#i might make a more HUMAN looking narrator design but i like making him into shadows and shapes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

queenburd · 1 year ago

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So like I was gonna do more with this and I might later but right now it’s bite sized and pleasant, it’s nicely self contained, so here’s a TSP fic about the narrator being indecisive about making himself a character model.

—

[ I have a question. ] Stanley posits to no one in particular.

He is standing in the room with two doors, quietly considering. As it is his choice, the narrator is quiet here, and allowing him the privacy of his own head. Mustn’t spoil which route Stanley wants to take for himself, he’s said before. Keeps the fellow on his toes.

(Toes. Ha. How relevant.)

“Yes, Stanley?” The narrator prompts him with friendly curiosity. At one point he may have asked with impatience, an effort to keep him moving, but they’ve done every route so many times that sometimes, it’s more fun to take their time. Stop and smell the roses. “What’s on your mind?”

Stanley—fidgets. It isn’t like him, to fidget, or hesitate. When he finally signs again, after a long consideration, it’s clear he’s chosen every word very carefully.

[ It’s probably a silly question. Is that okay? ]

“Well, Stanley, you are a silly person, so I expect nothing less.”

He scowls at the ceiling, scrunching his nose at the tease. There’s no heat in it, of course.

There’s such a… gentleness, to their relationship, these days. For two entities designed to be in conflict, they’ve somehow found a way to meet in the middle, and find the places where they disagree as ways to appreciate each other. It’s hard, having to deal with someone else’s perspective when they think so differently from you.

But it’s good. It’s nice.

“Go on, then. I will reserve my judgement on the silliness of your question for after I hear it.” Stanley snorts.

He looks at his hands. Releases a puff of breath.

[ Do you have a body? ]

There is no response, but this is fine, because Stanley continues, nothing but genuine curiosity behind his thoughts. There is no motive, no craving. Just simple questions.

[ I usually think you don’t, but sometimes you sigh, or cry or clear your throat, or just do things that imply more than just audio. People have lungs and stuff, to make those noises. But I know you’re not human. But do you have a character model somewhere, like mine? ]

“Um. Er,” is the uncertain reply. The fellow sounds caught off guard, a little sheepish. “I… no. I don’t.”

[ oh. Okay. ]

Stanley isn’t disappointed, not really. Okay, perhaps a touch. But not enough to be properly bothered.

“Wh— is that it? No followup?”

He shakes his head.

“Is it a problem that I don’t have one? I’d never thought to—good lord, can you imagine?”

Stanley shakes his head again, then considers it, and lifts a hand, seesawing it vaguely.

It isn’t a problem, per se, that the narrator isn’t a physical being. It’s simply—

[ Humans are social creatures. They need physical interaction and touch. We’re not human though, so I don’t need it. It’s like the sleep thing. ]

“Hm.”

The narrator sounds contemplative, learning something new. Stanley fidgets again.

[ I was just curious. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. ]

“Oh, no, it’s alright,” the tone is dismissive, distracted. It stings a bit, but it’s probably for the best. The last thing Stanley wants is to make them stew in an uncomfortable atmosphere. The pair of them should move on.

It’s honestly fine that Stanley’s never had interaction with another person. Or. Well. He thinks it is. It doesn’t bother him frequently. He ISN’T human, so he isn’t about to go mad without it.

There have been times where he really really wished, needed, craved comfort—mostly in the worst moments when the both of them were affected. The aftermath of the Skip Button ending is the most obvious.

But the narrator’s voice has become its own kind of presence. It can rest on his shoulders like a weighted blanket does, grounding him and soothing him, easily as intimate as a hug.

So there’s no real loss here. Stanley can’t miss something he’s never had. It’s honestly okay.

“Er, Stanley?”

Right. Doors. Stanley crosses his arms and considers them.

“The door on the left, you know the drill.”

Mm. No, he thinks he’ll take the door on the right. The lounge is calling his name, singing sweetly with its serene blue and photos. Then maybe he’ll play a different game behind a blue door.

There’s a little grumble that follows him when he heads to the right. Stanley smiles, gives a cheeky wink.

—

The narrator—ponders.

He doesn’t do it frequently; he finds he doesn’t like to. It’s quite easy for him to get stuck thinking about one little thing, one tiny detail, capturing all his attention until he comes back to himself and finds hours have passed and Stanley is sitting against a doorframe trying to entertain himself with a whiteboard and marker, having long since given up trying to capture his attention.

Pondering is not… good for him, the narrator thinks.

But, as he is prone to do, he catches himself going back to a moment, looking it over again and again, trying to glean something new.

Humans are social creatures. They need physical interaction and touch.

Do you have a body?

The narrator is a voice. He is a part of the parable, he is a mechanism. But then, Stanley is a mechanism of the parable as well; a vessel for a player.

It isn’t the same. They are intrinsically different. But do they have to be?

The narrator is and is not the world; he is and is not the halls, the doors, the very air itself. He controls it, it controls him. He has access to its assets; it has access to his mind.

He wonders if this is how humans feel about their own bodies. Both in control, and plagued by limitations.

Oh, for goodness’s sake, he’s doing it again. Going off on an inexplicable contemplation of the nature of humanity, existence and choice. Honestly, sometimes even the narrator doesn’t know what he’s on about.

The narrator doesn’t have a body. He doesn’t need a body.

Humans are social creatures. They need physical interaction and touch.

Would…

Would Stanley prefer it if he had a body?

I don’t need it.

He thinks on the hesitation in Stanley’s fingers. He wonders what it would be like to squeeze them.

Textures. Temperatures. Softness, firmness, sharpness. Scents, tastes.

Senses he knows about in theory. He has no frame of reference.

Would it be that difficult to make himself a character model? He has assets hidden in the code of the game, models he can edit, tweak, piece together to make something new.

Oh, but how could he choose the right features? How could he know when it’s really him?

And—oh no—what if Stanley dislikes it?

The narrator knows himself, he knows that if he wants to do something he commits to it until he thinks it’s perfect. He won’t settle for less. He’d put his heart and soul into it.

If he put all that work into a model, and Stanley didn’t like it?

He doesn’t think he’d take it very well.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what to do.

—

“When Stanley came to a set of two open doors, he—would you at least be so kind as to let me finish?” The voice berates Stanley as he swerves right without pause. Stanley doesn’t even roll his eyes.

He’s going to go see the lights.

There’s a nervous clearing of the throat. “S-Stanley was so bad at following directions—“

Spare him, please. He understands the needed script, but it grates a bit this time. Stanley balances on the edge of the platform, a hand around the support rail, timing his jump.

“Look, Stanley—“

Not his enemy. No, they’re not enemies. In fact, Stanley would go so far as to call the fellow his dear friend. It’s why he’s doing this.

This is not an act of cruelty. He knows the fear it strikes into the narrator, and in honesty Stanley cannot blame him. The number of times the protagonist has gone down this route just to find a different exit, all in vain, is not a high value, but it’s still too many.

There are only two ways out of the room behind the red door. One is in the narrator’s power, if he can overcome his own nature to use it. The other is in Stanley’s power, and makes them both miserable.

It’s not ideal. And it’s so frustrating, because this place really is beautiful. It really is up there as one of Stanley’s favorites.

Clearly anxious, but trying to keep his composure, the narrator loads the map into the starry dome. In the instant Stanley steps into the room, all the panic falls away, into an easy bliss.

“Oh…”

Stanley walks to the center of the platform and sits. He crosses his legs, craning his head up to watch the lights.

The narrator is quiet, but his flood of real peace is palpable. This is one of the places he seems most open. Most willing to relax.

Usually, that can be a danger after too long. He ends up stopping, never progressing forward, unwilling to move. That’s not a life.

But they’ve compromised on so many things. This is one of those things too.

[ I’m going to stay a while ], Stanley offers in the dark, knowing he will be seen. [ You’ve been preoccupied for a bit. Do you want to talk about it? ]

“I—“

The voice cuts itself off, clearly surprised, the anxiety slipping back in.

[ It’s okay if you don’t. I thought being here might help you deal with whatever’s going on. I’ll wait as long as you need. ]

—

To say the narrator is embarrassed is putting it mildly.

He feels caught red handed, even though he hasn’t even done anything.

“Am I really so obvious?” He grumbles, more to himself than to Stanley. The man grins anyway.

[ I know you. I pay attention. ]

“Hmph. That’s debatable,” he grouses. Still, Stanley was wise to come to this place to prod him. He’s much more at ease here. A little less ashamed, afraid, overwhelmed.

[ Like I said. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I’ll stay here while you sort out whatever’s been bothering you. This way you don’t have to be distracted by the narration. ]

He’s being…. Kind. So kind, to a person who used to be his enemy, his jailer. How has the narrator been so fortunate to have a Stanley that is so exceedingly good? He knows he certainly hasn’t been a fine example in the past.

He sighs. Stanley lays back, hands behind his head on the floor. It can’t be comfortable, on the metal grating. The narrator gives a small noise of warning, before he changes the texture pattern on the dark floor to the rug he’s saved for the Bottom of the Mind Control Facility Bucket ending. It’s a bit more comfortable than the carpet in the office.

It catches Stanley off guard a little, and the narrator chuckles as he shakes his head at the sudden change, like a wet dog shaking off water. But he settles back with a smile.

“If you intend to be there a while, you may as well be comfortable.”

It’s just… so easy. To be with Stanley. To do things for him. To try to make him smile. Like it’s innate. It wasn’t always. But he’s changed. The both of them have.

They look at the lights for a bit. The narrator feels himself relax. Like he’s floating. Like he is one of the lights, going up, down, changing slowly, unhurried and unconcerned.

Why has he been so worried?

It takes him a long minute to realize he wasn’t the one who had wondered that.

Stanley waits for him. Stanley doesn’t demand anything from him. Stanley’s intentions are entirely devoid of deceit or manipulation.

It makes this… easier.

“I…”

But not completely.

“I’ve been thinking. About making something new. I haven’t decided if I should do it, because, well—I worry you won’t like it.”

Stanley’s eyes are closed, but he’s awake. He’s listening.

The narrator is being very careful with his words. It’s been at least fifty runs since Stanley asked him about a model, so he knows at least that it doesn’t occur to the protagonist that this is related.

No, Stanley is wondering if the narrator has been considering new endings. Why wouldn’t he like the new endings? They aren’t ones where he dies painfully and miserably, are they?

The narrator chuckles good-naturedly, suddenly far more at ease. “No, Stanley. No cruel twists of fate that leave you mad or dead, that much I can assure you.”

Okay. Then Stanley isn’t sure why he wouldn’t like whatever the narrator makes for him, if it comes from some place genuine.

It leaves him a little tongue-tied. The narrator hears himself swallow, without a throat.

“It’s not that simple.”

Why not?

“Because…”

Because he doesn’t just want Stanley to like it. He doesn’t want Stanley to be happy because it’s a new thing.

He wants Stanley to like him. He wants to make this thing himself, the way humans shape their bodies to fit the way they picture themselves in their heads, and he wants Stanley to like what he sees.

It would be him. It would be his. And if Stanley was just neutral about it, or just didn’t like how he looked, then—

Oh, he couldn’t bear it. It would hurt him irrevocably. He’d throw it into the deepest pit of code and never think about it again.

“I… I think, if I did try to make this, this idea I’m considering, a reality, well—you know I don’t do things halfway. I’d be so—it needs to be perfect, do you understand? And if I spend all this time on it, only for you to, to—“

To treat it like his story.

“—yes! Exactly! Oh, Stanley, this is for you, it’s all for you. I just want to make something for you that you’ll care about, and appreciate.”

(And love, he is certain not to say. There’s no need to attach such words to this idea yet, that’s a little too dangerous.)

Stanley is very quiet. He’s thinking, but he’s thinking in that way where he wants to be certain with his words, so the narrator gives him his privacy. The narrator looks at the lights. He lets himself relax again.

He can feel Stanley’s tender heart. His compassion. Stanley cares deeply for him, can see how much it matters to him.

