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dontfeeltoohot · 2 years ago

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I wrote some Chase fic and it's @softsicknose 's birthday!!!

This is written in a different POV- Martha Masters' from season seven. I really love her, and I enjoyed stretching my writing comfort zone for her. I hope you enjoy!!!

XXX

Chase is late. Late, she’s found, is based solely on when House arrives (unless they’ve been given a time by Cuddy). Chase is usually always early. Early is determined by the time at least two of the team are in the diagnostics room. Out of all the times she’s walked through the glass doors and into the room in the early morning, he’s only been absent four times. All four of those times have also seen him strolling in before their boss. The fact that she, Taub, Foreman, Doctor Hadley and even House are here and Chase isn’t is odd. Martha likes routines, likes things to stay the same and this disruption in the day to day has her feeling anxious. Her prefrontal cortex is telling her that the blonde is probably just stuck in traffic and there’s nothing to worry about, but it doesn’t stop her from fiddling with the pen she’d borrowed from the man earlier that week.

No one else mentions that the intensivist is missing, and maybe they all know something she doesn’t? It wouldn’t be the first time- she’s becoming used to being left out of things or being cast aside as an inside joke is told. She’s never gotten the courage to ask what some of the things they say mean, because when it comes down to it she’s here to learn about medicine and science, not about Foreman’s brother or the reason Doctor Hadley was in jail.

Seventeen minutes after they start the differential, Chase pushes through the door, looking minorly rumpled but otherwise fine- attractive as always. The realization that she’s just called the blonde attractive sinks in. Objectively, she’s aware he’s much more pleasing on the eyes than anyone else on the team; except maybe Doctor Hadley, and that statistically blonde hair and blue eyes tend to lend themselves to what the world has deemed beautiful. His accent doesn’t hurt either.

Get it together Martha, it’s Chase. Chase, whose password is password, who sleeps with three women in one night only to forget their names. Chase, who does crosswords instead of listening to their boss. Chase, who is also an amazing intensivist and who has gotten more correct diagnosies than anyone else since she’s been here. Chase, who always looks just a little put out when House doesn’t latch on to one of his jokes or praise him when he’s found the correct answer.

“Chase! How kind it is of you to grace us with your presence.”

The words snap the brunette out of her trance.

As House snarks, a dark blue folder is thrown at the man who tries to catch it but fails. Instead it hits his shoulder and flops onto the table. Taub and Foreman are reading through their own copies, seemingly unbothered by the disturbance, that or they’re tired of House’s antics. Doctor Hadley is glancing up at Chase with a furrowed brow but he gives her a shrug and sits down, leather messenger bag swaying on the back of his chair.

With how close he’s sitting, Masters can smell his cologne- something aquatic and airy, no doubt to remind him of Australia and its beaches. As the team bounces ideas off one another, she notices Chase pressing the back of his pointer finger against his right eye- closed. The structure of his jaw tells her it’s clenched, which indicates he’s either annoyed or possibly in pain. Annoyed seems much more likely.

“What about you, Captain Kangaroo? Any ideas in that pretty head of yours? Or did the one too many drinks you had last night impair its functioning?”

“Actually, the effects of alcohol wear off in usually six hours unless your metabolism is slow. Even then, it’s likely to be around eight or nine hours,” she offers.

“I didn’t drink last night, and that insult was sub par,” Chase says as if he’s been waiting for some kind of accusation. “Could be a DVT that traveled to her lung.”

Something about his voice is different today, it’s lower, maybe? She’s not sure which adjective goes best, but she watches as he swallows and his adams apple bobs unnaturally slowly. He goes to automatically grab a mug that’s not there, hand halfway outstretched before he drops it and rubs the lower half of his face. House’s eyes drag over him like a cat stalking his prey but the older man doesn’t say anything, instead he just sighs, then twirls his orange expo marker in his hand, staring at the list of symptoms on the board.

“DVT was checked for, next.”

As Martha wracks her brain for different causes of the new patient's afflictions, she hears rather than see’s Chase shift in his chair, then a breath being inhaled and snagging.

“h’ihnGgkt! HnGXxt! hh-NgXTtuh!!”

The sneezes are far quieter and less obtrusive than she’s imagined. She’s thought since starting that the blonde’s sneezes would be loud and harsh, slightly dramatic. These are small and very obviously meant to be quiet. Interesting.

“You shouldn’t stifle like that, you can burst your eardrums from holding a sneeze in,” she comments after his last one, watching him raise his eyes from the folder, one eyebrow quirked upwards. She flushes, unsure if the comment was appropriate. She just wants to help! What if Chase blew out an ear drum from being careless? She’s simply doing a kind thing, she tells herself.

“I’ve done it my entire life, Masters, think I’ll be alright.”

As Foreman suggests an alternate cause, Masters nods and writes down both ideas, wanting to keep up with the details of the case, even if they turn out to be wrong. A sniffle breaks her concentration and as subtly as she can; feigning looking at the clock, she glances at the doctor next to her, noting the barely visible shadows under his eyes. Not enough sleep, then. The rest of the DDX goes as usual, with House giving them all assignments. She gets put with Taub to go break into the patient's house.

“Do you really think this is a good idea? She can’t keep her holier-than-thou mouth shut when it comes to this type of stuff. Wouldn’t it be better for me and…anyone else goes?”

The med student frowns and twists at her cardigan, headband feeling suddenly too tight. Her cheeks feel warm and she knows her capillaries have opened and blood has rushed to show her emotions whether she wants to or not. Foreman gives a low laugh, rolling his eyes. Chase looks like he might say something but Doctor Hadley beats him to it.

“If you’re so worried, then do the labs and I’ll go with her.”

Surprise drives out the embarrassment of feeling like an unwanted dog at the pound. Didn’t Doctor Hadley dislike her too? Why was she rushing to her aide? Was this another joke she was going to be the butt of? She chances a look at the older woman and sees her smiling.

“Us girls have to stick together, right?”

“R-Right.”

Taub blows out a breath from his puffed cheeks and nods, saluting her.

“Thanks, I owe you one.”

“Alright children, play nice,” House calls from where he’s hobbling through the door to his connected office, tone indicating he doesn’t actually care what’s being said to one another.

The car ride to the patient’s house is filled with an awkward silence. Martha’s unhappy she has to go at all, it’s unethical and illegal. No one else cares and she wonders if it’s because of House or their own morals. Her mother taught her right from wrong at a young age- what did everyone else’s mother teach them? As she watches trees go by, Doctor Hadley fiddles with the radio and then looks over when they stop at a red light.

“So, how’re you liking it on the team so far?”

“It’s been, uhmm…interesting? Definitely seeing more than what I’ve been exposed to in my own world. A lot of it’s for the worse,” she trails off, her last sentence barely audible, but the other woman must hear it.

“You know, this team has been through a lot. And a lot of things have changed all of us, but when it comes down to it, we’re here to do our job and save people. If that means breaking rules, well.” A pause. “Is it better to watch someone die while keeping yourself pure or save an innocent life and do something risky?”

For once, Martha’s unsure of the answer. Both are morally wrong- is there an answer that’s better than the other? It feels like some kind of perverse test so she crosses her arms against her chest and tries not to act like a petulant child.

“Is that why you’re all so codependent?” The words tumble from her mouth before she can stop them. She wants to smack herself.

Doctor Hadley- Thirteen, as the boys call her for unknown reasons, laughs and a smile appears.

“I wouldn’t say codependent. We just work well as a team. We also work well individually. Chase was first to work with House, then Foreman joined. After they left, Taub and I were hired. Foreman came back, and then Chase. We all fell into an easy team who can communicate pretty well.”

“House likes you all. Was that, did he-“ she sighs and tries to reign all of her thoughts together. “Was he like that with everyone who’s been part of his team before? Or were there others who were treated like me?”

“I think that that’s a question for him, even if he won’t answer it. He doesn’t hate you. If he did, you wouldn’t still be here. He obviously sees something in you that he wants to cultivate.”

Martha isn’t sure what to say to that, so she nods and let’s the silence fall around them again. She’s never been good with small talk, and now it’s apparent she’s not good with any kind of talk.

They get back to the hospital two hours later, when the clock is about to hit noon. The women head to diagnostics but it’s empty, so they reroute and take all of the plastic baggies full of their findings to the lab to start working. As they approach the large room, Martha notices a familiar figure sitting in the corner with his back to the door. He’s got his lab coat on now, and from what she can tell he’s got his chin leaning on his hand, posture screaming ‘I’m bored’. He must be waiting for a test to finish up.

“Hey, why don’t you go find House or Foreman and let them know I’m about to run the tests,” Thirteen suggests, taking the large bag full of items and holding it. “Otherwise, House will bust in and scare the hell out of us.”

Martha gets the feeling she’s being deliberately shooed away. There’s more than enough things that need to be tested for them to both be running them at the same time, but the inflection in the woman’s voice indicates a finality attached to her words.

“Okay, uhm, I’ll let him know. You’re not going to do some crazy illegal test are you?”

“No, I just think he should be updated,” the woman says in an almost trained voice, calmness radiating from her sudden tone.

“Right. I can do that.”

The brunette gets half way down the hall when she realizes she has no clue where their grumpy boss might be. Not wanting to explore the entirety of the hospital, Martha turns around and starts to walk back to ask her coworkers. When she gets close enough to see into the dimly lit room, she freezes. The two seem to be arguing. Chase is still on the stool in front of the microscope, looking up at Thirteen with a petulant, almost defiant look on his face. Feeling like interrupting might not be a good idea, she goes off in search of House, feeling more out of the loop than she has all day.

XXX

“Tests were negative.”

“Same with ours.”

Thirteen and Chase walk in; a much needed interruption to whatever the other three men on the team are talking about, to inform them of their findings. House sighs and stares at the board again, twirling his marker. Taub looks up from where he’s munching on his hospital-prepared sandwich from the cafeteria. She’s already finished her own salad, but Foreman is still working on his. They nabbed sandwiches for the other two, now sitting in the middle of the large glass table.

As expected, Thirteen grabs hers ravenously, having not eaten for hours. Chase, however, sits and doesn’t so much as look at the last wrapped up sub, instead grabbing the folder to look at once again. Foreman and Taub look at the Australian, confusion written on their faces.

“You’re not eating? You always eat. You eat more than me and Foreman combined,” the eldest of the four questions.

With a frown, Chase grabs the sandwich and opens it, not breaking eye contact with the neurologist. He takes a bite and swallows, keeping his face impassive.

“Better?”

“Loads,” the man deadpans, rolling his eyes.

Throughout the new round of ideas, Martha notices Chase hasn’t touched his sandwich since the initial bite. He’s procured a water bottle from his bag, sipping on it every few minutes, but the food goes untouched and unnoticed by everyone else. She thinks she sees House’s eyes sweep over the intensivist, but she might be imagining things- House may play favorites but the idea of him caring about someone to a degree of worry seems improbable.

Foreman gets up to throw his trash away, prompting Thirteen to as well. As they talk about even more possibilities for the patient, Chase angles his face towards his chest, ducking his face downwards.

“ihNGkKt! h’GXKt! h’KGkTSCH’uh! SNF!”

The first two are quiet enough that if Martha wasn’t paying attention she doesn’t think she would have necessarily heard them. The third however is stronger and Martha cringes inwardly at not only the amount of force he’s used to try and hold it in, but also at the soupy sounding sniffle after. He gets up immediately, striding across the room to the kitchenette and plucks a tissue from the box they have sitting there. She notices he doesn’t blow, merely just wipes at his nose before pocketing the tissue and washing his hands. At least he’s hygienic.

“Bless you,” Taub throws over his shoulder casually.

Martha watches as the blonde ignores him, moving to snatch the 90% uneaten sandwich up instead and set it in the mini fridge to finish later. The medical student has the urge to throw out yet another statistic about the act of sternation but is interrupted by all six of their pagers going off- saved by the bell.

The rest of the day is a haze of the patient crashing, adrenaline, House getting angry for not being able to figure out what’s wrong, and everyone else picking up his energy. House is the determining factor of a lot more than she’s realized, as Foreman snaps back at their boss when he starts telling them they’re all morons. He goes as far as to insult not only Chase, but Thirteen, which Martha hasn’t witnessed yet.

“House, we’re trying. We can’t think any faster,” the dark skinned man frowns.

“Oh yeah? I bet I could make you think faster if you want to keep your job!”

“You’re not going to fire any of us,” Chase drawls from where he’s sitting, having moved from the uncomfortable metal chairs at the table to the slightly less uncomfortable chairs in the corner of the room.

“Wanna bet? You of all people should know I can and I will,” the older man sneers, moving closer to the blonde.

Martha has an odd feeling in her stomach, something between anxiety, anticipation and most of all, surprise. Does House mean he’s fired Chase before? Surely not, not when they’re so obviously the most in-sync out of everyone. For a split second the intensivist looks like he’s going to stand up and go at it with their boss but instead he just shrugs and presses the tips of his fingers to closed eyelids.

“Exactly. Now think.”

Finally, Thirteen comes up with a semi-plausible idea, and though House makes it known he doesn’t truly believe it, they’re ordered to go in and check the man’s mitral valve. Doing something is better than nothing, Martha agrees.

“Chase, scrub up and take Taub and Ms. Goody-two-shoes with you.”

“Can’t we have Masters do-“

“Absolutely not. This isn’t time for a learning experience, this is time to cut open this guy and fix him so he lives. She helps, you do.”

A grumble of incomprehensible words are drowned out by Taub getting up out of his chair and patting her shoulder, leaning his head towards the door as a gesture to tell her to follow. She does, not wanting to deal with any more childish back and forth arguing. As they all head down the hallway, Masters looks at Taub for direction. She doesn’t understand why Chase is upset she’s not doing it- usually it’s the other way around.

As the three slip into the empty elevator, Chase uses the inside of his wrist to scrub at his nose, sniffling yet again. Normally Martha wouldn’t notice these things, but he was late, so now all her attention is solely on him. It’s definitely not because he’s gorgeous or funny or the only to even remotely build her up sometimes.

“So why don’t you wanna do the surgery?” Taub asks, turning to the taller man.

“Because it’s cold in the OR and I’m already freezing,” Chase grumps, pulling his lab coat tighter. “Scrubs can only keep you so warm.”

#my fic #paging doctor chase #softsicknose

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voulezloux · 10 months ago

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Hello hello I am here to bother you <3

What’s your comfort movie or tv series?

And what’s a quote from a book that stuck with you?

Hope you have a great day 🫶

this is gonna expose me so hard oh my GOD

my comfort tv shows have been niche one off shows that were on netflix for the longest time before being taken off and i’ve been unable to find them since 😭😭 shows like cheapest weddings that’s from australia, frisky business about a sex toy company called lovehoney from the uk, shit like that. if they were vhs tapes, i’d wear them down so bad that’s how much i watched these shows. my comfort movie is the recording of shrek the musical 😭 it’s literally one of my favorite musicals to ever be made unironically. i have a tattoo for it and i even referenced it in my big bang fic. it was on netflix for the longest time before i was taken off in the past couple years, and i legit had a bit of a panic attack before i found out i could buy it for streaming on amazon prime. i do plan to eventually get a physical copy of the musical just in case!

i could not for the life of me remember literally any quote from any book i’ve read (it’s more of the impact of the overarching story than a quote itself for me) and it’s been so long since i’ve been able to sit down and read a book (i’m very ashamed of this too) so instead i’ll recommend books ive read in the past that i loved growing up

it’s kind of a funny story - ned vizzini

the giver - lois lowry

copper sun - sharon m. draper

endangered - eliot schrefer

flowers for algernon - daniel keyes

number the stars - lois lowry

the outsiders - s. e. hinton

paper towns - john green

the giver is honestly my all time favorite book and i fucking despise the movie adaptation of it (sorry meryl streep) i once annotated and lent my copy of it to my high school boyfriend who then broke up with me a month later and never gave it back so get fucked [redacted]

a lot of these books i read as apart of english courses throughout school, save for it’s kind of a funny story and paper towns. there’s something that john green said in a vlogbrothers video about paper towns that i cannot for the life of me find. i found a scathing review from 2012 about it’s kind of a funny story where they put a 2012 mindset on a book published in 2006. im not say that it makes up for what they said was bad about the book, but it lends itself to why there were ignorant things written in the book. ned vizzini also wrote be more chill, which is also a musical apparently, and sadly took his own life at the end of 2013. it’s kind of a funny story is written based on his stints in psychiatric wards and it hits harder considering the circumstances around his death

copper sun i read in 8th grade and it’s a very good read. i read it so fast that i finished it before i was supposed to (nerd) and my english teacher had us do an assignment where we predicted the end of the book. i asked him what do i do since i finished the book and he told me to act like i didn’t finish the book and pretend to predict the ending. i obviously did not do that and instead gave the ending away and drew a crude stick figure depicting it

flowers for algernon fucking hurts. it’s both a book that makes you feel great and then it takes it away from you because you were feeling too great. i still recommend it bc while it hurts, the story itself is still wonderful. the outsiders is a pretty standard read for middle school kids and still a great book. we read it in 7th grade and watched the movie during the last week of school. number the stars is about the holocaust and two friends with one being jewish living in a nazi occupied town. there’s one scene that has stuck with me for years since i’ve read the book where someone is killed by firing squad by nazi soldiers (i won’t spoil who) and i can’t remember if it happened on screen in the book or im confusing it with the death by firing squad scene in the film life is beautiful (which is also about the holocaust and made my entire 8th grade english class cry) which happens off screen. endangered is about a teen girl trying to save a group for bonobos during a country’s civil war. its apart of a four part series by this author called the ap quartet

sorry to ramble but thank u for asking 🥺

#o answers

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knightofsuperior · 11 months ago

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The Choice of Steins' Gate

Fandom: Steins;Gate, Persona 5

Summary:

Okabe Rintaro is a broken man. His failures have made him a shell of his former self. However, a mysterious incident in a certain subway station will open his eyes to a world even he has never traveled to, and to allies in a fight he thought long lost. The world is on its way to ruin. It's time to make a better one. El Psy Kongroo. ---- Steins;Gate/Persona 5 crossover. Contains spoilers for the events of Steins;Gate up to episode 23b and episode 3 of Steins;Gate 0 with different elements of the story incorporated throughout. Contains spoilers for Persona 5 (timeline in flux, assume all of P5 is fair game). Plot can and will diverge heavily from that point on.

Read the fic here and check out an excerpt/my thoughts below!

Excerpt:

“You...think you know me? You think you know what I’ve been through?!” As soon as he found himself on some sort of stable footing, Okabe grabbed his doppleganger by the collar, pulling him in close. “You think you understand the pain I felt, going through every world line!? I-” “-know the limits of what a man can do, right?” The other Okabe replied, a frown on his face. “I know that’s what you told Suzuha. But do you truly believe that?” “What else can I believe?!” Okabe could feel the tears welling up, but he couldn’t stop himself from letting the words flow from his mouth. “I have done everything possible in this...in any world line!” He looked down, staring at the silver metal of the train tracks beneath the two. His reflection, blurred by the falling tears, showed him the truth. “I know exactly what I am. I’m a failure.” "Wrong,” the other Okabe replied. “You are the man who turned time itself to his will-beyond the powers of God himself. This worldline...it’s proof positive of that grand power you hold inside of you. And," he continued, his eyes glowing a brilliant gold, “it is not the only one.”

