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leverage-ot3 · 4 years

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notable moments from The Maltese Falcon Job

leverage 2.15

Hardison (checking phone): Guys, they are ripping through Nate and Tara's cover stories. All their financials are blown. So look, until I know what they know, no credit cards, no debit cards, no ATMs, nothing that can be traced back to us. OK? Cash in hand only.

- - - - -

Nevins (on phone): No, not a safe house. Interpol wants Culpepper someplace off our system. We're taking him to the Governor Hotel.

Nate: OK, that's it. That's where we're gonna hole up.

Tara: The Governor Hotel?

Nate: Yeah.

Tara: The hotel crawling with FBI?

Eliot: FBI and Interpol.

Nate: Yeah, you know, it's the one place in Boston they won't be lookin' for us. Come on, we just gotta get there first

smart

- - - - -

Tara: Oh, thank God! I just stepped out to get the paper and then my door closed behind me and I tried to find a house phone, but you guys don't have those anymore. (drops towel) Oops.

Man: Uh...

(Eliot and Parker look down the hall, then at each other, then down the hall)

parker, g i r l, close your mouth

they were both slightly Into It™ and you can’t change my mind

- - - - -

Hardison: In-room checkout. (sits down on bed with keyboard) OK, look, this means that I have access to the hotel's billing computers. It's a big ol' backdoor in every hotel room in America. (hacks system) As of right now, we've been here for a week, and our reservations are good for another week, courtesy of this man's platinum card, Mr. Ogden Shields, who has spent a lot of time in the adult section of pay-per-view. I mean, did he even leave the room?

Parker: In-de-panties Day?

~ a few moments later ~

(Parker takes keyboard from Hardison’s hands)

Eliot: All right, I'm gonna go get some keys made. I'm goin' to the gym. Make sure I can charge stuff on the room.

Hardison: I gotcha.

(women moaning on TV)

Parker: Wow, she really wants that car clean.

Hardison: That’s-that's enough of that

parker is baby and hardison wants to protect her from that nastiness

- - - - -

Nate: Why do we care about him?

Hardison: 'Cause he's big on the surplus weapons market.

Eliot: (laughs) That's just a polite way of saying arms dealer.

Tara: His specialty's buying cheap guns from Third World countries and reselling 'em.

- - - - -

Nate: Don't worry about Sterling.

Eliot: Did you just say, "Don't worry about Sterling?"

Nate: Yeah, don't worry about Sterling. What you don't think I can beat Sterling?

Eliot: I think in the last six months, Nate, I've heard you talk about beating the Triads, beating the Russians. All right? Maggie's boyfriend. Huh? How'd that work out? We all said that meet was a bad idea, right? But you got a taste for taking down this Mayor and you can't resist.

Nate: You wanna walk away? Walk away.

Eliot: I'm not walkin' away. It's not my job. My job is to get your back. And, Nate, I'm gonna do it. All the way down. But I need you to do your job.

Nate: And what's that?

Parker: Be Nathan Ford. Be the person we came back for

PARKER BABY she showed emotion I’m so proud of her

- - - - -

(Eliot holds up the piece of paper taken from Bonanno’s house that reads ‘Maltese Falcon’)

Eliot: That's still bugging me, man.

we love to see eliot confiding/leveling with hardison

- - - - -

Parker: Ooh! But, uh, I have mini-bar.

her in the maid outfit with the french accent

+ HER WINK IM GAY

- - - - -

Nate: You help Tara and Parker. I'm gonna stall Sterling.

Hardison: How?

Nate: I'm thinking.

(Sterling gets into an elevator. Nate heads up the stairs, stopping at every floor to push the elevator button. Sterling begins to get irritated when the elevator stops at every floor but never sees Nate, who gets progressively more tired as they go upward)

[Hallway]

(Sterling gets off on the 14th floor. Behind him, Eliot pushes his cart into the elevator. Sterling glances at him but the door closes before he can get a good look. Sterling approaches the door the FBI agents are guarding)

petty and fucking ICONIC I wouldn’t have the stamina for that but neither would nate tbh and honestly he was probably running on pure spite to make that happen and I respect him for that

- - - - -

Parker: Housekeeping!

(she goes inside, pulling her cart in behind her. Once in the room, she finds Tara and Hardison in the window. Hardison is tangled in his line, and Tara is trying to help him)

Hardison: Ow. That's... Stop. Hey, I got this. Stop. I don't need help.

Tara: Clearly you do.

Hardison: I got this. I got this. Go.

LMFAO E V E R Y TIME

we love to see the running bit of hardison utterly FAILING at anything rappelling related

- - - - -

Culpepper: Where are the agents? Where are the agents? There should be two FBI agents standing at the door.

(Eliot walks in with Parker thrown over his shoulder)

Nate: Did you have to?

Eliot: She saw our faces.

Nate: OK. Yeah, put her in the tub with the others.

(Eliot takes her into the bathroom)

- - - - -

eliot can always knock a bitch out with one (1) punch

- - - - -

Sterling: So, I'm gonna make you a deal. You find Kadjic, tie him to the guns, I'll give you a free pass. Just this once, you get to walk away with your record wiped clean.

Nate: My team?

Sterling: They go down. Every last one of 'em. They deserve to go down. They're criminals, Nate. Thieves. So that's the deal. You bring me Kadjic and the guns, and I cut you and you alone loose. Because at the end of the day you're always right. You're not a thief. This is your second chance.

(Sterling picks up the flask and walks away)

this was actually really interesting to see. sterling leveled with nate. he knows nate, knows how he works, thinks he knows who nate really is on the inside. they have a Past™

- - - - -

Nate: Yeah. No. I... I, uh... Listen, I need you to come back. Um... I need you. Uh, I need you.

[Interior Helicopter]

Sophie: No, no, no. Speak up. I'm traveling and...

[Leverage Headquarters]

Nate: Not the team. Me. For me. Not for a con. I just... Listen, I... I don't know who I am anymore, Sophie. And, ah... When, when I was chasing you and everything and we were doing cons, I knew who I was, but not anymore. As crazy as this sounds, I need you to tell me, tell me when I'm goin' too far. I mean, it just... It gets out of control and I just don't know who I am and, and you've always been... .y compass. And, you know, I care about you more than yo-you'll ever know, because I lo... I lo...

lmfao when the signal is lost? tragic

- - - - -

eliot is wearing a flannel in the final scenes

- - - - -

the obama portrait very visible in the background of the government building? we love to see it

- - - - -

eliot DING DONG WE’RE HOME spencer owns my whole (whole) heart

- - - - -

Nate: What are you doing?

Eliot: Countin' all the guys with guns.

Nate: How many?

