#{ it'd be worthwhile time spent }

[tsumuchi]

summary: whilst on your vacation in fontaine you accidentally end up in jail. fortunately for you, a certain someone is going to make your trip down to the fortress worthwhile

pairing: wriothesley x gn!reader

genre: fluff, strangers to friends to lovers sort of

warnings: none

notes: not proofread (will do so later) around 6000 words long, reader isn’t from fontaine and works in mondstadt (hints at reader working for albedo), reader is also a bit slow and wriothesley isn't any help and sigewenne sides with him, set after archon quest

after spending four days down at the fortress of meropide, you could confidently say it sucked.

the accommodations, the food, the people, the faint smell of oil and grease always lingering around, it was a major downgrade from the hotel you had been staying in previously.

you had originally come to fontaine for a vacation that your boss back in mondstadt insisted you needed. and now you were going to have to spend most of it in prison.

all you had done, was eat ketchup on its own. that’s all. nothing more, nothing less. it wasn't even that big of a deal, you were just hungry and forgot to bring money for fries to go with it so you ended up eating a packet of ketchup. yet during the trial at the opera epiclese the fontainians made you seem like a villain.

sighing you sat down at the coupon cafeteria at an empty table placing your free meal down. it already reeked.

by the time my twenty-day sentence is over, i’ll only have three days of my vacation left... you thought.

in the fortress of meropide, the inmate that led you on your tour upon first arriving explained that you would have to work in the 'production zone' everyday and you only got one free welfare meal a day.

with that information you decided it'd be best to skip out on breakfast and dinner and have your meal at lunch. all your other time you spent working in the production zone under grainville's supervision. the work was at least easier than all the expeditions in dragonspine you'd have to go on with your boss.

that, essentially, was your routine for the four days you had spent here. you didn't want to get in trouble again for some stupid reason so you made sure to keep to the rules.

opening your welfare meal for the day, you were met with the same disgusting grey sludge that had greeted you yesterday and the day before. you immediately put the lid back on.

since you had step foot in the fortress, you hadn’t eaten a single thing and you honestly felt famished. it wasn’t your fault that everything was practically inedible.

you rested your chin on your hand, sighing yet again for the nth time today. you were considering just skipping lunch entirely, it wasn't like you were eating anything anyway.

when you first stepped foot in the fortress, you told yourself you should try and make the most out of your trip here, think of it as an experience, an extra vacation. but it was as if there was something you were missing.

most of the other inmates looked as if they were living the life down at the fortress of meropide. your isolated table was surrounded by others who were happily chatting away, with scrummier meals than you as well.

am i doing something wrong? how can anyone be genuinely happy here?

you thought, pushing away you’re own meal box in disgust and staring longingly at someone else’s meal that looked as if it belonged in hotel debord. the sight alone was enough to fill a fraction of the hunger inside you.

i guess this will just have to do...

“not a fan of the food, huh?” a voice suddenly spoke and you jumped slightly looking up to see a man sitting opposite you on your once lonely table.

one glance at the man and you already knew you did not want to deal with him. you had already ran into a couple of inmates, they either ignored you because they didn’t care or gave you a hard time just because.

this man, looked as if he was ready to do the latter.

well, i shouldn’t judge a book by it's cover…

he had messy black hair with grey streaks along with piercing blue eyes. with the way his arms were crossed you could see his muscles flex but also the various scars on them. he also had numerous scars around his neck and one just underneath his right eye.

you’d be lying if you said he was unattractive, you definitely would've noticed someone like him by now so you wondered why you hadn't seen him before.

“well, maybe i’d eat it if it at least looked edible.” you responded watching him in front of you, still taking in his whole appearance.

maybe... he's new here too? why else would he come talk to me?

at your response the man raised a brow, taking in your features. as his eyes scanned across your attire and up to your face, they eventually landed on your own as he stared right through you. his gaze pierced through you and you nearly shuddered from the intimidation.

you also noticed the looks and hushed whispers that other inmates were giving him once he had sat on your table. perhaps people had been giving him a hard time.

"um," you gulped "are you new here?" you asked. maybe he didn't have any friends like you, that would explain why he came and sat on your table all of a sudden.

he stared at you a while longer before giving you a lazy smile and leaning forward slightly. “yeah i am, are you?”, he asked.

"i mean i joined here four days ago so i guess... what's your name?" you asked smiling back, maybe he wasn't as scary as he looked.

he was silent for a bit as he looked down, it was as if he was contemplating whether he should tell you or not. you stared at him expectantly awaiting his answer.

"wriothesley." he said eventually.

"wriothesley." you repeated, "well, i'm (y/n). i may not know a lot about this place but if you need anything i can try my best to help." you smiled warmly at him.

he smiled back, well more it was more of a smirk, but either way there was a glint of something in his eye that you noticed but couldn't quite put your finger on.

—————

after your little chat with wriothesley at lunch, the two of you parted ways and you headed to the production zone to work until bed time.

when you headed to your room, you got ready for bed and tucked yourself in, closing your eyes so that you could allow sleep to engulf you.

except it never did, and you laid in your bed for hours waiting for the sleep to come.

after a while it eventually rolled to 1am, it was dead silent apart from the constant sound of cogs whirring giving the fortress a more of an eerie feel as you slipped out of your bed.

you trudged towards the lift and made your way to the bottom floor, planning on just sitting at the coupon cafeteria for a while basking in the silence. that's when you stumbled upon the place to find that someone was already there.

the same man from earlier sat in the dim light at the same table from earlier with a teacup to his lips peacefully drinking away, eyes closed. a matching teapot was upon the table and sweet smell of tea wafted throughout.

the rich and sweet aroma was nearly intoxicating, and for someone who hadn't eaten properly in the past few days you felt as if you were hypnotised.

at first you observed from a distance, comtemplating whether or not you should confront him. would he let you try some if you asked? you would have to remember his name first...

wriother... wriothesee... wriothesley? wriothesley! that was it!

"wriothesley?" you called out to the fellow inmate as he opened his eyes to meet yours. he help the cup away from his lips briefly and spoke up.

"oh, evening (y/n)." he acknowledged giving you a small nod, as you made your way to sit opposite him.

"why are you drinking tea out in the open? the guards are going to catch you." you asked while he merely shrugged and set his cup down.

"the guards end their watch night duty at twelve." he stated.

oh, i didnt know that.

"i could ask you the same though. what are you doing wandering around at one in the morning?" he asked, glancing at you.

"i just... couldn't sleep that's all." you said turning your head slightly.

you eyes trailed down to the cup that now rested on the table, noticing how the steam frrom the cup swirled and how the smell was even sweeter now that you were close. wriothesley saw all of this.

"...would you like a sip?" he eventually asked watching the way your eyes gazed on his teacup.

at his words you shot your head up to face him properly.

"really? can i?" your eyes practically lit up which he also took note off, he chuckled before pushing the teacup forward in your direction so that it was in front of you.

you grinned at him before taking the cup in your hands, not too bothered about the fact that you were using the same one as him.

you proceeded to take a sip and it tasted ten times better than the smell. the heat from the drink brought warmth inside of you and the flavours had a sense of familiarity.

the warm hot tea that your boss would usually give you in the little cave in the freezing depths of dragonspine was what first crossed your mind. and you were reminded of home.

you were done taking your sip and let out a happy sigh as you set the cup down.

unbeknownst to you, wriothesley had watched the way you drink the tea and couldn't help but be fascinated in the way your facial expression changed. your eyebrows slightly raised with your eyes slightly widened, the way your smile truly met up to your eyes.

a warm feeling came over him to see you enjoying the tea just as much - probably even more than he did.

"do you like it?" wriothesley asked and you nodded eagerly.

"yeah! it's really good, and tastes sort of familiar. anyway, thanks again, wriothesley." you said pushing the cup back towards him.

"no probl-" he cut himself off after looking down at the now empty tea cup that you had given back to him.

"you finished it..." he muttered quietly eyes widened slightly, when he had handed it to you there was still quite a lot left.

your eyes also widened at his expression as you sheepishly rubbed the back of your neck.

"sorry, i haven't eaten much since i got here so..." you said avoiding his gaze out of embarrassment, you hadn't meant to get carried away the tea just tasted that good.

his eyes shifted from the cup and looked at you, frowning ever so slightly, "you haven't eaten?"

"well apart from the few snacks i brought, my welfare meals have been so bad..." you explained still feeling a tad bit guilty.

"i see. the welfare meals are picked at random so you must've been unfortunate." he explained.

"oh really? so that's how it works..." you said trailing off in thought.

he knew about the when the guards' duty ended and the welfare meals yet i didn't, is this guy really new or am i just slow?

"um, how long have you been here wriothesley?" you asked cautiously and curiously.

"three days." he replied rather suddenly, filling his teacup with some more tea out of the teapot.

"oh, ok then." you said, "it's just you know a lot about this place, probably more than me!" you laughed slightly, he didn't respond and instead kept quiet.

silence fell over the two of you as he sipped his tea looking down at the table and you watched him contently with a small smile.

"you're much nicer than i thought, y'know." you said out of the blue.

"hm?" he said looking back up to face you, "what do you mean by that?"

"i guess it's just that when I first saw you i got the impression that you were the kinda inmate who scared everyone. kinda like a big bad wolf." you explained.

at your comment, he simply looked at you with a deadpan expression. seemingly unimpressed at your claims.

you laughed at his face as a yawn escaped your mouth the same time.

"perhaps you should go to sleep now." he suggested noticing your tiredness.

"maybe i should." you agreed getting up from your seat and stretching, you checked your watch and it was nearly 2.

you looked at wriothesley mildly perplexed, "aren't you going to sleep?"

he shook his head, "no, i still have some things i need to sort out."

what could he possible need to do at 2am?

you decided not to question his motives as yet another yawn escaped you.

"alright then, make sure you get some sleep at least. good night wriothesley." you waved, him giving you a curt nod back before making your way back to your room.

—————

you slept particularly well that night but woke up abruptly the next morning as dread filled your gut. you checked your watch as it read a time around ten in the morning.

i slept in! grainville's totally gonna kill me!

quickly you got out of bed and started to get ready until the same sweet smell from yesterday filled your nose bringing you to a halt.

turning you looked over to the table situated in the corner of your room as you caught sight of a familiar teacup and a grey welfare meal box.

you walked on over to the table, the tea was still warm and there was a small note on the top of the box.

'don't worry about sleeping in, i told grainville that you'd be having a lie in. enjoy breakfast. - wriothesley'

you smiled to yourself before setting the little note aside. you didn't even stop to question how he got grainville to obey his orders, the food inside the box smelled too good.

when you opened the grey meal box, you were met with two croissants and a stack of three pancakes topped with maple syrup and berries. your mouth practically started watering at the sight and you wasted no time and dug in.

—————

from then on, your welfare meals improved drastically and you knew it was wriothesley's doing (yet you still wondered how he had managed to). it had been two days since meeting with him that night and you hadn't seen him since.

you brought the teacup with you everyday since then hoping you'd be able to give it back and thank him but you were yet to see him again.

since food wasn't a problem anymore, you were able to work your shifts at the production zone, and you weren't sure if you were imagine things but grainville had been much nicer to you recently. while you worked, he'd tell you to take break any time you wanted.

on the way, you also happened to befriend the bombshell bros, cuistot and laverune.

"what's with the weird teacup (y/n)?"

"oh it's just uh, for a friend?" you said scratching your neck, looking around to find something else to talk about until your eyes landed upon something,

"oh yeah! what's that room?" you asked walking past the doors at the central part of the administrative area, you had passed it a few times but never knew what it was.

"oh that, that's the duke's office." laverune said.

there's a duke here?

"oh yeah," cuistot piped in, "he's basically in charge down here, a real big shot! the last thing you want is to cross paths with him."

subconsciously, you looked down to the teacup in your hand and pondered.

huh... the duke sounds like a big deal yet i haven't seen him before... i guess that's for my own good though

you and laverune dropped cuistot off at the cafeteria so he could work his shift in the kitchen and then headed off to the production zone.

laverune left after around thirty minutes, saying something about how he was hungry and tired yet you stayed, working tirelessly to process widgets. what the fortress needed all of these widgets for was still unknown to you.

while you were working away, you couldn't help but notice a melusine watching you from the corner of your eye.

she looked a tad bit different from the melusines you had seen up on the surface while on your various excursions in fontaine but still had the same cuteness at least. you wondered why a melusine would be down here of all places.

you didnt think much of her at first, not until she came up to you herself.

"hello! you're mx. (y/n), right?" she said waving at you with a wide smile.

you returned with another smile, albeit a bit surprised she had not only approached you but also knew of your name.

"oh, uh yeah that's me! do you need something?" you asked and she nodded.

"my name's sigewenne, i'm the head nurse down here. I’ve been watching you work and was wondering if you'd follow me? i'd like to give you a check up." she inquired, and how could you refuse to such a cute face?

so you ended your shift at the production zone and considering you had nothing else really to do instead, you followed sigwenne.

one thing led to another and now you were laying down in one of the beds of the infirmary.

“mx. (y/n), are you sure you're feeling well?” sigewinne asked as she looked over your state worriedly taking the thermometer from your mouth.

she had run a couple of tests on you, saying you had 'piqued her curiosity'. but now there seemed to be some sort of problem.

"uh yeah i am, why?" you said confused as she shook her head putting down the thermometer.

"you have a temperature of 40°C, im afraid you're going to have to stay here in the infirmary until it goes down."

"wha- but i feel fine!" you sat up all of a sudden as sigewenne ushered you back down.

"don't worry mx. (y/n), i have just the thing!" she said rushing out the room, you sighed sitting up again and resting your back against the head of the bed.

you had placed the teacup down on the floor beside the bed prior to sigewenne's check up, you bent down slightly and picked it up so you could place it in your lap. then you thought about your current predicament.

is it because i was in the production zone for too long?

it was just a habit of yours to work a lot, but you never thought it would end up in you getting a temperature. the thing was you didn't even feel hot. maybe it was because-

"(y/n)?"

your head whipped to the entrance of the infirmary as the familiar voice fell upon your ears.

"wriothesley! where did you go? it's been two days!" you said smiling upon his arrival.

he didn't necessarily answer your question you noticed, but he came over to your bed and pulled a chair out of a desk nearby to sit right by you.

"sigewenne informed me on your state, are you feeling alright?" he said asking you a question in return.

you blinked. sigewenne told him? wasn't she going to get something? why would she tell him of all people?

oh! maybe they're friends?

"oh yeah i'm okay, i honestly don't know what happened..." you laughed slightly looking off to the side.

"you overworked yourself." he sighed, "you don't have to spend all your time in the production zone."

"i know i know... it's just a habit of mine. i guess that's why my boss sent me here to fontaine, to take a break. it's a shame i have to spend some of it down in prison" you explained.

"i see." he said watching your expression and the way your eyebrows furrowed, "do you miss mondstadt?"

