#he’s less punt able now but still punt able but I would actually feel semi bad about it : | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blessuswithblogs · 6 years

Text

Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood: A launch analysis

(note that there are some spoilers for patches 2.0-4.0 here if you haven’t played but want to)

Stormblood's first major content patch, 4.1, has been going strong for about a month now and most people have seen the majority of the initial cycle's content, so I feel confident in writing about something that's been on my mind for a while. Namely, taking an in-depth look at how Stormblood launched in mid-June and how it compares to its direct predecessor, Heavensward. I didn't want to commit myself to anything before enough time had passed to really get a feel for how things developed, but I think enough time has passed at this point to make a fair and honest evaluation.

Overall, I think that Stormblood had a much stronger launch period than Heavensward did, no doubt thanks in large part to harsh lessons learned back in 2015. I'll start with the bad part so I can get them out of the way: the first few weeks of Stormblood were a god damn mess in terms of server stability and functionality. Raubahn Extreme and the Unending Coil of Pipin will probably stick in the memories of lots of players who really just wanted to get to Kugane please please let me in to the instance please god. The main story quest instances were all of high quality and memorable, experimenting with implementing various group mechanics like stacking, spreading, and tethers in a single-player battle both to make playing through the story more interesting mechanically and to acclimate newer players to common to mechanics in level cap content. Regrettably, none of that actually matters if you can't get in to the damn thing in the first place. Server congestion was so monumental that, ironically, having to create an instance for each individual player instead of being able to consolidate them into groups of 4 or 8, made it nigh impossible to get into the main story quest battles at all for a majority of people. When faced with this obstacle, many players decided to simply progress by grinding out FATEs in the Fringes and the Peaks, and in some cases, managed to exploit their way past certain terrain features nominally impassible without flight or story progression to reach areas with higher level events and enemies. In a bizarre but touching display of cooperation, players with 2-person capable mounts who were experienced in exploiting the level geometry would ferry other less adept players across the thresholds so they could actually get to new places. For those fortunate enough to get into an instance and successfully complete it before the servers caught up with themselves and spat them back out again, sailing was mostly smooth from then on due to the natural if unintended throttling effect severely limiting the amount of players actually competing to get into subsequent instances. Not too much later, a potentially game-destroying bug involving Susano, the first Primal battle in 4.0, and entering his instances while sitting down would cause considerable consternation among the unlucky few who discovered it and paranoia in those who had heard of the bug but hadn't yet discovered the cause. This issue, at least, Square was able to identify and fix fairly quickly. Errant coding is a much less daunting challenge than several more million people playing your game than you really accounted for.

In time, these problems resolved, and it bears mentioning that the height of these issues were present only during the game's early-access period for pre-orders. I remember mentioning to someone that in the end, as annoying as they were, the congestion issues would create some lasting memories of the launch period. While small consolation, I feel that in that respect, I was right. Heavensward had its share of congestion problems, but they were largely mitigated by creating separate instances for each major expansion zone. Stormblood did the same thing, but the battle instance servers simply weren't prepared for the volume of traffic they received. Fortunately for us all, once these issues resolved, Stormblood proved to be a delightful experience in almost all respects.

The main story of Stormblood chronicles the liberation of Ala Mhigo and Doma from the Garlean Empire. The revolutions of these countries have been alluded to, mentioned, and hinted at since the early days of 2.0 (and in Ala Mhigo's case, 1.0). When Heavensward was announced and the late 2.0 story switched gears to heavily involve Ishgard and the Dragonsong War, a lot of people were sort of perplexed at this seeming nonsequitur. While Heavensward's story proved to be one of its stronger aspects, the fact remained that we were leaving the imperials up to their own devices indefinitely to go galavant with catholic elves and dragons for 5 patches. Stormblood returned us to the more down-to-earth realm of imperial occupation that underscored most of 2.0's main story. I don't necessarily want to spoil the entire story arc of Stormblood, so I will be vague when possible. In some ways, the narrative of Stormblood feels a bit unfocused, as the warrior of light gets punted around to opposite ends of the world to agitate rebellion in two different nations entirely. It does make a certain degree of sense, given that historically, huge expansive colonial empires were weakest when dealing with multiple fires at disparate locations, so the divide and (re)conquer strategy survives scrutiny, especially when one considers that the warrior of light has the semi-canonical ability to just teleport instantly over vast distances with aetherytes for a modest fee. The fact remains that one does get a feeling that in a perfect world, the writers would have liked a unique expansion for each nation's struggle. This was exacerbated pre-launch by a number of player's vaguely racist negative reaction to Hingashi and Doma as "stupid weeb shit". Given that Final Fantasy XIV is a primarily Japanese developed game, of course, the idea of anything in it being "weeb" is preposterously self-centered by western audiences. I understand the desire to focus on Ala Mhigo before Doma, but overall I think that the writers did a good job of combining the two rebellions into one more or less concurrent narrative. I mentioned earlier that many of the single player instances in the main story and job quests were very good and memorable, experimenting with a lot of different things to keep the experience fresh and engaging. The Dark Knight job questline in particular stands out and honestly I want to write a piece on that alone. I probably will. The leveling dungeons are also all of very high quality, ranging from the very memorable Sirensong Sea's introduction aboard the privateer vessel crashing into a haunted ship's graveyard straight out of Final Fantasy 5 to the heroic final assault on the Ala Mhigan capital alongside all of your Grand Company and Resistance Allies. The post 70 dungeons, though somewhat limited in number compared to 3.1, made the wise decision to include the 70 story dungeon in the Expert Roulette table to avoid the Heavensward problem of only ever doing Fractal Continuum or Neverreap. Jesus Christ, Neverreap.

