Your eyes were glazed over as you hummed along to whatever song your friends had put on, peering through the smoke filled room you spotted a face that you’d never seen before.
“Who’s that?” You nudged your best friend. She explained in between bong hits that he was a friend of her boyfriend’s, someone from his work. “Is it the pot or is he literally the most gorgeous person you’ve ever seen?"
"It’s the pot.” Your bestfriend snorted, but you were positive that it wasn’t the pot. He ran his hand threw his blonde hair and sipped from a bottle of beer. His long fingers wrapping around the bottle with ease, you could see him fiddling with the ring on his pinky finger.
"God y/N, take a picture for fucks sake it’ll last longer!“ Your bestfriends drunk boyfriend hollered from across the room, the blondes head turned towards yours and you wished that the smoke could hide the evident blush on your cheeks
"Shit..shit shit shit..” You mumbled as he started walking over towards you, the baggy tshirt he was wearing, hanging off his broad shoulders billowed as he walked. He said nothing, he simply smirked and took a seat next to you, leaning back on his hands and putting the empty beer bottle on the table beside him. You noticed the joint behind his head and smiled to yourself. Without warning his hand was on your thigh and he was leaning in towards you, you could smell the cigarette smoke radiating off of him. His hot breath hitting your neck, making you twitch.
"Got a light princess?“ He whispered, you fumbled with your purse and pulled out your favourite blue lighter.
"My lucky lighter, don’t bust it.” You warned and he chuckled, his laugh rough and raspy from all the smoking you guessed.
"Wouldn’t dream of it sweet cheeks.“ He took the joint out from behind his ear and stuck it in between his perfect pink lips. "I’m Luke by the way.” He spoke with the joint still in mouth, he lit it finally and inhaled, blowing the smoke up to the ceiling. “And you’re Y/N. The one who wanted a picture of me if I’m not mistaken.” He said and took another hit.
"I-uh-“ you stuttered and he raised his eyebrow at you.
"Well?” He shot you a cocky grin and handed you the joint.
"I was just staring cause I’ve never seen you at one of these things before.“ You lied and he hummed, you looked up into his blue eyes, his were pupils extremely dilated.
"Whatever you say baby.” You were too high to protest against the pet names he was giving you. You just started to laugh, watching him raise his eyebrows at you.
"Do you get your eyebrows waxed?“ You giggled even more and he just stared at you. "Cause I totally need the number of the place you feel them done at.” Your giggled turned into a full on belly laugh, eventually he joined in and crushed the joint under his boot.
"If you must know, my friend does them for me. Just the middle so I don’t have a unibrow!!“ He protested, only making you laugh more. "Stop laughing.” He pouted and nudged you.
"Oh shit I have to go, I have work tomorrow!“ You checked your phone and sprung up from the floor. “Lighter please Luke.” You stuck your hand out and instead of the familiar blue lighter there was an orange one with a phone number on it.
“I quite like this lighter and obviously this lucky lighter worked, because you met me…so how about we trade? I know you’ll want it back so that way you’ll just have to see me again.” He smirked and lit a cigarette.
What Holmes and Watson say about each other’s looks. Compliments ahead.
Retired Colourman - Holmes about Watson: With your
natural advantages, Watson, every lady is your helper and accomplice
we go: Holmes compliments Watson on his looks.
Read-Headed League – Watson
about Holmes: All the afternoon he sat in the stalls
wrapped in the most perfect happiness, gently waving his long, thin
fingers in time to the music, while his gently smiling face and his
languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike those of Holmes the sleuth-hound
Watson once admires aquiline features. Guess who else has them?
Man With The Twisted Lip – Watson about Holmes: In the
dim light of the lamp I saw him sitting there, an old briar pipe
between his lips, his eyes fixed vacantly upon the corner of the
ceiling, the blue smoke curling up from him, silent, motionless, with
the light shining upon his strong-set aquiline features.
quotes does not need explaining.
still wants to tell me that they were never attracted to each other
in the books?
A creature walked into Amaimon’s house and started down at him. He was really tall, had long arms, long fingers and long legs. On the surface it looked like he was a shadow but underneath he was solid. It stared at Amaimon and tilted its head.
“…Can I help you?” he asked, lowering his fake glasses slightly and inspecting the creature.
Note: The beginning is
set directly after the events of On the Run.
Did I say that I need you?
Did I say that I want you?
