#I tried writing this out months ago initially. I don't believe it was ever posted

[chocmoon-latte]

"Hancock has no regrets about becoming a ghoul"??

It baffles me when some people think Hancock has zero regrets about becoming a ghoul. Absolutely none at all apparently. Like yeah, he plays it up when you first meet him before he's a companion, but let's be real he plays up pretty much everything in regards to the whole "sexy king of the zombies" image he projects.

It takes travelling with you away from Goodneighbor to give him some time to be introspective for him to finally realize that him becoming a ghoul was just another escape route from himself again. He's got several lines of dialogue that literally reiterate this. It's a key point of his character:

Hell, running from myself is what made me into… into a damn Ghoul.

Well, I mean, I didn't always look this good. The drug that did this to me, that made me a Ghoul, I knew what it was going to do.

I just couldn't stand looking at the bastard I saw in the mirror anymore.

The coward who'd let all those Ghouls from Diamond City die. Who was too scared to protect his fellow drifters from Vic and his boys.

If I took it, I'd never have to look at him again. I could put that all behind me. I'd be free. Didn't seem like a choice at all. Turns out it was just me running from somethin' else in my life.

I mean, after reaching max affinity with you, he realizes that maybe it wasn't such a bad thing after all (because he's finally got an honest friend he can be open with now). He now feels comfortable where he is - but to imply that he doesn't have at least the tiniest amount of regret? Heck, if you go onto romance him (or attempt to), he stops referring to himself as handsome and literally starts calling himself ugly, which naturally goes entirely against the image he projects:

Why don't we just agree to keep it friendly for now or till they find a cure for ugly? Heh.

You don't want to wake up to this mug every morning. Never wish that on anyone I cared for.

You sure you want to be stuck with this ugly mug?

(You could even say he implies it beforehand with another line of dialogue elsewhere in-game when he says "I'd be mad too if I was that ugly." But that's a stretch I guess.)

Combine that with the fact that 99% of ghouls don’t choose to become ghouls. Hancock did. But he didn't do it for a fun experience. He was already in a bad place when he became a ghoul. He didn't turn to be cool and edgy like he pretended he did when first getting to know him.

He lost his appearance, any connections to his old identity and old friends/people he might’ve been associated with (for better or worse), and in return gained hostility from bigots towards him for merely existing, from an overwhelming majority of the Commonwealth population that hates ghouls. There's the Institute and Brotherhood who want to kill anyone like him on top of that. Plenty of people out there who think he and other ghouls are monsters for just being alive.

Not only that, but something which adds onto this is the fact that he's a client of the Memory Den, and they're very selective with their customers. And what's the whole point of the Memory Den? Reliving past memories. Irma's terminal entry about Hancock, as well as the other two ghoul clients Kent and Daisy, all imply the memories they go back to relive are primarily from their human days. (The one on Hancock straight up says "if you thought he was handsome and dangerous now, you should've seen him before he turned ghoul.")

I genuinely refuse to believe that Hancock has never had any regret whatsoever about becoming a ghoul. The man who's spent a decent chunk of his life running from his own problems instead of confronting them, has NO regrets about taking a drug that alters his entire being and functionality on a biological level and will force him to outlive everyone he knows? This man is FULL of regrets!

[krysmcscience]

Followers, feel free to ignore this, it's not art or writing or even really anything interesting.

If you clicked in, anyway, it is also not aimed at any of my IRL friends or followers (unless one of my followers is not who they claim to be, I guess?). Anyway, it's literally just venting bullshit. Feel free to click back out, there aren't even any details that could lead you back to anyone involved.

It's wild that I spent six months talking on and off with someone who turned out to believe that a few months of miscommunication and poorly set boundaries, followed by some arguments and disagreements about it, all interspersed with private IRL venting is a reason to blow up several friendships and go on a warpath. Like. Bruh. Sometimes people tell white lies to be polite. Sometimes people change their minds about stuff with new information. Sometimes people learn new things about what upsets them. And sometimes people vent in private about things that bother them about someone else (friends included). That doesn't mean they're actively plotting to do harm, or two-faced, or back-stabbing, or the worst thing ever in existence. This is. Literally just how humans socialize??? In reality??? Sometimes you just accidentally hurt one another, accept that mistakes were made, and make up afterward so you don't wind up abysmally lonely!

