota 2 player, for Christ's sake. I like to raid, and have actively done it in every wing except for the Sigmascape. I even managed to beat the final encounter of the current Edengate raids! I'm currently sort of gathering my courage to try the latest Ultimate Raid, the Epic of Alexander. Ultimate Raids are fights that are absurdly difficult by any reasonable standard and further winnow the playerbase from "hit level 80->does endgame stuff->does savage raiding->clears savage raid tiers->does Ultimate Raids->.00000001% of the player base that clears ultimate raids". Ultimates are for a very specific kind of player. I'm just sort of mentioning it for context purposes, it doesn't really factor in to my overall evaluation.

Now, despite the fact that I personally enjoy the gameplay a great deal, it is not actually why I think this game is so good. This might puzzle you. What else is there to an MMO? Is the sense of community especially great? Well, I would say that I really enjoy the community of people I play with, but on the whole, XIV's community is about. Standard, really. Which is to say "a fucking dumpsterfire" by any human metric, but just par for the course for online video games. What keeps me coming back to the game is that in between all the endgame stuff and grinding and crafting and going to die in Eureka, there is a bafflingly compelling and superlative singleplayer experience. The game is actually like unironically the best mainline FF title since at least XII. I would personally say it's on par with IX as a narrative experience, which is no faint praise because i fuckin luv me some ffix. But how can an MMO have such a compelling story? It's kind of complicated.

History lesson for the ten people who still don't know: FFXIV actually launched way back in like. 2011 or some shit and it was -arrestingly- bad. "Embarrassment to the franchise name" bad. So bad that they decided to literally drop a meteor on the game world, bring in a new director, shut the whole thing down for a year or so, and then relaunch the game as A Realm Reborn in mid 2013. People really liked this version. It was nothing short of a miracle. It also layed the groundwork for something important: a real and genuine dedication to worldbuilding (and worldending, too). The destruction and rebirth of the realm of Eorzea is metanarratively (theres my favorite non-word word again) baked into the very DNA of the game as it is now. Learning about the people who lived after the Calamity and how they survived is a direct parallel to how the dev team had to survive and adapt to make this complete boondoggle of a game into something presentable. A lot of heart and soul went into the bones of the world the game takes place in, because it's an expression of that dogged determination to make it work. Yoshida and his team probably crunched like hell to get it all done, and that makes me really sad, but what's done is done. I wish it didn't have to be that way, but it is, and all I can do at this point is praise the team's hard work and vision and try to support them as best I can.

So there's this really weighty sense of reality to the game world, and all of 2.0 is basically spent just establishing Eorzea and how it works. If you were an early adopter of ARR, like I was (2.1 is early right. it's gotta be.) then you grew to genuinely care about the place you spent so much time in and looked so pretty and was kind of obnoxiously laid out but don't worry there will be flying in the expansion. The longrunning nature of the game sort of necessitated a sort of serialized story. It had much more in common with an episodic TV Show than a usual Final Fantasy story, which for better or for worse are usually self-contained little things until somebody decides its fuckin Nova Crystalis time. It created a really unique sense of anticipation and participation in an ongoing story and evolving world. I think this is where a lot of people find their attachments to MMO style games, why people are still faithfully playing World of Warcraft 15 years on.

So FFXIV gets two expansions, Heavensward and Stormblood, and they were very Good, and added lots of neat things to the game and advanced the story and introduced new and beloved characters and also Zenos yae Galvus I guess and the long-running nature of it all started forging a kind of personal narrative of necessity, if that makes sense? Like, your own protagonist, who is mostly silent, who you created and customized and further customized and maybe turned into a lalafell once just to see what it was like to be so short, has been an important part of this world for so long your brain kind of just fills in the gaps in spite of itself. What would my character think about this? What would she do? Why would she do it? That kind of thing. The Warrior of Light, as one is called, has had a leading role in the game's story since pretty much day one, but one of the things that compels me about the character is how much work it took to get where she is today. Like, it's not a Diablo 3 style "hmm well you killed those zombies really good so i guess you're basically stronger than god and also satan put together" affair. You start out as a newbie adventurer, you do newbie adventurer things, like helping orange pickers keep the orchard clear of bees or deliver packages for guilds or whatever sufficiently adventuresome task needs doing. You gain notoriety for doing things that are, well, worthy of notoriety. You really get noticed when you defeat the primal Ifrit in a pitched battle, get recruited by some organizations, and you keep steadily working your way up from there.

As of Shadowbringers, the warrior of Darkness is kind of stronger than god and satan combined, but it took a fucking -lot- to get there. One base game and two expansions worth of life or death battles against utterly intractable foes and also Zenos yae Galvus I guess. It is beyond the scope of this piece to just give you a full plot summary of six years worth of storytelling, so I will just cut to the chase and try to explain what I'm taking five million words to say. Shadowbringers did something I thought heretofore impossible: it made me care about my tabula rasa cipher avatar as a character in a story and not just as an expression of digital self that I had grown fond of. Don't get me wrong - Dazzlyn Reed the adventurer is absolutely an expression of digital self that I have grown -disproportionately- fond of. I figure I'm a few more patch cycles from becoming that girl in the Jack Chick tract about Dungeons and Dragons who had a psychotic break because her DnD character died. However, for the most part, that affection was more of... kind of taking pride in her appearance and the outfits I put together and the achievements I had accomplished with her and stuff like that. Shadowbringers made me care about her as a character in her own right, which seems borderline miraculous to me.

It's sort of hard to explain without totally spoiling everything. And even with spoiling everything. In vague terms, I'll try to express it this way: the game put Dazzlyn in a situation where she had failed. Like, spectacularly. Everything she had done in the course of the expansion had gone up in smoke, and her own life was in real and severe danger. When you play these kinds of games, your first instinct when things go wrong in the story is pretty much always to just flippantly say to yourself "okay okay just calm down and let me fix it i'm like level a billion it's fiiiiine". Shadowbringers turns that on its head. You went to fix things... and you couldn't. Despite good intentions, it's arguable that you only made things worse. Everything you worked for since arriving on the First was just utterly undone, and the game lets you see the toll that has taken on your character. It's weirdly heartwrenching in a really uncommon and compelling way. Dazzlyn had been on the outside looking in at this kind of situation plenty of times before, and she had always had a nice and encouraging thing to say as she helped shoulder the burden and get things back on track for Alphinaud or Lyse or Cid or whoever. The game has, since antiquity, given you much appreciated little dialogue choices that don't really matter much in the scheme of things but let you kind of carve out your own characterization, and the way Dazzlyn turned out was somebody who just really cared way too much about all of her dumb stupid impossible friends who kept fucking up.

One thing that longtime players of the game have complained about quite a bit over the years is that your NPC friends never seemed very. Like. Personally close to you, with a couple of exceptions like Alisae. Shadowbringers both fixes that by introducing the Trust system, which lets you take your Scion buddies into dungeons with you instead of other players, if you are so inclined, and sort of turns it back around to be a kind of poignant narrative point. After everything she had done for them, unconditionally and with a smile, none of the Scions could actually find a way to help Dazzlyn when she finally ended up being the one who needed it. And this -fucks them up-, emotionally. Like, bad. Alisae nearly has a crying fit over it in one of Shadowbringer's more affecting scenes. And just watching the whole thing unfold fucked me up, too. Like, I hadn't signed up for this. I was (relatively) safe in the knowledge that they would not have the gall to actually kill off the player character in an ongoing MMO, but it wasn't necessarily the fear of something happening to her that was getting to me. It was more just this feeling of "god, she deserves better. this isn't fair." The emotional pain that, well, everybody involved is going through is extremely real, even if the threat of genuine death is not. I know (mostly) (please god) that Dazzlyn is going to be okay, but she doesn't. Her friends certainly don't. And even when she does miraculously pull through, it's not like all of this grief and fear and anxiety is going to just vanish like it never happened.

I really have to stress how completely and catastrophically wrong this could have gone if the writers responsible weren't sufficiently skilled. I'm pretty sure if I idly suggested a BFA era World of Warcraft storyline like this to somebody who still plays they would have an apoplectic fit. It would have been so easy for this kind of exercise to ascribe character traits and emotions to a very personal interpretation of the Warrior of Light that they would never have, for any one person's vision of them. The FFXIV writing team avoided this issue entirely, probably because they knew if they didn't people would go ape, by focusing the brunt of the expressed distress on your friends and just leaving you yourself some time to take in the enormity of how badly things have gone wrong in customary silence. A subdued facial expression here, a dialogue option there. No more than strictly necessary. The game encourages you to draw your own conclusions about what your Warrior is feeling, how they're coping, if they even have any hope left, but it does not overstep its bounds and do it for you. It's just... really masterfully done. The overall arc of Shadowbringers can be described as "intriguing, well realized, and competently done." The overarching ideas presented aren't like, groundbreaking or anything. What is groundbreaking, at least to me, is this miraculous giving of life to a character that was originally intended as as simple player avatar.

