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garbinge · 1 year

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You, Me, and Italy

Michael Berzatto x F!Reader From these August Prompts: Italy Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: All my fics are 18+, angsty, mentions of suicide, death, grief, loss, broken heart, drug use, addiction, being high, someone close to ODing, uncomfortable, sad, mentions of sexual situations, it's based on canon mentions of suicide and death and grieving, but a little more in depth. So just be weary of any triggers one might have in reference to these things.

A/N: This is not apart of my Richie Jerimovich multichap. This is heavy. I try and steer clear of fics like this because of my own triggers and trauma around drug abuse and addiction but this just was an idea sitting in my head probably because of all that trauma. The Bear Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @quixscentsposts @dadbodfanatic-x @adorable-punk-superheroes @lodeddiperrodrick @isalver @captainweasleybarnes @musicwithteeth @fancyvoidtragedy @shinebright2000 @knight4xmas

The kitchen was always your favorite place to be when you couldn’t sleep. Something about the ability to hear every single noise in a space where usually you’d be lucky to hear the person next to you speak at a normal tone.

You had come in through the back, placed your stuff down in the locker that had your name written on a green piece of tape, your insanely patterned bandana was snug around your head just above your forehead, something you always wore when cooking. Now, the sounds of the water running as you washed her hands filled your ears and was followed by the clunks of pulling the knives out, the blade tinging as you set it free from its case. Now slicing, the quick quippy sounds of the thin slices of all the items you needed to prep. Basil, onions, garlic, fig, and parmesan cheese. All the ingredients you picked up from the grocery story that was still open this late. The chopping and the sizzling filled your ears in a similar way that music would fill someone else’s. It kept you grounded, kept you calm, kept you in the moment.

“Late night snack?” A voice interrupted that tranquility but surprisingly, there was no reaction from your side. You kept steady as your hand tossed the garlic and basil in the olive oil, other hand equipped with a spoon ready to add in the parmesan ricotta mixture.

“You’re lucky I don’t scare easily.” Your voice was steady as you focused on the pan in front of you.

Mikey looked down and laughed before he made his way from the office over to his best chef and best friend. He leaned against the prep area, hands crossed as you had your back to him.

“You should toast the breadcrumbs.” Mikey said as he took in what you were doing.

Immediately, your head turned to look over your shoulder and shot the man a look. “I’m a one-woman show here, Mikey. I’m getting to it.”

“You know, I can help you out.” He had crossed his leg over the other now as he waited for a response. “Only if you want to.” His arms were now uncrossed as he raised them in a surrender.

Your head tilted, the only invitation he needed to start helping out.

“I’m making arancini, fig and garlic arancini.” You specified.

“Rice balls. You’re making rice balls.” Mikey teased. “What inspired the fig?” He asked as he toasted the bread crumbs at the stove next to you.

“Remember when we went to that bar the other night?” You looked up at him, despite being a few feet down from you, he still towered over you in height. “While you and Richie were off doing God knows what, I ordered shit from the bar. They had this fig, arugula, and goat cheese pizza.”

“Jesus Christ, what fuckin’ bar were we at?” Mikey laughed at the fanciness of how it all sounded.

“That place, Porta. I’d say it was more hipster than fancy.”

“God, I don’t even remember.” Mikey laughed before placing his attention back on you and continuing the conversation. “So the pizza was good?”

“It was, and I just kept thinking what would go well with fig and landed at a rice ball.”

“Arancini.” Mikey corrected you with the biggest grin growing on his face.

A laugh left your mouth as you took the sauce off the heat, wanting it to cool down slightly before pouring it into the egg mixture that was already placed in the fridge.

The silence fell over the both of you and you both continued to move around the kitchen. Mikey stood with the bowl of rice in his hands, resting it on the prep counter as you stood over and poured in the egg mixture. Mikey was whisking it around rapidly, that way the eggs didn’t scramble. The smell coming from the bowl was filled with savory scents of garlic and sweet touches of fig reduction.

“You good, buddy?” Mikey was looking at you as he stirred everything around. It wasn’t so much in reference to your current state, which was focused as you concentrated on pouring the egg mixture in, but more in reference to why you were here late.

Buddy. Such a Mikey term. The two of you knew each other for years, meeting when you were smoking in the back of the restaurant you used to work out. To put it in simple terms, he poached you. He had just grabbed a bite at said restaurant, with his brother Carmy, a detail you found out later since Mikey came alone to the alley in the back where you had been taking a break. He asked if you had made the slow braised beef and proceeded to tell you about his restaurant. You never walked back into that restaurant again and started at The Beef the next day.

As time passed, things got close with Mikey. The two of you just fed off each other, you vibed effortlessly and one day that led to more. You spent a majority of the night locked in the office making a bed out of the table, the floor, the bookshelf, anything that had an inch of a flat surface, Mikey took you. That however, never amounted to more. It was always just sex. There was no label on what the two of you had, no real dates, no holding hands, just stolen moments around the restaurant, late nights in the kitchen, nights out at bars, and overnights spent at each others places. But that never made anything awkward because despite their being no label, everyone knew there was something between you two. It was impossible to miss. The way you two got along, the way you spent every waking moment together, whether you were at the restaurant or not. But what the real dead giveaway was, you two moved in the kitchen like you had perfected a choreographed dance, every, single, time. There was never any missteps, any arguing, no bumping into each other, you just glided by each other, calling out kitchen terms and directions. It was a sight to be seen, everyone thought so. Including the family. Sugar and Carmy were impressed when you came by for the first time maybe a month into starting at The Beef. Richie had already seen how the two of you worked together but both Berzatto siblings were shocked by it.

“Hey, you good?” Mikey repeated himself and bent down a little to look into your eyes.

“Yea, sorry.” You shook your head from your thoughts.

“I don’t buy it.” Mikey pressed you again for more information. “What’s with late night rice balls?”

“You ever feel stuck?” There was no point in trying to hide what you were feeling from Mikey.

“Uh, just every day of my life.” You let out a breath through your nose in a sort of chuckle. “I just, wish I could get out of here.” The frustration was littered in your voice.

“Where would you go?” He set the bowl down now that everything was stirred, and he turned to face you.

“Anywhere.” You turned too so you were facing him.

“So let’s go.” His voice raised, like what he said and meant didn’t need planning, didn’t need money, he spoke it outloud like it was the easiest thing to achieve.

“Yea, where?” You were about to start naming off places around here in Chicago as a joke but he was quick to answer you.

“Italy.”

You frowned but a smile was growing on your face. “Italy?” You questioned.

“Yea, let’s go to Italy, we’ll eat all the rice balls in the fuckin’ country, we’ll learn how to make ‘em like a true Italian. We’ll eat our way around Rome, Sicily, Naples, it’ll be great, just me and you and Italy.” He was so energetic in how he spoke, his hands were in the air, his voice was echoing off the kitchen walls.

“You, me, and Italy?” You questioned him as your head nodded in agreement.

“You, me, and Italy.” Mikey nodded with the biggest smile on his face.

____

Time might’ve passed and a lot of things might’ve changed, but sometimes stayed exactly the same. You were pushing through the back door of The Beef, bag and kitchen tools in hand as the clock ticked past 1AM.

“Mikey?” You called out, expecting to see him appear in the kitchen. You called out again and heard nothing. It was odd, but also maybe not. He had been distant lately, you picked up on that when most nights he didn’t come back to your place. You knew things had been tough for him, he was having money issues and as a result moved back in with his mother, he was stressed. Every time you did get the chance to see him, he wasn’t fully there, sometimes you’d taste alcohol on his breath, others you could tell his mind was caught in a thought or 20.

Moving to the lockers, you saw the door open just slightly and the lamp on illuminating a ton of paperwork. You saw his hand resting on the table and slowly peaked in.

Now, you had your suspicions, they were probably more than suspicions, you knew. You knew Mikey was hooked on something. But you didn’t want to accept it. But there it was, slapping you right in the face. It had been functional, he had been functional, which is what made it easy for you to question, for you to say nothing. After tonight, you’d regret it, you’d regret staying silent, not giving in to your suspicions, voicing them out loud.

You took in the sight of him, he was so out of it, you could see his glazed over eyes even from the distance you were at. The giveaway as if everything else wasn’t so obvious was the pills scattered all over the paperwork in front of him.

“Mikey.” The urgency hit you just as much as the the scene of him. You were next to him in seconds, shaking him awake.

The smile that filled his face as he stared at you, the smile that warmed your heart, the smile that melted you, the smile of your best fucking friend was breaking you.

“What–what’re you doin’ here?”

“How much did you take, Mikey?” You moved forward to the table to search for a bottle, a pill count, see how many were on the table, but Mikey’s hands began to grab your arms.

“No, no, no, no, no. Stop, you’re ruining the fun.” Mikey complained, his voice was slurred.

You pulled back immediately, uncomfortable and unsure what to do. Your heart was beating fast and before your tears could even start falling, Mikey started yelling. “You’re ruining the fun!!” It was a repetition of what he had said before and all it did was secure your feet frozen to the ground. “That’s all anyone ever does anymore. Ruin the fucking fun.” He spun in the swivel chair like a child and when it stopped spinning he looked at the bookshelf and began speaking again, but this time more at a whisper.

“Even my own fuckin girl. I can’t have anything.”

You snuck out the door, searching for your phone in your pocket. The irony that in your hastiness, you spent more time looking for it than if you searched for it with purpose and patience.

As you picked your phone up to your ear, your hand was shaking. “C’mon, pick up, pick up.” You mumbled, taking your other hand to pick at your lip.

“It’s 1 in the fuckin’ morning, I’m neck deep in shit diapers, if this is you and Mikey asking me to go out, I’m blocking your number for eternity.” Richie seemed stressed in a completely different way.

“Richie, it’s Mikey, he uh, I don’t know, there’s pills, he’s awake–sort of?, he’s angry, I don’t know how much he took but he, he uh, I just need help, I need you down here, can you get down here, please?” The shakiness in your voice was the dam holding back your tears.

“I’ll be there in 10 minutes. Keep him up.”

With that Richie hung up and you were moving back into the office, you squatted down and turned the chair so he was facing you. “Mikey, babe?” You tried to keep your voice soft. His red, glossy eyes met yours as he plopped his head down to look at you.

“My girl.” A little bit of hope filled his face, he reached his hand up to cup your face. The impulse to pull away was strong but you stayed there, you stayed there with him and let him speak to you.

“You’re so pretty, you know that? So pretty. And you’re so talented, you can throw down, you know that? Best fuckin slow braised beef I’ve ever fuckin’ had.”

The amount of compliments he was giving you, it should’ve had you elated, floating, with butterflies but instead it was making you sick–uneasy. And you just had to sit there and let him say it, over and over again. You were counting in your head, hoping that once you got to the 10th 60th second count, that Richie would be here.

“Hey hey hey, you listening to me?” Mikey moved slightly to look at you, even in his fogged state he could tell your mind was elsewhere.

“Mhm.” You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes as you stared into his eyes.

“You, me, and Italy, baby. You, me, and Italy.” The second time he said it, it was in a whisper like he was desperate for it to be true. Like if he said it low enough the world would grant him the wish. That’s when you really saw him, saw what was happening in his brain. Alongside that hopeful look was one of peace and happiness. The absolute gut wrenching emotion you felt in your heart when you realized it. How being high set Mikey free, set him free from his demons, in some weird twisted way this was the closest you’ve seen Mikey to his usual self.

Before your heart could break anymore, you heard Richie’s voice behind you and he was slipping into your spot and picking Mikey up.

______

“You know I remember this one time, we went over to Mikey’s place, the one on Courtyard, me, Carm, and Richie, and it was Sunday, Braciole night. We walk in, Mikey’s got the game playing so loud in the background, we start prepping, cooking. I remember he told me not to put raisins in the braciole even though that’s how mom did it. And he just, he had this smile on for those first 30 minutes, like he had something planned, like he was in on the joke. But the thing is none of us knew what the joke was. And then, the door opened, we were all confused at who it was and then, this woman appeared. Mikey introduced her to us, he was so happy, and we were like shocked, cause Mikey, our big brother, the player, brought this girl over to our fucked up family Sunday night dinner. She didn’t care that the TV was loud, that we were even louder, that Mikey and Richie would tell the most insane stories, over and over again, and in fact, she moved around the kitchen like, well, like she’d known us all our whole lives. I don’t know if I ever saw Mikey so happy.” Sugar was sitting in bed, her phone on speaker while you sat silent on the other line.

“You at the restaurant?” Sugar cleared her throat.

“Standing right outside it.” You spoke up, trying to hide your tears from the story Sugar just told.

“I’ll be there soon.” There was rustling on the other side of the phone, like she had started to get up and get ready.

“Sugar?” You questioned, worried she was about to hang up.

“Hm?” She hummed.

“Thank you.” It was two words but sometimes you needed to hear it. How much Mikey loved you, he didn’t tell you often, but you felt it, you saw it. But now, that he was gone, that all that was left of Mikey for you was the things he left at your place, the memories you shared, you took the antidotes Sugar occasionally told you and kept them someplace special.

“I’ll see you in the chaos.” Sugar replied back to you in which you did the same.

For a few seconds after the phone call, you stood there, staring at the gutted restaurant, staring at the mayhem happening behind the glass, which was normal for the restaurant, whether it was in business or not. But right now, standing outside, in the peace of the quiet reminded you of those late nights in the kitchen, and you were destined to hold onto that peace for just a few more minutes.

Eventually, you joined the chaos. Greeting everyone as you made your way through the renovation. Finding yourself getting swept up into something in the immediate first seconds you entered the front door. After an hour or so, when you wrapped up your job in the front, you made your way to the kitchen.

“What’re you doing?” You placed your stuff down in the office as you walked past Richie, Fak, and Marcus who were gathered around someone’s phone watching a video, arguing back and forth. Natalie stood up from the chair in the office and placed a hand on your shoulder in a half greeting and walked over to the arguing men. Your eyes lingered on the office table and chair a little longer than normal, letting the memories flood into your brain for a short few seconds before you turned to put your attention back on everyone.

“Scraping and painting and fighting over moving the lockers.” Marcus spoke up.

You turned around and stepped out of the office, staring at them trying to attempt to move the lockers. Carmy had appeared now, yelling at them to keep it down and when the mention of Mikey’s locker still being locked was announced, that’s when everyone silences.

“Just fuckin’ open it.” Carmy spoke up.

A hat. June 5th, 2010. Taste of Chicago. The booth.

You smiled at that. You weren’t there for the booth, but you heard all about it. From the family, but from Mikey, it was one of the many stories he’d tell you over and over and honestly, you’d do anything to hear him tell it 200 more times.

Carmy handed the hat to Richie, and as he turned around his eyes fell on your.

“Yo, uh, I got something for you.” He said and walked right past you into the office, searching for something. As everyone went back to working, you turned and took a few steps towards Carmy as he moved the papers around looking for something.

“So, uh, we’re sending Ebra and Tina to culinary school, for them to stay sharp, learn some new shit, and uh, I–we, Syd and I figured you didn’t want or honestly really need that, so uh–here!” He proclaimed the last word louder than the rest as he found the envelope with your name written on it and handed it to you.

You looked down at it for a second and then back at Carmy, you two didn’t talk much in general, but you definitely didn’t talk much about him.

“You and Syd…” You started to say as you mindlessly tapped the envelope against your skin. “You uh,” You wanted to say that the two of them reminded you a lot of you and Mikey, the effortlessness in the kitchen, the way their ideas just bounced off each others and how they brought this new sense of life to each other. But it was that last thought that weighed heavy on you. There was a point that Mikey brought a new sense of life to you and you did the same to him but unfortunately that emotion, that feeling, had changed at some point, at no ones fault but it didn’t stop you from not cherishing it more. “Just, don’t take it for granted.”

“Yea, yea.” Carmy nodded, getting where you were coming from but also not really wanting to get into it and you were okay with that because you didn’t want to get into it either.

Carmy’s eyes moved down to the envelope and back to you. Taking the hint you nodded. “Right.” You said quickly and began to rip the envelope open. As your hand reached in and pulled out the papers in the envelope, you saw the word United and then followed by a seat and time and that’s when you saw the airports.

ORD – NAP

Naples International Airport.

“Carmy.” You looked up, eyes shocked.

“It’s what Mikey would’ve wanted.” Carmy nodded and walked by you, taking his hand to rest on your shoulder and then tap it as he exited the office.

You stared down at the tickets, trying to take in everything.

“You, me, and Italy, Mikey.”

#The Bear #The Bear FX #The Bear fanfic #Mikey Berzatto #Michael Berzatto #Michael Berzatto x Reader #Mikey Berzatto x Reader #my writing #garbinge

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siconetribal · 3 months

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Beyond the Bookshelves (6)

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Mischief fails, Tricks on you, When you realize what you did wrong

Summary: You’re a Resource Management Specialist at S.H.I.E.L.D. normally referred to as “The Librarian”. You’ve been assigned the nightmarish task of digitizing all the physical resources currently owned by the agency, with a few new computers and one extra helper.

A/N:

Please comment/like/reblog. If you’d like to be tagged moving forward, please let me know! (If I missed ant tags, please let me know, I'll add you right away!)

