#don’t even get me started on the symbolism of the way he’s wearing his coat-

[calmlb]

“Chuuya wasn’t in Dark Era, why is he in this art??”

wdym, he’s right here 🤨

[quinloki]

𝐵𝓊𝑔𝑔𝓎'𝓈 𝒮𝓅𝑜𝑜𝓀𝓉𝒶𝒸𝓊𝓁𝒶𝓇 𝒮𝓅𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓁!

This is my costume contest entry for @swampstew's costume contest event \o/

Characters: Marco, Ace, Reader Warnings: None (implied poly relationship) Notes: Reader is implied shorter-than-average as a gag for the characters they're dressing up as.

Word count: 696

Ace tugged at the button up collar, undoing the top button again. “I know I agreed, but I didn’t think you were going to shove me into five layers of clothes, (Y/N).” He grumbles a little as you hand him a dark blue and silver trimmed military style jacket.

“At this rate the gloves are going to be the death of you.” You reply with a smirk. “Marco’s wearing something similar, he’s not complaining.” You say as you help him get the gold braided cord around his right arm the correct way.

Marco was standing in front of a mirror in the blue and silver trimmed military uniform. He had it buttoned up correctly, the boots were shined, and the few accessories were in place as though he was actually part of the Amestris Empire. He was currently getting used to the plastic prop cigarette you’d provided him, trying to make it look natural and sort out how to keep it comfortable.

He’d gone so far as to make sure he was clean shaven for the part, combing back and trying to tame some of his hair so it was only a little spiky in the front.

“His flames don’t run hot.” Ace huffs. “And look at him, he’s preening.”

“You would be too, pretty boy, if you’d look in the mirror.” Marco says flatly, turning around and giving Ace a grin, managing to keep the cigarette where he wants it.

“You know, the Colonel often wears a long black coat in the series, if you want, I can go get it?” You offer, giving him a half-teasing, half-irritated smile.

He flinches a little, and then sighs in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry for complaining so much.” He offers up. “But why are you the main character?”

“Cause you two giants are too tall.” You assert, handing him a pair of gloves with thin red lines stitched into them. You’re wearing a black a-shirt, a thick brown belt, black pants and boots and a bright red coat with a black symbol stitched on the back. Thatch had helped you do the stitching, and it’d taken both of you a few months. It was beautiful work at least, and you were certainly going to get more use out of it than just this single contest event.

“Not that you have to be short to dress up as a short character.” You admit, checking your loose-braided blonde wig before putting it on. “But… this is my favorite character, and the two of you share a lot of physical traits with my other favorite characters, so it just worked out well. Too good to pass up.”

You finish getting your costume on and Ace nearly snorts trying not to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” You question.

He puts a hand over his mouth trying to stifle a laugh and failing miserably. “N-noth-nothing!” He manages. “It’s just- hahahaha!”

Marco turns to look and grunts, nearly snorting as he tries not to laugh too.

 “Heck, is something wrong?” You question, starting to panic a little.

“No, not at all.” Marco assures you.

“You look shorter than usual!” Ace finally blurts out, losing it entirely and cackling.

Your panic morphs into irritation. You start to say something, but Marco interjects.

“Those boots are even thicker than your usual shoes.” He states in disbelief. “It’s impressive, yoi.”

“Y-you’re both wearing boots too!” You stammer, suddenly painfully aware of your lack of height for the first time in months. “You’re just standing taller than usual, th-that’s all.”

You snatch a pair of white gloves out of Ace’s hands as he hands them over, still trying to contain his amusement. You grumble under your breath a little as you put the gloves on.

“Should’ve made you dress as the younger brother,” You huff. “Stick you in a big tin can all day.”

Ace’s gloved hand slips under your chin as he leans down from behind you. The rough texture sends a jolt down your back and you aren’t sure what to do with it. Before you can think on it he whispers into your ear.

“Don’t be mad, pipsqueak, I’ll make it up to you later.”

[olympeline]

A few more headcanons for my National Animals AU. This time let’s talk about some mainland European nation-people to go with my British Isles bros post:

Germany: dog

Germany’s national animal is a black eagle - kinda, it’s the one on their coat of arms - but ehhh, any kind of bird doesn’t fit Ludwig in my mind. A dog does, though. I can definitely see him as some kind of giant, scary looking canine like a German shepherd or a rottweiler. One that appears intimidating but is soft on the inside. These dogs were bred to be hard workers too, just like Ludwig is. As for what he was in his days as Holy Rome…IDK. Their symbol was, again, a black eagle. Maybe Holy Rome was a black eagle chick who never got to fly. What do you guys think? And yeah, I know “Germany is Holy Rome” is very canonically dubious at this point, but I don’t care. I still like it

Italy (North and South): Italian wolves

They get it from their grandpa! It’s Romulus and Remus all over again. Feli and Lovi were a pair of fluffy little wolf pups for a very long time. Grandpa Rome himself started as a wolf, but I’m on the fence if he stayed that way until he died. Or if he became an eagle - the standard of Rome - as the Empire expanded. Wolves were very feared in Europe and that fits with everyone being scared of the descendants of the infamous Roma…until they meet Feli and Lovi and realise they are a pair of Moon Moons. 😂

France: ??? → lion → horse

I’ve already talked about why Francis would be a lion that became a horse, so let’s focus on what he would have been before. When he was a babby nation pre-French unification. I’m thinking either a fox cub or a young hare. To match with Arthur’s rabbit because I love these two always being connected in some way, hehe. Red fox pups are bluish grey before they mature and blue is Francis’s colour. He became a lion and cast off his fox form before it grew big enough that he would have had to wear a red coat. Yay, Anglo-French rivalry symbolism! Francis is also sleek, cunning, and pretty like a fox. But hares are sleek and pretty too. IDK, but I can imagine a rabbit looking at a hare and having the “god i wish that were me” meme reaction, you know? Hares just seem cooler in general. Arthur looked up to Francis and was jealous of him when they were kids, even if he would never admit it. 😆 The young nations being prey animals when they were conquered by Rome is good too. Yay, more symbolism! So hmm, not sure which is better. Do you guys prefer a fox or a hare for Francy-pants? Tell me in the replies if you like. Either way, he’s one of the nation-people who’s been through the most dramatic transformations over his lifetime.

