#is it strange that out of those two i absolutely view Chase is the one who would voice out his wishes& feelings first
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i've never even seen the show First is from and yet i love your First x Chase Young ship so i have to ask. If anything did HAPPEN between the two of them what sort of emotions would they be dealing with afterwards?
Wow, this is such an unexpectedly nice compliment for me? Cause it means, you are a Chase/XS fan, who saw my crack ship and went 'I don't know what's going on, but I enjoy your silly little ship, funny crossover shipper.' and you know what? It's very nice and made me happy. ;) Thank you!
And well who said nothing ever happened between them lol IF anything happened between those two (be it emotional or physical ;3), their default way of dealing it would be DENIAL DENIAL DENIAL, in similar but also in slightly different ways.
Chase Young is a man who seemingly doesn't do softer emotions. Any possible feelings and reactions who could be attributed to him actually caring about First Ninja, are re-labeled in his head into him doing all of this because he is trying to manipulate First on his side (and he totally still is, but he also now wants to feed that man, talk with him during long evenings and perhaps take a nap with him, you know, disgusting cute domestic stuff amidst oh i dunno- taking over the world and being evil together. >;))
First Ninja on the other hand, is very much aware that for things to go this far means that he is absolutely having emotions about Chase. But he is also in denial, because how can he betray all of his moral standing and beliefs, if he starting to care about someone like Chase Young? So he shoves it so far deep, he is in denial about denial, and turns completely blind to anything even resembling them being something more than opponents who tentavely respect one another.
#que?#ninja showdown#my immortal soul#is it strange that out of those two i absolutely view Chase is the one who would voice out his wishes& feelings first#if only because Chase Young isn't one to deny himself things he really wants#(of course he has to realize that he wants them in that way first and that might take awhile)#and First Ninja is the one who WOULD deny himself anything just because it doesnt line up with his responsibilities and morals#even if he most likely will be the one to realize his emotions first. he also would have hard time believing sincerity of Chase's feelings#a very strange juxtaposition between the one who puts himself first and the one who never puts himself first#also not gonna lie. I wrote out. like several paragraphs about my headcanons about physical intimacy between those two &how they view it#but than I realized that its probably TMI for an anon ask that didnt ask for that xD so i decided not to subject you to my rants &deletedit#but still sorry
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Maybe I need it- 141 +König
Based on a request:
hi!! im here to make a request!!
ignore this request if it makes u uncomfortable!! milf/dilf reader x 141 + konig or whoever u want!! maybe they had a few kids from an old marriage or adopted a few children and love them dearly!! then along comes 141 seeing sweet n caring mom/dad readers when they’re on break from their messy and chaotic lives in the military!! seeing readers being so loving and gentle towards their children makes them realize how much they need that domesticity in their lives <3 just an idea hehehe
F!Reader, Milf!reader, Mum!Reader, fluff
A/N: Bc it is race weekend here in Silverstone...I had to include F1 into this...sorry (not really)
You are a mother to 3 precious little kids. After finding out through your last marriage you wouldn't be able to conceive, your husband divorced you and you adopted these three kids later after the divorce was finalised. They have become your absolute world, always the little giggles around base, soldiers have grown fond of your children, always bringing them little toys for when they visit base or asking if they can go the football field and play some friendly game with them. All under your supervision of course. When you made the move to a new base, you found it hard for your kids to visit, always keeping them off base unlike in the previous one.
The men you work with know you have children and are a single mum. They can walk into your office and immediately spot at least three pictures of your children. None of them, or at least him, cared to even think of having kids, considering his job and what he lives through, he'd never want his own mind to ruin something that is so precious and innocent.
This past week, Laswell granted them all a small break. He of course went back to his flat, the same old empty flat, nothing special to hold. By morning on a Sunday, you and your children were sitting on the grass of the local public park, where they'd host watch parties for F1. He had heard about it, but never took much part in anything like that until he saw you four. Two of your children at your sides, tiny hands on your back as the youngest rested on your lap, talking some nonsense that made you chuckle. It was a sight for sure.
-------
Price:
he was the one who said didn't want anything romantic because he wouldn't want anyone to mourn for him (thinks he doesn't deserve it)
The second he saw you, something in him stirred. You were an attractive mum, always happy and interested in what your children had to say/do/show you.
He watched from afar, how this view from afar looked like those romantic movie scenes.
When he saw you and your children cheer on for some driver and how happy the four of you looked, that's when he wanted to approach.
Realised he needed this, the sense of a home, a wife and three kids he can spoil rotten. It was a hidden dream of his, wanted to wake up Saturday mornings, go to the kitchen and find you there, wrap his arms around you and kiss your neck, kids running to the both of you.
Maybe he was meant for more than being a captain, perhaps he could be a dad and a husband, go to races or take your kids carting, have some activity where he can show how much of a dad he is.
Gaz:
Always ran away when he saw signs of love, never needed any reason to come home, and always had his head on the next mission.
He has gotten so used to being a soldier and when he saw you, it was a weird feeling, he wanted that, no, he needed it. He sat far, not paying much attention to the sport on the screen but you four, how good you looked in a cap, wanted to give you his for a change.
Wants to sit on the grass, chase the kids when one would run off, hear your giggles, and have a picnic. Wants to listen to your kids ramble on and on over Ferrari or listen to you when you'd make a strategy for them to overtake the Red Bulls.
It was strange, for the first time in his adult life, he didn't want to run from it, wanted to hold it and never let go of it, wanted to have someone. Wanted to finally settle down, and marry the girl that makes him this excited to be so...domestic
When your kids would jump and chant some driver's name, he would chuckle, what a different life you and he lived. He would wake up to new missions, and you'd wake up to three little kids. He had a cold and boring breakfast, you warm pancakes and little dinos on the table, apple or orange juice as you poured the syrup.
He needed that change, wanted a warm kiss, trip over some car toys and then wake up early to watch some 20 guys go in complicated circles as your three children and you yelled at the tv, "C'mon, you could've used that DRS to your advantage!" you'd stand up. He'd just watch and admire.
Soap:
He is a player, always jumping from warm arms to cold blankets.
He is a young lad, doesn't need to be thinking of a girl to wife or where to live to give your kids a comfortable space to grow in. The second he sees you and your children, made him feel like he was missing something. A child in your arms as you try your best to split your time between your two children.
Maybe he wanted it? maybe he just found you attractive and seeing this side of you stirred something in him? He just can't be honest with himself.
He knows you are divorced, knows you give your kids all the attention you can give and what if he wanted that attention too? would it be bad if your kids had a stepdad?
Seeing how your figure didn't scream 'mum of three' made him want you more, made him want to move into a home, wake up Sundays and do this, sit on the grass and watch some people drive around, just wanted you and kids included.
Perhaps if he does move from where he is, he can for a second pretend he is a father, and make all the other men around jealous. He knows what he should do, but what if you don't need him?
König:
He wasn't a fan of the sport but he was bored and needed to just get out of his place. The AustrainGP was happening, of course, he would support the only team that was Austrian.
When he saw your kids wearing orange and cheering for Red Bull, that's when his mind wandered. What would it be of him if he had that?
Sundays with you four, cheering for the team every race weekend, watching your children jump when the drivers would win, watching you watch them, how in love you are with being a mother.
Maybe being a soldier isn't all he could be. Having you there, how lucky he'd be if he had a literal milf as his wife, how attractive you were in civilian clothes, how your kids proved you loved them, and maybe if he was lucky, he could also receive some of your love.
The way you always encouraged your children, gave them so much love and helped them pursue their dreams. Maybe he wanted to be a dad to them, on the weekends stay up and show them how to do things, build and help them destroy them all whilst having you by his side, kissing your cheek anytime he gets so excited.
A weekend full of giggles, cuddles, tea parties and dress-up time. A whole weekend where war, criminals, guns and power had no place in his home...your home. He now yearns for it.
Ghost:
(he is Terminator...y'know..the big buffy Russian guy)
of course, he wouldn't want a family, preferred it that way.
But when he saw you there, kids in arms or at arms reach, the way they clung to you, something deep in him wanted that. It was a scary thought for him to even have. Always finds his pleasure in some woman from time to time(we've seen the comics let's be real)
His mind wandered to Tommy and his family, how he would tell him it was time to settle down, and he'd just brush that off, maybe this was Tommy's sick way of haunting him, making him want a family.
Christmas dinners at your parents, him wearing something to impress them, wrapping paper scattered on the floor the morning of. You, on his lap, as you watched your children unwrap their gifts and how excited he'd be to play with them after breakfast.
Maybe after all the running he had done, life was ready to repay him, give him something to come home to. Fridays after picking the kids up from school, heading to Johnny's, drinks and laughter, kids messing with his vinyl collection, he told them to do that.
He wanted you the most, to wake up and have you wrapped in his arms, morning kisses and how he would have to give himself an extra five minutes to just cuddle you before heading to base. liked how you got all excited and smiled with your children, being a dad, maybe this would be what he needed. Being a husband, the best there could be.
A/N: Anyways, i really hope ya liked it!
Tags: @kiamewrites
#cod mw2#cod x reader#cod 141#ghost cod#cod#mw2 141#task force 141#mwii#141 x reader#141#cod ghost#cod mwii#cod modern warfare#cod soap#cod price#cod x you#call of duty mw2#modern warfare#modern warfare 2#mw2#cod fluff#cod gaz#cod könig#cod konig#cod x female reader#cod x y/n#cod x oc#cod men x reader#cod men#johnny soap mactavish
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Okay Salem my beloved two options for my req you do whichever scritches the brainrot best 💕
—Reader-insert/Kamukura Despair-era shenanigans (shippy? chaotic? hurt/comfort? angsty? up to you!) (Bonus points for bullying Servant/Nagito /hj)
—A oneshot for any OC you haven’t gotten to talk about (enough) on here :> I know you have an FMAB and a non-Rosalind fangan kiddo in particular; maybe one of those!
ily Salem thank youuuu :D
Jonnie my beloved you give me options but this is for YOU and I know you love Kamukura so I offer Despair-era shenanigans :> It's a rather..... specific idea but I hope it suffices nonetheless! 💕
Towa City—the most fucked-up city in this new fucked-up world.
So why, exactly, are you—a former investigator before everything went to shit—finding yourself heading into this fucked-up city? Easy. You’re chasing a phantom.
Not a literal phantom, of course; you’re tracking an individual who’s popped into and out of your radar for months now, showing up without fail at the preferred locations of every Remnant of Despair. You have a couple of buddies in what remains of the civilian-formed safety corps, and they had the misfortune of running into this phantom while on patrol once.
Their number of squadron members was cut in half that day, and the bastard apparently never lifted more than a finger.
You’re intrigued, of course, but you want to make sure this odd man never causes any more disasters.
And so, you’ve found your way to the newest circle of hell: Towa City.
Based on reports, the bridges connecting it to the mainland have since been destroyed, but that doesn’t stop you from commandeering one of the small motorboats remaining at the docks. Ripples in the water nearby alert you to the fact that your target had the same train of thought. You quickly check your supplies before absolutely hauling ass across the water.
As you approach, you’re greeted by a surprising lack of robotic killing machines. They had been the staple danger of Towa City, and you’d prepared several countermeasures against those beasts, but there’s nothing; not even so much as a single ball-sized bot. It doesn’t sit right with you.
(You don’t notice the long-haired man staring down at you from the bridge’s remaining supports, taking in your confusion.)
Nevertheless, you continue on your way, handgun at the ready just in case. As per your training, you follow every turned stone, every shifted pile of dirt, and every open door to track your target. You can’t help but feel pride at your skill and luck to make it this far, to get so close to this strange person.
(He’s moving too fast ahead of you for you to see him laying out the path.)
You climb flight after flight in this one building, all stones gone, all dirt replaced with concrete. The only thing that guides you now is the echoing footsteps above you, growing ever so steadily fainter.
(He takes care to make noisy steps for a change.)
The sound of a door alerts you to the phantom’s exit. Tenth floor—a penthouse suite, you think. You pursue, ready for another chase… or maybe a fight. After all, no one really knows anything about this person; you could be dealing with the former Ultimate Taekwondo Master for all you know.
(You are. Among other things.)
You’re surprised to see your target standing perfectly still within the living area, back to you as they look out of the window toward the skyline. There’s no indication of hearing your entrance, and it unsettles you once more. Now significantly closer, you can reasonably identify them as male, or at least male-presenting. His long black hair drapes over his back and partially obscures his pristine suit from your view, and it’s almost annoyingly perfect and smooth. He stands tall, posture simultaneously relaxed and proper in an effortless manner.
He’s a bit of a vision, you catch yourself thinking.
Focus.
Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, you take careful steps forward. One hand holds your gun, which is loaded in case of the worst, and the other delicately pulls your singular remaining pair of handcuffs from your belt.
Thirty feet from him. Twenty. Ten. He makes no move to run, no move at all, so you hesitantly holster the gun so you can have both hands at your disposal.
Just as you step within reach, he turns, and you manage to block a knifehand strike with your forearms. It catches you by surprise, but what combat training remains in your head took action just in time to save your ass from being knocked unconscious.
You have only that brief moment to take in his face—chiseled, neutral, objectively handsome. Intense red eyes stare you down, but they’re not angry. They’re not anything.
His head tilts, and after a beat, he opens his mouth to say something.
He doesn’t get the chance.
You manage to grab hold of the hand he’d used to attack you, and one side of the handcuffs is shoved on.
Click.
That’s when he moves, tugging the caught wrist back and attempting to shove you back by the chest, but you’ve got a vice grip on the other cuff.
“Come on,” you growl, keeping still the hand you just caught as you fumble to grab and get the other under control. “Don’t make me use my fucking taser—”
Click.
“AHA! Oh…” You move back just a hair, staring in disbelief at your target’s wrist… and yours.
In the confusion, you’d gotten it half-correct. You’d handcuffed him, all right. Just… to yourself.
Well, shit.
“This is awkward.”
He stares, thoroughly unimpressed. But he makes no move to escape.
“What, can’t you just get out of it?”
Red eyes blink back at you.
“…Thanks for the input.” You sigh. “Dammit, why couldn’t this have just gone the way I’d planned? Fine, let’s just… save both of our prides. I’ve got the key.”
Using your free hand—the right one—you reach into your small utility bag attached to your belt and grab the single steel key from within. Even as you hold it up to show him, your target continues to just stare. It’s unnerving, but at least he isn’t trying to kill you. That’s a first, and a welcome one at that.
However, despite your training and ability to lock and unlock handcuffs blindfolded, the edge of the key catches on a ridge it shouldn’t, and the dumb thing slides out of your hand and onto the floor. You ignore the burning in your cheeks and squat to retrieve it.
Just as you reach for the key, he swiftly kicks it with the toe of his shoe, sending it flying an impressive distance across the floor and under the penthouse’s oven.
You stare in disbelief at where it disappeared. Then you look up at him.
How the fuck is he able to look so smug while still remaining expressionless?
“The hell is your deal?” You push yourself up and waggle your cuffed wrists in front of him. “Unless you know how to get out of handcuffs without a key—which I don’t—then we’re stuck. Is that what you want?”
Blink.
“Or you could just not talk to me. That works.”
God, you wish you still had a team.
“You’re a detective,” he finally says, tone as flat as his expression. “You don’t appear to be related by blood to the Kirigiri line, and the lack of a ring on your hand implies that you are not married.”
The analysis throws you for a loop momentarily as you process it. “The Kirigiris? I mean, I know of them, but no, we’re not related. I’m just a private investigator from Tokyo. I came here to—”
“To track and apprehend me,” your target finishes, “someone you could not figure out. Someone who remained just out of reach. Now you have time to do so, and I will be able to do the same.”
“You make it sound like you planned this.”
He doesn’t refute it.
The sound of approaching vehicle engines alerts you to the presence of someone else outside. It’s faint, given your height at the tenth floor, but you’re still able to classify them as military-grade. Probably those Future Foundation people. You wonder what they’re doing in this city.
…You wonder if they can get you out of the cuffs.
Your target narrows his eyes at you, as if reading your thoughts. “That would be a terrible idea.”
“Good thing I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“If you surrender to the Future Foundation, it is quite likely that they will consider you an accomplice of mine.”
“Oh please, I’m a licensed detective, they have no reason to distrust me—” Now it’s your turn to blink at him. “Wait, did you say accomplice of yours? Who does that make you, then?”
For once, he hesitates, appearing to mull something over in that strange head of his. Then, he finally says, “I am called Izuru Kamukura, and I am considered to be a part of the Ultimate Despair, who are now the Remnants of Despair with the death of Junko Enoshima.”
It processes for a moment, then you huff a half-laugh. “A lot of uncertainty there.”
“They are facts.”
“Right, right. So the Future Foundation…?”
“Wishes to kill me.”
“Gotcha. And me showing up, handcuffed to you—”
“Would likely end in your own death, or at least imprisonment with suspicion of cooperation with a terrorist.”
“Son of a bitch.” You glare at Kamukura, gesturing vaguely toward the stove. “Then why make me lose the key? Are you just that sadistic?”
That smug little twinkle in his eye comes back. “No. I knew it would be interesting, being locked to the person who’s been following me for two months.” He leans forward into your personal space, dark hair falling to curtain the both of you. “Checkmate, detective.”
Heat rushes over your face once more.
Guess you have no choice but to follow his lead.
‘Interesting,’ without a doubt.
#Follower Event :D#salem's works#danganronpa#danganronpa x reader#izuru kamukura#izuru kamakura x reader#kamukura x reader#jonnie my beloved#this went so much longer than anticipated but i adored the shenanigans so NO REGRETS
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I'm Not Simon Riley I'm Ghost
Chapter 3
SoapGhost
___
Best part about being one of Price’s favorites was the trust he had in him. When questioned about the missing soldier, all Ghost had to do was state his whereabouts, which was the woods, and act concerned about the missing man. Though they don’t have cameras in the woods, there were cameras that caught Ghost leaving base going there and the cameras caught him returning from there.
To humans, Ghost getting to town where the man was last seen and back to the woods in the time frame in which everything happened was impossible. Sure, very possible for Ghost, but not for Simon Riley. So Price sent him on his way and even had him go question those who had last seen the man. So quick to be placed on the investigation. Because Price trusted him and his word. Ghost figured he could probably get away with almost anything if he played his cards right. Even though he found that he was horrible at that game.
Those soldiers when questioned stated where they were and how they had each seen their friend leave the pub with the girl. Each stating how none of them were worried about him because he had left with girls before. Ghost played up his role and made sure to glare at them as if he was attempting to get the absolute truth out of them. He has come to find that he has become an excellent actor.
As he made his way to Soap to question him, Ghost quickly found that Soap acted so much different around him than the others. With the others, the clear impression of fear and distrust had hung in the air. They figured that Ghost had something to do with their friend disappearing even though, to their knowledge, there was no way Ghost could have known about what he had said. There was no way he could have known. But they still felt he was responsible.
With Soap, it was clear that he didn’t feel that way about Ghost. That he saw Ghost not as a suspect, but as a man who was trying to figure out what happened to one of his men. If Ghost didn’t know any better, he would say that Soap viewed highly of him due to Las Almas. And Ghost felt… strange about that. Strange that Soap actually trusted him much like Price did.
”I’m not a suspect, am I?”
Ghost looked into Soap’s blue eyes as the question leaves his lips. He watched him for a moment before speaking.
”You don’t come across as the type.”
”Ah, good… How do you think I come across?”
”As a man worried about what happened to his friend,” Ghost spoke truthfully before leaving.
Two weeks would pass without any clues to what happened to the man. The nearby town would report the girl he was with as missing as well. Two people, just vanishing within a night. And no one was any wiser to the truth. Ghost would return to routine without any more thoughts relaying his latest victims.
He hoped to be able to go on without interruption. But Soap wouldn’t give him peace. It was fucking irritating. Once the investigation was dropped, once they had given up like how they did with the private and Roach, Soap seemed to had gravitated towards Ghost. At first, he would drop by his office during lunch, asking him if he had eaten. Ghost was so thrown off by Soap poking his head into his space and worrying over whether or not he had eaten that day.
Ghost tried to wave him off, but Soap was convinced he wasn’t eating enough because he had never seen Ghost eat anything. Then the fucker dropped by with a paper bag of fast food. Ghost couldn’t believe the gall of this man. He chased him out quickly after and hoped that he would get the idea to piss off. But Soap apparently was either a stubborn or an idiot of a man. Because he kept coming back. Again and again.
It genuinely frustrated Ghost. It frustrated him to the point that he vented to Price about it. And he never likes venting to Price due to the fact that he couldn’t fully express what was bothering him due to his inhuman nature. But he still went to Price, interrupting his peace, and began to rant about Soap.
Price had stayed quiet as Ghost talked. Very quiet. So Ghost turned to see if Price was actually listening, only to find Price just looking at him, smirking.
“Why the fuck are you looking at me like that?”
”No reason other than the fact that Lieutenant Simon Riley is, for some strange reason, is losing his shit over making a friend.”
Ghost scoffs loudly, “He is not a friend!”
This is where Ghost had to restrain himself from lunging at Price and choking him.
Price grins, “So he’s more than a friend?”
Ghost was speechless. And it made Price laugh. Ghost couldn’t find the words to express how he wanted to murder Price and rip him apart piece by piece without giving away his true nature. So he throws his hands in the air.
”Why did I come here?”
Ghost leaves, hearing Price absolutely lose it as he does. It honestly sounded like he might accidentally kill himself by laughing too hard.
Ghost walked through the base with no particular destination in mind, but he was actively avoiding the more populated areas. On the battlefield or when hunting, fear was such a delightful thing to see. It made him feel powerful, in control. But here… For some reason, he didn’t like it. He told himself time and time again he was only on the 141’s side because it benefited him.
He didn’t care about what humans thought of him. He didn’t care.
Ghost ended up in the Gym. Because of the time of day it was practically deserted except for the two lifting weights. Ghost preferred to be here when it was like this. Though he didn’t really try to train. If he dared to openly push his limits here it would be too obvious that Simon Riley wasn’t what he seemed to be. So, when out of sight on the battlefield, that is where he pushed himself.
”Hey, LT!”
Ghost freezes, taking a breath as he does. He turns around to see Soap approaching him, Gaz hanging back as far as possible without making it too obvious he was trying not to get too close.
”Sergeant.”
Soap was dressed in a wife beater and shorts. Very short shorts. Gaz was dressed similarly but his shorts weren’t as short. Ghost felt his eyes drift and he forced himself to look away.
”Me and Gaz were about to spar. Care to referee?”
Ghost was going to say no, but then Gaz made a ‘You have to be kidding me’ face. He then had no choice but to agree. The moment he said yes, Soap’s face lights up. Ghost couldn’t understand why this man was so delighted by this or being around Ghost in general. The only other human who ever acted this way was Roach. Sure, Price is pretty friendly with him, but Roach had actively hung out with him whenever while Price did so on occasion.
