#REALLY ADDICTED TO DRAWING THEM STUPID RIGHT NOW

[velveteen-vampire]

hi. another tuggoff batch. help me. help me.

[seeingivy]

funeral

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic

content: depictions of grief, talk of addiction/anxiety

an: i am alive (mostly). eat your cake, even though I think it Is bad (this chapter was the hardest to write, right next to the "the third act" chapter

songs mentioned: marjorie by taylor swift

previous part linked here

--

“What are you thinking, Eren?” Hange asks. 

The question is stupid. Eren is thinking of the only logical conclusion that he can draw from the autopsy report. The implication of it, of how Marco really died, is sitting right in front of him.

The patient is a twenty-three year old Caucasian male with no significant medical history. Emergency services responded to the scene of a motor vehicle crash around nine p.m. At the scene, responders found that the patient was trapped in the vehicle, upturned on the side of the road, with no pulse at the time of arrival. Patient was declared dead on scene. Autopsy concluded that primary cause of death was asphyxiation, secondary cause being severe loss of blood due to injuries in the extremities. 

“I’m thinking that the paparazzi killed him, Hange.” Eren spits. 

“Eren.” 

“Hange, don’t. Just-” Levi mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Levi’s eyes are borderline gaunt. Eren knows the past few days have sat horribly on Levi’s shoulders and perhaps the past year and a half have too. 

The guilt is excruciating. Because all Eren knows how to do is ruin people.

He dragged Levi and Hange into his mess, when he asked them for help. But it had gone too far at that point, the interview, the night on the beach, the fight - he had exhausted all ends and desperately needed someone on his side. 

Levi and Hange all but berated him for it. For letting it get so far, for waiting so long when he should have known that they were always there to help. But this reaction, Levi being the one to side with his outburst is proof enough that he made the wrong choice, that he should have stuck with himself. That them bending backwards and forwards to get him out of his mess has truly taken its toll. 

Levi and Hange always mimicked him and you. Eren and Hange, he knows they both have a tendency to get so lost in the emotion, to feel it so deep that the response is too loud, too much for what’s called for. That’s when you and Levi would come in, to soothe them down and bring them back to Earth. 

In the same vein, you and Levi, you planted your weeds too deep into the ground. Rooted in exactly what he’s not quite sure - perhaps misplaced insecurities, whatever the two of you seemed to hide in those deep inner walls - but it kept you both stagnant, stuck where you were. That’s where Hange and Eren came in, pushing you both to soar a little bit higher than what you imagined for yourself. 

But now Levi’s here, all but exhausted and broken, the same way he’s sure you were. That’s why things got so fucked up. Eren didn’t let you pull him down. He didn’t pull you up. 

“They killed him, Hange.” Levi states, tone void of any emotion. 

“Levi. It’s almost midnight, we’re all feeling emotional right now. We should look at this all with a clear mind tomorrow.” 

“They killed him. There is nothing to look at.” Levi says, enunciating every inflection of his words. 

Eren knows it for a fact. And from the look on Hange’s face, he knows they do too. His train of thought is cut off by the knocking - rapid, loud consecutive knocks slamming against the wood. 

“God, Eren. Go get it now before they run off with our food.” Hange murmurs, gesturing towards the door. 

Eren shuffles past the length of the hallway and swings open the door to find not his UberEats bag, but Lana, out of breath and panting on his doorstep. 

“Ew. You just left two hours ago. Why are you back already?” 

“Eren. Oh my god.” 

Lana wraps her arms around him, squeezing hard, as she cries into his shoulder. Her demeanor settles an immediate panic under his skin. The last time she reacted like this, Eren had to watch the most gut wrenching interview of his life while she held his hand. God knows whatever she’s about to tell him now is going to break him.

Eren brings his hands up and grabs her shoulders, applying pressure to stop her from shaking in his arms. 

“Lana. What’s wrong with you? Why are you-”

“Eren. I’m so sorry, you- I’m here for you, okay? Whatever you need, just-just say it.” she pants, hiccuping in between her tears.

Eren frowns, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her out of the cold Seattle air into the kitchen where Hange and Levi are cooking by the stove. 

“Hi Lana Bear! How are you, kid?” Hange says, all but bouncing over to wrap their arms around Lana. 

This only upsets Lana more, the discomfort worsening in Eren’s chest as he can’t help but stare at her, at her brown eyes turning almost red from the downpour of her tears and the tension sitting in her shoulders. 

“What is it? Who died?” 

The question, when Eren asks it, is entirely rhetorical. A figure of speech, meant to emphasize that Lana’s reaction was extreme, too obscene for whatever it is she must be talking about. But when she doesn’t respond and swallows hard, the look on her face so crestfallen, Eren’s chest settles into a panic. 

His first thought is you. 

“Lana. Is she dead? What are you-” 

Lana scrambles for the remote on the counter, switching from the Disney Channel to the first news report she can find. The image is of an overturned car, the metal crushed and steaming in the front, accompanied with words that burn Eren’s ears. The first hit is relief - that it’s not you. The second hit is painful, like the air’s been sucked out of his lungs. 

Because it’s Marco. 

“What?” Levi says, taking his eyes off the stove to glance at the screen. 

Eren can feel his phone incessantly buzzing in his pocket and he reaches for it immediately, Lana leaning into his side as she continues to cry into his shoulder. Levi and Hange are moving closer to the television, like that’ll somehow make the sound better, the image clearer, like they’ll be able to find falsity in it. 

jean: the bodt’s said the funeral is going to be near the old house. ask levi and hange if we can all stay in the townhouse together. 

bertholdt: reiner and i are heading over tonight. 

sukuna: Let me know if you need anything. Give the paparazzi hell for this one. 

connie: i’m coming back to seattle. i-i don’t know if i can do this. 

Eren’s quick to respond to that one. 

eren: i’ve got you man. meet us in new york as soon as you can, we’re all going to stay at the townhouse. don’t leave sasha’s side until you get there okay?

connie: alright. okay, thanks. 

eren: phone is on. 

“This is bullshit. How do they know it’s him?” Levi says angrily, hands crossed over his chest. 

“Levi.” Hange says, voice nearly cracking. 

“No, I’m being fucking serious. How do they know that this guy is our Marco? There’s no proof. Call the Bodt’s right now.” Levi says, pacing the kitchen for where he left his phone. 

Eren frowns, his head racing as Levi walks the length of the kitchen and Hange settles into their immediate panic.

“Eren.” Lana says. 

“Hm?” 

“I have to tell you something. You’re going to hate it. I-” 

“Just tell me, Lana. No-no beating around the bush.” 

“The paparazzi…got to him first before the police.” she whispers. 

“What?” Eren says, through gritted teeth as his head all but short circuits. 

“They knew it was his car, he’d been driving it around that part of Nashville for a while. They were probably just following him to get pictures wherever he was going. But then he-he crashed and-” 

“And what? They took pictures of it? Of him?” Eren asks, squeezing Lana’s shoulders too hard. 

“Yeah. They-they only called the police when they were done, Eren. I-” 

The tears fill Eren’s eyes as the implication cuts deep. It all but sears the air in his lungs, the tears welling so fast that it’s already obstructing his vision. All he can feel is Lana’s hands, squeezing his biceps, as he tries to control the heaving in his chest. 

“How long?” 

“Eren.” she says, tone so pitiful it makes his blood boil. 

“How long, Lana?” he asks, voice cracking. 

“It took them forty-five minutes to get there. They would have been there in fifteen.” she whispers. 

And now, the autopsy report tells him enough. With a definitive resolve that the paparazzi killed Marco. Because he died from asphyxiation, from being twisted in the metal, not getting any air. And if the police had gotten there maybe a moment earlier, a second faster, they could have gotten him out, could have at least made sure he was breathing. 

They wanted a picture. Marco died for it. 

The anger surges through Eren, tenfold when he remembers the paparazzi lining up Jean and Mikasa’s engagement party, Falco’s school, his house the day his grandpa died. When you walked into his garage, drenched from the rain with a deep cut on your face and skidded knees, scared to death. 

“I’m done sugarcoating, Hange. Eren is right. They killed Marco.” Levi responds. 

Hange sighs, leaning against the counter as Eren walks up to them, resting his head against their shoulder. They all stand there in silence, not even seventy-two hours after the fact, and it still hasn’t hit Eren. 

In full flesh, that Marco is gone. 

The rapid knocking on the door, real this time, breaks him out of his thoughts. 

“Probably Zeke or Armin. I’ve got it.” he murmurs. 

“Thanks kid.” 

Eren watches as Levi sinks into Hange’s arms, sighing as he shuffles to the door and flicks on the porch light. He swings it open and immediately feels his throat tighten, fully constricted, at the sight of you standing in the lamplight. 

You’re looking up at him, swallowing hard, as you stare into his eyes and all Eren can do is wonder if your brain is short circuiting as much as his is. Surely, it isn’t. Eren has every reason to be embarrassed, to be ashamed. And you don’t. 

For posterity, he fights all instincts, every urge in his body, to reach forward and hold you. To let your sweet flowery smell take over his nose, to settle his face into that crook in your neck, to have your soft, soft touch running over his skin. To let the mountain of emotions he’s been carrying fall, because you’re here. 

But he can’t. 

“Hi Eren.” 

“Y/N.” 

He can’t help but inspect every micro-movement, every gesture you make. Your eyes are nearly glassing over with tears and you’re nervously fidgeting with your fingers. You’ve dropped your gaze to focus on the ground, a habit you always had when you were sad, as your voice breaks into the air. 

“Can I ask you something? Please?” you whisper. 

He reaches forward, hands on your shoulders, squeezing once and praying to god you remember what it means, as he nods. 

That he’s here and he’s got you. 

“Anything. What is it?” 

“Is he dead?” 

Maybe not anything. 

He can’t be the one to tell you. You of all people that Marco died, at the hands of the paparazzi. The same paparazzi who in your very pointed words, gutted your first love like a fish. Who were partly to blame, who drove you out of here alongside him. 

“Y/N.” 

“Is he?” you repeat, voice smaller. 

“Okay. Let’s go inside, you-”

“Is Marco dead, Eren? I’m asking you a question.” 

Your anger in your voice is enough to make him stop in his tracks, the second time your voice is laced with that animosity that it scares him into responding. He hears it, in his worst hours, echoing in his mind. 

How many times are you going to keep breaking shit without any care in the world? The camera, the fucking award you picked over me, Connie’s fucking livelihood, my heart. God, Eren. All you’ve ever cared about is yourself. From the start.

He swallows hard. 

“Yes. Marco’s dead.” 

And you don’t even know the half of it. 

He watches your glass tears, the ones sitting right on the edge of your eyelashes, fall in full force, onto your cheeks as you immediately start hiccuping, hands clasped against your chest. 

“I-I saw it on the news. I-I didn’t believe it but I- They always lie about stuff. I thought it was the same as that and-” 

“Y/N, come ins-” 

Your panic sets in so fast, so quick that Eren doesn’t even register it. Because one second you’re panting and the next Eren’s watching you retch onto the grass Connie mowed this morning. Eren pushes you into the house the second you stop, straight to the kitchen where Levi and Hange are still standing in their spots. 

“Wait, is that-” 

“Do you guys know if we have something like…anti-nausea? Is that what you do when someone throws up or-” Eren asks. 

“Is that Y/N?” Levi asks. 

“Yeah, she-she was on the porch, I-” 

Levi’s quick to walk up, hands on your shoulders as he talks, voice quiet and calm when he speaks near your ear. Hange moves to Eren’s side, her face wearing that concerned look she gives him too much these days, as they both rummage through the cabinets for anything that could help. 

“Y/N. You okay?” Levi asks. 

“I-I threw up on the-the porch. On the g-grass. So-sorry.” 

“It’s just grass. What’s-” 

Eren tries to still it - that pounding in his heart - as he walks over with the glass of water he filled up for you. Your hands must be wobbling too much because Eren doesn’t let the glass go, instead tilting your head up softly with his hands and pouring the water into your mouth. 

“Hey. Drink some more for me.” Eren states, voice soft as he instinctively reaches forward to fix the hairs sticking to the sweat beading your forehead, feeling your skin burning under his touch. 

“We should take her temperature.” Eren says. 

Levi and Hange dart out of the room, to the drawer upstairs where the thermometer is, as Eren takes breaks between helping you drink the water and rubbing circles into your back. 

Eren can feel every muscle in his body tense, his skin burning when you lean forward, forehead resting against his chest as you groan out in pain. 

“Hey. You with me?” Eren asks, murmuring straight into your hair. 

Eren feels your breathing still against him, his hands intuitively wrapping around you this time, cradling the back of your head in his hands. You hum in response to his question, which is a good enough answer for Eren now.  

“Found it.” Levi says, all but speed walking as Eren spins you around, watching as Levi meticulously pushes your sweaty hair out of your face and holds the sensor against your head. You’re all standing there in silence, craning over the little plastic as the two consecutive beeps go off. 

“98.6. You’re okay, Y/N.” Levi mutters, setting the thermometer back on the table. 

“Thank you, Levi.” you respond back, rubbing your arms on your biceps as you stare at the two of them, withdrawn and withholding from you. 

Granted, you’d do the same. You wouldn’t rush to their arms either if they ignored you for two years. 

“You can take this for nausea. If it happens again.” Hange says, placing a bottle in your hands. 

“Sure. Thank you, Hange.” you respond. 

The silence hangs in the air between the four of you as you stand there, each of you racking your heads for the right thing to say. Eren wants to tell Levi and Hange to stop being so rude, that they were the ones who were begging you to come back and now that you’re here they won’t even talk to you. Levi and Hange are debating which one of them should yell at you first, for being withdrawn from them and not asking for help the way Eren did. And you’re figuring out who you should apologize to first, between the three of them. 

None of you break. Because it’s not the right time. Because Marco is dead. 

“Everyone is sleeping together upstairs. There should be an extra air mattress up there, Eren will get it for you….knock if you need something.” Levi says, tone exasperated as he shuffles away. 

“Welcome back, kid.” 

Hange gives you a full smile as they follow him, leaving you and Eren in the kitchen. The distance Levi is putting in between you and him stings, but you swallow the burn and remind yourself that you’re the one who inflicted it on yourself. 

At the time, after the interview, the rationale made more sense. Nonsensically, you decided that you were done with the industry and that, by proxy, meant that you were done with them too. You did your interview and stuck to your word, never looked back. 

It’s humiliating now. Debilitating thinking about how much you must have hurt them. Because each of them, they continually reached out until it stopped. Mikasa made every effort to have you come to her engagement party, that she would even stop the press from coming for Vogue the way they had planned for you. 

And when you didn’t show, all she did was send you pictures, of her and Jean cutting the cake and of the dress she had bought for you to wear. Hange and Levi were so vigilant about it, on making sure that you were okay, that you had security details, that people really were leaving you alone. You didn’t heed any of their efforts, because for all intents and purposes, you were leaving the girl you were behind. 

Her dreams, the love she held, the friends she had. 

It seems stupid now. It seems incredibly and gut-wrenchingly stupid that your last words to Marco were over two years ago because you were punishing him for something that wasn’t his fault. That you can’t go to any of them for comfort because the thing that they need comfort from is you. 

All you know how to do is ruin people. 

“Are you hungry? Or do you want to go to bed?” Eren asks. 

“I can go to bed. Levi said air mattress?” 

“Yeah, we’re all sleeping together in the loft upstairs.” 

“We?” you ask. 

“Mikasa and Jean are here. Ymir and Hisu, Bertholdt and Reiner, Connie and Sash. Everyone else should be getting in tomorrow.” 

Eren pads towards the stairs and you awkwardly follow, crawling up the stairs behind him. You can hear the loud chatter of voices, talking over each other, as you try to catch the ends of their conversation. 

“But where do they go when you pee?” Sasha asks. 

“Fuck do you mean, where do they go?” Reiner says, voice incredulous. 

“Like in the bowl? Because if you’re sitting on the toilet, they have to go somewhere?” Sasha repeats. 

“Sasha. It’s almost one in the morning. Please stop talking about balls.” Ymir groans, earning a good amount of laughs from the group. 

“Eren, tell them all to shut the fuck up.” Jean groans, forearm over his eyes as he and Mikasa roll around on their mattress. 

Eren looks at you, eyes weary, before he turns to respond to them. 

“Y/N’s here.”

They all peek their heads up, curious eyes falling on you, as you give them a halfhearted smile, trying your best to wipe your sweaty palms on the back of your dress. 

“Hi guys.” 

The silence is deafening. You can’t pick what’s worse - Reiner and Bertholdt squinting their eyes at you or Mikasa and Jean refusing to look at you. 

Mikasa and Jean. 

Historia stands up, strutting over from her air mattress, to wrap her arms around you, the pressure of the hug so hard you can barely breathe. You breathe in her smell, spicy and sharp the way it’s always been, as she pulls away. Her warm hand is resting on your cheek, the smile on her face so genuine that it untangles the smallest parts of discomfort on your chest. 

“Hi princess. Missed you.” 

“Thanks, Hisu. I missed you too.” 

That’s always been the thing about Historia. That she’ll pick up, even when you haven’t called her in two years, and run to your aid. 

“How’d you know we were here?” Jean asks, hands resting on his knees. 

