#and it was interesting! i was just uh lost in the wilderness (forgetting to take my adhd meds & having a long mental breakdown) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

titan-fodder · 3 years

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Prima Vista Part IX

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Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 14.3k

Warnings: timeskip, mutual pining, author doesn’t know shit about science subject matter, explicit sexual content, ass play, snowballing, tooth rotting fluff A/N: This is it, y’all. This last part was so much fun to write, I can’t even put it into words. The feedback on this has been incredible, so a big thank you for that, and before anyone asks, I have a handful of spinoff oneshots planned for this series. Enjoy~

- NINE YEARS -

“Hey, don’t forget about the meeting at three.”

Mike glances up from his computer to find Henning leaning through his office doorway. It’s the first time Mike has looked away from the screen in at least an hour, and he blinks at his colleague several times in an attempt to get rid of the gritty feeling in his eyes.

“Yeah, thanks,” he nods, rubbing a hand down his face. “Definitely would’ve forgotten about that one.”

Henning leaves with one rap of his knuckles against the doorframe, and Mike checks his phone to see how much time he has before he has to make his way to the conference room. It’s twenty after two, so he spends a little while longer reading over the journal that had been sent to him, only tearing himself away when his alarm goes off at 2:55.

He waves at a few people as he passes, shows the reserved smile he’d mastered upon entering the corporate world, then walks into the large meeting space and sets his little notepad on the mahogany table as he sits down in a plush rolling chair.

This meeting has been planned for a few weeks now, a team of researchers contracted by the government to study Lake Sina and everything wrong with it. Its water quality is at an all time low, and it's up to Mike and his team to figure out a way to change that so it can be purified enough to distribute to the public. There are a few large cities close to the lake, all of lower income and all struggling with their water systems. If Sina can get clean enough, it would solve a huge crisis that most people don't even know is taking place.

Tomas, Henning, Lynne, and Nanaba are already in the room, and after a few minutes, another group of four walks in, all unfamiliar except…

Mike’s eyebrows knit together as he stares. He can only see a profile from where he’s sitting, but it’s one he recognizes. The time he spent admiring it, mentally sketching every feature—of course he’d recognize it. Recognize you.

There is a pounding in his chest that Mike hasn’t felt in years, and his palms are suddenly damp. The collar of his shirt is too tight around his throat, and he reaches up to undo the top two buttons so that he can fucking breathe, but Jesus Christ, he can’t believe it. It feels like a lifetime has passed since he last saw you.

He wonders if you’ll have the same reaction when you finally notice him, if you’ll gawk at him or grin or run away. He wouldn’t blame you if you tucked tail. That last conversation—if it could even be called that—is not one of Mike’s fondest memories, and he can’t imagine the toll it took on you, what you must have felt going into your final year of undergrad.

“Is there a remote for the projector?” You call out to the table, and your voice sounds exactly the fucking same. It makes Mike want to slam his head into the wood, but before he can, you zero in on him.

He watches as your eyes grow, jaw setting, shoulders rising with a deep breath, and oh, you’re panicking. You’re panicking just like he is.

“Um,” you cough and shake your head, then lean over to speak to one of your people before basically jogging from the room.

No one seems to think anything of it. Mike has to white-knuckle the arms of his chair to keep himself from getting up and following. There's no reason he should follow, though. The two of you haven’t spoken in almost a decade. He has nothing to share with you, no reason to talk to you on a non-professional level. You don’t know each other anymore, and that’s fine. It’ll be fine.

A mousy looking man starts passing out little binders to everyone at the table, then introduces himself as Moblit and the other two in the room as Hange and Abel.

"And, the other girl you saw is—"

"I'm back, I'm here," you announce as you step into the room, closing the door behind you and introducing yourself with a wave. "Did we get the projector working?"

"Yes," Abel answers, passing you the remote that Nanaba had procured a few minutes ago.

Hange plugs a cable into a laptop and the white screen is lit up with the image of the well known lake, once beautiful, deep blue but now a murky brown.

Mike has been preparing for this project for a few months now, going to an off-site lab to look over the samples being sent in or dropped off. He knew there was a research team studying the lake, but… what are the odds that you would be part of that team?

He supposes your jobs could overlap just like your classes used to, but you had told him you wanted to go into natural hazards ("You're a natural hazard," he had replied with a snort). Of course, that had been a long time ago, but how had that dream morphed into hydrology?

Before the presentation starts, Mike's boss, Keith Shadis slips through the door and takes his seat at the end of the table. You're quick to grab one of the binders and walk it over to him, flashing a smile and never letting your gaze flit to Mike.

Hange does most of the talking, going over all of your findings while all of you "braved the wilderness". Moblit and Abel insert a few things here and there, and then Hange clicks to a slide with a graph on it and hands the remote to you.

"If you turn to page seventeen in the binders, you can probably get a better look, but this shows how much the level of pollution in Lake Sina has risen in the last year alone. We took samples over…"

You keep talking, but Mike loses his focus, watching your hands move as you speak, the way you're rocking back on your heels, and how you look anywhere but at him.

Even though there's a tiny tremble in your voice, you sound passionate, and why wouldn't you be? Mike is passionate too. About the same god damn thing.

With a PhD in environmental science, his specialty is pollutants. It's something he's been interested in since grad school because the earth is beautiful but in an awful state, and Mike wants to fucking change that. He's written journals and articles, worked with leading experts, and it's what he's decided to dedicate himself to, so why is it that this life that he's built for himself is suddenly intermingling with yours? How—

A hand comes to rest on Mike's and he startles at the touch, jerking his head upward to see Lynne with raised eyebrows.

"Mike, I get why you're lost in the pollution sauce, but if you click that pen one more time, I will throw you out of this high-rise."

He stares at her for a second before chuckling and tossing his pen onto his blank notebook. He hadn't even realized he'd been doing it. It's a little embarrassing, actually. How many people noticed? Did you?

The presentation ends with Hange telling everyone that they're happy to be teaming up with the Corporation to work toward a solution and a plan to clean Lake Sina and possibly implement it into larger bodies of water.

The planning stage of the project will more than likely last for a few months, meaning you'll all be regulars in the office which Mike isn't especially thrilled about, even if you will be sequestered in a little annex and spending a lot of your time in the lab. Mike will still have to see you and work with your team, god, probably have to talk to you.

The floor opens up for any questions, but Shadis is the only one who speaks, wanting clarification on some statistic that Mike is going to have to read over later. Once the boss is happy, he stands, then walks behind Mike's chair to slap him on the back and say the last thing Mike wants to hear.

"This is Dr. Mike Zacharias. All of you should get familiar with him since he'll be heading this project."

Mike sits up a little straighter and forces a tight-lipped smile that all of his colleagues know is fake.

"Happy to be working with you."

It isn't a lie. He's been excited about this project for a long time now. He just wasn't expecting such a massive wrench to get thrown right into the middle of it.

The four of you start packing up your materials. When Henning tries to hand you his binder, you tell him, "No, those are for you to keep. Just to get a real grasp on what we found out there."

Mike knows he's staring, swiveling back and forth in his chair, twirling the pen he's picked up again, and he wonders if it would just be easier to rip the bandaid off. Exchange hellos, go over the bare minimum—how long he's been with the company, how long you've been researching. Just enough to appear casual, like you didn't break Mike's fucking heart in college.

And, then he thinks about just avoiding you altogether. There's always the chance your issues could come up in conversation, and it's so far in the past now, there's nothing either of you can say to make the other feel better. This can't be about closure. It's just a job. That's all.

"Wow, everyone really… cleared outta here."

Mike's vision unfogs, and he glances around to find that yes, you're the only two left in the conference room. Fantastic.

You're wrapping a cord around your elbow then shoving it in a laptop bag, and he can tell you're moving as fast as you can, ready to get the fuck out of there.

"Uh, yeah," Mike agrees, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing his notebook to curl in his hands. "Everyone's just ready to get back to work, I guess."

"Yeah. You can only hold someone's attention with a PowerPoint for so long."

Mike's mouth is too dry, and it feels like he needs to cough, but he doesn't want to startle you, so he just quietly clears his throat in an entirely ineffective way and tells you, "Good PowerPoint, though."

You snicker, not loud enough to hear your real laugh, and Mike doesn't know if he's grateful for that or not.

"Thanks. Mobs made it."

Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you finally look up at Mike—really look at him for the first time—and he sees your expression go soft, mouth twitching like you’re caught between smiling and frowning, and Mike is taken back to the first night he met you when he wanted you to shotgun that disgusting beer.

You blink at him, open and close your mouth, and Mike is waiting with baited breath for you to say something else, but all you do is hold your hand out for him to take the projector remote from you.

"Here."

He grabs it with two fingers, careful not to brush your hand. Fuck, he wishes his heart would stop beating so hard, it's incredibly uncomfortable.

"I feel like I should say something," you murmur, "But I have no idea what, so I'm just gonna tell you I look forward to working with you, Dr. Zacharias."

He grins. Widely. He doesn't mean to, but he does. It's been so damn long since anyone has said his last name like that.

"Do you, though?" He asks.

"Do I what?"

"Look forward to working here."

"Oh, uh…" You bite your lip, start rocking on your feet again, then shrug. "I guess? I mean… Big project."

"Very big."

"It's important to me. I can't say that I was expecting—"

"Me?" Mike offers with a tilt of his head.

He's standing too close. It feels like he is, anyway, so he moves back to lean against the conference table.

"Yeah, pretty much," you laugh. "It's been a while."

Mike wonders if you remember that night as well as he does. No matter how much he's tried to forget it, that image of you with fat years rolling down your face just will not leave him. Do you remember how it felt? Can you remember everything he said to you?

Before Mike can respond, you wave a hand. "Anyway, I need to go help set up our little area, so…"

"Yeah, for sure. I'll be around."

After powering through the last hour of his day, Mike bolts from the building. He needs to get home. He needs to get a drink in his hand. He needs to unwind and not think of you.

He needs to fucking call Erwin.

"Hey, bro, what's up?"

"Dude," is all Mike says at first.

"What?"

"You will never fucking guess who's on the team we’re working with on the Sina water project."

Erwin hums in a sing-song sort of way, then chuckles. "Funny, I got a similar call about an hour ago."

"You guys still talk?" Mike asks a little too loudly.

"Yeah, man. Not every day or anything, but—"

Mike rolls his eyes. "You're unbelievable." He isn't mad, and Erwin knows this. He's just a little surprised. His friend hasn’t as much as uttered your name in the last ten years.

"Yeah, whatever. How'd it go from your perspective?"

"It—Wait, what did she say?"

"Oh, no no no," Erwin laughs. Mike here's a distant, "Hold that, please!" and figures he's making his way to the elevator to leave work as well. "I am not getting caught up in your bullshit again."

Pouting, Mike finally turns on his car and pulls out of the parking lot. "Fine. It went… Well? I think? I mean, super awkward, but that isn't surprising."

"No name-calling or confessions of undying love?"

"No, I'm not twenty-two anymore."

"Could have fooled me," Erwin snorts.

"Fuck off. It was a good presentation, but she was nervous, and I couldn't tell if it was from having to speak in front of people or if it was 'cause I was there, and then we talked afterward—nothing important or anything, just, like, an acknowledgement. You know, you're here, I'm here, we have to find a way to co-exist, except neither of us actually said that," Mike has to take a deep breath. He's rambling, he knows, and Erwin is just listening, probably storing it all away to make fun of him about it later. "It was okay. It could've been worse."

"Could have been better too."

"What? How—"

"Could have bent her over the desk and—"

"Dude!"

Erwin breaks into that deep laugh Mike is so used to, tells him, "I'm just saying! I know she's still cute. We have each other on Facebook."

He's right. Too right. You are absolutely still cute, all dressed up in business casual attire, so different from the leggings and hoodies you used to wear. Your face has matured slightly—naturally—and your hair is different but still suits you. Mike has no idea how he's supposed to work with you for the next few months.

"I can't deal with you," Mike grumbles. "Why did I even call you?"

"Probably because I'm the only one who has an inkling about what you're going through right now," Erwin replies. "Aside from her anyway."

"Yeah, yeah."

They chat for a little while longer until Erwin gets to the bar he's apparently meeting some coworkers at, and Mike spends the rest of his drive listening to music too loud as he tries and fails to clear his mind of you.

You're pacing. You have been for the last hour. The food you made for yourself went cold some time ago, but you're too busy whining into your phone to notice.

"Just—like—what the fuck am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to work with him like this? He's overseeing the whole fucking project! I can't just avoid him!"

"Okay, first thing's first," Hitch stops you. "I need you to take a deep breath for me."

"Hitch—"

"Breathe!"

You inhale through your nose then blow out through your mouth, but that's obviously not good enough for Hitch because she demands, "And, again."

"What are you, my therapist?"

"I mean, I usually act like one, so… anyway, while you're calming the fuck down, I'm gonna call for backup. Hold please."

Dropping yourself onto the hotel couch, you try to relax even though you know it'll be impossible because—

"You're working with Mike?" Rhi's shrill voice meets your ear, and you have to pull the phone away.

"Rhi, you're supposed to help me calm her down, not add to her panic," Hitch reminds her.

"Yeah, no, that's not gonna happen," Rhi tells her, and you laugh to yourself.

"Agreed."

"Okay, so tell me what happened. Oh my god, did you cry? Did he cry? What'd Erwin say when you told him? You told him, right?"

You've gotten used to Rhi's rapid fire inquiries a long time ago, so you have no problem answering, "We walked in for the big Sina presentation today, and he was just there, and I was freaking out, so Hange had to do most of the work but still made me go over my findings 'cause I understand them better than they do, but anyway. I don't think he was paying attention at fucking all which is cool 'cause I wouldn't have been either, and then we talked for a second afterward, but there were no tears. There was almost vomit 'cause I felt like I needed to throw up, but I kept it together. I think."

"Okay, and Erwin? What'd he say?"

You snicker to yourself. "He made fun of me for a little while and then he told me to talk to Mike once I calmed down just to catch up and then to—this is verbatim, by the way—to possibly have dirty sex in Mike's office."

Both of your friends howl, Hitch being the first to gather herself enough to giggle, "He fucking would say that, oh my god, I hate him."

"Same," Rhi drawls. "Okay, but is there the possibility of dirty office sex?"

"Wha—That's what you're taking away from all that?" You splutter.

"Uh, yeah."

"I'm kinda curious too," Hitch pipes up.

You wave your free hand around in confusion and tell them, "I—we—no! We don't even know each other anymore. We said, like, four words to each other today, and it was fucking weird, so no. Pervs."

"Do you want to, though? Has he aged well?" Hitch asks in a low, sultry voice.

You click your tongue and pause, not wanting the first thought that pops into your head to be what comes out of your mouth because yes, holy shit, yes, Mike looks so fucking good. It was one of many reasons you were so tongue-tied in front of him.

He's still impossibly tall and broad, but in slacks and a button up. The beard he’s always had is short and rugged and a tad darker than the hair on top of his head that he's let grow out long enough to tie in a bun, and it fits him too well. You thought you were gonna start drooling on his fancy shoes.

"He's alright," you play. They see right through you, falling into another long fit of laughter until you admit, "Okay, okay, he's still stupid hot, alright?"

"God bless. I'm so happy to hear that. I'm so happy for you."

"Why would you—"

"Just promise you'll invite us to the wedding."

"I think you guys are getting a little ahead of yourselves."

"Oh my god, we have to call Marie."

"And, Maddie."

You shake your head as the other two start going back and forth, talking about you like you're not even there, bringing up college memories, old parties you'd all gone to.

"Hey, remember when you hated me?" Rhi questions, and both of you snort.

"And, you hated me right back. Stole your man or whatever."

Hitch mutters a quiet, "Ew, fuck that guy."

And, Rhi picks up, "Yeah, fuck that all-American, record-breaking pitcher."

The three of you talk well into the evening, eventually switching to Zoom so that you can all see each other and add Maddie and Marie into the call. You and Hitch break open bottles of wine, but Rhi and Maddie don't drink, "Solidarity with this pregnant bitch," Maddie says, and Marie lifts her glass of water to cheers via internet.

Sophomore and junior year of college, you never would have expected to get close to anyone other than Hitch, but through a few shared classes and petty curiosity, all of you ended up seeking solace in one another and came out on the other side as best friends. Hitch was even Maid of Honor in Marie and Nile's wedding. Against all odds, everything turned out pretty wholesome.

"I genuinely hope it works out," Hitch says now, words long, lazy, and starting to slur together "Like, even if it's just you and Mike making up and being, like, cool with each other again."

"Hitch, you're drunk, please go to bed."

"I am drunk. But, I still mean what I said. I miss when you guys were just best friends."

"Why?" You question with a head shake.

Hitch sighs, "'Cause you were so happy."

"No, I—"

"I mean, you were still all… weird and guarded, but that dude made you laugh and smile so much."

"I daresay I even saw you giddy on a couple of occasions," Marie hums.

"Whatever. I just want it to be… not awkward."

"Then, talk."

"Mm, pass."

A light knock on the wall of the impressively large cubicle gets your whole team's attention, all of you glancing up to find Mike standing in the little entryway, hands in his pockets.

"Hey, just checkin' in. Have you all gotten settled?"

"Yes!" Hange is up on their feet. "Great accommodations, and that lab you guys use?" They moan, and you can tell Mike is trying not to laugh because his mouth is twisting to one side like it always does when he tries to appear unaffected by something. However, you know well that it is very hard to remain unaffected by Hange Zoe.

"Yeah, we haven't had a lab that shiny in a long time," Moblit chuckles.

"Don't you work in government buildings?" Mike frowns.

"You ever seen the inside of a post office?" You question, immediately regretting it when those light green eyes land on you.

"Uh, yeah?"

Smirking through the butterflies, you tell him, "Those are government buildings too."

"Don't mind her. She's just being a smartass," Abel says.

Mike is really fighting that smile now. Even pinched to one side, you can see the way his lips are trying to curve upward, and you have to bite yours and look at the floor before you start acting like a god damn school girl.

It's nearing the end of the first week at your new location. It hasn't been terrible, and some of the strangeness is beginning to wear off, but it's still jarring to see Mike walk around or hear his voice carrying through his office door.

Neither of you have gone out of your way to talk to one another. Anything project related, Hange handles for the most part, and if anything is delegated to you, you try to pass it off to Abel because you're just not ready to be alone in a room with Mike. Your brain and your heart can't take it yet.

You can't deny that you're curious, though. You wonder what his life is like now, what his job is like outside of what you've seen (which, admittedly, is not much), what he does in his free time now, who he spends his time with. You couldn't help but notice (you made a point of looking) that there isn't any type of ring on his finger which is pretty fucking surprising since, well, Mike has always been a catch. How has someone not come around and swiped him off the market? Or, does he just not wear a wedding band at work? Or, does he just have a girlfriend and is waiting to take the next step? So many questions you have no business asking.

Mike hums, rubs at something probably nonexistent on the carpet with the toe of his shoe, and mumbles a little, "Nothin’ I haven't dealt with before," that makes everyone look at him curiously. "With co-workers, you know. Lotta sass in the office."

You stifle a laugh and stand up. There are a lot of sassy things you could say, but you figure none of them are actually appropriate, especially since Mike is technically your boss now—why is that so hot?—so you just slip out of the cubicle, doing your best to not brush up against Mike. He apparently doesn't care, though, because while he moves to the side, he does the thing that all men do, placing a hand on the small of your back as if to guide you past him, and it makes you burn.

"'scuse me," you squeak, relieved to be able to run to the restroom where you can sit in a stall and scream to Hitch through texts.

You are dying—mostly because you don't know what you want. Do you want to be friends? Do you want to seduce him? Do you want another nine years away from him? You have no idea.

You were sad for a long time after that holiday break. You trudged through your spring courses, took more classes in the Summer, then started all over. Hitch had to physically drag you out of your tiny apartment a few times but never to any parties, thank god. Just to lunch or the library, and eventually, Rhi, Marie, and Maddie came into the picture. Further into the picture, anyway.

While they got you laughing again, though, that ache didn't ever fade. Mike's words replayed in your head in a constant loop, day and night for months. I can’t do this anymore. Start fresh. Shouldn’t be hard for you. You were mad at yourself for a long time, for ruining everything and hurting him. If you could have gone back to the start of it all and done things differently, you would have, but you just had to sit with all your mistakes instead.

Then, your anger shifted toward him. Because you weren't the only one who messed up. You may have been the first one to, but he did some shitty things too. He's the one who didn't care even after finding out it was Zeke who blocked his number. He's the one who refused to believe that you and Erwin weren't actually a couple. He's the one who brought Rhi to the ranch house with the specific intention of hurting your feelings (and to wet his dick).

And, he's the one who didn't want to work things out.

You understand his frustration. You broke his heart, after all. But then, he turned around and broke yours too.

It was nine years ago, and you've moved on. You've dated people since then. You've fallen in and out of love. Mike wasn't even on your radar until Monday, but now… Now, there's no forgetting him. Old wounds get jabbed every time he peeks around the corner, any time you hear him laugh or see him smile, and when he actually looks at you, fuck, it's like someone is ripping stitches out of your skin.

It is not a productive work environment.

Your team hasn't noticed much other than Moblit asking what has you so tense these days, but no one has made any connections, and you'd like to keep it that way. Hange would have a fucking field day if they found out.

There are many meetings to toss around ideas, plans and blueprints that get scrapped. You stumble through presentations, trying not to look directly at anyone as your cheeks heat up and your hands shake.

"You've never been nervous about stuff like this," Abel tells you in the conference room one day as everyone else files out. "What's up with you?"

"Nothing," you shake your head. "Don't worry about it."

"Nothing my ass," he grumbles, walking out without you.

"You really should try to relax," Mike tells you from where he's still sitting at the table. "No idea why you're so nervous."

Everyone else is gone which means you're free to squint at him, scathing retort on the tip of your tongue, but when you see that he's smirking at you, the words dry up.

"Don't play dumb, Zacharias."

"I'm not playing anything," he tells you. "But, I do need to know how long we're gonna keep up this I don't know you-you don't know me thing."

