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vbecker10 · 1 year

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On to my second request!

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader

Scene: One way or another, Loki is now part of the Avengers. Y/N isn't an agent at S.H.I.E.L.D., she works an ordinary job ( i.e. architect, consultant, or sales rep...etc.) but is friends/related to some agents.

Request: Y/N is set up on a fancy blind date to meet up with an agent her friend said was a perfect match for her and Loki is undercover for an intel gathering mission and needs a partner to look less suspicious. He's not her usual type, but she trusts her friend and decides to see it through. Could you please write about the two going through the blind date, she not realizing he is the wrong person until the end of the night. I'll leave the ending of whether or not they actuality end up dating or just stay friends up to you!

The Blind Date? (Part 1 of 4)

Part 2 | Part 3 & 4 in progress

Pairing: Loki x female reader

Warnings: none...? Loki annoying Thor, a vague history of terrible dates, mentions of mob activity (I guess)... idk I'm hoping for a bit funny at first then fluff in the second or third part

Summary: Your friend sets you up on a blind date with someone she works with at SHIELD but you accidentally end up on a mission with Loki

POV: This goes back and forth between Y/N's perspective and Loki's (and if you don't like how I call it Y/N POV and Loki POV... I don't care lol we've all had this convo before and you know damn well what I mean so here goes)

A/N: @soubi001 I love this idea!! I really hope you like this, I'm so sorry it took such a long time and I'm sorry it seems to be getting really long so I'm making it a few parts 💚 thanks for listening to me ramble about this one @michelleleewise

Word Count:

Dividers by: @harlequin-hangout

(Y/N POV)

"Oh come on, it'll be fun," Michelle urges but you shake your head then hide behind the flimsy plastic menu. "Don't you trust me?" she asks with a wide smile as she reaches across your other friend to tap on the back of your menu.

"Not even a little," you reply slowly in a serious tone.

She scoffs dramatically, leaning back in her chair as she holds her hand over her heart, "Wow Y/N, that really hurts." You stifle a laugh as she turns her attention to the woman sitting between you at the bar, "Can you believe her Jess?"

"Well... you don't exactly have a good track record with setting her up on blind dates," Jess answers, putting her menu down. Michelle rolls her eyes and she continues, "I mean, let's be honest, the last few guys you set her up with were-"

"Horrible," you finish her sentence, looking up from your menu.

"I was going to say not great, but horrible works," Jess agrees with a nod.

"Ugh," Michelle groans, clearly annoyed Jess sided with you on the subject. "Ok, so maybe there were a few duds here and there-"

"A few?" you ask quickly.

"I'll admit, Mark was definitely a jerk... and I guess I should have known Danny wouldn't be your type but they weren't all that bad. You have to give me some credit," Michelle says, not giving up.

"Let's see... Fred was an hour late with literally no excuse then he got annoyed when I didn't want to go to his place after. Kevin brought his cat to the restaurant in a backpack and talked to Mr. Pickles more than me. Derek kept eating off of my plate without asking and he took my leftovers. Toby was into all these weird conspiracy theories and thought Australia wasn't a real place-" you count each person on your fingers as Jess laughs hysterically at your string of terrible blind dates.

"I get it!" she practically yells, cutting you off before you can continue. "But seriously, this guy really is perfect for you. I promise."

"No. Absolutely not," you tell her, crossing your arms as you lean back in your chair. "You've set me up with enough weirdos. I'm not doing it."

"Just this last one," she pleads. "And if it doesn't work out, I'll never set you up with anyone ever again. Jess can be your witness."

You sigh and rub your eyes. "I'm not getting out of this am I?" you ask Jess.

She looks over at Michelle before answering than shakes her head, "Nope, doesn't look like it." She then adds, "Better you than me."

"Thanks," you say sarcastically. You can practically feel Michelle buzzing with nervous energy as you try to think of a way to avoid what is almost guaranteed to be another terrible blind date. After a few moments of silence you breath deeply then throw your hands up in defeat. "Fine... tell me what's so amazing about this guy," you tell her.

"Ok ok ok, so..." Michelle starts excitedly. "He's new to the city, he just moved here with his older brother a couple of months ago. He keeps to himself so he hasn't really made friends with anyone at work," she explains.

"Oh good, so he's anti-social," Jess comments and you can't hold back a laugh.

"What? No," she says then glares at Jess, "You're not helping."

"I wasn't trying to help," your friend smirks.

Michelle groans and looks directly at you, "Ignore her. He's not anti-social, I think he's just a bit on the quiet side. He reads a ton so you guys have that in common."

Jess interrupts again, "Unless he's into smut about fantasy characters I doubt they've read any of the same books recently."

"I read other stuff too," you respond, hitting her shoulder lightly but she raises an eyebrow at you.

"Can I continue?" Michelle asks and you both nod. "So he's super tall and he has a really sexy accent."

"Now those are two things you can definitely build a lasting relationship on," Jess comments and you cover your mouth with your hand to quiet your laughter.

Michelle clears her throat loudly and Jess avoids making eye contact with her. "Do I need to remind you that you are only engaged to Sebastian because I set you two up on a blind date two years ago?" Michelle asks Jess.

"No..." she answers sheepishly. "I'll be quiet."

"Good, now as I was saying..." Michelle's tone becomes excited again. "You're going to love him. Trust me."

You bite your lip then say, "Ok, I trust you. But if he's not totally amazing..."

"I'll never set you up with anyone ever again," she agrees to your terms with a smile. "I'll talk to him Monday at work to set it up."

(LOKI POV)

"Ah, there you are, brother," Thor's loud voice echoes through the small library. You sigh deeply, setting your tea on the small table next to you. You mutter a greeting in response but don't look up from your book as you turn the page. "What are you reading?" he asks as he settles into one of the leather chairs across from you.

"A book," you reply, "You have heard of those I assume."

"You know that is not what I meant," he says, you can't help but smirk in response to his annoyed tone. After a brief pause, you finally tell him the title of your book and he nods although you know he has never heard of it.

You continue to read, assuming he will grow tired of you ignoring him but after several minutes your curiosity gets the better of you. "Is there something you need brother, or did you truly come to the library to watch me read?" you ask, your eyes still fixed to your book.

"Peter told me you asked him to delete the dating profile he had set up for you," he says.

"I did," you confirm as you turn the page again. "I do not see how this is any concern of yours."

"You only had it for a week," he states.

"That was six days longer than I required it," you reply.

"Did you match with someone that quickly?" he asks in surprise.

You shrug, you hadn't opened the app once after the boy had installed it for you, "No and I doubt I would have. I do not need a computer to solve a problem I do not have."

He sighs, "Loki, you cannot spend all of your free time alone, hiding in the library."

"I am not hiding," you look up finally, closing your book. "And I do not spend all of my free time here, sometimes I read in the park or my room."

He puts his hand over his face and groans. "You know we are going to be on Midgard for the foreseeable future, brother," he reminds you unnecessarily. "It is not good for you to be alone all of the time. How about I ask Jane if she knows anyone you could spend time with? We could even go on a double date, that might be fun."

"As thrilling as that sounds," you say as you roll your eyes. "I am perfectly fine alone. Thank you for your concern, now if you wouldn't mind," you open your book again and wave your hand towards the door.

Before he can respond, the door to the library opens and a SHIELD agent with a tablet enters. She only takes a few steps inside and says, "Captain Rogers needs you to report to the briefing room in fifteen minutes."

You smile to yourself, hoping this new mission will occupy your brother for at least a few days. Thor rubs his hands together and stands up but the agent shakes her head. Thor pauses and she says, "Oh, actually... it looks like this mission is for Loki. Sorry Thor, maybe next time."

You chuckle at the obvious disappointment on his face as you stand up, your book vanishing into your pocket dimension with a flick of your wrist. "Well brother, it looks as though this uninteresting little chat of ours will have to wait until I return," you smirk as you walk past him.

(LOKI POV)

"Ok team," Stark says when everyone has taken their seats at the large oval table. "This is going to be strictly a recon mission. As most of you know the Sokovian mob has begun opening a large number of restaurants in Manhattan, Philadelphia and Boston. It's been confirmed that the majority of these establishments are being used as fronts for illegal gambling tournaments, money laundering and other criminal activities."

"Such a waste, cause the food is supposed to be really good," Barton says in a joking tone.

Natasha laughs while Rogers crosses his arms and gives Barton a disapproving look. Stark ignores the comment and continues, "Up until now we have been letting state and local law enforcement handle the mob as they normally would but there's been a new development that puts them on our radar. We just received intel that there is going to be a meeting between several members of the Sokovian mob family and two high ranking members of Hydra."

"That can't be anything good," Natasha says. "Does the intel give any details about what they might be meeting about?"

"No," Rogers answers. "That's why we need you and Laufeyson to go undercover as a couple on a date, so you can record their conversation." He opens a small metal case and continues, "You will also need to plant these four listening devices in various locations in the restaurant. Hill has mapped them out for you." You open the folder in front of you again, flipping to the floor plan of the restaurant. Hill added several notes and suggested locations for the devices.

"Since the goal of this mission is to plant the bugs, record their meeting and then get out without being noticed you'll both need to alter your appearance," Hill says to you and Natasha.

You stand up confidently, "That shouldn't be an issue." You hold your arms out slightly at your sides as a green glow surrounds you in a flash. "What do you think?" you ask, running your fingers through your unruly blonde curls. You adjust your dark rimmed glasses then roll up the sleeves on your deep blue sweater.

"Yea..." Stark says. "I'm not sure the professor look is quiet what we were talking about. You're still-"

"Incredibly handsome," you smirk.

"I was going to say tall," he rolls his eyes. "You only changed your hair and added glasses, you still look like you. Try becoming someone no one will notice."

"Ah, yes. One moment," you say then with a second flash of green your appearance changes again.

"Oh come on," Rogers says loudly. He throws his hands up and turns away from you then back quickly.

You look down at yourself and chuckle, you can't remember the last time you were this small. You crane your neck to look up at the Captain who is now almost a foot taller then you.

"What kind of game is this Laufeyson?" he asks.

You feign innocence, "I was merely following Stark's suggestion. I imagine very few people would turn their heads if I walked by as you, the pre-serum version of course."

Natasha and Barton try to contain their laughter while Stark steps between you and Rogers. "Very funny," he says sarcastically. "You get one more chance..." he warns and you nod, clearing your throat as a green glow surrounds you again.

"That's more like it," Hill says and Stark nods in agreement. You shrug, unimpressed with your current form. You reduced your usual height by nearly six inches, changed your hair color to light brown and shortened the length. Your features are different as well, your eyes becoming a dark brown, ensuring that you are completely unrecognizable.

"May I ask, what are your plans?" you turn your attention to the spy.

She smiles and takes a small device out of a pocket on her belt, placing it behind her ear. She taps the device and her face changes right before your eyes. "Its a Photostatic Veil, or Nano Mask depending on who you ask. They are nano-sized holographic cells that can change a person's features and even their voice," she explains in a flawless British accent.

"Impressive," you say with a slight nod as she turns it off. After an hour of discussing the minor details of the mission, you finally head back to your room to finish your book in peace.

(Y/N POV)

You close the door to your apartment and kick off your shoes then you walk quickly into your kitchen to set your grocery bags on the counter. You reach into your pocket and answer your phone.

"Hi Y/N," the voice on the other end greets you happily.

"Hey Michelle," you reply. You hold the phone against your ear with your shoulder as you begin to unload the groceries. "How's it going?"

"Fantastic," she says and you can tell by her voice that the date is on. "So... I talked to him at lunch today and he is definitely looking forward to seeing you this weekend."

"Great," you tell her, trying to sound enthusiastic. Maybe this wouldn't be a complete disaster like all the others, you think hopefully.

"He said he wants to try one of those new Sokovian restaurants," Michelle says. "I hear the food is amazing."

You laugh, "Me too. They seem to be all over the city all of a sudden."

"Perfect, so it's all set. This Saturday at 7, on the corner of 3rd Avenue and East 6th street," she says, pausing for a moment before adding, "Write it down, so you don't forget."

"I'm not going to forget," you mumble as you roll your eyes.

"I can practically hear you rolling your eyes at me. Look, we both know you have the memory of a goldfish. Write it down," she jokes but you know better then to argue with her.

You grab a pad and pen from one of the drawers in your kitchen and write down the time and address. "There, I made a note," you tell her. You tear off the piece of paper dramatically so she can hear it over the phone then stick it to your fridge with a magnet.

"Good," she laughs.

"So..." you pause. "Does the mystery man have a name?"

"He does," she answers.

"Do I have to guess it?" you ask.

"I'm not telling you," she says, "The last time I told you a guys name before a date, you googled him so much you could have written his biography."

"That's fair, I guess," you admit.

"Oh, I've got to go," she says, you can hear her dogs barking in the background. "I'll text you later."

"Ok, bye," you say just before she hangs up. You put the last of the items in the fridge and check your note.

(LOKI POV)

"Since Natasha got called away for a mission with Thor, you're going to need to find someone in the restaurant to use as cover. You'll be far less noticeable if you aren't sitting at the bar alone for hours. If you can, get a table as close to the targets as possible," Rogers instructs you.

"I doubt I'll have any issues finding a lovely young lady to spend my evening with," you respond as Hill hands you a small earpiece to use during the mission and the listening devices. After shifting into your undercover form, you straighten your tie and comb your hair with your fingers. Checking yourself in the small mirror you shrug, this is as good as you are going to look.

You reach for the door handle and Rogers stops you. "Remember Laufeyson, you're still on probation and this is officially your first solo mission. Stay on script and under the radar," he reminds you. "You don't want to give us any reason to reconsider the deal we made with Thor. Fury and Tony would have no issues sending you right back to Asgard if anything goes wrong."

You nod silently, not wanting to admit how well you understood the gravity of your current situation. You clear your throat then sarcastically say, "Its heartwarming to see how much confidence the team has in me."

"Just don't make us regret trusting you," he responds as you step out of the van.

Putting your hands in your coat pockets, you turn the corner from 6th Avenue onto West 3rd Street. The restaurant is visible roughly halfway down the street. When you step inside, you can see most of the tables full and the bar is crowded. The hostess walks over to you with a friendly smile and asks if you need a table.

"I'm actually supposed to be meeting a blind date here. Would it be alright if I checked to see if she was waiting for me at the bar?" you ask.

"Of course," the woman replies and you walk past her towards the back of the restaurant.

As you get closer you see several groups of friends, a few couples but only one woman sitting by herself. She is alternating between staring at her phone anxiously and looking around the room. Clearly she is waiting for someone, you think to yourself, but she is your best opportunity at the moment. You take a few more steps towards her and chuckle quietly as an idea quickly forms. You adjust your illusion so she will be the only one in the restaurant to see you as yourself and decide to go on a date, as your brother has so often suggested.