Oh if I didn’t I’m a fool you see
No one knows this more than me
Breathe, Willie Nelson
The two of you hadn’t actually held hands in a long time.
You hadn’t quite noticed until now. Well, you had noticed but never before had
the thought hit you so hard your chest hurt and your eyes tingled as they did
right before you are about to cry.
The pressure of her hand on yours is light. You can
remember a time when those long fingers intertwined with yours. Now they simply
hold you loosely. You look up at her. She looks down. Smiles. You smile. Her
grip tightens. Your heart soars.
When you get back home no one knows quite what to do. You
let go of both their hands slowly, but you don’t really want to. You don’t want
to have to go back to your room and lay there, with that opened can of worms,
too late to close, infesting you.
Everything is quiet before Steven speaks up. “We should
watch a movie.” He’s smiling.
“I don’t know. It’s going to be your bedtime very soon
Steven,” Pearl says.
Pearl looks over at you. You feel taken away for a second
by the fact that she would look to you for an answer. “Sounds fine to me,” you
say. “Just today though,” this time directed at Steven.
“Yes! Amethyst come pick out a movie with me,” Steven
says, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you upstairs to his bedroom. Steven
pulls out his DVD collection and you can hear Pearl making popcorn in the
kitchen. The two of you go through the movies and you try and offer input, but
in reality you don’t really care what you watch and end up agreeing to Steven’s
preferred choice. Pearl comes upstairs with the popcorn and you start the
movie. Each of them is sitting on either side of you. It feels pretty good. Not
great, not yet, but good.
About halfway through, Steven leans his head on your
shoulder. You feel as if you could sob.
When the movie ends Pearl scoops Steven up from his
position sleeping against you and lays him down in bed. You watch her as she
pulls the duvet up against him and runs her hand through his curls. It is such
an easy loving gesture.
You both go down stairs and before you leave to your room
Pearl stops you. You see worry in her eyes. You’re not sure whether you want
the attention or not. On one hand it was attention, on the other it was just a
constant reminder of weakness. “Will you be okay?” she whispers.
You act strong. “Yeah. Why not?”
She looks at you and you know she doesn’t believe you but
she lets you go anyways. You wonder if you should have just said no.
In the middle of the night she finds you, hidden, sobbing.
You wonder how she found you. You’ve cried before and no one has heard you, no
one would. Maybe she came looking for you for something. Maybe she just knew.
She picks you up in her arms and sits you down in her
lap. She holds you with those thin arms; thin but strong enough to pick you up.
She just holds you as you sob into her neck and hair.
Not a word is exchanged.
She looks so broken and distraught.
The moment she and Garnet had unfused, you noticed the
tears in her eyes.
“Don’t cry Pearl,” Garnet had said as she walked away,
Steven following not far behind.
You stood back to make sure Pearl is going too. Instead
you were met with the sight of her sobbing. It was messy and hiccup filled and
it made you hurt to see her so broken.
You let her cry for a little bit, just watching.
She then turned to you, wiping her eyes, and said in a
broken smile, “Lets go get Peridot!”
You stared for a few seconds. Then you pulled your whip
out of your gem. “Okay.”
The two of you ran to catch up with Garnet and Steven and
you considered taking her hand. But you didn’t.
And now that you are all back home, Garnet off in her
room and Pearl cleaning the dishes. You watch her while eating at the kitchen
counter, Steven right next to you.
To some degree you wonder what Steven thinks of this all,
seeing his mothers fight like this. Seeing Pearl so broken. She was supposed to
be the role model. But then again you had let Steven see nasty parts of
yourself and he had accepted and hugged you just the same.
Once Pearl finished washing the dishes she said she was
going to go tinker with Peridot’s pod and see if there was a way she could
track her without the warps. She disappeared into her room. You follow.
You go from your room, through one of the puddles on the
floor, to Pearl’s room.
You find her crying.
When she sees you she is bewildered, a blushing mess. She
probably didn’t want to be caught crying. Not again.
You want to be there for her as she had been, has always
been, there for you. You lean back on your heels, shrugging slightly, not
meeting her eyes, as you open your arms up. She launches into your embrace.
Her grip is strong and you can feel her shoulders heaving
with each sob. Her hands tangle in your hair and you wonder if you should just
tell her. Right there and then, after all these years.
she whispers over and over. “Amethyst,
stroke her hair. “Shhh. I got you P. I got you.”
