#but even so... it's not bad. higher effort than most graphics these days... at least they went for a style

[kirbyddd]

,,

brooo

in the launch trailers they improved the Trace Memory Collection voice acting so much over the initial reveal

redemption arc???🥺🥺🥺

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

The Hell he’s been through;

The Knights have no clue of the suffering Merlin has endured… until one day, they do.

TW: Scars, panic attacks, nightmares, PTSD except they don’t have a word for that, non-graphic description of scars/injuries

Part 2(final part)

It was the height of summer, the bright blue sky was utterly free of clouds and the noon sun beat viciously down onto the training field.

Only the central six knights, their King, and Merlin braved the exhausting heat, the other knights had chosen to train later in the day, when it was cooler, so the field was empty of anyone else. Merlin was sat cross-legged in the shade of a tree, jacket and neckerchief removed (not that Arth- anyone noticed. Definitely not.), though his sleeves were still pulled low over his wrists and his tunic was fastened high up his neck. Despite that, the lack of an extra layer definitely displayed Merlin’s surprisingly broad shoulders more than normal (another thing that Ar-no one noticed). 

The knights were shirtless, despite Merlin’s warning of sunburn, sparring semi-playfully with wooden dummy swords, the type squires train with, and no armour.

Merlin rubs absent-mindedly at the dull, almost gone ache in his ribs, just below his armpit, as he rolls his shoulder. The injury, if it could even be called that, had never been serious and hadn’t even hurt that much when he’d gotten it on the last patrol (a stray mace swing from a bandit just clipped him), at least, not compared to other injuries he’s sustained over the years, but it was an annoyance that made his shoulder stiff on occasion.

Unfortunately, the movement caught Arthur’s eye, and the King frowns, stopping his observation of Elyan and Mordred’s spar to lay a crudely hidden concerned gaze upon his manservant. 

He’d fussed endlessly when he found that Merlin had bandaged his own torso after the fight, demanding that he let someone help next time; Merlin just rolled his eyes at that. The other knights had wisely chosen not to comment, knowing that the attack, and Merlin’s subsequent injury, had already put Arthur in a bad enough mood; though admittedly, the only thing stopping Gwaine from ruthlessly taking the piss out of Arthur’s mother-hen tendencies all the way home was Percival harshly clamping a hand over his mouth and pushing him away.

Merlin looks up to see Arthur staring at him, and the King quickly covers his concern with a look of annoyance when the manservant raises an eyebrow:

“If you’re not going to do anything useful Merlin, get up here, you clearly can’t be trusted to even cower effectively, so you’re going to have to learn to defend yourself.”

Merlin’s eyebrow just rises higher as the rest of the knights’ attention is drawn to the conversation. Lancelot and Mordred hide knowing smiles, well aware than Merlin was more than capable of defending himself, if he really needed to. Gwaine went to open his mouth with teasing grin, though quickly pouts when Percival punches him on the shoulder, and Leon and Elyan smirk at each other before moving their amused gazes to Arthur.

When Merlin doesn’t move, just stares at him disbelievingly, Arthur rolls his eyes and gestures at the half-empty rack of wooden swords:

“Come on, Merlin, up on your feet, grab a sword.”

Merlin just snorts in amusement and shakes his head, settling back against the tree trunk even more:

“Absolutely not. I can handle myself just fine, thank you very much.”

The knights (bar Lancelot and Mordred of course) raise their own eyebrows. Gwaine snorts out loud, stepping up next to Arthur and dropping an overly-friendly hand on his shoulder, much to The King’s displeasure:

“I know you can hold your own in a tavern brawl Merls, but that’s not the same thing as facing bandits and assassins and shit. Princess is right, it might be worth it for you to at least know how to use a sword.”

Arthur turns an accusing gaze on Gwaine, shrugging his hand off as he says:

“And I presume all the tavern brawls Merlin has apparently been getting into are your fault?”

Gwaine grimaces slightly before shrugging with a smirk, and Merlin hides his laughter with a cough before inserting:

“Entirely his fault. Gwaine starts the fights, promptly passes out, and I have to finish them.”

Arthur laughs incredulously; Mordred has to hide the angry clench of his jaw and Lancelot has to hide his sorrow when Arthur replies in a taunting tone:

“I’m meant to believe that you are regularly winning Gwaine’s unfinished fights, am I?”

Merlin shrugs in mock defeat, a grin on his face:

“Believe what you want, Sire, I’ve faced worse than you lot and come out singing, I don’t need training.”

Arthur resists the urge to smirk at the appealing way Merlin manages to make his title sound insulting, and he instead raises his eyebrows:

“You’re not getting out of this, Merlin. I can’t have you bruising yourself every time we leave the city.”

Merlin takes in a deep breath, settling a disconcertingly assessing gaze on The King for a few moments before he sighs and stands up, walking towards the equipment and picking up a sword before turning back to Arthur:

“I suppose you’re right, I doubt any of the other servants would be willing to put up with you if I got too injured. Who would you like me to spar, My Lord?”

Arthur scoffs and shakes his head as the others step back, looking upon the whole scene with fond amusement, bar, once again, Lancelot and Mordred, who are looking an odd mix between concerned and proud. They know that Merlin is capable of more than he lets on, even with a wooden blade.

“You can’t spar with any of us, Merlin, that would be far too dangerous. We’ll start with some basic moves, and then maybe we can move on to a slow, choreographed spar.”

Merlin twirls the sword expertly in his hand, and he’s vaguely away of Gwaine nodding approvingly and Leon raising an eyebrow out the corner of his eye, though he pays them no mind, raising an eyebrow of his own at Arthur:

“Surely starting with a simple spar will tell you my exact skill levels so you can tailor the lessons? You need to know how crap I am before we start.”

Lancelot hides a snort behind a hand, knowing full well that Merlin is just trying to goad Arthur into letting the servant show off his skills without too much effort beforehand. Or without giving Arthur the satisfaction of thinking that he was the one who taught Merlin how to fight. Thankfully, Arthur takes Lance’s snort as a teasing one aimed at Merlin, as opposed to what it really is, so waves him into the ring with a smirk.

Merlin just rolls his eyes, moving to stand opposite his best friend and muttering, just loud enough for everyone to hear:

“Fine, but I’m not taking my shirt off, I’m not as arrogant as you lot.”

Lancelot widens his eyes as Arthur freezes, dread growing in his stomach at the knowledge that The King would take that as a challenge. Arthur turns slowly, a shit-eating grin on his face, and Lancelot grimaces as Arthur claps his hands together:

“Right! I wasn’t going to mention it, but you do have a point, Merlin, if you are to train, you must train as one of us. Come on, tunic off.”

Elyan, Percival, and Gwaine just laugh, but Leon rolls his eyes exasperatedly, and Mordred and Lancelot frown in concern. Neither of them have seen Merlin’s scars in their entirety before, but knowing about the servant’s secret second life had definitely made them more observant than the others, and they had seen hints of old injuries here and there. That’s not even mentioning the times he’s shown up in their chambers, bloody and bruised and in need of treatment, but not wanting to worry Gaius.

Merlin just flushed and stared at him indignantly and Arthur’s teasing grin grew:

“Don’t be shy, Merlin, I’m sure whatever horrific mole or ugly birth mark you’re ashamed of isn’t that bad.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, stepping away from Arthur when he moves towards him. The demand to de-robe, even partially, had immediately put him on edge, and he had gone from playfully annoyed to genuinely irate in a split second. He crosses his arms over his chest protectively when Arthur gestures at him demandingly:

“I don’t have a weird mole, Arthur, you Clotpole, but unlike you lot, I’m not all that keen to show off my old scars.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Merlin was hoping that mentioning his scars in passing would appeal to the knights’ warrior sides, would make them sympathetic to his… shy-ness. It did not. It just made them laugh, even Leon, and they all began to point out various scars they had on their chests and back, remarking that he couldn’t have worse than them. 

Gwaine twisted to the side, patting a pink, jagged circle halfway down his back, a grin on his face:

“This beauty is from when I propositioned a lovely fella who was, apparently, already taken. Man’s wife smashed her bottle on the counter and damn near took my eye out with it.”

Elyan cackles at Gwaine’s story, pointing to a perfectly square burn on his shoulder-blade:

“Yeah, well at least you didn’t fall back into a red hot brand at the ripe old age of fifteen because a girl smiled at you.”

Merlin’s back-up plan, which was sneakily sulking off whilst the knights compared their most embarrassing scars, was cut short basically immediately when he heard Arthur yell out:

“Absolutely not, Merlin, I’ve already told you that you’re not getting out of this. Tunic off, spar Lancelot.”

Merlin huffs, annoyed, feeling rather like he was backed into a corner, and Mordred walks forward, to be between him and The King, quietly saying:

“You don’t have to Merlin, just fight with it on.”

Arthur narrows his eyes in suspicion, but before he can say anything, Merlin squares his shoulders and looks at him defiantly, dropping his sword to the floor as he begins unlacing his tunic, his words coming out harshly, his tone dark:

“No, no it’s fine. The King wants to see my scars, and we all know that The King gets whatever he wants.”

The smiles melt rather quickly off the knights’ faces as Merlin speaks, and Arthur flinches slightly at his tone, starting to realise with just a little guilt that maybe this wasn’t funny anymore. He opens his mouth to take it back, to tell Merlin that he was only teasing and he could keep the tunic on if he really wanted to, but before any words come out, Merlin is gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head swiftly and screwing it up before tossing it to the side, not once breaking his stare on the now pale King.

Arthur lets out a sharp breath at the patchwork of scars that cover Merlin’s chest, and he’s vaguely aware of the various low cries and gasps of outrage coming from the knights behind him. There are so many, some are large and some are small, some look to be from clumsiness, but others look like they should have been fatal. Arthur’s eyes can’t focus on just one, he’s barely taking in each scar before his gaze is drawn to another, and then another, and then another; it’s a little overwhelming, and it’s only when he starts to feel a little woozy that he remembers to breath.

When he finally comes to the conclusion that his brain isn’t going to able to process this for a while, he looks up to Merlin’s face, instead taking in his resolute expression and hard eyes:

“Merlin, what… what happened to you?”

Merlin raises a slow, mocking eyebrow before breaking his statue-like stillness and picking his sword up again, turning to face a distraught looking Lancelot. This movement only reveals the second mosaic of scars covering his back, but he speaks over the next round of gasps and muffled curses, his tone still unbearably dark as he gestures Lance to get into position:

“I told you, I’ve faced worse than you lot and come out singing.”

The knights are so distracted by the myriad of scars covering Merlin’s torso that it takes the servant’s first harsh, well-aimed blow with his sword to break them out of their stupor. They watch the ensuing spar with morbid fascination, finding that not only can Merlin hold his own, he’s winning. Lancelot loses his breath and rhythm much quicker than Merlin does, and the fast-paced spar only lasts around three minutes before Merlin lands a strong punch to the centre of Lance’s chest and the knight stumbles back in shock, lowering his sword just enough for Merlin to step forward and trip him up.

The scarred servant’s chest rises and falls deeply, but not too rapidly as he lowers his sword and offers a hand down to the beaten knight. Lancelot takes it with a slightly shocked smile, patting Merlin on the shoulder as he stands. Merlin flinches away from the touch, no one misses it, clearly not too fond of people touching his bare skin, and Lance drops his hand rapidly, frowning only briefly before he smiles again:

“Bloody hell, Merlin. I knew you were good, but not that good.”

Merlin gives him a strained smile, grateful for the distraction. Everyone sees the moment Merlin’s mask goes up again; he gives Lance a smug grin and twirls his sword once again as he shrugs mockingly:

“I’ve been watching you lot train for ten years, and I’ve been in a few sword fights in my time. I picked up a few things.”

Arthur finally reacts, scoffing as he shakes his head in disbelief, scars momentarily forgotten:

“There’s no way that you can- that was a fluke.-”

He looks smug as he says it, like he’s figured out some great secret, and Mordred lets out a low, annoyed growl; no one notices thankfully, but Merlin shoots him a quick frustrated line across their mental link:

“Please try not to antagonise him any further.”

Mordred looks to him, keeping his face blank as he nods almost imperceptibly. Lancelot and Gwaine look openly disapproving of Arthur’s assertion, but Leon, Percival, and Elyan look almost convinced. Arthur nods decisively, picking up his sword once again and waving it in Merlin’s direction:

“-My turn. And once I’ve beaten you, you’re going to tell us about all of… that.”

Merlin’s eye twitches, but he doesn’t say anything, just nods slightly as he holds a placating hand out in Lancelot’s direction when it becomes obvious that his best friend is going to start trying to defend him.

Arthur takes Lancelot’s place in the ring and Merlin grips his sword tightly, his shoulders tense and his face showing only mild annoyance, despite the anger that Lancelot and Mordred were sure was simmering under his façade. At Arthur’s nod, Leon reluctantly counts them in, and the match begins.

This one is somehow even more fast-paced, though no one is surprised. The last ten minutes had caught Arthur extremely off-guard. An off-guard Arthur is a grumpy Arthur, and a grumpy Arthur is, unfortunately, still the type to take his frustrations out on others. Arthur wasn’t good at dealing with his emotions, meaning the disturbing mix of horror, guilt, and anger at Merlin’s scars, slight… shock, (because he refuses to call it anything else) at his deceptively strong physique, and surprise that apparently his servant can take out one of his best knights without all that much effort, all together have The King bursting with adrenaline. 

He throws blow after blow, but Merlin’s defence is incredibly strong, and Arthur has yet to land a hit anywhere other than the opposing sword. After a couple of minutes, Merlin switches styles, and Arthur almost trips when he realises his servant has, in the space of a second, gone from fighting like Arthur, to fighting like Leon. The knights notice it as well; Gwaine lets out a low whistle and Elyan smacks Leon on the shoulder, pointing incredulously at a sequence of complicated footwork that usually only the First Knight can manage so gracefully. Apparently Merlin can do it too.

Arthur adapts to this quickly; Leon was his sparring partner most often, meaning that he was accustomed to switching between their styles, and they were the most similar fighters in all the group. 

Another minute passes, and the pair still don’t slow, seemingly unbothered by their dumbfounded audience and the sweltering heat, and this time Merlin suddenly starts fighting more like Gwaine. Instead of staying on the defensive and trying to trip Arthur up, he goes on the attack, landing heavier and heavier hits as The King barely manages to defend himself in time.

Merlin is quickly growing tired, his stamina not nearly as good as Arthur’s, but The King grows complacent, even with the vicious pace, certain that he just has to wait Merlin out. He was wrong. Arthur finally gets an attack of his own in but Merlin dives to the side instead of blocking it, rolling and coming up to Arthur’s left before the blonde has time to regain his balance and turn around. He freezes in place when Merlin touches his wooden sword to the side of Arthur’s neck. He can feel it shaking, but it’s undoubtedly a killing blow, and when Merlin drops the sword to the floor in favour of bending over, one hand on his knee and the other on his side again as he pants, Arthur turns around faster than he thinks he’s ever moved before:

“How the fuck did you do that?”

Merlin is vaguely aware of the knights all clapping and shouting encouragement at him, but he doesn’t look up, just waves dismissively in Arthur’s direction:

“I told you, I’ve been watching you lot train for years. It’s easy to imitate you after a little practice.”

Arthur just stares at him in disbelief, but Leon hands the servant a water-skin, ripping his gaze from the whip marks on his back with clenched teeth before schooling his tone and face into something more friendly:

“Merlin, you switched styles twice in as many minutes… you beat the best swordsman in the Kingdom after already being tired from another spar, that’s… that’s incredible.”

Merlin drinks the entire skin as Leon speaks, looking up with another playful mask on his face:

“Well believe me, I’m so sore I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do it again.”

Merlin’s smile drops when he realises everyone is back to staring at him, more specifically, his scars. He steps away from the curly-haired knight, who furrows his brows in concern and resists the urge to reach a comforting hand out to him. Merlin crosses his arms over his chest defensively, hunching his broad shoulders slightly as he frowns at the floor.

Lancelot quickly throws his tunic to him, and Merlin scrambles to pull it on as quickly as possible, but before he can even get his arms through the right holes, Arthur snatches it away, a stern, angry look on his face. Though every one of then can see the badly hidden concern as well:

“No, you agreed to tell us.”

Merlin makes a move for his tunic, but Arthur jumps out of his reach. The servant huffs, annoyed and close to tears all of a sudden as he petulantly replies:

“Actually, you said once you beat me, I had to tell you. I won.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow, taking another step back:

“I’m happy to go another round if you are, Merlin?”

Merlin glares at him angrily for another few moments before completely sagging, staring at the floor with sad, tired eyes as his arms drop to dangle at his sides. Arthur and the knights are completely taken aback at Merlin’s sudden change of disposition, though it heartbreakingly strikes them as less of a change and more of a... reveal. A reveal of some kind of sadness that’s been there all along. How did they not notice this??

Arthur’s breath hitches and his tight clutch on Merlin’s tunic loosens slightly as he all but whispers:

“Merlin... who did this to you?”

Merlin finally looks up at him, letting out a humourless chuckle as he rakes a hand through his sweat-dampened hair roughly:

“Does it matter? Most of them are dead, I-”

His eyes narrow and his voice lowers. The knights hear it nonetheless:

“... I made sure of that .”

Arthur lets out a huff of frustration, not bothering to hide the desperation in his eyes as he pleads:

“Please, Merlin, you’re my... subject, you’re meant to be under my protection. And don’t lie, none of these are more than eleven or twelve years old at most and you got here ten years ago, so they happened in Camelot, under my watch. Please, Merlin.”

Merlin sighs, walking towards the tree’s shade once again. For a moment Arthur panics, thinking he’d pushed Merlin too far as he turned away, knowing that if this conversation wasn’t had now, their relationship would never be the same. But before The King can say anything, the servant slumps back into place against the tree trunk, sitting cross-legged again and biting his lip as he looks at Arthur expectantly.

Before anyone else can move, Mordred and Lancelot take the places either side of Merlin, sitting protectively close. Lance gives Mordred a pointed look, to which the younger knight nods before settling a blank expression on the side of Merlin’s head. Merlin doesn’t look back at him, but pats the knight’s knee as the corner of his mouth turns up briefly in a barely-there smile.

Arthur narrows his eyes, but stores that odd exchange in the back of his mind to deal with at a later date before sitting across from Merlin; the other knights look to each other, worried, before settling in the empty spaces to complete the circle. The group is silent for a while, all staring at a statue-still Merlin who in turn is staring at the grass in front of him; he doesn’t move even when Lancelot brings his hand into his lap, stroking his thumb over the servant’s knuckles absent-mindedly.

It’s Percival that finally breaks the silence, asking in a quiet voice:

“What happened, Merlin?”

Merlin looks up suddenly, as if he had forgotten he had company, taking in a deep breath and tightening his grip on Lance’s hand. He gulps before once again running his free hand through his hair, shrugging slightly as he mutters:

“I don’t recall all of them in perfect detail, just ask about... whatever catches your eye I guess, and we’ll see what I can remember.”

The knights all nod, looking to each other expectantly, no one really wanting to go first. Eventually Leon clears his throat, his voice gentle:

“Why don’t we start with the whip marks on your back?”

Merlin nods, grateful that they were at least starting off with the non-magical injuries. He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as he speaks, his voice croaky and quiet:

“The newer ones are from Cenred, from a few years ago. He wanted information and I spat at his feet and told him to fuck off. He... he didn’t take too kindly to that.”

Gwaine lets out a quiet curse, and Arthur sits up straight, saying in a crackingly authoritative voice:

“Merlin, if anyone ever tries to extract information from you again, you give them anything. Everything. We’ll deal with the fall-out afterwards, it is not your job to withstand torture.”

The other knights nod approvingly but Merlin just looks up at The King with a raised eyebrow:

“Like hell. I can put up with a remarkable amount, I’d never sell Camelot, or you, out. Never, Arthur.”

Arthur huffs and resolutely ignores the tears gathering in his eyes, but Elyan beats him to the mark:

“That’s not... you shouldn’t have to put up with anything Merlin, it’s not necessary. You just... keep yourself safe. We’ll worry about everything else.”

The other knights nod again, but Merlin scowls and tenses even further, even as Lancelot squeezes his hand comfortingly:

“I’ve been through literal hell, multiple times, in order to protect my home and the people that are important to me. I’m not going to stop that just because it makes you lot uncomfortable, and you have no right to tell me to it’s not my place.”

Everyone looks desperate to argue, but they can’t deny that, after what they’ve seen today, in the last half a candle-mark only, Merlin is evidently a lot stronger than they’ve ever given him credit for. Both physically and mentally. Leon just gives Merlin a small smile and nods; he’s the only one here who has known Merlin just as long as Arthur, and he may not be as close to the younger man as The King or Lance or Gwaine or Mordred, but he’s seen his loyalty in action several times over the years:

“You said the newer ones were from Cenred. You’ve been flogged more than once?”

Merlin nods at the knight, grateful for his understanding and change of subject, even if said change of subject was back to his scars. His expression turns slightly guilty as his gaze moves to Arthur, and The King has a feeling he’s going to feel incredibly terrible at whatever it is Merlin is about to say:

“The others are from... uh.... Uther.-”

Arthur takes in a sharp breath as the tears he had just about managed to get under control gather again. The other knights just look angry, bar Leon, who, though miserable, looks as though he sort of expected it:

“-He didn’t like me very much.”

Arthur whispers his response:

“When? Merlin, when and why did my father have you flogged, and how did I not know about it?”

Merlin tenses his jaw, going from guilty to angry in a split second, snapping his response:

“Why do you think?!-”

Arthur recoils and Merlin closes his eyes briefly as he takes a deep breath, looking back to Arthur with a blank mask and speaking in a monotone voice:

“What did you think he would do every time I took the blame for you missing a meeting or a meal or a training session because you were entertaining a woman or pissing about with your knights? I had to walk into the council room and apologise for your absence because I slept in or I forgot to tell you or I sent you on a hunt on the wrong day. Uther was in the habit of burning people and chopping off an alarming number of heads, did you really think I would get away with it punishment free??

Arthur goes pale as a sheet and his hands tremble with the understanding. He shakes his head slightly as he looks to his lap, ignoring the tears on his cheeks as he murmurs:

“Merlin I am so sorry, I didn’t... I didn’t think... if I had known I would have duelled him in the damn town square to protect you.-”

Arthur looks up sharply, wiping his face clean as he settles an assessing gaze on his servant, ignoring Gwaine’s murderous glare as he slowly continues:

“-... which is exactly why you never told me, isn’t it?”

Merlin shrugs, a small smile on his face:

“You may never admit it, Arthur, but you were protective of me, even then.”

Arthur flushes slightly, before frowning again and shaking his head:

“You should have told me, it’s my job to protect you.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly:

“I think we’ve already had this conversation.”

Arthur huffs and narrows his eyes again, good-naturedly this time, and Merlin just rolls his eyes before seeming to sag again, speaking quietly:

“Come on, next one.”

Elyan raises his hand slightly before pointing to the centre of Merlin’s chest:

“How the hell did you get a burn like that?”

Merlin tenses, rubbing a hand over the roughly circular, pink and white scar in the centre of his chest. The flesh looked melted in places, white scar tissue spider-webbing out from his sternum, beginning to fade just before it stretched around his sides, and stopping a few inches above his naval:

“Witch threw a fireball at me. Hurt like hell, but there was quite a lot of adrenaline at the time so I didn’t really notice the pain until later.”

Gwaine raises an eyebrow, evidently trying to control his anger as he asks, in a shaking, though forceful, voice:

“And what were you doing fighting a witch powerful enough to throw fire around?”

Merlin stops rubbing at the scar when Lancelot tugs his hand and Mordred mutters “You’re going to hurt yourself, Merlin.” in his head, curling his hand tightly in his lap instead and speaking slowly, as if he were choosing each word individually:

“Only Leon and Arthur were in Camelot for that. Arthur was dying from the Questing Beast bite, I... went to the Isle of the Blessed to speak to the followers of the Old Religion. There was said to be someone there who had power over life and death and I... Arthur was dying, I had to try.-”

Arthur’s eyes widened at Merlin’s words, mostly the mention of such a power, but stays silent, nodding at him to continue:

“-But the Old Religion requires balance, a life for a life,-”

Leon releases a deep breath, looking to the floor at the implication with his eyes closed, and Arthur lets out a whispered whimper, knowing the depths of Merlin’s loyalty:

“-I offered my own in exchange for Arthur’s. She, Nimueh, that is, accepted,-”

Arthur opens his mouth to say something, he’s not sure what, but before he can yell about Merlin’s self preservation, he notices the darkness on his dearest friend’s face and his voice catches in his throat. Merlin stares at the floor, his face drawn and angry and his voice stormy and clipped:

“-but she tried to trick me. I didn’t appreciate that, we fought, she died. Her life for Arthur’s: the deal was done.”

An audible gasp goes up around the circle, and Percival, who is (other than Merlin and Mordred of course) the most well versed in Magic Info, responds breathlessly:

“Merlin... Nimueh is a High Priestess, The master over Life and Death, she’s very very powerful.”

Merlin looks up at the gentle giant sharply, his gaze unforgiving and his tone harsh:

“Yeah, and she’s also very very dead, because she pissed me off.”

Percival gulps and lowers his gaze, but Arthur seems to have missed everything the two of them just said as he stares blankly at his servant:

“You’d barely known me a year, and I’ll admit that I was an arse back then, and you tried to give your life for mine. Why?”

Merlin looks at him curiously, not responding for a few moments as his anger dies down and his pride grows:

“I had it on good authority that you would become a Great King one day. It only took a little squinting to see it, you were a good man, a man I was, and still am, prepared to sacrifice myself for. You were an arse, yes, you still sort of are, but I have faith in you, always have, always will.”

Lancelot and Mordred smile fondly at him as the other knights stare dumbfounded, but Arthur clenches his jaw, ignoring the shaking in his voice as he says:

“Well, I... I forbid it. You are officially forbidden from sacrificing yourself for me, legally.”

Gwaine perks up slightly:

“Out of curiosity, do we all get the same-”

Arthur interrupts him with a forceful, though slightly amused:

“Shut up, Gwaine. And no, you’re a knight, your entire job description is to jump head first into danger so I don’t have to. I have every faith that you’ll die for me one day.”

Everyone lets out quiet snorts at that, bar Gwaine of course, who looks jokingly affronted before he nods and shrugs, quietly muttering “Yeah, fair enough,-”, the rest of his sentence (”especially considering you’re in love with him but not any of us.”) goes unheard and unchallenged.

Merlin chooses not to respond to Arthur’s demand, but everyone knows that’s his way of not committing to anything, knowing full well that Merlin had never listened to Arthur’s orders before, and sure as shit wasn’t going to start now.

“Next one.”

Merlin’s face had fallen slightly, knowing he wasn’t going to get away with explaining only two sets of scars, and Gwaine asks next, his eyes being drawn to Merlin’s gesturing hand:

“The red bands around your wrists and neck. They look like burns, but not very deep ones. How did they scar if they weren’t deep?”

Merlin looks down at the scars on his wrists, resisting the urge to absent-mindedly claw at the one he knows sits low on his neck. They’re about two inches wide, pale pink and almost impossible to see in the dark but impossible not to see in the light of the noon sun, even sat in the shade. The edges were clean cut and perfectly straight, and Merlin winced slightly at the memory of his magic being contained in such a way.

He looks around the circle, speaking easily. Though it was painful, it was no where near the worst Merlin has ever had, and even if he couldn’t tell the full truth, it felt sort of nice not to have to hide these ones:

“Some sort of enchanted chains, they drained my energy, made me sick and tired, but the magic in the metal sort of... stung, I guess. I don’t really know. I’d been captured by Morgause (is Morgana not mentioned in this entire fic but still Good? Yes.) again and I suppose she didn’t want to take any chances.”

Everyone looks shocked at his casual admission, and Leon is the first to break the tense silence:

“When were you captured by Morgause?”

Before Merlin can respond, Arthur pipes up incredulously:

“Again. You said again. Merlin, how many times have you been kidnapped by Morgause without anyone realising? How many times have you been kidnapped in general?!”

Merlin winces slightly, speaking in a slightly defensive tone as he stares at Arthur as though the answer is obvious:

“Arthur... I’m The King’s personal manservant. I have the power to overrule the Steward and the Housekeeper if I wanted to; as far as servant’s go, I have the most authority, even more than some low level nobles, especially when it comes to running the citadel. I’m sort of... a big deal. I have access to pretty much any information I could want, even more than this lot-”

He gestures to the knights around the circle. Mordred and Lancelot look a little proud once again, Leon is staring at Arthur, shocked that The King didn’t know this, and everyone else stares at Merlin, only just realising that... Merlin was right. None of them have considered it before, but he practically runs the castle.

“-most of the time, and I’m the only one who knows every single state secret, simply from my proximity to you and your council and your paperwork. That is rather... desirable to people like Morgause, people who want to attack Camelot.”

Merlin purses his lips awkwardly as everyone stares at him blankly, but Gwaine is the first to break the silence:

“... and we’ve just been letting you walk around, unprotected.”

Merlin raises as eyebrow:

“I think we’ve already established I don’t need protection.”

Arthur huffs and throws his hands up awkwardly:

“Well you obviously do, if you’re getting kidnapped so often. When even was this?? You haven’t disappeared for a while, and we haven’t had any trouble from Morgause in months.”

