#genuinely my only problems w it so far are like the occasional odd room and slight eyestrain

[ricecaqes]

i wish i had the right words for this rn but yall dont know how happy i am to like actually play through darkmoon ruins. its always been popular but i feel like it very easily could be a case of ppl saying its good automatically because its hardlist or whatever but like . going through it has been the most fun ive had in celeste in a While. this map is so fucking good yall !!!!!

[brakken]

Finished Before the Storm Episode 2, thoughts below.

Hmmm.

Hmmmmmm.

I have to applaud Deck Nine for their commitment. Their effort to make this game a valuable addition to LiS is noticed and appreciated. This could easily have turned out as shallow fan-pandering, but they’re clearly wanting the game to be something the fans of the original can connect with beyond that.

I’m just... hmm. I’m just not sure it’s quite hitting the mark yet.

When it was announced to be split into three episodes, and that Chloe would be 16 years old, I speculated that each episode would be set a year apart - leaving us with a 19-year-old Chloe, soon to be reunited with Max.

I don’t know if this would have been my preference, as I’m not too keen on when prequels lead right into the original - but I am feeling that making the episodes daily like the first game is causing some clunky, rushed stuff in the narrative. Rachel and Chloe met only a day ago and they’re already preparing to run away together. On its own this wouldn’t be too much of a problem, but when we know they’ll be stuck in Arcadia Bay for another three years - it seems oddly early to be writing in this plot point. We’ll see. The final episode could stick the landing. This is my main hangup at the moment, though.

I hope they chill with their callforwards. I’d been predicting there would be nods to ‘hella’ and Frank’s beans since they’re sort of the big memes in the fandom. The reveal of her car was a nice surprise, but the one that took it too far for me was her hat. I get they are just cute little easter eggs (the hat discovery seems to be optional) - but they get a bit on my nerves when they’re too blatant or excessive. It’s an epidemic in prequels to turn inconsequential details into these crucial tentpoles of the character’s past, erasing years of implied history in the process. The junkyard was originally just Chloe and Rachel’s hideaway (w/ added importance in the later episodes). It is now additionally where Chloe got her car, where she got her hat, where she came up with her nickname for David, and where her dad’s car-wreck was taken, making Arcadia Bay feel suddenly much smaller and emptier. I’m expecting we’ll see her get at least a strip of blue in her hair by game’s end - and I’m totally there for that. But I think I’ll be a little disheartened if they force in any more 'this is how she got this’ stuff.

-spoilers ahead-

The scene with Drew, Mikey and Damon left me a bit torn on whether I liked or disliked its similarities to LiS ep. 4, wherein we sneak into a dorm room, get caught, and witness someone get beaten up on the floor. I think I liked this scene better (those closeups on the tabletop figures were v good), but it’s sort of weird to set those events up in a similar fashion when there aren’t really any meaningful parallels between the characters involved.

One of the things that bugged me about the original game was the text messages being used too obviously as ‘consequence reminders’. I’m appreciating that while that is still present in BtS, it’s coming across more naturally. The texts from Steph and Drew after Mikey's injury felt like the characters had genuine reasons for writing what they did.

On the flipside - recall how I said that I liked that the Backtalk feature was optional? Well, yeah... we were forced to do one in this episode. That wasn’t... fun. 

Also I flubbed it, haha.

I really enjoyed the Tempest segment even though I felt the game railroaded me into it somewhat. They seem a little confused whether they want to focus on the fire or the storm as their primary metaphor. Very crafty of them to pick a scene that mentions both and also has underlying symbolism for our main characters. And heck was I surprised to see Sean Prescott - makes me appreciate that Deck Nine isn’t trying to tiptoe around continuity.