Dawn and Marianne sat on the edge of Dawn’s bed in her room full of sunshine. Dawn was clearly nervous as she sat there twisting her long, delicate fingers. Dawn being nervous did not happen often and that made Marianne a bit worried.
Dawn took a deep breath and finally whispered as if the walls had ears, “I wanted to ask you about…you know…”
Marianne raised an eyebrow at her sister. “I know?”
Dawn nodded vigorously, “Yeah, you know..” Her eyes got really huge and bright as she tried to communicate what she meant through just staring at her sister.
“Okay Dawn I must be suffering from a bad case of ‘I have no idea what you are talking about’…just tell me!”
Dawn blushed so red that she thought for a moment maybe Dawn had a fever. “I wanted to ask you about…the..thing.”
Marianne stared at her sister until she finally understood. “OooOh! Sex!” Dawn squealed and smacked her hands to her cheeks as if she were trying to hide and hissed.
“Yes. I keep thinking that Sunny and I are…well…you know…getting ready..but I…I need help! I don’t know what to do!!”
Marianne snorted a laugh and Dawn smacked her on the arm. “Marianne!!! I’m serious!!”
Marianne grinned pressing her lips together to try not to laugh. “Sorry. So what do you want to know?”
Dawn’s eyes became even bigger which Marianne found to be impressive. “I don’t know! I know the mechanics but…”
Marianne smiled at her little sister. “Dawn don’t worry about it. You love Sunny right? Then just let things happen naturally. You know how it works? Well, let everything else just happen.”
Dawn chewed on her bottom lip. She still looked concerned but Marianne pulled her into a hug. “Dawn, when you’re ready, it will feel right. Don’t rush it. I promise Sunny is nervous too, but you both don’t have to be in any sort of hurry.”
Dawn hugged her sister back.
“ Thanks. I love you Marianne.”
Marianne hugged her tightly and kissed the top of her sisters head. “I love you too even if you drive me crazy.”
«[Joshua’s] long fingered hands swept gracefully over the keys when [Rose] could see them, and she almost stopped breathing at the thought of those hands playing her like they played that piano, with delicacy and loving precision.
He came to the end of the song and she thought to say something, but his fingers never stilled. He played a modulating chord, a short chromatic run, two more chords, and then drifted into something she didn’t recognize. It sounded, all the same, like an apology in music, and she crept closer just to see if she could understand.
“I’m just making it up as I go along,” he said, softly. So he knew she was there, after all. […] “Can’t find anything that rhymes with ‘stupid’.”
“How about 'I won’t do it again’?” she suggested.
“Well, it doesn’t rhyme, but it’s true.” His hands stilled. Then he reached over, closed the piano lid, and turned to look at her. “I am so sorry.”»
With one slender, long-nailed finger, the mage persuaded his spoon to
gently stir the cup of tea resting only inches away from him on the
burnished oak table he was leaning on. He gracefully furled his fingers
around the porcelain handle and brought the vessel to his lips while his
smouldering eyes fixated on the placid ambiance of the woods outside
the nearby window. It was a modest, but beautiful homestead his brother
had built only a few hundred trees away from the quiet Elrendar river. A fine tribute to what the Emberfell estate once was- it’s
predecessor’s remains lost in the atrocity of what remained the dead
scar. Felo'thore leaned closer to the window, studying the metal emblem
on the curtain chain he was sure his father had forged. Was it too soon
for him to have returned?
The Emberfells were once a prosperous
house from which blossomed some of Quel'thala’s finest skilled
tradesmen. Its prosperity waned with every war, for a merchant house,
no matter how prestigious, could not be exempt from the draft. Faced
with repeated tragedy, the name Emberfell became worth little more than
the fine weapons it’s last remaining heir could forge. Rhandelen
Emberfell was the last thread of the family’s lineage. It was a house no
longer after he married the Silvermoon Spellbreaker, Selea Ashalanar,
and her family disowned her for doing so. She was to be betrothed to a
noble man, but instead she acted on her heart’s desire for the talented
Emberfell blacksmith. In year 524, Selea took a leave
from her position in guard to bear Rhandelen twin sons who would go on
to survive the fall of Quel'thalas, while their parents, sadly, would
not. A talented mage and a steadfast warrior were left with little to
understand about a name that held no status or meaning anymore after the
Felo'thore ran his thumb over the emblem’s
surface, flakes of earth still present in the tiniest crevasses of the
design. A letter “E” carved in a decorative typeface was embossed with
the fingers of a stylized flame. It was the same emblem that appeared
embossed into every item an Emberfell crafted and it was definitely his
father’s work. The man had an unmistakable style. The artifact peaked
the mage’s curiosity, causing him to stand up and decide to search the
rest of the house for more nostalgia. Thordemar had been deployed and
Felo'Thore was reluctantly allowed to stay and care for the warrior’s
quiet dwelling in the woods. The mage was willing to make an opportunity
out of the situation as his stoic composure would not be threatened by
his sibling’s pressing judgement.
