#but i'd ALSO miss out on these. fucking AFFIXES

[bookwyrminspiration]

constantly torn between "i wish I could magically learn this language immediately and speak it perfectly" and "part of language acquisition is the process, and learning it immediately wouldn't have as much meaning or significance to me"

[baronessvonglitter]

Lunch in an Elevator: When Marcus Met Cat

(Part 2 of "The Assistant From Hell")

Marcus Moreno x OFC Cat Cruz | WC: 2.6K

Summary: the story of how Marcus met Cat

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! M for Mature. Language. Comedic violence. Squirrels. Accidental flashing. Mentions of stripping. Allusions to masturbation. Marcus is a really lonely widower. Hypnosis against one's will. Criminal record that could wrap around the earth. No Lucien this time, but another P-boi mentioned. Never beta’d because I live dangerously.

A/n: this is my submission for @toomanystoriessolittletime 47 minutes in heaven writing challenge ❤️and I chose Marcus because I had big plans on how to continue from Part 1, Vulgar Display of Power.

Speaking of, this part can be read as a standalone, but I say it's always more fun to read the whole thing, so if you give it a chance I'd be really happy 🥹👉🏼👈🏼

My fun fact for today: I have never broken a bone. (I gotta think of more lore lol)

Also, the title is kind of a play on the Aerosmith song “Love in an Elevator" 😅 (cricketsssssss)

Also also, for anyone questioning the squirrel warning, I give you this:

dividers by @toastray 👑

12:25 PM

Hi, this is DoorDash connecting you to your Dasher for updates about your order.

HI OMG SO LATE A FUCKIGN SQUIREL ATTACK ME!

*ATTACKED

Marcus stared at his phone, blinking hard before he replied.

Are you ok?

BLOOD

BLEEDING

Without a second thought he was up and running out of the office, hurrying into the hallway and into the elevator. When it stopped at the ground floor a woman entered, limping, her calf bleeding. Marcus immediately rushed to help, assessing the damage. "A squirrel did this?" he asked, looking up at her. 

"A fucking evil squirrel."

"Uh-huh." He pressed the button for the fourth floor where his office was, before getting the emergency first aid kit from a panel in the elevator. He was glad he'd insisted on safety first, even in a means of transport. With his line of work, you could always expect the unexpected.

"Wow.. thanks," she said, sitting on the floor with the injured leg bent up to her chest as Marcus cleaned the wound and applied ointment (after putting on the provided gloves of course), and affixed the bandage.

"It's no problem, miss," he said with a smile. And for the first time he really saw her.

She was young, but it was hard to decipher an exact age. Younger than himself, surely, but there was a kind of suspicion and world-weariness in her eyes that he typically didn't see in younger people. He couldm't deny she was pretty - dark hair and dark eyes, skin flushed from her traumatic run-in with a furry squirrel. In the air around her lingered a scent of cinnamon and vanilla. It made his mouth water.

"You can call me Cat. With a C." She stuck her hand out, her gaze upon him bold and unwavering. 

"You're my dasher," he said, cautiously shaking her hand. His eyes flitted to the bag of chicken tikka masala still in her other hand, a greasy spot growing on the white paper bag.

"Guilty." She stood and so did he, but the elevator came to a sudden STOP and they both jolted towards each other.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she whispered at the same time that Marcus said, "Oh no, this isn't good."

Realizing he was holding her, he blushed and gently eased her away, not quite breaking full contact. He supposed she was scared, as anyone could be, of being stuck in an enclosed space. "Let me try the Open button. If we're between floors it should open and let us out."

He pressed it and nothing happened.

"It's okay. We'll just call for help." He pressed the emergency call button, but that was when the power went out. 

"What the-- what happened to our generators?"

"That's weird," Cat muttered.

The emergency lights were on overhead, bathing the pair in a warm red glow. It made Cat giggle for some reason. Marcus kind of liked the sound of it.

"Unfortunately it looks like we're stuck here for the time being," he announced, taking off his glasses and reaching into his back pocket to retrieve a small foil packet.

"Is that.. a condom?" Cat said.

He showed her the small packet which had a picture of a pair of glasses with sparkling lens. "It's a lens cleaner. For my glasses."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed, and Marcus did a double take.

