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jennamoran · 8 months

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The Far Roofs: the Magician

Hi!

Today I’m going to talk a little bit more about my forthcoming RPG, the Far Roofs. More specifically, I want to talk about one of the characters for the bundled campaign: the Magician.

So the characters for the Far Roofs campaign are, loosely speaking, about halfway between pre-generated characters and classes.

Pretty close to playbooks, I think; close enough for the Powered by the Apocalypse and Forged in the Dark stuff I've read to have influenced some of the details ... but, ultimately, they're coming out of a different stream of development. They just aren't quite the same.

Nor are they really pregens, or classes.

They are just ... what they are.

One of them, for instance, is the Magician.

If you play the Magician, what you're saying is, when you were young, you had a brush with a Mystery---one of those roof-haunting divine monsters I've talked about. It was traumatic, and you tried to forget, but now you've just come back from away (changing jobs, finishing a major project, finishing school, whatever) and you're learning your childhood nightmares were real.

The rest of who you are? What you're dealing with?

Well, that'll be up to you.

The Magician comes with some pregen stats, that you can rearrange if you want to. It comes with access to two "powersets," and you can choose four powers from them starting out.

(There's a set of four that the game recommends that are subtle enough that you can tell yourself you're just a regular person. If you want. For a while.

... that'll be up to you too.)

Most of all, what being the Magician gives you is four character-specific stories, of which the first is Coming Back:

Coming Back "You’ve been away, working on an exhausting project or studying abroad or something. Now you’re back … and getting dragged into the affairs of rats and Mysteries. You try to work out how you fit in."

To get you started on that story, the game gives you three things you'll want to answer or define by building words out of letter draws over the course of ... well, probably, a large number of sessions. In sum:

how can I possibly hold myself together through this?

do I even believe the Far Roofs are real?

[your relationship with the rats]

It also gives you a "quest," a place to start on all this, which basically boils down to

a premise: "you need to figure out how to live with this damage"

a few tools to draw bonus letters, and

the extra question: "can I really face the far roofs again?"

You'll finish that up, and at least make a start on figuring out what to do here, after which you can move on to a second, third, fourth, or even fifth quest if you're not done figuring out the three big story-based challenges yet.

When you're done, after you answer those questions and however many you needed for quests ... there's another three stories. All the while, there's some bigger-picture group stuff that's going on too.

In practice, I do think these stories will take a long time. It is possible to speedrun the stories in this game, to blur through the campaign in like twenty hours of play .. but it'll be about as weird as any other speedrun.

If you're not doing that, I figure it'll be a couple of sessions, maybe even 4+, before you even answer one of those questions.

You'll draw maybe five letters in a session, and use some of them on the group story or subplots, and all the while you're developing your understanding of the proper answers while you shuffle the letters around.

Like, let's walk through one way it might go.

Maybe you draw NA in the first, slowest session. You could treat that as an N/A answer to something, but let's say you're not really into that. Like, burning through the questions fast doesn't help you, any more than it does in real life:

You want something that means something, that helps you crystallize how your character addresses that question.

That might wind up being N/A, but probably not in the first session or two! Not until and unless it feels right.

So let's say session 2 gives you ... NPLG. And now you can decide that you're a PAL of the rats and that's one question down ... but again, that only really works if you are or you want to be, right?

It's s a very specific choice, PAL. It's not for most, really.

It might not be for you.

More likely, I figure, you just ... have NANPLG there ... and none of that answers your questions at all.

Session 3. EEGEN. NANPLGEEGEN.

So you look between that and your questions. Between that and the four major challenges you have to address:

how can I possibly hold myself together through this?

do I even believe the Far Roofs are real?

[your relationship with the rats]

can I really face the Far Roofs again?

And, maybe ... PLAN?

PLAN isn't bad for the first answer. I guess it was already there back in session 2, but I didn't see it until now. Maybe you didn't either. It's not bad, either way. At least, not for my version of the Magician; yours might, of course, differ a lot.

What else can we find in those letters?

GLEEP ... is ... not helpful.

LENGE ... isn't even a word!

(Update! On review, it turns out it is a word in Hungarian, and there's also a song, so like if you know the song or Hungarian you might get something out of it.

... but typical Magicians probably won't.)

Session 4, anyway, brings us up to NANPLGEEGENLMAEA.

... no O, Y, or S, which means we still can't answer basic questions like whether you believe the far roofs are real with a simple NO or a YES. Same on whether you can face them again.

In fact, without O, we can't even "LMAO" at the very idea of being able to hold things together in the face of it all!

What can we find?

...

GLEAM is in there. It's a good word, but unless it fits something that's going on in the game or your personal take on things, it's unlikely to help.

LAME to self-chastise yourself is ... good if it's something your character keeps saying, but otherwise no.

LEAN, maybe?

Like, maybe you're LEANing on the rats for spiritual and mental support?

Conveniently (I'm drawing these from an online letter server, so they're not rigged) you even have two LNA at this point, meaning you can use up LEAN and still have PLAN in your pocket.

... let's do that.

Let's go ahead and answer two challenges with PLAN and with LEAN, leaving us with GEEGNMA and two questions left:

do I even believe the Far Roofs are real?

can I really face the Far Roofs again?

GEEGNMA. Dang. So close to having ENIGMA!

... I guess you do have ENEMA but that doesn't seem relevant.

AMEN ... not that useful, honestly, either.

NAME?

AMEN or NAME might help with some miscellaneous task, but not with the two questions at hand.

The next session brings us LSIRK.

GEEGNMALSIRK.

... which does give us ENIGMA as an option. We could answer a question with basically, "I dunno, it's an enigma."

... but of the two questions we have left,

do I even believe the Far Roofs are real?

can I really face the Far Roofs again?

... ENIGMA only really works for the first.

And that's totally fine! Except there are a few in-game incentives I haven't really talked about and in fact won't talk about here to encourage you to address the quest-question first.

So, what else?

SEE? SEER? Again, they only work for "do I even believe the Far Roofs are real?"

... let's table this until session 6.

Session 6. We get the letters OAEUWH. We now try to answer the questions:

do I even believe the Far Roofs are real?

can I really face the Far Roofs again?

with letters from GEEGNMALSIRKOAEUWH.

... we have an O now.

I don't like just answering the second question with "NO" but it's now possible, at least. You might do that, with your Magician, anyhow.

MAYBE, like YES, must still wait on a Y.

WHO CAN?, on a C.

...

Oh! But there's OW, for "yes, I believe they're real, but it really hurts"

WHO for "if I decide who I am, maybe?"

Those are rough. They might feel better, though, after keeping them in mind for a bit during play.

WHEEL ... is not helpful. Nor WHALE.

WHOA?

WAIL?

... I actually like WAIL here, though I hate using up that I and taking ENIGMA off the table. But, like:

"can I do this?" answer: incoherent wailing

That ... feels like a solid answer for someone who is both doing it and doesn't really think they can. Maybe not in your group and your circles. Maybe not for your Magician. But for some Magicians, at least, it makes sense.

The question

can I really face the Far Roofs again?

came from the first quest, and so when you answer it with WAIL, you move on to the second one. That gives us a new premise, a new set of card-drawing options, and a new question:

what did/will I find on the Roofs that I actually need?

So now we have GEEGNMSRKOAEUH and our questions are:

do I even believe the Far Roofs are real? and

what did/will I find on the roofs that I actually need?

Do you maybe need a KO? A ... RAKE?

A ... GROAN?

GROAN is a good answer to "do I even believe the Far Roofs are real," at least for the kind of character who answered "can I really face them?" with WAIL.

Let's ignore the incentives I mentioned earlier, then, and do just that, giving us the following set of challenges and answers:

how can I possibly hold myself together through this? PLAN

do I even believe the Far Roofs are real? ... (GROAN)

[your relationship with the rats] LEAN

can I really face the Far Roofs again? ... (WAIL) and

what did/will I find on the roofs that I actually need? ????

plus, EEGMSKEUH.

What do you need, that you can find on the roofs, that you can make out of EEGMSKEUH?

Do you need ... an SKU?

SEEK ... it's probably good to stick SEEK in your pocket, like, in case you figure out some way to use it as a "the journey is the destination" sort of thing, but the idea's a bit thin.

... let's say you don't use that yet.

The next session draws AABHR, for a total letter set of EEGMSKEUHAABHR.

... if there were a T, we could use BREATH.

... I guess, if there were a T, we could also have TEA.

I look at those letters and want to do HOPE, but in fact, we only have two letters from HOPE. We have an M, so we're closer to HOME ... but is the thing you find there really a home?

There's SHAME, but unless that's exactly your character arc, that's probably not what you need, that you find on the roofs.

GEM? HUGE? RAM? ... just a couple more letters and maybe we can get RAMEKIN, and honestly, you do need one of those, everybody does, but ... well, you don't have the letters for it.

GAME?

Let's say you push it off one session more.

The next session brings SRIHO.

Now we have EEGMSKEUHAABHRSRIHO.

... HOME is now possible, and strong, but only if there's stuff happening in game to lead up to it.

SHEER ... doesn't work.

Not quite enough letters for RHINO.

We can do BEARS, but you probably don't need that many bears. SOME RIBS ...

Ah, here we go:

RISK.

That could work. Let's say that it does.

You needed to get out of your comfort zone. You needed to do something scary. It was the only way to discover you could.

And if that's your answer, you can finish out the story now:

how can I possibly hold myself together through this? PLAN

do I even believe the Far Roofs are real? ... (GROAN)

[your relationship with the rats] LEAN

can I really face the Far Roofs again? ... (WAIL)

what did/will I find on the roofs that I actually need? ... RISK

Roughly eight sessions in ... really, 3-15, in practice ... and you've got your first personal storyline cleared. The next one will have you deal with some ghosts.

Thirty-two sessions to finish all four; after that, there's some options, but they're not as personal.

... but if your group has scheduling issues, or even if it doesn't, you might have trouble ever seeing 32 sessions of anything. You're not going to use this stuff up. You'll just hit a number of satisfying narrative stops for your character along the way and at some point the game will end when some player moves away or scheduling gets too rough or, optimally, when one of the larger group storylines ends or a couple players finish stories at once and everyone goes: "yeah, that's an ending."

Even if you've got a really solid group that meets really often, the campaign should keep you going for a good few years of play.

And now you know a bit about both the campaign and about what the Magician is like!

#the far roofs #jenna moran #rpgs

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dragonnan · 7 months

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Friday Fic Recs

The Sandman - Dreamling

The Undone and the Divine E by @dancinbutterfly

Warnings: Consensual Violence, Burning, Stabbing, Skin picking, Drowning, The Corinthian is His Own Warning, Cannibalism, Horror, Suicidal ideation, Mutilation, romanticization of violence, Dissociation, BDSM elements

For 24 hours, John Dee influences the entire world with the Dreamstone to make what he thinks is a more honest world.

At the New Inn, Hob finds himself uniquely positioned to save his fellow patrons from the dangers they now pose to themselves and each other.

Why not? After all, what's the worst that could happen?

And how can he do anything else?

Read Me Your Longing M by @linzod

The Stranger hesitates, and does something Hob would not have believed possible. He stammers. “I- I do not remember. I came to and was being pursued.”

Hob notices the older man approaching, but is shocked as his voice rings out, addressing them both, “My dear boy, I am so glad we have found you.” He observes the situation warily; the only reaction from his friend is subtle, the smallest recoil.

“Who exactly are you?” Hob asks the man.

“Why, I’m Paul McGuire, and I can’t thank you enough,” the man looks at Hob’s ID badge, “Dr. Gadling, for finding my nephew.”

Hob’s eyes narrow, as he flatly asks, “Your nephew?”

***

Hob’s life is forever changed when his Stranger literally stumbles back into his life, amnestic and hunted, and he must use the skills gathered over an immortal life to evade their pursuers. They soon realize that bits of memory are coming back to Hob’s Stranger, through the power of literature. They are slower, however, to recognize that the most important story to explore may be their own.

A love letter to books, libraries, and the stories that make us, and allow us to change for the better.

Part of the Centennial Husbands Big Bang! Work Complete, Includes Art!

to keep our metaphysics warm by ineverfeltyoung G

“Where on Earth did you learn to make pizza?” Death asks around a mouthful. Hob hasn’t even finished serving himself yet and she’s already dug in. Dream is certain that etiquette would denote this rude behavior, but Hob doesn’t seem to mind, only giving her a disbelieving look.

“I’m immortal,” he says blandly. “Italy. Where else?”

Death comes to dinner. Dream does the dishes. Hob cries a little bit.

Series: Part 2 of the abstract entities dinner club

Cottagecore series by @the-apocrypha

Warnings: vary by story

The love story of a fae prince and a hedgewitch in the middle ages. <3

The Measure Of A Soul E by @vlakas-ex-machina @blueberrymffn

When Hob Gadling made a drunken deal with a mysterious man in a pub, he didn’t expect anything to come of it. Waking up the following morning with a golden mark on his wrist was a shock, though less than finding out that he couldn’t die. Who had he made a deal with, and what did he want? His Stranger was far from forthcoming, so he’d have to figure it out himself. That his mark was not just a passkey to an underworld of supernatural beings but the sign that he wasn’t meant to spend eternity alone was enough to send him down paths he never knew existed and ask more questions than were answered. Who, or more importantly what was his Stranger, and did the mysterious man know who Hob was destined for?

(An AU where only immortals have soulmarks that mark their species/type as well as their partner, and Hob has something no one has seen before)

who wants to live forever? M by ranchdiip

“An Endless?” Hob asks, softly, because it feels like a question that needs to be soft.

“That’s what we are,” Death responds, trying again for a small smile. “Me and D—”

“Don’t,” Hob interrupts, far stronger than he meant to, and Death looks surprised for as long as it takes him to get out, “Don’t, please. I-I want to hear it from him.”

Sympathy colors Death’s gaze even as Hob feels his face burn. Six hundred years, Hob thinks—he’ll be damned if he finds out his Stranger’s name from anyone but the odd man himself.

—

It's 1989 and Hob Gadling thinks he's been stood up. Death herself is kind enough to inform him otherwise—and, well, now Hob's got to bloody do something about it, doesn't he?

it doesn't matter which you heard (the holy or the broken hallelujah) T by @meadowziplines for Thranduilland

Warnings: Kidnapping, Torture, occultism, Blood and Violence, Blood and Injury, Whump, Broken Bones, dislocations, magical torture, Physical Torture, Delirium, Confusion, Memory Issues, Identity Issues

Roderick Burgess kidnaps Hob Gadling on June 7, 1989, intending to break both him and Dream. Instead, Dream being rather aggressively tortured triggers the knowledge of Hob's identity as Hope of the Endless, wrapped away in a mental box as they had been.

