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miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 4 months ago

Text

and for dessert?

pairing: javi x reader

cw's/tags: smut, oral sex, spanish? (i don't speak spanish), unrealistic scenarios, steve voiceover dialogue at the beginning to explain the strange plot

summary: reader is a shy hotel housekeeper of sorts (probably a CIA spy), and brings javi his room service with a special treat

a/n: 'there's a reason magical fake-ism was born in liz's mind..."

this is for @undercoverpena's birthday bash! my color for the color palette was ganache brown, and somehow, ganache is what got us here.

wc: 2k

[Steve Voiceover]: And if I told you that the CIA gave us an all expenses paid vacation at a 5 star hotel with women dressed like French maids providing around the clock service, including "special favors", would you believe me? No? Good. Because that didn't happen. Even if it did, they'd be expecting something in return -- to talk about one thing or to shut up about another. Peña and I aren't liars, but if we were on trial, and the CIA had any stake, this is how they could've won us over. At least, this is Javi's version of the story.

Sitting in a California king size bed, wearing nothing but a robe embroidered with hotel's logo, Javi sifts through his own guilt to find some self-pity that'll allow him to enjoy this period of respite amidst the general chaos that comes with his career. He and Murphy are given separate rooms -- must be a real special case, considering how much the DEA does to cut corners, thereby cutting costs, and god only knows how much this room would cost him for a week. Escobar levels of cash.

He gets room service, fresh towels, and a cute girl who delivers them daily. When the CIA wants to influence your testimony, they've got to butter you up first. Actually, they don't. They could torture Javi, threaten his family, even disappear him. Maybe there's poison in his breakfast -- which he eats in bed while watching pay-per-view movies.

The steak you bring him for dinner is good, but the uniform you wear is great. He knows he's being sedated, and he takes it willingly. His dick takes it eagerly -- that specific part of him is the opposite of sedated.

For the first time in his life, Javi gets tired of jerking off.

"Goddamnit. Really?"

He must be going stir-crazy, talking to his dick like that.

It'd be more convenient for him to stay naked, but he keeps his himself covered out of respect for you. He figures you probably don't get paid enough to wait on nude men, though he doubts it'd be the first time you'd walked into a hotel room to find a man in his birthday suit. Men are gross. Javi can be nasty, but he understands that timing is key. Keep it classy until she asks for it not to be.

Javi's not stupid enough to think the CIA can't hear his phone calls. He doesn't know why they even leave the phone in the room. Maybe for the typical American illusion of freedom or maybe they're just too lazy to come and unplug it.

He could call the concierge, he might even be able to call you. But for some fucking reason, he's on the phone with Steve, who's right down the hall.

Just to fuck with him, Javi asks, "What are you wearing right now?"

"Uh, A T-shirt and boxers… why?"

"I was joking. Never had phone sex?" He figures the CIA doesn't pay whoever's listening to these calls enough, so he'll give them a little tease as a treat.

"'Course I have." Steve's not the stud that Javi is but his wife's on a different continent, so he'd believe it. "Are you trying to have phone sex with me?"

"I'm not that desperate yet."

"Haven't gone through all the porn on TV yet?"

"Not yet. Still making my way through the stepmom shit. Not really my thing."

There's a lull before Steve suggests something so out of character that Javi would think he was joking in any other circumstance.

"Is your, uh, housekeeper… nice?"

"By nice you mean hot?"

"Yeah."

"Very."

"Wonder if we have the same one."

Javi describes your appearance in detail to Steve - he'd do great as an eye witness if he only had to remember gorgeous women. Steve's description of his housekeeper is more brief but enough to confirm that they are attended to by separate women.

"Guess attractiveness is part of the qualifications," Steve remarks.

"Well, better hope you still have a job after all this 'cause you're sure not getting one here."

"Fuck off. Just 'cause you fuck around doesn't mean you're the hot one in this partnership. In case you've forgotten, I'm the one with the beautiful wife."

"Yeah, and she's way outta your league. Still don't know how you pulled her."

Steve ignores Javi's comment, and continues to brag, "plus, Little Miss Housekeeper said I'm very attractive."

"Oh yeah? How much did you pay her?"

"Nada. Did yours call you 'hermoso'? Did she offer you any extra favors?"

"Extra favors?"

Javi can hear Steve's smug grin on the other end. "She told me 'we do anything to ensure our guests have a pleasurable experience'."

"You think that's real or she was just coming onto you?"

"Dunno. You should try asking your girl- speak of the motherfuckin' devil." And Steve hangs up the phone.

In less than a minute, there's a knock on Javi's door.

"Agent Peña?" He hears your sweet voice say from outside the door, and while the fantasies fly through his head, he forgets a crucial mistake he's made which is not bothering to put on clothes after he'd taken a shower, leaving him in only in a towel when you open the door.

And he's rock-fucking-hard.

You walk in with room service.��Fuck. He forgot he'd ordered dessert. Typical display, silver platter atop white tablecloth plus utensils and other expected accoutrements. You're focused on pushing the cart so at first you don't notice but when you do, you apologize profusely.

"Oh my god, Agent Peña. I am so sorry, sir." You turn away from him, fidgeting awkwardly as you stand facing the wall.

"No, it's my fault. I'm sorry. I forgot that I ordered dessert. I'll get my pants on so you don't have to see anything."

"Oh. I don't mind--I mean, that's not my concern. I just want to respect your privacy."

"My privacy? If I could walk around naked all the time I would."

"You would?" You take a glance over your shoulder and he's managed to put on his boxers, and is now reaching for a pair of jeans. "You don't mind people seeing you?"

"No," he says, stopping with one leg halfway in his pants, unsure of what you want.

"Well, you are an attractive man, so--I hope you don't mind me saying that."

"I don't. I just hope they pay you well to dish out compliments."

"The compliments are not required by my contract. I was just thinking out loud…" You trail off, shyly looking to the side.

"In that case, I hope you don't mind me saying that you're a very attractive woman."

"Thank you, sir."

God, it goes straight to his dick. There's not much he can do to hide it since he's given up on the jeans idea. (And, let's face it, those jeans leave nothing to the imagination).

"So, I brought dessert," you transition.

Usually, you're incredibly professional and prepared, like you've practiced every word in the mirror, but now, you look flustered. It's adorable when you struggle to find the words to describe the dessert. It's almost like you've forgotten what it is until you pull the lid off the tray to reveal it.

"Wow," he says, genuinely in awe of the decadence presented before him.

"It's a chocolate cake with chocolate ganache and strawberries on top… as you can see."

"It's probably poisoned, but I'll risk it anyway. This looks really fuckin' good."

You smile hesitantly and nod, periodically glancing towards the door like you're trying to figure out how to exit the conversation.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," you say, turning to leave the room.

But before your hand reaches the doorknob, Javi says, "Stay."

"Huh?"

"If you can -- If you want to."

"I can, yeah." You walk back towards him, slowly, stopping at the edge of the bed like you're unsure where to go from here.

"Need help getting up here?" he teases.

"No, I can do it," you say, though it does look taxing to climb up onto the tall mattress in those heels.

You sit so prim and proper like a little doll, perfectly posed, which makes Javi feel particularly ill-mannered as he's already devoured almost an entire slice of cake.

"Want some?" he asks, sucking icing off his finger just to see your reaction. And it's even more delicious than the cake itself.

"O-okay." You nod.

He grabs a bite of cake on his fork and brings it towards your mouth like you're newlyweds at your reception. You let him feed you, maintaining eye contact while eat and lick your lips clean. You're playing his game. You must be.

"So, your job here- is it mostly delivering food and towels or is there other stuff you do?"

"We do whatever the guests want… within reason."

"Give me an example."

You not-so-subtly glance at his boxer-clad cock, and then back at his face. "As long as it's legal, we can do whatever we want for the most part."

"And what do you want?"

When you look down, away from his eyes, getting all nervous again, he lifts your chin. "Dime lo que quieres," he says, much softer.

"I want you. I want to make you feel good."

You get closer to him, he thinks you're going for his lips but you're not, your hand brushes his bare stomach and slides down, but you stop at his waistband.

"May I?"

"Fuck yes."

For a shy girl, you sure know what you're doing. You get him riled up with playful licks around the tip, a flick of the tongue up the slit that makes him gasp, and you press sloppy kisses down his length, leaving lipstick marks all along his shaft.

It's not long before he feels his orgasm start to build, so he swiftly pulls you up, so that you're on your knees. You look almost dazed, especially so with your makeup all messy. He coaxes your hips up further until your core hovers over his face.

Javi has a one track mind when it comes to these kinds of things. Pussy makes him stupid. Earlier that day he fantasized about what color panties you might be wearing under your skirt. He had to force himself to look away when you bent down to grab something you'd dropped, he'd feel like a creep knowing he'd get off to a mishap like that. But he imagined you in pink, red, white, lace, satin, and everything in between.

He's surprised to find that you're not wearing any of those, you're not wearing anything at all.

He quirks an eyebrow up at you. "Brought me dessert, huh, hermosa?"

You nod. Yes, of course you did. Warm and glazed with your arousal.

"Quiero saborearte," he whispers, dragging you towards his eager mouth.

You're perfectly pliant for him. His grip on your hips, your ass, your thighs is steady but gentle. He tries to take his time. A woman is a delicacy. He should savor you. He gets lost in the sweetness, buries his face between your thighs and allows his restrained dedication to become messy and reverent.

You call him by his first name for the first time. Javier. It's all he recognizes in your jumbled sentences.

He hums an affirmation. Mm-hmm. You're okay. Mm-hmm. I know. Mm-hmm. Please, give it to me. Let go.

Your climax hits so hard you lurch forward and grab the headboard while Javi guides you through it. With how loud you're being, he's certain Murphy will be calling him to congratulate him on his good work.

But before that, he realizes the mistake he's made -- a cardinal sin if making love is a religion (and the way Javi views it, it should be) -- he hasn't kissed you.

"Dame un beso," he says.

When you kiss him, he finds that your lips are just as sweet as the other pair between your thighs.

#javier peña x reader #javier peña smut #javier peña #javier pena smut #javier pena imagine #javier pena x reader #javier pena #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier peña fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #narcos fanfiction

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cerealboxlore · 1 year ago

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21!

WIP #21: A Day In Your Shoes

"Okay okay, slow down dude, let's be honest, for real here." Flash raised his hand to the conversation, trying not to spit out any of the food in his mouth while laughing. He wasn't very successful. "In what world is someone named Mr. Banjo, a threat? I just can't take that seriously, I'm not sorry!"

Captain Marvel raised an eyebrow at the speedster. He pretended to scoff at the remark. "Hey now, I don't poke fun at any of your rogues, now do I? I know plenty of rogues have silly names but they can be very dangerous." A true statement from the Big Red Cheese. Plenty of League members had fought many rogues with interesting names and a varying array of power sets, so sometimes written reports would seem more odd and fictional rather than real, despite their truth.

Billy still couldn't believe there was a rogue named Condiment King! Condiment. King. In Gotham of all places. And people think Fawcett is weird. He's tempted to do a segment on this during his next radio show segment at WHIZ Radio. He's been itching to make an episode with his friend Whitey from the studio, and this seems right up his alley. He wants to run a script through his head but is interrupted by another voice.

"Oh yeah, I totally don't want to get in the way of Mr. Banjo playing Rainbow Connection at me." Green Lantern chimed in, arriving late to the scene but coming prepared to join the fun.

Barry smirked with a wide grin, and Captain Marvel resisted the urge to insult his rogues in return. He had better things to do than contribute to petty conversations about who has the worst (better?) rogues.

"Actually the banjo is a cursed magical artifact from the Rock of Eternity itself. Surprisingly, it's sentient, so it connects to the host of whoever holds it and-"

"And there it is! The magical oddity of Fawcett City. Everything is just so whimsical there, isn't it? I mean, I know you have your fair share of serious rogues, Cap, but let's not joke around here, I'd love to fight some of your rogues for a day instead of mine. It'd be a nice break." Other heroes in the break room chimed in, adding their own lines of agreement and sharing their exhaustion stories of fighting their rogues. Meanwhile, Captain Marvel crossed his arms, thinking of an idea that gave him a mischievous smile.

"Oh? Is that so? If you think you can last a day in my city, I'd dare you to try."

#WIP 21 #wips #billy batson #dc captain marvel #shazam #the flash #barry allen #green latern #hal jordan #justice league #dc comics #This is one of my favorites rn #I can't wait to finish it!

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mymoonagedaydream · 2 years ago

Text

Summary: After the incident things were looking pretty bleak, but the one thing you thought would make everything worse ended up saving you.

Pairing: Bodyguard!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 7.8k

Warnings: Language, mentions of suicide and self harm, mentions of guns and gun violence

Author’s Note: So I wrote a one shot because I cannot, for the life of me, stick to a consistent writing schedule. Enjoy!

---

You never expected anyone to feel sorry for you. That had been a pretty consistent theme throughout your life, why would anyone feel sorry for the kid who got everything they asked for? Granted, the only things in your past that might have sparked an ounce of pity were trivial, like a broken ankle or a bad break up, but even after this mess you never expected much.

It'd been a few months now since it happened, either two or three, you weren't sure exactly- enough time for seemingly everyone you'd ever met to show up and implore you to tell the story over and over again. One or two of them did appear genuinely concerned but you couldn't shake the feeling that most of them just wanted the gossip, desperate for anything to make them the most interesting person in the room at their next garden party or champagne brunch or ambassador's reception. Every single painful, repetitive, disingenuous conversation you had to sit through served as a further reminder of why you’d left this life behind as soon as you had the chance. Now you were stuck back here for god knows how much longer, and everything just felt bleak.

A soft knock rapped against your bedroom door. You didn't bother answering, they'd just let themselves in, they always did. The knob turned and the door creaked open, your father's timid face peering in.

“Are you busy?” It was nice of him to ask, but it was also unnecessary, because you hadn’t left your couch to do anything other than pee in weeks. “Your aunt Carol is here. She brought you some gifts, I thought it might make you feel better.”

Both of you knew very well that it would have the opposite effect, the only thing you'd ever resented your mother for was bringing that vapid bitch into your life. Well, that and accidentally letting slip that the tooth fairy wasn’t real on your third birthday.

Carol careered round the door and past your father in her typical pantomime dame dress and makeup. You smirked, thinking to yourself that, in dimmer light and with some sinister music, it would've made an excellent scene for a horror film. Ever since your mother passed she’d been sniffing around the house more and more, you were convinced she was trying to seduce your dad to get his money but you couldn't prove it. Thankfully, he had enough sense to stay the hell away from her.

“Oh, look at you, you poor thing. You look awful.” She clunked the wrapped box and card she was holding down on the table and joined you on the couch, her offensive perfume making your nose begin to itch. “Come on, auntie Carol is here for you now, tell me everything darling.”

You gave your father, who was standing by the door looking very apologetic, a harsh glare.

“There's not much to tell. Dad was mid-speech when some guy in the audience stood up, next thing I knew he was getting tackled and there was a loud bang. I look down and I'm bleeding.”

“Oh my, who was he?”

“Just some crazy, nationalist, militia guy targeting politicians, apparently. They have no idea if he was alone or with a group so it’s safer for me to stay here for now. My apartment is too much of a risk.”

“Bless you. It's so difficult being in the public eye, but you are so brave.” She pointed down to your stomach, “and don't worry, I've got some magic serum that'll clear up any unsightly scars ready for bikini season. I'll send you my diet plan, too.”

You turned the dial up on the daggers you were shooting your father every time she looked away, and he finally took the hint.

“Okay, Carol. We should let her rest now.”

“Alright, love you so much baby. Look after yourself, okay? Maybe run a comb through your hair or something. Very frizzy.”

You rolled your eyes at her back as she left and reached over to grab the card. There was a sad puppy on the front, sitting beneath the words sorry you’re having a hard time. You figured that Hallmark probably didn't stock a sorry you got shot by a psychopath card.

Your father was lingering. He never lingered.

“Everything okay, dad?”

“Yes. Although, there is something I need to tell you.”

“Go on.”

“I've hired someone.”

“Right.”

“For you,” he noted your confusion, “to protect you.”

“A bodyguard?”

“No, he's not a bodyguard.” You raised an eyebrow. “He's not just a bodyguard.”

“The hell does that mean?”

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Wiping the sweat from his palms onto his trousers, he strode over and took a seat beside you, preparing himself with a deep breath. This was serious.

“The last time you saw Dr Burke she recommended that we… don't leave you on your own too much. So, he's going to be looking out for your welfare, going to be spending time with you.”

“Ah, I see. Suicide watch. Great.”

“I’m worried about you. You barely eat, you don't move from that spot, you haven’t showered for weeks. I know you miss being in your own place but,” he put his hand on top of yours, “I’ve already lost your mother, I can’t lose you too.”

Well, that hit you like a punch in the gut.

“Okay, dad. If you think it’ll help.”

“I do.” He stood up, giving you a light kiss on the top of your head before turning to leave. “He’ll be here in a few hours.”

---

You were woken from a light sleep by another knock on the door. The only thing you hadn’t been struggling with recently was sleep, it was the only way you could make your days pass quicker.

Again, the door creaked open before you answered. Your dad stepped in followed by a man you assumed to be your new long-term babysitter. You’d expected someone more stern looking, someone dressed like an extra from Men in Black, but he just looked like a normal guy. He had a strong face, broad shoulders and deep brown hair. If you’d been in a different state of mind you might even have considered him attractive, but you were far too tired for anything like that.

“Sweetheart, this is-” Your father looked blankly over to his companion, obviously already having forgotten his name.

“James. Nice to meet you.”

You mustered a faint smile. There was a brief, awkward silence as your father’s eyes flicked from you back to the composed looking guest, whose huge arms were folded over his chest.

“Well, uh- I have a call in a few minutes. I suppose I’ll leave you two to get to know each other,” he clapped a hand on James’ back, “just let me know if you need anything.”

Then, just like that, you were alone with a complete stranger. Your eyes stayed firmly fixed to the movie you’d slept through half of but were suddenly incredibly interested in. You heard James shuffle forwards, his broad frame eventually scooching into the edge of your vision.

