#and its not like this community interacts with each other anymore despite my attempts

[boldbrash-fandertrash]

Ignore me, unless I’m right in which case I fucking called it

So I was rewatching the episode for the fourth time and one I realized that Remus is much much smarter than we give him credit for and two I can generally predict how the rest of the story is gonna go.

We’re gonna have another aside video with Patton and Janus before the big season finale, and that aside is going to be one of the most important videos to the general progression of the plot.

I’m sure you’ve noticed the pattern so far, two sides who diametrically oppose each other being forced to work together on a problem they vastly disagree about, usually turning the small issue into something much messier than it ever would be and them learning something about themselves in the process.

Each pairing exists to point out to the viewer exactly what issues exist with each side that need some form of resolving, and the big unifying theme amongst them is “you’re not listening to me”. Roman and Virgil dragging Thomas across the cafeteria in favor of or agains him talking to Nico, Logan and Remus deliberately ignoring and working to undo the others work in an attempt to break Thomas out of the depressive funk he found himself in. Nobody is working together here. The only side to even remotely cooperate with the group was Virgil body checking Thomas into Nico, and it took him and Roman bullying each other and Thomas for an entire video to even get to that point.

Watching Logan and Remus interact, one, brought me immense joy and I will be chasing that high for weeks to come, and two, after an ounce of critical thinking was frankly painful to watch. Any critiques Logan offered to Remus were immediately discarded with absurdity and any critiques Remus offered to Logan were discounted as absurd.

During the obvious scene at the end with the Eyes™️, Logan claimed he wasn’t pretending Remus didn’t exist, but honestly, he kinda was.

The Dunce Cap Scene really accentuates this point. Logan pulls a holier than thou, why won’t you learn I’m always right, bullshit passive aggressive remark, Remus does his dramatic repenting student shtick, starts singing directly into Logan’s ear, and makes a kink joke. Literally the words Remus sings are “can’t fix this guy, all by yourself”. Remus is saying this inches from Logan’s personal face and even still the logical side ignores him outright, because of all the fluff around the message. Hell, in Remus’s introduction video, Logan likens him to a screaming baby on a plane, essentially saying “well eventually he’ll stop screaming so just bear with it for a while and you’ll be fine”. He’s ignoring Remus outright due to a preconceived notion and missing out on valuable information because of it.

The dunce cap scene indirectly calls back to learning new things about ourselves, where Logan is completely unreceptive to the puppet bit because of its perceived absurdity and absolutely refuses to acknowledge any potential the medium might have for learning until he physically cannot anymore.

Remus is capable of, and does often, make valid points and offers genuine critiques of shit happening in their lives. In Forbidden Fruit, almost every single line harkens back to some idea the other sides had been trying, and failing, to communicate to Thomas. “Good and bad is all made up nonsense”, “if you shared those musings with your friends i doubt they would forgive you”, “why deny yourself knowledge, say, knowledge of yourself” “people don’t like me much, Thomas, but that only just cause I’m honest”, “these sorts of things are only thought in the mind of a man who’s soul is truly rotten.”

Despite all of this, he is ignored outright because of his medium. Just like Logan is ignored due to his monotone cadence and large volume of content, just like Roman is due to his flair for the dramatic and artistic display of ideas, just like Patton is due to his playful and childlike nature, just like Janus is due to his perceived role as the Villain, just like Virgil /was/ due to his perceived role as the villain.

They all have become accustomed to being stepped on by the other sides because of who they are and how they communicate, and have in turn learned some less than ideal methods of being heard again. Logan yells and gets passive aggressive, Remus ups the fear factor for everyone around him, Roman shuts down anyone who tries to talk through bullying and raising his voice, Patton manipulates the others into feeling guilt and covers it up with a smile, Virgil whips out the tempest tongue and incites fear in Thomas, and Janus physically silences anyone in his way.

And here’s why I say the next asides episode is going to be the most important one developmentally. Patton and Janus are going to be forced to work together. Patton, who is in the midst of an identity crisis, and willing to listen to any new ideas provided they offer a valid solution to the shit he’s found himself in, and Janus, who knows a lot more than he’s willing to let on, who concerns himself exclusively with Thomas’s self preservation, and loves to talk when given the opportunity. Janus is gonna have a thing or two to say to Patton when they’re inevitably faced with their moral dilemma, and Patton is going to be in just the right mindset that he’s willing to listen. And Janus is going to end up being right, and the small issue they’re facing will be resolved, which will therefore strengthen Patton’s trust, and his openness to changing for the better.

Patton is goofy, and childish, and kinda ditzy sometimes, and because of that we as a fandom tend to overlook any of his moments that are anything but that, but we are not giving this man enough credit. When Patton sets his heart on something, he throws his whole self into it, and is willing to stand up for his beliefs in the face of extreme opposition, and would gladly do anything in his power to defend his family. Once Patton decides that he’s willing to grow, and if he believes that this growth will help put his family back together, nothing can stop him, and that will be absolutely crucial for the growth of all the other sides around him.

Whatever him and Janus discuss during their aside will absolutely give Patton the information he needs to help stitch together the rift between everyone.

I predict the next official Sanders Sides video is going to be the longest one yet, possibly over an hour long, because there’s a LOT of work that is going to need to be done, and Everyone is going to be in it. The big issue of “you’re not listening to me” won’t be resolved, but it will be acknowledged in a serious light by everyone. We won’t be getting any appearances from the Orange Side I don’t think, that would end up just complicating matters even more when each character is already incredibly shaky in their own identity.

Something less than ideal is gonna happen between Thomas and Nico, he’s gonna summon the initial three to deal with the matter but the other lads are gonna worm their way into the discussion, everyone’s gonna start screaming at each other, and Pattons gonna do something that stuns everyone else into silence (I’m guessing he’ll start crying, considering the start of season two was all about him repressing negative emotions and what better way to show character growth than to sob openly on camera).

Once everyone just fucking stops for ten seconds that’s when the apologies start. None of the sides are ever the first to apologize, we’ve seen that time and time again. Their desire to be in the right as well as their pride will always get in the way, however if someone starts the apology train everyone will eventually follow suit. We see that in Alone On Valentines Day, My Negative Thinking, Growing Up, Accepting Anxiety, Fitting In, Moving On, actually in pretty much every video where an apology actually takes place, once one person apologizes the other will immediately follow suit.

Patton is gonna be a goddamn mess, he’s gonna apologize to everyone in the room for anything he thinks he may have done to wrong them, and that’s gonna be what gets everyone to acknowledge all the shit they’ve put each other through, and the others are going to jump between trying to console him and trying to apologize to each other. They’re going to come to the unified decision that they need to work together more on future issues, the group is all going to offer up a solution and decide together on a remedy to whatever happened together between Thomas and Nico, and that will be that. Season three will be about them finding the balance between stepping on toes and being stepped over, while also working out how the orange side fits into everything.

Thus marking the end of my rant.

I started writing this at 2 and it’s now 4. I have to be up in three hours. I have an essay due at 3pm tomorrow that I haven’t started, but instead I typed up all this bullshit. I hope any of this made any sense, and I hope this is a suitable replacement for my emotions essay that’s completely untouched because chances are this is what I’m presenting to my therapist tomorrow. Wish me luck.

[noobsomeexagerjunk]

Always Shine and Redefine Our Humanity

How Eret Contributes to the Dream SMP's Narrative Themes of Change and Self-Discovery

I can’t believe listening to a song from a fairly obscure but growing musical (where I took this post’s title from) would prompt me to inspect Eret’s character more but here we are. I will heavily use @theeretblr's (whom you should subscribe to, btw) Character Explanation thread as a basis, as well as statements about their character from their most recent streams and things that I have gathered from other essays by people who clearly have been watching from the start.

This will include sentiments and theories I want for the character because I kinda got attached to them as of late. Please keep in mind that I have been watching since around Late November-Early December, so my biases would be appropriate to such a viewer.

This essay is a discussion of the roleplay character.

1. Eret is Self-Preserving & Versatile in Skill (and this is why they're powerful)

"Those who are given Power hold on to it."

Something I’ve observed concerning Eret’s Betrayal of L’Manburg was their motivations for doing so. For a time they have believed that power and security mattered. For a time their interests went first. CC!Eret referred to the choice as "an offer no one would refuse" as well. This wasn't just luxury and (they didn't know it at the time, but false) power, it was the protection they would be allowed to have by the admin of the server. It was being allowed to do whatever they wanted, despite the means to it being dishonorable and interestingly enough, demanding of permission.

Eret was willing to do anything to remain secure and equipped, and I argue that they still do until now. The difference is that now, they are more concerned about how they maintain their security in that they wouldn't hurt other people or be extremely unethical in the pursuit of this security.

Also, they're privy to grinding when it's necessary, they know how to build structure and contraption, and they can hold their own fairly well. They're very well-spoken and can deliver on appearances and ambiance, excellent at both comforting and intimidating whomever they choose. They had to have been this skilled for a while.

2. Eret has a Forgotten History (of bringing down powerful groups of people, apparently)

"Those who don't know History are doomed to repeat it."

So remember that interaction with Foolish? I want to bring this up because I feel that having particularly close ties with a God of Undying/Death has implications.

Foolish also brings up "taking care of [a] Wither cult"—an organized group! Wasn't Eret known for taking down an organized group on the server? L'Manburg, at its founding. He was part of the rebellion against Manburg. He was against the Eggpire. Yep, that's a pattern.

What does this mean? Well:

Eret's hands were never clean from the start, clearly before the Final Control room, and it can be inferred that they're redder than they seem

Eret's tendencies towards self-preservation may have been influenced/learned from Foolish

Eret may have had (if they still don't do) an inclination to pursue power through the dismantling of organized groups that also seek/already have established power

Eret's current skills are the way they are due to his past

And we cannot forget the CC confirmation that c!Eret has relations with Herobrine, the infamous Minecraft urban legend known for the horror he brings and how many lovers of Minecraft frame him as this terrifying powerhouse entity beyond human comprehension. This relation is still a mystery, but from what we know, it can tell us a lot about what Eret has forgotten about himself and what Eret is capable of!

3. Eret is Concerned by What People (though only those that matter to him) Think of Her

"I think Respect is a big thing."

In light of her power, we have to remember that Eret regretted pursuing power upon recognizing the loss of respect and friendship that came with the throne. This becomes a much stronger detriment when she realizes that the power she thought she had never actually existed in the first place—one can say she would dread pursuing power for herself again. To subject oneself to the standards of others after all is to subject yourself under constant scrutiny.

In her regrets, she learns and realizes what she wants—to be loved and cared for, to be truly alive with her loved ones. It's why she decides to improve herself, and she works and makes the effort to try! She struggled (and still does) in the process of pursuing forgiveness, illustrating that her determination towards an end is very strong, gradual as it may be.

It's how she looks up to Wilbur! Still! I reckon the two believe they're responsible for the other. Change! What an incredible thing the two are able to do.

4. Eret Knows What He Wants (but is struggling to figure out how to get it)

"That was a long time ago. I've changed things and I know not to break people's trust anymore."

One of Eret’s biggest concerns right now in Season 3 is his relationship with the Crown, mixed and fickle it seems based on his streams during this time. His kingship carries more and more weight each passing day, debating whether forgoing the effort and spilled blood Eret had to get the Crown is worth it. (I mean, he accepted the restoration of his Kingship when George got dethroned.)

The Kingship is still power, and it's become true power after Dream had been put in prison. We know he's admitted being deathly afraid of Dream, so this period of genuine Kingship would be incredibly special to him. Ever since he's been finding ways to make his kingship genuinely meaningful, redefining the evils the Crown used to have by doing good to whomever sincerely, freely, and willingly. He's attempted allyhood with like-minded individuals based on his judgment of their character. Remember his Knights? These consisted of HBomb, Puffy, and Punz, each of which exhibited behaviors (predilection for community, dedication to duty, moral neutrality) he has as well!

But yet, the blood spilled for that Crown still stains him, and it cannot be denied that it will continue to do so for as long as Eret wears the crown. I wonder if he believes this, whether a part of him does deep down. Dream being in jail doesn't just mean freedom to be a king but freedom to quite literally be yourself, whatever it may be.

5. For these reasons, Eret Represents Constant Self-Actualization and Rediscovery

"I'm a strong, independent...whatever the fuck I am."

Given the points established above, Eret is unfamiliar with her full self and wants to shape herself into someone desirable and genuinely contributing kindness to a clearly broken world, a world whose brokenness she also happened to contribute to.

Her enthusiasm for History and the pursuit of enlightenment speaks volumes to this motivation. It's her repeated, dedicated efforts to try and try and try and try, to be better! Not just to be a better person herself but for everyone else to be able to be better too! She's aware that perfection is impossible, but clearly recognizes that constant reevaluation of the self is nonetheless necessary.

It's how she's open to engaging with as many people as possible despite differing opinions and carried baggage. She researches and explores and examines! She does no harm but takes no shit.

Every facet of her, to the terror her eyes have been known to give, to the air of affirmation radiating in her domain of a Pride castle, to the blood that decorates her fingers, to the people she has given support to, to the people she has disadvantaged, to the History she keeps, to the part of herself she no longer remembers, to the power she carries—Eret knows how to be truly alive.

[rissynicole]

DTIYS Contest Prize: Rllyaangrlly

Here is the first of the one-shots promised to the three winners of the DTIYS event I put on recently. (Thank you guys for being patient with me, btw. I’m a very slow writer, and you’re seeing it in action). Just as the title states, this one is for @rllyaangrlly, based on her requests. 

This was a ton of fun and gave me an opportunity to not only shake some writing rust, but work with topics I don’t normally explore. More than anything, I was able to try to emulate the vibes Brit gives these characters in her own art/writing. I wish I had a better word for it, but I’ve always felt like Brit has a certain “aesthetic” with the IZ characters through her drawing style, the situations she puts them in, and her overall portrayal of their personalities. I’ve always adored it, and it was an honor to be able to try my hand at writing it. 

Story is under the cut.

Characters: Dib, Zim, Gaz

Relationships: ZaGr, ZaDf

Warnings: minor injuries

Words: 3,706

Absurdity

The car’s engine and the drone of its wheels on the highway were the only sounds that passed between the three. The radio hadn’t been turned on, and no one had the gall nor the desire to change that. Not Zim, who was turned almost completely towards the window in the passenger seat, nor Gaz in the backseat. They drove along in heavy silence as Dib stared stonily ahead of him at the stretch of road, hands gripping the wheel numbly.

Dating. They’re… dating.

The idea was positively absurd to him. Not only did it feel weirdly out of the realm of possibility, but it felt wrong, somehow. Like some sort of tasteless prank. When Zim had told him, he’d half expected the camera crew from Punk’d to come parading around the corner, led by Ashton Kutcher, to point and laugh at the look on Dib’s face. “Can you believe it?! Your best friend—alien best friend—and your little sister! You totally fell for it!”

That almost would have been better. Cruel and mortifying, maybe, but better. At least then, he wouldn’t be sitting behind the wheel of the car trying to make sense of it while the two pretended not to notice from inches away. But it wasn’t a prank. Hell, Dib wasn’t famous enough to be on Punk’d anyway. Maybe someday… but not today.

A little part of him had high hopes for the series of paranormal investigation videos he and Zim had strung together. Lately, that little part of him had stopped feeling so childish, too. Their following had risen significantly over the last few months, gaining more and more traction as people tuned in. Suddenly, their modest little support net of viewers was in the hundreds. Then the thousands. Then the hundred-thousands. Truth be told, Zim and Dib hadn’t really come across anything of substance in their investigations, but their newer viewers weren’t exactly around for solid proof of the paranormal, anyway. It hadn’t taken long for the two to realize that most of the channel’s appeal came from the dripping sarcasm and witty banter directed at one another.

“Chemistry” was an apt word, and it got thrown around a lot. Zim and Dib, quite by accident, had become the up-and-coming best friend duo in the paranormal community. And with each new investigation, they garnered more and more recognition.

That’s where they were headed now, towards Ottawa National Forest to investigate the latest hot spot Dib’s research had led him to. The “Paulding Light” was a strange phenomenon, appearing in a single spot in the woods and taking form of a bright glow before fading off into the darkness of the night. Though plenty of locals could attest to having seen it, no one could feasibly explain it. Dib was determined to catch it on camera. Or at least he had been, before Zim had dropped the bomb on him right before leaving the house.

Dating. They’re… dating.

His thoughts rounded back, and he felt his hands readjust themselves on the steering wheel. Behind him, Gaz sighed quietly and cross her legs. He almost swore he could sense her and Zim exchange a glance through the rearview mirror, but he really had no way of knowing. He didn’t really want to know.

Dating.

“What’s the exit?” he asked, jarring them all back to reality.

Zim paused before answering. “It’s a couple down. Not this one, but the next.”

They returned to silence. Even as Dib’s blinkers resounded through the car and they exited off the highway. Even as the smooth highway turned to bumpy asphalt, then later, dirt roads.

At last, Zim spoke. “Dib—”

“I’m not mad,” he interrupted. “I’m just…I don’t know what I am. I need to process this. Just…” He trailed off, his mouth a thin line.

Zim and Gaz glanced at each other through the rearview again.

Eventually, they pulled into a dirt lot and spilled out of the little hatchback, glad for a break in the tension that had been all-consuming throughout the entire car ride. Gaz leaned back, popping her joints before heading to the trunk of the car where the camping supplies and camera equipment was. Zim took over, gathering it up and taking inventory of what they had brought along.

Just as before, everything was done without a word. No one really knew what to say. Gaz and Zim were giving Dib his space, and the latter still seemed to be at a loss. Driving hadn’t really cleared his head as he’d lamely claimed it would; it’d just made him more flustered.

Before long, they were off. The hike through the woods was only marginally less uncomfortable than the car ride had been, but the open air helped. Dib led the way, walking along the dimming trail as dusk settled in. The plan was to find a place to set up camp near the area where the Paulding Light supposedly made its appearance. Then, they’d hike again—this time under the cover of darkness—with the cameras rolling.

As the daylight slowly dissipated and the cool air settled in, Gaz paused to unhook her backpack from around her shoulders. Her jacket was inside, probably balled up beneath all the other crap she’d packed for this little excursion. Before she could even get her bag unzipped, though, Zim handed her his own sweatshirt.

She glanced up, and a wordless argument passed between them.

Now you’re going to be cold, her glare told him.

He gave her a challenging, almost haughty glance in return. Just put it on. I’m fine.

Gaz huffed a little and rolled her eyes, but ultimately acquiesced. She bunched it up and pulled it over her head. It was an overlarge navy hoodie with their college name and emblem branded on the front in bright, almost obnoxious yellow font. Zim had been wearing it almost religiously since October had arrived and the first freeze of the year had swept through their neighborhood.

When her face appeared at the neckline, she made brief accidental eye contact with Dib. He averted his eyes quickly. His mouth was still in that tight, thin line.

They continued on, walking until they’d found a suitable place to set up camp. Just as agonizingly silent as before, they set to tidying up the area, pulling out their sleeping bags, and taking inventory of the food they’d brought.

At this, Zim reached into one of the backpacks, eyes lighting up at a bag of jumbo marshmallows. Gaz slapped it away, all pretenses forgotten for a second. “Knock it off. We still have to film,” she said.

He snagged one anyway, popping it in his mouth defiantly before chuckling at her wavering attempt at a serious expression. They locked eyes for a moment, and then Gaz finally dropped it and began laughing along with him.

Dib cleared his throat.

They both turned and looked at him, smiles dropping instantly.

“Let’s get going,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose and looking up at the smattering of stars up ahead. “You have the camera, Gaz?”

She nodded and held it up.

Dib did his best to not look behind him at Gaz and Zim as they walked on. Suddenly, any playful or even amicable interaction between them had taken on a whole new meaning. Because it wasn’tjust amicable.

Dating. They’re… dating.

It made him feel like the last few months had been a lie. It wasn’t just him, his sister, and his best friend anymore. It was him, his sister, and his sister’s boyfriend.

He visibly shuddered as he stepped over a fallen tree branch. Ugh, he didn’t want to think about that.

About a mile in, they began to hear running water. Sure enough, only about five minutes later they came upon a fallen tree that spanned about the width of the trail. Some quick observation showed that it was acting as a sort of bridge over a shallow stream about five or six feet below.

“I guess this is sturdy enough,” Dib muttered, testing the strength of the log. He peered over the edge at the water. At this point, night had fallen proper. A small slice of moon illuminated the sky, casting down on the stream. Dark water glinted here and there as it passed over rocks.

He began to walk over it, arms held out for balance. He hadn’t said much at all, despite Gaz currently filming. She held the camera up anyway, sighing inwardly.

What a waste this trip was. Who the hell would want to watch a video of Dib moodily wandering through the woods all night?

As for Zim, he had hardly uttered a word, either. And he was usually the comic relief of their little program. The fact that Zim was quiet wasn’t just bizarre; it was unsettling.

Zim stepped up on the log, followed by Gaz, who was still holding the camera out in front of herself. The disproportionate weight made her lose her balance for a moment, which was then exacerbated when the entire log rocked along with her. On instinct, Zim reached out and caught her by the wrist.

Dib turned, still halfway across their little bridge over the stream. He glanced at the two blankly. Then, his eyes narrowed. Even in the darkness, the intensity of his glare met Zim’s eyes.

“Would it kill you to not fondle my sister in the middle of the night while we’re trying to film?” Dib muttered.

“What are you talking about, Earth-stink?” It was clear Zim’s already-thin patience was running dry. These days, nearly a decade after arriving on earth, he only pulled out the immature nicknames when he on the verge of arguing.

Dib simply gesticulated at Zim’s hand, still grasping Gaz’s wrist. Zim looked at him incredulously and then let go of her.

“Dib…” Gaz growled, “You’re acting like an asshole.”

I’m acting like an asshole?!” he said, the hours of tension suddenly bubbling to the surface. “You’re the one who decided to… to…” He was at a loss for words.

Gaz darkened nonetheless, eyes glinting. “I didn’t ‘decide’ to do anything! And if I knew you were just going to sulk the whole time, I would have stayed the fuck home! Do I even have to remind you that I do this shit as a favor to you?” She waved the camera in front of her, and Dib paled at both her words and the prospect of it slipping from her grip and into the stream several feet below them. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I didn’t even want to go camping right after my midterms?”

“A favor for me, sure!” Dib shot back. Maybe some people could be perfectly silent for hours on end and be perfectly calm. His temper had never allowed for that. He was speaking without thinking, and he could feel it. It still didn’t stop the word-vomit from coming. “You sure it’s a favor for me and not a favor for your little boyfriend over there?”

He gestured vaguely towards the “boyfriend” in question, who’s face was beginning to match Gaz’s. Before Zim could open his mouth, though, Gaz lunged forward, right into Dib’s face. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut the fuck up right now!”

The fallen tree they were balanced on began to rock a little, and Zim’s eyes went wide as he clambered to keep his footing. “Gaz—”

“Stay out of it, Zim!”

“I will not!” he shot back. “Not when you’re both acting like complete—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. The log rocked again, and this time, Gaz’s balance didn’t withstand. The little hand-held camcorder slipped from her grasp, and she instinctively lurched towards it with her hands outstretched. Zim, operating on the same instinct, tried to catch her again. His foot slipped out from under him along with a crumbling of tree bark that had split off the log

“W-woah!” Dib shouted. His eyes bulged from behind his glasses. He reached for both of them, catching the sleeve of Gaz’s hoodie and Zim’s arm to try to keep them from falling over the side. He only succeeded in making the sorry excuse for a bridge rock yet again. At that point, it seemed, the log decided it was no longer interested in keeping three fully grown adults upright and out of the water. It rocked, crumbled, and then slipped from where it had been wedged between the two ends of the hiking trail.

Dib, Zim, and Gaz went tumbling off. High, clipped shouts preceding their fall, then a series of splashing.

The water below was cold, but not terribly so. It was a shallow, slow-moving stream. Almost more of an inconvenience than anything. Even so, the drop was high enough that Dib landed on the balls of his feet, skidded out, and skinned both elbows as he fell clumsily onto his rump.

He groaned, cupping one scraped elbow in his palm. Already beginning to internally bemoan his soaking-wet clothes, he turned to Gaz. His anger was beginning to return to him in place of shock.

“Great. That’s a new camera down the fucking drain.”

