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slightlyobsessedwitheverything · 7 months ago

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a breakdown of tommy kinard’s past appearances

so. like many of you, i’ve been getting a little bit tired of seeing the same “wait wasn’t tommy a racist/homophobe? why do we like him now?” posts for the last few weeks. so i wanted to do a small breakdown of every time he has previously appeared on screen, along with his action and inaction regarding the casual bigotry of the 118 under captain gerrard.

this is gunna be a long one boys so, strap in lol

season 3 episode 12: chim begins

i’m going to go in chronological order here rather than episodic order just for character development’s sake

tommy’s first appearance in this episode is about 11 minutes in, after the first commercial break. the current 118 are sitting down to dinner when chim arrives. tommy spots him and asks, “hey eli, you forget to tip the delivery guy?” i would say this could be a genuine question based on the fact that chim’s in his civvies, but he’s got his go bag that says “FIREFIGHTER” on his shoulder so. seems like he’s just being a smartass.

(*edit: it’s been pointed out to me that considering they had ordered chinese food, this could have been an instance of casual racism, and i am inclined to agree)

he’s not seen much during chim’s montage of just doin’ shit around the firehouse, until the point where the 118 come back covered in mud. tommy spots chim and asks him, “you still here?” again, just kind of general dickishness. not really anything to write home about.

a small kind of background tommy moment we get after chim’s montage is right as the team is returning from a call, and chim tries to tell them about the older couple who he helped earlier in the day.

tommy: what about that burger place?

gerrard: tommy, you know i hate that place

chim: hey guys, weirdest thing happened today… *he is ignored*

gerrard: hey, wasn’t your girlfriend supposed to come and cook us dinner?

tommy: uh, next tuesday.

gerrard: promise?

tommy: uh— uh, yes. yeah, i will promise…

now. i’m going to leave that up to interpretation, however i have opinions regarding that bit going forward. but! that’s ultimately not what this post is about, so perhaps another time.

the next scene is a pretty major one. chim is getting ready in the locker room, and tries to strike up a conversation with tommy when he walks in to gather some things (deodorant, toothbrush, soap it seems like, none of these details matter i just think they’re fun).

chim repeatedly tried to get tommy to open up to him about the things he likes, saying “tell me what your thing is and i’ll make it mine.” though, tommy just ignores him. we see a close up of him closing his eyes and sighing in exasperation.

chim asks, “…you just really don’t like me much, do you?” and tommy, for the first time, responds to chim’s questions with, “if i thought about you at all, honestly, i probably wouldn’t.” and he leaves.

later, after eli recruits chim to be a paramedic, they have a conversation regarding what he witnessed in the locker room between chim and tommy. eli tells him that it’s not personal, and that “in this job, friends die. funerals are held. they’re not going to just give you their friendship until you earn their respect. they’re not just protecting you, they’re protecting themselves.” and this ultimately makes sense with what we saw in tommy in that earlier scene. he didn’t really seem annoyed or upset at chim’s insistence to get to know him, just apprehensive mostly. he wasn’t cruel to him, and he hasn’t been. just… kind of a dick.

in the fire truck, on the way to the barn burner, tommy is sitting next to him and looks over at chim, as chim seems to be exhibiting signs of nervousness (this is his first real call as a firefighter after all)

(however, this is a moment where chim’s reality and his past start to bleed into each other so i am not sure how accurate this is to the moment.)

we don’t get much in the next scene aside from tommy’s presence at kevin’s funeral. when chim is ringing the bell, tommy is behind him and briefly looks toward chim, likely noticing how chim is attempting to hold himself together.

the next major scene is the call at the shopping mall, where there was some sort of structural collapse. based on the symptoms of the people that were in the mall, chim assumes there is a gas leak, which gerrard waves off. he calls for tommy over the radio, and receives no response.

chim has a realization that they’re dealing with a methane leak, and runs inside the mall to retrieve tommy.

just as the building explodes, chim runs out with tommy over his shoulder. though in this scene “tommy” is clearly a dummy prop and it is so fucking funny once you notice how floppy it is.

then we get probably the greatest scene in all of 911 where chim is in the waiting room waiting for news on tommy and reality starts to bleed into the flashback while “exit music (for a film)” by radiohead plays . it has pretty much nothing to do with this post i just wanted to say how much i LOVE this scene. anyway.

the penultimate scene of the episode starts off with chim in the locker room tucking in his shirt. tommy walks in and, with no preamble, says, “love actually, monster trucks, craft beer.”

chim realizes that this is a response to their last locker room interaction. he asks tommy how his head is feeling, tommy replies, “still fat, but clearer. you saved my life. thank you.” and shakes chimney’s hand, before pulling him into a hug. this is where their friendship begins.

in this episode, i didn’t notice anything that could really be construed as bigotry (see edit*), he was just kind of a dick at first and most of that can boil down to him being closed off and not wanting to open up before there’s a level of respect there.

(though, keep in mind i am white so there is a definite possibility that i could have missed something more racially motivated, however i didn't see anything glaring)

season 3 episode 9: hen begins

tommy’s first appearance (ever) is about 13 and a half minutes into the episode when captain gerrard introduces the team to their new “diversity hire” (after greeting her himself with a few blatantly misogynistic comments)

when tommy first sees hen, he smiles and asks “who’s this?”

when gerrard calls her a “diversity hire,” the smile leaves tommy’s face and he looks back at gerrard with somewhat of a blank expression, contrasted with sal deluca’s disbelieving smirk and comment of “for real?”

chimney then defends hen, gerrard walks away after saying they’re screwed. tommy once again looks between hen and gerrard before ultimately following him away from the railing.

it is not clear what exactly his reaction to hen joining the team actually is at that moment, whether he wanted to speak up like chim or express disdain like sal, as he remained silent.

at dinner, tommy asks sal what he and his girlfriend did the night previous, where the movie “twilight” comes up. sal makes a comment about kristen stewart being hot, and hen joins in thinking she found something in common with these guys to talk about, but sal ignores her and she walks away. (i think the writers may have genuinely forgotten kstew was only 17 in that movie but that’s neither here nor there)

tommy chimes in saying he “doesn’t get that” and that she’s “too brooding” for him, to which sal responds, “maybe you’re more of a team jacob kind of guy.”

tommy says he has no idea what that means, and chim clarifies that sal is insinuating that he’s gay.

sal laughs at this and at tommy’s reaction, and tommy jokingly blows him a kiss, smiles, and goes back to his food.

(here is a gifset of the scene)

chim then invites hen into the conversation by asking where she’s from. when he tells her he assumed she was an east coaster and that it was a compliment, tommy replies with “new york bitchiness is a compliment?” (score 1 for the misogyny bucket)

chim calls him out, and he just kind of huffs and looks at gerrard, but ultimately moves on.

tommy doesn’t really say or do much else in this scene besides sit silently while gerrard is sexist towards hen and hen stands her ground. in the end, sal looks toward tommy and nods his head in the direction of the kitchen. they both get up and leave the table.

nothing of note happens in the mudslide scene with tommy, most of the conflict is between hen and gerrard. the scene where gerrard makes her man behind as well. tommy is in the background and sees this happen, but says nothing. though, i also need to add that in these moments, chim does not say anything either.

the next scene tommy is in is when hen makes her announcement to the team about how she is not going anywhere.

i once again want to point out the difference in tommy vs sal in this scene. sal has his hands on his hips and his lips tight in a somewhat annoyed looking fashion, and he looks to the side where tommy is to gauge his reaction.

whereas tommy, has his arms folded and is looking down at the floor at first, before looking up towards hen. and while gerrard and chim have their arms crossed as well, i want to point out that tommy is holding one arm while the other sits around his waist. he looks a bit sheepish if i’m being honest, like he knows they’re about to be scolded.

when hen says for them to “see me as i see you, as a proud member of this department,” tommy turns to look behind him and makes eye contact with chim.

now, there’s not a whole lot i can glean from this interaction as is, but as we know from “chim begins,” tommy trusts chim so it’s possible he wants to get chim’s opinion. he seems to do this a lot i’ve noticed, looking between the people around him to gauge their reactions to what is going on.

nothing much of note for the car accident scene, HOWEVER. in the scene immediately after, sal and tommy address hen directly for the first time to give her some praise for her call on that scene. sal tells her “nice work yesterday,” and tommy tells her that they would have found the other car eventually, but eventually would have been too late.

hen states she “just got lucky,” to which sal responds, “screw that. you’re good,” and both he and tommy shake hen’s hand. tommy even gives her a light smack on the shoulder as he walks away and hen absolutely BEAMS.

then of course, hen is told that gerrard was removed from his position because his conduct was reported and “more than a few of your fellow firefighters have your back.” we know chim is absolutely one of them, and i can infer that based on tommy and sal’s reactions to hen’s speech and their interaction with her just before this scene, it is very likely they are as well.

in this episode, there were definitely some more moments of blatant bigotry in this episode, but other than the “new york bitchiness” line, tommy doesn’t really directly contribute to any of it. he seems to be more of a follower, constantly gauging how others feel and just playing along. complicity is still an issue of it’s own, do not get me wrong, but considering i keep seeing people say he made racist/homophobic comments, i feel like its a reasonable thing to point out.

season 3 episode 16: bobby begins again

tommy’s final on screen appearance begins with hen taking bets on how long the new captain will last. tommy asks hen to put him down for 4 weeks on credit, and they (hen, tommy, sal, and chim) banter a little. they all seem to have a pretty good relationship with each other at this point.

bobby pops out of the firetruck and places his own bet on himself, and tommy just kind of looks sheepish since they got called out.

to be real, tommy doesn’t do a whole lot in this episode either. most of the conflict is between bobby and sal. most of what we see is him in the background silently judging bobby’s lack of LA knowledge along with hen and chim. he does have some silly little moments during the chicken chase though.

(here's a great gifset of that scene)

bobby calls out to sal to talk to him after the restaurant fire, and sal keeps walking but tommy stops and waits, looking between bobby and sal.

sal says, “you’re a piece of work. you come in here with your nose in the air and your eyes looking down–” tommy interrupts sal and tells him to stop.

sal keeps digging into bobby, and tommy in the background, looks to chim and hen and shakes his head, seemingly telling them not to get in the middle of it.

sal says he has the skill to lead the 118, bobby retorts with, “but not the temperament.” sal then drops his bag and stomps toward bobby so he can get in his face. tommy moves to go after him, but chim gets between sal and bobby before anything can happen.

bobby fires sal, and tommy is just standing there with the rest of his team wondering what the hell happened.

we then have the bar scene! chim, hen, and tommy hanging out at the bar before bobby ends up joining them.

they have a good time and show off their scars to each other. tommy quotes fight club, chim laughs, bobby leaves to solve the arson.

(again, here's another gifset)

at the end we see a bit more of the team together, bobby starting to cook for them, and finally the scene of chim and hen popping out of the ambulance with balloons and a cake for tommy as he transfers to the 217. they all seem to be fairly close at this point.

(another gifset for good measure)

and other than chim calling on him for a water drop in 2x14, that’s about it until he returns in season 7.

in conclusion

to me, it seems like tommy is a bit of a follower and tends to just go along with what the people around him are doing, ESPECIALLY under gerrard. captain gerrard fostered a really toxic work environment and its no wonder others like sal were never really called out on their shit. and tommy mostly seemed to follow sal’s lead or stay quiet.

“chimney begins” takes place around 2006-ish, “hen begins” around 2008, and “bobby begins again” takes place around 2017 i believe. and between 2006 and 2024, based on what we see, its easy to see that tommy has indeed grown and changed many of his attitudes, especially when in a healthier work environment. now can we please stop acting like he’s this irredeemable piece of shit and see him for what he really is: a flawed person who grows and learns from others, like every other character on this show.

#this is not a tommy hater post this is just me going through everything he has said and done on screen so far #tommy kinard #911 #911 abc #911 on abc #9 1 1 #character analysis

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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year ago

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DO YOU WANNA BE FRIENDS? (a barista!eddie x barista!reader au)

summary: eddie really hates being on bar. Especially during morning rush. When you not only notice his impending breakdown, but do something about it, he realizes that the two of you might be capable of being more than just coworkers.

warnings: ONE use of "y/n", fem!reader (use of she/her pronouns), description of being overstimulated/extremely anxious

wc: 4.5k

a/n: shoutout to all the friends that let me make them fellow victims of the siren <3 also thank you to everyone who showed love the first one shot! i didn't expect that at all so it means the world. hopefully with this part, it makes more sense what i meant by little slices of life! the masterlist will always have the individual one shots listed chronologically.

the full menu

Bar was Eddie’s own personal Hell when he first started. It was chaotic, it was fast paced, and it was simply too much to deal with first thing in the morning (especially on the sparse few hours of sleep he functioned off of).

He was much better put to use on DTO. Taking orders, stalling perfectly so that whoever was on food could get a jump start, cracking plenty of jokes all while still always perfectly reciting back the customer’s drinks. He thrived on DTO. Even when he would be assigned to “one-manning” drive, which simply meant he handled both taking orders and handing them out the window, he was clearly one of the best.

Nicole knew this. Meg knew this. All the shifts knew this — except the newest shift, Gale, apparently.

Because this morning, a major fuck up had occurred.

