#and marlowe hates him on sight

[frommybookbook]

This is the same era Elliott Gould as The Long Goodbye (1973) and my brain is so rotted that in my head this is now Philip Marlowe Meets the Muppets. I don't hate it.

Elliott Gould with Bert and Grover, 1974. Out to Lunch

[seeingivy]

the party scene

roommate eren x f!reader 

you and eren won’t dance 

**find the series masterlist here

content warning: drinking, hitch and marlowe being annoying, someone gets pushed into a pool, marco getting clowned for his halloween costume, toilet humor 

an: ok yall. here’s the chapter. heheheheheh. and you should listen to the song, when you get to it. for vibes of course. to many anon who guessed correctly, hundreds of kisses. not my fav roommates chapters me thinks (but also it seems like everyone else has different fav chapters than I expected so)

previous part linked here

- 

“What are you going to be for the party?” 

You can literally see Eren’s ears perk up, breaking his concentration from the dinner he was cooking on the stove. You tried to make ravioli for dinner. Key word, tried. He didn’t let you stand there for longer than two minutes because he didn’t want you to “burn the apartment down.” 

You put foil in the microwave one time and suddenly he thinks you’re some arsonist. 

“The party on Friday? You’re going, peaches?” 

“Yeah. Jean invited me. Kind of being a wingwoman for him and bringing my classmate Marco, who I’m like ninety percent sure he has a crush on.” 

Eren turns his face back to the pan, dishing the food around on the plate. You get up occasionally, grabbing things you know he’ll need before he asks for them. Setting the dishes, grabbing the salt (because this man doesn’t know how to season), the Yerba Mate Eren claims to hate but drinks anyways. 

“Hitch and I are going as Anakin and Padme. From Star Wars. Apparently, Marlowe loves that crap and she never gave him the time of day for it. She thinks it’ll make him real mad if we show up like that.” 

“You should put a braid in your hair. You know, like from the second movie.” 

“Ew. I’m going as the third movie look.” 

“Good. He’s hotter in that movie anyways.” 

He flashes you a smile as he dishes out the food, lifting the plates and setting them on the table. You join him with the drinks, the two of you sitting right next to each other. 

It was getting easier. Eren was your friend. Maybe even your best friend. You’d still get the occasional heart pounding, flustered cheesk whenever he walked past you or said something that made your heart flutter, but other than that, you were making progress. You can live with a heart flutter here and there. 

“What are you going to be?” 

“Jean wants to do some basic angel/devil thing for the party. I’ve got a white dress and he apparently has a halo already so it should be fine.” 

“Have you ever been to a party?” 

“Yeah. Not really my thing though, but I don’t mind helping Jean. It can be fun with friends. Dancing, letting loose and all that.” 

“Hm. Save a dance for me, peaches?” 

“I’m not riding up on you, Eren. That’s weird.” 

He drops his fork, an exasperated expression spreading across his face. The vein in his forehead is prominent and you always enjoy when it shows up because you know you’ve won. He’s just that easy to aggravate. 

“Who said anything about you riding up on me? I didn’t mean it like that. That’s like…perverted. You could expect that type of shit from Jean or something but-” 

You place your hand against his forearm, laughing in his face. He stops immediately at the sight of your laughter, glaring at you. 

“You’re so easy to piss off, Eren. I’ll save you a dance, okay? A normal one.” 

He holds his hand out, gesturing for you to shake.

“Deal?” 

“Deal, Ren.” 

 - 

“Hey.” 

“Hi Ren.” 

He steps into the bathroom, standing directly behind you as you finish doing your makeup for the party. Jean was supposed to be here in thirty minutes and the two of you were going to go pick up Marco. Meaning, you were going to have to deal with their awkward pining for the ten minute drive to the party. 

“Can you help me with something?” 

“Sure. What’s up?” 

“Can you help me draw the scar?” 

“Oh, yeah. Show me the picture.” 

He hands you his phone as you inspect the picture, the scar starting before the eyebrow and breaking just underneath the left eye. He sits on top of the toilet seat, his ankles crossed over each other. 

“Ah. Hitch gave me this to use. For the scar.” 

He hands you a tube of lipstick, which you slide open and swatch against the back of your hand. Too glittery for a scar.

“Do you mind if I use mine? Hers is kind of glittery and it’ll look kinda weird?” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

You bend over, digging through your bag to find the one tube of red lipstick you own, that Pieck forced you to buy for her wedding. You can’t show up to my wedding in lip gloss, that’s an atrocity. You find the tube at the end of the drawer, walking over to where Eren was sitting. 

As you amble over, you realize that the toilet seat is way too low and you can’t properly reach Eren’s face to reach. You were towering over him, his long legs sprawled across the floor of the bathroom. 

“Why are these toilet seats so low? I can’t even get the right angle.” 

“Levi. Kenny told me he hates having his feet dangle over certain toilets so he makes sure to get the shortest ones when picking his apartments. As if Levi’s going to come shit in our toilet at some point.” 

You nod, trying your best to lean over and indent the mark over Eren’s face. Out of all the angles you try, not one of them works - your head is blocking the light, your hands are in a weird position, you’re all up in his space. 

“Just sit on my knee. If it’s easier.” 

He splits his legs, tapping on the top of his thigh for you to sit. You nod, setting both of your legs on each side of his one as you lightly perch on top of his leg. 

“That’s hovering. Not sitting, Y/N. It’s fine.” 

You sigh, pressing your full weight against Eren as you lean back over for the phone and check the picture. As you slide over reaching for it, Eren puts his hands on your waist, holding you from falling off of his knee. 

“Thanks Ren. Just wanted to check again before I started.” 

You focus on the picture, the light shining against your face as you check where the scar was exactly on your eyes. Eren locks his fingers together behind your waist, pulling you closer so you can get a better look. 

“Okay. I think I’ve got it down.” 

You cradle the side of his face in your hands as you start drawing the scar on, trying to be as gentle as possible. Trying to avoid the fact that you’re basically straddling him right now. You can feel his cheeks warming under your touch and you try your hardest not to let the smile spread across your face. At least it’s not just you. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Nothing Ren. You’re just blushing, that’s all.” 

“You’d blush if you were in my position too.” 

You shake your head, pressing your fingers against his lips so you can stop him from moving. You’re only halfway through the scar and if he talks again you’re going to smudge it. 

“Since when do you wear red lipstick?” 

“I don’t. Pieck made me buy it for her wedding. It’s for special occasions.” 

You lean back, cupping his face in your hands as you glean your eyes over the scar. You compare it to the picture and figure it's semi accurate, giving him a smile to signal you’re done. You slide off of his legs, beckoning him to join you in the mirror. You watch him lean forward, eyeing your work. 

“Thanks.” 

“No problem.” 

“Can I try?” 

“Try what?” 

“Doing makeup on you.” 

You pause, dropping your lipstick tube back into the box. 

“I don’t have a scar for my costume.” 

“I know. But you must have something left to do. You just looked so focused, like you were face painting, and I just wanted to try.” 

“Um, okay. You can take this glitter. You basically just dip your finger in it and swipe it against my eyelids. And then along the collarbone too, because it's body glitter.” 

He nods, taking the white glitter into his hands. He inspects the box first, turning it over and over again, holding it up against the light, smelling it. 

“Do you need to do a police inspection on the box? It’s just glitter.” 

“Shut up. I was just checking if it was okay to use.” 

“It’s obviously okay to use if I’m giving it to you. I’ve used it before.” 

He rolls his eyes, learning down. He sets his hands on both sides of your face, angling your face to inspect you this time. 

“You’re short.” 

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” 

“Do you always have to give me attitude?” 

“Pretty much.” 

“Sit on the counter. It’ll be easier for me to do if we’re closer to the same level.” 

You brace your palms against the counter, trying to push yourself onto the counter. You clearly misestimated how tall the counter was because you barely hit the back of the top, stumbling in the air. 

“Okay, Humpty Dumpty. Let me help you.” 

He reaches down, securing his hands around your waist to lift you up to the counter. You can feel your cheeks burning at the sensation, unable to look him in the eyes. 

Right. Because it was getting easier, because he was becoming your friend. But there were still moments like this. Ones where you can feel your cheeks burning, your heart pounding, your fingers shaking. 

You hate that he still makes you feel this way. 

“Okay, widen your stance.” 

“What?” 

“Open your legs.” 

“Ew. You’re so vulgar, Eren.” 

“Well, I said to widen your stance and you gave me that stupid look on your face. It’s your fault.” 

You roll your eyes, parting your legs. He steps in between the space, leaning close to your face with the glitter still in his hands. 

“So, the eyelids and collarbones?” 

“Yeah. You can just use your fingers. You wash your hands after you pee, right?” 

“Of course not.” 

“What?” 

“It’s better for the environment. If I just wait until I have to poop, I can just save water by washing my hands once. You should try it.” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“As if. Girls don’t poop.” 

“Yes, they do.” 

“No, they don’t.” 

“There’s no way girls don’t poop.” 

“Ask your mom. Or Mikasa. They’ll tell you the same thing.” 

“Okay, stop fucking around. We’re running late.”

“You started it with your stupid toilet humor.”

“Shut up. Your attitude is going to kill me one day.” 

“That’s a promise, Yeager.” 

He rolls his eyes, a small smile spread across his face as he dips his thumb into the glitter. He cups the side of your face and you flutter your eyes shut, his fingers gentle against your eyes. You can hear him laughing and you squint your eyes, glaring at him as you open them. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Nothing Y/N. You’re just blushing, that’s all.” he responds, his tone mocking. 

“Did you do this just to prove a point? It looks like finger painting, my ass.” 

“Close your eyes. I’m not done yet.” 

You shut your eyes again, Eren sliding the last bit of glitter along your eyes. You open your eyes to find him staring at you, his eyes wide. 

“What did you do? Don’t tell me there’s glitter on my forehead.” 

“No, it just looks pretty, that’s all.” 

You look down, focusing on his hands as he dips into the glitter again. Stupid fucking hands and voice and smell and hair and soft cheeks. You can literally feel your heartbeat all the way in your stomach and he’s barely even touching you. 

He uses his hands to tilt your face up, lightly pressing the glitter against the exposed parts of your neck. You feel your body shiver, instantly remembering the last time you and Eren were like this. Pressed up in the bathroom, with him kissing your neck. He presses his hand to your shoulder, his eyes washing over in concern at you shivering. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah, sorry. Got a weird sense of deja vu, that’s all.” 

He nods, finishing off the last of the glitter. When he’s done, he locks his hands across your waist again, lightly setting you back down on the counter as you both stand there. You’re both staring at each other, neither one of you talking first. 

Right. Because what are you supposed to say after that? Oh, sorry, I was just thinking of your lips on my neck, my bad.

The doorbell rings and Eren gives you a soft smile before squeezing your shoulder and leaving. You can hear Hitch in the doorway and you try to ignore the way your entire body is steaming. 

  -

“What are you even supposed to be, Marco?” 

“I’m a space cowboy, Y/N!”

“You’re holding a glittery gun and wearing a flannel. You look like a kid who got lost at Party City and picked the closest thing you could find. You don’t even have a cowboy hat.” 

“Ignore her, Marco. I think you look great.” 

You watch Marco’s cheeks turn a bright pink, awkwardly stuttering to respond to Jean. Great. They’re going to do this whole oblivious idiots thing all night. 

Marco slides into the front as you and Jean walk to the other side, unlocking the car. 

“Ignore her, Marco. I think you look great.” you say, mocking Jean’s high pitched voice. 

He rolls his eyes, lightly shoving you as you settle into the seat behind him. They’re both talking animatedly, forgetting you were even sitting in the back. You unlock your phone, playing Wordscapes as they go on in the background. 

- 

Eren’s eyes were trained on your figure, as Jean and Marco were spinning you around on the dance floor with them for a better part of the last forty-five minutes. He’s been waiting, staring at you, anticipating when you’ll look at him. 

You’re driving him crazy. Today, especially. Soft glitters, a willowy white dress, that stupid flowery perfume you wore during the concert. He even likes the stupid halo you have on your head. 

He wants to touch you. Press his hands against yours, drag you out and leave with you so he was the only one who could see you like this, your stupid eyes glittering in the light. 

He hates that you can still make him feel this way. 

He sees you leave, waving off Jean and Marco who were still left on the dance floor. Marco’s wearing your halo and you have the glittery gun Marco was holding. 

He’s still watching you. Shamelessly. You weave around people talking, wait to walk forward so you don’t get in the way of pictures, compliment strangers on their costumes. 

“What are you staring at?”

“Nothing, Hitch.” 

She’s been annoyed for a better part of the last hour, not that he’s been paying much attention to it. Marlowe still hasn’t shown up. 

He doesn’t mind the guy. He doesn’t quite understand why Marlowe and Hitch have to play these games - circling around each other, making each other jealous, making up. He figures a part of it is the chase, but he’s always found that part the most agonizing. He’d catch you if he could. He’s been waiting long enough. He’d make you feel good right here and right now. 

He watches you leave the room, leaving the heat of the room to the patio outside. 

“Mind if I leave? Just call me when he’s here, okay?” 

Hitch nods and Eren basically bolts out the door, ready to follow you where you went. But before he can, Jean all but falls right off the dance floor, piled on the floor in front of him. He can see Marco’s hand under him, dragging them both up by their arms. He can tell Jean’s already too far gone and that he has to deal with this first. Then you. 