The climax of Stormblood's story, I think, is one of the major ways it outshines Heavensward. Stormblood ends with a titanic confrontation with Zenos yae Galvus, the inexplicably powerful imperial viceroy that has been kicking dirt in your face the entire time. Zenos is an interesting existence within the FFXIV universe, because historically, the Warrior of Light Does Not Lose, while Zenos managed to defeat them twice - once without seemingly expending much effort. It was a necessary story beat, I think, because the player needs to be reminded that they aren't invincible, and having a legitimately dangerous Imperial foe to contend with is healthy for the story. It's easy to forget the scope and power of Garlemald on a personal level because the Warrior of Light has left a veritable mountain of crumpled centurions, prelates, magitek weaponry, and even legatuses (legatii?) in their wake. Giving the imperial war machine's vast power and influence a face in Zenos puts some stakes back in the story that have been missing since the third time you personally trashed Regula van Hydrus on Azys Lla. Initially, I was pretty offput by losing to Zenos, both because I felt like if I had the time, I could have beaten him in a battle of attrition and because I felt like the Viceroy had not earned the right to be as strong as me. The mythology of the warrior of light is justified by how difficult and effortful some of the endgame battles are to beat. When you earn the Final Witness title or clear Sephirot extreme or earn an Alexandrian chestpiece, when you defeat these enormous godlike beings made of pure magical energy and hatred for all human life and you especially, you feel that all the effusive praise you get from NPCs in the world isn't just the game trying to make you feel special. It's an honest respect for your legendary prowess and heroism. There's a moment in late Heavensward, when Alisae Levilleur returns to the story after being mostly absent since the final destruction of Bahamut, where she begs you to go to the Ixali homeland and prevent another summoning of Garuda. If you went through the whole Binding Coil of Bahamut beforehand, once she learns that you have departed to deal with matters there, she immediately relaxes and considers the matter cosed. She knows just how capable you are. She was there in the bowels of the earth with you as you cut your way through ancient machines, dragons, and bioweapons. It was a powerful moment of a character showing you genuine and heartfelt respect in a genre where, despite your status as Biggest Heroine Ever, you are still tasked by NPCs to pick up poop.

