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louellaby · 1 year ago

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FORGET-ME-NOT

REPLACED!MC AU

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W A R N I N G

May contain bad grammar, limited vocabulary, and OOC characters. Please mind that English is not my first language, and it takes a lot of courage for me to post due to my anxiety and paranoia.

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P R O L O G U E

「 The Mysterious Acceptance Letter 」

U N K N O W N

Greetings, Lady Soley.

Y O U

Uhm... hello?

Who is this?

U N K N O W N

That is not important at the moment. We have other matters to discuss, you see.

Y O U

Uh, no, we don't!

I don't know who you are, nor how you got my number, so I'm not saying anything to you.

U N K N O W N

Well, it can't be helped then.

Am I right to assume you've received a letter this afternoon?

Your maids must have delivered it to you the moment you stepped in the property.

Y O U

Are you saying that it was you who sent it?

U N K N O W N

That is somewhat correct, yes, but it wasn't mine to write.

You see, my master has decided you would be a great candidate for the exchange program at our academy. The letter would send you here within a week, so please be prepared by then.

Please bring whatever you may need for the entire year. In fact, it's recommended.

Y O U

Wait, wait, wait!

What are you talking about?

You're not making sense here, you know!

How was I selected for a school when I hadn't even registered for anything?

And just who do you think you are telling me what to do?

I am not going anywhere a stranger tells me to.

Goodbye now, and you're blocked.

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Loud stomping of a young lady could be heard through the halls of their mansion despite the carpeted flooring. Everyone knew what she was feeling and decided to keep their distance from her until she reached her destination: the office.

"My Lady, I believe it is past your bedtime," the butler who only arrived at the doors himself called out to the girl who huffed upon seeing him. "Do you have business with the Lord?"

"He's my father, Heath. I don't need any reason, nor permission to see him whenever I want to." She replied, placing her hands on both handles of the doors. "I certainly need no scolding from you. Remind yourself of your position in this household."

Without another word, the lady opened the doors herself and entered without waiting for the butler's response. He quietly sighed when he was sure no one was around and whispered, "Yes, of course."

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"Father!" The girl pushed open another set of doors that blocked her way, entering the room within the office that was filled with books and papers. "I knew you'd be up this late again!"

"Soley?" An exhausted groan came from behind a stack of books resting on top of a wide desk. The man who sat there had dark circles under his eyes, and the wrinkles on his worn-out face were visible. Even then, he smiled like nothing was wrong when he saw his only daughter marching her way towards him. "How can I help my sweet little buttercup?"

Soley slammed the letter she received onto the desk and pouted. "I want to know where this letter came from. Find the sender and threaten them to not bother me anymore!"

The man looked at his daughter with a puzzled expression. His mind was working a little slower than normal due to fatigue, but he did his best to keep up with his daughter's nonsense. "I'm sorry, what? I didn't know you received a letter. From whom is it?"

"That's what I want to know, Father! I also got a message from an unknown number! You didn't apply me into any academies without my knowledge, now did you?" Soley placed her phone on the desk with the chat from the unknown number open and clear for her father to see.

As the man read through the messages and the contents of the letter, someone else entered the room with a tray of tea and desserts in hand. "My apologies if I disturbed you, my lord, but I have your snacks ready. I also have your favourites, my lady, if you're staying a while."

The girl huffed as she crossed her arms. She only came there for information, but she knew she wouldn't get it in such a short time considering the state of her father.

Not that she cared about that.

"Fine, serve me the tea and sweets, Heath," she sighed and plopped herself onto the soft couch that rested on the side of the room. "I'm not leaving until I get the information I need."

Her father looked up from the letter and eyed his daughter with an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, darling, but this could take a few days— maybe even longer."

"I don't have that much time, Father! I can't keep myself occupied with this nonsense, I have a party I need to prepare for! The stranger said that I only have a week left before I get whisked away!"

"And how would that actually go, my lady?"

All eyes darted towards the butler, who poured tea into the girl's cup. Soley narrowed her eyes at him, but he just looked at her with a slight smile, clearly hiding a laugh. "What do you mean, Heath...?"

"It is exactly as I asked," he answered, "How would they go taking you away without our knowledge? You are heavily protected by your talented guards the whole day through, and your room is kept guarded from the outside. No one would be able to take you away with ease."

"Well, there's telepor.... ta... tion...."

The silence after her argument increased the heat on the girl's face. She realised what she said and felt absolutely embarrassed. Teleportation? How absurd!There's no such thing as that, and the butler was right! No one could successfully take her by force. Not with her being fully guarded 24/7.

With a red face and gritted teeth, Soley got up from the couch, took both her phone and the letter with her and stomped her way out of the office, leaving the two men watch her back as she disappeared from their sight.

She didn't know she'd be reassured just like that when she only wanted information about the sender.

"Good evening, lady Soley," The night guards in front of her room greeted her as she approached the doors that they opened for her. "We wish you sweet dreams."

Heath is right. I'm protected.

No one can get me, and magic doesn't exist.

The girl threw herself on her bed and looked at the open letter she hovered above her face.

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Greetings to Lady Soley Day,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to attend the Royal Academy of Diavolo, or RAD, as we call it, as an exchange student for our current programme amongst all three worlds.

You are expected to stay for an entire year, fully protected by the Seven Rulers of the Devildom, along with the ambassador from the Human Realm. Safety would never be a concern, we assure you.

Attached to this letter is a summoning circle that will be activated in a week's time. Please prepare everything you would need for your stay.

We are looking forward to seeing you!

Sincerely,

RAD Student Council

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Now that she actually read it herself, the letter sounded stupid and unrealistic. She embarrassed herself in front of her father for this reason?

Little did she know, a group of demons, angels and humans down, down under, was already preparing for her arrival.

Just seven days left.

CHAPTER I 」

Hello, everyone! Loue here.

Thank you so much for reading and getting this far! I really hope you enjoyed it...! This is my very first post, and very first fanfic, so I'm here just sweating profusely because of how nervous I am.

Also, this is my first time posting on Tumblr, and I'm doing everything on my phone, so I'm still not familiar with stuff around here. Please bear with me.

Until next time! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me replaced mc au #obey me angst #Forget-Me-Not

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random-conspiracy · 1 year ago

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AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I want to adress this concept in a deep way BUT 1) I have literally no time to waste and 2) I don't want to write right now, specially in english. My hsnds are so fucking cold and have been acting numb since the beggining of the day. But whatever. The topic is:

Irrational embellishments of a City.

Look, the group as we know it of the surrealist artists (Andre Breton + Gang) reported multiples experiments surrounding the possibilities of irrational knowledge. What would the mind express when there is no rational or concious effort that could change its outcome? Dreams were a fucking incredible area of studies for the surrealism group because it was the purest expression of irrational knowledge. Other techniques revolving around speed: Giving an answer or writing ideas as fast as you could was an accesible way to obtain information not contaminated by logical or rational thought.

NOW one of those games/experiments was giving answers to questions in that exact way. Sometime around objects, dates, etc. The one that I want to bring back to table is On certain possibilities for the irrational embellishments of a City, where they suggested changes and renovations for the monuments of Paris: The Arch of Triumph, the Justice Palace, the statue of Joan D'Arc, the Eiffel Tower, etc.

(REMIND ME TO ADD REFERENCES ABOUT THE WRITTEN REPORT OF THE GAME/EXPERIMENT)

Instructions: Every participant must answer the question regarding the architecture/urbanist changes to do in a certain monument. The players were Andre Breton, Paul Eluard, Arthur Harfaux, Maurice Henry, Benjamin Peret, Tristan Tzara, George Wenstein.

Doit-on conserver, déplacer, modifier, transformer ou supprimer : – 1. L’arc de Triomphe – 2. L’obélisque – 3. La Tour Eiffel – 4. La Tour Saint-Jacques – 5. La statue de Chappe – 6. La statue de Gambetta – 7. La statue de Jeanne-d’Arc (rue de Rivoli ) – 8. Paris pendant la guerre – 9. La Défense de Paris en 1870 – 10. La République (place de la République) – 11. La colonne Vendôme – 12. Le Sacré-Cœur – 13. Le Trocadéro – 14. Le Chevalier de la Barre – 15. Le Lion de Belfort – 16. L’Opéra – 17. Les Invalides – 18. Le Palais de Justice – 19. La Sainte-Chapelle – 20. Le Chabanais – 21. Notre-Dame – 22. La Nationale – 23. La statue de Panhard – 24. La statue d’Alfred de Musset – 25. La statue de Clémenceau – 26. Le Panthéon – 27. La statue d’Henri IV – 28. La statue de Victor Hugo (Palais-Royal) – 29. La statue de Louis XIV – 30. La gare de l’Est- – 31. La statue de Camille Desmoulins ?

(To concerve, displace, modify, transform or suppress)

THE FUCKING POINT: Is that the City is a maleable piece of shit. The city is the face of a society and a culture. The monuments and the streets can be read like lines in a hand, scars, moles.

The city shapes our undertanding of it, and we are the ones who shape it (usually). NOW, what happens when our monuments and buildings are changed? Think about protests and riots. Buildings in fire or demolished according to the way they represent a philosophy and philosophies are changed.

BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT, what happens when this change is irrational? What happens when the way we change the city is absurd, is nonsensical, is an anomaly?

Paul Éluard suggested "lay it (the Arch of Triumph) on its side and transform it into the most beautiful public urinal in France." Andre Breton suggested about Notre Dame cathedral: Replacing the towers with “immense oil and vinegar cruet, one bottle filled with blood, the other with sperm" and the cathedral itself into a “school for the sexual education of virgins.” He also suggested about the Tour Saint-Jacques (below) to demolish the surrounding houses and then prohibiting all access under penalty of death for one hundred years.

DO YOU THE POINT I'M TRYING GO MAKE HERE???

BUILDINGS ARE NOT INMUTABLE AS THOUGHTS. THEY CAN BE DESTROYED, THEY CAN BE TWISTED. We feel the oppresive and eternal presence of our monuments and towers, buildings, brindges, churches. But they can de changed and bended.

Let's make the Capitol a massive statue of balloons, the Palace Justice in Mexico a communitary pool. Let the Independe Angel statue in Mexico no longer be a roundabout, and allow the cars to go across it i any direction and take down the statue and run over it.

Let Nonsense be the apocaliptic monster that eats politics and religions, and faith and fear and rational blocks of concrete. Let it rot the chains and contaminate the walls, fuck the statues and eat the streets. Let architecture grow legs like moho and eoplod the featyres than never bringa back againts the one that atre chained and nevermore let them die aqnds eat and sleep and fuck ansd never o nevrenma ahwa am iI DON ITR NOR W AN D S;LEEP.

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liluslifestyle · 2 months ago

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Tragedy Scripted and Staged

For this analysis, I chose Act IV, Scene V of "Hamlet," where Ophelia descends into madness. This scene is captivating because it provides a deep insight into Ophelia's character and the impact of the tragic events on her mental state.

As I read the scene, I was deeply impressed by Shakespeare's skillful use of language to convey Ophelia's madness. Her fragmented speech, filled with songs and nonsensical phrases, reflects her broken mind. For instance, she sings, "He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone." (Hamlet Act IV scene V, 35.) These haunting lines reveal her grief over Polonius's death and her lost love for Hamlet, with Shakespeare using repetition and rhyme to convey her emotional chaos.

Watching a staging of this scene added another layer of understanding. The interpretation I watched highlighted Ophelia's vulnerability and innocence. The actress portrayed Ophelia with a demeanor accentuating her fragility, making her descent into madness even more poignant. The use of the stage was minimalistic, focusing on Ophelia's movements and expressions to convey her inner chaos. This interpretation revealed the depth of Ophelia's suffering and how the play's events have shattered her.

The staging effectively highlighted the other characters' reactions. Laertes's intense anger and grief added to the scene's emotional impact, with the contrast between Ophelia's fragmented speech and Laertes's passionate dialogue underscoring the tragedy of her condition.

I chose this scene for its profound exploration of madness and grief. Hamlet and Claudius's actions directly influence Ophelia's descent. This moment also marks a turning point in the play, driving Laertes to seek revenge for his father's death and his sister's suffering.

In conclusion, Act IV, Scene V of "Hamlet" is a profoundly moving and tragic scene highlighting Shakespeare's ability to convey complex emotions through language and character. The staging I watched vividly depicted Ophelia's madness, enhancing my understanding of the character and the play.

youtube

#Youtube

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kaidatheghostdragon · 8 months ago

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More, because im kind of sad that nobody else has added to this. (Btw all my ideas/prompts are free for anyone to take and make their own - even if its something ive massively fleshed out and you want to take it a different direction. All i ask is you drop a link so i can read whatever you did!)

Tim was the first of the bats to be hit by the strange weapon. The white suits had shown up in gotham a few weeks ago shooting up the place, and about one-fifth of the people they hit were instantly evaporated.

The bats were at their wits end trying to investigate, and nobody was allowed to patrol alone. The Justice League was also reporting that the suits had been spotted in a number of other cities, including Fawcett and Central City. However, the strange weapons seemed to be far more lethal in Gotham than anywhere else.

The suits loudly declared that anyone who was evaporated was a malevolent ghost pretending to be human. They had scanners that they used on *everyone,* and shot anyone who measured above a certain threshold without hesitation or remorse.

The bats had stolen one of the scanners pretty early on and found that every one of them measured above the threshold. Whatever logic the suits were using to justify their crusade was clearly nonsense.

Tim had found a lead, a rumor that one of the evaporated had reappeared. They lived in crime alley, and as per the buddy system currently in force, and Hood's rule that no bat enters his territory without his escort, Jason partnered with Tim to investigate.

White suits were already swarming the place, possibly catching wind of the same rumor. Hood and Red Red Robin booked it out as fast as they could, but as luck would have it, the scanners picked up their presence, and the suits gave chase, relentless in their pursuit.

Hood knew every inch of the alley and carefully led Red Robin through many narrow escape routes, forcing the suits to seperate and regroup, but none of it was enough to shake them when they could somehow track the bats' movements.

Tim was running the math as they escaped. Jason had died and came back, and was arguably closest to what the agents claimed of everyone over the scanner's threshold. There was no doubt in Tim's mind that it Hood was hit, he would be killed.

In fact, nearly everyone in the family had died at some point or another. Everyone except Tim. Yes, he was over the scanner's threshold, but only barely. There was still about an 80% chance that he would be unaffected. The agents would stop chasing him if the gun didn't affect him, and it would give jason a chance to escape.

Tim had worked with worse odds before. And if it did kill him? Better him than jason. Bruce wouldn't survive losing jason a second time, no matter how emotionally constipated they both were to each other. Tim had always been just a replacement.

So Red Robin lagged behind, waiting for an opportunity where Hood was far enough a way to get out of the scanner's range while the agents focused on Red Robin.

When Tim felt his entire body go numb from the shot, he knew his gamble had failed. He could only spend his last fraction of a second of critical thought, hoping that Jason wasn't dumb enough to turn around.

