#like I didn’t get offended by that post and by the 4000 notes it got of people hating on daddy kink

[evansbby]

not me going through the steve rogers x reader tag and i find a post that’s like “pov you find a fic with amazing smut but it has daddy kink 👎” LMFAOOOO

i wonder if anyone’s read my fics and just immediately exited out as soon as they see the word “daddy” bc it’s in like EVERY SINGLE ONE of my fics 😂😂

[ginnyzero]

Completely Harmless Ch. 5

Completely Harmless An SSO SilverGlade Re-imagining Story (Or Fix it Fan Salt fic) By Ginny O.

When Lily and her friends wanted to buy horses and were directed to the Silverglade Manor and its myriad of problems, they didn’t expect to start a revolution. They were just a bunch a stable girls. Completely harmless. Right?

A/N: Things are only canon if I say they’re canon. Pre-Saving the Moorland Stables compliant for the most part. Posted in its entirety on my website. Posted in 2000 to 4000 word bits here. Rated T for Swearing Word Count 177,577

Chapter Five Helping Sir Aaron Silverglade

Last time:

“How do you think we should handle Aaron?” Lily asked as she settled back into the seat.

“Lie,” Pauline said blandly.

“Lie?” Lily raised a brow.

“Tell him we were sent by his mother to find out information.” Pauline shrugged.

“That’s actually plausible.” Lily pinched her nose. “For a good cause, I guess.”

Pauline poked about the internet. “He’s still at the ice cream shop.”

“Oh good,” Lily sighed. “What do you think of Anastasia’s ideas?”

“I don’t think that the Baroness will care if we start pulling weeds and things,” Pauline said.

Lily nodded.

“As long as we keep our meddling to minor fixes that we can handle and don’t step on her toes.” Pauline bit her lip. “Keep up the stables, pull weeds, do some cleaning.” She shrugged.

“Prepare the way for the experts.” Lily’s leg jiggled.

Pauline turned a bit in the seat as the tram slowed to a stop. “I think you got her scheming about how to get back into her mother’s good graces. She might just do the rest. Or at least, point us in the right direction.”

“I’m sure Iris knows gardeners.”

“Exactly. And gardeners will know mechanics,” Pauline said.

They walked across the road. “You know,” Lily said. “She may not see it. I’m not saying her eyesight is bad,” she said hurriedly. “She’s been there so long and the things keep piling up. After a while you become blind to the mess.”

They walked into the doors.

“That’s true,” Pauline said. “It becomes your mess and quite comfortable.”

“Right!” Lily agreed.

They skirted the tables.

“Sir Silverglade,” Pauline said politely as they sidled up to a rather nervous looking man seated at a high table with a laptop in front of him.

He jumped. “Um, hello, that’s, me.”

“Sir Silverglade, I’m Pauline and this is my friend, Lily. We work for your mother. She sent us to find out any information about how to get G.E.D. out of the north paddock.” Pauline smiled gently at him.

“Oh dear. Oh dear. Oh my,” Aaron wrung his hands. “I knew she’d do this,” he mumbled. He looked around for some ice cream. “I, I, I’m not any good at this.”

Lily soothed him. “We also have new information. Whatever the problem is, I’m sure we can help you.”

“Oh, oh, I’m not so certain at all. I’ve been locked out of my laptop you see. And oh dear, oh my, I just can’t seem to get back in.”

“Have you forgotten your password?” Lily asked.

He nodded.

“Do you have a phone?” Lily said and tried not to sigh. Older people.

Aaron bit his lip. “I do. But I’m not sure what that has to do with anything.”

Pauline struggled not to roll her eyes. “I’ll get us some ice cream.”

Lily moved the seat and shoved it to be closer to Aaron. “All right, start your computer,” she said.

Aaron started it up. “See,” he said and typed something.

“All right, see that link about resetting your password, click on it,” Lily said. “Okay, now, go to your email in your phone. You can do that.”

“Of course!” Aaron didn’t sound offended at all. He logged into his email. “But, it’s not my work email you see.”

“That’s fine,” Lily said. “Is the computer registered to your work email?”

“No. No,” Aaron said. “At least, I don’t think so.”

“Oh, look, you have an email about resetting your password.” Lily pointed at it. She coached him through changing it. Pauline returned with ice cream and Lily absentmindedly took a bite. Her face brightened. That was really good ice cream.

Aaron almost cried as he logged into the computer.

“All right,” Lily said. “There.”

Aaron clicked on his work programs. “Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Anytime you get blocked out. You can reset the password through your phone,” Lily reassured him. “No big deal.”

Aaron frowned as he skimmed emails to catch up. “Oh dear.”

“Oh dear?”

“No good news, I’m afraid. G.E.D. brought in lawyers and are contesting our claims of breaking contract. In no means did our contract say that they could put up oil rigs on our land! Especially since there is no clauses in there for us getting a share of any profits on oil drilled and sold from our property.” Aaron sniffed. “As if we’d forget those!”

Pauline scraped the bottom of her bowl and widened her eyes making a face.

“No. I don’t think you would,” Lily said. “Well, we have some new information. I could email it to you and you can forward it to your lawyers.”

Aaron told her the email.

Lily forwarded all the pictures and the text with the oil rigs numbers on it. Pictures of the rigs in action, the pollution, the ducks in the pollution, the oil rig numbers, the broken fence, just everything the girls had discovered.

Aaron opened it and as he scrolled through the pictures, his face turned more and more red. He hit the forward button and then paused. “Oh, what do I say? This is indefensible!”

They helped him come up with a sufficiently official and polite sounding email that would be taken seriously as it was urgent and convey how angry the Silverglades were over the blatant destruction of their pristine property and endangerment of the horses and wildlife.

Aaron jabbed send a bit too forcefully. “Oh, thank you, ladies. I am so sorry it had to come to you coming all the way out here. I wish I was better at this.”

“You’re doing the best you can,” Lily said. “You aren’t dumb, Sir Silverglade.”

“There has to be someone who can do this better than I can,” Aaron moaned.

“With a bit of practice, you’ll get better. You have to stop being so hard on yourself. Your mother wouldn’t have you doing this if she didn’t trust you.”

Aaron slumped and ate his ice cream. “She has me doing it because there is no one else. And I’m worse with the grapes.”

“No one can be in two places at once,” Lily said.

“If Anastasia cared about the grapes or the family name as much as she cared about clothes,” Aaron fretted. “She always had the ideas.” He ate more. “Not me,” he mumbled into the ice cream.

He received a message. His eyes scanned back and forth. “They want to send their own inspectors tomorrow. They’re recommending I send the photos and the numbers to the police. Apparently, there’s been oil rig theft.” Aaron gasped. “How do you steal oil rigs?”

“Well, if they are stolen, it’s pretty dumb of him to leave the numbers on them,” Lily murmured. “Of course, he doesn’t come off as that smart. Ruthless, but not smart.”

“They want to meet the person who found them.” Aaron read. “Oh dear. Oh dear. I better go too then.”

Lily brought up the phone and punched in a few messages. “They’ll be available.”

“They?”

“It’s our club,” Lily gestured between her and Pauline. “They were helping Tyra out today with the horses and stumbled across all of this.”

“Oh. That makes excellent sense.”

Lily and Pauline shared a look.

Lily stood. “I think you have things well in hand now. See you tomorrow, Sir Silverglade.”