Instead of an onslaught of choice words back at him, however, Gaz didn’t respond. She wasn’t even looking in his direction. Instead, she was turned away, hunched over something in the darkness. It took him a moment to realize what she was doing. At her feet, Zim’s body was lying halfway in the stream, completely motionless.

Gaz whipped around to look at Dib, soggy tendrils of hair stuck to her cheeks. She no longer looked angry. “I think he hit his head. Help me get him out of here!”

Dib’s eyes widened, and without thinking, he hurried around Gaz’s other side, grabbing Zim’s shoulder and hauling him to the grassy bank a few feet away. “Is he okay?” he shouted.

“I don’t know. Move!” She dropped to her knees in front of him. His wig sat like a sodden mop on his head, and she pulled it off before it could burn his scalp any more than it had. The worry she so evidently felt was plastered all over her face. Even in the darkness, Dib could see it. He was worried, too, but it was strange to see it so plainly on Gaz of all people. She had always been the more level-headed of the two, and seeing her normally morose, carefully composed poker-face fall away so quickly made Dib feel like he’d entered some alternate dimension.

Seconds later, Zim came around. With a moan, his eyelids fluttered open to reveal one contact and one overbright pink eye.

Gaz didn’t fuss or wring her hands, but she sighed noticeably in relief, then began asking him questions. (What is your name? Where are you right now?)

Zim answered in turn, seemingly fine. His hand wrapped around to the back of his head to absently massage at a growing bump, though. He groaned again and sat up.

“You need to get out of those clothes,” Dib said. He could hear a distant sizzling—the awful sound of water against Zim’s skin. Even in their days of mortal rivalry, that sound had always had a visceral effect that could pierce through any bluster and leave Dib cringing inwardly.

Gaz nodded her head in agreement. “Come on,” she said. She rose to her feet, then helped Zim up.

“I’m fine. This isn’t the first time this has happened on this filthy planet,” he muttered. The fire that had been in his voice just moments before had been snuffed out. He tugged at his soggy clothing and scratched at the rashes that were beginning to form on his arms and torso.

Before Dib had time to realize what was happening, they were walking ahead of him back to their camp. Gaz was leading the way this time. Zim managed to keep up, wincing in pain occasionally.

When they got back, Gaz beelined to Zim’s bags. While he ducked behind some brush and changed into new clothes, she pulled out a small first aid kit with the Irken insignia printed on the outside.

“He’ll need the—” Dib started. He stopped when he saw Gaz pull out the exact tube of antibiotic cream he had been about to gesture towards. She glanced at the Irken characters—Irken characters Dib hadn’t known she could read—and opened it.

“Can you hand me the bandages from your bag?” she asked.

Dib shot her a weird look but reached for the bandages anyway. “You know, his PAK heals him pretty quickly. I don’t think he even really needs them.”

“Yeah, but bandaging it up makes him whine about it less,” she said. She tried to hide the smile that had begun to form on her lips.

Dib handed it over and began to build a fire for the three of them.

Zim returned then, dressed in clean, dry clothes. While Gaz helped treat and bandage the worst of the burns, Dib kept silent. This time, however, it wasn’t out of whatever conglomerate of frustration he’d been feeling earlier. He was watching his sister coyly.

Gaz was not the maternal type. Throughout their entire lives, Gaz’s words and actions had been laced in a gruff sort of outer layer that warned others she was not to be trifled with. She kept her circle small and very rarely expressed any emotion other than cool apathy or outright anger.

The way she was acting towards Zim was a far cry from her normal self. Dib had only ever seen her like this on a handful of other occasions. When those memories drifted to him and he realized the common denominator, he suddenly felt uneasy. The tenderness in which she wrapped Zim’s forearm was with the same silent, admonishing tenderness she’d shown Dib when he’d gotten injured during his own idiotic exploits over the years.

Meanwhile, Zim sat slumped against a tree, letting her bandage him up without a fuss. While he was making an attempt at nonchalance, it was clear he was practically falling asleep where was sitting.

That was another little thing Gaz seemed to either know already or manage to take in stride: something about injuries made Zim unusually tired afterwards. For as long as Dib had known him, he’d been this way. Dib had deducted it was because his PAK was using more energy than usual, and Zim had more or less confirmed it. Even so, it was rather unsettling to see anyone sustain an injury and then drop off to sleep moments later like a narcoleptic.

That’s precisely what Zim was doing now, now. As soon as Gaz finished with the last bandage, she shook his shoulder to wake him. With the last of his energy, he shuffled to his sleeping bag and practically faceplanted onto it. Within seconds, he had dropped off to sleep.

Gaz patted his hand.

Dating, Dib thought yet again.

It was absurd. That was the only way he could put it. It didn’t make any sense. Almost…almost as absurd as the idea of him being friends with Zim in the first place.

He frowned and began to pull at the loose strings of a bracelet he’d worn on his wrist for the last year or so. Zim had an almost identical one that he, too, never removed.

Hadn’t there been a time when he couldn’t imagine himself being anything but Zim’s enemy? And now they were almost inseparable. If he could get used to that, why couldn’t he get used to this?

He glanced down at the bracelet and sighed. “You really care about him, don’t you?” he said finally.

Gaz glanced up, her face guarded. “I wouldn’t be with him if I didn’t.”

“And he treats you well?”

“What kind of stupid question is that?” She made a face, but it wasn’t entirely hostile. “I wouldn’t be with him if he didn’t.”

Dib’s eyes fell on Zim, who was snoring lightly. He didn’t doubt that. “Okay,” he said through another exhale.

“‘Okay,’ what?” Gaz said, raising a brow. “I don’t need your ‘blessing,’ Dib. I just want—”

“—No, no, no. I don’t mean it that way,” Dib said quickly, “I mean ‘okay,’ I will get used to this. And I’ll stop being such an asshole.” He quirked his lip upward in a humorless smile at the last part. “I’m sorry, Gaz. I could have handled that a lot better, and I didn’t.”

She pulled her knees to her chest and stared into the crackling fire. “Apology accepted.”

Zim began to stir then, one hand reaching out to scratch at his bandages.

“Hey, don’t do that,” Gaz said softly, taking the hand and moving it away. She made to rifle through their bags but was stopped when Zim’s hand closed around hers. He held her in place and began to murmur incoherently.

Gaz smiled; a sweet, serene smile Dib very rarely saw. “Just give me a minute,” she told Zim. She squeezed his hand and pulled away, unzipping the bag closest to her and retrieving what she was looking for—the marshmallows Zim had been after earlier.

She pressed one into his palm, and his fingers wrapped around it groggily.

Over the next hour, he slowly came out of whatever fog his PAK had put him through as it worked to heal him. By morning, the irritated rashes from the water would be gone and the bump on his head would be nothing but a distant memory.

Not for the first time, Dib thought about how strange Irkens were.

Over the rest of the night, the three gathered around the fire, roasting marshmallows. Even through the lulls in conversation, the tension that had practically been a permanent fixture earlier was gone. Instead, they slipped into their new dynamic. A dynamic that was, as Dib had claimed, absurd. But when hadn’t it been? Not when Zim had first arrived on Earth. Not when years and events had passed them by, and enmity had melded to friendship. And not now.

Absurdity was their specialty, and they were learning to wear it proudly.

~The End~

[tinycrow]

I don’t believe in miracles

Chapter 1: This secret

She was speeding down the highway, a plain black vehicle, weaving around traffic where she safely could. In the driver’s seat, a woman with green eyes and messy black hair pulled back into a tight braid flickered in and out of reality minutely before stabilizing with a grimace. Bouncing excitably in the passenger seat was, unmistakably, a baby of a non-human race. Their fragile protoform was bare for the world to see with no armour to speak of. The seatbelt clenched tighter around the precious bundle of metal and youth, a gentle reprimand emanating from all around them. The young one stilled, but their little helm turned curiously to look back through the rear window.

From around several cars’ worth of space behind them, a silver car quickly approached. They were stalled by the traffic between them, for now.

~ Ray to Shawn. I’ve got someone on my tail. Evacuate through the ground bridge. I don’t want anyone hurt if I end up having to fight. ~

~ Shawn here. Gotcha, sunshine. Just come home, both of you. ~

The silent communication ended, and her engine revved as she sped up. An exit was coming up, and she wanted to give as little indication as possible as to her intentions. Her sensors let her know that the silver car was almost directly behind her now, doggedly matching her lane for lane. She wondered if it would try to run her off the road.

At the last possible second, she swerved onto the exit ramp, barely missing the barrier. She knew the other car would be forced to take the next exit or risk an accident to double back. In comparison to the other car, she wasn’t the greatest driver, but she was fiercely protective and maybe a tad reckless. Her passenger chirped in excitement, unaware of the danger they were in.

The woman’s brow wrinkled as she flickered in and out again. Not relaxing in the slightest, but not wanting to crash, she reluctantly slowed down. She may not see her pursuer anymore, but she wouldn’t put it past them to surprise her. She decided to take a roundabout way to the warehouse that was her target destination.

Perhaps luck was on her side because she made it without incident. Tapping into the controller that opened the door, she wheeled herself in and closed the door. She then encoded a request to the Gate Room. Soon, a portal opened in midair toward the back of the room. The dark vehicle hurried through with her enclosed passenger.

==

:: Unknown Location ::

Once on the other side, the vehicle visibly sagged on its axels in relief. The woman in the driver’s seat blinked out of existence.

“Sunshine! You made it!” A man with long hair pulled back called from a nearby console. With a few more presses of his fingers to the on-screen keyboard, the portal closed behind her, and a loud humming from a nearby machine quieted.

The sound of shifting metal and displaced air filled the quiet, and the black car stood up. In its place was a feminine figure of softly curved metal and dark armour plating. Two black door-wings twitched anxiously behind her. Her pedes daintily stepped forward with the youthful bundle now held in her arms.

“Shawn,” she greeted the smiling human. The ‘baby’ chirred in curiosity at the man, though she held them firmly.

The man turned from the console, hands on his hips and no visible fear on his features. Kneeling her much larger form down, she let the curious bundle meet the man.

“And that must be our new kid,” he said gently, “Cute fella’. Hey there, little guy. I’m Shawn Jenkins. Everyone calls me Shawn, except for… well, you’ll meet them later.”

The young one simply stared for a second, and then chirped happily, reaching small hands to touch him. The large, metal woman muttered a “No touchy,” and quickly stood up again. The looks of disappointment from both the baby and the man caused her to laugh.

“I can’t tell who’s more disappointed, you or the kid.”

She rocked said kid slowly, smiling down at her young one apologetically. “Sorry, my little one. Not until I’m sure that you’ve learnt to be gentle with humans.”

“I don’t mind. I’m not made out of glass, y’ know.”

“I know, Shawn. However, I don’t let any of my youngest interact with humans until they’ve gotten more control of their motor functions, just as a general rule. The cleanup is messy.”

It was a topic that had been discussed before, but no one wanted to argue with ‘mama bear’. Instead, Shawn shrugged, and the two headed toward the doors. A set of doors matching the estimated max heights of each species was available, though Shawn went toward the big door. They exited the building into a small but bustling community.

The buildings were big, but not reaching the heights of skyscrapers. This tight-knit community was sectioned into roughly three parts around a central power source, all within a tall dome-shaped forcefield protecting them from the raging storm outside its perimeter. The three sectors were: Industrial, Residential, and Business. Dividing the buildings and sectors were wide streets able to comfortably fit large vehicles moving both ways.

People, robotic and human alike, peppered the streets, sometimes hauling equipment or other supplies. Each one had their own set of tasks to fulfil, so they tended to move with purpose toward their destinations. Besides, no one wanted to be caught out in the cold, and boy it was cold outside.

They talked as they walked.

“I’m headed to the Nursery,” Ray said, “Where are you headed?”

“I’m going to grab some more people to help me with the crates in the warehouse.”

“You could com’ them. That way you wouldn’t need to leave the building.”

Upon closer inspection, every human could be seen wearing an earpiece of some sort. They came in all sorts of shapes and colours—some of them looked very much like earrings, and some like hearing aids—but everyone had a piece that served as the ‘speaker’ and then a ‘mic’ part (not always attached). It wasn’t just a fashion statement. Every earpiece was designed to look innocuous and perform as a communication device. There were a few public channels separating business and social. Then there were the private calls. They were all generally referred to as “the com”, or in other words the ‘communication servers’.

He shook his head. “Nah… I’ve been meaning to say hi to Brian anyway.”

She hummed in response, giving more attention to her young one who shivered in the cold. Transforming, she said goodbye to Shawn and hurried to Residential. Luckily, the Gate Room was on the border between Business and Residential, so the Nursery was practically next door.

This was done on purpose in case of evacuation. Most people were working in Business or relaxing at home, so it would be easy to quickly run to the Gate Room to be teleported to safety. The only problem was that the portion of the population working in Industrial would be the furthest from the gate room.

==

:: California, America ::

Sideswipe revved his engine in frustration. He was going in circles trying to find out where the strange bot/con could have gone to. The nearest district seemed to be mostly industry and warehousing... Not the worst place to hide, but it shouldn’t have been possible to be this good at hiding, not with the kind of radiation that the stranger was giving off. He knew he had to call it in.

~ Prime, I lost the unidentified Cybertronian. I followed their strange signature to what seems to be a set of warehouses, but the trail suddenly ends. There’s nothing here but scrap. ~

Optimus Prime was silent for a bit, then asked some questions.

~ Did they attempt to fight you or harm any humans? ~

~ They didn’t do either. They just fled as soon as they noticed me. ~

~ We will reconvene with the human soldiers. Send me the unidentified’s readings then. Prime out. ~

Sideswipe did a quick U-turn and headed back to the highway. The ‘con might’ve escaped this time, but now that he could identify them, they wouldn’t manage it a second time.

As he drove, Sideswipe spared a thought to his brother Sunstreaker, who he had been separated from since a mission at a Con compound on a very distant moon. They worked fine alone, but their teamwork was unmatched when it came to fighting. He knew if he were paired with his brother, there would be little chance for this new foe to escape.

Well, there was not much he could do about his brother. He could only hope that Sunstreaker would hear the transmission from Optimus Prime, wherever his brother is, and come to Earth. Though he imagined Sunstreaker would find this planet a little gross. It was covered in dirt particles and saltwater... not great for keeping clean and rust-free. Sunny was admittedly very vain.

==

:: Unknown Location ::

A weekly meeting containing a small number of individuals was in session, and it was not going well. The current topic of discussion was the possibility of letting in some of the non-hostile aliens into their community.

Max Wilson, a tall and bulky man with shortly cropped dark hair and bronze skin, said on the verge of shouting, “The community has been safe over these past few years because we have kept to ourselves, kept it quiet. The only thing keeping us safe is our lack of presence in their war, Ray!”

“I realize that! But, as aliens on a planet that is mostly populated by humans that hate anything remotely different, don’t you think they could use a place to call home?”

“What about your babies, huh?!”

Despite the warmth of the central heating flooding the building, everyone shivered. The one person that didn’t was the so-called mama bear. She didn’t take insults to her babies or her ability to care for them lightly. She didn’t take threats lightly.

She asked coldly, “Where are you going with this, Max Wilson?”

He paused at the tone and backtracked a bit. “I’m just saying, they’re- they’re not going to like what you’ve been hiding from them this whole time. They’re not going to understand.” Max took a breath, and seeing as no one was stopping him, he continued, “And just think, what if we do allow a few in? They’re obviously going to want to share it with their friends.

What then? How can we possibly maintain our secrecy then?”

Reluctantly, someone else piped up in agreement, “Chief has a point. As soon as our secrecy is blown, we’ll be forced to choose sides in their conflict.”

“Not to mention various governments’ reactions to tech they could only dream of.”

“We’re gonna get nuked,” joked a pale, redheaded woman next to Ray.

Ray’s cold exterior melts a bit. It’s a running joke, admittedly a lame one, but the fact that her friend Linda (the readhead) was trying to ease the tension breaks through her anger a bit. Ray’s digits meet her metallic face with a small clatter that causes scattered laughter amongst the group.

Ray sighs, and then speaks with a surprisingly soft tone. “I get it, I really do. I want to preserve our way of life here as much as possible. This is not just an experiment, it’s a home, and I would never want to jeopardize that.”

They all sense a “but” coming, and the non-human continues...

“... However, you can’t possibly think that we were going to stay hidden forever. Eventually, through one of our own, overheard conversations, or governments piercing through the storm barrier... We have to be prepared for the eventuality that they’re going to know we’re here.”

The room was very silent.

Despite the cold, despite the lack of direct sunlight, despite the layers of secrecy that prevented them from sharing the existence of their home with anyone, and despite the many problems they faced daily, everyone present had chosen to be here because it was a chance to be accepted as who they were and be cared for despite it all. It was a chance for humans and non-humans to live together in a technology-enriched environment unlike anywhere else on earth. There was no real worry about money except for those that handled the collective finances, as most wants were handled by the finance crew. And because of the vetting of each member of their community, there was a feeling of safety that didn’t come with living ‘outside’.

There were many reasons to be upset about the idea of sharing all that with unknowns.

“How about this. We agree to let this go for now, as it seems there’s no pressing need for it right now. All I ask of you is to think about it. Please.”

Gradually, people started grumbling their assent.

“I think Max had some other issues to bring up, before everyone starts leaving,” Linda announced.

The rest of the meeting passed quickly without commotion.

==

The Nursery was a big building with many wide and tall rooms. From the front door there was the central room or rec room where all could mingle and play. Connected to that central room were the shower room, Ray’s bedroom, and the children’s ‘bedrooms’, the latter which contained multiple beds as well as a ‘couch’ and tables for relaxing or working. All of the bedrooms were a motley of kids of various stages/frames in order to ensure there would always be an older child for the younger ones to turn to in case Ray was not around. She called these groups ‘families’.

The room directly opposite the front door was one the children were not allowed in. The very first frames were kept in that room, some sparked and others not. Other than the electronic locking device on the door, there were alarms as well as monitoring equipment to add some security.

Ray swept her gaze across the living room, the excited baby babble bringing a smile to her metal face. Her children mostly understood English, though she knew that the youngest would still be talking in chittering, beeping, and chirring. She stepped cautiously around the young ones on her way to a couple of kids squabbling loudly. Putting a servo/hand on her black-plated hip, she eyed them quietly until they started to get out of hand. Mindful of the newly acquired child in her arms, she stepped between the children and pushed them apart, breaking up the scuffle they were getting into.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve had to separate you two,” she commented, disappointment thick in her voice, “you know, it makes me sad when my children fight.”

One of them, Moonrider, sulked. The other, Sunstorm, looked unrepentant and seemed to bristle in response.

“Tomorrow, I am assigning each of you to older siblings no longer living in the Nursery. I expect you to listen to them. If I hear good things about you from them, I won’t force you to continue working with them.” She wouldn’t let them do work that was too hard. Most punishments for rowdy youngsters would be either light cleaning or monitoring, quite boring jobs.

“No, please mama.” The previously sulking child now pleaded.

“Oh, whatever will I do? I am so sad. My children want me to be sad.”

“No, I’m sorry mama. Don’t be sad,” Moonrider said.

The other, bristly child looked over to her with a slightly guilty face.

With a sad look on her face, Ray crouched down to their level. “I could really use a hug right now.”

Two smaller bodies attempted to hug her, followed by more, and she cracked a smile above their tiny helms.

==

:: Somewhere in America ::

After the events in Egypt, Sam returned to college to finish his education. The Autobots returned to base, though after Egypt the human government was pressuring them a lot more than before. The Decepticon threat was not enough reason to continue as they were before, considering the All-Spark was gone as well as the harvester. Now the ever-looming government liaisons were pressuring them for weapons technology and using their status as aliens on a ‘human’ planet against them.

It seems some people were just determined to be intolerant. Was everyone like that? No, they had humans that really cared. But it was admittedly disheartening to see the negative responses from both government officials and civilians alike. Optimus Prime grit his dermas and held his helm high, however.

How long ago was it since he said Earth could be home? A few months? Years? After everything that’s happened, it felt much longer.

==

:: Unknown Location ::

Because of the tentative status of the aliens on the planet right now, Ray was reluctant to let her older children help out in the warehouses. She reflexively clenched and opened her servos again and again, super aware of the rifle just out of reach. Her human team working the warehouses said they would appreciate the extra muscle. It made sense for her sturdy, strong children to help with the heavy lifting. It would mean they wouldn’t have to rent and store as many forklifts. Things would be done much faster. It was also a chance to show them the world while being carefully watched by her human team, who had all promised her their safety.

Cycling air through her vents, Ray turned her attention back to the plot of land that would become a park. They had dug up and flattened the area with dirt, then piled the material she would need in neat stacks in the centre. It would be a greenhouse of sorts, temperature and humidity carefully controlled to encourage growth. The knowledge she had of the tech behind it wasn’t that complicated, so she didn’t foresee any problems.

Clapping her servos together with a clank, a small spark flashed over her digits. She stood in front of the metal and did a pulling motion with a servo. The metal seemed to almost melt or fall apart, tumbling outwards in little streams and flowing around her to where large beams were beginning to construct themselves. Pivoting on a heel strut, she raised her hand in a lifting motion as it built supportive arches and arches for the doors. Pivoting again, she reached for the glass and similarly called to it. It melted like ice to water and formed the outer shell of the greenhouse. Lastly, she used the leftover electronics and material to create the advanced system to control the climate inside the thinly walled park.

All in all, much faster than teaching her people how to make it themselves. Stretching idly, she looked over her work, scanning a few places to determine its integrity.

“That is cool every time I see it.”

Ray turned to see a familiar redhead with blue eyes, Linda Davies, one of her dearest friends. “Linda, I didn’t see you there.”

She smiled good-naturedly, “Yeah, you seemed pretty occupied. So, how’s the build?”

“Structurally, it is good. But I really don’t know how well the climate control turned out. We’ll have to run it for a day to see.” Ray sheepishly scratched the back of her helm with rounded digits.

Linda walked over to the controls, which came in two pieces of differing sizes for each specie. Going to the smaller one, she examined the screen and buttons.

“So, how does this work?”

Ray ambled up to the smaller control and pointed out how to adjust various things. It wasn’t too difficult, and soon Linda had set the temperature to be comfortable enough for a human to be without a jacket or sweater. Deciding this would be a good test, Ray set the humidity on the bigger control, and they waited for the temperature to start changing.

“This is nice. All it needs now is grass.”

Feeling slightly distracted, Ray hummed in agreement.

Eyeing her large, metal friend, the redhead asked, “Are you worried?”

“I’m always worried.”

“You know Jenkins and all them... they won’t let anyone hurt your kids.”

There was only silence on Ray’s part.

“Besides, they’re only going to stay near the warehouse. All the delivery is still handled by other companies.”

She slowly admitted, “Yes, that’s true...”

==

:: California, America ::

~ Incoming truck. ~

The whirr of transformations filled the air as the human workers made their way to the wide metal door. Things were going well for the warehouse crew. With help from the ‘bots, moving things through the ground bridge was a lot easier. It was a little messy until they got the hang of hiding whenever a delivery arrived, but once the truck left, the stacked boxes were lifted into the ground bridge. They still required the use of machinery for the delivery trucks, and it wasn’t as fast as the ‘bots moving things straight from the truck into the warehouse, but there wasn’t much they could do about it unless they made their own deliveries.

A red-blue Peterbilt truck backed carefully but skillfully toward the warehouse door. Once the truck was in position, the driver’s side door popped open and a fairly young but muscled man stepped out. He shot the workers a half-hearted greeting before opening the trailer door.

“So, what do you guys do with all this metal?”

Eyeing the curious truck driver with a niggling suspicion, it’s Shawn that answered with practiced ease, “The company stores materials for construction.” Before the driver can ask another question, he immediately asked, “How long have you been a truck driver?”

There was a small pause, before the driver smiled and answered, “About 3 years and counting.”

“You’re pretty young. What’s your name, kid?”

The driver laughed, before trying to walk through the warehouse door. The small feeling of suspicion started blaring a loud warning and Shawn intercepted with a sharp smile.

“Sorry, kid,” he said, “Only company employees are allowed in there.”

The suspicious trucker stopped but didn’t back up. “Sorry,” he said, though Shawn was sure they weren’t at all, “just wanted to check on the load I’ve been carrying for days across Cali. Why the secrecy?”

At this point, the other workers were staring at Shawn and the unnamed trucker with cautious looks. Shawn raised a hand to the trucker and waved him back. Reluctantly, the trucker backed up, but not before spying the headlights of a vehicle around a stack of metal.

