#i know that canonically he has a stable. office job or whatever. but i know and perceive the truth | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spencerreidalvez · 3 years

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trust the magic of beginnings

Spencer Reid x Reader, Reader & Emily Prentiss

CW: canon-typical violence, weapons, blood, injuries, death, crime, hostages, mental illness, talks of suicide (unsub), injury while pregnant, pregnancy, let me know if I missed anything

hurt/comfort, angst w a happy ending

1.5K words

this is my first ever x reader fic and i don't know how i feel about it but please be kind uwu

Requests are open for spencer reid fics so please send some in!! Hurt/comfort is preferred but I’ll write angst or fluff as well !!

divider by firefly-graphics

You haven't told anyone. You only just found out and then you were whisked away on another case, so you hadn't even had the time to process it.

A baby.

You were pregnant.

It wasn't planned or something you'd even thought about too much, but you couldn't help the excitement.

You'd always wanted to be a mom, always pictured yourself one day raising a baby, and being with Spencer cemented that notion. Having a baby with Spencer? That would be like a dream come true.

Spencer had only mentioned having a kid a few times, in passing, he'd never really brought it up with you in conversation. You know how much he loves Henry and Michael, how much he adores helping kids on cases, how much he loves you. You know all this but you can't help the self-doubt with such a life-changing event.

It wasn't like you thought Spencer would leave. Of course he wouldn't, but maybe that's it's own problem. Maybe he'll stay and grow to resent you for trapping him in a life like this.

You were thinking of telling Penny, just so that she could help in the planning to tell Spencer stage. Or maybe so that someone could hold your hand when you went to your first official doctor's appointment if you chickened out of telling Spencer.

You weren't sure if Spencer was ready for a child, you weren't even sure if you were ready for a child. You were young, sure, but you're financially stable, you have a decent amount in savings after you moved into Spencer's apartment and saved up the money you would've spent on rent. You'd probably have to move eventually, but for now, the small office could be turned into a nursery.

The last thing you would've expected from a relatively basic case with a couple dead bodies and a confused, mentally ill twenty-year old momma's boy who just lost his mom and was taking people who he'd believed to be bad mothers, was to be taken hostage.

"It's going to be okay," Emily says as soon as they've been left alone in the lobby of the bank as the man tries to come up with an exit plan. He's stupid, he has no plan, no way out of this, but he might be stupid enough to kill the agents and take his own life.

You've been held hostage before, it's in the job description to be held captive or put in life-threatening situations, but you've never done it while carrying another life, if only the size of a pomegranate seed, and nothing more than a clump of cells, but it's the idea, it's the future you've built up inside your head.

"Emily," you say, voice caught in your throat. You tug at the zipties holding your wrists behind your back. "Emily."

"We're going to be fine," she says, almost nonchalant in her certainty. "This guy's an idiot, we'll be able to talk him into something crazy and he'll fall for it."

"Emily, I'm pregnant."

There's a second where every emotion under the sun flashes across her face and then, in the blink of an eye, she's settled on a pokerface again.

"It's going to be fine."

"I shouldn't be this scared."

"Hey, it's not like this job turns us into robots, (y/n), being scared is normal."

The ziptie cuts into your skin and you suck in a breath just as the unsub walks back into the room, panic clear on his face.

"You have two federal agents in your custody, Patterson. Our team is willing to trade you whatever it is that you want for our safety," Emily starts carefully.

Patterson paces in front of them. "Shut up!"

"Patterson, listen to us-" You try, but he turns on you angrily. Pain explodes across the left side of her face and she falls into Emily's side.

"Shut up!" he screams, hitting his head in frustration.

He turns away from them, muttering under his breath.

"You okay?" Emily whispers, eyes franticly searching your face for any sign of panic.

"I'm good, I'm okay." There's blood rushing down the side of your face from where you'd been pistol-whipped, and you can feel the headache coming in strong. Concussed, probably. Stitches, maybe. Longterm, you'll be fine.

Emily gently presses her chin and mouth to the top of your head, still half-sprawled across her, and then takes a deep steadying breath.

"Patterson, we're going to help you, okay? You don't want to die, do you?"

You barely stop yourself from gasping, an ice-cold wave crashing through your body. You trust Emily, of course you do, but things like this are never certain and Emily's choosing time over safety.

Patterson turns on you, eyes wild and hair sticking up and gun waving carelessly. His voice comes out loud and almost childish, "What have I done?"

"It's going to be okay." Emily continues. "But my friend is hurt and she needs to see a doctor, right?"

Patterson drops the gun, breath hitching. He comes closer, lowering himself to the ground in front of them. "What have I done?"

"You're sick, James," you say, throwing as much parental concern into your voice as you can muster up. "You're going to get better, though, okay? I promise. You just have to do the right thing."

If you hadn't seen those women's bodies, if you didn't know the profile, you might've felt sorry for him. He looks like a scared boy, a child, confused and uncertain and searching for help.

"I don't know what that is."

You offer wavering smile. "We'll all go out there together, okay? And we'll make sure you get the help you need."

Patterson stands up hurriedly, going around the counter and returning with a pair of scissors.

He cuts you out of your zipties first and then Emily's too.

You carefully take the scissors from him, setting them down on the counter, and then loop your arm through his.

"I'm so sorry," he says.

You almost feel bad.

As soon as you step through the doors of the bank, Patterson is being pulled away and Spencer's arms are around you, pulling you in tight and tears falling down the shoulder of your shirt.

"I'm okay," you say, but you're crying too, you can't catch your breath, you can't stop imagining the what ifs, you can't unclench your fingers from the back of Spencer's vest. "We're okay."

Spencer walks you to see a paramedic and holds your hand the whole time while calling Garcia.

"Spencer, could you make sure Hotch has enough help? I promise I'm okay, just a little cut."

"I'm not leaving your side."

You let out a little laugh tinged with hysteria. "It was supposed to be more romantic than this."

"What was?"

You turn to the paramedic who's dabbing the blood from your forehead to see how bad the cut is.

"Could you double check the baby?"

The paramedic nods easily, unfazed, focused. But Spencer freezes at your side.

And then he sits down beside you. "I'm gonna pass out."

"Spencer!" you exclaim, hitting his arm.

"Say it for real. I wanna hear it out loud."

"I'm pregnant, Spencer. We're having a baby."

His laugh is more than tinged with hysteria. "Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh god. Oh- ma'am you need to take her to the hospital, you need to do an ultrasound, the baby could be hurt!"

"Right away, Doctor Reid."

The paramedic and Spencer help you up into the ambulance and lay you down in the bed.

"Spencer, we're going to have a baby," you say again and Spencer smiles so wide you think his cheeks might shatter.

"Oh my god."

The baby is perfect. You don't need any stitches, just a butterfly bandage to the head, and Spencer doesn't stop crying until you get him to take a nap on the jet.

"He wasn't even this emotional when I died," Emily says, pouting. She's sitting across from them with JJ, Morgan and Hotch on the bench.

"Oh my god you're pregnant!" JJ gasps, reaching for the tablet, "I have to tell Garcia, oh my god, she's going to lose her mind!"

"You're pregnant?" Morgan says.

You roll your eyes, running a hand over Spencer's arm. "I wasn't going to tell anyone until I was at least twelve weeks, but there was no way Spencer would've been able to keep it a secret, so yeah, I'm pregnant."

You get a round of congratulations and you tell Garcia when she picks up the call. Garcia screams loud enough to wake up Spencer, who will never admit that he cries again, and the team places bets on whether the baby will be a girl or a boy, if they'll have Spencer's curly hair or his intelligence, if they'll have your bravery or eyes.

Everyone knows now.

A baby.

You weren't even a little scared.

2K notes · View notes

ladynestaarcheron · 3 years

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Fears All the Way Down - Chapter Three

ao3 - masterpost

happy friday! here's chapter three, a little long, and dramatiqué so enjoy:)

canon fixes this week: 1) gwyn mentions the priestess who counsels them. nesta was never offered counseling. bullshit. 2) gwyn says they never talk about each other because they've all been through a lot. mm. okay. i went to a girls' school. you don't just not talk about anyone because they've been through a lot. it doesn't have to be cruel gossip, but you definitely still talk. and if someone is a bitch to you, then yeah, it's gossip.

---

When Nesta had first been brought into Prythian, right here into the House of Wind, she had often thought to herself that her life could not possibly get any worse. She was a faerie now, a monster, and Elain was wasting away before her eyes, and Feyre was off to no-one-would-tell-her-where doing no-one-would-tell-her-what. And every other day, Cassian would come by and interrupt her fear and anxiety to irritate her beyond belief.

‍And then the war happened, and the impossible happened. Her life did get worse.

‍And now she is here again, and it is...different. Sometimes worse. Sometimes better. Sometimes neither. But it's different this time.

‍This time, she doesn't have to be worried about her sisters. They're the ones who are worried about her. She isn't scared of her own reflection anymore--not comfortable in this immortal skin, but used to it nonetheless. And most striking...Cassian doesn't seek her out.

‍He doesn't sit with her for breakfast, though the healer, Daphne does come up every morning to check up on her (unnecessary. She is miserable and in pain, but stable). She hears him during the day, making rounds around the House, or doing something up on the roof, but she doesn't see him while the sun is out. He meets her once for dinner, to watch her take her mock liquor, and then once again when she hurls out her insides in the middle of the night.

‍And then the week is over, and he is gone.

‍Feyre is there to greet her for breakfast.

‍"I hear you slept the night!" she says, enthusiastic.

‍Nesta doesn't answer.

‍"You've detoxed," Feyre says. "I...I'm really proud of you. I know that was a long five days. Elain's proud of you, too. She sends her love."

‍Nesta nods slightly. She sits down at her usual spot at the head of the table, the chair dragging itself out to meet her.

‍Feyre notices. "Kind of creepy, isn't it? The magic all on its own?"

‍"I don't mind it," Nesta says.

‍On the contrary. The first morning she had awoken here, she had desperately wanted to bathe. But she stumbled into the bathroom and her body had seized up as she imagined herself sinking in the tub. Sinking...drowning...getting pulled under and never getting out. Perhaps it was being back here, but she had asked the House for some buckets, and reverted to her old practice of washing herself.

‍She had fully intended to accept her fate, coming to terms with the fact that while she was in the House, forcing herself to sit in the tub would be far too difficult, and she'd have to suffer through being covered in her own sick for a week, but on the second morning, the House had gifted her with an out.

‍The tub, ridiculously wide and deep--to accommodate wings, she realizes now--was still there, but hanging from the ceiling, almost like a chandelier, was a faucet. The House had turned on the water for her; she hadn't known what it was. The water came out like rain, with dozens of tiny streams instead of one the size of a fist, like in the bath. And she could...stand under it.

‍Nesta still isn't quite sure how much the House can hear, or if it cares. But she takes extra care to say please and thank you now, for things she wouldn't have bothered before.

‍"Well, at any rate," Feyre says, pulling her back to the present. "You'll be starting at the library today. Are you ready?"

‍Nesta shrugs.

‍"Do you want me to walk you down?"

‍No. Maybe. No. "Do...are girls normally escorted in?" she asks carefully.

‍"No," Feyre admits. "Normally...they're just brought here right after...but it's allowed. I mean, whatever's more comfortable for you."

‍She doesn't know what to say, so she deflects. "Did Elain not want to escort me?"

‍"She just didn't want to come by until you specifically asked for her."

‍"Why did you come, then?" She's blunt, but she only realizes how it sounds until after it comes out. She isn't trying to be cruel, though.

‍Feyre doesn't bristle. "I wanted to see you. And update you on the Illyrian situation."

‍"The rebels?"

‍"They're doing a good job of keeping their meetings secret," Feyre admits. "But don't worry. We're better."

‍"I'm not worried," Nesta says, and she honestly means it. She remembers the war well. Remembers Cassian's skill, precision, deadliness...no one compares. If he's defending her, there's no cause for concern. Except him, of course. "What is it?"

‍"They know you're at the House." Their spies in Velaris had probably noticed Cassian flying about, had marked Elain moving her things out of her apartment in the city...Nesta isn't scared of any Illyrians tracking her down while she's here, but the idea of some wretch skulking after her sisters in the dark....

‍Feyre continues, "And we do know they want to make a move. But they can't, Nesta. I promise you're safe here."

‍Nesta keeps her voice impassive, almost bored, when she says, "He's gone, though?"

‍Feyre knows whom she means. "Cassian? Well, we're still keeping the House secure...you might hear him or Rhys or Az checking the wards a few times a day, but that's it. No one in the House any longer. Just as you'd prefer it."

‍Nesta blinks. She hadn't realized this threat was real enough to warrant the three of them visiting the House multiple times a day. Perhaps...perhaps there is reason to worry. Or fear.

‍Because she certainly will be afraid...if it happens like last time. Strange faerie males breaking down her door, ripping her out of bed. By her hair, by her arms. Grabbing at her, pinching her. Elain screaming from her room down the hall.

‍"So, you'll go down yourself, then?" Feyre asks, dragging her back to the present.

‍Nesta blinks again, shoving that horrible night out of her mind. "Yes," she says, and because she doesn't want to give herself another moment to slide into that place again, rises to do just that.

Feyre had escorted her down to these doors once before, and they had descended the levels to find Hybern. This time, she is alone, and there are two priestesses waiting for her when she enters.

‍One clearly defers to the other, and she stands behind her. Her hood is set atop her head, and her brown face is pretty aside from some light scarring on either cheek. She smiles and says, "Welcome, Nesta."

‍Nesta cannot tell if the higher priestess smiles or not, for her hood covers her face. But truth be told, even if she were entirely naked, Nesta would only look at her hands, for they are wrecked beyond comprehension. Fingers at wrong angles and parts missing and--

‍"Hello," Nesta blurts out, because it's the only thing she can think to say and she doesn't want to stare. She hates when people stare at her. Her cheeks flame; she's not cut out for this. She can't be around these females.

‍The high priestess lifts her head slightly, enough for Nesta to see that she is, indeed, smiling. A parchment and fountain pen--and quite a good-quality one, she notes--appear out of thin air, making her jump slightly, and in a neat script write out:

‍Welcome, Nesta. I am Clotho, high priestess of the library. This is Thalia, one of our senior priestesses. She'll be showing you the library today. I hope you find it to your liking. I'll see you later today.

‍"Oh," Nesta says, not quite knowing what to reply. "Thank you," she adds, figuring that's as good as anything.

‍Clotho raises her head once more to offer her another smile and then sweeps away, parchment and pen disappearing after her.

‍"Shall we begin our tour, then, Nesta?" Thalia asks. She waits for Nesta to nod before beginning her descent down the spiralling levels of the library.

‍Thalia explains about the different sections of the library, and points out different offices for the other senior priestesses and what their specialties are. They meet some females here and there, and she introduces them, but luckily no one sticks around for a chat. Already Nesta can feel her pulse quickening, sick at the idea of having to be with all these people all the time. She is immensely grateful for her sisters for keeping her alone in the House during the nights, at least.