The lovely banners used in this fic are from @cafekitsune.

If you’re new to the story, please check out the master post for the rest of the chapters.

To say he was unamused was an understatement. Four days have gone by since the incident in the library. A complete 96 hours of him not being allowed entry into the one sanctuary he has in this tower. 5,760 minutes since he last held the book he was supposed to be reading but has been forced to leave incomplete due to one person. The Librarian; he seethed at the thought of the young woman. I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong, and she dares to keep me from the library?

Though the dismissal by the Librarian was abrupt and rude, he hardly took it as something serious and proceeded to the library the very next day. That was where the trouble began. No matter how he tapped or swiped, the same red light flashed on the panel. After the seventh attempt, he let out a sigh of frustration and nearly threw the rectangular piece of plastic at the door.

“Jarvis, what is the meaning of this?” Loki demanded.

“Please clarify,” the computer voice responded.

“Why am I unable to enter the library?”

“Because your key card is blocked from accessing the library.”

“And why is that?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. This must be a mistake. I have frequented the library every day. I’ll inform the metal man of his ‘precious’ computer system’s error.

“Loki, the second prince of Asgard and Avenger, is forbidden from entering the library until cleared by Director Y/LN, the Librarian, as of yesterday evening. You are unable to access this portion of the facility until further notice.” The second prince of Asgard silently blinked as his brain took a moment to process what was just said.

“What did you say?” He glared at the camera that watched the entry. The computer repeated the restriction details verbatim. “Preposterous, why would I be banned from the library? I command you to remove this ludicrous restriction, immediately.”

“Unable to authorize override. A higher level of clearance is required.”

“What do you mean a ‘higher level of clearance’? What level is there higher than a prince? A literal god in your realm?” He glared at the security camera above the door. A low growl rumbled in the base of his throat, his hands balled into tight fists.

“Though you are a prince, your status does not allow you the authority above the person who instated the rule. Director Y/LN is of higher rank than you, who has Avenger status.” The insipid tone of the computer was salt to his wounded pride. A mere Midgardian who minded the books was above him? The sound of footsteps quickly quelled his ire and he left, he would try again another day. The silly order would be gone by tomorrow. Or so he thought. Here he was four days later and still denied access to the library. The same red light and same monotonous warning played each and every time.

“Perhaps I should try going in with someone else? But who?” He muttered to himself, tapping a finger against his lips.

“Loki, is everything ok?” He turned at the voice. A sound once utterly dreadful was now music to his ears. He would risk his sanity for a chance to step through those doors once more.

“Captain, err, Captain, you really are a sight for sore eyes. You see, I’ve misplaced my key card, and I wasn’t sure how else I would be able to enter the library.”

“Lost your key card? That isn’t good, you should let security know right away. You don’t want it to fall in the wrong hands. I’ll let you in with mine, but you have to promise me you’ll handle the matter right away.” He raised his card as proof as he sternly looked at the trickster god.

“Of course, I wouldn’t want to cause unnecessary trouble for the Avengers who so graciously given me the chance to mend my image and prove myself. You have my word to have the matter resoled quickly.”

“Good,” Steve nodded his head before tapping his card on the panel.

“Welcome, Captain Rogers.” The doors slowly swing open, revealing the glorious sight of the towering shelves in ample lighting. Loki quickly followed in behind him, his heart swelling at the majestic sight.

“Good afternoon, how can I help you today?” The sound of her voice sent ice through his veins, the warmth quickly replaced. He needed to hide, but he was taller than Steve. Her sharp gaze pinned him to the spot. “Captain Rogers, I see you brought a guest with you. Please tell him to leave the library at once and use his own key to swipe himself in.”

“He’s having trouble getting in, Y/N. He lost his key card and couldn’t enter. You know Loki likes to read, could you let him pass this one time? For my sake?”

“The rules are the rules. All who pass through those doors must be registered in the system on entry and exit. You know it’s for security reasons. I can’t play favorites to one person and could lose my job if word got out that I’m letting people bypass protocol.” She firmly countered. Her gaze was sharp, unwavering. They were emotionless, which contrasted the charged words. Loki could not help but find himself ensnared by those eyes.

“I didn’t consider that, I’m sorry.” Steve lightly bowed his head to her before turning to Loki. “You heard her. Looks like you’ll need to get a new key card first.” The weight of the gloved hand snapped Loki out of his little daze.

“Yes, I suppose.” Loki mumbled his response, his focus never shifting from the young woman behind the desk. “Thank you for your assistance.” He forced himself to turn and break away first, leaving the library for the day.

A week’s worth of time ticked by since that day, each attempt of his thwarted in someway by the system or her.

Enough is enough! I’ve played by their little rules and look where it’s gotten me. I’ll do this my way. He pushed off the arms of the chair, using the momentum to quickly exit the lounge area that was set up for the Avengers. Just as the door opened, Loki vanished into thin air and reappeared within the walls of the library. A smug smirk pulled at his lips as he tugged at his shirt. I should’ve done this from the start. He strode towards the unmanned front desk when an alarm blared above.

“Warning, you are in violation of your revoked privileges. Please leave the library at once. Failure to do so will lead to forceful expulsion. Warning, you are in violation of your revoked privileges. Please leave the library at once. Failure to do so will lead to forceful expulsion.” The computer voice loudly repeated, startling the god of mischief. He quickly stepped out through the doors, the alarm and warning ceasing immediately.

Perhaps I should have landed elsewhere in the library. There are obviously more cameras within the entryway. He vanished once more and reappeared next to his usual seat. There, waiting on the table, was the book he was reading. Smiling, he grabbed the book and settled into the couch when the alarms began once again.

Warning, you are in violation of your revoked privileges. Please leave the library at once. Failure to do so will lead to forceful expulsion. Warning, you are in violation of your revoked privileges. Please leave the library at once. Failure to do so will lead to forceful expulsion.”

“By Odin’s beard,” he slammed the book down on the table as he stood up from his seat. “How does a computer intend to forcefully remove me?!” He argued.

“You have ten minutes to leave before security is summoned.��

Of course, he gritted his teeth in frustration before vanishing from the library once more. “What reason does she have to ban me in such a humiliating manner? What wrong have I done? Absolutely nothing, that’s what!” He kicked the stool that was in his way as he walked over to the kitchenette to make himself some tea. It was his seventh cup today since he had no other means of relaxing, and he was stressed to the heaves because of this unwarranted restriction.

“Brother, is everything alright?” Thor’s voice came from his left. He watched his younger sibling suddenly appear in the lounge and instantly knew he was in a sour mood. The assault on the stool only confirmed what the deep set scowl on his face gave away. Loki waved him off dismissively at first, heavily sighing. “Clearly something is bothering you. You’ve attacked a completely harmless piece of furniture that was hardly in your way for getting tea.” He pointed to the toppled piece laying on its side.

The younger prince was ready to insist that nothing was the matter, but the words failed to come out. The look of anger and hurt in those open and expressive eyes haunted him since that fateful day. Perhaps Thor was the best person to ask. He’s friendly with them, and she seems to have taken a liking to him. “I am having a slight issue with that librarian we are to work with. She has forbidden me from entering the library. Do you know why that could be?”

“Why, I wouldn’t have the faintest idea! She hardly seems the time to do that unwarranted, perhaps your sharp tongue has gotten you into a spot of trouble once more? What did you say to her?” He took a sip of his coffee and Loki scoffed.

“I barely said three proper sentences to her before she threw me out over whatever she concocted in that troubled mind of hers!”

“Loki, a woman scorned, is not to be taken lightly. Perhaps there was a misunderstanding when you tried to explain why you were unable to keep your promise?”

“Unable to keep my promise, what promise?” Loki frowned, but said nothing to let Thor continue. He watched his older brother’s eyes nearly pop out of his head as he set his mug on the table.

“You promised to meet with her after training the day we met with her. Our session ran longer than anticipated and the time to meet was missed. Loki, did you not apologize to her?” Thor nervously eyed him, hoping he was wrong. Loki’s posture went rigid and his eyebrows shot upwards.

Is that what she meant?! I completely forgot I made such a promise. Norns, it’s not what I said, it’s what I hadn’t said! “It seems that detail slipped my mind.” He mumbled, turning back to his tea, stirring the sugar he added.

“Quite the detail to forget. My advice is you try to speak with her and clear the confusion. She needs our assistance, and we promised it to her. If you can’t go in, why not call her?”

“Do you have her number?” Thor shook his head. “Neither do I.”

“Then send an email? She did reach out to us through there initially.”

“An email,” he wrinkled his nose at the suggestion. Though the technology was astounding, it was troublesome. But what other choice do I have? “I’ll consider it.”

“Do not wait too long, you may lose your chance. Take it from me, I’ve learned through my arguments with Jane that sometimes swifter actions are better than waiting it out. With that, I must take my leave. I have a meeting with my mission team.” He downed the last of his coffee and left, the room growing quiet and spacious without the larger than life first prince.

Tags: @vbecker10 @huntress-artemiss @softestqueeen @thegodofnotknowing @princess-ofthe-pages @firedrakegirl @rcailleachcola @cabingrlandrandomcrap @lotrefcp @lwtannie @jainaeatsstars @msdjsg7 @tom-hlover @kneelingformyloki @gruftiela @gigglingtiggerv2 @kats72 @mischief2sarawr

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gerdy-sertorius · 6 months

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The Definitive Damsel Analysis (if I do say so myself)

(Disclaimer: I know it’s absurdly long, and for that I apologize. I apparently am more unwilling to make cuts than I am to present subpar work. I’m working on it. Only editing I do for my autistic ramblings is copyediting, baby! Whoo! I will be updating this for the Pristine Cut once it comes out and we get even *more* Damsel. Obviously, as I’m sure you can tell from the length, I really like Damsel. There will be all of the bias. It will be great.)

(Author’s Note: For the love of the most high God, it took me like twenty read throughs for me to standardize what I wanted to call the Scorched Grey. Here is a brief list of all the terms I used to refer to her: Scorched Grey, Burned Grey, Burning Grey, Fire Grey, Damsel Chapter 3. Sometimes but not always preceded by “the” or “The”.)

Alright, ladies and gentlemen. I have oft made the statement on here that Damsel is the best route in the game, and this began as me trying to definitively prove that, by microscopically going through the route, I could establish exactly why, it would seem, that Damsel has objective superiority. It sorta… evolved, though, so instead I will be going relatively chronologically throughout, and trying to point out a couple things that all of you know about and maybe a couple things you don’t about the best character in the game. With that preamble out of the way, let’s begin with the goofy stuff, the grab bag if you will.

This will certainly be more personal taste than anything else, but I do think there’s a lot of miscellaneous stuff that Damsel does better than the other chapters. For example, I am convinced that it has the third best music, behind Tower and her routes and then Thorn. I am genuinely obsessed with “It Was Always That Easy”. The basement has some *fantastic* art, and I think that really carries a chapter that is otherwise generally bland when it comes to actual visual activity. It’s really carried by its genuinely perfect dialogue.

Overall, and most importantly, this chapter is the undisputed master of the idea of positive ambience. You know elevator music? How it’s there to artificially increase the cheeriness of an otherwise dreary moment, like a hotel hallway or, yanno, an elevator? Well, this is the chapter that does it perfectly. Everything is designed to make it “nicer” than it actually is. The Narrator even takes that into account when describing the basement. The sound design is fresh and relaxing, the music is uplifting, the Princess’s voice is obviously fantastically done, but also the Voice of the Smitten plays a large role in making it feel “good”. It’s something that exists in order to communicate exactly the feelings it wants the player to feel, which is all warm and fuzzy inside. But let’s move on to the actual content, shall we?

Damsel has *the* best Chapter One and it isn’t even close. Certainly not in the horror department, where I think Beast and Nightmare shine, or even in the whole characterization bit, where the award can only go to Spectre and the masterclass that is her Chapter One. But Damsel has something else to it. Damsel has tragedy, almost Shakespearean in nature. Nobody else has it (except Witch, to some extent, but nowhere close to the same level), nobody manages to reach that connection, there and then broken, to honestly feel for both Princess and Slayer. Allow me to paint a picture of a playthrough.

You are on a path in the woods. At the end of that path is a cabin. In the basement of that cabin is a princess. You are here to slay her. But you don’t do that. That voice itching in the back of your skull, the one you quite literally call Hero, your moral compass even, raises some objections. You don’t want to kill *anybody*. That isn’t something you want to mark yourself with, especially not solely on the word of an individual you just met. For now, violence is a nonstarter.

You enter the cabin. And you hear her voice. And you see her. You even talk with her for a while. The moment is… hypnotizing. Despite the Narrator’s warning of manipulation, well, you cannot help but be manipulated. This is a genuinely nice, sweet, scared Princess who simply wants to be free. You have to save her. It is the right thing to do, it is the… only thing to do. Anything else marks you with the dirtiness of simply being unwilling to help someone in need when you had the full ability to.

You go to get a key. Unsuccessful. The door locks. Even worse. The Narrator is moving from irritating to downright malicious, clearly enjoying recounting the lock of the door. Disgust for Him has been present since you entered the cabin, but it shifts to anger very quickly. That shift continues with full force as you attempt with what little ability you have to save the Princess, even if you don’t quite know how you will get out. The question does not last long. For the shift to anger shifts once more, to a sort of incomprehensible fury.

For the Narrator has crossed a line. Not only has he taken away any semblance of choice, not only has he raised your own knife against an innocent, someone who has been nothing but kind to you, but you are the one who must bear the shame for it. You are the only one who is doing the foul deed in any eyes but your own. Speaking of, the Princess’s eyes are filled with genuine happiness at the moment, as you are finally giving her the freedom she has yearned for such a long time. Yet through no fault of your own, you raise the pristine blade, the one you refused to bring down to the basement in the first place. You scramble through the list of options, attempting to find anything that could provide a sliver of hope in the situation, anything without the grim finality of “Slay the Princess”.

At last, you find one, and are able to bark out a warning to the Princess. That happiness in her eyes is shifted to a look of fear, one directed at you alone, one condemning you with such a sorrowful betrayal that it almost hurts to see. She begs for you to stop, and then she says something that almost calms the internal storm of the player: “Please, I know this isn’t you.” She recognizes that it isn’t us that betrayed her, she understands that we aren’t trying to do this, that we are flat-out trying to stop it. But the eye of that storm is passing, and soon.

And as she takes the blade, as she prepares to do what she must to live, that same look of tragic betrayal crosses her eyes, this time not directed at us, but at herself. She hates that this is her only option, the only way that she can live is to kill another, one with every intention of freeing her and no intention of harming her. And in the end, she simultaneously underscores the tragedy of the moment while confirming our perception that she could never be a threat to the world. As she plunges the blade into our chest, she has failed to even do the bare minimum of making our death painless, something that fills her with even more guilt, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tries and fails to end our own agony. The last thing we see of her are her endless cascade of both tears and apologies, as everything goes dark.

This… is beautiful. A glorious tragedy, one with limited theming, simply two characters with emotions that feel natural. And, quite strangely, the first chapter has almost nothing to do with the second chapter. But it is still important. I’ll get to that later. Better things await now! For with the end of the tale of the Hero and the Princess, we have a new individual, everyone’s favorite buddy, the Voice of the Smitten.

I am certain I do not need to underscore just how popular Smitten is. Easily the most fan favorite of the fan favorites, especially solidifying his place within that roster with the Kiss from a Thorn. He is jovial, passionate, he is Don Quixote, complete with the unlimited self-delusion that comes with the territory. There’s a reason people love him. Romantic in a game entitled a love story, the largest of personalities in a game stuffed with them, he is the storybook hero come to life in a game that has just as much reverence for storybook heroes as the deconstructions of them. In short, he is the visage of likability itself, with all the bombast that comes with that. Yet that is only from a wholly external perspective.

For what I am certain I do need to underscore is just how sinister Smitten is. For all of his likability, the Smitten is also probably the single slimiest voice out of all of them with the possible exception of the Opportunist. This is not a new revelation – people have understood that since the beginning with his frankly disturbing behavior regarding the Princess. What is perhaps more interesting is his relationship with the player. For he is one of the two options that reflect the player at this point within the story. Either the player is trying to do the right thing and free an innocent, or they have somewhat… different motivations.

The former reflects the Hero. Somewhat naive, in many routes somewhat bumbling even, but first and foremost focused on the external. That is, “how can I make a positive impact on the world around me?” As contradictory as it may seem to how the Hero is presented, it’s something of an intellectualist approach. The Hero is trying to find the best possible world and working towards that with all of his might. It is, one could say, devoid of emotion except that determination to change the world, to make it a better place. While the goal remains the same, the path to get there is fundamentally continuously being calculated. The Hero is your conscience, and as such he must *always* work overtime for that.

The Smitten is not that. No, he has made no secret that he is the path of passion. Even when he is generally considered to be a better person, he declares that, “Whatever world would condemn two star-crossed lovers to a cycle of violence and despair isn’t a world worth saving.” His focus is internal, it is on ourself and our romance. There is no extensive study into what is the correct option, there is only what would assist in our relationship, which is somehow ordained by the universe. To put it into understandable terms, Hero is a modern hero while Smitten is a Romantic-era hero.

