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breakyeol · 4 years ago

Text

don’t look away

one shot

┗ pairing: xiumin / reader (ft. baekhyun)

word count: 5k

warnings: no plot, no thought, just pure smut, min exposes everyone, explicit unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving), dom!xiumin, a singular spank, biting, edging, voyeurism, mild choking, exhibitionism, manhandling, masturbation

a/n; sometimes, my own writing gets to me. this was definitely one of those times. I swear I’m not a sub but dom!minseok does things to me. also, another drabble turned one shot. couldn’t be helped.

“W- we shouldn’t.” It’s a weightless opposition. You know because you feel the weakness of the words on your own lips.

Beside you, Xiumin only chuckles, a low, breathless sound that caresses to the curve of your throat and sends chills down your spine. “And why not?”

You swallow thickly, eyes briefly flicking towards his closed bedroom door.

“What if they hear?”

Fucking at Minseok’s place always came with risks. With three flat mates and five other friends that seemed to be over so often they might as well just start paying rent, you never quite knew when you were alone. Up until that point, you’d managed not to be caught in the act by mainly having sex at you place, or doing it at his only when you were certain no one was home and wouldn’t be. And by having a bit of dumb luck, of course.

But tonight was different. Tonight, the whole lot of them were camped out in the living room, playing video games, watching movies, and eating their weight’s worth in fast food. Until about five minutes ago, you’d been out there with them, laughing, chatting, and just having a damn good time. But then, Minseok decided he was tired of not having your full attention and dragged you into his bedroom, throwing out some dumb excuse over his shoulder when Chanyeol had noisily complained about being in the middle of a round of Mario Cart with you.

You should have suspected that he’d want more than innocent cuddles.

“They won’t,” he hums, rough fingers creeping up to grip your jaw and turn your face towards his, “unless…” his lips graze yours and you shiver, “you don’t think you can keep quiet.”

There’s no denying the desire you feel stirring to life inside of you, hot and demanding as it spreads through your body.

The thing about Minseok was, when he wanted something, he could be incredibly convincing. Not that you really needed all that much to begin with… you were always weak for the man, weak for his touch, weak for his kiss. And when he was looking at you with those eyes, dark and pooling with lust, you wanted nothing more than to give him every last thing he desired.

“I— I can.” You whisper after a short pause, unable to tear your gaze from the tempting curve of his pink lips as they twist into a dangerous smirk.

“Good.”

He’s barely gotten the word out before his mouth is on yours, hot and demanding. You gasp out a moan, hands surging up to clutch at the thick material of his oversized black sweatshirt. Heat consumes you as he presses forward, wasting no time deepening what is already a mind numbing kiss.

Rough hands tug at your hips, and all at once you’re on his lap. The transition happens so quickly, you barely manage to grasp onto his shoulders to keep from losing your balance. A soft groan rumbles through his chest as you settle fully onto his lap, unable to help the slow grinding of your hips at the feeling of him, already half hard and thick beneath you.

Even from within the confines of his thick sweats, you swear you can feel every hot inch of him. The thought alone has you keening, fingers burying themselves in his thick hair as a wordless plea shudders from your throat.

“Min,” you whisper unsteadily, rolling your hips once more in search of even a little friction, something, anything to soothe the unrelenting ache in your core.

“What?” He chuckles against your mouth, squeezing at your ass roughly. “Want more?”

“Please.”

That seemed to be the magic word, because you can only squeal as Minseok abruptly flips you onto your back, crawling on top of you with a feline grin and a predatory glint in his hooded eyes. Arousal burns inside of you, so hot that a part of you fears that you might burst into flames right then and there.

He reconnects your lips in one swift movement, and you moan, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. Electricity crackles through your veins as he suddenly slots his hips up against yours, grinding down against you hard enough that you have to break away from his kiss to gasp in a breath.

“Min— fuck—” your voice trembles from your lips, strained from the effort of trying to keep your volume low. It doesn’t help that Minseok has redirected his attention to your throat, licking and biting all of the places that make your head spine.

You feel his hands, feel the way they map the shape of your body, caressing the curve of your waist and the flow of your hips. The pads of his fingers are rough and calloused against your skin, but you love the way it hurts, love the harsh gentleness of his touch and the way you can still feel the lingering remnants of it even once his hands have ventured elsewhere.

Your shirt goes first, tossed off somewhere into the expanse of his bedroom. Your leggings follow suit, leaving you in nothing but your sports bra and underwear. Both tight, black, and unwanted nuisances within the haven of these four walls.

A soft groan rumbles in the depths of his chest, and his mouth drops to suck and nip at the flesh of your breast. Your head rolls back, fingers sinking into his thick locks. His mouth feels so good against your skin, each flick of his tongue and press of his pretty lips sending sparks of pleasure shooting straight to your core. And it only intensifies as he begins a slow descent down the length of your body.

His lips tickle over your stomach, your back arching as he slips between your thighs. You feel the heat of his breath against your clothed cunt, your hips bucking instinctively in search of friction. He pins them back down, shooting you a warning glare that has arousal flaring up dangerously inside of you.

“Be patient.” He reprimands in a low whisper, though there’s something teasing in the way he purrs the words that tells you he’s not really all that angry.

You nod, but eagerly spread your legs, hoping he’ll have mercy. The corner of his mouth twists at the shameless display and you barely have time to process the glint in his eyes before his tongue is on your skin, tracing slow, sensual circles against the inside of your thigh. “Oh—” your muscles shudder and you sink your teeth roughly into the flesh of your lower lip to keep a moan from escaping.

Minseok forces your legs further apart, dark eyes honing in on the black fabric of your panties and the way they cling to your slick heat. Need coils in your gut, walls clenching around nothing as he licks his lips, a familiar hunger igniting across his handsome features.

“Look at you…” he coos, dragging a single finger down your clothed slit, “already making such a mess of yourself.”

Your nails bite into the soft sheets as your body shakes, muscles tensing uncontrollably with the overwhelming desire that surges through you like white hot electricity. “Min, please don’t tease me right now.” You plead in a breathless whisper, voice quivering while you watch him tease at the tight elastic of your underwear.

“Beg a little more,” he moans lowly, pressing an all too quick kiss to where he knows your clit is, “I like how desperate you are for me.”

You give in easily, far too turned on to feel even the slightest twinge of embarrassment. “Please, fuck— please, Min. I need it so bad. Need your mouth. You always make me feel so good, baby, please.” Minseok groans hoarsely, reveling in your shameless desperation.

“Were you thinking of me out there? Thinking of my mouth while you played with my friends?” His lethal mouth grazes your cunt as he speaks, the heat of his words pouring onto your lust like gasoline onto flames.

You shake your head, gasping at an ephemeral press of his lips. “N- no.”

“Liar.”

You don’t have time to react to the defamation before his teeth are sinking into the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh, deep enough that you’re certain the indents will remain for hours to come. A sob is wretched from your throat, but you’re quick to muffle it beneath the palm of your hand, praying that none of the other boys heard your unintentional outburst.

“Be honest, love.” He coos darkly, soothing over his bite with a slow drag of his tongue. Sucking your lips into your mouth, you nod quickly, wanting for nothing more than to please him. “You were thinking of me.”

It’s not a question. But still, you breathe out a small, “yes.”

“You were thinking of my mouth.”

You gasp as he slips a finger beneath the crotch of your panties, tugging it to the side and revealing your soaking core to his ravenous gaze. “Yes.”

“Thinking of coming on my tongue.”

Your back arches, thighs squeezing around his shoulders as he licks a thick, wet strip up your dripping slit. “Yes!”

He scoffs, meeting your unfocused eyes from between your hips. “How filthy.”

And then his mouth is on you. You nearly cry out in relief, but somehow manage to trap the pathetic sound behind tightly clenched teeth. The unexpected rush of pleasure is enough to make you dizzy, the insatiable way he’s eating your cunt making it damn near impossible to keep your voice down.

Oh god, it feels so good.

The hand not being used as a muffler shoots down between your legs, burying itself in Minseok’s hair, desperate for something to cling to. Minseok makes no complaints, quite the contrary actually, the fervor with which he’s devouring you increasing tenfold.

This is dangerous. You’re not going to be able to keep quiet. They’re going to hear you. Fuck, if he keeps licking at your clit like that— you’re not going to be able to keep quiet.

His tongue swirls, his lips encircling your sensitive bud. That in itself has you shaking and keening, the pleasure going straight to your head. But when he adds the faintest pressure of his teeth and suction— your jaw drops, hips snapping up against his mouth, rolling frantically against his tongue as you are thrust closer and closer to your release.

“Oh fuck, I’m—”

At your hoarse, unfinished warning, he abruptly pulls away, your walls clenching and hips jerking frantically in search of that last bit of pressure that would push you over the edge. A broken whimper rips from your throat, desperate pleas rushing from your lips. He hushes you with a soothing kiss, intertwining his hands with yours and pressing them to the mattress on either side of your head.

“Easy, love,” he hums chidingly, nipping gently at the raw flesh of your lower lip, “don’t want you coming just yet, now do we?”

“Fuck you.” You groan in lieu of a proper response.

A low laugh rumbles in his chest, his face lowering into the juncture of your throat where he presses slow, feathery kisses. “Get on your hands and knees… and I’ll do just that.”

For a moment, your mind went blank— just long enough for Minseok to grow impatient and take matters into his own hands.

You can only squeal as he suddenly plants his hands on your waist and flips you over with a roughness that is only brought out of him by the intoxicating, mind-altering cocktail of lust and desperation.

“Fuck, I need you so bad.” He growls, bruising grip forcing a broken whimper from your throat.

The sound of his belt coming undone has you clenching around nothing, wetness leaking from you core and glistening on the insides of your quivering thighs.

“Look at you,” he purrs in a low whisper, and you shiver as he glided two fingers through your slit, “fucking dripping for me.”

Hot need rips through you.

“Min.” You moan, fisting at his soft sheets “Fuck me.”

Patience has never been one of your virtues either.

Chuckling at your shameless desperation, Minseok pushes up against you, wet tip teasing at your entrance. The friction is less than insubstantial, nowhere near enough to satisfy the angry flames in your belly. Whispering a weak plea, you press your hips back, only to yelp as he delivers a sharp slap to your ass.

“Don’t be so fucking needy.” He taunts, smirking sadistically as you shudder and moan, leaking sticky arousal all over his cock.

A sudden round of loud laughter erupts from the living room, barely muffled by the wall separating you from certain exposure. Your head jerks at the sound, pulse spiking at the reminder that you were in fact not alone in his apartment and any noise made above a very specific decibel would most certainly give away to the rest of the boys exactly what filthy things you and Minseok were doing behind his closed bedroom door.

Your concern is short lived, though. Because as soon as he senses you’ve grown distracted, Minseok takes the liberty of thrusting himself into you. He only gives you the first inch or so, but even just that is enough to have you gasping in bliss, fingers curling tightly in his sheets. Behind you, Minseok lets out a hoarse, throaty groan, the heat of your wet core wrapped tightly around his sensitive tip a sensation he can never seem to get used to.

The sounds of your friends’ voices fade further and further from your mind with every shallow thrust of Minseok’s hips, slowly stretching your walls around his dick. It’s a fix you didn’t know you were in such hopeless need of, and now? Now, you just couldn’t get enough.

“More, Min. More, please— I need more.”

A low curse shudders from his lips, hard grip locking onto your hips as he braces his knees on the mattress. You’re barely have time to prepare yourself before he’s fucking into you at a speed that knocks the oxygen straight out of your lungs. Your arms give out, face dropping to the sheets and you quickly bite into it, muffling your moans and whimpers in the thick duvet.

Minseok isn’t all that much better off, fighting to restrain his own sounds of pleasure as your hot walls grip his cock greedily. But still, some leak out, and your arousal spikes at the hoarse groans that bleed through his tightly clenched teeth. You love hearing him, hearing his lust, so violent and uncontainable and contagious. It intoxicates you, polluting your blood with every jagged inhale, every broken gasp. It’s a high like no other and, selfishly, you revel in it.

Your back bows deeply when he presses a hand to it, forcing you down into the mattress as he leans his body over yours, reaching new depths with each sharp, deliberate stroke. In this position, you can see him just over the slope of your shoulder, see the deep furrow of his brow, the upward sneer of his mouth, the tight grip of his teeth on his swollen lower lip. Fuck, he looks so gorgeous like this; skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat, tinted a sinful shade of red from the exertion.

Then, his eyes meet yours, and you nearly come undone then and there, the coil in your gut tightening dangerously as he holds your unfocused gaze. You barely notice the smirk that draws at the corners of his mouth, too busy drowning in the concupiscent depths of his stare. Too concerned with the heat consuming your belly to hear the telling click of a door handle being turned.

“Minseokie-hyung, we’re starting a movie do you guys want to—”

You recognize the voice, know even before you raise your head at break-neck speed who you’re going to find standing in the doorway, slack jawed and flushed an almost inhuman shade of pink.

Oh god.

Baekhyun is frozen. You can tell. He’s short circuiting. The look on his face alone tells you that his brain has stopped functioning entirely as his body’s most vital internal organ and his motor reflexes have failed to kick in.

You try to speak, to say something— anything to remedy the situation, to kick-start the poor boy into motion, but words fail you. For whatever reason, you can’t seem to get anything to come out of your useless mouth, and, at first, you can’t figure out why.

Not until you realize—

Minseok hasn’t stopped fucking you.

The movement of his hips hasn’t even faltered, not for a single second. He’s still drilling into you at a rate that robs you of your ability to form coherent speech, pounding at your cunt so roughly that you feel the reverberations of his every thrust rippling through the cells of your very being.

Did he not see him?

One glance over your shoulder tells you Minseok is well aware of Baekhyun’s presence, in fact, his dark gaze is fixated on him, no doubt one of the many things paralyzing the younger boy, rooting him to where he stands.

So… why hasn’t he stopped?

A myriad of emotions rush through you; most prominent among them being confusion, disbelief, and… arousal.

Arousal?

You don’t have time to ponder the unexpected feeling, a particularly harsh thrust of Minseok’s hips wrenching a cry of bliss from your lips.

The sound startles Baekhyun, his body jolting violently as he is ripped from whatever trance had taken hold of him. He whirls around, hands flying to cover his eyes as he gasps out trembling apologies. “I– oh my god, I am so sorry— I’m so sorry, I—” he surges back towards the door, no doubt with every intention of booking it out the sex-tainted bedroom as fast as his legs would take him.

“Stay.”

Baekhyun freezes.

“Stay.” Minseok repeats in a low grunt.

It’s not a request.

You’re too stunned to make sound, not quite understand what was going, but not quite hating it either. Minseok’s hips have eased into a slow grind, allowing you a moment to catch your breath and recuperate after the brutal fucking your pussy had just endured.

“I—” Baekhyun seems to choke on whatever words he’s trying to get out, still not facing you, “I’m sorry, I sh– should have knocked, but I didn’t th—”

“Shut up and close the door.” The growl in Minseok’s voice leaves no room for argument. Baekhyun extends an obedient albeit shaky hand, gently pushing the door short. You swallow thickly, muscles shuddering as Minseok rolls his hips lazily into yours.

“Min, why—”

“Don’t act oblivious.” He all but sneers. “You squeezed me so fucking tight the second you laid eyes on him I thought you were trying to take my dick off. And shit, you were wet before but now…” he lets out a low whistle, settling a rough palm on your ass, “now you’re goddamn gushing.”

Heat rushes to your face and your head drops in shame. Baekhyun twitches upon hearing Minseok’s words, chancing a shy, uncertain glance in your direction before quickly looking away.

“Oh, don’t get all shy on me now,” he scoffs, and you can’t tell if he’s talking to you or Baekhyun until he continues his merciless taunting, “weren’t you the one just ranting about how hot y/n is? How bad you wanted to fuck her?”

“Hyung!” Baekhyun yelps indignantly, eyes wide and cheeks red as he stares at his older friend in disbelief. “I– I was shit faced!”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts.” Minseok bites back easily, lips curled into a wicked grin.

The younger opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, so he hurriedly shuts it and turns away, glaring at the floor instead.

Now, your interest has peaked.

Pushing yourself up on shaky arms, you peer up at the boy still standing on the other side of the room, adamantly avoiding your gaze.

“Baek.” Your voice sounds hoarse and unsteady on your lips, barely above a whisper, but it’s enough to finally draw his attention, a shy upward flit of his eyes bringing them to yours. His breath catches in his throat at the sight of you, mouth trembling as unmistakable lust clouds his features. You wonder what you look like in that moment, what about you causes that vibrant red to rush up his neck and flood his face, causes him to bite into his lower lip so hard you’re almost certain the skin will break.

Minseok’s hips pulse and you moan softly, not breaking your eye contact with Baekhyun even as a wave of pleasure rolls over you. The younger shudders and swallows, hands curling into tight fists at his sides.

You like that he’s watching. You like that he’s seeing you in such an exposed, vulnerable state, all of your body, all of your need laid bare before him. It feels filthy to have him watch as Minseok fucks into you slowly, deeply from behind, feels dirty to have him watching the way you tremble and keen on his best friend’s thick cock.

But you like it. You really, really like it.

“Baek.” You murmur again, his name sounding like a plea as Minseok begins to pick up the pace once more.

Baekhyun’s chest heaves, his self control crumbling more and more with every sound that escapes your gaping mouth. He doesn’t seem to know where to look, attention jumping noncommittally from your hooded eyes to your swollen mouth to your breasts that bounce every time his hyung buries himself inside of you and lower still, dancing across the supple flesh of your thighs and the glistening heat that lies between them. He lets out an airy whimper, pretty hand twitching towards the growing bulge in his jeans.

“Please… touch yourself.”

The words are out before your brain can condone them, rushing from you in a breathless command. Baekhyun looks like he’s damn near ready to pass out. Regardless, he reaches for his zipper like a man possessed, slowly undoing it with quivering fingers.

Minseok suddenly wraps a strong arm around your waist, tugging you up and flush against his firm, sweat-slick chest. You feel the heat of his body radiating like a furnace, surrounding you and licking at your own naked body. You moan as his mouth falls to the curve of your throat, wet tongue dragging hotly over the perspiring skin. Eyes falling shut, you lean into him, gyrating your hips hungrily over his as you relish in his affections, edging closer and closer to your release.

By the time you reopen your eyes, Baekhyun has already pulled himself from the tight confines of his jeans. He’s pretty, that’s the first thing you notice. You’d never thought of dicks as being pretty in the past, but Byun Baekhyun has a pretty dick. A soft shade of pink and slightly curved, it’s the kind of cock you just wanna shove down your—

“Ah!” You cry out as Minseok suddenly sinks his teeth into the nape of your neck, the pain of his bite intertwining with the pleasure of his length pulsing within your walls, setting your nerves ablaze.

“Look how hard he is, baby. All from just watching you get fucked. You’re putting on a real show for him, aren’t you?” He growls against your throbbing skin, sliding a hand around your throat and squeezing ever so lightly. You can only whimper and nod frantically, watching transfixed as Baekhyun slides a closed fist gingerly down his cock, translucent precum leaking from his slit. His back meets the wall behind him with a soft thud, and he choked on a moan as he caresses his sensitive tip with a light swirl of his thumb.

“Oh fuck.” You pant, gripping onto the thick muscles of Minseok’s thighs, feeling them flex beneath your palms with every sharp thrust. Baekhyun’s hazy eyes find yours, pupils blown into an ocean of blackness within a thin ring of glinting umber. His delicate lips are wide open and gasping out quiet moans, soft cheeks burning with the flames of his lust.

Any shyness gradually fades from him, his reservations melting away the longer he looks at you, the longer he feels himself being intoxicated by the thick waves of shameless pleasure that radiate from you.

His head kicks back with a rasping groan, hips meeting the underside of his fist with each stroke. Still, his heady gaze refuses to break from yours.

“You want that cock, don’t you?” Minseok whispers huskily, lips feathering over the burning shell of your ear, followed by the graze of his teeth.

Something tightens in your gut. “M- Min—”

“You want his cock in your mouth. You want him filling that slutty throat, don’t you, baby?”

His voice is just loud enough to carry over to Baekhyun, and you see the younger boy jerk violently and whimper at the implication of his hyung’s filthy words, desperately speeding up his ministrations.

“Minseok, please—” you gasp, nearly in tears. It’s too much, too good, you won’t last. The pressure of his hand on your throat, his cocked pounding relentlessly into your cunt, the intensity of Baekhyun’s stare as he gets off to the sight of you being fucked stupid by his best friend. It’s too much.

A hand dips between your thighs, rough fingers easily locating your clit and setting to work. “Come on, baby. Cum for me.” Minseok grits, burying his face in your neck. It takes every ounce of self control in you to keep from screaming in pleasure as the full force of your orgasm strikes you. Your back arches, head falling back onto Minseok’s shoulder, nerves crackling with white hot electricity.

Baekhyun quickly covers his mouth as moans begin to pour from his lips, the sight of you coming undone hurdling him head first into his own high. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” he hisses, knees buckling and hips stuttering as he spills hot cum over his knuckles.

Pulling out of you with a harsh curse, Minseok flattens a hand against the small of your back and pushes you down to the mattress, until your cheek is pressed to the sheets and your ass is raised in the air. With one last low groan, Minseok strokes himself to completion, releasing all across your arched back. You moan as it splatters messily on your skin, the dominant display making your exhausted core clench around nothing.

There’s a moment of silence, the only audible sounds heavy breathing and the muffled voices of unsuspecting company in the other room. And then, Baekhyun giggles. It’s a light, airy sound, a combination of disbelief and amazement that has your own lips curling lightly because— holy shit, did that really just happen?

Baekhyun hides his grinning lips behind the back of his non-cum covered hand as he speaks, eyes alight with boyish joy. “Wow. That was—”

“Get out of here, Baekhyun.” Minseok huffs, tugging at your legs until you’re laid out flat on your stomach, a much more comfortable position.

“Right, yes, sorry.” The younger boy quickly spins, tucking himself back into his jeans and hurrying back towards the door, only to pause when his clean hand wraps around the doorknob. Turning, he meets your gaze and offers a bashful smile. “T- Thank you.”

A big, lazy grin breaks across your face, a breathless chuckle bubbling in your chest.

“My pleasure, Baek.”

Blushing hotly, he whirls around and disappears out the door, shutting it gently behind him.

There’s a brief lull of silence, and then you break into a fit of laughter. You feel the way Minseok melts behind you at the sound, rough hands turning soft as they rub gently at your thighs— which will most definitely be sore by the morning.

“Don’t move.” He instructs, though any real authority has already leaked from his voice, leaving a gentle request that you’re more than happy to comply with. The bed dips as he moves away from you, taking all his tenderness and warmth right along with him. You shiver in his absence, letting out a grateful hum when he returns with a washcloth saturated with hot water. It feels like heaven as he runs it over your sweat-slick skin, apologizing with only the sweetest of kisses whenever he touches a tender spot and you wince.

“He’s never gonna let this go.” Minseok mutters against the back of your neck, maneuvering the cloth between your spread legs to scrub away any lingering stickiness.