-

Your feet hurt. Like a bitch. You made the wrong choice of wearing your Doc Martens to the party. You had figured you wouldn’t be moving much, just sticking to the walls and talking to whoever you knew there. But no, of course Jean’s nervous ass had to drag you onto the dance floor with Marco, the three of you spinning in circles. 

You had made your safe escape, sitting outside on the patio. You had been watching the wind whistle through the trees in the dead of night, watching the lights in the pool change colors. They had been changing every minute - switching from purple, to red, to green. There were a few stars glittering out, barely sparkling in the sky. 

“Anyone sitting here?” 

You look up to find a guy with black hair and pale green eyes kneeling down, crossing his legs next to yours. 

“No. Well you are, now.” 

He smiles, the two of you sitting in silence. You watch people swerve around the pool, girls holding hands, people leaning against the chairs, everyone nursing drinks in their hands. 

“I’ve never seen you around here.” 

“Yeah. I don’t really come to these things, I just came here with my friend Jean.” 

He nods, leaning down to feel the temperature of the water. 

“Do you want to play twenty questions?” 

You hike your knees against your chest, tangling your fingers together across. 

“Sure.” 

“Your name is…?” 

“Y/N. Yours?” 

“Marlowe.” 

Right. Hitch’s Marlowe. The guy she was trying to make jealous, the reason Eren was seeing her and not you. Well, not exactly. He said you two were just a mistake but you could have convinced him if she wasn’t in the picture. Semantics. He taps your shoulder and you forget that it’s your turn. 

“You play a sport, Marlowe?” 

“Water Polo.” 

You nod, lightly turning your head to the side. This is wrong. Surely Hitch wouldn’t be the happiest that you were sitting with Marlowe and not her. You can hear the party getting louder behind you and you swear you can hear her screaming in there somewhere. 

“Seeing anyone, Y/N?” 

“Uh, no. You?” 

“Not exactly, Y/N.” 

“I have this friend, I think you’d like her. Her name is-” 

“Hitch?” 

You pause, swallowing as you turn your face to look at him. He’s sitting way too close, an all-knowing look plastered on his face. 

“Yeah.” 

“Thanks for the suggestion. I’m okay, for now. It’s your turn to ask.” 

“Um, okay. Why don’t you want to see Hitch?” 

“Because I’m talking to you.” 

He untangles his legs and stands up, holding out his hand for you to follow. You press your hand into his and he pulls you up, not letting go of your hand as the two of you stand. The party is getting even louder, the sound of voices drowning out the sound of the music. You’re positive you can hear her now. 

“My turn. Do you know a guy named Eren? Plays soccer, green eyes?” 

“Uh, no. Never heard of him.” 

He nods, squinting his eyes at you. He must know Eren’s your roommate. Maybe he’s found out their together and he’s trying to get you to admit it. You let go of his hand, the two of you standing awkwardly by the pool. 

You can’t really tell what he’s getting at, but every part of him irks you out. He’s perfect for Hitch. 

“My turn, Marlowe. Are we done now?” 

“That’s barely even twenty. But fine, one more question.” 

You teeter on the balls of your feet, ready to take off the second he asks his stupid question. He turns to the side, eyeing the window, before asking. 

“When was the last time someone kissed you?” 

Before you can respond, Marlowe crashes into the pool, with Eren suddenly standing at your side. Eren just pushed Marlowe into the fucking pool. You can hear the sound of footsteps behind you - Hitch, Jean, and Marco at your sides. 

Jean and Marco - well wasted beyond their minds - swing their arms around you, slurring as they ask you if you’re okay. Hitch on the other hand is pissed. At Eren. 

“What the hell is your problem, Eren?” 

“Him, Hitch. He was pissing me off.” 

“This wasn’t what I meant when I asked you for help with this Eren. And your stupid roommate wasn’t helping the case either.” 

You feel your eyes widen, as you make eye contact with Hitch, awkwardly crossing your arms across each other. You turn back to Jean, who still isn’t paying attention, instead playing rock paper scissors with Marco on the floor. 

“You want to be with Marlowe so bad, Hitch? Go ahead and join him.” 

He leans over, lightly pushing Hitch into the pool where Marlowe was still watching. He turns to you and ou can tell he’s pissed - that stupid vein on his forehead is showing again. But not in the good way. 

“We’re leaving, Y/N.” 

He grabs the edge of your wrist, dragging you towards the door as you shake on his hand. 

“I drove here with Marco and Jean, Eren. And they’re way too drunk to drive home now.” 

You both turn back, leaning over Marco and Jean. Jean’s way too out of it, but Marco looks up, smiling at the two of you. 

“You guys are so cute. I love your Anakin and Padme costume.” 

Right. Because he took your halo and you took the glittery gun because he kept hitting Jean with it. Eren turns to you, shaking your hand again. 

“Armin will come get them. You and I are leaving. Now.” 

“But how will he even find them? And what about Marco’s car?” 

Eren turns around fully, stopping in the center of the door. He’s pissed, at you now, and you can lightly hear Marlowe and Hitch arguing in the background. 

“You can hear them right? Knowing them, they’re going to walk up in a few seconds and start arguing with you and me. And if he says some shit again, I’m going to do worse than just push him into a fucking pool. You and I are leaving.” 

He tangles his fingers around your wrist again, his touch still gentle, as the two of you file out of the party, making it back to the apartment. 

 - 

Eren doesn’t say anything to you as you walk to the car, when you drive home, or even when you stare at him from the confines of your kitchen. He can tell by the look in your eyes that you’re waiting. For an explanation. 

But he can’t do that can he? Tell you that the reason he pushed Marlowe in the pull and argued with Hitch is because he can’t stand the thought of him being with you? He can see the entire scene in his head, like he has been for the past hour, his anger burning every time he does. 

“Jean, get the fuck up. You too, Marco.” 

They both stand up, half leaning on each other. Totally gone. 

“Eren. Marlowe’s here.” 

He turns to find Hitch at his side, her face scrunched up in anger. Eren waves off Marco and Jean, pushing them towards the kitchen where (he hopes) they’ll find water and sober up a little. There’s no way he’s letting them drive you home, that’s for sure. 

“Where?” 

“With your stupid roommate outside. What is she doing?” 

Eren turns his neck to find you, where he was just about to join you, sitting by the side of the pool. He can see Marlowe sitting next to you, leaning way too close for his liking. He turns back around, pressing his hands against Hitch’s shoulders. 

“Get him to leave. Now.” 

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” 

He drags Hitch out by the arm, the two of them leaning their necks so they can hear what you and Marlowe are talking about. 

“Seeing anyone, Y/N?” 

That’s enough. Eren moves forward, not exactly sure what he’s going to do, but Hitch stops him, pulling him back by the wrist. 

“What are you doing, Hitch?” 

Hitch digs her fingers into Eren’s wrist, turning to glare at him. 

“What the fuck is she doing?” 

“He asked her the question, Hitch. Shut the fuck up.” 

He���s getting angrier. He can feel it - burning hot, red anger. Because why the fuck is Marlowe talking to you? Asking you if you’re alone? Why are you talking to him when you know he’s here? And why the fuck is Hitch pissed at you like Marlowe’s not the one all over you right now? Don’t you know he’s been waiting for that dance you promised him all night? 

“Not exactly, Y/N.” 

“I have this friend I think you’d like. Her name is-” 

“Hitch?” 

He turns back, his turn to glare at Hitch. 

“See, Hitch. It’s fucking Marlowe. Now go and stop him.” 

“How the fuck am I supposed to stop him? And I have no interest in chasing him.” 

“Get mad. Argue and then kiss and makeup. I don’t give a fuck. Just get him to stop fucking talking to her. Now.” 

“I already told you. I’m not chasing him.”

“This isn’t fucking about you. Do something now or I’ll call the deal off now. I’ve already done more than enough and you can’t do one thing for me?” 

“Why do you even care?” 

He turns his neck again, to find you and Marlowe standing, his hand in yours. He can’t stand it. Your hand in his. Because he doesn’t deserve you. No one does. Because he can’t treat you right and Eren can. He’d praise the ground you walk on if you let him. 

He hears the last question and he can’t take it anymore.

“When was the last time you were kissed?” 

So he does the only thing he can think of. Push Marlowe in the pool. Drag you out of the party, where Hitch and Marlowe and Jean or Marco or anyone can’t talk to you. See you. He hates it. Being possessive, getting jealous. He knows you’re not his. But he can’t fucking stand it. It makes his skin fucking burn thinking of an asshole like Marlowe even touching you, let alone kissing you. 

“Earth to Ren?” 

He looks back up to find you staring at him, awkwardly brushing your hands against your forearms. Right. Because you’re still waiting for a fucking answer and he can’t tell you. Tell you that the thought of another man touching you drives him crazy, that the only person who could touch you right, make you feel good was him. 

“You’re doing that thing again. I can see the steam coming off of your head.” 

He deflates, leaning against the counter as he watches you. You’re moving from the side, pressing the glass of water in your hand to the dispenser in the kitchen. It’s pissing him off even more. The thought of someone seeing you like this - bedhead in the morning, focused when you’re doing your makeup, half asleep on the couch. He can’t fucking stand it. 

“So. Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No.” 

“Okay, Darth Vader. No need to growl at me.” 

Fuck. Everything is pissing him off. Everything. 

“Let’s think about something else, yeah? We don’t have to talk about it just….stop being so pissy.” 

You’re at his side, circling the glass of water in your hand. 

“Fine. The answer to the question. What was it?” 

“What question, Ren?” 

“The one Marlowe asked you. Before I pushed him in the pool.” 

When was the last time you were kissed? In the bathroom, when Eren had his lips pressed to your neck. 

“A real kiss, Y/N.” 

Eren Yeager, mind reader.

“Oh. Um. A while ago, maybe a year? It was back when I was dating Floch.” 

Eren turns his neck, his eyes flashing at you as you look at him. He looks less angry, his eyes more concerned than murderous like they were a few seconds ago. 

“I don’t even think I can remember. I don’t know - he never really liked that stuff. Affection, compliments, all that.” 

“Did you ask him to? Do that stuff?”

“At first, yeah. But he never did.” 

Now he’s even more pissed. Because an asshole wanting to kiss you, him doing it all wrong is infuriating enough. But the fact that you had to ask someone to do it? He’d literally drop on his fucking knees if you gave him the chance and you had to ask someone for it? 

Eren does the only thing he can. The only thing he knows how to do. He wraps his arms around you, tucking your face against his neck as he holds you. 

It was either this or kissing you, full on like he wanted to. But he can’t really do that. So hugging it is. He hears you murmur against his shoulder, your arms pressing against his back. 

“S’okay Eren. What are you so mad about?” 

“You said we didn’t have to talk about it. And no. It’s not.” 

“We don’t. But I think this is less about whatever happened and more about whatever just-” 

He tightens his grip on you, the pressure of his arms silencing you. 

“I’m mad because you should be kissed. Often. And by someone who knows how. Like they can’t get enough of you, like you’re the air they breathe, like you’re inventing kissing just by putting your lips together.”

Shit. He said too much. 

You stand in silence, staring at him as he finishes talking. Oh he messed up big time. 

He watches the smile spread across your face, your eyes still in the dim light of the kitchen. Stupid fucking glitter. He’s going to go into the bathroom and throw it out. 

“Didn’t realize you cared so much, Ren.” 

He doesn’t respond. 

“Why do you?” 

“Why do I what?” 

“Care so much, Eren?” 

You watch him constrict his fists again, his jaw clenched.

“Selfish reasons.” 

You walk up to the counter where he’s leaning over, lacing your arm through his. You push your hands into his fists, forcing him to stop clenching his hands so hard. You can tell his anger is dissipating, his shoulders slowly tensing as you touch him. 

“Selfish reasons?” 

“I don’t want to see you unhappy or anything. You’re like...my best friend right now. Is it so weird that I want you to be happy?” 

You smile, leaning your head against his shoulder. Fucking idiot. 

“No, Ren. It’s not weird.” 

You both stand like that for a while, your head pressed against his shoulder. He’s still tense, his heart pounding against your ear. 

“So I say all this nice shit to you and you have nothing to say back?” 

“Nope.” 

“Nothing at all.” 

You shake your head, watching him begrudingly smile at you as you two smile In the kitchen. You stand there for a while, the anger, awkwardness, wearing off. It’s just you two, standing in the light of your kitchen. 

“You promised me a dance. You never even gave me one, Ren.” 

“I’m not riding up on you, Y/N.” 

“I’m heartbroken.” 

You both laugh and Eren leans over, grabbing your phone from the side. He puts a song on - I Won’t Dance by Fred Astaire - and holds his hands out. You lean forward, knotting your hands behind his back as he presses his hands to your waist.

“You know Fred Astaire, Ren?” 

“Old timey shit. My parents love it.” 

You tangle your hands behind his neck, the two of you dancing in the dim light of your kitchen. 

You hate this. That you want to lick all his wounds, hold him till his anger goes away. That you want to dance like this in the kitchen with him, all the time. 

He hates this. That it’s this easy for you to fix it all for him. For you to make it better. That he wants to hold you, make you feel good every night. 

Do you love each other? 

- 

next part linked here

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[ithinkdogshouldvote2]

Shut the fuck up. SHUT UP! LISTEN!!!

