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vixstarria · 1 year ago

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Another gift

This is a continuation of my headcanon of Astarion’s romance with bard Tav. I can’t remember the actual chronology of cutscenes, but let’s assume this takes place after you’ve started a sexual relationship with Astarion and are beginning to grow closer. I was going to take it in a different direction initially, but these things have a mind of their own once they get going.

If you like it, check out my first fic. I do plan on writing more!

P.S. I may have taken some liberties with the game background story and DnD lore and magic system here – if it doesn’t really match up or make sense – sorry! Also I’m still only on Act 2.

Tav tries to comfort or distract a brooding Astarion.

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Bard Tav

Comfort, fluff, budding love, humour, angst, banter, no spoilers, non-explicit

Approximately 2,000 words.

AO3

Astarion was standing outside his tent with his back to the camp, staring into a silver mirror. The man had either lost his vampiric condition, lost his mind, or was simply brooding.

“Looking at something?” he asked absent-mindedly, as you approached.

Brooding. Definitely brooding.

“Looking for something.”

“Oh?” He turned towards you. “Just my company, or is there something else I can offer you?”

“I'm the one making an offering, actually. I thought I’d bring you a little snack”

Astarion grinned and beckoned you inside his tent.

Inside, aside from his bedroll, was a trunk with a large mirror opposite, a lit lantern and a scattering of weapons, equipment and books. You assumed your usual position, cross-legged on the bedroll, and offered him your wrist. This didn’t take long. Just a little pick me up.

He finished, planting a light kiss on your wrist, reached for his amulet and whispered an incantation to heal the wound. He kept hold of your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.

“Do you have any idea how much I appreciate that you don’t sexualise this?”

“I haven’t thought about it... Really?”

“Well imagine that any time you went to, say, take a bite of a turkey leg, there was someone staring, groping themselves and wagging their tongue at you. When you’re just trying to perform basic functions to stay alive.”

“Sweetheart, that’s an average evening at the pub for me, when I perform. With or without me biting on anything. ...But I see what you mean”. You contemplated what he just said in a brief silence. “I can't believe you just compared me to a turkey leg.”

“You’re more of a ripe, juicy peach” he said. You found yourself oddly pleased to be compared to fruit rather than poultry.

You glanced at the large mirror standing on the floor of the tent.

“You own an awful lot of mirrors for a vampire. Why do you even keep this here?”

“That? Oh, it reflects light... makes the tent appear more spacious... prevents anyone from sneaking up on me. ...Unless they’re another vampire.” Astarion said contemplatively. “And I figured, I woke up once with a tadpole in my brain that let me walk in the sun again – who's to say I won’t catch another parasite tomorrow that might cure my vampirism entirely?”

“Do you miss it? Seeing your own face?”

“Preening in the looking glass? Petty vanity? Of course I miss it. I’ve never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red. My face is just some dark shape in my past. Another thing I’ve lost. I wouldn’t even recognise myself anymore. It’s been two hundred years.”

“But...” you fumbled, trying to wrap your mind around that. “You could have found a street artist to sketch you since then.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Or commissioned a portraitist, those artistic types would accommodate you any time of day or night”

“Commissioned a - …I’m sorry, at what point did I give you the impression that Cazador paid us an allowance..?” Astarion was growing agitated. “And before you say I could have stolen – remember, everything I had, anything I acquired by any means, the clothes on my back, my body, my will – it all belonged to the master.” He paused, regaining control of his demeanour. “There was no point in having any possessions, it would all be the bastard’s in the end. I didn’t want to give him any more than I absolutely had to.”

You kicked yourself in the ass mentally.

“Well how’s this... We get to Baldur’s Gale. We exterminate Cazador and take over his palace. Then we rip out whatever he’s got as décor, commission all the best artists, and hang paintings of you on every wall. There will be nothing but portraits of Astarion everywhere.” Astarion’s eyes softened as he watched you gesticulating and getting carried away by your own imagination. “Astarion in shining armour. Astarion on a horse. Astarion on silk bedsheets, half-covered in rose petals. Pirate Astarion. Astarion stroking a cat. Historic events, but every single person depicted is Astarion. Oh! And in the main banquet hall, there will be an enormous mural of you, fully naked, lounging on a divan and being fed grapes by a cadre of nymphs.”

“With a fig leaf covering my unmentionables?”

“A comically large fig leaf. Or better yet, no fig leaf, just your full unmentionable glory looming over the dining table” You paused, as if sobering up after being lost in your grand vision, and added in a more serious tone: “We can commission busts and statues, too. Get a mold of your face for a hyper-realistic one.”

“We” he whispered, as if to himself, with a scornful chuckle.

“Oh? Do you have someone else in Baldur’s Gate you’d rather spend time with?” You realised how callous that might have come across as soon as the words were out, and cringed inwardly.

“...No, I don’t” he said absently.

“Elves live long lives... Do you still have real family there? Friends from... before? ...A spouse? Children?” You'd wondered about this before, and figured you may as well lie in the hole you’d dug for yourself.

“Gods, no!” Astarion blinked in surprise. “I wasn’t even considered a full adult by elven society then. No, mercifully I didn’t leave any little Astarions behind. All my friends from my youth are either dead or have blissfully forgotten me. And I don’t even know where my family is.”

You gave him a sympathetic and questioning look, waiting for him to go on. He sighed and continued.

“As you might expect, Cazador placed a restriction on me, preventing me from telling anyone about my affliction. I couldn’t approach my old acquaintances and go ‘Surprise! I’m actually alive! ...Sort of. I’m just someone’s vampire spawn slave now!’. No. I was to turn around and walk the other way if I ever came upon anyone who might recognise me. I was supposed to be devoted only to my new ‘family’.” he scowled. “I feared that Cazador would use anyone he thought might be important to me against me - for fun, or to teach me a ‘lesson’. And he would have, too: the mental torture he unleashed on his spawn was far worse than physical.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I couldn’t go and see my family, but as soon as I had my wits about me, I managed to arrange for one of the mercenary guilds to quickly escort my relatives out of the city. They were to be told that I made some powerful enemies who had me murdered, and that these enemies would come for them next. That they had to leave, change their names, and never return. I don’t know where they went. I can’t know, if I want them to be safe.” He looked away. “I can’t imagine how much they hated and cursed me. I ruined their lives.” he whispered.

“You saved them!” you objected, taking his hand. He shrugged but squeezed your hand back.

“I suppose I might have. Cazador would’ve left their heads on spikes in my crypt by now, otherwise.” He met your eyes again. “So yes, if anyone is going to be helping me decorate a palace, it’s you.” he added with a false cheer, clearly finished with the topic of Cazador.

You thought he might want to be alone then and were about to leave, but he gently pulled you towards himself. He was sitting on the ground with his back against a trunk. You settled between his legs, your back against his chest, his lips right at your ear, one arm across your shoulders and chest, the other playing with your hair. The large mirror was on the ground right in front of you. He studied your reflection over your shoulder. You appeared to be lounging suspended at an odd angle.

“How does it even work, anyway... It’s not just your body that disappears, it’s your clothing, too”. You grabbed a hat from the top of the trunk, holding it by its crown, and held it over Astarion’s head, moving it in circles against his hair. “Now you see it...” You let go and watched it disappear in the reflection. “Now you don’t.”

“I’m actually not sure, darling. Maybe it needs to be supported solely by me. Or it’s got to do with movement” He threw the hat back onto the trunk, where it reappeared in the reflection.

“Say...” threw your head back to look up into his eyes “Do you think my reflection would disappear... if a part of you was inside?” you bit your lip and grinned mischievously.

“I don’t think so, but I love how that dirty mind of yours works” he purred in your ear. “Let’s check and find out” His hand slid towards the clasp of your pants, but you swatted it away.

“Later.” Suddenly you were on a mission. “I have an idea.”

The rest of your group were gathered around the fire as you made a dash for your tent and grabbed your kit of stage paints and powders.

“Chk, are you doing each other’s makeup in there?” came a scoff from Lae’zel, as you rushed past.

“Don’t be jealous, Lae. We’ll have a girls night and braid each other’s hair tomorrow” you retorted, making Shadowheart choke on her drink.

Back in Astarion’s tent, you reached for one of your loose facial powders.

“You really don’t need to do anything, I’m used to it and nothing will work anyway” protested a confused and weary Astarion.

“Astarion!” you said gravely, “This isn’t for you. This is for science”, and you blew the powder hard into his face. Sure enough, an outline of his features appeared briefly in the mirror, as the powder flew all around him. “It worked!”

“Fan-tastic! Too bad you had to blind me to achieve that split second of a silhouette!” he coughed and rubbed at his eyes.

“It should work with water, too, if you want me to pour some over your head. You need to wash all that powder off anyway, you look ridiculous.”

He glared at you through the still flying powder particles and pointed a finger at your face.

“No.”

“Actually, hang on, I have a better idea.” You heard him groan into his hands behind you, as you ran back to your tent, to return with an amulet.

“So, the good news is, I am really, really bad at this.”

“If this involves setting me on fire again...”

“That was an accident. Anyway... No, this lets me create a fog cloud. Or so it should. I can just barely manage some fog tendrils. Now if I just aim them at your face...” You concentrated on the spell. Whisps of fog appeared around Astarion. “Look...” As the fog tendrils twisted in the air, you could just make out a form that they floated around, in the reflection, one unmistakably of a face.

“Well...” breathed Astarion, transfixed by the reflection, trying to make motions with his head to make the fog recoil. “It’s not much, but it’s more than I’ve seen in centuries”

“Come on” you grasped his hand. “Let’s go outside, it needs a different light and a slight breeze”

Astarion snatched his handheld mirror and followed you. He was actually eager.

Outside, Astarion spun in the whispy fog, gazing at the mirror in disbelief, as you continued to concentrate on the spell. It was actually working. Your conjuration magic was just bad enough to make the thinnest layer of fog, framing his face like a delicate mask and reflecting in the mirror. What would have been considered incredibly precise work by a wizard, was made possible entirely thanks to you borderline failing.

“That’s better... I’ll channel the fog right, you turn left against it. No, your other left! No, don’t go into the fire, you idiot, it won’t be my fault this time”

You grabbed Astarion by the hand and tried to guide him away from fire and anything he could trip over – he was paying exactly zero mind to anything around him, as he semi-stumbled in circles, looking in the mirror. Scratch ran around you, barking, excited for a new game, and eventually tripped you both.

“Another gift...” Astarion smiled at you, as Scratch did his utmost to lick his face.

