#i.e. the egg thing where he pretty much had no good options. also while he was a small child. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dreamsmp-au-ideas · 3 years

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Oops, I made a plot…

Anyways. Epithet Erased

I love the idea that the Egg was created by someone with the Epithet of Consume. Now an interesting idea I had is that the owner of Consume originally had possession of the Arsene Amulet after Copycat died. The owner of Consume created the Egg and then started using the Amulet to feed Epithets to the Egg. In return, the Egg was able to use these Epithets and temporarily bestow their powers onto those who followed it, hence the whole bloodline wanting to protect it kinda thing. When the original owner of Consume started to reach the end of their lifespan they fed themselves to the Egg in hopes that it would eventually be fed something like Immortal or Rebirth and it could bring back its former master. This is why it’s an Egg, eventually it’s going to hatch into the original owner of Consume if it’s fed the right Epithet

The reason those following the Egg want the amulet is because they want to get back to work again. Everyone else is varying degrees of aware in terms of the Egg group’s plan. The Egg Group also has a process that new members of the Egg Cult go through where they offer up their Epithet to the Egg by being “Consumed” by it and held inside the Egg for a couple days. At which point the Egg leeches out their Epithet as an extra way to force its followers to be loyal. Sure you can still use your powers, and a ton of other Epithets as well, as long as you’re linked up with the Egg. But the moment you become disloyal and break off your Epithet is gone. It belongs to the Egg, you were only renting it.

Of course this takes a lot of time so it hasn’t happened to anyone in the DSMP by the time the actual plot starts except for Skeppy who’s the bartering chip that the Egg uses to make Bad be loyal to it. Bad doesn’t belong to the bloodline that’s been taking care of the Egg, he’s just a victim of circumstance. Techno is part of the family, but he’s a member of an offshoot branch that distanced itself from the Egg. He’s Billiam’s great (however many greats) nephew, but that isn’t a strong enough link, he’s the actual great (however many greats) grandson of the Sheriff which is why the Egg has less of a hold over him than it would a typical member of the bloodline.

Mundies are actually the best people for the job when it comes to fighting the Egg since its mind control powers only work on those who have an Epithet or offered up their Epithet to the Egg. Those who lost their Epithet specifically to the amulet against their wills are also immune. The Egg has the same powers seen in canon because one of the first Epithets it ever ate was Control.

There is a trade off to the Egg taking powers however, since the Epithets can’t “mature” while inside the Egg. Meaning they stay at the same proficiency level their former owner possessed making it advantageous for the Egg to allow Epithets to “mature”. The Egg might even offer an Epithet to a Mundie to let them mature it before harvesting it at a later date. It’s worth noting also there is a difference between getting trapped on top of the Egg and getting trapped inside the Egg like Skeppy, only the latter will get your Epithet snatched while Tubbo and Ranboo who are victims of the former just get their heads scrambled.

Team Pro Omelet eventually learns of the Egg’s abilities and plans and at that point it’s a race against the clock to ensure they 1. Don’t get the Amulet and 2. Aren’t able to shove anyone powerful inside the egg (cough cough Tubbo/Ranboo cough cough). While we could have Tubbo angst with his powers getting yoinked, I don’t think it would mean as much as the angst that would come from him just being normally controlled by the Egg and having his Epithet taken against his will would partially break him out of its control. He might not actually care as much about his Epithet, but him hurting Tommy by accident while being controlled? That would break him, mentally and emotionally.

While I was thinking about the plot, I mentioned with my last post I think that Tommy’s Epithet should have been taken or lost. We’ve had a connection made between Tommy loosing his power to Ranboo causing him to forget which I really like, but what if, and hear me out, he loses it to the Amulet? The last caretaker yoinks it with the intention of giving it to the get, probably at some point a good ways before the plot starts. However, because the former caretaker loses the Amulet before depositing it, Tommy’s Epithet stays pretty much trapped inside the Amulet. Partially because I really like the idea of Antihero Dream having to 180 why he wants to Amulet when Tommy eventually admits what happened. It adds a nice dynamic of character wants.

Originally I purposed Hero as Tommy’s Epithet which is good, but I think I can outdo myself. Meaning I have two other options.

Earlier I mentioned the Egg really really wanting someone with Immortal/Rebirth. Well, it’s a running gag that I keep making Tommy a phoenix in every AU I touch because he never damn well dies. So you could give one of those two words, or heck, even the word Phoenix itself to Tommy and it’d not only be a really good Epithet but it’d be an Epithet currently inside the Amulet, giving even more of a dire air to the story as a whole. If the Egg Squad is able to get that Epithet inside of the Egg, you bet it’s gonna hatch and the results will not be pretty. It also plays well with the fact that Tommy just never seems to die. Even when he doesn’t have his Epithet it’s such an engrained character detail that people comment on it whenever he joins an SMP.

I think it could be an interesting dynamic and it gives Tommy an array of interesting powers from wings to fire to being able to bring himself back to life. Additionally, we can give Immortal or Rebirth to Foolish since he’s a sentient Totem of Undying in canon and it would work well.

Alternatively, and this is admittedly the idea I personally favor, we pull a parallel between Tommy and Tubbo by giving him a seemingly stupid Epithet that’s deceptively strong. And trust me, I spent a lot of time thinking about what this Epithet might be and how it could be misinterpreted. The idea I ultimately settled on was Archetype. Now, this idea is near and dear to my heart because it fits Tommy as much as everything I’ve posted prior and arguably even more so than Hero. Tommy throughout the entire canon DSMP has had role after role forced on him. Being called the Hero or the Villain when really he just wants to be Tommy. I like the poetic irony of his Epithet literally being Archetype when everyone around him seems so desperate to assign him one. Plus, it’s one of those things that requires not just creativity but a certain level of classical or psychological background information to use properly, leading most people to being unable to use it (Egg included if it actually managed to get the Amulet.) So people just kind of brush it off and it lends itself well to the whole do you wanna be a hero thing since Hero is an Archetype.

For this power we’d basically be able to pull some really strong parallels between Tommy and Tubbo. Both have Epithets that are strongest when they temporarily become a different Epithet. Maybe Tommy can not only use Archetype, but he can temporarily transform it into literally any societally recognized Archetype and use that as if it was his Epithet. So he could still technically use the same powers one could come up with for Hero, it would just be while he’s using an Archetype Swap ability. Not only that but he’d be able to change other people’s personalities or Archetypes. He could even imbue others with traits of a new Archetype (i.e. giving a Mundie the powers associated with a Hero Archetype, aka literal actual honest to god plot armor) to act as support, but you wouldn’t think to do that typically. You’d just assume that Archetype is a one trick kind of pony at best. But maybe if we wanna go Tommy and Tubbo childhood friends route as kids they specifically spent hours practicing alone when they figured out their Epithets. Specifically coming up with overpower combo moves, thinking up powers that interacted well with one another to make themselves an actually terrifying menace to society.

Tommy and Tubbo childhood friends also is near and dear to my heart because everyone remembers the scene where Tommy told Tubbo that he’d been the hero and Tommy was the one who was the side kick. Having Tommy’s Epithet be Archetype and the majority of his childhood used to find ways to support Tubbo’s Epithet using his own adds another layer to this. Tommy literally made Tubbo the hero, gave him the powers and assigned him the Archetype. It’s just that they’re the only ones who know that. Plus plus we get a really good queen and knight dynamic between the two when they’re going all out which I just die for.

Also if SBI is canon, it makes sense why Tommy would have learned the word Archetype as a child, he’s related to Techno, what else would you expect? Part of Tommy being stupidly good at his power is probably from Techno reading him mythology as a child and linking up characters to their Archetypes, giving Tommy even more stupidly overpowered ideas for how to use his Epithet. Unfortunately it got yoinked at some point, either because someone saw how powerful it was or maybe Tommy just got unlucky. I think out of the ideas I’ve listed Archetype is my favorite if we go the yoinked route. It also works well with Techno and Dream since, again, Tommy could play a support role to make these already terrifying Mundies even more terrifying. Plus it would be like Tommy to keep having an Epithet secret because Techno is a Mundie and then later accidentally getting it stolen or we can go double angst and have Tommy both forget he has an Epithet and get it stolen.

Obviously Archetype being the Epithet and the plot would still work with Tommy just forgetting what his Epithet was, but also I really personally just like the aching pain of Tommy being forced to describe what it’s like having your Epithet stolen. How much the gap doesn’t hurt physically but emotionally and mentally almost daily, a phantom pain that never goes away. Sweet angst my beloved.

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Tubbo🤝Tommy

Having stupidly overpowered Epithets

Anyways. Holy shit. This is brilliant. The plot is brilliant and oh god. This could open up so much now. The Arsene Amulet is still relevant in a way.

Oh man, the Egg just consuming Epithets as well? Man. That’s great.

#dream smp #dream smp au #epithet erased au #tubbo #tommyinnit #dream #dreamwastaken #ranboo #technoblade #badboyhalo #skeppy #submission #snapdragon & firefly

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catlordewrites · 3 years

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Where the Roses Grow ~ Chapter Five

The compound on Arvala-7 didn’t house one bounty, but two. Elsi Nokk is an enslaved nanny with more than a few tricks up her sleeve. She’ll do anything to protect her charge, even if it means standing against - and then with - a certain Mandalorian. Rated M.

@kyjoraven @killtherandomness

Chapter Warnings: Death, poisoning, strangulation, mild sexual assault

Masterlist - Fanfiction.net - Ao3

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Chapter Five

Elsi and Kuiil didn’t speak again until the Mandalorian returned. It wasn’t a tense silence, simply pensive. Side by side they waited, listening to the increasingly impatient babbling of the Jawa.

When the Jawa finally decided to leave, Elsi bit her lip. Kuiil scoffed and tried to make them stay, but she knew they were probably right; it had been a long time, and the chances of the hunter and child coming back under their own power were getting smaller by the minute.

The crawler’s massive door groaned its way shut. Elsi had just drawn breath to ask Kuiil how much longer they should wait before going to look for the baby, when a dark shape rounded the top of the hill.

Kuiil jumped up straight, waving his arms excitedly. “Mando!”

The Mandalorian was certainly worse for wear; caked head to toe in chunky, drying mud. The rusted cuirass was mangled and bent out of shape, curling half-off of his chest like a dried leaf and rattling loosely with every step. Under one arm, he carried one of his thigh guards and a pauldron, and a large, furry egg the size of a melon under the other. He moved slowly, taking small, stiff steps down the hill and favoring his right leg.

With cacophonous shrieks of approval, the Jawa tumbled back out down the crawler ramp and swarmed over to the bounty hunter, who passed the egg off into the greedy hands of the first one to reach him.

Kuiil waddled to greet the Mandalorian, but Elsi made a beeline for the bassinet. A wave of panic washed over her when she saw him. He was laid out flat on his back, completely still. His normally vibrant green skin was waxy and pale; when she brushed her hand across his forehead, she found him clammy.

The baby snuffled a little, but didn’t otherwise respond.

The Mandalorian’s heavy presence loomed behind her as she checked the child over. “Is he alright?”

“He should be,” she said slowly. She understood what was wrong, of course, but she was still having to fight to keep her voice steady. “What did he do?”

“He lifted the mudhorn.” The Mandalorian’s mud-crusted helmet tipped towards the bassinet. “But I don’t understand how.”

“No wonder he’s tired,” she mused, mostly to herself. Elsi brushed the baby’s hand delicately with one finger, tracing the edges of one of his claws. “He’ll be okay. He just… needs rest.”

The Mandalorian dipped his head in acknowledgment. “What…” he started slowly, like he didn’t actually want to ask the question, but also couldn’t not. “What is he?”