In the alternate universe, where Willy picked normal instead of scary. Terry would have died protecting his stepdaughter by shielding her from the bullet. Because Willy would have set the collars to aim specifically at scary.

There is NO SHOT that normal didn't talk to willy about feeling hurt and unappreciated by how mean scary is. Willy, (through a combination of being sick and fucking tired of hearing normal bitch about it and an act of "service" he can use to guilt normal with) has all the collars set to shoot scary on sight.

Terry Jr. dies and scary (or rather terri) is confused and trying her best to help figure out what's going on, while normal is left stewing in guilt knowing that Willy did this for HIM. Normal is the reason Terry Jr. is dead.

And scary should be screaming at him, rightfully furious and hateful and mean. At least REMIND him of why this happened in the first place, give him a taste of those cutting, hurtful words that he deserves right now. That led them to this point. But she doesn't.

He's left with sweet, undeserving, 12 year old Terri marlowe. Who loves soccer, whose mom is her best friend, who just wants someone to be proud of her, who doesn't even KNOW who terry is. She doesn't even realize what she just lost. What normal just TOOK from her. And shes trying to comfort HIM, she's telling normal that they'll figure this out, that whatever he's talking about, it's gonna be OK, when they find whoever scary is, terri's sure she'll understand that it's not his fault.

Normal puts on the nightcap, to talk to willy, to scream at him, who fucking knows. But he barely gets through his stammering, accusing recounting of what just happened before Willy cuts him off.

"That's what you wanted, right?" He's nonchalant about normals frenzied panic, not even bothering to look up at him, "She was so mean to you. She didn't appreciate you. She was jealous of you. I'm just giving you what YOU asked for. "

Willy tells him to go break the last anchor. that if he REALLY doesn't want the dads to kill scary, keeping her in that brain-dead fugue state should keep their collars from kicking in and offing her. At least for long enough before Willy can get in there and change them. Normal tries to interject with another accusation, but Willy's glare is withering.

"I'm going out of my way to clean up YOUR mess, kid. I only did this because YOU said that scary's attitude was getting in the way of the plan. If you hadn't spent SO MUCH time devoted to bitching and moaning about it, I wouldn't have deemed her a liability."

Normal stumbles back out of the dream space, still next to the body he tries not to look at. Terri is animatedly gesturing to him (or is it the body next to him?) on the ground, as she explains something to Lincoln and Taylor, who must've come in while he slept. Linc starts giving orders to those around him as normal rises to his feet, wiping his wet cheeks with his sleeve. None of his friends look at him. He's glad. he doesn't want to be looked at. Everyone in the room begins to quickly disburse, running off towards whatever tasks they were assigned. Normal stumbles forward after scary and grabs her wrist before she can get too far.

"I- I'm so so sorry." he chokes, voice watery and thick with guilt. Terri only cocks her head, giving a sympathic but confused smile.

"For what?"

[sonofthesaiyans]

Another bone to pick with Eremika.....

You know when you really think about it, Eremika fans may be some of the most selfish people in the Attack on Titan fandom.

Oh I still hold Gabi Braun's fans to be the absolute worst, who seem to legitimately think it's wrong to hate on her in any capacity.......But the fans who even now are still so desperately needy for Mikasa and Eren to have their "happy" ending really never stop to understand how much such an ending simply would NOT have been earned.

As I've said in the past, Eremika is unquestionably abusive on Eren's side. Mikasa was nothing but loyal to him, to a very unhealthy degree in fact, and he never treated her with any affection reflective of either the love of a partner or of the adoptive stepbrother he was supposed to have been. Even if Eren was putting on a show with that "I've always hated you" speech, it's baffling why anyone would want them to still be together after such a cruel renouncement of their bond.

But what's REALLY selfish? Think of all the other characters who deserved a happy ending but DIDN'T get theirs:

Sasha Braus, anyone? Marco Bott?

Hange and Levi? Hell, Levi and Petra?

Seriously folks, how can ANYONE think Levi's was a fitting end for someone who had lost everyone he held close, and was left broken and alone with no clear path forward? It's a pitiful sight seeing what humanity's strongest soldier was reduced to.

Jean? What's his story? Connie, what's his story? Armin?

Historia and Ymir? Ymir lost her shot at a new life, and let's be real, Historia didn't marry that farmer asshole out of genuine love, if he is in fact her husband.

Marlowe and Hitch? Miche Zacharius? Hannah and Franz? Nile and his daughters? Keith Shadis? DAMN NEAR EVERYONE?

The list goes ON and ON.

So many characters who deserved a happy ending. And the fandom mourns for the mass murderer who didn't get laid with the girl he continually pushed away and forced into an impossible situation?

Eren died a virgin. You think I'm fucking mourning?

Come to think of it with that in mind, Gabi fans are really selfish since they actively rubbed it in our faces that she lived, having been literally carried through the story by egregious plot armor. But I digress.

Eremika fans got their priorities backwards. Not just for trying to preserve an intensely toxic unbalanced attraction, but because apparently that's a greater loss than all who died unnecessarily because of Eren's vast manipulations.

I know this is not an attitude that applies to all Eremika fans. But to the ones who are still mourning over this......

Eren Yeager can go get fucked right up the ass straight into ETERNAL DAMNATION like the cunt he is. I ain't mourning for that hobo haired bitch, people, why are you?

This story ended with the ocean.

[bramble-mouse]

Just Desserts

Bramble finds you in the woods getting attacked by bandits and takes some extreme measures to make sure they learn their lesson.

CW: Fatal vore (you are the observer and Bramble is kind to you), strong language, blood, threats of ambiguous violence

A/N: I had this concept ripping around in my mind like a feral lil gremlin for the past week. Please enjoy!

Your blood curdling scream has a hope attached amidst the fear: to summon help.

"Shut the fuck up!"

The roadside bandit growls while his other two compatriots paw through your camp for valuables. Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. You feel the cruel, cold edge of a sword at your throat, poised to strike if you scream like that again.

One of the other bandits, a thick framed oaf finds a leather bound book. He opens it, flips through the pages and bursts out laughing.

"Oi, Gerwin, Look at this garbage!"

He snickers and shows the rail thin bandit currently rooting through your cooking gear.

"Focus, Marlow."

Gerwin counters shortly.

"Faster we deal with this, faster we get outta dodge."

Marlow keeps flipping through your sketchbook, snickering and making snide remarks about your work. You might as well be in physical pain from how much the sight torments you. There is a stranger staring at your most intimate thoughts in the form of drawings- and he's laughing at them. At you. Your eyes well with tears, your lip quivering.

The bandit with his sword at your throat (Draven, as his gang call him) smirks alongside Marlow. He presses the sharp blade against your neck and shifts it. You wince and feel a bit of blood welling up, poised to trickle down your neck.

"Oops. I'm so careless."

Draven grins.

And then, the ground begins to shake.

It begins far away, distant as thunder, but as it draws closer, all eyes turn towards the edge of the clearing where it turns back to dense, unimpeachable forest. Your back is to where these men look, but once the ground shakes enough for Draven to pull his sword away from your neck to not risk offing a captive, you know there is something there. A massive shadow casts over the clearing. You smell fresh rain and cedar, feel the weight of something big staring down at you.

"So, fun fact."

A great voice rumbles. You spy fear on all three bandit's faces

"Giants have a great sense of smell and hearing. So...when you cut that person with you, I smelled it."

You flinch as a massive hand catches Marlow in its grip and pulls his shrieking bulk away.

"and I could hear you making fun of them too."

Gerwin makes to bolt but the other hand catches him and snatches him away.

"Let me tell you losers something."

The voice speaks coldly.

"I hate bullies."

You hear one of the bandits shriek, and soon after, a wet squelch. The screaming stops, cut off abruptly.

"I prefer to treat you little guys nicely. In fact, a lot of you are pretty great. But when I see this shit?"

"Fuck, please don't!"

Marlow wails. His screaming abruptly becomes muffled, and then you hear that awful squelch again.

"I don't feel like being nice."

Draven's eyes are wide as a saucers. Fear has frozen him in place, his sword clattering to the ground.

"So? Anything to say? Like maybe an apology to them maybe?"

The voice says in a tired annoyance one might find in an overtired teacher.

Draven takes a step back, quivering like he might wet himself.

"I-I'm sorry!"

He whimpers

"P-please don't eat me!"

You now understand what the squelching was. A low gurgle from behind you confirms the fate of the other two bandits.

The monster behind you ate them. And Draven is next.

The great voice laughs. You watch that same hand snatch him up kicking and screaming.

"Good boy."

You turn around in time to witness Draven's execution.

The creature in question is a giant with shaggy green hair, golden eyes and a feylike face that makes determining thier gender a confusing prospect. Thier jaw parts to reveal a curious green glow inside, along with sharp pearly whites. Draven is tossed inside, swished around a few times and swallowed whole. You watch the lump that is a thrashing human body slowly vanish into an unforgiving digestive tract.

The giant pats thier stomach through a layer of mossy green woolen sweater.

"Yeah, yeah. Squirm all you fuckers want. You earned this."

They snort.

"You lot are food now. That's all you fuckin' deserve."

Then, those hunter's eyes fix on you. The giant frowns and as they reach a hand out to you, you let out a cry and curl up into a ball. You'll be next, you're sure, doomed to die in roiling, bubbling acids next to the bandits that tormented you.

And yet the hand has not grabbed you. You chance a peek up at the giant and find a very different expression from what you expect: worry.

"Hey, little guy, it's okay."

They reassure

"I won't hurt you. I just want to check you over for wounds. I can smell blood."

As if on cue, thier stomach groans gleefully at the living meal inside it. The men inside are at the mercy of the acidic hell they are starting to be digested within.

"I'm Bramble. You're safe. l with me, I swear."

And yet for all the gentleness in thier voice, you sit up a little and let out a sob.

"B-but....you...you ate them."

You manage to get out.

"I...I don't...I don't want to...to die like that."

You are shaking, a mess.

Bramble curses under thier breath in a language you don't recognize.

"Fuck. I...I shouldn't done that in front of you."

They sigh and fidget with thier fingers in their lap.

"I'm sorry. That was probably terrifying to watch."

Bramble chews on thier lower lip. They tower over you even seated as they are.

" I just... couldn't let them get away with the shit they were doing. And I was worried they might try worse with you. So...I'm a dumbass and...ugh."

They hang thier head like a guilty dog.

"I'm really sorry. I uh...I can go."

"No!"

The word rockets out of your mouth before you can understand why. You aren't certain who is more surprised, you or the giant.

You stare at one another in silence a moment before Bramble smiles a little, an awkward but earnest expression.

"Sure. Yeah. Uh..."

They tuck a green lock of hair behind a pointed ear.

"How about I stick around since it's gonna get dark soon? I can watch over your camp, maybe let you get some rest."

Bramble proposes. When you find thier eyes again, you note heavy remorse and maybe even a bit of self loathing mixed in.

Maybe they are genuine. Maybe they really do want to help you.

You manage a nod and cup a hand over the shallow scratch Draven's sword made on your neck. It isn't gushing blood but it has stained the neckline of your shirt.

"...You...really won't eat me?"

You ask carefully.

"No."

Bramble blurts out

"I would never do that to you."

The giant leans forward and looms some, concern written clear upon their features.

"I mean it. I don't hurt people for no reason. You...you looked so scared."

Bramble reaches a hesitant finger forward. You tense but feel how gently thier finger tip strokes the side of your head.

"I wanted to help."

Something shifts. Perhaps it's that gentle touch. Maybe it's the realization that you feel relieved knowing your aggressors won't be able to hurt anyone else ever again. You lean into the finger, shivering from the shock of it all.

"Are you ok with me picking you up? I promise I'll go slow."

Bramble asks.

You nod and feel careful fingers gathering you up. The whole world shifts as they lay down and gently deposit you onto thier chest. You sink into the soft wool of thier sweater. You can hear thier active belly removing the bandits from existence, but there is also Bramble's soft, sonorous breathing beneath you. Strangely, the sound of thier stomach is oddly calming despite the knowledge of what is happening inside.

They rest thier hand atop your body, a welcome but strange weight. There is still fear you might be crushed or devoured- instincts that cowered before the predator holding you.

Instead, you take a leap. You trust.

"I meant it. I won't hurt you."

Bramble insists softly, thier voice rumbling through your frame. You feel so tired, the exhaustion created by so much fear and adrenaline crashing down on you. You decide to curl up atop the giant's chest while they digest the men who hurt you alive.

Bramble's fingertip swirls gently on your back. There is no fighting the heavy sleep that takes you, not even when you ponder what will happen come morning.

Maybe you have a friend now, one that truly wishes to protect. You dream of a heartbeat, of warmth and a kind, crooked smile.

[susiequaz12]

Whumptober 23

No. 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”

Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?”

Day 23! A continuation of Marlowe and Solomon's travels. Last part was in Day 21. CW: nonbinary whumpee, vampire caretaker, forced drugging, blood, animal attack, some gore, caretaking.

- - -

They had been traveling long through the night, the moon high in the sky and stars pattering down light from above. Yet they were moving slow. The river was still a few more miles away, and they needed to try and cross it before sunrise so they could camp safely on the other side. 