"You literally just said—..." Taking a deep breath, you look over your shoulder to, one, form a coherent sentence in your brain, and two, make sure no one is close enough to hear it when you say, "What would you prefer we do? Not like we can just pick up where we left off. Unless, you know, you wanna go back to being incredibly fucking pissed at me for months on end."

"Man, you really are tense about this," Mike chuckles, and you're torn between slapping him and jumping his bones, so you do neither. Fuck, why'd he have to wear the purple tie today? It looks so good with his complexion and complements his eyes. A few strands of hair have come loose from the bun at the back of his head, and he shakes them out of his face like he used to shake his shaggy bangs, and all you can do is stare and squirm and tell him, "I have to go."

"Go where?" He asks, standing from his chair. It feels like he towers over you even from across the table.

You hold your hands out and gesticulate a little frantically, "I don't know—work? Maybe?"

He's extremely amused, even laughs as you make your way out the door, then calls, "Whenever you're ready to talk, just let me know! You know where my office is."

"I don't wanna talk!"

You really don't. But, you also really do.

Mike starts having fun with his new department (you specifically) around the third week.

He's never seen you like this before, having to mentally prepare yourself before you walk into any room, like you have to be ready for him. You nibble on your lip and rock on your heels. Your hands shake in meetings when you have to point to pictures or graphs.

It’s just so unlike you. He got so used to the surly, uncaring girl in college, never happy to see Mike until you gave him a fair chance (and decided you enjoyed his cock). He expects everything to come out of your mouth to be sarcastic or suggestive, and when it's not, it takes him off guard.

Mike is nervous around you too. He can easily admit that. But, his neverending panic really just manifests in the form of nausea and heart palpitations which he thinks is better than trembling and stuttering, but it's still mildly distracting.

Every once in a while, he catches a glimpse of that old side of you, though, a mumbled smartass remark or an unimpressed expression, and he has to make a conscious effort to not grin like an idiot because he's still trying to decipher his actual feelings.

Is he supposed to act like nothing ever happened, or should he hold a grudge? What seems more natural? What feels more natural?

Mike knows the answer to that last question, but he hasn't fully accepted it.

"It's kinda cute, actually. Like, I walk into the room and she gets this little doe-eyed expression. Looks like she's about to run away."

"You're kind of a sadist, you know that?" Erwin says.

"I mean, is it so wrong to get a little satisfaction outta this?"

"I think so, yeah. You're driving her crazy, dude."

Mike smacks his lips and rolls his eyes. "Man, how would you know—"

"'Cause she told me!" Erwin basically shouts like it's obvious. "The words came out of her mouth. Mike is driving me crazy. Just like that."

Pouting, Mike takes another sip of his beer and lets his eyes travel to the bottom of the TV screen to check the score of the game he isn't watching.

"Well, it's not like I can really do anything about it. She'll only be here for a few months."

"Do you happen to know how long it takes for a stomach ulcer to form?" Erwin asks.

Mike frowns. "Uh, no?"

"Well, neither do I, but I'm pretty sure it's not very long."

Both of them laugh. Mike mutters something about Erwin being fucking stupid, and then Erwin sighs and speaks, "I am begging you, dude. Please just get a fucking drink with her or something."

"We don't mix well with alcohol," Mike snarks.

"What's the worst that could happen—you end up in bed again?"

"Well—"

"Honestly, both of you could probably benefit from a good fuck, but what do I know? I'm just the guy both of you call for this shit."

"Alright, I get it. I'll… see if she's up for something," Mike mumbles.

"I mean, I wouldn't open with sex, maybe start off with lunch or…"

"I'm hanging up now."

Mike doesn't actually know how to ask you, though. You're so fucking skittish around him, and you're obviously worried about people finding out you have a history, so he's gonna have to be strategic about it, maybe plant the seed a few days before or—

"Hey, listen…" You appear in Mike's office doorway, long cardigan falling to your knees and swishing behind you even after you've stopped moving. "I know it's almost five, but I'm, like, right in the middle of mapping out a new plan, and I don't wanna lose steam, so is it cool if I stay late?"

"Yeah, I don't care," Mike answers, tacking on, "S'long as you're okay with being here late with me."

"Oh, th-that's—" you splutter for a little while, and Mike raises his eyebrows. "That's n-not necessary. You don't have to, like, supervise me or anything."

"I'm not supervising you," Mike snorts. "I'm trying to finish my piece for a journal."

"Ah, right, that's… yes." You shoot off a half-hearted finger gun, and Mike wants to hop his desk to get to you. There you are. There are your dumb fucking mannerisms, please, just act like yourself, for the love of god.

"Okay, well if you need me, uh, I will probably be on the floor in the annex, so…"

"We do have chairs, ya' know," Mike smirks.

"Yeah, but it's easier to just spread everything out so I can see it."

"Want a corkboard? You can make it look like you're doing a murder investigation."

"Hmm, might make it look more official," you muse, making a face of contemplation.

Before you can actually say yes, Mike pipes up again. "I don't actually have a corkboard. It was a joke."

"Yeah, I know," you snicker. "Wouldn't be big enough anyway."

Too many responses flood Mike's brain at once, causing him to bite his tongue because every last one of them is gross, but you must be able to read it on his face because you point and tell him, "Stop."

"I didn't say anything!" He laughs.

"You don't have to. I know."

Mike rolls his eyes, "Okay," and looks back to his computer, hoping the screen is high enough to hide his grin as you turn and walk away.

The next hour is spent editing the same paragraph over and over with no real motivation because everyone has vacated the floor except for you and Mike, and this could be a good time to talk to you, but he also doesn't want to disrupt your work. Just because he can't focus doesn't mean you can't. You'd only get upset if he distracted you from your work anyway—it's happened before—redirecting your attention from a textbook or study guide to… other things.

He goes down a rabbit hole, reminiscing on those occasions, then tweaking them just a little to fit into the current setting, and it's the absolute last thing Mike should be thinking about, but it's Friday, and you're slightly more casual in your flowy cardigan and tight jeans, and all he wants is to get one teeny tiny look at your ass in them because he knows your it’s perfect. He's seen it in leggings and cheeky little boy shorts and lacy thongs, and there is absolutely no way he can go out to talk to you now.

Also, he really needs to write at least one paragraph before leaving tonight. It's all about water and waste and pollutants which is the shit Mike knows like the back of his hand. He'd just rather have said hands on something else.

"Yeah, this isn't gonna happen," he mutters to himself, taking his hair down to scratch at his scalp. He's better off just going home.

Mike packs a few things up before stepping out of his office, closing and locking the door behind him. Half the lights are off, but the portion over the annex is shining brightly. Mike stares in that direction as he debates telling you he's leaving or bolting without saying anything.

It's the thought of you walking out to your car alone that makes his mind up, and Mike saunters to the annex and finds you on hands knees surrounded by several sketches, crumpled notes, and the set of blueprints that Mike is pretty sure got thrown in the recycling on Tuesday.

"Where'd you even find those?"

You don't look up when you answer, "Recycling comes every Monday."

"So, you went… dumpster diving?"

Lifting your head, you squint up at Mike, tracking him as he squats on the other side of your organized chaos.

"Is it dumpster diving if it's all paper?"

Mike shrugs. "Dunno. How's it comin'?"

"I'm comi—It!" You correct a little too loudly. "It's coming! It's coming along just fine."

"Yeah?" Mike chuckles. "Cute Freudian slip there."

"It was not—" You grit your teeth, fingers curling on the papers they're resting on, then question, "Did you need something?"

"Just came by to say I was leaving," Mike tells you. Something catches his eye, though, some of your notes scribbled just big enough for him to read a few of the words from where he is, and he grabs the sheet to look it over more carefully.

Irrigation plans, specialized pumps, introducing new life into the lake, specifically filter fish…

"I was just vomiting ideas out on paper, it's nothing important."

Mike hums and reads further. Some of it is familiar because Mike has considered some of these himself, but while your engineering thoughts are a little vague, the ideas that lean more toward the biological side of things are pretty interesting, even if they're just sloppy bullet points and arrows.

"You wanna vomit on a person instead?" He asks, chuckling at the look you give him.

"Ew."

"Just spitball. Throw it at me."

"Oh, I'm gonna throw somethin' at you all right."

Mike slips his bag from his shoulder and sets it down before sitting on the ground, picking up the papers closest to him.

"Tell me about the xylem tissue method," he prompts.

You don't speak right away, just chew on your lip while staring at the sketches on the ground, but then you nod and sit back on your heels.

"So, we know that white pine trees are a natural means of filtering, but there aren't any around here. I know it's more of a long-term plan, but we can't just go with a temporary fix, so I was thinking—"

Mike listens. To everything. Everything you can think of. He watches too. You rub your hands over your jeans and flick hair from your eyes. You change positions, sitting on one foot while resting your chin on your knee as you think out loud, then move to sit cross-legged only to get up to pace the length of the cubicle, barefoot since your heels were kicked off long ago.

He asks questions or makes suggestions here and there, and soon it isn't just you who's brainstorming.

It's easy. It's what Mike knows, and it's obviously what you know too, and a couple of hours pass before either of you realize it.

"Shit, it's almost ten," you state, looking at your phone. "Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you here so late."

"It's fine. Wouldn't have stayed if I didn't want to."

Mike stretches as he stands, twisting to crack his back and rolling his neck. You gather up all the papers, straightening them into a neat pile then putting them in a drawer at the bottom of your desk.

You walk out together, still chatting in the elevator and out to the parking lot, and Mike feels good. He feels like… He feels like he did in college.

"Please tell me that is not your car," you say, eyeing the boxy, white Mercedes that is, in fact, Mike's.

"What of it?"

"These fucking Jeeps are so ugly, I cannot believe—"

"Uh, it's not a Jeep. It's a g-wagon, thank you."

You roll your eyes. "I liked your Wrangler better."

"I bet you fuckin' did," he mumbles, too lost in the memory of you riding him in said Wrangler to think about how you might take the comment.

"It was easier on the eyes," you explain.

"It was a frat boy car."

"You were a frat boy!"

"And, now I'm a professional."

"Are you, though?" You tease, expression skeptical save for your tiny smirk.

"Most of the time."

The only other vehicle in the lot is a Land Rover, considerably larger than the little hatchback you used to drive but very fitting for someone in your line of work. Mike thinks about mentioning that it's basically the same as his Mercedes, just not as expensive and with rounder edges, but he knows you'll just get indignant and defensive.

He walks you over to your car, and you don't question it, just open the passenger side and throw your bag inside.

This is your chance, Mike realizes. Just ask. Ask her to go somewhere else and talk about something other than work.

"Hey, uh, do you wanna grab a drink or something?" He tries, heartbeat picking up once again. His eyes are a little too wide as you regard him carefully, studying him like one of your samples.

Then, you shake your head.

"No, Mike. I don't wanna grab a drink." His stomach opens up, the heat that comes with embarrassment creeping up his neck.

"Oh, sorry, I just—"

"But, there's a breakfast place close to the extended stay they put us up in. I've been wanting to check it out."

And, like that, his hope is restored. Hope for what, Mike doesn't know, but it's certainly there, blooming in his chest like unkempt wildflowers.

"Yeah?"

You nod. "Yeah. I'm still not really a morning person, but d'you wanna meet there at, like, ten or so?"

"Tomorrow?"

"I mean, if that works for you."

"Yeah!" Mike clears his throat, lowers his voice so that he sounds a little less excited. "I'm usually up and moving by eight."

"God, why do you hate yourself?" You cringe.

"I've always been an early riser."

"Not from what I remember."

Mike leans against your rover, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, maybe not when I was kept up into the early morning hours, but usually I was up before everyone else."

You post up across from him, one hand on your hip, and Mike realizes this is gonna go on for some time.

"Kept up? Like you didn't wanna be?"

He's fine with that. He'll stand out here talking with you until the sun comes up if you'll let him. And, maybe after that too.

Breakfast is good. Breakfast is safe. Breakfast is the start of the day and free of alcohol. There is nothing suggestive about breakfast.

Except breakfast has become a habit. For the last three Saturdays you’ve sat at the little cafe next to your hotel talking with Mike for at least an hour. You’re kind of getting to know him again, but most of the conversation consists of stupid jokes or blatant deflections.

His parents are still doing well, both in their sixties now, but Scout, unfortunately passed away a few years ago. Hearing it makes your eyes burn, and watching Mike’s face fall actually makes you wipe at your own rapidly forming tears.

He still keeps in touch with several of his frat brothers—Erwin (obviously), Nile, Gelgar, and some of the younger kids, Jean, Marco, and Connie.

“Yeah, I’m actually pretty close to Marie now,” you tell him. “And, Maddie, and Rhi.”

“Rhi?” He looks incredibly surprised.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “Bonded over the woes of college boys.”

“Didn’t see that coming.”

“Neither did I, honestly.”

Working with him is easier now. The ice has been broken. The boundaries have been set even if they are unspoken. You still do your best not to touch him at all, never stand too close or brush against him in any way, but you’ve loosened up a lot, and your team seems to appreciate it. Unfortunately, they also start to notice the way you light up a little too much whenever you’re around Mike, and naturally, Hange just had to comment on it a few days ago.

“You have a crush on the bossman or somethin’?”

“What? No. We just work well together, I guess.”

You do not tell Mike about this exchange, in fear of him prying. Well, do you have a crush on the bossman? You’re not ready for that, probably never will be.

There are a few breakthroughs in the Sina project. The research team gets extra funding to run more trials, and you start to stay late more often, sometimes in the tower with everyone else and sometimes in the lab. Things are progressing nicely.

Eventually, breakfast turns to lunch, lunch turns to dinner, and then you find yourself in Mike’s apartment, sitting at his kitchen table while he cooks.

“So, we talk every once in a while now, but it’s usually really awkward. Like, I still don’t ever know what to say to him.”

“Do you find it weird that he reached out in the first place?”

“Kind of? When I was younger, I always hoped he would, but now that he has, I almost wish he hadn’t. Does that make sense?”

Mike shrugs as he pours noodles into a strainer over the sink. “I mean, he’s your dad, so yeah, it makes sense. What he did was super shitty, but I figure it’s hard to forget the good times and just abandon all hope.”

“Yeah. On the bright side, he sends my brother money for commissary, like, every week, so that’s nice.”

It took a little while, but you’ve let yourself open up to Mike much easier this time around. Whether it’s because you already know you can trust him or because you’ve gotten the closure you needed for so long, you’re not sure. You just know it’s been easy.

Unfortunately, with vulnerability comes feelings, and you are having a lot of those. Too many. You’re glad that it’s not debilitating dread and nervousness now, but the overwhelming affection isn’t any less distracting.

Watching Mike move around his kitchen, though—clad in a t-shirt, faded jeans, and the dish towel thrown over his shoulder, you are painfully reminded of why you got so attached all those years ago.

It isn’t fair. You really didn’t want to fall back into this hole. You knew it was a possibility as soon as you saw him at that first meeting, but you were trying to put it off until you had to leave.

Because that’s the plan. You come in. You complete the project, get them started on a long-term plan for the lake, then head back to your home facility and wait for another job to be assigned. You can’t just stay here, even if the idea gets a little more tempting every day.

You’re just friends, though, just spending time together because it’s familiar. It’s nice being back on the same page, just letting the past stay there.

“So, it’s been about two months,” Mike starts, and something about his tone makes your stomach drop. “I feel like that’s an appropriate amount of time to wait before finally addressing the elephant in the room.”

So much for letting the past stay there.

Groaning, you rub your hands down your face. “Do we really have to?” Of course he would want to talk about it now that you’re comfortable.

“I really think we do.”

“Mike, that was so long ago. I was a dumb fucking kid. What do you need to know other than that?”

He braces himself on his counter, face serious. “Nothin’ really. I just want you to know that I was a dumb kid too.”

“Yeah, and we’ve grown since then and gotten over it, right?”

He lets out a long sigh. “I had gotten over it, but working with you every day has kinda... brought some things back to the surface.”

Staring at him, you swallow and try to stay calm. You know where he’s coming from, and it’s a little comforting to know that he’s been experiencing at least some of the emotions that you have been, but you don’t know whether or not it’s a good thing.

“I get it. I’ve been struggling too, but there’s nothing we can really do about it.”

You’ve thought about just taking the plunge and sleeping with him again. It would be nice—really fucking nice—but it would only make things worse.

“I guess. It’s been cool to hang out again, but…” Mike chews on his lip for a moment before finishing, “We’ve never been good at just hanging out.”

The reminder makes your skin prickle with heat, and you shift in your chair, reeling in your thoughts before they run wild.

“Yeah. If it would be easier to just not hang out, I’d understand.”

He turns back to the stove to stir something and turn on the vent then twists back around. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then, what are you saying?”

Mike makes a little disgruntled noise, hanging his head like he’s getting frustrated. “I’m saying some days are hard. I tried to keep some distance, but that lasted for about a week, and now you’re here, and even though you’ve changed some, you’re still you, and I’m still me, and… Some days are just hard.”

Some minutes are hard, you think to yourself. You can be going about your day like someone who isn’t completely fucking smitten, and then you see Mike, and he nods or grins and suddenly all you want is to be alone with him and trace over his lips with yours, feel his hands on you, run your fingers through his long hair.

“If I could take those feelings away from you, I would,” you tell him, and it’s apparently the wrong thing to say because he frowns.

“Do you not feel the same way then?”

Your reply is almost instantaneous. “Christ, Mike, of course I feel the same! I was in love with you! I didn’t know how to show it back then, but that’s what it was, so yeah, I feel it too, but there’s no point in—in analyzing it or turning it into something—”

“You were in love?”

“Dude. Yes. It took me a while to realize it—like, way too long—but yeah. Definitely love. Junior and senior year wouldn’t have sucked so much if it was just lust or infatuation or something.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you wave him off. “I fucked up. You had every right to be pissed.”

“I could’ve handled it better,” he mutters.

You shake your head. “Dumb kids, remember?”

Mike looks genuinely upset, and you don’t know what to say anymore, so you get up from the kitchen table and walk over to him. You have to physically urge him to turn and face you, but once he does, you wrap your arms around his torso and sigh. He immediately locks his wrists behind your back, resting his chin on your head, and it feels familiar and right and a little bit like home. You can smell the fabric softener that clings to his shirt and the fresh scent of his deodorant, different from what he used to wear, but that doesn’t make it bad.

“Can we wait for a while longer before we decide to act like dumb kids again?” You ask.

Mike chuckles above you. “You say that like you’re positive we will.”

You’re just being realistic, and you tell him as much. The chances of you leaving the city without having sex at least once are slim to none. You figure the two of you will break and indulge in one of those ‘just for old time’s sake’ fucks, but if Mike keeps talking to you like this, admitting feelings and what not, you’re gonna lose it much faster than you’d originally planned.

“Yeah.” You feel him nod. “Yeah, we can wait.”

When he kisses the top of your head, you almost give up then and there.

This fucking sucks. Everything sucks. Mike was never one of those people who looked back on college as his glory days, never really had the desire to go back to it, but now he feels like he’s reliving them because he’s back to being twenty-one and obsessed with a girl—being obsessed with you.

It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t know that you felt it too, but you admitted it, so now the only thing that’s stopping the two of you from exploring that avenue is, what, fear? Again?

He gets it. He does. You don’t want to fall into something serious only to leave, but it’s possible to navigate relationships like that. Long distance-works. There’s technology for that like phones and video chats and sex toys. Then, there’s always the option of just relocating. It would be drastic, but Mike isn’t against the idea. Arrangements would have to be made, but he could swing it. It’s a little crazy so early on, but...

He’s not gonna push it, not in a blatant way, but he’s gonna try his damndest to make it harder for you to go. He grows bold enough to start touching you more. A hand on the small of your back as you leave a room together, an arm around your shoulders when you watch TV over dinner, tucking hair behind your ear (“God, that used to be Erwin’s, like, go-to move.”). It’s fucked up because he knows your colleagues are asking about it, that he’s subjecting you to their interrogations, but he can’t help himself. He can’t stop.

It definitely has an effect on you. You get flustered every time, can’t look at Mike for a while, and he hopes it’s because you’re thinking about other ways he could touch you—has touched you—f you’d just give him the chance.

He thinks he has the patience to keep it up, wind you up more and more every day until you spin out of control and into his bed. You’re still spending time with him outside of work, still sharing pieces of yourself, and you’re not stopping him from putting his hands on you. so it’s only a matter of time.

It comes to a head in his apartment after dinner. It’s so simple, something Mike didn’t even do on purpose, but as you’re washing your hands, he comes up behind you and reaches past you for a paper towel. He puts a hand on your hip without thinking, and his chest presses against your back, and then you’re exhaling in one quick huff and squirming to turn around.

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?” Mike asks, confused as he takes a step back.

“Okay, I’m ready to act like a dumb kid.”

You don’t even dry your hands, just curl your fingers into his shirt and gaze up at him with dilated pupils, and Mike is elated.

“Oh, thank god, fuck, thank god.”

He leans down, and you stand on your tiptoes, and when you meet in the middle and he feels your lips on his for the first time in almost a decade, he groans.

You pull him closer, tilt your head further back to give him better access, and Mike cradles it in his hands. He tries not to breathe too heavily, pant like a fucking dog, but he’s been waiting for this since he saw you again. Maybe before that. He thinks on some level he’s been waiting for this since he left you alone in the ranch house, a little voice nagging at him to go back, to fix things, and he just never did.

“This is stupid, this is so stupid,” you murmur against him. “Only gonna make things harder.”

“Just stop thinking about it,” Mike replies, nipping at your bottom lip. He doesn’t want you to think about it because he doesn’t want to think about it otherwise he’ll blurt out everything he’s been stewing on for the last couple weeks, the possibility of a real relationship, of you staying or him going, and that's too much.

You both shed clothes on your way to the bedroom, a trail of shirts and pants until you’re naked and laid out for him, and Mike swears he just might cry because you’re so beautiful, just as he remembered with a little more meat on your hips and thighs, a new scar on your calf that he asks about before brushing his lips over it. That leg is already resting on his shoulder, and once he gets situated on his stomach, he throws the other one over himself.

His mouth starts to water as he gazes at your pussy, so fucking pretty, hole fluttering when he spreads you open. You can’t answer his question about the injury as he lowers his face, pressing the flat of his tongue to the sensitive skin then dipping it inside of you.