Spain: ??? → black (fighting) bull

Ey! Toro! Toro! Not much needs to be said here. The toro bravo image is so married to Spanish culture, I can just leave it as is. I don’t know if Antonio would have been something else before, or if he was always a little calf that grew up. My knowledge of Spanish history is full of holes, sadly. I know there’s a lot with Carthage and Rome and the Punic Wars and that Spain was a Roman colony. Then various invasions, religious wars, the reconquista, all leading up to eventual unification. But it’s all too surface level to make headcanons for this AU. If any of you guys have ideas about how Antonio’s history might translate to pre-bull animal form(s) - or if you think he should have any at all - please tell me below! I’m really interested.

Russia: Eurasian brown bear

Another one where not much needs to be said. Russia is a huge, historically feared country with an incredibly tough climate. So Ivan would be a huge, feared animal that could survive the ice and snow of Northern Eurasia’s winters. Also, bears are solitary and blah, blah “friendless Ivan wants companions but they don’t want him” etc. You know the story. Bears were once so feared and hated in some parts of Europe that people refused to even say their name aloud in case it summoned one. They’re also tall af on their hind legs, eat a lot and get chubby, and love sweet things. Ivan was on easy mode for this post, lol.

(This AU is addictive. I think I need an intervention at this point ffff 🫣)

[jounosparticles]

the colors reminded me it's port mafia time

about all of the port mafia has black in their palletes, it is very clear to see BUT there are three exceptions

kouyou has black in her character design BUT also pinks and reds. she probably doesn't count but still! you notice the pinks/reds before you notice the black. I think this is to connect her to kyouka but I could be absolutely wrong. small little extra detail: she has spider lillies at the bottom of her kimono(?) which repersent danger and death and abandonment! (they can also represent rebirth but death is the most common meaning for them)

kaji also barely has any black in his pallet. but he's kaji. absolute unhinged creature

and finally tachihara! he has black pants but also green jacket and white shirt. obviously in the beginning he wasn't actually a port mafia member but a hunting dog (that changes but also we don't see him after he gets turned so does he get new mafia swag? the world may never know.) the green of his jacket could repersent his connection to the hunting dogs (green jacket -> green uniforms) but that might be a HUGE stretch so eerrhhree take it with salt.

mori also applies to this halfway since he has two outfits (port mafia boss + his physician outfit) BUT with his physician outfit he wears a purple button down with his white (lab? doctor?) coat over it. purple is associated with corruption and royalty and I think that applies to his position as the mafia boss BUT! BUT the lab coat covers it so ITS LIKE HIM CONCEALING IT!!!! HIDING!!!! GRR DHER I hate mori but I love putting him under a microscope sometimes dude.

anyway!!!!!!! colors!!!!!!!! fun.

ohhhh I LOVE THIS!! lots of little details i didn’t think too far into.

thinking into kouyou, the black in her design is under the pink/red mostly. as if she’s keeping the more extravagant (maybe the wrong word) or passionate part of her external while the darkness she tries to not let out. she’s talked before about how you can’t go back if you thrive in the darkness, so i assume her design reflects that a lot. she expresses beauty despite being in the darkness. pink is also associated with love and care, and she seemed to take on a role in protecting kyouka and likely loved her or deeply cared about her. (i am so here for kyouka and kouyou found family older sibling or mother-like role).

kajii has a couple black stripes on his outfit. not much, but enough to symbolize that he’s with the mafia. what’s interesting though is that they cover his eyes as well. you’d think they’d put more emphasis on his eyes to show that he is corrupted as well but they stay shielded a lot. harukawa said at one point that his eyes are pitch black even if you cannot see them. this is probably a combination of him being a scientist and keeping his face shielded and maybe adding some uncertainty for his character. i also assume the white clothes is to go with the scientist-y look. we don’t know much about him yet but i hope we do soon.

and for tachihara hmmm. i wonder if asagiri had him planned out from the start? or if he decided to add that in to give tachi some depth since he didn’t have much beforehand? either way i love that he has such a cool design, it’s one of my favourite mafia looks actually! i like your idea of the jacket connection a lot, that makes sense! i noted that tachihara also wears black wristbands, tying into the colour theme of the mafia as well. i’m going into heavy speculation here, but maybe the white on his shirt could somehow represent his purity (combined with the green jacket to show his status as an officer)? and the black of his pants could represent the effect the mafia has had on him? as in he is both good and evil. or maybe they just thought the colour contrasts looks cool and i’m looking to deep into things idc tho ily tachihara

i don’t have anything to add to mori’s designs i just really like what you said with that. really cool ideas !!

i always love seeing your ideas on stuff!!

[kyouka-supremacy]

For the art of atsushi holding a flower, the dahlia representing the, "ability to bloom after many other flowers have died" is so interesting for me for so many reasons. The analogy makes me thinking of difference between Canon and BEAST Akutagawa.

Dahlia’s are considered tender plants that are difficult to take care of because if you treat it too harshly or without proper care, it will decompose and rot, especially in the winter, and even if nothing has been injured or cut away. Something something dahlia’s being tender plants that break so easily representing how Akutagawa has never quite been suited for harshness, how he’s always his best when he’s treated with care—treated with kindness and gentleness and tenderness he’s never been given before. When you treat dahlias carefully with love they won’t rot from the roots up, and when you treat Akutagawa carefully, his despair and rage rots away at him a little less.