Soap and Gaz got into the ring as Ghost stood on the edge. Ghost had overseen plenty of sparring soldiers over the course of being with the 141 to know that Soap wasn’t planning on playing fair. Gaz was partially focused on Ghost, allowing Soap to get a upper hand rather quickly. Gaz did seem to be trying, but he wasn’t putting his all into it and was pinned rather easily. He only struggled for a moment before tapping out.
Soap grinned victorious before releasing Gaz from his hold.
”Were you even trying?”
Gaz glares as Soap eggs him on. Ghost admitted he was amused by this.
“One more round, I’ll kick your ass!”
Soap just grins and backs up, getting into position. Ghost tilted his head and watched as Gaz made the first move. He did last longer this time but still ended up pinned. His frustration was written all over his face. Soap just laughed as the man tapped out. Gaz stood and turned to face Soap, ready to go another round.
“I need a real challenge, Gaz,” Soap looks past Gaz at Ghost, “How ‘bout you, LT?”
Gaz stiffens and Ghost blinks. Gaz steps to the side and turns so he can look at Ghost, eyes wide.
”You want to get in the ring with me?”
“Yes, sir. But, if you decline I understand.”
For a split second, Ghost could see Roach standing in Soap’s place.
Gaz gaps, “He’s joking!”
Ghost climbs into the ring. He steps up to Soap, who remained unmoving. Gaz backs up quickly.
”You think you can take me?”
Soap’s eyes flicker up and down for a quick moment before the man’s grin widens, “Yes, sir.”
”We’ll see about that.”
They got into opposite sides of the ring as Gaz watched from the sidelines. Gaz must’ve texted someone because more people came into the gym. Ghost didn’t pay them any mind, he was purely focused on Soap and his smug, excited face. Soap was full of confidence and was acting cocky. Ghost backed up for a second to make Soap act.
Soap made the first move. Ghost could’ve ended it as soon as it started but he didn’t. He let Soap have his fun. He met him head on, letting Soap feel in control. He allowed himself to be pushed off balance, to be cornered.
“What’s the matter? The Ghost scared?”
Ghost couldn’t control himself. He knew his eyes glazed over black, but only for a second. Soap was then knocked to the ground, Ghost pressing his weight onto him. His face was taken over by a shocked expression. Eyes wide, mouth agape. Ghost takes in his borderline scared face before leaning closer and whispering into his ear.
”No, but you should be.”
He didn’t wait for a reply or reaction. He stood up, now looking around at the crowd that had gathered. He recognized most of them as those he knew didn’t trust him. Those who definitely pointed fingers when one of their own went missing. He climbed out of the ring, the soldiers quickly stepping out of his way. He left the gym at his own pace, believing this would be the end of Soap bothering him.
#call of duty#cod mwii#modern warfare ii#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#ghostsoap#soapghost#fic#fanfic#also on ao3#i'm not simon riley i'm ghost#eldritch fic
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WIP Whenever I Don't Care You're Not My Real Dad
I got tagged by @korblez for this. So I'm gonna post something that is 100% absolutely his fault. I haven't written a ton this week, so this is what I have to offer today.
I'm brain dead for real after the week I've had work. So you, if you're reading this, I have tagged you. Yes, you! Go forth, share with us.
Without further ado snippet of the thing I'm working on (sorry, not sorry):
BLOOD & GRENADINE
The pair walked casually to a small table set in a corner. It gave them a good view of the entire ballroom. And the view of the ballroom?
It was like someone watched far too many ancient vids about old Hollywood parties, with the old art deco style with the dark walls and solid line accents to break it up, but instead of stylish gold, they embedded weak cyan lights into the wall. The effect was like looking at old computer chips except it gave you a migraine if you stared at it too long. The lights cast strange shadows.
Across the room on the far side were rows of floor to ceiling windows and glass doors that led to high balconies with large ferns planted in cement planters cast with thick, angled lines to further ape a time long since passed. Those Zaeed couldn't find any faults with. Maybe a drink or two in, he might have been willing to even say that he liked them. Three or four and maybe he'd put on a trilby and start talking like an old school mobster for shits and giggles, schee?
“Too many goddamn windows,” Zaeed muttered.
“We'd be sitting ducks if there was a sniper out there,” said Garrus at the same time.
Negative one.
They sat across from each other and Massani wasted no time in perusing the drink menu. Fancy wines, over-priced liquor, cocktails that cost enough to feed a family for one night. Ah well, when in Rome and all that. He was going to get a drink. Just add it to the tab for Red to reimburse him for.
“Are you really going to drink tonight?”
Zaeed raised his eyes only scooch off of the menu to respond with a wink, “You want people to believe this is a dinner date, or what?” Usually, he just drank his liquor straight, whiskey, bourbon, vodka - shit, it didn't really matter. That burn as it went down was what reminded him that he was still breathing. Taste didn't really matter when you were often scraping the bottom of the galaxy's barrel running hither and yon chasing down assholes for credits. Didn't mean he was a man without taste, he just knew how to turn it off, measure his expectations. “'Sides, one drink isn't gonna do anything to me except cost me enough credits to buy a new scope for the old Mattock.”
Garrus' mandibles fluttered briefly as he considered the wisdom of Zaeed's defense. Or more accurately, considering just how often he'd seen him with a tumbler of some brown liquor or another during the years that they'd been working together now. Given the truly unbelievable number of bottles left over as evidence of Shepard and Zaeed's contest (the number of which could have killed a krogan), it was within the scope of belief that drinking one cocktail wouldn't make a dent in the man's sobriety.
Having decided that Zaeed was correct, Garrus picked up the menu to peruse it himself. The offerings of dextro safe wines and liquors were unsurprisingly small, and included dual-chirality options that were just right out. Those were never good. He'd be better off chugging a bottle of rubbing alcohol based on taste alone.
“Good evening, gentlemen. I'll be your server tonight,” a chipper young woman with curly hair interrupted their ponderance of booze and its variations with a broad smile on rosy cheeks. “Dinner will be served in about fifteen minutes. May I get you something to drink while you wait?” She was a pretty girl, with masses of curly brown hair that were barely wrangled into a braid, and doeish, brown eyes that looked far too happy to be living on Earth post-near-apocalypse.
Zaeed heard a rumble in Garrus' chest, that same one that always came before he made a bad joke. And coupled with the daring glint in those baby blues of his, Zaeed knew that it was on. “Hm, I don't know. Darling, what looks good to you?”
Even.
“For you, love, the Brandy Alexandrus. You have quite a sweet tooth,” Zaeed practically purred without looking up from his menu. Blue was going to have to try a lot harder than that if he wanted the merc to crack. He sat through Shepard's god awful speech before hitting the Collector base without so much as cracking a grin. Besides, he'd definitely been to dinner with a helluva lot worse than the likes of the smug turian across from him. At least he was reasonably certain that Vakarian wouldn't try to kill him by the end of the night.
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Prey
Cw: animal death(nondescriptive), drugged drink
The hunter heard a roar echo out through the trees. The sound of a great beast giving chase. Some unfortunate individual had run across a wild boar, and ran. The hunter, not one to let an opportunity pass by, set off in that direction.
Edan crashed through a bush, barely keeping his feet under him as he ran from the beast. He gasped as a branch hit his shoulder harder than he thought it would, but knew that it’d be a lot worse to get caught by those tusks.
Tying the last of three knots, the hunter listened intently to the rustling in the distance. They could hear the one being pursued, but couldn’t yet hear the beast, save for the occasional great bellow.
The roars were getting further behind Edan as he ran, but he was tiring quickly. If he wanted to escape, he’d have to look for a place to hide and rest. He scanned the forest for a tree to climb, but saw something else entirely.
As they pulled the rope taught, an elven man broke into the clearing. He took in the scene, and regarded the hunter carefully before darting behind a tree.
With the thunderous steps of the boar getting louder, the hunter set up their spear.
With a roar, the beast charged at the hunter, who stood calmly in the clearing. As it went forward, it’s legs caught on the ropes, and with a final crash the beast fell onto the spear.
“I owe you a drink for bringing this great of a catch to me,” the hunter regarded the tree which the elf hid behind.
“Don’t I- owe you one, for saving me?” Edan stepped into view, breathing heavily.
“Help me drag this thing to my camp and we’ll call it even.” They set about retying the ropes to make the job easier.
After a short while, the two had made their way to a small tent and fire pit. The hunter made some preparations for curing and storing some meat, and told Edan to get a fire started.
They handed Edan a thick glass filled with a honey colored liquid, drank from their own, and turned the strips of meat over the fire
The drink was sweet, but with a strange tang. Edan had never tasted anything like it. With some small curiosity, he watched the hunter tend to their work, cutting and wrapping, turning at precise moments to manage the fire. They worked with purpose and routine.
Fire always has such a mesmerizing quality, he thought. He could stare at it, how the flames twist and warp, and never become bored by the complex dance. He was suddenly aware of a creeping dizziness
“What’s in this?” He remarked, gesturing to his nearly empty glass
The hunter looked up at him, and smiled. For the first time, he noticed their pale gray-blue eyes, absolutely stunning.
“Enough starfoil leaf to put you out for hours.”
The severity of the situation fell on Edan, and he stood up at once. He tried to back away, but fell as he caught on the log he had been sitting on. The felt the hunter’s hand on his chin, and looked up to see their warm smile. Darkness encroached in his vision.
“I did say I owed you a drink for bringing me a great catch”
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(Here you go)
Pairing: Spider-Man x reader
Summary: just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man
- - -
“Hey give me back my purse you creep!” You ran down the street chasing after some man who decided to steal your purse. Your day had been good up until now. You were already afraid to walk home at night on the streets of New York City, but now you were even more afraid because not only did he have your purse, but he had your money and ID. Without those, it was basically the end of the world. You kept screaming but suddenly the thief’s legs were shot and pulled together by…webs? You look up to see this what you assume to be a person in a red and blue suit and the pattern resembles a spider.
“Hey I don’t think that’s yours man” You were surprised to hear that the voice sounded very young. You thought it would be older and huskier. “I’ll just take that” the Spider-Man took back your bag from the thief that was now lying on the street withering around trying to get his legs free from the webs. The Spider-Man then turned to you and handed you your bag. He had his hand outstretched to you but you were so shocked about what just happened that you couldn’t take it.
“What happens now?” Was all you could say. The Spider-Man let out a small laugh.
“You take the purse and I wait for the cops to come and get this guy” You nodded.
“Cool” you took your bag and hugged it to your chest. “Well goodbye now” You turned over to the sidewalk and you slowly made your way over there. After a second the Spider-Man called after you.
“Hey wait if you call the cops I can walk you home” You shook your head.
“No really it’s fine my apartment isn’t that far away from here”
“I insist they don’t call me the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man for nothing” You were sure he smiled when he said that. Even though you couldn’t tell since he was wearing a mask that covered his entire head.
“Well then shouldn’t you be walking around the neighborhood making sure it’s safe rather than walking me home?” They stared at each other for a minute.
“Well I have…spidey senses so if anything happens I will know don’t worry about it” You sighed. You opened your purse and took out your phone and you dialed 911. Once the police was called you and spider man started the journey back to your apartment.
“So how old are you Spider-Man?” You decided to make small talk because otherwise this would be a very awkward walk home.
“I can’t disclose that information”
“Says who?”
“Ironman” You laughed. “What your don’t believe me?” You shrugged.
“I don’t know what to believe anymore… a man dressed up in a spider suit just stopped a thief from stealing my purse” Spider-Man laughed.
“Well how old are you?” He asked.
“I’m y/a”
“Huh that’s around my age” You turned to look at him.
“Really?” He nodded.
“Hey how much farther is your apartment?” He suddenly stopped.
“Oh it’s another two blocks” He put his hands on his hips.
“And you said it was close come on I’ll swing you back to it” You looked at him with a strange look.
“What?”
“I’ll swing you back with my…webs” You looked at him even stranger. You think he smiled. “Come on” He opened up his arms.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Um well you sort of hug me and then I swing us back to your apartment” You rose a brow. “Trust me” You two stood there for a moment. You stared into his masked eyes and he stared into you e/c ones. You huffed and then hugged him. You couldn’t see but his cheeks flushed. Soon he slung a web and in the air you were. You shut your eyes absolutely terrified.
“Open your eyes you’re about to see the best view ever” You opened your eyes and were absolutely breathless. New York seemed so different when flying over it through the sky. All the buildings were shining brightly and it just all seemed so magical. Soon though the view ended as you landed at your apartment.
‘That was amazing!” You looked up at your apartment building and you could see your apartment window. Wanting to fly through the sky a little more you looked at Spider-Man. “Can you swing me up to the fire escape that’s right outside my window?” He laughed.
“Of course I can” You hugged him again and he swung you and him onto the fire escape right outside your apartment window.
“I want to do that all the time now” You said as you let go of him.
“I wish you could…maybe I could come on slow nights and swing through the sky with you” You looked down and smiled.
“Yeah I’d like that” You looked back at him. You both stared at each other.
“What’s your name?” He suddenly asked. You smiled at him now.
“Y/n”
“Y/n that’s a beautiful name”
“Thank you” you blushed. You suddenly reached out and grabbed his mask and you pulled it up right underneath his eyes. “Can I kiss you?” You don’t know where this came from but you wanted to. All he could do was nod he was so nervous. You leaned in and kissed his cheek.
“Thank you again Spider-Man” You pulled down his mask.
“Uh y-yeah of course, whats a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man for?” He awkwardly laughed.
“Well see you later” You giggled. You turned around opened the window to your apartment and climbed in you smiled once more at him as you shut your window and closed the blind on your window. Once he couldn’t see you anymore Spider-Man took off his mask and smiled widely.
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Since I did my wee heart's content flail about Stede's autistic coding, of course I can't leave Ed out. I am absolutely 100% on board with ADHD Ed. (Natch, here be spoilers for the whole series)
That man may be a brilliant tactician but the fact that Izzy has to chase him around a ship, telling him to stop getting distracted by clouds and model ships and shiny things immediately sang out to me. "Focus, Ed", Izzy tells him. "Yeah, but I'm bored," Ed replies, bored by the monotony of the same old over-and-over-and-over again.
To Stede, piracy is a life of excitement and adventure. To Ed, it's become routine and humdrum. "I don't even need to be there" he says. There's nothing that sparks his interest, keeps his focus, or makes him want to stick around but he can't see any other choice because he's Blackbeard. That's who he is and has to be. "Do you ever feel like you're just treading water, waiting to drown?" he says, trapped by his role, his name, his position and his own perception that it's all he can be in a repeating and tedious loop that is making him miserable.
And then you see him on Stede's ship, getting to try new things, have his world view shaken up, experience different kinds of behaviour and he blossoms. He's sparking with Stede, their two variations of neurodiversity fitting together just right, both of them getting to have the support and validation they need from a peer and the stimulation and interaction they have lacked.
Honestly, Ed looking at Stede and going "you're a fucking lunatic and I like it" feels like the dynamic I have with so many of my neurodiverse friends :D
I love that both of them have the same outside-the-box thinking when it comes to feral planning, but Ed - when he needs to - can look at a dozen random things that no one else would notice and go "huh" and work out a plan based entirely on that.
Ed looks at the shape of clouds and can calculate to the *minute* when things will happen - when it's something he's good at and gets excited by (which has the double-header of exasperating Izzy), he loves it. He looks around Stede's room and sees a way to construct an improvised lighthouse on a ship. And he's so proud of himself when it all works out.
Of course, it doesn't all go well. He gets so caught up in giddy excitement by the new things that he impulsively decides he wants to go to a posh party. And of course, gets entirely overstimulated, starts behaving in ways that are seen as too loud, too strange, too rude, egged on by his hosts and doesn't realise until he becomes the butt of the joke. My emotions when he goes running to Stede saying "I want to go home now" because it hits him so hard becoming the focal point of mockery. Lil sprinkle of rejection-sensitivity for you, my good pirate.
Plus there's the clash when he and Stede do the treasure hunt. Stede, from his perspective and belief of what pirates enjoy, is trying to keep Ed stimulated and happy enough to stay. Ed, from his perspective, is being forced to do something embarrassing and cringy, leading to him losing his temper and getting angry. It takes Lucius explaining the miscommunication of what Stede is trying to do to make Ed realise this wasn't what he thought it was and immediately tries to make things better for Stede.
Add the fact he can't sit still, he's constantly swinging, climbing and bouncing on things. There's a frenetic energy to him, big physical reactions, big motions, and the only time we see those slow down - even stop - are at the end of the season. Ed was on the verge of becoming a Captain like Stede for the crew. He was so close to it. Sad, but slowly processing things (talking it through, as a crew), until Izzy yelled at him about all the things he fears he is and that make him bad (ie. the very things Izzy loves about him because Izzy is a leeeeeetle bit murdery).
At first, it's not so obvious, because he's still very visibly grieving but when he's holding that little bit of silk, remembering when Stede treated him like he was good enough, and then Stede Just Left Him? Was it because he wasn’t fine? Was it because fine things are what Stede really wants? The moment he lets go of that silk, when he puts on the the Blackbeard mask again, he's still and grim and it's a performance. A very taut, controlled performance that only falls apart when no one can see.
Izzy has been trying to get him to mask his behaviour the whole season and finally, finally he gets what he wants. He wants Blackbeard in command and focussed and as he was. But that isn't Ed. That's never who Ed was. And Ed, who is already not good at dealing with rejection, is in pieces hiding under a costume.
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Ok, but how about the reverse of the knight-royal trope. You're the chivalrous knight tasked to protect the kingdom's heir. You fulfill your duty with pride... Or at least you try to. Your charge is strange to say the least. They have a pretty skewed view of what your relationship is; they're convinced that the two of you are in a love affair. You find those kind of stories gross to be frank. But that won't discourage your charge from seeking a happy ending with you.
tw - unhealthy relationships, obsessive/overbearing behavior, slight stalking, unbalanced power dynamics.
They'd have to be the spoiled-type, I think, with too many older siblings between them and the crown to ever have to worry about their studies, or concern themself with politics, or do anything but fulfill any indulgent whim that happens to cross their mind, whether or not their actions align with any significant greater-good. They have other guards, other unfortunate knights assigned to look after the youngest member of the royal family, but you're the only who can find the nook they've craved out in the sprawling library, or the clearing they're particularly fond of in the heart of the forest that surrounds the castle's gates, or them, in the small hours of the morning, dressed in peasant's clothing bought off of chefs and servants as they wander the dark streets of the capitol, too ignorant to understand how much danger they're putting themself in, how easily the blame could fall on you if they were recognized, or abducted, or worse. They're naïve, but it's that awful sort of naiveté, born of little more than their preserving will not to accept the role they serve in the kingdom they seem willing to discard at a moment's notice. They want to be entertained, and you just so happen to be the toy they've deemed most fun to play with.
Their romantic interest in you, at least, is something you can blame on their absentminded tutors and lenient mentors, a childhood tainted by unbridled access to novels filled starry-eyed lovers and secret affairs, not that they have the patience to keep the 'relationship' they seem to think the two of you have behind closed doors. They want you to be the one to chase after them, to follow them into the forest for day-long picnics of fresh fruit plucked from wild plants and pastries stolen from the castle's many kitchen, to take them by the wrist in crowded marketplaces and busy festivals, if only because you absolutely have to, if only because they've made it clear they're more than willing to spend the rest of the night slipping away and earning you wary looks from your commander if you refuse to play along, again. They want to be endearing, the kind of innocent admirer who can watch your early-morning sparring sessions with prying eyes and commend on your tight-fitting armor, your abilities, your physique and seem like anything but a lurking threat, a leering pervert waiting for their chance to hang off your arm and invite you to their chambers, late at night, hours after your daily shift's already ended.
They're not oblivious. They know what you mean when you ask them not to sneak into the knight's barrack, not to leave the notes they're so fond of, unsigned but apparent, on your bed, where other nights can easily find them. They know why you don't want them to ask after you, not so often, not by name, and they know how their behavior reflects on you, how much power they have, how little your refusal really means. They know what they want, and they know that - if they issue the right orders, say the right things - you'll have to give it to them. They're giving you another choice, letting you by the pursuer, rather than the pursued, the dominant party in a relationship that just wasn't made to be equal. They think they're doing you favor. They think they're being kind.
They're giving you a chance to come to them, before they snap their fingers and have you dragged to their feet, regardless.
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what was it like the first time Mc met Skull in the portal Au?
Is it story snippet time? I think it’s story snippet time.
The vent cover was loose.
You’d noticed, as soon as you’d rounded the corner. It didn’t matter that the facility was dark, quiet, deep in one of its night cycles... in the faint illumination of the safety screens and directional arrows left on, you picked up the silhouette of the cover. You were so familiar with the area of the lab around the room you slept in that you probably would’ve seen it anyway... but what immediately made all your attention snap to it was the fact that the glint of sleek metal in the darkness was, in fact, misaligned.
... Sans wanted everything neat. Sans wanted everything right. Red liked it that way, too, but Sans seemed to have the final say. And it showed- the entire facility was neat, angled, symmetrical and impossibly clean. It was so regimented and unnatural that you felt like an outlier yourself; a strange, curved, imperfect biological creature in a space that seemed to bleed robotic perfection from every corner.
... So... something about this one plating... this one vent cover, at a bad angle, tilted just against the grain...
... You were hyperfocused.
You moved over to it, bare feet cat-silent on the warm white floor, crouching down. You weren’t supposed to be out of your room at night, Sans didn’t like you wandering around when he was unaware, powered down for system maintenance and repairs... your fingers sealed around the loosened ends of the vent cover, and with the gentlest of tugs the whole thing came off, leaving a gaping hole in the wall large enough for you to crawl into.
...
It was like you had a fog, separating one half of your mind from the other. Every day in this strange lab was confusing- and when you tried to ask yourself normal questions, like “where am I?” or “how did I get here?” or “why do I have no memories before this place?” your brain supplied you with absolutely nothing. And not only that, it couldn’t even supply you with the concern you knew you should be experiencing... the fear, the panic, it wouldn’t come. It was the most paradoxical and horrible sensation... the feeling of knowing something was wrong, of knowing you should be scared, but something in your head just not letting you access it.
... Maybe that was why the sight of the hole in the wall, the gap in the artificially perfect world around you, made your heart skip in excitement instead of fear. Maybe that was why you normally would have stuck to what was safe and not done stupid shit like going into vents...
... But this time, you got on your hands and knees, and crawled right in.
You weren’t crawling for a very long time; after what couldn’t have even been a minute of moving in a straight line through the smooth metallic system, the dark space opened up above you, more than enough for you to stand up to your full height in. Your eyes were wide, childlike in wonder- unlike the rest of the facility, that at least seemed to try and fake an air of safety, this place behind the walls... every surface around you was dirty, stained and rusty, there were tubes and buttons and tangled wires sticking out of the floor and ceiling, the whole place was lit up with an unnerving orange glow that was leaking through slits in the flooring. The air was filled with a nasty tang, metallic and almost blood-like, heavy and claustrophobic...