Eliot: A lot

smart and TOTALLY an eliot thing to do

- - - - -

Parker: Don't worry. No one's ever died going in through an air duct.

Tara: Oh, this is comforting.

Parker: I mean, worst case, you slip and fall. Break your legs. Lay there for days, scratching on the metal. It's like a long, metal coffin with wind. (excited) Let's go!

(Parker runs across the roof)

she’s baby and I love her. never, ever change parker

- - - - -

Computer: Match identified.

Hardison (bending over keyboard): Damn, you finally found something, half-pint?

HE CALLS HIS COMPUTER HALF PINT ??? ICONIC

- - - - -

Hardison: Parker, where are you?

Parker: Sorry, had a buzz from the alarm system, I couldn't hear a... thing. What?

(Parker’s face hardens and she heads for Tara, who is putting the rappelling gear back in the oxygen tank)

Tara: Parker, what's wrong?

(Parker grabs Tara by the throat and pushes her back until she is leaning over the edge of the building)

~~~

Tara: You're really strong.

Parker: Yeah. I hang from buildings with my fingertips.

Tara: It's not what you think. I was setting up a meeting!

Parker: Actually, that was exactly what I was thinking. Bye now.

Tara: Not for myself

- - - - -

ANNIE KROY IS BACK

- - - - -

(Eliot, his hands tied, is being led to some stairs by two goons.)

Man: I'll get the hatch.

(one man moves ahead of Eliot while the other stays behind him. When Eliot doesn’t follow the first man up the stairs, the second pushes him)

Man 2: Come on.

Eliot: Thirteen.

(Eliot and the second man struggle, sending gunfire rifling across the ceiling before the second man is knocked down. The first man comes back and kicks Eliot in the face. Eliot kicks him in return)

Eliot: Come here!

(Eliot swings his hands across the first man’s face, knocking him back)

Eliot: Twelve.

(Eliot knocks the first man out)

Eliot: Eleven.

(Eliot starts up the stairs, but hears someone else coming and waits around a corner. After a brief struggle, he knocks this man out as well and breaks the zip ties on his wrist)

Eliot: Ten. (heads up the stairs

HOOOOO BOY

MARK ME DOWN AS SCARED AND HORNY

also if parker and hardison know what he was doing? they’d be marked down as the same

- - - - -

Tara: All she asked was that I report back to her every now and then. Are we sure this is the fastest way?

Parker: Yeah, look. (looking at car GPS) There's no traffic this way. So, you were spying on us.

Tara: I was not spying. I was an early warning system. Sophie just, she was worried Nate might go off the rails. So, if it ever looked like he was spinning out of control, I was supposed to call and let Sophie lay in a backup plan just in case.

Parker: Yeah. Why not us?

Tara: Because you were too likely to forgive him.

Parker: I suppose gettin’ busted by the FBI and trying to bring down arms dealers while kidnapping a mayor does qualify as out of control.

Tara: So, anyway, I used my contacts to get Sophie set up as a buyer for the guns. You know... You actually had me worried for a second that you were gonna drop me.

Parker (laughs): That is silly

- - - - -

(Hardison is carrying a large monkey wrench and smiling. He hears noises and goes to investigate, seeing Eliot starting up a ladder)

Hardison: Hey. It took you long enough.

Eliot: What?

(Eliot starts toward Hardison, but a man points a gun to his head)

Man: Freeze.

(Eliot grabs the gun and knocks the man out)

Eliot: One.

Hardison: What

hardison if he knew what eliot was doing: hot damn

- - - - -

(the team gathers together. Parker hugs Sophie)

Sophie: Ooh. Parker touching.

Parker: Kinda, yeah.

- - - - -

Eliot: There's not that many ways out of here.

Sophie: Eliot, when I arrange a rescue, I do it properly.

(a helicopter lands on the docks near the ship. The team heads down the stairs, but Nate hesitates, looking down at the blood on his hand from his side. He goes down the ladder to join the team on the lower deck)

- - - - -

Nate: I've destroyed all the evidence the FBI has on Culpepper and Kadjic. You have no photos, no tapes, you don't have anything. You don't have a case on anybody, unless you arrest me. And only me.

Sophie: Nate?

Nate: I agree to turn state's evidence. I testify to what Kadjic told me, how he put the hit on Bonanno. Hell, I'll even give you Bonanno's evidence against the gunrunning.

Eliot: Nate, I can take these guys.

Hardison: It's just ten more yards to the chopper, man.

Nate: Listen, guys. I got you into this mess. This is the only way to get you out.

eliot is still ready to fight for his family no matter what and hardison just wants them to leave because they’re SO CLOSE

- - - - -

Nate: Come here.

(the team moves closer to him)

Nate: You guys are the most honorable people I have ever met in my life. You've become my family. My only family. I won't forget that. (looks at Eliot) Now get 'em on the chopper. Please. Now!

Eliot: Let's go.

(Eliot nudges Parker and she reluctantly heads for the gangplank. Eliot touches Hardison’s arm)

Eliot: Let's go, man.

(Hardison walks away. Eliot hesitates a moment, shaking his head, then follows the others, hesitating at the top of the gangplank near Sterling)

nate trusts eliot, and only eliot, to be the one to be able to get the rest of the team out of there and into the helicopter. he knows eliot and how much he cares for his family and will do anything to make sure they’re safe, and nate is betting on that to get them out of there

eliot has to be the one to make parker and hardison move because they’ll listen to him and also there would be a good chance that they’d try to stay with Nate otherwise

his gentle hands leading them away have my whole (whole) heart

- - - - -

(Sophie and Eliot get on the helicopter, Eliot hesitating one last time before getting in)

this hurts eliot so much because he’s the RETRIEVAL SPECIALIST and he’s supposed to get everyone safe and never leave anyone behind I’m-

- - - - -

Agent: Who the hell is this guy?

Sterling: I don't know.

Nate: My name's Nate Ford, and I am a thief.

(more sirens are heard. Nate begins laughing as the helicopter lifts off and more police cars and agents arrive, surrounding Nate and the dock. Nate watches the helicopter fly away)

MAJOR character development for nate this season (2.01 had him refusing that he was a thief and in multiple other episodes in this season)

oh and also, y’all, just like last season, if I had to watch this go down like that with my own two eyes and have that be the end of leverage (because they close every season like it’d be the last) I would have fucking R E V O L T E D

#leverage #leverage 2.15 #leverage 2x15 #the maltese falcon job #leverage season 2 #season 2 #notable moments #mine

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agapaic · 5 years

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for prompt, how about an au where guan shan is famous and he tian isn't? (i love your writing ❤️❤️❤️❤️)

25.

‘I heard he’s an asshole. A mean asshole.’

He Tian lights up another cigarette, crouches down on an overturned crate. The back door is propped open with a thick hardback, spine broken and pages ruined and wrinkled from rain and spilled ink, and He Tian indulges in the heaviness of smoke in his throat, breath stolen for just a moment.

