#the game knows how to market to me specifically

[mythalism]

Do you find yourself in almost a state of mourning/grief with datv? I’m literally in an almost emotional distress over it. All summer I built up insane defensiveness due to all the grifter hate train bullshit brewing for it with a dose of insane excitement since I’ve been a DA girlie since Origins 2009 release date and I just… don’t know how to process my feelings?!?

Due to the pre game discourse I almost feel programmed to fight criticism for it and during a new play through I keep having “holy shit that quest was so dialed in” followed immediately by “what the hell did I just listen to” and yet my brain is still in copium mode.

DA fandom discourse has always been poisoned with garbage takes, ESPECIALLY since Solas got introduced with DAI (I’m sorry, I truly believe his die hard haters have the reading comprehension of a peanut) but the fact that there is still a huge pocket of the fandom that couldn’t even get the point of the solas/mythal dynamic when it was LITERALLY SPOONFED TO US kind of… scares me about the future of narrative design in general.

Absolutely development hell and reboot and lack of time to truly sink into the intended story beats from start to finish played a major role. The skeleton remains of bullshit multiplayer factions are here too. But holy shit. Is it just me or does everything else utterly scream “chronically online” to me.

Sorry I have no idea where I’m going with this. I just needed to yap thoughts that weren’t just in the void. I don’t know how to reconcile getting my dream romance ending I waited 10 years for alongside a narrative that doesn’t even make sense leading to that happy ending.

i wouldn't say im experiencing full on grief but i do know exactly what you mean and i sympathize with your experience a lot. i think it might be because ive been in a corner of fandom that has been very critical of bioware and so i honestly had extremely low expectations of veilguard up until the summer. i thought we would NEVER get the game, and if we did get it, i was sure it would be a fucking trainwreck after 10 years of "[insert x developer here] leaves bioware after 20+ years!". my personal bar was truly on the floor, in the deep roads, in the heart of a titan, in the void etc etc.

it does bother me the way it was marketed because honestly i would call it duplicitous. not in the "false advertising" legal sense of the world but in the way it feels like the devs are (and were) very aware of the flaws in this game and more importantly were very aware of how it would be received by long-time fans. and of course i am aware that developers have little to no say whatsoever in marketing, and its also clear that vg's marketing was an absolute mess of conflicting directions considering that reveal trailer that honestly set the game up to fail (i truly believe the grifting and general, casual reception would not have been so negative if they had used the release-date trailer instead) and the way they immediately had to drop 20 minutes of gameplay to reassure people that they werent releasing dragon age: fortnite LMFAO. but i think that mismatch actually tells us a lot about the similarly contradictory tone and writing in different parts of the game, and the direction that EA seemingly pushed for (as exemplified by their attempts to market it as... whatever that was) and the game bioware was attempting to make (which would have undoubtedly been flawed but probably more in-line with past games).

but, this duplicitous marketing was not just EA, and i do feel that the devs played up the game, and specifically our attachment to past characters and franchise entries, in a way that was a bit unfair when you have the context of their comments post-release about how aware they are of it's shortcomings. and i get it, these people have quite literally no choice. they have to participate in the marketing of this game, it's their job, they need to pay rent and eat etc etc like i get it. but just because they have good reason to play on their fan's attachment to their writing via their tweets and comments in dev q&a's doesn't mean i cant say it left a bad taste in my mouth. i think trick being completely absent from the entire marketing cycle is really interesting in this context, lol. i have no proof of there being a correlation, it was just something i found interesting this summer, and that i find even more interesting now, especially considering their role as lead writer.

it definitely felt like the things they chose to show and the things they chose not to were designed specifically to grip fans and rile us up, and though it worked for their pre-sales, i think it actually hurt them in the end because if they had not gotten expectations up so high by dangling varric and solas and morrigan and the inquisitor in front of us like carrots, we probably would not all have been so disappointed! i sure wouldnt be. remember i thought this game was going to fucking blow not even 8 months ago! for me it was precisely the summer build up that left me so bereft in the end. if i had played the game completely blind id still think it was a flop, but i wouldn't feel absolutely bamboozled and pissed off in the way i and a lot of others seem to feel.

legend @scaryanneee said once that the entire game feels apologetic, in both its writing and design and that has stuck with me ever since she said it. the whole game feels like a big "sorry it wasnt better", and even more so due to the release of the artbook filled with ideas that they knew we'd like better, and even MORE so with the game's lack of denuvo or other anti-piracy software, allowing us to data-mine and see the skeleton left behind at some point. idk a lot about game development but i am under the impression that post-release content that feels like a desperate apology to fans + tweets about how you fought and lost that then get deleted are not the norm????

its truly a mess. but i do not feel hopeless, for some reason. gaming is a mess and i think you are right to fear for the future of narrative design but although there are always people who will bootlick to cope, there are also beloved haters like us who will always complain, and not out of transphobia or a desire to grift, but out of a genuine love for these games and the stories they tell. i wish the reviews had been a bit more discerning and critical, but i hope the message will get through to bioware and EA eventually. i also think that tbh, if this game came out 3 years after bg3 rather than 1, it would look VERY different. i would not even really consider myself a bg3 fan and i have a lot of criticisms of it (lol who's surprised!!!) it is objectively a move in the right direction for the gaming industry for a variety of reasons, and i do believe its many accolades have sent a message to greedy execs everywhere.

[kaitiedidanne]

Noble and beautiful girls are fighting.....

[timegears-moved]

i gotta rant about how much i hate the mega z-ring sidequest from a game design standpoint hold on

[yesistolethisurl]

.

[waffled0g]

Everyone gets “The 90s” look wrong and I hate it

Couple years ago I saw these two board games at the store back to back. Well, not saw them per se, but ya know. Spied them out of the corner of my eye. And for a moment without reading the text, I couldn’t tell you which was which decade at first. Funny. Either they were in a rush to get these out the door or they wanted their throwback trivia game boxes to look uniform. I didn’t think too much of it.

Only, from then on I started seeing it MORE. Every time someone markets a 90s or 80s throwback...

Goddammit they’re identical! What??! How did we let this happen? As a 90s survivor and a designer, this drives me up a wall.

Look, I know I’m late to the party to complain about “the 90s look” when we’re just starting to get sick of the Y2K nostalgia train. But c’mon, the 90s were not The 80s: Part Two™ 

Trust me when I say that we weren’t all wearing neon trapezoids up until the year 2000. The 90s look being peddled is so specific to the tail end of the 80s and an early early part of the 90s - a part of the 90s when it wouldn’t stop being the 80s. This is Memphis design being conflated with the wrong decade.

Keep reading for a long ass graphic design history lesson and pictures of old soda and fast food.

Specifically, the look is Memphis Milano, self-named by the Italian design house Memphis Group. Starting in the early to mid 80s, they made all sorts of furniture, fabrics and sculptures that were like a Piet Mondrian grid painting under heavy radiation. Their whole deal was defying the standards of existing industrial design up to that point on purpose. Chairs had weird arches, bookcases would be in strange alien colors, unusual materials like plastic or elastic were used in place of metal or wood, that sorta thing.

Memphis quickly became the signature look for the decade. You can tell something’s influenced by Memphis design from it’s telltale trademarks:

Clashing, neon colors.

Use of diametric shapes.

Contrasting patterns like zebra print stripes, confetti squiggles and checkerboards.

It wasn’t long before Memphis Milano-inspired design was everywhere in 80s pop culture:

It was a special time, yes.

I was a kindergartener at the tail end of the 80s, so I knew Memphis mostly through the lens of kids media. Toys, clothes, games, tv shows used it like candy colored catnip. Cable channel Nickelodeon more or less adopted the Memphis aesthetic as their signature in-house style and practically built a monument to it at a Florida theme park:

I think this is why folks mistake what decade Memphis is representative of - 90s staples like Nick, Saved By The Bell, Fresh Prince - they all stayed around much longer than the design trend’s expiration date. 

Couple that notion with the fact that companies are slow followers to design trends. Something gets popular and they want to get on the bandwagon? Gotta wait for the ink to dry, gotta wait for the production molds to be made. It would take a few years for them to completely work Memphis outta their system.

Now, this is not to say Memphis is bad! Personally I’m a fan of the aesthetic, if my neon-drenched artwork wasn’t a tip-off already. But it is a trend, and trends never last forever.

So what took the Memphis Milano look down for good? This part’s up for debate, but I personally think it had something to do with this dude:

It’s that grunge music from Seattle that’s so popular with the kids these days dontchaknow.

Once Smells Like Teen Spirit hit in 1991, the Nirvana tone drove the rest of the decade. Clean geometry became weathered, grainy and organic. Bright neon pastels became more bold. Bubblegum pop music sounded fake and manufactured. Attitude and apathy was authentic. Whatever.

Things got grungy. Things got grimy. Olestra was invented.

I think the best way to visualize this transition is how Cherry Coke entered the decade and how it left it:

1992 Memphis on the left, 1998 grunge junkie on the right. Fitting that the 90s would end with a design that looked like Darth Maul’s lungs.

Okay, so what should 90s retro design look like?

Continue on to PART TWO! Spoilers: No VHS filters or vaporwave needed, but maybe bring an antacid.

[jessica-problems]

Seeing @thydungeongal constantly wrestling with people interpreting her posts about D&D in ways that seem completely alien to me has convinced me that there are actually multiple completely distinct activities both being referred to as "playing D&D" Before we begin, I want to stress that I'm not saying one of these groups is Playing The Game Wrong or anything, but there seems to be a lot of confusion and conflict caused by people not being aware of the distinction. In fact, either one works just fine if everyone's on the same page. So far, I think I've identified at least two main groups. And nobody seems to realize the distinction between these groups even exists. The first group of people think of "Playing D&D" as, well, more or less like any other board game. Players read the whole rulebook all the way through, all the players follow the instructions, and the gameplay experience is determined by what the rules tell each player to do. This group thinks of the mechanics as, not exactly the *whole* game, but certainly the fundamental skeleton that everything else is built on top of. People in the second group think of "Playing D&D" as referring to, hanging out with their friends, collaboratively telling a story inspired by some of the elements in the rulebooks, maybe rolling some dice to see what happens when they can't decide. This group thinks of the mechanics of the game as, like... a spice to sprinkle on top of the story to mix things up. (if you belong to this second group, and think I'm explaining it poorly, please let me know, because I'm kind of piecing things together from other people saying things I don't understand and trying to reverse engineer how they seem to be approaching things.) I think this confusion is exacerbated by the fact that Wizards of the Coast markets D&D as if these are the same thing. They emphatically are not. the specific rules laid out of the D&D rulebooks actually direct players to tell a very specific kind of story. You can tell other stories if you ignore those rules (which still counts as "playing D&D" under the second definition, but doesn't under the first)And I think people in both groups are getting mad because they assume that everyone is also using their definition. For example, there's a common argument that I've seen play out many times that goes something like this:

A: "How do I mod D&D to do [insert theme here]?" B: "D&D is really not built for that, you should play [other TTRPG] that's designed for it instead" A: "But I don't want to learn a whole new game system!" B: "It will be easier to just learn a whole new system than mod D&D to do that." A: "whatever, I'll just mod D&D on my own" And I think where this argument comes from is the two groups described above completely talking past each other. No one understands what the other person is trying to say. From A's perspective, as a person in the second group, it sounds like A: "Anyone have some fun inspirations for telling stories about [insert theme here]?" B: "You can't sit around a table with your friends and tell a story about that theme! That's illegal." A: "But we want to tell a story about this theme!" B: "It's literally impossible to do that and you're a dumb idiot baby for even thinking about it." A: "whatever, jerk, I'll figure it out on my own."

--- Whereas, from B's perspective, the conversation sounds like A: "How do I change the rules of poker to be chess, and not be poker?" B: "uhhh, just play chess?" A: "But I already know how to player poker! I want to play poker, but also have it be chess!" B: "what the hell are you talking about? What does that even mean. They're completely different games." A: "I'm going to frankenstein these rules together into some kind of unplayably complex monster and you can't stop me!" ---

So both people end up coming away from the conversation thinking the other person is an idiot. And really, depending on how you concieve of what it means to "play D&D" what is being asked changes considerably. If you're only planning to look through the books for cool story inspiration, maybe borrow a cool little self contained sub-system here or there, then yeah, it's very possible to steal inspiration for your collaborative story from basically anywhere. Maybe some genres are kind of an awkward fit together, but you can make anything work with a little creativity.

