#love his big ol rectangle head | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shesinshambles · 1 year

Text

Once again I have crawled out of my chronic pain cave to deliver you a short Christmassy, fluffy and smutty Mary Goore fic that nobody asked for. aAo3 here 18+ under the cut.

“It’s not going to fit, Mary! It’s too tall.”

“Ye of little faith!” Mary shouted, wielding a rusty handsaw he got from who knows where. “Just need to trim the stump off a bit babe, that’s all.” You quirked a skeptical brow their way as you opened the trunk of ornaments, keeping a close eye on Mary in the event you’d need to swoop in after he sawed off a few fingers. You’d rather avoid a visit to the er tonight. But in spite of the looming danger of your partner and a sharp blade, you’re finding the evening quite cozy. The light was low in your living room, the haze of snow passing over the streetlamps outside making everything softer, and rather contrarian to the ratty Santa hat that had definitely seen better days atop Mary’s head, there was metal music playing softly in the background.

It was something you never expected. But Mary Goore loved Christmas. Absolutely adored it in fact. And they had come barrelling into your tiny one-bedroom flat after a shift at the bar, hauling a massive spruce tree over their shoulder, grunting and wheezing. And no matter what he said, that tree wasn’t going to fit. It was at least nine feet tall. Mary fitted the stand onto the trimmed stump and began pushing the tree upright.

“Careful,”

“It’s fine, Doll,” Mary wheezed, shooting you a crooked smile. “See, just needed a trim.” You cringed as you looked up. The top of the tree was practically bent in half against the ceiling.

“Riiiight. I think it might need a full haircut then.” Mary furrowed their brow in question and following your line of sight, looked up to the top of the tree.

“Jesus Fuck!”

“Told you it wouldn’t fit,” you muttered under your breath, pulling out the boxes of string lights from the trunk and humming softly. You smiled to yourself as Mary grumbled and groaned, staring up at the top of the tree all sour-faced.

“What if I took off another inch?”

“You can’t,” you replied matter-of-factly. “Not from the stump at least. You won’t be able to get it in the stand.” Your partner deflated, shoulders sagging, and head hung low. And you couldn’t help but giggle. It was the beat-up Santa hat; it just added perfectly to the melancholy of the whole scene. Mary shot you a scowl as he stomped off to grab a foot stool and climb up to the top of the tree.

“Stupid, fuckin’ ceiling,” he muttered, sawing off a good foot from the top. You winced a little, watching as Mary’s teeth clenched in annoyance. “How does it look now?” The honest answer was that it looked like a big ol’ rectangle, taking up a solid quarter of the living room, but you just canted your head side to side and nodded.

“Well, we’ll be able to get the star on top now,” you offered, wrapping your arms around their waist and resting your chin on their shoulder as they hopped off the stool and cursed under their breath. “It’ll be okay Mare, once we get the ornaments and lights on.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, running a hand over his head and knocking the ratty hat off.

“Come on Goore, the tree’s not gonna decorate itself!” Mary grumbled an unintelligible response. “Good!” you kissed his cheek and skipped over to the trunk, unravelling the string lights. If Mary was going to be a bitter lemon the rest of the night you would have to lay the Christmas spirit on thick. “I’ll get the lights set up, why don’t you unbox the ornaments?” You heard a hefty and disgruntled sigh over your shoulder as Mary sulked over to the trunk.

“Sure, Doll.” You rolled your eyes. Sure, the tree looked a right mess, but when did it ever look perfect? At least this year Mary picked one that hadn’t fallen apart when they unfurled it. Really, it wasn’t that bad… You might run out of ornaments though.

You start weaving the lights into the prickly branches. You’d both found out in your first year living together that this was something only you should do, and that Mary ought to stay far away from; you smirk thinking about the tangled mess he’d created and how long it had taken you to unravel the lights. You work quietly for a little while and slowly you can hear Mary perking back up, humming to the background music as he unpacked the trunk and unwrapped some of the fancier ornaments the two of you have collected over the years. And then silence. The rustling of packing paper quiets and all that is left is the white noise of whatever band Mary put on. You think nothing of it but just as you bend down to plug the lights into the outlet you feel a pair of warm hands snake around your hips, and Mary pressing himself into your backside. You huff and bite your lip. Of course.

“Mare, you wanna start decorating?” You feel more than hear Mary hum against you as you straighten up, their hands roaming up to your waist, as they pull you flush against them.

“Orrrr, maybe not? I think there might be something I wanna do more right now?” Your roll your eyes.

“Nuh-uh Goore!” You tease, turning to shove him gently away. “You brought the tree home, you gotta decorate it.” Mary shoots you a toothy grin.

“All work and no play? Where’s your Christmas spirit babe?” He growls, sauntering over to you once more and you giggle as he pulls you against him and nibbles at your ear.

“Maryyyy,” you whine as Mary plants sloppy kisses down the column of your neck. “I’m serious, okay? Let’s finish decorating the tree. I don’t want this stuff to end up lying around.” Mary rolls their eyes, but they soften slightly as he looks down at you, and with a resigned huff, he presses his lips to yours in a chaste kiss,

“Alright Doll,” he murmurs, and for a split second you regret your decision as you watch Mary amble over to the ornaments laid out on the sofa, but no, if you don’t get this done tonight there is a high chance they sit there for another week. And you rather like having couch space. You take your Sunday afternoon naps there, after all. You follow them over to the couch and Mary hands you your favourite ornament. It’s the oldest of the bunch, given to you by your grandmother. It was made of colourful glass, rich purples, blues, and pinks, the front hollow, caving in to reveal a sparkling jagged silver that always caught the light perfectly. “Prettiest bulb for the prettiest girl,” Mary winks, and you roll your eyes, but you’re unable to fight the stupid grin that creeps up on your face and the butterflies fluttering in your gut. Years of dating and Mary still has you acting a fool.

You both fall into a quiet rhythm, working steadily to fill the tree. Occasionally, Mary steps back to point out any gaps where you need an ornament, or asks for your opinion on the tinsel situation. It’s always too much tinsel and you tell Mary to ease up a little. But all throughout their hands are on yours. Fingers lingering as they hand you ornaments, gently caressing your waist as they walk around you; and by the time you finish decorating you’re properly worked up and itching for them. Mary comes to stand behind you as you press the switch to turn on the lights, arms wrapping tightly around you and chin resting atop your head, both admiring your work.

“Not bad, babe,” Mary croons, kissing the crown of your head. And all things considered, it really isn’t that bad. It’s quite pretty actually. The glass bulbs reflect the twinkling lights, enveloping your tiny sitting room in a cozy, warm glow. You sigh softly, leaning back and pressing into Mary’s firm chest.

“It’s pretty.” He hums into your hair and you tilt your head back to look at him. “Hey,” you whisper.

“Hey to you too.” It’s silly but it still earns them a stupid grin. You twist around and wrap your arms around their neck. Mary quirks a brow at you but he has a shit eating grin planted on his lips and his eyes are glittering with lust. They knew exactly what they were doing. And you couldn’t care less.

“Merry Christmas, Mary.” Mary’s eyes soften and he runs circles into your hip with his thumb.

“Merry Christmas, babe,” he replies, and you get up on your tiptoes to give him a languid kiss. Mary returns it eagerly, their tongue running over your lower lip, slipping inside to explore your mouth. You sigh softly into the kiss and press yourself flush against them in hunger.

“Mary,” you keen, hardly audible in the quiet room, the record long having stopped.

“Yes?” He teases, kissing along your jaw, down your neck; you tilt your head back to give him more access to the column of your throat, and Mary does not disappoint, nibbling on your sensitive flesh, making you shiver in delight as a delicious heat pools in your gut. You let out a throaty moan as Mary sinks their teeth into the crook of your neck, not hard enough to draw blood, but it will certainly leave a mark.

“Please Mary” you moan. One arm holds you flush against them while the other roams down your hips, squeezes your backside, and comes round to the front, fingers slipping under the waistband of your pajama bottoms, teasing at the edge of your panties.

“What’s that? I think you need to be more specific, Doll.” Another nip to your throat. You’re practically canting your hips into their fingers now, how could you even be more obvious?

“Fuck me, Mary,” you sigh as Mary laps at the mark. And finally they acquiesce, fingers slipping into your underwear to run up and down your slit, spreading your slick over your swollen clit. You shiver and groan as Mary works you with slow tight circles, deft fingers pushing you closer to the edge with every swipe. You’ve been so worked up for the past half hour or so that it doesn’t take very long for Mary to have you dangling over the precipice, legs shaking from keeping yourself standing, panting with pleasure. Just as you feel yourself about to tumble over the crest, he pulls away, widening his circles or slipping a finger inside. You clench around their fingers hungrily, groaning in a mix of frustration and pleasure as they lick a stripe up the column of your throat to nibble at the sensitive flesh behind your ear. You whine in desperation as Mary pulls their fingers out of you.

“So fucking needy,” he hisses into your ear. “You want me so bad, don’t you baby?”

“Please Mary,” you keen again as he circles your clit, this time in earnest. The arm holding you against him tightens around your waist and finally Mary lets you cum, toes curling and legs going limp as you moan into the crook of their neck. Your head is swimming, limbs limp, completely malleable, and Mary tugs your pajama pants and underwear down in one, guiding you gently down to your knees. You shiver from the aftershocks and the cold of the floor beneath you as you tilt your hips back, resting on your forearms. You hear the distinct clanking of metal as Mary undoes their belt, and soon enough their hands are gripping onto your hips, digging into your supple flesh to pull you flush against him as he pushes himself inside of you in one steady thrust. Your breath punches out in a harsh puff as Mary sets a brutal pace, and throughout the room, all you can hear is flesh slapping against flesh, your desperate and delighted moans and their groans of pleasure. Your head is buzzing; Mary slams into your sweet spot with nearly every thrust, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body and you can’t help but cry out.

“Mary!” Mary’s breath comes in erratic bursts and you can hear him babbling incoherently, his thrusts becoming unsteady, faster.

“Fuck, baby,” They hiss into your ear, leaning over you. “You’re so fucking good. Sooo good.” Your arms shake from their shift in weight and with his final thrusts you collapse underneath him, clenching around them as they kick inside you, your cheek pressed against the floor and Mary slumped over top of you, restless hands roaming over your hips, your waist, down your arms. “Fuuuuck,” Mary groans as he collapses next to you on the floor. You lie there quietly, shivering with sweat-slicked skin as you both catch your breath.

You come down from your high first and before exhaustion kicks in you prop yourself up on your elbow and yank down your fuzzy throw on the couch, throwing it over yourself and Mary. Mary sighs, running a hand over his face and opening his arms in invitation. You smile softly and settle back down, tucking yourself into the crook of their arm, head resting on their chest as they rub soothing circles into your shoulder. You look up to Mary’s face, grinning at him, a warm fuzzy feeling filling your lungs. His green eyes shimmer with flecks of gold in the twinkling lights of the tree, and you bask in the warm glow, the fresh smell of spruce grounding you.

“While this is all very romantic,” you groan, shifting uncomfortably as your hip bone digs into the hardwood floor, “how’s about we at least crawl up on the couch?”

“Mmm,” Mary grumbles, burying their face into your hair.

“Mary..”

“Fiiiine,” they groan, and with an over-exaggerated grunt, Mary hoists himself up, offering his hands to help you up. You accept them gracefully, and you both stumble over to the sofa with the blanket. You sink down into the lumpy couch with a sigh, curling yourself up against Mary, finding a comfy home in the circle of their arms.

“I love you, Mary,” you murmur, pressing a gentle kiss to their cheek, and Mary smiles lazily at you, arm squeezing you a bit tighter as he kisses your hairline.

“Love you too, babe."

#mary goore #mary goore x reader

54 notes · View notes

writers-blogck · 2 years

Text

The Pouch Opened ( Dream of the Endless x Reader )

Warning(s): Regular John and Johanna warnings. Song: Mr.Sandman by (Cover) Blind Guardian

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥ 　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　

Title: The Pouch Opened Description: An exorcism, a sister, a Dream, oh my! Pairing: Dream of the Endless [ Morpheus ] x Reader Fandom: The Sandman ( Comics and Netflix Series ) Word Count: 5,005 Previous Chapter: A Favor Called Next Chapter: Two Demons and a Dream Story Index

London, 2022

Another Lovely Rainy London Day. You were used to it at this point. You just had to remember that with the rain came rainbows! Plus, the rain gave you puddles to jump in. Sure, it might be a little childish but it made life a bit more livable. It felt natural for you to react that way. Sometimes you couldn't explain why you acted the way you did. It was simply engrained in you. At least John accepted you for who you are. That was a plus. Outsiders liked to give you weird looks when you were just enjoying your life. You didn't care most of the time.

"Do you think there will be fire?"

"Probably."

"How about cursing?"

"Most of 'em do."

"What about puke?"

"I hope not. Jesus, love, did you just watch the Exorcist?"

"... Maybe."

"Well, there better not be any split pea soup involved tonight." John shook his head, a warmth spreading across his chest as he heard you giggle. It was a nice sound.

It was strange for John Constantine. Most of his relationships with the ladies involved a night or two spent together doing some stuff not to be repeated. But, you were an exception. He never thought about you in that way. Sure, he could admit you were attractive but if you were to share a bed, he wouldn't even think about making a move! You were special. You were like Chas, a ride or die. Even if he couldn't remember how you met or how long you had been traveling together, it didn't matter. You were one of his closest mates.

John knew only a few facts about the time the two of you had spent together. He knew that you had traveled with him for two years now overall. He couldn't say why you started to travel with him exactly. He knew you were in danger, a target to the supernatural for some reason. He could sense some power in you; it was dim but there. It turned out to be enough of a spark to allow you to do magic, though you weren't nearly as good as he was. At this point, you just followed where he went and that was the end of it. You wouldn't stay back anymore, instead insisting on helping. That just added to his stress during jobs.

"Hello, Jo!" You waved, a big grin on your face as you shook John from his thoughts. The woman in the distance turned, hands in her deep blue trench coat's pockets. It was amusing how all of you were wearing your own version of a trench coat. Johanna had her navy blue which was snug against her body, you had your gold that was tighter at the top with a loose bottom, and John had his tan which made him look like a walking rectangle. To be fair, it was the best jacket for this type of weather. Plus, it has a bunch of pockets! Always has room for things you might find while you were out.

The woman the two of you approached was Johanna Constantine, the older twin sister of John. You knew she must dye her hair as blonde seemed to run in the family as the dominant trait, figuring that out after she showed you a picture of the woman whom she was named after. Instead of blonde, she had deep brunette hair. She was shorter than her brother by an inch or two but held the same reserve in her eyes. The biggest difference was their smile. John liked to keep his face in a neutral frown (when he wasn't while Johanna often times was smirking as if she knew something you didn't. She likely did.

"Yeah, hello, Jo." John copied, earning a harsh glare from his sister. That nickname was reserved for few and her brother wasn't on that list. But she let it roll off of her like water off a duck's back, her attention shifting back to you.

"I wasn't sure if you would be joining us tonight. Thought 'ol Johnny boy here might have left you at home." There was the revenge for the nickname. John couldn't help but wince at the words 'Johnny Boy' falling from his sister's lips. He had to keep reminding himself that he was here for a reason, he couldn't just leave because he was annoyed with his family. This wasn't just a friendly visit.

Deep down, he did love his sister but the two of them were too alike to get along easily. They both were hard-headed and had confidence to spare. One would find some flaw in the other's plan and lead to some type of argument between them. You had served as a mediator. It had been worse when you weren't traveling with John. It always would end with the two vowing to never see each other again. In reality, it was only a few weeks before they were back on speaking terms.

"He tried but I said that I would follow him if he did, so he just took me anyway."

"I've never seen someone more excited to go to an exorcism."

"What's not to like? You get to be in pretty churches sometimes, you are fighting off evil, and you are helping someone at the end of the day. It just feels natural to me."

"Don't forget the trying not to die part." John's eyes scanned the cathedral where they would be performing the exorcism. He hadn't been in this one, strange with how big it was. Johanna must have it covered most of the time. It truly was strange that she needed help. He would have been more comfortable if you had stayed at the flat.

"Eh, all good things come with a little bit of danger." You chuckled, bumping into John playfully, "Now who's ready to go kick some demon butt?"

"You're gonna be the death of me..." John tossed the cigarette he was smoking to the ground and snubbed it out with the toe of his boot. He had a feeling that this was going to be a long night.

"Come on little brother, at least it won't be boring."

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥ 　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　

Exorcisms rarely go the way they are supposed to. John knew that intimately. You could only plan so much when dealing with these forces. It also took some good improvisation. Right off the cuff thinking, quick-witted and smart. He liked to think he was pretty skilled in all of those factors. His sister might like to argue against that. Eh, who cares.

He hadn't expected this exorcism to be any different, not really. It was just hard to plan for the unplannable. His sole focus was keeping the couple safe, that's what he told himself though deep down he knew that wasn't the whole truth. The number one rule in these situations was to keep you safe. It was nice when you stayed back at the flat or hotel, wherever the pair of you were staying. It was rare but nice; he didn't have to worry about you while also dealing with the demon. Today had not been one of those days. You really could be stubborn at times.

The demon was thrust out of the woman, causing the couple to run away in fright as soon as the opportunity presented itself. They had been lucky this time. The demon didn't burst out of the woman, instead coming out as black slime from her mouth, nose, and eyes. She may have felt like she couldn't breathe and was having the worst case of food poisoning, but she hadn't split in half. That was the good part, always look on the bright side of a situation, especially when demons were involved.

The evil creature was huge with the face of a bull and the body of a muscular man. Black blood trickled down from its empty eye sockets. Its tongue lulled out from a hole in its cheek. How disgusting. Anytime you saw a demon, you got the chills. Would you ever get used to their cold aura? There was just something about them that seemed to affect you more than John. Perhaps it was the experience he had that helped him.

"Damn mate, you have a rough day, huh?" John grumbled, hands glowing a bright yellow. His classic sigil hoovered just above his fingertips, blocking an organ piano as it was thrown his way. The demon howled at the failed attack, watching as the instrument exploded on impact, keys showering down around the mage. A cacophony of sound rang out on impact like someone just slammed their hands down on the piano.

"Don't set the bloody church on fire, Johnny-Boy."

"Johanna, I know! I'm not even using any fire yet!"

"Key word, yet. Just saying, you can get a little pyromaniac at times."

"Wot?!"

As he turned to face his twin, a large hooved hand walloped him right in the side, sending him smashing into the wall. The beautiful stained-glass window open shattered and the colored shards rained down on the crumpled-up form of the man. He would surely have some bruised ribs, if not some broken from that. He would be sore tomorrow. Great. John liked to whine whenever he got hurt in any way. That was if you survived this encounter, to begin with.

Switching its attention, the demon gave a huge stomp, causing the floor to break up in Johanna's direction and causing the woman to lose her footing. Pieces of the floor began to fall into the basement level of the church, creating piles of what used to be the wooden floor. Grunting, she pushed herself up on her elbows and rolled out of the way just in time to keep from following the debris down.

You couldn't remember what the plan had initially been, something about exorcising the demon while it stayed within the woman's body? That sounded right. It would help limit the damage it could do both to the people and its surroundings. But when it became clear it was causing harm to the woman, then there was no other option than to get it out first. Yet, this demon wasn't one to be messed with. That's for sure. The twins told you to stay in the back but they looked like they needed help! You were supposed to keep anyone from entering the church. That had been your job. Really, it was just because John wanted you at a distance. Still, your friends were in danger. Screw it! Hopefully, the noise would keep any curious onlookers outside.

"Excuse me!" You ran through the pews, shouting at the non-existent pew-seated onlookers. As you ran, you watched the demon turn to face you. Though he had no eyes, you knew he could see you. A terrifying grin formed on its face, skin ripping where the hole was. Bigger and bigger! It made your stomach turn but you couldn't stop now. No time for throwing up. Your friends needed you! This wasn't the first demon you dealt with. You could do this. You just had to keep reminding yourself that. You could do this. You could- Woah!

"What, a new little pest?" The voice was deep and rumbled across the ground. Goodness, gracious! It leaned down, allowing its face to be level with your entire body as you were running up. You were tiny compared to this thing! You swore you heard John mumble something out but it was indecipherable in the chaos of sounds that was occurring around you. Everything seemed so loud. You just needed to focus on what was in front of you.

A hooved hand hit the ground a few feet ahead of you, sending you flying up in the air as if you were jumping on a trampoline. The demon then caught you as you fell, landing on the hard hoof, it rising back up to its full height. Oh my! You weren't afraid of heights, per-say but you still knew being up this high wasn't your best option. You weren't scared but you also weren't dumb. It would be nice if he put you down. Gently. Slowly.

"You would make a good vessel." The snout came closer and as it exhaled, hot air covered you. Ew! If it sneezed, you were over and done with. Death by a sneeze! You wanted to squirm away but you had to be careful- squirm too much and you would fall right off! A fall from this height would leave you as nothing but a puddle of mush on the ground.

"You need some mouthwash, mate, or maybe a mint? If you give me just a tic, I can check my bag and see if I have anything for you."

"Shut up, wisecrack!"

"Really? John always liked to say I'm really chatty. Plus, I'm always ready for a good argument. How about it? You and me, one-on-one with just our words."

"A duel?"

"Yeah!"

"I shall crush you under my hoof!"

"Word duel! Word Duel!"

"How about I just smash you now?"

"No, thank you!" You gave a sheepish, nervous grin as you fumbled at your side for the one thing that might save you now. Where was it? You knew you put it on before leaving. You never left the flat without it. It had become something of a security blanket.