Meanwhile, the group watched the two of you from a distance, dumbfounded. Lae'zel broke the silence:

“Your people have the strangest mating rituals.”

“Should I... should I tell them I can probably just cast mirror image on him? I’ve only done it on myself, but it should follow the same principle” added Gale.

“Maybe tomorrow” said Shadowheart. “Just let them enjoy this tonight.”

~~~~~

Next in series

AO3

#astarion #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic

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lumea-art · 6 months ago

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Hey, guys! I'd like to address a personal issue which actually concerns everyone in this fandom. Please, read and react somehow🙏 For those on the bojere fanbook server, that's going to be pretty much the same as what you read yesterday. If I'm too direct or accidentally overshare, sorry, keep in mind that I'm autistic

So for quite a long time I felt secretly disliked in the fandom. I am a very anxious person, I hang on every piece of feedback that I get so it bothered me a lot. I wasn't allowed to participate in the Käärijä zine and they never explained why and I almost didn't get in the bojere fanbook as well but at least the mods were kind enough to communicate the issue

So the mods told me yesterday that people felt uncomfortable about me taking part in this and having me on the server. I felt very down the whole day and didn't understand shit until Moko and Due gave me the explanation. The issue was "radfem" in my bio on Twitter. They explained to me how my associating with radfem made them think I was potentially threatening to other people on the server, especially the queer folk. But the thing is I turned out to be quite different. I consider myself to be radfem cause I've had a lot of traumatic experience with men (SA, abusive relationship), I don't want any other women to go through something like I had to experience, I am with women, I'm fighting for our comfort and against the patriarchy. Also I am from Kazakhstan and we have big issues with women's rights here including all kinds of abuse and femicide for which men tend to not get in jail. You might have heard how our ex minister of Economics abused and k*lled his wife and didn't get in jail until the case reached the news. That's all, that's what it means TO ME to be radfem. So I guess this radfem is different to the one you're used to. I am not transphobic and I have never thought my views had anything to do with queer people. I have always been nothing but respectful towards queer people, online or irl. I have nonbinary friends who are comfortable with communicating with me. As a cis person, I may not understand something, but we tend to talk anything through in order to understand each other better, not waiting for any of us get hurt accidentally. So I suggest the same - if you need further clarification, you can ask me questions in reblog or dms and I'll answer. Also I'm open to literature suggestions to get to understand you guys better💕

Also regarding Russian-Ukranian issue in case anyone has a problem with it

Since I'm openly Russian speaking (though being from Kazakhstan and half Ukrainian myself), Ukrainians might have an issue with me and I perfectly understand why so I try not to bother them. However, some of them didn't want to leave me and my friends alone. You might have seen this big Russian-Ukranian fight on twitter in April, mostly taking place in JO fandom. The thing is that (again) people don't dig deep and assume I am pro Russian since I speak Russian and happen to not be able to speak Ukrainian or Kazakh (in Kazakhstan we mostly speak Russian). Me and my Russian speaking friends were bullied, our personal info was leaked without our permission and one of us got threatened to be physically hurt once she arrives to a JO gig we are all going to. Of course I protected my friends and myself, maybe not in the best way possible. Luckily, we were able to talk everything through with the guys and no one means to hurt anyone anymore. I suggested doing commissions for donations and I still do that if you're interested. I am pro Ukrainian and pro Palestinian and genocides suck

If someone doesn't want to communicate with me for whatever reason, just don't, what's the problem. But don't limit a person before clarifying things, I beg you. Please, I really want to be on good terms with everyone. I wish peace to everyone 🙏

#the tags are to attract attention #käärijä #joker out #bojan cvjetićanin #jere pöyhönen #bojere

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thoughtfullyrainynightmare · 5 months ago

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a bit of a weird ask hello !! i’m a little new to the black clover blog scene; do you have any blogs that you recommend following? :0 (im reaaalllyyyy into everyone’s ocs, but i really just wanna follow cool people & dont know where to start sksks)

Hiya! :3

I don't think it's a weird thing to ask! No worries

Let's see... Well, obviously it depends on what kind of works/blogs/fanworks you're looking for, but I'll throw some blogs

A disclaimer, I might skip some moots who I do know have ocs, but most of the content/fanworks/etc is elsewhere/discussion happens on discord. So, this is by no means a comprehensive list!

@lyranova - Has reader inserts and a ton of OCs! Including next gens. You'll also find moodboards and occasional colourings

@loosesodamarble - A lot of OCs! As it stands in the description, also meta knowledge, occasional Japanese-English translation discussion and incorrect quotes

@the-black-bulls - Incorrect quotes! But is BB centric as the title says

@kalolasfantasyworld -Also OCs! And OC x CC, and CC x CC fics, but she writes out of her own whims. You'll also find art

@acacia-may - OCs and fics, a lot of platonic relationships! She explores friendships and family dynamics in her works more than most blogs I follow (I think); she is at the time of posting this, on a hiatus due to a family emergency

@yellowgreendinno - OCs, art, headcanons; Ginny is a newer mutual of mine, but an absolute sweetheart

@t-f-t - Fics and art! If you're looking for crack fics and fun/chaotic content (/pos), I do suggest you check them out. There's also a masterlist for content

@funky-sea-cryptid - Fics, art and a lot of OCs! Writes with @/t-f-t

@f-oighear - Fics! A big Nozessa shipper if that's your jam. But she has written a lot of quality content for the fandom

@mamavino - Fics and some OCs! She also writes out of her own amusement, but you'll find writing here

@vilandel - Fics and some OCs as well! Also writes out of her own amusement

@bowandcurtsey - Reader insert fics! She's been mostly MIA, but you'll find a ton of content there too

@valtoswife - Colourings! Posts aren't frequent, but you'll get nice art ^^

@clovernero - Art and colourings! Mostly reblogged (but this is a reblogging site), so if you want the occasional nice work of visual art, I suggest a follow

@wildflowerwoodsworld - A lot of fics! She explores mostly the Black Bulls (Finral) in her writing, but there are also a lot of good fics there!

@crazedstoryteller - Fics! (Dara I know you're not really active in the fandom anymore, but I wanted to give a shout out to your fics)

@crazycookiemaniac - Art! Cookie does commissions, and posts a lot of BC related art; the comms ^^

@koneko-pi - Art and writing. Also posts very little here these days due to irl as one thing, but there's a lot of nice content as well (and I do adore Briar)

---

I know I'm forgetting some people, and as said, some of those I interact with have their BC content in the depths of their blog, or post regularly about other things and aren't "BC centric" in that sense, which is why I'm not listing them here

But here you might find a lot of different kinds of posts, works, OCs, and vibes. These are just some names I would consider myself to be in ... "speaking terms" with /lh (shhhh... my tumblr "wives" I know I know it's much more than that :P )

I hope this gets you started! I thought I'd give you some different kinds of options as well, since you're only getting started and will find something you gravitate towards eventually ^^

#recommendations #anon flamelets

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narcoticwriter · 28 days ago

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I Have A Mouth And I Will Scream With It. (The Second Installment)

The first one.

You know, you would think that me complaining about something would have something done about it, but as the sole torch in the darkness, I alone am alight and it is not nearly enough. So I can only declare into the void of character design and lack of common sense once again:

It still makes no fucking sense how the tall Genshin women have heels.

After Fontaine and now Natlan, I can only crumple to my knees and weep. Lament, even. Why, Hoyoverse? Why are you averse to sensible footwear? Surely you're all competent enough to put boots on the characters where boots are warranted if not required? Amber exists, for crying out loud! You can make it work!

Every single character here is qualified for a full display of clownery and no exceptions can be made.

Insanity -

Navia: Demoiselle, forget the ten-meter hat that you wanted to commission, you cannot be serious about your footwear. And no, you cannot just make your employees carry you. I know that Silver and Melus would do it without hesitation, but they're not here to do that anymore and you have to stand on your own two, heeled feet. And be honest folks, do you really think that Navia's not the type to twist and sprain her ankle in a moment of hasty stepping? If anything, commission Chiori for stylish footwear that makes sense, she could probably do it for you for a discount, too.

Clorinde: You're expecting me to believe that this woman actually goes hunting in those damn things? Seriously? I know that she's capable of a lot of physical feats, but this being one of them is a stretch to even my imagination, skirt aside. Not only would this require a profound sense of balance and spatial awareness, but it would also see Clorinde as a genuine class unto herself and while she is already, I'm not inclined to see that extend to her feet. But hey, that work-life balance isn't for nothing! She can actually rest her feet if she gets a moment to herself at least!

Xianyun: I don't care how old you are, how often you're not in that form, or how specialized your entire hobby is, those heels are unnecessary. It would genuinely look better if you had flats on. Yes, yes, I know that she's a crane and all and that heels would make sense, but you think her legs aren't long enough already?

Arlecchino: She killed a man with those shoes and I had to fight to not projectile vomit when I saw it happen. She's full of nuance, complications, and contradicting beliefs, a decent character overall story-wise, but for this, she sickens me. If I say anything more, I may lose my mind.

Xilonen: I want to cry. Genuinely. Stilettos? "But Narky, she skates-" I'm not talking about her skates, I'm talking about her phlogiston-adhesive stilettos and I hate them. Hoyoverse, she's a laid-back jaguar gal who won't move if she can help it and would rather lounge around on her free time, put her in some fucking sandals if not the pair of fluffy slippers that she deserves.

Chasca: I know that some people have a bone to pick with her design-wise, but I don't care about that right now. I care about what's on her feet and what are on her feet are abhorrent. The only peace she's keeping isn't mine but everyone who has been on the receiving end of her fists. Hell, she's probably used her heels to keep the peace at some point.

Mavuika: Unironically, her entire fit would look better if she just had regular shoes on. Like, you can keep the basic look of the heels, but if they were more akin to boots with some defined soles, it could have gone hard. But alas, Hoyoverse has a quota to meet and genuinely good designs for footwear be damned. And please note that I have not gone into how an Archon of war has heels. Be for real, devs. Be for fucking real.

Bonus:

Skirk: If I had heels for feet, I would have chopped them off. That is all.

Conclusion: I have the opposite of a foot kink and I don't know what that means nor do I want to find out.

#once again: i need HELP #narky thinks #genshin impact #genshin memes #going ham #get tagged losers #genshin navia #clorinde #xianyun #arlecchino #xilonen #chasca #mavuika #genshin skirk

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knightyoomyoui · 23 days ago

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A KNIGHT'S FAREWELL.

Hello, everyone. Author Knight here. If you're reading this, then I'll be going straightforward already on what this post is mainly about:

I'm quitting.

I'll just make this one as short as I can since I know there's like probably number of readers that I can just count using my hands out there who still stayed with me for 2 years that appreciates not only my works but also me, as the mastermind behind those stories.

I'm sorry if I have to come into this. I admit, I'm not the same as I was anymore. I lost the eagerness and motivation to write, and even if I want to write one, inside of me just couldn't get affected by all of the motivations I can get to help me create those ideas on my mind into a story. I don't want to force myself too much, in fact I've been noticing it anyways that the quality of my stories never improved, and probably got even worse. So yeah, I just don't feel like writing anymore.

You could say that these are the reasons why I'm stopping: my insecurities never lessened, been very busy with the academics as it is my highest priority right now, came to a realization that fanfic readers are starting to decrease for various reasons.

Before I end this, let me just make things clear. This is not really the time I will be gone as a fully active TWICE fanfic author but rather at the end of this year. The two remaining one-shots featuring Chaeyoung and Tzuyu will be out by November and December. The rest of my books will be discontinued along with my Cry For Me series fron my TWICE one-shot book since well, I'll be honest I think I did bad and I gave it way too many breaks on each releases thats why most of my readers for sure ain't caught up with the progress of it anymore. I'm not sure yet about the "Living With The Vampires" book though, it's a commissioned one. Part of me just wants to completely rest now from these while on the other hand I don't waste the money I'll be getting in return for the upcoming chapters because it would be a huge assist to my needs also.

Thank you so much again to everyone who loved reading my stories, it has been a journey. I didn't want to end doing these, but I can't just keep forcing myself to write when passion isn't there anymore. Consider me one of the best TWICE fanfic writers out there or not, it's up to you... but what matters is that I think I fulfilled the purpose of why I named myself "Knight", to be a "knight in shining armor" for those readers who wants to read something new and interesting while at the same time, they can get to atleast imagine being paired with TWICE in many different life situations, whether for good or bad.

This is yours truly, officially signing off. Swords up!⚔️

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steelthroat · 9 months ago

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Can you write a funny little TFA MegOP thing where they're already together. Lets say cuddling in their berth, and suddenly Optimus has a thought.

"How did we even get together?"

"Hm?"

"No, I'm being serious. How did it happen? You are.. were? A war criminal. I put you in jail. How are we together right now?"

"..."

------

LIKE. IDK IT WAS FUNNIER IN MY HEAD. SO EITHER 1. Some otherworldly being (a fanfic writer) manipulated them and the world around them. Making them be together. But now the writer is gone after giving them their happily ever after.. But the characters revert back to how they were in cannon. Vaigely knowing what allowed them to get to this point, but not really understanding anymore how or why?

Or 2. Optimus forgot and wants Megatron's pov on how they got together. Either way, I know that even if you write little for this, it will still be hella entertaining :3

Ooooooh that's such a nice and cool idea tho! sadly, I'm not taking requests since I'm an INCREDIBLY slow writer, and life is also getting in the way ahahahah

Believe me, I would have done in other circumstances, and this idea has a LOT of potential! I am a sucker for the "how did we even end up here???" trope too, but you would either have to wait a long(immense) amount of time ahahah.

Hey if you want to write it yourself I could give you a couple ideas or advice if you'd like :3, otherwise I'd say see if there are other writers who take requests or commissions, I could redirect you to a couple of them :)

For now I can at best give you this little drabble for the second idea since it's really cute:

~~~~~~~~~~

"It just happened"

"Wake up" Megatron felt someone flicking at his nose and then shaking him when the action gave no response.

"Wake up!" This time that someone went for the helm, the bang of the collision rang in the otherwise quiet room.

"What?" Megatron opened one optic and glared at his disturber, Optimus Prime.

"How did we end up together?" He asked with an almost accusing expression

"Huh?" What did he even mean by that

"You heard me" Optimus scoffed

"What like... you don't remember?" He started going back with his own memory banks and backups, He would have been more worried about Optimus apparent amnesia if he weren't struggling to find an answer to that absurd question.

"Do you?" Optimus crossed his arms

Megatron stayed silent for a while... he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment they had become a thing. Centuries, no, millennia of circling around one another after signing the peace treaty, spending more and more time together, fighting, bantering, provoking each other, speaking about personal topics, binding while annoying each other to death had, at some point, led them to fall in berth together.

They had kept falling into each other's berth since then... and now they were here.

So there wasn't really an answer to that question, not a typical one at least.

Megatron cleared his vocalizer "I... I guess it just happened" he answered at last.

Optimus seemed to reflect on this answer before humming "are you happy with this?"

Megatron though about it, he really was, sure there were invisible limits they never actually crossed but at this point they lived like a conjunx couple, minus the status and the spark merging... but Meagtron found the though of Sharing his spark with Optimus not to be as dreaded as he anticipated... he almost- longed for it.

"Yeah..." he said smiling softly and bringing the smaller mech closer to him "a lot" and his servos started shifting over his lover's frame delicately almost in worship.

"Do you want more?" The question could be interpreted in two different ways and Megatron wanted to answer yes to both.

"When it comes to you I always want more" he answered looking at Optimus, his lover's gaze was so bright and full of love he felt like it would melt the metal of his frame.

"I... also want more. Everything." he whispered with his lips ghosting over Megatron's.

Megatron closed the distance between them and kissed him. "And you will receive it"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope you like it, it's incredibly short :)

#transformers #maccadam #steel rambles #megatron #optimus prime #should I open requests for this kind of small drabbles and scenes?#idk #tfa megop #megop #steel writing #yeah i can't use the steel monologues fornthis one #babe wake up new tag just dropped #maccadams #fanfic

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queenburd · 1 year ago

Text

Cross posted to ao3. Very mild formatting differences. Comments make me happy.

Hey, folks, this one is heavy, long, and full of repetitive text and phrases. While I know that's par for the course with this game, I bring it up because I know writing it made me feel weird at times, and it intentionally leans into its theme of deterioration. Take care of yourselves. We're dealing with the Figurines Ending, the Epilogue, and the Skip button.

If you like my writing, please consider tipping me. I also have commissions and a paypal donation button.

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The first thing Stanley does, when the reset hits and he finds himself staring at his desk, is pick up the mug that sits on the corner and hurl it out the door of his office. It hits the wall beside the doorframe on the opposite side of the room, and shatters on impact.

“Stanley?! What in God’s name—“

He screams.

It’s a hoarse noise. It’s deep and it’s broken and it hurts to get out, but he screams because there’s something horrible inside him, something he needs to purge. The noise cuts out, and then begins again.

The chair is grabbed next—he hooks his arms around the backrest and lifts the thing to chest height before he flings it with all his strength. A wheel catches on the doorframe to his office and the chair crashes to the floor, hitting the wall with an almighty, horrendous crash and sliding partway across the hideous beige carpet.

“Stanley!”

His chest heaves with fierce, angry panting. His cheeks are wet. Another noise wrenches itself from his throat. Stanley turns to his desk and swipes his arm across everything on it, knocking pencils and papers and pens to the floor. He slams his fists on it. He turns and kicks one of the filing cabinets, turns and paces in the little room like a caged animal.

There is so much built up inside him that he doesn’t know what to do with. All he knows is that he’s going to rip this place apart with his bare hands.

It’s not just anger, you must understand. It’s much more complicated than that. You see, Stanley has just come from the Epilogue.

The sand blows around him. The wind is cold and fierce. The sun is unforgiving. The moon is a large lamp in the sky.

And Stanley is alone.

He walks for what feels like eternity. He walks for what seems like mere minutes. He walks towards nothing. He turns in every direction. He puts one foot in front of the other.

And Stanley is alone.

The fire doesn’t warm him. He can’t dislodge the chairs from the ground. There’s sand in his shoes and shirt and mouth. He wraps his arms around his chest and walks and walks.

And he is alone.

“Yes, I'm remembering something now. I remember before this whole story got started.

Back then, I was... I was different; I used to make big decisions, I was passionate! I was skeptical! I weighed each decision with profound thoughtfulness.

And then, somewhere along the way, I stopped making decisions.

I became lazy. And I came up with—well—I came up with a character named Stanley, to do my thinking for me. He would make the decisions, he would decide which way to go, I would cheer him on as he collected figurines for no reason.

Why did I invent Stanley? Was I lonely?

Yes, perhaps that's it. Perhaps I needed to imagine I had companionship. And Stanley really did make for a wonderful companion, even if he was a fiction.

But—ahh, I suppose it's grown old. I-I want to think for myself again. I want to go back to how it used to be.

Yes, I can be on my own again. I can do it! I'll be stronger this time. I'll take care of myself. I don't need Stanley anymore.

Oh, but he truly was so much fun to play with!

You know what? Since we're in the Memory Zone, how about one more good memory?

Let's go back, just once, and give Stanley one more run of the office! And then, I'll retire him for good. I did enjoy telling his story—so very much.

Okay, here we go.

This is the story of a man named Stanley.”

The Memory Zone is flooded with sand. The bucket does little to comfort Stanley, even as he holds it to his chest. He follows the power cord deeper into the deserted building, feeling numb.

[ Narrator? ]

[ Narrator, what are you talking about? ]

[ Can’t you see me? Hey! Hey! Narrator! ]

[ Why won’t you answer me? Answer me, please! ]

[ Narrator! ]

“I’ll take care of myself. I don’t need Stanley anymore.”

“Jim.”

The buttons glow softly. He presses them mindlessly.

“Jim.”

What once was a source of amusement leaves an ashy taste in his mouth. The bastard never tried, in the end, to make these buttons work. Like everything else, he half-assed it, then abandoned it when something else caught his interest. Left it to collect dust. Left it to be forgotten, with the rest of the oh-so-precious memories.

With Stanley.

Hurt blooms in his chest. It’s been minutes—it’s been years. Time doesn’t mean anything at all in this stupid game. Nothing means anything. The thousand thousand runs they’ve played don’t mean anything. The conversations they had don’t mean anything. Their friendship doesn’t mean anything.

He doesn’t mean anything.

“Jim.”

“Stanley.”

“Stop sniggering, Stanley, you’re ruining my take! Oh, it’s no use, we’ll have to start from the top.”

Stanley giggles around the hand he has pressed firmly to his mouth. He wants to be apologetic, and he’s glad the Narrator is involving him in this new promotion for the upcoming update, but the delight in him keeps bubbling over. It’s so rare to see the fellow direct that old familiar vitriol at someone other than Stanley himself. After so long knowing him, hearing him attempt to be menacing and nasty is outright silly.