"just a bit." you nodded, "i mean i'm going back soon after my sentence but-"

wait a second, i don't remember telling him i came from mondstadt?

but before you could question the fact that he knew where you were from someone else came in.

"your gr- wriothesley, please could i ask you to leave. mx. (y/n) here needs to rest." sigewenne said with her hands on her hips and a pout on her lips.

wriothesley chuckled at her expression before getting out of his chair as you watched him rise, a small frown on your face.

"oh ok. well, thanks for the tea and breakfast a few days ago! it was really really good. here's your cup." you said holding it out for him.

still, i wonder how he managed to get ahold of such nice food down here...

he reached out to receive his cup and you felt his fingers brush against yours sending a jolt of electricity through your entire body causing you to visibly tense up.

"no problem. i'll come visit you again tomorrow." he said with the faintest smile on his face, his eyes not as piercing as they were upon first meeting him.

your breath hitched slightly and you felt your heartbeat start to quicken as you watched him leave the infirmary, eyes still lingering to where he once was. however your actions didn't go unnoticed by a certain melusine.

once he had left, sigwenne came up to you and checked your temperature once more.

"(y/n)! your temperature has gone up again!" she exclaimed bringing you out of your trance.

"o-oh! really? huh..." you said feeling slightly embarrassed, you yourself new the reason as to why that happened.

"here, drink this and your temperature should go down." she said holding out a cup innocently and you received it with a sheepish smile.

"thanks sigewenne." you said taking a massive sip, not expecting the drink to be so bitter with a side of... spiciness? you swallowed it (barely) but starting coughing soon after.

"w-what's in this??" you choked out.

"oh, nothing you need to worry about. everything in there has healing properties." she reassured.

"right... thanks sigewenne." you said handing her back the cup which she took from your hands.

you thought she'd leave you alone but she just stood there, not looking like she's be moving anytime soon. you contemplated whether or not you should ask if she was alright until she spoke up.

"what do you think of wriothesley?" she asked out of nowhere.

you said averting your eyes to the side, trying to get rid of what was in your head prior, "oh he's nice... i mean he's alright i guess?"

the melusine didn't respond after that, so you slowly brought your gaze back onto her only to be startled to see her staring at you with big wide eyes.

you gulped nervously as you gave her a wobbly smile, her stoic expression scaring you, "are you two friends? i mean you told him that i was sick so i figured you must have-"

"do you like him?" she said suddenly cutting you off.

this time it was your turn to widen your eyes as

"of course not! no- wait yes! wait- i mean in a friend way of course! haha... why do you ask?" you said, painfully wincing internally at your stuttering

she didn't say anything at first but simply stared, her eyes boring into you.

"it's ok mx. (y/n), your secret's safe with me!" she said happily as a sudden sense of worry surged through you.

"huh? what do you-"

"you should probably get some rest now, i'll come check on you again tomorrow morning. good night!" she said clasping her hands together and taking her leave.

you were left speechless once again.

—————

as promised, wriothesley came and visited you in the infirmary the next day. but after the events from the previous day you couldn't look at him in the same way.

you told yourself you didn't have a crush on wriothesley, that would be absurd. but for some reason sigewenne seemed convinced you did, as she sorted out her things in the corner of the infirmary she kept giving you glances.

which was terrible because it seemed as if the two of them were friends so if she told him about your 'feelings', you'd be screwed.

it's not like you had a chance with him to begin with, you weren't from fontaine and he probably was. and despite the fact that you two were sent to the fortress around the same time, you had no idea what sort of crime he committed.

now that you thought about it, he was kinda... mysterious.

he was sat beside your bed as you both drank tea in silence, you felt as if it was awkward and didn't know what to say as you looked everywhere but at him.

one time, you accidentally locked eyes with him and immediately looked away embarrassed.

there's no way i have a crush on wriothesley! besides, after my sentence is over i'll never see him again... not that it matters, i don't like him like that!-

"is something bothering you?" he quipped.

your heartbeat quickened again, much to your dismay. the way he had been looking out for you: getting you food, bringing you tea, checking in on you... it was too much for you to handle.

you hadn't even noticed, you were staring at him.

"no!" you said rather loudly coming out of your trance, you didn't even sound convincing to yourself, "nothing's bothering me, nothing's wrong..."

you quickly brought your teacup to your lips and looked down. nonetheless, he slowly nodded at your response as silence welcomed the two of you once more.

"oh yeah! did you know there was a duke down here?" you asked trying to start up some conversation to clear the silence, your talk with cuistot and laverune the day before coming back to you.

he was silent as he looked down to the liquid in his cup, watching the ripples hit the side and gently bounce back. he then nodded.

"oh, you did? i was only told about him yesterday." you said slightly surprised, you had been down here a day longer than wriothesley but he seemed to know way more than you did.

"what's he like? i've never seen him before." you asked as wriothesley looked up in thought but sigewenne came over to the two of you before he could say anything.

"the duke is very hard-working, he's always up to something hence why you probably haven't seen him yet." sigewenne said, a thermometer in her hands which she held out to you.

you received the thermometer and thanked her, "he kinda sounds like my boss. but at least my boss, as stoic as he is, can be nice and funny at times. apparently the duke is someone who should be avoided."

you put the thermometer in your mouth for a while before giving it back to her, she took note of the temperature and scribbled it down. all the while wriothesley frowned at your words.

"i'm sure the duke also has a good sense of humour." he said.

"maybe..." you shrugged.

"the duke also looks after the fortress very well, he's made lots of improvements over the past years to make this place as comfortable as it can be for the inmates here." sigewenne continued "oh! and he really likes drinking tea."

"ooh! i guess you two have that in common huh?" you pointed out looking at wriothesley.

wriothesley took another sip of his cup before speaking up, "i guess we do."

—————

“w-woah, (y/n)! you have loads of credit coupons!” cuistot stammered at the bunch of ‘credit coupons’ you carried.

sigewenne's drink was surprisingly helpful, (despite how weird it tasted) and you only had to stay in the infirmary for a two nights.

the day after, you and the bombshell bros were planning to go to the pankration ring (a place you never knew existed) to watch a match that according to laverune was going to be the ‘fight of the century’.

but before you made your way there you had told them that there was some trash you needed to clear out so they followed you to your room. when you walked out with the bag of credit coupons they’re jaws dropped.

“credit coupons..? i thought they were just pieces of paper. grainville at the production zone kept giving them to me for working.” you said stopping in your tracks and looking down at the coupons in your hand.

“you’re practically rich! with that many credit coupons you could do all sorts!" laverune exclaimed, the two noticed the confused expression still displayed on your face and decided to explain the whole coupon system.

"...so, this is the currency down here?" you asked in shock.

"basically, yeah!" cuistot said.

wow, i never knew...

once you were done putting away your coupons the three of you headed for the pankration ring. laverune suggested you bring some coupons so you could bet on which fighter you thought would win, so you did.

whilst you walked, you listened in on cuistot and laverune's conversation on who they thought would win.

"'le grappleur' is surely going to win! he is reigning champion for a reason." cuistot said and laverune shook his head.

"oh come on, 'demon horde' has it in the bag. the other day, he even beat 'killer hook'! that makes them tied!" laverune argued.

just what kinda names are these...

"who do you think's going to win (y/n)?" cuistot asked turning to you, you shrugged.

"i don't know... 'le grappleur' maybe?" you said taking a complete guess. laverune humphed disapprovingly.

"well, the duke's going to watch the match as well and i heard he's betting on 'demon horde'!" he said crossing his arms.

oh yeah, the duke, maybe i'll finally see what he looks like?

"but (y/n)'s especially close with his grace so they can just get him to change his mind, bam!" cuistot stated as you raised a brow.

"um, i am?" you asked.

cuistot laughed, "it's not often the duke sits to have a meal with anyone, or visit anyone in the infirmary. why didn't you tell us?" he said only arising more confusion inside you.

he did? but the only other person i've talked to is-

"i believe i heard my name?" a familiar voice spoke up from behind you three causing you all to turn around.

just as you thought, it was wriothesley, you smiled at him feeling your heart beat quicken. you were about to say something until cuistot and laverune beat you to it.

"y-your grace!" they both exclaimed simultaneously bowing slightly as you still stood upright, eyes darting between wriothesley and the pair.

"huh? who... 'your grace'? what?" you were confused until it finally clicked, your eyes widening, "wait, you mean... you're the duke?"

wriothesley smirked at you and folded his arms, "took you long enough."

your mouth was slightly agape as you simply stared at him utterly dumbfounded stumbling to find the right words, "w-what? since when?!"

"oh i dont know, a couple of years ago?" he shrugged nonchalantly.

cuistot and laverune noticed you two were conversing and used it was a chance to slip away off to the pankration ring, leaving you with 'his grace'.

everything suddenly made sense. why he was able to get grainville to listen to him, all the food he was able to deliver you.

"why... why didn't you tell me? and here i thought you were an inmate like me this whole time..." you said bringing your palm to your forehead feeling like an idiot.

"i'll be honest i found it quite entertaining that you didn't know who i was." he said causing you to roll your eyes, he took a step closer so that he was gazing down at you.

"how are you feeling by the way?" he asked, his tone becoming a bit softer making your heart beat even faster.

you sighed, still not having fully accepted the fact that you had been hanging around the duke the entire time, "i'm fine, sigewinne said i should just take it easy from now on."

he hummed smiling slightly, "that's good."

a comfortable silence fell over the two of you as you merely looked at each other. you admired his features not noticing that he was doing the same until he cleared his throat and looked off to the side.

"your friends seemed to have already left so, would you like to head to the pankration ring together?" he suggested and you beamed at him.

"sure!"

—————

after figuring out who wriothesley really was, you decided it would be best if you discarded your feelings for him. your chances with him had gone from about five percent to absolute zero.

you only had three days of your sentence left anyway, but you weren't looking forward to going back. after all, you ended up liking the fortress of meropide life much more than you had expected.

at the moment, you and wriothesley were having your daily tea break in his office. him sat at his desk going through some papers as you sat on the other side of the desk, reading one of the many books from his shelf.

"you know, i could always shorten your sentence. you could go back today if you wanted." he suggested breaking the silence.

"yes but," you started averting your eyes "i still want to spend a bit more time with cuistot and laverune that's all."

and you too obviously you thought but would never dare to say aloud.

wriothesley hummed in response, "ah yes, you're little friend group." he paused for a bit, "are you sure that's the only reason?"

"uh, i'll miss sigewenne too, she's really sweet." you said, subconsciously taking your eyes off your book and instead watching him. it was a terrible habit of yours lately.

"i see." he said rather plainly, "speaking of sigewenne, we both had a chat earlier today and she told me some, interesting things."

you froze at this and immediately shot ur eyes back down to your book, wriothesley this time noticing as he moved his work to one side watched your expression closely with a smirk.

what? there's no way sigewenne would've told him... right? i never admitted it aloud!

"that's nice, what kind of things?" you said still looking down, eyes scanning over the pages 10x quicker than before (the words weren't even going through your head).

"not much, but she did tell me about you." he said as you felt your heart sink.

"o-oh really? by the way this book is really interesting." you said losing where you were as you flipped ahead a couple of pages, a desperate attempt to change the subject.

he watched your reaction contently, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded, he then shrugged.

"maybe it is, i haven't read it yet." he said, "anyway sigewenne told me that-"

you pulled your own chair back and got up, with the book in hand you rushed to the side to go put it back on the shelf. there was no way you were going to let him finish his sentence and humiliate you.

"i just remembered! i need to go find cuistot to try the new recipe he made!" you said getting up from our chair and going over to the bookshelf. you went on your tip toes to place the book back before turning on your heel, ready to dash towards the door.

however when you turned you were met with wriothesley's figure standing in front of you with a lazy smile, blocking you form going any further.

"sigwenne said that you liked me." he leaned down so he was face to face with you, your lips merely inches away from his and a teasing glint in his eyes, "is that true?"

your eyes widened in shock and horror, your pupils darting around everywhere frantically, "uh- i um, i-"

that alone was enough to provide him an answer asall your muffled words came to a halt when he brought his right hand and held your chin up, connecting his lips with yours.

at first you didn't kiss back, you couldn't kiss back, utterly paralysed from the shock. his smooth lips against your own causing your mind to blank out.

does he... like me back??

you couldn't help it, you were a hopeless fool. you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck and kissed back, feeling a smile emerge from his lips, you felt as if you were dreaming.

his hand on your chin found its way to your cheek as the other wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you even closer to his body deepening the kiss in the process.

eventually after what felt like years, you both pulled away breathlessly. an irresistible smile creeping up both your faces.

"i think i'm going to have to lengthen your sentence." he said, his hand resting on the side of your face as his thumb caressed your cheek.

"really? what for?" you asked playing along leaning into his touch.

he leaned in once more, planting a small kiss on your lips before pulling back and flashing you a grin.

"for stealing my heart."

all rights reserved © @tsumuchi please do not copy any of my works

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin wriothesley #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x y/n #wriothesley fluff #wriothesley fanfic #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #sigewinne #this took way too long #and for what #after this im finna dip ‼️ #and omg eating ketchup on its own is actually against the law in fontaine #like what #why they so pressed #neuvillette sort ur laws out #anyway im gonna edit this later #i also need a name for this shit #peace out

[captainpulisic]

is it cool that I said all that? - c. pulisic

this is me manifesting reputation tv + this is an old draft I just finished up so it takes place abt a year ago when they were all still at chelsea

wc: 1.7 k , gif credits to to owner

it was routine at this point. and very frustrating for everyone that had to bear witness to the shameless flirting you and christian participated in every time your paths crossed. 

it had started with occasionally bumping into each other at parties- you ran in the same circles, it was bound to happen. you’d spend the whole night tucked away in a corner, whispering and lightly brushing against each other. any girls vying for his attention that night were fighting a losing battle, christian too enraptured with refilling your drink and getting to know every detail about you. countless times girls had come up to the two of you, keen on winning his attention and luring him away, only to roll their eyes and stomp away when he paid them no mind. he never even noticed, too caught up in whatever you were saying, his pinky brushing against your hand. 

all his teammates would laugh at how he’d always been reluctant to come to these parties, yet having found you, was now the first to show up. he now spent the weekdays waiting for the weekend, counting the minutes until he’d see your warm eyes and bright smile. but it never amounted to anything more, both of you too shy to make a move. when the night would wind down and the party would clear up, you’d smile and bid farewell until the next party. 

when this became too tedious and christian too desperate to see you again, he decided to man up and be the one to dm you. enough was enough and he wasn’t going to get by on biweekly encounters and social media stalking you on the daily. from there, a streak of flirty messages and late night talking began. yet, again, nothing more came from it.

