#also this is nothing near a flex or anything its just a combine celebration of beating this guy and learning to record it

[waywardsalt]

my recording of finally beating the caelid divine tower godskin apostle :)

[artemuerto]

Shelby Household Manor

Pairing: Thomas Shelby/Male Reader

Trigger Warnings: Shy!Reader, Soft!Tommy, Mention of Guns

Author Notes: First ever Peaky Blinders story, i just wanted to give Tommy some pece after my heart broke on season 5.

Read on AO3

Part Two

Part Three

The Servant

—1—

Working at the manor was a surprise. The boy himself never imagined he would be taken seriously, specially regarding the job he was meant for; it felt almost like a joke, a silly trick to play the part. So, being hired as a butler for the feared head of the Shelby family was honest to God shocking and terrifying.

The wide windows and open corridors left him in awe as well as the beauty of the barn and the well-kept animals. It was known mister Shelby liked to ride early in the mornings or late past midnight under the deep pitch-black winter.

The first time the servant saw him, mr. Shelby came back to the manor, his steps maintained his powerful stance even when no one was around to see. Charlie’s nanny had been looking for him as the baby kept calling for the man after waking up and while technically being his job to find him, after all those past weeks, he had no idea where the man could possibly be.

Soon, he hurried to greet mr. Shelby by the doors with a sharp nod.

“Charlie has asked for you, mr. Shelby.” The man merely looked with a glint of recognition before storming to find his son.

Later on, he seemed to find little flashes of the head of the house.

Some of them were good. Some of them not so much.

—2—

Hearing the man argue with his aunt was nothing new and still impressive. As he worked in the house, talked to the remain help around it, the cook and the nanny; they all said mr. Shelby was a kept man, stoic and impassive. With a piercing stare that imitated the freezing winter he much so seemed to loathe.

Some said his glacially sight would melt only in presence of his son. Charlie was the light of his eyes, a beacon in the stormy sea guiding him home the nights his memories sinked him deep and low. Mister Shelby may not hear the resonance of the picks and shovels anymore but still saw them in his sleep.

The always compose man had a frown on his face, his lips on a thin line only sharing his distaste for the conversation and stating a couple of orders to the other side of the phone, Thomas Shelby hang up with a soundless huff and placed his hand near his eyebrow to ease the increasing nagging pain growing at the back of his head.

They never got any peace. No one of his family ever got peace.

The servant moved seamlessly in the room, took the empty glasses and spared a glance at the half full liquor sitting the the bottle by the table at the other side.

“Your glasses, mister Shelby,” Having the absolute attention of a man such as Shelby was unnerving, nerve-wracking and worrying and at the same time, heated adrenaline and embarrassment made their way to the boy’s cheeks. A young face taintless of horror and despair.

He left the glasses for the man to hold on top of his desk and took his leave.

Mister Shelby often forgot the use of his reading glasses as he called them, and soon started to orchestrated a massive migraine that left him moody for hours.

The servant shortly after discovered keeping a spare of glasses in the office would do magic for him and mostly salvaged whatever was left of his eye-sight. That man surely liked to be left alone in the dark.

Mr. Shelby accepted the pair of glasses in silent and soon after, lighted up a new cigarette.

“Dinner will be served promptly, sir.” The boy assured his master even knowingly of being ignored, all those years, he have seen the man work, climb, celebrate, scream and even fuck passing walks of beautiful women, but barely were able to make him eat anything. Not even with his son besides him. He had used the pretense of Charlie when the boy was feeling lonely and missed both father and mother; only then mister Shelby seemed to reach for his boy and comfort him.

But for that night it didn’t feel like that strategy would work.

“I won’t be there.” Thomas let him know. “However, you are all free to dine outside the kitchen.” The surprise was cleared in the boy’s eyes, it was such an honor to eat at the table of the family and doing so without the head of said family felt wrong. The young one was about to deny his orders when a piercing cold stared advised him otherwise. “You may tell the others.”

“Yes, mister Shelby.”

Dinning at the large table was surreal. The nanny, the cook, one of the maids and him were sitting in display, all surrounding little Charlie who talked and ate happily commenting on how good the supper was for the day. The growing Shelby told stories about his horse, his ridding lessons and even his violin recital that was yet to come. Charlie wished he could invited them all.

He smiled warmly at the boy sharing the overwhelming sense of care as the other servants of the house, they all loved Charlie.

“You will be wonderful, Charlie.” The nanny mentioned.

“And you can always play for us if you want.” Commented the cook with short courage.

“We will always listen.” He said and retreated after dinner.

Hours late into midnight, the servant was wandering around from the kitchen, the halls were lonely and quiet, candles around created shadows that guide him and about to head to bed he was when he first heard it.

Low, quiet, meek whispering, hushed breaths and silent prayers came from the office. A rush of fear traveled down his spine, fear of someone being inside the house, but shortly after unlocking the door he realized it was only mister Shelby.

The man was resting on the sofa, his coat was hanged on his side and his shoes were neatly placed far from it. Mister Shelby’s features were obscured with memories and ghosts, sweat formed on his forehead as his arms flexed in anger. The boy knelt on the carpet and touched the man heated skin trying to wake him up.

The response was almost immediately. Muster Shelby rose up in a second, smoothly reached under his arm and pointed a gun at the servants head.

The distinguished click of the safe being taken off fired up his heart, the boy could hear it running wild in his ears but he stood tall and still, no sign of breathing until Mister Shelby’s gaze focused on him.

A pair of glazing blue, cold and piercing dilated pupils engraved with long soft looking lashes. Looked down on him leaving him frozen on the spot. Mister Shelby didn’t seem to even blink, placing his eyes on the boy, searching for answers to questions in a wicked curiosity; the man knew what the others thought of him, some feared him, some loved him —and he was strictly thinking about him family and having doubts—, and some other definitely hated him, loathed him and despised him. Even himself, in the deeps of night he would wake up with the sinking feeling of abhor for his persona.

But at that time, pointing a gun at one of his servants who still looked at his eyes and not the machine capable of killing them, Thomas felt curious for the boy. Shelby released the safe into its rightful place albeit never taking the gun down.

“What are you doing here?” The boy gradually started to retreat his hands and left them resting on his thighs.

“You were speaking, sir. Talking in your sleep.” A pregnant silence followed that statement and the younger one feared first time while staying in the manor that he would be hurt in any way. Thomas nodded to himself and lower the gun brushing it slightly to the boy’s face. An innocent touch on his nose to finally rest on his parted lips. The cold feeling of the metal combined with the fleeting smell of powder stirred something within the servant’s blood making him blushed in a fading shade of red.

All under the watchful eye of the crime Lord.

A lick of something wickedly dark sparkled his brain to force the boy near the gun one last time by roughly grasping at the back of his head.

“Do you want to die, Little one?” The warmth pouring from the man’s voice was numbing enough to leave his throat dry.

“No, sir.” The servant was unable to free himself, not out of absolute fear. He knew who Shelby was, he knew who his boss was, he also knew all the stories about the Peaky Blinders, so, no. He didn’t fear his boss out of his reputation. He feared being disrespectful at any capacity and not being good enough to the man’s eyes.

“Alright.” At last, Tom left him go although the boy didn’t move. He had a feeling mister Shelby wasn’t doing alright, then again, nobody not eating and not sleeping would be ok in any circumstances. So instead of leaving his boss alone, he stayed. Silently asking for the gun with both palms bare.