‘You shouldn’t listen to rumour,’ he tells Jian Yi, who is propped against the back wall, worrying at his lip. Jian Yi’s cigarette is dwindling in his fingertips, half-touched, and He Tian forces himself to look away from it.

‘Hard not to when the guy’s press team is setting up inside your store for a signing.’

‘My brother’s store,’ He Tian reminds him.

Jian Yi jolts forward. ‘Which makes it worse! Protect the family name! The integrity!’

He Tian smirks, grinds out his cigarette beneath the toe of his shoe, newly shined. ‘He Cheng? Integrity? That would be the day.’ He presses his hands to his knees, pushes himself to his feet with a small sigh. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘He’ll be here soon.’

‘Ready to protect the family honour?’

He Tian rolls his eyes. ‘What little there is of it—I don’t think it needs defending from some celebrity thriller author.’

Jian Yi halts in the doorway. His look is incredulous. ‘Some celebrity? He’s the youngest recipient of the Mao Dun Literature Prize. He’s won it twice.’

There’s a breathless sort of reverence in the words, an adoration He Tian thought the fair man reserved only for one other person. Waxed lyrical like a starving poet first discovering the moon.

He Tian says, ‘I thought you said he was an asshole.’

Without hesitation: ‘Oh, he is. A mean one.’

—

Jian Yi is right: the man is gruff to his staff, dismissive of He Tian’s. He’s hard-tongued to his fans, and delivers his short welcoming speech in clipped tones and the curved accent of someone raised on the backs of city streets. He Tian’s only interaction thus far takes place with the author’s publisher, a sharp-edged, sly man with silver hair and a series of tattoos peeking beneath the rolled-up shirt sleeves.

He Tian watches the proceedings from the upper mezzanine, arms resting on the balcony banister. The bookstore is big, the building inherited from a long line of He’s and, once, housed a group of Literati scholars during the Qing Dynstasy Men and women waiting eagerly in line, copies new and old clutched to their chests, eager for a glimpse at the man who could create such a mastery. Jian Yi stands at He Tian’s side, eyes on the café on the other side of the mezzanine, where Zhengxi stands cleaning the shelves behind the counter, now empty, listening to the voices from below.

His eyes flicker up, and, seeing Jian Yi, he offers a nod, a small wave. Jian Yi looks away, blushing.

‘Really?’ He Tian asks, unable to help himself. ‘Just fuck already.’

Jian Yi’s eyes go wide, silvery and wet with childlike fear, as if he’s just heard the beginnings of creaking from his parent’s bedroom.

‘We haven't—It’s not—Oh, balls…’ He sighs, dramatic and overzealous, a hand pressed to his forehead like a fainting maiden from one of his battered romance novels from the eighties. ‘It isn’t like I don’t want to,’ he hisses, suddenly correcting himself. An almost defence. ‘But Zhan Zhengxi’s…’

'Frigid?’

’Stoic.’

He Tian considers the barista, his dark brows affecting an air of eternal broodiness and a painful duty of thought. Some Byronic figure blessed with dark, philosophical features and bright, cutting eyes. Beneath it, He Tian knows there lies a shadowy, quiet man who is far simpler than the likes of which Jian Yi likes to indulge.

But He Tian leaves him to his fantasies.

Below, Guan Shan is reaching the end of the first wave of guests, those who’d bought tickets for the introductions and a photo pass with the author. He Tian watches as the man states, unflinching, into the camera, flinching each time as a fan presses closer, leans in. There’s a curl to his lip that is purely hostile, and a startled look in his eyes for just a second as the camera flash goes off and He Tian realises that the whole thing is a front.

Guan Shan, he realises, is like most other authors who step over the threshold of the store. Unused to crowds, largely content with their own company, enduring social conventions with an awkward manner that lingers on rude.

‘He doesn’t like this,’ he murmurs.

Jian Yi glances at him. ‘The country’s most famous author doesn’t like going on a tour of adoring fans?’ He shakes his head. ‘Imagine standing on a stage and having a crowd of people singing your songs back at you. The thrill.’

‘Imagine putting your private thoughts and the workings of your mind on show.’ He Tian glances at the publishing representative, the sharkish figure standing towards the back of the store. He has a smile on his face, yellowish eyes glinting in the light. ‘It’s a horror.’

‘It’s money,’ says Jian Yi, a little more practical. ‘I heard he’s got a three-part movie deal for Secondhand Smoke. If it flops, maybe he’ll get a Netflix drama. Maybe a K-drama. He’s set for life.’

More decisions, more executive choices handed over to someone who knows him little and claims a lot. Dreams and secret thoughts set on a screen and gazed at while Guan Shan flinches from the criticism like a camera flash.

He Tian stops himself—he’s not a writer. He can’t create characters like this, a caricature of a man—a real man—he doesn’t know.

—

He ducks out for a cigarette when the line begins to thin and the sky has grown dark, leaving Jian Yi to watch over the final signings. He won’t get a chance to leave the shop until the early hours of the next morning, stacking away chairs and tables for tomorrow’s opening and reviewing the accounts from the day’s events, a night holed away in the office with straining eyes and a too-dim lamplight Jian Yi has told him to replace a thousand times.

He hears the door hinges creak, the stomp of boots, an unfamiliar gait. Somehow—he knows.

‘Got one goin’ spare?’

He Tian glances back, unaffected, and then goes still. He’s different up close; the spotlight attached to the wall beside the fire exit adds a softness that none of his author’s portraits have allowed him. There’s an amber glint to his hair, his eyes, a pellucid quality to his skin. Hard callousness gives way to a strange, chipped beauty that He Tian can’t look away from.

He offers up the carton.

‘Getting tired of handing out your autographs?’ he asks, only lightly mocking.

‘Just signed the last copy.’ The author’s lip curls, and he takes a cigarette. ‘I hate this shit,’ he says, and then pauses when he props the cigarette between his lips. ‘Don’t tell anyone I said that.’

The corners of He Tian’s mouth quirk. ‘You’re bringing me good business. You can say what you like.’

Mo Guan Shan leans into He Tian’s cupped hands, the flame of He Tian’s lighter snagging on the end of his cigarette until it blooms like a marigold. He kicks a crate over and sets himself down on it.

‘You’re usin’ a copy of Secondhand Smoke to keep your back door open,’ he remarks, unoffended.

He Tian hides a smile. ‘It’s hefty,’ he says. ‘And we ordered too many copies.’

‘A bookstore with an accidental surplus,’ says Mo Guan Shan. ‘What a luxury. Guess you’re doin’ pretty fuckin’ well from where I’m lookin’.’ He leans back, smoke tendrils drifting upwards. ‘Oldest independent bookstore in Beijing, and you haven’t sold the place out to Suning or Yonghui or some other corporate shit like the rest of ‘em.’

‘The building belongs to my family,’ says He Tian, a finite note to his voice.

‘I know. My publicist gave me some background.’ Mo Guan Shan glances back. ‘Guessin’ there’s some stories to be told in these walls.’

‘You’d be writing forever if you set yourself to writing about my family.’