It also reminds me of that panel in BEAST where Kenji tells Aku that his friends passed on all their good halves to him. I guess that’s what the metaphor fits. Even in the harshest conditions he’s managed to come out alive—both beast and canon Akutagawa. Not just him and his friends but the countless of people Akutagawa has had to either watch die or kill if it meant surviving another day. He may be rotting from the inside out from a lack of tenderness but he’s survived long enough to become on of the most powerful and terrifying forces in the Port Mafia. This hits deranged territory but consider the cost representing rot.

I think Atsushi wearing the coat and holding (is he giving Akutagawa the flower? I hope he is) the Dahlia is great because it’s almost metaphorical of bearing all of the rot and years of survival that comes with it. Giving the dahlia to Akutagawa the same it’s a symbol of rebirth, a symbol of being able to start anew and be given a chance he never had at the start. They say dahlias are incredibly toxic to felines. It’s funny but there might be a layer to that too.

And I don’t want to just talk about Akutagawa because I think the meaning fits atsushi too but I’m finding it more difficult to draw comparisons more. Something something about how Atsushi is the definition of the a flower able to bloom “even after others have died”. Both because he’s incredibly resilient but he also has no choice but to continue moving forward. The treatment he’s endured since childhood has canonically nearly killed him multiple times. I’m sure it would have killed someone else if they were in his position. Getting mutilated and limbs cut off and thrown into walls and literally everything that has happened to him would kill anybody else. Not only that but it would be a very justifiable villain origin story. Yet Atsushi, although rotting in some places, still manages to survive and grow and not succumb to the forces that spent almost two decades trying to destroy him.

But rot is rot (and I love talking about angst). If the black is rot and white is the healthy parts of a dahlia, then life has been constantly nipping at Atsushi’s roots and his stem until they’re weak, and he’s standing upright out of sheer will alone. You can focus that symbolism in many different places: Atsushi hiding his rot from others with a fresh looking dahlia when he’s on the verge of giving out (but Akutagawa looks withered despite the core remaining vibrantly white. The way they’re surviving are different in a way). Atsushi is not being treated carefully as dahlias should be, because his ability to reverse his wounds makes him sturdy and people forget you still need to be gentle with sturdy flowers.

To sum up everything in an analogy: Akutagawa seems more like a dahlia whose petals are withered and tangled and visibly unpleasant, but reveals are much prettier core if you’re willing to look past it, but nobody (save for very few) bother to put in the hard work. Atsushi is more of a Dahlia that has brilliant—if not a bit limp—petals that distract you from the fact that the roots are decaying and in dire need of care, and even if you see them, they don’t appear to bsd to the eye. So it’s left festering, in a way. Either way, they’re both flowers that require and deserve tenderness but have no access to it.

I just realized: out of all of them from between Canon and the BEAST universe, BEAST! Atsushi is the only one that does not wear anything white, or anything light colored. Canon! Atsushi has his button down. Canon! Akutagawa has his blouse. Beast! Akutagawa wears a light color coat. But beast! Atsushi wears a grey/black turtleneck and a black coat. In regards to the flower analogy, Beast! Aku could be a dahlia that has rotted away for the longest time but is now receiving the care needed to repair (the black shirt, but brown coat). But beast! Atsushi never got any kind of kindness, really. Beast Akutagawa and Canon Atsushi have the ADA to help them. Canon! Akutagawa has Atsushi trying to pull him out of the dark. But Beast! Atsushi’s savior was a man that took him out of hell and placed him into another hell and there has never been room to repair him. At the end, BEAST Atsushi ends up back at hell #1, wearing blue scrubs which do nothing for him because they’re not white, (they’re not even a light blue!) and do not carry the symbolism that comes with white dahlias. Because if we talk about dahlias, blue dahlias do not exist in nature and you have to wonder what Beast! Atsushi would get from staying in the place that features in his nightmares.

I have more things I would say but I’m like. Completely going off tangent. But the idea that dahlias have, “the ability to bloom after other flowers have died” was just interesting to me for many reasons.

This was such a brilliant and spot on analysis Anon, I have barely anything to add!!! I really wish Akutagawa would find someone who would treat him with kindness like he was a delicate flower, as corny as that sounds. Akutagawa having never been suited for harshness is an interesting concept. It sure looks like it, thinking of his frail costitution and eerie presence- sick and ghostly, you know what I mean? Beast is out there to show us that Akutagawa is the best version of himself when treated with love and support. And I feel like a flower with rot in it is a description that fits Akutagawa a lot, because in my opinion Akutagawa is not one with evil as he may appear- more like, he knows what he does is morally reprehensible¹, and I'd even go as far as saying that he wants to do good (although on a very unconscious level he himself could never acknowledge), he was simply never given the chance to. That's why in the end it is fitting to see him as a vulnerable flower that was easily corrupted and thoroughly damaged.

I love the idea of Atsushi giving a flower symbolizing rebirth to Akutagawa!!! I'm insane over it. And the fact that the flower representing Akutagawa is also toxic to felines is so funny afjvakyflakifbv I actually love it it fits them a lot.

I think we should stretch on the fact that dahlias represent the ability to bloom after many other have died. Both Atsushi and Akutagawa survived a childhood where dozens of children just like them didn't make it. I like the interpretation that they should carry on and try to live happy for the friends they lost too, I wish they'd say it to each other. Moreso for Akutagawa, since he still feels responsable for the death of his family. He needs someone to tell him that he too is deserving of happines, because that's what his friends would have wanted.

