#and gods if elizabeth survives in an AU she has to come to the slow realization that her father is full of shit (at best)

[ladyseidr]

every time i think abt william being a sort-of decent father when the kids were younger i take -50 damage

[tortoisesshells]

Buying Time (2/6, probably, who knows, ~2,800 words, some salty language and more ways to not deal with grief)

Customs and Duties, but make it a modern!fake-dating AU with a severe lack of fake dating and more historical minutiae than any self-respecting modern AU should have; Part the Second, in which neither party has any luck with antique clocks, despite planned and unplanned meetings.

He never did see that coat again. Either someone had taken it, or maybe it had somehow found its way into the water that seemed omnipresent in that place – tidal creeks and ponds, the little river, the sea itself. One of life’s mysteries. There were others, from that day in January, but it was easier to think about the coat he’d lost.

Or why that particular shop: there was a bookstore nearby, and frankly that seemed a better place to finish sobering up before driving on to New York – where he would, in all likelihood, end up maudlin drunk on Andy Gillette’s couch, but at least get the thin satisfaction of someone worrying about him. At any road, he’d looked at the sign for S. J. Treat & E. C. Treat, Antiques – quaint, with a little hour-glass carved next to the names, and found himself inside – where he’d proceeded to make a complete ass of himself before the proprietor, who, contrary to what a sensible person would have done, sat him in a (modern) chair behind the counter and poured coffee from a thermos that might have actually have been an antique, listened to him ramble about Decatur and Barron because he’d been thinking that maybe his ancestors had been onto something, with their elaborate and ritualized pretenses for beating the shit out of each other over “honor” – and, after she was satisfied he was safe to drive, Mrs. Treat made sure he had  his keys, wallet, phone, and a water bottle before wishing him well. 

When he returned to Boston, he penned a note of thanks, knowing that it was wholly inadequate. Then, after his series of stilted emails with Elizabeth over the disposition of the apartment and everything in it, he’d had the idea.

*

Mrs. Treat politely insisted he pick the restaurant , since he was paying, and he insisted that she pick the restaurant, as she knew the area better than him. They probably would have stood there in the square batting courtesies back and forth like a deranged game of shuttlecock, before he made a tentative suggestion – which, contrary to her earlier assertions that she wasn’t picky – Mrs. Treat scoffed at as both too trendy and too loud, and steered them off in the direction of an unassuming shingle-sided tavern he hadn’t looked twice at on his initial and inebriated visit.

“It’ll be reasonably quiet,” she said, “And there’s a decent chance they’ve got the Franklin stove going.”

With that ringing endorsement, she ushered him into the bar, waved to the bartender, and pointed to a table that was, indeed, right next to an ancient woodstove – and sat in the chair closest to it.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Mrs. Treat said, by way of an apology, “I get cold easily.”

“Not at all,” he replied, looking around the low-ceilinged room. “The decoration is …”

“A little idiosyncratic?”

He nodded.

“It’s what the tourists expect, I think.”

“They expect harpoons?”

“They’re not used,” Mrs. Treat said, with an expression that was very nearly a smile, “You’d be able to tell if they were. There’s a lot to be said about common misconceptions regarding 18th and 19th century maritime activity in this neck of the woods – or the coast, as the case may be – but that’s not what we came here to talk about.”

James privately wondered how you went about telling how a harpoon had been used, but missed his chance to ask: Mrs. Treat briskly arranged the tablet, folders, and notepads on the table, pausing only for the waitress to take their lunch order. Mrs. Treat recommended the scallops, and a local brewery with atrociously punned names, but he noted she only ordered a sandwich for herself. He thought of reminding her that he had asked her to find a clock that might very well cost more than a car and he wasn’t going to begrudge her a pint, but just as quickly scrapped the idea as horrifyingly bad-mannered.  She might not drink, after all. Or hate seafood.

“I’ll start with the bad news: the sum total of it is, I haven’t found your Williams shelf clock.”

“I assumed so.”

“I would get in touch right away if I had, absolutely. But I haven’t.”

Watching her twist her wedding band, he cleared his throat and asked: “Any good news?”