... It was like you’d crawled into hell. Like you’d gone from the head of the facility to the entrance of the throat. Another world...
...
As your gaze lowered...
... There was something in the room with you.
The hairs on the back of your neck bristled. Near the other end of the room there was a large, metallic box, most likely containing important wiring of some kind. From where you were standing you could judge that it was about your shoulder height... pretty big.
... But it wasn’t the box that had your attention. It was what it was blocking from your view. A perfectly circular crimson light was peeking out from behind that box... a turret eye, bright and awake and alive, cutting through the murky coloured darkness. And the more you stared, the more you could make out, the more you could see the partially obscured hunched figure attached to the eye that was trained directly on you.
...
“H-hello?” You whispered.
...
“sh-ouldn_t.. be.here.”
... The voice was like nothing you’d ever heard. Deep, deathly deep, you could feel it in your chest like standing next to a speaker- vibrating in your stomach, the palms of your hands, even tingling along your scalp. It sounded... automated, jittering and autotuned and with inflections no human would use, but so clearly with thoughts and feelings behind it, the unmissable edge of somebody who’s cautious, afraid... a downright uncanny mix of machine and man.
“... Should you?” Your voice sounded so... weak. So biological. Your heart was pounding.
... The eye noticeably changed; the dot in the centre became a fraction wider. It took an odd shape, too... from your distance it... looked like a heart...?
A soft, low “... no_.”
“... Then that makes two of us. Right?”
...
The owner of the eye stood up.
He stood slowly, too. And as he did, the box he’d been crouched behind just got smaller, and smaller, and smaller... a beast, made of the facility’s leftovers. Large enough to crush you like a beetle. The dim orange light touched his silhouette to reveal thick tubes, misshapen metal plates, wires hanging off him like cut vines... a gaping cavity in his chest where a half-broken plasma motor was faintly humming and glowing. One of his hands looked vaguely humanoid but the other was just a badly affixed pincer claw... the plate on his face had been haphazardly cut away so his one red eye could see, and a skeletal nose shape had been carved into the centre. Everything about him was asymmetric, uneven, mismatched...
You opened your mouth-
[Bleep!]
...
It floated through the room. A light noise, like a phone notification. You took note of the fact that you couldn’t hear it echoing through the rest of the facility... something that was only heard in the backrooms, perhaps? It was a very gentle little sound, nothing more than a light jingle...
... Except he flinched like a gunshot had gone off, eye blinking out entirely. Immediately, he turned around- you let out a little “H-hey, wait!” and raised your arm but it didn’t stop him. In a few giant steps he’d completely disappeared around a corner, clanging sounds moving so much deeper into the metalworks in such a short amount of time that you found yourself immediately disoriented. How... you were just standing there, how did someone that huge and heavy move so fast?
...
You wanted to pursue. You wanted to chase him deep into the bowels of the lab, down where you weren’t ever supposed to go, where no light would reach... you wanted to so badly you’d already moved a few steps without realising.
... But at the same time, you felt like you’d done enough for one day. Your nose stung from the strange smells in the air, your eyes were straining in the orange darkness... you wanted to go to sleep, back to your relaxation chamber, to rest for now and figure out what the hell you’d just seen.
What the hell you’d just spoken to.
... You turned, and clambered back through the vent. It took no time at all to re-emerge back in the regular facility... back to the whiteness, the cleanliness, the perfect and fake.
...
You had no idea why he’d reacted the way he had to that sound. What did it mean? You trailed your hand along the wall as you walked, making your way through the halls back to your chamber, the floor smooth and faultless under your bare soles. Was it... some kind of warning? An alert system? Was he running toward something, or away fr-
“subject.”
- You almost jumped out of your fucking skin.
You were never sure where Sans’ voice was coming from. It always seemed to just spontaneously exist all around you, disembodied and impossible to describe, surrounding you on all sides as if emanating from the air in the building itself. No matter how hard you searched you could never seem to find any speakers on the cold, unfriendly white walls or floor... just further adding to the confusion and dream-like quality of this whole place. You clutched your chest, taking a little breath, trying to disguise the wild flinch that you’d just experienced.
“Y-yeah?” You said, smooth as always, and totally completely not-startled.
Sans always heard you, no matter how quietly you spoke- and judging by passing comments he’d made he always seemed to be able to see you and your expression. God, you hoped he couldn’t read the panic in your face.
“the facility is in night cycle.” Calm, emotionless, slightly autotuned, as per usual... but a little softer than the norm. “why are you out of your relaxation chamber?”
You glanced up at the nearest camera, a small black orb close to the ceiling with a gently blinking blue light.
...
“I-I can’t sleep.” Was all you could think of.
...
“... perhaps it will be easier to sleep... if you are reclined in a position, in which you can actually sleep. you should return to your chamber.”
“... I’m just walking around.” You kept moving, hoping he wouldn’t think about where you’d come from. “I mean... N-not all of us have a ‘go to sleep instantly’ button. I’m clearing my head. I’m fine, I'm on my way back anyway.”
...
“you’re stammering. your heart rate is elevated.”
Shit. Shit. No, it’s-
“... did you experience a nightmare?”
...
“O-oh. Yeah. Uhm...” You rubbed the back of your neck, eyes drifting down to the floor. “You know about those?”
“i have access to the combined entirety of human knowledge. yes, i am aware of nightmares.”
“W-well... yeah. Yes. I... had one. I’m walking it off.”
... A pause, on his part.
...
“... i can turn the lights back on. if... you’d like to walk around.”
“No thank you. It’ll just make me feel more awake.”
“i see. ... well. i need to complete some more system reboots. i will be partially offline again. if... you need me, just call.”
“Okay. Sure. I will.”
#llama writes#portal au#llama gets carried away: the series#its creepy robot time#its a biggun too! hhehe#feels nice to write again
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Piece of You
summary — Everyone wants a piece of you. Even a certain Mandalorian who denies that he's grown enamored with every little thing about you.
content — Implied smut, harassment, jealousy, alcohol, pining
word count — 4.5k
inspiration — Piece of You, Shawn Mendes
main masterlist
He's not one who's fond of Tatooine.
Everything about that filthy, crime-ridden dust-ball is enough to entirely repel him from the planet. Yet there's something — someone — who lures him into Tatooine, even when his presence isn't necessary. He repeatedly scolds himself each time he passes by the familiar dusty planet — there is no point in landing, no purpose to be there. He never listens. Not at all.
The Mandalorian is constantly preoccupied with his devotion to bounty hunting. But each time, it's as if he entirely clears anything on his plate. A pending bounty puck? He can handle that later. Quarry needs to be delivered? Not a problem, he has a carbon-freezing chamber installed in the ship. Damaged ship? Well, there are plenty of repairmen on Tatooine.
His sole desire is to visit nobody other than you. The bartender working in one of the most famous cantinas in Mos Eisley. The cantina's owner recognized precisely what he was doing when he hired you. You... you are exceptionally captivating, stunning, seductive. Your snarky personality, flawless body, and heavenly face is enough to entice every man in the parsec who'd heard of you. In fact, one of the main reasons the cantina is so damn popular is due to your employment.
Everybody wants a piece of you...
So as Din positions the Razor Crest onto the landing bay's flooring, he prepares himself to be utterly disappointed. With the plethora of men drooling over you each second of your life, you certainly have plenty to choose from. Out of all of them, you aren’t going to select a Mandalorian who refuses to reveal his face to absolutely anyone. Yet he pushes the thought aside. The purpose of his return is due to his recent hunt. The quarry was pestering, exceedingly difficult to locate and seize. Once Din managed to capture and deliver him, he immediately knew he required a brief break. A chance to unwind, ease up, relax. The sight of you is enough to de-stress him.
Maybe you'd even swiftly speak with him for a moment. Each time he arrives at the cantina, you eventually stop by besides him, hold a quick conversation before promptly returning to your work. Din has no clue why. Plenty of other men practically beg for your attention. Yet you don't spare a mere glance towards their direction, unless deemed necessary.
Din descends the ladder towards the hull of the ship, commanding the ramp to lower utilizing his beskar vambrace. Without hesitation, he strides off the ramp, sealing it shut directly after he steps off. He shares a hasty glimpse around the hangar. The manager is nowhere to be found. It doesn’t matter — his ship isn't damaged, there is no need to discuss payment with them. Without further delay, he exits the hangar and treads through the desolate streets of Mos Eisley. It's unbearably hot, even with the twin suns setting down on the horizon. Colorful hues of red, yellow, purple, and blue lace the sky as he proceeds through the countless buildings and homes.
The well-known cantina appears in the distance. A flutter develops in the pit of his stomach at the bare thought of seeing you once more, especially after the additionally burdensome hunt he endured. He hasn't the slightest idea of what he'll do, or even say, when he enters. He's able to converse with you perfectly fine, as long as you initiate the chatting. The thought of walking up to you and establishing the conversation first is... unnerving. Hell, he can hardly flirt for the sake of his own life. You're not interested in the Mandalorian. You can't be. So, why should he even attempt to speak with you when you will simply push him aside, reject him? No, he prefers to keep his distance. Observe from afar. If your desire is to talk, he'll talk with pleasure. Call him a coward, but he isn't going to take his chances.
The Mandalorian saunters through the wide-open doors, gloved hand instinctively shifting towards the holster strapped to his hip. Even through the helmet covering his face, he catches a repulsing whiff of the strong alcoholic scent. His visor scans the cantina for a brief moment. It's surprisingly empty. Tables consist of a few people chattering mutely among each other, a couple waiters grabbing their orders. The ambience is strangely hushed. The bar is completely unoccupied, much to his surprise. A service droid is present where you ordinarily are, wiping a damp cloth over the counter. You, though, are nowhere to be found.
Eyes carefully survey him as he idly stands in front of the entrance. A Mandalorian equipped with a full attire of beskar armor, a pulse rifle strapped firmly against his back, and armed with various weapons is bound to snatch everyone's attention. Not wanting to deal with any issues as the moment, he continues to step forward. Despite his intense detestation for droids, this one in particular can prove useful. The droid raises its mechanical head, unreadable eyes staring straight towards the Mandalorian as he leans forward, elbows propping against the bar.
"The girl is absent today," its blank voice states, head tilting down as it resumes its cleaning. "Her shift has ended earlier today, per her request."
He's left speechless for a split second. Damn droid has practically read his mind. Does he actually make it so evident? Perhaps its simply that its already encountered countless men asking for you already. Nevertheless, a heat creeps onto his cheeks, radiating through his entire face and neck upon the droid's accusation. Steadily, he shifts his weight before answering. "What makes you think I'm here for her?"
His voice comprises a certain hostility, primarily due to the fact that he's conversing with — of all things — a droid. Its gaze lifts upon hearing his response, metal hand halting its insistent rubbing. "A great deal of men have requested her presence here today. I apologize. Would you care for a drink?"
"No," he swiftly replies. Then, he freezes, shoulders tensing up. If he's not here for you, then what's his purpose here? The droid bluntly stares, expecting further elaboration. Din provides him with nothing other than a view of his backside when he spins around, cape swishing with every motion as he strides away. He's on the verge of step outside when the mechanical voice calls for him.
"The girl will return tomorrow afternoon."
Din peers over the pauldron adorning his shoulder, sharing a brief glimpse with the droid. He should thank it, but decides against it. Its just a droid. It doesn't deserve his gratitude, nor an apology for his bitterness. Without lingering any further, he directs his gaze forward once more, before begrudgingly stalking off towards the course leading to the Razor Crest.
A darkness envelops him as soon as he steps into the plain open air. The suns had descended quite rapidly, a starless night sky hanging over the city. It's substantially cooler now that the suns aren't blazing down on him, a brisk breeze sweeping his cape sideways. The streets are increasingly barren now, not a single being in sight.
Except for one isolated person.
He recognizes the figure — the exquisite curves of her body, impeccable hair enhancing her features, the way she stands with utter confidence and assertiveness. All he manages to perceive was her back, but it's unquestionably the person he's been searching for. You.
You reside directly in front of a residence, gaze impatiently darting around as if awaiting someone's arrival. Din had assured himself he wouldn't initiate a conversation with you, though currently it seems as if that is his only option. Either that, or he disappointedly heads back towards his ship. But what the hell is he supposed to say? A simple "hey" wouldn't captivate your attentiveness. You'll simply shove him aside, completely uninterested as you've done an unmeasurable amount of times. He takes a step forward — tentatively, slowly, steadily. He's nervous. He can't deny that. Speaking to you seems to frighten him immensely, not even the most intimidating of quarries has managed to inflict this feelings upon him.
It's not that he's enamored by you. He does not have the time for romance. It's straightforward attraction. Infatuation. A meaningless crush, as some would claim. He is aroused by you. That's all it is, and all it will ever be. At least, that's what he's been attempting to convince himself about for the past months.
His thoughts are interrupted when someone enters the scenario. A man. Your face brightens upon catching sight of him as you beam at him. That damn smile. The way your lips curl upwards, flashing those set of pearly whites — it enthralled him since day one. His attention switches to the unfamiliar man as you throw your arms around him, his own hands embracing you and pulling you near. Seconds later, the two of you head inside the house you stand by. He's joking about something Din is unable to pick out, causing a burst of laughter to escape your lips. The sound is interfere with when the door slams closed behind you. Then, there's complete silence.
Boyfriend. That's his final conclusion. You'd requested time off your job to see your lover. It makes absolute sense. With the incalculable quantity of men constantly chasing you around, you're bound to find someone who interests you. Without another alternative to his situation, Din settled to leave. He's discouraged, yes, but what else would he expect? It's absolutely fine, though. This provides him with yet another reason why he should maintain his distance from the planet. Unless proven necessary, he won't return to Tatooine. There is no purpose for him here. His fantasies need to cease, stop raiding his brain and controlling his every action. He cannot spare anymore time indulging in this. It's for the best.
___
He arrives once more at the damn cantina the following afternoon.
He doesn't understand why he can't liberate himself from this addiction, why his thoughts are persistently flooded by images of you, and you only.
Baby, I'm so into you, it hurts...
Despite the setback yesterday, he feels like he's under obligation to drop by and see you before he departs from Tatooine. It's plain and simple — this is his final opportunity to visit you, and he'll seize onto that freedom while he's capable of doing so. Even if it means he's wasting valuable time while he could be earning his well-deserved credits. Even if the hangar's manager warned that the landing bay is available exclusively for one entire rotation. It's one straightforward, uncomplicated visit, and then he'll leave satisfied.
The ambience is noisier then the previous occasion. This time, when he pauses to examine his surroundings, nobody pays him even the slightest bit of recognition. Boisterous laughter and obnoxious jabbering, alcoholic scent overwhelming his senses again, and then there's you. Preoccupied with your work, you don't spare him a single glance when he enters. Your attention is thoroughly concentrated on serving the numerous people awaiting their drinks at the bar. There are no accessible seats where you're present — it's utterly packed. It's alright, though, because he's not planning on grabbing a drink anyway. He settles for an available booth in the corner of the cantina, solitarily taking a seat away from the detestable, clamorous commotion. He has no clue how you deal with them until the late hours of the night.
Din merely dismisses the waiter who instantly greets him. He's not here for drinks, or a meal. He's only present for you, but not in the way these men are here for. Their sole purpose is attempting (and downright failing) to sneak into your pants, somehow. While he would be uttery lying to everyone — including himself — if he claims that's not one of his many desires, its not why he's here. He completely respects you. He will never treat you like everyone else does. That's not what you deserve at all, yet these men can't seem to comprehend that. They're selfish, purely caring for their own needs and wants. Not Din. He promised himself he wouldn't be as thoughtless and uncaring as them.
He manages a brief glance towards your direction. You're dressed in your usual attire — close-fitting shirt displaying a great deal of your breasts, skintight skirt barely reaching above your knees, a knife strapped strictly against your thigh to ward off anybody who might be in too close proximity.
You're majestic, mesmerizing, light the room up without trying...
Whether you're enforced to clothe yourself like that or you knowingly chose to do so, he isn't exactly certain. But with the way your face contorts in exasperation, you're definitely not enjoying this. You never did. To remain in an occupation like this, wearing that, required a plethora of fearlessness and aggressiveness. And your wages? They must be damn high. Din admires you for that. He wishes he could do something about it, ward off every single one of those pestering men who displease you but he recognizes your capability. You have demonstrated countless times in the past that you can handle yourself exceedingly well.
His gaze lingers for one second too long. Your eyes connect with his black visor. He freezes. He's been caught staring. For once, he isn't sure what his succeeding actions should be. The beskar helm covering his own face is greatly appreciated in this very moment, because his cheeks are undoubtedly tinted in a thousand shades of pink and red. He wants to avert his gaping, but he discovers its impossible for him. His eyes are practically glued to yours, and for once you notice a certain eagerness in your expression. As if you're actually... contented to spot him between the crowd of men surrounding you.
Right. Like that'll ever happen.
He can't dwell on that — give himself that false hope. Out of everyone in the cantina, you're pleased to see him? That's not exactly feasible.
Your heedfulness is abruptly snatched when a customer purposely drops an object — Din can't pick out what, exactly. His intentions were evident. He's trying to obtain a better view of your rear end, yet you don't give a damn. Din can't quite hear what you're divulging with all the cacophonous noise, though your facial expression provides him with enough. A menacing glare is directed straight towards the man, your mouth spitting out offenses and insults. You've clearly had enough with their crap. There's nothing more Din longs for than to withdraw you from that burdensome situation, lead you to the quietness and tranquility of the Razor Crest. The audacity these men have creates a rage welling up within his chest, blood in his veins boiling. The fact that he can't take action leaves him feeling helpless. You evidently don't want his assistance. You can deal with them yourself — it's what you want.
The Mandalorian finds himself remaining in the cantina for hours. The place gradually empties, though not entirely. There's considerably less racket now. You seem to slowly relax, the tension in your shoulders fading away. Din rarely attempts to peek towards your direction again — not after what previously occurred. He's still rather humiliated about it. His finger lightly drums against the table, a faint tapping sound solely audible to his ears. He's not quite certain why he's residing here for a prolonged amount of time if you're undeniably occupied with your job. Yet—
"Drink?"
The familiar voice steals his attention, a glass filled to the brim with an unknown alcoholic drink slides directly into the hand placed over the table. He catches it and clasps onto it tautly with his fingers, visor lifting upwards precisely when a woman occupies her seat on the booth across from him. You.
Admittedly, he's staggered by your unexpected appearance. While you've spoken with him before, he didn't expect that to occur today, especially with the exceptionally packed cantina. He's utterly speechless, any sort of coherent sentence completely disappearing from his mind. His mouth opens, then shuts repeatedly when he fails to voice an individual word. His throat feels inexplicably dry all of a sudden, his immediate reaction being to take a swig from the glass in his grasp but he's unable to with the helmet preventing it. In this moment, he'd do anything to rid himself of this impenetrable apprehensiveness, anything to ease himself. He can't bring himself go verbalize a single phrase, not even a mere 'thank you.'
"I noticed you didn't order anything for yourself," you state when he doesn’t answer. His flustered condition worsens upon realizing this whole time, you had observed him from the distance as well. Your eyes swiftly dart around the cantina for a split moment, before returning to peer directly into his visor. Then, your gaze averts once more. "Go ahead. There's nobody looking."
For a second, he can't comprehend your suggestion. Until he realizes you're proposing he takes a quick drink from the glass. He glances down towards the object in his hand, practically overflowing with a bright purple-colored liquid. Its iciness bleeds through the leather of his glove. It's been a while since he's enjoyed a nice drink. He can't refuse. Without further contemplation, his free hand raises towards the lip of his helmet, gradually tilting the beskar backwards until his chin and mouth were revealed. He's a bit skittish, unknowing whether you'll abruptly turn your head to face him while he's vulnerable like this. Which is why he speedily chugs it down.
Bad idea. The liquid instantaneously burns his throat, clearing the dryness and replacing it with prickling heat. He drops the helmet down to conceal the exposed half of his face, half-empty glass placed onto the table as he nearly fails to contain himself from throwing a coughing fit. His abrupt discomfort caused your gaze to snap towards him again. At least now he manages to speak. "That's—" he pauses, the strain in his voice leading him to clear his throat. "That's very... strong."
You beam at him, chuckling emanating from you. He can't help but gawk at you, your perfect smile, contagious laughter, alluring features. Occasionally, he wonders how it would feel to kiss those soft, red-tinted lips, caress the curve of your jawline with his thumb, rake his fingers through your silky strands of hair. Those fantasies need to be completely erased from his mind, because they're never going to occur. His longing thought are quickly interrupted when you speak up. "Has a nice taste though, right?"
Din shrugs his shoulders. His breath is still unbearably hot from the drink. Perhaps he should've tested it out before hastily swallowing a substantial quantity of the liquid. "It's an... interesting flavor." He merely watches when you grab the glass, gulping down the remains of the drink without cringing upon the powerful aftertaste. "How much?"
Your gaze meet with him once more. The heavy black eyeliner bordering your eyes only enhance those captivating hues even more, feeling as if they pierce directly through the impenetrable beskar helm obscuring his face. "Payment? Credits aren't necessary today, Mandalorian. I believe tonight has brought me enough to sustain myself with. But there is one thing I'm interested in—" you pause before leaning forward, elbows propping against the table. It provides Din with a superior perspective of your chest, though he couldn't bring himself to glance down. He will not dare disrespect you in such ways. You have his total, undivided attentiveness now, ears ready to listen in for whatever you have to offer. "—your name."
His name. The Mandalorian normally wouldn't provide random people with the knowledge of his name. The thing is — you're not a simple 'random person.'
"Din. Din Djarin."
"Din... Djarin," you repeat, the phrase exquisitely rolling off your tongue. "Well, Din Djarin, I've gotta say... you're an intriguing man."
"How so?" a certain curiosity tinges his tone, audible even through the vocodor distorting his voice.
With a nonchalant shrug, you continue. "You're not here for the same reasons these men are. I mean, you're here for me, I know that. But when you visit, you do so in a considerate manner. Not as intrusive and harassing as most are." Your lips curve upwards in a small grin, head tilting with a certain gratefulness dominating your expression. "I like that."
The final sentence causes his breath to hitch in his throat. "You do?"
You bob your head in affirmation. A split second of somewhat comfortable silence passes, your gazes persisting trained solely on each other. Then, "I saw you last night, outside my house."
Damn. "I was on my way back to my ship. Managed to stumble across you."
Your brows raise with inquisitiveness. "You saw me? Why didn't you at least wave?"
"I was... in a rush."
"Understandable," you answer with a curt nod. You release a puff of breath before your eyes flash with visible seductiveness, causing Din to anticipate your next words. "Your armor's worn-out. Even more damaged than the last time I saw you. Rough hunt?"