There’s an important line when going down the stairs that I think speaks volumes about the type of player and playthrough currently occurring. That is “We can still do right by her without all this over-the-top fawning.” *That* is the line of demarcation between the route of the Hero and the route of the Smitten. If you decide to embrace or repudiate the Smitten at that point, I think the route is sealed. I am convinced that the game will continue on in a fixed way based on that philosophy. The point where you must, internally that is, decide if you are doing this out of a desire for what is right, or an infatuation with the Princess.

Now, of course there isn’t anything wrong with taking the path of the Smitten, and it’s personally one of my top points in the game, but whether you admit it or not, you are long past morality being what decides your actions. That has come and gone. Now, the goal is to express the passion of the moment and delve into your romantic relationship with the Princess. I’ll be evaluating each of the routes differently, loosely organized with a focus on how it reacts to the player. After that, I’ll go on into theming of each route one by one and all that jazz.

The path of the Smitten first. The player embraces that he has been sent to save the Princess from her unjust and foul imprisonment above all else. So that is what he does. He marches downstairs, the blade being nothing but a passing afterthought as it is immediately dismissed out of hand. When it comes to the crucial point of “doing right by her”, the justification is made that two things can be done at once, that you can do this for her and do a little bit of fawning on the way. Doesn’t harm anyone.

And with that the basement arrives, and you see the Princess on the floor. She is perfect in all ways. There is nothing wrong with her. And that’s before you start talking to her. When you do begin talking to her, all of the kindness and innocence from Chapter 1 are magnified to the greatest degree possible. She can do no wrong. And, from a meta standpoint, there’s another thing that stands out – it is really, *really* funny. From everything the Smitten says to the “Then I didn’t end the world!” to the Narrator’s (a villain at this point) growing exasperation at your trust for the Princess, it endears you to the moment even more.

Because it’s not only that it’s funny. It’s not only that the Princess is genuinely nice to you. It’s something more than that. Something that I am loath to talk about but will anyway. The Princess is incredibly – *sigh* – **cute** within this chapter. This is objective, with science to back me up, I’m sure. But she is specifically designed to be as heartwarming as possible, and every line makes her more and more into someone who should be saved by you, into, well, a Damsel. While it isn’t explicitly stated, throughout the progression of dialogue, the need to protect her becomes more pronounced. You were already primed to like the Princess, you already internally committed to a romantic future. But after stepping into the bear trap willingly, you cannot escape.

And if you’re anything like me, you are perfectly fine with that. So you take in the moment, you rescue her from her chains and laugh at the way her hands slipped out of the chains and the Narrator’s comical anger at it. It’s all very feel-good, all cleanly written dialogue, and both the Princess and the Smitten are likable, they’re fun, and the Narrator is a fun enough villain for the Smitten and you to unite against. The Hero, if we’re being honest, barely registers, and if he does it’s usually as an extension to the Narrator, as a foil to yourself. And with her finally free, she embraces you, sealing the deal on her perfection.

And after that, something else happens. The deconstruction begins. You want to see if her dialogue has any more of that saccharine present throughout the rest of the chapter, and are immediately rewarded with the “The princess closes her eyes in deep reflection” and the follow up joke. Hungry for more, you click through some more of the dialogue, but something begins to happen. She begins to… unwind. The Smitten seems to reciprocate in turn, to a lesser extent. In fact, she really starts to return to the horror that this chapter was a nice respite from. So you cut your losses, decide to leave with her, and everything returns to normal. Bathed in the glow of your future, you immediately forget about the deconstruction.

After that, you finally get out of the basement, get a genuinely great moment opening the door alongside the Princess, never think twice about clicking “You’re not doing that.” as fast as humanly possible, and finally await the door at the end of the cabin. You finally get your fairytale ending. The princess goes out into the world together with you. You brought her out. And then she is taken by the Shifting Mound in a way reminiscent of her dying. Even if this wasn’t your first playthrough, it still comes as a shock. For the most part, you were being that Romantic hero, living in the moment with your passion. The thought of this happening was gone entirely. This wasn’t supposed to happen. And it *hurts*. And the chapter is over.

The route of the Hero has a different point of view on the whole situation. That’s not to say it’s not easy to get drawn in by the hilarious dialogue and sheer cuteness of the Princess – far from it. It is, after all, what drives the conflict within this. For the Hero, and the player that goes along his path, has one bit of information stand out. That the world ended after the Princess killed you. Now, you can naturally be skeptical of the information, but the Princess isn’t helping her case here. Entirely vague, entirely unwilling to mention anything about it. The only thing she seems to care about is getting on your good side.

Now, you still want to save her. That much is clear. You still don’t take the knife in the beginning, and you saw her Chapter 1 incarnation. She is still a good person, kind and loving. But there are questions raised, important questions. Which is why not all Hero routers get the same ending. There is a conflict between how far you’re able to go before the risk of the world ending eclipses your distrust of the Narrator and your trust of the Princess. If the whole world really does end if she’s free, is it worth it? And as such you get to the major points of the Hero ending.

The first is the Deconstructed ending. As you question the Princess, you desperately try to figure out what the best way to go forward is for you. And that starts with getting a straight answer from the Princess on what exactly she plans on doing. The operation… does not go well. As you try and push for anything, any sign that she isn’t going to end the world, the same rejoinder comes in, alongside a distorted track. “I just want to make you happy.” The Princess is not an individual anymore, and begins to change shape. But you are locked in with a horrified inability to look away, like one who sees a car accident. And with that, the Princess is a Princess no longer, and the Shifting Mound takes her away.

There’s also the option of taking the Hero’s advice when confronted with the scenario: to leave. You don’t like what’s going on and you try to do whatever you can to undo the doing. Perhaps surprisingly, it works. And then you’re forced to deal with the cognitive dissonance of the Princess and *that* being the same individual. But you, not without a healthy dose of skepticism, still head upstairs alongside the Princess. In the end, you can’t bring yourself to kill her. Throughout it all, she still has been the beautifully endearing picture of innocence, if a questionable one, and especially with regards to the knife on the table, there is no way you can take it to her chest with no warning, especially after everything you did in the first Chapter. So you leave with her, and the “end of the world” really does come in one fell swoop with the call of the Shifting Mound. You can’t help but wonder if the decision you made was the right one, not really. Like, you still believe she didn’t deserve to die, but maybe, just maybe, it would have been a better ending.

So what if you did kill her? What happens when love *truly* melts away into skepticism. After the continuous question dodging and whatever the… other thing was, this is clearly not an ordinary Princess, it is not the same Princess that you tried to save at the beginning. There is only a sliver of her, a shadow of her former self. Slaying her, well, slaying her is probably doing her a favor. It might be doing the world a favor, too. Maybe she is an individual with malicious intent. And as you take the blade and plunge it into her chest, you instantly know you made the wrong decision. She does not oppose it. She simply lets you kill her with a single tear hanging in her eye, saying “I think this is what you want.” It’s meant to feel dirty and it does, even heartbreaking in the moment, although it is immediately counterbalanced by the effect of the Smitten killing you over it.

I won’t exactly go over Scorched Grey the same way, I think there’s generally only two frames of mind going into it, and that’s either the standard “Hero-Skeptic” framework that I’ll expand on later, or simply a completionist mindset. Plus, it’s technically not The Damsel. Plus I’m lazy. But this is the point where I will try to expand on the theming of each and every route and mindset to go through within the Chapter, and that *will* include the Scorched Grey theming.

It’s made quite clear from the chapter that one of the primary themes is objectification, the making of the Princess into nothing more than a vehicle to live one’s fantasy into. The taking of an individual and making them into an it. The destruction of humanity by your own desire, and what that says about your desires in the first place. Ironically, this is merely one fourth wall away from the rest of the Princesses, each of them being a piece of fiction that many simply engage with *because* they are an object, but with the Damsel it is directly nodded to within the narrative. One meta-layer is peeled back, if you will.

Nothing hammers this more home than the entirely jarring line that escapes the Shifting Mound’s lips when you ask about the vessel she holds. Unlike the rest of the fragments, which are all given an indication that they have been fulfilled after the Shifting Mound takes them, the only note she has to say is that the Damsel has “served her purpose”. There is nothing that she wished for, as anyone who has obtained the deconstructed ending can attest to. But even in the more standard runs, she is simply a tool to be used and discarded. And there are three general reactions to this line.

The first is the hardcore Smitten route’s preferred choice, denial. “The Princess was far more than an object, she had character, she had kindness, she had motivations from the beginning! The narrative is what is wrong, there’s nothing wrong with the Princess. She. Is. Perfect. Not just from a narrative standpoint but a metanarrative one as well. She has depth, she *is* a character.” All in the hopes that if they insist on it enough, it will become true. The Damsel was not designed to be viewed in a vacuum. There are themes that run through her character, and including negative ones, and the denial of them is a far truer denial of the character than any sort of objectification could ever be.

Then the more moderate Smitten routers get a different response. A slap in the face. They did all of this, they had fun, they laughed with her, they cried when she was taken. They were connected to her, they had a real connection to what she was. One could even accuse them of… loving her. They honest to goodness cared about this Princess, they were invested in her story. Yet, in the end, they also formed her around themselves. They “molded her to love you”. As much as they loved the Princess, that was only because they cut out a piece of the Shifting Mound that they *could* love, a caricature of her true nature. They still took an individual, and despite truly loving her, made her into something that she was not so they could do that very thing. She is not a person. She is a plot device, an individual made to love and be loved with nothing beyond that. She is an object.

Lastly, those who went on the route of the Hero get that same slap in the face, that selfsame bucket of water poured over their heads, but in a different way. They didn’t try to objectify her. They didn’t want anything of the sort. All they wanted to do was the right thing. Right? Yet even in that desire to do the right thing, they still get that same chilling text from the Shifting Mound. They have built an individual just like those who went on the route of the Smitten. Just a different one. Not one who was built around your “glorious romance”, but rather one built around something of a glorious Romance. The need to be a Hero. The desire to do what was right, to save an unjustly imprisoned Princess. The Princess became a plot device in the end anyway, just one that needed to be saved rather than one who needed to be loved.

I want to continue off of that. The player is trying to do nothing more than the right thing, he is simply doing what a Hero should. And that determination to do what is right leads to him getting impacted the most by that line in the ending, the line that implies that whatever right he was doing, he was still being driven by selfishness, by that need to be a Hero. That hits the player right within where it hurts, it almost could be said to strike at the one emotional vulnerability of them. To have your hard work, your pain, your desire for what is right to be considered nothing more than the delusions of a Don Quixote tilting at windmills in order to fight giants, just as lost as Smitten, that doesn’t feel too great. It almost minimizes your struggle, and it is genius. You play as a Hero because you want to feel like a Hero, not because the morality of this world means anything to you. It is stripping that meta-layer down one by one.

But objectification is not the only theme present. While it may seem like something of a potpourri topic to throw in, earlier on the server we were talking about the Damsel in particular’s perceptiveness with regards to perception. When the door shuts and locks, it is the first and only time the Princess gets visibly **negative** in any way during the entirety of the Chapter. Even when you kill her, she still does so with nary a frown on her face. Even as a tear rolls down her cheek, she still smiles. But not at the door. The narration points out quite clearly that she frowns. This is, I reiterate, the only thing that happens. And her response is not “we’re stuck down here”, it is not “I’m unable to leave now”.

What it is happens to be “that’s not supposed to happen”. She recognizes the construct in a way very few allude to within the game. Adding onto that note, within the Scorched Grey chapter, she (correctly) determines the very nature of the construct and that inherent “cycle of violence and despair” inherent to it, even (correctly) determining that the only way to leave was to annihilate that very construct. This is shown even clearer at the other major event at the door. When you ask if the Princess can open the door, the sole question she throws back at you is “Do you think I can?”, and after a response in the affirmative, “Then I can”. In the end, it is quite clear that she is, *heavily* ironically, one of the more aware characters in the game with regards to your circumstance.

While speaking of the Scorched Grey, I think this route also exemplifies another major theme – the nature of the Princess as a being of perception. All routes exemplify one facet of the Shifting Mound: Spectre represents the gravity of her, Tower her divinity, Prisoner the very incarnation in and of itself of her within the construct, and so on. Damsel has something different, though, and that is that she’s just a slippery little fella. Far more than anybody else, Damsel changes throughout her chapters, in ways more pronounced than anybody else. The Shifting Mound declares that we “molded her to love you”, as I quoted previously. That molding takes stage front and center throughout all of our interactions with her.

The most obvious example is her deconstruction, which when her sole true motivation (to leave) is discarded, she begins to break down, unable to offer to the player anything beyond the only desire every other Princess has. With the compulsive need to love the player, etched into her core, there is nothing she can do other than try to add to that love, losing herself within the process. But that is not the only time she changes. Because she is willing to give up that freedom in, well, a heartbeat. Attempting to kill her does not lead to any sort of resistance from her. The one goal she had, staying alive and winning her freedom, is out the window despite being (questionably) willing to kill for it in the last chapter. Now, throughout the Scorched Grey, it’s made clear that she did not, in fact, want to die, that she just wanted to be free together, but the complete unwillingness to save her own life is a stark contrast to the first chapter.

In fact, that perpetually changing nature alongside her being so objectified means that it’s really, *really* hard to figure out her true character. There is very little in her that does not change and very little remaining that isn’t specifically put there by you. She is an eel, wriggling out of your grasp and impossible to pin down, in a large way like the Shifting Mound herself. But… for the most part, there are two facets to her character beyond the already listed themes. And a sharp divide between them.

Chapter One Damsel and Chapter Two Damsel are not the same person. That’s usually true for most of them, but they also usually have some semblance of similarity between their counterparts. The only exceptions I can think off the top of my head are Spectre and *maaybe* Stranger if you want to count that. The rest of them act as exaggerated versions of the existing individuals shown. Chapter One Adversary likes fights. Chapter Two Adversary likes fights. Chapter One Witch is built on the back of distrust. Chapter Two Witch is built on the back of distrust. Everything lines up nicely.

That is not the case for the Damsel. The only thing that you can say with both of them is that they are nice and do not want to hurt you. The Chapter One incarnation (henceforth Princess) is a tragedy of a character that doesn’t want to kill you but still must to secure her own life and freedom against a renegade puppeting you. The Chapter Two incarnation (henceforth Damsel) is a Horror-”Feel-Good”-Comedic-Tragic character that shows nothing about the emotional anguish she went through in chapter one. I love both of them, but they have an unmatched disconnect. And I think that sort of adds to the character. Now, there is absolutely a benefit from an emotional through-line (there’s a reason Thorn is my second-favorite chapter), but in this case, only brief touches to the beginning enhance the story.

The most striking thing is the sense of comedic horror that comes when Damsel just completely ignores any expected trauma from the Princess’s emotional destruction. It, depending on the route you take, either makes you love her character more and more as the humor begins to entrap you, or it begins the process of getting the player unnerved, exactly like the developers wanted. It is a key dividing point in the mindset of the player and the route that they have chosen. The Damsel says nothing about what happened, heck, she barely acknowledges it except to indicate that “You died!”

Secondly, it sets up Damsel as a sympathetic figure while still allowing her to begin establishing herself. Without the setup from the Princess, the player has no idea how to view Damsel, potentially even seeing her as a less on-the-nose Razor, with her comedically hiding her sinister intentions. The Princess allows the player to begin on a note that the Princess is *actually* friendly rather than simply pretending to be so. At the same time, it’s divorced enough that apart from that frame of reference at the beginning, Damsel is still allowed to shine within her own character.

Lastly, and most importantly, it sets her up for the Scorched Grey. The guilt at causing the death of an innocent and the belief that you would be unable to cause the death of an innocent yourself leads her to blame the construct and attempt to bring it down, which seals your fate in the third Damsel chapter, the only time where the two chapters meet in a beautiful climax of Passion going too far and causing pain, in attempt of running away from that very thing, morphing into something that not even the Smitten is able to remain devoted to in an awful tragedy of love being not enough in the end.

Wait, wait, wait. Did I hear “the end” being spoken? At this time of year? Localized entirely within this essay? Well then, it’s time to talk about what puts this saga at pure perfection, shall we? I probably could just use the awesome power of Ctrl + V to get the desired effect, but I still do want to offer my narration, so I’ll compromise and do a bit of both. “Your lover drives a stake into your body. And another. And another. And another. And another. Do I miss your heart because I cannot stand to see it go? But the stakes meant nothing to you. You had a desire, and you set that desire free, you lifting me and me lifting you, forever and ever and ever, consumed by true belief, there was nothing that could hold us back.”

Do I even need to explain why that’s so good? Definitively the best poem in the end, it isn’t even close, especially when coupled with Ms. Goodnight’s awe-inspiring delivery. Did I say that the Scorched Grey was the perfect synthesis of the Princess and the Damsel? I was lying. This is. Every word so lovingly placed, the language sounds like it comes from the pen of God Himself. It is emotionally resonant, the art is beautiful, I have not run into such a short piece of dialogue that outdoes it. Gonna be honest, mostly just wrote up this essay to gush about it. Even now, it is considered by most everyone to be one of the best lines of dialogue in a game filled with magnificent ones.