“Do you usually park your vehicle inside the warehouse while you work?” There was a look in the trucker’s eyes that screamed suspicion, though his mouth was curved into a constant smile.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to go back to your vehicle while we finish unloading. I’m not sure what other companies you’ve worked with are like, but we’re very busy, and company policy says I can’t have you snooping around our wares.”

The suspicious individual raised their hands in a placating gesture and let themselves be herded back to the driver’s side of the cabin.

“Woah, didn’t mean to step on anyone’s toes.”

Shawn held back a biting remark, and simply hummed in response.

Though he helped the workers until they were finished unloading, he kept a close eye on the trucker. The closely watched man disappeared briefly into the cabin of the truck before exiting again to watch the workers from afar. Eventually, when all the metal was unloaded, the trucker sauntered over to close the trailer door before going back to the cabin to drive off. Shawn made sure to watch for the truck’s disappearance before going back into the warehouse and signalling the other workers.

The warehouse door closed and locked before the hidden bots transformed back to their bipedal selves. Their vocals whirred nervously, but they were otherwise silent.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. They’re gone.” Shawn reassured them.

Another worker piped up, “Though that guy was really suspicious. We should report him.”

“Hey Shawn, what was that guy’s name?”

He frowned as he answered, “When I asked, he avoided the question, so I don’t know.”

The warehouse became noisy with conversation before Shawn decided to take charge and whistled loudly, grabbing their attention. “Okay, I know that was exciting, but we need to get our ‘bots out of here and get back to work. I want ‘bots to grab as much metal as you can carry before you leave. Stay on the other side of the ground bridge, moving things to storage. As for the rest of us, we’ll have to move the rest.”

Sending the request for the ground bridge to activate, Shawn clapped and sent everyone back to work. He knew neither mama bear nor Max (their chief of security) were going to like hearing about the incident. Hopefully, he could convince them that they had things under control, so that the ‘bots could remain to help.

==

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 15: Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback

The walls were painted sky blue, the carpet a faded warm brown hinting at many years passing along leaving a permanent tread. The walls were covered in several posters that James didn't recognize of bands, but also several hand done, and extremely accurate, drawings of dragons that someone had magicked to life for this kid, flying around through each others edges.

It was crowded, the sparse bit of walking space nonexistent with the eight of them all in here at once, hardly much bigger than Harry's cupboard; but the love and care that went into this room was evident.

Lily came forward towards a desk crammed into the back corner and brushed her hand against a greyling snoozing, little blue plums of smoke escaping from its pointed head, the back end of which wasn't quite done. It was clear details were still being added of feathers to the long extended tail.

"Well I officially have no clue where we are," Peter muttered. He'd been the lucky one to land on the bed, but he had automatically moved to the edge and crossed his ankles, swinging his feet uncomfortably like he expected the occupant to appear and tell him to take his shoes off.

"Hey, wasn't one of Ron's brothers a dragon trainer or something?" Alice asked, leaning against the door with the book already in her hands.

"Dragon keeper," the older Black corrected with a look of disgust, clearly unable to grasp the concept of why anyone would want such a thing.

"I'm getting the feeling Harry's going to have some interactions with him then," she returned pleasantly, then read out the chapter title.

Black groaned in disgust and shook his shoulders like he was trying to shake off a nat before slouching over to the window and prodding along the edge like he was going to try and jump out.

"He has a thing against dragons," Potter pleasantly informed all of them needlessly.

Regulus frowned in sympathy, but knowing his brother would only snap his head off if he tried to say anything, he instead went back to investigating the picture. He was sure no one else had even noticed it, but he'd landed right in front of what must be the Weasley family.

It sat proudly against the wall, coupled in with so many other pictures of things it probably went unnoticed despite the red haired family. Regulus couldn't take his eyes off of it. He could easily identify the twins, chasing each other around every inch of available grass and weaving in between their fathers legs who was juggling the infant, whatever that little girls name had been, and who must be Ron hanging off his dad's arm to get his attention. The mother had her arms around the last three all at once, and looked exasperated, but the adoring smile on her face showed she wouldn't be anywhere else.

There was no other context, no telling what was going on before or after it was taken, why the kids were all so rambunctious or who had even taken the photo. It simply captured the moment of the one clear thing Charlie enjoyed in his life, the chaos of his family. It was baffling! All Regulus had ever known was the structure of his family tree, the rules and consequences through watching Sirius break those.

The story wasn't progressing with much interest to anyone even when Hagrid arrived. None knew him that well, so maybe he was always shifty when asked a direct question, though the oddity of him being in the school library when he'd never been known there before was keeping their attention. Ron's discovery just made it all click in a despicable way.

"A dragon! That mad gamekeeper has a dragon in his cabin! A Norwegian Ridgeback on top of everything!"

Remus covered his ears for the volume, but still looked more sympathetic than anything for Sirius' screeching.

"If I ever catch that man doing anything of the sort now I'll add him to my list right after I-"

"Alright Padfoot," James easily roped his arm around him to cut off what three just saw as a tantrum. Those who did know could only wince in sympathy with no real words of comfort for this. James kept trying anyways, "there's no dragons here-"

Then he cut off with a wince at his own stupidity as Sirius snorted in disgust and had to fight back the temptation to burn the walls into real fire.

"What's his problem?" Frank muttered to Alice.

"As if I know," she reminded. She was tempted to ask Regulus who clearly knew, but even though she could see his face he hadn't looked away from the wall this whole time, was still making no attempts to reach out and communicate with any of them, and she wasn't going to force her hand.

Lily, honestly felt a bit of pity for this. She'd never stopped to consider any of them with actual fears, human moments like Black was now showing. All she'd ever seen was their likes, one like to be exact, of their horrid ways against her friend. Now she was watching Potter, all three of them try to comfort their friend in by far the kindest thing she'd ever seen.

His mood only worsened when the kids went to Hagrid's, Hagrid only confirmed what none of them were surprised about. It made sense all of the teachers and not just Quirrell would put up some protection for this thing Dumbledore was protecting. No, it just kept going downhill that there was indeed an egg roasting away in Hagrid's fireplace.

"I actually kind of liked the three headed dog, that was cool once it wasn't trying to eat him anymore! The troll was a menace, but at least manageable! Your kid just couldn't stop there Prongs! A dragon, and it's all Hagrid's fault," Sirius kept up his insistent mutter, trying to push the arm away and get the dang window open that no force of magic or willpower was accomplishing. He was boiling up in here, he could swear those little flickers coming from the end of the dragon's nostrils were coming to life and fixing to leap right off the page towards him-

"Breath Pads," Moony was trying to soothe by instead changing the subject. Which actually made Malfoy feel useful for the first time. "Let's focus instead on plotting ways of getting Malfoy expelled."

"Why do you think he didn't just run off and tell on them?" Peter did ask curiously. "What does he have to gain by sitting on this information?"

"Don't know," James begrudgingly said, "but it's the first actual intelligent thing he's done. Looking for an advantage rather than just jumping around to get them in trouble."

Regulus looked up and around at them in surprise, it was the first kind thing he'd ever heard them say about a Slytherin. Then he just assumed they were saying it to throw Sirius off, which wasn't really working. He frowned in a bit of concern now as his brother just got more silent and still when the dragon had hatched. His brother had never actually told them what had happened when he'd been left down in the Gringotts vault, but his parents hadn't paid it much concern since he couldn't have gotten inside to any of the importance, like the gold or heirlooms. Regulus had tried to ask, just out of curiosity, but Sirius had completely ignored him.

Now he was more irked than anything he'd clearly told his mates something, the obvious sympathy for him made that clear. He and Sirius may not have been getting on in recent years, but when had that amounted to he couldn't be told anything?

Alice had no liking for the beasts in particular, but the idea of a baby one was more charming than fearsome like Black seemed to find it, so she read on with cute little spirits about Hagrid's handling of this, up until it bit Ron.

"Okay, now we have a problem," Frank winced and took an extra step back from one particular orange faced lizard that had its fangs exposed. He overbalanced and fell on the bed next to Pettigrew, who raised a brow at him but otherwise ignored that.

"Norwegian Ridgebacks are poisonous," Lupin agreed in a still rather forced conversational tone, while his back was to everyone. He had poked his head under the desk curiously, and came back with a tiny little spindle chair which he nudge against Black, who seemed resistant to sitting down anymore than getting away from the window. "Hope he went to Madam Pomfrey, she never asks too many questions."

"I like to think even she'd demand where he got a dragon bite," Alice disagreed.

Lily flushed a bit but chose not to say anything, having personal experience with the matron not asking one to many questions from a few experimental potions accidents, so actually agreeing with one of the Marauders for once.

The decision to contact Charlie and his quick response was the best thing Sirius had heard this whole chapter, they were getting rid of that beast toot sweet! His small moment of happiness didn't last long.

Things only got worse for the kids dealing with this mess when Malfoy still managed to make everything worse. Thankfully the kids didn't derail their plan for this, Sirius had never heard of a better use of their cloak than riding that monster from their grounds! He just couldn't stop his imagination going haywire, that thing growing larger by the moment and getting loose on the grounds and then roaring so loud his ears started bleeding all while trying to shoot fire that just missed him from the tiny alcove he'd managed to squeeze himself into by the grace of Padfoot. That cart trundling away without him in it, his Uncle Cygnus, and Aunt Druella apparently deaf to his calls to come back. He could still swear he saw Bellatrix laughing as she slipped the goblin something when they turned the corner-

He'd been sat down in the chair without his noticing, Remus' hand firmly on his shoulder and smiling kindly down at him. He wasn't sure what he'd been saying, but it suddenly occurred to him that the weeks he'd been having his blowout with Moony had actually been the longest stretch of time he hadn't had to think about that. Even the weekly potions classes with its kindling cauldrons or some scaly beast Professor Kettleburn had brought to class had managed to remind him of the incident all year.

So lost in his mind, he'd completely missed the part where Malfoy had been caught by McGonagall, and he forced a laugh as Moony quietly explained it to him until Charlie's friends arrived. He'd kiss them both for taking this thing away, though just as likely never go within arms reach of anyone mad enough to handle these beasts for a living. "That whole incident was entirely pointless!" Sirius kept up his furious mutterings he'd been carrying this whole time. Alice was honestly impressed he hadn't run out of breath. "What was the point of that I ask you? It certainly could have been left out and saved me-"

So invested was he in his own rantings, he nearly missed the ending horror of Filch discovering them without their cloak. They got not a single second to live in their shock before they were once again torn away.

[mistwraiths]

2 stars

Apologies for the blurry picture but I couldn't seem to find a good one. The Crown of Gilded Bones is the third book in the From Blood and Ash series. I want everyone to know I'll be putting on my clown makeup after I post this review because despite rating the first two books low and having issues with them, I somehow deluded myself into thinking this one might be better! It wasn't and dare I say it I think this was the worst one by far.

I'm genuinely trying to find something good about this book ot at least something I really enjoyed. I do like that the books pick up right where the last book ends up. The first few chapters are pretty exciting. Around page 600, the last few chapters are fast paced and things are happening. Other than that, I can't really think of anything I really liked about the book.

Crown of Gilded Bones majorly suffers, like its predecessors, in the same four ways. Being too long, repetition, world information and building, and nothing important to the central story or plot happening for huge chunks of pages.

I firmly believe that all the books were half their length and the story beats were quicker coming and longer, it would be far more enjoyable. Instead you're forced to slog through inner monologues that don't add anything new, Poppy getting dressed by Casteel, showers, and other mundane parts. I thought knowing that it would be slow would help me enjoy the book but nope. The whole deciding to go to the realm of the gods literally doesn't happen until nearly the end of 500 pages in.

The worst part about the book being far too long and nothing happening is that when something does happen, it gets rehashed several times to the point where I, as a reader, am exhausted about reading about talking about it. I'm a big lover of communication. I love it when characters who are working together or are together tell each other important information and trust each other, but this is different. Once something happens, it gets talked about it detail for a handful of chapters, usually lasting longer than the actual event itself, and then is brought up again to go over, and then again. It's frustrating because I just want to move on but the story is so determined to go over everything again.

That's not the only instances of repetition. I know authors tend to reuse certain words over again. SJM and her "croon" and "toes curl" and "barked/roared". I can forgive stuff. I can look over Jennifer's constant use of dimples. The honeydew part is the most disgusting. I don't care what flavor Poppy's vagina is. There's a difference when it comes to the same thing happening with the near similar responses/situations being used over and over again as an attempt in humor but it falls flat after its been used several times. I'm talking about the "I have a question" "No one is surprised by that" parts and the Poppy being prone to violence makes Casteel horny and Poppy has to be like you're disturbing. If it showed up once or twice after the initial one, I could get over it. But it's reused every so many chapters. If it's an attempt at humor, it is a poor one.

This book is number three in a series and this book is still chock-full of world building and world information. I could possibly forgive it since I suppose at the start Jennifer didn't plan for a big fantasy series, but it's too much. There's so much information being crammed at you and it's in a very obvious way. Poppy asks and Kiernan or Casteel answers. That's pretty much the only way Poppy and the reader learns anything. At this point, I feel like I need a glossary and timeline because there is so much information.

In fact, despite nothing happening, l don't know how it still feels that there is a lot going on. There's the Solis problem. There's the Poppy should be queen problem. There's the people have concerns of Poppy being queen. There's the Unseen problem. Another Dark One problem? Poppy's lineage/past mystery. Something about waking up the Consort? And a little bit more. It's a lot.

In the second book, I liked Poppy (sort of), Casteel, and Kiernan. However, I find myself not liking any of them that much. From personality to saying similar things, they all feel very much the same character. There's not much difference in personalities or dialogue. About the only difference is that Kiernan is cool, Poppy is compassionate when it suits the narrative, and Casteel is protective. Other than that, there's not much of a difference between any of them.

Poppy is pretty much the same as always. Massively overpowered and incredibly special, doesn't know anything about her world that she lives in, and somehow despite being so special and powerful, she's kidnapped and hurt and then levels up again. We are forcefully spoon-fed how Poppy is so strong, so beautiful, so intelligent and clever. I haven't found one instance that I've been wow that was smart. Poppy's powers she inherently knows how to use perfectly the moment she gets them.

There's also almost no female interactions or female friendships with Poppy. Tawny was barely there in the first one but when she surprisingly shows up here, she's immediately rendered injured and unconscious. We're told Vonetta and Poppy are friends, but there's been almost no interactions. Vonetta gave her clothes once and then delivered a message later. Is that a basis for friendship? Vonetta eventually falls in a hole and Poppy saves her. That's about it. Ileana and Eloana are both older motherly types but also significant worrisome individuals for Poppy internally. Again, there's like one conversation each with them individually. Lyra is introduced to us by giving Kiernan a blow job but no interactions. Hisa and Nova are soldiers but no interactions. It's even mentioned that female draken are rare, but I'd argue that female characters are exceptionally rare. It's ridiculous. It's like there isn't any female that's allowed to have a moment of spotlight or competency other than Poppy. Poppy also has a moment of nastiness that's out of character when she threatens a woman who admitted to her that she had no interest in Casteel and Casteel had said the same and he wasn't interested in her, and she threatens to rip her limb from limb. It's so sudden and startlingly and leaves a terrible taste in my mouth.

As for Casteel, I no longer like him nor do I think he's a good guy. I think he's capable of good, being good, doing good but there's too many times where he's been vocal about killing anyone and burning his own kingdom down if Poppy doesn't get her own freedom of choice or what she want and what not. It's played out as the most truest love but to me, that's like a villain kind of love. If someone I loved burned down a city because I didn't get to choose what I wanted, I'd call the police. The craziest thing I had to read is people believing that Casteel would make a good king when he legitimately states that Poppy's needs comes before his own kingdom's needs. And if hers are met, the kingdom's could be met. That's not how any of that works!

He also does something incredibly reckless. I get it, he couldn't live without Poppy so he chooses to Ascend her. I can wrap my head around it. The fact of the matter is that Casteel refuses to take the blame or even entertain the consequences that could have resulted in that and how reckless it was. Poppy even refuses to allow the conversation. They are both like: I am not a vampry. Nothing bad happened so let's move on. It's astounding. Not only that but I felt it extremely odd that Poppy would have been okay with Casteel making her into a vampry, something incredibly dangerous and something she hates and would never want to be. It's just oh okay well luckily I didn't turn into one. And that's... it? It would have made good tension but no. Instead, they're just in love so much we have to listen to Casteel tell her how strong and beautiful she is every twenty pages.

I was excited to learn more about Kiernan but I still couldn't tell you much about him. Best friends with Casteel, a wolven, and he's always like "no one is surprised by Poppy having question". That's about all I know of him. Those are all things I knew about him in the second book.

Some other things I had issues with is that the villains are eager to spill everything about their plans. I feel like I'm watching a cartoon show with their villain monologues going on and on. Everyone except for Poppy is knowledgeable about everything!! People are constantly apologizing for things they have no control of. Characters somehow know exactly what to say to Poppy all the time like mind reading. I'm annoyed that the gods realm and the draken were such short parts.

When the reveals and the action which took 600 pages to get to happened, I really couldn't find myself caring. Reading felt like a chore. I'm not worried about any of the characters. I don't know if I'm interested anymore in reading this series because it feels like work trying to read it. I'm here for enjoyment and I'm not having a good time.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

A little exercise (Part 1/?)

(I’m trying out a new process to help me with my writing and to get me out of the block I’m currently in. I find that analyzing preexisting personalities and ones of my own devising help me better understand how characters will interact in my writing. So, I started small and outlined some of Fane’s major relationships. I’m eventually going to go down the whole list from family to Inquisition members, but right now, I just focused on family.)

Relationships:

“Friendships are like roses; you tend to their delicate petals, nurture their roots, and provide them with water, sunshine, and fertile soil to keep them satisfied, all so they may flourish with life and love. But what happens when the rose bush flowers from an innocent bud to a crimson bloom, bringing thorns in its wake? You bleed, you hurt, and you regret ever planting the seeds. So, do I desire a literal garden of people with thorns as sharp as glass? Not at all.”- Fane Lavellan regarding companionship

Clan Lavellan:

“Fane is brash, volatile, and temperamental at the best of times, Spymaster. You do not wish to see him at his worst. Many of our clan and the outlying forests have been met with his ire. Even so, he is not a bad child. None of his actions are vindictive or of ill intentions. Fane is simply misunderstood, like so many others. So, if you must demand more of him, then you must tread lightly. That is my advice to you and your Inquisition.” - an excerpt from a letter from Keeper Deshanna sent to Haven after the explosion at the Conclave regarding Fane’s demeanor

Fane is exceedingly slow to warm up to people, even with those of his own kind. Among Clan Lavellan, Fane was seen as an anomaly; his two toned eyes and stark white hair breeding fear and wariness in his clan members, as well as his unusual physique. What’s more, many of the clan avoided him for fear of triggering his volatile rage which, when at its peak, would render aravels or trees completely obliterated. So, as far as friends go, Fane never had many among his clan; only communicating with his sister, and at times, the Keeper. Fane’s disinterest in cultivating relationships also stems from his desire to keep the evidence of his father’s abuse away from prying eyes and ears. This did not stop him from attempting to bridge the gap between him and his people, however. At a young age, Fane proved to be an adept hunter; stealthy and graceful despite his hulking frame. Sadly, his effectiveness to provide did not win the hearts of his clan, since many of Fane’s methods were unorthodox to the Dalish. When such a simple attempt was ineffective, Fane took one last step to try and wedge himself into belonging; his vallaslin. Despite not believing in any of the elven gods (another pit that distanced him from the Dalish, as Fane is and was not shy to voice his opinions regarding them), Fane opted to have the vallaslin of Sylaise tattooed onto his face at the age of sixteen; only a year after his father’s magical experiments on his body began. Once again, this did not do what Fane had hoped for, since the ritual and implementation of the tattoos barely registered a flinch or grimace from the elf; his mind and body already so scarred and traumatized by the use of magic and physical tools that Fane merely viewed the sacred act as another experiment in which his father’s rules of “No crying, no screaming, no telling anyone” played on repeat within his head. Due to that stoicism, his clansmen simply began to view him as unfeeling and cold, some going so far as to call him a ‘snowy haired demon’. From that point on, Fane severed all association with his clan, and attempts to win favor were replaced with complete indifference. Interactions were kept to scouting missions and group hunts, and such things like gatherings or holidays, Fane spent either alone within the forest or with his sister. It may have been this rift of association that spurred the Keeper into choosing Fane for the mission to spy on the Conclave, or perhaps it was a way to help both Fane and the clan from anymore turmoil. However, when the explosion at the Conclave completely shifts his small world on its axis, Fane is more or less forced to traverse a battlefield in which he is outnumbered in both strength and personalities.

Mhairi Lavellan (Sister):

“First mother, then father..I can’t lose you, too, brother. I have no one else besides you for family.”

“Hmph, don’t be so dramatic, My. Even if something were to happen to me, the clan would still be here for you. The clan’s your family as much as I am.”

“The clan is your family, too, brother. Why do you think they don’t care for you like I do?”

“Because they don’t. I’m a monster, remember? They’re all probably breathing a sigh of relief that I’m leaving.”

“Would you stop that?! You’re one of the people just like any of the others! More than that, you’re my brother! So, don’t talk as if you’re nothing. You are everything to me, Fane. Everything and more.” - a conversation between Mhairi and Fane before he leaves for the Conclave.

Mhairi and Fane’s relationship is much like any siblings; occasional bickering, unconditional love, and patience with each other’s oddities. However, unlike most siblings, whose likeness of personalities tends to breed contempt, Fane and Mhairi are, by all means, anathema to each other. Oil and water. Fire and ice. The sun and moon. All these things describe the two’s odd relationship. Fane, while holding a deep well of his love for his sister, has difficulty showing such platonic feelings, opting for simply watching Mhairi with an attentive eye and merely giving stern guidance to the younger when necessary. Whereas Mhairi is more bubbly and easygoing, wishing to help her brother bridge the gap that he had created with the clan and constantly reasserting to him that he is loved and cherished. Such attempts at reconciliation have only thus far vexed Fane, but the message from his sister is not lost, even if he does not outwardly show it. However, like with the rest of the clan, Fane has kept the actions of their father a secret from Mhairi; the only secret he has ever kept from his sister (besides the information of him being a dragon. Fane himself is unaware of his heritage until after Adamant. Even after he understands this information, he does not tell her until at least around the time of the Exalted Council.). Fane has gone to great lengths to keep the brutal past of his abuse from his sister. Such actions include: hiding his acute sensitivity to magic, which is the hardest since Mhairi is a mage, his night terrors that leave him sweating and hyperventilating in the morning, avoiding any and all physical contact from his sister or others since his body still harbors phantasmal pains from the abuse, and dismissing any questions or concerns from his sister when she zeroes in on his pain. Despite these actions on his part, Fane still gives in to his sister if she is particularly persistent or if she is on the verge of tears. In these moments, Fane will endure the pain on his body for a light hug or give a vague response to a question of concern. In conjunction, Mhairi is always trying to find ways to bring back the person her brother was before the experiments began, much to Fane’s dismay. She will oftentimes gift him with sentimental items such as; flowers (primarily Gladiolus since it is a flower the two have an emotional attachment to), handmade pendants, a history book (knowing that he is secretly curious of outside society), and his favorite foods (mainly chocolates). All attempts are usually met with soft refusal or awkward shuffling on Fane’s part, but internally, the misunderstood elf screams with joy every time such a thing is bestowed upon him by his sister. 

Eloris Lavellan (Mother):

“Cerulean eyes like the deep lakes in the forest. Sunlight glistening off of golden strands like wheat. Shimmering, rippling across the surface with gentle strokes. Calm and patient even when I’d yell. Never scolding. Never hating. Her words hang upon my mind like her hand when she would guide my own across the page. ‘A summer breeze. A winter’s gale. All things are natural if you allow them to unveil.’ Her words. Her lesson. ..You were angry?”

“Yes, I was. I can’t even remember why now. But, she told me it was nothing to be ashamed of. She said all emotions were natural just like the wind and trees. I just had to..let them out.”

“Who was she?”

“..My mother, and that is all I’m saying about it.” - a discussion between Fane and Cole about Fane’s mother. 