His helmet tips down towards the beskar cuirass plating his chest. Countless dents and scratches ruin the brownish-red paint of the indestructible metal. Its covered in grime and dust, as is the rest of his armor, plenty more damaged than the previous occasion Din decided to land on Tatooine. The sudden realization that he should've at least scrubbed the soot off before venturing out here hits him, a slight embarrassment overwhelming him. "Yeah... armor's seen better days."
"Well, my shift's over. Droid's taken control now," you gesture with your head towards the service droid serving multiple people at the bar. A confident smirk makes its appearance across your expression before your hand slides towards his own, still placed over the table. Despite the leather preventing genuine contact, your touch is welcome and pleasant. "Maybe I can pass by your ship — the Razor Crest, is it? I could help out, polish your armor, perhaps?"
The offer is nearly irrefutable. Yet there's one minor setback that creeps into his mind.
"I-I don't think your... boyfriend will appreciate that."
Confusion etches your features as you slip your fingers away. "Boyfriend? I— oh, no. That guy yesterday? My cousin. Took time off last night so I could see him. He just landed here to quickly visit me before returning to his work earlier today."
Realization strikes him straight in the gut. His mouth opens to spit out an apology, before swiftly shutting it when a string of curses escapes your mouth, head ducking down upon spotting something, or someone. "What?"
You peer over Din's shoulders before dipping down again, hand on your forehead to obscure your face. "I may have promised someone a date," your voice is hushed even despite the noise resounding through the cantina. "I originally wasn't going accept. But he's so damn persistent. So, I told him to come here after I finished my shift, that way I'd be gone and I wouldn't have to deal with him. But he's here now, earlier than I expected."
The Mandalorian's helmet whirls around towards the wide-open entrance. A Zabrak lingers by the doors, eyes examining the cantina in a careful manner, searching for none other than you, before he steps towards the usual bar. Din turns to face you again, thumb discreetly pointing towards the beige-colored Zabrak male. "Him?"
You nod, further unease notable in your body language. Without uttering a single word, you abruptly lift yourself from your seat, heading directly towards the exit.
Not even a goodbye.
Should've taken the damn offer. Would that have been so hard?
"Oh, look! She's right over there by the doors."
A mechanical voice alerts the Zabrak of your presence, before he whips around and calls your name upon spotting your form. Kriffin' droid. You freeze precisely before managing to step one foot outside the building. Your shoulders visibly tense, though you stand firmly, back facing the Zabrak as he stalks towards you. His sizable hand clutches onto your arm, forcing you around. An unfamiliar, strange feeling sneaks into Din's mind upon watching his harsh manners, dominating his every action and movements.
I get jealous, but who wouldn't when you look like you do?
"Forget my—"
The Zabrak's deep voice is interrupted when you yank your arm away from his grasp, pacing forward in a menacing demeanor. "As a matter of fact, I didn't forget," you cross your arms over your chest, eyes practically boring holes into that horned head of his. "I don't need to go on a damn date with you if I don't want it. And right now—"you tilt your head, a poised smirk appearing on your red lips. "—I simply don't want to." With that, you spin around without offering another word.
You're so sure it makes me insecure...
The Zabrak can't seem to take a hint before he begins to swiftly pursue you. Din is unable to perceive anything else when the both of you exit the cantina. He can't wait anymore, sit around and watch. Sure, you can deal with the situation perfectly fine, as you'd done countless times in the past. But for once, Din urges himself to help. An impulse to protect you. His hand shifts towards his holster by pure instinct as he saunters through the exit, only for him to freeze in his spot. You're menacingly holding a sharp blade against the Zabrak's exposed neck, before he abruptly staggers backwards, holding his hands up in a surrendering manner.
You chuckle, before your eyes land on the Mandalorian lingering around, a certain glimmer present in your eyes. "Besides—" you're directing your words towards the Zabrak while stepping towards Din. "I've other plans tonight."
Your gentle hands grip onto Din's bicep, lightly tugging him forward and beckoning him to follow. Your touch causes an unfamiliar heat to erupt throughout his entire body, predominating his emotions. It's not due to the humidity of the planet, no... it's just... it's you. You're causing all this and he can't control himself no matter how much effort he put into it.
Just one touch is so electric...
He goes along with your suggestion, no hesitation whatsoever as you step away from the grumbling Zabrak. He recognizes he shouldn't mess with a Mandalorian, especially if the urge to protect the person he's constantly thinking about is present.
When he tips his head down to glance towards your direction, your lips are curled upwards into a smirk. Not the one you held while attempting to rid of the irritating Zabrak. There is a certain mischief written all over your features.
"Your ship?"
Oh, what the hell.
How could he resist a piece of you?
#let me tell you something#he may be completely clueless when it comes to flirting#and all that kind of stuff#but din djarin knows how to treat a woman#the mandalorian#din djarin x reader#star wars#din djarin imagines#star wars x reader#din djarin x reader imagines#brown eyes#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader
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Magic misfits! Did I update the masterpost specifically because of this fic? yes absolutely. A busy day for Scar, featuring TFC and some good ol’ Scar appreciation :]
The start of a new season was always interesting.
While TFC didn’t enjoy having to start from scratch every year or so; having gotten used to the comforts of late season riches, he did love the sheer amount of interaction that came with a new season. TFC was content to hear gossip about the others’ shenanigans while he stuck to what he was best at: mining. Some of the others called it cheating to use his earthbending down in the tunnels, but he called it cheating to be able to shapeshift, or use magic crystals, or any of the other crazy things the other hermits could do, so it evened out.
When he wasn’t down in his mine, TFC watched as all the other hermits scrambled to make the most impressive buildings and contraptions in as little time as possible. Many of his servermates placed more importance on finishing their creations than actually gathering necessities such as tools and armour.
As if to prove this observation, the Boatem village appeared on the other side of the nether portal, populated with structures that were much too large considering it had only been three weeks since they arrived in this world. There was also a… tree? At least that’s what it looked like; a thin oak tree stretching up past the clouds and out of view. Looks like Mumbo and Grian were up to no good already.
“TFC! Up here!” Scar’s voice came from somewhere above TFC’s head, and he looked up to see the wizard (although he no longer wore his robe and hat) standing on a balcony extending from a truly massive wagon, one hand on the railing and the other extended above his head, waving enthusiastically at TFC.
He climbed the ladder up the side of the wagon, entering a sparse storage room. Knowing Scar, he either hadn’t bothered to move in yet or lost all of his things in a cave somewhere. Despite his powerful crystal magic, Scar still managed to die more than any other hermit, so the second option was more likely.
“Well hello there! Welcome to my humble abode, please take a seat.” Scar led TFC to a balcony, where he gestured towards a table and two folding chairs. Scar sat down, crossing his legs and folding his arms in his lap. “So, what brings you to our little village today?”
TFC raised an eyebrow at the question, confusion evident in his voice. “Because you invited me? We were supposed to have tea today.”
Scar jolted in his seat, then proceeded to scramble out of said seat. “I’ll be right back! I have to go… feed Jellie!” This was quite obviously a lie seeing as Jellie hadn’t returned from her between seasons interdimensional travels yet. TFC’s laughter chased Scar into the wagon, where he frantically prepared the tea that he was totally planning on making because he definitely remembered his plans for the day.
After about five minutes of mildly concerning crashing sounds, Scar returned with two steaming mugs of tea (decorated with cat faces, of course) and a plate of chocolate chip cookies - Stress’ recipe if TFC wasn’t mistaken. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, appreciating the tea and cookies.
“So, how are you holding up this season, Scar?” TFC took a sip of green tea, looking out at the horizon.
“Oh you know, the usual. I don’t have my village anymore, but the magical misfits still come seeking my help.” He brought a cookie to his mouth and bit off half of it. “Not that I mind helping people!” He swallowed his mouthful before continuing. “XB was here last week convinced that he left his coat in season seven, but turns out it just ended up in one of Joe’s boxes.” He chuckled to himself, wiping crumbs off of his jacket as TFC stared at the distant ocean, lost in thought.
TFC broke the silence that had fallen. “You’re a good man, y’know that?” The wizard in question looked at TFC in surprise. He was used to ‘thank you’s, but the personal compliment caught him off guard. “You’ve created a safe space for folks from all sorts of places, and you’ve saved quite a few of them from bad people.”
Scar looked down, smiling at his cup of tea. He spoke quietly, a departure from his usual boisterousness. “Thanks TFC, that means a lot.”
-
Scar was in the middle of catching TFC up on what he missed from day one when something red and very fast crashed into the balcony. The something in question turned out to be Grian, shimmering wings protruding from his back. Something must have been wrong, since winged hermits tended to refrain from flying early in the season, in the name of fairness.
“Scar we need your- Oh heeey, I didn’t know you had company over!” He leaned on the railing, his urgency replaced with a forced cheerfulness as he (quite obviously) pretended nothing was wrong. What was probably supposed to be an easygoing smile stretched too wide, and his voice was more high pitched than usual. “How’s it goin’?”
Scar, completely oblivious, responded excitedly. “Oh, I was just telling TFC here about our adventure in the geode with Cleo!”
Grian’s uncomfortable smile grew wider, and his eyebrows furrowed. “That sounds great, do you think you’ll be done anytime soon?”
“Oh well, I’m not too sure. It depends on when we finish all of these cookies.”
“Oh that’s just wonderful,” Grian’s wings started to twitch behind him, “did you make those yourself?”
Scar took a breath, preparing for a tangent when TFC cut in, showing the poor fairy some mercy. “Alright Grian, out with it. What’s wrong?” Scar stared at Grian, somehow surprised that this wasn’t a completely ordinary visit.
Grian let out a long sigh. “Thank you so much TFC.” He turned his gaze to Scar. “We need a little help with curse breaking.”
Scar set down his mug and gave Grian his full attention, preparing himself for whatever strange curse one of the fairies had set on some poor hermit. “Really? How are you two cursing people already? It hasn’t even been a month!”
Grian’s tangent was accompanied by wild hand gestures that made it difficult to follow what he was saying. “Well, Pearl came up behind Mumbo and spooked him, he shouted something about not sneaking up on him, and now whenever he turns his back on her she teleports directly in front of him.” Grian looked nervously over his shoulder in the direction of Mumbo’s van. TFC followed his gaze, and burst into laughter again.
Mumbo was standing a few feet away from his campfire, spinning in circles and doubling over in laughter as Pearl kept popping up in front of him.
Scar pushed himself up from his chair, TFC followed suit. The pair headed to the door while Grian flew back down, Scar giving TFC a sort of briefing. “Alright, let’s go figure out what exactly Mumbo did before Pearl starts feeling particularly vengeful.”
-
It took two hours and a lot of trial and error (with TFC giving supremely unhelpful tips), but eventually Pearl could stand behind Mumbo again. At some point Scar accidentally applied the effect to both Grian and Mumbo, and he had to beg the two not to create a space time anomaly. But it was all fixed now, and TFC was sure Pearl’s revenge would be swift and cruel.
Scar made his way back up to the balcony, and the two continued their conversation. It was a good thing Scar had enchanted his mugs, something he had done back in season seven after his drinks kept getting abandoned and going cold.
After a few hours of peace (other than both Mumbo and Grian’s bases abruptly flipping upside down while the boys were inside), the pair was interrupted again by a voice behind them.
“Howdy, Scar. Oh, and howdy to you as well, TFC!”
Neither of them had heard Joe coming, so Scar jumped about a foot in the air while TFC nearly spat out his tea. It turned out that Cleo was there as well, looking quite a bit angrier than Joe, although that wasn’t too uncommon.
“Oh my goodness, Joe you scared the life out of me!” Scar held a hand to his chest and caught his breath as Cleo got right to business.
“Sorry about that Scar,” her voice was flat, and it was safe to assume that she was not, in fact, sorry about that. “But we have an emergency. It’s completely Joe’s fault, he-”
Joe smoothly stepped in front of his companion as he cut her off, “I wouldn’t say it’s entirely my fault, old magic is a fickle thing-”
Cleo shoved Joe aside, stepping in front once again. “He revived my leg!” She raised a foot off the ground and gestured at it with both hands.
Sure enough, both TFC and Scar looked down to see that Cleo’s right leg was significantly more flesh-coloured than the left, restored to what it presumably once was.
Scar’s lingering panic was instantly replaced by an amused grin as he gestured to the leg in question. “Cleo, why don’t you just get your leg reinfected? It’s not like zombies are hard to come by.”
The pair stood still, just blinking. (Completely in sync, it was eerie)
Cleo rounded on Joe and punched at his shoulder just as he raised a hand to deflect her fist. “How did you not think of that Joe?! I thought you knew everything there was to know about-” She gestured wildly about for a moment. “Everything?!”
“Shouldn’t you be some sort of zombie expert by now? How is that my responsibility?” The argument continued as the pair went back into the wagon and down the ladder. As they walked off, presumably to go find a cave, something occurred to TFC. He cupped his hands around his mouth to yell down at them.
“Cleo!” She turned around. “Don’t use Joe as bait!”
She snapped her finger like a defeated cartoon villain, as Joe turned to face her and presumably gave her grief for this evil plot.
-
It was only about five minutes after Cleo and Joe left (preceded by twenty minutes of arguing) that the next problem arrived, as it often did, in the form of Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango arriving on the shore of the village. TFC found this odd, seeing as how everyone was now connected by nether portals, but he assumed there would be an explanation shortly, even if it didn’t make a lick of sense.
Impulse shouted up from the ground, the three of them clustered near the front of the wagon. “TFC, we need your help!” Well that was a surprise, not many people asked for his assistance other than Scar. “We made an oopsie and Cleo said we could find you here!”
As every hermit knew, ‘oopsie’ was a versatile word with these three. It could mean anything between making a minor mistake in a build to banishing Impulse for the fifth time. “What happened this time?” TFC stood up and made his way down the ladder, since shouting down at them wasn’t very efficient and they didn’t seem inclined to come up.
Impulse started twisting his hands together while Zedaph and Tango tried their best to look innocent behind him. It didn’t work. “Weeell, Tango wanted a terraforming job done around his base, so we made a little deal for it.”
Oh boy. Not much good came out of magical deals, yet the other hermits continued to make them with each other. Demonic deals were especially tricky since the demon didn’t have precise control over their end of the deal, not that it stopped these three. “Tango offered me his first beacon in exchange for the job, and it turns out that a beacon is worth a lot more than I thought- it’s probably easier if we show you.”
“Quick FYI guys: firsts are very valuable in deals! It applies to you as well Impulse, not just the fae!” Scar called helpfully from his still seated position on the balcony.
-
They all ended up going over to Tango’s house/ shop, which was literally buried in a mound of dirt and stone, along with about three quarters of Bdubs’ giant moon house. That explains why they didn’t use the nether.
The earth was offended after being touched by demonic magic, but after a long negotiation TFC managed to convince it that Impulse meant no harm, and it was happy to return to its prior state. Tango was mildly annoyed that he would have to do the terraforming himself and give Impulse a beacon, but it was better than the wrath he would have faced from Bdubs.
By the time TFC and Scar returned to the Boatem village, the sun was starting to dip below the horizon. While TFC admired the beauty of it, Scar just looked disappointed.
“I’m sorry.”
TFC raised an eyebrow at the wizard, a frown making its way onto his face. “What do you mean you’re sorry? Did you do something to the tea?”
Despite TFC’s attempted joke, Scar still stared at his perfectly polished shoes. “This was supposed to be a nice relaxing day to catch up, and people were just showing up left and right. I mean, we hardly got to spend any time together! Maybe I shouldn’t invite people over with all this wizard stuff going on.”
“But we did spend time together.” TFC’s rough hand landed on Scar’s shoulder, the latter looking up at the former, startled by the contact.
“Well yeah we had tea for a while but-”
TFC had to cut off Scar’s rambling or he would never get to his point. “Yes we had tea, but I’m talking about the rest of the day.” Scar seemed genuinely confused at this. “I helped you un-curse Pearl,” he did air quotes on the word ‘helped,’ “We watched Joe and Cleo argue together, and you came with us to fix Tango’s house.” Of course he didn’t do much other than laugh at Tango’s misfortune, but it was the thought that counted. “Just ‘cause it didn’t go to plan doesn’t mean I didn’t have a good time.” After all, not much went according to plan on the hermitcraft server.
Now Scar was smiling. “So I didn’t ruin the day with magical misfits?”
“Not at all.” TFC reached for his mug and emptied it one last time, then stretched before heading out. “But now I gotta get going. I don’t like my chances against the mobs with my crappy iron gear.”
Scar waved once more as TFC disappeared into the nether portal. “Goodnight TFC! And thanks again, for everything!”
TFC smiled as he made his way through the nether tunnels back home. Scar did a lot more for the hermits than he realized, allowing them to be free with their magic in a way they couldn’t back home, TFC included. He’d created a home for all sorts of ‘magic misfits’ as Scar put it, and he performed an invaluable service, whether he realized it or not.
He’s a good kid. Just needs some reminding every once in a while.
#hermitcraft#hermitcraft 8#magic misfits au#tinfoilchef#goodtimeswithscar#grian#mumbo jumbo#pearlescentmoon#joe hills#zombiecleo#tangotek#impulsesv#zedaph#im not too confident on the Emotional bits but#practice makes perfect i suppose#theres a few things i implied here so feel free to ask and clear things up
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This Blessed Day - Ch. 8
we approach the halfway mark of @blackestnight's commission! \o/
Given how long Lucia has been trapped behind enemy lines, it is only by the grace of her training, and her ironclad willpower, that she has not absolutely snapped under the pressure of living as a prisoner.
But a lit fuse will always reach the powder keg, if nothing is done to stop it. And Lucia's has burned for too long to stop.
word count: 6,014
Prev
~*~
The next morning, Margelyne had caught her on her way out of her bedroom to join the family for breakfast.
“Good morning, Mistress Junius.” Margelyne said with a bow of her head— another thing that she was yet unaccustomed to. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Aymeric at all, this morn?” At the shake of her head, Margelyne sighed. “More’s the pity, really. My lady sent him to deliver a letter to House Haillenarte. Stepped out before breakfast, he did! Thought he’d be back by now. Could I trouble you to track him down?”
As if Lucia had much say in the matter regardless, but she appreciated Margelyne asking all the same. With a murmured affirmation, the attendant fussed a scarf around her neck on her way out the door. Lucia couldn’t settle on whether she was touched, or annoyed. The feeling made her feel strangely small, in a way she had not felt since she were young.
The vulnerability of that feeling was another spark on that roiling ember in her ribcage. It felt like, the more she tried not to feed into that building up cavalcade of emotions that she’d bottled, the more there were things that found a way to fan the flames.
Pressing the heated flush that spread across her face into the emerald scarf she now wore, she trudged off toward the Rose crested House.
The walk wasn’t far; really, it was only some few residential blocks—or at least, the winding, savage equivalent of a city block—and she would be at her destination.
Just when Lucia had begun to feel like she had been sent on a wild goose chase just to get her out of the Manor, she heard a cacophony of voices echoing from down the street. When one of those echoes resembled the name “Borel,” she set off in a light jog toward it.
When the sound of shuffling footsteps, and the telltale clap of hands grappling with coat sleeves accompanied those voices—and the jeering that followed—she quickened her pace as fast as she dared without looking conspicuous enough to be accosted by an overzealous patrol guard.
“Bastard’s squirrely!” One of the voices cried out in violent glee.
As Lucia suspected, she heard the same agitated voices, echoing off of one of the alleyways on the road there. Slowing for a moment to quiet her footfalls, she strained her hearing.
“And what’s a weaselly little worm like you doing, scurrying off to a High House?” She heard a sneering voice prattle.
Closer than she had thought. Pivoting, she stormed down the street, honing in on the squabble. Two alleys down, to her left.
When more laughter rang out, closer than it had been before, Lucia could pinpoint its source more clearly, and pursued it down a winding side alley—where she could see the dance of shadows along a wall.
She followed their lead. As she rounded the corner, her quarry came into view— along with the ones that had waylaid him.
“Hail.” she called, so as to avoid startling him when he was already cornered.
Even with that warning, she kept some distance between him and herself, if only to keep the belligerent nobles from having one more reason to be incensed.
He spared her a glance over his shoulder, nodding once to acknowledge her. He kept the remainder of his focus on his potential opponents—as did she, frankly.
“I’ll remind you that I was minding my business—and I have asked you to do the same. Several times now.” Aymeric said in a voice so thin with patience, Lucia wondered how long they’d been circling this particular drain just to avoid their altercation turning physical.
“And I’ll remind’ you,” retorted the inebriated noble, punctuated with jabs of his finger in Aymeric’s general direction. Or, as close as he could approximate, with his swaying. “Of your place.”
The scowl on Aymeric’s face was darker than the shadows that his assailants tried to cower in. Lucia could still clearly make their forms out, haloed by lamplight as they were—and, she presumed, so could he. They outnumbered him, even if she were to intervene.
“Despite your best efforts,” Aymeric replied, and she could hear the struggle he had to keep the agitation out of his voice. “I have no quarrel with you.”
“Find one. ‘Cause we have one with you.” the ringleader spat.
“Had t’get that shiner of yours looked at, did ye?” asked another of the men.
When he cracked his knuckles to look intimidating, Lucia couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. In truth, she didn’t care to.
“I am not fighting you.” Aymeric spat, exasperated.
“What, you think you’re safe, just ‘cause a’ who your dear ol’ dad is?” the ringleader of the boys jeered.
If the way that Aymeric rolled his eyes was any indication, this wasn’t the first time he’s been asked this question. He seemed to deign this moment worthy of indulging in an undignified snort, to accompany a momentary slouch in his posture to highlight his exasperation.
Snapping his posture back into place, he leveled an agitated glare at the man and tossed an equally sharp quip of, “No one is safe from him, you fucking maroon. Say he’s my father within earshot of an Inquisitor, if you’re feeling particularly brave. Or foolish. Or both.”
He flicked a hand in annoyance, as if he were metaphorically waving the whole thing away from himself. “I care not, so long as you leave me out of it.”
His comment caught Lucia off guard—she’d known it was folly to hope that his status as a bastard could act as a bargaining chip for her, but to think that even invoking the knowledge of his father, of all the illegitimate fathers in all of Ishgard, would guarantee a conversation with an Inquisitor, if overheard? Little wonder Ophianne had been so insistent that it would be the height of folly to try and use it to her advantage.
Seeing the way the boys flinched at the goading, Lucia all but had her confirmation.
“Feelin’ brave all of a sudden, now that you’ve got that heretical harlot of yours? Feelin’ tough?” one of them tried to turn the goading on them, making a crude gesture with his hand between herself and Aymeric.
For her part, Lucia fought the urge to roll her eyes. It was hardly the first time someone insinuated that Aymeric had spared her life purely for lustful endeavors, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Not that it mattered how untrue it was, they would persist, so long as she was present. It had always gotten more of a reaction from him than from her, though even that had been little more than him having to bite his tongue. He probably didn’t like the smear on his reputation.