There’s a pause, and then, ‘Okay. You got archives?’

He Tian leans back. He considers what the man is saying, what he’s offering. It’s not much, not a promise—but it’s something. And that something starts to warm behind his ribs, a ball of air in his throat that feels like panic.

‘If you come in tomorrow,’ he says, ‘I’ll try and get them for you. But no promises.’

The writer shrugs, stamps out the dwindling cigarette from beneath his shoe, and gets to his feet. ‘See you tomorrow then, Mr He.’

He Tian glances back to watch him leave, the slight set of the man’s shoulders disappearing into the store, the door thudding against the beaten copy of his most famous work. A shift, and He Tian murmurs, ‘See you tomorrow, Mr Mo.’

—

✨ patreon ⇛ commissions ⇛ ko-fi ✨

#Anonymous #i hope this doesn't stray too much from what you had in mind anon!! :(#19 days #tianshan #asks #prompts

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something-tofightfor · 5 years

Text

Just A Place - Part 1

Pairing: Ryan Brenner x Reader

Word Count: 4800

Rating: M (language)

Summary: Picking up a little after we left off, what’s next for you and Ryan? (It jumps around a little, but hopfully it makes sense)

** You will not understand a darn thing in this if you haven’t read “Neon Lights”, which can be found on my masterlist page **

Author’s Note: This was intended to be a simple interlude to see what they’ve been up to... but we all know that I can’t keep things simple. This one is going to be interesting.

Tag list: @agent-bossypants @ooo-barff-ooo @likethetailofacomet @traeumerinwitzhelden @mfackenthal @songtoyou @obscurilicious @elanor-of-imladris @thesumofmychoices

Let me know if you want me to tag you in on this one!

POV: You

“What about this one?” You leaned forward, one finger tracing lightly over the computer screen as you read the information provided. “It’s got a back deck, and comes with all of the appliances…” You trailed off as you felt a hand fall on your shoulder, sliding over and grasping the back of your neck for a moment before falling away. “It’s nice, Ry, I think it would -”

“Do you like it?” He pulled a seat next to you, sitting down and leaning in so that he could see the screen too. “This was your idea, and…” He got quiet, but you heard his breath catch as you scrolled through the images, filled with high ceilings and open, airy rooms. “Oh, wow.” He cleared his throat, leaning over to kiss your shoulder, beard scratching against your skin. “I like that one a lot.” Good.

“There’s another one, it’s about the same distance from downtown, but it doesn’t look as nice on the inside.” You clicked on a different tab, turning the laptop screen toward Ryan and he reached over, scrolling through the pictures. “It’s not bad, it’s just…”

“It looks comfortable. More my style.” It’s also less expensive, and I would be willing to guarantee that’s what he’s looking at. “Why aren’t we lookin’ at apartments?” You turned in your chair to face him, reaching up with a hand to run your fingers across his beard, which he’d kept neatly trimmed in the three weeks since you’d found each other again, though it was still longer than it had been the first time you’d met him. With a smile, you shook your head.

“We’re looking for a house, Ryan Brenner, because you’ll want to play guitar and maybe even give lessons… and we can’t do that in an apartment with noise restrictions.” Leaning in, you kissed him gently on the mouth. “And because I don’t want to think about moving furniture up and down steps or through an elevator.” He laughed, leaning back in his chair and nodding.

“Makes sense.” Ryan pushed your laptop away from the two of you, taking a deep breath. “Reach out to these two, also.” He nodded. “We’ll fit them in.” Upon your return from New York, you’d found that there had been a hiccup with the paperwork from the people that had purchased the house, which had extended the closing date by two weeks. This had given you and Ryan more time in the house, more time to get to know each other and more time to finish the last few things that you needed to get done in order to move out for good. It had given you a chance to increase the trust you had in each other - and in your intentions.

In the time that you’d spent together, you’d talked over many different things, but the most pressing issue had been where you wanted to head first, where you wanted to “settle”, even though the first place would be temporary, buying you some time until a more long term decision had been made. Both of you had thrown out ideas - Portland, Maine, Atlanta, New Orleans, Jacksonville… and then Ryan had suggested Charleston, and it seemed as if the decision had been made for you. It meant you didn’t have to leave the coast, meant that you could spend one more summer and winter in the warmth… and it put you close to an international airport hub in Atlanta, which would be convenient for work. The only problem had been finding a place to live; while you knew you didn’t need much, you didn’t want to settle for something that would make either of you unhappy… and you were trying to ensure that you didn’t say the wrong thing, scaring Ryan away or making him believe you were trying to buy his affections.

You weren’t afraid of him running, per se - you just didn’t want him to feel as if you were trying to keep him, trying to force anything to happen or entice him. The first few days after you’d found each other had gone by quickly, you and Ryan falling into a routine that included him waking up well before you to cook breakfast and make coffee. The second morning, you’d stepped into the kitchen and found a note next to your mug, fearing for one heartbreaking moment that he’d left, that he was gone again… but no, Ryan had just warned you that he was just in the garage, working through all of the things that you hadn’t touched, clearing it out to make sure that it was ready to go for the buyers. He’d found you back in bed an hour and a half later, eyes red from crying, coffee and breakfast untouched, but he hadn’t said a word, instead kissing you on the temple before taking a shower and then climbing back into bed with you, his long arms holding you tightly without asking you ny difficult questions.

He’d cleaned out the garage entirely in two days, bags and boxes going to the curb with the trash, and even though you thanked him profusely, he never pried, never gave you more than bare details about what he did and what he’d found in the space, letting you know that things were done and ready to go. Ryan kept himself busy, and though a part of you wondered if it was because he was keeping himself anchored, keeping himself from having too much time to think, the way his eyes lit up when you walked into a room, the way his voice caught when he said your name and even the way he touched you, his long fingers seeming to find every inch of your skin that they could told you otherwise. He was doing it for you, not just for himself.

---

The night of your gallery opening, Ryan had dropped you off early so that you could take care of last minute details, promising to be there again by the time the doors officially opened. You’d gone to the building dressed casually, planning on changing right before things started, and as you’d smoothed your charcoal dress down over your hips, you took a deep breath, looking into the mirror with wide eyes. This is it, this is my moment. Every image - save for the one of Ryan - was for sale, priced and waiting for buyers, and though you didn’t expect many of them to be snatched up, you were still hopeful, because it meant that people appreciated your talent too.