At the end of the day, everybody rallies around you, as they usually do, but it is markedly different this time. It isn't some facile repetition of the idea that the Warrior of Light/Darkness/Pants-theft is this focal point of hope given form and life to everyone. Instead, it's this... oddly touching expression of friendship. Commitment. It's all probably going to end in tragedy. There's nothing anybody can really do. But they're going to stay with you until the bitter end anyway, because they care about you. If nothing else, they can't bear to think of you dying alone and in agony. Even the citizens of the Crystarium, with whom you do not share a bond that goes back literal years, show up to give you some words of encouragement. They show up to tell you that it's okay that you failed. It's okay that you got hurt, it's okay that you're in pain, that you're scared, that you're vulnerable, that you don't know what to do. After spending such a long time in the game's lore as being kind of invincible and infallible except for the occasional matter of pesky Imperial Viceroys and Old Kung-fu Men, it's just... affecting. It's not often done in games, at least that I have played and seen.

Does this one story moment justify making Shadowbringers the game of the decade? Honestly? Kind of. To me, art has always been about emotional reaction. This kind of reaction is something special, even for a crybaby idiot bitch like me. Moments like these are what make or break truly fantastic experiences. Finally finding Vendrick in the Tomb as that haunting, off-key melody starts playing. Realizing the true nature of the Upper Cathedral Ward. Hearing a beautiful piece of music in Rito Village and thinking about what that song means to you. Admitting that you care about your Warrior of Darkness more than you thought. They're all quite different, running the gamut from existential despair, stomach turning fear, a deep and abiding nostalgia and longing for what used to be, to a sincere, melancholy affection for a game world I've been a part of for almost six years. There's one unbroken thread: a cascade of genuine emotion. Something that goes beyond the simple pressing of buttons and jolts of serotonin as the numbers go up or the bad guys die.

Fortunately for my general credibility, Shadowbringers is also just really good in general. Soken's soundtrack is, as always, kind of spooky in how high quality it is. The presentation is top notch as usual. Encounter design is probably the best its ever been in terms of balancing accessibility and challenge and having mechanics that actually Work As Intended and not nightmarish garbage like Digititis and Black Hole Walking. Royal Pentacle! Server ticks! Server ticks! Uh. Sorry. Going slightly feral there. Anyway. Overall, I think Shadowbringers is the most polished expansion so far, in all respects, and its narrative quality in particular is kind of transcendent because of what it accomplishes in regards to how players see themselves in relation to an unfolding story. Also, it has an unfair advantage, because it's also a continuation of Nier Automata now! That's two games of the decade in one! Now, due to the serial nature of it all, I will allow that if something goes... like, inconceivably, catastrophically wrong with 5.2 - 5.5 I might be a little premature in my assessment. That said, 5.1 was just as fantastic as 5.0 and I don't see a reason to assume that the quality will so drastically drop in the coming months.

If you're somebody who really likes Rankings, here is a pretty noncommital list of them going from least good to best good but they're all special damn it.

10. Super Mario Galaxy 2 9. Breath of the Wild 8. Stellaris 7. Darkest Dungeon 6. Salt and Sanctuary 5. Dark Souls 4. Nier Automata 3. Bloodborne 2. Dark Souls II 1. Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers

And here's a couple of Honorable Mentions just because!

Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice

To be honest, this easily could have taken the place of like. Breath of the Wild or SMG2 if I was just a little bit more into Sekiro's aesthetic. It's easily the most technical and best-playing game that Miyazaki's team has put out so far, with a very simple to learn, difficult to master system of fighting based more around swordfighting than "shove large axe into monster butt" its predcessors liked so much. It also has a well-told story about a fairly down to earth conflict between an independent fiefdom and Japan's internal ministry trying to conquer it, with a splash of supernatural weirdness to give it some spice. There are monkeys with guns. Sekiro is just fantastically put together, and I really did end up loving Wolf as a main character, despite my initial misgivings about one of these games without a character creator. Wolf is kind of a lovable chuuni dipshit who tries his best in completely unreasonable circumstances and having him as an anchor lets Sekiro's story be more personal and self-contained in nature than the heady cosmological epics of the Souls games, which was a nice change of pace. Ultimately, though, I just find ineffably weird nature of the earlier titles to be a bit more interesting than shinobi and samurai, which is why Sekiro gets an honorable menchie and not a top spot. Don't get me wrong though shinobi and samurai are dope and Sekiro is not a -worse- game for their inclusion. It's just a matter of personal preference, and I could easily see this game taking a top spot on somebody else's list.

Pokemon X and Y

I am a Pokemon bitch. I play all of them, except for black/white 2 and ultra sun/moon, which seemed too similar to their predecessors to really justify spending my precious, jealously guarded money on them. I feel that in general, X and Y has overall, the best mix of available pokemon, world design, music, Fun Little Things, and general game flow of all of them. Sword and Shield excepted I am still in the middle of that one. Pokemon is absolutely kind of video game comfort food, and its kind of just. There's not a lot to it emotionally, though it does have some fairly in depth mechanics and shit if you want to look into it. I don't know I just really liked X and Y. I felt like it deserved mentioning.

Blade and Soul

This game is awful I'm pretty sure but I have so many fond memories of playing it with people I love and creating a ridiculous titty oil monster and having adventures with her sorry i'm trash

So there you have it. A very personal (sometimes maybe probably too personal) look at the ten games that I found to be the best that came out in the last ten years. Now, I usually consider my opinions on these things to be fairly well reasoned, but in this case, I did rely a lot more on the touchy feely qualitative things that are really important to me over the necessary but lamentable "yes i suppose this game is technically competent and plays extremely well" considerations a more objective list of this kind would entail. So you're free to disagree and think I'm stupid and wrong. I would prefer it if you did not think I was stupid, though, but the fact of the matter is I cannot stop you. Here's to another ten years of wonderful games that make us feel things.

#game of the decade #ffxiv #dark souls #bloodborne #botw #darkest dungeon

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earthstory · 5 years

Photo

Does De Beers really control the diamond price?

Every time I post on the gemmy form of carbon, some commentators state that the value of diamonds and the entire distribution market for them is controlled by one company. While the latter might have been true until the late 1980's, this is not the case today, and I feel it's time for a bit of a plunge into the history of the diamond trade. As for the former, it's a pipedream. Like other wonders of nature, gem diamonds are rare, as are rubies and sapphires, even though corundum is fairly plentiful in non gem qualities. Before the discoveries in South Africa late in the 19th century, gem diamonds only came from two main sources (with a third minor one in Borneo): The traditional mines around Golconda in southern India (mined since time immemorial, and found in antique Roman rings and medieval jewellery) and the 'recent' discoveries made by the Portuguese in Brazil in the 1600's. At first the new discoveries were a minor influence, but as more kimberlite pipes and placer deposits (reworked deposits from eroded pipes) were found throughout southern Africa, the supply increased and the quality grading grew ever more fanciful (rising to AAAAAA for diamonds of the 'purest water').

De Beers formed as the various African mines (previously divided into individual claims) were gradually consolidated by a cast of unusual characters, some with insane imperial ambitions (such as Cecil Rhodes...as in Rhodes scholarships and Rhodesia) and others eccentrics who were in it for the game and the money (such as Barney Barnato, who started off in the London East End rag trade and was a born showman).

De Beers developed into the biggest centre of expertise in diamonds, their origins, geology, and mining in the world, with an integrated vertical structure that went from mine to gem cutter. This included prospecting, assessing (with a strict grading system), extracting (in the complex engineering environment of deep carrot shaped pipes), separating the wheat from the chaff and moving the produce down the distribution chain via its sightholders (who were chosen on the basis of being able to come up with enough money 10 times a year to make it worth De Beer's while selling to them). These then passed on down the chain the rough that they didn't cut themselves.

De Beers first made synthetic stones and stand at the forefront of detection methods used in gem labs today. They also pioneered research into treatments, and supported the GIA cut diamond grading system when it was introduced (with the best colour as D rather than AAAAAA). When you buy a certified stone, it is backed up by their technology, and their expertise has helped develop the systems used, giving confidence to buyers wolrdwide.

As further discoveries were made, its expertise allowed it to take a part in or be invited into many concessions worldwide. Everyone thought that they would get best value added that way. Even the Communist Soviets (who had made their own discoveries in Siberia and the far north) joined the De Beers distribution system for most of the cold war. De Beers marketed diamonds worldwide, but not in the sense most people seem to believe. Their supply monopoly was never perfect, many sources remained outside their control, and their buyers were stationed worldwide hoovering up as much production as they could, but never close to all of it.

The new African sources allowed gems to be accessible to the masses in a way never before possible in history. Thus the tradition of the engagement ring spread down through the middle classes along with slogans 'is she worth a month's salary', a social custom that the clever marketing spread worldwide, including new places like China and Japan. In a similar manner, the development of heat treatment for corundums by the Thais in the 1980's made rubies and sapphires accessible outside the circle of the super rich for the first time. So yes, like any good company, they strove to grow demand for their product, with a high degree of commercial success. They based this success on mankind's eternal love of bright shiny crystals, whether coloured or clear, that many of you presumably share, (or the pretty crystals I post wouldn't get any likes).