Merlin’s face falls, and the knights are taken aback at the reappearance of the... cruel darkness in his expression:

“Believe me, I know. She... won’t be bothering us any longer, I wasn’t fond of her repeated attempts to kill me or you so I... took care of it.”

The knights go pale at Merlin’s casual admittance of killing yet another High Priestess of the Old Religion. He smirks into his lap briefly until Lance once again squeezes his hand, as if reminding him of the mask he should be wearing. Arthur stares at his servant and long time friend, struggling to reconcile the clumsy ideal he has in his head with this... hardened, tortured protector:

“How? Nimueh and Morgause... just... how??”

Merlin’s eyes slowly move up to meet Arthur’s gaze, and The King gulps at the assessing way the servant tilts his head:

“Playing the role of clumsy rural idiot can be a little demeaning sometimes, but it also means that people tend to underestimate me. They think I’m an easy target, and by the time they realise I’ve played them, it’s too late.”

Arthur recoils slightly, and Merlin once again changes dispositions, shrugging casually and smiling easily, his tone light:

“You can get away with a remarkable amount when people think you’re stupid.”

The circle lets out an in-sync breath. All of them knew that Merlin wasn’t stupid by any stretch of the imagination, but they didn’t realise just how smart he is. None of them would admit it, but Elyan, Leon, Percival, Arthur, and even Gwaine on some level, still subconsciously considered Merlin “just a servant” in the back of their minds. At least... they did. 

(Not that that old thought process made them think any less of him, they just didn’t think of him as complicated, as a warrior.)

Merlin takes a deep breath, knowing that his friends would never see him in the same way, but sort of hoping that that was a good thing, gesturing vaguely to the circle once again. Arthur asks the next question, touching his hand to the back of his own neck softly:

“There’s a cut on the back of your neck. It looks deep, like it was reopened over and over, what is it?”

Merlin grimaces slightly, wiping his free hand over his face in exhaustion as Lancelot squeezes his other hand, and Mordred pats his knee comfortingly:

“That one was a few years ago, courtesy of Morgause again. She put something called a Fomorrah in me-”

Percival gasped slightly, harshly whispering “Gods.” under his breath. Arthur spares him a quick glance, making a mental note to question how his knight seems to know so much about sorcery at a later date:

“-so she could try to make me kill Arthur; it sort of... controls you. Makes you only able to focus on whatever instruction you’re given when it’s first put in you. Gaius kept having to cut it out of me, it wouldn’t stop re-growing until we killed the rest of it’s body, and that was with Morgause somewhere out of the city.”

Arthur looked a little outraged, hiding the worry of “I now know that Merlin could kill me without any trouble at all so how the fuck am I alive?”. Apparently he doesn’t hide it well; Merlin gives him a comforting smile and shrugs his shoulders slightly:

“I fought the compulsion pretty well, kept coming up with increasingly complicated assassination plans instead of just... stabbing you in your sleep or something.”

Arthur goes to respond, but he’s interrupted by Leon loudly cursing, his eyes wide as he stares at Merlin with flushed cheeks:

“I just... gave you a crossbow!! You said you were going to kill Arthur and I thought you were joking and I let you walk out the armoury with a crossbow and a handful of bolts!!”

Merlin chuckles, a blush of his own rising as he responds, rubbing the back of his neck again:

“Yeah... I don’t really remember it, but Gaius and Gwen filled me in on what had happened. To be fair, it’s kind of flattering that you never considered that I was the assassin, despite the repeated attempts being made on Arthur’s life and the fact that I admitted it to your face.”

Leon stares at the floor with wide eyes, seemingly trying to process the fact that he had pointed a would be assassin in the right direction, muttering something along the lines of “oh my Gods oh my Gods oh my Gods” over and over until Elyan awkwardly patted him on the back, breaking him from his embarrassed horror.

Arthur clears his throat, staring at Merlin with an almost unreadable expression:

“I did wonder why the attempts just... stopped?”

Merlin understands the question in his tone and nods slightly before replying:

“Hmm. Gaius and Gwen figured out it was me, found a way to paralyse the thing in my neck until I managed to get back to Morgause’s little lair and kill the main body.”

Arthur nods distractedly. How many times had this happened? “This” being something entirely ridiculous and/or incredibly dangerous right under his nose.

Percival clears his throat and Merlin looks to the nervous man, nodding at him to ask whatever it was that was on his mind, despite his growing discomfort:

“There’s... on your back, it looks like a stab wound but... worse. The veins around it are black and it looks painful despite it’s obvious age and... well... it looks like a Serket Sting, but it... it can’t be, right?”

Merlin tenses, back to looking as exhausted and scared and as ready to bolt as he had at the beginning of the conversation. Lancelot squeezes his hand again, tightly this time, and Mordred takes his other to stop him from clenching it too harshly, murmuring:

“You don’t have to, Merlin, not this one.”

Arthur clenches his jaw at the knowledge that two of his knights had known about this. Had known the collage of agony on Merlin’s body, had known what he’d been through and done nothing. Hadn’t prevented it, hadn’t brought it to Arthur, hadn’t protected him. But equally, with how protective and loyal and secretive Merlin is, and how heartbroken the two of them had looked when Merlin first took his tunic off, they likely hadn’t known the full extent of damage.

Merlin just sighs and shakes his head, sensing the curious stares of the others before rising to his knees and turning around, running a shaking hand over the scar briefly before dropping his hand to his side again. The others stare, astounded. They’d only caught brief glimpses of it before, but now they could see it properly it was undoubtedly a Serket Sting. 

The deep puncture mark on his lower back had closed up, but the skin was still sunken in slightly, red and angry looking with hints of purple towards the middle. Percival was right: dark veins, as if permanently poisoned, stretched out from the centre of the wound, dipping below the waistband of his trousers and fading about halfway up his back. 

After a few moments, Merlin turns around again and sits back down, placing his still shaking hand back in Lance’s lap without prompting. Arthur’s one-word question is whispered and cracked, and no one judges him for the tears in his eyes; most of them have tears of their own gathering and falling at their friend’s pain:

“How?”

Merlin gulps, not looking up as he leans slightly into Mordred’s shoulder. The young knight presses back, knowing how fond the servant is of warm pressure, not minding the sticky sweatiness of their still uncovered torsos in the noon heat:

“Morgause again. She got annoyed with me always ruining her plans, getting in the way. Left me chained up in the middle of a nest of... in the middle of a nest.”

Leon takes a deep breath, rubbing his eyes harshly and sniffing before asking, his voice strong despite the slight waver:

“How did you survive that? I’ve... I’ve seen men get stung by serkets and it’s not... nice.”

Merlin breathes shakily, his mouth open slightly as he stares at the floor, memories flashing through his mind and the scar on his back twinging uncomfortably. Again, Percival was right, despite it’s age, it did still hurt. He takes one last deep breath, clenching his eyes shut tightly before looking up at the curly-haired knight, not quite making eye-contact:

“I uh... a lot of screaming, and the help of an... old friend. I was out of Camelot for a few days whilst I recovered, my friend didn’t fancy being executed for helping me, for just existing.”

Arthur furrows his brows but the others, bar Leon, nod in understanding, looking only slightly guilty and not looking to The King as he asks:

“What do you mean? If someone has found a way to cure a Serket sting then they most definitely wouldn’t be executed for it.”

Elyan snorts and Mordred and Lancelot frown at the floor as Merlin stares at Arthur with poorly concealed contempt:

“Arthur... the cure for a Serket sting has been around for centuries, it just involves very strong, very complicated magic. I didn’t fancy dying in absolute agony, and my friend didn’t fancy being executed for the act of saving my life so we stayed away from the city whilst he treated me.”

Arthur looks at his servant, dumbfounded and confused, and the knights stay silent in their awkwardness. Leon, a lifelong citizen of Camelot, is the only other person to look surprised at Merlin’s explanation, though he nods after a few moments, conceding that it... makes sense. Of course it does.

Mordred frowns when he notices Merlin’s knee begin to bounce up and down slightly, but it’s the way he gulps and tightens his grip on Lance’s hand that has the two knights begin to properly worry. They share a quick look, obviously agreeing on something, before Mordred takes Merlin’s other hand and settles a soft touch on his vibrating knee whilst Lancelot looks to Arthur:

“I think we’re done for the day. This has been... a lot.”

Merlin is getting paler by the second and Mordred can sense the man’s distress, shooting Lance a desperate look before subtly trying to shuffle closer to Merlin, who leans even further into his touch. Arthur doesn’t seem to notice, looking annoyed at Lancelot’s assertion and rolling his eyes before moving his gaze back to Merlin’s quivering form:

“No, Merlin’s suffered and I need to know why. There are mace wounds on both your shoulders, I remember one, but not the-”

Arthur is interrupted by a low whine from the back of Merlin’s throat as he thumps his head back against the tree, eyes still shut tightly. His words out come quietly and broken, as if it were a struggle to breathe, let alone speak:

“Can we please stop now?”

Mordred ignores Arthur, moving to kneel in front of the servant whilst Lancelot glares at The King. Arthur just huffs slightly, though he obviously completely underestimates the distress his friend is in, looking concerned, but not letting up:

“Merlin, we’ve barely gone through a third of them, we can’t stop-”

Lancelot lets out a low growl, letting go of Merlin’s hand and moving towards Arthur, glaring as he says:

“Arthur, we need to stop. Now.”

The young King looks taken aback, though the argument is stopped in his throat when Mordred’s quiet voice interrupts him:

“Merlin, you need to breathe.-”

He peers around the young knight as best he can, but Lance’s still vicious glare stops him from moving too close. Mordred brings one of Merlin’s hands up, pressing it against his chest and continuing his soft instructions:

“-Copy my breathing, alright? Can you tell me where you are right now, Merlin?”

The knights all stare on in horror at Merlin’s pale skin and ragged breathing, staying still in their places when Lancelot gestures at them firmly. It’s Merlin’s next word, cracked and whispered, that trigger another round of tears to gather in their eyes:

“C...cave.”

Mordred shakes his head slowly and Lancelot curses under his breath, kneeling back next to Mordred and retaking Merlin’s other hand, holding it between his own securely. Mordred’s soft voice floats in the wind, and if the knights weren’t so distracted by their friend’s pain, they would think it sounds almost magical:

“No, you’re safe, Merlin. Think, listen, feel. Can you try to tell me where you are again?

Merlin shakes his head roughly, his still-shut eyes not stopping the tears from squeezing out as he flinches, strikes of lightening-like agony shooting out from the scar on his lower back. Lance worries his lip between his teeth, rubbing one of his hands up and down Merlin’s shivering arm; a nod from Mordred has Lance speak, his words soft and low despite the waver in his voice:

“Merlin, you know where you are, and me and Mordred are right here with you. You need to open your eyes buddy, tell us where we are.”

Merlin’s breathing instantly seems to calm a little at Lancelot’s voice, and he cracks his bloodshot eyes open, immediately sighing when his blurry gaze lands on the canopy above him, whispering:

“Tree... sky... Camelot.”

The others can see Mordred let out a relieved sigh, and they force themselves to relax slightly. Merlin’s body sags again and Lance frowns, but the young servant’s stuttering words as he stares blankly up into the tree interrupt any reassurance he could have offered:

“Please, I can’t... I don’t... please don’t make me-”

Lance stills his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, not even paying the slightest bit of attention to anyone else as he replies:

“No one’s going to make you, Merlin, we can carry on another day-”

Arthur’s interrupted “But-” is quickly shut down when Lance turns around to glare at him, a sharp “-I said we’re done for the day.” sent his way.

Merlin flinches again, the pain in his back getting worse and worse and making it harder to keep a grasp on reality, so damning the consequences, Mordred presses a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes and he mouths the words to a sleeping spell as quietly as he can. Thankfully, everyone’s attention is on the glaring contest between Lancelot and The King, so no one immediately notices the way Merlin falls forwards into Mordred’s arms, not until he nudges Lance in the leg and mutters:

“He passed out. We should get him to Gaius, he needs proper rest and pain medication.”

Lancelot nods his head firmly, back to ignoring Arthur and the others as he moves to Merlin’s side, pulling his arm over his shoulder as Mordred does the same on the servant’s other side. Mordred’s eyes scan over the knights, searching for whoever looks the most likely to help without question; his gaze stills on a terribly worried looking Gwaine:

“Gwaine, run ahead to warn Gaius, tell him that Merlin had a really bad episode and then passed out.”

Gwaine gulps but nods, gathering his tunic in quick hands and putting it on haphazardly as he sprints back to the castle. Mordred and Lancelot adjust their grips, standing and bringing Merlin up with them as they turn in the direction Gwaine had ran and begin the careful journey back to the citadel. The knights follow behind them closely, hastily dressing themselves and desperate to ask questions, but knowing that now was not the time. Elyan jogs ahead of them to open doors and clear a path, and Percival had grabbed Merlin, Lancelot, and Mordred’s tunics as Leon put all of the swords away before catching up.

Thankfully they don’t come across many people, though Lance and Mordred still do their best to conceal Merlin between them, knowing that he would be distraught if anyone else saw his scars. They make good time to Gaius’ chambers, and they find the Physician preparing a few strong pain potions and sleeping draughts as Gwaine paced.

Gaius looks incredibly worried, but unsurprised, and Lance and Mordred carry Merlin up to his room without prompting; the sick feeling in Arthur’s stomach tells him that they’re practiced at this. The King goes to follow them, but they kick the door shut behind them so they can have at least a little privacy whilst they settle their friend in his bed. They leave the covers off, knowing that he’d just overheat or kick them off in the nightmares that they know are coming. Lance nods knowingly at Mordred, and the younger of the two moves swiftly back into the main room, shutting the door behind him again softly, avoiding eye contact with anyone bar Gaius, even as Percival hands him his tunic.

The elderly Physician raises an eyebrow, and Mordred answers the wordless question quietly, though not quiet enough for the other knights to not hear him:

“Not yet, but soon, he’ll definitely need a sleeping draught to get him through it. It was his back, so he’ll need the strongest pain one you’ve got.”

Gaius nods, picking up two of the many concoctions he had prepared, not reacting to Arthur’s desperate questions, leaving the conversation to Mordred:

“What are you talking about? Get through what??”

Mordred sighs and frowns slightly, unable to get over all of his anger at the King for pushing Merlin so far:

“The nightmares. He always gets them, especially after an episode that bad.”

Arthur recoils, just a little horrified, but Gwaine beats him to the mark, asking in a shaking voice:

“Episode??”

Mordred moves his gaze to the worried knight, a little more sympathetic to the man he knew was more loyal to Merlin than he was to The King:

“Flashbacks, panic attacks. Merlin has been through... a lot. Chronic pain or difficult conversations sometimes trigger a sort of... breakdown, he struggles to differentiate between memories and reality. Normally he can just wait it out with a little help. When it’s really bad we put him to sleep, it’s the only way to stop him from hurting himself accidentally.”

Everyone looks horrified at that, their focus on Mordred rather than Gaius, who was stealthily ascending the steps to Merlin’s room, potions in hand. Arthur is the first to break the tense silence:

“How long? How long as he been getting these episodes, and why the hell did no one think to tell me?!”

Mordred moves his harsh gaze back to The angry King, glaring at him when his voice rose:

“With all due respect, My Lord, lower your voice. Merlin needs rest, he needs to not be disturbed.”

Arthur looks annoyed, though still heartbroken, but nods slightly, almost whispering as he responds:

“You didn’t answer my questions. How long, and why wasn’t I told?”

Mordred sighs, looking to the floor briefly as he crosses his arms over his chest . After a few moments of considering his answer, he finally looks up again, suddenly appearing exhausted and resigned as he replies softly:

“I don’t really know. He didn’t tell us, we just... found out. It took us a while to convince him to explain it properly and let us help. He didn’t want anyone worrying or treating him like glass; it doesn’t happen very often at all, and this is... this is the worst one I’ve ever seen.”

Arthur frowns and shakes his head slightly, but it’s Leon that speaks next:

“Why not tell us, at least? What if something had happened and you weren’t with us? We wouldn’t have known what was wrong.”

Mordred takes a deep breath and shrugs, nodding slightly, obviously aware that he couldn’t tell them about his and Merlin’s mental link:

“We tried telling him that, but he wouldn’t have it. We were maybe one more conversation away from convincing him to tell Gwaine or Guinevere, but I guess that’s not necessary anymore.”

Arthur pushes down the twinge of jealousy that Merlin had never even considered telling him, but it obviously shows on his face; Mordred scowls slightly, clenching his hands to try and cover his annoyance. Before either men can say anything, Lancelot comes back down from Merlin’s room, leaving Gaius with the young servant:

“It’s starting, Mordred we need to go, everyone else, out.”

Percival throws Lance’s tunic to him as the knights move to the door, albeit reluctantly, but Arthur doesn’t move, glaring down at Mordred angrily when the younger man stops him from going into Merlin’s room:

“He’s my manservant, I want to be there when he wakes up.”

Mordred narrows his eyes, and Arthur kicks himself for never realising how much Merlin meant to him before now, but before the knight can say anything, Lancelot steps up next to him, answering in his stead:

“No, me and Mordred will be there, that’s all he needs. You need to go, My Lord.”

Arthur gears up to argue, to pull rank, squaring his shoulders and snarling slightly, but an angry Lancelot is something he’s never seen and never had to deal with before, so he’s far too surprised to say anything when the knight interrupts his posturing:

“I said no, Arthur. He has to pretend in front of you. You’ve already done this to him,-”

He gestures angrily to the door to Merlin’s room:

“-he needs to not tense up and stress out immediately upon waking up.”

Arthur steps back slightly, but clears his throat, pushing through the slight heartbreak and guilt to argue:

“Oh, and he doesn’t have to pretend in front of you two?”

Mordred rolls his eyes, giving Lancelot a pointed look before stalking up to Merlin’s room, leaving the older knight to deal with the angry King. Lance clenches his jaw and lets out a harsh breath, looking away briefly, as if trying to stop himself from saying anything cruel, before giving up and glaring back at Arthur:

“No. He doesn’t. Because we, and Gaius, are the only people who actually know the first thing about Merlin, and he trusts us. He needs space, and time to heal, and comfort, not the demanding presence of a King whose already pushed him too far, who treats him like shit and forces him to think he has to hide who he is. For God’s sake, Arthur, can you please, for once, think of anyone but yourself.”

Arthur widens his eyes, and though Lancelot looks a little like he regrets what he said, he doesn’t back down, nodding to the door behind Arthur and not moving away until The King steps back again. Arthur takes a deep breath, turning to exit the Physician’s chambers before the knight could see the guilt on his face and the tears in his eyes. He leaves without looking back, ignoring the gaggle of knights waiting worriedly in the hall and stalking straight to his chambers, only just managing to shut the door behind him before the tears finally started falling.

Back in Merlin’s room, the servant thrashes in his sleep, whimpering despite Mordred’s comforting whispers in his head, Gaius’ hand in his hair, and Lancelot’s soft lap as a pillow. 

This... was going to be a tough one.

~

The End of part 1!!!

This was legit supposed to only be one part buuuuuuut we can all see how that went. Part two will follow on really quickly, but it was getting far too long to leave all as one 😅

I hope y’all enjoyed it, link to part 2(the final part) at the top!! :)

[s-brant]

The Endless Summer (2/?)

(gif: @beccs) (PART ONE) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: A day out on the water goes awry and puts JJ, John B, and Y/N in danger. With tensions rising and the stakes higher than ever, JJ finds it difficult to control his feelings.

Word Count: 9.1k

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual content, strong language, graphic violence, and JJ being an emotionally confused asshat.

A/N: Welcome back! Thanks for the love on this series, I’m so glad you guys like it and I hope this part is just as good. Things get a little heated in this chapter, so buckle up. Let me know if you enjoyed this. Have fun!

JJ isn't sure why she did it.

He wasn't sure then and he isn't sure now, but he knows one thing for certain: there isn't any going back to how things once were now that the barrier between them came crashing down.

Sweat drips off of his skin from the relentless heat of the Caribbean that has made their recent lives hell with the painful tinge of sunburn atop their tans and heat exhaustion they must be careful to avoid at all costs. They were educated on both topics by Pope, their godsend of a survival encyclopedia in human form, who advised them to spend most of their day outside of necessary tasks like fishing and constructing stable shelter under the shady cover of the treetops.

The sole reason he and John B aren't hiding in the safety of the shade is that it's their day to fish, but he's not thinking about the sun. In fact, neither of them is. They're both wondering where their third fishing buddy is.

It took roughly ten minutes of spearfishing with him in comfortable silence for JJ to finally break and spill his guts about what happened last night. Though there was an unspoken agreement to never tell anyone that their hatred has turned into desire, he couldn't help it. He was going mad trying to unravel it in his head.

After all, he already had a conversation with JB about the recent shift in their behavior with each other by the ocean last night, so it seems fitting to pick up where they left off with the calm and clear blue water in front of them again.

He walks on the jagged outcropping of rock that serves as their perch to observe the fish without disturbing the pattern of the current they swim through with John B closely behind.

"One second she's pissed at me, the next she's all over me. It makes no sense. Then, she didn’t say anything to me after it happened," JJ says with his face hardened into a look of concentration at the fish he squints against the sun to aim at, "Not even "Fuck you, Maybank" or one of her weirdly creative threats. She just sat there all night and talked to everyone but me."

His gaze slips away from the water as his chosen fish disappears from sight before he can bother to throw the spear, eyeing up his friend's reaction to the news.

John B doesn't seem that surprised by it, because who else, aside from everyone else in Kildare who knows of their "hatred" for one another, could've seen it coming as much as he did? He considers it for a second, then props his arm up on the handle side of the spear he digs into the rock to lean against.

"I'm pretty sure that means she likes you."

JJ retorts, "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say."

Why would anyone ignore a person they like? It makes no sense to him. Every time he wanted a person, he'd simply walk over and make it happen. It's never been difficult for him to pursue the people he finds himself attracted to...Well, except for her. For a guy that also ignored her for the rest of the night and pretended their moment in the woods didn't happen, he has some balls of steel to be chastising her for the same things he did.

John B shrugs and says, "I'm being serious, dude. Sarah wouldn't even acknowledge my existence when I worked on the Druthers, and I thought it was some stuck-up rich person thing but it wasn't."

They shouldn't be talking at all right now as to not scare away the fish, but they do it anyway. They both know he won't let it go until it's out of his system for good. He wouldn't allow himself to forget it if he wanted to, so its better to talk it out than turn stir crazy from ruminating over it 24/7.

Though it's, as he worded it yesterday, hot as balls out, being by the sea lessens the feeling of it by a landslide.

The breeze they crave whenever they work on their huts or forage through the forest for wild berries, coconuts, or potential building supplies blows on them without pause for the time they spend here, which almost makes it more dangerous. They stand under the direct harm of the UV rays frying them without truly feeling it burn yet, and he dreads the next few days in anticipation of the returning sunburn he just peeled off of his shoulders the other day.

JJ walks down the side to get a better view of the water, balancing precariously on the sharpened edge with the spear clenched tightly in one hand. The breeze is strong enough to threaten his balance, but he holds firm and digs his toes into the sedimentary rock for traction. His body sways in the midday sun with the struggle for stability, or, at least he suspects its midday.

Since being stranded here, time is a foreign concept to them. With no phones, clocks, or any guide to go off of other that the position of the sun above to display the hours that pass, they've lost complete track of what day it is, let alone how long minutes or hours truly are in comparison to the endless summer they live within. They suspect it's been a month since they were left here, but, in all honesty, it could be two. None of them had the sense to mark the days in a tally until it was too late.

He says, lifting his arm to throw the spear, "Well, she is a stuck up rich person, so maybe it's just—"

"You know I'm right here, don't you?"

The sound of her voice from a few feet behind them startles JJ into turning around to look at her right when he lets go of the spear.

Unfortunately for him, the jerking movement throws off his carefully distributed weight and skews his balance, making the feet placed on the edge slip from underneath him and send him slipping down into the water. His calf is the first body part to hit the rocks, and the groan of pain he lets out at the feeling of the jagged rock slicing through his skin could make her heart stop mid-beat. But what truly scares her is seeing the back of his head hit the ground too.

Before he can slide the rest of the way into the water, two pairs of hands are grabbing onto his arms and heaving him up with all of their strength. She and John B grit their teeth with the effort it takes to pull him back up, their muscles burning from the strain, and once his feet are over the ledge, he pushes off the rock to help them the rest of the way. Drops of his blood disperse into the water off the edge from where he cut himself, dripping until there's hardly any left.

Once he's safely laid back down a few feet from where he slipped, Y/N is kneeling in front of him in a matter of seconds. The rock beneath her knees opens small cuts into her skin, but she doesn't pay it any heed. She sits on her heels to lessen the minor pain and lean forward to inspect the damage he took with nothing on her mind other than worry.

Soon enough, John B joins her to kneel at his feet as he sits up and watches them eye up his injury as though it’s some sort of ghastly, life threatening thing instead of a gash that won't need stitches. He watches them against the glittering ocean, waves washing up on the rocks around them to sting his wound with saltwater.

"It's a scratch, not an amputation," JJ says.

She ignores him with a frown lining her pretty features and twists his leg by the ankle to get a better view of the wound in the sunlight. It extends up the entire length of his calf, almost from ankle to knee, and dribbles fresh blood onto her hands as well as the ground beneath them. From what he can tell, it doesn't look all too severe. No muscle or bone can be seen, so it's a simple, superficial scratch.

When he doesn't get a response from either her or John B while they're too busy checking out his leg, he says again, "Guys, I'm serious, it's fine."

This time, she doesn't hesitate to answer.

"Yeah, well you may not need stitches but you still have infection to worry about. This wilderness isn't exactly the cleanliest place," she says retorts with as much snark as usual, and he quietly rejoices in the fact that she's finally acting normal after what happened last night, "Not to mention, you hit your head pretty hard. There's no need to act all tough."

He shrugs.

"It's not an act, it really doesn't hurt that bad."

John B stands and smears the blood on his hands off on the front of his shorts.

"I'll be right back, guys, I'm gonna go get stuff to patch him up."

Just like that, they are left plunging into silence as he is running away down the peninsula back to the beach they've claimed as their own.

Silence has always been her least favorite thing to share with JJ. She'd rather anything over it—screaming, fighting, joking, friendly conversation, or even what they did together yesterday night. Anything is preferable over the tense and insufferable feeling of silence when they're alone together with none of their friends, or their playful hatred, between them as a barrier between them.

Instead of seeing the same pestering jerk she always used to when she looks at him, she sees the memory of how he looked at her in the woods. He didn't look at her like she was the worst person to ever walk the planet, or like she was his least favorite Kook "Princess", he looked at her like she meant something to him.

They sit together in uncomfortable silence in the time it takes John B to rush to the beach and back, careful not to slip on the rocks the way JJ did, with the supplies from the dinghy in his arms. It isn't much to work with, but at least it's something to keep the nasty wound on his leg protected from dirt and germs. She's sure he'd leave it uncovered and up to fate if he had it his way.

Before he can set them down on the wet rocks, thus ruining the gauze and bandages in craters filled with ocean water, she gestures at JJ with a stern command, "Take off your shirt."

His brows raise.

"Shit, Princess, take me out to dinner first."

She groans in frustration, "Can you be quiet for a second and actually listen to me for once?"

He catches John B's gaze with wide eyes, but complies nonetheless, reaching down to tug the tank off of his torso by the frayed hem until it's balled up in his closed fist to hand off to her. Her eyes only linger on his body for a quick second on accident before snatching it from him.

Her bloodstained palms lay the shirt out on the flattest stretch of rock she can find to act as a barrier from the small puddles of water to protect the supplies. One nod at John B has him setting them down atop the navy fabric as she glances up at JJ with a smug smile.

"Believe it or not," she taunts, unscrewing the cap to the disinfectant, "I didn't ask for it so you could sit there and look pretty."

The words throw him back in time to their conversation on the beach while they thatched the roof to their hut, and he wonders how long she's been waiting to throw that back in his face since he first said it.

He grins at her as he asks, "You think I'm pretty?" but before he can say more, she's pouring a generous amount of the hydrogen peroxide along the length of his cut without a warning for him to prepare himself. His leg jerks away on instinct to save himself from the burning sensation, but she grips his ankle tightly enough to force him to stay still.

His nose scrunches up with the urge to groan in pain, and he does a little. Through grinding teeth, he winces in response to the peroxide slipping into every cell of open skin and bubbling up like the white water of the waves as it kills the bacteria lingering in the gash.

"Does it hurt now?" Y/N asks.

She's looking up at him through her lashes with her lips curled into a smirk as she packs gauze onto the wound until it's covered to her satisfaction. And it should be the last thing he's thinking about right now after cutting up his leg and hitting his head hard enough to worry her about concussions, but he can't help it. Looking down at her like this, it's impossible for him to not think about the unfinished business they have.

Everything is the same as it was yesterday—the tattered white top, the red panties in place of a bikini, sunburnt cheeks, and a taunting look that he'll never get tired of seeing. But that's precisely why he's reminded of it. She's wearing the same clothes and looking at him the way she did on the beach before any of last night's antics occurred, and he can't keep himself from wondering if it'll happen again.

"Yeah," he finally responds.

Her smirk grows for a second before she gets back to work.

"Good."