Aaron sighed. “I do hate leaving the city.”

Lily made a mental note to have ice cream ready. Pauline leaned over and whispered. “What about instead of a tapas bar, there’s an ice cream or sorbet bar?” She did a quick internet search. “Yeah, sorbet and sherbet. There is no such thing as grape ice cream.”

Lily whispered back. “That’s brilliant!” She swiftly turned back to Aaron. “Sir Silverglade, do you have a list of your favorite ice cream concoctions and, and do you know if they’d pair well with wine?”

Aaron blinked. “I, I could.”

Lily leaned in. “There’s that bar at the,” she frowned. “What did you call it?” She asked Pauline.

“It’s the Wine Cave. It’s not actually a cave,” Pauline said. “But the earliest wine makers used limestone caves to ferment the wine. So, the nomenclature stuck. The building is actually made out of limestone and then faced with imported marble.”

“Yes, the wine cave, thanks Pauline.” Lily said. “What if, I mean, it’s a long shot, but, what if you came up with a menu for an ice cream and wine tasting bar for your mother. That way you’d be able to contribute to the manor with your skills.”

Aaron looked thoughtful and bewildered all at once. “That is usually a good way to a hangover.”

“But, it can be done?” Pauline asked.

“Well, yes,” Aaron said. “But still, hangover.”

“It’s supposed to be a tasting bar. Small bowls of ice cream and small bits of wine. Pair with cakes and cookies,” Lily said.

“That’s more sugar. It’s not going to help,” Aaron murmured.

“Nuts?”

“Oh, nuts are good,” Aaron said. He was reaching for the laptop.

Lily smirked. “Well, I for one can’t wait to see your pairings and ideas.”

Aaron blinked.

“You’re the expert on ice cream,” Pauline said sweetly.

And with that, they left him furiously typing away.

Lily gloated. “You are genius.”

Boarding the tram, Pauline flushed and grinned.

It wasn’t far to Aideen’s Plaza.

“This is nice,” Lily said glancing around.

Iris had a cart outside of her shop.

Lily inspected the offerings.

Iris immediately sensed a sale. “May I help you?”

“Oh, please,” Lily said. “We’re looking for flowers to give to Baroness Silverglade. We’ve heard she likes roses.”

“I have plenty of roses.” Iris said. “In fact,” she snapped her fingers. “I have a beautiful lavender rose vine named Sterling Silver.”

“That would be perfect,” Lily said. “Is it a large one or something small like a miniature tea rose?”

“It’s a florist rose. It has long stems, good for cutting and has a strong citrusy scent,” Iris explained.

“So, if she planted them in the gardens, she could sell them too?” Pauline said slowly.

“Not to cut in on your business of course,” Lily said in a hurry. “Just, the manor needs some color.”

“The gardens are in a dreadful shape,” Pauline wrinkled her nose.

“But we don’t know anything about them,” Lily said. “That’s why we were going to get her some flowers as a gift. Since, we can’t, well, you know.” She shrugged.

“I know plenty of gardeners,” Iris said. “They’d love to get their hands dirty in someplace as high class as the Baroness’ garden. Though, some of them are pretty high handed.”

Pauline fiddled with her gloves. “Well, you know, the manor grounds are open for tourists to come and look around,” she said. “I mean, if they had any plans.”

Lily lowered her voice. “We’ve heard the Baroness likes plans.”

Iris put a finger next to her nose. “I understand.” She turned to her plants. “I think this is what you’re looking for,” she said and picked up a pot with a rose plant in it. “And, if any of my gardeners seem interested, I’ll send them your way.”

“Thank you,” Lily said. They paid Iris and headed back to the tram.

“And gardeners know mechanics,” Pauline said.

They returned to the mall and picked up the big box of iced coffees. The girl had nicely packed them into foil coated box with extra ice packs. They thanked her profusely and Lily gave her a big tip. They quickly rushed and got some special soap for the ducks.

Then, it was back to Fort Pinta. They changed their clothes in the tack room before picking up their horses and instead of riding, took a transport to the winery to save time.

They waved down the other girls and started handing out drinks.

“Oh this is heavenly,” Abigail groaned.

“Mana from the gods,” Jennifer said.

“Cold,” Regina moaned and pressed hers against her forehead.

Lily passed a drink to Linda with a raised brow.

“We’ve been putting up a temporary fence to keep the horses from wandering into the oil rigs,” Linda informed her.

Lily brandished the soap. “We’ve got soap for the ducks!”

Soon enough, while Linda and the others finished putting the very last bit of the fence in place, Lily and Pauline filled a tub with water and got to work gently washing the ducks with the special soap (Dawn.) Lily filled several big stable trough tubs and soon enough the poor things were splashing about in the clean water.

The other girls came and helped.

One splashed another and started a squealing water fight.

FOR THE ACCOMPANYING IMAGES PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE MY WATERMARK AND CONTACT INFORMATION. THANK YOU. I get it. Some of you might get excited and want to see this stuff in the game, especially the clothes, tack, and pets. However, the only way I want to see this in the game is if I get paid for it. If I see it in the game and I’m not paid for it, there will be hell to pay. You think I’m salty. I’d be angry. Personally, I’m not going to send this info to SSO. If you do, leave my contact information there! Don’t give them any excuses to steal.

Now, I’ll know you haven’t read this note if you leave me comments about how ‘salty’ I am about the game and if I hate it so much I should do something else. I am doing something else. It’s called Mystic Riders MMORPG Project. Mystic Riders however is a very baby phase game. You can check out our plans on the game dev blog. (Skills, Factions, Professions, Crafting, Mini-Games, 25+ horse breeds!) If you know anyone who would be interested and has money or contacts about game making, direct them to the blog.

[goddessofmadnessheiress]

What Happens in Sakaar - A Loki Fanfic (Chapter One)

Fandom: Thor - Marvel

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Request: No

Summary: (Y/n) is Sif’s best friend but she doesn’t get well with the princes, especially certain raven haired one. After the break up with Fandral (y/n) decides to forget everything in Saakar. There she finds Loki, who had argued with his father again. After a fun and drunken night, they wake up and discover they are married. But before they got divorced Odin wants them to prove they could make each other better, this obligates both to live together.

Warnings: Eventually will have smut; OOC (out of character); probably will have fights too; Kind of alternative universe;

Words: 4028 (I normally try to write only 4000 words, but I needed to made a decent end for this chapter.)

Notes: Based on that movie ‘What Happens in Vegas’ with Cameron Diaz. Sorry any grammar mistake, English isn’t my first language and I don’t have anyone to correct them before posting.

Tag list: @malanix @bookgirlunicorn @polaristrange @socially-unacceptable-dameron  

Please comment what you guys thought. That is important to me and to the serie.It is good to know if you guys like the way the story is following.

If you are new to this kind of fanfic: (Y/n) = Your name; (L/n) = your last name; (y/e/c): your eyes color; (N/n): Your nickname; (Y/s/t): Your skin tone; (y/h/l): your hair length; (y/h/c): your hair color;

You are a good asgardian. You live around the castle, after all your best friend is a warrior for the real family. Your best friend is the only female fighter, her name is Sif. It was Sif who introduced you to Fandral, one of the best warriors of Asgard. After one year of dating between trainings Fandral proposed to you, of course you said yes to him.