And then Tim woke up. Or maybe that wasn't the right description, as he wasn't fully convinced he had even lost consciousness. A quick self-check confirmed that he was whole and uninjured, laying on *extremely* soft carpeted floor.

Tim sat up, guaging his surroundings as quickly as possible. He was in an extremely large room, walls of stone like an old keep or castle. In the center of the room stood a piece of frankensteined tech that Tim *guessed* was some sort of antennae, by the overall shape of it. Covering most of the walls were shelves stacked to capacity with various medical supplies and emergency first aid equipment. There were a couple of prepped and ready--to-use gurneys, and a clear-doored fridge stocked with glass jars and iv bags filled with a lazarus green liquid.

In one corner of the room, sitting on two stools, was an enormous black knight cloaked in purple flames, and next to him, an honest-to-god yeti, one arm made of clear ice, even displaying the arm bones.

"Ah, another liminal," the yeti commented.

The knight sighed as they stood, "I'll go inform the prince," then promptly vanished into thin air in a whirl of purple flame.

Half an hour later, as Tim was asking a million questions of the ever-patient and delightfully friendly yeti, Red Hood showed up the same way Red Robin had, battered and bruised. As Tim and his new friend Frostbite gave Jason emergency medical care, Jason (after getting over the shock of still being alive and returning back to vigilante mode) informed Tim that he did, in fact, turn around ("WHAT in the GODDAMN FUCK were you THINKING, Tim?!?!") and the agents had attempted to live-capture Hood, but he had put up so much of a fight that they decided to shoot him instead when he had nearly escaped.

He had also called in back-up after Tim had been shot, and right on cue, Robin and Nightwing appeared in the room. More injured than Tim but less than Jason.

Great, Tim thought, Bruce is probably really going through it right now. So much for noble sacrifices.

Good reveal au, where after learning phantom's identity and realizing the atrocities that the GIW have committed (or alternatively, ethical science au, where they find out the GIW plagarized them), the fenton parents decided to create the 'ultimate ghost-ending weapon' and sell it to the agents.

They go absolutely overboard, describing to the agents in meticulous detail how it evaporates any ghost it hits near-instantly and describing it quite ruthlessly in the blueprints, and soon the GIW have raplaced all their main weapons with the new gun.

Except it doesn't actually kill ghosts. It's the Fenton Bazooka. You know, the one that creates a portable portal to suck the ghost back into the ghost zone? What they actually did was retool it slightly to make it look more grusome than it actually is. They even added a beacon in Phantom's Keep, which all Fenton Bazookas will target when they open a portal, so the ghosts are always delivered to the keep.

From there, Phantom stationed an emergency medical team at the keep to treat the many injured and ragged ghosts that the GIW 'destroyed,' and to explain what just happened.

What they didn't anticipate was that now that the GIW have a mass-produced weapon that they believed would effectively eradicate ghosts, they would go on the offensive. They have a number of cities they've been monitoring but didn't want to get involved in without better tools.

One of those cities is Gotham.

And the Bats are ectocontaminated enough to register as ghosts.

Batman witnessed several of his children get evaporated by green energy weapons within mere moments of each other. He's absolutely gutted. Devastated. They didn’t even stand a chance.

He'll get his revenge, and it's frighteningly easy to track the weapon to private subcontractors. The Doctors Fenton, in Illinois. Their research calls for the genocide of all ghost kind, and apparently, that war started by killing his own children.

His children will not die in vain.

He gets to Amity Park and finds the Engineer's Nightmare of a building that is Fentonworks, but that night, before he can hack through the security and break in, one of the windows opens.

It's one of his kids that he had watched evaporate before his very eyes. They give him a silent signal of one of their identifying security codes and gesture for him to come inside.

Is it a trap? A prank in poor taste? Utterly genuine?

He goes through the window.

All of his dead kids are there, wearing borrowed pajamas and only their dominoes to conceal their identities. Daniel Fenton (son of the Fentons, this is his bedroom, has voiced a few arguments against his parent's views, but still an unknown) is among the crowd of teens and young adults, twirling on an office chair and obnoxiously sipping a capri sun.

"First thing you need to know, Bats," Daniel says after finishing his drink, "is that my parents are absolutely NOT genocidal ectophobic scumbags, and that is the reason why your kids are still alive."

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bloggingbrin · 4 years ago

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Postmortem 💀 – Chicken Defense 🐔

This was originally written as an essay for a university project. You can get a .PDF here and I would recommend playing the game before reading it. Enjoy.

Introduction

Chicken Defense is a game about protecting an ever moving flock of chickens from being stolen by jealous farmers. With action packed gameplay it’s a spin on tower defence genre where the player is going to be constantly on the run and constantly moving.

Through the development process I acted as a Game Design Lead while also producing the graphic assets. I was primarily the person that made design documents and tried holding us to the pillars of the game we set up. Levering my previous experience I also programmed, mostly taking care of implementing the assets, juice and sound.

My roles had a “back and forth” connection to the rest of the team. When creating new designs I would bring them up to the team, we would discuss them and based on the discussion I would go back and revise the assets, design documents, animations …

Fig. 1: Diagram based design document

The design documents are worth mentioning as they represented a north-star in our development and directly affected every planning and coding decision made in the team. These were created either as drawn out diagrams for the topics we care about more or were collected in a google document that we intentionally kept as abridged as possible to allow for quick iteration.

1. What we did right

At the start of the project we knew that we need to facilitate a world where the chicken would make sense and I think we have successfully done that through the theme we choose to use in the game.

1.1 A sensible chicken

I am a strong believer that in games things have to make sense. Why can the player do what they are doing? Why are they doing it in the first place? Even if the focus of the game is not HOW the player can build these scarecrows and WHY they are defending the chicken from jealous farmers it has to make sense. This mentality was inspired by Rami’s and JW’s talk of Sensible Nonsense (Ismael & Nijman, 2012) and Johny Ive’s mantra of “finishing the back of the drawer” (2).

So to make sure things make sense we created a world where protecting a chicken would be logical, we designed a story of a farmer attending a chicken show that tours the country every day. This allowed us to change the landscape of the levels and make sure that “it made sense”. We envisioned this farmer being highly clever, able to modify regular scarecrows into instruments of defense.

Fig. 2: Tower concept art.

So the theme was not only tailored to the gameplay but also played into what the game actually is. The game is a small, lunch-break getaway. It is not a grand adventure, it is not something you come back to every day. It is supposed to be something that’s fun for a short amount of time because it turns a genre on its head. So having a theme that just screams unapologetic ridiculousness is honest. Being honest with our design is what helps us set the expectation of what a player is getting into. Honest design is good design (3).

This originally served as an internal way to explain our decisions, we decided to sprinkle parts of explanations into the final game. This took form in with flavourful text, presented on a piece of paper between the levels, just enough to spark the imagination of the player, but minute enough to let the player’s mind fill in the blanks. Player’s reacted positively as the off-the-wall text hinted towards what is happening in the next level and played into reinforcing the comical nature of the game.

Fig. 3: Fluff between the levels.

Lastly, we also needed to make sure that the game would feel as chaotic as we are trying to represent it with the theme. We ensured this through visual silly animations. The characters don’t have a walk cycle, they wobble on a sine wave. The chicken’s kick up a storm of dust whenever they run from their enemies while scarecrows squash and stretch generously as they attack the envious farmers. Every animation focuses on exaggerating (4) what it’s representing, again playing into the overall theme.

2. What we did wrong

Looking back at the game I see the biggest issues being in the engine we decided to choose and in our process of tackling game difficulty through the development of the project.

2.1 Engine

I consider the choice of our engine a design choice and agree with Aral Balkan’s idea that “Design is how it works” (5). While it worked for me, I do not think it worked for us as a team. The engine we worked in was Construct 3. It is an event driven engine that is very visual and easy to use with a “pick and choose events” approach to coding instead of regular code writing. This approachable nature came back to haunt us as the code is saved in .json files which is not very readable. This became problematic as we ran into issues when merging code and having a hard time reading what changed. Additionally the programmers did not end up enjoy coding in Construct, creating a situation where they worked in a framework they considered unfun – this does not help creating a motivating surrounding.

Fig. 4: Construct’s event system.

2.2 Difficulty

Our initial goal was to scale the difficulty by throwing more enemies at the player and giving the players more chickens to take care of. Making the game more chaotic.

I see our game as having 3 pain points that resulted in me marking difficulty as a failure.

2.2a Lack of strategic depth

The difficulty of the game increases as new gameplay elements get added. For example, in level 2 the player plays with a different scarecrow than level 1. Level 4 introduces new enemies, while level 5 adds an extra chicken. Later levels focus on introducing new environments such as caging the chicken in player-in-accessible areas in level 10 and removing resource drops in level 7 and 8.

However, we rarely use these elements to create puzzles. Adding them to the gameplay does create difficulty. This difficulty is shallow and does not last for a long time. If we draw parallels with the world of UX design, we are essentially creating noise (6) that the player needs to scan through to find the right answer.

Users during tests have responded to this noise by trying out new strategies, however, the sad truth of the our level design is that this reaction is a façade. Usually the best strategy is to place as many range towers as possible in the middle of the map, no matter what level you play. This non-changing answer relegates our new elements just down to noise that needs to be scanned through and eliminated out of the equation. I believe that the elements in a game should require the player to reconsider what they are doing and force them into a different playstyle. We don’t do this consistently and that is why the game lacks strategic depth.

Fig. 4: The strategy

2. Resources

Using resources as a way to allow the player to build scarecrows seemed natural, we are making a tower defense game after all. But their purpose was to limit the player, force them to make deliberate choices and with that, create difficulty. However, this caused more issues than it was worth and for a game where we wanted to turn the tower defense genre on its head we were way too stubborn on keeping them in game.

So why were resources bad? They made the levels and chaos much harder to scale. The more enemy farmers the scarecrows defeated the more resources you would get, so in essence throwing more enemy farmers at the player would create more opportunities for a tower to generate resources. Having access to more resources allows for placing more towers making the game easier. So trying to make the game harder, made the game easier. This could be fixed by adjusting tower costs, requiring more enemies to be defeated using a single tower but this would destroy the opening levels with less enemies et cetera.

This un-intuitiveness created by the resources ties back to the first point. It made designing interesting levels really hard. The intuitive answer to ramp up difficulty was not intuitive anymore and while it did prompt us to create some interesting levels (level 7 & 9), they felt like gimmicks compared to the rest of the game.

The only difficulty the resources created was punishing a player harshly for a misplacement of an early tower. This issue is not uncommon (7) among tower defense games and something we ended up band aid fixing by making towers “recycle” themselves.

Fig. 5: Remember to recycle your scarecrows, kids.

Resources had too many ripple effects and they did not serve their purpose, they forced us to band aid fixing and made level design unnecessarily hard. I am sure we could have found a better solution for limiting how many scarecrows you can build.

3. Bad (analysis of) data

I think the difficulty problem came to be from the way we analyzed data. As I alluded to in the first point, our testers responded to new elements being introduced by trying out different strategies. This led me to believe that the level designs were achieving what they were supposed to achieve.

The mistake here was not considering how many variables are at play when testing the difficulty of a game, or as Tom Francis puts it – how random difficulty is (8). When someone played the game by simply using range towers in the middle of the map, we were baffled, unsure how to “fix” this. This issue would not happen had we thought of how we want the levels to be solved more and not just what are the things we want to introduce in a level.

Takeaways

These takeaways should serve as reminders of what to do in the next projects:

Build a world not just for the player but also for yourself

A comfortable development environment goes a long way, make tool choices that facilitate this for everyone

If something is giving you too much trouble, try replacing it instead of fixing it

Summary

The finished game has a strong and honest theme that creates appropriate player expectations and makes the game feel logical. The systems work together to create a feeling of confusion and the player is required to care of multiple elements. However, most of the difficulty is manifested in this confusion creating a difficulty curve that exists but it exists for the wrong reasons. The game is far from perfect and the development process has taught us a lot, however I would be lying if I didn’t say that I am quite happy with how the game turned out.

References

(1) Nijman, J.W., & Ismael, R. (2012). Sensible nonsense https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vk94HoI_tCo (2) Goldberger, P. (2013). Designing Men https://www.vanityfair.com/news/business/2013/11/jony-ive-marc-newson-design-auction (3) Good Design principles https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dieter_Rams#%22Good_design%22_principles (4) Twelve basic principles of animation – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Twelve_basic_principles_of_animation#Exaggeration (5) Balkan, A. (2012). Design is not veneer https://ar.al/notes/design-is-not-veneer/ (6) Krug, S. Don’t make me think Revisited (4th ed.). New Riders (7) Nijman, J.W. (2020) FFFLOOD postmortem – https://vlambeer.itch.io/ffflood (8) Francis, T. (2019) Difficulty is random https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-8lYPAPGo40

Some further useful links

Francis, T. (2019) Good difficulty settings https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4WdYhrOHxSY Clements, R. (2012) Why we love tower defense games https://www.ign.com/articles/2012/09/24/why-we-love-tower-defense

#brindoes #blogging #gamedev #postmortem

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honeycombstrawberry · 3 years ago

Note

I came here from AO3 to ask if you would be willing to do a second part to "for you, anything" just cuddles in the hospital after getting y/n in a stable condition sound adorable :]

bonus scene from "for you, anything"

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns) rating: gen word count: 1,028

>>> read on ao3!! <<<

You blink, and it feels like you’re waking up in the morning, except everything fucking hurts.

Without meaning to, you groan, trying to reach up to block the light hitting you in the eyes. Your hand is stopped by a light tug, and you blink again, downwards this time, confused, to find yourself connected to an IV.

If that’s supposed to be painkillers, it’s not working particularly well, you think with agitation, dropping your hand back down.

There’s no moment where you forget what’s happened to you. The memories are all there already, just waiting to fill your mind the second you’re conscious and aware. You’re not sure what happened in between you riding in the van with Adrian and you waking up in this hospital bed, but you at least feel like you’re in less pain than you had been, if nothing else. You’re sure you’ve got Adrian to thank for that.

You’ve only had about two seconds to evaluate the hospital room you’ve been secluded in before the door is pushing in. Adrian’s eyes meet yours, and he nearly drops the bag in his hands when he realizes you’re awake.

“Holy shit,” he says, and shoves the paper bag aside. He’s at your side in a second, perched on the edge of the hospital bed, eyes raking over you quickly, taking your hand in his, far more careful in moving you than you’d been with yourself. He takes your head in his other hand, kisses your temple hard. “Holy shit, okay, you’re— You’re awake, you’re okay, how’re you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” you tell him, and your throat scratches. You frown, then ask him. “Do you— Is there water?”

“Oh, shit, yes,” he says. He kisses your cheek, then stands to retrieve the paper bag. “The water from the sink here is super janky and all their little water bottles are dumb and destroy the environment so I went and got you your water bottle from home when I was changing my clothes. And then I realized you needed, like, the actual water, too, so I went and got that, and I was getting snacks, but I didn’t know what you’d be able to eat, so I got a bunch of everything—”

“Adrian,” you cut him off, and he turns back to you, hands full of the contents of his paper bag. “Water first.”