“just man up and ask her out,” ben bugged at him- having caught christian smiling down at his phone too many times.

one night, after a day of nonstop texting (yes, he had upgraded from dms to getting your number), you had let it slip that you’d never been to a match since relocating to london. you’d been eager to go but had never had a good enough push to actually do it. instantly he had invited you to the next match at the bridge, swearing it'd be a worthwhile experience.

it’s a date, christian replied and you both went to sleep that night with stupid grins. 

fast forward a week later, the day of the match, and you’d spent the morning jumpy with nerves. was it really a date or had he just called it one in the midst of the moment? what if it was like a friend date? cue the nerves amping up. 

your knees felt a little woozy when you recalled the phone call just last night (yes, phone calls between the two of you were a thing now, too). you’d stay up well into morning hours, talking on the phone, him recounting training days and you complaining about uni work. before hanging up, he softly said through the receiver, “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.” 

and christian had stuck true to his word, the match and experience as surreal as you had hoped. the rut chelsea had been in recently was irrelevant, them managing to actually win the match- the first win in weeks. you were quite embarrassed at how you spent the entire time fawning over christian. seeing him play, all in his element, left you with heated cheeks and a thumping heart.  

after the game, you follow the instructions he had left for you to find your way down to him. after twists and turns in tunnels and important looking halls, you’d found the outside of the locker room. politely smiling at some girls you’d recognized from the parties, you hung in the back, nerves of seeing christian began bubbling inside of you. as players filed out, one by one, each greeted their waiting girlfriends and invitees. every guy out was one step closer to finally seeing him. 

after what seemed like an eternity, there he was. catching eyes at the same time, his handsome face broke into a smile, managing to tug at every one of your heartstrings. in few strides, he’s standing in front of you, his hand stretched out for you. pulling you to the far side of the room, to a hidden nook, you’re away from the eyes and ear of everyone else there. 

“hi,” looking down at you. “thank you for coming.” 

mirroring his lovesick smile, “of course. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.” 

neither you nor christian remark on the fact that he hadn’t let go of your hand yet. and his brown eyes are staring intently into yours as he gives your hand a squeeze, “what did you think? was it everything you expected?”

“yeah, it was amazing.” you breathe out, trying hard to fight the smile on your face. you’re sure it looks quite silly, both of you with reddened cheeks and shy laughter. making yourself admit to him, “you were amazing.”

this causes christian to beam, his smile getting even wider (as if it were any more possible). he’s unsure of what to say, of what to do. 

he wants to play the modest role and say that he was just doing his job, it was a team effort. he also wants to tell you that he had been trying to show off, well aware that you were somewhere in the stands watching him. he wants to tell you that he hardly slept last night, too nervous over the idea of seeing you today. he also wanted to tell you that you’re always in his head, consuming all his thoughts. or, maybe, he just wants to kiss you. yes, he could tell you all that stuff some other day. right now, all he wants to do is kiss your pretty face and never stop. 

he takes this time to really look you over. from the minute he stepped out of the locker room and spotted you, he hadn’t lost you from his sight. travelling from your eyes to the slope of your nose and down to your lips, he couldn’t get enough of you. 

and from there, is where his attention was brought to the blue fabric around your neck. gaze going down, for the first time, he notices that you’re wearing a chelsea jersey. christian chastises himself, too caught up in her pretty face that you hadn’t seen what she was wearing, idiot? 

his unoccupied hand reaches to touch the part of the shirt closest to your neck. that color blue looked so lovely on you. it’s more of a whisper to himself, “I didn’t know you had a jersey.”

“well I didn’t,” it’s now your turn to beam. too caught up basking in his presence, you'd forgotten all about your little prematch endeavour. you were half nervous he wouldn’t care but half excited that maybe he’d love it. “but I got here early and decided to look around the store. I found something I really liked and had to buy, yanno?” 

ignoring his furrowed brow and confused stare, you let go of his hand to turn around. your back facing him, christian is met with a neatly stitched ‘10’ and ‘pulisic’. 

“you bought my jersey?” he’s dumbfounded, all he can do is stare at his name and number sprawled on your back. finding your hand again, he turns you face to face, again. christian was unsure of what to say, too many emotions going through his head and heart. “I coulda gotten you one for free, you didn’t have to spend your money on it.” 

shaking your head, “nuh-uh, do you know how cool I felt going up to the register with your jersey? the lady working even asked if you were my favorite player.” 

“yeah?” christian felt the two of you getting closer with every word said. as if there was some sort of magnetic force pushing you together, there were only mere inches separating you guys. one hand still holding yours, he let the other settle on your waist. it felt electric, it felt right. his mind flashed with the image of his name on your back, something possessive being awoken in him. “and what did you tell her?”

you pause for a moment, putting on your best poker face. in your most serious voice, “told her no. that mason mounts jersey was sold out so I had to settle for yours.”

instantly his smile drops and there’s a pinch to your hip where some skin was exposed. when did his hand get there? a pout on his lips, “you’re terrible. that was-” 

“a joke,” now you leave a pinch on his cheek. a slight scoff and a glance towards mason on the other side of the room, “mason couldn’t pay me all the money in the world to wear his jersey.” 

“good.” still pouting, he gets even closer with every word. being this close to him, you’re able to count every freckle on his cheeks and the stars in his eyes. both hands on your hips now, “because I don’t wanna share.” 

“well lucky for you, pulisic,” another inch closer, “I don’t want to be shared.” 

lips practically touching, your hands reach to cup his face. from there, you pull him down as you go up on your tiptoes. everything else seemed to fade out as your lips moved together. no rush or urgency, just softness and words unspoken. who needed words? words and confessions could be said later. 

too lost in each other, the two of you were unaware of mason and bens nosey stares. shaking his head at the scene in front of them, ben holds his hand out. “alright, he finally made his move and they’re snogging. pay up.”

“no way!” mason scoffs, “the bet was that he had to make the first move. she practically jumped his bones.”

“bloody specifics,” ben mutters as he opens his wallet and hands mason the 200 (unjustly, in his opinion) owed pounds. 

what? if they had to suffer and watch two idiots fail to flirt, they were going to make some money out of it.

just wanted to post something before the semester started and i got swamped w schoolwork :) like always, feedback is really appreciated, thank you!

#christian pulisic #christian pulisic x you #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic fluff #christian pulisic imagine

[kairiscorner]

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

holy shock guys you need to restrain me rn

so imagine,

overworked salary man miguel o'hara x reader

day in, day out; from 8 in the morning to 5 in the evening, from monday to friday, miguel o'hara goes to work. not by choice, mind you, but to "serve his purpose in society and keep money and services flowing" for the insatiable society he is cursed to live in. he grumbles every morning when his alarm clock for 6:00 AM on the dot beeps and beeps until he decides to live that morning his mundane existence.

begrudgingly, he gets up and off the bed, dreaming to himself in his half-asleep stupor about how wonderful it'd be to get back under the covers and pretend he didn't have anything worthwhile to do. actually, he didn't need to pretend; his work was just that, anything but worthwhile. miguel has lost track of time on multiple occasions, only checking the calendar when he has nothing to work on, which is incredibly rare, mind you, and the look on his face when he realizes monday wasn't yesterday, for today is now friday.

miguel used to be a more sociable, confident, and sort of cocky guy. before he knew about the turmoils of the real world and lived every day like it was his last, miguel's now counting down his days--many of which has slipped from his mind entirely--until the day of his retirement, or his demise from all the workload he's been getting that seems endless. he wishes he could just have one day where he's not worrying about accounts or reports or having to face empty coffee cups by his table that aren't even his, or having a nosy co-worker look over at his monitor and chuckle about his work and point out his mistakes.

if only he could grab his keyboard and smash it against their heads without any repercussions, he'd do it in a heartbeat. and he'd do it again, and again, and again. he was tired and in need of solitude; though everyone else his age was doing the same thing without audible complaints and without much violent tendencies, he wanted an immediate exit from this hellish routine he was compelled to live out until he reaches his 60's.

he sighs as his virtual assistant, affectionately called lyla, greets miguel every morning--though he wishes he'd hear a voice other than hers the minute he awakes from his slumber, or lack of it. he mumbles back a good morning, not that the AI slept or anything. he makes himself coffee and reluctantly checks his phone for any updates at work. putting on his glasses and squinting, then pulling away from his phone as he adjusted his reading glasses, he deduced that it was the usual mail he received, with a lot of irritating nicknames from his boss. if he could punch him for every time he called him "mike", he'd've murdered him by now. but the man helps him pay his bills and put food on his table, he had to bear it. for a little longer.

miguel sighed as he put away his phone and readied the shower, thinking all the while if he should stop by a convenience store for breakfast or just make some toast. he had some time to kill, maybe he could make himself breakfast. as miguel stepped into the shower, he realized something was wrong. "mierda," he cursed as he grumbled and took off his reading glasses that he brought with him into the shower. all the kinds of things he does when he's out of it are phenomenally funny. yet miserable when you think about he's a man in his early 30's with a dead-end, nowhere job he finds no comfort or excitement in, barely has a social life, no friends that reach out to him for stuff other than high school reunions he has no interest in attending, and no one but a virtual assistant to greet him a good morning like she was coded to do.

miguel sighed as he finished his shower and turned the tap off and dried himself. as he wrapped the towel around his slim waist, he took a peek at the clock by his bedside table. how wonderful, he spent a long while in the shower lamenting his misfortunes, and now, he doesn't have the time to make himself breakfast anymore. could his day get any better?

miguel donned on his white button-up and realized he messed up the order of buttoning his shirt, the bottom most button without its counterpart buttonhole, and the buttonhole on the top most part of his clothing was without its counterpart button. he sighed as he undid his clothing, wishing his office would get rid of this pretentious dress code.

he finally did his buttons right and put on his blazer in an instant not caring to button it yet since he had to catch the commute by 7:00. he took his suitcase and was about to leave his apartment, when lyla appeared and reminded miguel about his dark red and blue striped tie that he left hanging on the backrest of his seat at the dining table. miguel groaned as he re-entered his home, lyla greeting him a welcome home, and him leaving before she could even finish her greeting.

miguel went down the stairs of the underground subway station and huffed as he caught his breath. he used to be so much more active when he was in his 20's, but that version of him has long since died when he signed his soul away to corporate slavery and his only form of exercise now is making his way from his home to the daily commute and back. he tapped his foot against the cement pavements and stood behind the bright yellow line; he hoped he'd make it on time before his boss, his annoying, stupid boss would chew him out for being a minute late again.

there were significantly more people boarding the trains that day, figures, it was a friday–everyone would be eager to go to work for a more rewarding weekend that'd be ahead of them all. however, for miguel o'hara, weekends only last for a minute; that's because he spends them all either finishing up work dumped on him by his extremely incompetent workmates or sleeping all day to make up for the 120 hours he spends in the earlier portion of his week working his ass off.

he barely got any sleep last night, staying up until 1 AM finishing up the organized reports he had to file and sending them to his head manager, that good for nothing, and stayed awake until 4:20 AM, listening to the ceaseless ticking of his bedside clock. insomnia's a thorn in his side, all the time. it also doesn't help that right now, as he's waiting for his daily commute, he felt the lack of sleep catch up with him as he felt his eyelids get heavier and heavier. he opened his mouth a little to yawn, feeling his eyes water as he did, signaling that sleepiness was upon him.

you know, maybe he could just shut his eyes a little and stand right where he is. yeah, he can do that; just giving hid eyes a rest as he–and he just missed his train.

wonderful, fantastic. now there wasn't anyone else on the platform waiting for the next train, it'd take too long. he sighed as he was about to leave, when he heard panting and the clacking of heels coming into the station. "shit!" he heard a voice cry out as the clacking got louder. he watched as you entered the station, exhausted and shaking in the knees. you must've ran a long distance to get here, for your forehead was beading with sweat, your chest rising and falling as you took in copious amounts of air, filling your tired lungs.

"did... did it..." you panted out, your speech broken as miguel approached you slowly, but didn't move any closer when you stood straighter, albeit in a strained and forced manner; pretending not to be panicky right now as your only train that'd get you to where you needed to be on time had just left seconds ago. miguel nodded with a slight frown on his face as he was predicting what follow up insults his buffoon of a boss would throw at him this time for being late, apart from a threat to cut dock him off his pay, or even worse, fire him on the spot–his sloppily done tie? his still tousled hair after probably three bottles of gel? his permanent scowl on his face, and the wrinkles that came with it?

he didn't want to think about it, it gave him headaches every time he thought of it, especially as it was becoming more and more of a reality as he stood there on the station platform with your spent figure from rushing in here, doing nothing. you sighed as you slumped on the mahogany bench nearby, sitting on spilled coffee someone so nicely left for you to sit on. "dammit!" you exclaimed in frustration as you got up, trying to get the stains off, but it merely spread over your clothes, making the mess more noticeable.

miguel wordlessly took off his unbuttoned blazer and offered it to your agitated figure. he looked at you with a nonchalant look on his face. "here, it'll hide the stain." he said as he peered at you, neither amused nor disappointed, just... utterly tired. you hesitated for a moment, but you took his blazer with a nod and a rushed, "thanks" as you wrapped the blazer around your waist and rubbed your face with your hands as you sighed yet again, even longer than the previous one.

"i'm getting fired after this, that's for sure." you murmured as you leaned your back against the wall and shut your eyes as you frowned. miguel, for some reason, joined you by the wall–leaning his own back against the wall and letting out a held in breath. "so am i." he confessed as you looked over at him. "well, guess that makes two of us." you muttered as you looked down at your shoes. "this might not matter to you anymore, but um..." you said as you looked back up at him, who now looked down at you; and as your gazes met, you pointed to his collarbone area. "the... the tie." you spoke as he peered down and noticed that his tie had come undone, what with it hastily being wrapped around his neck.

"well then, a lot of people might have seen it before you did, fuck." he said as he grabbed his tie and fumbled to tie it back on properly, grunting every now and then as his attempts to tie it all ended in failure. you couldn't take it anymore and told him to let you tie it for him. he couldn't resist, seeing as how you wouldn't take no for an answer after watching him fail time and time again.

"you have a... very pretentious looking tie." you remarked with a smirk as you did his tie, with him looking away from you out of embarrassment. a red hue appeared across his cheeks as you said that, and he pushed his glasses up further on his face. "it was a gift from my very competent head manager. they said red and blue were my colors, so they gifted me this. yeah." he rambled with a head scratch. you smiled at his rambling, and as he finished rambling, you finished tying his tie.

"that's better." you said as miguel looked down at his now tied up tie. he raised his eyebrows in an impressed manner. the creases on his tie that were the fruit of his earlier, miserable attempts were obscured. "wow, you... did it so much better than i ever could. thank you." he remarked with a small smile as he took off his glasses and tucked an arm of the glasses behind his button-up's front. he crossed his arms over his chest. "honestly, i'm not scared of getting fired. i'm thrilled about it, actually. i won't have to see those imbeciles at work, gawking over my reports and leaving their trash on my table. i'm just pissed they'll have the satisfaction of cutting me off and not me cutting them off." he said as he looked at your face and down at your waist where his blazer was embracing your curves.