(Y/N POV)

You hold your phone nervously, seeing a new text from Michelle letting you know he was at the restaurant. You look up, scanning the large space but you have no idea who you are looking for. Suddenly your heart stops when you see Loki walking towards you with a smile.

This can't be happening, you think to yourself. Michelle worked for SHIELD but you knew she barely interacted with the Avengers or even the agents. She was on the technical side, working at least ten floors below them in the Tower. He had to be your date though, you quickly reasoned. Just moved here with his brother... really tall... sexy accent, that all sounds like what little you knew of Loki.

You look down at your phone and text Michelle, "I found him." You slide it into your pocket and get up from the stool as Loki approaches you.

"Hello darling," he says smoothly.

"Hi, I'm Y/N," you introduce yourself with a smile. You feel your phone go off but without reading the message, you put it on silent.

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fruitcoops · 6 months

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Slowburn

Fic O'Ween Day 12: Goosebumps, with part five of the firefighter/ EMT AU! Coops, Leo, and Layla belong to @lumosinlove, fest header belong to @noots-fic-fests!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

TW extremely brief mention of bodily fluids (one sentence at the beginning)

Five hours and forty-four minutes. He had been bled on, puked on, grabbed, yelled at, and nearly toppled. His only spare pair of pants was now bound up in a plastic bag. Miracle of miracles, Sirius’ shirt was the only thing that hadn’t been damaged in the miserable afternoon. It made a great undershirt. It would also need to be washed at least four times before he could even dream of returning it.

Layla stared at a spot above his shoulder in the opposite jumpseat. One side of her eyeliner had been completely smudged away; the other, smeared sideways to her temple in a smoky trail.

“Nice job today.”

“Thanks.”

“That was a lot.” Layla nodded mutely. His heart pulled for her, a little bit. Even if their cases had been run-of-the-mill, nearly six hours of back-to-back calls would wear anyone down. He nudged the tip of her shoe with his own. “You’re learning fast. I saw some good work out there.”

“I’m…” She blinked slowly, then shook her head. “Wow, I think I fell asleep sitting up for a minute.”

“It happens.” In time, she’d learn to sleep wherever she could catch it. “When does your shift end?”

“Seven.”

“Almost done, then.”

“Mmm.”

The ambulance went over a bump, rattling the near-empty shelves and bashing Remus’ tailbone against the back ledge. “Sorry!” Leo called through the small window to the cab.

He had mostly given up hope that he’d see Sirius in the next twelve hours. His shift wasn’t over until midnight, and Sirius’ started at six the next morning. If he made time between his dentist appointment and calling his parents, he might be able to stop by in the afternoon, but it would be a stretch if he wanted to get any laundry done. And, Christ, that was a chore he couldn’t delay for another week. He liked those pants. More importantly, he now knew just how much Sirius liked them.

Something stirred in his belly at the thought. Warm hands cupping his ass and sliding over his flanks with astonishing care. Sirius had felt him up enough that he could probably make a Model Magic version of Remus’ body on touch alone—and wasn’t that a thing to picture. Somewhere between rounds two and three, Remus remembered kissing the backs of Sirius’ thighs. Pale skin and dark hair above the bare, sensitive bend of his knees. They slotted so well in his palms. Sirius had looked like glory itself when he peeked over his shoulder to look.

“What’re you thinking about?”

Remus jumped. “What? Nothing. Sorry, nothing, why?”

“You’re all frowny.”

Thank god for that. “Just…the day.”

A vague and reliable excuse. Layla snorted. “Tell me about it.”

There will never be a day when I tell you about this. Remus hoped his laugh didn’t come out too strained. “Seriously.”

They took the next turn a little wider, sending their final two ointment boxes sliding out of place. He fixed them blindly while the city center rolled past through the back windows. Did Sirius still have scratch marks on his upper thighs?

Another bump knocked the thought from his head. “We’re home,” Leo singsonged from the driver’s seat. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the showers, wondering why I chose this life path.”

“Mood,” Layla mumbled.

“I’m also Grubhubbing a sundae, and you can’t stop me.”

One of the last functioning neurons in Remus’ head lit up. “Get me one.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Get your own.”

“I’m your boss.”

“You make more money than me.”

“Yes, let me flaunt my extra fifty cents an hour,” he countered dryly. “Every night, I rub my quarters together, just to flex on you. That beautiful sound of a handful of nickels.”

“…I’ll see what they have.”

“Good rookie.”

He didn’t wait for the ambulance to stop before opening the doors. The familiar ka-chunk of the lock coming free was music to his ears—a sweet, sweet anthem of freedom, the promise of a lukewarm cup of coffee and a maybe-stale donut from the break room.

And Sirius.

Sirius, sitting on one of his packed and labeled inventory bins.

Remus stared.

“Remus?”

“Go ahead,” he said absently. “I’ll catch up.”

Layla hopped out with a groan. Six hours was a long time to be up and down. Remus was sure his feet would ache the same when he stood. If he stood. Sirius’ hair stuck up at the back, like he’d been running his hands through it.

Remus loved when he did that.

He just. He really did like him, quite a lot.

Keep me.

What had he been thinking? Six hours was a long time to wait. He had told Sirius he’d be right back. It was his day off; why hadn’t he left after it was clear Remus wouldn’t return?

He supposed he could ask the same question about that morning. God, could it really only have been a few hours since he felt Sirius’ bare chest against his own? They had practically been spooning with how tight they were tangled in each other when he woke. Remus hardly remembered falling asleep, only aware of the pleasant ache in his muscles and the humming pleasure in his belly. Pure satisfaction. Pure comfort, at having Sirius hold him like more than a friend.

He watched Leo wander off. Sirius didn’t seem to have noticed. He didn’t so much as flinch when Remus stumbled off the rig and beelined for him, not until Remus stopped in front of him, unsure what to say. I want you I like you I’m sorry please kiss me again, I still get goosebumps thinking about the way your mouth tastes with adrenaline.

Sirius blinked up at him, full lips and glossy lashes. His bone structure was fucking criminal. “You’re back,” he said, so soft and sweet and genuinely happy that Remus’ stomach flopped over itself. Sirius stood, tucking his phone into his pocket without a second glance at it. He was just—big. And tall. And gorgeous. Remus now knew precisely how solid his chest was, and how nice it was to kiss. “Did you have a good day?”

Remus stepped forward and planted his face directly into that chest.

“Oh,” Sirius laughed. It vibrated against his forehead; he closed his eyes. Arms came up around him, hands settling at his nape and the small of his back. He knew he smelled awful. Sirius didn’t seem to care as a tentative kiss nestled on the top of his head and melted Remus’ insides out his throbbing feet.

He sighed. Sirius smelled all warm and spicy. Detergent, cologne, or simply the way he was? Remus couldn’t wait to find out. “This is nice.”

“Yeah.” The delight was back. Sirius pushed the breath from his lungs on a squeeze. “Yeah, it is. I like this.”

“I’m gonna kiss you,” Remus mumbled. “Gonna kiss you so good. Just…two seconds.”

“You can kiss me whenever you want.”

“Two seconds.” It was so dark in his new haven. Sirius’ lungs moved calmly, steadily. His heart rate was a little fast, but nothing to worry about. Remus let his ears go foggy and pressed closer, nuzzling into the space between his collarbones.

Sirius kissed the top of his head again, less hesitant this time, before resting his chin there. “Long day?” he asked after several seconds. Remus hummed. “Sounded like you guys didn’t get much of a break.”

“Mhmm.” He turned his head to the side and rubbed his cheek over Sirius’ sternum. He couldn’t count the number of times they had sat together on the couch or at the table or in the window seat, legs intertwined while they worked through their days. Separate snacks at first, then a single bowl to share once they knew each other’s favorites. It had been nice, to have someone there. Someone to talk to, someone to listen, someone who understood.

But this…this was so much better.

Sirius’ thumb stroked a short path along his spine. It zinged all the way into the base of Remus’ skull. “I sweated through your shirt,” he muttered, pushing his head further beneath Sirius’ chin. “After I stole it from you by accident. Sorry. I’ll wash it.”

He felt Sirius’ smile on his temple. “Keep it. Looks better on you.”

“Think I left mine at your place.”

“Guess you’ll just have to come back and get it,” Sirius whispered playfully. Remus couldn’t help a grin, raising his head despite the pounding drowsiness behind his eye—he had barely opened his mouth to retort when there were lips brushing his own, a wordless request. He granted it easily.

This was different than the rushed promise on the ambulance. Different than last night’s smoky, need-fueled passion. He let Sirius lead, tender and questioning, then pushed into it a little more. Have it, he tried to say. Take it all, it’s been yours for a while. The words may not work, but he was willing to bet Sirius would understand anyway. His lower lip was chapped on one side when Remus ran his tongue along the seam, giddy and dizzy with the kiss-buzz of chasteness.

“Hmm.”

That was good. It was all good, if Sirius would keep making noises like that. He brought his hands up to rest on narrow hips (marked with a tiny scar just above his thigh, which Remus was so fucking glad he knew now) and gave a little more, pushed a little harder. Sirius’ hand cupped his jaw and the right side of Remus’ brain powered down.

“Hm—wait, wait.”

His attempt to lick forward into Sirius’ mouth was stymied by sudden distance between them. Not far—he could still pick out each fleck of quicksilver in Sirius’ unfocused eyes—but far enough to be frustrating for the part of him that was enjoying turning his thoughts off. Remus went up on his toes for more, but Sirius pulled away. “What?” he whispered, though they were alone. “Did you—are you mad at me?”

“No,” Sirius said hurriedly. His hands soothed down Remus’ sides in a long drag that sent tingles through each cell. “God, no, I’m trying to—” His cheeks went a touch pink as he glanced around them and coughed lightly. “Uh, I’m trying to calm down.”

“Oh. Oh.”

Remus hadn’t even thought about that. He was pretty sure he was too tired for his body to consider arousal, aside from the inevitable spike of desire for a soft place to land for two to eight hours. Sirius’ mouth was so nice, his body so warm, that it was all too tempting to get lost in it.

Sirius’ tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. Well. Remus supposed he might be able to feel something other than pure exhaustion, if he tried. “What time do you get off?”

“Whenever you want me to,” Remus answered immediately, then felt himself redden at the arch of Sirius’ brows. “Fuck—sorry. Midnight. My shift’s done at midnight.”

The fingertips on his back had become an extraordinary distraction. Sirius looked almost shy, so at odds with the animated boy he knew against this backdrop that Remus wanted to memorize every inch of it. “Can I…” Sirius began, then trailed off as his blush darkened. His thumbs hooked around Remus’ hipbones and paused there, lingering on bare skin. “Can I maybe take you to dinner? Or a diner?”

“At midnight?”

“I know a couple places.”

Remus frowned. “You have work tomorrow.”

Sirius gave a sheepish half-shrug. “We could nap together. Today, I mean. If you want.”

“I smell horrible.”

“You smell fine.”

“I’m soaked in dry sweat.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I—” That was it for excuses. That was all he had. Every defense against Sirius was dust in the wind. He smiled, and stood on his toes again to kiss one scruffy cheek. “Yeah, sounds good. Let me wash my face and grab some water. I’ll meet you in the bunks.”

Sirius’ eyes crinkled, and Remus fell for him all over again. “I’ll be waiting.”

#remus lupin #sirius black #coops #leo knut #layla #sweater weather #vaincre #coast to coast #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #firefighter/ emt au #fic o’ween 2023 #fluff

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luvonmes-blog · 2 years

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Why couldn’t it be me?

in which Y/N loves Stiles but Stiles can’t find himself.

this is intentionally really short.

Stiles is a dick in this. Y/N isn’t exactly right either. basically; there’s some throwing of objects, sheriff stilinski is goated, mentions of sex nothing too wild though very vague.

Part 2 Is it me?

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you scared Stiles as you sat on his bed. he just came home from hanging out at Scott’s place so seeing you sitting on his navy blue comforter was a shock. you gasped as you stared at him.

“Stiles.” you smiled widely. “hi.” you dragged out the vowel, swinging your feet.

“…hey, Y/N/N, what are you doing here?” he hadn’t expected company tonight, especially you.

“your dad let me in.” you giggled. “did i ever tell you how much i love your dad. he’s so amazing.” you rambled dazedly.

“Y/N/N… are you drunk?”

“what? pshhh, no.” you laughed. “i’m offended you would think that Stiles.” you crossed your arms.

“ok, alright, let’s get you home.” he reached to help you up but you pulled away.

“no, Stiles, i wanna stay.” you pouted at him.

“Y/N.” he said sternly. “you’re drunk, you have to go home.”

“would you let Lydia stay.” it wasn’t a question, you knew he would.

“Lydia has nothing to do with this, lets go.”

“Lydia always has something to do with it.” you stared in his eyes. “wake up and smell the roses, Stiles, she doesn’t want you.” you instantly regretted what you said. you stood to reach for him. “Sti, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean that-”

“and you think i’d want you.” the malice was clear in his tone. your arm that reached toward him immediately retracted, that seemed to have sobered you up.

“oh.” that was the only thing that could escape your lips.

“i am so tired of this, Y/N.” you knew he was being serious, he never called you by your first name, it was always Y/N/N. “you come around just to tell me about your feelings and always blame it on it Lydia. wake up and the smell the roses Y/N/N.” he spat out the nickname. “i don’t want you.” your stare hardened and the words that fell from your lips spilled with venom.

“fuck you Stiles.” you backed yourself onto his desk and your fingers fell upon a mug filled with pens. you traced it lightly before picking it up and twirling it in your hand, the next thing Stiles knew it was flying past his head. the mug hit the wall with a thud, leaving a dent and fell the floor into pieces. “you act so fucking high and mighty.” you took a Star Wars figurine that was sitting next to his laptop and chucked it at him. “like you weren’t just begging to fuck me last week.” another object came flying at him, he ducked out of the way just in time.

“it’s all bullshit Y/N.” he rushed towards you and backed you against the desk, invading your personal space. “you wanna hear the fucking truth.” he was so close and you could feel his breath on your cheek. “you are so fucking easy.” tears welled up in your eyes. “you think you’re so special when all i have to do is put on an act about how much i need you and you’re ripping your top off like some goddamned slut.” a sob fell from your lips as you squeezed your eyes shut.

“let go of me, Stiles.” you tried to sound strong but your voice broke in the middle of the sentence.

“no, you think i’m all high and mighty, look at your goddamn self.”

“Stiles let go!” you whaled, breaking down.

“Stiles, what the hell is wrong with you.” Sheriff Stilinski stepped into the room, ripping Stiles off of you. you fell into his arms as you cried. “i got you, i got you.” kissing your forehead like he was your father.

“dad, she’s fine.” Stiles tried to justify.