“Look, I get it. You’re a grown-ass adult, I wouldn’t like having some stranger keeping an eye on me all the time either. If you want, I can just stick to the corner, stay out of your way. You won’t even know I’m here.”

That actually sounded like a pretty sweet deal, but you’d feel incredibly guilty having him perched on the other side of the room like a piece of furniture. The least you could do was be a little friendly.

“That’s alright, you can have the comfy seat,” you faintly motioned your head towards the nearby armchair, “but I’ll be shitty company.”

He happily settled himself in. “Makes no odds to me, I’m getting paid to be here.”

A short breathy chuckle escaped your lips, taking you by surprise. It’d been a long while since someone had made you laugh, all the conversations you’d had in the past few weeks had been unbelievably morbid and condescending, most of them with people you had no interest in talking to in the first place.

A couple of silent hours passed. You‘d gotten so used to being alone that you kept forgetting he was there, the odd cough or movement making you jump out of your skin. Eventually, Elaine pounded on the door and announced that she’d brought dinner up for both of you, so James jumped up and helped her with the cart.

Elaine was your father’s housekeeper and the only thing that had prevented him dying of starvation or exposure since your mom died. She was kind and patient, you liked her alot. Her food was always incredible, you felt awful for barely eating it over the last few weeks but the pain from your stomach wound combined with zero expenditure of energy had just killed your appetite.

James looked from his plate over to yours, his knife and fork poised. “You not eating?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“When’s the last time you ate anything?”

Someone had been talking to dad.

You shrugged. “This morning, I think.”

“Bullshit.” Your eyes snapped in his direction. “You know you’re not gonna get any better if you don’t eat, right? You’ll just have to put up with me bugging you for even longer.”

“Thought you were gonna stay out my way?”

“Mostly.” His mouth curled into a faint smile. “How about this, you eat a couple bites, I’ll eat the rest and we’ll tell your dad you ate the whole thing.”

You considered for a second. Not a bad offer, getting your dad off your back for a while would be pretty great. You knew what game he was playing but you were more than willing to play too just as long as the benefits outweighed the drawbacks.

“Deal.”

You expended a tremendous amount of effort leaning yourself forward and grabbing the plate, feeling James’ gaze tunnelling into the side of your face as the two of you began to eat. You had to admit, you enjoyed the food much more than you’d expected, half the plate had gone before you felt full. James looked pretty smug while finishing off the rest of it.

The sky outside slowly turned dark and you could feel yourself getting sleepy, so you settled deeper into the couch for your third sleep of the day.

“Hey,” James leant forward in his seat, “you need help getting to your bed or anything?”

“Oh, no, I’m good. I usually just sleep here.”

He gave you a puzzled look. “There? Is that comfortable? Can’t be good for your back.”

“Probably isn’t, but I don’t have the energy to move.”

“You don’t need the energy,” he sprung up from his seat, “you’ve got me.”

Before you could comprehend what was happening, James had an arm anchored around your upper back and was inching you upwards, away from the safety of your sad-zone and onto your feet. A few mild pangs of pain shot through your stomach but it wasn’t enough to make you fight back, so you just gave in, relaxed into his grip and let him walk you across the room.

Your mattress was unbelievably comfortable and you felt knot after knot untying in your back as you stretched out flat, but you didn’t need to tell him that. Who was this magical asshole, anyway, showing up and suddenly knowing what would help you better than you did?

“I’m just gonna crash on that armchair, if that’s all good with you.”

“There?” You carefully rolled onto your side so you were facing away from him. “Can’t be good for your back.”

A deep chuckle came from behind you. “Smartass. Shout me if you need to go to the bathroom or anything.”

You just grunted, already half asleep. It was only another minute or so before you drifted off peacefully and got the best night of rest you’d had in weeks.

Maybe this babysitting thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

---

You woke to the sound of soft snoring on the other side of the room. Light was bleeding in around the curtains and you could hear footsteps in the corridor, probably your father heading downstairs for his coffee and newspaper. Coming to your senses, you rolled over and suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to pee. You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked over to see James’ limp hand hanging over the edge of the armchair.

You didn’t need him, you could do this.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed and hoisting yourself up was easier than expected but that, unfortunately, made you a little overconfident for the rest of the journey. After a couple of steps the pain started. You felt pathetic but that amount of effort had actually winded you, all you could do was lower yourself to the ground to catch your breath.

“What the hell are you doing?”

You didn’t even realise he’d woken up, you were too busy wheezing.

“Gotta pee.” You managed to push your words out between gulped in breaths.

“What did I say last night, huh? You should’a yelled.” He lowered himself beside you, placing one arm around your back and one under your knees. “Alright, brace yourself.”

“Wait, what are you-”

You choked on your words when he lifted you clean off the floor, a feat that not many had accomplished in the past. He offered to take you as far as the toilet itself but you adamantly refused, determined to cling onto your last shred of dignity while just about managing to shuffle over there, supporting yourself on the sink.

You washed your hands and intentionally avoided looking in the mirror, moving straight over to the door and finding your minder stood directly outside.

He folded his arms. “While you’re here, why not take a quick shower?”

“I’m not supposed to get my dressings wet.”

“Again, nice try, but you really gotta do better than that to bullshit me.”

You let out a heavy sigh. “Can’t you just let me rot away in peace?”

“I mean, I could, but I’m pretty sure your dad would refuse to pay me.”

“I’ll pay you to leave me alone.”

“You can’t afford me, honey.” He smirked and slipped past you. “I’ll get the water going.”

James turned the shower on and put some folded towels by the sink before heading back into your room and gathering some clean pyjamas. You just stayed where you were, leaning against the counter, as he buzzed around like an overexcited child.

“You’re all set. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

“Thank you, supernanny.”

He flipped you the bird. You laughed and locked the door.

Slowly, carefully, you got undressed, removed your bandages and placed them in the bin. You then had to perch yourself down on the closed toilet seat for a brief break before climbing into the shower. Standing under the water, you looked down at your wound for the first time in weeks, finding yourself amazed at how quickly it had healed. You ran your fingers over it. Never in a million years did you think you’d have a healed gunshot wound anywhere on your body. You thought back to what your aunt said, maybe it was unsightly, it certainly looked weird from this ang-

“You alright?”

James’ overbearing voice snapped you out of your train of thought.

“Yes.”

You turned off the shower and stepped out, lifting a towel to your face and savouring the feeling of finally being clean again. You couldn’t imagine how bad you must’ve smelled before. You pulled on the fresh pyjamas before taking a deep breath and wiping down the mirror, getting a nasty shock when you saw yourself. It looked like all the life had been drained out of you. Your face looked pallid, red eyes sitting above deep, dark bags while skin flaked from your chapped lips. Your hair was still dripping wet but you could tell that weeks of neglect had taken a toll on it.

It seemed like James might’ve come along just in time, any longer sitting in that misery pit and these changes might’ve become irreversible.

“Still all good?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, just trying to remember the most efficient way to cut wrists. Is it horizontal or vertical?”

Throwing your towel in the laundry basket, you opened the door to see a very unamused looking man.

“Real funny.”

He didn’t get a chance to properly scold you before Elaine knocked on the door with breakfast, a smug grin settling on your face as it dawned on him that he probably shouldn’t cuss you out in front of your father’s closest confidante.

The two of you settled into your designated spots. James immediately started digging into the plate that had been piled high for him but you held off, it had been a while since you stood up for that long and you needed to recover. Sharp pangs of stomach pain weren’t exactly the perfect accompaniment to a hearty appetite.

James placed his fork down on the table and leaned back in his chair, mouth full of food. “We gotta do this again, buttercup?”

“I just need a minute.”

“I thought we had a deal.”

“We did,” a bolt of inspiration struck as you realised it was your turn to get a little something interesting out of this relationship, “but I want to change it up a bit.”

“Alright, go on.”

“I’ll eat if you tell me the most insane thing that’s happened to you while bodyguarding.”

“I really shouldn’t talk about that.”

“Shame,” you dramatically pushed your plate away with a flourish, “I was actually feeling pretty hungry.”

He considered, glaring at you from beneath an arched eyebrow and rhythmically tapping his fingers against the arm of the chair. “Fine, but you gotta finish the whole plate.”

“The whole plate.”

“Alright.”

He leant forward again and carried on eating so you followed suit, forcing down one small bite at a time and just hoping that his story would be worth the pain.

“So, one time some rich dude hired me ‘cause his daughter was worried she had a stalker. Apparently she kept seeing someone in a black hoodie following her around, she even saw ‘em standing on their lawn a few times. Thing is, no-one else had ever seen it. I think half the reason I was hired was to figure out if she was just going crazy.”

“Was she?”

“Be patient, pumpkin. You’ll find out.” Your cheeks flushed a little when he called you that. “A couple weeks passed and I hadn’t seen anything. Then, middle of the night, everyone else was asleep and I was doing my rounds. I looked out the window to the yard and there was someone standing underneath her window in a black hoodie.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, shit. So, obviously, I sprinted down there, but they spotted me and started running. They vaulted the fence and I would’a lost ‘em in the trees but they got snagged on the other side. I grabbed ‘em, pulled down the hood and-” He eyed the huge fork-full of food you were hovering by your mouth, “you wanna eat that?”

You rolled your eyes, shoved it all in your face and let out a muffled plea. “And?”

“It was her, the daughter.”

“Fuck off.”

“Dead serious. Turns out one of her friends had a stalker and was getting a load of sympathy and attention because of it, so she got jealous and made up one of her own. She figured if I saw it just once everyone would believe her.”

“That’s so fucked. Is that even legal?”

“No idea, not my job. I got my paycheck and left the next morning.”

“Nice to know you really care about your clients.”

He laughed. “Most of my clients are spoiled assholes who never even bother to learn my name.”

“Really? Can’t be hard to learn a name as simple as Justin.” You received your second unamused scowl of the day. “Anyway, we spoiled brats have enough on our plate without having to learn the name of the person willing to take a bullet for us.”

“Nah, you’re not spoiled.”

“You think?”

“Trust me, I’ve seen spoiled. You’re not spoiled. I think you’re the only client I’ve actually enjoyed talking to.”

Interesting. Probably shouldn’t delve into that statement too deeply.

“I’d take that as a compliment but it sounds like there isn’t much competition.”

He smirked, staying silent for a few seconds before speaking again. “My friends call me Bucky, by the way. I prefer it to James. And I really prefer it to Justin.”

“If you insist,” you shrugged, “but I still think you’d make a good Timberlake.”

---

You managed to stomach a good amount of food that day and you even had a good stab at breakfast when the next day rolled around, so you hoped that Bucky might leave you to your own devices for a while now he’d got his own way.

He did not.

As soon as you’d swallowed the last mouthful of toast he announced that he was going to take you on a walk around the garden.

You looked from him to your stomach, then back at him. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. We’ll take it slow, one step at a time, and it’ll make you feel better. I promise.”

“Can’t we just open a window?”

“Nope.” He slapped his hands down on the arms of the chair and jumped to his feet. “C’mon sweetheart, you know I’m just gonna annoy the hell out of you until you agree.”

“Is threatening me allowed in your contract?”

“It’s not a threat. It’s persuasion with consequences.”

You eventually relented. He was super keen to get going but it soon became clear that he’d overestimated how far along the healing process you were, it took the two of you almost an hour just to get out of your bedroom and down the stairs with all the constant stopping for breath. Bucky went ahead and pulled open the sliding glass door, your mood instantly lifting when the first breeze of fresh air washed over you. You were starting to hate how often he was right.

He offered you his arm and set a bench on the other side of the lawn as your goal. The neatly mowed grass felt soft between your toes, the faint sounds of birds and planes overhead helping you relax a great deal more than the constant background noise from the TV you’d kept switched on for weeks now. When you reached your goal, Bucky helped you lower yourself onto the seat and carefully squeezed himself beside you once you were settled. Sitting this close to him felt strange, you were used to him being confined to his armchair, and the bench was a pretty small one. His thigh was pressed up against yours. You tried not to think about it.

Deeply inhaling the smell of grass and flowers into your lungs made you feel like a new person but it was also making you a little drowsy, the journey down had zapped all your energy and the warmth from the morning sun was cosy and soothing.

The next thing you remembered was your head being gently nudged, prompting your eyes to flicker open.

“Sorry, princess. I’d let you sleep for hours but I really need to pee.”

You came to your senses and felt the crook of Bucky’s neck against the top of your head. His arm was around you, hand gently resting on your shoulder.

“Shit, sorry.” In your embarrassment you sat up a little too quickly, wincing at the pain that shot through your stomach.

“You alright?”

“Oh, yeah. Just, y’know, the ol’ bullet would.” You laughed off his concern and waved him away. “Go pee.”

“Alright, I’ll just be a minute, don’t move.”

“Couldn’t if I wanted to.”

He was already sprinting across the lawn when he shouted back. “That’s the spirit, sunshine.”

You shot a giddy grin at the back of his head. It still felt like morning but you had no idea how long you’d been knocked out for, you just knew you could very easily spend every night resting in Bucky’s neck like that.

---

Your shadow had been with you for about a week now and, contrary to all initial expectations, you’d actually been enjoying his company. He could be annoying as hell with his constant demands pushing you further and further when all you wanted to do was melt into the couch, but you could see that he was good for you. You supposed that being forced to spend every second of every day with someone gave you no choice but to recognize their good qualities. Thankfully, he seemed to have a lot of those.

Elaine had just collected the dishes from lunch and Bucky had somehow stolen the remote from you. He flicked on some appallingly trashy reality show, your concentration faded in and out but every time you forced yourself to pay attention someone was either screaming or necking.

You’d barely even registered the knock at your bedroom door when he jumped up and launched himself towards it like the diligent little soldier he was. You listened intently, your stomach turning when you heard Carol’s voice interspersed with his. Hopefully he’d assess her as a security threat and slam the door in her stupid face.

To your great disappointment, he did not.

“Oh my,” she looked a little more like a painted old hag than a pantomime dame today, “who is that and where can I get one?”

“That’s James, dad hired him to keep an eye on me.”

“Do you know which agency he’s with?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t uncle Frank leave you the house and the security guard in his will?”

“Ugh, yes but he could’ve been a bit more thoughtful. I’d rather not have to look at that beer belly every time I drive through the front gate.”

“I see.”

You tried to plead for help from Bucky with your eyes but he was too busy giving a confused look to the back of her embroidered jacket, the one that you were convinced had been made from old curtains and lampshade tassels. She placed herself down in his seat, leaving him bewildered, turning on the spot like a glitched out video game NPC. He eventually just sat beside you.

“So,” she crossed her veiny old legs, “did you like the present I brought you before?”

You did not like the present she brought you before. It was a self help book whose blurb encouraged you to 'break free from your own mental cage' and 'start being the best version of you'. That mindset is incredibly toxic, Carol. Therapists and antidepressants exist for a reason, Carol. Not everyone can make themselves feel better by getting sloppy wine drunk on their dead husband's money every evening, Carol.

“Yeah, it was great. Thanks.”

“I knew you'd love it, so I brought you something else.” She scurried around in her comically oversized purse for a while before pulling out a small white tub. “It's that miracle balm I told you about, for the scar.”

She noiselessly mouthed the word scar and covered the side of her mouth so Bucky couldn't see, like it was a dirty word, like she couldn't bear to think of the handsome man in the room knowing about such an ugly thing.

“Oh right, thanks but I'm not really supposed to put anything on it while it's still healing. Could get infected.”

“No honey, if you let that thing heal on its own you'll regret it, trust me.”

“Well, the doctor said-”

“Baby, look at me.” The legs became uncrossed as she leaned in. “I'm going to be honest now because I love you. Your body is a five out of ten, maybe a six if you did a cleanse.”

“Right…”

“Now, with this hideous thing sitting on your stomach, you're down to a three. I don't want that for you, do you?”

You were speechless for a second. The words fuck off were just beginning to form in your mouth when she cut you off, turning her attention to the equally pissed looking Bucky.

“How about a man's perspective, hmm? You wouldn't want a partner with something so ghastly on them, would you?”

The calmness with which he answered her was pretty impressive.

“Well, to be honest, I couldn't give a fuck, cause I tend to rate personality higher. Like you, for example, are two out of ten but with a few lessons in grace and courtesy, I could see you moving up to a solid five.”

Your mouth fell open. The breath hitched in your lungs as your eyes flicked between the two of them, one looking outraged, the other looking very fucking pleased with himself. The silence was tense.

After a few seconds she leapt up and stormed out of the room, her heels rapidly clicking against the floor while she screeched your father's name.

Bucky just shrugged at you. “Guess her own medicine didn’t taste too sweet.”

“That was amazing.”

“I'm used to dealing with assholes like that,” he followed her lead, standing up and heading for the door, “but, unlucky for her, I'm in charge of who gets access to this room.”

“You can ban her?”

“If I think she's causing you harm I can do whatever I want.”

“You’re my new favourite person.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

He’d been gone for a while when some muffled shouting started downstairs. Too invested in the situation not to investigate, you decided to slide yourself off the couch and press your ear to the floor in an effort to make out the words. It didn’t work, obviously, and you soon realised there was no way in hell you’d be able to hoist yourself back up again. You just had to wait on the ground while your dignity slowly drained away piece by piece.

Bucky eventually returned, predictably freaking out when he spotted you.

“Shit, what happened? Did you fall?”

“No I kinda… slid.” He gave you a puzzled look while lifting you back onto the couch. “Sorry, I was trying to hear the argument. What happened?”

“She won't be bothering you again.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Can I keep you forever?” You rested your head against the couch cushions. “I’ll let you watch as much trash TV as you want.”

“Don't threaten me with a good time.”

---

A week passed and then another, and with each day you were achieving more and more. Bucky had you showering every day, eating three square meals and taking increasingly lengthy walks around the garden- when your painkillers were doing their job. He’d even spoken to your father about making sure everyone in the house waited for a response after knocking on your door. It sounded like an insignificant thing but you really valued every ounce of privacy you could get your hands on, and it did wonders for improving your mood.

Another thing that was helping in that regard was spending most of your downtime just talking with him. On more than a few occasions you’d actually forgotten he was being paid to stick around, it felt more like you were hanging out with an old friend.