A desire fills the protagonist, an intense longing he can’t bury, hard as he tries. The voice can’t help peeking at it, not when it’s bubbling over like a boiling pot against a lid.

More than anything, Stanley wishes he could hug the fellow.

He must make some noise of surprise, because Stanley’s demeanor changes instantly to one of embarrassment and trying to recontextualize.

He wants to comfort the narrator! He doesn’t mean to make it weird! He just wishes he was able to provide the fellow a physical sort of validation!

The narrator feels more than sees Stanley’s face flushing all the way to his ears. He can’t help laughing, not at the man necessarily, not even meaning it at his expense. It’s just…

It’s a little adorable?

Stanley’s embarrassment only grows. Welp. Moment ruined. Time to go throw himself off the stairs.

“Absolutely not!” The laughter dies instantly, turning to an angry sort of panic. Stanley flinches.

Right. Not a funny joke when it’s here.

The narrator inhales deeply. “God, you gave me a fright.”

He can feel the genuine remorse radiating off his friend. Forgives him immediately.

“It’s—it’s alright. Slip of the tongue, as they say.”

Well, Stanley can’t talk, but, yeah. They both are on the same page.

“In any case. Thank you for listening. I… I think I will try, actually. I honestly appreciate your… your sentiment.”

The narrator can hear the smile in his voice. Yes, he’s going to go through with this. He’s certain now.

Because Stanley wants to hug him. And that in itself has erased all his doubts.

Still.

“Can we… stay here, for a little longer?”

He’ll reset. He will. Stanley doesn’t need to hurt himself. It’s just…

It’s so peaceful here.

Stanley shoots a thumbs up at the ceiling, towards the lights. The narrator relaxes again. Tries to imagine himself laying besides Stanley. Looking up with him. He wants it more than anything.

“Thank you, Stanley. I… thank you.”

Soon.

#the sparrow parable #the stanley parable #tsp #tspud #may writes #this was done on my phone so I prefer to keep it bite sized #I might do more for this concept but this for now is so solid that it stands fine as it is #also the narrator is kind of gay. but not intentionally.#they’re still firmly platonic. but they want to hug.

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conceptalbummultiverse · 7 months ago

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References in chapter 36 of Strange Fascination

I know, I haven’t even made a post promoting it yet, but ssshhhhh…(yes, there is a new chapter!) I thought that I’d make a quick post about a few song/real life references in this chapter, since @tabb1tha pointed out one that I didn’t even intend. (Ziggy having white blood is not a reference to the Aladdin Sane album cover- I think that the mysterious liquid on his chest is supposed to be a teardrop, and as for why I gave Ziggy white blood, I've just always liked that concept in general; I first used that concept for a non-human OC in a story I wrote when I was about 10/11 and I wanted to bring it back- but I like that interpretation, it very well could be that!)

The most obvious one is the line “I’m never ever gonna die, and I’m never ever gonna get old” from “Never Get Old” by David Bowie, off his Reality album! (I like Reality a lot, and as an aside- I like the album cover, you guys are just mean.) I wasn’t intending to reference this song as there’s supposed to be a theme to the songs I do reference (that aren’t from the concept albums that I based the universe on), but I think I had been listening to Reality and just felt like throwing it in there.

When Whatsername reads the katakana on the back of Ziggy’s cape (side note- I’m not sure if you’d call it a cape? you know, that thing that Bowie’s wearing at the beginning of the Ziggy Stardust filmed concert that gets ripped off him? but I wasn’t sure what to call it), she reports that it says “hamburgers.” This is a reference to the last line of my personal favorite David Bowie song, “Sweet Thing” from Diamond Dogs. (Well, the entire Sweet Thing Suite is my favorite song of his.) I needed to think of something kind of dumb and silly that could be written on the cape- in my head, Ziggy’s cape was custom-made and the designer who made it had included it as a joke because he knew that the clueless English people (or… English-presenting in Ziggy’s case) who had ordered it wouldn’t be able to read it and would just think it looked cool, so he could write anything he wanted on it and they’d never notice. He was right. Anyway, I chose “hamburgers” because I always thought that non-sequitor at the end of “Sweet Thing” was funny, as if the narrator is losing their train of thought: “If this trade is a curse, then I turn to the crossroads and… hamburgers…” I don’t actually know if there’s a way to write that word in katakana, but… *shrug* Apparently in real life, Bowie’s cape said something badass like “breath of the dragon" and it was rendered in such a way that the letters, when read out loud phonetically, said “Bo Ee.” (I can't find the link where I read this originally, so I might be wrong about that.) I figured I couldn’t use that in my fic because I would have wanted it to be “Zig Ee,” and that didn’t fit the mood of the scene that I was going for.

The outfit Ziggy is wearing below the cape is this outfit from the 1980 Floor Show:

I like this weird-ass outfit. Not much more to say here!

As for non-Bowie-related references, it’ll become more apparent in the next chapter, but Whatsername’s letter begins with “Where have all the riots gone?”- the first line of the song “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

If you’re keeping track of lyrical references- by all means, do so! There is a rhyme and reason to how I chose them- I’d say about 99% of the lyrics I reference in the narrative that aren’t from the albums that the fic is about are from the same two OTHER albums. Both are by the same artist, and both were released in the 2010’s. And yes, that artist made one of the albums that the fic is about. (I feel like this has narrowed things down maybe a little too well, but I don’t want to start the hunt for lyrical references until the story is over and they’ve all been used.)

#SF: ALS #behind the scenes i guess

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hatsunevitu · 1 year ago

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okay this might seem like a lil bit controversial topic but please imagine tfbw but if cartman knew what fancervice and queerbait meant. like. are you really telling me he wouldn’t use it to get more fans and attention and money? please. so i strongly believe he’d make kyle participate in this shit with him to get more profit, and when kyle found out about new romantic-ish scenes between human kite and racoon that cartman had just written into the script for human kite’s movie… kyle’d get completely furious so he went to cartman’s basement and tried to make a scene.

(also i know i can’t call super craig a side character but i believe kyle actually thinks that the main characters are the racoon and human kite. no offense to craig tho. oh and just in case: i do not support queerbaiting!!)

k: Fatass!

c: What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at home reading your script!

k: I did read the script! And what the hell are all those scenes you’ve added? They make no sense!

c: Do not question my narrator’s talent, jew. I’m the one who’s in charge of writing, your task is to memorise it and worship me for all my hard work.

k: Really? Oh, really? “Hard work”, you say? What is this fucking moment, you fat piece of shit?

c: Which one, Kahl? Please, elaborate.

k: “The Racoon is on the verge of death, fighting for every breath, so Human Kite heroically decides to give him mouth-to-mouth. The camera switches to the reaction of other Friends, but loud sounds of CPR can be heard behind the scenes”.

c: Pretty dramatic, huh? I really outdid myself, didn’t I?

k: The whole new script is full of this shit! What’s the matter, Cartman?

c: You know, just decided to make your movie more inclusive and… spicy. Are you against it?

k: Yes! Yes, I am against it, I don’t want to participate in this! There are so many actually homosexual people and by doing this you erase them. That is wrong, unethical and also it’s freaking gay!

c: A-huh. So did I get it correctly, Kahl, that you don’t want to make our characters closer ‘cause that is in your opinion, and I quote, “gay”? What are you, homophobic?

k: Knock it off! Stop twisting my words, that is not what I said!

c: Then I see no reasons to reject my offer, Kyle.

k: It’s just so inappropriate and wrong!

c: What’s wrong about two male characters being close and emotionally attached to each other?

k: Everything! If it’s me and you – everything is wrong! Where’s the catch, Fatass? I will not believe for a single minute that you’re doing it for inclusion of minorities.

c: …Well, okay. I guess�� I guess it is time for you to learn this.

k: Learn what? What are you talking about, Cartman?

c: Have you ever heard the word “queerbaiting”, Kyle?

k: Uh… no. What’s that?

c: Let me start with another question. Who do you think is the most popular character in Racoon and Friends?

k: Um-m-m… I don’t know, probably you?

c: Wrong! It’s not me, Kahl. And wipe that smirk off your face, ‘cause it’s not you either.

k: Then who?

c: Super Craig.

k: What? This can’t be… You’re the main character, he can’t be more popular than you or me! It makes no sense!

c: That’s what I thought! When I first saw the character popularity rank I started thinking… Where was my mistake? How is it possible for a side character like Super Craig to be more popular than me and you? Is it his character design? His backstory? His role in the plot? I was seeking for answers for hours until I finally realised…

k: Realised what? Come on, stop wasting my time!

c: Patience, Kyle, patience. It’s the most important trait for a superhero. So, let me continue. The main reason of popularity when it comes to Netflix… The reason why everyone loves Super Craig so much… The gayness, Kyle.

k: …Huh?

c: That’s right, you heard it correctly. The gayness. Homosexual orientation immediately makes a male character more attractive to fans.

k: …That’s stupid.

c: No, Kahl! There can be no mistake! I looked through the popularity rate of Freedom Pals and guess who the most favorite is there?

k: No way…

c: Yes way, Kahl! It’s fucking Wonder Tweek! The one with the most lousy backstory I’ve ever seen! The fans are completely in love with his cute little dramatic breakup with his boyfriend. Can you imagine it?!

k: Wow… That’s…

c: I understand how shocked you are now, but that’s not the end. Then I’ve heard the term “queerbaiting” and that is so goddamn genius, man, you’ll just love it! It’s when two dudes, who are not directly said to be homosexuals, show some gay hints here and there.

k: So?..

c: Don’t you get it, Kyle? It’s just hints! You don’t have to *actually* be gay, the fans will just fill the blanks themselves! It saves a lot of troubles with homophobes and laws in foreign countries, but you can still make money on gay jokes! That’s sweet, dude!

k: Wait, and do you expect people to actually buy it?

c: …Who are the most popular rivals in DC?

k: Batman and Joker?

c: Who are the most popular characters themselves?

k: …Batman and Joker. Dude… what the fuck?…

c: See? Told you!

k: So you want us to be gay so we become the most liked ones?

c: Yes, if you put it simple.

k: That’s… kind of messed up.

c: Oh my god, we won’t be *really* gay. Just… hints or something.

k: O-okay… Just to be clear: there won’t be any weird moments we have to actually take part in, will there?

c: What do you mean?

k: Like… um… I don’t know, some too-gay shit like holding hands or really kissing?

c: I will hope so. Believe me, Kahl, I like it no more than you do.

k: Well�� Are you sure they’ll all like it?

c: Totally!

k: Oh, god, I feel like there is some kind of a trap, but…

c: Think about money, Kyle. The large, unthinkable pile of money and fame for just small scenes with some remotely gay-ish dialogues. That thought must calm your little jewish soul.

k: …Just so you know, I still fucking hate you. And I’m doing it only because I don’t think it’s right for a side character to be more popular than the main ones.

c: Whatever makes you sleep at night, Kyle. Whatever makes you sleep at night…

#kyman #kyle broflovski #eric cartman #sp #south park #south park tfbw #tfbw #sp kyman #cartman x kyle #kyman headcanon #also i use racoon instead of just coon

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shiningdesignersreflections · 2 months ago

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Chapter 3: Stranger's Promise

Narrated by Marina.

Narrator: I glance around Cersei's stall. On the black velvet tablecloth lies an old, frayed set of tarot cards.

Narrator: A tall girl in an elegant, classy gown and a crystal crown is sitting behind the table. She looks like a beautiful princess!

Narrator: She shuffles the cards gracefully. I'm surprised to spot some green stubble under her veil.

Narrator: Cersei's deskmate, the youth in the noble outfit, is also standing at the side.

Noble Youth: Where are you from, young lady?

Marina: The voice...

You: So that "youth" is actually a girl...

Narrator: Meanwhile, a figure clad entirely in metal scraps is attempting to get up from the couch in the back, producing a series of loud clangs.

Robot: Activating... 20%... 30%, 35%... Activation failed.

Narrator: The strange metal man gives up his attempt and sinks back into the couch.

Cersei: Hey, Robot, don't scare our sixth member away.