He exhales. “Right,” he says, and starts digging through the bag again. He’s changed out of his Vigilante uniform into jeans and a sweater, but he’s still rumpled and sweat-streaked, his hair at all angles. His clothes are changed, but he remains a mess. It’s clear he didn’t linger long, wherever he went.

When he comes back to you, he helps you in taking your water and drinking it, even though you’re not weak enough to need that much help, necessarily. It reassures the both of you to do it, until he can take the bottle away again, setting it aside.

“Do you want food?” he asks. “Or— I mean, the nurse, probably, or a doctor, or somebody. Or, like— More sleep? Or—” You reach out and catch his wrist, tugging lightly at him. You can’t move far, or with much strength, but you squeeze as tight as you can anyways.

“Would you lay down with me?” you ask him. The pain’s burning in you, but the fear’s a little stronger, a little harder to shake. You know, logically, you’re in a safe place, but— you weren’t, for so long, and the back of your mind still itches, and your skin still prickles, and you’ve missed him. Adrian can make it all better, even if it’s a nonsensical thought to have. You think it might still be true, anyways.

Adrian’s brow creases together, crumpling in a sweet sort of affectionate concern.

“Yeah,” he says, and kisses the back of your hand before crouching down to pry off his shoes. He doesn’t bother unlacing them, just kicking them off with ferocity before he climbs up into the hospital bed with you.

Gingerly, gently, he shuffles you, shifts you around, careful of your wounds, your bandages, your healing aches. He threads himself into you, fits himself around you, holds you close and lets you hold him close in return. When you’re held securely in his hands, you can feel your eyes burning, tears streaming hot down your face. You don’t even know what started the tears, or what exactly you’re crying over. The emotions just— come.

“I’ve got you,” Adrian promises you, holding you close. His voice cracks, right in the middle, but he still clings to you, refusing to let you go. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. Nobody’s going to touch you ever again, okay? I’ll— kill them before they can, I promise. You’re okay.” He pushes a kiss to your temple; his lips move against your skin when he tells you, “I love you so much,” and you exhale shakily.

“Thank you,” you tell him, watery.

“You don’t—”

“I love you,” you continue, before he can even finish his protest.

He hesitates, then kisses your hair, the top of your head.

“I love you,” he whispers again. Another kiss, another soft murmur of, “Fuck, I love you. Don’t— Don’t do that to me again, alright?”

“Well,” you say, “I’ll try,” and he huffs a wet laugh.

“You better,” he warns you, slightly lighter, and squeezes you more tightly to him. “Close your eyes again. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”

You let your eyes close, turning your face into his chest. It smarts, the pains along your throat and collar and all over your face stinging, but it soothes the aches so much more to press them into them, to let him cover them and heal you from within, as if that were even possible. You think it just might be, based on how you’re feeling.

His lips find the crown of your head, and you feel them brush your hair when he says, “I’m not going anywhere,” again. You exhale shakily, trying to get yourself to rest, just— relishing in the comforting hold of him around you, knowing he means it.

adrian chase taglist pt. 1:

@deputyrook @bb-skyrunner @himboelover @pieriinova @gcldtom @violetrainbow412-blog @amysuemc @saturnngal @nptnewr @myguiltypleasures21 @pinkygunslingy @chaseadrian @breathing-in-waves @rishlurh @goblynnrockz @theowritesstuff @themartiansdaughter @dallasvakarian @missscarlettangel @hillaryroadheadcllinton @ohmybubbletea @buckys-estrella @witchywcmans @qjuiq-odakyu @xothatnerdykid @thevalkyrior @mattsmanpain @sunflowerfive @deirdre-belle @anthonyedwinstark @sexysquatch @crimscnrains @trans-librarian

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thcweasley · 4 years ago

Text

Yours

PAIRING : George Weasley X Y/N

SUMMARY : George getting jealous of his twin brother for being closer to you .

WARNINGS : none? Make out? implying things? hehe

WORDS : 1.7k

A/N: lol this hits too close to home, growing up i was shadowed by heather sister :( I was going to turn this into smut but im not sure.. cos i never wrote a smut before lol.

“Focus on your work Weasley” Snape smacked George Weasley’s head with the book he was holding, causing the whole class to look at his direction.

George was already an easily distracted person to begin with. but today especially, he got his mind somewhere else.

He was looking at you and his twin brother Fred, giggling while trying to figure out snape’s task. All of his life he never thought that he would feel this much jealously towards the older twin. Sure, sometimes it bothers him a bit that people pay more attention to him, or the fact that people always refers them as “Fred & George”, not “George & Fred”. But he knew it’s a silly thing to be bothered about so he always managed to brush it off.

But not today, Fred had been assigned with you. The girl George met on his last solo trip to honeydukes. It shocked him how he never saw you around before, despite being in the same house and grade. But hes glad that he met you. George didn’t like to be cheesy, but he was so sure that you were made for him. Whenever youre around, he just felt so happy. You’re funny, kind, and on top of all you’re prettiest thing he ever seen. Sadly, for him, other people seems to think that way about you.

He introduced you 2 weeks ago to his brother and friends. You seem to get along great with everyone. He liked that, his brother and friends is everything for him. But he cant help it but feeling a little bit jealous. He didn’t wanna admit it but this jealously is most probably because he was insecure about his feeling for you. Before everything he was sure that you fancy him the same way he fancies you. But now, hes not sure. And he hated it, youre supposed to be his girl.

The class that felt so long was finally over. George quickly stood up, walking towards the common room. he just want to burry his face onto his bed now. He felt an arm linking his. “Hey you” it was you. He let out a big sigh, not knowing how to feel right now.

“Hey, did you have a good time today?” He hated how catty he sounded. Knowing you, he knew you wouldn’t able to tell.

“Yeah it was fun. Your brother is hilarious you know that?” He rolled his eyes, feeling his face getting hot.

“Well yeah hes a clown” George answered shortly. Wanting you both could just drop this conversation. He didn’t like this, being jealous of his twin brother.

“ahah yeah true, youre also funny too you know” You leaned your head onto Georges arm. At this point it was hard for him to not just pulls you into a big hug. “Whats your plan for the rest of the day?” You asked looking up on him.

“Im not sure, probably just sleep” George answered looking down to you. You looked so cute leaning on to him.

“Wanna have a study date? Snape’s test tomorrow right?” George’s ears perked up at the word date.

A smile creeps on his face. “Yeah sure”

“Brilliant! I’ll see you in 2 hours then!” You gave his arm a squeeze before you go. Leaving George all smiley by himself.

2 hours later, George found himself getting ready for his study date. He finally going to make a move on you. Its obvious that you fancy him now right? At least you were the one who refers their study session as a study date.

He tried to look around for Fred but he was nowhere to be found. He feels weird do anything without asking for the older brother’s advice. But it was time to go to meet you at the Library and he didn’t want to make you wait, so he just decided to cross his fingers and hope for the best.

“Hey” George greeted you, big smile on his face. You look up at him from the book you were reading, smiling back at him. “You got a lot of stuff here” He sat down beside you, looking at paper and pens in front of him.

“Oh its not mine” You answered. “So, do you have anything you’re particularly struggling with?”

Whilst you tried your best to explain the things that he was struggling with. George was doing his best to stay focus on what youre saying instead of you. He cant help but admire your face, your cheeks, your lips. He wonders how would it feel like you press his lips against yours.

“Are you listening to me George?” You asked, knowing the answer pretty well.

“Uh yeah, im sorry I got distracted” he blinked.

You brought your hand on to his head, messing with his red hair. “you’ve been a bit distracted these days. didn’t you got smacked on your head earlier today by Snape?” you chuckled a bit running your fingers on the back of his head. “Did it hurt?” You tilted her head closer to him, rubbing the back of his head.

He couldn’t seem to think straight at this point. The fact that youre so close to him right now, he could smell your scent. He took a deep breath trying to be brave and make a move. He put his hand on top of yours, pulling it away from his head. “Y/N..” He started, linking his fingers with yours. “I think I like you”

“Yeah?” You chuckled feeling. your cheeks starting to get warm. “Whats going on George? Why are you suddenly so serious?”

“Well, Im not sure how you feel about me. But I got nothing to lose so here I am. I like you” Surprised by his words, you didn’t say anything. So he thought he could just make a move then. He leaned in closer to you getting you lips closer to each other. Not knowing what to do you just close your eyes. He smiled, taking this as a greenlight to proceed his act. Until all of the sudden-

“Your tea is here!!” Fred walked in, causing them to pull away from each other. “Hey that’s my seat George, do you not see the stuffs on the table?” He said as he sat down filling the gap between You and George.

“Fred what are you doing here?” George asked, clearly frustrated with the situation.

“That’s not how you greet people, my dear brother” He said handing you the tea he was talking about. “Besides, youre not the only one who got invited to this study group. Right Y/N?” You just nod at him feeling flustered, thinking about what could’ve happened if Fred didn’t just walk in.

The next day, George has been avoiding you since last night. He thought you guys shared the same feeling. But yesterday proved him wrong. He was just another friend to you

Snape’s exam was a group work, being Fred’s partner obviously made you work with him for the exam. You looked so happy, George wishes it was him working with you instead of his twin brother. He hated this so much, it’s ridiculous how jealous he felt towards his twin brother right now.

The exam’s finally over, George saw you coming up to him from the corner of his eyes. “Hey” you greeted him. “Wanna go to Three Broomstick later? I haven’t really seen you all week”

“Who’s coming?” He asked, hoping this time its just the two of you. And everything that he thought about last night wasn’t true.

“Uh everyone. Fred, Lee, Angelina and others im not sure” George snickered. How stupid of him to think that you wanna be alone with him. How stupid of him to think he got a chance with you.

“I think im gonna pass on that” he took a deep breath. “Im tired. Ill see you around” He left you dumb folded, walking away towards his room.

The night comes around. The common room feels empty, his friends had left him for Three Broomstick. George just chilling alone on his bed when he heard someone opened the door.

“George?” You walked towards him, sitting at the end of his bed “Hey, im just.. I just wanna make sure everything is okay”

“Why you here” George answered bitterly. “Arent you suppose to be out with your friends, with my brother?”

“Well yeah but I wanna check up on you. And talk about last night..”

“What do you wanna talk about Y/N?” He took a deep breath. “I already get it, you see me as a friend. If anything, you like Fred more than me. I get it don’t worry. Everyone always picks him over me, im used to it”

“George…” you scotched in closer too him, trying to stop him from rambling all these nonsenses.

“Im not even sure why I thought you like me, he is the better twin. Im just me. I just thought I have a chance with you. Throughout my life, ive always get hands down from my siblings, share with my siblings.” He realised how ridiculous he sounded but it didn’t stop him. “I love how you get along with my friends. But, i just thought, I thought youre my person. Finally someone I can proudly say mine. I thought you feel the same way as I do…” Georges voice was getting quitter when he felt your hand grabbing his. “I like you a lot and I get that you don’t feel the same way. So if youre coming here to explain that i-“

His words were cut off by your lips crashing to his. “You never let me speak Georgie” You murmured against his lips “I don’t know how you got it all wrong” you kissed his cheek lightly. “I didn’t know you felt that way. George. I like you, im your person. Ive always been“

With a big smile he pulled in for another kiss. He held on to your waist pulling you closer to him, positioning you onto his lap. You threw your and around his neck, deepening the kiss whilst his hands lazily griped your waist.

You can feel something poking between the inner part of your legs. With a slight smile you press your legs more on to him, grinding it against him. Earning a low groan from him.

He held your hips down on him, so both of you can feel more of the friction. His lips travelled to your jaw and to the back of your neck. You could feel his hot breath, sending shivers down your spine as he moved his lips closer to your ears. “Prove it” OKAY SO Let me know if you want a part 2 smut off of this HAHAH.

hehe part 2

this was quite hard to write cos i feel bad for him ahaha. this is loosely based on a true story. but i never got my Y/N :’)

MY OTHER WORKS follow me / send request / talk to me! im lonely (if u send me anonymously maybe click here) my collaborative ford anglia playlist Christmas with the Weasley playlist

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #weasley #weasley twins #weasley twins x reader #weasley twins imagine #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #hp #george weasley fluff #george weasley fic #george weasley fanfiction #mine

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thornsandbrambles · 2 years ago

Text

-decks that appropriate from indigenous cultures/in general

-decks that have inaccurate and/or really unclear booklets

-decks that have no booklet but sometimes thats nbd depends on the deck (i have one oracle deck i L O V E that came with no booklet and somehow i always get VERY clear readings from it)

-specifically related to fandom themed decks, if they have characters on the cards that make no sense or really minor characters that nobody fucking knows who they are so they can fill up tje deck.... thats a bad deck

-decks where the booklet doesn't tell you what reversals mean (it's not hard to google but the results are often a cesspool of new age nonsense)

-decks that are only major/minor arcana or not complete decks in some way (unless they're like that bc they're historical decks and that's period accurate then they get a pass)

-decks with a clearly incorrect (read: fluffy and/or too "soft") interpretation of either angels OR fae. like girlie have you ever met a fae/angel in your life. i think not.

-decks that dont have enough energy put into them bc the vibes are usually not strong enough to get good readings with them (iykyk)(they just dont feel "alive" enough and i fucking hate that)

-decks that have incorrect or weird interpretations of a culture and/or gods/goddesses (similar to appropriation but not QUITE the same)

-decks that act like all gods and goddesses are interchangable and/or multiple facets of one entity

-too big (i have tiny hands helpppp. like child gloves fit me xvnsbdgxhxvbdb)

-decks that have ugly art.... like no shade to the artists but some decks its like.... maybe u shld have hired someone 2 do this for u girlie (gn)

-decks that are like. sooooo new agey. i cannot explain this clearly but i hope y'all get it. iykyk.

-too small (hard 2 shuffle)

-decks where the art has nothing to do with the meaning of the card

-xtian themed in any way (just not my thing)

-decks that are too mean (i prefer decks that are direct but friendly yfm)

-decks that just in general have like. either too much or not enough going on art-wise. like if there's too MUCH symbolism i get lost. if there' not ENOUGH im like.... girlie there is nothing HERE. there's a delicate balance.

-decks that DONT rely on symbolism at ALL and are like heeheehoohoo pretty picture. like. what am i supposed to be reading exactly.

-anything wiccan, especially of the new agey variety 🤢

-rider-waite is far from my favorite deck. hate the art hate the appropriation dont like the vibes. i do not like it. it was my first deck and i gave it away after i got a new one 💀 (also it was rly small)

-if the back of the cards is like..... unpleasant to look at, easy to tell when the cards are flipped, something like a mandala or too busy or migraine inducing etc im not a fan

-tacky decks.