Ryan wasn’t there when you’d finished dressing, taking one last look through the empty gallery with the curators of the facility before heading back to the main room for the champagne toast that the invitees would be treated to. He wasn’t in the room as you walked through, introducing yourself to some of the guests… but as you took your place with Lori, the woman that had given you the greenlight for your exhibit, you saw him standing in the back of the crowd, his hair freshly trimmed and styled, arms behind his back as he stood and watched you.

Your eyes had moved across the crowd but always found their way back to him while you explained your images, explained the point of the gallery, explained that it was going to be great to have people finally see a large collection of your work all at once - and finally thanked them for coming, raising your own glass along with them. After gulping the champagne down, you’d made your way through the crowd toward Ryan, a smile on your face and a smirk on his, eyes alight. “Hey you.” He’d leaned in, kissing you on the corner of your mouth, careful not to smudge your lipstick. “Congratulations.” Removing the hands from behind his back, he’d handed you a single white rose, biting his lower lip. “Figured you wouldn’t have anywhere to put a whole bouquet, so…” Filled with an immediate sense of relief and a soul-deep appreciation for the man standing in front of you, you’d leaned in to kiss him full on the mouth, not caring that the room was full of people and certainly not caring about your makeup. Pulling apart, you’d taken his hand, twining your fingers with his as you walked into the main room with your photographs.

The rest of the night had gone well, Ryan pulling away every now and then to give you your time, to give you a chance to speak with guests - and then again toward the end of the night to allow you to talk with Lori, who had floored you with the information that nearly 40 of the images already had offers on them and another fifteen had inquiries,which meant that in one night, almost a third of the images were spoken for. Head swimming, you’d taken one final walk through the room, finding yourself in front of the portrait along with a small crowd of people. “Who is he?” One woman turned to you, a smile on her lips as she gestured to the image with one hand. “He’s obviously very important to you, but who is he?” I’m not sure how to answer that. You’d scanned the room for Ryan, finally finding him and waving him over. “Oh!” The woman’s eyes lit up as she saw him, looking him over before returning her attention to you.

“You can ask him that,” you’d replied, turning to look at Ryan as he stepped next to you, his arm immediately going around your waist. “Got a fan here, Ryan.” His brown eyes widening, Ryan looked at the woman, waiting. She’d repeated her question, eyes on Ryan - as were those of the others in the small crowd - and it had taken him a moment to respond, tongue poking out between his lips.

“I’m… just a guy that was in the right place at the right time.” He pulled you closer, leaning over to kiss the side of your head. “And lucky enough for her to fall in love with me even though I have no idea how it happened.” Oh, Ryan. I’m the lucky one. The group laughed and you could have sworn you saw the first woman’s body stiffen slightly, but she recovered and after speaking with the group for a few minutes, you and Ryan excused yourselves, heading back to the small room where your bag - and the rose - were waiting.

Within a few minutes, you had collected your things and said your goodbyes to Lori and the others, Ryan leading you back to the car. He’d found street parking, and as you slipped off your heels, pulling on a pair of flats, you’d been surprised when you felt Ryan’s hands on your hips, pushing you back against the side of your car as he kissed you - hard. Whispering his name as he pulled back, you shook your head. “What was that for, Ryan?” Opening your eyes, you looked up at him, his face clearly visible beneath the streetlights. “Why-”

“I’m so goddamn proud of you.” He shook his head, grinning. “Tonight was amazing, you looked so happy.” With a nod, you reached up, grabbing his hair and pulling his face down to yours again, biting on his lower lip as you kissed him. His grip on your hips tightened, the cool metal of the car against your back and the heat from his body warming you through for long moments before he pulled away. You’d been dancing around pushing things further physically for the last few days, neither of you wanting to be the one that brought it up again, but you couldn’t hold back, couldn’t push the desire you felt for him down anymore.

“Ryan.” You said his name clearly, hand dropping to his cheek. “Ryan, we need to stop on the way home, because we need to buy -”

“I already stopped.” Ryan cleared his throat but didn’t break eye contact, no shame in his voice. “I just wanted to be ready, because I can’t … I’m done waiting, as long as you are.” You’d nodded, lips parting as you pushed him away from you so that you could get into the car. As he slid into the driver’s seat, you felt your heart pounding. Tonight.

---

POV: Ryan

He watched as you packed a small suitcase and talked excitedly about Charleston, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile - one that he hadn’t been able to keep off of his face throughout the weeks he’d spent with you, and Ryan knew that he was making the right decision. Sure, stopping his traveling was overwhelming, and it was difficult for him to think about the fact that he was done, but knowing that it meant waking up to you, being with you each day was enough to make it all worthwhile. Ryan hadn’t ever thought he’d be one of the people that wanted or needed an established routine, but with, you, it was easy and it felt right, especially after the way he’d felt in New York.

The night you’d brought up the idea of getting a place with him, he’d thought you were joking, thought you were just saying it because you were caught up in the moment, with the shock of finding him again. He’d agreed to talk with you about it at a later date, thinking you’d come to your senses and tell him you hadn’t meant it, that you got too excited… but you never had. The next morning, waking up with you in his arms, Ryan had allowed himself to hope that you were serious, that you’d want to be with him in a more permanent way than just for a few days at a time, and though he hadn’t wanted to be the one to bring it up, he’d asked again over breakfast about whether or not you were serious.

“Of course, Ryan. I’ll need somewhere to stay, and I’m sick of sleeping on people’s couches with all of my stuff in storage. This makes sense.” With a frown, you’d looked over at him, brows knitting together. “Were you serious about wanting me? Were you serious about… starting?” He’d nodded, feeling a weight lift from his chest. She wasn’t just saying it, she really wants… “Good.” You’d taken a deep breath, looking at him head on. “Not settling, not permanently… just giving us a place to get back to when and if we leave.” It made sense to him - perfect sense, and even though he was wary of what it would take to get a place like that - something with his name on it, something that belonged to him that he couldn’t carry on his back, he was ready - he just hoped you were, too.