And the other one, that of the Scorched Grey. It’s simpler, ironically. “I kill you. You kill me. Back and forth we go, faster and faster and faster. I kill you. You kill me. Hollow eyes watch from the dry corners of a memory. A home built on all of the futures that were supposed to be, preserved until the moment of reunion. The fire of the heart sets it all ablaze. I kill you and me.”

This, this right here is one of the most slept on ending poems and it’s not even funny. So fantastic at expressing the heartbreak inherent to the Scorched Grey’s character. I don’t know how you can see the line “A home built on all the futures that were supposed to be”, especially with the Scorched Grey dead and charring in a wedding gown, and not feel *something*. It’s not as good as the standard Damsel stuff, but then again, nothing is. It’s still deserving of more praise than it currently receives, and one of my top three ending poems of all time, only edged out by Prisoner. Gosh, this game belongs in a museum.

Seems I need to debunk some stuff that happens to get a lot of traction regarding those who speculate on Damsel, too. First of all, her character motivation is not guilt nor gratitude. That sort of thing works incredibly well in fanworks, and I’m happy to see it ~~because that means I get to see Damsel in a fanwork~~. It has little to no backing within canon. Damsel is a chapter about the only motivations for the Princess being those put in place by the objectification of the player. There is nothing regarding anything beyond that, and it detracts from the existing, well-elucidated themes that are actually within the chapter. The only sort of substance to them is both Chapter 1 Princess and Scorched Grey indicating guilt for killing you, but that is almost entirely repudiated within the actual Chapter 2.

Speaking of the Scorched Grey, another thing I saw somewhat extensively is that you somehow “taught her” that killing is the way to love one another, and that’s why she kills you in Chapter 3, and I honestly do not know how that gained any traction at all. It’s pretty clear that she views all the death as a pretty terrible and messed up thing and only kills the two of you to escape the cycle of death. It’s spoken of as a means to an end, not an end in and of itself. I am genuinely confused on how this got started, because it really just… opposes the main *in-narrative* themes of the Chapter??? Like, you don’t even have to analyze it, it’s just within the text, plain and simple.

Anyway, I deeply apologize for the length of this once again, look forward to an appendix when Pristine Cut comes out. I’ve already played it because my uncle works at Black Tabby, but I don’t want to spoil it for you gents. If my opinions change massively after playing through the new update from today, I will change that too. Anyway, Damsel is the best character, literally does not do a single thing wrong within any of her chapters, has definitively the best Shifty stuff, and you should invest in her. As more people vocally become willing to throw money at anything related to Damsel, the likelier it is that we get Damsel merch. I need it so badly. Please. Anyway, if anything stands out to you or you disagree, I am begging you to tell me to get my act together and explain what I said wrong, so do that. Also please.

#slay the princess #the damsel #the princess #black tabby games #I spent an ungodly amount of time writing this up #But I honestly think this could be the be all end all work for this tiny character in a tiny game #Also #Seriously #Play Slay the Princess

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bangobeep · 2 months

Text

Recent discovery/theory me and a bunch of other jazzpunkers have been talking about.

Considering the little crab at the beach congratulates Polyblank on his birthday, and the dates on the guestbook, we thought it'd be silly if he WAS actually on vacation ON his birthday. Which we left somewhere along the lines of the 6th of May. Polyblank birthday yay! :^)

Something else we noticed was how some of the people in the book didn't add a date, but a symbol, such as the encrypted one (that I'll get into later), milktruck, Hunter S. Thompson and The Editor.

First of all, who are the people on the guestbook?

RAYMOND SCOTT -> In our world, Raymond Scott is considered a pioneer for electronica music! He was an American composer, band leader, pianist, record producer, and inventor of electronic instruments.

ENOCH LUSTIG -> Not a person from the 20th century I could find, though the name Enoch does appear in the Bible. Though I don't really think it's a biblical reference, the character of Enoch is known for living 365 years alongside God, and ascending to heaven in life.

GERD ALBERS -> Though somewhat hard to find information about him in English, Gerd Albers was a german architect and urbanist, prominent in the 20th century.

TILO LYMAN -> A possible reference to Theodore Lyman IV! He was an American physicist and spectroscopist known for important discoveries made regarding ultraviolet light, among others.

DAVID COCKERELL -> A direct reference to the real world person of the same name: David Cockerell! He is an electronics engineer and designer. Regarding this first bit, he's known to have designed countless synthesizer engines which were revolutionary for the electronica community!

JOSEF ARNTZ -> Found genuinely nothing about this guy. Mystery!

PROHÍAS -> A very exciting one!! Antonio Prohías was a Cuban-American cartoonist, known and recognized for many artworks! Among those, is Spy vs. Spy!

黒川紀章 -> Kurokawa Kisho, or Kisho Kurokawa is a Japanese architect! Probably in here because he's the founder of the Metabolist movement! It was a radical Japanese avant-garde movement pursuing the merging and recycling of architecture styles within an Asian context. This is the Nakagin Capsule Tower (which Luis Hernandez loves so much) guy!

XAVIER ESPERANTO -> Probably a reference to Esperanto, the language! It is actually artificial, and it was devised in 1887 as an international medium of communication, based on roots from the chief European languages. Not too sure what the Xavier bit refers to.

JOHNY THE ROBOT -> The one under Xavier Esperanto's is Johny (with one N, yes) The Robot's! It's written down in the international telegraph alphabet, which you can see here. The complete message says "HELLO MY NAME IS JOHNY THE ROBOT". The telegraph was a huge thing in the 20th century. Meant to be short and meaningful, it started getting used during the war in the place of letters to communicate messages regarding enemy attacks and positions.

B. MARY -> Bloody Mary or, as you may know her, the Lady in Red! She confirms her name is indeed Mary in one of her unused voice lines, which you can find here.

MILKTRUCK -> Explanation not needed. Love you, milktruck.

HUNTER S. THOMPSON -> A direct reference to the real life Hunter S. Thompson! He was an important American journalist and author known for "Gonzo", a journalistic style in which the writer becomes a central figure and participant in the events of the narrative. In Jazzpunk, you can see him as the confused guy hanging around, lost at sea, asking Polyblank for a date at the bar, and being confused about Why Polyblank is in his room (when he breaks in with the master key).

THE EDITOR -> Needs no explanation.

NOW, A FUNNY LITTLE DETAIL:

THESE. As you can see, they all have something different in the 'DATE' section.

As for Xavier Esperanto's, I am not too sure.

Johny The Robot's is unintelligible.

milktruck's is an n/a. Does this mean the milktruck doesn't want to date. Not Applicable. milktruck doesn't date. We love aromantic rep.

Hunter S. Thompson is confused about being asked to date. If you can recall, from the times he's seen in game, he's always generally confused about everything.

Finally, The Editor has a money symbol. The Editor will go on a date for money. LOL! Fitting.

#jazzpunk #bangoing (:#i love this game and how deep it runs . crazy

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katyawriteswhump · 2 months

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the freak in the penthouse part 7

E-rated (for sexual content), accidental millionaire eddie/sex-worker steve.

On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4.1 Part 4.2 Part 5.1 Part 5.2 Part 6.1 Part 6.2 or search #thefreakinthepenthouse :)

On AO3

“Listen to me, Stevie. Hiding myself away in a tarnished ivory tower wasn’t the answer. Till you came along to rescue me.”

Eddie was spouting total garbage. He still had Steve grinning like an idiot and clinging like an idiot around Eddie’s neck. The idea of being Eddie’s hero made him feel good about himself—good in a way he’d not felt in a very long time.

Then Eddie screwed it all up: “I really like you… I know it sounds dumb, but I wanna help you, like you’ve helped me, and—”

“Zip it, Eds.” Steve pressed his fingertips to Eddie’s parted lips. I fucking knew it. He’s revving himself up to ditch the hooker. Steve yammered meaninglessly: “Yeah, I know what it looks like, me peddling my ass and all, but truth is, I don’t have to do this anymore. You were an exception.”

He almost spewed some horseshit about being made of strong stuff; like, fiercely independent. That lie jammed in his worryingly itchy throat.

I barely tied my own crappy shoelaces till I was eighteen.

He smirked: “Tonight’s about you breaking free, not me. C’mon, man—let’s party.”

Eddie slammed Steve with a searching look that lingered long enough for Steve to wish the shiny parquet floor would swallow him up. His smirk faltered. Shiiiiit, he’s gonna ditch me RIGHT NOW.

“Uh, Eddie, I—"

“You win again, Champ.” Eddie clapped his hands to Steve’s face, planted a wet kiss on his nose. “You really got my juices flowing tonight. The lords of hell demand music, and it’s gonna be metal and it’s gonna be loud. Hey, I want cheesy nachos. You up for cheesy nachos?”

Eddie ordered them on room service. When they arrived, Steve was extra-careful to stay out of sight. When Kline had nearly busted him leaving Eddie’s that morning, it’d shook him up big time. He’d not gotten much quality sleep on Robin's couch.

Soon, they were jumping around to Aerosmith, ACDC, Black Sabbath, and other bands Steve almost liked. Eddie smoked less than usual, for which Steve was quietly grateful. Eddie also kept on talking more than usual—at least, shouting, between bouts of headbanging. They moshed like they were tripping on acid, and Steve swore he was gonna get whiplash.

“The reasons behind my deeply uncool funk are not exactly rocket-science.” Eddie shoved a cassette in the stereo then wheeled around and collapsed onto his enormous beanbag. “I got rich in a way I don’t deserve, and I came apart like a whacked pinata. When I was broke, I had the confidence of a God.”

“You talking about being the badass Dungeon Master?” Steve slumped down dizzily beside Eddie and walked his fingers around the crazy demon dude on Eddie’s bare chest. A mellow acoustic track by Extreme started up. “I met him earlier. He destroyed me, totally.”

“It was pretty cool, huh? He’d like to creep out and play again soon. Hey, what do you say to those handcuffs?” Eddie slammed a punch into his own hand. “Dungeon Master is a teeny bit of a sadist and he luuuurved watching his bad dude squirm.”

Yeah, I can do bondage for you, Eds. You can even spank me again, what’s it to me? Still can’t believe you let me squirt all over your face...

He’d do pretty much anything to make Eddie stay, which was the dumbest and most depressing thing of all.

While all this galloped through his head, Steve blurted: “Bring it on, oh master of the dungeon. Oh great, barbarian overlord and wielder of the sword of power!”

He feared the He-Man references were a cheesiness too far. Eddie hooted anyhow. Steve fluttered his lashes before turning away to take a slurp of beer and surreptitiously thump his chest. Dammit, why did his crappy asthma have to mess with him on top of all the other shit today? He swiftly turned the conversation back to a previous topic—a house Eddie had told Steve about, which he’d bought for his Uncle Wayne.

“Why don’t you go home to him?” said Steve, which felt as painful as yanking out a handful of hair. That said, if he really wanted to be Eddie’s knight in shining armor, he didn’t see much choice. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want you to skedaddle. The sex has been kickass and the money’s swell… Why stay in LA? It’s not your home.”

“The boondock accent gives it away, huh?”

“Jesus, I didn’t say that—what’s wrong with your accent? I wasn’t born in California either.” Nope. His parents moved here for the climate. For him. And then they jetted off on that ski trip, because they missed the snow, and… “It’s just, I dunno… I… uh…” Steve stammered like a moron, partially because Extreme’s sap-fest lyrics kept throwing him:

‘Now that I've tried to talk to you and make you understand, all you have to do is close your eyes, and just reach out your hands… and touch me… hold me close, don't ever let me go…

More than wo-ords…’

More than goddamn words? It was the words that were so mind-bogglingly tricky right now and he was a dud with them at the best of times. He wished Eddie had never begun all this talky-talky crap. Typical Eddie. Now he’d started bleating, he couldn’t stop—was there nothing this sucker wouldn’t get addicted to?

“Cliché alert,” murmured Steve, “you gotta do what makes you happy.” His tired eyes fluttered shut… and then flew wide again. Eddie plastered his lips to Steve’s in an ashy kiss, which lingered through the smoochy track.

Steve palmed Eddie’s dick, where it tented Eddie’s silky boxers, and wondered, Should I blow him? Steve enjoyed blowing Eddie. He'd learned to trust Eddie wouldn’t push too deep. Dammit, he’d enjoyed pretty much every trick he’d turned with Eddie, which was a fucking miracle, and several times Eddie had blown him.

Hell, yeah, he’d had Eddie plump lips around his cock, sliding and sucking, till Eddie’s cheeks hollowed. He’d revelled in the sexily demonic glint in Eddie’s soul-destroyingly gorgeous eyes. Then, that one time, Eddie did a dopey cross-eyed thing that had Steve cracking up even when he verged on spurting down Eddie’s throat.

‘What would you do, if my heart was torn in two…’

FUCKING LYRICS. SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT THE HELL UP!

Steve tuned in to the noise of blood pounding in his ears, and rutted against Eddie. He breathed hard through his nose, scrubbing his tongue roughly against Eddie’s. When Eddie’s hand slipped down the back of Steve’s shorts, Steve rammed his butt shamelessly at it.

Finger me already! Like that first night… Can’t we go back to fooling around? All those times you made me forget you were paying for this shit… Oh God, don’t think, Harrington… Feel… fucking feel it. He’s gonna leave me… He’s gonna leave, goddammit.

He was genuinely relieved when the sap-fest track finished, and they rolled apart.

“Aaaaah, that sure made parts of me mega happy,” said Eddie, grinning down at his crotch. “You my shrink now?”

“ Haha.” Steve coughed behind his tightly clenched fist. “All part of the service. I should increase my rates.”

“You darn well should. I’ve been robbing you blind.” Eddie tenderly hooked a lock of Steve’s hair behind his ear. “You’ve done so much for me. Heck, I almost feel myself again tonight. You gave me the brush off earlier, I hear ya, but I so wanna payback the good stuff, and—”

‘Love of my life, you've hurt me…’

“JESUS FUCKING WEPT!” Steve leaped to his feet, reeled giddily a moment, then marched over to the stereo.

‘You've broken my heart, and now you leave me; Love of my life, can't you seeeeee?’

He slammed the stop button on the cassette deck, cutting off Extreme at the end of the third line of their criminal cover of a Queen song:

“Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ!” Steve dashed shaky fingers across his kiss-swollen lips. “Freddie Mercury’s only been gone a few months. Who the hell do they think they are?”

“Woah! I respect the passion there. You’re a big Queen fan, honey?”

Steve stared down at Eddie. Holy crap, what was wrong with him? He’d gotten good at blotting everything out. Now, the flood of memories threatened to sweep his legs from beneath him.

His dad had bought him the Queen piano book. He’d been so proud when Steve began bashing out the songs. Even though Steve had been too numbskull to actually read the music and had instead picked all the melody and backing chords out by ear. His father knew that, of course, but they’d all pretended the hell out of it.

And ‘Love of my life?’ One of his mom’s favorites, though it hadn’t been in the music book and betrayed how he wasn’t even attempting to read it. He’d figured it out for her, and now… and now?

“I can play this one,” he muttered, fingers picking out the notes on some imaginary keyboard.

“You gonna serenade me, Stevie?” asked Eddie, pushing himself to his feet. He stretched his arms, as if waking from a dream. “Hey, let’s shift the party to the piano. I wanna jam, and I’d love to hear you—"

“No.”

“You sure you’re all right?” Eddie squeezed Steve’s elbow, and Steve hitched his lip in a weary snarl. “Ooookay. Shall we embark on a daredevil quest to the balcony for some fresh air?”

Steve nodded then located his uniform white shirt, dragged it onto his shoulders and buttoned it. He followed Eddie out to where autumn breezes whipped between them, and police sirens wailed up from the city below. Eddie leaned forward against the balustrade, fidgeting with his hands. He drew his cigarette packet from his pocket, and then assaulted Steve with woeful Bambi eyes: “Do you mind if I, uh—"

“Since when did you need permission?” sniped Steve, wrapping his arms tight around himself. “I’m not your fucking babysitter.”

They crawled into bed soon after. Eddie, as ever, fell asleep super-fast. His soft snores were thickly laced with the stench of tobacco. Steve lay awake, sweating, his mind churning so bad he could almost ignore how his lungs remained dead tight. It wasn’t like he’d expected this to last, so why was it such a wrecking-ball blow?

Eddie had been edgy and depressed when they met. Eddie was still edgy and depressed. The solution wasn’t Steve whoring his ass or Steve’s dipshit suggestions about a game.

The solution was Eddie moving on.

Nothing Steve could do would change that. Yeah, there’d been moments, like when they were having sex earlier, when this thing between them felt real. Their one-sided heart-to-heart only reminded Steve that he was the one who needed to get into bed with reality. Eddie liked him, that was obvious, but Steve wasn’t in a position to rescue anybody. Heck, even Steve had told Eddie to go home to his uncle.

To his family.

Steve sniffled, and of course, that had to be the time when Eddie’s smoky snores totally stuck in his airways. He stifled his first couple of coughs in his hand, but the breaths between were wheezy. Shit, shit, SHIT!

He rolled out of bed and fumbled in the dark for his pants. He took a puff of his inhaler, held his breath for a way-too-fast count of ten, exhaled slow. As the hit of coolness spread through his lungs, he stumbled into the washroom. He sank to the floor, leaning back against the iron-hard clawfoot tub.