Sometimes it felt like you were hanging out with more than a friend but, every time those feelings started to surface, you quickly pushed them back down into the dark depths in your mind. Acknowledging them would just set you up for inevitable disappointment.

Today, you’d agreed to leave your father’s property for the first time since the incident. Bucky had offered to take you out for a coffee as a soft reintroduction back into the normal world. He drove you out in his ridiculously oversized SUV, passing plenty of perfectly good coffee shops so he could show you his favourite one. It didn’t look like anything special but you trusted him.

He helped you to one of the outside tables, took your order and shuffled inside, giving you a wink over the top of his sunglasses. You rested your hands on the table and glanced around. The street was busy with people and cars and most of the other tables were full, it was midday so you figured most of them were working people taking their lunch breaks.

Then, just for a second, out of the corner of your eye you saw someone in the street stop. Looking over, you made brief eye contact with them before they checked their watch and continued walking. Why were they looking at you? Your eyes darted around the other faces passing by, your panic starting to rise when another of them looked your way.

You grabbed onto the edge of the table, your palms prickling with sweat. The quickening pace of your heart made it harder and harder to pull breath into your lungs, all the muscles in your legs started to tense and your vision blurred at the edges.

“You okay?”

Two takeout cups were hastily abandoned on the table in front of you and a soothing hand landed on your back, Bucky’s face trying to make its way into your line of sight.

“Mhmm.”

“I told you not to bullshit me. What happened?”

“Nothing, really. I just-” You pulled in a stuttering breath. “Need to adjust.”

“Pretty hard to do that when you’re mid panic attack, no? C’mere.”

He turned you round to face him and took you through some breathing exercises, helping you get back in control. The worst of the storm eventually passed but you were pretty shaken up, and he could tell.

“Maybe this was too soon.”

“No, this is good. It probably would’ve happened even if we'd waited longer. Better to get it out of the way.”

“And what if the coffee had taken another ten minutes? You would’a just passed out while I was waiting for fucking milk to foam.”

He seemed angry, but not at you.

“It’s okay, Buck. Really. I could’ve been hit by a truck on the walk over from the car but wasn’t, so why worry about it.”

“Still, we should get you somewhere less crowded,” he took you by the hand, which was unusual, cause he usually just guided you with a flat palm on the back, “probably should’ve started with that.”

You headed back to the car, Bucky somehow juggling you along with two hot drinks, and drove a few miles out of the city. He said he knew of a short, flat hiking trail out in the woods that was only ever busy on weekends. It wasn’t exactly the reintroduction into society that the two of you had planned but, at the very least, it was a step above walks around the yard.

He calmed down once you began walking, the jolly, laid back, Bucky that you were used to quickly resurfacing. It was a huge relief, him being on edge made you on edge and that wasn’t exactly the optimum mood for avoiding another panic attack.

He kept a firm arm around you most of the way, anchoring you to him and protecting you against potential falls. You were pretty sure they were the only reasons.

“I must look fucking dreadful,” you chuckled, “if we bump into anyone they’ll probably think you just found me in the woods.”

“Shut up, you look great.”

“For a three-week-old corpse.”

“A corpse wouldn’t argue back so much.”

“I’m just keeping you on your toes.”

“Damn right you are.”

You smiled to yourself, hearing the warmth in his voice, and decided now was a good time to finally ask him a question you’d been thinking about for a while.

“So, you’ve really never had another client you’ve enjoyed talking to? Not even one?”

“Not that I can remember.” He shrugged slightly. “Why are you so surprised, anyway? We both know how many assholes there are out there.”

“True. I just think you’re easy to talk to, I guess. I’m surprised no-one else made the effort.”

“That’s sweet of you doll, but you should know that just letting me sit by you was completely new for me. I usually don’t even get a chair, never mind a conversation.”

“Brutal. I’m glad the shelter rehomed you with us.”

“Me too.”

You laughed for a second before realising that all this talking had used up your pitiful lung capacity. You came to a stop, Bucky quickly moving to stand in front of you.

“Something wrong?”

“No, I could just use a break.”

“Take as long as you need,” he placed his hands on your upper arms, “we can sit for a while if you want.”

“I’m good.”

Without thinking, you placed both hands on his chest to steady yourself, immediately realising that it was kind of a weird thing to do. Your eyes shot up to his but he was just smiling softly, seemingly unbothered.

The two of you held that position for what felt like an age.

Then, slowly, cautiously, his hands moved down to rest on your lower back, just above your hips. He stepped in closer and your hands tensed, grabbing two fistfuls of his shirt. He lowered his head, your eyes fluttering closed as his lips met yours. You eagerly reciprocated, curling a hand around the back of his neck in a feeble attempt to keep him there as long as you could. It fell, however, when he abruptly pulled away, your arms going limp at your sides.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay, I-”

“It’s not. Jesus, I’m supposed to be looking after you.” He rubbed his eyes. “We should get back.”

“Can you just wait for a second? I’m not-”

“No.” He was stern, he’d never talked to you like that before. “We’re going back to the car, now.”

You were too shocked to argue. The walk back was tense and the drive home was the same, you looked over at him a few times but his stony expression encouraged you to keep quiet. You knew you hadn’t done anything wrong, and neither had he in your eyes, but you really had to keep reminding yourself of that. It felt like you’d committed a crime.

Once home, you headed up to your room but he didn’t follow, which was unusual. When your father knocked on your door later and told you that Bucky had removed himself from duty, you weren’t surprised. He claimed that a big job had come up out of nowhere.

He never even said goodbye.

---

You hadn’t so much as heard from Bucky since he left over a month ago. You’d maintained all his rituals and kept your healing process on track, adapting your daily walks so you could do them alone, sticking nearby walls and railings. It was a real struggle, emotionally and physically, but you were determined not to let him abandoning you knock you off course. You didn’t even let yourself cry when he left. You were just angry.

So, naturally, when a chance for you to prove to yourself how far you’d progressed without him came around, you jumped at it. A friend of your father’s was throwing a birthday party for his daughter, you’d never been able to stand her but you hadn’t had a proper drink since the incident- and the booze there would be insanely expensive stuff. Plus, you’d been pining for any excuse to wear something other than pyjamas.

You strolled into the party, arm in arm with your father, and you felt good. You felt ready to be there. That was, until you saw who was working security detail. You barely recognised him in the full black bodyguard suit, you were so used to a t-shirt and jeans, but it was definitely him. Your evening was instantly ruined as you started mentally plotting the best way to avoid him.

You decided a good first step was to head straight to the bathroom to compose yourself, giving yourself the same pep talk in the mirror that you’d given the day after he left. You’d come too far to let him fuck up your first big outing. You dabbed the nervous sweat from your upper lip, adjusted your outfit and gave yourself a nod. You could do this. You just needed to stay away.

Wandering back into the party, you looked around for your father, the only person in the room you had any interest in talking to. You heard your name being called over the music and turned towards it. There he was, standing beside Bucky, beckoning you over.

So your plan was fucked, then.

Your stomach tightened. You grabbed a drink from a nearby table and moved over reluctantly.

“There you are. Listen, James was just telling me about the big job he was called to, it sounds incredibly interesting.”

“Oh, really?”

You took a big gulp of champagne, wondering if Bucky’s fictitious story was as good as the real one he’d told you over breakfast that time. Or maybe that one was all made up, too. You glanced over and accidentally caught his eye for a second, but he quickly broke away and looked back at your father.

“I probably shouldn’t go into any more detail.”

“Of course not, I wouldn't want you getting in trouble.” You involuntarily scoffed at your father’s words but managed to play it off as a cough. “It’s such a shame, though. You two seemed to really be getting on well together.”

Your father looked back and forth between the two of you like he was watching a tennis match, unaware of how painfully awkward the lingering silence was. You finished off your champagne and grabbed a fresh glass from a passing waiter, looking around the room for any excuse to leave this conversation. Unfortunately, your father found one first.

“Ah, there’s the birthday girl, I’d better go pass on some well wishes. I’ll leave you two to catch up.”

You cringed as he walked away. Quickly deciding that it was better to not even attempt conversation, you just silently nodded at Bucky and turned to leave. You didn’t get far, however, as he grabbed hold of your arm and stepped towards you.

“Can we talk?”

You were incredibly shocked but tried to play it off. “I guess."

“In private?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you glared down at his hand, “but I would like it if you let go of my arm.”

“Sorry.”

He released his grip and you took a small step away, putting a safe distance between your faces. You were still pissed off at him, that much was for sure, but you weren’t ready to trust yourself being in such close proximity to him again. Anything could happen.

“I get why you’re pissed at me, I would be too. I just need to explain.”

“I know why you did what you did, Buck. You don’t need-”

“Please. Someone’s taking over my shift in ten minutes, will you meet me upstairs?”

“Upstairs? Like, past the rope with the big no guests allowed sign?”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to sneak past,” he smirked slightly, “I heard the security here sucks.”

He was right, too. You got up there with absolutely no trouble whatsoever.

All of the doors off the hallway were closed apart from one, at the very end. You took a gamble and slowly approached, peeking your head round to see Bucky perched on the edge of a huge bed. He shot up when he spotted you in the doorway.

“Sorry, I know this is kinda weird, it's the only room that wasn’t locked or, y’know… occupied.”

“Lovely.”

He nodded and gave you a smile. “You look great. Amazing, actually. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” his smile melted you a little, “mostly thanks to you.”

“Ah, you would’a been fine, I just annoyed you into being fine a bit sooner.”

You nervously rubbed the back of your head, in disbelief at how quickly he’d broken through your thick wall of resentment. You scrambled around trying to gather up some of the bricks and rebuild but being in the presence of that slick motherfucker was making it really difficult.

You gathered your thoughts, took a breath and spoke.

“Buck, like I said downstairs, you don’t need to explain. Obviously making out with your clients is a fireable offence, I get that, so you had to leave. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“You think I left ‘cause of that? You think some shitty job is more important to me than you?”

“I mean, yeah, kinda.”

“Jesus, I really am an asshole.” You gave him a confused frown as he reached out and took both of your hands in his. “Look, I couldn’t give a shit about this job, there’s bodyguarding positions everywhere and most of them don’t involve babysitting rich assholes. I left ‘cause I felt like I’d taken advantage of you. I couldn’t stand it.”

“Huh?”

“You were in a bad place. You were vulnerable and I was supposed to be looking after you, not- y’know...”

“Sucking face?”

He chuckled. “Yeah.”

“Right, but you do remember that I’m not a child, yeah? Just because I’m feeling shitty doesn’t mean I can’t make decisions for myself.”

“But it does mean your judgement is at least a little impaired.”

“Fine, whatever, but it isn’t anymore.” You squeezed his hands. “And I’m telling you now as a fully sane, rational adult that you didn’t do anything wrong. Alright?”

A relieved smile spread across his face. “Alright.”

“Good, cause I made a decision and I’m sticking to it.

“Might be a bad decision.”

“Sometimes bad decisions are more fun.”

“You can say that again.”

Your second kiss with Bucky was, somehow, even better. He was more sure of himself this time, less cautious, he moved in quicker. You did the same, wrapping both arms around his neck and letting him take some of your weight. You felt him smile against you as a hand dived into the back of your hair.

Now this was a kiss worth being fired for.

He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. “For the record, the first time wasn’t a mistake. It was a… happy accident.”

“Whatever you say,” you chuckled, “I’m just glad we bumped into each other again.”

“Oh, we didn’t. I took this job after checking the guestlist.”

“You sneaky fucker.”

“You know it.”

---

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dark-frosted-heart · 1 year ago

Text

Mirror, mirror...Who will sink into lustful dreams? - Roger Barel

This is Roger's story from Alfons' route release event in Kate's POV. If I get Roger's POV, I'll translate that too

Nsfw, Illusion?Roger is his own warning. You know, the usual josei dubcon...but in dream form.

As usual can't guarantee 100% accuracy on this

Alfons: Are you ready? In that case: 3, 2, 1...

Following Alfons' rhythmic countdown, I opened my eyes—

—And found myself in the infirmary with Roger in front of me.

Kate: This suggestion's amazing...It's as if the real Roger's right in front of me!

Roger: The hell are you talkin' about?

The Roger before me furrowed his brows in confusion. Meanwhile, I was even more impressed by his reaction, as if it was actually Roger himself.

Kate: Um...I'll explain later. Do you remember when you and I had a fight last week?

~~ Flashback start ~~

What happened was that we had different thoughts regarding a mission. Roger wasn't listening to me at all—

Kate: I don't want to see you again!

After saying something so childish like a kid throwing a tantrum, I really didn't see Roger after that...

I lost my chance to apologize to him.

~~ Flashback end ~~

Kate: So I asked Alfons to help me...practice apologizing to you. He suggested that I see Roger in a dream.

Roger: So that's it... So we're in your dream, huh? You're earnest even with stuff like practicing how to apologize. I don't really care about what you said to me back then. I know you have your own thoughts, so don't worry about it.

Roger's illusion forgave me so easily. While it thought it was a typical Roger thing to do, I suddenly felt uneasy.

Kate: I wish the real Roger would say that same thing...

Roger: He did. It's me.

Kate: Just because Roger's illusion forgave me so easily, doesn't mean it'll actually turn out like this. I shouldn't just apologize...Should I prepare something...?

Roger: If you really wanna show your sincerity, then how 'bout you buy him a nice beer?

Kate: ...! You're right, I should!

Illusion Roger's suggestion was what finally gave me the courage to apologize to the real Roger.

(I'll apologize with this the next time I see the real Roger...)

Roger: By the way, little lady, why're you puttin' so much effort into making up with me?

Kate: Eh...

Roger: Hate to say this but, I don't mix business and pleasure. If you and I are fighting, it's not gonna affect your work, is it?

Kate: The reason why I want to make up with Roger isn't because of work...

Roger: Oh...?

Kate: I...I admire how Roger's researching curses and his diligent approach to treatment others. Though I think it'd be nice if you were less pushy or mean... I put my trust in Roger. That's why I don't want to stay on bad terms with him.

(I'd never say to Roger himself because he'd tease me...)

Roger: So you wanna make up with me cuz you like me?

Kate: L-like...That's not it.

Roger: Whaddya mean? Ah...not like, but love?

Kate: Why's it getting worse...!

Then, Roger's hand grabbed my shoulder and pulled me in hard—

Kate: Nn...!

With practiced hands, he easily stole a kiss.

Roger: Any normal woman would keep her distance from a man who puts his hands on her. But you never run away when I do and you say you wanna make up with me. There's only one reason for that. You love me so much you can't stand it. That it?

Why does the degree of love increase each time?

Roger's confident gaze pierced through me and I almost nodded because of it.

Kate: I...

(Roger's right...I want to make up because of a considerable amount of fondness I have.)

(But...it's not because of romantic love or true love.)

I can't explain what's different, but I can't say I'm in love.

Kate: I do like you. As a fairytale write, Roger!

I fixed my gaze on Roger to emphasize that it was only a working relationship.

Roger: Oh...?

Kate: Roger's worth documenting, that's all I'm going to say.

I tried to attach some non-romantic rationale onto the reason why I want to make up with Roger.

Roger: Even so, it doesn't matter. If you like me for my humanity, then all you need is to like me as a man.

As soon as he said that, Roger pinned me down on the bed.

Kate: Why are you going in that direction? Let me go...!

Roger: Why...Because no matter how many times I bully you, you always come back with your tail waggin'. You really like me, but if you're gonna pretend that you don't...I'll expose you.

My hands were immediately pinned over my head.

I couldn't move because Roger was hovering over me.

Kate: Nn...

There was nothing I could do as Roger kissed me again.

Unlike last time, his tongue parted my lips and teased the inside, making my breathing ragged.

(Even though this is a dream and this Roger's an illusion, why does it feel so real?)

My kiss-addled mind couldn't comprehend it.

Kate: Nn...Nnn?!

I let out a muffled scream in Roger's mouth.

As expected, Roger's hand slipped beneath my underwear.

Roger: You're already so wet here...All this from kissing me?

A deep laugh rumbled in his throat and he moved his fingers, rubbing and pressing against my sensitive spot.

Kate: Do- Ahnn... Don't!

Roger: Not that convincing when you have such a lewd look on your face. Well, I'd rather be inside you instead of makin' you cum like this.

Kate: In...side? Ah...!

The fingers that had been stimulating my bud entered me and I let out a high-pitched cry.

Roger: Mm, you're tight here, little lady. Well, guess you'll get used to it.

Roger's fingers continued pumping his fingers in and out, making obscene sounds as he stretched me out.

Kate: Haa....! I can't...Nn...

Roger: I'm gonna need to use 3 or 4 fingers here if I'm gonna fit, you know?

Kate: You're not going to...put it...in...

Roger: You're stubborn. Your body's being honest though, look.

Roger's fingers pressed against a specific spot inside me and stimulated it relentlessly.

Kate: Ah...?! Not there...Nnghaa...

Roger: I know. Tapping this spot feels good, doesn't it?

Regardless of how much I protested and tried to wriggle away, Roger didn't let me go.

(This is my dream and Roger's an illusion... I was supposed to practice making up with him...)

(Why is this happening...?)

But what confused me even more was my heart...

(Even if the real Roger pushed me around like this too...I'd still want to make up with him)

(I know he's going to do terrible things to me...Have I gone crazy?)

#ikemen villains #ikevil translations #ikevil summary #roger barel #ikevil roger #ikevil #ikevil jp

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rudylloyd · 16 days ago

Text

Warning: Rudy gets VERY sappy and a lot of people are abt to be tagged n told how radical they are IM SORRY THAT YOURE GETTING A STUPID NOTIF LIKE THIS

So the past.... Month. Has been very eventful. Coping with a rough break up, work being hard. I'm almost 21 I kinda figured it'd be rough being in my 20s. I really was expecting it to be the end of the world, but then I made a really good choice.

I joined a few discord servers over this month, and I can't begin to explain just how wonderful that's been for my mental health.

I've made so many new beautiful friends who just mean the world to me, and those new friends along with old friends and my beautiful angel wife who's stuck with me while we both heal, it's just nice.