#dreamling #the sandman #fanfic recs

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keeperofquestions · 1 month

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The Pomegranate Accord

@holyfurnace set in the new Pomegranate Accord verse.

---

Duedephelon Noctua of the Ars Goetia,

As you will have no doubt heard, Her Majesty Charlie Morningstar, daughter to Lucifer Morningstar, embarked on a diplomatic mission to Heaven with the intention of petitioning an end to the yearly Sinner exterminations as well as to propose a rehabilitation program for damned souls. This mission was met with success on the following conditions:

Condition the First, a bipartisan committee will be formed to discuss Hell's growing overpopulation issue in the Pride Ring.

Condition the Second, until such time as a solution can be reached, the exterminations are halted but not ended and may resume if the rehabilitation "Hazbin Hotel" program does not bear results within a to be determined set period of time.

Condition the Third, a diplomatic arrangement will be made to bind the treaty. This will be a marriage between a Hellborn and an Angel. They shall live as husband and wife half the year in Hell and half in Heaven for the remainder of their days or so long as the Accord is held.

You, Lord Duedephelon, have been chosen as our representative for the third condition. As a member of the Ars Goetia your hand in marriage was always to be arranged and your status and natural longevity as a descendant of the original Fallen will speak to Our intentions in holding true to the truce. Furthermore, given the fractured nature of your current duties, you are conveniently indisposed to be selected for this role.

Heaven has yet to announce to us their choice of candidate for their half of the marriage. You shall meet her at the Heaven Embassy at the end of the week. The wedding itself shall take place at the signing of the Accords in one month's time.

Report to the Heaven Embassy with all due haste. Do not disappoint.

High King Baal, Ars Goetia

---

Duedephelon read the letter again. He had barely really understood the matter of the sinner exterminations but it seemed that was now settled. He found it hard to really focus on the particulars given what the result was; not that it was his business to be involved in these forthcoming solutions.

An arranged marriage to seal a treaty. It was an old fashioned method- very old fashioned, but one still practiced by the Ars Goetia. He had no doubt the Kings has advocated for this. Doubtless some saw the chance at a political pull or a possible heir of both sides that could be exploited in the coming centuries for their own gain. It was also why he felt their traditional touch on the insistence of a pairing that could possibly produce heirs.

What angered him was that this was how he found out that his peers knew who and what he was. All his struggles and searching were simply a matter of the high royals simply deciding he wasn't useful enough to be noticed just yet. It was almost insulting.

He should have burned the letter and pretended he didn't ever receive it, but he knew that wasn't going to stop his now legally binding fate. It had finally come to that end of the week and he needed to gather himself and head out to see what he was going to be dealing with.

There were so many questions. Who had Heaven chosen for their half of the arrangement? What would living in Heaven be like? What would Hell be like for his bride-to-be? Would they even like each other? Arranged marriages were rarely loving but could he at least hope for cordial? Did the other side also have a spare castaway they needed use for? How did she feel about all this?

Hopefully at least some of these answers would be given to him once he got there.

#keeperofquestions #holyfurnace #Verse: The Pomegranate Accord #Yep this is a new big verse idea #We'll put up a page later

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willshipanything-blog · 1 year

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Breaking the Rules- Chapter 12

If you're a fan of Max Shaw, I have some good news...

Omg this chapter was just so fun to write, it's a complete ball of fluff and cute family moments. If that ain't your thing, there's smut and angst just around the corner next chapter!

As always, minors DNI, full tags on AO3 where the fic is also posted here

Full Chapter Index here

Enjoy lovelies! 💜✨✌️

Chapter 12- Past Lives

In your enervated state, your mind could barely process a single intelligible thought, a blurred montage of the previous night. A movie reel projecting into your mind, fleeting images and memories and sensations. Just remnants, scraps of recollections now, but each frame that illuminated behind closed eyelids transmitted something so vivid and visceral. A hint of cedar and sweat pervading your nostrils. A sudden remembrance of a bolt burning through you- the memory of every goddamn nerve ending in your body being zapped. A rush of sounds: a breathy grunt; a keening whimper, a low chuckle. A flash of cerulean blue as he brought you back into the light, back to the comforting ocean of his eyes before you drowned in the pleasure.

Blinking awake, you packed away those hazy film reels in your mind. You could rewatch those moments of pleasure anytime, the way Al had run laps around your spent body, the way his tongue had run laps…. no, Y/N. You needed to focus on a different aspect of your devilish rogue right now. Address your Al problem before it became a neverending carousel of distraction to cloud doubt, distraction and doubt, distraction and doubt.

Al had his trained evasiveness, his pretty words meant to misdirect, his sleight of hand that played convincing tricks on your body, but you saw beyond the backdrop now. Last night’s distraction hadn’t been totally unwanted, but as much as you enjoyed playing magician’s assistant in his carnal production, it was time for the curtain to drop. No more encores.

The smoke had dissipated, the mirrors smashed, and you surfaced the morning after with fresh lucidity, a plan already half-forming in your mind. Rebuilding those structures which had crumbled to forgotten ruins under Al’s magic hands last night. You needed to compartmentalize your feelings; sequester those lustful desires and bring those almost-certain doubts and burning questions to the forefront of your mind. It wouldn’t be so hard, stowing away one set of feelings to allow another to come into sole focus. It was, after all, a skill you’d had plenty of practice at- your own parlor trick originating from your time in the Grabber’s captivity.

And once those questions were on your tongue, you’d spill them, come right out and just ask about that fucking house. You needed a straight answer. The beckoning tree, wrapped in brittle deadwood, practically begging you to question what lay behind those four walls. The grime-encrusted windows daring you to wipe away the filth to peek inside. The potential of accusing him of a lie- well, to hell with delicacy. Al had hardly been subtle with his amorous diversions last night, so why should you skirt around the issue? If he wasn’t forthcoming with any lies he was still holding close to his chest, you’d just have to wheedle them out of him. You expected honesty these days. You deserved it. Al had partly delivered on that promise, too- recounting the harrowing aspects of his childhood, facing what he’d done as the Grabber instead of denying those actions. A little more honesty might not be so big a push.

The only real difficulty might be finding a free moment alone: with Max still at the house, you couldn’t dare mention anything for fear of being overheard, and you didn’t want to cause any more tension with Max there, not after you’d already caused an uncomfortable friction at the dinner table the other night. Mentioning the house at all had only led to some obvious feelings of resentment (on Al’s part), regret (coming from Max) and disappointment, for both the Shaw brothers.

But it might not be long til Max moved out, you supposed- he was looking at apartments after all. You figured you could carry the weight of it on your shoulders a little while- the worry about what Al was hiding, the guilt of falsely accusing him, the heavy peach pit in your stomach at the thought of another combative confrontation that could end up hurting the both of you. It would only be a little while longer. As pervading and intrusive as those swirling doubts in your head were, you wondered how much of a mental toil they’d take on you. It might amount to Atlas carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for eternity- because to you, Al was your universe entirely.

You’d slept in, your sated body needing the recuperation, so had missed Al leaving by an hour or so. When you finally trundled out of bed around nine and shuffled into the kitchen, you found Max hunched over the kitchen table. He looked disheveled but energetic as he simultaneously shoveled down scrambled eggs and pored over a pile of papers beside him. His creased Hawaiian shirt he’d worn yesterday (with the buttons now fastened one notch off), and the purple crescents under his eyes suggested Max hadn’t yet been to bed. You discerned you might have been partaking in similar activities last night, though Max hadn’t yet benefited from a good night’s sleep.

“Morning Max.”

“Shit! You scared me, Scout,” Max gasped through a mouthful of eggs.

“I was hardly creeping. Besides, I thought you were staying with a friend last night?” you teased. Max rolled his eyes at your emphasis on friend, clearly ignoring the knowing smirk creeping across your face at the implication of what ‘staying over’ meant.

“Ah, I’m not really the staying type now, am I?” he gave a sideways half-smile, though the spirited glint in his brown eyes wasn’t quite there when he spoke. You wondered whether his comment was pertinent to just last night, or his erratic behavior as a whole, resistant (or unable) to stay in one place too long, whether that be a place- or a relationship. Before you’d had a chance to begin unraveling that thread, Max had reverted to his usual ebullient self, slamming his hands on the table with fervor.

“Anyway! I got back so late it was practically early, and the mail had come! And guess what?” he asked, his voice not dissimilar from Al’s singsong warble. He waved around one of the sheets of paper he’d been studying in hint, exhaling a playful scoff as you smiled and shrugged, as if you should have been able to predict what it said. “The paperwork all came through. I’m moving this weekend!”

And just like that, in that one fortuitous sentence, your timeline shifted. You only had to wait a few days until you were able to ask those questions that were pressing against your mind, a splitting headache of confusion and doubt. That worry would only fester beneath the surface for a little while longer. Once Max was gone, you could peel back the dressing on that wound and attend to it in the privacy you and Al were soon to share. Yes, just a few short days to enjoy the familial warmth of a full house before it would just be a home for you and Al again (and a time, you thought, when confrontation and questions would be more apt). Al had been the cause of your last distraction, and now it was Max’s turn to take your attention away from your anxieties. After that? You’d have to see your plan through, take the plunge and ask. But for now, you privately welcomed the distraction Max had unknowingly created.

The sudden domestic development, and everything that needed doing, would allow you to forget those troubles. There’d be packing, cleaning, making lists for the brothers to buy furniture and household items for Max’s new place, scouring thrift stores and outlets for things Max would need. You couldn’t go yourself to help, but you could oversee plans from the living room couch easily enough. Although, the thought of what garish furniture Max might buy without supervision did worry you somewhat. In any case, you would allow the excitement and bustle which would occupy the next couple days to overtake the worry.

As predicted, the days rushed by, a blitz of cardboard boxes and packing tape, final signatures on paperwork and, through all the excited anticipation, just a hint of something coming to an end. It wasn’t like Max was saying his final goodbyes- he was leaving the house, not your lives, after all. But you made sure to cook all of Max’s favorite foods in those last few days: pork chops, mac and cheese, peach cobbler. If he was reminded of what he’d be missing out on, he’d be sure to come back for dinner often, which he promised without hesitation.

On Saturday morning, Max got back from picking up his new keys, his precious cherry-red vintage Firesweep pulling up with a shrill screech outside the house just as Al was loading the last of his brother’s belongings into his van. Al had insisted he didn’t need help with the boxes and pieces of furniture, perhaps sensing your hesitancy around the van. You had only been in it once, and the memory of that day- you being taken, that rancid taste in your mouth, being beaten into unconsciousness by the Grabber- were not triggers you needed today. Not any day at all, really. Instead, you busied yourself trying to tire Samson out, playing tug of war with his favorite rope toy- only to realize how outmatched by the dog’s strength you were. You’d ended up aching and sweaty before you’d even started helping with the move.

“As always, Max, your timing is impeccable. Just missed out on the heavy lifting.” Al said dryly, slamming shut the double doors of the van as Max came bounding up the driveway.

“Aww, I did? That’s a damn shame,” Max retorted, doing a downright terrible job of hiding his mirth. “Well, if we’re all packed and ready, shall we head out? Scout, you wanna ride with me and Sammy? You know I got better music!” Too excited to wait for an answer, he sprang back down to his car, Samson barking at his heels.

You looked to Al, your eyes involuntarily flashing to the van for the briefest moment, drawn towards the bright blue and green insignia emblazoned on matte black. Abracadabra- Entertainment and Supplies. The memory of that first day threatened to emerge. Al distanced himself from the vehicle, his quick strides towards you bringing your eyes back to pinpoint on him.

“Hey, dove, you go ahead, hm? I’ll see you both at the house.” His voice was husky yet tender, those soothing tones you knew were reserved only for you. That black-clad magician, the top-hatted monster who had taken you that day, lured you in with a false trick, dragged you into the back of that van- he was as long-forgotten as those basement depths in which you no longer dwelled. You smiled softly at his earnest intentions and Al gave an assenting nod along with a final, teasing warning to try not to get killed going too fast, or pulled over by the cops. Turning to head to the car, you (only half-seriously) wondered which would be the worse of those two outcomes. Your smile dimmed just a little at the thought.

You ran the last few yards down the driveway, Max honking his horn with childish impatience to get to his new place. Even Samsom looked excited, already panting and drooling in the backseat, his giant head poking out of a window Max had half-rolled down. You’d barely slid onto the front bench seat beside Max before a riotous cacophony of sound and smell began. A sputtering engine, revving tires, a blast of thick smoke from the tailpipe and a resounding bark from the backseat, and the car peeled away from the curb, leaving Al and the van in the rearview mirror. You relaxed into the worn leather. Or at least, you relaxed as well as you could, considering Max had never installed seatbelts in the old model sedan. The blasting riffs of Led Zeppelin allowed your final few disquieting thoughts to fade away, as if you’d left them at the curb outside Al’s house.

You looked towards Max, where he was trying to sing along whilst also humming the guitar parts and playing an invisible drum set on the steering wheel (all while driving, of course!), noting how his loose bowling shirt matched his precious Firesweep. Bright red, with a wide black collar. It reminded you of Al’s magician get-up, though the scarlet and black were inverted. Like how similar yet at odds the Shaw brothers often seemed to be- either very much alike or the others’ antithesis, never in the middle. Al the more quiet, gruff of the two, with an outwardly jaded personality at odds with the zealous energy that emerged when he was comfortable. And Max with his vibrant, warm extraversion, which shrouded a darkness underneath that most people would never suspect. It recalled the unease at the dinner table the other night, about the strain on the brothers’ relationship after Max had left, the younger brother’s guilt for those actions. But those regrets were long forgotten in this perfect moment, the wind whipping your hair with wild abandon and the sun beating down on your bare skin, the pounding music reverberating through your blood. The next song started, blasting Free’s ‘All Right Now’ on the radio- it felt like things really were.