"So are you hiring?" She asked, sitting down again as Marcus stood, still assessing the situation and waiting to see if someone would come and help.

"Um, I think so. Actually, I am in need of an assistant."

"Assistant? Like in The Devil Wears Prada?" 

"Not quite." Marcus chuckled. "Just a personal assistant to schedule my appointments and field phone calls, emails, the usual. Do you have any experience with that?"

"I do," she answered, and there was something in her smile that told Marcus the opposite.

He sat down across from her in the elevator. "We can do kind of an unofficial interview, if you like. It might help to pass the time."

"Yeah! Okay!" Excited, she uncrossed then crossed her legs, Basic Instinct style, seemingly forgetting (or not caring) that she was wearing a dress. Marcus pointedly looked away, forcing his eyes to stay on her face.

"Alright, Miss..?"

"Cruz. Cat Cruz."

"Cat, like Catherine?"

"More like Cat for Catastrophe. That was my aunt's nickname for me when I was growing up."

When Marcus chuckled she admitted to being a Catherine. (With a C.)

"That's pretty," he said.

"I know."

He cleared his throat. "So, Miss Cruz, tell me about your work history."

"Back to front or front to back?"

"Hm?" 

"Most recent?"

"Yeah. Yes, please."

"I'm a Dasher, obviously. I also work part-time at Bubbles."

"And Bubbles is a.. car wash?"

"It's a strip club."

"Oh." His face grew red and he slid his glasses up his nose. 

"And you can't discriminate against me because of that. I have rights," she said.

"Of- of course." Flustered, he jotted down her answers in a little notepad he typically carried in his shirt pocket. "Any other places of employment?"

"The Boom-Boom Room."

"Uh.. is that another..exotic.. uh, place?"

The smirk she gave him should have left him ice-cold, but somewhow it's warm, like sunshine after a blustery day.

"Bubbles is full nude. The Boom-Boom Room is topless only."

Marcus cleared his throat, trying to ignore the rush of blood to his dick. He had a very vivid imagination, and the way Cat spoke so freely about her.. other jobs only served to cement her as possible fantasy material for a lonely night.

"I know what you're thinking," she interrupted his thoughts. 

No, I don't think you do. But he smiled politely as if he had no clue what she meant.

"You're wondering why I want this position. Well, I'll telll you. Sure, I'm just an average woman who works multiple jobs - some of which pay me to be a little bit naked the majority of the time - but I'm also just looking for something to keep me calm and orderly. A real and proper career. And I pass by this place every day. It looks like the perfect place for me."

Marcus couldn't help feeling sympathetic towards her plight. He himself was very fortunate in having his employment with the Heroics almost immediately after college. His whole life, you might say, was one careful selection after another.

Which was why he empathized with Cat. She had a nice kind of energy, like a slight buzzing in the air, and there was a kind of warmth emanating from her. Her scent grew stronger, warm and delicious.

"...so anyway, I'm not allowed back at that particular Applebee's. Or any of them really. Lifetime ban. As if anyone really needs that many dollaritas."

He'd missed her entire story because of his daydreaming. "Sorry.. I missed that." He put his pen to the paper again. 

"Oh, uh.. I waitressed briefly at Applebee's."

"Oh." Marcus said that a little too brightly. "And can I get the restaurant manager's name?"

"Max.. uh, Phillips." She looked uneasy. "But hey, please don't contact him. We kind of dated and it ended badly. Like, scorched earth badly."

"Whoa.. what happened? If I may ask."

"You may not."

Another impasse. But Marcus found himself wanting to know more. Cat beat him to the next question.

"Married, huh?" She pointed to his ring.

He gazed at the band of gold on his ring finger, which had rested there for fifteen years. He'd never taken it off, not once, especially since Lily's death..

"I'm a widower," he said with a sigh, pursing his lips. He rarely met new people and so rarely had to explain his marital cirucmstances, or lack thereof. 

"Oh. Bummer. Sorry." Cat looked uncomfortable, shifting to get more comfortable on the floor. "Y'know, I was married once too. For about five minutes."

"Really?" His interest was piqued. "It feels that way sometimes, doesn't it?"

The look she gave him would have killed him on the spot but in a moment's notice she changes back to her smiling self. "I don't want to talk about it."