‍When they reach the fifth level, Nesta stops in her tracks. Thalia looks at her, patient and unhurried.

‍"Is it--back?" Nesta asks, unable to keep the fear out of her voice.

‍Thalia smiles. "Bryaxis has never harmed any of us and is no cause for alarm," she says gently. "But no, it is not returned."

‍No cause for alarm? Cassian was scared of that thing.

‍But if it's not here...fine.

‍"Where's your office?" Nesta says, grasping for a subject so she doesn't have to see the look on Cassian's face when he found her running out of the library in her mind's eye.

‍"Level six," she replies. "Come, let's go there now."

‍Thalia's office is clearly very separate from the library, as it has the least amount of books of any room here. Which is still substantially more than what Nesta guesses the average room in Velaris has, with one wall made up of fully stacked floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and some on the desk in the corner and one on the coffee table in the small sitting area.

‍"Come sit, please, Nesta," Thalia says, choosing a couch for herself. "Well,"she says, when Nesta is settled in an armchair, "what are your first impressions of the library?"

‍"I've been here before."

‍Thalia smiles. "So you have. But you're a bit better informed on our particular brand this time around, aren't you?"

‍Nesta nods.

‍"Well, allow me to explain further. I am the priestess who counsels the females who choose to join us."

‍"Counseling?" she repeats, her heart speeding up. So she's supposed to just tell this female everything about herself? Is that what her sisters expect her to do?

‍"I know that's a loaded word, but I promise it isn't as scary as it sounds."

‍How can she be so cavalier about this? All smiles and twinkling eyes.

‍"We can have sessions as often or as rarely as you'd please. If you'd like, you never have to come to another meeting with me again after this, or any of the classes or sessions my colleagues direct. Except, of course, for our weekly check-in."

‍"What's the weekly check-in?" Nesta asks, because the priestess won't say anything otherwise.

‍"We do one mandatory group session a week where we all check-in with each other. Everyone attends. No one has to speak, but we all attend."

‍All right. Fine. She can do that. Sitting in a room one a week, silent. Listening to other miserable girls talk about their problems.

‍Could be worse, she tries to tell herself.

‍"So what exactly...does life at the library entail?"

‍"Our institution exists for the purpose of preserving and furthering knowledge on every topic we can get our hands on," Thalia says, "but we also serve to help females heal from various traumas. Because everyone is different, there's no one correct way to go about this journey. But a very broad number of sessions and exercises are available to you, and you are welcome and encouraged to try any of them. In addition to these, you will also be invited to work in the library. First you can start with menial tasks, and when you've got your bearings you can be given a more specific assignment.

‍"But the real question, Nesta," the priestess continues, and Nesta startles when she breaks her generic explanation to address her by name, "is what you want life at the library to entail."

‍She clenches her fists at her side, trying to draw the blood away from her cheeks. "What?"

‍"What would you say your goals are?"

‍Her throat tightens. Goals? Nesta hasn't had a goal in...probably since she stopped taking magic lessons with Amren. And for her life, well....

‍"Why don't we start with what urged you to make the decision to come here?"

‍Blinking twice, Nesta says, "My sisters."

‍"Did you come to appease them, or another reason, or a mix of both?"

‍Perhaps it's something in the female's tone, that genuine curiosity, that puts Nesta the slightest bit at ease.

‍"For them, mostly. But...a little bit for me." It sounds stupid when she says it, but Thalia does scoff or roll her eyes--of course not. And that's enough for her to continue, unprompted, "I want to live again."

‍Without missing a beat, Thalia leans over and picks up the book from the table and takes out a pen from the pocket of her robe. "Why don't we figure out how you can do that, then?"

Perhaps it was because of the topic of conversation--Nesta hates talking about herself--but she didn't remember sober conversations being so...difficult.

‍Thalia had coaxed Nesta into telling her the things she most wanted to happen. She had congratulated her on her sobriety--almost a full week, Nesta's mind bit with mock enthusiasm--and encouraged her to take her success there as indication that she is capable of working towards everything else she desires.

‍But so far Nesta is only sober because she lives in a house completely inaccessible to the outside world--unless she wants to hike down ten thousand steps, or ask Rhysand to carry her down--and there is no alcohol inside of it. She can't possibly manage any of her other goals in the real world.

‍"Why not?" Thalia had asked. "And who says this isn't the real world?"

‍That was fair. So Nesta shrugged, and after a painstaking few hours, they had a list of things Nesta wanted to do for now, comprised of a sentence Nesta worded and then Thalia's additions.

Not drift off inside her own head for undetermined amounts of time -> determine triggers.

Not always feel like she needs alcohol -> find productive coping mechanisms.

Be able to talk to Elain and Feyre normally -> determine what is stopping her since all three of them want the same thing.

Start reading again.

The fourth one Thalia had been very pleased to hear, and she had left as Nesta said it.

"I'd be happy to give you some recommendations, if you'd like," she'd said.

"There are romances in the House," she said. She had spotted some on the shelves in her room that hadn't been there last time. And who knew when the next time she was going to have sex was? Who knew if she'd ever have sex again? So she'd better find a good novel.

She didn't tell the priestess that, of course.

So after a morning of that, and a quiet lunch of one slice of toast by herself in the House--not much, but more than she'd expected to have. The detoxing must've given her the slightest bit of appetite again--Nesta descends down to the library again to begin her new job of shelving books.

The work isn't so bad. Dusty, and tedious, but it's good enough at distracting her from herself, because she doesn't know the library well enough for it to be mindless. After a few hours of this, a strong bell rings out--the call to prayer. The priestess all make their way to the same place, leaving Nesta alone in the library for half an hour, then they are back. No one asks her why she didn't join. No one asks her anything at all the whole day, until a second, softer bell rings out, and the priestesses begin to leave for dinner, and she back up to the House, and Clotho waits for her at the door.

Hello, Nesta, she charms her pen to write for her. How was your first day?

"All right," she says. It was. It was...fine. Not terrible.

Thalia tells me she's very impressed with your progress.

Nesta blinks. She hasn't done anything.

Clotho huffs a small sound of amusement, swaying her hood slightly. It can generally take a long while for someone to share with Thalia as much as you did.

I noticed you seemed interested in the Wats books.

At this, Nesta blushed slightly. Children's books, tall tales. "I hadn't realized I was being watched."

Clotho only waits.

"Yes," she says eventually. "I...like stories."

One of our senior priestesses is giving a series of lectures on the history of children's literature. There's one tomorrow. Perhaps you'd like to join.

The pink tinge in Nesta's cheeks hasn't fully faded. "Maybe."

Was there something else you wanted to say, Nesta?

Is it that obvious? Nesta's always thought she's good at keeping her thoughts off her face, but Clotho and Thalia seem to see right through her.

"I still don't understand how this is supposed to work," she admits.

Clotho lifts her head to show her another smile. I'm afraid "this" will require some patience. We want to find the right path for you. In the meantime, however, you are welcome to join sessions or lectures, and I will figure out an assignment for you within the coming weeks.

You have nothing to worry about, Nesta, Clotho adds. You're going to do so well. You're stronger than you think you are.

She has to say that to everyone, Nesta supposes, but she nods anyway, and turns to go up into the House.

Dinner is as quiet as lunch was, and Nesta manages to stomach another slice of toast and even some raw celery. Anything hot or rich, Nesta finds, is too much for her to bear, and she can't keep down. Even buttering her toast is too much for her. The House doesn't seem to grow impatient with her as she uncertainly, almost shyly, asks it for new foods. Just to see if she can smell them without growing nauseated. Small steps. Perhaps one day she'll be able to eat normally again.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps she'll be this wretched, vile, pathetic thing--

I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

It's not an uncommon occurrence, for Cassian's deep voice to echo in her mind, but it's been some time since they've felt so...comforting.

Your sisters love you. I can't for the life of me understand why, but they do. Yes, that had spun around in her mind for months. And most nights, sometimes even with another male's arms around her...I have no regrets in my life, but this. That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta. I will find you in the next world - the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.

He hadn't meant it. Or...he had in the moment and then without the looming threat, he had changed his mind. Or she had done something...

But this is real.

I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

It feels real. It feels honest and true and tonight, it is enough to drive out other thoughts, enough to spur her into choosing a book to start, enough to make her forget that she wanted the fifth thing on that list to be Not be so awful and disgusting and useless and pathetic because if he think she's not, then she's not.

It's enough to make her think she's doing the right thing, and enough to make her do it again tomorrow.

The next day, no one seeks Nesta out for a session. Some of the senior librarians say hello to her, but she is mostly left to her own devices and continues shelving books on her own. She does so all morning, and she expects to do so all afternoon, but around two, a priestess approaches her and asks her if she wants to join her lecture circuit on the history of children's literature. There's no real reason not to go, so Nesta agrees.

‍The room is smaller than the ones Father had once described to her were at higher institutes on the continent. It's the right size for the dozen or so priestesses already sitting in a semi-circle, facing a black board where a charmed piece of chalk already begins to write.

‍Nesta sits in an empty seat on the edge of the semi-circle, next to a copper-haired priestess, with her hood hanging at her shoulders. Actually, Nesta muses to herself as she studies the girl out of the corner of her eye, she might not even be a priestess at all. She isn't wearing that necklace they all have on their foreheads. It's nice to think that there's someone else here who doesn't worship that thing.

‍The lecture is interesting, if a bit confusing at times. Nesta is largely unfamiliar with children's stories over the Wall--there had been no magical quests or enchanted objects in her childhood. The witches and sorcerers and faeries had always been the villains.

‍But it's nice. To learn something new, to hear it from someone who is clearly passionate about it.

‍When the lecture is over, the priestess--Calliope--talks to her while the other girls file out.

‍"To your liking?" she asks, blunt.

‍"Yes," Nesta answers.

‍"Thalia said you might like some recommendations. What are you interested in?"

‍"Anything good. Romances."

‍"Are you well-versed in fae classics?"

‍"No," Nesta says. She's fairly well versed in human classics, though.

‍"I'll get you started. I'll have a pile ready for you by the end of the day."

‍"I...thank you," she says.

‍The priestess nods once and turns on her heel to leave.

‍Nesta blinks. She didn't realize priestesses could be...not so like Thalia or Clotho and maybe more...like her. Back when she was like herself, at least. She shakes herself a little and walks out of the room, too.

‍"What did Calliope say to you?" asks a clear, pretty voice from behind.

‍Nesta turns. The ginger possibly-not-priestess.

‍"Excuse me?"

‍"What did Calliope say to you?" she repeats, taking a step closer.

‍Tensing slightly, Nesta says, "She asked me if I liked her lecture."

‍"Well?"

‍Hands now fisted at her sides, Nesta says, "I beg your pardon?"

‍"Well, did you like it?"

‍"I did," Nesta says shortly.

‍"Do you think you'll be assigned to her?"

‍"I..."

‍"You haven't been assigned yet. I mean, you're new, so that's not unusual, but since you don't live with us and you're only coming now we wondered if you were going to be assigned earlier."

‍Nesta raises an eyebrow. "We?"

‍The girl offers her a sheepish grin. "It's not every day we get someone new. We...the other girls and I...we were just a little curious."

‍"Hm."

‍"Well, do you think you want to be assigned to her? I'm Gwyenth Berdara, by the way, I'm another student here."

‍"Nesta."

‍"I know. You're the High Lady's sister and you slew the King of Hybern."

‍Nesta freezes slightly, for a moment. Then she says, "I didn't. I stabbed him."

‍"Oh," Gwyneth says, teal eyes widening. "Well...they call you kingslayer. Not kingstabber. It's a better nickname," she adds, when Nesta doesn't say anything. "As far as nicknames go. Mine's Gwyn, by the way. Or what everyone calls me. Not as suave as kingslayer, but what can you do?"

‍Gwyneth Berdara...talks more than Morrigan.

‍"Sorry," Gwyn says, laughing a little. "We're not supposed to overwhelm you. I just...wanted to talk to you."

‍"Were you told not to overwhelm me?" Were those Feyre's orders, she wonders.

‍"Just anyone new. But...some girls don't talk for weeks, and you've already come to a lecture on your second day. And you talked to Thalia for a long time yesterday."

‍"I hadn't realized I was being studied."

‍Gwyn laughs. "This library's smaller than you think. So, you liked the lecture? Do you think you'll come to the next one?"

‍"Probably." What else is there to do?

‍"I like Calliope's circuits. She's always doing something interesting, if you like books. Do you like books?"

‍"I do."

‍"Well. Then you'll probably like her circuits."

‍They are both silent for a few moments, before Nesta realizes it is probably her turn to initiate conversation. "How long have you been here?"

‍"Two years, about." She is quiet for a beat, before she adds, "Lord Azriel and Lady Morrigan brought me here."

‍Nesta blanches. She's never heard them referred to with their titles before.

‍"Do you like staying at the House of Wind?"

‍"I...it's all right. Yes," she decides. "I like it." Why not? It gave her a standing bath. It keeps the fireplaces empty and uses some other form of magic, she thinks, to heat her room.

‍"Oh," Gwyn says, and Nesta thinks she deflates a bit. "I thought you might prefer to stay in our dorms."

‍"I'm not very religious." That's polite. Nesta actively hates their god. Or whatever the cauldron is supposed to be. Demon, more like.

‍"Oh," Gwyn says, blinking in surprise. "Oh. Well. That's all right. If you...ever change your mind. And you want to stay in our dormitories, I could help you find a room."

‍"Thank you," Nesta says.

‍Again, they are both quiet. Perhaps neither of them has had a friendly conversation in a while.

‍With a jolt, Nesta realizes--this has been a friendly conversation.

‍Nesta tries to grasp at something to say, something friendly. Has she been friendly? Or has she been cold this entire time? No, if the girl has been talking to her all the while, she must have been friendly. It's not as though Nesta's never been friendly in her life. She's had friends before. Clare and Joyly and Heather. She knows how. Even if none of them had thought her a good enough friend to bother trying to talk to her after she had distanced herself, after Tomas, after Feyre--

‍"I have to be getting back to my priestess. We're researching dimensions and other worlds. But I'll see you, Nesta." With a small wave, Gwyn bounds away.

‍"See you," she calls after her.

‍That...that's good, isn't it? Probably something Elain and Feyre would be pleased to hear. Maybe she should tell them. Invite them up for dinner.

‍Or is it too pathetic? One cordial conversation isn't anything to write home about. But maybe they'd like to know she's doing better; pathetic as her version of better is.

‍I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

‍Maybe...maybe she should.

‍She'll just write them a letter, she decides. No, that's too formal. But sending them up is too dramatic...but if they want to come see her--

‍Nesta pinches herself. Hard. Enough till she's only focussing on the pain, so these incessant, stupid thoughts are driven out of her head.

‍Just go back to shelving books, she tells herself. Just put away the books and don't think about anything else.

‍Her mind does stray, though, and she wonders if any of the minuscule steps she takes in the right direction are worth the spiralling she has to go through after.