JJ subtly eyes her up from where she shifts on her knees to set the open gauze wrappers under the peroxide bottle in exchange for the bandage wrap, but he isn't as subtle as he thinks. She can feel his stare no matter how sneaky he attempts to be. He may be able to evade John B's attention, since he dove into the ocean to retrieve the wooden spear that began to float out in the tide, but she never misses a thing. Not when it comes to him.

When he looks at her, he finds memories.

Her legs folded up beneath her bring him back to how smooth they felt on his palms when he lifted them up around his hips. Her rosy lips pressing into a line in concentration bring him back to the coconut flavor he tasted on them. Her nipples poking against the fabric of her shirt bring him back to when he lifted it up over her breasts to suck at the sensitive skin until he got a moan from her—There isn't a place he can stare without going back to last night.

Part of him hates that.

He can't stand that a girl who he spent the last five years hating has found a way into his daydreams. Why couldn't it have been anyone else? Why did she have to lure him into her trap? He supposes there's nothing he can do about it now, though. After hours of stewing over it, he's reached the conclusion that it was likely a one-time thing, a mistake made in the heat of the moment that she won't make again, and he should get the idea of it out of his head.

When she has to adjust her grip to hold the gauze in place while she wraps the bandage around his leg, he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and jerks away again. She glances up at him with her best, "Are you kidding me?" face. Didn't he say he was tough?

"I'm starting to think you're a sadist, 'cause it's like you're trying to make it hurt," he says.

She gasps, feigning offense.

"Me? Enjoying this? It's not like we've hated each other for years or anything."

And though he may not realize it, this is her way of distracting him from the pain of having her apply added pressure to his cut while she wraps the bandage into place. It has to be tight enough to keep water and sand out, but not so tight that it cuts off circulation, and while it may have been tolerable without her touching it, the contact is enough to make it worse for him.

He asks, "Uh, speaking of, why are you the one doing this? Isn't it some kind of HIPAA thing to treat patients you've threatened to violate with tree branches before?"

The sound of her laughter makes his stomach flutter with butterflies, and he wonders what the hell is wrong with him.

"That's not what HIPAA is, genius"—her eyes crinkle at the sides with her wide smile while she wraps his leg—"and I'm the one doing this because I know way more medical shit than the rest of you."

Even Pope.

"Ohhh right, I forgot. Your dad is this hotshot surgeon and that makes you think you know everything," he taunts.

The casual mention of her father makes her chest ache with something not many of the Pogues, excluding Pope, have felt since being stranded on this island. With their parents either disowning them, absent, abusive, or dead, they have no reason to resist the allure of living here for the months or years it may take to be rescued, but she does.

She misses him.

For the longest time since her mom died, it was her and her dad versus the world. In everything they did, they did it together, and before she met Sarah, he was the closest she had to a best friend. Since they had no other family to help watch her as a child, she grew up in the hospital with him, drawing with crayons on his office’s printer paper with her babysitter and picking up small things along the way from watching him for so long.

He could've chosen to leave her at home, sure, but he didn't want to miss out on seeing her more than he already did, so she spent the majority of her childhood in offices, waiting rooms, and the indoor playground of the PEDs wing.

She takes a deep breath to steady herself after the sucker punch of being reminded of her dad and says, "Well, I know enough and, thankfully for you, I'm the one doing this instead of John B."

From far away, twenty or so feet offshore where their friend is paddling through the water with the lost spear held in one hand, they hear John B shouting an offended, "I heard that!" back at her. It draws a soft chuckle from them both, and she silently thanks him for distracting JJ one last time as she finishes and secures the bandage so it won't unravel.

She wipes her hands off on her water-soaked thighs one more time to get as much of his blood off of her fingers as possible before she reaches out with both arms extended to offer him help to stand. He takes them with a murmured, "Thanks," as they both try not to show how affected they are by the casual touch.

It makes them feel pathetic that something as small as holding each other's hands makes them remember what they did and desperately wish to continue it. Her throat bobs with how she must swallow the lump in her throat at their close proximity, barely breathing now that he's standing close to her with less than a few inches between them.

For a second, they don't move away. They stay face to face, and all she can think of is how badly she wants to kiss him again. But she can't do anything yet, not when she hears someone screaming from the water.

"There's a shark!" John B screams as he paddles back faster than he's ever swam in his life, already close enough to the peninsula that they can see the terror in his eyes when they turn to look.

Surely enough, there a tip of a fin too pointed to pass off as a dolphin cutting through the surface of the water to alert them of the fish's presence, but if that weren't enough, the water is clear enough for them to see its outline.

Thankfully for him, it isn't huge. It looks about as long as he is tall, but that doesn't change the degree of danger. Just because it isn't as big as other sharks doesn't make a bite any less lethal, especially when their only form of medical attention rests on her knowledgeable yet inexperienced shoulders.

For once in his life, JJ is frozen with no clue of what to do.

He's always the man with the plan, the one who jumps into action when others choke up and sit on the sidelines, but this makes him falter. What can he do to help other than stand here and pray John B can out-swim a shark? He's helpless, and now that he's faced with the prospect of losing his best friend for a second time, he doesn't know what to do.

It was his blood in the water that must have attracted the shark, and he was so caught up in his own drama with her and the pain of his cut that he didn't consider the danger of John B jumping in to retrieve the spear he dropped. It's his fault. His best friend is about to be eaten by a shark and it's his fault—

The blurred image of her rushing past in his peripheral vision rips him from his stormy thoughts, and right when he thought it couldn't get worse, it does. Water splashes up around her body and swallows her under the surface after she leaps off the edge of the rock with the aluminum spear from the dinghy raised in her dominant arm.

"Y/N!"

Before he even realizes what he's doing, JJ is screaming out her name, screaming it like he cares, and damns the consequences to dive in after her.

While he was frozen, she sprung into action without thinking of her own life first. She knew he was close to the rock, but not close enough to swim faster than a predator designed for the conditions of the ocean. It took one glance at the spear resting to the side for her to lean down, scoop it up, and get a running start to jump out as far as humanly possible. Various joints and muscles ached from how she strained to push herself far off the rock, taking flight with nothing but their survival in mind.

She sucks in a heaving breath upon breaking the surface, but she doesn't take a second to pause with John B paddling up to her so soon.

"Go back!"

The only answer she gives him is, "Use your spear!" before she brings hers out of the water in anticipation of the grey figure bolting straight for them.

It's a stupid plan, but it's the only one she has, and if one of them is in danger, they'd all risk everything they have to protect them. After all, they're already trapped here with the threat of death every day. Is there anything more worthy of dying for than your friends?

Neither of them is necessarily trying to kill it yet either, they're trying to keep it at a safe distance or hurt it enough so it swims away from them, but she puts all of her strength into spearing the fish between the eyes anyway. Her legs kick tirelessly to keep her afloat while she and John B stab as accurately as they can, choking down a mouthful of salty ocean water from how her head sinks at the surface without the help of her arms to keep her up.

Blood stains the water with a crimson hue spreading out around their bodies—whether it's theirs or the shark's, she doesn't know—and she must keep her lips clamped shut to prevent it from spilling into her mouth, breathing solely through her nose. She can tell her legs are soon to give out on her, but then a pair of hands latch onto her body. Call her irrational or stupid, but even with the clear distinction of human hands on her waist, her mind reacts in instinctual fear.

The touch makes her jolt mid-stab and sobers her feral mind back to reality for a moment until she realizes it's a human touching her, not the shark.

It's JJ.

His arms wrap around her thighs and hoist her up out of the water as much as he can while still swimming, effectively pushing himself underwater with one last gasp for air.

The sudden shift in view has her gaze shifting around to take in the new sights with a gush of red water rushing off of her onto the splashing surface: a light grey tail whips around in the chaos, the shark's head oozes blood from the multiple puncture wounds that didn't push quite deep enough, and its jaws snap right where John B's arm is before he yanks it back.

After a fraction of a second, it clicks with her that there's no time to waste watching her friend almost get his arm chomped off while she takes in the unbelievable sight. Her slippery grip on the handle remains as firm as possible, and she raises the spear over her head with an improved accuracy she never could've had from where she previously aimed it before. All of their shots landed well enough, but with the height advantage, she won't allow herself to fuck it up this time with her friend's life hanging in the balance.

She hardly recognizes her own frantic voice shouting at him, "Spear it in the gills!"

Her hands bring the razor-sharp tip of the spear down into its head repeatedly, and she isn't sure whether it's the splashing water or tears wetting her face when she buries the weapon down into it for a final time right when John B lodges his wooden spear in its gills.

Whatever she did, it must've hit its brain, because the animal halts its thrashing. Its teeth no longer snap at her friend, nor does its tail whip around in the water as violently as it did a moment ago.

As quickly as it started, it drops off into a sickening calm that leaves the white bubbles dissolving into a puddle of bloody water surrounding the trio and the fish that dies with no small amount of guilt on her part. There was no choice but to kill it. It makes her ache on the inside, but how could she regret it if she knows it saved them? The guilt might ravage her for the upcoming days, but she can't bring herself to regret jumping in after him.

She hardly has the chance to process it before she's being pulled away by both of the boys, her view of the scene shifting drastically once more with the abrupt drop of JJ letting her down in favor of guiding her through the gentle waves. His calloused hand squeezes her arm enough to cut circulation off on their journey back.

Time rushes past her in the next thirty seconds or so it takes them to reach the peninsula again in a paranoid sprint away from where the dead fish floats. One of them, John B she thinks, tosses the aluminum spear he dislodged from the shark's head up onto the rocks and clambers his way back up on his own. The waves closer to land grow rougher than the tender current out where they killed the shark, and she grunts in pain as one sends her and JJ straight into the rocks. His body hits her back with a solid ‘thump’ and forces her to wheeze with the wind getting knocked from her lungs upon impact, nails cracking on the black rock from the desperate grip she uses in an attempt to lift herself.

Meanwhile, JJ can't seem to catch his breath either, nor can he think of anything other than her once he sees that John B isn’t injured.

As soon as he sees his friend is unmarked from the teeth of the shark after he's out of the water, he positions himself behind Y/N to help her out first. He places his hands on her backside to push her up as quickly as he can. Knowing that the carcass in the water will soon attract more sharks in the surrounding area into a feeding frenzy, he'd rather it be him than her. It's a thought that shoots by too fast for him to fully acknowledge the meaning or weight of it at a time like this.

Somehow within his adrenaline-crazed mind, he is careful not to push her onto the jagged edge that sliced his leg open earlier, then climbs after her with little space left between them.

She's coughing up saltwater onto the rocks as he scrambles over to her, eyes wild with the petrifying worry of anything bad happening to her. They scan over her arms, legs, stomach, and back, and he doesn't even realize his hands are reaching out to inspect her as frantically as she had with him when he got hurt.

His hands cup her face, petting over her dripping hair and forcing her to look up so he can see if she somehow got hit in the face. Never has his mind been so void of rational thought, and, knowing him and his impulsive tendencies, that's saying a lot. The confusion of his contradictory feelings for her muddle his mind. Worry and hatred, attraction and anger—they battle it out, but only two manage to reach him externally.

Worry and anger it is. Worry for obvious reasons. Anger because—

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

She has never heard him sound so vicious since the start of whatever odd relationship/friendship/enemy-ship they have. With his worried expression and how he checked her entire body for injury after helping her out of the water, the last thing she would've anticipated from him was anger. Especially not after she saved his best friend's life. Considering what she just did for him, she thinks he should be thanking her, not chastising her.

Behind her back, she can hear a collection of yelling voices and splashing footsteps over the water dripping from them. It can only be the rest of their friends racing up the peninsula to them, but she can't turn around.

She stares at him with utter confusion flooding her at his unexpected outburst. Speechless.

"What was I thinking?" she asks incredulously with her face still cradled between his hands, "I was saving John B's life!"

Their emotional distance and disagreement are made up for in abundance by how physically entangled they've become. It wasn't intentional. It was a result of him needing to get close enough to scour her exposed skin for any bites, but now that they're sitting so near to each other, they forget to back away.

John B is too busy to engage with them.

He's doubled over on the ground with the compulsion to vomit the contents of his stomach into the ocean, but he doesn't dare get close to the edge again after what they went through. Instead, he positions himself away from them and their approaching friends until the half-digested food is forced back through his mouth. The acidic bile scorches his throat and nostrils on the way out.

JJ doesn't have the opportunity to retort back something about her being stupid, because Pope is the first person to reach them and ask, "What the hell happened?"

The rest of the group isn't far behind. It's Kie who asks the next question, then Sarah, then Cleo. They all pop off in rapid succession before either of the three of them can answer.

"Are any of you hurt?"

"Why is he throwing up?"

"Is that a shark?"

The last question draws everyone's attention over to the half-sunken mass of fish bobbing up and down on the breaths of the sea with a wooden spear sticking straight out of its gills. Though it isn't the biggest, most intimidating shark to roam the ocean, its presence doesn't fail to make everyone who looks at it shudder with the realization of what must have happened.

John B wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and points over at her with his trembling arm outstretched.

"She killed it."

The four of them whip their heads in her direction, jaws nearly falling off their faces in disbelief, but she doesn't say anything yet. Because as soon as they feel the eyes of their friends burning into them, she and JJ realize, as though they're returning to reality from the hazy layers of a dreamscape, that they're still holding each other.

She's slumped halfway onto him from when he hauled her body closer to inspect her, so she's essentially sitting on top of him at this point. Her legs, bruised and scratched up from when the waves crested to send them crashing into the rocks, are entangled around his enough that they look back and forth between them and where his hands cup her face in surprise.

JJ doesn't know what came over him.

Now that he snaps out of it at the same time as her, both of them separating and nudging each other away until their bodies are no longer entwined, he feels his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

When he saw her leaping past him to jump into the water, his mind shut off. He wasn't thinking about himself, or the possibility of getting killed, or anything at all. He was only thinking of the danger she put herself in, then he dove in and the rest of his conscious mind faded away into pure survival instinct. Yet, even after he knew the immediate danger was gone, the adrenaline kept him on edge, desperate to get her back to land and pray none of them were hurt.

"It was trying to attack him," she rasps. Her throat is raw from the saltwater she choked on, and every word burns. "But we did it together."

She pushes herself off the ground with an exhausted sigh.

Muscles spent from the struggle in the water, her legs wobble beneath the weight of her upper body as she takes a few steps to help John B up from his position on his hands and knees. From what she heard, he has thrown up all he has left in his stomach and hasn't gagged again in a minute or so, so attempting to stand again shouldn't be too strenuous for him.

His hand is cold in her grasp from the water soaking their bodies, but it holds firmly enough for her to help him into his feet without their palms slipping apart. No patches of blood are visible on his shorts, nor are there any puncture wounds on him from the sharp teeth that snapped at his arm in the quick but vigorous fight.

They were very, very fortunate to have made it out alive, and when he looks down at her face, he feels nothing but gratitude for the girl he previously saw as nothing more than his girlfriend's best friend. They went into the water as casual acquaintances, companions of convenience and the happenstance of being forced onto this island together, but they've come out of it differently. Now, they're friends.

Now, she's a Pogue.

He smiles at her, glancing up at their friends as their questions die down at the sight of his crazy grin, and says, "That was some real Pogue shit right there, Y/N." His eyes come back to meet hers. "I think it's about time we officially make you one of us. What do you think?"

She's opening her mouth to respond when Kiara cuts her off. The rest of them are staring at the trio as if they have ten heads sprouting from their bodies for not immediately surrendering more details of their near-death encounter other than saying she killed it.

"I'm sorry, can we please rewind to the part where you got attacked by a shark first?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, can I get a drumroll please for..."

The campfire is roaring with the abundance of sticks, leaves, and branches thrown onto the pile to fuel it as she feels a strong pair of arms looping around her thighs to lift her into the expansive, star-flecked sky.

In a flash of haunting memory, she relives the moment where JJ dove into the water after her and lifted her body above the surface to give her the high ground over the shark. She relives its thrashing hunger, the water splashing on her, and the cloudy hue of blood around them that she hoped wasn't either of the boys. For a second, as the world grows taller with her new perspective, she is brought back to the sudden shift she felt then and feels her stomach drop in panic, anticipating the danger.

But then the sound of her friends laughing, as well as the surging fire and crashing waves, comes back to her and forces the frightful flashback away. Her hip fits perfectly in the curve of John B's shoulder, and she lets her head fall back in giggling laughter at how he hoists her up in the air as though she's a holy figure of worship for the Pogues to kneel to.

His voice can likely be heard across the entire island when he shouts, "The Shark Conqueror!"

The group erupts into a triumphant mixture of cheers and laughter that fills the beach, everyone celebrating in their narrow escape earlier today...everyone except JJ.

After John B divulged the gory details of what happened, from JJ's fall to her picking up the spear and jumping in to save him from the shark, they made their way back with enough conversation to last the month. They all asked questions and took peeks back at where it happened in morbid curiosity, wondering how on earth they managed to come out of the situation without a scratch.

The rest of the afternoon continued on with the same buzzing energy that can only be created from the thrill of being alive. She's felt it many times since joining Sarah's group of friends that seem to find trouble wherever they go, but she has never felt it as vehemently as she does tonight. It's a mixture of euphoria, shock, and soul-crushing guilt for having to hurt another living creature, even one that was intending to make a meal of her friend.

No matter how much she grows up or discovers more about herself as a person, feelings never stop being as frustrating as they were to her as a child. You can get better at processing and hindering explosive reactions to them, but they never simplify. She doesn't know why she feels so much at once. She doesn't know why she feels simultaneously on top of the world and thrown off the edge of a cliff, but she thinks it has to do with him.

Since they walked back to the beach and talked about what happened until the day withered into night, which led them here to the “official” ceremony of her being named a Pogue for life, JJ hasn't spoken to her once.

Suddenly, the shoe is on the other foot.

Much like how she avoided him all night last night leading into this morning, he doesn't talk to her. He tries not to look at her too from where he sits on the log of driftwood across the fire, but it's somewhat inevitable with the spectacle John B is making of her at the moment.

Painted in the warm tones of the firelight like a goddess in her own right, Y/N is impossible to look away from, and it makes him angrier than he already is. A handwoven circlet crafted from the hibiscus and hippeastrum flowers growing in the forest around their camp sits atop her head. It doesn't fall to the ground with the movement of her throwing her head back in laughter. It stays in its rightful place against the rule of gravity until her face comes back into view for him to quickly look away from.

It dampers her laughter to see him avoiding her gaze so adamantly, taking a swig of water from one of the small cups they carved from wood and turning to talk to Kie to keep himself busy. The distinct sensation of being on top of the world slips away with the feeling of his cold avoidance and John B lowering her back to the ground until her bare feet sink into the soft sand.

Before she can start sulking about it for the foreseeable future, Sarah steps up beside her.

The familiar touch of a hand on her shoulder brings her comfort amidst her confusion and hurt over the way JJ is acting, and when she turns to see a pretty face looking fondly at her, a warm smile finds her lips.

"Pogue for life?" Sarah asks.

The three words bring make her smile grow the same way it had when she was talking to JJ on the peninsula. It crinkles the skin around her eyes with its unrestrained happiness to hear them because, as much as she pretends to let JJ's comments roll off of her, tonight marks one of the first times she's felt at home with them.

That's not to say they haven't made her feel welcome in the past, they did, but this isn’t the same. This is closer, this is the type of bond that's forged in situations like these where people have no choice but to rely on each other or let their worlds collectively fall apart, and she thinks, for the first time, that she could live here with them forever if she must.

None of them know how much time has passed since they arrived here, least of all her, but it sure as hell feels like an eternity. At first, she could barely withstand the idea of living here for months with the intention of being rescued as soon as possible, but now...

She brings Sarah into an embrace tight enough to force the air from their lungs.

"Pogue for life," she echoes back with her face buried into the salt-scented tresses of dirty blonde hair cascading over her tan shoulders.

Would it be crazy of her to think that this is where they're meant to be? That they're her family and this place she has fantasized about escaping is now their home?

After all, the lush island provides everything they need to sustain themselves with the rationing, scavenging, and hunting routines they adhere themselves to. Freshwater runs down the land in a stream from a water source uphill, plenty of different edible plants grow in the forest, and there's so much left of the expansive land to explore; it's perfect. Everything here is perfect for them, calling out to them to make it their home, but there's one little problem as of right now, and he's sitting across the fire behind her back.

Sarah's arms squeeze around her shoulders once to bring her in even closer.

"Thank you for saving him," her voice is so hushed, Y/N can hardly hear it with her lips brushing the shell of her ear to whisper into it, "I'm not gonna get all mushy with you right now, but I don't know what I would've done if"—Sarah's breath hitches in her throat, and she shakes her head—"I just wanted to thank you."

When they pull apart, Y/N is looking back at her with a knowing expression, one that says everything she can't in the presence of the others, and Sarah can't help but mirror it.

It isn't long before the blonde-haired beauty is whisked away by her boyfriend to help him cook the crabs they caught closer to shore after their encounter with the shark. Not wanting to swim out or risk slipping off the rocks again with the dead fish promising to lure more predators to their area for the next week or so, they settled for hunting for shellfish and making good use of the fruits they find growing in wild abundance in the forest.

The night ticks away in swiftly passing minutes thanks to the humorous company of the people around her.

She nearly chokes on a mouthful of banana as Cleo tells a story from before she met them, when she used to live in Nassau and work jobs with Terence and Stubbs on ships. For such new additions to the group, they both fit surprisingly well with the lifelong childhood friends that sit around and banter with such ease together.

They talk, laugh, dance, and eat together, and there are moments when she feels happier than ever. There are moments exactly like when John B lifted her up and made her giggle at how their friends cheered on her behalf in indulgence of the silly "ceremony" they did, half out of boredom and half out of gratitude for what she did. But then she is reminded of the man sitting on the outskirts of the group with his features hardened into an expression of contemplation she wishes she could decode.

The night breeze feels heavenly on her perpetually overexposed skin. It blows into the fire and allows it to swell from the oxygen supply, crackling and popping embers out every so often like the spark of the zippo lighter JJ fidgets with in his restless hands. The movement attracts her wandering eyes while they should be focused on Cleo and Kie dancing around the fire with boisterous laughter while Sarah and Pope sing for them.

She keeps herself honed in on the opening and closing of the lighter under the guidance of his ring-clad fingers for the next minute or so.

They may have been pitting themselves against each other since they met, but that doesn't mean she doesn't know him well. If anything, the keen attention that her old hatred for him forced her to keep on him made her memorize everything there is to know. And she surely has picked up on the nervous habit of him playing with the lighter whenever he's thinking, whenever there's something crawling under his skin that he can't piece together.

He sits with his back to her, facing out toward the ocean so all she can see is the hand he uses to flick the lighter open and shut with. With a quick glance at the rest of their friends to see if any of them are watching or wanting to speak with her, she pushes herself up from the log and dusts her sandy palms on her shirt.

The tracks of her footsteps lead around the corner of the driftwood he rests against until her feet appear, sunken into the sand in front of him. It takes a lot of control to not allow himself to follow up the length of her body, panning up along her legs until he sees that infuriatingly tenderhearted set of eyes looking down at him.

However, he doesn't have a choice in looking when her hand outstretches in a silent invitation. His first glimpse of her in the last half-hour shows her jerking her chin in the direction of the beach curving around the bend of the island.

This morning, he probably would've taken her up on the offer. He would've done anything to get a few minutes alone with her, but now he can't see past his anger and doesn't know why. He doesn't know why it hasn't calmed yet, but, in truth, it has more to do with him than it does her idiotic yet brave decision to fight off a shark today. Trust him, it still has a lot to do with the idiotic shark thing, but the rest is lost in translation for him.

"Not in the mood," he dismisses her.

Her brows furrow and form a crease between them as she tries to find something to say but comes up with nothing. At least not until it clicks with her what he thought she was trying to do by inviting him to walk with her.

The last time they went off on their own together, it ended in an explosive encounter they have yet to erase from their minds. It's what greets them whenever they close their eyes for a second too long, existing in their wildest daydreams and fantasies whenever they have a spare moment to themselves. Hell, he can't stop thinking about it even when he's already occupied. It was the reason why he didn't catch any fish this morning before the incident that made him pissed at her in the first place. He couldn't stop thinking of her.

"Oh," she murmurs and starts to kneel down until her knees are sinking into the sand the same way she did when patching up his leg. Her eyes peek over his shoulder to ensure the others didn't hear them—"That wasn't what I meant...I was just wondering if you wanted to talk about today. It must have been a lot to process, since he's your best friend and all, and—"

JJ snaps, unable to tolerate it anymore, and stands up from his spot on the sand to move away from her.

"You don't need act all therapist with me, okay? I'm fine, and I don't need you to fix me if that's what you wanted. Today was fine. Everything's fine, so let it go."

Her mouth opens and closes like a fish with a loss for words. For the second time in the span of a minute, she is grasping blindly for something to say in the wake of him shocking her to silence. He's starting to walk past her but she doesn't let him. Her hand shoots out to stop him and holds onto his arm to turn him back despite his rudeness.

Underneath it all, her concern touches him deeply. It shouldn't trigger a reaction like this in him, so why does it? What about today set him off? He hasn't been this genuinely angry with her since before the hunt for the gold began, before she started to blend into their friend group and establish herself as one of them.

"Woah, woah, woah," she says, "I never said that. I thought that you needed someone to talk to. You know, as a friend."

Their friends start to notice their interaction tensing up now. Before, they didn't pick up on her stepping away for a second to check on him. Now, it's impossible to ignore what unfolds hardly six steps from where they watch as slyly as they can. The two of them haven't had a conversation as cold as this one in months, and what he says next takes it to a place that freezes over the connection they made last night and shatters the warm place it held in her heart.

He scoffs.

"We're not friends. If you think you gotta act different 'cause you threw yourself at me last night, don't bother. You hate me and I hate you. That's how it is."

No nicknames, jokes, or anything to act as a buffer, just cruelty. Rejection.

Though they truly were trying to pretend like they weren't paying attention, every single one of their friends stops and stares. A chorus of hushed reactions sound off from across the fire, and the faint sound of Kie muttering, "Oh shit," is the first thing to reach their ears. It's needless to say that none of them could've expected something so callous to come from him, not after what they saw when they ran up to them on the peninsula this morning.

With the way he was holding her then, doting on her and cradling her face between his hands even in the midst of his anger at what she did, they sooner expected the pair to admit they're dating than have a blowout like this.

In the delayed seconds it takes for her to realize what the fuck he just said to her, he watches her face shift from a look of concern to sadness, to flush-faced embarrassment, then finally to anger. Her teeth grind together, nostrils flaring on her inhale, and in one quick moment, she comes to a conclusion within herself.

She reaches up to rip the handmade crown of vibrant flowers off her head with flames to match the camp fire flaring up in her eyes for him. Before she can do anything, he already knows he crossed a line, if not multiple lines. It's evident in everything he sees, from the hurt look on her face to the force with which she shoves the crown into the center of his chest to send him stumbling back a few steps. Just like yesterday, except it couldn't be any more different.

"Fuck. You." She spits the words as though they're venomous, and he almost shrinks away under the intensity of her stare, “Go find somewhere else to sleep tonight, 'cause it sure as hell isn't gonna be with me."

Petals flutter out upon impact against his solid chest and float peacefully to the sand around his feet as he watches her turn on her heels and storm off toward their hut. Though, after what he did and what she said to him as a goodbye, it isn't really theirs anymore, is it? At least not for tonight, tomorrow, or the next day until he finds a way to make her hear him out for an apology.

He stands there, frozen, the entire time he watches her leave. Nothing can move him from the spot, not even Sarah knocking her shoulder against his with a pointed glare on her way past to follow her into the moonlit darkness.

He doesn't even resist the disappointed looks he gets, or the shoulder check from Sarah. This time, he deserves it. He deserves every ounce of their judgment. All she was trying to do was make sure he was okay and he was too consumed in his unreleased frustration from today to see it. And, in a way, he's still frustrated over it, but it's greatly overshadowed by the guilt seeping through him.

The shadowy shapes of the two girls disappear into the small hut further down the beach, and JJ is left with nothing to do but look down at the flower crown clutched to his chest in regret.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, @krisphann, @astrydis, @k-k0129, @zarahsloves, and @stilesflannels.

[mummybear]

Borrowed Time - Chapter 5 - Making Up For Lost Time

Words: 3996

Warnings: Angst, Smut, Oral All Around ;), Teasing, Swearing, Dirty Talk, Semi Public, Think that’s it guys! 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

@spnkinkbingo​ square: Cumswallowing

Beta: @negans-lucille-tblr​ Thank you babe! ❤

Divider: by @firefly-graphics​

A/N: Sorry to anyone who has been reading this! I was delayed in posting due to personal circumstances, but here is the next chapter! I really hope you guys enjoy this! :)

Series Masterlist

Almost two weeks have passed since the night of the party, and you and Dean hadn’t really had much time to see each other. His dad had kept him busy the first week, and the second week your roommate had returned home and she was really upset. Turns out she’d found out her boyfriend was cheating on her while she was away at her parents house, which left you to try and help her feel better. Dean had been so understanding every time you’d had to cancel a date, half way through or days before.

It was safe to say you were sexually frustrated at this point, and you were doing your best to ignore almost every student in school talking about you and Dean. You usually only heard it when you were by yourself - most people were too intimidated by Dean to say anything when he was around. Unfortunately, as far as you knew, Dean was out of school today with his dad, working on something for the business.