And then came Argyle in the early 80's, the biggest diamond mine on Earth (in the Kimberleys of West Australia) and the main source of the extremely rare pink, purple and red stones. For several decades its production was the highest in the world by far, at 10 million+ carats yearly. Unfortunately most of their production was yellow or brown, then viewed as industrial quality by the DB system.

After many arguments about how to market them, Rio Tinto pulled out of the system and started its own campaign, revealing their stones to be beautiful (and they are) 'champagne' and 'cognac' diamonds. They built direct links with the growing cutting industry in India, whose low labour costs allowed their small stones to be faceted in bulk, and started their own distribution line. The Russians followed suit, and ALROSA (the state diamond corporation) began their own direct auctions and sales in Ramat Gan (Israel) and Antwerp.

As the system was already beginning to fragment, a maverick Canadian geologist (whose extraordinary story I have told elsewhere at https://tmblr.co/Zyv2Js246Z0Pm) single handedly discovered a game changer that would mostly remain outside the existing system: Ekati, which was followed by many more finds in the Canadian Arctic (that DB and others had explored fruitlessly in the 20th century). The gems here are high quality, and without some of the unfortunate associated politics of African stones. The Canadians have developed a mine to finger tracing system, and marketed their diamonds very well.

Other countries who saw this also wanted to maximise the value received for their stones, and began to demand renegotiations or award concessions to smaller independent companies, where the balance of power in the contract would be more to their favour. DB had mixed stones from all over into boxes of varied qualities, claiming the money they earned was in the tweezer used for sorting, that theoretically allowed the manufacturers to specialise in the goods they could cut for highest profit. Now parcels with distinct provenances are common and each country (with the exception of Namibia and Botswana which remain the linchpins of what remains of the DB system) or mine markets its own goods.

The 'cartel', faced with the loss of its monopoly (always relative remember, Mobutu's fief of Zaire for example sold plenty on the side) and with majority rule in its South African home finally realised, proceeded to restructure both its holdings and its system. They gradually divested the old mines in South Africa to smaller companies, exchanged cross shareholdings with its main sources (Botswana and Namibia), left its London HQ and sorting operation for Gaborone and reinvented itself as a 'supplier of choice' with its sightholders. They also started to market high end cut gems and jewellery in their own chain of stores worldwide.

In further complex manoeuvres, it took itself private as part of a restructuring of the Anglo American gold company, which enjoyed a cross shareholdings with DB and the Oppenheimer family. Tracing what all this manoeuvring means is still tricky, as it is too recent to really evaluate the consequences.

The main current problem in the diamond trade is in part a consequence of this strategy, since the prices of rough are ever increasing and those of polished goods remain more or less level. Many smaller cutters are going out of business, and the number of middlemen in the trade is going down, as both the mining companies and nations work to realise the maximum value possible for their own production ( by for example keeping a share in an important stone when sold to the cutter) and start new cutting centres to maximise locally added value (and jobs). Inevitably this means taking the extra money from elsewhere in the distribution chain, since the price of polished goods remains stable or down.

As for the second allegation, that diamonds are as common as peanuts, I'll ask you all, when did you find one last in your back garden? They may be less rare than top end unheated rubies, tsavorites and red beryl, but mining production still sees a carat per million tons of shlep as pretty good. That's alot of earth to shift for a carat, especially if you bear in mind that most production still falls into the industrial category, champagne and cognac notwithstanding. And as for fancy coloured diamonds like the Hope blue, they are super rare.

As ever in these matters, things are more complex than anyone attempting a simplification (this post included) can describe for a public. The gem trade has always been secretive, about sources and clients, sales and purchases, prices paid and charged. Add in the need for operational security with small high value goods subject to robbery and the murky end of international politics, then you have a situation in which, as ever in interesting historical matters: those who truly know remain silent, those who speak, speculate.....

Loz

Image credit: De Beers

#diamond #de beer #sscience #geology #stone #gemstone #monopoly #economy #rio tino

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calamity-bean · 5 years

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Hi !! In your post about "Mad Sweeney through the ages" you noted in the tags that you restrained yourself from going into tangents... I'm super interested about what you mentionned though ! Would you mind wiritng a little bit on the relationship between the Tuatha de and the fairies and the dead ?? Sorry, i'm very curious and I love history and mythology a lot !! (Also sorry for any mistakes, I'm not a native speaker !!) Thank you ! :)

Hello! Sorry it took me all day to answer this; it’s just that, well… this got a bit long, even though I tried to be brief. XD

Basically, what I was referring to is the same thing Sweeney talks about in the show: the way his identity has changed SIGNIFICANTLY over the centuries because the stories about him have mutated over time. People gradually conflated stories about certain types of beings (such as the Tuatha De Danann) with stories about other types of beings (such as fairies), or allowed elements of certain stories to influence others, and as a result, the very essence of what Sweeney IS evolved along with the folklore.

The cool thing, though — and I guess this is really the crux of what I was getting at in my tags — is that Sweeney’s particular evolutionary path isn’t a concept that’s unique to American Gods. I mean, to SOME extent, it’s AG’s invention; after all, the traditional figure of Mad Sweeney as portrayed in the Buile Suibhne is not a leprechaun or Lugh. He’s cursed, but he’s still just a mortal dude. But I think AG’s decision to MAKE him into those other things makes perfect sense in light of the fact that in certain areas that historically retained a strong Celtic influence (including much of the British Isles as well as Brittany), there really are a lot of intriguing similarities, overlaps, and parallels between the way folklore portrays fairies and the way it portrays the spirits of dead mortals. In Irish mythology specifically, the Tuatha De Danann get wrapped up in the relationship as well. These similarities have inspired a theory that elements of Celtic folklore about fairies might have evolved out of ancient superstitions about the dead and the places the dead were believed to inhabit. Which isn’t to say that it’s a direct evolution, nor that these three types of being are all exactly the same thing — simply that they seem to be related and to have influenced one another over time.

Unnecessarily detailed discussion under the cut, along with more of my thoughts on why I think this whole concept works out really well with regard to Mad Sweeney and lends a lot of weight to his backstory’s arc.

The People of the Mounds

One of the most familiar narratives in a classic fairy story is the human traveler who accidentally wanders into the fairy realm. It’s a story with innumerable variations. Perhaps the traveler simply follows the wrong path, or perhaps they enter a doorway in the side of a hill — either way, they end up in Faerie. It is a liminal space inhabited by beings that, because they are immortal or non-mortal, are not DEAD, exactly, but aren’t quite ALIVE, either, not in the way that mortal human beings are alive. And in many stories, it is also inhabited by dead humans. There are many versions of this story in which the traveler in Faerie is shocked to encounter a neighbor or loved one whom they know for a fact died years ago — like, actually physically DIED. And yet here their spirit is, trapped in this other world! The realm of Faerie is thus a place of great wonder, yes, but also great peril. It’s a place into which a person’s soul might be tragically stolen, though also a place from which they can sometimes be rescued. One such tale of rescue is the medieval poem Sir Orfeo, which is straight-up a Breton/English reimagining of Orpheus and Eurydice — except it’s set in Faerie instead of in the realm of the dead.

In short, Celtic stories often handle fairies and Faerie in a way that strongly evokes death, the realm of the dead, and the spirits of the dead. But for me, perhaps the most interesting aspect goes back to what I mentioned about WHERE these stories often take place. Where do the aos si dwell? Underground, of course — specifically, in hollow hills. It’s right there in the name: “aos si” means “people of the mounds.” Hence the stories in which a traveler enters Faerie through a door in the side of a hill. Coincidentally, where do the Tuatha de Danann dwell? Also underground — not originally, but they were driven underground by the Milesians, who took the above-ground world as their half of the earth in their truce.

But what kind of hill would be hollow? What kind of hill might have a doorway set into the side…?

Well… A hill like Newgrange, perhaps. Or like other hills within the Bru na Boinne complex. Or a hill like Bryn Celli Ddu in Wales, or Maes Howe in Orkney, or the Mound of the Hostages at Tara, or any number of other ancient barrows/tumuli: burial mounds built in prehistoric times as tombs for the human dead. Because the answer to “What other kind of creature dwells underground?” is, of course, dead people, at least in cultures which have tended to bury them.

Thus, the familiar trope of entering Faerie through a door in a hill very much evokes the idea of entering a tomb. This concept is reinforced by the fact that some specific fairy legends are anchored to specific tumuli. Newgrange is said to be the home of the Dagda and other Tuatha De; Cnoc Maedha is home to the fairy king Finvarra. Glastonbury Tor is associated with Gwyn ap Nudd of the Tylwyth Teg, ruler of the underworld of Annwn. Willy Howe is proposed to be the location of a specific version of one of those tales about a traveler wandering into a hill.