Mrs. Treat stopped her fidgeting and laughed. “The good news is that I can probably teach a specialist course on clock manufacture to 1850? I found more information on the Boston concern that Williams tended to purchase his clock-faces from, the history of brass rolling mills in New England – mostly Connecticut, by the way, none of your Hub nonsense here – though I don’t know for sure if Williams bought from Abel Porter and Co. or imported from England. You said your clock was early 18-teens, which makes trade with Britain a tad unlikely. There’s more information on the mahogany trade in there, as well. Book review for a monograph creatively titled Mahogany, by a Dr. Anderson – I suppose that’s part of the commodities trend where every other book was titled Cod or Pepper or whatever have you – in case you’re interested. Oh, and did you know that Williams once rented shop-room that had previously been occupied by a silversmith named Zenas Fearing?” She pushed a full manila folder across the table to him.

“If you want it,” she said, quickly, “I have all this in scans and pdfs as well, I can just email it to you. But I prefer hard copies.”

He took the folder and leafed through the pages, her annotations in red standing out against the page. “At this rate, Mrs. Treat, I’ll be able to construct it myself.”

“You might consider it. Shelf clocks are more common by the Federal period, but they’re still rare. If you could find a good source for Honduran mahogany you’d be able to make a pretty close replica to an original. Or just 3D print it, I guess.”

She sat back in her chair and swirled the ice around her glass with an apologetic smile. “I want to be clear, Mr. Norrington. I do believe that David Williams likely made multiple clocks of the type you’re describing, and I do believe that several have survived the last two centuries, and will come up for sale if they’re not already – these things can get misidentified. My failure isn’t an indication that it doesn’t exist, only – hmm. I say this as a professional: I appreciate your business and the trust you’ve put in me, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least tell you to consider going through a specialist. I don’t know clocks as well as I do desks and highboys.”

When he said he had consulted a specialist, Mrs. Treat cocked her head, and frowned. “Well. That’s good.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that – she didn’t seem upset or offended, more puzzled than anything. He hadn’t meant it as an insult to her professional abilities; the dealers he had consulted spoke highly of her, tempered by the recent loss of her husband, who had been the founder of the business. Still, she looked at him cautiously – like she suspected something was afoot. “You care a great deal about this clock, I see.”

“One needs goals in life.”

“A lawyer’s answer,” she shot back. “But I understand, I think. And that really is all I have for you – there’s copies of correspondences with a few auction houses about Williams’ clocks – mostly tall clocks that have come up in the last half-century, some research from Newport Historical Society I called in a favor for – mostly about Williams and his contemporaries. Shockingly, most everyone wants to hear about William Claggett, so this is a bit thin – but if you ever get to Newport – the antiques show really is something! – you really should see the Claggett clock in the Redwood Library; it makes the to-do about him and his workshop seem very, very justified. There’s some auction results for the last few times one of his has come up, too. Just for comparison. Close to the back, yellow tab.”

Well. That was a number of zeroes.

“I appreciate your diligence,” he replied, closing the folder and pushing it to the side, to make way for the two plates the waitress was sweeping up with, and was very grateful for it, because he wasn’t sure what else there was for her or him to say. At least Mrs. Treat seemed to think one shouldn’t talk during the first few bites of a meal, efficiently clearing away half of her turkey club before setting the rest aside, and pushing her chips around her plate, which seemed an oblique signal that she’d welcome conversation, or still had something to say.

He didn’t say anything – a lawyer’s habit, maybe, though God knew it’d never helped him outside of the courtroom; or maybe he was still feeling a little foolish for letting the blind grief and very old scotch go to his head that day, and wasn’t entirely sure who Mrs. Treat was, even after doing some due diligence of his own: she seemed personable, dedicated, and honest – too honest for her own good, if she was encouraging him to look elsewhere. The glasses she wore on a chain gave her the air of a librarian, or slightly eccentric aunt – appropriate enough for her occupation. Still, it was rude to be too quiet for too long, and Mrs. Treat really had done an admirable job given the conditions.

“Will you permit a question, Mrs. Treat?”

“Of course.”

“You needn’t have given me all this information – or anything else that you’ve sent along. I would have been satisfied with an email that was some variant on ‘Not yet.’ Why all this?”