You hold your books closer to your chest as you continue down the hallway, thankful for your free period so you can have a little time to yourself. Your lessons have been extra difficult today, which really hasn’t helped with your stress levels. You’d spent half of your last lecture reading over texts that Dean had sent you yesterday, making you clench your thighs beneath the desk; now you felt more frustrated than you had all week. The two of you still have a deal to keep, and you really hope you actually get some time together soon.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when you’re pulled into a classroom, and the door slams shut behind you, causing your books to fall to the floor. Before you can scream a hand closes over your mouth, and you’re pulled back against a hard chest. Your chest is forced against the door as it’s locked, and you breathe through your nose as you try and get free. But then you pause, feeling breath against your neck and a smell you instantly recognise, and you can’t help but smile against his hand, until it falls away.

You turn in his arms with a big grin on your face, “you’re sneaky! You weren’t supposed to be here today, Dean.” 

He chuckles and cups your cheeks pulling you into a breath-taking kiss, that leaves your legs feeling weak. It stops all too soon, as he pulls back to look at you.

“I told dad I had something important to do, I couldn’t stand another day of this. Two weeks, Y/N! Two fucking weeks since I had you all to myself, and it’s damn near torture,” he groans as he presses his body closer to you.

You wrap your arms around his neck and look up at him through your lashes. 

“Torture huh? You poor baby,” you purr, slipping your hands beneath his flannel, pushing it from his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor behind him. “And I guess you really want to keep that promise of yours, if you lied to your Dad…” 

Dean chuckles and reaches behind you to close the blinds on the door.

“I didn’t technically lie to him, just stretched the truth a little. I couldn’t wait anymore, I need you and I need to keep my promise to you. Unless you have any objections?” he asks knowingly, that damn smirk plastered on his perfect lips again.

You pull him tighter against you and lean up on your tiptoes. Dean grins down at you, his lips a breath away from yours, his big hands trail slowly down your body, until he’s cupping your ass tightly. He pulls your hips flush against his, so that you can feel the evidence of his arousal pressing hard and heavy against your stomach.

“No objections here. Like you said, it’s been two weeks and I haven’t stopped thinking about you… or the way that you had me pinned to that bed, your mouth was so close.” You breathe out heavily, feeling his lips brush against yours.

Dean licks his lips as his eyes drag down your body appreciatively, “mmm, I remember. Still regret not staying right there and finishing what I started, that’s never gonna happen again.”

Before you can reply Dean’s mouth captures yours, and your breath gets stuck in your throat, anything you were thinking is now lost. Dean has this way of stopping your brain from working, rendering you completely incapable of thought and leaving you utterly speechless. You knew you’d never have this with anyone else, Dean was unique, in every sense of the word, and you refused to think about the inevitable day you will no longer have him in your life.

His tongue moves flawlessly against your own, and your entire body feels like it’s on fire. The power he holds over you is evident in the way that he kisses you, his hands slowly moving down your body, until he’s gripping the bottom of your skirt in his hands. You whimper into his mouth as he pulls it up over your ass, letting it gather around your waist. Dean pulls away from your mouth slowly, dragging his teeth over your bottom lip. You’re both panting hard as he gets onto his knees in front of you, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of yours, even as he drags his hands down your legs, he watches your every reaction as the calluses on his skilled hands brush over your soft skin.

“Right here, huh?” you ask, pushing your fingers through the top of his hair and tugging gently as you try your best to get your breathing under control.

“Mhmm, baby girl, right here and right now,” Dean hums against your skin as he presses his lips to your inner thigh. You let out a shaky breath as his fingers curl around the sides of your panties, and he pulls them down your legs, encouraging you to step out of them as soon as you’re able to. “Such a pretty little pussy, sweetheart,” he groans quietly, pulling one of your legs over one of his broad shoulders.

You can’t hold back the shiver as his hot breath ghosts over your wet pussy, and your fingers instinctively tighten in his hair.

“Been too long, haven’t stopped thinking about you. I need you so bad, please don’t make me beg,” you whimper desperately, trying to tug him closer with the grip you have on his hair. Dean chuckles quietly, and the big hand on your thigh squeezes harder, making you whimper needily as you let your head fall back against the door.

Dean’s free hand moves to your pussy and you look down at him as he spreads you open with his fingers, a deep groan filling the room that sends a shiver down your spine. 

“God, baby girl, you’re so wet, practically dripping for me. I don’t have it in me to make you beg, at least not right now…” his voice trails off as he leans in closer, and his tongue moves through your slick, swirling around your clit he slowly looks up at you through his thick lashes.

You let out a breathy whine of his name as his lips seal over your clit, and his tongue flicks over the sensitive bundle of nerves quickly. You feel the thigh on his shoulder clench, as his hand moves to your dripping entrance and he eases two thick fingers inside you. He keeps his eyes fixed on your face as he picks up a steady pace, keeping in time with his tongue. Your pussy flutters around his fingers as he starts to curl them perfectly, so that every time they push back inside you they drag over your g-spot. 

Dean pulls back slowly, dragging his teeth gently over your throbbing clit, and you have to clamp your free hand over your mouth to stop the loud moan of his name from slipping past your lips, but at best the sound is only muffled. You drop your hand and grip the door handle tight, because you’re worried about pulling Dean’s hair out, when his fingers start to move faster inside you, and there’s a big part of you that can’t even think straight right now.

“Feels so good, Dean. Please don’t stop this time, I need you so bad,” you gasp, as he presses you harder against the door.

Dean smirks up at you and pulls his fingers out, sucking them between his lips as your thighs shake, and then he pulls them out of his mouth. You don’t have time to beg him not to stop, because before you react he has your other leg over his free shoulder and his mouth is a breath away from your dripping cunt.

“Don’t worry baby, nothing is fucking stopping me, not until you’re coming all over my face.” 

Without another word he surges forward and pushes his tongue inside you.

“Oh fuck!” you cry out, head falling back with a thud against the door. You can hear footsteps in the hall behind you, but you don’t care.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel the coil winding tight in your stomach, the burn of his stubble against your soft thighs, and the possibility of someone knocking on the door becomes more and more likely the longer the two of you are in here.

Dean spreads your legs wider and holds you up a little higher, and you swear you can feel his tongue everywhere. One second it’s inside you fucking in and out, the next it’s circling around your clit, and you trying your best not to squirm against his face. You feel like you’re losing your damn mind, part of you has forgotten just how skilled he is with his mouth and fingers, how easily he draws you in.

You’re so close, you can feel your orgasm burning at the base of your stomach, your pussy fluttering uncontrollably. Dean can feel it too, if the growl that vibrates through you is any indication to that fact. You can barely keep your eyes open anymore, the pleasure is too intense and then Dean’s fingers tighten on your thighs as he doubles his efforts. Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as he rips an orgasm from you.

You’ve never felt anything so intense in your entire life. Your thighs are shaking as they clamp around his face, and you feel lightheaded as Dean licks you through your climax. You collapse against his chest as soon as your feet touch the floor, and Dean chuckles as your eyes flutter open and meet his.

“Almost forgot how sexy you are when you come, so much better when it’s all over my face,” he remarks with a sinful smirk in place, and you’re too blissed out to do anything except smile at him. “So did that live up to what you were expecting?” 

You laugh almost breathlessly as he sits you on a chair and pushes the hair back from your face, licking his lips clean.

“Mmm, so much better, shit, I don’t think I’ll walk straight for the next hour.” 

“Good to know,” he smiles lazily, pressing a soft kiss to your lips that has you holding your breath. He pulls away and picks up your panties from the floor, and you raise an eyebrow at him as he pushes them into his back pocket. 

“Whatcha doing with those, Dean?” you ask, standing on your still slightly shaky legs, returning his smile and wrapping your arms around his neck.

Dean wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close, and you can see the mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“Keeping them until later, they only get in the way, anyway. So I guess you better hold onto that skirt.” 

“Well, I would really like to return the favour,” you purr, running your hand down his chest. Watching the way he drags his teeth over his bottom lip as you go lower, and his jaw clenches when you cup the bulge in his jeans. “And I know, I need to be a good girl. But I would be an awful girlfriend if I let you walk around like this all day.” You palm his cock slowly, noticing the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. 

“Good girls are overrated, sweetheart. But I don’t -” he groans and tips his head back, letting out a shuddering breath. “Fuck that feels good, baby.”

“Just imagine how good it’ll feel when I finally get my mouth on you,” you smile up at him, fluttering your eyelashes innocently as you unbuckle his belt.

However, you’re suddenly pulled from your train of thought when a knock sounds at the door.

“Oh no, not again!” you huff, hearing somebody shuffling with keys. Before Dean can react, you grab his hand, noticing a storage cupboard at the back of the room and drag him towards it.

Luckily it’s unlocked, and Dean laughs as you quickly shove him inside, hurrying to pull the door closed behind you, and you lock it from the inside. You look up at him trying not to laugh as you shush him through your grin.  

“You really do want to get that pretty little mouth on me don’t you, baby?” he whispers, pulling your body against him again.

“Only if you can keep your voice down, we both know that you get loud, Dean. And knowing our luck they are teaching a class out there,” you whisper back, trying your best not to laugh at the situation.

“Do your worst, sweetheart,” he winks, before cupping your cheeks and pulling you into a demanding kiss, your hands fist in his shirt, as his push beneath your hair and he tugs gently, letting his tongue explore and dominate your mouth.

Suddenly you snap apart as someone jiggles the door handle. Dean grabs you and stops you from stumbling back into the shelf behind you, presses a hand over your mouth and he shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. He lowers his lips to your ear and drops his voice to the quietest whisper, “breathe, they can’t get in when it’s locked from the inside.” You raise an eyebrow at him questioningly, and he grins back, “what? I know locks. Trust me.” 

Sure enough, seconds later the noise stops and you hear a sigh from the other side of the door, and someone cursing under their breath, before the stamping footfalls head away from your hiding place and eventually the outer door slams behind them. 

“Guess, we’re just getting lucky today, huh?” You smirk up at him as his hand falls away from your mouth. You lean up on your tiptoes and kiss his stubbled jaw, slowly dragging your lips down his neck, his hands drop to your hips and his fingers dig in perfectly as you suck a mark into his skin. He barely even notices as you gently walk him back against the wall behind him.

You watch him swallow hard when you pull back and start to drag your hand down his chest. “Now… where were we?” you purr, as you pop the button of his jeans and pull down the zipper.

You drop down onto your knees and tug down Dean’s jeans and boxers, freeing his rock hard cock, and you lick your lips as it stands to attention. His eyes are locked on yours when you look up at him, and you take his cock in your hand wrapping your small fingers around it firmly.

“Fuck, I’ve dreamed about seein’ you down on your knees for me, baby girl. The real thing looks even better though,” he tells you, but his breath catches in his throat when you start to move your fist up and down, feeling the throb of his cock beneath your palm.

You don’t answer as your eyes drop to the red tip, leaking pre-cum that’s almost touching your lips. You lean in closer and run your tongue along the slit, licking the tip clean and moaning as the heady taste of it hits your tastebuds. You flick your eyes up to meet his, as you wrap your lips around the head of his cock and teasingly suck, causing Dean to bite his lip and drop his head back against the wall with a groan.

You take him further into your mouth, pressing your tongue to the underside of his length and humming quietly, the corners of your lips aching as your mouth stretches to accommodate his thickness. Dean takes a shuddering breath as his cock nudges against the back of your throat, and you shift on your knees, parting your legs a little, hoping to stop the ache between your thighs from worsening.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t help, you still need some kind of relief. From the look he gives you you’re sure he knows how needy you are, just how badly you want him to fuck you. You can only dream about how well his thick cock will split you open as he fucks into you. His hands drop to your head and he wraps your hair around his fists tightly, causing you to whimper at the sensation. 

“Shit, sweetheart, you make it so fucking hard not to bend you over these shelves and fuck you until you can’t see straight.”  

You whine as his cock pushes against the back of your throat, his words are like a tease at this point. You’re so wet again, and your thighs are shaking. You suck in a breath when he pulls you from his cock by your hair, your eyes watering as you look up at him.

“Dean, please,” you whisper, making sure he sees when your hand drops between your legs and slips beneath your skirt.

“Fuck, baby girl. Don’t look at me like that, soon, I promise,” he all but groans as his thumb runs along your bottom lip and slips inside your mouth briefly, letting you suck gently before he withdraws it.

You bite your lip as he fists his cock and starts to move his hand up and down.

“How about you fuck my throat then, Dean?” you ask, as you take his cock between your lips again, he practically growls as his hand falls away and moves back to your hair.

“Play with that pretty pussy for me then baby, wanna watch you come while you take that cock deep,” he grits out as you moan around his thick cock. You take him deeper, and his hips start to stutter, pushing himself deeper still, until the wide head of his cock is almost making you gag.

Your fingers move over your clit in time with the thrusts of his hips, and you can hardly breathe, you don’t remember ever being this turned on in your life. The wet sounds start to fill the small room, and you swallow the best you can around Dean’s cock as he lets out an animalistic noise that has your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Fuck you smell good, so fucking wet just from sucking my cock, sweetheart? Imagine what It’s gonna be like when I finally sink myself inside that tight little cunt,” Dean growls as you swallow around him again, and cup his balls in your free hand, massaging them as they draw up in your hand. 

Your eyes widen as your stomach tightens, and you manage to catch his gaze. He looks completely lost to lust, his eyes are so dark and he looks so fucking sexy. You shiver all over as his grip tightens in your hair, nails digging slightly into your scalp. The drool leaks from the sides of your lips, dripping onto your chest as breathing becomes increasingly difficult, your heart thundering in your chest.

“Gonna come, sweetheart… Fuck. Right there!” he practically whispers in a broken moan, as his hips stutter uncontrollably and he comes hot and hard down your throat.

You swallow it down the best you can, gasping for air as he carefully pulls out and collapses back against the wall. Gently cupping your cheek in his big hand, he brushes his thumb over your lips.

“Dean,” you whine hoarsely as your nails dig into his thigh. Your forehead falls against his stomach as your own orgasm hits, sparks lighting hot all over your skin. You’re both panting hard in the quiet of the cupboard as Dean helps you to your feet, and pulls you into his arms.

He pulls back and you look up at him with a big grin, one you can’t seem to shake. Since the two of you had started this thing, you feel like you’re always smiling.

“I think I’ll let you drag me wherever you want if this is what we’re gonna get up to,” Dean chuckles, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Good to know,” you smile slightly, brushing the hair away from his forehead as he pulls his jeans and boxers back into place, and does up his belt. You’re trying not to think about the fact that he’s gonna be gone soon, and this will all be a distant memory. It suddenly dawns on you just how much you need him, how much you’ve been relying on him. He catches your hand in his own and frowns slightly. 

“Gonna tell me what’s wrong? You’ve got that look in your eye, sweetheart,” he sighs gently, and you pull away and shake your head, trying to smile until you turn around and walk over and unlock the door. The door lock clicks but Dean stops you before you leave, quickly catching your arm.

“It’s nothing, Dean. I’m great, I just think we should get out before someone comes back,” you try to reason, refusing to turn around. He stops trying to turn you and lets you go, but instead he comes around to stand in front of you, blocking your exit, and turns you both around again, so your back is to the door.

“Don’t do that, don’t push me away. Not now,” he sighs sadly, cupping your cheeks in his big warm hands, and forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Dean, just leave it.”

“Not happening. Talk to me, please,” Dean pleads, pressing his lips to yours in a chaste kiss that has tears springing to your eyes.

“Fine, you want the truth? I’m an idiot. I knew this - whatever we have - couldn’t be forever. I knew you were leaving soon. But I never even imagined that I would feel this way about you,” you mumble the last part quietly, looking down at the floor.

Dean sighs gently and lifts your face once more so you’re looking at him, wiping the tears from your eyes.

“You know you’re not alone here, right? I feel it too. If I had it my way I’d never leave you.” 

You step away from him a little further, and feel your heart drop in your chest as the realisation hits you. You need to let him go. You’re falling fast for him, and the sooner you get away the best for both of you.

“But you don’t have it your way, Dean. You don’t have a choice, and I’m gonna lose myself to you if I don’t stop this right now.” His hands drop from your face as you step back again, and grip the door handle in your hand.

“Don’t do this, Y/N.”

You swallow thickly and wipe the tears from your face as you open the door. 

“Thank you, for everything, Dean. I promise this is for the best, you’ll see.” 

You press a kiss to his cheek and turn to leave. 

“This isn’t over, sweetheart, not by a long shot,” Dean tells you simply, his voice full of conviction. You wish he was right, but you can’t let him get to you.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Tags: @chewie-redbird​ @julzdec​ @lettersofwrittencollective​ @stiles-o-dylan24​ @mogaruke​ @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone​ @dylanholyhellobrien​ @lilulo-12​ @22sarah08​ @simsadventures​  @charmed-asylum​ @nicole-lynne​ @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog​ @defenderrosetyler​ @emilyshurley​ @foxyjwls007​ @mylovelydame21​ @sunshineandwings86 @akshi8278​ @peaches007​ @stylesismyhubs​ @peachyyybabyy​ @fantasy-myth1​ @death-unbecomes-you​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @magssteenkamp​ @fandom-princess-forevermore​ @hobby27​ @littlelonewolfgirl @ladywinchester1967​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​ @maddiepants​ @spnfanfic-reblogs​ @holylulusworld​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @sonofabringmesomepie​ @deans-baby-momma​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @hhiggs​ @pisces-cutie​ @trina44sb @heartsaved​ @matsumama​ @adoptdontshoppets​ @beth-winchester21​ @doctor-hp-mcu​ @mrspeacem1nusone​ @fanddoms4love​ @nihilismworld​ @bxbyizzy @noobwuvsj2 @lyarr24​ @hearteyes-j2​ @tatted-trina6​ @quxxnxfhxll​ @thewinchesterandreidslut​ @deandreamernp​ @thoughts-and-funnies​ @weepingwillowphoenix​ @jenmisheels-bi-kid​  @erule​

Pond Tags: @aprofoundbondwithdean​ @manawhaat​ @thing-you-do-with-that-thing​  @nichelle-my-belle​ @notnaturalanahi​ @deanscarlett​ @roxy-davenport​ @impala-dreamer​ @samsgoddess​ @frenchybell​ @scorpiongirl1​ @deandoesthingstome​ @deansleather​ @curliesallovertheplace​ @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname​ @imadeangirl-butimsamcurious​ @kayteonline​ @supernatural-jackles​ @wevegotworktodo​ @quiddy-writes​ @babypieandwhiskey​ @supermoonpanda​ @deanwinchesterforpromqueen​ @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog​ @memariana91​ @teamfreewill-imagine​ @chelsea-winchester​ @becs-bunker​ @castieltrash1​ @supernaturalyobessed​ @ruined-by-destiel​ @winchester-writes​ @maraisabellegrey-blog​ @faith-in-dean​ @winchestersmolder​ @clueless-gold​ @deanwinchesterxreader​ @winchester-family-business​ @there-must-be-a-lock​ @just-another-winchester​ @cas-backwards-tie​ @winecatsandpizza​ @firefly-in-darkness​

[foodbytesback]

The Rise and Fall of Bon Appetit

Sometimes life comes at you fast.  Sometimes, that means stories in the food industry break in such rapid succession that you have no time to blink in between.  Sometimes, it means someone found out about something racist you did a few years ago.  What happens when it’s both?  Ask the fine folks at Bon Appetit.

In recent years, Bon Appetit made a name for itself, rising from the ashes of dying print media, through its Youtube channel featuring a diverse cast of personalities.  But over the course of this past week, many of the publication’s executives have been found to foster a toxic workplace culture, rife with racism, sexism and homophobia.  

Before I get too deep (because this is going to be a long one), I feel the need to point out that while this story’s breaking happened to coincide with Black Lives Matter protests across the country and gained traction from people’s outrage towards inequality, the events that have unfolded should not be blamed on “cancel culture,” “political correctness run amok” or any other reactionary dismissal of critical thinking.  Adam Rapoport didn’t lose his job because Black Lives Matter, Black Lives Matter came to be because of the damage that many in positions of power like Rapoport have done in both mainstream media and society as a whole.

[Also, yes, there are going to be a lot of links to Instagram posts that have been screenshotted and uploaded to Twitter.  Clearly the real takeaway from this debacle is that I need to get an Instagram account.  Also also, thanks to Tumblr’s new rules about offsite links, you’ll have to go to my main site for the full receipts.]

Preamble

Shortly after the killing of George Floyd, Adam Rapoport, Editor-in-Chief at Bon Appetit, wrote an editorial highlighting some of the coverage they’ve given to black chefs.  Many criticized this as being superficial and performative, with others saying that BA has, on numerous occasions, shut down articles relating to black culture for not being “trendy” enough or otherwise was discriminatory towards black employees. (Also, the repeated use of “uprisings” instead of “protests” seems a little suspicious.)

An article from Eater criticized the role BA played in the appropriating and whitewashing of many cultures’ ingredients and cuisines (gochujang, Aleppo pepper, and sumac seem to be some of BA’s favorite ingredients) that had become prevalent in food media in recent years.

While it’s a fairly minor offense in comparison, it may also be worth bringing up the time Rapoport accidentally called Priya Krishna “Sohla,” the name of his other Indian employee.

Monday, June 8th

Food writer Tammie Teclemariam posted a screencap of an Instagram post made by Rapoport’s wife, which depicted the two of them donning Puerto Rican stereotypes as Halloween costumes, brownface and all.    

Many were quick to declare their outrage and demand that Rapoport either resign or be fired.  Meanwhile, Sohla El-Waylly, one of the leading stars of the Youtube channel, was one of the first BA employees to speak up, and disclosed that this kind of behavior was just the tip of the iceberg.  She said that BIPOC workers have been paid disproportionately for their work, including not being paid a per-video commission that the white stars of the Youtube channel receive. 

Molly Baz, one of the aforementioned white stars, announced that she would no longer make videos for BA until all of El-Waylly’s demands were met.  One by one, their white coworkers chimed in in agreement.  

Former staff photographer Alex Lau also wrote an extensive tweet thread about his experiences at BA, including how he had futilely tried to fix the system from within.

By the end of Monday, Adam Rapoport had resigned from his position as Editor-in-Chief.

Tuesday, June 9th  

Since Rapoport’s official resignation did little to fix many of the systemic problems in place at BA, many began to turn their attention to other senior members of the staff.

Some came for Andrew Knowlton, the Restaurant Editor, for behaviors such as gaslighting an employee for trying to bring up racist practices in the offices.

Others called out Matthew Duckor, a VP at Conde Nast and BA’s former “Head of Video” (Did a 3 year old come up with that job title?), for a series of old racist and homophobic tweets.  He tried to apologize by saying that he was young and didn’t know any better at the time, but many were quick to point out that he was, at the youngest, 20, aka for all intents and purposes An Adult when he wrote those tweets. 

Tammie Teclemariam returned to ask current and former BA employees to DM her information about Duckor that they didn’t want to go public with themselves, ranging from his hand in the aforementioned pay disparity to making inappropriate comments towards women.

Teclemariam also did even more social media muckraking and found that Drinks Editor Alex Delany had once decorated a cake to look like a Confederate flag, while others found things like a Vine where he says the f-slur and some questionable comments about women on this Tumblr.  He later deleted his Tumblr and Twitter, and issued a cookie-cutter apology on his Instagram.

She also vague-tweeted that Brad Leone, one of the most beloved stars of the Youtube channel, is “possibly not a great guy,” but later added, “don’t fret.” At that point, some began to accuse her of just trying to stir the pot.

Ultimately, Matt Hunziker, director and camera operator for Leone’s show, reported that the higher ups were ignoring the situation regarding the pay disparity, and that they were not “learning and growing.”

Wednesday, June 10th

By this point, journalists were able to do more thorough investigations and put together exposés that were more than a blurb about an accusation followed by a nut graph.

Business Insider published an article where they interviewed 14 current and former BIPOC employees of Bon Appetit.  In addition to information already discussed above, it also described events such as an incident where several BIPOC staffers were told they weren’t allowed the test kitchen. (Carla Lalli Music, the Food Director at the time, would later defend her stance in the affair on Twitter.)  Ryan Walker-Hartshorn, a black woman who served as Rapoport’s personal assistant, recalled that she would often spend her day doing menial tasks like polishing her boss’s golf clubs or trying to teach his wife how to use Google Calendar.  In another incident, Knolton called Rick Martinez a “one trick pony” for only developing Mexican recipes, which is what he was being forced to do so BA could tout “diversity” bonus points.  Martinez would also say that the magazine under Rapoport’s tenure “went from old and irrelevant and white-washed content to young and trendy white-washed content." (Martinez would also upload a more graphic description of the treatment he received  to his Instagram that same day.) Later that day, Business Insider would also report that Duckor had left the company.

Vice would liken Rapoport to Michael Scott from The Office, but noted that that kind of bumbling, endearingly insensitive bad boss archetype isn’t as charming in the real world where real employees are being affected.  Parallels were also drawn between the Youtube channel and The Office itself, stating that the “quirky workplace” facade put on in the videos helped hide the more sinister practices that lurked beneath the surface, and that the notion that they were “one big family” often pressured BIPOC into doing more than their fair share for the greater good.

Jezebel showed email transcripts where Rapoport argued the semantics of having his costume be called “brownface” when he wasn’t wearing makeup, and had to be explained to, like a child, that the term refers to the racist caricature and not the literal act of putting brown makeup on one’s face.  What a douche.

Bon Appetit published an official apology on their site, a whole two days after the controversy began.  Many believed that their empty promises of “learning from their mistakes” were a day late and a dollar short.

Meanwhile, on Twitter, former BA writer Alyse Whitney said that senior editor Andy Baraghani had, on several occasions, used his influence to undermine her efforts. Whether this had to do with racism, sexism, or just Andy being petty is up for debate, but still constitutes as unprofessional behavior to say the least.

Thursday, June 11th

As interest in the story seemed to wane for many in the industry, Claire Saffitz, arguably the face of the Youtube channel, released another statement on her Instagram.  She said that her relative silence was due to taking time to find the right words, and that the same-old promises to “learn and grow” that most had been giving felt empty and performative. Unlike many of her white coworkers, she directly apologized for being complicit in the toxic environment  and for not using her status to try to leverage even pay for her BIPOC coworkers.  

Another BA Youtube personality, Amiel Stanek, also released a statement in response to BA’s official press release, where he demanded Conde Nast to stop avoiding action by setting vague timelines for changes or making excuses for not giving BIPOC workers raises like “the money just isn’t there.”

Associate editor Christina Chaey also opened up about her experiences with being pushed into more and more videos to “diversify” them- all without compensation.  

Friday, June 12th

The biggest scandal of the day was that, as Teclemariam predicted, Brad Leone is possibly not a great guy.  A leaked screenshot of an Instagram DM showed him making callous, almost Trump-y comments regarding El-Waylly’s demand for better pay.  He also allegedly said that if Delany were to be fired (as of that day he had been sent on leave), he would quit.

Saturday, June 13th

The New York Times published an article suggesting that the issues prevalent in BA’s management may go all the way to the top of Conde Nast.  Highlights include Chief Executive Roger Lynch chastising the whistleblowers within the company for raising their concerns in such a public manner and an account of an incident where he gave his black assistant a guidebook on how to speak “proper” English.

The Sporkful released a special episode of their podcast containing interviews with several current and former BA BIPOC workers.  Nikita Richardson divulged that after she was laid off, a story she had already done all the leg work for was picked up and credited to Amanda Shapiro, a white staff writer who is now acting Editor-in-Chief in lieu of Rapoport.  Sohla El-Waylly confirmed that the self-congratulatory editorial Rapoport wrote in the wake of George Floyd’s death was the real beginning of the end, and that the racist photo was just the final straw.  She also described a company-wide Zoom meeting held after the photo began to be spread around where Rapoport issued a half-hearted apology, and began talking about how he would “fix the brand” before El-Waylly demanded he resigned.  Furthermore, she revealed that after her Instagram posts began circulating rapidly, Duckor had offered her a new contract with increased pay, but she is refusing to sign it until all BIPOC have received similar compensation.  She also said that she had a hand in the wishy-washy statement that BA had published on Wednesday, and said that it originally had taken much firmer stances on the issues but their PR office made them tone it down.  Also, she commented that Leone, for the most part, just seemed like she “genuinely think[s] [that he] just found out racism is real.”  Ultimately, she was glad that the story was getting as much coverage as it was, since it made her feel that her voice was finally being heard.

Sunday, June 14th

Baraghani released a statement on Instagram apologizing for his behavior, saying that trying to achieve his personal goals in BA’s toxic, competitive environment made him lose sight of solidarity with his fellow BIPOC.  

While that may seem like the end of the story for now, it’s important to note that, even with the resignation of two executives, nothing has truly been done to fix the systemic problems at hand.

[flying-nightwing]

Decorum (3/3)

Attaboy gang, thanks for the support! Here’s the final part of Decorum. I can’t believe I cooked my boy Dick for +10 000 words, I kinda feel bad now lmao (I did add a bit of saving grace for him here, I’m not a monster) Anyway, you were served appetizer, main course and finally dessert with a generous syrup of Jason.

Part 2

Pairing: Jason Todd x reader, Dick Grayson x reader (ish)

Word count: 3994

Warnings: swear words, non graphic sexual content but strong implications

Summary: after making sure Dick gets the message, you finally get closure.