Gale was going over his floor plan for the peak rush, explaining who would be in which position, and Eddie knew something was up the moment you shot him a concerned look from across the room. Initially, it was actually funny, the way your eyes so quickly found his and your nose scrunched microscopically. But by the time Gale had made his rounds to Eddie, he understood that the reaction you’d given him the privilege to witness had not been just something cute – it had been a siren going off from across the store, your attempt to forewarn him of the impending chaos and doom.

Since that first opening, Eddie has been lucky. Just as he had hoped for, that morning wasn’t the last time he saw you. In fact, he sees so much of you on a weekly basis, he’s sure the Universe is playing a sick joke. It was bound to happen; there’s only so many people who are willingly to be openers (for obvious reasons), and you were one of those brave soldiers. He took Nicole’s advice to heart, he decided to let you slip into pace beside him on the front lines, and he’d been reaping the benefits.

You’re kind, you’re funny, you make the time pass. You make Eddie feel like the two of you might be friends, or at least could be. And it wasn’t the fake kind of niceties that some of the other baristas would extend only from the moment they clocked in to the moment they clocked out. Your sweetness towards him lasted long past being on the clock. In the parking lot in the early mornings, in the lobby after your shift as the two of you solicited just to get a few more jokes in with Nicole. You’d wait for him and walk out to his car with him. You learned how he likes his coffee, and sometimes made him his preferred drink amidst your opening tasks, only handing it over with a smile and charming, “Drink up, Munson. You’re gonna need it to keep up with me today.”

God, he fucking liked you.

A month of openings all tallied up to this moment now, in which you’d just opened him up to the possibility of private, silent conversations in a crowded room. He’d never been on the receiving end of that before. Usually, he was the outsider as glances in a secret language were exchanged.

Not anymore. Not now that you had your sights set on him.

“Hey, Eddie,” Gale approaches him slowly, a friendly enough smile on his face. He’d transferred here from another store a few weeks ago, “So, game plan for today’s peak.”

The words lay it on me are on the tip of Eddie’s tongue, but they stick to the roof of his mouth instead. He wasn’t that quick on his toes with most people at work. Half the time, he’s lucky he’s managed any banter with you.

Blandly, Gale explains how Marissa will be on cafe bar. “And then, I’m going to put myself over on front and warming, try to keep myself flexible for you guys. I’ll have you, Y/N, and Ash run drive today.”

Eddie pales a little, and just as your eyes had immediately sought out his, he’s looking right over Gale’s shoulder to find you peeking out from around the corner, already in position. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Gale is oblivious to Eddie’s nerves, “I’ll have you bar, she’ll be your DTO. It’ll be great, you guys are going to kill it.”

The only thing dying will be our drive times.

Gale leaves with a quick, encouraging smack to Eddie’s shoulder, telling him to go ahead and head over to the small nook that’s designated for the drive thru as he ‘splits the bars’ – changing the system so that tickets for cafe and mobile orders will expel out from the printer that sits atop the bar facing the front of the store, while any drive thru orders print on the bar hidden there.

Eddie is in his own personal Hell. Actually, he’s in his own worst conundrum.

On one hand, he’s thrilled to be able to spend the day in this corner with you. Plenty of times, Nicole will assign you to bar and Eddie to take orders or greet customers on the window, and it’s wonderful. Forced proximity due to the set up of the store, easy conversation during lulls, and abundance of inside jokes shouted between customers. He loves it. But he only loves it because he’s not the one busting out those drinks, already starting on the next iced caramel macchiato as the customer at the speaker box has hardly finished announcing it as their drink of choice. He loves seeing you in your element; you’re quick, fast and always on your own rhythm that keeps those damn drive times that corporate care about so much under a minute. Eddie could never do that – he could never average thirty second wait times, especially when so many customers order so many drinks.

Today is not his ideal situation. He will be the one trying to juggle all those drinks, trying to find a pace that works for both him and the customers and fucking corporate.

“You good?” you whisper the moment he steps up around the corner and up to the bar, turning and facing you. Your mirror images of one another – both of you have your lower backs pressed to sticky counters, leaning with arms crossed and already looking defeated before the rush has even begun.

“I’m gonna fuck it all up,” he blurts out quietly, the girl who will be on window - Ashleigh, Ash for short – not quite joining you two in the corner yet. “Our times are going to suck so badly.”

If it were anyone else, he would have just shrugged the question off. He would have smiled politely. But it’s you, still bleeding sunshine even after being back from vacation for a full month, and still offering him a reassuring smile even as his pessimism hangs around the space like a dark cloud.

“Fuck the times,” you immediately say, and he laughs a little, eyes widening in shock at how serious you look right now, “You know what? I think our store has been doing a little too good. I’ve always wanted to see if we could get it up to a five minute window time. Are you down to test my theory today?”

He can’t help but fully throw his head back at that, smile wide, no laughter audibly escaping him but he can feel it fizzing in his chest. He used to hate that, especially during his first shift with you – the way you could seemingly make him feel so much better about this entire situation. Now he’s just grateful. If he has to stand on the deck of a sinking ship on this terrible Tuesday morning, he’s so glad he’s going down with you.

It’s the worst moment for Ash to appear between the two of you, looking wildly confused as she asks, “Did you just say five minute window times?”

You throw your head back, and the laugh that leaves you is the prettiest sound Eddie has ever heard. The fizzling chuckles in his chest burst, and Ash only looks at the two of you as if you were certifiably insane.

Oh, yeah. He’s very glad that this is the ship he will go down in.

��

Famous last words. Not even an hour into peak, Eddie is biting down on every positive thought you had fooled him into entertaining. His jaw aches with both stress and regret as his knuckles sting from burning himself again with the steam wand. Honestly, he thinks he burnt himself less his first time on warming, and he still has a scar on his pinky from those damned ovens.

“We’re just waiting on a-” Ash starts to say to him when she turns and lets the window close, effectively sealing them off from the customer.

“A grande hot americano, I know,” Eddie cuts her off. He didn’t mean to snap, but his irritation is getting the better of him. An impending meltdown is already crawling beneath his skin due to overstimulation and stress.

Yeah, he really hates bar.

When the newest green bean meekly adds on, “With cream and two sugar,” Eddie prepares himself to scream into oblivion.

Until you interfere.

He’s just taken his first breath, shallow and vapid as he glares at Ash, when one of your hands comes down on his shoulder, the other carefully slipping the cup that only needs to have hot water added to it from his grasp and into yours.

“I can finish this off for you,” you sweetly insist, leaning forward so that your face fills the minimal space between him and Ash, “That okay?”

Something flashes in your eyes. It isn’t the same look any of your other coworkers send him when he’s falling behind, when he feels like he’s drowning in this position. It doesn’t feel as though you’re insisting on finishing the drink out of impatience, a desperate last call to speed Eddie along like some sort of machine, but instead as though you’re genuinely trying to help him.

And your hand. It’s still on his shoulder, curling carefully as he finally can feel the way your thumb is sweeping back and forth over his shoulder blade. Such a soothing motion, it nearly makes him cry. Between your thumb and hand, your gentle eyes, your sweet perfume that cuts through the nauseating smell of coffee – all of it makes him just want to throw in the towel, step off the bar, and let you hug him while he’s a giant crybaby. He knows you’re the only one here who wouldn’t judge him. He’s witnessed first hand several other coworkers do almost exactly that, as a matter of fact.

He was still secretly jealous of your coworker Sam and the day that she’d been on the verge of her own breakdown, still had the image of the way you’d softened when you caught sight of her genuine tears and just pulled her into your arms.

He swears he isn’t down bad as some of the kids would call it. He wasn’t special – everyone wanted hugs from you.

“That’s fine,” he answers after far too many precious seconds have slipped away between you two, the customer at the window momentarily forgotten. His voice is thick with emotion and he has to blink several times just to eat away at that impending breakdown once more.

Just make it another few hours. Another few hours, and you can scream and cry all you want in the van. You can lose your damn mind if you so please, if you make it another few hours.

He has to remind himself of this over and over as he lets you finish off that fucking americano, and he takes a few consecutive stickers of nothing but frappucinos. He doesn’t even know the time, but it might be better that way.

He doesn’t even realize the way you’re still watching him so carefully, and so full of concern.

Suddenly, though, your voice sounds over the headsets — this time, without a car at the speaker box. You’ve clicked for the private channel, meant just for communication between any of the baristas wearing a headset.

“Hey, Gale?” you sweetly say.

Eddie finishes the drink he’s working on with shaking hands.

Gale takes several seconds until he finally answers you from where he is in the back, “What’s up?”

“Can we switch up the floor a little bit?” Eddie’s stomach twists immediately, the burn of betrayal causing his shoulders to tense without facing you. Cool. Great. She noticed. She’s doing something about it. She’s about to throw me under the bus. Whatever. “I’m getting tired of DTO, starting to kind of stutter and I can’t hear the customers clearly anymore because my brain is melted.”

That he didn’t expect. It’s subtle, and a little white lie. You hadn’t been stuttering. Any mishearings were laughed off easily. You were constantly buying Eddie more time to get a head start on the drinks.

You weren’t requesting a switch for your sake.

Gale sighs over the channel, mumbling your name before saying, “It’s the middle of peak, we can’t-“

“What if me and Eddie just switch?” he finally turns to face you at your suggestion. You’re not quite looking at him with pity, but understanding. You’d been there before — overwhelmed and panicked on bar, left out to sea without anyone to throw you an anchor. And you could recognize an anxiety attack from a mile away. “The customers always like him better anyways. And he has better suggestions for drinks-“

You’re blatantly lying. You knew Eddie was more comfortable on DTO. You knew he could handle that, even on his bad days. He almost gives in to his urge to hug you out of sheer relief.

“I- Fine. Yeah, that’s fine.”

Once Gale agrees, you’re instantly logging out of your partner number and sweeping your arm out dramatically for Eddie to take your place at the order screen with a small smile. He moves forward slowly, finally feeling like he can breathe as you walk up to the bar.

You didn’t need a break from DTO. You’d thrown yourself under the bus to offer him some relief.

Wordlessly, the two of you transition into your new positions, and it immediately becomes obvious that it was more ideal. You barrel through drinks all while wearing a smile, and although Eddie stays a bit reserved in his interactions with customers as his anxiety settles, he still shows off all his strong suits. Stalling customers with idle chat, lying about checking to see if something was in stock so you could pull extra shots, repeating back drinks multiple times to make sure you heard it correctly.

It’s seamless. The times that corporate cares about dwindle down to better match the day’s goal, and Eddie’s chest finally loosens.

You didn’t have to do that. Anyone else wouldn’t have done that.

When the rush has finally passed, both you and Eddie finally in the final stretch of an hour until your shifts end, he finds the nerve to bring it up.

You’re wiping down counters, humming under your breath, when he clears his throat awkwardly, “Uh, thank you. For earlier.”

“Why are you thanking me?” you ask nonchalantly, shrugging as you stop pretending to be busy, “I really was tired of DTO-“

“No, you weren’t,” he stops you from defending your lie, “You… you’re amazing at DTO. Better than me by a landslide.”

Your entire expression softens from that constant joy and constant reassurance. But the glow of your kindness doesn’t erase with the relaxing of your cheeks. If anything, it simmers and only reaches Eddie even more potently.

You relay your next words with careful consideration, “I’m really not, Eddie. It’s not a competition. I.. do enjoy DTO, but you were stressed. And Gale wasn’t about to change his floor without someone saying something.”

“If it had been anyone else, they would have told me to suck it up,” he points out.

“But it wasn’t anyone else. It was me, and I don’t think any of us should have to spend our shifts suffering.”

You leave off a very important detail that you aren’t quite ready for Eddie to be privy to yet — if it had been anyone else, you wouldn’t have caved so quickly. You actually probably also would have told anyone else to suck it up, albeit still in a light-hearted and encouraging tone. You would have offered extra help, you would have tried to make jokes to ease the anxiety, but you wouldn’t have just thrown yourself under the bus.

And yet, when it comes to him, you find yourself going soft. Any affirmativeness that you use during your training, that you usually persist with having with new hires, has melted.

You hated seeing him so stressed.

“You know,” Eddie’s nervous to say his next words, but they’re true, “You’re probably my favorite coworker.”

Your smile is back, radiant and comforting. Eddie’s pride swells that it was his hand that ignited that bit of flame back into you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You’re like a child, looking down bashfully and fiddling with the edges of your apron. He’s sure that any second now, you might start swaying side to side, that your pupils might form into absolute hearts. You visualize exactly how it feels every time he sees that yellow Jeep parked in the lot.

You bite your lip to break from your shy spell, leaning towards him with a summer glint to your eyes, “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m starting to think you’re my favorite too, Munson.”

A conglomeration of the past month – it feels as though it all comes to a rise in this moment, hitting an unimaginable peak, and he isn’t scared of a sudden drop. There will be no veering or falling down from these heights, no sudden lack of friendliness. He knows it surely the longer he stares into your eyes. If anything, maybe this is actually just a beginning.

“Yeah, sure,” he snorts, unable to contain himself, “I doubt that, Sunshine.”

The nickname slips out without much thought, but he doesn’t even have time to panic – your grin is painfully wide as you lift a brow. “Wanna bet?”

“Never took you as a gambler.”

“John rubbed off on me.”