Shuddering at the twinge of stimulation, you sing back playfully, “you’re the one that told him to stay.”

“You’re the one who wanted him to.” He snips.

“Touché.” You accept defeat with ease. No point in arguing with the truth.

Minseok tosses aside the rag once he’s finished wiping you down, and you let him rearrange your bodies until he finds a comfortable position. You end up between his legs, head leaning against his firm chest while he’s propped up against the headboard. Like this, he has no trouble peppering kisses across the slope of your neck and shoulder, fingers dancing across the skin of your belly, tracing miscellaneous shapes and designs.

You know you should probably return to the group occupying the living room. By this point, it would be shocking if they hadn’t grown suspicious of your long absence. But, you aren’t too keen on leaving the warmth of Minseok’s embrace, the idea of abandoning these sex stained sheets becoming less and less appealing with every second that ticks by.

Minseok is the first to pop the comfortable bubble of silence that had fallen over you as he asks, “Did you enjoy it?”

You nod, a small smile upturning the corners of your mouth as you take one of his hands in yours, playing absentmindedly with his fingers. “He was cute.”

“Yeah?” He hums, nose tickling your throat. “I’m cuter.”

Laughter trickles from your lips as you murmur your agreement.

“Hey, maybe next time…” you grin mischievously as a thought suddenly strikes you, “he can even touch me.”

You giggle in delight as Minseok growls, hot hand curling around your jaw and tugging your mouth to his, leaving only the slimmest of spaces between your lips as he whispers darkly,

“Not a fucking chance.”

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i-am-bitterly-jittery · 4 years ago

Text

Tally Marks

Based on this post which I would highly recommend looking at first because I will not be providing you the context

Word Count: 1850

Rating: Teen (for exactly 1 innuendo)

Pairing: none

Warning: none

~~~START~~~

As the logical Side, Logan was, well, logical.

That being said, he was really not sure what the logical explanation for this would be.

For months now — perhaps even years — tally marks had been appearing in Logan’s hands, arms, and sometimes even his face. Due to the manner in which the tally marks appear, Logan was pretty sure he was the one making them, but he couldn’t remember ever doing it. It reminded him of the Silence in Doctor Who, but the Silence weren’t real — and even if they were, he certainly wouldn’t be encountering them inside Thomas’s mind. Still, the marks remained unexplained.

<(^.^)>

Logan was awoken by a knocking at his door. It was the middle of the night, and while he was irritated at the interruption of his sleep cycle, he understood that sometimes Patton or Roman had nightmares, and as the logical Side, he was the logical choice to dispel any lingering fear.

He did not find Patton or Roman on the other side of his door.

“Logic,” the unknown Side wheezed. He was shaking as badly as Patton usually did after a nightmare, hunched in on himself and clutching a black hoodie around himself tightly.

Without even thinking about it, Logan pulled out a pen and made a mark on his hand.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Logan asked, making the decision to act as though he had found Patton behind the door. He could learn more about this new Side once he’d calmed down.

The Side nodded, lifting his head for the first time and allowing Logan a glance at a pair of mismatched eyes and tear tracks of eyeshadow running down his face.

“Would it help you to tell me about it?” Logan asked.

“T-Thomas,” the Side gasped, barely managing to get the one word out. “Thomas was- he was in the middle-” the Side did a full body shutter which seemed to cause more tears to stream down his face. “He was lost in th-the middle of a-a city and he couldn’t h-hear me, a-and he got h-hurt.”

Logan nodded. He wasn’t entirely sure of the identity of the Side, but Patton’s nightmares often centered around having an inability to help Thomas — or worse, be a hindrance to him — so Logan could assume that this Side was meant to protect Thomas in some way from the imagined situation. Roman’s nightmares — as creativity — featured many more monstered and imagined things.

“Thomas is not lost,” Logan assured the Side. “He is at home. He is safe. His doors are locked. And when he needs you, he will hear you.”

The Side sobbed again before launching himself into Logan’s arms.

Physical affection did not come naturally to Logan, but living with Patton and Roman certainly gave him plenty of time to study it and gain hands-on experience. He wrapped one arm securely around the Side’s back, and allowed his free hand to card slowly through the Side’s hair — this usually calmed Roman down, Patton on the other hand preferred two-armed hugs, as tightly as Logan could manage. The Side seemed content with Roman’s method as Logan felt him slowly but surely relax under his ministrations.

“Thanks, Logic,” the Side pulled away after a few minutes, looking infinitely calmer than when Logan had opened the door.

“Of course,” Logan acknowledged. “Though I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“I know you don’t,” the other Side chuckled sadly. Logan did not get it. “My name is Anxiety. I’ll see ya later, teach.”

Anxiety turned and left down the hallway. Logan watched him for a moment, considering how the Side’s function as Anxiety probably left him vulnerable to many nightmares.

When Logan finally closed the door and turned to head back to bed, he’d completely forgotten why he’d opened the door in the first place.

Perhaps he had heard a noise coming from the hall? Yes, that was probably it; he’d heard a noise and thought it might be Patton or Roman with another nightmare.

He didn’t notice the tally mark until the next morning. By then, he’d forgotten about getting up in the middle of the night.

^(^.^)^

“Oh Logan!” An unfamiliar — but distinctly Thomas-like — voice called from behind the logical Side.

Logan turned to find a Side with snake scales covering half of his face holding a bowler hat in his hands and staring at Logan questioningly from farther down the hall.

“Can I help you?” Logan asked, adding another tally mark.

“What do you think about bowler hats?” The Side asked, lifting the hat a little in emphasis.

“Bowler hats — also known as derby hats — originated in the mid nineteenth century as a way to protect gamekeepers in England from overhead tree branches,” Logan recited tonelessly.

“Yes, but what do you think of bowler hats?” The Side stressed.

“Bowler hats were particularly popular in early twentieth century pop culture and thus are an effective accessory to make an outfit seem more old-fashioned.”

The Side chuckled.

“You’re very bad at fashion advice,” he said. “But I think I’ll keep the hat.”

The Side placed the hat on his head and stared at Logan expectantly. A bowler hat is a perfectly respectable style of hat. Logan told the Side as much; the Side only laughed a bit more.

“You are an absolute delight, Logan, but I suppose you’re my only option, after all, you won’t remember this later.”

Logan stared down the empty hallway towards his room. That was odd, he was trying to get to the kitchen. He turned around and continued on.

The common space was empty, but Logan expected as much. Patton was out helping Thomas with an issue, Roman would be in his room for hours yet, working on the script for Thomas’ next video and there weren’t any other Sides in the mindscape.

Logan decided on a sandwich for lunch, and resolved to make a couple extra for Patton and Roman. He was just getting the Crofters out when an unfamiliar — but distinctly Thomas-like — voice suddenly spoke behind him, nearly causing him to drop the precious jam.

“What do you think about the name ‘Janus’?”

Logan set the jam down on the counter before turning around. To his surprise, there was another Side standing behind him, one with snake-like features covering half his face, and a bowler hat resting on his head.

“Who are you?” Logan asked. Another mark. “I wasn’t aware that there were any other Sides.”

“I’m shocked,” the Side smirked. “I’m thinking of going by the name ‘Janus’, but I wanted your opinion first.”

“Have we met before?” Logan asked, unsure why an unfamiliar Side would want his opinion.

“No.”

The Side’s tone and smirk gave Logan the distinct feeling that he was being made fun of, but he couldn’t even begin to fathom how.

“Well, Janus is a Roman god, often attributed to beginnings, gateways, doorways, transitions, passages, frames, time, duality, and endings, so if you feel that any of those things describe your function then I suppose it would be an appropriate name.”

The Side nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I think Janus would be a perfect name, thank you Logan.”

Logan finished making sandwiches, and while he had not thought the task had taken him too long, he was surprised to find that making the three sandwiches had taken him half an hour. He shook the doubts out of his head, sometimes he got lost in thought, it wasn’t uncommon. He left one sandwich in the kitchen with a note for Patton, and took the other two with him upstairs for himself and Roman.

<(^.^<)

“~Loooogaaaaan~”

A tally mark.

An empty room

Green.

Tally.

A mustache.

Tally.

“Logan, you never pay attention to me!”

“I am unsure who you are.”

Tally.

An empty room.

Logan was feeling untethered. He’d been trying to work in the common room for over two hours, but he had nothing to show for it. No work done, no notes written, no memory of what he’d even been thinking for all this time.

The only thing he did have was sixty-four more tally marks than he’d had earlier; his arms were covered with the lines.

Sixty-five.

Strange.

“What if Thomas just straight up set his apartment on fire?”

Logan’s gaze snapped up from his arm to find an unfamiliar Side. The Side rivaled Roman in terms of “extra”-ness, he had a curly mustache, a white streak in his hair, and a green tulle sash. But the real concern was the unhinged and manic look in his eyes when Logan met his gaze.

Tally mark.

“Excuse me?”

“Begone, thot!” Roman yelled from the stairs, charging at the Side with his katana drawn.

“No fun,” the Side pouted, sinking out right before the katana reached him.

“Oh, Roman,” Logan startled at the sudden appearance of the creative Side. “I didn’t hear you come in. Forgive me, I have been… unfocused today.”

“No worries, specs!” Roman responded jovially, though his cheer seemed slightly forced. “I have just the thing to help!”

Roman vanished his katana — which he had had drawn for some reason — and replaced it with a box. He was holding out the board game Stratego for Logan’s consideration.

Roman was right. The task really did help Logan focus, and he didn’t find himself drifting at any point during the game.

By the time Logan and Roman had each won one round of Stratego each, Patton had joined them and insisted on playing Trivial Pursuit next. No new marks appeared during their games.

(>^.^)>

“Logic!” A voice called.

Logan turned around to find a strange Side in a black hoodie with dark eyeshadow smeared under his eyes nervously hovering about halfway down the hall. Tally.

“Can I help you?” Logan asked, thoroughly confused by the presence of a new Side.

“No, I-” the Side hesitated for a moment. “Just, are you okay?”

“Of course I am,” Logan said, a little taken aback. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just… after Remus I thought maybe…” the Side looked around nervously. “Never mind. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Logan stared at the empty hall, he’d thought he heard something… but no, just an empty hall.

Once inside his room, Logan pulled out the notebook he kept track of the tally marks in.

Hmm, seventy today. He didn’t remember seeing the seventieth one earlier, it must have shown up between when he’d left Patton and Roman in the common room and when he’d reached his bedroom. He recorded the number in his notebook along with the day’s date, then set about washing the marks off before bed.

Seventy wasn’t the most he’d ever had in one day, but it was certainly more than usual. He wondered if it had anything to do with his lack of focus earlier…

^(^.^)v

Remus was waiting for Virgil in his room.

“No fair, emo!” He pouted. “I had him at sixty-nine! You did that on purpose!”

“Oops,” Virgil deadpanned, unsympathetically.

Remus sank back to his own room where continued pouting for about an hour, before resolving to try and get Logan up to four-twenty the next day.

~~~END~~~

I found the beginning of this in my WIPs yesterday and finished it today. I completely forgot about starting it the first time, but now I’m completely in love

In case it wasn’t obvious, as soon as Logan can’t see the Dark Side anymore, he completely forgets about the interaction, including any interaction that involved another Light Side (like Roman)

General Taglist: @royalty-of-all-things-snuggly @pixelated-pineapple

#sanders sides #ts sanders sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #ts dark sides #pre aa #sanders sides fanfiction #thursday writes #fanfiction #my writing

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darthkvznblogs · 4 years ago

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From His Vantage Upon the Moon #1

Thor, Doctor Strange, and the Olympians

(MCU x Percy Jackson and the Olympians x Supergiant Games' Hades)

It's rather bad form for a visiting god not to check in with the local deities; Thor's already missed two visits, so he really oughta visit Mount Olympus - though in his defense, being cast out by Odin really shouldn't count. Fortunately, Doctor Strange is willing to play mediator between the typically fickle pantheons.

(From His Vantage upon the Moon is a collection of one-shot stories set in the Kryptonverse, an MCU based crossover universe including over 16 franchises so far. You can find the original work here, but I'll also be posting each short story here on Tumblr, too! If you like what I do, and would like to support me, you can find me on Ko-fi!)

“Are you entirely certain you wish to accompany me, Sorcerer?” –Thor asks, raising an eyebrow as they stand just outside the Empire State Building. Despite the fact that they’re in street clothes, Thor’s outrageously chiseled physique keeps drawing quite a few lascivious gazes, much to Stephen’s chagrin.

“Were it truly up to me, I’d be happy to let you make a fool of yourself.” –he drawls. “My duties, however, require me to mediate your reunion.”

Thor hums. “I don’t recall requiring a mediator during my last visit.” –he grouses. “The Lords of Olympus were quite amenable to our brief presence on Midgard back then.”

“That was then, and this is now. Earth has changed quite a bit in your absence.” –Strange argues. “The Olympians and their demigod children, in particular, have suffered through quite a bit of turmoil in the past few decades – particularly so in the last five years. Compounded with the thinning of the Mist, they’re bound to be wary of anyone outside their immediate circle of trust. Even if you were a friend.”

“Ah. I see.” –Thor mutters. “Strange, is it not? Their own troubles, Loki’s betrayal and the bandit rampage throughout the Nine Realms...we’ve had centuries of peace, and now this. So much has happened in so little time.”

Strange sighs. “I’m afraid this could just be the beginning. But this isn’t the time for that.” –he says. “Let’s hurry along. You have an invasion to repel.”

The god and the sorcerer walk into the building. A security guard stands beside the elevator – less a person and more a magical security measure meant to dissuade mortals (and even some demigods) from entering the gods’ abode. The guard recognizes Strange, though, and merely waves him into the elevator – though not before shooting Thor a vaguely hostile look.

“Odd custom, this.” –Thor notes, as Strange punches in their destination – floor 600. “Moving their home around so often – seems rather a hassle. What’s wrong with the original Mount Olympus?”

“The Olympians like to chase the most powerful nations around, eager for worship as they are. Right now, America’s at the top of the food chain.” –Strange retorts. “Though I hear they’re considering moving back to Greece as part of their big PR strategy. This part of the world is getting rather crowded, rather fast – and Greece could certainlyuse the tourism it’d bring, once they reveal themselves to the world.”

“I remember their strange worship-sustenance, yes.” –Thor recalls as he raises an eyebrow. “Have the mortals truly forgotten us?”

Strange shakes his head. “It’s not like that. Your kind may have become myths, but we still retell them in many forms. That being said, very few people believe in the gods – and I’m not entirely certain that they think of you as you truly are. You and your kin, in particular, have drawn some rather nastyfollowers in the past century or so.”

Thor winces. “Jane mentioned as much, during my brief stay. Something about ‘perfect Arian men’.” –he mutters, disheartened. “Hatred and fear twist the minds of gods and mortals alike. Such it has been as long as I’ve lived.”

“Well, that’s what we’re here for. It’s up to us to set the record straight.” –Stephen says.

Thor nods as the elevator dings, opening to the golden gates and pristine marble of Olympus. “Aye, that we are.”

The duo make their way forth, magically changing into their mystical regalia. Lesser gods and nature spirits look on in surprise and curiosity as Thor cheerfully greets them, giggling nymphs and naiads huddling into gossiping circles. The throne room sits atop a small cliff, like the Parthenon in Athens, overlooking the entire realm and the hazy mortal world, barely visible below.

When they enter, Strange can’t help but be surprised; it’s been maybe a month since he was last on Olympus, and yet he can barely recognize the figures sat on each of the thirteen thrones, each of them at least thirty feet tall – the only exception being the hooded figure of Hestia, placidly sat within the flames of the hearth in the middle of the room.

“Venerable Lords and Ladies of Olympus.” –Stephen half bows. “The Mighty Thor, Firstborn of Odin, God of Thunder, Strength, and Fertility, would request an audience of you.”

The god at the head of the Pantheon leans forward. King Zeus looks very different – his skin is a few shades darker than Strange remembers, closer to the olive tones of the Greek, and his more or less sensible black hair and beard have dramatically changed to become cloud-like in appearance, billowing in the ever-present wind of the divine mountaintop. Gone, too, is his perfectly tailored suit – he is clad in a golden toga, accented in white, and a plethora of rings adorn his hands, one of which casually holds the Master Bolt. A crown of stylized lightning sits atop his head. “Master Sorcerer.” –he greets, his voice booming like distant thunder. “And the Lord Thor. Welcome to Olympus.”

“Do forgive the lack of appropriate fanfare in your reception.” –Queen Hera says, beside him, snow-white robes adorned with a golden belt and peacock feathers, sprouting like a corona behind her head. “Dragging our family together for such an impromptu visit proved a more difficult endeavor than we anticipated.”

The thirteenth god scoffs, at Zeus’ left. Lord Hades crosses his arms, ashen-skinned, bushy-bearded, and much more muscular than Strange remembers him – perhaps the most visually different of them all. A crown of burning laurels, matching his flaming feet, compliments his blood-colored chiton, and precious stones of all kinds adorn his hands and arms. “Then perhaps you should have done with the few of you who were already present, Sister Hera. Blood and Darkness, but this is a waste of my time.” –he curses, leering at their guests with black and red eyes. “Curse the day your spawn so nobly decided to include me in these affairs, Poseidon.”

Poseidon, at least, Stephen recognizes. Physically, Percy’s father looks the same as before, for some reason – even though his clothes have also regressed to what must’ve been his ancient looks. He smirks at his older brother. “We won’t keep you from your lovely family for long, Brother.” –he says, trying to placate the wrathful Lord of the Underworld. “But this is important.”

“Loathe as I am to agree with Lord Poseidon, rekindling our bonds with King Odin and his kin upon Asgard is paramount among our short-term priorities, Lord Hades.” –Athena grudgingly admits. Hades scoffs, sulking back into his throne. The virgin Goddess of Wisdom and War turns to Thor. “And I sense Lord Thor is eager to make amends for his unannounced visit and battle, earlier this year.”

Thor grins. “Indeed, Lady Athena. Though the mortals bid us worship once, Asgard recognizes Olympus’ sovereignty upon Midgard. King Odin sends his regards – and his firstborn, to aid in the protection of your world in whatever way you deem necessary.” –he says.

Zeus and Hades share a knowing look that has Strange wincing internally – they must know something about Thor that the Asgardian himself doesn’t. “There is no transgression to apologize for. And you’re allowed free transit in our domains, fellow Thunderer.” –Zeus declares, amiably enough. “Though grateful for the All-Father’s offer, we do not hold you to our service. You’ve decided to shoulder enoughresponsibilities to humanity already.”

“Your brother, I assume he is no longer a threat?” –Athena asks, narrowing her stormy grey eyes.

Thor’s smile falters. “No, he isn’t. I come fresh off his sentencing – he will live out his many, many days in our dungeons. This, I feel, does require an apology.”

“Family is a difficult matter at the best of times, Thor.” –Lady Demeter says, glaring coldly at the King of Olympus. “You have our condolences for Loki’s turn to madness.”

“Thank you, Lady Demeter.” –Thor bows. Stephen worries, despite himself, at the hint of pain in his voice.

“Madness or not, I envied your ability to challenge it alongside the mortal champions, unbound by our ancient laws as you are. Will you go join them now, in the bloodshed about to unfurl?” –Ares wonders, blood-red irises keen to see the Asgardian in action.

Thor nods curtly, his jaw set. “Indeed, Lord Ares. I do not mean to cut our meeting short, but I must aid my brothers and sisters in battle.”

“Oh, how boring.” –Aphrodite laments. Hers is the most eye-turning makeover of all – if only because she’s fully nude, pink-skinned as the day she rose from Ouranos’...remains. Only her flowing, rosy Godiva hair allows her any modesty – and even then, it’s tremendously inconsistent. Intentionally, Strange must assume. “It’s all doing battle with you warrior types. Here I thought you’d come back to see that pretty little mortal you fancied.”

Thor clears his throat. “That, uh...that is a bonus, yes.” –he admits. “But protecting the world takes priority.”

Zeus nods, approvingly – a little bit hypocritically, Strange feels, considering how hands-off the Olympians can be. “So it does, Odinson. Go with our blessing – and do join us for a spot of Nectar and Ambrosia soon. We have a few thousand years of history to catch up on, after all.”

#from his vantage upon the moon #kryptonverse #fanfiction #fanfic #crossover #hades game #percy jackson #pjo series #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #thor #doctor strange #ko fi link #ko fi

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weasleywinchester · 4 years ago

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Not A Shrine

Eyyy Ohh! First fic for Mr. Marcus Magnet Hands Moreno! I’m excited to jump into this universe because there are just so many ways to go! This fic is mainly banter between (Y/N) and Miracle Guy (Whom I’ve decided to name Murphy Jones). Hope You enjoy! Also this is probably my last fic for the next week as I will be out of state for my birthday!!

Miracle Guy x Reader (New Friends)

Marcus Moreno x Reader (Romantic)

Summary:

You’re a huge fan of Marcus Moreno: leader of the Heroics, sword fighting, ass kicking extraordinaire. You got to see him once after he and Miracle Guy completed a tough mission, capturing your favorite moment between the two. But that was a long time ago when you were just an intern, now you’re part of the team that helps Heroics transition from the spotlight to civilian life. Miracle Guy happens to be on your list, and when your work partner points out your collection of Marcus photos and memorabilia to him, he’s dead set on embarrassing you just a little.

P.S. I think this might will get a part 2, because there’s just not enough Marcus tbh 💙

“Shannon, I bought coffee, lord knows we’re going to need it.” You set her coffee on the desk, sitting across from her. She squeals in delight, taking a big gulp. She’s not going to tell you she’s already had a red bull, because coffee is just so good. She claps her hands together and takes a deep breath, practically vibrating.

“WOO! Well I’m going over the roster of Heroics, and it looks like a lot of them are ready to start planning, but most are not ready to actually retire.” She hands you a print out of the current full time Heroics. You scan the list, which she has already split between you and her, when you see-

“Miracle Guy?” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut.

“I knnnoooow. I tried already to bring up the planning phase and he’s not budging. I thought you could take a crack at it?” She begs.

“Fine. On one condition.”

“I already assigned Marcus to you.” She shrugs playfully. Marcus… assigned… to...you? Your mouth goes dry as you gape like a fish.

“(Y/N)... You can do this!” Shannon pounds the table. You’ve had a crush on him longer then Shannon has known you. And he’s been single for a long time, you’ve been single for a long time, you’re both amazing, you just need a nudge.

“The job ya, but… how am I supposed to focus if he’s so close.”

“You don’t have to be nervous, I promise to be nice.”

You turn to see the one and only Miracle Guy himself, one Murphy Jones. He’s got his signature smirk on his face, but otherwise he’s out of costume for once.

“Miracle Guy! What a surprise.” Shannon bubbles, shuffling some papers away.

“Shannon, lovely as always. Ms. (Y/L/N), I’m ready to talk retirement.” He gestures widely with his arms, as if he’s Jesus. You roll your eyes and lead him back to your office, gesturing for him to take a seat as you organize your desk.

“Ok so what exactly did you want to start talking about?” You turn to him, notebook at the ready.