"What...? What is this?! You- you are protected by...That can't be!" For the first time in this entire encounter, a look of fear crossed the demon's face. That was more like it! Its voice waivered and its hoof shook. That didn't make it any easier to stay on. It was like an extreme version of riding a bull at a bar! You weren't even drunk and still were having quite a bit of trouble! You deserved an award after this.

"You need to calm down, sir!" Hand reaching down and finally finding what you had been searching for, you grabbed a small handful of sand before tossing it right into the empty eye sockets of the demon. "Pocket sand!"

"It's from a pouch...Not your pocket" Johanna sighed to herself as she pushed herself up from the cracked ground.

"ARGH!"

And then you were falling. Sure, sending a demon into an unconscious state when it was holding you meters above the ground might not have been the best idea, you realized that now. You had been thinking in the moment! As it collapsed into a heap of red and brown flesh, you were dropped from its sharp, black hoof. Man, you needed to think these things through a bit more before you acted on your ideas. Soon you would be a human-flavored flapjack on the ground! Aw...If you died, you'd never be able to eat flapjacks again. That was sad.

"Of!" You grunted as you slammed into something hard but still surprisingly did not feel the breaking of bones or the sound of you splattering out on the wood floor. Peeking one eye open, you were greeted by yellow light and came to realize you were on a disk, a floating disk to be exact! Huh! Had you done that? You really were getting better at this magic stuff-

"Warn me next time you are about to go free falling to your death, alright love? I don't have Feather Fall for ya all the time."

Oh. Nope, you hadn't done it, John had. That shouldn't be too surprising. He was standing with one of his arms outstretched, the other wrapped around his lower torso. He was hurt and would surely bruise. Yet the important thing was that he would survive. Slowly he moved his hand down and with it, the disk followed. It would have almost been fun like an amusement park ride in a different situation.

"Hey, I saved you two! Don't get that upset." You hopped off the disk once you were just a few feet from the ground, landing gracefully with a bow. If only you had someone to applaud you. Oh well. You could just pretend.

"By almost dying yourself?"

"You do that all the time!"

"Kids, kids," Johanna spoke up from where she stood next to the sleeping demon, "We can talk about this later. For now, let us banish this thing back to where it belongs before it wakes up. We don't need another fight on our hands, I think we've already done enough damage for the night., yeah?"

"Okay, mum!" You stuck your tongue out playfully.

"Do not call me that."

"Wait, we aren't going to have to pay for the damages, right?"

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥ 　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　

"Wasn't that sweet?" You hummed, skipping to be a step or two in front of the twins. The night lights of London reflected off of the puddles, wavering only when you jumped in them. When you lived a life filled with such dark forces like demons, you knew the importance of enjoying the little things in life. Nothing embarrassed you anymore. There wasn't enough time in your life to let yourself feel that way.

"Sweet? That demon was gonna eat that couple after it forced them to wed. I don't think that would be sweet."

"Ah, that part wasn't so good, I'll admit. But the bride's dress was so pretty and the church was lit up with so many candles. Plus, they love each other without the demon. So, now that the demon is gone, they can have a proper wedding! With proper candles! And a cake!"

"I'm surprised the church didn't catch fire with all of those candles," Johanna muttered to herself.

"You are impossible." John reached into his pocket to grab a cigarette before realizing he was out. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, shaking his head. He could conjure up some but they never were as good. He didn't know why he sucked at making them, he smoked them enough to have the taste memorized. He just could never get them right. Perhaps it was his magic's way of saying that he needed to quit.

"That is going to be quite a repair job." Johanna was more of a drinker herself but her own flask was empty. Each twin had their sins and they only intensified the longer the two were around each other. They would say how it was only natural with the stress they were under on a daily basis.

"I know I said this earlier, but no one answered me. Do we have to pay to fix the church?"

"Nah, we saved them from a nasty bugger of a demon. I just say let the ladies in black deal with it." John shrugged, a lazy grin on his face.

"They're called nuns, John. I know you are smart enough to remember that. I'm sure you've tried to temp some of them."

"Yes, thank you, my sister. Very colorful, it's like I can imagine being right there."

"You know, that woman was a princess. I'm sure she can pay for the damages. She was the one who got possessed after all."

"Johanna, are we victim-blaming right now?" John playfully narrowed his eyes at his sister who just scoffed.

"John Constantine. I come in search of..."

The three of you were walking out of the church and down the pavement when an unnaturally deep voice rang out. John moved to put himself between you and whatever this thing was while Johanna kept her cool demeanor. It was obvious that John cared for you. He didn't need to panic like that though, you could handle yourself. Had you ever even seen Johanna panic before? With your curiosity at a high, you moved to peek over John's shoulder with wide eyes. Big and filled with wonder, it worried John. With a flip of her hair, Johanna turned with a tiny huff.

"Dream of the Endless. I've heard about you."

"An Endless?!" John looked at his twin, to Dream, and then back to his twin once again, "How do you know about him?"

An Endless? What in the world was an Endless? You knew the world, sure, but you had a feeling this was something else. It felt like the definition was on the tip of your tongue, like an itch in the back of your brain. Yet, you had never studied about whatever it meant to be Endless. Why did it feel like you already knew about them?

"He was in Johanna Constantine's journal. You know, our grandmother of some years back? Great, great...Ah, I can't remember. Anyway, she worked with him. She even did a small sketch. I'd have to say she did a really good job. Looks nearly identical. Didn't think Grandmama had any artistic skill."

"Johanna Constantine..." Dream spoke slowly but his deep eyes never left your form, "Yes, I have worked with a few of the Constantine family members. I heard that the two members that led the family tree now were twins. The two last members, still alive and alone."

"Yeah, our family isn't the best when it comes to living a good long life." Johanna's eyes looked cold, though her demeanor fit that of a woman meeting an old friend. How was she so good at hiding her emotions?

"Frightful ends meet all of those with Constantine blood."

"Alas, does your appearance mean that you require us for work then, Sir Dream? That was the only reason you would ever visit our family in the past."

"I suppose, though it may be easier than I imagined." His eyes looked down at your form, causing John to hide you even further behind him. It was funny that the mortal thought he could hide you from him, if he so choose to take you. Yet, he was not looking at your figure (mainly) but instead at the pouch you had strapped to your belt. His pouch. Open. Nearly as strange a sight as you were. Was he still trapped in that damned glass orb and had finally taken to hallucinating?

Nothing was making sense since he escaped his imprisonment. His kingdom had fallen, (nearly) all his servants had left, you were here on Earth (wingless), all his tools were gone, and he felt as if he had lost a piece of himself. He didn't like all of this unknowing and uncertainty. Nothing was as it should be. He needed to help restore some semblance of order before this entropy became too much.

"Can we get past all of this creepy and cryptic back and forth?" John moved his hand to grab your upper arm, keeping you in place as you went to take a step forward. Curiosity killed the cat after all. He really needed a child's leash for you, the kind with a monkey backpack. He had a feeling you wouldn't mind.

"I require my pouch, one of my three tools. I was made aware by the Ladies Who Are Three As One that a certain John Constantine had it in his possession. It was purchased when it was not to be for sale. Not now, not ever."

"Jonathan...!" Johanna turned, eyes sharp and narrowed in her brother's direction. She knew about your pouch but had no clue it belonged to an Endless.

"What?! Was I not supposed to buy a pouch that radiated magical energy at a garage sale? It was only five quid!" Letting go of your arm, John tossed his hands up in exasperation. You remember that day. You bought a bunny kettle. It had actually been rather creepy, one made for the novel Watership Down, but you thought it had a certain charm. You used it to this day. John didn't like it.

"Perhaps you could have done some more research on it! Figure out its previous owners!"

"How was I supposed to do that?! I couldn't open the bloody thing up and whenever I try to reach in, it went to snap close on me. Like, it tried to bite me! I swear!"

"But she can open it? How long have you been studying? I thought she wasn't skilled in magic."

"Johanna, I swear-"

"Do you mean this pouch?" As the twins fought, you walked around them quietly to stand in front of the dark stranger. Unlatching the pouch from your belt, you offered it up to him with no hesitation. If the pouch was lost and belonged to this man, then you would rightfully return it. Yes, curiosity killed the cat but then satisfaction brought him back. You liked that version of the phrase better.

Long fingers brushed against your own as he took the black velvet bag from your hands. There was a spark, dim but there. It was you, Dream knew it. He didn't know what to say. You clearly didn't recognize him. You didn't remember the pouch you had seen for eons. He ached to reach out and cradle your face in his hands, just to look over you and take in the details of your features. It had been so long since he had seen you. Were you safe? What happened? He didn't like this version of you. The version that didn't remember him.

"Yes...Thank you."

"I apologize, but I did use some of it. I swear only in emergency situations where a demon was a problem! Never just to go to sleep or anything like that!"

"That's alright..." With every contemplative sentence, he trailed off into silence. He kept staring with those eyes that seemed to hold stars in them. Extraordinary. You wanted a closer look. "The sand does not run out. But how did you use it?"

The twins had stopped arguing now, shifting their attention to the two of you. John wanted to step in but his sister was keeping him back. She knew more about the Endless standing in front of them than her brother. She knew they needed to tread lightly. John could care less. If the goth creep tried anything-!

"I just opened it. I don't know why John had such a hard time. He couldn't open it, you know? I accidentally sent him to sleep the first time. I sneezed when I had some sand in my hand. He woke up three hours later. I was panicking the entire time. He was alright in the end, though."

"I had a real nice dream about a redhead-" John started but Johanna slapped him upside the head to get him to shut up.

"Ow!"

"You gave him a good dream...?"

Nodding, your own eyes shifted over the man's form. He was wearing a dark cloak that fluttered in the wind. The fabric inside was shiny and sparkled when the light hit it just right as if it held the universe within its folds. You were tempted to reach out to touch the cloak to see if it was cool like you thought. Eyes moving back up to his body, you saw his thin, pale face framed by a wild mane of black hair. Had you seen this man before? The twins called him Dream, perhaps you had seen him in your dreams? He felt familiar.

"It is a part of my being. It could sense you and knew you could be trusted."

"So, are we done here?" John straightened up, hand fiddling with his silver lighter. "You got your pouch back. We just finished a job. How about we go our separate ways? Yeah?"

Dream had been told you were dead, at least that's what Lucienne believed to have occurred. She explained how you went to go find him, to free him from wherever he was trapped but the librarian hadn't seen you since. She told the King how something bad may have happened to you during that time. He wanted to go searching but knew he would be of no help without his instruments. First, he would get those back. Then, he would make his next plan. Destiny had other ideas.

"What are you doing down here?" Dream asked, attention solely on you. He was ignoring John as well as Johanna. It was intense to have his gaze on you like this, but not unwelcomed. You weren't one to turn down any attention.

"Huh? What am I doing down here? What do you mean? Like, right here? Well, I just finished exorcising a demon. I think we were about to go get something to eat. We didn't have anything before coming here."

But here you were, standing before him in a trenchcoat that seemed too large for your frame and some human clothes. Nothing like what you used to wear. Your skin didn't radiate the small golden hue as it had in the past and your feet were touching the ground like a...a regular human. This couldn't be right. Perhaps you were just trying to blend in while searching for him? That had to be it. You were Hope after all. The alternatives were too dark to face. No...He knew you well enough to know that this wasn't you acting. You never were good at lying.

"They've been searching for you, Lucienne, and a few other residents. Cain and Abel miss you. Gregory...It's been over a century since you've been gone. I apologize if it is due to my own actions that you have left but I have returned. You can come back now."

Looking back and forth between the twins, it was clear the man's attention was on you. He spoke like the two of you were comrades. Sheepishly, you spoke:

"Uh, not to be rude, but have we met before?"

#dream of the endless #dream x reader #dream x you #Dream of the Endless x Y/n #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus #lord morpheus #Lord Morpheus x you #lord morpheus x reader #x reader #x reader insert #xreader #The Sandman #sandman x reader #the sandman x reader #sandman x y/n #thethingwithfeathers #John Constantine #Johanna Constantine

63 notes · View notes

misterghostfrog · 4 years

Photo

[IMAGE ID; a digital drawing of Martin Blackwood carrying Jonathan Sims from The Magnus Archives. Martin is a fat freckled white man with curly ginger hair that is shaved close at the sides. He has a pair of round framed glasses in a bright red, under the glasses he is wearing eyeliner, and a navy eyeshadow. He has black lipstick, two black snakebite piercings under his lip, and a small black nostril piercing. His ear has a large black piercing that cuffs a chain to a small black piercing higher up his ear, and one final black piercing in the middle. He has a black choker, and then a looser chain necklace with an eye ornament on it. He has a studded lather jacket on that is covered in multiple patches and pins, mostly hidden by Jon: of the visible pins there is a trans flag patch on his chest, and on his shoulder is a large dark colored patch that has A-C-A-B on it in white. Under the Jacket is a black shirt that he has partly tucked into his pants, the shirt has a large anarchy symbol drawn on it in red. Under that he is wearing jeans that are significantly ripped as far as we can see. On his right hand he has several black rings, and his nails are painted black. Jon is a skinny Jordanian man with brown eyes and shoulder-length grey-streaked dark brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail at the base of his neck. He has a beard beginning to grow that appears to be the product of forgetting to shave. He is covered in a series of small round scars that vary in exact size. He is wearing a pair of rectangle-framed glasses, a plain t-shirt, a pair of jeans that are ripped at the knee, and converse. Martin is carrying Jon bridal style in his arms, and is looking away, he is blushing, though his expression is concerned and appears to be speaking. Jon has his arms wrapped around Martins neck, his cheeks are darkened and he is staring at hte ground with an expression somewhere between fear and the face one makes when they’re having to retrace every step they’ve taken to get here. END ID]

Punk Martin but make it Jonmartin.

Also I wrote a lil thing to go along with this under the cut, its only barely edited because it was mostly for fun so be warned its a big ol mess! But its s2 jonmartin nonsense with Martin being very cool and attractive and Jon being seven layers deep in denial (Also I may have written Jon as a touch autistic because its projection hours tonight i’m too sleepy to mask and that goes for writing too babey)

(Mentions of worms, past injuries, and Jon dealing with some internalised ableism and general foolishness)

Jon forgot his cane.

It’s a relatively regular occurrence, for a multitude of reasons. For one thing it’s something of a recent addition to the list of things he needs to keep track of when he leaves the house. Another lovely parting gift from Prentiss, a worm in his left leg that went just quick enough to start burrowing into the bone before it was removed.

For another, he really has other things to worry about. And if it doesn’t hurt, it shouldn’t matter. Most days he can get by just fine without it- it hurts of course. But not so much he can’t support himself, and really, does he need it otherwise?

Martin and Tim don’t seem to agree, though Sasha has kept respectfully to herself on the whole business. Martin, of course, he trusts. Albeit only recently. But that doesn’t make him right, his priorities are warped. Naturally. He doesn’t see the bigger picture.

(or at least that’s what Jon tells himself)

Which is what leads to this moment, sitting on a bench outside the shop, single grocery bag by his feet. He’d only run out to get a few things, but somewhere between the his flat the the shop his barely visible limp had become more pronounced as his hip began to throb, then he was halfway through the frozens when he realized he wasn’t going to be able to finish the trip. After that he’d barely made it through checkout to the nearest seat before all but collapsing into it.

And now he’s sitting, stuck. An insurmountable walk from home, without his stupid cane. Which, he notes, he wouldn’t need if he’d brought in the first place. Funny how that works.

“Jon?” A familiar voice jolts him out of his thoughts. Jon jolts upright. Martin.

He knows Martin lives in the area, a side effect of his... investigations. Though he was unaware he used the same shop. He looks up, a greeting or perhaps a question on his lips that dies as soon as he actually lays eyes on Martin.

Martin is wearing a leather jacket. Not just a leather jacket of course, but that’s the first thing Jon can process. He’s wearing a studded leather jacket covered in various patches that advertise various opinions and identities that Jon doesn’t have time to think about. His jeans are about as much rip as they are Jean, and he’s got piercings- and eyeliner. he’s dressed like he should be riding a motorcycle, not the beat-up red bike he’s got beside him.

“Are you alright?” Martin says, and Jon realizes he’s been staring.

“Are you going to a costume party?” Jon blurts instead of answering. A costume party would make sense, of course. Martin doesn’t dress like this, he dresses like- like-

It occurs to him dimly that he’s never encountered Martin outside of work, at least never in a scenario that would allow him to change out of his work clothes. And some part of him has always assumed that sweaters and khakis were simply how he dressed. It suited him, really. Or Jon had assumed, but then again he assumed anything familiar is suiting.

“Wh- A- no?” Martin answers, looking vaguely offended. Jon flushes.

“I- sorry, I just- I’ve... I didn’t think you seemed the type to dress... like that...?” Jon fumbles, pathetically trying to salvage the conversation. Judging by Martins expression, he’s failing.

Martin opens his mouth to say something, and Jon realizes there’s likely no coming back from this particular mortification. He snatches the bag by his feet and moves to stand. Some excuse already tumbling out when the reason for his sit-down, which had dulled to a shockingly forgettable throb, decides to remind him of his place in the world.

He lets out a cry of pain, and crumples. Only stopped from hitting the ground by a pair of arms that wrap around his chest and under his shoulder.

“Oh my god, Jon. Are you alright- what- is it your leg? Where’s your cane-” Martin babbles, Gently replacing Jon on his bench as Jon breathes through gritted teeth.

“It’s fine- i’m fine Martin I-” he sighs, studiously avoiding Martins gaze. “My cane is at home.” He tries not to sound chastised as he says the last part- he shouldn’t have to after all. He’s still Martins boss. He shouldn’t be looking away like he’s been caught at something.

“Jon” Martin sounds exasperated, and Jon crosses his arms. Once again, nothing like someone being scolded. He’s not being scolded. He’s an adult. “How long have you been sitting here like this?”

“I...” Jon begins before trailing off, he’s not actually sure. The period between sitting on the bench and the pain dulling enough for him to think through the fog is something is a blur. He is pretty sure someone asked if he was alright at some point. His lack of answer seems to be enough for Martin though.

“Just give me a moment.” He says, stepping away from Jon over to his bike- which has fallen over onto the ground -pulling it upright and over to Jon on the bench. He pushes down the rusted kickstand with a hearty kick- and Jon briefly notes he’s wearing steel-toed boots -and sets the bike gently upright.

“Okay, so! If you sit on the bike I can push it, and you can get home and rest that leg without jostling it too much by trying to walk without your cane.” He says pointedly. Jon makes a face,

“This... this really isn’t necessary Martin- I’m perfectly capable-” He grumbles, waving a hand dismissively. But a glance at Martins expression shuts him up quick.

“Do you think you can stand?” He asks. Jon pauses, the memory of the white-hot flash of pain still fresh in his mind. He grimaces, shaking his head. Martin hums thoughtfully. “Alright, would you be alright if I picked you up? Just for a moment to get you on the bike” He asks carefully.

Jon hesitates, looking between Martin and the bike. And weighs his options. After several seconds he nods. Martin smiles, and Jon feels something in his chest flutter. Anxiety at his decision most likely. Or perhaps nerves in relation to sitting on a bike, he’s never ridden one- of course Martin will be doing all the work but surely there’s some sort of balance required isn’t there? Really he shouldn’t be riding a bike like this-

Those thoughts are all swept away at the feeling of large warm hands gently scooping him off the bench. He instinctively throws his arms around Martins neck for support as he’s lifted into the air.

He can feel Martins chest warm against his side as Martin holds him close, one hand on his shoulder and the other supporting his legs. He’s being cradled by his subordinate, carefully as so not to jostle his leg. And all he can think about is how warm Martin is. He’s large and soft despite all the sharper accessories and he smells a bit like leather and tea on top of whatever soap he uses. Probably something that Jon wouldn’t be able to name with a gun to his head. And Jon can see the freckles on Martins cheeks and neck close enough to count if he wanted to even as he looks away, saying something Jon can’t quite parse because he’s too busy reeling from the realization he’d be happy to sit in Martins arms like this for the rest of his life.

His face goes hot and he forces himself to look down at the ground. The pain is clearly messing with his head, or perhaps the sleep deprivation. Or perhaps he’s still riding the high from that moment of realization that Martin isn’t trying to kill him, that he can trust him.

Either way he’s not thinking straight, which is why he’s dissapointed instead of relieved when Martin gently places him on the bike with the exact amount of care he took in picking him up. Which shouldn’t make him feel so oddly jittery but it does.

The ride is quiet, aside from awkward instructions from Jon on where to turn as Martin guides them carefully along the sidewalk. They miss a turn once because Jons too preoccupied with the feeling of Martins arm bumping against his shoulder as he guides the bike.

And then they’re at Jons flat, and Jon once again feels that misplaced disappointment. He wonders if perhaps Martin will carry him up to his flat, and his face burns again as the silliness of the thought hits him.

Martin does very, very briefly lift him to help him off the bike when he stumbles. But his leg has recovered enough that he can make it up to his flat without assistance, or so he tells Martin. Who looks unconvinced.

“Let me at least walk with you, yea? That way I know for sure you got home safe.” He insists, and Jon forced himself to be displeased with the situation.

It ends up being a good thing Martin came along though, a partway up the steps the railing is no longer enough to support Jon, and he ends up half-carried the rest of the way. Martins arm under his shoulder, his own loops around Martins back, gripping the jacket for support. He can feel his head drifting at the contact- Martin is just so damned warm and safe and Martin it’s impossible not to get distacted.