Dick couldn’t believe he was in the right place. He had checked many times to make sure he was in the right neighborhood, but his coordinate were clearly indicating he was. He looked around the dusty, unkempt buildings in the deserted street and thought to himself that you would--you could never stay around here. Sure, you had left with only a small part of your own fortune and left the rest to the benefit of Wayne Industries (the reason he was still legally married to you), but it was enough to guarantee you a better life than… This. Especially with your upbringing, he didn’t think you’d know how to live that way. Even for him… Hadn’t he had his training, he would easily have been uneasy walking those streets.

It had taken everything for him to make Bruce reveal him your location. Obviously he could have done it himself, but he didn’t think you’d take it very well if he did. But after a year and a half without any news from you but bruce’s assurance you were still alive and well, his patience had ran out. So despite warnings from the family and his own better judgement, he went after you. It was eating him inside, and he had to see you. So he tracked you down to a small town in Argentina, where you now had an address and ID. 

It was the sound of a slow, bassy beat that caught his attention first. He followed it through a small alley and finally ended up on a backyard party, where the music was loud and the people happily chatting. All of them appeared to have some carnival masks, and a drink in their hands. It was some kind of celebration, he deducted. His eyes were then drawn to the people dancing around the bonfire, their face barely illuminated by the warm glow of the fire. They were dancing in pairs to the slow reggaeton blasting from the stereo, and he could have sworn…

No way.

He dropped his bag and took a few steps forward to make sure he had seen well, only to confirm he did. After all, his eyes were well adjusted in the dark. There you were, dancing with some guy he did not recognize. It was you, he was sure of it even behind that mask. You were laughing at something he said, and you didn’t push him back when he kissed you. His eyebrows drew together at this out of character behavior, but his head truly began to spin at your next actions. You broke away from him just enough to beckon someone hidden from him on the chairs around the fire. He couldn’t see the person, but the voice that followed, louder than the party somehow, he knew too well. Way too well.

“No puedo decirte no, baby” 

Soon enough, a maskless Jason with his shirt wide open joined you. He poured some tequila in your mouth, before kissing you. Sloppily, passionately. It made Dick see red. Not only he knew where you were all this time, pretending he didn’t, but he was shamelessly making out with you, and god knows what more. Dancing with you so close, without a care in the world, his mouth on your neck… 

“What the fuck”

He said it loud enough to grab yours and Jason’s attention, as well as a few of the party goers that weren’t too drunk yet. Jason gestured for them that there was no problem and took a few steps forward, pulling you with him by the hand.

“Dick! Attaboy!” He greeted, opening his arms. You giggled at his antics as you stabilized the bottle in his hands so it wouldn’t spill. “What in el inferno are you doing here? Want some tequila?”

He looked in between you two, his eyes squinted in confusion at the mess in front of his eyes. Jason, well, he was Jason, nothing was surprising there. But you? You were wearing a crop top and some cut off daisy dukes, your hair was a mess and your feet dirty from dancing barefoot in the soil. You would have never been caught dead looking that way. 

“No I don’t” He refused the offer with a scoff before setting his eyes on you again. “I came to check on you”

“Me?” You raised an eyebrow. “I’m living my best life, Richard”

Jason made a funny face at your use of his full name, while dick only rolled his eyes.

“Here, with him?” He pressed. “You don’t even speak spanish”

“Well, ahora si malparido” You replied without missing a beat, and Jason almost spit out the cigarette he was trying to light with one hand. “And yes. He’s much better company than you”

“You must be fucking kidding me” He sighed to himself. “Why?”

“To make you feel like shit”

“To fuck my brother’s wife, man”

“Also, his ass”

“Hard same”

You were sure you could see the smoke coming out of his brain at this point.

“Before you judge me… Actually, you have no right to. Case closed” You gave him a tight smile. You knocked back the remaining of your beer before turning on your heels and heading back to the party. But before you could go far, he called your name again.

“We need to talk. Both of you” He said, but it went straight over both of your heads. “Sober”

“Sure sure” You brushed off, pulling Jason back with you. “See you tomorrow. You can crash on the couch inside or whatever”

“Or you’re welcome to join the fiesta, hermano!” Jason called to Dick. “But not with that attitude! And get yourself a drink!”

You laughed as your good mood returned in the heart of the party with Jason. Dick was forgotten the second he disappeared from your sight, and it was better that way. Just thinking about him left a bitter taste in your mouth, so you pulled Jason by the collar and kissed him hard. He welcomed the contact, only bringing you impossibly closer against him. He tasted like tobacco and tequila, and it was intoxicating in the most delectable way. His hand on your skin, burning a fire you had never touched before. 

He was everything Dick wasn’t, and it was amazing.

Life was so much simpler ever since you had left Gotham. You did your thing, with no pretenses or decorum to uphold. Jason would drop occasionally, sometimes for a few days, other for a few weeks, to show you the best of times every time without a fault. You had no ties, no engagement, no bullshit; only fun. And it made it all the more exciting. He had so far not disappointed on his word that he was, in fact, a piece of heaven. 

“Look who joined the party” Jason nodded to someone behind you, and a quick look revealed Dick looking very uncomfortable, but nevertheless with a drink in his hand. He tried not to make it obvious, but he was watching you and Jason. Your thoughts were only confirmed when you crossed glances for a second too long. “What do you say we put up a show for Boy Wonder over there?”

You grinned at his words, knowing what he meant. You now danced to make Dick jealous, which meant dancing sensually, provocatively, obscenely with Jason like you probably never did before. His hands were going wild as you practically grinded against each other. It was working, because soon enough you caught a glimpse of Dick retreating back to the house. Your eyes returned to Jason’s hooded ones, and you bit your lip. You lowered the mask pulled up on his forehead and kissed him again, drunk in lust for him. 

“Let’s go back to the bedroom, handsome” You muttered in his ear and a smile graced his face.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, darling”

As you pulled him back to the house, you couldn’t help but think the master bedroom was right over the living room.

------

The next morning followed your usual routine when Jason was around, regardless of your unannounced guest. You woke up early and burned the rest of the alcohol from the party through a run. A few miles before the heat became unbearable, then training in a private part of your garden. There were trees and fountains, which made it cooler than the rest of the propriety as the sun climbed higher in the sky. You were sweating alcohol and fire smoke as you were facing Jason on the fighting mat, but nevertheless, your energy and determination to put him on his ass was still very alive. 

He was circling you, much less on guards than you were. He was waiting for you to make the first move, but you had to find the right one. You knew that almost whatever you did, he would stop it without much of an effort. So you had to take him by surprise, which was easier said than done. 

“Come on darling, don’t tell me you’re sore from yesterday” He teased before lightly tapping his chest. “C’mon, hit me”

“Cocky bastard” You jumped right in and threw a few punches as a distraction that he dodged easily, before going for the leg sweep. But alas, his training was once again far superior than yours. You don’t know how it happened, but a few moves from him had you trapped under him. 

“I’m starting to believe you like me manhandling your sweet ass” He grinned as he started to stand up from his position. You took the opportunity to grab his neck in a chokehold with your legs, and bring him down with his own momentum. At least, that worked, because in a flash he was on the ground, trapped in between your thighs.

“You were saying?” You huffed.

“Oh, I definitely like ending up here, babe” He drawled out suggestively, and you rolled your eyes. “But business first, pleasure later”

Your eyes widened as he easily rose from the ground… With you still around his neck. Before you could shriek, he threw himself forward and slammed you down on the ground, saving his own fall with a roll. For a moment, you could only lay flat on your back, trying to process what had just happened. Beside the wind being knocked out of your lungs on the initial contact, you weren’t hurt. Just… Shocked, with good reasons to be. 

Well, that was a new one you weren’t prepared for.

The sun was then blocked by Jason, who offered you his hand and a shit eating grin. You took the hand and pulled yourself up, dusting off your backside. He raised an eyebrow in challenge, and before he could predict your next move, you threw a round kick, one he barely dodged. Judging by the surprise on his face, he had not expected such quick recovery from you. You took advantage of your attack momentum to throw hits and jabs everywhere you could see open. Your only advantage was that he was unprepared and off balance, but god did it feel good to see him not so smug for once. You finally backed him up into a wall and snatched the blade he always kept in his waistband, pressing it against his neck.

“I don’t know if i should be impressed, or proud, or both” He huffed. “But I’m definitely turned on”

“You dog” You scoffed humorously, taking a step back and handing him back his blade. He took it and tucked it back in the waistband of his short, still grinning at you. “Are you surprised I got the best of you?”

“I’m hard to beat, babe, of course I’m surprised” He teased, earning him a push on the chest as you made your way back to the house. But you noticed your training session had gained a… Spectator. “Oh hey Dick. Came back for act two?”

You snorted at his reference to the night before, and you could have sworn Dick blushed when he momentarily looked away. 

“I didn’t know you knew how to fight” 

“Obviously” You rolled your eyes as you walked past him into the house, undoing your sparring gloves. “I'm never getting kidnapped for one of you again"

"That's… good" He nodded, glancing quickly at his brother who had now taken his shirt off. 

"I'm going to take a shower, I'll be back" You called as you made your way to the stairs. 

"Comin with ya" Jason jogged after you, but stopped when you turned around.

"Not today, Jay Bird" You tsked teasingly. "Now be a good host to our guest while I shower"

"It's not even my house" He protested weakly, before sighing and backtracking to the kitchen. He paused there, giving his brother an once over before making a bee line for the fridge. 

“What have you done with her?”

Jason slowly straightened up from his search for food, unsure of if he heard Dick correctly. He furrowed his eyebrows and turned to face him. “Come again?”

“I said, what have you done with her?” Dick repeated, putting emphasis on his words. It made Jason snort at the sheer irony. “She would never…”

“She would never what, Dick?” He sighed in annoyance. 

“You turned her into you and you know it”

This time, Jason didn’t hold back the laughter. He grabbed an apple, spun it in the air and caught it back before biting in it, trying to find out where the hell his brother had found the audacity. “I didn’t do shit, Dickie. It’s all her”

“I don’t believe it” He objected, but Jason wasn’t on the defensive like he had expected. Instead, he was the one to be.

“What did you expect?” He shrugged. “You broke everything that held her into the mold, and now she shines. I mean, I’ve always suspected she was a wild little vixen under all that pretense, but boy was I in for a nice surprise. You really missed on something there, I almost feel sorry for you”

“So you’re together now?” Anger was audible in his voice. He remembered way too well how they danced the night before, and how Jason had totally done this to prove he could. “Or you use her to fuck?”

“Aren’t you just the cutest” He smirked, throwing the apple core in the bin. “I’m just helping her enjoying life outside the stupid decorum she was born into, brother”

“And you’re taking nothing back out of this?” He challenged, as to try and find something against him. But so far, he had nothing concrete.

“Of course I’m taking something out of this” He scoffed derisively. “She’s hot, and she’s amazing at sex. That I taught her, since you clearly didn’t. Guilty as charged on all counts of bedroom fun positions… Fuck, you really did miss the jackpot”

“And you cheat on her, does she know that?”

“He doesn’t cheat on me” You walked in right after his question. “Not anymore than I cheat on him, because we chose our relation to be that way. Not that it concerns you”

“See? She’s shining” Jason taunted Dick as he brushed past him in the direction of the shower at his turn, leaving you alone with your… Legal husband. He looked uncomfortable, but you didn’t care. You weren’t nervous to face him.

“Uh, you look good”

Dick wanted to facepalm himself. That’s all he could say? Of course it was. Your skin was glowing like it never did before, you didn’t look tired or stressed, and most importantly, he wasn’t there to hurt you. You truly looked good, healthy and happy. And it made him miserable to think his absence from your life was one of the main reason for that, and the other, Jason. 

“I do” You replied without an ounce of shame, because you did. “So I guess we’re doing this long overdue conversation now”

He nodded slowly as you gestured for him to take a seat to the table. You joined him and sat on the other hand, crossing your fingers in front of you. It was better now than later, and you could close this horrible chapter of your life once and for all.

“It’s weird. I barely recognize you” He began.

“You would have had to know me in the first place for that” It wasn’t harsh, the way you said it. But you had to make it clear where you stood, and lying would have been counterproductive. “You never spoke more than ten words to me, except when we’d fight. How could you possibly have any idea about what I was like before?”

“Right. I deserve that, I guess” He mumbled to himself. “I just… I just would have never pictured you fighting, I remember you didn’t like it”

“Because it wasn’t the proper thing to do” You admitted. “I felt like I didn’t belong in that training room, like I didn’t belong in your world, you see”

“Are you doing that to make me feel like shit too?”

It sounded… Defeated. He was talking about you and Jason, with the underlying question of why him. You knew it must have felt weird, to see you together. But while he was ignoring you, Jason had been the only one who didn’t pretend like everything was fine. Well, he did to some extent because he had to, but he would always be there if you asked for him. When he accepted your invitation to come and see you in Argentina, he helped you change your world around, to discover who you were on your own terms. It had been the first time you could choose, you could dare to be bold, you could dare to make mistake and stupid things without fearing what blow it would deal to your reputation. He gave you a taste of freedom, and you never wanted to let it go. It wasn’t like you were a couple either; you had just found a best friend that could understand, and that could give you a little extra more…

“I’ll admit it’s a side effect that does not displease me, but no” You answered. “I’m doing this for me, because this is who I am”

“Is that what you think? Or what he told you?” He asked expectantly. 

“You have to stop with that. You have to understand the only times I was ever myself were when you weren't around” You sighed, dropping a truth you had wanted to reveal him for a while now. “You never made the effort to know me. Jason, despite his flaws, did. So once again, whatever judgement you think you’re entitled to, you’re not”

Silence followed your words. He was thinking about them, processing them, while you were just relieved you could finally get it out in the open. Sure, you had talked about it with Jason, but Dick needed to hear it from you.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have...” He held his head down, finally speaking. Whatever hope he had with this talk just disappeared in smoke, seeing as he had nothing to give you. “I just… I just can’t bear to know that I’m the reason you had to turn to him, you know? I hate to see him giving you everything that I wouldn’t because of my own damn stupidity, while I could have been the one to… Be there.”

He finished in a whisper, and you didn’t reply straight away. You knew he had been sincere in his feelings back at the hospital, and it hadn’t changed. Somehow you knew he was truly trying to change, that he was trying hard to make up for his past actions. If only he had showed that behaviour a little sooner, you had no trouble believing he would indeed be the one beside you right now. But history made its course, and he wasn’t.

“Well, we gotta own our mistakes, don’t we?” You hummed. “... Now I’m just asking of you that you respect my choices as my own, you owe me that much”

He hummed in agreement before reluctantly standing up. He glanced at the door, then back at you. “I should go now. Just let me know when you’re back to Gotham, okay?”

“Dick” You called before he could go any further. He spun back to face you, but your expression probably cued him it wasn’t because you had a change of heart. “I’m not coming back to Gotham. Ever”

“What?”

“I should have told you this at the hospital the night before I left” You confessed. Your choice had been made a long time ago, you had just hoped he would have given up before you had to do this. You stood up and went to the small desk beside the window, fetching a white, unmarked envelope. You went back to him and handed him it. “I never had the intention of coming back. Here’s… Everything you need to move on as well. Only thing left to do is for you to sign, the rest had been taken care of”

Wordlessly, he pulled out the folded documents, staring at them frozen in place.

“The second document stipulates you and Wayne Enterprises get to legally keep my share of the family money” You explained. “Please sign it too”

“You’re divorcing” It was all he could say, and you nodded. 

“We both need this” 

“But--”

“Listen, I see that you are trying to make amends, and it’s why I decide to forgive you for whatever you’ve done. It’s in the past now” You gently cut him off. “I understand you are trying to be better, and I know you will be for whomever life puts on your path next. But I’m not a part of this journey for you, not anymore. So you have to let it go”

For the first time since you met Dick Grayson, you could look truly him in the eyes, and him in yours as well. It felt strange, to have talked with him when you never used to. You believed you had learned more about him today than in two years of marriage, but somehow it felt like the closure you and him needed. You didn’t need to know why he had been a jerk to you, it wasn’t important anymore. You had seen what you had wanted, a glimpse of who he truly was, and that was satisfying on its own. You just hoped he’d remember his lesson, and would be careful for the times that had yet to come. As you watched him leave your doorstep, one thing was clear, you were at peace with what happened with him. Who knew, perhaps in a few years from now your paths would cross again. You’d say hello, he’d say hi back. Maybe you’d go take a coffee and talk about your lives, and possibly share a laugh over silly details you had overlooked from your shared history.

But for now, you’d rather forget Dick and enjoy what you had. You closed your eyes as arms wrapped around you from behind, and Jason’s shower gel took over your sense of smell. It made you realize how content you were with the life you had, and how glad you were to have left the life that had been designed for you.

“How did it go?”

“Don’t pretend you weren’t listening” You smiled, resting your head against his chest. You felt the vibration of his silent chuckle as he swayed you lightly. “But it went well. We cleared things up. And i gave him the papers, I shouldn’t stay miss Grayson for long now”

“Aw man, there goes my “affair with my brother’s wife” fantasy” He joked, and you half heartedly slapped his chest. “Ow”

Some things never change.

“I’m just glad it’s over” You sighed, turning around in his arms to face him. “Thank you”

“For what darling?” 

“Everything, Jason. Thanks for everything”

[goofygomez]

An analysis of The Last of Us Part II and its themes

I’ve seen a lot of people share their experience with playing The Last of Us Part II, and it’s safe to say most of it has been largely negative. It’s no secret this might be one of the most divisive games of all time, and it will probably stay that way for a long time after. I personally adored this game. I believe this is the masterpiece of masterpieces, and it’s the only game to ever top the emotions I felt when playing the first game, although I will say in terms of raw story (with nothing else like gameplay to support it) the first game is still a bit higher on the list for me.

But for all intents and purposes, when considering all aspects of this game, I think this is the single greatest accomplishment in game design and storytelling I’ve ever seen in a video game. That being said, I would like to try and respond to some of the criticisms this game has gotten, and furthermore, I’d like to try and analyze some of the themes I noticed when playing the game. Keep in mind this is MY opinion, and should not be taken as fact. This is just my experience, and I’ll respect yours one way or the other.

Take this as a MAJOR WARNING that there will be spoilers for both games in this post.

With that, let’s start with the common criticisms:

1.       “They killed Joel for no damn reason. He deserved better.” This is an easy one to tackle. For one, Joel most definitely did not deserve better. Even though we might love him for being the first game’s MC and have grown attached to him, there’s no way we can or should look past the fact that he, Joel, is a bad man. He even says himself in the first game that he and Tommy did some questionable things to survive in the 20 years between the outbreak and even during the events of TLOU. While he may be perceived as the hero of the franchise, when you look at his rap sheet, you start to notice he’s not so great after all. Take the ending of TLOU as the most glaring example, where Joel has been told Ellie must die in order for the Fireflies to develop a vaccine. His first and only reaction is to kill every single Firefly he sees and murder the surgeon who would have killed his “baby girl”. Would I have done any different in his shoes? Probably not, but that’s the beauty of the first game. Its ending and the ambiguity of Joel’s morality given his actions is one of the driving forces that make the first game so spectacular and why it’s still being discussed 7 years later. Now let’s talk about the second point to this criticism: “He died for no reason”. If you recall, the people who killed him were former Fireflies, one of which (Abby) was the daughter of the surgeon whom Joel unceremoniously killed. In their eyes, they had every right to go after Joel. Like Anthony Caliber, one of the best TLOU speedrunners, said in one of his recent livestreams, “Joel signed his own death sentence when he killed Marlene and the surgeon back at the hospital in TLOU1”. While it may seem overly zealous to us as players who have grown to love Joel, if the roles had been reversed would you not do the same? Would you not want revenge for the killing of your father? And isn’t that exactly what Ellie is doing in this game, which most players justify in this hatred of Abby?

2.       “Joel was out of character in giving out his name and trusting strangers. They dumbed him down for the sake of plot.” As I recall, Joel literally gave Henry and Sam his name and followed them out to their hideout barely 30 seconds after meeting them and beating the shit out of Henry. Joel may be an untrusting person at heart but he always does so with reason. The most common reason people give of this is “He didn’t trust the guy asking for help in Pittsburg and ran him over so why trust Abby and her gang”. First of all, that was literally the one situation Joel had already been on the other side of, and knew perfectly well it was rehearsed. On the flipside, he and Tommy had just saved Abby and literally mention there’s no other way to go other than with her because there’s a huge blizzard and a herd was after them. And especially now, after Joel has been living in Jackson for 4 years now and has been living comfortably in a community very obviously open to new people. Abby’s group gave them no reason to distrust them, and giving out his name, in any other situation, would have made no difference in the outcome. It was just unfortunate they happened to be after him.

3.       “I hate playing as Abby, why are they trying to make me sympathize with her?” That’s the whole point, they’re not. The entire game, you keep rooting for Ellie to find and kill this woman who wronged you, and when you’re forced to play as her, you’re understandably angry. You’re upset, and you feel you have to slog through this seemingly endless section of the game. But as you keep playing, much like I did, you start seeing the other side of the story. Abby is not the villain the game paints her out to be when she killed Joel. She’s another human being with human emotions and a very real reason to hate Joel and to want him dead. As I said before, Abby is doing exactly what Ellie eventually does after Abby kills Joel.

4.       “Why would Ellie go through all that effort to not kill Abby in the end?” I will touch on this in the analysis of the themes, but simply put, it was about breaking cycles.

Now I’d like to start defending how and why I believe this is a masterpiece by first taking a look at one of the admittedly less touched upon parts: gameplay. This aspect usually takes a step back when it comes to narrative-based games, and it is obviously not the most resounding part of this game, but it is clearly not taking a back seat either. The flow of both combat and mellower scenarios in this particular game is astounding. When battling opponents, the AI feels like one of the most intelligent I’ve ever seen in a video game. The way the enemies communicate between each other, telling the others when the player is out of ammo or when they’re flanking to create much more nuanced fight sequences, coupled with the expanded worlds Naughty Dog has come up with to create a seamless experience when fighting hordes of enemies without it feeling stale or repetitive, is one of the most immersive gaming experiences I’ve ever had. Each encounter feels unique and challenging in some ways you may not have felt before in the game, and by the end you’re so immersed in that feeling that going through the Santa Barbara group (to me, at least) was almost automatic and I could see so many different options for me to approach each situation as it came my way.

Likewise, Naughty Dog have managed to turn the puzzle solving from the first game, where you simply had to find a dumpster to step on or a door to open with a shiv, and incorporate the environment and world into it, finding clever ways to get over obstacles without simply having a step-up ladder be the end of it. The mechanics that went into the rope puzzles, breaking windows to get to previously unexplored territory (which is admittedly not new in gaming, but still a cool concept to add to the franchise) paired together with so many more new little features to bring the world they created to life, and bring you into it as well.

As always, and as was the case with the first one, you can’t talk about The Last of Us without talking about the soundtrack. The haunting score created by the masterful mind of Gustavo Santaolalla, a fellow Argentinean like me, brought to life some of the most heart-wrenching moments and the most beautiful ones as well, in a way that can only be achieved with amazing sound design and music. The main theme song, which is a sort of homage to the one from the first, takes a much darker approach, choosing instead to focus on the bass and that resounding low voice in the background, setting the tone for the rest of the game: a much darker, grittier, and grounded experience that will pull no punches. Santaolalla managed to create a score that mimics the first one in melody and rhythm, while succeeding in mirroring it to create a more dissonant accompaniment to the gruesome story you’re brutally killing your way through.

Another aspect of the game that deserves all the praise it gets, and one that people seem to at least be in consensus about, is the graphics and animation design. I can safely say this is hands down the most beautiful, gorgeous, astounding, breathtaking game I’ve ever laid my eyes upon, and that might not be enough adjectives to fully encapsulate how I feel about the graphics in this game. One can argue all day about the morality of the characters in the game or the balance between right and wrong that Naughty Dog so masterfully plays with in the story, but one thing is for sure: The graphics design team deserves so much credit for actually bringing the story and the characters we know and love to such vivid life. You can see it in the little things, like the veins in Joel’s arm as he plays “Future Days” by Pearl Jam and the facial expressions Ellie can make if you stand in front of a mirror during the museum flashback; you can also see it in the larger things, like the jaw-dropping backdrops that range from a beautiful mountain range in the snow to the downtown Seattle skyline. No moment will be wasted by stopping your pace to just admire the absolutely gorgeous view you’re presented with every time you enter a new game world. The attention to detail in animation is also not lacking at all, with so many little actions being given special treatment as we see Ellie patch herself up and still having the actual bandage over her arm instead of disappearing like any other game, or the way Ellie’s fingers perfectly (and correctly) play chords without resorting to generic hand gestures. You can see the love and care the developers have for this game in every tiny crack in the game that simply takes your breath away and that sometimes you won’t even see from the vastness of the world around you.

And finally, the story. It is definitely a divisive story, and Neil Druckmann did warn us it would be. There were times, namely the moment they switched the POV to show me the first 3 days from Abby’s perspective, when I was genuinely wondering what the hell they were thinking. My faith in Naughty Dog never wavered, though. I kept playing because I thought, “There must be some reasoning for this.” And to my greatest relief, it finally clicked for me a few hours into Abby’s section. Namely, the moment where she meets Lev and Yara, two Seraphites that defected after the former shaved his head. At first, it seemed weird that they would be cast out for such a stupid reason, but then you start to get to know them, and you understand the real reason they had to leave their religious cult. As I said before and will say again, this is a game about perspective. Up until that point, I just wanted Abby dead, albeit with some guilt since learning that it was her father Joel killed in that operating room. But seeing Abby’s willingness to help total strangers, much like Joel did at the start of the game, was what sold me on this game’s concept. The purpose of this story is to make you feel the regret and the weight of the actions you impart on the world, as you can see the carnage Ellie left in her wake during your time as Abby, seeing Abby’s friends butchered by either Ellie or Tommy, realizing they’re no different than the villains we have such tunnel vision about. The ending is something I’ll get to in the themes, but I just have to say I love the way it’s such a parallel to the first game’s ending, up to the point of divisiveness in the people who actually played and finished the game (which at the time of writing this is less than 4% of players).

Now onto the themes. One of the things people always praise about the first game, and rightfully so, is its themes and how well it portrays them through certain characters to create a cohesive and coherent story that pulls at your heartstrings and makes you root for the “heroes” of the game. This time it’s not much different, with the minor exception that this time, there are no heroes. Just like Neil Druckmann said many times during the development of Part II, “While the first game was about love, this game is about hate”, which is one of the main themes.

1.       Hatred: I can safely say there have been very few times of my gaming life where I’ve been so viscerally angry (in a “good” way) while playing a video game as I have as I tore down through countless enemies that got in the way of me and my target. This game will let out the worst parts of you in ways you can’t even imagine, and will make you take a look at the way we glorify violence in video games without the usual preachy tone of “video games cause violence”. Like I said before, this is a game that mirrors the first one while paying homage to its themes. To take a page out of Abby’s book, it’s like a coin. There are always two sides to it. On the one hand, the first game’s main theme was love, and how loss and grief can be overcome with it with the proper care and time. The Last of Us Part II shows us the uglier side of human nature, which is anger, despair and a natural desire for revenge (another theme). Both games show us the natural progression of a grieving person, but both of them take wildly different approaches. Granted, we don’t know how brutal and vicious Joel was right after losing Sarah, but it’s safe to assume he was nothing short of a monster, which eventually didn’t really help in dealing with that loss until he found love and hope in a little girl whose safety was now his utmost responsibility. In Ellie’s case, she’s still in that first stage. Ellie as a character has always been reckless and foolhardy, and her actions in this game are a testament of how well Neil Druckmann and Halley Gross know their characters. The entire game, right up until the final moments where she’s about to finish Abby off, her actions are fueled by a rage and desire to exert justice onto those who’ve wronged her. In other words, she’s looking for revenge.

2.       Revenge: Both main characters have at least one thing in common, and it is their desire to avenge their father/father figure. I truly believe that Joel’s death was not only justified (from a storytelling perspective) but also crucial to the development of a sequel that both enhanced the world of The Last of Us while building onto it with new ideals and perspectives. The idea this time is definitely not one we haven’t seen before in so many other mediums: “Revenge is bad and is never worth it” Seems trivial to even suggest it when we all know the outcome, but The Last of Us Part II manages to not only build upon the idea that revenge is a double-edged sword, but it also manages to balance the perspectives within that cycle to attempt to explore the psyche of the characters we’ve put into the boxes of “hero” and “villain”. And subsequently, they manage to break that characterization by showing us both sides of the aforementioned coin to see, in no unclear terms, that the consequences of our actions when dealing with vengeance always circle back to expose the nastiest side of our nature. It stands to reason that we, as the player, would at first be on board with Ellie “finding and killing every last one of them”, and demonizing Abby for not only killing but torturing possibly one of the most beloved characters in gaming history. We want her dead. We want her to suffer for the crime she’s committed. Yet, in our quest for vengeance and justice, would we not be succumbing to the same cycle that brought Abby to killing Joel in the first place? Did she not think, from her perspective, that she was entirely justified in killing the man who had not only destroyed the one chance humanity had against the Cordyceps, but also murdered her father in cold blood? Are we not the same as Abby for wanting her dead after she kills one of our own? When does it end? And that’s the real question. This whole thing, the lust for revenge that can only be quenched with cold-blooded murder, is just another facet to our complex and grey morality as human beings. It’s natural for us to feel angry and upset at this, and I believe all the hatred people give this game that stems from it forcing you to play as Abby is the exact nature the game is trying to bring out of us and show to us in a mirror.