He twists his face, holding back any sexual innuendos, and that’s when it happens. Your mouth falls open, realizing the dirty joke he’s biting down on, and you gasp dramatically. Your hand flies out without second thought, smacking him on his shoulder.

A smack. That’s what breaks the seal between the two of you. A joking smack on the shoulder at a crude innuendo, and suddenly the unspoken and terribly awkward boundary that should always exist between coworkers is shattered.

“I lied,” you try to deadpan, but you can’t stop smiling at Eddie’s withheld laughter, “Oh my God, fuck you. That’s gross! You’re officially my least favorite coworker.”

“Yeah, but I bet John’s your favorite customer, right?”

He’s able to block your second attempt at a slap this time, now close enough that he smells your perfume and sweet shampoo. Smells whatever lotion you use, that lingering and stubborn fragrant chai syrup that’s dried on your arms. You’re giggling shamelessly as you wrestle your wrist out of his grip. He swears, if you’d let him, his fingertips would stay pressed there on your pulse until the two of you conjoined in some twisted way. Like overgrown roots taking back control of abandoned buildings, you’d wrap around him and his ridiculous insinuations. He’d die a happy man. He’s already about to die a happy man as he feels your heart racing, and he almost convinces himself that you feel it too.

God, Eddie really liked you. He doesn’t care anymore, he’s willing to admit it to himself at the very least. He fucking likes you. He’d be a fool not to.

His fingers are still wrapped around soft skin when suddenly, Gale rounds the corner, and clears his throat.

“I, um-” his eyes zero in on the space left behind as Eddie drops your wrist, and you’re quick to tuck it behind your back. It’s as if the two of you are children who have been caught doing something you shouldn’t have been. Eddie shoves his own burning fingertips into the pocket of his apron, “I just wanted to say you guys did good today. It’s- uh, you’re both off. So… yeah. Um, good job today.”

Eddie gets second hand embarrassment from Gale’s stuttering, but you look like you might burst into laughter at any moment. Not teasing chuckles or cruel mockery, but the kind of laughter that occurs when two friends are in trouble, and they avoid each other’s gazes during their scolding in the fear of laughing at an inopportune moment.

You won’t look his way. It’s exactly that.

“Thanks,” Eddie forces out, seemingly satisfying Gale as he just nods and scurries off.

Once you two are left alone in the corner again, you finally look at him and burst into that building laughter.

Sunshine is fitting for you, he decides, as your laughter fills his lungs with the sun and more.

—

“So, you don’t live near the store?” you ask, scrunching up your nose cutely as you walk side by side with Eddie across the parking lot towards your cars. Both of you had been eager to get out of the store after Gale’s fiddly dismissal.

Eddie shakes his head, pulling the straw of his free drink from his mouth, “Nah, twenty minutes out.”

He’d gotten a caramel frappuccino, emphasis on a blasphemous amount of drizzle, and Ash had nearly castrated him with a glare as she had bustled away on bar. You’d only snorted under your breath and asked for a water.

“Really?” you stop dead in your tracks, in the center of the parking lot. Eddie can’t lie – it makes him nervous. If any of the usual asshole drivers that usually speed through here decided to arrive, they’d hit you. He has half the mind to reach out and grab your hand, to tug you over to the safe space between the two of your cars, “No way – I live twenty minutes away.”

He swears his stomach falls to the pavement below, “You live in Hawkins?”

No. It can’t be possible. He refuses to believe that you could live so close, that you would have been residing so near him this entire time and it took a miserable opening job at some out-of-the-way coffeeshop for him to meet you. You cannot be in Hawkins. Not fucking possible.

“Oh, no,” you shake your head, finally walking over to that space Eddie had deemed safe. The shade from your Jeep stretches only about half way to his van as the sun gets closer to settling into the center of the sky, “Opposite direction.”

“Damn.”

He can’t help the disappointment; yes, his stomach had dropped at the prospect of having spent years already circling around meeting you, but it’s his heart that sinks as you reveal the actual distance between the two of you.

At least this means you don’t know anything about his reputation in his hometown.

“That would’ve been cool, though, right?” you stop and turn to him, kicking as a few of the pebbles on the ground, “If I just so happened to live, like, next door to you or something.”

It would have been Eddie’s innocent crush’s dream come true. To find out his sunny coworker was also his goddamn neighbor.

“Yeah,” he tries to hide his disappointment, continuing on with a shrug, “But if we’re gonna be neighbors, it’s probably better that I live next door to you.”

You look up at him questioning, “Can I… ask why?”

“I live in a trailer park.”

He shouldn’t be handing this information over so easily. He’s one step away from dumping all his childhood traumas onto you.

And he knows that the others joke that it’s normal, and that there've been many heartfelt conversations on the floor between rushes. But something about this feels more personal – it doesn’t feel like two coworkers just comparing old wounds or exchanging living situations. It feels like two friends just getting to know each other.

He never would have admitted that to anyone else that works with the two of you.

You don’t even react, just shrugging as he had to brush off his disappointment. There’s no pity, no disgust. No judgment. It’s just a new piece of the puzzle that is Eddie.

“Fair enough,” you settle on replying before it looks as if you’ve had a sudden revelation. Eddie swears he sees the lightbulb go off over your head, “You know, no one else knows where I live.”

He finds that hard to believe. They all adore you too much, surely your coworkers would be fumbling over themselves to find out as much about you as they can.

“Really?”

“Really. No one’s ever asked me. And it’s… never really come up.”

Something about holding this rare piece of information about you makes Eddie want to jump for joy. He wants to hold it close to his chest, tuck it away for safe keepings. He doesn’t really know why.

But he’s on his way to figuring it out as he says, “I guess it’s not something coworkers really talk about, huh? Probably more friends territory.”

A slight fib, because plenty of the other baristas have overshared that type of information. The ones that talk too much, that never seem to take a breath or leave a space for people like yourself or Eddie to really insert yourselves into the conversations.

He’d noticed that. You talk quite a bit too, but never about yourself. Always encouraging information out of other people, remembering the little details they share, but it’s never an even exchange. He used to think it was a choice you made, but he’s suddenly wondering if it’s because no one ever cared to listen.

“I guess so,” you hum. You two should part ways. You climb into your Jeep, Eddie hop into his van. And maybe you’d sit in your respective idle vehicles for a second, even look at each other through tinted windows and make silly faces. But this should be the beginning of the end of your day together. Someone has to leave; one of you should leave. Instead, you just tilt your head curiously at Eddie, and he knows why now he wants to hold you so near and dear and safely as you ask him, “Well, in that case, do you wanna be friends?”

And – yeah. Eddie does want to be friends. As a matter of fact, he might want to even be more than friends eventually. But for now, this offering is enough.

He thinks you’ve rubbed off a little on him, because he must be bleeding a little bit of sunshine as he says, “Absolutely.”

taglist: @emmaisgonnacry @figmentofquinn @bebe07011 @barbedwirebats @ayooooo0 @neverlearnedcivility @munson-enthusiast @digwhatudug @wow-cam @daddysmodifiedprincess2 @cancankiki @josephquinnsfreckles @kimmi-kat @thisisktrying @corrcdedcoffin @rip-quizilla @euphoric-rush @eddiemunson95 @kennedy-brooke @mmunson86 @siriuslysmoking @chrissymjstan @live-love-be-unique @chaoticgood-munson @micheledawn1975 @daydreaminglisa @mrsjellymunson @emma77645 @blushingquincy @shadows-echoes @chickennug90 @coley0823 @munson-blurbs @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @masochisticlion @hexqueensupreme @capricornrisingsstuff @nix-rose @oeuryale @renaissan-vvitch @corpse-bridex @water-loos @aropodcastfuck @winchester-angel @vivacioussaint @chaussetteblanche @kirisuteg0men @saltmannequin

taglist is now closed.

#my writing #barista!eddie #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #coffee shop blues

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cosmic-cogs · 2 years ago

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So, I want uh... an Autobot (NB) reader and Soundwave, both pinning on each other and in a more calm battle (maybe 2v1) readers "subtlety" compliments him in his battle skills and the other member of the team prime is like 'THAT'S THE ENEMY' while Soundwave is completely calm about it, at least in the exterior and beating their asses. You are welcome to add whatever you like, and if it was headcannons I would be pleased

(I am aware that that would be extremely ooc from Soundwave but it's was a funny idea in my head 😔)

You get both hc's and a short blurb, aren't I so delightfully evil? Also I don't know how I managed to make this into angst but I hope you like it.

Pairing: tfp!Soundwave x nb!autobot!reader, romantic

Missions with Bulkhead were, simply put, fun. There were no real restrictions, safe for the obvious once like "don't cause human casualties" and "aim for the spark but torture isn't cool". No one would complain in the background as the wreckers lived up to their name and utterly wrecked the surrounding area.

Bulkhead didn't complain about the mess, no, but he did complain about… other things.

"Oh! Such elegance and grace! He moves like he's air~' the bot practically purrs in admiration as they stare at the sleek Decepticon who's very much so trying to get somebody killed today.

"Uh- hey you do remember that he's the enemy, right? Haven't hit your processor and forgotten that, have you?" Bulkhead asks as he barely dodges another attack from Soundwave, giving his teammate an opening to shoot, which they gladly take. To no one's surprise Soundwave gracefully moves to the side and dodges the energy blast, "I knoooow, it's such a shame the cute ones are all Decepticons, right?" "I- have you lost your mind?!" "First Knockout, then Breakdown, and now him! I mean seriously, what's with that?" "(N/N) now is not the time for this" talking and fighting at the same time come to the pair like breathing comes to humans, at this point it's just how things are. They kick ass and exchange their thoughts in the process.

"If not now, when?! I can't just gush over him at the base! Arcee would yell at me" they frown, taking another shot at the con, finally landing a hit though it barely even scrapes his paint job.

Bulkhead is so done. If it was anyone else- correction- if this was an autobot his friend was gushing over he'd be nothing but supportive. Truly he wishes them all the best.

Not with a goddamn Decepticon though. He's internally begging that they're just messing with him.

They aren't.

Miko definitely sneaked through the groundbridge to witness the battle and yeah she definitely heard and yeah she definitely ships it.

In a sense, Soundwave is completely unaffected by the compliments. Of course had this been a time of peace he would have entertained the thought of returning the affections, but he knows it's a foolish thought now. His spark may yearn for a lover but he denies the call, he won't betray his cause, not after everything he's done in its name, and he knows the autobot is unlikely to betray their friends.

He's neutral toward the compliments, he doesn't need the praise, he's not blind to his talents. He knows he's graceful, agile, and though he doesn't give it much consideration he knows he's beautiful in the eyes of many.

Though slowly and slightly he warms up to the bot. They seem kind, he might be a Decepticon but that is still a trait he admires, even if he more often than not would take advantage of such a trait.

As time goes forward, slowly he starts to go just slightly easier. Gives them a second longer to dodge, doesn't immediately go for their spark.

Small changes, but once he hopes they can notice.

Maybe after the war is over, regardless of whose victory it'll be, maybe then he could spare them more of his time, get to know them a little better. Return their compliments, allow himself to open up to them.

But that is all wishful thinking, he's aware of as much. But it's a wish he keeps close to his spark.

Perhaps he would meet his doom by their servo, or perhaps he would extinguish their spark before that wish ever came true, they were in the middle of a brutal war after all.

He's fully aware that each fight could very well be his last, or theirs. He knows that each time seeing them could be the last, he tries to savor those brief moments.

Either way, whatever the future holds, however the story goes, he hopes that their face would be the last thing he sees. Be that because they bested him in battle, or because they'll be the last thing he'll be thinking of, along with his long lost cassettes.

There was a time they met alone in a barren battlefield, or, now it was just a field.

There was no need to fight, no real desire to.

Both were standing face to face with an enemy, yet neither made the move to kill.

No, for that brief moment they looked around and exchanged their wordless confessions.

The world was still, for a moment it felt like the years of endless bloodshed were yet to happen, or almost as if they never existed at all.

It felt like they were back home on Cybertron. The other's presence didn't feel like the one of an enemy, no. Instead it felt like they were both new sparks who had met for the first time, yet at the same time it felt like they'd known each other for all their lives.

It felt like all these eons spent at war had been pointless after all.

They stared at him for a little longer and he stared back, he didn't need to say a word, they understood the meaning easily.

"After the war"

That was a promise he could only hope he could keep.

But as the cruel and unrelenting fate, which at this point he assumes to be vengeful, would have it, he was right. That accursed moment of separation came eventually. Not because death tore them apart, rather it was the fault of humans.

Now he was to roam this lonely realm, Shadowzone, alone, silently watching as the bot he'd made his sweet promise had to quietly grieved for him in solitude.

After all, Bulkhead was under the impression they were merely joking, and how could they ever tell the others the reason behind their sparkache? As if they'd understand the pain that came with this loss, one they needed to cope with by their lonesome. He was their enemy yet he was undeniably loved by them. But now it seemed that said love could never truly bloom, not even after the war as they'd once promised to one another.

He never left their side, not till they went too far for him to follow, back to Cybertron.

Now he's alone.

Even still, he hopes that one day he'll be able to keep his word.

"After the war"

He'll wait for that moment for as long as it takes, but at the same time he wonders.

Will they be waiting for him as well?

