#but this one specific thing is done really well | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lady-raziel · 16 hours

Note

Cna i... Can I ask what the beef is with M Night Shyamalan?

fair warning, this is a self-indulgently long post. but if you endure the page break, you may find the story entertaining.

a long time ago...in a small indie comic book shop in downtown Philadelphia...

picture this. it's circa 2016. my hyperfixation at the time is DC Comics-- the Flash specifically. I like the Flash, but I really like his nemesis, the Reverse Flash. This guy's gimmick is that he has the same powers as the Flash, but he's also evil because he used to be a Flash stan and his idol didn't validate their parasocial relationship when they actually met in person, and now he just wants to kill the Flash instead. It's a long story. Reverse Flash has died many times. He's also from the future, but that's not the important bit right now.

Anyway, despite being one of the Flash's main enemies, there are not that many comic book issues that feature the Reverse Flash for some reason. My main hobby at the time of this whole ordeal is to go to the local comic book shops and search through the bins of back issues to find anything with the Reverse Flash in it (bonus points if he's on the cover, but at a certain point you can't be picky). I'd been fairly successful at this, and had even been able to avoid buying too much off Ebay as I really didn't care too much about the condition or grade of the comics. The comic book shop in downtown Philly I was in on the day of the Incident was one I'd been to before, but not in a while as I went to school out in the suburbs and didn't leave that general area too much.

So. I enter this shop, and it's not too busy. That's a good thing as it's not a large space and if there were too many people it would have been very difficult to navigate around the displays of Funko Pops and tables of back issues. However, as I was soon about to find out, it doesn't matter if there's only one other person shopping at the same time as you if that person is the wrong person.

I make my way to the back where all the big boxes of old comics are, and scan the rows alphabetically to find the 'Fs.' I see 'Firestorm,' and 'Fantastic Four,' and all the others...but there, right there, where the Flash comics should be...there's a guy. Standing there. In the way.

Now, that's alright. He just seemed to be perusing randomly and wasn't actually looking at the Flash comics specifically (my Flash comics), and I can just go look at the action figures or something until he moves to another section of the shop. No problem. I mean, it's one box of comics, Harold. How long does it take to look through it? 5 minutes? No, all I have to do is wait a little bit and then I can examine those 1980s Flash comics with my own grubby little paws.

So I do a loop of the store. I examine the Funko Pops (they all look the same), the t-shirts (only Hot Topic quality), the new comics (Superman #1? How many times are they going to reboot this thing?), and even the super expensive vintage comics up on the wall (no Reverse Flash here, and it would still be beyond my price point anyway). But when I finally make my way back to the back issues, the guy...is still there. He hasn't moved. And now he's not even pretending to look at the comics anymore.

Now, to my horror, he seems to be having a full-on conversation with one of the store employees right on top of my box of comics, and neither of them seem like they plan to end this discussion anytime soon. You may be asking at this point, "well Raz, if you wanted to look at the comics where they were standing, why didn't you just ask them to move out of the way?" You're right. I could have done that.

But problem. I have social anxiety. And sometimes it gets very bad about very small things. So while it would have been entirely reasonable to ask these two men to move their conversation elsewhere, the crippling social anxiety made it so that asking for that very small and reasonable thing would have been akin to asking these guys if they would set me on fire right here right now, please and thank you. It wasn't gonna happen. My only option was to hover uncomfortably 6 feet away, pretending to go through the back issues systematically and hope they picked up on what I was doing and moved out of the way when I got back to the 'Fs,' or give up and suffer an hour and a half on the SEPTA train back home with nothing to show for it.

now, i've never had a conversation with famous filmmaker and director M Night Shyamalan. I didn't even know what he looked like at the time, so when all this happened I thought he was just Some Guy who in his unawareness was keeping me from completing my mission. Maybe he's a really engaging conversationalist and talking with him causes you to not notice anything going on around you. That may even be the case-- as neither the Twistmaster himself or the besotted store employee seemed to notice I was there. But I WAS there. And my frantic silent social cues were being "returned to sender," unread.

Meanwhile I was enduring a level of internal turmoil on the level of a character in a Greek tragedy. This was my crucible. Surrender, or do something I was honor-bound not to do. Was this the meaning of an impossible choice?

It was only after almost 15 long, agonizing minutes and two more laps of the store on my part that finally, finally there was a breakthrough. Unaware Man (for this would be Shyamalan's superhero code name) and Employee-Bro had moved to the cash register, as the former had found something he wanted to buy. With speed rivaling the Flash himself, I descended on the fated box of comics like a plague. It seemed that the day had not been lost after all.

However, like any film from the man himself, there was to be a final twist to this tale. One last turn of the knife. You might be thinking-- "And it turned out that there weren't any comics in the box you wanted to buy after all, rendering this whole ordeal meaningless, right? Like any tragic hero you endured the terrible trials only to discover that the treasure you sought was a hollow fantasy of your own creation, and this all could have been avoided if you had not fallen prey to the follies of man?"

No. The problem was-- I did find several comics in that box that I wanted to buy. I even found one with the Reverse Flash on the cover. But now that I had found my prize, I faced a new, even greater challenge, which was somewhat an extension of the old challenge, but to the extreme.

I now had to get Employee-Bro to ring me up so I could leave this cursed place, but here's the kicker: I had to do this while he was still utterly engaged in discussion with Unaware Man and thus blind to the outside world. I had come out of the frying pan and into the fire, because now it wasn't like I could just go home and take only a feeling of defeat with me. My precious comic book finds were on the line, and what was I going to do? Just put them back in the box and leave?

Unfortunately, I was committed. I would have to stand reasonably out of the way of Unaware Man's personal space yet close enough to indicate that I was, yes, in line to check out my purchases. And goddamnit, I was going to do this until all of us died of old age or the world ended.

I kind of lost all sense of time at that point. It could have been only a few minutes. It could have been five hours. All I know is that it was long enough that I wished for the sweet release of death, because then at least I'd be able to lie down. How it eventually went down was that Employee-Bro rung up Unaware Man (because really, processing a credit card transaction and signing the receipt only can take so long), and the two continued to talk as Employee-Bro gradually gained awareness that I Was There Too, and multitasked to check out my items while remaining totally focused on his other conversation and not speaking a word to me.

And that was it. I was free, from the physical prison of the comic book store at least. But again, like a Shyamalan film, this was in reality only the end of the second act. Because as I walked through the streets of Center City Philadelphia and rested my head against the smudged window of the SEPTA train on the way home, I started to descend into the mental turmoil of the question, "wait, who was that guy? Was he like...famous, or something?"

If you've ever been to a comic con or spent enough time in a hobby shop, you know that sometimes Nerd Bros can get really deep into conversation about these sorts of things. Many of them even have lots of opinions on films, and will be happy to share them in detail unprompted. So it wasn't entirely unreasonable for me not to realize in the moment that what was happening wasn't just "Nerd Bros Being Dudes."

But the more I thought about it, the one-sided adoring dynamic between Employee Bro and Unaware Man did seem unusual. And in the bits of their conversation that I had been forced to endure, hadn't one of them mentioned something about...filming locations? What was that about? Nobody in their right mind films stuff in Philly unless they're making the 86th Rocky film or the like.

It was a Google search of "movies filming in Philadelphia" that returned several results of articles talking about how location scouting was going on in the area as part of the production of a long-awaited sequel to the 2000 film Unbreakable, a undercover superhero sleeper hit. Unbreakable, a film set in Philadelphia, written and directed by famous filmmaker M Night Shyamalan.

Shyamalan. SHYAMALAN. the man responsible for 2010's The Last Airbender. it was HIM. he was not only the man who originated the (still unbroken!) curse on the Avatar franchise, but also the man who had ruined my day. Thoughtlessly. Carelessly. Not by massacring a beloved children's television franchise, but by being unaware. Inconceivable.

This was horrific. It wasn't even like I was the Reverse Flash or any other famous superhero nemesis, who had a compelling backstory causing their undying hatred of the hero. Instead, I now had a narrative foil who barely even fit that description, because chances are he hadn't even taken notice of my existence the whole time! This was my supervillain origin story, and it was his normal day!

It was at this moment I swore an oath. I would not forget this terrible day of inconvenience that was partially caused by my own social failings. I would dedicate my life from this point forward to slightly narrowing my eyes and shaking my head disapprovingly when I saw mentions of Shyamalan or his works online. I would color any opinions I had of his films with the thought, "but remember that one time he was kind of a dick to you without even meaning it? what was up with that?"

and that is the tale of my tragic encounter with M Night Shyamalan. To this day, my only solace is that my epic origin story turned out more narratively coherent and with deeper substance than any other film made in the Unbreakable saga, including the one he was location scouting for at the time this happened. Shyamalan can write twists all he wants, but no one is better at that game than karma itself.

-END-

#not included in this narrative retelling: me raising a fist into the air and shouting 'SHYAMALAN!!!' like i'm in star trek wrath of khan #if you read all that you deserve a medal #if there's ever a cinematic adaptation of this event it can only be made by shyamalan himself

72 notes · View notes

nicksbestie · 13 hours

Text

Kittens (part two) - M. Sturniolo

READ PART ONE FIRST!! YOU CAN READ IT HERE!

Summary : One specific person becomes a regular at the animal shelter you work at, always visiting the cats <3

Warnings : mentions of anxiety but nothing graphic!

Word Count : 1146

Pairing : Matt Sturniolo/Reader

A/N : part two!! this won't become a series but i felt it deserved a little more!! it's written in a later time, a epilogue scene, if you will!

The cats being in a different room that day had been one of the best things to ever happen to you.

You hadn’t known it at the time, but that conversation with Matt, starting by leading him to a separate room, had blossomed into a relationship. Matt had started coming back every day, coming up with stupid reasons to talk to you, claiming he needed help finding a cat that had run away, only for the cat to walk right out from under the tower when Matt walked back in, but you let him do it every time. You felt like you couldn’t resist the opportunity to spend time with him, and if you weren’t busy, why should you?

He spent hours there every day, which made you wonder what he did for work, because how could he afford to not be at his job? After a couple of days where he came in one after another, you finally asked. It felt like a fair question because he clearly knew where you worked, so it was an eye for an eye, or something like that. He told you he did content creation with his brothers, and you looked him up later that evening, eyes nearly popping out of your head when you noticed just how famous they were. You weren’t someone who lived in the dark, but you didn’t keep up with every new thing going on, so there were a ton of famous people you didn’t know about.

You weren’t going to lie, you stalked him that night. One thing hit you like a truck when you noticed it, though. Matt had told you that he came into the shelter when his anxiety was getting bad, and he had been coming in every Wednesday and Friday per week, and as you scrolled through their shared YouTube, you noticed that’s when videos were posted. You wondered how much he enjoyed his job, or if he did it because it made good money, or if the posting just really got to him because he worried about what people would think. Later you would ask, and you would learn that the latter was the reason, and that he really did love his job, it just got to him sometimes, knowing that so many people would pick apart everything he had done or said in a video.

After about two weeks of him coming back to the shelter every single day, talking to you whenever he could, he finally asked for your number. He waited until you were off of the clock, making sure that he could never be accused of being unprofessional by anyone. He waited until the shelter closed, like normal, and you thought he had left, but he waited until you both stepped outside, and the door was locked, and then he asked. You let him have it with no complaints, and he texted you for the first time as soon as he got home, asking if you had also made it home safe. You responded much quicker than you would like to admit, letting him know you were home and safe.

He would text you before he would come into the shelter, letting you know that he was on the way, and you two became incredibly close. Hanging out outside of work, spending time while he was at the shelter, if you were in the same vicinity, you were practically attached at the hip. You met his brothers, and they were so different from him that it was refreshing. You loved how they all got along so well, and even their banter in videos wasn’t coming from a true point of anger, but all lighthearted. You watched every video as they got posted, and sometimes all four of you hung out together before or after filming. You loved being in their company, and you had found a wonderful friend in Matt, but you had no idea that it would eventually become more than that.

You’d hung out so much on your own, you knew you two worked together, you both knew that the other was attractive, you both knew that you liked the other. But you had no idea that it would eventually end up working out. Nick and Chris knew as well, being able to see it in the way that you interacted with each other. They kept it to themselves, allowing you two to navigate the developments of your relationship with each other by yourselves, but both of them were hoping that you would just get your head out of your ass already and get together. Matt was the first one to say anything.

You knew he found love gestures sweet, you’d seen that in a video, and you’d seen it in the way that he interacted with people he loved platonically, being a gift giver, but when he showed up at your door with flowers, you were still in shock. He’d stayed the night that evening, soaking in the fact that the person he felt so strongly for had the same feelings for him. It had only snowballed in the best possible way from there. You did everything together, you went everywhere together, and sometimes that could cause codependency problems, but you were lucky to not have to deal with that. You were used to him leaving for a couple of hours to film, but he always came back as quickly as possible.

It was refreshing for Matt to fall in love with someone who didn’t love him for the numbers, for the following, for the money, for the fame. This was someone who saw him off guard, who actually loved him for the person he was off of the camera, for all of the good in him and all of the bad. He wasn’t sure that he would ever find someone like this due to his popularity across the Internet, but he never took you for granted, not for a single moment. And those were the words that spilled out from between his lips, when he was knelt in front of you, ring box in hand, just three amazing years later, and the same ones that he would repeat at the altar six months after that.