The bottom of his robes
fluttered as he pressed slowly through the hallway. What looked to be
Thordemar’s artwork cluttered the walls. Imagery of plants and various
creatures graced the wrapped canvases and pinned parchments, splashed
about the wall in a bulletin fashion. Several blueprints and concept
drawings for shields plastered a sizable swatch of wall. Gorgeous arches
and curves and little mathematical notes littered each one. There was
also quite a sizable swath of portraiture on the wall. One drawing, half
covered, caught his eye and upon lifting it’s covering, the mage’s
sharp lips pressed together. It was a very intimate portrait of a
Sin'dorei woman which brought about a minute-long wide-eyed stare from
Felo'Thore. The mage lowered the above covering and moved onward. “Well
then, Thor. Impressive,” he said with a flurry of eye-blinking, having
never expected that from his reserved brother. The mage chuckled a bit
to himself as he sauntered into the modest parlor.
heels once, he vanished from the spot he stood and reappeared in front
of the hearth, which had been constructed with careful hand-masonry.
Eye-level with the shelf above it, Felo'Thore studied the several pieces
of fine blacksmithing Thor had appeared to be collecting. With two
fingers, he swiftly motioned a beautiful hilt piece from it’s resting
place, and he levitated it close to him- rotating it to see all of it’s
angles. It looked to have been a work in progress as the leather
braiding on the handle was only a quarter finished. Was that…..his?
The memory flooded the mage’s mind but did not affect his stern
composure. He released the levitation and allowed the piece to drop in
to his soft palm. It came to him now. It was one of the first pieces he
ever made in blacksmithing training with his father. Felo'thore’s gaze
averted from the object in his hand to the one that had been placed next
to it on the shelf. With his free hand, he motioned it forward as well,
floating carefully into his grasp. It was also a forged hilt piece, but
this one was finished and embellished with finely carved details,
projecting through the metal as antlers would from a stag. The mage’s
memory could not deny it was in fact Thordemar’s piece. Felo'thore held
the two sword hilts together, one attempted at best and the other, above
and beyond expectation, was a stark reminder of the men’s contrasting
interests in life. He was not envious nor jealous of his brother’s
ability to regurgitate their father’s fine work. The mage had long ago
accepted that his talents lay in other ways of manipulating the flame.
Felo'Thore placed both pieces back upon the shelf, a tiny hint of a grin
creasing his sharp lips. He held his attention to the piece he had
unfinished so long ago and muttered, “Why would you keep that thing,
brother? I was so terrible at it.”
Felo'Thore turned himself,
acknowledging the portrait of the late king on the wall he had observed
his first night there and he proceeded to the stairs. They were a work
of art themselves, each lip decoratively carved with foliage native to
the land. A sense of pride filled his chest and it spilled into his face
as he ascended each platform. Reaching the top, his expression fell
flat with uncertainty and temptation. Aside from a small table with a
lantern on it, the only thing in front of him was an oak door with the
words, “STAY OUT. This means YOU!” and a little drawing of a face
scribbled onto a parchment nailed into the door’s surface. The face was
an unmistakable caricature of Felo'Thore. The mage scoffed for a moment,
narrowing his eyes at the drawing’s exaggeratedly pointy nose. It had
been eleven years since he last saw Thordemar, and sixty since he last
knew the man. His curiosity overshadowed any fear of Thordemar finding
out he had taken a peek. Just a peek, nothing more. Placing a lanky hand
on the steel doorknob, Felo'Thore pressed onward. The door was
unlocked, perhaps his brother knew he would snoop anyway. After all, had
the situation been opposite, Felo'Thore was certain Thordemar wouldn’t
think twice about it either.
The bedroom that Felo'Thore stood in
was open, spacious, and seemed to extend to the perimeter of the ground
floor, which was sizable for a loft. Rays of sun filtered by the leaves
tumbled through the two windows, illuminating the room with warm light.