Well. That wouldn’t be a problem for much longer, she dismissed the thought. Not that it was her problem to begin with; she didn’t care, but at least the Borels could get to the business of rebuilding their reputation, after she’d left.
…Not that that was her problem, either. Nor that she cared.
It…not surprised, so much as startled Lucia, when that, of all things, proved to be what got a real rise out of Aymeric. At first, it wasn’t even immediately apparent that he had been incensed, beyond the flex of his jaw. Then, he tugged on his glove, primly, with a huff.
“I care little if you want to disrespect me—you’ve already decided that I’m worthy of it. But you do not debase Mistress Junius with such accusations.” he warned, widening his stance.
“Or what, little lord?” asked the ringleader in a low growl. He looked like a wolf that had cornered an unsuspecting lamb, as he prowled ever closer.
“Or I’ll feed you your fucking teeth. Again.” Aymeric replied, in a matching tone.
This fool was not legitimately expecting to take on three burly, inebriated men, all on his own, surely? When the two lackeys of the bunch of them closed ranks with cracked knuckles, and still, Aymeric refused to back down, Lucia let out a snarl of built up frustration as she stomped forward.
When her shoulder bumped his, nudging him over to better cover his flank, he looked at her in genuine shock. For some reason, that irritated her even more. Why did he think she wouldn’t step in, ward of his house as she was?
“Lucia, you needn’t—“ he tried to tell her, but she cut him off with an indignant snort.
“You made this my fight months ago, damn you!” she snarled, and rolled her shoulders back to bring her fists forward. “Now live with that!”
If he was still shocked at her actions, he kept silent about it, angling his stance so they were back to back, shoulder to shoulder, facing their impending assailants together.
“As you say. You go right, I go left?” he suggested, just loud enough for her to hear him.
“As you say.” she parroted with a curt nod, before the chaos broke out.
Even in the opening trade of blows, their clear headed advantage was clear; the drunkards’ stumbling footwork spoke of just how rowdy they’d gotten before now, ambling their weight around on legs that were always uncertain of where the ground would come up to meet them.
One of them tried to shove her away from the fight—or at least, she could only presume that was his goal, when the man nearest to her right lunged at her, both of his hands outstretched with fingers splayed out to grab at her.
If she thought they had any semblance of intellect, she’d be offended at such a bumbling attack. It took less effort for her to use his momentum against him than it did for her to roll her eyes at him, but she still made a show of promptly flipping him over her shoulder. It at least let the most immediate of her problems roll off her back.
He landed hard enough on the cobblestone street that she heard something in his torso pop under her onslaught.
The impact of the man she’d thrown hitting the ground was as a detonation switch for the roiling inferno of bottled up everything that had been burning her alive for days now—likely longer. The numbness made that unclear. That thunderous impact reverberated from the earth, rattled up from her feet, and struck to the very heart of her, just in time for her to use the momentum of her counterattack to push off the ground with her feel, and swivel a well placed wheelhouse kick at the second attacker that tried to take advantage of her opening.
Ignition.
Lucia felt the imploding star in her chest go supernova with the impact of her kick landing. If she had thought her life had been gray, before that moment, then she supposed this was what discovering color anew felt like. The world was alight, aflame, and she moved like she sought to spread the wildfire and burn them all alive.
In a way, she supposed she did.
She had been permitted to train, while serving as ward of House Borel. Thus, she had maintained her swordplay and endurance exercises, but it had not been enough, to burn out the anger from her, to work it out of her, until she was too tired to feel it.
She would know: she had tried.
But, the sort of gnawing hunger that such rage created, could not glut itself on training dummies. These bumbling drunks, however, made that anger in her chest lick its fangs, ravenous.
Their swings were far from sluggish, but were startlingly quick, heavy blows. If they had any precision at all behind them, it would have been something to worry about. As it was, the most any of them could manage was a glancing blow here and there, hardly enough to do more than bruise.
Every onze of built up fury, every squirreled away pinch of indignation, every aggravating pull at her sanity, she set them off in heavy, solid blows to their assailants. When the man whose jaw had an unfortunate introduction to the heel of Lucia’s boot spiraled to the cobblestone, the one she’d thrown over her shoulder scrambled to his feet. At least when he lunged at her again, he had just enough sense to bring his fists up. More’s the pity, then, that he had no answer for her onslaught of blows but to bring his arms up to try and absorb the worst of them.
The pup remembered her fangs.
Lucia’s hearing, made all the sharper for the adrenaline coursing through her veins, picked up more noise in the scuffle behind her, more than could be accounted for with only two combatants. When she ducked to avoid a haphazard follow-up swing that meandered in her direction, she used that movement and dropped to a crouch, and, in one fluid motion to carry the momentum, pushed her weight onto her hands as she kicked up, out, and swept her leg around her. The attack kept their opponents from descending upon her, but also gave her a better view, that she might look behind her and assess how Aymeric fared.
Her ears had not deceived her: where she had thought she was leaving the ringleader for Aymeric, his attacker had other designs. Two more men had joined the fray, at some point. She wondered if they’d followed the sounds of the commotion, or if they’d been lying in wait, ahead of time, in anticipation for this confrontation going south.
Cowards, either way. She was surrounded by cowards. Sniveling, spoiled little shits that thought themselves so fucking mighty—
Her kick only bought her enough time for that one glance at the other side; when she landed on her feet again, the noble she had first flipped over her shoulder was struggling to stand. She didn’t even bother standing first, before she lunged at him, snarling.
“Stay down!” she roared, and with a snap punch square to his nose, he crumpled, curling into himself to clutch at his nose and whimper pitifully.
Since he was so keen on behaving like a neglected animal, Lucia was keen on treating him as one, and bore her attention down upon her remaining opponent.
Just beyond her focus, she could see one of them attempt to strike Aymeric with—a weapon? Where had they been hiding that? With her focus split, the details of it blurred, but Aymeric managed to get the weapon free of his attacker, and strike the follow-up assailant dazed with his elbow, in a blow that landed just above the ear.
Not much flair, but effective. She could respect that.
Though the fight had devolved into a full blown brawl, between the loudmouths and the two of them, Lucia still couldn’t help but slip into old habits: a flourish with her every strike, a uniform snap to her movements, just as her instructors had praised her for, back when she had first begun building her career in earnest.
With someone that she could count on to fend for himself at her back, the fight went on for far less time than she had thought it would. It was a bit refreshing, not having to handle most of the work in a fight.
Two of them were still able to stagger off, all but having to drag and cajole the others to shamble away in drunken defeat. As the threat receded, Lucia expected that the red that rimmed her vision would go with them. She waited to feel relief, her chest heaving like a hand-bellow stoking a hearth.
That fire in her chest, however, had other ideas. After being left untended and unbanked, it had consumed her ribcage, charring down to marrow and still demanding another pound of flesh. Her blood roared insistently in her ears. In the absence of relief, those agitators filled that space she’d made for peace, and she felt ready to burst at the seams. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t stop shaking.
“Well, then. That settles it, I suppose.” Aymeric spoke up evenly, from somewhere beside her.
Something about the comment was a flash of oil on the fire in Lucia’s veins. Her jaw protested her clenching it so hard, to try and keep herself together. When the hornets buzzing in her veins stung at her knuckles, she flexed and bowed them, rapidly, to try and squash them.
Aymeric seemed aware of how she teetered on the knife’s edge. He blundered into another attempt at levity, around a chuckle, as he dusted the shoulder of his coat off, as he said “when those others showed up, I was all but certain we were in trouble, but look at us! Nary a scratch on either—”
Here she was, frantically flipping through her paltry, threadbare mental handbook on self-soothing, and he had the unrelenting nerve to make light, with her, his captive, as if they were fucking friends—
Something loud and guttural exploded out from its cage within her ribs, and rattled her down to the marrow, as it was unleashed in a howl. That raw, primal burst of everything that she had buried within her chest pushed itself out, and scraped at her nerves on its way out, plucking them as puppet strings.
Or at least, that’s what it felt like, when she wound her arm back and, with a howl of rage, struck Aymeric in the eye.
With the least dignified yelp she’d ever heard from him, he stumbled backwards some few steps— nearly on his arse— from the impact. Stumbling as a newborn deer, he took a moment to right himself, the eye not being covered by a gloved hand blinking owlishly at her. Still hunched from the effort of her swing, and half feral besides, she glared up at him. Hands shaking, and snarling between heaving breaths, she tried to calm herself with heavy, heaving pants. They only fanned the flames. She had to expel them, lest they be her pyre. She’d been carrying her own kindling for far too long.
“How dare you make light of this?!” she demanded, voice burning as acid on its way passed her teeth. “Don’t you fucking get it?!”
Whether out of self preservation instinct, shock, or a bit of both, Aymeric stood frozen, from the moment he’d recovered from her punch. Save for the heavy rise and fall of his chest and the slow lowering of his hand, he made no effort to stop her, no effort to interrupt or retaliate. Some part of her needed that from him; it was license for her to continue.
“You’ve gone and roped me into your bullshit, and not once have you thought about what happens to me, outside of you, ever since. All your pretty little thoughts, and the nice little gestures? They mean shit, if you do something stupid, and get yourself killed. What do you fucking think would happen to your precious little Imperial pet, after that? I’d be dead anyway, and you’d have wasted everyone’s time!”
Something about that was a spark in Aymeric’s eyes that registered something— indignation? Upset? Enough that he finally found words, subdued as they were, and mumbled, “I never intended—”
Despite being taller than her by a good head or so, he seemed small when he shrunk at the first rumblings of her agitated snarl. She hadn’t even meant to make that noise, but she was beyond the point of control, or caring. In a move doubtless driven purely by preservation instinct, he elected not to attempt to finish that statement. It mattered little; she wasn’t done, anyway, and she would, at last, be heard.
With heart full of fire, and head filled with bottled up thoughts ready for kindling, she pressed on, speaking from her chest, “I don’t care what you intended. What I have dealt with is living a half life, gifted baubles, and paraded around to be mocked and scorned, like a fucking circus animal! And for what? What kindness you have given me, in sparing my life. What charity!”
Now that she was well and truly expelling it, it was as if she couldn’t stop: her throat burned, and burned, and burned, and she kept spouting out fire in the hopes that eventually, she would run out of kindling, and everything would stop buzzing—
“And the only reprieve I know from it all is you. Your family. Your staff. And...and I don’t understand why. You could mistreat me— you all could mistreat me. But you—”
When she paused for a breath, she felt the tickle of sweat slipping beneath her circlet. It wasn’t enough to douse the fire in her chest entirely, but the way it startled her certainly banked the flames. Certainly enough for the exhaustion to fill her like smoke, smothering her thoughts momentarily. Her posture sagged, defeated, as she pushed that smoke out, in a heavy sigh.
Shouting suddenly felt as though it would take more strength than it was worth, so she continued in low, tired tones, “But you don’t. But you want to use me, if I prove myself, in some way? I can’t figure it out— can’t figure you out. And, and really, why would I want to figure it out? For what? You want there to be some, some change? For who, and what am I supposed to take away from that? Wh—”
Before that moment, she’d scarcely thought of what she was saying, and more that she was finally saying something at that point. But the last question that hung in her lungs, she caught between her teeth, and chewed on it for a moment. Could she even demand that answer, knowing the cost would be admitting that she needed to know?
Maybe those questions complicated the most simple truth: she deserved to know—
“Why did you save me?”
Lucia’s voice shattered on the question. The fist that she had kept clenched, even after she’d swung, splintered open, trembling and afraid. Her posture followed; her shoulders slumped, first, and then she had the good sense to step up to the wall behind Aymeric, and slumped against that entirely.
When her legs quaked, she let herself be dragged down to crouching, and when her head filled with all the smoke from the smoldering ruins in her lungs and felt too heavy to hold up, she let that fall, too, and tried to find her senses somewhere around her boots.
She couldn’t get her hands to stop shaking. Even raking them through the shorn back of her hair did little to soothe her. Without that raging inferno in her chest, all she felt was cold. In the ashes of her fury, she was left, down to her marrow, as who she truly was: a scared, shivering child, caught out in the cold, waiting for the axe to fall on her head.
“I’m sorry.” Aymeric said softly.
When she forced her head up to look at him again, he had moved closer to the wall, and echoed her movements, albeit with considerably more grace, and slid down to sit next to her with a heavy exhale. He sat with his bruised eye away from her— and a part of her had needed that distance from it, she supposed.
An apology had been the last thing Lucia had expected— but, perhaps, it was the thing she had needed the most, in that moment. It was enough, at least, to quiet her rioting thoughts, and still her hands. It was enough for her to believe that she was not in immediate danger. It was enough for her to rock back onto her heels, and further than that, to fall back into sitting, with a sigh that matched Aymeric’s.
“I’ve done a poor job of making things better for you— and haven’t even thought on how you were feeling, in the moment.” He shrugged a shoulder. “As much as I might have positioned myself as benevolent—that means little if I have not made certain you felt safe— and were safe, in the process of all of…this,” he trailed off inelegantly with a vague gesture of his hand to match.
The motion felt odd, coming from one she was so used to seeing so prim—but in a way, it looked better on him. Genuine.
Genuine enough, at least, to earn a laugh from her. He joined her for a single, quiet chuckle.
The sound of them laughing together sounded pleasant enough that they both allowed themselves to laugh a little more. It wasn’t much, but as their eyes met, everything felt a little less hopeless. A little less lonely. The turn of his head did, however, remind her of that awful bruise she’d given him.
Maybe before, the sight would have given her satisfaction. Gutted both physically and emotionally as she was now, however, she could only feel dread. It crept up her spine in time with the dawning realization that, were he to will it, he could name the price of her insolence as her life, and no one would step in to stop it.
She’d been circling the drain, mentally and emotionally for so long. She hadn’t even realized that her sense of scope had tunneled down with it, until she could only think to keep herself from lashing out in response to this, this hellscape of nothing that encompassed her days. Days she let pass her in a fugue, interrupted only when someone deigned to insult her for who she was, or where she came from.
It had taken so much energy to keep her head down, to convince herself that she was fine, she’d gone and spent it all. Ere long, she’d had none left to ensure that she truly was. So she’d burned, and burned, and burned, until it all turned to ash. It left her shivering in the frigid aftermath.
Stupid.
“I hit you.” Lucia said, feeling as foolish as that sounded.
“Far better than they did, aye.” Aymeric jabbed a thumb in the direction that the drunkards had run off. “And deservedly so.”
Her spiral slowed, but not halted, she pressed, “no one would even care, if you killed me for it.”
The horrified expression he gave her did more to disentangle the knot of panicked, complicated feelings lodged in her throat than any words he could have said.
All the same, it was a further balm on her nerves, when he squawked, “why in the name of the Fury would I?!”
“I’ve been threatened with death for far less egregious transgressions. Even back home.” she answered woodenly, before she could think not to, and focused again on her hands twisting in her lap. “...Especially back home. Used to it.”
“That does not make it right. Nor does that make it my right, for that matter.” Aymeric emphasized, still aghast.
It seemed her impulses were quicker than her mind, today. Before she could think better of it, she said, “I’m a prisoner. What life is there to take?”
A thought that she had been keen on avoiding, herself. It had dogged her, even after she had been allowed to stay in Borel Manor, this truth: as gilded as her cage was, it was a cage, and it was still not home, and she still had no choice, save death.
“I’m sorry—that sounds—” Lucia attempted, fumblingly, to try and articulate this thing she had been so bent on ignoring.
But that same willful ignorance made that thing perfectly strange to her; how could she describe that which she had purposefully not been looking at?
“You have nothing to be sorry for— outside of, perhaps, that whole spying business, of course.” Aymeric replied, and when she let out a startled laugh, he gave her a fleeting smile. “Though you have been treated with kindness in the house, ‘tis as you say: that makes you no less a prisoner. One of mine own making. Mine intent matters little, facts as they are.”
“You could be a far crueler warden.” Lucia said, and she belatedly realized that she was trying to comfort them both, with that statement.
“Then I do the bare minimum.” he replied, and hauled himself to his feet. “Unacceptable. I will do better.”
“Why bother? I’m the enemy. You don’t have to.”
His reply was immediate and firm: “Because it is the right thing to do.”
“Even if I don’t sign up for your cause? What then?” she asked, too helpless and raw to stop it.
“Then the failing is still mine. I will not make you pay for that failing, with your life.” Aymeric vowed.
It startled her, that Lucia believed him.
She didn’t watch him move, but felt his shadow darken her. When that shade remained, and shifted above her, she looked up to see that he had offered her his hand. Taking it and letting him help her to her feet, she found herself grateful for his assistance; her legs felt as uncertain as a newborn deer, like she couldn’t quite get them under her.
Stuffing his hands in his pockets and waiting for her to know what to say, Aymeric could pass for someone who just stepped outside for a quick smoke break…safe for that rapidly darkening bruise around his eye. The swelling was forcing into a rather unsightly squint—she’d gotten him good.
“Truly: I’m sorry.” he spoke up again, once his smile had faded. “I thought it was only a kindness, on my part, to spare you your execution. I couldn’t fathom a crueler fate than death, when you could instead have the chance to understand a different point of view, if naught else.”
After a few moments, he shrugged and admitted, “Though I suppose mine activism, in that regard, was far from wholly selfish. Even as I have made no secret of it, that does not make it—or me—better than anyone that you ever had a bigoted experience with.”
In truth, Lucia wasn’t prepared to hear these words, needed as they may have been. She hadn’t even thought to expect them, because she knew better. So to hear him casually admit that the fault lie with him— and with minimal simpering, no less— was an unexpected, but desperately needed, breath of fresh air. Enough that she gasped in response to it, to breathe it in deeply, and let it fill her chest. It wasn’t enough to completely douse the fire in her chest on the exhale, but it helped. It was something.
“...You never answered my last question.” she spoke, in lieu of knowing what else she could possibly say. “Why did you save me?”
Aymeric looked at her as though he were obvious. “Because it was the right thing to do,” he answered again.
“And yet, you want to use me.” her argument was as weak as her legs felt, in that moment, but she couldn’t help voice it.
“I want to work with you, provided I trust you enough to do so—and that I have earned enough of your trust, to be worthy of working with.” he corrected gently. “But I have hardly made that clear. The fault lies with me. For that, I am sorry.”
“But why?” Lucia pressed.
That was the question that earned her a pause from Aymeric. He looked contemplative, as if he were choosing his words carefully.
“Admittedly? Because you are here. You are here anyway, whether we work together or not. I see no reason not to try and make that time as amicable as possible—and if that means that you ultimately find Ishgard more agreeable? All the better.”
“And what makes you think you have anything worth more than what I have at home?” Lucia snorted.
“And what is waiting for you, there?” he asked, undeterred. “I should like to know the metric with which I am measured.”
Unprepared for the question to be turned around on her, Lucia sputtered. It startled her, when her automatic defense died on her tongue. What life and privilege she had in Garlemald was, and always had been, contingent upon her success. One failure, and it would be revoked. If not by death, then by disgrace.
When she didn’t answer, still squirming with her own disquieting thoughts, Aymeric took the gracious route, and did not press her further.
“I meant to ask: what were you doing out and about?” he instead asked. “Need you any assistance?”
Easier questions to answer. Easy enough for her to croak around the lump in her throat, “Margelyne asked me to find you.”
Aymeric clucked his tongue. “Always worries over much.”
“Just so, by my judgement.” Lucia replied flatly, with a gesture around them.
It took little more than a moment of glancing at one another with blank expressions before they both cracked, and were leaned against each other laughing themselves to tears. The wild shift in energy, even just from the start of her morning through now, had been so turbulent that this somehow felt the most appropriate way to finally expunge some of the tightness in her chest. It surprised her, that she felt lighter than she had since she left Garlemald, by the time they caught their breaths and dried their eyes.
“Come, let us return.” Aymeric said, on a recovering sigh. “Lest I cause Margelyne even more worry.”
The silence that fell between them was soft. Warm. It blanketed the air, and made it easier for her to breathe.
At least, until she looked back at him. Again, her eyes were drawn to the black eye she’d given him.
“We should get that looked at.” Lucia broke the silence, and nodded at the bruise when he turned to look at her.
“It’ll heal on its own. I am concerned little and less with it.” Aymeric waved her off.
“Truly, I am sorry for that.” she said again.
“Oh, enough.” Though he sounded exasperated, a smile crinkled his eyes, as he gently bumped his shoulder into hers. “I daresay I had it coming. Keeps me humble.”
The gentle shove nudged a laugh out of her. Relaxed for the first time in months— or perhaps, merely too tired to be tense, in that moment— Lucia mirrored the motion, and he, her reaction.
“I should have aimed at least a little lower.” She insisted, only distantly horrified at the smile that wrapped itself around her words. “Your face is your only asset.”
“And I have wit. Charm, too.” Aymeric countered, ticking each quality off on a finger on his hand.
“Oh, is that so?” Lucia snorted, though her words lacked any venom. “Any other hidden talents that might avail you in your quest?”
He flashed her a smile so sarcastic she almost saw it dribble from his lips, and paint his words, as he answered, “My unparalleled skills as a dancer.”
Their laughter rang out in therapeutically ugly guffaws, as they made their way out of the alleyways, and back onto the street proper.
Brief as it was, the walk back to Borel Manor was shockingly, genuinely pleasant. Lucia’s steps had not felt so light in months.
Somehow, the thought of the household demanding answers, regarding the bruising around Aymeric’s eye, hadn’t even occurred to Lucia, until they stood in the kitchen, with Margelyne squawking for an explanation.
Even knowing that he would, it was still a relief when the lie came easily to Aymeric’s lips: “Someone who brought a rather lot of friends picked a fight with me. I would be much worse off, were it not for Lucia’s aid.”
He looked directly at her, then.
“Truly, this house is better for having you in it, Lucia. And you, Margelyne.” He amended, looking at the maid. “Thank you both. I will do better.”
As a guillotine, a dreadful truth hung over Lucia’s head that night, menacing away any chance of sleep she might have had. It was more. It was worse than merely wanting to believe every word that Aymeric had said: it was that she did.
Next
#ffxiv#final fantasy xiv#Lucia goe Junius#Aymeric de Borel#Margelyne#blackestnight#commissioned writing#at last!!! Lucia lets herself feel something!!!#it's nice posting this in chapters because I'm still combing over it for ways to improve it/etc for ease of reading#I'm hoping to have all of this out before EW!
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what your paladins main says about you
a comprehensive essay by a paladins player of right around 4 years
this is like really long so i’ll make it under the cut so my followers don’t have to scroll through this if they don’t wanna
(for context i’m a current maeve main, i used to main skye and sha lin and played tyra a long while ago)
.
Androxus
it’s not a phase, mum
“i don’t care we don’t have healer, i’m really good at him i swear”
you ult every time it loads in and you die before the final shot
your favorite mode is siege because you can fly up and shoot the whole point on ult
you’re usually really stand-offish and don’t communicate much and/or a 13 year old boy with anger issues
.