“I asked Historia.” you respond. 

“Told you I was her favorite. She reached out to me before you.” Historia mutters, flopping back onto the air mattress she’s sharing with Ymir. 

“You’re so arrogant, Historia. And full of shit.” Jean responds, rolling his eyes.

“You’re so right, Jean-Boy. This is just like what we fought about earlier.” Connie responds. 

The group of them break out into an argument, Historia looking like she’s full on about to wrestle Connie as he only instigates her on. Mikasa’s already resting with her eyes closed as Jean turns pink in the face from his irritations. 

And you can’t help but laugh, warm tingling in your chest at all of them, wholeheartedly the same. You look over at Eren and smile, which he returns. But despite it all, that stillness, that outsider feeling sits in your skin. Because despite them being the same, the striking differences in the room tell you things are wholeheartedly different too. 

“Okay. Where’s the extra air mattress?” Eren asks. 

Connie turns, eyes wide, as he gives the two of you a sheepish smile. 

“Really funny story. Sooooo….” 

“God. What did you do?” Eren groans. 

“Long story short, I was thinking about waterbeds. If you pop a water bed, it should be like a waterfall right? So if it’s an air mattress, it should be like an inflatable air balloon thing. Like the weird noodle guys at the car store? Right? So, I tried to pop it. And succeeded.” Connie responds, rambling. 

“Was it cool?” you ask. 

“Ugh. Not at all, princess.” Connie responds. 

You smile, perhaps bigger than you should at Connie using your old nickname, as Eren starts yelling at him. 

“You should be the one to sleep on the floor since you’re the one who ruined the mattress.” Eren states. 

“She should sleep on the floor. She got here last!” Connie responds. 

“She just threw up. And she wasn’t going to sleep on the floor regardless.” 

“Is she contagious?” Connie responds. 

“Connie!” 

Eren rolls his eyes as Mikasa stands up, shuffling to your side and lightly tugging your arm. You look at her, taking her shorter hair in, as you give her a smile. 

“Hey. Want to go change? Your old clothes should still be here, don’t know how well they’ll fit.” 

Eren breaks out of his conversation, leaning forward to where the two of you are talking, to interject. 

“What’s mine is yours. Take mine if you need to.” he says, before returning in full flesh to the argument he’s having with Connie. You can tell they’re both joking from the way they’re trying not to laugh as you start to walk away. 

The two of you quietly pad down the length to the two doors, directly across from each other, as you take in the scribbled signs switched. Your old room now reads Jean and Mikasa with Connie’s handwriting scribbled underneath inscribing please fuck quietly on the door. And consequently, Eren’s room now reads Eren and Y/N with Sasha’s handwriting scribbled underneath reading yall are fucked UP for this. 

You turn to Mikasa and give her a weird look. 

“Right. We’ve been here for a week, actually. Table reading season four stuff. Jean and I want to share a room so we moved all of his stuff to your room and your stuff to Eren’s room. We’ll put it back.” Mikasa states, pushing open the door to Eren’s room as she starts rummaging through your old drawers in the closet. 

“No, no. It’s okay. I wouldn’t want to impose on you guys when you’re almost about to be newlyweds?” you ask. 

“Yeah. Yeah, next year. And we just moved it because we thought you weren’t going to come back. And Eren didn’t want to toss your stuff and all.” she responds. She pulls out a shirt, most definitely from when you’re fifteen, as you both snicker at the size and she keeps digging. 

You walk around Eren’s room, your room too now, as you eye all the boxes filled with your things, tangled in with Eren’s clothes lying around on every open surface. You take a seat at his desk as you start inspecting his little bulletin board, the pictures underneath the pins. 

One of him, Lana, and Sukuna - the three of them smoldering at the camera. Eren and Connie smiling, Eren and a little kid with short curly hair, and two pictures of you. The first one is of you and him sleeping on set and the other is the two of you with Falco, both of you crouching down to his height and hugging him from behind.

And hanging around both of the pins are your friendship bracelets, which you take off the hooks to inspect. 

So that’s where it went. In all of the fire of moving around so much, jumping from one place to another, you always thought you lost it. But you must have left it here all along.

You run your hands over the beads, yours and Eren’s names, as Mikasa gives you a head shake, indicating she didn’t find anything. 

“S’okay. I’ll look through Eren’s stuff I guess.” you murmur. 

Mikasa nods as she leans against Eren’s desk, hands crossed over her chest, as the silence hangs in between the two of you. She takes one of the bracelets from your hands, twisting the beads in her fingers, as you do the same with yours. 

You find solace in the fact that Mikasa is still wearing her engagement ring - a constant in the sparring mix of changes you just witnessed in the room. 

Connie sober. Ymir and Historia sharing a mattress. Eren and Connie getting along. Mikasa and Jean even tolerating being in the same room as Eren. In the same room as you. And the jarring absence of Marco. 

“How are you?” Mikasa asks. 

“Okay, Mika. How are you?” 

Mikasa sinks down, sitting flat on the floor as she hikes her knees to her chest. You follow suit, dropping from your chair to sit next to her, lacing your arm through hers as you both blankly stare at the floor ahead of you, picking what topic to broach first. 

I missed you. I’m sorry I haven’t talked to  you in two years. Our friend is dead. Eren is here. 

“The engagement party looked beautiful, Mikasa.” 

She smiles, leaning her head against yours. 

“Thank you, Y/N. It was quite nice actually.” 

“I watched it on Vogue. Cried quite a bit.” you respond. 

She laughs, rolling her eyes at you as she lightly shoves you. 

“Should’ve come then. Cried in real time.” 

You swallow hard, cheeks warm, as you squeeze her hand. You know she’s joking, but the guilt runs too deep. 

“I’m sorry for not coming. I-I really wish I was there. And I know there’s no justification for it but-” 

“We aren’t mad at you. Jean and I.” she clarifies. 

“I’d understand if you were. I’m your best friend. I’ve-I’ve been with you guys since the start and-” 

Mikasa’s hands are soft on your shoulders, tears gathering in her eyes, as she looks at you, eyes pinched in pain.

“You had every right to not come. To be done with this. What they did to you, to Eren- Y/N, god.” 

You swallow hard. 

“It didn’t warrant me not coming to you-” 

“It did. You don’t even know the half of it. You-you and Eren. You just-” 

There’s a knocking at the door and Eren pads in, eyes wide as he sees you and Mikasa on the floor, tears gathered in her eyes and your limbs tangled together. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can come back.” 

“No, no. It’s okay, Eren. Her clothes are too small. I can go grab mine for her if you two want to talk-” her words pointed, the emphasis on the last words hard. 

“No, don’t bother Mikasa.” he responds, disappearing into his closet to find a pair of clothes for you. 

Mikasa turns back to you, giving your cheek a pinch. 

“I’ll make Jean sleep on the floor if Connie doesn’t give up his mattress. It’ll be like old times.” she responds, shuffling out of the room as you stay on your spot on the floor.

You hike your knees to your chest as you twist the beads in your fingers again, Eren’s name that you used to wear on your wrist almost every day foreign in your fingers. 

“Eren. We’re going to be late.” you groan, impatiently tapping your foot on the ground as you wait for him by the door. 

The two of you are already thirty minutes late to Erwin’s going away party, the last car waiting to take the two of you, Marco, and Annie out to the little soiree that Erwin is throwing for himself - in celebration of him being killed off. 

“Sorry, sorry. Looking for my bracelet.” he responds, darting back and forth from different corners of the room. 

“Well, hurry up. Annie’s getting pissed.” 

“I found yours! But where is mine?” 

You look down at your wrist to find the pink beads on your wrist, spelling out your name against your pulse point in your wrist. 

“Oops, sorry. I’m wearing yours.” you respond. 

Eren’s quick to walk over to where you’re standing on the door - giving you enough time to groan at how haphazardly he got ready for the party. His tie is loose against his neck, hair all messy as you reach up to fix it. 

“God, Eren. At least brush your hair.” 

“Quit moving your hands.” 

Eren takes his hand in yours, quickly sliding the bracelet off your wrist and switching it with the one in his hand. 

“Well, get ready properly. Your tie isn’t even on right.” you respond, irritated as you reach forward to tighten the fabric and smooth down his collar. 

“And if I told you I put it on wrong just so you would fix it, what would you think?” 

“That you’re asking for a death sentence from Annie for wasting time.” 

He rolls his eyes, reaching up to lift the hand he just placed the bracelet on. His thumb is straight against your pulse point, blood pulsating under the spot, as he lifts his hand to leave a kiss right there. 

“And that it’s cute that you did that.” 

He gives you a wide grin, locking your hands together as you both rush out the door. 

Eren shuffles out, sitting across from you as he puts the stack of clothes between you and hikes his knees to his chest. He holds his hand out and you place the bracelet in his hand. 

“You left it in the bathroom.” 

You nod as you try to steady your mind - still running a hundred miles per hour and overstimulated from seeing everyone again. From how familiar it all feels, how easy it all is to fall back into this despite how different things are. 

How you and Eren are miles apart, how you haven’t talked to them all in months, how Marco is dead. That Marco’s death is suspending all of you in a weird state of reality, that every angry word spoken and every bit of harshness seems miniscule now.

“Do you want me to leave?” Eren asks. 

“No.” you shrug. 

“Do you want to talk?” 

“No.”

Eren nods, counting each of the beads on the bracelet, as you both sit there in the silence, letting your eyes float around the room as you let your mind wander. 

Marco and Colt playing chess everyday when he visited you in Canada, Marco falling for every stupid joke that Connie played on him, the way you all cried when Marco died in the show, Marco at the awards show. 

“Eren?” 

“Yes, Y/N?” 

“Do you remember the first time we kissed?” 

The question takes Eren off guard. He debates it then and there - telling you the truth full and whole - on the basis that he can’t handle the way you’re looking at him. At the fact that you even asked that, at the implication that you thought he could ever forget. 

“Of course. On set, in the-” 

“No, no. I mean, for real.” 

“At the awards show.” Eren responds, without a beat. 

“Yeah.” 

Eren leans forward, wrapping his hands around your neck and pressing his lips to yours. You can still feel people moving around you, setting up things for the closing part of the ceremony, but the only thing you’re paying attention to is Eren. And his lips. And the way he’s pulling you closer, like he can’t get enough of you. 

When you pull apart, you’re both panting, smiling at each other. 

“Thank god. If I got cock-blocked from kissing you a third time, I was actually going to commit a murder.” 

“You want me so bad.” you say, sarcastically. 

“Obviously.” 

You both smile and turn to the left, to a very smiley Marco staring at you two. And then you cringe, remembering that you and Eren are literally backstage and there’s like seven people who just watched you suck face. Marco walks up, wrapping his arms around both of you and hugging hard. 

“I love you guys.” 

“Marco. Don’t-” Eren starts.

“I’m not going to tell anyone. You need time to figure whatever is going on, without Connie and and Sasha up your ass the entire time. But I’m really, really happy for you.” 

“Really, Marco?” you ask, leaning into Eren’s touch. 

“It’s always been you guys. You guys better not break up or else I’ll come hunt both of you down. And if I’m dead, I’ll come back to life just to haunt you guys.” 

“Do you think he’s haunting us?” 

Eren frowns, the memory refreshing in his head. One he thought of a few days ago, lingering on the fact that Marco’s probably turning in grave right now. Granted, Marco was very vehement about his stance on you two - your interview and what Eren did, making Marco so agonizingly and uncharacteristically angry that it bothers him now. 

For not listening to him. That if he does ever get to cross that bridge with you, at least be your friend again, that Marco won’t ever know. 

“I just don’t understand why you won’t just go out there and tell her. You know where she lives.” Marco states, irritated. 

“Because I just can’t, Marco! You watched the interview!” 

“The entire song was about how she forgave you. How she isn’t holding a grudge against you. And-and the way she was talking about it, some part of her knows that other people had something to do with this, Eren. She knows deep down.” 

“The interview was fucking horrible. This entire thing, this thing that I did, fucked her up so bad that she isn’t even doing this anymore. This was all she wanted, ever since she was a kid, she-she was so determined and she gave it up because I said all those things, because I did what I did.” 

“Eren. It’s more compl-” 

“No, it’s not. And she fucking hates me. You should have seen how upset she was at the awards show…..I-I ruined it for her. I ruined her entire dream, Marco.” 

“God, Eren. Your tunnel vision is insane. You’re not even giving her a fighting chance when she doesn’t even know the truth!” he says. 

“Maybe haunting is too mean of a word. I think he’d be happy to see us together, right now. Even if the circumstances aren’t the best.” he responds. 

You smile, giving him a nod. 

“He always did like playing cupid, didn’t he?” 

“At the engagement party, he walked around telling everyone that Jean and Mikasa were only dating because of him.” 

“That’s a lie.” you state. 

“No one believed him.” Eren responds. 

The two of you fall into silence again, resting your chins on your knees, as more thoughts swim through your head, pain so palpable it’s sitting in your chest. That if Marco were here, he’d be prancing in and giving you two devious smirks, lovingly teasing both of you. Pulling both of you aside, saying that bygones should be bygones if you still love each other. 

You look up at him, watch his eyes flutter open and close, as he fidgets with his hands. 

You still love him. 

“Can we be civil for the weekend? Like…like you’re not Eren and I’m not Y/N, we’re just-” you sutter.

Your question falls short, hanging in the air as you watch the gears in Eren’s head turn. 

“I just mean. So many things happened between us. And I know there’s hurt there, on your part and maybe mine too, but…..I don’t want us to be mad at each other at the funeral. Or after.” 

You swallow hard. 

“I’d hate for one of us to die being mad at each other. Without having talked in years.” you whisper. 

Eren gets it. The guilt that must be wracking you for not talking to Marco, when you were one of the people who was closest to him. He reaches forward, taking your hand in his, as he fidgets with your fingers. 

“He knows you loved him, Y/N.”

He watches the tears pour down your eyes, face pink and eyes swollen, as you talk. 

“Did he? Because I ignored his texts. For years. He texted me happy birthday, asked how Falco was doing, wanted to know if I watched Halloweentown on October first like I always do, if I was happy, if I wanted to talk and-” 

He squeezes your hand, pulling out his phone, as he scoots to the space next to you. He tries to still the pounding of his heart as you lace your arm through his, leaning your head against his. 

“He knows, Y/N.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“I was with him. I talked to him quite often after….after everything that happened. I promise you, he knows you loved him.” 

You shake your head, guilt sitting in your head. 

“I have something for you.” he murmurs. 

“What is it?” 

“It’s from a few years ago. I think he was really, really drunk.” 

He hands you his phone, open to a voicemail from Marco, as you wipe the tears on your phone and press play. His voice comes through the speaker booming and giggling and hiccuping as he talks. 

“Eren. Eren! Fuck, I love you so much dude. You’re-you’re such a guy. Like I-I just see you and think hmmmm. That’s a guy. Are you with Y/N? Tell her I love her. She’s my best friend. You’re all my best friends. I’m so happy I got to grow up with all of you. Oh, Connie just threw up on the floor, oh Connie- hey, stop! Okay, love you brother, I have to go.” 

The voice cuts off abruptly, as you laugh. 

“Never could hold his drink, could he?” 

“Not everyone can be alcoholics like Jean and Mikasa.” 

You both laugh, chest aching from how familiar, how soft this feels. That you’re both sitting in this room, where you grew up, fell in love, slept next to each other every night. Eren can see the tears welling in your eyes, thinking of his best efforts to stop it, at whatever is plaguing your mind. 

“So. You said you’re not Y/N and I’m not Eren. So who are we?” he asks. 

“I meant that metaphorically, you’re-” 

You watch Eren’s eyes flit around his room, scanning till he stops around his bookshelf, and turns back to glance at you. 

“Your new name is Margaret.” 

“Ew. And I didn’t mean it like that, Eren.” 

“Who is Eren? My name is….” he responds, giving you a smile as he elongagates the syllables waiting for your response. 

You roll your eyes. 

“Bruce. Your name is Bruce.” 

“Bruce Wayne!” 

“No. Not like Bruce Wayne. Think of someone really boring. Irritating, agitating.” 

“Perfect! I’ll just think of you after five shots of tequila.” 

You both laugh as Eren stands up, holding a hand out to pull you up. He sets the stack of clothes in your hand as he makes a move to walk out of the room. Except he hangs on the door for a second, voice soft when he talks. 

“Does Bruce have permission to say something?” 

“Sure.” 

“I know he technically just met Margaret because she was born a minute ago, but he missed her. A lot.” 

You feel your cheeks burn as you give him a nod, murmuring a quiet me too before sinking into the bathroom to slip his clothes on. 

Connie, does in fact, not give up the mattress. Jean and Eren begrudgingly share as you and Mikasa cuddle into the night. 

--

You wake up first, to find Mikasa sprawled over your entire frame. Her entire body is burning hot and you send a silent prayer to the world's strongest soldier, Jean Kirschtein, for putting up with this for so long. After you all but free yourself from her grasp, you spare a quick glance to see Jean must be smothering Eren more than Mikasa was you and silently muse that the two of them truly are made for each other. 

You pad down to the kitchen, yanking the hood of Eren’s hoodie over your head, to find Connie sitting at the table, scribbling away in a journal, a steaming bowl of oatmeal next to him. 

