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mamaestapa · 11 months

Text

Positive

•pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

•series summary: Y/n Hubbard, the younger sister of Cincinnati Bengals Defensive End Sam Hubbard, finds herself in a difficult situation after a steamy hookup with her brothers best friend, who just so happens to be the quarterback for the Bengals. In just nine months their lives will be changed forever. How will Y/n and Joe manage to to go through parenthood together? more so, how will Sam take the news he is going to be the uncle of his best friends baby?

•chapter summary: A couple weeks have passed and you’re still feeling under the weather. You decide to take a test and the results leave you questioning everything…

•word count: 1.6k

•warnings: Pregnancy, language, pregnancy tests, mentions of unprotected sex, birth control, mornings sickness (pretty much all of the pregnancy symptoms) slight fluff and angst

series masterlist

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January 14, 2023

4 weeks pregnant

2 weeks.

2 weeks had passed and you still hadn’t gotten your period. You tried to stay calm as your thoughts ran wild. You had no idea what you would even do if you were pregnant. You live in a one bedroom apartment, you have a very busy schedule, you’re only 24, and hell, you’re not even in a relationship with the baby daddy! Well, he'll only be the baby daddy if you are pregnant, which is really looking to be the case.

Oh god. The baby daddy, Joe. What would you tell Joe!? How would you even tell Joe!? And then there’s the whole situation with telling Sam. If you are pregnant with Joes baby, how would you tell Sam!? You can’t just say: “Hey Sam, I slept with your best friend and surprise, he knocked me up!” You started to panic, regretting everything from that one steamy night that ensued between the two of you. it felt so right in the moment—and even the morning after. But right now? Boy did it feel so wrong.

Y/n, calm down. You don't even know that you're pregnant yet! You thought to yourself, trying to ease your worries that you just knew were going to be true. You sat on your bed and pulled out your phone, deciding to seek advice from someone who is going through your exact dilemma. Okay… maybe not exact, but she is currently pregnant, so maybe she could help you out.

You- Hey emma. Do you have a second?

Emma-Oh, hey Y/n! Always, what’s up?

You- Well, I won't give any details...yet. It’s kind of personal, but I could use your help.

Emma- Everything OK?

You- I don’t know yet. I need to know, what were your earliest pregnancy symptoms?

Emma- My earliest pregnancy symptoms? Why do you need to know that?😂

You- because I just do. What were they?

Emma- Omg?! Y/n, are you pregnant?

You- I don't know! That’s why I’m asking you about your symptoms so I can evaluate myself lol

Emma- This is crazy. Who’s the baby daddy!? I’m so excited. Does Sam know!?

You- As much as I would like to tell you, that is classified information. And no, Sam doesn’t know. I don’t usually discuss my pregnancy scares with him.

Emma- Makes sense. Well, my earliest symptom was definitely feeling super tired. I always had a metallic taste in my mouth too. I also got really horny over everything Sam did. I just looked at him like he was a big slice of cheesecake😍

You-Oooh, I could go for cheesecake right now

Emma- Me too👅😏

You- Ew, that’s my brother you’re talking about. But i don't have any of those symptoms, except maybe the tiredness.

Emma- Well, what are your symptoms then, babe? maybe I can let you know based on those?

You- Nausea, vomiting(mainly in the morning), sore boobs, being grossed out by certain smells. I hate coffee now and I swear my hearing has changed.

Emma- Awe Y/n, go buy a pregnancy test right now. you're definitely pregnant.

You- Seriously?! You think so?

Emma- Girl. Sore boobs, the morning sickness, being grossed out by certain smells. There is definitely a bun in your oven, honey.

Your heart dropped and a pit formed in your stomach as you read her text. Tears began to well up in your eyes as you grew overwhelmed by the emotions you were currently experiencing. There’s only one way to be sure. You need to take a test.

You-Oh god...I guess I’ll go take a test. i'll keep you updated. Thank you for helping me, Em. love you!

Emma-Of course! Hey, good luck okay? No matter what the results are, I’m always here for you, got it? So are the other girls. love you!❤️

With that, you turned your phone off and let out a shaky sigh of defeat. Time to go buy a test and pee on a stick that’ll change your life forever—for better or for worse.

~time skip~

You quickly opened the door to your apartment. You made your way to the bathroom. shutting and locking the door once you were inside. You placed the plastic grocery bag from Walgreens on the countertop. Here goes nothing…

You took a deep breath as you opened the bag and took out two different types of pregnancy tests. One Clear Blue digital test and the other, a First Response test. You’ve seen advertisements for both and we’re unsure which one was more effective, so you decided to buy both. Taking multiple tests won’t hurt. You opened up the containers that held the tests with shaky hands. You’ve only ever experienced a pregnancy scare one other time before this. But this time felt much different than the first. Because there’s a chance you could actually be pregnant. Your eyes scanned over the directions. You slightly laughed to yourself at the step-by-step directions provided by the pregnancy test companies. You pee on a stick—it's pretty idiot proof. What a way to find out you're bringing a little bundle of joy into the world, huh? Who knew peeing on one little white stick could bring you the best or worst news you’ll ever receive. Although you’re extremely nervous for the results, you do know one thing. Even if the test is positive, as much as it would be a shock and certainly unplanned, this baby would be so, so loved.

You didn't feel like making a mess, so you decided it would be best to do your business in a small cup. However, the clean dishes you had only had in your kitchen were wine glasses. So you decided, fuck it, you’ll just pee in a wine glass. Which is exactly what you did.

After successfully peeing in the wine glass, you set it on the counter and dipped the tests in there for about eight seconds. You didn’t really know how long you were supposed to dip the tests, but you figure if you’re pregnant it won’t matter anyways since the test will detect it right away. You put the caps on both tests and flipped them over. You didn’t want to see the results right away. You set a timer for three minutes and waited anxiously, chewing at your bottom lip as soon as the timer started to tick down. As you waited for the results, you slightly hoped the tests would be negative. You were so worried about what you would do if they come out positive. Of course you would keep the baby, but you absolutely are not ready to be a mother yet. Your nerves were currently through the roof as you paved back in forth in your bathroom, waiting for the test results that held your fate. You decided to text Emma to ease the nerves.

You- Hey! I just took a couple tests. I have about two minutes left on the timer and I’m so nervous right now. How did you do this, Em?😂

Emma- Awe, Y/n. Well, I was prepared for the results, and I had Sam there as support. If I was in your situation though, I would've been a nervous wreck. But you'll be fine! Promise.

You- Yeah, that’s true. Thank you for the reassurance<3

Emma- Of course. Good luck!

You shut your phone off and the timer went off about 10 seconds after your screen went dark. Your heart rate quickened, the palpitations making you feel like your heart was going a mile a minute. Your hands got clamy and your tummy churned with nervous butterflies. Inhaling a deep breath, you spoke to no one in particular—just yourself. "Okay, Y/n. If this is positive, it's going to be OK. This baby will be loved no matter what. You have a huge support system, and even if Joe decides he doesn't want anything to do with you or the baby, it will be fine."

"Here it goes..." you murmured, getting ready to flip over the tests sitting face down on the bathroom counter. Your hands shook as you turned over the Clear Blue test first. Your worried eyes scanned the white and blue stick. Your heart dropped as you read the results, tears immediately welling up in your eyes. You picked up the test and put a hand up to your mouth in disbelief.

Pregnant 3+

You held the Clear Blue test in one hand as you flipped over the First Response test. Two dark and distinct pink lines had developed on the previously all white circle in the middle of the test.

You’re pregnant.

You picked up both of the tests, holding them in my hands as you choked out a sob.

"Oh my god...there's no way." You set the tests down, thinking hard about how this was even possible. Yeah you and Joe had unprotected sex, but on birth control, how could this happen!?

You mentally scolded yourself in the moment. You know brith control isn’t 100% effective.

You set the pregnancy test on the counter and n swiftly walked out of the bathroom. You grabbed your package of birth control pills that sat on the nightstand. You examined the pack. No missed pills. Until you saw it. There it was, staring back at you, sitting on your nightstand, a small yellow pill. You smacked your forehead, remembering when you missed a dosage a few weeks back. You told yourself you would take it the next day, but you never did. You sat down on the bed and hunched over. Resting your head in your hands as sobs began to wreck your body. You could blame it on hormones, but you knew it really wasn't just from the pregnancy hormones.

The truth is, you were feeling scared and utterly alone. You didn't feel prepared to be a mother at all. You had no idea how you would break the news to Sam or your parents. And Joe, you don’t even want to think about he’s going to react to the news. Will he stay around or is your baby going to grow up without its daddy? It broke your heart just thinking about telling anyone, especially Joe, about your pregnancy.

You slowly lifted your head up and hastily wiped your wet, bloodshot eyes. You were so overwhelmed right now. As you sat on the bed, contemplating all of your decisions from the past month, you let your mind wander to your pregnancy. You let out a sigh as you stood up and walked over to your body mirror by your bed. Once you were in front of the mirror, you pulled up your shirt and examined your belly in the mirror. No bump yet. You placed your hand over your lower abdomen, gently stroking your soft skin with your thumb to let the little guy or girl know you knew about their existence in your womb.

"Hey baby...what are we gonna do?" You spoke softly,!voice cracking with emotion as you gazed at your still flat tummy. As you looked in the mirror, you couldn’t help but smile as you thought about all the milestones i'll get to experience in the next nine months. The cravings, the baby bump, the first kick, finding out the gender, decorating a nursery, labor and delivery. Part of you was so excited for this milestone in your life, but the other part of you was absolutely terrified.

You have no idea how you’ll break the news to Joe that he’s going to be a daddy. You just hope he reacts well…

hey loves!

so this chapter was a little short, but there was really no way to drag this one out any longer lol. the next chapter is much longer though :)

how do you think joe will react to the news? if you think he reacts in the best way possible…you may want to think again👀

i’m having so much fun with this series and i hope you are too! i’ll have a welcome to the jungle update out sometime this weekend or beginning of next week. i REALLY need to update that series, i sincerely apologize for the lack of of updating. i’ll make it up to all of you, i promise!

i hope you’re all doing well. as always, thank you for reading🤍

tags: @dandelionwrites8 @joeburreauxsworld @theflawedwriter @mrsshiesty @ann288 @ijustcrypretty @theoneandonlyfanz @wickedfun9 @venus-b @hummusxx @stainednailpolishremover @a-moment-captured @alternativemadchen @erinmartin1987 @sirlewisworld @kkrenae @unhingedfangirl @sublimemusic-rebel @meameagirl @ilovejoeburroww @hallecarey1 @j-worlds-blog @blinkloverx3 @jordyn14 @emherb10

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x you #daddy issues

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cascowriteswords · 2 years

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4 in the moment kiss where they’re enemies to lovers. Maybe coworkers? 🤔

I technically cheated and combined these two but I think it's okay because it ended up being over 3k words 😅

...

“How do I say you’re fucking insane if you think I’m doing all of this without getting fired immediately?” Clarke asks Raven, who sits in the cubicle across from hers.

“The new boss?” Raven asks, still typing away without taking her eyes from her screen. Looking to be just about as overloaded as Clarke feels.

“Yeah. She’s already getting on my nerves because she’s rescheduled our initial meeting like 4 times now. And she keeps sending me things that don’t even have anything to do with my department. I’m the director of People and Culture. I'm not a recruiter. I’m not in marketing. And I’m sure as shit not her personal assistant either. And it’s like -” she glances at the corner of her screen for the time “3 o’clock. I’m supposed to do the jobs of 4 people and still get out by 5? Or does she expect me to pull overtime on a Friday night? Like there’s no way I could possibly have plans. Maybe she’s one of those people who thinks that just because I’m not married and don’t have kids she can shove off everyone else's work on me.”

“Lexa’s a busy person Clarke. I really don’t think it’s personal.”

“Personal or not, it’s not fucking happening. So help me with this email or else your next cube neighbor might be some insufferable old white guy whose all-natural deodorant is just really not working for him.”

Raven relents, finding a stopping point in whatever exactly she’s doing to get up and shoo Clarke out of her chair. She ends up deleting 98% of what Clarke had written, swapping out phrases like “why the fuck didn’t you tell me you needed this done sooner” and “that’s not my fucking problem” with more diplomatic phrases such as “I’ll schedule those meetings for you at your earliest availability” and “I wasn’t involved with that project but I will forward your request to the appropriate parties”, respectively.

“You’re weirdly good at that for someone with the smartest mouth I know,” Clarke commends her when she’s finished.

“It’s all about balance, babe. Now can I please get back to my job? Or the Commander’s going to fire us both. Maybe your mom will let us turn her study back into your bedroom and we can crash there when we can’t make our rent next month.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. Then something registers. “Wait. The Commander? Is that what people are calling her?” she asks, a mixture of disbelief and disgust seeping into her voice.

“Yeah,” Raven shrugs.

“I get that she’s the boss but she’s not commanding me to do anything,” Clarke grumbles. She plops back down in her chair and starts typing angrily.

“If you add anything to that that gets you fired after I just rewrote the whole thing for you I’m going to be so pissed,” Raven warns.

“I’m not,” Clarke promises. “I just don’t want her to think she can walk all over me. Command me,” she adds, rolling her eyes.

She ends the email with Hope this helps, let me know if you would like to meet with me to go over the roles of our departments and their directors to avoid misallocation of time and resources in the future and hits send. She hopes it's just passive-aggressive enough to get the message across without being able to be used against her.

She goes back to work, furiously attempting to complete the tasks The Commander had unloaded on her. She may not have kids or a significant other waiting for her at home but she does have a cat and a bottle of red wine and a new episode of her favorite shitty reality TV show to watch.

So far the new boss has taken 2-3 days to return any of her emails. So she isn't expecting it at all when she gets the notification that someone has replied to the email she just sent an hour ago.

That sounds like a great idea. Come up whenever you are ready.

Clarke's initial reaction is oh shit. Followed in rapid succession by annoyance and frustration when she has the realization that it's already past 4 o'clock now and this means she most definitely will not be getting out on time, not that there was much hope she would, anyway. But still.

She needs to learn to keep her big stupid mouth shut.

"It was nice knowing you," she grumbles to Raven as she gets up and smooths the wrinkles from her slouch out of her shirt. Raven quirks a brow but seems otherwise unfazed as Clarke shuffles toward the elevator and her impending doom.

…

Clarke knocks three times, half hoping to not be heard so she can say she tried and return to her desk.

No such luck.

“Come in.” The voice is muffled by thick oak and considerable distance but Clarke manages to catch it. She steadies herself and lifts her chin, prepared to simultaneously defend herself and give The Commander a piece of her mind as she opens the door and steps into her office.

She’s wholly unprepared for the woman she finds sitting behind the desk.

She isn’t sure what she was expecting but it definitely isn’t this. Lexa looks young, for starters, nearly the same age as Clarke. Her features are somehow both delicate and sharp, with high cheekbones and pouty lips and big round eyes that Clarke can’t quite figure out the color of at first glance. Chestnut hair is piled up on top of her head in a messy bun like it was originally down but she’d had enough by the end of the day, strands towards the front not contained by the hair tie and instead framing her face.

Clarke’s first impression is that this might be the most attractive woman she’s ever seen in her life. Her second is that she looks tired. And her third, more of an observation than an impression, is that it looks like a bomb went off in this office. There are papers literally scattered all over the floor, boxes stacked along the walls and windows that would normally boast an expansive view of the skyline, and the couch against the far wall looks like it’s been functioning as a dresser and changing room of sorts with slacks and button down blouses draped over its back and arms.

Between Lexa’s unexpected prettiness and the warzone that is her office Clarke momentarily forgets why she’s here and that she was even mad to begin with.

“I apologize for the state of my office,” Lexa says, likely having followed Clarke’s gaze around the room. “It’s been a whirlwind trying to get everything in order around here. Titus gave us no warning about his departure and apparently was trying to run this company into the ground, by my estimations after going through what I could of the data.” She sighs, finishing scribbling something down onto a sticky note which she adds to a pile of other sticky notes on the left side of her desk. “Sit, please,” Lexa tells her, gesturing to the chair on the other side of her desk.

Clarke has that tongue-tied feeling that she only gets around pretty women. And that - cannot be how she feels sitting across from her new boss, especially not as the leader of People and Culture. She forces herself to speak, reminding herself why she’s here and what her end goal is; to not get fired while also putting her foot down about the scope and limitations of her role. She decides to get right down to business, voicing her concerns, and finds Lexa to be… a very good listener. She listens so well and intently, in fact, that Clarke almost finds herself losing her train of thought because those eyes.

And then she does something Clarke had absolutely not expected her to do - she agrees with her about the general mismanagement occurring and state of disarray in the company and asks for her input about the best way to move forward. She apologizes for sending a slew of information and tasks her way and explains that she never meant for Clarke to complete all of that work on her own or immediately but rather to delegate and get to things when she had the time. She thanks Clarke for her hard work and dedication and tells her that even though this is their first formal meeting she’s well aware of the hard work she does and is very thankful for her contributions to the team.

Clarke’s been working in corporate culture long enough to be able to tell when someone is just blowing smoke up her ass. When scrutinizing Lexa’s words, all she gets is that she seems like one of the most genuine, down-to-earth people she’s ever met. She’s just swamped, stressed out, and working insane hours trying to fix all of the various fuck ups Titus made over the past 4 years as CEO.

Very much to her surprise, she finds herself sympathetically offering to help Lexa get some things sorted out. And again to her surprise, she finds that she doesn’t mind staying and working in Lexa’s office with her, spending time helping her delegate work to other departments and creating a realistic timetable for the next few weeks with attainable goals. Clarke tells funny stories about some of the department heads as they work and Lexa spills secrets about the board members she works with after swearing Clarke to secrecy.

She doesn’t even realize how much time has gone by until Lexa glances at the clock on the wall and looks at her from across her desk, stricken. “You should go home. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it’s already after 7. Thank you for all of your help, you really didn’t have to do all of this.”