Fane’s memory of the relationship with his mother, Eloris, is one of the few things he cherishes, and is one of many things he does not openly share, even with Mhairi. Before she died of a wasting disease when Fane was fifteen, Eloris guided Fane throughout his earlier years, teaching him how to write in both the common tongue and elven, as well as speak and read. Fane describes her as ‘the gentlest soul upon a fragile landscape’ since never once did she harshly scold him or yell in anger at his prickly demeanor, which Fane had even as a child. Instead, Eloris taught Fane the wrongness of his actions with poetry. After outbursts or moments of frustration, Eloris would sit with Fane under a tree or in a clearing, and simply read to him, recounting tales and lessons through elegant scripture. Such a technique had oddly proved effective, calming Fane and cementing delicate lessons of patience and open mindedness, that to this day, while slightly more difficult for him to keep, still connect him with his deceased mother. These tiny memories of his mother’s poetry were something that helped Fane through much of his father’s abuse. So much so, that Fane himself began writing and collecting different forms of poetry after his father’s disappearance, and throughout his time with the Inquisition. This odd fixation also reflects in Fane’s way of speaking, and sometimes his versed tongue has to be deciphered by someone more familiar with him or those who understand cryptic dialogue. At times, it even causes him frustration. Even so, Fane keeps the memory of his mother with him wherever he goes, and secretly endeavors to keep the promise that he made to her. The promise to protect their family, no matter the cost.

(I’m still working on Fane’s father, so he might be the last one I touch on in the list. Anyways, this is just a little exercise to finally cement Fane’s overall character. All of the dialogue is just stuff I thought up on the fly, so take it with a grain of salt in reference to canon.)

[z3r0-f4ilur3]

The Record Begins With a Song Of Rebellion

First Draft Of the Capitalist Surrealist Writing Project. Steal and appropriate, critique and interrogate, with the author's full endorsement and permission. Looking (back)(for)wyrds After the Bush interregneum and the long, terrible, progress destroying Reagan years, the American empire had something like a moment of hope. Riding high on the peace dividend and a delusion of idealism among the donating classes, the economic aristocracy which in effect was the senior partner in “American Democracy” (and so duly represented in both parties) and the voter was a paternalized junior to be both petted and protected had selected the Clinton dynasty. The grand bargain between labour and capital against the state resulted in the bitter fruit of the Bush years, as Conservatives paternalists rightly mocked the Clintonian urge to middling action on domestic issues while gladly partnering with him to rob labour at large. While a wealth transfer had already been going on as part of a trend for the better part of a century, this phase in which a semi-coherent ruling class dynamic of the donating classes and the government service classes became visible. It is beyond satire now, but this was not always so visible, as racism, white supremacy, American exceptionalism, various fundementalist and conservative (as well as equally harmful, supposedly liberal versions of the same) religious beliefs; Turtle Island was rife with reasons for temporary cross class solidarity in order to oppose an other or to advance an idealistic goal.

And yet moments of class consciousness and solidarity have perenially emerged, from the “grassroots” as the insiders like to say. They frame the people as “the base” or “the grassroots” and narrowly target their interests to make people find conflict with each other. It is irrelevent (for this missive) whether this is a conscious, semi-conscious, or unconscious process; it is enough to notice it happening. Despite this, moments in the pre new-modern (to be defined later, promise~) politics that predate terms like Black Lives Matter or Trans Rights are Human Rights show that these movements represent an unbroken chain of revolutionary attempts at self-consciousness and conscience transformation that coincide and are just as important as any history of violence. The Ides of March, and the campaign of anonymous internet citizens against Scientology, represents such a moment. Occupy Wall Street was such a movement. “We’re Here, We’re Queer, Get Used To It!” was such a phrase. The many quotes attributed to names like Mandela and James Baldwin; the Black Panthers, the revolutionary feminists, the Hippie movement, down back to the (In the American mind) hoary days of yore when the Wide Awakes would march a brass band around the houses of pro slave Senators.

It is a poor yet accurate summation to say that the ‘present’ (a dubious notion) political reality is the sum of all of these and more; a reader can orient themselves to the history of late stage capitalism by the growth of the donating classes influence and the acceleration of their detachment from society at large. Moments which also impact this reality are the donating classes sense of pessimism about the future; the devaluing of nearly all forms of labour, the increasing visibility of law enforcement brutality; the list can be referenced in the moment to moment, wide eyed and angry reporting of self-matyring, news-junkie amateur journalists found anywhere online, the shocked and angry expressions of young activists at protests and the weary, numbed faces of the old. Up and down the class system, there has been a wide spread death of hope.

Enter the climate crisis.

Before climate consciousness achieved real steam, our escatological fears were (mostly) confined to the realm of human action or cosmic events unimaginable (and unrelatable) to the modern person’s experience of life. For decades, the effects of climate change were reported to a world told not to care. As Terrance Mkenna said, ““The apocalypse is not something which is coming. The apocalypse has arrived in major portions of the planet and it’s only because we live within a bubble of incredible privilege and social insulation that we still have the luxury of anticipating the apocalypse.”

The impact of this can and will be expanded upon, but it is safe to say that the bubble has been popped. Whatever finds popular currency within the dialogue around it, that the climate is changing rapidly in ways inemical to human society at large/at present is true by material impact; people everywhere have experienced some negative result of the changing conditions, and there is a rising anxiety in the classes who cannot afford an escape pod or fortress bunker that the people they’ve entrusted themselves to intend to withdraw to safety and abandon them, or even expose them to more harm in order to “make more of the earth’s carrying weight available in the reclamation” (this kind of talk is not alien to them, though this specific quotation is my own invention.

It is important to acknowledge that the bubble has popped. It is the exclamation on Capitalist Realism; it is the moment of awareness, that encounter with a death of hope, in which Capitalist Surrealism, our phenomenological experience of the Capitalist Real, is born. While this Surrealist stage is both uncomfortable and has deleterious effects on the human condition, it represents the chink in the armour of banality and inertia, and the diminishing politics of the powerful. The sense that anything, absolutely *anything,* can happen to you, is both incredibly terrifying, and when looked at squarely, an opportunity for radical freedom.

It is this radical freedom that we see ourselves invited to in the many facets of human expression and convention which have experienced an awakening of new consciousness (or the restoration of old ones. Beliefs, ways of interacting with the world, and surviving are no longer benefited by or even neutrally treated by their operating environment anymore; if the complete weight of propaganda in circulation at the moment could be translated into sound, it would present an impenetrable and unlistenable wall.

It is that environment that individual ideologies not sanctioned by the operating environment have struggled against; all of them now have new life and vigor because despite that wall, and the spectacle societies which generate them, the literal truth of material impacts trump all prior arguments. With awareness of most likely outcomes of the climate crisis on a sliding scale, we see radicalization and existential depression of all varieties spike; the answers they attempt to generate to these apparent conditions lack hope in broad but uneven spikes along that scale of awareness, with the suicidally depressed expert climatologist and the radical anarcho-primitivist sharing the same ontological space in orientation to that crisis.

This project, among other things, is an attempt to generate an alternative answer (what that project consists of is entirely based in literature and mutual aid, the oldest Christian platforms for emancipatory action.) Terms like Solarpunk and Cloud City Futures approach but fail to capture the spirit of an alternative answer, mostly with an appeal to the world of aesthetics, a dubious method for summoning change at best. Terminology alone, or even in tandem with education, is also not sufficient; the noise environment they enter into immediately drowns out the creators meaning, especially if these terms are successful and gain currency with the wealthy.

Rather, we must articulate the positive from all our apparent negatives: The apocalyptic futures we anticipate cannot begin actually describe the terrain of the future, and the apparancy of our material conditions impact on our lives is now drowning out the sound of the standing ideologies. This is a brave time, where people blaze trails for others to follow out of the collapsing structures of the past and into the dwelling places of the new future. Our experience of reality, though surreal, has now unlocked an awareness of an apparent power: making meaning.

It is with the tools of meaning-making that these, who are the heirs of their elders, queer and colour revolutionary and indigenous land defender and abolitionist, pioneer the hopeful vistas of the future. It is necessary that they *be* hopeful; it was the Buddha who taught that people deceived by Samsara may be “deceived” by the apparent gifts of pursuing enlightenment, the majority of which are ancillary incidentals not to be meditated on. The king calls his indolent heirs out of the burning palace with a promise of gifts; when they arrive, they protest the lack of gifts, but it is in his embrace of them we realize they are the gift, and their survival was worth the promise of chariots and ponies.

But there must also be chariots, and ponies; luxuries, and finery; the grim tools of “defense” and all the things the human animal finds comforting in their resting environment to assure them of its stability. In the Dao De Jing, (Though Mueller butchers the poetry,) the Sage articulates this and describes how to create it: “Let there be a small country with few people,

Who, even having much machinery, don't use it.

Who take death seriously and don't wander far away.

Even though they have boats and carriages, they never ride in them.

Having armor and weapons, they never go to war.

Let them return to measurement by tying knots in rope.

Sweeten their food, give them nice clothes, a peaceful abode and a relaxed life.

Even though the next country can be seen and its doges and chickens can be heard,

The people will grow old and die without visiting each other's land.” A.C. Mueller Translation, The Dao De Jing, Attributed to Lao Tzu

It is as naked an appeal to a return to the life of the community and the village as can be found. A return to idigenous ways of being, which speaks to the preservation of folk ways, while the reality that the sage is administering them (even if only by moral teaching) shows a potential for new ideas to be instanced; innovation is not a property innate to the colonizing and walled world, and memetic culture and the society of truth-telling through representation around it reflect callbacks to this desire. The political movement around Land Back, while perennial to the causes of indigenous people, crystalizes an actionable answer for individuals and collectives to support. Its cousins in other colour movements, many of them representing indigenous people displaced by imperialism in the first place, are also generative of positive futures; it is a fact of history that as the rights of people classified as “minorities” are raised, the general quality of life for all in society rises, with the exception of those who could never be touched but by the highest tides.

These movements and moments of consciousness are their own inestimable goods, not mere ends for the would be conscious person to hijack for their goals. This is in fact a position inimical to the success of any of these movements; grifting starts at home, and it is the white leftist who is more easily conquered by the white liberal, since neither of them have conquered their own whiteness in the first place. But that supporting them generates positive benefits for all can only be argued against if you value the lives and comforts of some over others; those who value the general benefit first can see a clear path.

It is that clarity that gives meaning makers license to create the vistas of the future. It is the “Mandate of Heaven” that endorses the artists, a general operating license to create. Because the material impact of the present is louder than the noise of Capital, there an outburst of fertility and growth, the very seeds of hope, breaking out in the midst of this Surrealism. It is with the tools of meaning making, and the canvas of the crisis, that people escape the real.

[somniferouseyes]

Home Sweet Prison - Thoughts on Silent Hill 4: The Room

Recently I had the pleasure of finally playing the fourth Silent Hill game after years of planning to get around to it. I just finished it last night after three lengthy play sessions over the past week. It definitely had its flaws but I couldn’t help but love the game and wanted to share some of my thoughts. Obvious spoilers below.

This is going to be a long one, so buckle up. First, a little background. If you really don’t care and just want my thoughts on the game, skip down to below the line of ‘=‘s.

It must have been around 7 years ago I played my first Silent Hill game. I had heard bits and pieces about the series for a long time and finally I managed to get my hands on a Playstation 2 along with a copy of Silent Hill 2. The TV at my mom’s place didn’t make much sense to play games on, as I had to share it with a family that didn’t care much for watching games, and so only allowed me to play for short bursts. Definitely not suitable for playing through a game where atmosphere is one of the key elements to the experience. So instead I absconded with my PS2 and the game to the ancient CRT TV in my bedroom at my dad’s place, where I spent the night at most a few times a week. The solitude and old television at night made for a near-perfect playing environment for a game like SH2. The sound effects of the menus and the vibrant red of the save screen casting a bloody shade over the walls of that room are memories permanently imprinted in the inside of my head.

I had a great time with the game and eventually picked up Silent Hill 3 as well, excited for another journey to that destitute, foggy town. Unfortunately, after playing through around a third of the game, I discovered my disc was scratched and couldn’t continue, despite my best attempts to clean and buff it out. At that point I didn’t have any sort of disposable income so buying another copy just didn’t seem worth the expense. So unfortunately, my journey with that game ended there.

I was aware that the fourth game, like the first three, was fairly highly regarded, so I kept a tab on it in the back of my mind for opportunities to play. This past fall, I finally got my chance. I jumped with excitement at seeing GOG offering the now-ancient (by video game standards) title and immediately purchased it, fully prepared to experience what I had been missing all this time. I booted it up several days after and played for around an hour. There was the gameplay I remembered in all its clunky glory. As well as the haunting sound design and twisted visuals. It was a great throwback, but for some reason I didn’t come back for more. I planned to play more but it sat on the digital shelf for months before I would finally touch it again, this time with my partner at my side to experience it along with me. At first I worried having another person there would take away from the atmosphere, which is what I always saw as the strongest part of the series. Thankfully this wasn’t really the case. Anyway, now after enough extra shit, my thoughts on the game itself.

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What first struck me was how creative and intriguing I found the setting to be. I’ve known for a long time what it was, but actually playing it now I found it resonated with me in an unexpected way. I recently moved into my first non-college apartment and as I played I found myself sort of day-nightmaring about what it would be like to wake up one day and find myself trapped in my apartment, door chained shut, windows stuck, and no real communication to the outside world but a strange hole which has appeared in my bathroom wall. Letting myself sort of float in that headspace really got me immersed into the world and I really grew to appreciate the apartment as a sort of hub world in the game. A safe space from the horrors that lay on the other side of the hole. At least, temporarily safe as I would eventually discover. Throughout the first half of the game the apartment served as a resting point in between forays into the unforgiving outside world.

Then one time I came home to discover that the ceiling fan had mysteriously broken and smashed down upon the coffee table. Henry, our lovely protagonist, commented that the air felt heavier as though a weight was bearing down upon him. The in-game ramifications of this event didn’t become clear until a bit later, when I discovered that my health no longer regenerated when in the apartment. My one reliable form of healing had been taken away from me. And the game being a survival horror game, I very quickly felt its effect. Healing supplies were very limited and I found myself struggling to survive through various enemy encounters now where before I had done alright with occasional trips home to heal up. But this was only the beginning.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour or two later that upon entering the apartment I was greeted by a castrophony of crashing and banging coming from the living room. I entered and found the windows there shaking and slamming against their frames, as if by the manipulation of some violent poltergeist. Even so much as nearing them damaged me and despite the frustration at not being able to interact with them anymore without fear of taking lethal damage, it was one of the coolest things I’ve seen in a game for a while. From that point onward every few visits to the apartment, I was met with some new form of haunting in various parts of the few rooms I had. Eventually they crept in the way of the save point, forcing me to put myself at risk in order to even so much as save my game. It was a level of brutality that has become much less common in games. Thankless and cruel. But I loved seeing my safe prison twist and disfigure into a dangerous nightmare. For once in a piece of horror, whether game, book, or movie, I felt as if I was the one being haunted. This was my home and it was being slowly but surely wrenched from my hands. The hub easily became one of my favorite things about the game as a result.

My feelings about the rest of the game were a little more mixed. As is Silent Hill tradition, the controls were a clunky mess. I’m sure it was by design, as fumbling with them creates a tension in common interactions in the game not unlike the loss of coordination one might experience in a dream. As neat as that is as an artistic touch, from a gameplay standpoint it did sour the experience a bit when it came time to deal with enemies (FUCK the ghost victims).

On a related note, for some reason the devs thought it’d be a good idea to have the entire back half of the game be a goddamn escort mission. One where the quality of your performance affects the ending you get for some reason, no less (???). In general I liked Eileen as a character and appreciated the whole slow possession thing she had going on, but trying to maneuver through the cramped corridors of the game while also trying to move around her and make sure she didn’t get left behind with a bunch of enemies was a nightmare in and of itself. One of the worst things about the game, honestly. There were times I made sure she got left behind in areas just to give myself some room to breathe.

Enemies in general were a massive pain in the ass, at least until late in the game when I figured out how to deal with them efficiently. It didn’t help that their designs for the first third of the game were so bland. One of my favorite things about the series is seeing all the fucked up enemy designs and the speculation from the fanbase about what they might represent from a narrative standpoint, so I was super disappointed to find the first chunk of the game only feature zombie dogs, some ghosts, and pointy bats. Later on I discovered that the ghosts were actually Walter’s past victims who had lost all control and sense of reality after being slain for his ritual, which was a VERY cool detail I missed early on. It lent a whole new dimension to what would otherwise be boring generic ghost enemies. I just wish it had been conveyed better, because obviously I didn’t recognize any of them until Cynthia’s showed up during the second visit to Subway World (Yep. It’s actually called that.) It was a lot of fun seeing how each of the people I had seen murdered had unique abilities as ghosts meant to represent their personalities or behavior in life.

Once I hit the water prison, the game’s enemy design picked up though. I had seen images of the Twin Victims before, but it hadn’t prepared me for their sudden appearance in those cramped circular halls. In the past games and the beginning of this one it seemed like enemies usually had a sort of introductory cutscene showcasing a little of their personality or abilities, but for the Twin Victims? Nope, you get nothing. One second you’re in ignorant bliss of their existence, the next a two-headed shrouded figure is charging at you on its hands.

The rest of the enemies were all decent I think in my memory, though some better than others. I’m not sure who gave the okay on the decision for the Patient creatures in Hospital World to fucking let loose the most wild burps known to man whenever they take a hit, but it was simultaneously tension-ruining and laugh-inducing to knock one down the stairs by accident only to receive a musical number comprised solely of belches in response. Definitely a highlight of the experience, if an unintended one.

Since I don’t want to spend a ton of time on the areas themselves I’m gonna just throw together a little list here of quick opinions on them.

Subway World - Awful. Boring area, especially since this exact type of thing was done already in a fairly lengthy section in SH3. Fuck the dogs. Second visit wasn’t any better because being chased by Cynthia’s ghost was incredibly annoying, especially since you’re still just figuring out the mechanics of Eileen following you at this point.

Forest World - Refreshing after Subway World but still boring. Just a bunch of trees and annoying bats. Highlight was Jasper, my bro whose character arc consists of being scared of rocks, drinking some choccy milk, then burning to death. Second visit was a little better? I liked the torch mechanic and finding the body parts in the 5 wells was a creepy little sort of puzzle.

Water Prison World - One of my favorite areas. Really interesting design and home to one of the few true puzzles in the game, even if it is kind of explained to you outright. Also home to the debut of one of the creepiest enemies, Twin Victims. Second visit was kind of underwhelming and frustrating because of Eileen getting swarmed by them though.

Building World - Other than winning the Dumb Area Name of the Century award, this place was fine. Some areas were a bit too swarmed with enemies, but otherwise a pretty fun place to explore. Reminded me of past games in the series in terms of design. Second visit was ROUGH. I finished with no healing items and only a sliver of health remaining as I went into the boss fight, so I had to make sure I wasn’t hit once for its duration. Also what the fuck is up with the way Richard’s ghost moves? Thought my game was straight up glitching for a bit.

Apartment World - I think possibly my favorite area of the game. Just your classic Silent Hill apartment complex. Loads of rooms to explore and find keys for, etc. Second visit was exactly what I wanted. Just chaos throughout the building and creepy shit around every corner. Highlight for me was the chains on the superintendent’s door, for some reason. Just thought it was cool setpiece.

Hospital World - A pretty cool place overall, but too short and with no second visit it had me wishing there was more of it. A bit simplistic in design but I had fun checking out all the various rooms and the creepy shit inside them. Creepiest Shit in the Game award goes to the massive bloody head of Eileen that stares you down with eyes that can only be described as vibrating. Normally I’d be annoyed at Henry literally not reacting to it, but it somehow adds to its disturbing factor. Almost as if its some kind of meta-scare that Henry can’t even see.

As for the characters, I found them overall to be okay. Nothing special really. Henry is boring as hell and doesn’t really seem to react much to any of the crazy things happening around him, which makes me question his mental state a bit. Eileen is probably the best of the group in my eyes. She goes through a LOT during the game. I thought the possession mechanic with her was very cool and loved eventually finding out that her level of possession actually modifies her dialogue at various points in the game. Definitely a very nice touch. Walter is pretty meh. Just your ordinary insane serial killer really. Nothing to write home about. Didn’t really have a personality beyond “I’m bloodthirsty and I want my mommy.” Also, for someone who was trying to kill me, it really didn’t feel like his heart was all in it. He was easy to sidestep and he’d just sort of become disinterested and wander off. I was a bit underwhelmed to find the superintendent didn’t have any role really past the halfway point in the game. Where did he go? In one of the endings he’s confirmed to be dead but otherwise not mentioned at all. He got a lot of the spotlight in the first half so it really makes no sense.

The plot was pretty entertaining. Might be sacrilege to say so, but I think I preferred it to SH2′s despite its flaws, though it’s been a while since I played that so maybe I’ll have to give it another run-through sometime and see. I just had a lot of fun following Joseph’s notes and slowly learning about the Wishing House cult and Walter’s murders. I found myself guessing at what we could expect from Walter and his twisted ritual around every corner and how the tale would eventually unravel.

Upon tearing into it more closely my partner and I found a number of weird little issues and nitpicks with the plot that we couldn’t seem to find any explanation for. Was Walter ever really in prison? The game is deliberately vague about this detail, and I assume we’re meant to come up with our own conclusions, but it felt a bit strange to not give a more solid explanation, as other issues arise from the lack of one. If he did really kill himself in prison, how did he get out of his grave and perform the Ritual of the Holy Assumption? If that wasn’t him in prison, why would anyone bother digging up the grave at all? And either way, why mark the coffin with his number, 11/21? It doesn’t really make sense. Not quite related, but we’re also missing the why of Walter’s split manifestations. What about the ritual caused him to split off a child version of himself? It’s not exactly important to the plot’s progression, but it’d be nice to know if he fucked up some part of the ritual, or was punished for being a little shit by God or whatever.

Unfortunately my partner and I found the endings to all be pretty lame. I got the ‘21 Sacraments’ ending, which I guess is to be expected because I wasn’t very careful in taking care of Eileen due to the controls being a massive pain in the ass while also not really understanding how to purge the apartment of hauntings with candles. I understood the mechanic but literally couldn’t figure out where to place the candles to achieve the desired affect despite all my attempts to, which was a shame. I’m also still not entirely sure why the ending I got results in Walter possessing Henry’s body when I clearly followed the instructions to put a stop to his ritual, but the other endings aren’t all that much better. In the ‘Mother’ ending, apparently Eileen is somehow still possessed? Why? By who? No explanation is given! Always a good time.

Despite the nitpicks at the plot, the confusing decision to make most of the game an escort mission, and the messy Silent Hill game controls, I still had a fantastic time. I still felt just in love with the atmosphere, sound, and enemy design as I did back when I played SH2. I wish there were more in the series to experience, but it seems like my options aren’t all that great. The first game is kind of a dated mess visually, I’m not sure I have the heart to replay so much of the opening of the third game to allow myself to experience the entire thing, and apparently all the games after kind of suck in various ways.

I find myself leaving Silent Hill 4 with a renewed sense of sadness at the cancellation of PT and the grim hopes for the future of the series, but excited to maybe get back into playing more horror games. It’s a genre I used to be all over but eventually fell out of entirely, save for a few recent titles, such as Resident Evil VII.

I’d definitely recommend Silent Hill 4: The Room in a heartbeat to anyone who can stomach the clunky controls as well as some some dated graphics and game mechanics.

Goodbye for now, Silent Hill.

[cowstiandior]

phew this rly is gonna be the first post I’ve made in like a year but. Like the others, time to pour my heart out I guess.

I’ve dealt with a lot of trauma. I’m still going through my trauma because every so often I learn things that I had no idea about whether it be because I blocked it out or just never thought about it in an abusive light. I guess, first thing’s first, to explain why a lot of this stuff impacted me in a huge way (not to say that it wouldn’t have otherwise, but.).

My biological father was emotionally and physically abusive. To me, to my sibling, to my mother and all his exe’s. He had mental illnesses that were left untreated like BPD, narcissism, and compulsive lying. When I was five, he tried to get me to believe that my mom was cheating on him with a friend of hers and that this guy was gonna steal her away. And I believed him and cried and screamed until my mom promised me that was the case. I only found out, in my late teens, that he was the one that had cheated. Constantly. Eventually they divorced and I moved with my mom to texas after the school year was finished because that gave her time to prepare a place to live for me. Unfortunately during that period where I still lived with my dad... he did a lot of things. And even though (apparently) my grandparents on my mother’s side tried to have me over as much as they could, there was still long amounts of times that I spent with my father.