I wanna say a few words [or a lot words. I'm a yapper] and I jus wanna really detail my appreciation for the following people.

@your-pal-smoochins, my perfect angel wife. You and I have had a lot of things against us. You've been such an amazing support system through these past couple years and I don't tell you enough just how much I love and appreciate everything you do for me. You lift me up when I really need it and I've never felt more loved than when you've been by my side. Thanks for being my rock, my sun moon and stars, and just thank you for being mine. You do so much more than you give yourself credit for, having escaped the situation you were in and going to college. You're so strong, and you're my beautiful angel forever.

@carbonateddelusion Rox! You were one of the first friends I made when everything got locked down and my first memory of you was drawing some of my guys. I dunno if you know but those gifts are still in my phone. I look at those and your newer stuff and I'm just beyond amazed at your progress. You've been a really amazing friend and I love you, man. You really rock, rox [yes that was on purpose]

@toondamien Damien!! one of my very first tumblr friends and the guy who lets me use his oc for my story stuff! You're a little older than me, and as such you've kinda been a role model to me. I still look up to you [metaphorically, hehe] and I'm glad you're my No. 1 DSAF mutual. You're great, dude.

@springlucked Spring. Though we only started talking recently, you are still someone I consider a dear friend. Your fics got me out of some really bad art blocks and my really low days. While Dearly Detested makes me cry and fills me with just the right amount of emotions to break a tree in half, you are so awesome. Your writing is so good and you're so humble when you get gift art from people regarding your fics. You are like a slightly bothersome little sister and for that I love you, ya lil punk.

@dexabite Dex Dane Dexabite Freakabite Miller Jekyll Jade [not real name. obviously] my sworn enemy /j. Your art rocks. Your art inspired a lot of my more detailed pieces and your character design stuff actually made me wanna branch out more not just with character design, but also poses and colors! You're an inspiration to this guy who mainly draws that dumb orange boy and ily /p

@igottoo MJ!! Like if I was a second person! You rock dude. Your art? slaps. Your animation? slaps. Your insane jokes? Slaps. you unintentionally gave me a pose reference that made me leap out of my comfort zone and yknow what? People loved it!! And thats because you're so cool! We scarily have a lot in common so the reasonable assumption is we are in fact the same guy [silly] but i love you to BITS /p. My lagomorphed brethren and the guy I'll be sending my Dave doodles to before showing the public. You're a bro, dawg. As the No. 1 Old Sport fan I'm VERY glad I'm best pals with THE No. 1 Dave Miller fan.

thank you all for being my friends. You guys make my heart full and make me wanna keep working towards being a good person

#lloyds meowing #lloyds art #warning. So So Sappy. Its gross and sappy and lovey.

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batsplat · 4 months ago

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if you were to direct a motogp movie (or make a one season of television) what season or rivalry would you make it about? and more interesting what artistic liberties would you take? it doesn’t have to be a straight up biopic bc imo those are often boring, instead it could be something like velvet goldmine (1998) aka fictional characters whose real life counterparts are pretty obvious, veering in like rpf territory. anyways👀

did you know. one time this guy put a curse on this other guy. and he never won a race again

anyway, look, I do feel like by this point that's the BORING answer from me, but obviously it's where my mind first went. I'm not sure I'd actually want it out there in film form because by now it's badly enough remembered that it's like, my cute little niche story, and I think there's something fun about the Wider World even within the motogp fandom not exactly getting how bonkers the whole thing was. (I know other humans have canonically watched motogp 2004 but I swear even journalists have forgotten some key key details and it's kinda annoying but also fun.) bold words from someone who's been blogging about it!! weird gatekeep-y instinct. but basically my job here is done as far as outreach is concerned - I wrote a very long post, now I get asks about it twice a week that allow me to think about it some more with the four other people who care, perfect balance. that rivalry doesn't need to go mainstream!! the whole point of it is that it's kinda cruel but narratively pleasing that it's gone under the radar, because it's another sign valentino won. but obviously, I cannot literally make a film about this, so the hypothetical repercussions I think maybe we can put aside for a moment here

okay I came back to this bit of the post after I increasingly got into of the spirit of coming up with dumb ideas, but it did make me flesh out what I'd even WANT from something like that. I'm with you anon, a lot of biopics are boring!! if you want to just know what happened, please just literally go and 'watch the races' and 'read books' like what are we actually getting here. you kinda want to give it a purpose for existing, right, a way of portraying real/mildly fictionalised events in a manner that is also taking some kind of stance on the material AND is doing stuff you can't do 'in real life'. thing is, look, you could make 2006 into a film, and I'm sure it'd be perfectly nice because it's fundamentally a solid underdog story (well, inherently winning a title with repsol honda is NOT being an underdog but you can write it that way), but also what are you doing beyond just telling people what happened? I feel like that generally about single seasons, they're not really doing anything for me. I was also turning around the biaggi/valentino rivalry in my head in part because that's the one valentino gave as his answer for 'rivalry he would turn into a film' (marc big wet eyes sitting right next to him), but like. a film about that rivalry from valentino's pov is fundamentally not something I'm interested in. you have all these isolated very memorable moments that make it work as a rivalry, like you can absolutely spin them into a dramatic yarn that goes through the genesis of their conflict to middle finger gate to punching gate to assen + donington + sachsenring + phillip island 2001 and it's basically *insert rousing music* successful coming of age. at most you can lean into the fact valentino became successful at being a dick. like idk it's fine but also what's the point? valentino is challenged in a sports context by biaggi, he's challenged because he realises his words have consequence and the press actually reports the words he says to journalists (the horror), but he is fundamentally not challenged on a personal level. that's the entire point, right? it's the ultimate comfort zone rivalry - biaggi is a dick who it is quite easy to hate and also reacts poorly to valentino's initial provocation. the animosity escalates and it is inherently fun to beat him. valentino is mean to him, but it's not like he even really crosses any lines to beat him. like you can make it into a film, and if you twisted the material a little bit you could make it satisfying, but I don't want to!

now the way the writing process of this post worked was that I was going to breeze through a bunch of non-sete/valentino rivalries and explain why I think some of them don't work for our purposes here, but then I ended up writing myself into changing my mind. so my take on the biaggi rivalry is that actually, you CAN make it work but it has to be from biaggi's perspective. basically, I think you've got to amadeus it (a web weave I have been thinking of making at some point btw). so,,, it's a meditation on talent and how unfair it all is, maybe minus the bit where salieri poisons amadeus (I know that doesn't happen in the film) or dresses up as amadeus' father to, y'know, make him write a requiem on his death bed. and it's not amadeus in that HERE, the clown prince gets a happy ending! but it's more like, in thematic terms, I think you have to zero in on this bit. biaggi didn't have parents who shoved him on a bike when he was three years old, he didn't have parents who were invested in his motorcycling career (or even necessarily particularly invested in him), he started the sport late and discovered that, yes, he did have a prodigious amount of skill in it - but one that he started honing far later than valentino did. he approached his career with a sort of grim resolve, surly and irascible and not interested in making friends with any of his competitors but very, very good. he goes away from the race track and dates all these models, he irritates fellow riders, he's not part of the gang and he's happy about it. he's very successful! four 250cc titles, wins his first ever race in 500cc at a time when doohan was very much winning everything. he's also just like,,,, an interesting and spiky enough character it's not hard to make him come alive

but then of course you have this gradual emergence of the amadeus character, the one who challenges his established position in the court of,, well... motorcycle racing, and also as the guy italians rooted for! and valentino's obviously, y'know, in so many ways the exact opposite from biaggi, and he's super young and cheerful and lively and is doing all his silly celebrations and is being a bit camp and goofy and treats motorcycle racing as a party (you really want to lean into the culture clash here, like in amadeus it's because you have stuffy austrian court vibes but here it's because everyone is having their bones broken every two minutes and just how... kinda grim a lot of motorcycle racing was). and he's also this innocent! yes, he insults biaggi, and yes, in retrospect we know valentino is kinda evil, but at the time he was a kid with a big mouth who was a little taken aback by how that biaggi feud sort of escalated beyond what he'd actually intended it to do! and biaggi just, hates him. and I think, sorry to the real man max biaggi here, but you've got to play with how once they're actually competing with each other, it's miserable how there's just this unbreachable gulf in talent. like, whatever biaggi does he cannot win! he isn't going to defeat valentino over the course of a full season! which is depressing and horrible and CRUEL, because there's this inevitability to the whole thing... and also! because valentino doesn't DESERVE it. and you don't have to go full salieri pleading with god to explain how god could give this CLOWN all this talent, but it's kinda the same vibe! how is it valentino, who is constantly just having a laff and canonically maybe wasn't the biggest gym-goer in the paddock and is just generally seen as, y'know, a bit of a dandy, this foppish clown who everyone loves and who doesn't have to work hard to be good - how is he the one who is winning so much!! it's miserable and unjust... and I think how you portray this is that you really emphasise the kinda, repetitive nature of the defeat. like, I think you probably want to make this into a non-linear narrative where all this biaggi backstory is communicated somehow but you don't just start it when he was born or whatever - you start it in 2001 when they're competing for a title and already hate each other. and then you heavy on the time loop vibes. the whole cinematic language and all that other shit should emphasise how all these weekends are structured in exactly the same way and if you're losing to this one guy, all these different weekends can start feeling the same. it bleeds into each other, it feels inescapable, you're trapped in this narrative you can't change... worst of all, you even return to the same places again and again - like play with that! biaggi keeps coming back to where they had the fist fight, to where valentino first insulted him all those years back. you play up the disorientation and the misery of it all, plus biaggi canonically gives us all this kinda messy freudian shit to play with like how he was dating 'valentina' and his relationship with her was falling apart because of how miserable valentino was making him. it's all there!!

ANYWAYS the way you conclude this story is!! welkom 2004!! so again we can artistic license this a little bit and, uh, ignore sete (though I do also think it's fun if you lean into biaggi being displaced as a rival and staring at them being friendly and happy with each other from the outside) - but the key bit is that valentino is finally making the big error. biaggi wasn't winning titles on a yamaha, since he left yamaha has gotten worse, now valentino is making this big mistake out of his own hubris. language of cinema that shit and make everything brighter and more hopeful.... the time loop is finally over, biaggi has escaped, this year will be different!!!! everyone in his circle agrees, valentino is fucked. step off the plane at welkom (pre season testing didn't happen in this universe) and it's literal dawn of a new day... staring out at the sun and finally, biaggi can move on, can live a new and different life. anyway. obviously we all know what's coming next - you have this big dramatic climactic race where biaggi throws himself at valentino again and again and again and he comes so close to winning it... but he doesn't. and you have valentino living his best life, being delighted, but the film is focusing on how like,,, we're bleaching the joy back out of biaggi's life, how actually he's returning to what he already knew. and it ends on the podium, with the camera focusing on biaggi on that fucking second step or zooming in or whatever (idk how cinema works) and it just finishes on this shot of biaggi dead-eyed in a bleak world, trapped again for eternity aka until the end of the 2005 season. done!! I'm not sure this is quite what valentino had in mind, but. well. that's how I'd do it

this is from the pushkin play from 1832 not the 1984 film but like. low key pushkin already kinda nailed the essence of sports rivalries in the 1830s and we just have to acknowledge that sometimes

right. so the casey rivalry is where I'm going to go completely off the wall. skip this bit to get to the slightly saner stuff. this is also one I fully admit to sometimes playing around with in my mind anyway, but. uh. I'm gonna be taking this one in just. well. places. I do have a vision here but I also don't quite know how to explain it in a way that doesn't make me sound like I've lost my mind, but well if you're still reading this then that's on you. so lemme get this out of the way: the classic sports biopic formula would work well with casey. if I had to point to a single rider I would sports biopic-ify, it's casey. so you have all this kinda,, obvious adversity that's easy to get across, and it's a narrative you can follow chronologically without too much trouble. you've got all the childhood stuff, the australian racing club not letting him join them, the move to britain, the rising through the ranks, it's also this very biopic-friendly 'nobody ever believed in him apart from like three people' stuff. and the premier class is also narratively satisfying, from the rocky rookie season to the kinda shock success to then all the lows of 2008 and 2009 and the physical ailments and the anxiety and then the switch to honda and the title and then him deciding to retire... that's all good stuff! you can absolutely biopic-ify it! gun to my head and sure, I can walk you through exactly what bits of his life I'd focus on and put in what order and so on, and I think ultimately you could make a very good sports biopic from that

[some mild gore to follow in this next section]

but also. thing is. that's fine. it's just not where I want to go here, because again I feel like at that point you can also pick up his autobiography and just read it - because what you're basically doing here is just filming that. and I get how this stuff works, you're bringing the story to a wider audience, you can show stuff in a different way in that medium etc etc, and that's all great but also I don't care about bringing stuff to a wider audience. I care about doing fun stuff in my brain. so what I'd actually do here is just, basically, go in the exact opposite direction and ditch all the realism. genuinely, ditch the live action stuff, we're going animated - what I'm interested in here is stuff where we need to be able to fully suspend our disbelief and lean into some surreal shit. I'm not going to bury the lede here: my idea is that you take that thing where casey said he hated how ducati was ruining the bike by letting valentino's yellow encroach on it and, basically,, just go all in on that bit. like come on, that is so singularly visually evocative, it truly captures a lot of what's going on thematically in that rivalry. (see also x and x for the most relevant casey posts.) casey sees valentino as the malevolent force, this infection! he associates him strongly with a specific colour, one that can be sickly or unnatural or just... evil. malignant, malicious, malevolent, all the m words. to casey, valentino is a personification of everything that is wrong with the sport. valentino is literally the walking manifestation for so many of his issues, from the dangerous riding to the lack of respect to the lying to the cult of personality to the obsession with image and the media to the backroom games to the politics to the injustice of how different riders are treated differently, like!! he's literally all of that! this is a topic for another post, but this plays out in a lot of kinda, weird and funky ways where it's a two way street and sometimes when casey talks about motogp you go 'actually I think that's just valentino?' (btw he also does this about 'europe' right I don't think those are europeans you hate casey that's literally just valentino) and sometimes when he talks about valentino it's kinda? this feels like it's about a little more than the bloke himself? and basically, right, I think you need to take this to its natural conclusion where casey used to admire him and look up to him and want to emulate him on track and then gets disillusioned when valentino's worshippers turn against casey and casey is the one to bring valentino down to earth and... listen, I think you need to play around with valentino being a literal god. and I think you need to have casey stab him to cover up the yellow on the ducati with blood

okay. look. the idea here, right, is that we're basically making the subtext text, and just digging into that process of 'bringing valentino back to earth', of taking on a god and having the audacity to succeed, and also treating valentino as this sort of. infection in his own mind. the bike is literally being infected!! casey may have left the ducati but he STILL has some fidelity and love for this project, those were his people he worked with, and now valentino is coming in and just twisting everything around himself!! but also I think how this functions is that, okay, so you have all this normal stuff that's the actual 'plot' in the 'real world', but the ISSUE with the real world is that there's a lot of stuff that just. isn't possible there. like the thing casey wants in that rivalry but is never going to have is... a captive audience. a big problem casey has in that rivalry is that he doesn't get the chance to actually say a lot of stuff to valentino. he starts using the media more and more and plays the game on valentino's level, but there's still this disconnect where mr straight talking is the valentino rival who valentino never really blanks or freezes out like... there's a disconnect! there's valentino the person, who casey never quite figures out how to just straight up hate, and then there's valentino the character, the racer, the rider, the god who casey DESPISES. but when they're doing small talk at pressers and podiums, casey doesn't get to talk to that version of valentino! he just talks to valentino the person, who obviously isn't literally a different person but is also not going to explain to casey where he's coming from, is he, and also isn't someone who casey can explain to where HE is coming from. and that gulf... it does bother casey. I don't think he can quite verbalise why either, but there's just... this creeping tension. I think it'd be easier for casey if valentino really were more of a caricature, just kinda a dick in all walks of life. and there's just these canonical hints of that... the way casey talks about how he's sure valentino as a guy is fine, but he never knew valentino like that, the whole 'I'd like to go with valentino for dinner to tell him where I was coming from in that rivalry' thing, like!! it's there

so basically EYE think what you should be doing is using the wonders of storytelling to actually. embrace that element. and just leave realism behind now and again. valentino is a god, he is literally worshipped, he's part of this pantheon that casey is trekking to reach. casey is brave enough to take him on in combat, he is the first one who is truly able to draw blood. he sees how valentino isn't just a god of joy or battles or speed or the SUN or any of that other stuff - he's a disease, an illness, a god who is also a false prophet... the worship never quite goes away, because who ever truly gets rid of their valentino rossi complex, but casey eventually is given the chance to face a chained valentino and kinda,,, ritualistically publicly humiliate him using the ducati as both this sick thing that has to be 'cured' and this symbol of valentino's failure. I'm sorry, visual language goes brr here, like chain him up, do weirdly eroticised torture idc!! (psst psst valentino's fucked up shoulder also extremely goes brr here, casey low key a teensy bit weird about valentino's injuries? his thing after the 2010 leg break where he goes 'why's everyone making such a big deal about this other people break their limbs too' and then after 2011 jerez immediately asking whether valentino's shoulder is okay in just a very obviously passive aggressive way. literally he opens with that, valentino isn't using it as an excuse or anything, for some reason it's already on casey's mind and I would politely contest it was out of genuine concern for valentino's wellbeing!! it's just kinda? I'm so compelled by it? I suppose it is kinda about how valentino's suffering gets taken more seriously than his own? how those absences are received differently by the motogp world? idk I find this fun because casey does know this is one thing valentino can't really be blamed for himself, so it just slips out a bit? but yeah, casey + valentino's injuries, nobody's talking about it but I sure will, let casey get weird and mean and a teensy bit sadistic about valentino's injuries in an artistic manner.) crucially I like animation as a medium here because I think it's easier to lean into surrealism when you don't have to hand hold the audience so much through the suspension of realism, also there's just some imagery you can do in cooler ways through animation where in live action it may just look. weird. (I think you can also do one of those things where you have a live action film with only those specific bits animated but also... why? it just feels like in live action you need more 'justifications' for things, like am I saying casey is having some weird hallucinations and is losing his mind? no I just want to have weird vision sequences ffs.) the colour stuff!! valentino/casey is big on the colour coding as a rivalry, to the extent casey is even, y'know, drawing attention to it in the literal text!! yellow and red are banger colours, valentino is big on imagery himself with all his sun + moon motifs, it's kind of all there to make the easy next step to kinda zany surreal imagery. ritualistic stabbing works better in animation, you can kinda get the blood to like. drip down and overwhelm the yellow illness that's slithered out across the bike