Lo had a crutch made of some tree branches and wood, using it to move at a slow and steady pace as they trucked closer and closer. They hobbled along with their one good leg, constantly falling leagues behind the vampire as he carried on forward. 

“Just let me carry you.” Solomon stated for the fifth time. “We’ll go faster and you wont wear yourself out.” 

“No-” Lo insisted again as they caught up with the vampire where he was waiting. “You- you need your rest too.” They panted. “I can’t have you constantly dragging me around all the time. I’ll slow you down.” 

Solomon grabbed the crutch from the human, forcing them to sit down and rest for a moment. 

“I hate to break it to you, but you’re already slowing us down.”

“I just- I just need to catch my breath.”

Solomon handed Lo their flask of water, not very many drops were left- having been unable to fill up for the last few miles. Lo chugged them down gratefully, placing the canteen back in their pack. 

“Hey Lo-” Solomon stated, waiting for the human to look up at him. When they did, he grabbed them by the chin, the other one tightening fast at the back of their hair- drawing their mouth open in a gasp. 

Before Lo could realize what the vampire was doing, his mouth was locked around theirs. The human’s breath was hot against his mouth as he breathed them in, and then injected a hefty dose of his venom. He held the human tight until they swallowed, the sour liquid pouring down their throat. 

Lo relaxed as Solomon pulled away, slumping forward into his arms. 

“There-” the vampire whispered as Lo let out a drowsy moan. “-now you have no choice but to let me carry you.” 

Solomon picked both packs, slinging them across his shoulders and moving them to the front of his chest. He grabbed Lo’s arms, pulling them up on shaky feet and moving them around to his back. He leaned forward, pulling Lo up and then tying a blanket around his waist, keeping Lo tied securely on his back as they slumped forward. 

“I- Icn- I can walk-” they mumbled.

Solomon chuckled, gripping underneath Lo’s legs as he took off. 

“You can barely speak. I’m not letting you walk.” 

Lo mumbled out something ineligible as they bounced along Sol’s back, their limbs growing heavier and tired with the weight of the venom. Soon their eyes were drifting, their body relaxing with the rocking and swaying of the vampire’s gait. 

Solomon smiled to himself as the human’s breathing steadied- having drifted off into a soft sleep. He’d carry on for another hour or so, cover some ground before he’d give himself a chance to rest. 

A shiver ran down his spine as a shadow flittered between the trees out of the corner of his eye. 

He turned around quickly- seeing the shadow on the opposite side now. 

It was staying behind the line of sight- but Sol couldn’t doubt his instincts- they were being hunted.

Before he could enact a plan, the creature jumped out of the treeline, right in front of the vampire. 

A snarling wolf- drool dripping from its teeth, its fur prickled across its back. 

Solomon shot his arms in the air- screaming and shouting as he clapped his hands- an attempt to scare it off- but it kept inching closer. He knew he couldn’t fight it- not with Lo on his back. 

And then there was a scream- a pressure and Sol lurched forward, tumbling down to the ground. Lo slumped down onto the ground- a second wolf coming to join the first after its attack. 

Solomon scrambled up- glancing at Lo- thick claw marks carving down their skin, blood already seeping through as they shook in the dirt. 

He placed his body over Lo’s- keeping them protected as the wolves began to circle them both. 

“Get back!” He cried. But they kept coming regardless of his screams and attempts to scare them off. 

Lo was bleeding steadily into the dirt below, their breath’s shaky and few. Solomon had to get them out of there. He reached for his knife but it was inside the pack. He couldn’t get to it without taking his eyes off of the wolf, and there was no chance of letting that happen. 

Sol screamed as a wolf lunged, catching onto his arm, the teeth digging into his flesh. Using his other arm, Solomon raised his fist back, crashing it down on the animal right on its nose. It let go, whimpering for a moment- but before Solomon could take a second to gather himself, the second wolf had pounced onto his back. 

It pinned him down to the ground, and the vampire could feel its hot breath against his face. 

He squirmed underneath its weight, screaming as sharp claws dug into his shoulders. Its face was too close- about to bite- and the other wolf was circling Lo where they lay bleeding. 

Solomon let his instincts kick in. 

He snarled just as loud as the wolf, baring fangs of his own. 

As the beast lunged forward to strike at him, he dodged- tearing his fangs into the side of its neck. The wolf hauled as Solomon ripped a chunk of its flesh off, and it gave him enough leeway to flip the animal off of him. 

He pinned the wolf down, keeping his fangs locked in its neck- and tore out its throat- leaving the creature lying as it choked in its own blood. 

The second wolf was sniffing and pawing at Lo where they whimpered on the ground. Not quite sure if they were still alive. It paused for a minute- looking up at the vampire, blood stained all over his face, and then to the body of its companion. 

It paused for a minute before Solomon lunged, startling the creature. He caught it by its back, heaving the massive beast into the air and slamming it against a nearby tree. It quickly scrambled to its feet, whimpering as Sol snarled- fangs dripping with the other wolf’s blood- ready to give this one the same fate. 

It scampered off behind the trees, tail between its legs as it ran back off into the night. 

Solomon nearly collapsed once the adrenaline drained out of him, falling into a heap in the dirt as he crawled his way over to the human. 

“Lo- Marlowe are you- are you okay?” He whispered, finally making it to their side. 

Lo tilted their head up, eyes heavy and drugged as they looked at the vampire. 

“You- you’ve got blood all’over your face-” they mumbled.

“It’s- it’s not mine. I’m- I’m okay.” 

Lo reached out a frail hand towards Sol, sitting up with a groan. 

“You’re- you’re arms bleedin’”

Sol looked down where the wolf had lodged its teeth into his arm- the sleeve of his shirt was torn, rivets of blood from the puncture wounds leaking through. 

“It- it got me good, but I’m alright. Here- we got to get moving. Get somewhere safe.” Sol moved to pick up their packs, slinging them over his shoulder with one hand, holding his bleeding arm close to his body. “Do you want some more venom? It’ll help with the pain.” 

“Solomon no- slow down- I- I need to be alert. I can’t be- can’t be drugged up all the time.” 

“We can’t stay, we need to keep moving.” Solomon moved to grab Lo’s arm, helping them up but they pulled away quickly.

“Sol- no!” The vampire stared back at them, confusion etched over their face. “Neither of us are- are in any condition to travel.”

“We- we can’t stay here.”

“Yes we- that’s the best idea.” Lo pulled themselves up on their knees, panting and swaying slightly as they tried to find their balance. “Set up the tent, and build a fire. It’ll keep the wolves away. They won’t try and come back anyways.”

Solomon sighed, setting down the bags and grabbing the small tent. 

“That’s- that’s smart. Alright, I’ll grab the tent.”

“Sol-”Lo paused, glancing up at the vampire. He paused for a moment, coming to kneel by their side. “Did you just admit that I’m right?” Lo smiled. 

“Oh shut it.” 

“Grab me the blanket- and your- your knife.” They demanded. Solomon arched and eyebrow but did as they asked. Lo tore off a few strips and then held out their hand. “Give me your arm.”

"I'll- I'll be fine." He protested. "I'm okay."

Lo glared up at him, motioning for him to sit. "You're not going to heal up like I am. I'll be fine by the morning. Sit your ass down and let me wrap your wound."

The vampire sat down quietly, holding out his bleeding arm as the human took frail, shaking fingers and pushed aside his sleeve. They wrapped the strips around his arm tightly, bandaging up the wounds until the bleeding had slowed. Lo let their hand linger against the vampire’s for just a brief moment- letting the anxiety and fear of the moments before wash over the both of them. 

Sol quietly lifted his head, his voice barely a whisper. 

“Thank you- Lo.” 

They nodded, letting Sol’s hand drop back to his lap. “Go, go set up the tent. I’ll try and start a fire.” 

- - -

Tag List: @imagination1reality0 @thecyrulik @whumpsday @termsnconditions-apply @spectral-whumpy-writer @raddyscoops @whumptober-archive

[niennandil-me-writes]

Goretober 10: Asphyxiation

CN: drowning, guns, unreality

[inspired by our Death was the Only Road out of Town run, dm'd by @ghoulcaro. Marlowe as always belongs to @arocalyptic]

Ulysse looks beyond the barrel of the gun at the man with the bloodshot eyes behind it. He doesn’t move, doesn’t give Marlowe cause to pull the trigger, hiding behind his usual mask of calmness, while his heart is racing with panic.

“What role do you play here?” Marlowe asks again.

“The same as you.” Ulysse’s voice is hard and definite, where Marlowe’s is trembling, just like his hand around the gun is trembling.

Ulysse takes his hand off his own concealed gun and darts forward to take the gun away. They wrestle for a moment, the gun falls to the ground and disappears from the scene, but Marlowe doesn’t stop like Ulysse had hoped.

The much stronger person throws Ulysse against the wall and puts his hands around his throat. Marlowe’s fingers are trembling at Ulysse’s quickened pulse, and for a moment the two feel each others’ fear and helplessness, their eyes wide with panic. Then Marlowe’s grip tightens, and Ulysse starts struggling against him, until he runs out of the oxygen to do that. And as much as he hates to admit it, this feels comforting, in a way nothing in this [place] has so far. His mind goes back to the woman in the water tank, the tinnitus in his ears increases in volume, the rushing of waves beating against his skull.

“What do you know about this?”

Ulysse is torn out of the ocean by Marlowe’s scream, and he knows what he’s about to do and he wants to yell at him to keep quiet, but his throat is crushed shut.

“What do you know about this dream?”

And suddenly the scene changes, the gravity shifts by 180 degrees. They are underwater, no ground or surface in sight. And it’s not Ulysse running out of air anymore. He always drowns in his dreams, but he never dies of it. But Marlowe might. He lets go of Ulysse as the water floods his mouth. He tries to hold his breath, but the water is already in his lungs. Ulysse can feel it. He’s struggling, thrashing, like he’s trying to fight the ocean itself.

Ulysse looks on. Knowing he could help.

As Marlowe is losing consciousness, the ocean becomes dark, darker. Suddenly, they break the surface. The space they are in is small, just big enough to hold them both. Marlowe stands up first, coughing and spitting, lifting away the metal panel above them and heaving himself over the edge of the barrel to fall on the floor. Ulysse remains in the water for a while, waves whispering to him, looking at the soaking wet person on the floor who is hacking up more water. Then he looks around the room, or rather, the back of the truck they meant to get to.

“What was that?” Marlowe wheezes in a choked voice.

Ulysse grits his teeth. He doesn’t want to do that. He knows Marlowe just wants to get out of this [city]. Wants to kill Sourire. But so does Ulysse. And after this, he can’t trust Marlowe to keep it together.

Ulysse steps out of the barrel and grabs Marlowe by the collar. The other has no strength left to struggle, and it’s easier than expected to move him towards the barrel, almost as if the water is getting closer to Ulysse. He throws him inside, head first, and holds him under the water. Ulysse holds his breath for the entirety of the procedure. There’s knocks from inside the barrel that he isn’t sure are Marlowe’s, especially since they keep going long after Marlowe has stopped breathing.

When he’s done, he pushes the whole body into the barrel and puts the cover on top again. He’ll tell the others the [city] finished Marlowe for talking too much about it.

[maybeitsalive]

Do it here, I beg of you!

Wade’s Homophobic Rant from chapter 35 drives me insane, let me count the ways:

It’s non-sequitur. The context doesn’t explain it at all. Wade is just drunk out of his mind and babbles this shit. It has nothing to do with anything - at first sight anyway.

It’s about firing his male secretary, because this man can’t bear needing people anymore that he can bear being left alone. Wade decides that if he’d kept him, the critics could have magically thought they were gay. Sure. It works like that!

Homophobic Rant is very Homophobic. The “The clever boys that write book reviews because they can’t write anything else would have caught on and started giving me the buildup. Have to take care of their own, you know. They’re all queers, every damn one of them.” part reeks of conspiracy theories.

I’m not gonna lie though, the first time I read it, I laughed. In this book so full of queer subtext, the lack of self-awareness was hilarious to me.

How. Fucking. Ever. When I read it now, I don’t laugh anymore. Because that rant is told by Wade, a man who might very well fancy his interlocutor, and Marlowe who listens to him is very much bisexual and in love with a third man. Add to this the fact that Wade and Terry are self-inserts of the author and we have. A Thing. A very complicated thing, made of denial and self-hate and longing. Pesky homosexuals, who can write whatever they want with no repercussion. Who can be real artists above pulp fiction. Who are free to be themselves. Pesky homosexuals, Wade says to the face of a man he barely knows but to whom he has asked two times if he liked him, alternating between rejection and clinging to him.

Marlowe is very much homophobic too – well, he was in the Big Sleep in any case. He was very clear about it in his first book: gay men are weak degenerates, and even if they present well, they’re repulsive. Effeminate men are not to be trusted either (except if he’s horny for them, but that’s another question). However, here he only makes a stoic and reasonable objection to the Homophobic Rant: queer people were always here.

Wade sneers and tells him something that doesn’t match his rant at all. A book he has red, the Golden Bough “proves our sexual habits are pure conventions like — wearing a black tie with a dinner jacket.” (It’s a comparative study of mythology and religion, I’m afraid I haven’t read it and I don’t know how it ties to sexuality. I can’t dare analyze it without further research.) It sounds like a defense, almost a eulogy. Then Wade says “I’m straight”. But right after, what does he tell us ?