He exposed me to a lot of shit I shouldn’t have been as a child. Movies with graphic violence and horror (I once had a panic attack when I lost a tooth because I thought that awful lady from darkness falls was gonna come and kill me), nudity and sex. Hell, anime that borderlined into straight up hentai. Only two years ago did I learn from my mother that she always thought my dad was sexually abusing me, but she never had the proof. And maybe she was right. Maybe he did, and I blocked some of it out. He showed me all that stuff, and I remember how he would cling to me in the bed he forced me to share with him and told me I was the only one that loved him and understood. He would buy and show me things I shouldn’t have been seeing and then told me not to tell my mother.

He once brought me over to one of his girlfriends and while I “slept” on the couch, he had sex with his gf right there in the living room just a foot away from where I was. He had only wait... what, five minutes? For me to fall asleep and didn’t even check if I had. I was facing the back of the couch so I couldn’t see anything, but I could hear all of it. I was too afraid to move or even breathe.

That on its own is a lot, but I’m sharing this to give some background into my feelings about this roleplay groups I was a part of over the years.

My first experience with rping was the alvin and the chipmunks oc community on yt. Which was a very niche thing on its own, but there were a LOT of people. It basically boiled down to us coloring over screencaps and fanart to make our ocs, make songs high-pitched and then vid our ocs using the pictures to the songs in wmm and pretending that was our ocs singing them. Some of us communicated via AIM to actually rp our ocs. At the time I was 11/12. I ended up rping with people much older than me, one of whom, the one I rped with the longest and had the greater attachment to, was 16. We rped smut with our ocs. I thought this was normal. They did it with others so why not me as well? They were popular and I was just starting out in the community, so if I did this, then I’d get more attention. And it worked. I got attention from people much older than me and I felt like I was a huge part of this community. All because one of my ocs fucked a more important person’s oc and they got together.

But eventually I fell out of it. I randomly found nondisney crossover videos on yt and began to watch them religiously. Like, really bad ones also made in wmm, but I thought they were so cool. This was way back before editors ever even dreamed of using AE to make seamless masks for their videos. I lefts the aatc group behind to try and make my own. I didn’t have much success until one of my videos blew up and I got a lot of subscribers. I still wasn’t part of what felt like a closely knit community, but I wanted to be. I made silly reaction videos of vidders getting jokingly ‘married’, I commented and liked others videos to try and get noticed by them. Because I was 13 and had no irl friends. 

Then ‘video rps’ began to be a thing. I instantly was enamored, and having experience in rping before, desperately joined. It was fun, at first! I started to connect with more people, they wanted to plot these stupid stuff ideas with me. Then the group decided to move to good ol’, fresh baby-faced tumblr. And I enjoyed that because, at the time, I thought I was a better writer than I was a vidder (news flash I wasn’t good at either of these things sdfkjdns). Somehow, after this move, I became really close with the mods. Both of whom were in the 20s while I was 14 (and just starting high school). One of them called me her ‘wifey’ and I went along with it and did the same. Because I liked the attention. I thought I was important even though, really, none of my characters except two were ever part of any large plots or got attention. They also talked about sexual things with me because my main oc was dating one of the mods’ oc. I remember them solely getting together because of ‘aphrodisiac dust’ too. 

And I’ll admit, I also kinda forced it on my side. The mod had her oc basically in a ‘love triangle’ between my and my friend meg’s ocs. Which is... honestly a Lot now that I think about it. She kept stringing us along, both me and meg being the same age too. So when I saw the oppurtunity of “hey my oc was forced to be really horny and if I get Jen’s oc to fuck mine, that would mean they’ll be together’! So that’s what I did. And it worked. And it was only way later once I really processed what I’d done that I felt like shit for what I did to meg. This adult had basically tried to get us to fight each other of this dumb fucking ship. Haha jokes on u jen, now they’re both lesbians and are dating.

Though before this, when my oc was dating another member’s, that ended... really badly when said member had her boyfriend raped by their other ocs. One the dash. With no warning. Not even telling me about that possibility. It made me feel sick. So I dropped them.

Anyways, yeah. In this rp group I was, once again, exposed to smut and sexual things by those that weren’t just older than me, but also adults. They tried to get me to turn on other people in the group. They were also homophobic which, at the time, had a huge impact on me since I was, even then, trying to figure out what and who I was.

Both mods were controlling, rude, and eventually, all of us decided to split off from them and move our ocs to a new but similar setting. This shift was lead by gansey, who became the new mod. I was also partially close to them, and given that at the time I thought they were a good writer and they were popular, I relished in that attention. I thought of them as an older sibling. But in the end they weren’t all that different from Jen and Usa, the previous mods.

Even back in TOW, Gansey had this strange fascination with cheating. Given that Jen’s oc and mine were dating, and gansey had this (understandable, at the time) hatred for her and Usa, they tried to get their main oc to be... really close with mine. Always close enough to cheating or being seen as romantic but never enough that they could apply plausible deniability to the situation. They even made this weird ‘au’ video of them together without talking to me about it. ...A lot of things were done without talking to me about it.

Their obsession with cheating even extended into TAR, where they kept hinting at one of their ocs being interest with another of mine despite Sonia being in a relationship with Shelly’s Archie. I thought, perhaps, that maybe they wanted it to become an open relationship or poly. And if they had talked about it with Shelly and I and we all agreed with it, that would have been fine. But such a thing was never brought up. When said character suddenly developed an evil demon personality, them trying to force their affection on Sonia became even more obvious. Only now the character had a proper ‘excuse’, being evil and whatnot.

Gansey really did have this weird thing for cheating, ruining other people’s ships, and also dubcon/noncon. And again, Gansey was an adult while I was in high school. These things Just Kept Happening. And even though I thought we were close at the time, I never really was involved in any of their big plots (or really anyone’s) unless it involved some of these concepts.

Eventually I started to talk a lot with Meg because we were the same age and had similar interests. This led to me talking with Shelly more and then Bonnie, Kyle, and Morgan. And I’m so grateful for that. People I had been so afraid of contacting on my own to talk to or be friends because of my insecurity due to everything else became huge parts of my life. For once I felt genuinely included and not just someone to be used by others. We came up with fun plots, character connections, etc. At this point I had both them and friends in high school. I had a place I felt I belonged. I still do. I love them so much. They’re basically family to me.

Anyways, as I got older, it became apparent there was this rift in the rp group. People being purposely excluded because they weren’t seen as ‘good’ rpers, or just because someone who wasn’t ever really active in the rp group didn’t like the other. AKA Roman hating kyle which resulted in him being excluded despite his attempts time and time again to include others lol. Obviously over the years, there wasn’t much left for me in that group outside of my friends. It was barely active anymore and outside of it interactions had become toxic. So it was understandable when Kyle and Meg decided to leave. Funny how once that happened, they only then decided to have an ‘open forum’, with everyone who was normally quiet coming out of the woodworks to bash my friends when they were no longer there.

Some of us called them out after that and left. Though not before we found out that they’d (gansey and their inner circle) been developing another rp setting called FAR (presumably the setting they attempted when they told everyone they were gonna have a 100 time-skip to shake things up, which ended up not happening bc a lot of the group was like wtf) and also added someone to the discord server that most of us didn’t know. This person had been there for months and Gansey never told us despite them being their friend. This was very upsetting because at that point all of in this group had been together for 8 years. We shared personal stuff in that discord server. Things that I’m sure we wouldn’t want strangers seeing. So yeah, a lot of us were upset!

Then Gansey and their friends dogpiled kyle for understandably being mad about being excluded and alienated. Then they dared to have the gall to message me saying they were terrible and sorry and that they’d always be there to listen if I wanted to talk.

So I talked. And what happened after that? Nada. Nothing. They never replied. They weren’t willing to face the hypocrisy of what they’d done.

In the end they had just been another manipulative adult that had only used me when they needed to. That tried to have our characters be sexual when I was just a teen.

All of you were adults. You should have known better. I admired you guys only to have that admiration used to control me. Fuck all of you. Fuck you for the way you treated my friends. Fuck you for having contributed to my trauma on top of everything else I’d experienced. Fuck you, gansey, for your manipulative ‘apology’. Fuck you for your dumb fucking poetry you thought we’d never see, comparing us to corpses and you to sisyphus.

Boo Fucking Hoo. 

You were never really sorry at all. None of you were. You’re were just ashamed you got caught on all your bullshit.

I was boo boo the fool for thinking I actually meant anything to you guys.

[wits-writing]

Birds of Prey (Movie Review)

Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn), from now on referred to as BOP for brevity, directed by Cathy Yan with a script by Bumblebee screenwriter Christina Hodson, follows Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie) as she carves out her own place in Gotham City after breaking up with the Joker.

After an act of destructive spectacle to make sure everyone knows she’s serious about the breakup, Harley finds out just how many people want her dead now that the Clown Prince of Crime won’t be protecting her. Special notice in that aspects gets given to Roman Sionis (Ewan McGregor), aka Black Mask, a mob boss of Gotham’s East End currently making a play for the city as a whole.

[Full Review Under the Cut]

BOP’s story structure and aesthetic presentation are an exercise in communicating perspective. Harley provides the primary framing through her narration and overall off kilter way of looking at the world. Slow motion, the tone of the music and use of on-screen text impart how she’s our main filter for these events. Moments that don’t focus on her and the occasional nonlinear order of the central narrative’s events are Harley as the narrator backfilling that information. Her narration at one point outright says to the audience, “I guess I forgot to tell you about them.” Narration often gets framed as a lazy way to impart exposition and character development, but BOP uses Harley’s narration with a purpose. In the larger subtext of this being a post-breakup recovery story, Harley literally controlling her story’s presentation ties in with taking control of her own life.

Though like she says early on, Harley’s not “the only dame in Gotham looking for emancipation.” Once she makes her grand statement to let everyone know she’s cut ties with Mr. J for good, chaos spiraling out from that ends up ensnaring several other characters in her path as she runs from the people that want her dead. Starting with the Gotham street rat, Cassandra Cain (Ella Jay Basco). A foster kid who’d rather be on the streets than living her bleak home life. The kid ends up accidentally running afoul of Sionis when her routine pickpocketing brings her into possession of a valuable item that could give him the resources to expand his control beyond his turf into all of Gotham. Harley plans to save her own skin by agreeing to deliver the kid to Roman in exchange for protection. When Harley finally crosses paths with Cass, complications prevent her from turning the kid over to the mob boss right away.

Those complications become the heart of Harley’s character arc as circumstances force her to get to know the kid. Cass sees Harley’s flippant way of going about her criminal life and sees someone who has things figured out. A notion Harley tries to dissuade her of even as her moments with the kid are the first non-alcohol or drug induced states of happiness she’s had since the movie began. Robbie and Basco’s interactions have a sisterly back and forth to them, especially in the moments when Cass proves cleverer and more resourceful than Harley anticipated.

Cass is also the center of the Venn diagram formed by the stories of Renee Montoya (Rosie Perez) and Dinah Lance (Jurnee Smollett-Bell), aka Black Canary. Renee mainly knows Cass as a recurring face at the police station every time she’s gotten caught pickpocketing. In her daily life, Renee’s job as a detective involves a lot of people either not taking her seriously or stealing credit for her work. She’s been building a case to take down Black Mask for years but gets talked down from her pursuit by everyone else at the GCPD. Perez plays Montoya with a world-weariness that sells the years of being ignored that have taken a toll on her.

Her investigation leads her to Dinah, a singer at a club owned by Sionis recently promoted to his personal chauffeur. After seeing her mother lose her life trying to protect people in Gotham, Dinah wants to keep her head down and go on surviving for as long as possible. It’s complicated by the fact she can’t stop herself from caring or wanting to get involved despite everything. A trait shown in her tender interactions with Cass, whose foster parents live in the same apartment complex, and fighting to protect a drunk Harley outside the club. Smollett-Bell and Perez get their best material playing against each other in scenes where Renee tries to convince Dinah to help inform her on Roman’s plans.

Rounding out the Birds of Prey is an interloper in Black Mask’s plans to control Gotham, Helena Bertinelli (Mary Elizabeth Winstead), aka Huntress. Her role makes her BOP’s secret weapon as she’s the lead we at first learn the least about. All we know at the start is she’s going around killing mobsters that have ties to Sionis’s operations. She doesn’t say anything but takes care of her targets with ruthless efficiency. Once she’s given the room to talk, it becomes clear that she has all the skills necessary to handle her vigilante manhunt but has a negative amount of social skills or flare for drama. Helena’s attempts at stoic one-liners are hilariously inept and Winstead plays each one perfectly.

A character I’m more mixed on than any other element of the movie is Black Mask himself. None of that is down to Ewan McGregor’s performance, who’s playing the representative of the type of controlling, entitled monster of a man that Harley doesn’t want in her life anymore after her breakup. While McGregor’s charisma can almost make you forget how awful Roman is, BOP has no interest in letting the audience forget what he’s willing to do to anyone that even slightly wrongs him. It makes for the movie’s most disturbing moments, especially when he’s sharing the screen with his torture-happy partner-in-crime, Victor Zsasz (Chris Messina). He makes his motives to kill Harley plain when he tells her he wants her dead just because he’s free to do it now that she’s out from Joker’s protection, not any specific grievance. However, that lack of specific antagonism with the main character makes him feel hollow outside of his cruelty, existing as something for the heroes to bounce off for their arcs. He’s functional and well played, but not much beyond that.

Once all the characters are gathered and their story threads have fully converged, BOP has its boldest showcase of the stellar action that makes it stand apart from other movies in the superhero genre. The movie never slouches to deliver on the goods when it comes to its leading ladies tear it up in the fights. Every one of them does something different, keeping things varied with different settings and weapons. Varied tones to the fights keep them from getting exhausting. Most of the fights focusing on Harley maintain the movie’s usual stylization, like her breaking into a police station with a glitter loaded shotgun. Which contrasts with the grounded street brawl when we first see what Dinah can do in a fight. Action scenes escalate as the movie goes, culminating in the previously mentioned final showcase. The fights up to that point already embrace Jackie Chan levels of “every object can be a weapon if necessary” and takes it to the next level. All boosted by the work of cinematographer Matthew Libatique and editors Jay Cassidy and Evan Schiff keeping visual information clear, which helps every bone crunching impact land. Pushed further by the soundtrack consisting of Daniel Pemberton’s original score and songs, plus some well-timed needle drops.

Like Christina Hodson’s previous work as a screenwriter with Bumblebee, what stands out about BOP is how it capitalizes on the wasted potential of previous entries in the film series, in this case 2016’s Suicide Squad. While in that case, the stylization and music choices were crudely plastered on, BOP uses every element with pointed purpose and feels genuinely fun rather than forced as a last-minute decision. Yan, Hodson, Robbie and the rest of the collected cast and crew put together a movie that accomplishes being exactly the kickass, glittery ride it sets out to be.

If you like what you’ve read here, please like/reblog or share elsewhere online, follow me on Twitter (@WC_WIT), and consider throwing some support my way at either Ko-Fi.com or Patreon.com at the extension “/witswriting”

[innuendostudios]

We’re talking about adventure games again! Or, more accurately, we’re speaking in the context of adventure games about why some genres are hard to define, different ways of thinking about genre, and what genre is even for.

If you'd like to see more work like this, please back me on Patreon! Transcript below the cut.

Hi! Welcome back to Who Shot Guybrush Threepwood? Meditations on the life, death, and rebirth of the adventure game.

Adventure game.

Adventure game.

Ad. Ven. Ture. Game.

What kind of name is that, “adventure game”? It’s an atypical way of categorizing video games, I’ll say that much. We usually give game genres titles like "first-person shooter," "real time strategy," “turn-based role-playing game.” Real nuts-and-bolts kinda stuff. Meanwhile, "adventure" seemingly belongs on a turnstyle of airport paperbacks, in between "mystery" and "romance." When they slap that word on a game box, what is it supposed to communicate to us?

Other one-word genres, I can see how they get their name. A horror game is horrifying, a fighting game earns its title. But how is exploring an empty, suburban house an adventure? Why is exploring a universe not?

When I started this series, I offered up the rough-and-tumble definition of adventure game, “puzzles and plots,” and said maybe we’ll come up with a better definition later. That was… four years ago. Sorry about that. I know it’s a little late, and a lot has changed, but I did promise. So we’re gonna do it.

Today’s question is: What makes an adventure game an adventure game?

This is a tricky sort of question to ask, because, upon asking, we might stumble down the highway to “what makes an adventure novel an adventure novel?”, “what makes a rail shooter not an RPG?”, and that road inevitably terminates with “what even is genre?”, the answer to which is a bit beyond the scope of a YouTube video essay… or, it would be on anyone else’s channel, but this is Innuendo Studios. We’ll take the long road.

Welcome to Who Shot Guybrush Threepwood? A philosophical interrogation into the meaning of genre in and beyond the gaming idiom, with the adventure game as our guide.

***

The historical perspective reveals only so much, but it is a place to begin.

If you don’t know the story, in 1976, Will Crowther released Colossal Cave Adventure, a text-based story game set in an underground land loosely based on a real Kentucky cave system. The game would describe what was happening in a given location, and players would type simple commands to perform tasks and progress the narrative, usually a verb linked to a noun like a book that writes itself and responds to directives. This was the first of what we’ve come to call “interactive fiction.”

Crowther’s game - often abbreviated, simply, Adventure - inspired a number similar titles, most famously Zork, which was called an “adventure game” for the same reason Rise of the Triad was called a “Doom clone” - because they were more or less mechanically identical to the games they descended from. This is where the genre gets its title.

But the evolution from then to now has been oddly zero-sum, every addition a subtraction. As more and more adventure games came out, the text descriptions were eventually replaced with graphics, still images replaced with animations, the parser replaced with a verb list, and the keyboard itself replaced with a mouse. In the progression of Zork to Mystery House to King’s Quest to Maniac Mansion to Monkey Island, you can see how each link in the chain is a logical progression from the game preceding and into the one that follows. But you end up with a genre that began comprised entirely of words on a screen but that, by the early 90’s, typically possessed but did not, strictly speaking, require language. There is no question wordless experiences like Dropsy and Kairo are direct descendents of Monkey Island and Myst; that they are therefore in the same genre as Wishbringer, despite zero obvious mechanical overlap, is, for a medium that typically names its genres after their mechanics… weird.

(Also, for anyone confused: Nintendo used to delineate games that explored a continuous world from games that leapt across a series of discrete levels by calling the latter “platformers” and the former “adventures,” and an earlier game in that model was the Atari game Adventure, which was, itself, a graphical adaptation of the Crowther original, so what 90’s kids think of when they hear “a game in the style of Adventure” depends on whether they played on computer or console, but that lineage eventually embraced the even fuzzier “action-adventure” and is not what we’re here to discuss.)

So the connection between the genre’s beginnings and its current incarnation is less mechanical than philosophical. Spiritual, even. Something connects this to this, and we’re here to pin down what.

Now, you may be readying to say, “Ian, it’s clear the determinant of what is or isn’t an adventure game is pure association and there is no underlying logic, you don’t need to think this hard about everything,” which, ha ha, you must be new here. I would counter that, as soon as a genre has a name, people will (not entirely on purpose) start placing parameters around what they consider part of that genre. Even if it’s just association, there is some method to which associations matter and which ones don’t. So shush, we’re trying to have a conversation.

***

Another one-word genre named after a philosophical connection to a single game is the roguelike, christened after 1980’s Rogue. And, in 2008, members of the International Roguelike Development Conference in Berlin set about trying to define the genre. (I promise I’m not just going to summarize that one episode of Game Maker’s Toolkit.) Attendees began with a corpus of five games that, despite not yet having an agreed-upon definition, were, unequivocally, roguelikes, an attitude roughly analogous with the Supreme Court’s classification of pornography: “even if I can’t define it, I know it when I see it.” And, from these five games, they attempted to deduce what makes a roguelike a roguelike.

So perhaps we can follow their example. We’ll take a corpus of five games and see what they have in common. How about The Secret of Monkey Island, Gabriel Knight: Sins of the Fathers, Myst, Beneath a Steel Sky, and Trinity? All five visually and mechanically dissimilar - three third-person and two-dimensional, one first-person and three-dimensional, and one second-person and made of text (no-dimensional?) - yet no one would dispute they’re all adventure games.

Okay! We can see a lot of common features: dialogue trees, inventory, fetch quests. But here’s the rub: to define the genre by the first two would be to leave out Myst, and defining it by the third would leave out Gabriel Knight, and, honestly, any one of these would exclude LOOM, which I think anyone who’s played one would look at and say, “I know an adventure game when I see one.”

For the sake of inclusivity, we could go broad, as I did with my “puzzles and plots,” and, while this does include everything on our list, it also, unavoidably, includes games that provoke the wrong reaction, like Portal - “I know a puzzle-shooter when I see one” - and Inside - “I know a puzzle-platformer when I see one.” Trying to draw a line around everything that is an adventure game while excluding everything that is not is no easy feat.

The best adventure game definitions are written in a kind of legalese; Andrew Plotkin and Clara Fernandez-Vara have both tackled this, I would say, quite well, with a lot of qualifications and a number of additional paragraphs that specify what counts as “unique results” and “object manipulation.” It takes a lot of words! And no disrespect - I can’t have an opinion in less than twenty minutes anymore - but I can’t help thinking we could go about this a different way.

What the Berliners cooked up in 2008 was, instead of a lengthily-worded definition, a list of high- and low-value factors a game may have. The absence of any one was not disqualifying, but the more it could lay claim to the more a game was… Rogue-like. These were features that could exist in any game, in any genre, but when they clustered together the Berliners drew a circle around them and say, “the roguelike is somewhere in here.”

A central idea here is that the borders are porous. If we apply this thinking to the adventure game, we could say that Inside and Portal are not lacking in adventure-ish gameplay; they simply have too low a concentration of it to be recognized as one.

This is genre not as a binary, but as a pattern of behavior.

***

So, to unpack that a little, I’m going to use an allegory, and, before I do, I want you to know: I’m sorry.

In 2014, professor and lecturer Dr. Marianna Ritchey, as a thought experiment demonstrating the socratic method (I’m sorry), hypothesized a conversation between Socrates and Euthyphro (I’m sorry) in which Socrates posed the internet’s second-favorite argument: is a hotdog a sandwich? (I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. We’re doing sandwich discourse.)

Ritchey imagined Socrates asking Euthyphro to define “sandwich,” and sparking the dialectic in which Euthyphro offers up increasingly-specific definitions of “sandwich” and Socrates challenges each one with something non-sandwich that would necessarily fall under that definition: is a hotdog a sandwich? is a taco a sandwich? are three slices of bread a sandwich?

Now, in this scenario, Socrates is - as is his wont - being a bit of a tool. Euthyphro does all the work of coming up with these long, legalistic definitions and, with one, single exception, Socrates sends him back to square one. But Socrates is making a point, (or, rather, Ritchey is): can we really claim to know what a sandwich is, if we can’t explain why it’s a sandwich? Perhaps we should admit the limits of our common sense. Perhaps we should embrace the inherent uncertainty of knowledge.

Or perhaps we could tell Socrates to stop having flame wars and think like a Berliner.

Does “sandwich vs. not-sandwich” have to be a binary? Could we not argue that a sandwich has many qualities, few of them critical, but a plurality of which will increase a thing’s sandwichness? Are there many pathways to sandwichness, a certain Platonic ideal of “sandwich” that can be approximated in a variety of ways? What if the experience of “sandwich” can be evoked so strongly by one factor that some leeway is granted with others? What if many factors are present, but none quite so strongly that it generates the expected sensation? The question then becomes which factors contribute most to that experience, and how much slack can be granted on one axis provided another is rock solid.

A sandwich is not merely an object. It is a set of flavors, textures, sensations, and cultural signifiers. We so often try to define objects by the properties they possess and not by the experience they generate. But a sandwich does not exist solely on the plate, but also in the mouth, and in the mind.

Let us entertain that it’s fair to say a difference between a chip butty and a hotdog is that one feels like a sandwich and one does not.

***

In 2012, the internet was besotted with its fourth favorite argument: “Is Dear Esther a video game? You know, like really, is it, though?” And David Shute, designer of Small Worlds, a micro-exploration platformer (and maaaaaaaaybe adventure game?), countered this question with a blog post: “Are Videogames [sic] Games?”