You didn’t work at the animal shelter anymore, but you and Matt were regular visitors and volunteers. Some of the people that you used to work with were still there, and shortly after you were wed, you picked out a kitten together, from the same Cat Cottages that Matt used to sit in for hours every week. Glancing over at the man you’d fallen in love with, sitting on the couch with the now one year old black cat in his lap, you knew that had been the best job you would ever work, and it brought you something much more rewarding than the money.

taglist : @blahbel668 @mattsgirlfrieeend @69isabella69 @mayhem-72 @iculdstealurgf @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @sturnioloslife @heartsforkarina @nervousrebelglitter @sturniclo @elliegrace-7 @mattsturnioloisbae @strnilo @dazsha19 @patscorner @hailee22sstuff @tworosesblackthorn @h3arts4harry @getosuckers @knhxa @scoobydoosnack @tapesmatts @st7rnioioss @st7rnioiossblog @jamiesturniolo @sofie-1

~ if you'd like to be added to my taglist, click here!

~ my inbox is open, come chat!!

92 notes · View notes

supercalime · 16 hours

Text

No one asked but I have a take haha.

I have zero problem with buck and eddie being an item, the biggest problem I have is their stans acting the way they are now with the current storyline with tommy.

I mean, I hate to break it to the b*ddie st*ns but you can think your friends are hot and like, not want to pursue them, whether you realize you’re queer or not. The fans are undermining so much of the current storyline that it makes me sad.

Im as aroace as one can be, but also I have eyes lol. I see hot/attractive people, I of course can admit that they are hot/attractive. It doesn’t mean that I want to be with them specifically sexually or romantically.

Also, figuring out your sexuality is confusing and weird. I definitely thought I had a crush on a friend solely because they were a person I got along with and spent a lot of time with and thought that was what I was supposed to do (by the time I thought I was allo).

What I mean is that it’s not always black and white when it comes to what attraction is.

Another thing, and this is pure speculation on my part: the actors are VERY aware of b*ddie and know that it’s one of the biggest reasons people keep watching the show, so they might keep on stirring the pot a bit in the interviews because they know it can create enough buzz for the show to trend and make the network/producers/investors keep renewing it so they can keep their jobs for as long as possible.

Im not saying b*ddie fans are delusional or anything like that but I am really disappointed how many of them (or at least a loud minority) is treating the canon ship as if it’s a stepping stone for another that has yet to be fully confirmed on screen. Sure there are signs in retrospect, but like I said, you can think someone is attractive without wanting to be with them.

This whole thing of buck having always been in love with eddie irks me a bit as it falls in a trope I don’t personally like (someone sticking around because they are pining over their friend the whole time and the friendship is a stepping stone to romance). I mean, if b*ddie happens and it’s done well, I’m all for it. What I really don’t want to happen is the trope I mentioned above. If it’s meant to happen, the best way in my opinion is for the two guys to develop those feelings with time, not it being a realization that they were in love the whole time. Heck, there are dcoms that did friends to lovers quite decently in the past and it wasn’t a “it has always been youuu” situation.

In conclusion, the only thing we gotta take is what is confirmed on screen, in canon. If we are supposed to listen to anyone talking about ships and storyline is Tim Menear and the other writers. And what has been confirmed so far by Tim is that Buck was jealous of Eddie being with Tommy because he was attracted to Tommy without realizing it. In canon so far, that’s what is happening and you have to accept that. The story is about Buck coming to terms with his bisexuality and him and Tommy being in a romantic relationship.

56 notes · View notes

atinylittlepain · 8 hours

Text

Little Pinch

nurse!marcus pike x f!reader

she needs to get bloodwork done. one small problem, getting bloodwork done never goes well for her, especially not when she's distracted by the very kind, very handsome nurse doing it.

wordcount | 3.3K

content info | 18+ discussions of getting bloodwork that includes needles, fainting, nausea, mostly fluff, nurse marcus to the rescue, this is just a fun time, also an un-beta'd time so like, be nice pls

a/n | shoutout to the girls (gn) that pass out every time they get blood work done (me). I have to get new labs tomorrow morning, and writing this is how I coped with that prospect :') this one is for the fainters, the thin veiners, the "just do it in my hand"-ers - i see you, i am you, gawd bless

..........................................................................

Here’s the thing, this never goes well. It wasn’t always like this though. She has a vague memory of being a kid and taking it like a perfect champ, testing for mono after a rash of cases at school. But then, well, something changed.

It runs in her family. Thin veins that are hard for even the best nurses to find, lots of oh, I just lost it, and well, let’s try your other arm, and always, ultimately, hands? Should we try the hands? No, the nurses never listen when she tells them to just start with the hands, and without fail, somewhere around the third or fourth time they try to get the needle in, a cold sweat breaks, and the room starts to filter through a fuzzy pinhole of vision. It’s embarrassing, she thinks, because, really, she has no problem with needles. Can watch it go in, no issues with piercings, et cetera, et cetera, but getting blood drawn? Yeah, forget about it. She usually comes to with paperwork around her feet that she had been holding, and a well-meaning nurse pressing a damp paper towel to her forehead and breathing the remnants of her lunch over her face and alright, hon? Usually a box of apple juice and an escort out to her car to make sure she doesn’t go offline again.

The other thing is, unfortunately, she’s pretty sure her little fainting, fading thing has gotten worse over the years. A conditioned response, she thinks, that cold sweat starts the second she walks into the waiting room, already anticipating what comes next. And today, well, even worse than some of the others. Twelve hours fasted, and no, that certainly won’t help her case, no matter how much water she downed before she came here, no matter how tight she squeezes her fist in the hopes of pumping even one vein up enough to be tenable. She looks at the woman sitting across from her in the waiting room, reading a back-ordered issue of Cosmo, flipping and flippant and really, why can’t she be like that? Why can’t she be normal like that? Instead, her heel is doing a frantic tap, whole leg jerking with it, and everytime she checks her watch she feels her heart creep a little further up into her throat.

If she’s being honest, she thought about canceling her labs. No, doc, all good, doc, don’t need to know, doc. And then a friend pointed out, frustratingly, that avoidance is only going to make it worse. Right, so, right, so right, so, here she is. And here’s the nurse opening the door and right, calling her name, and it’s a man nurse, male nurse, though she’s pretty sure she’s not being PC by making that specification in her mind because really, twenty-first century, and really, anyone can be a nurse. But not anyone, right? Lots of schooling, right? Right. She realizes a bit too late that she hadn’t responded to the nurse calling her name, jerking up out of her chair and trying for a smile that she thinks probably looks more like constipation. And that’s just great because now man nurse, sorry, just nurse, probably thinks she’s constipated and she’d rather not have the, actually, very handsome, just nurse, thinking that on top of whatever she’s got going on that necessitates lab work she also can’t take a shit. Right.

“We’re going to be in this room right here.” Handsome just nurse has a nice voice too, deep but kind, and a strong jawline, and a patchy beard but she likes that it’s patchy, and he’s tan and he’s got one of those big watches that tells you how hard your heart was beating on your run and he probably runs in the afternoon after clocking out of the needle-in-arms gig and that’s probably why he’s so tan, probably has a golden retriever who runs with him too, because he looks like a golden retriever guy, dark flop of wavy hair and that smile and oh, oh, he just asked her a question and now she’s supposed to answer it.

“I’m sorry, could you say that again?” He smiles, nods, being nice, at least, about her whole scared prey animal situation. She presses her palm down hard on her knee to keep it from bouncing any more.

“It says on this order that these labs need to be taken fasted. Can you confirm to me that you haven’t had anything to eat or drink besides water in the last twelve hours?” Oh yes, yep, she can confirm that for you, Marcus, his name is Marcus, says so on his little lanyard badge. Thanks for the easy one, Marcus, pitch right down the middle, Marcus, with your nice smile and your clipboard and your, well, needles and tubes. But before he can get started with his, well, needles and tubes, she makes a strangled, sort of despondent sound because in situations like these, she comes with a warning label.

“I should let you know I have, um, bad veins? Honestly, you can just start with my hands, I don’t mind it. And also, I’m a fainter, yeah, so, it happens every time, just so you know.” And usually, usually, her spiel is given very little notice, mmmokay, hon. Sure, they’ll lay her back, how merciful, so she doesn’t crack her skull open on the way out of conscious orbit. That’s about it, though. But this time, she thinks, might just be different.

“Okay, thank you for giving me the heads up. If you’re sure you’re alright with starting with the hands then it’s fine by me to get it done that way.” So, so fine, Marcus, and maybe, just maybe, she thinks she might not pass out this time. He sets the exam table at a reclined angle and she wills her rigid spine to settle against it, trying to find the balance between breathing so deeply she starts to get light headed, and not breathing at all. In case you were wondering, yes, she is on medication for anxiety, it just doesn’t seem to presently be working.

“Just gonna feel around a bit here for a good one.” She only feels a little insane for the kick and clench in her heart when he takes her one hand in both of his, because he’s just palpating the back of her hand to find, as he said, a good one. Yes, the word for it is palpating, and there is certainly nothing romantic nor, hello, sexual about anything that’s called palpating. But, hey, taking wins where she can get them, and even through the latex gloves, his hands are warm and big and very know what they’re doing about the whole thing. And she’s no expert, obviously, but he’s got a very nice, very visible vein in his forearm, and she bets phlebotomists love him, bets that when he gets blood drawn, he’s in and out no problem, bets that even she could draw blood from him. Nope, nothing sexual about that, nothing weird about that, right? Right. Nothing sexual either, when he ties off the tight band around her arm and she watches his one bicep flex a little with the effort.

“I can count you down, or you can look away and I’ll just get it done, whichever you prefer.”

“Uh, no preference, I’ll just look away and you can do whatever you want to me.” Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ. She realizes exactly what she just said a bit too late, him, Marcus, nice nurse Marcus, letting out a laugh that fizzles out into a cough. Great, now she’s made her fucking phlebotomist uncomfortable, possibly one of the last people you want to make uncomfortable. But if that, whatever that was, lingers, he doesn’t show it, already swiping an antiseptic wipe over the back of her hand and pulling his little cart of tubes closer to himself. And she knows this part, she’s good at this part, letting her eyes sweep up and to the right, because he’s on her left, and willing whatever vein he decided is a good one to stay a good one. Little pinch, little prayer, she lets out a held breath when he says a quiet alright and keeps the needle exactly where it is. Hallelujah.

“This might take a little longer, just because we’re drawing from your hand.”

“I’ll bleed as fast as I can then.” At the very least, he laughs, even though she wishes she had kept that one to herself.

“Do you live around here?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Sorry, I’m trying to distract you.”

“Didn’t they teach you how to do that in like, phlebotomy school?” She still has her eyes turned up and away, only a little wince when he switches out one tube for another. He hums at her question.

“Not really, I could ask you about the weather, is that better?”

“It’s cloudy. Not much of a conversation starter.”

“Well, why don’t you ask me something, since you’re such an expert on starting conversations.”

“Do you have a golden retriever?”

“What?”

“Sorry, you just, you look like the kind of guy who’d have a golden retriever.” Another tube clicks into place, but she’s not paying any attention to that now.

“Uh, no, no golden retriever. I do however have a very old, very deaf pit mix named Lucille.” Goddamnit, somehow that’s hotter than the golden retriever.

“Great name.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. She came with it when I adopted her.” God. Fucking. Damn it. What next, is he a volunteer firefighter on the weekends?

“Alright, that’s the last one.”

“Wait, really?” She chances a skittish glance but, sure enough, the needle is out.

“Yep, just let me get a band-aid for you and you’re all set.” Is he? Is she? Really? Going to make it out of here with no blackout? She considers, very briefly, as Marcus is smoothing a band-aid over the back of her hand, whether it’s possible to put a phlebotomist on retainer.

“If you want to sit for a minute and make sure you’re feeling alright before getting up that’s totally fine. I can also get you water or juice if you’re getting lightheaded.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine actually. Which, hey, thanks for not making me faint and stuff– that’s a first for me in a very long–” Oh, oh, stops herself mid-compliment because oh, oh, maybe stood up too fast, because the room is going a little dark, a little sideways, cold prickle and nauseous and–

“Easy, easy, I’m gonna help you sit up, okay?” His voice is a little fuzzy around the edges. To be honest, he’s a little fuzzy around the edges, though she knows right away what happened. No, not her first rodeo, like she blinked and then came to in a strange sprawl on the end of the exam table. Marcus presents a dixie cup to her, holds it right in her line of sight because clearly, she’s still a little slumped, still a little vacant, and a little warm, actually, which is new, and a little pleasant, and, oh, it’s because his arm is curled around her shoulders, firm palm held there to help her sit up. Oh. He smells like clorox and something woodsy, and it shouldn’t, but it kind of works.

“You feeling okay?”

“Mmmhmm.” She’s afraid of what might come out of her mouth if she doesn’t keep her lips pressed in a thin line, mmhmms again when he asks if she can sit up on her own, only a little despondent when he takes his arm away.

“So, you really weren’t kidding about that happening every time, huh?”

“Nope, wish I was. It’s– I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“That you had to deal with that.”

“You don’t have to be sorry about that, it’s part of the job. And actually, you fainted about as perfectly as I could’ve asked you to.”

“I didn’t know you could faint like, well.”

“Right before you went down you said I’m gonna faint. That’s a lot better than getting no heads up and turning around to find my patient unresponsive on the ground.”

“Oh gee, I bet you say that to all your patients.” Lord, if there was ever a time to put her out of her misery it’d be now. She probably still looks green from her little trip to outer space but sure, flirt with Marcus, handsome nurse Marcus who just watched you absolutely eat it. Kick your feet and bat your eyelashes while you’re at it.

“I take it you’re feeling better then? Are you okay to walk out to the front desk?” And the rest is, mercifully, easy. He walks her to the front desk, squeezes her shoulder and gives her a good job today that she likes a little too much. She makes a mental note to herself to never come back to this clinic for any future bloodwork, lest she make a fool of herself all over again in front of a man who, with any luck, she will never see again.

…

“Yes, this is she speaking.” This is she speaking in the middle of the cereal aisle with a half-filled grocery basket at her feet. She sets her gaze on a hyper-realized image of a granola cluster (now with real strawberries!) while the woman on the other end of the phone tells her that her lab results came in and were sent over to her doctor.