About Atsushi and Akutagawa's corruption, I think it opens for SUCH an interesting topic. Atsushi's rot is hardly visible and barely transpires, while Akutagawa's rot is evident and striking, but he does hold that white core that goes unnoticed by everyone and yet truly represents his essence, his heart. A whole essay could be written on this, but here let's limit to say that Atsushi and Akutagawa truly mirror each other in the way Atsushi is as selfish as Akutagawa can be selfless, and Atsushi's kindness is as constructed and fictitious as Akutagawa's cruelty is, and they're both carefully crafted for the same reason, that is, to survive.

Beast Atsushi truly is the ultimate damned, isn't him 😭😭😭 To be fair though, I feel like Beast Akutagawa can hardly be considered to be wearing anything light, too... For how I see it, his coat is probably as light as Atsushi's turtleneck. I feel like the Beast universe is overall darker / grittier than the main one, but some kind of solace can be found in thinking they're still in it together.

¹ Way more than Dazai, btw, for whom good and evil never meant anything to begin with.

[jellieland]

Ok, so I haven't really done this before, but with the level and quality and effort put into this thing I would very much like to give it a proper read through. So.

Hotguyzine liveblog under the cut, starting with:

The Most Epic and Heartwrenching and Harrowing Battle of the Turn of the Century

I mean, literally from the first page this is all just so incredibly well presented. It looks so good.

And it's Joel and Lizzie with cat ears. I love it already.

"You can be average guy. Mediocre guy." Mean to him. Probably warranted! But also. Mean to him.

Wait, are Joel and Lizzie just known as Guy and Gal? That's great.

"I'M GAL!"

("and i'm. guy.")

I love them.

Oh, Scar is SUCH a reliable narrator. For sure.

"Give me all your cats[h!]" Sooo reliable. Also is that Gem with the animal control van or just someone with red hair?

Right. Right yeah of course he has a camera crew. Why wouldn't he?

I love watching Scar and Lizzie talk about their OCs together.

Wait. Is being an unreliable narrator literally his superpower? Is this is a representation of post-production editorialising, or literally what's happening? Because those have quite different implications.

HUH.

"Knocked both of the dangerous villains to ground in one hit!" What do you mean BOTH Scar, you just erased Joel from the narrative.

Ok! This is quite alarming!!

"With great hotness comes greater guy?" I'm going to choose to ignore everything else that's happening and say yes, you should definitely go with this one, Scar, for sure.

---

Meet Cute

Now first of all, I see that pun in the title. I see it, and I appreciate it!

"I should've figured it was you." I really love the visual representation of the phrase "dripping with malice", there. I also love the Cuteguy design!

"That was kinda rude" Ok that. That's way less extreme than I was expecting from the initial reaction.

"Anyway byeeeee!!!" Oh so they're BOTH annoying weirdos. Perfect.

---

King for a Day

Oh hello Bdubs. This should be fun.

Ren: "You're

Hotguy?"

Bdubs: "How did you do that with your mouth."

"Yeah. What if." Oh Bdubs is TIRED tired huh.

I love how Ren is just immediately fully on board. Like. Yeah he would be like that wouldn't he. He's so enthusiastic it's great.

I-85 box??? Iskall crumbs???? Ooh, and Cub! And... maybe Doc?

Hey there Grian. Have some flowers (and also some dangerous paperwork but don't worry about that part)!

"I'm not joining your little king's court." Oooh, I see. I see. Hey, at least he kept the flowers, right, Scar?

Getting Pearl to publish a hit piece immediately is maybe a little extreme, but fair enough I guess!

"They're gonna throw TOMATOES at me in the town square, man!" Don't worry, Ren. In another life, they already did.

---

Mumblr. Incredible.

Shoutout to teeth dog. My new favourite superhero.

Oh no. The discourse. The discourse. It's too real.

Maple Prince. Etho is a cryptid. Amazing.

"so if heroes are showing crafted personas to the public, don’t you think hotguy and cuteguy having matching names and outfits at least verges on queerbaiting?" I don't. Really have anything to say about this. But I feel like I have to include something that dealt me this amount of psychic damage in the liveblog.

---

G-Team

"I'm off to visibily protect the public." Yeah, that sounds about right.

Oh, the gala was hosted by Doc! And he even made sure to specify that there were DEFINITELY NO ulterior motives! Well I don't see how anything could possibly have gone wrong then!

"wearing his lab coat to a gala?? sus af." No I think that's just Cub, Grian. Although to be fair, "sus af" is maybe his default state now that I think about it.

Ah, it's Sherlock Grian! I love it.

Oh is this conversation taking place in Grian's mind palace? That's great.

Eyy, Permit Manager Grian coming in with all his considerable power, that being opaque bureaucratic processes and hold music! It seems pretty effective.

This is such a good chase scene. The broken heart symbol on the jacket is interesting!

And there's some sculk leaking into the drain. That seems. Fine. That definitely won't come back later to cause problems, I'm sure.

---

The Case of the Missing Cub

Oh, I'm sure this isn't going to be related to the sculk at all. There's definitely nothing on the very first page that would suggest otherwise. (I'm very excited about this one, I always love sculk related stories.)

The sculk snail is actually so cute, I love it.

Uh oh, there's Cub! And he looks like he's maybe having a bad time.

Oh dear, and Grian immediately gets sculked. That's slightly concerning.

"This fight fucking sucks." You know what, that's fair, Grian.

Yay, mutually agreed upon arson! And they both looks so happy about it!

Grian. GRIAN. WHY.

The realistic notes app t-shirt with Scar's actual minecraft face, followed by the deadpan "I want this." It's perfect. It's incredible. It's definitely how Cub would react to being shown that image upon waking up in front his burning house after being possessed. It literally made me laugh out loud.

"Oh, that reminds me. Why is my house on fire?" How. How did that remind you of your house being on fire.