Thomas interest was peaked as he pleased the boy silent request and slowly after was surprised by the skilled hands that disarmed every bullet smoothly and placed them at Thomas’s feet.

“How do you know how to use it?” Shelby spoke rough and easy aching to have a cigarette on his lips. The boy stood with care and wobbly legs, went to man’s desk and searched for the item his master needed. Mr. Shelby rose up an eyebrow but either way accepted the cigar and the warmth that followed.

“My Father.” He simply stated. It was no mystery the tells of war and how many families had been torn apart from it. He, himself was about to be shipped away from his crying mother when news broke and thousands of soldiers were send back. He had been a tad too young to be part of it, but was old enough to recognize the signs and tells from it. He could never know what horrors had mister Shelby seen on those lands and he could only imagine. So he told him much.

“It’s better that you’ll never know.” Thomas groaned as the smoke blurred his face to the boy’s eyes and led him to bed. “Good night, little one.” With an unfamiliar sweetness Tommy left a heavy hand rest on the boy’s soft hair with a brush of warmth forgotten by the time he sat back on his desk.

“Good night, mister Shelby.” After months of work and sunny days, the servant felt courage to shyly smile at the man before disappearing behind the door.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Too Good To Be True (part three)

A/N: You get ready to dive into the shipwreck exhibition and start working your dream job. Benjamin is nothing if not proud and supportive, and you finally get to meet the mysterious restoration board director who hand picked you for the project. How exciting, right? *side note, this part contains some of my favorite scenes so far for these two.*

Word Count: 3,847

Warning: more nerdy stuff

The week leading up to the beginning of your new contract sped by at a rapid pace. There’d been plenty of celebration for both of you. Drinks and dinners with Helene and Milo, your family, Leo, and Benjamin’s friends had taken up nearly every night until you were down to just two days before you’d be leaving for London. With no more plans to see anyone else, Benjamin was glad to get you to himself for the remaining time. On the second to last night, he made dinner and took care of the cleanup so that you could finish up your work for the evening. You’d gone into the living room to return to your piles and piles of paperwork, music playing softly in the background as you perused the pages. He smiled to himself as the song changed to one that he’d introduced you to. Knew you’d like that one. Turning off the tap and shaking his hands over the sink, he finished up in the kitchen and grabbed his glass to rejoin you in the living room. 

 Benjamin came back with the bottle to see you sitting on the floor, one leg bent, your foot tucked against your opposite thigh. Photos and inventory lists were strewn between, atop and around your legs as you leaned forward to focus on a select one. You’d thrown your hair into a haphazard bundle on top of your head, a few stray strands falling loose around your hairline and near the nape of your neck. He smiled. That's her thinking bun. With only two more days until you started your new contract, you’d been spending every second of free time pouring over the documents you’d been sent, making sure you were as prepared as you could possibly be. He leaned against the doorframe as he watched you take a sip from your glass without taking your eyes from the picture in your left hand. Eyebrows gathered, you set your glass back down and brought the picture closer to your face. She found something. His grin grew as he pushed away from the door, eager to find out what it was. 

 “I can’t believe I missed this,” you dropped the hand that held the photo back to your lap as he crossed the living room, through the space where the coffee table had been before you moved it to take over the carpet entirely. Looking up at him, you sighed and dragged your fingernails over the top of your head, grabbing the messy nest of your bun, just like he knew you would. “This is…” You returned your gaze to the photo in question where it had fallen on your bent knee. She’s concerned, Benjamin cocked his head to the side as you picked up your wine glass again, taking a sip and contemplating whatever it was that you saw. But she’s not worried. Good. “This is,” you widened your eyes and blew air through your cheeks, causing him to chuckle as he circled around behind you to sit on the couch. “Gonna be a tough one.” 

 You’ll figure it out, though. He dropped his legs on either side of you and set the wine bottle down on the lamp table. Hands free, he placed them on your biceps and pulled you backwards until you were close enough for  him to lean around and kiss your cheek. Benjamin closed his eyes as he squeezed the rounded tops of your shoulders, lips still brushing your skin. “What is?” He asked, reveling in the breathy little sigh you released and the way you’d tilted your chin down to give him better access to your neck and back. 

 “That feels amazing,” you hummed as he flexed his long fingers, kneading your tense muscles. He smiled. Good. You rolled your head from side to side, two little pops coming from beneath his hands. Oof, that’s better. You arched your back and he raised his palms to let you reach for the photo before rising to take a seat next to him. You bent down to retrieve your now empty glass, which he dutifully refilled. “Thanks,” you sent a kiss through the air as he returned the bottle to the table. 

 “Of course.” My pleasure. Twisting at the waist, Benjamin turned back to you, lifting his arm so that you could fit yourself beneath it. You did so wordlessly, leaning into him and holding the photo up so that both of you could see it. “Now,” he brought his own glass to his lips and took a drink. “Show me what it is that’s going to be tough.” Even though I know you’ll… 

 “So,” you used the hand you held your beverage in to point out a small, dark smudge in the lower corner of the pictured sconce. “See this right here?” You lifted the print up higher so that he could get a better look. 

 Benjamin squinted at the spot you indicated, a crease in the intricate scrollwork at the base of the piece. No, of course I don’t. He pulled his glasses from the top of his head, pushing them onto his face to have another look. That? Is she joking? He chuckled inwardly as he found the tiny grainy spec that you seemed to think you should have noticed instantly; that almost no one else in the World would have noticed at all. “This little bit here?” He asked, touching his fingertip to the glossy image. According to the measuring stick that had been included in the photo, the area that raised a red flag to you was no larger than half a centimetre. “This little pinprick? That’s not just dirt? Or oxidation?” 

 You shook your head, swallowing a sip before looking back and over your shoulder at him. “No, gold doesn’t oxidize.” Right. “These have all been gold plated,” you explained, turning and gesturing to the other photographs still littering the ground where you’d been sitting. “Which should have protected the metal beneath- it did for most of these. But this one here,” you pointed back to the small dark patch, and he realized it was actually a deep green color, not black like he thought, “the plating must’ve chipped. Probably on the way to the surface, maybe they dropped it or bumped it or,” you sighed. “I’m not saying they weren’t careful or anything, just-“ Yeah, just like they were careful when they recovered the telegraph. Dropped that back to the ocean floor and almost lost it for good. “Anyway, doesn’t matter how it happened. What matters is that now, this piece has got Bronze Disease, and since it’s plated, I can’t even tell how bad it is, not from these pictures anyway.”

 He’d known about Bronze Disease since one of the first nights he’d spent with you. On a shelf in your bedroom, you had a jar of corroded coins, buttons, arrowheads and other small objects you’d acquired from various jobs through the years. Ranging in color from bright, almost neon greens and aquamarines to dark brown and nearly black, and in every stage of degradation from partially disfigured to completely unrecognizable, they’d caught his eye and his interest. You’d noticed, explaining that every item in the jar was contaminated with chlorides, causing the alloys to corrode. Even a completely unaffected piece of bronze or copper, once dropped into the jar, would catch the contagion and start to turn. 

 “Why do you keep adding things?” He’d asked. “You know what’s going to happen to them.” 