The attack wasn’t the worst, and he’d known it was coming. His asthma always screwed him over when he was stressing out. He took another puff, then his arm dropped limp, loosely clutching his inhaler at his side. His limbs were shaky, his head all woolly, and his heart skittered at breakneck speed. Dammit, he was using his meds too much, and he was gonna need to put an order in for more. Then Eddie’s money would dry up, and…

“Steve?”

Steve’s stomach knotted so bad, he almost retched. Eddie was standing in the open door, staring at him. Then he was crouched beside Steve, his hand on Steve’s shoulder, stroking fretfully which just made Steve clamp up worse.

“Woah, woah, woah. No way! It was your inhaler?” He scrunched his bedhead hair, panic filling his eyes. “Sheeeesh! I can’t believe… I’ve been that self-absorbed? I could’ve smoked on the balcony, Stevie. I couldda quit!”

“Forget it,” husked Steve. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me?”

Steve furiously swatted Eddie’s hand from his shoulder. “Don’t poke the grizzly. Your rule, remember?” He really wanted another puff. He wanted to punch somebody, too. “I agreed to it, and you chose to break it. I didn’t… Never d-did have any choice in…” He’d have screamed if he’d been able. Instead, he whispered, “Get lost.”

...

Chapter 8 on tumblr

Chapter 8 on AO3

Sorry about the angst!! Will get them to a happier place soon (ish) promise!

Thank you for reading. Likes, reblogs and comments much appreciated and will feed the bunnies🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕

On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4.1 Part 4.2 Part 5.1 Part 5.2 Part 6.1 Part 6.2 or search #thefreakinthepenthouse :)

On AO3 All my ST stuff on AO3

#steve x eddie #steddie #thefreakinthepenthouse #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington whump #steddie fanfic #bottom steve harrington #top eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfiction

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squippy360 · 2 years

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Jarvis x Male reader

(Smut, mentions of boypussy, detachable cock, robot fetish, tentacles...kinda)

....hey everybody-

You had just got back from the tower after chasing Tony around town for internships with Peter. You came home to find your robotic lover in the shower. Jarvis's humming to a song could be heard from the bathroom door. You let out a groan and flopped onto your bed, pent up and frustrated.

You gasped when you felt something from under you prodding at your back. You sat up and took the object out from under the blankets.

It was a Dildo…

Jarvis's…dildo.

When Tony heard about your little relationship with his AI, he laughed his ass off for about a week, calling you "lonely as fuck" because he doesn't really exist…until he made him exist. He built a robot to cheer you up after relentlessly bullying you as an apology. He did make a point to detail his dick as precisely as possible, using Steve as a reference (which he did not enjoy.) His penis was detachable, only taking it off to clean it or around it.

You felt too pent up to wait for him to come out so you kicked your pants off, stuck a towel under you, and grabbed the line from your nightstand drawer. You poured the liquid into your hand and slowly jerked off the toy, rubbing the rest around your desperate hole. You pushed the toy in, not bothering to prep yourself and bit into the blankets to keep yourself from being too loud. "OOoOooOoh…" Your broken moan reverberated through the room as you slowly pumped the toy in and out.

You didn't pay any attention to the fact Jarvis had stopped humming and all that could be heard was the water and music.

"Jarv…Jarvis…:m" You whimpered and your hand made it's way to your throbbing cock. A high keen tore from your throat as the oddly warm toy brushed against your walls. "Fuckfuckfuckfuck- UGH-" You grunted as your cock twitched. Your hair sticking to your sweaty forehead as you squirm on the mattress. Your legs spread out and shaking as you felt a bit embarrassed that you were exposing yourself to your stuffed animals. Poor things.

You were thrashing around as you aimed for your prostate over and over, crying out embarrassingly loud as you accidentally hit the vibrate button. Your eyes rolled back and you arched your back, the toy sinking deep into you, cum painting your tummy like a messy canvas.

You lie there for a bit, your head filled with fog and clouds. You soon come too and look down at the mess with a frown. You wipe the cum away and pull the toy out to wipe yourself and it down of any lube. You stuck the toy back where you found it and put on a new pair of underwear and threw the towel in the hamper before sinking into bed, exhausted yet satisfied.

_____

Oh God.

You made a mistake.

You had come home one day to find Jarvis sitting in bed, his face red and a pillow in between his legs. You tilted your head in confusion before he asked you the most embarrassing question you and ever heard.

"Did you masturbate with my cock last week? You know I can feel it, right?" He mumbled.

You both didn't move nor speak. Your face was soon a shade of deep red and a flurry of stuttered apologies flooded out. He only embarrassingly nodded. You both say in an awkward silence before you join him in bed.

He turned to you and pulled you into a kiss. You hummed and crawled closer to him, sitting on his lap with your arms resting on his shoulders. He whimpered and you grinded against him unconsciously. You both pulled apart with heavy breaths, eyes locked onto each other.

"Can you…Can you feel the hole when you detach it?" You asked. He nodded and that was all you needed before you pinned him down and yanked his clothes off. He looked up at you with confusion as you grabbed the lube and detached his cock, it already turning hard in your hands. "I have an idea. You can stop me at any time if you don't want to continue." You whispered to him. After giving you a small nod, you lubricated up his cock and slowly pushed it inside before you fully leaned forward on your knees and your chest touching the bed and your face was right in front of his boypussy.

He looked down at you with desperate eyes, his hips bucking up despite his cock detached. It slowly sank into you with the help of gravity. He remotely activated the vibrator in it, making you moan loudly. You pushed his thighs up so he is fully exposed. He hides his face in his hands as your face gets closer to his crotch.

You lick your lips before running your tongue around the oddly rubbery hole. Jarvis responds with a loud and whiny moan. "M/N~" He begged. You began to suck the two little metal plugs that connect the dildo to him. His soft thighs shook and closed around your head, trapping you in his fake fleshy legs. Your eyes roll up to meet his blue metallic eyes.

"OoOOOOOH!" He screamed out. You hummed in surprise as the dildo began to move. Jarvis's ceiling wires dropped down and attached itself to the dildo and was now fucking you. The other wires wrapped around your body like a weird lingerie, making you feel safe yet exposed and tied up.

You loved It.

They wrapped around your cock, giving it small shocks that made you feel like they were vibrating. You moaned into the little poles, licking and ducking the faster and harder. All the blood rushed to your head and cock, making you feel lightheaded as Jarvis squished your face in his perfect thighs more.

"Scharvish…pleash… can I cum?" Your words are muffled by his somehow twitching hole. He nodded eagerly. "I-I'm coming! I'M COMING!" He screamed as his body twitched and shook. Liquid quickly forced itself down your throat and you drank it without a second thought. You moaned into Jarvis as your cum splashed on the bed and your thigh. The wires retreated back into the ceiling, detaching from the dick in your ass.

You flopped over and pulled the toy out, taking a moment to catch your breath and regain your stamina. Jarvis was boneless. He had yet responded to the soft calls of his name. His body was still twitching and gasping from his first raw and direct orgasm.

You cleaned up the mess you both made, helping him put his dick back on and dressing him before you flopped into bed, holding your boyfriend close as you both shut down for the night.

Next up: Stucky x Male reader

#x male reader #male reader #marvel x male reader #avengers x male reader #JARVIS x male reader

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bitterkarella · 10 months

Text

Midnight Pals: Prog Harder

Stephen King: you know i'm something of a prog guy myself Todd Keisling: is that right King: maybe you've heard of a little band called the rock bottom remainders Keisling: yeah i've heard of them King: King: well King: well i was in that band

Keisling: steve i would hardly compare the rock bottom remainders to the awesome power of progressive rock King: c'mon todd i got progressive cred! King: i got the crimson king in my dark tower books! Poe: Barker: Koontz: Lovecraft: King: the crimson king! King: the crimson king! Poe: Barker: Koontz: Lovecraft: King: based on king crimson! Poe: Barker: Koontz: Lovecraft: King: oh for crying out loud you guys

Barker: i don't know how you expect anyone to get that reference Barker: when you mix up the name like that King: but Barker: i mean "crimson king," "king crimson" Barker: you reversed the words King: but Barker: kinda confusing you know King: but Poe: yeah i never picked up on it

King: c'mon! I'm totally prog! King: what about imaginos King: i wrote imaginos! Keisling: ffft blue oyster cult? that's barely prog King: "not prog"?!? King: haven't you seen the shooting shark music video???

Koontz: what's imaginos? King: oh dean you're in for a real treat King: hold on i'll recite it for you Barker: oh christ King: no no you'll like i swear King: "imagine" King: "if you will" King: "a world where anything can happen" King: "if you can imaginos it"

King: a bedtime story for the children of the damned King: from the dream world paralleling our earth in time and space, the invisible ones have sent an agent who will dream the dream of history Barker: hahah what the fuck Poe: cliveffffffffffft ha ha ha King: guys! stop laughing!! King: i'm being serious!

King: c'mon Todd! Let me prove it! King: dean give me those headphones King: I'm gonna listen to Gentle Giant! Keisling: no steve don't do it! Keisling: you have so much to live for!

King: [listening to Gentle Giant] yeah yeah i get it, i dig it Keisling: oh my god steve i misjudged you Keisling: you really are a prog master Keisling: only a true black belt prog master could listen to Gentle Giant without brain hemorrhages King: that's what i've been saying

Keisling: in fact i Keisling: wait a second Keisling: what gentle giant album are you listening to King: uh Keisling: is it their commercially palatable sellout album Giant for a Day??? King: [sweating] n-no?

#midnight pals #the midnight society #midnight society #stephen king #clive barker #edgar allan poe #dean koontz #hp lovecraft #todd keisling

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moralesmilesanhour · 8 months

Text

what you're searching for.

summary: Margo goes to a shitty poetry slam and gets more out of it than she expects. wc: 4.9k warnings: alcohol consumption, and it's like very VERY lightly implied that they had an Adult Sleepover if you get my meaning. Nothing really too suggestive in here I promise. One singular reference to a tiktok. a/n: this took me a whole ass week but I'm very proud of where my writing style is going! somewhat inspired by the film 'Love Jones'. If you enjoyed this pls feel free to leave your thoughts or your favorite line if you have one! EDIT: OH MY GOD I FORGOT TO ADD: the first poem is actually taken from the Junior novel 'Miles Morales: Suspended' by Jason Reynolds! The poem at the end is mine though lmao I'm not the best poet

Margo can’t stand poetry.

Someone gets up in front of you with a piece of paper clutched in their hands, and recites what is simultaneously the most vague and the most painfully obvious string of fragmented sentences you’ve ever heard as if they’d just touched your soul.

It’s not rapping, not preaching, but the ugly middle child standing between them. Some odd bastardization of music for people who thought they were too smart for either of the first two, but weren't brave enough to just give speeches.

Speeches, at least, are coherent, specific, and can be scrutinized.

So far, sitting in the front row of the bar that her classmate Zoe had invited her to for poetry night, no one has changed her mind.

Tonight’s performances consisted of an assembly line of men (and a couple of women) in vintage sweaters ranting about their exes to the rhythm of bongo drums, or some mildly relevant social issue that none had the lexicon to really say anything in stanzas that hasn’t already been said. She had heard nothing yet that sounded much more profound than an Instagram post.

Although, one girl had come up and recited a short poem about her late mother that Margo thought was quite sweet, and the least tortuous to sit through.

The crowd erupted in snaps again for a poet with long braided dreads and an ankh tattoo whose words she had tuned out. The host took the mic and announced the final (thank god) participant:

“Now this next one I had to practically drag over here to get him to share his beautiful poetry with us tonight. Everyone, please give a warm welcome to one of my close friends and colleagues, Miles Morales!”

A lanky young man–Margo suspects about six feet even, given the way he’s towering over the host–awkwardly shuffles over to the center of the stage, offering the crowd a tight-lipped smile.

He’s in a plain green sweater with the sleeves hastily rolled up to his elbows and a bomber jacket tied around his waist. As soon as he’s handed the microphone, it seems to dawn on him that there’s no turning back, and his body visibly tenses.

He clearly just got here, and for once Margo doesn’t know what to expect.

Squinting beneath the bright spotlight, he clears his throat and speaks into the mic.

“Um, hi.”

A few scattered ‘hi’s from the crowd.

There’s something bright and sweet in the tone of his voice that makes him sound a little boyish, and she wonders what he could possibly have under his sleeve that warranted him getting dragged up here last minute.

He takes a deep breath.

“It’s said

That nobody

Is ever more

Than ten feet

From a spider.”

Miles began the poem carefully, like he was confessing something.

“They be everywhere you and me are.”

A few members of the crowd laugh, others shudder at the thought and frown.

“And even though

We see them only

When they big enough to see, or when

They move,

Like a cursor

Across the blank white

Page of a wall…”

His voice loses some of its airiness in exchange for confidence as he recites the rest of the poem, and Margo realizes that he isn’t reading off of anything.

Either he’s improvising, or he has it entirely memorized.

“Or when we trip

The web-like wire

Of a booby trap

Or when they

Fang our flesh

We should probably

Assume most

Just be right there…”

Miles paused and looked somewhere far beyond the crowd, lifting his arm to point to the back of the room. Then he repeated:

“Right there,

Right here,”

He gestures toward the front row, where his eyes land directly on Margo. It’s not so close to the stage that she can tell for sure, but she thinks she sees a hint of a smile cross his lips.

“Looking at us,

Looking over them.”

Silence.

His arm falls limply to his side as his eyes frantically scan the audience, searching for some kind of response.

Then, someone begins to clap. Then another. Then another. WIthin moments, the entire room erupts in applause, causing a shy smile to spread across the young man’s face.

“Uh, thank you!” he says, surprised at the positive reception, before shrinking into himself again and leaving the stage the same way he came.

The host returns and takes the mic from him.

“Miles Morales, everybody!”

After the poetry slam, Margo insisted that Zoe take her to the sushi place across the street. It had a bar sitting off to the side, one with significantly less poets. The decorative lights hung directly above the shelf filled with glass bottles and shrouded them in cherry red.

Zoe takes a sip of her sherry and leans in.

“Sooo, how was it?”

“It was a’ight.”

The light-skinned girl’s lips pull into a pout. “Seriously?”

“Hey, I told you poetry wasn’t my thing,” Margo pauses, then amends, “I liked the last guy, though. Breath of fuckin’ fresh air.”

“Right? His style really caught my attention, subtle.”

“Glad you liked it.”

Zoe’s eyes widened as she glanced just beyond Margo’s shoulder.

When Margo turned towards the familiar voice and froze.

The poet in question was standing just inches away, a friendly smile gracing his features. His jacket is no longer around his waist, neatly folded over his arm like an expensive coat. He is with the excitable darker-skinned man who’d just hosted the event, and a man the shade of sandalwood standing just behind him.

They’re both wearing the same type of muted cardigan as Miles, but they’ve got actual coats.

“Y’all were in the front, right?” Miles asks the both of them, though he’s only looking at Margo.

She nods wordlessly. Zoe picks up the slack.

“M-hm, you were great up there! You’ve really never shown anyone your work ‘till tonight?”

Miles snorts at the wording of the phrase. ‘His work’.

“I wrote that poem in high school,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Wasn’t supposed to be anything serious, but my roommate…”

He gives the dark-skinned man a dirty look.

“...swiped my journal and found it. Told me I should read it out loud somewhere.”

Margo examines Miles’ face and imagines him as a baby-faced high-schooler, sitting in the back of the classroom with a protective arm around the beat-up red composition notebook he’s writing in. He stuffs it in his bag as soon as he’s done, because he has just poured his heart out onto that page, and his crush’s name is in there. Maybe there are tiny doodles of her in the margins.

“Yo,” the sandalwood-colored man claps Miles on the shoulder. “We about to hit up Tiff’s place, you coming?”

“Yeah, in a minute,” Miles nods dismissively. “I’ll catch up with y’all.”

The two other men give each other a knowing look before brushing past him.

“Alright man, catch you later then.”

Once she finally regains the ability to speak, Margo remarks, “You were the only performance I really liked, if I’m being honest.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yeah, this one hates poetry,” Zoe places a hand on Margo’s shoulder and laughs. “Tried to change her mind by bringing her over here, but no dice.”

Miles raised an eyebrow. “What made mine so different?”

“Hm, I dunno…” Margo’s eyes float over his form before making their way back up to his face. “Your delivery, I guess.”

Safe to say, he looks amusedly unconvinced.

“My…delivery.”

She catches herself and quickly adds, “I-I mean, it also kinda felt like everyone else was trying too hard. So.”

He tilts his head at the remark.

“Are you just saying that to flatter me?”

.“I don’t flatter people. Too close to lying.”

“That sounds like half a poem already. Maybe you should go up there next week.”

She gives him a lopsided smile.

“Only if you’re there. I need something to actually look forward to.”

His tongue darts out and passes over his lips.

“What’s your name?”

“Margo.”

Miles hums, softly repeating the name before inching his way over to the counter where he leans his hip on it.

“Pretty. Can I buy you a drink, Margo?”

She doesn’t think her name is all that pretty, but he makes it sound that way.

“Knock yourself out.”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Zoe teases as she rises from her seat. “I’m gonna go order us some sushi.”