Ash
you are level-headed but in a scary way
you will hold the point solo even if it costs you your streak
“get on the point” “guys get on the point” “attack the objective”
you’ll ult to save yourself 99% of the time
good leader
.
Atlas
you probably used to main lex or androxus before he came out
“he’s like a flank, but a tank, he’s great!”
you chase after solo kills instead of sticking to the point
healers hate you, flanks and damages fear you
your favorite mode is death match
.
Barik
you’re a former/current tf2 player looking for something fresh
you don’t like working too hard so you spam turrets on the point and hope for the best
“healer stick to me i’m boutta ult”
actually really nice between rounds
but you don’t communicate much mid-game and kind of do your thing
.
Bomb King
you’re a really old player. you have the beta makoa skin and you were there when lex was first released. veteran’s discount.
your favorite maps are the old ones and they barely show up any more
the team always underestimates you
“who plays bomb king in 2021 lol?”
you need a hug
.
Buck
“wait, he’s a flank? i thought he was a tank??”
you’re also a veteran in the game
you’re a dying breed. i like never see you. do you even exist?
you’ve been here since like the first day of the game
buck gets so many skins and you want all of them but the best you have is a random recolor
.
Cassie
sweetest person alive
“we can do it guys! let’s try to all rush the point this time!”
you are the bane of every flank
the opposing team hates you, your own team kind of doesn’t notice you’re there
*casually gets a pentakill*
.
Corvus
you know those weirdly political kids who like ww2 and know the details of every tank to ever exist? yeah that’s you
but like that’s corvus. as a character.
but no one ever plays him.
like i never even see him do you exist???
you are a cryptid.
.
Dredge
yo ho you’re a hoe
no seriously the other team views you and they FEAR you
“yeah i just got a penta kill” “YOU WHAT?” “eyes on the point mate don’t get distracted”
hella good at the game and hella casual about it
you like onslaught on the one sea map the most
.
Drogoz
another veteran, are we?
you’re either useless or can wipe out a whole team in seconds. there is no in-between.
you always have a really cool skin.
dovahkiin, dovahkiin...
“i don’t care about the point i gotta get them trips”
.
Evie
you bought her because you thought she was cute, admit it
*turns into ice right before dying* *turns into ice right before dying* *turns into ice right be
your personality type is identical to her. no question about that.
always buys faster reload and better speed
strangely good communication with the team
.
Fernando
gay gay homosexual gay
“he’s kinda hot if you look at him the right way”
fernando is the tank for gay people
you are gay people
i don’t have much more to say
.
Furia
mum energy. not as much as inara mains, but still, mum energy.
will protect every member of the team with your life, even the flanks
you’ve been maining her since she was first added
i bet you didn’t even know she’s canonically seris’ sister
“we’ve literally failed to capture the point the last 3 times we might as well give up and go to another game”
.
Grohk
“yeah i have a gremlincore tumblr blog, how could you tell?”
i honestly have no words
you’re kind of like a catboy but a racoon
do you even heal the team or do you just pretend
you were there when lex got announced and thought he was cringe, now everyone finally agrees with you
.
Grover
he was your first purchased character and he’s stuck around ever since
he’s the only healer you can play well
“i am groot lmao”
you would never say a word to your team
would give your life for the tank but that’s about it
.
Imani
daenerys targaryen on drugs
your favorite anime is my hero academia
your husbando is todoroki
you see where i am going with this
“team protect me i’m gonna ult” *dies 5 seconds into ult*
.
Inara
BIG MUM ENERGY
your team is your family. you will protect them with your life.
can only hold your own with a good healer so you have good teamwork going for you
*cutely places wall in front of your ult*
useless in tdm so you stick to onslaught, siege and koth
.
Io
are you a furry, furry, or a furry?
“victow! dont ult on my tweam pwease! uwu!”
you 100% find her attractive in some way shape or form
you are either a 30 year old redditor who enjoys loli content or a 16 year old teen who is playing a shooter for the first time
she’s kind of cute, i guess
.
Jenos
i can never tell if i’m going to absolutely destroy you or if you’re gonna kick my ass
*cutely holds you up so the whole team can shoot you to death*
kamehameha
you’re a healer??? i guess???
your character has such deep lore and i bet you don’t even know half of it
.
Khan
one day you were playing and your team desperately needed a tank. you picked the first one you saw. suddenly, you’re lian’s foot stool
despite 2 layers of heavy armor, you’d still let this man walk all over you
“this skin is really cool, wish it wasn’t behind a pay wall...”
YEET
you actually know the game’s lore, for some reason
.
Kinessa
i never trust people who are good at a sniper. if you’re bad that’s natural and you’re 99% of the population. if you’re good you are definitely up to something
you’d sell your sister for 5 pennies if you could
you’re missing from the team all game and somehow have the most kills
“we have a kinessa???”
you are an urban legend to your team
.
Koga
someone’s been watching naruto
you are so shit at the game. like i’m sorry. no one’s good at koga i’m so sorry
how do you have so many skins for one character???
you’re always missing from the point
healers hate you. so does the enemy kinessa.
.
Lex
quit the game /nm
“who mains lex in 2021??? lmao???”
wall hacks, aimbot, and it’s all legal for you as an ability. you are a hacker in a world of puny vanillas. you like it easy so you go for the easy min max character. have fun getting hated
you think he’s hot and press on his loading abilities just so he can scold you and you can hear him being mad at you
*bonk* go to horny jail
.
Lian
"she could step on me”
you used to main some sort of healer but switched over when you got sick of everyone being needy
you can hold a point all on your own for a really really long time but the moment your team gets there you start flunking
you wish you had more skins for her
you don’t
.
Maeve
so imagine this. it was like 2018 and you were just chilling playing the game. you kept getting killed by maeve. in every game. she was in every game you went to and she kept killing you over and over and over again. you got frustrated, snapped, and bought her to see if you could do the same to others. you are now the maeve in every game. the cycle repeats.
your whole team doubts you but then you casually get a quad kill and they just sort of look away
you die a total of two times each round and 99% of the time it’s because you go too fast and fall off the map
you repeat everything she says in her accent because you think it’s cute
“welcome to ze meant streets, kitten!” “can you shut the fuck up” “i hate to cut and run, he-he!”
.
Makoa
you have the plushie skin or the beta skin, otherwise you don’t main and only play casually stop lying to yourself
“attack turtle go brrr”
you’re really good if you get paired with a good healer
otherwise you’re useless
you wish you could get better teammates because you could really thrive with an organized group. but on paladins you won’t get that, i’m sorry-
.
Mal’Damba
i always forget this guy is even in the game
you’re definitely under 6 foot IRL
you have an older sibling you always fight with
you’d love to have a snake irl
you’re really chill outside of the game, but when playing you hella rage
.
Moji
you are so precious
but also such a little shit
you annoy me but i also want to give you a hug
“let’s go guys!! to the point!! wheee!!”
please never change but also get out of my sight
.
Octavia
you always main the new character until the new person drops
somehow always have enough credits to buy the new champion whenever they come out
you don’t like having a stable main cuz you get bored
you like hanging out at the training rage
hate siege and love team death match, you like your games quick
.
Pip
you are the worst and best thing to ever happen to this game
you only pick him to heal yourself and hardly ever heal your team
no one notices you there until you ult
then you get focused
honestly you just seem like you wanna do your thing and i can respect that
.
Raum
you probably go to therapy or desperately need it
“BIG MAN BIG. HE IS BIG. BRRRR”
you always love the demons in media
you like being in charge of the team and wreck the point any time you are there, you like fighting on your own but having a healer nearby is nice too
you probably have daddy issues
.
Ruckus
you think ruckus’ and bolt’s dynamic is cool and that’s one of the main reasons you started playing him
he’s the only tank you can play
you used to main either inara or ying at some point but chose violence instead
really short irl. you physically relate to ruckus and spiritually to bolt.
“funny goblin man :)”
.
Seris
certified girlboss
you can hold an objective all on your own or heal your whole team no problem. either way you are SLAYING
“alright. who’s ass am i kicking today?”
mum energy is inferior to inara but still kind of there
i’m like 50% sure you have a foot fetish
.
Sha Lin
*pointing and chanting* incel, incel, ince-
whether that’s about you or the character you can decide
you like minecraft bedwars on the side
“if i don’t get this headshot i am literally going to spontaneously combust”
really useful when there’s no other long distance people - otherwise a nuisance
.
Skye
AWOOGA *jaw drops to ground, eyes roll out of head* BOOBA BOOBA BOOBA
you bought her for the tiddies, didn’t you?
she’s actually really satisfying to play once you get the hang of her, but can be real tough on rough days
you need a break i think - maybe play some other game for a bit?
*casually gets team kill with ult*
.
Strix
you own at least one pretty knife
you played him when he was unlocked on rotation, fell in love, and spent a whole evening collecting credits to buy him fully
“haha bird man”
i’ve said what i said about snipers. if you’re actually good at him you are hiding a body somewhere. i fear you.
why does everyone ship him with viktor????
.
Talus
little furry child
he reminds me of tommyinnit because he is small and annoying
if you play him you are tall and intimidating
i’m friends with a tall scary talus main
i can’t say bad things please spare me
.
Terminus
you always ult at the worst time and just get killed again 5 seconds after
“hey losers watch this” *goes on the point, dies, revives, kills one person and dies again*
you’re only a good tank if you cooperate
you don’t
on your own you’re a pretty good player
.
Tiberius
*sigh*
you think the cat is hot, don’t you?
“his accent is kinda cute tho hehe”
you saw that one ending scene in zootopia with the dancing tigers and it CHANGED you
you are probably a furry. if not your awakening is coming. be ready.
.
Torvald
you’ve been playing this game for too long
you’ve seen skins rise and fall. you’ve seen nerfs and buffs. you’ve seen reworks and remakes. you are ancient. older than the dragons and wiser than makoa. respect.
people see you on the opposing team and get really annoyed
“the point is really crowded, we can’t move in” “don’t worry guys, my ult is charged up”
you’re really good at all the characters but you like this guy a lot because you think he’s funky fresh
.
Tyra
you’re either new to the game or have been playing for too long
either way you can KICK ASS but you need to keep behind your team to do the most damage
flanks are the bane of you, especially the fast jumpy ones
you really want one of the cooler skins but you can only ever get the basic ones. such is the curse of maining one of the OG characters.
“bite me”
.
Viktor
you are level 100+ guaranteed, and everyone fears you
“oh shit they got a victor. flank focus him”
you probably play COD and CS:GO normally and wanted to go with something familiar and easy. your skill from the other more advanced games DWARFS everyone else
but why are you playing “guy with gun 132″ in a game with magical elves and fairies. like come on bro.
you don’t have any in-game friends because paladins is your guilty pleasure game you would never admit to
.
Vivian
“step on me” syndrome cranked up to 100%
this woman could spit on you and you’d still respect her more than your own mother. good for you
“i’m not a simp. i’m just tier 3 subbed to pokimane ironically”
you sweat the game hardcore. former victor main or he’s your secondary.
you’ve got her on level 50+ at least
.
Vora
like the maeve mains but somehow worse
bought her out of spite or played her while she was on rotation, now here you are grinding credits for her a day after she became unavailable
honestly you’re really good at the game i have nothing else to say
you enjoy the newer characters more than the OGs - you’re either a former vivian or lian main
you miss the play of the game feature in the game because you’d get all of them with this girl
.
Willo
you seem like the moji mains at first but show your true colors soon after
“fuck you” x50
you are a trash talker on max overdrive. you need to sit down, do some breathing exercises and have a drink.
you hate your own team more than the opposing guys
when you see a willow on the opposing team you make it your sole goal to eliminate her as many times as humanely possible
.
Yagorath
i bet you didn’t know she was canonically female until you read this
you don’t like sweating too much so you pick the tank that leaves you heavily relying on your healers and damages
you can hold a point really well so you like siege and onslaught
“are vora and yagorath connected in the lore somehow and do i really care?”
you have a friend who you always party up with to be your healer, otherwise you might switch to another character
.
Ying
“tanks love me, flanks hate me”
you are too powerful. literally. how are you so strong
you’ve mastered the most difficult healer in the game. the others are really easy for you to play but you have trouble with seris
motivate your team a lot but start shading and trash talking if they don’t cooperate
you’ll gladly play someone else for a long while and like taking breaks from her
.
Zhin
this is your first main after switching over from overwatch. we can smell it on you.
you’re really annoyed with his personality and voice lines but the character is too good to play for you to pass him up for that. you respond to his voice lines aloud very aggressively to let him know he’s an ass
“YES ZHIN HEALERS AREN’T USELESS YOU SELFISH PRICK”
you try your best but you’re not a great team player
infinite trips on a good day, die repeatedly without kills on a bad one and you switch over to vora or skye for a bit.
.
this took me hours to write out pls leave reblog and note thanks uwu
#paladins#paladins champions of the realm#paladins meme#paladins text post#maeve of blades#ying the blossom#skye twilight assassin#paladins viktor#paladins maeve#paladins ying#paladins skye#paladins octavia#paladins khan#paladins vora#paladins zhin#paladins vivian#paladins torvald#paladins makoa#paladins cassie#paladins inara#paladins evie#paladins seris#paladins furia#i tagged all the pretty girls#lets hope this gets around pog#pcotr
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Vinelle (and muffin since I know they'll see this too~!), I don't know if you guys have made a post ranking the Twilight books and why (including Bree and L&D if applicable) but I'd love to hear your opinions! (also if you could rank the Twi movies from least worst to most worst and why that'd be awesome too! 030 hi key love your rants on the movies and would love to hear y'alls thoughts more on them)-Sw
You’ve caught us out, anon.
And thanks to you, we spent last night watching Breaking Dawn Part 2 so we could rank it. @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin hadn’t seen it at all, while I half-remembered it from years ago. A terrible time was had because that movie was unwatchably bad.
Since this ask was sent jointly, our answer was co-written.
So, without further ado, movies first:
1. Twilight
This is a bad movie, but it’s recognizably a movie. The scenes are connected, there are things it did well, and we could tell you what the plot is. The awkwardness, for instance, is very well done.
The weaknesses are glaring, the main one being that the film never sells us on the characters of Bella and Edward, nor on their relationship, relying instead on the audience knowing they’re in love because- well, they’re in love.
Diving deeper into Edward and Bella, there’s an understandable explanation for this. Edward of the books is terrifying, and I don’t think there’s a translation to screen that could have kept the romantic atmosphere surrounding him that we see from Bella’s point of view.
Bella can listen to Edward eating Biology and how he explains that it means how much he loves her and not blink. An actual audience hearing that dialogue will have second thoughts.
Right out of the gate, Twilight has a very difficult task: Salvage Edward Cullen while still producing a somewhat recognizable character who will take the same actions (or near the same actions) that Edward Cullen did in the book.
In the effort to make Edward palatable but save some of his original character he loses his more terrifying lines (as well as his hilarious ego) but becomes weird, awkward, and vaguely creepy. Edward Cullen of the films is that weird, friendless guy in your high school who you feel kind of bad for but don’t want to eat lunch with.
Bella faces a similar transformation. Bella’s insecurity is completely removed (or else the screenwriters somehow failed to notice it). As a result, we get this strange antisocial girl who is too cool for school because she’s a stuck up bitch.
Between Edward, this creepy guy who sits next to her in Biology, and Bella, this girl who enters school too good for everyone else, we see no reason why they would ever be interested in one another.
In an attempt to make these characters likeable they made them both unlikeable and boring. The film series as a whole never recovers from this (indeed, the quest to make Edward look good keeps leading to stranger and stranger places).
It also forgets to explain why the Cullens live among humans, they’re attending high school… because.
It’s a movie that explained to us all those terrible 2010 era memes and “still a better love story than Twilight”. And frankly, those memes were great, better than the movie. Case in point.
Everything is weirdly blue, which is atmospheric but also makes everything and everyone washed out. Everyone is super pale, so you have Mike looking just as vampire-y as Edward.
However, it’s recognizably a movie. It introduces the characters, recognizes that the audience needs to be informed of things that are important to the plot, and most scenes are in some way connected to the plot. This is more than can be said for the other films, which is why it lands the top slot.
2. Eclipse
Eclipse earns its second place by process of elimination. The remaining three were worse. Eclipse also features Edward being cuckolded mercilessly, which is hilarious. Oh, and Victoria playing Riley, that was another beautiful scene.
Apart from that it’s just a deeply boring, borderline unwatchable movie.
Special shoutouts go to:
The opening scene of Riley getting turned, a ridiculous and poorly executed scene that served no purpose for the movie whatsoever.
Rosalie dropping her backstory without any context, Bella walks up to her and Rosalie launches into this horrific story for no particular reason. Both her and Jasper’s backstories could have been cut, as they served no purpose to the story and felt really thrown in there.
The many, many redundant scenes. The Victoria chase that ends with the Cullens and Quileutes squabbling could have been cut entirely. So too could the Seattle subplot with the newborns and Bree.
It’s a movie that isn’t about anything in particular, so it throws subplot spaghetti at the wall to see what sticks. It dutifully regurgitates the Jacob/Bella/Edward love triangle while also trying to convey that Bella’s about to lose her mortality, while also trying to introduce suspense and excitement with the newborns. It fails to execute either of these, and it also fails to tie them together.
3. New Moon
The movie that wanted to skip itself.
This movie had two jobs, show that Bella is depressed when Edward leaves and convince the audience of Bella and Jacob’s strong friendship. And apart the rotating shots and the occasional Stewart voiceover, the former becomes one of those “just stay with us on this one, guys” failures, and the second is failed on every level. Jake and Bella are much closer at the beginning of this movie than they were in canon, and a montage of Bella hanging out with her buddy is just that, it’s a montage of Bella hanging out with her buddy. It speaks volumes that Stewart’s voiceover has to remind us she’s depressed and Jacob is helping her heal, because there’s no indicator on screen that this is happening.
This, in turn, makes Bella/Jake as weak and unconvincing as Bella/Edward was in the previous movie. We just have to take on faith that these people are important to each other because that’s what we’re told.
There’s also the wolves, who are completely butchered. In the books, there’s this great mystery with bears in the woods, there’s Bella wondering why Laurent ran off, there’s build-up, then when we find out what’s actually been happening it’s a satisfying explanation, all the pieces come together really nicely. This is not the case in the movie. Meeting the pack is just weird in this context, because we never wondered who they were. Bella is randomly invited to breakfast, we meet Emily with the scarred face who won’t ever have a line again, and that’s it, these characters don’t become important to the movie in any way. It’s a pointless scene that could have been cut, much like so many other scenes in these movies.
Apart from that, the Volturi scene from the books is butchered so I hardly recognize it, and Alice, Carlisle, and Edward’s characters are assassinated to an impressive degree considering they were barely in the movie.
It was hard to watch.
It lands third place because somehow, Breaking Dawn was worse.
4. Breaking Dawn Part Two
I’ll just list the positives: the intro was very pretty and promised a better movie. It was also long, which we appreciated because it took away from the movie’s runtime. (This is not at all an exaggeration, a lot of the time watching all five movies was spent looking at the remaining runtime and groaning.) The Tommy Wiseau sex scene in the sex cabin was uncomfortable, but the fact that it would have fit perfectly in The Room made it funny. The Romanians were genuinely, unironically, great, because of all of Carlisle’s trashy friends, these were the only ones the movie didn’t try to convince us weren’t trashy.
This movie ranks above Breaking Dawn Part One because of the things listed above.
Apart from that, something all of these movies, but especially the last four, suffer from is that they don’t have plots so much as they have a check list of things to put in the movie before they can call it a wrap. This movie is the worst offender of that, and it’s made worse by the film’s expectation that the people are fans who already know what’s happening, and therefore don’t need anything explained. I’ll explain what we mean by that.
We get Bella waking up a vampire, and absolutely nothing is explained. If you don’t know what happened in the last movie then fuck you. Bella then goes hunting, we get the hiker, we get the mountain lion, she goes back to meet Renesmée, finds out Jake imprinted on her daughter, we get the sex cabin, the handwrestling with Emmett. The Charlie problem is introduced (poorly), only to be solved a scene later with emotional payoff that had absolutely no buildup. All of these things, and the rest of the movie as well for that matter, feels like we’re just crossing items off a list.
Since the audience is expected to already know the story, the story only bothers to explain about half of what’s happening, if half. Who’s the lady living with Charlie? If you don’t know, don’t worry because it’s not important anyway. When did Kate and Garrett fall in love? If you don’t care, that's understandable, because they’ve barely interacted in the movie. Who are the Amazonian women? Do they have names? Don’t worry about it. Did Alistair actually leave, if so did that have an impact? Well, Bella stared at a window for a few seconds.
Every so often the characters will start quoting the books, and it’ll be completely out of place because these movies veered off course long ago. Carlisle references his great friendship with Aro, a friendship that was only briefly mentioned at the beginning of the second movie. Aro randomly starts talking about how scary human technology is.
All of these scenes feel like Marcus is telling the story, he’s just listing events waiting for the story to be over, and forgets a lot of pertinent details because he doesn’t care enough to remember them. There’s no effort to tie these scenes together, no effort to build up to anything.
There’s also one significant failure, and this is a failure shared by all five films, but it affects the plot (I use the term “plot” loosely) of this movie which is why it gets a special shoutout here. Vampires in these movies look human. The fact that Bella has to ask Edward is Gianna the secretary is human says it all, because in the books you know instantly, there’s not even a question. This makes the Charlie subplot ridiculous, because Bella looks and acts the same as ever. She had a trashy makeover, maybe, but she’s still Bella. Watching her get human acting classes after we watched her act perfectly human is just silly. Now, we’re all for suspension of belief, but this movie just pencil drew a moustache on her and the audience is supposed to go “My god, Bella, I didn’t recognize you!”
We then get to the atrocious fight scene, which was somehow worse than I remembered. It was also oddly long for a giant fake out. This scene took significant run time and it turns out to have 0 effect on the plot. And when we get back to the real world, the tonal shift is extreme. You can’t go from Jane being choked, dragged across the snow and face eaten by a wolf to her standing around chilling. We could have skipped it entirely, just had Alice touch Aro’s hand, and he goes “Ah, I see, cheerio.”
The end credits were pretty funny, “here are these random characters with bit parts in previous movies, isn’t this nostalgic?”. Nice try, movie. The fact this came after an extended clip show of the great romance of Edward and Bella, through blurry montage images that failed to be convincing in their original films let alone this one, just made it even more hilarious. Hope you didn’t completely ruin the director’s career, though honestly you should a bit.
5. Breaking Dawn Part One
As you can probably tell by the above entries, the fact that this is the worst one is really saying something. All the movies were hard to watch, but this one required pure strength of will to power through.
The big issue is that Breaking Dawn shouldn’t have been split in the first place. However, it was, and that meant that we got a movie that was almost entirely filler. (Followed, somehow, by a movie that was also largely filler.)