“It’s the slow season for me. Almost no foot traffic between the holidays and Memorial Day weekend – a spike around Valentine’s Day and St. Pat’s, because of the road race – but all in all, winter into early spring’s my designated vacation time. I liked the challenge – and I spent a lot of summers in Newport, when I was a teenager.” She paused, before looking at him curiously. “Will you permit a question?”

He nodded.

“I’ve been assuming you’re looking for a Williams clock because there was one passed down in your family – how did your family come to acquire the original? I’ve had to get very good at family genealogies over the years, but I wouldn’t have to have done so to know you’re not from a Newport family.”

“An antecedent married a woman from Newport; it came with her to the marriage.” If there had been an implicit question in why he did not have that original clock, he ignored it – better leave it as some question or quibbling over inheritance. Old families were fairly notorious for that. His cousins still weren’t speaking, even after fifteen years had passed, over the disposition some porringers. God alone knew what Hell would break loose when Grandmother passed away, and left the Burt silver tea service to one her descendants.

“Good provenance,” was all the reply that Mrs. Treat made on that score – all the reply she could make, because her phone began to ring and, apologetically, she checked the ID before blanching. “It’s my daughter’s school – if you’ll – just a moment – I’ll be right back!”

And she was – dashing back to the table looking like she was either about to break something or cry. “I am sorry, Mr. Norrington – I have to cut this short – my daughter’s been in a fight at school – she bit someone, actually – no blood, thank Christ – and, well –”

“I understand,” he said, rising to his feet belatedly, because he felt he ought to.

“Bless you! Do you want the folder with all the copies? Yes? Great. I’ll be in touch in June. Enjoy the spring up in Boston!”

Mrs. Treat rushed out the door, and he sat back down with the folder. If nothing else, it’d be more interesting that his current caseload.

*

In his inbox, not a few hours later, was a painstakingly polite email containing more than one apology and several thanks for understanding as he had:  Just in case (she wrote) I’ve set up a DropBox with all the info in the folder, find it at this link, I am profoundly sorry for my unprofessional behavior, Best Regards, Elinor Treat.

He replied immediately that there really was no need for her apologies: though personally unable to relate to the experience of managing children alone, his sister’s children were enough of a handful, and – came the sobering thought – they hadn’t just lost their father the year before.

Biting, though. He wanted to ask, but that would be rude.

And as May rolled through into June, Theo reminded him that it had been six months, and there was no time like summer to at least try to start dating again. This struck him as profoundly collegiate, and he said so, which led to a completely fruitless argument over whether or not either of them had dated in college, and why or why not, and how that at all had any bearing on the subject at hand – the only thing worse than arguing with a lawyer, he supposed, was being one yourself and doing it anyway. Like being an electrician and still sticking a fork in a wall socket.

He won a one-month moratorium on the topic, but that seemed pretty pyrrhic, all told. Weatherby Swann still couldn’t look him full in the face – and he didn’t anticipate that starting to date again would at all endear him the senior partner turned Gubenatorial hopeful. Or maybe it would? Swann could breathe a sigh of relief that it hadn’t been so serious as it seemed at first – no broken hearts, no resentment. Just two people who weren’t quite meant to make it.

He was out of his office before he knew it, saying something vague about getting lunch to Ned Jarsdel and he’d be back shortly, etc. etc. – and didn’t even notice he had a shadow until Theo Groves jumped into the elevator behind him with an obviously innocent expression.

“Someone’s got to make sure you eat your greens,” Theo said, airily.

“I’m not six years old,” James replied. He said it petulantly enough that it sounded like he was, and his junior snorted. Decades of incredibly expensive education, and that was the best he could do.

“You eat like you are.”

“And you know many first-graders who survive on scotch and bagels?”

“More in the sense of, ‘You can’t be trusted to eat a nutritionally balanced meal on your own account,’” Theo corrected, following him into the noisy lobby, “Honestly, it’s a marvel you haven’t developed scurvy by now.”