She didn’t have an answer.

~0~0~0~ . . ~0~0~0~

The Jawa loaded the parts. The Mandalorian and Kuiil directed them. Elsi waited.

The baby slept.

And slept.

She’d known him to sleep like this before, but never so deeply. But then again, he’d never lifted a mudhorn, either, at least as far as she was aware.

On the ride back to the Mandalorian’s ship, Elsi took the child out of the bassinet to lay him against her chest, tucking his head under her chin in the way he liked to be held when he wasn’t feeling well. He snuffled a little at the transition, curling his tiny fists into her scarf and clinging to her in his sleep. Elsi counted it as progress.

They arrived back at the ship just as the last of the sun’s rays faded below the horizon.

“There’s no way we’re gonna get this to work without a full maintenance facility,” the Mandalorian groused. “This is gonna take days to fix.”

Kuiil scoffed in disapproval, righting the workshop light he’d brought along and lighting it; Elsi blinked at the spots it left in her vision.

“Maybe if you’d care to help, it might go faster.”

. ~0~0~0~

Elsi was eavesdropping again.

There was more to the art of eavesdropping than simply listening when you weren’t supposed to be. Not only did you have to know HOW to listen without being seen; you had to know WHO to listen to and WHEN.

Elsi was very good at it.

There were times where being a slave worked in her favor. Not only were you allowed to move through a household and be overlooked, but masters had a nasty habit of forgetting the slave was in the room - no matter the discussion. Why should you watch your tongue around the furniture? It’s not like the sofa can THINK, or anything.

This wasn’t the first time Elsi had used this oversight to her advantage, and it certainly wasn’t the last. It only took a day - during the three of the child’s naps, to be precise - for her to learn what she wanted to know.

Vice Admiral Viln’s payment was coming by courier in two days.

He was taking a risk with this investment. He had superiors that thought it was a waste of time.

Kue Fusa, the warlord, was still staying at Lord Burkisn’s manor. He was still hoping to usurp the Vice Admiral’s agreement via under the table deals.

Lord Burkisn was nervous. He agreed to hand the deal over to Fusa, should the Vice Admiral not be able to hold up his end of the deal.

Elsi could work with that.

~0~0~0~ .

As it turned out, Kuiil was a mechanical genius. If a part was broken, he fixed it. If they were missing a needed tool, he made one. The Mandalorian was pretty adept himself, but even with their combined skill and determination - the Mandalorian had been right - it took three days. Which was much faster than Elsi had figured; having fully expected to be stranded for at least another full week.

With the baby asleep, there wasn’t much for her to do. At first she resigned herself to fetching tools, preparing meals, and sweeping the dirt their boots tracked into the cargo hold. When Kuiil discovered that she knew a little about mechanics - not much, just enough to maintain small household devices - he set her to reinstalling some of the minor systems, i.e. the sonic shower, the conservator, the nanowave, etc. Elsi knew that they were relatively menial tasks - things that the Mandalorian probably would’ve been fine with fixing on his own time when the job was over and he’d been paid - but they both knew that Kuiil wouldn’t be satisfied until there was nothing left to be fixed.

So with the baby strapped to her chest in the cloth wrap she’d saved from their time at Lord Burkisn’s manor, Elsi worked dutifully on each new assignment, resigned to letting the Mandalorian check over her work every half hour or so. He still didn’t trust her, obviously. Though what she could possibly achieve by sabotaging his nanowave was beyond her.

Although he was right to be concerned by her taking advantage of the situation and turning it against him, in this case, there was no need. She wanted offworld almost as badly as he did.

More than that, she would never be so careless as to scheme in the manner she was expected to.

No. She had other ideas. They weren’t good ideas, but several months of being trapped in a compound in the desert with no resources and no access to the black market had left her rather low on options.

Elsi focused hard on the wires she held, tracing each of them back to their respective sources and trying to determine what was missing. She absently fiddled with her faulty bracelet as she worked. The beads clinked rhythmically against each other, the sound so quiet and regular that it faded naturally into the ambient sounds of the hold.

Click. Clickclick. Click. Click. Clickclick.

As expected, the clasp gave away. A few beads scattered across the hold, pinging off the metal grating. Elsi cursed and gave chase, supporting the child strapped to her chest with one hand while the other sought out the runaway beads.

The Mandalorian crouched a short distance away, bolting a metal sheet back into place along the wall. He only paused for a moment, visor casting the barest glance in her direction before turning back to the job at hand.

Elsi pressed a kiss to the sleeping baby’s head before shuffling back to her corner to restring the beads.

~0~0~0~ . . ~0~0~0~

At the end of the third day of repairs, the Razor Crest was deemed space-worthy and given Kuiil’s seal of approval. The Mandalorian stalked the length of the hold from cockpit to landing struts, inspecting every bolt and clearly itching to get underway. But he did pause long enough to offer the Ugnaut a job working on his ship. When Kuiil respectfully declined, neither the bounty hunter nor Elsi were surprised.

The Mandalorian tipped his head in acknowledgement, then retreated to a polite distance, loitering near the ladder to the cockpit so Kuiil could have a word with Elsi.

The Ugnaught turned his wizened face on the nanny, his sunken eyes solemn and heavy with sorrow.

“The child still sleeps?” Kuiil observed, nodding to the child still strapped to her chest.

Elsi touched her thumb to the tip of a fuzzy green ear poking out of the cloth. “Yes.”

“Do you expect him to recover?”

Elsi had considered the possibility that he wouldn’t - she was far too pragmatic not to - but the notion of him simply keeling over from simple overexertion didn’t seem to fit.

“I do,” she said. “I’ve seen him worse. He’s strong.”

Kuiil grunted, lowering his voice further. “And you will not reconsider my offer?”

“You are very kind, and I’m grateful for all you have done for me.” She shook her head slightly. “But no.”

He gave another grunt, bowing his head with acceptance. The Ugnaught extended his hands and took both of hers in his.

“Then I will bid you and your charge a safe journey. Should you pass this system again, know that you will always find welcome in my valley. May you find the freedom and peace that you deserve.” He gave her hands a final squeeze. “I have spoken.”

“Goodbye, my friend,” Elsi murmured, somewhat remorseful as the Ugnaught released her hands and began shuffling down the ramp.

The Mandalorian, seeing that the moment had passed, strode back across the hold. With a final nod to the Ugnaught, who had mounted his blurrg, the bounty hunter pressed the button on the wall to the ramp. The hydraulics hissed and groaned in response. The door closed, sealing Elsi and the baby in with the Mandalorian bounty hunter.

There was a heartbeat after the hatch closed where nothing happened. The only sound was the baby’s soft breaths against Elsi’s chest.

The Mandalorian tilted his head down to look at her.

“Come on,” he rasped. “You’ll need to strap in - at least until we make the jump into hyperspace.”

Without another word, the Mandalorian turned, cape swishing in the now-still air, and scaled the ladder. Elsi took a moment to scratch at the baby’s head before following.

The view of the outside world offered by the cockpit helped Elsi to feel a little less confined. The sun was setting, washing the dull grey chamber in orange and gold, serving to make it seem less like a tomb.

With the baby still tucked against her, she strapped herself into the copilot’s seat to the Mandalorian’s right. The Mandalorian flicked switches and pressed buttons. Elsi watched out of the corner of her eye, committing the sequence to memory in case it became relevant.

The engines roared to life. The Mandalorian took them up quickly but smoothly; soon the desert of Arvala-7 had fallen away, and all Elsi could see out of the viewport were stars.

The Mandalorian plotted their course into hyperspace. Elsi settled back into her seat to wait.

“How long will we be in hyperspace?” She dared to ask.

She wasn’t entirely sure that he would answer. In the short time they’d been acquainted, he had never seemed particularly interested in speaking with her; a sentiment that their brief intimacy had seemed to increase tenfold.

A sigh only just caught on his modulator. “Four days.”

That long? She knew better than to ask where they were going.

The ship lurched and the stars blurred, going from distant pinpricks, to smears, then to a vibrant, swirling vortex. Elsi’s ears popped. She worked her jaw to relieve the pressure, stopping when the bundle on her chest shifted. Elsi looked down to see a set of large, dark eyes blinking up at her sleepily.

The baby squeaked a greeting.

“Did you sleep good?” Elsi asked, surprised but pleased. The baby purred contentedly, then yawned. “Yeah?”

He chirped, his chubby fist reaching up to pat at his chin - another one of the signals she’d taught him. Hungry.

“I’ll bet,” Elsi agreed. She glanced up to see the Mandalorian had turned around in his seat. His head was canted at a curious angle as he watched the two interact. “May I take him back to feed him?”

The Mandalorian turned back stiffly to the controls, as if embarrassed that he’d been caught staring. His voice was tight and resigned, hardly more than a wisp of static. “Fine.”

Elsi unbuckled and left the cockpit. She’d become rather familiar with the Razor Crest’s layout over the last few days, and knew exactly where to go in her search for food. Behind the cockpit, on the other side of the landing with the ladder, was a tiny room. In it was the conservator, nanowave, and a compact stove, as well as a small booth half-built into the wall for space.

As the person who had been largely responsible for repairing and reinstalling the equipment, she felt more than comfortable fiddling around the tiny kitchen to prepare a meal. She’d also been the one to restock it with the supplies Kuiil had been more than generous to provide them - not much, but enough to keep the trio fed for the next four days - and so knew where everything was.

Elsi freed the baby from the wrap and sat him down on the table so he could stretch his stubby little legs. She rehydrated and heated up a decent sized portion of meat stew. The baby sniffed at it skeptically when she placed it before him, not a huge fan of rehydrated meat, but was far too hungry to be picky beyond blowing a raspberry when Elsi handed him his spoon. Objection voiced, he attacked the bowl with gusto.

“Slow down, lovely,” Elsi chided, tracing a finger fondly down the length of his ear. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

The baby blew another raspberry.

~0~0~0~ . . ~0~0~0~

Their first night on the Crest, Elsi and the baby didn’t see much of the Mandalorian. After eating, Elsi returned to the cockpit to offer to fix him a portion of the stew they’d eaten. He declined, not bothering to turn away from controls.

Elsi left it at that. Then she and the baby went down into the cargo hold in search of the child’s toys.

They spent the next few hours playing quietly in the hold. The baby seemed content to be on the move, even if he had no real concept of their destination or space travel. He was especially pleased to be free to toddle around and not be confined to his bassinet, as he preferred activity over sitting patiently and waiting for everything to be over.

When he finally tired, Elsi took advantage of the ‘fresher to clean him properly, bathing him in the sink with the body wash she’d found in the shower. It was stiff smelling and masculine, obviously belonging to the Mandalorian; plain and utilitarian, she recognized it from when she’d had her face buried in his neck, muffled though it was by the smell of sweat and desert.

As she squeezed some into her palm and massaged it into the child’s skin, she couldn’t help but breathe it in, and absently imagined the bounty hunter, fresh from a shower, smelling the same.

After his bath, Elsi finally took the time to clean the little creature’s teeth. Armed with a tiny brush from her small bag of toiletries, she set to work.

Elsi pulled back her lips, exposing her teeth. The baby copied the expression and held it patiently, allowing her to clean his little teeth with the soft bristles. When she opened her mouth wide, he did the same. And again when she stuck out her tongue.

If she had to be stuck caring for a being that would remain a baby for an untold number of years, she was glad it was him. If he had been a human baby, she would’ve lost her mind. He didn’t cry unless there was a genuine reason and then would usually stop when he knew that someone had noticed the problem. He didn’t produce much in the way of waste, and what did end up in his reusable diapers didn’t smell half as bad as that in human diapers and was significantly easier to clean. While he was intelligent enough to be a nuisance, it came in handy during stressful situations when she needed him to stay quiet or hide.