“Oh, great, thank you for letting me know. Do you know– did things look okay?”

“We don’t interpret the results, ma’am. Your doctor will go over that with you.” She doesn’t quite catch that, doesn’t catch the woman’s ma’am? either, a little preoccupied with staring down the aisle, because is that? Is he? He looks good out of the scrubs.

“Ma’am?”

“Sorry, no, um, of course. Thanks again.” If the woman had anything else to tell her, it’s a little too late for it, already hung up, and she’s trying to decide if she wants him to see her, or if fleeing immediately is the best course of action. He probably wouldn’t even recognize her, she thinks. It’s been a couple of weeks since the whole ordeal. And actually, she’d prefer if he didn’t recognize her. Oh yeah, the one who, well, ate it. But it seems the choice has already been made for her, because he saw her, walking down the aisle toward her, with his chin tilted down and part of a smile like he isn’t sure, but he’s pretty sure. He says her name like a question. Guilty as charged.

“Marcus, right?” Like she forgot his name, ha. His smile stretches, a little brighter, palm to the nape of his neck, and while she got the golden retriever part wrong, she totally clocked the rest, watch on his wrist and nice-looking athletic shorts and just-right-tight t-shirt with the little swoosh on the chest. She thinks his hair might even be a little sweat-damp, curled ends nearly getting in his eyes. In other words, she’s a goner.

“How have you been since we– you, well–”

“Since I passed out on you?” Yeah, that, he laughs out and yeah, she likes him, sue her.

“Just for the record, I believe it was you who said I passed out perfectly, so.” Shrug, so, he takes a step closer, leans in a little like he’s going to tell her a secret. In the cereal aisle, of all places.

“Just for the record, I really don’t say that to all my patients.”

“No?”

“Nope, just the nervous, pretty ones.”

“I was not nervous.”

“You weren’t?”

“Nope.”

“Are you just gonna blow past the other thing?”

“What thing?”

“The pretty thing.”

“Yep.” Something a little giddy, like being back in high school, shared, shit-eating and smug grins. He shakes his head and she rolls her lips back in her mouth to stop her smile from getting any cheesier.

“So, you do live around here then?”

“Mm, yeah, I do. And so do you?”

“I do.”

“Nice, nice.”

“Lovely weather we’re having.”

“Wow.”

“What? I’m making conversation.”

“You’re still not very good at it.”

“I’ll keep working on it for you.”

“Sure, okay. What kind of cereal do you get?”

“What kind do you think I get?”

“You look like a Kashi guy, if I’m honest.”

“Somehow I feel insulted.”

“Well.”

“You’re not even right either.”

“No? What do you get then?” He just smiles, steps away and reaches up to the top of the shelf and she is very grateful to Simple Mills for being located on the top shelf because his shirt rides up just enough to see a bare hip. In cheerios we trust.

“Apple cinnamon, seriously?”

“What? It’s a classic.”

“Actually, you know what, that tracks.”

“What do you get?” She waggles her basket in front of him in response, goods already procured.

“Peanut butter chex, respectable choice.”

“Thank you, thank you.”

“You know, I’d say we’re pretty good at this conversation thing.”

“Yeah, we’re not bad.”

“Do you want to do this again sometime? Not in the cereal aisle?”

“What, you mean like in the produce section?” He smiles at that, rolls his eyes, his basket lightly bonking against hers.

“I was thinking more like dinner, or drinks if that’s your thing?”

“I might be free on Saturday.”

“I might also be free on Saturday.”

“Well, sounds like we’re both free on Saturday.”

“Can I get your number?” His lockscreen is a picture of a dog. Lucille, he tells her, before she was very old and very deaf. She can’t help how big her smile gets at that.

“Text me, and we’ll do this whole conversation thing again.” I will, he says, phone tucked back into his pocket, though he seems to think twice before asking her can I see something really quick. Not entirely sure what he means when she nods, but then his hand sort of hovers over her forearm, may I? He really does have nice hands, she doesn’t think twice about nodding again.

“Oh yeah, we didn’t have to use your hand. I could have totally gotten it from here.” His hand curled around her elbow and his thumb lightly pressing into what she can only assume is a vein, and he says it so earnestly that she can’t help the incredulous laugh that rises up in her chest.

“Really? You’re still stuck on that, huh?” He smiles something sheepish, pad of his thumb rubbing an apology into her skin before pulling away. She didn’t really want him to pull away.

“Sorry, occupational hazard, I guess.”

“Kinda weird, you know.”

“Did I just ruin this whole thing?”

“Mmm, no, I kinda like it.”

“So, Saturday?”

“Looking forward to it, Marcus.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #marcus pike fluff #marcus pike fic #marcus pike au #marcus pike angst #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you

42 notes · View notes

kaeyachi · 21 hours

Text

So...I finished the Arlecchino story quest...

Spoilers below!

TW: Mentions of Suicide, Child Experimentation, Child Abuse, and Murder/Death

This is, by far, the best story quest I have ever done!

First of all, CHILDE?! CHILDE ESCAPING HIS PERSONAL AMBULANCE TO SNEZHNAYA JUST TO COME BACK TO FONTAINE TO ASK SKIRK A QUESTION? Bro is so funny, please-

please save him.

Wait, actually, yeah please do save him. Pulcinella and Pantalone are both plotting in the background, and they got Childe involved...

I also loved the children! Look at how terrifying they are! They're my absolute faves!!

Lyney cementing the reason as to why Arlecchino chose him as the next King is wonderful to see as well. For some time, I thought Freminet and Lynette had a shot, even with reading their lore. What I have failed to realize is that Lyney really is the inspiration for all of the people in the House of the Hearth. His frustrated and disappointed spiel about Freminet not trusting him with Clervie struck me to the heart. This is an older brother at work here people!

Also if I had a nickel every time a cryo younger brother hid a dangerous secret from his pyro older brother which got them into an argument once the truth came out, I'd have 2 nickels ✌️ (somehow gave me war flashbacks to a scene that doesn't even exist lmao)

LYNETTE IS THE FUNNIEST SIBLING BTW. SHE'S MY QUEEN FOR THIS.

Clervie! Our dearest! I'm not fully sure what part in her design did it, but she barely looks like an NPC somehow. Like, yes, this is still an NPC base model, but... is it perhaps the hair? And the extra lashes??

Also, her calling Arlecchino "Perrie" made me sob. I wasn't ready to hear nicknames!!

The mention of Snezhnayan auroras also made me sob again as well. You know what? This entire thing made me sob.

Clervie's dread and horror at the thought of her own mother, her unrelenting spirit that kept her going in her fight for her fellow peers freedom despite the abuse that she will receive, and her unfulfilled dreams repeatedly being mentioned throughout this quest was heartbreaking.

I do have to say- the animations they released for Arlecchino helped a lot with the emotions we are supposed to feel for this quest. Not only was that good Advertising and promotion for the Arlecchino banner, it also set up the plot that would have not been well presented ingame had they chose to do that instead.

Crucabena and Clervie part of this quest were not the only ones mentioned in this quest, but also that damn dude that she killed with her heels! I personally like the way they released all those animations because the quest feels more emotional and alive now, and we could follow with the story better than before (and it effectively increased the hype)

Speaking of more alive, the facial expressions have definitely improved! This quest had them utilizing various expressions well, specifically for the playable characters, so, again, this really helped with the feel of the quest.

Additionally, adding a picture to scenes also set the tone really well. It's not that pictures have never been included in quests before, but the way these were framed(?) made it look way better than the ones before.

By the way...is it just me? Or did Paimon's voice somewhat mellow out for this quest? I had recently played some other story and world quests, and Paimon's EN voice is admittedly high-pitched and painful to hear in those, but for this quest, it's as if her voice was toned down (like Mondstadt Paimon, but with current Paimon energy). I'm hoping this was them taking the criticism from past and adjusting their instructions to Paimon's VA accordingly, because I loved Paimon's voice in this quest (that or I'm delulu)

Quick lore tidbits before I go back to gushing about this quest:

1. Arlecchino confirmed not from Fontaine (like I legit thought she may be Khaenri'ahn due to the blood moon thing she has going for her, but it's nice to confirm her non-Fontainian status)

2. Crucabena was the one who had a deal with Dottore on sending members of the HotH to him for experimentation. Anyone who was physically impaired or left alive after a duel to death are automatically sent to him. Clervie has described this as a fate worse than death... Peruere rejected Dottore's partnership offer once she became the next knave. Also, Crucabena used Clervie as an "example" for those who wish to escape, meaning Clervie received the most abuse (which apparently worsened as the years went by). Clervie lost hope sometime along the way and was basically suicidal as well by the time she and Arlecchino had their duel... Her mindset by that time is that the only hope for freedom to her is death. The popular theory of Clervie letting Arlecchino kill her is proven in a horrifying way with this discovery... (yes, she wanted Arlecchino to be the king, but at the same time, she took this situation as a chance to hit 2 birds with 1 stone)

3. Project Stuzha is apparently something highly dangerous, and Pulcinella and Pantalone are trying to get Childe and Arlecchino involved (Childe was told to aide the project by Pulcinella, while Arlecchino says she doesnt want the HotH to be involved in it)

4. Here is me reannouncing that I am in fact taking the L on the Freminet and Crucabena situation. Basically, the timeline is that at age 16, Clervie dies, and we are left with a 1 year time period for a 6 year old Freminet to enter under Crucabena (I'm guessing this is either a retcon or a means to hide the Arlecchino plot by not having them directly say mother in Freminet's character story 4). After that said 1 year, Peruere kills Crucabena and has spent several months in Snezhnaya before reviving the House of the Hearth and adopting Lyney and Lynette (perhaps the children of Crucabena's HotH simply stuck together during that time)

Basically, yes, Arlecchino is in her mid-20s. Not my personal cup of tea, but hey, genshin ages are confusing most days (Ayato is older than her, and Ayaka may actually be older than her as well... ugh I need a moment please... I MAY BE THE SAME AGE AS HER. NO-)

5. Freminet used to also call Lyney "brother". What changed that, I'm not sure (and if I had a nickel...), but the thought of baby Freminet following around big bro Lyney and big sis Lynette makes my heart melt. Freminet actually cried after Lyney basically told him how important Fremi is to him, so whoever made Freminet think otherwise... 😡 they better square up because we ride at dawn

ok back to me gushing

THE BOSS FIGHT? IT WAS SO COOL! It was beautifully animated, and the fact that they added this at the end?

The fear on the traveler's eyes upon realization of what true power Arlecchino held was amazing imo. We canonically cannot defeat Arlecchino in her boss fight! She will be a weekly boss that we can defeat, but in actuality, we really cannot beat the number 4 of the Fatui Harbringers.

We now have actual proof that harbringers 1-4 are not within our capabilities to challenge, and to add to that horror, this is us fighting Arlecchino with Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet. This is also actual proof that we, the traveler, cannot defeat a ton of other characters as well! (were cooked if we never get a power boost and plot armor✌️)

Also let me sneak in this picture:

Cunty as fck. Powerpuff girls energy. They're the Heathers, and we, the traveler, are Veronica.

And finally, the last part of my commentary that cemented this quest as my top 1:

Everything Arlecchino has done for the House of the Hearth, it was all thanks to Clervie and her dreams.

Arlecchino has shaped the HotH into a more honest relationship between her as the father and them as her children. Everything Clervie hated about the old HotH is now nonexistent in this version.

The children could be set free.

Duels are not to death.

They will not be sent to their doom if they lose.

This is everything that Clervie dreamed of, and this is everything Clervie tragically never got to see and experience because she lost all hope.

Clervie's story ended in tragedy, but Peruere lived and breathed Clervie's dreams for her anyway. Seeing the aurora was the start of Peruere finding the goal of living Clervie's dream, and now, Arlecchino strives to do her best to see those dreams come to fruition.

And the qualities that Peruere admired in Clervie are the same qualities that made her want Lyney to become the next king. Hopeful, caring, protective, passionate, and full of conviction. Lyney will take the mantle and live and breathe for Clervie's and Peruere's dreams someday.

Honestly, I have more to say, but I think this is a good place to stop for now. The dynamics of all these characters have made this experience worthwhile, and I hope that genshin continues with this sort of style in the future. Here's to more amazing stories from genshin!

Bonus screenshot while we are still here:

#genshin spoilers #arlecchino #lyney #lynette #freminet #genshin 4.6 spoilers #tw: suicide mention #tw: abuse mention #tw: experimentation #tw: mentions of death #tw: mentions of abuse #you know what #I'll say it here in the tags #clervie wouldve loved mondstadt #she wanted to be a bard! her reaction to mond was so cute!

37 notes · View notes

morethansky · 1 day

Text

***TBB SPOILERS**

Realized I never wrote up my thoughts on "Into the Breach," which was the first episode I've liked since "Extraction"!!! Probably because all I could think about was Echo for 72 hours afterward.

This episode gave me such Rebels vibes, and that's truly the highest compliment I could pay any Star Wars media. I present my case:

There's an objective laid out from the start that is a small but crucial piece of the larger plot. The beginning of the episode presents this problem, and by the end of the episode, that specific problem solved.

Everyone is competent, and every character gets to do something vital to the mission. Whether it's a small thing doesn't matter; it's the fact that if that character wasn't there to do that small thing, the mission might be screwed that matters.

The action is meaningful—it conveys something about the characters while also driving the plot forward—and there's suspense that ratchets up the tension. And then to diffuse it, there's humor, and each joke is funny, but it's not overdone.

Infiltration episodes are such a Star Wars staple, and it's a real shame that TBB hasn't had more of them. They tried to make up for it by putting THREE infiltrations into this episode lmao. The fact that they show one long-term infiltration, one short-term infiltration, and one super short-term infiltration is very clever and makes the writing feel cohesive and dynamic, something this show hasn't always been able to achieve.