Shute invoked the philosophical concept of qualia. A quale is a characteristic, an irreducible somethingness that a thing possesses, very hard to put into words but, once experienced, will be instantly recognizable when it is experienced again. Qualia are what allow us to, having seen a car, recognize other cars when we see them and not confuse them with motorcycles, even if we haven’t sat down to write a definition for either. And if we did try to formalize the distinction - say, “a car has four wheels and fully encloses the operator” - our Socrates might pop in to say, “Well then, friend, is this not a car? Is this not a car?” To which Shute - and, by extension, we - might comment that Socrates is, once again, being a buttface.

“If I remove the wheels from a car, then it no longer provides the basic fundamental functionality I’d expect a car to have. But it’s still a car – Its carness requires some qualification, admittedly, but it hasn’t suddenly become something else, and we don’t need to define a new category of objects for ‘things that are just like cars but can’t be driven.’”

What’s special about qualia is that they’re highly subjective and yet shockingly universal. We wouldn’t be able to function if we needed a three paragraph definition just to know what a car is. Get anywhere on Route 128?, forget about it. These arguments over the definition of “game” or “sandwich” ask us to pretend we don’t recognize what we recognize. Socrates’ whole rhetorical strategy is pretending to believe pizza is a sandwich. And anyone who doesn’t care about gatekeeping their hobby will see Dear Esther among other first-person, 3D, computer experiences and know instantly that they fall under the same umbrella. Certainly putative not-game Dear Esther has more in common with yes-game Half-Life 2 than Half-Life 2 has with, for instance, chess.

Shute goes on, “To me, it’s obvious that Dear Esther is a videogame, because it feels like one. [W]hen I play Dear Esther I’m experiencing and inhabiting that world in exactly the same way I experience and inhabit any videogame world – it has an essential videogameness that’s clearly distinct from the way I experience an architectural simulation, or a DVD menu, or a powerpoint slideshow. I might struggle to explain the distinction between them in words, or construct a diagram that neatly places everything in strict categories, but the distinction is nonetheless clear.”

This is the move from plate to mouth. If you’re trying to define the adventure game and you’re talking only about the game’s features and not what it feels like to inhabit that world, you’re not actually talking about genre.

***

So if we want to locate this adventure experience, and we agree that it can, theoretically, appear in any game, we might look for it where it stands out from the background: in an action game. Let’s see if we can find it in Uncharted. It’s a good touchstone because we know the adventure experience is about narrative gameplay, and Uncharted has always been about recreating Indiana Jones as a video game; converting narrative into gameplay.

When attempting such a conversion, a central question designers ask is, “What are my verbs?” Nathan Drake’s gotta do something in these games, so we look to the source material for inspiration. A good video game verb is something simple and repeatable, easy to map to a face button, and Indiana Jones has them in abundance: punch, shoot, run, jump, climb, swing, take cover. All simple and repeatable; you can get a lot of gameplay out of those.

But that’s not all there is to Indiana Jones, is there? There’s also… well, colonialism, but turns out that translates pretty easily! But... Indy rather famously solves ancient riddles. And he cleverly escapes certain death, and has tense conversations with estranged family members, and finds dramatic solutions to unsolvable problems. And none of these are simple and repeatable; in fact, they’re dramatic because they’re unique, and because they’re complex. And Uncharted renders all of these sequences the same way: with a button remap.

When Drake talks to his long-lost brother, or discovers the existence of Libertalia, his jumpy-shooty buttons turn into a completely different set of mechanics for just this sequence, and then go back to being jumpy-shooty. Where, typically, you have a narrative tailored around a certain set of core mechanics, here, the mechanics tailor themselves around a certain narrative experience. And each of these narrative experiences tailors the mechanics differently.

What if we made a whole genre out of that?

Adventure games are the haven for all the misfit bits of drama that don’t convert easily into traditional gameplay. In the old games, you’d never ask “what are my verbs,” because they were at the bottom of the screen. Or, if it was a parser game, your list of possible verbs was as broad as the English language; if a designer wanted to, they could, technically, have every valid action in the game involve its own, unique verb. Rather than specialized, the mechanical space of possibility is broad, the verbs open-ended, even vague, meaning different things in different contexts. The idea is that any dramatic beat can be rendered in gameplay provided you can express it with a simple sentence: push statue, talk to Henry, use sword on rope. Nathan Drake shoots upwards of 2000 people in a single game, but he’s not going to solve 2000 ancient riddles, and he shouldn’t. What makes ancient riddles interesting is you’re not going to come across very many in your life. So maybe the mechanics should be as unique as the event itself. And maybe discovering what this event’s unique mechanics are is part of the gameplay.

The best word we have for these moments is “puzzle.”

Adventure games aren’t named after their core mechanics because, by design, adventure games don’t have core mechanics. Puzzles have mechanics, learning them is the game, and they can be whatever you can imagine. Which is not to say they will be; many games over-rely on inventory and jumping peg puzzles. Even in a near-infinite space of possibility, there are paths of least resistance. But many adventure games have neither, and many are built around single mechanics that don’t appear in any other games.

An adventure game puzzle isn’t simply a thing you do to be rewarded with more plot, it is an answer to the game’s repeated question: what happens next? It was literally the prompt in many versions of Colossal Cave. How did The Stranger find the linking book that took them to Channelwood? How did Robert Cath defuse the bomb on the Orient Express? How did Manny Calavera find the florist in the sewers of El Marrow? It is story told through gameplay, and gameplay built for telling stories.

So I would amend my prior definition, “adventure games are about puzzles and plots,” to “adventure games are about puzzles as plots.”

Beyond that, if you want to know what understand the adventure game experience, you may just have to play one (I suggest Full Throttle).

***

Rick Altman argues we too often define genres by their building blocks, and not what gets built out of them. If you want to write science fiction, you have many components to work with: spaceships, time travel, nanomachines. You can make sci-fi out of that. But what if you take the component parts of science fiction and build… a breakup story? Or a tragicomic war novel? Is it still sci-fi? Let me put it to you this way: if somebody asks you to recommend some science fiction to them, and you say "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind," how likely are they to say, "yes, this is exactly what I was asking for"?

Blade Runner is what happens when you use science fiction to build film noir. Dark City is what happens when you use film noir to build science fiction. So what defines a genre, the bricks, or the blueprint? Any meaningful discussion should account for both.

Adventure games are mechanically agnostic, all blueprint. You can build one out of almost anything. We took the long road because the ways we’re used to thinking about genre were insufficient.

***

So: from a few steps back, the adventure game isn’t even that weird. Game genres are usually named after their mechanics, and a small handful are left in the cold by that convention. This would have been a much shorter conversation if not for the fact that video games run on a completely different set of rules from every other medium that has genres.

...but do they, though?

What actually is genre for?

Well, Samuel R. Delany - yes! yes, I’m still talking about this guy - describes genre not as a list of ingredients but a recipe. Imagine for me that you’ve just read the following four words: “the horizon does flips.” If this is just a, for lack of a better word, “normal” story - not genre fiction - that’s gotta be some kind of metaphor, maybe for the protagonist feeling dizzy, or when the drugs start to hit. Whatever it is, it can’t be literal; the earth and sky do not change places in naturalistic fiction.

But they can in fantasy. Certainly stranger things have happened. And they can in science fiction, but by a different set of rules: now there’s a “why.” It’s gotta be something to do with gravity or the warping of space; even if the story doesn’t explain it, it has to convince you, within a certain suspension of disbelief, that such a thing is happening in our universe. Whatever it is, it’s not magic.

These four words can mean many things. Genre informs you which of the many possible interpretations is the correct one. (For what it’s worth, they’re Barenaked Ladies lyrics about being in a car crash.) The label “science fiction” isn’t there to tell you whether a story has rayguns, it’s there so you know which mechanism of interpretation you should employ.

Genre not what’s in the book. It’s how you read the book.

The opening chapters of a mystery novel may be, by the standards of any other genre, excruciatingly dull. A lot of descriptions of scenery and a dozen characters introducing themselves. But, because you know it’s a mystery, these first pages are suffused with portent, even dread, because you know someone’s probably gonna die. And some of these mundane details are just that, but some of them are clues as to who committed a crime that hasn’t even happened yet. You are alert where you would otherwise be bored. And you know to watch for clues, because you know you’re reading a mystery. Those are the genre’s mechanics.

Genre dictates the attention to be paid.

Words, sounds, and images don’t mean things on their own. They have to be interpreted. If part of genre is the audience’s experience, it’s an experience that audience co-creates, and it needs clues as to how. I’ve said before that all communication is collaborative. Here’s what results from that: all art is interactive.

Video games are not unique in this regard, they are simply at the far end of a spectrum. But if the purpose of genre is to calibrate the audience into creating the correct experience, perhaps it makes sense that the most interactive medium would name its genres after what the player is doing.

So the label “adventure game” is, to the best of its ability, doing the same thing as “adventure novel,” and as “first-person shooter,” if, perhaps, a bit inelegantly. There may be better ways to straddle all these lines, but the shorthand reference to an old text game gets the job done.

So that’s the end of our journey. I really hope we can do this again, and preferably not in another four years, but we’ll see how thing shake out. Regardless, I’m glad you were with me, and I’ll see you in the next one. It’s been an adventure.

[edendaphne]

“Discordant Sonata” Chapter 7

I told you I wouldn’t leave you guys hanging on that cliffhanger for long!  ;)

> Read it here on Ao3 <

> Read it here on Wattpad <

CHAPTER 7: SYNCOPATION

(Mood Music: I Hate Everything About You - Three Days Grace)

Ignoring Ladybug’s and his friends’ frantic shouting, Adrien sprinted towards the villain with only a vague and most likely very, very stupid plan.

Whether or not it was the intrinsic bond between the cat and ladybug miraculouses that compelled him to do so, he couldn’t say, and at this point, he didn’t care. All Adrien knew was that he couldn’t let anything else harm Ladybug. At this moment, absolutely nothing was more important than keeping his other half, his partner, his Lady, safe.

Nothing else mattered; not even himself.

Upon reaching the monster he stood in front of it and yelled, “Hey, did you know that Chloe actually has a boyfriend?”

That certainly got Reaver’s attention. He stopped in his tracks and bellowed, “She WHAT?!”

“I bet he thinks you’re jealous of him!” Adrien continued his ruse. “Did he whisk her away from you right under your nose, big guy? Boy, that’s gotta suck!” He could have sworn he saw Reaver’s eye twitch, and he had to suppress a chortle. “He probably thinks you’ll never find out who he is, or that he lives in an apartment by the Seine because you’re dumb as rocks!”

Reaver sputtered, enraged, “Why, that son of a— I’ll rip him apart!! I’ll show him! He shouldn’t have messed with me!!” In a huff he spun around and ran towards the Seine river with a new (yet vague and questionable) goal in mind.

Adrien quirked a triumphant grin, turning his head to give a quick wink at Ladybug (who was staring at him slack-jawed like he’d grown a second head, along with Nino and Alya), then followed behind Reaver. He could hear Ladybug clamoring and demanding that the couple allow her to stand up and run after him, but thankfully to no avail.

Once he was far away enough from his friends that they couldn’t see him anymore, he sneaked into an empty building, its inhabitants having already evacuated to one of the nearby akuma shelters.

He transformed into Chat Noir and quickly dialed Hawkmoth’s number on his staff’s communicator. He struggled to keep his anger in check while it rang, trying to figure out what he would say.

Hawkmoth’s face finally appeared on the screen.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Chat yelled urgently, manners and decorum tossed out the window instantly.

“What I’m supposed to be doing. Unlike yourself,” Hawkmoth snorted loftily. “You had so many opportunities to take Ladybug’s miraculous just now and yet you didn’t. What’s the matter with you, Adrien?”

“W-what’s the matter with me?!” Chat stammered. “Your akuma is out of control! He’s more violent than any others we’ve ever had! You can’t do this, you have to call him off!”

Hawkmoth scoffed in annoyance, clearly already fed up with this conversation. “I’m only doing what I must to achieve our goals. Goals which you clearly seem to have forgotten. You shouldn’t have any sympathy for that two-faced sham pretending to be a hero. All of this wouldn’t have to happen if she’d just give us the damn earrings.”

Chat recalled the conversation he and Ladybug had had a few weeks prior, while they were dancing at the akuma’s ball.

“I’m not just holding on to my miraculous to spite you and Hawkmoth, or because I’d rather keep my superpowers instead of helping you guys. I’m protecting it. Using a miraculous for personal gain always ends in tragedy. Always. I know you have no reason to trust me or believe me, but what would I gain by lying to you?”

Chat bit his lip, bracing himself for his following question. “But Father, what if there’s a good reason she can’t give them to us? What if we really aren’t meant to use both the cat and ladybug miraculous together?”

Hawkmoth pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing exasperatedly. “I see she’s attempted to deceive you and play you for a fool. Don’t fall for that delilah’s sugar-coated words and pretty face, Adrien. Even if whatever lies she told you were true, it still doesn’t amount to the destruction she’s inflicted on Paris throughout all these years due to her infuriating stubbornness. This fight could have been over long ago, and yet she continues to allow all of Paris to suffer for her pride and arrogance.”

Shelving aside the accusation of Ladybug being the source of Paris’ misery for a later discussion, Chat insisted, “But this time you’ve gone too far. You’re going to kill her!!”

“Good. You might actually manage to collect her earrings if she’s a motionless corpse!” Hawkmoth spat, disgusted.

Chat’s eyes grew wide and he gasped sharply, blood running cold. This couldn’t really be his father talking, could it? Had he any love or compassion left in his soul? Was this another effect of his miraculous; was misusing the power of empathy rendering him unable to actually feel it anymore? What could this mean for Hawkmoth and his powers? Was he losing his control over his abilities and that’s why the akuma had become so ferocious recently, almost feral? Countless questions swirled around in his head, heart racing at the implications.

“I… You…” Chat stuttered incredulously, clenching his fists, claws painfully digging into his palms.

Fighting a sudden bout of nausea, Chat struggled to formulate any kind of coherent sentence. But how could he, when his mind was reeling at his sudden realization? That this was not the man he’d grown up with and loved.

While Gabriel hadn’t ever really been an outwardly doting or affectionate parent, Adrien had good memories of a caring father who loved him; one who had read to him as a child, played the piano with him, and had laughed with while playing trivia games. And while during the last few years he’d become more cold, unrepentant, and spiteful year after year, Adrien would never have suspected that he’d spiraled so out of control and deteriorated into such a ruthless and uncaring person.

Dismayed, he asked almost in a whisper, “Father… What’s happened to you?”

Hawkmoth snarled with a glower, “If this is how it’s going to be, then I have nothing more to say to you. Just stay out of my way.” He huffed, then added, “You always were a disappointment.” He then hung up without another word.

Chat couldn’t help but sit in silence, trying to blink back tears and calm his heart, which felt like it had just been rent into a thousand pieces. He didn’t know what to think or how to feel. This wasn’t how families were supposed to treat each other. Especially when there were only two of them left. Or three, if you included his mother.

His stomach dropped. Oh, God... What would Mom think? She’d be coming back to an insecure and troubled son and a husband who had become a cold-blooded husk of the man he used to be. Would she even want to be brought back to life if it was only to suffer?

His thoughts were interrupted by what sounded like a bus being thrown against a building, followed by the akuma’s enraged roars.

Chat cursed under his breath and stood. He’d allow himself to mourn later. Right now he had an urgent task: to stop his father from destroying Paris.

“If you were actually a nice guy, you wouldn’t be hounding Chloe and trying to pressure her into a relationship just because you think you deserve it,” Chat barked irritably at the akuma, who was stuck in the middle of the Seine hanging with one arm from Chat’s staff, which extended from one end of the edge to the other. “Leave Miss Bourgeois alone and stop being such a persistent douchebag,” Chat scolded, rubbing his sore muscles as he walked towards the discarded rugby ball off to the side.

The akuma grumbled and grunted as he floundered around in the water, holding onto the thin staff with great difficulty.

“Don’t worry, it’ll all be over soon and you can go home. Or better yet, go apologize,” Chat said, turning around to head back to where he’d left Ladybug and the others.

“Hey, you can’t just leave me here!” Reaver howled.

Chat looked back at him, giving him a cheeky smirk. “Watch me,” he quipped, then dashed away to a string of curses and incoherent shouting.

Shortly after, Chat arrived back at the street where his friends were located. He took a deep calming breath and, scooping up the stray Lucky Charm on the way, carefully approached the group, who was still huddled around Ladybug. She looked exhausted, breaths ragged, beads of sweat trickling down her face, as if she’d been trying to get up the whole time he’d been gone only to be held back by his friends. The idea caused a shiver creep up his spine, and the dusty air became harder to breathe.

Nino caught sight of him first. A strangled whine escaped his throat, and he frantically attempted to squeak out, “It’s C-Cha-...!” Having failed at formulating basic speech, he poked Alya’s shoulder to get her attention instead.

The latter’s eyes widened in terror, but she quickly composed herself and darted in front of Ladybug getting into a protective stance, courage largely fueled by adrenaline. Nino followed suit, crouching by the superheroine’s legs, halfway blocking her with his body.

“Don’t you dare come any closer!” Alya snarled, voice dripping with venom. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble?!”

Despite the numerous powers and abilities the cat miraculous bestowed upon him, the sight of a fierce and tenacious Alya terrified him. His countenance fell, hands nervously fidgeting with the rugby ball. He tried to think of a way to appease her and assure them he meant no harm, but was coming up short.

Before he could open his mouth, however, they were both shocked to hear Ladybug speak. “Alya, it’s okay.”

Alya’s jaw dropped in astonishment, having never seen them have any interaction that wasn’t hostile. But after a few seconds she hesitantly stepped aside, allowing Chat to walk past her.

Chat slowly knelt down by Ladybug’s side, offering her a tiny, penitent smile. “Hey.”

Ladybug smiled brightly in return. “Hi,” she said, chuckling lightly. “You came,” she breathed.

Chat felt his chest flutter at the thought of her being happy to see him. Still a bundle of nerves, he sputtered, “H-how are y- uhh… Are you oka- um...”

“I’m alright, Chat,” she answered him reassuringly, touching his forearm. Her brows became knitted and she asked quietly, “B-but did you happen to see a young man, the supermodel Adrien Agreste? He’s my- I mean, he’s their friend,” she corrected hastily. “He ran after the akuma. And I’m worri- uh, we’re - worried about him.”

“I did,” he replied, touched by her concern even now, and still protecting the nature of their relationship from anyone else who might overhear. “He’s fine.”

Ladybug’s shoulders relaxed a bit and a small breath escaped her, a relieved smile replacing tightly pursed lips.

Chat fiddled anxiously with the hem of his cowl. “I, um…” he stammered, then reached into his pocket. “I have something of yours,” he said finally as he brought out her yo-yo and offered it to her. “Also this,” he nodded towards the polka-dotted bottle of oil, holding it up with his tail.

“Thank you,” she replied, voice full of warmth. With a hint of shyness she asked, “Um… I might need a little help, if you don’t mind.” She extended her hand towards him tentatively.

“Oh! O-of course,” he said. He took hold of the rugby ball and ripped it open, freeing the blackened butterfly within. Then he draped Ladybug’s arm around his shoulders, supporting her waist with his other arm, and helped her to stand up. She hissed in discomfort, Chat’s own pained expression mirroring hers. Handing her the Lucky Charm, she took it and laboriously threw it up in the air.

“MIRACULOUS LADYBUG!” she croaked rather than shouted.

Ladybug had never been as happy to see the swarms of tiny magical ladybugs as she was now. They sparkled and swirled around them, removing injuries and setting everything back as it should be. Ladybug’s strength and energy returned and Nino could now stand without aid.

Next Ladybug purified the corrupted akuma, giving it a small wave as it flew off.

Everything was back to normal... and yet everything had completely changed.

Still in a half embrace, Chat and Ladybug turned their heads to look back at each other, faces almost touching, and if Chat didn’t know better, he’d say she was looking at him with a fondness he’d never felt from her before. Eyelashes fluttering slowly, her eyes seemed bluer and more vibrant than even the brightest of skies; a hint of red dusted her freckled cheeks and her rosy pink lips looked tantalizingly soft, almost inviting.

“Um…” they heard Nino say hesitantly.

In a flash the pair pulled apart, chuckling awkwardly and wearing matching blushes, nonchalantly dusting off and smoothing out their suits despite no more dirt being present.

Nino continued, “What do you guys think happened to Adrien?”

“He’s probably on his way back,” Alya said, shrugging.

A loud yet familiar beeping suddenly rang through the air. Ladybug habitually raised her hand to touch her earring, knowing her time was up.

Apprehensively walking up to Alya and Nino, she nervously twirled the ends of her hair and said, “When Adrien comes back, will you– um… Will you please tell him that I really appreciate what he did? The way that he– I mean, he was amazi- uhh! That is, he was very…” She took a deep breath to try to get her stuttering under control and tried again, “I-it was very brave of him,” she finished lamely, her face almost as red as her suit.

Alya nodded with a smile. “Sure thing, LB.”

Thanking her and giving them one last goodbye, Ladybug turned around and was surprised to see that Chat was just as flushed as she was for some reason. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, averting his eyes to look anywhere else but at her.

Gathering up her nerve, she approached him and cleared her throat slightly. “Shall we?” she asked amiably, slipping her hand into his. Chat’s eyes widened, flicking up to meet hers. His face turned an even deeper shade of crimson, but managed to nod in reply. They headed off together, and Ladybug could have sworn she heard an awed Nino quietly mutter, “Dude...” as they leaped onto the rooftops.

(Mood Music: Paper Boats - Transistor OST, Ashley Barrett)

They stopped once they had traveled few streets down to a quieter neighborhood. Chat began to pace back and forth, arms tightly crossed and tail whipping back and forth agitatedly, still avoiding her gaze.

Is he angry? Ladybug fretted. Despite being short on time, she decided to give him a few moments to work out whatever was going on inside his head.

The telltale beeps rang again, more urgently this time. Only 2 dots left.

The earrings had first begun to beep as she lay helpless next to Alya and Nino. She’d practically resigned herself to the fact that they’d be forced to find out who she was, putting them both in extreme danger. To say that she’d been terrified would be a massive understatement.

And then Chat Noir showed up against all odds. Even though she’d had no reason to believe he would help her, inexplicably, deep down, part of her had faith that he would. She wasn’t sure about his reasons or if anything had happened between him and his father, but she was grateful that luck had been on her side during this battle, despite having gotten closer to death than she ever had before.

She chewed on her lip as she recalled the amount of pain her body felt, how close she’d been to despairing and yet somehow managing to keep it together for Alya and Nino’s sake. She would surely have some nightmares about it for a while. But if this experience helped her and Chat begin to solidify a friendship and started her on the path to rescue him from Hawkmoth, then it would have all been worth it. He was worth it. She wasn’t going to give up on him, not ever. He needed her just as much as she needed him.

Finally Chat spun around and approached her but stopped short just beyond arm’s length, almost as if he was afraid of her. He opened his mouth to speak yet couldn’t force anything out, and despite him trying to hold himself together she noticed his fists shaking at his sides. She could sense the significant inner turmoil he was experiencing, tormented by too many conflicting thoughts. He was so hesitant and anxious, Ladybug wondered if he thought she was upset at him for not turning up to the akuma attack earlier than he had.

Wanting to help or offer whatever comfort she could, she stepped closer, looking up at him to see if he approved of her proximity. Not sensing any resistance, she gently took one of his hands, slowly stroking the back with her thumb. Finally he looked at her, eyes shining, struggling to keep his composure.

Unable to hold back any longer, he surged forward and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her body flush against his into a bone-crushing hug.

“Ladybug,” he uttered, his voice almost a whisper. She could feel his arms trembling. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Chat…” she returned his embrace, stunned by his apology.

“You almost– I thought you were…” he trailed off, unable to say the word.

She squeezed him back firmly and reassured him, “But I’m fine now, it’s okay. I’m okay.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “Chat, you saved me.”

Hearing this only made him choke back a sob, a shudder racking his entire body. After a few ragged breaths, he murmured, “I should have been there. I always should have been. All these years you’ve needed me and I was never there for you. I fought against you, made your life a living hell along with Hawkmoth, and yet somehow you don’t absolutely loathe me? Why?!”