He forces himself to think about something else, anything else. The jacket- he can feel the leather under his fingertips and it’s as good distraction as any.

It’s a nice jacket, really. Clearly well-worn. And it does suit Martin, in an odd sort-of way.

Jon winces internally, remembering the conversation from earlier. He hadn’t meant to come off so... well. It doesn’t matter. Except that it does, even though it doesn’t, but it does.

Once they reach Jons door, he pushes off of Martin to lean on the wall while he fumbles for his keys. Martin lingers as he does so, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly in the silence.

Jon finds his keys and sighs in relief as the door swings open.

He nearly wanders inside and shuts the door before remembering basic human etiquette. He pauses in the doorway, turning to Martin. Who smiles awkwardly.

“Thank you.” He says stiffly, still leaning heavily on the doorframe. “That was... very kind. Of you.” Martin shakes his head.

“It’s nothing, really. Couldn’t exactly just leave you there, could I?”

Jon shifts awkwardly, wincing at the brief weight on his leg. He’s right of course, morally at least. If not logically.

“I... I suppose not.” He says, hesitating before adding “I’m sorry.”

“Look, Jon. I already said it’s fine-”

“No-” Jon grimaces “not for that. I- I meant... for what I said. About your clothes. They don’t... I just- I didn’t expect it, and I may have come off as... rude.” He mutters

“Oh.” Martin says flatly, Jons sure he’d forgotten about that until just now, and he wishes he could have kept it that way.

“they do suit you, though.” He says, after an awkward pause. “Your clothes, I mean. It looks- you look nice.” he finishes as genuinely as he can- he does mean it. Of course, he just doesn’t know how to make it sound like he does.

“Oh” Martin says again, brightening slightly, his cheeks going blotchy red in a blush. “I- er- thank you...? I suppose?”

“Yes. Well. Your welcome, I suppose.” There’s another awkward pause, Martin isn’t quite smiling at Jon, but there’s something soft in his expression Jon can’t quite parse. “ Have a good day, Martin.” He says finally, after a long pause. Martins cheeks redden again.

“Oh- yeah, er. You too Jon- and take care of yourself. Alright?”

Jon nods, and Martin smiles. And Jon thinks he’d like to see Martin smile a bit more.

He waves as Martin heads down the stairs, he can hear Martin humming as he goes.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #punk martin #fic #art #fanfic #fanart #ghostly doodle #ghostly doodles #Jons a mess!#and Martin has cool fashions #ghostly scribbles

1K notes · View notes

neonponders · 3 years

Text

I just wanted to write about Billy noticing Steve now has a tummy and coming to terms with being ludicrously in love/turned on by his boyfriend 🥺

Mild warning for body dysphoria?

• • • • • • •

Steve wore high waisted jeans. So it took a while for Billy to, um.

Notice.

Then he couldn’t stop noticing.

It kind of all crash landed into Billy’s brain at once: how long they’ve been together, that of course Steve’s lifestyle had changed, and whatever the hell “second puberty” was in your twenties -

Billy caught himself spiraling in a wave of justification. Justifying what? His surprise, maybe? Billy never before considered himself available to the notion of having a boyfriend with...a...

Okay it isn’t even that much. Like a week of salad, and Steve would be back to his lean, toned self. Maybe two weeks. But he isn’t even bigger, really.

Just softer.

Bigger only in the way men get as they wander towards thirty. Billy had noticed that much in himself. Finding a box of old pictures from Hawkins High and California lent to an afternoon of memory lane. Strange, how scrawny someone can be even with a layer of adolescent baby fat; even with how built Billy had made himself, and beat his peers with finishing their first puberty. Billy was still a kid in these photographs.

Now his bones are bigger, and his muscles sit differently on this skeleton than when he was seventeen and fighting the world.

It makes sense that Steve would be the same. Same swooshy, thick forest of hair. Same big ol’ eyes and pouty boy lips that he always offered up when Billy entered a room.

He kinda worshipped Billy - in a nontoxic, rational sort of way. In a, he’s still human and imperfect, sort of way.

So Billy just sort of sits back and observes for a while. He sees the defined indention of Steve’s waist because he isn’t a rectangle of muscle anymore. Billy sees the way Steve’s thighs fill out the tops of his jeans a little more than they used to. The way all of Steve’s sinew relaxes differently when he sits.

Billy’s still stuck on his own reputation. Which he doesn’t even have anymore because he and Steve have been going steady for literal years, live together, and holy shit this is what adults mean when you turn thirty but still have the brain of a nineteen year old -

“You’re brooding again.”

The words take longer to land than the kiss on his forehead. Billy blinks up at Steve sitting on the couch, legs brushing Billy’s shoulder because he’s sitting on the floor with his back to the couch.

“I’m what?”

“Brooding. You frown when you think hard on stuff.”

“Since when do I brood?”

“Since ever,” Steve laughs softly. He draped an arm over Billy’s shoulders and wrapped it further around his head. He stroked between Billy’s brows. “You have a line here.”

On reflex, Billy counters, “No, I don’t.”

Steve releases him and leans back into the couch. “It comes and goes. It’s here today, though. You okay?”

Billy sure as hell doesn’t want to talk about whatever streets are paving themselves on his face. He gets up and doesn’t so much as tackle Steve into the couch, as he lands on his sternum with practiced experience. Steve’s body tilts, sending them horizontally across the couch while they adjust their legs accordingly.

“B?” Steve chirps, not letting this go until Billy gives him confirmation.

“Mmokay,” he muffled.

If brooding burns energy, then it would make sense that he passed out quickly on Steve’s body. Soft, through his well-worn shirt. Stable, because of the muscle and bones underneath.

It makes him more forgiving when Steve rouses him later to move to the bed. “You drool in your sleep,” he teases, though yanking the shirt off as Billy drops his shorts and boxers.

Billy swallows wetly, groggy eyes falling onto his new - or not so new - softness. Steve probably notices, because he entwines his arms behind Billy’s neck to draw him close, press their bodies flush, and kisses him.

Billy’s brain goes deliciously fuzzy. His penis kicks between Steve’s legs. Like, really salutes the body against him.

Steve controls the kiss. Tilts their heads to the other side. Soft, open mouthed pecks leaving Billy winded and keeping his eyes closed in between each one. Billy knows Steve is looking at him. Watching him. Billy blindly moves his hands around that waist and rubs up and down his back. Kisses the side of Steve’s mouth and follows the plain of his cheek to the ridge of his jaw. Plants a grove of kisses along Steve’s shoulder.

Steve’s body feels good. His cheek against Billy’s hair. His lips on Billy’s neck. His thighs around Billy’s hips as he pushes into that plush, hot home. He likes the way Steve grips his ass, spurring him further. He also likes Steve’s stamina, spooning his backside and lifting Billy’s thick thigh over his own prying Billy open.

Once Billy notices it, he can’t get enough.

And after too many double sessions and lazy energetic mornings together, Billy wraps his arms around Steve from behind and knits his brows together. “Where’d it go?”

Steve looks left and right, over their kitchen counters. “Where’d what go?”

“Your belly.”

“My what?”

“You heard me.”

Steve can’t help the bubbly laughs that come out of him, what with Billy’s hands wandering all over his torso. “Stop that! I told you Robin pressured me into going to her fitness place.”

“What?” Billy reared back without letting him go. “When?”

“When you were brooding,” Steve said pointedly. “Robin likes to exercise with a buddy. She’s all about these barre and aerobics classes... What are you doing?”

Billy picked the phone up off the wall. “Having a word with the lesbian.”

#harringrove #robin yer in trouble #ficlet #neonponders

61 notes · View notes

acraftedmistake · 3 years

Text

A Person Who Has Never Played MCSM Writes A Story About MCSM Chp. 15

CHP 15!!!!! Some good times and bad times lie ahead......

Enjoy!

“Everything okay?” Jess asked. Aiden was about to leave the house but had stopped halfway out the door, turned back around, and scanned the first floor while Jess and Olivia waited for him.

“Yeah.” Aiden said slowly as he began to close the door, twisting the knob to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally lock the three of them out, “Just thought I heard something.” He walked away from the house and patted his hair down. “You two ready to go?”

“Mhm!” Olivia finished zipping up the olive green jacket Stella had lent her. She was hiding her face with the hood of the gray sweatshirt Cassie gave her the day before as well. She knew there weren’t too many people out at this hour, but better safe than sorry.

Jess was wearing the leather jacket and beanie again, but he wasn’t too concerned about hiding his face this time. Earlier, he made a minor complaint that his clothes felt rather stiff after wearing them for a few days straight, to which Aiden promised that once they got back home he would throw their clothes in the washer.

“Let’s get going!” Jess said, adjusting the beanie on his head. Originally, Jess wasn’t too thrilled at the idea of going out at this hour. Knowing there might be Awakening members roaming around, or his alternate self--who had no problem beating Radar in broad daylight--made Jess uncertain over the safety of Obsidian Town’s streets. Aiden assured him that they’d be alright, it’d be three against one, and--in his words--he ‘Wants to do somethin’ nice for Olivia after last night’.

Jess appreciated the thoughtfulness, and in the end, visiting Olivia’s grave was up to… Well, Olivia, but he’d still be ready in case a creep tried to pull something.

Jess couldn’t really blame Olivia for wanting to check out her grave. It’s her place of death. When would you ever get an opportunity to visit a place like that again? Not to mention, Jess had been wanting to get a better look at Obsidian Town rather than getting glimpses or constantly staring at the ground.

The three walked to the left and started their journey to the cemetery. Aiden and Olivia were making small talk, so Jess took this time to absorb his surroundings.

Up ahead, he could spot a tall, crooked, ivory colored tower in the distance. That must’ve been the library Olivia mentioned before. Even from all the way over here Jess could see how ruined the place was. Cracks stretched across it, it was riddled with holes, and it looked moments away from collapsing.

Jess scanned the streets. The long, thin black lamp posts on each side had thin string-lights tied to their tops that stretched across the streets in a zig-zag like manner. It’s a shame they weren’t on at the moment, they must’ve been wonderful when lit.

There were empty stalls they’d pass by occasionally. Colorful, patterned tents protected the bare tables, empty boxes, and scraps sitting underneath. Jess noticed each stall had string lights, small lanterns, or candles for light. He’d catch quick glimpses at folded signs tucked away and papers taped onto poles advertising items and prices. Seeing all of this reminded him of the farmer markets Beacon Town. Jess would always act so crabby when he woke up early for them, but it wouldn’t take long for him to get hyped up and dashing around the place until closing time.

The stalls and all were nice, but Jess couldn’t help but find Obsidian Town’s buildings to be… Underwhelming.

Many of the buildings, from what he could see, were constructed with the same materials: stone, wood, bricks, concrete, the occasional polished granite and diorite, and the rare terracotta. There were variations with the colors, but seeing the same materials got real tiring real fast.

And most structures here were just shapes. That’s all that could really be said. Squared, rectangled, plain shapes to fit the equally-plain materials. Even the sizes of the buildings felt plain. Many were one to two stories, a large handful reached three, and hardly any were four.

Jess was so used to Beacon Town’s monstrous structures, giant jungle trees sprouting from windows, walls of colored glass creating magnificent designs, and bridges stretching from roof to roof that connected the town together. The fun types of builds! It might sound chaotic but that’s what made Beacon Town feel like home. Obsidian Town was just that. A town.

‘Don’t think the people here can risk being experimental, to be fair.’ Jess told himself as he remembered how often quakes struck. He thought back to his town again. He thought about how so many homes would quickly collapse the moment a strong-enough quake would hit. Beacon Town was fun, but it wasn’t built with ‘sturdiness’ in mind, unlike Obsidian Town.

While the construction and sizes of these buildings were on the more ‘basic’ side, the way the citizens decorated the exteriors of their homes and stores was magnificent. Oh, how he loved their decorations. From markets using barrels, wagons, and carefully stacked crates to advertise their fresh fruit and flowers, to cafes that’d have their furniture with their own color schemes and accessories to make them stand out from one another. Some places had porches decorated with flowers and swinging benches, while others had balconies with tiny lights.

Jess would get a second to peer into windows they’d pass by, catching glimpses of interiors that’d tempt him to come closer and press his face against the glass to get a better look. Actually, he hadn’t noticed it right away, but so many windows in Obsidian Town were colored. They didn’t have any intricate designs--a majority of them were one solid color--unlike the stained glass back at the Order Hall, but they were still charming. He pictured in his head how vibrant the streets must be when night comes… The lights from the inside mixing with the colors of the glass must be magnificent.

One place that REALLY caught Jess’ attention was a stone gray building tucked between two larger ones. It had a simple square base, but had a noticeable tilt to it. It had a staircase that wrapped around it’s walls and led to the roof, where a smaller room sat atop, equally slanted. A wooden sign hung from above the door and had the words “Glass Art” on it. Purple, pink, and blue glass shards and chimes were held by opaque strings from the overhang; there was a large, round, beautiful stained glass window with the same colors beside the door.

The glass art reminded Jess of Ivor and his potions. Man… How is Ivor? Is he doing alright? Is he worried? Hopefully he’s not working himself to the bone trying to find a way to save him and Olivia. Jess couldn’t wait to get back home and give that old man a big ol’ hug.

Come to think of it, has anyone mentioned anything about potions while they’ve been here? He doesn’t remember Olivia’s book talking about them, nor any of Aiden’s friends bringing them up… Are there no potions here? Or maybe there’s a lack of materials? They couldn’t go to the Nether or mine without a license--which STILL boggles Jess’ mind--so that probably made gathering resources hard. How would Ivor react to this? He’d probably say: ‘Pah! A universe without potions is a miserable one. Back in my day, we’d travel hundreds of miles to find the finest ingredients for our--’

“Jess!” He heard Olivia call his name. He spun around and saw her and Aiden standing under a stone arch. Olivia had her hands on her hips.

“You done dreamin’?” Aiden asked.

Jess didn’t realize how far he had strayed from the two. He hurried over and joined them at the arch.

“Sorry, sorry, I was busy thinking.” He skidded to a halt and fixed his beanie.

“Just glad nobody saw you.” Aiden said, “I almost stopped her from calling you cause I wanted to see how far you’d walk off.”

“Could you imagine if he got caught like that?” Olivia asked, “One moment he’s strolling through the streets, and the next he’s being pounced on by guards all because he was too busy sightseeing.” Her and Aiden chuckled at the thought.

“Oh, so it’s a crime to appreciate a town now?” Jess dramatically placed his hands on his hips, mimicking Olivia’s posture.

“It's illegal for you.” Aiden said, “Now come on, there’s a shortcut through the park.”

Aiden walked through the moss-covered stone arch. On each side of the arch were thick, green hedges that boxed in the park. Olivia noticed that, unlike the buildings in this town, the hedges didn’t form an actual shape; it would jut in and out at random, creating odd angles and corners. It was strange but charming.

A path that started under the arch and looped around the area, creating a horseshoe-like shape. Aiden ignored the path and continued walking straight through the grass. Olivia saw the usual things most parks had: Benches, lampposts, a sign telling people not to litter. She also noticed leftover chalk on the sidewalk, laying right beside children’s drawings of stick figures and hopscotch.

Obsidian Town’s park was small, nice, simple, and… Honestly a little dark. The thick clouds were already blocking most of the sun’s light, but the few, tall, thick trees had branches that hid nearly every inch of the sky. Despite how dim it was, Olivia could still spot wild flowers sprinkled around the grass, along with the bugs buzzing around them.

Honestly--and Olivia felt bad thinking this--she preferred this sort of park over whatever the heck Beacon Town had going on. Yes, Beacon Town was great in it’s own way. People could build whatever they wanted, and that’s wonderful, but sometimes she’d just like to take a walk without a constant ruckus surrounding her. Sometimes she just wanted peace and quiet--

“That guy’s missing his entire head!” Jess suddenly whisper-shouted as he lightly shook Olivia. Her heart started beating frantically as she hurriedly spun her head around. Her mind was going all over the place. Was it a decapitated corpse? A strange, alternate-universe monster? Or--or--

It was a statue.

“Jess, you nearly gave me a heart attack.” She sighed with relief.

“Sorry,” He took his hands off of her and pointed, “check it out though!”

Both Olivia and Aiden were looking at the statue now. It was a man frozen midrun, an axe held back--stuck in a swinging motion--while the other hand held up his battered shield, which covered his face. If he had a face, that is. It had to be The Impossible Man. Olivia wasn’t sure who else it could’ve been.

“He’s definitely seen better days.” She said under her breath. Besides his entire head missing, a majority of his body was covered in dirt, children’s chalk, and other strange stains. Cracks started from his broken neck and traveled to his chest, his armor was chipped and scratched, and a good portion of his axe had broken off as well.

“Yeah, I think there’s a couple more statues around here?” Aiden mentioned as they continued walking, “They’re all in pretty bad shape. The kids like to mess with them.”

Aiden scanned the park. “There’s one,” He pointed to the upper corner on the left side of the park. A statue was placed on a podium right in front of a tree. Despite the fact one of his legs was missing, he appeared to be sitting comfortably, gazing at the tree tops peacefully.

“Annnndddd…” Aiden kept turning his head in different directions, “I’m pretty sure there was a head somewhere… Oh!” He spun around, walking backwards now as he pointed to the direction of the entrance. Jess and Olivia followed his finger, their eyes landed on a wooden bench--and right beside it was a small column with a broken bust of the man on top. Olivia couldn’t make out much of the man’s face from here, but she kept getting the eerie feeling that his fractured eyes were somehow watching her. Constantly. Unblinking. She shuddered.

“You think the quakes are the reason they’re missing some parts?” She heard Jess ask aloud.

“I find it really hard to believe they somehow stood through all of those quakes and just lost a head or a leg. They might've been stolen.” Olivia theorized.

Jess put his hand on his chin, stroking an imaginary beard, “I think I remember seeing Hadrian have a couple of statue parts at his place…”

“What? You think old people just like to steal random body parts during their free time?” She grinned.

“That’s what I’d like to do when I retire!” He chuckled. Olivia rolled her eyes playfully.

The three came to a stop in front of a wall of hedge that stood a couple inches taller than Aiden. Unlike the rest of the hedges, this one probably hasn’t been trimmed in months. The surface was extremely uneven; hundreds of tiny branches and leaves stuck out and got tangled with one another. This hedge was also covered in flowers. Tons of them. Clusters of fluffy-looking, light pink flowers were scattered throughout, and were nearly as big as Olivia’s face. The ground was covered in old petals.

Olivia made sure that every strand of hair was tucked inside her hood. There was no way she wanted to spend the rest of the day picking out the twigs, leaves, and petals that’d get stuck in there.

Aiden walked to the right, staring into the bush and running his hand over it as he mumbled to himself, trying to remember where the shortcut was. Olivia and Jess awkwardly shuffled along. Aiden soon stopped, crouched down, then put his hand into the bush. He then took it out, huffed, scooched over a couple more inches, and repeated the process.

After a minute of searching, Aiden started talking to himself. “Maybe it’s on the left side? I could’ve sworn we--!” Aiden suddenly fell forward and into a large hole in the hedge.

Man, if Aiden hadn’t fell through, Olivia would’ve also thought he’d forgotten where the entrance was. The branches hid the hole well.

Jess helped Aiden to his feet. Aiden thanked him as he moved aside, motioning towards the hole.

“You guys go ahead.” Aiden said, “I’ll wait for you to go through.”

Jess and Olivia glanced at each other before Jess gave her a little bow, “After you.”

“How kind.” Olivia curtsied. She crouched and crawled through. The dirt was already making her pants a little damp.

Luckily, despite a few scratches, the crawl only lasted a few seconds.

She got up, cleaned herself off, and waited for the boys.

Jess’ head soon popped out from the hole. Leaves and tiny branches were caught in his hair. He wriggled himself out and brushed off his clothes.

“Here, let me help with your hair.” Olivia started plucking the sticks out.

“Thanks!” Jess said happily as he took off and shook the leaves off his beanie.

It was quiet for a couple of moments as they cleaned themselves up. Olivia felt her smile twitch.

“Hey, Jess,” She started slowly, “I’m… I’m sorry.”

Jess put his hat back on, “What for?”

“I know you don’t have the best feelings towards Aiden right now,” She stared at her feet, “I hope it doesn’t feel like I’m dragging you along.”

“What? No, no, no!” Jess exclaimed, “Look, I was real mad last night, but I wanted to go with you!”

Olivia brought her head back up to Jess, a tiny smile of relief on her face.

“And I’m sticking to my word. We’ll stick together no matter what.” Jess shoved his hands into his pockets. “And uh… We don’t really have a choice when it comes to trusting Aiden and his friends, but things aren’t gonna get better if I keep blowing up like I did yesterday--” A sudden grunt interrupted Jess and caused both of them to jump.

They turned to see Aiden struggling to get out of the bush. How much did he hear? Hopefully not too much. Hopefully.

Aiden tries to use his free arm to pull the rest of his body out, but after a few more seconds he stopped fighting and let his face fall to the ground.

“... I’m stuck again.” He could hear Olivia and Jess snicker as they grabbed his hand and began to pull. They were able to pull him out in no time.

“Thanks.” Aiden said as he shook off the dirt--and the embarrassment. “The memorials are on the other side of the cemetery. Should only take a minute to get there.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When they entered the cemetery, Jess kept his eyes peeled for any familiar names on the gravestones. A few graves had rather unusual colors to them. There was a dusty red one, an uncommon shade, but not odd. Then he’d walk by a blue one; he’s never seen a grave that color before--well, Reuben’s memorial had bits of blue in it, does that count?--Then he walked by a purple grave, a green one, an orange one?