#rid15 happens and he gets out of the shadowzone and just graps steeljaw by the scruff of his neck and asks where the f his spouce is #tfp x reader #tfp soundwave #they love eachother your honor #tfp soundwave x reader #soundwave x reader #look I love him anyway but his tfp design was PEAK #g1 and anything similar to it? I love. They go hard. But I am not immune to slenderman robot either #soundwave' shaking steeljaw: inquiry: where is designation: (s/o)#steeljaw: who the fuck is that?#soundwave isn't evil anymore he wants that fucking date okay.#my writing

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fangxin-guoshi · 6 months ago

Text

Banana fish re-review ~

I did a rewatch of banana fish and oh my God I forgot how good this series was. Considering the original manga came out in the 80's in JAPAN, it was SO ahead of its time. One of the best depictions of gay characters I've ever seen in Japanese media, even by today's standards.

Some more silly thoughts:

Like yoshida just casually dropped a manga with an insanely progressive take on the bl genre by showing a complex queer interracial relationship with incredibly well-written characters. Honestly the fact that ash and eiji's relationship wasn't explicitly defined as romantic is a plus imo. Not being able to rely on obvious romantic gestures like kissing, hand-holding, romantic confessions, etc. actually forces the writer to develop their relationship without that crutch to lean on. That's why ash and eiji's relationship is so good, because it doesn't rely on surface-level romance to get across the fact that they love each other and instead use subtlety and little nuances in their interactions. It's obvious from the subtext and how much they're shown to care for each other.

Not to mention the great depiction of black characters (I know portraying black characters non-offensively is like, the bare minimum, but may I remind you this is the EIGHTIES in JAPAN, and there are so many CURRENT animes that have an issue with it).

I mean yea does it have its flaws? Sure. Ash's admittedly very lame "lynx" title that comes with many wildcat metaphors, eiji being a bit passive in the first half, sort of cringe portrayal of America, etc. but my God the way she handles the trauma and character dynamics is incredible.

Ok so I did have a uh... Not really a criticism but something that I noticed that got me thinking. I feel like some shows use dark subject matter as a bit of an easy way to evoke an emotional reaction from the audience. Sometimes authors give characters horrible backstories as a way to make the audience THINK the character is complex and interesting but in reality it's a bit of a lazy writing tactic. Low effort high reward kind of thing. Banana fish obviously does have brutal subject matter and ash is really put through the ringer, but I love that yoshida doesn't let that become the axis of his character. He has trauma that greatly impacts him, but he's also super developed on his own apart from that. When I think about Ash's character, I don't immediately think about the traumatic backstory parts. The balance between how significantly the trauma affects him vs making sure that's not the ONLY part of his character is extremely well-executed.

Scenes that stuck out to me (not including asheiji ones bc it goes without saying theyre all amazing)

- the interrogator playing Ash's tapes after being arrested ("later, movie star" was the most brutal line ever omg)

- max burning the photos of ash (underrated moment this was SO good),

- any and all interactions between sing and blanca (they're such an unlikely duo peak comedy right there)

- the convo between sing and yut lung in the last episode

- ash stabbing the guy in the dick with a fork

- callback to ^^^, ash stabbing the banana with a fork

- Ash's breakdown in front of dino (ep 19 I believe)

- the entirety of ash escaping from the "mental hospital" and then having to go rescue ibe and max lmaooo

- ash brutally murdering Abraham(?, the redhead guy) by blowing abt a thousand holes in him w a machine gun as payback for shorter

- ash shooting shorter

- running joke of max being Ash's dad

- everyone constantly manhandling yut lung by yanking on his hair (dude get a haircut)

- ash immediately going to shoot himself no hesitation after yut lung told him he wouldn't hurt eiji if he did so (technically asheiji but I'm keeping it since this was a yut lung and ash scene)

- "what does this picture look like?" "Your wife"

- eiji's cute stupid little outfit he wore when he went to go find shorter in Chinatown

I also have a confession:

I LOVE yut lung. Him being paralleled with ash, but instead of finding love he let hate consume him because he had no one unlike ash who had eiji was just devastating but in a good way.

So yea those are my messy thoughts after finishing it. I'd argue that it was probably one of the best pieces of queer media to exist at the time. In the world. And one of my personal favorite pieces of queer media ever.

#banana fish #asheiji #ash x eiji #ash lynx #eiji okumura #bf #🍌🐟

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bluehoodiewoozi · 2 years ago

Text

The First Step

Boo Seungkwan x fem!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, coming of age

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: mental breakdowns. adulting is hard. food mentions. mutual pining.

[Series: Serenity Street 17] Your neighbour witnessed your mental breakdown and decided to take you under his protective wing.

The first step is always the hardest.

You found yourself repeating the mantra to yourself day and night after moving into your new apartment. It was a free comfort.

No more parents, siblings or roommates. Just you, yourself, and your new independence, in an apartment that you were almost entirely responsible of. You could decorate to your own desires, you could sleep until noon without anyone judging, you could get as many houseplants and paintings and chairs and blankets as you ever wished.

You had smiled brightly when you first placed your three plates into the cupboard and fluffed the cushions on the sofa. You had laughed in joy when you played your music out loud without anyone telling you to lower the volume. These were your first steps into adulthood and the first steps were always the hardest.

At first the mantra seemed to work and you didn’t feel too awful about your newfound independence, but after a while, the words lost their magic.

How many steps could be the counted as the first ones? Who’s to say if you had already taken all of them and all that was left was adult misery?

Now, a month into living entirely on your own, you were on the breaking point. You paid rent and bills for the first time and you realised a crucial fact: you were entirely alone.

For some reason, today, this thought made your return from work uneasy. You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to go there at all. Would it be too late to catch a train to your old home?

The lift moved upwards too fast for your liking that day. You opted for the slow route the stairs provided. Just so you could feel miserable for a little longer. Just to have a little more time to comfort yourself.

Four floors of stairs should have been more than enough to resolve the conflict raging in you. At the very least it should’ve distracted you. But the travel did neither and you were just as miserable – if not more – when you reached the door of apartment 4A.

As you stared the number, feeling somehow hollow at the thought of spending yet another night alone, lonely and miserable, something warm touched your cheek. It rolled gently along the skin. A single tear.

You scoffed at the idea of crying over something so silly. There was no way you were crying. Absolutely no way; you brushed the tear off your cheek and sniffled while searching your pockets for the key.

Your hands were shaking. Why were they shaking? Why was the entire world seeming to shake around you, mocking your loneliness?

“Hey, are you okay?” a soft voice sounded from your left.

Hastily, you brushed any tears off your face and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

It was easier to ignore the way your voice cracked in the middle of the sentence. But the person worrying for you seemed to think otherwise. He sighed.

“There’s no use in lying to me, you know,” he told you matter-of-factly while taking slow steps closer to you. “I’m kind of like a human lie detector.”

“It’s fine. It’s whatever.” You shook any ideas of telling him out of your head. You had no interest in having a therapy session with a stranger.

Yet tears still fell as you held the key up to the hole it was supposed to fit in. You brushed them off again before a streak of black became visible on the sleeve. You scoffed. “And now my make-up’s ruined! Great!”

“Here,” the man offered and took the key from your shaking hands. He unlocked the door for you and led you inside with a gentle hand on your upper back. “There we go. You look like you need to lie down for a little.”

You opened your mouth to argue. Only a breathless sob came out as you nearly fell onto the sofa. Your own body was betraying you in front of a stranger.

“I’m Seungkwan,” he offered, as if reading your mind and the doubts inside of it, “I live in 4B. So, I’m not a complete stranger. You can trust me, even if it’s just a little.” He then grimaced a little. “Or, if you really don’t trust me, you can just report me to Lee Jihoon. I’m sure he’d be glad to yell at me for causing an already-crying person distress.”

For some reason, his words made you feel a little better. Maybe it served as a distraction. Maybe it reminded you that you weren’t as alone in this building as you felt.

“Would he really yell at you?” you asked in a meek voice when your cries subsided after a little a while.

As your eyes slowly cleared, you found yourself staring at a friendly-looking man, his hair a dark tousled mess, his grey sweater covered in patches of white dog fur, and a pair of bunny slippers on his feet. He seemed nothing if not friendly.

Seungkwan scoffed at your question. “Jihoon would yell at me for fun on a random Wednesday midnight. He once chewed me out for removing a silly post-it note off the notice board.” His feet nudged yours. “Have you met him yet? He’s the building owner’s son so he’s sort of in charge of all the tenants. How long have you lived here anyway? I think I was out of town when you moved in.”

“A month now.”

“A whole month? And this is the first time we’ve talked?” He seemed puzzled, flabbergasted, and almost offended. “That’s strange. I’m usually friends with everyone within a week.”

You sighed and stared at your feet. “I’m not the most sociable type. Sorry.”

Immediately he frowned. “What are you apologising for? It’s fine. We’re going to be friends now.” He said it with such conviction that you had no option but to trust him.

Maybe you just liked the thought of having a friend in this building. Someone to talk to and vent to and to offer you emotional support. A friend, finally.

“Did you have dinner yet?” he asked soon after. “If you don’t feel like cooking, we can share mine? I made too much food again anyway.”

“I…” You really doubted you should agree. He was still, essentially, a stranger. Your neighbour, sure, and a possible future friend, but you knew nothing about him outside of his overly kind nature. Perhaps you were feeling desperate for some company that night, or maybe you wanted to take yet another first step – you said yes.

Within fifteen minutes, Seungkwan had covered your coffee table with plates full of side dishes and rice. He smiled brightly as he watched you eat your first mouthfuls. And it seemed that just as fast as the impromptu dinner started, it ended. Soon, your stomach was full as was your heart and your mind felt a little bit more at peace now.

“See, you look happier already,” he cooed and offered you a sweet look that made butterflies fly just a little in your lonely heart. “Eat some more. If we can’t finish this, I’ll have to bring these to the sixth floor to Vernon again and I just don’t have the energy to deal with him today.”

“I can’t fit any more food in me,” you whined and fell further into your soft sofa. “I’m going to burst at this rate. Why do you cook so much anyway?”

He shrugged. “Force of habit. I used to room with Vernon and Junhui in 6A and they eat a lot, but they’re such a mess that I just couldn’t take it anymore and moved to 4B when the possibility came.” He ate a mouthful of kimchi before adding, “Best decision of my life.”

Your heart felt heavy again. “Did you ever feel lonely after you moved into 4B?”

“Lonely?” He blinked at you. “Lonely how?”

“Like you’re all on your own again and you don’t have anyone to depend on? Like you’re entirely responsible for your life now? And now if you break the washing machine you have to replace it entirely out of your funds?”

You watched him as the reality of your situation sunk in. His lips fell into a pout the more he thought about it.

“Is that why you were crying earlier?” he asked gently. “You’re scared of living on your own like this?”

“It’s not that I’m afraid,” you corrected with a deep breath between the phrases, “but it is all a little scary. It’s like the real life has just begun.”

“Because it has,” he reminded you with a gentle pat on the back, “but that’s the best part. You’ll get used to it soon, you’ll find more friends soon, and then you’ll have people to depend on and you’ll know what to do. It just takes a little time to figure it out.”

You sighed. It came out a little shaky. “Will you help me? Will you help me figure it all out?”

He offered a smile. “If you want my help, absolutely. And if you want the help of other people in this building, just say the word, and they’ll all come running to help you fix your washing machine, okay?”

You let out a laugh, and though it wasn’t quite cheerful yet, it was getting there slowly, just as you were getting used to your situation slowly.

“But to answer your question,” Seungkwan began after a moment of thought, “yes. I felt lonely at first. I kept going back to 6A in the evenings, just lounging on their couch as they ate my leftovers. I still cook for three even though it’s just me.” He sighed. “I did get a dog though, so that’s good. I never could’ve gotten a dog living with those two. They’re both cat people.”

“Should I get a pet too?” you wondered for a moment, more just to have a thought than to actually consider it.

Seungkwan looked around the apartment for a moment, then turned to give you a glance and a smile. “I think maybe start with a houseplant first. If you need someone to water it when you’re out of town, just call me or any of the other tenants. I think Chan and Anna both have a knack for plants. Just don’t call Jihyeon – she’s as forgetful and lazy as they come.”

Feeling a little lighter after hearing his words, you decided to joke, “And if I break my washing machine, which tenant do I call then?”

Seungkwan took a bite of rice and radish. He chewed thoughtfully before deciding, “Joshua from 3A. He’s good with this kind of stuff.”

Funnily enough Jihoon had told you the exact opposite: to avoid asking for Joshua’s help at any cost. You laughed at the contradiction. This time laughter didn’t feel so difficult.

Little did you know, it was at this moment that Seungkwan made a silent promise to protect your smile for as long as you would allow him.

He quickly became your best friend in the entire city. It came easy with the way he always seemed to return from his morning run just as you were leaving for work. The at-first hesitant bows and smiles quickly turned into cheerful waves and morning news. And just like that, you had a friend. You didn’t feel so lonely anymore.

“Oh, I hate to ask this, but do you mind if we have dinner together tonight?” he had asked you this morning, his face still red from the physical exertion. “My cooker broke last week and I’m about to go insane if I don’t get a home-cooked meal.”

You had shrugged and told him, “Fine, but you’re cooking.”