And in this case, it was quite nice to not have to fight tooth and nail to complete a task as mundane as brushing teeth.

It wasn’t until she was almost done that she glanced up enough to catch a glimpse of the dark shape looming behind her in the mirror. The Mandalorian stood in the doorway behind her, still as a statue and quiet as the grave.

Elsi ducked her head, startled and a little embarrassed at not noticing that he’d been standing there, watching them, for Maker knows how long.

“Apologies,” she said formally. “Are we in your way?”

The Mandalorian didn’t respond immediately. He just stood there for a few moments, like he wasn’t processing the question or even that she’d spoken to him at all. His body language betrayed nothing; he was just sort of… there. She didn’t think he was angry, so was this… surprise?

“No,” he said finally, his voice flat and emotionless. He turned and vanished.

The baby cocked his head, pursing his lips at the minty taste still in his mouth. “Bah?”

Elsi heard the hunter’s boots on the ladder, and only then did she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

He had no right to be that sneaky.

Maybe she was losing her touch.

She seriously hoped not. Awareness kept her alive.

Even though he had said that they weren’t in his way, Elsi hurried to finish just in case. The baby was tired, anyway, so the sooner he got back to sleep - a proper sleep, not a coma - the better. She was tired too, having been unable to rest easy while her charge was unwell.

So as soon as she’d crawled into the alcove that she’d taken to sleeping in over the last few days and closed the metal shield separating the metal cot from the rest of the hold, she and the baby were quick to fall into peaceful slumber.

~0~0~0~ . . ~0~0~0~

One day passed. Then two. They’d be arriving wherever the Mandalorian was taking them in less than a day and a half, and Elsi was running out of time. There were things she needed to do, and once started, there would be no turning back.

Elsi sat at the end of one of the cots built into an alcove in the cargo hold, her legs dangling out into the hold while the baby played tiredly around her feet. It was ‘morning’ on the Razor Crest; she’d intentionally kept him up all night, hoping he would soon want a nice, long nap. This meant she was tired too, and while under normal circumstances she’d be more than happy to join him in a mid morning snooze, adrenaline coursed through her system like the most potent spice; she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep if she tried.

The baby dropped the wooden ball he’d been playing with and yawned, almost falling over with the force of it. He looked up at his caregiver with bleary eyes, reached up with both arms to be picked up.

Elsi obliged, but instead of bundling him up to sleep, she sat him on her lap facing her. The baby’s ears perked up - still sleepy, but curious - when Elsi looked deep into his dark eyes, searching for the right words to say.

The baby blinked patiently.

Elsi swallowed. When she finally spoke, her throat was so tight that her voice croaked. “We’ve come a long way, you and I. Haven’t we?”

The baby cooed. Elsi cleared her throat.

“I’m not going to lie to you. I’m running out of tricks,” she admitted, “and my luck won’t last forever.”

The baby smiled, reaching up to pat her cheek fondly. She’d never given him a reason to doubt her.

Elsi fell silent for a few moments, gathering strength to say what needed to be said. “I… uh… I don’t know what’s going to happen next, you know? And I hope with every fiber of my being that we… that we will be able to stay together… or at least… or at least that you won’t be alone again. Not like you were before. But in case we don’t… in case… in case I have to leave you…”

The child’s ears twitched.

Elsi took a deep breath. “Know that I care for you deeply, and I’ve done my best to care for you as you deserve to be. Yeah? And you’ll find someone else, won’t you? You cute little bastard.”

Elsi chucked wetly, pressing their foreheads together and closing her eyes. She felt the baby’s claws wander up to curl into the hair covering her temples. He pulled a little too hard, but Elsi didn’t mind.

“Someday you’ll find people who love you so much that you forget all about me,” she murmured at last. The baby tugged her hair sharply. Her soft grey eyes snapped open once more, fixing deeply on his. “And that’s okay. You got that? That’s a good thing.”

The baby twirled a lock of dirty blonde hair around his fingers, chuckling quietly to himself. Elsi smiled sadly, partially glad that he hadn’t been able to grasp the meaning of her words, partially disappointed. There were times where he could be so perceptive, but maybe it was a good thing that this wasn’t one of them.

Or, hell, maybe he DID understand, but thought that her words were unnecessary, that this wasn’t goodbye.

Elsi hoped he was right.

Blinking the moisture from her eyes, Elsi pressed a kiss to the top of the baby’s head and stood. Walking across the hold to the ladder felt a lot like walking to the gallows, but she was able to keep the dread from showing in her steps.

The Mandalorian was sitting in the pilot seat, a spot that he’d hardly left at all over the past two days. Elsi had seen the carbonite freezer in the back of the hold, and deduced that he wasn’t used to having bounties loose on his ship.

She was sure he’d considered it, and was grateful that he hadn’t. She didn’t peg him as an unfeeling man, and so imagined that he found the concept of putting a baby in carbonite unsavory. Elsi was another story - and she was sure that he wouldn’t hesitate to if she’d given him a reason - but with her frozen, the job of caring for the baby would default to the bounty hunter. He would probably avoid that contingency at all costs.

In lieu of the freezer, if Elsi wasn’t actively sleeping, eating, or caring for the baby, she was expected to be in the cockpit where the hunter could keep an eye on her.

Because of this, it wasn’t at all strange for Elsi to bring the dozy baby up the ladder to put him down for a nap. His bassinet had been left up here for that very purpose, strapped into the left-hand seat while Elsi would then settle into the right to wait in silence for him to wake.

The Mandalorian barely turned to look when she entered. Elsi gave a polite nod before sidling over to tuck the baby into the bassinet. The child mumbled softly when she tucked his blankets around him and placed Froggy within his grasp.

Elsi stood over the baby, quietly humming and trailing the top of her pinky finger over the bridge of his nose while she waited for him to drift off.

When he finally did, Elsi closed the shutters and went to sit in her own seat. She settled back into the worn leather, wrapping the cloak Kuiil had given her more snuggly around her to ward off the chill of hyperspace.

All the while, she twiddled the beads of her bracelet.

Click.

Clickclick.

Click.

. ~0~0~0~

It wasn’t nearly as hard as it should’ve been.

But, to be honest, it never was.

Men like the Vice Admiral, big and important and powerful men, never saw it coming. To them, death always came at the end of a blaster, carried out by a mercenary or soldier. Always an assassination. Never a simple murder, for there were always politics involved.

Never by a house slave. Never at the end of a sewing needle.

She told one of the maids, the one who had been assigned to care for the Vice Admiral, to take the evening off. The maid was happy to do so as it were, but it helped that she also owed Elsi a favor.

Dressed in their uniform, she looked no different than the other maids. Slaves were faceless creatures, interchangeable. When she brought the Vice Admiral his night cap, the finest from Lord Burkisn’s cellar, he didn’t once notice that the pretty young woman that usually brought his drink and dressed him for bed had been replaced by another.

She gave him his drink. He drank it.

She waited, her hands folded in front of her demurely. When his eyes raked over her body hungrily, she didn’t react. When he ordered her to undress him, she obeyed.

She waited.

He wanted her to touch him. He was a high born snob; he’d never stoop so low as to have sex with a lowly house maid - an average looking one, at that. That’s what the gorgeous sex-slaves were for. But it didn’t stop his hands from wandering. Palming her breast when she unbuttoned the front of his uniform. Making sure she got a good look when he stepped out of his trousers and underwear. Squeezing her ass when she walked past to fetch his robe and rubbing her thigh absently when she came back.

And so when she lingered while placing his robe on him, taking a moment to fiddle with the way the collar folded, he was nothing short of smug. Self-obsessed, unable to imagine a situation where a woman WOULDN’T want him, as aged and unpleasant as he was.

So caught up in the feather-light touch of her hands, he didn’t even notice the sewing needle prick his skin. It was quick. Painless. Right into the meat on his neck and out again, then tucked away back into her sleeve. She was careful, oh so careful, not to prick herself.

A poisoned needle was every bit as effective as a blaster.

The next morning, they would find him cold in his bed. Some would suspect foul play, but none would care enough to investigate, especially since there wasn’t a mark on him. He wasn’t a young man, and it looked an awful lot like heart failure. Lord Burkisn would inform the Imperial remnants that he’d died of natural causes, and determined the matter closed.

Hetta was outraged at losing her nanny. She stomped and wailed and cried.

The baby, though, was perfectly happy.

~0~0~0~ .

Hyperspace was quiet. Beyond the constant drone of the engines was a deafening, oppressive nothing. No matter how many times Elsi traveled through space, a part of her always expected the swirling vortex to make a sound - like a whirlpool, maybe, or a windstorm - and was then surprised when it didn’t.

It put her on edge. It was hard to blend into silence.

Twenty minutes or so had passed, and Elsi still sat in the seat, playing with her bracelet. The Mandalorian had gone back to ignoring her, which suited her just fine. Every so often the baby would mumble in his sleep, alerting Elsi to the fact that he would probably only sleep for another hour or so.

She twisted the leather braid around a finger and tugged. As before, beads scattered spectacularly across the floor, shattering the silence as effectively as glass. She grimaced at the sound, then looked to the Mandalorian for a reaction.

The bounty hunter’s shoulders rose and fell as he heaved a sigh. He flipped a switch, but didn’t bother turning around to look.

“Sorry,” Elsi mumbled, standing and stooping to chase after the beads.

Elsi knelt down behind the Mandalorian’s seat, fishing a few of the smaller beads from the ridge created by the juncture of the base of the pilot’s seat and the floor.

The headrest would pose an issue. But she thought she could turn it in her favor.

She stood, rolling the small handful of beads around in her hand, letting them clink together a bit before tucking them soundlessly into her pocket. Minus clasp and beads, the uncoiled bracelet dangled from her palm, reduced to a roughly two foot length of braided leather...

With a steel cord running through the center.

Elsi was practical. Even if she wasn’t sure of a decision, she knew better than to dwell on it. Now was no exception.

In one smooth motion, she wrapped the ends of the bracelet thrice around her hands, turned, and snapped the garrote twice around the Mandalorian’s neck.

And pulled.

With a grunt of surprise, his hands flew to his throat, clawing at the twisted leather in a vain attempt to get his fingers beneath it and prevent it from getting any tighter. The bounty hunter’s helmet banged back against the headrest, a strangled gasp bubbling out of the modulator.

Elsi wedged herself behind the chair, snaking the ends of the cord around the headrest edges in an attempt to keep him in the chair. The garrote bit painfully into her fingers, but she would never let go.

If she did, he would kill her.

Suddenly, the Mandalorian stood, ripping the headrest clean off the chair and yanking Elsi up with him.

She still didn’t let go. Instead, she used the momentum of being jerked off her feet to lock her knees into his waist so that he carried her on his back. Like this, most of her weight was on his throat.

He managed to draw his blaster and was able to squeeze off a wild shot behind him, narrowly missing Elsi’s head, before she was able to kick it out of his hand.

She knew he had a knife in his boot, but also knew that if he bent down to grab it, it would be easy for her to knock him off balance. If she got him to the ground, it would be over. He knew that, too.

The Mandalorian sobbed for air. One of his gloved hands groped behind him and managed to snag a fistful of her hair.

Elsi cried out in pain as he tried to yank her off of him. She was just able to turn her head and sink her teeth into his wrist between the glove and vambrace. She tasted blood. A strangled, airless groan ripped from his throat and he let go.

He was weakening rapidly. Staggering, he threw his weight backwards, slamming Elsi against the door to the cockpit.

A sharp pain radiated out from the center of her back. Still, she hung on.

Somewhere in the struggle, one of them hit the button to open the door. It slid open and they tumbled out.