“You know something? I’m a liar.” Yes, Wade talks about his books. Does he only talk about his books ?

Wade sold himself. He apparently has a nice life, but he gave his soul for it. He lied to please people. Just like Terry, he conformed to the life that society thinks is best. He hates it. His wife is beautiful and rich, but she doesn’t love him and he doesn’t love her. He earns a lot of money thanks to his books, but they’re full of lies and he has to keep going. Marlowe is right. It’s a wonder he can stay alive. This is an unloved man, surrounded by unloving people and self-disgust, trapped in a prison of his own making.

Marlowe is in a lot of denial, but he never sold himself. He has a bit of a rant himself at the beginning of the same chapter, telling he'd rather take the life he leads than having a perfectly normal nuclear family. As a queer man, he can’t pretend to happiness, however by not surrendering to the status quo, he can still have his honor and morals intact. I’m afraid that in this universe where being queer is degenerate and heteronormativity a prison and a poison for the soul, it’s the best he can hope for.

It’s too late for Wade. He can’t go back. All he can do is opening another bottle, after telling it “it’s lonely” before rudely rejecting Marlowe out of his room. It’s his death sentence.

Sure, The Long Goodbye is the story between Terry Lennox and Philip Marlowe, but Roger Wade's unrequited crush on Marlowe is insane. No, I'm not over it.

Philip Marlowe: *saves Roger Wade*

Roger Wade: OwO You did such a good job. Do you like me ? I could like you.

Philip Marlowe: Whatever, this is just a job for me.

Roger Wade: Stay at my house. Nothing much, only for three months ! I like you. Don’t you want to solve the mystery of my soul ? ;) Take care of me like you took care of Terry Lennox !

Philip Marlowe: Terry </3 :’(

Roger Wade: Fuck you, the deal is off.

Philip Marlowe: *uncomfortable*

Roger Wade: Let me call you at midnight. Please hide these pages, I don't want my wife to see them. I’ve written I’ve had an impure orgasm and I complain about my quack doctor being queer. Ugh, queer ! Disgusting. Why don’t you care ? Why am I not your second Terry Lennox ? :’(

Eileen Wade: I am interested too :)

Philip Marlowe: I am out of that fucking house.

Roger Wade: Come to lunch !

Philip Marlowe: ...fiiine.

Roger Wade: You like my wife more than me ! How dare you !

Philip Marlowe: No I don’t and I’m out.

Roger Wade: Don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t leave me ! You have My Mystery to solve ! Why don’t you like me ?

Philip Marlowe: Fine, I’ll stay in your house but not in this room.

*does so * Ugh, why did I choose that job ? I could have a normal life, I could be rich, I could have a heteronormative family with a wife and kids – yuck. Never mind, I’d rather do what I’m doing. Let’s check on this guy again.

Roger Wade (drunk): You know I fired my male secretary because people could have mistaken me for gay ! Me ! Ha ! A disgusting queer ! Gasp ! Of course queer people are very intelligent and very artistic and sexual conventions are only conventions. Disgusting. I lie in my writing, I lie about my life, I lie about everything. I need another drink.

Philip Marlowe: Don’t you think you have en-

Roger Wade: Get out ! “I couldn’t get low enough to want you !” *gets killed*

I mean. Insane.

[heich0e]

#is there anyone who read this who would like a short piece on motorcycle college boy eren who exists in this universe

resisting the urge to barge through your door to scream a resounding YES I FUCKING WOULD

instead i am knocking politely and saying yes at a completely normal and respectable volume

if no one's got me I know you've got me ley ily

leave fast (part 0? part 0.5? who knows) eren/reader tags: modern au, college au, street racing au A/N: this takes place a few weeks before the drabble I posted earlier! if you haven't read that go read it first? or next? idk what I'm doing with this but it's something!

"When in the ever loving hell am I going to need to know half of this shit?"

Hitch tosses her head back woefully as she descends the stone steps outside of the science building. The late afternoon sunshine makes the ends of her sandy hair burn golden in their light.

Beside you Marlowe, Hitch's boyfriend and lab partner, watches her carefully. Half making sure she doesn't go tumbling down the stairs in the throes of her dramatic outburst and half enthralled by the sight of her.

You smile a little, stifling a laugh.

"I'm serious!" She picks up on the hiccup of a giggle you'd tried to swallow down, spinning around to shoot a glare your way. "When will I ever have the chance to practically apply my knowledge of the difference between myoglobin and hemoglobin?"

"Aren't they the same thing?" Marlowe asks, confusion seeping into his tone, while jogging down the four stairs ahead of you to stand cautiously behind Hitch as she starts to descend them backwards--her eyes still locked on you.

"No, they're not," you say off-handedly to Marlowe. You decide to spare him the text book difference between the two, holding back the comment that while they were both hemeproteins whose physiological importance was chiefly down to their ability to bind oxygen molecules, they were actually structurally very different. You suspect you'll need to help him with this unit come time for midterms.

You turn your attention back to girl in front of you. "If you hate the class then drop it. You don't have to take biochem for a chemistry major if you don't want to."

She rolls her eyes, hopping down off the last step safely. Marlowe visibly relaxes once she's on level ground.

"What's my other option? Thermodynamics? Gag me."

You laugh at your friend's dramatics, about to remind her that Thermodynamics is a requirement--at least if she wants to take Kinetics the following year (which she does)--when a shout of your name tears you from your train of thought, all three heads in your conversation turning towards the sound.

Eren is on the other side of the courtyard, hands clasped around his mouth to amplify his voice. When he catches your eye, he breaks into a grin, jogging briskly towards you.

"I'll see you guys later?" you say, slowly turning to Marlowe and Hitch with a sheepish smile.

Hitch rolls her eyes, but there's the ghost of a smirk tugging at her glossy lips. "I see Eren's back on the fly-list. Marlowe, make sure you update the countdown when we get home."

"Countdown?" you ask as the couple begins to walk away.

"Days since last Eren-related foolishness is back to 0!" Hitch calls back over her shoulder, waggling her fingers at you in a taunting wave. Marlowe shoots you an apologetic look that makes your hope that she's only joking about the countdown a little more fleeting.

"Hey! He- oh sorry!" You turn just in time to see Eren hop over the short stone wall in front of him in what you can only assume is an effort to save the 2 seconds it would have taken him to walk three steps around it. He jostles a passerby in the process, steadying them for a moment while he apologizes before stepping away.

He takes two loping steps, a bit breathless from his unexpected parkour, until he's standing toe to toe with you. You watch as he tucks a piece of his tousled hair behind his ear. It’s getting long again, you note—not quite chin length but well on its way. He’d soon be able to start tying it back again without the strands slipping out from his hair tie like they presently are.

He smiles down at you.

"Hey."

"Hi," you say softly, lips curling up instinctively in response to his own expression, "what are you doing here?"

"I came to take you home. I know today’s your long day so I thought maybe we could get something to eat on the way?" Eren tilts his head, the hair he'd just tucked behind his ear falling out once more.

"Wasn't your last class on the other side of campus? How did you make it here so fast?" You reach up, gently urging the tendril back where it belonged.

"I can be pretty fast when I need to be," Eren replies, catching your hand before you can draw it away from his face, threading his fingers through your own.

His palms are always so warm.

"You ditched class early, huh?" you say with an eyebrow raised wryly.

He dips down a little closer, his nose brushing yours. "Only by ten minutes.”

“That’s precious time of your very expensive higher-education that you’re letting go to waste,” you barely even whisper the words given how close he is. When your lips form the ‘w’ sound in ‘waste’ your lips purse enough to brush against his own.

He hums thoughtfully. “I think it was worth it.”

You lean forward, tired of the game the two of you are playing, pressing your mouth to his.

Eren’s hands immediately reach to cup your face in those same, warm hands, in the exact way he always does—tilting your chin up towards him so he doesn’t have to lean down quite as far, thumbs brushing over the apples of your cheeks as he pulls back slightly, dark lashes fluttering over soft green eyes as he risks a glance at you, only to immediately kiss you again.

You relax into the familiarity of it.

“Eren,” you mumble his name against his mouth. You pull back but his mouth chases yours, kissing you again.

You place both hands on his chest, holding him at bay as you withdraw a little more insistently.

“We’re in the middle of campus,” you say, albeit reluctantly. “One of my professors could walk out and see us.”

Eren cracks a sheepish grin.

“Sorry I,” he clears his throat, stepping back to put some space between you and scratching at his neck, “I’m just happy to see you.”

“You saw me yesterday,” you tease him, wiping discretely at your lips with the edge of your sleeve.

“I’m just glad that we’re back together, is all.”

You smile.

You are too.

Because this time things are going to be different. This time it’s going to work.

“So where did you want to go eat?” Eren asks, slipping his hand into your own and dragging you along behind him as you make your way towards the parking lot.

“Hm, somewhere close, ’m tired,” you say, leaning into his arm a little as you walk side by side. His fingers tighten their grip as he peeks down at you.

“Sorry I kept you up pretty late last night,” he says, his voice dropping quieter—so that no unsuspecting passersby might hear the implication heavy in his tone.

You cheeks go hot. You bite the tip of your tongue lightly.

“I didn’t mind it.”

His fingers squeeze again.

Eren drops your hand as you turn the corner to the parking lot, his motorcycle parked just outside the entrance to campus.

“Oh,” you say with a swallow, a bit surprised. “You brought your bike.”

Eren looks back at you as he works to free his helmet from where he’d looped it over the handlebar. He pauses when he sees the look on your face.

“Hey,” he says, stepping up to you again. He places a hand on your waist and gently pulls you flush to him—the planes of his body solid against your own as he wraps himself around you. “I meant what I said. No more racing. I didn’t even break the speed limit on my way to class today.”

You shoot him a look.

“Okay, maybe just by a bit,” he admits with a soft laugh and a little scrunch of his nose. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You feel his warm breath on your skin as he pulls away, resting his chin on your head as he holds you to him just a bit tighter. “You trust me, don’t you?”

You sigh.

“Of course I do.”

Eren pulls away, holding his helmet out to you to put on.

You eye it skeptically for a moment: the deep green design swirling through the inky black of the reinforced outer shell, the way the waning sunlight glints golden off the intricate pattern of wings printed onto the side--the same pattern printed on the beloved motorcycle a few feet away. They’d look almost delicate if the sight of them didn’t turn your stomach.

You reach out and take the helmet.

Things will be different this time.

They have to be.

[marlovve]

@ofseok​​

                marlowe was officially in for it now, she was sure of that. she’d never meant for things to end up the way they were turning out to . . . but that was life. and she hated it. knowing everything had a place and belonged in that place was one of the small wonders in marlowe’s life. this chaos, this mismatched order was enough to make her skin itch. catching sight of minseok, she tried to wave him down and usher him over towards her. “oh, minseok, can i speak to you for a moment, please?” granted, she’s not sure where the formalities came from, but hoped it might soften the blow. she didn’t wait for him to come over to her; the blonde actually went to meet him in the middle of the hotel’s hallway. “so -- hypothetically speaking -- if someone, let’s just say, was going around boasting about knowing you but they didn’t and it got back to you, what would you do? how would you feel about it, i mean?” she was trying not to make the situation so on-the-nose, but it was proving difficult. 

[seireinoryuu]

Of peach-pink lipstick and dead frogs.

Rating: K

Pairing: Mikahisto

Description: For the first time in her entire high school life, Historia Reiss sat alone under the courtyard’s old oak tree. Highschool AU

Notes: Yes I know Hange is technically the chemistry teacher in this environment but whatever.

ao3 II ff.net

For the first time in her entire high school life, Historia Reiss sat alone under the courtyard's old oak tree. It was lunchtime; usually, she'd be surrounded by her gaggle of friends. Ymir would be hanging off her shoulder, Reiner Braun and Bertolt Hoover playing catch—or attempting to play catch. Most of the time Bertolt often missed his catches, usually landing face first in the grass. Reiner would laugh, stealing glances her way to see if she was laughing too. It was funny the first few times, then it became incredibly boring after the thirtieth fall. Hitch and Marlowe would be in the back bickering about something she has long since tuned out.

Historia wasn't used to sitting alone like this. She tried to maintain her usual air by crossing her legs and staring at whatever notification popped up on her phone, but soon that became boring too.

Yet, despite the lack of her usual company, Historia did not hate the solitude at all.

Still, she had nothing to do and so continued staring at her phone, scrolling back and forth on her news feed to find something—anything—engaging. She heard voices and briefly looked up to see Eren Yeager, Armin Arlert, and Mikasa Ackerman walk by. Armin was, per usual, chatting about something regarding the latest game he had been playing and some tactic he managed to pull off that scored big points while Eren kept walking. Mikasa tagged along, a rather thick black book in the crook of her arm.

Mikasa briefly looked her way and Historia averted her gaze back to her phone, pretending as if she never noticed them. It was a few minutes later when she looked up again, the trio was halfway across the courtyard.

~

"Next month, we will have dissections!" exclaimed the biology teacher Hange Zoe. The entire class remained silent but there was a definite air of dread hanging over everyone. Hange, apparently the only one who was excited about the project, walked through the tables of her classroom, handing out one piece of paper on each table.

"This is a review worksheet in preparation for the unit. Each of you will be working with your table partner for this. No changing partners!"