Truthfully, you almost forgot about your promise at work. There was so much to do, and so little time. The memory of the morning exchange only came to you as you walked into the building on Serenity Street. You wondered if Seungkwan had known you’d be too exhausted to cook dinner that night.

The thought of warm food on your mind, with a newfound vigour, you stepped into the lift and pressed the button for the 4th floor. Before long – but just long enough that you felt a little impatient – you were at your destination, and so was Seungkwan.

He was once again wearing his bright smile, red pyjama pants and a grey sweater (this time it didn’t have any dog fur at least). His hair was still a tired mess and he was wearing his signature bunny slippers as he waited outside of your door.

“Good evening, my wonderful neighbour,” he declared loudly the moment you stepped into his view.

You offered him a playfully dramatic bow and unlocked the door, opening it for him. “What’s on the menu today, my good sir?”

He snorted at the honorific and practically ran to throw his phone onto the coffee table and himself onto your sofa as if it was his own home. “Whatever the master of the house wishes. I can cook well.”

“In that case,” you contemplated for a bit before deciding on your latest craving, “pancakes?”

“Pancakes?” He hummed in agreement but made no movement to remove himself from your sofa.

You lifted your foot to nudge him with it. “Do you not have a sofa of your own? Or, like, a bed?”

He grunted and closed his eyes tighter. “My sofa isn’t as soft. Seriously,” he sat up just a bit to give it a once-over, “where did you get this thing from? It’s like a luxury item.”

“I don’t know, it was here when I moved in,” you laughed. “Ask Jihoon.”

He fell back into the softness and moaned in content. “I will. The next time I see him.”

You shrugged off your coat and sat down next to him, lifting your legs onto the sofa and, when you realised you could have more fun with it because this was your sofa, you threw your legs over his thighs. He only hummed and gave your calf a soft pat.

When a few minutes had passed of just relaxing and becoming one with the couch, you finally felt your tummy grumble. So, you nudged Seungkwan. “Hey, when are you going to make pancakes?”

Seungkwan sighed. “Do I have to?”

“You promised.”

“I also promised my mom I’d stop eating convenience store snacks every other day, and yet here we are.”

“So, you’re not going to make me pancakes?”

He hummed affirmative.

You shook your head in mock disappointment. “Guess I’ll have to report you to Jihoon then. Such a shame. I’m sure he’ll love to yell at you though.”

His eyes opened just a little to glare at you. When you offered an innocent smile, he groaned and sat up properly. “And to think I took you under my wing because you seemed like such a shy little sweetheart.”

“Are you suggesting I’m not?”

“You might actually be the devil.”

“Ouch. Now, make us some pancakes.”

Seungkwan sighed deeply and reached for his phone. You watched curiously as he unlocked it. “Hey, Siri?” He paused for a moment before sighing once again and asking, “How do you make pancakes?”

Your laughter quickly filled the apartment, unable to believe he didn’t know how to make something a simple as pancakes. What a great cook!

“Do you want me to cook instead?” you teased as he read over the instructions provided by his phone. “I think I’ll do better than you.”

He offered you a mild glare. “I’d like you to put a bit more trust in my ability to cook, neighbour.”

“I’d trust you if you didn’t have to ask Siri for a pancake recipe,” you retorted with a laugh and relaxed into the couch.

“I’ll show you!” He stood up abruptly, pushing your legs off his own, and offered you yet another mild glare, a bit more playful than irked.

You hummed. “Let me know if you need any help.”

“I won’t need any help. I’m not five.” He stuck out his tongue before laughing at his own silliness and waddling to the kitchen while mumbling to himself, “I’m like a child today; what’s going on?”

Deciding to give Seungkwan the benefit of a doubt, you remained in your seat and picked up your phone to pass the time. He was an adult man, so surely he could make pancakes on his own.

Barely two minutes passed – complete with the sound of cupboards being opened and closed – before you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder. Seungkwan stood behind the couch, looking like a sheepish child with the way he slumped and pouted in your front of your eyes.

You blinked up at him. “... Yes?”

He pouted some more. “Where’s your mixing bowl?”

“I thought you didn’t need help.”

“Just tell me where the mixing bowl is and I won’t ask for any more help,” he vowed but somehow the both of you knew it was an empty promise. Still, you got up and helped him out.

Watching him cook would at least distract you from your exhaustion.

Five minutes passed and you found yourself questioning your decision to let him into your kitchen at all. As he continued adding more and more flour to the mix, you tapped his wrist. “I’m not entirely sure that’s correct.”

“Are you questioning my judgement?”

“Absolutely. You’re going to break our teeth.”

He blinked at you. “Isn’t the mix supposed to be thick?”

“You’re not baking a cookies, you’re frying pancakes.”

“... Is that why not even Vernon liked my pancakes?” he realised, looking as annoyed as he did heartbroken. “No one ever told me the mix was supposed to be lighter.”

“I’m telling you now,” you told him with a laugh and a gentle pat on his head. “The mix is ready, you just have to fry it now. Do you want some help?”

He scoffed. “I’ve got this part down, I’m sure. I’m not that dumb.”

“I’m not saying you’re dumb,” you whined in response, “I’m just saying that this will take you forever do make on your own and I’m hungry now. I’m gonna faint at this rate, Seungkwan.”

“Fine, fine,” he sighed and put his hands up in defeat. “You get the pans, I’ll turn the cooker on.” He clicked his tongue at your excitement. “You’re so lucky we’re friends.”

Unfortunately your friend couldn’t always be there to comfort you and offer amusement after a long day.

“Leave your message after the signal,” you heard his voice repeat back to you when you tried to call him on your way home. The things you would’ve done for just one minute of his company after this Friday.

It had been a horrible day all around, ever since you opened your eyes. You woke up late, the lift kept jolting weirdly when you tried to leave the building, then you were late to work and making mistakes left and right, eventually spilling your hot drink on your legs during lunch break – all around terrible and horrible and awful.

All you wanted was your best friend’s support.

“Leave your message after the signal,” his voice asked you once again, the pre-recorded message just playing back every time you dialled his number. You’d have to spend this lonely and bad evening on your own.

As you entered the apartment building, you just about started crying on the spot right in front of the lift.

“Out of service due to a mechanical error. Sorry :(” read the building owner’s son’s handwriting on a white piece of paper taped to the doors.

Of course the lift was broken on this particular day. Tears were already burning in your eyes, but at least you now knew why the lift had been so shaky in the morning.

You took a deep breath and turned towards the stairs. To your dismay, the building owner just so happened to enter the hallway when you turned that way. He offered you curious look. “Hey, are you okay? Is this because of the lift? It should be fixed by next week.”

You wished it had been just about the lift. You replied with a shake of your head and headed up the stairs. He called after you but you decided to ignore it. You needed the comfort of either you best friend or no one, but not a stranger you only saw once a week.

The door of your apartment could not have been further away. When you finally reached it, another horrible reality hit you.

You felt your pockets, rummaging through them with increasing panic. Soon you were crying while desperately searching your pockets and bag. Finally, it became clear: you had forgotten your apartment key in your desk drawer at work. The mental image of shutting said drawer as you left work seemed to echo in your mind. You slumped against the door and sat on the floor with a sob.

“Hey, are you okay?” your other friendly neighbour asked.

Jihyeon was her name and she was a college student living in apartment 4D – the least least renovated apartment in the building, and thus the cheapest one. You only knew about her through Seungkwan’s retellings of his playful feud with said neighbour.

Could you consider a friend to confide in?

“Did something happen?” she wondered and rushed to kneel in front of you. “Do you want me to call someone?”

“I can’t get into my apartment,” you eventually told her through tears. “God, this day has been absolutely horrible.”

She frowned at your words and reached out to pat your shoulder. “I don’t have the spare key of 4A either. I don’t know if even Jihoon does. Do you want me to go ask him?”

You dreaded going back to the first floor to ask for Jihoon’s help when he’d already witnessed you have a break-down over what he must have assumed was the lift. You figured you’d rather just sleep on your welcome mat.

“I guess that’s a no,” Jihyeon concluded hurriedly and pulled you into a gentle hug when you started crying just a little harder. Crying into her shoulder felt a little safer, at least. “There, there, I’ve got you.”

“What’s going on here?” you heard a familiar voice you’d been longing for after what felt like hours of crying.

Jihyeon let you keep crying as she answered, “She had a bad day and she doesn’t have her key. She’s been crying for 15 minutes now.”

Seungkwan let out a little whine. Then you felt a pair of arms wrap around you, gently pulling you away from Jihyeon’s comforting embrace. The smell of Seungkwan’s cologne did wonders to you.

“What happened, hm?” he asked you softly when your cries let up a little.

“I forgot my key at work,” you told him, unsure if you could recount the rest of your day without crying more yet. “I just want to eat dinner and sleep all of this off.”

The feel of his lips on your forehead was unfamiliar. Another first step. You wondered how hard it was for him. Was it was difficult at all.

He then offered, “Do you want to come to my apartment? I’ll make you some food and you can sleep a little.”

You nodded so lightly that you wondered if he’d realise you did it at all. But Seungkwan knew you better than anyone in this building – and possibly this entire town – and he knew perfectly well what you meant.

He leaned down to offer you a little smile before helping you onto your shaky legs. His key was ready in his hand already, just waiting to unlock the door.

When you stepped into his apartment, you quickly realised that in your months of friendship, you hadn’t been to Seungkwan’s home even once. He always came to your apartment, often with dinner and a wide smile. Today you came into his apartment, with a sad heart and eyes full of tears.

“Here, I’ll take your coat.”

You let him do as he pleased. You didn’t even protest when he just about dragged you to his sofa and placed a soft throw blanket over your lap. As tears dried, you just felt a little numb. You distracted yourself from the empty feeling with the affection of Seungkwan’s little white dog. The small animal had made his way into your lap and seemed to greatly enjoy tummy rubs.

“I think he likes you more than he likes me,” you hazily remember Seungkwan telling you at one point.

Your sense of time must have also been affected because you could’ve sworn dinner was ready within mere minutes and it was finished just as fast. In reality over an hour had passed.

“Do you want to stay the night?” he offered while encouraging you to nap on his sofa. “Then you could sleep in your own bed instead of my sofa– Actually, do you want my bed? I can’t let you sleep on this thing made of bricks.”

“It’s not too bad,” you managed to tell him over the edge of the blanket. The dog had also settled down with you under the fleece material, happy to rest his little head on your arm.

He raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Are you insane? You’ll get back problems.”

“You don’t have to give up your bed for me,” you told him as he began dragging you towards his bedroom. “I’m fine on the sofa.”

“No, I’m fine on the sofa. You had a hard day and deserve the best sleep,” he declared and began searching through his drawers when he eventually got you to sit on the soft mattress. Before you could even say anything, he handed you a t-shirt and some shorts. “I can’t let you sleep in your work clothes either. These will be more comfortable.”

He left the room without giving you the chance to protest. So, you did as he expected and dressed in his clothes. Something about them felt so comforting that you found yourself regretting the thought of rejecting them.

“There you go,” Seungkwan told you just a few minutes later, placing the blankets over you in a motherly manner. He had made sure to bring the fleece throw he had given you on the sofa, as well as the white little dog – Bookkeu was his name.

“He’ll keep you warm at night,” your friend joked and gave the dog a little pat on the head. The dog didn’t seem to mind and just snuggled further into your side. “I’ll leave you to sleep now,” Seungkwan whispered after pressing just one more small kiss to your forehead. “If you need anything, I’m in the living room. Good night.”

Whatever his bed was made of, it was the best sleep you had had since moving into the building. You felt at home in his room, his dog by your side, and sleep still heavy in your eyes.

When you finally woke up on Saturday, your brain was less emotionally distressed and more annoyed. As you sat there, you wondered if you’d have to spend the entire weekend in Seungkwan’s apartment – your one houseplant would die of loneliness (but mostly underwatering).

Deciding this was a problem to be solved after breakfast, you stumbled out of Seungkwan’s room. Bookkeu was right on your tail.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Seungkwan’s singing voice greeted you, accompanied by the smell of fresh pancakes.

You weren’t sure you could trust his pancakes. His last attempt hadn’t exactly been encouraging. Suspicious of the food but grateful nevertheless, you sat down at his table. “You cooked.”

“I did,” he told you with a laugh. “And now you get to eat.”

You placed a pancake on your plate carefully, eyeing it as if it would start screaming at any moment.

“I think I made them the right way this time,” Seungkwan mentioned as he watched your theatrical act. “I even asked for Mingyu’s help. I never ask for Mingyu’s help.”

“Mingyu?” You raised an eyebrow and finally took a forkful of the pancake, hesitantly lifting it. “You called him?”

“No, we met when I went downstairs to see Jihoon.”

He gently pushed your full fork upwards towards your lips. It helped that your jaw had fallen open to ask the next question. Your words were muffled by the bite of pancakes as you asked, “Why did you go to see Jihoon?”

Seungkwan snapped his fingers, remembering something. He jumped up and rushed towards the kitchen to rummage through something. A moment later, he returned with something small and shiny in his hand. He opened his palm and smiled at your proudly. “I got you a spare key.”

You dropped your fork. “A spare key?”