"I used it to season my pizza." ...Yeah. Yeah that sounds about right.

I loved this one a lot. All of the stories have been great, but I especially enjoyed this.

---

Hotguy! Has One New Mail

Oh we get the one sided Bdubs and Cub rivalry from season 7! Excellent!

All the character voices are just so perfect. Bdubs' "Founding Principles" followed by Cub's "Yeah man cool this all sounds great" are just so perfectly in character for both of them.

I want some of Cub's cool space facts, and honestly if I emailed a celebrity/superhero and they sent me a link to cool space facts in return, I would be ecstatic.

Scar sold Doc a none existent bridge. Amazing. Sorry, Beef's proxy, but the list of things you're saying Scar shouldn't have been doing certainly isn't going to convince Cub, of all people, that anything needs to change.

"why have you sent me a list of top supernovas!" WOW, Grian, ungrateful much? Enjoy your supernovas.

"he is rescuing kittens from tragically falling into rivers, an activity that has fully occupied him for the past eighteen months." To be fair I feel like if Scar could do this, he would.

"everything is completely under control" Yeah, Special Officer #49, everything I've seen about this city so far really suggests that you've got it all under control. For sure.

"Hotguy is currently in Canada fighting smallpox by shooting individual bacteria with a special crossbow, for which he has received a commendation from their Prime Minister." I love Cub's excuses for Hotguy, they're all great. Also love how Pearl's main problem with this one is apparently the lack of smallpox in Canada, when obviously the actual main problem is that Scar is banned for Canada.

"casting_directors_bdubs_is_not_feuding_with" Well I'm glad there's at least one. And of course Scar's recording a snack commercial while all this is going on.

NOOO, GRIAN'S PIZZA! This is so sad.

---

The 30 part thread by Doc is amazing. As are Bdubs' ill-advised replies.

Ooh, a good old classic Doc disproportionate twitter threat! Always love those!

Carol the zombie mention! AND she's a movie star! Let go!!

Jellie... I love her the picture is perfect. She deserves that quarter of a million likes and more.

---

Ok, this is 100 pages into the zine and has got fairly long, so I'll probably continue this in another post!

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Becks Backstory - Mattie

What started out as an attempt for me to keep things straight in my head turned into a series of short stories centered around Becks and her backstory, which quickly became her backstories given how many years she's lived and how many names and personalities she's adopted. Some are complete, some aren't, I'll update as I go, yadda yadda.

Anyway. This is Mattie. She's the eighth name/personality Becks created. She's somewhere between the others. Very down to earth and serious, not looking for trouble, very much wants to be left alone with her adopted kiddo.

WC: 702

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

–1900s, Secluded farm somewhere around the Smokey Mountains–

“We’re taking the child,” the man stated, hand around Lily’s arm. “And that gun isn’t going to change the issue.”

Mattie had a rifle trained at his head, stood steady and still on the rickety old porch. “Say that again when you aren’t sweating,” she snapped.

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with,” he said calmly. “This creature–”

“My kid!!”

“--is not even human. Not all the way, at any rate. She’s clearly messed with your head, made you think she’s your daughter, but believe me. That’s what these things do.”

“Call her a thing one more time,” Mattie said calmly, “and it’ll be the last words you speak.”

“Ma’m, I can assure you. Your life will be better without her in it. These things–”

A shot rang out. The body jerked, dropped to the floor.

“Lil!” Lily bolted for Mattie, swung around and hid behind her. She hunkered down, hands grabbing onto Mattie’s pantleg and looked up at her.

Mattie kept her eyes on the horizon. Guys like him usually traveled in pairs…there. Her rifle snapped up as she lined up the shot. Managed to tag someone, by the sound they made, but there was a flash of magic and they were gone. Portal, no doubt. Well. They were going to have to run again.

Mattie spun around, kneeled and took Lily’s face in her hands. Turned it. Checked her arms and legs. “Not hurt,” she muttered. The sleeve was a little torn from where the man had grabbed her, where Lily had struggled to get away from him, but otherwise there wasn’t anything. “Good.”

“I didn’t do anything this time,” Lily said, pouting. “Not like last time.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mattie said, standing and walking over to the man. Dead, one shot to the head. She kneeled, began to go through his pants pockets. Found the usual blending-in kit. His coat, on the other hand, had a small notebook with scribbles inside detailing the journey he’d taken to get here. The tracking he’d done to find Lily.

Mattie stowed that away, noting a small metal bracelet full of charms. Runes and symbols hung from a metal chain, each one packing a wallop of magic. Likely pre-made spells, in case things got hairy. Mattie slipped it off and held it up. Three of the seven were still charged. Good enough. She slipped it into her pocket, stood and turned.

Lily still sat in a small ball on the old porch, hugging her knees. She only looked to be about ten. Had looked that way for the past few years, despite the fact that Mattie had found her almost twenty years ago.

Nevertheless, she looked small and sad at the moment. Vulnerable. Not at all like the feral child she usually was. Sure, she had calmed a little as she grew, but the fire in her eyes wasn’t an easy thing to put out. The recent search must have been finally taking it’s toll on her.

Mattie took a breath and walked up to her. Sat down next to her.

“Thoughts?”

Lily shook her head.

“Lily.”

She sighed. “What if…what if we never find out?” she asked, voice muffled from her mouth pressed into her knees. “What if we never know were I came from?”

Mattie sighed and leaned back on her hands. “Then we don’t. And you’ll be no worse for the wear, really.”

Lily snorted, putting her chin on her knees now. “But what if I’m some sort of creature, like they say?”