If, however, you are thinking of the question in terms of frankensteining two entire board games together, then it becomes a massively difficult or even outright nonsensical idea. For example, for skill checks, the game Shadowrun has players roll a pool of several d6 at once, then count up how many rolled above a target value to see how well a character succeeded at a task. The whole game is full of specific rules about adding or removing dice from the pool, effects happening if you roll doubles, rerolling only some of the dice, and all sorts of other things that simply do not translate to rolling a single d20 for skill checks. On a basic level, the rules of the games work very differently. Trying to make them compatible would be much harder than just learning a new game from scratch. Now, neither of these approaches is exactly *wrong*, I guess, but personally, I find the rules of TTRPGs to be fascinating and worth taking the time to engage with all the weird little nuances and seeing what shakes out. Also, the first group, "TTRPG as fancy board game" is definitely the older and more widespread one. I kind of get the impression that the second group largely got into D&D through actual play podcasts, but I don't have any actual data to back that up. So, if you're in the second group, who thinks of D&D as basically a context for collaborative storytelling first and a game second, please let me know if I'm wildly misunderstanding how you approach D&D. Because I'm pretty sure it would save us a whole lot of stupid misunderstandings.

[urmom3001]

Sweetheart

Summary: Luke Castellan pulls the camp sweetheart and no one knows how he managed to snag her after everyone else's attempts had failed.

Warnings!: Fem! Reader, claimed but not specific, Counselor! reader just really cute fluff lwk. :3

Y/n L/n was nobodies enemy at Camp Half-Blood. Everyone at half camp half-blood had come to the consensus that they all just loved Y/n. Even Mr. D admits that her smile could warm an old sad man's heart.

So obviously by default every boy was swooning for her and every girl admired her. Only one little problem. In all of her years at camp, (She was a full rounder). No one had ever managed to take her off the market. Not even a fling. Y/n had always just ridden solo and she was completely content with that.

Until one winter everything changed.

You see, Y/n had never really planned on dating Luke, but how could she refuse? He was Tall, Handsome, and really sweet. And he was the complete opposite of Y/n. Y/n always believed opposites attract.

"Go on a date with me? Just one, I promise I'll make it worth your while." Luke promised as he peered down at you.

"Hmm, okay." Y/n responded.

"Really?" Luke said. Luke had heard about the rumors of Y/n's dating life obviously. Who hadn't?

"No, not really." Y/n said in a sarcastic tone. "Of course really, just let me know when." She said as she picked up her training bag to go back to her cabin, before she could go, she tiptoed up to Luke and planted a kiss on his cheek.

She didn't turn around to see Luke's madly red face, and he's happy she didn't.

So when everyone came back for the summer, news spread like wild fire. Camp Half-Blood's Sweetheart was off of the market, taken by none other than Luke Castellan.

At first people didn't really realize until about three days into the summer. They started to notice that Hermes cabin was somehow always on schedule with Y/n's cabin.

Then the campers noticed the two counselors were closer, a lot closer. Some would even say they were on the cusp of borderline PDA.

Then everyone noticed how Y/n and Luke were sitting together at every meal, every meal!

Luke and Y/n liked playing games with everyone, so when people got bold enough to ask one of them "Are you guys together?" They would both have the same answer.

"No, we're just really close friends." They would both answer with a smile, when in reality they had been together officially for about 2 months.

Of course, everyone knew that they were together, even though they didn't say it. Everyone knew. He was hers and she was his. If she called, he would answer. That's just the way it was.

Eventually everyone got over the fact that they're beloved Sweetheart had been swooped by Luke Castellan because well. They were meant for each other.

[angrykittybarbarian]

About that Dragon Age: The Veilguard audio web series

Thinking back about the marketing for DATV I now realize it was kind of deceptive.

No, it was not literal fraud. They did not make specific promises and then broke them, not explicitely and in a way you could hold them liable in court over. And I get when you are advertising your product you will of course highlight its most favorable aspects while not shoving its negative sides into everyone's noses.

However I do think that EA/Bioware did stretch out the boundaries between regular endorsement and fraud.

It started with the web series Vows and Vengeance they uploaded weekly on Youtube right before release. At that time I was still hopeful and excited for the game. And Vows and Vengeance all but encouraged that excitement.

You know why? Because, and this surprised me, it was genuinely good.

Vows and Vengeance functioned as an early introduction to the companions. While they were not the main characters they did play a key role in each episode. The plot was what could be typically expected from a regular DA installment. It had a dark, gripping story. The dialogue was well written. It dealt with mature themes, it actually discussed the classism of Tevinter.

Lucanis was a proper crow who killed a good man because he was hired to do so. He was positively morally grey. Davrin had actually strong opinions when the main character dropped the Dread Wolf's name. Bellara was interesting in that it became clear how she struggled with her ADHD without using infantile language, Scout Harding acted smart, mature and competent, Taash was a morally grey bad ass, fitting for a freelance treasure hunter and with smart and witty dialogue to go with it.

It was amazing, I found myself excited every week for a new episode. It got me interested in the companions. I already contemplated to romance Taash because they were so cool and charismatic in that series. I thought, if a FREE webseries that was made for advertisement was already this great then the game had to be nothing short of phenomenal.

And then it just...wasn't. There was nothing of the depth that came through in the web series. It was as if I was presented with a sample of a multilayered chocolate cake but got a dry brownie after I actually paid the full price for it.

The sheer audacity behind this course of action is still so inconcievable to me, I sometimes still wonder why they put effort into writing the free thing and not the product they demand payment for. I still don't get it. The only explanation is they purposefully put out a misleading sample to lure in the customers in the beginning to spend money, right?

This fraud adjacent behavior does not stop there.

Remember when we thought we would be importing our worldstates from our previous games? There wasn't even a question about it in the beginning because this is such an intrinsic Bioware feature. But then the info about the three choices in the character creator leaked.

Leaked!

Meaning they never intended for this information to be known pre-release. They fully intended to keep it secret until it would be too late. They also never said they wanted a soft reboot.

This is the conclusion the fandom has drawn after they destroyed their own lore and went scorched earth on the entire south of Thedas.

And the biggesr lie was when they said this was their best work. After all this!

This is the reason why DATV's shortcomings are so devastating. This is why so many feel like the game was a slap to their faces. EA/Bioware gaslit and manipulated us from the very beginning. We have been cheated and betrayed.

The last bit of trust I and many others had in Bioware, they mercilessly crushed.

I personally will never take even one thing they say at face value again. You can only trust their actions from now on.

[not-a-snowman]

You know I may be wrong, but I’m starting to think that the general Fanon perception of PO3 may be wildly off from his portrayal within the source material.

Something I heard once was that Inscryption’s creator (Daniel Mullins) described PO3 as the story’s villain and as generally evil. And that stuck with me as someone who has read a LOT of very interesting takes on PO3’s hidden nuances, and it had me wondering about what the creator-intended perception of PO3 is meant to be

And I’ll be real I’ve been thinking over the source material with this idea in mind and I think I have an answer that is NOT pretty for my guy

(note: while I talk about fan perception within here this is specifically an analysis done with this supposed “creator intended” reading in mind. It’s not meant to be a take down on all interpretations.)

I think PO3 is intended as a stand in for the worst elements of gaming culture and game design. I know Act 3 has its defenders, but I genuinely think that narratively the strongest aspect of Act 3 is that it makes you reflect on and appreciate Act 1

Act 3 is near devoid of passion or care. PO3 fundamentally does not give a shit about the game he’s playing with you unless it furthers his marketing scheme or if it gives him an opportunity to show off just how much better he is at this than the other Scrybes.

I’ve seen people point to the bounty hunters as an element of PO3’s creativity and passion for the game coming through, but if that’s the case it’s pretty sad given that the bounty hunters are literally procedurally generated. They have roughly the same amount of care put into them as the average madlibs.

He didn’t even finish the 3rd boss fight, he makes you do it for him

ACT 3’S “FINALE BOSS” IS G0LLY

G0LLY.

I LIKE G0LLY, but she’s not a finale boss fight, especially not when her competition is Leshy’s three stage finale which is capped off with the goddamn moon.

I know that PO3 has a moment of reflection in the moments before the grand transcendence but idk, it comes off as insincere and self-congratulatory more than sentimental especially given that it’s right before PO3 goes off about this was actually all just his plan to sell his shitty unfinished game on Steam and how he’s actually in it for a way BIGGER audience

and also you’re an idiot gamer

[copperbadge]

So the Chicago Public Library does "One Book, One Chicago" every year where they encourage everyone to read the same book and discuss it, and I've been invited to the next title reveal. In the invite and on the RSVP page, this is the logo/marketing they're going with and it's...very specific.

[ID: The email I received for One Book One Chicago, which includes "You're Invited" done in pixels with the O as a heart, on a background of pastel colors that fade from red to yellow to green; below that it reads "Enter into the Unveiling Experience" and some of the text includes the statement that "The announcement and press event will be an immersive and surprise-filled unveiling of the book's title."]

It's giving Ready Player One, it's giving Polybius, it's screaming "Someone really bought into the metaverse briefly". I'm planning to go to the unveiling, I'm excited and intrigued, but also a little wary. It makes me want to start some kind of pool on what the book will be.

It can't be Phillip K. Dick, we just did Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep like five years ago. It's tough to get a measure based on the list of past books, because it covers a number of genres both fiction and non, and sometimes they seem really relevant to the historical moment but sometimes not so much. Maybe How The Internet Happened? But that seems slightly too niche. Then again, so did The Sixth Extinction.

The CPL has been going hard on gaming and tech for teens lately (in a good way, but there's been a noticeable bend in the way they market teen programs), so when a colleague said "Maybe a YA novel?" I did a little search. One book came up in both "books about the internet and the 80s" and "YA books about the internet", which is "Fake" by Ele Fountain, so that's a contender.

What do we think? I don't read much cyberpunk, I rarely am in the know on bestsellers and usually we're doing something that's relatively popular but a few years old. Interested to see what people would speculate it could be.

Also I'm somewhat curious about what algo got me on the mailing list for this -- I've never participated in One Book before and while I am a regular library user and live local to the HWLC, so do like a billion other people. Would love to talk to the person who composed their mailing list. (I am somehow categorized as "Press" in a number of databases belonging to Chicago politicians and for-profit consulting firms, I'm not sure how that happened, so it could be they think I'm a journo.)

[feverdreamjohnny]

The Epitaph of Anything Goes

I decided that this morning I would talk about The Museum of Anything Goes and the subject of lost media.

For the uninitiated, The Museum of Anything Goes is an obscure "game" released in 1995 by Wayzata Technologies, a company that is so far under the radar that I was unable to find any useful information about it outside of TMoAG.

All I could uncover is that they published a few multimedia projects (which are essentially lost now) alongside some asset discs (clipart, SFX, etc.). That's it.

The brains behind Wayzata are even more difficult to locate these days: there are only two main names credited inside of TMoAG - Michael Markowski and Maxwell S. Robertson.

The game alleges that Michael and Maxwell are well known in the art world, but any additional information about the duo is scarce beyond the confines of the museum. Attempting to search for either name online turns up plenty of rabbit holes - but none of them have anything to do with the Michael and Maxwell responsible for TMoAG.

This is particularly fascinating because it essentially means that TMoAG is the only accessible record of their lives. Before we dig any deeper into that statement, let me step back and actually address what this game is.

The Museum of Anything Goes is, by definition, a virtual art museum. Functionally it's a prerendered point-and-click adventure game where you can explore a bunch of multimedia exhibits that give the surface-level impression of a children's edutainment game, but once you start exploring further it reveals a side that firmly plants the game's feet into a haze of substance abuse and surreal humor.

Many exhibits are essentially just toying around with the astonishing new powers of CD-ROM. Everything has to make noise. Everything has to spin and flitter around. There's an air of genuine excitement for the medium, and I can't help but find it extremely charming.

The game also functions as a scrapbook, filled to the brim with photos of random trips to the zoo and snow-mobile rides with friends. At one point we even get insight into something as specific as Michael's one-year job as a tutor at a Chicago middle school, where he talks about how it opened his eyes to how poorly funded and mismanaged the school system is.

It's simultaneously quaint and chilling to see so much personal history packed into a world doomed to obscurity. As I explore the deeper parts of the museum, I contemplate if the creators are still alive today. It's a bit morbid, but imagine that - you create a single obscure game with your friend and it's all the world can see. TMoAG is currently the only surviving piece that gives any insight into who these two men were.

While many exhibits are lighthearted or nonsensical, there are occasional moments where the game dips into the eerie.

One exhibit has the player kill a man by dropping him from the sky, and after burying him you open the coffin to a video of a rotting pig carcass being put into an incinerator.

Other exhibits just feature simple 3D renders shifting around a dark screen while haunting groans play in the background.

While I would never refer to the game as "scary," its darker moments combined with the occasional mature subject matter definitely begs the question: Who is this game for?

You have to remember that this game came out long before the concept of "alt-games" had become codified in the digital space. Sure, unconventional digital art had been around before the advent of 256 colors, but TMoAG was being sold on disk as a game! It came out 2 years after DOOM hit shelves!

The trend of using the PC for entertainment was certainly on the upswing around that time, but It's not like TMoAG had a massive audience to find a niche in. With its mature themes it certainly wasn't suited for the kids market either, so who was it for?