“Yeah, Jihoon said he was going to give you one anyway, to give to one of the neighbours in case you forget your own,” he told you and placed the key in your hand. “All apartments have two spares, one for you to give to someone you trust, and another for the owners, or Jihoon, in the case of emergency.”

“Then I’m supposed to give this to someone I trust?”

He nodded. “I gave mine to Jihyeon. She may be a little lazy and she might procrastinate more than healthy, but she’s trustworthy. I’m sure she’d be happy if you gave yours to her too.”

“Who has her key then?” you wondered, your finally curiosity making a comeback after the previous day’s dreadful events.

“I’m pretty sure Junhui has it.”

“Why Junhui?” As much as you thought the man in question was a sweetheart, you highly doubted his ability to keep a spare key safe. Especially after all of the horror stories Seungkwan had told you about Junhui and Vernon’s apartment.

Seungkwan thought for a moment, brows furrowing, before shrugging. “Who knows what goes through her head, honestly. I’m sure you’ll make a better choice though.”

You told yourself you’d think about it later, but you had an idea already.

The more time you spent with Seungkwan, the more you began to wonder if what was between you was just friendship. Maybe it was and you were just overthinking it. Or maybe his heart fluttered a little bit whenever he saw your smile too.

“Just date already,” Mingyu told the two of you when you returned from shopping and Seungkwan took half of your bags from you. You resisted the urge to stick your tongue out at the nosy neighbour but Seungkwan beat you to it.

“Mind your own business, Kim Mingyu!”

The man in question rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to but the two of you are blocking the lift with all of these bags and your heart-eyes.”

“What business do you have that you need to use the lift anyway? You live on the first floor,” you wondered, fully aware that he lived on the first floor. The only possible reason you could think of was escaping Xin’s or Jihoon’s wrath.

He sighed deeply and turned on his heel. “Fine, I’ll just take the stairs.”

“Nice,” Seungkwan laughed as the doors closed, “we have the lift to ourselves. This thing is too small for three people.”

He then began inspecting your bags. “What did you buy anyway? These don’t look like groceries.”

“Thought I’d finally decorate my apartment to my liking,” you confessed. “It’s getting kind of dull living like this.”

“But you still didn’t buy any houseplants though,” Seungkwan joked. “I think your apartment could use some better air.”

You grimaced. “I don’t know anything about houseplants though. I’d probably kill it like I did the last three.”

“Have you tried getting a cactus?”

The lift came to a stop and opened its doors. You stepped out and headed towards your apartment with Seungkwan in tow.

“Oh, wait,” Seungkwan begged and rushed to his own door, “let me get Bookkeu. He’d love to see your apartment.”

You weren’t sure if white dog fur would go with your new vision of the apartment, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him no.

Within seconds, Bookkeu was out the door and jumping in front of your feet, excited beyond belief.

“He really likes you more than his own owner,” Seungkwan sighed in disappointment and waited for you to unlock the door. “And to think I spent all those years raising you, you brat.”

“I’m starting to think Bookkeu likes everyone but Seungkwan,” Jihyeon cracked her door open just to make the joke and then closed the door again. Rumour had it her apartment has zero noise isolation and she could hear every word uttered in this hallway. You felt a little bad for her.

Seungkwan rolled his eyes before closing them and reminding himself, “Everyone is free to form their own opinions.”

You opened the door in the meantime. Unsurprisingly, Bookkeu was the first one inside. You and Seungkwan struggled a little to enter with all of the bags. How you had made it home at all was a miracle.

“This is a lot of stuff,” Seungkwan concluded once the bags were laid out onto the floor. “Do you need all of this?”

“I just want to feel at home in my apartment,” you told him with a shrug.

He hummed in agreement. “Are you also going to do any actual remodelling? Or just the decorations?”

“I’m thinking of changing the wallpaper.”

“Great, just let me know when and I’ll come over to help. That’s a two-people job.”

You couldn’t help but feel a little flustered at how easily he agreed to help you, even without being asked. He just expected to help you wherever he could. You’d pay back the favour one day.

“Should we put on some music?” he suggested, already reaching for his phone with one hand while heading to your bedroom. “Your speaker’s on your bedside table, right?”

You nodded and began unpacking the first bag. Bit by bit, you uncovered the new curtains and table cloths you had purchased. Just seeing them in your apartment brought you joy.

As you debated which curtains to put up, you heard the speaker beginning to play on the coffee table – you must have been very distracted to not notice Seungkwan returning and sitting so close to you on the floor that he was touching you.

“Oh, I put this together for you,” he excitedly told you while turning the volume up. “I think you’ll like these songs.”

Your heart stuttered. It wasn’t fair that he had this effect on you when he was just being friendly.

Once you were sure your voice wouldn’t betray your conflict of feelings, you uttered, “You made me a playlist?” He nodded nonchalantly (but if you had paid him just a little more attention, you would’ve realised his ears were more red than his hoodie). You just couldn’t believe it. “A playlist? For me?”

“Yeah,” he stuttered after a while, unable to meet your eyes as he tried to play it cool. “If you don’t like it, you can just say.”

“Can you send me the link?”

He gulped and whipped his head to meet your eyes. “What?”

“The link. Send it.” It was your turn to act cool. Your hands were shaking just a little as you continued unpacking. “I’ll have to give it a good listen one day to judge if you know me that well at all.”

You weren’t looking so he dared to smile. “Alright. I’ll send it later.”

“By the way,” you cleared your throat and continued your act, “take the spare key when you leave later.”

Seungkwan just about dropped his phone on Bookkeu’s head. It occurred to you that maybe – just maybe – you had a similar effect on him as he did on you.

“You want me to have it?” he asked to confirm. “Are you sure? You don’t want to give it to Jihyeon?”

“I trust you more,” you told him softly. “I’d like you to have it.”

His lips formed a pout as he bit back the wish to cry of joy – he had earned your trust and made you feel safe, just as he had promised himself he would. You thought of him as your friend.

“Thank you for trusting me,” he whispered after a while, his hand finding yours to give it a gentle squeeze before returning to where Bookkeu sat in his lap. “I’ll keep your key safe.” (He wished he had the courage take the first steps and add, “just like I’ll keep you safe.”)

NOTE: Happy holiday season! This fic was written when I was homesick and thus it may be self-indulgent, but I hope it brought some comfort or was at least somewhat enjoyable to read <3

This was originally supposed to have more romance, but you know what? Not everyone needs to be in love and not every fic needs to have a cheesy confession scene. I like this fic the way it is. However, fully expect these two to become a cute couple in the background of the next serenity street fics!

#seventeenweeklyarticle #seungkwan scenarios #seungkwan x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #boo seungkwan scenarios #svt scenarios #seungkwan fic #.avy writes

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behindthesoul · 11 months ago

Text

Be Silent, Sorcerer

Shang Tsung x Quan Chi

Masterlist

Summary - In the garden of Shang Tsung’s soul, where betrayal sews thorns, a delicate bud emerges. Its unexpected bloom opens a new door for his relationship with Quan Chi.

Word Count - 1,828

Warnings - mental breakdowns

A/N - Takes place after Shang Tsung and Quan Chi find out Damashi’s true identity. Also, thanks to my beta reader Eevee :)

“You are the victim of deceit, sorcerer.”

Even after an hour or so, the words keep ringing in his ears. Each time they repeat, they sting just a bit more. Shang sits in the remnants of his laboratory, a place that once represented his wit and cunning, now a burning reminder of his foolishness. Shang’s eyes are dull, his chest tight. His hands reach up to run through his hair, but only add to the frustration when they get caught in tangles. They then fall down, letting out a sound when they collide with his torso.

Shang had to hold his composure as best as he could. He wouldn’t dare to let Liu Kang and his minions witness a moment of weakness. Why give them more leverage than they already had? As soon as there was a moment of downtime, Shang ignored the faces that looked at him with disgust and ran to his lab. Its smell of death and despair was intense, the cries of prisoners enough to rupture the eardrum; neither managed to register in Shang’s mind.

He storms around the lab, finding himself unable to stay in one place. His mind is scattered across the room; attempts to find it are futile. Shang continues to race around the lab to find the last thing that keeps him together. Quills, scrolls, small miscellaneous items are thrown across the room during his search; no dice. The small items are followed by a chair, a lamp, even one of his examination tables. Shang’s face reddens as his hands tremble in grief and exertion. He inhales, exhales, but his breaths are too shaky to calm the frustration that begins to rise in his body.

A small light reflects in the corner of his eye. It’s one of the many beakers used in his tarkat experiments. Many restless nights were spent slaving over his desk, desperate to find a cure. Shang huffs in bitter amusement at the fact he stressed over this disease for, ultimately, no purpose. If only he could go back in time and tell his past self that he was being played. An invisible magnet draws him over to the object, and he gently picks it up. It’s chipped at the rim, presumably from being thrown to the ground. Dainty fingers spread across the beaker, cold and uncaring; they press against it as if he intended to bring harm. Shang’s breath hitches as his eyes close, imagining that his hands were wrapped around the throats of everyone who dared to conspire against him.

Shang is almost deafened by the sudden footsteps he hears. They aren’t too loud, but the reverb of his laboratory heightens his hearing. There is no need to turn and see who dared to interrupt him. He listens as the familiar legs clack against the ground until they stop in front of him.

“Quan Chi,” he simply states, voice laced with ire. Anger they both shared.

Quan Chi hums, seemingly pleased that he was recognised without Shang Tsung having to open his eyes. “I seek peace, solace from today’s events.”

“And you thought to find respite here,” Shang adds.

“Correct.”

Shang finally opens his eyes to fully drink in the image of his friend. Quan Chi stands tall, a few inches above him, and looks relaxed with his arms behind his back. Shang opens his mouth to say something, but the words are lost on him. He decides to not pollute the air with pointless rambling so the two could share a comfortable silence. Shang watches as Quan Chi walks over to a chair he threw earlier. The sorcerer picks it up and sets it upright before sitting down, sighing in relief after being on his feet all day. Shang takes a few steps back, the added distance giving him the courage to speak.

“I pride myself on my keen foresight, yet I was unable to realize we were just pawns.” Shang’s face twists into a disgusting scowl. It’s an expression that is foreign to his normally smug face.

“The wool was pulled over both our eyes, Shang Tsung.”

Shang shakes his head in anger, the emotions from earlier seeping out of his body. His fists clench and he takes a deep breath.

“Liu Kang will pay for the life he cursed me with. He will regret blessing me with mercy.”

Shang looks over at Quan Chi. His friend’s eyes are laced with an unknown emotion. He silently pleads for a response that would give context to Quan Chi’s facial expression but receives nothing. The two men continue to stare at each other, and Shang can only understand the emotion as pity. Whether Quan Chi truly pities him or not is unknown, but it’s the answer Shang decides to create.

One could almost feel the heat rising from Shang’s shoulders. Its smoke pollutes the air, making it thick and hazy. It suffocates, but Quan Chi is used to poor conditions like this; he doesn’t move at all.

“Shang Tsung,” Quan Chi begins. Shang doesn’t react at all – his eyes are too busy burning holes in the ground in front of him.

No response. The air gets thicker and thicker; it would surely kill anyone who walked in. Quan Chi can see Shang’s nails dyed with blood, a result of digging his nails into his palms. Quan Chi stands and eventually makes his way toward his friend. His efforts to grasp Shang’s attention are in vain, it appears as though there is a compelling force redirecting his attention away from Quan Chi.

Curious, Quan Chi grabs Shang’s chin and forces eye contact.

“Not once have I seen you lose control of yourself,” Quan Chi didn’t mean to offend with his observation, but Shang’s jaw tightens as he feels insulted.

“We were promised the world; instead we received humiliation.” Shang’s voice, once strong and confident, sounds weak and sad. “My wish was to share them with you; rule them as one.”

“And I, you,” comes Quan Chi's soft voice, comforting his companion immediately. Whatever emotion Shang felt in Quan Chi’s eyes is gone; it’s replaced with kinder, softer ones. “We – you deserve much more, Shang Tsung.”

Shang tries to look down but a strong hand keeps his head tilted up. Emotions begin to flood the damaged well of his heart. If Quan Chi wasn’t paying attention, he’d miss the signs of the tears’ arrival: fingers gently shaking, blotches of red attacking his pale cheeks, and torment clawing its way out of his chest. Quan Chi doesn’t know what to do, there’s not much he can do; emotions were never his strong suit. Shang pulls away and starts to pace the room. His hands shake more, and eventually a vase that survived his earlier breakdown is thrown against the wall, breaking and falling in sync with fresh tears. Shang chokes back violent sobs as a table is flipped, a window is broken, and a wall is punched. His poised self is well out the broken window, replaced by a man whose eyes are so bloodshot he looks like a beast.

Quan Chi is silent once again. He doesn’t know if he should calm the man who is now pulling at his hair, or allow him to feel his emotions. Shang’s breathing is rapid; one could almost hear his heart beating out of his chest. Quan Chi didn’t think it possible for Shang to hurt this much. He slowly extends his arms out for a hug, not knowing what else to do. Shang rushes over to Quan Chi and collapses in his arms, the sheer force of his weight knocking them both to the ground. He sobs, almost screams into Quan Chi’s shoulder. Shang’s arms hold the man tight; his fingers digging into his companion’s skin. Both are sure that Shang drew blood, but neither cared.

