#I can already smell these logs changing format as I get more into the thick of this sorry in advance lol

[farer-dreamer]

Entry 2

Rough Ideas and Main Character

(9/3/24) - There's art in this one I swear

Planning… Scheming, even

Because I admittedly don't have a lot of concept artwork done for this project, my informal pitch presentation I'm gonna put together for class is mostly going to consist of my mood board images, games I've taken inspiration from, and a rough idea as to what levels I'd like to make and the "storyline" of this game (aka, Doc just wants to go outside and touch grass). I may also get into some of the NPCs I hope to include in the game that the player can talk to, but I also don't want to bite off more than I can chew.

Anyways here's my rough ideas thus far, this is gonna be more of a ramble/brainstorm as opposed to something put together super neatly lol:

Story…

Farer Dreamer is a game about a character named Doc who felt their life was too stagnant and wanted to go out and explore the world. They board a magical subway car named Ferri who takes them to various places.

Gameplay and Mechanics…

The player will have basic movement controls, as well as a jump (…maybe a double jump?), and maybe a dash/sprint… honestly this is super subject to change as I get the levels put together and all of that but the primary focus of this game is exploration. The player will also be able to interact with NPCs they meet during their journey, usually chatting, sometimes giving items they'll pick up during their travels

Items! yeah! I think it'd be neat if the player could gather items from specific levels and then use them elsewhere/gift them to NPCs as mentioned before. Maybe some of these items can be used on the player and have differing effects. I do plan on having a health system/death state in Farer Dreamer, so some of these item effects can play a role in that. Speaking of that, when the player dies they'll lose whatever items were in their inventory at the time. Before entering a level they'll have the opportunity to talk to Ferri (the AI running the subway) and from there they can store their items on the train car. I think this can add more a risk/reward mechanic to the gameplay, even if this game is more exploration based.

The basic gameplay loop I have in mind is you start on the subway car, arrive at a stop and exit the car, enter the level and explore/survive, re-find your way to the subway car (completing a level or just re-entering from the entrance of the car if it doesn't disappear), rinse and repeat. I think that I'll also include a mechanic where the player can reset themselves back onto the subway car, but it would be similar to dying so they'd lose their items.

I think another mechanic I might add is the ability to sell items on the train for currency. See I kind of want to add shops that you can visit in the random levels, but I'm not entirely sure how I want to go about obtaining currency… but I feel like this would give the items more of a purpose and also add to that risk/reward thing (heck maybe if I decide to be real mean you can lose your coins when you die to. We'll see how evil I feel when I start polishing all this rambling)

Visuals…

Visually, I envision this game looking similar to the Paper Mario games, with the environments being 3D while the characters and some items are 2D. I plan to use a billboarding effect for the characters that'll follow the camera.

Speaking of, I am still debating on if I want to make the camera static or not. I guess it could be one of those things that depends on the level you're on. Like for some of the more open and explorative levels I think it could be cool to have a toggle for first person to third person view (controlled by the scroll wheel on the mouse). I suppose that's a bridge we can cross when we get there, I know that for the main level hub (the subway car) I want the camera to be 3rd person and static.

So, who are we playing as?

Now lets talk about Doc! The character the player will be playing as. They're a character I've had lingering around since 2020ish, originally starting out as my own take on what my player character in Sky: Children of the Light looked like at the time before eventually evolving into their own thing. They don't really have much of a backstory, as all that I had really written down for them in terms of characterization is that they enjoy traveling.

// Pictured above is various art I've made of Doc from around mid 2020 to early 2021, yes that last picture is technically miitopia fan art as I decided to put them on my team during my playthrough of the switch release hehe

Doc's Updates

This is the first time in awhile they've received any major updates design-wise as for the past couple of years I have been focusing in developing on my other characters and universes. But given their affinity for travel and not already belonging to any set universe of mine, I thought it'd be fitting to plop them into this project as our main player character.

I decided to give them a bit of a redesign for this project for several reasons:

The biggest reason was making them easier to animate. While yes on one hand there is more fabric to have to work with now, I find this new design is easier to break down into basic shapes compared to their old design. The changes made to the arms, hands, and feet will also hopefully make them easier to animate as well.

I also wanted to make them a bit more cartoonishly stylized? In my recent sketches and doodles of them I've found it easier allow myself to be more expressive and silly with them as opposed to their old design where they were more, I guess, "accurately proportionate"

I also wanted to further divorce them from the thing they were originally inspired by, and pulling more from the plague doctor aesthetic they have going on with their new appearance.

I still might tweak some things with their new design, mostly in terms of where some colors are placed, but I think build-wise I'm pretty happy with where they're at! The most relevant row of designs pictured here is the first row as that's how they will appear in-game. The other rows are more for my own reference/to try and make sense of how their clothing is layered on them and whatnot.

// Doc's updated turnarounds!

I think if anything winds up changing in the near future, I may wind up fully closing their little cape thingy… I'll decide once I draw them more probably.

With Doc's redesign mostly out of the way, in the coming weeks I plan to really lock in with figuring out what my level environments look like and how they'll be structured. I also might hop into Unity to test out some gameplay elements and get a movement script going.

// Old Doc meeting new Doc......... new Doc is not actually that teeny

[mordessathemad]

The Great White Witch Excerpt #2: Mushroom

About halfway down and upon the fifth platform, I began to regret not having worn my boots. My feet had been pin-cushioned by splinters, leaving small and thin traces of blood wherever I put them. Every time I attracted a new hitchhike, or stepped in the wrong place, I shrieked and reflexively dropped the skirt to cover my mouth with both hands, hoping I hadn't woken the elder above. I stopped to rest and pluck out the bits, they weren't little bee-sting sized splinters either, some were as thick as my finger- pierced through and embedded in the callused pads. Looking down from the platform, a grin grew as I saw how much progress was made. I couldn't wait to bound and sift my feet in the squishy mud below.