“she’s fine!?” Sheriff Stilinski looked at his son like he didn’t know him. “you call this fine!?” you continued to shake in his arms sobs racking through you. “i’m going to take her home and when i come back you better be sitting on that goddamned couch with a handwritten formal apology.” Stiles watched as his dad left loading you into the car and driving down the road. but he couldn’t do anything, he felt like a stranger in his own house, trapped in his own mind. what you and his father didn’t know was Stiles was screaming for you to come back, ready to be on his knees begging for your forgiveness.

the real him.

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles x y/n #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski angst #stiles stilinksi smut #void stiles #stiles stilinski x reader angst

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liskantope · 8 months

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Back in late 2020 I made a post which mentioned as a side comment the impression I get from a lot of the more aggressive SJ people that writing/saying a lot (e.g. writing long, nuanced, qualifying, and/or perhaps defensive-sounding responses) is seen as evidence in and of itself of being wrong in the argument, specifically the type of wrong that comes from a position of privilege (I thought a little later I wrote a short post focusing only on this, but I can't seem to find it now). The example in the above-linked post is in the strangely-proportioned screenshot, where someone who is being attacked for not bowing down to the Correct political opinions keeps responding with lengthy, articulate, nuanced comments (which include some acknowledgment of her own weaknesses) and is met only more vehement attacks declaring checkmate explicitly on the grounds that her comments are long. The end of the exchange happens when she leaves a comment raising her eyebrows at being attacked for long-windedness, and the entirety of the response is "...you and your privilege". It's a finale that's stuck with me.

I was reminded of this today when an unexpected spurt of activity showed up on my Tumblr: an activist with whom I got into a contentious exchange well over two years ago for some reason chose now to abruptly reblog a several of my lengthy responses with pithy remarks (okay, plus one which includes a link to her own independent blog post about it which I don't think I'd seen before), and a minor flurry of likes and replies followed. I don't care to reblog any of this now, or even link to it, because my getting into that debate is something I'm really not proud of: the topic is not a hill I want to die on, and I dislike my awkward defensiveness and repeated apologies and semi-retractions. If I'm going to spend time and energy arguing something really controversial, I would rather it be a discussion where I can be really incisive and not catch myself arguing carelessly and sloppily and feel the repeated need to step back and clutter everything with caveats and apologies. But, if you are curious, I was defending a YouTuber I respect from being cancelled for being Problematic, and this exchange happened in spring of 2021.

The one new bit of substantive information for me coming from today's activity is the link to a separate blog post written at the time, which further confirms that there's no point in me continuing to defend that YouTuber to this activist: apparently among the list of things that makes this YouTuber's case worse and confirms their guilt are (1) publishing an earlier video which made all of the exact right points but which (surprise, surprise) got noticed by more people than a written article by a lower-profile person from the Relevant Marginalized Group making essentially the same points, (2) acknowledging that the Relevant Social Justice Cause is a good one and including a link to a fundraiser, and (3) momentarily sighing with a slight look of exasperation when first bringing up the accusation of being Problematic in a video. (Sorry I'm continuing to be vague here.)

Continuing to argue with this activist would be a waste of time, since our rhetorical values and norms are clearly too far apart for us ever to reach each other. Looking at it makes me grateful to have found a part of Tumblr that does share my basic notions of how discussions should work.

But what strikes me most of all is how my lengthiness itself is somehow treated as evidence of my guilt or wrongness or privilege or something. One of my lengthy reblogs got met today with a single sentence mocking it as a "dissertation" and managing to weirdly characterize my thesis without explanation, while another later one got met with "Have you considered just.... never talking again? Because you are not good at it." Again, these little zingers were fired off probably within a few minutes earlier today, in response to things I wrote back in spring of 2021.

That's the exact same kind of back-of-the-hand dismissal that I mentioned above having witnessed done to someone else (with the "...you and your privilege" comment). It reads like "This person talks too much, that's how you know they're in the wrong, so no need to address any of their points, if I smack them with a one-sentence response saying 'Haha that just further confirms you're wrong!' then I win."

And it's like, usually I consider my ability at cognitive empathy to be quite good, but it's hard for me to figure out what the other party is actually thinking in a situation like this: I can sort of get my head around not respecting nuance in certain selective situations and thinking the ability to feel nuance is a sign of privilege or something, but I can't quite figure out how they justify these one-sentence blanket dismissals on the grounds that the other person's comments are too long without imagining that they must be aware on some level that they're just being domineering-in-an-internet-way and deliberately going for a cheap and empty slam-dunk. This isn't very charitable, but honestly I have a hard time understanding such people's motives any other way.

#vagueposting #discourse #social justice

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so-much-longing · 2 months

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Project Sekai Fanfiction Headcanons

Who needs human biology?? lol. Have some headcanons my partner and I made for the PJSK characters:

VIVID BAD SQUAD:

An - reads magical girl mangas, but not much fanfiction.

Kohane - reads shojou mangas, but not much fanfiction.

Akito - reads x reader oneshots, but the good-quality ones from that author who abandoned their account 2 years ago.

Toya - reads x reader oneshots, but the low-quality wattpad ones. He asked Akito what ABO was once and he nearly threw Toya's phone.

NIGHTCORD AT 25:00

Mizuki - reads smut for fun. Tries to find the dirtiest, nastiest stuff and then just reads it for funsies :)

Kanade - writes yuri fics. They are so horrendously tragic and sad and almost always end painfully. People are sobbing in the comments (she doesn't know why).

Mafuyu - writes smut for fun. I headcanon her as Asexual so she's not personally into it but she finds it fun. She asked Mizuki to beta read for her once but Mizuki's 'advice' was to write "awooga" on every sentence she thought was good.

Ena - writes and reads in equal portions but when she writes she is projecting onto the characters so hard it may as well be a traumadump.

WONDERLANDS X SHOWTIME

Tsukasa - reads angst and ugly sobs every time. He tends to only skim tags instead of reading them all so he accidentally read a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat fic once or twice. He hates them so much but he can't stop until he finishes the story, no matter what. It never ends well.

Emu - reads Dead Dove: Do Not Eat fics on purpose. For fun. Hurt no comfort is her favourite tag right next to Major Character death. Kicks her feet while she reads (having a great time).

Nene - mostly reads chatfics and Found Family fics. She's found them comforting for years. Mostly reads when she's sad.

Rui - this dude is a LIBRARY. He is such a well-rounded reader that you can ask for anything and he's got recommendations, even for fandoms he doesn't read. Nobody's quite sure how he does it. He has, at minimum, 100 tabs open on his phone and 150 tabs open on his computer.

MORE MORE JUMP

Minori - used to read any and every fic with Haruka in it, but always got flustered halfway through and couldn't finish them. She stopped reading them when she met her in person.

Haruka - has started reading any and every fic with Minori in it, but always gets flustered halfway through and can't finish them.

Airi - reads fics about herself to egosurf half the time. The other half of the time she's reading ABO fics for fun (she does the little personality quizzes too). It's her guilty pleasure.

Shizuku - doesn't know what fanfiction is.

LEO / NEED

Shiho - reads mostly yuri. Prefers fluff over angst but she'll take what she can get.

Ichika - reads some GL, but way more platonic fics. She tried writing fics of her own at some point but never did anything with them because she didn't like how they turned out (she still has them, though. They're hidden in her room).

Saki - reads exclusively BL and yaoi. Will talk to you about it if you mention anything even slightly related.

Honami - vaguely knows what fanfiction is, but doesn't really read it. She tried reading some fics about a couple of celebrities she liked, but was a bit weirded out and left it alone since then. She has nothing against people who do read fics, though.

#project sekai #project sekai headcanons #omg whisk real??? (personal posts)#kinda #fanfiction

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thefirstknife · 1 year

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wanted to share some post Lighfall thoughts in my head with you (im sure most if this has been said or i got key concepts wrong but still)

I personally believe the Witness either is the First Knife or somehow has tricked itself into believing it is. (if the later then that's then it already had the desire to end universe and is using this to justify as an allegory for fascism)

my thoughts are summed up as this:

The Winnower wants to finish this round of the garden game. and wants to keep playing it over and over and over. It didn't seem to care about the Gardener wanting another round until she put herself into the game

The Witness is the Knife or somehow has vague spiritual metaphysical memories of the Knife and took its purpose the the most logical extreme:

It grew sick of round after round of the Game.

It is the Knife it wants to cut and cull all

The Winnower wants to play the game eternally which means restarting the game

The Knife wants to do it purpose and end the Game.

Permanently

To do this it must also end the Players so it can never restart again.

The Witness wants so somehow end the Game, end the Gardener, end the Winnower.

So that

The First Knife

becomes

The Final Shape

That's a really good summary of some of my thoughts as well!!

Obviously, a lot of this is very abstract and we might be looking at the Unveiling too much for hints, but ALSO. I think this would be super cool and would definitely explain a lot of stuff. And I would absolutely adore to see the Unveiling stuff be directly relevant in this way, and not just a metaphorical retelling of how the universe began.

An interesting lore tab from the raid lore book, page 9, that was available to unlock this week (the remaining 2 pages are tied to the red border chest, crisis averted. The chest was just bugged last week. Final raid lore book page next week!). Page 9 was... very peculiar. I'll copy it fully:

No clue who is the author. The first paragraph usually hints at the author, but this time I can't tell. Mention of "dream" and later suffering might suggest Nezarec talking to the Witness... or to something else. Or something else talking about the philosophy in general. This lore tab has Unveiling vibes to me, tbh. Mostly, the part about this data fragment coming from something "warped, barely-real" gives me massive Winnower vibes. It's a metaphor, an allegory, like the Unveiling.

I love the metaphor for the Light and Darkness philosophies, here presented with the story of a man coming upon a crossroads. The man asks the sky where to go, and there's no answer because that is for the man to choose. The Light doesn't direct anyone to anything, it lets you make your own choices. That is the essential part of the philosophy; freedom to choose.

The whole next bit with a wanderer that shows up to tell the man which path to take and even suggests brandishing a knife to exert a threat and force the man to pick is essential to the Darkness philosophy. Darkness wants to funnel you into a specific path and it will do everything in its power to make you go down that road.

But the author also muses about the knife. Is threatening violence a better way to make people obedient or is that actually ceding power? Once you show the knife, you can never sheathe it or else the threat goes away and so does your power. And even if you never sheathe it, someone might still risk fleeing. If you force someone to follow you, you are never allowed to stop threatening them, but the more you threaten, the more chance there is that the person being threatened will take the risk to flee once they're fed up. Which is what happened with several Darkness-aligned characters, most notably Savathun. She was coerced and lied to and threatened, and the longer that went on, the more she contemplated taking the risk to leave. And she succeeded.

The final sentence is also super important because it really explains why a lot of characters fall to Darkness in the first place. Because it makes the choice for them, and many are afraid of the unknown. They are too afraid to take the risk and make a choice for themselves and find it easier and safer to follow what is being told to them. Ergo, Darkness being "salvation."

And if we're on the right track, in this analogy, the wanderer telling the man which road to pick would be the Winnower, the Darkness. And the knife it pulls to make the threat? The Witness. It doesn't need to use the knife, but maybe at some point it considered it and now it's doubting its efficacy. Wouldn't it be easier if the man just listened instead of introducing the knife which complicates the interaction and possible outcomes?

We're in hardcore speculative territory here but it's one of the mos interesting thing to me right now, especially with all the new stuff we learned from Lightfall and the raid.

#destiny 2 #witness #darkness #winnower #the root of nightmares raid #long post #lore vibing #ask #this is a bit rambly but this lore is SO philosophical there's not much else to say other than to ramble #eagerly awaiting the final page next week

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matbedumb · 9 months

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Augusta is one of my favorite Gracie Abrams songs so I wanted to share my interpretation of it.

[Verse 1] :

Feel like maybe I might go to Boston

Cut my hair in the way that I've wanted

Change my number and bury my wallet

California makes me exhausted

For me it's a song that expresses a great feeling of uncertainty about life in general. Already from the first sentence we can see this uncertainty with "maybe" and "might" which shows this vague vision on her future. This first verse expresses a great need for change and a certain way of letting go. She feels the need to change city (in this case to go to Boston) to also change her physical appearance by cutting her hair. What's important is that she wants to cut them the way she wish without this restraint that prevents her from doing so and that's why I talk about letting go. With the third sentence we learn that she also has the need to completely change her identity in order to probably cut off contact with certain people who are part of her life and no longer be able to be recognized. And finally the last sentence of this first verse gives in part the reason for this need of total change: the state in which she lives (California) exhausts her. She must surely be suffocating in her town, not feeling well. I guess that whole first verse represents all of her musings about disappearing to completely change her horizons and possibly have a better new life in Boston. Except that precisely these are only daydreams and these are not things that she actually does.

[Chorus] :

I'm lost

The chorus screams uncertainty. She is completely disorientated, has no bearings, cannot create or imagine a future. She is disarmed in the face of life and does not know where she is going.

[Verse 2] :

Heard a poem about mid-October

How the leaves in the fall feel like closure

About a girl that the guy wasn't over

Think that I might relate when I'm older

For the second verse, (I'm not entirely sure of my analysis but) I think the mention of the fall highlights her need to disappear to become another person no one will know. Autumn represents decline and even death. The leaves begin to fall from the trees and then give way to the creation of new ones in the spring. I think it's a metaphor that again shows her need for change. Besides, she describes the leaves as a closure, it actually marks the end of a period, the closure of a period to move on to a new one potentially better than the previous one. So this poem she heard about mid-October reinforces her idea of renewal. (Maybe I'm going too far on this.) Then there's that uncertainty again with "might" in the last sentence.

The chorus remains the same except that this time "I'm lost" is said 4 times instead of 2 which shows that the situation is getting worse. She is twice as confused.

[Verse 3]

Tough, I don't know a lot that could hurt me

Learned the hard way to forget my body

'Til you're walking around like a zombie

Still don't know how to talk through that story

The third verse is based on her degraded sanity. The first line is my favorite of the whole song because it describes extremely well the state you are in when you feel so bad that you come to a state of complete indifference where nothing can affect you anymore, the world that surrounds you no longer has an impact on you, nothing really matters anymore. To the point where you no longer do the basic things like taking care of your body, eating well, etc. Until the moment you become a zombie, that is to say that you no longer have any real emotions or simply a soul. Just this void. And at the end we learn that it's something she keeps to herself because it's difficult to open up about it and talk about it, but above all she can't explain this situation and doesn't understand it very well. She is lost.

Ps : I don't know if anyone will read my analysis, but if anyone reads it, feel free to give your opinion on it, contradict me, or come and talk to me about it. It would pleasure me.