Marina: What a group of weirdos.

Cersei: Bingo! That's right! We're weirdos indeed. You're indeed destined to be our sixth member.

Cersei: Let me introduce you. This is our Princess. This one is Prince. The robot dude is human, but you can just call him Robot.

Marina: You can call me Marina.

Prince: A very good name. Easy to remember.

Cersei: We all live in the Dorm of the Strange. The other students all call our building a forbidden zone!

Marina: Is that something worth being proud of?

Cersei: Anyway, if you join our club, you get free access to the Dorm of the Strange. You'll be one of us!

Narrator: Her words simply put me in a bad mood once again.

Marina: But I'm not even a student in your school.

Narrator: Princess, who has been standing silently at the side, finally sighs.

Stubbled Princess: Yeah, she's right. She's a kid. Can't you tell?

Cersei: So? She can just join the club now and enter Cicia School of Design later.

Narrator: I look up in surprise to meet Cersei's genuine, intense gaze.

Marina: B-but by the time I get in... you'll all have graduated.

Cersei: Nah, I should've graduated 4 years ago, and I'm still here. Who knows when I'll graduate? We might become classmates.

Cersei: By the way, where do you live, Marina?

Marina: I live on a big, big ship! Bigger than the whole campus, actually.

Marina: We sail all day. I don't know where to, but my brother says we'll find our destination someday.

Cersei: Wow, that sounds amazing. I deserve my own ship, too.

Narrator: Princess nods elegantly, stroking the stubble on her chin.

Stubbled Princess: It'd be nice to go tanning on the deck with a glass of champagne.

Prince: So, do you know how to steer a ship, Miss Marina?

Marina: Of course! I can do anything!

Robot: A ship bigger than the whole campus... It must be powered by cutting-edge technology. Maybe tech from the Ruins.

Narrator: They all start chatting. It's like they've already accepted me and fully believe I really do live on a gigantic ship.

Narrator: I feel right at home hanging out with them. It's almost magical. How should I describe this feeling?

Choose either "It's friendship" or "It's the mutual understanding between weirdos."

If "friendship," ...

You: It's friendship! You've made some great friends.

Narrator: So, is this what having friends feels like? Now I see why people find university fun.

If "weirdos," ...

You: It's the mutual understanding between weirdos. You fit perfectly with each other.

Narrator: Who cares if others find me weird? And what makes them so "normal" anyway?

Marina: But... I'm the 6th member, right? Shouldn't there be one more person here in that case?

Cersei: She went out to buy something. Oh, I see her over there!

Aeon: Marina!

Narrator: Before I can see the face of the fifth member, my brother has come looking for me.

Aeon: Where have you been? I've been looking for you for a while.

Marina: Aeon! You're already done?

Aeon: Yeah, it's time to go home.

Narrator: I hurriedly say goodbye to the members of the Research of Magical Humans Club and run over to take my brother's hand.

Narrator: From a distance away, I turn back and let my gaze linger on the stall a little bit longer.

Narrator: A new, grayish figure is standing by the small table now. The silhouette reminds me a little of a mirror we have on the Ark.

Aeon: What are you looking at, Marina?

Marina: Nothing, nothing! I didn't see a thing.

Marina: Aeon, can I study here in the future? I made some new friends and promised we'll become classmates someday!

Aeon: You want to go to school? Of course, you can go.

Marina: Really? You're the best!

Aeon: But if you want to pass the exam, you'll need lessons in history, languages, math, and more. Let's start lessons once we get home!

Marina: Huh? Nooooo! I don't wanna go to university anymore!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

#marina #shining nikki #chapter 3 #transcript #sr designer #stranger's promise #club #friends #dorm of the strange #outcasts #study

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blackjackkent · 11 months ago

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OK, there are a bunch of other buildings in this area that will definitely need checked out, but for right now, let's go back into the House of Healing, because we need to avenge Arabella's parents and also maybe find something relating to the whole Thaniel business.

There's another of the creepy undead nurses in the front hall; she looked Hector over and then decided he was "not so well, but well enough to wait" and instructed him to "join the line."

There is, to be clear, no line, and the place is incredibly empty.

Hector then had a series of potential options, each slightly more amusing than the last, for deceiving the nurse, the ultimate goal being to get in to see the doctor - presumably Malus:

My favorite part is that #4 isn't deception. I guess at this point it can be safely assumed Hector is feeling pretty fucked up internally. :P

The monk line is tempting but as we know, Hector never defaults to deception, so we'll go with the persuasion one.

"Wait! My wounds may not be visible on the outside, but I still need help!"

Narrator: There's a hint of recognition in her eyes as she studies you.

(Her eyes are covered, game. What is going on with the writing in this section? :P )

"The unseen wounds of war. The doctor's hand will close them. Down to the theater. Be swift. Be saved."

Huh. I think Hector is as surprised as anyone that that worked.

OK, on into the theater, where Malus is still saying creepy and unsettling things over the body of someone who is, astonishingly, not dead but looks like he might be soon:

In we go!

-----

"The objective of the scalpel, sisters, is to soothe," Malus Thorm is saying in a slow, even tone as Hector and his companions approach. "For the scalpel, indeed, is an extension of Shar..."

His voice is mellow, almost soothing, but his appearance is anything but. It seems at a glance as if he was once an elf - a drow, perhaps - but his body is mutilated almost beyond recognition. His arms from the elbow down have been replaced by horrifying mechanical claws tipped with delicately-pointed scalpels. His legs, too, have been replaced at the knee with an repellant combination of flesh and metal, extending the limbs to almost twice their normal length.

His eyes are covered by a set of goggles wrapped around his head, masking his gaze, and on his forehead sits a strange dark mirror. His skin is scarred and pockmarked and inlaid with a design of what appears to be gold filigree burned into his flesh.

His voice rings with madness and his clothes, once fine, are stained with blood.

"See," he croons, "how the patient reacts when I but stroke the right nerve. Hear its comfort. Hear the very melody of mercy..."

He draws one of the scalpel-claws across the ripped, ragged skin of the human man bound on the operating table. The man whimpers miserably, too exhausted to scream, his bloodsoaked features contorting with pain.

Malus turns his head, surveying one of the swaying undead nurses next to him. "Pray, sister," he says mildly, as if directing a child in a minor bit school exercise. "Show us the extent of your beneficence."

The nurse lurches forward, her rigor-mortis grip tight around the hilt of a small surgical knife. With a clumsy slash, she sinks it into the "patient's" belly. The man mewls and squirms weakly as it scores a deep red line through his flesh.

"Stop!" Malus bellows. The nurse draws back at once, pulling the knife from the wound. "Stay your hand," the mad doctor continues, his voice at once returning to its original calm, even rhythm. "For it slaps where it should stroke. We can hardly hear the patient's sighs of solace..." A slight pause. Then he smirks. "Perhaps it is our unexpected audience that makes you quiver..."

He turns slowly on those strange, gangly legs, looking down at Hector standing in the doorway of the surgical theater.

"Come!" the doctor cries, his tone horribly jovial. "Step forward! You are no sister, but that matters none. Every student is welcome."

It is taking all of Hector's self-discipline not to be sick on the floor. The place reeks of blood and viscera and the abject cruelty on display is abhorrent. Surely even Shar does not indulge such atrocity.

How many servants of Selune have lain under this man's blade? How many has he tortured and bled out, mocking them with his madness?

Did Komira and Locke die in this room?

His arms are crossed tight on his chest, his fingers curled into fists; his jaw trembles with how tightly it is clenched.

"You will stop this sick spectacle at once," he says, each word cold as ice through clenched teeth. At his side, he sees Karlach give him a sharp sideways glance; she has never seen him quite so visibly disgusted and angry.

"Sick?" Malus smiles brightly, the blankness of his goggles lending an even more maniacal air to the words. "Quite. But on the cusp of a cure..."

"Absence..." murmurs one of the nurses, as if responding to a litany.

"Absence..." Malus agrees softly. He turns to look again at his "patient," and raises one of his clawed mechanical hands. "No other word captures the heart of Shar so perfectly...it is the scalpel-led journey from pain...to peace..."

Punctuating each word, he stabs downward twice. The man has no voice left to cry out, but writhes in agony as blood pours from his emptied eye sockets.

"A stinging truth..." Shadowheart murmurs unsteadily. "But...a truth nevertheless..."

She is lucky, perhaps, that there is a greater threat to be concerned with here, or he would absolutely turn and lash out at her for that. A sudden incandescent rage is rising in Hector's chest - fueled in part by everything he has been forced to participate in, walking through temples and altars and corrupted fields of his goddess's enemy, but set to light but the brutality that is now before him. He has stood by Shadowheart as an ally in suffering, but if she can see what he sees here and condone it, there is no hope for her.

Were he calmer, perhaps he would hear the halting tone in her voice, the struggle to speak, just as Lae'zel struggled for words as she saw Vlaakith's power crumbling away. But he is hearing nothing but his own fury now, and his eyes are fixed on Malus as if they could burn a hole through his blasphemous skull.

"See?" Malus crows gleefully, entirely unaware of the drama playing out before him. "What is the light of eyes but the cancer that causes one to witness the laceration of being?" He steps forward off the surgical platform with lithe, alien steps, closing the distance between himself and Hector eagerly. "If light is the symptom, then darkness is the cure, for in light there is presence, but in darkness there is absence."

"In light is presence...in darkness absence..." the nurses intone in response.

"But you..." Malus comes to a halt in front of Hector and presses the tips of his clawed arm against his chest. "Look," he sneers, "how the succour of Shar eludes you. See how painfully *present* you remain..."

He twists the mechanical hand so it lifts, draws ever-so-gently along Hector's cheek. "We do not wish to see you suffer so," he croons. "Let us cure you..."

Perhaps, were he a stronger man, he would continue to speak with this abomination - call on Selune and his own hard-won knowledge to find a way to learn what they came here to learn, something of Thaniel or Zevlor or Ketheric...

But in this moment, something has snapped inside him. It is too much, all of it. It has been too much for days in this horrible darkness so far from his goddess and he finds he can no longer bear it. This last bit of cruelty is too much, and he has no more words left.

Attack.

A hoarse, wordless cry breaks from him and in a single smooth motion he pulls his quarterstaff from his back and swings it to smash with a dull, bone-crunching thud into Malus's face.

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #WELLP #this is super fucked up holy mackerel #cw blood #cw creepy medical stuff #cw eye stuff (described briefly only)#also i'm honestly surprised it took this long for hector to snap given how terrified he has been for MONTHS #but apparently this is what finally did it #he can have a little mad rampage #as a treat

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mars-ipan · 2 years ago

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let’s be honest it was only a matter of time before i babygirlified an old man

closeups and (many) design notes under the cut :)

ok design notes time (these r mainly for the narrator bc. well. stanley has an actual physical appearance):

- while thinking of how to design the narrator i got the idea that he took one of the models in the audience for the ending where stanley gives a speech and edited it to make his “human” form

- because of this i wanted to include a bunch of little things that he “got wrong” during the process of mimicking a human. most of them get ironed out when stanley points out how weird they are but some of them stay

- to name a couple, his teeth are all flat- no canines or molars. also his little headset + glasses have nothing that actually attach them to his head. they just Are There. not to mention his interesting fashion sense of tie + turtleneck + blazer (he defends this choice no matter how much stanley laughs at him). he’s just weird enough to be slightly uncanny- it’s an imitation, not the real thing

- since i’m indecisive as hell he’s a bit of a shapeshifter. he actually doesn’t use his physical model in-game a lot and tends to just show up in things. shadows, reflective surfaces, screens, etc. even more often than that he’s just his voice

- bc he plays the guitar in the out of bounds ending i am now convinced that he can play many instruments. that little piano in the memory zone before the first review? yeah he’s there playing that in-game he’s just not visible to you

- designing his hair was SO DIFFICULT i literally went searching thru the tag for inspo and i liked so many different things. after a struggle (you can see a slicked-back attempt in the shadow idea doodle) i eventually decided on the style shown in his main drawing. every time i draw it i fight so hard to make it distinct from miles edgeworth. to make this easier the cowlicks aren’t too pronounced and the larger bang is more of a fringe. it still sometimes looks like miles edgeworth whoops

- some of my favorite fanon design things are the Line™ tie the square glasses and the little gay ass highlight so i knew i had to include them. those were my only definite choices going into this

- once again bc i’m indecisive the narrator can scale his model up or down as he pleases. he prefers to be bigger than stanley but stanley complains that it “makes his proportions weird” because he’s “short-coded” so sometimes he goes to a more human size.

