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luckyspike · 5 years ago

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An Absolute Menace - A Good Omens fanfiction

behold and lo for i have heard your cries for a sequel to the whole Crowley is a twitch streamer story

and i have written this monstrosity (4k words)

have fun enjoy

(credit to BrownMan and LetsPlay, without whose playthroughs I never would have been able to accomplish this level of detail since i do not own the game or requisite gaming system)

2000 hours GMT: Stream time.

There is only one problem tonight, and that problem is that Crowley, retired demon and part-time Twitch streamer, has lost his voice. Oh, certainly, he could miracle his vocal cords back to health, soothe the inflammation brought on by an entire afternoon screaming at Manchester the day prior, no problem. But that would remove his excuse to look forlorn while Aziraphale brewed yet another pot of honey-infused tea, and more importantly, would negate his entire strategy for the stream tonight.

If asked directly, he would deny that he had intentionally screamed exceptionally loudly the day prior. That would be an outright lie but, well, demon.

“Come on, angel,” he wheedles hoarsely, over the rim of a steaming mug of tea. “Please?”

“I don’t know the first thing about video games, dear boy.” Aziraphale maneuvers the mug away from Crowley for a second, long enough to deposit a dollop of honey into the mug and stir it in. “I don’t understand why you don’t just fix it for yourself. Really, frivolous miracles aren’t exactly something we should be worried about anymore -”

A memory swims to the forefront of Crowley’s brain, and he slumps. Tries to look pathetic. Aziraphale is better at it, always, but Crowley is fairly competent when he needs to be. “It’s not the same,” he manages. He sounds absolutely pathetic, and his voice cracks pitifully at the end. “It doesn’t work the same.” He sips the tea - too much honey for him, it mingles unpleasantly with the ever-present taste of ash, but it does feel good going down. “Come on, angel, I’ll pick a really easy game. Just tonight. Please?”

Aziraphale watches him for a moment. Frowns thoughtfully. Sips his own tea. “You planned this.”

“I did not.” He sets the mug down, sprawls across the counter, and looks up at Aziraphale, eyes wide and pleading. “Please, Aziraphale. It’ll be on the Switch, nice and easy, I’ll sit right next to you the whole time in case you need help. I can’t do a three-hour talking thing tonight.”

“Hm.” He purses his lips. Takes another sip of tea. “You’ll owe me.”

“Absolutely. Anything you want. Baked goods, rare books … I’ll even go to the opera, if you want. One whole night, not a word out of me, just respectful and quiet.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” It is an agreement, and the angel sets his own mug down, the better to straighten his bow tie. “You swear it’ll be an easy game, yes?”

“Cross my heart,” says Crowley, solemn. “It’s about animals. You like animals.”

“I do, rather.”

Aziraphale sits, awkwardly, in Crowley’s usual chair in front of the bank of monitors in the den while Crowley fiddles with a few things on the computer. He hands Aziraphale the controller, briefs him on the buttons (“Right, move with that thing, yeah just push it around, you’ll figure it out, and your right hand has all the little letter buttons”), and then, after affirming that they’re both ready for whatever Crowley has in store, starts the stream.

He starts, as he always does, with the introduction: “Hey guys, welcome to the stream, I’m your host AJ, variety streamer and quite possibly the oldest streamer on Twitch*. And this is … uh, Ari Fell, he’s been in a few videos, why don’t you introduce yourself?”

[* He definitely is. By a long shot.]

Aziraphale had been in a few videos by this point, most significantly the infamous Nuzlocke run of Pokemon X, which was thrilling and captivating and ended up with both of them crying over the untimely demise of Blanche Devereux, the plucky little Diggersby that perished in the final conflict with the Elite Four. He’d been in a few others, too, and by now they have a routine down. Crowley has the same standard introduction every time, but when Aziraphale makes an appearance, he likes to mix it up.

“Yes, I’m Mr. Fell. AJ’s best friend, his eternal nemesis and your … ah, local tartan enthusiast.”

Crowley snorted. “Accurate. Anyway, as you all -” all 500 people, and counting, although Aziraphale tries immediately to banish that thought and forget that section of the monitors ever existed “- can probably tell, got a bit of a voice problem right now, not really up to a full stream, so I’ve pulled in the backup to try out a little game that’s gotten a lot of press in the past but I never got around to it. You’ll like it, s’got animals in it.” He taps a few buttons on the computer, and the game screen changes. Soothing piano music begins, and they are both bathed in the blue light of the monitor. “So this is Untitled Goose Game by House House. Now, angel -” Aziraphale ignores the deluge of heart icons that fills the chat “- you have never played this game before, correct?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“Great. So the whole point is to be a goose and complete the items on your checklist. Hit ‘begin’.” He coughs, and takes a swig of tea as the screen loads in an image of a little clearing. “Right, says ‘press Y to honk’ so press the Y button and honk.”

Honk. Aziraphale frowns. “Is this the whole game?” Honk. Honk. Honkhonkhonkhonkhonk.

“Nah, says press B to run.” Aziraphale, a little tentatively, begins to maneuver his goose avatar around the screen. He gets increasingly confident, following the tutorial as it directs him.

“Oh, wings, of course, my wings. Can I fly?”

“Nah. Grounded like the rest of us poor saps.” He grins in the face of Aziraphale’s scowl, and takes a diversionary sip of tea. Honk. “Right, through the gate, there you go, tutorial done.”

“Seems simple enough.” Aziraphale is studying the screen, thoughtful, as his goose paddles across the lake. “Now, you said a to-do list - oh! Oh, where’s the dash button? Ah, there. Yes. Excellent, alright. So first it looks like we need to get into the garden.” Crowley nods, and Aziraphale reads on. “Get the groundskeeper wet? What has the groundskeeper ever done to me?”

“Nothing. When has a goose ever needed justification for its actions?”

“Hm, yes. Yes, I suppose you’re right. ‘Steal the groundskeeper’s keys’.” He sighs. “Crowley you picked this game on purpose. You wanted to tempt me into making mayhem.”