Ryan hadn’t played guitar extensively in days - opting only to pull out your dad’s guitar during the evenings when you were both relaxing - sometimes sitting out on the back deck, overlooking the pool which you’d had serviced so that it was going to be ready for the new owners, other times curled up on the couch or in the basement. You didn’t crowd him, didn’t try to stay underfoot - each night, you’d find him and stand in the doorway or perch on the arm of a chair for few minutes in silence and then simply walk away, smiling, and even though he understood because you had been alone for so long, he was saddened by it, too.

He sought you out often, carrying the guitar with him and clearing his throat before asking if it was OK to sit with you, to be in the room with you, and though you always said yes, you never stayed for long, standing and reaching over with a hand to touch his arm or his shoulder or even the side of his face before heading out again into a different room. Finally, the morning of your gallery opening, he’d cornered you in the kitchen, coming up behind you as you put dishes away and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Hey, can I ask you something?” You’d leaned into him immediately, relaxing under his touch, and he questioned himself quickly, ultimately choosing to go ahead. “Why do you keep runnin’ from me when I’m playing?”

You turned to face him, looking up at Ryan with wide eyes. “What do you mean?” He took a breath, shaking his head and chewing on his lower lip.

“When I’m playin’, you only stay for a few minutes and then leave. I like havin’ you watch me, I like seein’ you, but it’s… you seem like you don’t want to be in the same room with me.” He shook his head, continuing and allowing the concern to enter his voice. “We don’t need to be together all the time or anything, but I love playing for you, you know? If you don’t want me to-”

“No, Ryan, that’s not…” You shook your head too, closing your eyes. “I don’t want to smother you. I don’t want you to think that… that I need to be around you all the time. You’re used to playing alone and just… I can’t risk you realizing that it’s too much, that - “ He cut you off with his lips, kissing you thoroughly, his hands holding your face in place. Never. You’re never too much.

“I’m here.” He pulled back, staring into your eyes. “I’m with you. I’m in your house, and I just want you to know that I appreciate it, and I’m here because I want to be, and I follow you because I want to.” You nodded slowly. “I’ve been lookin’ for you for months, wantin’ to be with you for months, and it’s never going to be too much.” His heart was pounding in his chest, your fingers grasping the material of his shirt and you nodded. “And if you don’t want me to play your dad’s guitar, just tell me. But it sounds so…”

“Someone might as well play it, Ryan. And there’s no one that’s gonna play it better than you.” He relaxed at your tone, but you continued. “You don’t need to ask.” Letting go of his shirt, you reached up, eyes searching his face. “I know you’re here, and I know that you’re planning on stopping, but Ryan, this is… a decade of your life that we’re talking about. You’re gonna go again, I know it. You’re going to get bored, and you’re going to need to go, and I don’t want to get used to this because it’s going to crush me when you walk out, even if it’s only for a little while.” No. No, that’s not going to happen. “I won’t stop you, Ryan. I won’t keep you from leaving, because if that’s what you need-”

“No. I need you. I need this.” He stroked your hair with his hands, giving a slight shake of his head. “I needed this before I even know what this was.” Ryan licked his lips, shifting on his feet. “I can play music anywhere. I can get inspiration from anything. But I love you. That’s not… dependant on where I am or what I’m doing.” Ryan took a breath. “You need your space, and that’s fine. I get it. But don’t for a single second think that I don’t want to be around you as much as possible, because it’s all I’ve wanted since I walked away from you and through that casino last year.” You inhaled, closing your eyes and he watched as a tear slipped from beneath one closed lid, making its way down your cheek. “I wouldn’t lie about that, not about the way I feel.” Ryan leaned in again as you brought your body closer to his, one arm going around your shoulders to hold you tightly, the other pressed firmly against the back of your head. “I made this choice. Not you. You didn’t ask. I’m here.”

“I love you, Ryan.” Your voice was quiet against his chest, but he felt himself warm at the words, knowing that he’d never get tired of hearing them. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” He shushed you, shaking his head and continued to hold you.

---

Discussion about where to live had taken on a life of its own from that moment on, each of you having your own ideas about what you wanted. The afternoon after the night of your gallery opening, when you’d finally pulled away from each other and climbed out of bed because both of you were starving, you’d started listing off different places with much more purpose. You both agreed that the place you chose needed to be near a larger city, a place with work opportunities for Ryan, places for him to play. You also agreed that the location needed to be near a large airport for your own job, along with being near places and things that would photograph well. This meant choosing somewhere with sprawling suburbs, somewhere that was affordable - somewhere that Ryan would be able to contribute a portion of the monthly costs to, no matter what it was that he ended up doing. Charleston hadn’t even come up until after the New York trip, which had been a disaster, to say the least. Fucking Georgie.

---

Rather than driving, you’d headed up together on the commuter train, which had made him laugh. Much more comfortable than usual. As he’d watched the scenery fly by from inside of a sealed train car, Ryan pulled you closer to him, your back against his chest. He thought a lot about what the trip meant to him, about what seeing Georgie again would mean - what saying goodbye to Georgie and to his former lifestyle would mean… and Ryan decided that he was ready. Sure, it would be difficult and very strange to think - let alone say the words, but he felt no reservations about saying them, no hesitation. It’s time.

Guitar on his back alongside his pack, Ryan had taken your hand as you’d disembarked the train, staring up at the skyscrapers with a small smile on his face. “Good old New York City.” Your voice was full of energy, and you’d reached over, tugging on Ryan’s hand. “Hotel’s this way, Brenner.” As he started to follow you down the busy sidewalk, Ryan continued to look around him, gathering inspiration and taking in the city. He hadn’t been there in six or seven years, and though the city hadn’t changed much, he had. He was looking at it through new eyes, and even as he’d stood next to you while you checked into the hotel, he’d had to remind himself that he wouldn’t be relying on the mercy of friends, wouldn’t be sleeping on a pull out couch or a crummy mattress in a cramped space. He’d be sharing a bed in a hotel room with you - a quiet room, one with a view and extra space. He could leave his stuff without worry, take in the city as a tourist and not simply as a musician… and it excited him.