Miles takes the stool to Margo’s left as he waits on their drinks, his long legs never needing to leave the ground to do so.

He has a funny way of sitting, hands folded neatly in front of him with his back just a few degrees off from being perfectly straight. As if you needed to look distinguished at a sushi bar.

Church boy, Margo guessed. That, or his daddy’s a military man.

It’s adorable either way.

“You in school?” she asked.

“Yup. Princeton.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Oh shit, me too! I’ve never seen you on campus, though. What’s your major?”

“Physics. You?”

“Comp Sci. Been coding since I was in middle school, so…”

Margo remembers the echoing ‘click-clack’ of her keyboard as she sat in an empty computer lab for hours on end after school because she preferred it to her parents’ house.

The bartender hands Miles two glasses of white wine, and he sets the second glass in front of Margo, his warm eyes still focused on her.

She’s intrigued by how clear they are - no trace of suspicion or calculation behind them. Just the warmth.

“So, where you from? My folks are over in Brooklyn.”

“Georgia.”

Miles’ brows jump to his hairline.

“Damn. What brought you all the way up here?”

To get as far away as possible.

“Well, it’s Princeton,” she says beneath a forced laugh.

“Yeah, but you got, like, eight different HBCUs over there. How’d Princeton win you over?”

Margo breaks eye contact to stare into her drink.

“Needed a change of pace.”

When she looks up to gauge Miles’ reaction, skepticism is written all over his face. But he doesn’t push it further.

“That’s fair. Princeton’s got a cutting-edge quantum physics program that I’m aiming for. Had to beg my parents to come here,” he grins proudly, “but here I am.”

Margo is silent for a moment.

“Can I tell you something?” she asks suddenly, beckoning Miles to lean in.

“Yeah?”

Grinning, she half-whispers, “I’m actually here on a scholarship.”

He gives her an odd look.

“Why’d you say it like that? Nothin’ wrong with getting a full ride. The opposite, actually.”

“Some people might feel otherwise. You’re like, the second person I’ve told other than my parents.”

“And why me?” Miles chuckles. “My poetry was just that good?”

“I just…Hm.”

Margo leans back and takes a contemplative sip of her wine, watching him over the rim of her glass.

Why did she just tell him that?

“I guess I just sorta felt like telling you.”

Margo cautiously sets the wine back down. She figures if she’s not careful, he’ll have her full government name and social security number by the end of the night.

“Y’know, I actually get that a lot,” Miles laughs. “One time, I had this lady I was standing in line with at Target turn around and just start telling me stories about her dead son and how much she misses him. And it’s like, I’m sorry for your loss, but we’re in Target right now and I literally do not know you.”

“Wait, people just go up to you and…tell you shit?”

“Yup. There was this other time at church, too. Just as service ends and I’m about to get up and leave, this short old dude–Dominican, I think–stops me and starts telling me about his entire life. I’m talking start to finish! Apparently I reminded him of his nephew that died in the military or something.”

“Jesus.”

A crease forms between Margo’s brows. She wishes she could say she didn’t understand the old man at church or the lady at Target, but she does. No, it’s not the poetry. It’s got nothing to do with words.

It’s the way that Miles looks at people.

Like he already knows all of your secrets, but you’re not worried because they’re safe with him, so might as well tell them. It’s a merciful sort of gaze; you get the impression that he won’t judge you. You might even tell him more after his friendly ‘boy-next-door’ voice coaxes them out of you. The thought unsettles her because she had done just that.

“You ever had a girlfriend before?” She asks, all of a sudden.

Miles shrugs, “Yeah, in tenth grade, then again freshman year. Didn’t really work out.”

“Why not?”

His brows furrow gently for just a second, as if he’s still trying to figure out the answer to that.

“I…don’t know, actually. It goes well the first few months and then…”

“It fizzles out?”

“I get ghosted. Something about how they’re ‘not ready’. Understandable, I guess, but you don’t have to ghost me, y’know?”

He awkwardly examines his fingers, then his glass.

Margo feels a bit guilty for suddenly bringing up his exes when they’d just met. Would they end up the same way? She saw herself there too, being in a relationship for six months before his weird pastor’s eyes get to be a bit too much and she takes off.

“Yikes, sorry I asked.”

“It’s no problem,” a smile starts to return to his face. “Onto better things, right?”

“Right.”

“And you?”

“Huh?”

“You ever been in a relationship before?”

Margo smiles awkwardly and messes with one of her fingernails.

“Well…not exactly.”

Miles’ eyes widen.

“Never?”

“I mean, guys offer, and then we talk for a little bit, but then…”

“They flake out on you.”

“Pretty much.”

“Damn shame,” he says with a bit of sharpness to his voice. “Not even a first date?”

“Nope, just ‘Read at 4:15’.”

“You know what I think it is?”

Just as he asks this, his knee brushes against her thigh. Margo isn’t sure if it’s an accident, but it distracts her nonetheless.

“What?”

“You’re too smart for them, I can tell. It scares ‘em.” But it doesn’t scare me, is the suggestion.

He smiles then, the kind that shows the whiteness of his teeth on every vowel. It’s wide enough that a dimple comes out of hiding on his left cheek, and she suddenly wants to tell him everything again. She takes another sip of wine.

“So! What’d I miss?”

Zoe finally returns from ordering their sushi at the front with an expectant grin. Miles still hasn’t taken his eyes off of her friend, while she is staring at him like a string of code, which, if you know Margo, is better than nothing.

“You didn’t miss much,” says Margo. “We were just talkin’ about our majors. School stuff.”

Miles checks his phone and lets out a low whistle.

“Well, it was lovely meeting y’all, but I gotta bounce. After getting dragged onstage, I get to be dragged over to a house party, too.”

Just as he rises from his seat, he stops and points at her.

“Before I go, though, d’you mind giving me your digits? I’d love to talk about, uh…computer science…over lunch.”

She snorts, “Who still says ‘digits’?” but hands him her phone anyway.

It couldn’t hurt to try.

“Sure.”

His eyes light up as if he wasn’t expecting her to say yes as he saves his number as ‘poetry slam guy’ in her phone, then hands it back.

“Cool,” Miles begins his walk towards the entrance backwards, holding eye contact for just a little longer before turning around. “G’night!”

“Goodnight!” the two women call out in unison as he leaves.

Margo looks to her left at the now-empty bar stool. The glass of wine Miles left on the counter is full, completely untouched.

It’s still on her mind as she's sitting in her single dorm room, re-writing her lecture notes on cyber security in a meticulous neat print that could almost pass for a font.

Every few minutes her pen stops because she’s distracted by the sound of clinking glass in boxes downstairs, or because she pauses to stare at the white wall in front of her that brings to mind one of the lines of Miles’ poem.

There might be a spider that I can’t see sitting ten feet away from me right this second, she muses to herself. The thought gives her an idea, and the perfect excuse to call him without seeming too desperate.

Margo unlocks her phone and scrolls through her contacts. She smiles to herself at the contact name Miles chose. Did he think she’d forget his name that easily?

His voice soon filters through the speaker.

“Hey, you didn’t throw out my number!”

“Yup, lucky you.” she replies. “I wanted to ask you a question? About your poem the other night.”

“What about it?”

“See, I was thinking about that first line. Are we really never more than ten feet away from a spider? Like, at any given moment?”

There’s a moment of silence from Miles before he asks:

“You…called me just to ask me that?”

“What? It’s a very pressing issue! There’s probably one in the corner of my room as we speak!”

“Alright, I’ll humor you,” Miles laughs. “That’s actually a myth from the 90s. Your distance from the nearest spider really depends on where you’re at, so if you’re in a spot with hella bugs, you’re more likely to see one. You’re probably fine.”

“Now wait just a minute!” Margo gasps dramatically. “So you lied to all those poor folks in there?”

“Sure did. Played ‘em all like a fiddle.”

“Terrible.”

“So, why’d you really call? You don’t sound as concerned about spiders as you say you are, if I’m being honest.”

So much for an excuse.

“Don’t nothing get past you, huh?”

This earns a burst of laughter from Miles’ end.

“You’re a worse liar than me, I wouldn’t recommend making it a habit.”

“Ugh, fine,” Margo admits, “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You could hear my voice in real life, you know. Offer’s still on the table, and I’m free today.”

Their second conversation, and already a lunch date? But as she’s reminded of what his voice sounds like, she quickly realizes that just the voice is not enough.

Still, she tries to sound casual and makes a non-committal noise.

“Better than being cooped up in my room all day.”

“Great! Where you wanna go?”

Margo shrugs as if he can see her on the other end.

“Wherever you wanna go.”

“Ah, the ‘wherever you wanna go’ paradox,” he chuckles. “Okay, well–lemme ask you this then. Do you like eating with or without music?”

There’s a beat of silence as she considers.

“Hm…is the music good?”

“I’d never subject anyone to a place that plays shit music. Promise.”

“Music, then.”

“Cool, what time works for you?”

“How does two sound? I’ll catch you in front of the Engineering Library.”

“Bet. See you in an hour, then!”

The place Miles chose had a live band playing at the front.

A bass player, a keyboard pianist, a saxophonist, and a few background vocalists on occasion. All are propelled forward by the rapid-fire snare of the drummer. It’s jazz - the easy, conversational kind you hear in the background of 90s romantic comedies where the love interest wears nothing but dark lip liner and filled-in brows with a bit of smokey eyeshadow in the crease.

This is the look that Margo has decided to go for as she sits across from Miles at a mahogany table positioned ideally by the window.

It was all she could do other than frantically adjust the braided 'fro-hawk sitting atop her head and spin around in a mist of ‘Champagne Toast’ before bolting out the door.

She doubts he can even smell it right now through the curry and garlic.

“Figured out what you want yet?” Miles asks as he looks over his menu at Margo.

“Eh, I dunno,” she replies, running her index finger down her own menu. “I’m tryin’ not to blow half my paycheck on pasta right now.”

Miles gives her a strange look, then it clicks.

“Oh! Lunch is on me,” he laughs. “Your bank account’s safe for now.”

Her head snaps up.

“You should’ve mentioned that! I thought we were going half and half this whole time, I had my whole budget for the week planned out.”

Margo has to hold back an ugly cackle at the look of horror on Miles’ face right after she says this.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.”

With this new information in mind, she orders a bowl of chicken alfredo with a glass of lemonade that she sips on as the band seamlessly transitions into a cover of Solange’s ‘Cranes in the Sky’.

“So, Margo,” Miles rests his chin on his knuckles and squints his eyes comically.

“If that is your real name.”

Margo giggles, and plays along.

“It’s not, it’s my alter-ego for when I go on top-secret missions.”

“Is it short for something? Or just Margo?”

“Hm,” she puts on an affected, ‘action movie’ voice, “If I tell you, I might have to kill you.”

“It’s worse ways to die out there.”

Margo looks around her as if to make sure no one’s listening, then leans in.

“It’s short for Marguerite.”

Miles snaps his fingers.

“I knew it!”

“What? You think I look like a Marguerite? Seriously?”

“No, but you got a lil’ country twang in your voice. Ain’t no way in hell Margo wasn’t short for something.”

“Man, alright,” she laughed.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,” he winked, “I like ‘em country.”

“Boy, don’t give me that! You look like you’d pass out at the sight of a jar of pig’s feet.”

“Hey now, I got family in South Carolina. I used to go down there and see about ten of those every summer.”

“Fine, but you were still raised a Northerner. I could hear the Brooklyn from a mile away.”

Miles removed his hand from under his chin to clutch his chest.

“Ugh, I feel like I’m caught between two worlds!”

The reference to one of the more choice lines from the poetry slam makes Margo snort and let out a loud guffaw, which she quickly muffles with the palm of her hand.

“Why would you remind me of that!”

Miles is soon infected by the fit of laughter and has to put all his strength into not doubling over at the table and drawing attention.

“This nigga said,” he wheezed, “ ‘I keep doing the Achy Breaky to Suavemente!’ “

“I thought I was the only one who thought that shit sucked,” Margo sighed as she wiped a tear from her eye. “But I didn’t wanna be mean ‘cuz I’m not like, half Puerto Rican, or anything like that.”

“Well I am, and that whole poem felt like a microaggression. And I knew that guy!” He starts gesturing wildly with his hands at the outrage, which Margo finds hilarious.

“He's like, one-eighth Boricua. His last name is fuckin’ Schwartz!” Miles scoffs, “He don’t know shit about no damn ‘Suavemente’. Bet he looked it up.”

“You should write your own poem, then. ‘Take up space’, as they say.”

“Hell no,” he said. “I left that behind in high school. The other night was an exception, remember?”

“Look, I’m not one to encourage more people to become poets, but you never know. Something might inspire you.”

Miles calms down and gives her a meaningful look.

“Maybe.”

The rest of the conversation saw Miles slyly gathering intel through bites of roasted chicken. He’d quickly learned from their meeting at the bar that his line of questioning with Margo ought to be less direct.

He even hit her with the ‘what’s your sign’ question, though Biggie would’ve advised against it (Margo was a Libra, he was a Leo). He didn’t actually care for astrology, but Margo wasted no time in proclaiming that she couldn’t stand Scorpios because they were ‘too nosy’.

Miles’ only error was asking if she’d ever dated–correction–spoken to one, and her eyes hardened with suspicion again. He quickly elected to change the subject.

“Okay, totally random question, but humor me. How do you like your eggs?”

Margo blinks twice.

“What?”

“You heard me. You can tell a lot about a person by what kinda eggs they like, true shit.”

“Alright, fine. I like ‘em fried, with the crispy edges. What that say about me?”

“I dunno, but when I find out it’ll all make sense.”

Margo laughs.

“Okay, well, how do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled, fluffy,” A childish grin spread across Miles’ lips. “And seasoned with Adobo to make ‘em all orange.”

“Never had ‘em like that before.”

“Maybe I could make some for you sometime, if you’d let me.”

“Maybe.”

She remembers his promise a month later when she wakes up to the aroma of the seasoning and hears the pop of frying oil, letting out a sigh of relief at the realization that Miles is still there.

His back is facing her when she enters the kitchen, the morning light illuminating a tattoo she had never seen before.

It’s a spider with sprawling legs that cascade all the way down the expanse of skin, the movement of his shoulder blades bringing them partially to life. She hadn’t noticed it in the dark, and he was not one to walk around in anything revealing enough for it to have ever seen daylight. It’s faded, which means he’s likely had it for years.

He’s only twenty-one, she thinks. Did he get it in high school?

Amusement creeps onto Margo’s face at the image of Miles sneaking around the house, darting in and out of the bathroom to clean it without his hawk-eyed mother or straight-edged father taking notice. Picturing this, it’s suddenly much easier to believe that their son would have to beg and plead for them to send him a measly forty-six miles away for school, even for an Ivy League.

Miles doesn’t turn around yet, but Margo catches the way he stops, tilting his head playfully and placing a hand on his hip.

“Man, I can’t believe I’mma have to eat this whole thing of scrambled eggs all by myself, with the ones I just fried! How sad.” “You’re not very funny,” Margo says with a smile, pulling out a chair from beneath the dining table.

He switches the stove off, then does a dramatic spin to face her with fake surprise on his face.

“Oh! Where’d you come from? I didn’t see you there.”

He turns back around to grab two plates–ceramic ones, not the stack of styrofoam ones–from one of the cupboards to serve the eggs in, starting with fried.

Margo watches him silently. The tiny, squint-or-you-might-miss-it gold chain around his neck catches the light as he moves, and she remembers feeling the cold metal brush across her lips.

“The fried ones, are they–”

“Crispy at the edges?” he finishes, with a smile in his voice. “Yes ma’am!”

“You could really be a detective, can’t get nothing past you.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“See?”

The two burst into laughter, and the ink on Miles’ back does also. His poem was accurate, in a way. For the past five weeks, Margo has been no more than ten feet away from a spider.

They have a brief and quiet breakfast, wherein Margo finally asks to try the scrambled eggs and is delighted by the burst of flavor added by the Adobo. They aren’t too dry or too soggy the way they tend to be in restaurants - just fluffy, as promised. She thinks it might be time to finally start taking Miles at his word as she watches his back again while he’s washing dishes.

Once he is fully dressed and about to leave, Miles stops suddenly, as if he’s forgotten something. He reaches into the left pocket of his jacket and pulls out a neatly-folded sheet of paper, nervously running his other hand through the short dreads sitting atop his head.

“Before I leave, I, uh…I took your advice and wrote a lil’ something.”

He hands it to Margo, who takes it gingerly.

“Well, good for you.”

“It’s been a while, so it’s kinda rough, but hopefully the sentiment is there.”

Miles plants a quick kiss on her cheek, and she smiles easily for once as opposed to the usual raised eyebrow.

“I’ll be sure to let you know if it is.”

Some time after he leaves, she finally sits down to read it while sipping on a cup of tea, because coffee wreaks havoc on her nerves. His handwriting is strange, overly graphic as if it’s the title card of a cartoon, but she reads it.

I know you don't like poetry

but you said you liked mine,

and the way you sip your wine

has set my pen to paper,

so I hope

you'll make another exception.

You've already claimed

half of my sketchbook

because I just can't get your eyes right.

I always make ‘em too soft,

or too round.

They don't pierce through me,

like they did when

you stared at me over your glass,

eyes narrowed.