“That I’m not ready to retire, and never will be.” He smiles like he just told you you won the lottery.

“Murphy, Wheels is ready to start taking over the family business. Which means you need to get ready to let go.” You laugh.

His smile falters a little. Being a Heroic, and in front of the camera, is what he’s always wanted to do. He’s done a lot of amazing work that he’s immensely proud of. And the people of the world love him, he can’t abandon his fans. Although it would be nice to have time to teach Wheels new things, and actually do stuff with his wife.

“This is what I know how to do.” He states, looking at the floor.

“Yes, but now we can move those skills into other areas. Take Marcus for example.” You ignore the eye roll from him, “He’s technically retired from the Heroics central team. But he still works here, using his skills to help the team in the field. Teach, train, and coach from a distance.”

“Well, hooray for him.”

“Murphy, You can’t physically fight monsters forever. Unless you want Wheels to have one parent. Why don’t we explore options. Marcus chose to observe from the main office, to use his highly trained mind to anticipate and analyze attacks. We could do the same for you.”

“I don’t do behind the scenes.” He growls. This face? Meant to be in front of a camera, meant to be saving the world crowds at a time.

You hold your hands up in mock surrender.

“Hear me out. Maybe we can have you as a spokesperson. You love doing all the ribbon cuttings, first pitches at baseball games, kissing babies and hugging old people. Work with the image side of the Heroics, the press. You’re a fan favorite! That’s not going to stop anytime soon, and an easy way to do the parts of the job you love, and to lower the chance of immediate death.”

You take a sip of your coffee as you watch him. He’s twiddling his thumbs, trying to nitpick your proposal apart. What he doesn’t know is you’ve been researching possible jobs for him ever since he stormed out of Shannon’s office a month ago. You had talked to the press team, the board and Ms. Granada; everyone thought it was brilliant.

“Hypothetically, if I agree to this plan, when does it start?”

“It’s just planning for a while. We have to go through everything with a fine tooth comb. There’s no shortcuts, once we establish a plan you are 100 % satisfied with, then the actual transition will start. But since the new generation are still very young, it’ll be a while.” You smile, trying not to look like you won the war.

_______

It’s been about two months since Murphy agreed to your retirement plan. And he’s been in your office at least twice a week, which makes you think he’s just coming to annoy you. Both you and Shannon have a bigger case load than normal, most of the new generation is the same age, so quite a few of the current team are ready to let them take the reins. You’re in the middle of Shark Boy and Lava Girl’s files when Murphy knocks on the door. You open your mouth to tell him to come in but he’s already plopped into the chair across from you.

“Moreno said he’s doing all of his planning via email.” Murphy states, slightly annoyed.

“Well good afternoon to you too.” You raise your eyebrow at him.

“I never got that option.”

“Like you would give up the opportunity to harass me in person.” You laugh, turning back to your paperwork. He frowns at you as your reach to grab something from your bookshelf. He wouldn’t say harass… more like friendly banter. That’s what you two were by now right? Friends?

“Well you’re never going to get him to notice you if you don’t actually meet in person.” He smirks, that should get your full attention.

You read the same line about Shark Boy’s request to be able to swim at the aquarium three times before your brain processes what Murphy just said.

“What.” You blink, slowly looking up at him.

“You, Moreno, meet.” He claps his hands together, a cheshire grin spreading across his face.

“You talked to Shannon.” You grit your teeth.

“That, and when she mentioned your shrine...”

“It’s not a shrine.” You clench your jaw. You want to punch Miracle Guy in his miracle face, but it would only hurt you and make him laugh.

“You have a collection of photos, limited edition merch and even a few newspaper clippings about the guy. It’s a shrine.”

“Not a shrine!”

“Anyways, I noticed you didn’t have anything signed by him. So, get him in your office!” Murphy throws his hands in the air, exasperated. You mentioned Marcus constantly, and Murphy can’t stand the guy on a good day. But oh man when the shire was mentioned, that meant he could tease the heck out of you.

“I’m going to kill both of you.” You put your head in your hands, taking a deep breath. You can’t hurt him, it’ll only end badly for you.

“Well that’s a bit harsh. I thought I was an excellent retired Heroic.”

You can hear the smile, but it’s not Murphy talking. You peak from behind your fingers to see Marcus Moreno standing in your doorway. You shift your eyes to Murphy, his stupid smirk on his stupid face.

“Mr. Moreno, I didn’t realize you were coming by.” You smile, sitting up straight. You hope he can’t hear how fast your heart is beating.

“Since when do you call him mister? How come you don’t call me mister?” Murphy says, feigning outrage. He can see the steam shooting out of your ears. Perfect, his suspicions that you had a Class A crush were correct.

“Mr. Jones, our meeting is over.” You answer. He grumbles while he stands; as he passes Marcus you swear you hear him say, she’s a very big fan.

“Mr. Moreno-”

“Marcus, please.” He smiles, sitting in the chair Murphy just vacated. God, his smile… you could stare at him all day.

“Ok. Marcus, what can I help you with today?” You bring out his file, everything neatly organized and prepared. Unlike all the other files you’re working through, which have sticky notes and scraps of paper that you scrawled on sticking out from every angle.

“I just wanted to make sure everything was still going ok; since I was switched from Shannon’s roster to yours.” Not that he minded. Shannon is great, but something about the way you talk to him over email and the phone is... different. He always wants to keep talking to you, but he’s not sure how to jump from retirement talk to more personal stuff. And then Murphy showed him a super cute picture of you and he felt things he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Oh, uh, ya everything is still on track. Shannon just had some… other cases that became more complex than we originally thought. Plus she’s making me deal with Miracle Guy, so my reward is you.” And you immediately regret the last part. Oh god, now he thinks you’re weird.

“I mean... your plan is pretty much done, so simple case.”

“Good. I guess it helps to get a head start.” He laughs.

“That it does. I’m also handling Missy’s transition into fill time Heroic, which is also very much on track. Father like daughter.”

He smiles, a far away look in his eyes. He's so proud of her. She’s strong, brave and every bit just like her mother, and him. He’s glad you're helping her, you’ve already helped him so much.

“I’m glad to hear that. Well, I don’t have anything new to add, so...” He stands from his seat, as do you. He wishes he would have stayed seated, asked you about your day or if you wanted to take a walk with him.

“Uh ya, I’ll let you know if there’s any changes or if I have questions...” You look just past his arm to see both Murphy and Shannon waving their arms like idiots. Shannon is gesturing writing on a piece of paper, and then pointing at Marcus. Murphy is mouthing ‘ask for his number’ while folding his hand into a telephone shape and holding it to his ear.

“Is there something on my arm?” Marcus looks down, moving his gaze to try and look behind. You quickly grab his bicep, which is very firm, and you both freeze.

“No, just looked like there was a hair, but I don’t think it’s there anymore.” You stammer. He gives you a look, and you realize your hand is still touching him; you quickly let go and gesture to the door. When his back is turned you swat your hand at your friends, telling them to go away.

“I’ll tell Missy you said hello?” He smiles at you.

“Ya, that would be great.” You smile back. He waves and walks down the hall to the elevator. You let out a long breath, going back into your office and collapsing into your chair. “Did you have him sign anything?!” Shannon squeals as Murphy asks “Did you ask for his number?”

“You two need to stop.” You mumble, rubbing your eyes.

“You literally had him in the palm of your hand.” Murphy snickers as Shannon nods furiously.

“Look, I’m his retirement planner. And he’s probably not looking to date anyone. I’m here to do my job, as a retirement planner.” You shake your head at them both.

They share a look and Shannon goes back to her office. Murphy stays seated, watching you put your belongings in your purse. He was so sure you two would get talking, you drool over Marcus all the time and Marcus actually mentions you a lot. You tend to be the center of conversation between them, which oddly enough has reduced the friction.

You stand, opening the door and gesturing from him to get out. He gets up, silently walking with you until you get to your car.

“I think you two would be good together.” Murphy says to the floor.

You’re not sure what to say. You always thought so, but you also think you’d make a good match with that one guy from Game of Thrones. Also, since when did the great Miracle Guy care about your love life and Marcus Moreno’s?

“That’s really nice of you to think that Murph. But just because I’m ready, doesn’t mean he is.” You give the man a big hug. You always knew there was a kind person under all the swagger; and you’re very happy he’s now a friend.

_______

Two Weeks Later

“Alright. Shark Boy and Lava Girl are about a quarter of the way through their plan. Which is major progress. You said Blinding Fast is still slow going, ha, but that-”

“OOHHH MY GOOODD” Shannon squeals.

“What?” You ask, your blood pressure skyrocketing.

“I am SO PROUD of yooouuu! You finally asked him!” She squeals, clapping her hands together.

“Asked who what?” You scream back. She gives you a look, gesturing to your wall of Marcus behind you.

“See I told you it would be fine! He probably thinks you’re a bit fangirl-ish, but that’s fine, you are working with him now...” She continues to ramble as you turn around. You scan the wall, your eyes landing on your favorite photo of Marcus and Murphy. It now has the two very recognizable signatures.

“So congrats” she claps again.

“Oo, what are we congratulating (Y/N) on.” Murphy walks in, throwing a smirk at you.

“She finally asked Marcus to sign her favorite picture!” Shannon claps again, her glee very overwhelming at this point.

“I didn’t.” You look between her and Murphy. Shannon frowns, now just as confused as you.

“I did.” Murphy shrugs. Your jaw drops to the floor, you look over at Shannon to see her face mirrors yours.

“I didn’t hear about any fights amongst the Heroics.” You sass. Murphy mocks you in response.

“Well, I guess I should congratulate you then.” Shannon laughs.

“You should.” He winks at Shannon before turning to you, “ I don’t remember that picture being taken. It’s after the spiro monster attack according to our suits.”

“OMG! You never told him the backstory that you repeat all the time?” Shannon howls. You roll your eyes, glancing back at the picture.

“It was my first day as an intern here. I was an intern for the director’s assistant so after the spiro monster mission I was allowed to be in the debrief. You two had taken the mission together, fighting back to back; it was incredible. But you two had sat on the platform while the director was saying what a fine job you two did. I thought to myself fine? They did a kick ass job! Except I said it out loud instead of in my head.”

“I remember that actually.” Murray laughs.

“The whole day was amazing, filled with moments like that. Back when the team acted like a team.” You smile at the signatures that now decorate the picture, reminding you that friends always have your back.

“How did you even get it out of my office?” You frown, spinning to look at your friends. Shannon immediately drops her gaze, mashing her lips together.

“I had no part, and the piles of paperwork are calling me.” She bows out of the room, leaving you and Murphy alone.

“It did leave its place in the shrine briefly… but I wasn’t sure you would want the original print signed on the front.”

“That’s why Wheels asked for the digital file.” You laugh, he said he needed it for a project the kids were putting together.

“Yes. So That is technically one of three prints.” He takes a folder out of his bag, opening it to reveal a second copy. “I was hoping the artist would sign this one.” He smiles. You grab a marker from your desk, and take the print. You hesitate, you’ve signed plenty of your own art, but Murphy went through the trouble of printing these, just so you could have a signed one. You smile and sign it in a flourish.

“Will it hang in your house now?” You smirk.

“Actually, ya. And if Marcus is a smart man, it’ll hang in his too.”

“What?”

“I got three printed you dork, one for you, one for me and one for-”

“Marcus.” You smile and shake your head.

_______

Paperwork, it just never ends. You’re up to your eyeballs in it, and you’re not sure when, if, you’ll ever get out. You’re ready to shove all of it into the trash and set it on fire when a gentle knock pulls you out of the stress spiral.

“Hi.” Marcus gives you that super adorable smile.

“Hi.” You smile back.

“I was wondering if I could entice you to dinner.” He nods behind him. Your brain comes to a halt, did he just? He frowns a little when you don’t answer right away, making you realize the screaming yes over and over is only in your head.

“Yes, that would be great.” You laugh, his smile returning. You gently scoop everything back into the folders, and let him guide you to his car.

________

“Welcome to… I would say the best restaurant around but that’s not true.” He laughs as you pull into his driveway.

“Missy?”

“Is at camp for the week.” He slides out of the drivers side and runs to open your door.

“So what brought this on?” You ask as you reach to take your stuff from him. He waves you off, gesturing for you to walk up the pathway.

“Just decided to branch out my circle of friends, retirement leaves a lot of free time.” He unlocks the door, shuffling you inside. It’s been cleaned, like deep cleaned. There’s not one hint that a tween girl lives here.

“I can see you’ve already utilized the time, pre retirement.”

He shrugs in response, setting your things down and walking into the kitchen.

“Before you get to watch the master chef cook, I wanted to ask you something.” He leans on the counter across from where you sit. You nod for him to continue. “Will you tell me the story of this picture?” He brings out a folder identical to Murphy’s, opening it to reveal the picture.

“Of course.”

“And will you sign it for me?” He holds out a marker to you. You take it and quickly sign the photo. He smiles and leans it against the fruit bowl, the two of you looking at it as you recount the story that goes with it.

And of course you don’t notice, but he’s looking at you, not the picture. If it weren’t for Murphy, out of all people, he wouldn’t have given a thought about anything romantic with you. Granted he’s not sure how ready he is for something romantic. But Missy is gone for a whole week, plenty of time to figure out if his stomach fluttering every time you look his way or say his name is something that is more than a day dream.

#marcus moreno x reader #miracle guy x reader #we can be heroes #we can be heros fic #marcus moreno fic #marcus moreno fluff #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fluff #boyd holbrook

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dross-the-fish · 5 years ago

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I've never thought Dagoth Ur was that interesting tbh

Dagoth Ur isn’t very blatantly in your face. You have to be kind of committed to digging around and putting together the puzzle yourself.

Honestly this is a case where I can see why some people might not have been as sucked in as I was because there is so much ambiguity to the writing that you’re half writing your own narrative.

But I’ll tell you how I experienced Dagoth Ur.

You don’t even know he exists at first. You’re just some dumb schmuck who got dumped off a boat and from that point you can do p much whatever. The game doesn’t make you go anywhere in particular.

So let’s say you’re supposed to run off to Balmora but you can’t read signs and you suck at taking directions. You just start walking as fast (not very) in any random direction as your little McNobody footsies can carry you and after several confused days of having no idea what you’re doing you’ll actually read your journal and approximately head in the right direction.

About a week later you’ll finally go to Balmora and accidentally talk to the right person starting the main quest (This was my first Morrowind experience). You’ll do a seemingly ordinary fetch quest, get hopelessly lost in a ruin, take six wrong turns, end up in Suran and then pay for public transit to take you back to Balmora. You’ll complete your quest and go to bed and as you’re snuggled down in your ratty bunk at the fighters guild you’ll have the first of six fucky nighmares.

Congrats, you just met Dagoth Ur! Or maybe it was just a bad dream, you don’t know, you’re still nobody and you put it from your mind and wander aimlessly for awhile. Oh hi there shirtless dude in the middle of the road, did a witch steal your shit too? As you approach he speaks in a voice that sounds like he’s been gargling tar and eating lit cigarettes

“ The Sixth House is risen and lord Dagoth is its glory “

k...k cool, this is some kind of weird cultist. Unsettling but not terribly dangerous you mosey on your way and run into a couple more of those, have a few more disturbing dreams, nothing major. But then you start finding sixth house bases and these ash statues are popping up everywhere. Smugglers are carrying them. Then you find the one in Ald’ruhn in some high ranking councilor’s house, and it’s a mess. Diseased creatures have straight up killed someone and there’s something really creepy about all of it. And those creatures, hard to believe they used to be people....awful disease this corpus, sure hope you don’t get it!

By now things are escalating, it’s harder to just ignore the presence of the sixth house and if you’re like me you want to learn more so you go and ask around, read up and do even more exploring. At this point we’ve only seen Dagoth Ur in dreams. We’ve never actually met him, but his influence is impossible to deny. Like a cancer the symptoms are just steadily getting worse and even if the game doesn’t hold you to it there’s the element of a ticking clock.

The quest to cure your disease puts you on the path to your destiny and this thing has gotten bigger than you ever thought it would. This journey has become personal now and you’re talking to living gods, Dagoth Ur is no longer just a boogey man haunting your nightmares, he’s become very real and everyone is terrified.

Dagoth Ur’s presence is felt and experienced and you never actually meet him until the very end of the game. But his influence creeps and spreads out. Disease and dreams are recurring themes for this character and they both fit. Like a disease the symptoms start small and people ignore them and then as they get worse you have people who will deny that they’re sick, letting it fester and worsen before they’re willing to admit something’s wrong (the temple). ti’s actually really nicely done and conveys a lot through atmosphere alone.

This slow burn way of building up a villain really works for me and I honestly missed it in other elder scrolls games. Alduin was so disappointing by comparison.

I can see how people can find Dagoth Ur uninteresting, but I honestly I love this character and he’s still one of my faves to just ponder about.

#Dagoth Ur #Morrowind #long ramble

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pickalilywrites · 4 years ago

Text

taking a break from my usual angst to update this erejean~ happy new year everyone ^^

------------------------

How To Come Out as a Zombie

EreJean. Zombie Detective AU.

How to Be a Zombie Series

15422 words.

Read on AO3!

Of all the places they have to meet Armin, of course, it has to be a coffee shop. Not just any coffee shop either, but the Cornerstone Coffee Shop. It’s the café that pretty much defined Eren’s teenage years. It’s where Annie stress-ate jelly-filled powdered donuts after every exam, where Jean and Eren worked until midnight trying to finish their calculus homework because Armin wouldn’t let them copy off his, and where Reiner gathered his friends to inform them of his twelve-step plan to ask Bertholdt to be his boyfriend. (Reiner only got to step three before he couldn’t stand it anymore and asked Bertholdt out. The two were inseparable even after they went to separate colleges, so Eren wouldn’t be surprised to hear if they were still together.) Once upon a time, Eren had once wished this little family-owned establishment would be replaced by something like Starbucks, if only so he wouldn’t feel like he lived in the middle of nowhere. After living in the city for so long, he’s come to appreciate the family businesses that populate his town, and even now it feels like he’s finally come home. Eren just wishes that there weren’t so many people around.

He slouches down in the leather booth, keeping his hood pulled down over his head. “Did we have to go somewhere so crowded?” he whispers, keeping his voice low so that people don’t overhear. His words are barely audible over the sound of Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On,” which Eren swears has been playing in this café ever since the 1997 James Cameron film was released.

“‘Cause if you try to attack me, I’ll have, like, twenty other people here to beat you to a pulp,” Jean replies, not looking up from scrolling in his phone. He takes a sip of his long black coffee; it’s already half-finished while Eren’s iced Americano (with a straw, Jean said, so as to not mess up his makeup) remains untouched. “Besides, I thought I didn’t have to worry about you trying to eat people because you’re a vegetarian.”

“A vegetarian zombie and a vegetarian are two totally different things,” Eren hisses.

God, he wants to kill Jean right now. Eren has wanted to kill Jean (i.e. devour him whole) the entire trip here, so eating him now would be kind of a waste. He should wait for Armin to come first before contemplating eating Jean because he needs at least one person to help him. But it’s not like he’s seriously considering eating Jean. No, not at all. Not even as he sits in front of Eren looking positively delectable, like a human burrito bundled up in his coat and wrapped up in his scarf. Not even as Jean scrolls through his phone, his long and slender fingers swiping across the screen. Not even as Jean jostles his leg up and down, the muscles of his thick thighs flexing against the fabric of his khakis. Eren has to keep reminding himself that, although the thought of chomping down on Jean’s firm thighs might be tempting right now, nothing will ever help him get over the trauma of eating his childhood friend. Also, looking at the baseball bat next to Jean’s knee also reminds Eren that his head is going to get bashed in if he even tries to so much as lick Jean.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Eren says. It would have been better if they planned this out more, maybe come up with a game plan and find a way to break the news to Armin slowly. “Do you even have a plan?”

“No,” Jean replies. He doesn’t seem stressed out about this at all, which stresses Eren out a lot. “I figured it would just be best if we told it to him straight.”

For some reason, Eren remembers Jean being a lot smarter than this. Jean was never booksmart, at least not in the way that Armin was, but he was smarter than Eren. Annie always said that between Eren and Jean, they only had two brain cells and Jean held both of them. It seems that Jean has somehow lost both brain cells over the past year that Eren’s been gone.

“Full offense,” Eren says, “but that seems like the worst idea ever.”

“Okay, let’s hear your idea then,” Jean says, finally putting down his phone. He sits back in his seat, arms crossed against his chest as he looks down at Eren expectantly.

“... Maybe make him a pamphlet or something?” Eren suggests weakly.

“Really? You have zero graphic design skills,” Jean snorts.

What Jean says is, unfortunately, very true. Even designing a Powerpoint slide was difficult for Eren, who somehow always managed to put in unnecessary transitions between each slide which only made it more painful for him and every poor soul that had to sit through his presentations. His professors hated his presentations, and for good reason. Even though a pamphlet seems easier, Eren would probably fuck that up too.

“I just don’t want him to run away in terror,” Eren mumbles, poking the ice Americano sitting in front of him. The condensation has made it to the surface of the table, making the coffee spin in tiny circles.

“Just don’t try to eat him,” Jean says very unhelpfully. The little bell on the café’s front entrance chimes and Jean glances up. “Ah, Armin’s here.” He waves at the barista at the front — some high school kid that Eren hasn’t seen before — and says, “Light cappuccino please and another long black.” He gives a brief nod once the barista indicates that they’ve taken his order.

Eren wants to look back at Armin. It’ll be the first glance he’s had of his best friend in a year, but he doesn’t want Armin to die of shock at his sudden reappearance. He’s also not sure how well Jean’s makeup disguises what he really is. Sure, Eren’s managed to walk through town undetected, but he’s mostly kept his head down and avoided eye contact with the townspeople. How Armin reacts to seeing Eren will be the true test of Jean’s ability.

As Armin slides in beside Jean, Eren does his best to keep his head down and hide behind the napkin dispenser. Eyes fixed on the table’s surface, he takes in Armin’s reflection as best as he can. As far as he can tell, not much has changed aside from the fact that Armin has gotten his hair cut. Armin’s bob was cute back when they were in elementary school, but his undercut is a lot more mature and suits his job as a councilman. His face is a little skinnier, making Armin seem a little less boyish than he looked back in high school and college. Eren wonders if he’s been eating right.

“I have a bunch of meetings today, so we kind of have to make this quick,” Armin says as he shrugs off his coat and lets it fall around his waist. He doesn’t seem to notice Eren at first. To Jean, he continues, “It must be really important if you took your morning shift off. What’s so important that you couldn’t wait until tonight?”

Jean gestures at Eren, who timidly lifts his head but only so he can make brief eye contact with Armin.

“Ah, I didn’t notice you. Sorry about that. It’s kind of hectic at work right now, so I’m a bit out of it,” Armin says. He extends his hand, waiting for Eren to take it. “I’m Armin.”

Eren doesn’t take Armin’s hand. He just stares at it miserably, hating how he’s already analyzing the size and shape of it and wondering just how much meat is on it. Armin’s fingers are nowhere near as graceful and slender as Jean’s, but Eren still wants to pop them off and chomp on them like french fries.