- the narrator being stout just makes sense to me it’s correct in my soul (i actually think i drew him too skinny in most of these. i just didn’t wanna redraw shit bc i am tired but if/when i draw him again he will be less skinny)

- i wanted to work with shape language a lot because the narrator’s whole character is a voice- i wanted to make sure i captured the vibe of some stuffy old writer who has an undeniable silly streak. so he is squares and circles (his tie is the only triangle save for maybe the hair)

- for similar reasons stanley is squares and triangles. felt right

- speaking of stanley his soul patch is a goatee now bc i hate soul patches with a boiling passion. so now it’s a goatee

- i also gave him a little beauty mark by his right eye. i don’t know why i just knew in my heart that it was correct

- stanley uses asl and not bsl because i want to learn asl sososososo bad and this just might be the thing to get me to actually do it. he can project his thoughts to the narrator but he doesn’t like it so he almost always signs

#martzipan #the stanley parable #should i tag stannarrator. i probably should #stannarrator #fun fact this file is saved in my art folder as 'old man yaoi.png'#oh also i'm not fully decided on the colors i chose so these r more indicative of value than hue #ANYWAYS. hyperfixation go brrrrrrrrrr #i've drawn so many things for the first time in this. asl. a chin grab (it was so difficult to pose that btw i still wanna fix it). wrinkles #tbh still don't fully know how wrinkles work but i think i got it.#besides it would not be a human narrator design to me if it didn't have wrinkles #anywho. what if you and the narrative doomed... each other?#this was inevitable i am a sucker for mutually assured destruction #i deffo have fav doodles in here btw. those being the tbh the catboys and 'you wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid'#what are they if not silly

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strangestcase · 2 years ago

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btw i know they couldnt have conveyed this properly in the movie proper but i love how in the lxg movie novelization hyde is just so gross.

every time he's onscreen he's described with nauseating detail like his huge malformed frame his misshapen head his rotten sharp teeth his thick neck and broad back and enormous hands and feet and his black claw-like nails and GOD, all his hair (everywhere! on his hands his chest his face his ears) and his bloodshot eyes- his bulging muscles and pulsating veins and stretched skin- and horrible rank breath- and how ugly and hard to look at he is

and for the love of god, how revolting it is when he's sweating or drooling or god forbid he when he straight up spits phlegm and nobody wants to go near it as if it was toxic and it might as well be.

i know all that detail is to make the point of how horrible hyde could have looked in the movie before they could translate his design into live action, plus to add some extra flavor -watching the movie, you can look at lxg hyde but can't touch him, smell him, get close to him and be aware of his presence and his monstrous body-

but it gets to a point it's like the narrator can't get their eyes off him, like they're fixated on every single grody detail whenever he moves talks or breathes, like he's more concrete and tangible than a regular human

idk, that feels like it's an almost deliberate contrast with the original book in which all we know about hyde are a few random details, never concrete enough- his complexion, his shape, the color of his hair, and nothing much more. the most detailed image we get is that of his hand, like a singular snapshot.

however, the hyde from the lxg filmverse (like his comics counterpart) is an advanced form of the hyde from the book- time has passed and he's grown in size and become a hulking mass of flesh and rage.

who knows, maybe the passage of time also changed something else. maybe each evil deed eroded this aura of confusion, this unexpressed sense of deformity, that separates hyde from a full person. and maybe the end result is the opposite of it- now not only he's repugnant, but you are all too aware of it, and know what it is way, way too deeply, and when he's around you can't help but see. smell. feel all the little things that make him disgusting and no one can ignore it. not even the narrator.

of course this is a watsonian explanation- the doylist explanation is that the guy in charge of translating the movie script + concept art + scrapped ideas/scenes + details from the OG comics into a novelization most likely just really liked writing monsters and took the opportunity and ran with it

#doc talks #jekyll and hyde #the league of extraordinary gentlemen #lxg #loeg #edward hyde #dr jekyll and mr hyde #also worth noting:#in the movie jekyll and hyde have ginger hair (like the actor playing them)#but in the novelization hyde is described as having black hair... just like in the original book

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pinkhuman99 · 2 years ago

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New Monster Ideas

In the Pink Human AU, there are a few more monsters that we didn't get to see in Undertale. A few are of my own design; a few others are based on cut content from Toby that I've altered to fit into the Pink Human's story. They are:

1. Gourdin (mine, enemy) -> like vegetoid, but throws rings and gourds and shoots squiggly lines across the attack box. It looks like a spaghetti squash with four little legs and a smiling jack-o-lantern face. Their tail is a little vine ending in a squash leaf. Gourdin is one of the monsters that uses PINK attacks. It wants to be a "squash" player, although it doesn't realize squash is a sport. Gourdin hates sports. But it likes sprouts! They're present in the Ruins, and they don't like Vegetoid (despite their similar veggie themes...maybe because squash are actually fruits, not veggies!)

2. Cepapod (mine, enemy) -> tears and onion rings attack the protagonist. Cepapod is a monster found in Waterfall. It is a mix of "cepa", the Latin word for "onion", and a "cephlapod". It resembles a large onion on its side woth roots that resemble tentacles. It is another monster that uses PINK attacks. Given its name/theme, it might be related to Onionsan. It wants to start a band and is a very good drummer.

3. Gerry (mine, enemy) -> a creepy version of Jerry who is a brony/anime freak, found in Hotland. I don't know why I came up with him. He sucks. I don't wanna talk about him anymore. You can imagine what he looks and acts like......probably shaped like a fedora. Probably acts like Toby's original Papyrus ideas.

4. Mouse Man (mine, uses candy cane to walk) -> NPC in Snowdin. When in a battle with Gyftrot, they might have a small, striped cane stuck in their horns. When you remove it, the flavour text describes an attached note that says "I use this little cane to walk". In the Pink Human AU, a tiny mouse-like monster is present in Snowdin and the protag can give him his cane back. Or they can eat it as a healing item. Grateful to have his cane back, Mouse Man will give the protag 10 G. He also vows to stay away from teenagers.

5. Love Crab (cut, enemy, pink attacks) -> a crab with a heart on it that wants to cuddle, based in Waterfall. Based a bit in the crab from the show Bee and Puppycat (if you know you know), it is another monster that uses PINK attacks, this time in the form of tiny projectile hearts and pinching claws. It walks sideways, as crabs do, and it wants to befriend everyone it meets. To beat it, you have to let it get rid of your PP (Pink Points/Protection Points). It will then use a green attack similar to the Royal Guards, or Tsunderplane. If you try to run, it tells you that you can't escape love.

6. Frowning Jester (cut, explains orange attacks in Waterfall) -> The NPC that was supposed to explain orange attacks never even got a physical design if their own, and Toby says he just forgot to integrate the frowning jester character, so why not combine the two? Unlike the smiling Naracat Jester in Snowdin, this frowning jester refuses to smile in these troubling times (since, they say, "There isn't anything to smile about, so why bother?"). There is also cut dialogue of the orange attacks being explained:

7. Coraler (cut) -> a humanoid monster made of coral, present in Waterfall. Smaller pieces of coral say "We're his family". I thought of something sinister when I decided to add this character to the AU, but decided not to go through with it. The name "Coraler" makes it sound like "someone who corals"...I thought maybe the reason the small corals say they're his "family" is because they were other monsters Coraler turned into coral. But, uh, that's too dark. So instead he just stands there and introduces his family, kinda like the Temmie's introducing their friend(s). And the tiny corals just say "We're his family". And that's literally it.

8. Larpy (LARP Harpy, cut, enemy, pink attacks) -> describes narration like you're in an RPG game, casts "fireball" and other elemental attacks. It is kinda funny to have an NPC cast "pretend" magic spells when she's a monster that can cast actual magic. Larpy doesn't mean any harm, she just wants someone to play with. She used to play with Madjick, Knight Knight, and Whimsalot, but they got separated when the puzzles in Hotland were reactivated. She has the chance to appear in battle with other enemies. However, Tsunderplane and Pyrope thing she's weird and will leave when the battle starts. Vulkin will stay to encourage her.

I'm not a fan of Toby's original idea for Larpy's sprite, which may be one of the reasons she was cut from the game to begin with. I would redesign it to be cuter.

Those are all my ideas for the Pink Human AU monsters/NPCs so far. Next I'll post about pink attacks and the pink SOUL mode.

#undertale #monsters #npcs #pink human #pink human au

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doom-nerdo-666 · 2 years ago

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How to make a good Doom movie/show/adaptation (Maybe)

(For an image, i was thinking of either the PSP thing or the toys based off Sarge, Reaper, Pinky and an Imp)

"Why would anyone want another one?"

I'm just saying this IF there ever is a good reason to make one.

I know this topic can be overdone here but i feel like what's written below may or may not be more interesting than something like "John Wick with demons", because i tried to take it a bit more seriously (Even if the end result is a bit bloated and unfocused).

Try to follow "Doom standards" and explore the series beyond just surface level knowledge of it.

Leave it to actual passionate fans instead of studios or companies that don't see much in Doom.

Might as well go with animation in case live action isn't enough for the series' aesthetics, designs or spirit.

Give the impression that the movie or miniseries takes place inside a game.

First person segments, of course.

"Face segments" inside Doomguy's helmet, based off MCU's Tony Stark/Iron Man face scenes, to represent his HUD face, with holographic status bar/interface stuff next to him (Health, ammo, keys etc).

Narrator could be the "they are rage" voice who also represents the classic games' intermission text screens and talks in second person, to Doomguy.

Balance between humanizing Doomguy/Doom Marine/Slayer and keeping him "limited", such as not making him talk, along with showcasing his strenghts but also his struggles and difficulties at times because people want a hero they root for.

Occasional focus on other characters like the Resurrection of Evil lady scientist, that one Doom 2 RPG scientist dude, Kira Morgan, Quake 3's Crash and Phobos, Samuel Hayden, Olivia Pierce, Betruger, Night Sentinel and some others that existed in the "Doom universe" or any Doom material that can be borrowed.

Each Doom game is different and has something to it even if it's something as minor as a level name or some random sprites, so maybe don't restrict it to just one single portrayal of the series (Might as well go full on MetaDoom).

Action scenes that fit Doom's theme and setting, but not really gameplay stuff, like Doomguy or someone throwing a barrel at someone (Whether or not id themselves will make that a gameplay feature is unknown).

Humor and drama done right and properly executed (Not like anyone wants a sob story out of Doom, but nobody wants "MCU style writing" either).

Easter eggs and references are always neat but fuck reusing the "scientist named after Carmack" bit.

Occasional scenes of isolation to fit the "one person vs multiple enemies" part of Doom and horror focus.

Maybe create some new weapons and enemies to expand Doom a little bit (And also a little bit of inspiration for modders).

Make use of a variety of weapons and enemies, since they are different enough to create different scenarios.

Do "stepped/capped"/low framerate animation at times, like when some enemies die, so they can mimick their classic death animation sequences.

Actually use most designs from the games, from not making UAC guards look like generic SWAT officers (Even Doom 3 didn't really felt like this outside the Z-sec) to actually capturing an abstract, crazy Hell inspired by the games, but specially the classic Inferno (Because just rock landscapes isn't enough when there's also evil castles and a crazy mix of metal and flesh).

Find ways to translate gameplay moments into story like someone having to use a radsuit to cross a river of acid but the suit is running out.

Have a scene of some crew of marines stuck on a maze and trying to find the key, while some die from some traps.