Not every fairy legend is associated with a specific hill, not every tumulus is associated with a fairy legend, and not every hill associated with a fairy legend has been confirmed to actually be a tomb. It’s more of a general association based on the tumulus shape. Also, some of these associations seem to have originated much later than others; they might be fairly recent inventions rather than old, traditional myths. But that’s kind of the point in AG, isn’t it: traditions evolve. Over time, they gather new associations and take on new meaning as the stories change. Did the idea that the aos si live in hollow hills evolve directly out of a superstition that specific hills — specific burial mounds — were home to the spirits of the dead? Perhaps! Perhaps not! Perhaps it’s more a case of stories mutually influencing each other, or maybe it’s convergent evolution, or maybe it’s sheer coincidence. But I think that the amount of similarity and overlap in these legends is enough to suggest roots in a common tradition, or at least to suggest that beliefs about these three categories of being have, over time, become intimately associated with each other.

Suibhne, the Dead King?

Which FINALLY brings us back to Sweeney.

I think the idea that the aos si evolved out of the Tuatha De Danann is pretty well known; I don’t think it’s entirely clear-cut from a historical standpoint, but it’s a theory I see mentioned quite often, and I feel like it intuitively makes sense. A transition from one supernatural, subterranean creature to another feels natural; it’s easy to grasp how those legends could be related. So it’s no surprise that American Gods would have a character who starts out as one of them and evolves into the other, especially since it’s been theorized that the concept of leprechauns in general might have evolved specifically out of Lugh. (The names share a possible etymology, and the characters share an association with luck.)

But the primary inspiration for Mad Sweeney — Suibhne, son of Colman Cuar, of the Buile Suibhne — feels, at first, like more of an outlier. Sure, Suibhne was under a curse, but he wasn’t, like, any type of supernatural creature… He was just a mortal human. The whole legend at least purports to be based on a real-life historical man. How does a mortal human get turned into a god or a fairy? How does that stage of Sweeney’s evolution fit in with leprechauns and Lugh?

To me, the key lies in the Annals of Tigernach. As I mentioned in my Mad Sweeney Through the Ages post, these annals record that Suibhne didn’t FLEE from the battle of Magh Rath… he DIED in it. And I don’t know whether AG is doing this on purpose, but in my opinion, this death really fits with the way AG has chosen to tell Suibhne’s story? In the Buile Suibhne, Suibhne flees the battlefield simply because the frenzy and St. Ronan’s curse overwhelm him. The idea that he fled because he foresaw his own death is AG’s own particular twist on the legend. AG’s Sweeney is a character who is haunted, throughout the different versions of himself, by near-deaths and foreseen-deaths and deaths that may or may not have actually happened. By choosing to reference the fact that Sweeney should have died at Magh Rath — possibly even did die at Magh Rath, heck, he supposedly died that night with the seer, too! — American Gods makes the critical decision to recast Suibhne mac Colmain as not merely the story of a king, but of a dead king.

And if you view the Buile Suibhne as the story of someone whose life, historically, ended at Magh Rath, but who through the power of mythology has been given an existence beyond Magh Rath, it becomes a story of undeath: of a mortal who becomes trapped in a strange, supernatural form of existence that is not exactly death but not really life as he knew it, either — sort of like a spirit trapped in Faerie. For me, AG’s decision to connect Suibhne’s legend with leprechauns and Lugh makes the most sense when I view Suibhne as a figure who kind of escaped death, but also kind of didn’t escape death, and always has this specter of death hanging over him for the rest of his cursed “life” after Magh Rath. If Suibhne is, essentially, a spirit persisting in a type of pseudo-life beyond death, then I can contextualize his role in Sweeney’s evolution within this whole theory of how the dead, the fae, and the Tuatha De Danann are intimately entwined.

Conclusion???

…WOW, this got long! Thanks for listening to me ramble. I hope it was interesting to you and that I’ve explained myself in a way that makes sense.

Obviously, I don’t know whether Gaiman / the showrunners of American Gods had any of these same concepts in mind when they were creating the book or the show. And I want to reiterate that the proposed relationship between these types of folklore is more of a theory than a concrete historical fact. It’s a theory that I find very compelling and very inspiring, but it’s difficult to really prove that traditional beliefs evolved in this way. Also, much of the actual scholarship I’ve found on this subject is older than I’d like, and I’m not sure whether different interpretations have since gained more traction in the field. Still, the work of Katharine Mary Briggs is a good place to start if you’re interested in reading more on this subject, especially her article “The Fairies and the Realms of the Dead.”

Regardless of whether it’s provable, though, I think it’s a theory that works beautifully with what we see in “Treasure of the Sun” and that fits really well with the mechanics of American Gods. And when it comes to AG, it doesn’t really matter, anyway, whether the dead and the fae and the gods were originally related or not — all that matters is that we humans believe that they are.

#mad sweeney #american gods #irish mythology #folklore #buile suibhne #ag meta #my meta #op #asks #Anonymous

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ladyhallen · 5 years

Text

Inverted Fairy Tales: Cinderella

After the funeral of the late Lord Delacroix, the change was so gradual that Ella Delacroix couldn’t pinpoint when things started to happen.

At one point, she was sure that her step-sisters, Tatyana and Priscilla, protested but were silenced hastily. 

First, it was Jehanne, let go for spilling the tea on carpets and wasting an entire batch of crumpets. Then, it was Marguerite, fired for the accidentally dropping the white linens in a tub of red dye. 

Little by little, the staff was fired until finally, only the housekeeper, the butler and the groom were left. 

Ella had protested the changes loudly and was told to pick up the slack, little things like darning her own stockings to emptying her own chamber pot. She doesn’t notice when she started feeding the chickens and doing the dishes too but she does know that one day, she woke up with callouses in her hands and an acute pain in her back from scrubbing the floor. 

She tried. She honestly tried her best to be kind. 

Ella had forgiven the recently widowed Lady Delacroix her petty cruelties because even if Ella had lost a father, her stepmother had lost her husband. 

But ripping apart her homemade dress just because she didn’t want Ella to get out of the house was just the last straw. She hadn’t done anything to her. 

Ella had lost her father, was slowly losing her home and was also starting to lose her name when her stepmother started calling her Cinderella for having soot on her face. 

Ella was desperate to get out, before she would forget her own self. 

Ella bled on the hearth from the scratch marks of her stepmother’s nails and wept on it with tears of frustration after her dress was torn apart. She did not know the manner of being that came out of the hearthstones that she contracted by accident, only that it was there and promised help. For a price. 

“You want a night out,” the being said, smoke lazily curling around their nude form. It did not detract from its red eyes and the wicked gleam in them. “And you’re willing to pay any price. How fortuitous.” The last word was said with relish. 

She managed to hold back her shivers. “I want to get out from this house for even a moment,” Ella corrected. “I want to see more than the soot in this hearth.” 

The being laughed. “I will grant it. You will have until midnight. The price you will pay, will be worth it. Wet the hearth again with tears and blood, child, and I will answer.” 

She fell asleep with the wealth of smoke breathed on her by the being. And woke up with a start, soft deerskin gloves on her hands and a shimmering, expensive gown on her body the same shade as her eyes. 

It had been ages since Ella last felt anything so rich and she wanted to cry for the birthright that had been denied to her. 

But there was no time. Midnight, the beings whisper repeated, seeming to linger in the air between her and the cold and empty hearth. She was cold, but she had no doubt that it wasn’t a dream and it wasn’t because of the expensive and luxurious things she was wearing, but the unbelievable feeling of dread that weighed her down. 

What sort of creature did she make a deal with?

Since she had been busy making contracts with beings of dubious morality, Ella was late. 

This was not a good thing, because that meant all the main doors were already closed. The herald was no longer at his post and she had to make do with sneaking into the side door and admiring everything. 

The chandelier, the numerous dancing people, the food. 

Oh the food. If Ella wasn’t so astounded by the noise, she would be eating as much food as she could manage. The table fairly groaned with it and no one so much as glanced at it!

“First time in a ball?” a young man with a sympathetic smile asked her. He was handsome with lovely eyes.

“Yes!” she answered with enthusiasm. She was nibbling on a small plate of crepes. She doesn’t let it show that it had actually her thirteenth plate. She had never been so well fed in her life.  

“Are you having fun?” he asked, seemingly amused by her good cheer.  

“Extremely so,” she said brightly.

“Even if you’re not dancing?" he pressed.  

With a jolt, Ella realized that no, she was not dancing and being one of the very few women not dancing, it was drawing attention to her. 

“Ah,” she said, the crepes suddenly tasting like ash in her mouth. One of those women sitting out was her stepmother and those sharp, cold eyes were watching her conversation partner like a hawk. “No,” she managed to continue. “Dancing. I don’t know anyone and I have no one to introduce me.” 

The man scoffed at the mention of society rules. “You know me. Will you dance with me?” he asked. 

Ella lit up, smiling at the man. “Yes please,” she said, curtsying. 

The plate was removed in short order and both of them arranged themselves at the side while they waited for the next set. 

“What’s your name?” she asked, staring at the whirl of twirling skirts that passed by. “My caretakers call me Ella.” 

“Call me Harry,” he said, a dimple showing up when he smiled. “Everyone does.” 

The name seemed familiar, but Ella was distracted. She was having the time of her life. 

When the refrains for the set ended, everyone clapped and the women on the dance floor curtseyed to their partners. 

“Shall we?” he asked, offering his elbow. 