We get everybody preparing for the wedding. What do Mike and Jessica think of Bella and Edward getting married? What’s that, you don’t care? Well, now you know anyway. We get the full wedding, as in the whole fucking thing, including the afterparty. We get Bella and Edward traveling to their island, and there’s filler in the filler where they go clubbing in Rio. We then get every minute detail of the wedding night followed by every minute detail of the honeymoon.
There’s fanservice, and then there’s this. This was live action fanfiction.
NOTHING that in any way is relevant to the story happens, the closest we get is Irina looking stoned. Too bad the Denali’ refusal to help out in Eclipse was cut from the last movie, in fact I’m not sure they were mentioned at all previously in these movies (I think maybe Edward had a one-line reference in Twilight?) so this means nothing to people who haven’t read the books.
We then get to the pregnancy arc, which could have been Rosemary’s Baby but is instead as outrageously boring as the first half of the movie was. The director must have realized as much, because he gives us Jacob’s alpha plot that should have been cut from the movie (yes, I know it was in the books, but the thing about adaptations is that things have to go. For the record, I think Meyer should have cut it too). That subplot was straight out of an anime, by the way. Jacob claiming his ancestral rights as alpha while listing off his titles and the soaring music, was… every shounen anime, ever. Complete with the shitty voice acting.
It was a soul-crushingly boring movie.
-
Something that screws over the last four movies is that they were made to feed the fangirls, and generate revenue because the producers knew the fans were coming to watch the books they liked come to life, so they just had to throw scenes from the books and into the movies and let the magic happen. This is a terrible way to adapt something.
Special shoutout too to having to watch Taylor Lautner run around shirtless in four out of five movies. That was very uncomfortable and none of us needed that in our lives, Lautner included.
Super special shoutout to the fact that we disagree with nearly all the casting.
And this isn’t the post for that, but all of the characters were butchered. Some more than others, and some more insidiously than others. It’s the big things, like Carlisle’s character being turned on its head since he thinks all vampires are damned, exactly the opposite of what he thinks in the books, and the little things, like Jasper and Bella being buddies who bicker fondly in New Moon.
Then the books:
1. Midnight Sun
HANDS DOWN. This is easily our favorite thing to come out of the entire Twilight franchise.
Edward is every kind of crazy at the same time, all the time, and it makes every single sentence packed with delirious entertainment. Reading this book is having a stroke, a psychotic episode, and watching five different true crime shows all at once. We adore every letter of it. (That’s no exaggeration, we even laughed about Edward capitalizing “Son” when Carlisle refers to him as “son” in conversation.)
The book was more than we’d dared to hope for, one of those rare books that makes you go “This was written just for me.”
2. Twilight
The one that started it all.
Vampires are wonderfully creepy. Things like Bella staring at Carlisle acting like the mundane town doctor shortly after learning just how old he is, Alice explaining how vampires kill all, and the uncanny valley perfection of the Cullens all add to the otherness of these vampires, and the general atmosphere of the book.
The love story is convincing. Edward seen through the eyes of Bella is wonderful, the red flags are there but if it weren’t for the books that followed we wouldn’t have decried the ship the way we do.
3. Eclipse
Breaking Dawn is the more interesting book, but Eclipse has less things we outright don’t like. We get to know all the characters better, Edward and Bella are their usual beautiful selves, and it’s overall peak Twilight.
4. Breaking Dawn
Would have ranked much higher, we like what it did. Without it we wouldn’t be in this fandom now, as it brought so much amazing content. The baby plot is fine by us, Carlisle’s friends are great, the Volturi confrontation is a beautiful, if bleak culmination of preventable events. There’s a lot of great stuff in this book.
Unfortunately, and there’s just no diplomatic way to put this, so I’ll just come out with it: there’s too much Jacob.
He no longer had a reason to be in the story, given the way Eclipse ended he had every reason not to be in it. In spite of that we get an entire third of the book from his point of view, and then damned if he’s not shoehorned into the last third as well. He added absolutely nothing to the story, he was just there taking up space and being possessive of a toddler. His POV section was tough to get through, and his presence in book three was just painful. He should have been cut.
5. New Moon
This was the book we had to power through. There are some very good things in it, most notably the Volturi scene, but the Muffin and I enjoy Twilight for the vampires, and that makes Laurent and Hallucination!Edward the highlights of the part of the book where Edward is gone.
There’s also the fact that Jacob isn’t a very compelling character. He has to carry the book now that the Cullens aren’t doing it, and he simply isn’t up for it.
-
Yes, we’re aware that these books are ranked according to how much Jacob is in them. We don’t even hate him, not at all, it’s just that he’s boring.
(That being said, the books at their worst are better than the movies at their best. Jacob narrating his perfect playdate with Renesmée would still be preferable to… I’m trying to think of a good scene from the movies. Hm, nevermind.)
As for The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner and Life and Death, only I have read Bree Tanner and I don’t remember it well enough to give a proper assessment. I was bored with the OCs, though, bored to tears, throughout that book I was itching for Victoria and the Cullens. We have not read Life and Death, but we’re offended by its existence so it ranks bottom.
#books vs. movies#twilight movies#twilight books#the twilight saga#twilight renaissance#twilight meta#twilight#movie review#twilight review#i'm using all the tags tonight#the carnivorous muffin#thecarnivorousmuffinmeta#Anonymous#ask#long post
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Hey so how does it feel to carry the entire Levihan fandom on your back? I absolutely love all your stories! I always look forward to when you update! I had an idea for a fic but I haven't seen anyone do it. Where past levi wakes ups ( when he only sees hange as a friend) in the future to find that he's happily married to hange or living domestically with her and just contemplates his feelings for her
Title: Unwritten
Summary:
“Hange Zoe. One of the reasons why she creates really quality works is because aside from writing the script, she’s very hands on with everything from the direction, to the design and just the overall production… And she knows how to do it. When I watch her movies, it feels like they're peering into my soul or something.”
“Peering into your soul…” It was a tacky choice of words and Levi could only repeat them with some level of disbelief.
“What makes Hange Zoe's writing special are those in betweens. The unwritten parts... if you know what I mean?"
Levi is assigned to work with screenwriter Hange Zoe and he is left constantly wondering why the hell she's taking her work so seriously.
Link: AO3
Note:
I conceptualized this long fic after looking through a some of the prompts in my inbox and playing with them.. TYSM to everyone who sent those. I won't be dropping all the prompts I used when making this now because it might end up spoiling the fic as a whole but I will be dropping the prompts with every chapter I updated.
This fic doesn't actually follow any prompt strictly, I twisted the prompts around them, tore them apart, put them together so they might seem unrecognizable for some.
Either way, I'm very grateful to readers who are sending me prompts. It keeps me writing and brainstorming even when life gets terribly busy.
So thank you for them :D. I'm trying to get back to posting my writing more regularly again and this fic has been sitting in my folder for a while, I was just a little nervous to post it. Thanks to itShailaAM for looking through it!
If neither of us remember anything… Then it’s like it never happened right?
The voice was nostalgic, heart wrenchingly nostalgic. It had a unique way of twisting at his gut, spidering up his spine then leaving an almost painful pang in his chest.
Despite the overwhelming sensations, Levi found himself still able to take control.
So he reached out.
Then he was chasing after her again.
Chasing… He then wondered. How long had he been chasing? How long had he been awake?
With the first light of morning, whatever message, whatever meaning he could have made up for himself dissipated.
Or maybe it was never there to begin with.
For the first time in years or even decades, Levi was wasting his early morning window before work. He wasn’t doing much of anything but staring up at the white ceiling in some feeble attempt to make sense of it again. He came up empty save for two things: a faint throbbing in his head and a half hearted conclusion that maybe it really was just some fevered dream.
“Good morning!" Someone was right next to him. Her voice was higher, more mellow. A hairs breadth away from his ear though, it grated.
Levi narrowed his eyes and the blur cleared somewhat. “Petra?” He heard himself speak. He was in an unfamiliar in-between, completely in control of himself, yet strangely disconnected. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Petra put one hand on the back of her head and gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry about barging in like this…” She didn’t have to apologize. They were childhood friends and with all the family gatherings they had spent together growing up, they were more than comfortable just flitting in and out of each other’s apartments.
Levi didn’t respond. There were more important things to think about like the slow and almost painful process of sitting up. That morning, he was a little more careful than usual.
“Your mom told me to check on you.” Petra continued.
“Typical,” he muttered coldly. He turned towards the window, and took in the view of the blue sky, a few stories above ground. It should calm him if he stared at it long enough. “She always overreacts,” he added. At that point, the crankiness had started to subside and Levi realized he didn’t mind the doting too much. His mother had always been like that anyway. Growing up, a sprained ankle or an animal bite from a family pet had always been enough for Kuchel to insist on a visit to the doctor.
Petra let out a dry chuckle. “I don’t blame her though. Since the accident, she’s been asking about you every...”
Everyday. Levi completed it for her. He wouldn’t be surprised if his mother had asked about him every hour. “She can always ask me directly,” he said out loud before Petra could finish. He didn’t feel too bad about interrupting. Petra had been speaking particularly slowly since a while ago and if he let her speak like that for any longer, they might not get anything done.
As if she had read his mind or at least noticed the impatience, she immediately gathered herself. “You always downplay it,” she said, more clearly this time.
“She always exaggerates it.”
“That accident was pretty bad though.” Petra cocked her head to the side. “I’m sure you understand that, right?”
Levi averted his gaze for a brief second. He couldn’t deny that part. That accident had apparently been bad enough to merit a month long hospital stay, bad enough for Levi to not remember much of it aside from the phantom pains in his chest, And bad enough to take the brunt of the pain and the inconvenience of dealing with the symptomatic disorientation, the fatigue and the begrudging need for some support.
A few seconds of reflection later, Levi concluded maybe there was good reason for that overreaction. “But I can take care of myself.”
Ironically, his body chose that moment to teeter.
“Hey, you okay?” Petra put one warm hand on his shoulder. “You think you can make it to work today?”
The throbbing at the back of his head had dulled to a bearable ache but he could have sworn it had been worse in the hospital. “I don’t have enough leaves,” he said. He focused for a while longer on Petra’s eyes and saw reason.
Maybe I can take a longer break?
His body was probably silently begging for more leaves. On the contrary, another part of him had been yearning for normalcy for a while. Practicality had been the deciding factor. Although Levi had more than enough leaves, did he have more than he would have been comfortable giving up? Maybe not. He wouldn’t take it anyway. He had more than enough strength to push himself out of bed and pad lightly to the bathroom.
Unwillingly or willingly? He was too tired to tell.
“You were in the hospital just a week ago.” Petra was a voice of reason or a voice of temptation.
“I can’t take any more leaves,” Levi repeated again, as if saying it louder somehow made it more convincing. He made his way to his closet, keeping his strides purposeful, partially for himself, partially for her.
Even for a long time friend, Petra had always been shy and conservative. As soon as Levi motioned to pull his shirt up, she rushed out of the room in some characteristic gesture of modesty.
His bedroom door closed with a click and Levi started to slip his clothes off much faster. His head continued to throb. There was a strange ringing in his ears and the room was a little drafty, typical for early spring.
Levi didn’t have the mind space to prepare for that brush with icy wind. Fucking hell. Discomfort then the desperation that followed had him considering calling in sick again.
After using up three week’s worth though, vacation leaves were starting to feel more like a scam than an actual benefit of the job. He ran through the motions of his typical morning routine. Or at least, what had been typical a month ago. Since the accident, he hadn’t worn anything but loose shirts, pajamas and hospital gowns. Back in the hospital, he had been asleep a lot of that time.
He pulled his pants on, then sluggishly pulled his sweater over him, dolefully noting how snug fitting clothing seemed like strangers to his skin.
He didn’t feel like the same person anymore.
It looked like Petra did notice something was different. Over breakfast, she had pushed the plates closer to him. She did the honors of pouring the scrambled eggs onto his plate, then placing a loaf of bread right next to him. “Eat, we have a long day ahead.”
Levi mumbled something that could have been a ‘thanks’ or a ‘yes.’ He didn’t think too far about it either. There were more pressing things to deal with, like internally psyching himself up for his first day back at work and finding routine once again in the recovery process.
For a few minutes after, the two were silent in the small kitchen save for the sound of chewing and the sound of cutlery clacking on the plate.
“Hey Levi,” Petra hesitantly broke the silence. “You really don't remember what happened?” She had asked that question countless times before, back at the hospital, on his first day back at home and every single time she paid a visit.
He chalked it up to worry. In some semblance of a response, Levi downed the bread in his mouth in one painful gulp, then took a sip of tea. “I remember waking up in the hospital.”
“Before that.”
Levi dropped the half eaten bread on the plate and stared straight up at the ceiling for a second. “Leaving work,” he answered. It was too vague of an answer and Petra didn't seem satisfied.
Of course she wouldn’t be satisfied. He always walked the same route home and routine wouldn’t give too much of an answer to the question of how the hell more than a month ago, he had ended up with a severe concussion and a few contusions in the hospital emergency room, a few towns away from his own.
Past was past though. There was no use digging into it. At present, he had medical bills to pay and a career to salvage. No time for a personal investigation. He attempted to digress. “What did I miss?” Levi asked. “At work?” He noted Petra’s very disconcerting expression, a combination of pity and uncertainty. It was starting to get annoying.
Petra furrowed her brows, a little more hesitant to speak that time. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about...”
In protest, Levi put the bread down and stared at Petra, his stone cold expression unwavering. He wouldn’t be eating unless Petra continued. He wasn’t hungry anyway.
A few minutes of silence later and it seemed to work. Petra looked down at the bread then up at him. Whatever was plaguing her mind then had taken some control over her. “A lot has changed since the accident,” she started.
“With work?” Levi asked again. He dropped the bread on the plate, deliberately allowing the clatter, as if the loud jarring sound would be enough to drive away the disbelief. Three weeks or fifteen business days wasn’t supposed to be a long time taking into account the speed of office bureaucracy.
Petra nodded, a wry smile on her face. Her expression, her demeanor gave the uncertainty away before she spoke of it. “You’re probably going to have to talk to Mr. Zackley about it…”
Levi’s mind was racing. Despite the throbbing, Levi had managed to fill in the blanks for himself. Even before Petra expounded on it, Levi had started to accept already, going back to work was probably not going to be such an easy ride.
Being gone for weeks had done a number to his job.
Three weeks to be exact. It was just three weeks, fifteen business days. Despite Petra’s apparent discomfort, her incessant warnings not to ‘expect,’ Levi had expected some semblance of normalcy. When his hopes were dashed, Levi felt like he had been body slammed out of nowhere by an oncoming train.
“I’ve been working on their set for years…Since the pilot episode, ” Levi said slowly. Hell, since even before the pilot episode if you consider the preproduction stage. He didn’t want it to seem at all like it was an argument and he subdued his tone to something lighter, with the intention of reminding himself not to talk back at authority.
“And we’ve transferred you,” General Manager Darius Zackley said matter-of-factly. “Underground City has been garnering a lot of attention lately and we couldn’t afford to be undermanned at such a crucial point of production.”
“But was it necessary to transfer me?”
Mr. Zackley’s expression softened. He didn't have a natural expression that demanded authority but he made up for it with reason. “It’s a primetime show,” he explained. “One of our best, and given the uncertainty regarding your accident…” For some reason, he had hesitated at that word. “We couldn’t take a gamble. We had you immediately replaced after the first week.”
“And?” At face value, the new developments were starting to seem terribly, terribly disappointing. “I can still work there.” Levi was perfectly aware of where the conversation was going. Still, it didn’t hurt to try.
Mr. Zackley was surprisingly patient. “It’s not an issue of you not fitting in. But we want to properly and more efficiently distribute our labor. The production of Underground City is currently…” He cleared his throat. “Oversaturated.”
Oversaturated with budget, resources. Underground City was a crime and mystery drama, one of their more high budget productions. Levi wasn’t too surprised at that piece of information, having worked closely with the producers and the writers since the pilot.
With a boss a few reporting levels above his own though, Levi couldn’t do much but listen quietly. Disappointment and uncertainty loomed over him and he was tiring more quickly.
“We’ve made some arrangements, set you up with a new role.” Mr. Zackley was taking his sweet time, his painfully sweet time.
At the butt end of Mr. Zackley’s whims, Levi was a mess. He racked his brain for all possible outcomes of the ‘arrangements’, a painful process, hampered by the weight of too many possibilities. They were a medium sized network that produced most of their own TV shows on top of news coverage and documentaries, still too many for Levi to have cared enough about to count.
At that moment, he was determined to make up for lost time. Naturally, his mind first flew to the more well known productions, those that had been receiving the best ratings in prime time TV since he had started working there.
Underground City. Military Police.
Working at the set of the crime drama ‘Underground City’ had been a good run for Levi, one he would have liked to continue but Mr. Zackley said so himself, they replaced him. ‘Military Police,’ one of their more popular historical war dramas, also received one of the bigger chunks of their budget. With Zackley’s very sullen expression, it looked like he wasn’t at all there to give Levi a promotion.
He didn’t really mind not working on the ‘Military Police’ set anyway. Everyone there seemed like a lazy prick and that long running drama had always seemed overrated to him. What else would be waiting for him though? “To where?” Levi pressed.
The old man hummed for a second, leaned forward on his seat. “I talked to Erwin about this and we have an opening in one of our daytime shows.”
“Erwin?” Levi repeated. The name was more than just familiar and he allowed himself a brief moment to recall. Erwin Smith. One of the more prominent in-house directors. Just digging deep into his mind, riling up whatever was causing the headache in the first place. He sat still and waited for it to subside again.
Then he wondered if it had been physical or just an emotional reaction to the mess he found himself in. He was barely recovering, he was plunged into a new position and he was confused, utterly confused.
“Consider it a temporary position until something else opens up,” Mr. Zackley added. “Given that you just got back from the hospital, it would be better if you started small.” He shot Levi a placating look. “Either way, this is a good opportunity for you, Ackerman…” It didn’t seem so genuine. “To ease you back into the hustle and bustle of working in TV production.”
Zackley spoke for an eternity longer after that but it had done nothing to make the transfer any better.
Levi had been working with that same hustle and bustle for years and he was confident, a three week break at the height of production wouldn’t have been enough to throw him--- hell, most people off completely.
But he was being treated like some invalid. Zackley’s warm words yet his uninviting demeanor sent some alarm bells ringing inside Levi.Mr. Zackley was overly consoling, overly placating and Levi’s mind was racing.
Levi took a deep breath and dropped his shoulders, willing himself to relax and focus on the present. Whatever the catch was, he’d find out soon anyway.
To ease you back into the hustle and bustle of working in TV production.
What a magnificent fucking lie.
“Start small my ass.” With the stress just piling up and his body barely catching up, Levi was tempted to let it out as anything louder, accompanying it with the very dramatic motion of dropping the paper work on the floor and relishing the loud thud. He imagined scattering the pages on the table, spilling them onto the floor and maybe kicking them out onto some curb.
Then he brushed off that mental image completely.
That would only create an unnecessary mess, maybe even cause a scene in that small cafe. Although his life seemed like it was complete chaos, his fastidious side wouldn’t have allowed him to make it any more worse. Then and there, he deemed it the best option to just take a sip of his tea, allow it to warm him up slowly and create a comfortable distraction, somewhere convenient.
A minute or so later, Levi accepted, tea didn’t do too good of a job. After all, what could tea do, aside from supporting him through the long and painful two days of ‘adjustment’ and the journey to the very frustrating conclusion that the general manager of the studio, Mr. Zackley was too out of touch with the struggles of the average worker.
“Just for long enough to get back to the hustle and bustle of TV production? What a fucking liar,” Levi muttered again. He dropped the tea cup on the saucer with a clank.
“Well, technically you are starting small,” Petra said. “They don’t expect too much quality wise from a soap opera on a day time slot.” She flipped through the pages of scripts and the storyboards that formed an overwhelmingly thick pile of papers on the coffee table.
It wasn’t too thick. Levi stared for a while longer and he decided it was a manageable pile of documents. The soft copies on his laptop were also of a countable number.
The deadline to be completely functional in two days though wasn’t as reasonable.
In search of some semblance of a break, Levi shifted his gaze towards Petra.
Her familiar presence had made the job change bearable. A half hearted response with her attention mostly channelled towards the piles of scripts had still been enough to have Levi more at home in the middle of the coffee shop in the late afternoon. “You didn’t even need to transfer,” Levi said. The indignance and the bitterness of a while ago seemed to be mellowing into something almost sweet.
Petra turned a beet red and she put her hands up in defense. “No no… I wanted to. Besides, this type of set is always in need of more people.”
Levi raised one eyebrow in response. Soap opera sets? Or maybe just daytime soap operas in general. Or maybe just that particular soap opera set. He turned back to the pile of papers on the table then back to his laptop.
The pile of papers on the table was the script for that month alone. The folders in the USB were eight seasons worth of soap opera scripts and episodes. Levi was once again reminded why such a project could have been so undersaturated.
Scratch that, he had never forgotten and he didn’t think he would ever forget anyway.
The script for just that month was much larger than the piles Levi worked with at his previous production. By the second day, he was starting to conclude, working with daytime soap operas was turning out to be a grind, a seemingly thankless grind.
Soap operas ran with the expectation of producing five episodes a week with a shoestring budget. The pressing deadlines and just the amount of content that had to be produced meant vacations and holidays were few and far in between for the average employee. And the unreasonable demands usually meant that quality would naturally suffer.
Since he started assimilating into his job, he also started to wonder. What audience were they even producing soaps for in that day and age?
“Do you think you’ll even enjoy this?” Levi challenged.
“It’s too early to tell,” Petra said.
Levi didn’t want to admit it then, but he was convinced that she would even find a way to enjoy it. The question should have been for him. He was the one who could barely even get past the first page of the script.
Petra flashed him a knowing smile, flipping the pages a little faster. She wasn’t reading them and all attention was on Levi.
Her face could have been asking questions. Or Levi could have been projecting. He repeated the question to himself. What now? More specifically, what was he supposed to do?
Then he answered it. Get used to it? Or maybe just accept it as a job. The grind would eventually get less painful he was sure. But would he ever see the beauty in it?
Levi had never taken the time to watch that particular soap opera but he had seen too many in passing to know what he would be working with.
The stories didn’t make fucking sense. The sets were cheaply made. The lights, the cameras and the resources for special effects were far from what he was given when he was still working with the twenty-one-episodes-a-season, one-season-a-year ‘Underground City.”
According to Erwin, they just didn’t have the budget. Besides, the average viewer didn’t expect much else anyway from a soap opera.
Either way, he was still hired as the cinematographer. This is still your job. Levi took a deep breath then exhaled with a soft huff. First things first, he had to familiarize himself with ten to fifty episodes worth of scripts. That night, he would be watching the blocking, the lighting, the editing, the overall production.
That was the job of the fucking cinematographer anyway. Erwin had warned him though, they were severely undermanned in all facets of production, pre production, production proper and post production. And for shows that aired multiple times a week, that meant, the grind wouldn't end.