Loved looking through all their "receipts" of all the "wrong" that was done and being like, dang, most of this just looks like standard boring clashes between friends that could easily be mitigated with healthy communication, actually??? Along with a bunch of words exchanged by two people who blew up on each other and now clearly don't want to talk anymore??? And yet they've posited it like it's some huge "gotcha", with scribbled commentary mixed in on the side, as if their ex friend is a True Monster rather than a normal person who makes mistakes. JFC, it's just demented. (And, in standard form, it's all cherrypicked! No real context aside from their own narrative and warped perception! And no admissions of their own wrongdoing! They even lied about not being into NC/SA despite drawing so much horny shit for it! I mean, I knew it would pan out this way, but good gravy, the lack of awareness there??? Unreal.)

Also apparently they don't realize that constructive conversations about some things they have grievances with can and do happen without them being or needing to be told about it, either, because all of the actual wrongs they had receipts for were genuine mistakes or newly realized hard boundaries that have either already been addressed or are being addressed IRL. Although, them posting those actual wrongs definitely violated a very hard boundary set in place by another person on the sidelines who didn't even want to be involved, so, hmm, that's fun.

Very telling in the end that they couldn't respect all the blocks put in place. But of course, it's only okay if they trample on boundaries. Clearly only their boundaries and desperate need for validation and attention matter. Also very telling that they tried to air all their shit out publicly despite everyone else involved staying almost completely silent about it and otherwise keeping it fully anonymous. But of course, it's only okay if they disrespect other people. Clearly that makes it okay to drag in unrelated parties who never asked or cared to be involved and just wanted to have some nice relaxing internet time. Also very telling that they ignored the very simple fact that they and I were mutuals (up until literally three days ago), and thus their shittalking kept winding up on my dashboard, which I initially tolerated (until they got usernames and then me involved) because people are allowed to be hurt and vent about it even if I disagree with their takes on what happened. But of course, they're not ever allowed to be wrong. Clearly I must be a weird creepy lurker, instead, who never does any self reflection despite having actual diagnosed social anxiety that forces me to question my every last action.

If the person in question happens to be reading, follow your own fucking advice, quit Actually Lurking, and get help. Proper help, because if you're seeing a therapist already, clearly they can't cotton on to how you go to extreme lengths to avoid revealing anything that might reflect negatively on you, which explains why your cherrypicked receipts still have none of the hateful screaming of yours that I personally read, or any of the really callous things you wrote in your tags after the fact. I'm willing to bet you're over there patting yourself on the back thinking your target stepped in it by deleting those comments, too, because that's just how you are, but here's a reality check: You took it too far. You put up your private conversations with their spouse for anyone to see, despite that you definitely did not have permission to do that from said spouse, Your Actual Friend, who would NOT want that shit online under ANY circumstances. I don't even need to ask to be sure about that, either. And you should know exactly why what you chose to do is a problem.

Oh, and here's another fun reality check: If you can't figure out the bare basics of even the simplest character (and you can't, this has been established, I literally had to spell out an obvious homophobic dog whistle for you), what makes you think you're qualified to assess and diagnose an actual living person who is infinitely more complicated than a fictional character? Because if you actually think you are, you are quite literally delusional. You are not living in the same reality as everyone else. You know all of the words, yet none of their substance.

Now go away. I made it very clear that you are not welcome anywhere in my life the moment I blocked you. You've willfully spat in the face of my honest attempts to help you, and successfully burned all bridges with me, so I want nothing more to do with you. Look upon your scorched earth and enjoy the smoke you've gained from it.

[foreverindreamlandd]

My Paladin in Shining Armor

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

WC: 1.1k

Summary: After yet another successful gig for Corroded Coffin, shit goes down with the gross bartender while you're packing up the van.