Crowley is laughing. “I did,” he confirms. “Oh, definitely, definitely did.”

“Right, well, I suppose it’s just a video game.” He straightens up a little. “And I am a goose. They’re practically agents of chaos in their own right anyhow, so nothing lost.” Crowley is laughing and coughing in the background, curled up in his chair with his free arm around his knees. “Very well. ‘Make the groundskeeper wear his sun hat.’ That one’s not so bad. ‘Rake in a lake’ … well rakes are waterproof so - oh! Have a picnic! How nice.” Crowley does not agree, mostly because he is too busy laughing.

“I suppose I’ll start with the nicer ones.” He leaves the to-do list, and starts wandering around in the game. “Is there a way into the garden? Perhaps if I get on top of these bags. Is that a radio?” Crowley giggles, although it comes out more of a whimper. “I’ll just move that. I say! Bagpipes!”

“I think I need this for the picnic, anyway, don’t I? Where do I go to find the blanket?” He runs around for a minute, radio playing some kind of bagpipe rendition. Honk. “Argh!” The groundskeeper appears from stage right, and begins to pursue the goose. “No, I need this! No, it’s mine now!” The goose swims into the lake. “Hah! Mine. No!” The groundskeeper pursues him, and the goose drops the radio. “No, I took that!” Honk. Honk honk. The goose pursues the groundskeeper now, and snatches the radio back out of his hand, turning and escaping hurriedly into the pond. “Haha! Catch me now!” The goose paddles across the pond, escaping under the bridge. When he crosses under the bridge, the groundskeeper turns back, defeated. “Crow - AJ, look! I got the radio!”

“Yeah.” Crowley is wheezing, curled up in the chair, the tea safely stashed on the nearest plant stand. “Good job, buddy, you got it.”

“Did you see him chase me into the pond? The cheek. I did mark off the ‘get the groundskeeper wet’ item though.” On-screen, the goose is wandering around, tinny music blasting from the radio. “Now if I could only find the blanket …” He looks happily surprised. “Aha, but he opened the garden gate!” The goose waddles toward the gate, when suddenly the groundskeeper appears from the garden, summoned by the siren song of his radio. “No! No, not again!” Honkhonkhonkhonk. The goose, once again, flees into the pond and under the bridge. “Give up already, you stupid man!”

“I’m dying,” Crowley gasps hoarsely in the background. “I’m actually dying.”

“Where’s the blanket?” Aziraphale is coming as close as he ever does to snarling. “I have never in all my years had to work this hard to have a picnic!”

Crowley is clutching his sides. “That makes one of us,” he manages, before lounging back in the chair and coughing, face aching from laughing. “Oh I’m gonna die.”

“When have you had to put in this much effort for a picnic?” Aziraphale grouses, before he brightens when he spots the plaid picnic blanket. “Ha! Got it!”

“Oh, I dunno, basically from ‘You go too fast for me’ until about three years ago.” Honk. The goose freezes because Aziraphale has whipped around in his chair, the better to glare at Crowley.

“Dear boy.”

“You asked,” he says, before he dissolves into giggles again. “Go on, you have to finish the picnic.”

Honk. “We’ll discuss this later.”

“I imagine we will.” Crowley lunges forward, taps a button on the keyboard, and leans in close to Aziraphale, smarmy grin plastered on his face. “Love you, you’re pretty.”

“There’s a microphone -”

“Muted it.”

“... You’re an absolute nightmare.”

“And you’ve got 600 people watching you pretend to be a goose.” He jerks his head toward the computer. “Game on, angel.” The button is tapped again, the microphone live again. “Sorry, technical difficulties, nothing to see here. How’s the picnic going?”

Gradually, the items for the picnic are assembled. Aziraphale, as the groundskeeper goes on chasing him, becomes more antagonistic. “I’m going to steal this crate just because I can.” He gasps. “A goose hole!”

“A goose hole!” Crowley wheezes behind him. “Yes, a goose hole! Get his keys and throw them in the pond!”

By the time the to-do list updates with ‘make the groundskeeper hit his thumb with a hammer’, Aziraphale has fully embraced his bastard side and is more than eager to honk with prejudice. The second phase of the game is worse: the shopkeeper that continuously chases him away with a broom becomes the fully-realized subject of his ire, and Aziraphale pursues her with all the determination of a spiteful avenging angel. When the challenge comes to lock her in the garage, he complies with gusto, even confining her beyond the required instance.

“You stay in there you hateful creature,” he grumbles, as the door once again comes down and entraps her. “Forever.”

“You bastard,” Crowley snickers in the background. “You’re brilliant.”

When he proceeds to the third portion of the game, he waddles straight into the meticulously-kept garden of the older gentleman reading his newspaper. Honk! “This is the next twenty minutes of your life, sir, dreadfully sorry, but I’m sure you’ll do something in the next fifteen seconds to absolve me of guilt.”

The man does not, truthfully, do anything to make Aziraphale feel less guilty about stealing his slippers, his hat, and the rest of his possessions, although the woman next door with the painting is annoying enough with her constant fence repairs that the angel is able to alleviate some of his guilt by mis-directing his frustration with her to the man. After he accomplishes the ‘do the washing’ task, the two of them watch in amused fascination as the man tries to throw the woman’s bra back over the fence and misses, repeatedly.

“I spent eight pounds on this game,” Crowley observes. His voice is barely-audible at this point, between the laughing and the occasional instructions to the angel. “What a spectacular physics engine.”

“Is that a lot for a game?”

“It is a criminally low amount to charge for this game.” The man again fails at throwing the bra at the fence. “Can you imagine if we walked outside one day and saw our neighbors doing this?” His eyes widen. “What if you could possess a goose and instigate all this in real life?”

“Can demons possess geese?” Aziraphale has moved on, and is dragging the woman’s duck statue away so that he can impersonate it and get dressed up with a ribbon.