“Good morning, Con.’” 

He looks up, one of his hands going instinctively to cover what he was writing as you take the seat next to him, crossing your legs up on the chair. He immediately relaxes, giving you a bright smile.

“Good morning, princess. You can have some if you want.” 

“No, no. I don’t want to impose.” 

“What’s mine is yours.” he says, mimicking Eren’s voice. 

You snort, reaching for his spoon, as you take a bite of the warm food, soothing the stiffness in your throat. 

“Sleep well?” he asks. 

“Mikasa basically strangled me all night.” 

“Ew. Of course she has the cuddle bug. I swear, Jean and Mikasa were always goo goo ga ga, but they’re even worse now.” 

“They’re getting married, Connie. It’s sweet.” 

He smiles, sliding the string through the pages, as he turns to you giving you a smile. 

“Yeah. It is sweet.” he responds, voice quiet. 

Connie swallows hard, eyes weary as he turns to you. 

“I want to apologize.” Connie says. 

The elephant in the room. He’s the first one to touch it. 

“Oh. That’s okay, I under-” 

“No, no. It’s not okay.” he responds, tone almost harsh. 

You and Armin share a look the second he breaks the frame, glass shattering over the length of Armin’s apartment. 

“Why the fuck would you guys bring me here?” Connie asks, sweat beading his forehead. 

From the way he’s moving, all erratic and nonsensical, it makes you think that it’s out of his system. That if Connie had a chance, this would be when he would sneak off to the bathroom to get his fix. But he’s nowhere near that, instead settled into Armin’s tiny New York apartment, screaming at the two of you. 

“Connie. You asked us too.” you respond. 

“I was fucking high! Why would you guys even entertain a word I said?” Connie states, voice even more agitated now. 

“Connie. You…you need help. We looked at some rehab places while you were asleep and-” 

“Rehab? I’m not going to rehab. Are you trying to ruin my fucking career, Armin?” 

“No, but we want to make sure you’re okay. They’ll be discrete, we’ll make sure the security detail is good so that you can be better and-” 

“I am fucking fine. Do I look like I need help?” 

You and Armin share a weary glance, before looking back at him. 

“Connie. We love you. We-we just want to help you, okay?” you say. 

“Does it ever embarrass you when you do this, Y/N?” Connie says, voice laced with venom. 

“Sorry?” 

“Does you not think it’s embarrassing to beg like this in front of people who don’t fucking care about you the way you do about them? I figured that Eren putting you in your place like that would set you straight but it seems like you didn’t learn your lesson, did you?” 

You swallow hard, eyes and skin burning as Connie waits for your response. 

“You don’t mean that. You-you’re just mad because you can’t be high right now.” you murmur. 

“Am I, Y/N? Or is it true?” 

“It’s not true. This isn’t you, Connie.” 

“God, Y/N. Wake the fuck up. We aren’t fifteen anymore. No ones sitting here holding your hand telling you that you’ll be the best anymore. I get that you need that ego boost to move forward but I sure as hell am not going to be the one to give it to you.” 

“Connie, that’s enough-” 

Connie swallows hard, eyes focused on his fingers as he talks. 

“I know-I know that I said it wasn’t true. But I really did say all of those things because I was high. Or because I wanted to be high and was in withdrawal and-” 

“I know that, Connie. I’ve never held it against you.” 

He frowns, twisting his pen to his fingers. 

“You always give grace even when you don’t know the whole story. Me, Hisu, Eren.” he murmurs. 

“You deserve it…and I partially knew. I mean, addiction is a disease. It hurt at first but that wasn’t your fault. You just needed to be treated and helped and I’m glad you did.” 

He smiles, resting his cheek against his hand. 

“Thank you, Y/N. Don’t mind me if I spend the rest of my life asking for forgiveness. I won’t ever feel like I deserve it but I’ll keep asking anyway.” he murmurs. 

“I’ll always give it to you.” you respond, squeezing his shoulder. 

You silently wonder that if you ever did come back, sans funeral, if things would be like this. If you and Eren could pretend, if Mikasa and Jean could look past it all. Because some parts of it, they feel earnest, truthful. But you can’t tell if you’re all suspended in some disbelief, clouded by your grief and trying to cling onto one of the things Marco loved most. His time on the show, with you all. 

“Honey when I’m above the trees, I SEE IT FOR WHAT IT IS.” Connie sings, screams. 

“Oh my god, Connie.” you deadpan. 

He’s singing happiness. Like the happiness you sang in your interview, when you forgave Eren. 

“THERE’LL BE HAPPINESS AFTER YOU. BUT THERE WAS HAPPINESS BECAUSE OF YOUUUU. BOTH OF THESE THINGS CAN BE TRUE, THERE IS HAPPINESS.” 

You clamp your hand flat against his mouth, trying not to snicker, as he continues to sing underneath your hand. 

“Are you insane? They’re all sleeping.” you whisper. 

“Not anymore we’re not.” Ymir responds, immediately smacking Connie against the head. 

“You’re going to give Eren a nightmare, Connie.” Historia mutters, dragging her feet into the kitchen as Ymir follows. 

“I’m already living it.” Eren grumbles, leaning against the counter as he splits a PopTart with Jean. 

Slowly but surely, every one of them shuffles down to the room, the deja vu of the situation hitting deep as each person follows suit. Sasha ambles down after a few minutes, finishing off the bowl of oatmeal that you and Connie were sharing while Reiner and Bertholdt murmur quietly over the coffee cup. Eren’s in hushed conversation with Jean and Mikasa, fixing himself breakfast, as Hange and Levi wander into the room, immediately thrown off by all of you in there. 

“Jesus.” Levi says, tone exasperated. 

“Good morning, Levi.” Mikasa says, gesturing to the water boiling on the kettle for his tea. He gives her a grateful smile, taking a seat in his corner as Hange talks to the group of you. Connie’s resorted to cracking all of your knuckles since his are all worn out as they go on. 

“Good morning kiddos!” 

“Don’t….do such a cheery voice, Hange.” Levi says, sighing. 

Hange’s smile falters, before dropping all together, and giving a thoughtful nod. Eren shuffles over to your side, taking the seat next to yours as he places a steaming bowl of ramen in front of you. 

“Oh. Thank you, Eren.” 

“Who?” 

You roll your eyes as Eren smiles, reaching forward to flick your cheek. 

“Bruce.” 

“Bruce, indeed.” he responds. 

Eren knows he’s in treacherous waters. That this line you’ve drawn, that you’re not you and he’s not himself, works almost too well for Eren’s purposes. That he can pretend, in earnest, that none of the things he said happened. That you and him are just as you always were, untouched in the bubble you were always in when you lived here. . 

“The funeral is tomorrow, as we all know. The Bodt’s have requested that we get there ten minutes before the service, so be on time tomorrow. Bertholdt, Sasha, I’m looking at both of you. ” 

You all nod, humming in response, as you start digging into the bowl, switching off with Connie and Sasha who are both trying to monopolize the only real food in a five feet radius. 

“That being said…” Hange says, swallowing hard. 

They’re pacing back and forth almost, teetering on their ankles, when they talk. And when they finish explaining - autopsy report in hand and the gut punch sticking in your chest - you all sit there, blankly staring. 

And wander in silence for the rest of the day. 

It was one thing that Marco died. And an entirely different one that he was killed. 

--

“Someone go get Eren, we only have thirty minutes.” Levi says, everyone lingering in the kitchen and the living room, in a sea of black. 

Almost everyone is here now - Erwin, Armin, even Eren’s parents - all lingering around as you wait to head to the funeral. You give a curt nod to Levi and march out to the pavement, pebbles crunching under your feet as you make your way to set. 

Eren’s been in there since last night, never retreating to the room to change into his pajamas before he settled down on the couch downstairs. Despite your protests, he refuses to sleep in the same room as you. Or let you sleep anywhere else besides Jean’s old bed in his room. 

You let the pebbles crunch under your feet, ignoring the sting as you pass the tandem bike, and slip onto the set. You can see new costumes designs printed against the walls, storyboards with Levi and Hange’s handwriting on them as you make your way to the back towards the piano.

When you see him, that rage, simmering warm in your stomach over the past twenty-four hours, the deep-seated pain of Marco dying alone, crying out for help, comes to a head when you see Eren. Because he’s sitting at the bench, with his book propped up against the stand, and a bottle of pills in his hands. 

You march up to where he’s standing, crossing your hands across your chest as you all but glare at him. 

“Oh. Hey, you look-” 

“Are you serious?” 

You watch his face scrunch up in confusion, that stupid look on his face aggravating you even more. His tie is unkempt, his hair is messy - he’s always so haphazard with these things. 

“You’re doing pills in here before Marco’s funeral. Are you fucking serious?” 

He looks down, at the bottle in his hand and stands up, and swallows hard when he looks at you. 

“Wait-” 

“No. No, for once, you’re going to listen to me. You-you’re sick. Marco’s dead. You can’t even give it to him to be fully there while we say goodbye? This means that much to you?” you spit, watching him shut his eyes. 

“Y/N.” 

“How could you do this? To him? To me?” 

He reaches forward, hands on your shoulders as he squeezes, and your eyes burn like acid. And every feeling, building up over the past few days, comes tumbling out. 

“Why did he have to leave us, Eren? We didn’t get enough time with him. He was only twenty-four, he didn't even get to grow old. He was supposed to die, years from now, so happy, so-so surrounded by people he loved.”

Eren forgoes the rational thought. He reaches forward fully, snaking his arms around you as he cradles your head into his frame, trying his best to stifle your cries into his shoulder. 

“And you. He would hate that you were doing this. I hate that you’re doing this. You-you don’t have to. There are other things that can make you happy or-or fix whatever it is that’s wrong.” 

“Y/N.” 

“What, Eren?” 

He pulls back, reaching for the pill bottle, and placing it in the palm of your hand. You read the label, immediately embarrassed and ashamed of your reaction. 

Eren Jaeger *Lexapro 5 mg  Take one tablet by mouth with the morning meal.

“Oh my god, Eren. I’m so sorry, I-” 

You pull back, sitting down on the bench, as you dig your fingers into your temples, trying to stop that pulsating feeling under your skin. The rage, the feeling, coursing through you so hard that you can’t even pick what you’re mad at. 

You’re breathing panic in and out, chest heaving, as Eren takes a seat next to you, leaning his elbows on his knees. And the feeling, it lands on feeling overwhelmingly embarrassed. Because Eren’s not doing drugs, he’s taking anti-anxiety pills. 

“Eren. I’m so sorry. That was so horrible of me, I thought it was-” 

“You thought it was like Connie.” he finishes

“Yeah. And I’m sorry for assuming, I just-” 

“I’m not mad at you. You were just trying to take care of me. I appreciate it.” 

You groan, embarrassment still coursing through you, as you lean your forehead straight against the piano, the smell of the ink on Eren’s book permeating your nose.  

“Do you remember that birthday party of mine I told you about? When I was ten, at my old house in New York? It was when we were in Australia.” 

You nod. 

“I remember feeling it. A paralyzing block in my chest, like I couldn’t move. And when I was able to move, it was only because it all came rushing to me, so panicked, so fast that I-I didn’t even register what happened.” 

He was barely even ten. You lift your hands to his shoulders, squeezing hard, as he continues. 

You’re here and you’ve got him. 

“I didn’t tell anyone. I thought something was wrong with me. I thought that people feel this way, that it’s normal, but I just felt too much of it. That I just can’t handle things the way normal people do.” 

You frown, reaching up to cup the side of his face. Your fingers brush over his dimples, soft under your fingers, as you talk. 

“Eren. There is nothing wrong with you. That’s just an anxiety attack.” you whisper. 

You’re not sure what it is about what you said but when you look up, there are soft tears flowing down Eren’s cheek, the voice coming out of his mouth so garbled you can barely understand what he’s saying. 

“Hey, Eren.” you whisper, 

“No. No, no. Stop.” 

Eren stands up, retreating to the other side of the piano, where he’s leaning over, his entire frame heaving up and down as you walk to his side. 

“Why are you-” 

“I don’t want you to help me. You shouldn’t be helping me.” he says, his voice shuddering. 

“Why not?” you ask, frowning. 

“I’ve been horrible to you. I don’t deserve your help. You-you should be cussing me out, so mad that you can’t stand me, that you want me to suffer and you’re not. And it’s agonizing for me that you aren’t.” 

You walk up behind him, wrapping your arms around him from the back, as you feel him sigh. You lean your cheek flat against his shoulder, squeezing as hard as you can as Eren continues to cry, fists clenched so tight on the piano that white. 

“You’re not you and I’m not me. We agreed on that.” you murmur. 

“Y/N. We can’t-” 

“Who?” 

He snickers, amidst his tears, as he turns around, and you slot your arms under his. You can feel his heart thumping under your ear, loud and fast, as you place your hand over the spot. The two of you stay that way for some time, Eren's tears falling onto you, as you try your best to remedy whatever it is that's burning inside of him.

“Just calm down and breathe. Falco says it always helps to talk about something else, when he feels like this.” 

He tenses at the mention of Falco, which you realize was a mistake. 

“Why were you in here?” you ask. 

“The Bodt’s asked me to write a song for the service.” 

The perfect distraction.

“Can you sing it for me?” you ask. 

He looks down, green eyes - full and round - as he nods, shuffling towards the piano bench as you take the seat next to him. You can see that the lyrics are scribbled on the book resting against the stand, the paper stiff from blotches of Eren’s tears. He starts playing the piano, his voice echoing on the walls of the set. 

And if I didn't know better I'd think you were talking to me now If I didn't know better I'd think you were still around What died didn't stay dead What died didn't stay dead You're alive, you're alive in my head What died didn't stay dead What died didn't stay dead You're alive, so alive

You rest your hands against the keys next to his, slowly following his pace, as he continues to sing, the hum of his voice filling the air. You can’t help but think it. That he’s beautiful. That this is your Eren, miles away from whoever he was when you saw him last. 

I should've asked you questions I should've asked you how to be Asked you to write it down for me Should've kept every grocery store receipt 'Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me

You can feel the tears flowing down your cheeks now, straight onto the piano keys and your hands, as you cry. 

And if I didn't know better I'd think you were singing to me now If I didn't know better I'd think you were still around I know better But I still feel you all around I know better But you're still around

When you and Eren get to the service, you walk hand in hand to the piano. And play the song together, for Marco and Marco only. 

--

You knock on the door, padding into the room to find Levi, hunched over his computer and leaning his hand on his cheek. You take the seat next to him, crossing your legs against the chair, as he looks over at you, expressionless. 

“I’m leaving tomorrow.” you say. 

Four days after the funeral and all of them have cleared out. Forced to go back to wherever they were before, to push down the beating pain and move forward. The grief, perhaps it did suspend reality for the rest of you. Leave you to pretend that nothing that happened was real, that you were still teenagers running around on this set together. 

That wasn’t how it was for Levi. Because in almost a week of being there, he had yet to talk to you with a straight face. 

“What are you working on, Levi?” you ask, cracking your knuckles. 

He turns the laptop towards you, one of the old hard drives from the earlier seasons pulled up on his computer. He plays the video, one of Jean sitting in a chair behind the green backdrop. 

“Okay, Jean. Tell me your goal for the end of the show.” Levi asks. 

The video, Jean must be barely sixteen, wearing one of the old costumes from season one. You remember now, that Hange was insistent on documenting everything - that you all were going to grow up so fast that they should keep videos. Obviously, Hange is too disorganized to do it themselves, so Levi bit the bullet and did it for them. 

“I don’t know. That’s so far away, Levi.” he groans, scrunching up his forehead. 

“Just answer, Jean. Where do you see yourself at the end of the show, when you’re in your twenties?” 

“With Mikasa.” he responds. 

You both smile as Levi switches to the next videos, the two of you watching all of them in silence. 

“I want to be myself. That’s all I want to be, not embarrassed or ashamed, I-I just want to be me.” Historia says, smiling into the camera. 

“I don’t know. That’s a weird question, Levi.” Mikasa grumbles, glaring at him. 

“You’re horrible, Mikasa. Jean said he wants to be with you.” Levi responds. 

“Well, that’s a given. Of course, I’m going to be with Jean.” she responds, giving one last eye roll to the camera. 

“Doing something important. That means something to people.” Connie responds. 

You swallow hard, as you see Eren, fifteen and so smiley, as he crawlsl onto the little stool.

“My turn?” Eren asks, giving Levi a bright smile. 

“Yes, kid. Your turn. Why else would you be sitting here?” 

“Okay. This is a secret so don’t tell anyone.” he says. 

“I’m not broadcasting to a news channel, Eren. Just hurry up, I still have to get through half of you.” 

Eren nods, reaching up to fix his hair, before he talks - his voice filled with that confident resolve, that one he always sported when he was fifteen.

“I want to get the Best Actor in a Lead role award. And on the same night, I want Y/N to become a triple threat. And then I want us to tell her that I told her so. Me and her, at the top.” he says, giving the camera a bright smile, before jumping off. 

The next one is of you, what you said being entirely lost to you in your memories. 

“What do I want to do when I'm in my twenties? Hm.” you echo. 

“Today would be nice.” Levi deadpans. 