and. AND of course what this entire set up allows you to do is.... give them an opportunity to talk. they can't talk in real life! casey CAN'T give him his real thoughts on anything, and fundamentally valentino can't either. they're opponents. they're strangers who chat sometimes. it's not just that they aren't friends, it's that fundamentally they cannot be friends - because their ability to do their actual jobs depends on a certain level of professional distance. valentino of course does have a decent read on casey, and vice versa, because when you're figuring out how to defeat someone then (if you're valentino) you're looking to play the rider too. valentino's entire approach depends on focusing in on his rivals and attempting to throw them off, to make them unravel. he's watching casey closely!! the entire journey of casey's first three seasons in the premier class essentially becomes like, this god of their world focusing in on him. figuring him out. trying to gnaw away at him. obviously, animation also allows you to go big on the panopticon-y imagery which is kinda fundamental to their rivalry, because of their fundamentally oppositional stances to 'performing' for the ever present cameras where there IS a little bit of common ground in they have both struggled with it. but valentino isn't going to ever say that to casey! casey isn't going to open up to valentino! so if you give them,, you know, a different arena to express themselves, where casey actually has this external figure to talk to (as he's like, cutting him open I guess) whereas valentino actually is put in a position where he's allowed to respond, where he can taunt casey a little bit, where he can interrogate casey's approach and also the similarities between the two of them and how casey has been forced to become a little more like valentino to challenge him... because the thing is, right, valentino is so big on message discipline with his rivals and has completely stopped talking about that rivalry post mid 2013 that, first of all, you have this complete imbalance in who's been telling this story for the past decade, but second of all you kinda don't have a sense of what valentino would respond? idk!! I think this is mainly fun as a thought exercise for me specifically but also I do think it's kinda, digging into some of the bits that make this narratively work as a rivalry, how valentino in this rivalry is actually just kinda... removed. like he's not really emotional about it!! at most he's a bit bitchy, but even that just feels about The Game. it's the most extreme in this regard followed by jorge - but with valentino's other feuds you kinda... see a bit more an unguarded moment, see something a little more real there. the casey rivalry feels so uncomfortable precisely because valentino is a little... inhuman in this one. I mean, if you want to have valentino as some kind of cross between a deity and a monster in any of his feuds, this is the one. casey's just an obstacle to him. idk don't you think casey kinda wants to chain valentino down and stab him and make him see casey a little more... well, I think he should want it and I think it'd be fun to see and get them to talk to each other. ugh and also all the implications of making the faith vs non-believer elements more literal... casey the heretic!!!

there's some obvious stuff here you'd have to figure out, like 'how do you make this work as a narrative even to people who aren't familiar with casey stoner at all' and 'who the fuck do you think the target audience is here' and 'you do know this is not the kind of thing that would ever be made, right, go back to the casey stoner sports biopic like a sane person' but!! I do think it's material you can make work if you're just,,, efficient and smart in how you're actually telling the 'real life' version of the rivalry. also in my head this is. idk. an animated limited series not a film, which then brings in other stuff like 'episodic structure' because I'm fundamentally opposed to tv shows that think they're films. and look, I'm not going to write an entire film script treatment here, I just think a good writer can figure this stuff out. blood on the ducati is the framing device for everything else, simple. lots of animated floating eyes I reckon, first casey is watching valentino and then valentino is watching casey and the whole world is watching them... and it does bleed into real life just a little, where you're wondering whether casey is actually imagining/dreaming this stuff or valentino is or if they both know it somehow... you can get away with more ambiguity in animation. anyway, if you do want more thoughts on this one specifically for whatever reason, let me know because this one I do actually have more on

also laguna 2008 is a bit tortoise and the hare coded if you really think about it

[end of gore]

so. on to jorge. hm. the thing about jorge is that he was kinda writing a coming of age film in his own head, so like - yes, that's what you do go for? you can play it straight and follow how jorge has cast his rivals, or you can pin the whole narrative on the fact that jorge has cast them - the kinda artificiality of the narrative, the way jorge is this storyteller who isn't being recognised as much as he thinks he should be, isnt adequately appreciated. the way there's this three way discourse between what jorge thinks the story is and what the public thinks the story is and actual. you know. reality. I think this is a bit more light-hearted, like you know how the best stories about teenagers take their emotions seriously but also let them be kinda silly? because young people are silly! jorge was silly! he's got a lot of CHARM because he's so cocky and naive and full on and intense and awkward and kinda off-putting and tactless and a bit all over the place and so painfully, painfully young, like he's a good protagonist because that's a KID. but also, obviously there's also a lot of extremely not light-hearted bits of his story - everything about his father, his manager... idk this one's another one where, I don't just want to make it a generic sports biopic, and I'm trying to figure out the clear narrative arc here? I mean, you can point to the end of 2010 and really lean into him choosing victory on-track over popularity off it. the problem with 2010 is that it does not work as a dramatic season, yeah sure with the magic of biopics you can hack at it to shit but also. idk. what are we getting out of it. I think for narrative purposes you want to maybe narrow in, and end it at the end of 2008, with the switching of the numbers this kind of moment of emancipation? but also! this feels like we're straying a bit too far away from the fun sports elements and I don't want to REALLY suggest all the ways in which you could mine jorge's personal trauma in a jokey tumblr post, so I'm gonna move on from this one

the problem is 2015 just straight up doesn't work as a jorge-centric narrative, except in a very kinda comic way that leans into how absurd his role in that season was. 2012 as a season is a bit... y'know, it's fine. okay it's mostly terrible, but that's fine too. but it doesn't have a great narrative hook. which kinda leads you to the problem that I do think the valentino rivalry is more... juicy from jorge's pov, because for valentino, jorge is just kinda? an obstacle? idk he's more normal about it, it's just his job to destroy the guy, you know how it is. but also 2009 does work better narratively from valentino's pov, like it's the build up to catalunya specifically you can dramaticise... idk though, I do love catalunya but my heart isn't really in this exercise because I think valentino isn't really being... challenged here? it's a title fight where he's fundamentally using a set of tools he's already perfected, to beat a guy he doesn't really give a shit about. when the italian press is down on him pre catalunya, it doesn't spark any genuine self-doubt - it's just a handy source of extra motivation. there's no epic highs or lows that season, not real ones. and yes I know I was talking about making valentino who gets stabbed repeatedly to cover up an infection a moment ago, but that reflected real EMOTIONAL truths!! I'm committed to thematic fidelity more than I am to literal fidelity

genuinely I think the best way to tackle jorge is with the jorge/dani parallel journeys... what, film? tv show? maybe show actually - you don't have one coherent narrative Statement per se but you're constantly charting those journeys in reference to each other, really rooting it in their respective points of views, no neutral detached cinematic language like I want everything to be very much written to be from their eyes!! going from one to the other and back again. and you're charting these different journeys, right, and how they both captured different flavours of like... emotional successes and failures. I think it's actually about failure, yeah, about having to accept there's something you can't have and might never be able to get - whether that's universal love or a premier class title or whatever - but Actually, that might not be the end of the world. and during this process, they go from being enemies to tentative friends!! guys who realise they can maybe actually understand each other better than they thought!! this real moment of interpersonal connection. you have all these media narratives and the managers and so on and the fact they're competitors as these built in reasons why they've just been pitted against each other from the start... but y'know, again, it is also just a bit about maturing, about being able to set that aside, about making your peace with defeat and failure as an element of growing up. you can't win everything, maybe there's something you really really really want and you're just not going to get it, but at the end of the day it's kinda... yeah. self-acceptance. idk this is the nice one

so with marc you can go several different ways here I guess, and again he's also perfectly decent sports biopic material, probably second to casey in that category like yeah sure do the comeback story. but also, we do already have a very good self-produced documentary about what he thinks the narratives of his career are? idk this is also just a personal taste thing, I'll leave him to doing all the injury stuff himself, I don't have much to add there. we'll get to the obvious one in a second, but I was trying to figure out if there were other places I massively felt like you need the cinematic touch. and, again, the 2013 season is obviously very exciting!! but also, you have it covered in.,,,, multiple documentaries, I don't feel I have a take their either? his rivalries with dani and jorge aren't really substantive enough to sustain a bit of cinema. dovi... I mean, what are you saying there? what's the arc? I feel like if I tackled dovi, I'd go somewhere else and really go all in with the ducati stuff, and make it a bit more... you know, stark, stripped back, basically just the emotional component of how much he gave to that project and how he managed to beat away one rival after the next and how it all ended up falling apart in a kind of anti-climactic way? he's also good sports biopic material, but in a way I think the marc rivalry is the bit of his story I have the least to say on. so eg, 2017 is a dramatic season, but he's also kinda fine after it? he always knew it was a long shot, he tried his best and he got really close and then he lost. you can't amadeus it because dovi isn't (fictional) salieri. basically, I think what I'm saying here is that dovi is too well-adjusted to feature in this post. though I'd totally watch a film about his 250cc seasons, like it's a bit annoying because HE is the underdog who loses both title fights to jorge, but it'd still be kinda fun idk. I wouldn't really know what to do with the material but if someone made the film I'd absolutely watch it

right then. the thing about sepang 2015 is... yeah, sure, of course you can do it, it already exists as a narrative but... yeah, what are you adding!! idk I always think when you're adapting something, you kinda need to have a reason for it? I mean, what are you doing that's not already there in the footage? idk maybe this is just a sign of having been a fan of this sport for one too many years but to me the idea of sepang 2015 can get a bit boring (or maybe just repetitive) where I need a new TAKE on it to really get into the idea of fictionalising it. like where's the auteur's touch y'know, what can I still add to this!! but it also needs to WORK for someone who is new to the story, which kinda just makes you want to tell the story straight.... y'know the story is strong enough and COMPLICATED enough to stand on its own and it IS good but I don't really have anything interesting to say beyond 'yeah sure that'e be neat'. I can't tell you why, but I also don't think the casey approach quite works here? the idea of providing a framing device with which valentino and marc can actually talk to each other... eh. don't like that. hm. okay wait actually I just turned it around in my head for... a while and I think I've got an idea to make the worst motorcycle racing film of all time. so, my central stupid film-making gimmick here is just. centring the fact we're completely reliant on a few guys and what they're telling us in making up our minds, and our removal from that story and the imperfection of their perceptions and so on. so I think you kinda make a point of... not actually showing the motorcycle racing? like, you always show it by showing other people watching it, you're showing the tv screen rather than the actual racing. even in the cinematic medium, you're centring the theatrical aspects, where you drill it down to just a few characters. valentino. marc. uccio. marc's fuck ass manager. maybe a crew chief or two. keep it limited though, all the others are kept at a distance - you're constantly focusing in on the same few characters. and very early on you basically just like... get them to fourth wall break by telling you, the viewer, with their actual words how racing works for them, what meaning they take out of it - and again it's this remove because we're never allowed to actually feel the racing for ourselves (no helmet cams), and it sets up that as the tragedy unfolds, again and again we're just hearing from them what happened. it's all zoomed in on how claustrophobic the entire situation is, like doing the race direction room after the sepang 2015 is perfect for that kind of thing, and crucially they're only ever addressing the audience because they can't address each other. but fourth wall breaks also obviously draw attention to artificiality! I realise they are very much like, lame gimmick central, but also are these men not inherently about lame gimmicks... idk it's basically the same story but at least it feels like a kinda interesting way of telling it. kinda trite, but cinema allows you to get to the point and let valentino actually play with the camera... so literally take it into his own hands and lead it around and tell the story from his point of view. and you can play with how they do both change in what stories they think they're telling, how they're constantly revising their own stories, how their stories completely clash with each other... like. make them literal narrators. that's my pitch

so. one interesting pattern that has come up with my approaches to these rivalries is that with the exception maybe of the 2015 stuff, I feel like I'm more naturally inclined to treat valentino as a narrative device and centre his rivals. a big part of this is that valentino is a fantastic narrative device. he's kinda. this looming presence in every narrative in this sport where you can just sort of use him as a sort of way to poke away at all these other riders. the monster everyone loves who you are trapped with. BOO!! he's gonna eat you! which is fun! but ALSO, crucially, several of these rivalries aren't that emotionally challenging for him!! again, with casey right, he wants to beat him, but he's not having a crisis of faith over losing to casey. he thinks casey is annoying, he wants to beat him because he wants to win. valentino is casey's foil, but casey is not valentino's. valentino makes for an excellent personal antagonist to casey, but the reverse just isn't true. casey isn't forcing valentino to reexamine his approach except 'ramping up the levels of being a dick on-track' - like, yes, that's a serious competitive challenge, but also valentino is very comfortable in his own skin in that rivalry. sure, you could have valentino have some kind of massive revelation about the casey rivalry, but like. he doesn't in canon. he changes his behaviour towards casey in pretty predictable ways depending on what the relationship demands from his perspective at any given time. there's nothing more there

now, obviously you know where I'm going here. there IS a rivalry where you can make the argument he changes as a result of it, there IS a rivalry that tips him over the line and makes him to do stuff he hadn't done before that, there IS a rivalry that happens to coincide with a period of his competitive life that challenges him both personally and professionally. now, look, I have already talked about the sete rivalry. you know what I think about this rivalry - and if you don't, I really already have told the story here and here and here and here and also here. I think this works perfectly well as a narrative in its own right, and it's one you can tell from either perspective... but you kinda need both. I think again you probably naturally lean towards starting it from sete's perspective and that first proper meeting (I mean, idk if it is their first actual meeting, but it's the logical obvious place you start this story) with sete giving valentino advice during his first 500cc test and valentino just, y'know, ignoring him and being a cocky shit and then crashing. so you get to see sete being kinda exasperated by the whole thing. also, obviously ibiza is like, a key framing device here, like it's the most obvious in-your-face way of tracking their relationship with each other. I don't actually know how often they partied there together, but it must have been at least twice and if the commentators are to be believed it must have included 2003. artistic license and you can add one or two more times, but mainly you want to focus in on 2003 onwards right. so you've got this 2002 one where it's, y'know, high point of their friendship and in the name of narrative efficiency, you establish here that sete is looking to make the honda switch. the emphasis is on how valentino has been winning everything but on the flip side you're getting the first insight into his discontent. and there's a bit of a vibe of, what could you possibly have to complain about? like you are winning so much? so it's late one night where they've had this slightly unguarded alcohol-fuelled moment of genuine vulnerability but in the end it's actually characterised by how... unsubstantial the link between them is, because they wouldn't talk about this kind of thing with each other and they might both be similar in some ways but also don't gettttttt each other. it means you can return there as a location in 2003, where you've just had sachsenring and valentino's dramatic loss but they're still partying together and it's like. obviously In The Air that not everything is quite right... their relationship is already gradually altered and twisted because you're introducing this element of actual stakes and competition (obviously in 2004 they do NOT spend that time together, as far as we know anyway, and you can show them being very much not together at ibiza as a very obvious Oooh Things Will Fall Apart and maybe already haveeee)

and I do think basically I've already said what I think the themes here are,,,, several times by this point, so I'm not going to belabour the point. I think all of this fundamentally works as a narrative with like, minimal massaging and rearranging of the elements for dramatic effect. it's all there already, everything from sete's arc with the [insert non-tasteless way of covering a real life tragedy that fundamentally alters the course of sete's career] and how that leads to sete becoming the challenger and how he does want to win and his eventual downfall. with valentino, you have the element of liberation and self-discovery and... well, growing into your own but also kinda having the narrative drawing attention to how 'growing into your own' can involve becoming a fully realised character who is essentially quite cruel? you have this kind of... build up, right, towards this moment of revelation, where you lay bare who these two people actually ARE at sepang 2004, and then again at jerez 2005. valentino has gone his own way, he has freed himself from the chains of honda, he has embraced individualism and the chance to define himself and his own legacy and stand on his own two feet and not rely on the strongest bike or all this stuff within honda where they chose him as their flag bearer, for better or for worse... like he comes to his own here! he takes the step from 'great rider' to 'legend' because he gets to this dramatic moment of stepping into the unknown, he takes this massive risk that could have cost him so much, and it ends up elevating him. but it also puts him under duress, and in that moment he reveals himself - whatever sete did or did not do at qatar 2004, EVEN IF sete did all that shit, what you are left with is valentino vowing to ruin this man. valentino uses sete to make himself 'better', to fuel himself as a competitor. valentino turns sete into a tool in his own story. and again, thematically you've got all this stuff about how sete was managing the image of the rivalry and how valentino took advantage of that - how sete needed it to remain respectful and valentino was completely willing to abandon that. like, you have two protagonists who really are similar in quite a few ways, who think they have this shared understanding with each other, but when it comes down to it? they end up being super painfully different

now I can go on about this and how to play it straight, basically, you can just do that rivalry and I think it'd be cool and fun and very easy to arrange in a good narrative way. BUT I've kind of already. done that. like I don't want to suggest a film that is basically a nicer version of my tumblr posts. so I want to take this in a slightly different direction, and I think what we need to consider with this rivalry is this: what if you made the curse literal? basically, what's always kinda charmed me about this rivalry is that the curse should not work and all the misfortune that befalls sete after that is so comical that it's kinda... what do you do with that? and the answer is you just lean all the way in. my pitch is this: what if valentino sells his soul to the devil?