Note: This is my second submission for @nexusnyx 7k sleepover party! We get some fun protective Eddie and the classic hurt/comfort moment. Only warning is the asshole bartender who tries to start shit but Eddie arrives just in time ;) Also this is unedited sorry not sorry!

The prompt I chose is:

The night we broke a lot of things. ["I don't care about any of that. Are you okay?"]

~~~~~~

“Babe, you were incredible tonight,” Eddie said, tucking his hands into the back pockets of your jeans as he pulled you closer. “I swear, no one on this planet plays keys better than my girl.”

“Eddie,” you whined, giggling as he peppered kisses along your neck. “You’re such a flatterer. Besides, I may be good on keys, but no one shreds on guitar like you.”

He pulled away, beaming with pride. “Together? We’re unstoppable.”

With that, the two of you soaked up the silent moment alone on stage, Eddie leaning in for a deep, passionate kiss.

A year ago, when you first auditioned to join Corroded Coffin, you never would have believed that the band’s handsome, kind, stupidly talented guitar player would ever look twice at you. 

Looking back, it was clear that your brain was actively shutting out the way his eyes lit up when you walked into the makeshift studio in Gareth’s garage. The way he couldn’t stop smiling when he watched you play. The way he always made an excuse to touch you, either tapping your shoulders, or holding your hand to help you into the van, his leg brushing up against yours when you sat on the couch writing new music.

Even though it took you way too long to get your head out of your ass and realize he felt the same way about you, you would have gone through the months of emotional turmoil again and again if it meant sharing this moment with him.

Getting to play music you loved alongside the man you loved was the gift that kept on giving. It was a total and absolute dream. One that you never wanted to wake up from. 

After your regularly scheduled post-show makeout session, you joined the rest of the band in packing up the van. Once it was all set, the other two guys said they were going to hit up the arcade right down the road and left the two of you be. 

Meaning you and Eddie could drive straight to his trailer and spend the rest of the night being your gross, in love selves.

Just as you were about to close the doors to the back of the van, a cool gust of wind sent a shiver down your body, and you stepped inside to dig through the band equipment to find your leather jacket. 

“Hey babe? Have you seen my jacket?” you called out, lifting Eddie’s guitar case.

“Did you leave it inside the venue?” he suggested, stepping inside to help with the search.

You stood straight. “Possibly. I’ll go check.”

He rested a hand on your arm to stop you. “Absolutely not. M’lady shall stay here and I will retrieve her garment!”

You giggled, scrunching your nose before leaning forward for a chaste kiss. “Thank you, love.”

He stepped out of the van, turning to give you an extravagant bow. “Anything for you, m’lady,” he said, then jogged out of site.

You continued rifling through the shit inside the van, just in case it was underneath something and you might have missed it upon your initial search.

“Can I help you, sweetheart?”

You froze. That voice wasn’t Eddie’s. 

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, keeping your eyes on the ground of the vehicle in hopes that it would deter the man outside.

“You sure?” he said, and suddenly you felt a jostle as he stepped inside. You whipped around and came face to face with the gross bartender from the venue. “Happy to help you with anything you need.”

He was close enough now for you to smell the stench of alcohol on his breath and you stepped back. “Really, I’m fine. You can go now.” There was a bite in your tone to hide your fear.

The man scowled. “Gotta say, sweetheart, I really don’t like your tone.” He grabbed your arms and you yelped in pain, pulling back with all the strength you could muster.

Unfortunately, it caused you to trip over the bass drum and you fell backwards, crashing into the band equipment.

“Why so desperate to get away, sweetheart?” the man said, standing over you. “I just want to help-”

You kicked him in the chest with all your might, and the man was thrown backwards out of the band, knocking over more of the gear before falling to the ground.

He groaned in pain, staring at the scrape on his arm before scrambling up to stand. “You little bitch-”

Just as his right foot rested on the floor of the van, you saw a hand on his shoulder before he was whipped around.

Where his cheek was met with Eddie’s fist.

The man was back on the ground, groaning even more.

Eddie grabbed him by the scruff, pulling his head back so that his lips were by the man’s ear.