Mattie sat up. “Lily, look at me.” She did, sullenly and like the child she appeared to be. “I don’t care what they say. I’ve looked after you for long enough to consider you to be my own. I don’t care if you’re really like me or if you’re some accident someone let loose. You’re mine, and I’m going to protect you.” She reached out with her hand, Lily reaching out as well. They laced their fingers together.

“You’re safe,” Mattie said. “I’ve got you, scamp.”

Lily smiled. “Thanks…mom.” Pulled on her hand and pounced on her in a hug, Mattie squirming at the embrace while Lily laughed.

[iraven-underscore]

Sol - S: Prelude

Prelude

“Nee, old man, what are we doing here anyways?” I ask, my Japanese accent, as per usual, screwing up my words. The man in front of me takes a few moments to answer.

“We're here in search of something important..” is the vague answer I receive. Old-Man Aubell waves his torch around the tomb’s walls, the orange light turning his white hair a red-yellow color, probably inspecting the glyphs carved into the stone. 

“Tch, tell me something straight for once, asshole.” I mutter under my breath. 

“See here?” he points at one of the glyphs. It was shaped in a circle, the center slightly elevated off the wall. “This means we’re in the right place.”

Does it though? I think. Either way, I inspect the symbol closer. It's rather simple. I’m not sure how he managed to get anything out of it. Old-Man Aubell is a strange one, I think that there are a few screws loose in his head, always complaining about hallucinations or visions, if I remember correctly. Something to do with snow, blood, and cracks in the sky. He also has this massive husky as a pet. A pet! Complete madman, I swear. Nobody is willing to listen to him or come with on his excursions. I’m only here because I need the money, and he is paying more than he probably should for something as simple as this. After all, I only started about a month ago, and I’m already tired of his shit. 

“Sooo… what’s in here anyway?” I wonder aloud. Instead of answering, he pulls out one of his leather bound notebooks, flips to a certain page and tosses it to me. I frown. This does not answer my question. “Dick.”

He keeps wandering onward down the hall. I look in his book. The pages are drenched in loose scraps of paper and tape. Small brown spots dot the bottom right corner, as if he might’ve spilled something like coffee on it. Aubell’s handwriting coats the center of the paper. 

‘Mysteries of the Mines’

—was the header. Cliche as hell. I click my tongue. 

I asked a few of the old miners some questions about the mines. If there were any strange happenings, or if they were confronted by any mysterious people in suits. Only one of them answered with an affirmative. The miner had talked about discovering some shrine or tomb they had found one day during a deep dive. Then, not a day later, they were approached by three people wearing suits. It was strange. The miner took several seconds to answer each question, and he was constantly looking around as if searching for someone or something. Maybe a suit sent to make sure he didn't talk about it? Then why would he even give me the time of day? Perhaps it was because of blackmail? Did the GAFAP (see no.17 pg.244 for more info) make a contract with him? I’m getting off a tangent but regardless, the miner had mentioned finding an artifact. Something that sparked when he went near it. When he touched it, it shocked him and he lost any feeling in his hand. When it had zapped him, he flinched and threw it across the room, most likely breaking the Artifact. 

Akari and I are going to explore that tomb next week. Even if the Artifact has since been removed, we can still glean some information from the glyphs and anything still remaining. This excursion just might bring us closer to the truth.  Interesting. I don’t give two shits about what’s in here. Gnashing my teeth together, I quickly dash to catch up with Aubell. Kuso, he sure as hell ain’t leaving me behind.

Please leave reviews. Thanks for reading!

[solaneceae]

“Hello, Chase. How are you doing today?”

His skull is trapped between a vice, dull pain throbbing behind his eyeballs. He wants to reach inside and rip them out, or better yet, detach his head from his own body and set it somewhere else for a moment, thank you. “Take a guess,” he huffs annoyedly, rubbing at the tightness gathered between his eyes, in his temples, in his jaw.

Being hungover fucking sucks. Especially when instead of nursing it all comfy at home (he doesn’t have a home, not anymore, nowhere to go, nothing, nobody), you’re stuck in a fucking cell with some dickwad trying to get into your head for some reason.

Said dickwad hums noncommittally. “I’m not psychic, you know. You’re going to have to work with me a little there, Chase.”

“Fuck off,” the prisoner snaps, refusing to make eye contact with the scientist. “You guys fucking kidnapped me. I’m not saying shit to you.”

He remembers the stumble-jolt — that dizzying feeling of being displaced without moving at all, the sound of leaves rustling in the wind shifting to traffic in an instant. Motor oil and fumes replacing running water and fresh dirt in his nostrils. His confusion, drunkenly stumbling through that parking lot until two men dressed in black came to intercept him, saying words Chase couldn’t parse.

He may have punched one of them. It’s a blur, sir. His victory had been short-lived though, because the next thing he knew, he was waking up in a world of grey and on a scratchy blanket, a little puncture wound in the side of his neck. And of course, with a monster headache and that disgusting taste in his mouth he was starting to grow all-too familiar with.

Was it a bad sign that he wanted a drink right now? Probably.

The scientist sighed. They weren’t wearing any form of identification, no name, no nothing — just that weird symbol of an eye on the side of their lab coat. This had bad news bears written all over it. “Please understand,” they said slowly, like they were talking to a five-year old. It was driving Chase up the wall. “We can’t help you if you don’t help us understand what happened.”

Chase drums his fingertips on his arm, rubbing his feet under the table in hidden nervousness. Normally he’d feel self-conscious about not wearing shoes in front of a stranger, but honestly, he couldn’t be fucked to care — if he was truly stuck here for now, he wasn’t going to make it a bit more comfortable for himself, dammit. “Well. Guess we’re stuck here then, ‘cuz I don’t want to talk to you.”

The scientist purses their lips, but thankfully, they don’t push. They stand wordlessly and walk up to the door, fishing a small remote from their coat pocket and pressing a button. Soon enough, the door slides open and they leave, leaving Chase alone with his thoughts.