 You’d tilted your head, thoughtfully regarding the collection. “Because,” you propped yourself up on your elbows where you lay next to him, his eyes leaving the jar to fall on your face. “Because my job is to stop that from happening. To stop the corrosion, fix the damage, stop time. But,” you smiled, a dreamy look entering your eyes that made Benjamin hold his breath. “There’s beauty in it, in watching things… watching how they sort of breakdown and change.” You shook your head then, before looking at him through the hair that had fallen in your face. He swept it away with his long fingers, wanting to bask in that look in your eyes. “It’s important to preserve things, history.” He’d nodded. “But it’s also important to remember that things… things don’t last forever. Things break, and change and… and sometimes that’s okay.” 

 Yeah, sometimes it is. Releasing the air from his lungs, he’d traced the curve of your cheek, fingertips trying to memorize your face as it was, mind busy imagining the beautiful ways in which it would change. And I might get to see that. 

 “So what do you need to do then?” Or will a piece of it find its way into the jar? 

 Dropping the photo back to the floor with the rest of them, you sighed and relaxed against him. He kissed the spot behind your ear as you settled in. “Well,” you reached up with your free hand to pinch the bridge of your nose. “I have to call over there first thing and make sure they’ve sealed each piece off or else…” you let your hand fall back to your lap as you trailed off knowing that he knew what else. “And then, I’ll have to order more of the neutralizing agent, this entire piece will need to be submerged for a few days. I’ll need to test the density, see if that gives me any clues as to how far gone it is under all that plating. If it’s not too bad,” you took a sip of your wine before passing the glass to him so that he could set it down next to his own and the bottle. “I might be able to leave it as is, if I can stop the corrosion and confirm that the integrity isn’t compromised.” Benjamin closed his eyes as you spoke, enjoying the confident tone that your voice too when you talked about challenges in your work. “Otherwise we’ll have to pour a new core to reinforce it.” 

 “A lot of work.” He kissed behind your ear again and tightened the arm he had around your middle. 

 “A lot of work,” you repeated with a small laugh. “But, fixable.” 

 He smiled, lips still pressed to your warm skin. “Good.” I knew you’d know what to do. “Are you done for the night, then?” He dragged the tip of his nose along the outer shell of your ear, his thumb sweeping against your hip under your shirt. He knew that the combination of sensations wasn’t fair, that his touch, his breath on your skin, his warmth and the way he held you would turn you to putty in his hands. But he also knew that if he didn’t make that happen, you’d stay up all night trying to find more things that you’d missed, stressing and worrying when it wasn’t warranted. They picked you for this job for a reason, remember that. 

 As expected, you released a shaky breath, head tilted back against his shoulder. “Benjamin,” you groaned his name with a hint of false exasperation. “This is important, I have to…” 

 He continued to trail kisses down the back of your neck. “You’ve spent days pouring over this, love.” He said, beard brushing your flesh to add to his assault on your willpower. “And you’re going to spend weeks working on it.” You sighed again and his grin grew. “Weeks, and I’m going to miss you. Miss this.” 

 You hummed and he could feel the vibrations through your back where it was pressed against his body. “I’m only going to be in London, and you’ll be staying with me some nights and…” you sighed as his mouth wandered down to the base of your neck above the collar of your shirt. “And I’ll be home on weekends and…” 

 “And I’ll miss you all the minutes between.” With Kesting and Oberman both still away, and the conference done and wrapped up, he’d be home for a few weeks, not needing to go into the office much. He thought about just spending all his free time in London with you, but decided against it knowing that you would need your space to think and plan and work.Instead, he’d made plans to see a few friends that he used to work with, Zach and Bianca. He’d booked tickets to talks at different museums, planned to meet up with Leo, and promised you that he’d spend some time in the garden since you’d be gone for peak planting of most things. He’d keep himself busy, but the truth was that he’d rather keep himself busy with you. 

 It didn’t take much else for him to get you to concede the remainder of evening over to him, and soon enough the two of you were tangled up in bed leaving the carpet strewn with photos and lists, leaving your half empty glasses and the bottle of corked Shiraz on the table. The remaining 48 hours were spent much in this manner- him doing most of the cooking and chores while you finished your prep during the day, and then coaxing you into his arms and away from your work at night. He helped you pack and even packed an overnight bag for himself to leave at your hotel since he wasn’t sure which nights he’d be staying with you. The first night for sure, but then I don’t know. He wanted to wait and take cues from you, make the decision on the fly so as not to interrupt or distract you too much, wanted to be there when you needed him but not when it would be inconvenient. 

 As you were leaving the house on Monday morning, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, you turned abruptly to him, keys still in hand after locking the door behind you. “Benjamin?” There was nervous excitement in your voice, just like when you’d left the message telling him that you’d gotten the job. He tilted his head and adjusted the straps of the bags he was carrying. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and shook your head, a sparkle in your eye. “It’s really happening.” 

 It is. He broke out in a grin and leaned forward to press a kiss to the corner of your lips. “It really is. Now come on, let’s get you there.” The drive was quicker than normal due to the early hour, and you sat in the passenger seat buzzing with silent excitement. 

 He walked with you to the museum after checking into the hotel, fingers entwined with yours as you led him to the limited access entrance where you’d been instructed to go. The city was still waking up, people heading to work with their heads down and their mugs full, buses and black cabs filling the streets. The sun was coming up now, casting its light on the blossoms of small trees and shrubs, colors coming alive as Spring unfolded. It was his favorite season, everything splendid and bright, everything in its most glorious state. It was how he thought about the events and figures that he studied. Now, they lived in dusty tomes, tucked neatly between rows of 12 point or smaller typed text, in articles and textbooks and research papers. But at one time, they’d been full of life and consequence and risk, exuberant and loud like the crocuses blooming only to shrivel and die at the end of the Spring. He recalled your words about the coins, rotting away in a jar in the bedroom that you shared. Things don’t last forever, and sometimes that’s okay. He looked sidelong at you without you noticing. But not us, not this. He squeezed your hand and returned his focus straight ahead, smiling to himself. 

 With the promise to meet you for lunch, he left you at the door with a kiss and a reminder of how proud he was, how happy he was for you in this moment. He watched you walk in, watched the slight rise and fall of your shoulders as you took a steadying breath, then set about his day to busy himself in the city. It had been a while since he’d had aimless time to spend wandering London, so he happily went about visiting favorite locations until it was nearly time to head back to the British Museum and you. Stopping at a chip shop that he used to frequent when he’d lived in the city, he picked up food for both of you, then started the walk back to the impressive building and the even more impressive woman inside of it. 

 He waited for you in the Great Court, strolling beneath the tessellated glass ceiling, hands in his pockets as he visited the statues that filled the circular room, teasing of the treasures that were just inside the museum’s main doors. Stopping in front of a massive carved stone figure, he read the placard beneath it. Hoa Hakananai'a- The Wave Breaker. Benjamin narrowed his eyes as he regarded the Easter Island totem, imagining the way the stone sounded as it’s prehistoric creator chipped away with a crude chisel, freeing the ocean deity from the chunk of gray flow lava. He smiled, stepping away from the statue and making his way to the next, a stunning likeness of Amenhotep III, the detail in his head dress and postiche painstakingly preserved by someone like you. 

 Before he could fully appreciate how proud and happy it made him to know that you were somewhere in the building, up to your elbows in polish and preservative oils and cleaners as you brought another lost treasure back to its original beauty, you were calling his name from behind. He turned, one side of his mouth quirked up in a grin as he caught sight of you, stains on your jeans and sleeves pushed up to your biceps, hair thrown into a haphazard bun, and smudges of lacquer on your forearms and fingers. You belonged here, with the art of the ages, pouring your love of them into every project that you worked on. 