James tried to think of concrete proof he’d eaten something with vitamin C in the last week, but came up short, and settled for sniping that Theo had a job and caseload of his own – which, somehow, turned into another bout of unproductive bickering that lasted  up State Street, and James pretended he didn’t notice he was being herded towards Sweetgreen (or however it was spelled). With the vaguest glimmer of self-knowledge, he knew he was bristling from the shame of being seen to be incompetent; it didn’t stop him bristling, but at least he let himself be chivvied along through the crowds and the late-spring sunshine.

This was, of course, the moment he encountered Elinor Treat again.

“Mrs. Treat?”

She was standing on the edge of a group of children, clustered around a tricornered guide at the Old State House – and whirled around at being hailed with a puzzled look, until she spotted him and waved. With a word to another woman, she broke away and jogged over. “Mr. Norrington, hello! Forgive me – I’m here with my daughter’s class – end of year field trip, you know. I hope you’re well?”

Very aware that Theo was suddenly Interested in the proceedings, James was as dry as possible in introducing the two: Theodore Groves, a junior associate; Elinor Treat, antique dealer.

“Allegedly,” she said, with a sort of chagrinned cheerfulness, “I’m afraid I haven’t been very helpful yet.”

“Yet?”

Mrs. Treat looked at him rather than answering Theo’s question outright; he supposed he appreciated her discretion. “She’s investigating a family heirloom for me,” he replied, which was at least partially true.

“An interesting line of work,” said Theo.

“It has its moments. It does put a target on my back for chaperoning these kinds of trips, though – and we’ve still got to make to Charlestown.” She glanced over her shoulder at the school group, anxiously, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve got to get back. Responsibilities aside, my daughter’s a firecracker and even the Massacre won’t be enough to keep her occupied long. Goodbye! I’ll be in touch!”

Blessedly, Theo said nothing until after they’d gotten their lunches, and sat out in the sun. “So. She seems nice.”

“You have another two weeks before you’re allowed anything on the topic,” James replied, stabbing at his under-dressed spinach bad-temperedly.

[geekgemsspooksandtoons]

Bioshock Rebirth Original Concepts

Be warned this was the first piece of concepts concerning this AU. Be warned of spoilers from the series. Especially if you haven’t played the games. A lot of this or so has changed. Mainly the ending. Including the first person I showed this to was @pikablob who I wanted to give me criticism. Posting these finally. Including I’m gonna put the keep reading thing before this. Instead of after I say I shouldn’t write a Bioshock game. Including some of Pikablob’s comments I put in here as I looked through this.

My Bioshock 3/Reimagining AU. The, “Rebirth” au.

Here’s what my two big things I thought that played into this.

1. I want a Bioshock game taking place in modern day. 2020 or so.

2. I miss Elizabeth/I want Elizabeth back.

Strangely was inspired in a way by Silent Hill Shattered Memories. But not like in a way, “Andrew Ryan is your therapist where he asks you to beat this mannequin with a golf cub to release your anger”. Which is honestly silly in a way. But also even Bendy And The Ink Machine. Which is ironic considering Bioshock inspired Bendy. Which is mainly the ending.

But also going with the concept of, “What if Jack wasn’t controlled and wasn’t actually a experiment or so? What if like before I found this stuff out. But what if Jack was a normal person? How would a normal human being respond to Rapture? How would they feel about everything that’s happening there? How would a pure hearted person respond to that situation? How would they try to help everyone as much as they can? As they confront characters like Andrew Ryan and Frank Fontaine/Atlas with their mindsets and whoever else?”

Yet also like I’ve said before. I seemed to went in this similar direction that Paul W.S. Anderson did with his Resident Evil films. Because I am disappointed with what I’ve read about Burial At Sea and whatever else.

But when making this and learning more about Infinite. I’ve realized the game having the title, “Bioshock Infinite” has that title for a reason and this AU seems to be basically, “Bioshock Infinite but it’s set in Rapture”.

Yet also it feels very Anti-Rapture and seems like something well....probably yeah I shouldn’t write a Bioshock game. 

1. It turned from a sequel into a reimagining that is a sequel in way. Somehow someone(Possibly someone with powers similar to Elizabeth or maybe the twins) took the main Bioshock universe and made a different universe. Yet strangely in a way destroying the timeline. This is basically a reborn version of the games universe. Where Rapture was constructed later down the line. Characters were born way later. 