So he wouldn’t just be the cinematographer.
At the impending workload that followed his orientation phase, Levi closed his eyes tight. For a second there, his mind flew to other opportunities and just the process of editing his CV and applying elsewhere.
Maybe in a year he would reapply, or maybe even in months.
He wondered if Petra was thinking the same thing. If she were, she didn’t make it obvious. Petra enjoyed the production process just as much as he did and she had been the reason he had found a job there in the first place.
“Welcome back to the working world.” Petra chuckled.
Levi blinked back the surprise in his eyes as he was once again pulled back to reality. Admittedly, he was overwhelmed. The weak throbbing returned and after spending too many hours insisting to Petra that he was ready to go back to work, he didn’t think it right to take a break.
He sipped his tea and deemed that a quick break.
“God I miss our tea times,” Petra said, looking pointedly at Levi's tea caup. She flipped the script over and pulled her teacup towards her.
Levi noted the wistful expression on Petra’s face. “I was only out for a month,”
Petra shook her head. “But for a week or so, we thought you wouldn’t make it.” There was a subtle crack, not too noticeable if Levi hadn’t tensed up and watched her closely.
It was bringing up too many unwelcome emotions at once, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a haze of memories aggravated the throbbing in his head.
Levi turned back to the pile of papers. With the amount of work to do, he would never have the time to ponder what happened anyway. In an attempt at digression, he pulled the script towards him, and started to flip the pages, poring over words yet only taking in half of it.
A very boring half.
Eventually, he gave up. “Let’s go back home. We’re not getting anything done here.” He gathered the pages, and meticulously returned them to each envelope.
He was supposed to be reviewing the scripts to get some idea on how the TV show worked. They had chosen to work in the cafe to escape from the bustle of the sets and attempt some productivity. Yet, they had been in the cafe for a few hours already and he still didn’t remember what the story had been about in the first place.
Soap operas didn’t have logical plots anyway. Levi thought to himself. Maybe just accepting could make his work feel more unbearable. He watched as Petra gathered the pages on her end, stuffed them into her bag.
“Sorry, I thought you would have wanted tea. You always liked this place…” Petra was explaining herself. The not-so-eloquent way at which she did it was a distraction. In fact, everything at that point was either a distraction or even irritating. Levi took a deep breath, closed his eyes and let the throbbing take control for a second.
One step at a time. Levi slung his bag over his shoulder. “The tea was good,” he said, more for her than himself. That was a lie. In fact, the tea tasted underwhelming. Tea usually didn’t disappoint though and Levi was starting to suspect the fault was in him. “Just give me some time to get used to life again,” he added, his tone more apologetic that time.
A few seconds or even minutes of reflection later and Levi had to admit, he felt like he really had changed during that break.
Cinematography is visual storytelling. Or so, that was what he had been taught when he started working with TV shows years ago.
When there was no story he could follow, there was no essence or heart to portray. So, Levi naturally approached it like a cold hard science. The hard copies on folders lay abandoned on the coffee table. His laptop remained unopened.
Levi's attention was trained on the big screen. He had silently been sprawled on the sofa since they arrived back to his apartment hours ago. Bundled up in a sweatshirt, legs propped up on the coffee table, Levi was in that convenient trance between relaxing and analyzing.
He had no idea what the couple on the TV had been arguing about. He had no idea who had fathered the large overly tacky baby bump sticking out of the woman.
The latest episode was playing on repeat and Levi remembered two things happening in the past ten minutes. A pregnant woman entering the crappy set of their mansion, hand on her oversized belly and man looked back at her then approached her, a look of abject horror on his face. He was shouting something, obscenities maybe?
By that point, Levi’s mind started to wander with too many other passing thoughts.
The horror at finding out the protagonist was pregnant was overly exaggerated. Were baby bumps really supposed to be that big? And why did it take them that many months to figure it out? How many pregnancies did the protagonist go through? How many love interests did she have?
Then the cinematographer and the photographer in him took over.
There were more important things to look into. The camera never moved. Levi was familiar with multi camera setups and he didn’t need to think too hard about it. Most of the scenes were filmed in the house, in the office, all conveniently made sets, the conveniently written scripts were written around the shitty budget.
And the high frame rate, in tandem with the inorganic lighting, the lack of special effects and just the lack of some careful camera movement, made the overall story and the overall view, underwhelming, not at all cinematic.
The soap opera effect.
Some wouldn’t see it. Others would probably notice it but not glaringly enough to complain. Levi had worked in film for years and when he would search for the characteristic motion blur, he would immediately find it. The culmination of a simple camera set up, a few sets, a cheap camera, and with a studio and network always in some hurry to cut the budget, the soap opera effect was very apparent.
And they would be expecting the same cooperation from him in putting together a cheaply made production. On the bright side, that meant that despite having to deal with some shitty soap opera plot that didn’t make any sense, he wouldn’t have to do too much thinking with lighting, blocking and editing. Planning sets and scenes would be a light stroll in the park at best, soul suckingly monotonous at worst.
Levi reached for the remote and started to rewind, his interest suddenly piqued.
“So what do you think happened to the baby?” Petra asked. She dropped a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.
Levi wasn’t in any mood to eat. More importantly, he in the mood to speculate the cheap excuse for a plot. “Am I supposed to care?” He pulled his legs close to him and leaned further on the armrest of the sofa, giving Petra more than enough space to get herself comfortable.
“Well, you’re working on the set right? Better to at least know the major plot points of what you’re working with.”
“Spoil me,” Levi said.
Petra reached for the popcorn and grabbed a handful. She turned to him, a wry smile on her face. “You really don’t even wanna try to enjoy it?”
“This is a job. ”
Petra dropped her shoulders in defeat. “Well… Hanako gets kidnapped…”
“Hanako?”
“The baby…” Petra answered, looking pointedly at him. “They literally spent an episode discussing the baby’s name.” A laugh was very much evident in her voice.
And there are a hundred episodes to sift through. “I don’t have to know the baby’s name to do my job.”
“The baby will be the main character in the next season. If you have been reading the script--- Or even just following the story...” Petra put her hands out and pointed at the TV, starting to look more exasperated by the minute.
“Okay,” Levi responded firmly, not in any mood to stomach accusations. “Then I’ll learn her name when I start working. Just tell me what I need to know to do my job. ”
Petra sighed. “When we get back on air, there will be a time skip. Then the season post time skip picks up after Hanako’s first day of college. So before that she grew up with her adopted parents who found her abandoned in a box. They went through some tough times financially and in the latest pages of the script she gets a job in a coffee shop.” She turned towards the thick envelope on the table then glanced accusingly at him. “I could have sworn you were reading through that back in the cafe.”
Levi didn’t notice it. He had only half heartedly read the script. Still, he feigned a look of interest.
“Then a lot of the writers quit,” Petra continued. “So a lot of what happened hasn't been written yet.”
Levi flashed Petra a knowing look.
Petra sighed. "Apparently, people were overworked, the job didn't pay much so a lot of the crew, cinematographer, production designers, they all left which was most likely why they put you there.”
Levi only had to look back at his first day and his second day to understand the turnover rate. He had spent a little less than an hour familiarizing himself with systems that seemed to be put into place for show. Soon after that, he was bombarded with unreasonable deadlines, timelines, responsibilities outside his actual job title and a little less than two days to sift through eight seasons worth of scripts.
“And why they easily transferred me. We're really behind now. Post production for the last few episodes should be completed this week, aired by next week.
"Then we have a hiatus at least," Levi said, repeating it with that same cold professional tone Erwin had used with him on their first day. Except he knew that was a scam too. They would be using that two week hiatus to start filing.
That reminder at least pulled Levi back into reality. He couldn’t flit mindlessly from side to side and clock it up as ‘learning the ropes’ forever. Eventually, they were going to ask him to actually know the ropes. “Erwin said something about me working with production proper and post production,” Levi mindlessly rewinded some of the scenes again. “But they can’t expect me to write the script right?”
Petra shook her head. “No, I don’t think you will,” she said. “I talked to a few of the crew. They said they were hiring a writer. A whole writing crew actually--- And you know, among them, there are rumors about a big name screenwriter.”
Levi raised one eyebrow in disbelief. “Joining the set of a daytime soap opera.”
She put her hands up in defense. “It’s just a rumor.”
“A stupid rumor. What kind of screenwriter in their right mind would want to work here?”
Petra paused for a second, deep in thought. “Fine, it might just be a rumor. Still, ask yourself, why would there be rumors circulating in the first place?"
Levi sighed. “Which screenwriter then?” he asked, mostly in an attempt to humor her. And himself. The fact that a big name screenwriter would work in soap operas, might actually make ‘soap operas’ work.
“Hange Zoe,” Petra said, a wry knowing look on her face. As if it was a name Levi was supposed to know.
“Hange Zoe?” And if he followed the same ups and downs of Petra’s tone, he could pretend it was familiar to his lips. “Hange Zoe,” he said again.
Petra nodded. “The writer of the Titan series? The final movie of `Advancing Titans’ is coming out in the fall.”
Advancing Titans. The name had seemingly come out of nowhere, especially when Levi had already run through a few possible names in his head. Hange Zoe hadn’t been one of them. Although she was a big name in the screenwriting industry for sure, the idea of Hange Zoe working with soap operas seemed almost preposterous.
“Hange Zoe…” Levi said it one more time, in surprise or in some attempt to practice saying it. “You’re seriously talking about that writer?” Levi looked to Petra for confirmation. Hange had only ever written one movie series from a completely different genre, which begged a question.“She has some experience in soap operas?”
Petra unlocked her phone, opened the browser and started typing and scrolling. “No… Just the movies…” she muttered a second later.
“Then why do you think she would suddenly want to work in a cheap ass day time soap opera?”
Petra looked back at him, a dumbfounded look in her face. “But the timing just fits too well. The final movie is about to be released. Apparently, she didn’t renew her contract with her studio. There are even rumors of her leaving the movie industry… And there were speculations and everything.”
“Retirement?” Levi suggested.
“Why retire in your thirties?” Petra said.
“Well, when you’re earning millions per script…” Levi trailed off. Thinking up an argument was too much of a tall order. He continued flipped through channels in silence and he had managed to pick out the movie ‘Advancing Titans’ by just a few seconds worth of a scene.
Speak of the devil.
But it wasn’t strange at all to come across the movies while flipping through channels. After all, Advancing Titans had become a household name over the past few years.
A person in a green cloak was flying, killing some man eating a zombie. It was a familiar scene, Even Levi, who almost prided himself in never having watched the movies, was familiar enough with the iconic movements, the colors and the insignia on the back.
The wings of freedom. How the hell that was connected to the story, Levi never watched enough to find out. Nor was he interested. Science fiction and fantasy were just never his cup of tea.
If Levi had to guess, soap operas and crime dramas shouldn’t have been big wig screenwriter Hange Zoe’s cup of tea either, especially after dedicating years of her life into a production as complex as a science fiction, dark fantasy cinematic universe..
“Do you really think Hange Zoe can actually work with low budget soap operas?” Levi asked.
Petra shrugged and Levi wondered why he had even asked her in the first place. Of course, she wouldn’t know. Still, she spoke up. “Even if the rumors were wrong and it wasn’t Hange Zoe. The important thing is they get someone to pump out scripts right? And your job anyway is to make sure everything gets filmed.”
“I guess.” Levi kept his eyes trained on the screen. The scene shifted from a forest, to the cobblestoned streets in town. A parade of miserable soldiers entered the town within the walls. The camera focused on a father, who navigated through crowds of people, zooming in one of the shorter soldiers.
Captain, I wanted to talk to you about my daughter… She wrote me a letter… She’s too young to get married.
Something about the expression of the soldier pulled Levi in. For a moment, he was frozen on his seat, completely hypnotized.
Petra’s voice tore into his trance. “That’s one of the scenes I can never forget.”
In some desperate bout of retaliation, Levi switched the channel of the TV. “Let’s watch something else.”
“Why? You okay?” Petra asked.
“I’m fine. I’d rather watch something more productive.” Levi flipped more rapidly through channels. He was tempted to just turn off the TV and call it a night.
“There’s a lot to learn from watching that,” Petra started.
"Like what?" Levi asked, his grip on the remote was still firm.
Petra opened her mouth, then closed it again. She sighed. “It's hard to explain... but remember that scene just a while ago. The father approached the captain about his daughter… She died while fighting the titans and they had to empty the cart so they lost all the bodies..."
Levi kept his eyes glued to the screen, suddenly hyper aware that there might have been a judgemental or impatient look on his face. “Go on,” Levi said, as if that could do anything to placate the discomfort already apparent in her voice.
“I guess the point I wanted to make is…” Petra still seemed far from calm. “Hange Zoe. One of the reasons why she writes really quality works apparently is because aside from writing the script, she’s very hands on with everything from the blocking, to the screenwriting and just the overall production… Which makes the storyline and the movie so gripping. When I watch it, it feels like the movie is peering into my soul or something.”
“Peering into your soul…” It was a tacky choice of words and Levi could only repeat them with some level of disbelief.
“A lot of the novelty of Hange Zoe’s writing… The parts that make it special are those in betweens. The parts she left unwritten... if you know what I mean?"
“That’s cool,” Levi responded, only barely. He switched to their local channel, to the late night reruns of the soap opera. .
“They’re good movies. I don’t think they were overrated," Petra said, a hint of defensiveness in her tone.
"I never said they weren’t good movies."
"You don't seem to want to hear about it at all."
"I'm just not interested. Besides, I'm too busy with work." That was the right moment to feign business. Levi held his phone in front of him, opened up the browser and wrote out a few familiar keywords. The movies of the titan series were all ranging from four to five star ratings. Whether it had been commended for cinematography or writing, he had been too lazy to check the more detailed reviews.
The reviews were most likely raving, sloppily made and potentially biased and Levi didn’t want to hear another synonym for ‘peers into your soul.’
His eyes were drooping, he was exhausted. Petra seemed to be ready to leave as well. But he had some space, he needed some break. And what better way to spend it than to do a little stalking? "Petra, could you send a file of the first movie? I think I might wanna watch it."
"You can stream the older ones on demand," Petra said.
Levi only had to open the menu on his TV to see the option for streaming. Right. Watching movies was starting to feel like a chore though and he was in no mood watching that night.
He didn’t say much else after that and the night ended with greetings exchanged. Petra only lived a few floors below him and it didn’t feel any different from being alone.
Before he knew it, he was half asleep already. He gave up, turned off the TV and allowed himself to doze off. When he came to his senses again, the sun was streaming through the window, and with work starting in an hour or so, he had little to no time to even start the movie.
The set was small. The budget was miniscule. The turnover rate was high.
And for projects that wanted to disguise themselves as official and corporate, it was utter chaos. One week into his job, Levi had to admit, he was reaching too widely, and he was spread out too thin.
There was a semblance of structure within his team. Petra and Eld worked with cinematography, filming and camera management and all he had to do was make sure the blocking looked good, limit the amount of retakes needed. Gunther and Oluo worked in post production and video editing.
But structure was an illusion.
The actors hadn’t arrived yet. Other new roles hadn't been finalized. The script was still unfinished. Yet, they were under the mercy of the vision of higher ups
"We're heavily delayed,’ or so that was what Erwin had explained. ‘Feedback of the higher ups.”
There were deadlines, unreasonable deadlines for the employees, yet a reasonable wait for the average audience. They had less than a month to finish filming and post production for the first few episodes of the new season, less than a week to produce everything for the old season.
When he was in a pseudo-management role, as a cinematographer, it was automatic. When filming, he should be going down to the set. But they weren't filming yet. In fact, there were people in the set not doing anything.
In the chaos, everything didn't seem to add up. So Levi forced one memorandum, one attempt at structure. He would finish the final editing by that night and start the next day with a blank slate. Even if he needed to, he would stay until midnight to make it work.
That new writing team should be coming soon. Levi repeated to himself. Erwin had said so himself, Petra had also mentioned it excitedly over lunch.
All Levi had to do was get the episodes ready for review by the higher ups, then ready for airing then he could start that new season with a healthier approach, maybe find some way to add more structure to his already hectic job.
“Petra, don’t wait for me. I’m working overtime today.”
Petra jumped on her seat.
Levi only realized then, he had come up from right behind her. And Petra had been busy reading through something in her laptop, a quick glance confirmed, it was the unfinished script.
Levi continued. “You don’t have to wait for me.”
Petra looked back at him, a worried look in her face. She opened her mouth to speak.
“Deadlines,” Levi answered.
“You need any help? You know Oluo and Gunther, they can stay too. Or even me.”
“I can finish it myself,” Levi said. He was completely aware either way that it was his job to review everything before anyone else reviewed and before it went on air.
There was an indignant look on Petra's face. But Petra never really imposed. She nagged, doted, argued but she never imposed.
And he managed to pacify her by requesting an espresso and a cup of tea from the tea shop right in front of the studio. Beverages were frowned upon in the video editing room. Levi though was particularly meticulous, he was tired and stressed and he allowed himself some leeway.
Just today. And when they start filming the new season, during the hiatus, Levi would reopen his work with a more organized approach, more suited for his personality. He constantly reassured himself of that as he continued to edit the videos, crosschecking with storyboards and scripts.
Most of the work had been done. Most of the work had been easy to scan through. Still it was hours of sifting through retakes, reviewing and setting them up for reviews and cuts. In the silence, completely alone, He gladly gave the task the required focus, more than enough not to have noticed the sound of the door click behind him.
“This is the coffee you asked for right?” The voice wasn’t Petra’s but still it didn’t seem at all hostile. In fact, the voice seemed friendly.
Friendly enough for Levi to feel obliged to respond.”Thanks.” A new hire maybe? In the one week he had been working there, three people had already quit.
It wasn’t worth a second thought. The important thing was he got his coffee and tea. So he didn’t bother looking up, only looking with his peripherals to see the paper white of the cup just a few inches away. He reached one hand towards the cup and surprisingly, his hand didn’t grasp for paper. It went for something a little softer, something a little cooler but still warm to the touch.
And it moved. A bug? A pest? That had been Levi’s first speculation, being the paranoid clean freak he was. Before his guesses could get anymore creative he looked at the cup and saw the cup was stable on his desk. He had a grip, not on the cup itself but on the other hand which held the cup. The movements were from a hand underneath his..
A wild hand. It slipped out of his grip, and before Levi could pull away, it gripped him in return, squeezing harder on his pointer finger and his middle finger.
For just a second. A painfully awkward second.
A second of realization was all Levi needed to pull away. “May I help you?” he asked. It took a lot more willpower not to curse at that strange invasion of privacy. A second later, reason took over and Levi realized that he was the one who had gripped her first.
He had planned to grip the coffee cup, he justified himself.
“They said… You needed some coffee.” The voice was nonchalant. Yet somehow, nonchalance had managed to make his blood boil. “So I came here to drop it and say hi,” she added, as if that was the most natural response.
‘Say hi’ didn’t usually involve two hands gripping one another, then interlocking. Her hands were still gripping the tip of his fingers and for a second they were frozen.. “Are you always this touchy then?” Levi pressed. Especially with a total stranger. Levi looked up, turned his head towards the voice and confirmed it, she was definitely a familiar face but they were barely even acquaintances.
Brown hair tied up in a ponytail, glasses propped comfortably on her nose and just underneath them, warm brown eyes that had no problem just staring, studying… And in their own way, leaving Levi very very jarred by the mundane gesture called ‘eye contact.’
“I was hoping to talk for a bit,” she said. “If you’re not too busy, we can---”
“I’m busy right now,” Levi said. He pulled the coffee closer to him, suddenly careful when awareness dawned on him abruptly. Suddenly, he was completely aware that the coffee cup was only a few inches away from the computer. “Can this wait?”
Those brown eyes were suddenly wider, a hint of surprise. Then they narrowed at him and Levi felt some pity blanket his already sluggish and aimless movements. Before he knew it, he was very very unproductive.
He had to do something. “My name is Levi by the way.” He was deliberately gentler that time and usually lowering his voice and slowing down did some magic to make him seem kinder than he usually seemed to new people. Or so, that had been what Petra had advised multiple times before.
Levi looked up, forced a subtle smile, a combination between a tightlipped line and crinkles at the edge of his mouth. The most he could manage for a courteous introduction.
Her reaction was unexpected to say the least. He noticed her eyes first, the way they widened. Her jaw dropped. She closed it again, a subtle twitch in her lip.
Did I say something wrong? Levi thought to himself. He looked back at the computer screen. “Levi… Levi Ackerman,” he added. Would that help ease the tension of the room?
Even when Levi started to make a game for himself, playing video edits again and again, he realized he was more focused on pretending to concentrate than in actually polishing the transitions between scenes.
Hange eventually spoke up. “Hello Levi. Nice to meet you.” Her voice was softer in that last sentence.
“Nice to meet you too.” That had been surprisingly difficult to say. He sensed the discomfort in her voice, and maybe he had unknowingly mirrored it.
“My name is Hange Zoe. I’m going to be working as a screenwriter here…”
Oh. Oh. So that’s Hange Zoe. For someone who spearheaded blockbuster hits, who had people talking like crazy over rumors, it turned out she was a very underwhelming presence.
“I’m the cinematographer here,” Levi said. Technically, that was his job title but at that point, he was doing everything. “So I guess we’re going to be working together a lot.”
“We will,” Hange responded. Her presence was underwhelming. So underwhelming that Levi felt no need to even be excited that they had a prodigy screenwriter in their midst. Her voice was soft when she spoke to him. Her eyes were some mix of disappointment, nervousness, uncertainty.
Levi suspected it was her demeanor, her approach towards him that had caused such tension to settle in such a tiny room. “Thank you for coffee,” Levi said. Any nice gesture seemed like a worthwhile attempt to ease it.
A wide smile played at Hange’s lips, still far from what Levi would have considered confident though. “Happy to help.”
That’s the award winning screenwriter? “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
“I’m going to be working on a few scripts tonight, have Erwin look at them in a day or so,” she said. Her voice had shifted to something more professional, and her meekness was starting to feel more like a misinterpretation on Levi's end..
“Looking forward to them,” Levi said.
The door slammed behind him, a little louder than the click that followed. The room was dim, it was almost distracting. When Levi turned towards the lights, he considered turning it on, to save himself the discomfort of sore eyes.
He turned his chair, put enough wait into one leg only to notice the sluggishness, the numbness underneath. His legs were jelly. Her hands were trembling and his breaths weren’t coming out in predictable bouts. He turned back to the computer and prepared to review what he had already edited.
The video was playing and Levi was convincing himself that he was productive.
Halfway through the episode, or even a quarter through the episode (Levi wasn’t counting), his mind had wandered. When his surroundings just became a little too overwhelming, Levi let loose just a little bit. He let the heaviness in his chest and the stiffness of his limbs speak for him then.
That voice of a while ago, Hange Zoe’s voice. That voice was nostalgic, heart wrenchingly nostalgic.
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