“Nah. Geese are already demonic - too much evil for one soul, probably explode. Or become a Mega-Goose and destroy the world.” He looks thoughtful. “I hope demons can’t possess geese.”

“Mm.” The woman fastens the bow on his neck, and Aziraphale beams. Honk! The woman falls down. “Look how dapper he looks with the ribbon!” He flees, through the hole in the fence, and into the next zone. Crowley groans, nearly silently. He checks his watch.

“Angel, you’ve been going for three hours. You want to save this for later?” If Aziraphale hears him, he doesn’t acknowledge it, instead studying the to-do list.

“‘Make the old man fall on his bum’ … Mhmm. Let’s do that one first.”

“Oy.” Crowley slouches forward, his hands folded and resting on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “You’ve been going three hours. You can call it and finish the game next stream, if you want.”

Aziraphale turns to him, brow furrowed, entirely incredulous. “Dear boy, you can’t possibly be serious. This town is absolutely discriminating against fine, upstanding geese -” Crowley lets his forehead fall onto Aziraphale’s shoulder, his own skinny shoulders once again shaking with laughter, “and I will not rest until I’ve put them all into their place.” Honk. “Now go get yourself some more tea, you sound dreadful.”

“Don’t break the computer.”

“I won’t.”

When the demon returns with a fresh mug, the typical honking of the goose has been replaced by a frantic off-key harmonica. “Serves you right for playing such an appalling instrument! Stop chasing me!” Crowley adds a slug of honey to the tea out of the plastic bear-shaped container, and relaxes back into his chair.

“What’re you doing now?”

“I’m going to make this man fall on his bum,” Aziraphale announces. “Hang on, wait for it …” The old man in the game starts to sit on the little stool, and Aziraphale directs the goose to snatch the seat out from under him. “Take that!” The character drops his harmonica too, and the goose snatches it up, waddling away and tooting through the infernal instrument relentlessly. “Mr. Fell strikes again!”

Crowley puts his face in his hand, although he is grinning from ear-to-ear. “You’re a madman. You’ve gone mad with power.”

“Goose power,” Aziraphale agrees. “Nearly god-like.”

Crowley winces. “Careful,” he rasps. “Not that I don’t love the hubris but … you know.”

“Tell me it’s not.” He drops a bucket onto another man’s head, and then cackles as the man falls into a full box of tomatoes. The back of his trousers are splattered with tomato. “He’ll never get that stain out. It’d take a miracle.” Crowley snorts.

The most thrilling part, by far, is probably supposed to be the end of the game. The stealthy lift of the beautiful golden bell, and the sneaking back to the goose’s den where the bell is to be deposited to join its fellows. Crowley imagines that if he were to be the one playing it, he would be sneaking through, crouching all the while, waiting around corners for people to be distracted before slinking by with the bell, careful not to make a sound.

But Crowley is not playing, and never before, he thinks, has the difference between a celestial soldier and an infernal demon of temptation and subtlety been so stark. Aziraphale seizes the bell, honks triumphantly, actually out loud with his mouth yells the word ‘Honk’, and takes off through the town. “The goose is loose, catch me if you can, suckers!” Crowley has just enough time to put his tea down on the plant stand before he is overcome with laughter once again, doubling over and spilling onto the floor. “It’s my bell now!”

He makes it all the way through the pub and into the garden of the poor neighbors before the first bell-theft occurs. The painter catches up to him as he drops the bell to destroy the desk, and Aziraphale squeaks in indignation. “No! No, I worked hard for that!” He tugs the bell back away from the painter, and makes a bid for the desk. She catches up to him.

“No! No, you won’t - just drop it, I’m taking it, you can’t stop me!” She snatches the bell again, and begins to walk away. “You’ll be the first to fall under my vengeance!” The goose waddles to the larger bell in the garden, and a resounding bong distracts the painter from her task. The goose, once again, grabs the bell from her hand and hurries over the desk, across the fence. “Hah! Thwarted!”

“You showed her,” Crowley wheezes from his place on the floor, where he has resolved himself to watching the finale upside-down. “Go, angel, go!”

“You’ll never take me alive!” His eyes widen. “Oh, no the shopkeeper. We’re going to have to get past the shopkeeper. She’s atrocious.”

“Just run?”

“She’s fast. She’s wily.” He frowns. “Oh, this part would be perfect for you, dear boy - I’m sure you’d slip past her without any trouble.”

“Oh, indubitably, but you’re the one playing. Just try sneaking.”

He tries to sneak. Probably. It’s a terrible attempt, and the shopkeeper is alerted to the goose with the golden bell soon enough, giving chase. Aziraphale flees, straight into a dead-end. “No! No, you abominable woman that’s mine, that’s -” Honkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonk. The woman knocks the bell from the goose’s beak. “Assault! Thief! Stop!” Honkhonkhonkhonk. He nips the bell from her hands and runs. “Later loser!”

The groundskeeper, for all the consternation he caused early in the game, does not present much of a problem. Aziraphale darts past him, bell jangling, honking madly, and swims briskly across the pond to his base in the little glade. Proudly, honkhonkhonk, he proceeds to the gulley where a good five-plus bells are already deposited. He drops the bell. Crowley claps.

“Angel! You beat a video game!”

Aziraphale throws his hands up in victory. “I’m the greatest goose in the world!” He turns to Crowley, who also has thrown his hands in the air in celebration, and slaps him with a high-five hard enough to nearly dislocate the demon’s elbow. “The town surely has been taught the error of their ways.”

“Yep, you showed them. You’re a bloody menace.” The game tinkles out another piano riff, and they glance at the screen. “Oh, there’s more.”

“Is there?” But the angel is already studying the task list. “‘Make the boy fall into a puddle’ - oh, I’m certainly doing these.” Crowley has since slithered back up into his chair, and is sipping at his tea, the better to soothe his voice which, after the laughter Aziraphale induced with his bell escape, is essentially completely gone. Aziraphale pats him on the knee. “I’ll play off-stream, though, Cr - AJ. I wouldn’t want to steal your time.”