So, when Zenos brought me to my knees not once but twice, I was mad. By design, I'm sure. How was he so strong? How could he even hang with me, someone who makes a living killing gods and vengeful elder dragons? Your final confrontation with him at the end of the level 70 dungeon is satisfying because your soundly beat his face in and make him retreat, but not entirely. There's still more to go. Here we get into blatant spoiler territory, so if you want to experience this for yourself and haven't yet, you might want to clock out right about now. At the pinnacle of the royal palace, in a field of flowers, you confront Zenos for a final time, only to find him standing in front of Shinryu, wrapped up into a nice little package by the erstwhile Omega Weapon. After a conversation about the nature of the Echo and its relationship to Primal beings, he frees Shinryu from its prison, and in a single shot, Zenos's overwhelming power up until now is explained clearly and succinctly as his eyes glow with the telltale pattern of a Resonant. What felt inexplicable up until that moment was suddenly perfectly clear: the Viceroy has, in broad strokes, the same power that you do, augmented with imperial technology, the best training available in the modern world, and a lifetime of military experience. And now he's riding around inside another vengeful dragon god. The final battle with Shinryu is an incredible and much anticipated spectacle. The battle between it and Omega was the capstone of 3.5 and the major catalyst for Stormblood even happening, and now the game makes good on what it promised. It's also pretty hard? Like beating it with a bunch of randos in 290 artifact gear is not trivial. When you triumph, Zenos falls to the earth in a spectacular green comet, and now finally satisfied in meeting his match, the one person who understands him, he takes his own life. It's a somber moment, because as pumped as you might be to finally be done with this asshole, it also reminds you that behind this unfeeling monster of a person was a deep, abiding loneliness born of a life of experimental augmentation and violence. You don't feel bad about killing him, but as Lyse opines afterwards, you are reminded that none of us start out evil, and it is a difficult task indeed to escape the bonds of our forebears. With the Viceroy's death, Ala Mhigo and Doma are both free. Imperial forces are in disarray, scrambling to retreat back to the mainland of Ilsabard, with the Emperor feeling the sting of decades of wasted time and money more keenly than the death of his son. When confronted by the always enigmatic Elidibus about his grief, Varis surprises even the immortal, inhuman ascian with his response: he snorts dismissively and simply states that the throne is no place for a monster. It's a chilling exchange that sheds some light about how Zenos came to be what he was - the implication here is that Varis was going to have his own son surreptitiously disposed of at some point to ensure that he never ascended to the position of Emperor. Reasonable given what we know about the son's character, but callous and calculating enough to give even a Paragon pause. The conclusions to the 4.0 story is a strong conclusion. It doesn't neatly wrap up everything in a bow. There are still many stories to be told about reconstruction, repatriation, the establishment of new goverments, how old friends fit into a new world. Also there's Omega chilling out in a hole somewhere. Despite all that, it is a strong, decisive ending to the main story arc of Stormblood, closing with a touching rendition of the Ala Mhigan national anthem as Arenvald raises the nation's flag to recreate the beautiful Amano logo.

Contrast to Heavensward, which ends the 3.0 story arc in an extremely "Tune in next time!!!!" series of events that honestly just sort of leave you feeling bemused. You fight your way through Azys Lla to get to the rogue Archbishop, who becomes the godly reincarnation of Ishgard's first King Thordan and his knights twelve to destroy Lahabrea, your longtime immortal masked nemesis, in an extremely anti-climactic and valor thiefy way. You end up fighting him because A. a realm-wide theocracy dictated by the decree of an egomaniacal elf-pope with a hateboner for dragons sounds fucking shitty and B. he became a Primal, and you are contractually obligated to kill those before they suck the world dry of Aether to sustain their untenable physical forms. There's a good moment after you win where a dying Thordan beholds you with raw terror and demands to know exactly what you are, that you could withstand the power of a thousand years of fervent prayer, the eye of a great wyrm, and the dormant power of the warring triad sleeping beneath Azys Lla. It looked a little silly because my Warrior of Light is a cute and well mannered midlander girl about as intimidating as a puppy in her Sharlayan Philosopher's Hogwarts factulty coat and witch hat but I imagine if you were like, playing as a roegadyn or a highlander wearing something slightly more threatening it could have been a stark shot portraying you in a much different light than what you're used to. Anyway, Thordan dies, Estinien runs in a full five minutes too late, realizes that the second eye of Nidhogg was in the Vault's basement all along, and resolves to put them both out of reach of man and dragon forever. Unfortunately, putting both of the eyes together makes Nidhogg's spirit rematerialize and posess Estinien's body, and he flies off to go take a nap back at the Aery before he resumes with the total destruction of the Holy See. And. That's kind of how it ends. Like there's a nice scene afterwards where Ser Aymeric signs some documents to officially become a part of the Eorzean Alliance and switch to a parliamentary system of government as Merlwyb almost shoots somebody by accident again. And then Elidibus goes to the moon and recruits the Warrior of Darkness to come down and fuck shit up and also Alexander activates in the hinterlands due to goblin hijinx. It ends on like 3 different cliffhangers which don't really feel earned and you get the feeling they didn't really know how to wrap this up until 3.3, which, admittedly, had a fantastic overall conclusion to the Dragonsong War arc and 3.4 finally did literally anything with the Warriors of Darkness in a pretty spectacular way.