Clarke didn’t have to. She definitely did not expect to want to when she had sullenly ridden in the elevator up here. Raven probably thinks she got herself kicked out of the 5th-floor window since she never came back to her cubicle. But now she finds herself reluctant to leave, especially knowing that Lexa will likely be here all night continuing to work.

“Did you have dinner yet?”

Lexa looks up from her computer screen slowly. “I haven’t.”

"You just moved here, right? Have you been to Tomatoes yet?"

"I haven't," Lexa says again.

"It's a little hole-in-the-wall spot. Kind of…lackluster, but their tacos are to die for and the bartender is awesome. Would you want to go?"

"Now?" Lexa asks, pointedly surveying her desk that is, despite having been organized, still loaded with paperwork to be sorted through.

"Yes, now. You've been here all day - I know because I've been here all day and you were here before me. Those papers will l still be here Monday." Lexa looks doubtful as she chews the inside of her lower lip. "Or tomorrow if you insist on working the weekend. But let's be done for the night. Both of us."

This is so not how Clarke thought her night would go; standing in front of Lexa, her boss, The Commander, and trying to lure her out to the bar for tacos and a drink. Genuinely hoping she'll accept because even though they've been working she's actually had the most fun she's had in a while and she's not quite ready for it to end.

Lexa looks at her thoughtfully, meeting her eyes. She glances down at her desk once more and then exhales, tossing her pen into a drawer as she shuts down her computer. She stands up and grins at Clarke as she takes her jacket off the back of her chair and shrugs it over her shoulders.

"Alright. Let's go try these tacos, then."

…

“You have to be kidding me.”

Lexa turns around and hits Clarke with a smug, triumphant little smile. Then looks back at her achievement, a dart nestled solidly in the red bullseye circle of the dartboard, surrounded by Clarke’s failed attempts scattered haphazardly across the board. She’d gotten it on her first try, standing several feet further back than she even had to.

“You lied to me. There’s no way you’ve never thrown a dart before.”

“Do I look like I frequent establishments that have dartboards, Clarke?” Lexa asks, quirking a brow in challenge.

No, she doesn’t. Not in the pantsuit she’s wearing, even after she shed her coat and blazer shortly after they’d arrived. One half of her shirt has come out of its tuck and the top few buttons are undone, the collar sagging open and offering the view of just a hint of collarbones on either side. Her cheeks are a little flushed from the one beer she’s had and she looks messy but somehow still put together. She’s undeniably beautiful, and she stares at Clarke expectantly waiting for some kind of comeback, unaware that Clarke can hardly think when she’s standing there looking like that. Existing in her space. Out of her comfort zone but still self-assured and confident. She’s unbelievably attractive, beyond what Clarke had even perceived when she got her first look at her earlier in the day.

She’s so screwed.

“No, you don’t,” Clarke admits with a sigh. “I’ve been trying for months to get a bullseye. You must just have some kind of natural technique with your fingers.”

Lexa opens her mouth to say something, then seems to think better of it. But Clarke’s not having any of that. “What were you about to say?” she asks. “I don’t need you to pity me, Raven kicks my ass at darts on the regular.”

Lexa doesn’t answer right away, looking at Clarke like she’s searching for something. Clarke can’t tell if she finds it but waits patiently. “It’s not appropriate,” she says after a moment.

Interest - piqued. “We aren’t at work right now,” Clarke reminds her.

“But you’re human resources, essentially,” Lexa laughs, a little nervously. “Seems like a grey area.”

“We don’t call it HR because of the negative association that’s been tied with it over the years. Like this, it makes people nervous. So yeah, I’m technically HR, but I’m not a narc. And you’re the CEO anyways.”

“Which makes it an even greyer area.”

“Lexa, come on. We’ve been having a good time, right?”

She nods. Weighs her options for just a few more seconds and then says, “I was just going to say that I’ve been told I have a natural technique with my fingers before. In…other contexts.”

It takes a second for Clarke to process and then - oh. Oh.

She’s glad she hadn’t taken another sip of her drink because she might have choked on it.

She swallows, trying to gather herself, absolutely not letting herself take a closer look at Lexa’s hands because she’s already noticed that they’re nice but she hasn’t scrutinized them beyond that. “That was extremely inappropriate, Miss Woods,” she says, calling on her stern business-woman voice that she’s perfected over years of dealing with employee relations issues.

Lexa’s eyes widen. “Clarke, I told you that I didn’t want to overstep. I’m sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have -”

Clarke doesn’t have the heart to watch her flounder for more than a few seconds. She cuts her off. “It was inappropriate, but I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” She feigns more confidence than she feels as she puts a hand on Lexa’s knee reassuringly. A small gesture to make it so that Lexa isn’t the only one who has crossed a line tonight. Lexa looks a little shell-shocked, looking up and down between Clarke’s hand and her face enough times that it’s almost comical. Clarke squeezes her leg once and then lets go, standing up from the stool she’d been sitting on as she watched Lexa play darts. “Come on, let’s go sit at the bar. The next thing I want to make you try is their southwest egg rolls.”

She grabs Lexa’s hand like it’s no big deal at all and pulls her towards two open seats.

…

Clarke’s not sure that Lexa has ever eaten greasy bar finger food before but the southwest egg rolls are definitely a hit. The noises Lexa makes as she eats them tell her as much, and also do things to her. But they don’t affect her half as much as watching Lexa amicably interact with some of the old townies who are also sitting at the bar with them. It turns out Lexa knows enough about baseball to hold her own talking to Bonafide Baseball Expert Jim McDonnel and she doesn’t bat an eye when a very drunk Mary Lou bumps into her seat and then talks about her 13 cats for five minutes until the bartender mercifully calls her attention back down to the other end of the bar where her actual seat is.

Clarke feels a little bad for subjecting high-class Lexa to this place but she doesn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, when she turns to look at Clarke her eyes are bright and her smile is genuine and she says, “Thanks for showing me this place. It’s great.”

Clarke kind of adores her and her big dopey smile. And that’s a really scary thought to be having about her boss of all people but she’s rolling with it. Whatever it is between them, chemistry or connection or some other unnamed thing, it’s off the charts. And Clarke can’t take it anymore, especially knowing that the night is starting to come to a close.

Lexa is already sitting close enough that their knees are knocking together and it’s not much distance to close between their mouths at all. She doesn’t have the tact or inhibition to do it slowly, just leans in and kisses Lexa like she’s been wanting to do all night. It’s heated and languid immediately and she finds Lexa only needs a fraction of a second to adjust to her surprise before she’s kissing back, open-mouthed and hungry.

It’s stupid Jim McDonell’s hooting and hollering that breaks them apart less than a minute later, reminding them that they’re very much in public and kissing in a way that is very much not chaste.

A realization that is quickly followed by the fact that Clarke just kissed her boss. “Sorry,” she says quickly, trying to catch her breath.

Lexa holds her gaze. Licks her lips like she’s trying to taste what’s left of Clarke on them. Clarke tries not to visibly squirm in her chair as she watches, and looks back up when Lexa finally says something. “No you aren’t.”

Clarke’s alma mater would probably revoke her degree if they heard her response. “No, I’m not.” Lexa smirks, then not so subtly looks at Clarke’s mouth, desire clear in the intentness of her gaze. “Do you want to get out of here?”

When Lexa’s eyes flick up they’re darker than they were before. Heat flares in the confines of Clarke’s lower stomach and settles between her legs. “Very much so.”

Clarke’s hand flies up, flagging down the bartender to close out their tab without taking her eyes off Lexa. She tips generously and laughs when Lexa grabs her hand and tugs her hurriedly back towards the car.

On second thought, maybe she should open her big fat mouth more often.

#thanks for asking buddy!#and anon who asked for 7 too!#clexa drabble #clexa kiss prompt #clexa kisses #clexa

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yuurei20 · 8 months

Text

Riddle Info Compilation part 26: Riddle and Trey (pt2)

In a chat Trey explains that he tends to the roses even when it’s not his turn, as he would rather endure extra work than Riddle’s wrath.

Trey claims that he does not have any particular loyalty to Riddle, he just happens to know what Riddle likes.

Rook cautions him against breaking hearts.

Trey accepts a store-bought strawberry tart from Jade to replace the strawberries that he lent Mostro Lounge, and Rook asks if Riddle might not be happier with a tart made with his love.

To Rook and Jade’s surprise Trey responds, “…even if Riddle considers himself a discerning critic of all things cake, his palate isn’t all that refined…I don’t have to make a whole tart from scratch for him to be happy.”

Jade says that he had assumed Trey would rather feed Riddle homemade treats baked with love and Trey assures them, “Love has nothing to do with it. My main priority is keeping my housewarden from going berserk…”

Rook responds, “I had considered you Riddle’s loyal knight, but it seems I erred a bit in my perception.”

Despite disparaging Riddle’s sense of taste behind his back, when Trey presents the tart by saying he “can only hope it suits your palate, Riddle.”

Riddle does seem to consider himself a connoisseur of sorts, saying, “Well, I HAVE had my fair share of strawberry tarts.”

Riddle and Trey both have references to Riddle eating Trey’s baking in various vignettes.

Trey claims that he was only serious about studying in school from the start because he knew that Riddle would be coming the year after him, and “could you imagine what he would have said if I’d flunked any one of my classes?”

When Cater claims that “It’s the guys who act all harmless that you really gotta watch out for” during Beanfest Riddle agrees, and then ends up getting caught by Trey himself.

Trey claims he did not do anything special.

Perhaps the earliest Trey-Riddle interaction we see is shortly after Riddle becomes housewarden in his first year at NRC, when Trey recommends that Riddle “dial it back a little” and Riddle accuses him of being soft and blames him for their problems, saying, “The reason things are so dire is because you upperclassmen condone their indolent behavior.”

It is extremely common to see Trey trying to calm Riddle down: it happens in various vignettes, during Phantom Bride and the main story.

We see Riddle pressure Cater into supervising unexperienced underclassmen in the kitchen during the Wish Upon a Star event, but they struggle with the task at hand until Trey lends a hand.

Riddle because angry with Cater for giving the busy Trey more work to do and Cater apologizes, but Trey intervenes, ultimately turning the situation into a way to grant his own star-sending wish of a food processor for the dorm by convincing Riddle to amend the dorm’s budget.

In a vignette where inexperienced 1st-year students attempt to make a cake for the Unbirthday Party we see Trey physically intervene with an angry Riddle by grabbing onto his arm, insisting that a cake created from the students brainstorming together is emblematic of Heartlabyul.

Trey says, “And really, isn’t that what matters?” And Riddle responds, “No! Not in the least!”

#Riddle Rosehearts #twstfacts #riddlefacts #twisted wonderland #twstriddle

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maxbegone · 1 year

Photo

i know it’s super late in the day for this, and honestly i can’t even remember what i’ve shared in the past and what i haven’t, but @morganaspendragonss, @reyescarlos and @rmd-writes all tagged me so i have to share something from the roadtrip au ♥️

“That was my jersey.”

“What?”

“That Jonah was wearing,” TK explains and oh. The picture Enzo sent. “I played hockey for a few years, and Mom kept it. I gave it to Jonah before I left.” He grows solemn. “Mom left him, and now I’ve left him. This whole trip I’ve been trying to fight how guilty I’ve been feeling about it.”

“TK—”

“Please.” He holds a hand up. “Don’t give me a speech. And don’t tell me you're sorry.”

He doesn’t. Not right away, at least, but the words are clawing at his throat and he can’t seem to stop them.

“TK,” he tries again, softer, “I really am sorry about your mom.”

“What did I just tell you?” He asks, monotone, but there’s no heat behind it as he huffs out a humorless laugh. “I don’t know why everyone says that. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ How the hell are you supposed to respond? ‘Thanks, so am I’?” He shakes his head, wrapping his arms around his knees. “And how sorry is a person, really? They can barely know you and it’s sorry this, sorry that, I just—” TK stops himself. “Nevermind.”

Carlos just watches him.

“You know, I really thought that I would stay in New York once I graduated. That I’d get a job somewhere in the city and visit my dad as often as I could. Now she’s gone and we didn’t work out, and instead of sitting around not sure what to do with myself or falling back into old habits, I’m being…proactive, I guess?” TK pauses. “You’re right, I’ll still see my brother grow up and I can visit whenever I want. But I just can’t help but wonder if he’s confused about where everyone went, you know?”

“He’s gonna be okay,” Carlos swears, hoping he isn’t overstepping too much.

“No, I know he will be.” TK closes his eyes. And then, in a quiet, raspy voice he says, “He was there, Carlos. With my mom when she died. He’s gonna be so traumatized.”

TK gradually told him more and more the night he showed up at his doorstep. Carlos had known that she had pushed Jonah’s stroller out of the way, that she had seen it coming, but this is the first time he’s said this to him. If his heart wasn’t already cracking in two, it sure is now.

TK doesn’t speak for a while, and Carlos doesn’t seem to prompt him. He just brings up a hand to rub between his shoulder blades after some consideration, hoping it’s as much of an affirmation as any that he’s right there.

The first time he met Gwyn was by accident. TK had been staying at her place for the week while she was away on business, and Carlos had spent more than a few nights. However, TK had gotten the days mixed up and they had woken up one morning to find her sitting in the kitchen with a book and a cup of coffee as the two of them walked in sleep-rumpled and hanging off one another.

Of course the awkward encounter led to a forced introduction, but once they got past that, Carlos learned that Gwyn was a lovely woman — not that he had any doubts. He could see where TK got some of his best qualities from.

When they broke up, it was the first time Carlos realized that he would be missing more than just the person, but the family that came with it. Not that he’s diminishing how much TK had meant to him then. Still means to him.

He pulls himself out of it.

“Is that why you’ve been so excited about this trip?” Carlos finds himself asking after some time, and TK gives him a look. “Or that you’ve been so—”

“So what? Happy? Optimistic?” He stares him down. “Maybe it’s because when you spend the better part of a year surrounded by grief, you tend to start forcing yourself to turn around. Maybe it’s because I didn’t want my brother’s earliest memories to be so sad. Or maybe it’s because, Carlos, despite where you and I stand, you are the only person who really makes me feel good about myself right now. You’re the only person who actually sees me.”

He can’t look away from TK, his breath held as he nervously runs a hand over his mouth.

“Whatever you felt last night was…not not mutual,” he eventually gets out. “So. There.”

TK turns to look back out toward the forest, warm light hitting him in every direction, and all Carlos can do is sit there.

“And maybe it got to a point where I really just wanted to share this place with you, too,” TK adds rather finitely. “It’s as simple as that.”

#911 ls #911 ls fic #911 lone star #tarlos fic #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #my fic #my 911 ls fic #wip wednesday #roadtrip au

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mad-who-ra · 2 years

Text

Brave is the heart that loves

@yehsahihai here is your promised fluff. Stop cursing me, now.

Ram x Reader

Word Count : 1052

...

You barged into his house only to find him writing something on his desk. He turned around startled at the sound of the door slamming behind you. His face relaxed as he saw it was just you. He dropped his pen on the desk, turning to face you. You were mad, to say the least. You did not even look at him and you muttered curses under your breath, walking around.

“Hey!” He said, twirling his chair lightly amused at your mood.

“Stupid! I told them a thousand times before, but no one listens! How dare they! They thought they could trick me into THIS?” You snapped, pacing in the room, “stupid! All of them!”

“What happened now?” He frowned.

“What happened?” You asked, stopping in your tracks to look at him.

His frown deepened. Oh yeah, you definitely were in a mood.

“I will tell you what happened.” You said, gesturing at yourself. He looked at you from head to toe. You were wearing a gorgeous yellow saree with a green border. Gold bangles adorned your wrist and a heavy neckless rested around your neck. You would have loved it in any other situation, but today, all you wanted to do was throw it away.

“You look beautiful!” Ram said, mesmerised.

That made you even more angry. Because how dumb can he be?

“I know! I know, I look beautiful today, Ram. And stop twirling that chair, I am going to throw a book at your head if you keep doing that.” You glared at him. He gave you a confused look and did not stop.

“You know why I am wearing all this? Because my family is having guests over for chai. You know why?” You asked, crossing your hands across your chest, “because they are fixing my marriage to some random man.”

You had not told your family about Ram. You two were, well close. And you loved him though none of you ever explicitly said it. You both knew and you knew he was the one you were going to marry if you were ever going to marry anyone at all. You have been avoiding the topic of marriage altogether since Ram was busy with his work and you knew he would want to wait for a while. You thought they had given up, but no. You woke up that day with your sister ushering you to get ready. It wasn’t until you were all dolled up, she told you about the actual thing. You stormed out of your house and showed up at his place, not really sure what you wanted from him, but it sure as hell was not this. He looked so nonchalant about the whole thing and that infuriated you.

“Oh.” He said.

“Yes, Ram, oh.”

You waited for his reaction. He stopped twirling his chair as he stared at you. You waited for him to say something. To stand up and do something! But he stayed there. A moment later, he started twirling his chair again irritating you more.

“Han toh, what are you doing here?” He asked.

“What?” You asked surprised.

“Shouldn’t you be at your place when they arrive?”

You clenched you jaw as you realised what he was talking about.

“Right.” You deadpanned, “I should go meet the guy.”

“Yes, exactly,” Ram nodded very seriously, “maybe he is the right one for you! You never know.”

You fisted your pallu to keep yourself from punching the man you loved the most in the world as you put on a too sweet to be true smile on your face.

“You are right.” You said, “maybe he is the right one for me.”

Ram shrugged as if to say see!

“I should go home and greet them, serve them food and chai and get married at the earliest mahurat.” You said very cheerfully.

“Sounds like a plan.” Ram said, picking up his pen, “now that the crisis is sorted, I will get back to work.”

You gaped at him as he turned back to his notebook as if nothing had happened at all. As if he did not care at all. You picked up the nearest paper from the floor crumbling it into a ball and threw it at him. It hit him in his head and he looked at you.

“Y/N, what are you-”

You made another paper ball, throwing it at him again.

“Fine! FINE! If you don’t care, fine!” You snapped, “I will go get married. Because why would you care. You go back to your work!”

He ducked as you kept throwing the paper balls at him. You were this close to throwing actual books at him.

“Y/N, listen-” He said, finally getting up from his chair.