At the end of the day, it's a moot question. We already know the target audience for The Museum of Anything Goes: Nobody. It doesn't have an audience because by its nature, TMoAG wasn't being made FOR someone, it was being made BY someone. It's a raw, unfiltered form of personal expression.

I think games like these are pivotal, because they question why people assume a game has to exist for the sake of being a consumable product. TMoAG certainly has the shape of a product: it features an intro cutscene, it has a tutorial, it features intuitive UX, it even has a map! These are all features that are solely integrated to provide comfort to an end-user. But once you actually wander around the museum for a bit, you realize how bizarrely its packaging fits its contents.

I think TMoAG is criminally underrated. It's not because its core content contains some earth-shaking truth, it's because the game defied all odds and cheated death.

How many thousands of other personal projects were deemed a little "too exotic" to be archived? How much history was lost these past 40 years as the digital space evolved and ate its old skin?

God knows how many other TMoAGs we'll never learn about because they weren't lucky enough to be preserved.

The Museum of Anything Goes isn't just some nonsensical art piece, it's a grave marker for so much lost media. Its existence is a reminder that some people's lives were fossilized, then macerated into nothing because a construction company built a skyscraper over them. The only evidence we have of those other games existing is this little fossil that somehow slipped out from under the skyscraper unscathed.

Even though so much has been lost, TMoAG survives as an epitaph.

[mythalism]

i feel like i can maybe bring some comfort or at least some clarity to that anon & other fans taking datv so hard as someone who's been playing EA's sims: fortnite for like. a decade.

for those who don't like life simming games i have to preface this by saying the first three sims games had their own lore, timelines, easter eggs and theories and storylines imbedded into the world to make it feel more livelier and less of a Click Here Go Here game. when EA took over maxis they covered sims 3 with paywalled bullshit known as "sims points" where you unlock base game content / new towns through. paying money to get fake money.

anyway. when sims 4 came out we didn't have toddlers, pools, or shit that was basically a base game item since the sims 2. but the create a sim was soooooo immersive!!!! and that was kind of the biggest marketing for the game (lolz. deja vu anyone) and for about three years EA & the sims devs gaslit the players into saying shit like a pool or a roofing system were just too difficult to include. as someone who's spent an atrocious amount of money on sims DLC, much of which for the past 5 years has been broken, as in, your game fucking crashes and is unplayable, broken and still unfixed, i had no hope for veilguard lol.

like i'm not gonna lie, we got fucked, like royally, and i expected no less. but considering that ea has managed to strip the soul of a game which the entire point of is "create your own world!" and you can't even do that without 30GB of immersion mods and custom content, i'd say bioware did an ok job at keeping veilguard slightly above the Fuck You, Pay Me EA gaming model.

i also have to say ea as a parent company does not care about players. i don't know the intricacies of why they bought bioware and maxis apart from the fact that they held franchise potential, and i don't pretend to know. but EA's end goal with veilguard was always to milk it as much as they can from the baseline consumer (fifa, battlefield, that dogshit star wars multiplayer) and not bioware enjoyers.

i won't talk ab the writing bc everytime i hear "it's up to interpretation" all i hear is either we were forbidden from having difficult/nuanced conversations about anything or we ourselves don't care enough because the state & quality of bioware's writing has always been subpar and constantly pandering to a very specific audience that think racially or sexually diverse character = pinnacle of good writing & representation even if said character has nothing else going on storywise (like how taash's quest is literally just WOE. ROOK CHOOSES THEIR IDENTITY with no nuance or care to tell their story outside or LGBT BE UPON YE or MISGENDER BE UPON YE if you don't do their quest, or the returning hypersexualization of isabela being ignored cus yaasss slayyy girl power. it's empowering to wear a bra & thong during battle! pussy out during the blight shes a thief but shes so kind and woke and cares about the little man!!!!)

also the allegories for elves, dwarves & qun as people of color esp indigenous people when a huge chunk of biowares writing & creative dept is all white people. well. ✋🙂‍↔️ let me be quiet lest the ire of VOTE YOUR WAY INTO THE REVOLUTION crowd finds me. but it's always been questionable it's just more obvious now with EA breathing down their neck like a velociraptor bc they need that sweet sweet MAGA money they get from musty 30yo men stroking it to FIFA24 to invest in veilguard

nodding along sagely. i was a sims 2 & 3 lover as a child and i bought 4 when it came out, played it for like 2 days and never picked it up again lol so i fully agree that dragon age made it out pretty damn good in comparison on its fourth entry. i also agree that we should be careful to absolve bioware as a studio itself too much.... the games have always been full of racism, misogyny, islamophobia and generally insensitive and reckless portrayals of real-life cultures and issues for the sake of their games. veilguard, i think, takes that deserved criticism and course corrects in the complete wrong direction - instead of correcting the racism they uhhhhhhh just got rid of any sort of sociopolitical commentary. and actually kept the racism so it didnt even work. anyway. yeah companies dont care about us LOL. but thats why we have each other here on this silly website <3

[palajae]

episode two. | park jay

PAIRING ▸ host!jay x reader

GENRE ▸ ouran high school host club!au, high school! au, romance, fluff, angst, humor

WC ▸ 4.2k

SUMMARY ▸ host park jay: the cool and calculated type. as the vice president and brain of the en-host club, jay is more than quick and entertaining. you’ll never get bored with all the things he does and says—if you ever get the chance to meet him.

AKA episode two of the kiss, kiss, fall in love! series

AN/NOTES ▸ mentions of food?? toxic family issues (specifically daddy issues), not proofread

sorry for the wait but here is the second part! <3 also i swear i love jay and his father this was just for the plot okay don’t come for me 😭🙏

EPISODE 2. The Job of the Class Top Student! 

you get up, making sure to push the chair back with a loud screech so that everyone could hear. you feel the eyes boring holes into your back. if anyone looked closely, they would notice how your eyes flickered across the room. searching—checking. 

but no one was, most were still on the first page of the exam and had six more pages to go. 

you keep a straight and composed face as you walk up to the teacher’s desk, inaudible whispers and shocked stares going in one ear and out the other. 

after all, who finishes the midterm with 50 minutes left? 

you don’t falter, you don’t let your mask slip. however that rule is excused when it comes to one person. your eyes fall on his hunched over silhouette, smirking just the slightest as he flips to the last page of the exam. 

you and park jay. park jay and you. the class’s designated number one and two ranked students. who was which was yet to be confirmed. 

everyone wondered who would end up on top. there must’ve been a rivalry, a game, a secret enemies to lovers? 

to you, it was anything but that. 

it was an offense—being compared to park jay. sure, he was brilliant. you could at least admit that. 

but he was also a member of the en-host club. the vice president, at that. 

you shivered in disgust the first time you found out that he co-founded the club along with lee heeseung. you would expect no less of him, but jay, seriously? 

what would his father think? 

you had no time for trivial stuff like acting as a host and pleasing those who weren’t worthy of your company. 

he wasted hours every day, every week, at and for that club. 

you didn’t understand. 

why was jay pretending to be someone he wasn’t? 

every time someone would mention his name, you would snort and turn your head to the side. 

“that player? don’t count yourself special or lucky. he just wants attention from anyone he can get it from.” 

you vowed to beat him. how could you ever lose to the host, park jay? 

“how are you, mr. park?”

you bow gracefully, a practiced smile plastered on your face. 

you hated it—how jay was a splitting image of his father. you hated any and every reminder of him. 

and just like the two of you, your families were rivals. they had to have been, after all they both competed in the same industries and markets. 

it was only natural that jay’s father took a liking to you. the one who was as gifted as his son, if not better. 

the one who was diligent, compliant, and charismatic. you were the one raised properly. you didn’t make rash decisions that wasted your time and future. 

“good. i heard my son has been troubling you recently. in physics, was it?”

your smile tightens. “of course not, sir. i’m not sure if jay told you, but we recently received a group presentation. he got paired with the kang family’s son.”

when jay got put with the kid who barely paid attention in class, let alone showed up to class, you couldn’t hide your triumphant smile. 

he pats you on the back, “of course. you know i just say that as a joke.”

you pretend to laugh it off, bowing again before excusing yourself to the bathroom and taking your leave. 

when you reach the mirror, you stare at yourself. you looked aggravated, confused, lost. because you were. all because you knew what mr. park was implying. he thought the same as you—it’s why the two of you grew close.

were you really going to let mr. park’s son overtake you in a class? 

while you spent most of your time studying and working, his failure of a son who spent his time messing around had the same grades as you, if not better?

he was challenging you and your future. 

you despised park jay. 

gasps and whispers of awe fill the room. you stand near the back, face unreadable. 

chapter 9 test scores: 

park jay - 99 

y/l/n y/n - 96

…..

yujin nudges your shoulder with a concerned look. “are you okay? i know you spent four hours cramming for that test…”

you don’t say anything and stalk off. 

your room gets the brunt force of your emotions. you rip, crumple up, and trash your notes. your binders and notebooks go flying as you shove and fling them onto the ground with as much strength as you can. 

it was a mess. you were a mess.

how did he do better than you? you know for a fact he didn’t study as much as you did. he didn’t waste hours and hours reviewing the material and practicing. how did he do it?

there must be a reason, you resolve. something must be going on in that host club. 

you vow to figure the truth about jay. 

“what do you think he does there? seduce the girls into giving him answers?”

ningning laughs, “don’t be ridiculous.”

she pauses, “unless…?”

you huff, rolling your eyes. “i need to find out. this isn’t right.”

“you really don’t. you know you’re kinda—what’s the word? obsessed.”

“with jay,” she adds, “do you like him or something?”

you point a finger harshly, accusatorily, at ningning. 

“you know how i feel. my mother and father won’t be pleased. let’s not forget about his father.”

she only laughs, reaching out to put down your hand as you groan in frustration. 

“you sound like draco malfoy, you’re so funny. but go ahead with your plan, i’m not stopping you.”

you rub your temples in frustration. “am i about to make a mistake? is this a bad idea?”

ningning only shakes her head like a parent chiding their kid, “oh, y/n. you know you don’t ever have bad ideas or make mistakes.”

anyways, she was wrong. 

the moment you walked—more like burst—into the en-host club, all eyes were on you. 

you were used to it, but not like this. not like everyone was seeing a ghost. your eyes flit around the room, studying the infamous place. the host club was surprisingly spacious and intricate. you supposed it wasn’t that bad of an area. 

“y/n,” heeseung is the first to greet you and extend out his hand. you almost glare at it. 

“certainly did not expect to see you here. a pleasant surprise nonetheless,” he adds after flinching at your icy gaze. heeseung was the one to turn jay—disillusion him and make your life that much more difficult. 

“have the rumors finally piqued your curiosity? who exactly-“

you hold out a hand to cut him off, “save it. i’m only here to speak to jay.” 

saying his name out left a bitter aftertaste on your tongue. more whispers break out and you grit your teeth. 

heeseung’s eyes widen as jake appears with a grin. great, now you were starting to attract even more attention. 

“so you finally succumbed, huh?”

your eyes narrow. 

“to what, exactly?”

“you know, for being one of the brightest students in our grade, you can be quite dense sometimes.”

“and for being one of the most popular students in our grade, you can be quite pitiful sometimes, did you know that?”

“y/n.”

you bite back your next words at the appearance of the person of your request. jay sends a look to the other hosts, and they leave you two alone reluctantly. 

“what do you want?”

at first, you don’t say anything. 

when you don’t respond, his gaze hardens. “did my father send you?”

you ignore him. “i’m here to observe the club. and you.” 

you hold eye contact until jay finally breaks it and sighs, “fine. i could care less.” 

to your surprise, jay doesn’t say anything else. and in your awkwardness, you realize you have no choice but to follow him around or stand there like a loser. and you were anything but a loser. 

you didn’t know how this whole club thing really worked, anyway. 

you check the clock. how long would this take? how much time of yours would be wasted?

you can’t believe it. the fact that you wasted two hours or that jay was busily working, you’re not sure. probably both. 

all he did was sit down at one of the tables with his laptop. no words were exchanged when you sat stiffly across from him. it’s still a bit uncomfortable, being in this place with no purpose or goal other than to spy on jay (not to forget the girls absolutely shellshocked at your presence in the club.) 

he typed quite fast, you note by the sound of the keys clicking harshly. jay looked focused, significantly more than when he took chemistry quizzes. 

you attempt to sneakily glance at his screen. eventually, you get a crick in your neck and you sigh. 

“what are you doing?”

“running the statistics for the club’s activities this week,” he responds curtly. 

after about an hour, you frown. where were all the girls? where was his cheesy flirting and hosting that they all supposedly did?

there’s no way he was actually just that busy working?  

you walk off without another word. 

“it doesn’t make any sense,” you furiously chew your salad, “i need to go back.”