"and... so am i." you said in a rather surprised voice as you said it–almost as if you yourself didn't realize you also hated your job, didn't like nor relate to your brainless co-workers who were suck ups to your equally shitty boss. miguel gazed over at you. "if you want to... wanna get some breakfast with me?" he asked in a gentle, almost as a whisper, tone. "it's okay if you don't want to, i just didn't get breakfast this morning–" "i'd love to." you said as you smiled up at him. "i'll tender my resignation letter all the while." you said as you looked at him with shining eyes. miguel smiled wider than before, hearing your words. he might've just made a new acquaintance... one with a brain and a heart, and has also had enough bullshit from horrible working conditions. he'd be lying if he said he wasn't interested in getting to know you, though.

"um... what's your name?"

a/n: NANAMI KENTOIFIED OUR MIGGY O'HARA LET'S GOOOOOO

@thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @luvstarrstruck@binibinileonara

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #atsv miguel #atsv imagines #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #miguel o'hara fanfiction

[majestyeverlasting]

Not Alone Tonight

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Ex!Fem Reader

Summary: Life's weighing down on you more than it ever has before, but it's the middle of the night and there's only one person and revelation capable of easing your mind.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Welp... here it is! I had so much fun writing this. I wouldn't exactly call it agnsty, per se, but the strong feels are most definitely there. And we all know I'm a sucker for happy endings (hence this being an ex's to lovers fic).

Only the moon sees you knock on Eddie’s front door. It’s a gentle sound that joins the symphony of insects and distant voices of the restless. Wayne’s truck isn’t in the driveway, and you’re left holding onto hope that Eddie’s awake to hear.

Once upon a time, your late nights were spent with him. Listening to him languidly strum his guitar, kissing him as if there was more comfort to be found in his pillowy lips than the grasp of sleep. 

You’re not sure how long you stand there, but relief floods you when the lights in the living room flick on. A moment later, the lock clicks, and the door opens to reveal Eddie rubbing his eyes with a lazy fist. Wisps of hair frame his face from having escaped the ponytail at his nape, and a pair of plaid boxers ride his hips. Though his shoulders relax at the fact that it’s just you, a new tension immediately builds itself back up. One laced with concern. 

It had been months since you were last here. Months since you uttered a series of words that chipped both of your hearts. 

I can’t do this anymore. 

But he doesn’t think twice before ushering you inside, one large hand resting at the small of your back. You don’t realize how chilly it'd been until you’re met with the warmth of the trailer and his proximity. Within a matter of seconds, you come to realize that the faint smell of tobacco and musky pinewood has never smelled more like home. 

“Are you okay? Did something happen?” He rasps, clearing his throat afterwards. 

His eyes flit over your frame with palpable tenderness. Partially to scope out any injuries, but mainly to solidify the fact that you’re truly standing in his trailer, bathed in the dim lamplight’s glow. Wearing an old sleep shirt, plaid pajama pants, and a pair of beat-up Vans. 

Your drained expression prompts him to go to the kitchen and pour you some water. His body moves on autopilot the whole while, feet cooled by the tile. 

Once the cup is in your grasp, you take a few sips as he watches you with an intensity that almost aches. For the first time in a long time, he’s at a loss for words. But his mind still moves a million miles a minute trying to piece together what could possibly be wrong. 

The hopelessness in your eyes resides alongside a degree of heaviness he’s never seen you bear. As crystalline tears brim on your waterlines, you raise the cup back to your lips so you have an excuse not to speak just yet. The water chills you from the inside out. Eddie doesn’t dare look away. 

The moment your gazes meet, your walls finally crumble to dust, leaving you amid the ruin. Just like in ancient Rome, it was only a matter of time.  

You don’t notice you’ve begun to cry until he’s easing the cup from your grasp, and setting it aside so that he can take you into his arms.

You tuck your face into his neck and try your best to restrain the broken sounds rising up your throat. The moment he begins rubbing your back, they escape, vibrating into his warm skin. The two of you stand like that for a while, and when he finally pulls away to look at your face, you want to hide. 

“I’ll listen,” he promises quietly. You try to hug him again so you’ll have an excuse not to look into those big brown eyes, but he doesn’t let you. An embarrassed warmth floods your cheeks as he speaks again, “Please talk to me.” 

There used to be a time when that was all you ever did. The two of you had it easy like that. There was always something to say, hardly a dull moment. Even the silences shared with him had been worthwhile, brimming with ease.  

“I’m sorry.” It’s barely a murmur. But you manage to work a little more bass into your voice. “I know it’s late and I probably woke you up, but I just couldn’t… I didn’t want to be alone tonight.” 

You wipe your cheeks with a shaky hand. “I just feel—I don’t know…everything?” Shame weighs on your words. “But nothing at the same time.” More tears begin streaming down your face.  

Eddie swallows thickly. He isn’t ready for this—whatever this is, whatever you need him to be—it’s a sudden realization. But every fiber of his being wishes he was. He used to know just how to quell your worries, but it had been months since he last saw you. All he had was the memory of who you had been. Surely, there was nothing he could do, no words he could offer, that would bring you comfort. Not anymore. 

But here you were. And he was damn willing to try. 

“Is it okay if we sit down?” He almost misses your soft question. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Of course,” he stutters out. 

With your vision partially blurred by tears, you follow him down the hallway into his bedroom. The small, cluttered space still looks and smells the same. Before joining him on the edge of his disheveled bed, you pluck a few tissues from the box on his dresser to dry your eyes. 

When you finally settle by his side, your thigh ends up pressed against his, and you don’t scoot away. There’s a new tattoo on his forearm you hadn’t noticed before: a small skull wearing a crooked crown. It looks more professional than the others inked on his milky skin, and you almost want to reach out and trace it. 

“How long have you been feeling this way?” He picks at the calluses on his palms. Because if he doesn’t, he’s going to drift right from the moment and start ruminating about how unfit he is to help you.

He has some of the prettiest hands you’ve ever seen. Slender fingers, and perfect little cuts to attest that he works with them diligently and well. 

You remember how good they once felt mapping your skin. It was always his mercy that you found yourself under. The entirety of who he was could’ve been likened unto a holy wing that you found refuge under, and no place in the world felt sweeter.

And with you, Eddie finally had something precious to call his own. Someone to care and look out for, who trusted him. But when apprehension crept its way into your mind, it made you wonder when all of that was going to change. 

You didn’t know what you were going to do the day he decided to withdraw his love for the sake of placing it elsewhere. 

So, unconsciously, you began to distance yourself from him so things wouldn’t pan out the other way around. 

And when the day came that a gaping chasm stretched between the two of you, it was you who turned your back and walked away, even though he was willing to build a million bridges if it meant getting back to you. 

If only you hadn’t been so foolish. 

“I’ve felt like this for a while.” You finally answer, watching as he continues fussing with his hands. “On and off since we broke up, actually.” 

He stills. 

Because maybe he is fit for this conversation after all. Maybe the crushing emptiness you’ve been experiencing is an extension of what’s been gripping him too. But he doesn’t dare assume because it’d been you who drew the line in the first place. 

“I think I get what you mean,” he says quietly. “I’ve been feeling pretty shitty lately too.” Something about his tone has shifted. There’s an underlying waver as if a wound is being prodded. “But I know it’s not permanent so I just, you know, keep it chugging.” He shrugs weakly. “Try not to let it eat me—that wouldn’t be good. I’ve got too much shit to do. Bills to help pay.”

“It gets better,” he continues. “I don’t know when.” He musters the most consoling smile he can manage, but it hurts to see. 

You truly were the reason things ended up this way.

The thought makes guilt gnaw at your bones with a renewed, unrelenting hunger. 

It doesn’t stop as fresh tears sting in your eyes. Eddie pushes himself up to get you more tissues, and as soon as he reaches the dresser, a restrained sob escapes you.

It’s a sound that makes you feel raw and vulnerable, like a live wire left exposed to splutter in vain. But you’re too tired to care. Not because it’s late, but because almost every waking second without him has felt ten times harder due to the weight of regret. 

You’d been okay for a while. The initial pain had fizzled to a merciful dullness. But over the past few weeks, you couldn’t get him off your mind. With summer still young, you’d been traveling with family and spending time with friends. You couldn’t help but wish he was there to make memories with as well. You’d backed out of calling and coming to see him so many times. 

Tonight was the night you caved. You had to see him, to hear his voice. 

When he makes his way back to you with the tissues, he kneels in front of you rather than returning to the bed. The intimacy of the gesture makes you blink down at him curiously. 

He hates that the sight of you crying shakes him up, makes him wish he had all the right words to say. 

“Careful,” he gently takes hold of your wrist, “it’s gonna get in your eyes.” You lower the tissue from your face, taking notice of the tiny white crumbs clinging to your lashes. 

“Here, close them for a sec.” 

You listen, and feel him gingerly brush them away. Before lowering his hands from your face, he lets his thumbs brush against your cheeks to wipe the moisture away. 

You didn’t realize you’d been holding your breath. “Thank you.”

“Mhm.” 

He’s still sitting on his knees, studying you. Like he’s at an altar searching and trying be found. It looks like there's so much else he wants to say. You beat him to it. 

“I’ve just missed you.” 

That’s what’s been throwing everything off. Shaking both of your worlds.

His brain convinces him that he heard you wrong. 

“What?” His voice is soft, eyes impossibly more fawn-like. 

You gently pull on one of the curls framing his face. “I miss you,” you tell him. “And I still think about you more than I’d like to admit.” The only sign that he’s still with you is how much his blinking has sped up. He’s otherwise frozen. “I’m so sorry, E. For everything.” There’s so much sincerity in your voice that he can feel it seeping into his skin. 

You helplessly shake your head. “I was just afraid. It wasn’t you I doubted, it was myself. I doubted if I was deserving of your time, your attention,” you admitted. “You’re one of the best things to ever happen to me.” 

He felt the same way about you.

The sound of a truck engine makes the air go quiet. Eddie snaps out of his trance to stand up and go peep out the window. 

Based on his small hum, you know it’s Wayne. 

“Is it okay that I’m here?” You ask, suddenly feeling hyper aware of yourself. 

Eddie was still replaying everything you had just said, not wanting it to slip away. He looked a little dazed. 

“Yeah, it’s okay,” he says after a couple beat. “He usually makes it home a little later than this.” 

When you hear the front door open, your heartbeat still upticks up like you’re about to get caught doing something you shouldn’t. It isn’t long before the dull thunk of a pair of boots pad closer and closer to Eddie’s closed door. Then comes a gentle series of knocks. 

“Ed?” he calls out. 

“Yeah?”

Wayne’s never been one to over impose. But he cares far too much to be indifferent. Especially when it comes to the happenings under his own roof. 

“You two okay in there? Can I peep in?” Eddie looks at you for approval, and when you offer a small nod, he opens the door. 

One look between you two is enough to have understanding brewing within the blue of Wayne’s eyes. He always has been the quiet, observative type. Nothing went past him. The puffiness and redness of your eyes surely aids him in reading between the lines this time around.

He knows you haven't been at the trailer since the breakup.   

“You alright, sweetheart?” It feels like it’s been forever since you’ve seen him, but the low, steady timbre of his voice makes you feel safe all the same. 

“I’m getting there,” you answer honestly. “It’s been a long night.” 

He nods. “Lord knows I’ve had a lot of those." That draws a small, sympathetic smile out of you. “But you’ll look back one day and realize they made you stronger. That’s what I always tell this one.” He steps into the room a little more and gives Eddie’s shoulder a squeeze.

“You two are good kids. Whatever you’re trying to navigate right now… I know you’ll figure it out. Take it from an old man.” He chuckles, a kind sparkle gleaming in his eyes. You’re grateful for it because it makes you hopeful. 

Wayne’s words even seem to have made Eddie’s shoulders relax. He looks looser, more assured. 

“You’re not that old,” he insists, the smile you love finally curling on his lips. It changes his whole face and makes you forget it’s nearly two in the morning and you’ve just walked back into his life. 

“‘M older than you,” he quips. “And, hey. If you two don’t do anything else tonight, make sure you try to get some rest, okay? Can you promise me that?” 

“Yes,” both of you say. 

His words linger in the air even after you and Eddie are alone again. 

The bed dips as he takes a seat by your side, letting out a long sigh that makes you study his face. Wishing you brush the faint freckles on his cheek. 

I love you, you want to say. Because you do. Deeply. And you love who you are when he's around. It’s why you fumbled out of bed and drove all the way across town to get here. It’s why there’s more hope in you now than there has ever been before. It’s why you’re certain you very well may combust into ash if you leave without getting a second chance. 

“Eddie…” you look into his eyes and realize you’re both searching for the same thing. Waiting for the same revelation to unfold and embrace both of you. It’s him who sets it free. 

“I love you.” 

This time it’s you who thinks you heard wrong.

“I never stopped,” he says. “Don’t plan on it anytime soon.” 

The only thing you can think to do is wrap your arms around him. It’s  awkward because you’re both sitting, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You would stay like this forever if it meant getting to bask in the warmth blooming within you. The warmth of forgiveness and an opportunity to act outside the binds of fear.

If they weren’t before, the stars are surely beginning to align now. 

“I never stopped either.”

••• 

For breakfast. 

-Wayne

Eddie found that note, along with some money, on the kitchen table the next morning. It was enough for both of you to go to that one diner you liked. He’d come back into the bedroom to let you know, only to see you still curled up under the covers of his bed. The clock displayed that it was nearly noon. 

When you eventually did stir and start moving around, you realized you had nothing to change into. 

“I can’t go in this,” you’d said, motioning down your body. The sun shone through the window and lit your skin. Eddie tilted his head and smirked a little, as if considering the idea. 

It felt just like old times again. As if everything had merely been put on pause between the two of you. 

“I mean…you technically could.” 

“But that’s tacky, E.” 

“Says who?” He chuckles at your incredulous look, and moves to rummage through one of his drawers. You startle when he blindly tosses a pair of denim shorts over his shoulder. Your shorts. Then another pair. And to your surprise, a few shirts. 

“Take your pick.” He turns around to face you. 

“I thought I made sure to get all of my—wait, I’ve been looking everywhere for this.” You pick up a pretty v-neck shirt from the floor. 

“You missed a few things.” He smiles at you then, genuinely, and you couldn’t help but give him a small one back. 

Breakfast ends up going better than you anticipated.

Reality sunk in halfway through the ride there. What if you don’t know what to talk about anymore? What if it’s weird eating in front of him after so long? They were all silly questions that dissipated the moment you sat across from him in the booth, and he playfully tapped your foot with his under the table. 

He took you to Lover’s Lake afterwards. And you perched yourselves on a large rock right on the bank, watching the afternoon sunlight glimmer on the water.

After a while, Eddie hops up to pick up a flat stone he’d been eyeing on the ground. 