“Oh, fuck.”

You taste and smell and feel perfect, and the only thought in his mind is to devour you. He won’t stop until you’re crying, drool leaking from your mouth and your cunt. And, he knows exactly how to get you to that point.

Mike flicks over your clit until it grows firm against his tongue then sucks it into his mouth. The noise you make goes straight to his cock, and he starts to rut into the mattress to get some kind of friction. He can already feel precum dripping from his tip, knows you won’t be the only one getting messy tonight, but he doesn’t care. He’s never cared.

Mike only pulls away when your thighs start to tremble around his head, and it’s only to mark them with bruises. It reminds him of the last time, when you’d let him fuck you in a fit of desperation. It had been his undoing. He thought of that night for years, and now that he’s able to do it all again, he can’t help but confess, “Fuck, I’ve missed your pussy,” just before he spits on it.

Your chest is rising with every little whimper you release as your nails dig into your palms. He’s never been happier to have long arms, able to reach up and massage your tits, stretching his fingers out to span across your chest, thumb on one nipple, pinky on the other, and as he teases both of them, he moans at the fresh slick that coats his tongue.

“A finger,” you pant, “Give me a finger, fuck, at least one, please please please—”

You’ve always been so cute when you babble. Mike can never say no when you talk to him like that, but after assessing and deeming you fit, he slides two fingers into you at once, still sucking your clit.

You swear loudly, almost in surprise, but that doesn’t stop you from moving your hips, fucking yourself on every digit as your jaw drops open.

Mike wants to see your face—has to see it, so he licks up your body, stopping to tongue over your nipples as he goes. He never falters in his thrusting, still knows the exact angle he has to crook his fingers to hit your g-spot. Your back arches, and you plant your feet flat on the mattress to give yourself more leverage, more control. Mike smirks down at you, enjoying your euphoric expression as he grinds his palm against the bundle of nerves that is the key to making you fall apart.

“Oh my god—oh, god—fuck, Miche.”

His breath catches in his throat. God, he hasn’t heard that in too long. He never told you, not that he ever had to, but hearing you call him that drove him crazy, made him fall further in love and lust at the same time, and hearing it now has the same effect.

“Please,” you whine, then repeat it, spreading your legs to coax him deeper. “Fuck, I need you so bad, s-so bad.”

He’s in the perfect position to rub his cock over your stomach, smearing pre everywhere it touches. From the beginning, Mike has loved leaving traces of himself on you, always felt like he could almost smell it on your skin, like a sigil to ward off others.

He places a soft kiss at the corner of one closed eye, then on the other, and when you open them to look at him, he sees that they’re filled with tears.

It makes him pause, but you keep riding his fingers and beg, “Don’t stop, please don’t stop, m’fine, just—”

“Why're you crying then?" he grins, leaning down to lick your bottom lip. "Feel good?"

You nod, raising to your elbows to force your mouth against his, sliding your tongue inside then whining when Mike pulls away, but it's only to gather the spit in his mouth. When he kisses you again, he makes sure you take it all, pushing saliva past his teeth and onto your palette, and when you swallow, Mike makes a noise of satisfaction.

"That's my fuckin' girl."

That wide, fuck-drunk smile he loves so much spreads across your face as you accept the praise you never would have when you were younger.

Mike noses just under your ear then asks, "You ready for my cock?"

"Always,” you breathe. “Always ready for it."

"Yeah?" You nod, face scrunching up, and Mike thinks there's a chance that you're—"Gonna come for me first?"

Your muscles are starting to tense, hips stuttering, and he can actually feel your pussy spasming around his fingers.

"Come on, baby, you can do it. Just—'

Your eyes roll back as your body pulses. Mike's hand is coated with slick that he can't wait to lick off, and he fucks you with his fingers until you go limp.

He cleans his hand then slithers back between your legs to catch everything that's leaking from you. You release a pitiful moan when he traces a circle around your entrance then squeal when he rubs his beard over it.

"Jesus fuck!"

"Sensitive?" He teases before crawling back up to kiss you.

Holding himself up with one arm, Mike takes hold of his cock, painfully hard at this point, and parts your wet folds with his tip. He slides it up and down, teasing both you and himself and gasping every time it just barely dips inside of you.

"Miche, please."

"You sound good when you beg," he tells you. You've been doing an awful lot of that tonight.

"Good enough to fuck me?"

"Mm, maybe," he plays, but he's cut off when you lift yourself just enough to take his cockhead inside of you, squeezing it so that he swears.

It completely dismantles any self-control Mike thought he had, and he gives you everything he has in a single thrust that makes you scream his name.

"You asked for it," he tells you, starting to pull out.

You grip his biceps, shaking your head. "J-just stay still for a—oh god, oh god…"

Mike doesn't move, lets you adjust while he enjoys the way your cunt clenches around his cock. You're panting, eyebrows knit together, and apologize, "Sorry, give me… a minute. Been a while since I've taken anything this s-size."

It's juvenile, but Mike's chest still puffs a little when you tell him that, and that feeling only grows when you give him the go ahead to move and he pulls out to see that his cock is already covered in white cream.

Breathing out a quiet, "Fuck," he slowly pushes back in, mesmerized by the way it creates a thick ring at the base. "So pretty," he mutters, rubbing a thumb over the skin that's stretched around him. "Such a pretty pussy."

He lets a string of spit drip from his mouth and onto your clit then strokes the swollen bud in circles, the pad of his fingers brushing over the tiny hole that makes you twitch every time.

Mike falls into a very slow, deep rhythm, torturing you as he drags his cock over every inch of your satin walls. Tiny gasps are pushed from your throat with every thrust, growing louder when Mike sits back on his heels and pulls your hips up to meet his. It leaves you helpless, only able to claw at the blankets, but your efforts are half-hearted, the press of Mike's cockhead against your g-spot obviously making it hard to do just about anything.

"I—I—I—..."

"You what, baby?" He coos while admiring how big his hands look where they wrap around your waist, holding you mostly still as he drives his cock in and out of you.

Your cunt is pulsing again, so tight around him as it drips with slick and cream. The sounds it's making, an obscene balance of suction and squelching, has Mike shaking over you because it's so lewd but so familiar, and god, he has missed this.

And, you're right. It's stupid because he's just putting himself in the same place he was in ten years ago, but now he's a grown fucking adult, able to handle himself better, communicate better, fuck you better.

Tears leak from the corners of your eyes when he picks up his pace, and he groans when he presses in just a little too far, cockhead nudging against the wall deep inside of you. Your eyelids flutter, toes curling where your feet dangle and shake on either side of Mike.

His hips start to snap against yours, his balls swinging every time, and Mike remembers how nice it felt when they'd slap against your clit, the way you'd sing for him, and well…

"Turn over," he breathes, pulling out and helping as you get to your hands and knees.

He takes the time to appreciate the view, letting the weight of his cock settle on your back just to get a visual of how much you take of it, what it might look like deep in your ass and what it would be like to see your stomach bulge from it.

Another day.

Not wasting any more time, Mike sheathes himself inside you once again, spreading your cheeks and spitting on your puckering hole so that he can press against it with a thumb.

Your pussy opens up for him, like your body is begging him for more, so Mike fucks you harder, faster, slipping the tip of his finger into your asshole so that you tense up and say his name drunkenly.

His heavy balls hit your clit over and over, making you squirm and swear, head hanging back in an invitation, so Mike uses his free hand to grab you by the hair, pulling and glancing at what he can see of your face to make sure he isn't hurting you too much.

That grin is back, crooked and shiny with drool you keep having to suck back from your teeth. Mike hasn't felt this good having sex in god knows how long (he knows exactly how long it's been), and he thinks out loud, "Always take my cock so well. Always been able to…"

"Feels so good, Miche," you cry, "You feel so fucking good, oh my god."

He takes you like this until you can't hold yourself up anymore, elbows buckling underneath you, and all he does then is fall onto his back and pull you with him, letting you ride him like this and dragging his nails down your spine. It curves under his touch, arching and bowing as you lean forward to plant your hands between his legs and bounce on him.

Mike has a perfect view from this angle, huffing at the way your puffy lips open for him, clinging to his cock and dripping gossamer strands. Pressure slowly starts to build in both his gut and his balls, a hot sensation that grows, making him feel full and swollen and fuck, he can't wait to fill you up, can't wait to see you sloppy with his cum again.

But, not yet. Not yet.

Pushing you until you move off of him, Mike grabs his pillows and shoves you down on them, kissing you again before burying his face between your legs. Your hands are immediately in his hair, and he smiles when you tug at it a little harshly, using the strands as a means to guide Mike right where you want him. Even though he's taking this little break to let himself calm down, he can't help but press his hips to the mattress. He's hot and throbbing and dripping pre, ready but not ready to unload everything inside of you. He doesn't want it to end too soon, wants to savor every second because you're here crying and pleading for him, pushing yourself against his face only to pull back when he sucks on your clit.

He's able to fit three fingers inside of you now, keeps licking and fucking you until you whisper a slew of curses and start to warn him, "You're gonna make me—" breaking into a high-pitched moan as you squirt into his mouth and all over his hand.

"Fuck yes, again, come on, baby, do that again."

Mike coaxes another out of you, groaning at the feeling of you dripping down his face and chuckling at the way you shiver and sit up. Your eyes are barely open, head swaying back and forth, but you plant a hand on his chest with the confidence of someone who doesn't look like they're about to pass out, shoving him back until he lays down.

Straddling him, you sink down on his cock and bite your lip as you rock back and forth for a few seconds. Mike can feel fluid dripping over his pelvis, murmurs, "So messy," while pulling you down for a lazy kiss.

He lets you ride him, lets you think you're in control for a while until your legs start to get tired, rhythm becoming slower, and then Mike takes over. He lifts and drops you to his content, hips meeting yours as he fucks up into you. Your own hands cup your tits, pinching your nipples and putting on a show as you bounce up and down.

"You're so good," you breathe. "So fucking good to me, god, Miche, right there."

He's on the brink, so close to his climax, but he holds back, giving it to you just the way you want it until it starts to hurt, and then he grunts, "'m gonna come, baby, I have to. Fuck, please, please, let me—"

"Yes, yes, wanna feel you…"

Mike's head sinks further into the pillow as his hips move without any thought on his part. He spills inside of you, hot ropes of cum filling your cunt so that it starts to leak out around him, then shooting even more inside of you.

"Jesus fucking—"

Your muscles clench, squeezing and milking him until Mike starts groaning and twitching from overstimulation.

He could die right here and now and be totally fine with it. He really could. But before he can let that happen...

Mike urges you back, letting you get situated on your pillows again as he gazes at your stretched pussy and everything dripping out of it.

As soon as you stop moving, Mike is working his tongue inside of you. He can taste both himself and you, feel it coat his tongue as he drinks in as much as he can before sliding up to your face and taking your chin so you'll open your mouth.

The first drop makes you open wider, sticking your tongue out so that Mike can fill your mouth with his cum and spit, and the fact that you let him is so incredibly arousing, he just might fuck you until he's coming dry.

The little pattern is repeated a few times, Mike licking your pussy then spitting everything into your mouth, but he leaves some for lubrication, shoving the last of his cum back inside you when he starts fucking you on his fingers. He keeps you pliant, sucking on your clit so that he can slowly ease his pinky into your ass, and it isn't long before you're letting out breathy little sounds and tensing underneath him.

He takes care of you through your orgasm, looking at your face from where he lays. You're so pretty when you come, mouth open, eyebrows high, the picture of ecstasy, and Mike wants to remember it forever. He wants to keep you like this forever.

You shudder when he pulls his fingers from you, whine when he slowly laves over your sensitive pussy with his tongue, but after several long licks, Mike crawls back up to lay next to you.

"God damn," you laugh. "I had almost forgotten how good you are."

Mike smirks, kissing your temple and nipping the shell of your ear. "Almost?"

You nod, a spent smile making your lips curl. "I don't think I could ever fully forget even if I wanted to."

Humming, he traces fingers over your stomach, now sticky from the mess of precum he had basically slathered you with.

"Yeah, we were pretty good for each other when we weren't being stupid," he muses.

He should probably step away for a few minutes, hop in the shower and wait for the flood of chemicals in his brain to fall away.

"We were, weren't we?"

"Mhm."

Mike dips to press his face into your neck. He just can't stop touching you, can't stop breathing you in. He needs to memorize everything about this—how soft you are underneath him, how you smell like sex and sweat and your perfume, how quiet your voice is when you speak to him.

He feels your body rise and fall with a heavy sigh, and he's about to ask if you want to rinse off, but you open your mouth first, thoughtful when you tell him, "I loved you so much, Miche."

"I know," he replies. Even if he couldn't see it then, he can now. You may not have told him to his face, but if Mike had been just a little smarter back then, he would have realized you were telling him in different ways. "I loved you too."

He feels you pet his hair, probably a tangled wreck from being pulled. "I, uh…" You swallow hard, and Mike rests his chin on the hand on your chest, your heart beating against his palm a little too fast.

"You wanna shower before you say whatever you're about to?"

He knows what you're about to tell him. He just wants to make sure you don't regret it when you come back to yourself. "Yeah, probably."

Both of you leave the bed on unsteady legs, Mike leading you to the shower and setting it to your favored temperature. He stands under the spray with you, taking the brunt of the water while kissing you. You move slowly, tangling your tongue with his, mapping out his body with exploratory hands.

Mike is the one to break away after several minutes, insisting on soaping you up and dragging his loofah over your skin. He even sinks to his knees, gentle as he cleans your thighs and between them, careful not to get suds anywhere they're not supposed to be. When he’s finished, Mike presses a kiss to your pelvic bone before standing again, grinning when you pull him back to your face.

He doesn't have the same, short refractory period he used to otherwise he'd fuck you against the tiled wall, but he's content to stay like this, sucking on your lip and pressing against you.

Even after you've been given the chance to get your thoughts in order, you still blink up at Mike, water droplets dotting and falling from your eyelashes as you tell him, "I love you. I still love you. I don't think I can stop."

He holds your head in his hands, brushes his nose against yours as his chest swells with more emotion than he thinks he can actually handle, and his own confession is easy: "I love you, too." Another soft peck to your lips before he adds, "I think you already knew that, though."

"Wasn't positive."

Mike knows there are logistics to consider, but the two of you can work on that later. For now he just wants to finish rinsing off and crawl into bed with you.

He should probably change the sheets, though, and find you pajamas, so Mike does exactly that as you traipse back out to the kitchen for some water, wearing absolutely nothing and making him bite his lip.

He puts new bedding on the mattress, then digs through his dresser for a t-shirt and boxers. Something catches his eye, printed material that almost makes him laugh out loud. He doesn't know why he still has the shorts, especially since he ruined the shirt a long, long time ago, but he's so glad he does.

Pink and covered in palm trees, he can't even fit into them any more, but it's fine. He thinks he knows how he can repurpose them.

But first, he needs to call his mom.

It's an easy fix, really. Before the Sina project even comes close to wrapping up, Mike finds a place for you in his department, something you hadn't thought possible, but apparently he's kind of a big deal in the field.

When he makes you the job offer in the conference room, he's able to keep it professional for a whole three minutes before you agree to the terms, and then he's out of his chair and picking you up to swing around. Just like that, the whole fucking office knows about the two of you.

"Ha! You owe me fifty bucks, Moblit!" Hange shouts for everyone to hear, and you shake your head as the quiet man asks if he can Venmo them.

"I fucking knew it! I knew there was something going on! God, that's so satisfying. I'm not even mad that you're leaving us."

"It's been going on for a long time now," you snort.

Hange leans against the wall and wriggles their eyebrows, "Yeah, what, like, the whole three months we’ve been here?"

"Try ten years," Mike mutters, and the eyes behind Hange's glasses nearly roll out of their head.

You and Mike have to sign a few things, contracts and couples disclosures and what not, but you don't mind.

The first thing you do is ask for a few days off in order to move, and Mike naturally does the same to help. You live just over three hours away, but are able to recruit some help in the form of your old friends.

You let out a shrill scream when you see Erwin step out of his car outside of your apartment complex, all but throw yourself into his arms so that he laughs and squeezes you tight against him. It's been a couple years since you've actually seen him, the distance between you just a little too far, but it's so nice to stare at his stupid face again.

Nile is also there with a very pregnant Marie on his arm, and Hitch and Rhi arrive as all the guys are carrying down the first load of packed boxes.

"Damn, it has been a long time since we've all been together," you say, looking around at everyone and grinning after you tape up another set of cardboard flaps.

"Yeah, kinda weird how we all just get along now," Hitch giggles.

"It's almost like we're adults or something," Rhi adds.

You pass her the box, but she just groans and passes it to Erwin.

Everyone takes turns making trips to Mike's apartment, and the moving effort takes three days in total. You really need to find a way to repay all of them, maybe suggest a nice dinner.

"God, why do you own so much shit, babe?" Mike asks after loading the last shelves of a bookcase into his car (that you still hate).

"Because everything has sentimental value. Don't judge me."

"Oh, I'm judging. When'd you get so soft?"

You roll your eyes and reach past him to close the trunk door.

The others are all standing in the parking lot with you, antsy and excited for the two of you, or so you assume.

"I really can't thank you guys enough. You've made this so much easier," you tell them.

Erwin grins widely and pulls you into a hug, and to your surprise, Hitch slides around you to hold you from behind. It makes you laugh and call them dumb, but when they step back, you're hit with the realization that they weren't just being goofy; they were strategizing, keeping you shielded from Mike who is now kneeling on the asphalt and chewing on his bottom lip.

Your eyes grow wide, and you step back only to run straight into Erwin's chest. He puts two, grounding hands on your shoulders, and you can almost feel his smile as Mike reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box.

A small pink box.

A small pink box with pieces of fucking palm trees wrapping around it.

"Did you get that fucking upholstered?" You shout, and Mike lets out a giddy laugh, his eyes so narrow from grinning that you can barely see the green. "I don't even wanna open it. I cannot believe—"

"Good thing you don't have to open it then," he chuckles. “I do.”

"You are fucking impossible, you know that?"

"Yeah," he agrees before prying the ridiculous box apart and revealing a ring that makes you tear up.

It isn't huge, but it's far from plain, sparkling stones wrapping around it with a larger, round cut in the middle. It's extremely pretty and very you, and oh, you wanna put it on, you wanna put it on right now.

"Don't look too impressed. Mom helped me pick it out, and it’s all ethically sourced, of course," Mike says, and you wipe your eyes while giggling.

"Oh my god, she's crying!" Rhi yells.

"Shut up, it's because of that atrocious box."

Mike looks behind you at Erwin. "I knew she'd love it."

"Yeah, good call, bro."

"I hate both of you."

"Still gonna marry me, though, right?" Mike is still grinning, but you can see the barest hint of worry in his eyes, and you can't blame him because this is big. This is commitment. Marriage. He wants you to marry him.

And, some will say it’s too quick, that you’ve only been actually dating for a couple of months, but it makes sense because if you’re being honest, you never really fell out of love with Mike. He’s always been nestled deep in your heart.

"Against my better judgement," you smirk.

He stands up quick enough to make himself dizzy, has to brace a hand on his car as he kisses you.

"Finally!" Erwin shouts, clapping his hands and being joined by the others.

Mike slides the ring from the terrible box, pushes it onto your finger with shaky hands, and when you admire it in the sun, you look at him and nod. "Very nice, Zacharias. Even in the parking lot setting."

"I just wanted everyone to be here! If we went somewhere fancy, you would've figured it out."

That's true. Going to some nice restaurant or quaint little park would have definitely tipped you off.

"Also, you know once we're married, you will also be Zacharias."

"Yeah," you nod thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess I will be. Hey," you look at him with raised eyebrows. "Wanna shotgun beers at the wedding?"

Mike laughs loudly. "That is how it all started, isn't it?"

"Yeah, this stupid frat boy in a Hawaiian shirt came up to me and demanded I shotgun a room temp beer."

"Sounds like an asshole," Mike chuckles.

You shrug as he pulls you into his chest and sigh into his shirt, "He turned out alright, I guess."

#mike zacharias x reader #miche zacharias x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic

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amintyworld · 3 years

Text

Mentors - Dream SMP Hunger Games AU

A/N: So this started as a one page drabble, then it turned into a six page fic. Oopsies! Anyway this is meant to be a sort of prequel to ‘The Victor’ drabble I submitted over at @dreamsmp-au-ideas, but can be read as stand-alone. Anyway, I wrote this in the span of an entire DAY because I have no self-control when it comes to writing and this AU has sparked some Middle School nostalgia in me. Anyway, hope you enjoy and please check out the blog where the AU idea came from, they’ve given me a LOT of inspiration for fics to write. -Minty

TW: Talk/mention of death, fighting, depression/loss, threats of death, slight insanity. (Tell me if I need to tag anything else!)

Summary: Tommy’s an angry orphan, Wilbur grows a soft spot for Tommy, Sam is the only braincell left in District 7, Tubbo has Dadschlatt and needs a lot of hugs, Phil earned the achievement ‘Oh no Feelings’.

------------------------------

Tubbo intertwined his fingers as he walked with the guards toward the white porcelain-like door. The shock of his name getting pulled hadn’t exactly faded yet, and the dread of the logical conclusion he’d drawn up in his head did not exactly help matters. He knew he was dead - he’d never trained for combat, he wasn’t agile or fast, he knew next to nothing about surviving in the wilderness, or even whatever the Gamemaker threw at him for that matter. His fate was completely sealed the moment that boy with devil horns picked his name out of the bowl.

He took a breath, his hand on the door handle. Time to say goodbye.

As soon as he shut the door, he could feel his father’s comforting hand on his shoulder. “Hey, kiddo.” His voice was gentle, warm, and kind. Tubbo’s emotions couldn’t help but become unplugged at the voice as tears ran down his cheeks and he clung to his father tightly, afraid to let go. Schlatt wrapped his arms around Tubbo gently, rubbing his back to give him some comfort. “Oh Tubbo, I know kiddo, shhh...”

“I’m so scared, Dad.” Tubbo’s voice wavered as his body shook with sobs, and Schlatt’s heart broke at his son’s voice.