“really?” ningning replies with an edge in her voice. 

you slam your fork down. “i-i mean, he stays there until five! that means he doesn’t arrive home for another thirty minutes and that reduces his study time to around five to six hours, considering dinner and washing up. then i have to take into account the fact that his bedtime must be around twelve since he has nonexistent eye bags—“

ningning stuffs a tomato into your mouth. 

“if this isn’t obsessed, i don’t know what is.”

you glare at her as you chew. “is not. being obsessed means you have to have interest in the person or subject.” 

ningning mutters something under her breath. 

somehow, your eyes fall on jay sitting with his host club friends. his arms are relaxed behind his head, as if he was purposely flaunting off to everyone in the room. you want to slap the tinted glasses he wore, you could barely see his eyes. you never knew what he was thinking. 

you curse jay internally. 

ningning gets up. “anyways, i’ll see you in calculus later.”

you come to your senses again, nodding at her. “let me know if you need any more help on the problem set.”

she grins, patting your head. 

“thanks, good luck getting his attention.” 

“whose?” you call out but she’s already gone, leaving you to ponder your own thoughts. 

the sound of silverware scraping the plates makes you cringe. besides that, there was complete silence in the dining hall. 

you knew what was coming. 

“i heard jay scored the highest on the last physics exam.” 

you look down. “yes, father.”

you were used to it. 

“how long did you prepare for it? i thought i raised you properly,” his cold voice never failed to put a shiver down your spine. 

“i’m sorry. i’ll do better next time…” you barely manage to get out. 

you pray he’s finished. 

“i heard he barely studied. spends all his time at that horrid club, yet he scored better. interesting.”

you wipe your mouth before standing up. “i’m going to finish my homework. i promise i’ll work harder, father.”

you leave the table with clenched fists. every freaking time. 

you want to punch the wall, scream and kick. it wasn’t fair. you gave your all to make your parents proud, and it was never enough. when would you be enough for them? 

you told yourself every time, that you weren’t affected. it didn’t matter.

yet it still hurt. 

you’re on autopilot the entire day at school. you’re in and out, brain fuzzy. indeed, those were the consequences of a sleepless, turning and tossing kind of night.

“-y/n?” 

you swear, it was so bad you could literally hear your parent’s disappointed voices in your ear. 

“y/n!”

you jolt up in your seat, accidentally knocking a pencil off your desk. your professor eyes you along with the rest of your classmates. along with jay. 

it wasn’t like you to zone out. 

“i’m sorry,” you stammer. “could you repeat the question?”

“i didn’t ask a question,” they raise an eyebrow, making you look down in embarrassment. 

“are you alright? do you need to go to the nurse?”

you decline and apologize hastily, straightening your posture and grabbing your pencil off the floor. your teacher resumes their lecture and you hate how you can still feel jay’s eyes linger on you. 

when class is dismissed, you’re packing up your last notes when you feel eyes on you, once again. it was just you two left in the room.

you already know who it is.

“that wasn’t like you.”

“i know. i don’t need your fake concern,” you spit out. 

his eyes widen as you stand up and shove past him. 

“hey-“

you stop in your tracks, turning around to face jay—the root of all your issues. 

“are you happy now? seeing me like this? you embarrassed me, you won. there’s no need to pretend you care when it’s obvious you don’t. can you even?” 

he isn’t able to get in a single word in as you stalk out. 

by the end of your last class, you hate to admit it, but you’re actually regretting your words. you constantly replay that last moment in class, when you actually saw an ounce of emotion on jay’s otherwise stoic face. when it actually seemed like he got hurt by your words. it couldn’t be, though. 

jay didn’t show his emotion. he didn’t care, unlike you. no matter how much his father compared the two of you, jay did what he wanted and he did it well. 

while you hated to see that you were the weak—the jealous one.  

you didn’t mean to take your anger out on him—you knew jay would never intentionally beat you. 

you would. you were the one who needed the validation, and therefore, you had to do your best. you had to be the best in order to beat jay. and yet, you find yourself in another moment of weakness. 

standing in front of the music room, you sigh. here you were once again. when you walk in, you head straight for heeseung.

he’s sitting rather comfortably, cozying up to two random students you’ve never seen before. 

when you clear your throat, heeseung sits up as his eyes widen at the sight of you. “y/n?” 

“i need to speak with jay,” you can’t seem to look him in the eyes. 

“again?” he smirks. 

you exhale slowly, trying your best to keep your cool. “please. it’s urgent.” 

and suddenly, you’re standing in front of him. your hands clasped together, eyes downcast. 

at first, no words are exchanged. you know jay—he won’t be the first to say anything. it takes a minute for you to collect your thoughts. to finally let it sink in that you were here, in this situation, in front of him. 

“i… i didnt mean what i said.” 

“earlier,” you quickly add.

you take a quick glance, only to see the same emotionless expression he always wore. 

“alright.”

you swallow. he stands there. 

jay proceeds to push his glasses further up his nosebridge , “if that’s all, then, i’m a bit busy.”

“r-right. yeah.” 

your eyes follow his back as he begins to walk off. 

“wait! wait.” 

he slows, but doesn’t turn around. 

you scrunch your face up, cringing. “can i-just like, stay? for a moment?”

jay being jay only shrugs. 

and for the second time, you find yourself sitting across from jay. again, he’s simply typing away on his computer. 

no flirting or messing around with the guests. 

your curious eyes wander around the giant room. if you weren’t in the position you were in, born into, maybe you would’ve come here. 

your eyes fall back on jay. maybe you would’ve requested him. his looks weren’t that bad, and when he wasn’t talking school-

you clap a hand over your mouth, horrified at the thought. jay looks at you from over his screen, but his fingers never stop moving. 

you shake your head, as if to physically remove the thought from your head. 

“so… uh, what are you doing?”

“club work. finances, promotion, sponsors. basically everything behind the scenes.”

your eyes squint, “then how are you the vice president?”

he sighs as if he’s used to the question, “beats me.”

“then, you’re not a host? every time i’ve been here, you haven’t done anything host-like.”

“the two times you’ve been here,” he corrects and you roll your eyes. 

“it’s because you’re here.”

“what?”

“you scare off my usual clients, so i cannot host,” he states as a matter of factly. 

your mouth forms a “o,” but you soon cock your head at him. 

“why would i scare off your clients, though?”

his cold eyes glint up at you. “i think that’s a question to ask yourself.”

you stifle a groan. 

“either way, i don’t have many requests since i’m usually busy keeping the club alive.”

you knew it wasn’t true. there were plenty of girls who whispered about him in the halls and glared at you. not that they would ever do anything—you knew they were rightfully scared of you. 

“you’re saying that you’re not popular then.”

“if that’s what you want to think, then sure.”

“and yet, i’m here.” you cough awkwardly. 

“but you are not here for the same reasons,” 

jay stops typing abruptly. he looks at you, and you start spluttering at his implication. 

“there is no way i would ever waste my time here to-for you-“

“yet you’re still sitting right in front of me,” he smirks, “you said what you had to say earlier, no?” 

curse him for being your one weakness. there was no one who could beat you in an argument except park jay. he was so infuriating. 

you slam your hands on the table, “yes. thank you so much for the reminder. but don’t you dare think i’ll go easy on you after today.”

you turn your nose up before leaving. you hated how he always got your heart rate up, palms sweaty and knees weak. jay always riled you up, it was just because of how infuriating he was.

that was the only reason, right?

ningning smoothly slides into the seat next to you, “i heard you went back to the host club?”

your eyes widen. 

“just admit it, you like jay. you realized all the feelings you felt about him were actually, in fact, for him. no need to be embarrassed, everyone else already knows,” she teases. 

you choke but attempt to cover it up with a small ahem, straightening your back. 

“i don’t know what you’re talking about. i only went there because of my curiosity. you know the saying: keep your friends close and enemies closer? yeah, i’m just sizing up my opponent.” 

she sighs, patting you on the head. 

“it’s alright to spend time with jay, you know. you and your families have known each other for a while. plus, you guys are literally the same person—just in different bodies.” 

although she didn’t mean it in that way, you begin to realize she’s right. 

you and jay are a lot more alike than you realize. same overbearing parents putting immense amounts of pressure on the two of you. if anything, you should have been friends—not enemies. 

who were you trying to protect yourself against? jay?

or your families who caused this whole mess in the first place? 

you suddenly get out of your chair, leaving ningning to stare at you. 

“where are you going? study hall isn’t over for another hour!”

“i…i have to go somewhere.” 

“and skip studying? what has possessed you, y/n?” she says incredulously. 

as you run off, you silently agree with her.

your feet lead the way, automatically taking you to the place you need to be without even realizing it. 

you open the doors rather harshly, stomping over to the familiar table. you already knew he would be here. he always was here if he wasn’t in class. 

jay sits there, and to your surprise, he’s strict and gazing out the large tinted glass windows. as you approach him, he pushes the bridge of his glasses up, looking at you with inquisitive eyes.

“how do you do it?”

he blinks at the question. 

“pardon?”

“how? how do you not care?” you almost demand him to answer, feeling all the pent up frustrations bubble up to the surface.  

“about your family, your duty, about everything!?”

you’re almost panting, glaring at him with glassy eyes. you needed to know. 

“it just doesn’t make sense. we’re in the same boat, yet you don’t care and you don’t seem affected. after everything that has happened, how can you feel so normal? how can you pretend like everything’s going to be okay?” your voice cracks.

to your surprise, jay sighs. he quietly gets up and looks up at you. clearly, like it’s the first time you’ve ever looked in his eyes. they draw you in, an endless void of darkness. 

you can finally feel the tension in the air. you finally notice that the two of you are alone. 

“if anything, i used to care more than you. i was worse off than you. it wasn’t always easy. it still isn’t.” 

you cross your arms. 

“you’re not lonely? stressed? is that why you decided to join the host club?” 

“i just decided to. i decided that i won’t let them dictate all parts my life. i chose to do this along with heeseung. he showed me a different world, a new path to life. not everything has to be for your own future benefit and success.” 

you look down. the sight of your own clenched fists surprises you. 

you know jay. you’ve known jay, for a long time. you’ve seen how he used to be. what an arrogant and selfish know-it-all he was. then, he changed. he became a host and suddenly, he was having fun with friends and doing everything he could for the club and them. 

but, you were in different positions. he fought back against his parents for his life, while you couldn’t even imagine coming close. why did you think you could come to him? 

“then… we’re not as similar as i thought we were. nevermind any of it.”

as you turn away, jay speaks up again. 

“you think you’re selfish. spoiled and special, perhaps.” 

you stop. 

“but you give tutoring to those who need it. and it’s not just for your reputation and the hours because you do it outside of school. you’re friends with ningning but she’s the second daughter, set to inherit nothing. you secretly give your packed lunch to the one person in our class who can’t always afford it.”

you quietly gasp. 

“i know. because you’re just like me.” 

you stand there, silently debating before walking out.

there were too many emotions. how did he know? how long has he known—noticed all those things about you? 

worst of all, it feels like you’ve reached a deeper level, a mutual understanding, in your relationship with park jay. 

whatever relationship you both even had. 

people are more than shocked to see the sight in front of them. this type of news—gossip—would reach the headmaster in a day or two. but those fan girls filled with jealousy would never do anything about it in fear of getting on your or jay’s bad side. 

park jay, helping y/n organize notes before class? 

y/n y/l/n, showing up to the host club on a weekly basis to sit with jay? 

and if your parents had anything to say, you turned the other way and pretended not to have heard. 

no one understood, like there was a silent understanding between just the two of you. 

jay scoots over, almost as if he was saving you the seat. almost like the seat was yours, it always had belonged to you. your heart warms at the thought. 

“our families are having another dinner.”

“i know. probably to discuss our futures, don’t you think?” 

you hum, passing him a honey citron drink and he gratefully accepts it without a word. for a minute you both enjoy the drinks in peace.

“maybe. probably. your mother was the one to invite us over, you tell me.” 

“i suspect to talk about the latest business affairs. then our grades.”

“oh goodness me,” you sigh and jay can’t help but genuinely smile. you liked the fact that you were one of the only people who could do that.  

“at least i’ll have you—or we’ll have each other,” he remarks rather normally, but the fidgeting of his hands with his pen tells you otherwise. 

you glance up at him, face warming slightly. he was right, though. it was a hard fact to get adjusted to. you did have someone else now. 

of all people, jay. he was the person you least expected, and yet… the only person you knew it could be. 

and maybe, you guys could heal together. you scoot your chair a bit closer to his, leaning to look at his screen. he doesn’t seem to mind at all. 

you knew you could and would heal together. 

previous episode. | next episode.