 “You’re early,” you said, smiling wide as you approached him.  

 He beamed. “Wanted as much time with you as I could get. As you reached him, he noticed a streak of some kind of solution near your eyebrow, his thumb coming up to swipe it away as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. “How’s day one going so far?”

 Nearly bursting from the force of your smile, you scrunched up your nose and grabbed onto his arm. “Come on,” you tugged him in the direction that you’d come from and he let himself be pulled, chuckling. “Let’s get away from all these people and I’ll tell you all about it.” Sounds good to me. You led him through a series of hallways, showing security guards a badge that you’d pulled from your pocket, explaining that Benjamin was your guest, until you were in a small break room in the center of a group of offices. It was empty, most employees choosing to eat at their desks, meaning that the two of you could spread out and relax. 

 You told him about your brief meeting with the museum director, about the security screenings and tours you’d been given by the guards before launching into the details of how it felt to finally be in the room with the sunken treasures you’d be working on. Your eyes lit up as you spoke about the special gloves you had to wear to handle some of the objects, and he could almost feel the fibers covering his own fingers, could almost feel the weight of a heavy metallic lamp in his hands. You’d spent the morning sorting the pieces into groups based on how much cleaning and soaking they’d need, then started in on the objects that would require the most care, hence the various stains and mysterious spills on your clothes and skin. And hair, despite the bandanna.  ��

 “So,” he asked through a mouthful of the sandwiches that he’d brought, watching as your tongue darted out to lick a drop of Russian dressing from your lip. “You meet with the restoration committee board director later today, right?” You nodded, eyes wide and brows flying up into the bandana that you’d used to keep your hair out of your way. “You nervous?” Still chewing, you continued to nod and added an eye roll. He chuckled. “Don’t be,” he leaned in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “They’re going to meet you and…” he trailed off, smiling. 

 “And what?” You wiped a paper napkin across your face before balling it up and throwing it back in the empty sandwich sack. 

 “And know that they made the right choice. That no one else would be better.”  

 “I hope you’re right,” you rose from your seat and crumpled the bag, moving to the trash bin to toss it. You hadn’t realized, but Benjamin had risen silently right behind you, and you jumped and laughed as his arms wound around your waist. 

 “If I’m wrong,” he murmured in your ear, “If they can’t see how amazing you are, then they’re out of their tree.” He kissed you and let you go, letting you turn to face him. “Now,” he tapped your nose and tucked a piece of hair up into the green fabric that was tied around your head. “Let me go so you can get back to work. I’ll be waiting back in the room, waiting to hear how right I am.” 

 ..  ..  ..  ..  .. ..  ..  

 You’d gone back to work after lunch with Benjamin, his reassurance that your meeting with the mysterious committee director that had selected you specifically for the job would go well giving you an energy boost that carried you through the afternoon. You’d been focused on scraping the corrosion away from the curled end of a decorative chandelier piece, when a voice broke the silence, speaking your name. That must be… You turned, brushing your palms against your pants to clean them so your greeting wouldn’t dirty the director’s hand, and you were somewhat shocked to see an older woman, around your mother’s age, her hair an unruly cluster of curls. She was looking at you with a hard, piercing stare, weighing you carefully before she even introduced herself. You got the feeling that her air of intimidation was something that she carried as a layer of protection against those who might question her decisions. She makes a lot of them, I’m sure, so she can’t have people second guessing that she means business. In a way you respected that. You smiled, deciding to break the ice first, as you held out your hand. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Miss..?” You trailed off to let her supply her name. 

 She smirked and stepped forward meeting your outstretched hand with her own. “Day.” She clasped her hand around yours. “Julia Day. And that makes two of us who couldn’t wait to meet.” 

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@something-tofightfor  @its-my-little-dumpster-fire  @suchatinyinfinity​​ @thesumofmychoices​​  @gollyderek​​  @malionnes​​  @becs-bunker​​ @warriorqueenofnarnia​​  @elanor-of-imladris​​  @traeumerinwitzhelden​​ @songtoyou​​  @michellemybelles-world​ @obscurilicious @breanime

if you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know! (and if you’ve already let me know and i didn’t make it happen...oops! i’m sorry and disorganized.) 

[whiskeyworen]

Resolutions

"Cyrus? Are you up here?" Moryggan called, climbing the metal steps to the observation dome. She proceeded slowly, not wanting to intrude on anything if he wanted privacy.

It had been a few weeks since the end of Kralkatorrik. The Pact had celebrated their victory, buried their dead, and had begun truly aiding the still-unbalanced Kingdom of Elona. It would probably be many years before a true and fair balance would be ironed out between the various factions there, so it was still a hotbed for conflict. Given their lack of association to the Pact, Cyrus had pulled their ship, Forsaken Aspect, away from the fleet. There was nothing the Pact could do to stop them, other than protest; it's not like they could target the ship with their strictly manual cannons. Not with the Inquest cloaking device active on it. That, and the sheer destructive power the Aspect could return would have sunk damned near any of the first and second generation ships the Pact fielded. That's what happens when the ship you're facing contains illegal, auto-targetting, horrendously powerful weapons and more armor than three ships-of-the-line combined.

As the ship returned to the vicinity of Lion's Arch, each of the team had broken away to different parts of the ship, intent on their own things. Tenna had returned to her labs, buried in the belly of the ship, to study Forged gear, decode even more of Scarlet's files, and make her own advances in biology and technology unhindered by the Council.

Verula had gone down to the gun-decks to monitor the maintenance and upgrading of the ship's various weapons by the semi-autonomous servitors that were a crucial part of a ship the size of the Aspect. Though the servitors were intelligent enough and reliable enough in a pinch, they didn't innovate, which required someone with a true mind and a keenness for machinery to guide them. Both of which the matronly Charr was in spades.

No one knew what became of Vaela Toma, but no one particularly cared; her popping in-and-out of Mist rifts had become so commonplace that it was just assumed that if she disappeared somewhere, she'd come back some day.

So, out of the ship's small living crew, only Moryggan and Cyrus were left out of sorts. Neither one had much to do, but Moryggan had noticed how unsettled Cyrus was after Aurene had self-evolved/grown. Something about that fleeting touch they'd all felt had left him staring off into space.

To a degree, it worried her. As much as she tried to keep a professional distance from him, Moryggan was sylvari, and so was far more attuned to people's feelings than she cared to admit. When he'd disappeared after a meal, she'd gotten such a bad feeling that she simply had to find him and figure out why.

Which had led her here, to the stairs to the observation dome near the top of the ship. It had originally been designed as a kind of lookout post for when sensors were disabled, or as a primary star-finder for direction, but had been repurposed quickly as a kind of private getaway everyone used for some peace and quiet. This far up the ship's superstructure, you couldn't even feel the low hum of its power systems, the throb of the engines, or the hiss of the ventilators. It was... a quiet place.

There was no answer from the platform, so Moryggan stepped over to a monitor on the wall, clicking a button on it. "Aspect, are you sure he's up there?"

The Forsaken Aspect was a unique ship. She had a mind of her own, initially designed by the mad Scarlet, but refined and perfected by Tenna's technical genius and Verula's skill. She had a kind of consciousness of its own, and thankfully, was quite fond of its crew. So it was no surprise when Aspect replied to her question. "Yes, Miss Moryggan. Cyrus entered the dome approximately twenty-five minutes ago."