Author's Note: Steins;Gate is a beautifully-written story, whether in visual novel or anime format, and it lends itself to blending with the world of Persona pretty damn well. I wrote this initially during a rewatch of the series and starting S;G 0, and having just come off of a replay of the latter portion of vanilla P5. As one of my first forays into long-form, serialized fic writing, I found it a fun experiment!

Due to various reasons, I never got the opportunity to play P5 Royal (though I have at least two copies lurking around somewhere), and I also still need to fully finish S;G 0 to get the full scope of what I can work with. However, I am satisfied generally with the thematic note I ended off on for Rintaro, and I hope one day to get back to this and explore the possibilities even further.

I also made one of my best friends thanks to this fic--props to/shout out to @sakurabomb for being a supportive commenter and a great friend, and also my springboard for absurd fandom nonsense!

#steins;gate #steins gate #okabe rintaro #houin kyouma #persona #persona series #persona 5 #akira kurusu #joker persona 5 #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #fan fiction #fanfic #steins;gate spoilers #persona 5 spoilers

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karmicbias · 12 days ago

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Absolutely (nearly) unfounded speculation below the cut (new Papa/album related)

So I've been poking around the Ghost subreddits more than usual lately and have Thoughts.

Everything I'm saying here is pretty much pure speculation, though there are a couple people posting on reddit who claim to have some unique insights. I dunno if they're for real or not but the nice thing is, if they're right we'll know sooner rather than later!

We're going to get a new Chapter or some kind of Papa reveal either this week or next.

Album announcement March 5, single on the 6th or 7th.

Also in my digging I found someone saying that the album was actually done and should have come out late last year closer to the tour announcement, but the label is fucking around with stuff.

In general if the fuckery with Loma Vista is to be believed (who knows, but plenty of labels are crappy and LV is pretty small to be working with a band this big) then it's basically a financial tether that the band (TF) needs to resolve before they could switch labels.

I know it'd be convenient to be able to blame someone other than our fave, but also there's been a lot of promo weirdness over the last year just related to the movie (see: the one where they told people to go to random locations and then the geofence website didn't work anyway, the whole Veeps deal, how long it took to announce physical media copies) which I think lends itself to the idea.

But I digress! Let's look at timing.

Impera came out early 2022 (so likely recorded 2021), Phantomime EP mid 2023. During promo for Phantomime TF said he was already working on the new album.

In general in my experience with folks as creative as TF, they aren't stopping that process, even if it's slowed down by other commitments. 2021-2024 was full of tour dates and movie work but with travel and breaks I'd bet he was writing, even if it wasn't fully developed yet.

The last tour date for Impera was late October 2023. Rite Here Rite Now came out July 2024.

We know they had to do some extra filming, and based on analysis of the tracks, it seems like TF re-recorded clean vocals before RHRN came out.

I'm hypothesizing that he did the RHRN cleanup recordings at the same time they were in the studio recording the new album.

This would be the point where a whole lot of notes and ideas and possibly even older material that wasn't right for previous albums could coalesce into something cohesive (see: the Kiss the Go-Goat riff that he wrote and recorded while they were mastering Meliora). And because of the way Ghost albums get recorded he'd only need a handful of people to do this, not wrangle the full band.

And yeah, TF talked about taking a big break before the next tour, but if you're counting since the last tour date, that's about a year and a half. I don't think he meant that the break was from the time of the movie coming out.

Anyway, those are my thoughts based on very little evidence and mostly inference and yes, assumptions. But what else is there to do on this silly little webbed site. 💜

I guess my takeaways here are that if the label really is dicking him around, I hope the tour and album are wildly successful and that they'll make a change for the better when the time is right.

And extremely parasocially (does it make it any better if I recognize it?🤷), I hope this doesn't totally sour Tobias on the work - when I watch the interviews where you can tell he's actually comfortable with the host and getting to talk about what he loves, I feel a strong affinity for and with him and the way his mind seems to work.

I've found myself in those kinds of situations where there's lots of people relying on you so you try to do your best for them and not worry so much about yourself but the conditions just grind you down and burn you out eventually. If you aren't working with people who are willing and able to watch out for your blind spots, it can get really hard to find a way out.

Okay weird little rant over. Hopefully we get presents this week!

#ghost band speculation

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ickymichi · 3 years ago

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“we’ll wish this never ends”- ryusuke minami. x

(i’m so proud of this pls just skim through it<3)

laying on ryusukes chest, the rhythmic beat of his heart that vibrates as he sings to you, his guitar that was being played not to long ago cast aside so you could rest comfortably. his arm rubbing soothing patterns up and down your arm as yours did the same on his bare chest.

“hello there, the angel from my nightmare”

you always thought his voice was beautiful, he never listened when you complimented it though. you swear he never listens like you do. every chord he plays, lyric he sings and complaint he speaks you listen. you feel that man only listens when your covered in a layer of sweat above him.

“the shadow in the background of the morgue, the unsuspecting victim”

you did everything and anything for ryusuke. going to nearly every show-no matter if it’s down the street or across the world-, giving him lends of money when he needs it, prying bottles of alcohol out of his hand with tears blurring your vision, lying on his behalf to make sure he doesn’t get his ass handed to him, even following him to new york when he felt it was all to much. people would say the most ryusuke has done for you is actually remember your birthday this year.

“of darkness in the valley, we can live like Jack and Sally if we want”

moments like these were ones you cherished, ryusuke’s dream had him either on stage or in the studio. and you weren’t one to stop that dream-if anything you encouraged it-you always came over to ray’s house, you’d stay for hours on end and most days you’d sleepover. the thought of leaving being to much to bear. even though he’s not a huge help, he’d still have a go at trying to help you with your studying. moments like these were just some of the many you cherish.

“and in the night, we'll wish this never ends, we'll wish this never ends”

your favourite thing about being apart of ryusuke’s life was seeing the light in his eyes when he talked to you about a song he’s been writing made your heart fill with admiration. and when he told you the latest song he wrote was about you every butterfly that was sleeping in your stomach came to life and flew around every inch of your belly.

“I miss you, I miss you, I miss you, I miss you”

the soothing sound of ryusuke’s voice was something you could listen to forever. the first time he gave you a copy of a song he wrote for you was one you’ll never forget. it’s always been your favourite song since then-if you could get it tattooed in your brain you really would- every day you listen to the playlist he’s made full of songs for you.

“where are you? and I'm so sorry”

you would say the most ryusuke has done for you is be there when those people aren’t. like right now at 3:16 in the early morning, the stars and moon’s reflection rippling off the fishing pond outside the open door. he’s here right now when your friends aren’t. he’s here when those friends are on a vacation in a sunny beach getting day drunk, he’s there when they aren’t consoling over your upcoming exams. he’s there when they claim he’s probably off with some groupie.

“I cannot sleep, I cannot dream tonight”

the soothing sound of ryusuke’s voice must’ve had you zoning out for a while. his arm was still running up and down your arm and so was your hand on his chest, he was still singing and beck was still snoring outside. all was the same except your cheeks feel a bit more damp then before. bringing a hand to the area, it felt as if a puddle was on your face. ryusuke wasn’t stupid, of course not. he knows well you’ve been in a world of your own, absent tears falling from your tired eyes. he didn’t say anything, he just gently pushed your head back to his chest, keeping that hand on the crown of your head. continuing to sing as even louder sobs started shaking through your body.

“I need somebody and always, this sick, strange darkness comes creeping on, so haunting every time”

people think they know everything. always assuming your something like ray’s mother. doing and buying everything for him while he lies back and strums on a guitar. they assume that when he sees him alone in mit-chan’s bar that your at his house, washing his clothes and cleaning his floors while he waits for one of his side pieces. they assume ryusuke minami is a good for nothing piece of shit who got lucky in the world just because he can strum together some chords and call it music. they assume your too blinded by his boyish charm and looks too see how much of an ass he is.

“and as I stare, I counted, The webs from all the spiders”

you’d give everything and anything for ryusuke minami. you’d drop everything and move across the world if he told you to, youd sit for hours and play with his hair if it meant he would sleep easy that night. day in and day out you would sit and listen to him play that guitar with those 7 bullet holes that he somehow made sound like heaven. you’d stand in a crowd of sweaty bodies every night if it meant you could see him live his dreams up on those stages.

“catching things and eating their insides, like indecision to call you and hear your voice of treason”

you’d give up everything and anything for ryusuke minami. and you, despite everyone and their mother telling you that he’s the worst person they’ve ever met. they tell you; he makes the girls cry, he never returns the money he borrows, that he’s just some kid that lived in america for a while and thinks he’s hot shit. you’d give it all for ryusuke minami, and you know- every bone in your body knows- that in the strum of a guitar string, ryusuke minami would give up everything and anything for you and the earth you walk on.

“will you come home and stop this pain tonight? stop this pain tonight”

#WHY WAS THIS ONE OF THE BEST THINGS IVE EEVR WRITTEN #AND ITS FOR A FANDOM THAT IS FUCKING DEAD #PLS JUST READ RHIS #!!.[ryusuke] my luver #!!.beck: mcs works #ryusuke x reader #ryusuke minami beck #ryusuke beck #ryusuke minami x reader #ryusuke minami #beck mongolian chop squad #beck mcs #beck anime #beck manga #chiba tsunemi #yoshiyuki taira

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mdmakki · 3 years ago

Text

"we'll wish this never ends"- ryusuke minami. X

(i'm so proud of this pls just skim through it<3)

"hello there, the angel from my nightmare"

"the shadow in the background of the morgue, the unsuspecting victim"

you did everything and anything for ryusuke. going to nearly every show-no matter if it's down the street or across the world-, giving him lends of money when he needs it, prying bottles of alcohol out of his hand with tears blurring your vision, lying on his behalf to make sure he doesn't get his ass handed to him, even following him to new york when he felt it was all to much. people would say the most ryusuke has done for you is actually remember your birthday this year.

"of darkness in the valley, we can live like Jack and Sally if we want"

moments like these were ones you cherished, ryusuke's dream had him either on stage or in the studio, and you weren't one to stop that dream-if anything you encouraged it-you always came over to ray's house, you'd stay for hours on end and most days you'd sleepover. the thought of leaving being to much to bear. even though he's not a huge help, he'd still have a go at trying to help you with your studying. moments like these were just some of the many you cherish.

"and in the night, we'll wish this never ends, we'll wish this never ends"

your favourite thing about being apart of ryusuke's life was seeing the light in his eyes when he talked to you about a song he's been writing made your heart fill with admiration. and when he told you the latest song he wrote was about you every butterfly that was sleeping in your stomach came to life and flew around every inch of your belly.

“I miss you, I miss you, I miss you, I miss you"

the soothing sound of ryusuke's voice was something you could listen to forever. the first time he gave you a copy of a song he wrote for you was one you'll never forget. it's always been your favourite song since then-if you could get it tattooed in your brain you really would- every day you listen to the playlist he's made full of songs for you.

"where are you? and I'm so sorry"

you would say the most ryusuke has done for you is be there when those people aren't. like right now at 3:16 in the early morning, the stars and moon's reflection rippling off the fishing pond outside the open door. he's here right now when your friends aren't. he's here when those friends are on a vacation in a sunny beach getting day drunk, he's there when they aren't consoling over your upcoming exams. he's there when they claim he's probably off with some groupie.

"I cannot sleep, I cannot dream tonight"

the soothing sound of ryusuke's voice must've had you zoning out for a while. his arm was still running up and down your arm and so was your hand on his chest, he was still singing and beck was still snoring outside. all was the same except your cheeks feel a bit more damp then before. bringing a hand to the area, it felt as if a puddle was on your face. ryusuke wasn't stupid, of course not. he knows well you've been in a world of your own, absent tears falling from your tired eyes. he didn't say anything, he just gently pushed your head back to his chest, keeping that hand on the crown of your head. continuing to sing as even louder sobs started shaking through your body.

'I need somebody and always, this sick, strange darkness comes creeping on, so haunting every time"

people think they know everything. always assuming your something like ray's mother. doing and buying everything for him while he lies back and strums on a guitar. they assume that when he sees him alone in mit-chan's bar that your at his house, washing his clothes and cleaning his floors while he waits for one of his side pieces. they assume ryusuke minami is a good for nothing piece of shit who got lucky in the world just because he can strum together some chords and call it music. they assume your too blinded by his boyish charm and looks too see how much of an ass he is.

"and as I stare, I counted, The webs from all the spiders"

you'd give everything and anything for ryusuke minami. you'd drop everything and move across the world if he told you to, youd sit for hours and play with his hair if it meant he would sleep easy that night. day in and day out you would sit and listen to him play that guitar with those 7 bullet holes that he somehow made sound like heaven. you'd stand in a crowd of sweaty bodies every night if it meant you could see him live his dreams up on those stages.

"catching things and eating their insides, like indecision to call you and hear your voice of treason"

you'd give up everything and anything for ryusuke minami, and you, despite everyone and their mother telling you that he's the worst person they've ever met. they tell you; he makes the girls cry, he never returns the money he borrows, that he's just some kid that lived in america for a while and thinks he's hot shit. you'd give it all for ryusuke minami, and you know- every bone in your body knows- that in the strum of a guitar string, ryusuke minami would give up everything and anything for you and the earth you walk on.

"will you come home and stop this pain tonight? stop this pain tonight"

#✎—dear diary #✎—BECK works #reposting this bc i love it sm #ryusuke minami #beck #beck mongolian chop squad #ryusuke beck #ryusuke x reader #ryusuke minami beck

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peakywitch · 5 years ago

Text

Behind the Garrison, by the Canal - Finn Shelby

Word count: 1630

Warning: mention about sex and semi-nudity (?)

A/N: i wrote it in spanish and translated it, apologies if you see any mistake!

gif: @el-cheung

A soft knock on the door interrupted (Y/N) from his reading. She looked up curiously from her book, not knowing who it might be.

Her mother? She was upstairs sleeping with the baby.

Her father? He was working.

Her older brother? He was meeting his fiancé’s parents.

Finn? No, he was at a family meeting, it couldn't be him. Plus, they never met each other during the day.

Y/N got up from the uncomfortable purple sofa, going to the door. She tried to peek through the small window to find out who it was. Suit, a peaked hat, a cigar. A Blinder.

Sh took a deep breath, had her brother gotten into trouble? Having exhaled, she opened the door, showing Finn.

"Finn?" she asked curious and somewhat nervous, they were only supposed to see each other half past eight, behind the Garrison, by the canal.

If her father came earlier from work, she was dead.

"Hey, Y/N." he smiled, as he spoke fast.

"I know we said to meet in a few hours, but since I have the afternoon free, I thought about asking you if...you could...lend me another book?" the nervous smile was still there.

The young girl was teaching the younger Shelby how to read, and since he learned, he read every book there was and to be.

Pride and Prejudice? Finished in 72 hours.

Little women? One week.

Hell, he'd even read the bible and could recite some verses from memory.

On one occasion, Finn told Y/N that he had corrected Isaiah, about the bible:

"I will fear no evil!" Isaiah said humorously, as he answered Arthur about whether he was afraid on one of those many illegal occasions. “Jesus said it, you know, Arthur? And I…” Finn cut him off, correcting him.

"Isaiah, that’s Psalm 23:4." Finn said casually, as he finished his cigarette.

Arthur, John, and Isaiah burst into laughter, of course after trying to figure out how Finnny Boy knew so much about God.

"Sure, Finn. Give me a moment." Y/N closed the door, took the Illustrated edition of Alice in Wonderland that he was reading, took out the bookmark, and returned to the door. She opened it and Finn was still wearing that nervous smile.

"Here it is, have fun with Alice, the Queen and the Mad Hatter, Finn." Y/N's smile made Finn's hand shake.

A few weeks ago, the boy had killed a man. His hand did not tremble, his head did not hesitate. But, oh shit, his heart exploded in anger that night, at home. Finn would never admit it, but it scared him to grow up and be as savagely violent as Arthur, or as distant as Tommy. Fear and anxiety were eating him alive, until he realized that his hand was shaking when she smiled at him.

“Thank you, beautiful." He smiled, as he exchanged the borrowed copy of Romeo and Juliet for that copy of Alice. After a wink and a "see you later" he walked away.

With a stomach full of butterflies, Y/N closed the door.

"Hello friend," she whispered to the book. "Have they treated you well?"

Y/N sat down on the couch again, going over the sentences she had marked with her black pen for the umpteenth time. As she was fanning through the pages, a piece of paper fell on her legs. Curious, she took it in her hands and saw Finn's handwriting. She knew it was his, she had taught him to write in italics. Also, she would recognize that misaligned handwriting and that soft stroke anywhere.

“I thought I knew love until your beauty seduced my eyes. Page 118 –Finn”

She smiled.

After greeting her father who had just arrived from work, Y/N commented that she would go to sleep and skip supper. The clock in her room read half past seven in the afternoon, which gave the signal to Y/N to escape through her window.

She wrapped herself up, looked at herself in the small mirror on her wall, and went out the window. Although the house had two stories, Y/N's room was downstairs, making it easier for her to get out the window.

Legs out, then the torso, the arms, and finally the head. Once outside, she adjusted her hair and began her short walk.

Y/N lived just five minutes from the Garrison and should meet Finn in an hour. But she wanted to stop by the Garrison to say hi to Harry. Also, she was to bring him a shirt that her mother had fixed for him.

As she thought of Finn, the five minutes turned into two seconds, and Y/N found herself in front of the pub. It was Friday, so it was full of men with inhuman amounts of alcohol in their blood. She took a deep breath and opened both doors, the smoke from so much cigarette making her dizzy.

She walked over to the bar and saw Harry serving a scotch. Her nose narrowed, remembering that awful taste she'd tasted with Finn.

"It's horrible," Finn had said, "I don't know why my brothers drink this shit."

"Hello Y/N" Harry greeted, anyone could hear her mother's Irish accent on him.

"Hi Harry, I bring you your shirt. Mom thanks you for making her focus on something other than the baby."

They both laughed, as Y/N handed him the bag. After a casual chat, some questions about her father, her new brother and her mother, they said goodbye. Y/N passed by the private booth, but didn't hear a soul. Maybe Finn was already by the river.

It was a matter of seconds before she reached the river, in their usual spot. She sat on a rock and waited.

Two, five, ten, fifteen, thirty minutes.

It was ten past eight, maybe quarter past eight.

Finn wasn't coming, and Y/N was starting to get scared. It was late, she shouldn't be alone. It was eight thirty, she had waited fifteen more minutes.

"God, don't let anything bad happen, please” Y/N said between prayers.

When she got up, she started walking in the direction of his house. To Finn's house. She was sure he was reading. She headed to Finn's house mainly because she was only a few feet away from it and also because she wanted to know if he was okay.

When she arrived and saw the light on, she was relieved. She knocked on the door, she would ask him to accompany her home.