The hunter’s movements had become clumsy. Out on the landing next to the ladder, he sluggishly threw himself sideways into one of the walls, his shiny new pauldron clanging metallically as they scraped past.

His legs gave out on him. The Mandalorian fell.

He landed on his knees, but Elsi’s weight on his back forced him the rest of the way down. The face of his helmet clattered against the metal floor.

For a few desperate moments, he continued to struggle. Elsi adjusted so she knelt in the center of his back, pinning him down for good.

His leather gloves squeaked as he scrabbled helplessly. The same gloves he’d removed for her only a little over a week ago.

He shuddered. All the life drained out of him, and he fell limp beneath her.

Elsi kept her hold, not trusting the stillness that had fallen over them. Her breathing was loud and harsh in the sudden quiet as she struggled to catch her breath.

She waited.

Elsi finally let herself believe that it was over and had started to feel a bit guilty. She didn’t think that the Mandalorian was a bad man. Whether or not he deserved death was beyond her realm of knowledge, but he’d generally been kind to her.

But what choice did she have?

Suddenly, the bounty hunter surged to life. With one last, desperate burst of strength, he flipped them over, rolling on top of Elsi and taking them both straight over the landing edge. Together, they fell down the ladder and into the cargo hold.

Elsi hit the ground first. All of the air was forced out of her lungs, both by the impact and by the weight of the fully armored man that landed on top of her. Mercifully, she managed to keep her head from splattering on the cargo bay floor, but could do nothing to prevent the back of the Mandalorian’s helmet from smashing into the side of her face.

Stunned, she gapped up at the ceiling, fading in and out of consciousness while she tried to remember how to breathe. Her vision swam with dark spots, but she was able to hear the desperate, ragged breath the Mandalorian drew when her grip on the garrote slackened.

The only thing she was aware of was pain. Even in her foggy brain, she knew she was hurt bad. Concussion, no doubt. Broken ribs, definitely, maybe even a fractured spine. She didn’t think she would be paralyzed, though - she knew she could feel everything because everything hurt.

There was no telling how long they laid there. Time was immaterial to Elsi, but she spent every second of it fighting. She fought to breathe, she fought to remain conscious, and she fought to regain control of her own body.

Even so, the Mandalorian recovered first.

She was completely powerless to stop him when he grabbed her by the throat and heaved her to her feet with the animalistic strength that came from pure adrenaline. Elsi tried to get her legs underneath her, but they wouldn’t obey, floundering helplessly as he dragged her deeper into the hold.

As she clawed at the hand closed like a vice around her throat, Elsi knew she was about to die. She saw her own reflection in the Mandalorian’s visor - saw the terror, saw the weak, pathetic little creature she was - and wondered if the last thing she ever saw would be a reminder of her failure.

All the thoughts were dashed from her head when her back slammed against something hard. For a split second, she was looking out at the Mandalorian from a kind of rectangular harness.

The air around her filled with freezing smoke, and all she knew was darkness.

~0~0~0~ . . ~0~0~0~

Darkness ate at the edges of Din Djarin’s vision, but he forced himself to stay standing until fog cleared and he saw the twisted, frozen face of the slave-woman.

Finally safe, he sank to the ground beside the carbonite freezer, and the last thing he was aware of before he lost consciousness was the distant sound of the baby crying in the cockpit.

~0~0~0~ .

#the mandalorian #din djarin x oc #din djarin x reader #mando x oc #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x oc #fanfiction #fanfic #oc #fic #mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

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Survey #435

from yesterday, don’t feel like updating the answers. :^)

When you get married what do you think you’ll put most of your focus and money into? Uhhh. I really don't know... I mean maybe doing all I can do avoid debt? That's what my parents mostly argued about, and I know financial strain can really affect a couple. I never want that burden. Who in your life causes you the most stress or negative feelings? My damn self. Have you ever had a teacher that also taught your parents? No; my parents didn't grow up here. Wait! I THINK Mom had one of my college professors? I don't recall for sure, and I definitely don't remember who it was. Are you the type of person who seeks out revenge? Nah. Are there any songs that inspire you? Certainly, such as "Life Won't Wait" by Ozzy Osbourne, "Get Up" by Shinedown, and more. How do you feel about celebrities getting involved in politics? Do you think that the celebrity world and the political world should be kept apart? Not at all; everyone has the right to share their opinion and should not feel like it's necessary to censor it. Let them be people with morals and beliefs, too. I'm totally fine with them CHOOSING to be quiet about controversial subjects, but they're more than welcome to share their thoughts on any topic. What is one pro of living where you do, and what is one con? What is a pro and a con of living where you wished you lived? I guess the only real pro (and this is horrible to be the first thought) is that we're under the radar; like, not really a target for terrorism or anything, lol. I'd get kinda nervous if I lived in, like, Washington D.C. or something. We have A LOT of cons: there is NOTHING to do, we're essentially a hub for crime, the scenery is boring and bland as fuck... I could go on for a long time. I'd love to live in many areas in North America, but I'll go with Alaska, since that would absolute RULE. A strong pro would definitely be the cold climate and the sights, but it would definitely be a con to me when that relentless dark era lasts for months on end. I need the sun (from inside anyway, ha ha) sometimes, because it being dark for what, half a year?, would really damage my happiness. What is your favorite episode of your favorite TV show? Referring to Meerkat Manor, it's actually the one where Mozart dies, I think, even though it destroyed my heart. I just think the writer portrayed it as so beautifully tragic, and the clips shown were so pretty. Does having others watch you do things make you uncomfortable? What sorts of things make you extremely uncomfortable if you are watched while doing them? Are there any things that give you confidence to do if you have an audience? ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY. Do NOT watch me on the computer (especially when writing), I literally will not draw if someone's watching (inevitably besides in Art classes, I think Sara is legit the only person who's watched me draw a bit), I really don't like people watching me edit photography, I'm nooot a fan of others seeing me exercise (though I kinda have to suck that up with having a personal trainer), etc. etc. Just don't watch me do anything, lol. I don't know what actually boosts my confidence if I'm being observed. Does someone in your house speak a different language on a regular basis? No. Do you follow or care about any big sports events? Not at all. Are there any activities people normally do together that you prefer doing alone? Hm. I dunno. If you are going somewhere where you’ll have to wait for a while (i.e. a doctor’s office), do you bring something to occupy yourself? My phone, yeah. How long is your favorite song? I checked, and it's almost six minutes. Do you think you’d ever want to be “internet famous”? I'll admit I've somewhat thought about it, only because my career choices are running so dry, and I'd be able to do it alone. However, I've got noooo idea what I'd actually do, and I also don't think I could handle ridicule or anything like that for any reason. Having a spotlight on me would stress me out. Who was the main cook of your Thanksgiving meal last year? My older sister. What moment in your life have you been most scared? Probably this one occasion where Dad had to pick my sister and me up from school one day and make the 30-minute drive home. Well. He was clearly in a hellish mood because he was flying. He ran stop signs and red lights, passed people illegally... I was in the passenger's seat and absolutely convinced we were going to crash. I can barely believe we didn't. Who was the last person you slow danced with? -_- Do you prefer headphones or earbuds? Earbuds. I like how they block out external sound better, and they don't hurt my ears like headphones do. What person/people do you trust the most? My mom. Who in your life do you care about more than yourself? My parents, sisters, my nieces and nephew, Sara... A lot of people, if I'm being honest. I don't value my life as much as I should. Which wild animal would you most like to have as a pet? I am DESPERATE to rescue an opossum one day. :''''( What teacher did all the high school boys/girls have a crush on? I have no idea. Have you ever felt seriously violated? No. Do you watch American Horror Story? I adore(d) the first season; it was mine and Jason's "show." We watched most of season two as well, but I lost interest in the later half of it. I haven't really watched it since, save for the pilot episode of some season I forgot. Does your hometown have any urban legends/scary stories? Not to my knowledge. What’s the scariest nightmare you remember having? Something involving my dad that I won't speak about. Pancakes or French toast? Oh my god, French toast. That sounds delicious rn. Are there any apps you’re addicted to? Not addicted, nah. Did you have a favorite stuffed animal as a child? Yes; it was a bunny holding a multicolor polka-dotted blanket. Do you still collect stuffed animals? Hell yeah. Have you ever had eggs cooked over a campfire? No. What colors of mascara have you worn on your lashes? Just black. What font do you usually use? I mean, it depends on what I'm doing. Is it supposed to appear professional? Aesthetically pleasing? It varies too much to answer this with one font. What about font colors? Usually just black, but again, it depends on what I'm writing. Are you good at making graphics or designing layouts? Ha, no. Do you put gel or mousse in your hair? No. Sleep with just one pillow? No, I use two. I am VERY uncomfortable with just one. Ever woke up crying? Yeah, from nightmares. Do you like big dogs or small dogs better? It depends on the breed and their energy level. I don't really prefer one over the other as a general judgment. Are you going to graduate high school on time? I did. Been to the zoo lately? No, but I'd love to go. :/ Now that I'd consider myself at least a pretty decent photographer, I'd love to see what shots I could take. I LOVE photographing animals with how unpredictable they are. It's like playing the lottery; you really don't know what you're going to get, but you have the chance for seriously priceless moments. Even if we could afford the trip, though, I know I wouldn't last long whatsoever with my legs being as weak as gelatine. I know especially that there's a notable incline in the path, and I'd never make it up it. I really, really look forward to the day where I can really start feeling a difference in my body thanks to the gym. Have you ever been to Mississippi? No. What did you do for your last birthday? We went to The Cheesecake Factory. Do you like to cook? No. What is the worst thing that has happened to you in your entire life? If I'm looking at the big picture and what truly damaged my pleasure in life the most, it'd be developing depression and such intense anxiety. I've given up so much and changed so negatively because of it. Do you know when your next family reunion will be? We've never had one. My family is too spread out. What is your favorite thing to do with your significant other? I'm single, but even in a relationship, I love playing video games together. I've got multiple memories of just having a great time doing that. Where is “home” for you? Wherever Mom is. Is there an animal that creeps you out? Whale sharks, maggots and other bug larvae, centipedes, many beetles, and some other bugs. What is the name of the last band you discovered? Uhhh.. good question. I admittedly don't listen to new music a lot. I tend to stick to the stuff I know. Do you prefer group projects, or would you prefer to work alone? I would rather kick my ankle against a Razer scooter than do a group project. Have you ever been to Hooters? No. Do you have a brother? What’s his name? Yeah, Robert, but everyone calls him "Bobby." Have you ever thought that your life was so bad you wanted to give up? About a billion times. I still do sometimes. Do you have a ceiling fan located in your bedroom? Yes. Have you ever been in a lighthouse? No, but I was supposed to visit one in the fourth grade. The water was way too aggressive that day, though, so we had a change of plans and went to a closer island. Hell, it might have been the better option, because it had horses. I remember collecting seashells, too, and just watching the power of the ocean hammer at the shores. It was really pretty. Have you ever been bitten by an animal? Only playfully, like by a cat. Well wait, I think my old baby iguana may have bitten me once (he sure tried to, ha ha), but I don't remember for sure. Did it rain today? Yes. It rains pretty much every afternoon here in the late summer. What was the name of the last dog you pet? Zeke, my sister's German shepherd. He's adorable. Has your luggage ever been lost at the airport? Did you get it back? No. Do you have certain friends that you hug every time you see them? I pretty much always hug my friends when I see them. I'm a big hugger. Have you ever witnessed a tornado? No, thank the fucking Lord. Who is your favorite person to talk to when you’re down? Sara. What are you listening to right now? "Blood For Blood" by Powerwolf. Can you get over people easy? Hell no. I do NOT handle loss well AT ALL. And not just romantically. What was the last thing you carried to your room? A drink. Do you drink water that comes from your sink? Only once it's been filtered. Have you ever prank called the police? That is fucking awful. No. What’s your LEAST favorite smiley? XD looks so stupid to me I'm sorry lmao xD reigns supreme. Do you like Italian food? Yeah, more than I used to. Have you ever put red lipstick on just to make lip marks on something? No. Do you watch Shane Dawson on YouTube? Isn't his career pretty much toast now? I DID used to love his videos, though. I still occasionally watch his fiance, though, and he pops up sometimes. Regardless of everything, I still think he's funny as fuck. Would you ever spend a day to see what it’s like to be homeless? NOOOOOOO NO NO NO NO. I am TERRIFIED of living on the streets someday. I want NO idea what it's like. Is the house you’re currently living in over 50 years old? I highly doubt that. Have you ever had a yard sale? Many. What is your favorite color? Baby pink. Did you have a good day or a bad day? Today was extreeeemely dull and felt like it lasted eons. Do you know anyone that has/had cancer? I sadly know maaaaany. Have you ever read somebody else’s diary? No, that is incredibly rude. Do you enjoy going to school? I hated it from start to end. Like I have good memories, but overall, I hated school. Were you a big jump roper back in the day? OHHHH YES. I almost learned how to double-dutch, even. I could jump with two ropes, but not jump in with two. Are you a local celebrity? Definitely not. Do you eat candy daily? No. I'm already fat dude, I don't need candy. I avoid candy as best as I can. Do you get nervous with public speaking? Like you would not believe. How old were you when you got your driver's license (if you have it)? I'm 25 and still don't have it. Has someone of the opposite sex ever told you they loved you? Yes. What memory are you most afraid of losing? Meh, I don't know. A lot of what I consider my "favorite" memories I'd honestly be better off losing, probably. Who accompanied you to your first concert? My mom, younger sister, and Jason. Would you rather have tickets to see your favorite band in concert, or $100 to go shopping? TAKE ME TO THE OZZY CONCERT. What do you usually eat for breakfast? It really varies. I'd say cereal most often, probably? Do you wish you were more outgoing? Yeah. Do you know anyone who wears a hearing aid? I don't think so?