“If you ever…so much as look at her again, I will shove a drumstick so far up your ass that you won’t be able to walk, and then I’ll run you over with my van. You hear?”

The man yiped in response, and Eddie shoved him forward, causing him to fall back on the ground before getting up and running down the street at full speed.

Eddie paid him no mind, just jumped into the van. His eyes - just moments ago filled with more rage than you thought possible - now filled with concern as his hands ran up your arms to your shoulders, then to your neck, until they gently held either side of your face.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, voice nearly breaking.

Your bottom lip trembled as tears rolled down your face. “I’m okay, but Eddie…” you looked around the van at the equipment. “I think some of our gear is broken. Your guitar...where is your guitar-”

“I don’t care about any of that. Are you okay?” he pleaded, thumbs wiping away the tears.

You started nodding, but the longer his doe eyes stared into yours, the more your resolve crumbled.

A sob escaped you and he immediately wrapped his arms around you.

“It’s okay, baby,” he murmured, running a hand over your hair. “I’m here. You’re okay.” He kissed the crown of your head. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry this happened.”

You shook your head against his chest. “Don’t be sorry. You came just in time. My paladin in shining armor.”

Eddie let out a small chuckle, squeezing you tighter. “I’ll always be here to protect you, m’lady. Even when the fiery gates of Mordor are at our back, I’ll never leave your side.”

“And I’ll never forget my jacket ever again.”

The two of you burst out laughing before becoming mesmerized yet again with another tender kiss.

~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! :)

[cazimagines]

After seeing @toobruhlforschool post the article, I had to translate it!

English translation by google translate below the cut

Daniel Brühl tried for the first time as a director - and he succeeds very well. His debut “next door” (in theaters July 15th) is full of black humor about how embarrassing, tricky and exhausting it can be to be a famous actor. Especially when you meet a neighbor in the corner bar in a Berlin neighborhood, played by Peter Kurth , who obviously hates you. The story is based on Brühl's idea, and very vaguely on his own experiences, from which the writer Daniel Kehlmann draws("Measuring the World") has made a script in which the price of fame is demonstrated with relish. In addition, allusions to Daniel Brühl himself are hidden in the film, who not only directed the film, but also plays the protagonist, a famous actor, in “next door”. Brühl, who last worked in the international Marvel series “The Falcon and the Winter Soldier” , speaks in an interview about what made him decide to make this story into a film and how to approach such a project.

Interview with Daniel Brühl: About the price of being in public and the success of projects

Mr. Brühl, in your directorial debut you investigate the price a successful actor pays for being in public. Why did you want to do this film?

One topic I've always been interested in is gentrification. The initial spark was an observation I made in Barcelona. That was about ten years ago. I moved to the city for a while. That made me very proud, because I've always felt very connected to Barcelona, ​​I was born there and finally wanted to say: “I'm a Barcelonian now”.

Instead, did you attract attention because the actor Daniel Brühl was recognized?

No, I just acted very silly, always walking through the streets with my key fob to show that I don't live in a hotel, I'm from here now, then I always talked loudly to the people in the market where Street, via FC Barcelona et cetera. Then I always enjoyed going to such a lunch spot and one day there was a crusher in front of me, such a real edge, and looked at me piercingly without blinking. Forever long. Like Clint Eastwood.

Just like in your film a man from the neighborhood, played by Peter Kurth, who takes on an actor who is very similar to you.

Yes, with the man in Barcelona back then, I immediately felt that he couldn't take me. As I sit there with my trolley suitcase, just flown in from Berlin. The jet set that somehow rattles around loudly with the waiters, makes each other mean and wants to please. That totally exposed me. Then my imagination started. I thought it was a scaffolding builder who had been able to look into our apartment from a construction site for months and now wants to confront me with everything he knows about me.

How do you relate this story to gentrification?

There is such a constant feeling that you are not to blame for gentrification but are part of the process. I've been dealing with this since I've lived in Berlin and I noticed it again in Barcelona. Then the mind game started that an actor, someone who is in public, offers a completely different surface to attack.