You watch him turn it between his fingers a couple times before winding his arm back and swiftly swinging it forward. 

The rock bounces off the surface of the water a few times before sinking under. He turns back to you with a proud grin.

“C’mere,” he says. 

You immediately shake your head. “I still don’t know how—you go ahead. I like watching.” 

“I’ll try teaching you again. C’mon.” 

You remember how that went the very first time he’d offered: him biting back a smile as you complained that gravity and nature were somehow rigged against you. When you finally decide to push yourself up, he grins and begins scoping the ground for another rock fit for skipping.

His hair curtains around his face as he looks down, and you find yourself shamelessly looking at him. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and blue jeans that don’t quite fit to his thin waist. They’re sagging just enough to reveal the waistband of his boxers. 

Along with the sound of his Reboks crunching in the mix of dirt and grass, you can hear the water softly lapping at the shore. 

Twenty-four hours ago, you never would’ve pictured yourself here. Even now, it doesn’t seem real. More like a picture-perfect scene clipped from a strip of film, and pasted into your life. 

This time around, you were going to dare to believe that you deserved him in your life. 

“Hey, I think I found one.” He toes a rock with his shoe. When he looks at you, his expression falls a bit due to the intensity of your gaze. “What happened?” 

“You.” Because it’ll always be him. “Thank you. For everything. Answering the door last night, listening to me, not being angry after I was the one who walked away.” His eyes flit to your lips after you position yourself in front of him. “You’re the only good thing about this place sometimes.”

Eddie stands there soaking in your words, torn between the urge to kiss you or thinking of something romantically sophisticated to say. But he never has been much of a wordsmith. So he gently takes your face in his hands and captures your lips with his. They’re so soft and warm that a fire starts in your belly. You move slowly, tentatively, at first.

But as your hands find his waist, a deeper passion stirs within both of you, composing a rhythm of gentle nips and languid laps of the tongue. When you feel him beginning to smile, you can’t help but smile too. 

He pulls away to murmur against your lips, “Definitely worth the wait.” 

He’d been dreaming of a moment just like this; that somehow the universe would bring you back together. 

What the two of you don’t see is Steve and Dustin walking a ways away. It’s the younger boy who suddenly stops after looking up from his compass, causing Steve to run into the back of him. He opens his mouth to complain, but is promptly shushed. 

“Do you see that?” Dustin asks. 

“Dude. See what?” 

“That.” He dramatically points to where you and Eddie stand at the bank of the lake, laughing against each other’s lips. “I thought…” 

“They did break up. Like a few months ago or something.” After staring a moment longer, Steve shakes his head in partial indifference and maneuvers around Dustin.

“Let’s keep it moving, curly. Stranger things have happened.”

-

Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated.

Eddie Munson Masterlist

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#eddie munson #eddie munson friends to lovers #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #4 stranger things fic #eddie munson ex's to lovers

[pidges-lost-robot]

My favourite Klance trope in the world is never leaned into enough which is the whole keith not realising Lance and "Taylor" (tbh I'm not big on the Taylor specific part tbh I like the thing of Lance being called Leandro but choosing to go by Lance cause 1. He's trying to do what he thinks will have him fit in and 2. Hates when people try to pronounce it super weird but whatever shush its not the point) are the same person and I love it cause like firstly it implies on some level that Keith has already met Lance/is vaguely aware of his existence but just as Leandro but secondly that gives the initial rivalry to awkward friends to dating the potential for depth and also funny shenanigans.

Like fucking Lance thinking cause met years earlier and got along fine then that he and Keith are kinda friends and then Keith "pretends not to know who he is" (a.k.a Lance forgot when he met Keith he was still going by Leandro and Keith is just actually kinda faceblind and has a hard time recognising people, especially if its been a couple years) and so the rivalry begins cause what an asshole, and then they meet Shiro and once again Keith is speaking to him like they've never met before (a.k.a before Lance.says who he is again, as far as Keith knew, this was the first time they were meeting each other) that's genuinely kind of funny

But also depth cause this isn't just Lance making up a rivalry with a person, this is a person Lance thought for a second was his friend who seemingly twice now has forgotten him and that he spent nearly a year constantly being compared to/picked on about (look ik in canon its one comment but as a person who's primary bullies were teachers, this is my projecting onto Lance era I'm sorry ik it's angst but shut up) and it zones right in at the bullseye of Lance's major insecurities that he's not interesting, worthwhile or worth the time.

Meanwhile for Keith, he didn't really acknowledge being faceblind since being with the team, so for him, twice now some asshole has just had a problem with him for no reason which just hits dead centre of his insecurities, that no matter what he does he'll be hated for things that he can't control and once again people will decide who he is before they even know him.

See, I got a balance for funny and sadness

Also it'd just be really funny to me if the games how episode happened earlier and Keith's round was he had to draw people from memory by name for the team to guess and the whole team bar Lance having hope for a brief second before he reminds everyone that Keith is faceblind he has no idea from faces what people look like. Though it ends up working out well cause Keith tries to use context clues for the name and doesn't draw the people, but objects and scenery relayed to them or memories of things they did

#voltron #vld #klance #lance #keith #keith kogane #lance mcclain #lance vld #vld lance #keith vld #vld keith #lance voltron #keith voltron

[autumnbrambleagain]

Hi, first time reader, first time caller. I ended up reading proselytize in between my various beginner runs in qud to keep me motivated. It's really good! You're a very talented writer with a great sense of pacing, character and style! I was just wondering though, do you have default builds for all the daughters of nafpor, or are they more like archetypes?

oh gosh thank you! i am always stunned at how well received proselytize has been, i'm glad people are enjoying it so much

i experiment a lot with them when i play them, so i have a lot saved, although TBH a lot of them are older characters from over a year ago

here's suir softbeast's canonical build, although this is just like. her base, larval form without any of her chimera stuff. there's a mod that lets you pick what your chimeric limbs are when evolving so you can have the exact same suir softbeast experience, the randomization of it means any future suir i play without that mod is going to be a radically different suir

you'll notice her intelligence is like, pretty high! it's said in the game she ends up being one of the best tinkers in qud and just convinces herself she's only good for being a blodshedding hedonist. my suir build strats were pick every physical mutation i could get, get extra limbs, the usual chimera stuff. i used swords as my main for the DV bonus and lunge action economy stacking, and axes in all the other offhands for dismemberment procs

it uses the marshtaur sprite, although i'd wish in a tattoo gun and recolor her in all white and gray. if i ever played her again i'd probably modify the sprite to make her look more like herself

here's tiyu-yutep's last build. psychometry isn't actually Very Worthwhile, but it was thematic and i'm the kind of idiot that will make a build for theme rather than efficiency. this is, in fact, a pretty BAD build, which I think is on its own level thematically important. the daughters of nafpor aren't all supertwinked hyperspecced characters, some of them just Played Good

normally i'd replace her sprite with a cat cherub sprite, but at this point next time i ever end up playing her i'd just make my own sprite for her

in actual gameplay i'd use precog and nectar to reroll mutations so i have a bespoke list of mental mutations stacked up as high as i can, and complement them with a ton of tinkered nonsense. tiyu-yutep's build is about maximizing options in every situation. something bad is happening? that's fine, i have 12 kinds of grenade, 10 mental mutations, and eight guns to solve it.

that's one of my igwashim builds, unlike tiyu and suir being kinda jack-of-all-trades (my preferred style ngl) ig is very much a "scry, teleport in, blast everything to sleep, axe axe axe axe axe axe axe" build

mutation points aren't spent on new mutations at all, and exist just to fill out the efficiency of her existing mutations. i use a mod to make teleport more accurate at very high levels, because teleportation is my nonsexual fetish and i crave being able to pinpoint teleport after i hit level 10

still she isn't just a bump-attack character. maximize information gathering and ambush tactics, never play fair. appearance change wish to turn her tile into a crypt ferret's, naturally, although now that i've started fumping about with modding, i'd just like. actually make a clade so instead of it saying "Mutated Human" it'd say "Mutated Ferret" or something. make it so dromads don't call me human they call me "ferret" or something

her having Socially Repugnant would be appropriate narratively but i never bothered with it since she didn't need it, 10 ego is enough to represent her being a talking animal

i don't have any specific build saved for Savithvyr, she was one of my first Qud characters and was just a Fuming God-Child specced around agility, willpower, and intelligence, mostly using gas grenades of various kinds alongside the billowing conch. also not an optimal build! but it was fun. flood the zone with gas and just sorta stand back and pick at the survivors with a gun or stab them with triple-element gaslight kris

there's a mod that lets you play goatfolk which i used for naara, but in version updates i don't have it installed right now and i'll be honest i don't remember what i did with her much other than mental mutations

ooo-ho-OOO-EEE-ah and Buwofu-gawufoo were actually companions that Savithvyr and Suir picked up in-game, they were never characters i played directly but as companions they lasted so long they felt like they were part of those characters' identities and so they had to make the transition into the game proper.

the brambled fae's original build is NO LONGER POSSIBLE because they increased the cost of horns, which i think is HILARIOUS because why shouldn't it be an actual illegal build?

not that it hasn't had a dozen different builds ANYway. it's my go-to most-used build and based off of one of my fursonas at its core, so it's the culmination of my bullshit jack-of-all-trades obsession.

MILD SPOILERS but ive posted it before on this blog anyway, it DOES have its own sprite since i still play variations on it regularly enough i made a sprite for it

although that doesn't really represent what it looks like in the story

that's getting a BIT closer to what it looks like when we finally get to the brambled pass

#caves of qud #autumn says things #caves of qud fanfiction

[blue-chimera]

Sam's Gap Year (Season 8)

A lot of fans had a huge problem with Sam's actions between the end of Season 7 and the beginning of Season 8. Was it believable that Sam would simply "abandon" his brother like that? Was it selfish, contemptible?

Sam Believed Dean Was Dead & in Heaven

First, let's set the stage. It's not unreasonable for Sam to believe that Dean & Cas were basically vaporized at the end of season 7. They'd enacted a spell that was supposed to kill the head Leviathan, the head Leviathan exploded, and Dean & Cas vanished. When Sam tries to grill Crowley about it afterwards, Crowley seems completely unsurprised by this turn of events. He says, casually, that God weapons usually have "a bit of a kick." He says he can't help Sam — in a tone that implies that no one can — and that Sam's "well and truly on [his] own" now.

With nothing else to go on, and reeling from Crowley's suggestion that this was all quite foreseeable, Sam concludes (pretty reasonably) that Dean is dead — that the Leviathan-killing weapon operated via a balanced action-reaction that was deadly to the wielder, much like we'll later learn about the Trials.

Sam never doubted that Dean would go to Heaven when he died. So, once he connects the dots above, it follows logically that Dean must be at rest. (Even if Dean hadn't been a hero in the rest of his life, it'd be reasonable to assume that whoever used this weapon would be granted an automatic place in Heaven... A weapon of God that hinges on self-sacrifice to save the world seemingly guarantees that, if you believe in a just God.)

A Comparison to Earlier Reactions

When Dean dies at the end of season 1, John can't take losing both his wife and his son, and — in a desperate act — he condemns his own soul to Hell to restore Dean's life. Dean feels unworthy of this sacrifice. He's wracked with guilt at the thought that he's not only caused his father's death, but his eternal suffering. However, Dean's spent his whole life worshiping and emulating his father. So, when Sam dies and Dean feels the same desperation John had, he follows his father's example. This is partly because Dean aspires to what he sees as John's heroism and partly because Dean doesn't see his own life as worthy of John's sacrifice, so this is his way of making that sacrifice worthwhile: passing the life that's saved on to Sam.

However, the largest part of Dean's motivation is, arguably, that Dean doesn't know how to live without Sam, especially in a world that no longer holds his father. Dean's life has long revolved around keeping his brother safe. Family in general (and Sam in particular) gives Dean a reason to live. Without Sam, life seems meaningless. Dean justifies his deal by reasoning that Sam's life is worth more than his, but the truth is that Dean is more afraid, in that moment, of life without his brother than he is afraid of death & Hell.

Then, at the end of Season 3, Dean pleads with Sam not to follow in his footsteps. However, in the wake of Dean's death, Sam is experiencing the same cocktail of grief & guilt that drove Dean to his own sacrifice, and he attempts to make the same deal. When it becomes clear that these efforts are doomed to failure, he becomes fixated on obtaining revenge or dying in the process (with an early preference for "dying in the process").

Some (but not all) of these emotional wounds are healed when Dean returns from the dead. Then, in Season 5, it's Sam's turn to die — this time, in an act of self-sacrifice that's designed to save not just his brother but the world. He pushes Dean to promise that he'll retire from hunting & pursue his own happiness, and he makes it clear that Dean should not make any attempt to resurrect him like he did in Season 2. He wants Dean to have closure. He wants Dean to be able to move on & have a life after he's gone. We're robbed of seeing Sam's true reaction to finding out that Dean didn't give up on him because Sam's soulless at the time of that revelation, but from what we know of Sam, it seems reasonable to surmise that he'd be at least somewhat frustrated/exasperated at Dean's inability to close the book on him.

Given that, it's not terribly surprising that Sam tries to take his own advice at the end of Season 7 and let go.

But... is there more behind Sam's actions here than just Sam striving for a healthier reaction to grief? I would argue yes.

Continued here: Part 2

#supernatural #spn #sam winchester #dean winchester #character analysis #spn meta #understanding sam winchester #understanding dean winchester #understanding the winchesters

[justmybookthots]

City of Bones

Yo, I first read this book way back in secondary school. I must have been thirteen or fourteen at the time? So it's been… not gonna reveal my age, but it's been well past a decade.

I never really loved it that much as a teen—I mean, I liked it, but I wasn't crazy over it, or anything. I was more into the Virals series as a teen. Or Skulduggery Pleasant.  Or Maximum Ride but we don't talk about that.

My impression of it has kind of soured over the years because of the cheap/budget-looking ass TV series that came out. Anyways, I'd washed my hands of it until I saw that Cassandra Clare WAS STILL writing this series and milking the heck out of it. And yet SOMEHOW, it's still trending? Chain of Thorns was all over BookTok for a while, and admittedly, I was impressed by the longevity of her series. By Jove I thought everyone should be over it at this point.

Point is, I can't read Chain of Thorns and figure out why the heck it's so popular because I couldn't (and can't) for the life of me remember anything about the worldbuilding of this story. It's been over a decade. T_T

So I thought to myself: well, I might as well reread the first book. I braced myself for a world of cringe and…

It wasn't that bad?

Like, if you asked me to choose between this or Fourth Wing, it'd be this. I don't consider this a bad book, to be honest? Neither was it great, or anything, but all in all, I had a good time reading it even though YOU NEED TO KNOW HOW WARY I WAS GOING IN. I do have one thought at present: while the vocabulary in this book is pretty standard to me now, there was no way teenage / 13-year-old me had any idea what half the words here meant, lol. 