"How long has it been?" Cat broke the silence and Marcus was grateful for it, thinking he'd hurt her feelings by his previous question about her marriage. After letting up on the topic, he'd let her stew in silence and now she seemed comfortable enough to talk.

He checked his watch. "About twenty minutes," he replied, sighing. "Who knows how long we'll be stuck in here."

She handed him his bag of lunch. "Might as well enjoy your extended lunch break."

With a small chuckle he accepted it and opened the styrofoam to-go box. "Care to join me?"

Cat's stomach had been growling and she nodded immediately, digging in to share his plate. "I mean.. it is the least you could do." And together they stuffed their faces.

"What do you think you can bring to this organization?" Marcus asked, continuing their interview as they finished eating. He washed it all down with a bottle of Smartwater, realizing she had no drink of her own.

"C'mon, we were really getting somewhere," she complained, reaching out for his drink, as if she naturally expected him to share. He hesitated before handing it over, holding his breath as he watched her umscrew the cap and put the mouth to her red lips, drinking from where his own lips had been.

He forgot the question he'd asked, swallowing hard as Cat drank after him, not minding at all sharing germs with a stranger.

"I'm naturally good with people," she said, starting to count on her fingers, which were painted a deep blood-red, the same as her lips. "I'm available every day, I'll come in on holidays because I'm not religious, people tend to do what I tell them, I know how to use a computer, I can speak multiple languages, I once beat Astaroth in an arm wrestling match, I'm comfortable with growth and change, and I aim to succeed."

She gave him a square look, the most serious she'd been in the entire time they'd been stuck in the elevator. 

"You need an assistant, and I'm the best person for this job. You already know you're going to say yes, so why deny the words? They want to come out."

Marcus was transfixed, almost in a hypnotized state. He had so many questions: how many languages could she speak and which ones? Who's Astaroth and how could she beat someone if she didn't look that strong? Was she proficient in Google Workspace?

Her hand was on his wrist, a soft touch as she gently turned so his palm was facing up. Her eyes still on his, she smiled beautifully at him, and Marcus felt his heart miss a beat, and his mouth filled with saliva.

"You're going to offer me the job," she said, her voice clear and bright, as if giving instructions to a kindergardener, "and I'm going to accept. I'm going to start on Monday, and when you do a background check you'll find nothing out of the ordinary."

"Yes," he answered, almost docile in his reply. He looked at her as if he'd give her the moon straight out of the sky if she so much as commented on its luminescent beauty. His pulse felt slow, almost sticky, because even his bloodflow is moving with leisure, as if it didn't have a body with vital organs to support. Cat's eyes on him were a beckoning gaze, as if she was searching his mind, but in that somehow intimate moment he couldn't have cared less. 

He considered staying in that stuck elevator with her for the rest of his life.

And just like that the lights turned back on, the devilish red glow replaced by the usual LED glare. Cat's hand was no longer on his wrist, though he felt the ghost of her touch even as she stood apart from him, looking around as the elevator started to move.

The car came to a smooth stop on the ground floor and Cat beamed at Marcus, extending her hand again. Marcus took it eagerly, expecting to feel that warm surge again, but this time it was just a regular handshake. 

"Thank you so much for the job offer, Mr. Moreno. I happily accept, and I'll be back on Monday ready to work!"

"Yeah.. yeah, see you Monday." He walked out to see her to the door. "Have a good day." Then he stopped her, his hand on her shoulder. "Wait.. your leg.. how is it?"

She peeled the bandage off to reveal skin that had never seen the teeth or claws of a vicious squirrel before. Her skin was smooth and unblemished and Marcus had to fight himself to keep from running his fingertips along the tempting patch of skin.

"Good as new, baby," she said, laughing, and Marcus laughed with her.

On his way up to his office he checked his watch. 12:25. But earlier it had read 1:12. He was stuck in that elevator with Cat for forty-seven minutes..

Wasn't he? He shook his head and tapped his watch, reminding himself to check the battery.

He's thinking about that day now, alone in his office, the door open so that Cat's empty desk is in plain view. Her screensaver is a still of the chest-burster scene from Alien one of his (and her, he guesses) favorite films. Her seat is askew as if she'd just left it. It's so quiet without her here. He can hear the typing and clicking of the other staff in their offices, but he doesn't hear Cat's music playing too loudly over her PC, and he doesn't hear her giggling as she takes a personal call, the conversations always giving away a modicum of privacy that he doesn't need to hear. She's not here to get up a dozen times in half an hour, hips swaying in those short skirts and dresses that HR should warn her about but never do. 