The golem eye embedded in the console rotated slightly to face her. "He has not left it. Is there anything wrong?"

Moryggan bit her lip. She didn't want to worry Aspect; the ship thought of Cyrus as something between a big brother and a father. Aspect was essentially a very large, very powerful, very innocent child. "I don't know, but I'm going to find out."

"Alright. Please let me know if you require anything further. I will send a watchwork servitor if you need anything." The golem eye retracted till it was flush with the wall, before going dark as Aspect turned her attentions elsewhere.

The sylvari mesmer turned away from the console and slowly ascended the stairway into the dome. As her head cleared floor-level, she could see him, sitting on the edge of the platform. The way the dome had been built was a kind of flying bridge, with a large platform hanging out in the space under the windows. Cyrus was sitting on the edge, his legs hanging off into the void, not even turning to look at her.

"Cyrus? What's up?" She asked cautiously, stepping closer to him. She didn't step up beside him; he hadn't even acknowledged her yet. But... suddenly she realized he wasn't wearing his usual gear, his armor and all his technical toys. His heavy leather coat, with its coolant systems and things she barely understood was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he seemed to be dressed in actual clothes. Street clothes. He never dressed that way. There might have been three or four times in the last few years that she'd ever seen him in anything other than his combat gear. Something about his determination to be prepared for anything, and his paranoia kept him from relaxing much at all, no matter how he'd acted in public. At least, that was the impression she'd gotten from him. On some level, it'd been reassuring to know there was someone always prepared, who was as suspicious as she was. She could trust that.

The summer hoodie he had on, simple pants and whatnot...it didn't seem like him at all. The only piece of tech he had on was the glider backpack; these days NO one who had one went anywhere without one. And the Dynamics college had come up with an absolutely perfect design; small and unobtrusive.

"....Cyrus?" She asked quietly. "Hmm?... Oh, hey Mory." Cyrus finally shook himself free of his reverie, glancing over his shoulder for a second. "Not much. Just... been thinking." "What about?" The sylvari stepped up behind him, before kneeling down. He'd never called her 'Mory' before, except when heavily drunk. And certainly not quite so pleasantly. "Is everything okay?" "Yeah. Everything is okay." He nodded. He lifted a hand, flexing his fingers slightly. There was still a tingle there he couldn't shake. From that psychic touch. When Aurene 'spoke' to him. "I'm... trying to figure out something. I don't know..." "Is there anything I can do to help?" She asked, scooting closer. She no longer could feel the sense of doom he'd been giving off at dinner, but there was something else. A sadness. "No." He replied. Then he paused, thinking. "At least, I don't know." "You don't know?"He turned slightly to look over his shoulder at her. With his eye, surrounded by the unnatural marking he'd been 'gifted', he carefully watched her face, her expression, taking it in. Taking in the worry in her eyes. The glow of the scar on her own face; it always struck him as coincidental that they both had facial scarring after a fashion, on the same side. Made things a bit more familial, in a sense. "....When was the last time you talked to your Mother, Mory?" He asked softly. At the mention of the Pale Tree, he saw her pupils tighten in anxiety, and her minty glow pulse faster as her heart suddenly accelerated. She took a breath, trying to calm herself, though her scar's bright glow belied the controlled expression on her face. "Not since Lion's Arch fell. I couldn't face her after... after that thing tried to take control of me." She didn't elaborate beyond that. There was pain, and shame hidden under the flat manner of her speech. It was too carefully said, too well enunciated to be entirely truthful. Cyrus knew neither of them believed she could say something like that so simply and not feel anything. He let the silence hang for a moment, before sighing. "I need to... I need to talk to her. But I don't know if I can do it. Or if I'd even be permitted to talk to her." "The Mother does meet with travellers, you know." Moryggan pointed out. "She's not exactly hard to meet." "But she might refuse to speak to me, Mory." His mouth twisted. "I was an Aetherblade, remember. I helped Ceara.... Scarlet. Both of them. She might not forgive me for being responsible for what happened to Ceara. Or what Scarlet did." Moryggan smiled softly, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Cyrus... Do you know the teachings of Ventari? The ones most of my kind try to live by?" "Kind of. I tend to forget some of them though." He shrugged, and they both chuckled. "The second teaching is 'Do not fear difficulty. Hard ground makes stronger roots'. And the Fourth is 'All things have a right to grow. The blossom is brother to the weed'." She smiled weakly. "Between the two, it means that self-determination is key, no matter the outcome, and that we get stronger through difficulty, because we learn. We can forgive." She sat down on the rim beside him, patting him on the forearm. "The Pale Tree will always grieve when one of her children dies, or turns to evil. But she is also capable of the greatest forgiveness. At least, that's what I believe." "Then why haven't you gone home and talked with her?" He asked heavily, his eyes shadowed with sadness. "She would probably forgive you, right?" Moryggan's smile faded slightly, and she looked out of the dome windows, considering. "...Because even though she would forgive me, welcome me back with open arms and branches... On some level, I can't forgive myself." She sighed. "I thought I was a strong person. Physically. Mentally. Perfectly strong and controlled, and damned proud of it. And then..." She grimaced, reaching up to rub her scar. "Then that thing... Mordremoth... just walked into my mind and nearly crushed me. If it wasn't for you, I'd..." Cyrus watched her, seeing that pain again. He reached out to pat the hand she had on his arm. "Then, I think we need to go home, Mory. At least, to your home. I need to talk to your Mother, and... I think you need to have a chat with her yourself." Moryggan nodded slowly, exhaling heavily. "Yeah. It's time to go home. I-I need to tell her what's happened. To me." "Yeah. And I need to tell her things. Important things." Cyrus added. "If I'm lucky, she won't have me thrown in the jail." He pulled both of them to their feet and gestured for the stairs. "Let's go. We'll be in L.A. in a few hours." As they descended the stairs together, the monitor on the wall activated, the eye blinking on. Aspect called out to them. "Miss Moryggan? Cyrus? Do you need anything?" "No, Aspect, thank you. But if you could chart for the usual docks in Lion's Arch? We'll be spending a few days on ground travel from there. Please let the others know as well, when they have the time." "Acknowledged, Cyrus. Making course change for the Lighthouse dock as per your order. Maintain Illusion matrix?" "Yep. Make us look like a merchant airship, and adjust trim and docking ports to compensate. Make sure there's plenty of room around us so no one collides with the illusion." "Aye aye, sir." Aspect replied cheerifully, before signing off. **** It did not take long. Once they were docked in Lion's Arch, the two of them paid transit through the Asura gate to the Grove, and were there by nightfall. They rented a room-pod in the lower levels of the Grove, where the night air was filled with luminescent pollen and the whisper of soft leaves. It was actually quite beautiful, peaceful even. While Moryggan visited old companions for the day, Cyrus had wandered the halls and chambers, chatting with curious Saplings and laughing at their innocence. It was refreshing to say the least. When they got back together in the evening, Moryggan had some surprising news. "I talked to some of the Wardens, and they got word to their leaders; we've...we've got an appointment to see the Pale Tree tonight." She looked quite embarassed, face suffused with glow. In a small voice, she added. "Mother apparently cleared her other meetings just for us." That filled Cyrus's veins with a sudden dose of icewater. There's no way they should have been granted a meeting that fast, or with that kind of response. It wasn't... normal. How many ambassadors did she just piss off, to meet with us? He asked himself, trying to hide the shock on his face. "Well... Uh... I guess we should go meet her as soon as we can then?" He replied, unsure. ****

They stood before the final seed elevator before the Tree's Omphalos chamber, and every instinct in his body told Cyrus to flee. He glanced upward to the Tree's immense branches, all the various levels and platforms. The soft, pink and purple-hued petals on the long, smooth vine that swirled down from the core in the farthest reaches. It shifted softly in the night breeze, the petals seeming to gesture upward, though that had to be an illusion.