Also important, they do both a space/flight mission and a ground mission (two of each, technically), which is something that always helps make an episode feel like it's set in the GFFA and not just, you know *cough* Space!Louisiana. Or Tatooine scene #700.

There's also some nice storytelling going on with the environment—they go from being outside on the cloud city (free) to inside a space station (trapped with enemies), and for Omega, inside a cell (in which she actually enters another cell, visually—her bunk). The wide outdoor shots make the close, indoor shots feel much more claustrophobic, which is exactly the atmosphere these particular indoor settings should be giving off.

Other thoughts and meta:

Daytime Tantiss is a good sign! Forecast: Not death?

Prison Break Omega is just such a good vibe, and this would just be so fucking cool...except we've literally already seen her escape once this season??? And it was already really well done??? This is like the flip side of my complaint that Omega was too helpless in the first season, and it was annoying how she constantly needed to be rescued. Now she's too competent and is always escaping lol. It just really, really cheapens the dramatic effect either escape could've had.

Needless to say, the Batch's driving purpose once again being that they're struggling to rescue Omega is just. I'm tired. If there are going to be two major captures and two major escapes this season, at least one of them needs to be a narrative flip!!! The Batch rescuing her at the front end of the season and Omega escaping herself at the end, or vice versa, would've made it much less repetitive (and stopped cutting the Batch off at the knees in order to show Omega's competency). Omega even gets captured in the same fucking way—she gives herself up in "Plan 99" and "Point of No Return"! Ughhhhh

Okay I swear I actually like this episode lmao, I just. Editor instincts.

Thinking about how Omega left Lula on Pabu and has essentially left Straw!Lula to Eva, and how it shows that she's shed her need for comfort and is now ready to provide that comfort to other children, which is very lovely. But I'm also worried about Lula and Tech's goggles being on Pabu, because there are only three thematic options here: Everyone returns to them (sanctuary), everyone leaves them behind (leaving the past behind), or Omega returns to leave more items, say a bandana or a Firepuncher (memorial). The link between Lula and the goggles is actually not that natural (unless you're a Techwrecker shipper like me :D), so I've been pondering this choice a lot.

The symbolism of everything inside Tantiss being in the shape of the Empire cog and every character within its walls being a cog of the Empire is so heavy handed...and I am here for every moment of it!!!

Truly did not expect Rampart to stick around for so long. He's going to be a main character in the finale at this point?? I like how he's like a Kallus foil here—despite being scapegoated by the literal emperor he's still loyal to the regime and takes such pride in it. A very Jennifer Corbett & Brad Rau–esque character.

The way that when Echo came down the ramp I literally said, "Oh, thank god."

Hunter and Echo doing the clone hand clasp (and not wrist clasp, you'll note) isn't as emotional given that we already know how strong their bond is at this point, but it's still nice to see this visual callback to the Batch respecting Cody so much despite him being a reg that Hunter would use this hand clasp to greet him. It's a great shorthand (ha) for Hunter's feelings, since he is particularly suspicious of outsiders, and Echo is now fully "one of his."

I really love the mirror of the scene when the Batch is in the cell on Kamino and they escape by breaking into the wall—Omega effectively does the same thing here. These are the satisfying kinds of repetition, rather than entire arcs!

Every time I think about the Tech-is-the-mustachioed-doctor theory I giggle. It would just be. So anticlimactic?? But absolutely hilarious.

The costume change is so unnecessary, buuut I'll be first in line to buy the variant figures! Also it's nice to see some canon clone armor painting after writing and reading so many fics about it!!

I really like Hunter sensing Rampart plotting and how it brings his powers even closer to Jedi precognition.

Not too much Crosshunt in this ep, but I like how in both shuttle scenes, Crosshair stands in a position that blocks Rampart from getting to Hunter in the cockpit (while Wrecker blocks Rampart from getting to the exit).

Not particularly significant, but I like the visual detail of Hunter, Echo, and Crosshair bracketing Rampart in a triangle and it looking like they're his bodyguards but them actually forming that position because he's their prisoner.

The way I screamed when Rampart tries to get Echo to say "sir" and he just says, "I don't think so." Echo did not go through everything he's gone through up to this point to take anyone's shit!!! And the way Rampart just takes it and looks down all ashamed is peak comedy to me. Even he sensed that he was treading on dangerous ground there. (Just for a second think about Fives on Umbara and how he refused to take Krell's shit from the very start...)

The commandos being on this space station (that's orbiting Coruscant??) makes me very sad because it kind of foreshadows a dark ending for the Tantiss arc by showing that the commandos are spread all over the galaxy. So even if they rescue all the commandos from Tantiss, it still wouldn't save all the others. In which case, writing wise, it feels way more unlikely for them to save the commandos on Tantiss at all.

Wrecker tapping his foot while scrolling through the comments on his AO3 account is very cute. Also in the last episode the mining foreman was on his datapad like a phone and I thought it was supposed to convey that he was lazy lol but maybe this sort of thing is just going to show up in SW a lot more now haha

The lieutenant demanding to know where the captain is is kind of silly because wasn't he the one to let him go inside?? Why would he be back at his ship? But I love me the Rebels-esque gag of knocking him out on the ship.

Everyone is screaming about Crosshair having faith in Echo getting them through, but I would also like to contribute the fact that Crosshair says, "You can't go alone." A very poetic line of dialogue because being alone in the Techno Union is what the Batch saved Echo from being, and it's what Crosshair chose to be for two and a half seasons of this show. Not wanting to be alone again was also what made him turn against the Empire! We also see this anxiety in the previous episode, where he (in that very ridiculous reveal) admits he doesn't want to go back to Tantiss (and be alone again).

ECHOOOOOO!!!! About fucking time they gave him another action feature!!! I rewatch that opening sequence in "Tipping Point" constantly. And not only that, it's a very character-driven action feature for once!!! We see him showcase what it means to be an ARC trooper and also what it means that he's "part-droid." A test I like to consider when I gauge the quality of action-ensemble media is, Could any other character have done that? In this case, the text is very loudly telling us absolutely not! Also the way he exudes confidence about it ("But I can") is also just. Super hot, 10/10

Tbh the Echo feature felt so out of place for this show that at this point I was suddenly filled with terror that he was about to die. Thank god he did not, but he's still separated from the others by the end, so it's not out of the question for something terrible to happen in hyperspace, and I do not want it!!! But altogether that was a badass third act and a very good episode!

#the bad batch spoilers #tbb spoilers #the bad batch #star wars #amph talks

28 notes · View notes

sebastiannarrator · 1 day

Text

The original au i had planned

Well generation 11 au kinito wasn't the first au i had planned but i choosen it.

Whta was the first kinito au i've created was a Kinito au called : Starvation Au. (which was the same cannibal au @krislgfox metioned about in one post :) )

(Warning this au contains a description of gore , cannibalism and horror!)

Here was The kinito design of this au :

Here's som lore i had about that au :

Basically Same as original timeline , But Times goes on and less and less people download Kinitopet which lead to the web crew world with both Sam , Jade and specificaly Kinito to be completly lifeless and abondonned.

As time goes on ( years , 2024) , Kinitopet is no longer reconized , and the webcrew world is basically dead with nothin in , fallen into a difficult state.

Kinito , Jade and Sam in the beginning stuck together as a team but of cource Kinito's obsession with the player/user , which leaded him astray , Jade and Sam tried and tried again but failed miserally as they realized that kinito was to far gone in his obsession , and so with heavy hearts they both decided to stay in the webcrew world away from kinito.

When there was no more player in the end , The webworld completly devasted and lifeless with nothing to either eat or do , Kinito found himself to be alone and with no one else to turn to , he turns to Jade and Sam who are insure if they should help him after all he had done.

Sam , being the chill guy he always was , Wanted to ofcource help kinito and willing to forgive him even , saying they were friends and that friends always stick together ,Meanwhile Jade said she wasn't ready to Forgive him yet.

Things exculated quickly and this lead to Kinito completly losing it , tearing off the left arm of Jade completly , hunger consuming him as he begin to eat it right infront of Jade and Sam.

As Jade was frozen in both pain and shock , Sam carried her as they excaped together in a hide out far away from kinito as they tried desperatly to survive and stay away as far from kinito.

(if you guys really like this ill open another blog au dedicated to this specific au :) )

#kinitopet #kinitopet fanart #kinitopet au #kinito au #au ask blog #kinito the axolotl #kinitopet art #artists on tumblr #kinito pet #kinitopet Starvation au

26 notes · View notes

maniculum · 2 days

Text

Bestiaryposting Results: Mlekragg

Unsurprisingly, multiple people read the entry and immediately clocked what this was. (Thank you for not actually making a guess in text, so that people who don't recognize it are able to work without that preconception.) I didn't want to leave it out, because the mythological ones are fun, but unlike some of the others, the modern conception of this beast is pretty much exactly what the bestiary says.

Anyway, as always, if you don't know what I'm talking about, you can find an explanation for this whole thing at https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting. If you want to join in, the new entry for each week is tagged with "maniculum bestiaryposting" so it should be findable. This week's entry can be reviewed here:

Below the cut you will find the drawings responding to it, in roughly chronological order:

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) decided to branch out in an unusual direction with this one, in order to avoid drawing the creature they'd identified from the entry and also have some fun with it. I just think this is some quality creature design. Love the mask-thing, love the springy tail, and that's a really good rendering of a cuttlefish face IMHO. There's a really interesting explanation for all of these features, what inspired them and how it all works together, in the linked post, which you should go read.

@moonygryffin (link to post here) took a more direct approach, with the twist that the creature here is modeled on American fauna rather than ones the medieval Europeans would have been aware of. The body is a mountain lion, and the man-like head is a golden-headed lion tamarin, which of course comes with its own mane. I enjoy the choice to not use a lion lion, but rather two animals with "lion" in their name; also I've always thought lion tamarins were very cool-looking. For more details -- and an example of an attempt by MoonyGryffin to draw the same creature several years ago -- see the linked post. (Also thank you for providing alt text.)

@sweetlyfez (link to post here) has made an attempt to take the entry literally without drawing the creature she has recognized, which is a challenge considering how specific the description is. I think the decision to give it flea legs to help with that exceptional jumping is clever. SweetlyFez describes the result as an "awful creature" and... honestly I can't argue, I wouldn't want to be anywhere near one of these. In fact I think I'm going to wrap up this commentary and scroll down so I don't keep making eye contact with it.

@pomrania has also decided to go the route of "let's get weird with it", and avoided the literal interpretation by re-analyzing the word "has". This is similar to that style of joke one hears now and then -- you know, "he has the heart of a poet... he keeps it in a jar at home." (Incidentally, props to Mary Shelley for being perhaps the only person who could make that claim and not be kidding.) So this creature has the face of a man and the body of a lion, not in the sense that it was born with them, but in the sense that it keeps them as possessions. Very clever, and the underlying creature design is also fantastically creepy in my opinion.

@coolest-capybara (link to post here) mentions that she didn't recognize the description, and has given us this really cool-looking, rather menacing creature in their excellent medieval style. (This is why I insist on not naming the beasts even when it seems clear what it is -- this amazing piece of art might have looked entirely different if someone posted a spoiler.) I'm really struck by how it simultaneously looks like a patchwork sort of creature (different front & back legs, etc.) but all flows together into a cohesive whole. Just really well done, I think. (Also, thank you for including alt text.)

@cheapsweets (link to post here) has drawn the creature mid-leap, showing off its jumping prowess by shooting straight up into the air. I think this drawing does a very good job at combining human and lion anatomy to make something unsettling -- and the inclusion of the skull diagram up in the top left points to the amount of thought that went into this. As always, please check out the linked post for a detailed discussion of the design. (Also, thank you for including alt text.)

@strixcattus (link to post here) has drawn one that's oddly cute, and looks a bit worried. However, according to the description they've written in the linked post, this reaction on my part is probably going to get me killed, because apparently they're still quite vicious. I like it, though -- and, as always, I urge you to go read the linked post for this one.

On to the Aberdeen Bestiary... oh, we can't, actually. This is another missing page. So here's the illustration from the Ashmole Bestiary instead:

So, first of all, this is indeed the manticore, and I'm sure most if not all of the people who said they had guessed it got that correct.

Second, we can also note that all the artists who said something along the lines of "well we know about the issues of drawing medieval scorpions, so the scorpion-tail description doesn't need to be literal" were also correct there. Apparently this time a scorpion tail is just spiky all over, which I have to admit does look kinda cool.

Now let's address the elephant in the room. WHAT is that thing on its HEAD? My best guess is that it's meant to be a crown -- medieval art often sticks hats on nonhuman creatures with human faces, almost as if the artist wants to make sure you know it looks like a human head on purpose. I don't see crowns that often, though; usually it's just a cloth hat. (The one in Bodley MS 764, where I got the text for this entry, is clearly wearing a Phrygian cap.) I find myself unable to see it as anything but a daring hairstyle that is absolutely not working for it, though.

Anyway. The manticore is an odd one in its continuity here -- a lot of the mythical creatures in the bestiary have been changed, reinterpreted, or forgotten in the intervening centuries. I think maybe the manticore happens to have hit that sweet spot where it's popular enough that people remember it, but not so popular that it gets excessively telephoned through widespread transmission. I think a couple people noted that the Standard Fantasy manticore is more or less spot on to this description, and indeed, I can only think of one change:

(Art from the Magic: the Gathering card "Crimson Manticore", artist Daniel Gelon)

At some point, those bastards got wings. It's not universal at this time, but if you do an image search for "manticore", the majority of the modern ones are winged. I'm not really sure where that came from.