Fandral is a good man. He is strong, beautiful and caring. He is everything you ever wanted for a husband and maybe future father of your children. That’s why you want to celebrate Fandral’s birthday. Sif and you are arranging a surprise party for him.

In the assembly room of the castle, here Odin uses to official ceremonies, stand Thor, Hogun, Volstagg, Sif and you. Volstagg and Thor, as always thinks that everything is fine, while Hogun is quiet in a corner while Sif tries to calm you, who is walking for a side to the other while messing with your hair, down.

“Everything should be perfect for this party!” You scream suddenly stopping your walking. Everyone in the room looks at you. You are looking to the ceiling with your eyebrows raised and your head slightly tilted to the left. “Something is missing…” You turn in Thor’s direction with a puppy dog eyes that could be read ‘help’ in them.

“Relax, (N/n). Fandral will love this.” Thor says in his soft voice and walks in your direction. You are way too short compared with the prince. And feel so uncomfortable when he hugs you. After all Thor is Sif’s friend not yours. You consider yourself more friend of Hogun or Volstagg because Thor is always busy when you hang out together.

“(N/n), how about you going to relax and prepare yourself while the boys and I finish here?” Sif asks in her sweet voice, the voice that no one besides you knows. She smiles her brightness smile to you who only sighs.

“Please, don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” You ask before turning in the doors direction. “I’m serious Sif.” You scream over your shoulder while exiting the room. Outside the assembly room you sigh audibly and it echoes in the golden corridor.

“It is too tiring being Fandral’s fiancée? Or are you tired of his dumb friends?” Asks that voice you hate so much. You lower your eyes from the painted ceiling to find that blue greenish eyes already in you.

“You are the dumb one Loki.” You answer while walking in the direction of the castle exit. You pass by his side and cold fingers hold your wrists. You look over your shoulders just to see a smirk in Loki’s lips.

“I’m a lot of things (Y/n) but dumb isn’t one of them.” His voice isn’t in his usual sarcastic tone, it is deeper. He truly is angry and offended by you. You pull your arm in your direction, successfully releasing your wrist from his strong hold. “Are you afraid of me (L/n)?” He asks while his smirk returns.

“I would never be afraid of a fool like you!” You scream in his face. And them your heart stops a beat when you see his hand in the air. You close you eyes waiting for the pain of the slap. Being the fiancée of one of the warriors is not an excuse for you to treat your prince with disrespect.  

“Prince Loki, All-Father wants to see you.” Says a new voice in the corridor. You open only one eye and see the angry burning in Loki’s eyes. You turn in the guard direction and he smiles shyly at you.

“In a moment.” Loki says through his teeth.  His eyes burning your neck. You really messed up big this time. Your heart is beating so fast that you are sure the guard in the other side of the corridor is listening to it.

“He demands you in the throne room now sir.” Loki lets a sigh escape his lips. “Please.” Asks the guard, who is afraid of the raven haired prince. Truth be said, everyone is afraid of Loki.

Everyone but you. Even if he scares you this feeling left isn’t a fear similar to that other felt.  

“The next time you won’t be spared. Understood?” Whispers Loki in you ear when he passes by your side. The look he gives the guard makes the young boy jump to the side. The green cape being the last thing you see exiting the corridor.

“Are you ok?” You and the guards ask at the same time. What makes both of you laugh a little.

“Don’t be scared of him. He is just another spoiled son.” You say hoping Loki could still hear you, but he probably is already too far away of this corridor.

“Now I see why sir Fandral is in love with you lady (Y/n).” The young boy smiles at you.

“I’m not a lady. I’m a normal person, just like you.”

“Of course not. You will be in all the ceremonies just as lady Sif or any other import warrior.” Just them you realize that he is right. You will be living with Fandral inside the castle and going to all official ceremonies.

Are you really ready for all the attention? After all your fiancé is just as famous as the princes… Shaking this away of your head you smile at the young guard and exit by the same doors Loki went. You need to rest in your small home before the party starts.

                              ~~~~~~~~In the throne room~~~~~~~~

Loki enters the throne room with the face as red as Thor’s cape of angry, his blue greenish eyes burning like the fire from Muspelheim, his strong steps echoes in the corridors like a march of an entire army even when it is only him. Odin turns in the door’s direction when he hears it opening and when he sees the state his younger son is a little smile appears in his serene face.

“What is it now dad?” Loki screams stopping in front of All-Father, who seats in his throne without reaction to the angry on Loki’s tone. “What have I done this time? Am I not good enough? Am I not like Thor? Am I not having my coronation because I’m the youngest? Yeah, you have already told me all of this.”

“Loki, my son, calm down please.”

“Why? You only call me here to say how I’m not what you wanted.”

“You know this is not truth Loki. And I called you here for other reason. “Loki opens his mouth to respond his father with another sarcastic response but Odin is faster and explain. “(Y/n)’s wedding.”

“What?” Loki’s eyes changes from angry to confusion. And then he laughs hysterically. “I know. You want me to marry some princess you choose for me. Is it, isn’t it?”

“No.” Odin lowers his head and his hands shake a little. He knows how his son felt about the girl. “You know (Y/n)’s family can’t participate for the ceremony. I though you could accompany and hand her to Fandral on the day.”

“Wait. You want me to be their best man?” Loki asks in disbelief. “Fandral don’t consider me as a friend!”

“I know son. But you could do it because of (Y/n).”

“She hates me! She hates me more than him do, dad. “Odin shakes his head in a ‘no’ motion. He already expected this reaction for his younger son. He knew his feeling for (Y/n) would make him answer like this. He hated her as much as she hated him. “Why don’t you ask Thor instead?”

“Because he already accompanying Sif and you know this!”

“My answer is still no. Find another one!”

“I can’t. I already promised Fandral that would be you.”

“You…Couldn’t… Have… Done… This…” Loki’s scream shakes the columns of the throne room. If Loki didn’t already know that he is a Jotun he would be scared of the ice that appears in the room. “That should be my own choice.”

“YOU’RE DOING IT! LIKING IT OR NOT!” Odin shouts back as angry as his son. The heat escaping from the All-Father melts the ice around the raven haired boy.

“So you called me here not to ask me but to warn me that I doing it.” Loki says and turns his back to his father. His blue skin and red eyes turning back to his normal pale skin and blue greenish eyes.

“Don’t turn your back to me!” Odin shouts but Loki already is in the golden corridor.

Slowly Frigga approaches Odin. She puts a tender hand on his shoulder. Her long hair falls in front of her light eyes. She is shaking her head disappointed seeing the water in the shining floor.

“I have warned you that it wasn’t a god idea asking Loki.” Frigga whispers to herself but Odin listen and gets up from the throne.

“I didn’t though his hate was that strong!” Odin says angry. Frigga just bit her lower lip watching her husband exiting the room.

“If only it was really hate…” She looks one more time to the door where her son stormed out before exit the room herself.

                              ~~~~~~~~In your bathroom~~~~~~~~

The feeling of Loki’s eyes still burns the back of your neck while you watch the bathtub filling. You are setting on the edge of the bathtub and your finger are drawing patterns on the warn water.

The encounter with the prince made all your previous worries with the party for your fiancé disappears. Your (y/e/c) are clued to the water watching all the patterns you draw disappear as soon as you drawn them.