“Well, I don’t know! That’s so broad. I want to be doing stuff like this. Acting, making music, To have people enjoy the work I make, and making it with my friends, like Eren and Mikasa and Armin. I want to be here, more than anything. It feels so right to me, that I get to do this. It’s special, it’s a privilege and I’m really thankful I get to do it.” 

“Note to anyone watching. This is one of our only kids with manners.” Levi says, setting the camera down to give you a hug. 

You bite down on your cheek, looking over at Levi, as he plays the last one. Of Marco. 

“Okay, Marco. What do you want to do when you’re in your twenties?” 

“Well. I know what I’m going to be doing.” Marco says, crossing his arms against his chest. 

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” 

“See. Spoiler alert, but Hange and Levi just killed me off this show. But we made a deal. That I get to be in each season, even if its a super minor role like a flashback or whatever. So in my twenties, I’ll be here. Surrounded by all my childhood best friends, making this show that’s always meant so much to us.” 

You swallow hard as Levi wraps his arms around you, the two of you watching Marco’s smiley face disappear from the screen. 

“So I’ll see you in four months? For season four?” 

“Damn right you will.” you respond. 

And for the first time in a week, Levi breaks a smile. 

“Good.”

--

next part linked here

an, again: SEASON FOUR ERA (this shit abt to be so awkward when they're not all sad/grieving )

taglist: @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha  @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly-y-blog @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @squirrelspoetry @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-mori @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegone @tee4str @ttokki2 @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimpp @gojojang @yookayyo @lordbugs @multiplefandomthings @iobeyfandoms @camilo-uwu @justanotherkpopstanlol @mel-star636 @fvckingeetar @ttalgi

[munsonsreputation]

A MOVIE I'VE SEEN BEFORE

steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: [2.9K]

warnings: warnings: no use of y/n, strangers to lovers, idiots in love, steve not knowing how to feel about truly being appreciated and loved, nightmare (stevie is ok), reassurance, tooth-rotting fluff, PLENTY OF KISSING AND TOUCHING BUT NO SMUT & ANYTHING EXPLICIT, basically a lotta love and little angst!

summary: this feeling is all sorts of new to steve harrington -- actually being appreciated and loved. he doesn't know how to take it, let alone know if it really is real or not. maybe you're too good to ever exist, just something he thought up in the middle of the night? who knows? just the ceilings he stares at as he thinks of you.

It felt really cliché — high school teenagers who finally got to be in the same room alone with their crush cliché.

But only you and Steve were, in fact, not teenagers, nor were you two in a room. It was more like the crowded space in the front of his car where you had to maneuver yourself into a position comfortable enough so your lips could lock with his.

Even with the shift gear bearing into your ribcage, you felt none of it. Not with his lips on yours and definitely not with his hands roaming your skin, gracing it with his tender touch.

Time slipped by too fast tonight and you wished it would go by slower, not wanting to go another second let alone day, without him near. Almost like a drug that you couldn’t stray far away from because he was that addicting. Not merely his touch, but just him.

Steve felt the same way, not knowing how he made it this far without you in his life. For a moment it felt you and him were just doomed to be strangers who ran into one another at a party then spent the rest of your lives wondering what would’ve happened if either of you made a move.

But regret wasn’t something you nor Steve were going to live with, so it was inescapable to find yourselves here. Sitting in his car, parked in your driveway, making out like lovesick idiots after your second date.

The first one was when you two ditched the party and went up to the roof of the house to talk over lukewarm punch then proceeded to make out for hours.

The second, or what is supposed to be your first official date was the movies. Watching a new release with your head snuggly leaning on his shoulder and his arm desperately drawing you in, needing you closer despite the barrier between the chairs.

Now with rain thudding against the windshield, wet kisses echoing in the vehicle, and the late night radio long forgotten — this was the closest you’d been to Steve all night but you both just wished for more.

Only the clap of thunder bouncing off the exterior of his car and the quick flickers of light you saw beneath your closed ones let you both know that it was slowly going to be over soon.

Too soon.

But maybe the moment wouldn’t need to be ruined so soon.

Shivers raced up your spine, throwing your head back away from his lips when they faltered to the spot right below your ear. Chest rising up and down, you fluttered open your eyes, met with the scene of Steve adoring every inch of your skin he could reach.

Your hands clutched his shoulders, squeezing as you felt his lips detach from your neck.

“D-Do you maybe wanna stay the night?”

A pang to Steve’s heart when your words hit his ears because he was totally going to be a fool if he passed up on the offer you laid out.

He’d spend all his nights with you if it meant just getting to be close enough to hear your heart beating because it meant you were really real, not just a dream that he conjured up and had the honor of hallucinating about.

Steve’s lips were a rosy pink-reddish hue from the pressure and time spent with them on you — a direct mirror of what yours looked like, but he was sure you looked like an actual angel that was sent from above and kissed him stupid.

His thumb and forefinger grasped lightly at your chin, setting your gaze straight at him where he buzzed softly, eyes coated with reassurance just to be certain.

“A-are you sure? You don’t—”

You nodded against his touch with a small smile appearing on your face, “I’m sure I really really want you to stay the night.”

God, you sounded so desperate, like you were longing and needing for him to say ‘yes’ when, in actuality Steve would never make you beg for him to stay.

Not now.

Not Ever.

Because he was the one who desperately needed you in order to know that what he was feeling was true. That, for once, someone wanted him the way that he wanted you. Reciprocation of the sweetest yet petrifying feelings that could disappear in the blink of an eye if he wasn’t paying attention.

But all of his attention was on you, never ceasing.

He couldn’t help but lean forward, pecking another sweet kiss upon your lips as his fingers shut off the ignition. Racing out of his door, he rounded towards the passenger side, opening it and leading you out with his hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the wet pavement and rainfall.

Laughter ensued with his arms making its best attempt to shelter you from the unforgiving pelts of rain while you searched your purse for your house keys. And while Steve hated the rain on most days, with you it seemed to be lovely, like a sort of privilege to be rained on with you.

His shoes were surely full of water and his socks were totally soaked, like the rest of you and him, but that didn’t matter. Not when you looked so cute applauding yourself for eventually unlocking the door and swiftly reaching your hand back to pull him in by the shirt.

“That was cute,” Steve chuckled, closing the door behind him and stopping beside you at the rack of shoes at your front door.

You giggled, reaching down to undo the straps of your sandals while he shagged his hair with a shake. Tiny water droplets glistened on the exposed skin of his arm even with the dimness in the corridor.

“I’m glad my cuteness makes up for the downpour…it seriously looks like we just came out of a hurricane.”

He grinned, peering up to see you combing your fingers through your hair as he began toeing off his shoes, not worried at all about the rain damage his Nike Cortez’s just endured. Your palms squeezed the ends, letting the excess drip onto the running rug beneath your bare feet — he would totally advise you later about the mold that could grow because of the humidity, but right now that wasn’t his concern. It was more so the soft chattering of your teeth and the way he saw your shoulder bounce unevenly from the cold.

He stepped closer, letting his warm hands run up and down your water beaded arms. “S’ok, we can get warmed up.”

You blushed, looking up at him through your rain-sodden lashes. He looked just as flushed with cherry red cheeks not realizing that his words came off with a sexual innuendo that you caught.

“Aren’t you such a flirt, Harrington?” You teased, letting your fingers walk up his torso, stopping at his heart, feeling the pulse right under your fingertips.

He swallowed, tongue running over his lips, “I, uhh, I didn’t mean—we don’t have to-”

“Hey,” your teasing voice now came to him in a soothing one, your fingers moving from his heart to over his cheekbones, pulling his eyes to yours.

“I was just teasing. We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. You know that I just want to be here with you, ok?”

He couldn’t believe you were real.

“I know…I want to, but maybe not tonight. I wanna take my time with you, show you how much I really like you…what you deserve.”

Turning down sex with the prettiest girl in front of him was not what he pictured himself ever doing. The old Steve would jump at the idea of hearing you say how much you wanted him. But he wanted you, desperately, and when he got the chance to have you, all of you, he wanted it to be special.

“I’d love that,” you hummed, eyes softening as you perched up on your tiptoes, letting your lips graze over his plump skin.

His lively hands left your arms, instead wrapping themselves across your back and hoisting you up as you yelped and giggled against his lips, “Wanna direct me to the shower?”

Your legs tightened around him, palms holding his face in your hands as you broke the kiss in between directions not wanting to waste a second away from him.

“Down the hall, the first door to the left is my bedroom. The door on the right wall is the bathroom.”

Precious cargo you were in his arms, doing his best not to stumble as you continued to kiss him, trailing from his mouth, to his cheeks, jaw, neck, right at the pulse point where you could practically hear his heart thudding for you.

The slight squeak of the door hinge opening prompted you to pull away, smothering your giggles against your shoulder, hearing him sputter out obscenities as he used his elbow to switch on the light in your bedroom.

With your bathroom door already open, he didn’t waste any more time heading straight there and placing you gently down on the empty space of your counters. His hands slapped at the light switch on the opposite wall, illuminating up the tight space and letting the both of you see each in the bloom.

He cradled your face in his hands, dropping his thumbs in up and down motions on the apple of your cheeks, observing and feeling the way your skin tugged up with the smile that coated your face.

“You’re so beautiful, baby.”

Baby.

His baby.

You.

He wanted to call you every sweet name there was in the universe but baby seemed to be the sweetest in the moment…probably ever.

“You’re the real sight for sore eyes, Stevie.”

He was melting right before you and he couldn’t pinpoint if it was the sickly sweet nickname or the sappy compliment. Either way, both were coming from you — it was you he was melting for, undoubtedly.

“I’m gonna kiss you again, okay?”

Steve wasn’t sure why he was giving you a warning, as if he had given you signals to the never ending kisses he gave you all night, but it felt right. Him giving you the heads up that he was going to kiss you right now and probably not stop until you told him to.

Your nose nuzzled against his, breathing fanning over his face, “Please…and please don’t stop.”

The kisses were slow, meticulous, and deep. Even when your hands began roaming each other’s body, pulling away to ask if it was alright to shred the fabrics away, you both met each other with a passion that you wanted to linger — taking all the time in the world.

New and bare skin to each other’s touch now being worshiped with each skim, clutch, and rub. All of the novelty between the both of you and craving to memorize each part of one another like the world depended on it.

With steam and desire filling up your bathroom, hot water and suds of soap ran down your bodies. It was difficult to feel an ounce of timidity knowing that you’d both let each other explore.

The slopes of his slippery shoulders adorned with tiny countless pecks.

The stretch of your spine lathered with the ample feel of his fingers running up and down.

The fuzz on his chest rubbing against your own with your lips molded together.

The nape of your neck decorated in tattooed kisses you wouldn’t bother to ever hide.

The tips of each of his fingers receiving a peck for all the touches he gave you.

It felt so good to be wanted like this.

To be needed like this.

For this to be enough.

For this to be forever.

Bedsheets rumpled over your nude figures, keeping the both of you warm from the bitter weather that still persisted outside your window. Both of damp heads squished under one pillow, but mostly you laying on his chest, feeling his heartbeat right below your ear.

Your soft legs tangled with his stubbly ones, wrapping over his thighs and hips, marrying you two close together like you couldn’t stray too far even when sharing the same bed.

His arms enveloped you to him, feeling your chest rising against his biceps and your back falling under his palm. The soft snores running from your parted mouth, giving him reasons to know that you were comfortable enough to fall fast asleep with him here with you.

Watching you sleep was a sight for sore eyes. He did it for a few minutes after you fell into slumber. In your sleep, your face didn’t mask any smiles from his jokes or worry from hearing his problems. It was just you in all of your glory — reduced and tranquil.

Eyelashes kissing the space under your eyes. Your eyebrows and the crease between them at ease. Cheeks full yet resting from the grins he knew you’d be giving him tomorrow. Lips still chapped from kissing, now given a break until daylight.

His heart couldn’t take the scene in front of him, as if it was too surreal to think someone like you could ever spend the night here with him like this.

So he settled for the plaster on your ceiling, the bumps and ridges that smeared the wall and kept the two of you protected. He contemplated his feelings as he stared at the beige, gray above him, wondering if the walls could talk, would they tell him all about you — not your secrets, though. He didn’t want to hear about them, not if they weren’t coming from you willingly.

He just wanted to know…know that this could last for eternity.

To get to hold you like this when you two fell asleep and still feel you in his arms by the time he woke up.

To get to call you cute all throughout the day and see the blush that would rush to your cheeks each time.

To get to lie here with you and have to bite his tongue in order to fight the urge to wake you up and tell you he was head over heels in love with you already.

To ruin the moment.

The thunder resounded louder.

The rain fell harder.

The ceilings above you two began to crumble, sinking down, down, down until — splash.

Now he was laying under chaos.

“Steve, I said I have to go now…”

His eyes snapped open, you in his passenger seat with a look of confusion plastered on your face. It took him a minute, blinking lazily and letting his eyes fall to the surroundings in order for it to hit him.

It was just a dream, one that he thought up on the spur of the moment, something that was too good to be true.

“Oh…umm, yeah! Sorry, I just—” He shook his head, clenching his eyes shut, annoying for behaving this way in front of you.

But you didn’t wait for him to gather his thoughts, just opening your own door and letting the sounds of the rain and thunder come to him. The wind blew a drizzle of rain inside his car, misting over his face and prompting him to open his eyes.

Your hair blew against the draft. Standing still in the doorway looking straight through him you whispered just loud enough for him to hear through the storm.

“Goodbye, Steve.”

You didn’t shut the door or walk to the front door of your place. Instead, you were gone with the wind, floating and being taken away from him, amounting to nothing but ash and dust.

“No! Come back! P-please—”

He ran out of his car, rain soaking through his clothes and filling his shoes as he frantically looked around. The trees swaying and sky lighting up with flashes with you nowhere to be found, like you didn’t even exist.

“Steve, baby…hey, c’mon. Wake up, please.”

Gasping with a sharp intake of fresh air, his eyes flew open. Met again with the plaster on your ceiling, but with you in the forefront of his sights. Your eyebrows were pinched together and lips tugged worryingly between your teeth, staring at him keenly.

“W-what happened?” Steve choked out, bringing a hand away from your back to cover his mouth as he continued to cough and groan.

You sat up fully, binding the covers across your chest, and dropping a soothing hand over his collarbones, “I don’t know. You were moving around in your sleep…maybe it was a bad dream?”

A really bad one.

He needed to be sure this wasn’t another one.

“You’re here right?” Steve confided in the dark.

He hoped he didn’t sound pathetic for asking, but he just needed to know.

Desperately.

You nodded assuringly, relaxing your shoulders, leaning down enough to hover over him, “I promise, I’m right here.”

“You’ll be here in the morning?” He asked again to be positive.

You smiled tenderly, settling your forehead against his, nodding and letting your lips skim his.

“I promise.”

A kiss to seal the deal and show him just how real you really were — one that he could recall but certainly wouldn’t let be the last.

Laying here long gone from the chaos and now just basking in the comfort of you beside him because it was real and you did exist.

It hit him, closing his eyes, and relaxing under your touch that it wasn’t ever going to be over.

That this was just the start of a movie he had seen before, but this time with an ending that would mark happily ever after.

a/n: i love "ceilings" by lizzy so much and im so happy i got to write this short little imagine! i had the idea in the middle of the night and shared it with my love @/translatemunson and you know i just had to deliver!!! hope you all loved it and know that you deserve all the love in the world, just like our baby girl stevie!!!

let me know what you think: reblogs, tags, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated!!!

leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!!

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa

[ghouljams]

So- I bet you didn’t expect to be playing sexed teacher over the last few days, but I thank you immensely.

Also- to add onto the virginity thing from your last post.

There are some people who care about their virginity and want to save themselves for their future spouse.

Im one of them-

My religion is mainly what that’s based in, but also, I’m afraid of being vulnerable in that way with a man. I have a history of trauma and any assurance is comforting.

THAT SAID-

The idea that random people care so much about virginity is stupid- SO stupid to me. I have a value, I uphold it. You have different values, you uphold those. As long as no one is getting hurt- WHO CARES WHAT YOU DO?

GO FORTH AND PROSPER- GET DICK OR PUSSY- HAVE FUN.

Also- I thought it was the norm (or at least expected) for afab people to shave? Now I’m hearing is pedophilic? I’m so confused-

OK!!!! First I love playing sex ed teacher, it's one of my special interests. I'm just gonna run down the list hear to keep myself from rambling:

I think "saving" yourself for your spouse is fine, it's a personal decision whether or not to have sex. My only problem would be the language that we have surrounding virginity and the way that this can color how we view sex. I think it's really beautiful that you want to have something just between you and your partner. I think the idea that you're "saving" yourself like a good that'll go bad if you take the packaging off can impact the way people think about virginity. You get what I'm say?

That said I think the weight that people place on virginity is absolutely bonkers. Have sex or don't it's nobody's business but your own. There's no magical transformation that happens once you have sex, you just have sex, you're still the same person afterwards. Society puts so many rules on afab bodies, and I find myself constantly asking "who give a shit?" I certainly don't

It's not the "norm" for vagina owners to shave, it's just talked about more prevalently, it's actually more common for people to go all natural. This is again where media has a huge part to play in our perceptions of our bodies, most people don't shave their bush but you wouldn't know that if you were only exposed to female bodies through porn/movies/media propaganda.