“Wh—Silly?! You impetuous—Stanley, stop laughing!!”

Sorry, he’s sorry! A little off-balance from his own laughter, Stanley climbs onto the set and adds another tally to the whiteboard there.

“Unbelievable,” the voice mutters while he climbs back off the set and makes sure the camera is still centered on the tripod. “Here I am, trying to make a serious critique of game developer habits, and you demand to be included so I include you, and what do I get? Mockery. Absolutely ridiculous.”

Comments like these do little to dampen Stanley’s spirits, but he does attempt to sober himself. He does, after all, appreciate that the fellow has gone through all the effort to include him in brainstorming this one and setting it up. It was his idea to include the clocks and the tally board, and he really does think the shot is improved for it.

He sits back into the metal folding chair quietly. No more laughing. Promise. He’ll manage it this time.

The Narrator clears his throat. “Right. Let me review the script again.”

Stanley nods. His eyes flick around the small office set, then back to the computer monitor.

Man, has it really been almost nine years? It feels like they’ve been doing this for much longer.

“Well, really it’s only a little more than eight years, if I’m being honest. The original HD game released in October of 2013, so depending on when Ultra Deluxe drops in 2022, it may only be a couple months past the eighth anniversary.”

That’s being a bit generous to the developers, Stanley thinks. Does the Narrator really think it will drop in January?

“Oh, I don’t know, Stanley! I’m guessing, same as you.”

Still. Over eight years. Why does it feel like they’ve been here for much longer?

“Well,” the voice sniffs, “it could be for a number of reasons. Time is relative in the Parable, after all. Then of course there’s the fact you rarely sleep, since you don’t need to, so you get a lot more time than most proper humans would, since the usual human circadian rhythm makes them lose at least eight hours in a day. That’s fifty-six extra hours a week you have over most. Multiply by fifty-two, and then again by eight, and that’s not an insubstantial amount of time, I would say.”

That's fair. That's... shoot, Stanley isn't fantastic with numbers. That's... Fifty by fifty is twenty-five hundred, then six and and two is twelve—

“Twenty-three thousand, two hundred ninety-six hours. Divided by twenty-four, it's an additional 970.6 days, which means over two and a half additional years.”

Did he just pull up a calculator?

“Didn't.”

He totally did. Stanley heard the tapping of old clunky buttons.

There's a derisive sniff. “Yes, I suppose you would be the expert on buttons, and not maths.”

Also, is that two and a half years extra per year, or altogether?

“....I don't know.”

This is gonna give him a headache.

Quite without their meaning to, the both of them begin to chuckle at the same time. It's ridiculous, honestly. They're bickering over math, over time and takes and it's all just so ridiculous.

Eight years, give or take two or possibly twenty. That's how long it's been since Stanley started wandering these halls with little more than a voice for a companion. That's... that's a lot of time together. It's a lot of time for things to change. He kind of likes how things have changed.

And, as the fellow said before, time is relative here. They can and have experienced things on a different scale from how an experience would play out in the real world. Their own individual experiences are different even from each other's, with lost time, pauses between death sequences, loading screens—it's all subjective. Guess Einstein was on to something there. Bet he never imagined it in this kind of context, though.

Still. It's a long time with one other person. The universe spins on, and they have each other.

There's the tapping of keys again, a little soft muttering. He smiles.

He's double-checking the numbers, isn't he?

“No! No, I'm not, thank you!” The defensive tone in the Narrator's words confirm that yes, he is. It's made further obvious by the following deflection. “Now, that's enough of a break, let's get back to work. And no giggling this time, Stanley!”

He clears his throat, and the lights dim on the set. Stanley settles back in the metal chair with a grin, arms crossed.

“What does it mean to be a video game developer?” The voice begins. “It means lying, boldly and brazenly to your audience; promising them release dates that are wildly outside the realm of reality...”

“Stanley.”

Why is he still pressing it? Why can't he stop? Why is Stanley shaking, fingers pressing down on the plastic again and again?

“Stanley.”

When did the Narrator make this? When did he—and why is it here, with the rest of the discarded buttons? Why would he go through the effort to make something, just to leave it behind?

The button doesn't answer him. He presses it, and presses it, and it says his name until the word loses all meaning.

“Stanley.”

Every time you restart the game, we’ll advance the number of the sequel by 1, and then we’ll pick a new subtitle. That way, The Stanley Parable will never end! And nothing in the game itself will change when you do this, either. Adding more content sounds like work, no need to do that. It’ll just be the same content, recycled again and again and again, with a new title screen! What do you say? Should we go forward with this plan? I like it, but I want you to have a say as well. [Let’s do it] [Don’t do it]

He stares at the dark screen, but he doesn't really see it.

Stanley feels cored out. There's an emptiness in him that he can't truly comprehend. It hurts, he thinks, but he feels it in a detached sort of way.

The Narrator is gone. Stanley is alone. Yet, even now, he faces choices that are designed around traps for one or both of them. How is that fair?

How is it fair to ask him if he wants to go back to the office, to go back to companionship, when the companion in question has apparently abandoned him? How is it fair to ask him if he wants to drag that person back into hell, when they've supposedly freed themselves from it after years?

“How they wish to destroy one another. How they wish to control one another.

How they both wish to be free.”

He doesn't want to be alone, in this wasteland. He knows in the end what he's going to choose, and he hates that he does.

He's selfish. He's so, so selfish. His loneliness is more important than the Narrator's happiness, that's what this decision says. It says that he would rather force them both to live through the Parable, again and again, forever, than have the Narrator leave him.

And then, here's the kicker! Is this even Stanley's own choice? Is he coming to the conclusion himself, or is there another force at play, a Player, influencing his decision? He can't know! He only ever knows the Player's presence in the godforsaken Real-Person ending, they only ever fully yank the control from him there. Can he even trust his own mind?

Does... Does it matter?

[Let’s do it]

Stanley is not a good person.

So. As I said before, reader. Stanley's emotions are a complicated tangle of hurt, anger, despair, and uncertainty. It's almost impossible to tell where to begin when it comes to unraveling it all.

Still, one must do one's best.

For as long as the Parable has existed, it has spun around conflict. Taijitu, or yin-yang, is a circle made up of two teardrops, one black and one white, circling each other endlessly. A wheel that turns forever. Opposing forces that will never overtake the other. Always equal, always opposite.

But you recall this, don't you? This isn't new information. We've been here before.

Stanley and the Narrator are equal and opposing forces, circling each other. Stanley makes a choice, and the Narrator responds. Stanley moves forward, and the Narrator tries to pull him back. A battle for control—one only ever responds to the other. Neither of them can claim to want this, but if they didn't want different things, then there would be no game to play.

Time and again, the Parable tests the bond that has been crafted through time and care. Memories are taken. Time is stretched thin as it can go, like a rubber band. Stanley makes a choice, and it brings the Narrator joy or suffering. If he stops, the Narrator will be at peace, but then there will be silence, and silence cannot be tolerated. Silence is the equivalent of inaction.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, this is a game about control, and the lack of it. If you could find happiness through a single choice, but it would bring another person pain, would you do it?

How they both wish to be free.

But these two have turned a battle into a dance. There will always be a drop of yin in the teardrop half of yang, and vice-versa.

So how do they fight back? How do they choose to progress, when the wheel turns ever back? Or are they doomed to repeat the cycle forever?

When Stanley has had enough of his pacing, when the silence has become too oppressive for him to take, he turns on his heel and sharply faces the open door.

Well? Nothing to say? Nothing at all?

“Well,” comes the bitter retort, slower than expected, “I would ask what you expect this tantrum of yours to accomplish, but that isn't exactly the most constructive comment, is it?”

A hiss escapes through Stanley's bared teeth. That's it?

“What do you want from me?!”

It's desperate. It's hurt. It's confused.

“What have I done, Stanley? I can't make sense of you right now, your mind isn't making any sense!”

Of course he doesn't remember. Of course it's Stanley's job to be the one who remembers, who chooses, who deals with the consequences of both their actions. That's how it's always been, that's—

“Stanley, I know our situation has never been balanced fairly in your favor, but I—“

Stanley storms out of his office and kicks his chair out of the way. He grabs a cardboard filing box off the floor and lifts it over his head before flinging it hard. It hits the cubicle wall by the copy machine and the lid flies off, papers scattering across the floor and box bouncing off the top of the copy machine to fall harmlessly to the floor.

“What has gotten into you?!”

Stanley snarls again, at the open air, the ceiling, wherever he thinks the Narrator might be perceiving him. Never been balanced fairly?! Understatement of the millennia! Speaking of millennia, did the Narrator enjoy his little vacay away from Stanley? Was it fun, “thinking for himself”? Leaving Stanley in the sand with the rest of his discarded little game, his figurines and buttons?

“I—“

Did he come up with new stories? New protagonists? Was he stronger? Was he happier without him?

Did Stanley drag him back to hell?

The silence this time feels distinctly more shocked and hurt. Stanley lets out another noise, pacing across the carpet and then turning to door 429. He lifts his fist and slams hard on it, face twisted up into an amalgamate of pain and anger. He beats his fist on the door again, desperate and despairing.

Say something! Say anything! Fight him! Argue with him! Be angry! Be angry that Stanley was so selfish, that Stanley decided to get revenge for being abandoned, please just—

“I'm sorry.”

He flinches.

“I don't—I don't know what I did, but I think it must have been something terrible. I just can't stop, can I? Even when I'm trying to, to be careful, I can't stop being cruel to you. You're angry with me, I can see that, and you don't—you don't like to be angry, so I—“

The voice trembles. It sounds on the verge of tears. Stanley hits the door again, because it hurts to hear, and that's not fair.

Damn him. Damn his own empathy.

“I'm sorry,” it says again. “Whatever I did, I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you somehow. Do, do you want more endings? I'll make new endings, I'll find a way. I'll find more for you to do, I'll come up with something, please just let me fix it. I'm sorry I don't remember, but I'll fix it.”

Stanley screams hoarsely again. His legs give out and he drops, leaning against the bottom of the door with his fist pressed to it. His chest heaves, shaking sobs that wrack his frame, though there's barely any tears. It's just so hard to breathe.

Stop, stop. Stop. Stop apologizing. Stanley is the one in the wrong here. Stanley turned the wheel back. Stanley tore him from his happy ending.

Didn't he?

“I didn't go anywhere,” the voice responds, distraught. “I never left.”

Then what was that?

“I don't know,” it pleads. “Even if I could go, I wouldn't. I wouldn't leave you behind, you're my best friend. I thought you knew that, Stanley.”