3.       Cycles: While this may not be such an obvious catch as the first two, it’s still very much ingrained in the inner workings of this game’s narrative and how both characters view the world according to their reality and perspective. The concept of revenge, as stated above, is a repetitive one. One that causes cycles and events to repeat themselves if left unchecked, and The Last of Us Part II plays with these masterfully. Starting the game with a heartbreaking moment and setting the dark tone for the rest of the game is what starts the first part of this cycle, which is Ellie wanting to avenge Joel’s death, much like Abby avenged her father’s death after 4 years of despair, planning, and training. Ellie’s desire to kill Abby is what leads her down the path we would characterize, were she some random character and not the main one of the franchise, as the villain’s route, going down a dark path that prompts her to mindlessly and mercilessly slaughtering countless people whose names you hear from their friends’ mouths when you kill them, to the point where you end up getting to Abby’s closest friends and companions and murdering them too, not unlike Abby murdered Joel. It is a sobering feeling to realize the character you most love and root for is, in the eyes of the other main character, as much of a villain (if not more) as we as players make Abby out to be. It is at the end of the game, which a lot of players had qualms about, where Ellie is beating Abby within an inch of her life that she realizes this is not worth it. Killing Abby will not bring Joel back, and will certainly not bring her any satisfaction, as showcased by how traumatized Ellie was after the killings of Abby’s other friends and the fact that she still kept seeing Joel’s lifeless body as she attempted to drown Abby on that coast. Then, as we are mercilessly choking the life out of her, which is yet another example of the visceral anger the game elicits from the player, we see a different memory of Joel. One of hopefulness, where Joel is playing the guitar and smiling. It is at that moment that Ellie realizes the only thing she can do now is to move on with her life and accept Joel’s death as something that happened. To add onto this realization, it’s probably good to mention that Ellie must have seen some of herself in Lev in that killing Abby would have left him (if not dead) in a state much like the one she, Ellie, was at the start of the game. Coming back to the theme of cycles, if Ellie killed Abby, what’s to stop Lev from coming after Ellie the same way she came after Abby, and so on and so forth. Both these things coupled help Ellie finally break the cycle and go back to the farm, where she’s greeted with the consequences of her actions in a more emotional and real way than the PTSD: Dina being gone and Ellie leaving her guitar behind, symbolizing her letting go of Joel’s memory and accepting her reality.

The game scares us; it scares me. It is a harrowing experience that will only get better with time and will, in my humble opinion, go down as one of the greatest games of all time for years to come. No matter the context, and no matter the medium, I wish it were easy to find such real, emotional, and powerful pieces of art as this one more often. But alas, we will have to wait and see. As someone whose name I can’t seem to remember said: “This will mark the gaming industry and divide it between ‘Before TLOU2 and After TLOU2”

[iamtheblondestblonde]

Slides and Serendipity

Part Four (4.3k)

Part One   Part Two   Part Three

AN: Can we just appreciate how good he looks while literally just standing there doing absolutely nothing? It’s not fair. With that said, enjoy!

Warnings: Only language for now

I told him how I’d moved to the US when I was 18, right after finishing school. I’d always had a love for programming and when I was about 15 I had my first app up and running, but it hadn’t really been successful. At 17 some of my guy friends made me think of an idea that I wouldn’t be able to forget in the following years.

I was convinced that it could be my breakthrough but it would take up every minute that I could spare for the next few years because building the interface of an app with this magnitude usually took entire teams of people but I was doing all of the work by myself. By the time Tyler and I made it through the entrance I was telling him how during my freshman year of college I’d barely slept, writing code and improving like crazy.

“At one point I was so sick of it, I just wanted to do something else, anything else really, so I made this little game. It took me two days, although I probably could have done it in like four hours if I hadn’t gone out that night. The graphics were terrible and I thought it was stupid, a silly little distraction, but the friends that I’d shown it to loved it so I published it as a joke. No one could have predicted what would come and to this day I still don’t know what exactly happened”, I told him as we slowly made our way around the aquarium.

“So your little game became famous?” he asked curiously and I laughed dryly before giving him the last piece of information that he’d need to connect the dots, a look of shock now on his face.

“You made Flappy Bird?!”, he exclaimed so loudly that the actual birds around us quickly flew away. I put my hand over his mouth to try and avoid any further attention, even though most people had already turned around to watch us curiously.

“Yes I did but please be quiet. People weren’t exactly my biggest fans after I took it down”, I said and took his hand in mine to try to pull him along with me but he wouldn’t budge.

“Wow, like holy fuck I’m honored to be in your presence. I played that game all day long”

He smiled at me then and I was relieved that he’d calmed down again. With our fingers still laced together we watched some fish in silence before he spoke up again.

“Tell me about your life back then”

“I feel like people have kind of forgotten about me now but it was absolute madness then. I was 19 and racking in around 50 grand a day, which is something that no teenager should ever do. I did a lot of stupid shit as you can imagine but also became my own investor, so at least something good came out of it”, I told him, not really daring to look him in the eye. Only a handful of people still knew about Flappy Bird and while I didn’t regret telling him, I’d had to face all kinds of reactions before.

“Yeah I know a thing or two about being left unsupervised and making too much money as a teenager”, he said bitterly and I remembered some of the stuff that Mara had told me about him and his time in Boston. I go the feeling that he probably understood me better than anyone else.

We kind of dropped the topic for a while after that, instead just talking about his workouts and the upcoming weeks. I had noticed a group of teenagers recognizing Tyler a while ago but so far they hadn’t come up to us, leaving us to continue our conversation in peace.

A while later I heard him curse and turned around to see them taking pictures of us, making me swear as well. He tried to apologize but I wouldn’t let him as I’d kind of expected something like this to happen again and it wasn’t really his fault either.

I let go of his hand to avoid stupid rumors but didn’t step back from him. We continued walking, hands still brushing once in a while but neither of us reached out again. I asked Tyler to take pictures of me for my Instagram and he acted like a professional photographer, crouching down to get the best angles and everything. I wanted to get a picture with both of us in it but didn’t dare to ask anyone else. He posted some pictures as well but I made sure to stay out of the frame.

“I just remembered your other idea. Did it have the success you expected it to have?”, he asked me a while later, surprising me with the sudden change of topic as we’d just had a discussion on whether a sloth was a good spirit animal or not.

“Yes it did, actually more than I’d hoped and my sources also told me that you’re an avid user yourself”

“I swear if you tell me that you’re behind Instagram I am absolutely losing my shit”, he said, probably only partly joking and I had to laugh.

“Nah I wish but not quite. I guess you could call me your wingwoman though because I’ve heard that you met quite a few of your hookups through my baby Bumble”, I revealed, again laughing at his reaction. He looked at me as if to try and figure out if I was kidding before coming to the realization that I wasn’t.

I didn’t make a secret out of the fact that I founded Bumble, having given interviews and everything and it was probably the biggest reason why the media paid me any mind. If he’d googled me, he would’ve found lots of articles and pictures but I guess a guy like him refrained from googling anyone, including himself.

“I’ve been wanting to ask though, why Bumble and not Tinder? I know for a fact that the amount of people looking for hookups is higher on Tinder”, I said and watched him curiously.

“I was actually on Tinder for a little while but I didn’t like having to make the first move. I didn’t want to put myself out there with like pick up lines in case people would upload screenshots, but whenever I just wrote ‘Hey what’s up?’ people were giving me shit about the Tyler Seguin being basic so I deleted it. Bumble is nice because I only have to respond and I can just ignore the crazy bunnies until their profiles are gone”, he explained and I smiled, feedback always much appreciated.

“Well the Tyler Seguin using one of the most basic lines is pretty disappointing, I’d be mad as well”, I teased and he laughed, his eyes crinkling.

“With you I put in more effort, I mean I even made my dog steal your shoe and everything, kinda like a reverse Cinderella”, he came right back and we both burst out laughing again. Spending time with him was probably one of the easiest things I’d ever done. There weren’t any awkward pauses or moments and besides the fact that I was trying my best not to fall for his charms, I could easily count us hanging out among my favorite things to do nowadays.

Once we’d seen everything at the aquarium and barely avoided getting shit on by a bird we decided that it was time to head out.

“So I know that you said that you avoid Italian restaurants but there’s this German place in town and I feel like you’re best qualified to judge it. You have to tell me what to order though”, he said as we were walking back to my car. I wasn’t even that hungry but he looked so excited that I agreed to go anyways.

The restaurant was cute, actually reminding me of places I’d been to in Germany and when the waitress came to take our order I was surprised by her being German as well. I didn’t want to be rude towards Tyler so I kept our chat short but it always felt good to speak my native language again. She told me that the restaurant was owned by a couple from Germany and I vowed to myself to come back if I was ever in the need for some quality comfort food.

“I always remembered German to be quite harsh but it actually sounds kind of beautiful when you speak it”, he said afterwards as we waited for our meals.

“Well yea, you probably only heard people yelling at each other on the ice in Switzerland and the language there also sounds quite different from the one I grew up with. Angry German is definitely harsh but I don’t think you’ll ever hear that from me”, I assured him and he started pestering me about teaching him some slang.

The food tasted more authentic than anything I’d had in the States so far and it caused a feeling of longing to bubble up in my chest. For the most part I was glad that I’d left when I did but from time to time I still missed my old home, even if the US now felt more like my home than anything else.

“Do you miss Toronto?”, I asked Tyler, knowing that he probably felt the same.

“Yeah definitely, not as much right now because I just got back from Canada but whenever I feel down I wish my family could be with me to support me. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love my life here in Dallas but I guess whenever things get bad it’s easiest to want to go back to your roots, you                                         know?”, he asked and I nodded, even if I couldn’t relate that much. I didn’t have such a strong support system as the one he obviously had but I could still understand him wanting to be surrounded by familiar things in those moments.

We talked about our lives outside of Dallas and his love for fishing and the peaceful look he got on his face when talking about his cabin that he had up north was completely different from what you’d expect because of the way the media portrayed him. Of course he mentioned parties as well and while some stories were crazy, I’d been to wilder parties and no one would ever give me shit about it because no one cared.

“I think it’s because it plays into the stereotype of the party-loving hockey player, like people actively wait for you to act out so they can say that they were right”, I said as were downing the last of our drinks. He was in the spotlight and people wanted him to behave responsibly, which I understood, but he was still a real person with real feelings and I could also see why he wanted to escape those expectations from time to time.

Tyler wanted to pay our bill of course and while I thought that it was a sweet gesture, I insisted on him letting me cover the tip at least. I wrote a little note in German on the receipt and then we left. We’d spent so much time inside that the sun was already painting the sky in reds and oranges, dipping everything around us in a beautiful light.

“I think I’ll really like it here”, I said to Tyler while I looked up into the sunset.

“I’m trying to help you with that”, he responded and I tried to talk myself out of feeling my heart flutter at the soft smile he was currently giving me.

This time his song choices were more laid back and I felt myself relaxing as much as I could without causing a traffic accident. He asked me to park the car at my house so we could walk over  to his place and I happily obliged, wanting to savor these last few moments together.

There was still a little bit of the sunset sky left by the time we made it back and I basked in its light as we slowly approached his gate. I was still humming one of the songs he’d played earlier when we made our way through his front door, four dogs coming at us with full speed. Soon enough we were both buried under masses of fur and wet noses, their excitement only slowly dying down.

“Thank you for today, I had a really great time”, I said to Tyler once we were both able to untangle ourselves and stand up again.

“So did I. I’ll see you tomorrow after practice, right?”, he confirmed and I nodded before leashing Yogi and thanking Tyler’s friend for watching him on my way out.

Back home I decided to be productive, so I pulled out my laptop and began researching people I’d want in my team when I got a facetime call not long after.

“Dude how was your date?”, Lisa immediately asked me as soon as her face filled my screen.

“It wasn’t a date and you know it”, I responded, rolling my eyes at her suggestive smirk.

“I don’t know, a guy going to the aquarium with you and then taking you out to dinner sounds pretty date-like if you ask me”

“Well I’m glad no one is asking you then”, I said before giving in and telling her about the day, not date, I’d had with Tyler.

“He sounds really fun, I’m surprised with everything that Mara keeps saying in our groupchat. Anyways, what were you up to before I called?”, she wanted to know and I told her about my mission to find people that I could see myself working with, which was honestly harder than I’d expected. Lisa and I had worked at an app development company in Denver together so she knew how eccentric a lot of people in our line of work could be.

“I think I can actually help you out with that one. Do you remember Mia from back in Massachusetts, the girl with the pretty handwriting that we met at the foam party back when we were Freshmen? She was in my recommendations on Insta a while ago and she told me that she moved back home to Dallas not too long ago. Even if she has a job already you’d probably be able to poach her if you wanted to and she might know some people as well.”

I remembered Mia of course, because we used to hang out a lot during our time in college. Afterwards we’d kind of lost touch, as it happened with a lot of people but if she was back in the area I’d definitely hit her up again, remembering her to make great designs. I asked Lisa for Mia’s info and then she told me the latest office gossip about my former coworkers. Leaving the company had been a risky move but because I’d always done a lot of freelancing and was sick of only following orders, I was confident that I could pull this off by myself. I’d already had requests lined up for when I’d start working again.

My fingers were itching for something to do and I was starting to seriously consider moving up the deadline to get at least some work done. I wasn’t really good at sitting around, so I decided to text Mia to see if she wanted to casually meet up this week, while also hinting that I might be interested in having her work with me before going to bed.

Katie picked me up the next morning and we caught each other up on the last few days while driving to where we’d meet the other girls for an early lunch. I had only spoken to Dominika and Alandra for a little while at the party but we’d hit it right off. They were funny and nice to me and greeted me with warm hugs as soon as we spotted them sitting on a table in the corner of the restaurant.

“You look amazing, I love your jacket”, Alandra said and I tried my best not to blush while returning the compliment. They all looked stunning in fact and I didn’t understand how people could hate so much on these genuine and great girls. We ordered something to drink and some light lunch and then Katie and Dominika started telling me how excited they were for the season to start up again.

“You’ll have to come to the games with us. I’m sure Tyler will ask you as well but even if he doesn’t, because he can be a little dense sometimes, you still have to come”, Katie said and I laughed at her insulting her boyfriend’s best friend. I’d been to quite a few hockey games in Denver and I’d always loved the atmosphere there so that was an easy yes.

“Anything exciting happen between you and Tyler since that super hot almost make out sesh in the pool on Saturday?”, Dominika asked and I hid my face in my hands.

“You guys saw that?”, I groaned, a slight blush now definitely creeping up my face.

“Girl I think everyone saw that and the way he was looking at you all afternoon... like damn”, Alandra threw in and started fanning her face with her hands.

Surely it hadn’t been that bad, now had it?

They continued telling me how I’d raised quite a few questions within the team, people wondering who ‘that hot blonde’ was that had managed to have Tyler wrapped around her finger.

“I swear nothing interesting happened since, the most exciting was perhaps a kiss on the cheek that night”, I said but I could tell that they weren’t fully convinced. I didn’t dare telling them about the hand holding, cuddling and all those other sweet moments out of fear of making a fool of myself. I knew damn well that he might only be that way to charm my pants off and I certainly didn’t need anyone else reminding me of that fact.

Soon enough it was time to head over to the practice rink and I got back in the car with Katie again. She was telling me about how Jamie first introduced her to everyone and how nervous she felt among all of those big guys and their better halves. I could totally relate to the feeling now, even if I’d already met some of them and wasn’t his girlfriend either, but being confronted with so many new faces at once still managed to freak me out.

Katie pulled into the parking lot right before the boys were coming through the exit. She greeted Jamie with a kiss while I tried not to drool over Tyler’s post-shower look. The guy wasn’t exactly taking it easy on me lately. I went over to hug him, secretly enjoying his smell before turning around to everyone hanging around in a loose circle.

“This is Liv by the way, for anyone who hasn’t met her yet”, Tyler introduced me and I tried my best to keep a neutral but friendly expression on my face.

“He’s told us how smart you are, so good luck on being the only one with any brain cells left between the both of you”, one of the guys chirped and I had to laugh out loud.

“Let’s not embarrass me any further please”, Tyler said before throwing his arm around my shoulder and slowly leading me towards his car, not without dirty looks towards his teammates of course. I could only wave at the girls with a shrug before we reached his G wagon and he opened the door for me, even holding out his hand to help me inside.

I told him about all of the stuff I’d need and while I’d need some stuff to be delivered, I was still convinced that we could get most of the stuff home today.

Tyler put on a snapback as soon as we reached the parking lot, unfortunately covering his beautiful curls but at least he refrained from wearing sunglasses inside. We grabbed a cart and made our way around the place, contemplating on shelves, desks and the best chairs before considering decorations. Tyler helped me with his input sometimes, but mostly he just let me do my thing and stuck to following my orders on what to add to the cart.

We couldn’t take the conference table I’d chosen with us of course, but everything else fit into his spacious car after getting the backseats out of the way. I was glad to have him assisting me today, as I would’ve never been able to fit everything in the Audi, let alone play Tetris the way he did.

I connected my phone to the speakers and had my hands full with multiple items when the display showed an incoming call from Mara. I looked at Tyler to see if he had anything against me taking it and after he shook his head no I accepted.

“Hey girl, just a heads up, you’re on speaker in the car and Tyler is with me”, I warned her before she could say anything stupid, like mention any of the things we’d talked about the last couple of days.

“Hi Tyler”, she said and I knew her well enough that she was probably trying her best not to squeal, successfully taming her inner fangirl.

“Hi Mara, I’ve heard a lot about you”, Tyler greeted her and gave me a playful wink.

“I guess it’s good that you’re both there”, she started and I immediately started to worry as this couldn’t mean anything good but my train of thought was interrupted by her continuing with: “I’ve got some news for the both of you. I’ve kept a close eye on the hockey blogs lately because of everything that has been going on and I’m so sorry Liv, but you’ve been spotted and identified.

“I guess you haven’t really been on your phone today but there’s pictures circling of you two on the hike, a video from the party with you two in the background, which really started this entire witch hunt and more sets of pictures just recently from the aquarium and you shopping for furniture together, I’m really sorry. Liv, you’ve also gained lots and lots of new followers on Insta and I guess your DMs must be blowing up as well”, she finished and if my hands were free, I’d bury my head in them right now.

I’d expected something like this to happen, but not a week after I met him already. I had a public account with quite an impressive following base as well because of my business and Mara went on to explain how the fans had pointed out the similarities in our recent posts and stories, concocting all kinds of crazy stories.

I couldn’t watch it at the moment, but the video from us at the party was apparently the worst. In all of the other pictures you could see us standing close to each other, occasionally touching, but according to Mara the video showed two girls lounging at the party with us in the background, Tyler’s arms clearly wrapped around me right after we fell into the pool.

Mara could sense that I wasn’t in the mood to discuss this any further because she hung up pretty soon after dropping that bomb on us. Needless to say that the rest of the ride was quiet, a loaded silence between us for the first time since we’d met. I could tell that Tyler was trying to figure out what to say to me but I doubted that anything he could come up with could lift my mood right now.

He helped me unload the stuff from his car in silence, both of us lost in our thoughts, only speaking up to greet Yogi. We carried the stuff into the office and except for me pointing out where to place the boxes for now, no other words were spoken after that for a while.

“I’m so sorry that you got dragged into this Liv, it’s not fair that the only thing people can say about you right now is about you supposedly dating a hockey player, you deserve better”, he finally said as he was about to leave and while his apology was sweet, it was almost immediately lost in the whirlwind of thoughts rushing through my mind at this point.

I felt exposed and watched, like the victim of an obsessive stalker. I’d been reduced to nothing but a fling in Tyler’s long list of conquests in a matter of hours and probably already had his fangirls threatening me. There was no point in trying to diffuse the rumors either, not that I’d demand that from him, because people always believed what they wanted.

I didn’t mind being recognized for the hard work I’d done all my life, but this was different. This wasn’t about my knowledge in programming or any of my ideas, people were now solely interested in me because of who I was supposedly with.

It was a weird feeling, being objectified like a butterfly in a glass case with no other purpose except to be studied closely and picked apart.

“It’s not your fault Tyler, it just comes with your lifestyle I guess”, I shrugged halfheartedly and he wrapped his arms around me. His hug gave me at least some feeling of comfort, although I couldn’t bring myself to enjoy it the way I would under different circumstances.

“I can tell that you need some space right now but if you need to talk to someone I’m always just a few minutes away and I’ll tell the girls to look out for you as well”, he said softly and with a kiss to my forehead he was gone, leaving me alone in the cacophony of thoughts screaming against each other inside my head.

[slade-neko]

My Thoughts on Super Smash Bros

Just something I wanted to write up since Smash Bros is one of my favorite game series and kinda got me into video games.  (WARNING: Its fairly long...)

Super Smash Bros. (N64 & Melee)

Super Smash Bros. was my first 3D game. Got it one year for Christmas when I was a little kid with a Nintendo 64. That game introduced me to video games. Before that I had only played Super Mario Bros. and Duck Hunt on my parents’ NES console. I wasn’t hooked on video games until I got my hands on a Nintendo 64. “Whoa! The graphics are so 3D!” It also introduced me to so many major Nintendo characters I did not know about like Link, Samus, Fox, and Kirby. It was the best gateway a kid could ask for to “get into” video games. Inevitably I ended up getting a Gamecube with Super Smash Bros. Melee as my first game on it too. Melee was great just like reliving that original feeling all over again. What made these games even more special was unlocking the characters. In a time before internet, you had no clue who was in the game and how to unlock them. The excitement of seeing that “Challenger Approaching” screen was like nothing else. A lot of your information came from questionable  sources of kids at school. Rumors with no real answers (until you get an official guide book.) No internet leaks or spoilers. Those were good times! 

One word I would use to describe the overall feel I got from Smash 64 and Melee would be Classic!

Super Smash Bros. Brawl

Years later, Super Smash Bros. Brawl came out. I’m not sure why, but I really got into that game. It was probably due to the timing and circumstances. The longest wait between Smash games being Melee to Brawl was 7 years and that brought a lot of desire for a new Smash game for me. Also the memories of being a kid playing this with my friends after school on weekends, big sleepovers, using the game’s crappy wi-fi connection, good times! I also did not understand the game’s mechanics as a kid and why people hated them, so I couldn’t complain about that. The art style of the game wasn’t necessarily my favorite, but it worked well for that game. It went from the bright vivid colors of Melee to a more dull, colorless, gritty style. Best example is Ocarina of Time Link being swapped over to Twilight Princess. Oh, and the game really picked up as a lot of fun when I began modding it. Turns out Wii’s were very easy to Homebrew and Brawl was fairly easy to mod. That brought out a HUGE replay value of installing new mods, making my own mods, and all sorts of endless possibilities with the game. Getting Project M (a fan mod for Brawl that reworked the entire game more competitively) really opened my eyes to the competitive side of Smash and showed me why normal Brawl was so bad.

One word I would use to describe the overall feel I got from Brawl from its art style, orchestrated full choir theme, to its fantastic Subspace Emissary cutscenes would be Epic!

Super Smash Bros. 4 

Smash eventually died down for another 6 years until Super Smash Bros. 4 came out. Man, Smash 4 was exciting because “Hey, new Smash game!”, but seeing it in full... it was honestly very weird. The 3DS version launching first felt like a big demo... at 240 pixels... wow. (I hated 3DS for taking wonderful games like Smash, Monster Hunter, the N64 Zelda remakes and dragging them into a low resolution, portable Hell!) That aside, I forcibly played the 3DS version until the Wii U one came out. Then the true game began and well it still wasn’t the Smash I was hoping for. It was fun, some cool new characters, but some more cuts too. Questionable new game mechanics among other things that made gameplay pretty un-fun. Hearing about how the 3DS version dragged down the Wii U version was quite disheartening too like Ice Climbers getting cut because they simply would not work on 3DS and the two games just HAD to be the same was stupid. The 3DS was a horrible anchor weighing down the game. Oh, and I don’t think they had a very clear direction with the art style of this game... The Zelda characters are still Twilight Princess designs, but are now bright and vivid? It just looks weird and out of place for them. Ganondorf looks exceptionally ugly because of that. 

One word I would use to describe the overall feel I got from Smash 4 from its theme music and the whole game’s aesthetic feels very Sporty. 

Super Smash Bros. Ultimate

Not long after and Super Smash Bros. Ultimate came out of the dark to save the day. Ultimate is really amazing. They took the crappy Smash 4 and cut its chains from the 3DS so it could soar above and beyond. A lot of it is Smash 4 assets ported over from the Wii U to a better console, the Switch. They somehow got EVERY single character back with a ton of new ones, almost every stage, so much amazing music, and well it truly is deserving of the Ultimate title in terms of content! 

So the game is pretty great and has A LOT of content, but its still not without issues (at least for me.) This is me being overly critical with the game and my MELEE FANBOY BULLSH*T opinions coming through, but there are quite a few things I don’t like about this game. The theme music (albeit catchy) is super sappy anime bullcrap music. I don’t mean that in a negative way, despite how I worded it, IT is very sappy anime music about the forces of good fighting evil together. The World of Light mode isn’t a lot of fun at least for me it wasn’t. It wasn’t Subspace Emissary, which I know its wasn’t meant to replace it. I had the most fun with Adventure mode in Melee and would’ve preferred to have a little mode similar to that instead. Spirits are seriously just the stickers from Brawl. I frequently call them that unintentionally when playing the game. Doing Spirit Board battles is nowhere near as fun as doing nicely planned out battles like Melee’s Event Matches (nothing can top Event Match 51!) Spirit Battles are typically just jokes that can be beaten in less than a minute. Also no trophies... I understand why they chose not to because of how much work they require, but it still doesn’t mean I can’t miss them. The gameplay is definitely an improvement over Smash 4, but I still crave that fast paced action Melee/ Project M had. Heavier gravity, harder to recover, quicker to KO, L-Canceling, hit-stun and proper combo potential are all things that made faster, higher speed action. I’m not super big into the competitive scene, but even I think the faster pace of Melee-style gameplay is far more fun to play and watch. 

Then there’s issues created because the devs are pushing too much into the competitive side of the game such as picking stages first then characters second, not having the game remember my character when returning from a match, having to make new rulesets just to change a few options. I’m pretty sure these are all things competitive people want that help out in tourney situations and stuff, but I don’t like them for normal matches. These are small issues in the long run, but I am bothered by them every time I play and I don’t see them ever changing that. All they need is a few new options to fix this. Toggle an option for stage select or character select first, a quick customizable ruleset option and have saved rulesets separately, and the option to remember your fighter. Heck they could even go a step further have it remember your preferred color to each character saved to your name data like how Smash 4 3DS did (that was a cool feature!)

The one word I would use to describe Smash Ultimate is HYPE! Nothing builds hype like a Smash Ultimate trailer. Every single trailer builds more hype for this game. From the original reveal trailer with the Inklings, Ridley, King K. Rool, and now Sephiroth?! Seeing those trailers, I can’t help, but smile and get hyped up and excited! Despite my nitpicky issues I have with the game, I can still say its a pretty darn good Smash game! I applaud Sakurai, the dev team, and Nintendo for going big with this game and putting so much effort into it and I can still enjoy it even if its not quite at the exact level I want.

[banashee]

Another prompt list thingy with my dear friend @bananaink Full prompt list can be found here: https://banashee.tumblr.com/post/190342596571/65-random-writing-prompts

*+~

I just wanted to write something fluffy to break up the heavy flow of my "Bad Things Happen Bingo" so I wrote this ridiculous thing.

Rated Mature for use of foul language and the fact that Clint is a sniper currently on the job. Nothing graphic though.

    *+~ 

   The Sound of Your Laughter

 The comm in Clint’s ear crackles to life with a faint but familiar sound, shortly followed by his handlers voice. It is as deadpan as always, but he just knows what Phil Coulson sounds like when he’s amused, even while on the clock and in full Competent Badass Mode.

 “Barton, are you humming Queen right now?”

 “Sure am.” Clint says easily, interrupting himself. He has indeed spent the last thirty minutes humming ‘I want to break free’ under his breath while waiting for his target to show up. It’s been hours, and the guy they’re after is - somewhere. Not here, apparently. It happens sometimes.

 “At least it’s not ‘Another one bites the dust.’ That would be pretty inappropriate, given my position, Sir.’

 Clint is grinning at his own joke and carefully shifts - his legs are starting to fall asleep and he needs to be able to move, even after spending most of the day high up in a tree. Just in case.

 Over the comm, he can hear Phil’s breath huff a little in what would have been a small laugh from most people.

 “Indeed. Thank you for your consideration, Agent.”

 Bland and dry as always, and yet Clint can see right through it. He’s still grinning when he shrugs even though Phil doesn’t have a view of him. He knows he’ll know. It’s how they work.

 “Gotta focus on something. Unless you wanna chat with me, Sir.”

 “Do I want to, though?”

 “Wow, that’s harsh.”

 “You’ll live. Any movement down there?” Phil asks then, refocusing their conversation back on the job.