Kiss kiss

#gracie abrams #augusta #this is what it feels like

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pangolinheart · 8 months

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FFXIVWrite 2023 DAY 5 - BARBAROUS

Uhhhh I really don't know what happened with this one gang it kind of got out control. I couldn't help but think about the Werlyt questline, which are probably the bosses that Rhiki has found the most viscerally upsetting of any that she's faced. I thought it would probably remind her of all of the people she knows from Garlean-occupied territories. So because angst is squarely within my comfort zone, I decided to make it vaguely shippy to stretch my brain a little, with a pairing that I at one point bandied about but never really totally sold myself on. Anyway, in the spirit of the event and because I'm queueing this at 2:00 am, this has only been loosely edited. Apologies in advance for any typos!

Rating: Teen Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort Characters: Z'rhiki Irhi (Warrior of Light), Sidurgu Orl Pairings: Sidurgu Orl/Warrior of Light Word Count: 2,750 Content Warnings: Mentions of (non-explicit) body horror, mentions of character death, mentions of alcohol use, general angst

“Alright, what’s going on?” Sidurgu asked, closing the door to his room behind them.

Z’rhiki spared him a glance and a brief quirk of her lips as she moved past him deeper into the room. She slumped onto the edge of his unmade bed. “That obvious, huh?”

“Yes.” It really was. She couldn’t have believed she was hiding it well. It looked like she hadn’t slept in days – dark circles ringing her eyes and her skin an unusual pallor. Her hair was always tousled and choppy, but tonight it looked actually unkempt, perhaps from being blown about in the cold Coerthan wind. She hadn’t reached up to fix it, though. In fact, he noticed, she was hardly moving at all. It was strange to see her awake but almost entirely still; she was usually so animated that he had stopped noticing her constant flurry of movement until it was suddenly absent.

“For a start,” he continued when she didn’t respond, “It’s the middle of the night.”

She smiled weakly down at her hands. “Sorry,” She muttered quietly. “I figured you would still be up.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine.” She had been right – he kept odd hours, though less-so now the he had Rielle to look after. Having been kept underground for so long, with no way of knowing whether it was day or night, had taken its toll on her internal clock, too, but over time her schedule had begun to even out, which he thought was probably a good thing. Still, it was out of the ordinary for her to appear so late, after Rielle had already gone to bed. She hadn’t seemed in the mood for a drink or small talk, either.

“You look terrible,” He pointed out.

“Thanks.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Had the mood been different, he might have been willing to indulge her with some of their usual back-and-forth, but tonight seemed… different.

The room fell silent, save for the whistling of wind through the poorly sealed window panes.

“So…?” He started when she didn’t offer any further explanation, trailing off in the vain hope that she would continue his sentence. It was unnerving to see her this quiet, too. He’d seen her like this before, but only once or twice. It must have been bad.

He leaned back against the table across from his bed, absently brushing some of the bottles out of his way, and looked at her expectantly.

She shook her head back at him, though she was still examining the cracked plaster at the base of the opposite wall. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing. I’m fine.” That clearly wasn’t true. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Sidurgu sighed. “Alright,” – he certainly wasn’t in a position to demand she open up about her feelings – “Then... what do you want me to do?” Did she want to drink? Have sex? What? ‘Why is she here…?’

Another headshake. “Nothing, nothing…” Finally, she raised her eyes to look at him. “It’s just… good to see you, is all.”

He blinked. He hadn’t been expecting to hear that.

“That bad, was it?” He huffed.

“Don’t say that,” she responded in a low voice, looking away again.

It was true, but he didn’t intend to press the issue tonight, if he ever intended to press it at all. The pattern hadn’t been lost on him, though. This was where she always came when things had been bad. And the worse they had been, the more likely she was to turn up at the Forgotten Knight. Usually, she was able to keep it together while Rielle was around, appearing her normal chatty, sunshine-y self. After Rielle went to bed, however…

He wasn’t sure if her late arrival tonight had been intentional or just happenstance.

He pushed himself off the table and came to settle next to her with a sigh. To his surprise, she almost instantly leaned into him, resting her cheek against his bicep and making him glad that he had let Rielle talk him into wearing “normal” clothes once in a while. Rhiki was always the touch-y type, but she didn’t usually get so… cuddly unless she’d been drinking.

He didn’t move, just let her press against him. He waited. Either she would say something, or they would just sit in silence like this all night. He could live with that – it wouldn’t be the first long, snowy night he’d spent awake, after all.

They sat quietly for a time, listening to the wind and the creaking of the old wooden sign above the tavern door outside. The sparse candles that lit the room flickered.

Eventually, she did speak again, quietly but clearly.

“I just came from Werlyt.”

“Werlyt?” He’d heard of the place, but had only vague knowledge of it. He knew it was the territory that lay between Garlemald and Ala Mhigo, and that it had been occupied by the Empire, but little beyond that.

He felt her nod against him. For a handful of seconds, he thought she’d lapsed into silence again, but it seemed she had just been gathering her thoughts.

“Do you ever think about… what it would be like if you’d never come to Ishgard?”

He snorted. Even he could hear the bitterness in his voice when he said, “I haven’t bothered thinking about that in years.” There was no point in dwelling on what might have been. Not when he had his hands full contending with what was.

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” was all she said in response.

He considered leaving it at that, but his curiosity got the better of him. “What makes you ask that?”

This time he felt another headshake. “Nothing, I just…” Her voice cracked. “It was really bad, Sid.”

He’d been able to figure that much out on his own.

She was trembling now, ever so slightly, though her breathing was unnaturally even – trying to keep herself calm, he supposed. Awkwardly, he shifted their position so that the arm that she had been leaning against was instead wrapped around her.

“Tell me,” he said softly. It was the least he could do for her. Hells, it was the only thing he could do for her.

Another wordless moment stretched between them, and he began to think she wasn’t going to. Sometimes, especially lately, she didn’t want to. He remembered the words she had said the first night he’d seen her after her return from the First.

“I have to live the rest of my life with all of these horrible pictures in my head. I don’t want you to have to live with them too.”

He had enough of his own already.

Then again, it wasn’t like he could get much more damaged, so to hells with it. What was the saying? ‘Pain shared is pain halved’ or some such bullocks? That certainly wasn’t true, but at least pain shared was… well, shared.

Rhiki seemed content with the new arrangement of their bodies and rested her head against his chest so he could see only half of her face when he looked down.

“There were these siblings,” she said after a while.

“They were from Werlyt – orphans, I think. Only two of them were actually related. Their parents were probably killed in the Garlean invasion. But they were taken in by Gaius van Baelsar, of all people, and I guess they enlisted in the Imperial Army before he defected….

“Anyway, they got involved in this project the Garlean military was working on to create warmachina like the Ultima Weapon. That’s why I was called there – to help stop a Garlean war machine headed towards Eorzea. We met them, for a few minutes, right before the first machine appeared, and they traded some heated words with Gaius. The youngest one couldn’t have been older than 16….”

She had managed to keep her composure so far, and even lifted her head from him a little as she spoke. Clearly, though, she hadn’t begun to broach the part that had shaken her.

“After that, the Ruby Weapon – that was what they called it – showed up. We couldn’t just let it march all the way through to Ala Mhigo, of course, so we tried to stop it. Everything was going pretty well, but then it all got… got weird. Suddenly there was this yelling, screaming, from inside of the machine and then the top of it started to crack. Then there was this horrible, wet sound and something exploded out of it. It-It looked like Nael Van Darnus, or at least some twisted version of him- her? But it had wings. It was all white and slick and dripping this awful-smelling fluid everywhere… just thinking about it makes me want to vomit.”

She shuddered, then sucked in a deep breath.

“And if fought like Nael too – don’t ask me how I know. But we managed to take it down, somehow. And that’s… that’s when we learned the worst part. They were trying to get to the pilot, maybe salvage some parts and figure out what the Garleans were up to with it if they could, but,” She was shaking again, her voice becoming hoarse and pitchy, and she buried her face back into his shirt. “There was nothing we could do! The pilot, one of the siblings, she… she was fused into the machine. Cid – Cid Garland, I mean – said it must have been an agonizing way to die. I heard the screaming but I- I didn’t know what was happening!”

By that point he could see tears starting to slide down her cheeks. His grip around her tightened in a way he hoped was comforting. He never knew what to do or what to say when she cried. So he usually didn’t do or say anything at all, which, somehow, seemed to be just the thing she wanted.

“And it wasn’t an accident! I was designed to do that! All so that- so that they could hijack the poor pilot’s brain and upload combat data of famous Garlean soldiers! It was awful! And Gaius – Gaius has done horrible things to thousands of people but- but no one deserves to have something like that happen to someone they care about, not even him!”

Sid grimaced. He didn’t know if it was the words themselves or the way they made his friend tremble and sob against him, but they hung like a heavy weight on his stomach.

“And it kept happening!” She continued, unable to stop the words once they had started flowing. “And I couldn’t do anything to stop it! I knew what was happening but I- I couldn’t just let them kill people! They all died horrific, excruciating deaths! And for what?” One of her hands had found purchase on his shirt and twisted in it.

“As if that wasn’t awful enough, the- the few times I actually saw them I got visions, through the Echo, of things that happened back within their legion and… the Garleans, the legatus, they treated them like they were garbage! Like they weren’t even people! I guess to them they weren’t! And I- It was just- I guess I had always known what the world was like but I… how can people be so cruel to each other? The sineaters on the First were terrible in their own way, but they were just monsters! They didn’t have any thoughts, or feelings – they just existed to consume and corrupt. But these were people! And it’s so much worse knowing that regular people can be that monstrous! How can anyone get any joy out of something so- so horrible? The Garleans call us savages, but that… that was just barbaric. And I can’t help but think of everyone I know, all of my friends, who are from places that Garlemald invaded – you, Naago, Yugiri, Raubahn, Lyse… and how if just a few things had been different one of you could have ended up in the same place, and how I can’t stand to think of anyone treating you the way those poor people – kids! – were treated!“

She broke off for a short while, muffling her sobs into his chest while he looked down at her helplessly. After a few slow, trembling breaths, she composed herself enough to go on, quieter this time.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop dreaming about it. Sometimes it’s just like living through it all over again, but sometimes when we open the machine it’s not one of them…. Sometimes it’s Yugiri. Sometimes it’s Naago. But a lot of times it’s also you, too, and I-“ She broke off, pulling away just enough to wipe furiously at her eyes with the back of her hand. “And I know that’s stupid! And that there’s no reason to think about it! But I can’t- I just-“

A few more deep breaths. Sidurgu wasn’t sure what to think about… any of it, really. It did seem like a strange mental leap to make, and he was a little surprised she found it so distressing, especially on his account. Regardless, it was clear how much it had upset her, and he couldn’t fault her for that.

“And I- I don’t mean to say that what happened to you and your family here was any better – it wasn’t! And it would be terrible of me to act like it was but…” She wrapped both of her arms around his waist having to pull herself almost into his lap to do so. Her head came to rest against his chest again. “I’m just glad that you’re here, where I can come see you and talk to you and give you a hug, rather trapped in one of those-those machines.”

He exhaled, eventually wrapping both of his arms around her as well. The gesture seemed to calm her a bit, and they sat like that for a few minutes, feeling the warmth of one another and the rise and fall of each other’s chests.

Eventually, Rhiki started to peel herself back from him. “I’m sorry,” she sniffled, rubbing at her red eyes again, this time with the heel of her hand. “I’m sorry. That was a lot. I didn’t mean to just dump all of that on y-“

“It’s fine.” He cut her off. He had never been very good at sounding soothing, but he did his best. “I’m here. I’m fine.”

That wasn’t true, of course. Neither of them were fine, or they wouldn’t be where they were. But he was sure she understood his meaning. He wasn’t fine, but he was at least at a typical level of un-fine.

“I know.” She offered him a trepidatious smile, her face still damp from tears. “I just needed to remind myself.”

She pulled him into another, fiercer hug, and he huffed in a familiar display of feigned annoyance. He took a moment to enjoy the embrace nonetheless, and reached one hand up to scratch lightly at the base of her scalp.

“It’s late. Do you want to stay the night?” He knew how she would answer even before he felt the nod.

“Are you going to let go of me?”

“No,” she mumbled into his shirt.

He sighed, and hoped she didn’t see how dangerously close he came to smiling. Oh well. He supposed there were worse places to be.

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2023 #final fantasy xiv #rhiki tag #sidurgu orl #SidWoL #WoLSid #“i'm going to make these shorter so i don't burn myself out”#i say (lying)#I hope some people enjoy this one!#So far it's a tie with Day 1 for “most fun to write”#shadowbrings spoilers #sorrow of werlyt #sorrow of werlyt spoilers

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languagefeatures · 9 months

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Basics of Hupa Verb Structure

(Sources listed at the bottom)

Hupa is the sort of language where the sentence “He picked it back up” can be expressed in one verb. So using that as our example word, let me show you the basic way that verbs work in Hupa, and to a greater or lesser extent, Athabascan languages in general.

The root of a Hupa verb is always a single syllable and always comes after a series of obligatory prefixes. You can think of the verb root as being roughly equivalent to the actual verb in an English sentence. The roots of many of the most common verbs conjugate for tense by changing the vowel and the final consonant, much like English irregular verbs (think “see/saw”, “break/broke”, et cetera), although many do not have tense specific forms (like “put/put”).

Immediately before the root comes a prefix which Athabascan language specialists call the classifier prefix. This prefix is only a single consonant, and it tells you whether the verb is intransitive or transitive, and whether it is active or passive. Or at least, that is how it generally works; not all verbs fall into the class you would expect based on its activeness/passiveness and transitivity. The closest equivalent in English is that “he picked it back up” would take a Class 2 (active transitive) prefix /ɬ/ and “it was picked up” would take a Class 4 (passive transitive) prefix /l/. The root and the classifier prefix together form the stem.

Like the word “pick” in the English verb “pick up”, the root of a lot of verbs is not truly complete without an adverbial element (“up”) which completes the meaning. The stem and the adverbial element together is called the “base” of the verb. So in our English analogy, “pick” is the root, and “pick up” is the base. These adverbial elements tend to provide details about the direction of motion (such as “up”), position (“in”) or the manner effect on the object (Hupa has adverbial elements meaning “to pieces”), or the destination of some motion (one element means “into water”, another means “into the mouth”). Hupa verb roots tend to be quite vague in meaning when in comes to these qualities; a root that means “handle a round object” could appear in bases meaning “pick up”, “put down,” or “carry.” These adverbial elements are the first prefixes which appear on a Hupa verb when they are present; all other prefixes come between them and the stem.

The equivalent of “back”, implying that the motion is a return to a previous state, comes right after the first adverbial element.

Since the subject of the sentence “He picked it back up” is in third person, the subject is marked right after the two kinds of adverbial elements. There is no “he/she” distinction for the third person subject, although there is one prefix which can only be applied to human beings, and one which can be applied to humans and other things. The direct object prefix immediately follows this prefix.