She's three miles tall, twenty miles across if you include the roots, houses an entire city in her boughs...and she wants to see us. Cyrus mulled over in his mind with incredulity. Beings like the Pale Tree weren't supposed to care for the meanderings of mere mortals, at least that's what he'd always thought. "I...don't know if this was such a good idea, Mory."

"Last minute misgivings?" She chided him, giving him a shakey smile. "If me being here can get you to go up there, maybe you being here can get me to go up there. What do you think?"

"....Deal." He nodded, and sat uneasily in one chamber of the seed pod. Moryggan took the other half, the leaf/door raised, and a gust of magic gently blew the seed up through the many supporting platforms of the tree to the Omphalos chamber.

Safely in place, the door flipped open again, and the two travellers carefully stepped out onto the lush, soft, green grass platform suspended near the top of the tree. Looking around, Cyrus realized he could see no Wardens around; from what he'd heard from Moryggan and other sylvari, the Pale Tree's avatar was attended by at least a squad at all times. Did she dismiss them? He couldn't see them with his cursed Discernment eye; they weren't hidden under Mesmer magic anywhere nearby.

"Come. Please come here." A soft voice called. It sounded like it was right beside them, but both of them knew it was the Tree herself projecting her voice to guide them to her Avatar. "I am always happy to have visitors, and, I think, the two of you are long overdue?"

There was a playfulness to her tone that made Cyrus unconsciously smile. An immensely powerful, massive entity, and she was making jokes. There was something ... likeable about that. It clearly carried on in her children, since he'd spent the afternoon having good laughs with Saplings and Menders.

"Hello, Pale Tree." Cyrus knelt respectfully. "I'm afraid I don't know if there's a title I should refer to you by, like I would with Queen Jennah or the Imperator."

"...Mother." Moryggan knelt as well, closing her eyes. "I am... home." The Pale Tree's glowing avatar stepped forward gracefully, her bare feet not leaving impressions in the grass as it gently parted of its own accord around her descending step. She laid a hand on each of their shoulders. "Greetings to you both, visitor, and child. Cyrus Sigismund, and Moryggan Deraleth. I have been expecting you for some time."

With but a touch, she guided them back to their feet. "I had hoped, children, that you would have talked to me far sooner than now." She tilted her head, the movement causing a release of glowing pollen from the flower that made up her 'hair'. "I am curious as to why it took so very long?"

They looked between each other, unsure, before Cyrus rubbed his gloved hands together. "...I was unsure if I would be welcomed, Pale Tree. I don't know if you know, but, I was a...friend... of Ceara's."

The Tree's ersatz eyes widened in surprise, but she merely nodded.

"...I was also a friend of Scarlet's." He added more leadenly. It was hard to meet her eyes, but he forced himself to. "I was with her as she started to descend to madness. I...was forced out and away from her when she became too unstable. But I had one final chat with her before the destruction of her machine in Lion's Arch."

The glow suffusing the Omphalos seemed to fade a little, dimming for a mere moment before rising back to its usual glow. The Pale Tree looked at him, pain and sorrow in her eyes, but also compassion. So much compassion that it was so very hard to look her in the face. She reached out to touch his cheek, gently, so he wouldn't look away in shame. "...What of my daughter then, Cyrus? I grieve for her daily, but I take solace in that she has been freed of her madness. If you have any news for me that the others have not brought me..."

Cyrus reached up and held the hand against his face. He knew the Avatar wasn't truly a physical thing, but however she managed it, her hand felt so real. It was like the softest leaf he'd ever felt, but one with a pulse. It was warm, and welcoming. It really felt like a Mother's touch, and it broke his heart. In spite of his control, he felt a tear slip from his eye. "...She was sorry. She had had the best intentions, but... the damage done to her had twisted those intentions. What she did... was not...what she'd meant to do in the first place."

He wiped the tear away. "She had wanted to protect you. Protect all of you, and all of us. But... what he did, even with his sleeping mind..." Cyrus's face collapsed into sorrow. "She wasn't Mordrem. But he'd devastated her mind just by touching it. She'd resolved to kill him at all costs but along the way, she forgot what her goal had been. The damage he'd done had slowly erased her goals. The denials and declines she'd gotten from the other nations ate at her mind. She..."

"I know." The Mother cut him off gently. She held his head in both hands, and lowered her forehead to touch his. "Even though she had cut her ties with me, defied my pleas for caution and stepped beyond the mental shield I put up to keep my children safe... I realize she was trying to fight back." She stroked his hair as more tears flowed from him. "At no point did she ever turn her weapons against the Grove."

"The machine. The Breachmaker." Cyrus grated out. "It was meant to kill the Beast. Not feed it. She knew at the end that she had screwed up badly. She was so terribly, terribly sorry about that, but unable to do anything about it. Not at that point. Not with the Pact at her neck, and not with her madness tearing at her. She could have escaped, but she chose not to. She knew...there had to be some justice. Some peace."

"Cyrus. Thank you." The Pale Tree stepped back, smiling sadly, and gave his cheek one last touch. "I can sense how much you grieve for her. For Ceara and Scarlet both. I can see how much her pain hurt you. And how much of a friend you were to her, no matter what she did. Thank you for that."

"As you say." Cyrus rasped, throat tight with emotion. He wobbled slightly, unstable with such a powerful release of emotion; the pain, the memories, and the sad, wonderful, freeing feeling of confession. He glanced over at Moryggan, and was shocked to see tears streaming down her face as well. "Moryggan..."

"Daughter." The Pale Tree turned her attention to the rose-skinned sylvari. "You share his pain so openly. I remember you as a Sapling, always hiding your emotions, or at least trying to." She smiled. "There were times you wore your heart on your sleeve. In the past, you would never admit to feeling compassion for others, though I always know you did."

She tapped the side of her head, winking playfully. "The Dream tells much, especially of our inner selves. But it seems you have your own story to tell me."

Moryggan blinked, tears still staining her cheeks, before bowing her head in shame. "I'm sorry, Mother. I... I am ashamed. I was weak. If it weren't for Cyrus, and by extension, Scarlet Briar, I'd have been..."

She paused, searching. She was almost shaking, now that she was in front of her mother. The words just wouldn't come.

Then she felt someone touch her arm. Cyrus reached out and was giving her arm a gentle stroke. I was there for him.... He said he'd be there for me. She reminded herself, drawing strength from it.

"Mother... If it wasn't for Cyrus, and the things he'd gotten from Scarlet, I'd have ended up one of the Crazed. One of the Mordrem, probably. " She raised her head, staring with haunted eyes at her mother. "The Dragon... he didn't just reach into my mind. H-he crushed it underfoot. Tried to crush me. But for Cyrus, I-I...." In one fluid movement, the Pale Tree drew upon her, wrapping her arms around her daughter and burying her in the glowing petals of her body. She crooned to her lost daughter, whispering loving words and encouragement, while Moryggan broke down into grateful sobs. She clung to the Pale Tree's avatar tightly, releasing all that pent up pain, misgiving, and shame.