Ella eagerly looped her arm through his and allowed him to lead her to the center. When the set started, she had a moment’s terror. What if she had forgotten those old lessons in dancing? But no, the moment her partner led her, Ella remembered.  

She laughed in happiness and followed his lead with abandon, every inch of her aware of the lightest pressure of his hands.

“That’s better,” her dance partner said with that dimpled smile. “Your face seems like it was made for laughter.” 

“I’ve never had a better set,” she said, ignoring the fact that she hadn’t danced in years and therefore had nothing to compare it to but fading memories. “You are a very talented partner, thank you.” 

“I should be saying that,” he said. “You are a very responsive partner. Would you like a walk in the garden with me, my lady?” 

Now that he mentioned it, the room was stifling. “I would be honored,” she said, curtsying. 

The gardens were magnificent, with rose bushes and hydrangeas blooming everywhere, peppered with the occasional amaranths. 

“These flowers are amazing,” she breathed. It had been a long time since she had seen flowers blooming so abundantly. The gardener had been one of the first ones to be fired and the garden had suffered for it. 

 “Do you know what this ball is about, my lady?” Harry asked her. 

“No!” she said firmly. “And I don’t really care. I only wanted to attend a ball at least once in my life.” 

Her stepmother had done her level best to make sure Ella would not know about the ball. Except Tatyana had told her in secret and tried to give her one of their old dresses and Priscilla helped her sew ribbons to compliment the old lace. It didn’t work of course.  

“That’s refreshing,” he remarked. “But let me enlighten you. This ball is all about Prince Henry. So he can find a wife.” 

“Oh, the poor man,” Ella sighed. “Marriages...can be like shackles. Especially if you choose the wrong person.” 

Ella thought back to her stepmother and her late father. Her father, who had loved to travel. Her stepmother, who wanted someone to be with her all the days of her life. 

It was a very wrong match and both of them had suffered for it. 

“That’s,” he stuttered. “That’s a very different way of thinking about it.” 

“Really?” she asked. It was just common sense. But she was raised better than that and didn’t say it out loud. 

“Marriage,” he explained patiently. “is supposed to be a partnership. Where one person holds another up. Done right, it’s not a shackle, because you’re both moving in the same direction.” 

It made Ella a bit bitter, hearing such idealistic words. But she had promised herself that she would enjoy this night out. There was a price bound to every second she spent outside of her house. If she didn’t enjoy it, what was the point? 

“For some people, maybe,” she sighed, before visibly straightening up with forced cheer. “Let’s go back to the ballroom. The night’s still young, there’s only two hours left until midnight!” 

Tears and blood, then smoke. When Ella’s vision cleared, the being was there, lounging without care on the hearthstones smeared crimson.

It was not her imagination that made those teeth look sharp. Perhaps she didn’t look properly the first time. 

“You haven’t gotten it yet,” the being sighed. “I’ll give you one more night. Maybe two. Isn’t this ball supposed to stretch for three nights?” 

Ella didn’t know that the ball would last that long. She didn’t want to know how the being found out. 

“More?” Ella whispered on numb lips. She doesn’t know what price she was going to pay and the prospect of more terrified her. What could she possibly pay for the gift of three nights? “May I know the price? Please?” 

The being laughed, a raspy sound that made her suppress shivers. “You should have thought of what you could pay before you shed your own blood, contractor. Now you are bound and you have made the contract open for me.” 

She shook and didn’t bother to hide it this time. 

“Two more nights,” the being rasped. “Two nights. After that, I will tell you the price I demand. If you don’t. Well.” The being smiled with satisfaction. “There’s a reason these contracts are bound in blood.” 

More smoke, and Ella was sitting alone, in front of the cold fireplace. 

She desperately held back her tears, because the stones were still wet with her blood and she didn’t want another accidental summoning. 

Her stepsisters gave her tired glances. The bags under her eyes match theirs and no one said anything. She was supposed to be well-rested and the both of them worried why she had not slept.

“Darn the girl’s stockings and have the cobbler thicken the soles of their dance shoes,” Lady Delacroix instructed. “And be quick about it. The prince danced with that foreign woman all night, but I’m certain my girls can catch his attention tonight.” 

Ella, for the moment, pitied the prince again. Even if her stepsisters were darling, dear girls, marrying one of them would make the prince part of their family. And she would not wish her family on anyone, not even her worst enemy. 

“Of course, stepmother,” Ella murmured, bowing her head, acting extra obedient. It wouldn’t do for her to be suspicious. And besides, her stepmother’s gaze could freeze a lesser person. Ella had learned not to look her in the eyes anymore. 

“And Cinderella, the garden is looking a bit wild. Prune those trees and cut the grass,” she added. 

Ella wanted to sag. That would take the whole day since she still had to cook lunch and feed the chickens. 

She wanted to protest but she just bowed her head lower and said, “Yes, stepmother.” 

The cobbler had a long line and Ella just sighed at the sight of it. Of course it would have a long line. A lot of women had worn away the lining of their dancing shoes last night and needed them padded to prevent blisters. 

Ella spared a coin to get herself some breakfast while she waited.  

By the time she finished, it was nearing noon and she hadn’t started cooking lunch yet. 

Her stepsisters, the dear girls, were trying to peel the potatoes and doing a terrible job of it. 

“Ella!” Tatyana exclaimed, dropping her potato. 

“Ella!” Priscilla beamed, almost slicing her hand open with her peeling knife. 

She smiled back, hiding a wince at how much potato was with the skin. Still, they tried. That was the important thing. It was a waste though, and she vowed to bake the skins later for her own meal. 

“I’ve gotten your shoes fixed now,” Ella said. “Did you have fun with last night's ball?” 

The two girls giggled. “Yes, we wished you would have been there. The prince was very handsome and he danced like a dream,” Tatyana sighed. Among the three sisters, she had always been the one who loved dancing the most. 

“The cuts of their dresses were very clean,” Priscilla added, always more interested in clothes than in the people wearing them. “I wanted to know their seamstress, except that would be rude, right Ella?” 

“Yes, that would be rude,” Ella agreed. “And how was stepmother?” 

Both of them flinched. 

“Mother was...” Tatyana trailed off uncertainly. 

“Unhappy,” Priscilla completed. 

Ah, no wonder everyone was making themselves scarce. Lady Delacroix in a mood was something frightening. 

“We’ll fix up your stockings and you can rest from your last night. Try to socialize tonight, you need to talk to more people,” she instructed them. 

“So do you,” Tatyana said without tact. 

This time, Ella knew better and didn’t flinch when the smoke covered her. 

It was even more terrifying this time, because Ella had a few hours of sleep and remembered her mother’s stories. She knew what this creature, this being, was, and she cursed her past self for bleeding. If there had been no blood... 

“Contractor,” the being purred. “What’s this I see in your eyes?” 

Ella couldn’t hide the minute twitch and the demon cackled. “May I please have my second night?” she asked. Her voice trembled but it didn’t break. 

She knew what the demon saw in her eyes this time. Awareness. 

“Of course, contractor," the demon agreed, more frightening for being so obliging. “I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of your second night.” 

Smoke poured out from the demon’s mouth and covered Ella’s tattered working dress. The color this time was of the night sky, and it twinkled like it had the very stars sewn into it. The ends of the dress flared and daringly flashed her ankles if she moved too fast.  

“Thank you,” she said, because being polite was all she had at this point. 

“Midnight is your deadline, contractor. Call me again when you’re finished, I would love to see if my efforts of have borne fruit,” the demon instructed. 

What fruit? Ella wondered. But she knew better to ask and just nodded. 

She wasn’t as late this time, but Ella still wouldn’t know what name to give to the herald if he asked.  

What name would she give?  

She was no longer Pierre Delacroix’s daughter. She had spent more years of her life being a servant than being her father’s daughter. 

Eleanor Delacroix was long dead. She was just Ella, servant girl who had sneaked out for two nights with the help of a demon. Her mother would cry if she knew Ella had made such a contract.

So she sneaked in the side entrances again in shame and headed straight for the food. She had only had baked potato skins for lunch and absolutely nothing for dinner. 

Halfway through moving around and pretending that all the other empty plates she’d left behind were from other people, Ella saw Harry again, hiding behind the curtains. 

She couldn’t help the giggles that came out of her and his lovely eyes snapped to hers. He looked terrified. 

“Help,” he mouthed. 

She grabbed another plate, filled it with more sweet crepes and wandered in his direction. She thrust it behind the curtains and, after a moment's hesitation, he took it. 

“What’s so frightening?” she asked with a smile, looking over the dance floor and acting like talking to a curtain was normal.

“Mother’s with unmarried daughters,” was the answer that almost had her laughing out loud. She muffled it behind one gloved hand. 

“Look pre-occupied and they won’t harass a you,” Ella advised. “You poor, unmarried thing.” 

He finally emerged from behind the curtains, looking aggrieved and amused in equal measure. “Someone, at least, is deriving amusement from my suffering,” he complained. 

Ella’s smile was impish, the sort that polite society ladies don’t show to gentlemen. “You exaggerate. They can’t have been that frightening.” 