"I’m going!" Finn yelled, there was a laugh and a slim, semi-naked woman who was wearing a man's shirt opened the door, still laughing.

"Lydia I told you that..." Finn's laughter stopped "Oh bloody hell."

Finn had come up behind Lydia, shirtless and his suspenders dangling at his sides.

The floor shook under Y/N's feet. The rest was blurry, for both of them. Finn remembered the cold hitting his shirtless chest as he yelled Y/N's name all over Watery Lane and Saint Mary's Street, asking for forgiveness and for her to listen to him. Y/N remembered the knot in her belly, hearing nothing except her breaths and feeling how Finn's words he had written burned her heart. Her heart, for the first time, was breaking along with the trust she had in him. Because she thought he was good, she believed that he loved her and that he wouldn't be fooling around with others after all those kisses and secret talks on the river.

When she got to the door of her house, Y/N was trying to open it. But the key was on the other side.

"Can you hear me for a damn moment!?" Finn yelled, coming to her side. He took the sad girl by the arm and turned her around.

"Do not touch me! Don't ever touch me again in your fucking life, Finn Shelby!" she bellowed, tears spilling from her eyes.

"Okay." he quickly separated from her, releasing her “But you have to listen to me. I…She…” his voice trembled.

"Did you sleep with her, Finn?" Y/N whispered.

"No...I..." the boy nervously combed his hair as he looked at the floor, Y/N knew instantly that he was lying.

"You had sex with her?!" Y/N let out in a strangled cry, asking but claiming at the same time. Her angry eyes were focused on Finn's, who were scared "And don't lie to me, please don't lie to me."

"Yes."

Y/N’s throat went dry, while her heart kept on breaking.

"Since when?"

"Five months now."

"Oh..." Y/N let out bitterly, then laugh "You are so afraid of looking like your brothers that you forget a detail: You are them, you always were and always will be."

“Don't tell me that, Y/N. You can't tell me that…” Finn cried.

"Yes, I fuckin’ can. You could shag her, I can tell you the truth. I'm not lying to you, Finn. I never lied to you."

“Do you remember two weeks ago, on the river? You said…” Y/N interrupted him.

“I said how I felt, Finn. Now I feel so much, so much pain and hate that I wish I had never told you."

Finn's face was a complete puzzle.

The door slammed open, appearing Y/N's older brother.

"Bye, Finn."

She entered the house, and headed straight for her room, ignoring her brother's whispers about how she should never have gotten together with Shelby. That they do this, they do that.

“Y/N! I am talking to you!" Peter said, entering his little sister's room.

"Peter, stop it, ok?" exploded Y/N “I know I didn't have to hang out with the Shelby family. But you're also dating a stupid woman and nobody tells you anything! "

Peter backed away, shocked.

“No… Peter, sorry. Wendy is…"

“Save it, Y/N. I opened the door for you, so that Dad wouldn’t kill the Shelby himself. But first thing tomorrow morning, they want you down. Both of them."

And just like that, Peter left the room, leaving Y/N in a mess and crying.

#finn shelby #finn shelby imagine #arthur shelby imagine #arthur shelby #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #joe cole #john shelby #john shelby imagine #polly gray #michael gray #alfie solomons #the peaky blinders #birmingham #luca changretta

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sofi220303 · 4 years ago

Text

My Weeb Hero - Leviathan (Obey Me!) One-Shot

Summary:

(After the events of Lesson 16)

After having a nightmare of THAT traumatic experience you had recently on the Devildom, you decide to ask Levi for help to forget your nightmare, and with a beautiful gaming night both of you get closer.

*Just read it for the fluff and to see Levi being cute with MC lmao, I suck at doing interesting summaries*

Before We Start:

Hi! Welp, this is the first time I'm publishing a fanfic in my life (Only because it's Levi's birthday and I love him, and wanted to post something about him), so please don't be too harsh on me and I really hope you all enjoy it! Thanks to my beautiful friends that were my beta-readers and also proofread my story (love ya girls!)

I wrote some MC interest and personality basing it on me to make it more realistic, so if you don't like one of the interest I wrote, change it to your own! I also have the same idea written but instead of Levi, with Satan, maybe if you like this one I will publish it, english it's not my first language so sorry if I have some mistakes, and well I think that's all, hope you like it!

My Weeb Hero

— I hate humans, you see. I hate them more than anything in the three worlds— while Belphegor talked all I could feel was the pressure of his cow like tail around my neck, pressing it harder by the minute. I tried to breath, but with every second that passed it became harder. I tried to focus my energy on pushing him away or taking his tail off me, but it was hopeless. My body felt heavier and I didn't have the strength to do anything; there was no way to scape, to save myself.

—...Why is it so much fun that I can barley stand it?! I... I can't contain the laughter! AHAHAHAHAHA!— his eyes that once where sweet and beautiful, that showed sadness and frustration, no, not frustration, but desperation because of being captive, now were shining, almost seemed as they where glowing in the darkness of the room, glowing with passion and satisfaction by my growing pain. They're all I could see with that smile that scared every last bit of me, and that laugh that echoed in my mind, suffocating me even more.

My eyelids became heavier and everything faded into darkness, but I could still see those glowing eyes and creepy smile with his laugh loudly resonating in my head...

Without breath I woke up from my dream turned into nightmare, completely startled by the memory. My body was shaking and my breathing was fast, desperate to get a grasp of air I frantically needed and still felt like missing. With a hand in my heart I closed my eyes to find it beating at an awfully fast speed. I laid back on my bed slowly and tried to focus on my breathing to calm down, without noticing I placed my hand on my face and started laughing, just to start crying the second after. I decided to go to the bathroom to wash my face and get some water... again those nightmares... great.

When I went back to my room I decided to check the hour on my phone... 2:45 am... perfect. I opened the chat on my D.D.D and scrolled down a bit. I'm sure he will be awake, it's not that late and he probably is playing some video-games, binge-watching some anime or rewatching the TSL movies again.

"Leviachan Otaku Lord"

MC: Hey! You up?

Levi: Yup, u ok?

Levi: Thought I heard some noise...

Levi: It's not as if I'm worried or something! Just wondering out of pure curiosity... It would be really unfair if you were with some of my brothers doing a sleepover like the other day -_-'

MC: Hahaha... it's nothing like that, just needed someone to talk to and thought you would be up watching smth or playing some games.

MC: Sorry to bother you since I know you don't like to be disturbed.

Levi: Hmph it's no bother if I'm answering you (-////-)

Levi: I was just watching a show, but it's really not that interesting.

Levi: Did you have a nightmare again?

MC: Yeah... the noise you heard probably was when I went to the kitchen to get something to drink ://

Levi: Do-do you want to come over? If you don't want to it's okay. Maybe is better if we only talk by chat, but it's not everyday that I give someone the opportunity to come into my biggest comfort place, to my beloved "cave" as my brothers would say.

MC: Hahahaha

MC: Okay, okay, if you want it that bad I will go.

MC: As you said it's not everyday that I get invited to your awesome cave lmao

After that, Levi didn't answer again. Gladly, his room was near mine so I didn't have to walk around the House of Lamentation making more noise and risking waking everyone up. When I got there I knocked on his door three times. After a minute or so, the door opened slowly.

—Come in.— Levi almost whispered hiding behind the door. Even though his face was serious, you could see a faint blush on his cheeks. He still wasn't used to people entering his room without coming to drag him out, play video games or watch animes or some movie, ask him a favor or look through his things, so this was still weird for the introverted demon.

Also, he knew how much I liked his room with the ocean theme and felt relaxed by it, so if that would help me get over the scare of the nightmare he would endure it.

—Thanks...— I said softly while sitting on his bed. He took some consoles from his desk and took some games before sitting with me.

—No worries!— he said while hurriedly giving me a console and the games to automatically look to the other side of the room— C-choose a game, we will play some... I thought you would like these ones... — he mumbled still facing the opposite side of the room but more relaxed.

—How about this one?— I took the same old loved Mariokart and showed it to him.

—If that's what you want... it's really a good choice since it's a classic that never disappoints to bring a great time. But don't think I will let you win that easily! Hmph! — he took the game and put the disc's in both consoles.

—It's really cool how you have two Nintendos and copies of the games to play with more people!— I said while preparing my game.

—As an otaku I need the limited edition consoles, and this Ruri-chan theme Nintendo had to be mine even though I already had that one, and the copies are pretty new, since I thought it would be best to lend yo... you know what? Never mind.

Even if he doesn't want to show it he can be really cute when he cares for others, I can't help but smile while thinking that.

—Are you ready to start?— he asks looking directly at me.

—Huh? Oh! Yes...— while concentrating on the loading screen I add— I won't take it easy with you too, I'm not willing to lose!

—Ha! Let's see if you can win to a pro like me, normie— he says surprisingly confidently with a smirk on his face.

After five rounds with two wins and three loses...

—Fuzz buckets! You ARE good at this...— I admit in defeat.

—Told ya, still... you keep up a good match...—he admits shyly— and did you just said "fuzz buckets"?? Really?

—Sorry not sorry! I just love Wizards and got used to saying it thanks to Douxie. Can't help it so don't blame me — I giggled.

—Hmm... I'm in no position to blame though, but why him??

—Because I love him and he is my fave. I don't question you when you say quotes from Henry, do I?

—No... you don't...— he fakes resentment and pouts, simply cute.

Without really thinking who I'm with, I lean on his shoulder. I can feel him getting a bit stiff but he doesn't move away and I take it as an offer to stay there.

—Hey... do you... do you want to talk about what happened? About your nightmare?— he asks a bit embarrassed.

—Just the usual... the demon from that time trying to attack me, but none of you is around to save me... and I can't scape because I'm cornered and I'm not strong enough to run or defend myself...— even though I wanted to tell him about the nightmare, I couldn't bring myself to tell any of them that their own brother is the demon in question, not even to Levi with whom I'm closer to. So I just used the story about that time on RAD when a demon of a lower rank tried to attack me while I walked to my next class. At that moment I was alone because none of the brothers took that class with me, but gladly before something happened, Lucifer, who was passing by, saved me and took care of him. Since then, at least one of the brothers would take the same classes as me, so I'm not alone anymore.

—I swear I will protect you... I might be a filthy otaku, an useless shut-in, but I'm strong enough to protect you. I won't let others hurt you... even on your dreams... so make sure to call me in situations like this. I can be your hero, like the ones on manga, and... I w-want to be your hero!— with a a blush creeping up on his cheeks and the tip of his ears, he declared this with such passion showing he was serious, but in a soft way that shows the regret of not being there at the moment the incident happened.

—Thank you Levi— I reply softly— can I stay here for a bit more?— I ask while closing my eyes and grabbing his left arm close to me. Another shiver comes from him because of that, but again he doesn't complain. I can feel his eyes staring and I'm mostly sure he is even more red than before. With a little movement of his head, guessing he is nodding, and a "hmmh" I finally fall asleep feeling safe.

I didn't have any more nightmares that night.

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guysunderwearstories · 4 years ago

Text

Hey guys! Something a little different today! A follower acrually wrote a story with Carson and Walt and I decided to post it. Though it’s different than what I usually write and I don’t intend to include it in the continuity of my stories, I really enjoy it and I think you guys will too!

“I’m a boxers guy!”, Carson yelled as he awoke from his deep sleep. Still feeling the embarrassment from the day where he dropped his pants in front of his boss and new co-worker, Carson laid his head on his pillow as tried to come to terms that it wasn’t a horrible nightmare but a reality.

After a few minutes of contemplation, he pulled the bed covers away and walked towards his mirror. Once there, Carson stood in front of it, casually idolizing his ripped six pack, arms, and thighs, that he worked so hard to maintain. Posing like a Greek god in his loose AE boxers with purple eggplants on them gave him the confidence he needed to get through the day.

“Hey Walt! You’re up before me? That’s a first!” Carson shouted, getting no response. “That’s weird” he thought to himself before seeing a letter on his bedroom door, “Woke up early to meet with Norm, see you in the office. PS: The suit you lend me it’s a bit big but fits nice - signed Walt”

“Wait, what?” Carson thought. After their encounter with his boss, Norm and Walt got to talking and surprisingly hit it off. Norm took a liking to Walt, told him Walt reminded him of himself back in the “good old days” of his youth. Norm demanded Carson to bring Walt to the firm to check it out. And Carson, trying to stay on his boss' good side, reluctantly agreed.

Carson frantically opened up his closet to see only one suit. It was a simple black suit that Carson had picked out for Walt to wear since he didn’t bring any office wear with him while he was staying over. However, the only problem was that it was a couple years old, back when Carson was younger and more lean. “Shit, Walt you tighty whities wearing loser! You took the wrong suit!”

“What am I going to do?” Carson thought to himself as he knew that all his other suits were in the dry cleaners. Not to mention, that he couldn’t miss today since he had a presentation with his new co-worker. While Carson had seniority, he couldn’t let the newbie out stage him.

Without much hesitation, Carson grabbed the suit and wrestled to put it on. As he put on the suit jacket, he could feel his muscles trying to burst thru. With sheer strength Carson managed to pull his pants up past his Adonis thighs but saw that his boxers got twisted and made it look like he was wearing some sort of diaper. Plus, the extra fabric made it harder to breathe. Carson knew he had to ditch the boxers but there was no way he was going commando, the chaffing would be too painful.

So in a hurry he dropped his pants to let his thighs breath and looked through his underwear drawer, looking for any tight boxers but with no success. At that moment, Carson saw his jockstrap. While Walt made his life a living hell by constantly teasing him about it, Carson couldn’t come to terms to throw it away. Carson was hesitant about wearing the piece of fabric outside the gym but he had no choice.

Fortunately the jockstrap was thin enough to work with the slacks. It gave him some room to breath but since the slacks were still a size or two small, it really highlighted his ass and bulge. Carson did his best to “cover” up his delicates but couldn’t stop worrying that his suit could burst at any moment.

Making it to his office, Carson did his best to go unnoticed while carefully taking small steps to keep his pants from ripping. “Finally, now where the hell is…” “Wow, Carson you’ve been working out.” Carson’s train of thought got interrupted, startled he turn around to see the newbie standing behind him.

“Oh hey, I didn’t see you there” Carson left out a nervous laugh, every breath felt like a punch to the gut. “I’m just looking for my little brother, have you seen him?” “I’ve seen him with Norm earlier but anyways, here is the copy of the report, I’m looking forward to presenting it with you.” Having his movement constricted Carson accidentally dropped the report on the ground. “Sorry about that” he replied. Carson knowingly that he couldn’t pick up the papers with the risk of his pants ripping open, left the papers on the floor. After an awkward moment of silence, the newbie left.

“See you then.” Carson quickly replied, doing his best not to breathe as much. Carson felt naked in front of his coworker, the suit left little to his imagination as the fabric rubbed against his groin and made it more noticeable, Carson covered himself as he saw the newbies eyes make contact with it.

With no choice Carson took one deep breath and bent down to pick up the papers. Suddenly he felt the suit strangle his entire body and in one exhale, the suit began to tear apart inch by inch. Like a scene from the Hulk, Carson's suit jacket was torn apart as his muscles tore through the fabric. While his pants ripped at the seams from both sides.

In one swept motion, Carson's entire suit came peeling off his body. In utter shock, he stood there frozen as the cold breeze from the office building brushed every part of his body. In nothing but a shredded shirt and his jockstrap, butt as naked.

“Hey Carson, the newbie told me you were...what the fuck!?!” Walt jumped back holding back his shock as he saw his older brother, Carson the accountant, the pride and joy of the family butt ass naked.

Carson coming back to his senses instinctively covers his crotch followed by his ass, alternating between the two. He couldn’t believe it, like a wild man he grabbed the report off the ground and used it to cover his groin.

“Carson, why are you a thong?” Carson beet red of embarrassment and fury latched out at Walt, “It’s a jockstrap! A jockstrap! Not a thong, can’t you see it has the straps?” Carson proceeded to show the back of his hairy ass to Walt (who was unimpressed) before shamefully remembering the predicament he was in.

“I’m in my jockstrap with my ass out because you took the wrong suit!” “Give me your suit, now!” Carson demanded. “No way dude!” Walt protested. After a few back and forth Carson had reached his limit. Anybody could walk in on him at any moment. “Walt please!” Walt seeing his semi-naked brother with almost tears in his eyes came up with a better idea. Walt will present on behalf of his brother, while Carson waits in the bathroom till the presentation is over. After all, Walt didn’t want to be stranded in his underwear. With no other choice, Carson agreed.

After a good hour, in the freezing bathroom stall, Walt finally finished and went to his brother aid. Carson came out of the stall covering his groin, “This day can’t get any worse”, before he could react Norm and the newbie walked in. “Oh my Walt, that was a marvelous presentation I hav- oh my! Carson, you know the changing room is on the other floor!”

I’m so happy that people have responded well to the stories including Carson. I keep introducing characters that I expect to be one-off foils to the main guys, but then I keep bringing them back. There was TJ, Seth, Carlos, and now Carson, and I’m still trying to think of ideas to bring back the coach or plumber! But knowing people enjoy these stories (both for their characters and their underpants), is what makes me want to continue writing them!

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 4 years ago

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* * * *

INTERVIEW: SAINT MISBEHAVIN’ WAVY GRAVY

by Richard Whittaker, Dec 21, 2010

One day I got a note from ServiceSpace founder, Nipun Mehta offering me tickets to a new documentary movie about Wavy Gravy. Would you like to go?

I went. Although I was aware of Wavy Gravy as a cultural icon, I really knew very little about him. The film is a eye-opener. Michelle Esrick’s loving documentary, Saint Misbehavin’ - 10 years in the making - is a real introduction to this remarkable man. I'd never heard about Hugh Romney, the man who later became famous as Wavy Gravy. And what a story. I'll mention just one of its surprises: earlier in his life, Hugh Romney was Lenny Bruce's manager.

A few weeks after seeing the film, at Mehta’s urging, I had the chance to interview Wavy Gravy himself.

Richard Whittaker: How are you feeling about Saint Misbehavin’?

Wavy Gravy: Oh, it’s a swell movie. I’m honored to be so well-documented, and the review in the New York Times was embarrassing. I’m not that good.

RW: You said in the film that you’re an “intuitive clown.” Would you mind saying something about what that means?

WG: I’m trained in the art of acting improvisation. That means acting on the spur of the moment rather than doing, say, the focused slow burn and all the traditional clown moves. I don’t do any of that.

RW: So that would be about sensing the moment, what’s there, and taking in who you’re with.

WG: Absolutely—and sensing what’s going on. I was, for a number of years, with The Committee in San Francisco. I taught improvisation at Columbia Pictures. Harrison Ford was one of my students and I’ve taught improvisation at Camp Winnarainbow for over thirty years.

RW: I wanted to ask you about your history. For instance, in New York in Greenwich Village, you wrote poetry, right?

WG: Yes I did.

RW: Is any of it available? And is it something you’d want people to find?

WG: There are a couple of slender volumes out there. I think you’d have to go to Amazon or eBay to find them. I don’t even have copies myself. But other people do and will lend them to me when I need them.