She pulled away to hold his face in her hands, lightly sliding her fingers across it to wipe his tear-streaked cheeks.

Looking him in the eyes, she stated definitively, “Kitty, I could never hate you. I care about you. You’ve been in a bad situation all these years with no one to help you either. But we’re in this together now. And I’d like us to finally be friends, if you’ll allow it.”

Chats mouth quirked into a tiny smile and hummed out a small chuckle. “Does this mean that you really forgive me?” he asked hopefully, knitting his eyebrows, eyes glimmering with hope.

Ladybug tilted her head in endearment and smiled back brightly. “Of course,” she replied, struggling to resist a strong urge to snuggle up to him and cuddle all his doubts away.

Covering her smaller hands with his, Chat breathed out something between a relieved sigh and a laugh, squeezing his eyes shut to try to prevent even more tears from falling. Hands still trembling, he whispered absently, “How are you real…? Why are you so good to me?”

Taken aback at him being overcome by the concept of being actually forgiven for his shortcomings, she felt a hard lump rise to the back of her throat. She wondered more than ever when was the last time anyone had shown him any affection or understanding at home, or was sympathetic to him when he made any mistakes. Although come to think of it, she also wasn’t sure if she truly wanted to know the answer, lest her heart break for him even further.

But how could she answer him? There was so much she wanted to say, a million words at the tip of her tongue and yet it was impossible to sum it all up into a single sentence.

Because I want to help.

Because you’re deserving of love and kindness, not abuse and exploitation.

Because I want you to know what it’s like to be cherished.

Because we were destined to be partners, kindred spirits.

Because we finally found each other.

Because somehow, inexplicably, I love you as I love myself.

Before she could say anything, however, he declared softly, “From now on, I’ll always protect you. I swear it. I won’t let anything like this happen to you again, not ever. I’ll fix everything. I’ll make it right.”

“We’ll do it together,” she replied. “And I’ll protect you, too. You’re not alone anymore, Chat.”

Chat’s breath hitched and his eyes fluttered open, boring into hers, the significance of her comforting words sinking in like a warm breeze, and he gazed at her as if she’d just given him the most important gift in the world unconditionally.

But there was something else there too; something she couldn’t put her finger on. Something that had always been there but had grown from a small flame into a roaring fire. Whatever it was, it was overwhelming and intimate.

Throat suddenly dry, she could feel her face redden and was almost certain that Chat would be able to hear her heart pounding. She’d scarcely noticed how close their bodies had become, faces almost touching, breaths mingling together. Chat’s gaze flitted towards her mouth and he absentmindedly bit his lip.

Moments passed in silence; tension slowly ebbed away from Chat’s shoulders and his posture relaxed. His throat bobbed as he swallowed audibly before opening his mouth to speak.

“Ladybug, I–”

The abrupt trill of Ladybug’s earrings startled them apart, urgently reminding them that they were out of time. Ladybug held back a frown, annoyed at the near heart attack those blasted earrings gave her. Stupid time limit.

“Uh… I guess that’s my cue to skedaddle,” she chuckled awkwardly, tucking some loose hair behind her ear.

Chat let out a shaky laugh and cleared his throat. “R-right…” he mumbled as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“I-I’ll see you around? Well, I mean, of course we’ll be seeing each other- I mean, duh. B-but uhh– Not that kind of seeing! I meant to ‘see’ see! That is– AUGH!” she stammered, unsure of the reasons behind her underwhelming eloquence, and she facepalmed, groaning in embarrassment.

Smiling, Chat walked up to her while she was busy covering her face in mortification. He took her hands and pulled them away gently. Ladybug hadn’t heard him approach and gasped lightly, butterflies swirling all over her insides; her whole body felt like it was made of gelatin.

“See you around… My Lady,” he said, placing a featherlight kiss upon the knuckles of one hand... and then on the other. Ladybug’s chest burned in a way that had nothing to do with the current summer weather, surprised she hadn’t melted onto the roof.

Not trusting herself to speak any more, she grinned and stepped back towards the edge of the building (and almost tripping on absolutely nothing at all) giving Chat a small parting wave before swinging away.

Minutes later, Marinette finally found Nino and Alya, who were still a bit disoriented but no worse for wear. Despite having to endure Alya’s stern lecture about safety and enforcing the buddy system (during which she came dangerously close to eye-rolling wearily), seeing them again after being so close to losing everything just a short while prior brought her untold relief.

“Girl, you are never gonna believe what happened during the akuma attack,” Alya continued indistinct, talking a million miles a minute, recapping everything in extreme detail. Nino nodded along and would chime in now and then, still in high alert after what had transpired.

While Nino and Alya rambled on (with Nino being particularly bemused by the idea of Adrien literally stupefying the akuma with the power of shouting, “Just like in Skyrim!”) Marinette felt a tingle run down her spine and became filled with the telltale distinct feeling that they were being watched.

Hair standing on end, her gaze darted around discreetly, mentally preparing for another potential danger. Finally she spotted a pair of familiar emerald green eyes lurking in the shadows a few meters away, faintly glowing from within a small darkened alcove behind Nino and Alya. Her eyes widened in surprise, which made Chat realize that she’d noticed him, and he froze in alarm.

To Marinette it felt like time had stopped during this impromptu stare-down. Chat looked like a deer in headlights that was about to flee because he’d been caught spying (although knowing what she did about him and his character, Marinette suspected that he just wanted to make sure Alya and Nino were safely reunited with her and Adrien)

Tensed like a guitar string, Chat seemed almost resigned and expectant that she would scream and give him away, as any Parisian did whenever they caught sight of him. He wasn’t prepared for what actually happened.

Marinette smiled at him.

Chat’s furrowed his brows with a baffled expression. After a moment he relaxed and even smiled back slightly, looking relieved and even grateful, even if he didn’t understand why he’d been gifted a smile instead of a scowl. Maybe he would assume that she’d seen him help Ladybug during the akuma attack and had garnered the tiniest bit of sympathy. That was just as well. She was sure he would appreciate having two people in Paris that didn’t despise him: Ladybug and Marinette. He would need supporters if was to prove to the world that he was no longer their enemy.

But that was a worry for a later time. At the moment she was just thankful to be alive and surrounded by her loved ones.

And now, fortuitously, Chat Noir had finally become one of those loved ones.

[unknownartist-evenirxaneis]

I know I haven’t been around in a long time but I just need some place to rant that isn’t going to be seen by judgey people on my Facebook.

[break]

(Very sorry if the break didn’t work, I’m on mobile and don’t know how to do the thing without having to pull out a computer.)

So, it’s pretty established now that I fall somewhere on the asexual spectrum. Romantically, I really don’t care about gender; if I’m not getting my rocks off why should I care what you identify as in terms of building a romantic relationship? I know some people might have qualms with that but point is I don’t care about that, what I care about is whether I feel that connection/compatibility.

Recently with pride month I’ve actually seen a bit of asexual support, which is incredibly validating for me, realizing I’m not alone in the way I feel. It really takes a lot of reminding though that I’m not broken, because it really feels like it. So many of my peers around me are already happily married, and I just feel stuck in place.

I mean, I hate to be the one to say my challenges are worse than others, because I know I have a good bit of privledge. But the circumstances around me really are a bit harder than some others.

For those who may not know, I’m in the military. I’m happy with my job, no qualms. But the military is... a beast of its own. Sure, there’s plenty of people in the lgbt+ comminity here, both open and closeted. Issues come in places I think some people wouldn’t immediately think about.

First of all, I’m living in a foreign country. I’m trying to learn the language a bit here, but I’m honestly terrible at languages. I studied Spanish for years and never got the hang of it. And for those who say that “immersion helps!”, I don’t really have a lot of time to immerse myself. During the week I’m incredibly busy. On the weekends I need to recharge, I can handle being out and about shopping or maybe hanging out, but I can’t handle organized activity like clubs or something to get me involved with locals. Basically, if I want to meet someone here, I’m already a step behind because I can’t meet them on their own turf, I just feel bad expecting them step down to me, while I’m desperately trying to google translate and make myself seem at least not a total ignorant ass.

So why not look around the other Americans? Well, the military is very limited. For one thing, there’s just not that many people in the military. Think of this: 1% of Americans are in the military. Now from there, I’m on a foreign post, so maybe, let’s say, 1% of those people are in my area. Then, remove a good 98-99% of the people remaining because I can’t date outside my rank. Now consider that of those military that are here, in my rank, probably 50-75% are married by now. Of those remaining who are single, let’s say a very optimistic 10 currently on my post are even not going to instantly put me in the “weirdo” bin because I’m not a gym rat and would rather be at comic con. Of those 10, I still may not encounter any of them, because by nature, people at my level are scattered and very busy (Comic con is in about 2 weeks and there’s a high chance that of those of us going, I will be the only there of my rank). Now, let’s say I do encounter one of those 10. Just because they don’t instantlh write me off for crazy doesn’t mean we’ll be instant friends. It might be a one time encounter and we never cross paths again. We might understand each other, but not click. Okay, so even if I do make friends, there’s still the chance that 1. We won’t be romantically compatible 2. They won’t have interest in my gender 3. If they are interested in me, they may not be able to accept the asexual thing

Now, I know what some of you might think! The internet is a big place, I could meet someone here! Well... I’m not sure I’m ready for the distance thing again. Not that the last ended poorly, but it just... I don’t think I’m good at it. I judge myself for being a bad partner, I just lack the kind of closeness that I crave, and I’m already bad at maintaining virtual friendships, lord knows I’d probably accidentally ghost them for no other reason than I have nothing to talk about because I’m a boring person, and when I do talk about me I just feel like I’m making conversations too much about me... okay so that last one applies in person too, but basically it just stops me from talking to them even more, and thus shit falls apart. This is all on top of the reliance that I even find someone I’m interested in online. I’m not part of many communities anymore, if you’re reading this even you probably know I haven’t touched tumblr in a long time, and honestly my time wasted away on YouTube instead of finding new fandoms and interests.

And on top of that I have horrid social anxiety. I’m an ambivert who leans very mildly extrovert, so I have this tendency to take advantage of social interaction, then regret it later because I tend to over share and accidentally focus too much on me. I talked to a couple people today for a mandatory social event, and I’m still dwelling on how much I redirected things to me. I really did make an active attempt to talk about them, but it all flew out the window quickly after, and now I feel like an ass. So cool, let’s say I go out to a cafe, meet a nice person who’s chill with me being an ignorant American. Assuming I don’t drive them away, I probably will immediately assume I did and they were too nice to show it.

I’ve thought about getting involved in club culture, because alcohol loosens me up, but... it’s just such not an asexual thing? I’m afraid that I’d get the wrong kind of attention.

And the cream on the cake is that I’ve had body image issues recently. I’ve gained significant weight since high school and college, and not good weight. I’m terrible at diets, plus I’m living out of a hotel right now. But basically, my self image is hot garbage.

So... all this to say I feel like I’m caught in this corner of being lonely but afraid and nearly unable to reach out. Despite all the affirmation of my asexuality recently, I’ve questioned myself a lot. I’ve never had sex, and while I logically know that that’s not a qualified to know I’m ace, I’ve really considered forcing myself to be something I’m not for the sake of being more “normal”. And that scares me. Because it’s not that I WANT to try it, it’s that I feel so trapped that I feel like I HAVE to try it. The ace affirmation right now really does reaffirm me, and I’m so greatful for ace support, but it almost makes me feel even more trapped, because it’s making me realize that I don’t HAVE to try sex. But then what do I do? How do I find people? There’s not exactly an ace Tinder, and lord know even if there was, it’d be jack full of military fuk bois and people who are basically off limits to me. Everything feels like a rock and a hard place.

Okay, I think I’m done. I need to get sleep now, or at least try to quell the anxiety enough to rest.

[kpersonkwriter]

Lab Partner (M)

Author: kpersonkwriter

Pairing: You x Yoongi (University AU, enemies to lovers (ish?) AU)

Rating: 18+ (explicit sex)

Warnings: Oral (female and male), some swearing, vanilla

Word Count: 5851

Summary: Your lab partner, the campus jock, hasn’t contacted you in three weeks about a joint lab report. When he turns up unannounced at your doorstep, you have no choice but to invite him in. 

It had been a shit day, put bluntly. You had failed your in – class test, had coffee spilt on your favourite white top at the café you’d gone into and had found that your grandma had been hospitalised due to a fall at home. To top it all off, you had your lab report due in the next day and your lab partner still hadn’t contacted you about since you were given your assignment despite numerous emails, messages and phone calls.

You breathed a heavy sigh as you stuffed the six pack of Red Bull that you had bought in the carrier bag along with some unhealthy snacks, sighing heavily as you thanked the store assistant before making your way home. Groaning at the mere idea of staying up and writing up your report on a Friday evening, you questioned why you were put with Min Yoongi of all people. The pair of you were polar opposites – him being the popular basketball captain who’d been a hit with all of the girls on campus and you being the quiet girl who preferred to stay in and watch Netflix – and you had silently cursed at your professor when you were told that he was your lab partner. He had simply said that he’d contact you when you were given your assignment before heading off to get ready to go to the club later that evening yet you had heard nothing from him… which was three weeks ago.  

It being nearly 11 at night, and a Thursday evening no less when Fridays were usually half days to accommodate for sports fixtures, the streets were nearly full, especially as you passed the outside the local nightclub. Couples were pushed together in the queue, drunkenly kissing each other furiously, as groups beside them breathed out the smoke from their mouths. You shook your head, not understanding why people chose to poison their lungs as you walked on, passing the plethora of excited students ready to get drunk. You had been to that club maybe once, when your friend had dragged you during Fresher’s week last year and hated it – bodies pushed together giving excuses for boys to touch you inappropriately, drunkards embarrassing themselves on the dance floor and horny couples releasing their tension in the toilets. Yoongi’s probably inside there you thought as you hurriedly walked by.

You had arrived outside your building not long after and cursed under your breath when you saw him sat on the hood on his car, long fingers occupied by his phone. It was a simple get up – a white shirt, suit jacket and black jeans – yet it made him look godly, with the way his clothes outlining his lean body almost committing a sin. Trust him to turn up unannounced on one of the worst days of your life thus far.

“What are you doing here?” Was all that came out of your mouth when you laid eyes on him as crass as it may have sounded but you were tired and just wanted to submit the report and go to bed.

He smirked. Min Yoongi actually had the cheek to smirk in your current situation. “That’s no way to greet your lab partner is it Y/N?” He pushed himself off his car as he walked towards you. You had to admit that he was hot – that much was true – and it would also be a lie if you denied how often you imagined him using his long fingers inside you and his lips peppering kisses on your body. Yet, it didn’t discount the fact that he was also a major jerk – an attractive jerk, yes – but a jerk nonetheless, so you had immediately scolded yourself for thinking those thoughts as he walked towards you. Multiple rumours of him had circled the campus, which weren’t necessarily for the good – that he had fucked the entire cheerleading squad (both first and second team) and that he had fucked several girls from the women’s basketball team… at the same time. You had witnessed how he liked to prey on the people whom he deemed as weak, people like you, as he knocked over lunches and drinks on purpose, only to ridicule them for his enjoyment. He was essentially a bully and it disgusted you.

“I’d hardly call you a lab partner when you only contact me,” you checked your watch. “less than 9 hours before the report is due.” You scoffed.

Yoongi had to bite his lip at your smartass comment. You hadn’t known it but he liked you. More specifically, he liked the way you challenged him and the way you wouldn’t just take shit for you had been the only one who challenged his bullying tendencies. He’d been instantly attracted to your lips when he had first saw you during your first psychology lecture that you both shared, and the way in which he had overheard profanities come out of them, albeit directed at him, made him think about what your lips would do to him. By now he had fully soaked in your appearance – your hair which had been put into a ponytail rather haphazardly, which he would love to pull as he took you from behind, your hands which were tightly clasped around your shopping bag in an attempt to supress your annoyance with him and your yoga pants that tightly hugged your curves, them being slightly curvier than the average yet still voluptuous nonetheless.

“I was sleeping.” He shrugged nonchalantly, enjoying you biting the corner of your lip to try and supress your anger with him, which he had envisioned kissing many times as he would stare across the lecture hall, just to stare at you.

“For the whole three weeks?” You remarked, sarcasm evident in your words.

“You are a sarcastic bitch aren’t you?”

“Only when I’m faced with an equally sarcastic ass.”

“Difference is I bet you’ve dreamt of my ass.” He winked as he closed the distance between you. You gulped for he had hit the nail on its head – you had dreamt of him and the things the long fingers of his could do to you and what his lips would feel like on your body but telling him would only inflate his ego. So you opted to walk past him and up to your flat, Yoongi following behind you smirking as he enjoyed the view of your swaying hips.

Your flat was a small two – bedroom flat you shared with your friend who was at home visiting family for her reading week. Much to your dismay, your reading week was a week later than hers, and she’d be back this weekend. Your plans to get the report done quickly and submitted before the weekend so you could go home were thwarted due to your lab partner who was apparently inept at communicating. Speaking of, Yoongi had invited himself into your apartment apparently, leaving you to huff as you hung his jacket on the clothes rack before following him where he had made himself at home on your couch.

“It’s ok I guess.” He merely shrugged, although the disapproval was evident. Stay calm you thought to yourself as you recited it as a mantra in your head. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, not when this would be the last time seeing him and the last time you’d both talk to each other due to differing social statuses at university.

“Have you done your part of the report?”

“No.” Of course he hadn’t.

“You can use my laptop to do your bit and then I’ll add it to mine and submit it.”

“Are you not going to get me a drink? I need a drink to work properly.” It was a command, an order to simply be obeyed, rather than a request. And you hated the fact that you proceeded to the kitchen.

It had been over an hour as you watched Yoongi wipe the remaining water droplet from his lips with his tongue out of the corner of your eye before returning to the keyboard. You had heard that he liked to rap in his spare time and was curious about what he could do with his tongue, the thought of it making your core throb in excitement. Apparently being an avid artist during your spare time, where a small filament of imagination was welcomed upon, wasn’t your best friend and you groaned internally.

You hated Yoongi’s arrogance yet his physical attractiveness betrayed any thoughts of disgust you held for the guy. Further, you couldn’t have forgotten the time in which you had caught him staring when he thought you didn’t notice, or the times when he had stayed longer than needed in front of your desk when talking to friends of his. And maybe the most important of all, the time when he had hugged your waist when you had been pushed down the stairs by the hoard of incoming students, leading to a twisted ankle in the process on your part. It was that moment when your assumptions to his arrogant know – it – all personality were questioned, where just maybe he was caring and polite. That maybe he wasn’t just an arrogant jock.

“You can stop staring at me you know.” Leopards don’t change its spots you internally rolled your eyes.

“I wasn’t.” You kept your eye on TV before he cleared his throat, signalling for your attention.  

“Yes?”

“You never asked if I needed a refill.”

“I wasn’t aware I had to mother you. I thought you were capable of doing that at least. Or can’t your brain comprehend that?” You fought the temptation to roll your eyes as you fired back.

“Your mouth seems to contradict the image that I had about you doesn’t it?” Yoongi smirked.

“Don’t assume you know me at all then.”

“Oh sweet, I know more than you think I do.” It was something in his voice, maybe the slightly slurred speech that made yourself hold back your smart response yet also made your core throb in excitement, that had sent a tingle down your spine. You glanced to meet his eyes in a challenge to offset his dominance over you but couldn’t hold your stare anymore. Instead, you dropped your stare by the momentary display of warmth of his orbs, and radiating, dare you say it, care. That he cared. But you had to stand your ground – you wouldn’t let him have the upper hand, not when you wouldn’t interact with him after this.

“I highly doubt it.”

“I definitely know that you’ve fantasised about my tongue on that sweet pussy of yours once.” You gulped, willing yourself to stay composed. “Remember I know you well sweet.” Staying composed had failed. Miserably. Despite willing yourself, you had found it hard to get the words out of your mouth because you knew that he had been right.

“I-“

“I’m right and you know it.” He had stood up now and closing the gap between you as he backed you closer towards the edge of the sofa. The sexual tension between you had become evident since you first met outside and although you had tried hard to remain unaffected by his charms, it was hard. He had a hold over you and it had annoyed you that, although you hated to admit it, his arrogance and the way he held himself, was attractive. Both of you knew that he had been winning the invisible game since you first saw him outside your flat building, evident by the small smirks that escaped his lips as he loved to antagonise you. And in the invisible game, Yoongi continued to hold the upper hand. And you hated losing to anything. So the only logical hand that you had to play was to either admit it or offset his comfort, shown by his smirk plastered on his face.

“Yoongi – yah…” you called him, an innocent smile that graced your lips as you purposely battered your eyelids, closing the gap between the two of you. He gulped, and you loved it, because it was working. You were winning. “It wasn’t just the one time.” You whispered, hot breath tickling directly into his ear. Now it was your time to bask in satisfaction at the prospect of Yoongi getting nervous – breath hitching, lip biting, hands fidgeting and most of all, his eyes looking up at your lips, testing the proverbial water.

“Y/N…” His voice trembled, evidence of the effect that you had on him. “Kneel.” He commanded, voice back to his usual arrogance yet his actions betrayed it. He held the small of your back so that you wouldn’t trip as he gestured for you to take your place at his feet.

You slowly sank to your knees on the plush carpet of your living room, body screaming in excitement as your fantasies were finally about to come true.

“Look at me.” It was another command, voice not harsh but also not gentle. You looked up to meet his gaze, a little hesitant, yet your reward was a pleased smile that sent shockwaves rippling through you. “Have you ever sucked a cock?” He asked conversationally, as if the topic wasn’t so personally intruding. Of course to him it would be so trivial.

“I’m- I’m a virgin.” You replied back sheepishly. You were in your early 20s and never been asked out by a boy, much less kissed a guy, thus solidifying your virgin status. It wasn’t too much of a deal to you personally, but it still made you feel suddenly meek in front of Yoongi. If he was like anything the rumours say he is, then your sexual experiences, or lack of, were a joke to him.

“Yes, but there’s more to sexual experience than just penetration. I’m curious to know what sexual experiences you’ve had.”

“You’re my first.” Your whispered words had given Yoongi a private thrill, a genuine gummy smile spreading his lips. “And the thought of giving and receiving oral sex… I just don’t see the appeal in it.” At that Yoongi laughed openly, as if you had just uttered the most comical joke ever, rivalling that of one of his friends in his posse, Jin was his name apparently.

“Your ignorance is cute, I can’t believe how you’d have such immature thoughts about oral sex. Take off your panties and come here.” Another command as he sat on the sofa again, indicating where you should lie as your body followed almost automatically.

“What are you going to do?” Your question was met with a small tsk, his gaze allowing no argument, a small but stern warning at you trying to challenge him. You still hadn’t taken off any pieces of clothing, something that he was growing impatient with, before he stepped forward to take off your yoga pants and panties that were underneath in one go. He smirked when he saw the wetness glisten underneath the light, indicating your arousal, before he even started. You were definitely attracted to him. You had lost the invisible game.

“Lean and scoot back.” He instructed, gaze hooded with hunger and lust. And dare you say it, a hint of gentleness.

Your stomach suffused with warmth at the blatant desire in his stare. Min Yoongi, the campus fuckboy, wanted you. And he wanted you bad.

It was soon after when his mouth was on yours, albeit the lower lips, sending torrents of explosive pleasure rocketing through your entire body, as he sucked and licked your swollen clit. It was as if he had all day, that a looming deadline for your lab report wasn’t due in less than 8 hours, as you willed to keep your mouth shut tightly, refusing to cry out even as near uncontrollable moans built behind your lips. It was the first time you had felt such euphoria as you squeezed your eyes shut from the very electricity that coursed through your veins. The only thing on your mind was the way his tongue could give you this much pleasure as his skills of a rapper were becoming evident as he flicked his tongue at an increasing speed, making you arch your back. Your cries had been silent to that point, but holding them in was like trying to hold back a tsunami – something that is practically ludicrous – and a long-held gasp escaped you lips as Yoongi sucked at the swollen bud buried between your folds, something that was untouched until now.

Your arms began to shake, holding yourself firm, as you clung to the edge of the sofa as equally as clinging to the pleasure that ripped through you. You were sure that you had heard muffled grunts of pure ecstasy escape Yoongi’s lips as well as he sucked and licked, teased and nipped, which were only like gasoline being added to the fire that you were experiencing at the moment.