Wrenching his eyes away from Armin’s hand, Eren stares at the table and gazes down at his reflection. “I know,” he whispers raggedly.

“Oh?” Armin raises an eyebrow and retracts his hand once it’s clear that Eren isn’t going to shake it. He glances at Jean and then back at Eren again. His lips quirk upwards in a confused smile. “So we’ve met before? I apologize, but I don’t seem to remember you …”

“It’s … Armin, it’s me,” Eren says. He feels absolutely horrible for having to break the news to Armin this way, but Jean gestures for him to continue. He can’t really run from it now. Clearing his throat, he sits up straighter and, making eye contact with Armin, says, “It’s Eren.”

“Eren?” His voice comes out in a hushed whisper and he begins to stand up only for Jean to yank him down by the arm. Armin's eyes are widened in disbelief and he blinks a few times, mouth wide open but no words coming out. “Oh my god,” he finally says, slumping against the leather booth.

“I know. It’s a lot to take in,” Jean says, rubbing Armin’s back soothingly.

“How long has he been back?” Armin asks before turning to Eren and asking again. “How long have you been back?”

“Um, just since early this morning,” Eren says, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck. He’s not sure he should proceed with the rest of his announcement. If Armin is this upset about Eren’s sudden return, hearing about Eren’s new undead status probably won’t make the blond feel any better.

“Eren, you’ve been gone for an entire year,” Armin says. He’s sitting up now, thick eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed as he assumes his lecturing pose reserved for when he’s absolutely pissed because either Jean or Eren (or both) have done something stupid. Eren prepares himself. “Does your mother even know you’re home? You left without any kind of note. We didn’t hear from you for a whole year, Eren! Everyone thought you were dead!”

Some people glance over as Armin raises his voice, but quickly go back to their own conversations. Eren and Jean only glance at Armin, sitting there silently as Armin seethes. Eren can’t remember the last time seeing Armin so angry. He sits there staring at the table, picking at his fingernails nervously. A waiter comes by and places Jean’s order of long black and cappuccino on the table and Jean says a polite “thank you.” After a moment, Armin rests with his back against the leather seat and, eyes closed, takes a deep breath. As he breathes, his lips move wordlessly, counting seconds. Finally, he opens his eyes and looks at both Eren and Jean for an explanation.

Jean cups his hands around his warm mug of coffee. He blows on it, the silence between the three of them so loud it’s almost deafening, and he takes a long sip. Jean sets his mug down and puts an arm around Armin, looks him in the eye, and says, “Well, we weren’t wrong about him being dead.”

Armin blinks. “What?”

“I mean … Eren died the night he went missing,” Jean says. He’s completely focused on Armin right now, so he can’t see the way Eren is currently sinking down in the booth, so low that he’s almost under the table. “He’s a …” Here, Jean eyes dart quickly around the little coffee shop to make sure nobody’s eavesdropping and, for good measure, lowers his voice as he whispers, “Zombie.”

“He’s a what?” Armin practically screeches.

Jean clamps a hand over Armin’s mouth and puts a finger to his lips. “Calm down. People are going to kill Eren if they find out, so keep your voice down.” He keeps his hand over Armin’s mouth until Armin, looking at Jean and then Eren, gives him a nod. Jean gestures at Armin’s coffee. “Come on. Drink up. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Caffeine isn’t actually good for stress,” Armin mumbles, but he still picks up his mug and takes a disgruntled sip of his coffee, practically glaring at Eren and Jean. He’s drunk half of his coffee by the time he sets down the mug. Gesturing at the two troublemakers, he says, “Okay. You two, explain.”

“Um. Well, there isn’t really that much to it,” Eren says, still slumped in his seat. He pulls his hood over so it covers his eyes and tugs nervously on the strings. “It’s just … I went hiking that night I went missing. Someone … knocked me out? And, like, strangled me or something. I must have died because when I woke up I was just … like this.” He sits up a little bit, pulling at his sleeves so that he can show Armin his hands. Jean had made sure to cover most of Eren’s skin with makeup, but the palms of his hands are still deathly pale with prominent veins of purple and blue running underneath.

“Jesus Christ,” Armin says. On the bright side, he doesn’t look as mad as he was at the beginning of this conversation, but he does look very tired. Turning to Jean, he asks, “And he came to you? And you guys decided to tell me?”

“That’s pretty much the gist of it,” Jean nods. He notices Armin hurriedly tapping away at his phone. Jean raises an eyebrow. “... What are you doing?”

“Cancelling all my meetings for today,” Armin mutters. He looks up at Eren through his lashes. “This is more important than dealing with tourists stealing money from the fountain in the square.”

Eren wrinkles his nose. “They’re still doing that? Assholes. I thought you guys were having a sign put in that told people they can’t do that.”

“Yeah, well apparently they don’t know how to fucking read,” Armin replies, tucking his phone back into the pocket of his trousers. He takes another sip of his coffee, slower this time so he doesn’t down the rest of it immediately. His brow is furrowed in a way that makes little wrinkles appear on his forehead, which means he’s thinking of a plan. It makes Eren regret not going to Armin first instead of Jean. After a moment, Armin taps on the table and then points at Eren and Jean. “Alright, we’re going to talk to Annie.”

“Wait, right now?” Eren asks, alarmed. He was all for letting Annie know when he first talked to Jean about it, but he was thinking about letting her know a little down the line, maybe in a week or two. Now just seems like … a bad idea.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Jean frowns. It’s clear he’s still against it. “What if she …?” He makes a slice motion across his neck with a finger, tilting his head a bit.

Eren knows that the gesture is supposed to mimic Annie cutting his head off, but he can’t help thinking about how Jean’s neck looks so delectable when it’s stretched out like he’s inviting Eren to take a bite. God, he really needs to stop. He forces himself to look at Armin so that he’s not tempted to suck on Jean’s Adam’s apple.

“Why haven’t you killed him yet?” Armin asks Jean.

“Well, because … Eren’s my friend?” Jean says, but his voice goes up at the end.

Eren looks at Jean suspiciously. “Why did you say it like that?”

“Annie’s his friend too. Have more faith in her,” Armin says, ignoring Eren.

“Okay, fine, but we shouldn’t go without proper preparation first,” Jean says. Eren thinks Jean is getting up to reach for a napkin and maybe scribble out some semblance of a plan, but he just waves Armin out of the way and, after Armin gets up, gets out of the booth and goes over to the counter to order something, leaving Armin and Eren alone for the first time.

Eren fidgets in his seat, avoiding eye contact with Armin. He can see from Armin’s reflection in the table’s surface that the blond is staring at him with arms folded across his chest. He hadn’t really thought about how Armin would feel about all of this ― learning Eren died, that he came back to life, that he was afraid of telling Armin everything. When was the last time he had ever kept anything from Armin? Aside from the obligatory surprises hidden from Armin like Christmas gifts or unexpected parties to celebrate the little blond genius’ latest academic achievements, Eren always told Armin everything and vice versa. Eren had been so worried about keeping his new identity a secret, he didn’t think about how it would affect Armin. Of course, Armin would be shocked, but he would always accept Eren in the end. He doesn’t know why he thought Armin’s reaction would be any different.

“Sorry!” Eren suddenly blurts out. He digs his nails into the denim of his jeans, still unable to meet Armin’s eyes. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you first. I just … panicked. I didn’t want you to freak out or … be disgusted by me.”

“Eren, I would never …” Armin’s voice grows soft and he reaches out, holding his palm upward as he invites Eren to place his hand in his. When Eren looks up, Armin’s looking at him with the most sympathetic eyes. “I’ll get over it. It’s not really about me anyway. I can’t imagine everything you’ve been through, especially since you had to deal with so much of this on your own up until recently. You know you can always tell me anything. No matter what happens, I’ll always be here for you.”

Eren places his hand in Armin’s. His skin is so rough and cold compared to Armin’s smooth and warm hands. His hand is so disgusting in comparison that he’s afraid that Armin might pull away, but Armin just holds onto him tightly and Eren thinks he’s about to cry.

“I really missed talking to you. Dealing with this all by myself … it was almost unbearable.” It’s embarrassing how choked up it’s getting, but Eren can’t help the tears that are beginning to sting at the corner of his eyes. When Armin offers him a napkin to wipe them away, Eren hastily accepts and dabs at the corners of his eyes before his makeup can be ruined. “I’m really sorry. I should have told you first. I don’t know why I didn’t.”

“You were scared,” Armin says gently. He hands Eren a few more napkins and motions for Eren to blow his nose, which the zombie does obediently. Armin politely waits for Eren to finish before continuing. “Honestly, going to Jean was a good idea. He’s good under pressure.”

“You are, too,” Eren insists, but Armin shakes his head with a smile. Eren clutches the used napkins in his fist. “I mean, you handled this a lot better than I thought you would. I honestly thought you would faint if you found out and I’d … I’d eat you if you were lying unconscious in front of me.”

He expects Armin to be horrified, but Armin only shrugs. “I’ve been going to therapy after you, you know, disappeared. It helps a lot,” Armin explains. His hands cup the mug of coffee on the table, his index fingers tapping against the speckled ceramic. “I used to go twice a week, but now I only go once every other week. It helps me manage my anxiety and stress. Not just with you but everything in general.”

“Ah,” Eren nods, a little dazed. He does notice that Armin is a little different from before. Armin used to always look at his watch, anxious about upcoming deadlines even if they were hours away. It was normal for Armin to always be moving. Maybe it was him jiggling his leg or tapping his fingers, the movements always jittery like he was a ticking clock. Now, he sits in front of Eren, a little concerned but a lot calmer than he used to be. “Has a lot changed since I’ve been gone?” Eren wonders aloud.

“Hmm? Not that I can think of,” Armin replies with a shake of his head. His shoulder slump a bit as he tries to think of any news worth sharing. “I’m sure Jean must have told you most of it already. Annie still works at the bookstore with Hanji. Reiner still teaches kindergarten. He and Bertholdt are still very much in love, by the way. Ah, Historia …” His voice trails off and he looks cautiously at Eren.

“I know already,” Eren says, casually waving away any concern Armin might have about bringing up the topic even though thinking about Historia still stings. “Don’t worry about it. Jean told me. It’s fine. It would have been selfish to expect her to wait for me for an entire year.”

“Sorry,” Armin says. He takes a sip of his coffee, finishing up the rest of it. “If it’s any consolation, she was really distraught when you went missing. She took it pretty hard. Maybe if this all works out we could tell her …?”

Eren only shrugs. He’s not sure how it would work out, him being a zombie and Historia being a human, but he appreciates Armin’s optimism. “It’s fine. My current condition doesn’t really leave me any room to think about any romantic entanglements.”

Someone dangles a bag of donuts in their faces and the two friends look up to see Jean.

“You’re right. Focus on not getting killed by Annie first,” Jean says. He gestures for the two to get up and follow him out the coffee shop. After generously tipping the barista, Jean leads Armin and Eren towards the bookstore Annie works at, donuts in one hand and his baseball bat dangling in the other.

“Do you really think that donuts are going to be enough to get Annie to not kill me?” Eren asks nervously.

Jean shrugs. “We’re just going to have to wait and see.”

--------------------------------

When they open the door, Eren is hit with the nostalgic scent of musty books and cinnamon candles. Hanji always described it as the scent of autumn, replacing the cinnamon candles with peppermint-, lilac-, and peach-scented candles in the winter, spring, and summer, respectively. Eren keeps his head down and his hood pulled over his face as ordered by Jean, but he can see that the bookstore has the same creaky floorboards and faded-red “Welcome!” mat.

“Hey, what are you fellows doing here so early in the morning?” asks a voice, chipper and bright. It’s definitely Hanji, Eren thinks. “You guys don’t have work today? No important council meetings, Armin?”

“We took work off today,” Armin replies quickly. He links his arm around Eren, trying to tug the zombie behind him even though Armin’s far too small to hide Eren. “Annie and Reiner’s old classmate came to visit and Reiner asked us to show him around since he has work. We thought he’d like to come see Annie for a bit before we show him the rest of the town.”

“Oh, really? You’re from the city then?” Hanji asks, getting dangerously close. They almost succeed in peering into Eren’s hood, but Jean quickly yanks Eren behind him, standing in between them. Unfortunately, this means Eren is pressed up against Jean and while Jean’s thick coat hides most of Jean’s shape, it can’t hide Jean’s broad shoulders and Eren almost whimpers because not being able to take even one bite into Jean’s shoulder is killing him.

“Yeah, but he’s, ah, shy around people. He has a bit of social anxiety when he meets new people,” Jean says, glancing at Eren.

Normally, Eren would scoff. He’s the least shy person he knows aside from maybe Reiner, but right now he’s busy trying to hold his breath so that he doesn’t breathe in Jean’s earthy scent. One sniff and Eren knows he’ll be a goner, tackling Jean to the ground and nibbling on his ears. Hanji spends so much time staring suspiciously at Eren that the zombie thinks he might lose consciousness.

“Ah, my apologies then,” Hanji says, convinced after seeing how Eren is beginning to sway unsteadily just trying to stand up. They take a few steps back and smile cheerfully at the trio. “Annie’s in the basement doing some inventory. Please feel free to come back up and browse if you’re curious. I’ll be sure to give you guys enough breathing space.”

“Thanks, Hanji,” Jean says, already shoving Armin and Eren towards the basement.

They shuffle down the stairs, nearly tripping over each other in their haste. It’s dark in the basement aside from the flickering light overhead. Eren’s only been here a few times; he’s never been an avid reader, but there were times where Annie or Armin would call a meeting at the basement of the bookstore because not many people visited and Hanji didn’t mind if Annie took the space for herself. Right now, Annie is sitting at the table in the center of the basement, glasses perched on her nose as she checks an order for a pickup. It’s only when Jean stops in front of the table and coughs that she looks up, bored.

“Kirstein,” she says curtly. Annie raises an eyebrow. “You don’t have work?”

“I had to take work off,” Jean says with a shrug. He glances at her and then at the open door behind them. “Do you mind if we talk here for a moment? Preferably with some … privacy.”

“Without Reiner?” she asks.

“It’s not something we can talk about with him,” says Jean.

“But we can talk about it with … whoever that is?” Annie says, craning her neck to take a better look at Eren.

Jean stands in front of Eren, blocking him from Annie’s view. “We’ll explain it in a bit just … if you could close the door.”

Annie looks suspiciously at Jean, not budging an inch.

“Annie … please,” Armin pleads timidly.

Annie looks from Jean to Armin. It’s not that she has a soft spot for Armin, but she trusts him the most because, as she said once, “He’s the only one who has any sense in this stupid group.” There have been times where she’s disagreed with Armin, arguing with him because she couldn’t understand his thought process, but she always follows him in the end even if she does so grudgingly. It’s no surprise when she finally stands up from her chair, letting it screech across the wooden floor as she gets up, and stomps over to the door, glaring at the three of them the entire time.

“Hey, Hanji! I’m going to need this room for a bit. Knock if you need anything,” Annie calls, sticking her head out the door. She waits for an acknowledgement from her boss before slamming the door shut behind her. Annie stomps down the stairs and stands in front of the trio, foot tapping impatiently and arms crossed against her chest. Even though she stands at a very short five feet, she’s still incredibly intimidating.

“Um, so,” Jean mumbles, looking at the floor. He glances back at Eren and Armin for help.

“Just spit it out,” Annie says.

Jean stands there frozen for a minute before saying suddenly, “Eren’s back and he’s a zombie.”

Annie blinks. Once. Twice. She looks at Eren, takes him in. He can see her analyzing him, piecing together all the pieces ― his height, the way he slouches, the way Jean’s clothes don’t quite fit him ― and he closes his eyes as she widens her, awaiting the inevitable smack that’ll knock him to the floor and crack his head open like an egg. It never comes.

Someone moves swiftly in front of him and Eren hears Jean grunt and what he’s almost certain is Annie growling. Reluctantly, Eren opens his eyes to see Jean grabbing Annie by the wrist. In her hand is a hefty book that she must have grabbed from one of the shelves behind her. Annie’s glaring up at Jean, her eyes blazing a fiery blue, while the makeup artist struggles to keep her from bludgeoning Eren with a six-inch piece of literature.

“Annie,” Jean grunts through gritted teeth. His hand trembles and it’s clear that he can’t hold Annie back much longer. “Hear us out first.”

“Don’t need to,” Annie growls. Her eyes flicker towards Eren and he flinches under her gaze. “I’ll kill him anyway, so I might as well just kill him sooner than later.”

“Annie, he’s not like a normal zombie,” Jean says. He stumbles back a little bit, Annie beginning to overpower him, but regains his footing. “If he were, Armin and I would be eaten by now.”

“Stop getting attached to a zombie just because he used to be our friend,” Annie snarls. She tries to yank herself free from Jean’s grip, but he doesn’t let go. “Jean, I can kill you and the zombie. Let go!”

Armin stands in front of Eren, arms trembling as he holds them out protectively. “Annie, please,” the blond begs, bottom lip quivering. “I know it looks bad but just … you can’t kill him. I know he’s a zombie now but … he’s still our friend. He’s still Eren.”

Annie’s hand is still up, the book raised as a weapon, but her eyes are softer now as she looks at Armin. After a moment, her grip on the book relaxes and she finally lowers her arm, and Jean lets out a sigh of relief. Her stance is still defensive, back stiff as she stands with her feet apart as if ready to attack if Eren shows any sign that he wants to eat them.

“I hate all of you guys,” she grumbles, glowering at Eren.

“We know.” Jean sighs and rubs his face. He picks up the bag he had dropped on the floor in his haste to protect Eren and shoves it at Annie. “Here. They’re your favorite.”

Annie raises an eyebrow but accepts the bag. Peering inside, she asks, “Donuts?”

“They’re the powdered ones,” Eren says, remembering out loud. His voice is shaking, still terrified that Annie might beat him to death with a dictionary or nearby textbook, but he thinks this might serve as proof that he remembers her. That he’s not like the other zombies that just go around eating people and groaning unintelligibly. “The ones with the jelly inside.”

She looks up at him and he freezes, but then she sighs and walks over to the table, slumping back into her chair. When she gestures at the rest of them to take a seat, Eren thinks that he might just survive this meeting.

“So, our childhood friend has managed to come back after going missing for a year, but now he’s a zombie.” Annie clasps her hands together in front of her and looks at everyone at the table, and the group nods at her in confirmation. She keeps the six-inch novel within reach beside her. Unlike most people, Annie doesn’t carry around a weapon to fight off zombies. She doesn’t need one. Jean has a baseball bat and Armin, who isn’t as strong as either of them, has a hefty wrench that dangles from his belt loop. Annie is one of the rare people who can fight off zombies with her bare hands. One kick from her and zombies get knocked down easily, brains spilling from their skulls like spaghetti spilled from a pan. It’s what happens when your dad owns the martial arts studio down the streets. Of course, Annie doesn’t usually fistfight with zombies, choosing to just take whatever object is nearby and bludgeoning them to death with it. Less blood gets on her clothes that way.

“That’s … the gist,” Armin says. He chuckles to ease the atmosphere, but it comes out sounding forced. He clears his throat and says, “He really isn’t dangerous though. Jean’s been with him since last night and I met him this morning.”

“He says he’s a vegetarian,” Jean offers.

“I said kind of like a vegetarian,” Eren says, glaring at Jean. To Annie, he explains, “I’m not a cannibal or anything. I haven’t … I’ve never eaten anyone.”

“Even if you did eat someone, you wouldn’t be a cannibal,” Armin says absentmindedly. He has a habit of correcting people without thinking about it. “You’d have to eat other zombies to be considered a cannibal because humans and zombies aren’t exactly the same species.”

Eren blinks. He hadn’t really thought about that before. The thought of digging his teeth into another zombie, someone with half-rotted flesh like him, sagging skin over an emaciated body. He almost gags. Shaking his head profusely, he hurriedly says, “I don’t want to eat any of them. I don’t want to eat zombies or humans.”

Annie doesn’t look convinced. “First time for everything,” she says dismissively. She rests her cheek in her hand and looks at Armin. “Look, I know you’re attached to Eren because we all grew up with him, but it’s in a zombie’s nature to eat people. He could give in to his urges at any moment.”

“No, he’s different. I mean it, Annie!” Armin says as Annie rolls her eyes. He scoots up to the edge of his seat, hands beginning to gesture wildly the way they usually do when Armin is about to give a long explanation. “I’m not just saying this because it’s Eren. He’s fully conscious of what he is. He speaks, he thinks, he … he’s nothing like the other zombies we’ve seen before.”

Annie slouches in her seat and folds her arms against her chest. Grudgingly, she says, “Go on.”

“With Eren, we have a zombie that can listen and … and work with us! We’ve had zombies before. In fact, our small town has far more cases of zombie appearances than the city, but we’ve never looked into it because we’re too busy killing them!” Armin says. He’s bringing up a lot of good points that Eren has never thought about before. Letting Armin know about his zombie situation was definitely a good decision.

“And he can help us how?” Annie snorts. “Is he gonna tell the other zombies to fuck off?”

“No, nothing like that,” Armin says with a shake of his head. “In fact, we should probably keep the fact that he’s alive ― or at least that he’s a zombie ― from everyone, especially if we want to find out who killed him.”

Annie does a double-take. “Wait, someone murdered you?” she asks Eren. She looks at Jean. “Why didn’t any of you guys mention this to me before?”

“Ah.” Eren can only blink. He had honestly forgotten that detail between all his plans to reintegrate himself into his hometown and telling his friends he’s a zombie. It hadn’t occurred to him that his murderer still might be running around killing other people.

“It … slipped our minds,” Jean says sheepishly, ducking his head.

Armin rubs at his arm awkwardly. “We kind of forgot to tell you because we were a little busy preventing you from murdering Eren,” Armin mumbles as Annie glares at them like they’re the biggest group of idiots she’s ever met. “If someone killed Eren and he turned into a zombie, then maybe someone is actively killing people and turning them into zombies.”

“Hm.” Annie plays with the silver hoop that dangles from her earlobe, rubbing the metal between her thumb and index finger. “It would explain all of the tourists that went missing only to come back as zombies.”

It is a well-known fact in the town that an alarming number of zombies that appear often wear the clothes and share the same physical (although somewhat decayed) characteristics of tourists that have gone missing. Not many people batted an eyelash though. The townspeople figured that the tourists just didn’t heed warnings about hiking in the mountains late at night; only people who have lived in the town their whole lives went into the mountains at night because the paths could be confusing and difficult to navigate in the dark, and even then it was dangerous. Of course, the tourists never listened and most went up there anyway. Some never came back, but the most townspeople suspected that those that returned as zombies were doing some stupid satanic ritual or trying out some urban legend.

“Wait, you think someone’s out there killing people and turning them into zombies?” Jean asks, wrinkling his nose. “Why would anyone do that? They always turn out horrific.”

“Most of them, maybe,” Armin says. “But maybe they aren’t supposed to. Maybe they’re supposed to be more like … Eren.” He casts a side glance at the zombie.