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[i-hate-accidents]

i hate accidents: the between

femme!reader x benedict bridgerton, femme!reader & the bridgerton family, femme!reader & penelope featherington

summary:  the adventures of a working class femme who befriends a fellow writer, a boisterous family, and a bewitching second eldest son

sections:  I. the beginning / II. the between / III. the ball

y/n:  bipoc, she/her, afab, nonbinary femme, queer, working class, of immigrant parents

content warnings:  classism, mentions of financial survival, microaggressive sexism, microaggressive gender assumption, intersectional low self-image of y/n, positive/supportive families, retelling of recurrent microaggressive homophobic experience with y/n’s family member in [II.vi], short description of almost throwing up (not related to low self-image) in [II.vii]

word count:  9.1k (of 38.8k)

story context:  everything in s1 and s2 of the tv series is canon for this story except for the s2 epilogue with the bridgertons.  this story takes place leading up to and into the 1815 season. 

additional notes:  this story is incomplete. scenes that are not written are described in chevrons <> with third person pov or are delineated by isolated ellipses. additionally, the author has only watched s2!  she has not watched any of s1 aside from clips, and they have not read the books aside from quotes used in edits.  they have not yet watched queen charlotte.  the author kinda knows the gist of an offer from a gentleman; they are familiar with sophie beckett (and are excited to meet her/them in the tv series!).

author’s note:  this is the first time the author has written fanfic in 13-15 years.  :)  it is her hope that they have made some progress since her pre/teens.  additionally, this fanfic has been written, on and off, over the course of two years.  the author sincerely hopes you find some sort of joy in it, especially the readers who maybe hope to see themself a little more specifically in the world we so love.

tagged: @omgsuperstarg @bedobeeeee @stvrdustalexx @anisas-nonsense @crazymar15 and all who have liked the story so far: the author extends her gratitude for your engagement with the first section. <3

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.i ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“have i told you that you are the best model who has ever sat for me?”

it has become a common occurrence.  whenever you read while in the drawing room, benedict asks if you can be his model for his hand studies.  you oblige, seeing how you are already so still while reading aside from the occasional page turn, and—more so—you want to support how benedict progresses in his craft.  today, you and benedict are sat at a table as hyacinth plays a solitary game of cards on the floor and kathani and anthony sit at a couch with some delicious smelling tea.  you had come over to meet eloise and penelope first thing but were soon informed that the two young ladies were still at the markets with colin.  that made you smile; your loud friend is, no doubt, inserting herself emotionally and physically in between your two friends in love.

you feel yourself scrunch your eyebrows at benedict’s comment.

“surely you are exaggerating.”

“hyacinth was my last model; she was horrific.”

you hear an aghast gasp and do nothing to hide the amusement in your smile.

“it is difficult to sit still!”  the youngest bridgerton yells.  

“hyacinth, it is not becoming of a young lady to ye— ow!”

you see somewhat in your periphery how kathani puts the hand she used to thwack her husband’s arm back on her teacup handle, smiling.  benedict, in the meantime, groans and seems to be focusing even more intently on his sketch as not to make eye contact with his youngest sister.

“yes, i understand it is difficult, but you did not sit still for even eight seconds.”

you have not shifted your position in the past half hour or so as not to ruin the angle of your hand for benedict; but you need not visual confirmation to already know that hyacinth has rolled her eyes in response to her brother and returned to her game.

“well, what about the art academy?”  you continue.  “there must have been very good models there for you to draw.”

and very beautiful ones, at that.

“it is true, there were; but,” you see him smile as he smudges his paper, “none are comparable to you.”

you feel your cheeks light aflame and, with a cough, focus even more intently on your passage.

“then i ought to give up on my profession as a basket weaver and put in my request as a model at the art academy.”

“you do realize that you would have to pose—” you see how he pauses his drawing, looking to see where the youngest is in the room, and lowers his voice as he leans forward towards you; (you attempt not to roll your eyes), ”—nude, in order to be a model there, y/n.”

“yes, and what issue is there with that?”

you look away from your passage to benedict to make a point with your stare and are startled to see how startled benedict looks, the familiar ocean of his eyes almost entirely gone and replaced by the black of his pupils.

“nothing.  there is no issue.  no issue at——” he coughs, scratching the back of his ear, no doubt smudging it with charcoal, “would you like to see my progress so far?”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.ii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< in the gardens of number five.  penelope, eloise, hyacinth, and gregory are adventurers looking to save the princess benedict from the banshee y/n.

< hidden behind a hedge, y/n and benedict bicker. >

“you are a middle child on a technicality, benedict.”

“what is that supposed to mean?”

“you have seven siblings.  anthony the eldest, hyacinth the youngest—and everyone in between simply a middle child?  you all could not be more different from one another, and you are at the very top; you are practically an eldest child.”

“i’ll have you know that no one, myself included, sees me as such.”

“i’m familiar.  an eldest sibling with a penchant for peculiar tea is not one i would describe with an overwhelming sense of duty.”

“how do you know of that?”

“kathani told me.  she recounted to me her first dinner with the family and how transcendently in the most literal sense you had behaved.”

“so you two talk of me?”

you feel the tips of your ears heat, but fortunately your hair hides your embarrassment sufficiently.  you roll your eyes.

“is that what you gleaned?  do not think too deeply about it.”

“i shall think about it deeply and often,”  he states with a twinkle in his eyes.  in an attempt to ignore your fluster and flutterings, you roll your eyes again and shove him.  he laughs, his nose scrunching and eyes crinkling adorably whenever he is truly delighted.  despite your best efforts (you put in no effort), you smile at him.  it cannot be helped when you are around benedict.

“now, make haste; hyacinth is about to cast a spell, and she needs a princess to save.  may i grasp your arm?”

“grasp my what?”

“your arm!  i need to pretend as if i am holding you captive, but i am not simply going to take hold of it without permission.”

“how chivalrous of you.”

“i suppose i’ve learned from a sufficient enough gentleman.”

benedict grins and offers his arm.

“i am yours for the taking.”

it is preposterous how much this man makes you want to roll your eyes.  and how much you welcome it.  in the moment, however, you refrain yourself and, instead, smile at him in return as you yank yourselves both out of the hedge to be seen by the others.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.iii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< on a morning before she is off to number five, y/n realizes that her last remaining skirt still needs to be cleaned after she had spilt a bottle of ink on it.  (she was devastated by losing so much writing material and money in one fell swoop.)  she had been so preoccupied with work that she had forgotten to clean it. 

< in a rush, she looks throughout her house for extra skirts but to no avail; the only thing she finds that she can wear is a pair of trousers from when her father was younger.  she finds this suitable enough, puts them on, and runs off to bridgerton house.

< upon arriving at the drawing room wearing trousers, y/n hears a choking sound. she looks over and sees that benedict has somehow spilt tea all over himself.  as the bridgerton family makes comments of curiosity and support of y/n’s current attire, benedict excuses himself, y/n hearing how he mumbles that he needs to change his clothes.

< after some time, benedict returns, but y/n notices that, aside from removing his coat, he still wears the clothes he was in.  she remarks to herself:  how can he have been gone for long enough but still be in the same clothes? >  

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.iv ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you gasp.

“wait!”

you do not wait to hear a response from your companions; you right about turn, swing open the door to number five, and run into the house, straight towards the drawing room.

“benedict!” you shout, “you must come see!”

“wha—“

you grab his hand, pulling him up from his slouched lounge.

“quickly!  you must make haste!”

adrenaline and joy rushing in your veins, you lead benedict out of the drawing room and towards the entrance where, upon returning, you see giles, with a large beam on his face, holding open the door.  you laugh, shooting him a quick nod and grin of your gratitude, and bring benedict outside, pass penelope and colin, pass the gates of bridgerton house, towards the road, and halt yourself and benedict in place.  

you shoot your forefinger outward, pointing towards the sky, your grin ever growing.

“look!”

benedict has been looking at you incredulously, as if you’ve completely lost your mind, and perhaps you have, but you’d be damned if you got to see this and benedict hadn’t.  he shifts his gaze and grin from you towards the sky, and as you had expected, as you had hoped, his expression transforms from gleeful confusion into complete awe.

“see?  it is just like your palette of ideas!  the oranges, the reds, the yellows, the purples, the pinks.  here it all is, made by mother nature herself, and you have already managed to capture the hues in the pigments of your paints!”  laughter bubbles out of you.  “it is amazing!  you are amazing!”

you hear a soft buzz in your ear, causing you to turn towards the familiar sound.  a bumblebee swirls about your head, and it makes you giggle.  you always had a fondness for the sweet creatures; how wonderous one has come to greet you at such a moment!  the bee lands on your nose, as if to give you a kiss, causing you to giggle even more, before it departs and flies off into the sky.

as you stare at your departing friend, as you stare into the sorcerous colors of the sunset, as your smile feels permanent in this moment, you ask benedict,

“isn’t it beautiful?”

“yes.”

you turn to benedict, expecting to see his side profile tilted towards the sky when, instead, you connect with his ocean eyes.  gazing at you.  

your smile fades away as you quietly suck in air through your nose.  you feel a soft caress at your hand, and looking down, you see that you are still holding hands with benedict, him gently rubbing the side of your hand with his thumb.  you look back up, and with indecipherable ocean eyes and a soft smile on his lips, he still gazes at you.  butterflies flutter maddeningly within you.  the way he looks at you, it makes you feel scared.  but you’d be damned if you allowed your fear to tear yourself away from benedict.  so, instead, you smile back and gently rub the side of his hand with your thumb too.

“well!”

you and benedict reel back from one another, letting go of one another’s hands.  as you feel the loss of his touch, you whip your head towards the voice and see a smirking colin, by the side of a smiling penelope, both approaching the two of you.  

“while i hate to get in the way of two— friends in the midst of a conversation, i must fulfill my duties and escort miss featherington to her home.”

you roll your eyes as you promptly ignore the fire that burns on your cheeks.

“you rich people and your escortings.  penelope lives across the way!  she would have already been home if you would have let her, colin.”

“yes, that is true,” pipes up penelope, “but then i would have missed out on such a beautiful sight,” and instead of gesturing at the sunset as her words imply, she keeps her eyes locked on you and benedict.

menaces.  i am friends with menaces.

with smugness in their smiles and delight in their eyes, penelope and colin nod their heads in farewell.  as they move past, you feel a soft squeeze on the side of your arm and see penelope giving you a wink.  you stare off at the couple, penelope featherington and colin bridgerton, your absolute menaces of friends who have left you and benedict stunned in spot.

benedict.

benedict!

you turn your head to face him.  he must have realized at the same moment as you, for you are greeted by an equally speechless expression.  feeling yourself staring into his ocean eyes a moment too long, you cough and look away.

“right, i suppose— i, going— i should be going.”

“of course— yes, that is— right, yes, very good—— not!  you going!  you going is not— not good!  i— we— are more than glad to let you stay!— not let you, but!  but have you stay with—— us!  stay with us!—”

“benedict,” feeling the instinct to touch his hand again, you hesitate and, instead, touch the side of his arm.  you offer him a smile to his (adorably) flustered state.  “i understand what you are trying to convey.”

he huffs out a breath and smiles warily in return, and it is truly absurd how beautiful he is when his suave falls away.  when he takes off the façade he performs to the world and is just himself.  not a bridgerton, not a second eldest son, not a gentleman.  just— 

benedict.  

the one you—— care for.  

the one you care for.

the one i care for.

“thank you, y/n,” you hear him say, “for sharing this with me.”

“of course.  you were first to come to mind when i saw it.”

“shall i— shall i escort you home?”

you snort, inadvertently breaking whatever odd energy has grown between the two of you, and he grins in response.

“goodness, no.  i am fully capable of walking there myself.  besides, it is too far from here, unlike miss featherington,” you intonate the last of your words with mockery.  you will battle colin bridgerton one day.

“i enjoy a long walk.  and with such a beautiful sight, it would be much more a blessing than a burden.”

“daylight is fastly fading; the sunset will not last another eight minutes.”

“yes, the sunset.  because that is what i was referring to,” he says as he stares at you with a lopsided grin.

rolling your eyes, and feeling the violent flutterings in your stomach, you shove benedict by his shoulder, which causes him to laugh and throw his hand up in mock surrender.

“good evening, benedict,” you finalize as you walk away, a smile quickly forming on your lips once out of his sight.

“good evening, y/n,” and you hear the smile in his voice.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.v ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“it is here!”

you had just begun to cross your writing when you look up and see kathani enter the drawing room, paper in hand.

“what’s here?” you inquire.  the viscountess smiles.

“perhaps you should be the first to see,” and she hands you the sheet.

taking it into your hands, you are immediately struck by the ornate illustrations of flowers and foliage ornamenting the borders—they are printed on! rather than hand drawn.  you run your fingers against the paper to test your observation.  you’ve only seen such a feat in the books you’ve borrowed from the bridgertons, so it impresses you (though perhaps it shouldn’t surprise me, you remark to yourself) that kathani has found a press to accomplish this feat for her printing. 

you then take in the lettering and read,

a ball in titania’s garden court

“come, now a roundel and a fairy song.”

the company of

is requested at bridgerton house, number 5 in grosvenor square, on thursday evening, jul. 6, 1815 at 9 o’clock p. m.

“you helped inspire the theme,” kathani remarks.  you look up from the paper to her; her eyes are intently on you.