POV: You

After you’d settled into your room, Ryan called Georgie while you laid on the bed, one arm over your face as you waited for the AC to cool the room down. “Hey, man.” Ryan grinned into the phone, hearing the voice of his friend on the other end. “Yeah, we just got in, where are you?” Ryan told you that Georgie and a few other friends were in Bryant Park, which was only about a fifteen minute walk from where you were staying. Here we go. He waited until you were standing with your camera bag slung over your shoulder to grab his guitar case, checking to make sure that the recorder was in it and had a full battery before reaching out to take your hand, thumb sliding up and down against your pointer finger as you walked. The touch soothed you, and though you still had a lingering doubt that he was going to be unhappy in the long run, you didn’t voice it, instead choosing to enjoy the fact that you were in the city with him.

The walk was fast, the two of you slipping into the crowds of people easily, most of them giving Ryan a little extra room because of the guitar case and you reached Bryant Park quickly, taking a deep breath and looking around at the lush green space that was surrounded by tall buildings and trees. You hadn’t ever spent a lot of time in New York City, but you appreciated it - the hustle and bustle making you feel like a very small part of the larger picture. “There he is!” Ryan pointed excitedly to a small group of tables and chairs where three men were gathered, holding various instruments. “Georgie!” He waved, tugging on your hand and you followed him over to see his friends. See? It’s a good thing you came, Ryan.

“Ryan, it’s so good to see you!” Georgie set his fiddle down on the table, waiting for Ryan to get close enough and then threw his arms around the taller man in a hug, Ryan dropping your hand to hug him back. “Who’s this?” His eyes made it to you, looking you up and down, and Ryan reached his hand to you again, pulling you close.

“This is my girl.” He cleared his throat, and you reached a hand out, shaking Georgie’s and trying not to react at him using that term to describe you as you introduced yourself. We never really talked about it, but… “I asked her to come with me.”

“This the one you were telling me about last year in Seattle, and then again in Chicago?” Ryan nodded, a grin on his face as his arm went around your shoulders, but Georgie’s voice wasn’t as warm as it had been. “The one you met in Vegas?” How many other women have there been? This…

“Yeah, man. I haven’t talked about anyone else in…” Ryan shook his head, frowning. “Two years, almost. This is it. Her.” Georgie nodded, shrugging his shoulders. You looked up at Ryan, who was staring at his friend intently, head tilted to the side. “Anyway, what’s the plan?” You pulled yourself away from Ryan and he stepped forward while you drifted off to a free table, sitting down and beginning to assemble your camera - screwing on a lens and inserting a clean memory card. Though you wanted to watch him play with a group, you knew that you needed to keep yourself busy so that you weren’t hovering and figured you’d take some pictures while they caught up before heading back to watch them. .

It only took a few minutes for Georgie and the other two (Jack and Matthew) to lay out why they were in New York. It turned out that there was an opportunity for them to record - much the same as it had been in Portland - and they wanted Ryan to play and sing for them in studio as well as for a live show the day after the recording session. Ryan’s eyes lit up again as he heard Georgie explain what was going on, and you quickly snapped a few pictures before standing up, opening your mouth to let Ryan know you’d see him later, that you were going to walk around - but then you heard Georgie speak again and you froze. “Another new guitar, Ryan?” There was a pause as Ryan laughed quietly, pointing over in your direction. “You’ve got a knack for getting women to give you expensive instruments, don’t you.”

---

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ask-jaghatai-khan · 7 years

Text

The BF Reacts to the Primarchs

In which @asking-ask gives first impressions of all the Primarchs based on art I provided!

For each Primarch I listed the legion, name, and three pieces of art, two of which were always from Aerion’s Primarch Project, and the Iconoclasts portraits. Gonna be a long post, so just click the “read more” tab.

(I) Lion El’Johnson

His name’s Lynel! That’s incredible! The art looks so different, because the first guy looks like a fuckboi, but the third guy looks like Lucius Malfoy by book seven, and then the middle looks like Soldier 76 in fantasy. So I don’t really know how I feel about that guy. I like the first one, the other two not so much.

(III) Fulgrim

(I listed by legion.)

I was gonna say, three does not come after one. Fulgrim—I like the name. Once again it goes fuckboi—I mean it looks like a Tarot card, which is neat. I love the sword, it’s zippity. He looks like if you had a baby with Samus Aran and the entire Belmont clan! Like the power armor, but it’s still very fantasy-like. And once again, he’s like an old fuck.

(IV) Perturabo

I’ve been pronouncing it like “Pervtabo”, like a pervert, so I’m sorry. Ah, it’s Reinhardt! It’s Reinhardt but with Hanzo’s face. I didn’t know this was—oh, it’s Battlefield Earth! I didn’t know this was secretly Overwatch. Yeah, I don’t really like the cable-hair, but the second one where he looks like Reinhardt and Hanzo’s lovechild I’m super into. He’s got caution signs! “Look, I’m dangerous.”

(V) Jaghatai Khan

It’s yo boiiii! He looks like he’s straight out of Big Trouble in Little China. The lightning bolt thing frustrates the hell out of me because in every picture it’s in a slightly different place. So once again, electric sword, I’m super into it. He’s got a parchment like pinned to his armor? Yeah, no, you need like Gorilla Glue or something, you can’t just thumbtack it on there, that’s not how it works. I LOVE the color scheme though, that is slick. White and gold and crimson, that is legit.

(VI) Leman Russ

First thing I thought was Lemon Brothers, or Leman Brothers, or whatever. WOAH, dude, it’s the Scotsman! God, I’m seeing a theme with these swords, they’re all very similar. He’s got a wolf on his crotch. Is that your boy in the background?

(No, that’s a Sister of Silence.)

Disappointing. Yeah, I don’t know, this guy’s kinda I don’t know. He looks like he’s from Samurai Jack.

(He’s a Viking werewolf.)

Yeah, that’s pretty neat! Oh, I see! Well, at least in all of them he’s got a wolf on his crotch, so that’s cool. Continuity.

(VII) Rogal Dorn

Yeah no, that’s just straight-up Soldier 76. Like, I can’t even comment any further because it’s just him. He’s got like the 70s porn-stache.

(Friendly muttonchops.)

Friendly muttonchops? I like porn-stache better, though. Porn-stache-chops. And what—he’s also got paper on him! I like to think that’s a grocery list and he doesn’t want to lose it, so he pins it to his armor. Like he looks down, “Oh! Right, I forgot eggs.”

(VIII) Konrad Curze