“Oh, no. Don’t bother. I am leaving anyway. Should have gotten married long ago. But I was stupid to think that you loved me. I was stupid that I wanted to marry you! But your work is more important right? You should keep working. Who cares if I am being tied off to some gadha.”

He walked towards you with a smile on his face. If you were mad before, you were furious now, “and you think this is funny? I came here to- You know what, it doesn’t matter. I will go home, send you an invitation. Come have dinner at my wedding.”

You turned around to leave. You felt something tug at your pallu and you stumbled back, facing him.

“What?” You snapped as he smiled softly. His fingers gently tucked a hair strand that had freed itself from your artistic braid, behind your ear.

“You better say something really quick, Ram or I swear-”

“I do love you.” He whispered.

In other situations your heart might have fluttered and you would have blushed. But not today.

“Great. Now, if you don’t mind I have to go make chai for my futu-” you started, turning around again. This time he held your wrist, pulling you back towards him. Your back was pressed against his chest. You had never been this close to him before. He entwined your fingers, wrapping the arm around you. His warm breath fanned over your neck, and your heartbeat quickened.

“There is no way in hell that I will let someone else marry you.”

...

@juhiiiiii @manwalaage @maraudersbitchesassemble @gauri-vishalakshi @lil-stark @rambheem-is-real @darlingletshurttonight @seherie @how-is-it-in-london @itsfookingloosah @raisemybodybacktolife @irisesforyoureyes @cainiyor @cainiyor @zaddylokiandthorsimp @bromance-minus-the-b @kafkaesquebestie @hissterical-nyaan @ramayantika @reallythoughtfulwizard @phoenix666stuff @iam-siriuslysher-lokid @obsessedtoafault @budugu @chaanv @nerdreader @kalavathiii @yehsahihai @hxnky-pxnky @shawty-writes-a-little @azraelcruor @rambheemisgoated @aasthuu @vidhurvrika @jeonmahi1864 @jjwolfesworld @sabi5 @adikavy @eloquentree @tinysmallworlld @herefornamu @shreyalokesh @rishi-sita @filesbeorganized @sukitaee @mathy-u @snigdha-14 @floating-mushroom @nyotamalfoy Did i forget someone?

#rrr #ram x reader

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infini-tree · 1 year

Text

damage control

Summary: Monster fighting is dangerous work.

(Alternatively: Three times Krupp doesn't care or does anything when the boys get hurt*, and the one time he does.)

A/N: * The second part is more on the emotional hurt side of things, but it still counts.

Woe, drabbles put into one fic due to their similar theming be upon ye. They’re all in chronological order that range from the day after the canonical events of the movie, to mid/late game Sticky Notes.

The last 1/4th was part of a different drabble, but that messed with the flow of the story I wanted to tell there. So instead of throwing that part out, I just put it in a separate fic and retooled it for a compilation-style fic. One day, you might get the rest of the fic the last 1/4 was made for, but today is not that day. Also there's a brief mention/implication of blood in the last 1/4.

Long story short, one of the boys gets an injury that draws a bit of blood. Its fine.

——————————–

In retrospect, Benjamin should have figured out the whole… thing with the other guy much quicker.

In fairness, between making sure the semester was still on schedule after George and Harold’s pranks (and their subsequent separation), ferris wheel-induced destruction of school property, and his first date with Edith, he had assumed the lapses in his memory were from stress.

A part of him still wondered how they got that tiger.

At the earliest, it should have been on that first date. He remembered thinking it was a disaster. Not that he could remember much of it. They had just gotten their orders and then… noise. Glimpses of radioactive-green blurs.

And suddenly, he had his arm draped over her shoulders for support as he stared down the front door of his house. He was too out of it to be flustered about the whole affair to notice anything outside of the lingering smell of Edith’s perfume that smelled suspiciously like soup.

After a bit of fumbling on both their parts, she deposited him gently on his bed. Edith was looking out the window, slivers of pale orange from the streetlights filtering through his blinds.

“Wild week, huh?” She turned around, not expecting an answer. Between his head swimming in and out of consciousness, he was sure he missed something– he remembered her lips moving, but what little of his attention not devoted to trying to sleep or the pain preventing him from said sleep was singularly focused on her eyes.

Sleep, thankfully, was starting to win out. There was a soft rustle of fabric and then he felt his own blanket on top of him for once. “I’ll see myself out. Get some rest.”

The day after wasn’t much better– exhaustion settled deep in his bones as it replaced the now-dwindling pain. At least there was coffee in the teacher’s lounge for that, so it was business as usual. And by that he meant that George and Harold had been sent to his office, both for sleeping in. It was only after the third or fourth time did both teachers get fed up and sent them up to his office.

“I have half a mind you’re doing this on purpose.”

George rubbed an eye with the back of his fist with a yawn.

“At least sit up straight when I’m talking to you–” The jab in particular was towards Harold, who had been teetering to the side at a dangerous angle. “Honestly, I don’t care if you had an all night horror movie marathon–”

“We didn’t. Harold’s last syllable was punctuated with a yawn.

“-- Like I said, I don't care either way.” He waved a hand dismissively, ignoring the fatigue pulsing behind his eyes. “But sleeping during class time is prohibited and any further disruptions like this are grounds for suspension.”

They blinked up at him, but didn’t do much else. The principal didn’t know whether their sedate responses so far were more aggravating than their usual tomfoolery.

George’s unobscured eye stared up at him with a look he couldn’t place. It quickly shifted to something more wry. “You look worse than we do and you’re still running the school– what’s your excuse?”

Harold snickered quietly. He gave a sly glance towards the other boy in acknowledgement of an inside joke.

“Detention, both of you.”

No, their usual is much more annoying, he thought at the time.

——————————–

“Ugh, come on– quit being such a big baby about it!”

Now that Krupp had gotten wise as to how they switched him over to Captain Underpants, the entire process of trying to switch him over had gotten much too long for either of their liking. Every time they had to come find him, he set up some sort of counter to the sound of snapped fingers. Soundproofing the office, playing old-timey music at ludicrous volumes, the works.

Right now, he had taken to using industrial-grade earplugs.

“Most people would kill to be a superhero, you know,” George continued. “Captain Underpants has super strength so it really wouldn’t be hurting you that much, anyway.”

“George!”

“What? It’s not like he can hear!” The last word was pointed spitefully towards the principal.

Said principal continued his boring paperwork. While he wouldn’t be able to hear the monster terrorizing the kids outside, let alone them slamming the door open earlier, but the tremors through the floor were another thing. Besides, he at least knew that he could see them from his periphery if that smirk had anything to say about it.

“No, look!” Harold threw the curtains open to show the scene below them.

The ground below had suddenly erupted to reveal a set of craning necks and sharp beaks attached to bulbous heads. The Muck-Raking Vultures would not be satisfied until it’s brought everyone down to its muddy level. A few unfortunate kids were entrenched in the surrounding earth that was now under the bird’s control. All its heads let out a haughty laugh as the kids cried out and tried to struggle.

Righteous anger mingled with concern for his fellow kid and fear. It was bad enough for Krupp to make every kid feel powerless on a normal school day, but withholding the only thing that could save them was beyond– beyond stupid, George managed to think up. Beyond petty!

Krupp had rolled over to the filing cabinet, conveniently turning his back towards the window. Despite the cacophony of noise outside, the shuffling of folders and metal clangs flooded their ears.

“Hey, man, are you doing…” Whatever Harold was about to say lodged in his throat as George loosened his tie. “Oh boy.”

It’s been a while since he had deployed the Tie. There had been no reason dire enough for it. He thought for a moment before tying one end of the Tie in a knot, and tied it again for good measure.

“On my signal, you snap your fingers, alright?” George gave a loose experimental swing. His expression shifted to something determined as he found whatever he was testing for.

Here’s the thing about those industrial-grade earplugs: there’s a thin plastic cord that connects both of them. According to his dad, it was to make sure you knew where both of them were at all times. One earplug is just as useful as none in his line of work.

George fastened his grip on his Tie, quietly circling around Krupp’s desk. He was still busy trying to look busy. Just as he was about to turn the corner of the desk, he whipped the Tie forward. Krupp jolted back at the last second.

“What was that supposed to accomplish,exactly?” His mouth split open in a mocking grin.

The other thing his dad mentioned? They also have a good chance of being caught in things if the wearer wasn’t careful.

The Tie had managed to hit in the space between the cord. The knot acted like the head of a mace: as a counterweight, it spun around the cords to entangle it. With a quick yank to the Tie, the earplugs practically flew out.

Krupp yelled as he tried to reach out for the earplugs now sailing over his desk, but it was too late for that. Harold was at the ready with a snap.

——————————–

The cafeteria is brimming with the sound of kids shooting the breeze. Though, Harold’s been around long enough that it’s not as bright as a result of Krupp milling around the food serving area. Three guesses as to why he’s there, the first two don’t count.

He makes his way to the vending machines next to Krupp and coughs. “You’re holding up the line.”

While Edith manages to look a little ashamed, the principal jumps back like a current ran through him. “What?”

In the periphery of Harold’s vision he could see some of the kids at the nearest table move further away than they already had. But not so far as to be out of hearing range. No one’s looking at them directly, but he could tell they were expecting something.

“Kids are avoiding coming here to get their lunch because you’re here,” he pointed out bluntly.

In response, Krupp props an arm over a cleared portion of the counter. “At least some kids here have taste.”

Despite the context, the lunch lady lets out a surprised little laugh. Harold couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Like-liking.

Instead of hearing them trill and coo for the next bit, his attention shifts to something much more interesting. Like this vending machine. It's one of the few additions to the school that wasn’t a net negative for him and the other kids.

(Though, he’s convinced it's only here because something twisted Krupp’s arm.)

“Awfully quiet.” The statement comes out like an accusation.

He couldn’t help but shoot him a look. The lunch lady was long gone and moved to the far end of the serving station, either out of guilt or to give them privacy. He isn’t sure which.

The vending machine clangs, depositing Harold’s soda. “Gotta be more specific than that.”

“When it's this quiet,” he tries again. “It's usually because you two are planning something.”

A few kids flinch at his tone. He knows this is him softballing, so fine— he’ll play.

“George is sick.” Harold sees how his expression darkens, and he adds, “He got it over the weekend, it doesn’t have to do with Edith’s food.”

Krupp still has that look on his face, so clearly it wasn’t what he was looking for. And he didn’t feel like telling him specifics. He doesn’t need to know it's the flu. He doesn’t need to know it might have had something to do with the monster over the weekend.

“Ah.” He manages. Just as astutely he adds, “Hm.”

The student body writhes. They don’t know what to do with a Krupp that isn’t yelling, or a Harold that isn’t actively provoking him, or a George that isn’t there.

Neither does Harold, to be honest. And he doubts Krupp knows, either.

“He’ll be getting a mountain of make-up assignments once he’s back. Ribble isn’t exactly known for her grace periods.” With the way Krupp’s voice lowered, he wasn’t sure he was talking to himself or continuing whatever this conversation turned into.

None of them know where any of them stood lately. The sidestepping was honestly kind of annoying. It reminds Harold of his house, half a decade ago.

His attention shifts to the soda can in his hand. It's cold enough to hurt holding it, so he starts tossing it from one hand to the other. “None of the teachers are.”

He hears one of the kids squawk out a laugh before it's muffled. He’s not sure whether the kid covered their own mouth, or someone else did.

Krupp’s mouth splits open to show his teeth and the kids eavesdropping flinch back. This close, Harold can see that it veers closer to wince than intimidating grimace. “Of course.”

The boy doesn’t provide an answer to that. He’s still too busy trying to figure out the principal’s angle here, and without George to ping-pong ideas with, he was more frustrated than anything.

His receiving hand fumbles the catch. It grazes past his fingers and falls to the ground. Between the tosses and sudden impact, its contents spill into a small fizzy explosion.

Thatwas more than enough to break whatever fearful lull the other kids were under moments ago. Laughter bubbles out of the direction of their impromptu audience.

It also breaks whatever train of thought Krupphad up to this point as he stares at the bubbly mess pooling underneath his shoes. “Lunch detention.”

“It’s already lunch,” Harold shot back.

“Don’t care—” he pointed to the lunch doors. “Go.”

And then that off moment was forgotten by the kids nearby.

——————————–

The leftover feeling of having to do something do something do something thrums under Krupp’s skin long after the disorientation of switching in fades. Experiencing emotions that aren’t you own will never be a thing he’ll get used to, but this particular emotion is.

It's a little worrying considering that it's anger.

Working backwards, he could figure out why. There were scratches on Harold’s arms, and while George looked fine his pinched expression and the way he had one of his legs propped on his knee said otherwise. In their short walk to the office he had thought he was walking strangely— not quite limping, but angling his body so he was hiding one leg behind him.

For, he amends in his head. Angry for. Not angry at.

The office is relatively clean for now. While it wasn’t hit during the most recent monster fight, there was still evidence of aftershocks. At least the glass from the shattered picture frames were out of the way and he was properly clothed now. The boys look up at the suitcase he slammed on his desk with various levels of uncertainty.

“What happened to the old suitcase?” Harold asked.

“I was meaning to get a new one with more compartments.”

George gave a curious noise as he pulled out a large bottle of rubbing alcohol and managed to catch a glimpse of the compartment’s contents. “Man, did you pack a whole hospital in that thing? That thing’s got more supplies than the nurse’s office here.”

“Figured I needed it one of these days, considering-- you know.” He lets the statement hang in the air for a moment. The boys chorus an agreeing noise, but left it at that.

He diverts his focus towards grabbing a pack of cotton pads, quickly smudging some alcohol on one of it. As soon as he starts circling the desk towards them do they push themselves into the back of the chair.

“Whoa, whoa, what are you doing with–” George points at the bit of cotton in his hand. “-- that.”

“I thought the supplies were for you,” Harold adds, just as hastily.

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “I’ll feel it in the morning, but no skin’s been broken— unlike you.”

The boys give a silent glance towards each other. Their expressions pinch.

“They’re just surface level,” Harold waves him off. “It’s fine. We’re fine.”

Krupp looks them over and simply raises a brow. If he didn’t know any better, he would have chalked the injuries up to rough-housing. Which, technically, was true, if he discounted what they were rough-housing against.

“I don’t think the other guy will forgive me if I let you leave this room like that.”

The boys suddenly take an interest in the floor tiles under them. Do something,the feeling under his skin thrums.

“More importantly,” he said in a much lower voice. “I don’t want your parents calling me to complain about child endangerment.I won’t hear the end of it from the school board if word gets out.”

That,at least, eases them in a weird way– if only for the familiarity of the routine.

“You worry about grown-up things too much.” Despite that, Harold reluctantly showed off the fresh scrapes on his arms.

“Do we get candy at the end of this?” George smirks, though his brows still remained pinched.

Krupp blotted the scratches before slapping a pair of band-aids on the smaller of the scratches. “You don’t get detention for the day for that locker gum prank you pulled, how about that?”

Harold rolled his eyes, his hand picking at the skin around one of the band-aids as he slapped an extra-large band-aid pad on the other one. George, on the other hand, had turned away from him.

“Welp since you’re done, we better get out of your hair then.” He waved a hand. “Or, scalp. I guess. C’mon, Harold.”

“Now hold it, bub–” He pointed a finger at him. “Your turn.”

He looked over his shoulder with an irritated glare. With a sarcastic flourish, he shows off his arms and even rolls up his already short sleeves to prove a point. Save for the bits of bubblegum-stuck rubble and dust that still clung on his skin, there wasn’t anything he could see.

“What about your legs?”

“Ugh.” He slid back to sitting properly and gestured to them incredulously. They were similarly dirty from the recent fight, but they weren’t hurt as far as he could tell.

At least, as far as he could tell with the unobscured leg. He still hasn’t moved them.

“George,” Krupp warned.

Harold gave a nervous glance. As much as the other boy refused to budge on the subject, his conviction crumbles at the sight of his friend.

“Ugh, fine!” He uncrossed his legs. The knee that had been supporting his other leg was smeared in red.

The roiling feeling he felt when he first swapped in, comes back in full force at the sight. Pull it together. He gritted his teeth as he focused on something else.

George was looking straight up at the ceiling. What looked like a case of childish rebellion clearly wasn’t that on closer inspection: somehow, he had gotten even more tense.

“I don’t like–” He stops himself, and instead says, “Just get it over with already.”

Krupp drops whatever lecture he was about to spit automatically. He’s never seen George freak out like this— which was saying something, considering everything else before was just as harrowing.

“Get the gauze.”

It takes Harold a moment to realize that he’s talking to him.

“Both of them. It's in the big inside pocket—” The boy scrambles to the principal’s desk without hesitation and comes back in record time. “Just put them on the chair, it’s fine.”

The boy opts to circle around the chairs to be at George’s side. He places a hand on his shoulder, and a bit of the tension bleeds out of his shoulders.

Speaking of which.

Upon closer inspection, it looks a lot worse than it actually is. The leg on top of the wound just made a mess of it by unintentionally rubbing it all over his knee.

The next few minutes happen in silence, save for the occasional hiss from George. He cleans up the wound with cotton-soaked rubbing alcohol before wrapping it tight with gauze.

“Done.” Krupp takes a few steps back, rounding back towards his desk. “It's not the nicest job, but I’m not the school nurse for a reason.”

George hazards to look down. The knee in question is wrapped tight, with the ends of the gauze wrapped in a farmer’s loop. He pokes at it and only winces a little bit.

“Huh,” he mumbles.

While the both of them whisper between each other, Krupp rummages around his desk drawers until he finds the forms he was looking for. Ignoring how dusty the page on top was, he sets to write and check off the necessary boxes.

The murmuring stops just as he was finished with it and the boys were now at the edge of his desk.

“What’re you doing?” George gives the pen he was holding the stink-eye.

Harold tilts his head. “Accident Report,” he reads aloud.

“Just to keep things above board.” The principal sighs before handing it off to them. “I’m going to have to call your parents because of this–”

“Our parents are going to flip!”

“Hold on–” Harold squinted at the sheet. “What do you mean ‘injury was caused by playground incident’?”