He looked a bit dazed before he blinked and shook his head. “You can’t have met Lady Delacroix then,” he said. “And I was waiting for you, Ella.” 

She didn’t flinch at her stepmother’s name and mentally applauded herself. 

“Why?” she asked after a moment.

He just held out his hand and Ella straightened up, placing her hand on his. “Oh! I will give you one dance then, and another walk in the garden?” 

“Please,” he said.

Harry was just as wonderful a dance partner as she’d remembered and the gardens just as beautiful. This time, someone followed them from behind, watching from a discreet distance while still remaining in sight. A chaperone, she realized belatedly. Something that she’d forgotten they didn’t have the night before. 

“The garden is just as beautiful as I remember,” she sighed wistfully. “I thought I dreamed this, but if anything, it’s even better than my memories.” 

He smiled at her. “Thank you, it is my mother’s garden,” he said. 

Ella blinked. Took a breath and released it shakily.

“Your...mother’s?” she asked faintly. “But this is the palace? Home of the royal family?” 

“Ella,” Harry squeezed her fingers. “You couldn’t have been unaware all this time?” 

My God, she had been dancing with the prince. And she had teased him. 

“I didn’t know,” she stammered, voice seemingly coming from so far away. “I. I never hear any news anymore and. And my sisters were the only reason I knew about this. I didn’t even know how you looked like, or your name!” 

He knelt on the ground beside her and pressed her fingers to his mouth. Really touching it and not just kissing the air politely. If she hadn’t been gloved, it would have been really scandalous. As it was, Ella flushed, mouth snapping shut. She could feel the heat of it even through the layers of the lace gloves and it felt like it burned her.

“My name is Henry,” he told her, voice low and eyes firmly on hers. “And I went to this ball thinking that I wouldn’t find anyone interesting. And there you were, a vision of loveliness, more concerned about enjoying yourself than looking at me. It was fascinating. 

“And you left me last night, wondering if I would ever see you again. And now that you’re here, I can finally ask you. Ella, what’s your real name?” 

Her breath hitched. And just earlier, she had thought her old self to be dead. 

“My name,” she whispered, making him lean forward to hear. “Is Eleanor Delacroix. My stepmother is Lady Delacroix and my late father, Lord Delacroix, is long dead.” 

It was his turn to be shocked. 

“You are the Lady Eleanor,” he said. “The news said that you died with your father.” 

So that’s why. All those years, she had wondered why no one went to their house to call on her. All her old friends never visited again. Because Lady Delacroix told them she was dead.

Tears gathered in her lashes and she stood up. “Yes, maybe I did,” she said. She wouldn’t cry in front of him. 

“Excuse me, your highness,” she said, curtseying, before picking up her skirts and running. 

Harry scrambled up. “Ella, wait!” he called, but she didn’t stop. If she stopped, she would fall down in front of him and beg for his help, for his protection.

The demon emerged from the smoke this time with a smile.

Ella took two steps back but the demon just advanced forward, each step on the hearthstones soundless and threatening.

“My my,” it purred. “You have reaped the fruits of my labor.”

“What are you talking about?” she demanded. Normally, she would be wary and careful. After the night she’d just had, she was just heartsore.

“The prince is in love with you,” the demon announced. “And you ran away, you stupid girl!!”

Ella didn’t even hide that she was shaking. She sank to the ground, her knees weak.

“Your price is the Prince?” she asked. “You can’t! He’s so good, so pure!”

The demon cackled. “No. No, he is not my price. He’s too good, as you said. You’ve dangled my bait though, contractor. Your prince will come and take you away. Once you’ve married him, call me again, we’ll discuss my reward.”

“And if I don’t call you?” she asked. She didn’t know what possessed her, but she had to ask.

The demon loomed over her, eyes inches from Ella’s face. “Then I will find you and grant you suffering immeasurable, little contractor,” it snarled.

Shakily, Ella nodded and the demon left her in her ragged dress.

The decision on what she would do could wait because Ella fell asleep immediately as soon as her head touched her worn pillow.

She dreamt of smoke and husky laughter, and blood coating old black stones.

Ella woke with a start, and her sisters were in her room, desperately trying to shake her awake.

“You have to wake up,” Priscilla pleaded. “Oh my God, Ella. The Prince and his knights are here. Something about arresting mother.”

Tatyana helped tie her hair while Ella hurriedly laced her gown. Priscilla fetched her boots and she just about jumped into it, wincing when it tugged the pins Tatyana was putting into her hair.

“Arresting mother?” she asked breathlessly as they ran down the stairs. It was the curse of living in the attic. Everything interesting happened on the first floor. “On what charges?”

“Something about appropriating your birthright,” Tatyana said. “And staying in the manor on false pretenses.”

Ella almost stumbled on the next step. “What??”

Priscilla tugged her upright and they moved again. “I think I heard one of them say something about the entailment going to Lord Delacroix’s eldest child.”

She was grateful they arrived in the receiving hall, even if that meant facing all the people, because she had no idea what to say to that.

“Ella,” someone said.

She turned and. There he was, a vision in a knights uniform, looking crisp and clean. She felt so dirty compared to him that she flinched from his raised hand. Her sisters pressed their hands to her lower back in support.

“Prince Henry,” she said, voice low. The three of them curtseyed in unison.

He looked pained. “Lady Eleanor,” he answered. “May I please speak with you?”

When she nodded, his knights cleared the room. Tatyana stubbornly picked the corner chair and started embroidering, clearly intent on being the chaperone. Ella had to give Priscilla a look before the youngest girl would agree to leave the three of them.

“I cannot believe you arrested mother,” she said, because it looked like he had no idea what to say.

He gave a small smile. “I wanted to speak with you again, and when she kept saying she had no idea who you were, I’m afraid I lost my temper.” The prince somehow looked sheepish without looking awkward.

Ella covered her hand and giggled. “Harry,” she managed. “Why are you here?”

He straightened up, looking formal again. “I wanted to ask for your hand in marriage,” he said. In her corner, Tatyana stifled a gasp into her sewing. Thankfully, only Ella heard. Harry added, “I know we’re just friends. But I would rather marry a friend than a complete stranger.”

She knew what he meant. Love would come later, when they had time.

“Engagement?” she asked, just to be certain.

He winced. “Might be a short one. Maybe two weeks,” he said, then hurriedly added, “My father is stepping down in a few weeks and I need to be married to claim the crown.”

Ella stood up and looked into his eyes, ignoring Tatyana’s huff. His eyes had caught her attention at first, the lovely deep color of blue. It was a royal genetic trait, now that she knew who he was.

What she was looking for, however, was his kindness. She had had enough of petty and unkind people in her life who ruled over her. If he was her husband, would he treat her well?

Yes, his eyes answered. Yes, he would treat her well. He would never hurt her.

“Did you mean it,” she said eventually. “When you believed marriage to be a partnership? That two people moving in one direction meant that it isn’t a shackle but a bond?”

“Yes,” he said.

From the first time they met, he had never lied to her.

“Then yes,” Ella said, the words heavy but lighter than a feather. “I will marry you.”

“Your price is the Queen,” the demon declared when she summoned him after the wedding, when Harry was asleep in their shared bedroom.

“What?” she asked numbly. “But I can’t.”

“I know you can’t,” the demon said, still wearing that disturbing smile. “That’s why I will do it for you.”

The demon turned into black smoke that streamed towards her. Ella stumbled back, trying to get away but it was too late.

The smoke enveloped Ella’s body completely, entering her mouth and choking her breath. Her mind felt another and she flinched, feeling the intrusion like acid.

Hello, the demon said. Let me gather your price for you, little contractor.

Ella blacked out, more for self-preservation than fear, her mind curling on itself.

Cruelly, the demon woke her up. Ella instinctively shied away.

Thank you, little star. You’ve paid well. Have fun with your little happy ever after, the demon said, before fading away.

Within a few breaths, she realized that she was herself again. Screaming and blood flashed through her memory and she flinched.

Shaking with denial and fear, she looked to her hands and found them clean of the blood in her memories. If she concentrated, she could remember her own hands moving of their own will to tear the Queen’s heart out.

“Ella, why?” the Queen had asked.

The demon had laughed in her body and the Queen had turned pale. “You are not Ella. It is you. But I have already paid my price,” she had said shakily.

She turned from the memories with a shudder, hurriedly washing her hands.

The heart, what had the demon done to the heart? She wondered unwillingly, before going as pale as a sheet. Her hands went to her stomach and she rushed to the chamber pot to vomit.

“Ella, the maids said you are not well,” Harry called out through the bathroom door.

Harry! Instead of cheering her up, his voice made her dry heave again. She had killed his mother. What had she done?

“My dear, that sounds serious. Can I come in?” he asked.

He would worry though, if she said no. She couldn’t make him worry.

“I look terrible,” she managed faintly, voice rough. “If you can bear that, you may enter.”

Being who he was, Harry entered and immediately rushed to her side, pushing back her hair. His gentle touch made her shudder. She had expected a slap. "You do look terrible,” he announced. There was concern in his expression. “Did you eat anything bad? Did anyone put something in your food? I’ll check the kitchens.”