Two hours later, following the color and shapes of petals that Tsajasuna had described on the list, I returned to the base step with an assortment of flowers, weeds, roots and fungi, eggs, small game that I'd caught bare-clawed, some tricky butterflies, insects, kindling, shells, and even a few of the mud-covered coins that fell down the mountain clutched in my arms. Most of the reagents were easy pickings, just aside the cobbled roads or hidden betwixt brambles and bushes, quite fortunately. This did, however- become fairly burdensome, the pile was well over my head and with every step something I couldn't see fell, relief was in order. At the first platform, where a pile of empty rucksacks and a beaten crate had settled, I checked the list once more to confirm that all items were accounted for. Taking one of the sacks, I glanced back and forth between Tsajasuna's squiggles and each reagent that I dropped in, this went on for at least an hour.

I was missing something. A glowing mushroom, if I recall correctly. Everyone knows, that if a plant glows, it likely grows in a cave. By chance, whilst collecting the other plants, I'd caught wind of the three paths that lead around the house. We are actually placed between a fork in the road from Rorikstead, I wonder if Tsajasuna deliberately did that to attract more people... winds from the south brought smells and unpleasant memories of Mr. Mutton Chops, the road east - which ended abruptly at a small green lake - had the whistling of a cave. An ungodly scent that makes me gag at its slightest trace discharges from the left and further north. I have only been down the western trail once, and never wish to again. Knowing the likelihood of gashing my feet on jagged stones or other petrous protrusions in the cave, I needed my boots. After tying a string to the now bulging sack's neck to seal it, I took a deep breath and hauled it up the flights with one hand holding up my skirt. Thankful for the rug on the last platform, I collapsed upon it, again, out of breath. Then lugged up the last few logs to Hilltop House's door, and entered as quiet and frightened as a mouse, readying an excuse.

Drafts of premonition whipped my fur. She was still sleeping, incessantly moving her mouth, but more fluidly this time in a way that conveyed conversation. Do I do that? Nadir had told me once that I squeak in my sleep, but never mentioned that I talked or tossed. For a man that had tried to steal my life, he was awfully nice, a bit too feeble for the outdoors though. Deciding it best to just leave her alone, I crept to my boots, cursing the creaking planks, and nabbed them with wide unyielding eyes trained on the elder's upper half, well away from the lower. On one leg, I hopped around attempting to strap on my boot. Without warning, Tsajasuna violently burst out in a harrowing laughter that made me jump, lose my balance, and sprawl out on the floor in a scurry toward the door. She was sat up, hands and arms buckled at her side, her mouth unhinged as the thunderous cackles repeatedly split the air. Then, without any indication whatsoever, stopped and fell asleep again with a short snort. By then, I was fast down the steps with one boot in-hand and the other loosely worn, leaving the sack inside. I still have no explanation for why she does this, as often as it comes, only that it falls under the demeanor enigma aforementioned. Perhaps it's some kind of mental ague, or dare I go so far to infer, that maybe it is a darker, more aberrant conniving with another apparitional entity or being not of the waking world. Since the moment she truly wakes, compulsion and obsession make their due, a sudden revelation, and the sage then enthusiastically writes in a foreign script of thick symbols for many hours, sometimes days. Tsajasuna never speaks to me during these spells, nor will she eat, but she always mutters something irrationally disjointed at the pages. Was it the voice she talked to? I can never read her lips, because of the fangs, but also because she seemed to be speaking a different language entirely.

Such a thought is melodramatic though, it would be best to just leave Big Hat to her somnambulism. I have already asked what she sees or is doing in her dreams, but all she responds with is stare at me, frightened, her mouth quivering with temptation as if it were on the verge saying something that would change how everything should be viewed, and walks away nervously with her hands cupped. It is an unspeakable matter, I guess. I'd hate to have people spy upon my silly dreams too, so I understand. They're never easy to explain.

Steering clear the of the west road, I went east and followed the bumpy path until I stood on the black shore of green lake. Supposedly it's an offshoot of Karth River, per the map me and Veitizion had gone over in full candlelight some moons ago. Continuing left along the muddy shore and pricking my ears up to trace the cave's whistling, I happened upon an abandoned camp. There were two very warm and inviting tents, and a campfire that seemed to ebb and flow as if it had lived mere moments ago, smoking great grey puffs and its blackened logs layered upon pulsating but quelled coals. Whomever it belonged to, they were up in a hurry. They left practically everything from their bedrolls to grime-covered utensils, and many, many bottles of what was labeled "K's MEAD". Someone had also left their roughly-carved pipe upright upon a box between the tents too, still producing a genteel coil of charred tobacco. The longer I looked at the things, the more I felt that I didn't belong, and chose that if they failed to return by the time I found the glowing mushroom, perhaps I'd take a plate or some of the salt bowls left by the fire.

Just behind the camp, a trail lead upwards into a towering cliff-face and a stream trickled off to its left, there the whistling was loudest. Wherever the campers had gone, it was not there, the only prints that went that path appeared ages old, aside from the occasional rabbit or vole. One peculiar thing about them was that there was only one set, and like those on Tsajasuna's steps, never pointed back. Aside from mine.

Finally, at the trail's end, a crevice that seemed more like a crack because of its tenuity spoke to me. A strong odor of dank vegetation, wet stone, and something painfully sour respired from the narrow gap that made my nose wrinkle. The splish splosh of the stream impeded my ability to hear anything from outside. Too impatient to wait for my fur to settle, and with my tail twitching in disagreement, I climbed into the impenetrable dark.

Aphotic and horny mazes lie ahead after a seemingly endless trudge downwards, hardly traversable as was ordained by the slippery stones which no definite footfall may make purchase, and the black spiked formations that rose up betwixt them. Little holes, bat dens, and body-sized apertures dotted the walls. To say that the cramped ingress was entirely lightless, would be a lie, for round a bend at the passage's end a teal phosphorescence pulsated. And so became my destination. Shimmying under and over, between and beside the protrusions was a perplexity. My boots were terribly worn on the bottom, and aided me little in terms of traction, so I did, miraculously, break through some of the stalactites whilst inevitably slipping - resulting in a few indistinct cuts and bruises to my face. I'm just glad I never fell upon the stalagmites, though I did come distressingly close at one point. Before the bend, the stream that trickled down with me ran under a pale and bloated body that had to be passed. It was impossible to tell how long it'd been there, but with what my eyes could manage- bright red cuts and gashes covered its entire ragged body, its ears were missing as were a few fingers, and they all seemingly weren't done by stone. Too neat and done parallel in sets of three to four. No, they weren't by any animal either, none of the size could fit here. Unsure if it was a warning or simply forgotten, I stepped over the unfortunate shape and continued shifting forward, watching as darkness rapidly swallowed the faceless thing behind me.