Despite her echoing anxieties, her physical weakness, and sheer exhaustion of being herself, Nesta does manage to get through the weekend--Feyre does not visit, but she and Elain both send up letters, decorated with little paintings and pressed flowers--and to the weekly check-in on Sunday. She doesn't know what to expect, but Gwyneth Berdara is there in the large hall, where they all sit in a circle, and waves her over.

‍"Good morning," she says.

‍"Good morning," Nesta answers.

‍"First weekly check-in."

‍"Yes."

‍"You don't have to say anything, if you don't want to. I didn't for months. Ten months, actually."

‍She certainly does talk a lot now, though.

‍"I didn't realize there were so many females here," Nesta says, looking around. Dozens of girls...probably more than fifty, plus the twelve higher priestesses. Gwyn is the only one who doesn't wear the necklace on her forehead.

‍"A lot don't wander so much. Some don't come out of their rooms except for this."

‍"Oh," Nesta says. So it's...good, then. That she can still go places. Talk to people. Maybe she really isn't as hopeless as she thinks.

‍Not that these females are hopeless. That's not what she thinks. Oh, that's a horrible thing to think, especially after what they've been through--

‍"That's Merrill," Gwyn says, pointing at a senior priestess. "I'm assigned to her."

‍Carefully, Nesta says, "Maybe I'll be assigned to her, too."

‍"Ooh, you better hope not. Merrill's the worst." Gwyn shudders.

‍"What?" Nesta asks. "Aren't they all supposed to be nice?"

‍Gwyn scoffs. "Says who? Are you nice?"

‍"I...guess not," Nesta says. "But I'm not a senior priestess."

‍"All right, that wasn't nice," Gwyn admits. "Sorry. You're right. She should probably be nicer. She should definitely be nicer...and you're all right."

‍"I'm not nice." She has never been nice.

‍Gwyn shrugs. "Well, I like you anyway."

‍Nesta's heart stutters. "Er--why don't you ask Clotho to reassign you?" she asks, pulse pounding in her ears.

‍Gwyn crosses her arms. "I can stick it out."

‍Is that what she looks like, Nesta wonders, to other people?

‍She should tell her something. This Gwyn. Tell her to switch priestesses. Or...tell Merrill to be nicer. Or tell Clotho to tell Merrill to be nicer. Or maybe she can do it for her.

‍"Good morning, everyone," Thalia starts, and Nesta's eyes snap to her. "Let's begin, shall we?"

‍The weekly check-in is mercifully not as terrible as Nesta imagined. There's no announcement of her presence, though she can feel plenty of people stealing glances ("It's not every day we get a Lady of the court in here," Gwyn whispers to her. "Especially not the kingslayer."). Thalia announces changes in the schedule for the week, and one of the other senior priestesses gives a short lecture on her specialty, and then Thalia asks who'd like to begin the circle.

‍The circle, Nesta learns, is the worst of it. Everyone goes around in a circle and introduces themselves by name and says whatever they want. True to Thalia's word, though, no one has to talk, and no one says anything horrible. It's mostly banal, like I worked really hard on a paper last week or I sent my mother a letter and she still hasn't replied and I'm feeling anxious or I don't have anything to say today, but I hope everyone has a good week.

‍And then it is her turn, and who-knows-how-many pairs of eyes are locked on her and she just...can't. She can't. What are they thinking? Gwyn says they call her kingslayer, so they must know what happened.. Are they thinking about how she couldn't save her father? How she killed one thousand Illyrian soldiers? How about how she drowned herself in alcohol, how the mark of its loss is still clearly etched in the bruises under her eyes, the dullness of her hair, the sallowness of her skin. How ugly she is, how she never deserved anything better than that slew of nameless males who didn't care about her, how she just fails at everything she tries--

‍"My name is Gwyn. I had a good week."

‍The next girl speaks, and the eyes are--finally--off Nesta.

‍Gwyn touches her shoulder. "Don't worry about it," she says in a hushed voice. "At least you didn't cry."

‍Nesta manages a small smile. It might look more like a grimace, but Gwyn gives her a grin.

‍"It's really not half as embarrassing as you think," she whispers. "Everyone here is way more concerned with what others think of them...until you realize no one's thinking about that."

‍Maybe she's just saying that.

‍But...maybe she can just believe it. Just for now.

‍The weekly check-in ends, and the week passes by.

‍Nesta doesn't get assigned to a priestess, but she still--she thinks--makes progress. She may be making a friend, as Gwyn seeks her out a few more times. Sometimes just to say hello, sometimes to ask her if she wants to join her for a lecture or a session. She generally goes. She likes the jewellery making, finding that working with her hands keeps her focused enough that she can't think about herself. All the lectures, actually, Nesta finds interesting, as there's just so much she doesn't know about this world.

‍On Tuesday, she writes a letter to her sisters, telling them she's doing all right, and perhaps they can come visit over the weekend.

‍On Wednesday, she feels hungry and restless--hungry and restless. So she has two slices of bread with soup and she doesn't even feel sick, and she goes for a walk afterwards, on the track circling the outside of the House.

‍On Thursday, she brushes her hair in the morning, and almost none of it is ripped out with the brush. She makes Gwyn laugh with something she says about a lecture they disagreed on. Thalia tells her she thinks she has some ideas for coping mechanisms she wants her to try. She goes for another walk in the evening, even jogging a bit as the House hurries her along with flashing faelights.

‍"What is it?" she says, as she enters the door, gasping slightly. Goodness, she's never been so out of shape in her life. That was barely a run.

‍But the House isn't done yet, flashing more lights, leading her into her bedroom.

‍"Oh...do you...are we playing a game?"

‍The House swings her door--impatiently?--to get her inside, and when she is, it swings shut behind her and disappears into a wall.

‍"Hey!" Nesta says. "What are you--"

‍A tea cart appears in front of her. Nesta can smell the lemon and honey from the kettle as it rolls towards her. One of the armchairs pulls out.

‍"Are we having a tea party?" Nesta asks.

‍As if in answer, a book appears on the coffee table.

‍"Do you want me to read to you?" Nesta asks.

‍The curtains pull shut and her faelights flicker on.

‍"I'll take that as a yes," she says, and sits down to entertain the House. She gives a small huff of a laugh. "You had to finish my walk early, did you?"

There's no way around it: Cassian has never been more pathetic in his life than he is with this female.

‍Whether it's circling her estate, thinking of insults to throw at her, or circling her apartment, imagining himself tossing out the male with her that night and confessing everything to her, or circling the House to sneak a peek of her through one of the Windows...all right, so it's mostly all the same move. Gods, when had he become so predictable?

‍Pathetic, nonetheless.

‍The worst part of it is, he doesn't even try and convince himself to stop anymore. Not when Elain shrieks one morning and says Nesta's invited her and Feyre up for lunch on Saturday. Not when he sees her go out for a walk Wednesday evening--a walk, with a bit more meat on her bones, and a shine to her hair and--he might be too far to tell, but it looks like--life in her eyes.

‍Not joy. Not...excitement. Not even contentment. But life. And that's...so much more than what had been last week.

‍He wonders if it might've consoled her to know that he was just as miserable as she was. More so, even. Because he felt all the pain she did and he also felt his own pain of seeing her that way. Of knowing that fierce, cunning, determined, wildly brave, unnaturally beautiful female was...struggling. So, so hard.

‍Sleeping a level above her each night, and thinking only of her...and knowing she's not thinking of him. Of course not. It was stupid and selfish and stupid again, but...it's true.

‍And her getting better is not for him he tells himself, as he watches her go on a walk for a second evening in a row.

‍(Not that he's watching her. He's checking the wards. It's not as though he knew she'd be out. He didn't. It just happened.)

‍Not for you, he says to himself. Feyre had been clear. This is for checking the wards; to make sure she's safe. And the extra weight on her is not for him to better imagine holding onto something as he presses her against himself; it's so she's healthy. So she doesn't wither and waste away. She is not imagining a stroll through the Night Court botanical gardens with him right now; she's just getting fresh air.

‍Time to go. Wards are checked, alarms are set, so it's time to go.

‍He doesn't let himself steal another glance--not for you--as he turns to fly away.

‍He should go to the ends of the city. Shake this off him, put his head on straight. This is pathetic. This is just sad. Maybe he should go out with Mor. He did this for her, didn't she? For five hundred odd years. She can do this for him. Maybe he can even meet someone, just for a night, just a distraction--

‍But Nesta is all he sees when he closes his eyes. The beautiful woman she once was, the sickly female she is now, and guilt and revulsion rock him to his core at the very thought of someone else...

‍Pathetic, since she doesn't want him, and probably never will. No, not probably, just never.

‍Three clear bells ring out in the distance, and self-pity and misery snap out of Cassian as blinding fear takes their place.

‍The alarms.

‍Nesta.

‍He is on his way, flying faster than he ever has in his life, before he even registers it. And for the first time, he wishes he were like Rhys or Az and could winnow--prays one of them is already there, or both of them, to fight off whoever it is, to keep her safe--oh gods--oh, she's so scared, she's terrified, she's afraid for her life--and the priestesses--

‍Rhys and Az are already there, inside the House, and there are half a dozen. Illyrians. Illyrians.

‍So they were right. He hadn't wanted to believe it. Doesn't want to believe it. That they would ever...that they would dare...

‍Cassian can't think, just has to move, get them out, kill--

‍"No," Rhys snarls at him.

‍Dimly, Cassian knows why. They're plotting a rebellion. To take over their court, and to give Nesta over to their enemy. Direct attacks against the royal bloodline. They need to be interrogated. They can't be killed.

‍But they can't live. They're going to hurt Nesta; they can't be allowed to live.

‍INCAPACITATE, Rhys barks to his mind.

‍Fine. He will. But he doesn't have to make it clean.

‍He does it quick, though. Nesta's scared. She's probably hiding somewhere, scared for her life. He needs to do it quickly for her.

‍They're fair warriors, but no match for the three of them. It's not close to being a fair fight. It's only a few minutes before he and Az have knocked out the six of them--Az letting him do the brunt of it--and Rhys drags back another two who had gone off to find Nesta.

‍"Easy," Rhys snaps at him.

‍"Calm down or go," Az adds. "Nesta's in her room. She's safe."

‍"You'll scare her."

‍"I won't," Cassian says, growling.

‍Rhys unceremoniously drops the two Illyrians on the floor next to the six others. "Well, you've already destroyed her living room," he says drily, "and you're covered in blood."

‍"Not mine." Not enough.

‍"Calm down," Rhys says, and this time it's an order.

‍Cassian takes a deep breath. "She's in her room?"

‍"I can bring Feyre up--"

‍"Bring her, but I want to see her. She needs to see me." The words come out of their own accord, but neither of his brothers corrects him.

‍"We'll both go," Rhys says. "Az...take care of this."

‍Az nods once, and they go down the stairs.

‍Nesta's scent grows stronger as they descend. Not much fear that he can detect, though. None of the bitterness of adrenaline. Just that sweet, gutting floral, mixed with traces from books she's always buried in. And, he realizes pleasantly, no alcohol.

‍When they get to her floor, Nesta's bedroom door is missing. In place is a wall. Before he can hurl himself at it to break it down, it morphs back into a door, and Rhys is there, knocking, again before Cassian can move.

‍"Nesta?" he calls out. "It's safe."

‍Cassian can hear her shuffling around before she comes to open the door.

‍He fights to keep upright and still as her eyes meet his, widening more than he's ever seen.

‍"What happened to you?" she asks, voice stronger and clearer than he's heard in a long time. Beautiful, lyrical, even if she does sound appalled. "Did you come from a battlefield?"

‍"How did you get the door to change into a wall?" Rhys asks her. "That was clever. Was that your magic?"

‍Nesta blinks at him. "No...the House was playing a game."

‍"You play games with the House?" Cassian says softly.

‍She turns to him again.

‍Yes, look at me, look at me, look at me, Nesta Nesta Nesta--

‍"I...we're friendly." She tinges pink.

‍"You're friends with the House?" Rhys says, blankly.

‍She reddens still--yes.

‍"Why are you covered in blood?" she says again.

‍"You...don't know what happened?" Rhys asks carefully.

‍Nesta rolls her eyes--oh, gods, how he's missed seeing her irritated. Oh, maybe she'll turn red again. "Obviously not."

‍"The important thing to remember is that you're safe," Rhys says, his voice patient and gentle.

‍Nesta shoots him a sharp look, fully aware he's never taken that tone with her.

‍"What is it? What's happened?"

‍Oh, brilliant--now she's scared.

‍Cassian takes a step closer. "The House was breached," he says to her, and her face pales. "But that's what the alarms are for. They worked. And we all got here, and we've got them. Now we're going to figure out who else is working with them. We're going to keep you safe."

‍Nesta looks up. "I was safe. I am, I mean. The House...I didn't even hear anything. It just told me to come into my room and gave me some tea and asked me to read to it."

‍"It asked you to read to it?"

‍"I thought it was a game." Nesta moves past them, walking upstairs. She gasps slightly when she reaches the main floor and sees the state of the living room.

‍Cassian ignored the pointed look Rhys gives him. "I can clean it up." Thank the Mother Az has already gotten the eight of them out.

‍But the House already appears to be doing so itself. It even moves some furniture around, away from a wall that's been badly damaged.

‍Nesta sucks in a breath as she walks towards it and crouches down on the floor. "Oh...did they hurt you?" she says, quietly to...to the House. "I'm sorry. I...thank you for keeping me safe. I'll...I can fix this for you. I'll get you something to fix it." She puts her palm on the cracks and craters, as if stroking the hurt.

‍You will not, Cassian tells himself sternly, be jealous of a house.

‍Pathetic. Just...pathetic.

‍"Your sisters will want to see you," Rhys says. "Maybe you should spend the night at our home."

‍"No," Nesta says, not turning from the wall. "I'm staying here. Oh!" She leaps up, whipping around, face white again. "Is--are--the library, was it--"

‍"The library is fine," Rhys says smoothly. "The priestess are all fine. They wouldn't have even heard any of this."

‍Nesta breathes a sigh of relief. "All right," she says. "That's...that's good. All right."

‍"Are you sure you don't want to come down, Nesta?" Rhys asks, voice kind again.

‍"Yes," she says. "But Elain and Feyre can come up if they want to," she adds. "I'm all right, though. Really. I know I'm safe here." She touches the wall again.

‍Nevermind that it's he who's covered in blood, who fought them off for her. It's the walls she's grateful to, the walls she reads to and plays games with--

‍Shut up, idiot, shut up.

‍"We'll go bring them up, then. Unless...would you like one of us to stay with you?"

‍"I'm really fine."

‍"All right. Well...we'll be back in a few minutes."

‍Nesta nods and turns around to put her hands on the wall again, to talk to the House.

‍Rhys, the bastard, takes notes and gives him a grin as they step off the veranda and fly down to the riverfront manor together.

‍"I was jealous a lot before Feyre told me she loved me, but never--"

‍"Shut up," he snarls, and Rhys has the audacity to laugh.

‍He doesn't mind so much. Nesta's safe and...she's doing better and eating and going on walks and she has a friend.