#survey #surveys #random questions

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datingintampafails · 4 years

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Chapter 16: Ethan*: Part One

Ethan* was the one where when I said to my friends, “I don’t want to have to write a stupid ‘dating in Tampa’ chapter about this guy…. He’s a good egg.” But here I am, writing it.

I matched with Ethan* on Bumble during a super busy work week, we chatted about things briefly on the app, and I mentioned that I might be able to do a video chat rather than an in-person date easier that week because of my schedule. He agreed to it and asked if that night would work. So our first date is a rather spontaneous video date. I made dinner for myself and was eating it about 20 minutes before our time we picked up, when a piece of mozzarella got stuck in my throat and I was choking. I managed to dislodge the mozzarella cheese stuck in my throat, but was afraid my voice might be weird since I had just stuck my hand down my throat to save my own life.

He had said that he tended to be a little awkward on the phone. Despite the disclaimer, I found him to be perfectly fine on the phone. I told him about my near death experience prior to the call, and we had a laugh about it. We gave each other tours of our homes. He owns his and has completely renovated his place, which is pretty cool. I admired the handiwork of his home, especially the “shiny floors” that he had redone. I learn some quirks about him, such as being homeschooled until college and that he doesn’t like chocolate (weird). He also had mentioned that he was born in Northern Virginia, about ten minutes away from where I grew up and lived there until he was five, before moving to St. Pete. He never had typical pets, but did take care of some squirrels and some lizards, straight Florida kid shit. We ended the call recognizing we got along and generally understood each other. I knew he was 26 but turns out that I was like ten days short of exactly a year older. He immediately after said he was “excited to hang out... soon.” and that we seem to have a lot in common. Agreed.

I let him know that I have some questions for him before that, but that I’ll get to them. The next day, rather than doing that, my friend Lauren inspires me to make a legitimate dating application. I create this thorough Google form, which includes serious questions, as well as some less serious questions which are unfortunately inspired by my previous dating experience, i.e. do you chew with your mouth open? are you a warlock?, etc. I send this to him, and he hesitantly does it after I ask him to. His comment at the end is “I thought this was dumb, but I actually had fun.” From this form, I learn that truly Ethan* does have some similar goals to me. He also doesn’t want children. I ask what people are looking for and he responds with “Unsure yet, but I am open to anything from casual friends with benefits all the way up to a long term relationship if we are a good match. I don't have any future goals but I enjoy companionship and sex and seek these out in a partner.“ Seems like a fair expectation, which is kind of where I am at too. I send that same application to different people that I’ve matched with at the time, but Ethan* is definitely my front runner.

This guy didn’t really match up to my usual douchebag energy guy I usually go for. He was a college athlete, wide receiver and ran track, and definitely still kept up with his physique. He had curly bronde hair that was slightly receding on the sides, a six-pack, and nicely sculpted shoulders and back. I knew ahead of time he was on the shorter side, that is, not over six feet tall. He owns a boat and also has a pilot’s license and flies planes for fun. Things that were definitely unique and super cool. He asked me if I would ever go flying with him, to which I enthusiastically said that would be cool. He didn’t know that learning to fly is also something on my bucket list, I would actually never have the chance to tell him.

That weekend, a few days after our virtual date, I was finally done with my marathon of working long days and said I would be down for meeting up. He mentions his plans with his friends were canceled that night, and we decide to do something that night. I let him know I have an appointment and can come over after that, around 6. We discuss what we are going to do, we decide on a night in. I suggest tacos, however, he responds by asking if I like Chipotle. I inform him that since we live in a place where there are much greater options for local taco places, which aren’t Chipotle and basic, we should get that instead. He then suggests a place by him we can go to, and we agree on that. However, this is also coming from a guy who said Papa Johns was his favorite type of pizza. With pineapple.

I go for a comfy but not trying too hard look for that night. Some athletic leggings from Uniqlo, and a crop top. Ironically, I believe that exact ensemble is in one of my photos on Bumble, in hindsight. I excitedly text him about it being 7/11, which is free slurpee day, and ask if we can go. He says there’s a 7 Eleven by him that we can go to. I finished my appointment, which was actually a lip and eyebrow wax, and drove to his place. He asks me to park on the street so that he can drive his car to the taco place, and I sarcastically tell him that he’s going to have to drive around my car in the driveway. I then mention I’m on the way and will see him soon.

Usually, by the time I am going to meet someone in person, I have given them my number or other ways to contact me outside of the original app. My friend had suggested to me that I try to stay on these apps communication wise, until a successful first date. I was trying to follow this advice and since Ethan* and I were still communicating exclusively on Bumble, I was following that advice. Granted, he hadn’t really asked me either to change communication methods, so it worked out.

I message him “Aqui” when I pull up to his house, and as I start to get my things out of my car he emerges from the front door to greet me. Immediately as I walk up and analyze him, I feel bad as a wave of disappointment falls over me. He in no way lied about his height on his profile, but definitely I overestimated how tall his height was. Otherwise, he was 100% authentic and who he said he was. He meekly asks about my appointment and if everything is okay, specifically asking if it was a doctors’ appointment. I admit I was actually getting a wax, then he compliments me saying that my brows look really nice and he otherwise wouldn’t have said anything as it would seem weird.

I then say I’m hungry and we should go get food. I get out to his car, which is a super nice Jeep Grand Cherokee, with a leather interior. Despite the nice car, I look down at the floor of the passenger seat, which is entirely covered in discard receipts.

I mention this to him, and he gets super embarrassed about forgetting to clear his car before I arrived. Upon looking at the receipts as I help him clean, I recognize many of them are from Taco Bell. We bond however over the amazingness of Baja Blast being the ultimate drink. I insist we go to 7 Eleven first to get our slurpees, since I don’t want the food getting cold/soggy. We find out it isn’t really free slurpee day, due to COVID-19, and instead it’s a get a medium free next time with your membership there or something. So I get a medium anyway, so at least mine is free.

Next, we pull up to the taco joint, which is basically you walk up to a door to order. We discuss the menu and agree that fish is gross. He orders for us both, which I love, and sit briefly at a colorful picnic table outside of the restaurant. We are there not even one minute, when he asks if we can go to the little market that’s next to the restaurant. I say sure, and we browse the market. He picks up some apples and some grapes, and we just sort of look around. We are joking around and I quiz him on the “best type of apple,” which is sort of an inside joke at my full time job.

He finishes his purchases and we sit at a different picnic table, while waiting again for our food. They bring it out and we take it back to his place. In the car he’s going between rap and pop music. I’m more or less into anything but country, so it’s a fair vibe. I figure since he was on a football team, that was probably what he was used to listening to in the locker room.

Now that we’re back at his place, I excuse myself to the restroom. A man’s private restroom always says something about the man. Does he clean his bathroom? How many products does he have? Does he have that singular shampoo/conditioner/body wash combo bottle in his shower? His toilet definitely could use a scrub, same with his shower, but otherwise pretty well kept and he had separate products in his shower.

I’m still feeling iffy about the guy due to his height, and when I sit down on the cough with him, he asks if I like South Park. Unfortunately we find out that South Park has been taken off Hulu and so we look for a back up. Then he asks about Rick and Morty; I love that show, so we turn that on for us to watch while we eat. He too is a couch eater, which is good since his dining table literally has no chairs around it.

We share some laughs, we eat the food, we drink the slurpees. Once there’s no longer food to eat, he asks if I want to cuddle. I say “uhm okay.” I remember a message he had sent me the day before where I said I hope he doesn’t try to cuddle in my lap like my dog, and he had responded “what if I did? jk. but really do you like to cuddle?” And I’m wondering if I’ve gotten myself into a stage 5 clinger situation. Somehow I become like the guy, as he is nuzzled onto my belly and I have my arm around him. Later he asks to spoon, and I’m like yeah that’s fine. As I’m sure that’s less awkward than what we’re doing now. Though if I wasn’t so uncertain about him, the previous position probably would have been cute and endearing. While we were cuddling, we talked about goals and briefly about my application. He talks more about how he flies planes on the side, and that his goal is to join the National Guard as a pilot. The cut off is 32, so essentially he wanted to gain more and more flying experience so he could join before the cutoff. I have never really been particularly interested in being involved with someone in the military, so that was almost a turn off for me. However, I did this it was good that he had solid goals he was continually working on.

Regardless, I’m still having a good time. He’s a nice and entertaining guy, and we mesh well. It starts to get late, so I mention it’s time I go. Before I leave, I remember we have still only been talking via Bumble, I ask him for his number. I then realize I also don’t know his last name, so I also ask for his last name. I realize his initials are “Eh,” which I find humorous, so I text him “eh” to let him know it’s me. Which also described how I was feeling at that moment.

He then walks me to my car and I give him a hug, and then he kisses me. Even though I wasn’t really feeling kissy after this date, I realize it is actually a really nice kiss and tell him I’ll let him know when I get home. I think back to Aaron* where he wasn’t the best kisser, and think oh well that’s nice.

I get home and stew over the date, thinking about what I’m going to do about this guy. He texts me the next day saying “Would it be bad if I already wanted to see you again tonight?” I tell him I have plans, which isn’t a lie, I do, and let him know I’m free the next night. We set up another hang out at his place.

In my mind, I determine the way I’ll figure out my feelings is to sleep with him. “If the sex is good,” I think to myself, “then that should get me over the height thing. And if it’s terrible, then I’m outtie anyway.”