“It means what it means,” Krupp replies. “I can’t exactly say you two were fighting gum monsters. Knowing most parents they’ll probably want to take you home, or talk to you before I send you off to class, so stay here for the next ten minutes.”

When self-loathing got old, his pragmatism bled in and thought of the logistics of… everything, really. Someone had to, and it wasn’t going to be the other guy, least of all the boys themselves. Though a part of him suspects that the other guy is considering it now.

The thrum, thankfully, quiets.

Harold opens his mouth. Closes it. “That’s… surprisingly cool of you,” he says in disbelief– both with the situation and the words coming out of his mouth.

“Yeah, well, don’t mention it.” He flashes a grimace. “Ever.”

“Done,” George agrees immediately.

“I don’t think anyone would believe us anyway!”

“Our parents are still going to flip out, though.”

The principal swivels back towards the file cabinet to pull up their parents’ contact info, letting the two of them take their usual seat. It was the pragmatic thing, letting them calm down from all that.

#mellsian fanfics #captain underpants #sticky notes au

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mythrilpencil · 1 year

Text

Stellar Acclimation—Prologue

The sun barely starts to rise over the desert hills as Semyon steps outside. Only its earliest rays filter through the dusty sky, filling the air with a gentle purple pre-dawn haze.

Semyon dusts the mauve fur on his hands as he meanders towards the hill that marks the westward boundary of town. He never can get all of the sand out of his messy fur. Drives him nuts. Despite a sandstorm lasting all night, the only remnant of it now is a chilled, faint breeze that stirs his fur and the leaves of the rainbow palms high above. Even the massive wall of dust is no longer visible past the hill.

Large squares of blue fabric, hung like curtains and tent walls, shield the entrances of most of the houses and the entrance of Semyon’s mentor’s workshop. His mentor, an old Glitch named Bronzemarch, needed a few fresh bottles of the healing water that naturally pools under the workshop and had thus tasked Semyon to fetch them like every morning. The shimmering turquoise liquid fills the workshop—which is little more than a few work tables between crates on a rickety wooden platform long ago fitted into the side of the natural cave in the hill—with a soothing, glittering light. It’s one of Semyon’s favorite places in town.

He hums a made-up tune to himself as he uncorks each bottle he was assigned and dips it into the cool water. His rumble echoes in the silence; the whistle of the breeze through the fabric overhangs his accompaniment. But then a sudden burst of magenta light followed by an orange glow flickers through the westward exit of the workshop cave. He cuts himself off mid-phrase and mid-dip. What in the world?

Curiosity possesses him, and he sets aside his two filled bottles and last half-filled one before investigating. What’s that orange glow? A visitor warping down, perhaps? They don’t get many of those unless the merchant Riku invites someone for a business deal. Maybe someone got lost? …But a magenta warp? Avian-made teleporters create a red warp; Hylotl-made teleporters create a blue one. But what kind of technology makes a magenta one?

Semyon isn’t quite sure what he expects when he pushes aside the thick, limp fabric shielding the west exit of the cave from the outside desert. But he certainly doesn’t expect to see what he sees: a burst of flickering orange gas—no, plasma—just behind the nearby ruined sandstone pillars. Alarmed, Semyon approaches the pillars.

And finds a humanoid being, wearing a horribly tattered short-sleeved black shirt and pants; with their whole left arm, shoulder, and half their upper back gone and leaking that plasma. They’re face-first in the sand and fading fast. Literally.

“Bronzemarch!” Semyon yells as he rushes back through the workshop into town. “Bronzemarch! Come quick!”

Bronzemarch bursts out of the front door of his small shack, ducking past the blue drape and nearly colliding with the wicker-and-sandstone waist-high wall that delineates the little patio in front of the door. “Alarmed. Semyon! What’s wrong?” he demands, still buttoning up an old black tunic over his steel chassis.

“Someone’s just outside your workshop; I don’t even know what they are but they’re hurt real bad!” Semyon summarizes between huffs, pointing the way.

“Serious. Show me.”

Quickly Semyon leads his mentor through the workshop cave to where the orange plasma-person is still laying in the sand by the pillars.

Bronzemarch quickens his pace to pass Semyon and approach the person while muttering, “Bewildered. A Novakid?”

While Bronzemarch kneels next to the person, opposite their leaking plasma, Semyon blinks. “A what?”

“Focused. A being made of plasma like a miniature star. They are—” Suddenly Bronzemarch holds up a hand to stop Semyon before he can approach, his mechanical tone sharpening. “Stern. Semyon, don’t get close. This plasma is dangerous to organics.”

“Then what do I do?”

“Commanding. Give me your jacket, then go fetch my nanowrap from the cupboard. Quickly!”

Semyon nods hurriedly, shrugging off his muted orange jacket, tossing it to his mentor, and turning around to dash back through the workshop almost in the same motion.

By the time he returns a minute later with a thinning roll of nanoweave bandaging, Bronzemarch had wrapped the person’s—Novakid’s—wounded side with Semyon’s now-inside-out jacket, rolled them to their back, and is now starting to tie the sleeves together to secure it. Bronzemarch looks up sharply as Semyon scampers over, his screen-like eyes wide for a blink before looking back down at the Novakid. He holds a hand out, and Semyon automatically tosses the nanoweave over.

Semyon shifts his weight between his feet, studying his mentor’s work while waiting to be told what to do next. Bronzemarch wraps lengths of the luminescent nanoweave bandaging around the ends of Semyon’s jacket to seal the large impromptu patch and keep the Novakid from leaking any more of their thinning plasma. But by now their plasma is so thin Semyon can almost see through their dim head to Bronzemarch’s knee propping it up. Even their uneven bob of plasma “hair” is mostly limp aside from the odd wisp here and there. He’s partially surprised the metal-looking symbol on their face doesn’t make their...face...cave in. They don’t have anything in the way of facial features at all past that symbol—which is in the shape of a triangle with short lengths extending out of its vertices. Or it would be, aside from the white-hot fractures that almost separate the bottom left vertex from the rest of the symbol.

Semyon can’t help but feel like the Novakid is somehow staring at him without eyes. “Are they...conscious?” he eventually musters the courage to ask.

Bronzemarch shakes his head as he finishes wrapping the bottom end of Semyon’s jacket around the Novakid and tucks the remaining nanoweave into his trouser pocket. “Grave. No. She’s vented a lot of plasma and received serious damage to her brand somehow.” Gently he slips his arms under the Novakid and lifts them—her, apparently—up as if she hardly weighs anything at all. Which she probably doesn’t. Then he nods back towards town. “Directing. We need to stabilize her as best we can. Go get the bed ready for her, then talk to Riku and see if he has any access to raw metal suppliers. We may need some.”