“Me?” He’s flattered that Armin believes him to be the highest quality of zombie, but he’s not sure he’s following everything the councilman’s saying. There’s nothing impressive about him. He’s lost most of his muscle mass, his eyes are wet and watery, and his breath always smells rotten. What would anyone want to do with him?

“What’s the advantage of an Eren zombie versus other zombies?” Jean asks. “I mean, they’re not that much different.”

Eren makes a squeak of indignation, but Armin ignores him.

“You could essentially have, if you wanted, an undead army,” Armin explains patiently. “Eren doesn’t move the same he did when he was alive, but he’s a lot faster than other zombies. Also, as I’ve said before, he knows he’s a zombie. He knows his own weaknesses. He can dodge attacks that come at his head. We could probably stab him anywhere else and he’d be fine. As long as he keeps his head safe, he’s pretty much immortal.”

Annie looks contemplatively at Eren, like she’s trying to decide whether or not to stab Eren in the thigh with her hairpin just to test Armin’s theory.

“This doesn’t seem very well thought-out,” Jean murmurs. “There must be easier ways to take over the world.”

Armin shrugs. “This is just a theory. We’d have to catch the culprit to find out their real motive. We should do some research first though.” He’s already pushing himself out of his seat and glancing at the shelves. “Of course, we should keep this all between ourselves. No need to cause panic right now, especially without solid evidence. No letting this slip to our parents or friends or … potential significant others.” He subtly glances at Annie.

“I’m not going to tell anyone, so don’t worry,” she snaps with a roll of her eyes, but her cheeks are flushing a bright shade of pink.

“You’re still not with Mina yet?” Eren asks incredulously. “I can’t believe you haven’t made any moves since I died, and it’s been an entire year.”

“Maybe I want to make sure everything’s perfect before I ask her,” Annie glares. With a sigh she says, “Even if we were dating, I wouldn’t tell her any of this. It’d probably just scare her away.”

“You never know,” Jean says in a sing-song voice, but he shuts up immediately when Annie snarls at him. He gets up from his chair, pushing it in, and re-wraps his scarf around his neck. “I should get going. Good luck with research!”

“What!” Eren squawks. “You’re not going to help us?”

“Nope,” Jean replies cheerfully, tossing his apartment keys to Eren who almost doesn’t catch them. He’s already walking up the steps, waving goodbye to Armin and Annie who hardly pay him any attention. “I only took the morning off today, so I can’t spend all day with you. I’ll see you at the apartment though. Take care of him, Armin.”

“See you,” Armin says without looking up. He’s nibbling on his bottom lip, brows furrowed as he brainstorms his next move. Eren tries to keep his attention on Armin because looking at Annie, who’s currently looking at him like she’s waiting for an opportunity to kill him, is stressful. After a moment, Armin says, “I’m going to collect all the newspapers of the missing tourists, the ones that showed up later as zombies and the ones that were never found. Maybe they all have something in common. Annie, can you and Eren look at examples of zombies? It can be in humans or animals. It might be helpful to understand Eren’s condition more.”

“I’m on it,” Annie says, already getting up to peruse the books on the basement shelves.

“Okay, I’ll get the newspapers from upstairs,” Armin says, getting up from his chair. He’s about to leave when a panicked Eren grabs his arm and yanks him back. “Ah, is there something you need, Eren?”

“Um.” Eren glances back at Annie, who’s staring at him amusedly from behind a bookshelf. He swallows nervously. “I … you’re leaving me alone,” he says stupidly.

Armin blinks. “Annie’s here,” he points out, not making the connection between Eren’s knocking knees and Annie’s presence.

“I … I know,” Eren stammers. He wants to get on his knees and beg Armin not to leave him alone with Annie, but he’s pretty sure Armin would insist that it was fine. Also, he doesn’t want Annie to see him looking so pathetic. Even if she does want to kill him, they’re still technically friends and he doesn’t want her to hold this moment over him if he does somehow manage to last five minutes alone with her in the same room.

“Just go. He’s being stupid,” Annie says with a roll of her eyes.

“Alright. I’ll only be a minute.” Armin gives Eren a reassuring smile, pries himself from the zombie’s grip, and disappears up the steps, making sure to shut the door after him as he greets Hanji upstairs.

Eren turns around, arms held up in order to protect himself from whatever projectile Annie plans to hurl at him. The blow never comes and Eren, though still on his guard, slowly lowers his arms. He’s surprised when he spots Annie still flipping through books between the shelves, a few books clamped beneath her arm.

“You’re really … doing research?” Eren asks, dumbfounded.

Annie looks up, eyebrow raised. “Of course. I’m not crazy about the idea of letting a zombie walk around town, but I trust Armin,” she replies. She finishes flipping through the book she’s currently scanning through and puts it on the shelf with a shake of her head. Walking towards the table, she sets them down and shoves them in Eren’s direction. “And I know I did try to kill you a few minutes ago but … Armin’s right. You’re not like the other zombies. You’re … you. And we’re friends, so I should help you out if I can.” Annie pauses and then adds, “But I won’t hesitate to kill you if you eat anyone.”

Eren feels oddly touched. He thinks it’s the most Annie’s ever spoken about their friendship. “Thanks,” he says. He approaches the table and reaches for one of the books that Annie had pushed towards him, frowning when he reads the cover. Wrinkling his nose, he asks, “Why do you want me to read about Haitian Vodou?”

“Because it’s relevant,” Annie replies in a tired tone that’s oddly reminiscent of the one she’d use whenever he asked her for help on projects for school. She takes a seat and picks a book from her pile, checking the table of contents before flipping to a certain page. “They had a practice of resurrecting the dead.”

“Like necromancy?” Eren asks. He also flips through his own book but all he sees are chapters on Haitian Vodou beliefs about the soul, which he finds somewhat interesting. His eyes wander across the page, distracted until Annie slams a hand down on the pages and forces him to look up.

“Not exactly like necromancy,” Annie says with a shake of her head. She pushes her book towards Eren. It’s opened to a section about something called a bòkò. Apparently, they’re individuals that deal with the supernatural, although that’s the incredibly oversimplified definition Eren takes away from the lengthy paragraphs of text. Annie continues, “Necromancy comes from the practice of divination; it deals more with the spirits of the dead than resurrecting someone. A bokor actually revives someone after death.”

“Ah,” Eren nods with a frown. He’s not sure how Annie got all that. The words in front of him are just swimming around, none of them making any sense. Eren’s never been that good at doing research. He just takes Annie’s word for it. “You know an awful lot about zombies already.”

Annie shrugs, pulling the book back so that she can look through it. “I know some stuff. It’s good to know a little bit of everything when you’re working at a bookstore,” she replies, flipping a page. “Sometimes tourists come by asking for things on zombies. I haven’t done much research on it. Figured there wasn’t really a point until now.”

“Hmm.” Eren flips through the book, stopping when his eye catches on the word “zombie.” Apparently, the process of turning someone into a zombie includes giving an individual a certain concoction and, after the person has passed on, revive them with another drug. Eren’s not sure if any of this happened to him. If it had, he can’t remember. “So you think this is what happened to me?”

Annie wrinkles her nose. “Not really, no, but it might be helpful to know. It’s possible that, if someone did turn you into a zombie, they use a similar method,” she replies. Annie peruses through the book. Eren’s not sure how she’s able to take in any information looking if she’s looking through the book so quickly, but Annie’s always been better at research papers than Eren was. “Do you mind looking at these? I’m going to start looking for examples of zombie-like behavior in animals.”

“Ah, okay,” Eren says. He feels a little overwhelmed when Annie shoves her stack of Haitian vodou books at him, but he doesn’t want to complain, especially when Annie and Armin are going above and beyond with researching for him.

They don’t do very much talking after that. Annie goes in and out of the basement, piling more and more books onto the table. Some books are about animals — deer, carpenter ants, different parasites — while others are specifically about diseases — rabies and the African sleeping sickness. Eren’s relieved that Annie doesn’t ask him to take any new books; he feels like looking at vodou is going to take him all night, although he does feel bad about Annie looking at a dozen different topics. He’d offer to take one or two more topics just to lighten her load, but he feels like she’d just brush him off. This scenario is awfully reminiscent of when they’d be paired for school projects and Annie would end up doing all of it because she said Eren was just going to “ruin everything.” (To be fair, she wasn’t exactly wrong in saying that. The one time she had allowed him to help during a chemistry lab, he set off the fire alarm and they got an F. He can understand why Annie doesn’t let him do anything.)

As Eren is reading about the role of bokors in Haitian vodou, Armin bursts through the door, a pile of newspapers in his arms. The basement door falls shut behind him as the blond walks down the stairs. When he gets to the table, he lets the papers fall from his arms with a loud thud.

“The good news is that I managed to obtain newspapers about missing tourists and every zombie sighting over the past five years,” Armin says, his mouth set in a grim line. “The bad news is -”

“That’s a shitton of papers,” Annie finishes for him.

“It is,” Armin agrees with a nod. He glances at the pile of books between Annie and Eren. “There’s probably more out there from previous years that the newspapers might have missed, but this is a good start. I’d suggest we’d split these up, but it looks like you guys have your hands full already …”

“Ah,” Eren says, sitting up a bit. He motions to the pile of books in front of him. It’s considerably smaller than Annie’s pile. “Annie only gave me these. If you want, I could -”

“No!”

The combined voices of both Annie and Armin shouting at him make the zombie flinch in surprise.

“I mean,” Armin coughs, clearing his throat. “That won’t be necessary. It’ll probably be easier if we all stick to a topic.” He smiles politely at Eren.

Eren sulks for a little bit in his seat. Neither Annie nor Armin’s reactions are unexpected. Like Annie, Armin also knows how bad Eren is at schoolwork and doing research in general. However, Armin always let Eren do a fair share of the work, preferring to have Eren learn alongside him even if it meant lowering their overall grade to a B (and, on some occasions, a C). It makes sense that Armin wouldn’t allow Eren to take more work than he can handle.

Eren slumps, knocking his back against the chair, and lets out a loud sigh. Both Annie and Armin ignore him, leaving the disgruntled zombie no choice but to do the work assigned to him.

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They decide to give it a rest by noon because none of the words Eren is reading make sense anymore and his constant finger-tapping on the table is so distracting that Annie makes it clear that she will absolutely kill Eren regardless of whether or not he’s a zombie. Although Eren insists on coming back after a small lunch break, Armin and Annie (mostly Armin) assure him that he doesn’t need to return; everyone (re: Annie and Armin) might work better if they do research on their own, Armin suggests, so Eren packs up the Haitian vodou books that he feels are most useful. Annie stays behind, but Armin also packs his things to walk Eren back to Jean’s apartment.

The two of them say their goodbyes to Annie and head up the stairs. Armin does most of the talking with Hanji, thanking them for not disturbing the quartet’s basement meeting, and Hanji seems to accept Eren’s mumbled thank you as well as the zombie and councilman hurry out the door.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to buy something for you from the market?” Armin asks Eren once they’ve left the bookstore. It’s a bit difficult to hear Armin because he’s mumbling in his scarf, but Eren figures that Armin’s only doing that to prevent people from overhearing their conversation or reading their lips. “I could even grab something from the butcher if you prefer something fresh.”

Something fresh — freshly slaughtered, the smell of the farm still lingering on it, blood dripping from a chunk of thick, juicy, meat. It sounds better than anything Jean might have in his fridge, but Eren doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want Armin seeing him salivate over raw meat. He doesn’t want to risk Armin watching him eating it, shoving raw beef hide into his mouth and nearly choking on it because he’s so desperate to gorge on any kind of flesh. No, Eren thinks with a shake of his head. Armin might be fine with it, but Eren certainly won’t allow his friend to see him acting so monstrously.

“It’s fine. Jean says he still has some pork in his freezer that I could eat,” Eren says with a forced smile. It’s probably all dried out by now. Even if he does defrost it, the meat will probably have lost all its flavor. Still, it’s not as if he can be picky with his food.

“Well, if you’re sure okay with that,” Armin says, sounding unconvinced. They walk a few paces forward, passing by the ramen shop and electronics store. “You’re fine with living with Jean, too?”

Eren shrugs. It’s not like he has many options here. He doesn’t have money to rent a place of his own and he’s not sure how he’d go about getting an apartment without alerting someone’s attention about his presence. “I don’t have any other place to go.”

“You could live at my place for a while,” Armin suggests.

“You live with your parents. Even if they don’t recognize me as I am right now, it’s going to be difficult to explain why you have to buy so much raw meat or why I never eat in front of people,” Eren points out with a shake of his head. Out of the corner of his eye, Eren sees Armin open his mouth, but Eren knows the blond is going to suggest living with Annie, which is an even worse option than Jean. Holding a hand up to stop Armin from even letting Annie’s name leave his mouth, Eren says, “Don’t. Annie’s going to kill me if I even breathe wrong. Besides, Mina might get the wrong idea if she finds out a mysterious man is living in Annie’s apartment and then MinAni will never happen.”

Armin kicks at a pebble, grimacing. “I guess you’re right.” He looks at Eren through his eyelashes, barely lifting his head. “You’re really alright though? You’ll tell me if you need anything, right? I really meant it when I said we were friends. Nothing has to change just because you’re … you know.” He gestures at Eren.

Obviously, some things have to change, but Eren’s still touched by Armin’s words. “Thanks. I’m managing just fine now, but I’ll let you know if I need anything. You guys are all doing more than enough.” Eren takes a deep breath and sighs through his nose. “I mean, I always knew I could count on you guys but I never thought I’d find out like this.”

“Right?” Armin laughs. He runs a hand through his blond hair, letting the locks fall into his face messily. “It’s not a situation anyone would want to be stuck in, but at least you’re not alone.” He pauses for a moment, thinking. “Reiner would have your back too, you know.”

“I know,” Eren sighs. “It’s just that Reiner can be a bit …”

“A bit what?” a voice says as hands suddenly cling to the chain fence surrounding the local elementary school.

Eren’s frozen in surprise, but Armin lets out a loud yelp and nearly falls over backward at the sight of Reiner behind the fence. Hastily, Eren yanks Armin upward and shoves the small blond in front of him, trying to make himself as small as possible even though there’s no way that Armin’s tiny form can hide him. He takes a peek at Reiner from behind Armin’s shoulder and sees his old childhood friend looking curiously at him, craning his neck to get a good look at Eren.

“O-oh, h-hey! I d-didn’t know you were d-done with your morning shift already, R-Reiner,” Armin stammers, blinking rapidly. He backs up, stepping on Eren’s toes.

“Yeah, it’s noon. I was going to go out for my lunch break before the afternoon group comes in an hour,” Reiner replies. He tilts his head, a lopsided grin on his face. “Maybe your friend wants to join us?”

Panicked, Eren shakes his head.

“No!” Armin shouts, holding his hands up. “He’s in a … hurry. I was really just going to walk him to the station -”

“Then I’ll walk with you guys!” Reiner says eagerly. “I love meeting new people.” Before either Armin or Eren can protest, Reiner starts to jog towards the gate to join them.

“What do we do?” Armin panic-whispers to Eren, keeping a strained smile on his face. He looks at the zombie, blue eyes wide and terrified. “Eren, I think you should run.”

“No way! I couldn’t outrun him when I was human and I definitely can’t outrun him now,” Eren says. He doesn’t mention that his knees are shaking way too much for him to even take a step.

“Oh my god, I can’t do this,” Armin says through gritted teeth. He looks as if he’s about to cry even as he’s waving to Reiner. “I can’t lie to him. I don’t remember the last time I lied to any of you. He’s going to see right through me.”

“God, Jean never should have left us,” Eren mutters, casting his eyes downward as Reiner stops in front of them. A hand appears in front of him — strong, sturdy, meaty — and Eren thinks it’s only a matter of time before either he or Armin blow his cover.

“Reiner Bruan. I’m the kindergarten teacher here,” Reiner says in his deep rumbling voice. He still holds his hand out, waiting for Eren to take it. “I take it you’re here on a visit. It’s a shame you’re leaving before we can really get to know each other.”

“Reiner, he’s really in a hurry so if you don’t mind -” Armin begins, trying to push Reiner back.

“Wait a second,” Reiner says, easily sidestepping Armin and getting even closer to Eren. There’s something in his voice, something so close to recognition, and it makes Eren’s unbeating heart drop to his stomach. A rough hand clamps onto Eren’s shoulder, forcing the zombie to look up and stare at Reiner’s beaming face. “Eren Jaeger? Jesus, we all thought you were dead!” He’s opening his arms, ready to crush Eren and his delicate zombie body in a bone-crushing hug. Eren’s closing his eyes, preparing himself for the end, but he hears a grunt and the thud of someone’s body hitting the ground.

“Oh my god, oh my god, I’m so sorry!” he hears Armin saying, voice shaking like he’s about to cry.

Eren cracks open his eye to see Reiner sprawled out on the sidewalk holding his side. “Jesus, Armin, what the fuck was that for?”

“You were about to hug him,” Armin says, shrinking where he stands. His head is beginning to disappear into his scarf like he’s some kind of turtle.

“Yeah, because I haven’t seen him in literally a year,” Reiner replies, sitting up and brushing the pebbles sticking to the sleeve of his coat. He frowns up at Armin. “I don’t know why you’re trying to hide him. We held a vigil for him and everything.”

Armin stares at Eren who only looks back at him. Armin blinks his big blue eyes at Eren and his mouth begins to open. Eren knows what Armin is about to say before he says it. He closes his eyes, bracing himself as Armin blurts out, “Because Eren’s a zombie.”

Reiner doesn’t say anything for a moment. He just sits on the sidewalk, his head turning slowly to Eren and taking him in. The schoolteacher looks the zombie up and down and opens his mouth. “You guys are serious?” He looks from Eren to Armin and then back to Eren. When neither of them replies, he gets up with a sigh, brushing the rest of his clothes off. “Well, seeing as how both of you guys aren’t replying, it looks like you guys are dead serious.” He cracks a smile and Eren just wants to groan. This is precisely why he didn’t want to talk to Reiner.

“Okay, since you found out anyway do you mind if we … move somewhere more private?” Armin asks anxiously.

“Alright, let’s go into my classroom then,” Reiner says, gesturing for them to follow him. He’s taking the news far better than anyone else had.

“Really?” Eren says, hesitant to follow. “You’re not afraid I’ll eat anyone or anything?”

“Nah, it’s empty right now,” Reiner says with a shake of his head. “And even if someone wanders in, I can just lock you in the crib.” The crib that Reiner is referring to is a wooden cage with an open top that Reiner’s students often liked to play in because it was at least a foot off the ground but, at least when you’re a five-year-old, feels as if you’re at least ten feet taller. Eren doubts that will be enough to hold him back if he happens to go on a hungry rampage, but Reiner seems pretty confident.

“So, first things first,” Armin says nervously as the door shuts behind them. His fingers rub at the fabric of his scarf just to have something to do. “You can’t tell anyone.”

Reiner raises an eyebrow. “Not even Bertholdt?”

“Especially not Bertholdt,” Armin stresses. It’s not because telling Bertholdt will be more dangerous than telling anyone else but because Bertholdt is the person that Reiner is most likely to tell. The two keep no secrets between them.

The schoolteacher clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “You know I tell him everything. He’s going to know something’s up sooner or later. Not keeping things from each other is one of the reasons why our relationship has lasted so long,” Reiner says. He huffs and leans against one of the classroom bookshelves. “One of the reasons why Annie and Mina haven’t even begun yet is because Annie just hides everything. She can’t even tell Mina how she really feels. I bet she’s keeping this whole zombie thing a secret too, right?” Reiner looks expectantly at Eren.

“Well, yeah but -”

“You and Historia were like that too,” Reiner continues, not realizing that he’s now diverting from the original topic. He pauses and then gives Eren a frown. “Do you know about Historia yet?”

“Jean told me,” Eren says, somewhat flustered. He doesn’t know how his zombie confession is somehow turning into a conversation about his (now dead) love life. “But what do you mean Historia and I were ‘like that’?”

“Oh, you know,” Reiner says with a dismissive shrug. When Eren looks at him with a puzzled expression because he doesn’t know, Reiner sighs exasperatedly and waves his hand around. “I’m just saying that if you had told Historia you were going to disappear a year ago, maybe she’d still be waiting for you.”

“Why does everyone always say I should have given them a heads up?” Eren says, wanting to tear his hair out in frustration. “I couldn’t! I died, Reiner, someone killed me!”

For once, Reiner is speechless and, not knowing what to say, just blinks at Eren with a blank expression. “I’m sorry,” Reiner says, still gawking at the zombie. “Did you just say someone killed you? Eren, were you murdered?” He looks to Armin, scandalized. “Why didn’t you say something about this earlier?”

“I was about to, but someone started running off on a tangent,” Armin grumbles, loosening his scarf. He walks over and pulls out one of the plastic chairs the kids use and sits in it, hunching over with his elbows on his knees. He looks comically huge sitting there with such a glum face. “Look, it’s important that we keep this under wraps because we still don’t know who killed Eren. They could still be running around waiting for someone else to kill. If they find out Eren’s still alive, they might try to come for him again.”

Reiner lets out a low whistle. “I figured you just got lost in the mountains and died of hypothermia.”

Eren glares at him, offended. “Why would I get lost in the mountains? I’ve lived here my entire life! I’m not some dumb tourist,” he huffs.

“Not a tourist, but still dumb,” Reiner teases, always managing to find humor in even the worst situations. His smile fades when he sees neither Eren nor Armin are smiling back at him. Expression now sober, Reiner pushes himself off the bookshelf and continues, “So who have you told aside from me? I assume Annie.”

Armin nods. “We’ve told Annie.”

“She’s reliable. Not like me. I’m a bit …” Reiner cocks his head to look at Eren, voice trailing off to let Eren finish what he had been saying earlier to Armin.

Eren hangs his head, biting his lip in embarrassment. “Sorry.”

“I’m only teasing,” Reiner laughs. He was never one to hold a grudge. He folds his arms across his chest. “I assume you told Jean, too. So everyone in the old gang?”

Eren nods. “I told Jean first, actually. He did my makeup.” He kind of wants to rub his cheek sheepishly, but Jean will probably kill him if he comes home with smudged makeup.

“Wow, you told Jean first? That’s interesting. You guys used to be at each other’s throats all the time,” Reiner hums. He leans over to inspect Eren’s face, turning his head this way and that to look at the zombie’s makeup from different angles. Satisfied after taking a good look, Reiner leans back with a grin on his face. “He made you look better than you did when you were alive.”

“Fuck you,” Eren replies as Reiner cackles. Reiner’s not wrong though.

“Okay, so we all know and we’re all agreeing to keep it a secret for Eren’s safety, right?” Armin asks, clasping his hands together. He looks at both Eren and Reiner, but his stern gaze lingers on the schoolteacher as he waits for an answer. “Right, Reiner?”

Reiner stares back at Armin, his mouth set in a thin line. They stay like that for a minute or two before Reiner breaks his gaze, breathing out a large sigh. “Fine, fine, I’ll keep it a secret. I won’t even tell Bertholdt, who is the love of my life and who I have told all of my life’s secret until now.”