Your mind sends you back to the golden corridor. That blue greenish eyes are attached in your mind just as a mark is burned in the cattle. You shake your head to try getting this feeling out of you but it is worthless.

You still have this sensation that you are being watched. You smile weakly when you realize the bathtub is filled just as you liked it. You close the water tap and let the dress you are wearing fall to the ground in one simple motion.

Carefully you put your left feet on the water and your skin feel the warmness you need after a cold encounter with the god of lies.  You enter in one movement and your body relaxes in the tub.

You close your eyes and rest your head on the edge of the tub while trying to think in other things that aren’t the prince’s eyes. You remember Fandral’s smile that have teeth as white as a fluffy cloud but then Loki’s smirk appears in your head with his teeth white as snow.

You remember Fandral’s eyes that are as golden as his armor and then that eyes which the color are a mix, which you have never seen before, of blue and green. You remember the feeling of Fandral’s hair softer than a feather. And then you catch yourself wondering how Loki’s hair would feel against your skin.

Wait… What? Why? You hate the prince. You always hated him.

But you can’t get this question out of your head and with this wonder in mind you feel yourself starting to fall asleep. The warn water is helping your heavy eyes to close. You are almost falling in a dreamless sleep when a heavy knock on your door is heard.

You ignore thinking is something of your head and close your eyes again. So close of sleeping but then you hear it again and again and again. Why is someone in such a hurry? Then Sif’s voice screams loud enough that your numb mind can understand.

“(Y/n)! Open this door! I’m freezing here!”  With heavy movements you stand up and cover yourself with a soft towel. You hurry as fast as you can, without stumbling, to the door but Sif screams doesn’t cease.

You open the door with such a force that makes Sif surprised. Her green eyes stop in the towel enveloping your (Y/s/t) skin. Before she says something like an apology you pull her and when she is inside your house you close the door with a loud bang.

“Thank you.” She says ironically. “Outside is cold as Hellheim!”

“You say as you know Hellheim. You are a warrior you already have a place reserved in Valhalla.”  You say a little too rude. Sif’s eyebrow rises a little.

“You were sleeping? You always are a little rude after waking up.”

You smile at her. She knows you to well for your own good.

“Yeah. I almost slept.”

“In the bathtub? Are you crazy? What if you drown?” Her voice raises at least some tones and you fight the will to cover your ears.

“Well I didn’t, did I?” You smile a little and she shakes her head ashamed that you don’t care with your own well being. “So… What are you doing here?”

“I said I would help you with the clothes. Remember?”

An “Oh” is all that left your mouth.

Sif’s laughter fills your little house and her hand is soft at touch even with all the battle scars on it. She pushes you in the direction of your dressing room slowly.

The unexpected movement makes your towel fall to the ground and your once warn body shivers with the cold wind coming inside by your open window. Sif stops you in front of you mirror while she starts looking in your wardrobe.

You look yourself in the mirror. Your (Y/s/t) skin is shinning a little because of the water and the sunset entering in your room by your high window. Your (y/h/l) (y/h/c) hair is wet and your nipples are erect because of the cold surroundings.

You look in Sif direction. She is whistling an old lullaby while looking for the dress Fandral gave you in your birthday. You try to cover your chest with your arms embracing yourself but the only thing that happens is warning you just a little bit.

You bite your bottom lip when Sif turns in your direction with a smile so big that the tips of her lips are from side to side of the perfect face. Why are you so ashamed? You two grow up together and you saw each other naked before. After all she always slept in your house when younger.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~In the assembly room~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dress you are wearing is the one that Fandral gave to you in your birthday. When he gave you this dress the both of you weren’t dating yet so this dress is special to you because it was in this day that you realized you are in love with him.

He brought this dress when he went on a mission in Alfheim. So you are the spotlight in the room because he is different from the normal asgardian clothes most women are wearing.

The dress is long and sleeveless with the bust details remembering leaves. It has a cape attached to a choker with a detail in gold. The dress has a belt and a skirt with three shades of green.

Your green and gold make up and your braid hair are made by Sif. And your gold and long sandals you won from your parents when you told them that you got a job close to the castle. Your head accessory that imitates little leaves is a present from Frigga herself as a thank you when you helped her in a small mission.

You are standing in the highest step of the stair in the middle of the assembly room waiting by Fandral arrival. Sif is by your side with a friendly hand on your shoulders trying to calm you down.

Thor is the one responsible of getting Fandral in assembly room to be surprised by the party your friends and you prepared. Your (y/e/c) eyes are impatiently looking for one side to the other of the room.

You see at a glance Volstagg and Hogun talking to each other in one side of the room. In the middle of the room is Odin standing tall waiting for his son’s return and in the other side of the salon Frigga is talking to her youngest son.

Loki is beautiful as ever in his green and golden robes looking anywhere but Frigga. What are they talking about?  The blue greenish eyes of the prince are moving frantic and they met your own (y/e/c) fixed eyes.

You feel your whole body burning of angry. Why is he where? You two are having a fight and you don’t want to be the first to look away. You don’t want to seem weak or ashamed.

Then you realized the colors of his clothes and you look to yourself. Why your dress has to be green? Why Fandral brought you this color? You hate this color. You hear the heavy door opening and feel Sif’s grip tighten in your shoulder.

You look up just to see your fiancé in shock with all his friends screaming “Surprise!” at the same time. You fight the urgency to see if Loki screamed too. Fandral’s golden eyes met yours and you smile.

The biggest smile you ever gave. You feel the happiness getting all your body and your heart started betting as fast as a speeding train that’ll never stop. You run to him and jump straight in his arms.

He loses his balance and almost falls with both of you to ground. If it wasn’t for Thor’s strong hold in the back of his friend the two of you would be laying on the floor right now.

“(Y/n).” Fandral calls you in a weak voice. A voice you have never heard before. You look up to meet his eyes full of sadness.

“Have you not liked it?” You asked just as scared as a kitten.

“No. I loved. It is just that I need to talk to you…”

“We could talk later.”

“But baby, this is important.”

“So you can say here.”

“I think is better being in particular.”

“So we can talk later. Let’s have some fun.” You say pulling him with you in the direction that Sif is standing ahead of a cake.

“Baby…” Fandral call you but you ignore. “(Y/n), serious. This is important.”

“You can say after cutting the cake.”

“But I need to talk to you right now!” He almost screams and stops abruptly and pulls you to him with a strong motion. You fall straight to his chest and your head hits his armor with a high noise.

You scream with the pain in your wrist and in the side of your head.

“Was this really necessary?” You shot to him while moving away.

“Yes it was because you don’t want to listen to me!” He shot back as loud as you.

All the whispers in the salon dies out and all eyes are clued on the pair of you.

“Okay. You can say it now. You are all heard!”

“I said it must be particular.”

“Why can everyone where know?”

“You really want to discuss this right now?”

“Yes I want.”

“I don’t want to marry you anymore.”

You feel you heart stopping and all your dreams breaking in little pieces. Fandral’s face isn’t clear anymore because the tears are fogging your vision. You can hardly hear your name being called by Sif and you see Fandral trying to reach you.

You move away for him as fast as you can and starts a run to the doors. You swear listening to Loki’s voice calling for you but you ignore thinking is something of your mind. After a while of running all you can hear is your own footsteps.