“I am not sure what to do next,” Shang chokes out, burying his face in his friend’s neck. He feels his stomach twisting. He brushes it off as a symptom of his overwhelming emotions, but knows it’s due to being in such close proximity to Quan Chi. He felt his feelings grow for his fellow sorcerer over the last few months but was quick to bury them. It only makes sense that his desire for the man would return with the rest of his emotions.

Quan Chi lets out a deep sigh of agreement. “Neither do I, my friend.” Friend, that word burns Shang’s chest. “But, hear me, Shang Tsung, when I say I shall face any adversary at your side. Forever.”

Shang slowly raises his head to look at Quan Chi. Shang’s face is wet, but the tears are slowing to a stop. Quan Chi’s hand moves to dry his face and huffs in amusement when Shang replaces the tears he dried with fresh ones. The air becomes charged with an unspoken tension as the two find themselves relaxing in each other’s presence. Their breathing, unbeknownst to them, slowly syncs, creating a harmonious rhythm that resonates with the quiet intensity of the moment. There wasn’t much either man could do other than stare into each other’s eyes. They had always been masters of restraint, keeping their feelings guarded like closely held secrets. Tonight, however, something was different.

As they sit in the laboratory, the echoes of Shang’s anger from earlier in the day linger in the air. The conversation since had flowed effortlessly, each word a bridge leading them closer to a place neither had ventured before. Shang can feel his heart beating a little faster, his palms slightly damp as he tries to navigate the uncharted territory of vulnerability.

Quan Chi, usually composed and self-assured, seems equally affected. His eyes start to hold longing, mirroring the emotions Shang had been suppressing for far too long. The unspoken tension simmers beneath the surface, the magnetic pull between them growing stronger with every passing moment.

A gentle breeze sweeps through a broken window, carrying with it a subtle scent of blooming flowers and the promise of change. The atmosphere seems to conspire, urging them to break free from the shackles of their own inhibitions. The ambient noise of the laboratory fades away as they move closer, the space between them diminishing with each heartbeat. Quan Chi could smell a faint hint of sweat on Shang’s body.

His hand stays on Shang’s face, guiding Quan Chi as he goes in to kiss Shang, the latter slightly gasping in surprise at the movement. The kiss was nothing special; clumsy, unsure lips moving against each other, showing that neither man had much experience in the love department. Their sloppy rhythm slows to a stop as they both pull away. Shang feels dazed. The feeling is welcomed after an hour of rage.

“A friend,” he starts, and Quan Chi listens intently. “You call me a friend, but your actions say otherwise.” Shang grins, “I fear you do not understand what a friendship is.”

“Be silent, sorcerer.”

#mortal kombat fanfiction #mortal kombat fanfic #shang tsung x quan chi #please don’t let this one flop i’m counting on you all

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idontknowreallywhy · 1 year ago

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Finally finished a WIP!! Only took a car breakdown and waiting to be rescued!

Entirely un-proofread but yolo. Thanks to @astranite and @sofasurf and @womble1 for encouragement 🥰

Accidentally broke Virg a bit… 🤭

Play it Out

It had been a textbook rescue. The Thunderbirds Triumphant! Everybody had been saved with nothing more than a collection of minor scrapes and bruises between them. And most of those obtained by Gordon as he attempted to break dance to keep the rescuees entertained while Virgil made a safe passage to the surface.

Yes, definitely a good one. The only tears today were those of joy on parental faces as twenty-eight dusty children burst from the pod module and dashed into their arms to be swung up into the air and spun around and kissed all over their faces and told over and over how much they were loved. The unique privilege of watching such moments was undoubtedly the best part of the job and Virgil was proud to have helped make it happen. He was very happy. Absolutely thrilled.

Absolutely.

The journey home had been filled with the excited chatter of his younger brothers. The pilot tuned them out, fixing a benevolent smile on his face while focusing intently on Two’s background E hum in a mostly unsuccessful attempt to ignore the hollow sensation in his gut.

He didn’t understand where the glow had gone.

Sure, he’d started feeling a little wistful recently. Maybe there were only so many emotional reunions a person could witness before they started playing on a slow motion loop in your head like some cheesy 20th century movie montage and lost their novelty.

Anyway, he’d had plenty of run, catch, throw, spin routines with Alan when he was smaller and knew full well that the inevitable tiny-but-solid knee to the stomach or flailing elbow to the jaw made the whole thing less idyllic than it looked.

God forbid he try that now. Alan’s glare as Virgil had reached out to steady his little brother’s slight stumble off Two’s passenger platform earlier that afternoon could have set his eyebrows on fire.

The throbbing pressure in the back of his throat had been subject to a gradual crescendo since they took off and it was beginning to make it difficult to breathe without concentrating. So he concentrated on breathing. He concentrated on flying. And then on landing. And he sorted post flights. And he cleaned up Gordon’s forehead graze. And he rolled his eyes when Gordon told him to “STOP BEING SUCH A MOM, VIRGARONI”.

That was only niggling at him now because it was Gordon’s most stupid nickname yet. For goodness sake, sounds like a type of pasta. He tramped into the locker room and attempted to drown his increasingly foul mood in the shower - full power-hose mode. Extra hot. He lost track of time just a little, tracing the path of grout around the tiles with his eyes, letting the water drill into his skull and wondering whether this was… everything.

Whether his role in life was to preserve and observe and… just that?

That was a pretty awesome role all told. He was preventing families being torn apart, enabling Happiness and Normality for hundreds. It was a PRIVILEGE. Only an awfully selfish person would have any kind of problem with playing his part. And anyway, look at what he had - his incredible siblings who he adored were always close by, a they had a beautiful home and they wanted for nothing. He was objectively the luckiest man alive.

And yet.

He growled in frustration and shut off the water, leaning heavily on the wall for a moment as a wave of wooziness rushed over him. Maybe the shower had been TOO hot. According to his wrinkly fingertips he’d been here wasting time for far too long. The others would start wondering where he’d got to.

Clothes. Style hair. Happy face on. Up to the lounge.

The lounge was empty. But there was the piano.

Music would make it better, it always did.

Picking something generically soothing - Beethoven’s Moonlight - Virgil focussed intently on the subtlety of the rhythm, recalling his Mom perched next to him on this very stool, explaining it wasn’t as simple as the length of the notes but the different stress on each. She’d had him reciting “pineapple pineapple pineapple” as he played.

He remembered his dad standing behind them, placing an arm around both their shoulders and giving a squeeze as he made some kind of fruit-based pun Virgil could no longer bring to mind. Mom had poked her husband in the ribs, mocked him for his dad jokes and pulled him in for a kiss. Pre-teen Virgil had squirmed with embarrassment but the sweet moment had stuck with him and he’d hoped maybe one day…

With a discordant crunch his hands came to a halt. He clearly needed to play something that required more brainpower to shut down this ridiculous self-pitying Nonsense.

He half stood and reached into the piano stool to extract the book of advanced technical exercises John had bought him a couple of years back. They were fiendish, defied any sense of predictable pattern and the modal shifts set his teeth on edge. That should do it.

Time passed. It did not pass quickly. Half an hour or possibly decades went by and all he had achieved was a twitchy tingle in his left ring finger and the start of a tension headache. The cold, empty feeling had intensified. He shook his hands violently to shift the cramp and turned the page.

There was a soft cough behind him.

“That was… different?”

“It’s called training, Scott. Agility exercises. If I don’t do these I can’t expect to play the fancy stuff.” Virgil’s eyes widened slightly as he heard his own snappish tone.

“Sure, it’s just I could do with sorting some paperwork and so would you mind playing something a little less… uh… like… that?”

The part of Virgil that lived to keep his big brother sane slapped himself upside the head for being so self-absorbed. He looked up and arranged his face into an obliging smile.

“Of course, sorry. You want jazz or some kind of chilled filmic stuff or…?”

Scott’s wink and finger guns indicated relaxing film scores were the order of the day and so Virgil delivered. It was all going very well, he was definitely calming down and everything was fine. And not a Scott Tracy fake ‘Fine’ either, he cast a sidelong glance at his brother who appeared to be typing away peacefully. He transitioned into a lilting F# minor theme and went heavy on the sustain pedal to allow the higher notes to resonate through the room. Leaning back and closing his eyes, he shut all the silliness firmly away and began to enjoy himself.

Until a particular chord progression seemed to flick a switch in his soul and every hair on the back of his arms shivered to attention as a shard of ice slid down his spine.

His fingers sprang off the keys lifting the tune out through the high chords as it took on a life of its own - an insistent, yearning melody. A gasp escaped him as he found he couldn’t get enough oxygen into his lungs - the villa faded out and he was grounded only by his fingertips returning again and again to the familiar rise and fall of black on white.

The ball of tension that had formed behind his eyes flooded down through his veins and out through his hands like poison sucked from a wound. The ache of loneliness - the longing… the surge of grief for what could never be - he forced it all down his arms and out into the wild, transformed into melody, pulse, rhythm to whirl past his bowed head and soar into the rafters and… away.

Virgil let his fingers rest on the keys as the last notes faded, gradually becoming aware of the tremor in his hands. Exhaustion swept over him and he shivered, realising his shirt was soaked with perspiration.

Silence but for the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears.

Then, a hand on his cheek, thumb brushing away tears he had no recollection of forming. He released the breath he was holding and leaned into the touch with a sigh, eventually dragging his eyelids ajar.

Scott’s other hand settled on his shoulder as he crouched next to the piano stool, blue eyes full of questions and concern.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Virgil cleared his throat and began reaching for some appropriately reassuring words.

A earth-shatteringly loud screech startled them both as Gordon sprinted across the room trailing shaving foam with a furious Abominable-Snowman-Alan hot on his heels.

Virgil scraped his scattered emotions back into submission and watched Scott’s expression as his big brother decided to put a pin in the Tinies-wrangling for later and turned back to him. Some kind of explanation was clearly required here but Virgil found himself unable to add any more weight to the burden his brother already carried.

And so for the first time in a decade Virgil told his best friend a deliberate lie.

“I was just thinking about Mom”

Maybe TBC? I should really fix them…

Note: Feel free to pick your own hauntingly heartbreaking film theme to knock Virgil over with (there are many that would fit!). The one that gave me the ice treatment the other day and I haven’t been able to get out of my head since is here.

(It’s all going well until about 40 seconds in then it whallops him)

Part 2, Part 3

AO3

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #music!virgil #music is everything #angst #piano angst #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #Play it out #piano!virgil

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immediatebreakfast · 2 years ago

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If something could hold more weight in the argument of Victor and Henry's relationship as a possible romantic relationship, than Victor and Elizabeth, is their interactions in this chapter. Of course it should be said that the notions of friendship back then are very different from the notions of friendship today. So what we consider a romantic gesture, it might be general kindness expected of a friend. However, that doesn't mean we can ignore the possible queer subtext between Victor and Henry.

I thought that the symbolism of a worried husband taking careful care of his frightened and ill wife would stop last chapter, but boy I was wrong. Victor and Henry might as well go ahead and secretly swear marriage to eachother in front of the doors of a church while the moon is their only witness.

They care so much for eachother, they keep eachother balanced in an almost harmonic way. Henry is the emotional anchor that keeps Victor grounded and connected to reality, while Victor is the person that allows Henry to express all of his imagination and personality without judgement.

The whole scene of Victor introducing Clerval to his professors so they can not only know him, but approve the man who has caring for him so many months. How Henry is so carefully aware of Victor's emotions regarding science for the moment, to the point that he directs the flow of conversations as to not overwhelm Victor with what is now a delicate subject.

Victor finally allows himself to heal a little bit under the care of Henry, and at the same time he bitterly admits that he doesn't want to leave his side. Moreover, both of them delay Victor's return to Switzerland so they can continue to live and love in this pocket of happiness away from their standings in society. Surrounded by scholarly life that lets them cultivate their minds, and their hearts with their love for eachother.

"Excellent friend! how sincerely did you love me" Victor why don't you just cut the chase, and kiss him before going back to your home, and all of the fucked up family dynamics that await you.

One little tiny detail. I applaud Victor for somehow still keeping up with his university work while wasting away on a constant mental breakdown fueled by his desire of overcoming death through crimes against nature. That is an achievement that one should be proud of.

#And here I thought that Victor and Henry's relationship would be less intense #Like wow their relationship is very intimate #Thank god that Henry is so kind or Victor would have ended up in a ''The yellow wallpaper'' situation #Also Victor... Where is the creature? Where is the poor dude?#frankenstein weekly #frankenstein #henry clerval #victor frankenstein

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liyue-harbour · 2 years ago

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𝙙𝙚𝙘𝙚𝙥𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

pairing :: dottore x (ghost) reader

part 2 of lingering presence, please enjoy, i hope that this does not disappoint

tag list: @forgotten-blues @rosymetal @ello-its-me-ya-boi @ki--mi

in the many years that had gone by, you witnessed and experienced a lot. for one, you noticed following the agreement with zandik was that the both of you were no longer alone. there was finally someone who was not afraid of you, and there was someone who finally understood zandik.

it was mostly joy that you experienced until the day zandik told you about his expulsion because of an accident that ended up in the death of another student, soreh. that day, you watched zandik breakdown. it was the first time you saw him so distressed, what am i going to do now? what’s going to happen to my research? where am i supposed to go? he asked.