Have a horror scene by introducing the Archvile, where he shows his powers in front of UAC folks who are then blasted by his fire blast and the resurrected demons.

Something that actually tries and ends up fun, even if still heavily flawed. Because these movies don't feel like they're trying harder, as if they took the series at face value and don't consider any idea or design interesting/iconic enough. Some say Doom cannot work simply because of it being a mainly gameplay focused series, which underestimates Doom, like it wasn't a series that spawned millions of vanilla Wads and was an extension to Wolfenstein 3D's otherwise more limited formula. Later games even introduce some new material as well. If any Youtuber ever makes a "Why can't a Doom movie work?" type of video, you may wanna look at this.

At least we can hope for some cool fan movies and animations, like people doing cool stuff with SFM/3D animation or that one "Doom Tribute" collab on Newgrounds.

I also almost forgot about a 90's Doom movie that never came to be

You might find info on it from MarphyBlack/SlappyCromwell on Twitter but it had concept art and maybe some models.

Edit: I made a very small post about it here.

You'd probably think of it as an extended version of the cut 3DO FMV scenes.

So in an alt timeline, we could have had a potentially more faithfull movie than the one from 2005 or Annihilation.

But at least those movies may've had some influence on fan content like the FreeDoom guy's face being based off Karl Urban or the BFG10K from Skulltag based off the movie's BFG.

In other news, wasn't there supposed to be a comic book taking place between Doom 2016 and Eternal?

#doom #id software #movies #opinions #idea #long post

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recapcrew · 2 years ago

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Week 28 Transcript

Video

Intro

Extra extra, read all about it! Welcome to the Empire’s Recap, and today we will be going over the chaos and drama of our (somewhat) respected rulers!

This week so few people have uploaded, one might think there's been an apocalypse! But that was more last season’s vibe; perhaps we’ll have something funnier than the end of the world this time. Welcome to the New Year with Empires!

Pix

Even during the holidays, the grind never stops.

Pixlriffs has spent time on the Hermitcraft server gifting VintageBeef a proper nether tunnel for his card game factory - what better for the man making giant pixel art cards of everyone than pixel art of his own face?

At the Empires village - still on Hermitcraft - Pix has also been finishing up Santa's workshop, complete with a randomly flooded closet and an armor stand assembly line. It's the perfect place to put his new Zedvancement trophy as well, since he doesn't really have a house to put it in around here. He's been too busy speedrunning other advancements of the non-Zed kind; 27 of them in a three-hour stream!

[PIX] …only now-- Scar! I'm trying to do a bit to camera right now!

[NARRATOR] Speaking of festive, several of the Hermits and Emperors meet up around a holiday bonfire to swap stories and impressions and whatever bad idea Oli has next. Grian stops by, confused that they didn't get the memo. What memo?

[GRIAN] The bl—The-- The portal is just one block wide!

[NARRATOR] Uh oh. Time to leave.

The Emperors head back through the portal, one by one by one. As lovely as Hermitcraft is, it isn't home.

Pixlriffs is the last to go, and his goodbye is a little more familiar; they might not be seeing him again, but he'll be seeing them.

[CUB] See ya Pix!

[GRIAN] It's the joke that keeps on giving.

[PIX] I’ll see you next week!

[NARRATOR] Interdimensional journalist historians, am I right?

Finally back on Empires, Pix meets up with Oli, which is incredibly convenient - Pix is his secret santa! His gift is more of a responsibility: any time Oli needs rockets, Pix will provide them. How he gets the gunpowder without his own farm will be the second part of the gift: chaos.

Sausage

Meanwhile, crossing through the Rift once more leaves Sausage stranded in limbo. Thankfully, his girl Bubbles gets him out, and dumps him in the nexus village. He ponders his newfound memories, and promises Bubbles not to tell anybody.

He checks the Rift to make sure it doesn't link back to Hermitcraft, and immediately turns around and robs the Tower. It is perfectly ethical.

Feeling bad for Grumbot, he takes his target block, and places it in the L.O.R.E building. It's his last time, so he changes back into his regular outfit.

He gets to work on a lab to house his new son, Sunny, a robot designed to communicate through dimensions. After putting him on charge on a definitely-not-a-shrine, he sends a message though to Pearl on the Hermitcraft side.

Family bonding time begins when Sausage brings Hermes, Bubbles and Athena to meet Sunny, who's wheeled himself outside. A message from Pearl comes in while he's away, but it sounds like she is doing pretty good.

Scott

Chromia is looking quite different to how Scott left it, and it’s all down to one llama-human - Owen.

Owen is apparently back to human form and has taken over Chromia as Mayor while Scott’s been away.

He’s claimed Pearl’s house for his own and the other llamas have followed suit, apparently claiming the other buildings including Scott’s house. The mayor is a strict ruler if you’re not a llama, boarding up the villagers into their houses and drags Scott into forceful service as the Chromia Wheat Farmer - quite a bit of a demotion there.

[SCOTT] …else have you?

[OWEN] Not yet!

[SCOTT] Yet?

[OWEN] Yeah, oh look at this rapscallion! He has to stay in here ever since the charges.

[NARRATOR] Owen tries to kick him out, before Scott convinces him to follow him through the nether portal to Hermitopia where they have loads of sugar - Owen is not impressed, until Scott turns the sugarcane into sugar. Seems llamas haven’t figured out doors OR crafting recipes.

[OWEN] …power?

[SCOTT] Sure, yep, that’s it.

[OWEN] Some people, like, make the laws, some people are literal gods, and you… make sugar!

[NARRATOR] During the exploration, Owen gets caught on fire but denies it ever happened, and claims to have built the llama statue on the Greatbridge.

Night comes and with it comes a thunderstorm, and Owen is consistently scared of the loud thunder happening - the sky is angry, and Owen is a menace.

Scott tries to convince Owen to let him stay, and Owen makes him drink spit in the tavern and replant the wheat fields before he agrees to any changes in the newly-renamed “llama land”.

The demands are “more wheat, more sugar, no doors” which probably isn’t the weirdest thing a “Mayor” could’ve asked for but it’s certainly up there.

Eventually, Owen agrees to put Scott back in charge and go exploring like a proper adventurer, giving back the sheriff hat after a rousing speech.

Once Owen has left, Scott starts putting Chromia back to rights, and Owen… well…

[UPBEAT MUSIC]

[OWEN] O- Uh. Hey, can you help me with this? Hey! Can—Can you guys help me with this? Can you help me with this?

[OWEN, SOUNDING ECHO-Y] Can you help me with this!

Outro

And with that, join us next week for more chaos and shenanigans! Thank you for watching, liking, and subscribing, and thanks to everyone helping with the project, check them all out below!

#empires recap #empires season 2 recap #transcript

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re-readingcomics · 6 months ago

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Comics Read 02/10-03/31/2024

Over this period of time I read a special compilation called The Flapper Queens, Women Cartoonists of the Jazz Age. The compilation is in this beautiful hard cover volume. It was edited and compiled by Trina Robbins and I have been meaning to look into more of her work ever since I learned that she created the costume design for Vampirella. (I am sad to say that between starting to draft this and posting it Robbins died.) While reading this didn’t do much to better acquaint myself Robbins’ work it was interesting and a mostly enjoyable to read collection. The cartoonist that this volume focuses on are: Nell Brinkley, Eleanor Schorer, Edith Stevens, Ethel Hays, Fay King and Virginia Huget. I have not idea if anyone else should have been included. Not all of the cartoons were great, and the standard warnings about the racism and sexism of the times needs to be applied. Still the drawings were often very pretty and the situations depicted were a fascinating time capsule. If I wrote this in a more timely manner I might have written more about it presenting a view of how flappers were perceived in their time, but not really what it was like to be one, leading me to wonder who the target audience was… but I didn’t write this in a timely manner and now I have to write about two more comics that I read.

The first is Girl written by Peter Milligan with art by Duncan Fegredo and colors by Nathan Eyring. I know Milligan is controversial, brining up tricky topics in not the most sensitive ways, or ways that become quickly out of political. But I mostly like him as a writer. I think he can get to a sublime sense I don’t get from many writers. He and Fegredo did that with their earlier comic Enigma. That said, I didn’t like Girl that much. The grim set up felt too heavy, the potentially delusional narrator too sad. It may have started with some interesting ideas, but it did not really pull them off. The too happy ending was neither earned nor unsettlingly unreal. I wanted it to be real because the misery earlier was too much, but mostly it made the story feel pointless. I didn’t love the art. This was originally published in 1996 and some of it is that style just isn’t to my taste these days. Though I have to appreciate how the artist worked to make two characters identical except the hair and clothes.

Finally I read the miniseries Afterlift. I bought it because it was written by Chip Zdarsky, artist for Sex Criminals and writer for the Kaptara, (which, much to my surprise has a second volume coming out this week) as well as some Big Two titles that I don’t read. The art is by co-creator Jason Loo, with colors by Paris Alleyne, Letters by Aditya Bidikar, and edited by Allison O’Toole. This was a refreshing read. It is the story of a ride share driver named Janice Chen who unknowingly picks up a demon planning to escort a miserable soul to Hell. It’s funny, it cares about the state of the soul, it’s not too attached to any specific dogma. The art is fun, easy to read, filled with distinct, both human and divine. The colors are great at evoking different dark scenarios while still being clear. A good reminder of why I sill make time to read comic books.

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ninasbookshelf · 1 year ago

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recs for sally rooney lovers: part 1

I will read anything Sally Rooney writes.

If you're like me—you admire Rooney's writing to the point where you'd savor even her daily to-do list if she released it—then you know intimately the horrifying and all-consuming experience of finishing Rooney's novels. "What am I supposed to do now?" Maybe you manage to briefly patch up the hollow feeling by ordering a used copy of Mr Salary on eBay, but the short story is over soon enough, and you are back to wondering whether you will ever read something so beautiful again.

Don't worry, I'm here.

I've been closely guarding my "Recommendations for Sally Rooney Lovers" list for the past few years. Slowly but surely I've added to the list, as I searched for hints of Rooney in other works I've read. For a time, I unintentionally made a habit of analyzing the books I read in the light of whether or not my fellow Sally Rooney fans would enjoy them, and why. Now I have enough recommendations for at least two posts, and I'm working my way towards a part three. I will make no promises on timing! It might even be awhile before part two is posted, because I really want to get it right. That being said, if you're a fan of Sally Rooney's writing and you enjoy these recommendations, please stick around! I'm saving a few of my favorites for part two.

There is something on this list for everyone. I give brief descriptions of each book and what is similar or different about the writing compared to Rooney's. To figure out which recommendations are best for you, I suggest considering what exactly it is you love about Sally Rooney's work, and then you can filter through the suggestions and see which ones share those traits.

I hope you enjoy!

Fault Lines by Emily Itami

I was lured into Fault Lines by the pretty book design and mention of Sally Rooney on the cover. The narration in the early pages is full of the long, winding, frazzled thoughts of a mother trying to keep her life together in Tokyo. This voice grated on me at first, but the more I read the less I noticed it, and soon enough I found myself immersed in the companionship of Mizuki's life.

Fault Lines echoes the intimacy of a Sally Rooney novel, sharing the confidential details of Mizuki's life as if she is a friend sharing her woes and escapades over coffee. It ties in reflections on both Japanese and American culture as the main character tries to find harmony between the mindset she is surrounded by and the one she grew to love while abroad. If you enjoy the close character insight and cultural reflections Rooney provides in her novels, Fault Lines is for you.

No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai

When I read No Longer Human for the first time in 2022, I fell in love.

Set in Japan, No Longer Human follows a young man in Japan named Oba Yozo as he tries to find his place and exist comfortably in a world where he often feels he doesn't belong. From a young age Oba Yozo learns to take on a certain "jokester" personality to get by, but this move results in his feeling insincere. The novel gives the reader such a raw look at the workings of the protagonist's mind throughout his life, that despite him being a deeply flawed person, by the end of the novel I couldn't help but have an affinity for the protagonist. It forces the reader to understand him. There were times when the protagonist angered me, and it actually hurt, that's how well I felt I knew him.