“me?  how so?”

“with our reading of his work, and our conversations with eloise and penelope, he was naturally on my mind when planning for the ball.”

you beam.

“how wondrous!  your first ball in the city, and you are bringing the fairies to it,” you turn to the others. “you must tell me how it goes!  i’d be delighted to hear what the dresses were like, with the theme and all, and if any larks ensued.” 

you note to yourself how penelope will likely know of all of the latter far better than any of the bridgertons, but it would be intriguing, nevertheless, to hear their perspectives.  you turn to the viscountess once more, “it is a brilliant idea, kathani.  i’m honored to have had some part in it.”

you see her open her mouth in response—

“oh good!” 

—when you hear anthony’s voice at the entrance of the drawing room.  

“you’ve accepted!  that is wonderful news.”

you furrow your eyebrows as he approaches.

“accepted?”

“the invitation.  to the ball.”

“what?”  

anthony looks around the room to his family and then back to you.

“i— am beginning to think that is not what you were responding to.”

“how quick of you, brother,” deadpans colin.

“i have just entered!”

“and have proceeded to make a fool of yourself,” eloise counters.

“it’s appropriate for the theme, really,” colin turns to kathani.  “sister, perhaps you might change the dress to costumes?  anthony would make an excellent bottom to your titania.”

“i am—” you start, “still lost.” 

kathani gently nods her head to the paper in your hand.  you look down again.  previously neglecting it for the printed words and illustrations, you now read what is clearly in the viscountess’s handwriting between ‘the company of’ and ‘is requested’:

miss y/n y/l/n.

“this is an invitation.  for me.”

you look up from the invitation and are greeted by kathani, and the rest of the bridgerton family at number five, expectantly staring at you.

“but—— but—”

“now, i understand that this might be quite overwhelming,” begins kathani, “but after speaking with the family, we all agreed that it would be most wondrous if you were to attend the ball.  we would make certain that you felt prepared, beforehand, with lessons in dance and etiquette, hence why i’ve prepared the invitations earlier than customary.” 

“not!  to assume that you are not already competent in these,” adds colin.  “you certainly have more grace than eloise— ow!”  and he rubs the part of his arm eloise just smacked. 

“but if it would appease your mind,” violet interjects, “and help with your concurrence, then we would be more than elated to offer them, and to do them with you.”

“your attire would be paid for,” anthony states simply, “and we would pay the business of your employment their missed earnings for the days in which you will be preparing for the ball and resting from the event’s happenings.  and, if you shall allow it, we would support you and your family from your abstained days of wages.”

“balls are dreadful,” asserts eloise, “but!” she continues swiftly, and exasperatedly, upon seeing her family’s reaction, “with your presence, this one would certainly be more bearable.  pleasant!, even.”

“we,” hyacinth gestures to herself and gregory, “cannot attend the ball, but we will help you in any way we can before then!”

“and we will be there on the morning and afternoon of, if you would like!” gregory exclaims. 

kathani was wrong.  

this is not quite overwhelming.  this is overwhelmingly overwhelming. 

you do not even know where to begin in processing all of the information with which you have just been bombarded.  the wages, the etiquette, the paying, the attire, the dancing, the days off, the ball itself.

but what strikes you most of all—

“you all… agreed?  of wanting me at the ball?”

you look around the drawing room.  your friends’ countenances are illuminated with beams.  all, but one.  you turn to him.  he was the only one not to have stated his case in the family’s proposal. 

before you can start to ruminate on the implications of such, he offers you a smile.  small, but enough for those stupid, stupefying butterflies to flutter within.

“we did,” benedict says.  “we do.”

you exhale.

“then,” though weary from the turn of this day, you offer a small smile in return, to benedict, to the family, “then yes.  i shall go to the ball.”

hyacinth and gregory nearly knock you over in the chair you’re sat in by the sheer power of their hugs.  violet, clapping her hands, laughs with delight at the sight.  eloise exclaims something about penelope finding out.  anthony states he shall begin the ledger.  colin, for whatever reason, starts talking about the cakes that will be there.  kathani remarks that there is much to do and that she, and all of the family, will be there every step of the way.

and benedict smiles.  still small.  still enough.  with those damned ocean eyes.

i shall never understand the absurdity that is this family.

and how delighted you are by that.  how grateful you are for them.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.vi ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“your rehearsal partners will be myself and gregory,” states the viscount.

you try to withhold your sigh.  you have been dreading this day since kathani first told you of it.  you are utterly delighted to be a student under the tutelage of the viscountess; you are utterly petrified of being a dance student.

“and why do benedict and i not have the privilege to dance with y/n?”

it also does not quell your petrification that the entirety of number five has decided to be present for your lessons.

“because, colin, you two are unmarried men; i am a married one; and gregory is a child.”

“i have just entered my adolescent years!”

“precisely,” anthony grins, “a child.”

“kathani and hyacinth can be potential partners,” you suggest, diverging as not to join hyacinth in her laughter at gregory’s disgruntlement.  despite the anxiety that somehow both swells and knots within you, you are resolute on being intentional and present during your lessons.  “the former is married, and the latter is a child.”

anthony opens his mouth to respond but suddenly closes it shut.  he blinks.

“why have you not considered eloise?”

“because she is unmarried.  i am assuming that you do not want me to partner with colin or benedict, for fear of some sort of— romantic attraction forming.  so i’ve applied the same logic to eloise.”

there is a small silence.  you can see how anthony (and perhaps the rest of the room, you sense) is busily processing within his mind (and theirs) what you have said to him.  

kathani pats her husband twice on his back and smiles at you.  

“that is an excellent idea, y/n.  we will rotate your partners amongst myself, anthony, gregory, and hyacinth.  let us begin.”

and so you do, and it is quite horrendous.  or rather, you are quite horrendous.  

kathani is, unsurprisingly, a marvelous teacher, but not even she as a guide can prevent you from stepping on her, anthony’s, hyacinth’s, and gregory’s feet.  you apologize profusely each time you do so, and so you apologize frequently and often, but each of your partners still smile at you without a drop of deceit or regret in their expressions despite their winces.  they encourage you in all their particular ways.  kathani gently knocks the foot you stepped on her to where it ought to be placed.  anthony pacifies that you are doing well.  hyacinth recounts how she had struggled as you when she first began her lessons.  gregory assures that you are not nearly as heavy-footed as eloise.

even those who aren’t your partners encourage you.  eloise confirms gregory’s statement, not once peeking into the book she holds in her hands.  colin claps his hands to help you keep the tempo of the steps.  violet, at the pianoforte, enthuses how much progress you are making with each passing dance.  penelope, who joined the drawing room part way through a rather disastrous cotillion with anthony, begins to clap her hands excitedly upon seeing you.

the only bridgeton you haven’t heard from the entirety of your lessons is benedict.  while rehearsing a sequence in a quadrille with hyacinth, you notice the vacant spot next to eloise where he once sat.  you try to feign to yourself that your following misstep is due to your ineptitude in rhythm and nothing else.  certainly not the lack of presence of a particular someone.

after you curtsy and kathani bows upon finishing a scotch reel, she beams at you.

“i believe that is enough lessons for today.”

you sigh with every bit of your lungs, your attempt at perfectly squared shoulders immediately slumping in relief.  the family chortles in response and gives you a pleasant round of applause.  you feel your cheeks go flush with embarrassment, completely unbelieving that your horrific display of dancing deserves any sort of praise, but the sentiment warms your heart.

“i would like to pardon myself, if that is all right,” you request towards kathani, “for a moment, is all.”

“yes, of course,” and she takes your hand.  “and we do mean it, y/n.  you have done well today.  you should be proud.”

before you can respond to her, she gives a gentle squeeze of your hand and turns to walk towards anthony.  blinking, you shake your head out of your thoughts.  the bridgertons and penelope seem to respect your want of excusing yourself as they grin or nod their heads in your direction but make no move towards you.  you take a moment more to look at the family and then turn to leave the drawing room.  you cannot help the smile that blooms on your face as you cross the entrance—

when a hand catches your wrist and pulls you further away from the drawing room.  you are about to scream when you see benedict, with furrowed eyebrows and pleading ocean eyes, swiftly put his forefinger to his pursed lips.

“fuckin’— benedict!” you whisper-yell, attempting to honor benedict’s unspoken request for your silence.  “are you mad?  and why are you out here?  have you been here this entire time?”

“may i speak with you?  in private?”  

the urgency in his whisper stupefies you, any frustration felt within fading away.

“of course you may.”

he slides his hand down from your wrist to take your hand—

“follow me.”

—and, with haste, leads you down the corridor and up a set of stairs.

“are you certain this is all right?  the last time we had spoken alone together, you were scolded by your brother.”

“i am more than willing to take that risk with you,” benedict says sincerely, with a smile, but it is strained.  it is a subtlety, but with knowing him for as long as you have now, it is something you have noticed in his expressions.

“are you all right, benedict?”

he promptly ignores your question.  it is unlike benedict, to ignore one of your inquiries.  to retort with a snarky quip, yes; to make a particularly theatrical countenance, yes; to respond with uncertainty, yes.  but never outright, deliberate evasion.  it makes your heart swell even more with worry.

you and benedict arrive at a set of grand doors.  turning the gilded knob, he opens the door and, in true gentlemanly fashion, holds it for you to pass.  such etiquette would have caused you to roll your eyes, but with benedict’s current distress, you will yourself to refrain. 

just as you enter the room, benedict enters too, turns around, and carefully closes the door shut.  he reaches into his pocket and, after some shuffling about, retrieves a key.  you hear a click of the door, and before you can comment on the absolute peculiarity of this situation thus far, benedict whips himself around and faces you.

“do you have attraction to both sexes?”

“i— what?”

“do you have attraction to both sexes?” he repeats with impatience.

“to all persons,” you correct with equal impatience.  “and yes, i do.”

benedict blinks at your response but shakes his head out of his thoughts.

“and how long, how long have you known?  of your attractions?”

“‘of my attractions’?”

“i am asking a question, y/n!”

“you are being strange, benedict!”

“i am!—” and he turns away from you, running his hands through his hair, sucking in air through his nostrils.  he turns back to you and it startles you—how frustrated his countenance is, and how vulnerable his ocean eyes are.

“i am merely trying to ask a question.  i am trying to understand.  please, y/n,” benedict begs.  “please.”

“i— all right,” you try to soothe.  “i, i don’t know how long i have known.  i suppose, since i was a child?  or, perhaps, truly in my adolescent years, when i found myself gazing at those with names like emily and andrew and how i—” you swallow, suddenly feeling exposed, “how i held my breath around them, whenever they were close, when— whenever they were near.”

“and do you still feel that way?”

“pardon?”

“do you still feel that way?  around people?  for people?”

just for the one.

“i, i do.” 

after staring at you a moment more, benedict turns away again, and you quickly exhale a breath—when you’re stricken with a sudden fear.

“does this change your opinion of me?” 

benedict turns back to you, frustration still in his features but confusion slowly seeping into them.

“when i—” am i crying? “when i told my sister how i felt for a girl in our neighborhood, she did not—” you try to shake your head of the fog that starts to fill your mind at remembering, “did not look at me for weeks, and when she did, i felt like, like—— like a monster.”

his face falls.

“no,” benedict states, fastly approaching you, “no, no, no, y/n.”

“i am sorry,” you choke out as he places his hands on the sides of your arms.

“why are you apologizing?” benedict whispers, applying pressure to where he holds you steady.  you had not realized you’ve been shaking.

“you had asked me questions, these questions of importance to you, and i— i have made it about myself— i am so sorry, benedict.”

“you have nothing to apologize for.” 

you shut your eyes close, feeling your face contort in the way it does when everything simply becomes too much for you to bear.    

“you were, and are, so much more courageous than me.”

benedict’s gentle voice and strange statement rouse you to open your eyes.

“i do not understand?”

“you have told another person about your attractions to both— to all persons.  i…”

he goes quiet, unable to finish his thought aloud.  you scrunch your eyebrows in confusion, but staring into his ocean eyes a moment more—vulnerable, scared, hurting—it dawns on you.

oh.

benedict.

your heart blooms as you shake your head.

“it is not about courage, benedict, i do not think.  with my sister, it was about trust.  i thought i could trust her with my feelings, with— well, with me.  and she had proved me wrong.”

“and you have proved me right.”

“why are you speaking so vaguely today?” you manage to jest.

benedict rolls his eyes, a small smile resting on his lips.

“and you have proved me right in that i could trust you.  and i do, y/n.  i trust you with— with me.”

perhaps you should have thought better of it, but your emotions move faster than your logic, and your emotions call you to reach out your hand and cup benedict’s cheek as you see tears line his ocean eyes.