“Great!” Armin chirps, shrugging the messenger bag off his shoulder and throwing the flap open. He sifts through the contents of his bag and pulls out a handful of books from his bag, all of which he passes to Reiner. “I want you to read these.”

Reiner’s face is one of pure revulsion. “You’re asking way too much of me, Armin. I’m your friend, but I don’t love you guys that much.” He looks curiously down at the book stack he’s holding, squinting to read the cover. “Why do you want me to read about carpenter ants?”

“Zombie research. Annie’s doing mammals. I’m covering diseases,” Armin explains easily. “I’ll buy you lunch after I walk Eren home.”

Reiner visibly perks up at the mention of free lunch. Unlike Eren, Reiner is actually good at studying. He wasn’t as smart as Armin nor as studious as Annie, but he was always one of the top students in class. There were definitely subjects that he excelled in over others; Reiner always preferred classes like literature over history and math, not understanding why he’d have to memorize the names of men who died centuries ago or what application calculus formulas would have in the real world. He never did homework for subjects he didn’t care for but would somehow score top marks when the exams rolled around. He just needed a good motivation to work hard. Since report cards and college entrance exams are no longer an incentive, food works just as well.

“Only if we go to the barbeque house,” Reiner says, adding, “and you have to let me order as much as I want.”

Armin purses his lips, not wanting to give in but wanting the man’s valuable research skills. He breathes out, blowing his bangs out of his face. “Fine, fine! But have a conscience, will you? I don’t make much money even working for town hall,” Armin huffs. He closes the clasp of his canvas bag with a click and sighs. “Come on, Eren. Let’s get you home. Reiner, I’ll meet you back here in a little bit.”

“Don’t take too long,” Reiner says in a sing-song voice, walking out after them. He leans against the doorframe, smiling even as Armin scowls at him. “I’m looking forward to our date, Arlert.”

“He’s going to burn a hole in my wallet,” Armin mutters as they walk away from the elementary school.

“Sorry.” Eren can’t help feeling guilty. They wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for him. “Still, I’m a little glad we ended up telling Reiner even if it was unintentional.”

“Yeah,” Armin agrees.

The two walk in silence together.

“You know he’s going to tell Bertholdt though, right?” Armin asks.

“Oh, absolutely.”

--------------------------------

There really isn’t very much to do at Jean’s apartment, Eren finds. After eating a very sad lunch of hamburger meat he found in the freezer, Eren tries hard to look through the books on vodou that Annie had assigned him. He can’t find any highlighters in Jean’s apartment, so he ends up improvising by using different colored eyeliner pens in one of Jean’s makeup kits to underline sections he thinks are important. Unfortunately, Eren was never good at deciding what information is important and soon has whole pages underlined and eyeliner all over his hands. The words he reads don’t stick in his head even after he’s read a chapter over and over again, somehow making less sense with each read through, and Eren gives up after he runs out of blue eyeliner.

Jean finally comes home after the sun sets and finds Eren sprawled on his couch staring at the ceiling. He raises an eyebrow, setting a grocery bag on the kitchen countertop, and unbuttons his coat. “Have you just been doing this all day?”

“You don’t have anything in your apartment,” Eren replies, not getting up. “You don’t even have a Switch.”

“Sorry I’m not accommodating your every need,” Jean snorts as he hangs his coat on the coat rack. He unravels his scarf from his neck and hangs it on the rack as well. “I bought you some meat by the way -”

At the word “meat,” Eren immediately sits up and dashes towards the kitchen, grasping for the grocery and pulling it open to reveal a succulent cut of tenderloin beef, blood still fresh. The zombie licks his lips, hands reaching to pull the tenderloin from the bag, only to be sprayed with water.

“Ugh! Stop, stop!” the zombie yelps, hands raised to shield his face. When he opens his eyes, Jean is standing in front of him with a very disappointed look on his face.

“Don’t eat food like you’re some kind of animal,” Jean tsks. He puts the squirt bottle down and gestures at his face. “Wipe the makeup off your face too. It’s starting to run. The makeup wipes are in the top left cabinet in the bathroom.”

“It’s your fault it’s running in the first place,” Eren mumbles, but he shuffles off to the bathroom anyway. He tries to avoid looking at his reflection in the bathroom. He does happen to catch a glance and winces; it looks like his entire face is melting. It takes about fifteen makeup wipes to get it all off. His bare face isn’t much of an improvement from his melting makeup, Eren thinks, and he kind of wishes that Jean taught him how to apply his own makeup so he doesn’t have to go out there bare-faced. Reluctantly, he goes out to meet Jean, making sure to pull his hood over his head so that Jean doesn’t have to look at him too well.

The table is set for two. One side has a bowl of instant ramen topped with strips of honeyed ham, green onion, and a fried egg. Another just has a plate of tenderloin, blood pooling at the bottom of it. Eren salivates just looking at it and walks over, hypnotized. He sits down at the table, dropping into his seat with a thud and reaches out with his hand when he’s suddenly sprayed in the face with water.

“Ugh!” Eren spits wiping the water off his face with a hand. He scowls at Jean. “Would you stop doing that?”

“As soon as you pick up your utensils and eat your food like a normal human being,” Jean says, gesturing towards the knife and fork he had thoughtfully set out for Eren. He doesn’t flinch when the zombie growls at him, instead giving him a pointed look. “It was part of our list of agreements.”

Among the agreements they had agreed upon for Jean to help Eren was that Eren would sit down at the dining table and eat with proper eating utensils. Eren thought it was strange at the time, but he agreed to it. He stares down unhappily at the fork in front of him and picks it up, stabbing the cut of tenderloin. The zombie raises the bleeding piece of meat to his lips, ready to take a bite out of it but he’s sprayed once more with water.

“Uck! What the fuck was that one for?” Eren splutters. He’s so surprised that he drops his fork and his meat along with it, the tenderloin sending blood splattering out of his plate and onto the table.

Jean doesn’t look disgusted, only minorly inconvenienced. “Use your knife too,” he tells Eren.

“Fine,” Eren grumbles, taking the knife in his right hand and picking up his fork again. He cuts through the tenderloin (which is a little bit more difficult to do given that the meat is uncooked) and raises the piece to his lips but stops once he realizes that Jean is still sitting in front of him.

It’s one thing to have your friend know you’re a zombie and eat raw meat. It’s another thing entirely to eat a bleeding piece of beef right in front of him. It’s not even steak, which would be a lot less embarrassing. It’s just uncooked meat: pink and bloody and raw. Jean doesn’t seem to have any qualms about it. He’s just sitting across from Eren and eating his ramen like this is a normal meal. Eren thinks Jean should feel a little bit weird about this whole thing.

“Um,” Eren says as Jean slurps up a mouthful of noodles. “Could you maybe look away while I’m eating?”

Jean looks up from his ramen, raising an eyebrow. With his mouth still full, he replies, “I’m still eating.” Even though Eren sits there not touching his food, Jean continues eating. When he realizes that the zombie hasn’t eaten yet, Jean sighs and motions for Eren to just eat. “Come on. You’re going to make it weird. We can talk about how our days went while we eat if it’ll make you feel less uncomfortable.”

“Er, okay,” Eren says, sucking on his bottom lip. He looks at Jean again, but his friend has already returned to his noodles. The zombie stares at the little cube of meat on his fork and wonders if it’s really alright. He brings it to his lips, nibbling on it. The taste of meat on his tongue is so rich and savory that he almost moans. With less hesitation, Eren puts the tenderloin in his mouth, his whole body relaxing as he chews into the tender meat. It’s not as good as the livestock he’d eat when he lived near the farm, but it beats frozen hamburger meat any day. As soon as he swallows it down, Eren begins cutting away for another piece before he remembers Jean’s still there. He looks at Jean, but the makeup artist is still eating his ramen as if this is normal.

He’s a few more bites into the tenderloin when Jean says, “I heard that you guys told Reiner.”

“Armin told you already?” Eren asks, swallowing his beef down hastily. Jean might be fine with eating across a zombie, but Eren doesn’t want his friend to see him with a mouth full of raw meat. This experience is probably traumatizing enough already.

“Yeah. Reiner made a group chat this afternoon so we could talk about what to do next,” Jean says, to which Eren rolls his eyes. It’s a very unsurprisingly Reiner thing to do.

“Right, a group chat,” Eren says, pushing a cube of meat across his plate so that it soaks up more blood. “That’s probably convenient.” He has no idea where his phone went. It wasn’t in his pocket when he woke up in the mountains. He assumed that it had either been taken by his murderer or it had fallen out of his pocket and was somewhere in the woods. It might be for the best though. It’d be hard to explain why his phone was still active a year after he had gone MIA.

“Right, you don’t have a phone,” Jean mumbles. His mouth twists into a frown as he twirls his chopsticks in his bowl. He spoons another ramen into his mouth and hums. Leaning back, he wonders aloud, “Maybe we could get you one? It might take a while, but it’d be more convenient to have you in the group chat, too.”

Eren perks up. It’s kind of embarrassing to feel so excited about being included in a group chat when he’s been friends with everyone for years, but he’s been out of touch with them for a year so maybe his feelings are justified. “I mean, you don’t have to, but it would be great.”

“I’ll look into it then,” Jean says as he prepares another spoonful of ramen for himself. He’s always so methodical about eating ramen, making sure to have a little bit of everything in each spoon. “And Armin mentioned that we were starting research.”

“Ah, yeah,” Eren says with a frown as he thinks about the stack of books he still has yet to get through. “Did he give you anything to read?” If he’s lucky, maybe Jean will agree to trade with him. Eren doesn’t think he’ll ever understand this vodou stuff.

“Mmm, Armin handed me the newspaper articles about missing tourists and zombie sightings. I might have to get a corkboard or something to work out a timeline on these,” Jean says as he chews thoughtfully.

Jean follows by filling Eren in on the rest of the group chat conversation — with a roll of his eyes, he explains that most of the messages are just Reiner complaining about how it’s killing him to keep such a big secret from Bertholdt, the love of his life — and future plans that Armin has about dealing with their … situation. (“It’s really just about research and looking into anyone suspicious that might have wanted to kill you, although Annie said that the description was too broad because ‘who didn’t want to kill Eren at some point in their lives?’” Jean said.) It’s not long before dinner is finished and Jean is collecting the dishes to wash them in the sink.

“I can’t believe I just have to sit in your apartment all day while you guys do all the work,” Eren sighs. He’s never felt so useless in his life.

“Yeah, it must be killing you to let us help you so much,” Jean snorts as he pulls on his rubber gloves and turns on the faucet. His voice is teasing, but his words remind Eren of something Reiner said earlier that day.

“Do you think I keep stuff from people too much?” Eren asks. “Reiner said something about that earlier, something about how it led to the demise of my relationship with Historia.” He attempts to say it lightheartedly, rolling his eyes, but he does not like the way Jean freezes up upon hearing the question.

“Hmm,” Jean hums, pretending to be occupied with the dishes.

“You’re not answering the question,” Eren points out, straightening his back. He glares at the back of Jean’s head, staring daggers so that Jean knows that his nonanswer is not appreciated. “I know I tend to keep things to myself, but I just don’t like sharing every little detail of my life with people. It’s not like it caused problems or anything.”

Jean sighs and turns off the faucet, letting the dishes soak in the sink. He turns around, leaning back against the counter with a frown on his face. “Eren, you’re just bad at asking for help. Everyone knows this,” Jean finally replies. “It’s not like it’s the worst flaw in the world to have, but it has made being friends with you incredibly stressful at times.”

“That’s stupid! I’ve never been a burden to anyone!” Eren protests. “Name one time I caused you guys unnecessary stress.”

Jean doesn’t wait around to answer. “Once, you were sick and locked yourself in your room with a fuckton of Emergen-C and water because you were convinced you could get better by yourself and we eventually had to break down your door and drag you to the hospital because you got pneumonia.” It’s insulting how quickly Jean pulled that example from memory. It’s even more insulting how Jean can prattle off more examples without hesitation. “You got lost on a trip with Historia for two hours because you were too stubborn to ask for directions or call anyone for help. Eren, you would have failed all of our high school classes if Armin hadn’t insisted on group study sessions and convinced you that they helped him more than they helped you.”

The last one is news to him. “But he said he studied better in a group!” Eren splutters. Then again, it makes more sense now that Jean is pointing it out to him. Armin made way too many study notes for Eren and Eren only in those study sessions. He doesn’t know why he wasn’t more suspicious about them then. Eren sinks down in his chair, pulling the hood over his eyes. “Is it a crime to not want to be a bother to people?” he mumbles.

Jean doesn’t respond for a moment and Eren thinks the makeup artist has ignored him until the zombie feels the slightest touch on the top of his head. He looks up and sees Jean patting his head gently. It’s comforting. Eren closes his eyes and allows Jean to keep petting him.

“You’re never a bother, Eren. You’re our friend,” Jean says with the warmest smile. He lets his head rest on Eren’s head for a moment before removing it, returning to his dishes. “I have to say, though, it’s pretty funny to have you rely on us so much because you have no other choice.”

Eren opens his eyes and scowls at Jean. “Funny for you, maybe,” Eren mutters.

Jean snickers. He tends to the dishes for a bit, shaking excess water out of a bowl before placing it on the drying rack, and says to Eren, “Why don’t you take a shower while I finish these up? It might help you relax.” He pauses and Eren thinks for a moment that Jean might point out that a shower might help because Eren’s a zombie and perpetually gross, but he thankfully doesn’t. “Just grab some clothes out of my drawer or something.”

Eren wants to grumble and resist, but he does feel grimy and gross. A shower might not help him feel completely cleansed of his filth, but it might help. “Alright,” Eren mumbles, shuffling to Jean’s bedroom and pulling open the drawer of Jean’s pajamas. It’s filled with plain cotton shirts and sweatpants. Not one to be picky, Eren ends up picking a long-sleeved shirt in a dark olive green and some black sweats, feeling more comfortable in more muted colors. Jean doesn’t say anything when Eren emerges with his clothes, so the zombie continues to the bathroom, avoiding his reflection as usual while he strips down to his skin.

Eren shivers when his foot touches the cold ceramic of the shower and hurriedly turns the faucet to the hot water. The shower sputters on before a rush of water spills out and Eren gasps at how hot it is, but he doesn’t step away nor does he attempt to adjust the temperature. He sighs as the steam surrounds him and the hot water burns across his skin, almost like it’s erasing all the dirt and grime that had covered him while he was buried for the past year. Jeez, Eren realizes. It’s been an entire year since he’s had a hot shower.

He begins to reach for the soap so that he can scrub away at his skin, but hesitates. It’s the same soap that Jean uses. Is that weird? He hadn’t asked Jean beforehand if he had extra soap and shampoo. Using the same shampoo is a little less weird, but the thought of having the same scent as Jean makes Eren’s stomach flip. It’s a little too late to ask Jean now though, so Eren reaches for the soap. It smells a little bit like pine, but the scent isn’t usually as harsh as it usually is. Jean doesn’t smell that much like pine, Eren thinks, but he does have a kind of forest-y aroma to him. Maybe the fragrance isn’t that strong once he steps out of the shower. Eren imagines Jean using the same bar of soap, running it over his firm biceps as bubbles run down his tanned skin.

No, that’s weird, Eren thinks, shaking his head like a dog. Water splatters across the shower curtain. Stop thinking about Jean like that. Don’t think about him showering. Just don’t think about him at all right now. But it’s nearly impossible when Eren’s washing his body with the same bar of soap Jean probably runs over his body in the same shower. Why did it have to have a scent anyway? Why couldn’t that stupid makeup artist just use scentless soap?

Eren hurriedly rubs at the rest of his body, trying to make sure he gets most of the dirt in between his fingers and behind his neck and other hard to reach places. He’s in a hurry, so he probably hasn’t gotten all of it, but he’s confident he’s got most of it. He doesn’t want to take too long lest he have more strange ideas about Jean.

The shampoo is a little less troublesome. Now that Eren has less hair, it doesn’t take as long to wash it all. He kind of wishes he had gotten a haircut back when he was alive. Getting a trim to maintain a shorter cut was annoying, but long hair always got greasy so quickly and washing it was a pain. Also, he doesn’t think he’d be able to hold his breath while washing his hair without passing out if he had long hair. Holding his breath is a necessary precaution while showering now, Eren thinks, if only to prevent any unnecessary thoughts about Jean.

It’s a relief when he’s finally finished, stepping out of the shower and drying himself before pulling on Jean’s clothes. Like the jeans and hoodie that Eren had borrowed earlier, the shirt and sweats are a bit shirt, but they feel nice and warm against his skin. And they smell like Jean, Eren can’t help but think. He wipes at the saliva at the side of his mouth with the back of his hand. Somehow, drooling always seems to accompany Jean, like some kind of weird Pavlovian response. Eren needs to find a way to stop doing that.

When he opens the door, Jean is sitting hunched over on the couch pouring over an open newspaper spread out on the coffee table, reading glasses perched on his nose.

“Hey, Jean, I’m done with the shower,” Eren calls.

“Alright.” Jean stretches and then yawns without bothering to cover his mouth. He removes his reading glasses and rubs at his eyes before setting his spectacles down on the table. He gets up and is about to say something when his eyes settle on Eren, mouth agape. Slowly, the brunet raises a hand and points. “Eren, what the fuck happened to your neck?”

“My … neck?” Eren looks down before he realizes that he can’t see his neck. He raises a hand to his throat. “What’s wrong with it?”

“There are, like, marks or something,” Jean says, stumbling over to get a closer look. He reaches out and pulls down at the collar of Eren’s shirt, exposing more skin. “Jesus, what the fuck? Why didn’t you show me this earlier?”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Eren yelps, pulling away from Jean before his friend stretches out the collar. He rubs at his throat with a frown. “It’s not like I spend a lot of time looking at myself in the mirror. Not after …”

“Right …” Jean’s voice trails off as his eyes drift downward. He clears his throat and grabs Eren by the wrist. “Here, let me just show you.” He walks Eren back into the bathroom and forces him in front of the mirror that’s still foggy from all the steam. Jean wipes at it with his hand so that Eren can see himself.

Eren doesn’t look, not immediately. He chooses to look at his feet instead, preferring to look at his bony feet and ridged toenails than his face. He probably looks worse without all his makeup on.

Jean doesn’t force him to look up. He just puts his hands gently on Eren’s shoulders. “Hey, Eren. It’s fine. You don’t look as bad as you think you do,” he tells Eren, rubbing against the zombie’s shoulders soothingly. “

“You’re just being nice,” Eren mutters.

“I’m not,” Jean says firmly. “It’s really not that bad. You look fine. Kind of like how you did in college during finals week, actually. So not your best, but you don’t look like a monster.”

Eren sighs frustratedly. “Fine,” he says and he lifts his eyes slowly, He doesn’t look bad, he thinks as his eyes look up from his waist to his chest. The shirt hangs off his body a little too much, as if he’s a skeleton rather than a person, but that makes sense. It’s only when he looks at his neck that Eren realizes what Jean is talking about and he’s too distracted by the sight of it to look up at his face.

Purple bruises decorate his throat, prominent against his sickly pale skin. They’re all around his neck like a collar, but they also look like something: hands around his neck, the very same that choked him to death the night he died.

Eren raises his hand to his neck once more, touching at the purple marks lightly. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “What the fuck?”

“Must have been from when that guy killed you,” Jean murmurs. He reaches out to touch them too, encircling his own hands to mimic the place the killer had wrapped their hands around Eren’s neck. His fingers are cool against Eren’s skin, making the zombie shiver.

“W-what?” Eren stutters, backing away from Jean and accidentally bumping his hip against the granite counter. He clutches at his throat, trying his best to remember how to breathe. “What are you doing?”

“Comparing,” Jean replies, somehow completely unaffected. He holds out his hand, but he doesn’t curl his fingers around Eren’s throat. A part of Eren kind of wishes Jean would. “Whoever did it has big hands. Not too much bigger than mine, but their fingers are a lot larger.”

“What, so we’re just going to ask potential suspects to come over and put their hands around my neck?” Eren mumbles, rubbing at his throat. He hadn’t noticed his neck before. He had always avoided looking at himself and his bundle of clothes had always covered his neck until now. Now that Jean has pointed out the marks on his neck, it feels strange, like a light pressure squeezing around his neck even though there’s nothing there.

“Nope, but it might be helpful,” Jean says. He reaches around in his back pocket, fishing out his phone. The brunet points it at Eren. “Hold still, I’m taking a picture.”

“What? Why?” Eren yelps. He covers his neck with his hands, embarrassed for some reason even though it’s just his throat.

“Come on, all of us have seen you shirtless at least once. I’m just going to send this in the group chat,” Jean tells Eren, swatting the zombie’s hands away from his neck. Reluctantly, Eren lets his hands fall from his throat and Jean takes a few pictures to send to their friends. It only takes a few moments before they send their replies:

Zombie Investigation Squad

Reiner: kinky lol 🥵😩💦

Annie: never send anything like this to me again

But it’s Armin who sends the most hopeful message:

Armin: Thanks for your dead-ication! Looks like we’re making progress! 😃

#erejean #how to be a zombie series #zombie detective au #eren jaeger #jean kirstein #snk

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kainumbernine009 · 4 years ago

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I literally cannot do anything else until I get this out.

I’m... really not okay.

And when I say that, I’m not mentally unstable. I say that because I’m tired of waiting on empty promises, I’m tired of never having money in our account, I’m tired of living in a fucking city where half of the white people fucking worship the ground Trump walks on, and where most of the gay community has so much messy drama that it’s worse than middle school. And I went to a rough middle school.

I never talk about my past, because I don’t like to. It sucked. HARD. Being and only child in my family was nothing less than torture, especially as a closeted queer person. We grew up in the white Christian part of Nashville that dominated Music Row in the 90′s and early 2000′s. I played basketball with Alan Jackson’s daughter, and being around famous people was just no big deal. But, my parents decided to leave Nashville after my dad lost his job at TPAC, and we moved down south an hour to the town where the KKK got started (Pulaski, TN).

I had maybe two non-white people in my private Christian school growing up. I was never afraid of Black people, but my parents showed their racist asses quick when we moved there. The KKK has never left America, guys, no matter how many articles you read or studies you do. From 2005 to 2009 I saw a white town show its very worst to the Black community. I’ll never forget the first time I saw a march for “White Christians for Purity” the summer before Obama got elected. The disgust I felt inside was palpable. I had all kinds of friends in school, and I didn’t give TWO SHITS who they were or what they looked like... but I saw children my age, being brainwashed by their parents, that “white” is “right.”

Ever since then, I have been learning and growing about the issues of race. I remember my white classmates using the N word and getting away with it. I remember hearing about the principal at the high school punishing all the Black kids but not the white kids. I remember being invited to a church south of town that was a historically Black church, and how nice the ladies were to me for coming.

But I’ll never forget the racism that the religious groups promoted there, especially First Baptist Church and the 12 Tribes. I’ll never forget how FBC told me that my friend was going to Hell because she killed herself. I’ll never forget my mom telling me not to marry a Black man because of “impure genes.” I WILL NEVER FORGET THE INJUSTICES I SAW WHITE PEOPLE DOING TO BLACK PEOPLE THERE. NEVER.