But also this person even combined these events or so into one area.

2. The protagonist of this is a 21 year old US Marine private(Was wondering what to make him. A Marine seems to work) by the name of Archie Jackson. His ship or so gets destroyed or crashes near the lighthouse. Where he discovers Rapture.

I was wondering where to place it at. I’ve been thinking of placing it during the Rapture civil war. Where Archie(and some surviving marines that make it but die later on) feels compiled to try to help everyone as much as he can. But until he realizes as of now the most important thing right now is somehow getting Elizabeth out and possibly anyone else. 

Even though considering his character. It’s hinted that the best ending is the canon one. 

3. The story is again possibly during the Rapture Civil War. Where he meets Atlas through radio and believes his side of the story. Thinking Andrew Ryan has become a corrupted rich douchebag or so. Atlas tries to get Archie to save a young girl that he claims is Andrew’s daughter named Elizabeth in some place. That she is the key stopping this war and getting everyone out of here. Telling Archie they’ve been doing experiments on her in this statue.

*Originally I thought about Atlas lying about Elizabeth being his daughter. But it wouldn’t make sense as a lie*

Yet after rescuing Elizabeth and seeing things aren’t fully correct or so. Especially when Andrew slowly realizes Atlas is Frank. Where he tells Archie to call Atlas by his real name Frank. When Archie calls Atlas that or asks him if that’s his real name. Atlas is surprised but tries to shrug it off. But Atlas decides to brand Archie as a traitor and realizes Atlas is just Frank. 

Where he rescues Elizabeth from the resistance because Frank was gonna use her for his own selfish reasons. Now Archie against both sides. Andrew’s forces and Atlas’s forces. But also with maybe a new version of the Songbird chasing him and Elizabeth. He tries so hard to get Elizabeth out of there. But also the possibility of the little sisters when meeting Tenenbaum early on. Including not just to escape, but to tell the world of the existence of Rapture so it can be stopped or destroyed.

Yet during his journey. He comes across other characters. Including Andrew and Frank and calling bullshit on their mindsets. Yet they also question him as well. Archie wants to kill them. While I could make this a choice. But he doesn’t kill them because what’s the point anyway. Including them saying, “You think killing me is gonna solve any issues?”

4. While I haven’t fully thought about the ending. Yet it’s cheap and this is where it was inspired by Bendy. After some how Archie and Elizabeth get out. The events of the story restart. Where Archie before his ship crashes or so meets a friend(Most likely played by Matpat). His friend makes a comment about a circle of how it goes round and round. Whatever other talk they have. Archie is mainly confused about it. But it’s basically a hint at, “He just told Archie he’s gonna be in a cycle. He’s gonna go through these events over and over again”. 

With his friends last comment to him as a weird and sick callback to the phrase, “Would you kindly” as he asks Archie to maybe check on something. Which he does and he thinks his friend is asking nicely. It’s not mind control. But it’s a sick callback to the story of the first game. Where Archie ends at the start.

This reveals his friend or so is putting the events of Rapture through some loop for his own sick amusement or so. Thus it’s rebirth over and over again. Connecting to the theme of the first game of, “A man chooses. A slave obeys”. But it goes like this.

That you make all the choices you want. Even if all of those choices are the purest or the best decisions which are the most likely canon ones. Everyone gets to choose what they do.

But everyone, including Elizabeth, Andrew, Frank, Delta, Booker, everyone and especially Archie. They are all slaves in a cycle for someone’s possible sick amusement. Which is strangely tragic. Including with the next point making it worse.

5. Everyone except Archie has memories or so in a way of their main game universe counterparts. Andrew remembers getting beaten to death by Jack in Bioshock 1. Elizabeth remembers dying in Burial At Sea and going through multiple timelines with her father. Frank remembers tricking Jack and using all of the Adam to transform himself. Delta remembers the events of Bioshock 2. Everyone has memories in a way of their main game universe counterpart.

Even the Big Daddies remember a bit as well. Where they go to routes that their Little Sisters are confused of what they are going that route. Because they remember going to the route. Or even knowing when a Splicer pops up to attack. Even the Songbird remembers a little where Archie and Elizabeth will hide in a place.