The scent of her perfume lingers, vanilla and cinnamon. Cat told him the name long ago but he's forgotten it. He could buy a bottle and spray it on his sheets at home. He could pretend she spends just as much time in his bedroom as she does in this office.

He shakes his head at the randomly intrusive thought.

He feels awful about telling her to take leave until Friday (which can't get here soon enough). When he does call her cell it goes straight to voicemail. He leaves a quick message, some drabbling words about hoping she's alright, gives her some office gossip (of which there is little) and tells her he can't wait to see her.

He's looking at her now.

Spread out on his desk are mugshots of Catherine Elizabeth Cruz, aged thirty-five, born in Los Angeles. She's gone by several different aliases but the face is always the same - the red lips, eyeliner, sometimes with glasses and often without. Dark hair at varying lengths. He's arranged it from most recent to earliest, watching Cat age backwards. There's even an early mugshot, dated from when she was twelve. Just a kid, with blunt-cut bangs, a chicken pox scar on her cheekbone, and a mouthful of braces, as if she's smiling for a school picture. The file attached says she was picked up for shoplifting. 

Marcus isn't sure what to do with all this information. He doesn't know how any of this got past HR in her hiring process. Cat shouldn't be allowed anywhere near the premises, not with her rap sheet.

It's a good thing nobody knows about this but him. All it took was a little digging, greasing a few hands and leveraging his position for a few discreet favors.

He needs answers from her, but he's afraid she may not give all the truths he's seeking. She owes him.

Once again, it's good nobody knows but him.

He takes the photos and the documents and he shreds them, one by one. 

Before he leaves for the day he takes the shreddings out himself, to put in his own bin at home. As he's looking for an extra trash bag he checks his desk drawer on the left.

It's still there, the coffee cup lid from Monday morning, with her crimson lip print emblazoned upon the white. That's one thing of Cat's that he won't toss in the garbage.

A/n cont’d we’ll just say that Marcus didn’t remember being hypnotized, but he doesn’t know how a criminal got past the hiring process 🤷🏻‍♀️

npt y'all who liked my wip and/or part 1❤️: @itwasntimethatdidit40

@burntheedges @sunshinehaze1 @joelalorian @604to647

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@puddles221b @bunniboo0015

@samsmith1415 @tateypots @oliveksmoked @harriedandharassed

@foreveratlantica-blog @thedilfdiaries @rav3n-pascal22

@lunpycatavenue @jensensational71 @for-a-longlongtime

@bigbutchenergee @80ssong @eli1134 @rikutsubasa13

@megangovier @queenofdisssaster @danilg21 @taylorisapunk

[ollieblogs-stuff]

By lamplight

Leon awoke at an ungodly hour, his eyes registering a warm glow in the hallway outside their bedroom. Despite knowing what the hallway light meant, he flung a desperate arm out on the mattress next to him. As his flopping limb met empty space, the blonde could hesitate no further.

A deep sigh clawed up his throat as Leon sat up and swung his legs off the mattress and into the fluffy slippers waiting below. His left hand felt around the bedside table skillfully, locating his glasses on the second try. The blond placed his glasses on his nose as he trudged down the hallway and towards the cosy living room.

Squinting as the source of light came into direct view - a desk lamp balancing precariously on the edge of the dark rattan coffee table - Leon spotted his partner as predicted.

Nick sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor next to the coffee table. Yet to notice the other’s entrance, his dark brows were furrowed in concentration as he scribbled furiously on a piece of paper.

Leon used this time unnoticed to survey their living space. It soon became evident that the brunet had not remained in bed very long at all.

No less than 5 different coffee mugs sat scattered on various surfaces. Nick loved collecting mugs. Not in a professional manner - what, with set themes and quality standards? No. Instead, the brunet eagerly re-homed the tacky, the oddly-specific, the cringey, the poorly-designed. They were his prized possessions.

He also had the awful habit of never reusing them in one sitting, hence the mugs currently littering the space. The upside of this, though, was that Leon could use the mugs as an accurate tracker of just how much hot chocolate his boyfriend had consumed.