And thank God, I have shaken the burden of religious guilt, but I still fight against this mentality. I live in a place that’s usually not even 10 minutes away from Trump-humping, sister-fucking, meth-addicted Confederate cunts in any direction. And we’re even closer to the rich white people who silently supported him, upset that their taxes would go up because of Biden.

And in the past four years since Trump got elected, I’ve gotten married, graduated college with honors, started my own photography business, and was making more than my husband there for a minute. I did my own taxes, marketing, editing, and everything. And then I came out as trans.

I lost everything.

I lost my studio. I lost friends. I had rumors started about me. I had people post hate messages on my wall. I had people at my drag shows tell others not to tip me, for whatever fucking reasons. I’ve had bosses give cis people jobs over me, and I’ve had government workers give me second looks when I hand them my license.

It. Fucking. Sucks. To. Live. Here. Like. This.

Oh yeah, did I mention I’m also a witch/medium? I’ve talked to dead people before and have told their relatives things I shouldn’t have known otherwise about their grandparents. Like, this information doesn’t even exist on Google. And I’m attuned to reiki. I’m always aware of what’s happening on at least SOME metaphysical level. This is a gift that I’ve had to go through life developing and learning about myself, with no one’s help but me.

I didn’t even know until I was an adult that I have autism and ADHD.

I’ve taken bullets from people who were about to kill themselves. I’ve yelled at 5th grade music classrooms for doing racist dance moves and appropriating Native Americans (I have a degree in Music Education K-12). I’ve consoled kids in classrooms who suddenly have panic attacks. AND I’ve told horny teenagers to stay in their fucking lane and respect the girls around them. I’ve apparently been an inspiration to those around me, but inspiration NOR exposure pays the bills. I’ve already had COVID, and so has my husband, but I knew that after graduating college that I would never have a fulfilling life being a music teacher in Tennessee’s public schools.

And now that we have COVID, and an orange, small-dicked, pedophilic, rape apologizing, dirty, crusty white president who STILL REFUSES TO CONCEDE, who is DIRECTLY RESPONSIBLE FOR HAVING HIS FOLLOWERS SEND DEATH THREATS TO MY FAMILY, I really don’t know what the fuck else to do other than go burn down all the houses I know of in North Georgia that belong to these Christian sex cult pedophiles and call it a day. My girlfriend unfortunately was born into one of those families, and I know just how bad it can get. In fact, her dad’s lawyer threatened me with blackmail earlier in November, so that was fun!

And now, on December 11, 2020, I’m still sitting here in the same fucking house, doing the same fucking things I’ve been doing all year - trying to get a job and failing horribly. I’M SICK AND TIRED OF THIS COVID BULLSHIT AND OUR INCOMPOTENT CUNT OF A PRESIDENT! And there’s only ever one other person I’ve ever called a cunt... my own mother.

I’ve lived in many places. I’ve met many different people. I’ve made mistakes, and have grown, but there’s one thing for damn sure that I always make sure to do, every single fucking day.

I ALWAYS try to do better.

In addition to this, I treat everyone with the same amount of respect, unless they have done something directly to me to negate that. If I know that someone believes in something that directly harms me or my family, I don’t even associate with them. I don’t spend my energy on things that don’t need it. And everyone else should, too.

The problem with some of y’all is that you care about the wrong things. Like will Becky text me back or did I get front row seats to that concert, or did I slave my life away to capitalism just so that I can own a Mercedes and have my friends jealous. I’ve had way too many dear death experiences to know that EVERY single fucking day is a gift. EVERY day.

I don’t want to be remembered first for the art I create. I want to be remembered for my character. I want to be remembered as the courageous person who never backed down in the face of adversity. But when you live in a place that already hates you and that is against you, that’s really fucking hard. Trust me. My marriage went from a cis straight passing couple to a white gay passing couple. I’ve seen how people’s attitudes changed around me as I transitioned. I know what it feels like to slowly lose a piece of your privilege you were born with.

So yeah, I kinda get a little fucking upset when I see people saying All Lives Matter, or when I see doctors refusing to treat trans patients in pandemics, or when I see cops YET AGAIN harassing Black people only a few blocks away from my house for no other reason than racism. And at this point, anyone who thinks they know me but only knows what people think they know about me can suck my entire ass and eat ten dicks. I don’t give a FUCK about who you are or what you’ve done. If you treat me or other people with no respect for no reason other than to be an asshole, you’re just plain shit. If you SERIOUSLY believe every little rumor and lie that someone tells about me before meeting me, fuck you AND the horse you rode in on.

What I can’t stand is people doing or saying things just to get a rise out of me or others. I thought we left petty shit in high school. Some of the people that “know” me really need to fucking grow up and grow a pair and either say what they want to my face, or stay mad. I’m tired of playing fucking petty games with y’all. We have a whole ass pandemic to solve.

So here’s the ultimatum... if you agree that Black Lives Matter and that queer people deserve basic human rights, EVEN THE ONES YOU HATE, then that’s the bare minimum to even be a decent person. If you can’t even do those things, then I don’t fucking know what else to say to you.

So NBC, maybe not have John Mulaney joke about my license debacle with my gold van on SNL, and Seth Meyers... maybe HIRE ME INSTEAD of Mulaney because clearly y’all don’t know about the south as much as I do? Oh, and that gazeebo joke with Lee University... I caught that. I may have autism, but I’m not a fucking idiot. I mean. I’m funny when I’m given the chance. And yeah, I’m on a watchlist, but who the fuck isn’t these days? At least all my secrets are out for the world to see, and I have a bangin’ tattoo.

I’m tired of everyone being like “omg, I’ve seen what he can do, it’s fantastic!” or “omg you’re so funny haha” and bragging on me and then NOT FUCKING HIRING ME. I’m TIRED of waiting on something that’s clearly at this point never coming.

I don’t even have testicles, and my balls are bigger than most of the cis men I have EVER met.

So, if you want to help me, or hire me, or get me out to an audition... I’ll be there. But until then, I’m so fucking MAD at some of these producers. Yeah, my mom is a cunt, but she worked in various forms of digital production from the 1980′s until she retired this year. She taught me SO MUCH about directing, writing, shooting, and more. I know how these things are supposed to run behind the scenes. I know what the fuck I’m doing, and I don’t take constructive criticism like a bitch. I actually WANT to be criticized, so I can do even better.

So PLEASE, for the love of Christ... y’all need to get your priorities together AND PLEASE STOP LEAVING ME OUT OF THE LOOP WITH THIS BULLSHIT. Grow a fucking pair and either call me, email me, or leave me alone. It’s really not that fucking hard. Looking at you, Lorne Michaels.

Oh and someone tell my husband what the fuck’s been going on because I’m tired of him gaslighting me about it.

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zen3to5 · 5 years ago

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J/H 7-20: Gimme Shelter

I've said all along that this rewrite is only concerned with the Jackie/Hyde material, especially for everything post-Season 5. That's going to be relaxed from here on out; with Season 7 serving as the series finale in this timeline, there are more adjustments to be made, and they start here with changes to how Eric arrives at his teaching career. But there's Zen here too, as the mess that was Jackie's graduation party gets replaced with something else...

(We assume that 7x18 and 7x19 play out as we know them from the show in this timeline.)

FF.Net AO3

***

SHOW TITLE MUSIC NOTE: “Oh Well” by the Rockets. INT. FORMAN BASEMENT - NIGHT The gang hanging out. HYDE and FEZ rummage through the deep freeze, JACKIE writes in a notebook in Hyde’s chair, ERIC and DONNA share the couch, and KELSO sits in the lawn chair. Jackie finishes off her writing with a firm dotting of a period and sets her pencil and paper down. JACKIE: And – done! That’s my last high school assignment. I’m all set for graduation this Friday. ERIC: I can’t believe I graduated a year ago. It’s like, I feel like I’ve done nothing. Man, time really flies when you take two naps a day. DONNA: Well, I wouldn’t say you’ve done nothing. I mean, you’ve... wow, you’ve really sat on your ass. Hyde and Fez emerge from the deep freeze, popsicles in hand. HYDE: Yup, Forman, we’ve all passed you by. I’m running a record store, Donna’s a DJ, Kelso’s a cop – even Fez has a job now. (to Fez) What is it again, man? Uh, shower girl? Make-up lady? FEZ: Shampoo boy! HYDE: (beat) Eh, I was close. He crosses to his chair and pats Jackie on the back. She stands up, lets him sit in the chair, and sits in his lap. ERIC: Wait a second – does this mean I’m the loser of the group now? KELSO: You are the one that’s still living with your mommy. ERIC: Man, you’re still living with your mommy. KELSO: Not for long. Me and Fez are looking for apartments. Then the only time I’ll see my mom is when she’s doing my laundry, cooking my meals, taking me to the dentist... He trails off there. JACKIE: Oh, Eric, I feel kinda bad. I mean, you wouldn’t even be thinking about this kind of stuff if you weren’t caught in the blinding light of my bright future. FEZ: You know, the scary thing is, if one year went by this fast, imagine where Eric is gonna be in ten years... He looks up, the camera tracks in, and we transition to: EXT. FORMAN DRIVEWAY – DAY FANTASY SEQUENCE. TITLE CARD 1: Eric’s crappy future. TITLE CARD 2: Ten years later. The Vista Cruiser comes into park. A grinning Eric steps out in full Mr. Spock costume, complete with ears. A thoroughly done Donna, in Uhura costume and wig, steps out from the passenger’s side. ERIC: Thanks for going with me to the Star Trek convention – Uhura. DONNA: You can call me Donna now. Without another word, she walks down the street. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – NIGHT Back to reality. Fez giggles at his scenario, as does everyone but Eric. KELSO: That’s good, Fez. But I think it’s gonna be more like this... He looks up, the camera tracks in, and we transition to: EXT. FORMAN DRIVEWAY – DAY FANTASY SEQUENCE. The Vista Cruiser comes into park. A grinning Eric steps out in full Luke Skywalker costume, complete with lightsaber. A thoroughly done Donna, in Leia costume and hair, steps out from the passenger’s side. ERIC: Thanks for going with me to the Star Wars convention – Leia. DONNA: You can call me Donna now. Without another word, she walks down the street. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN BASEMENT - NIGHT Back to reality. Kelso grins at his scenario, as does everyone but Eric. HYDE: Nah, man. You’re both wrong. Actually, it’s gonna go like this... He and Jackie look up, the camera tracks in, and we transition to: EXT. FORMAN DRIVEWAY – DAY FANTASY SEQUENCE. The Vista Cruiser comes into park. A grinning Eric steps out in full Luke Skywalker costume, complete with lightsaber. A thoroughly done KITTY, in Leia costume and hair, steps out from the passenger’s side. ERIC: Thanks for going with me to the Star Wars convention – Leia. KITTY: You can call me Mom now. Without another word, she heads back into the house. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN BASEMENT - NIGHT Back to reality. Hyde and Jackie nod along to the scenario, as does everyone but Eric, who scrambles over the back of the couch. ERIC: Whoa! DONNA: Eric, they’re joking around. It’s funny. ERIC: No, Donna, it’s not funny! In fact – it’s completely possible! He turns and races up the stairs.

MAIN CREDITS *** INT. FORMAN BASEMENT - DAY The next day. The guys play cards while Donna reads in the lawn chair. Hyde, Eric, and Fez share the couch while Kelso sits backwards in Hyde’s chair. KELSO: (to Eric) So, gonna be a chiropractor, huh? All right, every chick patient that you have, you have to tell her the problem is her tailbone. That way, you get to grab around on her butt. ERIC: Kelso, I’m doing this ‘cause I wanna help people. A handful of ass is just a perk. The basement door opens and Jackie enters, box in hand. JACKIE: Hello, everyone. It is I, the light of all your lives and the newest arrival to the glorious world of adulthood. (sets box on coffee table) Michael, I remember how much you like playing with my equestrian figurine collection, so since I’m a mature woman now, these are for you. Fez reaches inside the box and lifts up a plastic toy horse. The guys all glare at Kelso, who shifts in his chair. JACKIE (cont’d): God, I cannot wait to graduate tomorrow. Classes are done and I finally know everything. Now it’s nothing but dinner parties, LoPP fundraisers, summers in Morocco, holidays in Paris... DONNA: Um, what about earning a degree, paying the bills, finding a place to live – you know, the responsibilities of being an adult? JACKIE: Okay, Donna, you’re forgetting one very important difference between most people and me – I grew up rich. I get things. Donna rolls her eyes as Jackie crosses to sit on the back of the couch behind Hyde. Kitty enters from the staircase, a newspaper in hand. KITTY: Michael, I circled some apartment listings for you and Fez. (to the gang) I found a great apartment for Janet Myers after her divorce. It has a murphy bed for when her kids come to visit. They never do. She’s in AA. She exits up the stairs. Kelso reviews the circled listings. KELSO: Look at all these places for rent. I hope we can find one that’s got everything my baby needs. FEZ: Oh, Kelso, you’re always putting me first. KELSO: Not you, moron! Betsy, my daughter. It’s amazing how one tiny person has changed my life so much. FEZ: You changed mine, too. Kelso’s out of insults; he just gives Fez a long stare. *** INT. FORMAN KITCHEN – DAY The next morning – the day of Jackie’s graduation, before school. She and Hyde eat breakfast on the island as RED, Kitty, Fez, and Kelso do the same at the table. Breakfast is eggs for everyone, with plates of toast and sausages in the middle. With one sausage left, Red and Fez both reach for it with their forks. Fez takes it. FEZ: Too slow, old man. KELSO: Fez, if you’re not polite, he’s gonna figure out you’re living here. Red drops his fork and glares at Fez. RED: You’re living here? KELSO: Oh, great. You blew it, Fez! KITTY: Red, he has nowhere else to go. Red stands. RED: (to Fez) Well, know this, Pele: you gotta sleep some time. And during the war, when they were sleeping – that’s when I got ‘em. He exits out the patio door. KITTY: (to Fez) Well, that wasn’t too bad. He called you “Pele.” He is a terrific soccer player. She takes her plate, stands, and crosses to the sink. Fez and Kelso lean in toward each other. FEZ: What do we do now? KELSO: I don’t know, man. That apartment was the only one we’ve found that’ll work for you, me, and Betsy. FEZ: We could try that room above the barber shop. KELSO: No, we can’t. FEZ: Why not? KELSO: Because there’s no way Mr. Lucania’s gonna let out a room to the guy he found hiding in his daughter’s closet. Or the guy he found in her bed. With her. Five times, senior year. Jackie, who has been watching and listening with Hyde throughout the scene, sits up straight. JACKIE: Wow. You guys are really struggling with all those adult responsibilities Donna was talking about. And Michael, you’re good-looking, but it doesn’t seem like it’s helping you at all. KELSO: Yeah. I’m afraid you’re gonna find as you get out into the real world that there are some things a bitchin’ bod just won’t fix. JACKIE: (gasps) Oh, God! She clasps a hand over her mouth. Kelso nods gravely and turns back to his conversation with Fez. *** INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – DAY Still morning, still before school. THE BRADY BUNCH plays on the TV. Hyde sits in his chair with Jackie in his lap while Donna remains on the couch, her neck still crooked. Eric retrieves a popsicle from the deep freeze and moves to join her on the couch. ERIC: (to Donna) How’re you doing, my little buttercup? DONNA: Great. The Brady Bunch is so much funnier sideways. JACKIE: Oh, God, Eric, you ruined her. Donna can’t even stand up straight now. And that’s real important for a lumberjack. ERIC: Hey, it’s not that bad. I’m sure chiropractor Forman can tend to my crooked little flower here. DONNA: You know, Eric, calling me cute little nicknames doesn’t make up for what you did. ERIC: Hey, whatever you say, my little crazy straw. JACKIE: Wow, this disaster just came out of nowhere, didn’t it? I mean, one minute Donna’s fine, the next some scrawny would-be quack’s turned her into a human pretzel. And Eric – Eric thought he found a career he’d be good at, which he obviously isn’t. (to Hyde) What if my TV show goes the same way? What if I’m no good? Or what if something awful happens to me out of nowhere, like a car crash or a gray hair? Donna was right – there is a downside to being an adult. Why was I in such a rush to grow up? I’m so short, I could’ve kept passing for a kid for years if I hadn’t talked such a big game about becoming an adult! HYDE: Look, Jackie - JACKIE: No, Steven! The graduation ceremony is in three hours, and I’ve just realized I’m not ready at all! I can’t do this! She lets out a scream and dashes into Hyde’s room. HYDE: (to Eric) Red still got that crowbar in the garage? ‘Cause that’s the only way we’re getting her out of there. Eric gives a sarcastic shrug as Donna rolls her eyes. *** INT. FORMAN BASEMENT - NIGHT That evening. Eric sits on the back of the couch on one end, Fez sits in the seat on the other, and Kelso sits in the lawn chair. KELSO: Well, Red convinced Fenton to give us the apartment! He and Fez share a low five. FEZ: Yeah, and Red seemed so happy. All the way home, he just kept looking at us and laughing. KELSO: Yeah, I’m pretty sure Red told Fenton that we knew a lot of chicks, ‘cause Fenton kept checking me out, like he could tell that I knew a lot of chicks. The door opens, and BOB leads Donna inside. Her neck is still crooked. BOB: Eric, I can’t believe that you crippled my angel, my pride and joy. It kills me, seeing her like this. ERIC: Then why are you bringing her over here? BOB: Oh, I got a date. I met a lady at the open house. She’s got crow’s feet, but she works in the sandwich shop, so I bent the rules. He exits. Donna crosses to sit by Eric on the couch. ERIC: Look, Donna, I’m so sorry about what happened. You know, I’ve been thinking about it, and I don’t think I ever really wanted to be a chiropractor. I was just, you know, grasping at straws. DONNA: I’d nod in agreement, but... you know, I’m paralyzed. KELSO: Eric, you know what I’m realizing about you? You’re not good at anything. FEZ: That’s not true, Kelso. Don’t forget butt-wiping. ERIC: Oh, you know, just once, it’d be nice if, after you get all your burns in, you guys actually tried to help. I mean, that’s what I do. I mean, I’m the one who was looking out for Hyde when his mom split. And Kelso, I was your math tutor in high school. And Fez, remember when you wanted to learn how to kiss, and I taught you by sticking M&Ms to the mirror? Donna and Kelso’s jaws drop. They look to Fez, who shifts in his seat. FEZ: That never happened. I know how to kiss. Ah, shut it, Eric! DONNA: (to Eric) You know, the only reason you ended up stuck like this was because your one chance to go away to college, you gave up to take care of your family after your dad got sick. You really do try to help. ERIC: And I love doing it. I wish that could be a career. DONNA: Right. You just need a career that combines a desire to help people with a high tolerance for irrational and childish behavior. ERIC: Or... just children. Just kids. Like at a school. Like a schoolteacher. Guys, I think I could make a good teacher! Before he can elaborate any further, the basement door flies open. Hyde enters, carrying Jackie in his arms. She has on a graduation cap and gown, carries her diploma in her hand, and wears a massive, spacey grin. JACKIE: Hello, adulthood! I’m Jackie Burkhart, and I’m ready for ya! DONNA: Hey, looks like someone got over her little panic episode. HYDE: Well, after you left, I went to talk to her and told her everything was gonna be fine and she was ready for graduation. But that didn’t work, so I broke out my best stuff. She’s been flying ever since. Jackie sweeps out her hand holding her diploma, pops one foot out, and kisses Hyde on the cheek. HYDE (cont’d): You should’ve seen her give the valedictorian address. DONNA: Jackie, you’re not your class valedictorian. HYDE: That’s why you should’ve seen it. ERIC: That’s great, Jackie. You know what? This has just been a great day all around. Jackie graduated, Kelso and Fez found an apartment, and I’ve decided I’m gonna be a teacher. That’s right, you are looking at a future Mr. Forman. JACKIE: Mr. Forman? Oh, well – She swings herself down from Hyde’s arms and stumbles over to Eric. She steadies herself by slapping a hand down on his shoulder. JACKIE (cont’d): Since I’ve already graduated, I can tell you now – my last essay? Yeah, everything in it, I stole from Donna doing the same assignment last year. As well as she can, Donna turns to give Jackie an incredulous look. JACKIE (cont’d): Hey, I’ve got my diploma, I’ve got a TV show, I am woman, and I’m ready for more! Eric, grinning, shakes his head. Donna, Fez, and Kelso chuckle. Hyde also shakes his head and walks over to lead Jackie to his chair. FADE TO BLACK

#z's fics #that 70s show #zenmasters #jackie x hyde #zen3to5+#fan fiction #fan script

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bamon4bamily · 5 years ago

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TVD 9x06 (part 2) Enjoy! =)

Cut to- Damon’s car. Damon, Klaus, and Tyler are following the Mayor’s limo, heading to the mansion’s location.

TYLER: Should we really be trusting these people? They are completely wacko.

DAMON: I really don’t care how fucked up they are as long as they lead me to Bonnie.

KLAUS: You are aware that they have an ulterior motive? They are not doing this out of the kindness of their hearts.

DAMON: I know, I’m not an idiot. But I made a deal with the vampiress chic, and I’ll pay up when the time comes.

KLAUS: What kind of a deal? (Teasing) Did you sign your eternal soul?

TYLER: (Sarcastic) Well, that be a crappy ass deal for her.

KLAUS: Good one, Lockwood, and here I thought you had no sense of humor.

DAMON: Shut up… (They pull into a long dirt road, in the middle of the woods. The location is, in fact, Matt’s old house, but the scenery is no way near what it was… they get out of the car, and gather with the Madame, Edward, and the Strange Man).

DAMON: (To the Madame) What is this place?

MADAME: The freaky old mansion, love.

DAMON: I mean, how…?

MADAME: Darling, we are dealing with something that is way beyond your comprehension; so, trust me, and do what I say, understood? Now, listen very close, all of you, we are about to enter two very different realities; one is, in fact, real, the other, is not. Once we are inside it might be hard to tell them apart, so follow my lead and don’t, under any circumstance, let your guard down or you will get lost… and god knows you don’t want to be lost there…

DAMON: All I care about is finding Bonnie.

MADAME: Well, you better learn how to pretend you don’t. He knows your weaknesses; and make no mistake, he will play them against you.

DAMON: I’ll be fine; I know his mind games.

MADAME: With all due respect, dear, but you really don’t.

STRANGE MAN: So, shall we?

KLAUS: (To Damon and Tyler) As agreed, Damon you focus on finding Bonnie, Lockwood, on Matt, me on Danae.

MADAME: (To Edward) Dear, are you certain you want to come along?

EDWARD: Absolutely; I have some pending matters with our old friend; plus, I must admit, I’m quite intrigued by all the drama.

MADAME: Alright, gentleman (they all hold hands); remember, things aren’t what they seem. If you believe the illusion is real, whatever happens to you will happen to you in reality… keep that in mind, at all times. Ready? (They nod) Here we go…

Cut to – The Salvatore house, everyone waiting in the living for Damon, Klaus, Tyler, and Matt.