The pedophilic argument was one I saw ages ago that was a direct reactionary backlash against the people(men) who were demanding afab people shave their bush in order to be attractive. People(terfs) claimed that the act of shaving, or having a shaved pussy, was somehow harkening back to kids because they don't have pubic hair so anyone who prefers pussy without hair must be a pedophile. Which is just so fucking stupid. I shave for no reason other than I like the way it feels when I wear silk panties. 10/10 would recommend.

But anyway this is what I'm talking about (the shaving thing) when I say I think a lot of sexuality stuff we see today being blasted into our brains by reactionaries on tiktok/twitter/insta is a direct result of early 2000s culture. There's also a lot of "loudest voice from the smallest minority" that happens when we talk about sex. Certain groups will make what sounds like good points, and people will go "yeah that sounds right" without examining what motives this group has.

People talking about porn addictions are often trying to sell you some brand of "you're not doing a good enough job as a woman pleasing your man" or else spit some weird bullshit about "sex workers are bad and evil and they're corrupting our god fearing men." People who talk about how going down on men is demeaning are trying to draw a line in the sand to make you ashamed of your sexuality for one reason or another. People who talk about virginity in terms of "this is an important part of your body" are usually trying to make afab folks ashamed of their body(notice how virginity doesn't really apply to men).

My MO has always been: your body, your choice. Do whatever you want to yourself and your sexuality it's not my business and I do not care.

[unpretty]

I'd love to get my partner a nice rig or otherwise reusable vape, but have exactly zero idea of where to even start researching. (She goes thru vapes pretty quick and tends to get the obnoxious light up ones, but I did finally mention to her that the e-waste is part of why I'm sticking with cigs for now.) I've got some holiday money to probably(?) get a decent setup for her. Do you have any recommendations? Either for rigs themselves or where to start researching?

personally i use a pod vape and even the one i'm looking at upgrading to is still a pod mod. i know vape bros always want to reassure me that changing coils in a real mod setup isn't that hard, but you tell me i need a screwdriver at any point and you've lost me. right now i use a vaporesso xros mini that was stupid cheap, i'm planning to upgrade to a 'pod mod' system where it's still a convenient pod but i just have to swap out the coil in the middle. gimme a sec, i'll find some visual aids and put them after the cut so it doesn't look like i'm trying to convince anyone to start vaping.

this section after the cut is just for the readers with a pre-existing nicotine addiction!!

okay so here is my current mini and how you refill the pod:

they seem to be using some kind of filling implement but every bottle of juice i've ever bought has a nozzle that fits right in there. the hardest part is popping the black cap off because sometimes it doesn't want to come off and it's scary and seems like it will break. but after the first time it comes off pretty easily. people will talk about soaking the wick or whatever and make it sound scary but the first time i fill a pod i let it sit 15 minutes before i use it and have no problems. i usually refill multiple times a day and the pods usually last me two weeks before augh blaugh burnt coil taste. sometimes you get a bad pod that floods a lot (bubbly noises and juice in mouf ugh augh) but that hasn't happened to me in ages.

the pods just magnetically pop onto the battery easy-peasy. it has served me well and fits nicely between my fingers the way cigarettes used to. there is no button, it's draw activated and probably as close as you can get to a disposable in functionality. pod refills come in four packs and are pretty cheap, which is great if you can get them at a local shop and less great if you have to spend twice as much as the pods cost on shipping. i keep a couple pods filled with different flavors to switch between. i buy 1.2ohm pods because i don't know shit about ohms and i don't want to.

here are the two i am considering buying as an upgrade for when i'm sitting at my desk and don't care how big and stupid-looking my vape is:

they are both vaporesso and they are both pods, but you swap out just the little coil situation in the middle instead of the whole plastic pod. they are button press instead of draw activated which i dislike because i am a lazy baby. i'm sure once you get used to it a button draw is fine but i don't waaaaannnnnaaaa. i will probably get the one on the right because it's cheaper and has a bigger battery, but the one on the left is see-through and space colors 😭 they got my millennial-ass pegged, aesthetically.

i have never had a good experience with coastal clouds juice and it seems like it's on clearance all the time for a good reason. learn from my mistakes. cloud nurdz sour watermelon strawberry has been really good, and pod juice blue razz. i might get some mystery flavors while i'm buying more pods, i haven't decided yet.

[geeky-politics-46]

Kinktober 2023 - Day 1

NSFW Alphabet - Arthur Shelby

Smut - Explicit content - NSFW - 18+ only!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He's sweet but a bit oblivious. He will hold you sometimes or talk if you'd rather, but if you want anything special, you are probably gonna have to either ask specifically or get it yourself. He does always tell you how special you are and how much he cares for you after. Especially if he was rougher or had a really shit day, he'll spend time telling you how you make his life better and that he wouldn't know what to do without you. If he's rougher, he'll also check to make sure he didn't go too far either physically or verbally. He's always a little worried he will get too carried away, and he wants you to know that he would never ever hurt you. He generally pretty much down for the count, though now that you've made each other feel good, and you are okay with that.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves your lips. How soft they are and how perfect they look, but his favorite thing is all that you do with them. They allow you to talk him off a ledge when he's barely clinging to his sanity. They laugh at his stupid jokes and smile at him first thing in the morning. They whisper both loving and filthy things to him. They do the most sinful things when you kiss him and when you suck his cock. Basically he could lose himself completely in your lips and be totally happy about it.

You love his hands, even though and maybe even partly because he doesn't like them. He has told you that he feels like the devil controls his hands sometimes and that he has done such terrible things with them. You see hands that have worked hard to fight for and protect his country, his family, and everything else he has. You see hands that hold you tight whenever you are feeling low. You see hands that are gifted at drawing and hands that love to play with and hold Ada and John's kids. His long fingers that are so good at touching you exactly how you want and need. Where he sees the negatives of them, you see the positives.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

His two favorite places to cum are in your mouth and in your cunt. He will cum on your face, tits, or pussy if you prefer but he honestly feels like its a bit of a waste. His cum is supposed to be inside you. If your sucking him off he wants to watch you swallow. There's an intimacy about watching you swallow his load, and while it's still not as good as cumming in your cunt, knowing that you love him enough to swallow his cum makes him love you more. If he had to pick one spot, he wants every drop of his cum in your pussy. He loves to sit back on his heels and watch it start to leak out of you afterward. If his breeding kink is keyed up he will definitely push any that has leaked out back into you. Telling you he's gonna keep that pretty little cunt stuffed full until he gives you a baby.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Secretly, he's a big subby boy, but only for you. The first time you see this side of him is after a particularly frustrating day. He pretty much threw himself on the bed, trying not to give in to the demons in his mind telling him he just needed a little bump to make it better. He fought the craving, though, coming right home to you instead of finding some cocaine. You told him how proud you were of him, and he practically started purring. To test the waters, you then called him your good boy. Watching how his eyes clouded with lust at your praise. It led to you riding him as he was whimpering, saying he wanted to be a good boy just for you, only for you. Afterward, you ask him if maybe in the future, when he feels this way again, if he would want you to take care of him again. As he's falling asleep, he nods and whispers a sweet 'yes, please'. His old addictive habits will now get replaced by a new, much less destructive one.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Arthur is definitely experienced, but much of that experience was centered mostly on his own pleasure. That's not to say he didn't know how to please a woman, he just wasn't gonna swing for the fences if he was just with a whore. With you it's different. He wants to make your eyes roll back in your head every single time he touches you. It takes some fine tuning, but luckily you are happy to help guide him and tell him what feels good. He doesn't care how long it takes, he isn't going to stop until he makes you cum even if he already has.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

If he's feeling more rough, Arthur likes to fuck you from behind. His hands on your hips or your shoulders, with you on all fours. Occasionally gripping and pulling your hair as he pounds into you. If he's feeling subby he wants you riding him. That way you are in control. You decide how hard or soft, how fast or slow you fuck him. If he's a really good boy you let him finish by grabbing you tightly to his chest, planting his feet on the bed, and wildly thrusting up into you. If he's feeling more romantic or loving he wants to fuck you in some variation of missionary. He wants to be able to kiss you and look in your eyes as his cock fills you. He wants to feel your legs wrapped tight around him as you're close to cumming. He wants to whisper against your lips 'that's it love. Cum for me. Eh.'

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

If he's just the right amount of drunk, he can get goofy. Specifically, he will get really giggly, think school girl giggles, and it is downright adorable. He almost looks at you, lovesick, like he just can't believe his lucky stars that you are in bed with him. When he's sober, he can still be silly at times. Tickling you with his mustache to make you laugh or telling you little jokes. When he's really drunk, he's always deadly serious. That's usually also when he's roughest during sex. Lots of slurred dirty talk and asks to tell him who you belong to.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

It's usually a bit wild down there. When he's struggling mentally, all that kind of stuff goes untended to. Then, when he starts feeling better, he will usually trim and clean up a bit extra for you. As long as he's feeling normal, he'll keep himself put together and more trimmed. He partly likes it because he thinks it makes his dick look a little bit bigger, and it's a little ego boost. He prefers you to be trimmed, but frankly, as long as you're willing to have sex with him, he isn't gonna complain.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Sex with Arthur is actually rather intimate, even when he's rough and more animalistic. He is just more intense. All his emotions tend to run high, both the good ones and the bad ones. So even if he's not feeling romantic per-say, it is intimate. He will tell you how much he wants and needs you every time you have sex. Sometimes, he feels like he can't really breathe properly when you aren't around. How you make him a better man. When he's feeling romantic, all of his praise is only amplified. He will tell you he loves you over and over. His forehead will be pressed to yours, and afterwards, he will hang onto you like his life depends on it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He used to jerk off much more oftem than he does now. He used it as a form of stress relief when he got upset or overwhelmed. It was a healthier way of dealing with his emotions than by drinking, snorting coke, or fighting. Now if he jerks off its mainly because he can't stop thinking about you and you aren't around for him to fuck. Occasionally you will touch yourselves together mainly as a form of foreplay or sometimes as your 2nd round. Telling each other what you fantasize about. It started after you walked in on him in the tub one day. Instead of leaving, you came to sit next to the tub and told Arthur to keep going. He nearly came on the spot.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Definitely has a praise kink. Both giving and receiving praise. He loves telling you exactly how much he loves you, how sexy you are, and how good you are for him. He also adores when you tell him how much you love him and even more when you tell him he's your good boy. He basically melts when you tell him all sorts of sweet things and shower affection on him.

He also has a bit of a breeding kink and a housewife kink. He sees you interact with John's kids, how good you are with them and how much they love you, and he can hardly wait to get you home to try and give you a little one of your own. He would spend all night filling you up over and over if you ask. He knows you would look absolutely incredible pregnant, and he would dote on your every need. His dream paradise would be a little house with you waiting for him to get home, looking perfect making dinner, with a whole slew of kids running around. It would be so normal, and that's what he ultimately wants. He's just not sure he's deserving of it.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Arthur has a few favorite locations, but ultimately, if he wants you, he will find somewhere to have you. Wherever you are. The first place he loves to have sex with you is in your own shared bed. You are both relaxed and have all the time in the world to make each other feel good. Arthur really lets his guard down here, and it is truly one of your favorite things in the world.

His other favorite place is in his office. With you on his desk, either bent over it with him behind you or sitting on his desk with your legs around his waist, or with you riding him in his chair. You have definitely broken at least one chair this way, and Arthur was proud as punch about it. Laughing like an idiot when Tommy and John busted in the door after hearing the loud crash from his office, worried something had happened. Their guns immediately lower when they find you both on the floor, you on top of and straddling Arthur. Your face buried in Arthur's chest in embarrassment. John was practically on the floor himself with how hard he was laughing. Even Tommy gave himself a side stitch giggling.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

His primary motivation is you. Especially when you are doing normal everyday things, like helping with the books or even just hanging out with his family. It's like you don't know how stunning you are and just how many guys you effortlessly make fall all over themselves. Even Tommy was taken by you at first until Arthur practically threw a tantrum, saying that he saw you first. The fact that you seemed to only have eyes for him just put him even more over the moon in love. Seeing you just going about your normal day when you start doing something like innocently biting your finger or swaying your hips side to side immediately makes him want to take you to bed.

He also uses sex with you to help escape all the bad parts of his life and his mind. He knows when he's in bed with you, behind the safety of the locked door, that he's safe and loved. He can seek his solace in your body, knowing it can cure all that ails him. Knowing that you will take care of him exactly as he needs you to.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

First of all, there is not a chance in hell this man would ever even consider sharing you with anyone else. If another man so much as smiles at you for too long, Arthur will have steam coming from his ears. The thought of another man ever kissing or fucking you makes him pretty much homicidal.

Second is really letting himself explore any hard-core BDSM fantasies he has. The idea of some impact play interests him, but he doesn't dare go beyond a few hard spanks on your ass. He accidentally beat a boy to death, and he is secretly afraid that if he let himself start to really let go, he could lose control again. That's a risk he will never take with you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

At the beginning of your relationship, he definitely prefers receiving to giving. He will never get tired of seeing you on your knees and telling you you're such a good girl for sucking his cock like a whore. His perfect little whore. However after he really falls for you he discovers he really loves going down on you too. Especially after you tell him how good his mustache feels teasing your cunt. Eventually one of his favorite things to do is have you ride his face. He's gotten addicted to your taste and adores how you shamelessly grind down against his mouth. Using his face to bring yourself pleasure. After a while he finds that it's actually a really good way for him to calm down when he's feeling overwhelmed.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He's usually faster and rough. Patience is not his strong suit, and he just gets so excited to be with you that he can't slow himself down. This is obviously beneficial during quickies, but when he actually gets the opportunity to take his time with you in bed, he does try to slow down. To take his time and give you the absolute most pleasure he can. He wants to show you how much he loves you and really make slow, sensual, passionate love to you. Once he makes you cum he feels better about letting himself go faster and frankly sex with Arthur wouldn't be the same if he didn't end up pounding you silly at least for a few minutes each session.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Yes. Always, yes. Quickies are very much his thing. Especially at his desk in his office. Especially if he's having a rough day. It's a sure-fire way to put him in a better mood. Occasionally, the others in the betting shop will beg for you to go into his office and "distract him" if he's been on a real tear. Although John and Tommy both have a bad habit of walking in on the two of you. You're pretty sure they do it on purpose now. It still has never discouraged Arthur from even a single quickie on his desk, or I'm his chair.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He's risky about some things but not others. He will fuck you basically anywhere he wants with no thought to who might walk in or overhear you. Any position you want and he's generally pretty willing to try new stuff if you ask, even though he himself is a pretty simple man. What he won't take risks with is your safety. If there's a chance you could get hurt it isn't happening. Whether that means making you stay home from a party when business might go wrong, or not indulging in some of his darker fantasies because he would never forgive himself if he actually hurt you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Normally, he's good for one full round. Maybe two if he's feeling really good, but he's not a spring chicken. He's not gonna be going all night, but he will make sure to get you there. He will make you cum in one way or another. His preference being he gets you to cum at least once before or at the same time he does. He will also make sure to try and give you some extra attention if he knows he isn't feeling top of his game. Making you ride his face before he fucks you. He knows how hard that makes you cum and takes the pressure off of him if he doesn't last longer later.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Obviously, toys weren't a big thing then. In fact vibrators were only just being invented, and that was as a treatment for hysteria. If toys had been around, though, I do feel like Arthur is the kind of guy who wouldn't be into using them or a fan of them at all, really. He is a big ball of insecurity, and I think he would see a sex toy more as a threat than as an ally. He would feel like it was trying to replace him. If you had one, he would not want you to bring it into your bedroom time together and would probably resent it even being used for your solo time. Perhaps you could talk him into using it on you at some point, but it will not be a regular occurrence, and it would take a lot of begging. He may also "accidentally" break it at least a couple of times if he finds it.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

This man barely has any self-restraint on a good day. He may want to tease you. To be all playful and get you all hot and bothered and needy for him, but he usually just ends up getting himself riled up in the process. You know better than to try to tease him either. Not unless you want to have him on top of you in less than five minutes, and your clothes may not make it out in one piece. You now carry several safety pins in your purse just in case he gets too carried away during an office quickie if you even wear a top with a lower neckline. Knowing so much as bending over his shoulder is sometimes enough to distract him.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He groans and growls a lot. In general, the dirty talk starts during foreplay and by the end, he's just making incoherent noises. His dirty talk helps get both of you going, and he'll often start before he even gets you home. It will start with just telling you how pretty you are or how good you are to him. By the time you're walking home, he's whispering how he's getting hard already and how he's gonna have you naked before you even get to the bed. Once you are through the door, the real filth starts. Things like 'gonna fuck that pretty little cunt so good' and at the slightest moan he'll start verbally teasing you. "Oh yeah, love. You like the sound of that, eh? Want my cock nice and deep in you, don't ya?' By the time you are fucking his sentences are significantly shorter, 'fuckin' hell sweetheart. So fuckin' tight.'