“This is… The happiest looking cemetery I’ve ever seen.” Olivia said as she beheld the rest of the graveyard.

“Is that a compliment?” Aiden asked.

Olivia kept staring at tombstones until she finally said “I don’t know, I’ve just never seen a place for the dead look so… Lively.”

Taking in the rest of the graveyard, Jess had to agree . What was usually a dark, gloomy, dreary place was so, so vibrant. Even under this cloudy, dull weather, the many colors still popped. This was more like a miniature festival than a cemetery! Many tombstone tops looked like roofs with their pointed tops and little overhangs. Their heights and widths would range from short and broad to tall and scrawny. Heck, Jess could spot a couple of graves as tall as him.

“What the heck are your cemeteries like?” Aiden glanced back at them.

“Plainer colors, I guess?” Jess shrugged, “You know, blacks, grays, browns, nothing too flashy.” The only exception Jess could think of was, once again, Reuben's memorial.

“Really?” Aiden sounded genuinely baffled by this. “We hardly got any of those. What do they mean?”

Olivia and Jess exchanged confused expressions with each other before Jess faced Aiden again, “Sadness? Loss? I don’t think there’s any real meaning behind those colors, honestly.”

“Right, we don’t typically associate bright colors with the dead.” Olivia added in, viewing the cemetery again. Scrawny trees and tiny flowers with stems that reached her knees that were peppered around the area; most were in between the graves. She thought about Aiden’s question, “I’m assuming the colors here represent something specific?”

“Yeah, buncha things. Too many for me to keep track of, but I remember the important ones.” Aiden started as they continued walking down the damp dirt path. “When a person dies, their friends and family can choose the color of their grave. It’s usually… Like… Hm. It’s supposed to show what the person was like when they were alive, ya know? Yellow for the happy people,” He explained while pointing to a shorter grave of said-color, “orange for determination, that sorta stuff. Stella’s memorized ‘em all. If you ever wanna know more, she’s the person to ask.”

As Aiden kept talking, Olivia and Jess kept taking in their surroundings. Jess had noticed something. Every single grave they passed was decorated with gems. The gems were placed close by the names and dates of those who passed, and seeing so many of them in various shapes, colors, and sizes made him curious…

“Hey, uh, what’s with the gems?” Jess spoke up, “Are they real?” He was wondering if maybe they were regular stones that were carved and painted. There was no way Obsidian Town could have an overabundance of minerals, especially since the citizens needed a mining license.

“Nah, they’re glass.” Aiden replied, “I thought they were real myself until we had to choose some gems for Lukas--” He suddenly stopped in his tracks. Jess and Olivia peered over and saw a lit redstone torch placed in front of a grave. Aiden plucked the torch from its place, a scowl on his face as he blew out the flame then chucked the burnt wood across the cemetery.

“Anyways, what was I sayin’?” He began walking again, as if nothing out of the ordinary happened.

‘What was that about?’ Jess thought to himself. It must’ve been linked to the cult, right? Why else would Aiden have done that?

“Right!” He snapped his fingers,” So the gems are basically like the colors of the graves. We had to go to this special place where the people there pulled out huge chests filled with those things. Took us forever to pick ‘em out.”

“Each color chosen means something for the person that passed…” Jess whispered to himself as Aiden’s words from earlier echoed through his mind. He was rather fond of how Obsidian Town remembered their dead. It was more uplifting than what he was used to. Maybe he could make some changes to the graveyards once they get back to Beacon Town.

Aiden was quiet for a minute before he added, “Gill took the longest. He was real worried his gem wouldn’t be good enough.” He paused. “He… he ended up crying.”

His voice got quieter, “I hated seeing him like that.”

Jess and Olivia both tried to think of what to say, what ‘s the next best thing to do, but Aiden immediately changed the subject.

“What do you guys put on your graves?” Aiden asked, he sounded ‘normal’ again, but kept facing away from the two.

Jess hesitated, “Names. Dates.”

“A description of the person who passed.” Olivia added.

“Just words? Doesn’t that get a little… Depressing?” Aiden narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, you think that’s sad? We once wrote out an entire dictionary on a guy’s grave back in our universe.” Jess answered jokingly. Olivia let out a little giggle, and they even heard a chuckle out of Aiden.

That small chuckle was all Jess needed to hear to continue telling quips and share short, funny stories at Aiden’s way to try and lighten the mood. Aiden was soon sharing his own experiences mixed in with his own humor. Aiden and Jess were bouncing off of each other, making fun of their own universes while Olivia would throw in her commentary every now and then.

‘This is so weird…’ Olivia thought to herself. The three of them laughing while walking through a cemetery… it’s something that’d usually feel inappropriate to do, but here she wasn’t all that bothered.

This whole experience has been surreal. Entering a rainbow of a cemetery through a bush felt like something that’d only happen in her dreams, yet here she was. Honestly, it was a nice change of pace to not feel worried for her and her friend’s life for a moment.

She had nearly forgotten the dread she felt when she originally suggested coming here.

And then Aiden spoke up.

“Okay, okay, we’re finally--” Aiden stopped. “Here.” All happiness in his tone had left.

That didn’t sound good. That didn’t sound good at all. Olivia grabbed onto the string of her hoodie and began to pull on it as she slowly peered over Aiden. Standing before him were two graves. Olivia’s eyes were drawn to the shorter one. She trailed down the grave, the coral color fading into a deep shade of red until she stopped at the flowers laying beside a lit, redstone torch.

Olivia held her breath. Jess got close to her as Aiden approached the torch. He grabbed it by it’s barely-scorched base and brought it to his face to blow out the flame. Instead of throwing it away like the last one, he just placed it to the side, only a few feet away from the grave. He wore an expression neither of them have ever seen on him before. Fear? Heartache? Pain.

“We’re here.” He said again. His voice completely devoid of energy. His body was stiff as he walked to the side of the grave, with his hands curled into tight fists and placed at his sides. There was another redstone torch placed in front of the grave to the right, but Aiden didn’t say anything. Olivia took a few small steps forward and gave him a small nod.

As she knelt down in front of the grave--in front of her grave--she heard Aiden tell Jess ‘Come on’, followed by the sound of footsteps growing distant.

She sat alone at her grave.

She didn’t want to read the text. She really didn’t. Isn’t that funny? That was one of the main reasons she wanted to come here. To see if there was a chance she could read about her death, what happened to her, but now that she was here, she was terrified. She looked everywhere else but the epitaph before her. She stared at the small bouquet of flowers on the dirt--the dirt… She noticed it seemed… Messier compared to the other graves. Like someone tried digging through it. The bouquet, though! There was a mix of flowers held together by a red ribbon. Clusters of tiny, magenta flowers, a few pointed, white flowers with many petals, and a type of flower she actually knew the name of: Lilys.

She then brought her gaze up, catching a quick glimpse of her name written in gold, to observe the gems placed into the tombstone. Two orange gems, one yellow, one gold, another maroon, and the gem in the center was amber. They formed an arch around the words in the center.

‘Stop avoiding it.’ She told herself, but she didn’t listen. She turned to Lukas’ grave. She had to see his. She had to. It was right here and--and he’s her friend.

His grave was turquoise and had thin, white stripes that stretched across the top, and seven gems instead of six. Three on each side, and the last gem placed above his epitaph. He was given flowers as well.

The words engraved in the stone read: “LUKAS: Courageous and loyal. An inspiring leader and a brilliant friend.”

Short but wonderful. It was perfect. Reading it over and over again, she thought about just how lucky she and Jess were with having their friend still around. He’s done so much for them. Constantly helping Jess run Beacon Town, aiding the citizens, always visiting her and Axel whenever he got the chance… He could’ve left them during that Witherstorm. He could’ve ditched them at any moment when things got too rough, but he never did.

‘I need to give Lukas a hug when I get back.’ Olivia thought to herself. Lukas could still leave them one day without warning. He could finally get sick of them, die in a brutal fight, or--or end up being kidnapped like this Lukas--Olivia squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, trying to get those awful thoughts out. Don’t think about that. He’s still alive. He still cares about them. He loves them.

Olivia kept her eyes closed for a moment longer before finally bringing her attention back to her own grave. She forced herself to read the words written for her; “OLIVIA: An intelligent, creative, and hardworking engineer. A bright spark of joy even during the darkest of days.”

Olivia stared at her words. A weird sense of reassurance was arising. She’s never thought highly of herself. She’d sometimes convince herself that others couldn’t tolerate her, and that she was one mistake away from ruining everything. She wondered if this Olivia ever felt a similar way. Was she constantly trying to make sure she said and did the right things? Try to fix any issue immediately so her friends didn’t think she was useless? Always second guessing her own thoughts?

Did this Olivia know her friends always loved her? Or was she riddled with fears and doubts until her sudden end?

‘She died a couple of years ago, didn’t she?’ Olivia tried to recall any mention of her death from Aiden. She wasn’t certain, but whether it was a few years ago, or a few months ago, didn’t change the fact that she died so soon.

She was young.

Younger than her.

To have her life end on an abrupt note… It scared her. It scared her so much. Everything could be taken away one day.

As she sat over her body, she felt her fingers begin to dig into the dirt, like they were trying to reach in and find the other Olivia’s hand. A sick form of curiosity made her want to know more. More about this Olivia. Her life. Her mind. To have a connection with her. It was her body she was sitting over, afterall. Her corpse. Her--

“Olivia?” Jess placed his hand on her shoulder. “Are you doing okay?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Come on.” Aiden gave Jess a light tap with his hand. He started walking away from Olivia. Jess hesitated. He looked at his friend for a second more before leaving with Aiden.

“We just needa give her some space.” Aiden said.

“Right, totally understand.” Jess wanted to stick around for a few minutes longer to study his friends’ graves, but that could wait. He didn’t want to make Olivia feel like he was breathing down her neck.

Jess thought back to the many instances where his friends’ lives were in danger, when they were so close to being taken away from him. He hated seeing his friends’ lives at stake more than anything; he’d go through Hell and back to protect them, and to be in a place where their deaths became a reality was so hard to wrap his head around.

Lukas left without a trace. No familiar faces to comfort him during his last moments, only enemies looming over him while he was in an unknown place. Just thinking about his fate made Jess worry sick about his Lukas back at home.

It was silent for a few minutes. Only their footsteps filled the void.

“So…” Jess started, wanting to make small talk, “What do the colors for Olivia and Lukas’ graves mean?”

“Olivia’s creativity.” Aiden replied, sounding short. “And Lukas’--” He paused and scanned the cemetery. He took a left turn and continued walking between the graves. “He’s…Don’t make fun of us, but his color stands for friendship.”

“Friendship?” Jess perked up at the word.

“I know, it’s probably super cheesy or whatever, but it fits him. It really does.” Aiden said.

“No, no, I completely agree! He’s a great friend--one of the best! If I had to recount all the times he’s been there for me, we’d be here all day.”

“Right. Same here.” They stopped at another grave with another redstone torch in front of it. This grave was short and purple, with many cool-colored gems placed in it. Jess didn’t recognize the name.

Aiden grabbed the torch and blew out the flame. Jess decided to ask another question.

“Any idea why The Awakening puts those torches there?”

“Probably for no good reason.” Aiden answered through gritted teeth as he chucked the wood as hard as he could across the cemetery.

There was something unnerving about the torches left at the grave. Their red glow would take over the colors of the graves, and their light under a thick, cloudy sky would claim your attention and make it hard to pull away. Their soft crackling would fill in the silence whenever he and Aiden didn’t talk; the occasional loud snaps from the flames would make Jess believe there was a threat following them.

Jess stopped at a tombstone and picked up a vase of flowers that had fallen aside. “The gems on their graves, what do they mean? Do you remember ‘em?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’d remember what the gems on my own friends’ graves would mean!” Aiden snapped.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that!” Jess held the vase tighter. “I was just--I wanted to know more about them.” Great. Now they’re both feeling terrible.

Aiden’s demeanor softened when he saw Jess’ reaction. “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I’ve been--” He hesitated, “I’ve just been thinking about someone is all.”

“No, it’s no problem.” Jess carefully placed the small vase back upright. He folded his arms and joined Aiden’s side.

“I’m uh, still interested to hear bout those gems if you’re wanting to share.” He said.

“Yeah. I can do that for ya.” Aiden answered.

“For Lukas,” Aiden began, walking through the grass. “Gill chose blue. I remember that one’s loyalty. Gold for compassion. White for safety--he’d always double check our belongings every time to make sure we were prepared.”

Aiden stopped and grabbed a torch, “It was kinda annoying, but I miss it now.” He blew it out and threw the wood.

They kept moving.

“Rose picked pink.” Aiden started running his fingers over the grave tops, “She was real embarrassed when she chose it. Kept refusing to show us cause she thought we’d laugh at her.”

“I’m guessing pink’s for love?” Jess said, trying to make sure he wouldn’t trample any flowers.

“Yeah, and--” Aiden chuckled, “Rose wanted his description to be: Pretty blond dork with a decent sense of style. All of us were actually on board with it.”

“Did you end up pulling through with it?” Jess asked.

“Nah, the guys making the grave wouldn’t allow it.” Aiden spotted a couple of gravestones with torches by them. They were already burnt out. He grabbed two of the torches while Jess grabbed the last.

“What a bunch of killjoys.” Jess joked. Aiden laughed as he prepared to throw the burnt wood. Jess mimicked each step of Aiden’s. Hold, aim, then throw. Once they lost sight of the rubbish, they followed the dirt path to the entrance of the cemetery.

The cemetery wasn’t boxed in by hedges like the park, instead, it had a stone wall.

Aiden leaned against the wall. It didn’t look like the most comfortable surface--the rocks were jagged and would probably fall apart in moments--but he seemed unaffected by it. Jess stood nearby and took a peek through the gate beside them. Unlike the rough, uneven walls, the black fence was tall, sturdy, and had a huge, elegantly curved arch.

“Olivia’s got a few similar gems,” Aiden started, putting his hands in his pocket, “Two golds, yellow… She’s got amber--Man, I always mix those three up. They sound different enough but when they’re placed by each other, they all look the same. Amber’s slightly darker than yellow, but not as dark as gold. Amber’s positivity.”

“Lotta happy ones for her.” Jess commented. He’d been staring at the decorated buildings through the gate’s bars as he listened. He could spot bits of pots filled with flowers on the other side of the wall, their colors as eye-catching as the cemetery.

“Always made us happy.” Aiden said with a shrug. “She also had… Ah…” He pressed his lips together, “Orange! She had that one too. And then there’s…” He had to stop to think again.

“It’s not… Well, it looks like red, but it’s darker… Ah, shoot.” Aiden cursed to himself.

“Carmine? Maroon?” Jess tilted his head.

Aiden snapped his fingers, “Maroon! Right! Creativity; same thing as her grave. Picked it myself.” He said rather proudly.

“You guys really cared about her.” Jess mumbled. He tilted his head towards Aiden, “And I’m sure Olivia loved you guys all the same.”

Aiden stared back at him.

A small smile spread across his face, “Thanks.”

The two became quiet and looked over the array of colorful graves before them. The clouds slowly began to part; gems glistened as the rays of sun shone down on them.

“Should we check on Olivia now?” Jess asked after a few minutes of silence.

Aiden got off the stone wall and stretched his back, “Yeah, let’s go.”

~ ~ ~ ~

When the two returned to Olivia, the last thing they wanted to see was to see her in distress. The tips of her fingers were shoved into the dirt below, her eyes were stuck on the golden words in front of her, her mouth was parted--barely moving--with no voice to match. Jess couldn’t tell if she was trembling or not, but she was scared. Very scared.

Jess bit his lip and approached his friend. Aiden was right behind.

“Olivia?” Jess placed his hand on her shoulder, “Are you doing okay?”

Olivia jumped and jerked her hands out of the dirt.

“Yes--! Yeah, no, no don’t worry, I’m fine. Thanks--thank you for checking on me.” She replied frantically. She took deep breaths.

Before Jess could question anything, Olivia spoke up.

“Aiden, this uh--the substance mixed into the stone,” Her fingers trailed down the tombstone, “is it redstone dust?”

Her voice was shaky.

Aiden glanced at Jess, who was equally nervous as him, then said, “Actually, it is.”

He took a step closer to Olivia, “They don’t usually allow people to mix stuff like redstone or glowstone dust with the colors--especially cause they’re hard to find--but they made an exception for us.”

Olivia nodded along, blinking back tears.

Jess read her epitaph, “Guess all Olivia’s are just the greatest engineers out there, huh?”

“Damn right. She didn’t have a bunch of dust to work with, but she’d still crank out machine after machine like no tomorrow.” Aiden said, “Man, I remember every year for her birthday that’d be all she’d ever ask for. Not weapons, not new journals, not even a dang cake, just redstone dust. Course, the only places you could find ‘em were in caves or old shrines, right?” He asked while facing Lukas’ grave and grabbing the lit redstone torch below.

“Yup, we found a bunch of it yesterday.” Jess said, sitting besides Olivia.

“Right, and since it was so dangerous, she told us to not worry bout gettin’ it because ‘It’d be stupid to risk your life for some red powder’.” Aiden gestured with the torch, the flame getting frighteningly close to his hair.

“Well, I’d always lose track of dates and forget to get her a gift, so one of the other guys would back me up and tell Olivia we bought a gift ‘together’, and I felt so bad.” He thankfully blew out the fire after saying that.

“So then guess what I did one day?” Aiden said.

“Walked out and found a bag of redstone on the ground?” Jess asked sarcastically.

Aiden laughed, “I wish.”

Aiden began pacing, the trail of smoke whirling around him, “But I decided I’d bust into one of those dumb shrine and find some dust for her, and I didn’t tell anyone bout it besides Jesse. He was on board with the plan, he was great at findin’ stuff, plus two people finding dust was much easier than one.” Aiden fiddled with the burnt wood, “We headed off to the nearest shrine and actually found enough dust to fill up a bag and a half, but cause of the state of that dump, some rooms would collapse after you opened the door!”

“You two ended up getting hurt, didn’t you?” Olivia had her hand on her head, already concerned over the direction of this story.

“Course we did!” Aiden threw his arms up. “I swear anytime the two of us were together, things would fall apart or we’d break a bone--” Aiden stopped his talking to quickly chuck the wood away. “Anyways, anyways, we got back home right on time for Olivia’s birthday and man did we look awful. Clothes were all dirty, got some real bad scrapes on my knees, Jesse grabbed so much dust it looked like his fingers were covered in blood, and I somehow got a black eye? I think the top of a chest smacked me...”

Olivia rubbed her temples, “You two really shouldn’t have risked your lives over a birthday present--”

“That’s exactly what she said!” Aiden exclaimed, “Went through all that trouble, and you know how she reacted?”

“Panicked?” Olivia asked.

“Bet she loved it.” Jess said, giving Olivia a nudge.

“She did--but Hero did she freak out! Dropped her cake and rushed over to get us cleaned up. Olivia was wrapping up one of Jesse’s arms--” Aiden thought to himself for a second, “--I think a big rock landed on it? But she was going off on us. Raising her voice and lecturing us like she was our mom, telling us it’s a miracle we were still in one piece, and why in Hero’s name we did something so stupid.”

“I mean, it wasn’t stupid if things worked out for you.” Jess pointed out.

“Yeah, but still.” Aiden chuckled, “It was stupid. It was so, so stupid. But after that, she loved our present. I’d never seen her smile so much. She was working on her machinery, telling me and Jesse how everything worked while we pretended to understand.”

Aiden carefully leaned on Olivia’s grave, “Hero knows I didn’t understand a single thing she was sayin’, but seeing her so happy…” His smile grew as his voice softened, “It was great.”

“That’s all so sweet…” Olivia spoke softly. “I love it.”

She was shaking again.

Jess turned to his friend to mention something, but stopped when he saw Olivia staring at the ground, fingers picking at the dirt just like she was when they came back. That same, terrified expression on her face.

“Liv--?” Jess mumbled, but Olivia started rambling nonsense.

“I don’t know if my words mean much to you--I know I’m not her--but you’re a good friend, Aiden.” Her nails started to dig into the ground, “All of this, all that you’ve done for Olivia--you--you--Even when I just--” She kept stumbling over her words, “Even when she died one day you kept being so kind to me--”

The more she kept talking, the more concerned--the more scared--Aiden and Jess became.

“Hey, hey are you alright?” Jess reached out to hold her, but Olivia shot her head back up.

“I’m under here.” She whispered. Her voice was so unsteady.

Jess was taken aback, “What?”

“I’m under here.” She said again. “I’m so close.”

Her hand began to claw at the dirt, “I’m so close. My body’s all mangled up in that box below, and--and my hair’s so long now.” She felt sick talking about this, she felt sick thinking about it. “It’d be so easy to just dig myself up. For Aiden to see her again. Jesse--Jess, we’re so close. I could look at myself. Look at my body. I’m--”

“Olivia!” Jess shook her, “Do you want to get out of here?”

Aiden wanted to offer his support, but Olivia instantly got on her feet.

“Yes. Yes I want to leave. I want to go home.” She kept repeating that last sentence while she hugged herself, breathing heavily. She was freezing.

“Right, we need to head back anyways.” Aiden’s stomach was in knots seeing Olivia like this. His hands turned to fists, “I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have taken you here. I’m sorry--”

“Don’t.” Olivia cut in. “I wanted to go. You took me. I saw--I saw what I needed to. I appreciate it. Thank you.” She was stiff as a board.

Olivia took one last deep breath, “Let’s go home.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Damn them.