Nick took a deep sip from his current conquest, an ageing ‘I have kids and a sense of humour. What's your superpower?’ mug that refused to chip in the dishwasher. He cupped the mug with both hands and inhaled the sweet, steaming aroma with eyes closed in appreciation.

He was so fucking cute. God, he made Leon's heart ache. A good hurt - the best hurt! There was just TOO MUCH love to squeeze into one puny human heart. How was it possible for someone to love another so deeply? Leon didn't know. He didn't need to, not with Nick by his side.

Finally deciding to announce his presence, the blonde cleared his throat. “What are you doing? It's late.”

To his credit, Nick managed to morph his shock into a flicker of his closed eyelids and a short ‘eep’ sound that he'd later deny. He opened one eye lazily as his heart once again began to slow,

“I'm planning out our deaths.”

Leon's responding smile was soft, wide, and only for his partner. “I'm going out first, then?”

The amber eyes he loved so wholly narrowed coolly.

“The fuck you are!” Nick growled. “You're not leaving me to live in a world without you! Do you know how absolutely devastated I'd be? No - shall all things go as planned, I'M dying first.”

Leon's smile remained firmly affixed to his face as he lowered himself to the floor next to the brunet. He leant a tired head on his partner’s pointy shoulder and cast his own eyes over the papers scattered in front of them.

“You know I'd miss you so fucking much if you went first, right?” he whispered into Nick's ear. “I think that's the double-edged sword for two people who love each other as much as we do. In the best case scenario, we'd die at the same time.”

The brunet didn't respond. Instead, he raised an arm behind the pair to gently stroke Leon's back. The pair sat in the contemplative silence for an unknown age until Nick's soft whisper broke,

“I just - You remember Alex’s friend, Sarah, right?”

Nodding sagely, the blonde responded, “Sure, uh huh, Sarah. The one with the…. Eyes. And the nose. And the ears?”

Nick smiled as he nudged Leon, “Her childhood best friend? Sarah? We went to her wedding?”

Finally, recognition sparked. “Oh! Microwave Sarah - right. Yes, I remember her, why?”

Nick's shoulders dropped. “Well, Sarah's sister lost her husband last week. Car crash. They were meant to be in Brazil together this week.”

“Oh honey,” Leon crooned. His alarm rose as Nick's head dropped between his now raised shoulders, out of view. Circling his arms around the brunet, Leon gently pulled his body to lean against his. Sudden sobs emerged from the other, and all the blonde could do was hug him tighter.

“I just - I - I - they were so happy! They were about to go overseas! They'd been happily married for so long, and this just came out of absolutely nowhere!” Nick gasped through his tears.

“Alex is helping her plan the funeral at the moment. Sarah and her sister are absolutely devastated, obviously. They're going to use his life insurance to invite absolutely everyone to the funeral, and meet each and every one of his plans for his remains,” he murmured into Leon's shirt.

The brunet straightened suddenly, meeting his red-rimmed eyes to Leon's, “It got me thinking, and I just - is it selfish for me to think about us when this is happening to Sarah's sister?” he questioned earnestly.

Cautiously, Leon responded, “No. What do you mean thinking about us?”

“About what will happen when one of us goes,” Nick whispered. At Leon's silence, he continued, “I- I tried to start gathering information and putting together a plan, but the options are pretty limited for an unmarried couple.”

Immediately, easily, as if commenting on the weather, Leon supplied, “Let's get married, then.”

Nick surged upwards into a seated position, his incredulous eyes trained on the blonde’s, “Wh- what?”

“Let's get married,” Leon restated calmly.

Nick gaped silently for a few long moments, “Are you - are you for real?”

The blonde laughed gently and kissed Nick's hand, “Of course I am. I love you more than anything in the world. We've talked about this, we both know we want to get married, it's been a welcome inevitable for most of our lives. If this whole situation is stressing you out so much, let's get married!”

Still processing, the brunet shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Just so I'm clear,” he said. “You,” he pointed a finger at Leon, “want to marry me?” he gestured to himself.

“Of course,” the blonde replied. “I've wanted to marry you since we were 15. You're it for me. I love you.”

“Okay,” Nick whispered slowly. “Okay. We'll get married! We're engaged!”

Leon drank in the sight of his FIANCE’s pleased grin and rising flush. God, he'd marry this man a million times if he could. He thanked the universe for allowing him this little piece of heaven on earth.