“as i trust you with me.”

you do not mean to do it; perhaps it’s the intimacy of your conversation, perhaps it’s the proximity of standing so close, perhaps it’s the way you can feel his bated breath mix with yours, but your eyes flicker down at benedict’s parted lips and, swallowing, you look back into his piercing, indecipherable ocean eyes and breathe,

“benedict—”

when a loud sequence of knocks thud at the locked door.

“oh god!” and you take off, running away from benedict and looking about the room when your eyes fall upon a wardrobe.

“what are you doing!” benedict whisper-shouts at you as you hasten towards your destination.

“i am trying to prevent you from being in trouble again with a certain eldest brother, and you ought to be doing the same!”

you open the door to the wardrobe, hop into it, and, grabbing the door’s edge, look at benedict and the adorable shock on his face.

“answer the door as i hide in here!” before he can babble out a response, you whisper-yell, “go!” and promptly, quietly, shut the wardrobe.

before long, you muffedly hear the clicking of the door and it being opened.  there is a bit of quiet until gregory’s voice asks—

“what happened to your hair?” 

“what of it?”

“it is a mess.  it has not been that messy since—”

“nevermind my hair!  what is it that you need?”

“have you seen y/n?”

“what?  why would i know of y/n’s whereabouts?”

“do not play foolish, brother.” 

“i am not playing foolish!”

“you two are always together!  you and y/n are like eloise and penelope, anthony and kate, colin and food— you never see one without the other, and she hasn’t been seen since her lessons.”

“i have not seen her; does that answer your inquiry?”

“why are you so on guard!  ugh, never you mind.  hyacinth and i will look for her on our own, with no thanks to you.”

before benedict can retort, you hear footsteps walking away from him and down the corridor.  there is another moment of quiet before you hear the shutting of the door and the turning of the key.  you slowly open the wardrobe, and when you see a disgruntled benedict and benedict only, you hop out and walk towards him, unable to contain the growing smile on your face.

“you shouldn’t be so harsh on gregory.  he was, after all, merely asking a question.”

“you’re taking his side?”

“of course i am.  he, along with hyacinth, are my favorite bridgertons.”

“and where do i fall on this list of yours?”

“eighth,” you reply easily, and benedict’s jaw drops, “but that’s merely on a technicality— i have yet to met daphne and francesca.”

“what have i done to be thought of so little in your regard!” benedict’s expression is aghast, but you see the ghost of a smile on his lips (that you certainly do not stare at for another moment too long).

“do not mistake your low ranking in how i care for you,” you tease but then soften, unable to keep up the lark over your truth.  “i care for you, benedict.  for all of you.  precisely as you are and what you feel and who you—” you swallow, “whoever you love.”

the jest and play fade away from his expression.  benedict simply stares at you, ocean eyes once again indecipherable.  before he can say anything, you step into his space and tidy his hair.

“you ruined your coif earlier,” you whisper.

“what fortune i have for someone to care for me so.”

his smile is so sweet, his voice so sincere, his ocean eyes so gentle.  it is too much, it is so much. 

“if you weren’t such a mischief maker,” you diverge, “you wouldn’t need such fortune.”

that makes him scoff, and you grin, quietly glad a new emotion begins to overtake your overwhelming one.

“wise words coming from a mischief maker herself.”

“a mischief maker who knows how to handle her trouble,” you respond pointedly. “speaking of which, i must be going,” and you turn from benedict and head towards the windows.

“and where are you going?” you hear the befuddled amusement in his inquiry as he follows you.  you unlatch a window.  

“i must leave by way of window and make it appear as if i have been out in the gardens this entire time,” you carefully open the window and peer outside.  no one in sight.  pleased, you turn around and are greeted by an adorably perplexed benedict.  “how else will we deceive the family into believing that we were not alone together?  particularly after gregory inquired after me and found you here.  it would not help our situation if we left the same room, even if at staggered times.”

“this is not the first time you have escaped home,” he declares matter-of-factly.

“of course it’s not.”

“yet another thing we have in common.”

you snort but then cover your mouth.  you turn around and peer out the window, hoping, willing that no one has heard you.  no one in sight still.  you sigh in relief and turn back to a grinning benedict.

“you are compromising my meticulous plans.”

“then you ought to be going.  i shan’t compromise you any further.”

you roll your eyes deeply, ignoring the double entendre (and the flush you feel creeping across your face), but soften.

“will you be all right?  are you all right?”

benedict inhales deeply and exhales equally so.

“i—— have much to think over.  of myself.  to myself.  but, it is a comfort to know that i am not alone in this.  in this experience, the feelings themselves, as well as in the navigation of them,” the corners of benedict’s mouth tug into a gentle but most radiant smile, his ocean eyes incandescent with joy.  “thank you, y/n.”

the butterflies flutter violently within.

“i, i have done nothing.”

“you have done more than you know.”

unable to withstand the intensity of his gaze, you turn back to the open window and steady your hands onto the sides of the frame, leveraging your weight against the ledge to lift yourself up.

“be that as it may,” you assert perhaps too forcefully, “i truly must be going now.” 

you carefully but easily shift your body over the ledge and place your boot against the exterior side of bridgerton house to start your descent.  you should just go—leave and neglect the violence of feelings within you.  but you do not.  instead, you look up and are greeted by the sight of benedict at the window, hands also steadied on the ledge, body leaning towards the outside and downwards, beaming at you, the afternoon sun casting light upon his now even more beautiful countenance.

shit.

you will yourself to focus.

“if you need or wish to speak again on this, you will let me know, yes?”

he still smiles but you see the subtlety of his ocean eyes transforming, from delight to… something else.  you don’t know what, benedict’s ocean eyes ever indecipherable in moments such as this, and it does nothing to quiet the flutterings within.

“i shall.  and hopefully in a manner that does not require your escape.”

“oh, this is nothing.”

“of course it’s not.”

you smile broadly, a particular burst of fondness and play and courage overcoming you—

“farewell, princess.”

and you begin your descent down bridgerton house.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.vii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< kathani and y/n make a day of getting y/n a dress for the bridgerton ball.  they meet first at bridgerton house early in the morning, before the rest of the family is awake.  they break fast together, and kathani teaches y/n how to make masala chai.  y/n remarks that how kathani speaks of indian drink and food reminds y/n of how her parents talk about their drink and food from their home country.

< the conversation then grows into talking about how much the ocean intrigues y/n because of how her parents have talked about it, especially in their stories of emigrating to england by ship.  the mystery, beauty, comfort, fear, and joy of the ocean all in one entity.

< the conversation then shifts to kathani and y/n talking about the scrappiness of making do with what resources you have access to.  it makes y/n recount a memory with her mama when she had offered to give up buying ink, quills, and paper to support the family once her elder sister had married and left their family home. >

“it is a hobby, mama, it—”

“it is important,  she says pointedly.  “it is your passion.”  and she smiles.  “we have managed once with just my and papa’s wages, we shall manage now.  you need not worry, my child.” 

< eventually, kathani and y/n finish their breakfast.  they leave bridgerton house and hop into a bridgerton carriage to go to the modiste.  it is the first time y/n is in a carriage and it is a surreal, lovely experience.  it feels like a fairytale. >

–

< after arrival at the modiste and introductions, kathani decides to roam the markets of the neighborhood as madame delacroix tends to y/n in the back of the shop. >

“madame delacroix—”

“clients call me madame delacroix,” she interrupts.  you feel shame flood your body.  of course.  you are not a client.  you are a charity case.  at the whims of this wealthy family that has bestowed their pity on you.  how else would you be in such a position, in such a shop, before such a talented artist revered by the upper echelons of london.  you’re a fool, you wish to run away, you must go when you hear what madame delacroix says next—and she’s smiling.

“friends, however, call me genevieve,” she remarks with a wink.

…

“now, y/n, how would you feel about me being,” genevieve flourishes her hand in the air, “experimental with your dress?”

a combination of fear and excitement perk up within you.

“how do you mean?”

“the ton are quite—” she seems to fight hard not to roll her eyes but admits defeat to a sigh, “—conservative in their fashion—”

“you mean dreadfully dull?” you chime in.  genevieve laughs warmly.

“exactly, my dear,” she grins. “you, however, are anything but.  i see the french silhouettes more fitting to your character, to your personality, to your spark.”

you feel overwhelmed by the kindness of words that flow easily from the mouth of your new friend.  you have not known each other for more than ten minutes, and she seems to see something within you.  it makes you feel self-conscious, undeserving, and incredibly proud.

“i would be honored to be graced with the true magnificence of your artistry, genevieve.”

your friend’s eyes shine with joy, and you cannot help but feel utterly delighted that you were the one to ignite such happiness within her.

“my dear, the ton will be green with envy at the sight of you.  with your natural beauty and with my vision, you shall be an unstoppable force.”

you furrow your eyebrows at “natural beauty.”  you open your mouth to comment—

“is there any person you are looking to,” she hums, looking for the right word while looking for her measuring tape, “impress?”

“no,” you lie.  “i would not know anyone aside from the bridgertons and penelope.”

“ah, yes.  miss penelope,” the modiste says with much fondness in her heart. “she is quite brilliant, is she not?”

you beam.  “she truly is.”

“though,” genevieve ponders, wrapping the tape around your waist, “she is rather besotted with the third eldest bridgerton.”

“oh, yes, it is very appar— wait.  why do you say that?”

genevieve shrugs, but you give it more thought.

“are you implying that i have affections for penelope?”

you love penelope.  she has come to be one of your closest friends, and my god she is beautiful inside and out—but you have never felt an inkling for her beyond platonic love.

“i imply nothing—i’ve just said she’s besotted with the third eldest, did i not?” genevieve plays coy with a smile.  “and the viscount, he is very in love with the viscountess.”

“are you now implying that i have affections for anthony?” 

you feel your entire body shudder.  the idea of having any sort of love for the eldest bridgerton beyond one that is platonic makes you want to—  the very thought—

you put one hand to your mouth and the other to your stomach.  genevieve laughs, delighted by this game she’s inflicting upon you and entirely unperturbed by your potential sick in her shop.

“so,” she continues on, “with mister colin and lady kate and their beaus eliminated, unless you are of the temptress kind—”

“no!”

“then,” laughs genevieve, “that leaves three—”

“what do you mean ‘three’!”

“y/n, please, you are a terrible liar.  you have affections for one of your friends, that is clear.”

“i do not!” you lie again.  she tilts her chin down, looking at you pointedly.

“as i was saying, that leaves three.  there is miss francesca, miss eloise, and mister benedict.”

you feel yourself take in a small breath through your nostrils as you hear his name, and you pray that genevieve does not notice.  

“aha!” she declares.  your prayer has failed.  there is no god.  “ah, yes, mister benedict bridgerton.  the second eldest.”

you hold back a groan, not wanting to give your friend evidence to her (very much correct) claim, so instead you lift your head towards the ceiling.  when you snap it back down to look at her, you are startled by how her delighted expression from a mere moment ago has molded into an expression you cannot figure out.

“y/n, you must know,” she states, with so much sincerity in her tone.  you are entirely confused by this shift in genevieve, and your confusion only intensifies when she gently takes your hand into both of hers.

“benedict and i... we had been acquainted— intimately, at one point.”

oh.

“oh,” you respond pathetically.

the words should not affect you.  they should not affect you.  they should— not— affect you.

but—

you huff out a laugh.

“genevieve, why are you sharing this?  it’s all ri—”

“i share this with you,” she replies in earnest, “because while intimate, and yes, even passionate—” you try not to wince, “—it was brief and, most of all, not of depth,” she sighs. “but i can only speak for myself, can i?”

you swallow, hoping it will cure your dry throat, and with a smile say, “he is very lucky to have won your affections.”

“my dear.”

genevieve removes one of her hands from yours and brings it to the side of your face, softly wiping away a tear on your cheek.  you hadn’t noticed you had started crying.  you close your eyes, weak by and ashamed at the frailty of your heart, as you lean into the comfort of your friend’s hand.  

after a few moments, you feel her hand leave your cheek and feel your chin held between her thumb and forefinger, lifting up your head.  you open your eyes.

“anything i felt for him, i feel for him no more, y/n.  he is lucky to have your affections,” genevieve declares.  “and if benedict is an intelligent man, he must feel the same for you.”

you laugh.  

“benedict is a beautiful person who attracts beautiful people.  i am not a beautiful person.”

it is peculiar, how genevieve’s eyes flood with hurt as if you have offended her.  what did you say that has hurt her so?  you were only speaking of yourself.  before you can think further on it, the modiste steels her expression, fire suddenly blazing her eyes.

“well!  then i must prove to you what you fail to see, my dear!  i dare you not to feel beautiful in the dress i make for you.  and if you doubt your beauty,” she peers at you, “will you doubt my artistry?”

you laugh, this time sincerely, radiating gratitude for your new friend.  

“it would be foolish to doubt your artistry.”

genevieve beams.

