Discover Top Posts Tagged with #sandra fischer

Happy Birthday to Best Served Cold🎂🥳

I only just played the game in February, but I've been obsessed with it ever since…Here are some fanarts I commissioned from other artists!

(Don't know if it's appropriate for me to post them… I've added their credits on the images, but I don't think any of the artists have a Tumblr account.)

Spoiler alert for some of the pics in the back row!

*And sorry for my broken fandom English

#best served cold #peter wagner #hugo mertens #sandra fischer #best served cold game

Okay, no, I am still not normal about this, Sandra Fischer makes me insane.

Like. Okay. Stay with me here, alright?

You're fourteen. You're fourteen, and your mom is sick, and the only people who will hire a fourteen-year-old girl with no credentials are exactly the type of person you'd imagine. And you don't want to be a criminal. You don't. But your mom is sick, and someone has to pay the bills, so you bite back your hesitations and you tell yourself it's temporary. It's only temporary.

It's not temporary. You're fifteen, then sixteen, then twenty, and you can't get out and you can't say no and with every year that goes by you feel yourself slipping a little deeper into that rabbit hole. You live through shootouts. You learn how to hold a switchblade and you hope you never have to use it. But people don't get to leave this life. You know that now. This is your life now, and even if every day you remember that you didn't want to do this, that you don't want to do this, that you didn't want to be a criminal except now you are—well, there's nothing you can do about it.

You get half decent at making cocktails until the lieutenant of a crime boss hires you to do it, and it's the closest you've gotten to being normal in years. And you do like it, you like drink mixing and you like talking to people and you're not half bad at it either—but you’re still beholden to them. You’re still under their thumb. You'll always be looking over your shoulder, and you'll never be safe, and you never wanted this but it's as good as you're going to get.

Your friend switches sides and you stop speaking to each other, not because you want to but because you have to. You can't follow him, but even if you could you don't know if you'd have it in you, to walk away from this only to walk right back in.

Months later you get a note, with a date and a time and a warning. It's your friend's handwriting, and you never stopped trusting him, so you burn the paper and when you get back to the bar they've made a mess of your boss. It's gruesome. But you've cleaned blood off this floor before.

You mop him up. You take out the trash. And then you sit on one of the barstools and think what now?

And then you think, well. You know how to run a bar. And you've worked at this bar for a very long time. And the criminal underground is about to get awfully chaotic, and in all that, maybe they won't notice one place, falling between the cracks.

You close the bar for a week. You change the floorboards. You restock the place and when you open again you act like it’s always been yours.

And for a few, perfect years, there is peace. You build your bar into a place you can call home, and you try to make it a home for everyone else who comes by too—at least for as long as it takes to finish a drink. You chat with your customers and you get to know your regulars’ favorites and you think this might be what you want to do for the rest of your life.

You got out. You got out. You’re free. And on the bad nights, when you can’t sleep for nightmares, you close your eyes and you promise yourself you will never have to do that again.

And then prohibition happens. And it turns out the government doesn’t care how long you spent trying to get out of being a criminal, because they sign a law and suddenly you are one again, by no fault of your own.

You close the bar. What else can you do? You can’t afford to get in trouble. You promised yourself.

But that leaves you out of a job, so you have to figure something out. And maybe you try, for a bit, but it’s hard making ends meet—and then the man who owns your childhood bookshop offers you a job running his speakeasy, and you remember what it felt like to look forward to something. And maybe it’s a bad idea but you miss it, you miss it so badly it hurts, you miss the drinks and the people and we’re all equal when we walk through those doors. So you say yes.

He promises he’ll watch out for you if you keep out of trouble. So you do. You try, at least, and when the cop comes through the doors maybe you snipe at him but you cooperate, goddamnit. You take his clues and you coax information out of your customers and you put it all together on a corkboard in your room. He talks to you about community and justice and you think he might actually mean it. And maybe when you slide your notebook across the bar counter—maybe part of you is almost proud of what you’ve done.

The cop comes back into your bar smiling, and then he arrests you for running an illegal speakeasy anyway. And the person who you knew as a kid, who you thought was kind, who you trusted—he throws you under the bus without a second thought.

You spend a year in prison, and when you get out, you can’t sleep without a knife under your pillow and you have nothing to your name. You’re right back at square one, except now it’s more like square zero because you’ve been convicted officially, now, and no one will take a second look at you. You look for other options and you don’t find them.

You don't want to be a criminal. You don’t. You promised yourself. But someone has to pay the bills.

And at that point, when every miracle you’ve been lucky enough to get has been torn down by someone else’s cowardice, when you do the one thing you swore you’d never do again, when you know with every step you are walking back into a life you don’t want to live but you can’t find any other choice—no wonder you jump straight to violence. No wonder you don’t give them a chance.

After all, they took yours away.

#i am FROTHING at the MOUTH #best served cold #sandra fischer #best served cold game #ig this is meta?#meta #my meta #nell don't look #my ability to be normal about this woman lasted about until i thought for five minutes about the fact that she got out #and from there it was just. no saving me from this one #GOD she makes me insane #best served cold spoilers