I think Rooney fans will be drawn to the way Dazai inserts the reader into the protagonist's psyche, as well as his interaction with the cultural changes happening in Japan and his relationship to money and class. As a warning, this book deals heavily with mental health and depression, so please keep that in mind before you decide to pick it up.

Scorpionfish by Natalie Bakopoulos

Scorpionfish follows Mira as she returns to a family apartment in Greece after the deaths of her parents. Mira gets into a routine of chatting with her new neighbor—a former sea captain—whenever the two are on their adjacent balconies, and slowly they start to open up to each other and find comfort in their daily routine as neighbors. This connection is set against a backdrop of Athens during a time when the city is facing instability economically and politically. Readers see the city and its people through Mira's eyes as she comes to terms with the reshaping of her familial, romantic, and even platonic relationships. We also see Mira's relationship to the city itself, and the difficulty of loving a place that one can't fully call home. One of the things I loved about this novel is the reflection on what I call "cultural limbo"; when you have one foot in the US and one in Greece, which one is yours? How do you exist floating somewhere in between?

The writing style is approachable and a great option for any Rooney fan.

Happy Hour by Marlowe Granados

I first read this book in 2021, and it was one of my favorite books of the year. I picked it up for the intriguing artwork on the covers, and I am so glad I did.

Happy Hour has refreshing and witty narration with keen observations on the New York City social scenes as experienced by Isa Epley and her best friend Gala. The two women are in their early twenties and are dead-set on having a summer of amusement in the city. The novel travels through both the quotidian and spontaneous events of their summer as the women navigate NYC nightlife, parties, friendships, and the dating scene. Happy Hour also details the sometimes harsh realities of Isa and Gala's situation as they try to get by financially in the city despite their lack of work visas. As a variety of issues attempt to derail their plans, Isa and Gala's determination to spend the summer simply enjoying themselves remains strong.

The writing in Happy Hour is more densely packed with observation than Rooney's works (which I find have more dialogue than Happy Hour if I remember correctly), but it's done in an intentional and artful way. The prose is charming and captivating, and the novel shares a tender depiction of female friendship. If you enjoy the reflective nature of Rooney's novels, the striving to get by, the intelligence and fun, and the way her characters find comfort through their relationships with each other, I recommend Happy Hour.

Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner

If you need a break from fiction, this one is for you! Crying in H Mart is a memoir examining Michelle Zauner's relationship with her late mother as she reflects on her mother's battle with cancer. Zauner pieces together her experience through the help of Korean cuisine, trying to grow closer to her mother by learning to cook the meals her mother used to make. Crying in H Mart has an approachable writing style as well as reflections on family and culture that I think many Sally Rooney fans would enjoy.

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

TSOA is a stunning Greek mythology retelling detailing the Trojan War from Patroclus' perspective. The novel features achingly beautiful prose, and as much as I love it, I am aware that it is definitely not for every Rooney fan. If you're looking for the direct, lucid style of writing that Rooney displays in her novels, TSOA isn't for you. TSOA is slow-paced and the narration is lyrical, dazzling, and often emotional.

What TSOA does have in common with Rooney is that it centers on a romantic relationship and a particular dedication between two characters. They make mistakes, fate and family members try to get in their way, but the couple are constantly drawn to each other. It's magnetic. If you enjoyed the intimacy of Rooney's works, and don't mind a slower-paced, lyrical change, this is a great option.

Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata

Convenience Store Woman is a sort of weird but striking novel that I wasn't convinced, at first, that I liked, but months down the line I found myself still thinking about it. Set in Japan, the novel follows Keiko, a convenience store worker who finds comfort in the straightforward rules of her workspace. She is happy in her role except for the constant judgments and pressures from her peers to search for something "better". She is also happy being single and living in a small apartment, except for the comments and questions from her friends and family. Throughout the story, Keiko struggles to find a way to maintain the lifestyle she enjoys without becoming socially unacceptable. The boundaries of Korean society collide with the life Keiko has in mind as Murata explores the definitions of success and happiness and whether there is any chance of creating harmony between personal happiness and societal expectation when that harmony fails to come naturally.

In Convenience Store Woman the reader is almost hyper-aware of Keiko's emotions and thoughts, which might be appealing if you enjoy the character personalities of Rooney's novels. Additionally, if you appreciate the social commentary that Rooney shares through her stories, Convenience Store Woman is worth a read.

How to Order the Universe by María José Ferrada

I read How to Order the Universe in the limbo of a train ride, in one sitting, cover to cover on my way to New York City.

Set in Chile, a young girl referred to as M joins her dad during his work as a traveling salesman. We see the world around them slowly shift as both M and her country grow and change, and eventually we see M's hindsight reckoning with her upbringing as she ventures into adulthood. It's a coming of age story that involves rumination on familial relationships, politics, and culture. If these are aspects of Sally Rooney's novels that you like, then you may enjoy How to Order the Universe as well. Ferrada doesn't speak quite as directly about politics as Rooney does—from what I remember it isn't actually discussed by the characters—but the political state of the country is deeply ingrained into the setting of the novel and is experienced through the eyes of a child growing up in that setting. It's also a short read, and great as a traveling companion.

Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 by Cho Nam-Joo

Fictional but heavily based on the author's own experiences in Korea, Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 details a woman's everyday battles with sexism, misogyny, and mental health. I think of this novel as an exposé of a cultural cover-up of the issues women face on a regular basis. The writing felt a bit rushed to me, although maybe that's intentional given how overworked and drained the protagonist feels. It's very much worth a read though, especially for fans of Conversations with Friends and those who appreciate the way women's issues are portrayed in Rooney's novels in general.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo has more of a pop-fiction feel than Rooney's literary fiction, with a mystery edge to it as the fictional Old Hollywood starlet Evelyn Hugo slowly reveals her secrets to the reader. It's definitely more plot-based than, say, Normal People. If you're a "no plot just vibes" type, this isn't for you, but if you like a good plot-line with a few twists and turns, this is a great change of pace! Why I think it could work for Sally Rooney fans is that it gives the reader a close look at a specific character, her life philosophies, and her relationships, which are all key facets of Rooney's novels. It also discusses sexuality and how the labels attached to it affect the characters. If you're looking for something entertaining that keeps you on the edge of your seat, this is a good pick.

Ok! That's it for part one. I have some really exciting recommendations in part two, hopefully up before Christmas so that you have more gift options for all the Sally Rooney fans in your life (especially you). I'll post it under the #sally rooney tag on my page when it's ready. Thanks for reading! ✨

#booklr #book recs #sally rooney #bibliophile #books and literature

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millllenniawrites · 3 years ago

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a light, a song, a bluebird (Poe Dameron x f!Reader)

words: 6.4k

warnings: contains smut and difficult themes so 18+ only please; Reader has certain trauma responses that not all readers may relate to (including being touch-adverse, temporarily non-verbal, and ‘flight’ related conflict responses); intimacy related anxiety; dealing with trauma indirectly (source of trauma is never explicitly declared); assumed consent typical of a developed relationship; passing mention of having children in the future; canon typical violence; dancing; Jedi!Finn (not that it’s a warning, but it’s necessary for context)

a/n: FINALLY THE FIC I HAVE BEEN TALKING ABOUT FOR MONTHS IS HERE!!!!! I don’t really get into my trauma on here but this fic is pretty heavily based on me and the way I exist which is SUPER vulnerable and makes me very stressed but I’ve had a few requests over the years for something like this and I think I’m finally ready to post more about my experiences. We’re gonna start with this and see how it goes. It’s also a new narration style I’m trying!

I definitely could add more scenes to this thing (and I still might add to it) but I just need to post it and let it be imperfect. But if you guys like this universe, let me know? Maybe I’ll make this a little series? Not that I need another damn series

(Also if you’re interested in the playlist for this fic, it’s here)

I hope this means something to you. Writing it has definitely meant something to me.

Poe could have sworn you were a statue with how still you sat. Shoulders hunched near up to your ears, only a slight sway of your head gave you away: the human among life-like metal and stone.

He takes a cautious step into your workshop, head on a swivel for company and your self-designed traps. Only once had he missed a tripwire, sending a misshapen clay head—he later found out it was an attempt at a lothcat— swinging through the air and into his jaw.

He carefully navigates the stacks of artwork as he heads for your work station. As he passes though, he brushes a thin layer of ash off a carving of a Force-tree and rights a pile of tarps threatening to topple onto a half-finished clock. He never would have lingered on the timepiece, tucked under a larger depiction of a four-legged, seemingly hairy creature he doesn’t recognize, if not for the delicate gold gears set into its face. Not only were the gears golden, but you had pressed metal leaves of the same warm shade into the preserved wood of the clock’s body.

He freezes as he hears you call out, “Mr. Bey?”

You’re shocked at how quickly his head snaps around to look at you. It usually takes him a moment to respond as he feigns having the reflexes of a normal person, making it more than clear that he’s undercover, but you weren’t one to call a man out. His business was his.

And your discretion kept him coming back.

You had turned in your seat and were grinning at the handsome man, yanking your earpieces out of your head. They clatter to the tabletop. Standing, you tuck your hands into the front of your stained apron, sending your bag that was always slung over one of your shoulders swinging at your side.

Something about the softness in his eyes makes your heart flutter.

He takes a small bow, carefully tipping the grey cap he has sitting on his curls in your direction as he made his way to his feet. Something in his knee pops and you flinch on his behalf.

He coughs, surely from the thickness of the air. The volcanic island that houses your shop has experienced recent activity, sending debris and ash into the air. Given how sparse his visits were, you doubt he’s used to the air quality.

“I hope I didn’t startle you,” he says, his voice gravely. There’s something child-like about how he carries himself, like a boy in his father’s clothing.

“You didn’t,” you say with a shake of your head. Leaning around the large chunk of unworked metal that was blocking your view, your eyebrows quirk up as you notice the subject of his study. “I didn’t think a non-standard timepiece was part of the Princess’ order.”

“It wasn’t this time. But I’ll put a good word in.”

Your laugh is a gentle exhale. You rock back on your heels before turning around and pushing aside the grease-stained cloth that curtained off the underside of your table. The box he’d come for had been tucked under your workbench all day in anticipation of his arrival.

Every time your swinging legs had collided with the crate, you had seen his gentle brown eyes as clear as if he was standing before you.

You grunt as you pull it free. With a quick tap on the top of the weapons case, it begins to levitate itself. With a careful shove, you send it towards Poe. “There.” You rock back on your heels again, your head cocked. “Will that be all, Mr. Bey?”

He brushes some ash off the crate with his sleeve. “This time.” He sets the credits – more than he owed you for the weapons, if your eyes didn’t deceive you – on a squat table beside him.

The man was always careful to keep his distance from you. Though your quips were given with a smile and you seemed to take his teasing as well as you dolled it out, there were certain moments that you became timid around him.

He didn’t want to be the one to chase away your smile.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come on an adventure?” he asks, knowing your response.

He’d asked every time he’d come to pick up orders from you. It had taken you a few occurrences to figure out exactly what he’d meant. That he wasn’t just a stranger attempting to kidnap you. That he was actually asking you to come with him.

The Princess. A handsome scoundrel with a fake name. Shipments of weapons disguised as art. You didn’t need to be a genius to figure out what exactly you were assisting.

The Resistance.

Though it was a noble cause, and you couldn’t be happier to assist the General-Princess Leia Organa, you couldn’t imagine what being on a military base could offer you, other than sleepless nights and the feeling of uselessness you’d been trying to avoid since birth.

So, you shake your head. “No, thank you, Mr. Bey. You enjoy your adventure and I’ll see you soon.”

“Well, alright.” He bows again. “Take care.” He gently pushes the crate out your front door without looking back.

It’s weeks before Mr. Bey comes back to visit you. He’s transporting bombs, this time. Expensive ones. You’d traded a few of your best pieces for them. Things you were proud of and didn’t want to part with for anything.

Except, apparently, the fate of the galaxy.

His trip is short, as it always is, but he’s been sure to ask you: “Do you want to come on an adventure with me?”