-if the fool card is a fucking mirror im out you dont know me girl (gn) why are you blasting me like this (i used to think this was kind of cool but as ive grown in my craft now it makes me roll my eyes)

-i also dont particularly like lenormand decks fsr they just do not vibe with me

-i dont mind decks with sex as a theme TECHNICALLY but it has to be TASTEFUL and very few of them are. also i prefer there not to be a LOT of nudity in my decks but i dont mind a little bit

-basically everything else on your list except ive never had/used a gilded deck

anyway this is probably an incomplete list but this is getting long sooooo yk 😂 im v picky about my decks as you can see but i have collected a lot of them thru the years (over time i think ive had like.... 8???? of them??? [estimate] and right now i have. 6 not including 2 playing card sets that i COULD use for readings but havent). I feel like I know my deck needs pretty well.

my tarot/oracle deck icks:

- overly feminine/“divine feminine” themes

- decks that use the g slur for the ~aesthetic~

- decks that appropriate chakras, kabbalah, indigenous symbols, etc.

- any deck that has “sexual” in the title ((or just decks that are sex themed lol))

- not the biggest fan of decks that are gilded?? it hurts my hands when i shuffle idk

- pip decks ((decks that don’t have actual art for the minor arcana))

- ANY DECK THAT INCLUDES LILITH AS A GODDESS

feel free to add on with your icks bc i’m curious

#honestly i prefer geomancy but #love me a good oracle/tarot deck 🥰#tarot #tarot decks #oracle decks #divination

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peanut-butter-parkerxx · 3 years ago

Text

plane pillow

where peter planned to play video games with ned through the whole flight but fate decided to take another turn....

*A/N: this isnt related to far from home nor the ending of endgame, just pretend infinity and all the movies after didnt exist since i imagine pete 16 in here. i dont know why 16 i just like that age on him lmao, enjoy reading!*

pairing: peter x reader

status: strangerz (well sort of since they haven't talked to eachother but they're in the same school)

NOT PROOF READ BTW SO SORRY IF THERE ARE ANY MISTAKES

peter's POV

"the flight will be amazing! i heard they'd installed the new game we were talking about" i gushed to ned, excited for the whole flight to be filled with video games.

"im excited" ned stated practically jumping from excitement and i shook my head laughing

"OK CLASS!" Mr Harrington clapped his hands getting our attention "we're boarding the plane in a few minutes so pack your stuff and lets goooo" he pointed at our gate dramatically.

we walked to the gate, scanned our ticket and sat on our assigned seats, ned and i sat on the three seater, he took the window seat by winning a 3 round match of rock, paper, scissors *sighs angrily* and i obvious got the middle, kinda scared of who'll sit beside me though.

we had to wait for a few minutes, since we boarded the flight early. ned and i obviously started playing video games, too entranced by the small glowing screen infront of me i haven't realized a girl.

she hadn't really acknowledged me either because she looked tired, i cursed at the screen for losing the game too quickly and my dumb ass still didnt realize a GIRL, MY AGE, looking PRETTY FUCKING ADORABLE was sitting next to me. oh dear god.

after a couple more games and me being the most idiotic teenager known today for not looking at my right to see her the flight attendant alerted us that the plane will take off so we the screen will freeze any moment. ned and i decided to sleep, it was very early in the morning and we need to rest if we plan on gaming most of the flight.

i closed my eyes and shifted a bit in my seat, and slept. the plain was moving at the time trying to find the best place to take off. i guess i was really tired that i havent felt someone sleeping on my shoulder.

i was peacefully sleeping still agitated from the uncomfortable seat but i heard a loud noise that frightened the life out of me and due to my spidey senses i sensed a hand on my right, so what did i do? i fucking held the hand. hard, may i add, from the fright.

i opened my eyes quickly and jumped a bit, turning around to see who's the stranger that i held hands with, startled as well. i sighed in relief knowing our plane was safe and it was just about to take off. but then i took a good look on the perso- her, took a good look on her, on her? OH MY GOD ITS A GIRL calm down peter and please dont scare her off. i couldnt stop looking at her and to my luck she was looking at me as well, but none of us spoke

i couldnt help but notice the small part of her y/h/c hair that was shown from her hood looked so shiny and smooth, her eyes were the most perfect shade of y/e/c. the extremely large hoodie looked so comfortable on her which made me think of her wearing one of mine, how big and long it'll look on her body sent butterflies to my stomach. she looked small, and precious so fragile yet she held her body confidently.

the voice of the flight attendant echoed through the speakers which made us both stop our trance of one another. even though the lady's voice wasnt scary it still frightened us. i mean no hate towards miss attendant she called me a cutie and gave me extra blankets

but coz we got startled again we held hands....again looking for the sources of the noise. we visibly relaxed once we realized what it was, looked at eachother and laughed, her laugh was angelic and soft, hands down the best sound ive ever head. she looked rather embarrassed from the encounter but i bet you a thousand dollars i look worse, i could practically feel the blood rush through my cheeks once she realized how long ive stared at her

"i- uhm i-im so sorry for sleeping on your shoulder, and- and holding your hand and stuff" she apologized, it only made me even more baffled by her. how could a voice match with a face so perfectly.

"no no its fine uhh i dont mind *nervous laugh* and for the hand thing i was the one who grabbed yours so i-i should be the one apologizing...im sorry" i rubbed the back of my neck. this is why i dont talk to girls, ever. well mj is an exception since shes like the closest thing i have to a friend other than my best friend obviously.

"i-im y/n, by the way" she lifted her hand properly introducing herself

"peter, peter parker" i shook her hand, it was nice feeling the warmth of her hand again. we probably held hands (for the third time today by the way) longer the we should have but who am i to say i was bothered. i definitely wasnt.

"nice to meet you peter" she smiled shaking our hands one last time then sitting it on her lap. scratch what i said about her gorgeous laugh, hearing her say my name was the best thing ive heard in my 16 year of existence. (her laugh is obviously the second best)

before i could ask anything else, the plane decided to finally take off. i adjusted myself to the seat, not turning to my right side anymore and closed my eyes trying to think of smiling puppies. ive been on a plane before, in fact a private one last year but that was it. this is my second time flying away from new york and i was a bit nervous.

y/n somehow noticed my sudden tense form, who am i kidding i looked like i was about to die coz of my nerves. and held my hand. and i immediately opened my eyes again, the feeling of her skin coming in contact with mine brought chills down my spine, good ones obviously

"you looked rather tense, is this ok?" she leaned into my ear so i could hear her. i looked at her confused on why she would want to help me but nodded as a reply. a smile crept on my face and i couldnt seem to take it off. the take off went smoothly thank god. and ive occasionally squeezed her hand, usually when the plane made very loud sounds. but i made it! woohoo

i didnt know if i should stop holding her hand or not, even though i didnt want to. will she think im a creep? and if i did, will she think im rude? but i guess it didnt seem to bother her if she went back to sleeping. so i figured i should do the same

i shifted in my seat a couple of times trying to get the perfect comfy spot....nothing. this seat will be the death of m-

"you can sleep on my shoulder if you want" she whispered. "i figured since you let me sleep on yours which im very sorry about, you could sleep on mine" she smiled

"thanks, but i dont wanna bother you or make you uncomfortable"

"oh nonsense! my body is screaming right now cheering for me, well partially scolding at me for saying something risky like that to a good looking guy, its ok" she laughed, her eyes widened in shock from what she confessed. i smiled at her and rested my head on her shoulder

"you think im good looking?" i whispered playing with our fingers, i dont know when i got the sudden confidence but hearing someone like her think a loser like me is cute did something to me.

"shut up" she playfully shoved me and i laughed.

"are you from midtown?" i asked her

"no im from queens" she joked

"oh you're definitely from midtown" i chuckled, next thing i know i was having a normal conversation with me laying my head on a girl i just met like we knew eachother for years, it was nice to talk to a girl i potentially thought was cute instead of talking gibberish

she was very understanding and looked like interested into what i was saying, i was gonna skip my geeky side when she asked about what i like but to my surprise, she mentioned it when i asked her the same, she said she loves comics and likes watching sci fi movies. i asked her if she watched star wars and she said she didnt...yet.

"wanna uhm watch it together?" i played with her fingers absentmindedly nervous if she'd reject me.

"yeah sure" her eyes lit up like she was waiting for me to ask her that. we watched the movie in bliss, thankfully she liked it! and immediately said to put the second one. and surprise surprise, we finished it.

when the credits rolled in, i saw her yawning, shifting in her seat again, i decided to be bold so i lifted her head off my shoulder pulled the arm rest away from us, took a pillow and patted my lap. immediately after doing it i regretted it, she barely knows me, what the fuck peter.

"you sure?" she asked smiling a bit, she looked like she felt something giddy inside which made me feel at peace again and i nodded.

"good night" she whispered snuggling her head on my lap, i hesitantly put my arm over

"good night, y/n" and we fell asleep like how ned slept the whooole time i was talking to her, wow we have a lot to catch up on

bonus:

peters pov

i didnt know the whole plane (our class) practically gushed over my interaction with y/n, i know its been a while since i liked a girl but betty and the rest (including Mr Harrington) practically begged mj to take photos of us since she was the closest, not that she wouldnt have done it without them asking her....

*A/N: idk what this bonus was lmao but i had to add the school feeling happy for our boy pete*

have a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening/night!

-quacksonlover

#spiderman #peter parker x fem #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker #peter parker fluff #ned leeds #may parker #aunt may #the avengers #mcu #michelle jones #marvel #sony pictures #imagines #peter parker x reader #fluff #peter #parker #avengers

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suwya · 4 years ago

Text

Till the Stars Had Run Away - Chapter 6

Summary: Killian Jones was a voyager. Actually, he was many things, or at least he had been - a lieutenant, a brother, a loving boyfriend - until everything had turned upside down and his life had hit an all time low. So, he gave up. Aboard his spaceship he abandoned Arcadia, his planet, navigating the stars and other solar systems in search of... well, he still didn't know what he was searching for, but his rule was "never remain in the same place longer than necessary."

Rating: M

Prologue; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

AO3

A/N: Sorry for the waiting, but real life came along and I had to stop writing for a couple of weeks. Thank you @thisonesatellite for being the best beta reader I could ever ask for. And thank to all of you who are reading this. Happy Labour Day!

Chapter 6 . .

Be not inhospitable to strangers,

lest they be angels in disguise.

(W. B. Yeats)

When Killian regained consciousness he found himself in what reminded him of a military hospital. There were thin white curtains around his bed, but through them he could spot other beds like his, most of them empty. The room seemed large and dimly lit.

He closed his eyes and remembered the crash landing, the unknown desert planet, the great rock that was about to crush Henry, and that feeling of unease and imminent danger he had felt just before the impact. Where was he? And above all what kind of situation was he in, a good or a bad one? He opened his eyes again, and noticed he wasn’t alone. A woman was checking his IV, and a nearby monitor was beeping intermittently.

Killian tried to sit up, but a stabbing pain in his lungs made him desist immediately. He groaned loudly.

“Look who’s awake.” Said the woman, who was now staring at him. “Hello, handsome.” She added cheerfully.

Killian had found himself dealing with uncharted waters several times in his life. He decided to play the waiting game. “This is usually my line, well, more or less.”

“Really? In this case, I'll warn my husband not to approach you.”

“Don’t worry I'm not into men, not recently at least.” He smirked.

“Oh, but my husband is quite the charming one.”

“I still prefer the company of a fair lady, if I could choose.” He winked and chuckled, and a dull pain made him gasp.

“Take it easy.” She immediately shifted her attitude from playful to worried. “How do you feel?”

“As if I've been hit by a rocket.”

“Not a rocket, but yes, you’ve been hit hard. You’ve suffered two broken ribs. And believe me, you were lucky, it could have been worse. Do you mind if I run some tests and see how you react?”

“No problem.”

While the woman was busy measuring his temperature, making him follow a small blue LED light with his gaze, and extracting some blood to examine later, he took advantage of the opportunity to observe her more closely. She had short black hair and green eyes, bright and lively in contrast to her very delicate skin. Killian found himself thinking of another pair of green eyes, which had been filling his thoughts frequently lately. The memory brought him back to reality quickly.

“What is this place?” He inquired, eager to know what had happened while he was unconscious.

“Welcome to Vernal-Den.” She answered smiling.

Killian tried to remember if he had ever read about this planet. “Never heard of it.”

“Yeah, we’re not very popular.”

Was she too concentrated on checking-in his vitals, or was she being too concise on purpose? He didn’t know, but he intended to keep an eye on her. “How long was I out?”

“A while.” Another elusive answer.

He decided to test the waters. “Were there ….other injured people with me?”

“If you’re referring to Henry and Emma, they are perfectly fine.” She seemed sincere. “They are staying at our place. Henry has visited you every day since you came in.”

“And Emma?”

“Well, she can’t come in. She’s not a relative of yours. But she has spent long hours sitting just outside that door.” She said pointing towards the exit. “I had to order her to go home and get some rest.”

After that she excused herself, saying that she had to attend to other patients.

He realized she hadn’t even told him her name. He didn’t know if he could trust her or not. The fact that she had avoided some of his questions sent chills down his spine. And most of all there was the Emma problem.

Why couldn’t she visit him? Was it true that it was only a matter of rules? Or was she in some kind of peril? He needed to know what was happening behind those doors that separated him from the woman that had been pestering his dreams in the last ten years of his life. He had to know that she was alright. To hell with rules! He thought. And by the way, when was the last time he followed one. He had to get out of this place. He tried to sit up, but the pain in his lungs was so strong that his vision started to blur and cold sweat formed on his temples. He lay back down on the bed, aware that in his conditions he couldn’t have gone far before collapsing unconscious on the floor. He promised himself to solve the problem as soon as he had enough strengths, but he couldn't dwell too much on that thought, because sleep was reclaiming his mind again.

~·~·~·~

Time passed very slowly, or so it seemed, but maybe it was simply the fact that every day looked the same. Killian was mostly asleep, probably due to the painkillers introduced through the IV, and when he woke up he couldn't tell how long he had been out, he couldn't even tell if it was day or night. There were no windows in that room.

During one of the moments when his mind regained consciousness, he felt the mattress drop slightly to one side and he slowly opened his eyes.

“You are awake! How do you feel? Can you breathe? Of course you can, you would be dead otherwise! Does it hurt?” Henry was sitting at the end of the bed, and he was asking a lot of questions, as usual. “Sorry.” He suddenly looked contrite. “I should let you rest, but…”

“It’s ok, lad.” Killian cut him off. “I’m glad to see you’re all in one piece.”

The boy greeted him with a wide grin.

Killian remembered the last moments before getting injured, and he was relieved to know that he had been able to prevent that rock from hitting Henry. But other worries crowded his mind. “How about your mom?”

“She’s fine. She’s outside. They won’t let her in. You know, only relatives and all that stuff.” He explained.

“I see. And why are you…?”

Henry didn’t let him finish the question. “I told them I’m your son.” He whispered with a conspiratory smile.