#tampa #dating #tampabay #st pete fl #florida #love #bumble #relationship

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afanoftheglassscientists · 5 years

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The Glass Scientists Read-Through Chapter 1 Pages 10-23

Before we begin I just want to remind everyone that Sabrina sometimes posts sketches/drafts she’s working on for future pages on her twitter account, and recently she posted some of Jasper and Jekyll who are queer, awkward and uncomfortable (which honestly, mood) that almost made me cry. Werewolf Jasper is huggable and shaped like a friend but Human Jasper is also really endearing. If you don’t have a twitter account (which I don’t) there’s a link to it in The Glass Scientists webpage. I highly recommend you check on her twitter every once in awhile.

...Okay I guess I’ll do the Read-Through now. This’ll be finishing up Chapter 1, where we get a look at how Jekyll usually resolves problems through talking with sparkle effects.

Page 10-23 - Jekyll’s Demonstrating His Sparkle-Speak

This time I’m going to look at this segment as a whole before going page-by-page.

Overview - This chapter is meant to set up a lot. The first part (pages 1-9) sets up Hyde’s character before we’re properly introduced to him through his narration, Jasper’s character as a werewolf and a scientist, how he morphs between wolf and human due to something he did, the civilians dislike for magical creatures and the policemen’s dislike for magical creatures as well as mad scientists, which in this world are seen as more regular occurrences. This part mainly sets up one thing - how Jekyll operates.

His borrowed carriage and horse, his postures, his way of greeting by name, his flattering and his promises. Its all calculated to make you think of whatever Jekyll asks for as reasonable. Brokenshire is probably somewhat aware of this, which is why even though he speaks politely with Jekyll he recovers from his flattering and goes straight on the defense. Jekyll knows Brokenshire will go on the defense, which is why he’s ready to talk his way through the sergeants defenses until Brokenshire can’t find the means to fight back anymore. Its not so much about what Jekyll says, but how willing he is to continue to push until his opponents will to fight is dwindled. Brokenshire absolutely had the power to put his foot down and put continue his arrest, but he knows Jekyll would have kept pushing through until it was no longer worth fighting against. After awhile Brokenshire just had to admit defeat, not because he lost the debate per say, but because he no longer saw the point in continuing it.

While Jekyll is sparring with Brokenshire its noticeable that while Jasper’s not on the defense at all he’s not as taken by Jekyll the way even Brokenshire falls into being. I think given these past few chapters an argument could be made that Jasper can be pretty observant, but he’s always distracted by his own concerns. He’s in places where he gets rare tidbits of info, but he never really puts the pieces together. I mean he has reason to be distracted because he almost died so he’s kind of busy here. I think he notices Jekyll is a bit strange (hehe) and he’s confused by the situation, but he doesn’t really account for that observation until he has to directly interact with Jekyll.

Pages 10-11 - Waiiiiit For It...

I can practically hear the cartoon “shing!” sparkle sound effect alongside the angel’s choir sound effect. Against the warm torch-wielding mob comes a cold and bright light. A pure-bred white horse proudly leading an elegant carriage. A sharply dressed footman (I think the terms a footman?) halts the horse in front of the crowd. Ignoring the Jenkin’s (one of the policemen) complaints the footman opens the door for the carriage passenger...

Pages 12-13 - First Move - Buttering Up Greetings

The door opens and the mob are in awe. Jasper notes the change in the air (i.e. the peppermint smell.) Jekyll has a nice pair of shoes as he elegantly steps down. His first part of the strategy is to greet all the policeman. Since Jenkins was the one who was on the offensive when his carriage arrived he targets Jenkins first. Jenkins recognizes Jekyll’s voice, but he stumbles at the response. Next Jekyll greets Wipple, who’s the most relaxed looking of the group. Wipple doesn’t even hesitate to respond cheerfully to Jekyll’s greeting. Then Jekyll greets Brokenshire, who’s the most challenging of the group. But Jekyll knows how to work his magic on Brokenshire, and Brokenshire knows it too, because the moment Jekyll directs his attention to him his face turns red.

While the policeman asks why Jekyll is here of all places, Jasper’s taking a moment to get a close look at Jekyll...

Page 14 - A Charming Mysterious Gentleman, But Not Mr. Darcy Kind of Mysterious

Jekyll’s first appearance in the flesh! In the latter chapters Jekyll’s jawline changed and his hair is a bit lighter, so he looks a lot younger and more “innocent” looking in his first appearance than his latter ones. Here though, this goes in line with how Jekyll wants to be seen: someone who has not a single bad bone in his body. He’s doesn’t look charismatic in a forceful way. He’s soft. He doesn’t have unpleasant discussions, his tea is always sweetened just right, and he weeps for every bug he steps on by mistake. His power is that no one can see him as a threat to them. He’s someone you’d invite into your home without a second thought.

So of course, when Jekyll says he wants to speak to Jasper, the policemen assume Jekyll is the one who will endanger himself. Poor Dr. Jekyll has no idea what danger he could be in!

Meanwhile that night Jasper probably predicted a few things may happen to him.

A. He gets killed by the mob. Shot, skewered or burned alive.

B. He gets arrested by the police and thrown in jail.

C. He gets arrested and THEN the police kill him. Probably shot.

He could not have predicted there being a fourth option to his fate.

D. A strange gentleman halts his arrest and directly asks to speak with him.

So needless to say, Jasper has no idea what to make of the situation from this point onward. He’s just going to hang in his trash-pile and shiver in fear while they talk to each other thanks.

Page 15-17 - Second Move - Argument

Jekyll’s next move is to while staying cordial toward the policemen argue his reasoning. Argue may be too strong a word here. Its more like he nudges the conversation in ways where he can prove his points. “Werewolves are only dangerous when threatened!” He purposely moves closer to the mob because he knows someone in the mood will give him the reaction he desired to prove his point. Brokenshire then argues that if that’s true there’s no way a werewolf wouldn’t cause havoc. Werewolves can’t live alongside people. “Supernatural creatures can, and I have proof.” Jekyll demonstrates this by bringing along Zosi, a Church Grim pupper. He knows Brokenshire has a soft spot for puppies, so this was doubly effective to Brokenshire. But Brokenshire snaps out of it. The Werewolf tore the streets apart (actually I think the mob did most of that but eh its a chicken or egg kind of argument) so he can’t be let go. This leads Jekyll into his next move...

Page 18-20 - Final Move - Promises

He makes the move to directly asks for Jasper’s name in front of the police. That way the police know Jasper by name and not just as a werewolf (aka menace to society.) He wraps his cape around him, which isn’t really necessary because Jasper’s a ball of fluff, but it could be seen as a way to humanize Jasper in front of the mob and the police, as well as a way for Jekyll to be put in Jasper’s good graces by showing he really is there to help him. Then he makes a material promise to fix up the streets, which will show proof of his good nature. Then he makes a promise to take Jasper in and help him reintegrate into society. An alternative way to read this is he’s saying he’s taking Jasper out of Brokenshire’s hands, so the sergeant has one less thing to worry about.

While Jekyll swore an oath while holding Jasper’s hand I’m pretty sure Jasper’s mind is just making Windows 98 startup sounds. He’s too far behind to know what exactly is going on, but he’s still not dead or in chains so he’s just following whatever.

After Jekyll makes his promises Brokenshire’s will to fight back is all but dissipated, and all it takes is an assurance that he won’t get in trouble with the commissioner (since Jekyll is going to meet with the commissioner on Wednesday) to give in and accept Jekyll’s way.

When Brokenshire put Zozi down Jasper immediately went to pet Zozi, and honestly I can appreciate that.

Page 21-23 - Out of the Pot and Into the Carriage

After the police chase after a runaway thief and the mob disappointingly walk away, Jekyll and Jasper are left on their own. For the first time Jekyll can speak with Jasper without the need to demonstrate to the police, so his first instinct is to offer Jasper tea. Let’s just de-stress here after the mob.

As Jekyll’s intended appearance is someone who can be invited to people’s houses without question, Jasper agrees without thinking, but he quickly pulls out of it. His brain booted back up and he’s out of danger, so he has an opportunity to figure out what exactly happened. A few looming questions Jasper might have is-

Who is this gentleman?

Why did he save me?

What does he want from me?

Where is he taking me?

All these question are pretty valid. If he was less nervous he might have been able to ask these questions directly, but his first instinct is to accidentally say what was on his mind: Jekyll’s a strange and he’s not supposed to get into carriages with strange people.

Jekyll looks genuinely hurt by that. He doesn’t want to be seen as strange. He specifically wants to be seen as trustful, and for Jasper to not see him that way (despite meeting him not even a single minute ago) might be a bit upsetting.

Jasper could probably tell this upset Jekyll because he’s quick to compliment Jekyll. Like, oh yeah, Jekyll saved his life, so he should show he’s grateful for that. But at the very least he should know a name.

And so we have Jekyll finally saying his name (after being flustered because he should have introduced himself sooner) and a “Find out NEXT TIME on THE GLASS SCIENTISTS!!!” end to the chapter.

Afterthoughts

Out of all the chapters I’ve read this one I’ve gone back to the most. Of course, given that this is the first chapter its not hard to go back to. Every time I got impatient I could read the first two chapters, and I think I could repeat all the dialogue without looking at this point. Some of the set-up can feel a bit weird, like Jasper referring to his creatures as, “my experiments,” but overall this chapter is still important to go back to and even after the millionth time reading it again I still enjoy. I wish we saw Zosi more.

I’d say the first three chapters are mostly set-up. Chapter 1 sets up the place the story’s set in, two of the main characters (two and a half if you include Hyde’s monologues,) and how the public see monsters and mad science. Next time I do a Read-Through I’ll being looking at Chapter 2, which sets up more of Jasper’s character, the Society of Arcane Science, Hyde being introduced properly and his dynamic with Jekyll, and the looming issues already plaguing the Society.

Next week I’m going back to Sunday Predictions, as The Glass Scientists resumes on May 6th. I’ll be predicting what may happen in chapter 8 and beyond. Until then, have a good night!

#tgs read through #tgs #the glass scientists #webcomic #comic

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entergamingxp · 4 years

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Old School RuneScape and Shenmue • Eurogamer.net

Old School RuneScape

Matt: I have to admit, a good portion of my time allocated to this feature was spent signing up to RuneScape. It was frequently baffling – I somehow had an account already associated with Jagex which needed resetting several times, my usual handle (and my back up, and the back up to that) were already taken, and upon trying to buy membership, it wouldn’t let me type in any credit card details.

Downloading the game from the Old School RuneScape website really sets the tone straight away.

It was similar to the only other time I tried to play an MMO – an evening wasted trying to get my head around Square Enix’s account system to play Final Fantasy 14 in its infancy, forcing me to give up on what I hear is one of the best games in recent years – and a reminder of why I tend to stick to console games. There’s only so many captcha screens I can take!

Lottie: Back when I made my first RuneScape account – like a good fourteenish years ago – I’m pretty sure that it only required an unused username and a password. In fact, I don’t think I even attached my email address to that account until I signed up for membership a year later. I’m also honestly surprised you had such a time paying for your membership – you’d think Jagex would make taking your money an easy process.

Matt: You’d think so, right? However, once I was playing… I was pleasantly surprised! First, I absolutely love the way Old School RuneScape looks. I didn’t get into PC games until Half-Life, but it’s reminiscent of early PlayStation games, an era I’m more familiar with and tirelessly fond of – where everything was made of chunky, brightly coloured polygons, the world gradually clipping into view as you explore, and charming MIDI music blazing as you go.

Old School Runescape eases you into things surprisingly well.

It’s also impressively tutorialized, uncovering its menu options and associated systems one-by-one as you explore the opening island. I’ve already forgotten how to use an anvil, or how to bake some bread, but I misjudged RuneScape as something which drops you in the deep end without explaining how anything works.