Having a strong conclusion is not the only way that Stormblood compares favorably to its predecessor. Of much more concern to most of the playerbase and not my literary-analysis-obsessed-ass is the endgame raiding scene. Which is, also of my concern because I'm a literary-analysis-obsessed-ass who also raids. The initial Alexander raids in the Gordias sector are infamous among the community for basically killing the robust raiding scene that had evolved from the excellent Binding Coil of Bahamut. The idea behind them was sound, and was repeated and refined in Stormblood: they first released the normal difficulty raids that most players could do without exerting too much effort to get weekly drops for better gear and experience the story behind Alexander and the Illuminati, and then followed up with the Savage difficulty. Savage was more in line with the previous Coil raids, offering much harder, more complex encounters with greater rewards like the highest item level gear available and upgrade tokens for gear bought with tomestones. Sadly, the Gordias raids were bad. Well, maybe bad is a strong word, but they were not nearly up to the caliber of quality set by the Binding Coil. The normal versions of the raids were serviceable, but not very memorable, and the musical score was, uh, shall we say, divisive. The Savage tier raids were punishingly difficult exercises in frustration as players scrambled to relearn how to play jobs that had changed on fundamental levels and understand poorly defined and programmed mechanics like digititis and the gobwalker. On release, Savage Living Liquid was mathematically impossible to defeat before enrage witout very specific compositions optimized for damage above all else and the best possible available gear - these compositions weren't actually discovered until the delayed Chinese release, which had the benefit of hindsight and a more solid understanding of how jobs functioned in the post 2.0 world. Living Liquid was where raid groups went to die. When people finally got to Savage Manipulator, they quickly learned that the optimal way to get through it was to intentionally fail certain mechanics and die, then utilize the Free Company buff Back on your Feet to quickly revive that player and minimize time spent in the Weakness state. It was a trip, and people were not happy. During the anniversary stream, statistics about the number of players who had entered and cleared Savage instances came out. For ALexander 1 and 2, the numbers were fairly reasonable, but fell to triple digits for 3 and literally zero for 4. Post Heavensward launch was one of the roughest periods for the game, both because of the raid situation and because a lot of company money was tied up in delivering the giant bloated baby of Final Fantasy XV and the XIV team were working with a skeleton crew for a lot of the duration. Subsequent raid tiers in 3.2 and 3.4 gradually fixed a lot of the problems present in the Gordias sector, but the damage had been done.

Stormblood, however, has had no such issues. The Bend of Time: Omega Weapon raids have been very well received both mechanically and aesthetically. It seems that the developers erred on the side of caution this time around. Instead of introducing a bunch of largely random and samey Goblin robots to fight, Yoshida and the team went back to a bottomless well that has served them with distinction over the course of the game's lifespan: references to older Final Fantasy games that people loved. The first tier of Omega consists entirely of fights against demons of the dimensional rift from Final Fantasy 5, digitally reconstructed by the godlike Omega Weapon in a special dimensional space to participate in a grand experiment to see who The Strongest Fucker is. The Warrior of Light and the Garlond Ironworks find themselves caught up in this scheme during their investigations into the weapon's whereabouts after its battle with Shinryu. Midgardsormr, King of Kings, father of the first brood, and judgmental grandparent to the Warrior of Light also makes an appearance, seemingly with a deep connection to the mysterious Allagan supermachine. The raid tier culminates in a fight against the fan favorite villain Exdeath in one of the best fights in the game so far. With the possible exception of Alte Roite, who is kind of just there, all of the fights in this tier have unique, memorable mechanics to deal with, some of which are quite hysterical, like using an anti-gravity device provided by Nero to float above ground attacks, realize with alarm that you can't get back down, and then realize the boss will just do it for you, or strategically turning into a frog to get bonus limit break. The savage fights are obviously a step up in difficulty, but the developers decided to tone it down from Gordian levels and make the fights more accessible and clearable by more people. Which is not to say that they are easy fights - savage Halicarnassus and Exdeath require strong coordination and adaptation to survive. In order to entice more experienced players to take on these marginally-less-absurd challenges, the team has included mechanics and in the case of Exdeath an entirely new fight in the Savage instances that are quite fun and not present at all in the normal versions. This trend was actually started by Brute Justice in the Midan sector, who had a final hyper mode phase in savage that was absent in normal, though it was infamous for its incredible difficulty, even by Alexander Savage's standards. So, like with other aspects, they took this element of what came before and refined it and toned it down so now you can fight Neo Exdeath in glorious 3D.

The Omega raids are not flawless, by any means. While the Final Fantasy geek inside of me is vibrating constantly at the thought of more throwback fights later on, the more objective game critic side does genuinely prefer original content like what was found in Alexander, at least, in theory. Hardcore raiders are also quick to point out that they were kind of easy, but I'm not sure that their judgment of these matters is actually sound because only a small part of the population can sit down for 8 hours a day and ram their heads against the challenge and pave the way for the rest of us. Fortunately, the team expected this and has recently released The Unending Coil of Bahamut. The Unending Coil is a reimagining of the fights against Twintania, Nael Deus Darnus, and Bahamut himself condensed into one and made excruciatingly, preposterously difficult. This gave the hardcore groups a meaty bone to chew upon, and a clear didn't come nearly as fast as it did for Omega savage. There are tangible rewards for clearing it, as well - you get shiny dreadwyrm weapons which may have better stat allocations than their genji counterparts and the aptly named title "The Legend." They also released the Royal City of Rabanastre 24-person raid not long before at the launch of 4.1 for more casual players to enjoy and gear up with. Rabanastre has seriously ludicrous lore implications and tons of fanservice for the Ivalice Alliance appreciators in the audience, and in general is just much more fun and interesting than the Void Ark (though sadly lacking in Voluptuous Void Booty department). With the introduction of a radically new PvP mode in Birds of Prey where you get to ride around in giant robots, and rumors of the Forbidden Land Eureka making an appearance soon, the Stormblood launch is enjoying much more support and longevity than Heavensward did.