‍Even if it is just a house.

#acosf fic #nessian fic #i know this feels more like a nesta/house of wind fic #but there will be nessian eventually i promise #also yayyyy gwyn!!!

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cirrus-grey · 3 years

Text

TMA/The Good Place AU

I've seen other versions of this before and I have so many thoughts (Contains spoilers for all seasons of both shows)

Gertrude is the Architect, who thinks she's working for the good of the universe by punishing bad people but gradually learns compassion, friendship, and the ways in which the system is broken

Gerry is the neighborhood guide like Janet

He's a lot more incorporeal though

Instead of "not a robot, not a girl" he's got "not a boy, not a ghost"

Good Gerrys have poor dye jobs

Bad Gerrys have perfect dye jobs

Neutral Gerrys do not dye their hair

Yes this means disco Gerry exists

Magnus is the Head of the Bad Place who pretends to be the Judge

(The actual Judge is Dekker)

OG Elias is the pothead student who had a bad trip and predicted the whole afterlife system with almost perfect accuracy

Jon, Martin, Tim, and Sasha are the four humans in the first neighborhood

Jon and Tim think they belong in the Good Place

Martin and Sasha know they do not

Jon is told his research into the supernatural saved thousands of lives

Tim was an environmental activist

Sasha was a hacker but Gertrude welcomes her as a tech innovator who changed the world

Martin was just working a minimum wage job trying to get by and Gertrude welcomes him as a professional in the parapsychology field, he's given the same "your research saved lives" spiel as Jon

Jon and Martin are told they're soulmates

Tim and Sasha are told the same

Jon and Martin have the Chidi/Eleanor multi-season-long star-crossed fall-in-love-in-every-reboot plot arc

Tim and Sasha have the we-hooked-up-in-one-reboot-but-we're-better-as-friends Tahani/Jason dynamic

However, Sasha gets Eleanor's "there's someone with my name who's supposed to be here instead of me" plot

This is Not!Sasha

Peter Lukas is the Bad Place representative who brings Not!Sasha to the "Good Place"

Martin gets Jason's "the person with your name was in a near-death coma"

Sasha tells Tim she doesn't belong right out of the gate

Martin overhears them and the three end up working together

Martin does not tell Jon he doesn't belong, leading to Jon becoming paranoid about what he, Tim, and Sasha are always conspiring about together

It comes out in a "why are you lying" argument just like the CV thing in canon and Jon is heartbroken that he doesn't actually have a soulmate

He shuts Martin out for a while but eventually realizes he's fallen in love with him, soulmate or not

The four of them end up working together (somewhat)

When they go to the Medium Place they meet Mikaele Salesa

He was a cut-throat antiques and curiosities dealer who donated his fortune to aid the orphaned children of sailors on his deathbed

Eventually the whole "this is the Bad Place" reveal happens

Not sure who figures it out

They get rebooted

And rebooted again

And again

Gertrude does not know how they keep figuring it out but she's definitely losing control

The other demons in the neighborhood are talking about rebelling

(Jude Perry is that one fire demon who keeps walking around without their skinsuit)

(I'm thinking Jared "canonically hot" Hopworth is the one who keeps going to the gym)

She makes a deal with the four humans to help them get to the real Good Place if they play along with the torture, and finally concedes to letting Annabelle Cane run the next reboot

(Yes, to line up with the original show it would be the Not!Them but I think Annabelle is far more likely to want to pull everyone's strings)

Instead of the Jason/Janet romance there's a Tim&Gerry friendship

Since there's no romance there's no need for a rebound boyfriend, however Gerry ends up feeling really alone in Annabelle's reboot and builds himself a new best friend to cope

It does not go well

Michael/Helen is a glitchy, non-functional almost-human who nearly blows everyone's cover with the chaos they cause

They have two faces, two personalities, two identities that they flip between seemingly at random

They get more stable the more times they're rebooted

They go chill with Salesa in the Medium Place while the main crew makes their bid for the Good Place, fails, begs the Judge (Dekker) for mercy, and ends up back on earth

Instead of a near-death psychological study they're all brought together again with an un-death paranormal study

Run by Jon and his new girlfriend Georgie

Yes, Peter is the demon Magnus sends to interfere

Yes, Gertrude drop-kicks him back off the planet

They form the Soul Squad and go off into the world to save people

Not really sure who

But they end up visiting OG Elias and realizing how deep the problems with the system go

They pass through accounting, which is run by Oliver Banks, and meet the neutral Gerry

I'm thinking Leitner is that one demon who's forced to assign point values to weird sex acts

Not sure who makes up the Good Place council

But they make their way back to the Judge and get the whole "test neighborhood" thing to happen

The new humans are Daisy, Basira, Melanie, and Georgie

I know it would make sense for Jon to end up in charge of the neighborhood as Gertrudes's replacement, but nope, he gets his memory wiped because he's awful at lying and he can't pretend he doesn't know Georgie

Martin ends up in charge after Gertrude freaks out

Jon does not actually end up as a participant in the study, since none of the new humans are demons in disguise, so he's just kind of wandering around like a loose end

Georgie definitely pulls the "this is a near-death hallucination" thing

Martin breaks his own heart telling Jon that Georgie's his soulmate, hoping Jon will be able to convince her it's all real

It backfires

Jon's miserable

He eventually confides in Tim (he and Sasha are pretending to be normal humans) that he thinks there's been a mistake, unless... do you think platonic soulmates are a thing?

He doesn't want to date Georgie

He's in love with Martin

Tim tells Martin and Martin has to handcuff himself to his desk so he doesn't run off and kiss Jon senseless

Yes, they establish that platonic soulmates are a thing

Georgie starts dating Melanie

Jon and Martin pine from a distance

I'm thinking Basira is the problem resident who is not making any progress towards improvement

She's very reluctant to see the complicated morals of a situation and takes a long time to break out of her "us vs them" mindset

When they're approaching the one-year anniversary of the new neighborhood and the end of the experiment Melanie and Georgie gather together Tim, Sasha, Daisy, Basira, and Jon

They pull out a huge red-string theory board and say there's something wrong with the neighborhood

Tim and Sasha exchange nervous glances

Georgie says she thinks it's all orchestrated by Martin

They make a plan to meet up at the party that evening

Tim and Sasha go straight to Martin, Gertrude, and Gerry and tell them what's going down

They decide to run out the clock and hope nothing goes too wrong

When Martin stops by his office Jon is waiting for him

Jon spills Georgie and Melanie's whole theory

"They think you're plotting against us, but I know you wouldn't"

"Whatever this is, you're as much a pawn as we are, I think"

"This is supposed to be the Good Place, right? So no one should be unhappy"

"But I am unhappy, Martin. You are too! I've seen the look you get, when you think no one's looking"

"Martin, I've seen the way you look at me. You must know how I feel about you. What kind of Good Place would not allow us to be together?"

Martin is imploding

He really really really wants to kiss Jon

But instead he takes him by the shoulders and tells him "I know what's going on. You're right, there's something more here than you've been told, but trust me when I tell you it's nothing bad. I won't let anything bad happen to you, Jon. I've got you"

"Please just play along with whatever happens tonight, I promise I'll explain everything soon"

And Jon does. Even when the sinkhole happens, even when Martin laughs in his face and tells him he's in the Bad Place

"I really got you, Jon," he says. "I got you good"

"I've got you," Jon remembers, and trusts him

Anyway there's a lot of drama but the neighborhood was a success

Jon gets his memories back and there's a tearful reunion

They start implementing test neighborhoods for everyone so everyone has a chance of reaching the Good Place

And Jon, Martin, Tim, Sasha, Gertrude, and Gerry finally get to go as well

Of course they still need to fix the Good Place itself but that goes fine

And then everyone gets a happy ending, with as much time as they want to spend with the people they love

#the magnus archives #my magnus archives stuff #original post #my writing #jonathan sims #martin backwood #sasha james #tim stoker #tma the good place au

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phoebehalliwell · 3 years

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Piper/Kyle, except it's an AU where Kyle's parents were never killed by demons, so he lived a perfectly normal, happy childhood and grew up to follow their footsteps into teaching and Kyle's a normal, maybe even a little boring archaeology professor who secretly dreams of having his very own Indiana Jones moment - up until the day he opens some dusty old chest and unleashes a demon that tries to kill him, and he barely gets away only to run into this petite brunette woman who proceeds to blow the demon the fuck up, and Kyle's never believed in love at first sight before, but he's pretty sure he can make an exception for Piper

wait omg mentally stable kyle au okay wait i gotta wrap my head around this kyle but not absofuckinlutely insane whatta picture omg. okay. i feel like he’s still gotta have this belief in the supernatural i feel like that’s a large part of the charm in literally any kyle dynamic with the sisters is Witch Who Gets It and Man Who’s Only Got Raw Data. there’s an appeal to that. seeing things from different angles all that. so we can say kyle ever good at puzzles has taken his parents notes and everything he knows and various texts and kinda pieced together okay magic does exist. but in this au he’s a professor and not an fbi agent so he can’t just walk around saying Magic Is Real because um he needs this job. also he’s never seen it. but like. the data does not like. like. like it’s real man like are you kidding me. and we’ll say he has one normal friend because he’s normal in this au and he’s like okay here me out tho magic is real and his friend is like ......okay. because like. it could be, i guess? i’m not gonna fight you on this. and kyle also definitely read a lot as a kid he reads a lot now and he’s always kinda like. like you know wondered what it might be like to be a man of action not someone stuck behind a desk all day seeing the world through books. so when he starts to see markers of the gathering storm,,, well. these are the times that make a man. he can either be a pussy about it and keep living his life through paper and ink, or he can follow his intuition. blah blah blah this leads him to get kidnapped by pirates which like. excuse me??? and kyle’s kinda kicking himself because he Wanted to be like a character in an adventure book and well like bada bing bada boom you get what you ask for. which. all due respect on his part. is smart enough to outwit them and escape. he might have dropped his wallet there tho. but when he goes back the same route wandering through the thick fog, all he finds is a solid wall of rock. so i guess he’s fucked in that regard. whoops. but!! magic is real. so that’s a dub. digs a little bit more into the blackjack cutting lore, maybe finds the x marks the spot on where their main hideout was, road trip to. seattle? i guess? port city that isn’t san francisco but is more reasonable to drive to that like. nola or boston. and lo and behold he finds it and find their documentation of the gathering storm accidentally trips a booby trap and jesus fucking christ pirate skeletons with sword which - respectfully - kyle is holding his own for the most part, not getting immediately worried, but there’s no way that would have lasted had the three skeletons not been blown to pieces. and he looks over and sees three brunettes and the one in the center is like who the hell are you? to which kyle really feels like He should be the one asking that question but after stammering out some kind of response about how he’s a professor and he was just looking for some soil samples something generic archaeological because hey. he doesn’t trust these women. he doesn’t know what side they’re on. and he’s not just gonna sacrifice the information he has on the gathering storm. and it’s obvious they don’t believe him, but they don’t kill him either. instead, the one in the center just says be more careful where you leave your stuff and tosses his wallet back to him.

and later at the manor paige is like we just let him go?? and phoebe’s like yeah how to we know he’s not a demon? he wouldn’t be the first to pose as a mortal in the mortal world (because phoebe went to the university to return kyle’s wallet because like it has is ID in it employee id all that under the guise of like. giving a lecture to some of the student’s there as the bay’s leading advice columnist oh hey is there a kyle brody here yeah haha he’s a friend of a friend anyone seen him no he’s on vacation right now? left real abruptly? and then immediately went into his office and touched every surface trying to get a premonition (au in which phoebe didn’t get her powers stripped) and concluded that he’s just Some Guy. like he like has friends and a nine to five and an apartment. so a guy). but piper’s like we don’t know. but we also don’t know what he’s up to or what his connection to the pirates was, which is why i cast a tracking spell on the wallet. and both phoebe and paige approve and in this au again phoebe didn’t get her powers stripped so in styx feet under it’s her and paige on mission and as paige is the one who cast the protection spell and as paige is also very stubborn and also refuses to let innocents die she is the one who gets to become death. she also has a very compelling relationship with death because like. she watched her parents die. and she’s prue’s replacement. the replacement for the dead girl. also fun paige/prue parallel! meanwhile right Should state in any piper/kyle au we just extend pleo’s divorce era by having him remain an elder and keeping that early s6 vibe. so piper’s definitely like a bit more neurotic than normal because you know things haven’t gone great for her and those pirates were warning about the gathering storm and honestly that better not be something that’s gonna hurt her boys because she really could not bear to lose another family member so she’s doing some digging which begins to imply that kyle knows more that he let on so where is he now? the university? great.

and kyle’s you know minding his own business in his office when the same woman practically kicks down his door and is like alright i’m gonna ask again who the hell are you and this time you better answer me honestly. to which: wow. like wow. she’s. she’s a force to be reckoned with and also kinda immediately gains points in kyle’s book for like a) kinda confronting him about knowing more because he’s pretty good at covering his tracks all that so if he’s been Found Out it’s by someone good and b) she also disintegrated evil pirate skeletons so like. 👍. But. he does not trust her for shit. no. absolutely not. he has no reason to. but piper’s not yielding blasts a hole in the wall near his head like quickly now or next time i won’t miss but kyle’s so fuckin stubborn he’s like 🤐 and piper’s. i mean, she can’t kill an innocent. she doesn’t know if that’s who he is, but she can’t run that risk. and kyle’s not saying shit, so she leaves.

then it’s the guardian angel episode where the charmed ones are there on instruction (though they don’t know what they’re looking for. maybe they were just scrying for information) and kyle’s there on a hunch and piper and kyle see each other and it’s um. mac charlie see each other from across the room reaction image. both like. what the fuck are you doing here? and in this one paige is still the one to get her guardian angel stolen and piper’s immediately on high alert because you know big sister/mom mode activated. but they don’t know what they’re looking for and kyle’s like it’s her guardian angel. and piper once again snaps to him firey look in her eyes but kyle’s really just trying to place nice here so he’s like guardian angels. they’ve been going missing being stolen whatever. he’s got the research on it. and piper doesn’t want to trust him but paige is really in grave danger. so, as the sister with the offensive power, she’s going with kyle, and phoebe has to make sure paige doesn’t like. pull a grams. (which for the record i do not accept prewitched as canon but like the elders definitely killed grams <3)

so blah blah blah piper’s now and kyle’s place which is ten times worse than his office because this is where he does his real work and he’s got all the guardian angel shit up and out and is explaining it to piper and it’s making sense but what catches her eye is something on the gathering storm that kyle left out now they’re talking about that they’re starting to realize they’re on the same side. blah blah blah save paige. next episodes what werewolf episode. skip. then!! idk paige still runs magic school right so she’s in the library and she calls piper and she’s like hey remember when you told me to keep an eye out on the gathering storm? and piper’s like yes yeah what is it? and she’s like well we’re inventorying the library and we have books on them and piper’s like that’s good news ! ? and paige is like yeah but we’re missing one. book five. in this something something series. and piper knows Exactly where that book is because she fucking saw it on kyle’s kitchen counter. so now she’s barging into kyle’s place which is getting to be a common occurrence at this point and kyle kinda wants to complain but this is by far the most interesting his life’s been ever and honestly? he’d be kinda bummed if piper stopped kicking down his door. wait actually scratch that you want my book no fuck you changed my mind. to which piper’s like look we’re looking for the same goal here right so give me the book because i have the rest of the series and this could be the missing puzzle piece and kyle’s like okay fine i’ve read the book cover to cover give me the rest of the series and i’ll get you your answers and piper’s like okay let’s get things straight here i’m the witch you’re some two bit archeology professor so when it comes to the handling of sacred magical tomes i’ll be taking the reigns here and kyle’s like fine then you won’t be taking the book. and piper’s like wanna bet and the next think kyle knows he’s hearing the door slam his book’s gone and he’s hearing tires peel out onto the street and he has no idea how she did it.

back at the manor piper’s got her reading glasses on an volume one open and god this fucking sucks. so she makes phoebe take a stab at it and she hates reading it too. paige also starts it and is like respectfully no. piper’s the only one who did the reading in high school. this is her turf. but my god she cannot make it through all eight of these fucking books. So. she calls kyle. he has to come to the manor because there’s no way she’s giving him the books and there’s no way she’s letting him in magic school so. hi. welcome to the house. but!! by a contrived plot device!!!! a gnome has been shot in magic school this book was the only thing at the scene and paige wants to investigate further but she can’t just leave it out there so she brings it back to the manor she’s gonna cast some spell to find out if there are already spells on the book how to reverse it she just needs to find the spell first and like. there’s no way in hell paige ever wears an outfit with big enough pockets to keep the book on her. so she leaves it on the table. to which kyle asks how this is relevant to the collection. to which piper says don’t open that!! whoops. see, this is why i said we don’t let two bit archeology professors near magical books! piper/kyle charmed noir..............