She managed a quiet huff, holding fast to his hand to stop him from running off. Of course the first thing he would think about was assassination. “This will pass,” she told him with as much confidence as she could muster. Abruptly, there was the memory of a husky voice whispering in her ear and Ella shuddered again.

Immediately, his hold on her tightened. “Liar,” he said fondly, looking at her sweaty face. “Rest for the day, I will postpone the carriage ride through the capital.”

The carriage ride throughout the capital! He did not know yet that the queen was dead.

Ella fainted and Harry shouted with alarm.

There was a geas on her tongue that stopped her from speaking about the demon and the contract she made.

Ella knew this because she had tried to confess once and had choked as her tongue twisted inside her mouth. This was her punishment for making that contract. To live the rest of her life carrying the guilt of that murder.

Harry changed after that day. He grew sombre and grim. Only Ella could make him smile and she made sure he did smile at least once each day.

She thought she was finally free of the demon after that, but after she gave birth to the next king, to the heir, there was the flash of black smoke and the raspy chuckle that still haunted her nightmares, making her seize up in the birthing bed and alarming all the doctors around her.

Ella had screamed and wept, blood loss making her hysterical. Harry clutched her hand desperately and promised to check all corners of the palace for assassins and only then did she calm down.

Suffice to say, Ella was a very protective mother.

On another note, her sisters each had their marriages. Tatyana to a duke and Priscilla to a foreign prince. By this point, Ella’s reputation as very protective of the people she loved had been cemented after she’d skewered one of Prince Lucas’s would be assassins with a knitting needle and calmly ordered tea afterwards. It was absolutely no surprise that she’d threatened murder on her sisters' husbands should they ever cry.

It was a credit to their character that they took it in good humor.

Ella had her happily ever after, but she finally knew the price for that. So she made sure to value every second of every day. Because soon, the wheel would turn, it might be her turn to have her heart eaten.

#fanfiction #inverted fairytales #cinderella rewritten #cinderella #horror #unintended cannibalism #demon

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i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend · 5 years

Text

Stepping Up ~ Bucky x Reader (Part 12/12)

^^^ Literally because how could I not use the gifs in a wedding fic?!?!

A/N: Hello my lovelies. This is it. The last part of the story (except for the epilogue). Thanks so much for sticking with me on this journey. I’ve really loved this story and I hope you have too.

Summary: The reception is eventful. and some questions get answered.

Rating: T

Warnings: Language, Angst, mentions of cheating, some physical violence (This sounds bad, but I promise it’s all gonna be okay!) Fluff

Word Count: 3225 (it’s a lot)

Masterlist

You and Bucky spent the first hour on the dance floor with the rest of the wedding party, jumping around to the upbeat music. He had you giggling as he spun you around the dance floor, actively ignoring the genre of the music. Eventually breathless, you sat down with your grandmother and Aunt Meg. Bucky dragged you close resting his arm along the back of your chair.

“You two are so cute together,” Aunt Meg gushed.

“I want to hear more about this,” your grandmother gestured to the two of you. “How long have you been together?”

“It’s a fairly recent development.”

“Although, not if you ask our teammates,” Bucky added slyly and took a sip of his beer.

“Oh really?” Your grandmother asked.

“So what would they say?” Zoe asked in her wheedling voice as she and Ben sat down.

You and Bucky simultaneously tensed and attempted to covertly comfort each other, leading to some silent smiles.

“Bucky?” Your grandmother prompted.

“Well, most of them would probably say that I’m a complete idiot for not asking her out sooner. And that I’ve looked like a lovesick puppy for nearly three years.”

“Well what took you so long then?” Aunt Meg asked, and you knew she’d been dying to ask all week.

“Fear. Plain and simple. I mean she’s my best friend, and I didn’t want to mess that up.”

“So what finally made you ask my darling granddaughter out? Or did you ask him, y/n?”

“I asked her,” Bucky answered quickly, quelling your momentary panic. You hadn’t bothered to flesh out the finer details of your story, considering everything that had happened, so you were relieved when he took the lead. “Steve had been pushing me for months. He swore up and down that y/n liked me back, but I just couldn’t believe him. Never in my wildest dreams did I think she’d say yes when I asked her to go the movies. Of course, she thought we were going as a group so that might have something to do with her answer.”

You smiled as you remembered the evening he was talking about. You’d always hoped that was a date, but he never made a move after that.

“True, but to be fair. The answer was yes either way. Steve had been pushing me too. I actually got close to asking you out a few times, but ultimately chickened out. I wasn’t totally sure if he intended it to be a date, but II was secretly thrilled when it ended up being just the two of us. I had butterflies the whole night.”

You slipped your hand into his underneath the table and he immediately twined your fingers together before lifting your hand to kiss your knuckles.

“So how long before you started dating did you fall for each other?”

“Gran,” you whined.

“You can answer first if you like, sweetheart,” she challenged and you glanced over at Bucky who was clearly just as interested in your answer as she was.

“I don’t know when I started falling for him if I’m honest. It was gradual, but I know when I realized I had.”

“Do tell,” Aunt Meg pressed.

“My first solo mission went a lot worse for me than I wanted to admit. Even now. So while I told the truth in my report, I hid my injuries. And ignored the orders to stay in bed. I would have gotten away with it too if it weren’t for-”

“Doll, if you call me a meddling super soldier I swear I’m gonna hide your cookie stash when we get home.”

“You wouldn’t dare. And I wasn’t going to.”

He quirked an eyebrow and you huffed.

“Okay fine. Maybe I was, but that’s not important. The point is that I managed to get away with it for a couple of days until he came back. He took one look at me and marched me up to the med bay.”

“Dragged is more like it. You’re too stubborn for your own good sometimes.”

“It’s a family trait,” your grandmother confided. “Go on, darling.”

“I was concerned, being,” you paused for a moment choosing your words carefully, “Not the newbie, per se, but still the inexperienced member on the team, that my getting so hurt was a sign of weakness. I thought it would ruin my chances of staying with the Avengers. And I finally felt at home and I was terrified of losing that. When Bucky insisted on nursing me back to health, I had been prepared for a lecture. And for disappointment,” you admitted glancing at Bucky. You’d never told him any of this. “But instead all I got was comfort and encouragement. He made me feel strong when I was at my weakest. And he made it okay for me to be scared. And that meant everything to me. It still does,” you added with a shy glance at Bucky who seemed stunned by your admission.

All he could do was squeeze your hand.

“That’s exactly how your grandfather made me feel. And what about you, young man?”

He chuckled at the epithet. Technically he was older than your grandmother, but he didn’t need to point that out.

“I started falling for y/n the moment I met her. It had been a long time since I felt comfortable being around people so I would make myself scarce. But with y/n, I wanted to be around her as much as I could. Of course that meant being around others as well, because everyone enjoys hanging out with her too. And just by being herself she started to heal me. I was a goner very early on. I was thrilled when she finally moved into the tower because I could spend so much more time with her. Before that I would offer to drop her off at home. Just for a few extra minutes with her and the chance to steal a few more smiles.”

It was your turn to be surprised by his admission. You always thought that he took you home because he was being protective.

“So sweet,” Zoe cooed as she rolled her eyes.

“Let’s dance, babe,” Ben muttered, glaring at you.

“Good idea.”

“What’s got her panties in a twist?” Your gran asked once they left.

You shrugged. “No idea.”

You had a bad feeling, but you didn’t know why so you pushed it down, relaxing into the feeling of Bucky’s fingertips brushing along your shoulder.

“Anyways… you two are idiots.”

“Gran!”

She shrugged, unfazed by your tone.

“You are, but I’m very glad you’ve smartened up and found each other.”

“Me too.”

A short time later, while Bucky escorted your Gran to the car after she whispered to you that he was a keeper, you ran inside to freshen up.

Afterwards you stopped in the kitchen to sneak a brownie off one of the dessert trays.

“Mmff. God that is so good,” you moaned quietly as you shut your eyes to fully enjoy the taste.

“I’ve missed those sounds.”

Your eyes snapped open as you glared at Ben. Determined to ignore him, you started to stalk past him only for him to get in your face, blocking your way. Every step you made he mirrored, the only way for you to get around him was to physically move him out of your way. And you knew that was a terrible idea.

“Let me pass,” you told him calmly, drawing on all of your training not to drop him to the ground.

“Come on, y/n. You never even gave me a chance to explain.”

“What was there to explain? Once a cheater always a cheater.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” he scoffed.

“Whatl is that supposed to mean?”

“It means either you’re lying to your dear old granny or you’ve been banging the tin man since long before we broke up.”

“Don’t call him that,” you hissed. “And neither are true. I never cheated on you. Now get away from me.”

You were fed up and went to brush past him, but he grabbed your wrist hard enough that you yelped as he yanked you back around to face him.

“Ben, let go of me,” you warned in a clear tone.

“No. Not until you admit that you still want me.”

He grabbed your other wrist, pulling you into his chest. Reacting on instinct, you yanked your arms back out of his grip and twisted away from him throwing a quick elbow to his chest to knock him off balance. He stumbled back into a tray of champagne, sending it to the floor.