When you are sure you can’t hear the party anymore and imagine you are far of being found by your friends and your ex-fiancé you stop. Your back to the cold wall, you scream at loud and start to slip to the ground.

On the floor you put your legs in front your face and you hide in your arms. You feel the fabric of your dress soaking wet and you hear you nose sniffing. You shake your head and clue your back to the dark corridor trying to hide from the steps passing by your side screaming your name.

While you are a ball of crying on a dark corridor Loki is in the assembly room. He is ready to run after you like all your friends and your previous fiancé done. But he feels a strong hand holding his arm.

“Where do you think you are going?” An angry voice asks. Loki turns just to meet his father red face.

“I am going after her.” He answers as it is the simplest thing ever.

“Have you done something about this? About Fandral breaking up with (Y/n)?” Odin accuses his own son as if this is normal.

“Odin.” Frigga calls in her soft voice. And the remaining eyes are clued to the royal trio.

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. You are the god of lies. You love to prank the others.”

“I would never do this to them!” He screams getting as red as Odin.

“If you done that I hope you know that this isn’t the way a king behaves. This is the reason I would never left the throne for you.”

“You would never leave the throne for a bastard. That is the reason you prefer Thor!” Loki leaves the room with heavy steps.

Loki’s eyes are clued to his own boots. His attempt to find you is now a mere ghost of seconds ago. He is going straight for his chambers. The youngest prince is so distracted by his own mind that he doesn’t see his brother.

Loki hits Thor straight in the chest and both of them fall to the floor with a loud bang. Thor starts laughing but as soon as he sees his bother face he stops.

“What happened to you, brother?” Thor asks concerned

“Dad happened.” Loki answers tiredly without raising his blue greenish eyes.

“Here you are.” Sif says loudly when she finds a ball of mess crying in a dark corner.

“Don’t be so loud. I don’t want Fandral to find me in this state.” You answer dryly.

“You know what?” Sif says smiling to herself.

“You know what?” Thor smiles more.

“We are going to a place where you can forget all your worries.” Sif stands up and pull you with her.

“We are going to a place where you can be yourself my brother.” Thor jumps to his feet and pull Loki by his shoulders.

“There is no place like this on the nine realms.” You answer sarcastically trying to get away from Sif’s strong hands.

“There is no place like this on the nine realms!” Loki screams getting off of his brother’s hold.

“Exactly!” Answer Thor putting his arm over Loki’s shoulders. “We are getting out of the nine realms.”

“Exactly!” Says Sif clapping her hands together and you fall to the ground without her support for stand on your feet. “We are getting out of the nine realms.”

“You mean Sakaar?” You ask from the floor unsure about this idea.

“You mean Sakaar!” Loki says with a smirk growing in his perfect pink lips.

“Yes! Sakaar.” Sif says cheering and helping you up.

“I am not sure.” You say accepting her help to stand.

“C’mon. It will be fun.” She tries to encourage you.

“What are we waiting bother?” Loki asks getting out of his brother arms and running to his chambers. “That will be fun!”

Thor shakes his head while running after his young bother. Sif is guiding you to the exit while you shake your head.

You two almost bump in the princes that are so rushed that they don’t see the two of you calmly walking to your small house outside the big castle.

“Are they okay?” This is all you can manage while avoiding the big crash that Thor would be if he bumped into you.

[todisturbtheuniverse]

FIC: Truth-Telling

Rating: M Pairing: f!Adaar/Josephine Montilyet Tags: Violence Warning, Pre-Relationship, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort Word Count: 4000 Summary: Adaar tells a number of stories about the way she lost half of one horn, each one better at parties than the last. The truth is just too ugly to tell. Post-Promising. Also on AO3. Notes: *inexplicably writes more for this pairing after nearly two years of nothing*

Sometimes, if Adaar does it right, a thick book and a furrowed brow keeps away the various entities who want to talk her ear off through dinner.

She could just take the meal in her quarters, of course, and dispense with the entire rigamarole of it, but—and this is hard to admit, even to herself, but she has to do it—the dim quiet up there unnerves her. Since Haven—since the last, longest night—she does not like to be alone. She is, regardless; there is a distance between her and every other person here that she can’t bridge. But as long as she is among them, nearby them, the creeping tightness in her chest does her a damn favor and loosens up a bit. As long as she can hear the pointless chatter of guards off duty (three of them trying to cajole a fourth into making her feelings known for a fifth, the stout dwarven woman who never smiles; Adaar finds her lips quirking up at that), and the occasional laughter flaring in the grand hall, and feel the body heat warming the place in a way that even repairs to the walls haven’t done, then the dark press of a night filled only with a sickly green flare falls backward.

And there’s a particular laugh that, if she’s lucky, she’ll hear. No chance of that in her lofty quarters.

She takes up another spoonful of stew—the parsnips are awful, but the potatoes good—and as she’s scanning the next page of the dusty tome unearthed from Skyhold’s cellar, she hears it, from across the hall where a crowd of better-dressed people are gathered, drinking wine that was not unearthed from Skyhold’s cellar: a carefully-pitched laugh, perfected for the nobles, seamlessly putting them at ease.

Not as good as the real thing, but good enough. Josephine puts on a certain...mask...while she interacts with diplomats. Adaar doesn’t like describing it that way, but it’s true; she wreathes herself in some invisible stuff that allows her to work an entirely different kind of magic on these people than the kind that the world is currently tearing itself to pieces over. It’s a little unnerving.

But what chance does she have, these days, of getting a few minutes with Josephine without that mask? Slim to none. The Inquisition is booming. She’s in demand, every hour of every day and some hours of the night, besides. The days of Haven—when Adaar could sneak in an hour here or there, under the guise of business but always devolving into gossip and friendship instead—are at an end.

So Adaar stays where she is, half her mind on her book, eating by rote, and sifting through the voices in the hall to listen to the conversation surrounding Josephine. It’s almost like being there, even though she can’t catch quite all of it.

“And that’s...the horns?”

Nobles who haven’t yet met or identified the Inquisitor yet, then. If Josephine can talk them out of coming over to gawk at her, Adaar will be impressed.

“Yes, that is Inquisitor Adaar.” There’s an edge to Josephine’s voice. Adaar clearly missed some insult in the noble’s question, or maybe Josephine is just taking offense to someone pointing her out by her horns. A fond smile uncurls over Adaar’s mouth.

The noble’s voice lowers further, in contrast to the firm tone of Josephine’s. Even a newborn in The Game would have realized that her voice meant, go no further down this path or some of your tasteful and useful alliances will become a burden to you, but this noble’s got the bit in his teeth.

“Do you...one...broken?”

Ah. A point of fascination to the indiscreet: her broken horn, the one that got caught on the roof of a cave because she’s so, so tall, the one that got snared in a trap meant for a bear because she was young and clumsy, the one that got knocked against stone when she hit the ground in a drunken brawl and simply could not hang on after that. Varric has nineteen tales for how he came by Bianca, none of them true; Adaar has many more for how she lost part of that horn.

“I have not presumed to ask.”

Well, this won’t do. Josephine shouldn’t ruin all her hard work in this conversation protecting Adaar’s imagined pride or privacy or whatever. Without any indication of planning to do so, she abandons stew and book and pushes back from her seat; a few people nearby gape at her in surprise at the movement, startled. She ignores these, finally locating Josephine and her hangers-on with eyes after an evening of using only ears, and she strides around the table to make straight for them.