I think I’m happy with how they’re portraying Rachel so far. The original game was always emphasising how much she meant to Chloe, but kept fairly vague on how much Rachel reciprocated. And so far she feels appropriately intoxicating but potentially damaging, without villainising her beyond repair. It helps a lot that her story thread is kept in constant attention. I found this was fumbled a little with Chloe in the first game - in LiS ep.2 her abrasiveness took too much of a spotlight away from her vulnerability and it was harder to sympathise with her. This happens occasionally with Rachel, but not to the same degree thusfar. And the implications in the latest dream of William make it seem to be intentional to some extent. 

But, that doesn’t make it any easier to make decisions... 

... I’m doing my best to get into this younger Chloe’s head, and it hurts to go down roads that I know are damaging to her later on. In the previous episode, I was worried my choices might have locked out of a romance with Rachel. By the time I got to the opportunity in this one, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted it! Yet I still chose the kiss, because it felt in line with where poor-young-awkward Chloe is at. 

I think I miss Max.

Also, we got snow. Snow...! (I mean, I suspect it could have been ash from the fire but nonetheless I appreciate its vague nature and what it’s alluding to.) I don’t know how far they’re planning to elaborate on this but by gum am I happy for it. It’s really cathartic to have these lore hints after the weight put on Max and her powers in the first game. It hasn’t confirmed or debunked anything, but just connecting Rachel more to the storm is what I need.

I think I’ve been subconsciously avoiding speculation since it got me in hot water in the original game, but it’s been kind of nice not guessing the plot direction. The mom reveal took me by surprise. Kind of a tropey moment, but interested to see how it plays out anyway.

The previous episode to a degree managed to capture both the grander narrative aspects and the calmer, quiet moments of the original game. This episode hasn’t fully delivered on that and feels a bit lacking by comparison, while not out-and-out bad in its own right. Also, kinda waiting for them to do something with Eliot - so far he’s pretty much been a BtS-equivalent of Warren, which is equal parts odd and amusing to me.

Fave moments from this episode:

-Graffiti in the bathroom. Fun opening.

-Trying to climb onto the boat in the junkyard. For some reason this made me really laugh.

-Listening to the argument outside Drew’s room. Good tension.

-BS-ing through the Tempest performance. Fun to play, interesting to witness. Dorky Chloe is best Chloe.

-The kiss. I felt guilty about choosing it, but it was a pretty good kiss.

It was oddly tricky to get my thoughts down for this one. Probably from having only played through it once - the details are a bit harder to grasp. We’ll see how it goes with episode 3 once it’s out. Golly, this is the first time I’ve ever had to wait for the release of an episode, haha. 

If you read this far, thanks as always! Here is a Chloe.

[dazedclarity]

if i’m gonna fall, it’ll be from high places (Adil/Toby oneshot)

And you're my nation, my revolution

Living right now, well you can call it disillusioned

Until tomorrow comes

This is how we run [x]

Toby didn’t even realize it at first, when his eyes started sliding over to the young Indian man behind the bar. 

It would just be glances. Quick looks as he trailed pages on the book he was reading, almost as if the bartender were another word between the others. He would see him flick his wrist to pour a shot into the mixer, or fill a glass with a smooth tip of the bottle…fluid, almost graceful movements that practically seemed like choreography to the beat of Betsy’s low notes. Watching him was interesting. Interesting and calming, and in this time of war and his father’s watchful glare, Toby could use any calm he could get. It was almost a relaxation technique, a meditation--when Father would quip about his notes being lower than Freddie’s, or when talk of the Germans got even more grim, or when the voice in his head would remind him how his life would never be of importance, he’d look over to the bar and it was like his troubles melted away in the rhythmic movements.  

Watching that man almost turned into a game. See how many looks he could sneak, before he’d get embarrassed with himself and immediately snap his eyes back to his book. You’re absurd, he’d tell himself. You should be out and about, like Freddie. Sauntering around in a military uniform. Smiling with confidence. Charming rich young ladies at the bar like every other man, like Mother and Father wish you would start doing. The women were handsome enough, he supposed, with curled hair and powdered cheeks, but the urge never came. Not even after all the years that Toby tried to force himself into seeing what is was about them that he was seemingly missing. 