Crowley shakes his head, and points to the chat stream. Aziraphale looks, and then smiles. ‘No, on stream!’ seems to be the overwhelming sentiment, accompanied by various pictographs and variations on ‘Nooooo more Fell!! More Fell!’ “Oh, you’re all much too kind.” Hearts explode in the chat. “Oh, my.” He turns to Crowley the better to disguise the flush in his cheeks. “I suppose I did alright, then?”

Crowley nods, encouragingly, and then gestures to the computer. “Sign off and end the stream,” he whispers, with a heavy element of hissing. Aziraphale considers that if they hadn’t known each other for so long, he might not have understood him. Crowley waves a hand again, as if shooing Aziraphale toward the computer screen, and he turns back around, suddenly unsure of what to say in the face of the camera.

“Ah. Very well. I suppose that’s all for tonight. I … I’m afraid I don’t remember what you usually say at the end, dear.” He looks to Crowley, who shrugs. “I suppose I could make up my own. Ah …” He thinks about it, and then smiles, peaceful and content. “Thank you for staying, I hope you had a nice time. Be kind to one another.” He turns, nods to Crowley, and the demon nods back, leans forward, and taps the stream off.

“Did I do alright?” Aziraphale asks, as soon as the screen showing the viewers’ perspective goes dark. Behind him, Crowley tosses his sunglasses onto the plant stand next to his mug.

“You were perfect. Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“No, it was … fun.” He looks toward the computer. “What nights do you usually do this?”

Crowley swallows, the better to make his voice at least somewhat audible. “Well, tomorrow’s one, typically. And I doubt I’ll be up to a full stream even in 24 hours …”

“Perfect. Back to Goose Town, then.”

“Back to Goose Town.” He grabs his mug off the plant stand, takes a slow, meditative drink, and watches Aziraphale for a minute, yellow eyes fixed on blue. “You can really be a bastard sometimes, you know it?”

“Yes, but as a goose I am absolved of my actions by virtue of being a goose. It’s just goose-driven mischief.”

“True.” Crowley sighs, and leans into the angel, eyes closing, at peace. “I still like it.”

“You would.” Aziraphale idly runs his fingers through the demon’s hair, and sighs as well, equally content. “So I’ll play again tomorrow. And then …?”

“Well, if you don’t finish, you can take another day, too.” He shrugs. “You want to do another one?”

Aziraphale considers it. “Are there … games for two people?”

“Oh? Oh, yeah. Loads.” He coughs. “Bunch of ‘em.”

“Without a lot of murder?”

“Yep.” He is quiet for a long time, and Aziraphale thinks he must have fallen asleep like that, slouched up against Aziraphale’s shoulder, mug of tea nestled loosely between his knees. Aziraphale is considering how he will take him to bed; last time he tried to carry him in a bridal carry, and he tripped over the rug in the hall and dropped the demon, who promptly turned into a snake and hid under the couch for twelve hours. He figures he will start with the tea, and inches his hand toward the mug, before it spills. Unexpectedly, Crowley stirs, and takes another gulp of tea. “You think you might like a game about farming?”

“Farming?” He hums thoughtfully. “Maybe. I’m sure if it’s with you, I’ll enjoy it.”

“Maybe we can do that one next, then.” He blinks his eyes open and yawns. “Long as you let me organize the greenhouse. You can have the galaxy sword.”

Aziraphale smiles softly. “Might not be a good idea. I don’t have a great track record with swords.”

“Hm. True.” He shrugs. “Figure it out when we get there, I suppose.”

#good omens #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #in which crowley is a twitch streamer and aziraphale is a good sport #goose omens #mbmbam references #crowley #aziraphale #i wish i didn't enjoy fanfiction so much #untitled goose game

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pangtasias-atelier · 5 years ago

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Not Gone To Waste

Really wanted to focus on older games while requests are closed , cause while I enjoy the newer games, I vastly prefer the older games in the series. So expect more stuff from them.

So here is Magvel! Specifically, Cormag and Artur. I absolutely love the two but never shipped them before cause I mostly played sacred stones when I thought I was straight. So it wasn't until recently when I replayed a bunch of the older games and most of my ships swapped around to gay ones lmao

They're both such good characters and their support is pretty cute too at the end of their a support. My sacred stones playthroughs are either, Mages only or Grado only, so they're mostly always used.

This came out longer than I expected but there's not a bunch of WG related stuff I feel? Kinda wanted more cutesy stuff with them.

Also, this was inspired by a post by @chubbyheroesworthyheroes about Cormag being an angry/stress eater and I ate that shit up, cause it's a great idea.

Also, titles are still hard

________

Heavy breakfast finished, an increasingly common occurrence, Artur checks the calendar once again to indeed make sure that it's been a week. Correct, Artur prepares the large stable attached to his house. The area clean from disuse and his upkeep, he replenishes it with food and water. A little tummy adorning his body, the bit of flab slightly pressing up against his shirt, Artur blushes as he feels the newly added weight jiggle. His face is ever so slightly rounded out.

Picking up and reorganizing the tools, Artur's familiarity with the task aids him in completing it reasonably quick. Proud of his work, he checks over it. Everything neat and tidy, Artur closes the stable as he heads back inside.

The house is somewhat full of decoration, the decor souvenirs from his and Cormag's travels or gifts to one another. Everything tidied up, an important part of Artur's routine, he proceeds to another important part of his routine, cooking. Such a fine day soon turning to noon, the day calls for an equally fine spread. Gazing upon the clean area, he decides to go a bit simpler, not wishing to dirty such a spotless kitchen with his admittedly somewhat messy husband returning today.

Pulling loaves of bread out, deciding in a picnic with the day's sun softly illuminating the world as the gentle breeze sways everything in its path, Artur prepares the rest of the ingredients.

A multitude of vegetables spread out, he slowly chops them, the fear of accidentally cutting himself forever present in the back of his mind. With that done and everything already at the ready, he begins making the sandwiches.