“I know buddy, I know.” Schatt moved so he could brush his hands through his son’s hair. “But… but you don’t have to be. I know you can do it, I know you can win.” A few tears slipped down Schlatt’s cheek. “You’re so much smarter than any of those meatheads in the Capitol, probably in any other District in Panem. You’re so much stronger than you know, kiddo. I know you can do it. Just survive, I know you can outthink any of them, I know you can win. Just survive, win, and I’ll be waiting right here when you come back, okay?”

“And… and we can finally make s’mores?”

Schlatt’s face broke out into a smile through tears. “Yes, yes we can make as many s’mores as you want! We… we’ll… I’ll show you the bee farms, and I promise I’ll be there every single night for dinner, no more late hours at the office. I swear.” Schlatt’s hands squeezed Tubbo’s shoulders. “But you gotta win and come home, okay?”

Tubbo’s eyes blurred with tears as he scanned his father’s face, words dying in his throat, not knowing what to say. “Dad, I-”

Schlatt pulled him down into another hug as the two wept, holding onto each other for dear life, not daring to let go. Then, a soldier appeared in the doorway. “He’s got a train to catch, Mr. Ram.”

Schlatt breathed deeply, pulling away from the hug to run his hand through his son’s hair one last time, taking in his face as he brushed a bit of hair out of his face. “I…” He bit his lip. “I love you, Tubbo. Don’t forget that, okay?”

“I love you too, Dad.” Tubbo gave a quick hug to his father, wrapping his arms around his neck.

------------------------------------

When Wilbur was assigned as a mentor for District 7, he was more than a little nervous. The other Victors from Victor’s Row assured him he’d do just fine, but still, he was not exactly looking forward to it. He’d met the escort and advisor a few days ago, someone from the Capitol named Sam. For someone from one of the richest districts in Panem, Sam didn’t exactly dress in high fashion - no bright colors or extravagant hairstyles. Instead, he simply wore a clean formal vest and slacks. He gave Wilbur the firmest handshake he’d ever been given in his entire life, and despite the situation seemed almost cheerful.

If he remembered correctly, he was supposed to settle in his personal car on the train and meet Sam in the dining car. Sam seemed to have every detail of their trip planned out perfectly, which Wilbur more than appreciated. He was already dealing with enough as it was having to mentor two kids and try to get them sponsors while basically reliving the worst time in his entire life. Ths screams, the blood… the memories were… they were not good.

They called him insane, unstable. The One Who Went Mad. When he used to panic and whimper and mutter to himself, they used to laugh at him. They thought what he’d been through, the things that he’s seen, and the nightmares that plagued him were nothing more than a funny joke. They loved his pain and suffering. Wilbur didn’t like when they laughed at him like some stupid monkey in a cage. That’s why he preferred to just stay home most of the time. But at this point mentorship was unavoidable, it was under Capitol orders.

It was a bit early before he was due to meet up with Sam in the dining car, and he craved a cup of black coffee. His mind whirred a bit from the familiar fancy train cars, and he needed something to clear his mind from remembering. When he opened the door, however, he didn’t expect to see one of the tributes already here this early. From his blond messy hair and his bright blue eyes, he assumed this was Tommy, the boy. Wilbur held up his hand to show he meant to harm before he moved past the teen sat near the window towards the tea cart, fiddling with the french press. Successfully pouring the pitch-black liquid in a very expensive looking teacup, he cradled it in his hands as he moved to sit across from the teenage boy, still focused on the train station outside the window. “Uh, interesting view?”

Tommy looked over at him for a moment, eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Something like that.”

Wilbur sipped the bitter coffee thoughtfully. He took a breath before speaking. “You know, you’re allowed to say goodbye to your friends and family in the Governor’s office, if one of the Peacekeepers made a mistake I’m sure there’s still time for you to…”

“No.” The teenager’s voice seemed firm, staring out of the window. “They didn’t make a mistake.”

“Uh, well…” Wilbur felt the awkward tension in the room rise. “You are a… bit early, we don’t leave for another half-hour…”

“Well, I didn’t exactly have anywhere else to go. No one to say goodbye to, so I guess they just skipped that part for convenience.” He looked almost angry as he turned back to Wilbur. “Do you mind maybe not staring at me?”

“I’m trying to talk to you.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk to you.” Tommy snapped. “You shouldn’t just start up a conversation just because you feel bored. I’m not paid to be your fucking entertainment.”

Add this to the number of reasons Wilbur didn’t want to be a mentor - teenagers. This kid certainly had a mouth on him.

Wilbur’s eyes narrowed in anger as he gripped his teacup, trying his best to stay calm. “Well, whether you like it or not, you’re all of Panem’s entertainment now.” Wilbur quipped as he moved to walk away. “So maybe you should learn to be a bit more likable.”

As he began to walk across the car to move toward a table in the corner of the room, he felt a heavy weight on his back as he lost his grip on his cup as it landed on the metal ground of the car with a loud crash, the coffee staining the expensive carpets. He felt punches on his back and head as someone tried to pin him down. Wilbur sighed in frustration. With ease, he jabbed Tommy’s side, putting him off balance, and flipped the kid over, grabbing his arm and pulling it behind his back. Tommy struggled against Wilbur’s grip, angry. He could see tears in the teenager’s eyes as he practically growled at Wilbur. “Take it back you bitch! Get off of me and fight! Take it back or I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!” Tommy’s anger slowly disappeared as he began to cry, his body shaking as he sucked in breaths, slowly realizing what exactly he said. “I’ll… I’ll…” Wilbur’s heart couldn’t help but ache at the sight of the poor kid, bringing back memories of that time, that feeling of being trapped.

The door at the other end of the train car flew open, to reveal Sam and the girl tribute from the Reaping, Sarah. “Wilbur, what are you doing?” Sam questioned as Wilbur quickly got off of Tommy, holding out his hand for the teenager to take.

“Uh, right.” As Tommy’s eyes met Wilbur’s the mentor noticed how they scanned across his face, confused at Wilbur’s sudden change from annoyance to kindness. Wilbur smiled slightly. “Let’s save the real fighting for the arena, yeah?” Tommy hesitated before taking Wilbur’s hand as he helped him up, getting even more confused as he quickly wiped off his tear-stained cheeks.

“Sarah Teller and Tommy Innit, meet your Mentor, Wilbur Soot.”

-----------------------------------------------

Tubbo formally met his other tribute mate, a girl he knew from those fancy business dinners Schlatt would host - he never really talked with her much then, but it was nice to see a familiar face, that was for sure. Her name was Crystal.

They arrived and settled in without much really going on. Their advisor, the one with the devil horns a few hours earlier was their advisor, Bad. They were very confused at first why anyone would name their child that, until Bad insisted it was a nickname for ‘Badboy’… Tubbo couldn’t say he didn’t believe the advisor with some of the fancy and absurd names that seemed so popular in the richer districts. “Now, the best part is that even though you are both chosen as tributes, you’ll be able to see all the Capitol can offer before you’re in the arena. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!”

“I guess it’ll be kind of cool to see the Capitol.” Crystal agreed as she took a sip of a fruitful smelling juice of some kind. Her eyes furrowed as if she was focusing intently on the next words out of her mouth. “I mean, this year economy-wise wasn’t particularly the best for them, seeing as their main exports have been plagued with attacks. It’ll be interesting to see how they fair under unseemly conditions.”

“E...Economy?” Tubbo asked in a silent question to his fellow tribute, whose face flushed in embarrassment.

“My father is the head of exports for District 3. Knowing about stocks and stuff is kind of his thing… then, I guess, it became my thing.” Crystal shrugged, and Tubbo thoughtfully bit into a buttered crust of bread. “I don’t really think that’ll be too helpful in the Games, though.”

“Speaking of the Games, where’s that old man… I told him to meet us here almost an hour ago.” Bad thoughtfully added with a sigh. “He’s going to miss dinner completely if he doesn’t hurry up.”

Almost as if on cue, the car door slid open, and in walked a tall broad blonde-haired man who looked completely mentally checked out. He yawned as he reached over the table to grab an apple and one of Bad’s homemade muffins from the basket. He looked over to the two kids and gave them a slight smile and a two-fingered salute as if to say ‘hi’. “Crystal, Tubbo, this is Phil Craft, your Mentor,” Bad said, quickly gesturing to the man, anger bubbling to the surface. “Phil, where have you been?” Bad demanded, leaning over to snatch the muffin out of Phil’s hand. “No muffins until you eat actual food! We’re in District Two tomorrow and they expect us up and ready by 9 am sharp-!”

“Alright, alright! Stop freaking out, okay?” Phil pinched his nose in annoyance, turning his gaze to look over at the two teenagers again. Phil met Tubbo’s eyes and smirked. “Also, you said I needed real food?” Phil threw the apple up into the air as it caught wind on his arm, traveling over his shoulder blades and taking off of his opposite hand, landing in his mouth as he sunk his teeth into the apple flesh. “That count?” He asked between chewing as Tubbo and Crystal couldn’t help but smile and laugh, clapping to applaud Phil’s trick.

“You bail on us for a whole hour, show up to eat a single apple, and then got back to your little hermit hut?!” Bad’s voice raised slightly. “What do you even do in there that’s more important than this, huh??”

Phil’s playful smile dropped for a moment, replaced with something more melancholy as Bad clearly struck a nerve. There was a tense moment of silence before Phil resumed his happy persona. “Well, I didn’t mean to be a bother and disrupt your dinner. Now that I have my apple and my muffin, I’ll take my leave.” He looked over to the two tributes. “I’ll see both of you in the morning.” Phil smiled before quickly exiting the room once more, leaving a slightly irritated Bad, and two very off-put tributes.

Tubbo couldn’t sleep. The day’s events weighed too heavy on his mind - the Reaping, saying goodbye to his father, dealing with the thoughts of his own inevitable fate. He missed Schlatt’s warm embrace, he missed how his father ruffled up his hair just in the right way to say ‘I’m proud of you, kid.’ He missed home and its faint smell of motor oil and coal from the factories that always seemed to seep in through the windows and cracks in the walls just right. He didn’t feel safe here, he was in one of the fanciest bedrooms on a train that he knew he’d never be able to get a ticket for years, and yet nothing about this place felt safe.

He was being chased by something, something with claws and teeth that whispered nothing but death. But Tubbo didn’t want to die. Even if he knew it was his fate, Tubbo did not want to die. So he ran, his legs quickly getting sore and tired from overuse, yet he pushed on. He heard whispers in his ears, taunting him, laughing at his pathetic escape. Tears ran down Tubbo’s eyes as he pressed his hands over his ears and continued to run, something pinned him to the ground, claws sinking into his back as he whimpered in pain. A chill ran down his spine as the monster growled close to Tubbo’s ear. His heartbeat quicker as he begged, no pleaded to whatever was out there, please please I just want to live-!

He awoke with a start, looking around, tears streaming down his face as his body shook with an adrenaline rush. His hands found their way over his heart, making sure he was still alive as arms wrapped around him, shushing him and holding him close. “Woah there, Woah there… it’s okay, it’s okay. It was just a nightmare, it wasn’t real, shhh…” The panic in Tubbo’s chest slowly quieted as he wrapped his arms around the person, needing comfort desperately. The figure seemed startled for a moment before brushing back some of Tubbo’s hair out of his eyes. Tubbo looked at the figure for a moment, confused.

“Phil?”

“Hey mate.” Phil smiled warmly. “That was quite the nightmare, yeah? You were flopping around like a fish out of water.”

“But…” Tubbo sniffed, pulling away to wipe away his tears. “But why? How?”

“You sounded like you were in physical pain, I was worried. Can’t have a tribute dead before they even get to the arena, you know. Would really throw off the whole schedule.” Phil half-joked as he looked down at the mattress, not being able to meet Tubbo’s eyes at that moment. Tubbo’s gaze was focused on his mentor.

“Why’d you help me, we just met today for like two seconds at most-”

“It doesn’t really matter that much, I was just passing by-!” Phil dismissed quickly before Tubbo’s tone got more serious.

“Phil, if you’re going to be my Mentor you’ve gotta at least tell me the truth. I need you to tell me the absolute truth when it comes to this because I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, what I’m up against, how I’m even supposed to survive, but you do. I need you if I ever stand even a chance of getting home. Please.” Phil let out a frustrated sigh.

“You reminded me of my son, that’s all. When he used to be a tribute.” Phil said, looking toward the ground. “He’d have nightmares, he was so scared but I told him I’d never leave his side, so when he got picked I went with him as his Mentor.” Phil sucked on his cheek. “I thought that if I went with him, talked him through it, got every single sponsor I could, he’d…” Phil sighed. “I just didn’t want for you to have to deal with the nightmare alone, no one should have to handle everything alone.” Moving off his bed, he looked over. “I’ll be across the hall, okay?”

“Oh...Okay.” Tubbo said, nodding. “Thanks.”

Phil nodded back as he turned and Tubbo saw Phil’s hand move toward his chest quickly, was he putting his hand over his heart or something…? As Phil moved toward the door, one question stood on Tubbo’s mind, he bit his lip for a moment, considering.

“Phil, wait-!” Phil turned around, and Tubbo saw Phil’s hand wrap around a necklace of some kind he didn’t notice before, in the shape of a heart. “Did… did he survive? Your son?”

A tense silence followed.

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” Phil said. “No more questions, you need to get some sleep.”

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vavandeveresfan · 3 years

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“Michael Keaton, Revved Up and Ready to Tell Some Stories.”

By David Marchese, for The New York Times Magazine. Aug. 29, 2021

Michael Keaton has been a star for long enough to have gone through multiple and distinctly different cycles of fame and artistic expression. He has zigzagged through the years from the gleeful anarchic charge of his comedic work in his early hit films like “Night Shift” (1982) and “Mr. Mom” (1983) to megastardom via the gothic “Batman” (1989) and even more gothic “Batman Returns” (1992). Then, after a period in the wilderness in the 2000s, he made a welcome comeback, kicked off by his detailed and widely praised character work in “Birdman” (2014). He’s such a familiar, even nostalgic, figure at this point that it’s easy to take his uniqueness for granted. It’s hard to think of another actor capable of, say, the manically riffing poltergeist he played in “Beetlejuice” (1988) and the layered gravitas of a latter-day role like his hard-nosed Boston Globe editor Walter Robinson in “Spotlight” (2015). But no matter the part — and I think this is essential to his appeal — Keaton, who is 69, always exudes an intense (and intensely American) self-reliance, a defiant independence. That quality is on display in various forms in his recent work as a contract killer in the thriller “The Protégé,” released in August; as Kenneth Feinberg, the real-life lawyer in charge of dispensing the 9/11 victims compensation fund in “Worth,” which premieres on Netflix Sept. 3; and as a small-town doctor whose eyes gradually open to the opioid crisis in the Hulu limited series “Dopesick,” slated for release on Oct. 13. “There’s something to getting older,” says Keaton, a digressive and keyed-up talker, who paced nonstop through his Montana home as we spoke via Zoom. “Not only do the roles get a little different, but your interpretation of them might be more interesting too.”

A few years ago in an interview you said that there was a point in your career, I guess it was in the mid-2000s before you sort of disappeared for a while,

I have wide interests, or catholic interests, as they say, and when you’re like that, you reach a point where you go, “OK, I still have to make a living so I have to take certain acting jobs,” and you try to do your best. Then you start to literally get tired of hearing your own voice, and also metaphorically get tired. You kinda go, “Am I a bullshitter right now?” But you say, “Hey, man, I’m fortunate enough to have a gig.” And I pass up a lot of work. I’ve passed up so much work over the years because I was curious about other things. I wanted to live life. Maybe it’s that nothing was coming around that made me interested. But I think work’s real important. I’m looking forward to a time when my work becomes other work, frankly. Like I’m involved with this environmentally conscientious construction company. I don’t know. Maybe I got bored with acting. That sounds so cavalier: “I was bored.” But I probably did get a little bored with myself. People forget about you, and I’m off doing other things. But I thought: I’ll be all right. Better roles will come around. Then, you know that whole thing of how you can manifest things? It’s doable. Your attitude, how you look at things and what you can create is more in your power than a lot of people think.

What’s the trick?

Here’s the deal: Everything comes down to the question of what do you want? You keep going back to what you want and you go, “Well, I have this,” but, yeah, what do you want? Then you have to drill down and have the balls to say, “If that’s what you really want, then you have to do X.” You know what the rest of it is? Good fortune. A couple of things go your way. Alejandro González Iñárritu calls my agent, and he goes, “I want to talk to him about this movie.” Because I like sports so much I use probably too many sports metaphors, but you gotta get tough and be competitive and not want to lie down. Certain things started coming around for me because I said, “I’m not lying down.” I don’t know. I’m probably overanalyzing it.

So when you asked yourself what you really wanted, what did you come up with?

Dude, dude, dude. We do not have time. We seriously do not have time for that. Trust me. That’s a whole other conversation. I don’t think print serves that question, to be really honest with you. It’s not like a thing you can touch.

OK. But then what do you actually do after you ask yourself what you really want?

You’ll come up with another answer. Then you’ll have to keep asking yourself, Yeah, but what is that? And then if you can live in that — without sounding like I’m saying something that makes me want to go outside and vomit — you kind of raise your consciousness.

I’m not sure I totally follow but —

Can I add this?

Please.

I’m blessed-slash-cursed with a bit of a chip on my shoulder. I keep it there because it’s motivational.

OK, so to get back on track: You had a period where you would do performances and they wouldn’t ring true? I’m just trying to get a handle.

So you hear yourself speaking, you’re in a scene, and it doesn’t necessarily not ring true, it’s just kind of a sound you’re doing that’s too familiar. I can’t explain it. I think there was a little overall boredom but not with the business — bored with me. Then the next level of that is are you having any fun or are you even really any good right now? So you’d stop, step back and reassess. Do some other things. Frankly the reason — a reason — that a person can be more effective as an actor — boy I hate acting talk.

Indulge me.

You’re the boss. I think you become a better actor if you have a world awareness and if you have experiences and you hear the way people speak. It was also a pride thing, eventually wanting to do more stuff. After a while you kind of go: I got some ammunition left. But I was living. I was doing some things, I was picking up a little bit of work. My attitude was make ’em throw you your pitch. Foul off a few. Take close ones right on the edge of the plate. You go: “Uh-uh. I’m here. I’m a [expletive] hitter.” Then you go, “I can hit that.” So you just hang in there. By the way, I’m not convinced baseball players of all the athletes are the brightest of the bunch.

I know you like to talk in sports metaphors so —

[Laughs.] You have that tone: “I know you like to talk in sport metaphors. But could you stop?”

No, no. I was going to ask if you could use one to describe where you are in your career now.

No. I could never describe it. I get embarrassed using the word “career.” Once you start talking like that you have a self-consciousness about it, and it takes away from: What’s the thing you really are supposed to do? What’s the job at hand? What’s your function in life?

There’s a passage in the piece you wrote for that book about fishing, “Astream”(A 2012 collection of nonfiction pieces by American writers on fly fishing.) “If you’re doing it right, the longer you live, the more you become just who you really are.” Are you becoming closer to who you really are? And who is that person?

It’s [expletive]. It’s just [expletive]. I’m so lost, Dave. [Laughs.] No, it’s funny, I was doing this little meditation today, and I was thinking about some version of that. So the answer to that question is, I don’t have any idea.

But when “Birdman” happened — and this was compounded by “Spotlight” also being so acclaimed and following that movie so closely — there was the idea that you had a comeback. Did that change your perspective about what your career had been up to then?

I don’t even like to use the word “career.” It sounds so narcissistic. “My career”; “career-wise.” It sounds pretentious just hearing myself say it now. To be totally honest, it’s not like everybody was knocking on my door. What people don’t know is, I never left; I was always picking up a little gig here and there. Throw a little money in the bank. I’m too antsy to sit around anyway. Fortunately, I’m interested in a lot of other things.

Like what?

I’m a news junkie. I kind of obsess over that, which is not good, and I do my little things under the radar with guys like Jim Messina. (In November, Keaton was featured in a pro-Biden video aimed at voters in his native Pennsylvania. The spot was created by American Bridge 21st Century, a super PAC that the former Obama deputy chief of staff Jim Messina worked with as an adviser during the 2020 election.) I love nature and being outside. My kid and I are tight. You know, I’m just so lazy. Honest to God. I mean, Thomas McGuane,(The esteemed novelist, who is the author of, among other books, “Ninety-Two in the Shade,” and a neighbor of Keaton’s in Montana.) he’s an old friend. He told me a while back, he said, You need to write. I thought I would write early on, and I quit because I’m lazy. So I’m doing a little more of that just for me. I’m developing this thing with Jay Roach and Owen Burke and Adam McKay.(Keaton is working with the trio, who have collectively participated in a bunch of smash Hollywood comedies, on an adaptation of a story by the New Yorker journalist Evan Osnos. Keaton declined to elaborate on precisely which story.) That takes up a fair amount of my time. When I get involved like that creatively, I get excited again. Even this interview: I’m not unnecessarily flattering you, but when I get talking about things — I forget how much I like things like this conversation. I start to get stimulated again.

I know there’s an element of randomness to the roles an actor ends up taking, but you’ve done “Dopesick” and “Worth” and “The Trial of the Chicago 7”. all relatively close to each other. Is that indicative of any increased desire to address politics more in your work?

You know, probably. There are things I did because I thought they had to be out there. I’ve always thought, without sounding self-serving here, that it’s important to be able to say, “If it all falls apart tomorrow, at least I did something that maybe meant something to someone.” “Dopesick” is personal. I lost a nephew to heroin. Fentanyl, really. It was my sister’s son. I don’t think I believe that I have a responsibility exactly, but you wouldn’t want to leave the world going: “I could have been a mensch. I could have turned somebody around.” People have come up to me about “My Life” (Keaton played a man diagnosed with terminal cancer opposite Nicole Kidman in this 1993 tear-jerker) and certain things that I’ve done and commented on what it meant to them. So you can say: “There’s that. At least I did that.”

Was it cathartic to work on “Dopesick”?