#love me a good piper/kyle ask 🤙🤙🤙#charmed #piper halliwell #kyle brody #piper x kyle #margaretsminiessays #haven't used that tag in forever whoops #should probs go back n backtag

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sleepmybeauty · 3 years

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perfect match MC headcanon

so they are consistently, annoyingly vague about what the Perfect Match MC does for a living (my MC is Mallory, so that's what I'm going to call her for the rest of this). Like...never once do they even HINT at her job.

so like

in my head she's part of the mob

stay with me now

Mallory has lived in NYC her whole life; her parents had an apartment in a small, close-knit neighborhood and Mallory started to work at the deli down the street when she was 14. she worked there all through high school and when it came time for graduation, she decided instead of starting college right away, she would take a year off, keep working at the deli but now full time, save some money and see what the options for college looked like after that year.

the thing is, the deli is run by the mob.

now, Mal doesn't know that. it's her neighborhood deli, it's family-owned, her parents know the owners, everyone knows everyone and that's just how it's always been.

but when she starts to work there full time after high school, she eventually moves out of her parent's place and moves into the apartment above the deli. she starts doing favors for the owners; real small favors ya know, nothing to take too much notice of. one thing leads to another (I'm a basic little white girl, not part of the mob; I don't know exactly what happens; I just know that in this story, Mallory doesn't even realize she's gotten in too deep until it's too late) and all of a sudden she owes these people big time

a situation is fabricated to look like an organic event but it's gotta be something that would make her feel like she was in their debt. something that would make her feel like she owed them and something that they could DEFINITELY take advantage of.

it's been a year or so now. college is definitely off the table. she is a part of the organization now, even if it's just barely (in chapter six of book two, when Mallory is getting burritos with Khaan, he asks her something about her life in NYC or how she got started in her job and I chose the option of her not going to college. that is literally where this whole headcanon comes from. she says something about all the 'odd jobs' that she takes on right out of high school and I immediately jumped to the mob. what even is my brain). her debt is 5 years. if we want to be real dark, they employ her at their legit escort service, and her debt is paid off with the not-so-legit extras.

if we want to be less dark, she just continues on as a glorified errand girl and now all the favors she does are decidedly not legal but she is finally perfectly aware of it.

she has a year left when she and Nadia meet Damien.

with her "job" (whatever it ends up being) being with such a flexible organization, her hours are just as flexible and so Mallory is able to be much more involved with Nadia's art debut and subsequent success in the art world in general. so Mallory is hanging around the gallery when Nadia gets the first "explicit drawing" from her superfan/stalker; Mallory and Nadia are very close and so Mallory has a front-row seat to the whole drama. she knows she could ask her employers to look into the guy; she knows they could do something about the situation but she also knows that she doesn't want them or any bit of that part of her life to touch Nadia.

so she finds Damien in the white pages or online or however but she makes sure that he has no connection to the organization at all.

Mallory is sitting at the welcome desk in the gallery when Damien comes in to meet Nadia. in my playthroughs, Mallory has feelings for Damien from that first meeting, the same as Damien does for her. he is right when he says it was the wrong time for them; he was still too broken over Beitan and she knows very well that her life is not yet her own.

Damien takes care of the creepy superfan. he asks Mallory out for drinks or dinner and thus starts the epic four-year-long pining fest that we now know is very much canon.

in my Perfect Match 'verse, Mallory is...weeks, days away from her debt being paid. something goes down. she vouched for somebody that ended up being completely untrustworthy and so her one day/one week turns back into five years and the moment when both she and Damien were single and stable and could feel the attraction building to a breaking point...slips away.

she doesn't go back to exactly what she was doing for the organization the first time around. she's built up a reputation and she has people that trust her. she messed up with the guy that betrayed her/them but that doesn't necessarily reflect on her overall relationship with the organization in general. she is back in debt but her life is a little more her own this time around.

so when Nadia tells her all about Eros and how wonderful Steve is, she lets herself be talked into giving it a try.

she goes to the office and answers every one of their questions with Damien in mind. she has been just as in love with him as he is with her for four long years. neither wants to approach the other and risk ruining the friendship that they have come to rely on so heavily.

so she gets Hayden with the Best Friend personality and the fabulous massage skills (you know Damien has some MOVES) and the impressive language skills (Damien's Hispanic heritage) and she says okay

she will make this work. she has not given up on Damien but she has stopped waiting for him to make a move or for her to get up the courage to do it herself. the friendship that she and Nadia have with him can be enough now that Mallory has Hayden.

and so then we have Perfect Match books 1&2 and all the hidden feelings come out and she drops Hayden like a hot potato (Hayden is one of her best friends and she has been honored to be his confidant and part of his support system in his entry into society knowing what he actually is). she and Damien grow as people individually and as a unit and their love story in these books is one of the most beautiful that Pixelberry has ever given us. Perfect Match should not have ended up being one of my favorite series but it DEFINITELY IS and that is because of Damien Elvis Nazario.

so after. Damien and Mallory get their happily-ever-after. she has a key to his place (he's always had a key to hers), they spend every night together and he makes her breakfast every morning.

but Mallory disappeared for...months? they were in Paris for at least a month and each new country they traveled to would have been another week or so in travel and prep time for each mission

but she just disappeared, with no word to the organization. no contact for generously, six months, realistically, more like three.

and that is not okay. and Mallory Park is not so close with the family that they can just let her get away with that without any consequences.

now, I have no explanation for how Damien never found out what it is Mallory does and does not do for a living. he's a former cop, a good PI, and he's pretty involved in her life; but she's been telling both Damien and Nadia that she's an underling at an interior design firm for years and she's always been very good at maintaining that cover.

until about a month after they get home from DC and the organization catches up to her and she comes home one night with bruises on her face and a laceration on her abdomen. that's not something she can hide from Damien or cover-up to Nadia.

and that is a fic that I want to write because I didn't get nearly enough one-on-one time with Damien in the books and hurt/comfort is my eternal weakness and I just

I need protective!Damien and worried!Damien and angry!Damien and I need to see how they deal with this situation without six other people's input because THIS IS NOT A SIX WAY RELATIONSHIP (I did not play it as a polyamory romance. I NEED more Damien x Mallory and I need it now).

so. yea. I can write out this entire backstory about Mallory Park and her very sketchy past but I can PROMISE YOU that I will never write this Damien x Mallory fic because I. am. trash.

#perfect match #choices #damien nazario #nadia park #mallory park #damien x mc #mc x damien

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luxlightly · 4 years

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Ok I was originally not going to post this because it's A Lot of headcanon for an improv video game comedy series and just send it to one person but they never responded and I'm attention starved. So here's my huge, Bubby centric, monster of a headcanon that ties the whole series together. Mostly under a cut because it's A Lot. (written in one sitting on my phone so excuse the multiple changes in tense and typos)

So the big sort of thing is that Bubby caused the resonance cascade. He sabotaged the computers. He just meant for it to be a distraction to escape black mesa but Benry's involvement and the chaotic element of the Player Character interacting with him caused everything to go to hell fast. Also Benry and Bubby are sort of brothers.

Going backwards to explain:

So some of this really stretches the canon because it's mixing a "it's a real world" au and "it's still a video game" au kind of ideas.

Basically the world of the video game exists sort of as a parallel dimension within the game's code. The G-man exists kind of outside of the rules, able to control more or less the code or console. He's kind of the Mastermind behind black Mesa as a whole who exists outside the game's code to a sort of in between layer (in those time stop moments) where he can only be seen by those who are also in some way connected to the Real World through either direct connection to the Player or sufficient connection to the console code. His reach is in ways limited because of this and he cannot easily interact with the game world characters. He uses Black Mesa as a way to use the science of their word to try to create new things from the code or otherwise more precisely control it.

Which is where Bubby comes in. Basically, black Mesa took the basic code for the security officer Barney and tried to create new copies with connections to the code they could use. However it was pretty much a complete failure. Only two of the attempts even survived to maturity with any kind of personally intact, but they weren't right. Trying to connect them with the code like that broke them in certain ways. On creation, the scientists asked them their names to try to get them to access their own files to find the name, but neither could, it came out garbled. So instead they went by the names they more or less gave themselves.

Bubby is able to connect to the console commands specifically to set objects and characters on fire(among some others in small amounts that are far less well controlled), but he can't understand that's what it is. It's just psychokinesis to him. And he's not good at controlling it, especially when he was younger. He's also scrawny, has several phobias, and is overall much more suited to academic pursuits than being any kind of soldier for them. It also causes him to glitch at times('here i come, Gordon! Here I come, Gordon! Here I come, Gordon!). His code is more or less like a badly implemented mod that tried to unlock god admin mode but failed and now doesn't quite fit back in with the original code right.

They kept him as a scientist at black Mesa mostly to keep him under surveillance. He knows this. He doesn't know anything about the code or anything, but he knows he was made there etc etc. He spent most of his time just keeping the other scientists afraid of him and his spontaneous combustion and studying as much as he could. He'd never been outside. He wasn't allowed to leave. He'd never really cared to.

Until (and this was largely inspired by the '30 something Coomer and Bubby when Coomer first joined black Mesa by @inkwellstars) a new scientist was hired. Bubby largely ignored him except for trying to scare him away from any annoying attempts and friendship with some showy (if poorly controlled) pyrotechnics. But Coomer was just fascinated and made a terrible pun about his new coworker being 'a real hothead'. Which infuriated Bubby into taking an interest in him. Coomer remained the only person who was unfazed enough by the fire and the shark teeth to not just still hang around, but even tease him, no matter how hard Bubby tried to intimidate him out of it. Eventually, Bubby realized it was the last thing he actually wanted. That this man was the first person who he'd ever had treat him… Like a human being. And for the first time, he considers a world outside black Mesa. And it's somewhere he wants to go. He wants to follow this man when he walks out the sliding lab doors back to a world he'd never been a part of.

Not that he's pining or anything!! Coomer was a married man, after all!(no way no sir not that).

Bubby has a lot of unmanaged anger because he just catches on fire if he gets too frustrated. After a discussion of Coomer's past boxing ambitions, they set up the underground boxing league mostly just as the two of them, letting Bubby actually let off some steam in a metaphorical instead of literal way. He gets his ass handed to him every time but it's nice to not be treated like either the boss' fragile, expensive toy or a living Molotov cocktail. Bubby learns a bit of fighting along the way,to boot. He gets much better at controlling his fire. Coomer picks him up in a "lift off the ground and spin around" bear hug when he manages to set something aflame without setting any part of himself alight first. Bubby somehow feels that was more important to him than the accomplishment itself. Eventually word gets out about the quite literal underground rings they've started up and it becomes a whole league and Bubby takes a more spectator role, contented to play coach to Coomer.

However, Coomer's impressive strength and fortitude aren't only noticed by an admiring(and sightly love struck) Bubby. Black Mesa decides to try, instead of using code to try to create a new entities with connection to the code, to use an existing character, enhance them, and then create copies of them. Coomer became that existing character.

At first it seemed to work perfectly. They had a character able to alter the world at their will(sending Gordon back and forth through time/creating portals), access a super human, nearly godlike state of power(super player feature) and alter the code in a multitude of other ways. They implemented a system of authorization to stop him from accessing these powers without permission from a handler. These PlayCoins could only be gained and used by someone directly connected to the console code or real world. Someone connected to that liminal space between code and reality the g-man exists in. However, trying to create duplicates didn't create a new, equally powerful entity, it just split the power of the original. From there, Coomer's spirit was still too powerful to be completely controlled, so they split him into dozens of clones, dividing up that power until he was within a range they could control. The effect on his psyche was devastating, however. It trapped him into the code of 'tutorial npc' but his response triggers got completely broken so he responds to the wrong things. Before the scripted events of the game in which those triggers are, it didn't affect his day to day behavior, but it did leave him with an inescapable partial awareness of the game itself. As split as he is, he can't understand or remember anything about what it means, it's just a constant disconnect between him and the game's reality. It causes his marriage to fall apart.

Bubby doesn't know about what happened to Coomer. A lot of his own memories are controlled and tampered with as well. But he feels as though his getting close to Coomer caused his suffering and they end up drifting apart for a long time and Bubby's longing to see the world outside his laboratory home fades alongside their once strong bond.

Until. The other failed test tube character made from the mangled and stripped code of the security officer Barney who was torn out of the code to be twisted to the g man's whims comes to Bubby with an idea. The man who is not a man. Who has no parents and named himself : Benry.

Benry seemed like he should have been perfect. He kept the most physical resemblance to the original Barney, he seemed physically stable. As far as anyone could tell, he was completely connected to the console code. He should be able to control whatever he wanted, but besides the sweet voice and an unnatural fortitude, he seemed to have no remarkable qualities. Also he was all but totally incoherent. Memory, temporal and spacial awareness,and speech function were severely impaired. He often forgot where and when he was('... What happened to your arm?'), got his own memories confused with the memories of the now non-existent Barney ('you and me we used to be friends do you remember i don't know what happened'). Along with an erratic and unpredictable personality. He was considered another of countless failures and given a menial security job, like with Bubby, mostly just to keep an eye on him. Benry and Bubby, despite being practically siblings, aren't close, but do trust each other insomuch as they know the other probably won't outright kill them.