But watching that bartender came oddly naturally. 

He knew the man’s name. Mr. Adil Joshi, who certainly stood out among the rest of the staff, and not just because of his dark skin and distant accent. His features were long and thin, almost delicate, from his gentle face to his fingers that poured and shook the mixers. Most of the staff’s smalltalk or friendly nods were merely rehearsed politeness, particularly to the son of the hotel’s owner. But Mr. Joshi’s almond eyes crinkled with a smile when he asked what “Mr. Hamilton” would like to drink. He often noted the title of the whatever book he was reading that day. He gave low chuckles at Toby’s awkward jokes. 

Still, Toby was not naive enough to think that meant Joshi cared about him. And in any case, he really shouldn’t want a personal relationship with the staff. Only the most desperate, half drunken, and lonely customers truly think the service staff care about them, or that quick glance over their shoulder was in their direction, or that the bartender remembered their preferred order out of fondness rather than a desire for tips. That they may be a real friend and confidant. 

But this one was very, very good at faking it. Especially to Toby. 

And it wasn’t long before Toby, to his interest and worry, found that those dark eyes were as easy to stare at as his bar-tending. 

But the real world had its way of demanding his attention. And usually that came in the form of his Father, standing over him and looming like a great shadow being cast.

“Stop daydreaming like a schoolgirl,” he’d snap, lifting the book from Toby’s hand. 

“I was only--” but then the book would thwack the back of his head, not hard enough to draw attention from people surrounding them but hard enough to stop short his words, and Toby would hang his head in embarrassment as he left his seat and trailed behind his father towards the lobby. 

A few times, Toby would look back to the bar, and Mr. Joshi would be looking his way. Something about his expression seemed almost concerned, but Toby told himself that it was probably just his imagination.  

“Such a waste,” Lord Hamilton tutted. 

Toby placed his hand over Mr. Joshi’s has he slid him his drink. He didn’t even hesitate to think about it. 

Maybe it was the sudden freedom he had found with the death of his father. The thrill of getting his job. The band. The anonymity of the crowded bar. The smell of fine alcohol. Maybe even Mr. Joshi’s deceptively genuine-sounding speech. Whatever it was, he didn’t remember ever feeling this bold. 

He didn’t know, and he didn't much care. His fingers trailed over the other man’s. And Mr. Joshi didn’t even flinch, much less pull away. Like he’d been waiting for that a long time. 

Toby slid his gaze up to him, up to those dark eyes. He wasn’t disappointed. They were just slightly smiling as Mr. Joshi looked down towards their hands.

“You alright there, Toby?”

And in another moment, the bubble burst and Toby Hamilton remembered exactly who he was. The real world rushed around him in a tidal wave of sounds and bodies, and he pulled his hand back, now awkward and stiff. Adil turned away with a stilted nod. Heavy disappointment swelled in his stomach and he politely greeted Mr. O’Hara, but he pushed it down, and the other man seemed none the wiser. The feeling of Joshi’s smooth skin lingered on his fingertips for the rest of the night. 

When the rush wore off and his heart stopped beating, Toby was a little surprised at the calm that washed over him. 

Mr. Joshi had kissed him. 

It’s not like he’d never…thought of kissing another boy. Far from it. The idea had fluttered through his thoughts like a whisper since his mid-teens, maybe even a little before. In late quiet nights in the dormitory, in long lonely days at the hotel. It’s just that whenever it formed, he pushed it back and rationalized it away. He didn’t even scold himself, not really, as scolding would require that he acknowledged what he felt. He only told himself that it irrational and unnatural that he didn’t really want that, of course. Everyone has odd thoughts sometimes. In any case, there isn’t anything wrong in noting, in an intellectual sense, that another man is objectively attractive.  

But then it happened. 