Usually, Historia would pair up with Marlowe since they were in the same class, but he had been keeping his distance and moved to the table on the other side of the room, making Marco Bott his partner for this project.

She turned to the seat beside her to see a girl dressed in all black writing her name on the paper before sliding it to her.

Mikasa Ackerman was her partner.

~

"Reiss. Reiss."

"Hmmm?"

"There's a spider on your shoulder."

"Where!"

Every head in the classroom looked in their direction. Historia's cheeks burned as she plopped back on her seat, wiping her shoulders.

"There's no spider."

Historia glared at the goth girl, who merely shrugged.

"Time to do your part," she said, sliding the paper towards Historia. She wrinkled her nose in disgust and glanced at the questions; she understood none of them but was in awe of Mikasa Ackerman's neat handwriting.

~

They were in the library.

Historia could not answer a single question on the sheet, and Mikasa refused to cover for her and so Hange Zoe assigned them extra homework. At Hange's suggestion, they were to come to her classroom after school for assistance if needed. Well, if Historia needed assistance. Mikasa managed to answer half the questions on her own so Historia doubted she would have any trouble answering the rest. If only she wasn't so freaking stubborn. Ymir would have answered these without her having to ask.

Too bad Ymir wasn't talking to her either. The biggest surprise there.

They sat opposite each other on the table, Historia hunched over the worksheet while Mikasa rested her chin on her palm, her fingers tapping the surface of the table. Lightly, but to Historia it sounded like she might as well have been beating a drum.

"Would you stop that?" she snapped.

"Why are you taking so long? This is literally labeling animal kingdoms."

Historia glared and returned to the current problem she was on.

"Historia, is this class hard for you?"

She remained silent, still staring at the problem in front of her. The same problem she had been working on for the past seven minutes.

Mikasa slid into the chair next to her, pulling out a blank piece of notebook paper. "So there are six animal kingdoms . . . ."

~

Cheerleading practice was to be indoors today. It was raining outside, so Coach Dietrich managed to secure half of the gym for them. The other half belonged to the volleyball team; there was a net that stretched from one side to the next, separating the two teams.

Historia was in the process of forming the top of the pyramid, a privilege given her short stature. It was no secret that everyone on the team was envious that she was always picked to be on the top. She ignored their whispers; she can't combat genetics. As long as her teammates catch her, then that was all she cared about.

"T-I-T-A-N-S!" she shouted, following the same formations Dietrich drilled into them. From up above Historia could see the volleyball team practicing. She saw Mikasa among them, having discarded her jewelry and exchanged her usual dark, long-sleeved shirt, dark-colored skirt, and combat boots for tank top and shorts with knee pads (all in black of course). Her black hair, which was usually pulled into two twin tails behind her head was now one ponytail, her bangs held away from her face by a red headband.

Historia was startled by Coach Dietrich's whistle, allowing herself to drop into the arms of her teammates.

"Historia, you okay?" asked her teammate, Mina Carolina. "You were spacing out up there."

Historia waved her hand. Thankfully, Dietrich called for a break. A five-minute break, but a break nonetheless. Historia took a seat on the bleachers, taking a long gulp from her water bottle. Mikasa was now in the front row, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Someone on her side of the net shouted something and Mikasa jumped, one arm raised above her head and coming down onto the ball, slamming it onto the floor on the other side of the net. Her form was very graceful.

The gym doors opened and the football team trudged in, soaked from the rain. Reiner appeared followed by Bertolt. Reiner glanced her way then looked away, jaw tense. It was only Bertolt who held her gaze a little longer, before following his friend.

Historia took another long sip from her water bottle until it was empty.

~

Again, they were in the library. Marco Bott had joined them because, according to Mikasa, he's a wiz at this stuff. Historia was a little surprised to hear that someone was smarter than Mikasa, though everyone has their strengths and weaknesses. Besides, if Marco and Mikasa are willing to help then all the better.

They had been studying for over an hour until they finally called a break. Marco went to the bathroom and offered to buy them all snacks, leaving just Historia and Mikasa alone.

"So . . . volleyball, huh?" Historia began. She mentally cringed at how obvious she was trying to create small talk.

Mikasa took no notice of it, flipping through her notes. "Yep. Been on the team since last year."

"Really?" Historia never knew that Mikasa was on the volleyball team last year. Of course, the cheer team rarely attends other sporting teams aside from football or basketball, but still. If Mikasa has been on the team since last year, especially with her skills, Historia would have at least heard about it from the others. "I never pegged you for a volleyball player. You just . . . didn't seem that type."

At that Mikasa gave her an incredulous look. "Seriously? Why? Just because of how I dress?" Mikasa scoffed. Historia didn't mean it that way, but she could see how Mikasa would interpret her words like that. Mikasa snorted. "You'd know that if you paid attention."

Historia said nothing, fidgeting with her hands. Then she sighed, her lips pulling into a grimace. "Yeah, you're right."

After a few minutes of silence, Mikasa then spoke. "I have a game. This Friday. A home game against Orvud High. You can come if you want."

Historia glanced at Mikasa. The taller girl kept looking at the wall next to her as if it had something remarkably interesting, and Historia noticed she had a pink tinge on her cheeks. It was adorable.

"Sure," she grinned.

Marco then returned with snacks in hand. He had a bag of chips for each of them, though Historia preferred the little stack of cookies from the vending machines. Marco apologized profusely, but Historia reassured him it was okay, and there was always next time.

~

Historia sat by herself in the bleachers as the Trost volleyball team jogged onto the court, earning the applause of the crowd. Immediately, she caught sight of Mikasa, wearing the red uniform of their school and the matching red headband. Mikasa looked in her direction and waved. Historia waved back until a few seats below her, Eren Yeager, Armin Arlert, Sasha Blouse, Connie Springer, and Jean Kirstein waved back, standing on their feet and whooping. Historia blushed; maybe she wasn't waving at her. Maybe she didn't see her.

Regardless, Historia stayed.

It was a gripping game; many volleys back and forth on the courts, lots of shouting and dives. Historia was in awe of Mikasa's prowess on the court, how she dashed, jumped, dived, and spiked the ball onto the other side of the net. It was apparent the other team too was in awe and even scared as well. Historia couldn't help but beam when it was Mikasa's turn to serve and Orvud High tensed, some backing away in fear of the force in which Mikasa served the ball.

And the crowd loved every minute.

Really the cheerleading team should cheer for the volleyball players.

Historia cheered in her own way and stood up with the crowd when they won. Historia made her way down the bleachers when it was over. She had just reached the floor when Mikasa appeared in front of her.

"Glad you came," she said. Her gray eyes shined bright, flushed with the adrenaline of victory.

"Yeah. That was a good game. And congrats on the win."

"Thanks. I saw you up there. I even waved at you. You should have joined my friends; they were a few seats below you."

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

"I—I—"

"Mikasa!" another volleyball player came by, tackling Mikasa in a hug. "Awesome play back there." She high-fived Mikasa, which was when she noticed Historia. She didn't say anything and turned back to Mikasa. "Let's head back to the locker rooms. Coach needs to give her post-game speech."

"Right." Mikasa then turned back to her. "Hey, why don't you join me and my friends later? It's tradition for us to go out for dinner after a win."

Historia glanced at Mikasa's friends. All of them were chatting happily with each other. Sasha Blouse suddenly struck a pose much to Jean Kirstein's chagrin and the others in the group were laughing. She wasn't part of this group of friends, never ever was. She used to think they were an insane bunch, and she was sure they still remember her attitude towards them. "I dunno—"

"I want you to," she said. With that, Mikasa ran off with her team for the post-game speech from her coach.

~

It was the most awkward moment of Historia's life.

Standing in front of the locker rooms, leaning against the wall just outside the circle Mikasa's friends had formed. They were talking about a bunch of random things. Armin about some random update in a game he has been playing and his new strategy to boost his guild. Connie was fully engrossed though it was clear he was just as lost as her. Sasha was daydreaming about food while Eren and Jean shook their heads in amusement.

"Historia."

Historia looked up as Eren called her, having separated from the group, and approached her.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "I called you three times and you didn't answer."

"I'm fine."

"You waiting on someone? I don't think Reiner had football practice at all today."

"I'm not waiting on Reiner."

"She's waiting on me."

Mikasa appeared, her volleyball uniform exchanged for her typical darker clothes. The silver jewelry also returned as well as her signature black lipstick. However, Historia noticed Mikasa had skipped out on the dark eyeshadow.

"I invited her to come to dinner."

It was clear everyone in the group had questions. Connie opened his mouth to ask why but Sasha quickly shut him up with a playful chokehold. That seemed to send a message to everyone else. Sasha was the first one to speak.

"Let's go! I'm going to die of starvation; we don't even know where we're going to eat!"

"Hell's Kitchen," Mikasa said automatically.

"No."

"Let's go someplace with Wifi—"

"Armin, you're not playing games while we celebrate Mikasa's victory."

Historia couldn't help but laugh as she followed them.

~

She reached for the last chocolate milk at the same time another hand appeared. She looked up, following the tall, lanky body of Bertolt Hoover.

"Bertolt," she greeted. The tall boy pulled his hand back and said nothing. Historia took the last carton. "How are things?"

Again, Bertolt remained silent. Someone else appeared, Annie Leonhardt. She peered into the fridge where all the milk was kept. "Out of chocolate milk." She clicked her tongue and walked away. Historia glanced at Bertolt who was watching her go. Historia rolled her eyes.

"You're really lame you know."

Historia marched up to the counter, paid for the milk, and placed it on Bertolt's tray. "There. Give that to Annie. She likes to eat by herself in the back of the school near the JV fields."

"What?"

"Annie. JV fields. Don't give me that look Bertolt. I know. Everybody knows. Annie likely doesn't since she's almost never here. Just give it to her. Now go, before things get more awkward."

Despite how short she was compared to Bertolt, Historia managed to push him in the direction Annie went. He tensed and looked back at her. Historia nodded, and with a deep breath, went in the same direction as Annie.

~

Mikasa wanted to study at her place. There wasn't any real reason for why, just that she wanted to be at home. Historia had no objection to that. Mikasa's goading by saying her mother had some snacks at home for them to munch on wasn't really needed for her to say yes, but she still looked forward to having a snack or two.

Mikasa's home was a modest apartment in the city where she lived with her mother (Mikasa is literally the spitting image of her mother, Historia thought). Her mother worked as an accountant. Her father died when she was ten (Historia had to do a double-take when showed a picture of Mikasa's father; she didn't believe Mikasa when she said that was her biological dad), and ever since then, it had just been Mikasa and her mom.

"Will you be staying for dinner?" asked Mrs. Ackerman as she set a plate of cookies in Mikasa's room where they were studying. "I don't mind if you do."

"Mom."

"Oh. Um, if you're alright with it, sure."

Mrs. Ackerman smiled brightly. "Great! I'm making spaghetti tonight, so I hope you're in the mood for that." She left the girls alone and they continued studying. After some time passed, they decided to stop.

"Ugh, my brain is overflowing with biology," Historia whined, leaning back into her seat.

"Aah."

Historia craned her neck to see Mikasa's look of horror, her eye shadow smudged all the way down to her cheek. Mikasa stood up, moving to her dresser's mirror and pouting at the damage. She pulled out a pack of makeup wipes, cleaning her face of her makeup. "And I was so proud of it too."

"I've always wondered what you used to do your makeup," Historia said, standing next to Mikasa and examining her makeup stand. "Now I get to see how you do your thing. And I'm not really surprised by the color choice either." She laughed.

Mikasa's entire makeup stand was in all shades of deep, dark, and mysterious. Dark lipstick, dark eye shadow, dark eyeliner. She had a few lighter colors, but it was clear Mikasa was more prone to a certain end of the spectrum. Historia picked up a used tube of dark red lipstick aptly named 'Blood Wine.'

"Your favorite?" she asked, holding up the tube.

Mikasa nodded. "This I use more since it can go with anything." Mikasa held up a very, very used tube which was named 'Black Soul.' Historia chuckled, glancing at the rest of Mikasa's makeup display before noticing a small peach pink lipstick.

"This is such a cute color. You should use it!" Historia could only laugh at the look of disgust on Mikasa's features. "You should! Why did you buy it if you were never going to use it?"

"I didn't buy it," she said. "It was a gift. From my cousin Levi for my fourteenth birthday. I told him I liked makeup, but he didn't know what shade to get."

Historia nodded. "Well, I still think you should at least give it a try. I think it would look cute on you. Oh, I know! For one day—just one day—why don't you try a girly style?" At Mikasa's incredulous look, Historia quickly added, "Just for one day, that's it." She held up one finger. "I can imagine all the hilarious looks you'd get if you did that."

Mikasa paused. "Okay, I'll try it. But you're going to do this with me. So that means, you are going to dress up goth." Mikasa smirked, a mischievous light dancing in her eyes.

"Deal. We pick out each other's outfits and do makeup. No way I can replicate your style. Besides, I want to look like a vampire queen." She raised her hands in the air, forming claws and hissing. Mikasa laughed, a big hearty kind of laugh, and it sent Historia's heart racing.

"This is going to be fun."

~

The looks she received in school the next day were so entertaining. Clad in all black and dramatic makeup, her blonde hair as the only piece of color in her ensemble, Historia walked through the doors of the school with purpose. All heads turned to her. Historia couldn't help but lift her chin and walk like a regal queen. A regal vampire queen.