But these are all vague memories. They feel like dreams and they sometimes feel the aftermath of some of the pain. But they don’t know if it’s real. So they question their own sanity. But what confuses them more they feel like they’ve been in this situation before. They feel like they were born earlier in history. This feels like Deja Vu but they don’t know what to believe.

Until they slowly realize Archie never existed in the main games universe. Even though their is the possibility of him remembering some stuff. He is prone to not remember most of it. But the idea is characters are thinking in a way, “Archie never existed. We are stuck in a possible cycle. But Archie is the one because of his newness to Rapture some what drives the cycle to keep going. Archie wasn't mean to exist”. Yet Archie doesn’t know this and so it’s not exactly his fault. He just wants to take Elizabeth to Paris and survive these events. Will admit the wasn’t meant to exist part sounds harsh.

6. The reason Elizabeth is here because while it’s not fully developed yet. Their is the possibility that someone(Possibly Andrew but maybe most likely Frank) murdered Comstock and took Elizabeth, took some of the designs for Columbia, and applied them to Rapture. With the possibility of using Elizabeth as a means for science. Or even use her to build or power Rapture. But I’m not sure about that.

But it paints Andrew as a hypocrite in a way that while Rapture was all, “No gods or kings. Only men”. But he has a girl that can open tears in a place that defies all logic that will make people question reality itself. 

7. Archie is in a way a self insert. But he’s meant to represent the audience in a way of how would normal human beings react to Rapture. Even though I can make the option a avatar. But I’m keeping it as a guy no offense.

Another thing in this universe. Archie is actually the birth son of Jack in this universe. Where(This doesn’t make sense) the first game in a way some what happened. But Jack was never controlled. He was put out in the real world had five adopted daughters, and his age speed slowed down actually. 

There are hints to this where Archie talks about having 5 sisters that are the reason how he acts today. Telling Elizabeth they were basically his role models along with his dad. Including saying his dad is in his 40′s or so. But he looks like in his 50′s. 

Alluding to the fact Jack in this universe is his dad. What’s the biggest giveaway is Archie’s last name means, “Son of Jack”. 

Now I’m thinking because Archie existed. There is the possibility Frank could of used Jack to rescue Elizabeth(Which would be strangely intense). But instead Archie was the one that went to Rapture. Basically changing the events because Archie never went to Rapture. Thus(But also started by his friend) starting the loop that everyone is trapped in. 

8. I was wondering what to do with Booker because he tells his wife of what he did.. Two ideas were 2 after his wife leaves him after he sells Elizabeth/Anna to Comstock, Booker kills himself because of guilt. 2 is where after that he tries to become a better person despite of what he did. Maybe working for Frank or so.

But after trying to come up with a main bodyguard/agent for Andrew. A Hunk like character. I thought about combing that with Booker. Booker in this universe is Andrew Ryan’s main bodyguard and one to lead Andrew’s other soldiers. 

Booker after his wife leaves him basically disregards life. Becoming a lacky to Andrew in a way. Not caring who he hurts and just goes with what Andrew says. He doesn’t know Elizabeth is his daughter until later in the game. 

In a way he becomes the thug Elizabeth calls him in Bioshock Infinite. With him trying to chase down Archie and Elizabeth.

9. There are characters possibly from all three games. Such as Andrew, Frank, Tenenbaum, Elizabeth, Subject Delta, Booker, Sinclair, Sander, and possibly some others. But I haven’t put much thought into some of the characters roles. Including the idea of what you told me about the twins. I haven’t put them in this yet. 

10. A follow up/sequel idea was the idea of maybe Subject Delta or Jack will be the ones to break the cycle. Thus ending what Archie’s friend has been doing. Yet I’ve been thinking(Mainly for humorous reasons) it should be this universe’s Jack. After he finds out his son is stuck in a cycle in Rapture. Including possibly remembers his true origin.

Jack basically becomes a force of nature you don’t wanna fuck with. As he goes to Rapture to save his son, Elizabeth, and maybe anyone trapped in Rapture that wants to get out. 