Not wishing to waste any ingredients, he finds a bunch of sandwiches staring back at him when he finishes. The amount relatively split, the right containing much more vegetables to his taste, the ones on the left are more meat heavy, his husband's preference. Washing his hands, he places a hand to his face as he rests his elbow it on his other crossed arm. Sighing, he takes out the picnic basket. Placing half inside, he shuts the lid. Testing the heft of the basket, he packs the other half. Just in case for later he tells himself. Beverages prepared and placed nearly, Artur has everything ready. The only thing now to wait for is Cormag.

Who seems to come right on time, Genarog's piercing screech frightening him still to this day despite their years together.

Saving the almost dropped plate, his initial terror leaves him. Basket in hand, he carries in front of him with both hands. Smiling, he heads out to receive Cormag, Cormag busy with work this entire past week.

Cormag busy ever since the war finished, the looming threat of Grado's earthquake hung heavy when Knoll warned him. Deciding to stay and help Grado, Cormag's experience as a knight and expertise in flying was invaluable. Artur had wished to follow him but Cormag had shot that idea down, wishing for him to remain safe. Though Knoll and Natasha gladly accepted his aid with such expertise in the healing arts, Artur tagging along regardless. Duessel had nearly yelled at Cormag for trying to prohibit Artur, his exorcising light magic invaluable.

The two already close, it had been Artur who proposed, Amelia managing to implant the idea in him despite his trepid nature. Cormag had coughed and laughed at first. Artur's fears realized, Cormag profusely apologized before pulling out a ring from Genarog's satchel, the two falling for Amelia's plan. The two deciding to remain engaged until the situation ameliorated, it was a huge sigh of relief to them and their companions when they did. Lute had throttled Artur the day of the wedding for only telling her of his engagement through a letter instead of in person. Though she promptly rushed him away to help him prepare, blocking Cormag from seeing his husband to be before the ceremony. With everything going well, the two had eventually built a cottage a bit of a ways from the capital and settles down. Artur offering his healing arts for any who needed it, Cormag had stepped down as a knight. Branded a traitor, even his commendable work afterwards still left that mark in his name. Despite it all, Cormag had decided to rejoin, this time as a simple soldier.

Stepping out of the house, the increasing size of Genarog as he descends closer widens Artur's smile even further. The wyvern hitting the floor, Artur slows down his pace to avoid running like a fool. Placing the heavy basket on the floor, Artur breaks into a jog regardless. Cormag jumping off, he opens his arms wide to receive Artur.

Except Artur rushes past him, first greeting Genarog. Neck leaning down, Genarog happily receives Artur's affection.

"I hope Cormag has been treating you well," Artur teases, scritching the underside of Genarog's chin.

"You should worry about how you're treating me," Jokingly frowning, Cormag tugs at Artur, pulling him into an embrace. "Don't tell me you married me just to get closer to Genarog?" Cormag leans down, arms wrapped around Artur as he rests his chin on Artur's shoulder.

"No, of course not! I-" Cormag's snort stops Artur. Artur sighs, barely slapping Cormag's back his arms pinned to his side with Cormag's bearlike embrace.

His embrace accurately describe Cormag's appearance as well. A fact that Artur discovered early on about Cormag is that he eats. An issue bugging him, Cormag seems to lose all inhibition and stuff himself in his blind rage or in his stress induced hunger. Cormag an emotional passionate man, reaching said two states is very easy. Artur accustomed to it, snacks and food are always in arms reach for him to hand Cormag. To his embarrassment, he enjoys the way Cormag fills out his clothes as evidence of his binges pile up. And the physical evidence is evident on Cormag's body.

A full on gut struggling against the tucked in maroon shirt, the tan mass is hidden but not forgotten. The soft warm ball of fat Artur's favorite to rub after Cormag's angry binges. The sleeves pinch his arms, a dip in them where the fabric ends. His stomach and moobs push against the tight shirt as if builders moving marble, the fabric straining and clinging to Cormag's body, each curve, each roll, each pound desperate to escape the suffocating confines of his shirt. His pants suffer the same. Thighs wide apart with each tree trunk thigh pressed up against each other, his ass bulges from the back, both square with the large accumulation of fat. Cormag hefty and fat, obesity coming closer, Cormag's binging even has an effect on Artur, Artur now has a potbelly stomach. Yet he's still small compared to his husband.

Sinking into Cormag's embrace, Artur relaxes before remembering. "I made lunch," Cormag perks up at the prospect of food, even letting go. Spotting the basket, he jogs to it, Artur blushing as Cormag's love handles toss and turn. His also ass shakes behind him, the pants slowly hitching down.

Cormag lifts the basket with one arm, grinning. "Where to?" Lifting his feet hand to whistle, Artur stops him.

"We can eat by the stream, better to eat close to home. Genarog can rest," Artur grabs Cormag's hand, the two walking hand in hand.

The walk short, Cormag's longer strides has Artur struggling to keep up, Cormag enthusiastic to eat. The small stream has a gentle flow of water, the tranquil environment conducive to their nice reunion. Picnic blanket spread out by Cormag, Artur begins taking out the sandwiches.

"This…is a lot," Cormag duly notes. Artur turns red, hand covering his mouth.

"I know, I just didn't want it to go to waste and-"

"It's okay, we can save it for dinner or something," Cormag sits down legs wide apart, happily gesturing for Artur to do the same. He does, sitting cross-legged. Cormag immediately goes for the more meaty selection.

"So, how was work?" Artur innocently asks as he reaches for a sandwich himself. A groan coming out of Cormag, Artur looks up.

"It was a waste of time," Blood boiling, Cormag tears into the sandwich as he pauses. "Duessel just sent me on a mission for some bandits," The sandwich destroyed in two more bites, Cormag reaches for another as he continues the story.