“Got it.”

~~~~~

And thus it begins! Stellar Acclimation is going to be the first “episode”—as I like to call it—of I Was The Sun!

Next Chapter>>

#starbound #starbound fanfic #fanfic #I Was The Sun #also on ao3 #finally making myself start posting this!#camp nanowrimo 2023 #Stellar Acclimation

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kirliao · 2 years

Text

evermore: short series

fandom: top gun maverick

character(s): various members of the dagger squad

a/n: okay okay listen. one: i was gonna do the whole album but my brain shorted out so really it’s about .. six tracks? idk im gonna be listening to this album all season so who knows. um.. two: i got carried away writing them so they’re longer than my usual brief notes and hcs. uh third: i started with my man. i larb him. and without further ado, my second attempt at writing tgm fics.

track one: willow ( aka “wreck my plans, avalone” )

to others, you're a one-track mind from a small town who worked her way into the best law firm in the state. stern, collected, and with nerves of steel that have faced many challenging cases -- and won more than half.

your girlfriends think you're one icicle short of being an actual ice queen, but even they don't know your one weakness. one of the few sources of warmth in your life.

lieutenant billy avalone. well, he was just billy to you.

you've known him for years. your families always crossing paths with each other. you were in the same school district, attended the same church, and even hung out in the same few family friendly spots in town.

there was a part of you that thought that he was the coolest guy you've ever met. not just his looks or what you thought of the people he hung around, but just the way he was.

everything he did always just seemed so..interesting.

you'd told your sister this one time and she just laughed. "i think you like this guy."

you shook your head. you don't do crushes. it was never really your scene.

for most of your life, you've dedicated yourself to working hard and staying on track to success. planners, to-do lists, moodboards, and even watched a ted talk or two.

it was no surprise that you were voted 'most likely to succeed' during your senior year, though you'd pretend to not have peeked into others' yearbooks and saw that some had scribbled 'most snobby' on it too.

but -- and you'd never really admit it to anyone -- for billy, you'd drop it all.

he brought out your silly and your most normal. spending late nights out just to drive around and look at the world differently. photobooth pictures and screaming while on the rides at the town fair.

red exes and erased penciled plans in your planners was what came out of your time with billy. you could always reschedule a meeting or two. could afford to finish homework a few hours later than initially intended.

none of that changed when you would see each other years later.

even with your busy job, you'd call out from work if it meant getting coffee or spending a night in with him to watch movies. block out weekends to go on spontaneous road trips or catch the earliest flight to whatever vacation spot he swore was paradise.

he’d even gotten you into a musical festival or two, even if wasn’t typically your scene.

and you'd really think other people were none the wiser until your sister, of all people, pointed it out when she was staying over at your place one time.

she was over for the weekend and you had agreed upon learning that billy's shore leave was pushed off to a later date.

it was the way you'd look at your phone just a tad bit too much while the two of you were supposed to be gossiping that your sister pushed and pushed for you to talk about one thing and another about him. just enough pieces for the little puzzle she'd eventually piece together to conclude that you were hoping that billy's shore leave would be right as planned.

"i'd be offended if i didn't think it was cute. and also, i called it. years ago!"

again, you refused. though the blush on your face was harder to hide and you grabbed your phone to sit on the couch instead and opted to hide your face behind a pillow.

"i mean, really, what's the worst that could happen if you just..asked?"

and you looked at her, blinking. you've pondered about a confession quite a few times. often concluding that it was best to retain a friendship instead of risking it all. you voiced this to her, though you weren't quite sure you trusted your own voice right now. you sounded vulnerable and my god, did that feel foreign.

"i don't wanna gamble on what we have."

she scoffed, "honey, with all the years i've known you, this is the only person i've seen you take a gamble on. i mean, you don't take days off for me. you don't push plans around when i'm here and again, not offended, just .. kinda means he's special, you know?"

you nod, before feeling the couch shift as your sister joins you on the couch and grabs the remote to look for something to watch. she'd settled on a rerun of this one show.

"when is he free again?"

"he said he'll be coming next weekend." you look down at your phone again.

she hums. "it's time." though she puts a hand up defensively when she sees you staring. "just saying."

'i learned that when something dope comes along, you gotta lock it down!'

"jason's right, you know. you gotta lock that dope man down."

you just shook your head and buried it on your pillow. "what does jason know?"

"well, for starters. he kinda looks like your man. so that oughta count for something."

and while it was ridiculous, it helped you lighten up a little. and while you didn't quite know what would happen next weekend, it didn't matter.

maybe it was really time for him to melt the ice queen down completely, no matter what happens.

#top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #billy fritz avalone #billy fritz avalone x reader #top gun x reader #as the song says..i am begging..#i just think this man is so beautiful #fritz top gun #billy avalone #billy fritz avalone x y/n #top gun x y/n #top gun x you #writes.

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bloodredx · 7 months

Text

Day 11: Birthday

The sound of the waves were crashing on the nearby beach, a sound that Isiri was just starting to get used to. Waves didn’t curl like that in the deep, the currents were felt, sure, but sound was only a distant, dull hum. One that the sea carried with the rest of the clatter of life and activity. It was rhythmic and charming, a luxury that made her near jealous of the Shallow folk. The perpetual twilight sky in this part of Kre-Salis was beautiful, not too bright for her, but not so dark that her new companions couldn’t make out the details. Apparently that was an issue, but then again, they were shocked the lights bothered her so. Her gills were flushed with water, fresh and light, with each wave as she leaned comfortably against a rock. It was a beautiful, fleeting moment of peace. Her fingers traced along a ridge of orange sediment in the brown stones as Powder was fumbling with something behind her.

Turning slowly, her companion’s face was uncharacteristically serious, her tongue sticking out slightly as she was scribbling onto the surface of a white object that smelled of cellulose. Powder’s boot-clad feet dangled off the same rock Isiri was leaning on, putting the two at near equal head level. “Ok!” Powder’s voice rang out over the lull of the surf so loud that it may have frightened Isiri, but she had felt the human’s movements before she even made them. “Hard part done, let me do the others.”

Isiri tilted her head in her characteristic manner. “Hard part? What’s going on?”

Powder’s face reddened quickly, and her graphite coated fingers fidgeted idly with her earring. “Oh, nothing you need to stress about. Sierra just asked me to handle some of your documentation.”

This wasn’t the whole truth, the slight stutter in Powder’s muscular contractions alerted Isiri to this discrepancy. But she was inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Documentation? What for?”

Powder flipped over the white cellulose, quickly at that, obscuring the black and grey markings on the previous page such that Isiri caught only a glimpse of it. A glimpse that looked suspiciously like a fin. Powder held up a new page that contained the same scribbles of language that humans used to communicate silently, though this one seemed to contain many more straight lines. It seemed odd. “He wanted to get all your info in our system. I’m sure he’s the one to ask about the specifics, but I guess since he’s busy with lectures this week, he wanted me to do it.” She tugged again at her ear, leaving some traces of the black dust on her lobe. “I dunno, seemed odd to me too. But, uh, I ain’t really one to say no to him.”

Her barbels twitched at this, but curiosity got the better of her. “Okay then. What do you need?”

“Oh it’s just a bunch of questions. You just gotta answer.” Powder leaned in close to the page again, squinting with focus. “This should go quick.” She drew a dramatic breath. “Name, don’t even gotta ask you.” Her hand scribbled against the page again. “Alright, when’s your birthday?”

Tentacles wrapped around her chin, scratching absently as she thought about it. “Birth… day? Is this a human term?”

Powder stared back blankly, blinking a moment before uttering softly. “This might actually be the hard part.” She shook her head to recollect her thoughts, gesturing loosely with her off hand. “Like the day you were born? I don’t need the exact moment or anything, just a month and day.”

“Month?” The mermaid was even more lost.

“Oh boy.” Powder rubbed the back of her head. “Uh, how about the time of year?”

“Is this something I should keep track of?” Isiri leaned back, looking over her companion with her giant, blue eyes. No insincerity was there, this was a genuine question. So she pulled into the recesses of her memories, humming deep notes as she did. “My mother mentioned sometime after the 8th moon cycle being gifted with my sister and me. But that’s the earliest thing I can remember her talking about it. I don’t know in truth if that was when were born or when she realized she was gravid.” One of her tentacles wrapped loosely around Powder’s ankle as she flushed her gills clean. “Is that enough?”

Squinting into the middle distance, Powder shook her head free of her own thoughts, clearing away that same red flush coating her cheeks from before. “Uh, I guess it’ll have to do. That Earth jargon is Sierra’s problem.” She scratched again into the cellulose, hand stalling for a moment. “…Wait.”

“Hmm?” Isiri again tilted her head in confusion.

Powder practically threw down what she was writing on behind her, quickly grasping her hands against Isiri’s cheeks. The mermaid was stunned with the sudden motion, not knowing what to do beside stare into Powder’s deep, brown eyes. Her lips were curled into a mischievous grin as her scratchy voice shouted over the roar of the waves. “You’ve never had a birthday party!”

Isiri didn’t know if they were being threatened or what, but Powder’s heart was beating faster than her normal levels of excitement. Isiri wasn’t about to complain about the direct contact though. “Uh, no. I can’t say that I have.”

“Oh man, we have GOT to set one up for you. You’ll love it! There’s presents and all your friends are there. Plus cake!” She smiled earnestly before frowning. “Wait, you can’t have cake, right. Uh, I guess fish cakes are a thing? But that’s a little different. Whatever.” She waved away the thought with a short motion of her hand. “We’ve gotta do this. C’mon.”

Standing suddenly, she collected all her things that had been scattered across the surface of the rock into a jumbled mess in her arms. Wanting to know exactly where this was going, Isiri pulled a bubble of sea water out from the surface, and made herself cozy mid-air as she waited for Powder to be ready to go wherever they were headed. Once everything was shoved into her bag, Powder grabbed Isiri’s wrist through the cold water of the bubble, pulling her along with excitement. Isiri giggled softly, still very confused, but humans had such novel ideas regarding celebrations and what was worth celebrating; certainly this would be no different.

(OC-tober prompts by @oc-tober2023 can be found here. Powder belongs to @gi-ie-ru.)

#isiri #mermaid #deep sea #deep sea mermaid #the abyss #Powder #OC: Powder #void #birthday #lesbians #sapphic love #wlw love #dialogue #oc tober #oc-tober #oc-tober 2023 #i love these two dorks #queer

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capitalnineteen · 5 months

Text

Nancy Drew Rewatch

Season One - Episode One: Pilot (Continued)

So Nancy finds Tiffany’s body and yells for help. The only people who come are George, Bess, Ace, and Nick from across the street. Ryan and the guys he’s meeting with don’t respond.

I realize this is for fully Doyleist reasons: we want the shot of our gang of five circled around the body, not cluttered with the husband and some anonymous dudes. But… it *is* odd. They’re sitting right up front, at the window, and they’d be able to look over and see this girl is standing beside Ryan’s car screaming for help. Oh well! Meeting continues uninterrupted!

Come to think of it, they didn’t even react to the lights going out, just pulled out their phones for light and continued on. I’ve been in restaurants when the power goes out. People tend to react. I’m not saying get up and run around but - people do tend to sit up and pay attention, look around, check to see if other businesses are affected. (Ace does call out that the whole marina is out, but Ryan and the guys he’s with aren’t the type to take someone’s word for something like that, generally.)

Again, it’s all for show reasons, not in universe reasons. But things like that definitely lend to the subconscious impression that Ryan doesn’t give a shit about his wife, even before we’re given more concrete evidence.

And boy those cops arrive fast. Maybe one of the earliest examples of Horseshoe Bay’s time jiggery!

When the cops question the gang and everyone offers their whereabouts, it’s Ace’s that’s the noteworthy one. He’s the only one with an alibi: he was delivering food to Ryan and his friends. (Also, as he tells us/the cops this, he’s sitting at their table, eating leftover food.) But it’s his “since the waitresses were nowhere to be seen” comment that sticks out.

Episode one Ace isn’t quite dialed in as a character - far more than the others. Of course, he’s also quite literally informing for Chief McGinnis, so that quick volunteering of info isn’t that wild. Still, it’s hard to imagine the Ace we come to know later being so quick to offer such a comment. “Not that I think they did anything wrong.”

Once Nancy, George, Bess, and Nick are all taken to the station, it’s Nick who spells out that the cops are trying to come up with enough to charge them.

“Charge us?” George asks. “With what?” Well, future lawyer, George… I’ll give you a minute to take a guess. Starts with an ‘M’… ends with ‘urder.’

McGinnis lists off his assessment of their characters, we get one of my favorite exchanges in the episode.

McGinnis: I’m looking at a decent four-pack: town screw up, ex-con, city girl, and Nancy Drew.

Bess: Why does he say your name like that?

McGinnis: She used to complicate my job.

George: You mean do it for you?

This quick back and forth further establishes that McGinnis is an antagonist, has Bess’s comment about his tone (which just tickles me for some reason), and has a very George-like rebuttal. It’s surprising, giving the animosity between George and Nancy but, especially when McGinnis responds with, “Ah, Ms. Fan. I haven’t thrown your mom in the drunk tank this month. How’s she doing? Say ‘hi.’” It’s easy to see why he ranks higher on her shit-list than Nancy does.

It’s also interesting to note that Bess outs herself about the shoplifting but Nick is outed by McGinnis despite the information being in sealed records.

I think the pilot does an excellent job of keeping that finger of blame and recrimination spinning. They all look to Nick after the ‘ex-con’ revelation, then Nancy’s “You never told me you went to jail” gets her noticed. George and Bess must be wondering why he would have told her, which is answered quickly when Nick responds, “One of the many things you never asked about.”

Nancy is quick to sidestep the issue and redirect the conversation by pointing out Tiffany’s husband, Ryan Hudson, is a far more likely suspect and it’s concerning that McGinnis doesn’t seem to be interested in him.

McGinnis takes Nancy into his office and she suggests a medical condition could have killed Tiffany and he responds by playing her the 911 tape. (This guy just doesn’t care who he shares what information with, does he?)

When Nancy mentions Tiffany’s ring - there when she delivered the food, gone when she found her dead - McGinnis suggests Nancy could use it to pay off medical debt from her mom’s death.

Sure, I guess? But wouldn’t it be odd for her to be the one pointing out the ring was missing if she stole it? But that’s applying a level of reasoning McGinnis is woefully shy of.

Karen - sorry, Detective Hart, while we’re in the station - has called Nancy’s dad and he shows up to play concerned father, a role Nancy was happy leaving unfulfilled. They trade tense words and we see, Nancy doesn’t seem to have many people in her life that she’s letting in anymore.

Nancy storms out on her own, walking down a bizarrely uninhabited street where she hears the charming ‘Dead Lucy’ chant: Lucy Sable once was able to look upon the sea but someone got her in the water now that’s where she’ll always be.

We know that ‘Dead Lucy’ is a thing in the town. (When Nancy later shares her not-fireworks-but-instead-lurking-shape-in-the-mist-just-before-Tiffany-died video with the the others at The Claw, Ace mentions she’s blamed for things as varied as baseballs through windows and another woman’s jewelry in someone’s marriage bed.) But gosh, were post Y2K kids making up poems like that about local legends?

Amid the echoes of phantom children chanting about a dead girl, Nancy sees her reflection in a shop window, her face above a pink dress, and more mysteriously, Sea Queen crown on her head. Is this the first example that this isn’t the ‘Carolyn Keene’ Nancy Drew we might have expected?

Nancy goes home, watches her terribly framed for fireworks but perfectly framed for watching Tiffany’s last moments phone video, and sees our next and far more solid (though ‘solid’ isn’t the word for it, is it?) evidence of the supernatural.

She shows it to The Claw crew as mentioned above and Bess is quickly Team Ghost. Nancy dismisses it, takes back her phone, and George lets Nick in. Nancy didn’t bring him coffee like usual. (Come to think of it, we did see a lot of paper coffee cups amid those shaking books when Nancy was, uh, ‘delivering coffee’ to Nick at the garage the day before.)

He gets her to admit they’ve been involved. (While Ace drinks the coffee he brought out for Nick who Bess points out no longer seems interested in the beverage. I do kinda like this running bit with Ace.)

When Nancy tries to remind everyone there’s more important things going on than acknowledging she and Nick have been having coffee, like that they’re all murder suspects even though the real culprit is probably Ryan Hudson, George is quick to defend him. Bess also thinks it’s unlikely. But Nick aligns himself with Nancy on Team Look at the Husband. (Team name might need work, I’m not sure it’ll fit on the t-shirts.)

Nancy goes on to explain how she’d investigate Ryan - if she was doing that sort of thing, of course - and Nick seems very interested in what she has to say.

Before we cut to the next scene where Nancy is, in fact, doing that sort of thing, Nick wonders if she’ll change her mind. George tells him that Nancy’s been different since her mom died. Another little crumb of information about Nancy falls into Nick’s hands.

Nancy sneaks into the home of Ryan and not-killed-by-a-ghost Tiffany Hudson, rushing under the closing garage door after Ryan leaves. She creeps through the house, an open window makes curtains flutter complete with creepy passing shadow, the bedroom door slams shut behind her, startling her into a tiny table with a big glass vase which she just catches before it falls, and a motion detector blinks, summoning security. They drive up and are witnessed by Nick, who’s sitting in his truck nearby.

Inside, Nancy finds a hidden compartment in a drawer and steals a necklace and a note. Nick comes to warn her and the two run across the wide open back lawn while security guards wander the house oblivious to the pair. The only sacrifice: Nancy’s knit cap was caught on a tree as they escaped.

They get to Nick’s truck and Nancy doesn’t seem too thrilled by his help. Nick points out that he was worried and, as the one with a record, had a lot on the line by helping. When Nancy asks why he did, he tells her, “Because it was worth it.”

He drives her home, sees her mom’s car (“Doesn’t run or I’d be driving it,” she explains) and tells her if she ever wants to talk about her mom, he’s there. Nancy’s surprised he knows about her mom. He tells her he likes her, he’ll tell her his messy past and she can share hers. She pulls back, says she’ll be in college soon so there’s no need for them to start anything serious. Nick takes it as implied insult - she’ll be gone and he’ll still be there fixing boats and going nowhere.

Their one step closer, two steps back dance continues as Nancy yells at his departing truck, “See? This is why it’s better not to talk!”

At work the next day, Nancy asks for George’s help in the limited area of ocean-themed jewelry. George explains what the mariner’s good luck charm is and how it works, Nancy admits it was Tiffany’s, George is shocked Nancy broke into Ryan’s house, and Bess… Ah, Bess is shocked that Nancy stole Tiffany’s jewelry. What a funny thing to focus on, Bess. So weird.

Bess and George are impressed. (Ace is impressed, too!)

The three (not including ‘hey-can-I-come-with-you’ Ace) head outside to dissolve the glue holding the necklace closed and reveal what’s inside. Inside is the seahorse logo from the Sea Queen crown and an address to a medium. The three head off together (to Nancy’s reluctance) to talk to the medium. (After a quick change out of their uniforms. So maybe they wait until after their shift is over instead of ditching Ace completely.)

The medium’s pitiful little show is interrupted by a bang on the table and her croaking out “Find the dress! Find the dress! Find the dress!” She tells them to leave. “That wasn’t supposed to happen. I heard a voice. From the dead.” George: “You’re a medium! Occupation hazard!” Nancy: “Who’s voice? Who’s dress?” Medium: “That wasn’t Tiffany.” Bess: “That was Dead Lucy.”

Meanwhile back at Nancy’s house, her dad and Detective Hart - wait, they’re out of the station, maybe she’s Karen again - are discussing Nancy’s hat. She found it at Ryan Hudson’s house, took it from the crime scene, and brought it to Nancy’s dad to destroy. Karen doesn’t believe Nancy is involved and is trying to protect her. They kiss which of course Nancy walks in on.

She’s not exactly throwing a party for the couple. She and her father butt heads, she grabs her hat, storms off, tells him she’ll reapply for school and get the hell out of there. Then she takes off.

And goes to Nick’s.

Nancy admits how out of control her life is and that pretending it wasn’t hasn’t worked. The only thing making it any better, she admits, is Nick. She tells him she wants to get to know him and they kiss.

Nancy stays with Nick at the garage and he drives her home in the morning, telling her about the abrupt and early end to his football career and she asks him about the jail thing. When he doesn’t immediately answer, she backs down, telling him he doesn’t have to tell her now. Nick: Why? Because girls love mystery? Nancy: Because I can wait until you’re ready.

This time, instead of an argument and yelling, they kiss before she gets out of the truck. She goes inside to find her father waiting. He saw Nick dropped her off and he tells her that despite the problems between them, he’s concerned about her and wants her to stay away from Nick. Nancy: Oh my god, were you his lawyer? Her dad: You know I couldn’t discuss it even if I was. Nancy, internally: That’s totally a ‘yes.’

Cue Nancy heading into his home office with a screwdriver, going for his file cabinet.

(Sidenote: I’ve been calling him ‘Nancy’s dad’ because I don’t think - or just haven’t caught it - that he’s been introduced as Carson Drew yet. The ‘Drew’ is implied of course, but still…)

She gets Nick’s file, finds out his charge was manslaughter and that he was found guilty after Tiffany’s testimony.

So that finger of guilt swivels again just as Nick pulls up with the tow truck to get Nancy’s mom’s car so he can get it working for her.

Nancy realizes everyone at The Claw really is a suspect and begins setting up to investigate everyone and we get a montage of everyone else being shady: George going to Ryan’s, Ace recording George at Ryan’s and sending it to McGinnis, Bess with Tiffany’s ring, and Nick finding something hidden in Nancy’s mom’s car.

And then, as Nancy sits at her desk compiling her notes on the case, the power goes out just like it did at The Claw before Tiffany died. She wanders the house with her flashlight and the attic stairs drop open, beckoning her up. Nancy goes.

In the attic, she finds a loose edge of wallpaper. As she tears it away, she finds that creepy Dead Lucy chant carved into the wall beneath it, this time with the ending ‘Count to five and hope the killer doesn’t get you.’

And then, just like in that memory from when she was a kid, the one her mother had told her was a dream, Nancy finds a chest.