Seven tendrilous toadstools calmly breathed a faint light before me. They were by no means small, so I ripped out only the largest, which was about the size of my head. It was fun to squeeze, firm and spongy. My mind went back to the cuts of the pale blooded man, and the thought lingered with an unnerving chill. I had seen those kinds of cuts before, but strained to remember where. With the mushroom in my hands, I shook the thought away, the real issue soon became clear; how do I get it out? The robe was tricky enough to work around, with the mushroom my width doubled, and the skirt could not be held. Turning back to the mushroom cluster, I had hoped to find one of smaller size. Instead, I met the eyeless face of another pale thing. Then, from the cracks and holes, waves upon waves of oversized centipedes and a forgotten race poured.

Ghoulish abominations with taut translucent skin that mimics pallor, and arms so unnaturally slender their knuckles drag. Some seemed horribly maimed, missing hands, arms, and a few crawled mechanically across the stones with one or no legs at all.  This awful, maddening elision of gurgling and other inhuman disquietude bled my ears, so many of the awkward shapes clambered into the passage that the entrance could no longer be seen. Speaking of seen, the one whom I'd met face to face with had puffy red and squeezed flesh where one's eyes should be, and whose colorless gape had begun to bare teeth shaped like those of a slaughterfish; countless and demonically confused in length, sent out a harrowing alarm. Stiff as a stump, and keeping my tail tucked, provoked breath that reeked of rotting fish blasted my neck as it inspected me. Before I had time to panic, the sudden memory of Nisrrina's bestiary rushed to my mind, as did the pain of being bitten. Flame flickered again at my fingertips, illuminating the hoard and finally giving them color. Much like Mr. Muttonchops, the Falmer sunken gum-deep in my shoulder exploded fantastically within my hand. The others, blind and unused to its intensity, shied away from the light. I clutched the bite, still holding the mushroom, and heard the troglofaunal flesh slap against the rocks towards me as the light vanished. Panic often results in stupid decisions, but seeing the subterranean species recede gave me an idea. The thought of Tsajasuna's fireplace. Subsequently, surge after surge of flame burst forth from both my hands, licking the walls dry and blackening the capricious flesh before me. I will not die in the cold and dark, in a place forbidden and forgotten, damned and decayed, in a place where no light shines, I shall be the sun or its harbinger!

Laughing madly, and bleeding buckets from my shoulder through the robe, I said this. The words did not feel as though they were my own. What remained of the Falmer scurried toward the entrance, and had somehow broadened the crevice with their flailing. With the ground dry and piled with charred embodiments of fear, I picked up my mushroom and made my way out, whipping flame at any who tried to run back from the sunlight. The smell was awful, and the smoke stung my eyes, how lucky they were that neither sense was in their possession. As a matter of fact, quite a few had escaped the cave. Some had stopped dead, clutching the slits on their face in the sun. The others drowned, blindly leaping into the green lake and snuffing their flames, but ultimately unable to swim. Unfortunately for its owners, they had crashed through the campsite, trampling the tents, kicking pots, smashing bottles, and snapping the intricately carved pipe set neatly upon the box. Worse than the sight of that, some time before I emerged from that charred realm, they had returned. I was so exhausted, coughing and gasping for breath that I hadn't noticed the crouched red hue until I stood at the trail's beginning. Not the smoldering logs, but a bush woman.

With bow of twisted yew slung over her shoulder, and a furred quiver strapped to her ill-fit belt, the fire lady wore a stitched leather vest that seemed two sizes too small for her, a pair of loose rawhide trousers that were only held up by her peachy hips, and a sweat-stained green bandana rounded her head beneath a free-flowing shoulder-length mane, braided widely at the back. Picking further through the wreckage, she grew more and more red with each passing moment and began to steam loudly. By the way she was built, how she carried herself in a slightly tottered walk, the double-edged axe amulet that jounced at her neck, and the elk she'd mightily carried in alone, her Nordic descent was quite clear, and frightened me terribly.

Fear had taken such a strong hold of all my senses, that I'd not noticed the old man staring at me from a tail-length's away. He too had red fiery hair tied back into a high pony-tail, and long chin whiskers with a knot at the end, but they had dulled to a more brownish color, and his yellowing face was drenched with wrinkles. An elf, no doubt, he was incredibly short. Not exactly my height, but I did not have to look far up to meet his worried gaze with my own. He seemed far friendlier than the Nord, so I pleaded to him that it was an honest mistake, repeatedly apologizing since I lacked anything else to offer. The little man didn't seem to be listening, he just kept glancing over his shoulder at the girl with a profuse sweat beginning to bead then back to me. He didn't even bother to look past me at the cove, which now billowed foul black smoke to the clouds. Next, he began flailing his arms and swinging them sideways, gritting his tall teeth so hard I grew concerned that he might actually break them. He was saying something. I stopped fumbling my apologies and leaned closer to hear him, and he did too, a hurried and hoarse whisper came from his cracked lips. A singular command that could move an entire town, and there I was, oblivious to the wise warning that entire time. If only I had understood it earlier, if only I had fled from him at first sight like he wanted, then much suffering could have been saved that day.

"RUN"

Just then, the fire lady cried a siren of war. Within an instant her bow was nocked with a missile aimed at my neck and released. She had such pretty blue eyes. The old man was surprisingly quick, and pushed me out of a shot that should have landed true, denying the hunter her kill. I broke into a sprint to whatever direction I thought the house was, then tripped over the skirt at a highly inconvenient time; skipping over the slippery stones of a shallow creek that separated the camp from my east road home. Another arrow whistled in the distance. A sharp pain that made me lose grip of the mushroom shot through my side, and the beast came weaving and light-footed from behind, her breathing excited and teeming with rage. All that went through my mind was this new wonder, I had never been struck there, my armor always protected me from such situations, covering everything from my thighs up to my neck in a steel shell. Gods did it hurt.