Things I didn't love:

Simon. He felt very extra and out of place the whole book. The only worthwhile contribution he made was shooting the skylight. Prior to that, he spent his time following Clary because he, uh, cared about her or something, then immediately switched his focus to Isabelle and mooned over her for half the book. Then later it turned out he was just making Clary jealous but I was like, boy. Get a life. I can't believe Jace and Clary risked their necks to save Simon the Rat (this is not me being mean. He literally turned into a rat). I'd have just left him with the vampires if I'm being honest. And Simon turning into a heck of an ingrate because he found her kissing Jace was so friggin' weird—somehow it's okay for him to flirt with girls to make her jelly, but her kissing Jace? Yeah, she's a bitch, even though she AND JACE risked their lives to save his rat ass.

The tone of the story was weird. So weird. Like it switches from dead serious to the Shadowhunters being like: "Yay! We're gonna find the Cup. This is going to be so fun!" and Jace / Isabelle just letting Simon hang around them because why not? It feels like teenagers going on an edgy adventure which kind of reduced the stakes for me. Thankfully, the tone switched to a more serious one later on.

The denouement was a little rushed regarding Alec and Isabelle, especially the former. I still don't get why Alec suddenly decided to accept Clary when he hated her guts before. It's not like Clary did anything impactful that was directly related to him. 

Did not like the "other girls" hatred Clary felt towards Isabelle, who didn't really do anything except look hot? What's wrong with looking hot? But the good thing is that so far, Clary only thought those thoughts and didn't act on her dislike towards Isabelle. On the surface, she was mostly pretty civil.

The angst Jace felt when he saw Simon in Clary's room was, um. I mean he was pretty quick to jump to conclusions and go the whole dramatic teenage route of "My life is ending because she had another guy in her bed all along". I couldn't really take his angst seriously.

A little random but: You're telling me a bunch of Shadowhunters didn't have driving licences/a car and needed Simon to drive them to Clary's house to get the Cup. I can't.

A friend pointed out that this story had some Harry Potter influence (Cassandra Clare had apparently written HP fanfic that inspired this?) and I can't unsee certain things. Jace is very much a Draco. Simon is really a mix of Ron and Harry (looks like Harry, personality more like a Ron. No wonder I can't stand him, lol. Spoiler: I hate Ron's guts). And Valentine and his Circle ARE SO Voldermort and his Death Eaters. Still, it's fine. I'm not super nettled by it. The concept of originality has always been a fine line anyway, and it's more about execution to me.

Sometimes Jace's banter was a little too much. And most of the time, Simon's banter was just annoying. I'm just a Simon-hater, can you tell?

Things I DID like:

The twist with Hodge. Didn't see that coming.

I did like the prose. It's very pretty.

Clary doesn't magically become a powerhouse combat badass, which… realistic. I like that.

The twist about Jace and his father. One thing I truly forgot after I read it years ago (or maybe I never really knew?) was that Valentine WAS the man that had raised Jace as a child. They were the same person. Valentine just assumed Michael's name. That said, I do know Jace is a Herondale, and some guy called Sebastian is Clary's real brother, so I want to know the real truth because I can't recall anything else. That will only be revealed in future books, not this one, so I'll see if I get in the mood to continue. 

MAGNUS. HE WAS MY FAVOURITE AS A TEEN AND HE IS STILL A SCENE-STEALER IN THIS BOOK. I may just read the sequel mainly because I want to see him and Alec. 🙂

My brain is kind of puttering. In any case, I can't be bothered to flesh out my review further for a book I'm reading as my literary form of 'trash reality TV' of the day. The book was fine, better than I expected, and I'll still be keeping the four stars I rated this book years ago. That's remarkable in its own way, really. (Edit: I went to check. I'd rated it three stars. Well, I'll keep that, too. Lmao.)

- 8 Nov 2023

#book blog #book review #the mortal instruments #cassandra clare #the infernal devices #shadowhunters #the shadowhunter chronicles

[petricakegames]

Devlog: ECTOCOMP & Bare-Bones Game Jam(s)

Final devlog!! Late night, brain-empty thoughts comin' atcha.

This has been a wild month, but I'm glad to say I have finished 2 games within it. I haven't really parsed how I feel about it--probably because I've spent about 25hrs in the last two days starting and finishing game #2. Proud? Probably proud.

But Laurie, no one asks, what about that game you talked about ages ago? You had cover art for it and everything. You invented (and purchased) merch for it because the idea cracked you up so much. Well, dear player, what happened was I fell really in love with a story that kept growing. I realized if I was going to get it done before the end of October, I'd have to cut a lot of things out of it. I decided it was worth it to do it right. Never fear! The project has been moved to Nano and will (fingers crossed) be published by the end of November. I got about a third of it written, I love the characters so so much and I didn't want to rush them.

I decided that with about two weeks left before the end of the jams. Plenty of time to do another small game and I thought it'd be really neat to get 2 games finished. And I had a ton of ideas--teens break into a Spirit Halloween to do a seance and shenanigans happen; you've been set up on a first date for Halloween and the order in which you, well, order your food determines the ending you get; it's the far-flung future and your a teen on a space ship feeling disconnected from the life you know and a friend found some old Halloween party guides from earth and is throwing a Halloween party--and as much as I liked them, I never found the spark that makes a story catch fire for me. I was ready to be content with the game I had made.

Until 3 days ago. When the opening line "Honey! I've got some hair wrapped around my toes." popped into my head out of nowhere. Suddenly, this horror story develops whole cloth in my mind. And it's...a kind of horror I don't usually engage with. It's uncomfortable to write. I feel a little conflicted about publishing it. It's not about Halloween and I really wanted to make a game about Halloween! But it's done so I am. There are enough narrative things I find interesting that it seems worthwhile to share. And it's pretty good horror.

I still have to finish some backend stuff--write copy for the game page, finish some placeholder text in the game itself. I ended up going with Twine (Harlowe), even though the UI makes me want to cry. I knew I wouldn't be able to figure out pathing and variables well enough to make Ink work (not without something even more clunky than what I've got). And I really needed italics and base Ink doesn't do italics

Anyway, that's all. It's late and I should sleep but I've spent so much brain writing the last couple days I'm enjoying vegging out with youtube. I'll do a post mortem for both games because I have Feelings about them. And I get a whole 2 days without writing nonstop before nano starts! 😂😭 Thanks for reading!

#dev log #interactive fiction #ectocomp23 #barebonesjam

[breakingarrows]

Replaying BioShock 2

When thinking of BioShock 2 I often lump it with the black sheeps of gaming, the sequels that had to follow up on a video game that was immediately regarded as one of the greatest of all time, and as the maligned entry that is secretly the best of the series. The Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty, the The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker, the Star Wars Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords, the Far Cry 2, the Grand Theft Auto IV, the Max Payne 3 games of video game canon. Games that often received reevaluation after the hype cycle had undergone its course and reached the point in time in which a game originally rejected and ridiculed by video game consumerists and forum posters becomes heralded[a] as “Good, Actually.” One game I don’t think has fully received its due recompense is BioShock 2. I first played through BioShock 2 in December of 2012 and it was then and there that I knew that BioShock 2 was Good, Actually.

The announcement of BioShock 2 in late March of 2008 was met with a lot of bewilderment. Commentators stated, “BioShock is the game I've enjoyed most in years. I can't see a sequel coming close to matching it but here's hoping anyway.” Sarcastically, “That's exactly what BioShock needed! A sequel!” “I just don't think the game lends itself to a sequel is all. A prequel could be good though.” “I loved BioShock but I can't think of anything I want in a sequel. They'd have to do something totally different.” “If it's not a prequel, don't bother.” “I don't really understand what they can do with a sequel. The story was nicely wrapped up, and the combat/research system will be hard to improve upon.” “If Ken's team isn't involved. No thanks!” “This is like Titanic getting a sequel. Either take the story in a completely different direction not involving Rapture, or a prequel.” Not every commentator was as dour and skeptical, though those that were had every right to be. BioShock was immediately hailed as a work of art after its release in August of 2007, and Take Two was now seemingly attempting to repeat the success with yet another BioShock game created separately from the original team.

Release day reception was mixed to positive. Surprisingly, a lot of posts were spent talking about the multiplayer component, something you can still hypothetically play today, but I will be ignoring. A general consensus was that BioShock 2 was an adequate-to-good followup to the seminal title that was BioShock. “If I had to give it a score, it'd probably land somewhere right around a 7. It's a fun game that gets a lot better the more you play it, but it's lost a bit of the magic of the original's unexpectedness and allure.” Some felt a little more aghast. “just finished it and can't remember any worthwhile level of this game... I'm on tears [sic], this is easily my biggest gaming disappointment ever, this is even worse than Devil May Cry 2.” Most people on forums did what people on forums do and overanalyze and complain about graphical fidelity. From framerate to texture quality to whether or not the PC resolution options constituted “widescreen.”

One common thread was that people found the game very hard, with low health packs, Eve hypos, and ammo pickups throughout, leaving them having some difficulty getting past the combat scenarios. Reviewing my footage of my hard mode, no-vita-chamber playthrough, while I did die exactly four times, I did find that I was very often handling a surplus of health, Eve hypos, and ammunition of each type for my arsenal of weapons. In the rush of release, the thrill of opening that shrink wrapped piece of plastic with an unmistakable “new game smell,” these terminally online forum posting freaks had blown their way through the game to their own detriment. This was not a Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2. This was not even a Killzone 2 or a Gears of War 2. This was BioShock 2. In this game in order to effortlessly glide from one combat scenario to the next you have to be slow, thoughtful, and most importantly thorough. You have to check every room and avenue, loot every dead-body-marking lockbox, hack every safe, peruse every locked off area, and then you will have accumulated so much health and ammo that you will force yourself to waste plasmid uses and bullets just so that you can keep looting. BioShock 2 was not hard because it didn’t give you enough health and ammo, BioShock 2 was hard because you didn’t seek out and find enough health and ammo.

Engaging with the combat in BioShock 2 is an overall improvement on the original due to now being able to simultaneously wield and fire a weapon and plasmid at the same time without swapping between the two offensive options. In BioShock you would have to choose between equipping a plasmid or equipping a weapon as your on-hand utility. In BioShock 2 you already have both active and simply have to choose which you want currently equipped in each hand, left is dedicated to plasmids, and right to guns. This makes combat much more active and engaging as your combinations of attacks work more efficiently when both plasmid and weapon can be triggered with the touch of a button. Electrifying an enemy and then bashing with the drill, lighting an enemy on fire and then letting loose a heat-seeking rocket, spearing an enemy before pulling it and shooting it back in with telekinesis, and insect swarming with any weapon’s special ammo as the swarm keeps them in place stunned. Overall the minute-to-minute gameplay of BioShock 2 is better than the original, and the weapons are adapted to fit into your status as a Big Daddy which I appreciated.

BioShock 2 culminates with two encounters that are the epitome of the two scenarios you have been engaging with over the course of the game. The first is a battle against two Big Sisters, the face of the game and one of its best contributions to the overall BioShock entity. They are as hard to kill as a Big Daddy but much more agile and capable of dealing damage. The second is a wave defense, a culmination of the optional but suggested scenario to guard a Little Sister who is harvesting Adam from predetermined corpses littered throughout the map of each level. These defensive scenarios allow you to utilize alternative trap ammo as well as trap plasmids at chokepoints and around the general area of a corpse before putting the Little Sister down to begin the harvesting. During my most recent playthrough I had built up such an arsenal that I could easily just sit back in a corner and allow the plasmid and ammo traps kill every single splicer that attempted to interrupt the harvest. These segments are completely optional but due to their surplus Adam rewards make it something that should be engaged with. Adam is the currency for purchasing new plasmids, upgrading plasmids, and gaining more health, eve, and active plasmid slots, making them the most useful resource in the game. These defense segments also allow you more opportunities to research the different enemy types after you’ve unlocked the camera. Research bonuses are how you get some of the best gene tonics such as the upgraded Armored Shell, Drill Vampire, and Fountain of Youth tonics.

Defending Little Sisters from splicers also prepares you for the battle against Big Sisters, as you’ll learn they only appear once every Little Sister has been dealt with in a level. This allows you to pick which vent by which to resolve the Little Sister decision and prepare the surrounding area accordingly. The subsequent fight was always thrilling as Big Sisters were most often the reason for my death. Mixing and matching defense and offensive options makes a playthrough feel more varied as you bounce from fighting splicers in a new area to looting, fighting a Big Daddy, placing a Little Sister for a wave defense, and repeating.

More critically than in gameplay, BioShock 2 succeeds in telling a compelling story with its characters. Whereas in BioShock the main story was highly regarded for its Big Twist, there wasn’t much more to it than that twist. The characters in BioShock were the highlight, each a twisted and morose individual whose personality made each level memorable up to the moment you killed them and moved on in the dark ride of Rapture. It all culminated in an ending sequence that everyone mostly ignores when talking about its successes, because after the twist it didn’t have anything worthwhile left. BioShock 2 has an idea and executes on it fully for a much more satisfactory whole.

In BioShock 2 you are an example for your adopted daughter Eleanor to learn from. By watching how you decide to deal with not only the Little Sisters but with specific characters who antagonize you throughout each of their levels she will ultimately make a decision that determines the type of ending you receive. This reflection of action is indicative of how our own children learn from us, whether we are aware or intend for it or not. Children are always watching and will pick up on mannerisms you might not even recognize until they perform it. Tantrum throwing objects is a reflection of our own frustration, and imitation-as-play reinforces everyday actions as routine. Eleanor learns from the player and through a more complex flowchart of points compared to the original game, will make the final decision of whether Sofia Lamb, Eleanor’s mother and your main antagonist throughout the game, lives or dies.

The original BioShock’s “moral choice dilemma” was a black and white decision between saving or killing Little Sisters. Killing Little Sisters would net you more Adam in the short term but saving them ended with an overall larger number of Adam to spend on gameplay abilities, making salvation the desired route to take. Sparing or killing a child is not a real moral conundrum, it is a simplistic decision given weight only by the empty words of marketing. BioShock 2 muddles the mechanical reward to its benefit. The maximum overall Adam you can gain is a mixture of saving every Little Sister until a certain point where you gain a tonic that gives you more Adam for harvesting, at which point you use them to gain Adam from corpses before killing them yourself. The decision to kill or spare a child is still cartoonishly simple for a moral decision, but is at the very least made more complex by the mathematical equations behind them. Retaining the save or kill decision reads much more like certain features from Fallout 3 carrying over into Fallout: New Vegas. That is, as a consequence of restricted development time and inheriting another studio’s data within which to chisel your own familiar but new (and superior) piece of art.