There was a bed, sheets left unmade, and a short dresser carved from a
trunk of an eversong oak. On the other end of the room, there was a
bulging closet, which seamed to be in a bit of disarray. Save for a few
decorative armor pieces resting on a shelf and nearby mannequin, it
appeared as though the rest of Thordemar’s armory was kept somewhere
Felo'Thore stepped closer to the dresser, to study the
items strewed about on top of it. A fine-sable brush rested next to
several hair ornaments both simple and decorative, with a large mirror
held to the wall in front of them. A dusty leather-jacketed book lied
adjacent. The mage flipped open its cover, discovering some personal
ramblings and drawings in it’s first few pages. He quickly closed it and
turned away. Felo'Thore was nosy but he wasn’t low enough to snoop
through a diary of some sorts. He moved away from the dresser and spent
some time walking around the bedroom, admiring things it seemed
Thordemar cherished. Was that?–It was! The mage ran his long-nailed
fingers over the ornate metal decorating what was his father’s mantle.
The ornamental shoulder pieces were polished and treated as if they had
been worn recently, a deep crimson cloak tumbled from underneath of
them. His father was a burly man, and there was no way the mage’s
slender shoulders would ever fit them properly. Nonetheless, it brought
Felo'Thore some comfort in seeing Thodemar had made use and preserved
After several minutes of admiring what Thordemar’s room had
to hold, the mage made his way out, closing the door behind him and
making his way back down the steps. He was positive there were more
hidden treasures he didn’t know about littered throughout the house, but
the few he found had already inspired his interest in his family’s role
in weaponry production in Quel'Thalas. Felo'Thore stepped outside, his
eyes closing briefly with an inhale of the forest’s atmosphere. He
plotted gingerly away from the doorstep and admired the exterior of
Thordemar’s woodland home. The mage brought his hands to his chest and
spoke to the building, “Why, brother? Why do you conceal such
talent?….What have you to hide?” Felo'Thore’s expression quickly grew
into a frustrated one, casting his feelings onto the building as if
Thordemar was standing there. Felo'Thore understood little about why his
brother seemed to bury any value of the family name with their parents.
The man was incredibly talented and yet, he didn’t seem to value it
more than a hobby to keep him busy off the battlefield.
tossed his hair with a flick of his wrist and drew an oval shape in the
air from which light burst seconds after. “If you will not put our
emblem back on the finest weaponry in Quel'Thalas, than I will!” Out
from the portal of light, stepped a radiant purple paw, followed by the
hulking lustrous form of an armored leopard, glittering with arcane
radiance. Felo'Thore clicked his heels twice, vanishing and reappearing
into the saddle on it’s back, with both of his legs tucked to one side.
“To Silvermoon!” he vocalized theatrically with the wave of his clawed
hand. The spectral beast let out a low rumble from it’s chest and surged
forward, the mage’s robe fluttering with it’s canter. He was off to
find out if there was anything the city could bring to light about how forgotten his family’s craft had become.
get your friends fingered, they will thank you, give you favors for favors, kiss your ass and face it.. if you dont, they will probably make fun of you and defriend you on all social media (peer pressure)
Fingered was made by myself and james id, features the music of ridiculon and narration/screams/moans by matthias bossi. the game was made over the course of a few months with the humble goal of creating a living breathing work of art that would unite the people of the world and make us gods.
if you want more info on fingered or would like to get in touch with us for whatever reason email me at edmund at super meat boy dot com!
as some of you know fingered is a smaller game and a smaller game calls for less music… but thats not how ridiculon rolls!
no no no, see matthias and jon saw this 2 track game situation as an opportunity to create a whole album inspired by the game itself! why the hell didnt we just put these new tracks i the game you say!? because no one asked us that till just now!
heres some info from the horse himself!
All hail! Never before has your gaming experience been so lushly accompanied. If you like slow, fast, sad, rainy, sour, unsettling, restrained, cinematic landscapes, then look no further than the Fingered OST!
Thanks to Ed and James for their enthusiasm and total commitment to wrongness. As always, there is a bonus track for those willing to pay a bit more. You will enjoy a nearly 8 minute bonus masterpiece IF YOU PAY $1.49 NOW for this soundtrack! Ed McMillen wrote the lyrics for the bonus, and it’s sung by the legendary Chandler Travis. Thanks favorite people on the Earth! Get weird with it!