Inside is a pink dress, blood stained dark across the front.

“Why is it always the ones you love most, who have the most to hide?” Nancy wonders to herself, unaware of Dead Lucy appearing behind her.

I think the pilot does a great job of setting up all the characters. (Again, I still think Ace needed to be dialed in a bit more but his character isn’t that far off and he’s definitely got some fun quirks that make him memorable.) It also juggled a LOT of character relationships and did a good job of see-sawing the trust/suspect balance with them. It was solid! And it’s a lot more fun on rewatch when I’m not so puzzled by the supernatural aspects. I’m also surprised by how warmly I still feel about Nancy and Nick even though I’m very much a Nace and… is there a ship name for George and Nick?

#cor rewatches nancy drew #includes spoilers - it IS a rewatch #part 2 of ??#cw nancy drew

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savebatsfromscratch · 6 months

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No.19 I Try Not To.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50962858

Words: 2,056

Cws: Stalking, psychological horror, mentions of murder and guns

Notes: This is a DIRECT continuation of this fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38582931 It will NOT make sense if you haven't read it. You don’t have to read it as a “cannon” continuation of that fic, but oh well.

Also, not to ruin the mood of anything, but I listened to https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZW5W-MEvr5w the whole time writing this. xP

Prompt: No. 19: “I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.” Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

Alfred stammered out a gasp, ducking under Russia’s arm and stumbling a bit away from the desk. In his shock, he had managed to get away from him, but it was only when he felt that gloved hand on his wrist did he choke a response out of himself.

“I try not to,” he whispered, staring down at the office floor as if it was the creature that was holding him in place. He heard Russia begin to chuckle, and America whipped his head up to look at him, his throat suddenly hot with anger. He yanked his hand away. Fuck the thirty minute rule, his employer wasn’t getting him back at the office until next workday at the earliest. He was going home.

“You don’t scare me,” America sneered, sticking his tongue out at Russia, who at least had the decently to look mildly taken aback by his defiance, “And don’t bother checking up on me later, I’ve done quite enough work for the day,”

He marched over to the door, doing his best not to sprint the short distance it took to get there as lingering terror crawled down his back. Thankfully, Russia, still clearly shocked, did not chase him, instead choosing to stand rooted in place as the gentle light of the sunset and the harsh glow of the false stars shone down on him.

…

Days had passed since that interaction, and life had gone on as normal for America. Drove to work in his good ‘ol chevy, had a nice lunch at the town diner (he was really getting into their cheeseburgers recently, believe it or not), and slaved over pages and pages of useless paperwork. Yes, he was living the life. Fake stars on the ceiling, window curtains open, feet kicked up on the desk. It was everything he could have asked for.

His life was so normal, in fact, that he almost forgot about that meeting with Russia.

…Almost.

No matter how much America tried to act like things were fine and normal and that he was okay, things just kept proving him wrong. When his first client had knocked on his office door the next day after, he had jumped a little in his seat, half expecting Russia to be back to finish whatever job he had started. Of course, it wasn't Russia, just another super boring client meeting, and he kicked himself for his caution. If Russia wanted to get him, he would have done it already, wouldn't he?

Still, America found himself looking behind his shoulder more often than normal, half expecting a gun pointed at his head the moment he turned. He still found himself packing a weapon of his own in his bag, you know, just in case. He still found himself jumping at small sounds and locking the door during his last thirty minutes at work. He didn't even care if it wasn't allowed, there was no way he was going to be following something that might get him killed.

His coworkers were beginning to notice, raising eyebrows when he shivered at their hands on his wrists, or whispering behind his back when he looked up at the sound of his human name. (He didn't use it so much these days, even compared to his extremely sparing use of it before Russia had met up with him.) It wasn't even just a lie anymore, it was an invitation to that which he did not want.

That which he would not come away from in one piece.

America kept busy with paperwork, trying to keep his mind off the terror that he knew was swirling just under the surface of that focus. He kept busy with his life, cleaning his house, painting is white picket fence a new, brighter shade, shining the metal of his car until the red was almost as reflective as the newly cleaned radio disk on his roof. He kept busy with his food, grilling burgers for all the little kids in his neighborhood in his freetime. (Though hosting parties wasn't usually his thing.)

Maybe he was trying to act perfect. Maybe he was just trying to keep a sense of normalcy in his life.

But mostly he was trying to act like he was safe.

Even though he hadn't seen Russia in days, he wasn't naive enough to think that he was safe from whatever awful plan the man had had in mind for him. He'd had a long enough history as an immortal to know that they weren't the kind of monster to lose focus on a target. Hell, he'd been exactly in Russia's position a few times in the past, and he knew that, if he were in that place now, he would only be biding his time for the next best time to strike.

Missing the first strike wasn't that big of a deal, America knew that nations found just as much fun in the chase as they did in the payoff. Of course he knew! There was a reason he liked the energetic drag of a close game of baseball. That slow, almost painful wait for what you wanted was half of the pleasure of seeing it done.

He was no better than a cat playing with a mouse, and America knew that Russia was much the same.

He shivered as he sat in his armchair, trying to relax after a long day of work, but ultimately failing. He was technically still on call for the company, so he couldn't focus on much more than sitting there, waiting for his phone to ring or his doorbell to ding.

It was torture, but not the fun kind that came with the chase of a kill.

He turned his face to the clock on the wall, watching as its fancy hands slowly ticked around the glowing surface of its face. In the moment, the normally trivial metronome sound of the thing seemed much more important, almost like it was his lifeline, in some weird way.

In the fireplace, a fire roared, but America couldn't help but tune out the sound of the flames as he stared at the smiling face of the clock. Just a few more minutes and he would declare his job done. Just a few more minutes and he could go to bed. And just a few hours from then, he could be back to work, distracted again from the worries that bound him in place.

Tick, tock, tick, tock...

He adjusted his glasses, taking a shaky breath as the world blurred and unblurred in the corners of his vision.

Not too much time now.

Unfortunately, it was right then that the phone rang.

It was a controlled, expected sort of sound, but that didn't mean it didn't send dred scuttering down his spine. If this were a regular sort of week, America probably would have laughed, cursed his bad luck with his clients, and picked up the phone, but something deep inside him seemed to be screaming a warning that that was not what he was dealing with here.

He continued to listen to the phone, watching it jolt around in its holder as it fought for his attention.

He counted, one, two, three... somehow hoping that the phone would calm down and leave him alone, but knowing that it wasn't going to happen. He knew he had to answer this. Getting fired wasn't anything like what he wanted to do at the moment. No, he had far too much to worry about without adding money to the list.

America picked up the phone.

“Hello?” he asked, “A. Jones here, what's your issue?”

The line was silent.

”Hello?“ he asked again, fighting the sting of panic as he spoke into the phone. It was pretty common for people to miss the first part of what he said to them over the phone, he had no reason to be scared, right? ”Can you hear me?”

He heard a click, and the phone went to static in his hand.

America stood up sharply, dropping the phone as if it was the fire warming his face, instead of that in the fireplace.

“Okay,” he told himself, feeling his heart jumping around in his throat as he gave the room a quick sweep with his eyes, “Okay, time's up,”

He stepped forward awkwardly, almost disjointedly, but stopped abruptly. Where could he go? He was safest at home, wasn't he? Russia knew his workplace, but he hadn't shown up at his home yet, right? This was as good a place as any, right?

He headed back to his chair, sitting slowly and purposefully. He tried to reason with himself. Someone could have called the wrong number and not wanted to cause a fuss. His phone could be broken and not have transferred his speech to the caller (it had happened before, after all). Maybe he hadn't been professional enough and the caller had thought they were mistaken with their choice in number.

He tried to be calm, tried to act normal, tried to forget. It was fine. He was fine. It was a coincidence, that was all.

America picked up a newspaper, trying to focus on those swimming words on the page rather than his rushing heart. He didn't need to be this panicked. He was okay. He was safe. (But deep down, America knew that was not true.)

Still, he kept reading, gradually feeling his heart slow and his fear fade as he got more and more into what he was reading. The stocks, the newest sports, the ups and downs in local law. He knew it was important, it was the little bits and pieces that made him, /him/, after all, how could it not be?

The doorbell rang.

Clear and sharp through his home, cutting through the calm that he had forced into himself as if it was some easily discontinued brand of paper. (And then laughing as it disintegrated around his newly shaking hands.)

Should he answer it?

The doorbell rang again.

It couldn't be a good idea to answer it, right?

A hand rapped on his door.

If that was his boss, America would definitely be in trouble for not answering.

The knocking increased in intensity.

America stood up and began to walk towards the door. He was probably just being paranoid. What would make him any more of a target than one of his leaders anyway? Why the Hell would Russia choose this time of night to knock, after all of those days of complete nothing from his end?

The knocking ended, and muffled footsteps could be heard as the person who had been knocking walked away and down the driveway.

America tried to reason with himself. If that was his boss, he only had a little time to open the door before he had lost his chance to talk. (And Lord knew his bosses always wanted to talk.) His hand floated right above the doorknob as his mind rushed and raced.

What was the likelihood that that was what he thought it was? In a safe neighborhood like this?

The lock clicked, and America peaked outside.

At first he didn't see anything strange. (Though the lack of a car in the driveway probably should have immediately alerted him to the fact that it hadn't been his boss out there.) Just his quiet road, a few kids playing in the yard across the street, a nice man from the book club walking his dog down the road, and a truly gorgeous sunset glow still hanging in the cloudless sky above.

America moved to open the door a little further, but it caught on something on his doorstep. He took a step back, wondering what the blockage had been. Had that been the postman with a really late package delivery? Maybe someone had remembered to return something to him?

He looked down, and his heart jumped into his stomach.

There, smudged on his doorstep, was the telltale yellow of the petals of a sunflower. And, among them, a small note, with familiar cursive writing scrawled on the white paper. America dropped to his knees, his hands shaking as he reached for the note.

His breath came fast.

On the paper was a simple question. “How about now?” It asked, “Do you still try?”

#whumptober2023 #no.19 #Floral Bouquet | Psychological #fanfic #stalking #gun mention #murder mention #psychological horror #hws #hetalia #hws america #hws russia #my art #my writing #actual post

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secretgamergirl · 1 year

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The Entire Plot of Final Fantasy 14, with all the expansions, and some serious analysis of how good it actually is. (Part 7 - Shadowbringers)

Last time, things were getting a little bleak honestly. All the Scions (at least those more than three apples tall) are in comas with their souls having been ripped out, Gosetsu had his character ruined and has become a wandering monk to try and get his act together, and all your other friends are kinda busy being heads of state and fighting a war against an empire which, as they’re increasingly backed into a corner, are getting more into the idea of just using a devastating biological weapon to wipe out every major population center in the world, and some mystery weirdo is insisting you poke at that raid location from forever ago and come hang in another dimension instead of deal with any of that. I don’t usually do this but the intro to Shadowbringers has some really catchy music so here.

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So the whole deal with this expansion really is that we are putting everything else on hold completely and having this self-contained adventure in another dimension. No empire, no god summoning, no new questline extensions for the various jobs, no randomly having to return to the Waking Sands/Rising Stones, or talk to heads of state. You of course can duck out at any point to help loser fish set up their festival or whatever, but outside of unfinished sidequests you may have lying around, you can just go off to the First at the start of the expansion and stay there until its done, not focusing on anything besides what’s going on there.

Shadowbringers

Upon picking up a mystery whatsit and getting sucked into another dimension you get a bunch of horrible portents of doom, and eventually end up in a nice pretty forest where all the plants are violet, and a traveling merchant who resembles the one from the very start of the game who later snuck you out to Ishgard. He points out that the vaguely holy bright clear sky has been stuck like this day and night for about a hundred years or so, and hey, watch out for sin eaters, the horrible Bayonetta-angel-looking monsters plaguing the land. You don’t see this guy again, but you do kinda find his ring in a sin eater’s stomach not long later.

Heading towards the nearest signs of civilization, that big crystal tower is here too, doing this whole interdimensional bridge thing, with a pretty nice if confusingly laid out city around it. The guy in charge, who you’re here to meet, calls himself the Crystal Exarch. How obvious it is that he’s actually G’raha, that cat boy who locked himself in the crystal tower at the end of that raid to study it, depends on how long it’s been since you first played that, and how hard a time you’ve had dodging all the fan art and people saying that’s important later, but I don’t want to keep typing out “Crystal Exarch,” so he’s G’raha, even if he’s arbitrarily secretive about it for basically the whole expansion.

Anyway, he’s trying to be the big mysterious wise wizard the whole time but he’s entirely too much of a big dork to ever pull off the gravitas. He’s also kind of bad at his job. The reason everyone was getting the weird vision headaches and everyone is in a coma is he’s been trying to summon you for a good while, and he’s kinda bad at it, so he kinda accidentally ripped the souls out of a bunch of your friends trying to yank you over, and doesn’t really know how to get any of them home. Also there’s some Narnia time going on so from their perspective, the earliest characters have been stuck here for something like a decade. So uh, whoops? This also means they aren’t all just standing around. Everyone has their own stuff going on and your first task is kinda just to get the band back together.

Anyway, you’re here for two main reasons. The first is that the First is really screwed. As you may recall from that whole bit way back between Heavensward and Shadowbringers with the “Warriors of Darkness” there, this is the world where the whole balance of light and darkness got tipped way too hard towards light, which... turns out you get monster angles and a big glowing wall just glassing the whole world. Those guys hoped to stop this by killing you and maybe destroying the world, which I’m still not convinced would have worked, but Minfilia/Hydalyn’s agent in her hollowed out body went with them to try and do a thing, and as a result only MOST of the world was wiped out. See, we’ve got like, a whole forested peninsula left. And an island!

Probably not coincidentally, this also kinda maps to the initial starting map in the base game. Prosperous island to the west, desert to the south, lush forest in the northeast. Largely uninhabited area in the northwest, and in the middle a funky purple zone with a recently founded city. Of course, being this generally Light aligned world, other than the whole apocalyptic situation, it’s generally a friendlier, more light-hearted world. We still have “beast tribes” out there, but it’s because there’s a couple generally isolated groups, nobody’s at war, nobody’s summoning gods, and you have members of what were considered a “beast tribe” back in your world just fully integrated into the population here. Or equivalents anyway. Elves are actually called “Elves” here and not Elezen. Humans are “Humes,” etc. And those horrible little capitalist monsters just aren’t here at all, it’s wonderful.

Anyway, step one of getting the band back together is finding the twins, in whichever order you want. Alisae is down south, at the very edge of the world where you can see the big crystaline wall of world destruction frozen in place, helping out at a hospice for "the Afflicted.” Afflicted by what? Well, sin eaters come in a variety of shapes and sizes, and some of them are just pure white monster palette swaps with maybe a feathered texture, but if you get injured by one of the bigger tougher ones, that overabundance of white mana gets into you and you basically slowly petrifying and losing your personality before turning into a sin eater yourself, zombie style. But because the people here in the first are generally really nice and likeable, rather than going all “he’s infected, we have to kill him!” they gather all the people doomed by this to a nice little volunteer-run facility to be taken care of and given all their favorite foods even if it’s a potentially deadly adventure to get the necessary ingredients. And maybe slip some painless poison in there if it’s completely clear that this is your last day not being an apocalyptic angel zombie. Alisaie is of course helping out here because like I said before, the whole bit watching the kobold kid get super traumatized by the tragic death of his parents and ending up catatonic is her defining character moment. The hospice itself though run by this woman named Tesleen who has her own more personal tragic backstory where her parents got turned like this and she wished they could help them. She also gets a nice little heroic moment while you’re getting brought up to speed on this when this nearly-fully-turned kid just kinda wanders off into the desert.

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... OK I guess that preview image kinda spoils how that plays out. It’s a REALLY good scene though. We get to spend just enough time with this character for her to be really sympathetic, she’s doing good work, and we get this genuinely jarring body horror death for her. There’s a lot of this at the start of this expansion if you pick away at all the small sidequests too. People portrayed as good cool people heading out into the world to do their best and getting senselessly killed because this world is pretty damn imperiled. Makes things hit better once you get a sense of things and start heroically cancelling the apocalypse. Anyway Alisaie is pretty shattered by this but, you’re here, so she’ll join up. Oh and to reach each of the twins, you need to catch a ride on the local equivalent of a chocobo. A four-winged dewy-eyed bird-dragon thing called an amaro. They’re just adorable.

Alphinaud is busy trying to get his way into Eulmore, the only other city in the world, which by all accounts is just this decadent paradise where nobody wants for anything, surrounded by a shantytown full of desperate people wanting to be let inside. Now and then these two creepy jester girls come out looking for people with unique impressive skills to grant citizenship to, and to distribute this apparently delicious mystery food called meol by the basketload. And just in case it wasn’t obvious enough that this is a bad bad scene, we have the Calcabrina theme playing over this. Alphinaud’s plan is to trade oranges to some local fish people for pearls, but some cat boy horns in on things. You catch him, but honestly he’s really pathetic and desperate to get into this city so he doesn’t starve and can catch up with friends, so, yeah sure, have the plan. Instead you go with a backup strategy after finding some painter who the ruler of Eulmore, Lord Vauthry, had thrown off a balcony to his almost death after the patrons who sponsored him weren’t fans of his art. That means there’s an opening, and of course a poncy little dork like Alphinaud paints as a hobby, so that’s your in. Specifically, Alphinaud being hired by this stodgy cat boy to paint his wife, one of those Fat Cats in Eulmore!

The big twist here is that when Alphinaud fails to read the between the lines and slim her down, she actually really likes it, and is actually a really nice caring person, because again, this is the expansion where we just have likeable characters all over the place. We end up going more for the ultra-wealthy just being so care-free and hedonistic the idea that the working class is being crushed underfoot generally doesn’t occur to them, like in the movie Parasite, more than the sort of active class war we had in Ishgard. Anyway you’re really here to snoop around, and aside from the super extreme gulf beween the idle rich and the underclass, and the fact that Eulmore totally has a full on strip club in it, the guy in charge, Lord Vauthry, periodically takes a member of the underclass to his chambers and... look Alphinaud still doesn’t pick up on this being a Soylent Green thing but it couldn’t be more obvious.

Well I guess Alphinaud gets to see firsthand that part of the process here is that criminals get fed to the sin eaters he keeps in his throne room. Just this big ol’ lion and a hot girl constantly petting him. The claim is keeping them well fed on criminals keeps them passive. Everybody wins! Vauthry himself also really has a heck of a design. Anyway you cause a big scene and have to duck out.

Heading back home to our other city, the Crystarium, turns out a small local town nearby is getting attacked by a huge force of sin eaters, headed up by one of the biggest most powerful ones, called Lightwardens. There’s this whole bit with them naturally falling into this hierarchy like they can’t not do what bigger sin eaters want. The following dungeon (running across the overworld in a big dramatic scene totally counts as a dungeon) is the first time we really formally introduce this new thing called the Trust System, where if so inclined, rather than wait in the party queue for 3 other humans, you can put a party together out of yourself and whichever NPC friends you have handy. In this case, the twins, G’raha, and his righthand gal, this bunnygirl dancer who leads the Crystarium’s military forces such as they are. Anyway, you run up towards the town to rescue people, constantly seeing bigger sin eaters sweeping in in front of you, stabbing fleeing villagers, bears, giant scorpions, whatever’s handy, causing them to immediately turn into more of those feather eggs and hatch into new enemies. And just to really twist the knife, rather unceremonially tossed in before the real boss we have this horse-faced angel thing quietly labeled “Tesleen the Forgiven” as a speed bump fight. Pretty sure Alisaie has something to say there if you have her in your party, since little extra incidental character beats are the whole point of it, but... PC parties clear dungeons like twice as fast so I rarely bother.