The bite in my shoulder did not have this stunning effect, though it was where armor usually insured, a result of Ra's numerous wake-ups. If it did, the predicament before would have ended in a bewildered death. I should probably thank her for that if she ever returns, but really don't want to, because I know she'll never stop doing it at the first sign of appreciation. Or worse, acceptance.

A flame burst into my hand and cast an orange light over my face, I stared at it, unblinking. Did I really need to kill these people? I deserved an arrow in my side or arm for ruining their camp, that's for certain, but what if the next shot sent me to the Jester’s Realm? I couldn't go back there, and these weren't my friends, I refuted to myself. My mind was made up. Laying in the mud for as long as it took her to get there, I concealed the flame and played dead, a surge ready to share. Another arrow nocked, the string stretched to its limit.

What a fool I was.

It punctured the earth beside me, sending a small shower of dirt into my face. An unexpected stamping and shouting disturbed the ground behind me. "Dad, what are you doing!? Let me go!"

Dad?

"GO, lil’ khajiit, can't hold this young'un for long!"

I snatched the mushroom and winced as I got to my feet. Looking back, I could see the Nord squirming in the arms of the little old man, his face flush with impatience and struggle. Is this what parents do? Hold back children from doing what they want, even as adults? I must be quite fortunate.

Hobbling away with the extra limb was an excruciating task, and took a tremendous amount of energy to go so far as to lose the fire manes' sight. Adrenaline was waning, as was my vision and steadiness of breath. Not a moment longer I felt very sleepy and capriciously cold. The hilltop house was within sight, perched proudly upon its pointy rock, but still very far. A blurry thought of Tsajasuna teaching me how to make sparks sprinkle from my fingertips made me smile, a dream. My entire left side felt very wet. And that is all I remember before collapsing to my knees.

Figured I should probably put out something to at least say I certainly haven’t forgotten! Not a day goes by where I don’t think about the story, and by god this journal is going to take a bit. As always, please point out flaws and other things of which I should improve so that I may better the final version.

Also, thanks to Haar for some inclusion permission, I’m having a blast working on the personalities.

[newidaho]

12.  Christmas in the East

25 December 2054

Snow had watched the sun come up outside his window, the rays hitting the valley below.  He could actually see most of the way down the mountain today.  The view never stopped being breath-taking.

Snow had decided not to put on his Lenses.  He had woken up just before dawn from an intense dream.  He thought it would be best to just think for a while, without any distractions.

He thought about Christmases of past.  He realized that he had hardly even thought about Christmas this year.  Somehow it just found its way off his radar.  Back in the day, however, Christmas anticipation started some time around Halloween, and the day was one of the highlights of the year.  In years prior, he would have been up this early with or without an intense dream, waiting for his parents to come down so he could open presents.

This year, Snow had told his parents he didn’t even want presents, which he felt little slimy about because it wasn’t quite true.  He was aware of a great part of himself that really wanted presents.  There just happened to be another, constantly growing part of him that felt—no, knew—he didn’t deserve them.  Now each present carried an additional film of unwanted guilt beneath the wrapping paper.

That being said, it wasn’t like Snow was unexcited for Christmas.  He would still get to spend some quality time with his family.  And who knows, maybe he would get some cool presents.

It had been at least an hour since sunrise.  Snow figured he could probably go downstairs.  He threw on his white sweatpants and Lenses (still kept on “Do Not Disturb”) and walked out of his east-facing room into the hallway, which he took north to descend the staircase to the first floor.  The stairs fanned out at the bottom from a taper at the top.  Snow used the railing to climb down the right side of the stairs and made his way to the white couch in front of the fake tree they had had since Snow was a baby.

His mother was in the kitchen making coffee.  She gave Snow a “Merry Christmas!”  and shot her husband a message through her Lenses to notify him that they were ready.  When Darren came back downstairs, they were ready to exchange gifts.

Opening the Christmas presents went as tradition dictated, though it continued on the emotional trajectory that it had entered post-Santa.  Snow tried to recapture the excitement of his younger days with a growing sense of guilt, and his parents tried their best to believe that this experience was no less exciting than it had been when Snow was a child.

For this birthday, Snow received new socks and sweaters, a couple Lucid gift cards, and some various other games and knick knacks that had inspired his parents to think of him.  It was a modest amount of presents, but it seemed to be the best compromise between a boy who said he wanted nothing and parents who wanted to do something nice for their son without spoiling him.

Snow still felt a touch of sadness with each gift. It was a tradition that he had grown up with, but the tradition’s meaning had changed as he aged.  There was still anxiety related to the tradition of waiting to open gifts under the tree, but it was now less from excitement and more from foreboding—not knowing how to accept a gift, understanding that his gifts paled in comparison; he thought about how Christmas is known as a season of giving, which at once implies that you ought to give freely, but also that you will be on the receiving end of many of these exchanges.  He was starting to form the idea that Christmas was less a season of selfless giving, and more like a coerced stimulus of exchanges.  And Snow had nothing to give.

When all the presents were finally opened, Snow thanked his parents, hoping he came across sincerely, slightly bothered with this part of the tradition.  He was obviously grateful for his parents’ generosity, but he was simultaneously aware that this gratitude was part of the tradition, and thus somewhat cheapened through its ever-present nature.

For their part, Emilie and Darren accepted Snow’s thanks, and glanced at each other.  The look on their faces was apprehensive, though filtered through the good cheer of Christmas day.

‘We have one more gift for you, Snow,’ Darren said.

‘But this one needs a little more explanation,’ his wife added.

Darren pulled from his pocket a box slightly larger than a deck of cards.  It was wrapped simply in white parchment paper.  ‘You know,’ he said, ’I guess we can explain when you open it.’

Darren extended the parcel to Snow, who carefully detached the parchment paper from itself.  He had never been a paper-ripper when getting to his gifts.  After the dainty disrobing of the package, Snow held in his hand a matte black box.  In the center of the box was a white ring, about half a centimeter thick, that seemed to have slight trace of effervescence.

‘Okay,’ Snow said, ‘So what’s the story?’

‘Well,’ Darren said, ‘You’ll hear all about it in just a few hours, but I can give you some inside information.

‘This device is the most advanced computer the world has ever seen.  At least as far as application is concerned.  This device is called “Lucidity”, and it is so sensitive that it can accurately process brainwaves.