Your answer is no, again, and he does look disappointed, but he smiles at you and leaves without pressuring you, as always. It’s like he can’t be anything other than sweet. He doesn’t know how. It simply isn’t in his programming.

You wonder what a man like that is doing in the middle of a war.

“Will you join me on my adventure today?” he asks softly.

Mr. Bey is wearing a long cloak this time. The thick fabric pools at his neck, failing to hide the suture tape that lines his jaw. He carries a new weight on his shoulders this time, months after you’d seen him last, his eyes sunken and hands unsteady.

You wonder idly what would happen if you were to say yes. Unfortunately, you hadn’t planned for this to be the moment you find out.

You push the crate towards him. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Bey. Who would finish this piece if I were to come with you?” You gesture to the metal sculpture in front of you before returning your hands to the strap of your bag. You worry the frayed edge with your fingers as you gaze down at your current project. It’s nowhere near finished, barely resembling the tree you could see in your mind. Two small birds, one still missing its wings, lay on their sides on your desk.

The floor begins to shake.

You move to duck under a table but Mr. Bey surges forward, holding out a hand. You take it gingerly, only because of the intensity of his gaze.

“We have to go.” He pulls you along with him as he heads for the door, abandoning the crate of weapons.

“It’s just a quake,” you try to explain, dragging your feet to slow him down. “They happen from time to time. We need to find cover…”

He opens the exterior door and swears.

The buildings surrounding the landing field burn. Two Planetary Defense ships plummet out of view, black streaks across the sky. Your lungs seize around the ashy air you drag in with your gasp.

A unit of TIE fighters close in on the Flight Tower. Two shots, and it’s set ablaze. Another, and it’s falling, falling…

Mr. Bey grips your wrist, dragging you out of the rubble’s path. The world moves in slow motion as it crumbles around you.

You clutch your bag tight to your chest and you run, hand in hand, from the building as the world explodes around you.

Two hands wave at you through the dust from the far side of the landing field. The shuttle that the person – a human, from what you could make out – is standing on hovers right at the end of the field, where flat earth drops away to sheer cliff and the rolling magma ocean below.

“Jump!” He shouts, dragging you across the gap and onto the boarding ramp of the ship.

He holds tight to your hand as you gaze down at the landing pad, watching the ships, the trading village, and your home explode and crumble into the sea below.

Mr. Bey does not let you go until the both of you are safe inside the shuttle and the doors close. As the shuttle lifts off, you scramble for purchase on the smooth, clean metal walls.

Tin can. You’re inside a tin can, flying away from your home.

“Steady, there.” The human that waved you into their shuttle sets a hand on your shoulder and you jump, gluing yourself to the wall.

“It’s okay. You’re safe.” Mr. Bey doesn’t approach you but holds out a hand. You timidly take it. He gestures to the other man. “This is Finn. He’s a friend.”

“Another code name, Mr. Bey?” you ask, still shaking.

He chuckles, the sound warming you. “I’m Poe,” he says, “Poe Dameron.”

You don’t know the family name Dameron. You’re not sure if you should. But from the way he says it, the sheer weight the name seems to carry as it rolls off his tongue, you know he’s important. His family is important. This man carries a legacy that you don’t need to know to respect.

You introduce yourself quietly, shaking his hand where he already holds yours. “I guess I’m joining you on your adventure this time, Poe Dameron,” you say. In your head, the words sound more confident than they come out, hanging awkwardly between you.

But he chuckles again. It calms something in you, and you smile too.

“It’s gonna be cramped with four people, but we’ll manage,” the man called Finn says and you shrink back against the wall.

Poe quickly lets you go, still smiling. “Come meet our pilot? She’s great. You’ll love her.”

You keep your bag clutched to your chest as he and Finn lead you through the ship. They both walk in front of you, turning back to check that you’re following occasionally but giving you space as you navigate to the cockpit.

The ship is a relic from an ancient time. The vents are clogged, and you can smell salt and sand and something definitely rotting somewhere. Despite that, you can tell the ship is very well loved.

You follow the curve of the upper deck towards the cockpit. A small brown-haired woman pokes her head out the door. “Stowaway?” she says.

Her deadpan has your gut twisting. “I—Mister—Um, Poe… Poe said I could…”

“You’re good. Rey’s kidding.” Poe introduces her to you and you carefully shake her hand.

“Welcome to the Falcon,” Rey says before taking her seat in front of the controls.

“She’s a little odd,” Poe whispers, warmth and love radiating from every word. You just nod, trying to smile.

Finn takes the seat next to her and Poe sits behind her, so you take the only remaining seat in the small cockpit for the remainder of the flight, tucking your knees to your chest and making yourself as small as possible, your bag resting over your knees.

The flight to the Resistance base is much shorter than you had expected. It makes sense, given how often Poe came to visit you for supplies, that they’d want somewhere close if they got into a jam.

If you could equate ‘a jam’ to the war raging in the galaxy.

Upon landing you’re quickly taken through a medical evaluation and then meet two members of the Resistance leadership, a taller woman with pink hair and a shorter one that seemed to carry the galaxy on her shoulders.

You can’t remember their names. It takes all of the concentration you can muster to keep from trembling. You’ll have to ask Poe later, for their names and a map of the base that quickly reveals itself to be a labyrinth. Surely he’ll be able to help. He’s been at your side since the Falcon had landed on D’Qar, providing enough smiles and kind words that you didn’t shake apart.

He walks beside you then, excitedly rambling about how well you’ll fit into the mech unit that had been stationed on base and how he’ll make sure you have enough supplies to still make some prettier things.

“You could still sell them, you know. The Resistance doesn’t exactly have that many sources of income. It would be the same work you were doing for us before!” he says.

The light in his eyes makes you want to trust him. You don’t have the heart to burst his bubble, but you know you aren’t going to fit in with the other mechanics. You don’t have the skills to contribute and you aren’t enough of a social butterfly to make a meaningful contribution to morale.

It was why you had always worked alone.

But there was no going home. So what else could you do?

Poe leads you down a quiet hallway near the back of the base, where the walls are open to the evening air and you can gaze out at the jungle. At the very end of the hallway, he opens a door.

The room is small, the furniture well-used in a way that instantly makes it cozy. A clean set of sheets has been laid on the unmade bed, which is squished into the corner against a wall of windows.

“The windows darken, if they make it feel too open for you. I noticed you cover most of the windows in your workshop…” He moves over to the panel laid into the wall next to the windows and hits a button. The glass becomes opaque, leaving you in darkness.

He giggles, letting out a small, “Oops,” as he paws at the panel, struggling to find the light. Your eyes adjust quickly to the darkness. You move towards him, hitting another one of the buttons.

The lamp in the ceiling stutters to life and you quickly back up, realizing how close you’ve gotten to Poe. He smiles, not unkindly, and says, “It’s okay. You’re going to be safe here. I promise.”

You nod. Your jaw has glued itself shut, keeping you from responding with anything more than a hum that you hope sounds encouraging.

“I’ll leave you to get settled in. We can head down to Supplies tomorrow to get you some clean clothes. There are a few shirts in the dresser. I thought you might want to sleep in something clean.” Poe points to the dresser and makes his way to the door. “Well, goodnight.” He backs out of the room, still smiling as the door closes between you, leaving you alone.

In the dresser, you find two shirts, one with long sleeves and one with the sleeves cut off. You lay your dirty clothes in one of the other empty drawers and put on the long-sleeved one. It’s worn, small holes dotting the edge of the collar where a necklace might have snagged it. But it’s warm. You dress the bed and lay down, fiddling with the hem and staring at your flickering light until sleep finds you.

You lean against the wall outside the cantina, clutching your cup tight in one hand. You’d brought tea in case the night got cold, but the dancing, screaming utter chaos inside the building seems to seep out, warming the night long after the sun had gone down. You watch the shadows that the people inside cast through the windows.

“Hey, Mech! Are you coming inside?” One of your favourite techs calls from the doorway. In your panic, you forget her name.

Even a year of knowing someone can’t stand up to the adrenaline spike that courses through you at someone’s eyes meeting yours.

Your open your mouth to respond but your tongue sticks to your teeth, so you shake your head, holding up the unlit stick of spice that rests between your fingers as an excuse.

She grins and yells, “Enjoy!” before heading into the building.

You wonder how long you can go using the same stick of spice as a way to get out of talking to people before someone calls you on it.

A crowd of pilots make their way up the short road between the town and the base. From their yelling, they’ve already broken into the liquor stash. A few voices stand out. Karé and Jess, more specifically. Black Squadron. Which means Poe is surely among them.

Quickly, you survey them. Poe is there, his flight suit only half on. He’s tied the arms around his waist, securing the bottom half of his jumpsuit in place and leaving him in a white undershirt that showed off his arms, shoulders, and most of his chest. Rey always says it ‘barely counted as a shirt’ and you giggle to yourself at the memory, stopping only when you realize how crazy you’ll look if someone spots you.

You tuck your knees into your chest, making yourself as small as possible so they don’t notice you.

You’re almost successful.

Poe Dameron slides down the wall beside you, waving his squadron into the cantina as he settles. “D’you need a light for that?” He gestures to the spice in your hand.

You shake your head.

“Just needed a minute by yourself?”

At that, you nod.

He grunts as he sinks back into the wall. “Cool. Me too.”

You gaze out at the jungle together. Poe can’t sit still, as hard as he tries. He begins to sway to the music that blasts from inside the cantina, humming along and tapping a rhythm line you can’t hear on his thigh.

“Do you want to dance?” He finally blurts out.

“In there?” You whisper, somehow finding your voice as you point to the door.

He shakes his head and stands up, brushing off his flight suit. “We can dance right here.” He grins down at you. Pure energy radiates from him.

You can’t disappoint him.

So you stand, pocket your spice, set down your teacup, brush yourself off, and look at him expectantly.

Poe takes your hand in his, stepping closer. He keeps enough of a distance that you don’t feel the urge to run, only making contact with you where your palms touched and where his hand rested lightly on your back to guide you. The two of you barely sway, following the bass that pounds through the walls.

“Is this usually how you dance at these parties?” You whisper, already knowing the answer. You’ve seen the way he holds onto his partners, his dark gazes, his wandering hands. This is very, very different, almost proper, and you aren’t sure what to make of it.

“No. But it’s how I used to dance when I lived on Yavin. My mom taught me,” he says, turning you slowly. “The music at these parties is always bad. But it’s not always so loud.”

“Celebrations usually are. Loud, I mean. It’s… good. I’m glad everyone has a chance to relax.”

Things on base had been tense, the silence uncomfortable and heavy, even for you. The Resistance had needed a victory. Even this little one was invigorating, like you actually had a chance against the army that had amassed in the shadow of the New Republic’s failure.

“Yes. It’s good.” He spins you again, and you settle into a rhythm.

Poe is a good dancer. Many of the people that seemed to yearn for him would have killed to be in your place, to be so close to the Untouchable War Hero Poe Dameron. He keeps to himself, sticking with Rey and Finn (and you, when you could stand to be around people) when he wasn’t around his squad, and you saw how that angered some people on base.

Thankfully, they mostly left you alone. There were some perks to having two Jedi and the Resistance’s best pilot as your only friends. Even if they were only friends with you because Poe kept sitting with you for meals.

But that didn’t mean your ears turned off. It was safer to stay in your office or in the mech lab, where you didn’t have to be around people’s judging glances and whispers. The techs you liked kept their conversations with you brief and solely focused on work-related matters. They didn’t bring up Commander Dameron’s favouritism towards you, the extra projects he gave you so you could practice working on the Resistance’s tech, or the way he trailed behind you on your rounds when he should have been training, or the nights he spent in your room.

They also didn’t know that most of those nights ended with the two of your sprawled out on your floor, laying in the light cast by the moon through your window, with enough space between you that Rey and Finn could have fit. It wasn’t nearly the scandalous affair they all made it out to be.

But still. Poe is there. Holding you, not some other mech he could romance and whisk away before the night is over.

“Shouldn’t you join the party?” you whisper.