When you search my face

and pick me apart,

I'd like to know what it is

you're always searching for.

#miles morales fic #margo kess #flowerbyte #cybershock #cyberflower #atsv fic #atsv fanfiction #moralesanhour

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boundinparchment · 7 months

Text

Dream a Little Dream of Me - LIX

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. Fic is rated explicit; MDNI. This chapter contains references to war and the consequences of it. Mind the tags from AO3 as always. Chapter on AO3 here.

You suppressed a shiver as you gazed out at the vast wasteland before you. Nothing but permafrost and evergreen pines for miles upon miles. For once, you cursed your mask; the metal was lined on the inside, but that did not prevent the bitter freeze from permeating. The wind shook your hood’s fur lining and you shifted your weight.

The strange box was hooked up to various generators, striking against the shining white snow and ice. Panels had opened to reveal conical pieces that faced towards the testing area.

Zandik pulled you away before you could ask questions, his grin as wide as the day he showed you the cello.

You were given no details and could only pick apart certain words spoken between the two Harbingers and their Archon. Your Snezhnayan was passable but it was not as though you’d put much time into trying; music was the true common tongue, in your opinion.

Alone, you were left to ponder Natlan’s landscapes and its people. Supposedly, the Archon and the supposed Sovereign, who served Murata for centuries prior, were unable to come to a resolution over a matter that captured the attention of their people. It reminded you of an old tale about an abducted queen whose disappearance caused a decade-long conflict so dramatic that even the gods themselves took sides. Zandik explained only that the people sided with the Sovereign while the military forces were aligned with the Archon; he corrected you when you called it a coup d'état, for the Sovereign was the true incumbent.

“Whose side are the Fatui on, then?” you had asked.

You could not see a clear side: both contained the common people merely fighting for a cause.

“We need only the Gnosis; it does not matter to us what side wins. But consider this: Liyue is without Morax, and Focalors is dead. The age of gods has passed. Doesn’t humanity deserve to control the narrative again?”

Zandik posed it in the same way he gestured to a question from the Captain, a hand open and his palm up, hiding nothing.

Your soulmate stepped away to once again check configurations before he took a place between you and the Tsaritsa. He reminded you less like the ravens that haunted the high towers of the palace and more like a peacock, head tilted slightly and shoulders back.

All it took was the press of a button.

The ground shook, a slight rumbling making its way through your body as the wasteland beyond began to crumble. An invisible hand cracked the permafrost, loosened soil and water, and then dragged its fingers through the forest; trees fell of their own accord, some uprooted while others snapped free of their trunks. Birds and squirrels and other wildlife scattered in a dusty haze of snow and dirt.

Your body retained the echoes of the vibrations, your very heart trembling, and when the debris settled, silence held the landscape in a death grip.

Absolute decimation.

And Zandik wore nothing but a prideful grin.

Large fissures and loosened ground were treacherous to navigate. Dispersed wildlife was both an ecological tragedy and a matter of food and resources.

What else would happen in another environment?

Your mind worked too quickly. Flooding, drought, both of which resulted in famine and displacement of people. In a city, the results would be devastating.

You’d felt such a sensation before that started in your chest and crawled down your limbs, the very fibers of your muscles vibrating as—

Zandik stepped forward and turned, addressing the Tsaritsa, his entire body angled at her.

“The full effects and consequences are in the notes I provided, which, upon approval, will be handed over to the Sovereign in exchange for a call for a ceasefire. During which, with myself and Pantalone present, we will demonstrate the weapon’s capabilities on a predetermined location; I believe that will be sufficient enough for Murata to hand over the Gnosis without further conflict. She may be passionate about the strategy of war but even she cares for her people enough to not let them suffer.”

He continued on but your ears were ringing now, pulse throbbing behind your eyes. You stared at Zandik and your stomach churned and your blood turned to ice, burning as it went. The image of him swam and thought not of the man hours earlier, nor the one who pressed a baton into your hand and showed you what it meant to feel powerful again.

You saw arrogance, disregard for all caught up in his web, one that you had woven for him every time he heard you play.

How you wished Celestia struck you down in that moment.

Fate was rarely ever so kind.

#dottore #il dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #dottore/female reader #il dottore/female reader #dottore x female reader #il dottore x female reader #genshin impact reader insert #soulmate au #x reader #x female reader #mdni

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cosmicangst · 1 year

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ok ok ok i just got home and as always here are my thoughts

really enjoyed colin lemoine's take. in terms of just pure vibes hes a step closer to damon daunno than reeve carney. he's not as boyish comic relief as nicholas barasch and he feels like the most.... grounded?? orpheus i've seen. he acts out the "touched" aspect without flanderizing orpheus into just his naivete and rendering him foolish and infantilized. the best way i can describe it is that he just seems like an optimistic but ultimately ordinary guy you could meet at a grocery store line who also happens to be plagued w Unfortunately Blessed with Musical Visions by the Gods Against His Will Syndrome

amaya braganza!!!!! jesus what a vocal powerhouse. her flowers killed me. something about her vocal inflection or acting choices really made her grief over losing her life and her love so visceral. she would be right at home at the obc recording because her voice was pitch perfect. she has a terrific belt but it's during the quiet moments where she's the most effective. like at the end of all i've ever known you can really feel she's already mourning her loss before she's even lost anything which is why flowers was more heartbreaking than normal

will mann is the most intriguing part of this cast to me. hermes actors have the choice of landing on the spectrum of objective narrator to a guardian figure. will feels like the most paternal. you get the sense that not only did he observe orpheus grow up he also had an active hand in raising him. when orpheus nervously stops during epic iii will says "go on, baby" with "baby" obviously ad-libbed 😭 like yes that is his baby

my only real critique of this performance is that the show doesn't actually pick up until way down hadestown. not sure if the cast just wasn't feeling the crowd or themselves until that point (it was a sunday night so i get it). i just make note of this bc livin it up on top is this high energy number that felt strangely middle energy for some reason lol anyone who was experiencing the show for the first time and had no frame of reference wouldn't notice anything amiss but bc im abnormal and pedantic i definitely noticed

and this is by no means a critique of lana gordon's persephone whose lady of the underground is one of the top highlights of the show. she brought the roof down during "there's a crack in the wall".

which brings me to my favorite part of the show: matthew patrick quinn. i didn't think anyone could replace patrick page in my heart but i was just in love with everything matthew brought to this character. he manages to combine facets of patrick and kevyn morrow's hades that i love together. matthew has kevyn's slick charisma and anger but he has patrick's power and world-weariness. he's this incredibly tall, serpentine, and long limbed figure that towers over everyone. patrick as an intimidating and antagonistic force felt like an ancient old god who can break your house by inducing an earthquake but matthew's vibe is more like he could literally be the snake that could tempt you out of a garden of eternal paradise

he and lana are also 🔥🔥🔥 like you can simultaneously feel the millenia of history between them but they also have the chemistry of two hot people going on a date for the first time after a long period of slowburn. the resentment, the familiarity, he way he's obviously repressing his desperation to keep her and both trying to look unaffected and turning to their vices when they reject each other's touch i could absolutely scream

which is why i was sobbing by the end of epic iii. i think the catharsis was just a lot lol and they were so playful during their dance too! like actual lovers who have the most absolute fun during good times. matthew does this little wiggle for her when they're sidestepping and im 100% sure lana broke character and they both started laughing it was so sweet

anyway the fates, the ensemble, everyone was astounding and im gonna see if i can grab another cheap balcony seat before they leave in a week to see if i can catch j antonio rodriguez as orpheus

#as always if anyone wants an audio boot i got you #notes.#hadestown

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xinnamonbun · 6 days

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EPIC: The Musical x Inanimate Insanity

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Except there's one problem- I can't figure out who Odysseus is- So how this will work is that I'm putting what the role would be for Mephone4, Test Tube, and Nickel in that order. (Below it I will also explain why)

Odysseus: MePhone4/Test Tube/Nickel

IS the main character of Inanimate Insanity so makes sense to be the main one in this. Also a very morally complicated character, similar to Odysseus. Has many relations that make casting easier and is also intelligent like Odysseus. Tbh...I kinda want excuse to make a Nickel focused AU- ok but actually casting for him is decent and he's also morally...hmmmm. different-y.

Penelope: MePad/Fan/Baseball

MePad is like the only one that makes sense for Mephone4 (unless there's someone better y'all can think of, I'm happy to hear it!) Ship.

Telemachus: Bot (?)/Bot/???

I don't know what would make sense here??? But he has a close-ish relationship with Bot so eh- It's her and Fan's child. LITERALLY w h o?

Eurylochus: Toilet/Paintbrush/Balloon

It fits with the whole betraying thing and Toilet being the right hand man makes sense in this case. Main thing off is personality. Fits personality pretty well and makes sense for Test Tube. It's like how Balloon and Nickel becomes friends but backwards. (also just imagining in Puppeteer Balloon saying "those dumbasses got in there just because there was a woman-" as a demi flag just appears.)

Polites: ???/Lightbulb/Suitcase

Tbh, I don't know who this would be for Mephone4. She LITERALLY gets Test Tube to see things from a different perspective JUST like Polites. She just IS Polites (early season 2 at LEAST)

The Infant: Bow/Bow/???

Parallels Bow's death in season 1. The song mentions "you low-key remind me of my son" which makes a lot of sense for Bow and Bot. Slight problem with Nickel, he's less of a "how could I hurt you" and more of a "give me that baby and I'd yeet it off a tower" so idk

Athena: Cabby/Cabby/Tea Kettle

This is mainly for God Games honestly, as in defending MePhone4 against the unvitationals. Feels like Test Tube would just yell "YOU'RE ALONE" to her ass. Okay but actually their dynamic works pretty well here. Tea Kettle's got the sass for this role as well as well as the badassery for it.

Polyphemus: MePhoneX/MePhoneX/MePhoneX

He's just a good symbol of death. Plus I think the X makes sense to be one eye.

Aeolus: Clover/Clover/Clover

The goofiness just straight up works for her in this, I would also like to mention it works extra well for nickel but it definitely fits the other two.

Poseidon: Silver Spoon/Silver Spoon/Silver Spoon

This is mainly just because of who I'm planning to be Circe... Yeah maybe not the best but I don't have much else.

Circe: Candle/Candle/Candle

She is Circe.

Hermes: Springy/Springy or Goo/Springy or Goo

Springy is PERFECT for this being weirdly friendly because he wants something out of it but never clear exactly what it is, that laugh, just being goofy, trying to make some kind of weird deal with MePhone4, it WORKS. For the other two main reasons for pretty much the same the only reason who is a possibility is because of the GOOfiness and honestly I just want him to be in this-

Mom: ???/???/Tea Kettle (?)

I just don't for these two. For Nickel Tea Kettle is kinda motherly towards him, the only thing is I wouldn't know who to do for Athena-

Prophet: Blueberry/Blueberry/Blueberry

Depressing little bitch. (He right tho)

Sirens: BFDI contestants

EXTREMELY random but I would honestly just love to have this as a dumb reference and I'd love to just kill a bunch of your favs just because.

Scylla: Four/Four/Four

To keep this being the dumb little BFDI section and also because I just want some horrifying Four.

Zeus: Steve Cobs/Steve Cobs/Steve Cobs

Powerful evil yellow man.

Suitors: MePhone4 Haters/Test Tube Haters/Nickel Haters

The greatest evil.

Calypto: Simp

Just a simp.

Gods in God Games: Unvitationals

More specifically: Dr. Fizz as Apollo, Ballpoint Pen as Hephaestus, Walkie Talkie as Aphrodite, Springy as Ares (IF he is not Hermes; if he is it's swapped with Walkie Talkie and the Cameras are Aphrodite), Groscar as Hera, and as said before Steve Cobs as Zeus.

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originally I was going to draw designs for this and THEN post this, but when the wisdom saga came out I started rethinking who would be who, even rethinking what kind of style the designs would be clothing wise and if I would limit myself to things that would actually be worn in ancient times

This post probably isn't going to get much traction, but I NEEDED to rant about this it's been stuck in my head for months.

#inanimate insanity #epic the musical #ii mephone4 #ii test tube #ii nickel #This is so dumb-

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moonchild-in-blue · 4 months

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if you'll allow me some space to share my ✨thøught✨ for the day:

obviously we see the parallels between tyler & vessel. i think they're opposite sides of the same coin. vessel gave in willingly to his adversary (sleep) and tyler was captured by his (blurryface). while vessel remains under sleep's power, tyler is constantly trying to run away. they both made music used to garner support for their adversary, yet vessel did it willingly and tyler did not. as you said, vessel yearns to sleep because that's when he's at peace, but tyler hates to sleep because that's when the bad things happen. and there's so many more but let me get to my thøught:

(come to looney town with me and imagine that sleep and blurryface are the same. sleep is the deity connected to vialism.)

clancy and vessel are two sides of the same coin. they followed the same path into dema, yet vessel gave up. never tried to escape. he allowed himself to be overtaken by the bishops. he committed to the religion, dreaming of his neon gravestone. he spreads the message they give him (he wears black body paint. come on. smearing). clancy doesn't let himself follow that same path, so he runs. vessel only fights back when he hears of clancy's triumph.

(i'm sorry i hope you enjoy my word vomit. happy timezones lovely🫶🏼)

Em darling, respectfully, I'm kissing you on the mouth and taking a nap on the deep-ass wrinkles of your galaxy brian 🧠🌌

@fivewholeminutes Alex once you hear the album please come here, because we've had some Conversations™ about the ST x TØP parallels before and I know you'll love this.

(omg this is so long I'm so sorry)

Okay but this makes so much sense? Because in Vialism, in order to reach the status of glory and ascend to so-called Paradise, you must die and become a vessel (!!!!) to the bishops, who control your body through those antlers (!!!!!!!!!!!). VESSEL IS LITERALLY A VESSEL TO THE BISHOPS. HE IS DEAD AND IN "PARADISE".

The night comes down like heaven

Of course it does! That's what Sleep aka The Bishops want you to believe you silly boy 😭 Of course the night does not belong to God, it belongs to them. That's why Clancy can't fall asleep/dream - he must stay awake so the dark doesn't take over him (ODE TO SLEEP AAAAA).

What if Vessel was also trying to escape in that car with Clancy, before he surrendered aka Ascended?? What if Clancy made it out to Voldsøy alone, but Vessel was seized by Nico and therefore never met the Banditos? That's why he never references yellow. It's always red and blue.

Maybe the gold in Chokehold and Aqua Regia is him still holding on hope that the Banditos exist, that the myths are true. But he never made it out of the car with Clancy, so of course he wouldn't have known.

But in that case, just like Clancy is special and isn't affected by the powers, maybe Vessel also has a resistance? He surrenders to Vialism, to Sleep/Blurryface, gives up his name and identity in order to reach glory and fame and spread His word (omg how is this fitting so perfectly lmao), but a part of him is still aware of it all. He isn't really dead - he is asleep.

OH OKAY WAIT. SO! We know Keon is the most compassionate Bishop right? What if Sleep isn't specifically Nico/Blurryface, but a combination of the Nine? Or possibly the force behind them?

What if Keon was the one who had Vessel under control (possibly representing the romantic/affectionate nature of Vessel and Sleep's relationship), and since Clancy stabbed him, he severed that tie and allowed Vessel to regain some control of himself? Which leads us to Take Me Back To Eden aka Vessel fighting back. Maybe Euclid is what happens after Clancy reaches Nico's tower and have that final confrontation?

I don't think we know how Clancy initially reached Dema, but I'm assuming it has to do with his past - Dema offered an alternative/solution to all the pain he felt *if* he followed their twisted propaganda.

It took a while for Clancy to see what was wrong and gather up the courage to leave, so I'll assume it's the same for Vessel. They tried to escape but Clancy met the Banditos and the rebellion, which offered him a real alternative - hope. Vessel never did so of course he succumbed to Sleep/ the Bishop's brainwashing and accepted the deal - just like you said, he did it all willingly, while Clancy/Tyler didn't.

Also - Clancy was never alone since he had the support of the Banditos, of the Torchbearer, and of Ned. Vessel had to fight all by himself 🥲. Boy's got no friends 😔 (they are as brainwashed as he is).

AND THAT'S WHY!!! That's why TMBTE ends with Euclid, a song about hope and breaking the cycle - renewal - while still mourning for the life he lead up until now in Dema/ under Sleep's influence, while Paladin Strait is all about sacrifice, about the last effort to finally reach some peace.

I have a feeling the Paladin Strait mv will end with him dying - maybe his death will bring forth the liberation of the citizens of Dema and by consequence, of Vessel.

Also! Things I find interesting but can't really fit here but please latch on them (mostly typing this so I don't forget):

Trench has a lot of snow and trees, which could fit into the "diamonds in the trees / ancient canopies" imagery. Vessel spent more time there under Sleep/Blurryface's influence

The beach!! The water!! Both of them make a lot of references to water and That Beach aka sacred shores aka where Clancy and Torchbearer emerge from aka the only way out of Trench

CHLORINE IS A NEUTRAL CHEMICAL. NOT ACID NOR ALKALINE. The one used in pools (aka Ned's pool in Chlorine) is slightly alkaline according to Google. Coincidence???? I think not.