‘Now, as employees, your mother and I each received two Lucidity for early access.  We have not tried it yet, but we do know the only application in this Beta version is something called “Lucid Dream,” which reads and records your dreams while you are asleep.’

‘That’s insane,’ Snow said.

‘It will definitely be a shift,’ his mother said.  ‘We thought about waiting until the wide release to try it, but we decided it made more sense to get a leg up on a technology that everyone is going to have one day anyway.’

‘That’s right—I was just barely around for it, but there was a time when people thought they would never adopt a smartphone.  I certainly remember the days people were resistant to wearing Lenses.’

‘So we thought, we trust Lex, and if Lex gives it out to his employees, it must be safe.’

‘Not to mention, kids will be doing God knows what with it come February.’

‘Wow,’ Snow said.  ‘Thank you.’

‘Of course!’  Emilie said.  ‘We were thinking about trying Lucidity out tonight, if you’re open to it.’

‘It’s probably a good idea to do it as a family so we all kind of know what’s going on.  Does that sound fair?’

‘Yeah,’ said Snow.  ‘I guess that could be a good idea.  I’m still kind of wrapping my head around a computer reading my mind, but I guess I trust it more if it came from LL than anywhere else.’

Snow hugged his parents and thanked them.  It was most children’s dream that they receive the newest technology for Christmas.  It was very few children that would get technology so new that less than 1000 people even knew of its existence.  To be honest, Snow wasn’t completely sold on the idea—something about it didn’t seem safe.  At the end of the day, however, he knew he would use Lucidity and eventually get used to it.  He was struck with awe as he recognized that there may come a day in the near future where he couldn’t imagine life without it.

As the Caston family wrapped up their Christmas morning, the Millers celebrated Christmas according to their own tradition.

The Miller’s house was about a mile and half south of the Caston’s, stylized like a log cabin and built into the northern slope of one of the perimeter’s rock formations.  The house preserved a midwestern-American sort of feel to it; almost like a hunting lodge.

Though the house could certainly come off as a total man-cavern, the female half of the Miller family felt just as comfortable.  Shelly specifically prided herself on her carefully presented collection of Americana art and knick knacks, which she rotated out every month or so.  Sera, age 13, loved to take hikes around the mountain, or sit in their reading room with the window that opened up to the eastern slope.

Christmas was very important to the Miller family.  It had been the most important holiday in both Ricky’s and Shelley’s families for generations.  Their living room was decked out in tinsel, holly, nativity sets, and of course, a large, living concolor fir.  None of that fake tree shit in the Miller house.  What the hell was Christmas if you can’t smell it? Presents were meticulously arranged and stacked so as to increase both aesthetic pleasure and perceived volume.

Presents were Ricky 2’s favorite part of Christmas, by far.  It always had been, ever since he believed the myth of Santa Claus.  How could you ever beat it?  You wake up early and the first part of your day is getting a ton of new shit.  It was just as good at seventeen as it was at five—maybe even better.  At this age, you know what you want.

At this point in the morning, Ricky 2 and Sera had opened maybe 40% of the gifts.  Sera was unwrapping her next gift excruciatingly slowly and succeeding in her goal of irritating Ricky 2.

‘Goddammit, Sera, just open the goddamn present already!’

‘Ricky 2!’  Ricky said, ‘Twice in one sentence?  Come on, if you’re gonna disrespect God on his birthday, at least show some eloquence about it.’

‘Fine,’ Ricky 2 said, ‘but Sera is deliberately being a slug about opening her presents to annoy me.’

‘Then don’t get annoyed,’ Shelley said, like it was the easiest fix in the world.

‘I can’t not get annoyed, mom!’  Ricky 2 said.  ‘I’m a human being!  I have human feelings!’

‘Ricky 2!’  Ricky said, raising his voice and standing up,  ‘Don’t raise your voice at your mother!’

‘I do what I want, pop-pop!’ said Ricky 2, standing up and facing his father.

‘Okay, big boy, you trying to take this to the mats on Christmas?  Trying to take me to the mats on Christmas?’

‘Hell yeah, pops, and you’re getting twisted around!’

This routine had served to calm Ricky 2 down since his motor skills were developed enough to wrestle.  It was always permitted for father and son to challenge each other to a wrestling match if there as a disagreement.  Win or lose, they often found themselves each tuckered out and able to better talk with one another afterward.

Ricky and Ricky 2 disappeared down the hallway and into the first door on the left, leaving Sera and Shelley on their own while the two boys duked it out in the Family Dojo.

‘Do you really have to bother your brother?’  Shelley asked her daughter.

Sera shrugged her shoulders.

Eventually the two boys came back, both covered in sweat and feeling much calmer than before.

‘Who won?’ asked Shelley.

‘Dad,’ said Ricky 2, ‘but I came close!’

‘The day you take me down better be the day you move out of my house,’ his father said with a wink.  ‘So what did we miss?’

‘Well,’ Shelley said, ‘Sera has finally opened her gift.  So I guess it’s your turn, Ricky 2.’

Finishing off the unwrapping seemed to be much more efficient after the intermission.  In another thirty minutes or so, all the presents were unwrapped and stacked creatively on either side of Sera and Ricky 2.

Ricky looked at his family with a big grin.  ‘You know there’s one more present, don’t you?’  Sera raised an eyebrow.  Ricky 2 looked excited.  Ricky slid his hand into his pocket and retrieved four wrapped packages, each about the size of a deck of cards.  He passed them out to each member of his family, saving the last for himself.

‘Alright,’ Ricky said, ‘you can open the package now.  Just remember that papa provides.’  He winked, but none of the family saw him as they focused on unwrapping their own present.

Within the wrapping, of course, were four identical black metal boxes with a white, effervescent ring imprinted on the front of each of them.

‘Now, your mom already knows about these,’ Ricky said, ‘but the rest of the world will find out about them in a couple hours.’

‘So what are they?’ asked Ricky 2.

‘Inside this box,’ Ricky said, ‘is a computer that can read your mind.’

‘I don’t believe it!’  Ricky 2 said.  ‘You’re pulling my leg!’

‘You wanna wrestle about it?’

‘No!’

‘It’s real, Ricky 2,’ Shelley said.  ‘It came from Lucid Labs.’