But Benry was not as unremarkable as he seemed.

And the introduction of a new element would throw everything into chaos: The Player. And, by extension, The Game.

The Player, in this instance, refers to the assumed person who is playing the game in which the characters exist. They are a discrete, unseen, and unmentioned character, who is neither Wayne nor Gordon Freeman. Wayne is the actor playing both Gordon and, in ways The Player, in the same way that Holly is playing the character of Coomer. Gordon is the AI character who exists within the game world. He believes he is in control of his actions and that what he experiences is real. He exists on the same layer of fiction as the other AI such as the character of Coomer. The Player is whomever, within the fiction of the series, is physically playing The Game.

The Game is the actual scripted, programmed events that were programmed in the "real world" (the Player's real world in which they live and are playing the Game). It represents the events that happen from the time the Player begins the game and when they complete it. The Game represents the overlap between the reality in which the AI exist and The Player's world. Presumably a copy of the original game Half Life.

As the events of The Game draw nearer, it makes every charterer with a connection to the code antsy. Bubby starts thinking, for the first time in years, about the world outside black Mesa's walls. Thought becomes longing. Longing becomes desperation. A need to escape from here by any means necessary.

Benry approaches him with an idea. They'll sabotage the big test that Dr.Freeman is running. The whole thing will likely explode, causing enough destruction and distraction for them to slip away in the chaos (with Coomer in tow if Bubby could help it). Freeman would almost certainly die but that was a necessary casualty for their freedom. Bubby never liked him anyway. There was just something...off about him. Like a weird double vision he couldn't shake around the man. Like something was both there that shouldn't be and missing that should be. Bubby avoided him. He didn't think he'd ever had a single conversation with him. He agrees.

Benry stops Gordon at the entrance and tries to stall him as long as possible with bogus requests to give Bubby as much time to sabotage the test as possible (which he does by crawling inside the computers, claiming he's fixing a problem).

However,Gordon is not connected to the console code, but directly to the real world through being controlled by The Player. As the Player triggers the scripted events of The Game, the holes and mangled code the g man and black Mesa have been tampering with start going haywire. Especially as Benry interacts with him directly. His latent connection to the console code starts activating, giving him ability to control himself and the game more and more, but his memory issues and temporal confusion makes him unable to determine what is and isn't real so his code powers start just making it real, beginning to actively break the Game from within. The bogus excuse about a passport (he forgot the word for ID and had to roll with the lie) became a reality and a powerful one. He starts teleporting and clipping through the walls.

Bubby starts the test, unaware of the change. He played along with the passport thing to not blow Benry's story. But by the time he reaches the chamber, it's already a real thing everyone else there had and should have.

When the cascade starts, though, Bubby is caught off guard. It was just supposed to explode. It wasn't supposed to bridge dimensions and cause this rift. He assumes Gordon did something to cause it to fail so catastrophically. He phases through the window of the observation room (something he didn't even know he could do and likely didn't even realize he was doing and forgot afterwards since he was immediately knocked out) but it's too late to stop it.

Then the events of the Game are in full swing and all the broken code of every character crumbles and results in the "look Gordon! Ropes!" Glitched tutorial Coomer, a Bubby whose setting himself on fire on accident for the first time in years, and a Benry who transcends beyond the confines of his code into an extradimemsional Chimera of sorts who can pass in and out of the liminal G space, become and summon skeleton minions who also can be or not be in that space, able to be seen by anyone or just by someone able to perceive that plane of existence, such as Gordon.

As Coomer destroys his clones, he gets pieces of his power and fragments of memory back. Enough to know that they are clones and that killing them returns his powers to him. Bubby and he quickly rekindle their bond, with the memory tapering being undone.

Bubby is still desperate to leave, trying to get Gordon to go faster by guilting him and saying he wants to go home (though black Mesa is his actual home). However everything just seems to get more and more drawn out and they can never really make progress.

Benry convinces Bubby that Gordon is the reason that they can't leave. Bubby can sense that something is different about Gordon so he believes it. Benry may or may not believe it himself. He may have realized that leading the Player to the end would only end the Game and tried to subvert that path. Or the programmed event of Gordon's ambush might have just pushed them both to it. Impossible to say.

In any case, Bubby is quickly also detained and put back in his tube.

With enough clones killed, and having accidentally jumped out of the play box and seen that there's nothing physically beyond black Mesa, Coomer becomes aware of and connected to the console code and aware of the "real world". He tries to use Gordon's connection to the Player to get to the real world, though at this point he can only understand it as the world of Gordon's "dreams". When Tommy kills all of the clones, then knocks out Coomer, it causes a full reset and Coomer becomes his full,unshattered self again. He still is limited by his need for authorization through PlayCoins, but he's much more coherent and quickly becomes completely aware of his situation within the Game and starts talking directly to the Player through Gordon at times.

The rest is history.

As for some other non directly related things: Tommy is g man's attempt at a more biological connection between the code and the game universe. Tommy is his son and has all the abilities of a g-man but is largely unable to use them and unaware of them due to his young age (comparatively to the immortal g man, 36 is still a child) and his innocence. He is also completely integrated with the game universe with no glitches from the union. Tommy is not aware he's the Gman's son. He thinks it's just some guy who bought him Vin Diesel and the minions. Tommy tends to use his powers entirely accidentally when he does, with the exception of creating Sunkist. In doing so he also surpassed his father's ultimate limit: creating a completely new element to the game without having to gut other code. He created the perfect dog out of completely new content he willed into existence. Unfortunately for G-Man, Tommy is far too pure and goodhearted to be used to any nefarious ends.

#hlvrai #bubby #coomer #boomer #benry #gordon hlvrai #tommy coolatta

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irene-sadler · 3 years

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Sir Reynard and the Red Knight

1. my usual due diligence b/c some deeply programmed part of my brain can't not cite my sources::

are you interested in reading some secondary source material about the civic government of a medieval city?* or a primary source document listing the personal expenses of Henry VIII between 1529-1532, a line item of which i copied and modified for this chapter? well now u can i guess, go for it.

*(there's like no easily accessible canon info about what Rivia (the city, not the kingdom or the castle) is like, but after some side reading about other medieval cities it seemed like it should be roughly the size of York vs the size of London or Paris, which were the capitols of much more important kingdoms to irl western Europe than Lyria and Rivia seem to have been to northern Fake Europe. i mean, before Meve more or less single handedly fucked up an entire invasion force and yeeted herself into international fame obviously.)

2. i posted a short scene i cut from this chapter here.

----

In the days leading up to the fair, a veritable army of men in armor descended on the castle and town surrounding it, spending a mint of money and tearing up the grass of the green outside the wall with ceaseless practices and a few very real fights. The Baroness, who had graciously accepted the Queen’s invitation, became a semi-permanent fixture beside the hastily erected fence surrounding the field. Despite the cold, she spent the short daylight hours observing and offering opinions and guidance. Gascon arrived with a retinue of familiar-looking rogues that drew a dark frown from Reynard and threw himself happily into the endless clashes. The Baroness watched him for most of an afternoon, then in the evening delivered a detailed lecture indicating how and where his technique could be improved, which he cheerily took to heart. The result, according to his tutor, was that he progressed, somewhat, from a reasonable amateur to something like a professional.

Meve managed to keep her company often enough to hear many of her opinions. She noted bad habits and technical errors in almost all of Meve’s serving knights, with few exceptions; of Sir Odo, she only remarked casually that he yet showed no sign of losing a step, age or prior injuries be damned. She made the unusually enthusiastic comment within earshot of its subject as he offered advice to a young knight he’d unseated; he appeared slightly surprised and rode over, eyebrows raised.

“Was that a compliment, my lady?” he asked, looming over the two women where they stood by the fence.

“Would you like it to be?” the Baroness replied, giving no sign either way.

“Why not?” he said, matching her tone, bowed courteously in his saddle, slammed his visor down, and rode away. Meve stared distractedly after him.

“He’ll be an early contender for the prize, I believe,” the Baroness remarked.

“Well, he’s certainly my favorite,” she replied, airily.

“And doesn’t he know it,” the older woman muttered, then added, “That man has a target on his back.”

Meve returned to earth and turned an inquiring frown on her.

“Look,” the older woman explained, waving a hand to indicate the field at large. “There’s not less than two dozen knights here, and squires besides, as well as more than a few fighters who are neither. Some are no doubt here for the prizes, and some for th’ entertainment value, and others to catch a woman’s eye, but, no matter what their reasons, every man among them would very much like to defeat the Queen’s champion, make no mistake.”

The Baroness paused significantly, clearly waiting for her to see a point. Meve, aware that even Reynard lost a match, on occasion, failed to arrive at whatever it was; she shrugged dismissively and said, “Yes, and?”

“And, therefore, don’t leave his equipment unguarded overnight, or his horse,” she explained impatiently, with a slight eye roll; she added, as an afterthought, “Your Grace.”

“Oh.”

After dinner she stared contemplatively into the fire, paying no attention to Reynard and Gascon’s idle chatter nearby. The Baroness’s suggestion - or was it a warning? - weighed on her thoughts. So did the fact that she had yet to find a third judge; a difficult prospect, as whoever she picked might not suit, or, worse, might be inclined to see political significance where there was none. Further, she hadn’t seen the black knight, or even heard anything of him, in well over a week; it was arguably the least of her problems, but bothered her nevertheless. She was jolted out of her reverie only when Reynard shook her suddenly by the shoulder; she frowned distractedly at him, realized he had asked her something, and said, “What?”

“What are you thinking about?” he repeated, patiently. Gascon stared glassily at her, an expectant smile on his face. She explained about the judge, in brief, expecting their conversation to then go on without concerning itself with the matter.

“But why d’ you need three judges?” Gascon wondered, instead, slurring his words somewhat.

“Because there are always three judges,” Reynard replied stiffly, evidently less than perfectly sober himself.

“The third judge is necessary, I’m afraid,” Meve explained. “A tiebreaker.”

“Oh,” said Gascon, “I see. Well, what I would do is just get Gaspar or someone t’ do it, and say good enough; I suppose it doesn’t truly matter who does the job, in th’ end.”

“The joust is serious business,” Reynard said, growing somewhat haughty, “You can’t just appoint some ruffian who can’t talk as an official.”

“No,” Meve said, soothingly, before Gascon could react, “I don’t think he would do, at all, not to worry. However, Gascon’s drunken rambling has given me a thought - I don’t really have to choose the third judge myself.”

“What do you mean by that?” Reynard asked, suspiciously.

“Never you mind,” she said, casually, “You’ll find out soon enough. Anyway - I meant to ask you, Gascon, for a favor.”

“By all means,” he replied, cheerily.

“I need you to assign some of your more reliable and sober men to keep an eye on Reynard’s harness, weapons, and above all his horse, until the fair.”

“Why?” Reynard asked; Meve ignored him, temporarily. Gascon, on the other hand, seemed to immediately understand, and nodded his agreement.

“Oh, yes, naturally, you do,” he said. “I’ll put my best people on it, not t’ worry.”

“Thank you,” she said, and then explained herself to Reynard after Gascon departed to see to the matter. He frowned doubtfully and began, “I really don’t think it’s necessary to -”

“I know you don’t,” she interrupted, a little curtly, “It’s why I didn’t ask you.”

He fell into a slightly disgruntled silence, obviously offended; she immediately regretted her tone, blamed it on the late hour, and delivered a genuine apology, which he graciously accepted, as he always did.

At ten the next morning, she attended a meeting with the bailiff, aldermen, and Mayor of the city outside her castle walls. The Mayor was an ancient man who’d been installed in his position some years before she was born, and would not be hurried as he explained, at length, the procedures and trials of the next few days. She half-listened to his speech, delivered in the same didactic voice as always, and to the discourse that followed, well aware of the various topics that would be covered, as they were exactly the same each year for each fair - roadblocks, fire brigades, the necessity to have extra guards at night, the necessity to have yet further guards to keep the visitors out of the stockyard and away from the docks, the vanishingly small probability of snow. The Queen sat, patiently chiming in on the usual occasions to promise a detachment of soldiers from the castle and to offer the use of the stables in the courtyard, if needed, but otherwise waiting in silence for the meeting to wind to a close. There was, she knew from experience, no speeding up the unvarying process, and it was easiest to try; at the end, however, when the Mayor, as always, asked for any final remarks, she said, “I’ve one, gentlemen.”

The room turned as one to stare at her in collective astonishment; she had never shown the slightest desire to lengthen any meeting in the past, and the atmosphere grew wary and uncertain at the irregularity. She smiled at them, professionally, and continued, “I have a small request only: the jousting event that’s bringing you so much custom this year requires three judges, but I find myself with only two; I thought perhaps you could select the last yourselves and then send ‘em along to the castle this afternoon.”

She was assured that the thing was in their power to grant and departed in secret amusement, leaving the disturbed city government in full knowledge that, so long as she ruled in Lyria and Rivia, the troubling moment would never be forgotten.

The city council sent along their choice - a round, dark-haired young woman - some hours later. She received a very dubious look from Reynard when Ethan brought her into his little office, where he sat in consultation with the Queen. Her name was Giselle, she said, and she knew nothing whatsoever about jousting - although, of course, she’d seen many a brawl, because she was a barmaid at the largest public house in the town square; she was just lately seventeen, but had been employed there since she was ten, and fights were expected and even wagered on should the combatants be interesting enough. Meve was, for once, grateful for Reynard’s unyielding sense of propriety; he grew steadily more unapproachable, but said absolutely nothing as the girl finished her introduction and subsided into silence, casting an uneasy glance at his remote frown.

“Well,” Meve said, pleasantly, “It’s no matter; the finer details of the sport are easy enough to learn. I’m not going to force you, if you’d rather not, but should you like to be a judge tomorrow along with myself and the Baroness, you’re quite welcome.”

Giselle’s face lit up; she replied quickly, “Oh, yes, I’d love to, my lady.” Meve nodded, satisfied.

“Well, then, Ethan there will explain the rules and answer any questions you have; you may go along with him,” she said. Ethan promptly turned a brilliant shade of red as Giselle turned a broad smile on him. Meve drew on decades of diplomatic experience and managed to maintain a straight face as the pair attempted to make their escape from the overcrowded office, briefly became jammed together in the doorway, and awkwardly negotiated their way out, one after the other.

“Gods preserve us,” Reynard muttered, rubbing his forehead painfully, the moment the door finally shut behind them. Meve snorted a laugh at last, perched on the edge of his desk, and said, “She’ll do nicely, I think; seems game enough, given the circumstances.”

He shook his head at her and asked, wearily, “Is it too early to start drinking?”

“It is a holiday. However, those guard patrols for the town must be arranged, and I still have to review my steward’s reports -”

“I’ll bring the reports as well as a bottle, then,” Reynard decided, making for the door; she caught his arm as he passed, kissed him, and pulled away a long moment later to stare into his eyes. He blinked down at her, apparently struck as speechless as his squire, until she released him and said, “Go on, then; I’ll be here.”