RW: Do any titles stand out for you?

WG: Kaleidoscope and there’s Joe’s Song, which is taught in a poetry class at the University of California at Berkeley. Would you like to hear it?

RW: Please.

WG: Okay. It goes like this: “Once upon and ever since I was a child in a child’s world. I have wept a child’s tears and built a child’s wall of clay and stone and colored years of poems in paint and virgin gold. I sought to build a wall so tall from lion eggs from Gallilee, a brick of song among the dregs of silver nails and lesser men a mile long to kiss the sun and climb again. Once ago and ever now I stood a man on a child’s wall. I stopped and prayed to spider webs and roses of the sea. I spoke as one with all the earth and knew the pain of birth and death to be the same without my wall. Once upon and ever furled I stand alone with all the world.”

RW: That’s beautiful.

WG: I wrote it in 1960 or about then. I don’t write lyric poems very often. These days I mainly write haiku, usually when friends pass away, which is happening more and more frequently from natural causes. Also I’ve been having the good fortune to have my art exhibited, and I do a haiku to go with each piece.

RW: I’m imagining that, as a younger man, you had certain visions and deep feelings that could have been a liability for living the conventional life.

WG: I don’t think I ever had to contend with that one [laughs]. I live in the land of one thing after another. [speaking with an east Indian accent] “The sand only goes through the hourglass one grain at a time,” as some Hindu sage proclaimed. I’ve discovered that to be true.

RW: Did you have mentors who supported you in Greenwich Village?

WG: It was kind of amusing. I was going to theater school at Boston University, which was an amazing theater school. The finest directors in the world would come in and the whole college would read for a part. A freshman could get a lead. It was extraordinary. And if you weren’t cast in the production, you would be cast in the lighting crew or the costume crew or the stage crew. Then there was an upset about theater students not doing their social studies and the university attempted to move the campus of the theater school over to where the rest of the university was laid out. Just at that time, the teachers who had all been hired during the McCarthy blackball because they couldn’t work on Broadway, well, the blackball ended and they all quit. They went to work at the Neighborhood Playhouse in New York City, and they took me with them.

But while I was at BU, I had read in Time Magazine about jazz and poetry in San Francisco. I thought, hey, I’ve written a couple of poems and I know some musicians. I can do that! So I got together with a bunch of artists from the museum school and we proceeded to take the basement of a bar called The Rock on Huntington Avenue. The place in the basement was called The Pebble in the Rock. We put in black tables and black clothes and mobiles and paintings and began doing jazz and poetry. It was the first jazz and poetry done on the East Coast. So I had the privilege of inaugurating the East Coast to jazz and poetry. I persisted in doing it for years in, of all places, Hartford Connecticut. On every Monday I would grab a bunch of musicians and go to Hartford and make substantial money. Otherwise I was going to the Neighborhood Playhouse and reading my poetry in the evenings at the Gaslight Café in Greenwich Village, as you saw in the movie.

RW: That’s an amazing story. There was another thing you said in the film, “put your good where it can do the most.”

WG: Which is the advice I gleaned from one of my mentors, the author and adventurer, Ken Kesey.

RW: Did that kind of focus something for you?

WG: Well, it lit up. It lit up. I had discovered that, somewhat. Whenever I would do a good thing, it made me feel good. I think I heard a preacher of color on television in the late fifties. He said, “It’s nice to be nice.” And that kind of hit a chord for me.

RW: Do you think there’s a mix in what artists do? That in your poetry, part of it was trying to give something?

WG: Hmmm, I don’t know. I was just trying to get out of the way and let whatever was inside of me come to the surface. In the early days, I was not all that consciously altruistic—although, in the early days of poetry, the poets were not paid. We used to pass a cornucopia around after an hour or so and people would put money in it. We made an embarrassing amount of money that way. Myself and Len Chandler, who was one of the first folk singers I brought into The Gaslight, he and I put on these capes with hoods—Len was an African-American and he had a motor scooter. And we would jump on the motor scooter at the end of the evening and drive down into the Bowery and find somebody passed out on the sidewalk. We’d stuff his pockets with money and drive off and find somebody else until we’d given away at least half of what we’d made in the course of the evening. It was a lot of fun.

RW: That’s incredible. What do you think led you to do that?

WG: I don’t know. It just seemed like a fun thing to do. We didn’t need all that money.

RW: Do you remember the moment when Ken Kesey said “Put your good where it will do the most good”?

WG: No. But he told me a lot of stuff—like, “You should honor your mother and your father.” This comes out of the Bible. As soon as I learned that Kesey had written that, I forget how he worded it, I immediately called my mother and my father and honored them verbally as best I could. And it was illuminating for them and for me. Afterwards, I called Ken up to thank him. He said, “Well, it’s just so darn simple.”

RW: I want to ask about giving and receiving. Do you have any thoughts in general, let’s say, about giving?

WG: Giving seems to be easy for me. Receiving is the thing I’m just beginning to learn how to do with grace. It’s a work in progress, like the rest of me. Over the last thirty years I’ve experienced considerable physical difficulty, having had to receive a series of spinal surgeries and spending amounts of time in body casts. You have no alternative, or you starve. So it was necessary. I tell people I learned patience in the hospital. [there’s a pause] That’s a pun.

RW: You’re right! [laughs]

WG: And as my infirmities persisted, I learned to acquiesce to the moment and accept, with as much graciousness as I could muster, the assistance of people who offered it.

RW: I bet this is true for lots of people, that it’s easier to give than to receive.

WG: Right, but as I pointed out, I didn’t have much choice, as with a lot of the stuff that has happened to me in my life. Life situations have presented themselves and it was either sink or swim.

RW: This reminds me of another part in the film. This is at Woodstock. You and the other members of The Hog Farm were brought there to be the police force for the whole event. You called yourselves “the please force.”

WG: We were the Please Force. And we had also set up what we called the Trip Tent.

RW: And there’s a part in the movie where you describe helping a young man who was having a bad acid trip.

WG: As he came in ranting, this three-hundred pound Australian doctor laid on top of him and said, “Body contact. You need body contact” [said with an accent] and then a psychiatrist leaned in and said, [using another funny voice] “Just think of your third eye, man.”

Then I figured it was time for me to make my move. I said, “Excuse me. I’d like to try something here.” And they all backed up. What’s this hippie going to do? That’s when I said, “What’s your name, man?”

RW: And he mumbled something…

WG: I said, “No, your name.” He told me his name and I said it back to him. In fact, I said it back to him several times.

RW: I noticed how very clear and emphatic you were when you got his name. “Okay, Bob. Bob, that’s your name.”

WG: Your name is Bob.

RW: Where did you get the knowledge of using that simple directness?

WG: We’d spent some time on the psychotropic frontiers through the prankster days and beyond. It was not unfamiliar territory.

RW: You knew something about being really concrete, and focused.

WG: And through the greatest professor of them all, professor experience; and from courses at hard knocks university.

RW: You’ve had a lot of hard knocks university experience, I think.

WG: Yes. Well, that’s how you learn things.

RW: You said in the film how you’d found you could get high without the psychotropic assistance. Could you say something about that again?

WG: There are many ways to alter space. I do lots of breathing exercises, and I do mantras. Different people have different recipes to get to a space of consciousness and then to dwell in it for as long as you can, I guess. My own way is an amalgam of many different practices from many different lineages.

RW: You evolved from Hugh Romney doing the poetry to where you were wearing a jester’s hat.

WG: Between poems I used to talk about the bizarre things that happened to me during the day because it was really tedious just reading all these poems night after night after night. Then a guy came along and said, look, skip the poetry. Just talk about your bizarre experiences. That’s how I got into doing stand-up.

Lenny Bruce became my manager. I put out a couple of albums and toured the U.S. —and in fact, something of the world—doing stand-up before these other things came along.

RW: Somewhere you left the jester’s hat and started dressing as a clown.

WG: I was asked, when we had moved to Berkeley in the mid-seventies, to go the Children’s Hospital in Oakland and cheer up kids. On the way out the door of my house, someone handed me a red, rubber nose. I discovered it enabled me to get out of myself and be entertaining to the kids. After awhile, I began to paint my face up as a clown. Somebody gave me a costume, and a clown who was retiring from Ringling Brothers gave me his giant shoes. I worked with kids, with kids who were terminal, even, and did this almost every day for about seven years.

At one point I had to go to a political rally at Peoples’ Park and I didn’t have time to take off my clown stuff. I discovered that the police didn’t want to hit me anymore. Clowns are safe.

RW: Can you say more about what your experience at Children’s Hospital working with kids was like?

WG: I discovered that not only was I helping the kids, I was helping myself. As I began to do this work, I’d gone through three major back surgeries and was in quite a bit of pain. But working with the kids I discovered that as I focused on the children and the pain they were in, I lost track of my own pain.

RW: Is the clown an archetype you can inhabit?

WG: Sure.

RW: Do you think, “I’m a clown?”

WG: I don’t know. I can’t see you.

RW: [laughs] No. I have a long way to go. If I evolved, I might become a clown.

WG: Well, you need to go to camp Winnarainbow. They’ll teach you to clown. It’d be good for you. I think John Townsend said it most brilliantly in The Book of the Clown, “A clown is a poet who is also an orangutan.” But clown comes from the word “clod” or bumpkin, and the red nose indicates they were drunk. But I found all this out later. Suddenly I have these big shoes on and [laughs] a nose and I’m painting my face up, and where does it all come from? I began to study it, and it’s very fascinating, the path of the clown and the jester.

RW: What have you found out about being a clown? What has been revealed?

WG: It enables me to go places I couldn’t go as a regular kind of guy. People feel challenged by people going where I go. But when I put on the patina of a clown I’m no challenge to them in any way.

RW: What do you wish for people when you become a clown?

WG: I wish that they would find joy in the moment. It’s like I expressed in the film, laughter is the valve on the pressure cooker of life. Either you laugh at stuff or you’re going to end up with your beans on the ceiling.

RW: At camp Winnarainbow in the film it showed the labyrinth you have on the grounds…

WG: It’s a unicursal Cretan labyrinth. The oldest one is 3000 years old and was found on the island of Sardinia. The more common labyrinth, like the one you see at Grace Cathedral came about during the 11th or 12th century when Europeans could not go to Jerusalem on pilgrimage. So they developed this other labyrinth, which is different from the Pagan labyrinth, which made it to Scandanavia, to India and somehow to Peru and to the sun temple at Mesa Verde. That’s where I first encountered it when I spent time living with the Hopi Indians for a few months.

RW: How did that happen?

WG: I was enamored of the Book of the Hopi by Frank Waters. And that’s where I first saw the labyrinth. According to the Hopi if there was a condition of planetary emergency the different races would gather on this mesa for instruction from the spirit world. So I showed up. They said, “You’re pretty early.” But they took pity on me and I got to hang out with them for a while.

RW: Was anything given to you?

WG: Not something that I would feel comfortable talking about, but yes—not so much from the people as from the geography.

RW: So you brought this labyrinth to camp Winnarainbow, then?

WG: Yes. I asked Minalanska, who was an elder, what that was. She said, “Oh Wavy Gravy, that’s just the master plan of the universe.” So I borrowed a pencil and wrote it down, and I’ve brought it everywhere I’ve gone ever since. I learned to draw it. Even with my first book, I’d sign it and draw that labyrinth.

RW: Now how do you make use of the labyrinth at camp for the kids?

WG: A teepee at a time, in the evening, the campers get to walk the labyrinth to beautiful music under the stars. If they do good things, they get strokes. If they do bad things they get strikes. Three strikes and you’re out. You can always work off strikes, but you can get enough strikes to be sent home, too. By doing things above and beyond the ordinary camper—for instance, if you get eight stokes in a two-week session, you get to walk into the center of the labyrinth. In the center, there’s also these crystals. You get to take a crystal out of the labyrinth and take it home.

RW: Do you talk to the kids about the labyrinth?

WG: Oh, sure.

RW: What do you tell them?

WG: I tell them that the labyrinth is not a maze. Mazes are designed to get you lost. Labyrinths are designed to get you found. And I ask them to think of each step as a prayer for peace. I tell them you go into the labyrinth and that there’s an energy in the center that I call the spirit of Gaia, the earth mother. I say that if you have cares or problems you can leave them in the labyrinth and come out perhaps lighter than when you went in. And that is sometimes helpful to young people.

RW: In the film you made a comment to one kid that the labyrinth is inside of you.

WG: Oh, I tell all the kids that. The true labyrinth is inside you.

RW: That’s powerful. From the film, I see that your life has been a journey. Do you feel it that way?

WG: Absolutely. It’s been a great adventure.

RW: What are some of the changes from where you were and where you are today?

WG: The things that are the most significant for me in my life are the circus and performing arts camp that I’ve run with my wife Jahanara for over thirty years. We do nine weeks for kids and one week for grown-ups. And the Seva Foundation is another. Through it I’m able to raise funds to help the blind regain their sight. Eighty percent of the blind people in the world don’t need to be—they can get their sight back.

When we first started doing the work it was about five dollars for a cataract operation. Now it’s close to fifty dollars for the operation in third world countries. If you go to SEVA.org you can find out all about us. We’ve helped to orchestrate—it’s going on three million sight-saving operations. I get to put on concerts to raise funds to do that. I’m going to be seventy-five years old in May and I’m looking forward to doing a concert in the Bay Area at the Craneway Pavillion in Richmond and in New York City at the Beacon Theater. And also I’m facing another basic spinal surgery in January. So I’ve got a lot of stuff on my plate.

RW: I know we don’t have much more time, but …

WG: Eternity now, I always say. That’s one of my favorite quotes. And we’re all the same person trying to shakes hands with our self. I think that’s a good one, too.

RW: I like those quotes. It’s clear that you’ve spent a lot of time doing forms of service. Camp Winnarainbow seems to be a service.

WG: Well, my greatest legacy is the children that have come out of camp over the last thirty years. Lots of the kids who started camp when they were seven are now running the camp. And I’m sure it will go on long after I’m gone.

RW: Is that something one begins to learn, that the deepest gifts come when one can look beyond personal wants to take in the needs of others?

WG: That is my want! [laughs] Put your good where it will do the most. I can’t say it any better.

[WORKS AND CONVERSATIONS]

#Works and Conversations #Interviews #Wavy Gravy #Clown #Camp Winnarainbow #service #improvisation

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ghostmartyr · 4 years ago

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how a life can move from the darkness [4/?]

| 1 | 2 | 3 |

Summary: Two drug addicts (Eren and Historia) meet in group and decide to be roommates to make their living situation slightly less weird. From there we do the slow burn found family dance mixed in with the struggles and agonies of recovery. Heavy on friendship feels, especially EMA. Eventual yumikuri.

Eren hadn’t been inside Reiner’s house five seconds before Ymir offered her two cents.

“Nice shiner.”

Reiner, halfway through taking off his soaked shirt in the middle of the kitchen and driving Bertolt to insanity over preparing breakfast, rolled his eyes. “Ignore her, Eren,” he said.

Everyone in the house had given him that advice at least once, by now. Eren didn’t make a habit of having breakfast with any of his clients. He wasn’t even having breakfast with Reiner today. Coming in for something besides bottled water after a run had turned into a routine after his first run-in with Ymir. Reiner had tried to book him for an unhealthy number of hours as an apology, so Eren had given in to being social enough to show that he really had forgiven him.

Bertolt, he’d already known fairly well. Reiner talked about him a lot, and when Eren first started taking Reiner out, Bertolt did the same hovering thing Mikasa did with him and Armin. He was a quiet guy, but familiar. The Galliard brothers weren’t quiet, but were almost never there when Eren was.

Ymir didn’t live with them. She just haunted the house.

Reiner claimed she liked using their living room as her office. She was some kind of writer, and always stationed herself on the couch, surrounded by paper. As many comments as she made to Eren, she did spend most of her time working, so it was believable.

Only she had the same look in her eye that Frieda and his mom got when she looked at any of the guys actually living in the house. Eren had assumed it was just Reiner, but it was all of them.

He tried not to make it his business. He was dealing badly enough with his own problems.

“Didn’t Reiner say you were done with fighting?” Ymir asked, circling something in red.

Eren poured himself some orange juice from the pitcher Bertolt kept for them. One long drink later, he didn’t feel any better about any of the ways this could go. Part of the reason people kept telling him to ignore Ymir was that he found Ymir very hard to ignore.

“My roommate threw a tennis ball at me,” he said.

Ymir paused her circling. She twisted around on the couch and gave his eye another look. “Threw,” she said. “Not hit?”

“We were playing catch,” Eren said.

Now she was looking at him like he was one of her clutch. It was annoying in a way that Frieda definitely wasn’t, and his mother only sometimes was. “Right.”

Reiner, who had zero information on what had actually happened, tried to help in between rinsing his hair in the sink. “People play catch, Ymir,” he said. “Eren’s brother hooked him on it early.”

Ymir, the only person in the house who knew anything about ignoring people, continued to act like this was a conversation exclusively between her and Eren. “Keeping your eye on the ball isn’t meant to be taken literally, you know.”

“I know,” Eren said.

Ymir grinned at him and went back to her papers.

Letting the conversation go there felt like it would be a loss, so Eren went ahead and asked. “What are you working on?”

To his surprise, Bertolt responded first. A long history of solemn, quiet staring in the face of conversation eroded. He groaned softly over the skillet, drawing every set of eyes to him like a magnet. Eren waited for him to give his contribution some words, but nothing followed. Reiner picked up the slack.

“Ymir’s a romance novelist,” he said.

“She writes porn,” Bertolt corrected, still dutifully facing the stove.

“Bert used to be my alpha reader,” Ymir said. She was smirking brightly as an angler fish’s lure. “We parted ways over incompatible creative differences. I had to go out in the cold, dark world and pave my way all alone. He won’t even listen to the titles anymore. You’d think years of friendship would promote a little more interest in my life, but…”

Reiner piped up. “He did a good job helping you with the first five.”

Eren didn’t know how old Ymir was, but Reiner only had two years on him, and he’d never gotten the sense that there was some huge gap. All he knew about publishing was that his and Armin’s favorite sci-fi series was lucky to get an addition every two years. That added up to a work ethic he wasn’t sure it was safe to compliment when Bertolt’s expression was so stony. “How many books do you have?”

“Enough that I’m the only person here who doesn’t need someone pitching in on rent,” Ymir said airily. “I don’t have to run around my place dodging tennis balls.”

She gave his eye another look that put Eren’s hackles up. He didn’t think Historia would have much of a problem decking Ymir with a tennis ball without being her roommate. Five seconds of contact would probably be good enough.

Saying something like that would just get more annoying looks.

“She’s really good,” Reiner said. “I can lend you a copy of one if you’re interested.”

“Reiner,” Bertolt said, scraping his spatula through the eggs, “I don’t think Eren wants something like that.”

One of the things Eren had learned early about Reiner was how stubborn he could be about showing off his friends. Waving Bertolt off, he leaned over the island. “He’s exaggerating about the porn. I mean, there’s some—more than some, with a few, but it’s all really tasteful and the focus is more on the emotional connection.”