‘Just wait until the afternoon,’ Ricky said.  ‘You’ll see.  These babies are gonna change the world.’

‘And what if I put two on?’  Ricky 2 asked as he reached over to grab Sera’s box.  She leaned away with a whine and a dirty glare.

‘Hey, hey,’ said Ricky, ‘we’re all gonna try it out together tonight, alright?  The first app on here reads dreams.  Hey, by the way, did I tell you guys the dream I had last night?  It was a freakin’ doozey!’

[itsclydebitches]

Summary:

“He likes this song.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

In which Cisco is given seven months to fall in love with Barry Allen. It’s admittedly a little weird - what with Barry being unconscious and all - but since when was anything normal nowadays?

Fandom: The Flash (TV show)

Words: Through Chapter Three: 8,213 (will be around 12k total)

Warnings: None

Pairings: Barry/Cisco

Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3 (AO3 recommended for formatting) 

~~~

Worth the Wait: Chapter Three

Could you know someone you’d never spoken to? Really get them based purely on their presence and a public profile? Cisco was starting to wonder.

It was freaking him out just a bit. Because the longer Barry just lay there the longer Cisco searched for him online, and the more he searched the more he felt like they’d known each other for years. Barry posted update statuses filled with enough science jargon that all his friends sent exasperated emojis and his former teachers liked the posts with pride. There were silly Vine attempts and one memorable home video, basically laying out for the world that Barry Allen would never be an actor. Barry posted more selfies than the stereotypical teenage girl (all of them stunning), wept about his food, glorified his job (which he didn’t need, he was a goddamn hero in Cisco’s eyes), comforted anyone about anything, sent heartfelt messages on everyone’s birthday, and accompanied those tear-jerkers with presents—despite his slightly iffy bank account.

He was like a ray of sunlight personified.

Cisco knew, intellectually, that a digital footprint was just one small part of a person’s whole. That they were never truly what they posted online. That, really, Barry couldn’t be this sunny, smart, gracious, and heroic in real life. Constructs like this just didn’t exist.

Except then he’d look over at the guy’s still form and think, maybe.

What cinched it for him was another real life person suddenly appearing in, what had become, his otherwise digitalized world. Cisco came into the Lab Thursday morning with bedhead and a packet of chocolate donuts, thinking about how he wanted to test the Suit’s resistance to acid and read more about whether coma patients experienced smell as well as sound. Cisco was lost enough in his thoughts that he nearly ran into Caitlin as she rounded the corner out of the Cortex. They exchanged a silent, rapid-fire conversation—Donut? No, already ate. You okay? Yeah. Sure? There’s a Thing. A Thing??—and Cisco was still trying to decipher what kind of a Thing that hand gesture meant when he spotted the woman sitting at Barry’s bedside.

Oh. That kind of a Thing.

Cisco recognized her. He’d seen her name on the Labs’ entrance logs a few times before and he had vague memories of her standing on the periphery of the action the day they’d moved Barry here. Mostly Cisco knew her from Barry’s pictures though. She was in nearly all of them.

“Hi, Iris,” he said and she turned to smile at him, the both of them totally ignoring the fact that they’d never technically met before. That was refreshing.

“Hey, Cisco.”

“Donut?”

“God yes. Chai latte?”

“Not worried about my cooties?”

“Nah. Go for it.”

She passed over her drink and he set the box on Barry’s blankets, kind of liking how some of the sprinkles spilled over. It gave him a less sterile look. Like a dude who’d actually been munching rather than just...lying there.

The chai was spicy on Cisco’s tongue. He could see the smears of Iris’ lipstick around the cup’s edge.

It was kind of amazing how put together she looked in the face of this ongoing tragedy, and Cisco had to give her points for style. He had his own sort of look going on, sure, but he also know that if his bestie/brother got struck by freaking lightning and refused to wake up he’d be sporting nothing but comfort PJs and tear stains. Cisco tried uselessly to untangle his hair.

“He loves these, you know,” Iris said, holding up one of the donuts. She tilted it so Barry could see. “He always eats the icing first though, scooping it off like—” she demonstrated, scattering more crumbs across the bed.

Cisco pulled a face. “Okay. That’s wrong.”

“Right? You need to see him eat a cupcake. He pulls it apart and like, makes a sandwich out of it. Or nachos! Jesus, he’s always complaining about not getting all the toppings in one bite. I told him to just lift, but he claims the weight is too much for a single chip, and... ”

Iris trailed off, shaking her head. Maybe she was thinking about the implications: that hopefully someday Cisco would get to see Barry and his ridiculous eating habits.

“Food is priority #1,” Cisco said. “He’s a guy after my own heart.”

As soon as he said it Cisco ducked his head, realizing the implications of that, but Iris didn’t even bat an eye.

She just took another donut.Cisco let her.

“You know I’ve started talking to him,” he shared after a few moments of silence. Iris’ smile begged him to continue. “Uh huh. I must look like a real nut on all the security footage. But I read that coma patients can, you know, hear and stuff. Sometimes. So I figured why not? Might as well give Barry something to focus on other than this insistent beeping.” It actually wasn’t even that bad--Caitlin had removed most of the equipment on the third day, growling that it wasn’t doing enough for Barry anyway—but the point remained the same.

Iris snatched her drink back. “What do you talk about?”

“Oh, you know... stuff. Gossip mostly. I complain a lot. Just... things.”

Iris was still smiling. “He likes movies,” she said. “Put Star Wars on sometime.”

“...right.” Cisco very much didn’t voice that the Star Wars franchise was his be-all and end-all fave.

Iris stood then, reaching over to smooth the hair out of Barry’s face. “You gotta wake up,” she whispered and Cisco had to turn away, recognizing the private moment. He didn’t comment on how long it took her to speak again, or the thick quality of Iris’ voice when she did.

Cisco did clasp her arm though as she took up her purse. “Work,” she explained. “I’ll come back tonight?”

“I’m sure not stopping you.” Cisco spread his arms in a welcoming gesture.

Iris seemed to consider him then. One of those cataloguing looks that made Cisco wish he’d actually used a comb this morning. Or worn something other than his Homestuck t-shirt. Whatever Iris found though didn’t seem to be too bad.