“Clever boy.” Killian’s chuckle turned soon into a cough due to the pain.

“Does it hurt?” The boy asked, frowning.

The man dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. “It’s not a big deal.” He didn’t want the lad to feel responsible for his well-being. “How many days have passed since we landed here?” He asked, changing the subject.

“I don't know exactly.” And at Killian’s questioning look, he added, “It’s complicated.”

“How so?”

“People live underground here,” The boy started to explain, “With no opportunity to look outside. And there are no clocks. My watch had probably broken when we arrived, it doesn’t work anymore.”

The man hummed, he was starting to understand. The lack of windows, the elusive answer he had received from the dark-haired nurse… everything was beginning to tally in Killian’s head. “I want you to think carefully about everything you saw outside this room. Did you feel something was wrong?”

The boy shrugged. “I don't know.” He seemed to ponder. “This place is strange. Lots of corridors and passages underground. We are not allowed to go out into the open. They say it’s dangerous. But I never felt a threat or something. I would rather say it’s boring.”

“Why boring?”

Henry was trying to find the right words to explain it. “All the days are the same, people repeat the same actions every day. They say it’s useful to maintain a routine. But I don’t think Mary Margaret and David are bad people.”

“I’m sorry, who?” Killian asked.

“Oh, yeah, Mary Margaret, she is your nurse. We’re staying at her home. She is very nice. And David is her husband. He showed me the greenhouse. It’s awesome and huge, you should see it! But I don’t think he works there. I don’t know what his job is.”

Routine? New people? A greenhouse? Well, that was a lot of information to process. But Killian felt sleep calling him back. Next time I see that lady Margaret, I’m going to ask her not to put more painkillers in my IV. He thought. “Thank you, Henry, for everything. But I may need to rest for a while now.” He managed to say before falling asleep again.

~·~·~·~

Emma knew Killian was feeling better, Henry had told her about their short chat, and some of her child's enthusiasm had even infected her positively, but she continued to feel restless, she wanted to make herself useful. Most of all, she wanted to see Killian again.

All this absurd situation was her fault. And no, she was not thinking about the fact that Killian was lying on a hospital bed because of some bad decisions she had made lately. No. She was not going down that path again. She had already spent a lot of hours regretting many choices done in the last month.

But this was nonsensical, why couldn’t she visit a friend that was hurt and maybe in need of some company? She had actually had a chance to say that she was his wife; after all in the eyes of her guests, she and Killian had a son together, so why not lie a bit more and make Mary Margaret believe that she and Killian were married. But the thought of a possible long time spent together on this planet feigning to be a happily married couple scared her, and she couldn’t go on with the lie.

So there she was, sitting on a very uncomfortable metal chair in the waiting room. She had spent more hours there than she could count.

David had passed by to greet his wife, and he had offered to take Henry with him, on the way back home. So she was left alone with her thoughts.

Mary Margaret peeked out the door with a steaming mug in her hand. “Take this. It will help.”

She agreed with a nod. “Thank you.” She sipped some of the hot liquid and it felt like her nerves were starting to relax a little.

“You should go home and rest. It's late.” The woman said.

“Mary Margaret let me enter.” Emma pleaded for the umpteenth time.

“We have already talked about it. You know I can’t do that. There are strict rules down here, and the best way for us to survive is to follow them.”

“This is insane. I’m not a dangerous criminal or someone who is plotting to destroy this planet. I just want to see him. Please.” She begged.

The dark-haired woman seemed to be pondering all the possible consequences. “All right.” She sighed. “Let’s just say that I’m going inside and leave the door ajar, by mistake, of course. I have to check some very important documents, so I’ll be busy and concentrated. I’m not going to ask you what you’re going to do in the next... fifteen minutes or so. Okay?”

“Thank you.” Emma handed her the cup back, rising from her chair. “You won’t regret it.”

After Mary Margaret disappeared behind the door, Emma waited some minutes before going after her. The room was large and there were many beds, she had no idea where Killian was, but after a quick look at the surroundings, she discovered that only a couple of all the beds were occupied.

She approached one of those and gently opened the curtain trying not to disturb the patient lying inside.

Killian seemed asleep. He was pale, with dark circles under his eyes. She could only imagine the pain he was going through. She had her heart in her throat because she felt responsible for the situation. If they hadn't taken a detour because she had requested it, they'd probably all be home safe and sound by now.

“Hey, beautiful.” He greeted her with a painful grin.

Immersed as she was in her thoughts, she hadn't noticed that he had woken up. She smiled, trying to be strong and not show her inner turmoil. “Do they treat you well here?”

“I'm not complaining. The nurse is kind and the food is edible.” He tried to downplay the situation. “Although I would prefer the care and attention of a certain blonde.” He winked.

Emma chuckled. Then she went closer to him and sat down on the side of his bed, trying not to cause him any more pain. She looked him straight in the eye, and then, gently, she took his hand in hers, intertwining her fingers with his. She saw him swallow hard, and the beeping of his heartbeat accelerated on the monitor. She smiled softly again. “Thank you for saving my son’s life.”

She saw how he wet his lips before answering as if his mouth had been suddenly dry. “It was the right thing to do.” Was his answer, but his voice came out slightly choked.

Emma looked back, checking if any hospital employee was nearby, “I shouldn’t be here, and unfortunately my time is running out. But I wanted to see you... needed to see with my own eyes that you are ok... well, more or less.” She whispered, with her gaze lowered, avoiding eye contact. The physical connection of their joined hands was already arousing too many contradictory emotions inside her.

“Aye. I know the feeling.” He replied, letting her know that he had been eager to establish contact with her throughout his stay in the hospital.

At those words, she stared at him again. “Get well soon.” She bent down and dropped a mild kiss at the corner of his lips. “We need you.”

~·~·~·~

Killian was lying on his back staring at the ceiling. This time there was no way he would fall asleep again. Every time he thought about what had just happened his beeping monitor sped up. He blushed. It had been just a chaste kiss, nothing compared to the hot and breathtaking one they had shared a few days before. But she had said it had been a one-time thing and he had promised himself not to indulge in those lustful thoughts anymore. Yet, this last kiss had seemed much more real, and meaningful... it had left him with a feeling of hope.

Hope and distress. Emma was such a strong and beautiful woman, a marvelous creature, as he liked to describe her in his mind, and a princess even. And what was he? A rebel, and a scoundrel. Or a rapscallion... whatever. Okay, maybe not anymore, but he had been in the past, for many years. He had been trying to redeem himself lately. But was he worth enough of her? That was the million dollar question.

He was still ruminating on it when the known brunette peeked out the curtains. “Hello. How are you today?” She greeted him with a bright smile, as usual.

“Better.” He hoped the monitor on his right wasn’t showing his state of mind.

She came closer. “Do you mind if I check your ribs? It's time to change the dressing.” After a short pause, she added, “I'm sorry, but we don't have the best equipment to assist our patients. We have to work with what we have available on this planet.” She said pointing to the bands that covered his chest.

Killian nodded, and Mary Margaret started to untie the bandages. She seemed concentrated on her task, probably she was trying to avoid causing him any pain. It was only when she started to apply an ointment on the bruises, that she spoke again. “You love her.” It was just a whisper, and Killian doubted if he had heard correctly. But then she added “Emma.”

It wasn’t a question, and he pondered what was the correct answer, or if she was expecting one. “I'd go to the end of the world for her… Or the multiverse.” He said eventually.

“And she for you, I take it?”

Killian chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“What’s the problem?” She looked at him surprised. Then took some clean gauzes and started to wrap them on him.

“She's bloody brilliant, an amazing woman. She fights for her son and always does what’s right.” Killian’s voice was so full of admiration.

“Is there something wrong with it?” Mary Margaret inquired.

Killian shook his head again. “She raised the bar very high. The fact is, I don't think I measure up.”

The woman folded the old bandages and took the ointment bottle, then she stood up, she was making an exit when she stopped short. “Since you came here I've been watching you.”

“I don't know if I should be flattered or scared.” The man tried to ease the tension of the moment.

“We don’t have many foreigners on this planet, but believe me, you're not one of the bad guys. You sacrificed yourself for the sake of a young boy. There's good in your heart.” She smiled at him softly. “I’m going to look for the doctor; I bet you’ll be leaving this room soon.”

~·~·~·~

The following day started the same as the previous ones. But during the first hours of the evening a man in a white coat came to visit Killian. He explained the medications and precautions to be taken to him, some movements that he should avoid for a while, and other tips for a speedy recovery. Then he handed over some papers for the patient to sign to be discharged. Finally some good news.

After a while redressing and packing up his few belongings in his satchel Killian went to the door. Walking hurt a bit but nothing he couldn’t bear.

Mary Margaret was already waiting for him, and a tall blonde guy was with her. “You must be Jones.” He said. When they shook hands, Killian learned his name was David Nolan, and he remembered Henry had mentioned him in his conversations. “I’m going to take you to our humble abode.”

Nolan's house was in fact modest. A loft with a large dining room, a kitchenette, a bedroom, and a small bathroom on one corner, all open, without doors, except for the bathroom. There was a raised bedroom opposite it, whose access was a metal stair.

Dinner was good, if a little awkward. Emma didn't interact much, and Killian wanted to ask if something was troubling her, but he preferred to wait for a better time, perhaps a less crowded one. Henry entertained them with what he had done throughout the day and kept repeating how glad he was that Killian was back with them.

But the man was still a bit cautious with those new people around him. He didn’t know them, especially the Nolan guy, who had been silent for most of the dinner, glancing sidelong at him as if he wanted to study him thoroughly before making a personal judgment. The feeling was mutual, Killian thought.

Just after dessert, David started to speak. “What will you need to restore your ship?” He asked.

“Uh… a new stabilizer, I think, and some parts of the propulsion engine for sure. But I’ll have to look closely at the damages to be sure there’s nothing else broken.”

The blond man nodded. “Not many ships come and go from here. But I hope we can find all the pieces you need.”

“Thank you, mate.”

“Tomorrow I’ll take you to the hangar where your ship is. We’ll have a look at it.” He seemed sincere in his generosity.

“May I help?” Henry barged in.

A chorus of “No!” echoed the room.

“I appreciate the support, but it could be dangerous.” Killian explained.

“I hate being here. I feel trapped.” The boy complained.

Mary Margaret sighed. “This is a feeling that will vanish with time.”

The woman was no doubt trying to instill some optimism, but Killian didn't like the idea of staying in that place longer than necessary. “Well, then, let’s hope we could leave this planet before the feeling has entirely vanished.” He made a grin and passed his hand on his side.

“Time for resting.” The brunette stated although it sounded more like an order. “But before that, we should change those bandages. Emma, would you like to help me?”

“Me?” Emma, who had been silent and a bit on the sidelines all evening, seemed to re-emerge from wherever she’d gone.

“He won’t be able to do it by himself when you won’t live here anymore. It’s better if you learn how to help him.” Mary Margaret clarified.

Emma looked like she was going to object, but in the end, she asserted. “Sure.”

~·~·~·~

If a certain nervousness had taken hold of Emma as she climbed to the upstairs room, it disappeared the instant Mary Margaret helped Killian get rid of his shirt. That wasn’t a thorax, it was a nautical chart. Most of it was covered by gauze, but she could still spot many marks and scars.

There was a tattoo, two of them to be exact, but Emma saw just one at first. It was on his right forearm; it was a big red heart with a dagger running through and the name “Milah” across it. Emma made a mental note to ask him later who she was.

Mary Margaret showed her how to unfasten the bandages, and then she ordered her to stand behind him, to help better in removing them all.

On his back, Emma saw the second tattoo, on his right shoulder. It was an old nautical instrument she had read about in a book when she was younger, but she couldn’t remember the exact name. The drawing was beautifully detailed, even if it had faded, it was probably older than the other one, she thought.

And when all the gauze was out of the way, she saw them: tiny, blurred, old scars that studded most of his back. Emma wondered what kind of life he had to endure when he was very young.

Mary Margaret asked her to help with the ointment. She had already opened the bottle and was showing the blonde woman how much cream to use. But Emma wasn't listening, standing now in front of the man, her attention was caught by the glorious chest hair that was covering most of his torso.

Okay, there was also a big, horrible bruise on his right ribs, but Mary Margaret was saying that it seemed on the way to a fast recovery, if the yellow and purple veining was some indication.

Emma was ogling and she wasn’t ashamed of it either. The amount of hair decreased in the lower part of his chest, leaving a black trail that disappeared under the hem of his pants.

"See something you like?" Emma was abruptly taken back to reality by a smug Killian that was smirking at her while arching an eyebrow. She blushed. She was caught red-handed, but she couldn’t let him win. She took advantage of the fact that Mary Margaret was looking for something in a nearby drawer, to get closer to him. She looked at him lasciviously from under her lashes. “Maybe?” She purred.

Now it was his time to blush, he looked intently at his feet, but she found the bright red that appeared on his ears extremely endearing. Point for Emma.

Mary Margaret taught the other woman how to fix the bandages, and Emma had to use some tiny hooks to hold them together. She did not miss the opportunity to casually slide her fingers over a part of his chest hair that came out of the bandages.

“Bloody Hell!” Killian muttered.

Emma retreated her hand immediately. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?” Worries that she had done something wrong clouded her gaze.

“Apologies.” Killian was scratching behind his ear, in evident embarrassment. “While I do enjoy two lovely ladies attending to my needs, I'm not used to someone taking care of me…” He smiled and brought his mouth close to Emma’s ear: “I’m usually the one who devotes full attention to a woman’s needs.” He whispered, but clearly not as quietly as he would have liked, because Mary Margaret's answer - “Well, you will have to put that off for a while” - made him blush again like a schoolboy scolded by his teacher.

~·~·~·~

Suddenly it was bedtime. Everyone was busy making preparations and taking shifts for the bathroom to change for the night. Killian was upstairs, staring at the bed he knew he had to share with Emma, who was arranging a pillow on the nearby sofa. He passed a hand through his hair and then scratched a spot behind his right ear. “I'll crash on that couch.” He stated as if it was the most logical conclusion to a battle he was fighting inside.

“Don't be ridiculous,” she scoffed. “It's barely long enough for Henry. Plus, you’re still recovering, you absolutely need to rest.”

He didn't seem very convinced. “Emma, I'm not sure this is a good idea.”

“And why is that?” Was her exasperated reply, turning towards him with her hands on her hips. “What are you going to do? Seduce me with a couple of broken ribs and a ten-year-old boy sleeping next to us?”

He lifted his arms and surrendered. “Fair point.” He conceded.

In no time they were all ready for the night and Henry was snoring softly on the sofa. Killian was supine, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the events of the day. In any case, sleep had no intention of coming, but he tried not to move. He didn’t want to wake up his roommates. Emma was lying close with her back to him and he didn’t know if she was already in the arms of Morpheus.

He turned his head to observe how her upper body moved with the rhythm of her breathing, blond curls covering her shoulders. Killian had to repress the urge to touch them. And as if responding to his call, she stirred and turned to face him.