Those funny little masks do so impede the vision; even the fellow asking about the horn doesn’t notice Adaar coming. Josephine, though, does, and her eyes meet Adaar’s with a clear warning: Stay out of this.

She underestimates Adaar, sometimes. Doesn’t she realize that Adaar’s put on a stupid mask before, too, doing a number of dances before nobles who wanted to hire her—her skill, her brutishness, her body—but didn’t want to think about what might be tucked between those horns?

She snags a glass of wine off a nearby platter, thanks the stars that she put on a nice clean coat this afternoon after sparring with Cassandra, and steps smoothly into the conversation. “I hope you don’t mind the interruption,” she says, with an easy smile and a sketch of a bow. No, she is not cultured, she is casual, she is a funny oddity at a museum, here for them to gawk up at. She can’t make out their expressions through the masks, but she knows body language, the stiffening of a spine to steel one’s resolve, the shuddering of a shoulder giving away the flinch of fear.

“Not at all,” one of them says a little breathlessly, the first to bend her knees in a curtsy; the rest hastily follow suit with their own bows and curved necks. “Your Worship,” she adds, and the brief delay of the appropriate address says: I may be afraid, but I have my pride.

Well, that's what Adaar thinks. She's willing to admit she doesn't read these spaces between words as well as some other people probably do. But she likes to make up things to fill them, regardless.

The man who’d asked about the horn gives the briefest bow of them all, and when he straightens, his eyes fixate on it again. Greedy, fascinated. Josephine—Adaar is standing close enough beside her to hear every irritated rustle of her dress and chain of office, however minute—opens her mouth, probably to divert the conversation, but Adaar says, dismissively, “Ugly, isn’t it? Sometimes I miss being symmetrical.”

The greedy eyes widen. Startled that she noticed his blatant stare, impressed by the low bar she’s cleared with her powers of observation? They expect so little of her.

“I didn’t mean to offend, Inquisitor,” he says, lowering his gaze.

“Oh, please, not at all. It’s quite the story, if you’re interested.” She casts an apologetic look at Josephine, playing it up. “Though if I’m interrupting business, please, just say the word. Lady Montilyet tells me I can’t just go blundering into these things.” A laugh, a self-deprecating chortle. “If I’d had her around five years ago, maybe I’d still have the horn.”

She can see in their eyes that they’ve all begun to smile, indulgent, almost patronizing—but interested. Chomping after that bait. And the body language, previously fearful, begins to relax. That’s right, she thinks. I’m just a big funny bear here to do some tricks for you before lumbering away where you don’t have to worry about me anymore. Enjoy the show.

“Surely we have time for a tale from the Inquisitor herself,” another of the women says. “I’ve heard so many stories.”

Josephine regains control of herself. Maybe this is unfair; she never lost control. But she is thinking again about The Game now, not about Adaar’s imaginary pride. “Please,” she says with a gracious smile, “it is a wonderful tale.”

Adaar tells the version best suited for Orlesian nobles: it involves an ill-placed tapestry, an aggressive nest of tuskets, and a job completed despite the loss of the horn. She tells it to polite laughter increasingly becoming uproarious, until even Josephine’s eyes are crinkled at the corners and her laugh has become real again. Even though she knows this is just another story. She’s heard several of them, by now, some in detail and some in passing.

As the story winds up and everyone catches their breath through a few lingering chuckles, Adaar turns to Josephine with a smile. “Can you spare a moment?” she asks. “There’s a correspondence that really should be finished up this evening—I’d like your final review on it.”

She’s regaled them, she’s entertained them, and now she hints at what they really need her for: holding the world together. There are a few tiny nods of approval, of seeing that she has some business sense in her head.

And Josephine plays along. “Of course,” she says, and “please, help yourselves,” to the nobles, and they all murmur goodbyes and do their silly curtsies and bows—Adaar makes one of her own, sharper this time—and they drift away to talk to others in the hall.

In silence, Adaar leads Josephine toward the door not so far off, the one that passes through to her office. Adaar opens the door for her and Josephine walks by, dipping her head in gratitude, and in the glimmer of light, Adaar notices something strange: a shiny bit of fire agate dangling on a slim golden chain in Josephine’s hair. She recognizes it as the gemstone she found in the mud on the Storm Coast a couple of months ago, something she sent back to Josephine after cleaning it.

Her heart swells. That this is some acceptance, some return, of her affection does not cross her mind; she is only happy that Josephine liked the gift enough to utilize it. To wear it in front of Adaar’s betters.

The door shuts quietly, and in the dim room, with the low-banked fire, Josephine draws a slightly ragged breath. None of her attendants are here; it is just them.

“I’m sorry I got involved,” Adaar says, returning her voice to normal with effort. She does not shed the act easily; it’s why she prefers not to put it on at all. “I know you wanted me to stay out of it.”

Josephine lets out a little laugh. A sad little laugh. “I only wanted to spare you from talking about something I know is unpleasant to you. No matter how you dress it up. Foolish of me. You handled them very well.”

“Thank you,” Adaar replies—more for the first sentiment than the last.

“You always surprise me.” Her voice is so soft that Adaar wonders if she was really meant to hear it.

“For the better, I hope.”

“Very much.”

Adaar hesitates, thinking. She shouldn’t take this particular plunge. It’s not a good story, after all. It won’t make Josephine laugh. But she feels...compelled, somehow, toward some imagined closeness.

“You’ve heard a few different versions now,” she finds herself saying. “Which one is your favorite?”

Josephine turns to face her. “My favorite? It’s hard to choose. You tell them all with such gusto.”

“Do you ever wonder…”

She does not need to finish; Josephine takes her meaning immediately, and a thoughtful frown crosses her face. “Of course,” she says. “But I wouldn’t be rude enough—callous enough—to point and whisper about it.” In the wash of firelight, there’s a sharpness to her features, a coldness. She carries daggers of her own; if that dim noble could hear, he would flush from the impropriety she’s accused him of.

“I can tell you,” Adaar offers. “If you want.”

Josephine’s eyes—murky in this dim light—search Adaar’s face, reading something there. “Only if you want,” she says, unbearably gentle, “if it would help to have an ear, then of course, I am here to listen.”

Adaar looks down at the glass in her hand, the untouched puddle of wine. “I think I’ll need something stronger than this.”

Josephine immediately goes to her desk; Adaar watches, increasingly amused, as she shuffles around through a few cavernous drawers and eventually comes up with a thick-bottomed glass bottle full of a fine amber liquid.

“Antivan brandy,” she says, and with an air of defensiveness, adds, “it’s very good in tea. Late at night, you understand. When I should really be sleeping anyway.”

A smile breaks over Adaar’s face, a fond laugh following it that she can’t stifle. “Its medicinal properties are best when unhindered by tea, though, wouldn’t you agree?”

She pulls a few tea cups from another drawer. “I’m glad we understand each other, Your Worship.”

For a moment—just a moment—Adaar nearly tells her to hang formality, but she resists. This is Josephine’s way of showing Adaar respect, the respect that she thinks Adaar deserves and doesn’t receive, and it would be unkind—cruel, even—to throw that back in her face. Adaar takes it for the compliment it is and lets it lie.