Eren had never read a romance novel outside of high school literature assignments. He didn’t see this getting him started, and wasn’t sure how Reiner thought the argument that their friend wrote tasteful porn made it less weird, but he nodded blankly. “That’s… great.”

“You could at least buy the boy dinner before foisting erotic literature on him, Reiner,” Ymir said. She slung her head over the back of the couch to give her grin more of an edge. “Besides, I don’t think he swings that way.”

Eren said the first thing that entered his head. “I don’t like baseball.”

Bertolt’s magnet effect transferred to him. The man in question actually turned around long enough for a glance. Reiner’s shaved eyebrows rose. Ymir’s expression hit a delight that made Eren rethink needing Historia around to hit her.

Eren shrugged aggressively and did what he could to drain the orange juice from his glass so he was out of things tying him to their kitchen.

“You know,” Reiner said, “I have been meaning to ask if you want to grab lunch sometime, Eren.” Before Ymir could make good on the promise of her widening smile, he rushed to add, “Not as a date or anything, just, you know. You seem short on friends, so maybe we could spend some time together that isn’t work.”

“Can guarantee that you’ll end up with fewer black eyes with him,” Ymir said.

His bruised face twinged. He remembered to keep his fists lax so that his glass didn’t shatter. He put it down carefully on the island, right next to Reiner’s elbow.

“I have friends.”

Reiner smiled like he understood the first damn thing about the people Eren meant when he said that. “Nothing wrong with a few more.”

There wasn’t, but Eren could still feel the urge to argue on sheer principle of what Reiner was correctly suggesting about his life. Ymir’s smirk didn’t help.

He left the house with lunch plans, which felt like growth, and a gnawing bitter hole in his chest, which felt like everything he still hadn’t fixed.

----

He hated group.

He always hated group.

Today he hated it with a little more direction.

“Today,” Petra said, “I wanted to talk some about the importance of remembering that you’re one of the people you have to make amends to.”

Petra was pretending not to look at him and Historia. She wasn’t doing it very well. Historia just looked at the floor. Eren was trying to do better, but he could feel his body joining in.

They’d needed ice. After the last meeting. Going back inside to ask where to find the ice had been embarrassing. They’d waited until they knew the meeting would be over, but it was still embarrassing, and Petra standing there waiting for them to come back had been an awful cherry on top. She’d told them to stay put. Between the two of them, they ate half of her cookies while they waited.

The burnt cookies. Eren couldn’t taste well enough to care. Historia had stared listlessly at the few folding chairs that were still set up, munching hers mechanically.

“Does it ever help?” she’d asked, before Petra came back. “Talking?”

Eren had given the only answer he could. “I don’t know,” he said through his clotting nose, “but I didn’t used to be able to talk about any of it.”

When Petra had come back, she kept frowning at Historia. Who looked as guilty as she probably felt about Eren’s blackening eye and bloody nose. By Petra’s standards, it wasn’t anywhere near enough. Eren had left distraught, but without bruises. Coming back bleeding with his roommate wasn’t the most comforting image he could have brought in.

She hadn’t said anything then.

Now, not looking at them, she was saying things.

“The hurt we cause other people tends to be very tangible.”

Armin’s face. Eren’s hand in the medicine cabinet.

“We act in ways that cause them pain, and our relationships suffer injuries that we can’t hope to repair while we’re still slaves to our vices. We don’t usually have to ask what went wrong once we’re sober. I think everyone here has something they wish they hadn’t done during the course of their addiction.”

Mikasa asking if he was okay, of all fucking things, and him shouting that he never wanted to see her again. Blaming her for keeping such a good eye on him and not seeing the obvious. Like she’d had a part in his terrible choices.

“Taking responsibility for that damage is part of healing. It helps those we’ve hurt, and reasserts our own control by confronting the past and making up for where we went wrong. It gives us the tools to move on instead of turning our shame into another vice.”

Eren had been gripping the chair so hard that the circulation felt cut off in the tips of his fingers.

He looked up.

“When we refuse to make amends,” Petra said, “we refuse to let our lives move on from the pain and hurt we’ve caused. We refuse to move beyond the person addiction made us.”

Never picking up the phone when it rang. Throwing his mom’s landline at the wall.

“I can’t speak for everyone here, but I know that one of the first barriers I ran into during my recovery was whether or not someone like me even deserved to have the better life I was trying for.”

Historia jerked forward in her chair.

“But that’s what recovery is all about. We turned into someone we don’t want to be, and we want to change.”

Petra looked Eren in the eye. Eren didn’t turn away. His ears were hanging on each word.

“Denying ourselves that chance means denying recovery. It means we stay that person, and we keep doing damage. There is nothing positive found in punishing yourself to a point where you’re killing all the good things you still have left to offer. There’s only more suffering.”

Only more holes in the wall that needed patching.

Eren knew Petra, or the rehab counselor, or maybe even Reiner, had talked about self-destructive behavior before. He knew he’d talked to himself about it before. Drugs or not, he destroyed too much to really be anyone’s greatest representative of recovery. He knew people who relapsed and handled themselves better than he had in his first months of sobriety.

His eye still a shade of purple he hadn’t seen since his last tournament brawl with Annie, he heard the same click his muffled brain had made when Armin caught him. The first awful, miserable step that the drugs had let him run away from until he could barely move at all.

Some people talked about their lists at group. Specific things they wanted to make up to their specific people. Eren had one for his mom, but no one even wanted his apologies. They wanted him better, so he focused on that and called it good enough. He’d done the bare minimum and kept all the doors Armin and Mikasa tried to open slammed shut.

The burn of hatred was familiar. The writhing guilt under it had always felt unproductive. Hate he could do something with. He could swap out wanting things from his life for hating who he was enough to force a change. It worked fine when what he wanted was drugs.

There had been a person before all of that. The one who made his friends. He’d wanted a lot more out of life.

Eren chewed his way through a runny cookie after the end of the meeting. Thinking and not thinking. His head felt like a chalkboard that had just been wiped off. All the dust still in place and incomprehensible.

He did know what to say when Petra came over to join him, though.

“Thanks.”

Petra smiled sadly at him. “Don’t think you were the only one who needed help, Eren.” She sighed and leaned back against the folding table. The plate of cookies rattled. “Forgiveness doesn’t have to be earned to be accepted, but it’s much easier when it is. I’ve known a lot of people who fall into the trap of pushing themselves so hard they never find their way out.”

She ran a tired hand through her hair. “It can’t be about other people. What you need has to matter.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

Eren jumped. So did Petra.

Historia often took to shadowing him at meetings, but she was so much like an actual shadow that it was easy to forget she was there. Standing in the dark corner next to the card table, looking as small as Eren had ever seen her, this time felt intentional.

She was watching Petra.

“It always does,” Petra said, after a moment.

Historia’s jaw was locked shut, a small, nervous twitch all there was to suggest motion.

“But… what if it doesn’t?”

Eren knew he was missing pieces, but there was something deeply wrong with the dark lines in Historia’s expression. It reminded him of the very silent walk home after the last meeting, too distracted with pinning ice to his face to ask if he needed to ask if she was okay, and too ashamed to make it his job to check on her when she slammed her bedroom door shut.

“You matter, Historia,” he said. “So what you need matters.”

Her hands tied themselves together in front of her. The clench of one more repetition was behind her teeth, and Eren suddenly felt very out of his depth. That was one concept that there shouldn’t have been any footing to argue with.

The wrongness lingered all the way home, long after she nodded her head at them like she believed a single word they’d said.

----

He sent Armin a picture of Benjamin.

It took an hour to build up to it. He hid in the bathroom, back against the cabinets, and thought about healing. That thing everyone wanted from him. That thing the broiling wrath in his chest when he looked in the mirrors some days didn’t know how to do, but he still had a chance at.

He found the best picture. He found Armin’s name on the contact list.

He didn’t have to feel anything about it yet. He just had to do it. Make his body move. He was good at that. He had a lifetime of practice of it listening to him, and this time he was going to make it do something positive.

He hit the send button, and the comforting image of Benjamin swimming through his tank to say hello vanished.

He sent Mikasa one, too.

When his phone buzzed with a picture of Rivaille a minute later, fur raised and bright white teeth gleaming, he was still breathing, and there weren’t any holes in the walls or mirrors.

For the first time in months, the heat in his chest didn’t feel like anger.

----

If there was one negative Eren found in having Historia as a roommate and sponsor, it was that she was worse than Mikasa sometimes. Only instead of beating him at every physical challenge he’d ever taken on, she beat him at personal tragedy. That was one record he never wanted his friends anywhere near, and it was the one she always won.

He’d wanted to push. He knew he shouldn’t. Months of group and a few aborted meetings with therapists hadn’t made him any kind of expert on problems. Maybe if he’d known Historia before, he would have gone for it anyway, but experience had beaten some tact into him.

Some.

Maybe not enough. He wasn’t sure, but trying to patch things up with his best friends while he just let whatever Petra had cracked open with Historia fester made him feel like a hypocrite and a coward. He’d been both, and they never made anything better.

Several days of not broaching any serious topics went by before that determination could make any kind of difference. Maybe they were better for it. Maybe that was the only way the conversation would have happened at all.

Eren was on the couch, coordinating with a climbing group he was leading in the morning. Historia was studying under Benjamin’s tank. He probably should have caught how little she was turning the pages. That wasn’t always a fair gauge with her textbooks, but he should have still noticed.

She stopped in the middle of turning one. Her hand drooped to the floor.

“Sponsors are there to help with the addiction parts. Right?”

Eren looked up from telling his group contact that yes, he would have spare bottles, no, that did not mean they shouldn’t bring their own water. Historia stared resolutely at the page she’d stopped at. A panting puppy and a diagram of the panting puppy’s insides stared back.

“Right,” Eren said.

“You’re my sponsor.”

She said it like she was waiting for him to tell her he wasn’t. Eren put his phone down, frowning. “Yeah.” He didn’t know what there was to argue about that, but in case she’d forgotten every time she’d listened to him shriek his trauma at her, he added, “And you’re mine.”

Historia didn’t look away from the book.

Eren waited. The hair on the back of his neck felt unusually prickly. Benjamin swam back and forth at the front of his tank. He liked his hiding spots, but he was starting to prefer the open space when they were both in the room. His tank bubbled away softly.

“I overdosed,” Historia said.

A chill entered the room. Eren eased himself out of his comfortable slouch against the couch cushions. “Okay,” he said, trying to mean it. Or sound gentle. He didn’t know what gentle was supposed to sound like. Mikasa did a thing with her voice that could calm anything, but he’d always fallen short trying to be like her.

Historia’s shoulders were practically covering her head, they were so tense.

“It happens,” he said. He sounded stupid. He’d heard plenty of overdose stories. Reiner had three from before they ended up in rehab together. Eren wasn’t sure how he was still alive, and he didn’t think any of his roommates were, either, but they were all relieved. Overdose stories that ended with rehab and group instead of a body weren’t the worst kind. Historia was still around and sober. That wasn’t something to dress up like a bad thing.

Historia’s hands clasped over her textbook. “No. Not...” Her forehead pressed down against the puppy diagram briefly. Eren could almost hear the gears in her mind turning.

“It was on purpose,” she said.

The chill went inside Eren.

Historia kept talking. Her breathing shook and rattled, but the words came out in a steady stream. “I thought… I thought if that’s how I did it, there wouldn’t be anything to feel sad over. I was already a murderer, but people kept finding excuses for that. If I… if I walked into a new hole all by myself, no one could say it wasn’t my fault. They’d have to—they’d have to know I wasn’t worth any tears.

“That was the plan. Then…” She gave her head a shake. “I—part of me also wondered if it would help. If all of it…”

Petra had said it. After his first meeting. “Painkillers don’t work on broken hearts. We just keep hoping they will.”

Eren’s mind automatically went to a little orange bottle, listening to Historia. He killed the thought off. Viciously.

Historia collected herself. “It didn’t,” she said flatly. “It didn’t help any of it, and then I couldn’t die, because if I died, I couldn’t do more heroin, and at that point I—I wanted the—to—more than I wanted to die. So I kept…”

She took a harsh breath and lifted her head. “It was getting harder to hide. Frieda was going to find out if I kept it up, and she would have tried to…” She turned away from her book to stare at the floor. Eren had never seen someone so far away. “I couldn’t do that to her. The whole point was to make it—easier.” Her voice cracked.

Eren could hear the coming end in the blackest corner of his soul, where he kept the accident. Where he kept the first time he’d taken more than his prescription said to. Where he kept the look on Armin’s face.

“I needed to get it over with before Frieda started worrying,” Historia said.

He didn’t need her to tell him what happened next. His eyes were fixed on her arms. Covered, like they always were, with long sleeves. Out of all the emotions to feel, he felt pathetically sick with gratitude that he couldn’t see. She probably knew exactly which line marked the attempt.

The attempt, he had to remind himself. Historia’s back rose with every breath she took. She was alive.

“Only she found me,” Historia said. “She found me. Because of her, I woke up, and she was there, and I was the one who did everything wrong, but she blamed herself anyway. There was no way to make it easier for her. She’s too good of a person. She—she just couldn’t see when someone was better off—”

What if what you need doesn’t matter?

Historia never talked about recovering. He’d known that. He’d seen it. She talked about her sister. Every single word that should have been spent on her went to Frieda, or their father. She talked about fault, and it always turned into how it was all hers.

He’d gone to group sessions because he wanted his mom to see that he meant it when he said none of it would happen again. He’d wanted her to know that her son was putting in the work, and she could believe that he was okay. He’d wanted to believe for himself that he could end up okay. That he wouldn’t ever be that person again.

Historia had only gone because Frieda needed her to be okay.

“It can’t be about other people. What you need has to matter.”

Eren didn’t know what to say.

Frieda was the only reason he’d ever met Historia.

If it was only about what Historia thought she needed, she’d be dead.

“Do you still want to die?”

Historia’s fists were clenched. Her knuckles were white, and he thought they had been for a while.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” wasn’t really the point. “Frieda’s glad you’re not,” would just make it worse.

Eren got off the couch and sat down next to Historia. Hesitantly, he stretched out a hand to rest on one of her hiked up shoulders. He barely touched her at all, but he could feel the answering tension. Before some of it actually leaked away. The glaze of Historia’s eyes didn’t look quite so distant anymore. Just sad.

She looked like her sister. Like Frieda when she waited outside Historia’s room, checking to make sure her little sister was still breathing.

“I don’t really get it,” he admitted. He knew hating himself so much he couldn’t breathe, and then not wanting to breathe. He knew wanting to hurt himself. But he didn’t know the first thing about setting up a plan to die. “But you’re still alive, even if it’s just for Frieda. You might as well try to enjoy it.”

Her hands were shaking next to her book. He really wasn’t any good at this.

“I made a promise once,” she said, so softly it was almost a whisper. “To the girl I told you about. She thought I needed to stop running away from myself. That I should be me, and leave the rest of it alone. But when I stood still long enough to find out who that was, I couldn’t see any point in staying.” She tapped the page she still hadn’t turned. Her eyes were as watery as the reflections in Benjamin’s tank. “Sometimes I think it’s good that she left. She didn’t have to find out how empty I really am. Then I think that if she’d just…”

Historia’s shoulders dropped. “I never felt empty with her. I don’t know what was there, but when she left, so did it.”

Eren had been too angry at the time to really notice anything but the rage and the burning coils warping his insides, but he was reminded vividly of the first time he chose not to take Armin’s call. It felt like something was ripping a hole through his heart. Only he’d filled that hole with every bad feeling that dug it. The emptiness never had a chance to send him places.

Then Historia came along, and he had a friend. He was standing outside the hole and thinking about how to patch it. He wasn’t lost in it.

He didn’t know how to translate that, but he owed Historia too much not to try.

“I haven’t felt like myself since my dad,” Eren said, without dwelling on the flash of hands drenched in blood that still popped up every time he touched any of it. “The pills made it all worse, but nothing’s really felt right since then. Not being able to talk to Armin and Mikasa is part of it.” He tightened his hand on Historia’s shoulder, and hoped it was understood as comfort. “I don’t know if all of me is ever going to come back, but I don’t need him. I’m the one still here, so I can fix whatever’s still broken my way.”

He turned his hold into a kind of rough pat. “You’ll figure it out.”

Historia finally looked at him. Tired frankness overtook some of the visible misery. “The last time I tried to figure it out I decided to kill myself.”

“Then that’s ruled that out,” Eren said. He tried to smile, but it felt wrong. Like his jaw had gone numb. “That and the heroin. You aren’t going to end up somewhere worse when you’re trying to get better.”

She was quiet for so long he had to think for a moment if he’d managed to say anything out loud. Her breathing was silent. Her back kept rising, but Eren didn’t think nature photographers knew how to be that still. Armin had shown him a documentary on them once. Historia liked animals, maybe he could link it to her and it could be something to stay alive for.

His insides still felt like they were trapped in a perpetual shiver. Withdrawal without the delirious, racing thoughts that sent ants of pain up his legs.

“Do you have to want better for it to happen?” Historia asked at last.

Eren couldn’t remember where wanting his pills and wanting to destroy the person they turned him into began or ended. They were a blur of hunger and rage, and somehow that turned into wherever he was now. He’d always wanted one thing or another. Flame stickers for his tricycle. A bigger bat than the one Zeke tried to start him with. Beating up Armin’s bullies instead of the other way around. Pills, pills, and pills. His friends. Thing after thing that could make a positive difference in his world.

He might have hated some of the stuff he did to get there, but he’d never not wanted an improvement. The world needed a lot of them. He and Armin had come up with a list of all the things failing it their first year of high school, hitting a protest per item by the end of the calendar. The only way to get anywhere with everything that was wrong was to care and fight for a fix. That was how it worked.

Except for sometimes.

“Sometimes,” he said, “better is someone you’ve never talked to asking you to live with them.”

----

The nightmare was even less of a surprise than they usually were.

He was in the car. Burning dust was filling his lungs. His father, smiling, holding a hand to his head, tried to talk to him. He wasn’t using words. The sounds he made didn’t come with a language, and his lips didn’t move, and Eren couldn’t breathe and his leg turned into lava while he screamed and screamed until he found the sword and pushed it into his father’s chest to make the noise stop.

Only he wasn’t in the car.

Eren jolted upright in his bed, dripping with sweat, freezing, and taking in heaves of fresh, clean air through the hands he’d clapped on top of his mouth to stop the inevitable shout.

He wasn’t in the car. He wasn’t in the damn car, and hadn’t been for—

Eren jerked out of bed. His landing wasn’t graceful, but it didn’t bruise anything.

For a few fragile moments, he stood in his bedroom, doing nothing. A winding trail of salt rolled down his face and dropped to the rug his toes were digging into. His heart was racing and there was a scrape on the back of his hand. He thrashed in his sleep sometimes.

He took a breath and grabbed his blanket. He draped it over his shoulders like a cape, and groggily started the journey to Benjamin’s tank.