“He’ll like you,” she said and it felt like a promise.

Cisco nodded, slowly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He definitely will.”

They both appreciated the future tense.

Iris left him then with too many thoughts and just the right amount of donuts. Cisco sighed, taking the place she’d vacated (no, it wasn’t his spot, no matter what Caitlin was starting to say) and booted up his laptop, enjoying this new routine.

Cisco pulled up Chrome in one window and a stream of A New Hope in the other. He wafted a donut under Barry’s nose as the story’s scroll began.

“Smell that, dude? Glazed glory, right here. Gonna wake up for it?”

Barry breathed even and deep. His eyes moved briefly beneath his lids. That was all.

“Your loss.”

Cisco was nothing if not gracious though. He patted Barry’s knee while taking a massive bite.

“I’ll buy you more when you do get your lazy ass out of bed,” he garbled. “Promise.”

***

Taking care of a coma patient was, sadly, not all movies and one-sided conversations. Cisco was endlessly glad that Barry gave them all something to focus on (Caitlin in particular, gushing daily now about the ever growing changes in Barry’s DNA. “It’s fascinating, Cisco!” “Uh huh. Sure, Spock.”) but there were some things that just shouldn’t have been a part of the job. Or at least, not part of Cisco’s job.

He so didn’t sign up for this when he applied to STAR Labs.

“You want me to what now?”

Dr. Wells gave him a Look. It was the particular one that was a combination of “I expected more of you” and “please leave your immaturity outside of my facility.” The last time Cisco had gotten the Look he��d accidentally set Level 8’s workroom on fire trying to create goggles that replicated heat vision.

Emphasis on ‘accidentally.’

“I have a meeting with Larson—yes, yes, of rheology fame.” Dr. Wells shook his head. “Please wipe that look off your face, Dr. Snow. She’s not nearly as impressive in person as her autobiography suggests.”

“You read her autobiography?” Caitlin teased, but she did school her features. Dr. Wells waved her off like an errant fly.

“Look, I would honestly like nothing better than to skip this lunch and remain here, but Larson is insistent that we discuss the work our two labs were conducting prior to the explosion. I have… admittedly been putting it off.” Dr. Wells took of his glasses to rub at his eyes. Cisco felt a pang. “I fear you’re the only one available for this shift.”

Cisco looked imploringly at Caitlin.

“Grandpa’s birthday,” she said, apologetic. “It’s literally the one family gathering I can’t miss.”

“Joe?” Cisco suggested, remembering the strong, fatherly man who had accompanied Iris on numerous visits.

“Working.”

“Iris?”

“Also working.”

“And look who else is in his place of employment, on the clock no less,” Dr. Wells gave him another pointed look.

Cisco felt something like panic inching its way up his throat. “And this can’t wait?”

“Don’t be cruel. You’ll be fine,” and with that utterly useless bit of confidence they just abandoned him, like two totally awful, abandoning people.

“I will have my revenge,” Cisco whispered, because really, he was not cut out for this.

Clipping toe and fingernails was one thing. Swapping out full catheter bags was ew, gross, but doable. Turning the guy to avoid bed soars was a piece of cake. But sponge baths?

Cisco looked at Barry. Barry (he imagined) was looking back, with his eyes closed. Judging. Cisco thought about how he’d feel if he was stuck in bed for months without access to a shower.

He shivered. Fine.

Getting the supplies took longer than he’d anticipated, though it gave Cisco time to calm down a bit and, as Caitlin might say, stop being such a big baby about it. He got two tubs of water ready—one for washing, one for rinsing—and made sure that the bath water was nice and hot. It wasn’t like the Cortex was freezing, but who the hell wanted a lukewarm bath?

Easy to wash away soap. Baby shampoo that smelled liked lavenders. Lots of washcloths; even more towels. It took Cisco ten goddamn minutes to find the special basin for washing hair because who the hell had put it with the old microscopes?

By the time he was ready the bath water was no longer scalding and Cisco’s heart wasn’t a freaking jackrabbit anymore. Progress.

“I hope you know,” he intoned, “that this completely solidifies our friendship. I expect best man-level status when you wake up, dude. Got it?”

Barry breathed.

“Damn straight. C’mon now...”

He’d moved Barry before, and despite the muscle developing he was still surprisingly light. Cisco got him on his side pretty easily and slid a couple of towels underneath, really not wanting to change the sheets yet if he could help it. Barry had been going shirtless most of the time anyway, so all he really had to do clothes-wise was tug the pajama pants carefully off his legs.

Cisco definitely did not look at the toned thighs as he did.

“Don’t be a perv about this,” he muttered. “Do not be a perv...”

And for the most part he wasn’t, because he was an adult, and a decent person, okay? Cisco had always viewed his nerd status as at least preferable to the Nice Guy douches, and he was perfectly capable of separating romantic situations from professional ones.

This was definitely the latter.

Even if Barry did have the most fantastic abs. Ever.

Cisco clucked, soaping up a washcloth to run over Barry’s arms and chest. “I should really hate you, you know? I should be jealous here, Mr. Lays in Bed All Day and Somehow Gets Buff. But I am the bigger man here. Even if you’re a freaking giraffe. I’m still bigger. Metaphorically. Okay?”

Talking to Barry had gotten easy over the last few weeks. It was sort of worrying Cisco a bit. He didn’t know if the guy was that good a conversationalist even while comatose, or if he was just that lonely (ha). But sometime between not startling every time he caught sight of the new edition and donuts with Iris, Cisco had let his talking get a little more... personal. Less Jitters gossip and more family drama. Then less family drama and more, ‘Hey, could we actually be buds when you finally decide to wake up?’

Part of Cisco was terrified that Barry would remember all this someday. Another part worried that he wouldn’t be nearly as cool in real life as he was on paper.

The realistic part said he would, but would also 100% not give a shit about Cisco.

“And why should you, man?” he said, carefully going over Barry’s stomach, then his back. “I mean, we just sort of got landed with you. Not that I’m complaining. But it means you got landed with us too. You didn’t ask to get struck by lightning, or delve into an extended nap, or become Dr. Wells’ charity case. You’ve got every right to ditch our asses once you’re up and about.” Cisco regarded the soapy washcloth. “Not gonna hang with your nurse, right? How lame is that.”