At the end you have your first Lightwarden fight, which the locals are pretty leery about, because see, Light Wardens just have so damn much of that light flavored aether in them that when you kill one it releases a concentrated blast of it that’s going to bind itself to the nearest available creature, probably whoever did the killing, and transform them into a replacement Light Warden. Here the plan to get around this is basically... lol w/e I’m the protagonist of a video game. I haven’t really mentioned it but the protagonist here really is weirdly carefree about all manner of weird soul pacts, infusions of magical energies, blessings, whatever you’ve got. Just as a quick rundown, to date you’ve probably got Hydaelyn’s blessing, Midgardsormr’s weird pact thing, that kami blessing to breath underwater, Hraesvelgr’s eye assuming you didn’t hand it back off-camera, whatever metaphysical fallout there was from killing all these gods with the Zelda temple crystal grid, and when you first get here G’raha introduces you to a little pixie friend named Feo Ul who encourages you to form a weird soul pact so she can perform the very important service of zipping over to your world, the Source, to let NPCs know you’re OK and buy/sell stuff on the marketplace and such. So basically the theory is you’re going to be immune to light-warden-fication for the same reason Mr. Burns doesn’t die from various diseases. Or the Hydaelyn thing.

Seems legit too, because as soon as the Warden goes down, the sky in the whole region goes from being permanently stuck on serene holy radiance 24/7 to a normal day/night cycle with weather and everything. On this note I feel I should mention that every major city in this game has an NPC you can talk to to get a local weather forecast for the next few in-game days in various places. That’s still true here, but before you start killing wardens and fixing the sky they just say something like “eternal unending radiant light! Just like every single hour of every single day for the past hundred years! Why are you even asking!?” I love this, because not only did they remember to do something special, we also have to address the absurd situation that there are people whose job it is to keep track of the weather even after a century of weather not being a thing.

Next on the list for putting the band back together is grabbing Thancred and “Minfilia.” See, funny story, with the inconsistent time flow thing and all. Minfilia and the Warriors of Darkness got back here something like a hundred years ago and all went off to do something about the encroaching wave of non-existence, which ended up being a big ol’ group sacrifice like the end of a Sailor Moon season, except without everyone conveniently getting reincarnated after. Well almost anyone. Ever since there’s been this thing with little blonde girls with glowing-blue eyes being thought to be the reincarnation of Minfilia and kind of held up as heroes. Those other guys though, super dead. And history doesn’t recognize their big sacrifice either, they’re all just remembered as the Warriors of Light, who won too hard and triggered the apocalypse. And also broadly as just a big bunch of jerks. Their leader though, the one with the actual Warrior class, got stuck kicking around as a ghost. Nobody can see or interact with him though until you get here, and despite how things went before, he’s really glad to finally have someone to talk to. He’s actually a big ol’ dork named Aldbert, and admits that in retrospect that whole thing of introducing himself as the Warrior of Darkness was a pretty stupid mood because it only sounds like a cool heroic title when you’ve got this sort of light-flooded world and people have to flip all their metaphors where being the Warrior of Darkness means you’re piling up dead angels and bringing back chill night skies and cool shady patches and such. He’s also frustrated from being stuck as an impotent ghost this whole time, and won’t take a hint that maybe just like hanging out in your bedroom all day isn’t cool.

But yeah, there’s some teenage girl we’re calling Minfilia, and Thancred, as has been his general sort of deal lately, has been acting as something of her personal bodyguard because he has a lot of hangups. He even switched to a proper tank class, gunbreaker, to help out. Quick aside, gunbreaker and dancer are the two new classes for this expansion. They have very short quest chains back in the Source. Dancers have an interesting deal where they’re this secret order who do big public sexy belly dance performances to lure out these weird emotionally charged shadow monsters and kill them, while the one NPC gunbreaker you meet is this ex-Imperial cat man (which is not the same race as cat boys, these are proper big furries called Hrothgar in the source and Ronso in the first, yeah like in FF10). I might be blanking but I think he’s the only cat man NPC in the source. He has a bunny girl sidekick, they’re mercenaries, and he gives you this wonderful history lesson on how gunblades, like from FF8, big sword with magic crystals in a chamber that explode and push the blade forward harder and maybe do other things when you pull a trigger, are named after their creator, Queen Gunhildr, and as for those weapons that fire projectiles people call guns, those are just named after gunblades because they have the chambers and trigger in common.

I love ridiculous nerdy world-building like that. Anyway Thancred uses one of those now, and has to have other people make his ammo for him because he just can’t with magic stuff. Also he’s been bad at his bodyguarding duties, so “Minfilia” has been captured by the army of Eulmore. Or airforce I guess. They’re way into airships over there. There’s a real badass general called Ran’jit you have to fight a bunch of times who seems to have you outclassed kinda like Zenos but unlike Zenos he doesn’t have a weird fetish about it and barely merits mention. And yeah we’re not even a little pretending Vauthry isn’t the big bad of note here. Anyway you rescue the new girl during a prison (or “protective custody”) transfer, Thancred jumps in to save the day as is, again, his thing lately, and you all make a break for Il Mheg, both to avoid having an army chase you down, and because it’s theoretically where Urianger’s been hanging out.

So... this is as good a place as any that even by the standards of a game where all the guys are wearing chokers thigh highs and earrings, Shadowbringers is queer as all hell. Everyone in Il Mheg, which covers several distinct fairy races, universally opt for they/them pronouns, and are ruled over by someone called King Titania. Or they were before they became a Lightwarden and were locked in their castle. Anyway we’ve got pixies who love pranks, periodically turning people into topiary sculptures, and have a fun tribe quest line where the minor business includes trimming those topiaries so you can tell they’re people, checking on pixies taking naps, but then not waking them up, and flirting with them, and the main quests are all about restoring a magical dreamland with candy houses and slides and stuff, and this whole bit with this “new” pixie who shows up after killing King Titania being very goth and giving kids nightmares you need to properly befriend and just suggest they practice more.

There’s also the fuath, little squirtle looking pals who love to drown people. They also have a dungeon for you where a boss replaces most of the floor at one point with a real Tall Tall Mountain style twisty path, that really shows off the appeal of the whole Trust System thing. Oh they also try to drown you, it just doesn’t take because you got that hang-out-underwater power up last expansion.

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Then there’s the nu mou, who you may recognize from Final Fantasy Tactics Advance, and their whole deal is they’re basically dogs, responding to “words of power” like roll over, liking ear scritches, etc. and then there’s the amaro. Yeah the bird-dragons. Turns out when they live long enough they learn how to talk and tend to retire here. We also have beavers. There’s this whole sidequest chain about the dangers of going near beavers, and a whole chain of pixies kind of ignoring that, while a growing number of beavers thank you for the fetch quests those pixies sent you on. Mildly distressing. Oh and there’s also Urianger, who got a real serious makeover while living with the fairies.

Remember when I said I hated Urianger until I didn’t? Yeah, here’s where that happened. We had this weird awkward nerd, wearing a hoodie all the time, super into a woman who is obviously a lesbian, who hangs out with the fairies for a few years and starts wearing a big fancy dress, getting into tarot, and becoming a lot more emotionally expressive. I don’t want to push you into a more traditionally femme look by suggesting that stupid beard get shaved off, being nonbinary is fine but uh, congrats on the transition, Urianger? Anyway you need to collect a whole gear set from the various fairies to unlock King Titania’s palace and kill them. Once again, you just suck in all that light no problem. Tradition says you also now become the next King Titania, but that also involves becoming a pixie, which Fae Ol assumes you wouldn’t be into, so they take that duty for you. And yeah the name’s part of the title.

As you bring back the night to another region, the army of Eulmore catches up, but they don’t have an in like you did and the locals happily start turning them into shrubs, drowning them in small puddles, destroying their spacial perception. Good times. Back to the Crystarium to regroup a bit and discuss the plot before the next stop, where you meet a new fun character. Well, new to you.

Wait no, wrong image.

Meet Emet-Selch, the one and only well-written Ascian. We saw him earlier taunting the emperor, in the body of one of the many many clones of his grandfather, the founder of the empire, that he has lying around. He happily admits that he actually was the founder of the empire. And the founder of the Allagan empire. And several others people don’t care about. It’s kind of his thing. He’s a bit upset with you for taking out Light Wardens, because the whole plan here was that thanks to Vauthry’s approach to things, the elemental balance was eventually going to finish tipping over to way too much light, which would trigger one of them Calamities, and cause the whole place to be reabsorbed into the Source, which is kind of the overall plan. This is kind of a weird retcon because previously it seemed pretty clear that all these apocalypses were triggered by the actions of people in your world, bringing down one of the moons and having wars screwing up elemental balance and such. Might be that some work has to be done on both ends? Anyway I prefer world-ending events happening mainly in those worlds and giving you a reason to visit, so, I’m cool with it.

His new fallback plan, at least based on what he says here, is he’s just going to join your party. You’ve proven you’re pretty well going to do everything you set out to, so actually making friends with you and trying to convince you that the Ascians’ actual goal (which they so clearly hadn’t even started to pin down before this expansion, it contradicts so much badly written stuff) is not actually mustache-twirlingly evil and you might legitimately work out some kind of compromise. Plus he’s a fun sarcastic fop. We also get into the second reason you’re here. There’s a bit where we pretend this is a horrible portent of doom Urianger saw on the way in, because you might not trust G’raha, but is actually just stuff G’raha saw unfold personally. See thanks to that weird flow of time between dimensions thing, plus a weird feature of the crystal tower that weirds Emet-Selch out because it’s definitely not a thing the Allagans knew how to do, he’s something like 1000 years old, having studied the tower for a hell of a long time past where you last saw him and worked out how to drag the thing back a good number of years and into the First here. Turns out the whole bit of just taking the fight to the empire really is bad. They get super desperate, they use that bio weapon and several other weird mad science things, and they just kinda end up killing most of the population of the world. As things roll on, we get the occasional look into what’s going on back home, including a bit playing as Estinein as he just stomps through the Empire’s capital, alongside we-seriously-gave-freaking-Gaius-a-redemption-arc, and yeah, things get real grim. Whole cities wiped out overnight and stuff.

Anyway, we’ve gotten the whole band together except for Y’shtola now. Everyone’s kind of going through a real goth phase this time out, but she kinda flips from white mage to black, and really tries to take after Matoya as the weirdo wilderness witch, going as far as to steal her name. As was shown in the intro. Also she’s living in the overworld map with hands down the best music from anywhere.

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Anyway when you meet up with her again she immediately asks why the hell people are bringing a freaking Light Warden into her little camp. Because oh right, that whole bit we’ve never really properly acknowledges where she just sees magic auras since her teleporter mishap and yours kinda suggests that maybe your plot armor doesn’t actually let you eat commander angels all day without gaining a pound. Also she has a new cat man boyfriend apparently. This expansion moves at a pretty good clip though, and along a familiar pattern, so after a bit of exploring the woods, meeting the arborial bunny girls who live a very long time, don’t let their menfolk out generally, and protect the forest, we find a big ol’ Indiana Jones temple with some ancient history murals. A lot is stuff we’ve seen, but there’s a whole bit about how way the hell back when, when there was just the one world, there was a horrible apocalyptic disaster which the Ascians avoided by just sort of inventing and capital S summoning the first of these pesky gods, Zodiark to hold it off. Then some other Ascians thought Zodiark was maybe killing a few too many worshippers on the side, and summoned Hydaelyn to smack him around and keep him in check. So yeah, your personal patron deity is in fact just like all the others. Also she kicked Zodiark a bit too hard and splintered the whole world into 14 pieces, along with everyone living on it. Anyway, Eulmoreans show up again to mess with you, Y’shtola does a big reckless save that involves jumping off a cliff and having to do that emergency teleport again. And getting stuck, again. Emet-Selch decides to earn some brownie points by fishing her out for you. And then in an extra classy move, he fishes her clothes out too this time. But anyway you kill a third Lightwarden and we’re just totally going to ignore the dizzy spells and sounds of like stomping on a bag of broken glass coming from your soul afterwards. You’ve got main character plot immunity. This is all fine!

Quick Ardbert update- While in Il Mheg, the biggest Amaro turns out to have been the one he used to ride, and they get all choked up about missing eachother, and one of the murals in the ruins features their party saving the world briefly. Or, you know, dooming it, but their hearts were in the right place. And speaking of those other Warriors of Darkness, Ardbert is the only one who isn’t currently running around as a weird variant sin eater that still mostly looks like they did in life, and once you’ve started fixing the sky, a group of four bounty hunters roll in each asking for your help in hunting a different one down. These replace the individual job quests, each just working for a general role. Tank, healer, magic DPS, physical DPS, and each starts a quest chain where you get a whole bunch of Echo flashbacks to how Ardbert’s party first met up and how they were all such cool noble heroes making big personal sacrifices and going on cool adventures together (except the archer who I still have not forgiven for just shooting Alisaie with a poison arrow for the hell of it), and you even get a quick section each where you play as your quarry in a flashback. All of these eventually end with the bountyhunters learning to respect their quarries and learn they were cool in life, but as sin eaters they’re all pretty awful and need putting down. Of particular note is the black mage, who got a young friend stranded in hell that you somehow manage to rescue over the course of things, and the white mage, who was exiled from her homeland because she in stopping a plague back in the day, she and her patients ended up committing the ultimate taboo of taking off their helmets, because you see, she was a dwarf. As is Giott, the bounty hunter looking for her.

That’s right, dwarves! Proper FF4 dwarves, with the glowing eyes and the “Lali-ho!” They’re officially one of those beast tribes you end up doing odd jobs for (rivals from two clans who disagree on helmet and beard styles collaborate to design tanks to deal with sin eaters safely). And because again, we’re being super queer here, Giott here’s a girl. Everyone gets the beards. Presumably to jive with how she looked like one of those horrible little capitalist monsters back when this was all set up, the horrible shame of dwarves is that yeah, when they commit the horrible taboo of taking their helmets off, they tragically do look like the blight of your homeworld, but they’re a completely different group of people from another dimension and I won’t hold that against them. Nor will I demonstrate. Distressingly enough the beards come off too though. Oh and our other tribe this time around is these rat people who live in the woods. Their whole race was kinda collectively lost for a while so they’re doing archaeological digs trying to recover their history. What’s interesting is that in each chapter they find a stone monument with two possible interpretations, and you get to decide what goes in the history books. Broadly, there’s the happy interpretation where they lived in harmony with their neighbors, and the one where they were basically enslaved and persecuted. Your call really. Oh and they all habitually get everyone’s pronouns wrong. It’s seriously an intentional theme here.

Back to the swiftly moving main plot though, G’raha goes to personally talk with Vauthry, and since he keeps being called a villain and we’re already committing to this whole thing where you’re going by the Warrior of Darkness, he decides to lean into it, all yeah, I’m totally the big evil villainous wizard who’s going to reck your stuff. But he totally can’t pull this off because I cannot stress enough what a goofy dork with a big obvious crush on the protagonist G’raha is.

Two lightwardens to go as we continue just weeping around the world clockwise. Next we’re back down south where various people sacrificed themselves to stop the world getting glassed, and “Minfilia’s” arc comes to a head here. I haven’t been mentioning it because I’m trying to keep this moving, but from the moment she’ first introduced, she’s got this serious internal turmoil. See, she has the real Minfilia (or at least the real god-puppet one) inside of her, with cool magic potential and all, but aside from some quick bits of getting possessed properly to explain things, like the fact that the real Minfilia in her own words is effectively like an Ascian now, possessing innocent little girls to get stuff done, she can’t really tap into the cool Hydaelyn powers unless she allows herself to be permanently possessed, or she just kinda fully consumes that Minfilia essence leaving her fully dead and absorbing her powers as her own. She’s also very convinced that Thancred would very much prefer she give her own life up to get Minfilia back because Thancred is totally in love with her, and that’s why he’s so protective of her. It’s super clear of course that she is totally off the mark about this, and the whole party but Thancred in particular just kinda see her as their adopted daughter with her whole life ahead of her, and would very much prefer she take option B, but she’s dead set on doing the martyr thing until the last minute, with Minfilia letting her know that she’s kind of a terrible waste of a character and doesn’t need anyone horning in on her martyr schtick. So she eventually takes the choice everyone was really hoping for, loses the blonde hair blue eyes look, and let’s Thancred pick a new name for her since she doesn’t remember what it was before the “Minfilia” thing stuck. So here’s Ryne. An actually well-developed character who gets to do the whole “oracle of light” thing and the whole found family thing with your whole party, and we finally get to be free of any sort of possibility of bringing kinda the worst character back.

Anyway the next Lightwarden’s off in the corner of the map and the Eulmoreans have a blockade, so the only way to get to it is with some minecart shenanigans. Back before the world got ruined there were these cool golem things used for all sorts of industrial labor, but they’re all either non-functional or going berserk now. Things drag just a bit here, but you patch one up and it just pushes your cart full tilt through some barriers. There’s also a bit with Thancred going all heroic sacrifice to fight our big tough general guy, but he’s such a non-character and this would be a weird place to kill him off with the whole giving his daughter a proper name bit.

So down goes another Lightwarden and you’re... totally fine. Don’t mind the glowing white stuff you’re coughing up and the continued shattering sounds. Duff Gardens... hoorah! Emet-Selch makes another big sales pitch before the final push, explaining how before the world got shattered, everyone was immortal and super smart and had cool reality shaping powers, and from his perspective it’s such a horrific tragedy that aside from 3 survivors, himself included (and one of the others was Lahabrea who’s very dead now) are stuck in weird twisted bodies just dying constantly after basically no time at all, and also there was no war back then and everybody got their own pony. Y’shtola counters that trying to restore that still isn’t worth killing millions of people, but, from his perspective none of you are really people, just like weird broken ghosts. Hey, it’s a decent villain motivation! Or semi-villain. The real big twist is that while you’re expecting the twist to be that he’s encouraging you to do this clean sweep of Lightwardens so you eventually overload, become an absolutely horrific super-Lightwarden, and finish destroying the world, he actually has legitimately been rooting for you to prove him wrong about being non-people. Deep down he’s a real softie and a good guy, if you ignore him being the engineer of like, most horrible things in the history of the world, anyway.

Heading back towards Eulmore, you have to deal with the sudden snag of almost the entire population acting like murderous zombies. That thing before where meol is obviously Soylent Green? Turns out the long version is Vauthry periodically takes someone from the underclass, lets his pet sin eaters convert them, butchers the resulting sin eater, and that’s where meol comes from. So... everyone around here has been eating angel-zombie meat for several years and is turned to some fractional degree or other, and he’s therefore able to command them. Because he is, of course, not even particularly secretly, the head sin eater. Technically a human-sin-eater hybrid. It was some Ascian’s idea of course, just kinda give him an angel-infusion in the womb. As you work this out he just pigs out on all the meol he can find until he sprouts these two tiny little wings. Then he proceeds to fly out the window, to the top of the biggest mountain in sight, and rather unceremoniously just sort of lifts the whole thing into the sky with all the majesty and splendor of a Terry Gilliam animation.

Huh. You can’t just take an airship and fly out to it, because every airship in the world is kind of under enemy control, and G’raha neglected to rip Cid’s soul out so he’s just sitting this whole expansion out. So everyone’s just a bit stumped on how to proceed, hanging out with the few survivors of Eulmore, and then the surprisingly nice ultra-rich cat woman Alphinaud painted of all people kinda floats the idea that you could maybe just like, build a stupidly huge robot (or more accurately, a Talos, the golem things) and grab the whole thing? See her husband is the heir to the company that originally built them before the apocalypse destroyed all the industry, and she’s pretty confident he could reinvent the family business. He thinks about it but dismisses it because it would just take a downright unreasonable amount of resources and work. And then your party just kinda collectively throws out the suggestion that you get help from basically the entire population of the world, as after all you’ve recently made friends with them, and like, you revitalized a mining town, and Y’shtola basically has her own whole cult of magic users.

So... yeah. You just collaborate with the entire world to build an absolutely stupidly huge golem so it can grab a flying mountain and you can just run over. You don’t even have a series of fetch quests where you have to ask everyone individually, people just split up and regroup in a cutscene. The result is actually in the screenshot above. It was a real rush job so it didn’t come out super humanoid.

So you get a big assault scene. Good times.

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So up you head for your final boss fight. Also dealing with those pet sin eaters along the way. Did I mention all the extremely Bayonetta looking title cards you get for fights with major sin eaters? Like just look at this.

Side note, odds are good that one used to be Vauthry’s mother... and the lion one might be his father. Also whenever at all humanoid, all sin eaters are pretty overtly female, even when explicitly shown hatching out of men. Just more gender stuff, and also it kinda goes with Vauthry kind of personally embodying the whole seven deadly sins thing to go maximum harem. Oh yeah and when you finally fight him he too switches to a new, hotter form. Voice doesn’t change though, it’s kinda unnerving.