The blonde's musings were interrupted by a pointed throat clearing from the other. Looking up at Nick's persistent flush and attempted serious facial expression, he smiled again.

“I do hope you realise that, while we are officially engaged now, I still expect a lavish proposal that I can brag to Alex about,” the brunet stated. “I want to bring tears to my Aunties’ eyes when I tell them about my fairytale proposal. You have 2 weeks to get your shit together.”

Giddy with laughter, Leon kissed Nick softly.

“I shall begin my search for a white horse, castle, and scenic ocean views tomorrow,” he promised. “For now, you need some sleep. Come back to bed."

~ O.M.A

Dark Romance Prompts:

"I don't think it's smart to go with them." "Good thing I'm not asking for your opinion, then."

"I love you." "That's all? Darling, I would destroy the world for you if you asked, love doesn't begin to cover it."

"Stop! You're killing them!" "They hurt you, it's what they deserve."

"Should we be doing this? What if we get caught?" "I won't let that happen."

"I need you to be safe. Please be safe." "I'll be fine."

"I can't exist without you." "I'm sure you could." "I would cease to exist if you left."

"What are you doing? It's late." "I'm planning out our deaths."

"You mean everything to me." "I love you, too."

"How did you find me?" "I memorized the streets you frequent in case something like this happened."

"I want you to stay here, with me." "I..." "It would mean so much to me if you stayed."

"I don't want you to touch me!" "You'll get over that soon enough."

"You expect me to care about you when you kidnapped me? Go to hell!" "It was for your own good, it had to be done!"

"I keep thinking about it. The kiss, I mean." "Do you want to do it again?"

"Put the gun down, sweetheart. You don't even know how to shoot it." "I'm about to find out."

"I didn't mean to hurt you, I'm sorry. Please, talk to me."

"They're not a bad person! Just because they aren't a saint doesn't mean they're the devil!"

"I want to stay." "Do you mean that? You tried that last time, and it didn't end well." "I mean it."

"Who was that?" "Oh. A friend of mine." "Just a friend?"

"Isn't this wrong?" "What? Breaking the law? Depends on if you find it wrong. I don't."

"At least try to look like you're having fun." "With you? Fat chance."

i'm not a big reader in this genre, so i hope these are what you wanted, anon! it was fun to do <3

[replicantdeviancy]

Connor rolled his coin over his knuckles and back again; thinking. He was thinking, sitting idly at his desk and reviewing case information, except his LED flickered away at his temple. He had a question. It took him a solid 20 seconds (impressive, really) to decide he wanted to ask it. "I think we should go back to the crimescene." More of a request, really - they'd JUST gotten back. "We missed something. I'd like to go over the dimensions of the room again. We could /solve/ it, Lieutenant."

                     @wasscared | Prompted Inbox Submission | Always Accepting

                  Thick fingers drummed heavily across the projected keyboard of his desk in slow succession, almost meandering yet purposeful as a report slowly manifested on the screen before him. Hank Anderson had never been much of a typist, even when he grew up around the time of the true birth of the internet & the arguable apex of the digital frontier, technology had never been much of his thing. Nevertheless, he managed, dutiful as he filled out his report from the recent homicide scene traversed by himself & his android partner. A mug of coffee occasionally brought to his lips almost like an automatic compulsion, Hank’s concentration rarely strayed from the screen, cerulean blue affixed forward. Everyone now & then his gaze dipped towards the pictures spread out on his desk, the screen of his cellphone left within arms reach. The coroner should have submitted his report soon, he suspected. Hank wanted his report filed as toxicology might have held the key on the case.

                  It wasn’t as if he didn’t trust Connor’s judgement on the matter - rather that the android couldn’t legally extract samples for analysis the same as the forensics team could. Maybe that was a good thing; boundaries that kept the other officers from getting too nervous. Even after the revolution - especially after the revolution - people were anxiously anticipating their jobs would be taken over by androids. It was understandable that generic positions were at risk front he very start, but once independence & free will were realized in autonomy, androids which had been assigned certain tasks were not necessarily inclined to remain. Hank often wondered why Connor stayed after all was said & done. The kid really did like being a detective, enough to go through all the legal red tape. Maybe Hank also liked the company, liked Connor’s attitude & work ethic. He had gone all out & put his ass on the line to keep the android on, after all, even if he did catch the ire of most of the bullpen.