Besides. After a little brandy and a gruesome story, the names will come out. Just like that night in Haven. There is a little guilt—only a little—that Adaar can look back on that ugly week with any fondness, but in times as they are, she’ll take what comfort she can.

They settle on the settee in front of the fireplace, with their teacups of brandy and the bottle between them, and Adaar turns the cup in her hands, considering how to begin. She’s never told this story to anyone.

“I’d been with Shokrakar and the Valo-Kas for about a year,” she says finally. Context. Context is important for truth. “I was maybe twenty years old. We took a job to clear a cave system that was close to a town—lot of giant spiders, they were causing problems for the villagers. We got in, did our job, and camped out that night in the mouth of the cleared cave.”

Josephine listens, teacup perched delicately in her hand. Adaar takes a gulp of her own brandy, shakes off the old cobwebs with the burn of it in her throat, and continues.

“I was on watch duty. Middle of the night, and I was tired. Struggling to keep my eyes open. And already a little injured—my kind of fighting, I have to get pretty close to a thing to hurt it, and giant spiders are a lot bigger than me. I’d gotten a bit chewed on. We had a mage—Kaariss—and he’d healed me up, but it always leaves you...tired.” She almost adds, you know? before she remembers that Josephine duels with words, and maybe hasn’t been chewed on before.

Nevertheless, she nods in agreement.

“So that’s why these toughs from the village caught me off guard,” Adaar says, wincing at the memory of her own sloppy work. “Knocked me out. The others woke up and fought, but the villagers managed to drag me away. I woke up in one of their houses.” She clears her throat. “They’d already sawed halfway through the horn, at that point.”

Josephine must have seen this coming, because her next breath is just a little sharp, not an outright gasp. And she doesn’t ask why, but Adaar tells her, anyway.

“Guess some of the villagers took exception to mercenaries. And Tal-Vashoth, in particular. Thought we were using the job as an in to walk around town and maybe terrorize and rob anyone we wanted. Or maybe it’s simpler than that; I didn’t ask them.” She shrugs. “No nerve endings in the horn, understand. They get itchy around the base when the weather’s too hot and dry, but the horn itself? I could feel where I was tied up, where they’d strapped my head to the ground so I wouldn’t move, but the only reason I knew they were sawing into the horn was the sound it made. And the saw itself, making my head move back and forth, just a bit, with every stroke.

“They were pissed I wasn’t screaming and wailing and crying from the pain. Idiots. They did me more damage when they knocked me out with that rock. But they kept at it, anyway, sawing away, and one of them decided it would be much more satisfying if I would just bleed, so he got out a knife and started cutting right down my cheek.”

She touches the lingering scar. It’s a long time past, now, but she can still feel the too-dull edge of that knife pulling through flesh, approaching her jaw. She can remember the panic of that moment, the blind desperation of it, as she realized that the knife would pull down her neck and she would die. And despite how improbable it had seemed—that she would only last one year with the Valo-Kas and then die to some backwater villagers with prejudices—that knife had kept cutting. She puts the cup of brandy down so that when her hands shake, it won’t betray her.

“I don’t remember the next part very well,” she admits. “I was bleeding out, and then there was a lot of noise, and the knife went away. Someone’s—Kaariss’s—hand was over my neck, fixing the wound. And then all the noise died down and I heard Shokrakar say, ‘Sorry, Adaar, the horn’s almost all the way off, anyway,’ and there was this...thump...as her axe swung down and cut the rest of the way through it.”

Josephine has put her cup down, too, though Adaar missed when. This is why she’s never told the story: unlike anything else, unlike any other memory, it has the ability to put her back in that awful, dank room—the cellar, she’d figured out later, so that hopefully if she screamed it would be muffled by the earth and the village wouldn’t wake. With the knife coaxing the lifeblood from her. With the broken piece of her horn lying beside her.

Josephine’s hand creeps over to curl around hers, putting her back where she should be: in a cozy room on a comfortable settee with the brandy burning in her gut. And Josephine’s hand is warm, soft—with little callouses here and there from her many writing implements, in peculiar places—comforting.

“We didn’t get paid,” Adaar says, summarizing now. “We just got out. I could hardly believe they came and got me. Mercenaries. You don’t expect it from them. But Shokrakar...she complained about it all the way to the next job, but she came back for me. That was what mattered.”

She doesn’t know what else to say. This is the truth, as neat as she can make it, skirting some of the worse details: that the Valo-Kas had fled, ceding payment, because no matter what those villagers had done to Adaar it likely did not excuse the slaughter of the lot of them. At least in the headman’s eyes, probably. They hadn’t stayed to find out.

“After you had done nothing but help them,” Josephine says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Shokrakar took me off talking-duty for a while, after.” Adaar manages a smile. “When I first joined up, they liked me to talk to the clients. I’d lived among humans—and a couple of elves, the occasional dwarf—my whole life. I talked to them like I was one of them. That was all I’d ever understood. But that...changed, after. I saw why the Valo-Kas were the way they were. Not so high a price to pay for understanding, I guess. I got better eventually.”

Josephine’s hand squeezes. “You nearly died.”

“And we all nearly died when the Breach opened up,” she replies, “but we’re no closer to understanding that. In comparison, it’s the more worthwhile near-death experience.”

She dares to look up at Josephine. Josephine, who’s fighting tooth and nail for control of her own expression; her pretty eyes are haunted, staring at something that Adaar doesn’t see but can imagine clearly.

Adaar’s hand squeezes, this time. “I know it’s bad,” she says softly. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to go all stoic on my account.”

“It’s awful,” Josephine says, in a voice that’s low and strained. “I don’t see how you just...make stories out of it.”

“Easier than the real thing. Better at parties.”

Josephine’s eyes refocus on Adaar’s. The pale attempt at humor doesn’t work. There’s a deadly seriousness in her face now, an anger. “No one will do that to you,” she says. “Ever again.”

Adaar’s smile widens, just a little. “Are you going to protect me?”

Not a mockery, not teasing. A real question.

“By the time I’m through,” Josephine says, jaw set with a grim determination, “they will be too in awe of you—too amazed by you—to dare. The stories they hear will make you into someone who cannot be trifled with.”

“There’s always the odd cultist,” Adaar points out.

“That is what Leliana is for.”

Adaar brays out a laugh—her first real laugh of the entire evening, loud and unabashed. “And this,” she comments, holding up the gloved hand that shows only a trickle of light from the anchor, “if they get close enough.”

At this, Josephine laughs, too, the sound of it a little wild. Adaar sloshes more brandy into both of their teacups and they drink deep in between hiccups, dulling the raw edge of the moment. Their hands broke apart, at some point. Adaar already misses that contact.

“I’ve probably kept you too long,” Adaar says, when the silence has grown so comfortable that she’s in danger of never breaking it. “I interrupted, earlier.”

“They will be there in the morning,” Josephine says without hesitation, decisively, waving this away. “We haven’t talked in far too long. This has been very somber, but I...I’ve missed you.”

Her face flushes a little red as she says it, her eyes darting away, lowered beneath long, dark lashes. Ah, hope. Traitorous hope. Glimmering like that piece of agate in her hair, catching the firelight. Pretending that the blush is because she’s embarrassed to admit her true feelings, not because of the alcohol catching up to her.

“Let’s talk of pleasanter things, then,” Adaar says, and—because there has been brandy and a painful, personal story, and it has made her a little brazen—she reaches out to touch the gem dangling from the chain. “Did I tell you where I found this? You wouldn’t believe it.”