(Side note: I tested this by doing a Google image search, and one of the top results was a particularly odd-looking image, so I clicked on it out of curiosity. It was at the top of an... article? on a webpage I'd never heard of, and the opening of said article included the sentence, "In medieval bestiaries and art, the manticore was depicted with unique features such as paws, teeth, and fur." You don't say there, bud.)

Interestingly, the D&D manticore is slightly different from the description in an additional way.

Instead of a scorpion tail, it has a tail covered in spines. This has apparently been part of the D&D manticore since the beginning -- the above image is from 2e, but the 1e version had the same tail. (I just didn't use it because it's not as clear in the picture.)

Now, scroll back up to that Ashmole Bestiary image. The one where the tail doesn't really look anything like a scorpion's. Looks... similar to this in broad concept.

I doubt that Gygax or Arneson or whoever designed that aspect of their manticore after one bestiary image, so I popped over to bestiary.ca to see what else was out there. Out of the 38 medieval manticore images collected on that website, there are only two with a tail covered in spikes: the Ashmole manticore and one other that's clearly just a less-skilled artist working from the same image (it also has the same hat). Looking at the text sources, though:

"...it has a tail like a land scorpion, in which there is a sting; it darts forth the spines with which it is covered instead of hair..." -- Aristotle, De animalibus

"To the end of its tail is attached the sting of a scorpion, and this might be over a cubit in length; and the tail has stings at intervals on either side." -- Aelianus, On the Characteristics of Animals

Okay, that's the D&D version, mystery solved. New question: is it a coincidence that the Ashmole illustration fits Aelianus's description? Remember, the page is missing from the Aberdeen bestiary and the Ashmole bestiary isn't translated. The text comes from Bodley MS 764, which does not have a spiky-tailed manticore. My Latin is terrible and I'm untrained in palaeography, so I can't tell whether the entry there preserves the spiky description.

If any palaeographers out there want to solve this one for me, it's Bodleian MS Ashmole 1511, f.22v-23r, available digitally here. (I'll put some screenshots below, but I expect it's easier to zoom properly on the library's digitized manuscript.)

Okay, that's all I've got. Enjoy your week everyone.

#maniculum bestiaryposting #mlekragg

25 notes · View notes

spookyspecterino · 1 day

Text

Back to You Again

Tangerine x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Injury, mention of blood, mention of death/fear of death, arguing/bickering, swearing. Serious idiots in love who have a little trouble expressing their feelings and choose the wrong time to do it.

You've been gone a little while. A few months to be specific. Why? Tangerine can only guess, but he's not happy about it.

Requested by @nocturnest. I'm so sorry this took so long. I started it thinking it was going to be short and then 7K words flew out. 😬Anyway, thanks for your request. It's been a long time since I wrote anything seriously and this was really good for me. Hope you enjoy!

“Laser cutter. Three auto-rifles. Two handguns. Three boxes of ammo each.”

Check.

The binoculars are heavy duty, and the metal texture grates your fingers as you pull them up to peer through the lenses into the next building over. A high-rise that had at least 30 floors. All windowed at least, which made this a little easier on you.

“In through the fifth-floor service area. Through the employee hallway to the service elevator.”

A map of the building laid next to you on the gravel roof. It hadn’t been easy to get your hands on it, but it was worth it for a building as secure as this. No security measure had been overlooked by this man and as paranoid as he seemed it went a long way to his credibility.

“In and out through the service elevator. 20 mins tops. Oh, the jammer.”

A handheld device that you’d paid top dollar for. Yes, it has duct tape holding pieces of it together, and the screen was a repurposed old Gameboy front, but it is the best your back-channel dealer could provide.

How did anyone do anything without a handler these days?

The jammer would save you the trouble (if things turned sideways) of dealing with reinforcements. It flickers to life by flipping a switch smoldered to its side. The thing really does look like a piece of garbage. And, despite what the dealer said, the duct tape and flimsy-ness of it

Several frequencies and networks flashed across the screen, all of them belonging to the building you were surveying. Scrolling through, only a few needed to be shut down, too many and it would raise alarms.

Wifi was the last to be turned off and then you would really need to book it inside.

Everything planned out to a T. Entrance and exits mapped. Back-up plans (and back-up plans to those back-up plans) in place. Extra weapons and ammo in case you had to go out guns blazing. This should be no problem.

“Office-penthouse on the top floor. Computer terminal on the desk, west side.”

Get to the computer, get the files, destroy everything. If you happened to kill the son of a bitch, well, that was a bonus.

You sigh and rub your face, trying to work out the stress lines that seemed to make a permanent home between your brows. “Now I just need to stop talking to myself.”

It was an unfortunate habit you’d picked up in the last few months of working alone. Usually, you had… no. This was no time to think of them, or of him. You have to focus. After this is done, you can go back and apologize, even grovel if you have to.

But now is the time for focus.

In the middle of repeating this mantra, one you’ve been repeating for the last month, you happen to look up at the street. Not for any real reason, nothing had drawn your attention. Nothing was amiss in your perfect plan.

Except two very familiar faces walking down the sidewalk.

Lemon and Tangerine.

Clad in their typical attire. Snazzy suits, dress shoes, and ties.

Your stomach does several things. First it flips at the sight of Tangerine as he saunters with his hands in his pockets, then it sinks and twists into painful knots.

“No, no, no!”

They can’t be here! Anywhere but here!

The two walked casually down the sidewalk, as if they were taking a nice midday stroll. No rifles, no car, nothing. Either they were ballsy as hell…or wildly misinformed about this building and the man inside.

Something in you hoped, prayed, they would pass the building. That they were going somewhere else.

They took a sharp turn to cross the street—toward the building entrance—and your breath turned ragged, your blood chilled. At the same time, your mind was churning with practicality, cold and calculated ideas. Some nasty part of you that had gotten you this far in such a dangerous career, that had nestled in you a long time ago and only now resurfaced in the months of being alone.

You could just walk away; they have their job, and they’re professionals. They can handle themselves.

You could go in after and clean up without ever being seen. Easy. The plan you made could still work, Tangerine and Lemon would be a perfect distraction.

But you were already moving. Lega working on their own and putting you into motion. Fingers tapping off the Wi-Fi signal on the jammer while you slung your duffle bag over your shoulder.

This was not the plan, you argued with yourself as you flew down the back stairs. You’ll get yourself killed being this reckless and impulsive. What happened to in and out in 20 mins?

With every point you made the other side of your mind made a counterpoint.

They’re underprepared. They’re misinformed. They don’t have the firepower to walk in the front door, hell, they don’t have enough bullets to make it to the second floor.

“God damn it!” You yelled, taking the stairs down two at a time. Your voice echoed off the walls in the cramped stairwell. The rifles in your duffle bag clattered and banged together.

They’d be killed. Tangerine and Lemon would be killed. You couldn’t let that happen.

. . .

“I say we take a hostage and negotiate our way up.”

“Yeah, sure, Lemon.”

“This guy’s what, a tech billionaire, or something?”

“Probably.”

“Ok, so he’s a nerd. Easy job.”

“Uh-huh.”

Lemon shoots his brother a less than happy look. Tangerine is staring off into space with a slight frown, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he hunches over a little. Which wasn’t new, he’d been doing that a lot lately. A reflection of his dour mood.

Lemon rolls his eyes. “Oh, mate. Come on. We’re on a job.”

Tangerine shrugs, frowning harder. “I’m fuckin’ aware of that, Lemon.”

“Then stop with your sulking! What have I told you?”

“No—” Tangerine waves a hand, “—you don’t need to say it again—”

“Just send her a letter or something. She’d love it.”

Tangerine groans, he’s starting to get a headache now as they near the target building. “As I’ve said before, I attached letters on the flowers I sent.”

Lemon opens his mouth, but Tangerine cuts him off. “And I sent more than one bouquet. For fuck’s sake, her house probably looks like a tropical rainforest by now.”

“What about—”

“I’ve sent her presents. Jewelry. Perfume. A new phone in case hers was broken. Fuckin’ hell I even had her porch repainted.”

“And she didn’t say anything?”

“Nothing.”

Lemon hesitates. “Did you say you’re sorry?”

Now Tangerine was about to lose it. His eye twitched, not that his brother could see it. “Sorry for what? She’s the one that up and disappeared without a word.”

“I still think you should say it. Just to cover your bases.”

“I’m not apologizing. We were all perfect and you know that. She was happy as a clam and if something was wrong, she would have told me.”

“Then why’d she—”

“You’re really getting on my fucking nerves, Lemon.”

They were across the street from the main entrance now. Two glass doors with golden handles reflected the brothers. In sync they both took a sharp turn toward them. Through the glass they didn’t see anyone else in the lobby and there was a long, chest high counter with a clerk along the far back wall.

Neither of them blinked at how empty the lobby was. Their client had said this target was some kind of informant, but that was about it. They’d paid half up front and sent them on their merry way.

Tangerine yanked open the glass door, holding it for Lemon. He was beyond pissed and just wanted this to be over with. Despite his complaints he was still mulling over what his brother said. Should he apologize, even though he had done nothing wrong? He didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, and he had thought back on all the times you’d been with them, working a job or not.

He’d been happy, he thought you were happy too.

The white floor tiles of the lobby were so shiny they could check their reflections in them. The whole place was upstanding and flaunted wealth. On both sides of the spacious lobby were two silver elevators. The clerk, a lady in her mid-thirties, looked up at them as they walked in. She picked up a phone and turned away as she spoke.

It took them 10 seconds to reach the desk, and, in that time, Lemon had pulled out his gun.

He pointed it at her now. “Hang up the phone.”

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. Not the usual response someone has when a gun is pointed at them, but she slowly hangs up.

“Come out from behind the desk, slowly.”

There’s a moment when she does nothing. Then, “No.”

Tangerine blinks, then pulls out his own gun. “Did you really just say no? Listen lady—”

She leans forward over the desk, leering. “Turn around and get the fuck out.”

Lemon shoots into the wall slightly to her left. She doesn’t even flinch at the sound. “I will fucking shoot you. Get out. From behind. The desk.”

She leans back. “Cute gun.”

Tangerine starts to get a sinking feeling. He turns to Lemon, about to say they should take a walk (maybe find a back entrance to this place instead) when the woman pulls out .22 Uzi from somewhere in the desk. They only catch a glimpse of the muzzle before they start shooting wildly and ducking.

Lemon takes a shot to the chest with a grunt. Tangerine hears the bullets whizzing past him and shattering glass.

The desk clerk turns disappearing behind an employee door seamlessly built into the wall.

They crouch down next to the desk. Tangerine’s head pounds, as it usually does when a job gets out of control.

“You alright?” He reloads his gun, watching his brother carefully.

Lemon checks himself over, patting his chest and stomach. “Yeah, all good, the vest caught it. This is fucked what do we do—”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish as both elevators open and squads of heavily armored men pour out. They all have automatic rifles and black Kevlar vests.

“Behind the desk!” Tangerine shouts, pulling Lemon up.

They jump over just as the bullets start flying. Glass shatters, wood splinters, tiles crack. It’s utter chaos and Tangerine and Lemon can only sit behind cover.

“I think we might be fucked!” Lemon shouts, checking his gun.

Tangerine grits his teeth, mind racing. “The client didn’t mention this level of security! I’m going to wring their fucking neck!”

“We’re outmatched!”

“No question, Lemon! Thanks for pointing that out!” Tangerine can feel his brother’s rising anxiety as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“What do we do?!”

“We hope to God this is all of them and try our best to make it out of here!”

“You’re saying—”

Tangerine fires blindly from behind the desk. “Yes, we bail on this job and break our client’s fucking legs!”

The onslaught never seems to end. These assholes are top security and they’re trained well. Their shots chip away at the desk piece by piece, Tangerine and Lemon can feel the bullets violently embed themselves in the wood against their backs.

Tangerine glances at the employee door, there’s no handle and no way to pry it open. He figures there’s a remote control that opens it somewhere from behind. He tries to remain calm, think of a way out that isn’t behind at least 10 guys with rifles.

What would you do in this situation? His heart feels like it’s been pierced with a lance as he thinks of you. Obviously, you would never be caught in a situation like this. You were careful, practical, methodical in the way you planned out jobs.

He wished you were here with him.

Instinctually, his hand reaches into his pocket, grabbing his phone. Lemon watches him with something close to sympathy on his face.

Your number is on speed dial. Tangerine presses a button and holds it up to his ear.

It goes straight to voicemail.

The automated answering machine has become very familiar to him these last few months. Were you checking his voicemails? He’d left you enough to fill up your mailbox, he was sure of it.

“Please leave a message after the tone.”

He hopes you can hear him over the sound of gunshots.

“Yeah, look. Lemon and I, we’re in a bit of a pickle. I was really hoping you would answer this time ‘cause we need help. Since you didn’t, I just wanted to say that you’re a real prick for leaving us the way you did. And you haven’t said a single thank you or anything for all the gifts I’ve sent. Poor Lemon has been wondering where you went off to.” He pauses. This wasn’t the way he wanted to start this message, but every other attempt at getting your attention has failed.

“You know how I feel, I’ve made that pretty clear. But right now, I’m just pissed. Nothing has worked, so I’m going to break into your house and wait for you to come home.”

Lemon gives him a startled look, shakes his head from side to side.

Tangerine frowns. “Don’t take that the wrong—Alright, I won’t break into your house, but I will wait on your doorstep. Every day, I’ll be there until I see you.”

Lemon is still frowning, but Tangerine ignores him.

“This is all because…Well, I…” He struggles, throat turning dry and closing around the words he wants to say. Instead of continuing, he hangs up.

Sitting back against the desk he exhales. The gunfire has stopped to an occasional patter here and there.

Lemon runs a hand through his hair. “Bruv, what the fuck was that?”

“A last-ditch effort at getting some backup.”

They fell into silence; the lobby was eerily quiet. They knew the security team was just waiting for them to come out from behind the desk. The air crackled with energy.