“You bitch.”

He tried to bull rush you and you flipped him over your shoulder dropping him to the ground.

Bucky was the first through the door, basically leaping over Ben’s prone form to reach your side having heard the shattering glass. You vaguely registered the rest of your family rushing in, but mostly you were focused on Bucky.

“Did he hurt you, doll?”

“Did he hurt her?” Zoe shrieked from her kneeling position by his head. “He’s on the ground.”

Bucky ignored her, cataloguing every inch of you looking for signs of harm. When he saw the red marks on your wrist, he growled but continued his inspection.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Your mom fretted.

“I’m fine, mom.”

You hid your arms which were starting to bruise behind your back. Bucky’s eyes narrowed as he caught your wince; Ben had also jerked your shoulder pretty hard. He whirled on Ben who had finally hoisted himself to his feet.

“I told you last time, if you touched her again I would end you. Did you really think I was bluffing?”

His voice was calm almost amused, but you could feel the fury rolling off him in waves. You reached out and slotted your fingers through his.

“Bucky, don’t.”

“What the hell is going on?” your dad demanded. “Last time?”

Bucky’s eyes flickered to you, knowing it was your story to tell. Apparently you hesitated too long because Ben decided to open his mouth.

“Yeah. Last time when this asshole broke my nose.”

“You deserved it,” Penny piped up.

“You knew about this?” Aunt Meg asked, and Penny simply shrugged.

“Y/n, what is going on?” your mother asked in a tone that left no room for anything but the truth.

“Ben is my ex-boyfriend.”

“The one who cheated on you?”

“He did what?” Your dad roared, and suddenly you were less concerned about Bucky killing Ben and more concerned about your dad killing him.

“It was a misunderstanding,” Ben argued and you actually laughed out loud.

“How is walking in on you screwing my roommate in my bed a misunderstanding.”

There were a few shocked gasps at your revelation, but not from Penny or Zoe, which you had expected. But you weren’t the only one who noticed.

“Zoe, you knew? And still brought him?”

“I’m sure that’s why she brought him,” you scoffed.

“Oh please. How would I even know that? We met at a bar a few months ago.”

“Really? You’re going to lie about that?”

“Alright, y/n, when do you think we met?”

“In my apartment. Three years ago when you stayed with me and Ben spent the week showing you around.”

“Alright, alright. You got me. I didn’t meet him at the bar, but I did run into him by chance.”

“And you decided he was the one for you,” you sneered.

“Well we had had such a good time when I stayed at your place,” she smirked and you knew exactly what she was implying.

“I should have known. I’m really glad I convinced Tony to let me incinerate that mattress.”

Bucky chuckled humorlessly beside you, and you could still feel the tension in him.

“It kills you, doesn’t it? That someone chose me over you. I bet it eats at you that you weren’t woman enough for him. You won’t be woman enough for Bucky either.”

“Do not speak for me,” Bucky growled, and Zoe had the good sense to be frightened.

“You’re still jealous of her? Really?” Penny asked. “Aren’t we too old for this?”

“Shut up, princess.”

“I think it’s time for you to go. You’ve accomplished what you came here to do,” Penny announced.

“And what exactly is that?”

“Hurt y/n and make my day all about you.”

“Nothing has ever been about me. It’s always been about y/n. It’s always been the two of you against me.”

“Because you made it that way,” you reminded her, taking a step back so the two of them could get their stuff and leave. “You made everything into a competition.”

“We just wanted to be friends,” Penny added.

“You were very inviting with your secret codes.”

“This is a waste of time. You’re never going to listen, so leave. And take him with you,” she gestured to Ben who was avoiding your dad’s death glare.

“Get out,” Dylan ordered when they didn’t move.

Zoe eventually decided to give up.

“Let’s go, Ben.”

He seemed to consider speaking again, but the withering glare from your father silenced him.

Once they were gone you looked at Penny apologetically as Bucky pulled you against his chest.

“What the hell just happened?” your dad shook his head.

“Twenty odd years of resentment coming to a head,” Penny shrugged, leaning into Dylan.

“More like forty-something,” your mom commented.

“Zoe is just like her mother,” Aunt Meg sighed. “I’m sorry I made you invite her.”

“It’s okay, mom.”

“No, it’s not. This is your wedding and I should have listened to you.”

“It’s fine. You and Aunt Di have worked really hard to keep us all friends. I wanted to help.”

“You aren’t meant to fix our mistakes. Especially not at your wedding. Yes family is important, but the most important people are the ones who you choose to love. And who choose to love you back. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mom.”

“You too, y/n. Do you understand?”

“Yeah. I do,” you promised as you looked up at Bucky who was watching you lovingly. “I really do. But I’m so sorry, Penny and Dylan,” you added.

“What are you apologizing for?” Dylan asked.

“For my hand in everything go awry. I tried to keep everything quiet, but he attacked me.”

“Seriously, y/n. I think you should have broken his nose again. I wish I could have done it myself.”

You and Bucky both laughed at that.

“That would have been a sight. But I’m still sorry that your wedding got messed up.”

“Nothing is messed up. We’re married, and the only thing that got destroyed was some champagne glasses. Big deal. The most important bit is safe.”

“What’s that?” Bucky asked.

“Dessert,” you, Penny, and Dylan all responded in unison, and you all laughed, relieving the last of the tension.

“The brownies are really good by the way.”

“Y/n!”

“Couldn’t resist,” you shrugged.

“Okay, come on. Let’s get back out there. We’ve still got a lot of partying to do. Coming, y/n?” she asked when you didn’t move.

“I’ll be out soon. I just need to settle for a minute.”

Penny nodded in understanding.

“Take your time. We’ll see you out there.”

“I’ll send in one of the catering staff to clean up. So don’t worry about it,” Aunt Meg ordered, guessing your plan to start sweeping.

Everyone filed out, and you were left alone with Bucky.

“Doll, are you okay?”

“More shaken than anything.”

He gently took your wrists in his hand inspecting the darkening bruises.

“I’ve had worse,” you mumbled.

“Not the point. Come here.”

He pulled your arms around his neck and pulled you in for a hug. The feeling of his arms around your waist grounded you, and your heart rate calmed and your breathing slowed.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. Not to me. Not to anyone.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He held you for a few more minutes until you pulled back, offering a weak smile.

“We should get back out there.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m good. Promise. Just stay close.”

“Not going anywhere, doll.”

The remainder of the evening was as wonderful as the rest of the day, and the altercation was soon forgotten.

“I’m so happy for you,” you grinned at Dylan while the two of you danced.

“Thanks, y/n. I’m really glad that you could make it. It wouldn’t have been nearly as special without you. You mean so much to both of us.”

“You mean the world to me. Are you happy with how the day turned out?”

“We could have gotten married in an alley, and I’d be happy. I got to marry my best friend. But, this was beyond what we had even planned. The flood was really a blessing in disguise. But only because we have a great guardian angel.”

“You deserve every bit of happiness. I’m glad I got to be a part of it.”

You smiled up at him as the song ended and you gave him a tight hug.

“So do you. I think I’m going to go find my wife. God, I love the way that sounds.”

“Me too, husband.” Penny beamed up at Dylan as she slipped her arm around his waist.

The happy couple were immediately lost in each other. You scanned the room searching for Bucky for only a moment before your eyes landed on him.

He was with some of the groomsmen having a great time and your smile widened. He started to head your way, but you shook your head.

“Make friends,” you mouthed, knowing he already had. He could always use my friends outside of the Tower.

They even cajoled him into doing the Macarena and cotton eyed joe, which you filmed for the girls. When he couldn’t quite grasp the footwork for the cha cha slide, you hopped in beside him.

After that the DJ called for all the single ladies to gather on the floor, and despite your protests that you were dating Bucky, your mom and aunt encouraged it.

“Technically single meant unwed in the old days,” Bucky added unhelpfully.

“Whose side are you on?” you accused teasingly.

“Yours. Always. It’s just a bit of fun.”

“Does that mean you’ll be trying to pass the garter?”

“My reflexes are too fast. It’s not fair,” he shrugged.

“I’ll participate if you participate.”

“Fair deal. Better hit the floor, doll. Those ladies look like they could be vicious.

You rolled your eyes but stood anyway, hiding in the background.

You were certain you looked mortified when Penny used all of her years of softball pitching to lob the bouquet over the crowd and into your hands. Bucky offered you a smug grin, but his cockiness was nowhere to be found when Dylan shot the garter pretty much directly in his face. Although it returned when he had to complete the tradition and he slid the garter up your leg.

That was the last of the excitement though, which was fine by you. You spent the rest of the night in Bucky’s arms on the dance floor, only this time instead of spinning you all over the place, he simply held you close as you swayed following the rhythm of his beating heart as your music.

A/n: So there it is everyone. The end of the road. I have an epilogue planned to wrap up but this is the last big piece. And I wanted to wrap up some loose ends and I hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading!

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#Bucky x Reader #Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes x Reader #Stepping Up #Part 12

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