As Max pulled up outside his new house, Al was already waiting, leaned against the side of the van with his arms crossed against his chest. You discerned his mild annoyance even beneath those thick, red-brick colored sunglasses, although instead of greasepaint, an unimpressed expression was painted across his face. He’d not started unpacking the boxes, but the rear van doors were open, an invitation for Max to hopefully help a little more than he had earlier that morning. You figured the huff he gave was more from the heat than irritation, confirmed to you when Al blew air from the corner of his mouth to try and cool himself and wiped the back of his palm against his glistening brow.

“And I thought speeding got people places quicker.” he said sardonically as he strolled along the sidewalk to the car as it pulled up with a final splutter of smoke.

“We stopped for gas!” Max explained, stepping out and leaning over the top of the car roof to speak to his brother.

“And we got sodas too!” you chimed in as Al opened the passenger side door for you. You peeled yourself away from the hot leather seat, your ice-cold cola almost empty.

“Here,” Max said, reaching to pass Al a cold bottle over the top of the car before guzzling down a glug of his own grape soda. “Scout said Sprite was your favorite.” You gave a sly smile as Al’s head snapped your way. You slunk away to let Samson out of the hot car, hearing Al chuckle softly before he popped the cap.

It was a small house, consisting of a living and kitchen area, bisected by an elevated breakfast bar that almost served to split the open plan space into two areas. A door from the living room led to the bedroom and attached bath, and another small back room with a washer dryer led out into a decent backyard- no flowers or trees, but plenty of grass and dirt for the dog to dig up (one thing Al definitely wouldn’t miss about his brother’s departure). Samson sniffed out each corner of the house with a judgemental nose, and once satisfied, busied himself digging in the small lawn out back, making his own personal renovations to the house. Whilst Al and Max began assembling the bed and wardrobe (not very successfully if the bickering was anything to go by), you took charge of unpacking the half dozen cardboard boxes in the main room.

The first box you opened contained clothes, a flurry of garish colors- Max’s bold Hawaiian shirts. You set it aside ready to hang up later, if the wardrobe ever got assembled. You weren’t sure how to feel about the sudden whirr of an electric drill in the adjoining room. Grateful if Al was speeding things up; worried if Max was wielding power tools. The next box had a few kitchen items Max had bought in the week. You quickly put away the mismatched crockery, cutlery, pots and pans in the buttercup-yellow kitchen cupboards. Another box had soft furnishings and smaller furniture items: a cheerful afghan blanket you threw over the worn, second hand leather couch; a hideous ochre glass lamp you half-wished had smashed during the move; a few avocado-green couch cushions that clashed wonderfully with the orange shag carpet. You had to admit, the hodgepodge aesthetic of the decor had a certain Maxly charm about it, and you beamed at the eclectic space as you began flattening the now-empty cardboard boxes.

Or almost empty. You nearly missed it entirely, but a rustle as you picked up a seemingly empty box had you reaching in for a wadded envelope you hadn’t spotted earlier. You couldn’t help but open the yellowed envelope, your curiosity piqued at the possible contents. Lifting back the flap, you found a pile of photographs, perhaps a dozen or so. Different sizes and saturations (a mix of black and white, sepia and vivid color) suggested Max had collected and kept a select few over the years.

They seemed to be ordered chronologically, a whole lifetime encapsulated in just a few sheets of paper and ink. Kneeling on the floor, you began to flick through them.

A family portrait in shades of black and gray. On the right hand side of the image sat Max’s mother, holding her youngest son and smiling softly at the camera. Standing beside her, though still a head shorter than her, was Al. His hand reached out beside him to sit atop his mother’s, which itself was laid on Max’s pudgy leg. You might have convinced yourself the three of them were happy, though Al wore no smile and his large eyes of lightest gray looked solemn, boring into the lens as if in a silent plea. It grieved you to think that this boy, not even ten years old, had already known pains others could never comprehend. From whom that pain originated was clear: Max had torn the left hand side of the photo, ripping away any trace of who had stood there, as if attempting to cleave that demon from his life. No guesses for who used to occupy the nonexistent space, where only a ripped line now stood beside the family of three. You shuffled the picture to the back of the stack.

The next photo was familiar to you, Al having a larger copy of it on a side table in his own living room. It was the monochrome picture of the two brothers, Al still unsmiling (what had changed for him, except more years of abuse?) and Max, whose wide grin showed a kid still full of hope and innocence. A kid whose older brother played protector, affording Max a smile where Al couldn’t muster the same. You quickly shoved that to the back of the stack, happy to find there were no more photographs from Max’s childhood in his collection.

You were lurched forward in time as more recent photos appeared, saturating your eyes with bright, bold colors as the decades ticked along. Max in his 20s, clean shaven and almost unrecognizable without his signature mustache, but that impossibly wide grin difficult to miss. Sitting amidst a group of people crowded round a small table in some dive bar. Long hair framed his face, like Al’s but jet-black, with a leather jacket to match.

A little older now, a decade on you supposed. A small, square polaroid that someone had taken inside an old RV, somewhat bleached of color. Max was wearing a pastel shirt and wide flared jeans- not quite the vivid wardrobe he’d yet to adopt. He’d started to grow in his mustache though, the peach fuzz sitting just above his lips which clamped around a joint. His closed smile still broadcast a deep dimple on one of his cheeks, easy to spot even on the small, sun-flecked photo. He looked vivacious, happy- probably thanks in no small part to the pretty blond in heart shaped sunglasses sat beside him, slinging her long legs over Max’s lap, his hand roaming casually up her bare thigh. You smiled and shook your head in amusement before flicking again through the stack of photos.

Max looked close to his current age in the last in the stack. Probably only a few years old. This was corroborated by the state of the photo: unmarked by sun damage or tearing, though you discerned several smudged thumb marks along its border, like it had been handled frequently. It was a dark image, snapped around a campfire that seemed to crackle and spit as you held the paper in your hand, so vivid the oranges and golds that flecked from it. The two figures in the photo were illuminated by the flames, Max and another man of a similar lanky build, though the stranger was a little taller as they sat beside one another. Like Max, the unknown man also had a thick caterpillar mustache and dark sideburns, though his crinkled white shirt was at odds with Max’s tropical print. He was playing the guitar, but his lips stayed in a strange, lopsided smile- either humming along or playing a wordless song to the stars that dotted the backdrop of the photograph. Max was looking at the other man like an adoring fan, his chocolate-brown eyes shining in the firelight. Not smiling for a camera, but his teeth were bared in a candid smile. The picture emanated a serene, joyous aura.

Snapshots from a dozen different cameras, each lens transmitting a dozen different lives. It was like you hardly knew Max at all, only glimpsing a small fragment of the whole. But you knew him now, in the current life he was creating. He had wanted to come back, to see his brother- and you too. It was a commitment he’d never braved before- he’d even gotten himself clean to make a real second go of Denver. And for his efforts, he’d been rewarded with a renewed relationship with Al, and a whole new friendship with you. A job too- and his own place! He was happy, you were positive- though it was hard to tell when Max was ever unhappy. He rarely wasn’t smiling, always ready to showcase his pearly whites and impressive dimples, for a photograph or otherwise. And yet, a small voice inside you relentlessly questioned whether Max missed any of those previous lives.

You knew Max had been traveling, on the move constantly with no fixed address. From what Al had suggested, you thought Max had been lonely and lost- yet some of those photos belied that narrative. Each photograph seemed like an alternate reality of what might have been had Max made different choices. Questions led to different possibilities, winding through labyrinthine tunnels, each question leading to a dozen new answers. What if Max hadn’t left? What if he’d have fallen in love and never come back? Had he ever been in love? What if he’d gotten cleaner sooner, or never fallen into that awful habit? You realized the futility of this logic- these were questions that only he could answer, a maze that only he could traverse. Right now, this life was the center of the maze, his final destination. Unless he decided to leave again, find a new path, whether it led somewhere new entirely or a complete dead end…

No, Max had decided to stay. Like you. Sticking close to Al, and now to you, which felt important- he was your best friend, after all. By default, technically (because who else but Al could you really trust to keep your dark secrets?), but that didn’t lessen the bond between you both. Still, a small part of you wondered whether you were both settling, staying put from some unuttered duty to Al. You, because you loved him. Because you wanted to protect him, even if that meant a life of secrecy: closed doors; drawn curtains; shuttered minds. And Max? You hoped he wasn’t merely staying out of some warped sense of repayment, some belated compensation given to Al for the years spent away from their hometown. His leaving was just a response to his own childhood- not a malicious act against his brother. It felt so much like he truly wanted this. So then why did you picture Max like a butterfly with its wings affixed to a spreading board? Pinned down, its sheen dimming day by day as it remained trapped in the same spot forever.

Not wholly convinced one way or the other, you collated the pictures into a neat pile and placed them conspicuously on the kitchen counter, hoping Max might at least frame some of those memories. A reminder of the past. Or at least, the better parts of his past he’d cherished, cataloged through those dozen precious photographs. Even if he could never capture those moments again, they’d be forever printed in his mind.

“Did ya look through those, Scout?” You gasped as you swiveled towards the sound, startled by the sudden interruption of your inner thoughts. Max merely sniggered. “Hey, I was hardly creeping.” he chuckled, echoing back your words from the other morning. His breeziness suggested the photos weren’t some shameful secret, and it eased your mind, having been worried he wanted to keep that envelope sealed and private.

“Yeah, I had a peek. Hope that’s alright?”

“Oh, sure! Really oughta get some of those framed now I actually have walls of my own, huh?”

“That’d look lovely, Max. I can tell these are special to you.”

“Yeah. They are.” A truly sincere tone. Perhaps even a little melancholy.

Max sauntered over to the breakfast bar, sitting in one of the second hand diner-style stools to look at the pictures. You hopped up onto the leather-padded stool beside him. The Shaw family portrait (minus one piece of shit father) lay on top of the pile, and Max fingered the ripped, jagged edge and smiled, seemingly happy to have cleaved that evil from the young family that sat beside it. With his soft smile and big brown eyes looking wistfully at the black and gray picture, he mirrored his mother in the photograph. He riffled through the rest, his expression fluctuating between shades of happiness and yearning, his rich brown eyes aglow as he thumbed his way down memory lane. He paused at the final picture in the pile, rubbing a thumb along the edge, adding another smudge to the fingerprint border of the campfire photo.

“I think you’re missing something Max.”

He bristled, a flurry of murmurs tripping over his tongue as he tried to answer too quickly. “Whah- missing? No, it’s not like-”

“Oh! No, I mean you have a picture missing. You haven’t got one with me!”

Max’s ears reddened at the confusion and he let out an embarrassed laugh. “Heh, of course. Knew what you meant! You’re right though, would be nice to have another family photo,” A family photo. You swallowed the sudden knot that had bloomed in your throat, eyes widening to try and stem the tears you felt bubbling behind them. “But I don’t have a camera right now.”

“We do! Al brought his in the van- it should be on the front seat if you wanna-”

Before you could say ‘grab it’, Max had leaped up from the stool with a clatter, heading out the front door just as Al emerged from the bedroom. Al gave an incredulous laugh.

“At least one of us is breakin’ a sweat.” he huffed.

“C’mere,” You beckoned him with a finger and he obeyed, coming to stand between your thighs. “We’re getting a photo taken and you need to look your best, Mr Shaw.” On the stool, you sat high enough to straighten Al’s collar and tousle his ashy locks. He just smiled down at you with that wolfish sideways grin, hands resting on your thighs as you neatened him up. Once he thought you’d fussed enough over him, he hoisted you off the stool with a dramatic lift, eliciting a startled whoop from you.

Max raced back into the house in a frenzy, and it took several minutes of him trying his best to organize how the photo was to be taken. Al stood around rolling his eyes with his arms crossed until you gave him an admonishing glare, after which he at least pretended to look more enthused. In the end, you knelt down beside Samson (he was family too!), with Al squatting behind you, his hand curling around your waist instinctively. Max dipped beside his brother as you took the photo.

“Ok, we’ve got one shot so please don’t blink!” At least wasting reams of film previously had made you pretty handy with angling the camera just so. Max counted down from three, and as you snapped the button, a wetness along your cheek told you Samson picked the worst possible time to lick you, right as the flash went off. Not that Max minded- as he shook the developing photo, urging it to saturate quicker, he squealed as the picture slowly crept into life on the paper. Samson pouncing on you, your expression frozen between joy and alarm, half-wincing as his rough tongue daubed your cheek. Max, to nobody’s surprise, wore his wide grin, his dimples digging deep in his cheeks. Al had a smaller, more content smile, though he wasn’t looking at the camera. Those blue eyes were centered solely on you. You hadn’t noticed as you were taking the snapshot that Al and Max both had an arm around the other’s shoulder, and you wondered whether that brotherly gesture was as instinctive for Al as the arm resting on your hip in the photograph. You thought so.

It seemed to you, as you looked down at the picture cupped in Max’s hand, this perfect, preserved memory, that all of you were happy.

Al was happy. His life had been so short of moments like this, relationships this strong. But those around him weren’t going to hurt him, and because of that, he could shed that icy exterior, that hard shell created from hurt and hatred. He had bloomed into a man so far removed from the evil that had previously possessed him. You were happy- since you’d been taken, you’d never felt this full, this loved, in so many ways. You had someone you loved deeply, more deeply than you could almost bear at times, after you thought that an impossibility. You had gained a family when your other one had been torn asunder, forever lost to you. You were content too, even with those tragic separations and the still-present questions eddying around your head.

Max was happy- you thought. You just prayed, out of all of the lives he’d lived, he was happy with this one.

Max had found it strange to say goodbye to his brother and Y/N. Not because he and Scout had hugged tightly, which was pretty standard these days. Not because even Al had shared a brief hug with a farewell of ‘See ya, Maxie’ as they closed the door behind them.

No, Max felt strange just saying goodbye at all. It’s not like he wasn’t going to see them again (even as he’d waved them off, he’d been invited over for dinner tomorrow, and he wasn’t about to pass up free lasagna), but the words felt strange in his mouth, like the rancid taste of orange juice after brushing your teeth.

Goodbyes were an unfamiliar exchange; he’d normally hit the road without all the finality of that. To him, leaving wasn’t some important life decision. When you’d left places as much as Max had, it didn’t feel like such a big deal. Except for the first time, of course. He’d left on that fateful day, his brother already at work, his mother giving a small wave from her armchair as he slipped out the door with his duffel bag- going to a friend’s, he’d said. He never saw his mom again. That had torn at his insides for years, the first fuck-up of thousands in the decades that followed.