                  Then again, that was where those boundaries came into play. As an official officer of the DPD, Connor was limited to the bounds of his position, though neither were known for exactly playing by the rules. Regardless, the specialized trade positions seemed to be safeguarded for now. One could only imagine what the future would bring, especially as Markus & Jericho still continued to rally for equality between their peoples.

                  Drawn from his musings betwixt the monotony of the work ahead, those punctuated taps ceased & Hank cast a gaze over his shoulder, over the thin barrier that separated their desks, & squared a look with his partner.   ❝  Missed something? The fuck are you talkin’ about? ❞    Colorful as his speech often was - though it was not often stated how articulate Hank could be - there was no malice nor ill feelings in his voice. A bit of hazing, yes, but this was common between them. They were comfortable with the teasing; always had been. Callous remarks had almost become words of endearment or encouragement, but rarely were their offensive remarks serious. Connor had learned sarcasm early, even pre-deviancy. Hank wanted to believe he was responsible for corrupting his clean cut, unassuming partner.

                   ❝  You’re not going screwy on me already, are you? Didn’t think I was going to have to use the warranty on my partner this quick - Tech these days really does have a fail rate of about a year… ❞   A stupid kind of smirk slowly spread over the seasoned cop’s features, deepening the wrinkles around his eyes in a most endearing way. There had been something of chuckle not quite enunciated in Hank’s words, a knowing look in his eyes. With the aid of his feet the Lieutenant pushed away from the desk just a little, enough to turn & face Connor proper. Suddenly the teasing air was gone & a more attentive, though not entirely serious one took it’s place. Elbows rest atop the glass, forearms crossed as he leaned forward just a little. The posture made Hank look bigger than he really was, like a bear in waiting. There was something protective in his stare; the same consistent hint of encouragement.

                   ❝  What are you thinking, Con? Talk to me. ❞   They had only just returned no less than an hour ago, having completely gone over everything present at the time. As per usual, Hank had allowed Connor free reign & the two doubled over each other’s tracks, taking in their own perspectives - one of experience, one of technology - & met in the middle. Hank was the one to handle speaking with families & witnesses at the scene, as there was still an overarching sense of unrest around androids within the city. But he was unleashed on occasion, when Hank deemed it a benefit to their investigation. Sometimes, a little intimidation did a world of good when coaxing information out of an unwilling participant & Connor just did something to people psychologically that Hank could never do. This case, however, had felt different. This wasn’t the typical home invasion or wife murders husband for a previously unknown life insurance policy or the like.

                  The Lieutenant had felt it, too, & while he opted to say nothing he had been waiting for Connor to say something in his stead. The kid needed to learn to push more. Well, maybe not too much more. Connor did have a fucking mouth on him at times.

[krshush]

Okay, so, I Know enough about The Plot to understand how silly this post could be once I finish what ever the Fuck's at the end of Metaphor, but I AM gonna talk abt what I meant on this finally, because it tickles my brain still, and I think maybe writing it down now and then adding Final Thoughts once I'm post-game will be interesting.

But before I get to Metaphor specifically, I need to talk about RPGs in general, and specifically their Protagonists.

In my mind, there's this sort of... three-setting sliding scale I can affix most Standard RPG Protagonists into, depending on the way the game wants you (as a player and audience member) to interact with the game and its story.

On one end there's the Customizables: Dragon Age, Fallout, Baldur's Gate are first to my mind as examples. Where you are given a canvas to paint a character onto, as a direct avatar to interact with the world. The freedom to make someone in the story, with very few caveats on creativity beyond the worldbuilding (and character creator) itself, all the dialogue choices, several endings to try and account for whatever character you've built.

On the other end are the Signature Characters: the ones that are much like protagonists in other genres and mediums where the story is set, the protagonists that without which the game would not be the same, regardless of your personal input. These are the ones who are established as Characters of Consequence to the story before you ever arrive peering over their shoulder, and your view is filtered primarily through their worldview.

My Ideal character examples here are Neku from TWEWY and Cicero from Masquerada: of Songs and Shadows (which god I miss dearly. and wish got a sequel. badly.)