Of course, the possibility remains that later patches in this cycle are going to be total trash heaps, but I think that it's fair to assume that they will not be those. The FFXIV is one of the best around at learning from mistakes and iterating upon good ideas until they are also good in execution. It's a game that has genuinely gotten better each time it has been updated, with some notable exceptions that were usually fixed pretty quickly anyway. At this point, I feel confident in saying that Stormblood is a superlative expansion with 4 more content patches to go promising a lot of really really cool shit. I'm super pleased, and it's probably my game of the year. It's extremely gratifying to watch the team grow and learn over time and create some really excellent experiences in every arena: social, mechanical, narrative and graphical. A haven for the bold is a great place to be right now.

#FFXIV #MMO #game design

1 note · View note

redphlox · 7 years

Text

High and Low

this is for soma week 2017 day 1: confession! i asked for prompts and @whos-that-foxi-lady said: “maka being fascinated with the way Soul sings when he thinks no one is listening.” so here you go! warnings for swearing and mentions of blood and an accident.

She’s hooked on the way he sings when he thinks no one’s listening. Dress skirt bunched up in her hands, she stands a safe distance away from his rolled-down car window, steeping in his voice’s melancholic highs and lows. The moments before he notices her and cuts himself off are brief but glorious and leave her heart full.

In this newfound silence, she offers a gentle smile and takes in his neatly parted hair, pressed blazer, and black bowtie. The vulnerability on his face is divine, a privilege to witness. Her fondness for him deepens even more than she thought it ever could. “Hey, you. You look nice.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Can I climb in?”

“Always.”

Sliding into the passenger seat is instinct to Maka, who probably knows the car better than Soul because she keeps up with its maintenance schedule for him. Together they’ve added roughly twenty thousand miles to the odometer during the last year he’s had it, going on day trips each Saturday, cruising the streets until curfew when one of them wants to get out of their house and needs the other’s company. Even when they’re deep in their own thoughts, they’re together, which is how Maka knows she’s needed right now.

After all, she only catches Soul singing when he’s fighting off an extreme emotion.

He drums his index fingers on the steering wheel before glancing over at her. “You look beautiful, Maka.”

Thanking him, she wonders if she’s come down with a fever all of a sudden. “Ready for prom?”

Nonchalant shrugs are his expertise. “I guess. If your dad doesn’t show up to punt me to the moon...”

“He won’t. He thinks I have a headache and that I went to bed early.”

“Ohh. No wonder you asked me to wait here.” He pauses, blinking. “You’re bad.”

“I know,” she says, and they grin at each other, sharing a secret.

Everything about the situation is surreal. In her pearl-pink, floor-length dress with the sequined bodice, with him in his elegant tuxedo, they look like they walked out of a Macy’s catalogue. They look wonderful together, if she dares admit, feeling giddy and hopeful for reasons she can’t quite articulate. But there’s something slightly wrong with Soul tonight, and it seems to be growing the longer they sit in his car, going nowhere.

It’s like he’s struggling to breathe, tugging at his bowtie distractedly.

“I hate these. They’re stupid.”

“You can take it off. You would look cooler that way, anyway. Like a rebel.”

But he doesn’t seem to hear her at all, and she doesn’t know how to reach him.

Maybe he needs time alone. Maka tries to aim her attention elsewhere and finds that she can’t stop staring at him. It’s her own fault she’s too curious - he rarely lets her see him gussied up like this. He’s played piano since the age of four and has never invited her to a recital, but now that she’s got a glimpse of what she’s been missing out on, maybe she should pry, just a little.

She twiddles her thumbs in her lap, wishing he would start the car and drive them away. Maybe she could hold his hand, too. “Are you okay, Soul?”

“God, no. I hate my singing,” he confesses.

The revelation is jarring, ugly even, because Maka senses the deeper meaning behind such a trivial statement. Suddenly teary-eyed, Maka winces, hand flying out to grasp his shoulder as if to hold him together. But you have such a lovely voice, she wants to confess, whimpering instead, “Tell me more, Soul. I’m here.”