Lemon checked his pockets. “I’ve got two clips left, you?”

“One and a half.”

The look they share conveys their doubts, their dread. An unspoken conversation passes between them.

Tangerine puts it in the back of his mind. “I’ll run out first, then you go a few seconds later.”

“No way, we go at the same time.”

He shakes his head but arguing only puts off the inevitable.

“Go to the opposite side of the desk.”

They split, crouching behind opposite corners. There was no way either of them would be able to make it two steps without taking 10 rounds to the chest. The image of you stays in Tangerine’s mind. He just wished he could see you again. Whatever comes next, afterlife or not, he hoped you—or some form of you—would be in it.

Tangerine gives Lemon one last look, finds that his brother is watching him, and gives him a somber nod. He holds his gun up, takes a deep breath, gets ready to run…

He’s out from behind the desk, gritting his teeth and firing in a flash.

He hits one, another to his left falls from Lemon’s bullets. His legs are shaky, he can feel them trembling.

Rifles take aim.

Tangerine opens his mouth to urge Lemon on.

And a grenade goes off.

The loud bang startles him, his ears ring and a second later he’s shrouded in white, smokey fog. Tangerine stops, confused, looking around to try and find Lemon. But a strong hand yanks him and drags him back. He stumbles, scattering empty bullet shells along the ground, and falls onto the tile.

He’s back behind the desk. Lemon falls next to him.

A pair of legs stands between the brothers. Next to them lies a green duffle bag. Empty rifle shells fall to the ground. Tangerine didn’t even realize guns were firing. He followed the legs up in one long sweep of his eyes.

. . .

A million and one things were going through your mind as you fired an automatic rifle at the security team in the lobby. The biggest thing was holding back every fiber of your damn being from screaming at Tangerine and Lemon for being so foolish.

If you had been a breath later, a second too late, these idiots would be laying in a pile of their own blood on the floor. That thought definitely won’t haunt you for a few months.

The other thing you were concentrating on was ignoring the way Tangerine was staring at you right now. He’s not hurt—you kept repeating, over and over again. He’s ok.

The security team was scattering for cover, but finding little, making your job easy as the last of the smoke cleared. They hadn’t been expecting someone to come in from behind and you’d shot a few in the back before throwing the smoke grenade. Only a few were left now.

They seemed to get over their surprise and began firing back, opening the elevators, and using the inside cabins for cover. Keeping the doors open would stop them from being sent back up for more goons to come through. That was good.

You duck down behind the desk. They were still staring at you.

“Yes! Hello!” You stubbornly gritted out while staring into the wood.

Tangerine’s mouth opened and closed many times, but no words came out. That didn’t mean Lemon wasn’t able to say anything.

“Did you get his message?” He was grinning like some kind of fool.

“Message? Which one?”

Was he talking about the hundreds of messages—texts, voicemails, and letters—Tangerine had been sending on a weekly basis? Yes, you’d gotten them. Read every single one. It had been hard enough sleeping normally, after all that you hadn’t been able to sleep at all. The guilt was overwhelming.

Lemon’s eyes dart to his brother. You did the same and regretted it immediately.

Tangerine’s eyes were practically bulging from his head. His mustache twitched.

Oh, he’s pissed.

You quickly look away and clear your throat. “Are you on a job?”

“Yeah, a shit one. We were just trying to bail.”

“Can’t blame you. What happened, bad intel?”

Tangerine’s voice resembled a growl, it grated against your ear, but it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. “Understatement of the century, love.”

Love. Love. Love.

Lemon wipes his forehead. “What’re you doing here?”

“I have my own problems with your target.” You turn to Lemon but feel Tangerine’s eyes burning a hole in your back. “I was about to sneak in when I saw you two walking down the street.” You check your gun, then rummage through the duffle bag for another clip.

“A massive coincidence then?” Lemon was holding back a smile, eyes darting to Tangerine occasionally. It was as if they weren’t just about to die only five minutes ago.

“If you two still want to bail, that’s fine with me. I’ll give you a window after taking the rest out. I’m going to push on.”

Tangerine spins you around by the shoulder to face him. “Are you fucking mental?”

You’re very close together. The determination it takes not to just lean in and…

Speaking slow, you’re focusing your words and hoping it gets through to him. “Your target has info on me that could get people hurt and ruin my reputation. I need to wipe his computer.”

For all his credit, Tangerine takes you seriously in that moment, even as he looks like he might commit murder. He looks to Lemon—they do that ‘sibling conversation’ without words that they’re so good at.

“We’ll stick around to help.”

“You sure?”

Something in him ignites. There’s a fire behind his eyes. “Fuck yes, we’re sure.”

He’s giving mixed signals now. Is he angry? Probably. But apparently not angry enough to leave you on a job alone.

“Alright…” You say, slowly backing away.

You search through the duffle bag, cold objects graze your fingers, you can identify them each by touch. The laser cutter has a rubber handle. “Lemon—" You toss it to him. “—Cut a hole in the employee door. Tangerine—” You grab another rifle, placing it into his hands. “—Help me take out the last of the guys.”

He takes the rifle and for a moment your hands touch. You expect him to flinch away, or recoil, but he lingers there for a moment. His golden rings gleam—of course he wore them, he never leaves them behind—and catch your eyes until he takes the gun from you.

Fucking confusing.

It had been months, but the three of you worked together like no time had passed at all. Tangerine falling in sync with you, watching your back. Working in tandem, the few remaining riflemen dropped like flies.

“Doors open!” Lemon shouted tapping you and Tangerine’s shoulder.

The three of you waste no time dashing into the small service hallway. Tangerine grabbed the duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder. You were just about to pick it up, but he gave you a look.

There wasn’t as much polish to this part of the building, the lighting was dimmer, and it lacked the white tiles, replaced by a steely gray metal flooring instead. The hallway was long and narrow, its walls matched the floor in color.

“This should lead to an employee elevator. That will take us to the top office.” You panted, oddly exhilarated.

Lemon was looking down the hallway as he crouched. “Watch out for the desk clerk, she went this way.”

“Still can’t believe you both just walked in the front door…”

“We don’t all have your sense of planning, darling.” Tangerine huffed, hiking the bag higher on his shoulder.

“Did you have any sense of planning?”

“Lemon had a plan.”

You turn halfway back to face him. “You—Tangerine!”

He fixes you with an odd look. “What?”

“Lemon doesn’t even read the briefs! And you let him make the plan?” You shoot an apologetic look to Lemon. “No offense, you’re really great in every other area.��

He gives you a half smile. “I appreciate that.”

Tangerine grinds his teeth. “In my defense, the intel in the brief was already bad.” He steps closer, into your personal space. “And you always come up with the plans.”

You don’t shy away from him, in fact, you inch closer. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to make them, but you should know better—”

Lemon sighs, long and loud. “Can you two please focus? We’re in the middle of a dangerous situation here.”

It took a moment for you and Tangerine to resume, the closeness was intimate. Electricity crackles in the air between you.

You both say ‘Fine’ at the same time, like stubborn teenagers. The tension hadn’t settled one bit.

If Tangerine needed to be ignored for the remainder of this mission, then ok. That’s fine. No problem. That doesn’t bother you one bit. Nope.

The three of you empty the duffle bag of its contents, splitting the ammo and giving Lemon the pump action shotgun. That shotgun was your Hail Mary in case shit hit the fan—which, by your definition, it had.

You three were your own personal attack squad now, armed to the teeth.

The employee lift was at the end of the twisting hallway, metallic doors shining like a beacon. The panel to call it only had the arrow pointing up, a one-way lift. You’d poured over the maps late into the night leading up to your personal mission, often with a glass of wine, and it had struck you as odd that it only offered a one way up.

You jab at the button, and the little golden light is stark against the greys around it. Tangerine stands just behind you; you can hear his breath over your shoulder.

“Why’s it only one way?” he asks, hushed and tense.

“I asked the same question.” You responded turning a little to look at him. “I thought it might be security measures.”

“Doesn’t really make sense though, does it? It lets people like us up.” Tangerine zeroes in on your frown. “What is it?”

“There might be internal controls from the top office. This guy doesn’t fuck around with security.”

“Who is this guy anyway?” Lemon sniffs, casting a look back down the hallway.

“An asshole that likes snooping into people’s personal business.”

The brothers trade looks.

“He also works in satellite tech, undercover ops, information gathering.”

There’s a gentle bump into your shoulder. “He’s been snooping into your business, has he?”

How long is this elevator going to take?

“He has.”

“Did he try to blackmail you?”

“Yes.”

“What did he find?”

The elevator dings and the sleek metal doors slide open. The inside is full of ominous red and gold hues. The luxuriousness of it gives you the impression that the boss of the building takes it regularly.

Instead of answering, you step inside and forcefully hit the button for the top floor. Tangerine watches you carefully, studying you. Somehow, he looks like a kicked puppy, yet holding the rifle he takes on a much more sinister tone. He still looks dashing as hell in his suit though. You can see the little gold chain of his necklace around his broad neck.

Focus, focus, focus!

His mustache twitches a bit as he catches you staring. And to top that off, he stands in front of you, very closely in front. Either trying to shield you or irritate you. Possibly both.

He’s wearing the cologne you got him as a present almost a year ago.

“If there’s in house security for this lift, we should be prepared.” You shift a little to see Lemon over Tangerine’s shoulder.

“What do you suggest?”

“They know we’re coming, so we have to be fast. Their access to elevators has been blocked. All remaining security teams will need to take the stairs. This elevator opens to another employee hallway that we’ll have to exit in order to reach the office. That’s assuming—”

The elevator stutters, something above you screeches in the elevator shaft, and the panel lights flicker. All three of you stumble as it comes to an abrupt stop and the dim emergency lights switch on. They coat the interior in a faint red light, turning it into a nightmare scenario.

You groan. “That’s assuming they don’t just turn the elevator off. Fuck.”

Lemon places the shotgun on the floor and motions to Tangerine. Together they pry the paneling off to reveal the switchboard underneath. Lemon fusses with the wiring, using a knife to cut through some and connect it to others.

Sparks fly, flashing in the dim light. Your anxiety ramps. Trapped in an elevator was not on your list of things you wanted to deal with today.

While Lemon fussed with wires, Tangerine turned back to you. “Relax.”

“Excuse me?”

“Try to stay calm, we’ll be out in a second or two.”

Your blood boiled hot. “Don’t tell me to be calm.”

Tangerine smiles at you. “I know you hate elevators.”

“They’re fine, I just particularly hate being trapped in them.”

“Just relax, I’ve got you.”

“That doesn’t help at all!”

More sparks and flickering lights and the elevator doors open an inch. Tangerine has the audacity to smirk in that moment and he touches your chin briefly. His eyes gleam in the dim light.

If you all lived, you were going to kill him.

The twins work wordlessly to pry the elevator doors open. It takes a tremendous effort and both of them are sweaty and breathing hard at the end, but there’s enough space for a person to climb through. Except, you’re going to have to jump down into the office below. Half the elevator is blocked.

“Well, good news is…” Lemon says, scratching his head, “we can get out. And if the elevator can only fall downward.”

“The elevator only goes up, Lemon.” You choke out.

“Oh. Right…well, best get a move on then.”

“I’ll go first.” Tangerine volunteers.

On instinct you reach for him. He sees the slight movement before you hold yourself back.

As if it was easy, he’s crouching down, squeezing through the doors, and jumping into the office below. All with his gun in his hand. Meanwhile, your heart is doing summersaults in your throat.

He holds his hands up, beckoning you. “Come on. You’ve done harder things than this.”

You force yourself to move, crouching down and inching toward the opening. You toss him your rifle. “Like when?”

“Like when you jumped between rooftops in Venezuela.”

“I wasn’t thinking when I did that! And in hindsight, it was fucking stupid of me.”

He laughs. “I’ve got you. Come on.”

You squeeze through the doors, imagining the elevator crashing down, the doors snapping shut, something—anything drastic, and then throw yourself at Tangerine. He catches you with practiced ease and holds you close to him.

He says something you don’t catch over the sound of your trembling breaths. There’s a pat on your shoulder, Lemon is out.

Regaining yourself, you move away from Tangerine and straighten your clothes. His brow furrows, mustache tilts down. Maybe it was your imagination, but did his fingers grip your clothes? A silent plea for you to stay?

You do your best to ignore it. “Let’s go. Did anyone catch what floor we stopped on?”

“37th.” Lemon says, handing over your gun.

“Two floors short.”

“You think they’re waiting for us?”

“I’d bet money on it. Be careful, both of you. I don’t want to see any heroics.”

Tangerine’s eyes follow you as you move to the front and lead them through the hallway at a jogging pace. The single door at the end is much like the one you entered on the first-floor lobby. There’s a control panel for it to the side. As you run up to it, you press your ear to the other side.

No noise.

Your hand hovers over the button. With one last look behind you at the twins you give them a nod, then press it. The door clicks open a fraction, and everything goes to shit.

They were waiting for you on the other side of the door and the gunfire started up immediately. Your vision was blocked immediately, and you were pushed and tugged out by a strong hand—the world was a blur of loud shots, ringing ears, and scrambling. Grey cubicles shoulder-height tall were set up along the floor, which made spotting the enemy incredibly hard. All the fighting was done in the tight walkways between the office spaces.

Your shirt had blood on it, but you had no bullet wounds. Tangerine sat beside you, holding an arm. He’d been shot in his right arm.

“I said no heroics!” You practically shrieked.

Lemon was firing between cubicles, and from the sound of it, he was holding his own.

“What was I supposed to do, love?” Tangerine pants through the pain.

“You’re supposed to let me handle it!” You’re shouting as you pull out some gauze. The bullet went straight through his upper arm. He’d need stitches but, overall, he would be ok. You poke and prod gently as he hisses with each touch.