Well, I told his mom, my sister, about it after I had already signed on. I was direct and honest with her. I said, “Look, if this wasn’t well written or if they were saying you’ve got to kind of work for free, I’m not going to lie to you and say I would have done it, but, that said, the No. 1 reason I’m doing this is for Michael1111 Keaton’s nephew, also named Michael. and you and for everyone out there, because it’s important.” Then what happens is once you get going you’re locked in. There were moments where we were reading the script, and you would say, “Jeez, this is Michael’s story.” But that’s not the job at hand. The job at hand is to be the doctor and get back to work.

The doctor in “Dopesick” or Ken Feinberg in “Worth” are both sort of authority figures, which can be said of a lot of the characters you’ve played since “Birdman.” But earlier in your career — sorry for using that word — pretty much from “Night Shift” to “The Paper” you tended to play anti-authority types. What accounts for that change?

I totally know what you’re saying. I don’t know that I’ve thought about that specifically. Now, there’s probably some kind of stupid pride that would make me say, man, the guy in “The Paper” is certainly not like the guy in “Night Shift,” and “Beetlejuice” wasn’t like anything else. “Mr. Mom” was different. “Multiplicity” is one of my favorites, too, and that’s different.

“Tuck tuck fold.”

[Laughs.] Man, I miss that stuff so much. To see how far I could push Andie McDowell, to see if I could get her to break. What’s really interesting about you saying that is, man, do I miss — it sounds egotistical — being funny.

I’ve watched some of your old stand-up (Keaton’s first career in show business was as a stand-up comedian in the mid-to-late ’70s. That is, if you don’t count the crew work he did before that on “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.”) but you know what really killed me? Watching your Letterman appearances from the early ’80s. The conversation between you two is just joke after joke after joke, and the one time where you came on walking on your hands? The energy level is just — it’s very cocaine.

I don’t get to talk about this very often with people. I’m actually enjoying this. First of all — 100 percent true — absolutely no cocaine was involved. I’m not trying to save any kind of reputation. I’m just saying.

Oh, sorry, I was joking. I was just commenting on the vibe.

No, no, no. I do realize what you noticed because I remember being on a movie with someone — I’m not going to say who, they’re friends of mine now — and I found out years later they assumed I was on something, and they got worried. They thought, Jeez what if we get shut down? But even talking to you now, I feel myself getting revved up. I get like that. I’ve been like that since I was a little kid. It’s probably annoying to some people. I miss that stuff with Letterman and those guys. When I hear people talk about stand-up, no one really gets — unless you’re in that world — what that world really is; what you have to do if you want to be really good and how serious it can get. I was always afraid that the fun would go away. I was always afraid that I’d “catch the disease.”

The disease of being a morose comic?

Basically. The crazy that’s a lot of times in there and the self-involvement and, at the time, the friggin’ cocaine, which was everywhere.

I read some old magazine profile of you where you made passing mention about bombing as a young comedian onstage in Las Vegas. Is there a story there?

Yes. I pretty much — and I’m not saying this out of, well, wait a minute, maybe I am saying it out of braggadocio. I don’t know. Let me hear myself say it. Maybe I am. I’m really not bragging: What little act I had, I knew that some parts of it worked. They just did. So at the time Cher — if you’re enough of an entertainment nerd you’ll probably remember there was this phase where Cher really wanted to be a rocker, and she’s kind of not. She’s Cher.

She was playing the part, though.

Yeah, and this was in old Vegas. You look at the acts in Vegas now? They could be down in the West Village. Then, that wasn’t it. That was not it. I think her thinking was, Let’s go hipper, let’s go young, because I’m Cher and I’m going to do my rock tunes. So somebody said, “You gotta go see this guy” — me. She sees me and says: “He’s funny. Let’s take him.” So I go “Cool.” Meanwhile if you drove down the Strip and looked at the marquees, who the names were, they were comics that not even my dad would — just older guys. I’m not saying good or bad; a totally different thing. So I go, OK, I’m kind of scared, but I pretty much know this material works. It doesn’t bomb. It just doesn’t. It’s not like people were writhing on the floor with laughter ever but I go, no, this works. Then I started to get a feel for Vegas and I’m going, Oh, boy. But I thought, Well, they’re going to see Cher so I don’t have to do a lot of time. Then she started telling me how much time she wanted me to do, and I went, [expletive], I don’t have this. And backstage the curtains were like 40 feet high. It was like, Whoa, wait a minute, this is big. Then you get onstage, and they’re there to see Cher. They’re still eating, all you hear is silverware and people mumbling things like, “Hey, I didn’t order Thousand Island.” You’re up there and they go: “Who is this kid? Why is he bothering us?” I remember starting with some kind of architecture-related joke.

Those usually kill.

[Laughs.] Oh, people love architecture bits. It was death, and I had never experienced death. I remember sweat literally running down my back. By the way, the architecture thing was totally stupid in retrospect. It’s not even funny. So anyway, that was traumatic. I always felt like I disappointed Cher. She’s great though.

I have a “Batman” question: When I rewatched “Batman” (This film and its sequel — both huge commercial successes — were directed by Tim Burton, who had previously directed Keaton in “Beetlejuice.” Keaton and Burton both declined to revisit Batman for “Batman Forever” (1995). They did reunite on “Dumbo” in 2019.) and “Batman Returns” it seemed to me as if there was a progression from one film to the next in how you played Bruce Wayne. Picking that character up again 30-ish years later in “The Flash,” (Keaton will reprise his role as Bruce Wayne and Batman in this film, currently slated for a 2022 release) are you playing him as a continuation of that same guy or are you starting from scratch?

That’s a really good question. I’m not being cute: When I hear you speak I go, “I have a feeling he knows more about Bruce Wayne than I do.” I don’t know if I thought about it that much. Maybe I did. The first “Batman” I didn’t think was going to happen because when Tim Burton called me, he said, “I want to talk about this thing.” I go, “Cool, what do you got?” He tells me and I go, “Wow.” He said, “Go home and read this script.” We had developed a relationship. We’re pals to this day. So I went home and read it, and I went, “I don’t think he’s going to want me to do this after I say what I think.” Then we met and I go, “I think the character is this, this, this and this.” I remember Tim’s hair was really long, and he’s looking at me, and as I’m talking his hair is flapping up and down, like nodding woo woo, and I went, I guess he’s thinking like I’m thinking. So I say, “OK, let’s do it.” Then everybody was saying, “Oh, my God, the world’s going to end.” (There was a negative fan outcry after it was first announced that Keaton would play Batman. The general gist being that the actor — best known back then for his comedic roles — lacked sufficient seriousness to play the comic-book character.) I thought, Really? Do people think that there’s anything to be outraged about?

You know people take superhero movie stuff even more seriously than Jesus these days, right?

I do. It’s crazy. But doing it again was in a way more fun than any other time. I think I invested myself more. Honestly, I’m probably too frightened to phone anything in. I would phone something in if I could. I just can’t allow it to happen. The kind of athletes I’ve always liked are the grinders. Guys who just said: “[Expletive] you. I’m going down hard.” So I thought about the character again, and I thought, OK, if you’re going to do it, don’t be a dick. Go to work. Do the thing. I don’t know how you are about this, but I never got the whole fascination with the superhero thing. We can laugh at the people who obsess but it’s none of my business what people think. Their interests are their interests. I didn’t want to disrespect it. I thought, Hey, man, embrace it. Be a professional and do everything a professional’s supposed to — but, well, all my conversations with Andy, (Andrés Muschietti, director of “The Flash.”) a couple things he wanted me to do I go, “Nah, I’m not doing that.” By the way, I’m talking about two little things where I said, “No, that’s not the character.” Because you have to honor that guy. After all these years, if you’re going to do this again, be respectful to the character and the movie. And Andy was right about a lot of stuff that I’d thought: I don’t know if you should do that with this guy. It’s all pulpy and everything, but Bruce Wayne’s an interesting character.

You know, I hadn’t realized that you and Tim Burton were still pals, and now I’m mentally stuck on the possibility of him all gothed out going fly-fishing with you in Montana.

[Laughs.] You know, the imagery does seem weird. I will tell you, here’s the thing about Tim Burton that a lot of people don’t know: Because he has certain mannerisms and personality and what his art looks like, I think there’s a little misperception. He’s refreshingly way more normal than people — I don’t know if normal is the right word but you know what I mean.

I’m going to keep sidetracking now — that’s your influence, by the way.

That’s good. That’s real good. Did you ever read “Tarantula”?

The Bob Dylan book? Yeah. (Dylan’s prose-poetry collection, published by Macmillan in 1971. Here’s how it starts: “aretha/ crystal jukebox queen of hymn & him diffused in drunk transfusion wound would heed sweet soundwave crippled & cry salute.”)

A guy like you probably said, “I understand all of this.” [Laughs.] I don’t even know if that’s a good book, but I remember when I read it, I was going, Wow, Dylan’s really deep. Then I went, But what is he talking about? Anyway, go ahead.

You got a good fishing story?

We were all hanging the other day — who was I talking to? Oh, I’ll tell ya! I was with my friend Skip Herman, who I fish with. Huey was there.

Huey? You don’t mean Huey Lewis?

Huey Lewis, yeah. Excellent angler. I think he had a scholarship to Cornell and —

The fishing story?

Oh, sorry. We’re sitting around telling these stories, how fly fishermen do, and I said, “Most of my fishing stories, they’re seldom about catching fish.” However, probably the best fish I ever caught was a steelhead up in British Columbia with a broken rod that I had to hold together in two pieces. When I say I chased this fish down: in and out of a drift boat five or six times. And when I say I chased this fish down: giant, hot white-water stretch of the Sustut in British Columbia, for about over an eighth of a mile, maybe closer to a quarter of a mile, and landed it with a broken rod. A buddy of mine who was a rod builder, I’ve never told him that his rod broke. He’ll take it well, he’s a good guy. You know, I probably do have some fishing stories. Maybe I’ll tell ya another time.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity from two conversations.

#Michael Keaton #Batman #Beelejuice #Worth #The Flash #The Protege #Birdman #Spotlight #Dopesick #V.A. Vandevere #Tim Burton

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the-unknown-storyteller · 3 years

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The Sight Of Such Pretty Things

Summary: Wilbur is dead and Ghostbur fills the place he has left behind, mending the broken relationships he has thrown aside.

Wilbur is dead, but Ghostbur is alive in the sense that he gets to experience all the little things his former self may have taken for granted.

Talking with Philza about the colour green, stargazing with Tommy until deep into the night and collecting wild potatoes with Techno remind him that he is not that person anymore. That these moments are his and his alone.

Nevermind the fact that he can't talk freely, breaching sensitive topics left and right and touching people with hands that can only seem to remind and hurt with memories he himself cannot remember.

It all starts with Philza. With him and his green-striped bucket hat that ignites an irrational interest in Ghostbur's mind. It's such a nice green, is all he can think, as he walks laps around Philza's living room, mindlessly chattering and rambling on about his day.

His restless hands throw a small piece of lapis that he found the other day from side to side, palming it in his right hand whenever he raises his hands in exaggerated sweeps and gestures to accompany his excited words about his newest project.

"-saw it just the other day and I really wanted to build it and Tubbo said he didn't mind it, so I just went right ahead and, Phil, I just gotta say, it's coming along great! Fundy is helping me balance it properly, so that it won't topple over and accidentally crush the main walkways and-"

Ghostbur can hear his father hum every now and then to let him know that he is listening, as he mends the latest rip in one of his green shirts. Green like the stripes on his bucket hat. Both his feet and his words come to a stop, strangely fixated. It's so green.

"Hey, Phil, have you ever noticed how green your bucket hat actually is?" Ghostbur drifts over to his father to get a closer look at his hat, his crane building story forgotten. "Like, it's really green. One might think that, with all the fighting and running it has probably endured, it must have definitely lost its colourfulness. But look!" He raises his hands to frame the hat, as though it were something exceptionally precious. "Still as green as the day you got it, I'm sure!", he exclaims with a grin, his face mere centimetres away from Phil's.

"Uh, thanks, I guess." Philza laughs awkwardly, shuffling on his seat. "Never knew you were this enthusiastic about green clothes, mate."

"Oh, I'm not," Ghostbur chirps, playing with his piece of lapis, "I just really like yours, especially your hat!" He rubs his thumb over the stone one last time before putting it away, missing the way Phil's smile becomes strained.

"It's funny that you say that. Someone I knew had the exact same sentiment towards green," Phil says softly, pulling the bucket hat from his head, rubbing at the worn fabric. "Especially towards my hat."

"Oh, how fun! Who was it?" Ghostbur loses concentration in his excitement and can distantly feel his body slowly float upwards, rotating until he stands upside down on the ceiling. Unbothered, he keeps talking. "Maybe you could introduce us sometime and we could talk about the colour green, about your green! I don't know what-"

"I… I don't think that will be possible, mate. It's been some time since I last… saw them," Phil apologizes, his voice catching at the end of the sentence.

Ghostbur sinks back down to the floor with a frown. He's done it again. "Are you okay, Phil? Here, have some blue. Calm yourself," he says, folding his hand around the blue he's just placed in his father's hands. He knows he's upset him. He keeps upsetting everyone because he keeps forgetting what is taboo to talk about and what isn't. Apparently, Philza's bucket hat is one of those things. What a shame, he really likes how green it is.

Tommy lets his almost broken axe fall to the ground, before flopping down himself. Sitting next to the small fire he lets out an annoyed groan.

"You know, you could have helped me chop down those trees instead of just standing there, watching and shit", he scoffs, picking at the splinters in his hands. All afternoon he had been chopping down tree after tree. Probably for his tower, which was looming behind Tommy in the far distance.

Ghostbur gives him a smile, quietly picking at the strings of his guitar, as he ignores his complaint. The soothing melody accompanies the constant crackling of their campfire and the sizzling of the fish above the flames. He starts humming for a bit, letting his gaze wander, and then he starts talking.

"You know, I think you're quite lucky, Tommy. To be out here-", he starts, rotating the fish to keep it from burning. He resumes his strumming.

"Wha-?! What the fuck are you saying, Wil-"

"Where there is barely any light to taint the night sky", Ghostbur continues, undeterred by Tommy's protest. He repositions his left hand and the song becomes a bit more somber, bringing down the mood of the conversation with the descending chord progression. "I mean, the sky is just so beautiful out here, look," he breathes, tilting his head upwards. He notices his little brother frowning in his peripheral, but he follows his instructions and looks up as well.

"And what am I supposed to be seeing?"

"The stars, Tommy!" A grin spreads across his grayed out cheeks. The soft strumming stops for a moment, as Ghostbur makes a sweeping motion across the horizon. "The stars." A breath of admiration leaves his empty lungs.

"What about them?", Tommy asks, an annoyed tint to his voice. He sounds exhausted. Maybe he should have helped with the wood chopping, actually. Next time, maybe. Because right now, all he can think about is the twinkling and shining of the stars above him. How has he never noticed how many there are? How bright they are?

"Are you not seeing the same thing I'm seeing? Look at the stars, the milky way, they're all so incredibly clear out here in the wilderness." A shooting star flies across the sky, making Ghostbur gasp in child-like glee. "Quick! Make a wish, Tommy!"

"That's stupid, Ghostbur. I'm not a stupid child, believing in something stupid such as-"

"Ah, come on, Tommy. What's the worst that could happen? Just make a wish with me." Ghostbur claps his hands together more forcefully than was really necessary and closes his eyes. He peeks at the boy in ragged and torn clothes next to him, looking more tired and broken than a boy his age should, and mouths his silent wish for his little brother to please, please, come out of this alright.

"Your turn!" He smiles, quietly rubbing at a piece of blue from his messenger bag when he's done.

"Ugh, fine," Tommy groans. He claps his hands together and closes his eyes with much less enthusiasm than the former did. His lips don't move along with his silent wish, but Ghostbur trusts his sincerity. Knows that the other can't be anything but sincere in almost everything he does. Whether he wants to or not. After a few moments he opens them back up. "There, done," he grumbles, "happy?"

A grin in approval and a nod, making Tommy roll his eyes. A shiver runs down his arms with the dropping temperatures of the night. Ghostbur stands up without a word, dumping three thick blankets on top of the younger when he returns. Satisfied when Tommy is adequately bundled up for the night, he sits back down at his place in front of the fire, picking up his guitar from the ground, and begins to strum yet another melody, more soothing than somber this time. He leans back against the tree log behind him, continuing to play long after the other has finally fallen asleep, only occasionally stopping to throw a log in the flames to keep the fire going. His eyes stay fixed at the stars that are so much brighter than they ever were in any of his faded memories.

The third time he gets fixated on something arguably insignificant, he is with Techno. They're out on a hunt for wild potatoes, since most of his old crops lay abandoned in their old ravine and the few that he managed to take with him long ago were not enough to start a proper farm.

So here they were, quite a few thousand blocks away from Techno's base, where the ground isn't permanently frozen and manages to support the occasional berry bushes and even some wild carrots. When they come across some tall yellow-white flowers, Techno immediately puts down his bag next to them and gets out his shovel. He plows through the dirt, bringing up large chunks with every scoop he takes. They're littered with the beautiful golden glow of potatoes.

Ghostbur floats up to the piglin, watching him check every potato he finds and throw the good ones in his bag. The dirt, damp with recently fallen rain, sticks to Techno's clothes, getting stuck in the fur of his red cape and leaving dirty smudges on his crown whenever he adjusts it. Ghostbur tilts his head, feeling a strangely familiar itch in his hands, urging him to go, go, touch it, touch it now, take it. He ignores it.

It's dirty.

"You know, I've always been curious, Techno." He picks up one of the bigger potatoes on the ground to keep his hand busy and turns it over in his hand, looking for any faults on its skin. He throws it up in the air a few times, judging its weight. "Why are you so… fascinated with them?" He throws the large potato, which the other catches easily. His eyes drift down to the red of his cape and the white of his fur collar, clumps of dirt and mud spread throughout. He tears his gaze away. "I remember you having a large farm in the ravine and I think I've never seen you eat anything other than a baked potato."

"I do not only eat baked potatoes," Techno protests, picking up his bag and walking towards the next yellow-white flower cluster he sees in the close distance. The ghost follows with impossibly light steps.

"I only eat them most of the time," he admits, driving his shovel into the ground. He throws his falling cape back over his shoulder, ignoring the way it accidentally gets dragged through a muddy puddle next to him.

"Which is most of the time if we're being honest," Ghostbur remarks with a grin, his hands still itch with the thought of Techno's red cape getting dirty, he's always so careless with it, the white fur is getting ruined. He starts plucking the yellow-white flowers, delighted when he finds a slightly purple variant of it.

"Because they are clearly the superior food source," Techno shoots back, throwing the last potato in his bag. He notices that Ghostbur's is still completely empty except for a piece of lapis and the sack full of blue that he is so fond of carrying and handing out. With a sigh, he keeps moving. They change location a few more times, whenever the ground has no more potatoes to give, until both bags are finally filled to the brim.

Satisfied with the amount, Techno puts his shovel away and they start the trek back to his base. The sun is only two hours away from setting and they're quite a long way away from home, so Techno picks up his pace, pulling the ghost with him, away from the bees and their nest in the tree.

With nothing to preoccupy his hands Ghostbur takes out his piece of lapis, running his fingers over its rough ridges. His crown is smudged with mud.

"There is dirt on your crown," Ghostbur points out, looking up at Techno's head with a frown. "And your cape." He picks at some clumps of mud and pulls out a few small twigs.

"It's fine, I can just wash it, when we get back." And that's that. Except Ghostbur knows that Techno will just hang it up at the entrance, brushing off the worst of the by then dried mud the next time he has to go out and wear it. How does he know that. Now that he's pointed it out and begun cleaning it, the itch in his hands has grown to be unbearable. This feels familiar. He won't be able to clean the cape right away without any soap or water, he's always so careless with it, never properly taking care, and his crown is dirty with mud.

"Give it to me," Ghostbur suddenly demands, extending his hand towards Techno's crown. Why is this so important to me? "Give me your crown." The piglin raises an eyebrow at the demand, but hands over the golden crown with a shrug, curious as to what has the ghost riled up so suddenly.

Ghostbur snatches the crown from the other's hand and starts to clean it with the fabric of his sweater. The mud that has since dried slowly flakes off and reveals the shiny surface underneath. He almost obsessively rubs at the inlaid jewels, scratching away the dirt. He turns it over a few times when he is done and returns it to his owner with a slight huff. "Please take better care of it next time."

Techno chuckles at the ghost antics, but his brows are pulled together and he looks anything but amused. He doesn't hide his small frown fast enough.

Ghostbur mentally adds Techno's crown to the taboo list, as they continue walking home. At least the itching in his hands has stopped.

#dream smp fanfic #mcyt #dream smp #dsmp #ghostbur #dsmp tommyinnit #dsmp philza #dsmp technoblade

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atpsynth4se · 3 years

Text

Doing Eula’s Story Quest So You Don’t Have To:

disclaimer this is just a presentation of the quest with relevant quotes(and some lesser analysis) and not a judgement call on whether eula is worth sympathizing with. please defer to actual poc on that matter.

under cut for length

Opening scene, excerpt of conversation with Jean:

Jean: I have recently received multiple reports from the Knights of someone within the Lawrence Clan having close dealings with the Fatui.

Paimon: The Fatui! Again?

Paimon: But who are the Lawrence Clan?

Jean: There was a dark period in Mondstadt’s history when the aristocracy ruled over the city. The hard-won freedom that followed with the fall of Decarabian was lost once again, as slavery spread throughout the land.

Jean: The first Dandelion Knight, Vennessa, spearheaded the revolution that overthrew the old aristocratic system and established the Knights of Favonius, leading Mondstadt to become the city that you see today.

Jean: The aristocrats, that had oppressed the people of Mondstadt, were none other than the Lawrence Clan.

...

Jean: Unfortunately, the Knights of Favonius and the aristocracy have been at odds with one another for as long as I can remember.

Jean: We have considered every possible way of resolving our differences, but it seems the descendants of the aristocracy remain antagonistic toward the Knights...

Jean: ...No matter what stance we take when dealing with them, the outcome is always the same... Our efforts only result in adding more fuel to the flames.

The Lawrence Clan is not painted in a sympathetic light, and this attitude toward them(bar Eula, for obvious reasons) persists throughout the quest.