And right when you were sure you were about to come, when you would allow yourself to lose yourself in oblivion as you admitted your defeat to him, he stopped as he pulled back with a rude grin that almost doubled as cruel.

You stared at him, confusion etched on your face as well as the look of a child whose sweet had been taken away from them, silently pleading him as you tried to pull his hands towards you again.

“Ask for permission and I’ll think about granting it.” He smirked as if he were the most generous man on the planet, when in fact, to you at least, he was the devil. Shaking, you willed your heart rate to slow to normal, but the butterflies in your stomach wouldn’t relent so easily. The prospect of asking of permission to people like him was alien to you – you were rather stubborn – and giving into Yoongi was something that you hadn’t thought of but turned you on nonetheless.

It only took Yoongi a few moments to realise that you were stubborn and would rather bite your own tongue than ask him.

“Stubborn and sarcastic,” Yoongi observed, yet you got the impression that he liked those and something he viewed as an asset, “my type of girl.”

He pulled you by your hand, a grip not too tight but still made you follow him nonetheless, as you resumed your earlier position and found yourself on your knees, looking up at him. Your heart beat increased in a mixture of anticipation and anxiousness.

Yoongi began to unzip his fly to reveal his cock as his trousers pooled by his ankles. You had been pleasantly surprised. He was already rock hard, with the head already red and swollen with desire. It had also annoyed you, very slightly, that his arrogance was proportionate to his size. The arrogance which he held, about every girl wanting to be with him and him being able to satisfy everyone, were true. And you were another one of those girls.

“Open your mouth.” He had said as his hand reached the nape of your neck, pulling you in close. You opened your mouth, your compliance satisfying him, as he thrusted his hip so that he was fully in. Your first reaction had been to gag but the way Yoongi’s fingers threaded through your hair, after he undid your ponytail, as he thrusted his hip gently had a sensual feeling to it that you couldn’t name. Plus, you took satisfaction in making the campus fuckboy groan and mutter profanities as you met your eyes with his as you found a rhythm that seemed to please him. His eyes, contrary to the ones that made you question his arrogance a mere hour before, were hooded with a primal instinct for sex. And it was then that you realised the satisfaction in the giving of pleasure that you would never have imagined. You were in control, in control of giving the man that everybody wanted, pleasure when you wanted, and having that knowledge sent a surge of pleasure through you. The subtle tightened grip on your hair and the sharp thrust so that his cock hit the back of your throat firmly betrayed your idea of you being in control, not the other way round like you had imagined, yet it sent more of a surge through you than the knowledge of you prospectively being in control.

Instead of fighting the cock going in and out of your mouth, you went after it hungrily, your tongue swirling round Yoongi’s cock leading to him groaning, his grip on your hair tightening almost painfully. You hadn’t missed, in the midst of things, him silently asking you if he had gripped your hair too tight to which you only pulled his hips in so that he felt the back of your throat. He had gasped in surprise, throwing his head back whilst biting his lip, almost enough to draw blood. “Fuck Y/N, yeah, like that… Just… keep going.” Yoongi’s words had been breathless and unstable, a mirror of his internal state. His words had given you a newfound confidence, increasing your pace as his thrusts got more and more erratic. You had hollowed your cheeks, making him hiss in pleasure, as your free hands cupped his balls, rolling them together in in your small palm, applying pressure every so lightly from time to time. Yoongi had imagined, during the boring statistics lectures no less, you in this position – doe like eyes looking up at him as you bobbed your head whilst his cock was in your mouth – but they hadn’t done it justice. God, you were dangerously good.

It hadn’t been long before Yoongi had stiffened, eliciting a small groan as his warm, salty liquid spurted into your mouth, sliding down your throat, you swallowing his cum.

He outstretched his hand which you took as he helped you up, immediately kissing your lips. It had momentarily registered to you that this was the first kiss that you shared with Yoongi and it was by far different to the dominance you had observed moments before. He had pressed his lips up against yours as he wrapped his arms around your waist to deepen the kiss. The touch was electric, you both staying together before Yoongi moved first as both your breathing began to become ragged. You inhaled sharply when his long fingers that you had dreamt so much about brushed ever so slightly under the bone of your jaw in which Yoongi took the opportunity to draw himself in closer. It had started off softly, true feelings coming to surface that behind an arrogant façade was a young man who genuinely liked you and behind a girl who’s guard had always been raised was a person who genuinely liked him back too. But neither of you could hold back for long before intensity took over. Yoongi’s tongue searched your mouth, which you matched him stroke for stroke, kiss become hungrier, more ferocious and more lustful. His mouth opened yours, gently biting on your lower lip as his hands found yours before he entwined them together. You had been the one to break apart, before holding his hand as you lead him to your bedroom, or enticing him in Yoongi’s eyes.

You guided him into your bedroom until the bed hit the back of his legs before you gave a hard shove to his shoulder as you watched Yoongi fell back onto the bed. You didn’t know what made you become so dominant in that instant but judging by the way that Yoongi stared at you, the way he kept muttering about how seeing you confident was sexy mixed with quiet expletives, it satisfied you. It was mainly the way in which you wanted him to be disadvantaged to you, where you were the one calling the shots for once – where you controlled when and how much pleasure you’d give him. Yoongi sat up and immediately his hands moved up the back of your legs as you closed your eyes and purred as his hands moved to cup your ass before pulling you tightly, against his harsh erection. Yoongi couldn’t get enough of the ways your dark orbs mirrored his, predatory and lustful, as you straddled him before locking eyes and grinding against him. He moaned at the friction and heat that touched his erection, the saying of so close yet so far being so relevant in that moment.

Starting another one of the frenzied kiss that you had shared, you began to unbotton his shirt, pushing off his shoulders and freeing it off his arms as Yoongi kissed up and down your neck, being sure to leave at least one lovebite. During that time, Yoongi’s hands had made work of your top and sports bra, now discarded and forgotten somewhere in the room, maybe on the floor… maybe not.  Most probably not.

Yoongi’s long hands hands that you often dreamed about travelled down your body, carressing everything. “You’re so beautiful Y/N.” He muttered, sending shivers down your spine. You had never considered yourself to be beautiful, you were bigger than the average, and most definitely bigger than the girls that Yoongi often chose but to hear it come out of his own mouth was something that had been unthinkable. His hands snaked back round, cupping your breasts before letting them spiral downwards again, intent in torturing you with his touch.

“Touch me Yoongi.” You had begged, despite being intent earlier at not begging to inflate his ego. Yet, the more you two had known each other’s body in the short space of time, you began to learn that Yoongi really had not been the person you’d assumed he’d be. He was caring, evident by the way in which he made sure that you were ok, and most definitely attended to your needs.

Yoongi hooked both arms firmly snaked between your legs as he flipped the both of you over, leaving a trail of kisses from your cheek, breasts and stomach to the inside of your thighs.

“God, you’re so wet already and I’m not even inside you.” Yoongi whimpered, tempted by taking you already. But he wanted you to feel the pleasure of foreplay and not just the sex, especially more so since you had consented to him being your first of all people.

Yoongi slipped a single finger inside you and you sighed as your eyes fluttered closed and your head fell deeper into your cushion. He started to work his finger inside you, gaining satisfaction in the way that pleasure washed over your face – to him it was a picture perfect scene, an art. He slipped a second finger into you whilst he presed down on your clit with his thumb as your entire body jolted as he flicked your clit moments before he started what you deemed as a ruthless assault on you. His fingers worked ferociously inside you as he continued to press on the small bundle of nerves that he’d set fire to before with his tongue. You had your eyes closed so you missed Yoongi studying your face with such intensity so that he could find what actions you responded to. So it had made sense that he knew from your eyes even before you did when he had hit that spot inside you which stationed you on the roof, ready to fly into oblivion. Seeing that, Yoongi icnreased his pace and pressure now knowing exactly how to touch you towards your release.

“Let go Y/N.” He whispered, coaxing you. “Good girl, I’ve got you.” He pressed hard onto your clit and pressed his fingers deep as he could, spreading them wide, making your eyes open wide. It wasn’t long before you came with a jolt as you felt yourself cumming around his fingers whilst screaming his name and gripping his hair. The last thing that you had seen before closing your eyes was Yoongi’s eyes and the way that he watched you as your body sagged in relief as you moaned his name once more in a purr.

Yoongi hovered above you as he kissed you greedily, pulling back to watch your face as he slid the tip of his cock up and down your folds between your thights, enjoying the way you face scrunched in annoyance at the teasing despite having just come down from your high. You were soaking wet and the heat coming from your core scorched him. He had held your hips down by now, limiting you trying to thrust your hips to meet him teasing you, only wanting you to feel the pleasure when he agreed.

“Shh.” He whispered into your ear. Yoongi bit into your neck as the attempts at your thrusts became more fierce. “Shhhhhh.” He ordered more sternly. You obeyed. But you didn’t stop the whimpers which eventually escaped your lips. It was then you realised that Yoongi wouldn’t going to give you what you wanted unless you did what he wanted. So you settled for grinding your teeth together and wrapping your hands at the back of his neck as he attacked your neck. “Good girl.” He whispered, praising you as he slid an inch inside of you.

A desperate cry came from your lips as you felt Yoongi smiling into your neck. Still holding a vice – like grip on your hips, he restrained you so that you couldn’t meet his hips, as he bought that single inch in and out of you, proverbially testing the waters. He toyed with you languidly as he pressed another inch inside of you and then slowly pulling out as you started to tremble underneath him.

“Please…” You groaned, begging for him with actions more than words as you pulled him in closer.

“Please what Y/N?” He growled, maintaining his dominance over you whilst his actions made sure you were ok.

“Please fill me up Yoongi.” Your words had lead to Yoongi smirking before he thrusted his entire length into you as a scream escaped your lips and you arching your back at the staggering and foreign mixture of pain and shock of him stretching you so fully. Yet despite the pain, it felt so right. You enveloping him as he peppered your neck with kisses as one of his hands went to hold your as the other carressed your face at the hope it would distract you, even momentarily, from the pain. Yoongi waited for your body to go limp in relaxation before starting to move, pumping in and out of you, as he created a rhythm as he held himself deep inside of you, grinding his hips into you as you snaked a hand down to run one your thumbs on your clit.

He growled again in your ear, a predatory tone seeping out. “Oh god Y/N… you’re so tight.” Yoongi had looped an arm round you to brace you as he began to start thrusting quickly in and out of you. He was initially worried that he’d hurt you but you willed for him to go harder, as you went to rub your clit as well, only adding to the intensity and almost unbearable pressure before he pounded into you as hard as he could. He looped his arms under yours and held you close and you, understanding what he needed, brought your legs under his body so that you both touched in every way possible. Yoongi’s warm eyes met yours as he rocked in and out of you as you questioned whether you could ever get so intimate and connected with another person. The pleasure that you had felt previously mere moments before couldn’t compare to the pleasure that you experienced as you saw Yoongi trying to contain himself, biting his lips as sweat beads formed on his forehead. You had finally understood what your friends, who had all had sex, raved about yet you also knew that this was something more. Your friends had described it as a primal thing, as a need where two people tried to meet their release as quick as possible, but you felt it in your chest. You felt beautiful as Yoongi continued to press pecks on your forehead as he continued to rock his body, him sliding in and out of you. You knew, even this only being the first time you had sex, that this was emotional intimacy.

Yoongi’s eye contact with you became more intense as his breathing sped up, not believing how perfect you felt clasped around him. He grunted into your ear, maintaining eye contact as he held your hands from your clit, before pulling your tighter as he let himself go. Your eyes rolled back as you felt his cum fill you up, him circling your hips making you roll your eyes back. It was Yoongi who cradled your cheek softly as you met eyes again when you felt something that you knew that other girls he had fucked lacked. You saw his eyes radiating warmth as he smiled down at you before he kissed your forehead. “Let yourself go Y/N.” He had just whispered as your mouth fell to an “o” as you let yourself go, Yoongi’s name escaping your lips in barely more than a whisper as your second orgasm of the day hit you, your body convulsing wildly as your walls clenched around him.

It was a few moments after, during that time both of your ragged breathing filled the room, when Yoongi slowly took his weight off you before heading to the toilet, returning soon after with a wet towel as he wiped the cum that had leaked down your thighs. Butterfly kisses were also left from your thighs upwards before he came back up cocoon you so that his arms enveloped around you as the pair of you embraced each other’s warmth in a different way.

“You’re so beautiful Y/N.”

“I appreciate you saying it, but I’m sure that the other girls you fucked are more beautiful.” You scoffed, sarcasm seeping through.

Yoongi propped himself up before turning you round before he took your chin and pulled your face to look at him. “You’re more beautiful than all those girl Y/N.” He told you sternly. It hadn’t been a command or an order like the other times he spoke earlier in the night, but his voice was full of sincerity as his fingers moved to push a stray hair out of the way. “Especially right now. You’re the most beautiul woman I’ve ever seen. I’ve always thought so too.”

“That’s romantic but we have a report due.”

“Oh, I submitted it yesterday.” He chuckled as you tried to hit him, him only encasing you with his large(er) frame as he planted a kiss to your forehead as you could only smile in response. “I’m also done Y/N.” He whispered, breaking the silence that had enveloped the room before.

“With what?”

“With anybody else.” He hugged you tight so that you were spooning and smiled when he felt your smile tickle his neck, because you had both won that night.

Author’s Note: My first BTS fic! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this! I hope that you enjoyed it. Please look forward to further fics! 

[mangled-dreams]

Free Fall: 2

Chapter 2: Conversations.

Sitting in your living room looking out at the setting sun there is a feeling of disbelief that just a week ago you’d fallen past your own window. Sipping on your cocoa of choice you lean back against tour coffee colored couch. Hands in your lap cradling the cup reflecting still.

How different would life be without you? You know it would still continue on. Your parents would age with that weight of sadness in their soul and eventually die. You apartment would be cleared out and rented to someone else, your job would find someone else to take your place, essentially you’d be replaced and no one would notice.

Below your current point of interest you see a white flash from an apartment across the street. Blinking a few times you sit up, walk over to your window, and see your pen pal trying to get your attention. Smirking you lift your window open and pick up the whiteboard you keep nearby.

Despite your impromptu flying session. Even as you refer to the fall as anything but an attempt on your life--because according to the police you’d been deliberately shoved over the railing, you know it’s your only way to cope with everything. Fighting reality with humor, oh what a way to live?

Thankfully you survived the whole thing without being scarred about high places. You still enjoy looking out your windows, even sitting in the window sill and dangle your feel out the window. You refuse to allow the asshole to take that from you.

Sipping your cocoa you watch Shane scribble on his whiteboard and hold it up to you. Like you he sits in on the edge of his window, his legs swinging against the side of his building. As much as you’d like to say you have more interaction with Shane other than with whiteboards you can’t. Shane works odd hours of the day and despite best efforts from both sides it just never worked out.

HOW ARE YOU FEELING TODAY?

Smiling you wipe away the response from three days ago when you last saw Shane. Writing your response you show it to him. You both decided to use capital letters just to ensure there can’t be any confusion, however, Shane doesn’t have the best handwriting. It makes for some interesting conversations.

A LITTLE TIRED TODAY. MY HEAD HURTS SOME, HOW ARE YOU TODAY?

Shane nods his head, the floof of brown hair bobbing with a life of its own. A quiet chuckle leaves your lips. In all honesty you rather enjoy your time with Shane. You find him attractive and caring and thoughtful and overall enjoyable to talk with. Part of your… well a large part of you wonders if your opinion of him would change if you really knew him.

Before you realize it Shane responds.

WORK WAS HARD. I’M SORRY YOU’RE NOT WELL TODAY. HAVE YOU EATEN DINNER? I CAN BRING YOU SOME BLOOD PUDDING.

You cringe at the thought of blood pudding and stick your tongue out at Shane. His laughter carries across the real estate between you.

THAT’S NOT EVEN FUNNY. IF YOU HAVE CHINESE ON THE OTHER HAND, WE COULD HAVE A DATE.

Watching Shane he quickly scribbles on to his whiteboard and flips it around to you. Questioningly you look at the words written there.

OKAY. I’LL BE OVER IN 20 MINUTES.

Before you can respond Shane is back in his apartment, his window closed, and whiteboard out of sight. Blinking you wonder just where the hell he’s gone off too. Remaining in right where you are you wait for Shane to pop back in the window with one of his big goofy grins on his face.

It never happens and it dawns on you that he took your response as gospel. Falling out of your window in a blind panic you scramble to your feet. Your apartment less than than presentable to anyone let alone Shane. This will be your first actual meeting.

Rushing around like a chicken with it’s head lopped off you try to get your main areas into a decent shape before Shane shows up. It really shouldn’t be that big of a deal, since you didn’t really ask him to come over, but still, your nerves are running high. You hope he’s everything you’ve built him up to be.

It’d been nearly seven months since you first started to communicate with Shane. At first he was just the hot guy you’d occasionally see across the way. Normal people would look directly across from their apartment but you’d glance down to the small public garden erected between the buildings.

It was during this time that you’d see Shane walk across his windows, going about his business. When you’d first really start watching him, he’d been dating a really gorgeous woman. They looked happy, which stung a little as you’ve been painfully single for about three years now. You didn’t hate or was jealous of their love, you were happy for them. Finding a really good love anymore is hard and takes a lot of work.

Shortly after you’d watch his windows for inspiration and hope for your own love life, Shane and his girlfriend broke up. It hit him hard. You could see by his actions that he wasn’t expecting it in the slightest. You felt bad for him.

It’d been a fairly warm summer afternoon when you’d finally made eye contact. It’d been by accident. You were sitting in the window seal just looking down when you noticed he was doing the same. Back then the majority of his hair was a faded sea green with his natural brown very much evident.

You just happened to have your whiteboard, the one you had before your current one, and wrote a quick hello. Shane looked at you perplexed by the message and quickly disappeared from the window. You’d been afraid you’d crossed a line, or made him feel like your invaded his privacy in some way, but within a minute or so he reappeared in the window with his own whiteboard.

Everything from then on, until now, is history. You’ve shared some deep conversations, had more than your fair share of laughter and inside jokes, and… in fact if you really think about it, Shane knows more about you than anyone else.

Hearing a knock at your door you toss the clothes in your hand into the teal hamper in your gray scaled bathroom. Peeking through the privacy window you don’t see a soul in the hallway. Shifting your position to try and see along the walls of along your door, you still see no one in sight. Frowning you unlock the door and slowly open it.

When it’s wide enough to fit your upper half out you look down the hallway each way before looking down. Maybe Shane left the food at your door? The carpeted hallway is bare of any such parcels. Frowning you look at your door finding something stuck to it.

A note, you realize pulling it off. Looking around quickly once more you retreat into your apartment closing the door and locking it again. Puzzled as to who would leave you a note and not just call or speak to you in person you unfold it.

Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jack shoved Jill down the hill and laughed when he killed her.

Scrunching your nose in confusion and disgust at the twisted nursery rhyme you look the note over again. It’s typed out instead of hand written with no signature. Walking to the counter where your phone is currently charging you call the detective in charge of your case.

“Hello, Detective Oswald?” You ask when your call is picked up.

“Yes, Miss Y/n, to what do I owe your call?” Detective Oswald asks in the background you can hear the hustle of the precinct.

“You said I could call you if anything weird happened and I just got a note on my door about two minutes ago. No one was in the hallway and I was at the door within seconds of hearing the knock.” You tell the detective calmly as you can.

“What did the note say?” Detective Oswald asks. The serious tone in his voice puts you a little more relaxed. At least you know he’s taking you seriously. You repeat what is written on the note verbatim. He tells you to put the note in a envelope and he’d be by as soon as he could to collect the note. You thank him for his time and service and hang up. Taking a few photos of the note you find an unused envelope and write Oswald on the front.

Placing it in a cabinet above your refrigerator you send the photos you took to your Google Drive before placing it on the charger again. As you stand pondering what is going on with the note and the attempt on your life you hear another knock on the door. Holding still a few seconds another group of knocks come.

Following the same routine as earlier your peek through the privacy window your heart picks up. Mouth dry you slowly unlock your door praying you can talk by the time you have the door open. Everything moves in slow motion but it still feels too fast as you open the door to stare up into Shane’s eyes.

“Whoa…” Shane whispers flashing you a cocked smile.

Bashfully you drop your gaze, looking anywhere but at Shane with a small smile on your lips. “Whoa yourself. I didn’t think you’d be so tall.” You say honestly. He’s just as good looking up close as he is from afar.

You knew his eyes were blue, it was very obvious even from as far away as he lives, but up close and personal they’re startling blue. A blue that reminds you of Jackieboy, but... that’s crazy. Right? You decide to put the thought away. Even if Shane were Jackieboy having you out him would do no good for anyone.

“Is that a good thing?” He asks. His accent is thick and endearing to you. Your eyes snap back to his face. His accent is just divine to your ears. You could listen to him talk for hours without a complaint.

You’ll never admit it out loud but you are so completely attracted to voices and accents. You already knew Shane hails from Ireland. That he moved to the US when he was in his late teens with his mother after a split from his father.

Still, you weren’t prepared for how strong his accent still is. “A good thing. I’m a bit of the shorter side, so it’s good to have tall people around.” You tell him not sure if it came across the right way. Standing awkwardly in the door you realize you haven’t invited him in and he even has your food!

“Oh, my momma would smack me upside the head for being so rude; Please, come inside. I do request you remove your shoes after the door is closed.” You say quick to jump to the side. Shane nods at your request and enters the apartment muttering a thank you in response.

Could your face feel any hotter? You doubt it but you assume you’ll know the answer for sure by the end of the night. Accepting the food from Shane you set everything out on the kitchen counter and grab two plates and forks.

“Shane,” You call bringing the wandering Irishman back to your kitchen. You feel at odds with him just browsing your personal effects, despite them being out on display and apart of your normal decor.

“I like your place. It feel homey.” Shane says accepting a plate and fork from you.

Blushing again you mutter a thank you and dish yourself up some grub. Once you both have a good pile of food on your plate you take Shane over to the table and sit down. It feels weird but you’re more comfortable than you originally anticipated. With Shane here it feels like an old friend has come to visit.

Within seconds you’re talking freely and happily with Shane. You talk about how your day has gone, about this and that, and a bunch of other odd things. You ask Shane about Irish butter cookies and if he has any good recipes. Whether it feels like an eternity ago you still owe cookies to Jackieboy Man.

Shane tells you he has the perfect Irish butter cookie recipe and will share it with you. You cheer and thank him for his help and when he asks why you need the recipe you tell him the truth. “I was saved by Jackieboy Man. When I fell he swooped in and kept me from being a pancake. I asked if there was anything I could do to thank him, and after some back and forth he finally say Irish butter cookies. I’ve been searching the web, but unfortunately I couldn’t make a decision on which recipe. So, since I have you here, I thought you’d been the best person to ask.”

Shane nods his head agree. “Well, good thing you have a good Irishman living close by.” He teases winking at you. Your face flames, spreading into the tips of your ears.

You roll your eyes trying to appear unfazed by his comment but you doubt it works. You both clear the table and while talking some more Detective Oswald stops by for the note. You hand it too him and he asks you a few questions to which you don’t have good answers for, simply because you don’t know the answers, and he takes his leave.

Shane asks about the notes and you tell the truth. He asks if you’re safe in your apartment and you promise you’ll be fine. “Besides,” you add smiling genuinely at Shane. “I have you just across the way to look out for me.”

Shane blushes this time. You can see his pale skin pink at your words. “Y-yeah, you got me.” He agrees, his words meaning more than you can guess at this point in time.

Walking through his door Shane closes it and leans against it. You’re more than he could have imagined. Your smile is stellar and your laugh is infectious, and… and what is he thinking? You’re way too good for him.

Walking into his small kitchen Shane lifts a small box tucked away in a drawer out and searches through for the recipe he promised you. It wasn’t his intention to have you make his great-great grandma’s cookies but he also couldn’t lie to you about having a recipe. You asked so innocently he answered without much thought.

Within seconds of finding the card Shane hears a woman and child scream outside his building. Head jerking up, Shane rushes to his bedroom putting the card on his bed. He changes with blinding speed before throwing his window open and jumps into the night.

There are citizens in need of help tonight and he will not fail them. Landing on the ground Jackieboy Man scans the empty streets, listening for the crying, before zeroing in on the direction he needs and bolts off. He may not be Superman, but he has his own set of powers and he will use them to keep the innocent safe and bring the criminals to justice.