A year. He hadn’t been inside that car, listening to his dad’s watch tick away his final seconds, for a whole year. He hadn’t thought about it. He didn’t know how. Cracking open his door and letting his eyes follow the glow that said someone was in the kitchen, he couldn’t land on any other thoughts.

The someone in the kitchen was Frieda, sipping at her mug when he tromped in. Far outside her sister’s door and waiting for him.

They’d shared a few nights like this. Mornings, Armin would correct him with, frowning and telling him he really should take better care of himself. Mikasa would agree. She’d probably grab the mug Frieda was offering and snatch it up so that his arms didn’t have to reach that far.

Eren shivered and grabbed his mug.

“I thought I might see you tonight,” Frieda said.

The hot chocolate didn’t burn his tongue. It was just warm. Eren downed the mug in one shot, fighting back the cold. Frieda took it when he was done, and poured him another. Her eyes were less shadowed than they normally were. When she showed up to watch Historia.

“Did you come here for me?” Eren asked.

Frieda smiled tiredly at him. “I can worry about more than one of you at a time.”

Eren cupped his mug, leeching the warmth. His hands were still slippery, and his eyes weren’t awake enough to see more than a colorful blur beyond Frieda’s face. He felt like he was inside Benjamin’s tank, being asked to swim around and breathe the water.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Frieda asked, echoing her sister.

Eren shrugged. “I talked about it in therapy.”

“Before or after rehab?”

Eren’s jaw locked. Frieda moved herself, switching to his side of the island. Compassion, not pity, layered her expression. Eren knew the difference. His pride wasn’t so clear, but his pride wasn’t worth anything. He turned his mug in his sliding hands.

His dad had been a coffee guy. Eren had been very little when he still worked at the hospital, and one of his favorite bedtime rituals was when his mom would pick him up, perching him on her hip and letting him start the coffeemaker to help daddy wake up for work. Even after he had his own practice, he drank some to start the morning off. Eren’s mom had complained regularly about the habit, and told Eren that if he ever needed more energy, he should consider something less addictive.

There hadn’t been any coffee in the house when Eren moved back in.

“There isn’t much to talk about,” he said. “I can call it an accident now.” Historia had seen to that. “It happened. He’s gone.” Eren had reacted by turning into a degenerate, and he wasn’t going to be that anymore. “I don’t know what else there is to say.”

He remembered apologizing to Zeke in the hospital. Over and over, saying it was all his fault their father was gone, and he was so so sorry, and several nurses swept in and ordered his brother out and then he was falling into a haze that became his only friend. He wondered if Zeke had tried to say anything before he left. He wondered if he had anything to say now, and if a weird phone call or text lay in wait in the day’s future.

Eren didn’t mean to ask it but the words came out and then he was watching Frieda’s face turn to broken glass. “What was it like when your dad died?”

Sharpness and warning lurked in Frieda’s gaze. Her arms came up to wrap around her sides, and her head lowered. Like a bull about to charge. Armin had told him once that bulls knew how to walk around in a china shop. Breaking everything wasn’t an inevitability. Eren didn’t think it worked the same way one on one.

“The situations can’t be compared,” Frieda said brusquely.

“I know that,” Eren said. But you have a baby half-sibling who was there for it, but you seem to like her, but you’re probably happy about which one lived, but don’t you have anything except calling one a murder and one an accident. “But you must have felt something about it.”

Frieda’s whole head rolled with her eyes. They glittered harshly under the kitchen lights. Her hands dropped her mug back to the island, and the clatter echoed.

The silence rang longer.

“Historia wasn’t dead,” she bit out at last. “I don’t know what else I felt. By the time it happened, I hadn’t seen either of them in over a year. Everything considered, the man I knew as my father died long before that.” She pulled a stray strand of hair away from her forehead. Her tone lost its hurry. “I missed him. Then I couldn’t. His death isn’t something I can regret. The… manner was horrific. But he was already gone, and what he left behind took all of my attention.”

Her eyes darted back down the hall.

“The situations can’t be compared,” she repeated. “My grief isn’t with the dead.”

“No.” Eren put his mug down next to hers. He wiped his hands on his blanket. Benjamin’s tank was behind him, or he would have turned to look at it, sleeping fish or no. Joining Frieda to lean against the island would feel too weird. He didn’t like talking to someone he couldn’t look at properly.

“I…” he said. “I can’t even miss him. All I end up thinking about when I try is how it happened, and all the stupid things I did after.” Or Zeke, who was an uncomfortable thought on peaceful days. Eren added, quietly, “I’m a terrible son.”

Frieda’s hand flipped out so fast he almost tried to dodge it. It landed on his shoulder, warm and firm. Nothing but compassion shone in her face, and it was weird having such kindness near so many bad memories.

“The dead don’t care how they’re remembered, Eren,” she said gently.

Tightness spread down Eren’s jaw and into his throat. “He was a good dad. He didn’t deserve…” Me.

Frieda pushed off the island and pulled Eren towards her. Eren tripped into the hug, sure he was going to topple right over her, but Frieda stood as solidly as a tree, and caught him easily. One arm wrapped around his shoulders while the other went upward, stroking the top of his head.

Eren froze. He stood stiff as a log with his chin on her shoulder. He’d been so sure he was taller than her. The telltale burning in his eyes spread like wildfire down his cheeks.

Frieda just held him, letting the drops wet her shirt.

Minutes passed before he could hug her back, but when he did, he clung on like she was the only life raft in the whole ocean.

----

Keeping up with Armin and Mikasa wasn’t easy. Eren stuck to Benjamin photos, mostly. Plus explanations for how he ended up with Benjamin. Sometimes pictures of the apartment.

They were more than he deserved, so they were okay with that. Mikasa sent him Rivaille photos back. Eren had never once missed Rivaille, and he was sure the feeling was mutual, but something about the pictures made some of the barbed wire around his heart unclench.

Armin kept up with copying Eren on his science fact subscription. He hadn’t said anything himself outside of a small thank-you for the Benjamin photos.

He texted Eren the morning of the anniversary of his father’s death. Proper morning, with the sun out. Long after Frieda had left the apartment and tucked Eren under his blanket on the couch, which he would feel bristly about when he stopped feeling grateful.

Eren’s mother had called, too. She’d asked about having him over for dinner. Because he could, he promised to be there.

Zeke had sent him a reminder about the week’s baseball game. If he felt like participating.

Mikasa sent him double the Rivaille pictures without a word.

Petra had emailed him recipes.

Armin’s was the message he was having trouble looking at.

Eren had the day off. By coincidence, not anything intentional. His boss was doing one of his mass cleaning days. Usual design meant a dozen of his closest bar friends and a ton of alcohol. The work got done, but it was a party excuse more than anything. Eren had opted out of this year’s round for obvious reasons. Reiner was helping one of the Galliards’ friends move. None of his other regulars had requested the day.

He sat on his bed, contemplating his phone.

Footsteps padded by his room before he made any profound resolutions.

“You’re getting a lot of messages today,” Historia said from his doorway. She was still in her pajamas. Circles dark enough to be makeup were under her eyes, and she was carrying a bowl of cereal.

“Sorry,” Eren said automatically. “I can switch it to vibrate if you’re going to be home.”

Historia lingered. “I was wondering if something was wrong.”

Eren crossed his legs, phone in hand. Historia had seen him sleeping on the couch. She’d also known Frieda long enough to recognize her handwriting on the note left on the armrest. She wasn’t enough of a snoop to investigate, but it didn’t take an Armin to put two and two together.

“My dad died a year ago today,” Eren said, all at once.

Historia said, “Oh.”

She didn’t keep moving towards her room.

They hadn’t really left their talk about her wanting to kill herself in a great place. It left a shadow over everything. Quiet was picking up the pattern of going awkward fast. He didn’t have any good answers, she hadn’t found her better, and they were both waiting for the restless discomfort to land somewhere workable.

He knew he was crap at helping people, but he’d wanted to think that he could help the one friend he hadn’t screwed up. All he’d come up with was understanding a bit better why Frieda was someone she thought was worth staying alive for when nothing else was.

“Armin and Mikasa wanted to check in?” Historia asked.

“Yeah,” Eren said. His fingers drummed against his phone case. “I guess, anyway. I haven’t looked at Armin’s thing yet. That’s probably what it is.”

Historia stayed where she was, standing in the hallway like a tiny bedraggled gargoyle. Her spoon slipped halfheartedly in its bowl. “You can invite them over, if you want.”

Eren barked out a laugh. “I can barely text them.”

“I didn’t mean today,” she said. “Unless they’d help. Just that you can.” She pulled at a string dangling from her sleeve. The spoon slid again. “That’s what people do with friends, isn’t it? Invite them over when things are bad?”

Armin and Mikasa had never been far enough away that Eren had to invite them.

“Probably,” Eren said.

Historia’s back was resting on the hallway wall. She wasn’t really looking at him, since looking would take something a little more human in her eyes, but she was clearly trying. “Do you want me to read it?”

“No.”

He said it fast enough to make it obvious he’d been thinking about it. Eren shifted his grip around his phone. The notification blip was staring at him. It reminded him of the look Armin got when he wasn’t sure if he should say what was on his genius mind or not.

Eren was projecting and he knew it, but the image was still crystal clear.

“I’ll read it,” he said. “I just needed a second, and I’ve had plenty.”

Historia watched him for a handful more. He would have put on his well-adjusted mask, but that wasn’t supposed to be a mask, and he didn’t have one anyway. And maybe on a day like today, ‘okay’ wasn’t the standard people were expecting.

“Okay,” Historia said, leaving the wall. “Let me know if you need… anything.”

Eren waved her off halfheartedly, and it was good enough.

His finger hovered over the text app icon.

He was being stupid again. Knowing it didn’t make it feel much better. There was a vice around his temples, and if he wanted to he could be more of a child and put off looking until he’d counted out his pulse. Each beat came like a nail into a coffin.

Thoughts of sunny skies and funerals danced along to the sound.

Eren clicked the icon with a rough jerk of his fingers, the waiting words bouncing off his eyes. He wasn’t going back to that place. Not now, not ever. It didn’t matter what day of the year it was.

Resolve as settled as it could be, he read the damn message. The first real words Armin had sent his way since walking in on the worst thing Eren had ever done to him. Proof that Armin had always been the braver one.

“I know it might be a little much,” the text read, “but I wanted to say it again. We’re here for you, Eren.”

Eren couldn’t breathe for a moment.

A lengthy one, air halting in his lungs with the force of a tennis ball against a brick wall.

He’d never really been able to forget Armin. He’d tried, and he’d lied to himself about how often his thoughts went to his best friend. He’d told himself the jump his nerves gave the first time he saw Historia out of the corner of his eye had nothing to do with anything like hope. He’d shouted at himself to give up on the fantasy of sharing an apartment with his best friend after he’d had to move back in with his mom.

Somewhere, though—everywhere—Armin left a shadow.

The brave, brilliant boy who had let Eren be his best friend.

The boy he’d betrayed. The one who still cared anyway.

Tears came before the sobs wanted to. The words blurred, and the back of his throat burned. He clutched his covers in his hand, bringing them up to dry his eyes, but it only seemed to spread the wetness all over his face.

He didn’t deserve these people. Not a single one.

The dark, wretched hatred for himself tried to rise up the way it always did, waiting to point out how fucking obvious that had always been, waiting to scream and rage over how badly he had fucked up for this perfect friend, but its foothold melted away before it could even start. A glow, softer and more solid than any of the biting fury he’d spent a year letting consume him, walled the dark feelings off.

Armin was still trying. All of them were still trying.

He didn’t deserve them. There was a good shot that nothing he did would ever come close to being worthy of any of them or their love, but he could do better than being a ghosting asshole who couldn’t be bothered to let his friends know he was alive without a middleman.

Fingers damp and shaking, Eren typed out his reply.

thank you

----

Reiner wanted to do a triathlon.

There shouldn’t have been a problem with that. Most of Eren’s clients were training up for one event or another. Some of them could be defined as seasonal with how regular they were with their patronage. He wasn’t big on swimming, but he knew his way around the necessities. Reiner was a far shot from his peak still, but his body could take it.

“For fuck’s sake,” said one problem, “Reiner, I’ll handle the bike, you go scrub your face before you blind yourself.”

Eren wasn’t sure if Ymir was a person anyone was meant to get along with. She seemed to delight in that part of herself. Half of every way she interacted with him whenever they were in the same space had to do with annoying him, and all of it was on purpose.

She was paying to be part of Reiner’s training program.

“I like biking,” she’d said, flipping through one of her manuscripts. “Is giving you money some kind of crime now?”

Bertolt had looked seconds away from saying something that entire round of breakfast. Which Reiner had somehow turned into part of their routine when he wasn’t looking. By the time Eren left, Bertolt still hadn’t made much of a comment, but he wouldn’t stop giving Ymir odd looks. She didn’t glance back at him once.

Ymir did like biking, Reiner had confided. She refused to pay extra for a parking spot in her apartment complex, so she’d taken it up with spiteful enthusiasm. Eren thought it likely that was how she ran her entire life.

The main problem with all of this wasn’t actually Ymir.

It was Reiner not being great with bikes. He had no feel for turns. He was new to road racing. He’d had to buy a bike because he didn’t own one. Most of their rides included a devoted portion of attention going to making sure Reiner didn’t go crashing down the mountain trail.

Like he’d just tried to do.

Ymir didn’t bother being gentle about shoving Reiner towards the bathrooms of the camping area they’d reached. Sap and pine needles had taken over his forehead, and Eren could spot some red leaking through the dirt. He’d been able to catch Reiner before he rolled too far, but they’d been going fast, and Reiner hit the sloping ground hard.

Eren picked a collection of muddy leaves off his elbow, walking his bike over to where Ymir was fixing Reiner’s back to one piece.

“He’s like this,” she told him, pulling at the chain. “No thinking, just pure finish line glamour taking up his head. He’s only trying for it because the local paper brought it up as a great, inspiring yearly surge of community energy.” She dusted a spot of grime aggressively from her hand. “Because he’s all about getting his surges of community energy without paying people in back alleys now.”

“Is that why you came along?” Eren asked. “To keep an eye on him?”

Ymir frowned. She tipped her helmet back and cast Eren a look that managed to be more uninviting than her usual smirk. Eren, sweaty, hot, and used to nasty looks, let the staring contest go on until she rolled her eyes and went back to the bike.

“Reiner’s a full-fledged adult,” she said, sarcasm coming like a song. “Why would anyone ever need to keep an eye on him? It isn’t like we’ve all had to watch him try to kill himself with drugs several times over.”

Eren kept his mouth shut.

Ymir shook her head and huffed out a laugh that maybe wasn’t mocking. “Don’t try to give me too much credit, Eren. I’m not hovering because I don’t trust him—that’s Bert’s thing. I just know him. He can’t cut off the part of his head that has him hitting rock bottom with his crap. Moderation would take him being less of a masochist. Someone needs to be around to catch him when he takes a stage dive off the edge of a cliff.”

“I caught him,” Eren couldn’t help but point out. With more edge than he really meant to add.

“Yeah.” Ymir finished up with the chain and propped herself up. The gleam in her eye was duller than he was used to. “Nice reflexes, by the way. Not what I expected from someone who can’t dodge a tennis ball.”

Eren pointedly took a drag from his water bottle. Giving Ymir words to build on was the latest habit he was finally starting to break. Her smile glinted at him through the shade.

“How long have you known each other?”

Ymir shrugged. “Life, I guess. Long enough to not bother counting.”

She pulled off her helmet and ran a hand through her hair, collecting droplets of sweat and flicking them into the air. Nothing else gave away how hard they’d been riding. Her rust-red shirt was clear of any darker patches, and the only breathing Eren heard out of her the whole way up was her loud sighs. She leaned casually between her bike and Reiner’s, watching the path he’d taken to the restrooms.

“Was it hard?”

She spared him a flicker of interest. “Excruciating. No one needs that many years with Reiner.”

Eren took off his own helmet. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

“Then try speaking a little more plainly for the peanut gallery.”

Eren lowered himself to his handlebars, taking in the leaves and the weeds on the ground instead of wasting his pride on eye contact. A lizard skittered past. “After you found out about the heroin,” he said. “Did… what was it like getting back to normal?”

Ymir’s shadow didn’t move in the dirt. He heard another of her sighs. A lighter, unintentional kind. Reiner’s kickstand creaked under her weight.

“Have some people you want to reconnect with?” she asked at last.

Eren didn’t see a point denying it. “Yeah.”

She chuckled dryly. Her shadow took another swipe at her hair. “Then you’re talking to the wrong focus group.” She spun her helmet in her hand. “Reiner fucked himself up while I was serving out a sentence for my own illegal recreational hobbies. By the time I got out, there wasn’t any point caring how badly we’d screwed ourselves. We could all lend a helping hand or fuck off and never speak to each other again.” Eren looked up in time to catch her smirking at him. “Guess which option a little birdie just out of a cage is stuck with?”

Eren had too much experience with Historia to want to ask what Ymir had done to land herself in jail. He also couldn’t really be surprised.

“That’s why Bert’s so pissy about all of this. Aside from the obvious,” Ymir added. She kept spinning her helmet. “He had to sit through every minute. Second chances after you’ve watched the first three go up in smoke are hard to keep going.” She eyed Eren, a peculiar smile playing at her lips. “That’s not you though, is it? One and done. You really want the sort of friends who’ll ditch you over that?”

Eren’s phone burned a hole in his back pocket. “They never ditched me.”

Ymir graced him with an oddly respectful silence. They both watched another lizard run through the disturbed leaves Reiner’s fall had kicked up. Squirrels were chittering in the above trees. One by the nearest campsite sent a pinecone crashing to the ground. Birds were singing.

“Other way around, huh?”

Eren’s nod felt like bending steel.

Ymir laughed her way through a sigh. “Nice. Nothing like being a crappy person to people who deserve the best.” She rested her chin on a fist. Reiner’s bike tilted heavily under her. “Sit back, pray, and hope they’re stupid enough to still want you when you stumble on back. There’s not much else for it.”

Tired gloom drifted over her face with the clouds, sharpening the hard look in her eyes.

“You’ve even got a handicap. You already know they’ll take you back” she said tightly. “Spend less time whining about it and more time working with it. Then let the magic of friendship take over and deal with whatever new normal that saddles you with. Or are you stupid enough to be picky about that?”

“Yes,” was the answer to that.

Eren looked out at the beaten path to the restrooms. He felt fidgety.

He’d known Armin and Mikasa all his life. Or at least the parts of it that mattered. He didn’t want a new normal. He wanted the peaceful, carefree days before him being a fucking moron. He didn’t want awkward prodding about whether or not they might want to drop by his new place and say hi; he wanted them to have keys and waltz in like they owned it.

He wanted to skip a whole bunch of steps in how they’d fix everything. Just because he missed them, and the hate had receded enough for that to start aching.

Reiner stepped back outside, newly clean and waving in their direction before he started jogging over.

Ymir bumped her helmet against the top of Eren’s head. He looked over. She was still lounging against the handlebars.

“Eren?” she said. “I’m here because Reiner can’t ride a fucking bike.”