More thoughtful choices in the game come in the form of the named characters whose fate is determined by the player. The first character you meet is Grace Holloway, a woman who was entrusted by Sofia Lamb to watch over her daughter Eleanor while Lamb was imprisoned by Andrew Ryan. Holloway failed and Eleanor was inducted into the Little Sister program and bonded with your player character, Delta. Holloway hates you for this. Next is Stanley Poole, an agent for Ryan who was responsible for the flooding of Lamb’s retreat in Dionysus Park and Eleanor’s induction into the Little Sister program after she caught his work as a double agent. Lastly is the tragic character of Gilbert Alexander, a scientist who underwent a radical experiment on behalf of Lamb that left him transformed into an inhuman organism and left behind audio logs prior to his descent into madness that would teach a would-be savior how to deliver him from his current state.

The fates of these three characters, combined with the player's decisions for the Little Sisters they encounter will lead to one of six endings. Thanks to this flexibility it is entirely possible to get a “Good Ending” with Lamb dead, or a “Bad Ending” where Lamb lives, or a “Neutral Ending” where you killed each character and had a mixture of saving and harvesting Little Sisters. My preferred choice of ending is saving all the Little Sisters and only sparing Holloway, as Poole deserved death for his crimes and Alexander was a mercy killing at his own request. Holloway is a traditional misguided henchman duped into villainy, Poole is a classical self-serving villain, and Alexander is a tragic figure whose death is more of an assisted suicide than an outright murder based on vengeance or justice.

Lamb’s fate is not up to you directly. You do not push a button on the controller to decide whether she lives or dies. That is left up to your adopted daughter, Eleanor, to decide, based on the decisions you made up to that point in time. She learns from you as a child learns from their parents. It's a much more compelling undercurrent to the game than the original’s “would you kindly?” being a conceit of a player character lacking agency in most games. Even with the flowcharts explaining the criteria for each ending, the unseen complexity underneath the various avenues available to the player upon their first playthrough means that the ending they receive will be a much more honest reflection of themself put on display by the actions of Eleanor.

Andrew Ryan has become part of video game canon as one of the most compelling antagonists encountered in games. He is the industrialist founder of Rapture, the setting which so bewitched everyone in the first BioShock. The largest hole left by BioShock that its sequel would have to somehow fill would be that of its main antagonist. How could you top Andrew Ryan? BioShock 2 addresses this issue in two ways. The first is that it still includes many audio logs from Andrew Ryan so that you can once again be regaled by his charisma and ego stroking monologues. BioShock 2 also does some retroactive addition with the introduction of Sofia Lamb, a psychiatrist who seeks to create a utopia using her ideology of “collectivism” in direct opposition to Ryan. She is now known as one of the great figures of Rapture, going so far as to even have debated Ryan publicly over the future of the city and being included in a photo of “Rapture’s Best and Brightest: 1952”

Just as Eleanor’s ending decision is a reflection of the player, Sofia Lamb is a mirrored reflection of Andrew Ryan[b]. Both spouted ideological babble in order to bring themselves into power, but neither were willing to separate that power from themself. Ryan founded Rapture so that people could be free from regulation by government or religion, so that anyone could do what they wanted. This propaganda didn’t include the asterisk that stated all this was fine, so long as Ryan stayed on top. The original BioShock is the story of how Ryan’s ideology of freedom fell once his position as top dog was threatened. Sofia Lamb is very much an altered reflection of that same grasping at power. Her “collectivism” is riddled with “common good” sentiments but all with her at the top with no equal or superior authority. Lamb is happy to sacrifice the individuals in her quest for the greater good, exemplified through Holloway, Poole, and Gil. Holloway was manipulated into serving Lamb out of guilt rather than adoration after the abduction of Eleanor, Poole’s allegiance was known to Lamb prior to the drowning of Persophone making her implicitly guilty in his actions, and Gil was coerced into serving as a test tube. Lamb strips everyone of their humanity and turns them into pawns to be manipulated and moved around according to her will. She may be the complete opposite in terms of beliefs but she is as hypocritical as Ryan, ruthlessly more so as she rules not by force but by love. Throughout the game you will come across adoring murals painted in her honor, she refers to her followers as the “family,” and pressures people to carry out her will as examples of their devotion. Ryan is a tyrant, a familiar and often used person to fight against in all forms of fiction. Lamb is much more sinister, having a morally uprighteous front belying a rot of egomania.

This utilization of coercing through adoration most similarly correlates in my own life to the use of religion and “God’s” will to push an individual's agenda onto others. Some of the latest media to tap into this insidious form of religion would be Mike Flanagan’s Midnight Mass in the character of Bev Keane played by Samantha Sloyan and on a more systemic level in Under the Banner of Heaven miniseries based on the book by Jon Krakauer covering the 1984 murder of Brenda and Erica Lafferty. Navigating a murder case involving deeply Mormon families included multiple conversations about faith and “Heavenly Father” as coverage for decisions and in-action that very much harkened back to my own years in service to the church my family attended. Lamb’s many audio logs recording conversations with followers and frequent propagandizing on speakers as you walk through Rapture gave me similar feelings of repulsion. She’s the type of person to stab you while smiling and explaining why this outcome was the best thing that could happen to you and fighting it will only hurt those you love.

Lamb’s indifference to all of those around her extended to her own daughter Eleanor, who wasn’t a person as much as another tool by which to achieve utopia. Lamb never loved Eleanor, she loved the promise Eleanor held as the ultimate mechanism towards whatever Lamb's version of utopia was, most likely something like Human Instrumentality with herself as god. Eleanor, lacking a mother, was nonetheless a person with feelings and opinions. She rebelled against her mother constantly. The more Lamb tried to control Eleanor’s growth the more Eleanor chose the opposite. When Ryan imprisoned Lamb, Eleanor was left with Holloway who cared for her with more love than Lamb did. That love, however, was more a substitute for Lamb than genuine care for the girl. Holloway loved to serve Lamb, and watching over Eleanor was a duty to be performed in that devotion. The loss of Eleanor was less the horror of losing a child and more the horror of having failed Lamb.

With you, Subject Delta, she had more of a parent than before. It may have been a parasitic relationship created to harvest Adam above all else, yet despite this, the mute Delta was a better parent than anyone Eleanor had before. Compared to the motherhood of Lamb, a life bonded to the protector Delta gathering Adam was more freeing and fulfilling than as a subject to the utopia project.

Parenthood is a recurring subject throughout BioShock 2. Andrew Ryan’s audio logs begin with his pondering of fathering of a child, not knowing his son would one day kill him. Holloway talks about how Lamb offering up Eleanor fulfilled her desire for motherhood that was denied by her infertility and the forced disappearance of her lover. A series of audio logs tell the story of a father named Mark Meltzer whose daughter was kidnapped by a Big Sister and his descent into Rapture in an attempt to recover her that ended with him as a Big Daddy you can fight and slay. Lamb and Eleanor’s relationship makes up the core of the game’s drama, with you serving as the imprint Eleanor acts upon. Our forward momentum is a reaction to Eleanor’s love for us in the form of a father/daughter relationship. However, there is also a more utilitarian reason for your desire to reunite with Eleanor and it is due to the Little Sister/Big Daddy bond you share. Brigid Tenenbaum briefly returns in the beginning stages to inform you that death awaits if you do not once again get into contact with Eleanor. This muddies the bond between you into less of fatherly love and into a resolution to live. The dual motivation continues for a majority of the game, as each roadblock puts the player more at risk of death from separation (with flashing red seizures reminding you of this despite it being a fraudulent threat as the player character will never actually die) and blossoms a concern and care for the one who calls you father and leaves gifts behind for you, pushing you ever towards a reunion.

Eleanor reports that Lamb is continuing the utopia project despite the disruption caused by the Little Sister programming, and Alexander serves as a grim warning for what fate might befall her if Lamb gets her way. After your climactic fight with two Big Sisters you are stopped one last time by Lamb smothering her own child in an effort to sever the bond and kill you. She is partially successful, the link is broken but you still live, though bound. Eleanor continues her rebellion by turning herself into a Big Sister after a unique section in which you control a Little Sister and gather the required materials for this transformation. While playing the Little Sister you view Rapture through their eyes. Everything is pristine and heavenly. You’ll occasionally get flashes of reality reinforcing the vast gap between what a Little Sister sees and what everyone else does. Corpses are literal angels, the walls are furnished with expensive decorations, curtains adorn every wall, and splicers look like they might have when attending the 1958 New Year’s Eve party. The finale has you fighting alongside Eleanor as she becomes a summon via the final plasmid slot. The first time I played the game in 2013 I very rarely brought her into the action out of a naive fatherly concern for her safety. This recent time I summoned her often as I recognized the mechanical and narrative fulfillment of her rebellion against Lamb reaching a climax as she now had the means with which to fight back physically whereas before it was all posturing and subterfuge.

BioShock 2 is a game I keep thinking about every now and then years and years after that first playthrough both for the mark it left on me and how underappreciated it still seems to be. Unlike Wind Waker or Sons of Liberty which were lampooned but eventually underwent a reevaluation in the culture writ large to become Game Canon, BioShock 2 remains in the shadow of both its predecessor and successor, and even its own DLC add-on expansion, Minerva’s Den, which had its own success completely separate from BioShock 2. Developer 2K Marin would eventually be handed what would become The Bureau: XCOM Declassified, itself a failed internal project within Irrational Games first handed off to 2K Australia before becoming a 2K Marin project and whose commercial failure would lead to 2K Marin’s closure in October 2013, two months after the game’s release.

Something entirely forgotten between my initial playthrough in 2013 and finishing my recent replay was that my wife and I had decided to name our baby daughter Eleanor in December of 2020. I had already known the connection to The Last of Us’ Ellie when my wife presented the two name options she liked the most but it wasn’t until I booted up BioShock 2 again in order to complete a replay and begin working on this essay that I was met with the audio log of Sofia Lamb discussing her daughter “Eleanor,” and I was hit with a realization that this game forgotten by a majority of the gaming public was now made much more personal to my own life. The lessons taught by the game, of children learning from those they love, bears true and reminds me that my own daughter is watching and learning whether I’m aware of it at the moment or not.

[a] As with all audiences, there are segments that will have always loved a game, segments that still hate it, and segments that don’t really care one way or the other about it. Grand Theft Auto IV was highly rated and sold millions but has mostly been lost in terms of cultural relevance.

[b] I appreciate another subtle reflection in that the first BioShock your transportation between various sections of the city was by Bathysphere, a small private vessel and underwater equivalent to the car. In BioShock 2 they are discussed as a reason for the death of the Atlantic Express railway system, your mode of transportation in the sequel. This reflects the rise of private motorized vehicles, and the machinations of the automobile industry, destroying public transport systems above, as well as serving as icons of each antagonist's ideology.

#BioShock #BioShock 2 #Video Game #Writing #criticism #Video Game Criticism

[thezolblade]

Okay so about the proposal thing. If Jon and Martin were to get married, I kinda have the feeling that no matter what route they were in, Jon would stil be the biggest briezilla ever and would definitely make some poor wedding planner's life hell. Anyway how do you think a wedding/married life would work out for them?

Heh, I hadn't thought as far as this before these marriage asks, but once I started wondering, it was very much a matter of 'yep, he would'...

Jon would sure have some perfectionist ideas about the event. Depending on the timeline, it could play out as:

1. If they do the paperwork during the worm siege as a financial/medical safeguard, they'll plan to wait until they're out of danger to throw a party, and if it takes a while before they're in the clear, maybe make it a vow renewal.

2. If they marry in a relatively good patch, they'll both feel pretty hopeful and enthusiastic, even if they're still working out some issues. Jon would be hyped about finding an interesting venue, looking into renting an event space in a manor house or renovated castle with some colourful local history. He'd have an initial idea of a reasonable budget for an event, determined not to get taken in by businesses that charge higher prices for the same service if the client says it's for a wedding. Then everything he really wants would be more expensive than expected, when it all adds up, and he'd get into into arguments over the phone, maybe sometimes getting a discount, other times getting dropped as a customer and having to go elsewhere. Martin would try to help, then get a bit tired of Jon saying his input is welcome but shooting down most of what he actually says. Eventually he'd convince him that a wedding planner would be worth the fee, to get everything coordinated. After adjusting the budget, Jon still considers it a worthwhile use for a portion of his savings, which are made up of his parents' life insurance, minus what he spent while studying, topped up by what he's saved since starting work. As for the guest list, Jon would want to make it small but 'prestigious', and invite the other department heads, the rest of the Archives team (if they're still on speaking terms), and the university professor who gave him a reference (even though they haven't spoken in a few years). Some of those acquaintances show up even though they're a bit surprised to be invited, and some decline the invitation. At least one of them is up for arguing with Jon about the local folklore, helping him settle his nerves. Martin invites his Mum, and says he understands if she can't make it to the venue, what with her health, but it'd be good to have a phone call on the day, while bracing himself for disappointment. (Either she agrees out of obligation, they have an awkward phone conversation for a few minutes, and then Martin breaks down a bit in private about nothing ever being enough, while Jon tries to comfort him. Or she doesn't pick up the phone, and Martin halfheartedly tries to talk Jon out of calling the care home reception, until he gets through and blackmails the staff into putting her on the line, which results in an even more awkward conversation, and mixed feelings. ) Jon always felt that his closest surviving relatives were too distant to get in touch with, but he might dig out his grandmother's old address book and send out some invitations anyway, figuring that if he's ever going to contact them, this is the time. He barely remembers his grandmother putting him on the phone with them when he was a little kid, and doesn't expect to necessarily get a reply now. Some of them do respond, and even fly out to meet him, happy to see how he's doing now that he's all grown up. Spending time with living family again affects him more deeply than he'd have anticipated, and he resolves to keep in touch, now that he's truly getting his adult life established. Martin's glad to meet them too, though the day gets a bit overwhelming all in all.

3. In a dark route, if Jon takes over the institute and keeps Martin close until he's worn down, then he'll only propose once he knows that Martin's committed to working on their relationship as the only avenue for improving his life. Even if Martin's still unhappy about a lot of issues, he'll resign himself to trying to talk Jon into doing better someday, even knowing that he might go the rest of his life without changing Jon all that much. They still can't help but love each other, and he has nowhere else to go, so he might as well devote himself to that kind of hope, and try to enjoy the good days, even if he expects to be unhappy more often than not. Once he's said yes, they'd have a bit of a honeymoon phase, and Jon would try to encourage his loyalty by rewarding that kind of progress. He'd let Martin pick the venue, somewhere scenic in the countryside, and agree to make it a break from any work-related creepiness (no talking about fear entities, or ghosts, or anything like that). If it ended up raining, Jon would be pretty annoyed about the one thing he can't control, but Martin would assure him that it's okay, he doesn't mind the rain, honestly, he actually likes this kind of atmosphere. They'd stick to the marquee while their guests are around. Later on, they'd go for a walk after changing into casual clothes instead of suits, so they can get soaked and then retreat to their hotel room to peel off the clinging fabric. Martin gets shivery from the cold and nerves. Jon promises to warm him up.