Damn them all.

Locked every damn door and window in this house. They’re hiding her, he knows they’re hiding her.

Did they really think locking themselves in would stop him? He used to live in this Hero forsaken house; he knows every nail, screw, and plank that makes up this despicable place.

He still remembers that trapdoor on the roof. He knows how to claw his way up there. He’ll pry it open with his own bare hands.

He’ll find her.

He will.

#mcsm #minecraft story mode #mcsm aiden #mcsm jesse #mcsm olivia #THANK U ENORMOUS THIC THANK U TO FRIEND IVY!!!#for reading this over and helping...... appreciate it all VERY much....#HOPE YOU ENJOY!!!#will add more tags in later!!!!! in rush right now dhfgnfdgfngd

14 notes · View notes

thatabitcryptic · 3 years

Note

Arg I just love the way you draw Ford and Fidds, they're so cute. Would you consider making a small guide to how you draw them, or tips?

:O Thank you so much!!!

And of course!! Ford is under the cut and I’ll add fidds a bit later :D

So Ford. He has a big ol face! (Which is what I will be focusing on here) - if you look at a photo of him in the show he has this jaw line.. but I prefer to just kinda keep it all in one shape, idk I think I just works a bit better in my style aha

So I start with a rough rectangle with round edges (this doesn’t have to be the final shape of his face,, I tend to change it a bit later on) - when I think of ford idk he’s serious but also like goofy as heck so my mind says big rectangle but soft

Eye placement- so leave a bit to room on his face for his side burns :) next you want to plonk the bottom of his eyes just above the halfway mark of his face

Up next is his nose! You wanna start the snoz just above his bottom eyelid and take the curve to of where his chin starts smoothing down

Now you can add his mouth, eye brows and butt chin hehe (I draw his mouth passing through his nose and then erase the middle-ish section for where his nose sits)

Up next is his ear! So I tend to draw it slightly down and out of line with his eyes (much like majority of this tutorial thingo I just think it looks a bit better here lmao)

But ruh roh you’re currently looking at what you have and his face shape looks a bit off!! It’s okay! You can go in and fix as you see fit (I do this often - the shape from before was just a scaffold of sorts so it’s fineeee)

Ok his hair is my favourite part!!!

So when I draw Ford’s hair i take creative liberty quite a bit skslskskskm

(I prefer to draw him with curls because ford and Mabel similarities are my favourite thing so I will add them as often as I can - also again with him being serious but goofy, you know our homeboy has a bit of silly billy in him because he got Mabel curls,,, anyway)

His hair all follows a sort of puff up and then a downwards flow,, it all points away from the stray curl on the left side of his head where the hair parts - notice it’s all rounded and there are no sharp spikes

Now his glasses! Again they curve around with no pointies (as a contrast to how I draw stans glasses as sharp rectangles and it also adds to his character’s softer side)

THEN YOURE DONE!!

Well unless you wanna add details idk (I add puffs in his hair when he is flustered because... ghibli hair...)

General tips!!

Use 👏 references 👏 - they don’t have to be photos!! In fact I seriously recommend finding artists you really like and if you aren’t sure of how to draw something (an angle or a piece of clothing idk) look at how they do it and put ur own spin on it! Drawing straight from a photo can be really daunting and having that buffer of how someone else interperates it can be really helpful!!

After a while you won’t need to reference as much because you will feel more confident in your ability to draw and you can rely more on ur brain and muscle memory :D (references are still helpful tho!!)

I know people say this a lot but also PRACTISE like you have no idea how much you can improve from just doing dumb doodles everyday - they don’t have to be perfect!

#anon u sweetie 🥺#I have no clue if this is helpful but here you go!!#:D #this is pre portal ford because I draw him the most ahaha #older Ford’s hair is a bit different #it’s just his face...#I might do the rest of him some other time lmao #Fidds will come a bit later I’m just lazy atm #asks #gravity falls #stanford pines #gravity falls fanart #my art #me saying words

36 notes · View notes

tard1sgays · 3 years

Text

Just A Scratch

Jamie's feeling down due to an injury he got fighting the Cybermen, so the Doctor and Zoe find an easy way to cheer him up.

on ao3.

"Ouch!"

"I did tell you not to move," the Doctor huffed, tugging aggressively at Jamie's hair with a comb.

Jamie couldn't sit still despite the Doctor's words; he never knew having your hair brushed could be so painful, "Aye well if yer' keep tugging at it so hard I'm gonnae flinch! Ouch!"

The Doctor tugged at a knot in Jamie's curly wisps, shaking his head at the boy's childishness, "Maybe if you hadn't been so thoughtless..."

"Hey now just a minute, I saved yer' life!" Jamie retorted, feeling somewhat betrayed, "If it were nae for me you'd be just a few wee ashes right now, floating 'round Cyberman territory," he pulled his head back away from the Doctor, pouting like a duck.

The Doctor shook his head again and leant down next to Jamie's ear, "You know very well I had it all under control."

"Aye but ya' said that last time and look what happened tae' the poor ol' professor!"

"Ah well yes that was rather unfortunate, but that I couldn't prevent," the Doctor groaned slightly, placing the comb down on the table and running his fingers through Jamie's hair to feel for any more knots. He'd always liked Jamie's hair, it was so soft and bounced lightly whenever he moved.

Jamie sighed and looked down at the bruises on his legs, "I guess I was a wee bit hasty..."

He sulked in the chair, going to fold his arms and whined when he realised he couldn't, "Ay for goodness sake! Doctor how long do I have to keep the blasted thing on for?"

"Well Jamie it's a cast, solid plaster. That'll be left on for quite some time I'm afraid."

Jamie's face saddened.

"You only have yourself to blame," said the Doctor, as he kissed Jamie softly on the cheek, smiling at him sweetly.

"I don' like it though,'' Jamie replied, standing up and brushing the strands of hair off his kilt. He was getting rather fed up of having a broken arm, it made him feel so useless. He couldn't do much on his own, and the Doctor had to help him with even the most basic of things like washing his hair and getting dressed. It was dreadful, and getting rather tiresome too.

He didn't regret it though, jumping in to save the Doctor like that, even if he did have a bone broken clean in half by a rather large and powerful Cyberman. After all, he'd never forgive himself if something happened to the Doctor.

"Oh, I have an idea!" The Doctor suddenly remarked, his face brightening up as if a beam of light had just hit him. He frantically looked around the room, his eyes searching for something.

"Doctor, what are yer' doing?"

"I won't be a moment Jamie," the Doctor said hastily, as he rushed out of the room unexpectedly, flustering Jamie slightly.

"What's he up to this time...?" Jamie grumbled to himself, sitting back down and sinking deeply into the brown worn cushions of the chair.

After a few minutes of boorishly waiting, the Doctor suddenly popped his head round the door frame, smiling vibrantly at Jamie, "What's your favourite colour?"

"Eh?" Jamie replied, confused.

"Oh never mind, we'll just bring them all in," he stuttered, as he and Zoe walked in clumsily, arms filled with dozens of brightly coloured felt tip pens and small tubes of glue and glitter. They lay them down on a small coffee table, pens rolling off onto the floor with a clack noise.

"Doctor, you could've at least brought a better table," Zoe huffed as she picked up all the pens hurriedly, whilst the Doctor made a small barricade with the glue tubes to keep them contained.

"What on earth is all of this?" Jamie asked, eyeing his two friends with a rather baffled look on his face.

"Can't you see Jamie?"

"Aye I can see just grand, doesn't mean I kno' what yer' doing."

"We're going to decorate your cast!" Zoe cheered, grinning like a cheshire cat from ear to ear. Oh how she loved crafty things, and it'd been so long since she last did something as fun as this. She was ecstatic, even more so than the Doctor, who was currently fiddling with a stuck pen lid like a child.

Jamie however, was still rather kerfuffled.

His eyes were scanning the pens and glitter rather aggressively, before letting out a barely audible "Huh?"

"What's wrong Jamie?" The Doctor asked, finally plucking off the pen lid and reaching over ready to doodle on Jamie's cast.

"I still don' understand."

The Doctor and Zoe exchanged glances, "Understand what?"

"Well, yer' going to draw on ma' arm thingy aren't ya'?"

The two nodded.

"Are yer' sure you can do that though? I mean, won't it cause an uh, what's it called... An infectious?"

The Doctor chuckled, "No Jamie, it won't cause an infection. It's perfectly safe!" He assured Jamie, as he drew a small heart on the edge of the plaster, "And also very fun."

Jamie took one look at the heart doodle, and suddenly his face lit up with delight, "Pass me a pen, I wan' a go!"

The Doctor passed him a blue pen, and Jamie bit the lid off before scribbling little drawings of

monsters and objects all over his cast. This was the happiest he'd been since he busted his arm, and it warmed the Doctor's hearts so very much to see his lover bright and bubbly again. Who knew that all it would take to cheer Jamie up was a few pens & some glitter?

"Aye, that's better!" Jamie simpered, looking pleased with himself before twisting his arm to show the Doctor his new drawing, "Ta da! What'd ya' think?"

The Doctor couldn't help but let out a small giggle at Jamie's sweet child-like drawing.

There was a TARDIS, or should I say more of a wobbly blue rectangle in the background, with a small dwarf (Zoe) standing next to it, and in front of that were two carefully drawn almost people.

One of the Doctor, and one of Jamie, holding hands with big smiles on their faces.

Zoe looked over at the drawing, tilting her head to try and see it better, "Where am I on the drawing?"

"Ay it's obvious, yer' there," Jamie furrowed his eyebrows, pointing at the small human-like blob by the TARDIS.

"That can't be me, that's a gnome!"

"Actually, it's a dwarf."

"Jamie McCrimmon!" Zoe shouted, annoyed at being portrayed in such a ridiculous way.

"Ay come on now lassy, it's fairly accurate considering my artistic skills," Jamie sniggered, nudging Zoe playfully, but Zoe wasn't having it.

"Oh Doctor can't you tell him to not be so harsh!"

But of course unsurprisingly, even the Doctor couldn't hold back his laughter, "Well Zoe, I think it's pretty accurate too if I'm honest..!"

The Doctor rested his head on Jamie's shoulder, as they both laughed at the dwarf Zoe drawing like children at a funfair.

"I swear you can both be such, such... Such men at times! And so childish too!" Zoe grunted, glaring at the two idiots before leaving the room and shutting the door aggressively behind her.

But Jamie and the Doctor were still laughing, and they only stopped because their stomach and faces were starting to ache.

The Doctor wiped a small tear from his eye after finally calming himself down, and smiled so lovingly at Jamie, "feeling better?"

"Aye, much better," he responded, kissing the Doctor softly on the cheek, "Thank you."

The Doctor pulled him in for a gentle hug, resting his chin on the top of Jamie's head, "Just remember, if you ever feel even just a little bit down, I promise you there's always a way both Zoe and I can help, okay?"

Jamie nuzzled his head into the Doctor's chest, listening to his two hearts beat. He wasn't sure why, but he always found listening to the Doctor's hearts so comforting, "Aye, I kno'."

They sat there comfortably in silence for some time, just enjoying each other's company and warmth, not uttering even a breath, but then Jamie piped up, "Hey Doctor, d'ya think we should apologise to Zoe?"

The Doctor shifted his head to look at Jamie, "No no, she'll be fine, we've certainly done much worse before, not that that's something to brag about."

"Aye, s'pose ya' right."

They sat it in silence for a few more minutes.

"...D'ya think we'd get away with annoying her some more then?" Jamie smirked, almost sheepishly.

The Doctor looked at Jamie with a rather, unrecognisable expression. Jamie couldn't tell what he was thinking, and he wasn't sure if he liked it.

"Well, I suppose just a little bit more teasing won't do anymore harm now will it," the Doctor grinned in a kind of impish-like way, readjusting his disheveled fringe before stretching his arms and standing up. He held his hand out to Jamie, and Jamie knew that look all too well, "Come along now Jamie," the Doctor spoke, a dark but mischievous tone, "We've got work to do."

End.

#my writing #fanfic #doctor who #second doctor #jamie mccrimmon #zoe heriot #classic doctor who #classic who #patrick troughton #frazer hines #wendy padbury #dw #dr who #60's #ao3

11 notes · View notes

aubrielegault-blog · 5 years

Text

TV vs. Table

Our TV did not work tonight.

Picture a “no power” situation, as if you were sitting in a thunderstorm with candles lighting your hallways. Okay, so we had power, just no TV. We had started a fire before we knew our TV was out so our ambience was already set. Typically we have dinner in front of the TV, watching... something...anything. It can range from movies to new TV shows, to something on Netflix...to reruns of Big Bang Theory. Almost all of our dinners are in front of the tube. Which I use to love, I use to look forward to the day being done and to just sit mindlessly and relax with a meal. But in the past few months, I have been experiencing a change- I’m not quite sure what to call it or what to reference it to, but just that I needed a change in what I was doing with my downtime. See- we don’t have kids. So we don’t “need” to sit down to a table for our meal and talk about our day. Or so I thought. I thought that allowing our brains to have a vacation every night from work, from life, from thought, from just about anything (picture a flat line on a cardiopulmonary monitor... beeeeeeeeep) was good for us. It was a much-needed break from reality. We didn’t have to think, we didn’t have to do much of anything but sit mesmerized by flashing pictures and sound coming from a rectangle screen. (Sorry, but “box” isn’t cutting it anymore for the shape of a TV- we’re all rocking a 2:3 ratio now.)

Now, first, you’re going to think to yourself that my marriage is a piece of shit. When I say “we” I am referring to my husband and myself (and my dog). I already mentioned no kids. So it’s just the two/three of us. It sounds like we ignore each other and are focused on TV shows. Which, to be honest, is probably the case come later evening. But- I want to cushion the blow a bit and tell you that it’s nothing like you’re assuming. We go to bed with each other every night, we always sleep together, we cuddle in the beginning, there isn’t a day that goes by that we don’t kiss and even flirt (boob grabbing, ass smacking, teasing, the whole bit). We have sex on a regular basis- although I would have it more- but I am a rare, randy/horny female.... and my husband is 9 years older than me. When we are not “traveling” (or for me, at a shoot) we work from home- so we see each other and we have a good idea on what is going on with our work lives. We also love to go on drives and hikes (more so in the summertime) and that’s where we do one of two things- we either enjoy music (occasional podcasts) or we chat- about all sorts of stuff. So it’s not like we don’t have conversations. We’re also both independent people- in the sense of we don’t need to share or divulge every tiny little thing to someone, we’re perfectly fine with what’s going on in our heads... and we also are perfectly content with enjoying our own muses. Like- my husband can watch YouTube videos on Jeeps climbing boulders, the best way to chop wood, tiny houses in Alaska and drummers with one hand. And I- well I can swim, do yoga, read, write, listen to music.... shit, I can go to concerts, movies, dinner, you name it- by myself. And it doesn’t bother me. ...As I said, two independent people. On the flip side- I rely on David for many things (outside of just good ol’ companionship) and he relies on me for things as well. Basically, a long-winded paragraph to say, that I don’t think there is anything wrong with my marriage or my relationship with my husband. Could it be better? Always. When is that not the answer? Usually, things can always improve. But I am not writing this as a red flag to my marriage. More of an observation.

So back to... our TV isn’t working. It started off with each of us enjoying a gin martini while working- David was working on setting up the new TV and I was finishing some editing. The fire was already roaring and most of the dinner was cooking. I cam out to finish dinner- throw some salmon on the skillet and steam some broccoli. David could not get the TV to connect. So the centerpiece in our living room was a black hole for the night. I joked that he might actually have to have dinner with me at the table- which is now shoved in a corner and will only fit two people comfortably unless I pull it away from the wall. (I did this on purpose- more open space.) ...And so, we did. I plated our meal and we actually sat at the dinner table. We happened to have a growler of our all-time favorite beer, so we poured that and enjoyed a nice 12% Triple IPA with our salmon and baked potato. It was nice- like a typical dinner at a restaurant where we chatted and enjoyed a beer... only we didn’t have to tip and we had to load our own dishwasher. I knew instantly though, that we needed to incorporate this back into our lives. Do we need to do it every night? No, I don’t think we do. I’m fine with finding some sort of happy medium between enjoying some TV programs and having dinner with conversation.

After dinner... we still didn’t have a TV. At one point both of us were on the floor in front of the fireplace. We stroked our dog and spent a little time with him, after all, he is dying of cancer. The fireplace was nice. I busted out my foam roller and rolled out my back and did a few stretches. David cleaned up the kitchen. And then, we grabbed our devices. David sat down on the couch and pulled out his phone. I was inspired by the way our night went + books/podcasts that I’ve been listening too on minimalism and less tech that I grabbed my laptop to write this piece. I will say that I didn’t grab my phone and I actually did not open up my laptop and look at any social media or email sites. I simply started writing.

Even so- here we were on a random Wednesday night and after some quality time spent together we couldn’t help but to retreat to some sort of technical device. ...Or vise. And that’s really the overwhelming theme of what I have been listening and reading about- this technology that we own in our pockets are vises and we cannot live without them.

Me included.

I am slowly trying to grasp and practice this idea that life doesn’t revolve around my iPhone or my Instagram or my Facebook. Instead, those apps can be included, sporadically, into my life. And yes, I have to have Gmail to conduct business, there is no other way. But emails and social media and the internet, in general, shouldn’t BE my life.

I have a long way to go. The world has a long way to go. But I can see a small shift in how we treat those wonderful little things we call smartphones. Over time I think a lot of the population will come to the realization that we were inundated by the sheer brilliance of this technology and we were mesmerized by what it could do for us that we let it consume our lives. And, after some time, perhaps a long honeymoon phase, we are now slowly realizing that our attachment to these devices is not as worthwhile as we thought. We need balance in our lives. (One of my all-time favorite words for life is a balance.) We need to be able to use our smartphones and our technology to benefit it us in business aspects and perhaps to make a few tasks in every-day-life a little easier. But we also need to step away, turn off the TV, turn on the fireplace, and put our phones away and enjoy one another.

Random Thoughts (and quotes) on Minimalism and Less-Tech Lives

Just by trying to read a book, a good book that I am generally interested in reading, it has cut my screen time down a lot. Over the past month every time my “screen time analysis” pops up it says I am down ___ percentage. It’s been going down consistently for weeks now.

The book, Bored and Brilliant, is so far... brilliant and not at all boring.

I took a few very nice (like Portland boutique expensive) clothes items out of my closet this week. Sometimes- it just looks fantastic on while in the store and then at home, it just doesn’t work. This is what bothers me about clothes shopping... I’m all for quality over quantity. I am the type of person that doesn't mind dropping $$$ on a great pair of pants or a perfect blouse if I know that it will last a while and stay looking nice after I wash it ten times. I don’t need hundreds of options in my closet. Um, I don’t even need more than ten options. But sometimes- I fail. I buy something that in the end just doesn’t work out. And those are the pieces that are so hard to let go of. Even though I don’t love the clothes and I don’t wear them I don’t want to give them up because they cost a lot of money. ...But what good are they doing in my closet? They are taking up space. Which in the end, it takes up my time. And I want all of my time. So... the three shirts that I was clinging to, are now officially out of my closet. Now there is room for something I WILL wear.

I will have to continue my thoughts on this phenomenon- and share a lot more about the book, Bored and Brilliant. But right now, my bed is calling me. That 12% beer is telling me to close my eyes, and so I will obey its command.

#notv #minimal #minimalsim #boredandbrilliant #marriage

1 note · View note

andy-clutterbuck · 2 years

Photo

Warning Signs | 9x03

#HELLO MY GORGEOUS OLD MAN #Rick Grimes #*#rg #S9 #💕 Fuzzy Daddy 💕#(✪‿✪)ノ♡ 🐻#love his big ol rectangle head #when his sweaty fuzzy hair got all spiky (◡‿◡✿)#just want to hide in his neck and nuzzle into the santa beard #excuse me but The Nose™#i love me a dirty sweaty man #KING RICHARD FIRST OF HIS NAME #like a gracefully aging king #who doesn't need to but he's still out leading his troops into battle #would rest my face in his dirty neck #idc #bless all the lines on your face they're beautiful and sacred #rogue neck fuzzies 💙

94 notes · View notes

moczothe1st · 6 years

Text

Let’s Play Fire Emblem IV: Genealogy of the Holy War, Part 13: The Invasion of Doucheland

Part 12

Welcome back to Fire Emblem IV. Last week, we crossed the Silesse border into our old homeland, the kingdom of Grannvale. And here she is, right now! Hey there, Valey. You’re looking very invade-able this evening. Let me slip into something a little more militaristic, and I’ll be right with you.

Zaxon Castle has barely fallen, yet before Sigurd can so much as rest, the hordes of Grannvale stand before him at the captured Lubeck Castle.

For Sigurd, to challenge Langbalt is an opportunity to avenge his father, Byron, framed by Langbalt for his crimes. Beyond Lubeck, in the desert town Phinora…

Velthomer Castle, on Grannvale’s border with the Yied Desert,

And in Belhalla, the royal capital of Grannvale, Lord Arvis serves to aid the bedridden King Azmur, while Chancellor Reptor of Freege maintains peace and order in the city. A long road to Belhalla awaits Sigurd… a clash with Grannvale en route is inevitable. Sigurd refuses to endanger the people of Silesse any further in this conflict. He is determined to fight to the end. The year is Grann 760, early spring. The fields of Silesse peacefully rest beneath a deep blanket of snow…

…. Starting with a neutral unit. Not promising.