Ooh, ooh… This is like if Grima survived and wanted to wreak his revenge on fantasy and sci-fi. He’s not an attractive lookin’ fella.

(Oof! People are gonna be mad at you.)

What? He’s not! He’s greasy looking! He needs a bath. He needs a trip to Lush, he needs fucking cosmetics, and moisturizer, and detangler, and—he needs a lot of work. I am not a fan. Though I do like the bloody claws, that’s pretty neat.

(IX) Sanguinius

Oh my god, this is a straight-up lost Belmont. He’s straight-up, y’know, “BY THE POWER OF THE CHURCH, I SLAY THEE, DEMON!” kinda type deal. Look at him! Look at him, he’s so fancy! Oh my god, he’s so beautiful.

(He’s got majestic wings.)

I see that. Are those attached to his armor, or…?

(No, those are his actual wings.)

WOAH! I would party with this dude. I would go to a club with him and get drunk, he he’d probably be like—I’d be in the corner crying and he’d be giving me life advice. That’s a misleading name, though, it doesn’t sound very happy. His name should be like—uh—Lord Goldmeyer, or something like that.

(X) Ferrus Manus

He reminds me of Cable.

(He has metal hands.)

Yeah, he’s Cable. He’s just straight-up Cable, from Deadpool. Can he teleport? Can he travel through time?

(I don’t think so.)

Disappointing. Work on that, and get back to me. Uh, and then team up with Deadpool. I like him, he seems pretty chill. I would trust him to house-sit. He looks like—he looks like a dependable dude. I’m goin’ off of looks here.

(XII) Angron

Uhh, that is one angry-looking fucker. Oh, another Battlefield Earth guy! He looks VERY angry. Mm, that’s a lot of blood. I do not trust this guy to house-sit. yeah, no thanks, I’ll pass.

(XIII) Roboute Guilliman

*gasp!* He’s got a sweet bird! Birds? Bird.

(Is it a two-headed bird? It might be a two-headed bird.)

That’d be pretty neat! I would be down with that. He kinda looks like what I assume Master Chief looks like. Like he’s kinda got that generic white dude face, but it’s war-torn. Like, this dude’s seen some shit. But, I don’t know—he still—I feel like he still has hope for the world, y’know? So he’s not Soldier 76, ‘cuz he’s given up. So I think he’s like Master Chief.

(XIV) Mortarion

Oh my god, how many of these are there? This dude looks like a straight-up Ringwraith, or some sort of wraith. Or uh—Darth Sideous, or Plagueis? Which one is the Emperor?

(Sidious?)

Yeah, there we go. Yeah, he looks like Sidious. Oh, that’s a wicked scythe, though! Oh, same. We should chill, but maybe not. No.

(XV) Magnus the Red

Yo! It’s Starfire’s older brother! I mean, he’s ginger and huge! Oh, I like this guy. He’s neat! And he’s got like—cool, purple rune powers.

(He’s a wizard.)

Aw, dude. Is that like, an army of automatons, or something?

(Uh—later, yeah!)

*gasp!* I would party with this guy! I want this guy to be my best friend.

(You’re so good at guessing some of this shit.)

I know my fantasy, yo!

(XVI) Horus Lupercal

Uh, he reminds me of, um, the animated version of Dr. Freeze.

(I should have included him when he’s at, like—max evil. He looks more like the second picture.)

Yeah, he legit looks like a different skin for the Batman Animated Dr. Freeze. And because of that I don’t trust him. Lotta eyes, a lot of people just have eyes on their armor. Do they serve any purpose, or are they just, like, cool?

(Uh, I think that’s the Eye of Terra. It was like a symbol they used.)

Oh, very neat, I like it.

(XVII) Lorgar Aurelian

Lotta bald dudes. And if they’re not bald they’ve got hair to their legs. Yo—OH, he makes me think of the Elder played by Leonard Nimoy from Atlantis!

(Oh yeah, the facial tattoos.)

Yeah! That’s cool! I—I trust him. I don’t know, just based on that; based on the fact that he reminds me of Leonard Nimoy as the Elder in Atlantis. I dunno, he strikes me as a chaotic-neutral. Just because he’s got a lot of, like, scary shit, but he’s also got incense and he’s got a book. So he probably knows how to fuck you up, but he probably also doesn’t care. So, that’s what I’m gleaning from how he looks.

(XVIII) Vulkan

Yooo! This dude—I would not fuck with this dude. He’s scary lookin’. He looks like someone left him in the fryer for too long. He’s a little toasty-lookin’. Not, like, trying to harsh on his personality, I’m just sayin’ that’s what he looks like.

(Would you believe me if I told you he’s the nicest guy of all of ‘em?)

Yeah, I could see that. He’s got a bit of a Drax vibe to him. Where he’s, like, really scary looking but I bet, y’know, you just met him and he offers you lemon squares. You’re like “I didn’t even know you could make lemon squares!”, and they’re pretty good lemon squares. He probably has a cat named Snuffles, that he really loves. But he could also kick your ass, so…

(XIX) Corvus Corax

I know this name, I’ve heard this name. Ah, it’s Wolverine! He’s got—his primary weapon is his nose, right? ‘Cuz he’s got a straight-up Ocarina of Time nose.

(He’s got a beak.)

Exactly! No, that’s not a nose; that’s a beak or a weapon. I love the color scheme! Like, a lot of these dudes have gold, but, like, gold in different places, which is really cool. Also, he’s got feathers, which is neat. So I’m into that.

(XX) Alpharius/Omegon

(Or “Alpharius Omegon”)

Are they the same person, or are they twins? What the fuck—?

(They do like a “I am Spartacus” thing. He’s got a twin brother nobody knows about.)

I hope they get along. Oh, that’s cool, they look like they’d get along. I like the mirrored scar thing, do you think they did that on purpose? I like to think one of them got scarred and the other one was like “Bro, you gotta cut up your face so that we look like mirror images of each other, ‘cuz that’d be neat!” I dunno, mm— there’s something—unsettling that, I don’t know, it creeps me out a little bit. Ehh. Naw, I don’t like ‘em.

Final Thoughts

I think out of all of these, I like Vulkan, because you said he’s chill; and I like Lllorgar, because he’s, like, I dunno. There’s a vibe about him, where I’m like “Yeah, you seem like a neat dude!” Uh, who else? And I want Magnus the Red to be my BFF. I wanna chill with him on the weekends and if I have any crazy house parties he’s the first person I’m calling up, because I know everyone’s gonna get fucked up. Like, that is LEGIT. I trust him with my booze, and I trust him with anything. Um, and I’m trying to think—I don’t like the greasy guy; and I feel like Sang-Sangweenus? Sanguinius, that guy, he’s cool too. Though I don’t know, I feel like if I tried to hang out with him he’d just—I’d form a guilt complex. Like, he probably eats really well and works out and has a spice garden…

(He’s Rob Lowe?)

Exactly! So I just look at him and I’d be like “Mm, you’re a little TOO perfect.” But I trust him. No, Konrad, I don’t—he reminds me too much of the midway point when Viktor Krum turned into a shark. That makes me uncomfortable.

(So who would you say is your least favorite, or the one you’re most suspicious of?)

It’s Konrad, yeah. The other ones seem cool, and if not I feel like I’ve got bros. I just need a three-man army and I feel like I’d be safe from the ones I don’t trust. So yeah, I like ‘em, they could kick my ass!

Thanks again to @asking-ask for the commentary! Glad to know my BF is a filthy heretic in the making, save for Vulkan being part of his triad-squad.

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