Toby stood in the middle of his room for nearly half an hour that night, dazed like the world was spinning. He’d tried to do what he had done for years: rationalize it, cut it into numbers. He was just shocked is all. It came out of nowhere, and, what’s more, was a terrible breach of conduct for a member of the staff. He just needed a break, a drink…it was nothing. He felt nothing. 

Yet the more he repeated them in his mind, the less believable the lies became. He didn’t stop it. He leaned into it. He…enjoyed it. 

He wanted to do it again. 

Toby’s mind wandered back to the ballroom after the raid, when he was high on survival and something else, something alien. The daze had still been there, following him like a hazy fog. He’d stood at the table on the far side, and when he looked up, there was Joshi, who made brief timid eye contact before looking back down. He had been scared, Toby knew. He had reason to be. There was a bit of him that was too, but the bigger part of him felt an odd peace. And there was that feeling again–that wonderful one where he finally knew what he wanted.

When Lady Theresa had stood to ask for a dance, he waved her off. His eyes never left Mr. Joshi. Oh, there would be hell to pay sometime, but that didn’t matter then. All that mattered was that he felt like he finally made sense.

So there it was. Acceptance. Toby expected fear for himself, maybe even disgust. Shock and horror and a desire to run. But when the adrenaline wore off, all he really felt, despite it all, was an overwhelming calm. Like a weight he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying had been lifted off. Suddenly, a laugh bubbled out of him. A smile broke over his face, and he covered it with his hand.

Kissing Adil again was a dream. He’d never felt more alive, never felt more at home. Never felt more in command of himself or sure of anything. 

Perhaps his life was a waste. But he knew how he wanted to waste it.  

Being with Adil didn’t make watching him any less intriguing. If anything, his problem worsened. 

It was easier, honestly, when Toby was seated on the other side of the room from the bar. Through the throngs of dancing bodies and crystal glasses, he could always find the gleaming pressed white of Adil’s jacket. He could feel the same relaxation in his swift bar-tending and watch him charm his customers with that lovely smile. Toby nursed liquor glass under his lip, letting his mind wander--to stolen hours in his hotel room in the dead of night, laughter muffled under each other’s hand, kisses on his neck and low moans in response, that pristine white jacket on his floor. 

He’d entertain himself like this until Adil would notice him. Usually he’d get a half serious look of reprimand, that half cock of an eyebrow that only made Toby chuckle under his breath. But occasionally, if the brass was particularly low and bold that night and Betsey’s voice particularly lilting, Adil would grant himself a flirtatious glance over the counter, just the slightest of teasing smiles and those wide dark eyes glinting in mischief. 

But when Toby found himself close to the bar, things were harder. At least at first. 

Because then people might notice the lingering glances he sent to the bartender. People might notice if he had a particularly bad day, and let his fingers graze over his hand in an impulsive, momentary need for contact. People might notice if he forgot himself and said too much, or accidentally called Adil by his first name, or...

“Relax,” Adil had finally whispered to him as he passed him a glass he hadn’t ordered, “your nervousness gives far more away.”

So Toby downed the drink, released tension in his shoulders that he hadn’t realized he was holding, and sat back to speak with a friend of Freddie’s. When he looked over the bar again, Adil was sending him a pleased smile from the corner of his eye. Then Toby heard him whisper another comment, one that he wasn’t sure he was actually supposed to hear:

“It’s alright, Mitwa, your father isn’t here.”

Toby looked over the ballroom. It was true, somewhat. He’d half expected his father to break through the ballroom and darken the lights over him like a stormcloud. In a sense, he was still there, just hanging in the edge of his vision from time to time, but disappearing whenever Toby turned his head to look.

But his father was gone. He knew this. Toby just wished his instincts knew that too. 

His father owned 24 years of his life, he sure as hell wasn’t going to own any more of them. 

So the next time he sat by the bar, he let himself lean in a little farther than was truly necessary and smirked at Adil with a wink when he got his drink. Not much, but enough to feel rebellious. Just enough to be a challenge.  