Jean then sends the protagonist to talk to Schubert, the Lawrence Clan member in question. He very much holds onto the past structure of oppression, demonstrating extreme classism and going so far as to say that in the past, the protagonist would have been whipped for their insolence(which, in this case, is just the act of trying to have a casual conversation with Schubert).

This sets up Schubert as the antagonist of the quest, though not the entire Lawrence Clan, as Eula and Schubert are the only clan members present or mentioned.

The protagonist then runs into Amber at the Knights of Favonius Headquarters.

Excerpt from conversation with Amber:

Amber: Hehehe, I've been on the receiving end of [Schubert’s] lectures many a time. The Lawrence clan can be very particular about such things.

Paimon: Uh... You mean everyone in the Lawrence Clan is just a big headache?

Amber: As aristocrats, they believe there should be a certain distance between themselves and common folk. *sigh* I understand their thinking, but that's just not how things are anymore. Amber: However, there is one exception among the Lawrence Clan. My good buddy - Eula!

Paimon: B-Buddy?

Amber: That's right! Not only is she from the Lawrence Clan, but she's also Captain of the Knights of Favonius 4th Company.

Wayfarer: Jean told us that the Lawrence Clan sees the Knights as enemies.

Amber: Eula is special! She's not quite like the other members of her clan. She has her own beliefs and it shows.

Amber: In other words, she doesn't really adhere to the strict rules and conventions of her family.

Amber: However, she's still quite knowledgeable about dealing with the Lawrences. I'm sure you'll see what I mean if you meet her.

Paimon: Hmm, that's strange. If Eula is a member of the Lawrence Clan, then why would Master Jean choose us for the task? Couldn't she just ask Eula?

Amber: Ah, well... It's a little complicated. Basically, the Lawrence clan has frowned upon the fact that Eula joined the Knights, her family members don't particularly care for her…

Amber: In their eyes, Eula is nothing but a traitor to the family.

Wayfarer: She sounds like quite the character.

Amber: She's very easy to get along with. Just explain the situation and I'm sure she'll help you come up with a way to get along with Schubert.

Amber: In fact, I think she's out in the wilderness on patrol this morning. You should be able to find her around Stormbearer Mountains.

Paimon: Thanks, Amber! Alright, you heard her, let's go find Eula!

The protagonist meets Eula after battling some Fatui, when she saves them from being killed by an enemy they were unaware of.

Excerpt from conversation with Eula:

Wayfarer: So you must be Eula?

Eula: Yes, that's me.

Paimon: Paimon thinks she's pretty strange... Although, at least we can communicate with her.

Eula: You dare to call someone you've just met "strange"? Forget the aristocracy, that's rude even by normal standards!

Eula: Speaking of which... how do you know my name?

Paimon: This is the Honorary Knight of the Knights of Favonius. And speaking of rude, we're trying to investigate an aristocrat named Schubert Lawrence.

Paimon: He's so obsessed with etiquette that he's not even willing to speak with us!

Eula: Hahaha! I understand now. That's my uncle alright.

Eula: But why do you mean to investigate him?

Wayfarer: He may be secretly involved with the Fatui.

Eula: I see... Haha, you have some nerve defaming a family member right in front of me. I will have vengeance for this, too!

Paimon: No, no, no! This is an assignment from Master Jean! It's just an investigation, that's all!

Wayfarer: Aren't you curious about your uncle?

Eula: To the everyday citizens of Mondstadt, everyone in the Lawrence clan is scum. It's natural for rumors and unwarranted gossip to lead to such suspicion.

Paimon: Hard to avoid such a reputation when you're known as the ruthless rulers of Old Mondstadt.

Eula: So that's what you think of me? Yet another transgression to avenge...

Paimon: But didn't you say it first!? Argh...

Eula: Hahaha, curious... We've only just met, and you've already given me three causes for vengeance. It's been a while since I've encountered anyone as interesting as you.

Wayfarer: Your definition of curious is... curious.

Eula: I assume you need me to teach you the conduct of the Lawrence clan. Only then will you finally be able to communicate with my uncle, correct?

Eula initially presents herself in a similar manner to the aristocracy, seemingly obsessed with vengeance over minor transgressions. She seems to care greatly about the image of the Lawrence clan, and appears to resent the negative image it (quite rightfully) has.

Eula then attempts to train the protagonist in the ways of aristocratic speech via demonstrations. It goes very badly. As one would expect, the working class citizens of Mondstadt don’t like being demeaned by a member of the aristocracy that used to oppress the city, even one that is slightly more sympathetic for her role in the Knights of Favonius.

Conversation with Randall, the last one of these demonstrations:

Eula: You there, lowly worker, I-

Randall: Yeah, I've already heard it all before. Look, just spare me the time, our answer is always the same. We've got nothing to say to the likes of you.

Randall: I mean, seriously, can't you just take a hint?

Paimon: Please calm down, we don't want to cause any trouble.

Randall: *sigh* I know she's a Knight of Favonius, and that the Knights wouldn't misplace their trust, but the name Lawrence carries too much weight with it.

Randall: Even to this very day, the descendants of the Lawrence Clan are still scheming to reclaim Mondstadt and reinstate their aristocratic rule.

Randall: And if that wasn't enough, here you are purposefully using their awkward way of speaking just to put on an act? Don't you care for the feelings of us ordinary folk?

Eula: You have a point.

Eula: But mark my words, this transgression will not go unnoticed!

Randall: H-Huh? You wanna fight? Listen here, I might be no match for you, but I'll be sure to lodge a complaint with the Knights of Favonius!

Wayfarer: Maybe we should just call it a day now.

Randall: I'm sorry but... I want her to understand that I'm serious!

Randall: Listen here, if you don't want things to get more unpleasant, then you'd better just stop.

Eula: Forget it, there's no point in quarreling any further. Let's go.

Randall: *sigh*...

Eula: It's alright, this happens quite often. Let's find someone else to talk to.

Paimon: Uh, Paimon thinks we've seen enough now. Let's just stop.

Excerpt from the conversation with Eula after this segment of the quest:

Paimon: Actually, Paimon thinks we should apologize for asking you to demonstrate for us. We had no idea the feelings between the Lawrence Clan and the people of Mondstadt were so bitter.

Eula: Haha, what can we do? The Lawrence name is already a dirty word among every household in Mondstadt. Even three-year-olds know the story. I see this kind of attitude all the time.

Wayfarer: And somehow you still manage to brush it off with a laugh?

Eula: Don't worry, what with me being a Knight of Favonius, they're usually willing to speak a few words with me.

Eula: Perhaps my aristocratic manner of speech provoked them today. Believe me, it's not a big issue.

Paimon: So this is the way things are normally for you? There's no need for them to direct their anger at you personally.

Eula: That's the way things are. Perhaps it's just fate for those who've made mistakes. Accepting punishment is only fair, right? But when your family has committed atrocities, I'm afraid there's no easy path to reconciliation.

Eula: As memories are carried in the city breeze, the faults of such grievances are passed on from one generation to the next. It is now my turn to bear this burden.

Eula: At least I have a means of living a relatively normal life compared to the elders of my family. I have nothing to be discontented about.

Wayfarer: So you knew all along that we'd encounter these kinds of problems?

Paimon: Yeah, why were you so willing to try and demonstrate for us?

The narrative paints Eula in a sympathetic light for “dealing with the alienation of being a member of the Lawrence Clan”. However, she acknowledges the fact that Lawrence Clan deserves this foul reputation given its history, contrasting with the first conversation the protagonist has with her.

More training of the monster fighting variety ensues, finishing with a trip to Good Hunter to buy a diplomatic gift for Schubert. There, you run into Amber. Sara ends up giving Amber a salad on the house, prompting Eula to swear vengeance.

Excerpt from conversation with Eula, Amber, and Sara:

Eula: So... we clearly didn't order this, yet you prepared it without authorization... Hmph! Mark my words, this transgression will not go unnoticed!

Paimon: Uh... you're going to take revenge on her for giving us a free salad!?

Sara: You should know me by now, that's the kind of villainous character I am! Hehe...

Sara: Well then... please wait a moment while I get the dish for your uncle started.

Eula: Hmph, delicious unauthorized delicacies... Sara will pay for this.

Paimon: Why would you choose Gebratenes Fleisch mit Sauerkraut as a gift for your uncle? Paimon's never even heard of that dish before... Eula: This dish isn't actually on Good Hunter's menu. Only long standing patrons such as my uncle would know about the dish. The old aristocrats seem to take a liking to it.

Amber: Because of the sour flavor of the sauerkraut, not too many people are fond of it these days. I guess it's become less popular over time.

Amber: Eula treated me to the dish once, and I couldn't even finish a bite. I've nicknamed it "Gebratenes Fleisch mit Vengeance" ever since. Yuck!

Eula: I never expected us to have such completely different tastes in food... If I weren't in such a good mood, I'd say that constitutes grounds for transgression...

Wayfarer: Huh, so even Amber doesn't escape your vengeance?

The “transgression” that Sara commits? Eula gets her vengeance by paying for the food, but putting the Mora under the plate. This is the first sign that though Eula cares about “transgressions” and “vengeance”, she does not seek to hurt people she doesn’t feel deserve it.

Amber and Eula leave, and the protagonist takes the gift from Sara, leading to this conversation:

Paimon: Paimon's been meaning to ask... No one could stand the sight of Eula when she was trying to speak with the others in Mondstadt earlier.

Paimon: But she seemed to get along fine with you and Amber just now… what's up with that?

Sara: The people of Mondstadt don't take kindly to anyone bearing the Lawrence name.

Sara: They are unable to see past her family, therefore they don't actually see Eula for herself.

Sara: So no matter what Eula tries to do, it's seen as a wrongdoing. It essentially strips the meaning of anything she tries to accomplish.

Wayfarer: I think I understand now.

Paimon: How come you're able to see Eula differently then?

Sara: Well, when she joined the Knights of Favonius, it caused quite an uproar.

Sara: Many people signed a petition, demanding that the Knights reverse their decision.

Sara: At the same time, numerous members of the Lawrence Clan crowded the entrance of the Knights of Favonius Headquarters, clamoring for Eula to give an explanation.

Paimon: Whoa... so both sides were unhappy.

Sara: That's right. So, you can imagine how determined Eula must have been under such circumstances.

Sara: But thanks to Grand Master Varka and the unwavering attitudes of others in the Knights of Favonius, they were able to quell the unrest. Tensions still remain beneath the surface, I'm afraid.

Sara: In the eyes of the people, she's a stain on the Knights of Favonius... and in the eyes of the Lawrence Clan, she's a disgrace to her family.

Sara: But she simply fulfills her duty as a Knight, silently helping one person after another, myself included.

Sara: People like Eula should be approached with care and understanding. She could stand to be treated a little more fairly.

Wayfarer: It's good that you're able to understand her.

Sara: I believe a day will come when things will get better.

Eula is clearly defying her family’s oppressive mindset, but the narrative still disparages Mondstadt for not welcoming a former oppressor with open arms.

You meet Schubert, and, surprise surprise, he is scheming with the Fatui to take over Mondstadt. You follow him into the Fatui’s lair, when Eula catches up to you.

Excerpt from conversation with Eula and Schubert:

Schubert: Don't touch me, get out of my way! I'll leave on my own!

Eula: It seems we've finally caught up with you. This place is crawling with Fatui.

Eula: Oh, it's you. It seems your investigation went well.

Wayfarer: It was all worth it.

Schubert: Aha! I see now. So you're the one that taught them our etiquette? And I thought you despised such pleasantries!

Schubert: Furthermore, there is a rule in our family. Such traditions are never to be taught to outsiders!

Eula: Ah yes, rings a bell. So what? I had no reason not to teach them.

Schubert: Y-You have brought shame to our family and ruined my plans! It's all for naught now!

Eula: I know that you poured great efforts into these plans, uncle. But you were well aware that it was not the right thing to do. As a Knight of Favonius, I could not overlook your actions.

Schubert: Knight of Favonius!? Let's get one thing straight. I am your uncle, and you are a member of the Lawrence Clan! You should strive to restore your family's glory!

Schubert: You still have a chance. Defeat every Knight of Favonius here, and leave with me!

Schubert: Then I shall plea with the family to spare you and give you a new beginning!

Eula: So just to be clear, you want a Knight of Favonius to attack the Knights of Favonius?

Schubert: I shall say this one last time. You are not a Knight of Favonius. You are a descendant of the Lawrence Clan!

Schubert: The blood of the Lawrence Clan flows in your veins! You must comply with the will of the family!

Eula: Since when have I ever complied with the will of the family?

Schubert: Wh-Why you... you unruly maid!

Eula: If anyone should be angry, it should be me. As a member of the Lawrence Clan, you knowingly plotted against the city of Mondstadt and threatened its safety.

Eula: Had you ever stopped to consider the trouble it would bring to so many people? Had you considered how many enemies you would make trying to keep the plans under wraps?

Schubert: Y-You dare lecture me!

Eula: That's right, in the name of the family that you so dearly revere, Uncle Schubert.

Eula: I've never experienced the age of "glory" you always speak of, and I've never understood our family's incessant pursuit of it.

Eula: But I am capable of discerning right from wrong, and I deeply understand what "freedom" means to the people of Mondstadt.

Eula: The Lawrence Clan should never and will never become what you've dreamed it to be!

Schubert: Grr...

Schubert: Oh, the disgrace of it all! How could such a rebellious monster emerge from our own family!?

Eula openly defies the oppressive goals of the Lawrence Clan, solidifying her stance against them. However, she still claims to act in the name of the family, but her idea of restoring their name appears to be to make amends with the people of Mondstadt, not to rule over them again.

The protagonist escapes the Fatui lair, and has a boss fight, after which this conversation ensues, and the quest ends:

Eula: *sigh* And there was me thinking that he was just another elder of the family and a lazy one at that. I never suspected he could stoop this low. So stubborn... Mark my words, vengeance will be mine!

Paimon: Oh yeah, you suddenly appeared at just the right moment.

Eula: Yeah, about that...

Eula: Because you stole my targets by attacking the Fatui I'd been tracking earlier...

Eula: ...I came to exact my vengeance. You tried to do my job for me, and I'm here to return the favor.

Wayfarer: So getting the diagram of Mondstadt's defenses was your way of exacting vengeance?

Paimon: Finally, after all this time, Paimon understands what you're saying!

Paimon: In reality, you sensed that something might happen to us during our investigation...

Paimon: You were worried about us and your uncle, so you brought a team to take a look!

Eula: My purpose was vengeance, don't twist the story.

Eula: Hmph, you don't look too bright, but it turns out you have a knack for scheming...

Eula: And mark my words, I'll remember that...

Paimon: Hey, what do you mean Paimon doesn't look too bright!?

Eula: You have seeded a deep enmity between us... just you wait.

Eula: Even if you were to be completely destroyed, I would never forget you!

Wayfarer: So, does that make us your "arch-enemies"?

Eula’s definition of “vengeance” is shown once again to be naught more than a front.

In summary:

The narrative sympathizes with Eula, and disparges the people of Mondstadt for alienating her, though they have every right to do so.

The Lawrence Clan are not sympathetic, and Eula is directly at odds with them.

Eula does not seek to restore the glory of the Lawrence Clan in the oppressive sense, and wants to not be judged for her family, but her actions.

#fathericraveviolencecore #genshin impact #please dont treat me as the one to make a judgement call on this. poc please feel free to give your thoughts #since this issue doesn't affect me personally i dont want to speak over people who it does affect

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hasufin · 3 years

Text

What's missing

I was just recently reading a book about the people who lived in Shenandoah National Park before it became a park. Now, the book is dull as fuck, but the topic is something that interests me: the NPS tried for decades to basically pretend that park was Pristine Wilderness™ and no one ever lived there, and while they never lied they did their best to de-emphasize that yes, the area was settled.

But a bit in the book really struck me: the American Chestnut Tree. This tree constituted roughly 60% of the trees in the region. Yes, more than half of the forest was chestnut trees. It was absolutely crucial for the people in the area - they built cabins out of logs from felled chestnut trees. They ate chestnuts. They sold chestnuts to afford clothes. They hunted game which itself lived on chestnuts, etc.

Then in 1904 the trees were hit with the chestnut blight, a fungal disease brought over from SE Asia. The population of trees went from billions to hundreds. We're talking complete population collapse. The net result is, there are zero truly mature forests in the Eastern Woodland ecosystem: they completely lost a keystone species. What will it look like in a century? We don't really know. We don't have good models for the long-term effects this will have on the ecosystem. Don't get me wrong - there's good science on forestry, but the reality is that the current ecosystem is not the ecosystem of the past.

Now, let's move West a bit. To... the prairie! Did you know the American Bison nearly went extinct? That this species, which roamed the great plains in vast herds, was nearly hunted to extinction? Oh, and the prairie the bison grazed on? Burned away, literally, to be replaced by crops. Crops which rely heavily on center pivot irrigation, an agriculture method which is draining ancient aquifers far fast than they are being refilled. Oh, and agricultural mismanagement caused the Dust Bowl, a disaster the likes of which the region hadn't seen in millennia. Because, you know, getting rid of the natural flora and fauna of a region does things. It takes an entire ecosystem to keep the water cycle stable - hell, we might be well on the way to creating a Great American Desert because we wanted to grow wheat.

Oh, yeah. About that whole agriculture thing... did you know that large swathes of California were once Tule marshes? In the late 19th and early 20th century, most of those marshes were drained for, you guessed it, farming. Er... notice this is an area which actually gets very little rain. The geology of the region predisposes it to retain what it gets - much of the area is composed of endorheic basins (big bowls) that don't drain. Which kept water in the area, and thus things grew. Now, California is reliant on advanced irrigation... which is why the Colorado river doesn't reach the ocean. And let's not forget the complete environmental clusterfuck called the Salton Sea. It's a complete mess, and - like with the Great Plains and the Eastern Woodlands, we don't really know what is going to happen in the future.

These are just some of the examples of the completely enormous changes we've made to the American continent. We like to pretend that most of America is wide open spaces with plenty of wilderness, but the reality is, we've made fundamental changes to the ecology pretty much everywhere, changes that aren't just "This obscure species of fish is extinct" but rather "Uh. Those lakes dried up because we stopped it from raining." We don't even have a full idea of the scale of the things we've done. Nobody was keeping track of the number of deer 150 years ago. Nobody really gave a thought about what would happen if bears went extinct in California, or why superflocks of passenger pigeons existed.

We live in an ecosystem desperately trying to rebuild itself without key components, and we have no idea how it will do it. America is an environmental disaster in progress, and we're mostly oblivious to it.

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need-a-fugue · 3 years

Text

You Belong to Me

A ghost story, if you will... Written for @wonderlandmind4‘s Fall Winter Writing challenge. I know this is in well before the deadline, but it felt like it needed to be read on Halloween.

The prompt? “Goblins and ghosts and ghouls, oh my!”

Characters: Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, etc. (no pairings)

Every night, now, is the same.

Every night, the woman comes for him, entering his room like an ethereal dream. Climbing atop him like an old fashioned nightmare.

Every night, Sam feels her sit atop his chest, gripping his shoulders with icy fingers. Squeezing his ribs, his lungs, between her naked, knobby knees.

Every night, she leans in close and drips foul-tasting lake water into his wide open mouth as he releases yet another silent scream into the dark, empty room.

Every night, he breathes her in – the cold, cold water that she seems to be comprised of – choking and sputtering and retching. Until he drowns all over again.

---

It was supposed to be an easy mission. It was an easy mission. Little more than lookout duty on his part.

He and Bucky were tasked with sitting, it seemed, the two of them made to hunker down and hold steady at the tree line, to keep watch while Steve and Natasha infiltrated the tiny – likely long ago abandoned – building nestled deep within the Siberian wilderness.

“This place is hell.” The words crackle in his mind, the sound of his own voice – pitching into pure petulance – echoing eternally as the memory plays out in yet another restless dream. He shakes his head idly to-and-fro before craning his neck a bit and twisting, the slight crack-crack-pop resounding in the air.

Bucky snorts in reply, his eyes still – always – suspiciously narrowed, trained ahead, his advanced vision allowing him to see the cracked open door where their teammates had entered without the need of his rifle’s scope. “It’s Siberia,” he drones. “What did you expect?”

“Not this.” No, not this, he thinks, breathing out a sigh, absolute boredom stretching out along the deep exhale as his eyes tick off past the outpost.

This is nothing like what he had expected Siberia to be. He’d pictured a barren wasteland. A snow-covered desert. A place – dead and dark and devoid – that could be of no use beyond breaking men and building monsters.

This place is beautiful. Stunning. Lush and full and picturesque, with swaths of deep, rich color popping through the low-hanging clouds. Every shade of green blanketing the ground, swirling with earthen browns in the distance as the forest gave way to the far-off mountain range. Snow-covered peaks, buried deep in the background, showing a hint of the frozen scape that he had expected to see as they traveled from the other end of the world.

Off to the east, just at the edge of the expansive clearing… that’s where a small lake lay, the water reflecting the soft gray hues of the overcast sky, small slivers of silver shining from between the thick branches of peculiar looking spruces and pines.

No, it isn’t the place he expected to see when they first climbed off the jet and began the four mile trek to the tiny outpost. Nor is it the kind of place that warrants being called hell. At first glance, it seems more like an expansive – albeit cold – paradise. And yet, Sam can’t help but feel an eerie tingling up his spine, a physical sensation that tells him there is something very not right about this little part of Siberia.

It’s the noise. Yes, that’s it. It’s the noise – or lack thereof – that has his shoulders set high and his chest tight in a sort of nervous anticipation. This place… it sounds like something out of a nightmare.

They’d been sitting in the same spot for what feels like hours, crouched at the edge of the forest, huddled in amongst the thick, spiky bushes and sap-covered trees. They’ve been sitting in their own self-induced silence – because Barnes is worse at small talk than Romanov – for a veritable eternity. And nothing, not a single bird nor squirrel nor whatever the hell kinds of animals live up here, had made a sound.

There is nothing. Not even the soft rustle of the trees in the wind. There is no wind. There is only stillness. And utter, deafening silence.