[next]

#drug au #fic #mine #long post

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aaetherius · 4 years ago

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@ardenssolis (Three Word Starter Call - Sky + Sun + Warm)

The translucent sails of the Grandcypher shimmered beneath the golden glow of the sun hanging overhead, painting the deep wood of the ship in a flaxen hue that made the deck look honey-slicked and almost brand new despite the countless battle scars upon her hull that were in the process of slowly being buffed out. Some far too deep and jagged to remove entirely - leaving behind permanent bruises that told stories he hadn’t had the chance to hear or read about from the girl in blue. He imagined; however, that those tales were buried deep within the journals she always wrote so feverishly in. The whirl of contraptions he couldn’t quite place a name to thanks millennia spent to in the lowest parts of the skies echoed off the high ceilings of the open hanger and mixed with the cacophony of hefty footfalls, the bellowing voices of shipwrights lingering below, and the clank of hammers. And he could only make out snippets of their conversations from where he leaned over the railing of the ship, but even if he could, he wouldn’t grasp it as well as may have years ago. He had known Astral technology like the backs of his war-torn and calloused hands, but Skydweller inventions were still new to him. Much like the hands that now rested idly upon loose netting and aged wood. Hands that no longer reflected his skill in battle and the thousands of years he had spent as both sword and shield for these very skies. Skin smooth and fresh without a single bruise or blemish in sight.

Subconsciously, his thumb rubs over the slick ridges of knuckles. His skin feels soft, and he’s unused to the sensation. Warm against the heat of a midsummer afternoon and the steam that wafted up from the work the mortal mechanics are doing on the ship below. The buzz of their work makes the ship tremble slightly beneath him, and his legs shake in time with it - not as steady as they once had been. His gaze flickers down his fingers as he flexes them against the balmy breeze that flutters in and out. They both do and don’t feel as if they belong to him, and the pearly wings that protrude from his back feel much the same. They are an artificial copy of his former ones, compared to which they feel clunky at best. They are slow to rise when he lifts the tips of white plumes from where they’re strewn about the deck, and they utterly lack the power that had once hummed through their veins. He feels, both in body and spirit, that he is shell of who had once been, but he is content with that. It has only been a short handful of months since he had been revived, and the body the alchemist had crafted for him is still slowly adjusting to his soul that had been torn from between realms. It’ll take longer, still, for everything to fit carefully into place.

And, so, he is left behind on the ship once more as the crew explores the town. Too weak to join them without becoming a burden, and unwilling to allow them to remain behind to keep him company. Someone must watch the ship, after all, and if he is not fit to walk around it only makes sense for him to remain with her as she undergoes repairs. His fingers fall against the rail once more, and his gaze shifts from the Skydwellers working below to the vast, blue skies that stretch out well behind the island they’re docked at. Creamy clouds float blissfully against a soft blue color - the weather is calm, and there is no sign of a storm. It would have been the perfect day to take the ship out if not for the damage that she had taken in the last job the crew had been on. He isn’t privy to the details - he had been bedridden for weeks until recently. But the skies he can see from her tattered deck are a far cry from the maverick ones that had kept him company in Canaan for thousands of years. The ones that would tear tooth and nail at old marble walls, and snap the sagging branches of trees as old as he was. It has been centuries since he had last been able to see such serene skies, but he hopes, now, they will be far more common.

A soft click of feet scrapping upon the deck drags his attention away from the skies, and he straightens himself out to the best of his ability, but his wings sag and he takes too long a moment to steady himself without the support of the rail to keep him upright. A polite smile falls upon his rosy lips in greeting when he turns to face the source of the noise. The man is a stranger to him, but he can’t write off the possibility that he’s a member of the crew he simply hasn’t come across yet or one of the Skydwellers currently toiling away on the ship. Though instinct tells him the other is very much unrelated to the second group. “If you are searching for the Captain of this ship,” the word feels strange on his tongue as he speaks, and he pauses for a moment. Though the singularity prefers the term, calling them anything but is foreign to him. “I am afraid they have gone out, and will not return for some time.” He leans back slightly against the rail for support, wings spilling out over the edge of the ship he’s spent the better part of the past few months trapped within. “However, if there is anything I may assist you with, I am more than willing to lend my aid in their place.” Though, he imagines he may not be able to do much in his current condition, nor does he have much knowledge regarding typical Skydweller customs. “If you would prefer to await their return, I can offer you a cup of coffee to pass the time.”

#ardenssolis #| ☩ And once again the sky rises; sincere and melancholic ☩ (IC) |#| ☩ thread 51: ardenssolis: Ozymandias ☩ |#| ☩ A faint dusting after sunset ☩ (verse: AU - Post) |#{ Thank you for liking the call! }#{ Let me know if this doesn't work or you need anything changed! }#{ I admittedly don't know anything about Fate so I tried to make his relation/what he's going vague so hopefully it works jdiflhgu }#{ But if not no worries! }

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aiikawarazu · 4 years ago

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Hourglass Chapter #20

Title: Singularity

Rated: M

Summary: Again, Mikasa saw the strange dream that she used to see before Eren transferred to her school. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but Eren told her a secret about her dreams that left her shocked.

FFNet here

Disclaimer: I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin

A/N: Hi, I'm not sure who else is still here but I do feel obligated to finish this story now that AoT had reached its end. Unfortunately, I stopped writing due to heavy workload and some negative comments that kept trying to criticize my plot points, grammars, or character development. Since I wrote for free on my spare time, my only source of energy was people leaving nice comments and actually letting me know that they enjoyed my work - so I know that those hours I spent writing this story and thinking up the plot points don't go to waste down the drain.

However, a lot of you have been really sweet too, leaving me a lot of positive comments and DMs to give me strength to write again. You are the reason I came back here, and also because I want to give Eren and Mikasa a little piece of happiness outside of the endless misery they have been constantly thrown in while in the canon universe.

So, here goes the next chapter. I apologize if it doesn't make much sense for now - just keep reading, eventually the plots will come together.

Also yes, I have quickened the pace a bit in my ambition to finish up this story but still make it enjoyable for you.

Last Chapter: Eren was feeling horrified after the whole incident where he accidentally kiss Mikasa and ran away. Meanwhile, Mikasa was feeling confused at the turn of events and asked for Ayako's advice, who finally helped her to realize her feelings for Eren. Meanwhile, Armin and Ayako made progress with their investigation and rounded up a possible accomplice of Nanako's. On their way back home, Eren tried to apologize to Mikasa for what happened yesterday, but the girl just shrugged it off and said to him that she forgave him and indeed, some things were better left unsaid. Eren continued to apologize for his improper behavior and added that he was not sorry - and he'll do it in a more proper manner next time.

(I hear something shattering

It suddenly wakes me up)

Mikasa wasn't sure where she was. She stood on a tall wall overlooking a small, cramped town full of houses built strangely close, and looking strangely similar, to one another. They all looked small, modest, with grey stone walls and orange roofs glinting slightly under the afternoon sunlight. Just in the middle of the town, a river was flowing smoothly, gently until it ended on a large gate made from dark brown woods strengthened by iron. She cast her eyes doubtfully around the edges of the town. She had been here, she had seen this town several times before. This was in a dream – and for a moment she wondered how her senses were even aware that this was not the real world.

It had been a while since she had last seen this dream. She had not been here for several months. Why did she see this dream again… why now? Every time she saw that small, cramped town and the endless field of wilderness beyond the other side of the wall, she always wondered about the contrast. Why did people not live on the other side? Why were they all squeezed together on one side? The thick walls, and the sturdy gates… It seemed like they were protecting themselves from something – a kind of danger, some wild beasts perhaps, or some even greater peril. Though she tried her hardest to guess, she never knew the answer. She walked, and walked along the wall until her feet grew tired, but there was no end to it. The wall went on a full circle around that small town, and in the distance she could see it stretched out further into unknown territory. What could possibly lie out there?

"It is a world you never know of," said a voice, and she quickly turned around. Surprised, she saw someone approaching.

She remembered, yet again. Yes, this part of the dream always happened. She always met this person inside her dreams, though from the countless times she met him, she had never once seen his face clearly. It was always cast by a dark shadow.

"You are curious, right?" he asked again. Mikasa didn't answer, but the figure wasn't waiting for her response.

"Why don't we go on an adventure together? Beyond this wall, I mean." said that voice, and slowly, she began to recognize his familiar voice.

"Who are you?" she said, answering his question instead with another question. Frowning slightly, she added. "We always met here, but you never once told me who you are."

"Me?" said the voice, sounding somewhat amused. "I'm someone you know very well, Mikasa." She narrowed her eyes, recalling slightly, half with hesitation. Yes she knew his voice, this was the voice of somebody that had become very dear to her, somebody she was deeply grateful to, somebody she owed her life to.

"Eren…?" she said slowly. But the other voice was silent this time, neither confirming nor denying. Was that really him?

"What do you want?" she asked again. "What kind of adventure do you mean?"

"Oh, many things," the voice replied. "There are many things in the world outside, something greater than what you imagined. Don't you want to see it all?"

Mikasa was not sure how to answer. So instead, she asked another question.

"How… how do we go beyond this wall?"

"That's easy," the voice answered again. "First of all… let's start by taking one step off this wall right here."

"You mean we should jump… from here?" she asked hesitantly, looking at the ground, far down below. "We will die for sure."

"Not if you believe otherwise. The moment we step off here, we'll gain our wings," he said. She still couldn't see his face. But his voice… she couldn't be mistaken.

"The wings of freedom," he continued, his voice filled with longing. For a moment he paused, letting out a deep sigh. "So… what do you say?" he approached her and she could see him stretching his hand, asking her to take it. She desperately tried to have a look on his face, but the deep, dark shadow just wouldn't go away.

"Would you go with me on this endless adventure?"

Mikasa didn't remember what she did. She might have taken the boy's hand, or she didn't. What she remembered next was the vivid recollection of her bedroom ceiling as she blinked a few times, trying to regain her consciousness.

She had returned, she realized, immediately feeling strange. "Returned" was indeed a peculiar word to use to describe her situation. She observed the morning light shining through the window, and recalled what just happened. Some dreams left off lingering feelings long after she woke up, and this dream was one of those. It was real, way too real to be considered a dream. She felt like that was the reality instead and this was her dream – perhaps she just came out of the matrix or something. Perhaps that was her actual life there and this was not, in fact, her reality….

No, that can't be. She quickly brushed the thought off her minds immediately. How ridiculous. She still had curiosity about her recurring dreams, and that boy – of course, why did he always seem like he was so eager to go beyond the walls? What was there, really? What lie there in the unknown? And why – she was a bit annoyed at herself, why did she never see his face? Could it actually have been – and her heart suddenly beat a little bit faster at this thought – could it have been Eren?

It did sound like him, she recalled, with his curiosity over everything and how he never sat still at one place. If it really was Eren inside her dreams, then she wouldn't be surprised. Although the more important question was – now she felt her cheeks growing hot at this thought – why would she have recurring dreams of Eren Yeager?

She could almost hear him, almost see his satisfied grin as she tried to imagine his reaction had he known she had been dreaming about him repeatedly.

"You are having a dream of me, Mikasa? Really? And not once, but several times already? Wow… you must miss me so much, huh? You already see me everyday at school, but not that I mind… I mean, you can just be honest about it, you know?"

She flushed with embarrassment and decided that she would never, ever let him know this lest she would face his endless teasing. Groaning, she covered her face with her hands and let several minutes pass until it was finally a little over seven. Then she got up. It's the start of a new day.

(That sound is ringing again

Another crack forms on this frozen lake)

"What do you mean, you haven't done your homework yet?" Mikasa asked rather reproachfully to the boy walking beside him. "You had one week to do it."

Eren, who was walking alongside her, showed no apparent remorse. "What do I have you for–" he said humbly, "if not for copying homework?"

Mikasa gave him a glare, "Eren… I'm serious."

"And so I am," he said, now stopping in front of his shoe locker to exchange his pair of shoes for school slippers. "If you can be kind to lend me your homework during the first period, I'll copy it quickly and hand it back to you on the second."

"You do realize we'll be third graders soon, right? What if you don't pass the exams?"

"I can worry about that later," he grinned, and Mikasa sighed. She had known him too well. If Eren had made up his mind to do something, he would seriously pursue it to the point of obsessing over it – but if he didn't want to do something, there's no point persuading him. She gave up, and almost contemplated to lend him her homework, when something crossed her minds.

"Shoot," said Mikasa as she stopped dead in her tracks. The clock pointed at twenty minutes to nine and she suddenly remembered. The vandalism on her desk that had been there every morning! She was quite distracted with her dreams today that she didn't even remember to come to school early. She should hurry up and erase it soon.

Determined not to waste any seconds, she jerked forward to climb the stairs in a sudden movement that surprised Eren. The boy let out a confused yell that she ignored, but in her hurry, she stumbled on the first stair step and almost fell face down flat. Mikasa let out a surprised shriek – she was well prepared for the impact but instead of the hard stone staircase, she felt a pair of sturdy hands grabbing her at the last moment. Her body dangling awkwardly on the air, her face a few inches from hitting the floor, she paused to recall the turn of events. What happened? Confused, she turned around and saw Eren's face up close.

"Careful there," he said, this time it was his turn to use that reprimanding tone on her. It was him who caught her before she landed on the floor in a painful crash. "Why are you in such a hurry, anyway?"

"Sorry," she said, not exactly answering his question. She was thankful that he caught her right on time, saved her a few bruises and a hard fall. But she couldn't bring herself to thank him yet. Her head spun and her breath seemed to have left her chest. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, she realized that he had been holding her really close. His arms were practically wrapped around her, and their bodies were pressed together tightly. This was as close as they'd ever been after that whole i-didn't mean-the-kiss incident outside of the convenience store just two days back.

And suddenly, the memories sprang from the back of her brain to the very top of her mind.

"You… you can let me go now," she said. Her heart was beating ridiculously out of control that she almost feared he could feel it through her back.

"Oh," it took a few moments for Eren to realize the lack of personal space between them. And when it finally dawned on him – he let off his arms so suddenly he almost dropped her to the floor again.

"Sorry!" he said, as he saw her stumbling to regain her balance. "Sorry – didn't mean to…"

"Nevermind," said Mikasa, holding on to the stairs railing now to catch her balance. This morning just began but she seemed like she had been through a whole day's worth of event. Taking in a deep breath, she steadied herself and asked with a small voice, not quite ready to meet his eyes.

"Um… shall we go upstairs?"

"Yeah," Eren said, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Yeah… let's go."

Mikasa didn't find the artful graffiti on her desk this morning. Instead, it was something worse. She found a tall vase made of see-through glass filled with flowers sitting on top of her empty desk. She stopped on the spot when she saw them. Beside her, she could sense Eren doing the same, he seemed to be tensing. And she knew why.

Flowers on top of someone's desk was not a friendly gesture at all. Instead, it was a cruel, more horrible insult. When a student passed away, people put flowers on their desk at least until 49 days after their death. It was a tradition to honor the dead in Japanese Shintoism. She understood immediately what people wanted to say by putting it on her desk.

They wanted her dead and gone. Or this was their way of saying that they thought of her as dead already. Maybe because she wasn't giving much attention to their pranks before, but surely, these bullying were getting worse. She clenched her fists. She knew everyone was watching her now, tense with anticipation, wanting to see her reaction. She wanted to say something, do something, scream her anger – but she didn't want to give them the satisfaction. Just then when she still stood frozen on the spot, her mind empty – she felt someone moving beside her. A reassuring hand was put on her shoulder. She looked up to see Eren's face. The boy wasn't looking at her. Instead, he stared straight, but there was a certain strength in his fingers that seemed to tell her something he didn't say in words.

Don't worry. I got this.

With a slight glance to Mikasa, and a hint of furtive smile – Eren moved past her to grab the flower vase from the table. And suddenly, Mikasa realized in horror, that the class seemed to have grown more silent. She watched, as though in slow motion, Eren making his way to the front of the classroom, flower vase in hand, every step he made reverberated strangely through her ears. After what felt like eternity for her, the boy finally reached the teacher's table, and without any warning, slammed the flower vase on top of it. Surely enough, it warranted everyone's attention on him.

"Whoever coward did this," Eren managed to control his voice to sound as casually as he could, but no one would be foolish enough to skip the dangerous undertone, "If I ever caught you… the lots of you – I promise you will know exactly why I was expelled from my previous school." His emerald green eyes were glinting with a serious kind of madness. Mikasa recognized that look immediately. It was the look of anger and disgust he used to give her when he still misunderstood the nature of her business, when he still thought she was in an abusive relationship and she was too cowardly to break it off. She had seen this so many times, and yet – this time he made her shudder a bit. It wasn't just because of his words that contained thinly veiled threat, or the cold wrath that seemed to be emanating from him as he stood in front of the whole class, challenging them. No, it's because – different from those times in the past when they used to argue – she could sense a bit of madness now, much like a murderous intent. As much as Eren used to be angry at her back then, the root of his anger was pain. But now, it was different. There was no pain this time – just a desire to hurt others, for revenge. For once, Mikasa knew that Eren Yeager meant serious business, and if he ever caught the perpetrators behind this bullying incident, he would make sure they receive as much pain as they had done to her – or possibly even more.

That was the first time Eren ever displayed his obsession out in the open, and needless to say – the classroom atmosphere turned very cold at his words. Here and there Mikasa saw students who grew a bit pale, some looked guilty, some looked afraid and more anxious than others. Eren didn't seem to mind. "Let me repeat in case you are not clear," he said in an aura of casual ignorance. He didn't seem to realize the damage he just did with his open threat, or even if he did – he didn't care.

"Leave Mikasa alone, or else…," he paused. "You will pay."

He ended his speech curtly and turned to leave the teacher's table. Mikasa still froze on the spot when he came back down the aisle to his own table behind her. He still looked angry, but he grinned a little when he saw her. "Unless you want us to stand here all day," he said, "Maybe you should move a little so I can get to my seat."

Mikasa finally found his voice, "Eren…," she was just about to start, but he cut her.

"Later," he said, indicating with his chin to Mr. Levi's silhouette outside the classroom. "Teacher's coming."

(Even in my momentary dreams

The illusions that torture me are still the same)

For one, Mikasa knew that she really had to thank Eren. After he made such a blatant threat in front of the class – not one person dared to lie a finger on her. They still gave her the silent treatment of course, but Mikasa was used to it by now. Most importantly for her, there were no longer any planned vandalisms and her things had stopped disappearing mysteriously. Eren kept telling her that this would have stopped sooner had she taken her own actions against them earlier, and Mikasa admitted that he was right, though she was not sure that his way – implicitly threatening to use violence – was the right thing to do.

"It did get them out of the way," he shrugged, when they brushed over this topic one day.

"We were lucky not one of them ran complaining to the teacher," Mikasa reminded him. "You really could be expelled."

"I don't care," said Eren, and it seemed like he really didn't give it much thought. "Look here – if you wanted to endure their bullshit for longer… that's fine with me – but honestly I haven't got such patience against those cowardly losers. They're the kind of people I hate the most. If you hurt someone, you should be prepared to be hurt back. An eye for an eye. That's fair, if you ask me."