“those damned sages!” he slammed his fists on the table. “soreh was already dying, all i did was to put her out of the misery she was in! and how dare they remove me, the one who contributed the most to the research paper, from the author’s list! utterly ridiculous…sheer foolishness if i must say!”

your eyes following zandik as he paced about his dorm room. you felt bad for him, you wanted to help him. remembering something interesting you overheard, you floated down from the ceiling and materialised, placing your hands on his shoulders.

“aren’t the sages exiling you to aaru village? you know…i heard the sages talk about recalling the akademiya scholars who were sent to the eleazar hospital in the desert today, you could start again there. no one would know who you are since only exiled scholars are sent over.”

and that was your new destination. you had followed zandik to aaru village, then to the eleazar hospital. true enough, no one suspected a thing. zandik had lied to the exiled amurta scholars who worked at the hospital, claiming that he was also an exiled student from the amurta darshan.

eventually, the hospital was shut down and the two of you were wanderers. until, a man with a mask covering the right side of his face approached zandik. the man, pierro, invited zandik to join the fatui with the promise of resources for his research. “will you treat me like the akademiya did? will you call me a monster, a madman? or will you treat me as my hometown did, and cause me away with pitchforks and clubs…?” the answer that zandik had gotten excited him and he accepted the offer.

both of you had stayed true to the deal made, or so you thought. now, you sat on the operating table, fully materialised. somehow you could feel the cold of your surroundings, you could smell the remnants of dried blood from zandik’s— no, dottore’s experiments, you could feel the blood rushing in your veins and you could feel the beating of the heart in you.

all these years, you faithfully followed and helped the man in front of you to the best you could, no matter how gruesome his requests were, because he promised that he’d help your soul rest for eternity.

“the deal was to help me cross over, not bring me back to life.” your hands gripped the edge of the operating table you sat on. you assumed that he had made an artificial body for you, one similar to the rest of his segments, complete with an artificial heart. you felt something wet roll down your face. tears? the last time you cried was when you were alive. you felt betrayed.

zand- dottore stepped closer to you. he wiped the tears off your face and chuckled, “how could i not? believe me when i say this. originally, i wanted to help you cross over, but the amount of knowledge you withhold is too much to let go…plus, the research on cloning you did before you died was what gave me the idea of bringing you back. though, i made some adjustments to your new body. unlike my segments, you are immortal. you won’t die, at least not until i do.”

had you known that your old research on cloning would give dottore the idea of bringing you back to life instead of helping you find a way to achieve eternal rest, you would never have talked to him the day you found him in the forbidden section of the library. more and more tears rolled down your face and dottore wiped each and every one of them.

“do not cry, my dear. a smile looks so much better on you,” he took his mask off and leaned in, planting a kiss on your forehead. he pulled away after, crimson eyes staring at you, “you are now mine for eternity.”

masterlist | here is the anticipated part 2 of ‘lingering presence’! apologies if this is not up to standards.

#il dottore #dottore x reader #genshin impact #x reader #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact drabbles #genshin impact imagines #dottore #il dottore x reader #genshin dottore #zandik

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obigem · 2 months ago

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As Alpha laid down the final plate, she took her leave which Kade immediately took notice of.

"Woah, I thought your fine lady friend was going to join us for dinner, but were those blue flames I saw coming outta her? She alright? If not, I can hose her down."

"Lady friend? You don't mean Alpha do you?"

"Alpha? Strange name, but I guess that's kinda hot."

"Hot? Alpha's no lady, she's our servo. A helper bot prototype, the first of her kind."

"Woah! So, what can she do?"

"Cleaning, fixing, cooking—"

"Nah, bruh, I mean really 𝘥𝘰."

"I don't think I underst—" but before Cam could finish his thought, a raucous had broken out at the other end of the table.

"If you're insinuating that I'm a drunk—" Anna started.

"No, of course not, no one is insinuating that at all, Anna." Dre tried to calm the situation.

"But couldn't she be a drunk, Mama, if she drinks a lot every day? How many did you have today Ms. Anna? One drink, two drinks, fifty drinks?"

"I—it was just, just one drink. They say you can have one, I had one is all. I'm a grown woman, mother, grandma. I just had one!"

"Soooo are we talking one cup or one bottle?" Millie prodded.

"Camille, hush." Andrea nudged her youngest daughter.

"Anna, we're not judging, no one is. Sometimes one drink on an empty stomach and with nerves involved it can—"

But then Anna broke down. "My Watcher, AM I DRUNK?"

There was no longer a one end of the table and the other end, the entire table came together and stood witness to Anna's breakdown.

"A drunk?! Which one of you fancy people just called my wife a drunk? She hasn't had a lick of alcohol all night! And now she's in tears?!"

"No one has called Anna a drunk! Except maybe Camille might've insinuated, and for that she will sincerely apologize because you, your wife, and Jai are guests in our home, and our family treats guests with the utmost respect, love, and care. Isn't that right, Camille?"

"All I did was ask questions, Mama. I didn't know it was wrong to be curious." Millie feigned innocence, but such an act would not work on Andrea.

"Camille." Dre said sternly in a tone all 4 children knew well.

"I guess I'm sorry Ms. Anna for asking if you were a sloppy drunk."

Dre let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, Anna. My children are usually much better behaved than this. If your family would rather leave now, we'd understand. But I do want to extend my deepest apologies"

With the option of leaving on the table, Kade shrugged at Anna. "Whadaya say, babe?"

#fletcher legacy gen 2 #ts4 #ts4 story #ts4 gameplay #simblr #ts4 legacy #ts4 legacy challenge #sims 4 legacy #sims 4 gameplay #Fall Year 1 #Cameron Fletcher #Andrea Fletcher #Camille Fletcher #Kade Livingston #Annalise Livingston

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conostra · 7 months ago

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Griffith's Relationships (2)

The White Hawk. The White Phoenix. The King of Falconia. The Savior. Femto. The Blessed King of Longing. Once, the greatest mortal to ever wield a sword. The bane of the Black Swordsman. The most beautiful man alive. Him with a stature nothing short of pure magnificence. You know him. You love to hate him. I’m talking about one of the greatest characters not just in manga, but in all of fiction: Griffith.

Griffith is one of many examples of how masterful Kentaro Miura was with a pen, be it pressing against a notebook or a panel. An incredibly written character, as complex as they can come, with some of the most complicated, deep, and tragic relationships I’ve ever seen put to any form of media.

Today, I’ll be discussing what is inarguably a core tenet of Berserk: Griffith’s relationships. With two exceptions, there is no dispute that Griffith’s relationships are not the singular most important part of the media he resides in, there is no debate over whether or not they are still crucial parts of understanding both Guts’ disposition, and the world of Berserk itself. Griffith’s different approaches to interacting with those in his vicinity warps the very world itself, and his whims shape the very nature of the conflicts the protagonist engages in.

Here, we will be discussing Griffith’s most important relationships through Berserk, how they shaped him, and what they explain about who he is and how he got to where he is now.

Part 1: The Boy, and The Hawks

Part 2: The Governor.

Part 3: The King.

Part 4: Charlotte.

Part 5: The Wings of the Hawk (1)

Part 6: The Wings of the Hawk (2)

______________________________________________________________

Part 2: The Governor

Griffith was a young boy, molested by an old man to increase the odds of a shot at his pipe dream. Later on, Griffith proves he deserves no sympathy. A larger-than-life figure, a literal living legend, born from a mountain of bones and bloodshed he could have prevented. But here, in this moment, acting out of pure desperation to succeed after a watershed moment in his time as a leader, Griffith is small. He is weak. He is taking on an impossible task, chiseling a quarry into a sculpture with nothing but a rock in his hand. To go from a peasant in a run-down town, to a noble, much less a king, would get him laughed out of any of Midland’s few places that would accept him, and perhaps fare much worse fates when presented with any of that royal blood itself. He needs any resources he can scrounge up, even more so after the devastation that the death of a young boy under his care wrought on his psyche. And so, in this moment, Griffith chooses to put his dream, and his people, over himself, allowing the most debasing act humanely possible to be performed with his body, giving up any notions of autonomy through the “allowed” desecration of his physicality, all for the sake of attempting to gain his self-efficacy back through the easing of the also grueling task that still lays before him.

This obliterated Griffith’s self-image, the very notion of himself that he carried in his own mind. He breaks down into tears the dawn of the very next day, Casca alone there to witness. While attempting to talk very seriously about the logistics of the coming struggles he must deal with, putting on the face that it is through these reasons alone he performs the acts he does, he also grips his arms, tearing so hard he rends his own flesh, blood running down into the water he was cleaning himself in below. His real mental state slips through, if only for a moment. This Griffith is not as emotionally or psychologically refined as who he will become. He looks at Casca, spotting her as she attempts to flee the scene before his breakdown begins. He asks her, quite plainly: “Am I dirty?” And, although you cannot blame Casca for how she responds, considering she is even younger than him, she does not say no. She does not respond to the question at all, letting it linger, before asking him a question of her own.

He did it for troops, he says. He did it for money, power, means through which to acquire all he desires. But he primarily did it, of course, as a shortcut. Whatever resources he gains through other means, means less resources have to be gained at the expense of his troops. Whatever gold, whatever prowess, whatever the currency, he reasons that it has a value not just worth itself, but one which includes the cost of the lives he would have to stake in order to get it through warfare. This is how Griffith, in his own way, warped by the path he has been on and the decisions that have been both made by and thrust upon him, shows his affection. Shows how valuable his troops, his people, how valuable each individual life is to him.

To the governor, Griffith was easily worth whatever measly trinkets he had to throw his way. In fact, Griffith was quite literally “worth the value of his weight in gold, an intoxicating phantom.” To this day, all this time later, that singular night of “revelry” has dominated his mind. Obsessively. Every boy now in his… care… bears resemblance. Every one of them carries his face. Every one of them wears his hair. Every spare, waking moment has been filled with nothing but the thought of how he might, one day, be lucky enough to cage the White Hawk. And one day, an opportunity arises. The Hawks, the greatest force in Midland’s army, have been sent to capture the very castle he resides in. And this lingers in his mind as the battle draws out, the chance to once again have Griffith in his palms nearly as titillating as the memory itself.

So much so, in fact, that the Governor throws the battle away. He sets outlandish rewards for an even more outlandish request: take the Hawk, and clip his wings, and carry him to me, with nary a scratch otherwise. And this costs them the battle, and may well lose them the war. And this leads to yet another face-to-face with the Hawk himself.

And those eyes.

Griffith puts on a very cold, calculating facade through the entirety of Berserk, but it is very clear that this is exactly that- a facade. When he is in a particularly expressive mood, there is one part of him that betrays his true feelings: his eyes. Eyes show the soul, or so they say, and Griffith embodies this idea to his very core. Griffith’s eyes are as much windows to his true feelings as they are windows to hell. They are known for almost literally freezing characters in place, with the pure intensity they emanate out into the world, and specifically at whoever is looking. They are his truest way to show how he really feels about any particular event, and in the case of the Governor, they hold such raw malice that it instantly makes him sweat. It also betrays that despite what he claims immediately after his eyes betray him, the governor has, indeed, occupied quite a space in Griffith’s mind since the event transpired.

Those eyes Griffith carries, which wear his passion, his fiery disposition, however he may feel and to whoever it may be directed right on his face. Those eyes, here, so full of seething disgust and rampant hatred, that even he cannot pretend so well as to feign ignorance to his feelings. The Governor notices the waves of turbulence, seeing those eyes, and asks Griffith outright if he has any hatred for him. Griffith rejects the idea, recovering from his stupor at the mere sight of the man who once violated him, and denies him. No, he says, “I do not resent you.” But once again, Griffith betrays himself.

He goes on another long tangent about the logistics behind his decision-making, and then slips again.

“However, it would be quite beyond reason to say that I’ve yearned for you.

I simply have no emotional interest in you at all. Resentment, endearment… nothing.

I just took the liberty of using you when the opportunity appeared.

You were like a stone lying by the side of the path I walk.

That… and nothing more.”

And then, when all is said and done?

Griffith stabs him in the face, citing that him being alive to spread unsightly rumors would be a risk to his dream.

Once more, Griffith engages with his emotions in an emotionally self-destructive way, and once again, his habits are reinforced. There is no blowback from doing this to the governor. There is no solace to be found in it, sure, as the effects he left on Griffith linger into perpetuity, but there is no harm in his action. Except for to himself. It allows him to continue engaging in these behaviors, to continue to shut himself off emotionally and act as though rules, and logic, and objectivity are what gear his thinking, even though he is, at his heart, an emotional man, controlled by emotional experiences. Perhaps, if not for the governor’s hanging influence over his life, he would not make the decisions he does later. Perhaps, if not for the governor’s hanging influence, he would not act the way he does. As I will discuss later, Sexuality, Affection, and Romance become both a part of Griffith's toolbelt and a looming shadow that darkens his thoughts.

Because the governor’s touch did not just poison Griffith’s body, but his mind, his heart, and the very soul of his will.

#berserk #griffith #casca #guts #governorgennon #griffith definitely took the WRONG lesson from this encounter #what it did to my GOAT is... incredibly unfortunate.#and what comfort #what solace could Casca give #as a child younger than him #less experienced #seeing her god reduced to a man?

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