 “No, nothing. Johnson is taking his sweet ass time.” Clint lets out a breath - not quite a sigh because that’s unprofessional, but it’s a close thing.

 “He might show up later. Let me know if anything changes.”

 “Will do.”

 Suddenly, Clint is hit in the head from above.

 “Ouch! What the fuck?”

 It hurts, but he’s not injured, as far as he can tell. Most of all, he is still upright and confused - Clint remains suspicious. Just a second after the curse leaves his mouth, Phil is in his ear, concerned.

 “Are you alright? What’s happening?”

 “Something just hit me in the head, but I can’t see anyone. Must have been small, since I don’t know what it is.”

 Clint lets his eyes drift around himself, but there is no one around as far as he can tell. Besides, if this was an enemy attack, he’d be long dead or at least unconscious. He says as much, and Phil hums in agreement, but it is fairly obvious that he still worries about an attack.

 The chances of it happening are always in the back of their minds, even though it shouldn’t be as likely on this particular mission.

 Before he can say anything else, Clint is met with the very same sensation of a small object hitting him - no, falling onto him from above. He narrows his eyes and looks upwards.

 Instead of an enemy, he meets the dark eyes of a squirrel that is seated on a tree branch higher up than Clint. It is clutching a nut in it’s little paws and then, Clint could swear it looks him dead in the eye, the squirrel drops it right in top of his head, fluffy tail swinging back and forth.

 A startled laugh escapes him, while the squirrel keeps nibbling as if nothing had happened. The little guy has the audacity to look completely innocent and adorable in the process, and Clint points a scolding finger ar it.

 “You. Stop throwing your nuts at me.”

 A beat of silence over the comms stretches out before Phil finally answers. He sounds like he’s trying very hard to stop himself from laughing tho. Clint just knows that the little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes will deepen and if no one else is around to see, there might even be a small smile. It’s his favourite expression on Phil, although he makes an effort not to think about that too much.

 “I really hope you have encountered a rodent, Agent Barton. Otherwise, I have questions.”

 Clint chokes on air when he bursts out laughing, quickly stifling it as to not attract any attention to himself. Damn Phil Coulson and his ability to do things to him without even trying.

 “And here they say Agent Coulson doesn’t have a sense of humor.” he shoots back, smiling widely but then another nut hits him, effectively cutting him off.

 “Okay, ow. Listen buddy.” he turns back on the squirrel that still watches him as if to say “What the hell are you doing in my house?!”

 “I get it, I’m in your space. Not cool. Believe me, I understand. But I’m kinda working here, so can you not? Ow! Fucking Bastard.”

 And honest to god, Phil does laugh this time. On the clock, on comms. It must be Christmas or something.

 “You know Barton, I’m not entirely sure if I feel sorry for whoever the poor Agent reviewing this footage will be, or if I’d like to be a fly on the wall when they listen to it.”

 “I know I’d be delighted if that was my job.”

 Clint shrugs, and barely moves out of the way when the next nut falls - he’s fairly sure that this is how his day will continue until he can make his shot. It’s ridiculous and he’ll probably need and ice pack for his head after, but he’ll prefer a squirrel defending it’s tree any day over people shooting at him unexpectedly.

 Their conversation dies down after a little while, and Clint goes back to quietly humming under his breath. Then, he catches movement on floor level.

 He stops humming immediately and his tone of voice changes to a calm and neutral level.

 “Sir, there is movement.” and a beat later, when he is in position with an arrow nocked and his bow string pulled tight he adds,

 “Target acquired. Do I have permission to shoot?”

 “Permission granted.” The positive answer comes a fraction of a second later, and Clint evens out his breathing.

 His arrow flies, and naturally, it finds it target without any trouble. The man drops, never realizing what even happened.

 When Clint and Phil meet up on ground level just a few minutes later, they make their way back to the nondescript car.

 Their day ends with them eating take out on a safehouse couch, crammed together in the small space of a  safe house but it is comfortable. It is familiar, and by now it is just as much part of their mission routine as bickering and flirting over the comms like an old married couple.

 Maybe, one day, they’ll get their shit together.

 Maybe, one day, one of them will actually ask the other out for dinner as a proper date.

 But for now, they eat lukewarm chinese food and are simply happy to be able to spend their off-time together.

 If they just so happen to fall asleep on the couch, heads pillowed against each other and limbs entangled when they wake up in the middle of the night because neither of them is 20 anymore and safehouse sofas tend to wreck their backs, well.

 It’s not like either wants to complain, really.

 *+~

     Prompt No. 35 - “Ouch.”  

[icecreambeach]

"Arright," Jesse slurs, sliding slovenly into the beat-up old sofa in the corner of the rumpus room, waggling his cigar in Hanzo's face with a mischievous grin, "arright-- I got somethin'. Never have I..."

PREDICTABLY, this one gets real horny real fast. Rated E for NastEEE.

- - -

“Arright,” Jesse slurs, sliding slovenly into the beat-up old sofa in the corner of the rumpus room, waggling his cigar in Hanzo’s face with a mischievous grin, “arright– I got somethin’. Never have I…”

“The game is over, McCree,” Hanzo snorts, waving him away.

“Naw, naw, naw… that was the kids’ version.” Jesse tosses his head at the door, as if implying the four hours they’d just spent with the rest of the team – who’d all had enough sense to go to bed by now – was just the lead-up to the true point of this evening. Reinhardt and Lucio are still here, but they are across the room, smiling and chatting well out of ear-shot. Which may be lucky for them. “This round’s for the big dogs.”

“If you are about to get even more lewd than Angela’s med school dormitory confession, then get me another beer.”

“I’mma get even more lewd than Genji’s bukka–”

“Never mention that to me again,” Hanzo groans, face in his hand.

Jesse cackles and only staggers a little when he stands and, gentleman that he is, pulls a brew from the very bottom of the now mostly-watery cooler. The rumpus room at Gibraltar has seen better days, but they’ve managed to outfit it with most of the essentials: a couple sofas, some recliners, big holovid, a few games. The cooler is Reinhardt’s, which accounts for its size, but even this prime resource is running low.

He’ll have to make some kind of move before Hanzo can finish this beer, or he’ll miss his window and all this liquid courage will have been wasted.

Jesse thumps back onto the sofa, tucked into the arm opposite Hanzo, and passes him the beer. “Alright now. Never have I ever–”

“Wait.” Hanzo opens the beer and takes a long swig, the kind of deep gulps that make his throat stretch and Jesse’s thighs shift in his seat. “You may,” he burps, “Continue.”

Jesse snickers. He hasn’t had a drinking buddy like this since Blackwatch. “Never have I ever… wait. Wait.”

“What now?”“What did we establish?” Jesse sets his beer down on the coffee table and counts off on his metal fingers. “We both’ve had threesomes. Both’ve had sex in a car, a train, a plane, and at least four restaurants and or clubs. Both’ve had sex blindfolded and tied up and…”

“Is this round to only be about sex? There are other subjects.”“Well, feel like we covered everything else, and, to be frank… if we talk about the more nefarious shit we’ve both gotten up to, this night’s gonna take a dark turn real quick.”Hanzo grunts in reluctant agreement. He was slumped before, but now he sits up with considerable effort, like a sleepy king still trying to keep up appearances. “Go on then.”

“Never have I ever… uhh…” Then Jesse slaps his knee. Points at Hanzo like he’s got him. “Never have I ever had somethin’ up my ass that wasn’t a body part or toy!”

Hanzo tilts his head up, thinking. Jesse, who’d been expecting either a snort of disgust or a look of simple derision, is on the edge of his seat.

After some consideration, Hanzo drinks and Jesse brays: “WHAT? What was it?!”“The handle of another man’s knife.”

“That’s…” Jesse knows he doesn’t have the self control to finish that sentence without playing all his cards at once. So he just hisses through his teeth and tries to get a hold of himself. Takes a puff of his cigar and mouths around the end. “Jesus Christ. Alright. Your turn. Shit.”

Hanzo looks smugly at Jesse. “Never have I ever slept with my boss.”“That ain’t fair.” Jesse drinks. “You never had a boss.”

“That is the point of the game. To use one’s knowledge of each others’ differences to win.”

“No, the object is’t’learn ‘bout each other and fun and… well, anyway, I ain’t got a big-mouth brother to tell me all the gossip ‘bout my new team members.” Then Jesse narrows his eyes. Aims to kill. “Never have I ever eaten food off of someone’s naked body.”

Hanzo rolls his eyes and drinks. But Jesse has little time to celebrate. “Never have I ever had sex in womens’ clothing.”

Jesse’s jaw drops. “How’d you know?”Hanzo chuckles darkly. “What was it? Bad dare gone wrong?”“Nah,” Jesse shrugs, smirks like the devil, “I just look really good in a brassiere and thigh highs.”

Jesse sees his brow flick up. The effect reminds him very much of a cat waving its tail. “What color?”

“Kind of a tangerine.”“Hn,” Hanzo slowly grunts, shifts his body so that it’s more open to Jesse. Leans his jaw on his hand. “Suits you.”It takes a second for Jesse to remember that they’re playing a game, but in his defense, he is playing two games at once, and one has much higher stakes. “Never have I ever…” He strokes his beard. Considers. “Worn a spreader for more’n an hour.”Hanzo chokes on his beer. Curses in Japanese as he wipes it off his shirt.Jesse grins with deep satisfaction. So the man likes ‘em dressed up and spread out. “Does that count as a drink?”“No. Kuso. You are not even playing well.”

“Alright. Go on, then. I’m still sober enough to find my dorm. Don’t know about you.”

“Never have I ever…” Hanzo hesitates, swallows. Looks at Jesse with strained determination. “…Gone home with a bartender.”

“Now you’re just walkin’ backwards into tame territory,” Jesse drawls after his drink. “Game gettin’ too hard for ya, old man?”Hanzo smirks, and though it’s brief – like a poker tell – Jesse feels a little fear crawl up his spine. Decides to go for broke. “Never have I ever been spanked with anything but a hand or a riding crop.”Hanzo’s face darkens in the most satisfying way yet. He looks over Jesse like he might drink him up too, but he leaves his beer alone. In fact, he settles more deeply into the sofa.

Jesse wonders if he’s pushing too hard. “Y’ready for bed? We can–”“Never have I ever sucked someone off while they were driving.”

Jesse’s brows flare just listening to Hanzo say that out loud. That intense stare, that unashamed enunciation. Hanzo stares like a drawn gun. Jesse can feel his eyes on his chest while he drinks, the spot where four buttons air out the hair that spreads up half of his pectorals. He can feel sweat form at the spot along with his temples.

Hanzo drapes an arm across the back of the sofa. Seems to move closer without effort. “Military vehicle?”Jesse shakes his head. “Truck.”“Was it your idea or his?”“Mine.” Jesse feels some of the levity in the air get replaced by sudden, coiled arousal. Doesn’t know what to do about it. Wasn’t ready for it, even if it was his plan all along. “Was a long ride. Got bored.”

Hanzo lifts his drink to his lips. “Did he pull over before he came down your throat?”“Jesus. Jesus, Han.”

“Never have I ever–”“It ain’t your turn.”“I will say when I am finished.” He’s somehow now even closer on the sofa. “Never have I ever been fucked by two men at once.”Jesse drops his jaw. Despite all the drinking, his throat’s gone dry. But he locks eyes with the other man anyway, downs more beer anyway. Gives him a slow, slick smile anyway. “That one wasn’t my idea. But I held up real well.”

“You took them both at once?” Hanzo mutters, voice now lower and softer. More appropriate to their closer quarters.“Yeah. Yeah, I did.” Jesse spreads his knees over the sofa despite the hammering of his heart. “One laying down, one standing from behind.”

“Did you come on them like that?”

“Fuck,” Jesse hisses, “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”“Did they fill you up well,” Hanzo trails his fingertips across the back of Jesse’s hand, “Did they give it to you hard for being such a good boy?”“Christ. You’re gonna kill me, Hanzo…”

But Hanzo is even closer now, easily within touching distance and Jesse has no idea how. Never really registered his movement, though he has had a few by now. Can’t bring himself to care with all the need coiling in his guts, the sharp shudders threatening to make him do something stupid. It’s all he can do to stay still now that he can see the very subtle start of Hanzo’s morning stubble, can smell the Czech pilsner on his breath, can count the scales on the dragon from where the man’s yukata slips down his shoulder.

“Never have I ever kissed a man in Gibraltar,” Hanzo noses close to Jesse’s jaw.

Jesse would smile, but he’s way too focused on the playful knowing in Hanzo’s half-grin. It’s the last thing he sees before their lips are together, soft at first, then quickly sloppy and impish and perfect. They both know how drunk they are, and how neither probably want things to go much further than this tonight, and so both settle into the luxury of a winding, aimless kiss with deep sighs and quiet, revenant moans. If Reinhardt and Lucio are even still in the room, neither take notice.

By the time they part, Jesse is winded. “Guess I have to drink now.”

“No more drinking.” Then Hanzo grins and leans to press his lips right up against the soft, sensitive shell of Jesse’s ear. “Never have I ever…”

And then Hanzo whispers into his ear something so graphic, so specific, so obscene that Jesse feels his heart locomotive straight into his belly, feels that shudder he’s been suppressing pulse upward from the same spot. He’s never met someone as kinky as he is and Hanzo just blew him away with one shot on a half-drunken brain at 3:30 in the morning.

“I’m gonna,” Jesse wheezes, “Need to write that one down.”

“I will remember.” Then Hanzo settles on top of Jesse, kisses him again, and neither hold their win against the other come morning.

[misterrightscenarios]

painted blind; part i

a five part series | royal court au | graphics credit: @ccarats​ characters lee jihoon, chwe hansol genre fluff, young adult angst word count 2k synopsis a study in how some times cupid’s aim is as bad as it gets. or maybe it’s his timing? no, no. cupid definitely knows what he’s doing.

there was an air of nostalgia as the sea-side landscape passed by in a blur—days spent walking by the shore, how you counted your steps on the gritty sand, ignoring the way the air would nip at your bare feet. nights spent sneaking down to the kitchens for a late night snack, watching from the small north-facing window as the waves crashed against the low barricade wall of the castle you'd once called home.

it had been five years, and your parents had decided an education outside the small kingdom village would suit you best, only planning to put you in the important inner-circles of the court once you had returned.

you had learned that there was more to the world than seaside farming and the little market that you frequented on the weekends with your mother. you had learned of politics, of how cruel others could become when they wanted something—of how willing people were to be your friend when they found out your father was a respected general in the kingdom.

it had taken you a long time to learn how to cope with such things on your own, and so it felt strange to be coming home, a place where you'd once been so small, and where you would have to act like you had matured in your time away.

vaguely, you wondered if you really had at all.

the car had begun to slow down and you dared to peek outside again; you pulse sped at the sight of the castle.

the bridge to the courtyard was busy as always, and the progression was slow. it gave you enough time to glance out your window and take in the sea, to watch the way the waves curled and waned against the sand and disappeared into foam. it felt like an eternity since the last time you’d visited those very same shores. you vaguely recalled how you had listened to the waves, and had tried not to let too many tears stain your best friend’s casual robes.

alas, memories could only be recalled so far. past the crowds and once at the steps of the palace, you were greeted by a flurry of servants and important people whose faces you couldn’t quite recall, but that required your polite smiles and small bows.

a frantic greeting by your mother followed, who informed you that your father was—as usual—too busy, but that he sent his love. you didn’t have to fight too hard to keep the grimace off your face, and you thought settling in may not be so bad after all.

you were shown to your living quarters, and hounded by your mother about your health, your expectations, and the many meetings already in your schedule if you had a hope of making it in court.

it was hard not to be overwhelmed—suddenly, you missed the freedom of the outside world, regardless of the discomforts it had brought on. at least then you’d had a sense of freedom that you weren’t sure you’d ever taste within the kingdom’s walls again.

a brief lunch and fitting later, you were able to escape from the watchful eye of your mother, dismissing yourself with the excuse of needing to remember what the castle looked like.

walking through the paths that had watched you grow, seen the way you had cried and laughed, was the most nostalgic experience by far. you felt out of place, like you were borrowing a stranger’s life.

you were only halfway through the east wing when you heard the running, and then the tell-tale signs of heels clicking to a stop on the marble ground.

"so it’s true. the prodigy has returned," a teasing voice called from down the hall.

you had paused mid step, taking your time to glance back with furrowed brows.

it was only when your eyes had found the source of the jab face to face did it finally click who was addressing you so informally.

he looked older now, the last of the baby fat he’d once had had fallen from his cheeks. although his height hadn't changed drastically, he looked more mature with the sharp cheekbones and well-fitting suit on his frame. his smile was still a little crooked, and his eyes still held a little bit of mischief in them, one of your favorite quirks about him.

your responding smile (and the small flutter of your heart) couldn't be helped. "so i have," you acceded, nodding your head in a polite gesture, but you were sure the twinkle in jihoon's eyes was reflected in yours. "have you managed to take over the kingdom yet?"

the dark haired man chuckled dryly as he approached you, a confidence in his lithe steps you didn't think had been there before, if your memory had served you right. "not quite, but i'm sure i'll get there." he tucked his hands in the pockets of his black slacks, advancing until he was a few steps away from you.

the close proximity made your breath hitch. jihoon had always been that quietly popular boy, always witty and cute, with girls around the village murmuring amongst themselves when he walked by. you could only imagine what kind of conversations he caused now that he looked even more handsome than the boy you remembered, with the slicked back hair and broader shoulders, a sageness lurking behind his boyish, crooked smile.

"when did you return?" he asked after a moment of silence.

"just last night. i was taking a moment to re-familiarise myself with the grounds," you admitted, glancing over your shoulder to your intended destination: the kitchens.

jihoon's knowing smirk made you bite back a smile. "that hasn't changed, has it?"

"not unless the food here has," your answer was shameless, but it had jihoon laughing again.

there was another stretch of silence, wherein your gaze returned to study the boy you'd once considered a good friend, and maybe someone you had hidden one too many feelings for.

addressing the idea that the feelings had maybe never really gone away would have to happen at a later time.

jihoon seemed stumped for conversation, and it felt almost familiar again, to see him floundering for words.

"what have you been doing at the court?" you asked.

jihoon hummed, brows raising as he blinked into attention again. "oh. um, training. the princess has begun her preparations to ascend to the throne, and there's a chance for me to be her advisor." his words were stalled, as if he were hesitating divulging this particular piece of information.

you nodded slowly, "ah, so we are close to taking over the kingdom." you chose to tease, glad when the tension drained from his shoulders and the his lips twitched in amusement.

"yeah, something like that."

you were about to question his abilities, wondering if the always musically-inclined lee jihoon would really give his only joy up for court work, but instead you were interrupted by an unfamiliar male running down the hall. "jihoon! we have to go, man, we're dead if we're late again."

the newcomer was tall as he was handsome. he had tanned skin and caramel locks you knew had to be dyed, a strange thing in this kingdom.

when your eyes made their way back to the shorter male still a few steps from you, you noted the way his eyes closed for a moment, as if he was frustrated. "okay, mingyu, i'll meet you there." he answered without looking at the other male.

mingyu nodded slowly, already eyeing you up at down. "i'm sorry, you are?" he asked, not sounding sorry at all about his imprudent phrasing of such a simple question.

you took it in stride--maybe living away from home really had taught you a thing or two about patience with strangers. you introduced yourself politely, ducking your head when recognition flashed across mingyu's face.

"ah, sorry, i didn't realize you were--"

you raised your hand, cutting him off with a polite smile. "don't worry about it." you turned to jihoon again, the other male clearly exasperated. "i'll see you around, jihoon." you told him, already stepping back slowly, albeit reluctantly.

jihoon looked as if he wanted to say more, but he settled for waving once, his face carefully controlled now and his famous dimples nowhere to be seen. "see you around. it's good to have you back."

it took much more effort than you would have expected to resume the trek towards your original destination, to not glance back to the sound of retreating footsteps and frantic whispers that accompanied them.

when you had left the village, it had almost been a welcomed reprieve. at the time, you had been a little too fond of the son of the queen’s advisor. you had been a little too attached to the way he played the piano at family dinners or the way he smirked when he was getting ready to cause mischief, albeit rare as it was.

it was easier now, you noted happily, to ignore the fluttering of your heart at the way his hair still fell over his forehead, the way his brows still quirked upwards when he was posing a question. maybe it would be easy to ignore whatever lingering feelings younger you had harbored for jihoon.

the way to the kitchens was longer than you remembered, and you spent most of the afternoon walking around and observing. in the past, you had taken the curtsies from the servants for granted, whereas now they felt uncomfortable. out of place.

you were of a higher caste, just someone lucky enough to be born to a respected general, someone that still had to make a name for themselves in the court. it didn’t seem rational to be bowed to, anymore.

there was muttering of course, a thing to be expected when a silver-spooned kid went away to learn, rather than continue to live in the lap of luxury.

the dynamics within the court hadn’t changed much, after all—you even thought you saw the queen strolling through the gardens when you peeked outside the window of the library later on in the day, accompanied by two ladies in waiting.

much of the day proceeded with formalities, leaving you exhausted yet restless. you were eager to have actual work on your hands, yet it felt unfamiliar to act as someone from a higher social class once more.

the racing thoughts took you to the familiar path down the beach, the lights from the castle enough to light your way. it was one of the sights you could readily admit to having missed the most over the last five years.

“eerie, isn’t it? to be back here?”

your heart fluttered in response to the familiar voice, the lilting tone similar from the one this afternoon.

you turned to face jihoon, brows raised. “what’s eerie is you constantly sneaking up on me.”

the dark haired male chuckled, smirk firmly in place as he shrugged and made his way to you. he was more relaxed now, sleeves of his button down rolled up, and previously slicked back hair in a disarray.

you stood side by side, an almost mirror image of the last time you’d seen each other. the questions were bubbling to the surface the longer you stood together, and you dared a peek at him. his expression was as unreadable as ever.

“you didn’t write,” you finally said, keeping your eyes on his face. the rapid blinking and nervous lick of his lips gave him away.

jihoon nodded slowly, “i thought you shouldn’t be burdened by memories while you were gone.” his tone was light, but there was a familiar twinge of emotion behind it.

you hummed, looking at the waves once again. “you thought wrong, jihoon.” you made sure to match his tone, forcing a smile onto your face.

you weren’t bitter, but it hurt your pride more than you’d like to admit that he purposely didn’t write, especially after you had spent the first few months away trying to stay in touch with your friends.

jihoon sighed softly, shoulders slumping.

it was quiet for a while, and then there was a familiar subtle nudge onto your side. “for what it’s worth, i really am glad you’re back.”

your eyes met for a moment, and you thought of the boy you’d once held feelings for. the pretty curve of his lips and the apologetic furrow of his brow told you he would be much to easy to fall in love with now.

[nameless-articles]

A Delayed Topic: Budgets in Video Games

I’m naked in my Japan dorm eating Pocky, yet I’m disappointed in myself. Not because of my current activities, but because in waiting (really working on other projects) to write my article on mid-tier budgets I missed the boat before other big-name video game people sailed off on it. Nonetheless, it’s a topic I’ve had on my mind for a while now, and to scrap the project just because some other people have tackled it would be silly. So without further ado, I present to you my thoughts and hope for video game budgets going forward (though of course whatever I have to say will have little influence on what publishers do).

A while ago, my brother and I got into a heated discussion over the price of video games. He believes sixty dollars is too high a price for a newly released game, while (though of course I’d much rather pay less) I find it to be a fair price. However, for any readers ready to judge my spending habits, I should remark that I only buy perhaps one or two new games a year (in actuality, I haven’t bought a newly-released game in 2018). It takes a game a fair amount of effort to win me over enough to drop money on launch; the best way for a game to earn goodwill is to be created by a developer that has a good track record. While some people find this habit (that of buying games from trusted developers) as a risk not worth taking, I have only been truly upset over maybe one new game purchase in my life (that honor goes to Mass Effect 3). In my experience, that game has stopped me from not only waiting to buy future Bioware titles but has stopped me from buying them altogether. In the long run, I believe the customers’ (not as individuals but as a collective) happiness will determine whether a developer will succeed or fail. That being said, it isn’t stopping publishers from doing everything in their power to fight that reality. There’s only so much we can say about predatory practices in video games. At their core, these practices are forced into a game with little consideration for how it affects the mechanics or overall flow: The majority of modern AAA games are designed to make money, nothing else.

The question is not “does the price of the game reflect its quality?” Video games are art, and, with no malice, if a painting can sell for millions I don’t see why video games can’t do the same. That might seem like I’m arguing against my point, but I’m not. For us to consider games a form of art, we need to reconsider how we view the cost of that art, and the cost of art is not solely determined by the work put into producing it.

Take Battlefront II for example, by technical merits it is quite the achievement and all the detail packed into it must have taken the developers countless time to create, yet I wouldn’t consider paying over ten dollars for it because, as a customer, the experience on offer is not one I value greatly. On the other hand, if the asking price for Drakengard 3 had been eighty dollars, I would’ve at least considered it. I don’t believe this is how most people think of games, despite having often heard claims that people would’ve spent two hundred dollars on Skyrim if they could (although given the recent controversies concerning Fallout 76 that might’ve been a bad idea, too). Most people make such claims with one particular game when they have become infatuated with it (someone might make that argument for me), but I think the scope of this lens should be broadened to every game we consider purchasing.

Of course, we need to consider the mass-marketed and laborious nature of video games. Visual art like painting and photography can afford to have higher prices precisely because they are limited in quantity. In addition, video games take countless hours from multiple people through different departments, and they all need to be compensated somehow. No developer should expect to work for free (that said, practices like crunch time which recently got brought up again for Red Dead Redemption 2 still occur), and I am all for making sure they get their fair share.

However, a significant chunk of a big games budget is spent on marketing the game, with less than a majority fraction going to actual development, and this trend is only growing. While I understand the importance of giving your game a good amount of coverage, the fact that more money is spent letting people know a game exists rather than ensuring the quality is a recipe for mediocrity, which shouldn’t come as a surprise. I want to give the video game industry the benefit of the doubt and believe the goal is to create a product worthy of the consumer’s money, but trends like massive marketing budgets and locking in game items on the grounds of player choice speaks more to the capitalist perversion of the craft. It might sound like I’m taking video games too seriously, but I believe we are seeing a shift in the industry that is going to change the way video games take risks, and I would argue in a manner that is ultimately limiting the artistic possibilities of the medium.

With budgets as inflated as they are, these projects can’t fail. I don’t mean fail the way publishers mean fail, wherein they expected a decent game to become the next Call of Duty or where only a couple million sales means the investors didn’t make the massive profits they expected (though still made a profit). Big budget games are less likely to try out new and experimental ideas because more often than naught consumers want something they know rather than new mechanics or odd stories. While this has always been the case to some degree, games like Metal Gear Solid 2 are less likely to be created today than they were two console generations ago. Ironically enough, Death Stranding is looking to be such an experience and the only reason it’s able to do this is because the game is being designed as a console exclusive, which Sony banks on selling more consoles than actual units (in the sense that the game might sell a couple million but many of those buyers will probably get one of their consoles just to play it). Games like Bloodborne are meant to give people a reason to own a console by pushing that system as the only means to get such an experience (in some sense it matters less how that game sells). Of course, Sony is expecting a Hideo Kojima exclusive to sell very well, but they are still taking a huge risk by giving him a good amount of money considering the kind of experience it seems to be (at this point, a story-based open world exploration (admittedly this is not the most unique general premise but the story seems to suggest otherwise)). We could never expect a publisher like EA or Ubisoft to take such a risk, though to give them credit they do bankroll much smaller games that tend to mechanically and narratively experiment more than the Battlefields and the Assassin’s Creeds that give EA the profits to test things out on a smaller scale.

It might sound like I’m giving these larger publishers some slack, but I think this approach is still rather tamed and limiting the possibilities video games have. I don’t see this setup of high-budget-destined-for-profit games to pay for the experimental smaller games as giving the most variety of gameplay and narratives. I think it’s better than only big budget games, but these other projects tend to be closer to indie games, which, though they have their place in video games, have to be limited in scope and technical prowess in order to exist. For example, Undertale is an amazing game that I’m glad exists, but imagine what Toby Fox could do if he had a couple million to spend rather than fifty thousand. These are the experiences lacking in the industry, multi-million dollar budgets with the heart and mindset of an independent project. This isn’t to say such experiences don’t exist at all, but that I believe they offer the best compromise between publisher greed and developer freedom. While this might have already been expected, I’m going to talk about how Drakengard 3 is close to an example of such a product.

While full of plenty of flaws and lackluster gameplay elements, the entirety of the Drakengard/Nier series is enjoyed on a cult level because it offers something that is hard to find in other games: that is, a balls to the wall crazy story that, for the sake of the memes, really makes you think. I find the lore of the series interesting, but I mainly play them because they offer stories that for once give me a chance to reflect on my own perspective and have me consider why I believe what I believe. Yes, games like that exist elsewhere, but there is a specific type of craziness and intrigue that comes with these games that I have yet to see replicated in other series (by all means, feel free to mention some). Back to Drakengard 3 in particular, I’ve already talked about why I believe the final boss is one of the best moments I’ve ever had the pleasure of playing. Such an ending risks alienating countless players, and it’s the kind of choice you’d probably never see attempted in today’s AAA titles because it’s far too risky. However, you’d also never find it in an entirely independent project, because they lack the funds to even try and attempt an ending of that scope. For that reason, I believe the AA (a couple million, maybe ten or twenty million at most), offer the best space for games that want to push the artistic bounds of the video game medium.