Also in Chlorine - Tyler makes a reference to the taste of lead. Hmmmmmm there's a connection there with Granite kinda? I'm reaching BUT!!

"And I'm done dancing to alarm bells" maybe it's a reference to him being done with SAI's propaganda/distraction?

The burning car / car crash references from both.

"I'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired" -> Vessel never fully ascended as the Bishops intended which causes a lot of friction between them

Josh and ii are the same person too. ii is Vessel's Torchbearer 🥹

Look. It's late (as I type this) and you come here with that amazing brain of yours connecting dots, and I can't help but latch on to them. I feel insane just typing this all out but!!! It makes SO MUCH SENSE OMG.

I wonder how Ned and Thrash fit into the narrative 🤔

#something something this is what could've happened to Tyler if he had never encountered the Banditos #ORRRRR WAIT. another flash thought #what if Vessel *isn't* an alternative version of Clancy. but of one of the bishops????#!!!!!#okay i'll stop for now but omg??????#i need a big ass coarkboard and some wool skeins #darya answers #sleep token #twenty one pilots #how do i even tag this 😭#sleep token lore #twenty one pilots lore #i guess???#clancy

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majorasnightmare · 1 year

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Inevitable Gerudo Headcanon Posting

i spend too much time thinking about the gerudo like genuinely theyre one of my favorite recurring tribes in the zelda series, which as we all know is a form of suffering because god forbid nintendo stop relying on racist tropes and caricatures.

keeping in line with this nintendos portrayal of the gerudo tends to either be 1) why theyre bad, and/or 2) how a culture of all women has kids. like thats an oversimplification of ALLL the problems present in the gerudos portrayal but thats a different post for another time. in general i bring this up because it means, for me as well as any others interested and invested un the gerudo, that there is a kind of generalized lack of pre botw characterization or cultural concepts to work with, esp when compared to the other tribes of hyrule. (looks pointedly at how theres no gerudo in the gerudo desert but there is a prison slash execution site where their king was held. LOOKS AT WHO SURVIVED THE PROLOGUE CUTSCENE IN WINDWAKER)

ANYWAYS. botw was really fun because, while it had plenty of its own issues with the gerudo, they were at least non hostile! so with that in mind, the headcanons and worldbuilding i write primarily apply to the wilds era gerudo, which spans the timeframe between ganondorfs reign as king to totk (suspending disbelief because that timeframe is. by all accounts. longer than recorded human history. friendly reminder ganondorf does All That before we even get sheikah wifi towers. christ.)

anyways. second verse same as the first, core assumptions and then a readmore

Some core assumptions:

The BotW branch of the timeline is chronologically set AFTER the previous timeline, ie the events of ToTKs ancient past is set AFTER the last event of the Hyrule Historia timeline. essentially they all come back together to form one line that makes up ToTKs ancient era

The biggest effect on Hyrules topography was the flooding in Wind Waker. after an unknown point, the flooding ocean receded leaving behind the ruins of ancient Hyrule. at some point after that, the zonai settled parts of it and made the buildings wed see as ruins by the time of BotW. slowly the various tribes of hyrule immigrated back

all peoples within the setting of hyrule are loosely grouped into categories called tribes. in this sense, tribe refers a collection of peoples with shared traits, without anything concretely set in stone (for example, hyrule includes the tribe of hylians, the tribe of gorons, the tribe of koroks, etc etc). the main six who show up repeatedly can be considered the sage tribes (gerudo, hylian, sheikah, rito, goron, zora), and the various types of enemies can be considered the monster tribes (the blin tribe of bokoblin, moblin, bulblin, etc)

so. starting at the beginning. near entirely headcanons

in ocarina of time, we see the spirit temple, where Nabooru awakens as a sage. this temple features a MASSIVE statue of a woman adorned with a snake and its primary mechanic centers around mirrors and reflected light. while the mirrors return, we dont really get that same kind of implied spiritual/religious focus again. so instead im going to make a mountain out of a molehill and position her as the primary spiritual figure here. im running low on name ideas tho so suggestions are much appreciated. for right now ill refer to her as the serpent goddess

the gerudo are culturally a people of function over form, practicality over whimsy, but when circumstances allow for it, are drawn like any other to arts and music and decoration. they have a long history of bloody, brutal battle, and while the war has long since ended, its kings buried and its warriors naught but ghosts, the desert remembers. its sands haunted by the bloodstains of conflict past, and echoes of ancient tragedies. the gerudo here in the era of wilds may have lost their records of their ancient history of conflict, but some aspects, preserved by the sands, have managed to survive the onslaught of time

surviving all this time is the ancient creation myth of the gerudo people. as legend tells it, long ago in the time before myth, there existed a goddess whos power was transformation. she was possessed of two forms, one a proud humanoid figure, the other a striking serpentine form twisting through the heavens with ease, her scales glittering with mirror sheen. to shift from serpent to human, she would shed her skin, and grow it back again to embrace her serpentine form anew

seven times she shed her skin, and from these shed skins rose the first gerudo, each embodying a key aspect of their sacred mother. the serpent goddess's scales are each a nascent soul of a gerudo, and when those scales are shed and fall to the land below, a new gerudo is born. likewise, when a gerudo dies, their soul returns to the scales of the serpent goddess, to await until they would descend again and reincarnate once more. the seven daughters of the serpent goddess led these gerudo as their guardians, leaders, and protectors. but, away from the seven heroines and their new people, the goddess shed her skin an eighth time. this daughter was born alone, and while her sisters embodies the strengths of spirit, flight, endurance, knowledge, motion, skill, and gentleness, the eighth was born with insatiable wanderlust. learning of this, the seven sisters cursed her name for leaving them and their people behind, and despite their shared ancestry, the eighth was forbidden to be spoken of. this suited her just fine, and the eighth was free to walk the land and learn all of its hidden paths

in time, war came to the gerudo, as it often does. though they were united, and strong, they were a small collection of people, and thus despite their proficiency were threatened nonetheless. it became clear at last that they could not stand and fight, and that to survive, they could not remain in place for long. but the enemy had pushed them deep into their home, and knew all the paths back. as hope seemed lost, as if summoned by call, the eighth sister at last wandered home. calling her seven sisters to her, she proclaimed that every hidden step was known to her, and while she lacked the power to guide them on her own, together they would escape unseen into the night, their enemy none the wiser. thus, skillfully guiding the skills of her sisters, the eighth heroine led the gerudo into safety, and the seven were humbled from their pettiness. seeking to apologize to the sister they had banished and forgotten, the seven sought to make amends, but the eighth was content merely to have a place of remembrance among them. to wander is not a sin, as long as one remembers where their home lies.

the eight heroines have long since passed and returned to their mothers scales, but the virtues they embody are cherished by the gerudo family they left behind, seeking to hold their memory close even as the years wear on

to the gerudo was bestowed the blessing of the element of Spirit, embodied by their iron wills and manifesting as crackling lightning. this spirit lightning is the gerudo's will made tangible, arcing out towards their target as an extension of their focus and sheer determination. to a gerudo, nothing is impossible until one has devoted themselves entirely to it, giving it their all, and only then may it be conceded

a long history of persecution has resulted in the gerudo being increasingly insular and isolationist. their admiration of the art of combat and how it can bring forth an individuals talents, achieving a perfect harmony between body and will as the weapon became an extension of ones limbs, was often perceived as aggression by outsiders, who would react as if to defend their own interests. the gerudo have suffered much at the hands of hyrule at large, and have pulled further and further away.

as the gerudo pulled away from hyrule, and hyrule from them, they devoted most of their attention to themselves. cooperation amongst themselves is seen as paramount to their survival, and familial affection often extends well past ones blood relations.

the gerudo value family, and loyalty, alongside independence and cooperation. everyone should have the opportunity to pursue their goals, but if someone is struggling, it is the responsibility of everyone to help. children are raised by as many people as are available, and even in the times of monarchy, the palace was less a formal dwelling place belonging to the gerudo ruler and more a public forum that the ruler simply happened to live in

most of the palaces amenities are fully public, a tradition that has carried on to riju's time. meals are communal and the kitchens open to all, and the palace has no strictly dedicated servants, merely a collection of amenities the gerudo people are free to use at will and often do so together. what this means is that there is no servant, for example, dedicated to preparing riju's meals but instead a collection of people willing to cook and willing to eat making meals riju partakes in, and this applies to most other menial tasks as well. the throne room is where the leader of the gerudo engages in their job as public servant, attending to the needs of the gerudo at large and responding to crises as they arise.

as nintendo is keen to point out, the gerudo are a people that are predominantly "all women", and thus spends plenty of time going over dialogue wherein people wonder how they have children and including a plethora of sidequests in the wilds era about acquiring partners. im ignoring all of that and instead going by lizard rules, in part because here theyre descended from a serpent dragon goddess, wherein a population of all female lizards were able to successfully maintain a stable population and have children without major issue. gerudo like ganondorf are the equivalent of a rare genetic mutation that flips some other genes on and has a different result, that really doesnt affect anything besides this one kid and doesnt have any major effects or differences in their life. two gerudo are perfectly capable of having kids together, having relationships as usual, and on the topic of "how do the gerudo have kids", thats all i really feel like exploring that topic

with an insular, isolationist culture that appeared for all intents and purposes to be all women, the gerudo were often a source of major culture shock when interacting with the other tribes of hyrule, most notably hylians

bonus hylian lore: hylians experience an even greater lack of sexual dimorphism than irl humans do, so gender presentation is near exclusively presentation based, with a heavy emphasis on clothing. showing skin is considered an act of emotional intimacy, and most hylians opt to cover as much as they can. the intensity of presentation scales upwards with their role in society, with the royal family having the most extreme form of gender presentation. gender is presented through clothing style and hair length, with ornamentation, jewelry, and piercings serving as a kind of intensifier, and hylian culture at large tends to operate on a sliding scale of masculine to feminine, with the middle androgynous zone being a weird gender spot for them

the gerudo, by contrast, never really developed a concept of masculinity versus femininity. gender pronouns in gerudo are based on personal proximity, occupation in society, and familiarity. these barely translate at all into hyrulean.

as the gerudo, by circumstance or by choice, interacted with hylians and the tribes of hyrule more and more often, some kind of understanding had to be reached with regards to translation. as relations were already terse, making an attempt to fully translate the gerudos understanding of gender to your average hylian was considered a fools errand, and thus translation was done in broad strokes, giving hylians the simplest root form of gender pronouns (and none of the increasingly specific declensions). loosely, the term vai is closer in concept to "us" and voe is closer to "not us" "foreigner" "outsider", and has taken on a connotation of " forbidden" or "taboo" (leading to wilds era gerudo secret clubs often imploying translatable Adult Puns regarding their catering to voe and the overall titillating atmosphere they tend to put on for customers). with regards to hylians, the feminine princesses and queens had more in common with the gerudo and were thus "vai", but the masculine kings and soldiers, who were often the main figures pushing aggressive efforts into conquering or otherwise absorbing the gerudo into hyrule, were "voe". this was then distributed in various guides to understanding the gerudo language as " vai" meaning "woman" and "voe" meaning man

gerudo town, as the capital of their people and general hub, has a law banning the entrance of voe. at the time if its writing, this was a fairly obvious law, because most "people who are forbidden" are forbidden from entering. as time has passed, hostilities cooled, and relations warmed, this law has been the subject of a long struggle of interpretation. it doesnt translate well into nearly any other language, and thus who counts as "voe" and "vai" is subject to endless debate. the differences in gender perception are most clearly on display with the admittance of the gorons. one might assume that the gorons, being a monogendered people who typically use masculine terms of identity and endearment in hyrulean, to thus qualify as voe, but the gorons cooperative nature, near uniform monogendered culture, and emphasis on hard work and independence has enough in common with your average gerudo that considering them as vai is a no brainer

ganondorf thus is also, clearly, considered vai. the specific pronouns he uses in his native gerudo include declensions regarding his position as royalty (one that has since gone out of use and is fairly archaic now, only really being used as a kind of neo-pronoun by current era gerudo as a rebellious self identification thing), his relation as the only child of koume and kotake, and are conjugated based on relation between the speaker and him. in the ancient era, calling ganondorf voe would be so confusing as to not even read as an insult. if one really wanted to refer to ganondorf with a tone of insult, theyd substitute the declension of familiarity with one used for strangers

ganondorf achieved his position as king the old fashioned way: a gift from his moms. ancient era gerudo practiced typical monarchy with a line of succession, and koume and kotake named him as the next royal of the gerudo as their heir. the hyruleans, seeing a masculine gerudo of royal birth, referred to him as "king", and correcting a culture of people he had little respect for was just a waste of ganondorfs time. after ganondorfs sealing, the gerudo changed to the current system of chiefs, wherein the current chief names a successor, or by default passes it onto their living heir. a system is in place to democratically install a new chief if the current one passes without naming a child their heir, or naming a successor in their place, a system drafted and then used in ganondorfs absence. riju thus inherited the mantle from her mother, but could opt instead to force a vote, or have such a vote forced on her due to her age, leading to much of her insecurity seen in BotW. this system has proven to be relatively stable, especially coupled with the continued tradition of keeping the palace an open public forum

the first chief of the gerudo was nabooru, advised by the sage of lightning we see in totk, following ganondorfs sealing

the gerudo are very familiar with the souls of the dead. poes, souls lost and aimless, wander the desert after millennia of bloodshed. thus their funerary customs have persisted, even as the folklore behind them fades in and out of memory.

a person perceives reality through their body. they know the sky is above them both by craning their neck up, and by the sensation of ground beneath them. in death, one is bodiless, and sensation becomes a confusing, directionless onslaught. it is so easy for a spirit to become lost, unable to orient themselves. the gerudos funerary rites seeks to aid these souls in their journey towards returning to the serpent goddess, as without guidance they are liable to become poes. the body after death is merely an empty receptacle, and on a practical level is a potential draw for dangerous desert scavengers seeking an easy meal. the shifting sands and hard soil makes burial difficult to impossible, so instead the gerudo burn their dead. smoke is ephemeral and thus able to be seen by spirits, and even as the wind rushes, smoke will still travel upwards towards the heavens. a spirit will linger by its body for a time, and thus cremation helps provide guidance to the dead. unable to feel the earth beneath them, the dead can follow the trails of smoke to orient themselves upwards, and dispel lingering confusion

as the body is burned both to guide the departed's soul and to ward away scavengers, the gerudo inter their belongings into gravesites instead, usually one or a small collection of items that the deceased valued or were considered emblematic of them. having a proud history of warriors, many gerudo consider their weapons extensions of themselves, and thus many gravesites will consist of a single weapon.

the sage of lightnings temple served as the primary gravesite for many gerudo, and in its heyday was decorated with love and care as befitting its role. torches burned bright in its sconces and the walls painted with care in massive sweeping murals. here in the temple, a foreigners idea of the gerudo as austere and practical would fall away, as the halls shone with warmth and color, taken from their desert home

lost souls that become poes often end up becoming consumed by their regrets and despair at their inability to find their way back to reincarnation through the serpent goddess's scales, and from there turn to rage and aggression. the sunlight glinting off of the goddess's mirror scales will blind and disorient the dead who have lost their way, as they try in vain to rely on their half forgotten senses, and thus poes eschew the day in favor of the cover of night. though incorporeal, poes move as fast as the desert winds, and try all they can to cause mischief and havoc. usually the end result of their shenanigans is light injuries and scratches, but it isn't uncommon for a waylaid traveller or adrenaline seeking youngster to suffer fatal consequences. despite this, poe hunting tends to be the go-to act of rebellion for antsy teenagers with a taste for danger. in general, one of the only things fast enough to strike a poe is a fired arrow

as the sands grew and the desert expanded, it grew more and more difficult for the steeds of the gerudo to gallop across the dunes, and they were driven further and further back until the gerudo phased out their horseback traditions entirely

and as an AU specific trivia tidbit

after ganondorf's sealing, nabooru grieved the loss of her childhood friend by constructing a dedicated tomb to house ganondorf's gravesite. even though he wouldn't die, nabooru would never live to see him again, and in traditional gerudo fashion, his gravesite is marked by his signature trident, further imbued by nabooru's blessing of lighting (in a similar fashion to urbosa's fury, despite urbosa not being a sage).

#totk headcanons #totk spoilers #loz gerudo #gerudo #ganondorf #totk au #loz headcanons #i THINK thats all the relevant ones #god i hope the readmore works. guess ill find out #BUT ALSO. GANONDORF NEOPRONOUNS REAL IN MY HEART. HES VAI. HES AN INCREDIBLY NICHE AND ARCHAIC FORM OF VAI #THAT HIGHKEY ISNT EVEN RELEVANT ANYMORE. biographies about him confuse+anger gerudo scholars because translating his pronouns is a BITCH #it also makes riju removing the voe restriction more impactful imo because its a symbol of how far the gerudo have come-#-in their relations to hyrule. because the voe rule is almost entirely like. a no hyrule thing snfnsndhdbf #so hyrule finally like! not being so much of a threat that the gerudo feel they have to stay closed off! going from oppressor to ally!#LET IT MEAN SOMETHING NINTENDO G O D #anyways. ganondorfs so gender.#nvm got the readmore to work c:#loz totk

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