His ears ring and whomp from the emptiness filling them, the richly absent noise that burrows so deep it manages to infiltrate his brain with a cold, gray stillness to match that of the far-off lake.

And then… the silence is broken. Shattered by a deafening creak from the heavy, metal door on that small building that sits abandoned in the middle of the clearing. Blown apart by the sudden pounding in Sam’s chest, forcing a thunderous tide of blood to resound in his ears. Destroyed entirely by Bucky’s single, barely audible word, hissed out through tightly clenched teeth as he jumps up and shoulders his rifle.

“Shit.”

---

“It’s perfectly normal… this sort of reaction,” the doctor tells him with a shrug as she scurries to the other side of the small exam room. “You went through a traumatic experience. You very nearly died.”

“Yeah,” Sam replies with a bit of a scoff. “But I’ve very nearly died before,” he counters, challenging brow raised high.

She lets out a long-winded, exhausted-sounding sigh, the expression riding on her far-too-young face – what is Stark’s deal with hiring child geniuses, anyway? – showing more than a hint of annoyance. “It’s extremely common for the brain to either alter or block out entirely certain memories when a traumatic event occurs. And to have… disturbing nightmares. Trauma does funny things – ”

“Please stop saying trauma,” he laments thickly, cutting her off mid-thought. “Look, not to sound like a dick, doc, but I know what trauma is. Hell, I’ve been a trauma counselor. And this? It’s not that.”

She glares at him from over the top of her thick-rim glasses. “Alright. Do you see this woman when you’re not dreaming?” she asks, eyes narrowed in interest, or perhaps suspicion. “Are you having hallucinations?”

His shoulders drop, a low groan pulling from his chest amid an annoyed, “No.”

“Because you were without oxygen for a considerable period of time,” she goes on, eyes flicking to the tablet in her hand as she begins a frantic scroll through his chart. “I was going to sign off on you today, but if you’re experiencing symptoms related to possible brain damage, to some sort of mental deficit…”

“Mental deficit?” he repeats incredulously. “No, I’m not… it’s not…” He throws his hands dramatically up into the air and hops down off the exam table. “You know what? Forget it. Just… forget it. I’ve been traumatized. This is an extremely common reaction. No brain damage here,” he tells her, reaching up and rapping at his skull with his knuckles. “Right as rain.”

She eyes him warily for a long moment before clicking out of his chart and offering a painfully forced smile. “In that case, you are cleared for duty, sir.”

Cleared for duty. It should be a good thing. It is a good thing, he tells himself as he heads for the conference room on the ground floor. Their mission in Siberia had been effectively cut short by his little plunge into that icy lake, the team racing to his rescue in lieu of clearing out the bunker and following up on any potential leads.

The place had been abandoned, or so Steve had told him once he woke a day later, laid up in medical. It looked to be little more than storage, a thick layer of dust sitting atop mountains of boxes, piles of papers, and stacks of old hard drives. He and Natasha had been slowly making their way through the plethora of crap, attempting to discern what held the most intel, what items were important enough to be lugged the four miles back to the jet, when they heard the heavy metal door to the building slam open.

Steve couldn’t say where the woman had come from. Natasha either. They had seen a row of cells that extended down a long, musty corridor. Had walked the hall and shone their flashlights into each and every one. But there was no one there, not that they had seen.

And while they had heard the door creak open up above them, signaling the woman’s escape, and while both Sam and Bucky had seen her flee, race across the field and into the woods. Once she hit the water and plummeted into that deep, cold lake, it was as though she had never really been there at all.

“You good to go?” tears Sam’s attention away from his wandering mind, deep brown eyes shooting across the room and finding a rather concerned looking Steve staring him down.

“Uh,” he sputters, glancing back at the open door. He had been so lost in own world that it hadn’t even realized he’d made it downstairs and entered the conference room where the prep work for the return mission was taking place. “Yeah,” he says with a slow nod. “All clear.”

Steve gives him a quick, stilted nod of his own, worry still etched across his face. “Good.”

---

She’s here again tonight.

He feels her approach, splitting through the soft quiet of his bedroom with a foreboding silence that echoes deep in his ears.

He sees her loom above him, a pitch black shadow that swallows even the moonlight-tinged darkness around him.

He feels his lungs begin to burn and constrict as she coils herself around his chest, squeezing him tight as she settles in.

He watches – paralyzed, eyes wide and unblinking – as she leans in close and whispers something into his ear. Into the dead of night. Something soft yet cutting, familiar yet indecipherable.

He stiffens even further as she cages him in, dark wet hair spilling down either side of a face he can’t quite make out, drip-drip-dripping into his once-again gaping mouth.

And – again – he drowns.

Sam wakes with a start, a choking, burning sensation filling his chest and tearing up and out of his throat in a gasping shout. He bolts upright, wide eyes desperately searching the dark for… something. For the dark haired girl whose silhouette is scorched onto the backs of his lids. For a familiar shadow… of anything or anyone that might calm him, ground him, make him believe he’s here. Safe at home.

For nothing at all. Because that’s what this is after all. Right? Nothing but a dream.

A long, languid sigh spills out of him as he spins and throws his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting heavily as his breaths begin to level. He ducks his head, his bleary eyes blinking to focus on the hardwood floor beneath his feet.

Nothing. There’s nothing. It’s nothing. Until…

Drip. He hears it first, a drop of water plopping, tiny but close, a drip onto the floor beside him.

Drip. He feels the next, splatting on his naked toe. The smell of sulfur – of rotten eggs and putrid lakes, decaying dreams and literal brimstone – suddenly pervades the room.

Drip. This time landing on the very center of his foot.

He shifts to face up, head righting itself achingly slowly, hesitation flooding his veins. His lids roll shut, pinch tightly together, as his face straightens, head slowly shaking back and forth in a silent plea.

Drip. A tiny, cold burst of water hits the tip of his nose. And his eyes snap open, taking in nothing but the pure, eternal dark.

---

Everything feels like a dream these days. Even this. Even sweating in the Avengers’ decked-out gym, Bucky by his side cringing like a mad man as he finishes his reps. There’s something odd and… murky about the world as it goes on around him now. Like everything is graying at the edges, the picture in front of him curling and singeing and smoldering into black even as he sits – paralyzed – at its center.

Sam shakes his head swiftly to fling away the eerie thoughts. To bring things back into focus.

“A roo-what-a?” he asks, voice thick and groggy, as he replies to Bucky’s just uttered words. He swipes at his red-rimmed eyes yet again, the thick grittiness left from too little sleep – from too much effort at holding them open – never fading, no matter how much he rubs.

Bucky racks the weights – just your standard 120-lb dumbbells, nothing too heavy for an early morning warmup – and grabs his half-empty bottle of water. “Rusalka,” he repeats before easily chugging the rest of his drink.

Sam rolls his eyes. The bastard just finished five drop sets, and he admitted to being late to the gym because he accidentally ran an extra five miles… and he’s barely even broken a sweat. “You do realize that doesn’t clear up a damn thing,” he issues out in a painfully annoyed tenor. “Right?”

He crumples the plastic bottle in his metal fist and chucks it into the recycling bin in the corner. “Look it up,” he says, his own voice taking on an irritated tone to match.

“You know, Barnes, you’re a real dick.”

Bucky glares at him for a moment, that oh-so-familiar dangerous stare that he opts for too damn often. Over the past several months – as Steve saw fit to pair him up with this wreck of a man for too damn many missions – Sam had grown rather accustomed to the stern, narrow-eyed scowl. But he was also starting to get used to the look that followed, the relaxed jaw and raised brow that seemed to signal a shift from the protective cover of the Winter Soldier to the knowing – at times even trusting – fellow Avenger. “I stood here and listened to you bitch about some nightmare witch, didn’t I? Seems like I’m a fucking fantastic friend.”

Sam rolls his eyes again, a deep, burning ache pulsating just behind them as he does so. “Look… I know it sounds crazy. It is crazy… but…”

Bucky nods slowly, his lips pursed and brows raised as if in absolute agreement.

“But,” he goes on, only to lose the thread entirely. The truth is, there’s no possible way that he can say anything, explain anything, that won’t make him sound like an absolute psycho. “I just… you were there, man,” he tries, voice fading off into a defeated sigh. “I don’t… I don’t really remember what happened. Not all of it. But…”

“A woman ran out of the compound,” he begins gently, his voice oddly deep and light. Patient. “Looked like a prisoner or a… an experiment of theirs. She took off into the woods, fell in the lake. You went in after her.” He relays what happened – for the umpteenth time – in a calm, matter-of-fact way. He is, after all, no stranger to gaps in memory. Nor, frankly, to traumatic nightmares. “I pulled you out,” he says, dropping his strong, flesh hand to Sam’s shoulder and giving a quick, firm squeeze. “Never found her.”

Bucky’s eyes tick up to look past him, over his shoulder. He gives a slight nod just as the heavy gym door clanks shut. “What’s happening, gruesome twosome?” Clint calls out as he strides over. “Cap got you two working out together now too?” he asks with a chuckle. “Feels like he’s trying to set up his best friends. Better be careful, I think that guy’s a step away from parent trapping you two.”

Sam blows an exhausted sigh out through his nose as Bucky pivots away and says simply, “I don’t know what that means.”

“Haley Mills, Sarge,” he responds with a crooked smirk as he steps up to the rack and grabs a pair of twenties. “Don’t bother with the Lindsay Lohan crap.”

“Okay,” he drawls out, gaze setting back on Sam, his clear blue eyes shining with a conspiratorial glimmer. “Doesn’t clear up a damn thing.”

Clint drops down to the bench to start some curls, watching his biceps carefully as he asks, no strain at all to his voice, “What are you two BFFs gossiping about down here all alone?”

“Ah,” Bucky breathes out with a soft cadence. “Sam’s seeing ghosts.”

“First of all,” Sam breaks in, single pointed finger raised high. “I hate you. And secondly, one ghost. Just the one. And you named her.”

“I didn’t name her,” he bemoans rather dramatically. “I said it sounds like a rusalka.”

“Which is…” Clint intones, inquiring brow raised high.

Bucky lets out a harsh sigh, his shoulders drooping as an annoyed expression tugs at his face. “It’s just this bullshit legend.” His countenance drops, eyes ticking away and darkening for a fraction of a moment as he states, “Couple of guards I remember used to talk about it. Superstitious fucks.” Another sigh, and he returns his typically steely gaze ahead. “It’s like the lady of the lake. A ghost,” he finishes with an exasperated cadence.

“Ooooh,” Clint mocks, glancing up at the pair and offering a playful wink. “Goblins and ghosts and ghouls, oh my!”

“It’s not funny,” Sam spits out, his normally good-natured attitude splitting at the seams and releasing a rather embittered version of himself… one that catches Clint off guard, causing him to stop his curls and gently set the weights down beside him.

“This about the mission last week?” he asks, his own lighthearted voice taking on a more serious edge. He turns to Bucky. “Lady of the lake? Like the lady you two saw drown in that lake?”

He nods, head bobbing low to hide the slight blush – a ruddy betrayer of shame – as he internally chides himself for mocking his friend’s pain. “I used to have to dreams too,” he says softly, voice low and tender. “Still do.” He looks up at Sam, nervously chews at the corner of his mouth before releasing a sigh and steeling himself once again. “You kill someone, or just… can’t save someone… yeah, that shit haunts you.”

“I know that, man,” Sam counters, a frustrated quality to his tone, to his stance. His eyes flit between Bucky and Clint, each man giving him his full attention, rapt and stoic and… invested. “I’ve had dreams too. Nightmares. Of missions gone wrong and people lost and…” His head begins a slow, certain shake, his gaze piercing and true as he states, “This isn’t that. I don’t know what it is. But it isn’t that.”

---

It hits him again, the moment his eyes finally fall shut, every battle against sleep seeming to end just the same way. The smell of the water. The stench of rotten eggs sitting high in his sinuses, tingeing the air he breathes now, here in his quiet, dark room.

“Shit,” breaks through the peculiar din, and Sam’s distant gaze snaps towards the building at the center of the clearing. To the door, no longer merely ajar, but flung wide open. “Shit,” Bucky repeats, the curse heavily spat as he rises and shoulders his rifle before launching forward through the brush.

It’s a woman – a girl – stumbling over a jumble of too-long legs before quickly righting herself, throwing a glance over her shoulder at the still-swinging door, and bolting across the clearing. Sam pops up the moment he sees her, takes off running just a fraction of a second before Bucky does, and chases after.

She’s heading for the lake, her bare feet plodding so delicately atop the grass that no sound comes from them, her escape seeming just as silent as the world surrounding them. It’s just breaths. His own, fast and hard as the air beats in and out of his lungs. Bucky’s easy and controlled, even as he runs in pace behind. The woman’s, stilted and frantic as she speeds across the land, slipping into the forest, making a beeline for the water.

She runs. On broken, blistered soles. Over frost-bitten grass and through sharp, stinging nettles. Branches slapping, cracking, whipping thick, red lines into the exposed flesh on her arms and legs. She runs. Away from the others. Away from everyone. Away from everything. She runs. Towards salvation. Towards home. Towards a wide, placid expanse.

Bucky pulls ahead, fueled by that damn super soldier serum that pumps endlessly through his veins. He flies into the forest after her, splitting the trees with his wide frame, plowing forward as his boots crunch violently on the fallen pinecones underfoot. And Sam follows. Just as he always seems to do. He chases after the super soldier, thoughts of Steve – I do what he does, just slower – flitting anxiously through his mind.

Sharp cracks and snaps echo through the air, breaking through the silence with small pops more startling than giant claps of thunder. Sam feels his chest constrict, his heart jumping at the sounds before resuming it’s wild beat against his ribcage.

And then… the heavy thump of boots on the ground stops, disappears altogether the moment he enters the forest. The sounds of crunching pine needles and snapping branches gone as well, leaving only the heavy pant of his own breaths and the fast-paced thrumming of his own heart echoing in his ears. Silence. Again.

Yes, this is what he remembers most.

The girl, pale and cold and desperate, running past him, slicing through the still air without making a sound. He turns, anchors his foot into the lush earth and swivels towards the flash of dark hair. The quick glimmer of a white dress. Or… no, it isn’t a dress, is it? No. It’s more like a hospital gown. No pants, no shoes. No jacket to cover her shivering body.

“Sam!” The shout pulls his attention and his heavy boots slip as he tries to turn, looking for the man he followed, the soldier who led him into these cold, dark woods. “Sam!” he hears again, finally lighting onto Bucky’s form, a quick, blinding flicker shooting off the bright metal arm. He’s far behind, stilled in the brush, his normally stoic face awash with something akin to fear. To terror.

Sam’s boots skid and slip on the muddy, moss-covered shore, eyes blowing wide as he looks down and sees the silver mirror of the lake, so close. In his periphery dances a swath of long, dark hair. He spins to see, spins and sputters, catches just a glimpse of her pale form just as it breaks through the water, the glassy surface splitting apart into violent ripples. A splash from a distance. The crunch of boots from behind. But the only thing he hears is his own short gasp as his feet slip out from under him.

And then… nothing. There is nothing to see but blackness.

He shakes himself awake, blinking almost maniacally, turning wide eyes towards the window, towards the sliver of moonlight peeking into his room. No. It hadn’t been black. It was green. The whole world was green. And gray. The water was pure silver and gray. Until he broke through that perfect, mirrored surface.

Sam! A shout, one carrying Bucky’s desperate tenor, resounds in a far-off corner of the room. How many times had he shouted his name? Once? Twice? Three times, as he raced frantically for him?

He can’t remember. All he can remember is the quiet that followed. And the cold. And the placid gray water turning murky and black the further he sank.

His eyes slowly close once more, lids too heavy to remain at attention. Body too heavy to keep from drifting off, from stilling and setting and sinking into the mattress. Sinking. He’s sinking. Down, down, down. Further into the cold dark. He feels a part of him twitch – his leg perhaps? maybe just a foot? – before he goes completely still. Paralyzed. Sunk.

A flash of a memory tears through the darkness, a snippet of something that he’s yet to recall with his waking mind. Traumatic experience, an easy explanation for why his dreams are so fucked, his memories so jumbled. So murky and black. But… This isn’t that. I don’t know what it is. But it isn’t that.

He remembers the silence. The stillness. A woman running.

He remembers the snapping and stomping and shout of a friend.

He remembers the cold, cold dark enveloping him as he sank. As… as she tugged him down. Long, dark hair. A white gown. Ghostly pale skin… gooseflesh all along her naked arms. She pulled him down. Down, down, down.

His eyes snap open once again, lungs clenching tightly as they try to pull in air. But they can’t. His chest burns, like the blister of ice water filling within. It aches, likes a thousand pounds rests atop him. Nothing works… not his lungs, nor arms, nor legs. Nothing works except his eyes. They tick up, widening in a frantic search, desperately cutting through the dark.

Something moves above him, the tiniest glint, a reflection of moonlight shining off of… long, dark hair. Wet, the thick curtain hangs heavily, concealing much of her face as it drips. Drip, drip, drip. Icy droplets ping against his skin, plopping to his cheek in scalding shards.

She’s sitting atop his chest, squatting, perched like a stony gargoyle atop its church. For the first time, he’s able to make out her face, staunchly white, oddly luminescent. Small features, a tiny nose, thin bowed lips. They part, just enough for a bitterly cold breath to blow past. And her eyes… her eyes are empty, pale, pale blue. No. Silver. And gray. And murky, like the lake water. She stares at him with those cold, dead eyes, cocking her head as his breathing and pulse grow more erratic.

Her lips move, the smallest echo drifting to him. Unintelligible words that he’s heard a dozen times before. A hundred? A thousand? She jerks suddenly off to the side, off of his chest, faltering for just a blink of moment before shattering into a million icy shards that melt into a cool puddle beside him.

Her soft voice continues to echo through the room. Through his mind. Through his soul.

Ты принадлежишь мне. Вы принадлежите нам.*

*You belong to me. You belong to us.

#sam wilson fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #wonderland4seasonalwc #sam wilson #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #ghoststories

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bigscaryyanderewriter · 5 years

Text

Icy Resolution and Dragon's Flame (Dragonshifter! Shouto x Reader) Pt. 2

Part 1

The Part 2 like only two fuckin people asked for, lmao. Two people can make a difference on what I will and won't write, so uh. Talk to me, it really gets my ass into gear with writing. No pressure, I won't roast anyone… Unless they ask me too and even then, I'm more worthy of a good charring than any of y'all.

Tw: Yandere themes

1.8k Words

The icy feeling of the metal chains hanging on the various parts of your body glittered in the torch light and the sunlight when you were able to see it, at least. Ever since you had began… cohabitating with Shouto, you haven't really been out as much. The cavern was the place you lived for now, not that you couldn't try to escape. You could only try and it was going to get you out for good, because having to run from an angry dragon shifter for the rest of your life was… Not your favorite possibility.

Was there a getting out of here? There… had to be. You might be lax, you might be polite, you weren't going to just be an idle captive though. Those were just the facts!

The basket you were currently sifting through seemed to be filled with golden trinkets and it was annoying you. Pretty as they were… They were useless to you in this moment. It was making you angry. Shouto had been gone from the cave for about three days and you still hadn't managed to escape it. You assumed he must just be off hunting and got stuck or was doing something else. Things like this, being out of the loop drove you crazy as you pushed the basket away. The bracelets on your arms jangling as you moved. You could pull them off, technically. You just… never got to wear anything like this before and you feel like you look pretty snazzy in gold. At least… That's your opinion on it.

You heard something though at the entrance. It wasn't the noise of the boulder being moved, no. That was easy to identify. This was… A flute. Someone was playing a lute outside the cave. You went closer and realized, a little stone was loose from the entrance. Pulling on it, sunshine shone through as you could see through to the clearing outside.

It was so lovely to feel the warmth of the sun's rays after being kept in the dark, cool cave with only magical torches. They didn't produce heat even. It sucked.

It was… So close to you. You peeked at the small field and the trees, seeing a small group. A pink tiefling woman, two humans, an elf, and an earth genasi! One of the humans was playing a lute, calling out loudly, you were in near tears, "Hello?! Can you please help me? Please? I need to get out of this cave."

The dude with the lute turned with confusion along with the others. There seemed to be a collective… 'Us?' From them as you groaned, exasperated by this rag tag group already. "Yeah, you guys! Who else?!"

The red haired genasi spoke first, "We just… Nobodies ever actually asked for help before. Guys… Uh, do we save her?"

"Oh, we don't even know her, shitty hair!" The ashen blond human sighed, facepalming. "Do you know anything about em? Cause I sure as hell don't."

The tiefling spoke up, "Wait, we gotta find that dragon though! He's supposed to be around here and if we have her around, then we can use her as bait…"

You froze, "..What dragon are you looking for?"

"His name is Shouto and we're supposed to get his help, because he has something we need for our quest!" The more yellow blond human said with a grin before getting smacked in the back of the head by the other who you presumed was their leader.

"Bakugou! You didn't have to do that, I mean-" As he whined a bit, you tuned out as you realized they wouldn't help you they knew you were his captive. Why would they? Especially if they needed him. It wouldn't benefit them.

You were going to have to trick them…

"Hey, I know where his cave is. I can lead you there." You said with a frantic sort of gesture. "Just get me out of here, please. No using me as bait either. We just need to leave. Right now."

"How can we be sure you know where his cave is?" The black-haired elf asked suspicion on his features, leaning forward. "We aren't idiots!"

"I don't know how to prove it, ugh. You could just let me out and give me directions if you don't think I know where it is. Cause you guys don't seem to actually know exactly where you are." You admitted, a frown on your face. If they couldn't figure out the prints on the ground in the field were from a dragon… You weren't sure you could really help them further than leading them away from here as quickly as you could.

Well… With how foolish they were, you almost feel good about helping them. Even now as you eat the freshly cooked rabbit they had caught and roasted. Night came and the stars were brighter than you remembered. You had travelled a good way from the cave and were essentially leading them on a wild goose chase into the wilderness, making sure to have them mark the way. Just in case you got "lost", when really… It was just so they could find the cave where you had been… Rather than having to locate it from memory.

You quickly became acquainted and even fond of the quintet of travelers. It was fun to travel with them. Their generosity towards you was sweet. You were sure they just thought you were a princess though.