In the middle are, expectedly, the halvsies, where the Protagonist is already designed without your input, maybe has some excuse or prior background to lead to their Protagonist Potential, but otherwise blank enough you're meant to project onto them on some level rather than relate to or build on top of.

While plenty of other games do this, and even I have my own reservations on calling their protagonists specifically "blank", for our purposes I will call out Persona for this category of Protagonist, because consequently Metaphor's Protag Will fell into this category for me to start with.

Because, I mean, where else would I put him with how much Persona DNA is in Metaphor, right? The fact he's voiced is more novelty than anything by comparison. ...Except, well. Will being voiced turned a feature I'd disliked prior into a strange insight I focused in on.

Elaboration: I mentioned Dragon Age very specifically before because its Protags have a... bumpy history with being voiced, for me. The first one, the Warden, was unvoiced and had a lot of character written in those dialogue choices, making them feel like more even without the voice.

The second, Hawke, had their character customization scaled back vastly compared to the Warden, but this scope also narrowed Hawke into their own character of your making, and often with thanks to the voiced dialogue. Hawke had a few discrepancies between what the dialogue tree would tell you you were saying vs. what Hawke themself would say though, in tone and/or meaning.

This is a problem that plagued me the worst in the third game though, the Inquisitor having a broader scope of possibility of character concept that then makes the dialogue choices available to you stiff, or otherwise unlike the character in your head when you picked them.

(for all that I love my Inq Elrevas, a lot of him was reworked or even bent around some of the dialogue not matching anything of him in my mind. It's... an interesting exercise in character building, I think, but certainly not my favorite exercise on my first time through DA:I)

But when that same issue of written-voiced discrepancy crept in as I played Metaphor, in Will, it sparked curiosity in me instead of disappointment. Because instead of having a character of my mind boxed into gameplay limitations, a character not fully mine said something I did not know about him, did not decide about him, even when I was picking his responses.

(it sounds so... basic, when I write it down, but I hope my point of gravitas lands with the topic I've established)

The very first time this occurred to me was when you first talk to Brigitta and she suddenly asks, "do you believe in God?" in relation to a job she wants you to go on.

I picked the latter option of dialogue choice, "everyone's faith is their own." and I had meant it in a, sort of, what's it to you in this transaction? type of way, but then Will answers differently than that, says, "Not the one everyone else does."

Now, it's not like I expected him to believe in Sanctism when it so clearly denounces the Elda tribe even that early in-game, and sure, in hindsight it tracks in a Western Fantasy setting especially that there are multiple gods believed in whether the Fantasy Catholicism Faction™ of them likes it or not. But I was surprised because no one had told me the Elda believed in anything.

Suddenly Will knew something I did not, and this caught me off-guard because the majority of the game is you experiencing Euchronia for the first time as Will does, but that meant I didn't know anything about my protagonist or his past because no one else knew anything about the Elda (both the boy and the tribe) to teach me the audience member. And that's when I started staring closer at my lil guy, trying to figure out what else he knew that I didn't, if I could find it between lines of dialogue that were otherwise just novel not insightful.

And this is where this ramble changed tone and opinion from its first thought, because I've held onto this idea so long that with where I'm at in the game now, any insights into Will mean... not nothing, but are shifted entirely, due to his very nature in this story. I'd still count him as a halvsies-type protagonist, maybe, but... It was never fully me, or the audience in general, projecting onto Will, is how I'd say it now? and leave it at. I don't wanna write out The Big Spoilers abt him, not here.

...but consequently as mentioned, that means the "Will+autonomy" part of my thoughts are so different and bigger from what I'd first intended that it's disconnected from this ramble and will maybe be touched on in a separate post-game ramble I can already feel brewing because it's a huge character thing I LOVE. okay anyways I gotta Life before bed bye

I think I have s/t to say about Metaphor's Protag and autonomy and the way his being voiced subverts some RPG Protag things and not just in the way he's voiced and his Persona predecessors aren't.

...but I've sped past enough spoilery posts to make me think I shouldn't write about Will+autonomy until I. Finish the game. Alas.

[stevviefox]

And wishing I knew all languages so figuring out the most accurate subject headings and call numbers would be a breeze!

constantly torn between "i wish I could magically learn this language immediately and speak it perfectly" and "part of language acquisition is the process, and learning it immediately wouldn't have as much meaning or significance to me"