How do you translate that feeling into a project?

I enjoyed the way such a person was approached in a masochistic way. As he is told, “I found your film poop. I think you shit as an actor. " Then I moved the story to Berlin, the East-West topic was added, but at some point I realized that I couldn't write it alone and approached Daniel Kehlmann. He could do something with it immediately. While we were writing we noticed how much more was there. That was around the time some public careers were collapsing. That was an interesting component, people who outwardly have perfect lives, whose careers are ruined by rumors that come out about them.

Which personalities are you thinking of?

Well, of course the case of Kevin Spacey, the very different case of Harvey Weinstein. There have been many cases, some of them based on real crimes. It became an interesting topic for me because I wanted to play someone who would completely lose himself in his career and then be held up in the mirror.

If so much of you went into the script, why is Daniel Kehlmann the only one who has the credit and you don't?

There are so many Daniels. At some point I just felt uncomfortable reading my name so often. In addition, Daniel Kehlmann did the most on the script. I couldn't have made the film without him. That a Kammerspiel (From what I learnt in my film studies, Kammerspiel is a certain type of German cinema) remains exciting for over 90 minutes depends on the dialogues and they mainly come from him. I was a sparring partner who fed him ideas.

You have had a veritable career as an actor for over 25 years, appearing in blockbusters and playing a leading role in an international Netflix series. Then that's a fundamental step in deciding whether to direct. How do you manage to take such a new path?

You can't take a quick shot. I've been waiting for the right time, but you can't let it pass. That's what happens when you're too scared, too respectful. At some point you have to trust yourself. Now that I've done it for the first time, my humility towards directing is even greater. I consciously wanted to do something small. I would not have believed myself capable of certain other substances. Then I would have the feeling that I am falling out.

How do you know that you are on the right track and that you can get started with a project?

If an idea remains interesting for you after long deliberation and reflection, and does not suddenly become stupid or boring, you can ask yourself whether this idea is reasonable, i.e. whether you trust yourself to implement it. I knew this was a world and that there were characters - I just know my way around that. If you are also lucky enough to be able to set up a good team, then you are on the right track. It is of course a total luxury that someone like Daniel Kehlmann has promised me to write this. Peter Kurth replied with a handwritten letter within 24 hours. We met and hugged in his local pub.

The role actors and actresses play in public is not only the topic of your film, but was also discussed in the course of the #allesdichtmachen campaign, a campaign against the measures taken by the federal government to contain the corona pandemic. Were you also asked about this?

I was actually not asked, but I know many of those involved. I wanted to stay out of this heated Shitstorm number and clarified that privately with those I know. I not only found the action unsuccessful, but also the counter-action excessive and absurd. I can see that in many areas at the moment, how quickly such a thermal rises, which is toxic. That's a bit of the theme of the film.

Then again quickly an easier topic: What is the most absurd thing that has ever happened to you as a public person?

Haha, a scene that also made it into the movie. In Barcelona a couple came up to me in a park, two blondes, with a camera in their hand. It was immediately clear to me that they were Germans and they wanted a photo with me. I instinctively put my arm around the woman. They were Swedes, of course, who didn't recognize me at all, but wanted me to take a photo of them. It was so embarrassing and even more terrible than in the film because then I started to explain in English “You know, I'm a famous actor…” The way they looked at me! Haha, that was one of those moments when you notice how you blush. Well then I think I could tell you about embarrassment for an hour.

[one-boring-person]

I loved writing this idea, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! Thanks for requesting @jawline-of-steel !💛💛

You Wanted To Talk To Me?

Edgar Frog x reader

Warnings: mentions of injury