“What have you done to me?” Toby asked, piercing though the silence of the night. 

Adil tilted his head up to look at him. His cheek had been resting against his hands, which were placed atop Toby’s chest. He blinked twice lazily, as if he had almost been asleep and Toby had rudely awakened him. “I don’t know. What have I done, Mitwa?”

Toby only hummed in response, running his fingers over Adil’s hair. He watched the calm golden glow of his bedside lamp flash through the black strands. The light reflected in Adil’s dark eyes as well, gleaming as they stared up. Toby breathed out. He looked beautiful, even moreso than when he was all pressed and prim and slicked back. Nothing could match the uncommon beauty of Adil with his hair falling gently towards his eyes, relaxed, half naked, and with a tired smile on his lips. Leaning into Toby’s hand as it fell to cup his cheek. 

A bittersweet thought flickered through Toby’s mind. Light but painful, like a beesting. 

Years from now, when I’m married and sent away, this image is what I’ll dream of.

Suddenly, the gentle contentment of the moment was gone. Toby leaned his head back against the headboard. He hated this. That as happy and in love as he could feel, these moments couldn’t just exist on their own. Always a premature sense of loss that nagged at him the more he tried to ignore it, making its presence known long before it was even fair, because Toby hadn’t lost Adil yet. He likely would. He knew this. But not yet. 

“Darling...” Adil moved up to sit parallel to him, “what is bothering you?”

“It’s utterly frustrating that you can do that.”

“It’s my job,” Adil replied calmly, “I’m--”

“The bartender, and bartenders learn to read people. I know.” 

“I was going to say the man who loves you,” Adil sighed, running his hand down the front of Toby’s chest. Toby chuckled at that, and finally lifted his head from the headboard to lift an eyebrow at him. 

“Were you really?”

Adil paused. Then the edge of his mouth twitched with laughter. “No, I was going to say the bartender. See...” Adil took his hand off Toby’s chest to gently take his chin and run a thumb over it, “You’ve come to predict all of my moves as well. You know exactly what I say before I say it. Now, Mitwa, what is bothering you?”

And just like that, the nagging pain of loss hit him again. He looked away from Adil again, into the vacant space and shadows of the room.  “You’re right, I do know what you’re going to say. Because we’ve had this conversation before.”

Adil bit his lip and closed his eyes. “Toby...”

“--and your answer was perfectly right and sensible. That there’s no point in me worrying about tomorrow, because there might not even be one, and every time we hear the sirens it could be the end. But...” He almost buried his face in his hands. But then he thought the better of it, and reached forward to grip Adil’s hand, pulling it up so that he may kiss his palm. “I still can’t stop fretting over it, Adil, deep down. I want to be here with you now. But I can’t stop thinking of the future, and of losing you. Of being made to...you know.” He shook his head in embarrassment and frustration.  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry--”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Adil reminded him, as he always did when he went off like that. “Please, don’t apologize.”

Toby nodded. “You’re right. Sorry,” he said before he could stop himself. 

It was like a sick joke. Just as he’d finally gotten over his past hanging on him and weighing him down, the future begun to haunt him just the same. And there was no leaving behind what is yet to come.

“I know you don’t worry about this as I do--”

“I do.” 

Toby looked at Adil in surprise. This time it was his time to look away, in his case down at his knees in seeming shame. Toby scooted closer to him. 

“What do you mean?” he asked tentatively. 

“I worry all the time,” Adil whispered distantly, moving the hand Toby held and linking their fingers together. “I worry about the day that you might move on, be it to another man, if you wished--”

“Adil, don’t be absurd--”

“--or to a wife.” Adil shrugged shakily, hardly concealing his emotions. “You have responsibilities, I know. And it would be wrong of me to keep you from them. It would hurt. Gravely. I’ve accepted that.”

“You’ve never told me this,” Toby said quietly. 