Staring mouth agape, each fit of anger Cormag has always a shock, Artur saves face, nibbling on his own sandwich. The contents of Cormag's story ends up lost on his, his mind too busy focusing his eyes to watch rather than listen. The way Cormag frowns and bursts with energy as he recalls the story, how it makes him jiggle, his gut shaking as it rests on the floor, embraced on both sides by his thighs, his no longer angular face cherubic in its soft curves and blonde hair, his arms jiggling as he reaches for more sandwiches. The entire sight is common yet enjoyed all the same.

Eyes focusing on Cormag and nodding at occasional moments, Artur continues to nibble at his sandwich. He reaches for a second one, hand searching the blanket as he keeps his eyes on Cormag, his speed of eating still constant. Still a bit peckish, Artur grabs a third one. But even that isn't enough, a fourth one reached for but never found. Looking down, the entire basket is empty.

Focusing back on Cormag, he spots the last two sandwiches, both nearly finished. Cormag carries one in each hand. Still ranting, he alternates between each one, cramming them into his mouth with each bite.

"And I did all that for nothing!" Scoffing with his rant over, Cormag shoves both last bites into his mouth, furiously chewing before swallowing. Sighing, he pats his stomach. "Anyways, what did you do?" Cormag's stomach answers for Artur, the loud gurgling showing its displeasure with so much food crammed in such a short time. Letting out a burp, Cormag groans as he leans back, arms wobbling as they support his sitting mass. Huffing, he closes his eyes. Artur immediately by his side, Cormag glances up at him. "Overdid it again, huh?" A hiccup jostles his overstuffed stomach, the contents like a torrent.

"N-no…" Artur fumbles, always red at the exhausted state of Cormag. Shaking his head, he leans down for a kiss before helping Cormag up. Nearly faltering under the heavier mass, Artur manages to get him up. Ignoring the basket and blanket, he trudges along with a groaning Cormag. Cormag's stomach complains all the while, one hand attempting to soothe the angry beast.

Opening the door, Artur leads Cormag to their bedroom. Gently helping him down, Cormag sighs as his ass rests against the bed. Artur's hands gently rest on his gut. Lifting up his shirt, Cormag holds back his smirk as Artur helps him remove it. Gut free, the tan bulging mound bubbles from its free form. Pants unbuttoned helps calm it further. Artur gets straight to work, rubbing Cormag's taut stomach.

"Damn," Eyes closed, his teeth bite his quivering lips. "Keep it up," He sighs, head dipped back. He lets out a small chuckle as Artur stutters, a protest in the back of his throat. Stomach, relaxing, Cormag grabs Artur under his arms, lifting him up with ease. Leaning back, Cormag had Artur lie on top of him.

"C-Cormag!"

"It's fine," Cormag groans, his stomach disagreeing with his statement. "Besides, you like this," No question offered, the statement thrown out instead, Artur incessantly babbles, mind not forming any coherent thought with the flash of words wanting to come out.

"Can't say I mind it though. I eat like a wyvern when I'm pissed. Can't help it," Artur above him as he rests on his gut, Cormag runs his hands through his hair. "You couldn't help yourself either. You always had food for my tantrums,"

"Sorry…. I-" Cormag's hands pushing his head down, their lips crash.

"You've got nothing to be sorry about. By the time I realized what you were doing, I was already pretty down with this extra weight," Artur nods his head, subconsciously licking his dry lips, his throat parched as well.

"And?"

"And. I'm okay with it," Lifting himself and Artur out of bed, Cormag leans down, mouth by Artur's ear as his hand digs under Artur's shirt. "And I'm okay with this," Grabbing the bit of extra flab on Artur's stomach, Cormag holds him steady, Artur melting in the embrace, his face positively flushed as his eyes remain wide.

Muscles hidden but not gone, Cormag lifts Artur in his arms bridal style, the pose reminiscent of their wedding day, only both of them are plumper, Cormag much more so.

"So, why don't we see what else we don't want to go to waste?" Cormag asks as he carries Artur, the kitchen their destination.

Artur meekly nods, mouth dry as he wonders how far this'll go, too shy to stop. Cormag wonders the same, too prideful to stop.

#my writing #fat emblem #ssbhm #male weight gain #male wg #fat!cormag #fat!artur

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brothermouzongaming · 6 years ago

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Devil May Cry 5 review

This very much follows the guidelines of your typical DMC game which confounds me as to how that manages to be more good than bad. Stagnation is never a positive mark but come to think of it, DMC isn't the franchise that pumps a title out every year or every other year for that matter. So following the steps that made the IP successful to begin with isn't exactly something to fault. To go even further, I’d say it’s a little refreshing in the old school approach it takes to gameplay loop and presentation. It reminds me of how the previous generations felt while keeping me locked in the present with the gorgeous graphics and art direction. The gameplay expertly straddling the old and new gaming worlds in an intoxicating concoction of nostalgia and realization of what modern gaming can be. Combat overall is timing and direction based due to the one button controls. It forces the player to splinter their command concepts, throwing away the convention of light, medium, and heavy attacks. Your variation comes in the direction of the left stick in combination with the spacing between button presses, and even whether or not you’re locked on. Your melee, projectile, and special buttons are spread out in the typical DMC fashion and this alone is very unique to this series. It seems like a lot because the control scheme doesn’t coddle the player and in many ways demands quite a bit from them. Especially when this game is meant to be played at the speed of two hummingbirds fucking. (Also, anyone else's hands get tired af after a battle? Or am I just old now...)