#heart of the disaster #tma thoughts #rozzlynn's fanfic

[valleyfthdolls]

Can you give me just an overview of a sonic au? I wanna ask specific questions!!!!!!

Well there's an overview of my fav sonic au in the [#yearwounds au] tag on my blog but it's so absurdly fucking long it'd feel cruel to make you read it which is a predicament when that's the one I want to talk abt

Basicallythe yearwounds au, named after yearwounds by rook&nomie which is my favorite song ever, is basically like one of those edgy 2010s reboots of kids cartoons. Those were always like a guilty pleasure of mine. Dumb as shit and devaluing the original cartoon but still really fun to me. This ties in lore from the games, comics, and movies.

Sonic has no known parents and has been an orphan as long as he can remember. Sonic's home island was seized by the military (G.U.N) with Eggman's tech shortly after his birth due to them discovering a "dangerous, possibly extraterrestrial or engineered being" with high traces of unnatural energy, and Sonic's escape from the island is what led him to first discover the Chaos Emeralds which, despite his irreverence, he tries to avoid messing with much, though he always seems drawn to them. Sonic is disillusioned from years of experience as a "hero", and really just does what he wants, though that's usually what G.U.N is too idiotic and war-driven to do.

He met Tails when Tails was four, and being heavily bullied verbally and physically by the other inhabitants of his island as well as abandoned by his parents. Tails was extremely smart, but super anxious about people due to his bullying. However, being only four, he couldn't fare on his own, so Sonic- 11 ar the time and not fit to care for a toddler- offered that Tails could stay with him and he'd protect him as long as he needed it, unofficially adopting Tails as his own brother. Their relationship and Tails's personality is basically the same as canon, with aspects from the AoStH cartoon which is the cutest thing.

Knuckles met the other two at the age of 12, after twelve years of guarding the Master Emerald and upholding his dead clan's legacy all alone. Everything he knows how to do was self-taught. It was by a miracle that he survived long enough to fend for himself, and he is extremely dedicated. His personality is quite like that in the movies (loyal, naive, dedicated, hardworking and serious) as opposed to modern media like Sonic Boom (stupid). Knuckles's English and Spanish are both imperfect, but he's conversational in both.

Amy joined the team at the age of 8, after being rescued by Sonic. Amy had spent her whole life being abandoned, excluded and questioned, dumped at an orphanage by her father after her mother died, where she spent six years before being adopted, but was constantly outcasted due to her unclear species making her an undesirable adoptee, even though she did find a family that took her in anyway, but Sonic was the first person to care about her no matter what she was, and she fell in love instantly. She would later discover this to not actually be the romantic love she took it for at first, but a deeper emotional attachment to the few to unconditionally accept her. Wanting to make herself worthwhile, she was trained by Knuckles in combat and made herself a powerful ally.

Shadow became an... ally, shall we say, at sixteen, four years after the main four met. His backstory is basically the same aside from him being a porcupine and not a hedgehog due to it fitting his personality more. If you're not familiar with Shadow's backstory, tldr: he was a government experiment commissioned by G.U.N and created by Eggman's grandfather in the 40s/50s to cure his granddaughter Maria's terminal illness, and he lived on the research facility in space where he was created with them, being best friends with Maria, until G.U.N shut down the project, massacred everyone in the facility including Maria, an innocent and unrelated terminally ill 12 year old girl, executed Eggman's grandfather and put Shadow in cryostasis for 50 years, which is why Shadow is a like, dark and vengeful villain for most of SA2 until he sacrificed himself to stop the destruction of the Earth in Maria's name, and barely survived. In canon it was Eggman who found him and saved him but in my AU it was his teammate Rouge who went looking for him after SA2. It's sort of like Fuyuhiko's near death in SDR2.

Those are the big characters, and the au itself follows the Sonic Adventure duology, and a heavily rewritten Shadow the Hedgehog, Sonic Forces, and, like, a few other games.

Sonadow is like half canon because they're in love they're just super emotionally troubled and not really in the place to have an actual relationship, plus the events of Sonic Forces, Sonic being captured and tortured for 6 months, his repression of his trauma responses, etc. throws a huge wrench in their relationship, though they never stop loving each other, it's a super complicated relationship lmao

#basically-byers #ily <3 /p #yearwounds au

[booze-hats]

Where's That Door Go? (4/4)

The van door slammed. Deuce piled in. Dust kicked up behind the wheels. 

"A robbery, huh?"

"Yup! Not now. Boss didn't tell me if he thought it'd happened yet. Sure don't seem like it!"

Boxcars hummed his agreement. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel thoughtfully. "Any idea what they'd steal?"

"Nope! Nothin' that ain't been there forever!"

==>

<==

FIRST

It really was kind of confounding, wasn't it? A break-in with no motive and no idea when it'd happen. Hearts tore his eyes away from the road to glance at his little pal in the passenger seat. "Whatcha reckon he wants us to do about it?"

Deuce looked up at him. He could smell the cogs in the little guy's head turning. He thought he might have to crack the windows with all that goddamn smoke. Boxcars looked back at the road. "I dunno! Maybe we'll just hafta keep an eye out! You figure he'll do somethin' about it that we'll regret?"

"D'you?"

"I dunno! All I know is that the boss likes ta really cock things up! It'll be exciting, even if I hafta regret it tomorrow."

Deuce's matter-of-fact optimism was almost as confounding as this break in. It was reassuring, though. He was right, after all. A good scuffle made any mission worth venturing out on. Get a few punches in and his time was spent conducively. It was a lifestyle that Boxcars found very easy to live. This would, in fact, be worthwhile, no matter what anyone did or didn't do, with the exception of him. He could fight Slick if it really went over that bad. 

The city loomed in the distance. It appeared, first, as a dim violet glow in the distance. The yellow lights of the suburbs welcomed the big black van back into her limits. It was swallowed by the brighter lights and bigger buildings gradually. The city welcomed them back into the center of their home. 

The bright pinks and reds and greens and blues of the bars and the casinos, they passed easy. It's in an alleyway, next to a manhole, that they came to a stop. There's no wind in the alleyway. Not that it seemed like there'd been much wind to begin with. 

Simultaneously, the two men in the van heaved exasperated sighs. The drama, apparently, broke the tension well enough that Deuce was able to snicker about it. 

"Good weather tonight, 'ey?"

It made Deuce chuckle some more. He nodded with something of a vigor that felt silly. "At least there's somethin' good, yeah?"

"Yeah."

The next glance the two of them shared felt much, much better than the last. It felt less like a weight to share. It felt like a new horizon to brave, even. An adversary to defeat. A fat can of ass-whooping to open up on some unfortunate pistachio pricks. He could taste victories on the horizon already. 

Deuce climbed out of the van. He slammed the door behind him. Hearts climbed out after him just in time to hear the manhole cover scrape against the cement. 

#doors #homestuck #intermission #problem sleuth #hs intermission

[hazelplaysgames]

with no more totem pokemon and no buffing moves as far as i can see, Clear Smog has officially outlived its usefulness! i got four more Heart Scales right now. because i literally didn't use them once, i can basically just set them up to handle Hala. i was hoping it wouldn't come to the spiders option, but i'm glad i spent some time getting Isle Evelup going.

the spiders option is Spinarak. at level 52, it learns Spider Web, an entry hazard that lowers the opponents speed by a stage when sent out. while having two speed control options on the same pokemon might not be great, i think Viridian might be the pick to get this, Foul Play and Icicle Spear only go so far against fighting types, and Primeape seems a worthwhile time to learn this. because this is a status move, i can use wild Smeargle as a proxy no problem.

as for Saffron, she already has three other attacks, and Draining Kiss is pretty good thanks to Technician. i have no clue if there's any options i WANT her to have that's gonna matter for this fight. hmm...

the best option might be Destiny Bond or Feather Dance, though i'd have to use the same trick, and i'd rather just try to use it once for non-Smeargle pokemon. Will-o-Wisp isn't an option, not that i have any idea if it'd even help against Hariyama because i don't know its ability. but on Crabominable, if fire is needed, a fire attack might be the way to go, and cash in on Torkoal's Lava Plume. 80 power is too high for Technician, but it comes with a 30% chance to burn, and that's huge. might even be necessary.

i can get the Twisted Spoon in a quick trip back down to Malie City's Outer Cape, aaaand... ooh, one of those. route trial captains, however you wanna call 'em, the one over in Poni Wilds has the Focus Sash. it means resetting after every attempt in case it doesn't work out, though. i might diss gen 9 a fair bit, but making it once per battle instead of once... ever? best upgrade in my eyes.

buncha research, done. here's hoping i don't need to look up anything else. now to put it all together.

#smeargle satellite system

[asknarashikari]

I myself also can have a hard time differentiating between which situation has the utilitarian method is the best course of action, where hard choices have to be made.

I typically measure that situation based on running on time, like how actual trolley problem had the person given very limited time frame before the trolley hits which person on each lane, or if there's a threat (e.g. someone holding a gun, MOTW can instantly kill human) that they're supposed to save, but are forced to kill before it almost murders handful of people.

But that's a situation involving a few human lives. Typically what those extremists cook up are something done on global scale to preserve entire humanity/world against a huge world-ending threat, of which time limit also occassionally apply (e.g. Gaim's Helheim potentially ending the world in iirc 10 years at first).

What I think is that, there's much more time frame to save those to think up of something else that don't make you a lesser evil. But I don't know if actually a longer time limit like that for much bigger scale (e.g. whole world) actually scales to said trolley problem involving a few humans, which makes them also must hurry to complete their plan without hesitation, reflection, or hearing others out.

For far bigger scale like that, from what I know it also applies to real life where leaders take care of huge territory and that they have to constantly make hard choices (and leaders in fictions are typically portrayed as pragmatic character willing to use underhanded methods to preserve many).

I don't know if I'm just naive though to object to this approach/system if things relate to big scales like that (e.g. "it's impossible to be a good leader without dirtying your hand") or just make light to the time frame relating to taking care of the whole world - where someone objecting to their plan and make them consider is frowned because it'd be even riskier to interrupt their plan, make them think over, not finding the non-extreme solution, and instead doom everyone with their plan halted. It's maybe the reason why these kind of people view this stuff as trolley problem too, based on scaling.

In the scenario you pose where supposedly there is little time to listen to others who can offer other options other than the horrific solution where lots of people will be sacrificed anyway... Honestly, I think that is less about pragmatism, and more about arrogance.

It may be impossible to achieve a goal like saving the world without sacrifices along the way. But I think it's pretty arrogant for anyone to assume that they would simply accept the solution as "the only way", that everyone else would be alright making those sacrifices. Especially if said sacrifices are on a massive scale, and even more so if they were not involved in the creation of this solution to begin with.

Is everyone else just supposed to shut up and fall in line, even if the solution is morally unacceptable to them? Just because there's a time crunch, they're just supposed to resign themselves to having to doom some to save others?

Of course not. They will try to find another way, even if it means "wasting time" that could be spent preparing for the worst-case scenario that would involve using the extreme option.

And we're not even getting into the complicated matter of deciding which people "deserve salvation" and which ones get screwed over, which is usually part of such extreme solutions. Again, it seems quite arrogant to implement a solution where you have to decide who gets sacrificed for who and that no one would beg to differ. Maybe they feel that "the chosen ones" are still too few, or that those "chosen" are in fact not worth the one/s who get screwed over for their sake.

In my opinion, a true hero- and a good leader, for that matter- would still find that seeking a better way is worthwhile, because even if they didn't succeed, then at least they tried. And of course, if they did succeed in finding a better option, then they wouldn't have had to make that massive sacrifice, possibly for nothing in the end.

[7daycycle]

Stages of Grief

I start with the title first. I don't know where this is going, but that's my title.

I recently got some terrible bad news. It broke me. It was a month of work and then it was nothing. It might've been the hardest I've worked on something over a period of time. If you've read my previous blog post, you'll know that working on something, with grit it something I have trouble with. So, to have been able to put my foot down and see what I can, do work on something and for it then be taken from me was devasting. The news however, wasn't terrible. It only felt terrible. That's how grief works. I think. I'm pretty privileged because I don't think I've had to deal with a lot. Not a lot of loss, but I have had to deal with failure. This is ultimately a story of failure, not a story of loss. So, let's go through the stages. I'm going to google them now. After that google search, here's what the stages of grief are; Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. I didn't read the actual blogpost(?) but maybe it says something about the order not being in the same for everyone, or even being the same every time. Here's how they went for me.

Depression : Let me tell you, I was broken. I had recontextualized my whole life the hours following the news. I broke my life into five year chapters, each culminating around a failure. I didn't see my adventure as time spent growing, but instead as a stumbling buffoon. I took away any reason I had to be loved, stripped myself of all my success my wins and simply understood myself as an inevitable loser. It was a tough place to be.

Bargaining : I think I've seen this explained as reasoning before, but I tried to reason why I failed. Remember though, I wasn't coming from a good place. I had already decided that I was a loser who can only stumble. If you know anything about bargaining, you don't don't bargain from a position of weakness. You need to negotiate from a winning position, I wasn't. So I as a tried to rationalize and understand what had happened, I did it as an idiot. A broken, sad idiot. I was filled with frustration, doubt and fear mostly. I couldn't see past the cloud of sorrow that I breathed into my vision.

Anger : I'm still angry, but it's given me clarity. Good sleep, a loving support system and time gave me the distance I needed and I was able to get angry. I have a very positive relationship with Anger. I'm not afraid of it, not when I see angry people, or even upset at myself if I'm ever angry. I think it comes from a quote I attribute to Malcolm X, which might not be his, but I've already googled once today and I won't be googling again. In my head canon, Malcolm X said something like the the following -

"I want our people to get Angry, but because when people get Angry, they start to do something" He was talking bout being Angry instead of being Sad when some journo accused him of rousing people up and getting them Angry. So, whenever I see someone Angry, I wonder why, and should they be. For me, I was now Angry. Angry about how things had gone, and ultimately, now factors outside of my control decided that my work wasn't valuable. My grit, my time, my attention, wasn't worthwhile. I can't control that, but the value of my work exists independently of how people define it. So they made a mistake, but I created value. So what happens with that Anger? Denial : I deny the guilt I felt early. it's done. I take that Anger and now it defines how I look back at that chapter of my life. It's not a chapter of my failing, but a chapter of me working. My chapter of grit and grind. A chapter where my people took care of me. I absolve myself of the loss. Acceptance : I can't absolve myself of the failure though. It'd be stupid for me look back at what happened and see that I didn't fail. I did, at the end of the day, the games are over and scoreboard has been recorded. I don't live in a vacuum and there are other forces. This started as a journey of me questioning my work, my value, my self but I should be questioning how did I work, how am I valued and not me. Sure, ultimately my work was a judgement of me, and it's how I was valued but that's how other people judge me. I can't let that me how I judge myself. I had to accept that I wasn't perfect, but I don't need to be, I need to be better. I am. I will be.

#self #failure #work #balance