so, you know faust, right, and you know the bit at the start of goethe's faust where god and mephistopheles are basically making a wager over how corruptible this one human is. and faust is like... he's kinda disillusioned, he feels that everything he's dedicated his life to in academia is fundamentally hollow, gets very close to committing suicide. and faust has gone a bit new age-y, gotten into all this mystical shit and he's got this pentagram that ends up preventing mephistopheles from leaving his presence in their first meeting... and basically what the devil can give him is like, the chance to attain some true pleasure, and for that faust is willing to bet everything - so if faust can just have that, then maybe eternal damnation is worth it. and look, I'm not going to summarise the entire plot of faust here and it does go off the wall a bit with all the gretchen stuff, but the point is you have this version of the devil who is fundamentally a cynic and is attempting to win an argument with god by making this human succumb to his own nihilism. and what faust basically does is like, abandon his normal life where he's trying to live by normal virtues and goes off on this journey with the devil. and there's this little moment where mephistopheles,,, pretends to be faust and takes on the role of an academic adviser (you know how it is) and seduces this random student away from the word of god and sends him down a wretched path, which ends with this bit:

like, a big part of faust's tragedy is supposed to be about... well, hubris, of the relationship of god to man, of no longer being afraid of the devil... and obviously, this is all framed very much in terms of religion, but at the end of the day it's also about, you know, having purpose - faust is living a life that no longer has any meaning to him, all of his knowledge and studies now no longer fill the void inside himself. his nihilism opens the door for mephistopheles, and is what makes him willing to accept the devil's terms. now, and I am so very sorry to goethe here, I think we have some material we can use here to explore the valentino/sete rivalry. obviously, you can't do a one-to-one, you need to get rid of some of like, the depression and all that - there were times when valentino was feeling 'a bit low' in 2003, but not 'faust thinking everything he'd done in his entire life was pointless' low, yeah? also, unless you want to do a real long view here and even then it can't really be justified, there obviously isn't really a 'tragedy' here from valentino's perspective. like, he wins! this isn't valentino's tragedy, it's sete's! I was being a bit facetious when I said he was 'selling his soul to the devil', and you can kinda parse mephistopheles' motivations in different ways depending on what flavour and what interpretation of him you're dealing with here. you don't 'damn' valentino, you essentially just turn him into a tool of the devil!

so, this is how this works out in my head: the devil works more broadly as the manifestation of competitive impulses, the kind of 'how far would you go to win' question as a bloke who shows up and literally talks to the characters about it (magic of cinema). he's also engaging with valentino feeling like his victories no longer having meaning, with being disconnected from honda and from the entire culture there and just feeling like he's going through the motions. there's this element of like... opening the door to what is essentially a journey of self-actualisation, bringing him closer to being a 'god' but also allowing him to fully come into his own and become himself. to win on his own terms. I reckon ibiza is my preferred narrative device where the devil talks both to sete and valentino there (separately), first literally as a mysterious stranger and then... maybe not? he's talking to them at times of their lives when they're not at ibiza and it's not happening there in the physical world and they both end up kinda having to confront they're dealing with some potentially malevolent supernatural entity. but the important elements of the devil is that a) he's not going to do anything the humans don't actually ask for themselves, and b) everyone knows he's following his own agenda and you should be careful of the requests you make of him. so it's kinda like... essentially, the backdrop of this rivalry unfolding is they're constantly being challenged to decide what lines they're willing to cross. which culminates at qatar... and maybe you do have sete making like. a teensy mistake. a teensy error in judgement, one that is both real and deliberate but he could not have known would get that reaction and instantly regrets. and valentino, who is I think inherently sceptical of the devil coming to offer to help him and maybe does crank out the pentagrams (remember, the whole point of faust is that he was too arrogant to be scared of the devil, or one of the points anyway), in a moment of fury does decide - no, actually. I will take that step. I will curse sete. now the thing is, dramatically this is a teensy bit tricky because when you're talking about being damned by the devil, usually the consequences are a bit more severe than 'not winning a motorcycle race again' (yes, you can get into how sete did also seem genuinely cursed after that, cf his ambulance/bus crash situation, but again we are flirting with being in poor taste in this tumblr post). but the thing is, right, you have to lean into the silliness here! qatar 2004 is inherently silly, a CURSE is inherently silly, like real life is already silly here! you have to engage with the people where they are, and for these athletes all this shit is so heightened that the emotions are full on. like, valentino would've sold that guy to the devil! and to him not winning another race is basically the worst thing that can happen

so, obviously, you get to do the actual curse stuff. curses are inherently campy fun, the devil doing curses is campy fun, getting valentino rossi to crank out the pentagrams is inherently campy fun. you get to play around with this, right, like you know that bit in the brno 2005 race commentary where the commentators are talking about how valentino might as well have a little radio to talk into sete's helmet to remind him of how sete had fucked up at the sachsenring. OBVIOUSLY obviously obviously it is just so... idk scrunchy and fun to have this idea of valentino becoming a malevolent enough force to literally do that.... like damn the commentators did kinda eat with that?? ughhhhhh do you ever think about sete leading the qatar 2005 race for most of the way???? like that's SO fucked up because you literally have articles from about the race going 'hey maybe sete can break his curse' and then the commentators are talking about curses having one year expiration dates but obviously they!! do not!!!!! there's one race where sete goes off track and the commentators are talking about how valentino will surely have smiled into his helmet like that's so fucked!! it's so fucked!! but idk I think basically you have all this creeping curse-y stuff and devil stuff and then you get this twist and then it just becomes misery zone for sete until you sort of. compress the timeline and have him retire without getting into what happened at the end of 2006. and valentino just relishing in all his very worst emotions. and you've got sete who was the better man after jerez 2005, who took the high ground again and again and again and it did NOTHING for him.... and then he's cursed and his career is finished and the devil has had his fun getting mixed in with mid noughties motogp. and now obviously this is inherently kinda dumb and corny and silly but it's the devil!! mephistopheles to me is allowed to get up to dumb shit sometimes, let him have some fun!! idk I like curses being literal idc

I think the obvious critique here is 'this doesn't really feel like it gets the message of faust'. which, yes, is true - and obviously the way narratives are structured, a satisfying resolution isn't 'well selling your soul kinda slaps, actually'. and my statement to respond to this argument is as follows:

this is essentially canonically what happened. valentino DID do something kinda evil and it DID work out 100% for him and it DID kinda slap. at least when you add in the devil, you're making explicit the bit where it is a little bit bad. also, is sports not inherently about selling your soul for success... the story of valentino and sete is essentially about how we are twisted by competition, how pretending that we don't wish ill to our opponents is inherently dishonest. it is about lifting a facade for something that is already inherently there in the souls of men. this is obviously inherently a deeply cynical stance, but this is also a deeply cynical story beyond all the fun battles and camp dramatics. the devil is a cynic and he is basically the point of view character of goethe's faust - he's the one who is positioned closest to the audience. sports is all about living out some of humanity's worst instincts in a relatively low stakes setting, which means we get a free pass to have fun with a deeply cynical story that goes 'maybe selling your soul to the devil is fine, actually'

do I stand by this stance? not really, but the whole fun of storytelling is that sometimes you can just be kinda mean. I think goethe would get it... you can tell which character he enjoyed writing the most

the OTHER way you can do this is centre everything around qatar 2004 as like,,, the mystery box element...... okay look I have now made two posts that go WAY too deep on the 'what really happened' element but I do loveeeeee the whole thing like I would just make a film about that very end of the season and we show it from all these different angles as different characters narrate what happened... like fuck all the riders I want to hear from whichever mechanic used the scooter... the gresini mechanic who gave evidence to race direction.... various honda higher ups the crew chiefs like this is jb vs juan martinez it's war!!! obviously you still have the same emotional/thematic hooks as the general rivalry does but idk I would have a LOT of fun figuring out how to structure that, I loveeee mysteries... maybe I'd write it as a mockumentary yeah..... this one's just fun

anyway. a lot of stuff going on in this post, huh! you can probably tell I didn't edit this much. my classic tell when I edit my tumblr posts is I remember how 'paragraphs' work. unfortunately all I have energy for are like. a bunch of rants about things in my brain. I think when tumblr tells you that you've reached the maximum number of characters per paragraph and you need to figure out where to put a break, it's probably a bad thing? on the whole, my stance is I don't have anything AGAINST mildly fictionalised versions, but for me I'm always more of a.... well I want to take advantage of the full specificity of the events as they happened or just come up with a completely original story. kind of person. I know this ask probably wasn't looking for my 'what if you bled out valentino as he's strung up above a red motorcycle' vision but yeah. with a lot of biopics I'm always a bit 'well you could just read about this couldn't you' like I need stuff to take some kind of a stance on the material it's using... all my stuff takes a stance. that's all I've got. obviously all these stances mean that basically none of these things could ever be made. and I know what I said above but if they called me up to write the casey stoner biopic script treatment, I would also do that. if you've actually read to this point, give me a shout - you're a real one and I love you

#would an insane person write this #//#brr brr #batsplat responds #spec tag #curse tag #heretic tag #morale tag

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ravetillyoucry · 6 months ago

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PUPARIA

Chapter 12 - je t’aime ★ je t’aime

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The crisp autumnal air in the evening was perfectly warm, yet also cool and refreshing, and the best way to enjoy it was standing out on Teddy's balcony with a cigarette in hand.

Hosah leant over with his elbows against the fine railing, taking in the city sky line as the sun went down, all the twinkling lights of the incomprehensibly tall buildings coming to life in a similar fashion to stars which were no longer visible from the light pollution. It was a real shame, they were his favourite part of his childhood hometown.

Without warning, a much larger figure wrapped its arms around the shifter's bare waist, resting a chin on his shoulder as he'd done previously.

"One two three, that's enough for me," Teddy joked, taking the cigarette from between his roommates fingers, making the decision that this was now something they'd be sharing.

Hosah's attention turned to the freckled forearms encapsulating his body, deciding not to fight against the touch for once in his life,

"Thought you were on the whole 'smoking is bad' train," The shifter joked back, "Am I a bad influence?"

Instead of giving a straight answer, Teddy instead gave an unsure 'Mmm' as he inhaled the toxins once more, something unexpected of him to even know how to do properly.

Hosah knew the innocent and inexperienced mental image he'd created of his assistant to be most likely inaccurate, which is why he'd felt guilty for thinking of Teddy in such a way, but he couldn't shake the views he'd gained of the auburn haired man, so him indulging in these kinds of poor habits, that he himself was guilty of, was certainly shocking to the shifter.

"So," Teddy propped his head up, passing the cigarette back to the shifter as he'd moved his arms from around his waist to around his shoulders, "How are you liking it here?"

The question was unusually bland, but still, Hosah struggled to find the right words to summarise his feelings.

"It's nice," Was certainly one way to put it, "I feel like I can relax again."

Although somewhat true, Hosah still found it hard to break from his train of thought taking him to dark places in his mind. One idea that came to mind was certainly an intrusive one, one where his stalker waited below the apartment building with a little red target dot places perfectly in the middle of the shifters head, ready to shoot him down and end everything in less than a split second.

"That's good," Teddy's head tilted into the crook of the shifter's neck, where he himself once lay when the roles were reversed, his entire form fitting into that one little space, one where his assistant's whole upper head couldn't even imagine fitting.

This was another scene Hosah imagined to be quite picturesque. He wondered if anyone was watching the pair, maybe he could've asked them to take a candid shot of the moment so he could keep it in a photo album forever.

Despite the fact he was only half way through the perfectly good cigarette, something within Hosah, probably relating to his stalker, told him it was time to go back inside. Flicking the ash that hung onto the slender tobacco cylinder, the shifter let it fall down all seven stories before hitting the pavement below them, almost landing on a passerby's head in the process.

"I'm cold," Hosah lied, wriggling out of the touch and rushing back in through the glass sliding door. Of course he'd be cold, the only pieces of clothing he had on were his socks and boxer briefs.

The sudden thought of the person who'd been watching his every move getting sight of him and Teddy's growing closeness was one that scared the shifter. Things were going so well, if some outside uncontrollable forces were to ruin everything they'd created, he'd be devastated. If things were to end badly, it'd have to be on his own accord, then he wouldn't be able to wallow in self-guilt. Hosah would much rather be mad at himself for all eternity than feel bad for himself.

Although, that was exactly the problem, if the shifter's growing anxiety were to worsen, if he were to become more and more paranoid by the day as he was seeming to be, it'd force a wedge between himself and his new roommate. Hosah already spent his days with an unexplained pit of forbidden knowledge in his stomach, one that told him something bad was going to happen, he just didn't know when.

The unshakable feeling of impending doom was one that dictated his every thought, his every action, his every word, his whole livelihood was spent feeding this forever growing black hole of anxiety, and he wasn't going to let it start to consume those around him too.

"You okay?" The voice came from the balcony door, one with concern in its tone, as Teddy stood there with an undeniably cute pout on his face.

Hunched over the kitchen counter, Hosah replied in a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding this whole time,

"Yeah, think I'm just falling asleep here," His fake laugh was extremely obvious, but there were bigger things to care about.

Seeing the gorgeous face looking back at him certainly put Hosah's mind at ease. If he were to be struck down by this crazed killer, he just hoped it'd be done with Teddy looking down at him. If there was an afterlife, he hoped every angel up in that sacred place would have a face at least somewhat as beautiful as Teddy's. Now that truly would be heaven.

Making his way to the cluttered bedroom, Hosah half expected his assistant to follow behind him like the lost little puppy he was, but as he lay down on the unmade bed, the shifter realised Teddy was still stood in the kitchen opposite.

"Aren't you coming to read?" Hosah felt like they were some old married couple as he yelled out across the apartment.

The two had gotten into the habit of migrating into the bedroom when they were almost passed out on the sofa with the TV blaring reruns of old men cooking show garbage, and Teddy would sit and read besides him as the shifter fell asleep, but once he woke up in the morning, he'd realise Teddy had actually gotten up and went to sleep on the couch.

He felt bad seeing the man who was definitely too tall for the makeshift bed all cramped up like that, but on the other hand, Hosah couldn't help but feel he was right to do so, given all the stories from his past that Jules had spread around the office.

Instead of looking scared or disturbed as Hosah half expected him to, Teddy turned around with a smile, "On my way."

And sure enough, in he came, and down he lay by the side of the smaller, freshly washed, cut and dried man. The two just sort of lay in the dimly lit room, turned on their sides looking at each other like two high-school girls up past their bedtime talking about their latest crushes.

Even when only illuminated by the bedside lamp behind him, Teddy's eyes were still hypnotically bright, the green colour being similar to that of a rich emerald on the most beautiful crown you could picture in your head.

It took a whole lot of strength to not point out the two orbs staring straight through him, but luckily, his assistant bit the bullet in the first to talk game.

Brushing the length of Hosah's wavy hair out of his eyes, Teddy half-whispered, "I think you should let your hair curl more, it's pretty like this."

The little crooked canine that stuck out when his assistant smiled was unbearably charming. Fighting the urge to reach out and touch it, Hosah instead turned his head down to avoid looking at the man laid beside him.

How he'd ended up in such an intimate position with a man he was so certainly attracted to was beyond the shifter. Maybe luck was finally starting to favour him, maybe he'd unlocked some kind of hidden charm he hadn't realised he'd had within him as of late, drawing in the type of person he'd been searching for without his own knowledge.

Whatever it was that brought Teddy to the shifter, it deserved a very large thank-you. Whether it be luck, fate, some kind of supernatural interference, it was on Hosah's side with this one.

It seemed Teddy just got closer and closer to the shifter whilst he hid his reddening face, as when he'd finally got the courage to look back up, the two were so close that the tips of their noses brushed against each other when Hosah's face matched the same level as his assistant's.

The combination of sudden touch, close proximity, and pre existing attraction all blended into one scenario was all too much for the shifter's heart, shooting down to his base size of three inches in the blink of an eye. Phew, that was a close call. If they had stayed like that any longer, Hosah wouldn't have half a mind to think his assistant was trying to kiss him. But that was stupid, Teddy wasn't that type of guy, Teddy probably didn't even see him that way, and was just messing with the shifter to get a reaction out of him.

"Shit," The only word Hosah could muster out as he lay in the fetal position beside the giant.

The shifter quickly turned to his other side, frantically looking away from the perpetrator of the malicious attack against his feelings, eyes shut tight incase Teddy went in for the final K.O.

There was only a brief moment of awkward, flustered, homoerotic silence before Teddy spoke up, "...Sorry, too close."

Hosah turned back over to face the person speaking to him, afraid his overreaction would ruin their future possibilities all together,

"It's okay, been itching to shrink all day anyway," the shifter explained, moving himself into the resting cupped hand that lay out besides Teddy's face.

He was certainly not inexperienced with being close to other men, in fact, the amount of guys Hosah had shared a bed with could probably fill an entire stadium, but there was something so inherently familiar about the sincerity in Teddy's touch, the genuine love and care in all of his gentle brushes of his fingertips against the shifter's brittle skin, the kind of affection Hosah had not yet received in life, and that terrified him. The thought of finally learning what it meant to be loved by someone else, and suddenly losing that. He wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to move on from that.

The future however, did not matter right now, all that mattered was that Hosah was finally in the warm palm of a beautiful man who cared for him. There was no point in worrying about the day it'll disappear when he could just enjoy it as it were happening, is what he tried to tell himself as his mind wandered into the deep unknown depths of itself.

Teddy's hands weren't exactly the most delicate or elegant he'd ever seen, but they were certainly soft and pleasant. A little coarse on the tips from farm work, Hosah presumed, but they were steady and stable, something the shifter most definitely lacked and was in need of in this life.

Twisting around onto his stomach, Hosah peered up at whatever the giant was doing, which was what he usually did before bed, far too indulged in some sort of book the shifter could quite make out the cover of from such a distance away and in such bad lighting.

Despite wanting to call out for attention, instead Hosah just watched attentively, hoping the sensation of eager eyes boring into the giant's face would be enough to make him look up from whatever he was so engulfed by.

Fortunately, it seemed Teddy couldn't turn the page with just one hand, putting the book down with the two pages separated on the bedside table, his view finally shifting down into the tiny man that lounged in his palm like they didn't just share an extremely embarrassing intimate moment that will be ingrained in both of their memories for the rest of time.

"You look comfortable," was all the giant could muster has he moved the rest of his body in accordance to the shifter's satisfaction.

"Yeah," Hosah sighed wistfully, "Don't leave to sleep on the couch tonight please."