A/N: this is heavily referenced to my other series, Only Traitors Consort With The Damned, which you can find on the masterlist.

Masterlist

"Man, just talk to her." Alan rolls his eyes as they stumble through the training course together, wet mud slicking their trousers and shirt fronts, hair and clothes soaked through from the pelting rain, bodies trembling from how hard they've been working.

"Talk to who?" Edgar responds, playing dumb as they throw themselves at a climbing wall, chests smashing painfully into the solid surface.

Neither if them speak for a minute as they haul themselves upwards, cresting the wall with some difficulty as their leaden arms struggle to hold their weight, their muscles screaming in protest, though they both manage it. From the top, the rest of the course is visible, a few other cadets just ahead of them, each of the pairs released from the starting point in "waves" so that they can be timed. Both of the boys sigh out audibly as they take in the view, not taking too much time as they swiftly climb to their feet and leap from the top, reaching for the heavy ropes hanging from a structure across from them, the rough material grazing their hands painfully as they slip down it a little. Ignoring the discomfort, they swing their legs in time with the momentum of the rope and kick off it, landing on a far platform, rolling as they land, ending up face first in yet more dirt, signifying the beginning of a net crawl.

"You know who I mean, Edgar. (Y/n)! You should talk to her." Alan manages to explain, voice strained from the exertion required to pull his body through thick mud.

"Why should I talk to her?" Edgar grits out, hands scrabbling frantically in the filth as he struggles to pull himself through this particular obstacle, glad to see the end if it not far out of sight.

"Because it's very obvious that you like her."

"I don't like her." The response is almost automatic, a reflex designed to protect his real feelings about their fellow trainee.

In truth, Edgar had had a crush on the girl for a good few months, having been interested in her as soon as he first laid eyes on her, nearly six months ago, when he and his brother signed up for the SRS. Neither of them had ever really thought about taking their vampire hunting that seriously, but this all changed when the dark-clad Soldiers converged on Santa Carla, their hometown, a couple of years ago, hunting down one of their own, who was seen as a traitor. The hooded men had come into the comic shop searching for some help, only to be confused by the Frog's zealous attitude and rough introduction to the supernatural side of the town, swiftly recognising potential in them. When their Hunt was over, the result of which they never found out, the men returned to the shop, offering to enlist them in the training program as soon as they turned the correct age, stating that the minimum age for joining the SRS is sixteen. Now at that age, the Frog brothers were quick to travel to New Orleans, where they found the headquarters and signed up, completing the theory section with flying colours before they moved onto the physically demanding practical side: hunting.

When they first started this stage, the two of them were easily overshadowed by some of the others in the group, despite already having four kills under their belts (so to speak), their smaller stature allowing some of the larger, physically stronger cadets to overtake them in the rankings, though it was much to their surprise when they found out one of the best was a girl named (Y/n). With a pretty much unknown backstory, the sixteen year old girl had shown up many of the other cadets, holding her own in many of the harder exercises, showing off her aptitude for shooting and fighting, flooring some of the most muscular rookies training with them with ease. It was no wonder Edgar developed a crush on her.

"Frog! I do hope you intend on moving soon, or you'll be stuck on clearing duty for a week!" A senior officer snaps at him from somewhere to his left, drawing him from his brief lapse into his head.

"Yes, ma'am!" He shouts back, knowing how they hate to be ignored.

"Get a move on!"

Gritting his teeth, Edgar follows his brother out onto the next stage - a variety of elevated logs providing bridges across a swampy areas of ground. In the pouring rain the logs have already become waterlogged, making them slippery and dangerous.

Approaching one, he leaps up and grabs the end of it, quickly heaving himself onto the narrow stretch of wood, catching his balance before he steadily steps along it, going with the incline as much as possible, biting his lip as his feet slip a little on the wood. Nearing the end of the log, he locates the closest one to it and jumps to it, landing shakily on the lifted end, repeating the process until he has safely crossed it, catching up to his brother as they run the last few kilometres across the marshy land, breathing heavily in the pouring rain. The finish line comes into view, the posts signifying its presence only just visible through the rain, the flags topping them slapping wetly against the poles they are attached to, concealing the familiar insignia of the SRS from view.