Mikasa knew how hard-headed Eren could be when it's related to his opinions, so she didn't say anything further. And though she still partly disagreed with his way – she did owe it to him for stopping the bullying. Another side of her was also really curious at Eren's threat – what did this boy do exactly, to get him expelled? Was it something that horrible? Was he capable of doing such a thing? Sometimes there was a part of her that was quite unsure about Eren – she thought she knew him, but how well did she know him? Could there be a completely different side to him other than this person she now regarded warmly at heart? Will her opinion of him change once she knew of his past?

Mikasa's confusion went on for several days without having anything for answers. Instead, she grew more confused by Eren's behavior.

Unsurprisingly, Ayako was the one who pointed it out first.

"So… did I miss the good news or anything?" she threw the question at Mikasa one day at lunch, who shot her a questioning glance over her half-bitten sandwich.

"What?" Mikasa asked back, confused.

"Why is Yeager acting like that to you?"

"Like what?"

"Like a boyfriend."

Mikasa burst out laughing. Only when realizing that her friend did not laugh along with her – did she know that Ayako was being serious.

"What do you mean – like a boyfriend?" she asked inquisitively and Ayako threw her a look that, once again was a mixture of pity and amusement at Mikasa's own inexperience toward boys.

"For once, he's very protective of you," Ayako started, "I heard all about that love confession in front of the class, by the way."

Mikasa paused to think. "If you're referring to that time where he made everyone in class cowered in fear for their own dear lives… I think you are mistaken," she replied calmly. "What Eren did was out of his frustration for dealing with – quote and quote – those cowardly losers."

"The very own people who bullied you," Ayako nodded in amusement. "He made the bullying stop, didn't he? Told the whole class they'd face his wrath if they dared to hurt you."

"You made it sound very dramatic," said Mikasa gloomily. "I was thankful for him but – Eren's always like that. I don't think that was because of me."

"Oh come on, Mikasa!" Ayako slightly jumped up and down on her seat in frustration. "Don't you realize it?" her pair of brown eyes were searching Mikasa now – looking for any signs that the other girl might have seen just exactly what she did, but all she got was more looks of confusion from her best friend. Ayako gave out a tired sigh in the end.

"I don't know if you are thick or just inexperienced," said Ayako. "Yeager's throwing such straight balls and here you are – not even catching his most obvious signal."

Mikasa blinked a few times.

"Explain," she said finally.

"Well for one," she started, "Isn't Yeager more… touchy around you recently?"

Mikasa frowned. "He's always been flirting around and saying all kind of nonsense since the first day he arrived at this school, I don't see how this is any different."

"Mikasa," said the other girl, her tone was close to exasperation. "Boys don't just put their hand around some random girl's waist or shoulder, or play with their hair, or give them pats on the head if they didn't really, REALLY like the girl. Besides, I totally heard from a reliable source – who happened to see both of you hugging near the staircase one morning before the bell rang. Pretty bold move if you ask me."

"That –" Mikasa knew exactly what her friend meant, but she couldn't help herself from turning scarlet. "That was an accident. I was about to fall, and he caught me."

Why did it feel like she was making excuses when she was telling the truth?

"STILL," Ayako insisted. "Did you ever see how Yeager looked at you? Or I think," she gave a deep sigh. "You never actually realized… how desperately he is holding himself back, do you?"

Mikasa grew silent at this question. She had no idea what Ayako meant at all. Bit by bit, she pondered on her friend's inquiry until she finally found a speck of light. Then she started slowly.

"If you meant – after the time we, I mean he… kissed me and…"

"Did he say nothing to you after that?" Ayako interrupted, and Mikasa grew even more scarlet.

"He apologized," she mumbled, not meeting her best friend's eyes.

"And?"

"And…," she was going to say and he promised to do it properly next time, but Mikasa just couldn't bring herself to say it. She was too embarrassed to say it out loud. Her words stuck on her throat and she quickly evaded the topic.

"Nothing," she said. "Eren said nothing else."

Ayako looked unconvinced, and Mikasa knew she pretty much could tell that she was lying. Even Mikasa wasn't convinced at her own words.

"Fine," said Ayako, sounding resigned. "But, mark my words," she crossed her arms, suddenly looking very stern. "Next time you are around Yeager, be more attentive to his signs, okay?"

"Signs?" Mikasa started, "What kind of –" but Ayako interrupted.

"Trust me on this," she said. Mikasa was going to argue further, but the bell rang in the distance, marking the end of lunch period. The two girls were silent for a moment.

"I'm going to the bathroom for a bit," said Ayako, slightly after the bell. Then she stood up and left the table without waiting for Mikasa, leaving the other girl in even greater state of confusion than before.

(Tell me, if my voice is fake

Should I have not thrown myself away?)

If only Mikasa could hear the conversation between the drama club members that afternoon in between their club practice, she would have been very interested.

"They are definitely dating – that Yeager boy and Ackerman," Ymir's loud voice stung sharply on Jean's ears – making his heart sink. She was standing a few meters away from him, painting the sky-blue backdrop to be used on their next performance, her large paint brush in hand, blue paints dropping needlessly from the end of the brush to the large, transparent plastic cover on the floor.

"Did you see how stupid Yeager behaved around her lately? He's totally into her. Or into something inside her pants, I don't know. Heard he's got quite the reputation."

"Ymir, that's mean," Historia interrupted. She was standing beside her tall friend, painting large, white clouds instead. "What's wrong if they start dating, anyway? Ackerman hasn't got anyone to date for ages… it's good that she found someone."

"My dear Christa –,"

"Call me Historia, please – you know Christa is my stage name."

"Historia dear," Ymir corrected, "Of course it isn't my business who Ackerman is dating with – but you might be interested to know that last week I mistakenly went into their empty classroom – thinking that it was my own, and I found them there, all lovey-dovey." Historia paused to look up at her taller friend, her large blue eyes were sparkling with curiosity.

"What were they doing?" she asked, and Ymir burst out laughing at the question.

"What else do you think a couple of lovebirds are supposed to be doing when they're alone? All sorts of things, Historia dear… and anyway…," Ymir dunked her paintbrush harshly to her can of blue paints, causing the contents to splatter everywhere. "Don't you remember those posters that caused so much stirs a while back? Apparently they're living together now. Or they used to live together. I wonder how they're not expelled."

Historia hesitated.

"No one could confirm if those rumors were true," she reminded Ymir. "But Ackerman is such a brilliant student, isn't she? She's the favorite of many teachers…"

"Fat chance," Ymir sneered, now painting the backdrop in large, crude strokes of blue paint. "Yeah that must be why… that Ackerman's too good to be expelled… And anyway, you reckon they've slept together as well?"

"If you paint just as much as you're talking," said someone behind them with a fierce, unpleasant tone, "You might have done more than just half a side of the canvas, Ymir."

Ymir let out a mocking grin, "Ah, Ishijima –" she said, pining her gaze to the girl who just arrived on the scene, her hands full of old costumes that she had just altered or fixed for their next performance. "I don't recall anyone here asking you to join in our conversation."

"Gossiping about someone behind her back, what a noble act, Ymir," said Ayako, a look of disdain clear on her face.

"All gossips are based on facts," Ymir shrugged. "Anyway, we know just how chummy you are with both Ackerman and Yeager… so obviously you'd defend them to the death. Some very strong loyalty, if you ask me."

Just as fight was about to break out between Ymir and Ayako, Jean carefully slipped out to the back stage. That was enough for him. He didn't need to hear those gossips to make things worse… It's not like he didn't see it for himself – that Yeager boy and Mikasa, growing nearer day by day… her gestures, her smile when she saw him. From the moment the transfer student set step in this school, Jean was gradually fighting on the losing side. Jean wasn't blind – that Yeager boy likes her, just like any other straight boy in school, he must have found Mikasa pretty, but… the most heart-breaking part for Jean was that Yeager was the only one Mikasa ever truly responded with the same kind of affection.

And now the wheels have turned, and it seemed like there was no stopping it. Bitterly, Jean headed to the locker room. He couldn't endure practice today. He'll go home early and make his excuses to Marco tomorrow. Marco would have to understand.

"Jean…," a soft voice suddenly spoke beside him. He blinked. And that was when he realized he was not alone in the locker room. Nanako stood just a few steps behind him, looking at him with a silent type of concern.

"Oh," said Jean, just halfway out of his mind. "Hello, Toda."

"Are you okay?" she asked, looking worried.

"Yeah… not really," said Jean reluctantly. "I'm going home early today."

"Do you…," Nanako seemed hesitant to ask. "Do you need… anything?"

Jean shook his head. "I'll be fine tomorrow, thank you," he said, forcing a smile and closing his locker door. Just as he was about to exit the locker room, Nanako said again from behind him.

"I know how it feels."

This was so sudden that Jean immediately halted. Turning in confusion, she faced Nanako, who was now looking strangely at him – as though she didn't want him to go.

"I know how it feels when the one you love doesn't return the feelings," she explained, the edges of her lips were quivering slightly. Jean didn't know what to say. For a few long moments, he just stood there looking at her. Then, the girl opened her mouth again.

"Do you – do you at least mind if I accompany you to the station?" Jean looked down to the pair of dark brown eyes pleading at him.

"Maybe," he said, after a few moments of contemplation. "Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea."

(Did I lose myself?

Or did I gain you?)

Mikasa had never realized how the sight of setting sun could be so endearing.

She also never expected how moments of wilderness could lead to such moments of tenderness, or the other way around.

Either way, it all started with him. Now that she thought about it carefully, all the big events in her life was almost always related to him.

They were both alone in the empty sports hall that afternoon after school, on the mezzanine part where audience used to sit down when watching various sports games – from basketball to badminton to volleyball – played on the fields down below. None of the sport clubs were using the fields for practice today, it was the basketball team's schedule, but they had a practice match in a rival school. Eren, who had learned about the schedule, suddenly decided that a round of ball games was a good idea – particularly because he was having too much energy and nothing to do. So Mikasa accompanied him.

Looking at the orange rays of the setting sun, and down to the wooden polished floor glittering slightly under the sun, she suddenly remembered something.

"I had this dream a while back," she said at the sound of approaching footsteps behind her, which she knew belong to Eren. "There was… a small town. A very small town protected by giant walls. I was standing on top of the wall. But strangely, though one side of the wall was cramped full with these small houses, the other side of the wall was a land of vast wilderness with no living beings in sight. And then someone came and approached me, and they said…"

"Do you want to know what's on the other side of the walls…?"

Mikasa's heart froze. For a moment, she thought she didn't hear it correctly. Or maybe, this was still inside one of those dreams.

Slowly, slowly, she turned to face him. His face was bearing the same resemblance of surprise that she would have seen on her own face.

"You…," she said, slowly. She forced herself to swallow, her heart beating faster than ever. "Did you…?" But she couldn't finish her sentence. Her words faltered, as she pondered his face, looking for answers to her unspoken question.

Did he also see the same dream?

Eren, meanwhile, stood at his spot with the same aghast look on his face. Then, he started, in a very low voice, barely more audible than a whisper.

"I have seen that town too."

Before she knew it she had started toward him. She might have forgotten how strong she was – she seized his upper arms and pulled him closer with all her might, ignoring his surprised gasp, her pair of stormy grey eyes wide with disbelief.

"You are not lying?" she affirmed. "What – what did you see?"

This was too curious, too bizarre to be called a coincidence. They had both seen the same dreams – the same visions. She had not breathed even a word of these strange, recurring dreams to anyone, and the fact that Eren uttered such words precisely like the boy inside her dreams … he must have seen them too.

"There was this strange girl wearing a long white dress. I couldn't see her face," Eren started. "She was wandering alone on top of the walls, looking confused and lost. So I asked her if she wanted to know what was there… beyond the walls."

"And did you – did you know?" asked Mikasa. "What is out there?"

Eren took a few moments to look closely at her face before replying, "I don't know," he said slowly. "Beyond those walls were some great danger. But I do know – that I wanted to explore them. I wanted to find out." He frowned. "Strangely, that small town… I know I'd never been there – there was probably no place like such that I have visited on my whole life, but that town… looked…"

"Familiar," he and Mikasa finished the sentence together. They looked at each other. There was a strange lump in Mikasa's throat, and a rising odd sensation was gripping her stomach. What kind of nonsense was this? Mikasa was never one to believe in superstition, but here she was, reminiscing about a dream she never shared to anyone else – to the boy who happened to see the same dream.

"I must have gone mad," she sighed, after a while. Her head hurt a little, probably from too much shock and information overload. "That – that must be the only plausible explanation."

"Yeah, and I think you're driving me mad too," said Eren, trying not to sound too agitated.

"Sorry," she started. "It's just – it's hard to believe."

"I mean not that," Eren said. He sounded like he was speaking under considerable amount of restraint, that Mikasa raised her eyebrows. "I mean it's the fact that we're both alone here, and you're gripping me so close I could feel your –" he managed to stop before he said the word boobs, instead flicking his glances down below, to the inviting sight of those lovely swell beneath her shirt, and decided to change his wordings before he said anything improper that might upset her. "Anyway – I think you're really overestimating my ability to control myself, so unless you want me to do something stupid or incredibly dangerous… I suggest you let me go."

"Oh." Now that she knew what he meant, her face was boiling scarlet. His words seemed to have thrown her into the present. But she didn't loosen her grip. She didn't let him go. She continued clutching his upper arm and held him closely. Eren was growing more agitated by the second. If there was anything like mental torture, this was most likely it. It was agonizing, seconds passed as he stood there like a statue, her body pressed close against his – so warm, so reachable. But he must not, he had sworn to himself he must not…

"But Eren," she started, her soft voice a contrast to his glaring pain. "You made a promise, didn't you? You said next time you'd do it properly."

Eren froze. For a moment he thought his ears were malfunctioning.

She can't be serious.

"Stop joking," he said, barely keeping his voice from showing how panicked he was inside. "You don't know what you're saying, what I would do if I –"

"I'm not joking," she said firmly. She brought up her eyes to look at him, meeting his eyes in a kind of deviant determination. He was too stunned for words.

"You serious?" he asked in a low voice, his eyes searching her for any kind of hesitation. Any kind of sign to stop him – just one sign and he'd pull himself back, he'd walk away and pretend this didn't happen…

But she only gave a small nod. And it was all he needed as permission.

"Then… I'm not going to hold back."

It started off slowly. His lips met hers in the softest manner – it was as if he was trying to gauge her reaction, to not to destroy the delicate balance that had been carefully built between them. This time she wasn't taken by surprise, this time she was ready for him. She kissed him back – she was surprised at how much she loved this – she grew more passionate, her hands circling his neck, his hands on her hips. He parted her lips slowly, and she let out a sigh. Their lips were locked together, their tongues met one another – circling, swirling, and she pressed the kiss deeper. She wanted to taste more – more of him, and he wanted to give her everything. He couldn't believe it – she was here, inside his arms, and he was kissing her. They continued exploring each other, no words needed, no thoughts inside their heads, merely letting their desire, the most primal of their instincts guide them together. Shortly after, they paused for breath, he opened his eyes, and finally they had a moment to look at one another.

She was slightly panting. He too, was breathing heavily. Six months, almost seven – after they had known each other. And still Eren felt like this was the prettiest that he had ever seen her.

"Do you mind if we go home a little late?" he asked, and she gave a faint smile. Not waiting for her answer, he pushed her toward the wall, safely locking her in the space between the walls and his own body, caging her on the other side of his arms, and they continued to kiss once more. Soft kisses that grew hungrier, more passionate in just a matter of seconds. He was – admittedly, hungry for her – perhaps he'd been craving this ever since he met her. But most surprisingly for him, was how much she seemed to want him, too. This kiss was different, when their lips met, it's not like anything on the blind dates, nothing like what he had on the flings. There was a part of his soul that was satisfied with this kiss, instead of merely physical pleasure.

He broke off the kiss, pressed a string of kisses down her neck, and she let out a soft moan, her fingers entangled in his hair. He really hoped no one would walk in at the moment – doing it in public place was a risky thing, but the school was nearly deserted, and besides, it gave him an extra rush of adrenaline. His heart pumping louder, he traced his lips down to her exposed neckline beneath her unbuttoned collar, and slowly, beneath her shuddering breaths, doubts were beginning to form on his mind. He didn't quite know how far he should go – Mikasa was not too experienced with this, perhaps he shouldn't shock her…

Mikasa seemed to have sensed his hesitation. Her chest rose and fell with anticipation. To be honest, Eren was sorely tempted to explore her body beyond the unbuttoned collar, but suddenly his mind was beginning to speak sense. He stopped, and pulled away to look at her. She stood there in front of him, her hair messy, her shirt rumpled. And on her face, he could see an unmistakable speck of relief.

"That was too much," he admitted, rather embarrassed at himself. She shook her head wordlessly. "I gave you permission," she said, sounding like she was addressing herself rather than him.

"Even so, this hard wooden floor isn't a comfortable place to do it properly," he grinned, and she blushed.

"At least," she paused, her face still a hue of scarlet. "At least the kiss was more than proper."

"Yeah sure," he replied, grinning even wider, "seeing just how much you enjoyed it…" this earned him a slap on his upper arm, and a glare from her, though she couldn't stop herself from being embarrassed at the same time.

"I'm joking," he said, half feeling amused at her reaction. Still smiling, he pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her delicate waistline before bending down and again, interlocked their lips for another round of long, heated kiss.

They went down half an hour later – it was close to 5.30 and the sky was beginning to get darker. Mikasa desperately tried to make herself look more presentable – thankfully the blazer hid any signs of her crumpled shirt, but there was no way to check herself in the mirror so she asked Eren to check her, tidied up their hair, and tried not too look too guilty should they ever run into any of the school staff.

They crossed the school front gate and out toward the station, each not saying anything to the other. They were too busy making out in the school gymnasium earlier, but now that the reality finally dawned on her – the awkwardness of this situation just sank in. Though it didn't make sense, Mikasa almost felt like she just committed a felony. That's how big this first step was for her, a straight-A student who never broke any school rules, and who, most importantly, would never have thought that she would be making out in the school gymnasium with the new transfer student just a little over six months ago. She glanced sideways, and, surely enough – just like any other times when she was constantly worked up – Eren remained calm. What a contrast from earlier inside the gym, when he was the one panicking and she calmly reminded him of his promise.

Her train arrived first. She made her way down to her platform. Just before she left, she heard his voice calling her.

"Mikasa!"

She turned around. And there he was, looking really handsome with his emerald green eyes glinting in satisfaction, and a wide, mischievous smile on his face.

"I fulfilled my promise, didn't I? There are many more where that came from, you know."

She broke out in a smile. Contemplating for a few seconds, she opened her mouth to speak.

"I'll be waiting," she said playfully.

And with that, she disappeared out of his sight, down to her train platform, her steps as light as a feather's.

So... yeah. Eren fulfilled his promise.

About time for them to start kissing for real, right?

#eremika #hourglass #eremika fanfic #aot #snk #snk fanfic #aot fanfic #eren x mikasa

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