Nero to Hero Boy-wonder is all over the place with frenetic and quick movements that take him from enemy to enemy or more interestingly: bringing enemies to him one by one. The grapple arm is great, on the lighter enemies (most of them) it pulls them to Nero, however, the largebois work as anchors and pulls Nero toward them. Each devil-breaker is unique and even when some may seem niche, at least they have a purpose when they were put into the game. There's a lot of layers when throwing in not just what you like and when you want to whip it out, but which ones you don’t mind burning should the situation arise. The devil-breakers have a main function and an alternative mode with one even having a third ability (Punch Line’s missile-hoverboard feature). My only real problem with Nero’s mechanics is that we can’t rotate through the holster to pick which breaker we want to use next in-game. Other than that, Exceed moves spice up the swordplay and bouncing around the arena never losses it's feeling of excitement and sense of raw power. V is for Vanity Everyone's combat comes with a level of understanding and familiarity even if you've seen nothing but cutscenes and gamers playing. V shakes up the gameplay and the mindset of the player which was jarring at first, but in time I would gain these moments of clarity where I'm this maestro of chaos orchestrating from afar as the battle plays out before me. The demonic bird handles projectiles while an equally demonic Jaguar (...Panther...?) that is your melee attack. With an Ogre like Devil Trigger that lays waste to everything in the arena. It's clear and understandable why he's so divisive given these “hands off” aspects but it's just as over the top as the rest of the series so it doesn't feel out of place. It’s well designed so much to the point of almost being too easy but again like the specific devil-breakers: V is different from the ground up and it’s done to freshen up the experience. A commendable act especially when it really seems to be an honest go at it and less than an idea they threw in last second. There are issues with commands and some not working exactly as you think but with adjustments to the way you play it becomes smooth and fun in no time again. Back to V being dipped in hyperbolic angst: reading his own poetry refills his meter and it sounds like the angriest high schooler wrote it, but again, it's how aggressively everything is leaned into that gives it the charm. Also, V definitely has the best "sprint" feature. He hovers on this little nimbus cloud of black thoughts and Pierce the Veil lyrics it's so cute. Dante’s Inferno The top shelf killer, Nero is close with his arsenal, but Dante's is the most varied and honestly the most fun. I've encountered few things more satisfying than Lu Kang combo-ing the shit out of two demons to seamlessly switch to your motorcycle dual ax and eviscerate whatever remains of the crowd. It’s so intoxicating I can honestly name on one hand how many other games gave me this feeling (Spider-man 2, Far Cry 3, God of War, and Halo 2). Four styles of combat change most weapon move sets and this keeps the player at the edge of their seat all while the ride remains smooth as butter. Between guns and other projectile launchers as well as the handful of weapons all very diverse in functionality and performance, there’s almost too much to thoroughly use in a single level playthrough. Of all the levels, I’m constantly throwing myself back into Dante’s to see just how smokin and sexy my style can be. Final thots After the learning curve is conquered, the flow and style of combat are entirely dictated by you the player. This combat is the shining achievement of this series and this iteration of it may be the best yet. The camera does a good job of managing the angles on its own and with little attention, it lacks almost all jank and assists the experience more than competently. Levels are bog-standard but what they do offer past the intro missions are many alternate routes and passages that lead to item discoveries, secrets, and combat scenarios you will otherwise miss if you barrel along the main path forsaking all others. I really enjoy how brave this game is for being itself in a world where every game needs some crazy intrusive online feature or component that stifles or gets in the way of the core game’s potential. The most of DMC5′s online capabilities begin and end with the cameo system, something that drops other players into your level at specific times to assist you or mainly just to look at and watch them do their thing. It’s not intrusive and is even exciting when the action starts to heat up and you and another player are cutting everything in the room to ribbons. I almost want more of it, and that’s what a well-implemented feature can do.

Concerning red orbs mentioned in my demo post, Capcom went with the confusing decision to load us up with orbs and means of getting them in the main game; only to give us the option to pay for more whenever the need arises. Why Capcom? This game has next to no blemishes but this is one minor one in my book, but I can understand why anyone would look past it. This, however, is my biggest peeve: locking so many of Nero's alternative busters behind the ultimate edition or whatever, made me sigh disappointingly. Why couldn't it have at least been the option to unlock those immediately while other players can grind for them like...everything else in the game... To me, it just goes to show that oldboi Capcom is still lurking in the shadows somewhere looking to nickel and dime us at every dark alley it finds us in. At least this $60 dollar product is one I'm still proud to own. This goes in my “GOTY contenders” folder honestly and I have been having an absolute blast with DMC5 and can’t suggest it enough. Even if it’s your first in the series just do it they have a catch-up cinematic you can watch. Seriously. Play it, pull that fucking devil trigger.

tl;dr 8.5/10

#Devil May Cry 5 #DMC5 #Capcom #video games #gaming

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arc852 · 8 years ago

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Where the Trees Grow #4

Hey! The fourth part of my @brothersapart contest entry! Okay, so, I’m just gonna leave this here. My excuse is work and school and just life in general being so busy. Still not sure if I’ll be able to finish this in time, but we’ll see. If I can’t, I’ll still finish it in my own time. Enjoy!

The last thing Mark had been expecting was for two people his size to walk into his little hideaway. Well, he says his size. The two were still a good foot taller than him, but at least that was normal. He backed away a bit, weary of the two strangers, but he couldn’t help but feel relieved to see them.

Sam and Jacob walked in, hands up where Mark could see them, to appear non-threatening. They both knew Mark was feeling high-strung, they themselves had gone through similar feelings when they had first shrunk.

“Hey, Mark right? It’s okay, no one is going to hurt you.” Sam tried, referring not only to the two of them, but to the two giants outside. Mark took a breath and pushed off the wall, coming a little closer.

“What the hell is happening? Was I drugged or something?” Mark asked, wishing more than ever that he could remember what happened. Sam and Jacob winced and exchanged a look. Sam sighed.

“No, I’m afraid this is very real.” Mark blinked.

“So, you’re telling me that I’ve really been shrunk down? That we’re all only a few inches tall?” He was trying to remain calm, but was quickly failing. He realized that he hadn’t actually believed any of this until now. He still wasn’t actually sure he believed it, but the doubt was slowly slipping away. It was kind of hard not to, after being faced with a giant. An all too familiar giant.

“That was Jack out there. Wasn’t it?” Mark asked, staring passed the two as if he could see the two giants from inside their cover. He just barely caught Jacob’s nod.

“Yeah and our brother, Dean, is out there as well. We found Jack when he was trying to get help from the police to find you.” Sam jumped in.