Her eyes opened lazily. “Still awake?” She murmured.

“I have the feeling that I’ve slept enough for the rest of my life.” He whispered. “But you can’t rest either, I see.”

She didn’t answer.

Perhaps it was the closeness, perhaps it was the fact that they had spent the last few days apart. Killian didn't know how he found the courage, but he lifted his left arm as an invitation. “Come here,” he said.

She seemed to ponder the situation, chewing her bottom lip. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He decided not to think about all the possible implications of that sentence. He was falling in love with her, he was aware of it. Probably the simple doubt that she might not reciprocate was already hurting him, but he knew that at that moment she was referring only to his physical bruises. “You won’t.”

She slipped under the sheets towards him, resting her head gently on his left shoulder and placing a hand on his chest, avoiding the bruised part. Not many minutes passed before her lids grew heavy and she dozed off to the rhythm of his heartbeats. Killian placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

#cs ff #cs au #Till the Stars Had Run Away #alternative universe #science fiction #space au #my writing

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scottymcgeesterwrites · 4 years ago

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Final Fantasy IV Review

Year: 1991

Original Platform: Super Nintendo (Originally introduced to Western audiences as Final Fantasy II, since the real II and III were not released outside of Japan at the time.)

Also available on: Nintendo DS, PSP (Final Fantasy IV: The Complete Collection), GameBoy Advance, Playstation One (Final Fantasy Chronicles), Steam (DS remake)

Version I Played: PSP

Synopsis:

Cecil Harvey is Batman a dark knight who follows orders from King Baron. The king tasks Cecil and his partner Kain with taking the crystals from the surrounding nations and cities. Cecil questions his king’s motives, leading to the revelation of a grand conspiracy. Cecil then goes on a quest to right his wrongs.

Gameplay:

The novel feature of this game was the ATB system – Active Timed Battle. This means that instead of you and the enemy waiting for your respective turns one at a time, each character takes their turn according their respective speed. One character may be slower than the other, so they will take longer to be able to perform an action. Basically, with ATB, if you wait too long to think about what to do on your turn, the enemy can hit you - JUST AS IF YOU WERE REALLY BATTLING IN REAL LIFE.

While Final Fantasy IV introduced ATB, it did not utilize the ATB gauge in actual battles. The ATB gauge is a visual bar during battle that shows your character’s speed. Whenever it’s filled, your character can perform an action. The gauge itself was first seen later in Final Fantasy V. Later remakes of Final Fantasy IV displayed the ATB gauge. Some configuration options were introduced later to give you the ability to change the battle system to active or wait. Putting it on wait would allow the timed battle to pause while you thought about what to do during your move.

Final Fantasy IV forsakes the customizable Job System and introduces characters with individual jobs. Kain is a dragoon, who can jump in the air and deal destructive damage. Rydia is a summoner. Yang is a monk. Etc, etc.

The Super Nintendo and PSP versions are more or less on par with each other in terms of difficulty. The Nintendo DS remake is really hard. Like REALLY hard. Like “throw-your-DS-across-the-room hard”. I myself have had trouble finishing it.

Graphics:

I haven’t played the original SNES version of Final Fantasy IV, but judging by the images it appears to be in this liminal state between NES and SNES. Not quite NES but not quite utilizing the full power of the SNES either.

The PSP version is somewhat reminiscent of the Anniversary Editions of Final Fantasy and Final Fantasy II, but it still has its own flair that outshines them.

Final Fantasy IV DS is pretty much a 3D remake in the same vein as Final Fantasy III DS, with an awesome opening FMV. The in-game cutscenes however now have VOICE ACTING.

Now, the PlayStation One version has a FMV sequence that hasn’t aged well at all. We’re talking worse than the Final Fantasy and Final Fantasy II FMV sequences from PlayStation One. I can’t even find a good snapshot from Google Images, probably because nobody wants to look at them ever again. You can find it on YouTube though.

Story:

Final Fantasy IV is well known for being the first GOOD story in a Final Fantasy game. Cecil’s personal journey of redemption rung in the minds and hearts of audiences. There’s a nice balance of focusing on individual struggles and an epic adventure to save the world.

The cast of characters is pretty wide. Like Final Fantasy II, several secondary characters come and go. There is one difference but I don’t want to spoil anything. I guess the least I could say is that Final Fantasy IV subverts what to expect after having played Final Fantasy II.

Like Final Fantasy III, Final Fantasy IV includes crystals as an important plot device. This time they hold enormous power that the villain Golbez wishes to obtain for nefarious means.

While the story is infinitely superior in storytelling to Final Fantasy II, there are still some silly moments. I could best describe the bulk of the story as “Cecil and friends are on a race to capture each crystal around the world but something always gets in the way at the last minute.” While for the most part the story is done well, there are seemingly cartoonish moments involving random trapdoors and bewitched dolls. One particular moment I found myself thinking, "So you're just going to stand there while he does that?"

But I think the most admirable part of the story is how they approach Cecil and Rosa’s romance. While most RPGs, especially today, try to hash in a childish romance subplot, Cecil and Rosa are that rare couple that are already together at the beginning of the game. Their love is tested throughout the story.

The most popular quote from this game involves a complicated matter of translation. Western releases of Final Fantasy games (and Japanese games in general) often had awkward translations. “You spoony bard!” is one such awkward translation that originates from this game.

The character who spoke this line, Tellah, is arguing with the character Edward. The translation came out at “spoony” due to the Japanese writers believing it was still used today in English. It’s an archaic term meaning “enamored in a silly or sentimental way”. It technically fits, but clearly, nobody uses that word anymore, and players laughed at how nonsensical it seemed.

While I don’t want to spoil why Tellah is angry at Edward, the scenario in question is dramatic, and so Tellah saying “idiot” or “moron” wouldn’t quite suffice. The original Japanese word that Tellah uses is “kisama”, which in the given context is akin to telling someone they are a “son of a bitch” or “bastard.” Western releases, especially North American, were very often censored and demanded less or no profanity.

Overall, Final Fantasy IV is the first notable story in the Final Fantasy series, way better and much more original than Final Fantasy II.

Music:

With the Super Nintendo, Uematsu was able to play with more sounds. The drumming that Uematsu had wanted in his battle themes is more apparent. He also added an accompaniment to the Prelude. The main theme of Final Fantasy IV is scattered throughout the score, just like a motif in a movie score. The main theme is the map theme, and I like how, for example, the theme changes to a different beat when you venture into the underworld. The main theme even pops up in the final battle, which to me is awesome because it illustrates the heroes collectively trying to banish evil.

In one interview with Uematsu, he stated he was a huge fan of Elton John. For some reason, after I read that, I totally see the main theme of Final Fantasy IV having an Elton John vibe, especially in the epilogue with the drums and the bass.

Red Wings, which is the theme for Baron’s elite air force of the same name, is notable for its unorthodox time signature. I swore I read that somewhere years ago but now I can’t find it, so if someone happens to come across it – let me know. The theme for the Red Wings sounds both heroic and sinister, referencing Baron’s underlying motives and Cecil’s dual nature.

Cecil and Rosa’s love theme is actually taught for schoolchildren in Japan as part of their music curriculum.

Uematsu pretty much matured at this point, in my opinion.

Notable Theme:

There are so many but my personal favorite is “Dreadful Fight”, a.k.a “Battle with the Four Fiends”.

youtube

I’ll also highlight the “Theme of Love”, because it needs to be out there as the first love theme for the Final Fantasy series.

youtube

Verdict:

Hands down, the perfect place for a beginner. You want to start getting into Final Fantasy? Start with Final Fantasy IV. The gameplay is easy to pick up. The story is simple and straightforward compared to the rest of the series but still effective. To those having played the later games first, it could seem trite. Unlike most of the Final Fantasy games, the different re-releases can be quite offer a different experience due to the translations, graphical changes, and differences in difficulty. At the end of the day, I would say any 2D version is fine, the best is probably the PSP version, but save the DS remake for later, since it is more difficult.

Direct Sequel?

Yes. Final Fantasy IV: The Complete Collection was released on the PSP in 2011. This is the version that I played. Square created two sequels for that collection: Final Fantasy IV: Interlude and Final Fantasy IV: The After Years. I haven’t played them myself yet, but there is criticism surrounding their stories, which apparently pale greatly in comparison to Final Fantasy IV.

By the way, the PSP version starts by showing the new FMV opening to Final Fantasy IV: The After Years, not the one shown in Final Fantasy IV DS. That’s a minor change but it really irked me, because the sequel’s FMV opening therefore spoils some of the story if you never played it before. I guess they wanted to distance themselves from Final Fantasy IV DS. Even so, why not just play that opening when you select The After Years?

#final fantasy #final fantasy iv #cecil harvey #rosa farrell #nobuo uematsu #square enix #onvideogames #video games #rpg #video game rpg #fantasy

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fangirlingincamouflage · 5 years ago

Text

Blind Hope: Chapter 7

Title: Blind Hope Author: Rosie Dayze Word Count: 1,232 Pairing: Nick Jakoby x Reader Chapter Rating: PG-13 Themes: Angst, Plot, affectionate frustration Disclaimer I do not own Nick Jakoby, he is the intellectual property of Netflix Originals, I make no money from this fanfiction. Dedication: @14readwritedraw96 and @thezucchini (For being so wonderfully enthusiastic) TW/CW Descriptions of pain, long term hospital stay

Previous chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7 <~ You are Here

You are standing in the middle of the pasta isle at the grocery store when your cell phone goes off. It's that distinctive ping of an unknown number texting you. You sigh, roll your eyes, and wonder what is the easiest possible thing that you can make for dinner that night. In the past six days your workload has tripled. June and Em are on a much needed vacation and Nick is still unconscious at the hospital.

You know that because you called right before you left to go grocery shopping. You also called first thing this morning, and last night, and the morning before, and the night before that. You have called the hospital at least twice a day for the past thirty-seven days. You got the exact same information.

“Officer Jakoby is still in an induced coma, and he is not ready to be seen by friends or family.”

It was maddening.

Your phone goes off again and you set a jar of premade sauce back on the shelf. Your stomach isn't feeling red sauce. It isn't feeling pasta. Or oranges. Or any one of a thousand other things you were totally down for eating. You hadn't been hungry since the night part of LA went up in magical flames. Since Nick had been hospitalized.

With a sigh you eased into the snack isle. Is a bag of chips an acceptable replacement for dinner? Probably not, but you've had take out for the past two weeks and absolutely none of it has filled the steady, continuing ache in your heart.

Your phone goes off again.

“What?” you snarl loud enough to make the old lady with a basket full of frozen dinners blink with bewilderment. “Sorry. Not you.”

You pull your phone out and waive it at her. She doesn't look convinced, and doubles her speed to get into the next isle.

With a few swipes you bring up your new messages.

“This is Jessica, the Head Nurse at the Intensive Care Unit at the UCLA Medical Center.” The first message reads.

Your heard pounds so hard in your chest that your vision goes a little hazy. You grip your phone tightly enough to make the screen rainbow with protest.

“Nick Jakoby has achieved a state of continuing consciousness. One of my nurses made the mistake of telling him that you had stopped by.”

That hazy feeling turns to ash. You had wanted to see him yourself, to let him know what had gone on, and why you hadn't talked to him in six, not seven, months. He must be angry, furious.

The third message is brief, and comes across as a little mad. “In order to keep him in bed, I promised him you would come see him tonight. Do not make me a liar.”

You desert your cart, and take the shortest possible trip to the hospital that you have ever taken. Which is impressive, considering all the times you driven up there in the past month, just in case something had happened between your morning and evening check-ins.

You don't stop at the front desk, you know where you are going. The elevator doors close as you turn the corner, and the wait for the next ones seems like an eternity. The moment the doors whoosh open, you surge inside hitting the buttons for the ICU floor. You don't even wait. You ht the close-door button and watch your reflection stare back at you as the lift starts to rise.

What are you going to say? Should you have gotten balloons? Flowers? A stuffed animal? Would he even be allowed those things? Did he want them from you? Did he want to see you to make up or to have a final talk? In the twenty-eight seconds that it takes to get to your floor, your mind plays out you greatest hopes and worst fears in a strange, overlapping loop that leaves you feeling a little lightheaded.

Though maybe that has something to do with the fact that you haven't eaten well in a month.

Your clothes don't fit right, you think as you tug at the fabric. You should have gone home to change. You were wearing your comfy clothes to go shopping. The fabric weird. Then you realize its not the fabric, its your own skin. You are so nervous that your skin feels like an electric current is running through it. With a huff you roll your shoulders, trying to settle your nerves. It doesn't help.

The doors slide open and as fast as you got into the elevator, you hesitate to get out. This could go wrong. What if his mother is there? His partner? What about Johnassen, the jerk who broke his phone so long ago?

It doesn't matter you tell yourself as you take that first step off the elevator. All that matters is he's awake. You'll be able to see him with your own eyes.

A stern looking woman with stark gray curls looks up from a desk as you approach. She tilts her head and inspects you.

“For Jakoby?” she asks like she already knows the answer. “Follow me.”

Your heart is in your ears as you follow in the steps of her worn out shoes. She swipes her badge, taking you through a set of secure double doors. The sounds of the hospital change. The ICU is bereft of human noises, but it isn't quiet. You can hear televisions on a half a dozen channels turned down low, doing what they could to preoccupy patients who were in layers of pain. The sound of breathing machines hiss and whirl. A man in green scrubs wheels supplies down the hall. There's no happy, warm chatter. Just a strange sense of desolation and pain.

You do not like it here, and you can't imagine Nick here. Nick, with his warm laugh and kindness. Nick who kisses you like the universe exists in your lips. You want to scoop him up and take him away.

The nurse stops outside of a door at the end of the hall.

“They are quarantined behind a see through partition,” she tells you in the kind of no-nonsense voice that must come from years in her work. “Do not attempt to breech this partition.”

She holds out a long medical gown. Confused, you shoved your arms into the sleeves. She spins you, and starts to tie it up, and then she puts another one on your back, spinning you again so she can tie it in the front. She hands you a cap, and a mask, and you put them both on as she helps your feet into medical grade booties.

“How dangerous is it?” You ask as she holds up a pair of gloves to slip on your hands.

“Unknown,” she tucks the end of the gloves over the wristband of the double set of gowns. “But you saw the news, you know where they were. Better safe than sorry.”

She types a number into the key pad. “You get ten minutes. No more, no less. I'm not being mean, but we need to minimize any chance of exposure.”

You nod your understanding. Ten minutes isn't much time, but you'll make the most of it.

“There are armed men in there,” she finally says. “Don't do anything to make them think you are a threat.”

It's the last bit of advice she gives you before the pad turns green and the door is opened.

The room is long, white, and empty save for what looks like a box made out of hanging plastic. Only a few of the lights are on, casting half the room in evening darkness. There are several beds, but only one of them is occupied. The long, lean body of a black male is visible beneath the harsh lighting. Three other people stand guard, dressed from head to toe, AR-15 clutched in their hands. The door closes behind you.