***

He doesn’t see anyone for days after that first time, apart from the aid that occasionally drops by with food or to take him to the bathroom. Because of course the room that passes as a cell didn’t have one, which made him think that maybe, just maybe, this place wasn’t supposed to be a cell at all, but that those guys were making do with what they had. Which meant that whatever was happening had caught them off guard somehow, forcing them to improvise in ways they weren’t used to.

Still, Chase was hating every second of his stay. And the humiliation of having someone monitoring him while he cleaned up or took a piss wasn’t even the worst part.

No, the worst was how goddamn bored he was getting. Seriously, there was only so much entertainment you could get out of the fucking tennis ball they’d him as enrichment. Like he was a dog or something. So when finally, finally someone new entered the room one day to sit in front of him with a notepad, Chase was almost happy to see them. Almost.

“Hello, Chase. How’re you doing today?” the unknown man greets him evenly, flashing him a polite smile. Chase gives him a mirthless imitation of one in return.

“Welcome back,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Thought you guys forgot about me or somethin’.”

The other has the gall to chuckle at that. “Yes, well. We figured you needed some space.”

Chase squints. “...I don’t need space. I need to get the hell out of here.”

“And we’ll work on getting you out, you have my word,” the scientist tries to pacify him, which makes Chase scoff. “I just need you to answer a few questions, first.” He stops, considering something. “Or, rather,” he corrects himself, “Just one question, really. Doesn’t sound all that bad, does it?”

Chase squints suspiciously, but doesn’t respond. The other doesn’t seem discouraged by his lack of reaction. “Trust me, it’s relevant to whatever… strange phenomena you might have encountered,” he insisted, and now Chase was even more suspicious. “What are you talking about?” he blinks, electing to play dumb for now. “What, like UFOs? I don’t believe in that shit. You people got the wrong guy.”

“No, no,” the scientist waves his hand dismissively, amused. “Nothing like that. Please, just let me ask you something.”

He opened his eyes, all traces of mirth suddenly gone from his features. Chase recoils a little, taken aback by the sudden shift. “Have you ever experienced a terrible occurrence that has impacted you significantly?” the strange man asks.

Chase blinks. “The fuck kinda question is that?”

“The kind that could get you out of here, depending on what your response is,” the other replies, undeterred. “I’ll ask again.” He leaned forward and repeated, louder this time. “Have you. Ever experienced. A terrible occurrence. That has impacted you significantly?”

Chase wants to laugh. Oh, buddy. D’you have ninety minutes to go over it? “I don’t know. I—” He sighed, rubbing at his face. He didn’t want to talk about his personal life with this— weirdo! Although maybe, maybe he could tell him about… that, but…

Gah. This was stupid. He wasn’t going to believe a word of it. “Something real weird happened,” he tried anyway, because he sure as shit wasn’t going to mention the rest. Maybe they’d let him go if he threw them a bone to chew on. “I was in the woods. And then, I… wasn’t.”

The scientist tilts his head, his pen tapping mindlessly on his notepad. “Could you elaborate on that?” he leans forward, his eyes gleaming with something Chase doesn’t recognize. Curiosity? Expectation? “Did you black out, maybe? You were pretty inebriated at the time.”

Chase bristles. He doesn't like when people point that out. “Oh yeah, sure,” he chirps bitterly, “I was sooooo drunk I somehow walked all the way to that parking lot, without my phone, or my car, and also under a second. Thank you science man, you figured it out. Now let me out of this shithole.”

The other didn’t take the bait, calmly taking notes. It irked Chase to no end, not knowing what he was scribbling down on that stupid thing. “I thought you guys were some super advanced tech company,” he jabbed. “You’d think pen and paper would be too old-fashioned for you.”

“Have you ever experienced a terrible occurrence that has impacted you significantly?” the other repeats once again, ignoring Chase’s words entirely. “That’s what I’m asking you. And you’re not being honest with me.”

The vlogger leans back on his chair, because this whole thing is starting to freak him out. “Wait— no, I’m not lying,” he insists, gripping the edge of the table in frustration. “I told you already. I was in the woods, then things got all weird and I was somewhere else, and no time had passed at all. That’s what I remember.” He crossed his arms, pinning the other man down with a stubborn glare. The scientist held his gaze, his expression set in careful neutrality. Then he opens his mouth again.

“Have you ever experienced a terrible occurrence that has impacted you significantly?”

“Jesus Christ.”

Chase groans, craning his neck to look up at the ceiling. He’s in a nuthouse. And he’s not even the nutcase. “I already told you. Asking three times ain’t gonna make me change my answer.”

“Have you ever experienced a terrible occurrence that has impacted you significantly?”

Chase glares back down, his foot tapping on the floor impatiently. “Are you fucking braindead?” he hisses, his voice rising in pitch and volume. He clenches his fists, the joints going stark white. “Just drop it man—”

But then the scientist abruptly jumps to his feet and looms over Chase, slamming his hands on both sides of the metal table. It almost sends the cap-wearing man careening backwards — his chair tilts significantly and he yelps, throwing his body forward to avoid falling. “Holy fuck!”

“Have you ever experienced a terrible occurrence that has impacted you significantly?!” the man almost snarls at him. “A terrible occurrence, Chase!”

“I—”

“A death in the family!” the scientist enunciates, Chases stares up at him frightfully. “Losing your job! Witnessing a traumatizing event! Did you, Mister Brody?”

“Fuck you!” Chase spits back, his anger overcoming his fear. “I don’t know you, any of you! And I don’t need your fucking help!”

The other man scoffs. He looks frustrated. “Oh, really? Tell that to your little friend stuck in the hospital,” he mocks, inspecting his fingernails. “He could have used our help.”