Especially how they wouldn't let you do anything… It was annoying how persistent they were about it too. Bakugou must have thought you would screw something up, so he had them actively trying to not let that happen. That was until you woke up early enough to see they had all fallen asleep, no one keeping an eye on you as you made breakfast. They travelled prepared, although you had no idea how.

None of them seemed to have much forethought when it came to such things. You were pretty sure Kiri or Mina could have waltzed off any which way with just the clothes on their backs and make it just fine. Sero was easily the most lax person you have ever met and Denki seemed to be trying to win your praise at every turn. Mostly falling on his ass, but it was endearing. Bakugou though? He didn't seem to really… He was… He was an asshole. That was fine though. You can't get along with everyone.

Though, you grew especially fond of Denki with the way he was so earnest. You'd never had someone try to be so genuinely sweet to you, making you blush a little when he would praise you. No way would you fall for a bard though, that was ridiculous. Even as he promised things to you, maybe it was fast though.

No helping you though as you danced with Mina and Kirishima around the fire as Denki would play his lute. Strumming songs that made you forget everything and get lost into the songs he sang.

You hadn't seen anything from Shouto yet, so that made you feel less fear… Confidence coming back with the knowledge that you would be leaving his reach soon enough. Not even a feeling of being lost. The nearest town, a little place called Wythe was where you all rested for a minute and… You came clean.

Now, that was after a meal and proper rest. There was still some outrage as you calmly told them the truth, "I thought you wouldn't help if you knew the truth… Crazier things have happened, but that was the most likely thing."

Bakugou looked like he was going to blow a gasket as he was already making his way to choke you within an inch of your life before Kirishima pulled him back. "So, you could have just given us the map while we were there or helped us find it, but instead you tricked us into just breaking you out of that lair?"

"I didn't want to steal…" You shyly said, but in reality… That idea just hadn't popped into your head when you had only been thinking of getting yourself out of there.

Mina sighed as she slumped a little on the bed, "So, are we going to head back or? We did kind of break his front door and steal the maiden he kept captive. I would be pretty pissed off if that happened to me and well… While I'm not a dragon, I don't think seeing us so soon after would have him in a better mood."

Bakugou was gritting his teeth he seemed to be battling not to strangle you still, "Oh, we're going back and… Ugh, we went into Dragon territory to just leave it and now we have to go back. How does a dumbass like you get the interest of a fucking dragon?" His hand hitting the table before realizing he said that very loudly.

"Ahem. Well, you can shut the fuck up and maybe I'll just tell you. I didn't mean to anyways." You groaned, crossing your arms as you leaned into the seat. "I just was lost and did something that was just a fuckin decent act. Apparently that qualified me for the running in The Dragon Bachelor or whatever."

The snort that erupted from Mina was contagious as you looked at her, quirking your eyebrow. You continued though, "I was stuck in the cave for a good while with Shouto before he left on a hunting trip. Then you guys showed up after he was gone for a couple of days. I had you guys mark the trees so you could follow it back to the cave. You'll be fine. Anyways, you can fill your supplies and buff up your defenses. Plus, you'll want to avoid his father… It will be a… Yeah, you wouldn't have to worry about much if you run into him. You'll all be dead in seconds."

In actuality… Endeavor was the least of their concerns for the moment. The soft landing and soon the cry of a young, anguished dragon… It sounded for miles into the forest as he quickly feel temper overcome him for a second. Mistakes happened, he shouldn't have left you alone for so long. Irresponsible. You couldn't have gotten far though. He sniffed around and saw the scratched x along the tree at the edge of the field, blowing a frosty breath and the little marks lit up down through the forests like a pathway. He would save you from whatever poor decisions you had made to take you away from him though.

Everything would be all right again when you were back in his cave, snuggles up safely with him and wrapped with the plush fur blankets… You couldn't have left willingly… Why would you? He offered you everything and you were so grateful! He would save you, be your hero and you would be happy to be back. Never to leave his side again, you'd be that much closer to loving him like he loved you! But he had to get you back first and foremost. Powerful, white and red wings beat against the air as he lifted off the ground. He had a little one to search for.

#yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bnha #yandere #yandere mha #yandere my hero academia #yandere shouto todoroki #yandere shouto x reader #yandere x reader #reader insert #shouto x reader #shouto todoroki #dragon x reader #yandere dragon

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varricmancer · 5 years

Text

Lost And Found | 2

Pairing: Varric Tethras x OC

Word Count: 3,924

Summary: Instead of the nothingness she had craved, Crystal woke up in the world of Thedas. What had once been merely a story that she loved now seemed very real and she was right in the heart of it all. She soon finds a reason to live again and a love in the arms of someone as quietly broken as her.

Notes: Hey, look! It’s an update! Finding the time to write with an infant around is extremely difficult, but I didn’t want to abandon this story. I have so much of it thought up already in my head and it’s great, it’s just hard getting around to writing it all down lol. Most of my free time these days is spending trying to sneak in naps and showers when my baby is asleep. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this and please let me know how you think it’s going.

Crystal had been completely lost in her work when a sudden cheer made her jump a little, spilling a bit of green sap across her hand. She was able to save most of the vial, thankfully, corking it and setting it aside before opening her door and peering out.

In the middle of the village was a small crowd of people cheering around a rather disgusting pile of dead rams. She did a quick count; ten, just like in the game. If the village did a good job smoking and curing some of the meat, they’d be able to have plenty to go around for a couple weeks at least. Coupled with the knowledge that The Herald would be clearing the area of danger soon, Crystal was able to take a deep breath, content now that she knew the village would be safe soon. The feeling of constant hunger was something she was never going to forget, and she really hoped to never feel it again.

She stepped outside, quietly shutting her door behind her and strolled towards the back of the crowd. She just wanted to get a peek of everyone before the judgemental stares and demands for her to prove she’s not a demon started.

The Herald turned out to be a human male, and he looked like the default version, meaning this was most likely Maxwell Trevelyan. She spots the dual daggers on his back and grins. He’s a human rogue Inquisitor, probably her most used playthrough. He was smiling gracefully as various people loudly proclaimed their thanks, but she could see the tension in his body, like he was holding himself back from making a run for it.

Cassandra was beautiful. The game certainly did not do her justice in the least. Her face was much more delicate and regal in real life; not even her scars distracted from it. Giles was chatting her up, and Crystal knew he could be a little longwinded at times. Cassandra’s lack of patience with him showed. She could practically see the Disgusted Noise subtitle above her head.

Solas was magnificent in his own way, of course. She hadn’t been sure how she’d feel about meeting him - knowing what she did about him - but there was no overwhelming urge to run for the hills. He was taller and more broad than any of the other Elven people she’d met here, but it was hidden well under the humble clothing he wore. She imagined she only noticed his difference from the others because she knew to look for it. She just hoped she could get him to fix her up before she freaked him out by accidentally letting him know that she was aware of his incredibly stupid plan.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t see through the crowd enough to catch sight of Varric, and no one seemed to be able to hear her whispered excuse me over the excited chatter. She sighed to herself, resigned that she’d have to wait until the crowd calmed down before she’d be able to beg for Solas to heal her. If she knew Giles or Mother Giselle, they’d probably bring the group to her soon enough, for different reasons of course. She snuck one last glance through the crowd and braced to leave when she felt someone stand next to her.

“It’s always us short ones that get stuck in the back, huh?”

Crystal bit back her excited grin as recognized the owner of that raspy voice, trying to appear calm and not totally embarrass herself by fangirling. She turned and was surprised to note that she and Varric were nearly eye to eye. He was just a touch shorter than her five feet. However, his dwarven bulk made him seem massive next to her. Just one of his biceps was probably half of her body weight. The only things that saved her from looking like a complete stick next to him were her generous top and bottom.

She was also surprised how much more handsome he was in real life than in the game. There were slight grey streaks in his dark blonde hair and deep laugh lines around his eyes, showing his age, but he carried it well. His grin was warm, and even if his eyes were obviously cataloging everything about her and trying to figure her out, he gave off a kind air. She smiled shyly back, a blush growing on her cheeks as he continued to study her. She inhaled sharply as she recognized the interest in his eyes and felt an answering flutter in her chest, surprising herself.

In all of her imaginings over the past few weeks about who she’d feel butterflies around when she met them, never had Varric even occurred to her. Sure, he was one of her favorite characters, but she’d figured she’d take one look at Cullen or Hawke and swoon. Instead, here she was blushing over freaking Varric Tethras, a smooth-talking and romantically unavailable rogue.

In other words, just her type. You’d think now that she was living a whole new life in a whole new world she’d stop making life so hard for herself. At least this time she had the advantage of knowing he’d break her heart before she answered that spark of interest with one of her own.

“Varric, there you are. They’ve invited us to eat with them before we leave. Come help me drink that bottle we found earlier...or stay and talk to the pretty little lady. Hello there. I’m Maxwell.”

The Herald himself was standing in front of Crystal, her blush deepening as his eyes flittered back and forth between her and Varric. He looked her over curiously.

“I must say, you are the most petite dwarf I’ve ever seen. Are you perhaps Elven blooded?”

She snorted and grinned. “I’m not a dwarf. Just a very tiny human, I’m afraid,” she answered softly, smiled widening as Maxwell’s cheeks soon sported a blush of his own as he sputtered an apology.

“Believe it or not, he does this often,” Varric chuckled.

“It’s true, sadly,” Maxwell sighed wearily. “The first time I met a female Qunari was a disaster. I was just trying to be a gracious host and I asked her if she had her own attendants for her milking or if she needed us to assign some to her.”

Crystal’s eyebrows rose in shock, a hand trying to contain her laughter. “You didn’t!”

“I did. My Uncle always told me that the Qunari were related to druffalo, and since I’d never met any I didn’t know he was just being a racist ass. I was only saved from having to fight her because of our ambassador’s skill with words and the fancy new axe I got her.”

She giggled and waved away any concern. “I promise I don’t require duels or weapons. It’s not the first time my height has been commented on.”

“You’re the very soul of graciousness, Mistress...I didn’t catch your name.” Maxwell declared with an elaborate bow.

“Crystal,” she answered warily, knowing what was coming.

“OH! You’re the girl they told us about! You were in the fade like me!”

“So they tell me.”

“You don’t remember either?”

She shrugs, “Not really. I was...in a lake when I was surrounded by a green glow and it pulled me down. The next thing I recall was waking up and being told my arm broke falling out of a rift.”

“You didn’t get a mark like mine?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

Crystal chewed her lip thoughtfully before squaring her shoulders and blurting out, “I do have...knowledge, however. Um, like bits of insight into future events.”

“Like a seer?”

“Not quite. I can’t read minds or tell you what you’ll be doing thirty years from now, but I have some knowledge of past events and some coming events that will impact the inquisition.”

“That’s incredible. You learned it in the fade?”

“Uh...I suppose that’s possible. Look, I wasn’t sure that I was going to tell you about it at first, because this whole thing is terrifying. I know if I go with you and help with my knowledge, I’ll be right in the thick of everything, but I know I’ll be safer with you than out here in the wilderness on my own. If you can take me with you to Haven and promise protection then I’ll use what I know to help you succeed.”

Maxwell nods and rubs his chin in thought, studying her.

“Not to be rude, but how do I know you have any of this foresight and are not simply trying to infiltrate the inquisition?”

“It’s okay, I wouldn’t believe me either. Do you have a map of the area and maybe something to write with?”

Maxwell nods and pulls out a weathered map on what she can only assume is some sort of animal skin. She wrinkles her nose and accepts it and the black chunk he hands her that she guesses she’s supposed to write with. She wasn’t very knowledgable about such things, but as long as it worked who cared.

She lays the map out on a nearby stump, mumbling to herself as she tries to remember all the major points in the area. Unfortunately, there was quite a lot because The Hinterlands was huge, and she was sure there were at least a couple of things she forgot. She handed Maxwell the map with a sheepish grin and a shrug of her shoulders.

“Alright. I’ve marked all the big events in the Hinterlands for now. First is the easy stuff. When you get to the horsemaster, you’ll learn that wolves have been attacking villagers. I’ve marked the spot on the map where there is a demon controlling them. Take out the demon and the wolves will go back to normal. Avoid the rift to the right of the river. The demons are too high level for you to deal with and they stay in that little corner anyway. You can get back to them later. Also, someone will ask you to find their missing druffalo. Up to you if you want to do that, but it is a good way to get on the people’s good side.” She shrugged but was pleased by the Herald’s expression. They may not believe her, but at least he was listening intently.

“I’ve also marked the locations of the templar and mage encampments. Taking those out will stop the fighting so the people here will be safer. You’ll come across lots of mini quests along the way, and I’ve marked those as well. It’s up to you how much you want to accomplish now, although I suggest just dealing with the horses and encampments for now. You can always come back.”

“That’s quite a lot of information, but nothing that someone with good intel and knowledge of the area couldn’t come up with,” Varric says with a tilt to his head, studying her curiously.

“True. At the very least, I’m hoping this shows that I can be of some use. This alone probably just saved you weeks of drudging around. There’s nothing huge that I need to forewarn you of at the moment.”

Maxwell frowns. “Why can’t you just write down what you know? We’d pay you for your services and you’d be free to stay here where it seems you have a home?”

“Several reasons. One, this isn’t my home. Giles has been kind, but I am alone in the middle of the wilderness of a land that I don’t really know, sleeping in a house that is only available because the entire family died. I’d feel safer surrounded by people that my knowledge makes me familiar with. Two, I don’t really think just telling you everything right off would help. I...okay, so when you go into battle you fight as hard as you can because you want to win and protect your companions, correct?”

Maxwell nodded, eyes trained on her as she explained.

“Right. Well, would you fight as hard if you knew the outcome beforehand? Or would you go into battle thinking you had this in the bag and there was no point in giving your all?”

“Potentially changing the outcome and losing or someone dying that shouldn’t have,” Varric rumbled thoughtfully next to her. Leave it to the writer to catch on.

“Exactly. Everything I’ve read that mentioned having knowledge of the future follows the rule of not telling everyone everything about it so the future doesn’t get changed, and it’s cliche as hell, but it’s a cliche for a reason. I’ll happily tell you what I think would be safe to tell without changing anything, but there are a lot of things that actually depend on choices that you or others make. The fact that I’m even here already changes tons because I’m not supposed to be.”

“What does that mean?” Maxwell asks with a raised brow.

“Uh...it means that I already saw the next five years happen but I wasn’t a part of it until that rift threw me into the middle of a land I don’t belong in. That’s already changed a hell of a lot and I don’t know what kind of impact that’s going to have. Everything I know is a series of probabilities that can change based on choices. So while I may hope for one outcome and can try to counsel you to choose it, ultimately you can decide to do something totally different and change the future that I know.”

“This is all giving me a headache,” Maxwell mumbles, rubbing his forehead.

Crystal snorts.“Tell me about it.”

“Basically,” she continues, “I’m one of the good guys and I’ll try to help as much as I can in return for protection. I’m not a fighter, nor do I have magic, so I’m alone and have no real way of keeping safe by myself here. Sounds pathetic, but...” she shrugs, trailing off to observe their faces. Maxwell and Varric both had their eyebrows raised as they silently conversed with a series of nods and expressions. She wouldn’t have thought they’d had enough time to bond enough to pull off that kind of thing, but they seemed to understand each other.

“Alright, I can’t promise anything right this very moment,” Maxwell states as he crosses his arms. “You are of course welcome to come to Haven. We have all kinds of people just showing up there daily, so that’s not a problem. I believe the Mother is going there herself in a few days, so you could probably travel with her party if you wanted. We were heading over to the horsemaster’s tomorrow, and we’ll take all you’ve told us and the map markers into consideration during our journey. We should be able to get back to the Crossroads in about a week. If you’re still here and your information proved helpful, we’ll discuss taking you with us and talking to the other leaders. How does that sound?”

Her shoulders drop as she sighs in relief. “Perfectly fair. I’ll probably stay until you guys get back. I don’t relish the thought of traveling with wagons full of sisters and Mother Giselle. They are best dealt with in small doses.” Varric snorts and the two of them share a small smirk.

“We need you to meet the others in our party, so they know where the info came from. That’s okay, right?” Maxwell asks, already halfway to leaving.

“As long as you are able to stop Cassandra from coming after me thinking I’m a demon or something.”

Maxwell groans dramatically. “Ugh. I have experienced that Cassandra and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. No head lopping today.”

He turns back to the party that had remained behind, yelling loud enough to be heard over the noise of everyone still celebrating.

“Cassandra, Solas. Could you come here please?”

They came forward, followed by Giles who had apparently noticed they were headed towards her and decided to take up his role of protector once more.

He nods politely at Maxwell. “Ah, you found our Crystal. They bullying you, girl?”

She grins softly, “No, Giles. I’m fine. Thank you.”

“You’re the one they say came out of a rift as well?”

Having Solas’s attention on her was terrifying, mostly because of what she knew of him but also a bit because she wasn’t sure what all he could see.

“I am. Sorry, no mark,” she shrugs, noting his gaze wandering from her hands to any other visible bit of skin.

“Crystal here has been very helpful and provided us with some information to help with our travels here, and we’ll be taking her to Haven with us when we get back,” Maxwell informs them, patting her shoulder.

Cassandra studies her with a frown. “Are you certain that is wise? She could be a spy or even possessed.”

“We had plenty of people look her over, and she is just human. I’m afraid we didn’t even think about the possibility of her bein’ a spy. Doubt it though. She’s a good girl,” Giles adds helpfully.

“I’m not, but I’m sure Leliana will be able to figure that out.”

Cassandra’s gaze sharpened as she stared at Crystal. “How do you know Leliana?”

“Err, she says she knows things. Like a seer.” Maxwell explains, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Not like a seer. I’m not magic or whatever. I just...know things.”

“Did you perhaps converse with anyone whilst you were in the fade?” Solas asks.

“I don’t remember ever being in the fade. I just remember a green glow then I was here.”

“Interesting,” Solas nods, his eyes piercing her as though she was a puzzle to solve. Crystal shifted nervously, not enjoying having the undivided attention of Solas on her. At any moment he could decide she was a threat to his plans.

Giles must have interpreted her slight grimace to be one of pain because he suddenly pointed to Solas.

“Oy, you with the stick. You can heal?”

“Yes? I have some healing ability.”

“Good. Do yer sparkle hands on our wee lass here. She’s been working hard with only one working arm long enough. Oh, and do ye still need help with the ribs too?”

“Um, they are not as bad anymore. Although I would be very grateful for help with my arm. I...cannot pay you. I have nothing unless you’ll accept some healing potions I’ve made.”

“Those will be appreciated.”

“Here, sit lass. Is this going to hurt her?”

“Not too much. The spell dulls the pain as it works.”

Giles leads her to a stone step and stands at her side. She shakily begins to try taking off her sling but is surprised when Varric gently pries her hand away and begins untangling the knot himself. She smiles her thanks and relaxes a little as he works. He grimaces at the fading bruising around the wrist once he removes all the wrapping, then hisses in sympathy when she squeaks in pain as he helps to hold her shaking arm out for Solas to work on.

Solas mutters some words and suddenly a green glow surrounds her arm, the bones rippling under her skin in a way that was both disturbing and fascinating.

“That’s so weird,” she mumbles. It was like one of those horror movie scenes where someone had bugs or worms moving around under their skin.

“There. It’s completely healed, but it will still be tender for a few days as you get used to using that arm again.” Solas states as the glow disappears and he backs away.

Crystal flexes her fingers a few times, amazed that while her arm still felt weak and twinged with pain a little bit, she was still able to freely move it.

“Thank you, Solas. I appreciate it,” She grinned. Potentially nutball of a God or not, he’d saved her months of recovery time.

He nodded politely and rejoined his group that had been having their own private conversation while he’d been working, no doubt about her.

“Does it feel better?” Varric asks, handing her a mug of something. She took a sniff and realized it was some sort of alcohol, but she wasn’t very knowledgeable about the different types out here. Some sort of mead if she had to guess. She shrugs and takes a big gulp, smacking her lips a little as she contemplates the taste.

“Mmm, yeah. Won’t be able to punch with it for a while, but at least I can stop getting dressed onehanded,” she giggles.

Varric smirks, “Well if you find that you still need help with that, let me know.”

“Ah,” she shakes her head playfully, “If only you’d been here to make that offer yesterday. I was so desperate I probably would have taken you up on that.”

His eyes shined mischievously as he shrugs. “Well, damn my luck.”

“If you two are done flirting, we need to get going,” Maxwell chuckled as he strode towards them, smirking as Crystal’s blush darkened.

Varric cleared his throat and stuck his hands into his pockets, stepping away from her a bit. She didn’t really like that, but she understood.

“I hope you guys stay safe. Remember to take advantage of the spots I marked for setting up camps.”

Maxwell nodded and grasped her hand, bowing over it slightly.

“In case your advice proves handy, thank you in advance. We shall see you in a week.”

Crystal nodded and smiled as he sauntered off to join the rest of his party. Varric takes a few steps before pausing, pulling something out of his pocket and tossing it towards her. She catches it easily in her right hand, light making the object glitter. It was some sort of crystal. She glanced up at him and quirked an eyebrow, wondering he was trying to make some sort of lame pun.

“Not a joke, I swear,” he chuckles, palms raised. “In case the village gets attacked again while we’re gone, you can call us for help.”

Oh. It was one of those. She couldn’t remember the name, but she could recall that was how Iron Bull and Dorian communicated in the game.

“Thank you, Varric. I appreciate it,” She says softly, cradling it to her chest.

He nods and does a little salute before he joins the others, leaving her to watch them grab their gear and a share of the cooked meat. She tried to convince herself she wasn’t disappointed that he didn’t look back again.

She sighs and walks towards her hut, shaking her head at her foolishness. She couldn’t believe how easy it was for her to behave like a schoolgirl with a crush around Varric, even when she knew it was a very stupid thing to even think like that. She knew all about Bianca and his unhealthy attachment to her. One stupid girl from another realm or whatever wasn’t going to change anything.

Besides, she had other things to worry about. Like staying alive.

#dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #dai #varric #varric tethras #varric fanfic #MGIT #dragon age inquisition #da

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