Cyrus stood there, watching silently but wanting to reach out to his teammate. The Pale Tree cuddled her child gently, as a mother should. She glanced at him, making eye contact. The look in her eye said it all, but she verbalized it anyway. "Thank you once again, Cyrus. You bring me sad but welcome news of my long lost daughter, but you also saved one of my daughters from the clutches of the Beast. I have many children, but each one of them is dear to me, and you have returned one to me I had thought I would not see again." She stroked Moryggan's frond hair gently, before laying a soft kiss on her scar. "Welcome home, Moryggan. Know this; you will always be welcome here in the Grove, in the Dream. We are always here for you... I am here for you, if you wish it."

"Thank you.... Mother." Moryggan said shakily, reluctantly drawing back from the Tree's embrace. "I am no longer afraid to come back... no longer ashamed..."

The Tree nodded and turned to Cyrus, raising an eyebrow. "And you, Cyrus?"

He smiled a little and shrugged. "I honestly thought I was going to end up in your jail for being associated with Scarlet. So...walking out of here and still being allowed to visit the Grove is more than I might hope for."

That made the Tree laugh, a pleasant, melodious sound. "Cyrus, you aren't going to end up in my jail. There is no crime you have committed here. If anything, you are to receive a boon if I can come up with one, for what you have done."

He shook his head. "I don't need medals or titles. If you permit us to trade and offer materials and other things, that would be more than enough." Cyrus crossed his arms. "That is, if you'd be willing."

"Tell you what." The Tree smirked a bit, gliding back to a patch of glowing grass and settling down on it. She reached out and patted the ground, a trail of luminescence sliding from her hand to light up two patches in front of her that seemed just the right size for the two of her visitors. "You and your associates can do business here so long as you don't deal in illegal or illicit goods, and you will be titled an honored guest of the Grove and of Myself... if you two will sit here and tell me your adventures."

She smiled, as they came and sat down on the grass, which wove itself into soft cushions at her thought. "I want to hear about everything you've done, why you did it, and everything else. Your friends... your family."

Cyrus chuckled a bit, and glanced over at Moryggan, who covered her mouth to hide her own chuckle. "Well... my story is going to take a long time, my Lady."

"That is quite alright!" The Tree replied primly, gesturing upward with one hand. From some other level, a vine swirled up, items balanced in its curls. With a flourish, it laid out an imported Krytan tea set, complete with hot tea and a service tray of assorted pastries. "I shall provide the confections if you provide the entertainment. And I have plenty of time."

They all had a good laugh at that, and Cyrus poured them all a cup of tea as he tried to explain his home... ---- Author note: I didn’t actually write this for the Writer’s Event for @tyrias-library but it might just fall under a bunch of the prompt guidelines anyway. If it’s not actually entered in it, that’s cool with me because it wasn’t planned that way. LoL. That said, enjoy. I’m still debating how close these two actually are. Or will become. It’s far too easy to write ships, but at the same time, it seems so appropriate. I’m also debating something with the Forsaken Aspect... time will tell of course. ;)

[caseymalone]

Top 10 Games 2017

Here are my top 10 games for 2017! Minor spoilers for a few of them, but nothing major. You’ve been warned!

10. Resident Evil 7: BioHazard

There have been 27 Resident Evil games, including remakes, remasters, 3DS releases but excluding pachinko machines and Tiger Electronics handhelds. Of those near thirty games, Resident Evil 7 brings the total I’ve enjoyed to… two. I guess this is my way of saying that between being a huge scaredy cat and irked by the stuffy, smothering control scheme of the originals, there’s no nostalgia weighing me down whenever Capcom reinvents Resident Evil, first with Resident Evil 4, now again with 7.

But where Resident Evil 4 took the fantasy of being a special agent in a world full of monsters further than ever before, Resident Evil 7 drops it completely. In it, I’m a wimp, a nerd with a camera at the whims of this family of maniacs, trapped on their grounds by a drive to find my wife, who is changing into… something. Capcom smothers me with a pervasive sense of helplessness playing RE7, forcing me into a desperate scramble to escape the unstoppable Daddy (side note: “The Unstoppable Daddy” was my nickname in college). Filling me with absolute dread when the disgusting creature Marguerite becomes clambers through holes and onto walls. And forcing me to freeze up and take a deep breath at the sinking realization that my next goal is all the way across the grounds.with god knows what between me and it. Even the change to a first-person view means your helpless doesn’t stop at your ability to fight - you don’t even know what’s around you. Resident Evil 7 left me terrified and anxious throughout, which is saying something since  played it on Easy.

9. Gorogoa

It’s now an annual event that, despite a perception that Adventure Games are dead, someone releases a labor of love whose beauty and finesse showcase the best the genre has to offer. Gorogoa asks you to interact in the simplest terms - zoom in and out, or drag and drop. What makes Gorogoa special is that when I do those things, it feels like I’ve changed fundamental ways that I think. My perspective on the world has shifted about ten degrees to the left and all the rules are new. That combined with hand-drawn visuals, stark sound design and desolate narrative made Gorogoa a brief yet crucial experience for anyone looking to see games as more than loot-box dispensers.

8. Star Wars: Force Arena

Oops, speaking of Loot Boxes. Well, card packs? Is there a difference? Where have we come down on this? The conversation around gaming in 2017 has been dominated by a debate about the ethics of selling random pulls at cards, skins, characters, horses, buggies, whatever, and I’m going to level with all of you - my perspective is skewed. I make mobile free-to-play games, which use this mechanic, and I’ve been playing collectible card games since the Revised core set for Magic: The Gathering came out in 1994. So one way to look at my opinion is that I don’t have a problem with this way of selling people games, and a much less charitable one is that I’m fully indoctrinated. Either way, being able to get emotionally side-step this entire debate has lent me the clarity of mind to tell you all that Star Wars: Force Arena is good as hell.

Force Arena is the real-time, head-to-head gameplay of Clash Royale, but with direct control of a Hero, MOBA-style, then Star Wars’ed all the way up. Every system is implemented in a smartly and cleanly, facilitating my ability to get into the game and getting out of my so I can let people know my Han Solo deck is not to be flexed with. The whole thing is catnip for Ol’ Maloney over here, and I am straight rolling.

7. Star Wars: Imperial Assault - Legends of the Alliance

Is spaghetti a sandwich? Is Chewbacca a dog? Is Matt Kessler a mongoose? Is Legends of the Alliance, an app for Star Wars: Imperial Assault, a video game with physical components or a board game with a digital accessory? The line between board games and video games is get blurrier, as outstanding digital components have begun to take the place of cumbersome bookkeeping, or allow designers to add elements that would be impossible to achieve otherwise. Or, in the case of Legends of the Alliance, replacing the Imperial Player entirely.

Traditionally played as a team of rebels against a monolithic Imperial player, Legends of the Alliance turns Imperial Assault into a fully cooperative experience, running the campaign as a virtual dungeon master, setting up your next level and directing Imperial enemies to attack your heroes. But more than simply emulating a now missing player, Legends of the Alliance takes this chance to add something to the experience.