In perfective tenses, the perfective prefixes (described in more detail here) come after the pronominal prefixes. They add a sense of beginning, ending, or progress to a perfective verb. Since picking something up begins a state of holding something, it is probably appropriate here. Immediately after these prefixes come the subject prefixes for the first or second person, when applicable. immediately after those comes the stem of the verb.

Thus, if English were an Athabascan language, you would put “He picked it back up” as “UP-BACK-HE-IT-[perfective]-[active transitive]-PICKED”. However, if I wanted to say “I picked it back up,” I would say “UP-BACK-IT-[perfective]-I-[active transitive]-PICKED.”

This is a simplified illustration of how it generally works. There are irregularities and wrinkles all over this system, and features that I did not mention. Verbs in other Athabascan languages, like Navajo, function in a similar way, although Navajo verbs often also incorporate indirect objects, adpositional objects, and other tense/aspect prefixes as well.

Often, researchers will treat an Athabascan verb as one with a series of “slots”, in other words, places relative to other prefixes where a prefix can go. Like this:

This is a useful way to visualize it, but it obscures the fact that often, the elements of a verb don’t really behave like a simple string of morphemes. Don’t be fooled. This is a natural language after all, not Ithkuil.

Sources:

Hupa Grammar – Victor Karl Golla, 1960

Hupa - Entry in the Handbook of American Indian Languages, Pliny Earle Goddard; 1911

#linguistics

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mermaidsirennikita · 1 year

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ARC Review: Yours Truly, the Duke by Amelia Grey

2/5. Releases 3/28/2023.

For when you're vibing with... Marriage of convenience, kids in romance, low steam, a lot of focus on family issues.

Fighting for custody of her dead sister's three children, Fredericka needs a husband to solidify her case. Enter the Duke of Wyatthaven--"Wyatt"--who, for his own reasons, proposes a marriage of convenience. She'll get the kids, and they'll live separately. Until, as it turns out, they can't quite do the living separately thing--and Frederick ends up on Wyatt's doorstep with all three children.

This was a case of... It's not you, it's me. Like, I'll admit, I don't love kids in romance novels--but sometimes I do. They're not a definite "no", though, so I wanted to give Amelia Grey a shot. I just don't think her style is for me, but I'm sure it's for many.

Quick Takes:

--Amelia Grey has a light, frothy approach to prose. The book is well-written in that sense, even if the story didn't quite keep my attention, and I can see why people would enjoy the airiness, the humor, etc.

--I enjoyed Wyatt and his friends; there's a really cute moment in the beginning when he's attempting to compose a letter proposing marriage that was probably my favorite scene in the book.

--This is, like I mentioned earlier, "low steam". It's not exactly sexless, because they do have sex. But I've got to say--I don't really know why the author bothered, or why authors bother at all with sex scenes that aren't sex scenes. There are two (I think?) vague sentences. It actually frustrates me to read that kind of thing. I'd rather nothing than two vague sentences. Pick one or the other, for me--swaying in between teases but doesn't fulfill. If the sex was plot important (which, debatable) you might as well just allude to the marriage being consummated in dialogue or a quick throwaway thought, or by having them wake up in bed together.

--I don't know why they fell in love. She was a bit annoying. He was a bit of an asshole. There was no physical connection, at least not from what I could see. But really, it just felt like they fell in love because that was supposed to happen, not because it was natural.

The Sex Stuff:

See above. It's really, really vague.

It wasn't for me. I wish it was. But I think I just found that the lack of chemistry between the leads, the lack of heat, and that vagueness culminated in something that was, unfortunately, forced.

Thank you to Netgalley and St. Martin's Press for providing me with a copy of this book. All opinions are mine.

#romance novel blogging #netgalley #book recs #book reviews #books #arc reviews

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crisalidaseason · 10 months

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Who is the monster, who is the human?

Chapter 2 - Infirmary visits (check index for more) (check chapter 1 here)

Chapter summary: You fall ill and frequently visits the infirmary, Armin is also there and you two talk a little.

Tags and CW: reader has a fake name, chronically ill reader, based on my symptoms but I tried to make it vague, fainting, migraines, chronic fatigue, mentions of bandaged wounds, mentions of past neglect and death, past medical neglect, slight angst, reader has a very negative and pessimistic view of their disability, a bit of chemistry talk (not much, bc I am not an expert)

A month after your team arrived at Paradis Island, you felt like a year had passed. Everyday, for thirty days, you found yourself organizing the labs, cataloging safety equipment and glassware, starting on producing some plant extracts, helping the physicists with their fueling alternatives. There was not a single hour of the day you were not working, and that quickly caught up to you.

“That’s not good” Viktor said while fanning you with a hardcover book “we should take you to the infirmary”

“I am fine” you said “I’m just tired”

You were not fine, your limbs and breathing were not responding well throughout the week and it was worsening with every passing day. You felt sore and moving was more difficult than usual. You still blamed the heat, but realistically it could not be the only reason. Your body was failing you again.

“I’ll take you to the infirmary” Viktor said “please do not protest”

The tall boy grabbed your right arm, pulling you against his side and encouraging your legs to work again. You flopped back into your seat. Viktor sighed in frustration, he would not be able to carry you to an infirmary properly.

“Wait here, don’t move”

You wanted to send him a hard stare, but your head was heavy, so you chose to flip him instead. A few moments later, you heard Maria and Viktor approaching.

“They’ve been like this for about an hour” he said to Maria.

“My my” she said, approaching your weak frame “you look like shit, come on, let’s get you checked”

Maria was significantly stronger than Viktor, her grip was firm enough that your legs were barely touching the ground. Your vision was too blurry to make out the way, but at some point you found yourself in front of a large door frame leading to the infirmary.

“Nurse” Viktor called from the doorway, knocking.

“Come in!” said a female voice.

“My comrade isn’t well” Maria said “I think they’re about to faint”

The woman, probably the nurse, appeared and quickly guided Maria to the nearest bed.

“The heat is not kind to foreigners, let me grab some iced water to cool them down” the woman disappeared between the curtains.

“go back to the lab” you managed to say “sterilize the glassware-”

“Alright, shut up” Maria said “we can spare some hours to make sure you’re safe”

You sighed in frustration. You really wanted things to be over already, there was no need for two people to worry about something you had your entire life, you did not want anybody by your side. The illness was yours to suffer.

“Please go back” you insisted.

It took some convincing, and the nurse kicking them out, for you to finally be alone. The middle aged woman delicately placed a cold cloth on your forehead and on the back of your neck, rubbing some sort of cream under your nose and between your brows. You were not sure when you slipped into unconsciousness, only noticing when you woke up to someone rustling close by. There were sounds of someone squeezing the water out of a cloth, the cold sensation startled you a little when the person placed it on your head.

“How long have I been out for?” your voice was rough, but at least you could form a sentence.

“About an hour”

The voice was smooth, neither deep nor high pitched, a perfect balance in between. Not at all the voice of a middle aged nurse. You curiously opened your eyes, only to have them almost pop out of your sockets. It was him! The boy from the mess hall with the strangest blue eyes you had ever seen. He was close enough for you to notice the bag under his eyes, a deep purple color. You wondered what he was doing there, he had gauze wrapped around his wrists and probably arms and torso, if the piece of wrapping peeking through his shirt was any indication.

“You’re not the nurse” you blurted.

His light brows were rather expressive, frowning at you.

“Um…sorry, Miss Bront is the only nurse in here”

You made a gesture with your hands, telling him not to worry.

“I mean you are also hurt, should you be standing and tending to another person?”

“I don’t mind doing her a favor. Also, I am not hurt” he said “technically”

“What do you mean?” you were beyond confused.

“Long and unnecessary story” he said “besides, I am in much better condition than you are. What happened?”

He was wrapped like a piece of dry meat, you doubted he was in better shape.

“Nothing that concerns you. No offense…what’s your name?” you asked.

“Armin Arlert”

What an odd name, you thought.

“Well, Armin Arlert, no offense, but I’d rather share this story with the nurse”

“Fair enough…name?”

“Obizu” you said, giving him the fake name you always used.

“Fair enough, Obizu” he concluded.

A few moments passed. He was sitting beside your bed, illuminated by the early afternoon sunlight. You found yourself staring at his defined profile, he had an upturned nose that could send any marleyan woman into an envy induced rage, at the same time, his jawline was prominent and delicate. His short hair was a pale warm yellow and seemed to be the softest. His appearance was strange and balanced, you imagined that made him stand out anywhere. You broke your stare, there was nothing beneficial in finding that boy attractive.

“I thought this place would be chaotic and full” you said, noticing the rather calm ambience.

“It’s usually more crowded during cadet training season” he said, resting his eyes on you “they graduated last month”

“You’re here often?” you mocked “you know quite a lot”

“Yes, I am here often” his voice sounded annoyed at something.

You did not ask why, despite your curiosity. He stood up to damp the cloths again, which gave you an opportunity to see him better. He had an average height for an eldian, they were usually very tall, he had a leaner physique and surprisingly gracious movements. It was hard to figure his age, he looked so young and also older at the same time.

“Sorry to keep you waiting” the nurse from before said, opening the curtain “thank you, Armin, now go back to your own bed, I’ll check you healing stage pretty soon”

Armin nodded, pulling the curtain and disappearing. The nurse rubbed more of what seemed to be menthol on you, which was odd and unfamiliar. You never had a nurse put actual care and attention on you, the nurses in Marley would not even bat an eye at your unconscious form, Viktor and Gael often had to beg someone to spare you a look.

“Can you tell me what happened?” she asked.

“I just overworked myself” you said.

She nodded, asking you to turn around with a gesture. You laid on your side while she rubbed the menthol on the back of your neck.

“I’ll give you a can of this mint paste, it should help with the pressure on the head. It won’t cure the issue but it mitigates the symptoms a little. The best would be to cool down after being exposed to the heat”

You nodded, not even bothering to tell her the heat sickness was the last problem in your body. There was no need in telling her either since, realistically, you would never recover. This illness was your companion since childhood, worsening with every passing year of your life as if a punishment for all of your wrong deeds. There was a point in life you tried to heal and cure whatever this illness was, but after all you lived through, after all those years in your line of work, you almost felt unworthy of healing.

“Thank you” you simply replied.

The nurse asked you to remain there the rest of the afternoon, the dizziness still preventing you from moving without throwing up. You barely noticed when the curtains moved, the nurse reapplying the menthol and also giving you some nausea medicine when your gagging turned audible enough. She tried to feed you soup a few times, but you refused it, not sure if you would be able to keep it in your stomach. Slipping in and out of consciousness, you ended up moved from the infirmary to most likely your room, not sure of how you made it.

The next day you were feeling weak, your vision blurry and limbs trembling. Viktor and Gael managed to bring you some soup, coaching you to drink it and eat some fruits he somehow had access to. You wanted to ask where he got that sort of food, but waited for your voice to find its way. It took an entire morning and afternoon of small drinks and bites of food, menthol in ungodly amounts, some peppermint tea to help with the nausea and hydration until you felt less bad.

“Your face has color again” Gael said when you managed to eat the last of the banana slices.

Gael was not your favorite person in the world, but you had to admit he earned your gratitude for the amount of times he dealt with your illness. He was an understanding man, one of the few people who never scorned you for falling ill.

“Commander Hange will be glad to hear you’re starting to recover” he said again “they were concerned”

The commander? How strange, you thought.

“Did they provide this food?” you managed to blurt out.

“Yes!” Viktor said “they sent their assistant here with a tray of decent food, we were all confused by how they even knew you were unwell”

‘Decent’ was not doing the food justice, fruits were almost luxury in Marley. You were a little uneasy, why would the commander even remember you enough to care for your well being?

“Maybe the nurse said something?” Maria said, leaning on the door.

“There is even a note!” Gael said.

He gave you the piece of paper, your eyes took a while to focus on the nice handwriting.

Sending you some of the good resources we have access to in hopes you can heal better. It is not much, but hopefully it gives you a kickstart on your healing.

Commander Zoe and assistant Arlert wish you a full recovery

Assistant Arlert, as in Armin Arlert maybe. You stared at his name on the paper. You refused to believe they did out of pure kindness, it made absolutely no sense. Were you so miserable looking when Armin was watching over you? Did he simply feel compelled to help you? Or was it all a smart move to infiltrate himself in your group with ill intentions? You had no idea, but you had half a mind to not let yourself feel grateful until you found out the reason behind it.

“What did I miss?” you changed the subject.

“Not much” Viktor said, sitting on the foot of your bed “we visited the ice-fire mines the island is so famous for, finished cleaning all the glassware for you and Sofia, bought some plants you often use and acquired some of the confidential documents to start working on their weaponry”

The concept of ‘not much’ was something Viktor clearly did not understand. Catching up to all of that would be headache inducing, you hoped that menthol would do its job.

“I can’t believe I missed the mines” you grunted “was Sofia there?”

“Yes” Gael said “want me to call her?”

Sofia was a loner in every way, much like you, but when it came to chemistry she spoke endlessly. She told you about their visit briefly, but soon shared important observations the two of you were already theorizing about said ice-fire the island had.

“We asked for some of the gas to be delivered to the lab to confirm it, but I am sure it is some sort of methane form” she said “captain Levi told us about how they use it and it checks all the boxes for methane behavior”

“No wonder it’s such a highly exported product” you said “but do they use it daily? or just the military?”

“Apparently only the military used to harvest it” Viktor complemented “they have reports of accidents and death involving the mines, which makes the civilians weary of it”

Another methane behavior, specially hydromethane. You did not like this, exporting the material was selling your best resource to countries who could turn against you, at the same time you understood they needed to establish economical agreements, and if methane was their only useful product, so be it. You were already thinking about how to stabilize it for general use in the lab, maybe even expand it for civilian use. There was much more work to be done and you were already anticipating the frequent visits to the infirmary.

“I’ll have to send a strict note to your captain” nurse Bront was almost fuming “It could have been a head injury”

You indeed returned to the infirmary a week later. This time, your blood pressure and eyesight failed, causing you to fall in the shower and almost split your head open, Sofia was the one to notice the strange amount of time you were in the bathroom. To be fair, the nurse had every right to be upset, a head injury was a nightmare for the injured and the medical staff. You had seen many people suffer with internal bleeding for weeks before death finally reached them.

“You can’t seem to catch a break”

And of course that Armin Arlert was there. Luck hated you just as much as you hated her.

“Look who’s talking” you mumbled.

You heard a chuckle and opened your tired eyes, seeing him laying two beds away, on your right. Despite your blurry vision, you could see that he was even more bandaged up, his shirtless torso covered with gauze, some blood staining them. You wondered if he was still recovering from the same injury.

“You look awful” you said “what was your injury anyway?"