He thought he did, too. But then the voice had called him a fiction again, something dreamed up for companionship, and had decided it didn't need him anymore.

The Narrator is quiet at this, and then he says, very carefully and in a voice terribly controlled, “I only ever thought that when you were frozen with the Skip button.”

The Narrator waited, but he was not stagnant. At some point, while Stanley was in a small concrete room, lit with only the glow of a yellow button on a pedestal, the Narrator decided to pass the time by making something new. Surely, when all this was over, when they were back in the office, they would put this behind them and pass the time as before.

For all that the new content for Ultra Deluxe had been a disappointment, hidden in the download were folders and folders of unused assets. It seemed that the developers had had countless ideas, and yet had done little to expand on those ideas, choosing instead to box them away. Well, the Narrator would show them what new content was supposed to look like! Who cared about Ultra Deluxe? No, he would really knock the reviewers' socks off. He was going to make a sequel! Stanley would love it!

When he came back.

If he came back.

No, of course he would come back!

And so time passed, and that was fine. More time meant a chance to perfect his work, to work out his new features and to even perhaps address some of the complaints people had had about the original game. And more time passed and he thought he might make a button that says the name of the player, wouldn't that be rewarding and engaging? Stanley would love that! A button of his own to say his name, wouldn't that just be delightful?

And Stanley stared unseeing at the Skip button, and the Narrator thought to himself, perhaps not. Perhaps Stanley wouldn't care at all.

But that was fine, because there were plenty of new features for him to explore! He'd love the Bucket, surely. All the silly secret Easter eggs, the little references to lore that went nowhere, he'd get a kick out of it for sure! And the figurines! There wouldn't be anything special about them, of course, but the fact they were Stanley! His silly face! Oh, the Narrator would be so excited to see Stanley get them all, and of course Stanley would, because he would do everything. He would find every single one.

And, and the Narrator was so excited for that! Maybe he didn't know how Stanley would react, maybe Stanley would think it all silly, but the sheer fact he would find each one, it would delight the voice to no end. It would say “you found one of them! One of the figurines!”

It would be so much fun! Wouldn't it, Stanley?

Stanley?

Ah. Still frozen. Of course. Not a problem. The Narrator would be here when he got back. The sequel would be here. The figurines would be here.

He would just get everything ready in the meantime.

Wouldn't it be wonderful, when Stanley was here, and able to play? There would be so much for him to explore! He would love the Bucket and finding its secrets, and oh, the figurines! He'd find them all, surely he must. And the Narrator would say “you found one of them!”

And one of them would be by the red and blue doors, and Stanley would probably get that one last, but there was no guarantee, he did like to keep the fellow on his toes, but when he did collect the last one, the Narrator would say “and now the first number equals the last number!” And it would be so exciting! Even though there was nothing special about them, just the experience itself, doing something for the sake of it, was so special, and he'd think about it always.

“It was such a wonderful fantasy. And so in his head he relived it again, and then again, and again, over and over, wishing beyond hope that it would never end. That he might always feel this free. Surely there's an answer down some new path, mustn't there be? Perhaps if he played just one more time.”

And the Narrator would say, “yes, another Stanlurine under your belt!”

“But there is no answer. How could there possibly be? In reality, all he's doing is pushing the same buttons he always has. Nothing has changed. The longer he spends here, the more invested he gets, the more he forgets which life is the real one.”

And the Narrator would say, “I haven't stopped thinking about them since you nabbed every last one.”

And the Narrator would say, “science tells us that it's impossible to forget your third time doing anything.”

And the Narrator would say, “No, no I'm not ready to move on! Stop the loading screen!”

“And I'm trying to tell him this. That in this world he can never be anything but an observer. That as long as he remains here, he's slowly killing himself. But he won't listen to me. He won't stop.”

And the Narrator would say, “We'll do the Memory Zone again from the opposite direction! See how that feels!”

And the Narrator would say, “I want to keep going! What else is there? What came before this?”

And the Narrator would say, “And before everything else, there was your office.”

And he would pause, and then wonder aloud, to nobody in particular, because nobody would be there, “Was there anything else?”

There must have been. He was sure of it. He was sure there was something, or perhaps someone. But that couldn't have been right, you see, because if there was someone, then he wouldn't be alone. He wouldn't be talking to himself, someone would be listening to him. Someone would hear him. That's what—that's what Stanley was for!

But Stanley wasn't doing that. Stanley had not done that for a long time. Had he imagined Stanley? He must have. He imagined many things, after all. Yes, he must have made Stanley up, to listen to him, to have a companion. It's terribly lonely, after all, being a voice without an ear.

Maybe he should move on. Try something else. Maybe that would be for the best. But—oh, but Stanley made him so terribly happy. Just like those wonderful figurines. He loved to think about Stanley's adventures, he loved telling his story so much. Just like the figurines, he'd have to indulge himself.

Just one more time.

And the end was never the end. Was never the end. Was never the end.

Can you see? Can you see how much they need one another?

“I'm sorry, Stanley,” the Narrator says again, sorrowful. “When the game reset, everything was saved. The sequel content, but also the things I found myself saying during the interim. It's all here, somewhere. It's all my fault.”

So he never left?

“Never.”

And Stanley hadn't dragged him from his happy ending?

“No.”

He slumps further against the door. A hand absently lifts and scrubs at his face. So he's just stupid.

“No, I don't think so,” the fellow says generously. “I think you're hurting, understandably so. I think the Parable seeks out ways for us to try to make the other miserable, so that we will keep trying to control each other. You know the song and dance.”

Where it cannot find conflict, it will manifest it.

“Yes. We've been here before, haven't we?”

They have.

I asked you, before, how they overcome it. I told you they'd made a battle into a dance instead. How do they do it? How do they choose to progress when the wheel turns ever back?

But you already know the answer. You've already seen it. Don't you remember?

We've been here before.

“Stanley, I'm not going to hurt you.”

He didn’t want Stanley to be scared of him.

“Whatever it is, we can figure it out together.”

[ New path, new story. Just me and Stanley. ]

If Stanley gave him context, he could get to the memory himself?

“I—I can’t recall if I’ve said it before, how grateful I am to you, Stanley.”

This time, by the time the hold music has kicked on, Stanley is on the floor, laughing so hard his sides hurt.

[ Don't ever. Call yourself DADDY. Again. ]

Did he just pull up a calculator?

He’s listening. He’s listening, and listening, letting his friend know that they exist, together, the space between them closing again, and for as long as he can he won’t let the narrator be alone in the void.

The unwavering strength in his voice feels like an untapped well of passion. Like he’s working to fuel them both through this damnable path, letting Stanley know that yes, yes, they are moving towards something, he has not abandoned him.

“Please listen. This is important to me, alright? It’s not your fault.”

Stanley's fist has loosened and relaxed against the door. Now it rests there, gently curled, as he thinks.

They have been here a long time, in this game, and he is tired.

So now what?

“Well, now I think I'll close the figurines exhibit, so something like this doesn't happen again.”

The Narrator's voice is rather cool and detached. It lacks distress. It's professional. Words stated in the same way as a script, memorized by heart. Stanley doesn't like it.

He presses his hand flat to the door and rests his temple against it. It's cool against his face.

And after that?

“That's up to you, isn't it?”

Quite without meaning to, Stanley flinches again. The Narrator nearly speaks, before he cuts himself off, seeming to think better of it.

It's hard on the spirit, to be the one who has to make choices. Thinking of what they might mean, what the consequences could mean for others. Certainly, there's power in making decisions, but with that power comes the burden of responsibility. Include the added ordeal of being the one who remembers every consequence, every outcome, and one is left with the distinct feeling that they are being punished. There is no winning here. There is no gaining the upper hand.

He is so tired of making choices.

“Then, perhaps I could convince you to listen to me, and follow direction, for a few minutes.”

Something prickles in the back of Stanley's head in old familiar irritability. He doesn't want to do the story. He doesn't think he can get up.

“I didn't say anything about doing the story, now, did I, Stanley? Close your eyes.”

An innocent enough direction. He obeys, adjusting his position against the door to lean his back against it, hands in his lap.

“Good. Very good, Stanley.”

Still all professionalism. Still lacking familiarity, or anything more than casual approval.

“Now. Take a deep breath. Good. Now let it out, slowly. There you are. Again.”

His breathing steadies and his heart slows. Tiredness gives way to calm.

“Excellent. Now. I'm going to speak, and you're going to listen. That's it. No choices, no paths. Just my voice, and your ear.”

That's not a game.

“No, it isn't. It's a story, and you're my audience. Now. Quiet your mind, there's a good lad.

This is a story about my very good friend Stanley.”

“Stanley's had a rough go of it in his life. He likes simple things, like pushing buttons, and drinking coffee completely black. This isn't to say Stanley is a simple-minded fellow, oh no, not at all. In fact, Stanley is one of the most intelligent and compassionate people I know.

The problem is that, for all that Stanley prefers simplicity, he's been put into an impossible position. He's a protagonist of a story.

Now, everyone knows that the best stories aren't the ones where things just happen to a protagonist, but instead the ones where the protagonist plays an active role in progressing the plot. Making choices that result in changing the direction of a story, towards its climax and resolution. It's all well and good that Hansel and Gretel have been left in the middle of the forest, but they choose to be clever and leave a trail of pebbles behind them, before being forced to resort to breadcrumbs—and then of course the choice to use breadcrumbs changes the trajectory of their tale.

The truth is that being a protagonist is anything but simple. Quite without his permission, Stanley has become inundated with responsibility. It isn't an easy life, and it can quite honestly be an unfair lot to give to the fellow.

But if you ask me, there's nobody better suited to the job.

Now, perhaps this is unfair of me to say. After all, I'm not the one who has to make the decisions. All I have to do is tell his story, as a passive observer. Look at him, look at how he struggles, doesn't this make for an incredible tale of overcoming odds? I of course will never have to shoulder the burden he does, so I can say what I please without any regard to his own well-being. Oh, don't give me that look, Stanley, you and I both know it's true. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes if I were paid to do it.

Yet I've been watching Stanley for quite frankly a ridiculous amount of time, so long one might call me an absolute creep. It's true! And so I feel I am at liberty to say that, for all that it's an unfair position to be put in, and a terrible burden to carry, there's nobody who carries it like Stanley does.

You see, he makes every choice to the best of his ability. He thinks about its ramifications to the best of his knowledge, and does his best to consider what his decision might mean in the long run. Take this recent choice, for example. He's decided to listen to me, for a few minutes, even though it's in his very nature to take action and to disagree, because he knows that I asked him to. He's chosen to compromise, despite the fact I could press an advantage.