He was nearly done with Barry’s upper body now. “But... if you did want to hang...well. I’d be cool with that. Just so you know.”

Cisco stopped. Shook his head. He spent another ten minutes changing the water.

He paused again before removing the blankets around Barry’s legs. “Don’t make this weird,” he admonished.

In the list of things Cisco had planned and expected to do with his life, cleaning another man’s genitals wasn’t anywhere on the list. Outside of sexy-shower fantasies at least. He really shouldn’t have worried though. Barry might have been gorgeous, but there wasn’t anything sexy about a non-consenting partner that made you think more about necrophilia than second dates.

It didn’t stop Cisco from taking his time though. He didn’t like what he was doing—it wasn’t what he was starting to want it to be—but he’d sure as hell do it right.

“There,” he announced, patting Barry dry and pulling the blankets back up. “I’ve saved the best for last. Can’t promise not to get soap in your eyes though.”

It was sort of soothing, washing someone else’s hair. Cisco liked the texture of it beneath his fingers and he tried to get all fancy, like the women did in salons with their massages. He wondered if Barry was in there somewhere, appreciating it. He hoped so.

Cisco found himself smiling as he made little tufts of his hair stick up. “Aww. Look at you. Take note: you would make an excellent penguin. Feels good, huh?”

Barry drew in a slightly longer breath—

—and promptly began seizing.

“Holy—!”

Cisco stumbled back, knocking the basin as he went and sending water everywhere. The motion knocked Barry’s head as well, causing it to loll as the rest of his body jerked horrendously. The blanket he’d so carefully tucked in slipped off to the side. Bits of soap began decorating Cisco’s shirt.

He just stood there, useless.

It was Barry’s right arm flying off the bed (limp, pale like a dead fish) that finally sent him into motion. Cisco’s first instinct was to throw himself atop Barry and stop that godawful movement, but a vague, oddly calm voice in the back of his mind reminded him that you didn’t do that. No. That was bad. But what did you do instead?

“Dr. Wells!”

That’s what he did. He got help; got his mentor. Cisco scrambled over to the Lab’s sound system and slammed his hand over the button with enough force to leave an outline on his palm. “Dr. Wells get up here!” He must have shouted it more than he’d thought, because by the time Cisco remembered that Dr. Wells had left his voice was feeling terribly raw.

Dr. Wells was gone. He was out, for the first time in ages. Because of course this happens. Cisco pulled at his hair, trying to get his useless brain to function for two goddamn seconds. He couldn’t call Dr. Wells. He didn’t know his number. The three of them had practically been living together for four months and he didn’t know the man’s goddamn cell number.

“Oh my god, oh fuck—fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

Cisco whirled on the monitors, trying to get all his training in engineering to somehow translate into medical knowledge. He was halfway through a muddled translation of the meds Caitlin had been feeding into Barry this week when one piece of equipment finally made sense.

The steady beat of Barry’s heart—a sound that had become a necessary part of Cisco’s world—suddenly stopped. Rapid beeps became a long whine that sounded like a scream.

“No,” Cisco whispered.

In the same moment he thought, Call Caitlin.

Because he did have her number. They’d swapped months ago. He was her emergency contact, now that Ronnie was gone.

Barry’s not Ronnie, Cisco insisted and dove for his cell. He had it ringing while he grabbed for his Macbook too, screaming as Siri to find him tutorials on CPR.

“Why the fuck didn’t I take that summer class?” Cisco shrieked, trying to get the bed to go flat.

“Why didn’t you what?”

And there it was, Caitlin’s voice, a godsend that cut straight through Cisco’s panic. Even so, he couldn’t recall exactly what he said to her then, only that his breathy ramblings seemed to make some sort of sense, because he was able to toss Siri aside (useless) and follow Caitlin’s instructions instead. He had the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, Barry’s heart directly beneath his hands.

Cisco spotted a drop of water. It might have been from the bath. It was probably because he was crying.

“It’s not—he’s not—” he kept gulping, feeling like he was about to pass out. There were actual spots in Cisco’s vision when he was suddenly wrenched off the bed, hard enough that he fell straight onto his ass.

Caitlin was here, impossibly. She looked calm and doctor-y and Cisco sucked in a massive breath.

“How?” he managed and she said something about her and her mother getting into a fight. She’d come back here and, oh Jesus, Cisco was so glad she had.

The relief was sort lived though. Barry was still coding.

Which made Caitlin’s next action all the more shocking. She just...stopped. She even stepped back, regarding Barry while every machine attached to him screamed that he was dying.

“What are you doing?” Cisco hissed.

Caitlin looked up. Her expression was awe. It was the first and only time Cisco had seen the true definition of the word: reverence mixed with fear.

“He heart hasn’t stopped,” she whispered. “It’s... tachycardia. It’s beating so fast the machine can’t pick it up.”

Barry stopped.

Instantly. Like the conclusion of a puzzle when you’d finally found the answer, he just stopped. From 60 back to 0 they had their sleepy, peaceful looking guy again.

The monitor began a steady rhythm. Beep, beep, beep.

“God,” Cisco said. Still on the floor he crawled the last few inches to the bed, heedless of how soaked his jeans were getting. He reached up and took Barry’s hand in his. Unbidden, Caitlin did the same.

That’s how Dr. Wells found them twenty minutes later—still wet, still holding onto Barry. Caitlin told him in a shell-shocked voice about the impossible heart rate; how the ‘seizing’ Cisco had seen was actually vibration, Barry’s body moving at a frequency she just couldn’t explain. When Dr. Wells reached them Cisco expected a thorough questioning on this phenomenon. He expected the scientist.

Instead Dr. Wells raised a hand of his own. He hesitated only a moment before laying it on Barry’s arm.

“But he’s okay?” he asked. Dr. Wells raised his gaze, taking in the three of them at once. “You’re okay?”

“Mmm hmm,” Caitlin agreed, a little watery. Cisco nodded.

“Good... good. Let’s get this place cleaned up.”

It was while Dr. Wells was bundling Barry’s soaked sheets that Cisco stopped him, daring to lay his on hand on his mentor’s shoulder. When Dr. Wells didn't brush him off—didn’t even flinch—Cisco mustered up a smile.

“Hey. So I really need your number.”