His teeth are gritted as he grunts out, “You wanted to get shot?”

“I’d take a bullet for you, happily. You know that.”

“I feel the same way, which is what I was doing.”

“I still don’t want you to!”

“I don’t want you to, either!”

Something bounces off your back. It’s a stapler. Both you and Tangerine stare at it for a moment, confused.

“Oi! You two! Get over yourselves and actually talk about your feelings for once!”

You whip around to stare daggers at Lemon. “Did you just throw a stapler at me?!”

He’s taking cover behind a grey cubicle not too far away. “Yeah, I did! I’m sick of you two avoiding an actual conversation. Talk—it—out!”

Tangerine sits up, pushing against your hands on his chest in your weak attempt to keep him down. “You’ve lost your mind, mate!”

“Thomas would say to express your feelings, that bottling them up is bad for you! So, express them!”

“Is it really necessary—” You pick up your rifle and fire blindly down the walkway, “—to do this now? We’re a little busy!”

“It’s now or never, I know you two! Once all this stops, you’ll avoid it!”

Tangerine looks perplexed, like he’s really considering it, and you try not to look at him again. “Fuck this job!” You shout, before rolling into the walkway and opening fire.

The two or three men that hadn’t been behind cover are caught by surprise and the bullets chew through the walls of the cubicles. A deadly silence permeates the office floor, only the ringing in your ears remains.

Another shot rings out and you feel like your shoulder’s been ripped from the socket.

You’re thrown back onto the ground. It must have been a heavy round, your left arm is completely numb, do you even have an arm left?

There’s shouting and more gunshots, the grey office walls and floor merge into one as the room spins. You’re getting pulled off the ground, someone is prodding your arm. Absentmindedly, you swat at whoever is doing it.

“Listen, hey, open your eyes!”

Tangerine…

You obey. He’s inches in front of your face, brows furrowed, a vein in his forehead sticks out.

“I’m fine.” You cough out. “Just fell down, is all.”

“You’ve been shot!”

“Oh.”

He struggles, he looks like he has more to say, but stays silent. You swat at Lemon who’s wrapping your arm—or shoulder, more accurately. “I’m fine, let’s keep going.”

“You’re not fine.” Lemon grunts, pushing your hand away. “It was a .308 round. You’ll be lucky if you have any bones left in your shoulder.”

“Why’d you do that?!” Tangerine is shouting, running his hand through his hair. You both match now, he’s bandaged up on his left arm too.

“Do what?” You ask through gritted teeth as Lemon tightens the bandage.

“Run out like an absolute lunatic?”

“I told you I’d take a bullet for you.”

His eyes bug out. “You threw yourself into the line of fire!”

“All in a day’s work. Now, can we get back to it?” You don’t wait for a response, instead pushing yourself to your feet. Your left arm hangs to the side, limp and numb. A dull throb pulses through your side.

Tangerine watches you. “We need to have a serious discussion when this is over, love.”

You huff out a breath, swaying slightly. “Noted.”

The three of you push on in tense silence. Tangerine makes sure you’re behind him while the rest of the floors leading to the main penthouse office are cleared. He’s acting so stubborn, blocking you at every turn, holding you back with a gentle, yet unyielding hand. The vein in his forehead never goes away.

Finally, the double doors leading to the office are before you. Platinum gold, of course, with carved handles. This guy’s style was beginning to get obnoxious.

Lemon kicks open the doors with as much anger and prejudice as you feel (yet can’t muster at the moment). Instead of what you were expecting, the target stands alone behind his desk. He smirks, giving off a Wall Street investor impression with his pressed suit and perfectly cut hair.

He spreads his arms wide. “I really should have known you three would be together for this.”

“Shut up, wanker.” Tangerine shouts, pointing his gun.

The target opens his mouth to say more, but Tangerine doesn’t let him. He empties the clip into the man’s chest.

The target dies with a startled look on his face, falling back over his desk.

You move past Tangerine, fighting his hands that grip at your clothing. “Thank God for that.”

The computer is easily hacked, the files you’re after are on the desktop. Maybe the dead man was looking to bargain—or gloat. You glance at his dead, glazed over eyes.

Bastard.

Tangerine paces, looking at you often. His job is done, the confirmation is sent to the client through Lemon’s phone.

Your files are downloaded onto an encrypted flash drive, and you rip the wiring out of the computer’s back, smashing the server tower. Mission accomplished.

“I guess now that you have what you need, you’ll disappear again.” Tangerine is glaring at you, chewing his lip. His bandage is bloody.

The flood gates open.

“I needed these files!” You shout, worsening the headache you already have.

Tangerine shouts back, taking a step closer. “I would have understood if you had just told me!”

“I couldn’t have told you!”

“Why not?”

“Because—well—I didn’t—It doesn’t matter now!”

“So, you disappear for months, without a word, for something you won’t even tell me about?!”

“I didn’t want to involve you! I wanted to get this done myself!”

“I’m involved now!”

“It was a shitty coincidence you showed up here today, and I’m sorry you got hurt because of this job!”

“I’m not concerned about me!”

“Well, you should be! I care about your safety!”

“And I care about yours!”

In the corner, Lemon shakes his head.

You hold your arm, trying to work some feeling back into it. It throbs and you wish you hadn’t. “I would have come back after this was done.”

“Oh, really?” Tangerine laughs dryly. “How was I to know?”

You groan, throat turning dry. “You’re so impatient! I just needed a little time!”

“You know how often I tried to reach you—?”

“Yes! I heard every message, got every bouquet of flowers—and thank you for my porch, that was really nice.”

Tangerine flounders a little, he still wants to argue, but some of the steam has been let out. “A thank you would have been nice.”

“I’m thanking you now!”

“A whole good that did when I thought you were done with me—” He shoots a look at his brother, “—and Lemon!”

“I’ll say I’m sorry a thousand more times, Tangerine! Is that what you want?”

He turns his back to you, grumbling something.

“I don’t understand why it was such a big deal to you, we’re contractors! We kill people for a living, and you’re freaking out—”

He spins back around. “It’s a big deal because I thought you were hurt.” He stalks closer, you notice his hair has come undone from the neat gel, curls flair out around his neck. “I thought something happened to you!” He’s within arm’s distance now. “It’s a big deal because I love you!”

And then he stops. His eyes go wide, as if he’s just spilled a secret.

Fuck, he did just spill a secret. Maybe you had known, but he’s never said anything. It was always just little guesses here and there, a thought—a feeling—and inclination. Late nights, especially recently, that you spent thinking about it, wondering.

Your mouth falls open in the silence. “I—I…love…” but damned if your mouth just wasn’t getting it out.

Arguing and bickering was so much easier.

But he knows, he can see it in the way your eyes soften, in the way you swallow with a dry throat. In the way your hand reaches to him, and your body leans forward.

“You know…” Lemon says, looking up from his phone, “Most people would kiss at this point. Just a suggestion.”

A quip, a very fitting one, comes to mind and you’re about to tell Lemon just how you’re not normal people, when Tangerine pulls you to him. Your chest presses to his and his lips are on yours in an instant.

Hungry, needy. It’s desperate, an urgent need be close, to be touching. Burning with desire and hot with passion. You give into it.

His mustache scratches at your lips and you pull him into you, threading your fingers through his curly hair, mussing it up even more. His hands grip at your back, pull at your clothes.

Closer. You need to be closer.

Fuck air, the feeling of his lips moving against yours is the only thing you’ll ever need again.

Your arm throbs and the dull pulse shoots up to your chest. You sigh, half in pain and half in pleasure. Unfortunately, Tangerine pulls back. There’s blood on his lips and he looks concerned.

“Wait…” You mumble, trying to pull him back to you. He’s your lifeline now.

“You need a doctor, love.”

“Just a little longer.”

Tangerine chuckles, wrapping an arm around your back. “After you’re patched up. I promise.”

…Bonus…

“You’re going to ‘break into my house and wait for me to come home’?”

Tangerine groans, throwing his head back as you walk into the small office. Private clinics with ‘respectable’ doctors. Gotta love ‘em.

“Love, I didn’t mean it, I was in a life-or-death situation—I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking—”

You give a good-natured laugh, sitting next to him. You’d been patched up first, Tangerine was just waiting for some blood work to come back.

Tangling your fingers in his you give his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m just teasing, Tan. I know.”

“Ok.” He sighs, giving your hand a squeeze back. “Good.”

You ruffle through your pockets to pull out your phone, your arm stings, but the pain medication the doc gave you does wonders. “I thought about it, I think you deserve to know why I was after your target.”

He looks at you with new interest now.

You tilt your screen to show him.

It had pictures of you and Tangerine. Pictures of you sitting together at lunch, laughing. Pictures of you walking down the street together, arm in arm. Pictures of you looking like a couple.

“Oh,” he breathes out, “I see.”

“I was worried you’d be put in danger if these…well, if they got into the wrong hands.”

“Didn’t want our clients to think we were softies either, huh?”

“That too.”

He presses his face into your hair. He hasn’t expressed his feelings for you again, but you’re starting to realize he always had—just through actions instead. A gentle hand on the small of your back. Wrapping an arm around your waist. Leaning down to speak softly into your ear.

These were just as much of an expression as words.

“Will we have to do this every time?” he asks, voice muffled slightly.

“Every time what?”

“It’s only a matter of time before more pictures of us make it into someone’s hands.”

“Oh. That’s a good point.”

He pulls you a little closer. “I’ll be dammed if I have to stop taking you out over that.”

“Then I guess we’ll just have to kill whoever tries something like that again.”

“We’ll do it together next time, yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

#Tangerine x Reader #Fem!Reader #Tangerine Bullet Train #Bullet Train

46 notes · View notes

midnight-moth · 7 hours

Note

For the Zeph/Ifrit maybe just some look ins on how they take care of each other? How to do relax after shows, are they a cuddly pair? Do they have any cute things like how Raindrops is the strawberry waffles. Maybe some of their spicy headcanons, who leans more to dominate, who leans more into submissive, any specific kinks they adore? <3

Hellooooo

Okay, I’ll do my best…. I realize I have a lot of ideas about them that I’ve never really put down so it’s like trying to turn an impressionist painting into a word doc. Rambles below the cut

I do think that Ifrit requires as much care as Zeph does, maybe in a different way? In my mind, Ifrit has lots of very BIG feelings. About everything. He has a massive heart, and he cares A LOT. Sometimes to his own detriment. Worrying about everyone else’s needs and wants and desires, whilst sacrificing his own well-being. (Kilonova readers - yes, the same way). I think Ifrit is mischaracterized. I think people view him as a bit simple, a bit of a himbo if you will. I think he thought for a long time, well, if the shoe fits. I think maybe he’s allowed himself to be taken for granted, or used. Because at least he’s still useful.

Zeph who is never looking for anything fast or easy, takes the time to know him. To refuse the initial invitation to Ifrit’s bed. It’s one of the first things he offers because he assumes that’s what people want from him. Ifrit is definitely confused when he is only partially rejected. Zeph wants his time, not his body. (He will eventually, but gray-ace Zeph for the win). Ifrit starts to doubt his own self-perception, that he is some highly sexual being, when he is actually just sexualized.

I think the first time they’re together Ifrit doesn’t even know what to do with himself. He doesn’t need to perform, but he does have to be present. Zephyr’s white-blue eyes bore right into him. He realizes for the first time, he doesn’t even know what he likes. His MO has always been to try to figure out what will be expected of him, or perhaps it’s outright demanded. He is a people pleaser, and maybe once it was necessary for survival but not anymore.

So to answer the question, of spicy headcanons, I do think for these two they’re pretty damn vanilla. Because once Ifrit knows how truly valued and cherished he is, how loved, he can’t really imagine anything hotter than that. He’ll happily settle for missionary sex just so he can see the way Zephyr looks at him. To know that his pleasure is of equal importance, what he likes and what he does not actually matters (prefers a hand job over head because he’d rather be kissing Zeph than staring at the top of his head). Sorry if that is a boring answer, I really don’t see them being all that kink-driven. I think Ifrit has been there and done that and circled back to wanting mushy gross sappy sex.

Also, I think Zephyr tries so hard to be independent for the above reasons. He doesn’t want Ifrit to feel like he has to take care of him. I think it takes time and trust before he allows Ifrit to care for him. He has to be worn down. Maybe he’s a little bit proud too. (Stubborn AF)

I think Ifrit collects all of the feathers that end up in his bed. Likes to fan them out sometimes, run them over his fingers and appreciate what it’s like to miss someone and know they miss you too. Maybe Zeph plucks a flight feather to leave on his pillow because they’re the biggest and the prettiest. Maybe he leaves them in his shoe, in his pocket, in his guitar case.

I do think Ifrit sometimes doesn’t know how to accept all of this, to feel worthy of it. Reminds me of someone coughwheezehackdewdrop.

As far as food goes, I think Ifrit’s palette is little on the simple side. Whereas Zeph is more adventurous but where they meet in the middle is pasta. Zeph teaches him to make a very simple pasta dough from scratch and it’s the most magical thing to him. I think a simple bolognese is their fav but they’re down for some cacio e pepe too. Once Zeph braised some beef for like 12 hours to make ragu and Ifrit maybe cried a little when he tasted it. Mostly knowing someone would bother to do that for him.

Also 11/10 very cuddly always being cute and finding ways to stay connected. Even if it’s Zeph’s feet pushed against Ifrit’s thigh while they read, or the backs of their hands resting against each other at the dinner table. I think they’re subtle about it. (Most of the time)

Okay I think I’ve rambled enough…

#I don’t know man I just rambled #sorry if you were looking for something in a fic like format #zephyr ghoul #Ifrit ghoul #nameless ghoul headcanons #midnight moth writes #not really writing but the tag helps me find it #midnight moth answers

26 notes · View notes

she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 1 day

Text

Daughter of the Rain and Snow

Concept: Around ten years after the events of Crooked Kingdom, 25-year-old Captain Inej Ghafa frees Maya Olsen from a pleasure house in Ketterdam. Maya is looking for revenge against the man who put her in her position, a man who she knows nothing about except his name: Kaz Brekker.