He didn't even intend to make such a big request from his roommate in the moment, but it seems the shifter's wants heavily surpassed his ability to think before speaking. Wide-eyed in embarrassment, a response couldn't come faster.

Equally as red as the shifter once was, Teddy laughed, his free hand rubbing his face as an excuse to cover it, "Okay, if that's what you want, 's it scary all alone in the dark?" The giant teased,

"Well when you have a stalker that invaded your home, I guess so," The macabre joke was one Hosah fully expected not to land, as he often assumed with most of the jokes he made that he genuinely considered funny, but it seemed that Teddy saw the comedy in the situation too.

"Hah, cmon," The giant's palm shifted, pressing the shrunken figure up against the cozy chest of which he'd grown familiar to, "Go to sleep,"

Despite the layer of thin t-shirt material between them, this still felt more intimate than the likes of which the shifter had ever experienced. Well, you didn't have to tell Hosah twice, as he might as well have passed out right in that moment with how quickly he went from a hundred to zero as he curled up, sandwiched between the hand and the chest. Okay, maybe this was a more accurate representation of his ideal heaven.

-~-

The next few passing days at work became more and more repetitive by the second. Hosah would spend all day pining for the touch he, quite literally, shrank away from, only to wimp out once they were home and his assistant went back to testing the waters with him again.

Just the inkling that his feelings were mutual was enough to make the shifter a flustered mess, and the fact Teddy took full leverage of that power he held over the shifter became more apparent by the minute. Getting just slightly closer than he did yesterday, taking more risks with the things he said, all steps that would water the seed that was their romantic relationship, until it eventually bloomed into an incomprehensibly beautiful thing.

Sitting on the hardwood desk besides all the files and loose papers had become a part of Hosah's nature, a second, or third if you count his own apartment, home to him. Lately, the shifter had been heavily slacking off with all of the casework still left to do, getting lost in Teddy's vast form that sat in front of him, his eyes becoming fixated on all the little details that were only visible at such a size.

"I think you should move in, like, officially." The statement caught Hosah incredibly off guard.

A little shocked, and also sort of flattered, the shifter responded, "Uh, yeah, yeah me too. I.."

There was no easy way to put the fact that Jules was not only both his boss and best friend from his teen years, but also his landlord.

"..I'll need to take that up with Boss though. My rent is taken straight from my paycheck. Her dad owns the apartment complex I live in, she's my landlord."

"Oh, god," Teddy laughed, "I'm sorry that happened to you,"

"Yeah. Shitty situation to end up in. Needed to get out of there anyway,"

His apartment was not a place Hosah had grown particularly attached to, preferring the heavily decorated space that his assistant owned to the endless liminal space that was his complex's hallways. Sometimes, when it was dark outside and the only thing he had to light his pathway was the buzzing, flickering, yellow overhead lights, Hosah wondered if he was even anywhere near his home, the building being more like a maze if anything. The papered walls and carpeted floors resembled that of the Stanley Hotel, the shifter half expecting to see a creepy pair of ghostly twins at the other side of every corner he turned.

"Well," His assistant leant in closer, his rolled up sleeves showing off his forearms, "We can take it slowly, no need to rush into things, given how hectic it's all been lately."

Hosah didn't have anything to say, instead just humming in agreement.

"Anway, when's that specialist appointment?"

Oh, right, the shifter had almost completely forgotten about Doctor whats-his-face.

"September nineteenth." He recalled off the top of his head, exactly one month until Teddy's birthday on the day.

His assistant's head tilted, cheek smushed against his arms, eyebrows angled downward like a sad puppy, "Are you worried about it?"

"Pshh," Hosah scoffed, "No."

The shifter thought it'd be easier to just lie about his true feelings towards the situation. There was enough underlying, heavy tension between the pair as is, given the fact Teddy probably felt he had to walk on eggshells around the shifter, desperately pleading that whatever he did, he didn't hurt the impossibly tiny figure that lay in his hands in the dark.

Besides, Hosah had spent enough time in his life with some kind of caretaker figure. His entire highschool experience was being followed closely by his advocate, the man that would protest for his rights in both the education and the health care system, as well as providing for the shifter as his key worker at the establishment.

Hosah often felt selfish as an adolescent, for having someone whose entire career focus was him. He didn't need someone running after him twenty-four-seven, he could've done just fine if he'd stayed at home and in a regular school, but nobody else in the world believed in him, deciding to dump him off into some professional care setting rather than putting in any effort. Hosah would do anything not to live the way he did over ten years ago.

"... Are you sure you're okay?" Teddy leant in, his face being the only thing in the shifter's line of sight, whispering so nobody would hear their conversation.

Hosah looked anywhere but forward, his hands instinctively running through his uncharacteristically soft hair as he usually did when he was nervous,

"Of course! Why- why wouldn't I be?" The shifter tried his best to put on a smile, but it came off much more awkwardly than true, genuine contentment.

"You've been acting off for the past few days, 's all.." The assistant muttered, sitting up properly in his chair, eyes falling to the floor.

Oh, could it, just maybe, be the aggressive flirting making him act strange? Hosah would've laughed out loud at the idea if he wasn't already feeling a little sickened by his assistant's ability to read his feelings.

"It's just a lot. Or.. the fact that it's not really anything at all.." The shifter wasn't sure what he was getting at either, Teddy's sudden turn to attention with an eyebrow raise proving the statement to be not as good as if sounded in his head.

"I mean- That person who mailed me my own painting. There's been a real dip in missing people, there's been no more parcels, no more notes, just.. Nothing. It's the radio-silence that's stressing me out," Hosah rambled, suddenly being able to perfectly articulate his feelings he wasn't even sure if he fully understood before he opened his mouth,

"At least when they're peering through windows or writing me weird death threat slash love letter manifestos, I know what they're thinking, what they're feeling, I can make an educated guess at their next move."

"I.." Teddy sighed, a little lost for words, "I didn't know that's what you were feeling- or what you were thinking, you need to speak to me more about these kinds of things, instead of bottling it up."

If Hosah were to talk more about his internal conflicts, he'd be nonstop chattering about it, he already opened up about what he was thinking way more than he'd done in his entire life in the short month he and Teddy had known each other for.

"That's what that specialist is for." Hosah said, a slight bit of unintentional annoyance in his tone of voice.

"Still need to talk to me. Communication, it's a very important skill in relationships." The look on the shifter's face as Teddy said that last part probably lead on that using such a word to describe the pair was a little too bold for their current position,

"I mean- given that we're living together now," Quick save, nice.

Hosah scoffed as he spoke, "Only if you start telling me what you're thinking and feeling too."

"Deal." Ah, the shifter wasn't expecting to come to a mutual agreement, half thinking Teddy would back out of the proposal after his ultimatum.

Communicating what was going on in his brain wasn't an entirely foreign concept to the shifter. After going through some good old fashioned court-mandated therapy, Hosah would even consider himself a pro, but that was the main issue at hand. Teddy wasn't his psychiatrist, as much as he'd like to believe otherwise, and given he was being sent back to specialist rehabilitation, the shifter didn't think he'd need the extra mental support.

He'd already given the assistant an unfathomable amount of extra work load, I mean, the guy didn't get a break even in his down time. Every moment Hosah spent in his house, being doted on and chased around after, the worse he felt about the position he was in. Maybe the person who had been watching him was right after all, maybe he really was a leech to those around him, one that sucked all the life out of them and ran away when all got too real.

Suddenly, Hosah felt bad for even being in his voluntarily shrunken form in the first place, although this is how he was the most comfortable, he didn't even think to consider how it was affecting his roommate. Sure, the shifter could just ask Teddy if caring for him was too much on his plate, but making assumptions was the route Hosah usually preferred to take.

"I mean.." The giant's voice above him stopped the shifter's train of thought, "If there's anything you don't want to talk about, that's okay too. Just clarify, I don't want you to think I'm prying or anything, I just think we should be on the same page about these kinds of things, you know?"

Hosah nodded, still not fully all there, he'd appreciate a little leeway in the direction they were headed, although pulling the 'I don't want to talk about it' card would make him feel like he was a hormonal teenager again.

"Well, I think and feel that we should go back to my apartment and get the last few bits of my stuff. Still need to get that gun, see if I have any mail, you know."

The rest of the day seemed to fly by in a confusing daze, the shifter barely able to focus on just about anything with his influx of conflicting thoughts. To be annoyed at the giant, or to not be annoyed, the age old question. On one hand, Hosah had begun to really enjoy the shift in their dynamic, but on the other, the prospect of opening up, of having the giant understand him on such an intimate level, was terrifying.

Whenever the shrunken man stood on Teddy's shoulder like this, it filled him with an unshakable feeling of imbalance, like the giant was leaning to the left, standing on an angle, but it was probably the most satisfying mode of transport out of his other options, giving him a full regular height view of the space around him.

The feeling that overrun the shifter as the pair made their way through the identical labyrinth of hallways was like that of passing by an old place you remembered from your childhood, and seeing it shut down and disheveled right before your very eyes. A sense of overwhelming sadness, mixed with euphoric nostalgia all at once. There was nothing positive to associate his old home with, but just the fact it was his apartment, with his furniture, his own private space, was enough to fill anyone with a sense of pride.

Hosah's heart thumped in his throat as his assistant fumbled for the keys to open the familiar teal door that stood in front of them, afraid of what he'll see on the inside, almost closing his eyes entirely as it dramatically creaked open.

And there it was, exactly how he'd left it.

It seemed even the giant was nervous as he cautiously stepped inside of the bare bones living space, Hosah feeling the skin he stood so close to radiate a familiar heat as the palms bigger than his entire body clammed up.

Despite having one of those little cubbies for mail down in the lobby, Hosah's old apartment also had a little mail slot in the aged door. When he peered down, it was clear someone was trying to contact him, with the entrance mat being completely covered with cards and letters.

"What are all of those?" The shifter asked, grabbing onto the cinnamon hair for support as he got his footing between the shirt collar and the shoulder of the giant on which he stood on.

Teddy scooped up about a third of the mail in both of his hands, placing it all down onto the coffee table before muttering, "Seems like they've all been hand delivered."

This theory was proven as the nervous hand turned them all to face upward, with nothing being written on the envelopes besides Hosah's full legal name, no address, no return address.

"Teddy, go get the gun." The shifter's voice shook as he spoke, afraid the person who'd been stalking him could be hiding in any of the dark corners of his abandoned apartment.

Teddy listened immediately, making a rush over to where he recalled being told the weapon was kept. The absolute silence of the complex was the most terrifying part of the experience. Usually, there was always some kind of noise, whether that be his right side neighbour's baby crying deep into the night, or his left side neighbour's insane bass boosted coughing, there was never a moments peace in the building. But now was different. If it had been this way last month, Hosah would've thought, 'Finally, some quiet around here', but now he longed for the noise he'd learnt to tune out over the years.

Upon entering the bedroom, the giant rifled through the cluttered storage closet, following Hosah's directions to the safe with undoubtable accuracy. The closet was the one space throughout the entire apartment that had more than two items of furniture to fill it, being almost impossible to navigate with just how compact and filled the space was. Teddy moved whatever he could, making a mess of the bedroom the closet resided in all the while, only to see, under all of the long finished canvases and empty paint containers, somebody had gotten to it before them.

The little black metallic box had been opened and looted, the password being the anniversary of his uncles death, a fact Hosah didn't really go around sharing with just about anyone who'd listen.

".. Where the fuck is it?" The shifter knew exactly where it'd be, in the possession of a highly dangerous individual, but his fear overran his ability to think logically.

The fact of the matter was, the gun didn't even really matter all that much. Even people with diagnosed schizophrenia on their records could go and purchase one if they so desired. The most terrifying part of it all was the mass amounts of letters.

It had barely been three weeks since the first parcel delivery, and in that time, at least a hundred hand written cards had been mailed to his address, all probably detailing incredibly private parts of his life with precision, an undeniable accuracy that truly terrified the shifter.

Hosah could just hope his past wasn't something the stalker was open to using as leverage against him, although at this point, nothing was off limits when it came to his perpetual psychological torment.

The lack of noise didn't just keep to the other residents of the building, as Teddy hadn't made a peep either. If even he was scared, the shifter was fucked completely. In silence, the giant moved back into the main living area, headed straight to the kitchen presumably for a glass of water to cool down from the stress of the situation.

Whilst the giant was preoccupied at the sink, Hosah took it upon himself to scan the tiled roomed the pair had rushed into, his eyes landing straight on the counter top opposite them.

I guess that answered the question of the missing gun.

#g/t #giant tiny #g/t ocs #gianttiny #sfw g/t #giant/tiny #oc hosah #oc teddy #Puparia_tag #Ough Love ❤️ but Oughhhh communication 😒😒 and Oughhh being a stalking victim 😒😒😒#g/t author #g/t writing

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tokillamockingbird427 · 9 months ago

Note

If there was a Ghosts reboot today, what do you think would be changed? Obviously there would be graphics/programming improvements; I’m thinking more about keeping Logan as a silent protagonist/more sympathetic Federation/rewriting history/etc.

-🃏

I agree with you that they'd do graphical improvements and that, but I'm not exactly sure what they would do. I have more ideas for what would be fun for them to do, which range from what I consider fairly realistic to ridiculous.

This is going to get long. "Read More" of mercy upon ye.

Like, I think it would be cool if they added more moments to use Riley. We got so few missions with the boy! I'd love to see more of him. In combat or even on a tracking mission or similar. And I really enjoyed the mechanic of being able to sic him on people.

Along those lines, I think it would be interesting if you could also command the human Ai. Not quite giving orders because you (As Logan) aren't in charge, but just having them cooperate with you like the team you are. "Enemies over there!" kinda thing, so you can guide their attention towards areas you wanna push. Would make playing on harder difficulties not only easier but more satisfying IMO.

More emphasis on the STEALTH part of the Ghosts would also be nice. It does get shown in the game, like during "End of the Line" and especially during "The Hunted" but at some point you always go loud. A mission where you go in and get out without anyone knowing you were there would be awesome.

On the topic of stealth, a mechanic similar to the Assassins creed games where the Enemy Ai slowly catch on that you're there and THEN attack if you suck at sneaking would be interesting. But I wouldn't like it as much if they relaxed entirely and gave the all clear (after a full alert) just because Logan hid in a patch of grass for five seconds. (Or a closet.)

Maybe a dumb idea that wouldn't be executed well but a wave mode which takes place in the hospital Sand Viper took place in (So it's like you're one of the Proto-Ghosts.) where you just fight to see how long you can go would be fun. Extinction still being there would be sick too, just add the wave mode and don't replace the prior.

Story wise, because I've been speaking more mechanics/gameplay shit, I'd enjoy more sibling moments between Logan and Hesh. The moment in the start of Brave New World where Hesh lets Logan sleep in is CRUMBS and I want/need more of that. Aside from them cooperating in field I want to see Hesh worry about Logan and the same in reverse. Have them check on each other. Have them attached at the hip. Have both of them ready to ride or die!

Along the same lines (Again.) more dad moments from Elias. The reason I want this is rather evil... I want him to be so likable it genuinely breaks peoples hearts and traumatizes them when he dies. It hurts already because I get attached to pixels easily but like. I haven't cried. Make me cry.

An actual funeral scene for Elias that isn't Hesh narrating over a dramatic visual please. I love Hesh's tendency for dramatic narration (Which he got from Elias) but I have a limit. Even if it's also a cut scene and not entirely intractable, I think it'd add some more oomph to the clear drama/angst they wanted from Elias's death.

Make Rorke's intelligence more obvious. I feel like it's a part of him that gets missed because people tend to focus on his cruelness and strength but his intelligence is what makes him a real threat. Through the game he is constantly a step ahead, which is obvious in some pats, but less so in others. (Obvious: Federation Day. Less obvious: Birds of Prey/The Hunted. Non obvious: Into the Deep. In all those missions he knew the Ghosts were going to be there and had contingencies. The only time the Ghosts get ahead of Rorke is when Logan and Hesh storm the train. Which I thinks speaks to their skill and his unfamiliarity with them.)

Following the above, I think it'd be neat to have Logan match Rorke in intellect. The sneaky crafty kind of intelligence that'll get you like a knife in the back. Would also be a good way to make said intelligence obvious, if Logan is the one to point it out. The reason he even knows it's there is because he recognizes it. It's familiar.

Give Logan some speaking lines. It's fine if he's still a majority quiet and prefers to let Hesh be his voice but just a few... Let the guy have some agency. And you do have to admit the era of silent COD protagonists is being phased out or is over. A relic from a bygone era...

More of Hesh being a fucking menace, please. Please please please. Begging on my knees. Him going "Checkmate" was the coldest shit ever, and he SCARED/SURPRISED Rorke doing that. I need more of it. (Another example: He just smacks the shit out of a Fed in the Luxor WITH A GUN rather than using it to shoot the guy. Menace behavior.)

Give Logan the ability to use his throwing knife skills more. He does it ONCE in Federation Day and that shit was so clean. MORE.

I actually really enjoy the black/white animated cut scenes between ops more than the ones in (for example) the Modern Warfare games where it's mostly satellite images. They did some pretty cool transitions a few times. Even if Hesh or Elias's narrating annoyed the shit out of me.

GIVE LOGAN A RORKE FILE. Hesh and Elias and MERRICK get one but not my boy??? LET HIM COOK! (I have a soft spot for the Rorke Files, I just think they're neat.)

Make Rorke and Elias gay for each other. Divorced. Toxi old man yaoi in my COD game? Sign me up. (This is the "Ridiculous" end of the ideas spectrum.) I don't care if it's only implied, I'll take ONE line where Elias admits that he and Rorke were closer than a Captain and Lieutenant should be and that's all I need.

Keegan and Ajax also Gae Confirmed please and thank you. I just... I need it. Also don't kill Ajax. I like him and if they do the Confirmed Gae it'd be another case of "Burying Your Gays" and I don't need that. Coma or smthn but no death.

More POC characters. Ajax is the ONE black guy and they kill him. Like are you kidding? Fucking hell. I hc the Walker boys as mixed White/Hispanic, I hc Keegan as Pakistani, Neptune as Korean/American, like c'mon I'm fighting for my life over here. Give me a fucking hand. Jesus.