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He likes to role-play that you are a new barmaid hired to work at The Garrison or a dancer at the Eden Club, and you have to ingratiate yourself to him, you new boss, however he decides. This usually leads to you performing some sort of strip tease for him before he has you get on your knees. Sometimes, he wants to watch you touch yourself for him while thinking about him. If you can make yourself cum in the allotted amount of time then maybe you can keep your job. It always ends with him fucking you and saying that if you want to stay on good terms as his employee you have to let him use you however and whenever he wants. It's a role-play that you both quite enjoy.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

It's fairly average. His length is a little bit over average, but his girth is normal. He feels so good that, frankly, you wouldn't have him any other way. He knows how to use what he has well, and it suits the rest of his body perfectly. He's got a few freckles on his shaft that match the ones peppered across his cheeks and shoulders. His tip flushes a dark pink when he's hard with a nice prominent ridge. He's uncircumcised. He has one nice thick vein that runs along the underside of his cock. You love to trace it with your tongue when you blow him and when he's close you can actually feel it throb.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

As mentioned above, he's not exactly a spring chicken anymore, but that doesn't stop him from wanting you all the time. If it were up to him, he would have you in some way at least once every day. Even when he's trying to behave himself, you just do all these things that get his blood pumping and his heart racing. You make him feel like a teenager again. He constantly wants his hands on you in some way, shape, or form. Or he's pulling you into his lap and nuzzling into your shoulder. By default, most of the time, the family doesn't even bother giving you an actual chair to sit in unless it's at dinner. They know Arthur will just pull you out of it anyway to seat you in his lap. What he feels is your perfect place to be.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He's generally pretty relaxed after sex and can drift off much more easily than a normal night. He's still a bit of a restless sleeper, though. You chalk that up to nightmares and memories of the war. He also occasionally talks in his sleep. According to Aunt Polly, Tommy used to talk in his sleep, too. Usually, it's mumbled, somewhat incoherent things, but you have had a couple of good long laughs at some of the things he's said. He has repeatedly asked you if you 'wanna fuck?' several times in his sleep. Including once when he followed it up with 'but I've been good today'. You teased him the next several days about whether he was gonna be good today and earn his fuck. He fucking loved it.

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[cator99]

I was inquiring about a cell phone store's services the other day and the worker thought I was a male minor. People are so nice to me because they think I'm vulnerable. Told her I was 28 and she congratulated me on my youthfulness ok thanks but I ultimately decided to look around for a used phone before potentially getting it set up there and then a well-known crackhead who lives down the alley from me showed up and started acting silly in the corner so I started chatting her up I really don't mind crackheads when they're women I've run into her before at night and she scared the hell out of me emerging from the dark with her giant pitbulls but nah she's chill doesnt hurt anyone just acts a little tweakish. I can sympathize. It's the meth heads that u dont fw across the board cant even hold a conversation with them anymore with the shit they're making it out of nowadays. Saw her yesterday too out walking her dogs again and said hi while i was skinning my deer in the shed and she was happy to see me– out of all the crack heads on the block she's the chillest even if she walks around with leashed up WMDs she doesnt hurt anybody. The ones across from her on the other hand are so wack even she doesn't fw them not because of the drugs but because they're stupid assholes... they're the kind that will steal your kids bike ykwim. Last month their crackshack in the backyard went up in flames and took part of the neighbours shed with it, shit was insane... they put up a bunch of halloween decorations on their front porch all very cute yknow might draw unsuspecting kids in and then right on the door, a huge sign that says "FUCK OFF!". Which is kind of funny but if you're going to be a community nuisance you'd think the least you could do is put a bowl of candy outside for the kids that are drawn to your house by the halloween decor but I guess it's for the best... I wouldn't want candy from them either. Also the people they had living in their mini-trailer (now burnt down) decided to move into the shed on the other side of them where the house is for sale... people found out pretty fast once they had a bunch of extension cords heading straight out of the crack house right out into the shed lmao. the guy on the other end of the alley has people living in his shed too..... and you'd think they might all hang out, as fellow shed-dwellers, but from what I understand, they seem to be opposing factions... with the ones on the other end staying with a guy who is well-known as having recovered from addiction, now living a productive healthy life, working, doesnt associate with any users, so I'm assuming the people he lets live in his shed are similar, just trying to get themselves put together despite their circumstances. I've seen them and they seem clean, well-dressed, no signs of tweaking, bringing warm drinks and food into the shed, which is in noticeably shittier condition compared to the one the crackheads are squatting in, but at least no one can complain to the cops about it since they're there with permission.......

[gingerlegacy07]

The Sounds You Make

Warnings: a little bit of low self-esteem and mirror sex (also, the story is not fully canon), Sylus POV It can also be read on Ao3 and Wattpad

It was the fire in her eyes when our gazes met for the first time that caught my attention. Of course, I knew she carried an Aether core, but the girl had foolishly decided to go on her own to the N109 zone leading to her being kidnapped and it made me question her intelligence.     So imagine my surprise when despite her weakness, her fiery eyes held a promise. A promise that she could do better.  It led to me taking her in like a stray cat instead of getting the Aether core and be done with it. 

While spending more time with her, I was glad to see I was proven right; Miss hunter had a fighting spirit to be admired.    Even when she got defeated or wounded, she'd train harder and proved the nay-sayers wrong.  She kept proving herself to not just me and whoever doubted her, but to herself most importantly. 

I would lie if I said I didn't notice her beauty, but beauty hardly mattered when the personality wasn't equally interesting.     I felt myself falling for her quick thinking and her big heart. Despite being a hunter, she valued living creatures and didn't take everything at face value.     Even when she was clearly scared, she hid it beneath sarcasm and jokes. She never fooled me with it, but she fooled her enemies. 

There was a bond forming between us that went beyond physical attraction and beyond love. It was something deeper that we had yet to explore, but as long as it was with her, I was willing to do so.    Hence why it didn't take long for us to start going everywhere together. We stayed over at each other's place more and more and from there it was inevitable for us to begin dating.     Our hearts burned with the same amount of passion and our sex life was thriving because of it.  I learned that I loved making her feel good, to draw out physical reactions whenever I pleasured her. 

But nothing could compare to the sounds that escaped her mouth whenever she came on my tongue, my fingers or my cock.     I became addicted to her moans and gasps and every time we landed naked in each other's arms I did all I could to draw them out of her.    Lately though, I've been noticing some of that fire of hers being doused whenever we got intimate. So, naturally I made her talk to me about it and she told me the most outrageous thing. 

"I just feel like I'm not enough for you." She had whispered the words, clearly ashamed of her insecurity, but I heard them clearly and received them like a slap to my face.     "Who told you that? Give me a name and I'll make sure they won't be a problem again."  She waved me off. "No one. It's just my stupid brain getting to me."    I took her hand in mine and placed a kiss on it, urging her to look at me. Once we locked eyes, she continued.  "You're the leader of Onychinus. You've been able to bring structure and some rules to a whole area that was completely lawless before your arrival. You've got wealth beyond compare and you can have anything you want." I didn't interrupt her, even though she was missing the part of how long it took me to make the N109 zone the way it is today or how I wasn't born the powerful leader I am now.     "And I'm just a simple hunter with no memory before my seventh birthday who lost the only family she ever had in an explosion caused by some organization I still haven't discovered." 

"Where is all of this coming from?" I couldn't keep the irritation out of my voice. Didn't she see what she did to me?     She simply shrugged. "I don't know. I think it's always been on my mind, but only now that our relationship has become more serious do these doubts really eat at me." 

"Well then, it's time to remedy that." I grabbed her arm and pulled her up and out of the bar we'd been sitting at.    There were some curious glances our way when she squeaked in surprise, but one look from me and they were back to minding their own business.     "What are you doing? Where are you taking me so suddenly?" She was trying to pull away from my grip, but I wouldn't let her. 

"I'll make you see that you are more than enough for me."    I pulled her over to my motorcycle and made sure we both got our helmets on before driving off to my nearest safe house.     As we got there I didn't waste any time to get our helmets off again and taking her into my arms bridal style, carrying her all the way to the bedroom which consisted of a huge bed with silken sheets, a wardrobe, a seating area with a sofa and a giant mirror. 

"Sylus, what's gotten into you?" She asked in awe as she looked around the room.     "I'll make you see what you do to me." I bend down to whisper her name into her ear and her little shiver in response didn't escape my attention. Nor did the goosebumps on her arms.     I captured her lips in a fiery kiss and while she still must've been confused, she melted into it and didn't hesitate to kiss me back.     I made quick work of our clothing, unzipping her dress and pushing the straps off of her shoulders to let it fall to the floor before tossing my shirt to join it there and unzipping my pants. 

"S-Sylus, hmm," she moaned when I sucked on a spot just below her ear.     "You want me to stop?" I pulled back to look into her eyes. No matter how frustrated I was at her not seeing her self-worth, I would never force herself to do something she didn't want to.     Her eyes met mine and she shook her head. "No. I just didn't expect this, that's all. Please continue."     I smirked and bend down to kiss her again, my fingers finding the clasp of her bra and undoing it to free her breasts. I swallowed her sigh of pleasure and then her sounds of protest when I ripped her panties in half, too impatient to properly pull them off.     "I'll buy you new ones," I muttered against her lips. Then I proceeded to kick off my own pants, happy that I decided to go commando today of all days. 

I nearly lost my composure when her hand wrapped around my cock and started pumping. It didn't take long for it to become fully erect.    "You like that baby?" She asked, knowing fully well I did. My answering groan was enough to confirm it.     "Two can play that game kitten." I kept my eyes on her when my fingers found her cunt, dragging through her folds and rubbing over the sensitive flesh of her clit. "Already so wet."     Her mouth went slack and her eyes closed as a soft moan escaped her. It heightened my pleasure immensely and my cock twitched in her hand. 

"Feel that?" I whispered, "that's because of the sounds you were making just now."     Her eyes met mine in shock and she bit her lip to suppress another moan when my fingers slid into her. I frowned. "Now that's not nice."     I used the pad of my thumb to rub over her clit more harshly while my middle and index finger plunged into her. She couldn't hold back anymore and the sounds I wanted to hear left her lips.     My cock throbbed in answering and I felt her hand tighten its grip on me, making me grunt. She was teasing me now. That wouldn't do. 

I turned us around to face the mirror, her back pressed against my chest. "Look at us," my lips were touching her ear, "look how my fingers are plunging into your wetness."    She looked down in time to see my fingers disappear into her heat and moaned needily. "Sylus, I need you inside of me." "But I already am, aren't I?" I teased, my fingers rubbing over that place inside her that made her breath hitch.     "I- ah! Your cock! I need your cock inside of me." She must've been pretty desperate for it, because she'd never say that otherwise. I bet I could even make her beg for it if I wanted to, but one look at her face was enough to hold me back.     Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were looking everywhere but her reflection. It was clear she was still battling some insecurities. 

I'd make sure to drive those away. 

In one swift move I replaced my fingers with my cock and took a moment to enjoy the heat of her and to let her adjust to my size.     "Hm, yes, just as I remember," I commented, turning her towards me and kissing her with all the love I had for her. She should know how good she made me feel.  Once I pulled away, I faced the mirror again. 

"Look at yourself kitten, look at me and see how much we're enjoying each other. How good you're making me feel." I whispered into her ear, her little shiver driving me to bite softly into her earlobe, making her gasp.     My cock throbbed in answer to her soft moans when she finally allowed herself to look in the mirror.     "Your skin is flushed down to your collarbones," I let my hands trace them before lowering them to cup her breasts. "Your nipples are begging me to stimulate them," My thumbs flicked against the sensitive nubs and I nearly moaned myself when she gasped.     I continued down to her stomach, where I let my hands rest, palms flat against her. My eyes caught hers in the reflection and the corner of my mouth lifted up when I saw the anticipation. 

"What is it sweetie? Do you want me to continue?" Her walls clenched around me and I suppressed a groan, but she had seen the shift in my expression. She repeated it, this time a little more intentional and I breathed heavily into her ear. "You want it that much? I will need a verbal response then kitten."     My fingers went down to her clit, but I wouldn't touch it unless I heard her answer. I sure as hell would see to it we both had a good time. 

"S-Sylus, I- " she stuttered and it was clear she was being too proud and stubborn for her own good, but we both knew I would stop unless she'd answer me.     "Y-yes, I want you." She finally relented, pushing back against me and clenching around my cock again.    "Hmm, good girl." I kept one arm around her waist while the other finally arrived at the place she most wanted it. I used my fingers to rub her as I began thrusting into her. 

Neither of us were particularly loud, but the soft sighs and high pitched sounds leaving her lips were more than enough to guide me in making her feel good.     I kept an eye on her flushed face in the mirror and grabbed her chin when I noticed she wasn't paying attention.     "Pay attention kitten, can you see my flushed cheeks? That's all because of you, hng." I grunted when a particular thrust made her clench around me like a vice. 

My cheeks were indeed flustered and I didn't care. It took effort to keep us both standing and fuck her deep and slow like I was doing now, so it wasn't strange my cheeks and ears were flushed.     Besides, she's my girl. My kitten and I loved everything about her. As the leader of Onychinus I've mastered my expressions and bodily reactions, but whenever I'm with her, there's no need to hide whenever she makes me flustered.     She's the only one I can trust enough to let my guard down. Every little breath she took, every sound -even the smallest little gasp- that left her lips when I had her in my arms like this turned me on like nothing else ever would. 

Her cheeks flushed even more and I could tell that while she was still a bit embarrassed, she was also pleased with the power she had over me.     "Now, would you like me to take you hard or shall I resume making love to you slow and deep like this?" I made sure to thrust into her to accentuate the words slow and deep, grunting them into her ear which earned me one of her delicious moans.     "Ah! Sylus, please, take me harder." She wasn't quiet in her plea and it told me everything I needed to know. She wanted me and she wanted it hard. 

I didn't answer her, but I bend her forward until her forearms and hands were pushed against the mirror in front of us.     I waited until I met her gaze in the reflection and then started to drive into her from behind fast and hard, just like she wanted.     We both moaned loudly, her walls sucking me in like I belonged there and the slick warmth was enough to drive me crazy with lust.     I bit into her neck just hard enough for her to feel it and she cried out in pleasure, trying to grab onto me with one of her hands. I quickly took it and put it back on the mirror, my own hand trapping it there as I kept fucking her. 

"Ah-ah kitten. I'm in control now." I nipped her ear before going back to her neck and kissing all the marks I had already left there. "Now, let me hear you scream."    My other hand found her clit again and I rubbed it just the way I knew she liked it. The effect was nearly instant; her legs trembled as her breathing picked up.     "Oh Sylus, yes! Don't stop!" Her moans were like music to my ears and I groaned deeply as my thrusts became a bit more erratic, my climax approaching fast.

I could feel her orgasm crash over her and there it was; the sound I craved to hear the most whenever we made love.    A high pitched sound left her lips, drawn out as her orgasm washed all coherent thoughts from her mind. I reveled in it as I followed her over the edge, burying myself into her warmth and spilling my seed into her. 

My kitten had actually mewled. 

It took awhile before she stopped trembling and I made use of that time to catch my breath. I nuzzled into her neck and placed a small kiss on the skin there.     Eventually I pulled out of her slowly, loving the way she shuddered at the empty feeling it left her with.     "We should take a shower sweetie." I softly told her, knowing full well she wouldn't be able to walk herself. My arms had moved around her waist again to hold her up even when she was leaning heavily against the fogged up glass of the mirror. 

"No shower," she whined, "I want to cuddle with you in bed."    I let out a sigh. A shower would've been much more sanitary, but how could I say no to my precious kitten?     "Let me carry you to the bathroom first to at least clean the both of us up for a bit. I promise we don't have to shower and we'll be done quickly enough." I added that last part when I could already see how she wanted to protest.     Cute. "I hate it when you're right." She mumbled as she let me lift her up into my arms. I smiled at her words. "We both know that's a lie, kitten."     She hmphed, but wrapped her arms around my neck tightly and didn't say anything else.

Once I made sure we were both cleaned up and gave her some privacy to make use of the toilet, I took her into my arms again and carried her over to the bed, putting her down on it before joining her.     She clung to me like a sleepy kitten, making me chuckle.  "My my, you truly are like a cat." I teased, which earned me a pinch to my side.     "And you're really like a crow." She said, but we both knew that was a lame response. I chuckled. "I was only teasing sweetie. How are you feeling? Do you finally believe me when I say I only accept you by my side?" 

Her cheeks turned bright red and she averted her eyes for a moment. I could see her mind processing my words.     Then she looked me into my eyes with the same fierceness that had attracted me to her in the first place. "You made your point quite clear."    I chuckled. "Good. Never doubt yourself kitten."  I pulled her in for a kiss, my lips staying still on hers for a few moments before she parted them, our tongues meeting as the kiss deepened.     Her soft lips and expert tongue made me never want to stop kissing her. Sadly oxygen would eventually be needed.    We broke apart, but it didn't deter me to keep leaving soft kisses on her lips, cheeks and forehead. She giggled and it was yet another sound of hers that had an effect on me.

She was the whole reason I had softened up significantly ever since our paths crossed. Thankfully none of my enemies knew that and I wasn't planning on letting them -or anyone else for that matter- ever find out. 

After a final lingering kiss on her lips I breathed a sigh. "Let's get some sleep now."     She nodded and cuddled into me, laying her head on my chest. "I love you Sylus." It wasn't the first time we've exchanged those words, but I had to admit every time I heard her say it, something warm flooded my heart.     "Thank you for loving me too." She placed a kiss on my chest and I felt her breathing grow steady as sleep was finally catching up on her.     I had my arms around her, one hand on her head as my fingers carded through her hair soothingly. 