He wondered if that’s why he was staying now. The guilt of leaving when he was young, which he almost didn’t dare to imagine a second time around. He was still a kid back then, but a kid who should have known better than to break his mom’s heart when everyone in that house was still reeling from the fallout of their father’s actions. Only the other night had Al talked about how sick she’d gotten, reminding Max of how he’d found out all too late. No forwarding address or telephone line could be freeing, but the loss of that tether had shattered him entirely when he turned up on the doorstep months after her passing. A belated eulogy to an empty armchair felt too pathetic, and he couldn’t bring himself to summon up a goodbye before slamming closed the door again.

Max grimaced, hating the dark places that those thoughts could take him, and tried to focus on the present. Looking through the dusty front window, he saw his brother and Scout still on the sidewalk, pressed close together and seemingly talking besides the van door. He turned and flopped onto the couch, Samson jumping up before curling beside him. He could barely believe what he’d achieved since moving back to Denver: a real job that he liked well enough, furniture that was his own, food in the refrigerator. Hell, a whole fucking house! Even if right now it felt strange to have so much space, like some crazy reverse claustrophobia or something, he figured. Jesus. What was wrong with him, that he couldn’t simply be grateful for all of this?

Here, Max wouldn’t have to scrounge together dollar bills for another hit, wouldn’t wonder if he’d be able to afford a dingy hotel room for a couple of nights. He’d vowed never to get so desperate again to rent some company for the night. With his own place, he even had the ability to make a real connection with someone again, and not have it ripped to shreds by his own inadequacies and reckless habits. The few of those he’d had in his life….

That thought got Max rising, walking to the counter where the pile of photographs lay. He looked longingly at a couple in particular, almost drifting away to the warm memory of a few of those snapshots (backseat hickeys and campfire kisses came to mind), before he picked up the newest print in the pile. This was his present, his now. Here, with Al, with Scout, and Samson too.

There was still something noticeably ‘off’ about their situation, but they’d been through shit same as him, and neither of them had done things as dangerous, stupid and illegal as Max had in the years since his shitty trauma had forced him to flee. They were good for him- and he hoped he could be good for them too, that they could come to him if they ever needed help or advice or just someone who would listen to their worries.

But right now, things were good. Just fine. Peachy. So then why, as soon as they both left through the front door, had the smile on his face faded like an aged photograph?

#the grabber #the grabber x reader #the black phone #black phone fanfic #albert shaw x reader #albert shaw #the grabber x you

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thatbanditqueen · 2 years

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i’m obsessed w all ur fics but i gotta ask…

are u planning on midge and ep making up some way in the next chapter or are u thinking ab dragging it out? (also wanted to let u know i reread the only sure thing probably once a week lmaooo)

So I'm writing chapter 8 right now and...... they are going to be colliding into each other at the end. Followed by three very very very smutty chapters. This and the last chapter where they are not together have been the HARDEST for me to write because I have the smut headcanons for the next chapters rebounding around in my mind grapes and I just want to get there already and I want the build up to be good but I have discovered this about myself as a writer. I'm not great at slow burn or storylines that don't lead to somewhat immediate smut..... lol.... maybe I'm off, but my favorite chapters of Only Sure Thing are 2 through 6..... I did like writing the scene in 7 where Elvis walks in on Midge writing fake fan letters for the Colonel.... but some of that chapter felt flat trying to accomplish more exposition and where i see them going... idk i am an aggressively hard on myself person, but i guess I think my favorite thing to write is pre-smut verbal foreplay which is hard to do if characters are broken up... so, this was a really long way to answer your question. The short answer is yes, and I'm sorry because I'm still learning how to write stories but I see ch 9 and 10 being.... um.... fun....

Once a week? My love.... im so fucking honored to hear you say that because I am really fond of these characters and I reread it everytime I write a new chapter, but I also want to rewrite it, especially some of the clunky paragraphs early on where I feel like I was over explaining Elvis' bio.... I might one day....

This is something I'm struggling with so I'm curious to know what you think... I don't want them to make up totally until March 1961 bc Elvis is going to convince Midge to go to Hawaii with him and he's leaving like the day after they reunite. But I also don't think it's realistic that he wouldn't try to see her every chance he can and try to wear her resolve down... I'm having him bombard her with telegrams and phone calls, and sort of explaining how he's off filming two movies and doing benefits and events in Nashville and Memphis as the reason he doesn't see her for six months... but I feel like I need to write ONE "look let me prove I can be just friends" scene from Midge's pov, where E shows up at her place unexpectedly because he's super impulsive and hyperfixated..... and he wants to use any excuse to get her alone and bring her back to his house ... uh... ok apparently this post became part of my writing process...

Thanks for reading and supporting my own hyperfixation. Im always down to chat about them. I really hope the fan community doesn't dissolve bf I finish these stories....I know I'm moving at a snail's pace..

xoxo

norAHHHH

The Only Sure Thing forthcoming in the next few days Ch 8 vibes...

#the only sure thing #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #bandit queen asks #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis smut

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starmanleo · 11 months

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Stranger of Paradise: A Character Exploration Part 4: Memory. Those Damned Memories.

Look at the face of someone you love the most.

Remember them. Remember how their eyes widen to take in all of you. Remember how even if they don't smile, your heart swells with the slightest curls at their mouth's edge. You are a pillar of safety, a confidant. Warmth, love, and all things good.

Remember how each time you see them, this memory is distorted but the emotion is still clear. Yet even this changes as time dulls that memory in simple paths and fixtures.

Over time, their eyes grow colder. Their focus is less on appreciating your presence but more on anticipating what you'll do next. They are watching your steps. The warmth is still there but it is a whimper. Each time you walk with them, they stay outside of arms reach. When you stop, you are always in front, never behind. You are a comrade, a coworker. That idea of friendship is far away but it is within distance. This in time too, will change.

Remember that they begin to regard you as less of a friend, less of an acquaintance, but a stranger. A tool. A million first meetings and the first time they did not click with you was the first scar to change you.

Reaching out to them and they would anticipate it. A couple years down the road they flinch. A disappointment but it was the norm. In time before he must go again, he will learn your name. Know the joy he brings. He has to.

They flinch and avoid your touch. Their face reacts as if you had tried to strike them. As you look back on their words, they are but murmurs as their face is burned into your mind, overwriting any past thoughts of the fondness you shared.

In his eyes, you are a tool.

You are a necessary step to win.

You are Astos

An organic reconnaissance unit.

A tool of the Lufenians.

King of the Dark Elves.

And that is all he will think of you.

Astos

Astos is the king of the dark elves. That one boss you fought in FF1 is lean, mean, and voiced by Tom Haberkorn. Astos is the one who truly gets the plot going and leads our merry band of heroes on their quest to figure out the Crystals and why the world is all out of whack and ultimately the mystery of Chaos's influence in the land. For all that time, he is mysterious and not forthcoming with answers. Constantly moving around the questions asked by Jack and the gang and using these answers as a carrot on a stick for our Warriors of Light.

Mission after mission, Astos seems to relish in the game of cat and mouse. Even after you save him from a mechanical monolith. he still leaves nothing for the Strangers to work on other than their goal. A final point until the world goes mad due to their efforts until the mission on the Floating Continent.

Until it all blows up.

Astos is suddenly more direct. Playing his games yet again and this time with a point to them surprisingly. An edge that says that he wants desperately for the Strangers to solve the puzzle and free him this charade. Astos states his himself, his identity.

A product of Lufenia

A Product of a Millenila of Suffering and Experimentation.

He is not Lufenian. And as he looks into the eyes of the man who he had taken such an interest in, he is left to rush things to the end. He needs the answer that he's willing to die for. That's he been suffering to live for.

The king of the Dark Elves is what he is to him. What he has to and what he had to be.

And so as all things concerning emotional expression in this game, they fought.

At first it was a simple as Astos going the whole way to hurt him but then....

I want you to remember that person of yours.

The one that warms you to your core at the thought of them.

One who you would endure undue amounts of suffering for while striking out whoever would give them even a sliver of grief.

Do you think that your efforts are worth it even when they cannot give you that comfort?

When you must suffer through eons and ages of having to reconnect with someone to which you would die for?

When the change comes over them and their reluctant allyship with you becomes an aggresive suscipion of you?

You are Astos.

King of the Dark Elves.

How else would you feel?

Astos's death leaves the Strangers to truly become the Warriors of Light they were seeking and pushes 4 of the 5 to make the sacrifice needed to reach their goals.

A plan so many cycles and years in the making coming down to the breaking point of two. Faith stretched across timelines to one moment that led to victory. Even at the cost of his own memories.

But even Astos gets a happy ending in DLC 2 since he gets his memories back due to his brain going into another body (alot more complicated involving memories and junk.)

A Huge Thank You to one @rivscribbles or @rivulelle for recording Astos's videos and providing a whole google doc's worth of stuff regarding Monster Conversations in the DLC.

SoPFFO DLC2 Monster Conversations - Google Docs

Stranger of Paradise Wanderer of the Rift Astos Conversations - YouTube

Astos Headcannons,Assumptions,Thoughts.

Astos wants the Garland Schlong. Slop that shit silly style. Everytime he finally gets Jack into the feeling, he gets cock blocked by Lufenia calling him back and he has to flirt him up from step one. Undeniable canon.

That fact aside, Astos is to this story what Atlas is the world. Even in the stream of people I have seen play this game and dislike it, it is this scene that hits the hardest. Where the mainstream audience says it becomes a full story. Astos is the lynchpin in the plan of overthrowing the Lufenian's monopoly of control over the Cornelians. It is a combination of Jack's initial scheming and the will of Astos regarding his role in the plan. His role in Jack's plan.

For as much as he may hide it in the facade of calm coolness, Astos really has all the reason in the world to just go ham. A little breakdown over his lot in life and him being born as a bio experiment for a higher power. Dimensional bureaucracy sucks dick,huh? Honestly the fact he gets this much attention from a story not

focused on character development outside of Jack really stands him out as someone who couldn't be replaced. Like Bikke could be swapped for Matoya or something but you can't get rid of Astos.

Astos is a biological reconnaissance unit.

Astos is the King of the Dark Elves.

Astos is Astos.

#stranger of paradise #Wrote this up late so excuse the fall off in quality #final fantasy #astos #SOP C.A #final fantasy origin

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vulku · 1 year

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he expects a familiar hint of coquettish. no other would be able to detect such a thing, of course; but such is the nature of vulcans. unreadable, save for those who can. the furrow of doubt that sows upon her aesthetically pleasing features, however, is not anticipated. their fingers touch, and between the ozh'esta, their link thrums. and with it, comes threads of uncertainty that feel sharp and cold. quite a contrast to the warmth of quick-silver thoughts and depth he is accustomed to, when they touch. it seems unerringly wrong, that she feel such seedlings out doubt. things that, as far as he can sense, are not new; but perhaps spilling forward more than were previously allowed.

@tuhpring - continued from here.

the candles burn, and for a moment, he dares not breathe. there is much he wishes to say, to convey, but words in either language escape him; or fall entirely short. in response to the apprehension lapping at his mind from her own, he attempts to soothe the growing turbulence in the waters. calm, and steady -- with a warm affection he does not restrain. it is difficult to name, to explain, but that does not erase the existence of it.

“ i am as certain of my wish to be wed to you, just as i am certain i wish to continue my duty in starfleet. ” the distinction clear; purposeful.

“ vulcans cannot lie : nor would i to you, even if such a thing would be possible. i do not know what the future may bring; what paths will make themselves known, for you and i. can a half - vulcan, be a satisfying mate, among other potential prospects? as an officer, is balance between my life in starfleet and beyond it possible? i have seen many struggle between duty, and desires of the heart. these are questions i know not the answer to. however . . . to forsake one for the other is unthinkable to me. if i have not been forthcoming in my regard and, indeed, care for you, beyond what expectations have been presumed of us, i apologize. were it merely a duty, i would not be as mindful of your struggles; wishes; and desires as my own, though i am not impervious to failure. i cannot promise ease. i cannot promise i will be called in for a duty to protect what vulcans, and all of the galaxy, hold most dear. in doing so, my life may be forfeit. but if you allow it, if you allow me . . . the privilege, it is you i would hold dear, when all else falls away. . . . i realize there are little absolutes, in what i can offer you. you assume much risk, in both heart and mind. should you choose to end our betrothal, i shall not fault you this; though i must reiterate that it is not a wish of mine. however, i will accept and respect that which you choose. ”

#tuhpring #verse : to be named.#you really had to GO THERE HUH #me @ me : stop the word vomit

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catt030516 · 1 year

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The burning fire of our fallen tree makes me reminiscent youth. Coon hunting till late, starting a big fire, pulling the trucks around it. Getting drunk.

Being in love like never before.

You can’t replicate being naive. We actually never used anything. I think we thought we were going to just have babies and live happily ever after.😂😂😂 we never had any which must have just have been the universe.

But, he broke up with me because (I told you the cologne story) I wasn’t forthcoming about hanging out with someone of the opposite sex. Then his dad signed him out of school the next day.

In response to him having a cheating scandal or two with his ex and Mary.

Like I said I miss being naive. Because now that I look at it without the “buts…” it’s harder to just blame me. He hurt me w/o excuse. I did the same. Wish I’d have been stronger and then I’d have been less scared of the truth. And he had no reasons to cheat on me. That was mean.

Just saw Mike in my driveway today. Asked me how the fire was.

I instantly thought:

“Kelly? Cate? For the love of Christ why did you fuck that up and give this man another shot when he was clearly fucking another woman???!?!?”

Fear.

Fear of change.

Fear of what others would think.

Its almost always fear. Fear prevents more unhappiness then any straight up abuse does.

I was scared to lose my kids. I was afraid he’d take them from me. At that point in his life, Buoy did nothing but support and love me. He was good with Evan who was two. And I never appreciated that until it was too late.

And damn, Bukowski said it best:

“…and there’s nothing ever worse than “Too late.”

We get such a small flicker of time on this wheel of karma tic life, and it’s amazing what lengths we go to to gain the favor of someone or everyone else but ourselves. Just so we can live another lifetime ( I believe within our own family lines) and try to do it correctly.

**If I’m rambling quit reading because I’m copying it/pasting it for the journal entry I have to do😂😂**

I think the hardest decisions are the ones the ones we carry out in length because we are afraid. Afraid of hurting someone. So we what? Hurt ourselves? Hurt other people with us? Hurt our futures.