For a moment you stand there, frozen and unsure. A little, ugly thought makes you wonder if this is some weird trick. Then you hear your name.

Your eyes are drown to the shape of a man sitting in a chair. You hadn't noticed him at first because the dark lines of his body blend a little too easily with the pseudo darkness on that side of the room. But now that you've seen him, you can't pull your gaze away.

Nick. You'd know the shape of him anywhere. The broad, strong line of his shoulders stands guardian against the pitch black behind him. There's a blanket across his legs, and an IV in his arm.

“It's you,” he says softly, disbelieving.

“Nick.” You take one step, and then another, and before you know it your legs are carrying you across the room. You almost forget the plastic. When you foot hits it, you're startled. The guards watch you with cold glares. “Sorry.”

And once you start saying it, you can't stop. Over and over again you apologize. You don't realize you are crying until you taste the hot salt of your own tears. You are sorry you didn't call him. You are sorry you left. You are sorry you didn't answer him back. You are sorry for everything you ever did in the last six months because none of those things was going to him. You sink to your knees at the edge of the partition, the tears making it impossible to speak.

He says your name again, so soft you wonder if you dreamed it. You look up, and he's shaking his head.

“Please, don't cry.”

Slowly, unsteadily, he gets up. He doesn't look at you as he pulls the chair from one side of the plastic sheet box to the other. Right in front of you, he plops the chair down, and then lowers himself into it. His staccato motions belie how hurt he must still be.

The pair of you are silent as you look one another over. You see the bruises beneath his woad blue spots; purple and yellow and, in some places, black. You see the stitches in his arm, the thick swelling of his hands. The skin around his cheeks is slack with the lack of food he's gotten in the past month. But his eyes, those gorgeous eyes that are yellow and red and orange all at once, they are filled with pain that has nothing to do with being thrown half a football field by a magical explosion.

“You're here,” he says, his voice soft. “I thought-” He stop short, shrugging, and then wincing.

“I know,” you tell him. While you aren't sure of the exact words he must have thought, you know that it couldn't have been good.

“Why?” he asks.

You open your mouth to tell him, but the words wont come. You remember Elizabeth, his mother, and the way she had looked at you. You could tell him everything, but what good would that do? He might get angry at his mother, it might cause some kind of rift between them and how many people did Nick really have who cared that much for his safety? Not nearly enough, you think as you take in injuries you hadn't noticed before.

Instead you shrug. You can't bring yourself to lie, but you can't bring yourself to tell him the truth either, no matter how much it's burned inside of you. You turn the words that she said over in your mind, pulling an answer from them without revealing their source.

“You got hurt because you were with me.” Your voice cracks as you say it.

His eyes close and his shoulders sag. His body leans forward. You think he's about to slide out of the chair. The pair of you kneel on the floor, staring at one another. Emotions that you don't think have ever been named whirl through you. You want to touch him, you want to hold him, you want to vanish together into the night.

“No,” he said shaking his head. “No. You were just the excuse. When they saw me-” he cuts off, coughs, and shakes. “They'd already decided what they were going to do.”

He looks away. You can tell that there's more to say, that he's struggling. Rather than push you give him a moment. He deserves that at the very least.

“It wont happen again,” he says.

“Why not?”

He opens his palm, I can't see anything there, but he must because he's staring down at it like it's something special.

“I can't talk about a lot that happened that night,” he says. “I want to, I want to tell you everything but...I can't.”

You shake your head. “I just need to know you are safe.”

“I think I am. I mean-I gotta tell you, it was not a normal night. I was...I was blooded.”

Your eyes go wide. You can't help but stare at his lips. He smirks.

“It'll take a while for the tusks to grow. But I don't need to file them anymore.”

You sit back on your heels. “Are you okay with that?”

He shrugs. “I guess that depends.”

“On what?” you ask.

He takes a deep breath and looks at you. It's a long look, a scared and hopeful one. It's like he's weighing a thousand dreams as he watches you and all you can do is wait.

“I thought I was getting over you,” he finally says. “It'd been months. Long months. Really, really long months. My mom even set me up on a couple dates with some unblooded girls from other states.”

Your stomach twists.

“Yeah?” you say, hoping that he's not about to tell you that he has moved on and this whole thing was about him saying goodbye.

“They were nice, but they...they didn't understand me. They didn't like what I do. They didn't like my jokes and they all thought Alaska is stupid.” The two of you laugh and it feels so good. He shifts his position until the two of you are nearly the same height. “I wasn't falling for someone else but I was pretending really hard like I was getting over you.”

You nod, you know what he means. You'd been going through all the motions, acting like you were moving forward when all you were doing was playing the role and hoping.

“I was going to come see you,” he said. “As soon as my shift was over that night. I was going to go right to your apartment. Everyone said I shouldn't because I'd just get hurt, but I thought that it would be worth it. I just..”

Slowly he reached into the blanket still twisted around his legs. His thick, injured fingers shook with pain as he pushed the fabric around.

“Where-hold on-it's here, I swear.”

Your heart, which has already gone through far too much, pounds all over again. Your mouth goes dry.

“Nick...”

“I almost died you know,” he says as he lifts a corner, continues to look. There's a little wetness on his brow, and you wonder if it's fear, nerves, or pain that's put it there. “And not just once. I almost died like four times.”

One of the guards cleared their throats.

“I know,” Nick said, holding up his free hand. “I know. I can't tell her anything. But you only have to look at me to see that it happened.” He went still, and bowed his head. “I did die.”

It's not even a whisper, there's no sound. It's a breath of words that you are sure the guards couldn't hear. You pounding heart turns to ice in your chest.

“What?”

But he doesn't say it again. Instead he looks up at you and his eyes are bright with a hundred emotions. “And all I could think about, was you.”

He holds out his hand. Nested there is a black velvet box. Carefully, he opens it, revealing a ring. It's made of two metals, platinum and rose gold, twisted around one another to form a very simple braid, and right there at the center is a stone in the exact same shade of blue as his spots.

“All I thought about every day has been you,” he is saying when your ears start to work again. “And I don't want to ever have to worry again.”

You swallow twice before you can speak. “Are you proposing?”

You aren't sure if he's blushing, but his ears twitch. “Only if you're saying yes.”

“You have to ask,” you say. “You have to...ask.”

“Is it a spell? A human thing?” he says.

You shrug, because it kind of is, but mostly you just need to time to stop your thoughts from making such a commotion in your head. There are a hundred ways this could go wrong, a thousand even, but even so-

He says your name and you find that he's shifted yet again, down on one knee in front of you. “Will you marry me?”

#nick jakoby fanfiction #nick jakoby x reader #nick jakoby #proposal #cute #sweet fanfiction

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adsosfraser · 4 years ago

Text

The Stone’s Toll Chapter Two

Read on AO3

“Mrs. Randall, ye have a visitor.” Claire stared at the nurse, curiosity plain on her face.

She left and softly closed the door behind her. Minutes later, Claire heard the click of the lock again and strained her neck towards the noise.

Graham smiled sheepishly as he shuffled into her room. He held a small bouquet of heather, thistles, and gorse wrapped in twine.

“Hello miss, tis lovely tae see ye again. I picked these just this afternoon on my way here. I was lucky they were all so close together.” The boy searched the room and put the flowers in the empty vase on the table to her right. “I don’t know if ye remember, but I found you up at the standing stones. Well my mam always said to watch out for the faerie hill but I was a wee bit curious ye ken. I’m glad I took a wander over because… sorry miss my mam always tells me how I go blethering on about nonsense and such so that’s just to say I hope you are feeling better miss..?”

“Claire Fr.. err Randall.” Claire couldn’t help the smile at the young man's youth and almost naïveté, it was a breath of fresh air compared to the ordeals of the past months.

She reached out her hand for him to shake.

“It was very kind of you to come visit Graham. Thank you.” He blushed at her compliment.

“Well I brought some cards because I ken how boring it is to be locked up in one of these rooms. And the radio is a pounding nuisance sometimes as well. Last year I stumbled on one of the fence posts I was putting up when I was helping down at auld Hamish’s. The nail went straight through the leg and I ended up here a day. Mam was absolutely furious at me, boxed my ears till they rang for weeks. My mam’s a nurse here so it’s no trouble at all that I’m here right now visiting. I guess I get special insider privileges. I come here after school to do my schoolwork and she says I’m no bother. That’s what I was just doing before I decided to pop in here Miss.”

Claire welcomed the ramblings of Graham. It was a nice distraction to the morbid thoughts that lay festering below.

“Well I appreciate the company. My… husband just left to prepare things for our short stay here. I’m sorry I’m rubbish at most card games, but I’ll go my hand at it.”

The two chatted companionably and he even managed to pry out a laugh or two from her. Claire pushed down feelings of familiarity of Fergus and the boy before her. He couldn’t have been more than a couple years older than the boy she had just left behind hours ago, with the same long-lashed dark eyes and dark hair. Tears sprung at the thought of her son and she turned out of view to wipe them away.

“Do you have any fours?” Graham interrupted her thoughts.

“Ach! It feels like I’m being cheated here.” Claire flashed a smile and pushed forward the two cards on the table between them.

“Hello darling. It seems you’ve made a new friend.”

Claire stiffened at her husband's entrance into the small hospital room. Graham flicked his gaze between the two of them, sensing the tension. He awkwardly picked up the game in front of them and shoved the cards into his pocket.

“Yes. This is Graham Munro, the one who helped me to the hospital.”

“Thank you for bringing my wife safely back into my custody Graham. I’m sure she has lots to tell me, and would appreciate time to rest.”

Graham cleared his throat. “Well Miss Claire, I wish ye a speedy recovery. Twas a pleasure to meet ye.”

“You as well Graham. Thank you for the flowers.”

The boy reached out to squeeze Claire’s hand and smiled warmly. He turned on his heel and raced out to the corridor.

Moments later, Frank shoved the table to the side and knelt by his wife’s side. He reached out to hold the hands that rested on her lap. Claire flinched at his touch once again and Frank furrowed his brow. Frank felt a squeeze in his hand and smiled up at her. She put on a strained smile as she stared down at him. He finally noticed the silver that encircled her right ring finger and made to take it off. She pulled her hand violently from his grasp and guarded the jewellry to her chest. He pushed off the reaction to the shock the doctor had described. He just needed to be patient.

“Darling, everything is prepared at the manse for our arrival. You’ll rest here tonight, recover, heal, and then I’ll bring you over in the morning. I left your suitcase there and I’m sure you’ll have enough to get you through our stay.” He walked over to a chair near the window while he spoke and placed her stays in his hands.

“Alright.” Her gaze was transfixed on her fingers in her lap.

“This is… remarkable Claire, where on earth did you find these?”

“Hmph.” Claire offered as a reply, almost mimicking the Scottish noise her husband always made.

“Right I’m to leave with Reverend Wakefield to visit over some archives again. You’ll be in good hands here for now.”

A nurse wheeled in a cart and instructed Claire to rest. She gathered the sterile bandages from the metal tray and pulled back the cover of Claire’s hospital gown to display the burns flicking across the cream skin of her stomach. She winced as the nurse applied the salve against her sore skin so she took pity on her poor patient. The nurse pushed a syringe into her IV line and Claire’s limbs instantly relaxed. Her head filled with cotton and she wasn’t able to hold it up herself, until she let go of the tension within herself and slumped down on the stiff mattress.

It was cold and she was only in her shift, a white shawl draped across her shoulders. Piles of men dotted the ground and a bunny twitched its nose at her before sprinting away. There, underneath the corpse of his enemy, lay her husband. His body was covered in blood and crusted with dirt and deep scratches marked his body: the result of war.

“Are you alive?” She stretched her hand out towards his cheek.

Her hand cupped his stumbled jaw and his skin blazed against hers. The fever shook his body and sapped his energy. What little he had left was spent twisting his neck in her direction. A light dusting of snow covered the bloody grass of the moor. All too soon, she was pulled away and the sight of him faded from her grasp.

***

The hours passed and the logs burned to small sticks, Frank replacing them every so often with new wood. He turned towards the table that held a half-empty glass, plying himself more and more with alcohol as the glass drowned in the weight of the drink. Claire worked tirelessly the precious few days where her husband hadn’t yet pressed her for an explanation, flipping through all available resources to find any trace of Jamie. Mrs. Graham had been a wonder in helping Claire but her attitude regardless would not have changed anything. The search was futile and failed to bring what she wanted. She couldn’t look for the family that was alive that she had left behind. The sacrifice and promise she made meant nothing with the outcome that soon became her every thought. She abandoned them all for a thought of a future, not even a live, breathing one.

She spoke of her time with Jamie, reluctantly giving only the necessary pieces of her life, an outline that she would be able to view events from outside. She stepped out of her life and watched herself ramble on, an outsider and onlooker to a tragic event. That wasn’t her, those things couldn’t have happened to her. Claire finished her final thoughts in a daze, looking anywhere but Frank.

“Give me-excuse me please Claire I need some time to think this over.”

Claire poured another glass for herself and slammed the burning liquid back along with a large pill from the hospital.

Frank returned a few hours later, having thought in great depth. Claire’s thoughts were muddled. She couldn’t remember how many glasses she had.

“Claire I can accept that you’ve had this… relationship with this man. I will never understand your feelings for him, but I can accept that you had this experience, and that leaving him broke your heart.”

“I don’t think you understand. I was with a man for two years, and I loved him deeply as his wife.”

“A point you’ve made several times and which I’ve said I understand. Now let me tell you this. I love you Claire, unconditionally, nothing you could do could stop my loving you.”

“Darling I’ve been offered a position at Harvard. I was thinking we could move to Boston together. Start over. Leave all...this behind.”

She didn’t care. He was dead. She might as well have been too. Frank could do as he bloody well pleased. Her mind focused on the patterns of the carpet below her, forcing out any other thoughts. Her finger swirled in spirals in one spot on her thigh, mimicking what she saw.

“Alright. ”

That was the first time Claire had looked into his eyes since her disappearance. His brown eyes were soft and crinkled in an attempt towards a smile to his wife. She couldn’t find the malice she desperately searched for. She needed the anger, the sharp coldness. It was too much. Frank kneeled at Claire’s feet and he reached to pull her down into his embrace. He brought her down to his chest. She stiffened.

“Claire, you've made me so happy. I know we’ll be happy. Together.”

“T-together? You mean for me to come along?”

“Of course, darling. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Claire only nodded in response. She knew she’d never be happy with Frank anymore, or anyone for that matter. She didn’t intend to live long, but what option did she have to resist a husband? Frank kissed her curls and pulled her head to his shoulder. He sniffled and pulled back, placing both hands gently on her face.

“But we must put the past behind us. You must promise me. No more searching for him. Let him go.”

“Yes. That’s what he made me promise.” She was reminded of another promise she had broken and another pang stabbed her already distressed heart.