He becomes that buff dog meme I made of Jack where he’s like maybe to one of his daughter, “Sweetie....get me one of my finest sweaters please” and just becomes the Doomguy as he literally DECIMATES Rapture. Because he’s the OG of Rapture considering the game’s original story. But now he’s older and he doesn’t give a fuck anymore. Especially towards Andrew and Frank because I’m gonna be funny, he just despises those two and just wants to save his son. 

Jack is all like, “I want my son back. I am not giving a fuck anymore. Because FUCK your city, FUCK your ideologies, FUCK everything about this place”. Been thinking he has facial hair face or something while wearing a nice sweater. But he is SO DONE. Because the phrase, “Would you kindly” most likely doesn’t work on him anymore.

Edit because of a response to this by my good friend. It’s very likely the cycle part will be recycled. This is also because there was no real ending planned and I wanted to make this story more deeper until he told me it’s basically cheap angst like Burial At Sea. But also this cycle being sequel bait.

“Okay so mostly I really like it! I think Archie is an interesting character and the idea of him being Jack's son is really neat! Considering all the dimensional shenanigans it's not bad that Bioshock 1 sort-of still happened but Frank and Andrew are alive - maybe they got pulled in from another universe (similar to what happened to Elizabeth?)”

“The only thing I really don't like is the cycle - partially cause that's the one thing I hate about Bendy's storyline and partially cause I hate stories without some kind of happy ending, but that's subjective (it's an opinion) - it doesn't mean the idea is bad it just means I really don't like it”

“My other problem is the idea that someone created this universe to mess with - there is sort-of precident to this with the Lutece Twins but they don't make universes they just mess with them - like I wouldn't mind if someone found a universe where rapture was still around in modern day, and transported Andrew, Frank, Elizabeth and the others to it, but this mysterious person making that universe from scratch feels off”

“But yeah overall I really like the idea!“ 

“The thing is I think the opposite - having a cycle of suffering is just cheap angst IMO And one key thing is that only Bioshock Infinite has a cycle *cycle And that cycle got broken in the game”

“Burial at Sea wasn’t part of a cycle it was just similarly full of cheap angst”

“Like if you want to do it as everything happens over and over again and it’s all depressing that’s not inherently bad But personally I hate it”

“Yeah Andrew isn’t evil at all - he’s definitely wrong and misguided but he’s doing what he thinks is right And I just really wanna see Archie Take Elizabeth to Paris (and also save the little sisters and stuff)”

“Yeah I mean the idea of rapture being known is an interesting AU Especially in the modern world” - Pikablob,

[abbygkane]

Our story is still unwritten (1/?)

Summary: Taking a deep breath, Abby smiles when the smell of books fills her nose. She has always liked libraries, liked being surrounded by hundreds of books. After the loss of her husband two years ago and her daughter leaving for college, Abby finds herself with some free time so she decides to visit the local library every Saturday. She soon becomes friends with the librarian, an elderly woman named Vera, who just happens to have a son who’s single too.

Aka Kabby meeting in a library modern AU story

Taking a deep breath, Abby smiles when the smell of books fills her nose. She has always liked libraries, liked being surrounded by hundreds of books. Growing up, there wasn’t a Saturday when she didn’t visit the local library and god knows she spent endless hours studying and revising in the library during her college years. After becoming a doctor and especially after she married Jake and had her daughter Abby didn’t have that much time left to visit. Sure, there was the occasional visit with Clarke when she was little, but it soon became clear that she was more interested in drawing and painting than reading.

But now, after being a widow for almost two years and her daughter off to the college herself, Abby finally has the time again for weekly visits. During her first visit, she ended up crying over a copy of John Grisham’s latest book because Jake had always loved his work. She’d been mortified when the librarian had caught her sniffing in a corner, eyes red and swollen, tears streaming over her cheeks, but the woman, who had later introduced herself as Vera, had merely handed her a handkerchief before pulling her into a hug and letting her basically cry until the woman’s shirt was wet from her tears. To thank Vera for her kindness and to appease her embarrassment, Abby had brought her a cup of tea and a muffin the week after. Which quickly became a weekly thing. She’d enter the library and stop by Vera’s desk for a quick chat while handing her the cup and whatever food she brought with her before dropping her bag near the couches on the far right and picking a book.