There was a time, when for approx. a month I would be sat down on Sundays prior to leaving to go home. You’d give me these dancing words, basically you were trying to say, “Look, I feel like lost. I need more of you.”

You are human. It would be hard to process, but with Evan, hell, I have asked his father. Even 6 months was not unreasonable. But in your confusion you let her, exactly a year to the week,come and tell you you were together.

Which was made clear to everyone but her.

After every sacrifice I’d ever given you. After all of the missed holidays, swallowed grief, sleepless night, long drives. Shared secrets. Shared motherfucking secrets.

Just because you could never look up and say, “yes, Dawn. You moved out I’ve been seeing someone. It’s going well. I don’t hate you. You are the mother of my children. We both made mistakes. But I understand and respect the life you’ve made this year as well. I’m sure you will respect my life as I respect your

Instead, it was jokes and dancing instead of answering the direct question. Who knows WHAT you are are afraid of. Maybe your just a borderline who can’t exist without the presence of chaotic relationship? I honestly have to admit I DONT know. I can’t know you at all after any of that, can I?

So for about a month you’d have these talks with me. Usually right after sex once I was dressed and ready to leave to make the drive home. Instead of saying, “I’m lonely don’t leave” you’d act like a stepdad/someone who was not Ron. You’d tell me how you weren’t divorced. All this bullshit I will never listen to again in my life. You acted like I didn’t have someone I just lost! Someone your cowardice denied me the right to sit at his funeral. The nerve of you.

Yes, I was very caught up in my feelings. When Ronda found me passed out barely breathing there’s no way to describe how angry I was she found me. I acted like Sylvia Plath.

And why wouldn’t I? I was begining to experiance the very long eulogy that is burying a man that never existed. Whose not physically dead. But there’s nothing NOTHING left of who I thought I knew.

I understand a lot of people live the way they do. It’s about the years, not the rules or any degree of happiness. I want you to remember (and I’m sure you do) who was really there for you, when you were hard? working Friday nights, when things were upside down with your mom. Did you ever have to worry about me running around Ron, Did you? Did you ever? Did you care when your kids heartbeat stopped or were you relieved? I at least bought in to the fact I was part of your family. I introduced myself to the nurse as your girlfriend. Stupid me. Should’ve told her to hurry in and close the door.

“ I’m the mistress. Yes it’s been a year my boyfriend is afraid of his wife finding out and not being his friend anymore.”

😂😂Could you fucking imagine? Me putting up with you in that capacity??

Yeah, I can’t either.

That fear made all of that even harder then it had to be. Just because you couldn’t just say the truth. You drug this out so long, have said or done things nearly unforgivable ( I forgive once I process, for very selfish reasons.)

I hope you had a nice time we were together. I hope you long to feel how wonderful it was since wAaaay back in Angola. I hope it felt good to have me there next to you. Inside of me in our bed you now share with Dawn.

Because unless you’re

on your knees pleading for apologies for your egotism and dishonesty, you’ll never so much as kiss my cheek.

Ron Stroupe died last December. I don’t know who you are or why you’d think I’d put up with any of your antics. Please don’t cause this home, the home that brought you in without question, anymore damage.

The Ron Stroupe I knew had an estranged wife. He isn’t afraid to tell her about me. He wouldn’t have done that to us. He was a man. Hard or not, he was a man, not a coward.

6/23/2023

Can you celebrate 29 years or do you have to jump back to year 27 1/2?😂😂😂

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xuntamed · 1 year

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@towercursed asked: She’s silent for a long time, listening to the group chat and exchange information acquired since their last meeting. They’re all so casual and friendly, despite talking to an actual superhero ; she can barely look Shǎndiàn in the eye, let alone talk with him the way boys are supposed to. Because that’s who she’s supposed to be - one of the boys, invisible to anyone, especially those who might know her from her past life. Except, it’s him! He’s the one who encouraged her to leave and find somewhere safe to hide, and somehow his advice has led her back to him. It’s truly a stroke of fate, even with this cruel twist of having to only listen without telling him who she really is.

Eventually, they turn to banter. She watches them tease each other, tossing jokes back and forth and trading embarrassing stories. She’s the only one not mentioned, probably because they didn’t have that kind of leverage against her yet. It means she gets to listen and feel her stomach drop when her new friends tease Shǎndiàn about some girl in his life. Some girl he hasn’t seen in a while - it doesn’t take too much to figure out he’s talking about her. Her ears burn and she stares at her feet, fascinated by how much he seems to care about her, but she’s unable to say anything about her real identity. There’s too much at stake to risk telling him here, even if it means she’d be in his arms before she could say lightning.

The urge to say something waxes and wanes like the moon she watches while she can’t sleep. She can’t count how many nights she’s followed the moon’s changes since the last time they saw each other. He’s still the same guy, playful and charismatic, and it makes her heart squeeze to see him so natural. He’s not hiding or fighting - this is just him, joking with his friends and his face shifting when his girl is mentioned. She can’t help it ; she has to say something.

“ So —- what happened with her? Your girl? ” She asks boldly but quietly, gaze flickering up to brush his before staring back at the ground again. “ Does she even know about all this? ”

There’s a beat of silence as her heart squeezes. In her mind, it’s a valid question, since he hadn’t been very forthcoming about his activities without the mask. Even his life with the mask is shrouded in mystery, and she’s left to fill in the blanks herself. Except maybe the answer to one question might help her choose her next steps ; she can’t help saying it, directed to the hero but aimed at the floor.

“ Do you love her? ”

This scene was pretty common during most evenings -- all of them gathered together while decompressing from the day's activities; at least those of them that we're still out or doing any errands outside of the building. The younger ones were always around, encouraged to stay where it was safe if not around just the city in general; away from any potential missions or whatever that older - and powered - boys were doing. ( Well --- boys and plus. Kaneko still counted, of course. ) Lately, Shaw had been out more and more often, leaving this the first time that he had been around during evening hours. The younger kids stirred in excited from Shǎndiàn finally being among them again, and even the older ones seemed to relax their shoulders and offer tiny smiles when they saw him joining them. It was always an unspoken relief among them:

You're back. You're safe.

The younger ones didn't waste anytime in bringing Shaw in to the conversation, it changing from light-hearted talk about anything to light-hearted teasing with Shǎndiàn being the center of it. He had let it slip that the reason he was out had to do with that girl, and they took the thread and ran with it -- it was much too late for him to even hope to reel anything back in. But he took it with stride; rolling amber eyes and snorting, grinning and shooting back quips that made the others double down and laughter and clamor back at him even further.

It was enough to hide how truly troubled he was until the others dispersed.

... Except for the newbie.

Shaw remembered him -- he remembered anyone new; you had to in potentially dangerous circumstances like the ones they could get into constantly. Rampion. A shy guy, older than most of the younger ones, probably closer to his own age, but with how he held himself he seemed younger ... especially with how fidgety he seemed. And his voice, too -- the way it seemed a bit soft and scratchy. An oddball, that's for sure.

He looked upon him as he asked his question, letting the words wash over him quietly. There's no answer for several long, long moments -- he reaches up to loosen off his mask finally, pulling it from his face so that it was more visible, even though he left it hanging slightly from his neck. Amber eyes looked away, focusing on one of the faded walls as he allows pictures of her face to conjure up in his mind, one after the other of the instances where they've met; even if it was just as Shǎndiàn; safe behind the mask.

Did he love her...?

" --- She's not mine. The guys just like to bust my ass about it." He answers, fingers picking absentmindedly at the false teeth of the oni design on his mask. "She doesn't know about this ... or who I am. Aside from just ' Shǎndiàn ', like most people." There's a small pause, as though trying to decide if he should tell or not before letting it fall from his lips anyway.

" --- She disappeared. I'm trying to see if I can catch sight of her anywhere in the city, but ... " Lips purse, something like displeasure coloring his expression. But if one where to truly decipher it, it would look much closer to worry. "... We've crossed paths and talked a few times. I just want to make sure she's okay, but ... who knows. She probably skipped town. Good for her."

And just like that, he's clamming back up, glancing at Rampion as though just realizing who he was talking to. Fingers brushed through lavender hair before letting his eyes close for a couple of beats, shoving his hands into his pockets. Body language slightly uncomfortable.

" --- I had a long few days. Gonna go debrief with Akatsuki and crash. Later ... " Shaw offered the tiniest flick of his hand in a wave before he's walking off to another room, not giving him a chance to say anything to counter it.

#towercursed #v; ( vigilante au tag )#// finally tis done FJDGOFDKGfo #here we are!#it could be better tho jdfogkfod i'm sorry ;u;#; ( answered ask )#;q

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nemossubmarine · 4 years

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Warhammer 40k: Wrath & Glory RP #12.1

A brief extra-curricular talk between Uffe and Larry. After things have settled down in Dimmamar, Larry goes to see if he could locate Uffe that he was meaning to have a little chat with. He spots Rødorn and friends near the ship Skarde took down, and so he asks Rødorn if he’s seen one of the Wolves around, name Yffe, or something along those lines. Rødorn says he must be talking about their lone wolf (and Larry says he doesn’t know how lonely he is), and says Uffe can be found at the medbay inside. Larry asks if he is hurt, and Rødorn says not to his knowledge.

So it is the medbay where Larry heads. There are several wounded Wolves there. He spots Uffe sitting by one bed, talking with Vivek who is having his cybernetics repaired. Larry greets the two, and asks if he may loan Uffe for a long over-due conversation. Uffe says sure in not so many words. Vivek tells Uffe that he may already be gone if the conversation is long, and wishes him luck on his hunt as well as asks him to “say hi to Dante for me”. Uffe agrees(?) and they bonk heads. Larry asks Uffe who this Dante fellow is, and Uffe tells it’s the Lord Commander of Imperium Nihilus and the Commanding officer of the Blood Angels.

Uffe takes Larry to a room clearly meant for sleeping (filled with bunk beds and not much else), and they sit and talk. Larry says that he supposes Uffe knows who he is and what he is here to talk about, and Uffe says yes, he knows Larry is Laurel, son of Jennifer. Larry asks to know what happened to his sister after she was left on Fenris. Uffe counters with wanting to know what Larry does, making note of his association with both the Ecclesiarchy and someone who is associated with Inquisition. Larry doesn’t quite see why Uffe would care, but explains he’s a free-wheeling agent for the moment (and a pilot), currently helping the priest in locating a kidnapped girl.

Uffe ponders this for a while (he does this a lot), and then lets Larry know that Layla was taken in to the Wolves, to test her worthiness to ascend. And she passed, which means she is a Wolf now. She awoke some four years ago. Uffe says he kept Gorm up to date who was supposed to keep Jennifer up to date but apparently that never reached Larry.

Larry asks where she is now, as he would like to see her, and Uffe asks what he would be getting out of it, as she would not remember him at all. Larry says he just wants to get some closure, and wants the same for his mother as well. Larry makes a comment about people not seeing Space Marines, and having no understanding what they do, and Uffe makes a point that most folk don’t see the kind of enemies the Marines deal with either. Larry thanks him, and Uffe says he needs no thanks, but he sees the point.

Uffe explains that he and Gorm used to talk, and Gorm especially was of the opinion, that the Wolves should have more relationships with the people they helped and the people they recruited from. But not all Wolves agree. Uffe has not met Linhildr (that is Layla’s new name), as he and one other were considered too invested so they were forbade from following in on her process too closely. Larry makes a comment about Layla’s new name, and Uffe points out that he himself doesn’t use his mother-given name either. Nickname’s a bit different from a completely new name, but point taken.

Larry requests that Uffe does as Gorm and he had talked, and actually help people he was supposed to help, and try to make things better for him and his mother. (or he could just refer him to Gorm, to which Uffe tells that Gorm has been on a hunt of his own for many a year) Uffe makes the point that Linhildr and her pack are the first female Wolves, a secret. There were doubts and apparently something concerning happening even before they were made into Wolves, so all eyes are on them. Uffe does not wish anything to jeopardize their prospects. But he relents, saying that he does not wish to deny Larry’s and his mother’s hurt in the situation. He tells Larry that his whole Company was called to assist with the Imperium Nihilus, so Linhildr’s pack is in the area. He will attempt to locate them.

Larry asks how are they going to be able to stay in touch, as he is going to go hunting for the missing girl. Uffe says he will be leaving for his own mission as well, but says there will be Wolves in the area. Rødorn, some others and Vivek will be hunting for the buyer of the scrap code (or the datachip). Skarde will continue the exploration on Jonah’s World. Uffe says Vivek will always know how to locate him, so that’s the best way to keep contact. Larry wishes Uffe luck on his hunt (and he wishes Larry luck on his search) and with that Larry is off.

#nemo roleplays #long post #wag rp s2 #wag rp writeup #campaign tag: the story of a runaway girl #rly rly should get to campaign naming :D #anyway good talk #some cryptic stuff that may never become relevant #like who is the other wolf on fenris invested in linhildr?#why were there concerns about the wolves even before they were made??#and all that jazz #answers to all these and other burning questions forthcoming #someday

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 2 years

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I had to use this 😆

"If you're going to try and kill me can we just get it over with?" you ask archly, sipping from a cup of coffee.

She scoffed and shook hair out of her face, "That isn't why I'm here."

"Then why-"

"If I would have known, I never would have-"

You hold up a hand to stop the flow of words and lean against the counter, "You're not the one that made promises to me," You sigh. "Bruce knew what he was doing. He made the choices. Regardless of whether you knew or not."

Talia regarded you for a moment. She was honestly a little caught off guard. She expected anger. From the outset, she was prepared for a fight. And with one not forthcoming, she wasn't sure how to respond. "Damian needs to be with his father."

"That's also not the issue here. Assassin or no, he's a child. Bruce fucked you and then came home to fall into my bed and never said a word about it. And evidently, thought I'd just raise his child like all the others?"

She nodded slowly. If the situations were reversed, you'd have been dead the second she laid eyes on you. And she could see the strain of it all. Of reining in your desire for retribution. Being civil was taxing.

And she knew, having seen your records that you were capable of brutality... For a time her father had considered approaching you. But The Company had gotten there first.

"Would you abandon them all, then?"

For a moment, you gather your thoughts. There are a lot of things you would like to say. But not to this woman- you'd like to not interact with her at all. "Not the children, no," you answer. "They're still my sons."

"And Bruce?"

You half shrug. "That depends on him."

"Do you regret it, taking that assignment?"

"Not until now."