She passed by Reiner. She almost laughed at his double-take as she walked down the hall. Ymir was just around the corner too, her eyes wide.

While she felt like an all-powerful goddess of darkness, she still had to go to class. Opening her locker briefly interrupted the dark gothic image as she exchanged her government textbook for her biology one. There was a light tap on her shoulder, and she turned around to see Hitch.

"Oh," was all she said.

"Hello, Hitch," greeted Historia. "Do you need something?"

Hitch paused. "Uh, no. I—um," Hitch stared at something behind Historia. "That's a new look for you."

"Oh, thanks!" Historia beamed. "I was going for a vampire queen look. Do I make for a good vampire queen?"

Hitch drew a blank stare, clearly not used to such a light response from her. Someone called Historia's name and both girls turned as Mikasa Ackerman, wearing a pink sweater with a lacy collar, pink polka dot skirt, black stockings, and a pair of rose-gold ballet flats, approach. Her peach-tinted lips quirked upwards. It was also clear that Mikasa couldn't help but bob her head up and down, playing with the bouncy half curls in her dark hair.

"Hey," she greeted. "Ready to head to class?"

"Yep! Let's go!" Historia closed her locker, joining Mikasa and making their way down the hall. "I really like the hair clip. It's cute."

A slight pink shade dusted the bridge of Mikasa's nose. "Thanks. It's actually my mom's." It was a simple little red bow that swept her bangs to the side instead of her usual fringe. "Love the smokey eye shadow. It really makes your eyes pop. I like your eyes."

Historia's stomach flipped at the compliment. She always received compliments on her eyes but hearing it from Mikasa just seemed to floor her.

"Do I look like a vampire queen?"

Mikasa laughed. "Yes. You do look like a terrifying vampire queen."

~

Dissection day came and Historia dreaded it. She was prepared, she went over the material hundreds of times. Marco and Mikasa helped her, but she still dreaded it. She lost so much sleep too. Just imagining the little frog corpse, cutting through the flesh, and seeing all its insides.

Historia shuddered.

Historia sat at her desk, fidgeting with her thumbs. Mikasa was silent, but she occasionally glanced at Historia and at her twiddling thumbs. All the items were laid out before them and the two girls snapped on a pair of gloves. Then the frog was laid out on the table before them.

Mikasa had grabbed the scalpel before her. "I'll do the physical stuff, you fill out the worksheet."

Historia had never felt more grateful.

They got an A.

~

Mikasa and Historia decided to hang out at Historia's place this time. There wasn't an actual reason why. They had no tests to study for, no projects to complete, no upcoming dissections. There weren't even any games either. They just wanted to hang out.

"Hello!" Historia's elder half-sister, Frieda, greeted Mikasa, flashing her a bright smile. "Are you staying for dinner?"

"I'm not sure," said Mikasa simply. "Oh, I'm Mikasa, by the way."

"Oh shoot, my apologies. I'm Frieda." The dark-haired girl shook Mikasa's hand, flashing another one of her bright smiles. "Nice to meet you!"

Historia gripped Mikasa's sleeve, tugging her to follow. Mikasa noted the pout forming on her lips.

"Sorry, I gotta go. It was nice meeting you."

Mikasa followed Historia, allowing the blonde woman to practically drag her to her room. Despite Historia's demeanor in school, the décor of her room was plain. She had a simple dresser and mirror. A small makeup stand, and a simple closet. Historia's room was simple. Well, mostly simple. Historia's bed was rather large, and the frame was intricate with fancy drapery around it. Not to mention it was also quite big.

A hand waving across her face broke her out of her thoughts. Historia giggled.

"Oh shush," Mikasa said, her cheeks burning.

"Sorry for rushing you earlier. My half-sister can be a chatterbox at times," said Historia.

"It's fine," she replied, stepping closer to the dresser and looking at the photos on top. Some were of Historia through the years, others with her and her sister or her other siblings and family members. Though she did notice the lack of pictures of her friends.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"What happened to you and the others?" she asked. Historia gave her a confused look to which she continued. "Reiner, Bertolt, Ymir and the rest."

Historia lay down on the bed, staring straight at the ceiling.

"I kissed Ymir," she said. Mikasa said nothing, prompting her to continue. "We were all hanging out at Hitch's one day. She had a Wii, but only three controls. Hitch, Marlowe, and Bertolt were playing. Reiner wouldn't stop talking, and then there was Ymir, and so I kissed her, on the lips, in front of everyone." She half laughed. "Man, you should have seen the looks on all their faces. Then after that—" she shrugged "—it is what it is."

"Do you regret it?"

Historia shook her head. "No. It felt like a weight had been lifted off my chest. Like as if I didn't have to hide that anymore since it was all out in the open. I'm disappointed they all just stopped talking to me like that, but it proved that none of them were really my friends."

Mikasa sat next to Historia on the bed.

"Do you want to try?" she asked, her voice tiny.

Historia sat up, staring at Mikasa. Did she hear right? Mikasa didn't look at her, but there was a lovely shade of red on her cheeks.

"Do you?" she asked. "I mean, do you want to?"

Mikasa paused, the blush becoming more prominent. After another moment, she nodded.

Historia's heart began to race but she calmed herself down. She sat on her knees, back straight as she faced Mikasa. Mikasa turned towards her too, her face red as a tomato but with determination in her eyes. No wavering, no doubt in those gray pools. It was as if Mikasa felt the same as well.

Historia leaned forward, closing her eyes. Every inch felt like a mile, every second like an eternity, but it was an instant and she felt soft lips against hers. The scent of Mikasa's hair—coconut milk—filled her nose, and the warmth of the other girl so near. And then all too soon, it was over.

Historia opened her eyes. Mikasa sat back, eyes fixed on something on her sheet while one hand covered her mouth. Historia's stomach dropped.

"Not really into it?" she asked.

"What? No, no," she said, her voice raising an octave higher. She blushed again when she realized how loud she was. "No, it's not that." She paused, trying to think of what to say next. "It's just, I got nervous. I thought you might have had expectations."

Historia paused, then giggled. "Mikasa. You're so cute." She giggled again. "I don't know what made you think I was like that. It's not like I've kissed a plethora of other girls." Her face felt warm. "It's only been you and Ymir. I've only had enough courage to kiss you two."

"Right. Yeah."

"But—" she fidgeted in her seat "—you're the only one I like. I like you and I can proudly say I got to kiss the girl I like."

"Sure. Like as if we'd really say that was a kiss," she replied sarcastically. "But I want to try again." Mikasa leaned closer. "Because I like you too. I like you a lot."

Historia blinked once. Twice. She wanted to ask Mikasa to say it again, to confirm that she heard Mikasa correctly. She doubted she'd get her to say it though. Mikasa was still blushing immensely, even with the determined look in her gray eyes. Honestly, if things were reversed and Mikasa had asked her, Historia knew she wouldn't be able to say it again.

So instead of asking her, Historia leaned in. She took Mikasa's face in her hands, happy the other girl didn't flinch. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips against Mikasa's. The kiss was different this time. For one, it was longer, much longer than the first one. Deeper, as she opened her mouth against Mikasa's. Historia could tell that Mikasa was enjoying this as well as her, which made it even better. Historia gently took Mikasa's lower lip, tugging it before putting space between them.

Both girls were silent for a long moment, and then they started laughing.

"I think we may need to keep working on that," said Historia.

"I agree," said Mikasa.

~

Historia sat alone under the courtyard's old oak tree. She was dressed in her cheerleading uniform, her pompoms in a gym bag next to her. She was waiting, flicking through the notifications on her phone. It wasn't long before a shadow loomed over her, blocking the sunlight. She looked up, covering her eyes as she took in the sight of Reiner Braun's hulking figure.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi, Reiner."

"Can I sit?" he asked, gesturing to the bench. Historia nodded, throwing her gym bag to the ground, and scooting over to give the bigger man enough room. "How have you been?"

"Good. I'm in my cheerleader uniform—" she gestured to her herself "—so soon I'll be leaving for the cheer team tonight."

"Girls' Volleyball team, right? I heard it was you who pushed for the cheer team to be at one of their games," he said. He chuckled at Historia's proud nod. "I hear they've been doing very good this year."

"Yep!" she beamed. "And if we win today's game, we qualify for the semi-finals."

"'We' huh?" Reiner said. "It's been a long time since I've heard you say that. Back when that 'we' meant you and I."

"Reiner I—" Historia paused. "Reiner, there was never a 'you and I' between us."

Reiner nodded. There wasn't a sad look in his eye, just an accepted look. "I know. I guess I've always known, but I never fully realized it until then." He paused. "A lot of people said we looked good together and I guess hearing all that made me a fool."

Historia nodded. "I should apologize Reiner. I should have said—"

He shook his head. "No need to apologize. We both played into it, and it almost seemed real. Almost. It's different with you and Mikasa." He smiled cordially. "You'll still be cheering for the football team in the playoffs, right?"

"Definitely."

"Awesome." Then Reiner stood up. "Well, I'll be heading out now. Ma wants me to watch over my cousin while her parents work late. Maybe I can bring her over for the game."

"That would be great! See you around."

Reiner waved goodbye and left.

A few minutes later, another figure approached, this time the lanky figure of Ymir.

"'Sup?" she greeted, taking Reiner's old seat. "So, you're heading over to today's volleyball game. And the entire cheer team will be there. That's exciting."

"Yep! And then if we win, we'll be in the semifinals."

"Neat. How have you been?"

"Well. And you?"

"No complaints. I hear you and Mikasa Ackerman are a thing. Never thought Goth Girl would tickle your fancy."

"Mikasa is honestly really cool," said Historia. "She's really smart, good with makeup, and is amazing at volleyball—well, actually any sport you can think of. You should've seen her on the basketball court—"

"Whoa, girl. No need to try and make me jealous now! Especially of Goth Girl," Ymir laughed. "You know, you've changed." At Historia's inquisitive look, Ymir added, "You're just more . . . spirited. I don't think I've ever seen that in you, Historia."

"Oh. Thank you."

Ymir nodded, a smile spreading across her lips. "Well, I better get going then. Just wanted to check up on you."

"Wait, Ymir," Historia called. When the other girl looked back, she added, "Why don't you come and watch the game tonight?"

Ymir laughed. "Nah, sports were never really my thing. Watching the Big Lug run around bored me to death. I only went because everyone else did. I'll be fine; I'm going to the arcade anyways. Ya'll have fun."

With a wave, Ymir left.

Historia leaned back in the bench, pulling up her phone again. She went through all the notifications, read all the status updates, and thumbed a like wherever she felt like it. And then suddenly she was in the dark, cool fingers gently covering her eyes.

"Guess who?"

"Oh, let's see," Historia giggled. She pulled the other person's hands down and looked up. "It's Mikasa!"

The other girl laughed. "Were you waiting long?"

Historia shook her head, standing up and throwing her bag over her shoulder. "Nope, not really. I mean I had a few people come by and chat with me."

"Like whom?"

"I'll tell you on the way there. Let's get going or else we'll be late!" She took Mikasa's hand and together they made their way out of the courtyard.

[vitusxaydin]

He hated to be the one doing this to her. Marlow came to him to lighten her load, not take more on. Or at least, that was the fantasy relationship Vitus had dreamt up for her ever since the bowling alley, despite what she said she wanted. But the sight of her concern propelled him forward, if only thanks to the guilt that persisted alongside it. He didn’t want to treat Marlow like an unsuspecting client anymore; he wanted friendship, companionship, more, maybe, if they could find a way to bridge this gap. He took a big breath and prepared to dig deep. To shake out the bitter edges of his yearning onto the couch around them, like a blanket riddled with ticks, gorged and bloated on the stuff that made him who he was. Deacon included. 

Vitus swallowed hard and began in a small voice, “I worked as an escort for about ten years. Mostly in Brooklyn and Manhattan. Got into it after my parents kicked me out when I was twenty-two.” His hands began to shake. He kept them where they were, still tucked in Marlow’s gentle grasp, forced himself to push forward. “I was working one night. It was August, a Saturday night, a bar over on Eighth. And this guy walks in.” 

This was the part of the story where he always lost the trail, had to scramble for it in the dark with both hands to find it again. And even if he’d found it, he’d never managed to follow it to its completion. To say all of it out loud to anyone. Let alone Deacon’s sister. He shook his head out, began again: “He’s got these big, blue eyes, and this laugh, loud enough for him to hide behind. And he’s clearly not from the city. Keeps looking around, like he’s on a different planet, or something. But he finds me, starts up a conversation.”

Vitus’s breathing had grown shaky by now, a side effect of plunging his head underwater. “I grab his hand, take him back to one of the hotels I use with my regular clients. And it’s like it is with any first-timer—I lay out my rules and answer his questions, make sure he’s comfortable. And afterward, when it’s done, we get to talking. We fall asleep there, with his head tucked by my arm. And when I wake up, I’m expecting him to be gone already, or to leave with barely a good morning. Most people don’t stay. But he reaches for me instead. Starts telling me all his secrets. Asks for mine, too. And we talk and talk and talk, about everything. About our families and our lives and all the shit we hate about ourselves. Until I’m crying and he’s shaking, and we fall asleep like that, again. 