Closing the door behind her, Abby spots Vera carrying some books and makes her way over with a smile. When the older woman notices her presence, she drops the books on the cart and gives her the friendly smile that seems to be permanently stuck on the older woman’s face.

“Morning Vera”, Abby greets her while putting her things in the cart, “I brought you a cup of Camille tea and one of my blueberry muffins”

“Oh, thank you, dear. Those muffins are delicious”, Vera replies as she pulls Abby in a quick but affectionate hug.

After they pull away, Vera lets her eyes wander over her in a scrutinising manner. Abby’s looking much better than the first time the older woman found her crying.  Her eyes seem less sad and she’s got a bit more colour. When she’s satisfied, Vera gives her a content nod before gesturing at Abby’s regular spot.

“I already took the liberty to place Pride & Prejudice next to your seat”, Vera states, eliciting a broad smile from Abby. After giving the other woman another short hug, Abby makes her way over before settling down and diving straight into the world of Elizabeth Bennet.

——–

 Marcus is still on the phone when he walks through the doors of the library, deliberately ignoring the no cell phones sign. It was quiet anyways, besides, there were some perks to being the son of the librarian.

When his mother spots him on the phone, she throws him her usual exasperated but affectionate look, while almost imperceptibly shaking her head and returning her attention to the computer screen.

Swiftly ending the conversation, Marcus opens his mouth to greet his mother, only to falter when a soft laugh catches his attention. Brows furrowed, he turns his head towards the source of the noise and feels his breath catch in his throat at the sight of the woman sitting there. She’s all curled up on a sofa, book in one hand while the other one supports her head. Marcus can’t properly see her face because it’s partially covered by her hair, but even from that, he can tell that she’s beautiful.

“Her name’s Abby,” Vera casually remarks.

“Sorry?”, Marcus mumbles, tearing his gaze away from the woman and turning his attention back to his mother.   

His mother smiles, eyes twinkling, “Her name’s Abby Griffin, she comes in every Saturday and almost always stays until closing time. She always brings me a cup of tea and something to snack in the morning. Lovely woman. Regularly stops by my desk throughout the day for a short chat.”

“Hmm”, Marcus hums, before sneaking another glance at the woman, observing how she’s biting her lower lip while being completely immersed in her book.

“I could introduce you, if you’d like,” Vera offers.

Returning his focus on his mother, Marcus can tell by the gleam of her eyes that she’s trying to set him up, again. Remembering the last time he ended up going on a date with one of her suggestions, he inwardly shudders. That date had been a complete disaster. He still doesn’t know whatever possessed his mother to set him up with someone like Diana Sydney. That woman had spent the entire evening talking about herself and whenever he brought up his job or his children, she’d make a face, before giving him some names of excellent boarding schools. How he managed to survive the evening without stabbing himself with a fork or banging his head against the table is still a mystery to him.

“That won’t be necessary mom. I’m still recovering from the last date you forced on me”, he informs her, smirking when his mother throws him a sheepish look.

“And I’d like to apologise for that one, again. She seemed nice enough to me, but guess that even I can be wrong sometimes”, she offers with a shrug, causing Marcus to chuckle.

“Guess so”, he agrees and they share an amused smile.

“Oh, do you have to book on butterflies O. requested?”, Marcus asks after a couple of seconds.

“Ah, yes I have. I already took it from the rack as well, so you don’t have to go looking for it”, Vera responds, turning in her seat so she can pick up the book she’d set aside.

“Here it is dear”, she adds, handing him the book, “I already checked it out for the usual two weeks although I’m certain that she’ll finish it before the weekend is over”

“Oh, she’ll probably finish it tonight after she’s supposed to go to sleep. I caught her reading with a flashlight around midnight just two days ago”, Marcus recalls with a fond smile on his face.

“That girl really loves to read”, Vera responds with a fond smile of her own.

“She certainly does, but I got to get going. Her karate class ends in twenty and traffic is slow due to the snow. You’re coming for lunch tomorrow?”

Vera nods, “I am. I’ll see you tomorrow Marcus, please drive safely”, she cautions, standing up so she can give him a peck on the cheek.

“I will mom”, he assures her and throws one last glance at the woman, no Abby, in the corner before leaving.