(Oh, hey Sigurd’s dad. Glad you aren’t murdered! .... Wait, how are you not murdered? Weren’t you framed for Kurth’s murder like a year ago? How are you still... going?)

Byron: No… not until the exalted blade is in your hands…

Langbalt: My ambush may have put an end to Chalphy’s Grünritter paladin brigade, but the survival of Byron alone leaves that utterly meaningless!

Random Idiot: Y-yes, sir… but, milord, Byron is gravely wounded… surely, he has very little time left…

Langbalt: I’ve never heard such naïve drivel! Byron may not be long for this world, but he’s determined to get the holy sword Tyrfing to his son, with the very last of his strength. Do you not understand the threat that Sigurd would pose to us, should he get his hands on that damnable sword?!

(… Well, I do now. Thanks for the heads up, definitely gonna get me that sword.)

Langbalt: Move out and kill Byron, immediately!

Random Idiot: Y-yes sir! Consider it done!

Langbalt: For the gods’ sakes, he’s leading the elite Grauenritter brigade! How could it take him so long to put down the Isaachian resistance?! First Lex, now Dannan… why must both of my sons be so worthless?!

Andre: Come now, Lord Langbalt, sir. Don’t worry about a thing. After all, you’ve still got the Beigenritter and I on your side.

Langbalt: I suppose you’re right, Andre. Be sure that your men are ready to join the fray at a moment’s notice.

Andre: Heh… it would be my pleasure, sir.

Langbalt: Duke Ring… may you be at peace…

(Awww, he’s a treasonous murdering lunatic with family values. How sweet. Just a reminder that while Reptor might want to run the country, Langbalt’s motivation can best be summed up as ‘Fuck House Chalphy’. He really has no issues with anyone else. Which kinda makes him worse, honestly, since it means he murdered the prince just to screw with Sigurd’s dad.)

Oifey: I don’t believe so. The Lubeck occupation seems to be pursuing him, so they’re most likely not with them.

Sigurd: I see. Let’s give them a hand. We’ll be clashing with Langbalt’s army sooner or later, so why not make the first move? Move out! Our target is their front lines. Today’s victory hinges on this first strike!

… You know, after we spend hours fighting in the arena. First, though, our three upcoming promotions.

Mmmmm. I also do a little inventory shifting; Ayra gives her bolt sword to Erin, who actually has the magic to back it up, and Azel gives his Magic Ring to Taillte, who needs it more than he does even after promotion. Now, then, time for some gladiatorial combat to remind the world what heroes we are!

Sigurd: Seven wins, gained three levels: +3 HP, +3 Strength, +1 Speed, +1 Luck, +2 Defense

Arden: Seven wins, gained three levels: +3HP, +3 Strength, +2 Speed, +1 Luck, +1 Defense

Lex: Five wins, gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Strength, +1 Speed

Azel: Seven wins, gained three levels: +3 HP, +1 Skill, +1 Strength, +1 Magic, +1 Luck

Aideen: Seven wins. Actually can’t level up anymore! All that warping and physicing maxed her out.

Midir: Three wins, Gained one level: +1 Speed, +1 Luck. Just… the fuck, dude.

Holyn: Seven wins, Gained two levels: +1 HP, +1 Luck, +2 Defense

Ayra: wins, Gained two levels: +2 Strength, +1 Defense

Jamke: Seven wins, Gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Skill, +1 Strength, +1 Defense

Dew: Seven wins, Gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Skill, +1 Luck, +1 Defense

Lewyn: Seven wins, Gained three levels: +3 HP, +1 Skill, +1 Magic

Lachesis: Seven wins, Gained two levels: +1 HP, +1 Resistance, +1 Speed

Beowulf: Five wins, Gained one level: +1 HP, +1 Skill, +1 Defense

Erin: Seven wins, Gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Skill, +1 Strength, +2 Luck, +2 Defense.

Bridget: Seven wins, Gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Speed, +1 Magic, +1 Luck

Taillte: Seven wins, Gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Defense, +1 Resistance

And yes, Arden did so well because he still had the Brave Sword for his attempts, and he promoted halfway through.

The stat bonuses are nothing special, but this is actually a really good promotion. He gains the ability to use spears, axes, and bows in addition to his swords, and picks up for himself the truly obnoxious Pavise skill all those enemy bosses use to ruin your day. I’m pleased, Arden. You don’t get to get married and I will never use you again because this has been a giant pain, but you’re an okay person anyway.

So here’s the map. Our starting position is in the northwest; enemy formations are marked by red rectangles, and Byron is the yellow dot. Our first job is to reach him before he dies. He will not attack enemies (he’s unarmed), so he’ll spend the whole time running, but he’s also wounded and can’t outrun most of his pursuers. You won’t lose the map if you don’t get to him in time, but you will lose access to Tyrfing, which… no. Just no. Not acceptable. So our first, crucial job is to clear out that patch of enemies between us and Byron, and Sigurd has to be leading the charge because only he can talk to his dad, obviously. But we also do need to send a rearguard to the west, to wipe out the enemy unit there and protect the assorted villages from bandits. So looks like we’ll be splitting the army again, I know I love that!

First step, I send Sigurd, Midir, Lachesis, and Beowulf about halfway through their move range, and then have Sylvia run up to Dance them all. This will let them reach the enemy line on their first turn, doing some solid damage before they’d otherwise be able to.

This not only clears a few units, but it gives this enemy brigade a target. They’ll be moving away from Byron, which is key. He can’t take many hits at all, so every enemy you can draw away from him is worth it.

Now, there’s also villages to the north and south of our castle that have bandits right next to them, so I have Holyn and Ayra both take one. They’ll be able to reach them in a turn and have 100% chance of clearing the bandits immediately. Erin begins moving to the one directly east of the castle; it’s on a peninsula so she can reach it fastest by cutting across the ocean. Most of the foot soldiers move west to intercept the enemy there, while Lex, Azel, Aideen, and Bridget move to start catching up with the front line. Why Aideen and Bridget? Because their brother is there, and… well….

Aideen: I… I did. I’ve heard he murdered our father, and later Mahnya in Silesse as well… I can’t believe it. I can barely imagine the evil which would have possessed him to do such monstrous things…

Bridget: … I’m going to kill him. There’s no other way. Whatever the evil is, he has to be stopped. Right here, right now. You understand, right, Aideen?

Aideen: Bridget…

Bridget: Andre’s crimes are House Jungby’s crimes. They’re our crimes too, our responsibility. They reflect on us, even when they really shouldn’t. I know I’ll have his blood on my hands for the rest of my life, but… Aideen, I want you to understand.

Aideen: Of course I do, Bridget…

Well, big sis isn’t having any of that patricide, Andre ol’ buddy. It was nice knowing you.

Ya dick.

End turn.

Hot damn. Beowulf must be sick of being the team joke, because that level was brilliant. Either that or he thinks I’ll fail at saving Byron, have to reset, and lose it. Either or.

(Wait, Belhalla looks like that? And it took us this long to realize they’re evil? Dammit, guys.)

(Hey, Arvis! Long time no see! How’s your hair doing? Still deceptive?)

Arvis: Duke Langbalt and his army stand ready at Lubeck. It’s only a matter of time before their insurrection is suppressed.

King Azmur: Even so… even now, it is almost beyond belief, is it not? That Lord Byron would slay Kurth… or that Sigurd would incite a rebellion…

Arvis: Your Majesty

(Okay, he gets points for knowing the right term.)

Arvis: If I may explain once more… Lord Byron was plotting against the crown in concert with the late Lord Ring of Jungby. His Highness fell afoul of their assault, an act to which our very own Dukes Reptor and Langbalt bore witness.

(“And I mean, how could you disbelieve those faces?” )

Arvis: His Highness learned of their schemes to seize the throne too late, and paid for it with his life. Naturally, Lord Sigurd had a hand in his father’s revolt. What clearer proof is there than how he still harbors an enemy, the prince of Isaach? There is no question. Their treason against the state is grave. I, too, feel this pain as my own, having lost not only a prince but a father-in-law…

(… Oh no.)

Arvis: And in the name of my beloved wife, Princess Deirdre, I will never allow Sigurd’s traitorous rampage to stand!

(HURK)

Arvis: Even if Duke Langbalt fails to defeat him, that is not the end! The elite fire mages of House Velthomer, the Rotenritter, stand ready to stop this rebellion once and for all!

Azmur: I see… if you say it is so, then… perhaps this could never have been avoided…

Azmur: Ah… Deirdre. Bless you… you truly are a sweet child. Even if I have little time left, you give me hope for Grannvale’s future… I can scarcely imagine when Kurth could have had as fine a daughter as you. But there is no doubt in my mind. None outside the royal House Belhalla possess the Brand that graces your brow. Whence did you come, my dear? Where in the world have you been all along…

(“In the woods, mostly. It turns out that isolating me from all men was a great idea and they should have put way more effort into it. I genuinely can’t be trusted.”)

Deirdre: I’m so sorry, Grandfather. I simply don’t remember. Try as I may, I simply cannot recall anything…

Azmur: Ah, forgive me, my dear. I know you have suffered more and longer than any of us.

Arvis: From the moment I found her wandering lost in the castle grounds, it was clear she had no memory of her past. All she knew was her own name. The rest of her past is lost to her. At first I sought only to aid her out of sympathy, as any decent man would do, but before long love took root within me…

(HUUUUUUUUUUUUURK)

Arvis: With all due respect, Deirdre, not once did I suspect that you could possibly be the daughter of our late Prince Kurth.

Azmur: I remember well the day you introduced her as the woman you wished to marry… I simply could not believe what I saw! At first sight I knew, perhaps as only family can. Precisely as I thought, beneath your circlet was the Brand of Naga. Lord Arvis, I trust you understand. Only a full-blooded heir to Saint Heim can rightfully wield the Book of Naga and release its true holy power. And the power of Naga is the only force able to repel the Dark Lord, Loptyr.

Arvis: I am well aware of the legend, sire.

Azmur: The holy lineage of our lord Naga and Saint Heim must never perish! Deirdre, you must bear a son with all due haste!

(… Done. His name’s Seliph, I think he’s pushing two around this point? That was easy! … Oh, wait, you mean a son with Arvis. In that case, HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRK)

Azmur: And should your son be so fortunate as to inherit Naga’s power… he shall be Prince of Grannvale, and inherit the throne when I am no more. Lord Arvis, until your son has grown into a man, you shall be his regent. Guide him well to adulthood. I trust you understand… cough! Cough…

Well that was gross. Hurry, everyone, kill some shit to make me feel alive again.

Oh, Ayra, you always know just how to cheer me up. Holyn, you could stand to be more like Ayra. Now, on the eastern front, here’s where things get weird.

The enemy is not a big problem, the battle is almost won here. But Sigurd is not in place to talk to Byron. So what I’m going to try (and if this doesn’t work I shall be so furious) is position him and two other people as a wall.

The idea… and this had better work… is that Byron will get get his turn first and run through my units, where the enemy will not be able to follow him. That jerk in the top corner is just a bandit, he won’t attack anyone while there’s a village to pilfer.

Okay.

End turn!

(… Oh fucking score Byron will talk to Sigurd on his own. I win!)

Sigurd: Father! Come, you mustn’t give in now!

Byron: No… there’s no hope left for me now… listen well, my son. Langbalt was Prince Kurth’s true killer. And Reptor is the one holding his leash… His Majesty must know the truth! I… death holds no fear for me. But I cannot die in peace not knowing if our honor shall be cleansed of these lies.

Sigurd: Rest assured, Father. Our good name will be cleared. I promise.

Byron: Sigurd… I beg your forgiveness. It was my negligence which condemned you to this suffering… Sigurd. Take this. It is Tyrfing… our exalted blade…

Sigurd: Tyrfing… but Father! Surely you will still need this!

Byron: Take it, Sigurd.. use it to… restore… our honor…

Sigurd: Father… please, hang on! Father! … Father… Why… why in the world did he have to… grrr… REPTOR! LANGBALT! Mark my words! You will pay dearly for all you’ve done!

Ouch. But this is much better than not having him talk to Sigurd at all, in which case he still dies and his son never knows and doesn’t get his inheritance. Unfortunately, Tyrfing is useless right now, because the blade is broken; we’ll need to have Sigurd rush back to the castle to fix it on our turn. After, of course, axe jerks!

…. WHY’D YOU EQUIP THE BROKEN TYRFING, MAN?! A broken weapon can still work, mind you, but it will slow the unit down a ton and have a bare fraction of its attack power, so it’s a very dumb idea. Which, you know, makes sense.

Well, nothing else exciting happens on the enemy phase, so let’s start our turn right with some nice rampant slaughter. It does a body good!

I love it when an army comes together. And since Ayra, Holyn, and Erin are now on top of villages that are out of the way for anyone else, I liberate them.

(He was married? … Not to his sister, right? God, I hate that I feel the need to ask that.)

Gossip Girl: His name’s, er… Ares? Something like that. I feel pretty bad for the poor boy. He’s gotta be just three or four years old…

(I feel bad for him because his name is Ares, the douchiest Greek God. And they were all douches!)

Whiner: Argh, how did this world turn into such a savage place…

Info Master: You’ll often find that boys’ll take up their father’s traits more dominantly, while girls’ll be more strongly influenced by their mother’s.

… So did we start playing Pokemon, or something? Was that the secret to breeding a better Lapras? Whatever, the western front still has to fight. Almost forgot them!

Very nice! That little flashing screen there before Taillte finally gets some Magic was her also getting a Lover Critical for attacking while next to Lewyn. It doesn’t show up often, but it’s a thing of beauty when it does. Though, in fairness, Taillte also didn’t need it to end that fight quickly; like Ethlin before her, she’s ended up with weird stats, and one of them is that her speed is enormous. She also has the skill Adept (Chance based on speed to double-attack) since promoting, and so End turn!

Random Idiot: How could you have breached our front lines so quickly?

Well, like that, mostly. Also, holy crap, the Shield Sword and a promotion have done Beowulf great help. He’s gone overnight from the army’s whipping boy to an unstoppable killing machine.

…. Same can’t be said for Claude, though. God, I hate you, Claude. Reset! I mostly recreate the prior turn, though not as well; Taillte decided that Magic growth was a one-time thing, and she gets +1HP and +1 Defense this time. Defense is still good for her, so hey. Now, let’s see if this goes a little better?

… Am I being trolled?

Well, at least Claude survives. He might be bad at 90% of everything, but he’s got some killer Resistance. Now, let’s try to clear out the remaining enemies before something else fucks up.

All right, good start. Also, Random Idiot’s name was Slayder! I genuinely didn’t notice until I was killing him. Good for you, Slayder.

Beige is the most terrifying of colors. To show how scared I am, I have Bridget equip her holy bow and move into their range. Hee. Hee. Hee.

…….. I mean, I was expecting more of a symbolic slaughtering, but all of your archers moving into my melee range and just stopping, is pretty good too. Now, Aideen can’t kill Andre in one turn, so we can actually see him talk to both his sisters. Let’s go!

Andre: Your sins have soiled the honor of my House Jungby, and now, you must make your amends with your very life.

Aideen: Andre… what a pitiful man you’ve become.

(Awwwwwwwwwwwwwyeeeeeeeeah AIDEEN BURN.)

Literally. Bridget, your move!

Andre: No matter what it takes, you – the shame of my house – must be put to a timely death.

Bridget: ENOUGH! You murdered your own father! You, Andre, are the disgrace to Jungby’s honor, and to the good name of the Crusader Ullur!

… Isn’t Scorpius a Power Ranger villain…?

Bridget gains her brother’s power by eating his heart, and the rest of the team is now free to paint over the Beigenritter with a more interesting color. RED.

Oooooh the terror of the Beigenritter. Now, nothing more to be done until we move on Langbalt directly, so I take a few turns here to let the western front move back over to meet up with the east, letting our whole army move at once. I won’t need them; Lubeck Castle has very little in terms of defense, just three generals and four ballistae, the real danger being Langbalt himself. But dammit all, I put a lot of effort into promoting Arden, I’ll be damned if I’m leaving him behind for the main part of the map that opens after you take Lubeck. Oh, and, I have Sigurd sent home for a moment to visit the blacksmith…

Oh that is beautiful. In addition to having the same high-end offense as all Holy Weapons, Tyrfing gives him a whopping 40 stat points, +10 each to Skill and Speed, and +20 to Resistance, which almost instantly turns him from somewhat vulnerable to mages to one of our best anti-mage units. Plus, it comes with the Miracle ability, meaning he gets a very sizable chance to dodge an attack that would kill him… not that there’s gonna be a lot of attacks likely to kill him while he’s holding Tyrfing.

I love holy weapons.

Now, after we get everyone together again, it’s time to kick some ass on Langbalt. There’s three generals out in front of his castle, and four ballistae to its east; two to the north and two to the south. The southern ones are no issue, but the northern are below a cliff and can only be attacked by Erin (who shouldn’t be getting near ballistae!) or units with a ranged attack. I send Azel and Lachesis up to deal with them, which the rest of the army starts chipping at the generals.

One down! The four ballistae all take shots at us on the enemy phase, but only one hits and Lachesis can take it. And then she gets to counter with extreme prejudice when it’s our shot again.

And that’s the end of the defenders. However, like I said earlier, the real issue isn’t them. It’s this motherfucker.

Langbalt is actually really nasty considering he’s only the first boss of the chapter. His stats are fine, but more dangerously he’s packing Major Neir holy blood and his family’s Holy Weapon, Helswath. Like all Holy Weapons it has 30 attack, but it can attack at any range (so no cheesing him from a distance!) and boosts his defense and resistance by 20 and 10 points, respectively. Combine this with the fact he’s a Baron with the ever-obnoxious Pavise skill and is on a Castle, and he can be a serious pain to do real damage to if you get unlucky. As an upside, at least, It’s a very heavy weapon and slows him considerably, which mostly nullifies his evasion boost from fighting in the castle, but… I mean, he only had average speed to start with. The man has 41 defense and hits like a train, and that’s bad enough.

Oh, and, obviously, there’s some special conversations to be had.

1) I’m getting a little sick of people calling us traitors while they’re literally in the middle of treason.

2) God that combat result is sad. Lex barely scratches his dad.

Maybe somebody a bit more legendary will have more luck. Siggy?

Langbalt: How perfect! I’ll reunite you with your dearly departed father. He ought to be lonely by now!

Sigurd: Langbalt… LANGBALT! You will pay for what you did to my father!

… Better, but still kind of sad. This is our uber-sword. The top sword of all swords. And we got a little under half his health.

Okay.

Time to stop fucking around.

Lewyn, Bitches. So cool he doesn’t need good levels anymore. From here, all that’s left is to take the last few villages:

Oddly Happy Man: But the people of Isaach ain’t givin’ up hope. Prince Shanan’s still out there, and they know someday he’ll lead ‘em to freedom!

Okay, first of all, that day won’t be for awhile since he’s like 12, and second of all… where are we? I know they mentioned Lubeck Castle was conquered by Grannvale pretty recently last chapter, and certainly this village is oddly chipper about Grannvale not being able to fully pacify one of their conquests, but it doesn’t seem to be part of Silesse either. There’s no snow or pegasi.

Oh, screw it. One more village to go.

Captain Obvious: All they ever do these days is set their army on every country they can get their hands on. Prince Kurth’d be utterly ashamed to know what’s become of his beloved Grannvale… you have to do something! I’m begging you… go to Grannvale! Take the country back from the wicked folk who are perverting all it holds dear!

Well. I mean. Considering we are the army they set on two of those countries, I think we have to. Let’s take Lubeck and call it a week.

(I hope not! I think only Langbalt himself actually hit us more than once, unless you count Claude getting axed. And you should never count Claude.)

Sigurd: Listen, Oifey, I need to ask something of you.

Oifey: Of course, sire. What is it?

Sigurd: As I recall, the territory of Isaach should be very close to the north-east of Lubeck. From what I’ve heard, ever since Grannvale won the war, Isaach has been governed by Danaan, Langbalt’s eldest son. But I’d wager his influence has yet to reach much of the country, so…

Oifey: I beg your pardon, sire?! Are you seriously asking me to abandon you for safety, now of all times? No! I refuse! I will not leave you, sire! I’m here for you no matter what, till I draw my last breath!

Sigurd: Oifey, listen. I know this is a huge imposition, but please, hear me out. I… I don’t want to lose Seliph. He isn’t even two years old! I can hardly fight with an infant in tow. Please, Oifey. Take care of Seliph. Take him and find refuge from this blasted war. I know I can trust you, Oifey. You are my only hope.

(Heehee. Help me, Oifey-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.)

Oifey: Sire… I… very well. I’ll take Lord Seliph. I’ll protect him, no matter what happens. That said, you have to promise me. Promise you’ll come for us as soon as the war is over. I won’t leave if you can’t promise that.

Sigurd: Of course. I swear it.

(Yeah, well, you also promised Sigurd you would look after Deirdre, and you fucked that up, so forgive me if I don’t put a lot of weight in your promises.)

Shanan: I won’t hand him over to anyone, not even Oifey, until Deirdre says I can!

Sigurd: Calm down, Shanan. I know you’re still hurt about losing Deirdre, but it’s okay. He’ll be fine with Oifey.

Shanan: No! I need to protect Seliph! … And you’re forgetting that the people of Isaach won’t exactly be happy to see more Grannvaleans! Oifey along won’t last a minute there, but if I’m there it’ll be okay. Who better to protect Seliph in Isaach than the prince of Isaach? Please…

(Sigurd: Outwitted by a ten year old.)