He stares ahead of them, hands on ten and two, gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles lose their color, clenching his jaw to filter whatever else is on the tip of his tongue. Nothing is more bittersweet than the moment his chest concaves and he slumps forward like he’s driven the car into a lamppost, his guard finally down. Trust is a finicky thing, but Maka can feel his misery through the expensive material of his blazer, and that's when she understands he can’t pretend to be brave anymore.

“I hate singing,” he repeats. “I hate music. It gets boring. I get bored a lot, and that freaks me the fuck out. What’s the point of anything, if I feel tired and uninterested all the time?” Gulping, he furrows his brows, taking a shallow breath. “And the shittiest part is, it’s only going to get worse.”

Helpless - that’s what Maka is, sitting beside her best friend but feeling too far away, too clumsy, too idle to ease his pain. They’re parked at the end of the alley that runs behind her house because her papa hadn’t approved of their prom plans, hadn’t approved of Soul, who scowls at strangers and possesses an endless arsenal of snark. She had snuck out to be with him, and now she can’t stop thinking it’s ironic that the console between them isn’t their only obstacle. What’s worse is it had been the feature Soul had been most impressed with most when his older brother Wes had taken him car shopping, because of the huge cup holders. She and Soul had laughed over it the first time he drove her around town, picking her up right in this spot, actually -

Maka thinks she’s swallowed glass. Her throat hurts. All she can do is rub his back and listen, asphyxiating along with him. Graduation is weeks away, and he’s not yet told his parents he lied about auditioning for both Juilliard’s voice and piano performance programs, that he had accompanied Maka to her college entrance interview that weekend instead. He’s not built for the demands of higher education, and he’s not sure what to do about his future, either.

Disappointments like him put things off until the last minute, he reminds Maka.

“No,” she insists, to all of it. “You’re so good, and - and, and, you don’t have to go! It’s okay.” Her mind is like molasses, moving painfully slow.

Forehead now pressed against the steering wheel, Soul turns his head a bit to look at her. “Can we stay here? Is it okay if we don’t go to prom?”

“Of course,” she breathes. Only the tiniest speck of it is a lie. Steadying her hand to apply winged eyeliner and curl her hair had demanded more finesse than she could muster, what with the thought of swaying with Soul to some slow song pausing her brain, making it skip like a record. She’d rather much be here consoling him, even if this darkness is less sweet than that of the dance floor, a different but not unwelcomed kind of intimate.

“I’m going to miss you, Maka,” he says. It’s barely audible.

This time, she does break down in a whimper. Everything goes wet and blurry, but she can make out Soul hiding his face. “I’m going to miss you, too.”

Twenty-year-old Soul trades in his high-class blazers and four door car for a leather jacket and a motorcycle, but the boyish grin with the lone dimple is still there. His hugs haven't changed, either. They’re the best: comforting and warm and safe, like curling up in bed after a long, soul-draining day. And is he taller now? Three months ago he hadn’t been able to rest his chin on top of her head as they sway around in circles, neither willing to let go first.

“I missed you so much,” he says, and she’s crying all over his shirt, ear pressed against his chest, listening to the familiar rumble coming from within.

She closes her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

Each time he visits is like this - they hug until their arms hurt, laughing and touching each other’s faces for a long time after they’ve finally pulled away, making sure the moment is real. Another two years and she’ll be done with her psychology degree and he’ll have saved enough money from working at the record store to move wherever she ends up going for law school. They’ll definitely be together in the future, but getting through the present is unbearable sometimes - the distance is daunting, especially when there’s barely enough time to sleep, much less dedicate a weekend to going back to Nevada.

She’s homesick. When Maka is too overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of reading she has to do and the weekly twelve-paged essays her professors love to assign, she calls her best friend, and he answers if he can and texts if he can’t. This aspect of their relationship still stands, despite the months apart.

But change is good, and even Soul has learned this, too, because he’s stood up to his parents and has ironed out his slouch over time. Here in the crowded sidewalk in the heart of the city, he disentangles himself from their embrace much too abruptly for her liking. The briefest pang of pain shoots through her, but he holds her out at arm’s length before it dawns on her why, excited and hopeful. “Want to go for a ride?”

Maka’s stomach drops. She’s never been on a motorcycle before, and while Soul is too cautious and law-abiding to speed and endanger their lives, the thought still terrifies her out of her mind. Maybe it has something to do with how close it would put them. She’d be behind him instead of riding shotgun, her arms around his waist instead of in her lap. It would be loud instead of semi-quiet, the radio playing, Soul singing under his breath without realizing it. Car rides with him used to give her a glimpse into his solitude, and he never sings unless he thinks no one’s listening.