The silence stretches on, leaving you wishing Talia would just get to the point. Bruce enjoyed these types of rambling verbal chess matches but you just wanted her out of your house. You had questions you never wanted the answers to. You didn't want to think about them. You didn't want to feel so insignificant. You didn't want to feel the pain of knowing you weren't enough.

Talia took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, "Bruce needs you-"

"Apparently not that much," you snort, quirking an eyebrow.

"If you return-"

"Damian would be as safe with me as any other child,' you answer. "I may not like it, but he's there. And he deserves care."

A nod is the only answer that you get. And when Talia leaves, as silently as she entered you have to fight the urge to burn the house down. And for the first time in a long time, you wish that one of your close calls had been just a little closer.

#Bruce Wayne #Bruce Wayne x reader #tiredofthisgeneration #batmom!reader #ask answered #minors dni

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enrychan · 2 years

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Super generic advice to survive in Pathologic Classic and 2

Sooo Patho Classic and 2 are on sale right now, and I read a lot of posts like “Pathologic Classic/2 is too hard / it’s unplayable / I’m scared of even trying” and I... I just want everybody to play Patho at least once, just to see if it “clicks”, so. Here it is. My Strictly Generic Advice for Patho Classic and 2.

First things first: why Strictly Generic?

Because the right way to experience Pathologic (both of them) would be to just go in without knowing a single thing, be very confused and frustrated at first - and die a lot - and then just roll with it. After a while things should start making at least some sense - and many things will keep making no sense anyway, because Pathologic is not about giving definitive answers - it’s more about leaving you with a lot of questions that you can think about for the next 10 years without ever arriving at at a conclusive solution.

So the alienating feeling and frustration are definitely intended for you, and I don’t want to deprive you of that. I’m just going to give you some generic hints, just to encourage you to try.

And believe me when I say: I’m very bad at video games. If I managed to get all achievements in Patho Classic AND the Imago achievement (a.k.a. complete the game at the highest difficulty) in Patho 2, everyone can.

Now, if you want to try them without knowing anything at all: I love you, good luck, have fun, stop reading here.

For all the others: here’s a list of generic advice to help you survive in Pathologic Classic and 2.

Pathologic Classic generic advice

- If it’s the first time you play Patho Classic, you should start with the Bachelor. The Haruspex is an excellent run, and many prefer that to the Bachelor’s, but it’s a lot harder and the game explains less stuff. The Bachelor is new in town, just like you (and you two probably share a similar modern, “scientific” approach), so the game is more forthcoming with informations and hints about the mechanics you’re going to use. Also as the Bachelor you start with some money and you can get a lot more from your important friends. And the game is much more generous with the only two medicines that can cure the plague.

- Save a lot. Did I mention saving? Save. Save save save.

- This is an advice that the game itself gives you, but it’s super important so I’ll put it here too: time advances even without you. This isn’t some kind of rpg where even world ending events wait for you to stop wandering around and picking herbs and stuff. If you lose the day, the main quest gets completed by one of your Bounds (people who depend on you - you get a list of those... which may not be complete btw), they will get infected and you’ll have to burn precious resources to save them later. There is no fast travel, you have to go on foot. On the bright side, if you complete the quests (the main one and the optional ones as well) you’ll get some useful stuff. Usually.

- When you hear a sound effect like the “crackling of paper”, it means you’ve just received a letter. Access it by pressing L. This is something the game forgets to tell you, and it’s fundamental to even know what you’re supposed to be doing on that day. For some of the secondary quests there are no letters or indicators on the map, you find them only by talking to people.

- Dumpsters and trash cans are your best friends, I’m not even kidding.

- Barter is extremely important, so learn how it works as soon as possible. Different npcs want different stuff and they will give you useful items in return. If you master the barter system you’ve basically already beaten, like, half of the game. Some npcs will give you stuff that you can use or sell for a lot of money. I make sure to have lots of water bottles, needles, razors, nuts and other garbage in my inventory at all times. You’ll find many of these in the trash cans, but I always buy some more needles and hooks from tailor shops. Just trust me, you’ll find out why.

- On the first day, just buy all the food you can afford. If you need more money, exploit the barter system to get other stuff that you can sell. I always try to buy all the food available in town before midnight. Just trust me on this one as well.

- Combat is weird and unwieldy BUT I won’t tell you to avoid it completely, because it’s actually a great source of money and good reputation if used wisely. Just get a gun and bullets as soon as possible, which is to say, probably by day 2. You can get one on day 1 and it’s better (durability at 90% instead of 30%), but you need to look in a specific place, so you’ll probably miss it the first time you play the game if you’re not using a guide. On day 2 you can get 2 guns, but you need to be at least a little clever in dialogues to obtain them. You can also fight using melee weapons like knives and scalpels, but I don’t recommend it.

- My rhythm in the game goes as follows: sleep for some hours on the evening, wake up around midnight, go to the theatre, walk the town for a couple of hours collecting resources, go back to sleep until 7 in the morning. It works well in my opinion.

- In the diseased districts, walk on the side of the road, not the centre. Always be on the move. Don’t let rats bite you, don’t go near infected people. Don’t enter the houses unless absolutely necessary for a quest. Stationary plague clouds will become visible only when very near. As the Bachelor you can see them from afar with the Plaguefinder, otherwise when in doubt walk a little more slowly and carefully. Other plague clouds will be “carried by the wind”, but they always move on a linear path, so avoiding them is fairly easy. The “plague angels” are the real bastards. They appear in the second part of the game and literally chase you down, and since they run faster than you, they will manage to infect you if they touch you. The only two ways to avoid them are: 1) immediately entering a house or a shop and then exit - the level always reset when you do that; or 2) run around in a little circle for a while, until you can’t hear the sound of the angel anymore. The purpose of that is to constantly changing your direction so the angel can’t follow you as easily.

- In fact, this is a strategy I use often to keep out of trouble: just enter a random house or a shop and exit immediately after to reset the map. You can do this with any house in the infected and burned districts because they are all unlocked.

- If you get infected you can either reload a save or continue with an additional difficulty element. It’s not easy, and you’ll have to burn a precious resource to heal yourself at some point, but you can do it. If you decide to go on while infected, avoid the madmen with the molotovs and the soldiers with the flamethrowers at all costs. Good luck!

Pathologic 2 generic advice

- Accept that you’ll probably die a lot, and that’s ok. That’s how the game is designed. Dying in Patho 2 is not “game over”, you’ll be able to continue. In fact, the most important storytelling and “phylosophically relevant” stuff happen when you die. If you never die, you’ll miss out on a lot of meaningful dialogue, story beats, and just good old Pathologic Weird Shit™

- You can lower the difficulty level. I would still encourage you to at least try it at the intended difficulty (which is the highest level), but if you think you cannot handle it, there’s no shame in lowering the difficulty.

- My first and most important advice is: run.

- Did I mention running? Run!

- Walk when you need to rebuild your stamina, then start running again. In Patho 2 time runs fast at the beginning and even faster with each day, events don’t wait for you, and you’ll need every resource available to stay alive and possibly save the people of the town as well (particularly the children on your list). Walking is waaaay too slow. You need to run.

- Master the bartering system as soon as possible, it will probably be your main source of goods like food, medicine and other stuff. Always keep some nuts, marbles and garbage like that in your inventory to barter with the kids.

- Dumpsters and trash cans are your friends, just like in classic.

- During the first days, collect empty bottles from trash cans and fill them with water. Every bottle you can find, fill it with water and do not barter them away unless absolutely necessary. Build a large stock of water bottles. At first it will be annoying because they will occupy a lot of space in your inventory, but you’ll get a place to put all your garbage eventually - so keep collecting. This is extremely important.

- If you leave things around, they will disappear at midnight, but there are some places in town that retain the stuff you put into. Use them to free some space in your inventory, at least until you’ll get your own definitive place (trying to be super vague here to avoid spoilers and helping too much!)

- In Patho 2 you can add space in your inventory, but you’ll need.... some stuff. to do that. It’s absolutely worth it. It’s a game about managing your meagre resources after all.

- In infected districts, walk on the side of the road, not the centre. Try to touch as little as possible. Looting in infected houses isn’t exactly a good idea in my opinion, but it’s your decision to make. If you loot, use a lot of immunity boosters and try to stop often to see if your immunity is too low. Not every object carries the infection, but if you touch one that does, it will immediately and dramatically lower your immunity and you could become infected. So be careful.

- Artemy’s tinctures function both for diagnosis and as better immunity boosters (they also have some other lesser properties), but they require a lot of time and resources to make. I tend to keep them for the other characters I’m trying to keep alive, and I use them on Artemy himself only when I don’t have anything else.

- Burned districts are extremely dangerous and I traverse them only when I must. The positive aspect is that dead criminals are a source of money, useful items and good reputation. Also organs, if you want those.

- When you want to kill someone, always use stealth to your advantage. Bind the stealth mode to a key on your keyboard that you feel comfortable using, because you’re going to use it often. Stealth your way to your victims’ back and charge your attack before releasing it. Even with your bare hands, two strong hits from stealth deal massive damage and usually kill a person (for the Worms you’ll need more - or a weapon). Don’t attack from an open position. Be sure there’s no one else around before striking and before looting the corpse. If you find yourself attacked by two or more people, there’s almost no hope of surviving - just run away and take refuge inside the first building/shop available.

- Like in Patho classic, entering a building or a shop will break the chase - BUT it will not reset the map, so wait a while, be careful and check your surroundings when leaving.

- Be aware that the game will actively and gradually take away every strategy for survival that you can use, even many of those I talked about here. So think in advance and stock on resources every chance you get. The first days are absolutely fundamental to manage to get to the end - and maybe even save someone (or everyone! it’s possible, I did it more than once at the highest difficulty. but it’s very hard)

As I said earlier, you’ll probably die a lot anyway, and that’s part of the game. I listed some hints to help you get through, because I think both Pathologic Classic and 2 are absolutely worth your time and deserve a chance. They have some of the best storytelling I’ve ever experienced in a video game, not to mention the unique mechanics (together with some extremely funny bugs, i must add).

Just give them a try and see if you like one of them - or maybe both, like me! (They’re similar, but also extremely different)

Good luck and have fun! ....In some sense of the word, anyway XD

#pathologic #pathologic classic #pathologic 2 #Мор. Утопия #Mop #Bachelor #haruspex

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unwrittenlibrary · 3 years

Text

golden (you’re so golden)

summary // bucky is in louisiana with sam when he meets you, one of sam’s close friends, and immediately gets along with you. (bucky x fem!reader)

words // 3.5k

warnings // it’s fluff! some tiny insecure bucky but that’s about it. sam calls reader bubbles a couple times. use of y/n.

notes // 💞

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

Bucky enjoyed Louisiana.

He enjoys being with Sam and his family in Louisiana. It’s slow and relaxed and everybody in town is so charming that he finds himself settling in easily.

There’s a level of trust Sam shows Bucky allowing him to help with the family boat and while he hadn’t said it, he did appreciate Sam’s unending kindness.

Perhaps Bucky has found the beginnings of a new home in Sam Wilson. A friendship based on respect and love helped Bucky. He was slowly but surely rebuilding himself into a better man.

“Word on the street is Sam Wilson was back in town.” A voice calls out from above the two men. Bucky looks at Sam and finds him smiling and shaking his head. There’s footsteps and then you’re standing in the doorway with a smirk. “I just had to see for myself.”

Sam lets go of the wrench in his hand and moves to meet you at the top of the stairs. Bucky watches curiously as Sam hugs you tightly. He had never mentioned a girlfriend, although Bucky wasn't particularly forthcoming about his personal life either.

“Hey, Bubbles.” Bucky scrunches his nose at the nickname and you roll your eyes and shove Sam off of you.

He laughs heartily clutching his stomach. “The nickname wasn’t funny in the seventh grade and it’s not funny now.”

Sam presses a kiss to your head and Bucky clears his throat. He feels like he’s interrupting a personal moment, but your smile is turned on him and then Bucky freezes because that’s a beautiful smile.

“Who’s your friend?” You nudge Sam with your elbow but your stare doesn’t waver. Bucky smiles nervously before lifting his hand up in an awkward wave.

“Bucky.” He introduces. You nod slowly. “Barnes.” He adds on and you laugh at him making Bucky deflate a little.

“Y/N.” You respond easily. “And don’t call me Bubbles, I hate it.” Your glare and he nods. “I just came to see if the rumors were true.” You shift your focus back to Sam. “I just couldn’t believe Sam Wilson was here, working on the boat, without telling me.”

Sam scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Wasn’t sure how long I was gonna be here.”

You purse your lips and Bucky thinks that wasn’t the right thing to say. He’s so curious about what your relationship is because he can’t tell if it’s just friends or dating or maybe even exes. You’re affectionate and comfortable with one another, that much is obvious in the few seconds Bucky has been able to observe.

“Even if you were here for a day, I would like to see you.” You punch his shoulder. “But whatever, I’m not gonna hold a grudge.”

There’s a moment of silence between the three of you before you shrug. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you tonight, Sarah invited me for dinner.”

You give a quick hug to Sam before waving goodbye Bucky. He waves back with a smile and watches as you walk away.

He doesn’t even realize Sam’s staring at him until the man clears his throat. Bucky shuffles and adamantly ignores the fire he feels burning at his cheeks. “Who’s that?” He asks in a faux nonchalant tone.

Sam shakes his head and laughs. “We grew up together. Went to prom and all that.” Bucky nods and tries to think of how to ask his next question, but Sam beats him to it. “Not as my girlfriend or anything. She’s like a bonus sister.”

Bucky nods and looks back down at the pipe they had been working on. “Cool… We gonna finish this?”

Sam snorts, but Bucky can hear his footsteps come back down the stairs. “Let’s get it done. I just know Sarah’s gonna make something great for dinner if Y/N’s coming and I’m starving.”

Bucky nods, excited for some home cooked food. And maybe seeing more of your smile.

》

Bucky sits next to you at dinner. The kids across from the two of you with Sam and Sarah at the ends of the table.

He notices your eyes trail over the black and gold of his arm and tries to not to blush. “How’d this happen?” You nod to it after a moment of silence.

Bucky turns to you at the same moment Sam’s head shoots up to look at you. “Bubbles.” He hisses your nickname like you’re a child with their hand in the cookie jar.

“Sam.” You hiss back, eyes narrowed at the nickname. Bucky wonders if Sam would ever call you by your first name. “It’s okay.” He nods to Sam.