Oifey: Now that he mentions it, sire, I would be a tad more at ease if Shanan was there as well. I know you’re reluctant to involve someone so young in something so dangerous, but I think we can agree he’s become a talented warrior.

(… He has?)

Oifey: Not to mention, I’ll need Shanan to secure the people’s support.

Sigurd: Hm… I’m sorry to burden you more, Shanan, but please… take care of Seliph for me.

Shanan: Leave it to me! I’m gonna keep getting stronger, and nobody’ll ever hurt Seliph! I’ll teach him all about Deirdre, too, but… I wonder how he’ll take what happened…

Oifey: I… suppose we should set out, then. Farewell, sire. Take care of yourself. I pray victory and clemency find you as soon as possible.

Sigurd: Thank you, Oifey. Be careful out there.

Oifey: Yes, sir!

Sigurd: Seliph… I’m so sorry. Please, grow up safe and strong.

Well. It only took us... I think the game timeline has been three years so far?... it only took us three years to realize we shouldn’t be bringing children to war, and so I think we’ll call it a week here. Check in next week for when someone brings some children to war.

Resets: 19. I hope you’re proud of yourself, CLAUDE.

Part 14

#Let's play fire emblem IV #let's play fire emblem #LP #let's play #Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War #fire emblem 4 #Let's play genealogy of the holy war #my writing #dammit claude

11 notes · View notes

fordarkisthesuede · 7 years

Text

JOURNAL 3 BLACKLIGHT EDITION REVEALED! (Part 3)

Oh boy. This is it. The final stretch.

A New Concern: “What if he wins? It is a thought to horrible to imagine, but imagine it I must. If Bill succeeds in opening the gateway between worlds, it will result in an… Odd-pocalypse? Weird-mergency? Unsual-tastrophe? No matter. If the big day arrives, coming up with a catchy nickname for it will be the least of my worries. To prepare for this worst-case scenario, I have begun stocking my old research bunker with supplies, rations, and weapons. I also tried to choose which theoretical physics books would be most fun to spend 50 years rereading, but they’re all so great I couldn’t decide!” [Picture of the Unseen Eye with the caption “Saw this symbol again recently!”]

Hiding Spot? page: “In case of catastrophe.” [The tree leading down the bunker is shown, with a staircase winding around it to the roots, with “danger!” pointing down, ending in a rectangle with “prepare for the end” inside.] “LAST RESORT – hopefully cryonics have sustained. Watch out for Shifty.”

Page left of Security Room: “I need to stop spending time down in this bunker. I was reprogramming my security code when I could have sworn I heard someone speaking to me. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. I suppose I was voted “most paranoid” in junior high, bt I thought I had gotten over that phase. Then again, maybe that’s what people wanted me to think: that I wasn’t paranoid anymore so they could start plotting against me, plotting to take my precious thoughts, my MIND-thoughts! Okay, I’ve been inhaling bunker coolant for too long. Going up for some air now.”

Security Room page: [it now says “Security Code” and has the four buttons to open the bunker highlighted and numbered.] “If I forget this, I’ll be taking a trip to the FIRST dimension!” [There’s a picture of an exit door with “don’t forget!” pointing at it.]

Bill’s Teacup page: This one’s unusual. “One of Bill’s friends… Where have I seen him?” The face is so normal that I can’t really say who it could be. Seems masculine? I mean, my best guess is Alex, but who knows for certain…?

[Edit, 4/26/18: I kept forgetting to fix this bit, but this is a reference to the “Have You Ever Dreamed of This Man?” hoax! Thanks to everybody that pointed it out! (ʃƪ ˘ ³˘) ]

The machine pages: “The machine was meant to create knowledge but it is TOO POWERFUL! The device if fully operational could”

My Muse Was A Monster page: All the eyes drawn here glow in the dark. It looks just as creepy as you’d imagine – especially the big one. It also says “Laseep” “ELPH EM” “sit lal vero” and “rutts on eno”. This is just normal English with rearranged letters, so it says “Asleep”* “Please” “HELP ME” “its all over” and “trust no one”.

*in my defense, I was sleepy when I first unscrambled the words, and I peeked at that “Can’t Sleep!” page...guess I knew what was on my mind that night :/

Bill Cipher pages: Spanning both pages: “If he gains physical form then all is lost!” Left page - “If he entered our dimension, what form would he take? Flesh and blood? Metal? Vinyl? Spandex? Would he be a suave, well-dressed, possibly British man in coattails? Absolutely unequivocally not. Bill is a screeching, senseless lunatic. By best guess at his physical form is something like this.” [arrow points to Ford’s idea of Bill, which is like a triangle-shaped meatball with his eye and a strange large mouth]

I love you, Alex. I really do. Getting that nod at the fandom’s general depiction of human!Bill is the greatest feelings that I didn’t know I could have - yes, we had it before, but not so directly and in a published book. It still brings that certain level of satisfaction. I’m continually amused at the jabs at it, and I still to this day love quite a few depictions of him, but more than anything I’m flattered and amazed that fan-artists can get recognition at this level in this day and age. It is truly a time to be alive. I love this book.

Right page: [the figure of the human head’s brain separated into categories reads “ego, deceit, lies, pride”.] “Counterattack strategy: ?????? A triangle is supposed to be the most stable shape in geometry, but there is nothing more unstable than this angular psychopath. The damage he’s done to my thoughts is impossible to calculate….what havoc might he have wrought?” Underneath, Bill writes: “Wanna know what I did last time I was in your mind, Sixer? I deleted the world “burden” from your vocabulary and replaced it with “sea otter”! Good luck next time you try to sound ominous, smart guy!”

You know, I’m surprised that Bill writes properly. You know, proper grammar, capitalization, punctuation… You’d think he’d be the one to write in all-caps, like he talks! I didn’t think about that before now. Weird, isn’t it?

Blank page next to Invisible Ink page: “I have decided to use invisible ink to keep away prying eyes. ANYONE could be watching me!”

Invisible ink page: [the lightbulb has rays of light coming from it as well as a normal eye in the bulb. The ink pot has invisible written on it, with splatters where ink might drip from the pot. There are a series of odd symbols drawn around it as well as a few on top of the page.] “I may provide previous pages with new secrets I have learned since originally writing them, and perhaps reviewing old passages will stabilize my rapidly dwindling sanity…”

No picture, but the page where Ford goes into town has all the townsfolk’s eyes glowing. Even Paul Bunyun’s.

Hiding Places: [doodle of journal 1] Journal 1 – Describes my first 3 years in gravity falls. Focuses on mythical beasts, geographic anomalies, and my 30-hour arm-wrestling match with a very annoying unicorn.” [doodle of journal 2] Journal 2 – The most dangerous journal! Curses, incantations & dark power became an obsession in this volume. Describes the hiding place of the mystic amulet. I buried the amulet once I learned that it corrupts your soul (and whitens your hair)!” Journal 3 – The volume I hold in my hands. Describes my embarrassing defeat at the hands of Bill and the loss of my very sanity. Also contains a pretty good drawing of a plaidypus. Will soon be bestowed upon S and hidden at the ends of the Earth (I hope).”

Hiding places page 2: Underneath the scribbled out drawing is the picture of the momentum conserver Ford made back in the seventies. Underneath it is written “what might have been…”

Trust No One page: “Can’t sleep!” Is written nine times, and trust no one is highlighted and circled.

On the page next to it, it looks exactly like the show, with several spots on the odd wheel scribbled out, the sad face over the center, and “IS THIS RIGHT? I just don’t know anymore!” written beneath it.

The next two blank pages are Bill’s: “GUESS WHO! That’s right, pal, ol’ Six Fingers just conked out, & that means Captain Bill is steering the ship! And by “STEERING THE SHIP,” I mean making Sixer slap himself over and over! HA-HA-HA! That’s right, I just wrote down the sounds of my own laughter!” [next to the next paragraph, there is a drawing of Bill pouring gasoline on a flaming planet Earth, with the strange expression of someone watering flowers and encouraging their growth.] “Now where was he? Ah, yes! Mr. Serious was saying that anyone who was smart enough to decode these messages is smart enough to get on the right side of history! And that meant joining ME, your new best friend and style consultant, Bill Cipher! All it takes is a little handshake! Ever wanted to see inside the dreams of your crush? Or crush the dreams of your enemies? Or jet someone else control your body and take the old bone-mobile for a spin? ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS SUMMON ME!”

Page 2: “And it’ s so easy! Just say the words “BILL CIPHER” three times out loud, alone in the dark. Ready? I’ll say it with you! BILL CIPHER! BILL CIPHER! BILL CIPHER! See? That wasn’t so hard! Now there’s a pathway between your mind and mine. I can see everything you can see! Sixer’s about to wake up, but the business between you and me has just begun. Let’s just say I’ll see you down the road. And if you ever get a phone call from a number that says “UNKNOWN,” pick up. Your Guy on the Inside (of Your Mind), BILL”

June 1 page (aka Dipper’s starting page]: “I discovered the Author’s black light secret! I invented some invisible ink and I’m going to try to write a few sneaky – Ugh! I spilled it! Now it’s everywhere! Oh, gross! It’s all over my pants! Ugh, this is embarrassing. I’m going to go wash it off. No black light for me. Yuck! –Dipper” [True to his word, dipper spilled the ink all over the next page, and indeed the page he was writing on. It’s like 2 giant splatter marks.

Mabel’s Smile Dip page has the “Do you like me” letter!!! I’m so tempted to check Absolutely!!! BUT I CANNOT TARNISH SUCH A TREASURE!

Bipper page: Underneath the note Bipper left is the best gift this book has given me – a caticature of Bipper. It even says “Bipper as a cat!” underneath it. All is right in the world at this moment. I couldn’t be happier. If you can, look upon that drawing and feel the joy enter your soul.

Category 11/Dipper’s page on Pacifica: (underneath the photo of Archibald Corduroy) “Roses are red, Pacifica’s blood is blue, I read what you crossed out! I’m on to you! Start combing your hair, Brother! –Mabel” Dipifica fans are now 10x happier they purchased this book – or got to read that poem!

I’m Back page: “I have found my old bottle of invisible ink! It was right where I left it 30 years ago – hidden inside the science fair trophy in my electron carpet room. Unfortunately, most of the ink is gone, and there’s a note on the bottle which reads: “Hey, dude! I tried to drink some of this and it made my tummy glow. Like Shimmery Twinkleheart! Ha ha! I think I’m gonna go lie down forever now. –Soos”

I’m Back adjacent page: “What a waste! Although, I am amazed that “soos” survivied what should have been a lethal dose of ink. He must be one of the most fit and healthy men on Earth! It’s just as well – this ink did little to keep my secrets from Bill Cipher. And I may have permanent retina damage from constantly flipping the lights on and off while trying to read my own messages. NOTE TO SELF: Invent bionic eyes. I’ll use what little ink I have left for some….private thoughts. NEW DIMENSION CHECKLIST:

Read the past 30 years of newspapers. I wonder if whales have finally made it onto land and become the dominatnt species. Also, looking forward to seeing how advanced the lasted fax machines must be!

Catch my breath – literally! I haven’t breathed the proper combination of nitrogen, oxygen, and trace vapors in years. Air is great. Really can’t overemphasize how great air is.

Order red turtleneck sweaters in bulk.

Check out The Eurythmics’ latest chart-topper!

Invent something as a sign of goodwill towards my niece and nephew. What do kids like these days? Bionic arm-lasers? Maybe a pet Cthulhu?

ILJXUH RXW ZKDW D “VLOYHU IRA” LV DQG ZKV HYHUBRQH NHHSV. FDOOLQJ PH RQH.” [Translated with Caesar -3: “Figure out what a “Silver Fox” is and why everyone keeps calling me one.”]

OMG

EVEN MORE PROOF THAT I LOVE THIS DAMN BOOK. THE LAST PAGE WHERE FORD WRITES:

“AN INITIATION: to fully complete your initiation as an honorary Pines, there is one final task - to place your hand on this page, hold it while you charge up the black light and then remove your hand. See what happens? Welcome to the family! Zh’yh ehhq zdlqlqj iru brx – Stanford”

If that didn’t rip your heart out, translated with Caeser -3, the last line reads “We’ve been waiting for you.”

I’m literally tearing up. Thank you to everybody who made this book possible. I’ve never been so happy to pay over a hundred dollars for a book. It was worth every penny. And the weird nightmares I got after receiving it.

[Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3]

#gravity falls #journal 3 #journal 3 blacklight #J3 Blacklight Reveal #spoilers #I LOVE THIS BOOK SO MUCH #SO SO MUCH #stanford pines #bill cipher #mabel pines #dipper pines #pines family #618 #long post #like long long post #i love that Do You Like Me note #but i can't remove it from it's sacred place of honor #I'll have to just open the book every day i want to see it #i like how Bill drew himself setting the world on fire #but he still wants us to summon him #i did have some seriously disturbing dreams the night i got it in the mail #like no kidding #the most violent gory dreams i've ever had #there were 2 goat heads in the oven #but they weren't cooking #they just turned grey and their horns charcoal?#it was strange #i also got a knife thrown at me in that same dream #like it almost hit me #i really felt like i felt it scrape my neck!

1K notes · View notes

fishmum · 7 years

Photo

It's day 6 of @undyne-appreciation week! "Pretty much anything we want!" Another thing I love about Undyne, the musical aspect of her! I decided to do a traditional piece for today PLUS a writing of 1,541 words. I originally wasn't going to do art, but it was a last-second thing, I'm happy with the results. A little summary of the story: Undyne seems to feel bad for the forgotten memorial to the Dreemurr children, so she gathers her talent and materials to create something more dedicated to them. The story shows off more of her kindness then musical side, but no matter. I think it turned out well!

—The Story—

~ChantePleure of a Statue~

Undyne stood in front of the worn out statue, though it was only a senescence mass of shaped rock, she felt pity for it. It was once a memorial for the Dreemurr family after all. Yet typical braggadocio Mettaton replaced it with a statue of his own, while this one had gotten thrown out into the rainy and caliginous caves of Waterfall.

She scoffed in annoyance as her mind wandered to the thought of the box shaped star. Her eye, on the other hand, wandered towards the area of the statue where an epitaph was once inscribed. It had once said "In memory of the Dreemurr children. 199X-20XX" Now it was as if everyone forgot.

"Poor Asgore." Undyne thought to herself. How terrible it must've been for your own children to be forgotten by the kingdom, your people. Though the king didn't express any sign of this bothering him, deep down, Undyne knew he was struck with grief at such a situation. She had hoped that their memory would be aeviternal, and Asgore thought likewise. Yet not all could be aeonian in memory. Even those who have fallen for a good cause.

Undyne signed in defeat, realizing that standing there and gawking at it would not do anything. As she thought of the memorial, her thoughts came to an aposiopesis. Perhaps there was something small she could do, just in honor of her dearest mentor's children. No one would know, but a wee act of kindness can make a large difference.

She came to the conclusion, that she, Undyne, would make a puzzle. A puzzle circling around the memorial and the children it was dedicated to. Yes, she hated most puzzles with a passion, but this was for a good cause. Besides, it was not like she had anything better to do.

So she got to work.

Her first stop was Gerson's shop, he had all sorts of useful materials that could help her. She made her way to the familiar stand, there she knocked on the wooden counter and waited rather impatiently.

"I'm comin', I'm comin'!" Gerson replied to the continuous knocks. He walked over to the stand, where he saw a familiar face.

"Well well well, if it ain't my little princess who came to visit!" He teased happily. Undyne rolled her eye in amusement at the old tortoise's mocking.

"That's right. So listen, I need some materials for uh- a thing I'm making-"

Gerson leaned on his hand in a questioning manner. "And whaddaya gonna make?"

"Doesn't matter-! Just give me a 8 by 6 inch wooden box, a drill, nails, and one of those small woodcutters-"

Gerson nodded and retreated into his shop, he went to the back of it to get the specific items Undyne had requested. Meanwhile, Undyne thought of musical tunes for her puzzle. Once she laid her eye on the items Gerson started to bring in, a burst of afflatus hit her. Ideas overflew her mind, tunes of various paces came to mind. Mellisonant tunes with slow paced notes and such. As much as she wanted to do a pace of allegro, she felt it would not be the most apropos of tunes. Something slow and serene, perhaps a tune that resembled a berceuse. One for a child.

Gerson set out the last item as Undyne fumbled with her wallet.

"How much?"

"On the house, dearest."

Undyne shot a harsh look at the old tortoise.

"Gerson, you can't give me everything for free, Asgore spoils me enough already. Now seriously, how much?"

"On the house. No one was gonna buy these ol' things anyways." Undyne sighed in defeat.

"Alright fine."

That did not stop her from setting 30G on the wooden countertop.

"Princess, I know you're a lil' deaf," He motioned to one of her ripped fins. "but c'mon-"

"What? I can't leave a tip to the coolest?" She mocked but politely smiled. Gerson chuckled and rested his elbow on the counter, glancing at the gold.

"Alright girl, you win this one."

Undyne gather all the things she ordered and waved goodbye to Gerson, soon enough she was on her way to her house. When she arrived, she set her miscellany down on the marble flooring and gamboled to her piano. Taking a seat at the short black stool, she got to work, tapping away at the piano keys.

She started playing a tune in an adagio manner, for now it was simply a capriccio. While fiddling with the piano keys, she recalled nostalgic memories, memories way back when Asgore still taught her piano. As the memory ran through her mind, she got reminded of a simple tune, one of the first that was taught to her. Undyne focused on her memory, following the tune on her piano as she heard it in her head. Once she had it memorized, she altered it slightly, adding additional tunes in the background of the main one. It was a quick composition, she had it completed and memorized within 3 hours. She was quite satisfied with the result, it was simple, placid, and idyllic. Just as she had hoped.

She named the piece "Memory."

Now she needed Alphys for the next part. She grabbed the music sheet and jogged to the lab.

————

After a week and two days, Alphys successfully created a button triggered music box out of Undyne's materials and music sheet. It played the song she played the week before. Undyne thanked Alphys and mentioned that she would find a way to repay her— even though Alphys insisted she did not have to —then made her way back to Waterfall, more specifically, back to the withered statue. Nothing had changed in a week, it was still cracked, damp, and lonely.

Undyne summoned a spear to her side, she used the sharp edges to start outlining a rectangle shaped hole in the area behind the arms. Once the outline was completed, she dug her spear into the rock. Since the statue was constantly rained on, it's rock was weaker than it had been a while ago.

She successfully carved a hole, it was not the neatest, but it was big enough for the music box to fit in. She carefully set the music box into the hole, after doing so, she covered it with the disassembled pieces of rock. (They would probably weld together by the water with time.) She left the button that triggered the music uncovered, so if someone were to set something- in this case, an umbrella. -it would trigger the button, resulting in the music playing. Now that this part was completed, she moved on to the next.

She had a rather old piano, one she used when she was younger, it was smaller than an ordinary piano. Undyne dragged the miniature piano to the room on the left of the statue room. Yes, she looked strange dragging a little piano around Waterfall, there were a few eyes with questioning looks. Little did they know the kind reason behind the action.

Undyne successfully connected the piano to trigger an opening to a little cave which she had dug out during the past week. Now for the last step, using magic to connect the piano to the music box placed in the statue. She leaned back on the wall and used all her focus and willpower to complete this step.

After a quiet 10 minutes, they were all successfully connected to cause a chain reaction if the required action was completed correctly. The final step was to test it.

Undyne jogged to the room on the right and grabbed the nearest umbrella. It was a red one. Undyne got reminded of not too long ago, when Asgore enlisted that they add a stand for umbrellas, so that any citizen that passed by would not get sick. What a kind-hearted dork. Though at the same time, Undyne felt like a "kind-hearted dork" by making this puzzle.

She swung the umbrella around by her finger, once she got to the statue's room, she opened up the umbrella and set it in between it's hands. Just like magic, the music box version of her tune played. After a few seconds, arrows pointing to various directions appeared upon the wall. Undyne smiled at how satisfactory this was.

She made her way to the room on the left and played the tune on the little piano, the entrance to the cave opened up as it should have. Undyne gave herself a nod of approval.

As a little joke, she went into the room where she had placed a pedestal earlier, and put down a red gem-looking item. It was not real, simply a fake she got from a 1G store. Might as well mess with the kindhearted, hopefully they have a sense of humor.

She added a sign she had created beforehand, she dubbed the fake gem as "The Legendary Artifact."

Satisfied with her work, she retreated back out of the room and closed up the entrance, as well as removing the umbrella so the music stopped playing.

She left the puzzle alone, only for it to be forgotten along with the memorial.

Until one day, a human child approached with an umbrella.

#writing #Undyne #Undertale #undyne appreciation week #waterfall #Gerson

61 notes · View notes

ghostradiostoryhour · 5 years

Text

Dinosaur Vacation Shirt

[POWER ON]

[cmd login, access code ********]

[Security question: What is your mother’s maiden name?]

[******]

[!]

[Access code confirmed]

[Hello! What would you like to do?]

[cmd network sync]

[Syncing to Marley Corporation Interspace Wi-Fi . . .]

[!]

[Connection confirmed.]

[!]

[ONE! New video transmission, sender: test facility 2345xHju, NORTH BASTION]

[Access transmission? Y/N]

[Y]

[cmd apply timestamp]

[21:30:20 timestamp applied]

[21:30:23 transmission status: incoming]

[21:30:27 transmission status: confirmed]

[21:30:57 transmission status: buffering…]

[21:31:02 Start transmission? Y/N]

[Y]

[21:31:22 Starting transmission. 3… 2… 1…]

Fuckin’ camera, come ON.

Damn red dust clogging everything up.