I also enjoyed how the first thing you fight is a giant rat in a mine. This is an MMO all right!

Lottie: There’s a part of my brain that’s dedicated to pure RuneScape knowledge. I can write you a guide right now about how to smith a rune scimitar or how to brew a prayer potion.

I’ve always loved how so many of the skills in RuneScape are interconnected; you grow herbs using the farming skill, for example, and, thanks to herblore, use them to create potions, which can provide boosts to your hunting skill or help out in combat. There’s a real advantage to training every skill, which becomes more apparent the deeper you delve into the game.

Now that you’ve escaped Tutorial Island, how are your first real steps in Gielinor going?

True to form, you’ll fight… giant rats.

Matt: Okay, so now I’m actually playing and picking up quests, I’m starting to run up against the antiquity of it all. I’ve discovered it’s quite fiddly to get around, and my character’s stamina depletes very quickly, making exploration feel far more sluggish than I was expecting. Meanwhile, left clicking on things is unpredictable – will you converse? Will you pickpocket? Will you puncture that cow with your bronze sword instead of milking it? (I quickly discovered right clicking on things first is the way to go.)

Also, the combat is frightfully simple – you just click on a goblin (of which there are an alarming number of?) and you’ll automatically exchange blows until it dies, then repeat, occasionally pausing to eat something for health.

I ended up scrolling Twitter as I was chaining through a field of goblins, helping me get through the combat questline a little easier. At first this didn’t feel in the spirit of the game, but then I realised – that’s how MMOs are secretly supposed to work, right? It’s a thing you chip away at while doing / watching / listening to other things?

Goblins. Everywhere!

Lottie: I’ll admit that when I’m training a skill like woodcutting or mining, I usually do it while reading. Doing so has never felt like I’m betraying the game in some way, I’m still playing after all, I just don’t want to watch my adventurer chop trees for an hour. Grinding is an inevitable part of any MMO and, as long as you’re not using a bot, I don’t care how people get through it.

For me, the simplicity of the combat has always been part of the game’s charm. You can make it more complicated by using magic as your primary weapon or by training the slayer skill, which involves hunting down monsters that can only be killed using specific items, but I like how the melee combat is simplified, so that you can focus on buffing your abilities with potion or food.

(There’s also a really good questline that explores what’s happening with the goblins in the Lumbridge area.)

Matt: I’d love to find that, because there really are a lot of goblins. I was actually overjoyed when I saw a giant spider scuttling around, just for something else to fight.

I think where the game clicks for me is the non-combat stuff – I enjoyed the simplicity of milling wheat to help someone bake a cake, and digging up clues for a treasure hunt. It reminds me what I enjoy most about modern games-as-a-service stuff like Fortnite or Destiny – less the combat, but more completing challenges as an excuse to see the vast, beautiful world developers have created.

And, again, I love the look of Old School RuneScape – I might look up some YouTube videos later to see what other areas look like.

Working out Treasure Hunt clues was probably the highlight of the my brief time with Old School RuneScape.

I’m not sure whether I’ll come back to it – there are one too many rough edges with combat and controls for me, I think – but I enjoyed it more than I was expecting, enough so that it’s convinced me to finally start playing an MMO one day. Assuming they’re not all completely overrun by goblins.

Lottie: The graphics for Old School RuneScape have a special place in my heart as it manages to be both endearing and terrifying, sometimes on purpose, all at the same time! There are certainly some beautiful locations in the game, especially when you’re able to visit places like Prifddinas. I also promise that there are a lot of goblin free areas in Gielinor – you might want to avoid north of Falador though.

I do understand why you have mixed feelings about returning; MMOs require a higher time investment compared to other games, Old School RuneScape especially due to its age and, as you mentioned, certain little quirks. I’m glad, however, that you enjoy the non-combat skills, as they have always been my favourite aspect of the game. It’s really cool how, even if you completely ignore the combat system, the game still allows you to have a great time.

Now that you’ve tried Old School RuneScape, I think that it’s only fair you give RuneScape 3 a go too, just for comparison’s sake.

Matt: That’s not a bad idea. Though unless RuneScape 3 has the same incredibly cute ‘quack’ sound effect, I’m not sure it’ll ever live up to the original.

Lottie: Yes, the quack is the same!

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Shenmue

Lottie: Shenmue makes it very clear from the opening cutscene that it wants to tell a martial arts vengeance story; a mysterious stranger arrives to demand an equally mysterious artifact, a father is murdered in front of his son and revenge is sworn.

This was great for me, because I love a good revenge story, especially if it involves punching. When I began playing Shenmue, however, I realised that it doesn’t approach this story in the way you’d typically expect from a video game released in the late nineties. Instead of punching enemies in face, I was gathering clues by talking to Ryo’s neighbours and managing an allowance, which means spending it all on capsule toys.

Vengeance!

The game even used its genre to tease me; I dialled the number for the police, but Ryo refused to call them. He has to avenge his father himself after all.

Matt: First, I’m very pleased you tried to call the police! It’s one of many great Easter Eggs you can easily miss. The game rewards you for experimenting with the world around you in all sorts ways – and by Ryo reacting accordingly (i.e. being stubborn) helps establish his personality beyond a typical cutscene.

He will continue to establish his personality further through punching as you originally assumed, though, so stick with it!

Lottie: I hope so! I do like how, as you explore Ryo’s home, you can uncover little cutscenes that give more insight into his relationship with his father as well. As you said, scenes like those reward experimentation and helped me become invested in the story.

You can uncover a variety of hidden cutscenes by exploring Ryo’s home.

The more I played, the more I came to love how intricate the world of Shenmue is; the shops have different opening times, the streets grow busier throughout the day and each NPC has their routine, which means you have to learn when and where characters will be.

The game is as much about planning your day as it is revenge. Even when I found myself waiting for the local bars to open, the daily cycle continued to heighten the immersion of the game, rather than making me feel like I had hit a roadblock. It makes sense, in the story that Shenmue is telling, that Ryo’s journey begins with him patiently tracking down information and, while he waits, he can always waste some time in the Sega arcade.

You have to wait till 7pm to find this man.

Matt: Yeah – despite the heavy premise, Ryo is still a teenager, right? That’s exactly what he would do to kill time. Again, another way of establishing who Ryo is beyond a cutscene – people you talk to constantly remind he’s still in school, the cash you can spend is from pocket money, etc etc. This is also the point where the game doubles down on the time aspect which can leave many players frustrated – forcing you to wait hours or sometimes a full day in-game for the next event to happen – but it sounds like you’re fully on board?

Lottie: I am – I like games with well developed worlds, be it expressed through environmental storytelling, gradually revealing aspects of the lore or, in this case, applying aspects of reality, like the fact that most shops aren’t open 24 hours a day. What did break my immersion though were the quick time events.

For me, quick time events ruin the flow of the gameplay.

I’ve never liked quick time events, because, to me, their inclusion always feels forced; the flow of a game is brought to a standstill as you’re made to push a certain sequence of buttons, often until you’ve done it correctly.

In Shenmue, there’s always a chance that you might encounter a little side event, from a bike race to children playing football, and, like the daily cycle, these activities make the community feel more realistic. Unfortunately, a number of these hidden activities include quick time events and, of course, if you don’t do it correctly, then you have to do it again. It took me four attempts to correctly complete one such event.

Ten minutes later I discovered that the main storyline also included quick time events.

Matt: Fun fact – Shenmue was the first to feature (or at least popularise) Quick Time Events, so you’re seeing the birth of something which plagued every action adventure game for the next decade.

There are some brilliant chase sequences which use them effectively later in the game, but as you say, means you’re now on alert every time a cutscene plays out. There’s even a couple of arcade cabinets which are QTE simulators, if you need to kill some time and test your reflexes. I’ve played them so much the sound effect is forever seared into my brain.

Oh look – another quick time event…

Lottie: For me, it’s the quick time events that are really preventing me from deciding whether or not I’m going to continue playing Shenmue. The story certainly seems to be picking up pace and I would like to see what other early open world aspects this game has, but the knowledge that there’s even more quick time events to come is really off putting. I’ve had this happen with other games before when there’s an aspect of the gameplay I don’t like, such as the tests of strength in Breath of the Wild. I find myself unable to dislodge the thought of these features from my mind and, rather than simply enjoying the game for its own sake, I spend my time worrying about when I’ll have to deal with this feature once again.

Matt: The last third of the game certainly gets more punchy – and has one of the most infamous mini-games of all time, so if you can make it a little further, I would say your spirits will be… lifted.

Ultimately, I think Shenmue is a game which suffers from playing excessively in short periods, so come back to it and progress through the story whenever the mood takes you. Or not – Shenmue is a game, 20 years on, I still load up from time-to-time just to spend time in, usually waiting for the jazz bars to open by practicing martial arts or trying my hand at the Tomato Convenience Store raffle to pass the time. Either way, take your time and savour it if you do return – there’s no rush, despite how eager Ryo seems to get!

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from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/05/old-school-runescape-and-shenmue-%e2%80%a2-eurogamer-net/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=old-school-runescape-and-shenmue-%25e2%2580%25a2-eurogamer-net

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josephkitchen0 · 6 years

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A Beginner’s Guide to Keeping Ducks in Suburbia

Ducks can be charming companions in suburban backyards. As someone who never raised so much as a parakeet on her own, the idea that I could look out the window and watch our five full-grown, food-producing, bug-eating, fertilizer-creating waterfowl would have been pure fantasy only two years ago. Actually, it was a fantasy — a dream of my young daughter’s and mine when we moved to comparatively yard-rich Westchester County, New York from the land of tiny lawns, Westside Los Angeles. Like many urban and suburban families, we saw the cute pictures of folks with their A-frame chicken coops and their adorable backyard chickens and said, “That’s what we want!” My husband thought we were flat-out nuts but he loves fresh food and so humored us when we presented my latest eat-local scheme. (I mean, eat really local scheme.) Then, on our way to chicken ownership, we fell in love with another species altogether and decided to start keeping ducks.

Why Start Keeping Ducks?

I’m not sure that Groucho ever gave Chico a satisfactory answer but when people ask me, I give it to them straight: Why not a duck? Nothing against chickens — I like chickens, my mom kept chickens, I eat chickens — but in our particular case, ducks made more sense. As beginning poultry owners, we wanted the easiest option and our research kept suggested we start keeping ducks. Ducks are less prone to disease, more weather-hardy and easy(ish) to herd. The male is actually quieter than the female so if you want a mixed gender flock, you won’t have the same no-rooster issues that you might have with chickens. Now, please note, this means the female is louder, so if you’re in this for the duck eggs, keep that in mind. Certain duck breeds are noisier than others and, of course, more ducks make more quacks so factor that in as well.

Ducks are Delightful!

Download your FREE Guide to learn how ducks can make a perfect addition to your backyard flock. YES! I want this Free Report »

Cayugas make little noise, good for suburban living. Ask your hatchery about their birds’ temperaments before you place your order.

Why Keeping Ducks & Suburbia Go Together

Even though I didn’t know this when we started, I’m sort of amazed at how simpatico the duck is to our cul-de-sac residing, SUV-driving lifestyle. For one thing, ducks are more like feathered dogs than you might imagine. They listen, they learn, they let you direct them where they need to go. Even at barely eight-weeks-old, our teenaged ducks figured out how to leave their temporary home in the garage then waddle across the driveway to the backyard play area. We showed them once and the second day, with very little motivation, they managed it on their own, without scattering or hiding. Try that with five cats!