Tags: @wraith--2 @lunarthecorvus @just2bubbly @real-fragments7 @cartoon-clifford @origami-butterfly @lady-a-stuff @thelibraryofalexandriastillburns @inej-ghafa-deserves-the-world @thatdelusionalnerd

If anyone wants to be added let me know :)

Content Warnings: in more general terms I want to remind people to be aware of the nature of Kaz and Inej's experiences and relationship since even if I'm not directly addressing these things they tend to be implicit in any writing about them, but specifically to this chapter there's ptsd references, anxiety, violence references, blood, wounds, and fear of losing loved ones

Note: Oh my goodness we only have the epilogue left to go... this is insane I can't believe we've reached the end

AO3 link: Daughter of the Rain and Snow - Chapter 145 - She_posts_nerdy_stuff - Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo [Archive of Our Own]

Chapter 144 - Kaz

At least the Crow Club was back in working order. Beyond that things weren’t looking at their best. Kaz knew from Anika and Pim��s reports that the damage was mostly repaired and they’d reopened the closed wing a few months ago, but he also knew from the income reports Yara had been sending him that they’d taken a hit. Her projections looked sunnier for next month, but Kaz wasn’t feeling particularly confident. There was a nervous energy about the Slat when he walked in, still as rowdy as it usually was in these early hours of the morning but with a slightly frantic edge. Kaz had known his extended absence would take a toll, but he’d tried to keep in control of what he could.

“I assume there are rumours going round about -”

“Your mysterious disappearance? Yeah,” said Anika, “We’re treading water trynna cover up for you being missing,”

“Anyone get wise?”

“To the fact you weren’t here or to what you were actually up to?”

Kaz shot her an unamused glare. Clearly he needed to stop telling Anika up to 50% of the truth, because she was getting too good at picking up what the rest of it was.

“I don’t think so,” she said, “Not with any proof you weren’t around. Few people here and there are convinced you’re dead,”

That didn’t particularly surprise him.

“Any attempts at territory grabs since you last wrote?”

“Liddies are still riled up, but nothing new except a pretty hollow looking threat from Black Tips,”

Kaz sighed. They weren’t staying in Ketterdam for long, he’d have to get through work quickly and make a few choice appearances if he could spare the time.

As far as Kaz and Inej knew, the plan was for them to drop in on Jesper and Wylan for the afternoon, then go to the house overnight whilst Nina stayed on the Geldstradt. They didn’t have the space to have her at the house by the harbour - especially when Alyssa was staying with them too - and anyway she would only be kept up all night by Sadja. But apparently Jesper and Wylan had other plans, as soon as they were through the door it was all but a demand they at least stay there the first night. They’d even set up a room for Alyssa upstairs, so she was close if Inej or Sadja needed her.

“How are you feeling?” Kaz had asked, watching Inej’s hand find the railing on the porch of the Hendriks house.

“I’m fine,”

Kaz shook his head, looking down at Sadja.

“Once you can talk I’m going to teach you to shout at your Mama every time she says that,” he told her, gently readjusting the sling in hopes of helping her settle.

Nina laughed.

Sadja had done well on the boat, Kaz thought, for a stubborn two month old who had never travelled further than the Grand Palace until a couple of weeks ago, but she hadn’t slept well last night and still didn’t seem to be interested in sleeping now.

“Kaz, really,” said Inej, shaking her head, “I’m okay. I’m just tired,”

Kaz nodded, but he and Nina had shared a brief glance. Inej rang the doorbell and Sadja immediately jutted out her bottom lip in indignation; for a moment Kaz thought she was going to cry but she settled again, still looking a little grumpy. He readjusted his cane so that he could remain balanced whilst he offered her his finger, and once she’d acknowledged it he gently rubbed his hand up and down her tiny tummy.

“Do you not like doorbells, Sadja?”

“I think it’s quite normal for babies not to like loud noises, Kaz,” said Nina, peering over the sling, “You’re okay, aren’t you Sadja? You’re a brave little muffin,”

“Brave little muffin?” asked Kaz.

“Hey, that is just about the highest compliment I’ve ever given anyone,”

“Well, you are brave aren’t you Sadja? You’re just like your Mama,”

She wriggled a little in the sling, as though she was trying to look up at him properly, and smiled. Kaz glowed.

The door had barely been opened when they were met by the practically shouted words:

“Where’s my niece?”

“Well, hello to you too, Jesper,” said Inej, sharing his soft laugh.

She leaned into the arm he offered and he kissed her on the cheek, ushering her over the doorstep. Kaz followed, nodding at Jesper.

“Saints, I’ve missed you,” said Jesper, hugging Inej again.

“Oh, I’ve missed you too,”

Nina cleared her throat, glaring teasingly at Jesper. He threw an arm around her shoulders.

“I’ve missed you too, darling, obviously. And I guess I missed you Kaz,”

“Always with the compliments,”

Where’s Wylan?” asked Inej.

“Couldn’t get out of a meeting,” Jesper replied, shaking his head, “He won’t be long. Now, where’s this little Sadja you’ve been withholding from me?”

“Withholding-? She’s only been alive two months - and you were in Novyi Zem for one and a half of them,”

“Withholding,” Jesper repeated

Inej laughed. Kaz gently scooped Sadja out of her sling and into his arms, rocking her for a moment before he passed her to Inej so Jesper could lean over and greet her. He looked like he was about to burst with glee.

“Oh my goodness, you two she’s so beautiful. Aren’t you? Yes you are, yes you are,”

Jesper looked up at Kaz and Inej, grinning.

“She’s wonderful,”

“She most certainly is,” Kaz smiled, pushing the door to behind him before they walked together towards the living room, “It’s good to see you, Jes,”

“You too. And honestly you with a baby is quite possibly both the funniest and cutest thing I have ever seen, so thank you for that,”

Nina snorted. Kaz glared at them both.

“And how are you?” Jesper had asked Inej, as they sat on the sofa together.

It was about twenty minutes later and Wylan had just got back, all apologies for being late and overjoyed to see them all again. He was now sitting in between Inej and Kiada with Sadja in his arms, smiling.

“Well, I haven’t slept in about two months,” Inej smiled, leaning her head onto Jesper’s shoulder, “But other than that I’m doing pretty well. How are you? - How was Novyi Zem?”

“I’m good, we’re all pretty good at the minute, actually. And Novyi Zem was lovely, good to see my Da, and everyone did a very good job,” he squeezed Aimee’s hand lightly, from where she was perching on the arm of the sofa next to him, “There were a few moments where we thought we’d have to come home early - that was always in the plan as an option, if anyone needed it - but we ended up staying the whole time,”

“How’s Colm?” asked Nina, leaning forwards to pick her coffee up from the table.

The conversation floated on, and Kaz had drifted in and out of paying attention to it as he kept his eyes on Sadja. She started wriggling uncomfortably and Wylan passed her back to Inej, then a moment passed before she started crying.

“Is she alright?” asked Kaz.

“She’s just hungry,” said Inej, looking at Kaz in a way that meant calm down, she’s a baby, she’s going to cry, you do not need to worry as she stood up and gently rocked Sadja against her chest, whispering to her in Suli, “I’ll take her upstairs,”

At some point, Kaz wasn’t exactly sure how long it had been, it was only him, Nina, and Jesper still sitting in the living room. Focus had switched freely: the trip to Novyi Zem - two weeks with Colm followed by a month and a half through in Weddle and Shriftport, then another two weeks with Colm - Kiada had struggled with the boat, Aimee had struggled on the farm, Kiada has struggled in Weddle; news on the Ravkans and their new little prince and princess, twins about three months older than Sadja; Clemmie Boscht had started renting an apartment in the city and came to the house to share roast dinner with the family once a month; updates on something Kaz had forgotten to pay attention to as he was wondering how long Inej and Sadja had been gone and if he should go upstairs to find them. Now Nina was asking about wedding plans - the original date should have been last month, but it hadn’t been set in stone when Kaz and Inej first went to Ravka so Jesper and Wylan had decided to postpone and visit Jesper’s father instead of him coming out to them.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jesper was saying, “Nothing will ever make up for the fact that Kaz Brekker got married before I did,”

Nina flopped against the back cushions of the sofa.

“Yeah, it’s a real blow to the ego isn’t it?”

“Aren’t you two just the height of comedy?” said Kaz drily.

“To be fair, Jes,” Nina added, “I think we were all surprised you weren’t the first to get married. I mean how long had you two known each other before you moved in, two months?”

“No, well I really only joke,” said Jesper, glancing briefly at the door and lowering his voice, “Wylan told me ages ago he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to get married, after everything with his parents he just kinda… lost faith in it,”

Jesper had told Kaz about it at the time. It was years ago, around the time of the Van Eck trial, and Wylan was having an unsurprisingly bad time of it. He said he’d burst into tears and told Jesper that it had been evil of him to trap him in a relationship that would never go anywhere, and that he could leave if he wanted to and Wylan would understand. Apparently Jesper had stared at him for almost a full minute, and then said:

“Wy, you’re seventeen,”

“Well, clearly,” Kaz had said, “You handled that well,”

“I helped him afterwards!” Jepser had cried defensively, “That was just my first thought,”

Now Kaz sat behind his desk at the Slat, flicking through the endless pile of papers laying in wait and watching the hands move on his timepiece. Almost five bells. He wanted to be back by six.

Sadja had woken up not long before three bells, screaming loud enough to bring the entire house down. Kaz fumbled in the dark, searching for his cane, before Inej turned on the gas lights and handed it to him, smiling and shaking her head. They sat next to each other on the side of the mattress as Sadja nursed, and for about half an hour afterwards Kaz was still rocking her slowly whilst Inej lowered the lights and lay back down. Sadja seemed on the verge of settling back to sleep and Kaz stood to return her to the cradle next to the bed, only for her to immediately start wailing again.

“Well I hope you’re not still hungry,” he said softly in Suli, giving her a gente bounce “I think Mama’s asleep,”

She flailed one of her tiny fists into the air and it whacked lightly against Kaz’s chest.

“Not bad form,” he told her, “But you need more strength behind it if you want to do real damage. We’ll work on that when you’re older. What can we do to help you sleep now though, hm?”

Sadja wriggled in his arm and Kaz moved to sit on one of the armchairs so he could set down his cane and support her more comfortably.

“I don’t have anything new to read to you,” he said, “But I could tell you a story if you’d like,”

There was a pause broken only by Sadja’s impatient cries, before Inej’s soft voice came from the darkness on the other side of the room:

“You know the whole idea of us using one language each with her whilst she's still learning kind of depends on you speaking to her in Kerch, right?”

Kaz looked up.

“Inej? I thought you were asleep,”

“Kaz, if you think anyone could fall asleep through this then I have serious concerns about your hearing. And, again, you’re supposed to speak in Kerch,”

“I’m still not convinced that’s going to work,” he replied, “Isn’t she just going to hear us using both with each other anyway?”

Inej groaned.

“It’s three in the morning, Kaz, can we talk about this later?”

He laughed softly, nodding though he wasn’t sure if she’d see in the dark. He’d known that he needed to go to the Slat - the last word from Anika and Pim had been concerningly vague - but he could stay here a little while yet, couldn’t he? What harm would it do, just to stay here for a little longer? He sighed.

“You need to go, don’t you?”

He didn’t know how she did that.

“It can wait until tomorrow,”

“You can’t,” said Inej, quietly, “Go on. I’ll get her settled, just don’t be long, okay?”

“Never,”

He really needed to stop watching the clock, or he wouldn’t get anything done and have to bully himself into staying longer. It was a good while past five bells when he left, ignoring the shouts for attention that followed him from the crowd. The Hendriks house was mostly still sleeping, though Wylan was unsurprisingly up and in the kitchen making coffee by the time Kaz arrived at six bells. Inej was awake but she was still upstairs, not long dressed and part way through brushing her hair when Kaz knocked softly on the door. She opened it slowly, pressing a finger to her lips as he slipped inside.

“Sadja’s asleep,”

Kaz stood over the cradle for a moment, watching her. She really was perfect. Inej appeared next to him, her arm slipping around his waist once he’d nodded confirmation. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

“She already looks like you,” she whispered.

Kaz shook his head.

“She’s beautiful. That’s all you,”

Inej shook her head then, her hand finding his and slipping beneath the rim so her fingers brushed his wrist. Kaz’s heart leapt, thinking of holding her on the floor almost a year ago, a knife in her gut and her blood soaking over both of them. He swallowed and she felt him tense, starting to pull away to give him space. His fingers tightened over hers, holding her to him.

“We’ve not…” she hesitated, “We’ve not talked about a plan for where to live. For what to do next,”

Kaz had been avoiding the conversation, because he didn’t actually know what he was going to say. But it was a year ago when he couldn’t tell her everything he’d thought he should be able to say by now -

Their happiness, together. In Kerch, in Ravka, they could move to the permafrost in Fjerda for all he cared. He would carve a life for her in the face of a mountain, if that was what she wanted.

- and so much had changed since then. He should be able to tell her that now. And he did.

Inej turned and leaned her face up towards his, glowing in the soft dancing light of dawn leaking through the window, her dark eyes shimmering. She lifted a hand up to cup his cheek, and slowly they leaned into each other. Their foreheads pressed against each other, Kaz’s hand slipped down Inej’s back, and their lips met in the warmth of spring and joy and a family that for so long Kaz had convinced himself he didn’t want, because he never thought he’d be able to find it.

The entire world was golden.

19 notes · View notes