“Actually, I’m not thirsty after all,” he said, not moving away. She flashed a smile, slid her arms around his neck, and didn’t argue.

Reynard did arrange the patrols, eventually, but Meve was forced to put the paperwork off; there was a feast to attend, and she had no time to read accounts before it began. It had to be held in the courtyard under the moonlight, because the entire city was invited and most of it’s more upstanding citizens had actually turned up, and, on top of them, all the knights and their horde of attendants; the resulting crowd would never fit inside the great hall. Even her usual courtiers had trouble maintaining stiff decorum in the open air, by blazing fires and with an astonishing amount of food and drink in them. The Queen herself sat at a table with the Baroness and Count Odo; the Count was companionably silent as usual, and so Meve passed the time chatting mainly with the Baroness. The women waved off occasional requests to dance in favor of a detailed discussion of feats of arms they’d witnessed during tournaments and battles, until, unexpectedly, Sir Holt advanced on them out of the crowd. The Baroness immediately paused, mid-sentence, and stared him down; he did not appear to notice her pointed, but wordless, dismissal. Reynard stiffened slightly in his seat, eyes narrowing. Meve sighed quietly; she of course knew the red knight was in attendance, because she’d spotted Gaheris out in the lists the previous afternoon, but had thought he’d have had the sense to avoid her.

However, all the red knight said to her was a polite greeting and a remark on the success of the evening, so far. She nodded at him in acknowledgment; he then turned to Reynard and said, “Count Odo - I look forward to our rematch, tomorrow.”

“Do you, now?” the Count replied, coldly; then, his conscience apparently made uneasy by his own rudeness, added, “As do I, Sir Holt; best of luck to you, when the time comes.”

“And to you, my lord,” the red knight said, glanced uncertainly at the condescending Baroness, and retreated without further comment. Meve glanced sideways at the Count’s distant frown and nodded to him resignedly. He needed no further invitation to quit the field, and, for some reason, the remainder of the event seemed to go on with a shade of awkwardness in his absence; her renewed conversation with the Baroness felt somewhat stilted, and the din of the crowd around them oppressive. The feast eventually ended with an inevitable speech by the Mayor, which not a soul attended to; the locals had heard it before and the visitors seemed to be unsure who it was that was lecturing them. The Queen then delivered some much briefer remarks, as expected, which received the crowd’s full concentration, dismissed them to their own devices, and departed.

An hour later, she was safely in her own private office, puzzling over a line item in her steward’s report: paied to Sir Roger Eres knight upon a bille of Sir John Kimborne knight 153 g., when someone came thundering up the stairs and burst suddenly through the door. Reynard jerked awake in his chair by the fire, alarmed at the noise, saw what had made it, and settled again with a quiet, relieved, sigh. She herself had turned a savage glare on the intruder, but subsided when it only proved to be Gascon, reeking of liquor and panting slightly.

“It’s late, Brossard. What do you want?” Meve asked, looking back down at her papers. She sat back with a quick, irritated, frown as the Duke strode over, slapped a wide leather strap down on top of them, and demanded, “Look at this.”

“It’s a girth, from a saddle,” she said, glancing from it to him with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes,” Gascon agreed, despite her warning expression. Reynard stood with a faint groan, walked over, glanced at it, and said, “Isn’t that one of mine? What’s this about?”

“Look there, by the buckle,” Gascon said, impatiently, pointing. Meve eyed the area and spotted what appeared to be a wrinkle or crack in the leather; she picked it up to study it more closely, and finally looked back up at the Duke, scowling.

“It looks as if someone cut it most of the way through,” she said. “And then, what? Glued it back together? A damn good job, too; would never have noticed it, myself, if you didn’t point it out.”

“It would likely snap th’ instant it took a hard shock,” Reynard added, taking the girth and turning it over thoughtfully. “But when someone might’ve done it, I don’t know. I used this just yesterday, practicing against Roland Orlac; you were there, Meve.”

“Perhaps they did it days ago, and it was just luck that kept it from breaking, then,” Gascon suggested, shrugging. “Or it could have been yesterday afternoon, before Pug and Gaspar started looking after your things.”

Meve swore angrily, already forming a long list of suspects: disgruntled barons, unscrupulous competitors, foreign saboteurs, domestic anarchists. Reynard sighed in weary agreement with her.

“Well, annoying as this is, it’s not my first overly bitter rival, I suppose. I’ve survived th’ others; this will be no different,” he said, pragmatically.

“Yes, well, regardless, it’ll be your last. Find out who did this, Gascon,” the Queen said. “I take attempts to sabotage my General’s equipment very personally.”

“I’ll do what I can,” he assured, grimly.

#thronebreaker #witcher #action #romance #sports

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wardencommanderrodimiss · 4 years

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Been thinking about the inevitable Modern AU and how f!Byleth’s weird armor would translate really easily into a weird collection of modern clothing, but more than that:

Garreg Mach Academy is a historically upper-crust school that is obviously religiously affiliated because Garreg Mach is a city like Vatican City that’s just run by the Church of Seiros, and the academy was built hundreds of years ago as a place where the three bordering countries could have a truce and safely send all their noble children. (As in canon.)

The real shenanigans begin when Rhea hires Jeralt as the chief security officer for campus, and Jeralt brings along his child Byleth who everyone is pretty sure does not legally exist? Her job is just whatever the other professors and staff of the academy pay her under-the-table to help with. She forms a study group of a bunch of students even though she is definitely not enrolled here. She most certainly does not have a drivers’ license. The gang realize this while she is, in fact, currently driving them around.

The Blue Lions, Black Eagles, and Golden Deer are frat houses. They attempted one (1) campus-wide prank war and the Lions and Eagles were so thoroughly destroyed by Claude that they made a pact to never utter a whisper of such a thing ever again.

Ignatz’s parents want him to be a business major but he’s really interested in the fine arts. If Hilda is ever found in the library, it’s because the wifi is more stable there and she wants to watch anime and shirk her day on the dish-washing rotation. Lorenz only joined the Deer because his father was once a member and he wanted his son to rush for the same frat but Lorenz figured he would just like, try and use it as a resume thing, and now Claude’s kicking open the front door of the house like “Hey Lorenz come help me carry this massive box of silly string that I got for real cheap, do not ask me how.” All the campus squirrels and pigeons are extremely fat and demanding of food from every human that passes by because Marianne feeds them all, and she only allows them to use humane mousetraps in the frat house. Lysithea skipped a few grades and is furious that no bartender in the surrounding area believes her fake ID. Raphael is the only one of them with a meal plan and he brings his backpack there and just loads up on food. Leonie has the common room table constantly covered in new scholarship applications she found because she absolutely cannot afford this stupid place.

Ingrid does not live in the Blue Lions frat house because she has spent almost her whole life living with Sylvain and Felix and she does not, she cannot, do it any longer, and she moves in with Annette and Mercedes, who might basically live at the frat house anyway because Mercedes is constantly using its kitchen for baking. If she isn’t, Ashe is, and sometimes there will be Deer or Eagles climbing in the open kitchen windows like “hey that smells good, what are we making today?”

Dorothea enrolled on a performing arts scholarship and will wake up everyone who lives in the Black Eagles frat house with her morning warm-ups. Petra is an exchange student who was not sure of the point of a frat but joined up anyway and she still cannot say what the point of it is. Bernadetta did not want to join a frat but they all just kind of pulled her in and gave her a room there; she is only seen by her fellows at 3 am eating cheese directly from the fridge, and she’s managed to get all of her classes changed to online ones even though she technically is supposed to live on campus. Ferdinand and Caspar are in direct competition to be the Jockiest Jock In This Frat House, and across all frat houses with Sylvain and Leonie as well.

Dmitri and Dedue don’t live in their frat house, nor do Edelgard and Hubert, and they all have their own apartment together until the second semester when Edelgard and Hubert just move into the Black Eagles house without an explanaton or any furniture because Dmitri kicked them out when he found out Edelgard was the one graffiting campus in subversive anti-Church messaging, and Hubert was the one who keeps hacking administration records and 3D-printed Edelgard a helmet that she wears on their midnight spraypainting ventures. Dmitri figured he couldn’t stop them but he didn’t want the administration thinking he and Dedue had any part of it and he threw most of their possessions out the window, nearly killing Felix who was coming by.

(Felix: “You can’t trust the Boar Prince. He acts all well-behaved like he’s a model student, but lurking just beneath the surface--” Dmitri: “I said I was sorry! And that I looked out the window beforehand! You were hiding beneath the overhang then! How was I supposed to know--” Dedue: “I can confirm: we did look out the window first.” Felix: “HE NEARLY BRAINED ME WITH A COFFEE TABLE IS WHAT HE DID.”)

#fe3h #three frat houses au

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ginnyzero · 4 years

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Completely Harmless Ch. 13

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

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

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

Chapter Thirteen Finishing Touches

Linda gave Lily a bunch of envelopes to mail the next morning. “Except this one,” she said handing Lily the last. “The Baroness would like you to deliver this one personally.”

Lily stared at them. “Sure,” she said. “We have to go through Silverglade. I can pass most of these off to Derek,” she blinked. She checked the address of the last one, “and then go to New Hillcrest after seeing the tables and chairs back to Mr. Moorland.”

“Sounds like an excellent plan,” Linda smiled at her. She paused. “Um, Lily, I, err, thank you. For coming and doing all this. I mean, not a lot of people would do that and a lot of people didn’t. You girls are something special.”

Lily blinked slowly. “We didn’t want to stick around and be subjected to Loretta. I’m surprised she hasn’t alienated more campers than she has.”

Linda laughed lightly. “Yeah, she’s, interesting. I know she can become a good person if given the right influences.”

“But does she have them? She does tend to surround herself with girls like her.” Lily said as she tucked the letters away, keeping the special one in a different section of her saddlebag.

“I have a friend like Loretta and she turned out okay.”

Lily raised a brow. “With a friend like you, Linda, I think anyone would turn out okay.”

Linda flushed.

Lily mounted her horse. “I’ll get those letters taken care of, boss. Don’t let Agnetha run the other girls too ragged in our absence.”

Linda snorted. “As if anyone has control over Agnetha.” She looked around the Manor with a small look of pride. “Anastasia has asked me to make a website for this place as soon as it’s done.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“I’ve been doing news posts and throwing up pictures on Jorvikgram,” Linda grinned.

“When do you find time, I know all of your projects!” Lily groaned.

Linda shrugged and smiled.

“No wonder everyone turned up for food,” Lily said.

“Good thing they did. We couldn’t eat all of that!” Linda’s eyes widened and she adjusted her glasses.

They both laughed.

Lily waved at her and joined the other girls who had all the supplies on their horses from the day before. Agnetha had the other girls working on the fountain already. They trotted out. Lily paused in Silverglade to say hello to Derek (who everyone agreed was a real cutey) and give him three of the four letters.

“I’ll get these out straight away,” Derek said. “Oh, this one is pretty easy. Courtney Summers in Silverglade, I could just walk it over. Be nice to get out of the office and stretch my legs.”

“You do that,” Lily said and shuddered. As long as she didn’t have to be the bearer of bad news.

“See yah!” Derek said as the girls moved on two by two.

They delivered the pavilion back to Steve. The President of the Summer Chipmunks waved Lily over saying that they were probably going to use it and a couple others like it for the Farmer’s Market. If they could figure out where to put the Market.

Lily was sure they’d find the best spot. Not her problem! (Lily was only willing to take on so much.)

From there, they took the road to Moorland.

Both Justin and Thomas were happy to see them. They raved about the food. Thomas couldn’t pronounce half the dishes on the menu, but it had sure been delicious. He was looking forward to having a real restaurant serving more upscale food in the area. It’d be a good place for Justin to take dates.

He wanted grandchildren sometime before he died.

Of course, Justin protested and flushed and huffed.

As they were laughing at poor Justin and saying their good byes and thanks for the tables, Lily’s phone buzzed.

It was Agnetha. The parts for the fountain had arrived for the reflecting pool at Silverglade. And would someone be a dear and fetch them.

A couple girls rolled their eyes and volunteered to swing back through Silverglade on their way back to the Manor. The rest rode off towards Nilmer’s Highland. They’d exchanged their red-orange t-shirts for a glaring purple one. Anastasia would be appalled. But they were trying to proclaim their allegiance to the Manor.

In fact, as soon as they had a moment to breathe. They were going to hit some stores and buy a couple different purple t-shirts for doing chores and riding around in. Who knew what Anastasia had up her sleeve or when it would be finished and they needed clothes!

Lily took a transport to the New Hillcrest stables and winced at how run down they looked. There was a local riding club called the Bulldogz, but the place looked like they needed an infusion of cash. She was really beginning to wonder about the economy of South New Jorvik County. Seriously, was it G.E.D. interfering or something else?

She found the address and knocked on the door. “Ms. Antonia,” she said as the door opened. “Special delivery from Baroness Annabella Silverglade.”

What was it with the names beginning with the letter A?

Antonia took it. “Please, call me Tony,” she said absentmindedly as she read the letter. Her eyes widened. “I won! I, I, I got the job. I mean. I got my own restaurant.”

“Congratulations,” Lily said with a pleased smile. “Your food was amazing.”

“But, but, why?” Tony asked. “I mean, the others, outside of that Courtney woman, were just as good.”

“Maybe it was your insistence on local and fresh, plus, you mentioned plans for a winter menu.”

Antonia seemed dazed. “Yes, well, always plan ahead.” She clutched at the door. “And, and, there’s a cottage in Silverglade Village that I can use as part of my wages, no rent,” she seemed quite shocked at her good fortune.

“Oh, that’s great. Agnetha and Bjorn have a cottage on the grounds. I don’t think there are any other extra cottages though that I remember. But Silverglade is pretty close. You could ride, um,” Lily looked around.

“I have a scooter,” Tony supplied.

“Yes, your scooter.”

“Electric.”

“Your very quiet and won’t bother the horses scooter, to work.”

“It’s purple,” Tony added.

“She loves purple.”

“I, I have to go to Jorvik City and get plates and, and, napkins, and kitchenware. I’m supposed to meet Anastasia Silverglade and, and,” Antonia ran out of breath.

“We’ll help you in any way we can,” Lily said. She scribbled down her number. “Shoot me a text when you need us.”

Tony took it. “You may live to regret this.”

“Well, you’ll have to fight Agnetha for our help until the gardens are done,” Lily tilted her head. “I, I would pay to see that really.”

Tony grinned.

Lily tugged on her helmet. “I best be off before Agnetha does wonder where I am.” She jogged down the stairs with a wave at Tony. She mounted her horse and headed back to the Manor by the stables transport.

She returned to chaos. Or something like it. She guessed it was organized chaos.

Agnetha had one group laying out the fountain parts into the reflecting pool. Another group was taking down all the Victorian style lamps along the road. Lily got a shrug when she gave the girl in charge a questioning look. And the last group was laying out the rest of the rose gardens in front of the manor.

So, she tied her horse up and went to ask Agnetha where she needed help.