Ok, there.

I think we’re rolling.

I’m about to bite the big one. I mean, I don’t know for sure, but I’ve already lost a shit ton of blood, and I’m shaky as fuck. And I have no clue where the fucking med bay is in this damn rePark. And I’m wearing a fucking dinosaur-themed vacation shirt. Whoever finds me is going to think I was a moron.

Not that that matters.

Anyway, my guess is I’m not long for this world.

And what a world it has turned out to be.

I guess I should give a little background, considering I have no way of knowing where or when in the multiverse this damn transmission is gonna end up. If it’s even gonna end up anywhere. Oh well, human folly, all that.

Yeah.

So I’m on Amarsica. 2079. That’s what we’ve made of that red ball of dust people used to call Mars. Terraforming, blah blah blah. The name sucks, doesn’t it? Most of us old enough to remember Earth still just call it Mars. Anyway, the good ol’ US of A somehow found oil beneath the rocky surface, so you know the rest. Soon as someone pulled together a prototype for the giant, gleaming shell cities we Amarsicans call home, the U.S. invested. Government spent the last of what it had to finance terraforming on Mars to create a remote colony that could drill for crude, barrel it up, and ship it back via shuttle. I guess there was life on mars, once—we just missed it by a couple hundred thousand years. Weird thing about Mars is, there’s plenty oil, but there’s not that much water up here, at least not naturally occurring water. Yeah, there’s the polar ice caps, but if we were only relying on that to sustain the shell cities, we would have run out in about a decade or two. That’s why they built the H2O factories, out on Far Planet. Giant enclosed warehouses without oxygenized atmosphere—better to fuse hydrogen and oxygen in a vacuum in order to avoid something like the Hindenburg. It’s a decent job, rainmaking, but not one I’d want. More dangerous than rigging, by far, even if it does pay a doctor’s salary. Plus the commute out to Far Planet can take a week or more on transpo. I stick to the rigs that’re enveloped in their own safe terraforming bubbles, thanks.

I don’t really know how well the whole system works—as a colony of the U.S., we don’t get much news in what goes on down Earthside. Guess having us up here makes life for Earthbound U.S. citizens better. Finally working on implementing free healthcare down there, last I heard. Not up here. And boy do I know it.

Dammit, Candi would know what to do in this situation. She always did have an answer.

Anyway.

A buddy of mine growing up used to call Amarsica the Florida of space, whatever that means. Rich half’s Miami, poor half’s I don’t know, the swamp, I guess, if the swamp were just a dry patch of dirt. It’s not a great metaphor, but you get the idea. Income gap’s out of control.

I was maybe four when we moved out here in 2033. My family—all doctors, except me—were part of the first colonization wave. This planet was supposed to be an outpost of sorts, a military base. You know, the whole China thing. But then old-ass, life-extending-nanobot-filled Elon Musk and his people jumped all over it, and started creating ultra-lux resorts for the uber rich in the 2040s, and, well. Amarsica became the premiere vacation destination, or at least lush, green East Planet did, anyway. Dusty, parched West Planet, where I grew up, is still all refineries and oilfields. West Planet is the servants’ quarters of Mars.

I live with my girlfriend Candi in a busted old Airstream, at least before she died. She had a kid, a teenage girl—blue hair, piercings, a black and grey hoodie with holes in the sleeves—and I got on the kid’s good side by building her a little A/C-capable shed of her own next to the trailer. The kid and I weren’t close, not really, but I loved her too, as an extension of Candi. Or maybe as an extension of myself. I’m not sure where the affection came from, but it was real, and it was there, and it was as awkward as a giant moving box in the tiny trailer with us anytime we interacted. Where was the boundary? Who was I to her? Who was she to me? All I knew was that I really, reallydidn’t want to mess up the kid’s life. So generally I kept my distance.

The kid was a total pro on the hover. Suited for math, like Candi was. Analytical. She was smart. Wary. Good at the things she wanted to be good at. The kid wasn’t a big fan of me, sure, and despite all her smarts, she was never interested in school. She carried a messenger bag with a neon green SLACKER patch everywhere she went, hover folded up and stashed away next to whatever book she was reading that week. She didn’t have many friends, but that didn’t seem to bother her much. She was totally focused on her plan to go on to be a hover champ. Candi was always taking her to far planet tourneys with the hope that some engineering firm would sponsor the kid—the X Games had surged in popularity on Earth since Amarsica’s far planet low-grav atmo sections provided bigger, sicker air than ever, and since the invention of hovers in general. It’s now or never, the kid always said. Hover scouts only want boarders in their teens. I understood the feeling. She knew who she was, what she wanted, and how to get it. She had to focus on that goal, didn’t want to miss her window.

But since Candi died, she’d lost that focus. That’s how I knew she was really hurting. The kid hadn’t even been back on the hover since the day Candi got sick.

That moment is etched in my memory, can’t shake it for shit.

Candi burst into the Airstream at five P.M., carrying bags of airsealed fresh grosh and enough printables for the next two weeks. Today was errand day, I knew; second Friday of the month. Candi was a nurse down at the off-rig hospital in New Pasadena, the one where I was usually stationed. The one with the most injuries. Keeps a nurse busy. Keeps us on our toes. Candi plopped a bag of Cheezballs on the counter, and the kid, trailing her, blue hair shagged down over her eyes like the latest popstar, hover in hand, grabbed the bag with her free hand and ripped it open with her teeth.

“Manners,” Candi scolded. The kid made eye contact with her and spat out the ripped top of the plastic bag. Then she headed back outside.

“Hover,” she offered as explanation, then let the door slam behind her.

“How was your day?” I asked Candi.

“Oh you know, the usual,” she beamed and popped a ChickenCaz cartridge into the kitchen printer. The machine whirred to life and started laying stripes of puff pastry crust down in a perfect rectangle in Candi’s old stoneware casserole dish with the ducks on it. “Lots of blood and guts. But that’s the best part about it.” She smiled and leaned in for a kiss.

“You’re disgusting,” I said and she smiled again. I sat down in the chair by the TV to watch the kid out the window.

“She just broke up with her girlfriend, by the way,” Candi said from the kitchen.

I watched the kid out the window. She was doing flips on the hover in the patch of dirt that served as our yard, tossing a cheeseball into the air and then zooming up and over to catch it in her mouth at the top of each flip. The red dust plains stretched endless behind her, the bluish meniscus of the East Planet terraforming bubble just visible as a glinting reflection of the sunset on the horizon.

“Girlfriend? Wasn’t she just dating a guy?”

Candi scoffed. “Carl, she’s not limited to just one kind of attraction.”

“I know, I know,” I said. “I just—she moves on fast, is all.”

“Yeah, well, she’s a teenager,” Candi said. I heard the sounds of her stacking the grosh in the fridge. “They do that.”

“You think we need to talk to her about it?” I asked. It was hard to tell when the kid was broken up over something, or at least it used to be. Now it was painfully clear.

“Nah,” Candi said. “You know Bryn. She’s resilient, and she—”

A clatter of grosh packets, the horrible sound of a body crumpling to the ground. The glass of water she’d been holding shattered on the faux tiles of the Airstream’s floor.

I jumped to my feet. Outside, the kid fell off her hover, sprinted inside.

“Mom!?” she yelled.

“Candi!”

She blinked, came to. A little fuzzy, unhurt, at least from what we could tell that day. But there it was. The beginning of the constant fatigue and the rapid weight loss, of the doctor’s office trips, of our knowledge of the badness in her bones.

The beginning of the end.

And it would end, only six months later, even though the doctors had given her five years, easy. Even untreated, she should have stayed longer. She shouldn’t have died.

[cmd pause footage]

[cmd fast forward]

[cmd stop action]

[cmd play footage]

[!]

[re-enter access code to continue]

[********]

[Thank you. Footage rolling in 3, 2, 1]

None of us had ever really been to East Planet. The hospital was over there, the one we took Candi to. And we’d make the annual trip to go vote at the ballots. But we hadn’t spent time there. Not long enough to really experience it. And it is an experience.

There are the hyper-developed suburbs for the uber wealthy, massive custom houses placed atop long stretching green lawns like crown jewels, glimmering white colonials, spired and gothic gray Victorians, the bright yellow of enormous, Spanish-style haciendas. There are trees, too: every kind, from massive, sprawling oaks to delicate cherry trees covered in blush pink blossoms. Pristine private lakes glisten with the freshest water available from Far Planet.

If you’re thinking Hollywood, you’re not wrong. A lot of big movie stars live in East Planet, now—well, all the aging movie stars, anyway. The retirees. Tons of former professional athletes. Tom Brady has a mansion that literally floats in the sky—some kind of specialized low-grav build. A lot of ex-football players (from back before it was banned) come up to Amarsica for the top notch brain damage treatments, if they can still afford the trip. I hear they’ve opened a few drug rehab facilities up here, too, for the ones who really need a change of scenery in order to recover. Like I said. East Planet has become a kind of wellness Mecca, for those who have the cash. You can get full-on skin replacements, be launched into orbit for a year as an anti-aging measure, dynamic gene editing, and more, if you have the money for it. You can also get state of the art cancer treatment for what Candi had. But not if you’re living on a rigger’s salary.

There are two main corporations who run the whole thing. The Marley Corporation and something called CorpSec, which also runs the refineries where people like me work. It’s not an official monopoly, but it’s pretty clear to anyone who looks twice that there’s no other competition, and that the Marley Corporation and CorpSec are at least copacetic, if not wholly owned by the same people. Whatever. I guess this is what happens at the far end of capitalism. Monopolies aren’t monopolies, but only because now they’re corporate oligarchies. Some fifty years ago, they say there was a move toward socialism, but once oil on Mars became a legitimate prospect, all the legislators swung back to the old standard, dollar signs in their eyes.

[cmd pause footage]

[cmd fast forward]

[cmd stop action]

[cmd play footage]

[!]

[re-enter access code to continue]

[********]

[Thank you. Footage rolling in 3, 2, 1]

I wasn’t always like this, bitter and pissed off at the East Planet elite. But after Candi, the extravagance felt more unfair than it ever had before. And I wanted to see it, in person. The kid and I deserved that much. If it were so important to keep these movie stars alive, when our Candi had to die without treatment, then hell. The kid and I were going to see them, at least once.

The only semi-affordable trip to East Planet, these days, is a trip to one of the ReParks, specialized natural habitats for all of the rich people who opted to become ReAnimals. I mean, yeah, the reParks are mostly out of style now, but they were all the rage for a solid couple of decades. Anybody famous who’d died in, I don’t know, the ‘40s or ‘50s are still out there kickin,’ in some form or another, their consciousness implanted into a custom, lab-grown animal synthetic. If you believe the doctors who perform the implantation, your entire personality is preserved; it’s really you in there, only you’re a tiger or a bear now, or whatever. Apparently, there’s a full communication system in the synthetic too—you can’t actually speak, because you’re an animal now, but you can text back and forth with each other, with human family and friends. Pretty state of the art stuff.

I figured a trip to the newest of the parks, the biggest and most extravagant, would be a nice distraction. A way to try to get back to our lives. A bookmark. Or a kind of eraser, even better. We deserved it, after everything. We deserved a look at these East Planet riches, at the people who wouldn’t give Candi the medicine she needed. It would be cathartic, poetic.

At least that’s what I thought then. This shit—agh, sorry, still stings where fabric’s stretched across the skin—none of us deserved this shit.

Still, Candi would have liked coming here, damage be damned. She was obsessed with the weekly tabloids. The idea of stalking through an artificial, Jurassic rainforest in order to get a glimpse of Jason Momoa as a reStego was totally up her alley. But Candi was also an adrenaline junkie, loved an adventure, whatever it was. I guess the kid took after her in that way. I took a little vial of her ashes with me, for old times’ sake. Still got ‘em around my neck, see? Guess I won’t be going out alone after all.

It wasn’t just Candi, though. Everybody I know wants to get out here just to try and guess which of the ReRaptors housed Beyonce’s consciousness, see which of the ReBrontos Meryl Streep was lounging around in. They all could picture themselves laughing about how stupid Bill Gates would look as RePteradactyl, with those leathery wings and that awkward cone head. But deep down, each and every one of them wants to reincarnate as a dino.

Why? That’s easy. When it comes to reincarnations, the bigger and flashier the animal, the higher the price tag. Why do you think there are so goddamn many reRats around? Hell, if I decided to reincarnate, I’d probably only have enough for a reRat, and that’s being optimistic. Most people these days can’t afford much more than reLivestock, at the most. The rePredators are for hedge fund managers—nobody I know has planned for anything flashier than a reCat.

When it first came about, voluntary reincarnation, a lot of big wigs and celebs were still feeling weird about supplanting their conciousnesses into an animal’s body. Which, you know, makes sense, if you haven’t gotten used to the idea. I mean PETA had a conniption about the whole thing, of course, but technically, since all the reAnimals were grown from dead pig skin cells in Petri dishes out of Mars Settlement labs, they’re not really animals, and anyway in the end the Supreme Court dismissed the case. Who gives a fuck about the rights of labgrown animal shells that aren’t even born with consciousness? Not the governing body of the United States, that’s for damn sure. Especially if those living animal skins offer a shot at immortality for humans. Ain’t no human gives a damn once there’s something in it for them, and that’s the truth.

Anyway, things started off small, like they always do. The first reRat. The first reDog. Then after a few years more, the first reTiger, Siberian. All Instagram famous. More and more people decided to reincarnate before they passed. Before the whole process was made affordable, families bankrupted their savings to give grandma a new lease on life, this time as a reWolf or a reHorse or even a reDolphin, once reCorp opened up the controversial ocean-based conservancies on Earth. Damn, CorpSec had a hell of a time regulating the waters once global warming picked up, though. Not that defending the land-based conservancies for the reincarnated was any easier. I can’t even imagine the hell those Grandma reDolphins are in, now that the moon’s orbit’s been artificially slowed. I’m sure the oceans are all kinds of fucked. But I haven’t been back Earthside, not since I left in 2035.

Since last year, the news has been going on about an Everglades-themed reGator park—imagine that, wanting to go vacation at a place where a bunch of reGators running around with the brains of dead middle-class boomers behind the wheel. But yeah, the park is apparently real, complete with reGator wrestling and, some say, even reGator hunting, for the right price if you know a guy. Though if that were the case, CorpSec would have been on them like a bunch of reRats on a discarded bag of synthetic barbeque Taterlike wedges at the transpo. Say what you will about the reincarnation biz, the reRats have really become a problem for pre-Re—or OG, or whatever the fuck people are calling it now—human Amarsica colonists like yours truly. They’re everywhere, digging through the trash to suck the leftover fat ink out of ChickenCaz and TurkRoast cartridges, attacking family picnics at parks, the whole deal. At least Amarsica has no natural animal life, only synthetic reAnimals. Otherwise, we’d be overrun. There’d be fights, too, I imagine—animal vs reAnimal, and I think that kinda takes the whole point out of getting reincarnated at all. If there’s a chance something else will kill you why go to the trouble—and expense—of jumping your consciousness into a vulnerable animal skin on your deathbed?

[cmd pause footage]

[cmd fast forward]

[cmd stop action]

[cmd play footage]

[!]

[re-enter access code to continue]

[********]

[Thank you. Footage rolling in 3, 2, 1]

So the kid and I load up on the transpo, and zip off to East Planet. They tell us on Comm that we’re staying in a state of the art reResort, newly purchased from The Marley Corporation, the people who invented the reincarnation industry in the first place. The trip on transpo only took 30 minutes, and then we had arrived at the intersection of celebrity culture and the fear of death: the official reDinosaur habitat. They had each of us put on some shitty dinosaur printed vacation shirt—like a Hawaiian shirt, only filled with t-rex and triceratops instead of surfers and bikini babes. And then they snapped a picture.

The place was sprawling, and everything in it was huge, custom-grown in a lab somewhere to match various periods on Earth: Jurassic, Triassic, whatever. Neatly groomed gravel paths wound through enormous boulders and redwoods, and pristine signage listed both the kinds of reDinos you could see in each enclosure as well as a Who’s Who of the celebrities in each environment. The whole thing was at once totally surreal and less interesting than I had hoped, and I worried for the kid, who seemed to be barely tolerating the trip.

Later that day, the kid and I were leaning against the fence of the reBronto habitat, where Meryl Streep was calmly eating the leaves off of a patently accurate Jurassic era deciduous tree. The sun was getting low in the sky already, and we had only been there for a few hours. I was starting to think this whole trip was a bad idea, but then the kid said something.

“What do you think Mom would have picked?”

“What do you mean picked?” I asked. I was startled; it was the first unprompted thing the kid had said to me in months.

“You know,” the kid said, blowing her blue bangs out of her face. “What kind of dinosaur do you think she would have chosen, if she could be one?”

“Kid, I don’t think we could have afforded…” I started.

The kid rolled her eyes. “Forget it,” she said. “Heaven forbid you have a little imagination for once.”

Something sank in me. It sucked, because she was right. I kicked a stone on the ground and it skittered along the gravel sidewalk before hopping the curb and disappearing into the brush just beyond the enclosure fence. I looked over at the kid. She was leaning on the fence, stone still. The way she held herself now, like if she relaxed, even a little, her armor wouldn’t work, was so unnatural to the laid-back slouch she usually adopted.

I watched her for a minute. We stood maybe five feet apart, like we were strangers. Her eyes shone with sudden tears, and she set her jaw, willing them back. I thought I should move closer. I was technically her guardian now, not exactly a parent, but close enough, and I thought of her as some kind of relation—I had never had kids, before her, and she wasn’t even technically my kid. But still, I wanted to do right by her. I wanted to protect her, help her. But I also didn’t want to hurt. I reached out a hand, then thought better of it—the kid didn’t like physical contact, not unless it came from Candi. That might make things even worse.

“What about archaeopteryx?” I said, keeping my tone as casual as possible.

The kid glanced up at me, cracked a small smile. “Yeah, maybe.”

“It’s the only one that’s special enough,” I said. The kid stepped closer.

“You think they have any archaeopteryx here yet?” she asked after a moment. “We could, I don’t know, go look at them or whatever. If you want.”

“Yeah!” I said, and the kid scoffed at the enthusiasm in my voice.

When we walked away to go find a map, the kid quickened her step to keep pace with me, bumped my shoulder with her own.

“Hey, thanks,” she said. “For taking us here. It helps, weirdly.”

[cmd pause footage]

[cmd fast forward]

[cmd stop action]

[cmd play footage]

[!]

[re-enter access code to continue]

[********]

[Thank you. Footage rolling in 3, 2, 1]

Of course Kanye was the first reDinosaur. Who else did you think it would be? I think he was also the first one that monster took down, too—the whole throng of starfuckers we were with freaked the hell out. I mean, Kanye’s also a raptor, or he’s a reRaptor, anyway, but it was no contest. When the real raptor appeared, park staff tried to set up a Comm with it; there are no portals in the rePark—that’s military grade tech—so that it materialized at all was a big issue. Clearly something went wrong somewhere. Also, the raptor’s coloration was all off and different. reDinos are all kinds of bright colors: pink, purple, electric blue… whatever their buyers want. This raptor was olive green and black, all-natural, with no excess additions, and there was none of the lag that happens with reAnimals. No slowed reflexes, nothing. Just slashed right through the Kanye reRaptor’s jugular. Sprayed blood everywhere. I mean, everywhere. And then, well, then it leapt onto us, shredded us. Everybody scattered. I mean, you can see the damage—sliced me clean open from my shoulder to my hip, right across my chest. Never been more scared in my life, man, I’ll tell ya.

[Transmission error. Buffering… high res will return in 5, 4, 3, 2…]

carl what the hell are you doing we need to get you to the med bay

Kid? I thought—that raptor had you cornered.

yeah well i thought the same about you

How did you get out of there?

i don’t want to talk about it

Kid, are you okay?

are you talking to a fucking video camera

Yeah. Hoping for Fox Intergalactic to pick me up for a new reality show about bleeding out with your family on vacation.

shut up carl

jesus you are really ripped up

Yeah I don’t think we’re gonna be able to salvage the shirt they gave us.

bummer. that thing’s probably worth like 4,000 dollars on eBay right now.

What?

yeah it’s got Kanye’s blood on it or whatever. people pay out the ass for that creepy shit.

Could have paid for my med bay bills, huh Kid?

dad, don’t try to make jokes, okay? you suck at it

what

why are you looking at me like that

stop

It’s just, you never call me Dad.

ugh. dad, can we not?

dad

DAD

come on, you asshole, stay with me

…

fuck

fuck, the raptor

HHHHSHHHSSSSSSSS REEEEET AWKHHHSSSS OOoOOOoO

…

crunch crunch slurp crunch draaaaaaaaaag REET OoooOOOOooO

oh my god

it took dad

how am i going to get out of here

how am i going to get home

[end of transmission]

[cmd draft report]

[Recipient access code?]

[********]

[Confirm recipient access code.]

[********]

[What is the report?]

[Test 207 complete. Conclusion: Organically

grown dinosaurs distinguish synthetics as prey. Some

collateral damage. Alert CPS on-planet of orphan girl.

Description: short blue hair, medium build. Moderate force authorized.]

[cmd send report]

[!]

[Report sent.]

[What would you like to do with the transmission?]

[cmd delete]

[Are you sure you want to delete this transmission?]

[Y]

[Delete function will permanently delete transmission. Continue?]

[Y]

[enter access code to confirm delete]

[access code ********]

[!]

[Delete confirmed.]

[cmd log out]

[Are you sure?]

[Y] [Logged out.]

0 notes