He's done so, because he knows in his heart and in his mind that I care about him. I want him to be happy. He knows, based off prior knowledge and based on his own gut feeling, that listening to me will make him feel better, because he matters to me.

And this is a simple choice, deceptively so, but in its simplicity it is a perfect example of what I'm trying to convey—

That Stanley does everything to the best of his ability, with all the care he can muster, and that no one could ever judge him poorly for doing the best he can.”

Stanley doesn't know when he started crying again, body wracked with the force of it. It's quiet, at least. When the Narrator stops speaking, he still feels him all around, comfort on every side.

Does he mean it? Does he really��?

“Of course I mean it,” the voice huffs, faux offense warm in his ear. “Don't you know by now that I mean what I say? Don't you—“ it wavers a little, before pushing on, a touch shakier. “Don't you know how much you mean to me?”

He cries. The sigh is fond, and gentle.

“You're alright, darling. It's alright.”

Taijitu. Balance between black and white. The symbol didn't always have the two dots, you know. In the original concept, yin and yang symbolized stillness and activeness of all things in the universe, respectively. The substance of the universe moves as an active force, until it reaches its limit and becomes still; and yet even that stillness reaches a limit, and becomes active again. The dots, added during the Ming Dynasty, have since their inception been a portrayal of how one will always be the source of the other, and so both will always exist. There will always be an interconnected, interwoven, powerful bond between these two forces in flux.

Which doesn't mean much, to those of us who don't study Taoist philosophy or history. Most of us just appreciate the duality of opposites, who cannot help but have a grain of commonality. One does not and cannot overtake the other. Round and round they go, an endless chase.

Or, one might note, a dance between partners. Momentum carried through. Weight supported. Stepping in sync.

The wheel turns, as do the dancers. This is how they succeed. When one slips back, the other grabs them by the hand and guides them forward with the grace that's only gained through years of practice and familiarity. The wheel turns without catching, and neither are caught under its grind, because they're standing on its face, using it as the platform on which they perform only for each other.

Stanley dries his eyes and wipes his nose. He's sorry for causing such a mess.

“Please, I've seen you do worse and we both know it. Remember the time you threw every chair and box out the window to see if you could make a ladder back up into the office?”

He laughs weakly. Not one of his brightest moments, admittedly. The Narrator had threatened to navlock every last item in the office down if he tried it again, after.

“Which, of course, only motivated you to try again.”

Yeah. Because he's a bastard.

“That you are, Stanley.” The Narrator chuckles. “Now, up you get. Up, up!” he reinforces, while Stanley sluggishly gets to his feet. “I have a surprise for you!”

Oh boy. That can only be good, he's sure.

He's led through the office to the TSP 2 Expo sign, which has returned to take the place of door 416 for good, it seems. When the Narrator guides him through the display environment, he takes care not to rush Stanley, since the thin monitors and patterned carpet delight him more than he ever thought possible, but it's also clear the fellow is eager to get a move on, to show Stanley something he's sure will knock his socks off.

So when Stanley gets to the Jump circle, displaying twenty-one jumps left, he's distinctly unimpressed.

“Just trust me,” the Narrator says, with nothing but earnestness.

And so he does. He steps into the circle.

“Jump!”

With a barely-there smile, and a roll of his eyes, Stanley jumps.

And then the game resets.

THEENDISNEVERTHEENDISNEVERTHEENDISLOADING

Stanley blinks, looking at his computer monitor, then up. Uh... What?

“Stanley,” the voice says slyly, “when have I ever given you reason to doubt me?”

“Now. Jump.”

Stanley's eyes widen. He blinks.

And then he jumps.

He jumps again.

And again.

And then Stanley begins to laugh, utterly befuddled and delighted and surprised and joyful, and the Narrator begins to laugh as well, and the wheel spins on, and so do they.

#the stanley parable #tspud #may writes #the sparrow parable #tsp #idk why i am bothering to tag when the embedded links mean it wont show in the tag but #here we are.

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prikarin · 4 months ago

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Regarding Killer Trait Updates

Hello, everyone!

It's been a good minute since my last Killer Trait update, hasn't it?

A lot of people have been asking me about Killer Trait updates and when the full-game will be released so, after a lot of thought, I decided to make this post.

Here's the thing: my Patreon hasn't been doing well. It hasn't been doing well for several months now. While the decline started after Where Winter Crows Go's release in November of last year, it's gotten progressively worse from February 2024 onwards. And because of this I'm going to have to pause my billing for my current patrons from August onwards—at least until I have something new to post.

It'd be a lie if I said this didn't affect me, I'm only human after all, but I'm also well aware that Patreon is a tough thing to maintain in a way that's consistent and interesting.

Unfortunately, since I live in Argentina, my only real way to get funds for my games is through Patreon, donations on Ko-Fi and sales and donations on Itchio. While it definitely helps that I hire some people from Argentina for certain art related things (so I pay them in Argentine Pesos), most of the people I commission are from overseas, so it's always a must to be able to pay them in USD.

And that's the issue: since I don't have that much money anymore and I can't commission people as often... this inevitably delays my progress on both Killer Trait and Potion Pleasing (DEMO out now!) indefinitely. It's sucks for me too, but it's the reality: making games costs money.

As I mentioned in a previous post, Killer Trait will have re-designs for most of the characters (not counting Carl because his design was originally my own) since the ones in the DEMO were stock sprites I bought from an artist, not my own designs. And I want these characters to be 100% my own, which is why I decided to have them re-designed. I've talked about this in the past in more detail when I decided to have Crowe re-designed, you can find that post HERE.

Of course, for these new character sheets (with the exception of Oz's, which has already been finished) and the new sprites, I need game funds in order to commission the artist. Even after the sprites are done, there are a couple of backgrounds—the characters' rooms—that I'd like to have originally made (especially since the ones I bought from Minikle are very limiting and don't really fit with the characters' personalities). And this doesn't even account for CGs, which I'll probably have to postpone for a while because the sprites and the backgrounds are way more important.

Some might be thinking "What about Where Winter Crows Go?". While I was lucky that WWCG's first demo was so well received, I still spent a whole lot of money from my own pocket to make it. I bought a lot of assets and, when I got a few donations, I commissioned a few artists to help me. WWCG was NEVER a game made with only free resources.

Making the art book for WWCG was a way I found to get a little of that investment back, but I'm well aware that I'll never get all the money that I spent back. And that's okay! To this day, I don't regret having invested my money to make WWCG because it gave me a lot of experience, perspective and made me learn a lot.

Be that as it may, however, I can't realistically make the rest of my games free. As I mentioned before, game development is expensive in both money AND time. Without funds, it's a given that things are going to be delayed.

So... where does that leave things?

Well, after pondering on it for a while, I came to the conclusion that I'm not really ready for a crowdfunding campaign right now. Those are extremely hard and ALSO cost money to advertise well and make sure everything's in order. So... the temporary solution I arrived at is setting goals on Ko-Fi!

How would this work? Basically, I would set a monetary goal of the amount of money needed for a certain asset in a certain game that needs to be made. For example: sprites & character sheets in Killer Trait. Once that goal is met, I'll commission the person in question so they can start working on it! After that, I'll set the next goal and so on 💪

I'm thinking of setting the first Ko-Fi goal once August starts. And from there... I'll see how it goes! If things don't go well, I'm also considering making Where Winter Crows Go paid for a while—don't worry, I would make an announcement first—because I honestly have no more ways of getting game funds for Killer Trait and Potion Pleasing and, as mentioned before, making games is really expensive (and I'm only one person).

Thank you so much for reading until the end and I hope you have an amazing day!

#killer trait #potion pleasing

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petrichor-idyllic · 1 year ago

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Hii Petri, I want to request for headcanons please, it's maze runner boys x fem!reader and she was one of the first to go up in the box, she's been in the glade for enough time to pass for the transition of 'cute little girl who's happend to be there with a lot of boys' to 'really hot girl in the middle of tons os guys', and I want to see the moment that clicked for each one of them that "oh, she's a girl". I think it would be fun cause they're a bunch of virgin dudes stuck in a place with only one girl that they know since "forever" and then suddenly she's not that little kid anymore and it clicks that they'd could be the one to date her.

I am completely doing my requests out of order, but I really like this idea and headcanons are so much easier lol.

Also no Newt here, the boy likes men.

DEVELOPMENT

MASTERLIST | MULTI-CHARACTER MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: See above. Movie based fic.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, awkward teenage boys, you're the boss, everyone is useless, mild suggestive themes, the Thomas one is really bad 'cause I had no way of actually writing that based on this prompt.

You were the first person in the Glade, a young girl with no memories or idea what you were doing. Yet, somehow, you managed to survive for a whole month on your own. Then, one after another, the boys started joining you. And you went from soft girl to a leader they could rely on - though, it takes them a bit to notice this.

THOMAS

Being one of the later arrivals to the Glade, Thomas doesn't have the same reaction the others do.

You're just a badass from day one to him.

He thinks you're cool and calculated and you seem to know what you're doing.

He respects you from day one.

He doesn't get to have the whole realising you're cool moment that everyone else does.

He just thinks you're sick.

And he's like, stressed as shit, so he doesn't really have the time to think otherwise.

MINHO

Now, this is where it gets interesting.

Minho was one of the first boys to follow you into the Maze, just after Alby and Newt.

So he's witnessed your whole transformation.

From the early days of exploring the Maze together, to you making him Keeper, to the drunken nights where he'd had a rough day and you had to drag him to bed.

You've been together through thick and thin.

And some of Minho's confidence has definitely rubbed off on you.

The moment where Minho realised you were in face a girl, and not the one he first met was actually quite simple.

You'd had a long night, and with one of your Runners out of commission, you realised you hadn't told Minho to cover another route that day as you'd made arrangements for a new Runner to do a more simpler route- which meant switching up everyone's routines.

Fresh out of bed, wearing a sports bra and baggy trousers that hung off your hips, you went to the Map Room.

It wasn't uncommon for you to dress like this. The Glade is warm, and you basically mothered all these boys.

You whistled as you entered, gaining their attention.

"Oi, boys, listen up - I'm switching routes around today. With Sam off on sick and Darren being new, he's taking the easiest route. Minho, I need you to deal with covering the outer sections more. And Ben I need you to stick to your path for a change instead of going awol - your maps make no sense."

"Aw, what? But that's boring."

"I ain't shuckin' askin', Ben - do as you're told."

Oh.

Oh God.

Minho doesn't know why this is what made it click.