I made sure she was just barely awake before placing a kiss on the top of her head and whispering into her ear. "Ditto."

[rosypenguins]

would you like to dump all your thoughts, headcanons, rambles, and yaps about dom? (i luv letting people yap and i love dom)

Y-yeah I’d like that.

Most of my headcanons and rambles have already been drafted into future posts, so I’m just gonna yap about them for a lil bit lol.

I genuinely did not expect to get as attached to these twins as I did. Hell, I remember when their beta designs dropped, I thought they looked lame. But then the spin-off came out and I was like ‘oh, they’re alright actually’ and then I kept rewatching the episode because I’m cripplingly addicted to this show and slowly I just grew more and more fond of them. Dom specifically. (Faye’s amazing too but Dom hits different.)

And then the second episode came out, and I started thinking more and more about them, which spiraled into a million headcanons and a whole damn backstory and my gallery looking like this-

And I basically did to them what I did to Drew: I took all the pieces canon gave me and filled in the rest with my imagination to make two little scrimblos I can more easily write about and analyze. (Normal things hot girls do.✨)

And I find it funny how Dom has managed to capture my attention just as much as Drew has, when he’s probably a character Drew would bully like RELENTLESSLY. (I have two scenarios of this: one being Drew calling Dom’s sweater stupid and childish while Dom’s like “At least mines not all plain and basic!” and then they argue for like two minutes OR Drew actually gets to something Dom’s insecure about or says something like “Oh my God, could you shut up for once in your life? No one fucking cares what you have to say. You’re annoying and if you spent the rest of life with your mouth glued shut I doubt anyone would care. It’d be better off for everyone.” And Dom actually goes silent and then he’s like REALLY hesitant about saying anything for two weeks- wait I made myself sad writing that FUCK.)

ANYWAYS I genuinely don’t really know WHY I’m so attached to Dom right now. He’s literally just a carrot, with about 5 minutes of screen time. Half of his lines are about squirrels and birds, and yet I’d trade my DAMN SOUL for him. HE’S SO FUCKING CUTE. (Maybe it’s because of the lack of backstory and relative mystery. I love me a character I gotta piece together like a puzzle. Or maybe it’s his voice Ireallylikehisvoice-)

But yeah, I’m obsessed with him and it makes me really sad how I’ve barely been able to find any content of him. Like there’s literally no fanfiction, and barely any art. Which I guess makes sense, they’re supporting characters with not much to them, but still, it makes me sad. (BUT IM WORKING TO CHANGE THAT WITH MY FANFIC WIPS AND DRAWING DRAFTS!)

And it sucks too, because I doubt they’re gonna play much of a role in S2. They’re probably gonna fade into obscurity, and I’ll never be able to learn about their backstories or potential mental issues. (Which I ALSO HAVE A POST ABOUT-)

I think going forward, I’m gonna try and post a little more about Dom and Faye, at least for now. I’m still Drew blog obviously, Drew’s still my personality unfortunately, but I really want to try and use my blog to sort of promote them, I guess? I want to share what I see in them, and I want to feed the Dom and Faye fans that are just as starved as me.

Anyways TLDR: I just like Dom a lot. He deserves the world. (I say as I discreetly shove him into the blender of suffering turn it onto high.)

[oflgtfol]

MarvelDC anon x5 sorry im back again I just wanted to say I agree 100% with everything you say and don’t rly have anything to add there that isnt just recycling your points. It’s genuinely fucking crazy how the entire point of the superhero in 90% of cases is that they are vigilantes who operate outside of the legal system and yet so many of them are given plot lines about how the cops or the military are Awesome. Or like will show them buddy buddy with cops or the government. LIKE STOP ITTTT. STOP ITTTTT. And most of the time too it’s for characters where them being hyper connected with the government etc makes their overall story Worse. Ill use flash as an example bc You Know that guy but I LOVE flash I love him as a disabled character struggling w addiction issues for personal reasons BUT HIM LOSING HIS LEGS LIKE SHOOTING PEOPLE IN THE SWANA REGION AND THEN BECOMING A GOVERNMENT GUY IS SO FUCKING ASSSSSSS IT MAKES HIM WORSE AS A CHARACTER AND A PERSON IN A WAY THAT ISNT INTERESTING BECAUSE THEY NEVER SAY ANYTHING INTERESTING ABOUT IT!!!!! Like why the fuck did Flash even become disabled in regard to Going To Commit Imperialism For The U. S. A like NYC gets destroyed on the daily!!!! Have him lose his legs by a building falling on top of him!!!! Im spitballing ideas here but why wasn’t Venom Flash uhhhhhh Him Losing his legs in an event like that, in conjunction with him saving someone else, since this is the era of Symby and Eddie's breakup Symby is slithering along + sees this and helps him out, bc you know they can make their own choices and do what they want and maybe they wanna be a hero too even for a moment, then like maybe a few months later or whatever They Meet again and Symby is like hey….. I felt something when we bonded for that brief time. Im going through something rough too right now (The Divorce) so why don’t we try something new together. AND NOW BOOM. you can have Flash as Venom. Now without the stupid venom as addiction metaphor too! Like if you really fucking want you can include stuff about the government trying to manipulate them or whatever but as a whole this would have been so much better of an angle to start venom flash with but NO that we DIDNT GET Because Of The Military Complex meaning We Cant Ever Have Good Things

i know this is so controversial among the venom fans but like i'm really not that attached to flash lmfao i know nothing about him he's just some guy to me i just know he's so much better than mac gargan cuz by god that was a dark time for venom comics.

so now i'm the one nodding along with you and not adding anything lol. i trust you to come up with a better backstory for him because i literally don't know anything about him beyond the vaguest outline. i don't even know what war he fought in that he lost his legs to i dont know Anything. eddie some little absolute freak to me but flash is just some guy

Like if you really fucking want you can include stuff about the government trying to manipulate them or whatever but as a whole this would have been so much better of an angle to start venom flash with but NO that we DIDNT GET Because Of The Military Complex meaning We Cant Ever Have Good Things

i do have to say though that this is totally how i thought venom 2011 was going to go. the first like, four-ish issues got my hopes up so much. i really honestly thought it was going to be drawing parallels between symby and flash how they are ultimately just tools of the government, just weapons that can be discarded in pushing the military's agenda.

this whole page drove me insane at the time and it still kinda does. the way flash is lying directly to his superior to stay with symby longer despite how much he's been drilled that being with the symbiote too long is a danger. they aren't friends yet this early but there's still this impulse to stick with it. and it's because they're parallels!!! the symbiote is quite literally being treated as a mindless tool by the government - it's deprived of all rights that a sentient, sapient being requires. it's trapped and it's being forced into serving and fighting on behalf of a government that doesn't even care for it. likewise, flash is being given the illusion of choice, and to some extent he still does have a choice, but he's being so manipulated by the government here that really he is also just a mindless tool for them - or at least, they want him to be mindless about it. the final fucking panel at the bottom of the final page is crazy.

it was such a strong start to a run that i was very apprehensive about due to aforementioned lack of knowledge of flash as a character, and my general fed-up-ness with the way the comics had been handling venom and eddie in general during that irl time period. so i was so so hoping that it would be taking a blatant and staunch anti-military stance, or even at the bare minimum if it was even still done in a liberal way, as long as there was still SOME criticism of the military complex i would be jumping for joy. and the idea of flash and symby then also bonding during all that?!! crazy. but then it just kinda. goes off the fucking rails halfway through that run/??? like demons and hell and satan kinda off the rails. absolute bonkers. i need to reread venom 2011 actually i barely remember it it was like a fever dream to me. could have been because i descended into madness shortly after i read it but i digress

[malkaleh]

It’s The History Of Man (Rewritten By Women)

Just posting this here - a fic about TWW women + Trauma (and maybe the men later). Dedicated to @miabicicletta @claudiajcregg @librarianmouse @unseenacademic and all my TWW discord loves too.

Content Note: discussion of abuse, rape/sexual assault and misogyny.

She’s never been, you know, the undeclared Thing. Men look for motivations like that, a backstory as to why she really cares - that it must have been a bitter experience in blood, in bruises and broken bird metaphors. So no, CJ’s never been raped. She’s never been assaulted.

You shouldn’t have to be, to give any of a damn - shouldn’t have to find motivation in sister or daughter or someone that makes a something real when you could just find humanity - she’d said it too many times, to too many people. Too many men.

She’s been marked by it, the way that you are when you make your way through the world, for most women. Condescension, especially from good men, men she loved, men she liked - who just could not see, not that, not that bathrobes don’t make up for anything, let alone the way CJ stands alone.

The way the articles about which staff member she might be sleeping with, the way she uses clothes as a shield and even that doesn’t help - it shouldn’t matter, it doesn’t but she has to exist in this world and better to mocked as dowdy than marked as a slut, a distraction. The way some reporters are, the way some staff, some everyone are that they aren’t with the others - assuming she doesn’t know or she just innately knows, by virtue of being a woman or being a Berkeley Grad - both said with knowing looks.

CJ has kissed girls. And boys. And people, in general. The girls didn’t actually do anything for her, but she’s kissed them. Berkeley was safety and yet it wasn’t. There are rapists amongst left wing enclaves, there are friends she’d patched up and held while they cried and the worst feeling in her life had been when men who she had thought respected her, who had said all the right words leer at her or try to slip a key.

(Hoynes. Hoynes is a story she will keep locked until the day she dies because the thing is, the thing is CJ still isn’t sure. Still can’t bear the thought of the judgement, of all of it, of the way she thinks they’d all look at her differently - like she was less in their eyes, hardly the perfect daughter now).

-

She’s the perfect victim but she isn’t. The stupid little girl who went out dancing, who dated a boy who wasn’t good, who drank and wore something too sexy and got people killed. Zoey knows it’s an undertone, though no one ever says it to her face.

It’s like the way they talked about ‘sullied’ and ‘inappropriate’ far more when she dated Charlie and with Jean Paul they make noises about ‘struggles with addiction’ and ‘understanding’ because he’s got money and the correct shade of pale and pedigree and no one wants a ruined girl they can’t trade.

Zoey knows it’s not the 19th century or the 18th but it also is. The media dissects her outfits, but not the men who stripped her bare and bruised. They sigh over the impact on her father, on issues, on politics but not the way her nightmares haunt her. What a shame they ruined her prettiness, her purity, not that Zoey was hurt.

She’s a good victim but she isn’t.

-

They don’t ask Jed to smile, to put on make up and put himself together, to get the outfit just right so it’s not sexy, but not frumpy, not drawing attention to herself but not sloppy. No pearls for him, no demure apologies.

She’s Mrs Bartlet, a White House ornament - a pretty decoration to wheel out, it feels like - like she’s been put back in her place the way a high school science teacher told her she should be. You have lovely deft hands Abigail, don’t waste your pretty face on mens work and ruin those hands meant for flowers and babies.

Abby has surgeons hands and they want to give her roses and dress up clothes while they cut them off for the crime of being Too Much. For the sins of her husband, for her husbands ambition she must cut off her own.

It’s the history of men, she sings along much much further in the future. I ran as fast as I could and I won my races and it still wasn’t enough.

-

Donna can say now, it will never leave her but it is never the whole of her life. They never tell you that, that it all cascades into each other - Dr Freeride, the shooting, the second shooting, the way her parents valued appearances all make up the cracks in her skin, the webbing of scars that her mother gasps in horror at and that Josh’s mother and Abbey Bartlet simply hold her, hug her and listen. That CJ, as a friend, does too.

She’s learned so much about how it feels to have a mother, to have mothers. To be cared for, in a way that she has never been and it’s almost another wound, to think that she could have had this - not a telling off for leaving behind a wealthy respectable man and a nice house and a good name.

[sleazyjester]

Ooooooooo i honestly adore how Basil from peppersteak au is so... real(?) you know? I can't really put it into words, but something about him is just so painfully *real* and I'm always curious to see what he'll do/say next

Now that we know a little bit more about Basil, could you tell us more about peppersteak au's Sunny? I'm almost as curious about his opinion on Basil as Basil himself haha

Love your work so much, both your writing and your drawings, they're all so awesome! I'm literally crazy about peppersteak au

okay.

when writing sunny, i indirectly projected myself onto him. but that itself is quite boring, so i just thought... what if he had my flaws but make it 10 times worse? i have a love hate relationship with writing him because he is incredibly relatable but in a way that gets you embarrassed, like seeing your past self's idiotic mistakes. it's just frustrating. he is supposed to be a frustrating character that ends up fixing some things about himself. many times, at least while growing up, flawed characters that dealt with depression or other mood disorders were shown to be their own victims, but here i wanted to expand a little bit more on that and show how your mental state can affect the ones you love the most as well.

when it comes to basil, i think he doesn't know it himself. he's been in denial about his feelings since forever, so it's kinda hard to get somebody out of that loop, but them being together and even getting intimate brought sunny comfort because of nostalgia and the need for familiarity. to him, basil is like a time capsule that leads to sunny's most precious memories, but also his worst. just like an addiction, it can make you feel euphoric or absolutely miserable.

it's a complicated relationship that can either feel absolutely right or tremendously underwhelming and wrong. they've shared so much with each other that they have become intertwined. even if they were to move away from each other, block their phone numbers, never speak again... faith would still find a way. they are each other's curse. and i think that's beautiful.

as additions to the post, sunny loves nintendo and watches porn before bed. it's whatevz. his favourite color is yellow and his favourite food is pepper steak, though he also has a massive sweet tooth. he watches youtube while eating and owns a butterfly knife. he started reading edgar allan poe because he didn't get the south park references from that one episode.

i don't know. he can be silly, spontaneous and fun. but also so fucking stupid. he's like 3 scared boys in a 20 year old's trench coat.

that's bout it. thanks for the compliments!

[thatgirl4815]

I keep seeing speculation that Sand is going to either be the one to call the police to the party or take the fall for Ray, and I genuinely don't see where people are coming from with that. Firstly, he's not going to take the fall for Ray. Ray is disgustingly wealthy and Sand is A Poor. Realistically, Sand knows that Ray is able to skate past the consequences of being caught with drugs in a way he himself could never even dream of. I don't care how down bad he is, he has responsibilities to himself and his mother that would not let him even begin to contemplate doing something so stupid. And given that he's engaging in illegal activity that is absolutely relevant to his survival on a regular basis by moonshining to pay his rent and his mother's debts, I think he would have a natural level of caution around the idea of the police that would stop him from being the one to call them. If anyone deliberately called the police, instead of it being a general neighbourhood complaint, I'd guess it was Top after taking Mew home. I think it was the conversation with Ray's dad that's prompting this speculation - but if I had to guess, Ray's dad asked him to either talk Ray into dealing with his alcoholism or potentially to be a paid sober companion.

Yeah, I definitely think the talk with Ray’s dad is the main source of the Sand-calls-the-cops theory. But I don’t think that’s likely either, because up to now we’ve been led to believe Sand wants what’s best for Ray. I get the point that this would “teach him a lesson,” but…would it really? It’s not going to put a stop to Ray’s addiction. The only thing it will do is make him more frustrated.

I’ve mentioned this elsewhere, but as someone who clearly values his reputation, why would Ray’s dad ask Sand to call the cops on him? I’ve seen people say that and it just doesn’t check out. Plus you’re right that Sand would be wary of cops in general, much less agree to take the fall for Ray when he’s engaged in illegal activity himself. He wouldn’t want to draw any more attention to himself than what’s necessary.

Top seems like the most likely candidate. He is upset with Ray, and I imagine he wants to do whatever’s necessary to get back at him. I think Top knows this would do more reputational damage to Ray than financial damage, and that’s probably the point.