With one last push, Edgar and Alan throw themselves over the finish line, trying not to collapse in exhaustion as they quickly stretch out their stiffening muscles, neither of them saying a word until they've caught their breath back, going to stand with the other cadets who have already finished it.

"One hour, fourteen minutes and forty-three seconds. Not bad, Frogs, not bad." The drillmaster informs them as they get close, the two of them brightening up slightly at the sound of that; it's a new personal best.

"Nice one, you two." A familiar voice congratulates them, the two of them turning to find (Y/n) standing there, a genuine smile on her features, mud striping her cheeks like war paint, most likely the result of her team mate getting a little over-zealous on one of the obstacles.

"Thanks." Alan smiles back, looking to Edgar as he struggles to reply.

"Err, yeah, thanks, you did really well, too." He finally manages, blushing as he looks away, suddenly feeling very hot.

"Thank you." She acknowledges, making eye contact briefly before turning away, going back to her team mate.

"You're smitten." Alan rolls his eyes, looking over at his brother in exasperation.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Stop trying to hide it, Edgar, I'm your brother, I see all these things."

*

The drillmaster's words ring clearly in Edgar's head as he steps through the darkened corridors, making his way in and around broken furniture and piles of ceiling debris, his helmet limiting his vision greatly.

"Don't get caught off guard, or they'll have your ass for breakfast."

Of course, you'd hope that he was being metaphorical, but the cadets are all aware of one fact: he isn't. Not when they've all been tasked with clearing an abandoned hospital of the supernatural beings squatting there, particularly the wraithes and their carnivorous tendencies, most of which are to blame for the hospital's fall in the first place.

A piece of glass shattering behind him snaps him from his thoughts, the sound instilling a sense of fear into him as he slowly turns, freezing in place when he sees a shape in the hallway behind him. From where he is, he can't tell what it is, but he knows it won't hesitate to kill him, so he lifts the gun in his hands to shoulder level, cocking it gingerly, body shaking in fear. Aiming steadily, he let's the flashlight roam across the shape, only to let out a breath when he sees what, or rather who, it is.

"(Y/n)?!" He hisses out to her, surprised that she is in this part of the building.

"Edgar? Is that you?" Her voice floats back over to him, the cadet holding up a hand to shield her eyes from the bright light.

"Yeah, it's me. You found anything yet?" He responds, secretly pleased that she actually remembers his name.

"No. Have you?" She clarifies, coming over to him, her gun held comfortably over her abdomen as she stays prepared, ready to shoot anything dangerous.

"Not yet."

"That's good." She looks him in the eye, "I kinda wanted to talk to you, though this probably isn't the best time."

Edgar gazes at her, surprised at what she is saying, an eyebrow lifting under the visor of his protective helmet.

"You wanted to talk to me?" He asks, incredulous.

"Yeah, I do." She nods, looking away again, her fingers tapping nervously on the stock of the gun.

"What about?"

She is silent for a minute, before she takes a deep breath and responds, relaxing her shoulders as she tries to stay calm.

"I just wanted to tell you about how I feel about you. Edgar, I know this is weird because we don't really know each other, and you probably don't feel the same way, but I, well, I like you. A lot."

There is an awkward moment of quiet between us as he tries to figure out how to respond correctly.

"You...you like me?" He finally manages to ask, not quite believing what he heard before.

"Yeah, I do. I understand if you don't feel the same way, but I just thought you should know." (Y/n) explains, going to move past him, before he stops her with a hand on her arm.

"(Y/n), I've had a crush on you for the longest time, I just didn't know how to tell you." He informs her, waiting for a reaction.

"...really?"

"Yeah. Just ask my brother, he figured it out pretty quickly."

She smiles beneath her visor, clearly much happier now that the initial worry is over.

"I'm glad. Maybe when we get some free time, we could go on a date?" She suggests, adjusting her grip on the weapon.

Edgar smiles back at her.

"I'd like that."