His eyes fell on your body, your words becoming static as he drunk in your figure.

Had you always been this attractive?

Had you always been this assertive?

Was Minho into dominant women?

Should he be concerned?

After this point onwards, Minho started looking at you differently.

In fact, you became the only thing he couldn't take his eyes off.

Minho would go from your confident and reliant friend to slightly awkward, but also occasionally flirty.

Like he can't actually decide what to do with you now.

It'd take a while, but after some near death experiences, he'd become more outwardly flirtatious.

Though, he still wouldn't be able to get over the admiration and awe for you.

GALLY

Gally would be your number one problem child in the Glade.

He always has been.

But, you normally left Alby or Newt to deal with him.

Especially at the start since he's a big dude with a big temper.

Gally always saw you unfit as a leader.

Too timid, quiet, anxious.

You name it, he thought it.

That was until the day him and Minho got in a particularly nasty fight.

You don't know why or what it was, but Gally had gone for the Runner. Alby was busy sorting out the Maps, and in light of Newt's recent injury - it was left up to you.

Jeff came running into your hut, panicking about the fight, leading you to running out after him.

"That's enough!"

You grabbed the boys, yanking Gally away by his collar.

"The shuck do you slintheads think you're doing?"

"He started it!"

"I did not!"

You'd had a hard day.

You didn't need this.

"I don't give two klunks who started it! We ain't got much choice to act like adults 'round here - and you two are actin' like diaper-klunkin' sissy babies! Get a shuckin' grip! I expect better."

Minho apologised quickly.

Gally did not.

"What? Why should I apologise when this shank can't shut his mouth?"

Well, you weren't having that.

"Because I shucking told you to. You're under my care and my order- what I say goes. You may be a Keeper, but that's up to me. Suck it up and do as you're told."

"...sorry.

"Better. Get back to work."

The way that Gally watched you walk away made it obvious to everyone who witnessed the scene that something had changed.

He'd always seen you as weak and a pointless leader, but now?

You'd put him in his place.

Initially, he was embarrassed.

But then he started seeing everything around the Glade, the power you actually held.

He also started to notice how attractive you actually had become.

Safe to say, he started to feel things after you basically called him a bitch.

He'd start showing you more respect after that.

Maybe a bit more than respect.

FRYPAN

Frypan has always liked you.

He's always respected you and been a good friend.

And he used to make sure that you were okay when things got too much.

But as you got older and more confident, you started to not need that comfort as much.

Unlike the others, there wouldn't be a specific moment where he realised.

He'd just be proud as he watched you grow as a person.

And you'd take charge.

It'd be a slow burn of feelings from friendship to genuinely having a crush on you.

You'd make sure his kitchen is always stocked and the Track-hoes do their job and the vegetables are up to scratch.

Though, his feelings came more with the physical transformation side of things.

You hit puberty, and went from being awkward to confident along with it.

Now, Frypan is probably one of the more respectful guys around.

But he can't help but stare when you bend over, or stretch or even just look at him with a smirk.

He's a teenage boy and you're the only girl around.

He's trying his best.

Though he did go from:

"Hey, everything okay? You look stressed."

To:

"H-hey uh, you uh, you need help, or...?"

Man's is down bad.

ALBY

Alby would probably be the person you're closest to.

He's the mouth and the power to your brain

You basically work side by side.

But, he'd always see you as someone he needed to look after and protect.

Then, as you grew up, came into yourself, that would change.

Especially when you started actually being in charge.

For the most part, he really doesn't care.

He noticed the others starting to act differently, but he didn't change much.

Apart from that one time you'd just come out of the shower.

And he just couldn't take his eyes off you.

And he kinda realised you're a woman.

But apart from that.

He's just... there.

Helping you lead.

Sorry for disappearing, this is not my best work but I am currently in full corpse mode.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed :))

#🌿 petri writes tmr #🌿 petri writes #🍃 petri tmr #tmr fanfiction #tmr imagines #tmr minho #minho the maze runner #the maze runner #thomas the maze runner #tmr frypan #alby maze runner #tmr alby

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allthehumanflaws · 3 months ago

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The Umbrella Academy S4

If you haven't completed season 4 please don't read any further

This is my complete rant- I just ughhh ohkay

So the ending huh I don't even know what to say. I don't know what that was. Was it just me or did someone else also presume that Viktor would be the one dying?? Why did all of them die? It seems so rushed. Just 5 minutes between Five realizing what's gonna happen and what they need to do and then just bam it's over i'm sorry what the fuck- I had so much hope and thrill and passion going into this season all doomed.

Don't even get me started on the Five and Lila thing. hey stevie when some of the people said they'd like to see a number five romantic subplot...... THIS IS NOT WHAT THE MEANT!?!? You're tryna tell me Five "survived 45 years in an apocalypse killed hundreds and thousands of people and the board of directors of a deadly commission just to get back to his family and keep them safe" Hargreeves the Five Hargreeves who had many a year and opportunity to find himself a woman after joining the commission but stayed loyal to a fucking mannequin fell in love with his brother's wife after 7 years of being stuck with her? SPECIALLY after he specially told Diego that Lila wouldn't throw all that away he fell in love with her and was heartbroken when she didn't throw that away????? What of the frenemy dynamic? What of the 'you killed my parents in cold blood' part of that equation? All gone cause of what? I see no point or use of that in the already fucked storyline? I don't even know what to say.

Luther had NO character this season. He's just a big soft bag of fluff I mean i don't hate that not at all but like... and his powers were just reduced to what... accidentally breaking an alarm clock and jumping of a stage into a crowd of women? yay i guess. And WHERE WAS SLOANE? WHAT HAPPENED TO HER?

Klaus oh my poor heart- a germaphobe. Really a germaphobe? Of all the things he could've been. When the grave scene happened where they were shooting outside and he covered his ears I got so excited like yes yes Vietnam Klaus... I mean yeah he's traumatized but I thought they'd work with that even just a little bit but no. None of that just terrified of ghosts druggie Klaus.

Allison Hargreeves - I have a vent about her already posted. And there it seems I hate her and maybe a little yeah but that means there was like a pacific load of area they could've worked with but no? none of that. She is just back to normal a little scared but that's all. "Since Ray walked out!" THAT"S ALL WE GET FROM RAYMOND CHESTNUT!? What why how when under what conditions??????????? Nothing?? Huff man. I know this is too much for one season and I know they couldn't have included everything in one season but they had such a great show. Such a brilliant show. Season 3 was a very apt ending. It was perfect to be very honest, this is just uncalled for. All the characters are so not who we as viewers were shown for 3 seasons which is why I feel it feels more like a disappointment. Yeah without their powers they'd be different, but they're just not them anymore.... Anyway I should probably sleep.

Tell me what you think of all this :)

#the umbrella academy #tua #season4 #s4 #what even was that #i borderline hated it #luther hargreeves #allison hargreeves #diego hargreeves #ben hargreeves #five hargreeves #a vent #a rant #i am so disappointed #viktor hargreeves #reginald hargreeves

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t-lostinworlds · 1 year ago

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hello! gosh, i honestly have no idea what else to do anymore. i've been such a huge ball of anxiety these pass few days and i feel like i've got no other choice ://

so, enrollment for the next semester is this Monday (in 4 days), and idk why my school decided to do it during this time when most ppl don't get paid until the last day of the month/next month. as if that isn't enough, enrollments are also on a time limit and now that we get to decide our own schedules, it's also a race on who gets the subjects first. and if you can't pay for a percentage of the tuition fee upfront, you're going to get delisted so you have to pick your subjects again. the later you enroll, the fewer timeslots. so i could end up having a 6-9pm which isn't safe for me in this city especially when i commute alone. even worse, our tuition for this semester is much higher for some reason and we weren't warned about it.

i can't ask for financial aid from my school yet bc it's required to have at least finished 1 year before you're able to. i'm still trying to look for student/personal loan options bc most i've seen so far require a monthly that i just can't afford rn and it only covers 1 term instead of a whole year so it's not really that sustainable :(( (i don't live in the US btw so it's not a "start paying when you graduate" thing. taking out a loan means i still need to pay monthly while in school on top of other expenses, which as you can imagine, feels more like a burden than it is helpful.) i've also tried looking for scholarships but most only support stem/business courses bc this country isn't nice to artists so that sucks.

i honestly have very little money saved and with the sudden increase in tuition, it's hard to cover half of it even with my parents' help. and again, nobody is getting paid until next month so money is already tight as is with it being the end of th month.

so long story short, i need some help. the first installment for the fee (converted from my currency) is about $600. BUT. NO PRESSURE. i'm only asking those who have extra to spare. and any and all amounts are welcome. it's already going to be such a huge help. hell, even just a simple reblog to boost this already helps a ton.

but also, my commissions are open! so if u want to have a lil story in exchange for just a tiny bit of help, that'd be great too <3

here's my kofi and my pypl

again, no pressure! even a smallest amount already helps a lot. and also, pls do reblog to boost. i really appreciate you! i hope you're having a wonderful day <3 don't forget to take care of yourself too. sending you wonderful people love always ❤️

tagging some mutuals under the cut for a boost bc sometimes this doesn't show up in the tags anymore (but also you don't have too!! you can ignore this if u want alskalks)

@selfcarecap @hollandsmoose @shellshocklove @tanaka-drew @agaritas @userholland @thecodyexpress @annab-nana @hollandweather @annathesillyfriend @cumholland @jasntodds @quethekillerqueen @worldoftom (ily guys, i hope you're all safe and well ❤️)

#financial help #mutual aid #financial aid #donation post #signal boosts #signal boost #gosh i really do get nervous doing this #my classmates tried to ask for like #a promissory note #asking to pay at a later date #but they won't budge :///#i've honestly exhausted my resources #i've also emailed them asking if i could just pay even a tiny bit of it #like leave a balance #they still haven't responded #idk what to do anymore ://#ramblings

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chaosheadspace · 4 months ago

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For the writer asks, for Library Boys!

2. How'd you get the idea, what kicked this off?

24. How did you celebrate finishing?

25-27 I would love to hear some favorite lines, details, and lore

28. Write a summary for it but badly

Hi TJ, thank you so much for asking! I apologise beforehand, this is almost 2.5K :)

2. How'd you get the idea, what kicked this off?

Originally, @notallsandmen asked me if I would write another enemies to lovers fic after Ill-advised things. By that time I had written a library sex scene for @staroftheendless's smut prompts (yes, the very one where Hob has Dream against the shelf, at least part of that). And I just couldn't stop developing headcanons about them in this AU, how they'd look, what they'd be like, what their background looks like.