Bucky is sure that the kids sitting across from him had been wondering too, if Sam hadn’t already told them. He takes a sip of his beer before deciding on sharing a condensed version

“Lost it when I fell off a train in 1945.” He shrugs. You look him up and down. “Got this arm a few years ago.”

It’s silent as you process his words and your eyes move back to stare at the arm. His fingers twitch and your eyes snap to them.

“You don’t look like you fell off a train in 1945. You don’t even look forty.” You say skeptically. Sam runs a hand over his face while the kids laugh.

“Just eat.” Sam orders. “You don’t need to ask him all these questions. It’s rude.”

You turn to your food and roll your eyes at Sam. “I asked one question.” Then your eyes move to Bucky again and you smile apologetically. “I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable though. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “It’s cool. You can just google me for all the answers anyways. I’m pretty sure the Smithsonian has a webpage on me.”

You snort. “That’s a subtle brag.”

Bucky feels his cheeks flush and shakes his head. “No. I just meant… like, Howling Commandos and Steve-“

“She’s just messing with you, man.” Sam laughs as he reaches across the table for a biscuit. “She knows who you are.”

Bucky looks back at you and finds the teasing smile on your face. He flushes red and that only makes you laugh too. Bucky presses his lips together and nods slowly. “Nice.”

“Hey.” You nudge him with your elbow. “If it helps, I think you look pretty good for someone who fell off of a train, lost an arm, was brainwashed for decades and then fought an army of Titans.”

Sam’s shaking his head and Sarah is just staring at you with wide eyes, but Bucky’s lips quark up as he tries not to laugh. “Thanks.” His eyes move over you. “You look pretty good for someone who’s friends with Sam.”

“Hey!” Sam cuts in defensively. “You know, most people think I’m cool.” You and Bucky smirk at each other before both turning to Sam with open mouths, ready to tease him. “Nevermind.”

Bucky can’t help but watch as you throw your head back and let out one of the most beautiful laughs he’s ever heard.

》

“Boys!” You call from the dock with a bright smile. Bucky spins so fast he thinks he’s got whiplash until he sees your happy face. You’ve got your sunglasses hooked in the collar of your t-shirt and a tray of iced coffees in your hands. “I know I’m late, but I come with some refreshments.”

Sam scoffs from next to Bucky. “Coffee isn’t really all that good for rehydration.”

Your smile drops for a millisecond before you turn your attention to Bucky. He gestures awkwardly for a moment before his right hand lands on his hip and his left hand waves. “I like coffee.” He blurts.

You bite down a smile as Bucky ignores the blush he knows is on his cheeks. Maybe it’ll just pass off as a sunburn, or heat exhaustion.

“See, Sam.” You smile victoriously. “Bucky appreciates my gifts.”

Sam scoffs and Bucky just stares at you avoiding Sam’s glare. “He won’t when he tastes the sugar monstrosity you’ve probably brought him.”

You pout and step closer to the boat. You shakily try to step onto deck, but stumble at the last minute. Bucky’s hands shoot out to steady your waist and you look at him with a shy smile and grateful eyes.

“Thank you, Bucky.” You say softly as he helps you step onto the boat deck steadily. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I got you what I drink.”

You lift one of the iced drinks out of the carrier. Sam was right, it looks like a sugared disaster, more cream than coffee; Bucky has to force himself not to scrunch his nose up at the drink.

“Thank you.” Bucky takes the coffee from you and stares down at it. You hand one over to Sam and then finally pull your own out.

“If...If you don’t like it, don’t even worry.” You say as the three of you move back to the part of the deck the boys had been working on all morning.

Bucky takes a sip and well, it’s not awful. Nor is it even that bad. Definitely more sugar than he was used to, but he needed to get out of his comfort zone anyways.

“I like it.” He states. “I’d like anything you give me.” He smirks as you look down at your feet nervously. “You’ll have to tell me what you order so I know.”

Your smile brightens and you nod excitedly, pulling your phone out. “Give me your number, I’ll text it to you.”

“You can just write it down.” Sam says with a teasing smirk when Bucky looks up and glares over your shoulder. “I mean-“

“Ignore him.” You roll your eyes and hold the phone out, the contact page already cued up. As Bucky takes the phone and begins to type his number in, you spin around to face Sam. “I’m trying to make friends here, Wilson. Stop trying to discourage it because you’re afraid he and I could lead to world destruction together.”

Sam laughs loudly and Bucky hands the phone back to you. “I’m not worried about the world as much, I'm worried about me. I can already tell you two will be a pain in my ass together.”

You glance at Bucky and wink before slipping the phone back into your pocket. “Stop stalling Sam, we’ve got work to do.” You scoff as you begin to pull out tools.

Bucky looks at Sam with a smirk. “Yeah, Sam. We’re trying to get some work done while you’re just standing there.” Bucky sturdies the piece you had begun screwing in with his left hand.

Sam sighs and returns to his earlier position. “I’m so glad you two have met.” He mutters sarcastically.

》

The shield slips onto Bucky’s arm easily. “Looking good!” You wolf whistle as you make your way towards the boys in Sarah’s yard.

Sam rolls his eyes, but Bucky puffs his chest out a little and smiles. “Hey!” He says as you come to a stop in front of them.

Bucky’s eyes trail over your figure. “Hey. I heard you were leaving today.” Your attention is solely on Bucky as Sam stands beside him with a knowing smile.

He nods apologetically. “I’ve got some stuff to do back home in Brooklyn. I uh-“ He looks down at his boots. “You have my number. I would love to keep in touch.”

You bite down on your lip as you nod. “Of course! Anybody who can handle Sam is someone I want in my life.”

“Are you two just gonna make fun of me everytime you’re together? Because I’ll cut this off right now.” He says jokingly.

You rock back and forth on your feet nervously before finally talking. “I’ll let you two get back to it. I just wanted to say bye!” You pull Sam into a tight hug before turning to Bucky. “Um, I’ll see you later. I hope?”

He nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! Yeah, I mean. I hope so too.” He stands awkwardly in front of you, unsure of if he should hug you or just settle for a handshake.

Your hands land on his shoulders as you lift yourself onto your tippy toes and press a kiss to his cheek. His cheeks are burning red by the time you pull away and wonders if you’re as nervous as he is. “I’ll see you around, Bucky.” You say sweetly before spinning on your heel and walking off.

Bucky watches you go with soft eyes as Sam just stares at him incredulously.

》

Bucky doesn’t get to see much of you the next couple weeks, but he hears from you all the time. Text messages telling him to have a good day. Photos of animals you see around your hometown. Photos of you and your family or friends.

It always makes his day and you never seem to mind if it takes him a long time to reply.

“You gonna come down?” Sam asks as he and Bucky walk through the empty streets of Brooklyn. “Y/N has been asking about you. When you’ll be in Louisiana again.”

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t know. I... I might stay up here.” Bucky answers quietly. He wanted to see you. You had easily become one of his favorite people to talk to, even if you had barely seen each other in person.

Sam snorts. “Come on. The boys want to see you. Sarah. We all loved having you around.” He bumps his shoulder into Bucky’s.

“I won’t be intruding?” Bucky asks softly.

Sam shakes his head. “You know that you won’t, Bucky. I’m not gonna force your hand, but I know she would like to see you as much as you would her.”

“Really?” Bucky tries not to sound too excited by the idea of you asking Sam about Bucky and when he’d be back in Louisiana.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah. She asks about you. Just… Come down for a few days?”

Bucky nods slowly. “Yeah… Okay. I will.”

》

The dock is packed with people. Bucky smiles at the laughter and cheerful screams of the people around him. Crowds weren’t normally his thing, but this town of people loved each other so much he couldn't help but relish in the warmth.

“Bucky! Bucky!” He slips his sunglasses off as Sam’s nephews come rushing towards him excitedly. They throw fake punches and kicks that Bucky dodges before they lead him to the food table.

He places his cake on the edge and stops to look around. He knows he’s searching for you, but he can at least try to be as nonchalant as possible about it.

“You went all out for your dish, huh?” Your voice makes him spin around. You’re behind him with crossed arms and an amused smile on your face. The sun is casting such a beautiful light over you that Bucky is speechless for a moment.

Bucky shrugs. “I didn’t… I’m not much of a chef and I didn’t want to come empty handed.” He explains sheepishly.

You shake your head before moving forward and wrapping your arms around his neck. Bucky immediately responds and wraps his arms around you tightly.

“I’m so happy you came down again.” You whisper to him and pull back to look at him. He smiles sweetly at you. “Me too. It’s nice to see you again.”

You pull completely away, but slide your arm through his and begin to walk with him. “Come meet everyone. I’ve been talking about you non-stop, everyone is so excited to meet you.”

You pull him around and introduce him to friends and family. Your arm never leaves his and that makes Bucky feel extremely warm on the inside. He’s positive he’s going to melt by the time you’re pulling him towards the food.

“Hey!” Sam is the last person you and Bucky find. He’s sitting with Sarah and his nephews as they all eat. “Sit! I’m sure you’re tired of introducing your boyfriend to everyone.”

You and Bucky look away from each other nervously as you take your seats. “Shut up, Sam.” You hiss as you take your seat next to him.

Sam rolls his eyes as he hands over food to you and Bucky. It’s not awkward, but everytime you and Bucky make eye contact he feels his cheeks get warm and you look away with a nervous smile.

“I should head out.” You finally say, picking up the plate in front of you to throw it away on your way out. “Thanks for all this, Sam. Sarah. It was so great to see everyone again.” They nod with bright smiles and your attention focuses on Bucky. “Will you be staying for a while?”

He shrugs, unsure of what to say. “I…I think so. Yeah.” You nod slowly and stand in front of him for a moment like you’re waiting for something before sighing. “Well, I’ll see you later.” You wave before turning and beginning to walk away.

Bucky watches you for a few seconds before turning back to look at the table. Everybody is staring at him with poorly concealed smirks.

“What?” He asks defensively. He takes a sip of his water and they continue to just stare. “Stop staring at me. It’s weird.”

“You better go after her!” Sam shoves his shoulder which makes Bucky choke a little on the water. “She just waited for you to walk her home!”

Bucky begins shaking his head vehemently. “No. No way! She was saying goodbye. To all of us.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Bucky!” Sarah chimes in. “She likes you! She literally introduced you to everyone she cares about today!” There’s a chorus of yeahs from Sam and the boys that has Bucky glaring playfully at them.

“Really? She wanted me to walk her home?” He asks Sam quietly. Sam scoffs. “Yeah, man. So you better start hustling to catch up with her!”

“Shit!” He pushes himself off of the bench. “Okay! I’ll see you guys later!” He calls out with a hasty wave before jogging away from the table.

You can’t have made it far, but if you’ve already left the dock entirely there’s no way he’ll find you. He had no clue where you live or even what direction he would have to go in to find you.

He stops at the entrance of the dock and looks around while huffing out breaths. His eyes catch on your sundress and he smiles. “Y/N!” He calls out, jogging to catch up with you.

“Hey! Wait up!” You pause and turn around to face him. Your eyes light up but you don’t say anything to him as he comes to a stop beside you. “Let me walk you home?” He asks nervously.

Surprise crosses your features before an excited smile takes place. “Okay.” You say softly. “I would love that.” You wrap your hand around his bicep and step closer as the two of you begin to walk.

Bucky appreciates that you seem to be comfortable with talking because the entire twenty minute walk passes quickly with your stories and jokes. By the time the two of you have reached your front door Bucky is trying to come up with a reason to go around the block one more time.

“Thank you for walking me home, Buck.” You say quietly. You cross your arms over your stomach and run one hand up and down the opposite arm. Bucky smiles at you as you speak. “I had a nice time talking to you.”

Bucky stuffs his hands into his pockets and nods. “Me too. I enjoy talking to you. You’re a breath of fresh air.” He admits. It was nice to talk to somebody who wasn’t a part of his old life, who was completely new and who only knew this him, not Bucky from the forties or the winter soldier. Maybe his therapist had been right about needing to talk to more people.

You bite your lip and look off to the side before your eyes find his again. “Thank you. You’re really sweet.”

“Well, I’ll let you go.” Bucky takes a step back from you and your house. The two of you watch one another and Bucky knows he should say something. Ask you on a date. Tell you you’re pretty. He just can’t get the words out.

“Oh, Bucky.” You sigh as your hand wraps around his wrist and pulls him back into you. His left hand immediately lands on your waist in order to steady himself. Before he can apologize or pull it away, you’re leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

He doesn’t respond, unable to with how quickly you lean in and pull away, but you’re smiling sweetly at him. “Ask me out.” You demand softly.

Bucky chuckles. “Do you… Would you want to go on a date with me?” He asks, still a little nervous.

“I would love to.” You wrap your arms around his neck and Bucky lifts his other hand to rest on your waist too. “I can take you to some of my favorite places around town.” You offer and Bucky nods quickly.

Bucky enjoyed Louisiana.

He thinks he may have finally found a home outside of Brooklyn, which was a once upon a memory. Somewhere clean of Steve and a life Bucky would never get back. Somewhere with Sam forging a bond of brotherhood and you building something new with him too.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

notes // i don’t know how some of you write only on your phones it stresses me out so much kudos to you lol hope you liked this short piece, keep an eye out for my other two requests this week!

reblogs and replies are always appreciated if you enjoyed this!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes and reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes fic

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the-kingshound · 2 years

Note

I suspect my last ask got lost in the sea of asks that you likely get, so I figured I'd ask again.

What are Arthur's thoughts on the reader finding love with someone else? He knows their marriage is primarily political in nature, but would be be sad that he wasn't able to woo the MC? Or would he be an amazingly supportive friend, who's all for the reader finding happiness despite the difficulty of the position they've been thrust into?

Main reason I ask, is due to the whole Gwen/Lance situation that's often used as a plot device. I don't want to sneak around behind his back, because at the end of the day he's our spouse. So even if it made him upset, I'd rather the reader is able to be open and forthcoming about their other relationship. Obviously I hope it's possible to form a deep friendship with him instead, where it's mutually acknowledged that they aren't in love, and support whatever love the other finds outside of their political marriage.

Ah yes, I get this kind of ask relatively frequently, I should put it in the FAQ just because it's a very valid question in the face of the game's premise. I answered something similar but I can't seem to find that ask so let me get to your question.