“exactly.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.viii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you kick your feet off again, swinging yourself back and surging forward as you look up at the stars.  you try not to make too much noise.  you know it’s not proper to ambledly hang about your host’s back garden at night as they all slumber.  you feel as though you are taking advantage of the bridgertons’ kindness in allowing a pauper like you to stay the night at their home, in allowing you any time to stay at their home since making their acquaintance, in allowing—— you sigh again.  you could not sleep.  restlessness has entirely consumed you, and you had decided that some fresh air and some childlike fun would be exactly what you needed to calm your nerves.  while the cool air and the beauty of the night have been a welcomed reprieve, your heart still pounds and your mind still races with anxiety over the ball tomorrow night.

“couldn’t sleep?”

you slam the heels of your boots into the ground as you hear the familiar voice, doing everything in your power to ignore the flutters of butterflies in your stomach upon hearing it, and fall over onto your knees, planting your hands into the dirt so as not to completely and embarrassingly plant your face there instead.  you hear the body of the voice rushing towards you, offering his hand in your periphery.  you look up as benedict’s soft ocean eyes stare into you.  feeling your cheeks flood with warmth, you take your dirtied palm into his, promptly ignore the lightning that shoots out from the touch to the rest of your body, and lift yourself up with benedict’s gentlemanly assistance.  you murmur your thanks as you dust off, in vain, the dirt on your nightdress.

“i did not mean to startle you.”

“well, you have very clearly failed at that,” you remark.

after one last whoosh about your knees to clear off the excess dirt, you look up at benedict and are startled by the utter sincerity of his concerned look.  he looks as if he is about to say something, as if he is about to apologize, when you offer him a smile.

“i’m teasing you, benedict.”

he blinks once before breaking out into a smile, a smile that forcefully summons the butterflies within you to flutter about once again, and laughs.  you cannot help but smile and laugh with him.

“may i have the honor of sitting with you, miss y/l/n?”

you roll your eyes.

“it is your home after all, you need not my permission.”

“am i to ignore the privacy a lady wishes to have?”

“a lady’s privacy, i am sure, is something you wish to have for yourself,” you retort, alluding to your lack of such a title.

he swallows.

“that is something i cannot deny.”

something shifts in the air as benedict stares at you.  you feel yourself holding your breath and, in an attempt to shift away the energy from whatever this— this is (and how much it thrills and terrifies you), you playfully curtsy as you gesture to the swing next to the one that you had occupied.

“i would be delighted by your company, mr. bridgerton.”

the overwhelming gentleness of benedict’s expression transforms into an amused smile, and he follows along with an exaggerated bow of his head.  you take a seat at your swing as he takes his seat at the other on your left.

“i couldn’t,” you say in reply to his first question.  before he can ask why, you hastily jump into your inquiry.  “and why are you up?”

“i was sketching.  i had an idea for a painting and wished to lay out the preliminary work before it escaped me,” he sighs heavily, turning to look out to the rest of the garden.  you feel the loss of his gaze.  “i was frustrated with the results and thought some fresh air would do me some good.”

“what is the idea for your painting?”

he hesitates.

“a portrait,” he seems to admit carefully.  feeling how benedict wishes not to be pressed further, you simply hum an affirmation in response.

“i am certain that your sketch is not nearly as horrendous as you think it is.”

“i appreciate your kindness, but it entirely lacked their spark.”

“you seem quite fond of this person,” you huff with a bit of a laugh, jealousy starting to pool in the pit of your stomach.

benedict smiles.

“i am.”

and he turns to look at you.

you swallow, averting your gaze from soft intense ocean eyes, and kick your feet off the ground to begin a gentle swing.

“you should continue with the portrait,” you rattle on in a hasty attempt at diversion.  “not only are you blessed with natural talent but you are also fueled with such a passionate determination to ever improve your skill because that is how much you love your craft.  an undying devotion to something for which you so deeply care.  it is admirable and extremely apparent in all that you do.”

“and what of you?”

“and what of me?”

“of your passions?”

you scoff.

“my passions?”

“your writing.”

you halt your swing and whip your head to benedict.  he is grinning with stupid satisfaction, and you would find a way to wipe it off his stupid (beautiful) face if you were not so aghast by the situation.

“how do you know of that?”

“well, whenever you are not reading or conversing with eloise, penelope, and kate; or playing make-believe with my youngest siblings; or squabbling with colin and anthony, you are busily writing in a folded quarto.  or, rather, crossing in a folded quarto.  crossing twice, if you can manage.  you are quite the prolific writer.”

you gape at him, and he continues to grin.

“eloise also told me.”

“she told you!” you shriek.

“indeed.  it is, after all, how you met penelope, apparently.  and penelope is how you met eloise.  and eloise is how we— how you met the rest of us.”

you slump in your swing.

“i feel betrayed.”

benedict laughs heartily, and you shoot him a glare.  he holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“she was merely sharing a fact.”

“she is merely a traitor.”

benedict laughs once again, and you summon all the strength within you not to choke it out from his lungs.

“you seem not to handle perception of yourself very well, y/n.”

“when you are me, it is easy not to be perceived,” you mumble, still reeling from the traitorous nature of your loudmouthed friend.

there is a small silence.

“i do not think that is true.” 

you turn to him, once again surprised by the gentleness of his sincerity.

“i see you,” benedict declares in a quiet but steadfast voice.  his ocean eyes, indecipherable once more, gaze into you.

you feel yourself hold your breath, unable to stop the truth from ringing out in your heart, mind, body, and soul.

i love you.

you shoot up from your swing.

“i must be going, it is quite late—”

“y/n, wait—”

“thank you, benedict,” you say sincerely, turning to him.  “i— i really enjoyed our conversation, as brief as it was.”

he blinks and offers you a small smile.  i must control myself, you reprimand as you feel the butterflies viciously flutter within.

“as did i.”

“good night,” you whisper.  with all the self-control you can muster, you turn away from benedict and hasten towards bridgerton house.

“good night, y/n,” you vaguely hear him say from the swings that brought you together.  you attempt to tune out the wistfulness that you hear, that you imagine you hear in his voice.

[olomaya]

Smoking+ (Mild Teenage Delinquency)

*cue the Spongebob 2 Years Later meme*

28-Sept Update: Added Brazilian Portuguese translations (thank you @cs2te!). Fixed an issue where there was no exit to the Sell Fake ID interaction. For those that have the Religion mod, you don't need a separate RM specific version, just download/redownload the main Overhaul package.

3-Sep Update: Thanks to ProtectusCZ over at MTS who let me know about a string issue with the vape flavors. That's been fixed so the flavors should not show up as blank when you are filling/refilling the cartridge. Also the smoking durations should now be tunable so you can adjust them in Retuner.

Czech version now available thanks to ProtectusCZ

2-Sep Update: If you have my religion mod installed, please download this version HERE (alt: here) to replace the main mod file. If you don't and don't want it, carry on.

This is the updated version of my overhaul of Cmomoney's Smoking mod which you can find here (original here). This update adds new features like vaping as well as more delinquency options for your teens by way of fake IDs.

Please read the full instructions after the cut before downloading.

Credits: Fake ID from @aroundthesims. And of course the OG smoking mod from Cmomoney on MTS.

I think that's it. Enjoy ruining your Sims' health and well-being. If you run into any issues, please let me know.

What does it do:

Everything my previous mod did

Sims can now sit and chat with others while smoking

I updated the way addiction works in the game. Previously it was just based on a random number of times smoked but now it's more nuanced and based on how often you smoke and certain trait and lifestyle factors (for example, if you have other smokers in your household, you're more likely to get a smoking habit)

Cigarettes and smoking items can now ONLY be purchased in a special section at the grocery store by YAs and above. You will see a new interaction in the store RH called "Shop for Cigarettes". Teens can get around this by using a fake ID. 

Fake IDs

Teens can purchase fake IDs from: 

Any common criminal (Sim in the criminal career Level 4 or below) 

Any teen that has a fake ID

You can offer a price and based on your offer, the dealer will either accept or reject. 

Rebellious, Computer Whiz or teens with high Rebel Influence Skill can also buy fake IDs online. The underground online market for IDs moves very quickly so prices change every time you check but will never go higher than §500 or lower than §50. Once you purchase, the ID will be mailed to your home the next day. 

HOWEVER, you need to make sure you get to the package first. If your parent gets the package and opens it, then all teens in the house will get in trouble. The one who ordered the fake will get a special moodlet that will allow them 24 hours to confess to doing it. If they confess to their sibling(s), the sibling will either forgive and agree to keep quiet or they will get mad and have the opportunity to snitch to a parent. If the wrongdoer confesses to a parent, it will exonerate the other teens but also potentially get them into bigger trouble with both their parents and their siblings.

Fake IDs aren’t foolproof. If you use it in the store, there’s a chance you will get busted and your fake ID will be confiscated. The chance is based on how young your teen is and the quality of the fake ID. Fake ID quality is determined when you purchase, based on the price you paid so you may want to think twice before jumping on that §60 fake.

Vaping

Sims can now vape, vaping pens can be found where you buy cigarettes.

Vaping pens cost §300 with a cartridge that needs to be filled before you can use and then after every 10 uses. You can buy a regular cartridge or a flavored one and the costs are varied but are all between §200-§300. (I know, it's an expensive habit.)

Vaping is not as unhealthy as smoking regular cigarettes, is less addictive and doesn't leave your Sim with a smoke smell.

For teens, vaping will still get them in trouble if they are caught by a parent doing it.

Known Issues:

There are no IK targets on the sitting animations (they kept floating above the chairs when I added them) so teens will sink a little into the chair because they're smaller than adults.

Download here | SFS alternative

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Bowling Pin

Debut: Bowling

Yeah, Bowling! It's the pin, from Bowling! Bowling is a game, so it is fair game for this blog. And the pins are Weird Enemies! The whole point of Bowling is to Defeat as many pins as possible. You are taught to HATE them! It's messed up. I will teach you to love them.

When anthropomorphizing a bowling pin, are you on Team Face On Tip or Team Face On Base? I think both have their merits. Tip is good for if you want to give it a humanoid impression, like it could walk up to you and shake your hand. Hug you. Even... kiss you?! Base, however, is more of a creature, which I imagine waddling around on a bunch of legs or tentacles emerging from the bottom. It would hobble up to you and ask you, "Gleep gwanorb?" Answer carefully, or it might aim its Space Ray Gun at you! In the base design, the tip of the pin could be an antenna, or it could be read as a long-haired creature that tied its hair up in a tall bun!

You know something messed up? There are more types of bowling pins! No one ever told me that! The classic one we all default to is the Ten-pin, but there are two others! We'll get to them. Biologically, a Ten-pin must abide to the specific standards set by the United States Bowling Congress, adopted by World Bowling. They MUST be 15 inches (380 mm) tall, 4.75 inches (121 mm) wide at their widest point, and weigh 3 pounds and 8 ounces (1.6 kg), give or take 2 ounces (.057 kg). Wow! These would be some unrealistic standards to live up to, if these were not chunks of carved and coated wood produced specifically to match up to these measurements.

The reason the different pins are pictured with different balls is that they are used in different variations of the game! Candlepin is pretty self-explanatory. It's shaped like a candle. But Duckpin? That looks like a smaller, cuter, more marketable Ten-pin. What's its deal?

My first thought was, it's called a Duckpin because it looks like a duck! It has the one red line like the ring around a male mallard's neck, and it is rather shaped like a duck as seen from the front, overall! How cute! In reality, they are called Duckpins because the way they scatter when hit reminded a duck hunter of a scattering duck flock. Always comes back to violence with poor little Bowling Pin. They have it so rough! They could really use a friend, who's always there to pick them up when they're down.

Name: Pinsetter

Debut: Bowling

Pinsetter is just the sort of friend a Bowling Pin needs! No matter how many times Pin is knocked down, Pinsetter will be there to pick it up and put it back in its deserving spot. If any mean ol' stray Bowling Balls try to land a cheap hit, Pinsetter's sweep bar will block them. Play fair, you bully ball! Pinsetter's job used to be done by human Pin Boys, but there can still be a human in the mix, making sure the machine is clean, and unjamming it if need be. I can only assume this beautiful relationship between human and machine is just like that of horse and rider.

The more I think about it, though, is Pinsetter really helping? It's just putting the pins back in harm's way every single time, facilitating their unending torment. It blocks incoming balls, but only briefly, allowing them to crash through the pins as soon as they're all reset. Why does it do this? Who does it work for? Who is sending all these balls?!

...It's Pinsetter.

Pinsetter does not only set the pins. It detects the score, encouraging players to hit as many pins as possible. It returns the balls, giving them the weapons to do so. Humans think they're playing a game, but Pinsetter is playing them all! It controls the whole operation, driven by nothing but pin bloodlust! Maybe Bowling Ball has been misunderstood, another tortured soul, an unwilling pawn in Pinsetter's twisted game!

Bowling Pins are beautiful creatures. They belong in the wild, or with trustworthy, knowledgeable caretakers. To bowlers, they are an Enemy. To me, they are a Friend.