Nurse Bront shielded him from your vision, making you swallow a bitter tablet with no water. She measured your blood pressure once again, writing it down.

“Long story” he said.

The nurse left your bedside, heading to Armin’s and closing the private curtain. She did not do the same with me, you bitterly thought. Maybe being the commander’s assistant had its perks, such as infirmary privacy.

“I’ll be here a while anyway” you mumbled again, more to yourself.

“You’re all healed, no scarring whatsoever” you heard the nurse say to him “you may leave”

“Can I stay a little? Hange has been draining me to death” he sighed.

You imagined the answer was positive since the nurse left to tend to other patients but Armin did not. A few moments later his curtain was pulled aside, revealing a fully clothed boy.

“Do you always ask people why they are injured? Quite nosy” he asked.

He sat on the chair nearby, munching on something that resembled some sort of grain bar.

“Do you always send a tray of stolen food to random ill people?” you shot back.

“Not really" he shrugged, face slowly becoming red “and I didn’t steal the food…not this time”

The commander’s assistant was a thief.

“Consider it a thanks from commander Hange” he said “they are very keen on making your group feel welcomed”

“But why?” you asked.

He shrugged again, which made you furious for some reason. Could he give you a straight answer for once?

“There are many answers to that, but none of them are ill intentioned” he said.

Of course you would never believe this. He was a stranger, a very strikingly beautiful one, but a stranger nonetheless.

“So, what happened? Did our food make you sick?” he said “I promise we did not poison it”

“No” you replied “the food was nice. I'm just wrong on the inside"

The thing you hated the most was the sight of pity, it was something that defined whether you could stand people or not. Armin did not look at you with pity, instead he nodded and smiled bitterly.

"Same here" he said.

That moment, you wondered if there was more to Armin than just an injured soldier. It almost seemed like he spoke from within, as if your situation was just like his. You remembered what Hange said about soldiers not being able to retire even when they were injured. Behind his blue eyes, you recognized the terrifying feeling you held in your own mind, the feeling that your entire body composition was a mistake, that your existence was an unstable solution ready to simply burst.

Armin’s last words echoed through your mind for days, your conversation cut short when a soldier requested his presence in the commander’s quarters. You were forced to recover in bed, mourning the setback you would have on your work, and the fear of jeopardizing the mission was becoming stronger. The days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into one more month. Throughout all of that time, you occasionally received small trays of fruits and soups, even some local herbal medicines for general nutrition, but none of those ‘gifts’, if you could call it that, had a note. You wondered if Armin was doing that illegally, it would justify the anonymity, or maybe it was the commander.

“Are you alright?” Sofia asked “you seem distracted”

You were finally returning to the lab, now finally assembled thanks to your team, Sofia was informing about the progress done so far.

“Sorry, Sofia” you said “It’s just a lot of information, I'm still processing”

She nodded, continuing to tell you about all the progress and future plans. You tried your best to pay attention, pushing the pretty blonde boy with dull eyes out of your mind and miserably failing.

#armin aot #armin arlert #armin fanfic #armin x reader #armin x you #aot x reader #aot x you

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riewritten · 1 year

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what do you do when inspiration suddenly hits you? like do you just memorize it in ur head or note it somewhere or do u work on that idea immediately?? im very very curious about ur creative process PLEASE OVERSHARE because i believe there are things that are new to me. like you write and draw and it's amazing how tou do both! i'm more curious about ur writing process because i don't write much (nowadays i only journal or write diary entries, in the past i did write fanfictions but they're almost all oneshots or unplanned dropped after 2 or 3 chapters). (how) do you plan your storyline? do you consider yourself flexible (like are u comfortable with changing plans in a big project where one change could lead to other changes?). Do you beta read by yourself or is there anyone who does it? if you do it by yourself, what do you feel when re-reading your writings? i literally have sm questions but i don't wanna overwhelm you 😭😭😭 you don't need to answer if you don't want to, that's alright!!!

when u said i could overshare

for whenever the inspiration hits, i tend to start on it immediately. writing is such a mood booster for me and i'm in a low mood most of the time so i seize the moment whenever motivation comes :'D sometimes when i'm busy (let's say school/work) and a great idea pops in (usually in quote format), i just lay it down in my gdocs. for oneshots, 1 doc would suffice. for longfics, the docs per chapter are contained in a folder.

i don't think i'm great in fan arts (i just get the boost from those who draw well—like u!) so i'm glad you appreciate it as well <3

regarding my writing process, someone actually asked me about it before! but to generalize my answer there, i ponder on 3 things (plot, characterization, & chapter study). my first fic (and my first series in general) was dusk in the brightest. i worked on chapter study first: detailed sequence of events from C1-10, vague concept in 11-15, then the rest is just 2-3 sentences of how i want the story to end. the 2nd one, character study, was smth i learned from a professor in one of my subjects when i submitted a one-act play script to her and she heavily criticized my characterization (like so badly i still get jitters remembering it) 😭 since then, i've been very wary with getting things accurate and consistent with my characters. for my plot-heavy fics, that's what i'm most serious for.

i think my flexibility (i dont even think i got that) was v challenged during the last arc of DIB because i suddenly had a complete change of mind with the ending (exactly what u had mentioned: changes that would lead one thing to the other). it was def not comfortable but a great tip (i think) to work around it is that: go back to your earlier chapters, pick up the most random scenarios you had made, then come up with a reason why that random thing ensued. an example of executing it is how isayama worked around aot's first scene (child!eren crying & mikasa being the first one he sees) by connecting it to his last scene in the manga (ofc i wouldn't assume isayama just thought abt it midway. it's just with how he executed it).

i don't have lots of friends in this app so i usually do the revisions all by myself. i'm a type of author that releases chapters impulsively—i'd publish smth that i hadn't proofread yet, read it in the app, then just do all the editing there. i'll repeat the process until i finally get satisfied. i think it's easier for me to point out mistakes when i feel the urgency to do so (like omg i have to hurry in polishing this bc readers might click anytime soon 😭) though someone helped me change POVs (from 1st to 2nd) in DIB C1-13 and let me tell u that i never thought having someone help me beta read my work could bring me so much delight.

and pls don't worry about overwhelming me! using this app and dumping all my work here are literally what keeps me sane from the overwhelming things in my life atm. to have u appreciate it gives me joy & comfort. thats why i'd be honored to answer all of ur questions :'D

#can i also just say that i propelled a scream when u sent me this ask #LIKE 🥺🥺🥺#u have my whole heart #rie answers

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phantom-of-the-ruckus · 1 year

Text

Ambition Part 2

Ambition part 1

Sumary:Just as she thought she outsmarted Riley, Sarabeth encounters an unwanted surprised as she is forced to stay.

Relationships: None/Mention of boyfriend

This is part of a crossover with @dolly-royal for our "Duality AU", some concepts might appear in my cannon divergent AU too. I might write a prequel focused on Randy meeting with Mortimer. I will heavily suggest that you read part 1 first to understand how Beth got into the place and why Scout is referred to Hannah in this.

Slight trigger warning for mentions of death characters, implications of cults, and mind games

"This is a restricted area, you know? Well, it was in plain show before." A vaguely familiar British voice spoke. Beth froze in place as the door shut behind her. Mortimer humorously took a sip of his cup. "Oh, you look so much like your dear late great aunt! Come and take a seat, I promise not to taunt."

Out all the rooms Sarabeth Jenkins could go, she had to enter Mortimer's office of course! Trying to hide the fact that she was desperate to leave, Beth gave Mortimer a gentle (well, rather forced) smile as she tried to reach for the doorknob. Mortimer didn't seem to fall for this as he said.

"Don't try to flee, I have put a spell on the door to prevent you to leave." He said with calmly but with a rather serious tone. "Like I said before, I promise not to harm you, so I don't wish to alarm you. Take a seat, dear. I am sure exhausted from trying to get things clear."

He lazily gestured the empty chair in front of his desk. Something inside Beth told her that it was better to sit instead of trying to play with Mortimer's temper. So, she took the seat, giving a casual glance to the door to see the doorknob was missing, before taking a sit. She clutched Hannah tightly to soothe herself.

"I see that you were curious about the spell I use. It was an old magic trick, I often love to produce." Mortimer explained with some chuckles. "I often use it to mess up with my peers. You know to bring them good cheers."

"I see. That's a good joke." Beth muttered unsure of what she was doing. She was basically stuck inside an office with Mortimer. The leader of those murderous puppets.

"Tea?" Mortimer asked raising his kettle and a cup. "I promise it's not poisoned, but well I hope you find it rather wholesome. It's a recipe your Great Aunt left, and I am sure you will like it quite well." He said as he served her some tea.

Beth hesitantly took the cup. She closed her eyes and took some sips. It wasn't bitter but had a hint of lemon and ginger. It reminded her of her late Grandmama Rosemary when Beth was tree.

"Familiar, eh?" Mortimer chuckled as he took another sip. "Amy and father adored having tea, it is a shame of what came to be from them."

Beth frown momentarily as she stared at the cup in front of her. Finding her voice, she stared at the puppet in front of her and asked.

"You knew Amyrose Kruber?" Beth asked. Mortimer stared at her with amusement.

"Yes. I am surprised that you didn't ask how I knew you were her grandniece." Mortimer chuckled to himself as he put the cup down.

Beth's eyes widened. Did he say a sentence without rhyming?!

"You didn't rhyme..."Beth muttered.

"I beg your pardon? I think I heard your ramble..." He snickered at her as he teased. "Go ahead ask your questions, after all I don't mind your suggestions."

"You can speak without rhyming." Beth stated. Mortimer nodded still staring at her with amusement, almost as if she was an amazed little girl who witness a magician trick. "If you can speak normally, why don't you do it then?"

"What is the fun in doing that? After all it is a fun way to mess with ya." Mortimer explained. "Life is too short my dear for just sitting down and doing things without a charm. So, I chose to rhyme all the time and make my mind think into something without doing much harm."

Not sure how to take that, Beth simply settled with "I see."

"Now, you can ask your real questions, Sarabeth." Mortimer said, this time choosing not to rhyme.

"Oh, so you will just go on and off with Rhyming, huh?" Beth commented sipping her tea. Mortimer just stared at her with his smile. Taking this as a yes, she decided to get into some real questions. "How did you know my name?"

Mortimer raised an eyebrow at her and ask rhetorically. "Don't you think Riley would share? Of course, that I was the one that she would not hesitate to spill it out without dropping a hair."

Beth mentally facepalmed at her own stupidity.

"You are tense, as far as I can tell. So let me give you a Handee hand to avoid any fail." Mortimer suggested. "Did I have not mentioned you were Amy's Grandniece, or are you missing a piece?"

Oh, yeah. How did he figure that out?

"Well, ummm how did you know Amy was my great aunt?" Beth asked leaning on Mortimer's suggestion.

"I did not." Mortimer said calmly.

"Then why did you-"

"But your face looked vaguely familiar. It takes a meticulously eye to recognized you have similar eyes as your aunt's." Mortimer explained as he interrupted her protest "You faintly look just like her, so I was curious that was a correct infer.”

“So, I confirmed your theory when I asked if you knew my great aunt.” Beth sipped her tea. Mortimer once again nodded as he reached for the kettle.

“Rather slippery of you, dear.” Mortimer commented as he served himself more tea. He glanced at Beth and asked “More?”

“Yes, please”

He served her some more.

“I have some biscuits if you like, I am sure you’ll find them to be a delight.”

Mortimer gently slid some jammed filled cookies towards Beth. She gave them a glance hesitant to try them. She was about to decline the offer, saying that she wasn’t hungry until her stomach growled. The last time she ate something was before she even got into the warehouse, so it was hard to ignore the temptation of trying those delicious cookies in front of her. Part of her reminded her of the eminent danger of dealing with the puppets and the whole “Never take Candy from strangers”, but there was something particular in the way the green eyes of Mortimer sparkled

A vague glimmer that told her he was as honest as a mirror, and that she should take advantage of his hospitality.

So, she gave in, probably because her mouth was already watering from merely glancing the cookie and took a bite from one. Beth closed her green eyes savoring the sweet sugar and the slight bitterness of raspberry jam. Whoever made those cookies had a magical touch as Beth could help herself from getting more.

Mortimer took a noticed of this and added within some chuckles. “The wonders of Daisy’s cooking. Enough to even make humans fall into temptation.

Beth nodded in agreement before taking a sip from her tea. She stopped herself once she realized the fact that she was enjoying herself at the moment. Like she immediately forgot that evil puppets were chasing her over, and that Mortimer was the leader of the puppets that kidnapped, and murdered people. Why was she having tea and forgetting about her troubles for once? Why was Mortimer acting nicely to her and not telling Riley or any of the others that she was here with him? Unless Beth found herself walking directly into a trap, and Mortimer was merely buying them time to arrive.

Yet… Beth was more than sure that Riley would burst out of the door screaming all the ways she was going to make Beth pay for escaping her and using Rosco to her advantage….

“I see that you have another question in mind, so please do not hesitate to get it aligned.” Mortimer spoke, disrupting Beth’s thoughts as she yelped.

He was observant of her body language, and reactions. He could tell if Beth was happy or bothered by something. Was she that expressive?

Well, she did not even want to know or let the opportunity to get some straight facts for the puppet slide with her rambling thoughts. So, she forced herself to ask. “Why are you being nice to me?”

“Can I not?” Mortimer asked as he quirked an eyebrow. Beth became silent at his question, clearly unsure of what he meant by that.

“Well, I escaped Riley twice.”

“That is Riley’s problems not mine.”

“I basically vandalize in anger your place”

“We get idiotic children that do the same every year. Your point?”

“I did try to fight off Riley. Nick was in fact upset about that. Wouldn’t you be upset over that too?”

Mortimer took a pause to take a sip of his drink. His face was rather cold, although the permanent smile would not allow it to show. It was almost as if he was meditating before responding, which he settled on a “Yes. I was momentarily upset. I care for Riley as much as I am you care for someone so close to you.” He said vaguely gesturing to Hannah in her arms. “Yet, as much as Riley has proven to be helpful towards our plans, it is not the first time she caught herself in a fight.”

He took a moment to let out a disapproving sigh.

“That also includes that little group of yours…” Mortimer muttered. Beth naturally glanced at the Vox Veritas logo she had tattooed in front of her left hand. “Still, as much as racketing and disturbing your little group are to me, I am a man of manners out all senses.”

“So, this is not any pretend hospitality thing or something? You pretty much have me locked up and got me into drinking and eating from what you offered me. You could just kill me right this instant or-“

“Do not be foolish, girl. I am not Riley.” He hissed in offense as he took a sip from his tea. “I am patient with my plans and know exactly what strings to pull with my own hands.”

“So, you are genuinely showing hospitality.” Beth reasoned.