So one nice boss fight later, you have finally fixed the sky everywhere. But... that was officially too many Lightwardens for your stomach to take. You’re puking up white gunk and crackling and doubling over. Then suddenly G’raha of all people goes all villain speech mode, cackling about how this was his plan all along and now that you’ve gathered all the light in one place for him, he can infuse it into the tower and escape from this doomed world. Mwahaha. This is of course NOT his actual plan. Or, it kind of is. Get the light out of you so you don’t explode, zoom the whole tower off into the middle of nowhere so that when he does, nobody’s around to be hurt by his new monstrous form. Also it’s super windy so his hood blows off and if you somehow didn’t realize this was G’raha before now, here you go.

Anyway this plan is kind of terrible for a few reasons and Emet-Selch thinks so too, so he just pulls a gun and shoots G’raha. It’s not fatal or anything, and he teleports him off to get medical attention. Still, you kinda do seem to be turning into a final boss, which is pretty disappointing. That means he’s going to have to settle for plan C, wait for you to finish turning into holy death incarnate, and then you can meet with him in his secret palace to talk about destroying the world of whatever. Genuinely disappointed about the whole thing.

You pass out, Ryne does her best to patch you up some with her fancy new oracular powers but it’s a temporary thing. And also the sky’s glowing everywhere again, except now you have to deal with the fact that you’re the one causing that. Missed opportunity that the effect doesn’t follow you if you duck back out to your world. Nobody has a plan, you’re pretty much doomed. You hang out a bit with various people trying to cheer you up. Feo Ul/King Titania offers to turn you into a fairy and let you have the title. You’d still become a horrible monster, but, you know,they could lock you in that tower, come to visit. Ardbert offers a ghostly fist-bump and there’s some magic fizzle thing because... that whole thing about everyone’s soul getting splintered up with the world? Yeah this dead idiot is technically 1/14th of your original pre-splintering self.

So, plan time. Emet-Selch mentioned his party palace is at the bottom of the ocean, or at least implied it, and oh hey, there’s this suspiciously giant whale shaped island in the middle of a lake. Turns out that’s the REAL Bismarck, a weird fae whale critter the god version was inspired by, somehow.

He gives you a lift to the bottom of the ocean and blows a big bubble to displace the water while you’re there. It’s pretty creepy. Also displacing all that water really inconveniences the local fish people so you need to help them out some, but eventually you get pointed to a trench where Emet-Selch went and recreated a replica of an ancient Ascian city, complete with inhabitants, just to kinda chill out in and wait for you.

It’s very art deco, and very very Bioshock, being at the bottom of the ocean and all, and basically the whole place just exists as one final sales pitch on the whole restore the old world thing. Also Emet-Selch accidentally made the phantom version of his old boyfriend Hythlodaeus who gives you some insight about him. Eventually you confront him, he scolds you for not waiting to turn into a monster first, gives you a full recreation flashback of the apocalypse they summoned Zodark to stop, and eventually you have a fight. Ardbert kinda merges with you to give you the strength to stop doubling over and coughing white gunk all over the floor, and you end up summoning all the other fractions of your soul to have a proper boss fight. These being the uh... 7 other players you need for a boss fight party. Didn’t realize I was like 5/14 bunny boy in fishnets but apparently so. Emet-Selch also reveals that that’s a title not a name, and his real name is Hades. I... don’t get the point of this honestly. All major Ascians turn out to have true names from the Greek pantheon but like... that pantheon doesn’t exist in this setting, and they don’t especially map to it personality wise. So it’s just kinda, yeah OK. Fight time.

You win. He’s kinda whistful about it. You kinda did prove plan B worked after all and he’s kind of at peace with people like you inheriting the world, so he says “Remember us, and remember that we once lived,” and then, you know, stops doing so.

Everyone heads home. G’raha’s a bit apologetic since he kinda planned on everyone else getting sent home as part of his big self-sacrifice and doesn’t really know how to do that otherwise. Nobody’s too upset though because for real the First is just a way more pleasant place than the world everyone came from, and you’re the only one who hasn’t been living there for at least a year. No rush at all to get back.

Meanwhile, in the empire, ghost-Zenos has been possessing random soldiers and killing his way back to the capital, whereupon he insists that jerk Elidibus let him have his own body back, he did a lot of working out and leveling up in it after all, and then he just stabs the Emperor through the chest, because screw family, screw the empire, the whole mass genocide thing really doesn’t work with the plan to terrorize people enough for you to show up for a rematch/second date. Estinein and Gaius show up in time to witness this.

And then we get one last shot of Elidibus, the last un-shattered Ascian left, saying some dumb Ascian stuff I don’t care about because I’m not kidding about Emet-Selch being the only well-written one ever. He’s arbitrarily standing on the surface of the moon while he rants though, to tease the next expansion.

And... that’s Shadowbringers. The really good expansion. I don’t know that I’d call the writing amazing or anything like a lot of people do. The Tesleen bit is REALLY well-done, and Emet-Selch is astoundingly well-written next to the other Ascians but that bar is literally on the floor. Really the main strengths are that the pacing is much much much better than everything that comes before it, and the whole thing is just this nice self-contained proper JRPG story. You explore the whole world, you befriend basically everyone, and you save universally nice cool people from very plainly evil people. Plus there’s a big robot of sorts you get to ride on. That’s really all I want out of the genre. Good simple uplifting stories. Not the black and grey morality stuff bogging down the base game or the weird convoluted stuff you see a lot of in the genre as a whole. Plus as an added bonus it really feels like we’re paying off what character establishment any of the main cast has eeked out so far with some growth on top.

And once again, money to continue living and writing stuff like this would really help me out.

Next up is the post-Shadowbringers stuff, which is obviously concerned with getting everyone’s souls back in their bodies, and otherwise a mix of really really stupid stuff and really really gay stuff.

#final fantasy 14 #ff14 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #first world problems #sorry I forgot Estinein he is neither in a coma nor a head of state

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tymime · 1 year

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I never thought I’d say this, but I’m disenchanted with Weird Al.

The final nail in the coffin was the Daniel Radcliffe movie. Slapstick and occassional dark humor is one thing, but having domestic violence and brutal murder presented as “funny” is going too far for me. Not to mention that seeing “Al” depicted as an unsympathetic, hedonistic alcoholic was generally unpleasant and not very fun. I get that the joke is Al’s real life is squeaky clean and totally lacking in scandal, and the whole thing is a satire of rock star biopics with sex and drugs, but I generally don’t watch or enjoy those sort of movies anyway. And I was especially mortified when he posted clips from Family Guy and American Dad on his Twitter. The racist, sexist, and mean-spirited content of those shows is enough explanation as to why I take issue with that.

I first started feeling uncomfortable about Al’s violent lyrics, as infrequent as they may be, when I first heard “Weasel Stomping Day”. I always skip the song these days, because despite knowing they’re not real, hearing the terrified cries of weasels crushed to death makes me cringe. Is that so unreasonable? I get that it’s a satire of godawful holiday traditions (which are a rare breed these days, you have to admit), but I love animals too much to be okay with making light of murdering them. Initially I was on board with “Why Does This Always Happen to Me?”, but looking back on it, I’m not at all amused by the descriptions of gory car crashes and murder, much less the borderline psychopathic reactions to them. I was enjoying “Jackson Park Express” up until the point he described opening up someone’s ribcage. It spoiled the rest of the song for me. I’ve yet to hear “The Night Santa Went Crazy”, and I don’t intend to. A brief glimpse of the lyrics was enough. Santa Claus as a symbol of goodness and generosity is far too precious in my book to justify subverting him.

Admittedly, these sort of songs are once in a blue moon, but I find them disturbing. Weird Al is supposed to be the king of wholesome family friendly comedy. Isn’t he? Didn’t he say in a interview once that he prided himself in never swearing in his songs and concerts, and was bothered by how many adult comedy songs were mislabeled as his own? It makes me wonder if his uneventful, untraumatic life has made him take real-life violence and child abuse less seriously than he should. There’s enough gore and body horror in real life as it is, we don’t need jokes about it. I had to live through real domestic violence, and I’ve seen the effects of drug abuse. I’ve encountered too many animal corpses, and had my heart broken by the morbid deaths of family pets too many times to find humor in it. I’m far too weary of needlessly dark and edgy humor to go along with it anymore.

It hurts on a personal level, because Weird Al was one of my first musical heroes, and one of the main reasons I became a musician. A lot of my earliest song lyrics are parody lyrics. I don’t know if I can look at him the same way anymore. It doesn’t help that his voice has been autotuned for the past several years. That, and I have a strong suspicion his well of songs has pretty much run dry. He’s only written one song since 2014, and he’s said in interviews that the song parody business moves too fast for him nowadays.

It makes me wonder if the The Al Yankovic Story is secretly a cry for help, of frustration with being known as “the song parody guy”.

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solreefs · 2 years

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Reflection

<- previous next ->

Summary: Statement of Kareem Amir, regarding a series of incidents in a glass shop in Amreya. Original statement given July 17, 2022. Recorded July 1, 2031.

Warnings: injuries due to broken glass, semi-graphic death, implied suicide, unreality, not being in control of your own body

Tagging: @gay-otlc

Words: 2613

A note on naming and locations: Amreya is a real neighborhood in Alexandria, notable for its many factories and petroleum refineries.

You may have noticed that the statement giver here has two names that would be considered first names instead of a first name and a more traditional surname. This is actually a very common naming practice in Egypt. While some Egyptians do use surnames, most use the first name of their father, regardless of gender. On more formal legal documents, a third name, that of their grandfather, is also commonly used.

ao3

[CLICK]

Jess: -started a month ago.

Morgan: I know. And I was supposed to be here then, but there were travel complications.

Jess: Oh.

[he staples a set of files]

Well, don’t get too comfortable here. We’ve lost twelve Postulants already.

At this rate, there won’t be six students left to fill those spots. Here.

[he hands her a stapler]

Morgan: What are we doing?

Jess: These are all the statements we’ve discredited, and this pile over here is all the supplemental research. We’re stapling them together.

[papers shuffling, stapling sounds]

Morgan: Are these... bones?

Jess: Damn, thought we got them all. Put them on Portero’s desk, he’s the one who found that bag in the first place.

Morgan: Shouldn’t these be in Artifact Storage?

Jess: Technically, yeah, but this place is a mess. There’s no telling what’s in most of these boxes.

[he staples another set of files]

Bones are pretty much business as usual around here at this point.

Morgan: I see. And the tape recorder?

Jess: What- oh. We use these for recording the statements that don’t do so well on digital. Don’t know what it’s doing here, though.

Morgan: [she picks it up] Oh, it’s on.

Jess: How long has it been running?

[CLICK]

Wolfe: Statement of Kareem Amir, regarding a series of incidents in a glass shop in Amreya. Original statement given July 17, 2022. Recorded July 1, 2031.

Wolfe (statement): This whole thing happened about two years ago, so I’m sorry if some of the details are a bit off. I’ve been meaning to come here for a while, but somehow never found the time until now.

Amreya is mostly a place for factories and refineries, usually not for small, half-abandoned glass shops. So even though the building itself was small and unassuming, it still stuck out like a sore thumb. I noticed it while walking to the train station after work, and since I still had a little time before I needed to be there, I decided to stop and have a look around.

There was no name to be seen anywhere, but the shop’s hours were listed on the door, and the front window displayed mirrors and windowpanes. I couldn’t see anyone inside, and according to the hours on the door, the shop was closed right now. I checked my watch, and saw that I was nearly going to be late for my train. I ran the rest of the way to the station, forgetting all about strange glass shops for the time being.

I like to take the earliest train in the morning, both so that I can be on time to work, and to have a little extra time to walk around. The next morning was no exception, and I found myself retracing my steps back to the glass shop without even thinking about it. The place fascinated me, and even now I still can’t fully explain the hold it had on me. The best explanation I can give is that the shop had a story, and I couldn’t leave it alone until I figured out that story.

Going by the times on the door, it should have been open, but when I tried the handle, it was locked. I looked inside, and again, saw no one.

In that moment, I made a choice that to this day, I don’t know if I regret or not. I had taken the trouble to come back to the shop, so I couldn’t just leave. I had made up my mind that I was going to find some answers, somehow, and that was that.

I walked around the side of the building, wondering if maybe there was another entrance. I found a back garage, with a truck parked outside it, but the garage door was closed, and I drew the line at actually forcing my way in. The lot behind the shop was full of bins and crates and boxes, but they were all empty. Walking around the other side, I saw there was a small hole in the outside wall. I pressed my eye to it, and although it was dark inside, I could make out what looked like a storage space, filled with more mirrors and windows and a few other furniture pieces. I took my phone out of my pocket, turned on the flashlight, and held it up to the hole.

Mirrors. There were mirrors everywhere.

The walls of the storage space were lined with them, and they were all different sizes and shapes. Mirrors hung from the ceiling, and what little I could see of the floor seemed to be made of mirrored tiles. Excess mirrors were stacked in towering piles along the far edge of the room.

Someone tapped my shoulder, and I spun around with a yell of surprise, dropping my phone. Standing behind me was a man with curly blond hair and very long fingers. He smiled and asked me what I was doing. I stammered out that I was just looking to see if the shop was open, a ridiculous excuse, I know, but it was the best I could come up with on the spot.

The man laughed, and there was something wrong with the sound. My head pulsed with a sudden pain, and I took a step back, away from him. He told me he was the owner of the shop, that his name was Michael, and that the shop wasn’t quite ready yet. I nodded, then glanced at my watch. I was going to be late for work if I stayed here any longer. I gave him some vague excuse, and hurried away.

That evening, I deliberately took a different route to the train station, not wanting to run into Michael again. I avoided the shop for a few days, thinking that I’d come back when it was actually open. My encounter with Michael had unsettled me a little, but my curiosity was undiminished, and I couldn’t bring myself to leave the shop alone entirely.

About a week later, I took the train to Amreya on my day off. I went directly to the glass shop, double-checked the hours, and tried the door. This time, it opened, and I went inside.

It was smaller than I was expecting. The storage space in the back must have been easily twice the size of the actual shop. Like the storage space, though, it was almost entirely filled with mirrors. The only windowpanes were the ones displayed at the front- the aisles of the shop all contained mirrors of various shapes, sizes, and styles. I spent a few minutes just wandering, looking at the way each of the mirrors seemed to subtly distort my reflection. On the far side of the shop, there was a small office space, the door of which was closed, but I could see that it was empty through a window in the door. It occurred to me that I hadn’t actually seen a cash register, or price tags on any of the mirrors. Was this place even a store?

I had some other errands I needed to run, so I ended up leaving after only spending about half an hour in there, but I came back the next day. And the next, and the day after that.

I know how that sounds. Writing it down, it seems so obviously stupid, but I was addicted to the mystery of it all. I wanted to know everything about the place, and I was even brave enough to ask Michael a few questions once.

I certainly never learned everything about the shop, but I did find out a fair amount of information. The mirrors were in fact for sale, but only on request. Michael handled the actual payments in his office. The shop also functioned mostly as a place for Michael to store his mirror collection, as he seemed reluctant to actually sell any of the mirrors.

I only ever saw him make one sale. A young woman bought a small, round mirror, and the whole time the two of them were discussing the price, Michael’s fingers kept twitching, like he wanted to grab something. I could never figure out if he was trying to grab her, or the mirror. I watched carefully, but nothing out of the ordinary happened when the woman paid, except that Michael seemed oddly sad about losing the mirror.

I mentioned earlier that the mirrors distorted my reflection. But that wasn’t all they did. The shop itself looked different in different mirrors. Looking in the full-length mirror with the pale wood frame near the back of the shop, I saw a desk in the corner that wasn’t there when I turned around. A simple, oval-shaped mirror showed the front door as made of wood and painted yellow, instead of being made of glass and having the shop hours on it. A silver-framed hand mirror showed entire aisles that didn’t exist outside of its reflection.

One day, after about six months of this, I came into the shop before work, and saw Michael propping up a new mirror against the wall. It was full-length, taller than he was, with an ornate fractal pattern carved into the dark wood of the frame. In its glass, Michael’s reflection was distorted, but much more so than in any of the other mirrors. In this one, his hair was longer, and moving on its own, the ends twisting and twirling into spiral patterns. His fingers had too many knuckles, and ended in sharp points.

I stood frozen in the doorway, watching as Michael adjusted the mirror, stood back to inspect it, and turned on his heel and walked away into the office, apparently unfazed. As soon as he disappeared behind the door, I walked forward and examined the mirror. Nothing about the shop’s reflection seemed off. All the shelves and aisles were reflected just as they were, and I could see people walking past in the street outside… Except the streets were quiet and empty this early in the morning.

I watched as a young woman walked up to the front door of the shop in the mirror, and was surprised to find that I recognized her as the only person who I had seen buy a mirror from Michael. As I was turning around to check if she was really there, something dug into my shoulder.

I turned back to face the mirror, and saw Michael standing directly behind me, hand on my shoulder. The hand touching me seemed normal enough, but in the reflection, the sharp points of his fingers were embedded in my skin. I pointed to the mirror and started to ask why the woman was coming back, but Michael just shook his head. “She made her choice,” he said. “Whether she knows it or not.”

I took a step back, and my shoulder began to bleed freely from five small puncture marks. Michael smiled at me, and I felt nauseous, though that could have just been from the pain. “I think you should go now,” he told me, and I nodded and ran for the door.

I didn’t mean to come back, I swear. I told myself I was done with that place, and for about a week, it worked. But then, as I was waiting for the train home, I suddenly turned and left the station, my feet moving of their own accord. I knew where I was going, and I fought my body every step of the way, but it did no good. I was standing in front of the fractal mirror before I knew it.

I walked through the shop aimlessly for a few minutes, my legs taking me on a winding path up and down the aisles. Eventually, I was able to stop, and I took a moment to think through what had just happened. I’d definitely missed my train by now, but if I walked back to the station, there was another one in half an hour. I’d be home later than usual, but I live alone, so it’s not like anyone would be waiting up worrying for me. I headed for the door.

Except it wasn’t there. I turned the corner and found another aisle of mirrors. I doubled back, tried going the other way, but only found another aisle I was sure I had never seen before. I hadn’t started to really panic until now; even with everything that had happened, at least I still knew where I was. How on earth was it possible to get lost in such a tiny shop?

I don’t know how long I spent trapped in that place. Every turn just revealed more and more unfamiliar mirrors, and I got desperate enough to try to find my way using the reflections. If anything, that made my situation worse, as I quickly got to a point where I couldn’t tell the difference between reflection and reality.

At some point in my wanderings, I came across a small, round mirror frame. The mirror itself was shattered, and the glass shards embedded in the head of the woman who had purchased it months ago. I screamed, but of course no one heard.

She was obviously dead, and suddenly I wondered if that was what it took to escape. Perhaps if I died in what I had come think of as the mirror world, I would return to the outside world. But I would have to break the right mirror. The woman had smashed her head through the mirror she’d bought, but I didn’t own a mirror from the shop. So which one...

The one with the fractals carved into the frame. I can’t quite explain how I knew the answer, but all that matters is that I found it, eventually.

I approached the mirror- and stopped. Call it cowardice or delayed self-preservation instincts, but I couldn’t bring myself to put my head through the glass. Instead, I raised a fist, and punched through the middle of the mirror, cutting my hand badly but barely noticing. I lost my balance, and fell back through an open yellow door onto the sidewalk outside.

I lay there on the pavement, my hand bleeding, my shoulder wound throbbing with fresh pain, and my head reeling. I don’t know what happened after that, but someone must have called an ambulance, because the next thing I remember is being in the hospital.

Apparently, I had been missing for two days, and one of my neighbors had gotten the Garda involved. Since then, I’ve stopped taking the earliest train, and just try not to think about it too much.

It’s weird, though. Every so often, I’ll look at my reflection in a mirror, or window, or even water, and behind me, I’ll see that yellow door the oval mirror showed me, the one I fell out of.

Wolfe: Statement ends.

Postulant Brightwell tried to contact Kareem Amir, but he hasn’t been seen since July 23, 2022, less than a week after giving this statement. Amir did provide an address for this mirror shop, however, and Postulants Schreiber and Seif investigated it, along with Niccolo Santi from Artifact Storage. I would have gone myself, but the terms of my position are quite clear that I am not to leave the Archives unless I receive specific instructions from the Artifex Magnus. I-

[pause]

[sigh]

The shop was almost entirely empty, except for a few mirror fragments that Santi took to Artifact Storage. Asking around revealed that no one in the area knew anything about any mirror shop that might have been there nine years ago. Another dead end.

[CLICK]

#return of wolfe!#and first appearance from morgan!#the great library #statement begins #also should you not want to read the statement itself #there is a jess and morgan interaction at the beginning that contains none of the content warnings #and the chapter ends when wolfe ends the recording #so you’re not missing anything besides the statement if you just read the first part

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