Adil looked his way again. The soft smile was still on his lips, but it was now weakened by sadness. “Look at you, Toby, you’re already worrying so. No need to add to it. I’m trying to prepare myself.” He tilted his head in a show of playfulness, “You just make yourself awfully hard to lose.”

Toby shook his head. It was slow at first, but then it spend up, as he reached forward and pulled Adil into him. Adil betrayed his calm demeanor by gripping him around his back. “You won’t lose me. Not ever.” It was odd. When it was about convincing himself, it never rang true. But for Adil, it felt truer than any words ever spoken. 

“You can’t promise that, darling,” Adil mumbled, in halfhearted jest. 

Toby ran his hand down the other man’s back. He wanted to assert his refusal. But they both knew that it may be a lie. Even if Toby wasn’t auctioned off at some point by his mother, there were still so many other ways for someone to go these days. He’s thought of plenty of them. And of course, there’s always prison. 

For Adil. Not him. He understood that much too. It’s kept him up at night. 

“You know,” Adil spoke up again, “My sister once told me that fretting over the future is a waste. A waste of emotion, because if pain is coming you’re going to have to feel it again anyway, and a waste of time, because we have no way of knowing what God is planning. Ruhi wasn’t always good at following the advice herself, but it always appealed to me.” Adil pulled back out of Toby’s arms, to place his hands on either side of his face, “Perhaps the answer is not to ignore the future. We don’t seem to very good at it. Perhaps we should try another strategy.”

Toby grinned, placing his hand at the top of Adil’s thigh, just at the end of his underwear. “Say Freddie makes it back from the war. Marries Emma on the spot and they have children right away.”

“Then your mother has less of an excuse to get you married.”

Toby sighed in mock relief. Adil laughed at loud, pressing their hands together with their fingers intertwined.

“Let Freddie be Lord Hamilton. I never wanted it anyway.” That wasn’t a full truth. He’s had his moments of jealousy, particularly when every college professor or guest to the hotel would look towards Freddie first, with wide polite smiles that dropped ever so slightly when they took in the less important twin. When his father reminded him in life and death that he was nothing and owned nothing. But he couldn’t have Adil as Lord Hamilton, not likely anyway. Not with so many eyes on him. And at the end of the day, the whole circus had little appeal. “I’ll be the reclusive Mr. Hamilton, locked away with his books in his estate on the edge of the city. Old bachelor, possibly mad.”

“Would anyone live with you in that distant estate, mad Mr. Hamilton?” Adil asked, eyes dancing in amusement. 

“Oh, hardly anyone. A maid, perhaps. A dog. The gardener. Oh, and the head of the household, that odd butler of his. Lovely man. Hired because Mr. Hamilton was just so impressed by his skills at as the head bartender at the family’s hotel.”

“Seems like quite the job. He may just accept,” Adil said through painfully wide grin. 

“He aught to. Because what no one else knows, except perhaps the dog, is that the butler doesn’t go down to the servant’s quarters at night. He goes upstairs and sleeps next to reclusive, mad Mr. Hamilton, every night for the rest of his life.”

“That sounds like a lovely arrangement, sir.” Adil pecked him on the lips, and Toby returned it. “I believe he will accept indeed.”

Toby ran a hand over Adil’s hair. “I would be most pleased if he did.”

Adil dropped his head to Toby’s shoulder. He nestled under his neck and his eyes closed. Toby hugged him closer, stroking rhythmically up and down his arm until Adil’s warm breaths were steady against his skin. All the while, Toby kept that imagined future clear in his mind, and the tinge of sadness never came. 

If they cared to think about it, which they didn’t, they’d know that such a future was unlikely. But close to impossible was not impossible. And even if it didn’t come, even if Toby has to treasure those quiet moments lying next to a woman he couldn’t love, at least he has them now, lit with golden light and perfect. Tomorrow could wait until tomorrow. They were young. They had time. No need to waste it. At least not in that way.