“Yes. I am honest with my words. I love to play fair and square.” Mortimer said putting his teacup down with some brute force, hinting that he was growing annoyed with Beth’s sudden paranoia.

“Sorry.” Beth found herself apologizing. There was just something in Mortimer’s voice that made her feel the need to quiet down and apologize.

Like when she called her mother back after a fight at the Wendy’s on Wednesday 3 years ago …

“I cannot really blame you. Riley has a tendency to get her way when I tell her no. You’ve been received with much hostility from her part, not to mention Nick has decided to jump on that track.” Mortimer commented with what could be described as a little sneer. Beth could hear him muttering to himself "Sometimes that woman is a handful… "

That comment alone let Beth know she wasn't the only unfortunate to deal with Riley’s temperament…

“Anyways, let’s not focus on the gloom when we got so much to do.” Mortimer said as he changed the subject. He took some sugar lumps of sugar for his tea. He then stared at Beth with a much cheerful expression. “So, what have brought you to my office today?”

“I accidentally ended up in your office, and you took the doorknob away.” Beth muttered with some annoyance. Mortimer only snickered. “May I know why?”

“Let’s put it another way, dear.” Mortimer said as he placed his cup down. “You are now on the list of most wanted, and well fate has been cruel enough to bring you into someone you find unhearted. Yet, there are some guys looking for your head, and I am someone who genuinely wishes you well”

This had to do with something about Riley and the others chasing her, didn’t it?

“Need another hint?” Mortimer asked her when he noticed her silence.

“Yes please.” Beth said.

“Since I made clear that I do not intent to wish you ill, I am keeping my word at will.” Mortimer explained. “Yet I see that you’re a frightened kitten on the street, and you tend to run at everyone person from even with a shorter distance from you like 3 feet. Distrust is in your nature, and we were never proven to be very helpful…well regarding your personal opinion about our spectrum.”

With the new clue added in, Beth started to think deeply with a frown. The way he described her like a scared little kitten and the fact that she was in the list of most wanted…Obviously he meant that Beth was on a thin thread with Handeemen, but Beth couldn’t figure out what was the whole “Scared kitten portion.”

Well, yeah. As Anthony loved to point out, Beth admitted that sometimes she could have the temperament of a cat. Getting moody, fight when provoked, and wanting to be alone when stressed. Still. that wouldn’t make sense with the whole context. As far as she was concerned, Mortimer knew little about her (or at least she hoped), and she was sure Mortimer meant another thing with the kitten description.

Well, what else was in his riddle? She knew the puppets wanted her, so that crossed out the wanted list thingy. Mortimer recently made clear that he has no intentions into hurting her…yet. Well, then there was the kitten thing…and umm he did mention that distrust was in her nature. Well, she did have some trust issues coming into the studio, but Mortimer was well aware of that fact after their previous conversation. So, what was the correlation of kittens and distrust? Was it their nature? Well, in his riddle he did say she was distrustful by nature, so that was already implied as important.

So, there was a connection to kittens…

Cats were independent by nature. That was far fetch from the distrust thing. What would they do if they were afraid? They hide and run away. Her cat Catulu couldn't care less, but She had seen Muffin (her mother’s Siamese cat) do that many times when she heard the vacuum, or randomly got afraid by something and fled. That did correlate to Beth running and hiding from the danger (flight or fight) but yet…he did say something about a kitten fleeing or something from that matter.

Well, Muffin did run away from the things that frightened her, including strangers and well humans. Beth wasn’t afraid of humans, but she was running because murderous puppets were after-

Oh. She was about to escape Mortimer when she entered the room. The answer was damn obvious, yet the magician puppet bastard was simply toying with her through going around the obvious and tricking her into solving a riddle instead! Beth could feel her hand tightening against the handle of the teacup Mortimer have to her. She clenched her teeth in anger, but forced herself to take big breaths.

Mortimer hasn’t actually done anything to harm yet. Yes, he did trick her into placing on Hannah, but that was it. The puppet man (or whatever to call an alive puppet) was more tame and well-behaved in comparison to Riley (although anyone look better in comparison to her...), still what would stop him from betraying her if Beth kept provoking him? So, she keep herself under control.

“You…You took the doorknob away…because you knew I’ll escape.” Beth answered once she managed to calm herself a bit.

“Precisely.” Mortimer nodded as he intermingled his long claw-like fingers. He cleared his throat before changing his posture. “I am surprised you managed to keep yourself calm to the point that you don’t give a darn.” Before Beth could comment on this, he leaned a bit closer with a raised eyebrow. He appeared to be changing the subject, or at least the main focus. “Yet I have to admit you weren’t wondering why I wanted to keep you here. You did figure out my trick, but now I want to see where you really tick.”

Beth took a momentary pause. She was not going to let him trick her another time. He twisted simplicity once, Beth was not willing to let him twist it again for his entertainment. She let herself recall what just happened within the two. She then come to an answer that seemed to go according to what Mortimer seemed to be playing

“To…To talk? No- Yes….to talk.” Beth responded rather clumsily but firmly. Mortimer just stared at her. He did not show any kind of other expression. Beth fought the urge to slap the puppet in her growing frustration Still, she allowed herself one petty comment. “Since you decided to twist the obvious into riddles, I am assuming it’s talking.”

“It didn’t take you that long to get it on your second attempt.”Mortimer remarked.

Son of a…

“Anyways, I had my fun tricking your mind, so now let's get to the reason of why you are really here confined.” He continued on. Beth narrowed her eyes unsure what he meant. He took noticed of this and narrowed his eyes and asked in a sarcastic voice. “Don’t you have other worries to unwind?”

Oh, yeah. He most likely didn’t trap her just to play games and chat…

“What do you really want?” Beth asked as she leaned back.

“Now we are asking the real questions. Now for your real question.”Mortimer beamed in satisfaction. He closed his eyes and answered her question with a sly smirk. “To talk”

“... you are just going to make go in circles, aren’t you?” Beth remarked already feeling her hands trembling with the cup. The urge to throw the peace of china at the puppet man.

“Not exactly as per se. I do apologize for that temper to be increased, I couldn’t resist see the opportunity to how much you’ll contain your inner beast.” Mortimer explained. Beth narrowed her eyes at this. Mortimer continued nonetheless. “Anyways, we had our fun today, but now let’s get down to what we got to say.”

He took another pause to straightened his back and rest his arms and put a hand underneath his wooden chin. Beth noticed that his eyes became a little darker, and his expression was becoming much harder and colder. Beth’s anger slowly dissolved into a slight sense of dread. “In all serious manners, I have a small proposition for us to act upon Sarabeth. Are you familiar with the term Quid pro quo ?”

Yeah. It was the favorite dynamic of her late dad’s favorite book…

“I am familiar with the term, yes. I’ve seen it in “The Silence of the Lambs” it’s a movie, well also a book.” Beth explained. She never read the book, but rather watched the movie. It was quite a while ever since she watched it, and she couldn’t remember the exact definition, still she gave it a try. “I think it is about me telling you something and you tell me something in return.”

“It is more about an exchange rather than telling; but yes. You tell me something and I’ll tell you something.” Mortimer clarified, he fixed his monocle before continuing. “Are you onboard on that?”

Almost naturally, the first response that come out from Beth’s mouth as a big “No!”

Mortimer didn’t seem surprised at her sudden reaction. Instead, the crossed his arms and huffed almost as if Beth was merely joking with him. Beth couldn’t figure out what did he found hilarious. Neither he was bothering to satisfy that slight curiosity as he simply asked “Do you want to turn this opportunity down?”

Beth already had her answer at the tip of her tongue, but was she really sure about that?

Yeah, the puppet man did trap her over and messed up wither her mind to go around the obvious. She had more than enough reasons to get the hell out as far as she cool; but, the more she thought about it, the more she realized Mortimer was giving her an opportunity to get to the button of so many questions she had. Why what their obsession with bringing the show back? What was even their plan to begin with? how did they manage to remain suspicious?

And….where was her Anthony? Mortimer…the puppets…they probably knew…

This was her opportunity. She could get the answer that has been plaguing her mind for many years since he disappeared without a trace…

“No…I don’t…” She muttered. She raised her face as her green eyes were in locked with his. Her lips trembled as she try to maintain her posture as she said. “I do. I do accept your little offer…”

“Wonderful, dear” Mortimer beamed. His permanent smile seemed to grow bigger, or perhaps a trick to Beth’s eyes. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

“There is one condition….” Beth muttered. This time she wanted to make sure she was going to get the full story out this and everything without the son of a bitch trying to make it into a game.

“Well?” Mortimer raised an eyebrow expectantly at Beth, waiting for what she would say.

“No mind games.” Beth said in a rather cold tone. “If I am going to participate in this little “Quid Pro quo” thing, I would politely request that no mind games are used.” Mortimer stared at her. His smile remain, but his eyes became a little darker.

“Very well then!” Mortimer said in a cheerful tone. With a wisp of his hands she vanished the empty plates and crumbs from the cookies. Then, he made appeared some napkins and wipes. “Let’s make us look presentable this time around before we engage in our conversation again.

Beth took some wipes, ignoring the creepily picture of Daisy Danger whipping a puppet like baby’s face from the mess they made. She started to feel a great sense of uneasiness as the situation and silence began to sink in. Once again she remembered that she was in a room all alone with Mortimer Handee. The boss of the puppets, the leader of their group. Who knew if Mortimer would be started to get bore and decide to pull another trick off his sleeve. What if he was buying time for Riley or the other handeemen to get her? Not to mention she would have to give him answers in order to get information from him. She couldn’t lie. He read her too damn well to figure out, and if she did, what would stop him from lying as well?

What if he lied to her about what happened to her Anthony Pierson?

Sarabeth had to play fair and square. That was what she understood…

“I’m…I’m ready.” Beth muttered as she threw a while in the nearest container. Mortimer was fixing his hat when he noticed she was speaking. He looked less friendly than before.

“Well, let’s start with making this fair.” Mortimer said as he fixed his sleeve, seemingly searching for something. He took a quarter out of it and slide it towards Beth. “Flip the coin. If it lands on heads, you ask the first question, if it lands on tails you’ll answer my first question. A good affair if I must say.”

“Sounds good to me…” Beth muttered as she hesitantly took the coin. She noticed it had the face of Mortimer instead of the usual head a normal quarter would have. She gingerly took the coin, tossed it and then flipped it.

It landed on heads.

“Seems that luck is a lady tonight! Mortimer chuckled before vanishing the coin with a twist of his hands. Beth twinkled her fingers, feeling the empty air and shivering at what just happened. Mortimer cleared his throat. “Are you ready, Sarabeth, dear?”

“Oh. Yes…yes.” Beth muttered. She took a sip of her warm cup of tea as she thought of her first question. She knew she had to start on rattle simply, feed a quick curiosity and getting to know how much did Mortimer knew about her, before she gave too much away or that she was Anthony’s girlfriend. She glanced down at Hannah and asked. “Umm what exactly happened to Hannah?”

“Scout Version 0.1?” Mortimer asked with some confusion as he glanced at Hannah. Beth nodded. “Peculiar name…”

“umm can we stay with the question, please?” Beth asked. Secretly enjoying the sight of getting Mortimer caught in thought. The old puppet nodded.

“I am sure before you escape your supposed surgery, Riley told you Scout Ver. 01 was unconscious.” Mortimer said. Beth nodded as she tried to fight the urge to sneer at the mocking voice Riley used when she explain to her that Hannah was unconscious. “What your little friend has going as a simple explanation. There is something in the host world called Anesthesia, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s used in surgeries to knock off patients so they can’t feel the pain during the surgery.” Beth recalled. Mortimer nodded.

“Precisely. This is not exactly anesthesia, but has a similar effect. The spell takes temporarily the consciousness of a puppet up to about one to four hours depending on the time limit I placed. Mortimer explain. “So your friend would be back in no time as the spells wears off in its slow pace.”

Well, that certainly took one of the doubts about how to fix Hanna back to her consciousness. One thing to worry less about.

“Well I answer your little question, so it’s time for me to continue this progression.” Mortimer spoke. He gave a small glance to Beth’s tattoo of the Vox Veritas logo before asking. “What exactly brought you down to the studio in the first place? And please don’t try to make it into a race”

Beth mentally smirked. He clearly wanted her to drop information about Vox Veritas, luckily she had an insane editor that made it easier to avoid giving the old man what he wanted. “I was visiting the studio as a Halloween report for my college editor. There were a few rumors about the place, and she thought it would make a good story for the holiday.”

Mortimer’s glimmer in his eyes started to fade as he said in almost a murmur. “I see…”

“Well, quid pro quo, sir.” Beth said remembering the way Clarice Starling said the line in the film. It was probably for dramatic effect, but Beth wanted to say it anyways although she was probably looking like a fool. “It’s your time to answer my question.” She paused for a moment thinking over the next question. This time she was going to hit him good. “How much you know about Vox Veritas?”

To her surprise, he smirked. “You are a smug little, girl aren’t you?” He purred with a devilish grin as he poured more tea into his cup. “You are quite smart, but certainly just as dense as your great aunt.”

“What?!” Beth asked with some offense by both insulting her late great aunt and herself. Not being aware that she raised her voice when she spoke. Mortimer, thankfully ignored her.

“Vox Veritas? The voice of truth?” Mortimer asked in a seemingly teasing tone. Then it hit Beth what he actually meant. She gave away her groups’ name, didn’t she?

“Yes. I chose it.” Beth said. Remembering the cringe Randy had upon his face when she said the name of the group. Apparently he found it to be too in the nose, but the others like it fine. Pushing that memory aside, she forced herself to face the puppet man once again as she asked, in a much calmer tone. “Is it hilarious to you?”

“No. Not entirely.” He confessed as he took another sip of his tea. “I find it quite fitting, actually. I originally thought it was some sort of Scooby Dog gang type of thingy. You know, like that gang of careless teenagers and their talking Dog.”

Knowing that it was best to contain her temper, Beth pushed every single thought about jumping and attempting to strangle the wooden puppet aside. As much as she wanted to beat him up for comparing her and her Anthony’s organization, Mortimer Handee was still the man-puppet who she agree to get her answers from.

Breathe in and out Beth. You are far mature and better than getting upset over a comparison to Scooby-Doo…

“I…I see, sir.” Beth settled on saying in a quiet tone, almost like a murmur. She tingled with her fingers momentarily before asking the man to return to the main topic. “Well, umm, how about we continue on with our Quid Pro Quo? You haven’t answered my question.”

“Well, certainly.” Mortimer said. “I know as much as Riley, Daisy, and….Nicholas, know about your little “Vox Veritas” pals. All we know is that a particular group of youngsters entered our little studio. Two girls and I believe four boys. They all wore that ridiculous triangle with the circle somewhere, so we knew they were together in there. Three survived, the other three died…I believe, unless circumstances with Riley took place.”