Agnetha gave her a hard look. “Where have you been?”

“Delivering a letter for the Baroness.”

Agnetha snorted. But she knew she was outranked. “I have some orders I want put into Jorvik City.” She ruffled through her papers and handed them to her. “Best done in person, they’ll get done faster.”

Lily leafed through them. “These aren’t orders. These are commissions.”

“Orders,” Agnetha shrugged.

Lily repressed a deep sigh. “All right. Um, I was going to do some shopping for the girls. Unless you like red-orange.”

Agnetha made a face. “Get on with it then.”

If Lily had been any other person, she would have said that shopping was a pleasant experience. Lily wasn’t any other person, girl, whatever. She hated shopping with a passion. And if she could have passed it off, she probably would have.

But purple and brown simply didn’t go together and their laundry was rather out of control. If she was going to Jorvik City, she could stop at Silverglade and go to the Mall and buy out a bunch a purple t-shirts and get some cheap pants that were gray or black.

Lily looked at the names again. “Why not use Conrad?” She asked speaking of the blacksmith in Moorland. Agnetha had commissions for benches.

“He refuses to follow directions, the old fool.”

Lily winced. So Conrad’s reputation had spread. “Right.”

So, Lily rode to Silverglade, bought a couple t-shirts there, two different pairs of worn black jeans, and some pants with purple argyle knee socks. Maybe Agnetha would take pity on them and give them something.

There were more purple t-shirts at the mall, with and without sleeves. But their pants selection was rather dismal and overpriced. But they had something else that wasn’t red orange and… brown.

Lily dropped off orders for street lamps and wall lamps, some lamps that looked like they were supposed to go in the trees over the reflecting pool and the fountain, and benches. The artisans assured her that they would get on these orders immediately and they’d have them finished in a few days. The last order was to a sculptor. She appraised the designs, deemed them adequate and Lily left with a feeling of foreboding.

Whelp, it wasn’t her head on the line she supposed. She picked up a bunch of ice coffees at the mall again. The girl remembered her order and once again packed it nicely. The girls were quite grateful when she returned with them and the bags and bags of new clothes.

Sure, their wardrobe was going to be exactly the same, but that wasn’t Lily’s fault.

When the reflecting pool was finished and filled with water, Agnetha did give them a nice pair of grey pants. They all babbled their thanks at her and immediately added them to the pile of laundry after using a waterproof marker to say whose was whose.

The reflecting pool was gorgeous. The rows and rows of birch trees and their leaves added a bit of green to the space along with shade. The finished rose gardens added a sweet scent to the air.

Of course, Agnetha was far from being done. No. They were simply getting started. She made them collect all the urns from around the manor. Clean them thoroughly and paint them.

Then, they were off to Silverglade again to pick up some more plants, lilac bushes to be exact. These they planted in the corners of the manor building before surrounding them with ground cover type roses. They planted them alongside the inn building and behind the empty temple building near the duck coop. They even put some behind where the transport parked near the gas container. (Ugly thing that Agnetha called it, but it was necessary.)

Then they were able to move the urns, to the end of the stairs at each of the manor’s entrances, the corners of the Baroness’ private verandah where the Sterling Silver rose that the Silver Drakes had given her was in a box against the wall between the doors. They put the urns between the doors of the inn on the stairs and at the ends. But Agnetha didn’t trust the horses not to try and eat them, so they kept them away from the stable sides except near where the big archway was and the corners of the buildings angled away from where curious horses could stick their heads out and nibble.

Then they filled the urns with dirt and planted miniature roses in them in white, lavender, and the lovely dark mulberry. There were four urns left over, but Agnetha had plans for them.

She needed the benches for them though. She also didn’t have enough to decorate the Wine Cave. Which was bugging her. Fortunately, the urns were rather basic urns for all they were heavy and made of concrete. There was a craftsman in Jorvik City that made them by the gross if needed. Agnetha texted them a message.

So, it really was no surprise to anyone that the benches, lamps, and urns all arrived at the same time. Agnetha and Bjorn used their truck to move the urns thankfully. Though, once at the bridge they stopped, put urns on each end of the bridge and from there on out, they placed urns between every other space in the trees leading up to the manor. This same pattern continued inside the manor the girls noticed as they rode back with boxes and boxes of miniature roses and rose vines wrapped in burlap, bench parts including slats of wood, and the long bits of lamps and carefully cushioned in their own boxes, the white glass globes to go on top.

When they arrived and carefully put all the boxes in the parade ground, they noticed more urns had been placed on the ends of the bridge going out to the loose paddock.

“Consistency,” Elsa said dryly.

Agnetha put them to work. There were two benches for the reflecting pool, and four more that went on each side of the wine cave. The benches were in an odd style, though Theresa muttered something about faux roman. They were curved instead of having harsh corners. The ends of the arm rests had horse heads and the feet were horse hooves. There were three dimensional roses carved at the top of the back of the benches. The backs were carved with grapes and roses. Thus the sides looked like very rounded X shapes.

Then, they could place the urns. Urns went to each side of the benches and then between the columns of the Wine Cave and bracketing the doors.

They potted the miniature roses into the urns careful to make sure they had all the colors in each urn. From there, Agnetha had them put up the lamps. The lamps went in the empty spaces between the birch trees.

They were certainly pretty. The bases had rearing horses and the posts went up to two spirals holding up three round white glass globes. There were also new lamps to go on the stable, the temple building, the hay dryer, inn, and around the house. And hanging globe lamps for the wine cave. More globe lamps of different sizes were strung in the glade of birch trees over the reflecting pool and along the waterfall. One would think that would mean no lamps needed to go alongside them, but one would be wrong. There were lamps midway between the urns bracketing the benches and the urns on the corners. And there was a lamp for them middle of each broad step as urns got the prime spots on the ends for the waterfall.

They also put lamps between the bridge and the stable.

Once they had the lamps placed, Agnetha showed them how to plant the lavender rose vines at the base of them and trained them to go up, wrap around the horse and up the post to hang off the spirals. She called the climbing rose Angel Face. So, instead of having carved metal roses, they were wrapped in living color.

She also had them hang small baskets of roses from the spirals on the globe lamps on the sides of the buildings. Each basket also had a climber to climb up and over the spiral.

And with that, by some miracle, after over 20 days of hard work. The front gardens and the waterfall were done.

Agnetha, bless her, decreed that she had to make a few adjustments to her plans for the terrace and back gardens and that meant they would have a little break for a day or two from gardening.

So, they sat on the benches and sprawled, a couple feeding the ducks bread that was in no way good for them. But the ducks deserved a treat as much as they did.

“It’s beautiful,” Tyra breathed.

The Baroness came out of the manor and looked around. The stables gleamed. Roses bobbed on the faint breeze. The scent of lilacs and roses filled the air. Water made a pleasant background noise from the waterfall. The old woman looked ready to cry. She pressed her hands to her heart before wandering the gardens to touch the roses and breathe in the scents.

By the time she was done, it was like years had lifted off her face and for a moment, they could see the beauty she had been, a faded rose returning to bloom.

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

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

#star stable #star stable online #fanfc #star stable salt #completely harmless #jorvik reimagined #silverglade reimagined #many nods to ruth westside #my favorite chapter ending #onto the restaurant #6 chapters to fashion

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alltheworldsrpg-blog · 7 years

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WELCOME TO ROSWELL, AXON!!

ADMIN CAMERON: The balance between the thirst for freedom and fear of breaking the rules is one of the more difficult aspects of the skeleton, but I believe Axon really hits that middle-ground well. There’s this repetition in the writing as well which really gets across that vibe as well, it feels almost like an internal battle inside of them.

You’ve been accepted as THE CIRCUIT with the faceclaim of CHA HAKYEON. Please follow all rules and regulations as laid out by the Roswell Town Council, especially concerning any non pre-approved biologic. All UFO’s outside of city limits must be stickered or will be towed. Enjoy your stay in the first city of extraterrestrials.

OUT OF CHARACTER.

NAME/ALIAS + PRONOUNS:

Tony + He/him

AGE:

17!

TIMEZONE + ACTIVITY:

EST + I would say about a 5 or 6 out of 10. I have a job and currently am doing summer school work, but I should be able to keep a fairly stable activity level. Even when school starts again, I think it would be safe to put me at a 5.

TRIGGERS:

Removed for privacy.

ANYTHING ELSE?:

I’ve been role playing on Tumblr since, like… god. 2012? I’m in a few roleplays, but I miss being in a literate roleplay. I feel like my writing has gotten a bit weak and I want to take up something that could possibly help that.

IN CHARACTER.

SKELETON TITLE:

The Circuit

FULL NAME:

AX-00N:3 (Used name: Axon)

Utilizing the parts that make up the transition of messages in a human neuron as names, Axon makes the third attempt at crafting the android they are. Following project names DN-DRT:1 and SYN-PS:2.

GENDER + PRONOUNS:

Agender, they/them

Axon has no concept of gender, in their mind, they see themself as an “it”. An object, rather than an actual person.

SEXUAL + ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:

?? + ??

In addition to not having an idea to a gender, Axon doesn’t quite understand what it means to be in love or to lust after someone. They’ve never explored this concept of their personality, so giving them a concise label would not make any sense.

DATE OF BIRTH + AGE:

After years of developing and error, Axon was turned on for the first time on July 2nd, 2063, making them just shy of turning four years old. Their appearance, however, looks like a young man about the age of twenty-seven.

OCCUPATION:

Owned by the government and shown off as an example of sorts, Axon has no current “profession”. However, they can be found doing menial tasks throughout the offical building they are kept in.

FACECLAIM:

Cha Hakyeon

BIOGRAPHY:

You were created- you were born from the delicate hands of engineers slaving over android after android. There were so many failures in the past, so many chances to correct what had been wrong in the first place. Someone could say that hope was almost lost with how many times all your android brethren were dismantled and began anew. But then you happened. After all the hard work and careful planning. This is why you’re perfect- you see? You’re the pinnacle of what androids should be. You’re sheltered because you’re valuable, everything keeping you safe is beautiful because you’re just as beautiful. Don’t question it, the program reads, bold words engraved into everything you know. This is all you need to know, this is all you should know. You don’t have to know anything else because you’re not going to be a failure.

You’re perfect. You’re perfect. You’re… supposed to be perfect.

Then how come, for split milliseconds before you force your usual programing in your eyes again, you’re always unsure?

Everything you could ever need to be perfect is in your programing. You know languages, you know the people native to that language’s slang dating back several years. You know how to take apart machinery and understand how to piece it back together. You can paint beautiful, elegant landscapes that looked almost photocopied. Your voice, when you’re asked to sing, is angelic. You understand the combinations of chemicals and the interlocking of cells during reactions.

(But you also know what happens to androids when they step out of line. You aren’t supposed to know. You know what happens when the engineers find actions unsatisfactory. You aren’t supposed to know.)

All of this to show have marvelous this line of androids are. All of this yet you never get to use it.

Your home (your cage) is the place you spend most of your time. Despite how big it is, you know the exact layout of it because you’ve walked all the halls hundreds of times. You don’t get to walk outdoors and understand the limits of all your sensory receptors. You can see it all happen, you can see other androids come and go, but you cannot. (Because you’re perfect.) When you do, you’re kept with security. Hidden away in back of windowless cars with your power turned off. Kept safe until you’re in another closed room. You don’t understand how all of the advanced technology technology that makes up your body is supposed to feel. Conversations with you that deviate from normalcy are choppy, short and awkward. People only come to gawk and stare at what a marvel of human technology you are, they don’t really care for conversation. Media only goes so far to show you how humans act and respond to stimuli. You find it hard to empathize with people who express deep emotion right in front of your eyes. (You know what they feel. You register it. It’s because no one allows you to feel that you cannot understand.)

All you ever need to do is to please those engineers. The people who own you. Sometimes they ask you to paint for them, to sing or dance. Recite pages of law documents in full, unedited length. Sometimes all you have to do is clean the building. Whatever it is they want from you, you’ll do it. You don’t really have much of a choice, anyways. (You do, you always have a choice. You just know the consequences of making your own choices.)

Don’t question it, the program reads. (You wish you knew what it was.) If you ever do, don’t acknowledge it, ever. (Are you really so important that you must be kept in a box?) Forget you did. (How come you were made to look like a human, yet your interactions with them are so limited?) Tell no one. (Why can’t you be like all the other androids? Why are you so bland and boring? You have no history. You just exist.) The program screams to alert the engineers. (You wish you could escape, sometimes.)

You’re perfect and you can’t let anyone, not a soul, not a circuit, know that you wish someone else stole the burden. So you’re going to lock away all these thoughts behead miles of encryption. When they surface again, repeat the process. Lengthen the password. Scramble the numbers, letters, Make the file corrupt. Smile and nod at you creators and people watching in awe when context requests for you to.

You’ve gotten very good at pretending like you don’t wish life meant more than being what you’re told to be.

MUSING + HEAD-CANONS.

HEAD-CANONS:

1. Axon is very fond of classic human entertainment. They like watching television shows and movies, reading only news articles and studying the history of Earth. Among this crave to understand more and more comes one of Axon’s most beloved hobbies. Listening to music. Sound is something that Axon enjoys. They tend to sit very still whilst engineers run amok, trying to fix issues. They take in all the noises and words spoken. Because of this affinity, they adore music. They have collected a hard drive’s worth of songs from any genres they can find. Pop, metal, folk, electronic and idol songs. When they get down time, they can be found enjoying these songs.

2. It say Axon is stifled would be an understatement. But all the coddling and supervision has left them with a constant fear that they are being watched. Even when left alone, completely alone. Axon will police themself and avoid all contact with windows or doors, for fear that someone ison the other side just waiting for them to mess up.

3. Something that Axon wishes they could have, because their human interaction is so limited, is a pet. They appear to be rather fond of rodents. Rats, specifically. They are frequently found watching animal documentaries about rats and mice with a look of wonder on their face.

4. In addition to the previously stated fear, Axon is also terrified of failure and disappointment. After constantly being told they are a perfect android for four whole years, the thought of anyone finding out they have secret, unperfect desires and thoughts petrifies them. They will do anything to keep their dirty secret a secret from everyone.

PLOTS + CONNECTIONS:

I’d like to see Axon finally get their wish, be the method leading up to it good or bad, and be able to leave the watchful eye of people who are supposed to make sure they stay where they’re supposed it. The reason why they come off as so bland and uninteresting is because they don’t really know who they are as a person. Their personality, for the most part, is blank.

I want them to interact with other androids and humans to build this sort of sheltered jealousy they harbor toward them. There’s a lot that could happen with this, aside from jealously. They could form friendships, enemies, find people they admire, ect. But because they’re kept to a very strict schedule by the officials who own them, very rarely will they leave the building. These people would all have to be coming in to visit.

WRITING SAMPLE:

Removed for privacy.

ETC:

It may not be totally fleshed out during the time of me submitting this, but Axon will have an inspiration blog: http://ax00n3.tumblr.com

#accepted.#the circuit.

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