Make the Ghosts scary. Gimme a mission from the enemies POV (Weather the player knows it or not) where you're just getting hunted in some Insidious-esque bullshit the whole time. Put the "Stalker" back in Ghosts. (Because their official name is STALKER)

I probably have more but I can't remember/think of them at the moment.

#hope this wasn't too long lmao 💀#call of duty #call of duty ghosts #everybody here #elias walker #hesh walker #logan walker #gabriel rorke #keegan p russ #beloved anon #🃏 anon

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tuulikannel · 4 months ago

Text

@lazytoufu and I have talked a bit about doing different princess themed karushuu stories. This isn't really a princess one, just based on a fairytale. I think I'll yet post this on AO3 too... once I figure out a real title for this. No, I will not be calling this Little Red Riding Shuu for real XD

But, yes. A Little Red Riding Hood retelling with some hints of karushuu in it. Funnily enough, it's exactly 3333 words atm. (And that's like, 2000 words more than I thought it'd be...) (I hope there are not many typos and other stuff, I wrote this in one go in the past 3 hours or so and now it's midnight here and I'm too sleepy to proofread more) (if you've any suggestions for a title do tell me)

The Little Red Riding Shuu (or whatever this'll be called)

In a grand house at the edge of a forest, a man called his son to him.

“I have an errand for you,” he said, offering the boy a basket. “You have to take this basket to your grandmother’s cottage.”

The boy gave the basket a long look. “I have a grandmother?”

“Of course you do.” The man pushed the basket to him. “There is also a map in there. Now, don’t dawdle. She has taken ill, and you have to make haste to bring her this medicine, so that…”

The boy snorted. “Yeah, sure. You’re sending medicine to people. Give me some credit, father.” He looked at the map and frowned. “She sure lives at a nice place, doesn’t she? Those parts of the forest are full of robbers and dangerous wildlife.”

“Is that a problem?”

He gave the man a sharp glance. “Don’t be stupid. I’m on my way.” He threw his red cloak over his shoulders and headed out.

As he started his journey through the forest, Gakushuu took a curious peek into the basket. There was a vial in it but there was nothing on the vial to indicate what its insides were. Medicine? He gave a little laugh. Hardly. Perhaps he would find out something once he found this so-called grandmother of his.

The road wasn’t as bad as he had thought. Yeah, sure, some random robbers attempted to attack him, but he dealt with them easily enough. One tried to stop him with poisonous gas, another, he had to admit, had a fairly strong grip in his hands (and an extremely annoying way of speaking), and then there was the absolute weirdo who seemed to be more interested in eating his guns than fighting with them. A sniper was a bit too close for comfort to get him, but in the end Gakushuu escaped him, too.

Evening was getting close and dusk was beginning to settle. He had left all roads far behind, but thankfully the terrain wasn’t too difficult. Gakushuu fastened his pace a little. He had hoped to make it back home before night fell, but he had spent a bit too much time dealing with the robbers. At this rate, he might have to spend the night at his “grandmother’s.”

“Well, hello there,” a soft voice suddenly said from the darkness, and he nearly gave a start.

He hadn’t sensed anyone watching him. Had someone truly been able to sneak upon him like this?

“Who’s there?” he asked, carefully keeping his voice even.

Someone – something? – stepped out of the dark forest. Gakushuu’s eyes widened a little, looking at the sight. Gleaming yellow eyes, a pair of rather fluffy ears covered in red fur, toothiest grin he had ever seen… He could just stare.

The other’s grin faded gradually away. “What? Never seen a wolf before?”

Gakushuu frowned. “You are… a bit red for a wolf.” Not to mention big. As far as he knew, a wolf shouldn’t be looking him almost in the eye.

“Shows what you know,” the other grunted. “I’m a red wolf.”

“Hmm.” Gakushuu wasn’t fully convinced, but in the end, the exact species of this beast was irrelevant. “So, what do you want?”

The self-declared wolf sighed. “Just to say hello! It’s quite an event to see a new face around here.”

“Okay then. Hello, and goodbye.” Gakushuu nodded and started walking on.

“Hey, c’mon!” The wolf ran after him. “We just met, don’t be in such a hurry!”

“Night is coming,” Gakushuu said shortly. “I want to reach my destination before that.”

“Ah,” the wolf breathed. “Of course. You poor humans and your lacking eyesight. I do understand. So…” The wolf jogged up to him to walk beside him. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“So suspicious…” the wolf sighed. “Come now, I know this forest through and through. If you tell me your destination, I could guide you there.”

“I don’t need a guide.”

“Mmm… if you say so. Juuust… if you continue down this way, you’ll soon run into thorny thickets that’s very hard to go through. It might seem tempting to go by it on the left, but that would lead you to a treacherous swamp. But if you head this way instead,” the wolf nodded to right, “you’ll soon find a path made by animals that just might be handy for you.”

Gakushuu said nothing but walked stubbornly on. He wasn’t foolish enough to follow a complete stranger – let alone a wolf – in a situation like this. Soon enough, though, he found those thickets the wolf had spoken about. He paused to consider. Yes, the terrain did seem easier, if he tried to go around this place on the left, but… hmm.

Was this a trap? He glanced at the wolf who was watching him with a much too innocent smile, and turned then right, against his better judgment.

“My offer still stands,” the wolf said, following him. “Just tell me where you’re going, and I’ll get you there in a moment.”

“And I bet you’re helping me out of the goodness of your heart, huh,” Gakushuu said dryly.

“Oh, of course! Although I would not mind it if you were to offer me something in return…”

“Like what?”

“Well, maybe a sniff of whatever you’re carrying in the basket,” the wolf said, and Gakushuu instinctively drew the basket closer. “Come now, that’s not too greedy, is it?”

“What is in this basket isn’t my property,” Gakushuu said. “So I’m afraid I can’t promise you any of it. Even a sniff.”

“Who are you taking it to, then?” the wolf asked, clearly curious.

“My grandmother,” Gakushuu said after just a short hesitation.

“Hmm.”

“She’s sick.”

“Of course.”

They walked a moment in silence. There really was, Gakushuu saw, some kind of a path going through the forest. It headed approximately in the right direction, so he started following it.

“So, your grandma lives in the cabin that’s by the brook down there, huh?” the wolf asked. Gakushuu said nothing, but the wolf ignored that and went on. “Well, it’s the only building anywhere nearby that you possibly could reach before dark. Funny though, I thought it’s just a hunting cabin.”

Gakushuu just shrugged.

“Follow me,” the wolf said after a while and left the path. “This is a shortcut.”

Gakushuu was still a bit hesitant to do that, but to be honest, he had just been thinking he probably should leave the path and head in that direction. Oh well. He’d just be extra alert and keep a careful eye on the wolf. If he tried something, he would yet regret it.

Soon enough he heard the brook, and then he saw the cabin. It did look like an average hunting cabin.

The wolf paused. “Sure you want to go in there?” he asked.

“What, you don’t like hunting cabins? Scared of hunters?”

“As if.” The wolf snorted. “But… ah, I forgot. It’s not just your eyesight that is lacking. This place smells all wrong.”

“Yeah?” To be honest, Gakushuu wasn’t surprised. This whole thing was clearly nothing but a test his father had created for him. But not delivering the “medicine” to his “grandmother” would equal failure. Therefore, he had no other option but to enter this cabin.

And he did so.

It was so dim there. He could see a desk and chairs, a cupboard… head of a deer on the wall… but there was no one in there.

“Hello?” he called out.

“Oh, hello,” a squeaky voice replied. “Is it you, my darling grandson?”

“Yes… grandmother,” he said and walked carefully deeper into the cabin. “I’m bringing you medicine.”

“Oh, what a good boy you are!” the voice squeaked.

Gakushuu entered another room. A bedroom. There was a figure lying on the bed. A very big figure. Gakushuu squinted his eyes, trying to see. It was even darker in this room. There was, perhaps, a face half-hidden under a white sheet. Were those dark dots eyes looking at him?

“Grandmother…” he said slowly. “What tiny eyes you’ve got.”

“Still they see you very well, dear boy!” the voice squeaked. Yes, it clearly came from the bed. For a moment Gakushuu had suspected someone had merely placed some pillows into it to fake a body.

He moved a little closer. She saw very well, huh? Unlike him, in this darkness. But the body lying in that bed – if it was real – sure was big, that much he did see.

“What a large body you have,” he muttered.

“All the better to hug you with, my boy!”

Please don’t, Gakushuu thought to himself.

The sheet fell from the face as the form on the bed moved. The grin that was revealed from underneath it was much toothier than even the wolf’s.

“What a big mouth you’ve got, grandmother,” Gakushuu said, his hand grasping his knife.

“All the better to eat you with!” exclaimed the creature in the bed, and suddenly half a dozen tentacles shot at him. Gakushuu slashed at them with his knife, cutting two, dodging three, but one still caught him. Only for a short moment, though, as something red flashed in the corner of his eye and the wolf had sunk his sharp teeth into the tentacle.

“Augh!” Something big, yellow and tentacled, clad in black robes, stood on the bed, wailing. “That hurt!”

“That was the meaning,” the wolf said with a grin. “Mmm, tastes like octopus! Nice. It’s been too long since I’ve had seafood. Hey, Little Red Riding Hood, how about we make some sushi for ourselves?”

“You can have it all for yourself,” Gakushuu said. “And don’t start making weird names for me. I’m called Gakushuu.”

The yellow thing was flailing on the bed. “You! You would eat me? That’s so rude!”

“Didn’t you just say you’re going to eat me, grandma?” Gakushuu asked, jumping into a swift attack. The octopus monster dodged him, impossibly swift, and then yelped, having to dodge the wolf, too.

“Well, yes! But I’m the monster of this story, so that’s how it should be! The monster isn’t supposed to be eaten!”

Tentacles whizzed across the room, fast. Gakushuu had to rely on all his training just to dodge them. A counterattack was simply impossible.

“Tactical retreat!” the wolf yelled and dashed toward the door. Gakushuu didn’t really like the idea, but under the circumstances it seemed sensible.

They rushed out of the cabin. Gakushuu wasn’t quite sure if having more room would be a good or a bad thing against this opponent, but it did feel better than the cramped cabin.

“He’s coming!” he shouted as a yellow blur flew out of the cabin after them. Again, there was nothing he could do but dodge – well, at least there was more room to do that, now.

Again, the wolf jumped at a tentacle and caught it in his teeth. A sharp flick sent him flying and he landed in the brook. That didn’t stop him, though, and just a moment later he was making another attack on the tentacle creature.

“Ah! You’re all wet!” Again, the wolf was sent flying, but Gakushuu paused. A few droplets had fallen on a tentacle, and it was… melting? The wolf was back on his feet in an instant, and for a moment their eyes met. In a silent agreement they started dodging in a way that led the creature toward the brook. At one point, Gakushuu grasped a bucket that had been lying by the cabin, pretending to use it as a shield.

It took a good while of dancing around, but finally the creature stood right at the edge of the river at the perfect spot. Again their eyes met, and both knew exactly what to do. Gakushuu raised his knife, locking his eyes with the tiny beads of the octopus monster. He parried a tentacle, made a fake attack and then threw the knife toward its head. The octopus parried it with ease, but right then the wolf took a firm grasp of the hem of his robe and pulled, strongly. Gakushuu too flung himself at the octopus who fell toward the brook, suddenly shrieking in terror.

Somehow the long tentacles grasped a hold of trees and stones around the brook, stopping the fall in the last moment. The wolf landed on the octopus’s chest and Gakushuu already had the bucket filled with water, about to throw it at his face.

“Surrender!” the wolf growled, and Gakushuu paused. Huh? Wasn’t this a fight to death?

The octopus’s eyes had a strangely panicked look in them (for being nothing but little beads, that is) as he glanced from the growling wolf to Gakushuu grim face and the bucket that had almost been emptied over his head.

“I surrender!” he shrieked.

“Great.” The wolf jumped to the ground and grinned at Gakushuu. “Our victory, comrade!”

“Are we really going to let him live?” Gakushuu asked with a frown. “He was going to kill me!”

“No I wasn’t!” the octopus shouted. “Of course not! What do you take me for, some kind of a monster?”

“…you yourself said you’re the monster of this story,” Gakushuu pointed out.

“Well, yes, but…” The octopus flailed, flustered. “It was just for dramatic effect! Of course I wasn’t going to kill you! Your father would have been so mad with me!”

“Father.” Gakushuu sighed. “Of course. He hired you, didn’t he.” It wasn’t even really a question.

The octopus nodded, looking miserable. “He wanted me to test you, that’s all! I wouldn’t have really eaten you or anything.”

“And that vial… it was your reward, right?”

“Talking about which…” While they were talking, the wolf had gone inside to get the basket. “It belongs to me now, you know.”

“Hey,” Gakushuu said, ignoring the octopus who was wailing something about needing it. “I never said anything about giving it to you.”

“Oh, come now!” The wolf glared at him. “You’d have never done this without my help.”

“That’s debatable,” Gakushuu said, even though, to be honest, it truly wasn’t. He did remember the iron grip of the tentacle that had grabbed him right in the beginning. If the wolf hadn’t come to his help, the fight might have been over right then and there. “But,” he went on magnanimously, “you did come to my aid – even though I never asked for help – and it’s not like I needed that vial for anything, so… you can have it.”

“How very kind of you,” the wolf said dryly. “Would you help me…”

“But!” the octopus wailed. “It was promised to me! And I did my job, so I’ve earned it! Your father told you to give it to me, didn’t he!”

“I was told to give it to my grandmother, and you,” he gave the octopus a long look, “are clearly not that.”

“Buuuut! You don’t understand! I’m under a curse and unless I drink that magic potion I’ll never become human again!”

“Tough luck,” the wolf muttered. “Open it for me, won’t you?”

“So you too want to drink this?” Gakushuu asked, curious.

He picked up the vial and opened it. He glanced at the octopus. There were actual tears flowing down his round cheeks. Gakushuu sighed.

“If my father had this, he can surely get more. Just go ask for another vial”

“Have you ever tried to deal with your father,” the octopus whined. “Who knows what he’ll have me do this time!”

Gakushuu paused. True enough. And perhaps he shouldn’t hold his father’s actions against this octopus. He’d just been doing what he’d been told to, anyway.

“Well then. Fifty-fifty, how about that? Both of you get half of it.”

The wolf gave him a thoughtful look. “I’m not sure if that’ll be enough.”

“You drink half of it,” Gakushuu decreed. “If it’s not enough, you get also the rest.” He looked at the octopus. “That’s the best deal you can get.”

The octopus just nodded, still the epitome of pitifulness.

“Okay then.” Gakushuu carefully poured half of the liquid in the vial to the wolf who drank it. The wolf shimmered softly, his outline grew strangely blurry, and suddenly instead of a wolf a boy was standing there.

“Huh…” He felt carefully his arms and chest and patted then his head, grimacing a little. “I told you it won’t be enough!”

Gakushuu eyes were transfixed on the wolf ears on his head. “That’s not too bad, though, is it?” he said, reaching out. Yeah, the ears were just as fluffy and soft as they looked like. “They’re kind of…” cute, he was going to say, when he suddenly realized he stood there ruffling the ears of a stark naked boy of his own age.

He turned around swiftly, his cheeks hot. “You can have the rest,” he said, giving the vial to the octopus who gave it an uncertain look.

“…if I’m still going to have tentacles…” he mumbled, but still drank the rest of the drink.

Gakushuu waited with mild horror, wondering if they’d end up with some kind of an octopus/human chimera, but in the end the young man who appeared in the place of the octopus looked perfectly normal.

“Hmm,” the wolf-boy said, sounding a bit disappointed. “How boring.”

The man grinned. “Hey, this is…!” Suddenly two tentacles shot out from under his hair, and he gave a startled yelp.

“Oh, that’s more like it!” the ex-wolf stated happily. “Cool.”

Gakushuu sighed, turning away from the man who was freaking out, trying to see his image in the brook’s water. He would certainly have a thing or two to say to his father once he returned home. If he returned. He was certainly more pissed off with the man than probably ever before.

It was already dark. He started walking toward the cabin. He’d spend the night there and decide in the morning what he’d do.

The wolf-boy was suddenly by his side. “So! There’s only one bed there. Shall we share or will you sleep on the floor?”

Gakushuu spluttered. “Why the hell would I sleep on the floor!”

“You’re the one with clothes, so you won’t get cold.” The boy grinned at him, something extremely wolfy in his expression. “Or then we can decide who gets the bed in a fair fight.”

“I’m done with fighting tonight,” Gakushuu muttered. “Whatever. It’s a big enough bed, I guess.”

“Uh, I…” The man had rushed after them and was about to say something.

“You’re not joining us!” Gakushuu exclaimed. “You’ve your robes, you’re fine on the floor.” The man fell silent, a hurt look on his face. Gakushuu paid that no attention but marched into the bedroom, followed by the smirking boy.

“God,” Gakushuu mumbled as he settled down on the bed, still fully clothed. He was so tired. It had been a long day.

The other boy clambered into the bed too. “So,” he said, “what shall we do tomorrow? You wanna stay here or…”

“Who said we’re going to do anything?” Gakushuu said. “What you should do is to find some clothes. I’ll decide what I’m doing tomorrow.”

“I just think we’re a pretty good team, don’t you think? We could go adventuring together! I’m sure that together…”

“Yeah, sure, absolutely. Shut up, I’m tired.”

“Okay, okay. Goodnight then, Shuu.” The boy curled up next to him, a bit too close.

“I told you not to come up with stupid nicknames for me,” Gakushuu mumbled, but he was too tried to be really mad. “Stupid wolf.”

“I’m Karma,” the boy said.

“Figures,” Gakushuu muttered, on the borderline between sleep and waking.

Quite soon the two boys were in a deep sleep. In the other room the man lay awake quite long, trying to decide if he wanted to be the one to tell his employer that his son had eloped with a wolf, or if he should rather just run too while he could.

#asano gakushuu #akabane karma #fairytale retelling #karushuu #my fics #assasination classroom

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