Getting them out of the pen is easy, you might say, and that’s true — breakfast is a great motivator — especially for me! But even though we sometimes have to pick up a straggler, most nights, bedtime is also straightforward. Often our group even put themselves to bed—it’s hard work foraging among the hydrangeas all day and they can’t always wait for me to finish the dishes.

In practical terms, this tractability means you can share waterfowl supervision with others. Even my husband, a life-long cat person, can handle pen-up duty from time to time. Some folks strike deals with their neighbors, swapping duck eggs for duck-sitting. For those longer-term situations, however, i.e. vacation, I prefer to get professional pet-sitters who come twice a day while we’re gone. “Easier than dogs,” one of our regular caregivers pronounced after his initial stint. And dogs can’t give you breakfast!

10-year-old Pamela Rosenburgh, hanging with Puff, a Buff Orpington drake.

How Many Ducks is Just Enough?

Ducks love company. A minimum of two—ducks seem to be happier in groups. Also, if you’re having ducklings shipped to you, most companies won’t send fewer than two or three. Ducks need adequate space. On the Cornell Duck Research Lab’s website, William F. Dean, Ph.D., and Tirath S. Sandhu, DVM, Ph.D. write that laying ducks need 3.02 square feet of floor space per duck. Holderread’s guide describes a “triplex duck run” consisting of secure sleep area and covered outdoor space within a fenced, grassy yard of at least 50 square feet per bird.How Many Eggs Do You Want?Some breeds can produce several hundred eggs per year. Multiply that by each female to determine your possible output—you may have way more than you need (or want.) Remember, however, that although domestic ducks can live 7+ years, productivity peaks then declines over time. Also, sexing ducks is not 100% accurate—you might get an eggless drake (or even two! That would be us.) What’s your plan if you get Donald instead of Daisy?

Laying the Groundwork for Keeping Ducks

Before your first duck lays her first egg, though, it’s a good idea to do a little nest prep of your own. Probably the single most important item of research is making sure your local laws permit keeping ducks and if they do, what are the parameters (how many birds, how big a property, etc.). On one hand, living on the edge of a city might mean you have enough space to raise a duck or two in a healthy and wholesome manner. On the other hand, even if you have the room, your town might prefer swing sets to barnyards.

In the other good news/possibly bad news department, you might well consider soil testing before you order your birds. Many suburban lawns would in no way qualify for organic status and, for all their pretty greenness, were neither zoned nor built for food production. If your ducks are roaming, digging, eating and drinking from the products of your yard, they are ingesting whatever nutrients and less-nutritious elements may be found there. It pays to know in advance whether you’ll be able to enjoy the daily egg bounty or whether that dream will be, er, scrambled.

Last, but certainly not least, it’s a great idea to acquaint your neighbors with the news of your plans of keeping ducks before the hatchlings show up at the post office. Although you’re not starting a rooster factory (I hope), you’ll find when keeping ducks that they do make some noise from time to time. For instance, they might feel moved to send out a powerful quack when you show up in the morning with a bowl of kibble. The girls will be happy to see you at 7:00 a.m. but the fellow next door might not feel the same.

On a similar note, good fences make good poultry neighbors, especially in the ‘burbs. At our house, we went through the laborious but necessary process of surveying, permitting and installing a deer fence months before our ducks put one webbed foot on the lawn. Now, though, we can rest assured that our ducks won’t wander and friendly dogs can’t conduct unscheduled visits. Better for both sides of the fence.

The final fortified set-up in the garage—kiddie pool, poultry fencing, brooder lamp with crumble feeder and water dispenser on raised platforms.

Just Add Ducklings

Once you’ve determined that keeping ducks will work for you, time to figure out where to put ’em. If you’ve got a typical suburban set-up with attached garage, you already have the perfect housing. Actually, the more attached the better because it’s important to stay in tune with the hatchlings’ needs and the closer, the easier. Although, I’d draw the line at the guest bedroom, please.

In our garage, we began with the typical starter kit—a cardboard pen with brooder lamp and stand— but our birds quickly outgrew those tight quarters. We started raising ducklings with their food and water into a large kiddie pool frequently re-stocked with clean bedding. And I do mean “frequently.” Because as any duck person will tell you, waterfowl are messy creatures, their big floppy feet tailor-made for toppling bowls of crumble. They also produce wondrous amounts of wet poop. And five ducks, I have to admit, make an awful lot of poop. Something to think about, by the way, when calculating your property’s total waterfowl capacity.

In addition to supplemental heat, baby ducks need constant access to clean water. The tricky part is that in the early weeks, you can’t use too big a bowl as they may fall in and not be able to get out unassisted. They are waterfowl but before their adult plumage comes in, ducks can get chilled or even drown if not monitored. We used age-appropriate waterers but these had to be refilled frequently, especially since the rambunctious ducklings often knocked them over. This means—and parents of all ages will recall these days—you can’t leave the little ones alone for long stretches of daytime. For suburbanites whose primary occupation is not animal husbandry, a plan for this aspect of duck-minding will be necessary.

The five hatchlings in their starter pen.

Making Your Backyard Duck-Friendly

Even though you have about two months from hatch to outside living, it’s wise to have your ducks’ adult needs in mind from the get-go. Basically, it comes down to this: Where are they going to sleep? And what I mean by that is, where can they sleep where they won’t end up as duck dinner? Many homeowners already know about the relentless cunning raccoons employ to get into trash cans but the outcomes could be much worse when they’re after your Pekin ducks and Cayuga ducks. Do not underestimate their ability to get through fencing and undo latches! Furthermore, in your part of the country, other varmints may come take a look. Do some research and secure accordingly.

When we entered the poultry housing market in early 2012, there didn’t seem to be any duck-specific coop options for sale in the U.S. (There were a few British models but think of the shipping costs!) Most of what I found on this side of the pond was more suitable for raising chickens than keeping ducks and different fowl have different habits. Ducks, for example, don’t use chicken roosting bars, won’t necessarily fit into a small coop and can’t use those nifty nest boxes built for hens. In the end, we purchased the stylish and easy-cleaning Yolk System but as the weather warmed up, decided that the coop itself would be too cramped and hot for overnight duck use. Instead, we took advantage of the extra-long pen and, with some reinforcing of the wire enclosure, used it exclusively for sleeping quarters. The plan now is to try keeping ducks in the coop this winter but we’re still not perfectly sure if it’ll be too small (or just right) for frigid conditions. We also don’t know if the ducks will be able to navigate a chicken-friendly ramp or whether we’ll have to “assist” them. In a nor’easter, of course, they might not mind a little help.

If you don’t want to jury-rig chicken housing, you can plan on keeping ducks in a general-use structure such as a shed or even build something custom. Just remember that cleaning is a huge part of owning duck real estate. We like an outdoor pen option because it drains easily onto the lawn and can be hosed or scrubbed down as needed. Our set-up does need to be lugged around every few days to avoid creating mud bogs and it is a bit awkward getting to the eggs if the ducks won’t cooperate by laying them near a door but so far it’s a reasonable trade-off. This year, we’re also going to experiment with a deep litter system, parking it for the season once the lawn dies back. One of our neighbors pens her birds this way and then turns the fertilized space into a garden plot in the spring.

Ducks in the Mist: Afternoon lettuce snacks kept up the ducks spirits when the heat and humidity wore everyone down this past summer.

To Pond or Not to Pond

Almost everyone who finds out we have ducks asks us the same thing, do you have a pond? Our answer is, well, no. Pools not ponds are more common in suburban areas and at this point, we’re not interested in the cost and maintenance of either. Still, it’s a reasonable question. In Storey’s Guide to Raising Ducks, Dave Holderread says “ducks can be raised successfully without water for swimming.” Nonetheless, ducks are waterfowl and still need plenty of water for drinking, bathing and playing. In our backyard, we use a couple of different sources—an automatic waterer, a sheep dip for daily baths and an oversized kiddie pool for the occasional swim treat. We drain all of these overnight to avoid encouraging mosquitoes. Not that they need much encouragement.

We also invested in a few extra-long hoses of varying sizes and made sure they were rated for drinking water—like those used for boating. And, in case you’re wondering, our water bill did go up this summer but not as much as my husband feared. In all fairness, the extreme heat didn’t help but neither did our 10-year-old’s extravagant efforts to keep the ducks happy in muggy weather.

A duck will lay an egg any old place, on the deck this time.

Do You Really Need All That Lawn?

Of course, one of the hallmarks of suburban living is the manicured lawn. Perfect for keeping ducks, right? They roam around, dining on unwanted bugs, looking all decorative and peaceful. Um, sort of. The thing about ducks I didn’t know before keeping ducks is they like to play in mud. OK, right, they’re waterfowl but give them some dirt with that H20 and suddenly, they’re in hog heaven, so to speak. Even on their maiden voyage outdoors, the moment some water splashed from a dish, the ducklings dug holes in that thatch faster than a jackhammer (but, luckily, much quieter!)

Which, however, does not bode well if you’re hoping to retain that manicured lawn. Or, at least not in the same place where your ducks wander. The solution, once again, is fencing. Creating zones where you allow yourself the pleasure of grass cultivation (mowing and weeding, oh joy!) and others where you just accept that there will be less than pristine green space. Or space that is not even green at all, alas!

At our house, we’re in the process of converting the backyard in a scheme I call “anything but lawn.” For instance, we maintain ornamental plantings around the borders, including lots of shrubs where the ducks can hunker down in the hottest weather. We also installed a giant sunflower maze for our daughter and the ducks to play in and (for the ducks) to take shelter. In addition, we have two raised beds for corn as well as a pumpkin patch that, by the end of summer, takes over a huge chunk of grass. We hope to add even more features next year because, let’s face it, the less lawn you have, the less you have to mow!

Whatever you decide to do, you will need to maintain the groundcover (clover counts, right?) because you don’t want those aforementioned mud holes. Sometimes, though, I can’t get around to moving the pen fast enough so I have to mulch the bare spots and avoid those areas for a while. Well, so much for “best-laid plans.” Duck shoes, obviously, are in order.

Atten-shun! Ducks do pretty much everything together.

Home on the Free Range

And speaking of fences (again), have you thought about the effects of keeping ducks (or chickens for that matter but ducks have bigger feet) on your plants, ornamental or vegetable? It’s fine at the end of the season when they can nose through the post-harvest detritus but ducks love those sweet leaves of plant youth like nobody’s business. We learned straight off that if we wanted our corn, pumpkin, and sunflowers to make it to adulthood, we needed to get our plastic poultry fence up as soon as possible. Once secured, we let the birds noodle around the perimeter in hopes they would keep the slugs and other pests in check. We still got some bugs on the cornstalks but not too many. With a no-spray, duck-only deterrent, I actually think we did rather well.

With flowerbeds, it’s a different issue. Covering the sedum with bird mesh and caging the ferns may be effective but it sure defeats the prettifying purpose! Again, it helps to look at this as duck-allowed vs. duck-protected areas. And remember, if there’s no barricade, the ducks will come by and check stuff out. They have absolutely no sense of personal space—yours, that is. I guess it never occurred to me that our ducks would like to come up on the deck and peek into the French doors just to say hey. (Or ask for a snack.) The duck, as it turns out, is a curious bird. So without further impediment, our group goes wherever it likes—around the patio, on the deck, under the deck, along the fences, in the flowerbeds, up by the composter. This is wonderful for two reasons—one, if the weather shifts and you’re not around, you don’t have to worry that they are cooped up (literally) in uncomfortable conditions—they can seek shelter in the rhododendrons or wherever they like. Two, it’s distinctly pleasurable to walk outside and have your ducks waddle out with a quackish greeting or to glance out a window and see them moving around, busy and content. In fact, I find it truly restful just watching them go about their ducky business.

Which, come to think of it, is a perfectly good reason to start keeping ducks.