“We could just cruise around, like we did in Death City,” he says, sensing her hesitance. “Want to?”

“Of course,” she says, but that’s not the lie she tells today. It comes minutes later, when she’s nestled against him and he screams over his shoulder at her, asking if she’s afraid. No, she lies, her heart hammering. Maka only holds on tighter when the bike lurches forward, the thrill making her shaky, but not all of that stems from the engine’s roar. When she closes her eyes and concentrates, she thinks she can feel Soul humming, and she spends the rest of their time together thinking about how the vibration she felt coming underneath his jacket was different than the bike’s rhythm.

Two weeks before she walks the stage, Soul drives four hours to whisk her away for a weekend getaway. It’s a surprise. She opens her door and the world blurs and tilts on its axis as she takes in Soul standing on her welcome mat.

“Hey, you. You look nice.”

She’s wearing pomeranian patterned pajamas, yesterday’s eyeliner, and only one slipper. Finals hell began prematurely months ago because she’s an overachiever, but she’s a do or die kind of person - always has been, always will be. “Thanks.”

“Can I come in?”

Maka leaps out to meet him instead, holding him tight, her throat swollen. She only lets go when it’s necessary: to pack, to change her clothes, to lock the door and let him take her away from reality. It’s like high school all over again, except they’re not driving into the dusk, Maka vaguely wishing they could meet halfway and hold hands over the console. No, she hadn’t wanted him to take a hand off the steering wheel then, and that’s impossible now because he’s replaced his car with something more dangerous, more risky.

But at least she’s gotten closer to him, and not in the emotional sense. This type of nearness feels good, too. Conflicted as she feels about the motorcycle, Maka believes in change, and that’s why she resists holding his hand when they’re walking along the beach on Saturday. He wanders off - not too much, but far away enough that he thinks he’s alone and starts singing absentmindedly, the highs and lows of his voice moving.

He must feel her staring because he turns and looks at her.

“Did you hear me at the beach?” he asks, sinking into the bed next to her, a safe distance away. The hotel sheets are crisp and fresh and Maka appreciates the sweet scent of his shampoo.

“No.” Her lies don’t stop here, though. When she closes her eyes and goes still, head swirling with confusing thoughts, and she has no choice but to pretend to be asleep when he starts singing to himself.

“Are you okay?”

Lies, so many lies. She can’t keep them straight. “Yes.”

“Then why are you mad?”

Maka wasn’t there, but she hears brakes screeching and metal crumpling whenever he says the word motorcycle. Ten weeks ago, Maka had called Soul at two in the morning to pick her up from the library, and while she had waited out front with her textbook filled backpack breaking her back, Soul had gotten into a little fender bender, as he’s taken to dubbing it. What actually happened is something Maka thinks about on repeat: the driver rear-ending Soul at a four way stop, and him soaring off his bike and skidding across the road facedown, his chest sliced open by a stray shard of glass.

That intersection needs a stoplight, Maka had thought when her phone lit up and a gentle voice confirmed the sinking feeling in her stomach when Soul hadn’t shown up. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he had been in a car. Hadn’t she always thought motorcycle were dangerous?

He’s lucky he hadn’t died. Jagged and crude stitches aside, Maka can’t believe he hadn’t broken or ruptured anything, but losing so much blood must have done damage to his brain because he’s determined to fix his baby and hit the road again. She wants to burst every time he chalks the accident up as nothing less than a physics-defying inconvenience, and she feels like a teakettle that’s about to start screeching because she balls her hands into fists at her side to keep from exploding.

“I’m not mad, Soul.”

“Then what are you?”

Scowling, she spins around and is momentarily thrown off that her roommate is so close. Her nose brushes against his chest - right over the spot where he’s split in two, and she flinches and jumps back. “I’m annoyed, because you don’t listen. That motorcycle will end up killing you.”

Patient as ever, Soul nods to show he’s heard her, but stands his ground. “I’m fine, Maka, really.”

Maybe he’s not the one that still needs to heal. Traces of the miserable Soul who couldn’t get out of bed some mornings surface every once in a while, but he’s found a way to live with his demons in the time after their graduation. Meanwhile, Maka had packed her whole life into a suitcase and moved without stopping to catch her breath. There had been no soul searching; it only makes sense that she’s struggling. Rationally, she knows and accepts this, but thinking isn’t possible when her blood’s boiling.

There are too many things in her chest. A lot of them are about Soul. Dinner is always waiting for her after an overwhelming fourteen hour day, and she never has to think about finding time to wipe down the counters or fold her laundry because her best friend takes care of those chores. They look after each other, but lately it seems uneven, what with him almost dying at that intersection and Maka being unable to look at him in the eyes since.