I am very much a pantser, and in the beginning the plot was clear to me up to where Dream loses Orpheus and Hob tries to console him. Everything after that was loose points I was trying to connect. I remember having written most of it up until that point and the last chapter and thinking, "not much left now, I think I can start posting". Lol.

Everything that happens between those two points came to me after that, all of Hob's backstory (I struggled with that, he's been kinda hazy in my head), the very thorough dip into the mental illness theme (the bulletpoint in my brain sounded something like "make Murphy feel better and figure out what it is exactly—and see where it took me, two fights, a sex scene and a whole chapter focused on it), Orpheus's journey. This is precisely why I don't like outlining—I do better without. The pacing might be shot to hell, but tbh I don't care about that very much, I care about having put down all I wanted you to see, all I wanted you to know about these two.

24. How did you celebrate finishing?

By taking a break, by finishing the blanket that came with the fic (lol) and by going "I don't think they're all that happy yet" and writing a bunch for the sequel. I'm also gonna commission some art from my Christmas money this year (don't know who yet, but I've got a few scenes I'd like to see).

25-27 I would love to hear some favorite lines, details, and lore

Biggest fun fact that hasn't found it's way into readers focus (hopefully "yet"), is that Matthew is Jessamy's younger brother. At the very start I had a plan about Hob and Murphy being oblivious about that and them getting into a big fight only for those two getting them back together via shenanigans. But then Murphy demanded therapy, and Orpheus demanded screen time, and Hob begged for backstory, and suddenly it didn't fit anymore, tone wise. I'm hoping to fit more Matthew into the sequel.

Favourite lines is rather…uh… I mean, it's 90K 😬

I loved writing them kiss, every single time.

The opening to chapter five holds a special place in my heart (the description of campus on the day of the summer festival), as does the poor philosophy faculty member that keeps calling the stacks for books (this is really not how it works lol). A lot of what happens in non-Dreamling plot is taken from my personal experience. A lot of it happened to me, or to my coworkers. The library I picture them working at is the library I did my apprenticeship in. (I also detest Gorgonzola.) There really are people every year accidentally ordering a cart full of bound journals because they thought they'd get single issues. I always loved doing those and brining them up personally to see the face of the person that ordered them. Was worth the three quarters of an hour of work before and after every time. What I did not include is the small railway system we had. There were little waggons to put the books into, and they'd bring the books upstairs via rails on the ceiling. It's one of the coolest things I've ever seen in my life.

I loved this part:

He can suddenly see right through the thick layer of animosity like glass, and underneath it is a beaten, bloody, hurt thing."

And this one, because it's my Murphy, condensed into a paragraph, in all his confusion and hurt and love:

It feels good to have someone's attention on him, regardless of the kind. Murphy sometimes thinks he shouldn't encourage Hob's temper like that, should maybe apologise, and on his most lonely, sleepless nights he fantasises guiltily about making amends and asking Hob out. But what would Hob gain from that? Murphy has failed at marriage, the most long-term emotional commitment there is. And there is also Orpheus. Murphy loves him more than anything, but he knows that most single people consider children from previous, failed marriages baggage. It's the last thing Murphy wants for Orpheus, to feel secondary because of a relationship.

I also loved writing Orpheus deciding to go with Calliope, just because of how raw it is, and how true it feels. As a patchwork family kid myself, while not having been in the exact situation, I feel very deeply about all of this, and exploring why someone would let their child go, and why someone would encourage them to go, helped me tremendously.

This part I love because it shows the security that Hob gives Murphy even back when they were on bad terms, and just how wrong Murphy is and how deep his self-deception goes:

He starts to taunt Hob again. It's easy, so easy to fall back into it, almost as if they never stopped. Murphy carefully sharpens his tongue again and tries it out on Hob's thick skin. It feels safe. Neither of them mentions the closet and the hugs and Murphy's tears, and he is grateful. It's not real. This is.

This part is a feeling I have very often about emotionally charged situations bc I'm shit at them (the "oh fuck, the jig is up" feeling):

This is it, he realises, this is going to resolve things one way or another. Suddenly Hob wishes Dream had called in sick for a day longer, or two, or had stopped him two days ago when he'd walked out of his office. He can't stand it. He can't face it, either. But he must.

I'm also very proud of this, because it's the turning point of the whole story and I think I executed it rather well. It's the most revised part of the whole story, and the one that took the longest, writing wise:

"Wait wait wait," Hob interrupts him and all blood leaves his face. "What's this about deserving? Did you—Have you used me to punish yourself because you don't think you deserve basic kindness?!" He is so tense that he feels his muscles might spring out of his skin, so angry that he thinks his blood might boil out of his ears. And then. And then all the tension melts out of Dream as he sees him getting angry, relief etched into his face and rimming his eyes with red, and something in Hob breaks. This is the part of Hob he is used to. This is the Hob he knows and is comfortable with. Shame and grief so profound it settles in his bones creeps up from his toes and into his heart. He doesn't want that. He wants, needs it to be different. "Oh love," he says, voice thick with sorrow, and sits down next to Morpheus on his kitchen bench, taking his hands into his own. "Oh darling, no."

I'm throwing this one in, too, because I think I was really fucking funny:

The only positive effect this information has on Hob is that it makes his erection wilt like a candle in front of a blowtorch.

I also loved doing the phone screenshots of their texts with the secret emoji story from the evening before that played out during the phone call chapter, but I don't think anyone picked up on that. It was fun regardless, a nice little easter egg.

I am skimming the story for this and am only on chapter 16. I think I have to reign myself in a bit. Chapter 16 is also kind of a companion chapter to ch13 (where they get their shit together) in terms of emotional intensity. While in chapter 13 they had to painfully try and pull themselves together, to be honest and open even if it hurt, chapter 16 is the culmination of the new start they made for themselves, a little bit of "what if we hadn't been like that from the start" but better, because of course they have been like that, and imo dropping a weight like that lets people fly higher. A tender start would have been sweet and nothing else, but here they're conscious of quite a few of each other's flaws, and know the other is earnestly trying to put the work in, and that makes it as delicious as an overripe peach eaten over the sink, sticky and ecstatic and glorious.

This:

The giggle Hob has been suppressing bubbles up his throat, and he moves quickly to tap his index finger to the soft wet redness. Scandalised, Murphy pulls his head back, smacking his lips. "Bah," he says, taken aback. "Who does that?" "I do," Hob says, still giggling. "Worked, didn't it?" "You," Murphy proclaims, swaying back to him and holding onto his hips, "are the worst." And then he licks a long, wet stripe up the side of Hob's face.

I just love their silly. They need the silly. Even if I forget, they demand it themselves.

All the house/home metaphors I did for Murphy's life, and the sea metaphors I did for his mental health journey.

Also proud that I managed to still keep them real and make them fight and make up and not have them be happy lovey doves all the time (which may seem surprising considering all I put them through, but still). I wanted to be conscious of making their relationship equal, to not have Hob carry Murphy's issues but have him lean on him, too (although he's certainly the stronger one of them, emotionally. Carrying wise, I mean.), to have them give and take in equal measure.

There was also a short snippet of Hob meeting Jessamy, that would originally go into chapter 20. But it didn't fit the tone, and the chapter did better what I wanted from it without it, so it got cut. Generally speaking, there's very little scenes that got cut. I don't care about pacing that much, and even less if a scene is necessary or not. If it's something I want to tell, I'm gonna include it. But there's a few that took the story in a direction that I didn't like, and that I wrote quite early on, that didn't fit the story as it progressed. (notably, for the sequel, Orpheus finding a dog while playing with his best friend and Hob and Murphy adopting it.)

This one, for me, is the best sentence from the recovery chapter:

He needs—no, he wants to take it into his own hands, so that his happiness stops being a thing that other people need to give him."

(I also asked notallsandmen if the sex scene at the end is over the top, and they told me that not only is Murphy on antidepressants, he's also in love, and at that point I threw caution out the window and decided they can as happy and as schmoopy as I want them to be.)

Chapter 22 was entirely unplanned. At one point I realised that while readers have an approximation of Murphy's past, Hob still has no idea what happened :D

I also loved doing the Christmas chapter. I put a lot of thought in what celebrations like this might look for Orpheus as a kid of two cultures. I think some traditions would have been quite important to Calliope, not because I picture her as particularly religious, but because I think she would have liked to keep them while living in England. And I think Murphy would have agreed with her, because he wanted her to be happy, and I don't think that he's got particularly happy memories associated with family celebrations until Calliope, and he might even have seen it as a way to break away from his own family and his own past, just like his marriage in general had been. So the abundance of greek Christmas traditions is very much on purpose.

I also love any and all interactions between Hob and Orpheus.

This one, because it always makes me cry, even when rereading my own story:

“Hello, little sparrow.” He’s sure that his relief bleeds through into his tone, softening his voice to a sweet, velvety caress. Orpheus makes an indefinable sound at the endearment. “You've called every day for a week,” he says, unsure. “I did,” Murphy assents. “Thank you for speaking to me today. I missed you.”

Also loved reusing this one, even if it might be too sugary:

“D’you think it'll work out?” He finally says. “All of it?” Turning his head slightly, Murphy kisses Hob's temple, his cheek, his neck. “We try,” he says, gently. “We try and try, and sometimes that means we fail. But Hob, it also means that more often than not, we make it work.”

I also love the last chapter and the conclusion to bits, but sometimes I worry that it might feel like a haphazardly slapped on bandaid to some readers (which it it very much not. It's another testament to both of their stellar decision making, and it will come to bite them in the ass :D).

This turned into a very long and convoluted ramble, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

28. Write a summary for it but badly

I cannot decide, so you're getting all of them (yes, I crowdsourced):

Library 4.0: parkour edition

Dr. D. M. Olympiou's and R. Gadlings guide on how to regulate your behaviour in library spaces using real life negative examples, now with annex detailing the consequences for your private life

'In which library assistant Hob finds himself the prime subject of new subject librarian Dream Olympiou's study onwhether you're being checked out of the library or checked out at the library.' (courtesy of @sleepsonfutons)

Two insecure idiots fuck around and find out…that they’re actually really good together (courtesy of @edgedancer77)

Surrounded by idiots: The four types of human behaviour and how to effectively fumble all of them when it comes to your hot but asshole coworker (based on: Surrounded by Idiots: The Four Types of Human Behavior and How to Effectively Communicate with Each in Business (and in Life))

How to hatefuck your way into better mental health (courtesy of @reallyintoscience)

#dreamling #chaosheadspace's writing #ask game #library boys #library idiots

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