#jamie fraser #claire fraser #jamie x claire #outlander fanfiction #frank randall #craigh na dun #fergus fraser #canon divergence #outlander fanfic

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fangirl-on-bitches · 5 years ago

Text

Bitter Gurney

Obi-Wan x FemaleDoctor!Reader Part 2

Word count: 2827

Part 1

Summary: Someone is hurt and the reader needs to patch them up. Anakin is a little shit (and Ahsoka too)

Tag list: @scarletsoldierrr @langst-is-my-unborn-baby

Warnings: a looooooot of dialogue and yes, this should have a part three because Anakin is a little shit. This has like no plot or character development lol. Have another gif to appease the awful writing:

How long had she been here? (Y/N) had already lost count of her days in the ship. After Waxer’s surgery, the Jedi and their troops had to continue with battles not far from where the cruise was. It was quiet and awfully boring, the doctor spent most of her days reading, training nurses, studying and staring at the endless space thinking about her new Jedi friends.

It almost seemed forever when she got a call from the admiral, warning her that the battle ships were coming back with probably some injured people. (Y/N) felt a little guilty for feeling that rush of adrenaline she was feeling, fueling her preparations and orders she started to give all the nurses and droids on the floor. She expected moderate injuries, and prepared for at least one possible dangerous case. The surgery room was already prepared and the gurneys waiting, Doctor Wilhar in full uniform. Soon, the infirmary was flowing with life, many troopers were in need of a stitch or two, but thankfully no one needed surgery.

As she was finishing patching up a soldier, she looked how Anakin and Ahsoka carried Obi-Wan. (Y/N) almost ran, fearing he would be the surgical case. “What do we have here?” She asked as she got closer. Ahsoka then spoke:

“A blaster wound in his left side, I think it grazed him.” (Y/N) in full doctor mode called a gurney, checking Obi-Wan’s vitals. Steady heart beat and even breathing, perhaps a little agitated.

“How are you feeling General?” She asked, opening the door of a private room where she would be able to asses the situation further.

“I’m fine.” He said flinching a little bit when he moved to sit up. (Y/N) pushed his chest backwards, making him lay down.

“Of course you are. I need everyone to exit the room.” She simply said, Anakin and Ahsoka leaving a little reluctantly. “I’ll take off your top robes, I hope that’s okay.” She warned, not waiting for a response as she slipped her gloves on. Dr. Wilhar didn’t flinch at his gun wound, she had seen worse. “This needs some stitches, but it is superficial damage, you’ll be fine.” She assured, looking for the stitching kit and anesthesia. “Don’t worry, I’ll anesthetize this part, so you won’t feel a thing.”

“It’s alright darling.” (Y/N) ignored the pet name, as she started to work, fully concentrated.

“Rough fight?” She asked, trying to make conversation and relax Obi-Wan, as she inserted the syringe with anesthesia.

“Not really.” He simply said.

“Then how come you got hurt?” She questioned looking at his eyes briefly.

“Well, I’ve heard such nice comments from your caring servicies I had to see what all the fuss was about.”

“Oh, so you got hit on purpose?”

“No, I look miserable right now.”

“How about next time you come to me when you get a little cut or a small bruise?”

“Would you patch me up?”

“If you are patient.”

“Patience, yes, a Jedi trait.” (Y/N) tried to hold her laughter back, Obi-Wan was talking nonsense, and she didn’t even gave him any medicine yet. She finished stitching him up in silence, cleaning the wound, reaching for gauze. Now that her adrenaline dissipated she noticed Obi-Wan’s lean torso, a few scars adorning his soft looking skin. She felt heat rising to her cheeks, as she also reached for ointment.

“I’ll-”she cleared her throat “I need you to sit up a bit, slowly please.” She indicated, her voice shy. Dr. Wilhar reached for the antibiotics and a cup of water. She gave them to Kenobi, no need to speak her orders, he took them with no hesitation. Meanwhile, (Y/N) tried hard to concentrate on applying the ointment and tying the gauze around his torso, it was almost like hugging him. She haven’t noticed how close they were until she felt weight on her shoulder.

Tilting her head just to watch what was the weight, she found that Obi-Wan had fallen asleep, his forehead on her shoulder. (Y/N) almost squeaked but contained herself, she didn’t want to wake him up. She softly laid him down, covering him with the thin sheet the gurney offered. With a little hesitation she pushed his hair back; she was glad she did that, because as she lightly touched his forehead she felt his temperature higher. Following protocol she injected the IV with solution to avoid dehydration. She then exited the room, looking around the infirmary, everything under control.

Today she was really, skeptical, but against her gut feeling, she entered General Kenobi’s room in the infirmary and although she didn’t have to do this, because there were less tedious methods, she decided to grab a small towel and a bucket full of ice cold water. She started to wipe off Kenobi’s forehead sweat, smiling when he sighed in relief because of the fresh water.

(Y/N) could only admire his face while systematically taking care of him. She was so into it, she didn’t notice Anakin, Rex and Cody spying from the window of the door. “Oh, c’mon.” Cody complained, afraid he would loose his bet with Rex, because if his eyes didn’t deceive him, it was the Doctor the one with lovey-dovey eyes, not the other way around. Rex chuckled, tasting victory.

“What?” Anakin asked. Both clones looked at each other, debating in their minds if they should tell Skywalker, after all he was a Jedi as well.

“Well…”

“What?” Anakin pressed on.

“We have a bet, you see.” Rex started, now filling a little guilty. “I think that Dr. Wilhar will fall for the General, while Cody thinks otherwise.”

“‘Fall for’? As in, fall in love?” Anakin shook his head. “Obi-Wan is already in love with someone else, he might not admit it, but he is.”

“With whom?” Cody asked.

“Duchess Satine.” Anakin gossiped. The three of them felt silent.

“I still think I win.” Rex interrupted the silence. Cody’s face scrunched up at his statement, clearly asking why. “Have you seen the look on her face? I saw her treat a lot of people but she never got all blushy and nervous.”

“So what? The general was flirting with her.” Cody pointed out.

“Nah-uh, it was flattery.” Anakin defended. “Obi-Wan flatters with everyone.” Then a discussion started about the fine line between flattery and flirting. Hearing commotion outside (Y/N) opened the door.

“What’s all this noise about?” She scolded, making them hold their tongues. “General Kenobi is sleeping and has a fever right now, if you want to visit you may do it when he wakes up.” She informed, closing the door again. The three men continued arguing if they were in love or not for too much time, until Ahsoka arrived. Then, she joined the discussion.

“Uh-uh, I don’t care who that duchess is, I believe (Y/N) is cooler.” The togruta stated, crossing her arms with a sassy aura. “She saves lives and is a total badass. The duchess sounds like a snob.” She taunted, making Cody laugh.

“We’ll see who Obi-Wan likes more.” Anakin challenged. Needless to say, Obi-Wan was about to get a whole lot of stress.

******

The lights were too bright for the Master Jedi, they made him feel dizzy. He moved one of his hands to his eyes to cover them, noticing the rough texture of a towel in his forehead in the way. He was alone, he could sense it, and he was actually grateful, Anakin would probably nag at him, increasing the pain pulsing in his head.

A few minutes later someone opened the door, closing it softly. He peeped thorough his arms, and was glad to found (Y/N) smiling softly at him, her white coat on, a data pad on her hands. “Good morning General. How are you feeling?” She asked, looking at his vitals and noting them down on the data pad.

“My head is about to explode.” His hoarse voice spoke. The doctor removed the towel now pressing her cold hand against his forehead. Obi-Wan almost sighed at the contact, her hands felt amazing.

“I believe you don’t have a fever anymore, which is really good. Can I take a look at your stitches?” She asked as a formality, moving her hands to the thin sheet covering his torso, grazing her fingers just a little against his abdomen. Obi-Wan couldn’t contain the shudder this time. “Sorry my hands are little cold, the ship is freezing.” The Jedi shook his head, trying to ignore the fact that his shivering wasn’t because her hands were cold, but because he felt her touch electric. He took a good look at the doctor, she look as splendid as the day he met her, only a bit more tired; she had dark circles under her eyes and looked a little scruffy. Nevertheless, he had underestimated how much he had missed her, it was refreshing seeing the caring smile on her face, feeling the soothing aura she carried around and listening to her honeyed voice. “Obi-Wan?” She asked, apparently again.

“Sorry darling, I was distracted.” The doctor cleared her throat, a pink tint creeping on her cheeks.

“I was commenting you, General, that you overslept. I think the battle took a toll on you, you should rest more and take care of yourself. You are a Jedi, not inmortal.” She stated. The Jedi flinched at her formalities.

“You can drop the title Doctor, please call me Obi-Wan.” Just when (Y/N) was going to do a cheeky remark about his pet-names, Anakin opened the door with a big smile on his face, Ahsoka following right behind, snickering about whatever Anakin had told her earlier.

“Hi (Y/N)!” Ahsoka greeted, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “How’s Master Kenobi?”

“He’ll be alright as long as he stays in bed for at least one more day. Can you do that General?” She teased with a knowing smile.

“I’ll try.” He answered following her game, making her laugh.

“Skywalker, try to keep as quiet as you can, alright?” She taunted at the loud Jedi, a hand on her hip.

“Whatever.” He replied, rolling his eyes playfully.

“Alright, I’ll come back later Obi-Wan.” She waved at the door, Ahsoka following the Doctor. “It’s something the matter?”

“No…” she replied with a suspicious tone. “I just noticed that you called Master Kenobi by his first name.”

“He told me to.” She excused herself. Ahsoka hummed, still looking at the doctor. “What?” She asked a little embarrassed for no reason. The young padawan still looked at her, (Y/N) felt as if she was reading her. “He calls me darling, I think I have the right to call him by his first name.” She blurted out. Ahsoka's grin became bigger, she even giggled.

“He does what?!” She asked in a higher pitch from the one aloud in the infirmary. Doctor Wilhar shushed her.

“It's just a stupid pet-name.”

“He doesn’t call everyone darling.”

“I bet he does, and it's annoying.” A short silence indicated Ahsoka was thinking. Then she gasped:

“Ohhh!! You know what you should do? If he calls you darling, you should reply him back with another pet name!”

“What?” (Y/N) deadpanned.

“I do it all the time. Men get really uncomfortable when you call them some pet name back.” She assured her.

“I don’t want him to be uncomfortable.” Dr. Wilhar replied, her softer side appearing from the back of her brain.

“If you do it just once I bet he would stop… unless you actually like him calling you darling.” Ahsoka teased, her snippy side showing.

“Fine.” (Y/N) sighed, annoyed. She then proceeded to make the check ups of her patients, Ahsoka chatting with her, keeping her company.

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan was having a stupid argument with Anakin. “Why would want to know anything about Satine?”

“Because, I care about you Master and I feel like she’s an important part of your life.”

“She’s not. We are very different people, plus I took an oath to the Jedi Code, it’s not wise to keep her on my mind.”

“So you wouldn’t break the code for her?”

“No.”

“And for (Y/N)?”

“What kind of question is that?” Obi-Wan asked annoyed. “Are you really asking about me? Or are you the one in love with Dr. Wilhar?” Anakin contained his need of denying it instantly, after all, his whole love and devotion were dedicated to Padmé.

“I am.” He lied, crossing his arms, laying back in the chair.

“What?!” Obi-Wan asked, his demeanor not as calm as he would like to mask. He would be lying if he would say he wasn’t a little bit angry.

“Do you have a problem, Master?”

“Yes I do. You took an oath to the code! You can’t just foolishly fall in love with some girl you met!” Then Obi-Wan noticed, he wasn’t talking to Anakin, he wasn’t scolding Anakin. He was scolding himself.

“She’s not just a girl!” Anakin defended, getting himself in character. Before Obi-Wan could continue, there was a knock on the door. Ahsoka came in, Dr. Wilhar following behind. The padawan stood by her master, sensing the awkward aura around both Masters.

“Visiting hours are over, so both of you should go to your quarters to get some sleep.” (Y/N) informed Anakin and Ahsoka. “Have a good night.” She smiled brightly.

“See ya (Y/N).” Ahsoka waved.

“I hope I’ll see you later, sugar lips.” Anakin said in a husky voice, then smirked. Ahsoka, who was still around, had her mouth hanging open.

“Uh… what?” (Y/N) asked to no one in particular, looking at the Jedi exiting the room. She looked cluelessly at Obi-Wan, but he just shook his head. “What the hell was all that about?” She asked now realizing what Anakin had called her.

“You should ask him.” The older Jedi replied, a little bitter. (Y/N) proceeded to check all his vitals again and his wound. At this point, Obi-Wan would have been bored about the whole procedure if it weren't for the doctor, he would watch her do the same thing over and over again with fascination.

“Well, we are finished for today. Tomorrow morning you should be ready to go.” She stated a polite warm smile on her face. She stood really close to his bed, one of her arms holding her data pad firmly while the other dangled on her side. Obi-Wan was temped to hold her lonely hand, but just nodded. The doctor nodded as well and started to turn towards the door, when a firm grasp in her wrist stopped her softly.

“You should come with us.” He blurted out. (Y/N)’s eyes opened slightly surprised.

“Where?” She asked confused.

“Wherever we go.” He replied still holding her wrist, with a softer grasp. (Y/N) had to think what was he exactly proposing. Most of the times, when the troops had to go somewhere to fight they left in smaller ships, compared to the one she was, which usually stayed in pacific areas, rather than war zones. (Y/N) knew there was a provisional infirmary in every little ship, but she would have to train everyone again and spend so much more time curing people and it sounded like the best plan ever.

“I would love to, but I’ll have to deal with somethings here before joining your adventures.” (Y/N) tried not to shiver at the soothing touch of Kenobi’s hand, she also tried really hard to contain her impulse of saying yes immediately.

“I’ll wait patiently darling.” And there he went again, with the annoyingly sweet pet-name.

“Thank you, honey.” She replied, a little sarcastic tone lacing her words. The Jedi’s heart skipped a beat and completely ignored the fact she did it on purpose, because it sounded so right when she called him that he contained himself from taking her hand and kissing her hands. (Y/N) would be lying if she wasn’t proud of herself when she saw the blush creeping on Obi-Wan’s cheeks and ears, but she was lightly blushing as well. “Good night, Obi-Wan.”

Just when (Y/N) closed the door to Kenobi’s room, she saw Anakin laying against the wall, his arms crossed and eyes closed. “Skywalker, what are you doing here?” She asked, a little uncomfortable knowing he probably heard the little banter with Obi-Wan. In the room she left, Obi-Wan was focusing on not being completely furious with Anakin and his intentions towards the doctor.

He repeated in his head over and over again that he was angry because Anakin was breaking the code, but he knew, deep down, that he actually was feeling jealousy. As his former master had taught him, he started to carefully meditate and sort out his feelings, trying to repress them as much as he was capable off. He couldn’t get that uncomfortable tug on his chest.

#obi wan x reader #ahsoka tano #star wars #Anakin Skywalker #obi wan kenobi

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