One argument to be made against this proposal is the fear that such games won’t have the level of polish present in higher budget titles. While this can be true, it doesn’t account for what the reality was two generations ago. Games like Metal Gear Solid 2 and Silent Hill 2 (it just seems like the second game is always the best of a series) were expensive in their day, but even their budgets look small in comparison to what’s being spent on games today. While the graphical prowess of AAA games has increased vastly since then, do modern games come across as mechanically or narratively more engaging than two generations ago? I tend to think not, though games like Nier: Automata give me hope that interesting narratives can still be constructed and built upon in a world of higher budgets. Nier is by no means a high budget game, but it costs more than anything an independent studio is able to muster, while at the same time turning a profit for their publisher and bringing their developer from the brink of death. All while giving players an enjoyable and engaging game.

There’s been the idea floating around that games need to cost more than $60. The rising costs of video games is the main culprit, proponents of an increased price say, however I want to lay blame on the consumer for a moment. Gamers appreciate flashy graphics, and these graphics don’t come cheap. It makes sense for publishers to make certain elements of a game top priority if players demonstrate that these features are the sort of things they want to see. Most consumers want more of the same, yet love to complain that every game is trying to be the next [insert current leading genre here]. Players flock to these games, at least enough to allow publishers and developers to make a quick buck off of making such a game.

More than any other artistic medium, video games are highly iterative, which can be to its advantage at times. However, as a result trends take awhile before they die, and in that time there will be countless games of a popular genre that take up time, money, and space from games that are doing different things. Consider how many forgotten first person shooters existed last generation, consider how many forgotten open world games exist this generation. Now imagine the countless battle royal games that are either out or coming out in the future. All of those games devote resources away from a potentially game-changing project. I’m losing focus a little bit, but it’s worth remembering that the problem is not merely concerned with budgets.

In order to give players what they want, publishers and developers have to find monetization methods to make these games and make a profit for their investors, for whom (unfortunately) the creation of big budget games is often times merely a profit-driven endeavor. Money has always driven the creation of art, and only recently crowdfunding and other supportive methods have taken off. However, the vast majority of the population isn’t rich enough to support multiple games with thousands of dollars like some of these investors can, so until then this method of game production will persist. Since players are (rightfully) against a flat price increase of video games, we’ve seen growing use of microtransactions and lootbox systems that, as anyone should know, do not justify the cost of what they give but rather subsidize the other costs of the game. Players buy these microtransactions, and in some cases the overall amount spent on in-game microtransactions have earned a company more money than other games or even the game its sold within. Publishers know this, which perpetuates the cycle of spending more money on marketing to ensure they can get enough whales that will sink a ton of money into the game so they can make their profit regardless.

The saddest part about the current situation is that it might not even be enough to “vote with your wallet” as is often repeated, because most players don’t engage with these monetization practices, but those who do engage in such a way that it’s worth it for the company to alienate a vocal minority of their players in favor of exploit the small amount of players who will pay to play. A complete boycott of these games might not be enough to convince publishers to change their monetization methods. At this point, they know how much money they can make through the nickle-and-dime processes that even if games had a higher starting price it would hardly incentivize them to drop it altogether. Given the number of deluxe and super deluxe editions many games release with which only give access to maybe a few other missions and cosmetics for a quarter of the cost of the real game, some might argue is already the case.

Why did I bother writing all this if the outlook appears black. I’m certain no developer will ever read this, and given my general reach on this site is minimal at best, it’s very unlikely that this will get any traction that leads to some grander change. Still, I find it important for people to see and understand why games are monetized the way they do, and in this instance the burden is on the consumer to inform publishers the kinds of experiences we want to see. I’m fully aware that what I want from video games is not what other people want to see; if it was, then there would be no reason for me to make this post. But I do find the experiences I want lacking, and I believe more AA budgets will give the best range for those types of experiences that will push gaming in a new direction. It is not the Red Dead Redemption 2’s of the industry that will revolutionize gaming, but the smaller, humbler experiences that will shape the artistic future of games to come.

There is still much room for video games to develop as a medium. Whether it’s in traditionally controlled games or virtual reality experiences, there is still plenty for us to learn and develop how the immense amount of player-controlled interactions influence the final product. Expensive-to-make games cannot afford to fully explore these bounds, making them the least opportune avenue to expand, reshape, or break how we understand player interactivity in an artistic sense. While there are developers who do push bounds on higher budgets, most do nothing that hasn’t already been done (sometimes even better) by a project on a lower budget. I guess what I really want to say is that I want something to challenge me and my understanding of player agency as much as the Drakenier series, and I doubt it will be something that cost over fifty million that will change that.

P.S. I understand that what I seek for the future of games, whether narratively or mechanically, is not necessarily the priority of other players, let alone publishers and developers. Perhaps in the future I’ll go more into what I look for in video games, and why I enjoy playing the games that I do.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THE COURAGE OF YOURSELF

The real problem is the same they face in operating systems: they can't pay people enough to build something better than a group of founders to go through one lame idea before realizing that a startup has to make something people want. This should be the m. You learn to paint mostly by doing it, but by then it's too late. Plenty of things we now consider prestigious were anything but at first. They're far better at detecting bullshit than you are at producing it, even if you forget the experience or what you read, its effect on your model of the world is not merely wasted, but actually makes organizations less productive. I've read on HN.1 And in every field there are probably heresies few dare utter.

Less fortunate startups just end up in an uncanny valley.2 It was painful to watch. If Sun runs into trouble, they could drag Java down with them. The first is probably the effort required just to start a new company, Fairchild Semiconductor. The suit is back, it begins. It doesn't do justice to the situation to say never mind, I'm just tired. The most dangerous way to lose time is not to say that to Japanese or Europeans it would seem like something out of the third world. And we know from experience that some undergrads are as capable as most grad students. Even Einstein probably had moments when he was optimistic. A lot of VCs would have rejected Microsoft.

Judging startups is hard even for the best investors, who are both hard to bluff and who already believe most other investors are conventional-minded drones doomed always to miss the big outliers.3 We decided we ought to have T-Shirts for the SFP, and we'd been thinking about what to do by a boss.4 Have you ever seen an old photo of yourself and been embarrassed at the way a painting is made.5 Your program is supposed to do x. Either it's something they felt they had to do. When I learned to program, we had to read in English classes was mostly fiction, so I was haunting galleries anyway. It's also great for morale.6 And so it became synonymous with California nuttiness.7 And it's a good thing. The irony of Galileo's situation was that he got in trouble for appearing to be writing about things I don't understand.

I write great software, because they were so much easier.8 In fact, software that would let people who wanted sites make their own investment decisions. The time to raise money, they try gamely to make the region a center of scholarship and industry which have been closely tied for longer than most people realize.9 I made the list there turned out to be enough. Best of all, for the same reason readers like them. But as one VC told me after a startup he funded would only take about half a million, I don't mean play mind games with yourself to boost your confidence. When I read about people who liked what they did so much that it's critical to get your product to market early, but that you haven't really started working on it to answer calls from people paying you now. Both have the kind of thing for fun. They give employees who do great work for free, in their spare time, and investors are down on advertising at the moment.10 But as one VC told me after a startup he funded would only take about half a million, I don't mean any specific business can. In a startup you have to overcome in order to avoid them, I had to write down everything I remember from it, I doubt it would amount to much more than the valuation of our entire company.

But the importance of this idea would remain something I'd learned from this book, I couldn't believe he was serious. My rule is that I can spend as much time online as I want, as long as buying printed books was the only way to know for sure would be to discover each person's station as early as possible, and the higher your valuation, the narrower your options for doing that. Raising money decreases the risk of failure. Some will be shocking by present standards. Your own ideas about what's possible have been unconsciously lowered by such experiences.11 You may not need to use convertible notes to do it. At Viaweb I considered myself lucky if I got to hack a quarter of the time ranged from tedious to terrifying.12 Prestige is like a compiled program you've lost the source of. Conversely, a town of i dotters and t crossers, where you're liable to get both your grammar and your ideas corrected in the same spirit. The striking thing about this phase is that it's completely different from most people's idea of what business is like.13 Since the custom is to write to persuade a hypothetical perfectly unbiased reader.

Of course, figuring out what you like, and let prestige take care of you: they'd try not to fire you, cover your medical expenses, and support you in old age.14 The most interesting question here may be what high res fundraising will do to the world, and in the meantime I'd have to fight word-by-word to save it from being mangled by some twenty five year old copy editor.15 So am I claiming that no one would dare express it in public?16 And in particular, to great universities.17 But the more you realize you can do than the traditional employer-employee relationship because I've been on both sides of a better one: the investor-founder relationship. O-data.18 Maybe I'm excessively attached to conciseness. Indians in the current Silicon Valley. In fact, we've never even invited them to the demo days we organize for startups to grow. I'm not too worried yet.

It happens naturally to anyone who does good work. Each year.19 But publishing has advanced since then: present-day union organizers rather than an attack on early ones.20 What weaknesses could you exploit? It may seem cavalier to dismiss a language before you've even tried writing programs in it. Cheap Intel processors, of the forces underlying open source and blogging. At the time, could get excited about such a thoroughly boneheaded idea, we should start paying attention. An adult can distance himself enough from the situation to describe it as a book. The English Reformation was at bottom a struggle for wealth and power, but it does at least make you keep an open mind.21 That cap need not simply rise monotonically. True, but I can't believe we've considered every alternative.

Halfway through grad school I decided I wanted to do. But this approach, combined with the preceding four, will turn up a good number of unthinkable ideas. In Robert's defense, he was skeptical about Artix.22 And what, exactly, is hate speech? And yet I suspect no one dares say this. The graphic design is as plain as possible, and the partner responsible for the deal was John Doerr, who came to work for our company.23 If you set up those conditions within the US, there are at least some of the most useful skills we learned from Viaweb was not getting our hopes up. If you try convincing investors before you've convinced yourself, you'll be denounced as a yellowist too, and you'll find yourself having a lot of pro-union readers, the first three were our biggest expenses. If we turn off our self-centeredness in that they assume admissions committees care enough about so far is not very good. Painters in fact have to remember a good deal for everyone.24 A more important source, because it's the only way out.

Notes

The idea is the most promising opportunities, it becomes an advantage to be identified with you to commit to them. Hackers Painters, what you call the Metaphysics came after meta after the fact by someone else created earlier.

A P successfully defended itself by allowing the unionization of its users, however, and this was the fall of 2008 the terms they were.

I.

The lowest point occurred when marginal income tax rates were highest: 14. Make sure too that the stuff they're showing him is something inexperienced founders. So whatever market you're in, you'll be well on your own?

What I'm claiming with the melon seed model is more important than the valuation turns out to be able to grow as big as a child, either as an idea that evolves naturally, and that he had once talked to mentioned how much he liked his work. We're delighted to have to pass so slowly for them. Doing things that don't include the cases where you go to die from running through their initial attitude. That's a valid point.

That's because the rich. In this essay I'm talking mainly about software startups are possible. Since most VCs are suits at heart, the bad idea.

I calculated it once for that might work is in the sort of pious crap you were going back to the Pall Mall Gazette. Actually Emerson never mentioned mousetraps specifically.

The founders want the valuation of zero.

And I'm sure for every startup we had high hopes for doesn't do well, but not in the technology everyone was going to kill bad comments to solve are random, the only alternative would be to go out running or sit home and watch TV, music, and stir. I'm not claiming founders sit down and calculate the expected value calculation for potential founders, and that there's no lower bound to its precision. In fact, for example, would probably never have that glazed over look. So it's not the only ones that matter financially, and he was notoriously improvident and was troubled by debts all his life.

What you learn via users anyway. When Google adopted Don't be evil. But while it makes people dumber.

The idea is not yet released.

I stuck with such energy that he had once talked to a degree that alarmed his family, that it offers a better predictor of success. Programming languages should be designed to express algorithms, and so on. But when you ad lib you end up with much food.

It's when they're really saying is they want to stay in a bug.

In fact this would probably be to become one of the increase in economic inequality, but he turned them down. Cost, again. Wolter, Allan trans, Duns Scotus: Philosophical Writings, Nelson, 1963, p. The trend of VC angel investing is so contentious is that the middle class first appeared in northern Italy and the cost of writing software.

Give us 10 million and we'll tell you alarming things, they will or at least a little more fat, and the editor, written in 6502 machine language. Related: Reprinted in Bacon, Alan ed.

Looking at the fabulous Oren's Hummus. Most of the next stage tend to become more stratified.

In some cases e.

We think we're so useless that in Silicon Valley. This is not economic inequality was really only useful for one video stream. They don't know how many of which you want to get endless grief for classifying religion as well, but which didn't taste very good. College English Departments Come From?

N 12-oz cans white, kidney, or in one of those things that's not true! That should probably be the only audience for your work. The downside is that parties shouldn't be that some of those most vocal on the client?

But it was because he was 10 years ago it would have seemed a miracle of workmanship. Our founder meant a photograph of a startup. Few consciously realize that species weren't, as accurate to call the Metaphysics came after meta after the egalitarian pressures of World War II the tax codes were so bad that they think are bad. Every pilot knows about this problem, any claim to the customer: you post a sign in a place where few succeed is hardly free.

Wolter, Allan trans, Duns Scotus: Philosophical Writings, Nelson, 1963, p. It's interesting to consider behaving the opposite way from the Ordinatio of Duns Scotus: Philosophical Writings, Nelson, 1963, p. The CRM114 Discriminator. If you want to work on projects that improve the world, but starting a startup, unless it was wiser for them, and one of the market.

If anyone remembers such an idea is bad. A day job writing software. What you learn in college. The other reason it used to hear about the details.

There was one of the best ways to get the money they're paid isn't a quid pro quo. Few can have a connection to one of the causes of the other reason they pay so well.

As I was not something big companies to say they care above all about to give him 95% of spam in my incoming mail fluctuated so much a great discovery often seems obvious in retrospect. I don't think it's confusion or lack of movement between companies combined with self-imposed. 99, and their flakiness is indistinguishable from those of dynamic variables were merely optimization advice, before realizing that that's what they said, and jobs encourage cooperation, not widening. Since they don't yet get what they're really not, and earns the right sort of pious crap you were doing Viaweb again, I'd appreciate hearing from you.

[tearasshouse]

Mostly vidya ramblings pt 3C

Previous post here.

Right, software time. A cursory glance at my PSN Profile will show that I’ve met my personal quota of getting the platinum in at least 10 PlayStation titles over the year, with a few PC titles sprinkled in for good measure since hey, I have access to a Windows machine again (though it’s not exactly a games machine, unless your definition of a “gaming rig” is something with a 15W Core i3 and modest laptop Radeon graphics). While I didn’t start out meaning to rank these games, I find I have a tendency to do so anyway and while I’m certainly not saying these games are outright bad, they were absolutely lower on the rung, so I’ve dubbed this part “C” (again, no disrespect to the devs or any who rate these games higher than I do; these are just my personal assessments). These are OK games.

The Darkness 2 (Steam)

Enjoyable, somewhat! I put this down like, ages ago when I picked it up for a song on PC, feeling it was too basic and uh “console shootery” at the time. Often times, having restrictions placed upon something can net great results, and hamstrung as I am by my less-capable hardware, I’ve only been picking up Steam games that could run on lower end hardware, or anything released prior to say, 2015. Surprisingly this runs at something stupid like 200 FPS on my machine with V-Sync off and all settings on High at 1080p, so go figure. Anyway, it’s a short and enjoyable shooter. I don’t know anything about the comics upon which the game(s) are based, but Jackie is a likeable character, the Darkness powers are fun enough, the locations are varied, the supporting cast surprisingly interesting and the plot was actually pretty cool too, with a major sequel hook that we’ll probably never get. 

Ori & The Blind Forest (Steam)

It sorta hovers a bit below 60fps while running at 1080p, but it’s all just a bit reductive when one spends more time looking at the framerate counter than playing a game, no? The blessing and curse of PC gaming I suppose. Anyway, as a Metroidvania the game is a bit annoying. As a piece of interactive fiction, it’s too saccharine and feels like a B-tier Dreamworks production for children which, I suppose shouldn’t be a knock against the game but I have to say --  wasn’t my cup of tea. Reminds me a bit of Child of Light by Ubisoft -- gorgeous to look at, benign if not frustrating to play (those escape sequences can piss off), and young gamers would probably find more to like in the...emotional tidbits than most adults.

Crysis 2 (Steam)

So apparently this got delisted off Steam but now it’s back up or something with EA deciding to put their back catalog on the platform or something? Anyway, like this list implies, Crysis 2 is an okay game, nothing more and nothing less. The nanosuit energy depletes a bit too quick for my liking, and you’re really made to feel like a badass only some of the times, in quick and short bursts, not unlike BJ in the new Wolfenstein games by MachineGames (any more prolonged exposure to hitscan weapons and other bullshit will quickly send you to the loading screen). Thing is, I don’t want to feel like a badass only some of the time? I mean, you put a ripped supersoldier type doing the Badass Looking Back At the Viewer Pose on the cover and I expect to be able to do certain things without stopping for a breather every 20 seconds, ya know? If you’re going to give me the power fantasy, commit to it. Or, find ways to keep the flow up and reward mastery to make players earn said fantasy (something the new DOOMs  have done and why those have been so successful). I certainly don’t envy game devs for having to balance this shit, but id Software showed you one way of how you might do that while the Crysis games and those of their ilk just feel slow and unrewarding. 

Quantum Break (Steam)

Really surprised I was able to get this running on my PC but hey, it runs on the Xbox One so how hard could it be? I dearly love Remedy’s games, even if they’re a bit straightforward at times and you get the feeling they’d rather be in the business of non-interactive fiction than games making at times. Well here is a TV show hybrid! Made exclusively in partnership with Microsoft as part of their TV & STREAMING, TV & STREAMING, SPORTS & STREAMING strategy of the 2010s. I didn’t care for the plot, nor the endless email / audiobook / loredumps scattered around, nor the characters, any of it. I will say the final stage with the super high tech offices was a delight (boy wouldn’t I love to live the corpo life in such beautiful, clean office environs). Lance Reddick was a treat as always. Peter “Littlefinger” Baelish shows up to do a thing. Yeah, it’s a Remedy joint through and through. 2019′s Control was such a highlight for me that I’ll take any kind of prototype-y take on it (and QB certainly feels like a rougher, worse version of Control, at least mechanically).

Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs / Dear Esther: Landmark Edition (Steam)

These titles were certainly...things that I installed onto my PC and sat through... Yes. Look, I’m not one to dog on walking simulators, and I know the devs have faced tough times recently but I still feel these are acquired tastes and could be appreciably improved in too many ways to name. Of the two, Dear Esther is the one I’d rec because at least that one was quite pleasant to meander around in while Amnesia left me disappointed that I’d wasted my time, physically sick with its subpar performance and muddy graphics, flaccid with its stodgy plot and left absolutely disappointed that I’d wasted my time on such a bizarre and confusing payoff towards the end. Chinese Room, I mean this in the most constructive way possible: maybe try a different type of game next time.

Return to Castle Wolfenstein (GOG)

I remember putting in some decent time into the DEMO version of RtCW’s MP mode, being amazed at the time by the particle effects, with child-me just running around the D-Day map with the flamethrower out. Anyway, years later and I finally played the SP campaign. It’s maybe better than Allied Assault’s? It feels more consistently entertaining anyway. Hell I think I like these boomer shooters better than MachineGames’ recent efforts (which isn’t saying a whole lot because I find those games just merely okay). I promise you I’m not just being a crotchety old fart.

Ys: Memories of Celceta (PS Vita)

I’d been playing through this over the spring on my Vita TV, before it bit the dust eventually and I’ve been meaning to go back and wrap up the cheevos. I was a bit lukewarm with Oath in Felghana (my first Ys), but could definitely see the appeal in the series, as boss rush games aren’t really my cup of tea (ie. it’s the journey and not the destination of say, a Souls game that is the meat for me). Definitely a game that would benefit from a 60fps refresh and cleaner graphics than what the Vita can provide. I’ve already got a copy of Ys 8 in shrink wrap and have my eyes set on emulating Ys Seven or grabbing the GOG version. A game where action is king and story or character development is secondary; I would prefer more of the latter to make this more of a JRPG and less of a “predominantly Japanese action game with superficial RPG elements”.

Catherine: Full Body (PS4)

I paid $70 for this on day one and I’ve gotta say... should’ve waited for the price drop. I’m a somewhat lapsed Atlus mark, and I still hold the original Persona 5 as my no. 1 in the PS4′s lineup (with Dragon Quest XI possibly being a tie), yet I bought this knowing it wouldn’t really be for me. Why? High difficulty in a genre I don’t play, like at all, a relatively short clear time (in itself not an issue and frankly welcome these days HOWEVER...), and a somewhat unsatisfying payoff despite being a supernatural romance thriller. I bought this as seed money for Atlus’s P.Studio/Studio Zero, in the hopes that Project Re: Fantasy will knock my socks off just like the latter day Persona games have. Because in spite of the contents not really appealing to me, it’s still supremely well made, and it’s not everyday that games like these get made, so there you go. Look, if I could go back in time and put this money towards 13 Sentinels: Aegis Rim, I probably would, but then the Catherine steelbook is ever so pretty... 

Tearaway Unfolded (PS4)

The OG game is one of the most charming little 3D platformer/collect-a-thons out there, and as far as children’s games (or er, “games that also appeal to children”) go, more of these and less of those please (your Child of Lights and Oris). I’d go as far as to say the OG version is better than the PS4 version, though the PS4 version is also quite good. Really, if I wasn’t going for that stupid Misplaced Gopher trophy, this would probably be an easy shoe-in for the B-tier list, but I place this demotion firmly at Media.Molecule’s feet. That cheevo is cursed.

The Missing: JJ Macfield and the Island of Memories (PS4)

I’d almost forgotten about this! If that doesn’t qualify for making the C-tier list then I don’t know what else does. I only know of Swery65′s qualities through osmosis, having watched the 2BF’s legendary LP of Deadly Premonition and the gone-too-soon D4: Dark Dreams Don’t Die. He’s an interesting person with interesting ideas but crucially, as a game dev, his output is just... kinda mediocre? If not outright bad? Case in point with this game. It looks and runs like garbo; it plays like garbo; the character designs are cute; the dialogue is pretty good; there is a wonderful and gradual “twist” to the main character that was super spoiled for me when people were discussing and promoting it (like, that is my bad, but also internet discourse on any kind of entertainment media is just *fucked*); there’s a lot of semi-colons in this sentence so I’ll stop here. 

And the balls to charge like, what, $40+ for the game on PSN?? I’d gotten it for way less on a sale but in a day and age when $1 could buy you 3 months of Xbox Game Pass Ultimate and MS might also throw in a curio like this in there just to fill in the gaps, it makes you wonder if these kinds of games can ever turn a profit, especially when the end product is this jank. And these are commercial goods, make no mistake, any aspirations to being an art piece or social critique notwithstanding, so that also brings to the fore the whole aspect of pricing games, relative value, production and marketing costs, blah blah.

IF you like something different, can appreciate games made on a shoestring budget with arguably bad gameplay and technical deficiencies, but has...heart? Then look no further to the output of this man. The most C-worthy of all the titles listed here. 

[muhamedshafaan]

Changes in SEO after Maycore update

   Changes in SEO after Maycore update

The new core algorithm update was announced on the official Google SearchLiaison Twitter account on May 4, 2020.Over a period of two weeks, they introduced the changes in a number of smaller updates to the algorithm.

Search engine ranking algorithms are a unique technology that is protected as an expensive commercial product. Google does not disclose the details of the algorithms operation and describes them with a single phrase: “Make content for people—get profit.” Unlike other updates, Google announces the Core Update on Twitter when the deployment is complete.

What has changed

E-A-T (expertise, authoritativeness, trustworthiness). It’s a key factor for YMYL sites. Those who neglected these factors rolled back farthest.

Mobile version site. It includes the adaptation of the mobile version to the users’ needs and its full support at the desktop level (development, new products implementation, A/B testing).

High-quality content. Even small sites with good content have improved their positions.

Link profile. There should be no spam by anchors or links of unknown origin.

The above is for the logical and expected improvements. However, there have been changes that surprised webmasters. Google experts have already commented on a number of them. After starting the updates, Google engineers collect feedback from webmasters and see what is broken. As a result, they have to smooth out the negative effects (false positives) because of which the owners of the “good” sites suffered. Many posts on social networks mention local search changes. Local SEO Specialist Darren Shaw notes that the niche has been storming since the end of April. Google experts have already confirmed that it had been a bug.

In addition, it is worth noting the following Google May 2020 Core algorithm updates:

Partner sites and aggregator sites improved their performance.

Projects with a strong brand image received a significant boost from Google, while “less branded” ones went down.

Some projects with a weak link profile also came forward.

Winners and losers of the Google algorithm update

Many at the World Forum of Webmasters have already been outraged by such changes. In their opinion, in less than a week, updates have led to a global decrease in traffic and online sales for many fields: healthcare, technology, finance, and dating.

After the first wave, SEMrush compared the average value of volatility seven days before and two days after the announcement of the update. The most affected categories at that time were: Travel, Real Estate, Health, Pets & Animals, and People & Society. This applies to search both on a computer and on mobile devices.

The five winners included such categories as News, Business & Industrial, Online Communities, Arts & Entertainment, and Health. The injured were Arts & Entertainment, Online Communities, Business & Industrial, Games, and News. The situation is ambiguous because several categories fell into both lists, which means that the matter is not only in the subject of the site itself but also in other factors that influenced the ranking.

Today, when the Google core update may 2020 impact calmed down a bit, the distribution of winners and losers has slightly changed. The News is still confidently holding the first place but sports and auto-related appeared among the main losers.

It’s important to understand that major core updates to the Google algorithm are usually not industry-specific. A change can have a strong impact on the niche, but this does not mean that it was the goal of the update. Traffic drawdown after algorithm changing may have nothing to do with the site itself, but is associated with a reassessment of ranking factors.

How to adapt to the changes

Changes have already occurred, so now webmasters can only observe, analyze and adapt to the latest Google algorithm update. Here are some points to pay attention to:

User signals matter

Google reports that it focuses on traffic signals determining in which cases the site is important and useful, and how much it meets the user’s expectations. Although it is too early to draw far-reaching conclusions, you can take a closer look at the sites that clearly benefit from Google changes May 2020.

The head of SEO at content marketing agency Suxeedo Niels Dahnke is sure that good user signals (high CTR, low bounce rate, and good dwell-time) have a positive effect on Google’s ranking stability.

Update your content

Constant posting and content updating is an important step in improving your position in SERP. It is not enough just to pull out old texts and add a couple of sentences to update them. You should make efforts to keep up with the Google algo update: check relevance, get rid of outdated information, add a few paragraphs, and, if necessary, even rewrite the entire article.

The famous marketer Neil Patel conducted a study based on 641 sites that regularly update their content. Thus, only about 6% of these sites have reduced search traffic by more than 10% since the update. SERP improved by 10% for more than 187 websites.

Make the content rich

Another important task for webmasters in the terms of the new update is to review the quantitative part of their content. Sites with thin content, i.e. where at least one page contains texts with a small number of words, went down. Of the 400 resources that Neil Patel tested, 31% were adversely affected: their search results fell by more than 10%.

Checking the site for the thin content is a must-do thing on the SEO checklist 2020, and not only as part of updates from Google, but also for regular work on the site quality. However, do not forget about common sense. See if it is really necessary to increase the number of words and whether you really need this page.

Improve SEO

Errors in the SEO, mainly duplicate headings and meta descriptions, can seriously influence the drop in search results. More than 20% of repetitions can critically affect performance. However, the pursuit of the perfect result is not always the right option. Using the same tags may be justified, for category pages with pagination for example. In other cases, you should fix the errors to match the Google SEO update.

Add expertise

After the May update, extra points in the search results went to the sites with first-hand expert opinion. The author of the texts should have good knowledge of the field they write about and, if possible, consult with relevant experts. Checklist for expert content:

It reveals the narrow aspects of the topic.

Heading H1 and subheadings H2-H6 correspond to the topic.

There are no spammed and uninformative texts.

There is a clear structure of articles including bulleted lists, graphics, tables, diagrams, videos, headings, and subheadings.

There are feedback forms and all the necessary information is visible.

Check with Google guidelines

Google emphasizes that a drop in SERP does not mean that the site is bad, just someone else has more relevant and high-quality content on the same topic, and that’s why users prefer the competitor’s site. Pay attention to Google’s recommendations for webmasters, especially after core updates. By responding to the changes in time, you will most likely be able to avoid traffic loss. It’s worth starting with two main points:

Check Google’s Quality Raters Guidelines for each item that may be applicable to your site as signs of high or low quality.

Refer to the official Google blog. An excellent checklist is presented there to verify that your content meets quality requirements.

How to keep up with Google’s changing algorithms

Google search algorithm updates are geared to improve the overall search quality. The sites that were previously ranked lower may rank unexpectedly higher, and vice versa. The webmaster’s task is to monitor all changes and improve the content, making it expert, relevant, and interesting. Then, whatever changes are brought about, you will still rank high on Google.

https://transorze.com/