She just wants for him to be safe. Nostalgia has her wanting back all those times they shared shy smiles while sitting in his car, parked in the alley behind her house. Rain or shine or snow, it had been their refuge from their parent’s disapproval and homework and life-changing decisions, and Maka can’t help but resent Soul for trading all of that in for that death-trap of a motorcycle.

It might be the fear talking, of course, but it feels real, too real.

“I hate that motorcycle,” Maka seethes. She’s shaking. “I miss - I miss the car, it was cozy-”

“I hated the car,” Soul interrupts, breaking Maka’s heart without knowing.

“But we had good times, didn’t we? We napped in it and studied and even camped in it!” She prays for strength but her eyes go glassy. Remembering all those moments that made her weak-kneed doesn’t help. “We were safe in there.”

“When you were there, yeah, but it was hell when you weren’t.”

“Exactly! And I’m here now. We’re together again.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he says, frowning. “What’s going on? You’ve been so weird lately…”

Maka Albarn understands that she and Soul are having two different conversations. She’s an intelligent girl, having taught herself to tie her own shoes at the age of four. Book smart, but lacking emotional grace, living by the fight-first-ask-questions-later rule even now, as she thinks he just rejected her. This is nothing less than a plain misinterpretation, and it feels like she was at that intersection in his place, being slit open.

She’s a bleeder. “Fuck your motorcycle!”

“I’m not giving it up, Maka. It was the first thing I bought with my own money, and the car was just another reminder that I was dependent on other people, especially my parents.”

“You almost died.”

He combs his fingers through his hair, tired. “I hated the car, not the time me and you spent together.”

Meltdowns are Maka’s specialty. Even her voice is trembling. “FUCK THAT BIKE!”

Soul moves from the kitchen and toward the front door, moving like a ghost, his face unreadable.

She sees red but panics all the same. “Where are you going?”

Nonchalant as ever, he shrugs. “Leaving. I need to get some air…I’ll be back.”

“Fine, I don’t care,” she lies, crossing her arms. “Go.”

But he doesn’t. Paused at the door, he turns and tries to reason with her one last time. “Maka.” He lets out a slow breath. “I… fuck, how do I say this? …I care about you a lot. I know you loved the car, but you have to know that I, uh…. Shit. I feel the same way about you.”

“I thought you said you were leaving,” she snaps, clenching her jaw so hard it triggers an instant headache. Or maybe it’s been creeping on this whole time while she had been busy seething. Listening is hard to do when her heart is pounding in her ears.

Hurt. Soul looks hurt, and lost, and dazed, and Maka’s mind is blank as she watches him slip into his shoes and close the door softly behind him. The click it makes is what brings her back to reality. She pops like a balloon, folding over, regret instantly flooding her, and she knows he’s probably walking slowly and she could catch him if she ran, but her legs aren’t functioning.

Who knows how long she stays like that, reliving every time she snuck up on him singing in his car when he thought no one was listening nearby. How had she not understood? After all, he only sings when he’s fighting off some extreme emotion, and she’s always catching him in the act. The pieces fit. But shit, has she been blind.

For a straight A student, she can be too damn dense for her own good.

All of it makes her stomach ache. They obviously feel differently about the car, but it doesn’t take away the comfort it brought her, nor does it invalidate his experiences. It’s just - she misses those tender moments in his car, and the motorcycle accident has stolen her ability to relax around him. It’s going to take time to heal from this, but they’ve already proven they can do anything as long as they’re together.

By the time Soul comes home, she’s somewhat level-headed and has put a name to why she feels so strongly about him.

“I lied,” she blurts out. “I’m sorry. I…” Squinting, she bites down on her lip. “I care about you, too.”

“I know,” he says, and Maka counts four seconds before he breaks into a grin. Feeling brave, she takes a careful step toward him, tilting her head, and they’re not teenagers driving in the car he had sold all those years ago, but they finally meet halfway. It’s better than holding hands over the console between their seats. She goes up on her tiptoes and he bends down, hand rubbing her throat as their mouths meet, humming a little before pulling back to check on her.

Suddenly, Maka wants to spill all her secrets. After all, they have a lot to talk about - she might as well start with this confession. “I’ve heard your singing when you think no one’s listening, and it’s beautiful.”

“Ugh,” is all he says, and they laugh before meeting halfway again, and again, and again.

#soulxmaka #soul eater evans #maka albarn #soulxmaka week 2017 #soul x maka #soul eater #shoutout to proma and aer for looking this over #redphlox writes

187 notes · View notes