Without the app you bounce from one XCOM-esque tactical mission to the next, but now… now you go on non-combat missions. You make friends in the world. You feel a real sense of betrayal when you learn not all the Rebels are working for the greater good, and you deal with the emotional aftermath with other characters when the Empire manages to grind you under their heel. These things weren’t in the box of plastic and cards I bought years back - they were exclusively part of Legends of the Alliance, and creating new memories and experience while justifying asking you to bring your laptop to your tabletop.

6. Horizon Zero Dawn

There’s a vital sincerity to Horizon Zero Dawn. After borrowing mechanics liberally from Far Cry/Assassin’s Creed, adding giant robot dinosaurs, and then putting the voice actress behind Borderlands 2’s (in my opinion, brutally irritating) Tiny Tina front and center, it would have been so easy for Guerrilla Games to smarmy one-liner their way through this post-post-apocalypse adventure. Instead they cast that all aside to carefully bring you into a world without even a hint of irony.

At the center of the game is Ashly Burch’s Aloy, full of wounded confidence and strength tinged with kindness, a performance so natural yet thoughtful that Aloy stands above any other character in games this year. That sincerity doesn’t make Horizon a serious or grim affair - there’s jokes, and boy howdy is there a lot of flirting - but it serves to draw the player into the world, rather than establish a safe ironic distance from which both the player and the game can remain “cool.” Every choice shows that Guerrilla Games truly wants me to care about Aloy and the world of Horizon. It turns out I do.

5. HQ

For me, 2017 was a year of shared gaming experiences. I’ll get to the other two big ones below, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t include this nightmare of a Black Mirror episode, this scheduled dose of Quiz Daddy Scott Rogowski, this twice daily car crash with a cash payout, HQ.

For months at 3 PM, I’d jump into Discord with my friends and join in the collective hypnosis of a new game of HQ. We were beyond captivated. We had a million questions - who is Scott? Why does he vamp with the intensity of someone hosting at gunpoint? Where is he broadcasting this from? And when he’s not there, where the hell is Scott? Who is this rando who claims to be ‘Scott’s Boy’? How does the player count keep growing, and how does this thing make money? It was a mystery wrapped in tech startup poppiness and a screaming man in a suit, and we wanted to know everything about it.

Like any mystery, as we’ve learned more about Scott and HQ, our interest has waned and my friends have fallen off the Trivia Train. But for months, once a day we’d simultaneously drop everything and delve into it. Something nothing else in games or television has gotten us to do for years. Also, uh...

…

I’m playing a game called HQ Trivia. You should play too. Use my code “caseymalone” to sign up.

4. Super Mario Odyssey

In late October 2017, was there anything I needed more than some unabashed joy? A full-on celebration of bright colors, silly characters and bizarre hats? Super Mario Odyssey would be an incredible game at any time in history, but the timing of its release felt like more than just a game; it felt like a balm. A warm weighted blanket sewn from my old t-shirts, taking nostalgia and making it into something new, something calling me to come back and crawl under it all day, every day. A game that rewarded me for just being in the world, asking me to challenge myself at your own pace, issuing pats on the head and individually wrapped chocolates as a reward for just wandering around and doing my thing. 2017 was a year where Nintendo was dedicated to challenging what people expect from them with their hardware, their mobile ports, and another of their major franchises. When it came to Mario, though, Nintendo clearly just wanted to make people happy. And I’m so, so grateful for that.

3. Destiny 2 & 2. PlayerUnknown’s Battlegrounds

Destiny and Battlegrounds seem like pretty starkly different experiences, but what I got out of them in 2017 was the same - time with some of my best friends. Friends who live in Los Angeles, New York, New Jersey, England, San Francisco; people I never get to see, people I don’t even get to talk to that often. But those friendships got actually stronger this year through these games.

That wouldn’t be possible if the underlying games weren’t outstanding - Destiny 2’s shooting feels incredible, and its endless list of chores made sure there was always a mission for me to suck friends into, or a goal for me to help them out with. There aren’t (currently) many Strikes for us to go on, but honestly that helped - when you know all the beats, a zen-like state takes over and you can enjoy the lock-on and kickback of hand cannons without worry. All the while catching up, making goofs, or ranting about the state of the world without the game getting in the way.

Destiny 2’s not perfect - a lot of the changes made from Destiny to Destiny 2 to make it smoother and more welcoming turned solo play into a dull shade of its predecessor. But as a part of a Strike Team, Destiny 2 hums with efficiency, getting out of my way and letting me and my friends have fun.

And it would be second to none this year if wasn’t for PlayerUnknown’s Battlegrounds.

Battlegrounds is insane, it’s a fun-time mess-around machine paired with an intensely hardcore military shooter, a game that’s thirty minutes of a goofy chatroom capped off with two minutes of a game-ending firefight. Except for when that fire-fight lasts for twenty minutes and it’s the most intense experience of my life. I’ve had as much fun losing PUBG as I’ve had winning (the few times I’ve managed to snag a chicken dinner), and I’ve had even more fun when I die and get to stay in voice-chat to cheer on the rest of my squad, spectating through to the end.

While I don’t get much out of watching strangers stream on Twitch, I’ve been lucky that enough of my friends stream this game, for a while on an almost daily basis, that I had just as much fun watching them as actually playing it. I laughed so hard when friends would get motorcycles trapped in a tree, cheered when they’d have from-behind victories, and feel heartbreak when the squad’s last hope would get shotgunned from behind after escaping tough spot after tough spot. Somehow all these feelings were just as strong as when I was behind the controls myself. There’s magic in this game, which boggles the mind, because with its bugs and frankly generic style, it could not possibly look less magical.

I cannot fucking believe I’m typing this but it turns out the real game of the year was the friends I made along the way.

1. The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild

Just kidding, game of the year is The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild.

I always have less to say when I get to the top item on my list because what could I possibly say about Breath of the Wild that hasn’t been covered already? Nintendo stripped so much out of the Zelda series that honestly when I started playing it, I felt uncomfortable and exposed - what do you mean my weapons break? Wait, I don’t have to buy bombs, I just HAVE them? When are the DUNGEONS going to show up, what are these shines? I don’t like this at all. But as I bristled against those, I was slowly filling with wonder. Every canyon I walked out of, every corner I turned, every hole I climbed out of revealed a field with towns and caverns, or small forests full of unknown treasures and monsters.

Lots of games do open worlds, but where Skyrim feels like I could get lost in it, the Hyrule of Breath of the Wild feels like I am conquering it. In Skyrim I feel like I’m exploring the map - in Breath of the Wild, I’m making it.

I remember so clearly, late at night, climbing to the top of a bridge that crosses Lake Hylia. I don’t know why I was there, or what I thought might be at the top of the tower, but Nintendo put it there, so maybe. Maybe there was something. I climbed to the top and there wasn’t anything for me to take, but as I looked over towards the horizon, Hyrule stretched on forever. I felt overwhelmed with the possibility of disappointment - that I would feel the need to climb it all, that there wouldn’t be a thing for me at the top of most of those towers, under those rocks. And as I thought about that the music changed. From the water of the lake emerged Farosh, the lightning dragon, soaring, completely oblivious to me. He was beautiful, powerful, made me forget about any of my goals or collectibles and forced me to take in his majesty. Forced me to realize there were no rupees or arrows up there because this moment was my reward. And that there would be moments like this all throughout Hyrule. I just needed to go looking for them.

Near Misses: Injustice 2, Everybody’s Golf, Mario Kart 8 Deluxe