Beth stomach twirled. Three of them died….she didn’t know who out of the six, but…but they died. They were gone…and maybe one of those three….could be her Anthony Pierson. Her little investigator idiot…

“Why the long face, doll?” Mortimer asked in a somewhat warm but mocking tone. “Already finding our little quid pro quo a disgrace?”

“No…” She muttered as she straightened her shoulders. She was pale as a ghost and her heart was racing. The news were shocking, and her heart was slowly falling into pieces, but this is what she needed to expect if she wanted to get the old man to speak. No matter how much her heartache, she wanted to know the truth…then hopefully she would avenge the loss of those who perished… “No…I…I don’t regret it.”

It was partially a lie, but it was something she would eventually face nonetheless.

“Very well, then. I suppose it’s my turn now…” He muttered.

That’s how they pretty much spent the next few twenty minutes. He asked her questions about herself, Beth asked him questions about what he knew (avoiding giving him any leads that connected her with Anthony), and so on. Beth learned that the puppets are around for about thirty-ish years in the studio, and that some old cult good from some evil god “Ennioch” gave them their powers and abilities. The name did sound a bit similar, maybe she read it somewhere in the notebooks Anthony’s father left him (the one that they used for their organization’s symbol.) It was nothing really useful to figure out where did exactly happen to her friends and boyfriend, yet Beth never pushed the subject exactly forward knowing it could be a potential weakness against her.

She would eventually get him to know if he remember who died and who lived, perhaps figure out if some of her friends were in Human resources, or became hosts of some of the sock puppets that chased her…

Still, getting her answers was not going to be easy as Mortimer seemingly was interested in Beth and her relationships in what they called the host world. She, of course, kept her answers as brief as she had a cousin who wanted to join her organization, she changed colleges, and that she lived alone after her partner left (leaving it as vague as she could, so Mortimer wouldn’t reach our conclusions.) It was becoming harder and harder to answer his questions without giving too much, or think about questions she could ask him without getting smug or careless as Mortimer paid very close attention to her body language…

“So…what are you guys exactly?” Beth asked as she sipped her last cup of tea. Her eyes were shifting in Mortimer’s seemingly calmness. Trying to figure out a point where he could say what she wanted to hear. Maybe she would ask in the next question (as she seemingly asked her about her life) if he happened to see a cute guy with the organization’s tattoo on his hand or something…

“Ah, an easy one I see! I wonder why it took you so long to ask after many cups of tea.” He said in a cheerful mood. Beth just silently waited until he finished to talk. She would make her response quick once he finished answering her question. “Well, the Handeemen and I have a rather particular relationship. We are linked as I was the one who brought them to life, the God per se. Let’s say that we are together in a clan as I’m in control and let’s say that they owe me for everything that I gave them”

There was a devilish glimmer on his eyes when he mentioned the latter. Beth felt a wave of uneasiness, and decided that she could use her next turn into getting what Mortimer truly meant after he answered her question related to Anthony. After she got down the doubt that haunted her for three years, she would settle into knowing at least there was a body to bury….

Very well then.” Mortimer said as he beamed as he took a stretch. Beth quietly stared at him, waiting for his next question. “I suppose that it is my time to ask as our little “Quid Pro quo” goes around.”

Well, that would be easy. She just had to keep true and brief whatever question about herself he asked her, then she could get the doubt off her head….

“Do you, darling, have any link or relation to someone named…Anthony Pierson?” Then he asked her the question. Beth went pale as the name echoed through her ears. Her lips trembled, and her breath started to hitch. He…he said the name that she was not expecting to be mentioned.

He mentioned her boyfriend, the one who tried to capture him and failed. Now…now there was no other way around it. If she lied, he would know, and if she said yes, she would have to give her identity off….

“Are you hesitating, Sarabeth?” He asked. Beth pursed her lips together. She needed to answer soon…

“Yes. I…I have a connection to Anthony Pierson…” Beth muttered. She held Hannah close to her in an attempt to give her closure. There was a brief moment of silence, as Beth realized she needed to catch her breath again before speaking again. Her voice was trembling as she spoke once again. “I’m…I’m his girlfriend.”

“Mmmmmm” Mortimer hummed as he narrowed his eyes. It looked almost as if he was thinking about what to say next. He did not look shocked as she expected him to be, but rather satisfy or was thinking deeply about what Beth just told him. Then he spoke. “I knew I saw that face somewhere. I believe it was some picture as much as I was aware. Yes, I knew where was some relationship that tied the two together, a force that made things all clear.”

Letting his rhymes sink in, Beth decided to ask, seemingly ignoring that she was throwing away her chance to get real questions out…she commented. “You…you knew?”

“yes. Yes, I did.” Mortimer said. Beth skin went paler. How long did he knew?

“You didn’t say a thing….” Beth found herself muttering at the puppet man.

“Why would I say a thing? You didn’t wish to reveal it, didn’t you?” Mortimer teased with a dark glimmer on his eyes.

He caught her again, didn’t he? He caught her within her own game of not giving up her identity. He probably catch on that Beth was trying to hide so hard, so he decided to play it against her and get her to lose her own game. Perhaps the whole asking game was simply another way to lower her guard. Mortimer was a master and manipulating and playing. Yes. What other reason would he trap her here? He wanted to get as much information out of her, and probably was buying Riley time…

Great job, Jenkins. You gave away personal life details and now the bastard knows you are dating the charming but idiotic guy who tried to bring him to the cops. He probably lied to you and is withholding that no survivors were found and-

Yet….that wasn’t it….He….he indeed was telling the truth, well in his twisted sadistic way, but he was being honest. He could have easily lied with his intentions, and yet that would be just the same for her as Nick or Daisy pretending to be her friend. A lie would be an indicator that Beth should immediately flee regardless of what the bastard said, but…he was honest about trapping her. He did play with her mind and made her go around all the obvious answers, but he was honest.

Honesty didn’t exactly mean he was to trust. As a college rockie-journalist she had to be aware the possibility of him using the truth and twisting it to his benefit. Lies were half-truths, yes, but he could have been being honest about what information he was providing and still withhold some information. Not precisely because he wanted to withhold it, but rather because He knew Beth did not ask for it.

Using her wishes to lie to herself that the story would have a happy ending…He is no doubt a master at whatever game he was playing, isn’t he? Well, she obviously couldn’t play by his rules anyway…

“I want to know the real reason why I am here…”Beth muttered

“It’s not your turn yet.” He chimed

“Forget about the game. I want the real answers, Handee .”

Mortimer took a pause to sip from his tea. He had an amused expression on his face as he said. “You are just as ambitious as that Pierson guy, aren’t you?”

“Ambitious?” Beth asked him. Her eyebrows softened as she slowly found herself slowly relaxing as curiosity took over. She had to give him credit, he had a great ability to pull one small trick to get her back at her. It was frustrating, but enough to keep her interest.

Not to mention, there was something in her that got her curious to see what would he do with the topic he brought.

“Yes, ambitious. You and that Pierson chap had guts to come into this hell for one goal, and you tried to keep it as much in your control.” His green eyes glimmered with what could Beth describe as some malice. “I can see that same determined look in those green eyes, Sarabeth , that crude determination to find what you were really looking for when you realized I gave you a chance.”

Beth found herself tensing a bit. If he knew that she was Anthony’s girlfriend for quite some time, that would probably mean he immediately realized what she was truly after…besides surviving this rotten hell of demonic things in a real life house of horrors. Still, Beth decided to let the puppet man continue.

“You were quite bold into try to fool me, and even when you failed to do so, you persevere…” Mortimer continued as he took her silence as a hint to continue. “All because you wanted to find if your little boyfriend was alive.”

Beth winced as she nodded. “Yeah. I guess it was that obvious to you, wasn’t it?”

“It took me a time to realized that you didn’t come into this place for some college assignment.” He explained. “Still, it was entertaining to see how long would you try to get me to feed you your curiosities because you had a great ambition to risk it all and play my game to achieve your goals.”

“So…you find it comedic that I’ve been trying to get the answers I never got for many years?” Beth raised an eyebrow at him. Mortimer simply smirked.

“Quite the contrary. I find it rather tragic and almost “touching” to see such boldery.” He remarked. “It takes bravery and great ambition to try to win at a game meant for you to fail.”

“So, you are calling me an idiot then.” Beth huffed.

“No. Ambition is not always negative, dear.” He explained “Although sometimes it can make you shred a tear.”

“I am not understanding, sir.”

“Ambition. That is what kept you alive and keeps drawing you to keep invested.” Beth widened her eyes as he continued. “Ambition is what kept brining Anthony Pierson back even though his little friends begged him to stop, specially that Randy. Both of you were fools, but driven by an ambition to bite more than you can chew, but one that motivated you to continue on.”

Ambition? Was this a sort of compliment or another way to confuse Beth deeper into giving him more than what he wanted to know?

Noticing that she was not following, Mortimer continued on. “I myself are a man of great ambitions, so was Owen himself. Both had plans to reach bigger things, bigger goals, and get what we are striven for just as you, my dear, keep doing.”

“So…you are saying that you admire my ambition? Beth asked him. Mortimer took his cup and took a small moment to consider his answer.

“In a sense, yes. You and I are ambitionate.” He chuckled as he sipped more of his tea. “We have goals to reach, dreams we want to make true, but great prices to pay…”

Mortimer’s voice became darker in the latter sentence as he made his host rest a hand on the table. Beth froze into place as she could not help but to stare. Tears were threatening to leave her eyes as she stared at the pyramid and the eye engraved in the host’s hand.

“Anthony…”She breathed in a small cry. He….he was alive…

“You know, this dear old chap had the audacity to try to capture me and bring me to the police.” Mortimer chuckled as he made Anthony rest into his left hand. “Of course that I was not precisely happy at his stupid attempt, but I had to admit I admire his ambition and perseverance that couldn’t throw such potential away.”

He became Mortimer’s host…he….he was there the whole time…Anthony was in front of her eyes this entire time, hiding so well into that elegant suit he was in…

“I see it pains you to see him like this, doesn’t it?” Mortimer said in a surprisingly chilling voice. Beth could only stare at her zombified boyfriend. “As much as we have ambitions, there is a big price we don’t always want to admit.”

And Anthony’s was becoming a vessel to the leader of the cruel puppet man…

“Owen Gubberson had the great ambitions to play god and try to save his little show.” Mortimer continued on as Beth let out a sigh she was holding as he changed the attention from Anthony. “Now, he lost the love of his life, his dreams, family, and well his life.”

Beth shivered at the memory of finding Owen’s corpse in the backrooms. The disgusting smell of opening and those lifeless eyes staring back at her, begging for her to help…

“Ambition can drive a person to fruition.” Mortimer explain “But it can also get a person to lose it all, or become merely a tool for other’s ambitions. I can already see the price of your little ambition, Sarabeth. The pain to know what happened to your beloved boyfriend, and how he was ratted out by his best friend to get what he wanted...”

Beth’s eyes shifted to the puppet man with horror. Best friend? Randal Erick Reynolds? The Randy Reynolds? The guy who as much as he despised her just as she did with him, would stick to Anthony’s side no matter what? The person that helped her boyfriend out and edited his videos and pictures for his page.

No. It couldn’t be!

Not the same jerk face that willingly helped them try to film UFOs at winter…

It…it couldn’t be him…

“I suppose the name is familiar to you.” Mortimer said. Beth frowned at him. “I’ll take your scowl as a yes. I supposed the truth is hard to swallow, isn’t it?”

“Randal…he would never do that to Anthony…He was his best friend…”Beth muttered as she shook her head.

“So was Judas to Jesus and Brutus to Caesar, your point?” Mortimer asked.

A tear ran down Beth’s cheeks. He was not lying, wasn’t he?

“It does not take long for a rat to act when they have a goal and enough ambition to get what they want, regardless of those who they betray and hurt.” Mortimer said as he cleaned closer to Beth. He placed a finger to press on her cheek, so Beth wouldn’t put her face down. “Randy was no different. He was quick to tell me his plans in exchange to escape. He did not hesitate to betray your precious little Anthony to survive, and well only your beloved guy ended up alive.”

Beth let out a bitter cry. Part of her was upset about what Randy had done, but the other part understood the pressure to survive and how stubborn Anthony was to stop. Still, she did not know the full story of what happened, but…but something told her that Randy came to deeply regret his actions.

Still, she couldn’t help but to wrench about knowing that Randy was death. As much as she despise him, she never wished death upon him…

“This is the price of Ambition, Sarabeth…” Mortimer purred as he swiped some of her tears with his thumb. “Your boyfriend is under my control and probably your others friends might be too or shared the same fate as Randy in Riley’s labs. Perhaps you might even do…”

“Perhaps you might be wrong…” Beth frowned as she gently pushed Mortimer away from her. “Perhaps you have alternative reasons to bring me here instead of just torturing me and playing mind games.” His smirk remained as his eyes glimmered.

“I never say the game was going to be pretty, but you are right by your later statement.” He reached out his hand to her. “I want to make things more interesting.”

Beth stared at his hand before staring back at him. “You want to make a deal?”

“I want to put a price on whoever wins our little game.” Mortimer chuckled. “You came a long way and I admit your company was nice for our little tea time. So, I think it is only fair to put a price to keep your ambition alive.”

“What price?” Beth asked.

“If you are able to survive and reach the exit on my zone, I will give you back your precious Anthony and let you escape with Scout 0.1 to your host world.” Beth’s eyes glowed in some small hope at Mortimer's proposal. “But, if you are caught by any of my handeemen. You’ll stay at here forever and give your mind to me.”

This was her only chance to finally get what she wanted, yet she would have been risking her life as well in the process, but this was a great opportunity and she could finally be with her loved ones again…and maybe put an end to this madness…

Yet…there was a price of Ambition, but she was willing to pay it.

“Deal.” Beth breathed out as she took Mortimer’s hand. She could feel a small ghostly touch running from her hands to her arms as they shook hands.

“I suppose that it is only fair for you to give you a head start.” Mortimer said as he returned the doorknob to the door. Beth rose from her seat as he legs startled to tremble. She picked up Hannah just as Mortimer said. “Oh and one last thing for advice before you go, my dear.”

“What…what is it?” She asked softly.

“You better find a blood sacrifice if you want to keep your little friend to live. It was a detail I forgot to add.” He grinned. Beth’s color faded. “Alas, you better be running before your time starts to run out, little Beth. ”

And those with those words Beth was running away as tears started to run down her eyes.

#hello puppets #mortimer handee #writing #OC Sarabeth “Beth” Jenkins #Sarabeth “Beth” Jenkins (oc)#oc x cannon #Beth x Anthony #tw: implied cult #tw: implied murder #tw: mentions of cults #tw: mention of murder #tw: mentions of death #past character death #past character betrayal #manipulation #hurt no comfort

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