CAROLINE: Where are they? They are taking too long.

STEFAN: Damon’s phone goes straight to voice message…

CAROLINE: I knew he was going to make a move without us! Why do I even bother?

ELENA: I still can’t believe everything that has happened… (To Caroline) How could you leave me out of the loop like this?

CAROLINE: (Snaps) Really, Elena? Bonnie is MIA, going through god knows what, and you are pissed because we left you out? Jesus Christ! Get over yourself!

ELENA: (Snaps back) Hey! What the hell is wrong with you!?

SAM: Sorry to butt in, but I really don’t think this is the best time to pick a fight.

CAROLINE: He’s right. Sorry; I’m just worried about Bonnie.

ELENA: So am I, Care.

LEXI: So, what should we do? I don’t think they are coming back any time soon…

STEFAN: I say we go find Matt ourselves; Sergei can stay here to take care of the girls and Katherine.

RADKA: Ric? What do you think?

ALARIC: I agree; we need to move. Let’s go to the Mayor’s house, see if they are there, and if they’re not, maybe we can find out where they’ve gone to.

SERGEI: Go; I’ll keep an eye on the girls and Ms. Pierce.

Cut to – freaky old mansion; inside Darius’s illusion realm; now in some sort of cabaret bar. Bonnie is singing on stage; the masked audience, completely mesmerized, stare in admiration. She feels her power, her overwhelming beauty, and sexuality; she has absolute control over every single one of them. Darius, whos is seating in front, can’t take his eyes off her...

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A strange man, sitting next to Darius, initiates a conversation.

STRANGE MAN: She truly is unique, and absolutely mesmerizing… Marie would be proud. (Darius gets confused by his comment; the stranger takes his mask off). Hello, old friend…

DARIUS: No… how?

STRANGE MAN: Oh, Darius, you know, how.

DARIUS: Where is she?

STRANGE MAN: She’s somewhere around here, helping her new buddy, Damon; I believe you are acquainted with him? Boy, you’re in trouble now… and I’m not only talking about our mutual friend… (Looks at Bonnie) She and the vamp share a psychic bond which not even you can break, sorry to spoil your bubble; thought you had figured that out by now… denial, I’m guessing. Word of advice, Darius, stop letting your arrogance and obsessions take over; you are getting very sloppy and you know how vengeful she can be. You should have known better than to piss off the Madame, and here I thought you were the genius. You know, Edward might be just a human, but he surely knows how to play his cards better…

DARIUS: You may have managed to come inside, but you are in my world now, I’m the one in control, so good luck with that (winks). (As Bonnie is singing with more intensity, the audience members start to randomly disappear, Darius looks around, uncertain of what is going on).

STRANGE MAN: Are you sure you are the one in control? (He laughs and fades away; Darius gets up and walks on stage, starts clapping).

DARIUS: My love, you were magnificent! Now, how about we join our guests in the ballroom?

BONNIE: But I’m not finished…

DARIUS: Love, the audience is gone…

BONNIE: Oh, I can fix that (new audience members start to appear; no masks and some familiar faces… Caroline, Elena, Grams, Mr. Bennett, Mrs. Bennett, Matt, Damon, Stefan, Jeremy, Enzo… Darius looks very worried, but tries to play along).

DARIUS: Impressive; I told you, you can do anything you set your mind to (kisses her cheek). Okay, you can sing them one last song; then we’ll go get ourselves a drink.

BONNIE: Are you trying to control me?

DARIUS: Of course, not. Just thought you might want to freshen up.

BONNIE: Well, I don’t. When I feel like having a drink, I’ll get one myself.

Cut to – Darius’s room, he opens his eyes. A freaky scientist enters the room, injects him with more serum. Darius closes his eyes again. Back to the illusion realm, Darius and Bonnie are now in the ballroom, dancing. Damon and the Madame walk in.

DAMON: Bon… (as he is about to go to her, the Madame grabs his arm).

MADAME: Don’t be a fool, dear. You don’t want to do that.

DAMON: But she is…

MADAME: She is not; I told you, things aren’t what they appear. Let me handle this, just stay here and don’t move until I come back. (She approaches Bonnie and Darius) May I cut in?

DARIUS: No, you can’t.

BONNIE: Love, don’t be rude. He is all yours, I’ll go grab myself a drink (kisses his cheek and walks away. As she is walking towards the bar, she sees Damon and stops. Who is he? Why does he seem so familiar?

DAMON: (Staring back, whispers to himself) Bon… (he hears a voice in his head).

MADAME: Damon, don’t. The time will come; for now, just ignore her and let her go.

DAMON: (Trying as hard as he can to fight the urge to run to her, and hold her in his arms, but he gets lost in those hypnotic hazel eyes)… Screw this! (He runs to Bonnie). Bon! (Hugs her) Thank god you are alright!

BONNIE: (Looking confused, she doesn’t know this man, yet somehow, she feels like she’s known him forever…) Who are you?

DAMON: It’ me, Bon…

DARIUS: (Darius and the Madame see they are interacting) I thought you said you had him under control!

MADAME: Well, what can I say, he’s a stubborn one...

(He rushes to where Damon and Bonnie are, grabs her hand) Love...

DAMON: Don’t you fucking touch her! (hits him violently and brings him to the ground; grabs his neck) I’m going to kill you, you son of a bitch!

BONNIE: (With her powers, drags Damon away from Darius) Stay away from him.

DAMON: Bon, listen to me, this is an illusion, he’s playing mind games with you… you need to snap out of it!

Change take to - Edward (who has been who knows where) joining the Madame as she watches the scene unfold.

MADAME: Love, where were you?

EDWARD: Around. (Looking at Darius beaten on the ground) I hope he beat some sense into him. (Sees Bonnie) Who is that?

MADAME: That’s the link, dear.

EDWARD: Well, you forgot to mention how breathtaking she is… You must introduce us.

MADAME: I can, but, just so you know, she has a thing with the Salvatore.

EDWARD: That vampire experiment? He is not worthy, a goddess such as her deserves a real man, not a savage.

MADAME: Look at you, you don’t even know her and you are already jealous.

EDWARD: I just can’t understand why 10s date bellow their range…

MADAME: Well, they aren’t actually dating. Just before all of this went down, they confessed their love for each other; but now, she doesn’t seem to remember, thanks to Darius’s little tricks. Isn’t that tragic?

EDWARD: As much as I hate him, I’ll have to thank him for that. I might actually have a shot… come on, introduce.

MADAME: I will, but not now; things are about to get real ugly…

Change take- back to Damon, Bonnie, and Darius. Darius is wounded on the floor, Bonnie is standing still, looking somewhat dazed. Damon stares deep into her eyes.

DAMON: Bon… Bon??

BONNIE: (Slowly begins to react…) I… I think I do know you…

DAMON: You do... it’s me, Bon-Bon... the Robin to your Batman, remember? Please, look at me... you really need to snap out of it! (She hesitates...why does she feel so strongly for this stranger?)

DARIUS: (Still on the ground, talks to her through his thoughts). Love, don’t listen to him. He is only trying to confuse you...

BONNIE: I hate when people try to tell me what to do. (She transitions into an irritated state; her eyes become pitch black; everything begins to shake).

DAMON: Bon…? (He tries to grab her down and protect her with his body, but he can’t) Bon... I can't move, you need to get out of here! (As he desperately tries to tell her to leave, his voice, just as his body, seems to be put on pause).

Change take to - The Madame and Edward.

MADAME: Darling, our work here is done; time to go. (Holds his hand; they disappear).

Back to - Damon, Darius, and Bonnie.

DARIUS: (Darius finally regains the strength to get up; grabs her hand) Love, we need to leave...

BONNIE: Don’t call me love! And, don’t tell me what to do!

DARIUS: (Through his thoughts, using a voice that sounds exactly like her grams) Bonnie, don’t let it control you...

BONNIE: Get out of my head!!!!

She discharges a huge energy blast, brings everyone to the ground. The “guests” laying on the floor start to vanish, the only two left, unconscious, are Darius and Damon. She kneels down and caresses Damon’s cheek.

BONNIE: I’m sorry for doing this, you seem like a cool guy... I really wish we had the chance to get to know one another; yet, for some strange reason, I feel like we have... Well (kisses him on the cheek), maybe in another life. (Gets up; as she passes by Darius’s unconscious body, she skips over it with disdain; then, levitates out of the mansion and discharges another energy blast that burns the mansion to ashes. She disappears).

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TVD 9x06 (part 3) coming soon! Hope you stop by, read and enjoy! =)

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pixeldreqms · 5 years ago

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september 2018

there's an estimated forty days left of filming and already, ian's dreading the end. he's been trying harder to enjoy the little moments, and not just be miserable because he knows they won't last forever. it's hard, but he's trying. he's almost never as happy as he is when he's with these people, his fellow losers, and he doesn't want to waste the time he has left with them.

forty days.

probably closer to thirty nine now since it's past midnight. one more day down. but that's something he's not letting himself linger on. instead, his eyes settle on kennedy who is getting his ass kicked in a video game but is still laughing so loud that the sound is filling the entire basement of the rented house. he focuses on that sound and can't help but smile. he focuses on it and he swears every sad thought in his head floats away, just like that.

he accepted earlier in the summer that his feelings for kenny weren't as platonic as he had originally thought. but in his defense, he was only twelve when they first met. he had a lot of figuring out to do.

he's figured it out now.

he loves all his friends, strongly and deeply, and he's a little co-dependent with more than a couple of them. if he goes a day without talking to evan, he genuinely misses him. he goes out of his way to visit the burgess' at every given chance. each member of the cast has expressed annoyance with the way he spams the group chat while they're all asleep. he's entirely convinced he needs june to survive. and he feels all that with kenny, too, so it took him some time to realize just how much more he felt. and how he felt things for him that went well beyond the things he felt for everyone else he loved.

he doesn't get an overwhelming urge to lean in and kiss any of his other friends when they get too close, for starters. that was a big tip off for ian.

kenny jokingly winked at him once and he felt like someone had lit him on fire.

he constantly found himself shoving others aside just to stand by him in group photos or to sit by him on a couch during a movie.

his own behavior should have been a giveaway right away, but he's not exactly very experienced in that area. not in just dating, but even with liking people. he's only really had one real crush before, and he'd been twelve. and he'd never liked one of his guy friends before either - but he'd accepted that fact easily. given how many male tv characters he'd been infatuated with over the years, and his long-standing secret harry styles obsession that started back when he was ten years old, he'd always suspected he wasn't totally straight. he still hasn't slapped a label on himself yet, but he doesn't think he needs to know for sure what he is to know that he definitely has feelings for kenny.

feelings that are so intense that sometimes he can't even think about anything else. feelings that are so all-consuming that all he wants to talk about 24/7 is kenny and he has to force himself, multiple times a day, to shut up about him or else he'll give himself away or let too much slip. and he knows better than to say anything, to kenny, or to anyone.

but god he wants to.

he's kept this feeling bottled up for months now, though it feels like so much longer, and sometimes he feel like he's gonna burst from how bad he wants to talk about it. his journal only has so many pages he can wax poetic about kenny onto, and he's sure even the inanimate object is sick of hearing about his crush. he needs a pair of real ears. and maybe someone to tell him he's not stupid or crazy for falling for his best friend. because boy oh boy does he feel like he is sometimes.

evan's loud hooping and hollering covers up the sound of kenny's laughter, and ian rolls his eyes but can't help but grin in amusement. his victory had been predicted since mid-game, but evan was still celebrating like he'd done something impressive.

in an attempt to show kenny support, ian raises his arm and gives evan and his win a thumbs down. "booooooo."

he gets two middle fingers raised at him for his efforts. he thinks that's all he's getting in return for voicing his disapproval, until evan drops the controller and comes flying past the gaming area, past the couch, and leaping onto ian where he's sprawled across a huge bean bag chair.

"hey, i wanted to play the winner!" jeremy shouts from the couch in front of the tv, where the other four teenagers had been sat, partially watching the game, partially on their phones, mostly having their own conversations.

ian easily could have squeezed in with them, but he couldn't resist a good bean bag. plus, he was closer to the little mini bar area that this place had. the bar itself wasn't stocked with alcohol, not that ian cares or jeremy's mom would have let them drink anyway, but she kept the shelves and mini fridge stocked. ian likes being close to the snacks.

"well i'm over here now!" evan yells back. the loud volume right in ian's ear makes him wince. "play the loser. kenny, that's you. you're the loser."

ian shoves evan off of him and onto the floor. "dick."

"no," evan says, rejecting his removal from the chair. "move your ass."

"no." but he does it anyway. he can't move much or else he'd be on the floor, because yes it's a big seat, but they're both months away from being sixteen and are not the same small twelve year olds they'd been when they first met. they've hit massive growth spurts since then. sharing small spaces isn't as easy as it once was, but it doesn't stop them from trying. evan ends up with one of his legs completely over ian's and their shoulders pressed together. ian lets it happen, but he's still mildly annoyed about it. "wow, this is so comfortable. i'm so glad you came all the way over here to dig your elbow into my stomach. feels great."

"are you saying you don't want to sit with me, you a**hole?" evan asks.

evan's elbow digs deeper into his side and ian's pretty sure it's on purpose. he grimaces and shifts as much as he can but still doesn't move out of the seat.

"that's literally exactly what i'm saying, yeah. you stink."

the bickering continues, because it never really ends with them. there's an almost constant flow of jokes and jabs between them. but for as much as they give each other sh*t, him and evan have definitely had their fair share of genuine moments between them. anytime ian has an anxiety attack in a group setting, evan's one of a few who knows how to calm him. ian's called him crying about his family or about wanting to go home more than once. there was also the time on set during their first movie together where after an intense, emotional scene, they'd both cried and hugged each other until they got it out of their system. sometimes his relationship with evan reminds him of his relationship with his sister, and the way they can pick and pick at each other, but at the end of the day, they'd die for one another.

it's just really fun to insult each other, so they do it often.

eventually, after evan shouts at ian to eat an ass, they're informed they're being too loud.

anna, the only girl in a group of boys, shushes them with so much aggression that it terrifies ian a little. she puts up with so much nonsense every time she hangs out with them, he's just waiting for the day she finally snaps. he knows he doesn't want it to be his fault, so he does as he's told and shushes.

"they're all haters," evan mutters.

ian nods. "they wanna be us so bad."

and just like that, they're on the same team again.

ian feels a vibration against his leg and realizes his phone's fallen under his thigh. as he digs it out, he sees evan's own attention has momentarily returned to the game on the tv just as the loading screen transitions back into gameplay, so he feels less bad about checking it. reading kenny's name on his screen, he visibly lights up, grinning at the text.

'if he's being a dick, come escape and play me next,' kenny has written.

ian quickly types back. 'he's not, but i might anyway. wanna be next to kick your ass.'

he glances across the room, but he can't see kenny at all where he's sitting on the floor in front of the couch, so he has no idea if he's grinning as big as ian is just from seeing a new text from him. he can't imagine he is, but it's still a nice thought. as soon as the round on the tv ends and the loading screen is back up, kenny starts typing.

'I THINK I'M WINNING THIS TIME.'

ian's smile widens, his cheeks sore from it, but he doesn't get a chance to start replying before -

"is it a meme?" evan asks, neck craning to look. ian clicks back to his homescreen quickly.

"is what a meme?"

evan slumps back a little once ian drops his phone to his lap. "whatever you were staring at like that."

"no, or - yeah." he answers, then changes his answer when he realizes he can't tell him what he was actually grinning at.

he wasn't as subtle as he had hoped.

"you lookin' at something nasty?" evan asks. "you fvcking freak?"

ian blinks, then deadpans, "yes. i'm looking at something nasty while surrounded by my friends. with you practically in my lap. you caught me."

"thought so. looking like a blushing school girl over here." that one's a little too close to home considering he feels like a smitten school girl every time he sees or talks to kenny, so ian shoves evan for it. he almost rolls over the edge of the seat but gets a palm on the ground to steady himself. "come on. seriously. what was it? what's so secret?"

"fvck, you're nosy."

"invested in your life," evan corrects him.

"nosy," ian insists.

evan gives him a look, a raised brow and a silent dude, come on, tell me, and ian takes a breath.

he reminds himself there's a reason he's kept this secret so under wraps. as much as he wants to scream from the rooftop how much he likes kenny, the risk of him finding out isn't worth it. he'd ruin not only their friendship, but probably the entire group. they'd never be able to all be together. not with kenny inevitably being weirded out by ian's crush, and ian being too mortified to be around him anymore. the rest of filming would be a nightmare. getting through press and the promotion would be torture. he'd lose his favorite person.

nothing good could possibly come from people knowing.

then, he reminds himself this is evan. they may thrive off of giving each other sh*t, but he can trust him. he's never let him down before. not when it mattered. if there's anyone he can tell and trust they won't screw him over by letting it slip, he feels like it's evan.

if for no other reason than he'd suffer, too. not just because ian would never forgive him, but he'd hate it if the group dynamic was thrown out of wack, too.

evan feels like a safe place to finally be honest.

so he exhales, and speaks.

"it was a - i was looking at something from - it's a someone."

a bit of a rocky start, but he got where he was trying to go after a few attempts.

"you have a someone?" evan asks, seeming mildly offended that this isn't information he was already privy to. "someone i don't know about?"

"i don't really have someone," ian tells him. "i just... want to. i want to be with them."

"who is she?"

"it's..." ian's voice is barely a whisper at this point. "it's not a girl..."

the silence that follows is the longest, most anxiety inducing silence ian has ever experienced. it can't be more than twenty seconds, probably not even that long, before evan speaks again but it feels like a lifetime. he doesn't know why he's so nervous about the reaction to this. he knows evan well enough to know he won't care, but people can be surprising in the worst ways sometimes. and he's never done this before. he's pretty sure his sister has an inkling, but he's never come out and admitted it to her. this is the first time he's having the actual conversation and god it's fvcking terrifying. he kind of wants to cry suddenly but he's really holding himself together.

even while fearing and preparing himself for the worst, he mostly expects evan to react with some generic but kind sentiment. a that's okay with me, dude or an i love and accept you, pal.

that's not what he gets.

after a moment, evan's brow furrows, his head tilts just slightly, and he asks, as sincere as can be, "man, is it me?"

it's just what ian needs to hear to ease his tension. he throws his head back and lets out a cackle. the ache in his stomach is no longer due to nerves, but from how hard he's laughing. "absolutely fvcking -" he has to stop, pausing as he got through another fit of laughter. "oh, absolutely fvcking not."

a tear rolls down his cheek and he flicks it away as he finally starts to calm down. then he gets a good look at how unamused evan looks and it sets him off again.

"okay, it's not me, i got it!" evan says in a hushed whisper, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of ian's own laughter. "who is it then?"

the nerves are back, suddenly. and again, he doesn't even know why. he wants this. he wants to be able to talk to someone about his feelings. he wants evan to know. but his palms are still sweating.

"you can't tell him," ian says softly. "i'll literally strangle you. you have to swear."

"i swear," he assures him. "so it's someone i know?"

he's pretty sure evan knows everyone ian knows. even his few remaining guy friends from back home, evan's met. but he doesn't remind him of that now, just nods and confirms. "yeah. it's someone you know."

"who? i'm not gonna tell, ian."

nervously, he glances towards the couch, just to make sure the game was still being played and their entire group of friends hadn't turned around to stare and listen to his confession. all he sees are the backs of heads, and he can hear everyone's laughter mixed with anna's muffled trash talk as she has a go at the game. no one's paying attention to him except for evan.

for some reason, he's having a hard time looking at him. the hardest part is already over, he tells himself, just spit his name out. but he's also telling himself that it's not too late and he can keep this secret to himself. evan would be annoyed about the cliffhanger, but ian could deal with that easier than he could deal with other possible outcomes of telling him.

no. he's doing this.

suck it the fvck up.

with his eyes on the back of the couch, in the smallest voice possible, he admits, "kenny."

he doesn't know what evan's initial reaction is, because it takes a few seconds for him to finally meet his eyes again, but when he does look at him again, his face isn't easy to read. he doesn't look shocked, exactly - and really, given that ian is arguably closest to kenny and evan out of everyone, it probably wasn't the most surprising name he could have said. if anything, he looks... confused?

"you're not gonna tell him, are you?" ian asks, misreading the look as inner turmoil about not wanting to keep a secret from their other best friend.

that's not at all what it is.

"no, i said i'm not," evan huffs. "but, why the fvck is it not me?"

"i'm - i'm sorry?" ian says, because what else does he say to that? "are you offended that i don't have a crush on you?"

"am i not cute?"

"evan, this isn't how people are supposed to react to sh*t like this -"

"i just can't believe out of everyone - kenny." he whispers it, at least. "and not me? really?"

"i'd love it if you weren't so fvcking weird about this."

"i'm not being weird! it being me just would have made sense, is all i'm saying."

ian squints. "and it being kenny doesn't make sense?"

evan sighs, falling back into the chair a little. "yeah, i guess it does. it does."

"just to make sure - " ian says, putting a hand up. "you don't - i mean, you're not upset because you like - "

"ew, don't even say it. i don't like you."

it's ian's turn to sigh and lean back into the seat. "okay, cool. you're just... fvcking weird. that's good to know."

there's a moment of silence and ian just breathes. he did it. he did it and nothing's changed, nothing world shattering happened. he feels like a weight's been lifted, just by telling one person. it feels really good. even if it didn't go how he'd have imagined it to. still good.

"knew it couldn't have been a meme you were looking at," evan says a minute later. "the memes you send are never that funny."

ian scoffs. "fvck you. i send the funniest memes."

"willow sends the funniest memes."

"you're gonna go to hell for saying sh*t like that. lying is a fcking sin."

"is it?"

ian pauses.

"... i'm not sure. i think so. did neither of us go to church growing up? that kind of explains a lot."

there's an angry cry from the front of the room that draws their attention. anna curses, followed by kenny laughing. once again, ian smiles at the sound.

the laughter, not the cursing.

"did kenny actually win?!" evan shouts over to the rest of the group.

kenny and anna stand up as the other three perk up on the couch to look over at the two in the bean bag.

"i've been winning!" kenny calls back.

jeremy chimes in. "he's on a winning streak!"

"more like a cheating streak," anna mumbles.

"he's beaten everyone except evan," jeremy says.

"ahem!" evan waves a hand, gesturing to ian. "not everyone except evan. let ian at him."

ian tries to suppress his grin. he'd been so worried about the bad outcomes of telling evan, but he hadn't considered all the good reasons. like evan helping him get closer to kenny. even just in little ways, like playing video games. maybe this was a better idea than he thought.

he meets kenny's eyes and when kenny smiles at him, he can't hide his own anymore.

"ian?" kenny asks. "you want the winner?"

evan nudges ian in the side, winking at him as they make eye contact and calling out to kenny, "yeah, he does."

on second thought, he might end up regretting it.

#◦ ` ･ writing : all the glamour and the trauma and the fucking melodrama #◦ ` ･ writing : hold me closer tiny bastard #◦ ` ･ writing #◦ ` ･ mine

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