Startling, Josephine reaches up to touch the gem, too, and their fingers brush. It is a different energy entirely than when Josephine held her hand through the ugly tale, offering comfort; there is an electricity here—maybe imagined by Adaar, maybe not—reminiscent of a thunderstorm.

“Oh,” she says, still coming off a little flustered. “You noticed. It was just so pretty, I didn’t want it to sit away in a box.”

“It is,” Adaar agrees. “It suits you.”

Josephine opens her mouth to say something, but what, Adaar doesn’t know; she closes it again, sheepishly, as if she’s lost her train of thought.

“Better than the muddy grave some fool left it to,” Adaar adds, and then she’s off again: telling a (slightly embellished) story of a dirty, wet fight on the Storm Coast, a tumble down a muddy path, a deluge of rocks dislodged at the end of it. Josephine laughs—and laughs, and laughs—disbelieving but fond regardless.

This is enough, Adaar tells herself. It has to be.

[samtheflamingomain]

This is The Police

I recently posted a rant about this game, saying it’s the first game I’ll never finish.

Well, spoiler alert, I’m an extremely stubborn person and after literally dreaming about this game two nights in a row I decided I must, and will beat it.

I started over completely, made completely different choices, and just barely, by the skin of my teeth, made it to day 180.

The reason I couldn’t let it go is twofold. Firstly, I’ve never not finished a game because it was too hard. Secondly, the thing is just so damn well-written that I wanted to see the story through to the end. More on that later.

In this review, I’ll talk about a few things. The story, the gameplay, the difficulty, and overall thoughts.

Story. I’ll start off by disclaiming that this game is not for everyone. I, personally, think Heavy Rain is a piece of art that completely reshaped what video games can be, and paved the way for the likes of Detroit Become Human. I don’t mind a cutscene-heavy video game. If it’s a good story, I treat it like more of an interactive TV show or movie. It’s not for everyone, but I do like this kind of game. And that’s what This is The Police is.

You have to invest your time into this game to get everything out of it. You need to listen to every cutscene with your undivided attention. 

Sidenote: I actually don’t have the attention span to sit through most movies or long TV shows, so this kind of half-movie half-game is perfect for someone like me.

But all that to say, when you do listen to every cutscene, you are treated to some of the best video game writing and voice-acting I’ve ever encountered, and I’m not exaggerating. Whatever they paid the voice actor for Jack Boyd, they didn’t pay him enough.

So... that’s the good part. There is, of course, some bad parts. 

I found a few of the cutscenes unnecessary, or unnecessarily long. But my biggest pet peeve is the ending - at least, the ending I got.

See, when I was originally going to give up on the game, I looked up the endings. I knew that there would come a day where you must make a choice of who to back for mayor, and that would ultimately determine how the ending goes - but it didn’t get any more specific than that.

So when it came time to choose, I made what I thought was the logical choice given the game’s prerogative: I backed the incumbent. He’s a piece of shit, but he promised that I’d get to continue being Chief of Police until *I* decide to retire. Which is what Jack Boyd wanted all along.

But, on Day 180, I get forced into retirement anyway. Jack goes to a bar and is left alone in an alley. Roll credits. 

I found that very unsatisfying. I will eventually replay it where I choose the other guy for mayor, but I don’t know that it’ll go any better.

Now, though I found the ending unsatisfying, I actually think that was the writers’ intentions, so I won’t give them too much shit. The incumbent mayor was a piece of shit, like I said, so backing him was a shitty move by a corrupt, lonely, alcoholic, pill-popping cop. Jack Boyd is someone we’re meant to sympathize with, but not necessarily root for. He’s complex. And that’s good writing right there.

Onto the gameplay.

At first, I loved it. I loved reading every call that came in and dispatching officers and solving crimes with my detectives.

Then, in the second act, everything seemed to get a lot fucking harder. 

Officers wouldn’t come into work, they’d come in drunk, they’d fuck up easy tasks, they’d die, they’d quit, they’d snitch on me, they’d testify against me. It became more stressful than enjoyable.

And that’s just the daily shift work. I must address the horrible, horrible elephant in the room: Investigations.

Sometimes, you’ll get a call that there’s a crime scene, and you send a detective - not an officer - to start an Investigation. This involves collecting “frames” - visual pieces of the puzzle - and putting them in order. For example. A kidnapping. You’re given 5 witnesses/persons of interest to interview. You take what details they noticed and put 5 pictures in order to put together what happened. Easier said than done, though, because of several things.

Firstly, the art style is very minimalist, so it can be very hard to tell what is happening in a frame. Secondly, you’re often given many frames that are similar to what took place, but with specific details differing. Which brings me to my final and worst offender: the detectives are completely incompetent. After a few days, you’ll get a message saying “no new frames found” - even when I put literally 5 or 6 detectives on a case. I think I was able to solve about 4 investigations, and several dozen went cold because of this. I don’t know how to get the right frames. I just gave up on them after a while.

Which brings me to difficulty. Which I’ve already touched on, but it actually gets worse.

The very last thing you have to do is kill whomever you didn’t back as the next mayor via an assault including snipers and a fucking tank. Over the course of your last week as Chief, you gather info on the area where you’ll conduct the assault. 

By the end, when you must position your troops, you have about 4000 words to read from everyone interviewed. I would’ve had to read all that, make a fucking excel spreadsheet with all the details, then arrange my troops perfectly. 

Why do I know this? Because I immediately Googled the answer, because by this point I was so fed up with all the goddamn reading in the game. I started out reading every single call I got! By day 30 I was like “Assault? Okay, 2 officers.” because I was done with reading.

So when I Googled the answer, I discovered, to my horror, that there is literally only one correct configuration for 12 troops and a tank. Misplace even one piece on your tactical map, and you lose. So it’s a damn good thing I did look it up, because my map was absolutely bass-ackwards.

See, I’d been thinking LOGICALLY. Water Tower? Perfect place for a sniper. NOPE, put them BOTH on a hill far away. Okay. Tank? That should block the entrance. NOPE, put it at the back of a farm. What in the ever-loving fuck? How did someone even figure this out??

Anyway, point being, the game is just too damn hard. I’d say it’s worth it, but only if you can really love the story like I did. If not? Don’t bother. The gameplay is very repetitive and stressful, and I literally had to replay it just to win. And I BARELY won.

Which brings me to my concluding thoughts: In my first playthrough, I gave up because the Mafia kept assassinating me for not helping them enough. So the second time, I became more corrupt and survived the Mafia part of the game, but as a result, the third part of the game was SO HARD, and SO STRESSFUL.

Every day, there’s a note that comes with your newspapers. You open it, and it says “City Hall:” and has 3 thumbs. Thumbs up, good, thumbs down bad. For the ENTIRETY of the third act, I had ALL thumbs down from City Hall. They cut my salary down to fucking $40, had investigations into me... I kept waiting to get fired, but somehow it never happened. That’s why I say I “barely won”. By the last few days I was operating with 3 fucking officers a day, letting crime run rampant in Freeburg. They probably should have fired me.

Anyway, that’s that done. There is a sequel, but I wasn’t impressed enough by the first to try it. Maybe once I’ve forgotten all the shitty things about this game.

Stay Greater, Flamingos