Arthur doesn't have expectations for MC, not as a spouse and even less as a possible lover. In fact, you will see what he values for MC is their happiness first and foremost. Following this, if MC happens to find their happiness with someone that isn't him, he will be as content as he would be if MC chose to pursue him. They honestly, deeply want to see their spouse feel safe and relaxed in Camelot, however that will happen.

On the other hand, Arthur also cares for all the other ROs so that would feel like a double win: MC is happy and the RO is happy. Triple win if MC or said RO (or ROs) decide to confide in him so that he can play matchmaker, give advice like the wise (in his opinion, mind you. He happens to be the most inexperienced in the romantic field out of all the ROs) man he is and gossip a bit.

You should know that I created Arthur with some things in mind, one of those being that there will be a story where the promised spouse will for once be supportive. So no cheating and no going behind anyone's back, here. I mean, there is really no need to.

If we take into consideration the practical side of things, Arthur will always leave MC their own space and autonomy. They will have separate chambers and they will only need to work together, nothing more - at least, Arthur won't ever push for something more.

If you as a reader find happiness and want to court some other RO, Arthur is there to listen. Or to encourage you when you need it and maybe are too ashamed/awkward/insecure to ask.

As far as Arthur is concerned, though, MC will come to love him. Not in a romantic way, not unless you choose to, but a burning love born because Arthur is the one MC chose to follow.

This has nothing to do with the routes, though. Just to say that your relationship with Arthur will always be a strong one. It can become maybe strained if you go for a certain path, but never broken.

#ask #arthur #MC #FAQ

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five-rivers · 3 years

Text

@lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks came up with this op!Danny/Marvel AU!

BTW I need help naming this newest proof that I can't keep anything to a short little one-shot.

Loki was not, and never had been, a good man. For that matter, whether or not he’d ever been a good boy was debatable. His mother would argue that he had, but she would very likely be the only one. Well, except for Thor, perhaps, but that was because he was an idiot who could drown in three inches of nostalgia. Like he didn’t remember every time Loki had humiliated him. Maybe he didn’t, for all that he kept falling for the same trick over and over again.

It made Loki’s late nights studying the arts of illusion, misdirection, and lying seem redundant. Almost. Not everyone was as dense as his big brother.

No. Loki had never been a good man. He had, however, been a free man.

Free to run or hide. Free to explore the nooks and crannies of Asgard, to uncover her secrets in ways few cared to do. Free to walk hidden paths between the Nine Realms and even farther flung territories, where his people did not and had never ruled, to play games, make deals, have adventures, take risks. To be. To exist as his own creature.

He had been free. He had.

But on one of those little secret excursions, he had discovered something that had made even his flippant, slippery heart clench with fear. A ravening plague, spreading across the stars. The death of half of everything on the horizon.

Loki was not a good man. What cause did he have to care for all the sundry others in the universe? There were too many. It was too much to ask.

But Asgard—His home, even though the had long ago realized the blood in his veins originated on very different soil. That was different.

Asgard, he could help. Asgard could survive.

But it had to be strong. It had to have strong allies. None of this barely-held peace, this enemy eternally at their gates. It needed strong leadership. Not his brother’s simplistic view and longing for the glory of war.

Loki was not a good man. But he was one who could get things done.

Before he knew it, he had burned all his bridges behind him. In one case, a literal bridge that was literally broken.

And he fell.

And he fell right into the hands of the one he had feared enough to do this. Broken enough for poison to drip into the cracks. No one knew where he was, no one could know where he was, except, perhaps, Heimdal, and Loki sincerely doubted Heimdal cared. No one was coming for him. No one was looking for him. No rescue was forthcoming.

He was alone.

Asgardians were considered gods for a reason. Their bodies and minds were much more resilient than the average mortal’s. But Thanos’s people had been titans, and there was a reason for that, too.

Thanos enjoyed breaking him.

And Loki turned his lies on himself. A skilled master of games always had one gifted opponent, even alone. Hadn’t he wanted to rule? To command? To see a world, any world, prostrate at his feet? To be given the recognition and praise of which he was so worth?

To pull something, anything, out of the fire?

(If he had spent less time learning how to spin lies and more on how to see the truth, he might not have believed it. A better, wiser, man would have. But Loki was not a good man. And he was very skilled in his craft.)

So, his new master put a weapon in his hands, and he went off to conquer a world.

Danny was used to rude awakenings. He was used to those rude awakenings being full body chills and ghosts, not someone knocking on his door.

Blearily, he pulled himself out from under the blankets. Quasi-military government facility or not, the beds were comfortable. Maybe Mom or Dad had gotten themselves locked out of their room? Or Jazz—No, not Jazz, she hadn’t come with them. She was at college, not being flown places by Mom and Dad’s suspiciously generous new consulting job.

At least it wasn’t the GIW.

He stood on tiptoe (curse his perpetually short body) to peer out the peephole. His parents’ buff, one-eyed, and incredibly imposing new boss stood in front of the door, hands on his hips, slightly sweeping back his long dark coat. If Danny listened carefully, he could hear two other people near the door, and… was that an alarm? Yes. Faint, but present, was a warning klaxon.

Okay. Danny would bet his right arm that something had gone horribly wrong with whatever his parents were consulting on. Didn’t explain why the boss was in front of his door.

Unless they’d gotten the rooms mixed up, somehow?

Ugh. Danny wasn’t paid enough to deal with this.

He opened the door. “What-?”

“Phantom,” intoned eyepatch guy with great solemnity.

Danny immediately tried to close the door. The guy stuck his foot in the jamb, and, sure, Danny could have crushed it, but that would be a jerk move. He didn’t think this guy was going for a pirate look, after all.

“We need your help.”

“I’m not sure what you think I can help you with,” yelled Danny over the beating of the helicopter blades. He’d remained stubbornly in human form. “My parents are the scientists. This sounds like a science thing. Not a punching-people thing.”

“We spoke to them earlier,” said Fury, “and we have plenty of scientists working on the theories they brought up. You’re the one with practical experience.”

“Practical experience in what?”

“Interdimensional portals,” said the woman, who had yet to introduce herself.

As if this whole thing wasn’t already giving him a bad feeling. “My parents built an interdimensional portal. Again, you should be talking to them. They’re the ones you’re paying.”

“We could pay you, too,” said Fury, “but we assumed you would want to avoid letting your parents know about this, as you’re still a minor and they have control of your bank accounts.”

Danny stared flatly. “This is blackmail.”

“We aren’t threatening you,” pointed out the woman.

“Emotional blackmail,” said Danny, glaring, daring her to challenge him on whether or not he actually knew what blackmail was.

In the meantime, the helicopter landed. Danny unbuckled and hopped out, trailing slightly awkwardly behind Fury and the woman. He didn’t want to stand out, but he suspected that, being the only kid here and being in the general vicinity of Fury, who radiated authority, that was a lost cause.

“This is Agent Coulson. Coulson, this is Phantom.”

Danny’s mouth went dry(er) at how casual the introduction was. His eyes went nervously to all the other people running around the field. With all the noise, it was unlikely anyone had heard, but still…

“Can you not? Secret identity and all? Unless you’ve told everyone herealready, which, rude.”

Fury sighed. “How bad is it?” he asked Coulson.

“We’re not sure,” said Coulson. “That’s the problem. Big fan of your work, by the way,” he added as an aside to Danny. He glanced at the woman. “Agent Hill.”

“Background?” asked Fury as he led the way into the building.

“The first energy surge was four hours ago. Dr. Selvig’s equipment picked it up – He’s the head scientist on this project.”

“Dr. Selvig isn’t authorized to test,” said Fury. “We wanted to run his plans by the Fentons.”

“He wasn’t testing. He wasn’t even in the room. He called it ‘spontaneous advancement.’”

“It turned itself on?”

“What are the energy levels?” asked Fury before Hill’s question could be answered.

“Climbing,” said Coulson.

“Mr. Fenton,” said Fury, “any comments?”

“Look, I don’t even know what this thing that you built looks like or what it’s a door to.” Danny frowned as a thought occurred to him. “You’re not expecting me to fight whatever comes out of it, are you? Because, unless you’ve got a ghost portal down there, I can’t make guarantees.”

“It’s called the Tesseract,” said Coulson. “It’s supposed to be a connection to the other side of space. A source of unlimited energy. At least,” there was a note of humor in his voice despite the evacuation taking place around them, “that’s what the scientists say.”

“A door to space?” asked Danny, firmly shoving down his excitement at the prospect. “Like, a Stargate?” It was no good, he could practically feel himself sparkling. He took a firm grip of his core and reminded himself he might need to fight before the end of the day.

“Well, no,” said Coulson. “It’s this little… cube… thing.” He made a shape with his hands.

“Oh,” said Danny, mind still whirring. “You know, if it’s really a tesseract, it isn’t a cube in just three dimensions, so bigger things could come out of it than you’d think.” He’d seen some weird portals in the Ghost Zone.

“Well, right now, we’re just getting energy.” They entered a large room with an extremely sci-fi setup. It looked like they were planning to shoot some kind of laser across the room onto a platform surrounded by strange-looking panels. There were men with guns scattered around in what was probably a well thought out formation Danny couldn’t see. There was also a dude with a bow sitting up in the rafters. He frowned down at Danny as he noticed Danny noticing him.

“Dr. Selvig!”

“Director!”

“What do we know?”

Danny allowed himself to be distracted by the centerpiece of the room, a piece of machinery built around what was indeed a little cube thing. He tilted his head and approached, trying to get a better view of it around the people in lab coats and protective gear currently swarming it. He caught mention of radiation a grimaced.

It was unlikely to kill him, but, really, everyone here should probably be wearing more PPE. You never knew what was going to come out of an interdimensional portal, after all. Except trouble. Trouble was a pretty safe bet.

It was pretty. Blue. Reminded him a little of a blue raspberry ice pop. Part of him wanted to lick it. Which was stupid. He didn’t want to wind up half what-ever-lived-on-the-other-side on top of his regular ghost nonsense.

“Mr. Fenton?”

Danny jumped and turned, refocusing on the adults, who had multiplied while he’d been daydreaming. The guy with the bow had joined them.

“Mr. Fenton? Like the Doctors Fenton I spoke to earlier?” asked Selvig.

“Yeah, it’s—”

This, of course, was when everything decided to explode. Sort of.

The blue cube shot out a beam of energy that had more than a little in common with the Fenton Bazooka’s portal setting. The beam terminated on the platform, a portal rapidly forming.

Danny slid into a fighting stance, and barely even noticed as blue energy washed over the room, throwing many less-prepared people back.

Something shaped like a man stepped through the portal.

Danny did not break his stance. Still. “An alien,” he whispered, eyes wide. If they were friendly, maybe they’d answer his questions about space. If they weren’t friendly, maybe they’d answer his questions about space after Danny beat them up.

(Danny did not go ghost. Did not even think about going ghost. There were too many people here, and the space was too open.)

Fury attempted to negotiate. Danny approved. Not everything that came through an interdimensional portal was necessarily evil.

Except this guy apparently was. Go figure. He could also deflect bullets and was very good with throwing knives, which led to Danny having to pull several of the gun guys out of their own line of fire as well as the alien’s line of knife. Who would have thought an alien’s weapon of choice would be throwing knives? The energy-blasting spear was much more in line with his expectations.

The bow guy proved to be more competent than the gun guys. This didn’t really surprise Danny. Bow guy sort of had to be competent. Otherwise, no way would they let him go around with a bow. Like, seriously. A bow.

Even so, bow guy was fighting an alien and—

“You have heart,” said the alien, raising the spear.

Danny pushed bow guy out of the way, and his mind fuzzed out.

(The human part of it, anyway.)

Loki didn’t know what a child was doing here, and he didn’t particularly care. The boy would do for a hostage, at least. He had a mission he had to fulfil, or else…

Or else.

“Please don’t,” he said turning with a shadow of his usual lazy affect, vaguely insulted that the human thought he could be sneaker that him, “I still need that.”

The human went on and on, apparently burdened with the delusion that he was on the same level as Loki.

Loki was burdened with other things. A glorious purpose. Glad tidings. Freedom. What could be better than freedom?

“A world free from what?” asked the human.

“From freedom,” said Loki, and wasn’t that what he believed, now? Wasn’t that what he’d been shown? “Freedom is life’s great lie.” He would know. He was an excellent liar. “Once you accept that, in your heart—” He batted away an arrow and tsked. “Shield me, boy,” he demanded. Had Thanos misrepresented the scepter’s powers? Or was the boy merely—

A dome of green surrounded him and the boy, thrumming with magic the likes of which he had only seen once, in a tome thrice forbidden.

“Oh,” said Loki, almost purring. “You are interesting. What are you?”

“Half human, half ghost,” replied the boy, tersely.

Loki had never heard of such a creature. No matter. He’d be sure to make good use of him.

“Grab the scientist,” he said, nodding at the balding man who had been with his brother when he’d fought the Destroyer in the desert.

Loki wanted the archer. He seemed interesting. Useful.

Fenton was under thrall. Phantom knew what that felt like. A hundred feet under red water, trying not to drown, whispers everywhere. Pulling. Pushing. Prodding.

This was different, but the principle was the same.

Neither half of him could truly ‘fight’ the other. Fenton and Phantom were a single entity. Not two in lockstep. Even so.

Fenton grabbed onto Dr. Selvig, as ordered. Phantom made sure that was all they did.

“What are you doing, boy?” snapped Loki. “Follow me! Bring the scientist.”

And so, they followed.

Loki breathed. Acquiring Barton had been the right choice. The boy was powerful, but, perhaps because of his unique biology, did not have Barton’s presence of mind, and couldn’t have led him to such wonderful allies.

Allies.

These weren’t truly his allies. Nor were they subjects. They were…

Loki forced himself to breathe. He just had to follow the mission. Follow the mission, let Thanos’s army through. He’d been promised this world. He would have this world.

And then he could be… His mind stuttered over the next word, and he shook his head, trying to drive out the painful buzz of Thanos’s herald and mouthpiece trying to contact him.

He looked up at the drones bustling around, all according to his will. Except the boy, who stared at him, somehow managing to be both utterly blank and challenging at the same time.

He was alone, here.

He was alone.

But what did it matter? Bad men always wound up alone, and Loki… Loki could never be a good man.

#danny phantom #marvel cinematic universe #avengers #dannymay 2021 #dannymay 2021 day 28: alone #dannymay #danny phantom x marvel cinematic universe crossover #op!Danny/Marvel #Not much op!Danny yet tho

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