“And me, I’m an idiot,” he says around a humorless, broken laugh. “I’m worse than an idiot. I’m an asshole. Because I let him do all that—follow me to some hotel he’s never been to, climb into a bed he’s not familiar with, and tell me about the worst things he’s ever felt. All without checking his fucking ID.”

Marlow didn’t know what to do. Vitus seemed to be cycling higher and tighter, winding himself up toward some undoing that Marlow wasn’t privy to. “I want that, too,” she offered, trying to keep her voice soft and gentle. Not wanting to spook Vitus further. 

I do know you, she thought. Or, at least, was on her way toward knowing him, more and more each time. And every new thing she learned only pulled her further and further into the riptide of attraction and affection. 

She wondered, though, how evenly matched they were. What she had told him that night, what she had shared in her living room, and at the bowling alley before, were all truths that no one else who knew Marlow knew. Was the same true of what Vitus had told her? Would that be what this seemingly insurmountable secret was?

“If you want to tell me, I want to hear it,” Marlow offered, trying to just be a steady presence for him in this. She couldn’t imagine what confession he had for her, that would require her forgiveness. All she knew of Vitus was this gentle, kind, and incredibly compassionate man. What could he have done that was bad? That he seemed to think she would take so personally.

[nialltlynch]

(cw insects, generalized grossness)

There are enough parts in her bed to make a whole body when Alice wakes up that morning.

Legs and skin and wings scattered on her pillow beside her face. She blows on the pillow and whatever is left she brushes with her hand to the floor. She'll have to vacuum again.

It's worse in autumn, always worse in autumn, but Alice has found a routine that mostly keeps things contained. She checks the traps (empty), the cracks along the walls (pristine), and stoops on her hands and knees to peer into the pesky nooks and crannies (untouched). Alice likes to keep a clean home and she likes to think she does a good job.

Yesterday had been dreary and this morning's gray sky promises more of the same. She takes her morning tea neat and herbal instead of the usual creamy and black to fight the growing congestion in her sinuses.

"I think I'm coming down with something," she says into the phone as she watches one of the bluebirds pecking at the ground near the edge of the tiny grass patch three stories down that her apartment complex calls ample outdoor space.

"You get that bug going around?" her boss asks.

Marlowe is too decent and too soft to be a good boss, but that's what makes him a good boss. He won't be around long, Alice can already tell. She can tell because she's been around long enough to be crowned most senior junior employee at the ripe old age of twenty-eight. Ten years next March.

"I don't know. I just think I'm coming down with something."

"Verne was out last week. Said it's a bitch to deal with but everything's a bitch to Verne. Rest up, Alice. You'll need it when you get back."

And then he hangs up and the bluebird flies away with nothing in its beak.

-

The sinus congestion worsens over the morning. By the time she's fixing up her second cup of tea, her head is a pounding mess, her chest flutters whenever she breathes in, and an insistent ball of phlegm grows right at the top of her throat. Luckily nothing is quite leaking out of her yet and so she finds time to tidy up the rest of her small apartment.

If she drew a picture of her apartment it would be three shrinking blocks in a row. The first and largest being the sitting room/open kitchen combo area, then her bedroom, and lastly a small square less than half the size of her bedroom that makes up the bathroom.

Alice's routine starts from the top down. She drags a two-tiered step stool over the thick cream colored carpet to peer up on the high places, the tops of shelves and things usually out of sight. Each light bulb gets unscrewed and inspected. A toothpick clears the fine edges of the crown molding. She runs her palm along the top of the fan blades and it comes back a little sticky with the old cleaner she'd sprayed up there last night.

Next come the walls, the window treatments, and the doors and shelves. She coughs a little when she checks the window facing the parking structure outside. Her nose may be plugged but the rotting smell of old trash and piss still crawls up through her nostrils. City life is grand.

By now her teacup is empty again though the porcelain is still a little warm to the touch like a sigh against her hand. Alice knows the floors are next but that is the part she hates the most. Another cup would probably be best. For her throat, of course.

The hot water in the kitchen sink has never been reliable but it's exceedingly ornery today. It sputters and protests, gushing briefly with a flow that splashes against the shallow sink and onto the counter before settling into what could best de described as a meek trickle. She leaves her flaking tin kettle under the stream and goes to clean the counter. The paper towel comes away wet but clean. She unfolds it and holds it close to her face, checking for any bits and pieces and finds none.

The hot water has all but given up, now coming out in teasing quick drops, so Alice takes the loss and forgets about the third cup of tea. That wasn't in her budget for this week anyway.

She grabs a clean glass and pours some water from her filtered pitcher, trying to convince herself the chill against her throat will be soothing. It isn't. Something inside her sinuses feels like it's expanding, trying to crack through her skull.

The floors will have to wait. She feels that tickle in her throat again, smells that nauseating garbage stench filling her mouth again. She coughs. It's probably best to close the window. With the window closed, the apartment feels smaller, more cramped than it already is.

When she sets the glass on the counter, three long specks are floating on the surface.

-

The fan only wafts a gentle scent of stinging industrial cleaner as it whines overhead. The sound of it grates on Alice's nerves but she'd rather have the physical discomfort than the cloying dread that came when she sat in the stillness of the apartment without it on. Every shadow felt like it was skittering across the walls, the furniture. More than once Alice thought she saw something littering her floors only for it to disappear when she looked at it head on.

The stress of that little head game is exhausting enough.

Since her second cup of tea, Alice has been quietly spread out on the couch with a now cold moist towel covering her eyes. She doesn't have a migraine, doesn't usually get them, but the sensation and the darkness were preferable.

The walls of her apartment are thin. Less a barrier to keep things out and more a flimsy reminder of all that could possibly get in. Everything gets in eventually. The sooty spread of black mold creeping in through the pipes. The sound of her neighbors shuffling up and down and up and down at two in the morning. The wind and the chill see her walls and laugh as they swirl around her room every winter.

So Alice doesn't think much of the sound when she first hears it. It's too quiet to focus on at first (just another drop in the orchestra) but the dark sharpens her senses. She swears she can feel it in her chest, right there beside her heart.

When Alice had been a child, younger and already a joy and so well behaved, she had an older cousin twice removed or great aunt or maybe Ms. Griggs was simply a nosy old woman who loved spending her time nitpicking Alice and her mother on Tuesday nights. Whatever her relation might have been, Alice's mother was deferential to Ms. Griggs in the same stooped way Alice's mother had been deferential to Alice's then and now absent father. This, an important lesson Alice had learned very early, was the way of adult relationships.

The other important lesson Ms. Griggs had taught her wasn't even intentional. Ms. Griggs had a love for those miniature sausages that came in a can and even though Alice and her mother often bonded over the terrible taste, the absurdity of their existence, the underwhelming experience that these little meat sticks provided, Alice's mother still kept a can or two on hand for Tuesday nights. Alice will never forget the sound they made when Ms. Griggs bit into one. Halfway between a pop and a slurp.

It's this sound Alice hears now every time few times her heart pumps.

A pulse. Pop. A pulse. Slurp.

She reaches for her chest, fingers prodding her skin for the gaps between her ribs. She wants to inspect the lining of her heart, manipulate the chambers between her fingers, force her blood to pump until she finds he exact moment it pops and slurps.

She hears it again and this time it doesn't feel like it's by her heart but at he base of her throat. If she could reach behind her collar bone, what would she find?

Again. A little higher.

Again. Now squeezing through her airway. She heaves in a breath and the muscled tube of her throat contracts around something that shouldn't be there. Her palm slides along her skin in the same path the thing had taken until she can feel it there, oblong and protruding from her throat like an adam's apple. She holds her breath. She tries to suspend her heart beats. She waits.

It trembles in articulated pops as it crawls up her throat. She can feel the tiny blunt needles dotting inside her and the laborious drag as it moves up and up and up. The window must have cracked open or been shattered while she's been sitting here in the dark. That pervasive putrid stench lives in her mouth now.

Alice waits.

[xaconite]

           — inbox / @astrumstilla​

The truth? She may have made too many valentine treats to spare. She'd gifted plenty to the girls. The boys too. Their neighbors. Anika was already checked off her list. Anya. Her co-workers. Some classmates. So, as tempting as it was to keep the leftovers to herself, she knew she still had one more person to see. "Hey knock-off Avril. You alone?" she asks on the brinks of a laugh. "Here." She holds out the box of treats in one hand and a flower in the other. "Happy Valentine's Day."

          Alone? Of course, he is alone. This holiday is for loved ones and partners, and Avil’s made quite sure that there’s no space beside him for anyone like that. He doesn’t need, nor want, loved ones, so on Valentine’s Day, he makes sure to lay low and evade any festivities if he can help it. The bench outside of Marlow’s shop is one such place he finds refuge, but it’s perhaps not as effective as he thought since Alys could find him (not that it is very hard to). 

           Avil isn’t expecting Alys to come forth with kindness. Such sweet emotions have very little room in their usual modus operandi, so when he hears her voice, his immediate instinct is to get defensive. Just as he’s prepared to spit sharp words at her, they vanish at the sight of.... a box? And a flower? For him? 

          Nothing short of bewilderment crosses his face, like he’s found himself with the rug snatched right from under him. This isn’t... them, this isn’t what they do, so to be met with such a generous act from the very girl he’s fought with more than once, he’s not sure how to respond. The gifts are handled with care as he takes them, but he’s quite sure the box has to be a prank. Something is going to jump out at him surely. That would be more fitting, wouldn’t it? 

          Wordlessly, Avil tucks the flower behind his ear and slowly removes the top, bracing himself all the while. However, there is... nothing. Just little sweets. No fake spiders. No jumping toys. Just... chocolate. From the girl that should hate him the most. 

          He takes one of the treats, inspects it for just a moment, then takes a bite. Sugary cocoa blooms on his tongue, and he doesn’t take notice of the stinging in his eyes. After a moment, he quietly scoots over on the bench, patting the empty space next to him. Alys can hardly be called a friend, but... perhaps she can be beside him, just for today.

          “Thank you. I don’t have anything for you, but... Thank you.” He repeats, his voice a bit watery, quiet, and he can’t bring himself to look at her just yet. “Can you share them with me?” 

[marimelwrites]

At the familiar sight of Darius, Chloe breathed out a sigh of relief. A smile grew over her face, and no matter how tired she felt in that moment, she was glad to see him there. It never ceased to amaze her how this war had brought people together who, under any other circumstances, would have never met. She never would have seen this man if life had continued on in the same pattern it had before the world got turned upside down. In ways, she was thankful for that opportunity to meet new people, although she hated how it came about. Taking a step towards him, Chloe's gaze ran over him from head to toe. She told herself that it was to check to see if he seemed as though he needed any medical treatment, but in truth, she was taking in the handsome man before her.

"There's no need to apologize. It's quite alright. Honestly, I don't even know why I'm so jumpy. Blame it on the long hours that I just worked," Chloe replied, a smile still on her face. "And you can just call me Chloe. I'm not on duty right now, so we don't have to worry about the formalities. No need to address me as Nurse Marlow." With another deep breath she reluctantly pulled her gaze away away from him. "What brings you over here? If I didn't know any better, I'd think that you were out here trying to be sneaky."

The world could change so quickly. In one moment, Darius had simply been a mechanic in Savannah, Georgia. In the next, he was serving overseas in the greatest conflict the world had ever known. The early months of his service had been as routine as everyone else, one soldier amongst many. And then, for the second time in a year, Darius’ life had taken an unexpected twist. His skills as a mechanic had been spotted, his scores on combat tests noted simultaneously. It led to his recruitment for a special unit, one focused on sabotage behind enemy lines. Death-defying and life-inducing in equal measure, Darius undoubtedly had a taste for such work now, even as he remained in the depths of the hellish war. 

At base camp, hubs of activity reigned, whether from the communications and command tents or over in the medical centre. Fresh out of a briefing and in dire need of a cigarette, Darius found a spot by the bushes and trees behind the medical tents. As he lit his cigarette, the flame caught sight of someone in the distance. Darius looked up, the beauty immediately capturing his attention, a familiar sight too. He approached in time to hear Chloe calling out. “Nurse Marlow… apologies if I startled you,” Darius began, flashing a smile as he settled into view before her. 

[rosie-marlow]

Province Asks: Sonage (Hometown woo hoo), Lakedon and Hansport

Sonage: What’s your dream vacation spot? 

It’s not really a vacation spot but my dream is to do the Laugavegur Trail in Iceland.

Lakedon: What’s your family’s ancestry?

My dad (Arthur Marlow) is British actually, his entire family lives in the Buckinghamshire area. His work had brought him to Illéa, because there was this special lab in Kent (the only location in the world apparently). He needed to gather some data for his research. He was on the verge of going back to the UK (he didn’t like Illéa that much understatement) but then he met my mom (Joan Marlow, née Roberts), a Four from Chicago. They always tell me that their first meeting was more like hate-at-first-sight than love. Something must have felt right for them though, because he decided to stay a little longer, eventually making the decision to become an official Illéan citizen. The authorities assigned him to the caste of Threes because of his job as a scientist. Shortly after that, my mom and dad got married, making her a Three as well. And then poof, there were my 2 brothers and me. 

Hansport: Where did you get your name?

Well, when my mother found out she was having a girl she was dead set on the name Rosemary. But my dad refused, he didn’t want his only daughter to be named after a herb. So he suggested some other names, but my mom didn’t like any. In the end they met each other in the middle and settled for Rosie.