“I’d rather be out here with you.” His voice is as soft as the hand that rests on your lower back, drawing you closer.

“You know I won’t be going home with you,” you remind him.

He chuckles again. “Can’t I dance with a friend?”

“I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Are more of the people you dance with friends?”

“Friends of a sort.”

Your stomach rolls and you straighten up. “And what sort of friend am I?”

He doesn’t seem to notice a change in you, but his voice softens, the darkness that had edged his words disappearing. “A good one. One of the best.”

“I can’t beat Finn, I guess.” You untangle yourself from him and sit back down, taking a sip of your cold tea.

Poe stays standing, looking down at you like a lost puppy. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, Poe,” you whisper. “You’re fine. Go enjoy your victory party.”

He shuffles his feet, looking between you and the open door.

“I’ll come back for you,” he finally says. “I’ll walk you home.”

“Sure, Poe.” You nod, trying for a smile.

You’re gone in the time it takes him to get a drink and come back to your spot against the wall.

“So, you haven’t hooked up with anyone since you got to D’Qar.”

You stare at Poe, trying to figure out if you’ve imagined him speaking.

“Am I wrong?” he says.

You watch his lips move.

Yeah, he’s definitely actually talking.

“How would you know?” you finally reply.

“Because you have the same routine every day and I’d notice if you deviated from it. Hell, Holdo would notice if you deviated from it.” He stares down at his feet, swinging his legs off the edge of the boarding ramp. It had gotten stuck in place, five feet off the ground, and you and Poe had been sent to fix it. Though your tools were spread out in the belly of the shuttle and you had wanted to get to work, Poe had insisted you pause to watch the sun rise ‘properly’ over the base. It’s still too early for you to be disturbed, which you’re equal parts grateful for and dreading. Though you had settled back into a normal rhythm after the Dancing Incident, you felt like you were still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Maybe I haven’t. What’s it to you?” you say, not looking at him.

“Most people go through the base the moment they get shipped here.”

“I’m not most people.”

“Clearly.”

His voice edges it’s way solidly into the flirty zone.

On instinct, you say, “If this is you offering, I’m not interested,” even though you know it’s a lie.

He snorts, “Oh, I figured that one out. Don’t worry.”

Your head whips around to stare at him. “What?”

He laughs, full-belly, his face tilting up towards the rising sun. “I’ve been flirting with you for ages. If you had any interest, I’m sure you would have made a move by now.”

“You flirt with everyone.”

“I do not.”

“Yes you do! You treat me the same as all the other people you take home.”

“No. I don’t.” Sudden softness. And it hurts, it aches somewhere deep in your chest because the pain in his voice is your fault, and you know it.

It’s your turn to stare down at your feet, hanging off the platform. You wonder what he’d do if you jumped off and went inside. Would he come after you? Would he give you space, find you later and apologize?

How many more times can you run from him, reject him, leave him behind, before he started to leave you?

You reach across the gap between you and take his hand. Your grip is sure, more like you’re holding a soldering iron than a human. When he moves to hold you back, you don’t flinch, even with your heart hammering against your ribs and the little voice in your head screaming at you to run.

Progress.

“I know,” you whisper. Because you do. If you’re anything at all, it’s perceptive.

Something in you aches to say more, but your tongue turns to sandpaper and you can barely swallow around it, never mind speak.

Poe squeezes your hand lightly.

The sun rises.

Finally, he whispers, “Should we get back to work?”

You nod. You stand.

You’re the first to let go.

Poe sits across from your work bench, dutifully holding your wrench with two hands. He hasn’t said a word since he sat down, fully becoming part of your workstation as you move around the engine mod you’ve been working on for weeks.

He’d taken to randomly showing up. It was a recent development, and you guessed it had something to do with how few missions he’d been assigned. Everyone else had been busy, taking the intel from the new scouting team and turning it into results. Which meant you had more stuff to fix.

But Poe had been kept on D’Qar, training the recent batch of recruits. And when he was off, he delivered the damage gear that got shipped back to base from wherever-the-fuck the Resistance spies had broken it so you could fix it.

He watches carefully as you replace the paneling on a blaster he had brought over from Gold squadron. Another mech steps into the workspace, takes one look at Poe, and runs out.

Your face burning, you turn on him. “Do you keep showing up here because you have something to say?”

Poe shakes his head.

“Have you taken a vow of silence?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“I like your voice.” You still sound grumpy (and embarrassed), but you mean it.

He just blinks at you, his lips turning up in a sheepish smile. It’s sweet, how he still gets nervous around you. Before, you’d thought that it was just the circumstances of your meetings, the high-stakes nature of smuggling weapons for the Resistance. But he still gets quiet, still blushes whenever you catch him off guard.

Before you can think too hard about it, you lean across the table and kiss him.

It’s light, just a press of your lips against his, but it sends your head hammering against your ribs anyhow.

He’s too stunned to speak for a long moment. Finally, he whispers, “What was that for?”

Your stomach drops like stone. “Did you not like it?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “I dunno. You ran away before I could decide.” Slowly, he rounds the table, coming to stand between your knees.

You roll your eyes but lean in again anyways. His hand gently cups the back of your head as he brings his lips to yours.

It’s nothing you were afraid of and everything you want. He’s soft, oh-so-soft, but never yielding to the way you push against him. Winding your hands in his hair, you tug him closer and swallow the little surprised sound he makes.

In an instant, he’s everywhere: his hands on your waist pulling you out of your seat, his chest pressing to yours, his arms encircling you to keep you close.

When you finally pull away, flushed and gasping for air, you ask, “How about now? Was that okay?”

Poe nods slowly, his gaze focused on your mouth. “It was perfect.”

After that day, Poe hardly leaves your side, to the point that Leia had to order him to return to his normal duties.

As much as you loathe the stares from everyone else, you bask in the attention from Poe. He’s so sweet to you, stealing little kisses and touches whenever he can. Though you still tense sometimes when his hands on your back or hips catch you by surprise, you’re more than comfortable the rest of the time. It’s new. Different. You hadn’t thought this would ever be possible again.

You still hadn’t talked about it. What you were to each other. What this meant. But he walked you home every night, and he brought you lunch on days he was on-world, and you were okay with the not-knowing.

Weeks later, after he had walked you home, you invite him inside.

It should be normal, him being in your room. It had happened before. You’d spent long days working in there and nights sleeping side by side, the few inches between you feeling like an entire planetary system and nothing at all.

But somehow, this feels different.

He keeps a hand on your back as you enter the room. You sit on your bed as he talks through his next mission, but you aren’t really paying attention.

The air is heavier somehow. Every shaky inhale takes more out of you.

You’re not sure how it happens. One moment, he’s talking about the caves on Jedha. The next, he’s above you. His hands tight on your waist. Yours under his shirt (just barely). His breath hot on your neck.

Everything is warm. Too warm. And he’s above you, and it should feel good, and it does, when you aren’t thinking about it. But you are thinking about it. And the walls start to close in. And you can’t get a full breath.

“P-Poe…” you whisper.

He hums into your skin, hips grinding more firmly into yours as he kisses along your jaw. It hurts, somehow exquisite and excruciating all at once.

“Poe?”

He freezes, hands leaving your waist and finding yours. “Are you okay?”

You tip your chin up to the ceiling, gasping. “I… I can’t breathe.”

Poe backs off, keeping a hold on one of your hands. “Are you sick? Can I get you something?”

You shake your head and fold in on yourself, somehow sitting up on your bed. Bent over your knees, you focus on breathing slowly. Evenly.

Poe sits on the floor at your feet, still holding your hand, rubbing small circles over your knuckles with his thumb. He kisses the back of your hand, murmuring against your skin. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. You’re okay. I’m so sorry. You’re safe.”

Slowly, you start to come down. Your eyes open enough to focus on him in the dim glow of your room.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you say slowly, your whole body shaking. “It’s not your fault.”

He nods, seeming to understand.

“It’s not your fault,” you say again, tears pricking your eyes.

“It’s not yours either,” he whispers, and you find he’s right.

Poe starts to stay the night.

It isn’t often, only when you both can afford to lose some sleep getting ‘distracted’. More and more, your bed feels empty without him in it. You begin to miss his kisses, rather than worry about when the next one might happen.

And Poe notices.

He’s more careful, after the night you had to stop him. But never timid with you. He doesn’t walk on eggshells like the others used to. He’s wrong, sometimes, but he tries. And you’re safe no matter what. And that means more than any sweet words he could whisper to you in the dark, after he thinks you’re asleep.

Because he does that. Often.

It doesn’t matter how you fall asleep, whether he’s laying on your chest or you’re tucked under his arm; he eventually starts to talk to you. Sometimes it’s stories, the ugly parts of his recent mission that he couldn’t bare to tell in the daylight or a memory from his childhood. Sometimes it’s dreams: taking you back to Yavin IV, introducing you to his dad, meeting his childhood friends, vacations on Chandrila, what your first baby’s room will look like (he’s sure to clarify: “If you want kids. We can talk about it.”), where the kids should attend flight school, how he wants to be buried beside you someday.

It’s that night that you wake as he’s saying, “I’ll die first. I have to. I don’t want to be alone.” He pauses to sniffle and cuddle into your shoulder before continuing, “I don’t want to leave you by yourself but I can’t be without you. And you won’t really be alone. You’ll have Finn and Rey. And your people in mech. You’ll be okay.”

“I won’t be,” you whisper before you’ve decided to speak.

“W-what?” He props himself up on an elbow, staring down at you in the dark.

“You were my first friend. You’re my love. I don’t want to be without you either.” You reach up, tracing over his cheek with a feather-light touch.

At once, he shudders and slots himself over you, his arms cradling you to his chest as he presses his forehead to yours.

“You have the more dangerous job,” you say, though you know it won’t help. “I could lose you any day. Any time you walk out the door…”

He presses his lips to yours, insistent. And you give in. Because he knows. And you know he knows. As much as you never talk about it, this war is more likely to steal you from each other than to spit you out the other side, hand in hand. The clock ticks, and ticks, but as long as it doesn’t stop, you have time.

And it’s time you spend, that night, wrapped in each others arms, shedding clothes, as close as two souls can be while trapped in human forms.

When you cry — and you do cry — it’s from relief. Release. Never pain.

In the aftermath, he holds you tight, and he presses kisses over your cheeks, and you realize just how much you love him.

When you tell him, he cries too. And it’s your turn to hold him.

Poe seems to stand taller as you walk through the base and people notice your linked pinkies.

“It’s so sweaty,” you’d said whenever he asked if he could hold your hand.

So you’d found a happy medium. He could still be physically linked to you, claim you as his for everyone to see, and you could avoid the sensory overload that accompanied having damp palms.

A few people look, more to pay respect to The Poe Dameron than to give you any attention, but even so, the stares are like pins in your neck. You flinch at a cupboard slamming in a room adjacent to the hall. Poe drops your hand to wrap an arm lightly around your waist, like he can shield you from the sudden onslaught of sights and sounds.

“Almost there,” he whispers into your hair.

You nod just enough to signal that you’ve heard him.

Poe steers you out of the base, keeping a hold on you until the two of you are on the path towards the cantina the Resistance frequented. He helps you into a booth at the back, his hands staying safe places while people could see you. Once you’re settled in, his hand finds it’s way between your thighs, squeezing gently.

He kisses your forehead and joins the conversation happening around you.

Eventually, Rose, Rey, and Finn join you, squishing you all onto the small bench. Poe checks in, making sure you’re alright, and you find that you are. Without realizing it, you’d gotten used to the casual affection that’s typical of Resistance members. Where Finn’s thigh is pressed to yours, you just feel warmth.

He and Rey talk about their daily training. You and Rose bond over your mech work, and she agrees to teach you everything she knows about the bombers. Before you know it, the night begins to wind down.

Poe helps you out of the booth, your hand securely in his. He kisses over your hair and whispers, “Thank you for coming out with me.”

“Thank you for asking.”

#poe dameron #poe dameron smut #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x female reader #poe dameron fic #mywriting

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