[verdantlady]

Meddling Witches

Continued writing for green witch and the banshee

~~~~~~

Charlotte went into town to run a few errands.  She needed to send a letter to her mentor and give them an update on how things were with Ma.  She also needed to get some more necessities from the grocery store.  Charlotte took one of the beaten up bikes that lived in the front yard into town, hitching a basket onto the back to carry the treasures she’d be bringing home.  

For the most part, the Grunwalds lived off of their bountiful garden and traded with small farms on the outskirts of town.  Of course that didn’t mean that Freya’s addiction to sugary cereal went away, and neither did other creature comforts for the rest of the family.

She locked up the bike and went down the street, towards the post office.  The smell of freshly made bread and pastries drifted towards her, drawing her nose and eyes to the Sweet Biscuit Bakery.  That’s where Lena works. Her unhelpful brain supplied.  

She kept walking.  Even though Lena had invited her to come visit the bakery, she was sure it was just something that people said.  Like when they said, “We should hang out sometime.”  It wasn’t a real invitation.  Right?

Charlotte shook her head charging forward to the post office with determination not to think about Lena for 5 minutes.

It was on her way back home that she began to feel stupid.  Why shouldn’t she go to say hi to Lena?  Of course that would have been a normal thing to do.  Everybody loves baked goods.  Lena probably would have thought nothing of it and then Charlotte could have talked to her and seen her in an apron with maybe some flour on her face and– God she needed to get a grip.

“Hey Lottie! Look who came to say hi.”

Charlotte looked up from unloading the bike to see Ma and auntie Vee and the porch waving at her.  And sitting next to them was — .

Lena.

“So sweet of you dear to bring us breakfast,” Ma smiled at Lena.  Charlotte walked up the porch steps and leaned against the railing.  She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling a bit overexposed in just her wife lover and shorts while Lena was dressed in a simple but lovely summer dress.  The ribbon holding her ponytail was the same green as the trim on her dress.  Charlotte kind of felt faint.  But that was just from riding her bike in the heat.

“Pass me some of the tea would you?  That ride was longer than I remembered.”  Charlotte nodded towards the pitcher sitting on the little table.

As soon as Vee passed her a glass she set about chugging it like her life depended on it.  She wasn’t kidding about the hard ride.  The sun had really taken it out of her.  

When she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, she accidentally made eye contact with Lena.  Or maybe it wasn’t really her fault, as Lena had been staring at her wide eyed with the beginnings of a blush staining her cheeks.

“Say, before the sun gets any higher I’ve got a chore for you Lottie.”  Ma’s voice broke her out of the momentary stare off between her and Lena.

“Right now?” She asked.  Auntie Vee snickered behind her glass of tea.

“Right now,” Ma nodded, “I think the front yard needs a good mowing don’t you Vee?”

“Oh sure,” said Vee, eyes alight as she looked between Lena and I, “It looks kinda desperate for it honestly.”

“Fine,” Charlotte sighed, setting down her glass and grabbing a bear claw from the tray Lena had brought.  She ate it quickly as she made her way to the shed where the mower lived and in between sticky bites she cursed her meddling relatives.  They couldn’t just let her change her shirt and sit and chat, no, they had to meddle.

By the time she had the mower out and started, Vee had brought out another pitcher of tea and two more Grunwalds had come out onto the porch.  Lena was looking slightly harried, probably not used to being around so many Grunwalds as of recently.  Apparently she hadn’t been around the house much since Charlotte had left.  Charlotte would need to remedy that.  She couldn’t imagine Lena without the support of her family.

For the next hour, Charlotte mowed.  She had probably ruined her shirt and she had sweat dripping down every inch of her.  Her arms ached from pushing that ancient mower back and forth.  All she wanted was a nice cool drink.  Luckily there was one waiting for her.

Charlotte turned towards the deck to see Lena walking towards her with a glass of tea, her nice shoes getting covered with bits of freshly cut grass.

“You don’t have to do that,” Charlotte said, gesturing somewhat lamely at Lena’s shoes, “You’ll get stains.”

“It’s fine,” Lena answered, handing her the glass and then holding her hands behind her back.  She shrugged, “Ma asked me to.”

Charlotte shook her head and drank the tea.  She watched out of the corner of her eye how Lena was eying her arms.  Meddling Grunwalds.

“I had better get back,” Lena’s eyes dropped to where Charlotte’s shirt was sticking to her chest and stomach.  

“Yeah,” Charlotte’s throat was dry despite the tea.

They both stared at each other for a beat before Lena blurted, “I was serious about you coming to the bakery.”  She crossed her arms, “I’d better see you there soon, okay?”

“Yeah,'' said Charlotte again, like a broken toy.  She couldn’t seem to find any more words than that, brain still stuck on the way Lena was looking at her.  And the way she kind of had hat-hair, a little sweaty and stuck to her forehead. 

“Okay, I’ll be seeing you.”  And with that, Lena left on green stained shoes.  Charlotte smiled a bit thinking of how as she walked back to her house she’d be taking a little green with her.  A little Grunwald.  A little Charlotte.

For a moment the world didn’t feel like it was ending.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

When I speak with Anne Lamott, she is in a “hotel-motel” in Ypsilanti, Michigan, halfway through a cross-country book tour, flaunting sparkly pink nails. The manicure was part of a coping strategy initiated in response to a bad review – “seriously the worst review” of her life, said Lamott. No matter that Somehow: Thoughts on Love, her 20th book, is cresting the New York Times’ bestseller list – a dig by a prominent critic can still capsize her day.

But this is Anne Lamott, known for her preternatural ability to uncover grace in all her trials, from the trivial to the existentially unmooring. Lamott has found Christ-like qualities in a colicky baby, self-love in the abyss of addiction, and even ways to shepherd her own neuroses when they arrive at the writing desk like damaged relatives “with their weird coppery breath”.

In this latest book, which reads as a collection of parables, themes of love and grace are often interchangeable. Lamott recalls, for instance, a friend who found a small frog in the shower, which she picked up and carried to its rightful place in the grass outside. The frog, panicking en route to safety, was insensible to the murmured comforts of its carrier. “I think this is one of the best examples of how love operates when we are most afraid and doomed,” writes Lamott, “carrying us to a safer place while we pound against cupped hands.”

The idea that we can entrust ourselves to such tender devotion – no matter how ill-fated our lives might seem – is a central thesis of Somehow. Through anecdotes about marriage, illness, best intentions, and penance for a misfired transphobic tweet in 2015, Lamott presents love variously as a vessel, a shelter, a meditation – and “our only hope”.

And now, in the face of a bad review, Lamott is trying to exercise the wisdom she extols. She’s leaning on her loved ones back home in Marin county, and drawing strength from the outpouring on social media, where fans remind her to shake it off. “And then they said really horrible things about the reviewer and the review. And that, of course, was the best thing of all.”

I spoke with Lamott over Zoom. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Your book launched last month and the next day you celebrated your 70th birthday. Does that number carry any particular significance for you?

Anne Lamott: It certainly sounds old. When I was younger, I really loved drugs and alcohol, and I didn’t think I’d see 18. And then I didn’t think I’d see 21. Then I didn’t think I’d see 30.

Then I got sober when I was 32 – almost 38 years ago – and I thought, oh, I’ve reached the mountaintop. Then I had a kid and felt this urgency to try to stay alive, which I hadn’t felt for a long time. Then I saw 50.

But I loved my 60s. I felt at the height of my mental and spiritual and psychological wellness. As you get older, you just start throwing this stupid stuff off your airplane that kept you flying so low for so long. You just think, I don’t have the time. I don’t care any more. I don’t care what my butt looks like.

By my age, you’ve seen so many people die, many of them younger. And so you get serious about understanding we’re all on borrowed time, and that you’ve got to make a decision about how you’re going to live this one short, precious life.

How does that realization change the stakes when it comes to love?

Over the years, I have picked some really terrible but charming and well-known men. Sometimes attractive and sometimes not. Sometimes they were just good company and the world loved them. But I always secretly knew that if they were a woman, they wouldn’t be my best girlfriend. They wouldn’t even be a close girlfriend.

And then when I was 62 I met this guy, Neal Allen. And just after one coffee with him, I realized that if he were a woman, he would be my best girlfriend. That’s the value I held out for and that’s what I encourage people who still long to find a soulmate to hold out for: it should be a person who you want to talk to for the rest of your life. A person whose commitment is to kindness and who has read every single book you’ve ever read and loved and vice versa.

In December, you wrote in the Washington Post about the slow descent of “the creaking elevators of age”. Apart from death, what awaits you at the end of your ride?

I imagine I will be surrounded by my husband and son and two friends. And they will have called hospice because we all do now. And the hospice is the calvary. They will come in with their syringes full of morphine, so I know I won’t have any pain and I won’t have any fear.

View image in fullscreenLamott in Berkeley, 1997. Photograph: Darryl Bush/Getty Images

There is so much money and attention being spent on longevity these days, which, I think, entails a certain denial of death. I was chatting a while back with people who work in end-of-life care, and their view was that our fear of death detracts from our ability to live a good life.

There’s an American way of forward thrust: you must always be moving and you must be moving higher in terms of recognition or acclaim or stature. I developed that toxic self-consciousness. It kept me from being here, breathing it all in and observing with a small degree of amusement and wonder and tenderness, because I was so fixated on what I looked like and how I was coming across and how I was doing.

The forward thrust has to do with the fear of death, because if you keep moving very quickly, then you’re going to outrun the abyss. The abyss isn’t going to open at your feet and swallow you up. But everything I’ve learned that’s of any importance, I’ve learned because the abyss opened up and swallowed me. Christians call it the dark night of the soul; an alcoholic will call it a bottom. And when you hit that bottom and you have to be in it for a little while, boy, you find out who you really are.

Your parents were atheists. How did you come to Christianity?

Well, it was really an accident, believe me. I’d always studied God and different religious traditions and believed that there was something that heard me if I said hello quietly in the middle of the night. But I avoided Christianity like the plague. I feel about Christians the way everybody feels about Christians. I love what Gandhi said, that he loved Christ, but it was Christians he had a problem with, and that’s totally how I feel about it.

And then at the end of my drinking, there was this flea market near this tiny house where I was living. And I’d go over there because when you’re really hungover you want greasy food and strong coffee. And I could hear music wafting out of this ramshackle, cruddy looking church with a Charlie Brown Christmas tree outside of it. It was the music of the Weavers and Joan Baez and Pete Seeger that my parents had been very fond of. So I just started going over there because I loved the music.

For me, one definition of grace is just running out of any more good ideas. So I get my greasy food and my strong coffee. I was bulimic at the time. I was hungover every single day, and I just went and sat down, and they didn’t hassle me. They didn’t try to get me to join them or to figure out anything or to take Bibles. They just got me water. They could see I was a really sad, damaged person.

I always left before the sermon because it was just too ridiculous for words. And then one day I didn’t, and I experienced saying to Jesus, kind of bitterly: “OK, fine, you can come in.” And I just tried that out, and it was really sweet.

What role did that new faith play in your sobriety?

I converted a year before I got sober. So I had a kind of gap year at church, where I was very smelly and weird and arrogant all at the same time. I had terrible self-esteem because of the way I was living and then I was very arrogant because I’ve been raised to think that the Lamotts were better and more educated.

I stayed there for a year and then I got sober. Church did not get me sober, but my deterioration did and I finally had no place to go. I would have died, I think. And so I just gave recovery a shot.

You mentioned that you married your now husband Neal in your 60s. You’ve had your share of loves and opportunities – what made you ready for Neal to enter your life?

I was raised in the 1950s and early 1960s to understand that women take care of everybody else and that your value comes from being a flight attendant to everybody in the world. I also have a really warm and open heart and I like to take care of people, but my life force was entirely spent on my son and his little baby and the baby’s mother and everybody around me. I was depleted.

And one day, my older brother, who’s a fundamentalist Christian, was staying with me and I said, “I’m just so isolated. I just am so empty right now. I’m all used up.” And he said some sort of happy Christian horseshit. I adore him, but it was like a bumper sticker and I was just furious.

I got in the car and started driving and crying and pounding the steering wheel and telling my son and grandson and the baby mama and my parents and my brothers how much I hated and resented that they sucked me dry and how sad I was.

Later, I came back to town and I called my mentor of 38 years, Horrible Bonnie (she’s horrible because I can’t get her to not love me). And I said, “I’m nobody’s priority.” And she said, “Oh, Annie, this is what we paid for.” She said, “You’re not anybody’s priority because you’re not your own. You’re going to need to take a few months off to have to have a love affair with yourself. You’re going to start with getting the overpriced tamales at the health food store and some flowers. And you’re going to have to do that every day.”

And I was like, no, no, it’s too California. I’m not going to do that. But when all else fails, follow instructions. So I did it. And about three months later, I met Neal. There’s a site called OurTime that’s an offshoot of Match for older people. I met him and we had coffee and we’ve never been apart.

You’ve talked about your own experience with addiction, and you’ve been sober now for almost 38 years. But you also watched your son go through his own battles with addiction. What happened during that time?

Oh, God, it was so awful. He’s got almost 14 years clean and sober now, by the grace of God, but at about age 14, he started to get drunk and stoned a lot of the time. He got into meth and anything he could get his hands on and it was just terrifying.

And I did what you do if you’re a mother. I tried everything. I sent him off to the highest peak of the Allegheny mountains for three months, and then to an organic tofu farm. And when he came home he was dealing the next day. He got his girlfriend pregnant at 19, and they had the baby, and he just got worse and worse.

Nothing I tried worked. Eventually, I left him in jail. The bail bondsman said, “Oh, my God, Ms Lamott, you’re the first mother in my 20 year history as a bail bondsman who left her child in jail.” And, you know, I’m not positive he’d still be alive if I hadn’t.

And then I said, “You can’t come over. You can’t be on the property wasted.” And he stomped off. I didn’t know when we’d ever talk again. But then about 10 days later, he called to say that he had a week clean and sober.

I imagine so many families in similar positions of watching their loved ones suffer would not be able to make those 10 days. They would capitulate to wanting to help. If you were to offer advice to those of us who are watching loved ones suffer, what would you say?

I would say that help is the sunny side of control.

There are these little acronyms in the recovery movement, and one of them is the five M’s: We try to manage others. We martyr ourselves, we manipulate them, and we mother them and the entire world. And the fifth one is so awful: we monitor them, like I’m an android or something, where I can monitor people’s behavior and the number of drinks they’re having or whether I can smell pot on them.

I just learned to release him. Horrible Bonnie taught me this tool, which was to close my eyes and picture the person there and to push them away into the arms of their own destiny.

I had to make peace with the fact that maybe I would lose [my son]. It wasn’t anything but a nightmare. Either he would die driving drunk, or he’d commit suicide or he’d overdose. And I just had to release him.

Somehow is your 20th book. At this point, is there anything that you feel you still urgently need to say?

Not really. I wrote every single thing I know about writing, motherhood, grandmotherhood, mercy, faith, hope.

My dream is not to publish any more. I hate publishing. I hate book tours. I’m exhausted. I’m a homebody. I like to be on the couch with the dog and the New Yorker or People magazine – either one will do.

[ In the US, you can call or text the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline on 988, chat on 988lifeline.org, or text HOME to 741741 to connect with a crisis counselor. In the UK and Ireland, Samaritans can be contacted on freephone 116 123, or email jo@samaritans.org or jo@samaritans.ie. In Australia, the crisis support service Lifeline is 13 11 14. Other international helplines can be found at befrienders.org]

[capitalisticveins]

The Balance Headcanons

took extra long cuz I kept drawing a blank sorryyy winky facceeev

- If someone kills Blake on Fortnite, he looks into their future, finds out when they die, and tells them their deathdate with no context before leaving

- Bestie, like Camelopardalis, owns a zen garden

- NOBODY likes playing Jenga with Smartass, this mf makes the tower stand in ways that shouldn't be possible. And they're not nice about it either, they shit talk the entire time playing.

- Sunshine had a hardcore emo phase while in middle school for like 3 months and Elliott started calling them "Sunshine" on purpose to make them mad. The nickname stuck around

- Brachium's black and foggy eye tear things can create a cloud under him from which he stands over the river with

- Bestie is a MASTER at having lucid dreams. 

- Brachium has tried talking to the river before realizing how stupid he looked

- Sunshine owns a music box, I'll give you $20 if you can guess what it plays

- You know how Elliott acted right after Scorpius temporarily blocked his memories? That's how he's like when he's drunk.

- Aaron likes the Boss Baby movie

- Brachium has a scepter he likes to spin around like a stick

- Blake gave Bestie bangs once when they were 6

- Scorpius thrives in either crop tops or turtlenecks with the boob window shut up

- Brachium has tried to talk to the Sovereigns once when he was younger…didn't go well

- Aaron and Elliott would always sit up by the couch, make cookies and popcorn, and watch the Nightmare before Christmas every Christmas Eve

- Smartass steals the company pens

- Bestie's hair, untamable.

- Scorpius doesn't do skincare, but he could be on the cover of vogue.

- Blake considered games like Animal Crossing, Stardew Valley, and Minecraft "the worst of the worst games" until he saw Bestie playing them. They have their own world in Minecraft now.

- Brachium would have an unhealthy addiction to chocolate

- Sunshine likes to keep their hair short, but they don't know how to cut it evenly, so Elliott does it for them.

- Brachium is taller than everyone by a MILE (more like 2 feet taller)

- Scorpius has piercings, I just can't say where.

- Blake has a slutty little waist

- Brachium likes to draw in the sand/dirt by the river

- Bestie owns a hamster that has made 7 attempts to kill itself

- Elliott can't make sandcastles, they deconstruct the moment he removes the pail

- Sunshine on the other hand can make those really detailed ones you see in cartoons

- If you ask Brachium “Is the cup half empty or half full” he’d go “both”

- Smartass calls in sick days whenever they can

- Blake doesn't give up his seat to the elderly, nor does he hold the door for people…unless Bestie is around

- Brachium had a pet bird as a Serenity Daemon

- Bestie is into witchcraft

- You know that scene from El Dorado where Chel and Tulio nearly get caught making out? Yeah that was Blake and Bestie when they hooked up

- Elliott and Sunshine have been friends since they were 7 so Sunshine has met Aaron, he just doesn't know they're dating

- Scorpius THRIVES in horoscopes and the zodiac shit. He hates all Geminis equally

- Bestie has shot Blake with a paintball gun when they were kids

- Brachium likes Honeycrisp apples

- Both Aaron and Smartass prefers orange juice 

- Sunshine and Elliott prefer apple juice

- Blake and Bestie adore passion fruit juice

-Brachium likes sudoku

- Scorpius twerks

- Smartass has a pet rat Aaron HATES.