“But of course, they wouldn’t, so we decided to help. And it’s a good thing we did.” Sam eyes Mark up and down, referring to his new diminished size. Mark rubbed a hand across his face.

“Well, I definitely have to thank you for that. I’m not sure how long I would have lasted out here on my own at this size.” Sam and Jacob both winced at the thought. Even with Sam’s knife and Jacob’s extra strength, there was no way they could survive out in the woods for more than a few days. Maybe. Mark really was lucky they were able to find him, especially this deep in the woods.

“We know what it’s like and how you’re feeling. So, if you want, we can stay in here as long as you need to.” Sam said. He didn’t want to push Mark into this too fast and whatever had shrunk Mark in the first place seemed to have disappeared, so they had the time. It was a good thing too, that it was gone for the moment. They didn’t need Dean or Jack shrinking on them either. That definitely wouldn’t be good, especially considering how much Sam and Jacob relied on Dean. And how much Mark and even Jack were relying on them now, to help fix this. Sam hoped they could.

Mark sighed and swallowed the lump in his throat. He was thankful for the chance to wait, but he figured it would be best to do this like a bandage. Fast and all at once.If he didn’t, he might never gain the courage to leave. It was that mindset that got him through most of his horror game playthroughs, after all.

He shook those thoughts away before they could even surface. Now was not the time to be thinking about YouTube. Not yet, anyway. He had bigger problems to worry about. Literally.

“No, I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with.” Sam and Jacob nodded and exited out of the tree first. Mark took one last deep breath before following.

***

Jack was currently having a hard time with everything that Dean had just told him. And apparently, what he had been told was just the bare minimum.

“So, werewolves?”

“Yep.”

“And vampires?”

“Oh, yeah, those things suck.” Jack narrowed his eyes a bit, but couldn’t tell if Dean meant it as a pun. He chose to ignore it.

“And tiny people?!” Jack motioned toward the inside of the tree and Dean nodded.

“Yep, although I’ll admit, that one surprised me too.” Jack honestly couldn’t believe what he was hearing but before he could ask more questions, he noticed movement coming from the ground.

Sam and Jacob came out first, walking so they were closer to Dean. Jack could only watch in awe at their tiny, yet familiar movements. It was unreal.

And then Mark came out.

All of Jack’s attention was now focused on Mark. Because it was one thing to see tiny people, but another to see someone he knew so small. He watched as Mark stepped out more, his eyes locking on him and, most likely, his size in comparison. Jack could see a slight fear in his eyes, but couldn’t exactly blame him for feeling that way.

Mark stopped when they were only about a foot apart. Jack couldn’t help but notice how he could easily reach out and grab him. How he could easily fit into the palm of his hand and still have room to spare. Mark seemed to notice to, because he backed away a few steps. Before either of them could do anything more, Dean spoke up from beside Jack. Jack tore his eyes away from his friend and was just in time to see Sam and Jacob climb onto Dean’s hand.

“We should get out of here. Now that we know what happened to Mark we need to do some research.” Jack nodded as he watched Dean move his hand toward his pocket, the two tiny people dropping inside.

“Er, right.” Jack focused back on Mark, who had also watched Sam and Jacob walk onto Dean’s hand like it was nothing. Once Jack’s gaze hit Mark, he did the same and they locked eyes. Mark gulped, knowing what had to happen.

“Okay, so, how do you want to do this?” Jack asked and Mark blinked. He shrugged.

“I don’t know. How they did it?” He motioned toward Dean, who was still standing near the edge of the clearing, patiently waiting for Jack and Mark. Jack nodded and laid his hand on the ground, palm up and as flat as he could make it.

Mark had to keep himself from moving back more. This was Jack, his friend. He might be huge now, at least in comparison to himself, but he would never hurt him. He just had to suck it up and stop being a baby about all of this. He slowly started walking toward the hand, hesitating for several long seconds before taking his first step onto the hand. Jack’s hand twitched underneath him and he froze, looking up. Jack bit his lip.

“S-sorry,” The stuttering in Jack’s voice made Mark realize how nervous he was as well. It made him feel slightly better. He stepped fully onto the hand, moving to the center and sitting down. Jack brought Mark up to his face, a look of awe pointed at him.

“You’re so small.” Jack practically whispered. It was both fascinating and terrifying at the same time. Mark was completely helpless, Jack held all the power over Mark and that in itself was a scary thought. For both parties involved.

“At least you’re okay.” Jack said with a small smile, trying to look on the bright side. Mark squirmed a bit in his hand, not at all used to the uneven, moving surface.

“Relatively. I mean, I’m not hurt, but I wouldn’t exactly call this okay.” Mark said, gesturing to himself.

“But you’re not dead.” Mark couldn’t help but crack a smile at that.

“That’s true, I suppose. At least I got that going for me.” Honestly, it was incredibly lucky that he was still alive. With having been trapped in the forest at his small scale, it was a miracle an animal hadn’t come and made a snack out of him.

“Alright you two, let’s get going!” Dean called out once he saw that Mark had successfully climbed into Jack’s hand. He had been patient for them, since he knew what it was like. But they had to get out before whatever had shrunk Mark decided to come back.

Jack nodded and with careful movements, stood up. Mark wobbled still and planted his hands onto Jack’s in order to gain balance. He was suddenly distracted by the skin under him. Magnified like this, he could see and feel every bump and crevice. Mark found himself running his hand over the skin.

Jack blinked at the tiny, feather like feeling and looked down to see Mark’s hands on his skin. He barely felt it at all. Mark felt eyes on him and looked up, blushing when he noticed Jack and taking his hand back. Jack smiled, but didn’t mention it. Instead, he brought Mark close to his chest, creating a wall around him so he wouldn’t fall.

With Mark settled, Jack began walking along with Dean back to the impala. All the while, Mark tried not to focus on how much it felt like he was on a boat in the ocean.

He really hoped he wasn’t stuck like this.

#gt #Giant/tiny #where the trees grow #part 4 #brothers apart #supernatural #markiplier #jacksepticeye #contest entry #jacob andris

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