There’s a heavy silence. Chase’s mind doesn’t make the connection right away, but when it does, it feels like being dunked in freezing water. “...You’re talking about Jack, aren’t you,” he states, not a question, but a fact. His expression slowly hardens as the pieces fall into place. “You knew,” he intones flatly, his voice deceivingly calm.

The scientist shifts uncomfortably, his earlier smugness now gone. Like he knows he just fucked up. “Listen—”

“You guys knew. All this time. And did nothing.”

“Chase, now stay calm,” the other glances at the camera nervously. “Intense displays of emotions can be—”

He never finishes his thought, gasping when a hand grabs at his collar and pulls him forward harshly, the edge of the table digging into his midsection painfully. The scientist winces, staring into previously cloudy eyes that were now sharp with fury. “My best friend’s in a fucking coma,” Chase hisses, almost manic. “That thing’s been stalking me for months, and everyone I went to for help called me a madman. My family—”

His voice breaks, his face twisting in an expression of pain and anguish. “...And you come here, take me in this— fuckin’ Aperture science lookin’ place, and tell me you knew about it the whole time?!”

“Chase, please—”

“No!” the father shrieks, getting up and shoving the scientist back so hard his back collides against the wall. He barely has the time to catch his breath before the prisoner is on him, grabbing him by the throat and pressing him against the rough surface. Chase’s flat cap had fallen, revealing messy, slightly greasy curls that partly fell in front of wide blue eyes rimmed in red and black. “This is on you,” he growls, pulling the other away from the wall only to slam him back against it, drawing a pained yelp from the scientist. “You could have stopped this!” he screams, catching the hand attempting to hit his face before it reaches his target, reaffirming his grip on the other’s throat and cutting off his airways. Blind rage is drowning his world in red, red, red. “You could’ve helped us! But you just watched, as this happened!”

letmeinletmeinmetmeinletmeinetmein

The scientist lets out a wheeze, struggling against Chase’s grip frantically. His leg kicks forward and nails the other man’s knee, making him cry out and let go of his throat. The man in the lab coat takes a greedy, gasping intake of air and stumbles away, reaching into his pocket for his remote. He watches Chase warily as the father holds onto a chair for balance, sending him a look that could only be described as murderous as he presses a button.

Almost immediately, the pneumatic door opens with a quiet hiss, two maked men clad in black stepping into the room. The scientist nods at them and hobbles out of the room, rubbing his throat as the door closes back behind him.

Chase glowers at the two — they’re not the same men that came to pick him up in the parking lot, but in this place, faces and time tend to blur into a same-y, grey mush. One of them steps forward, and Chase immediately grabs a hold of the metal chair and hurls it at the guard with a frustrated yell. The guard barely moved out of the way in time, startled, and the other visibly loses his patience and flash-steps up to Chase, whose face goes from anger to fear in the blink of an eye. He doesn’t get the chance to step back before something is jabbed against his midsection, and his entire world explodes in pain.

His body seizes up as the taser goes off, lightning shooting through his body in millions of white-hot needles. A broken scream wrenches itself from his throat before his legs give out under his own weight, sending him crashing to the cold tiled floor. He gasps, all the muscles in his body spasming out of control. ‘It hurts, it hurts’ is all he can think, it’s all he can feel. Everything smells like ozone, and he can taste blood. I bit my tongue, part of him faintly realizes.

Eventually his brain decides that it’s too much and peaces out, pulling the plug on him. The world tilts on its axis, and then nothing.

***

let me in

let me in

let

me

in

***

“Hey uh, Sasha?”

“Mhh?”

“What’s wrong with the cams?”

Sasha glances away from their game of Tetris, frowning at the screens covering the wall of the monitoring room. It takes them a minute to figure out what the other is talking about, but when they see it, they freeze.

The WTCHR cameras, one by one, seem to be going out.

Every single one of them, which displayed perfectly clear feeds just a minute ago, were gradually switching to nothing but static. “Wow,” they almost fall out of their chair, scrambling for balance as they roll forward, eyes wide. “Did you touch something?”

“Did— fuck no!” Eli protests, his voice going up a few octaves in outrage, “Why d’you always blame me whenever weird shit happens?”

Sasha opens their mouth to drop the most sick burn they can think of, but it never reaches past their lips.

The entire facility goes black, and an eerie silence falls.

***

There’s a body laying down, silent and still. A faint breathing sound and a slow heartbeat the only signs that life still clings to it.

There’s a body seizing up, in a way that doesn’t quite look right. Then it goes limp again, a slow, slow exhale going past its lips, lips that move in half-formed words and aborted sounds.

There’s a body that rises, slowly, clumsily. It moves in the most peculiar way, like something has slipped on an ill-fitting suit and doesn’t know how to move it the way a human would.

There’s a body that walks, unsteadily, through a door that’s not supposed to be open. Red lights and alarms blare, people are running, barking orders.

mine.

The body smiles. It doesn’t look right.

***

Chase wakes up in a strange way — less of a slow drag into consciousness, where his senses gradually come back to him. This time, it’s like the flip of a switch, from asleep to wide awake from one second to the next.

His balance immediately fails him — his legs trip over themselves and send him crashing to the floor, and he doesn’t like how this is quickly becoming a pattern. “Fuck!” he sneers, sitting up against a wall and rubbing the part of his skull he just slammed against the hard floor. He groans and rests his head on his knees, waiting for the throbbing pain to ease off.

Okay. Okay, fuck. He couldn’t think over the sound of that damn alarm. He hoped someone would kill it soon, because it was stabbing through his brain like a metal rod. Christ, his head hurt so much. Like a migraine, but on steroids, with bonus nausea. Was that a side effect of being tased? Chase didn’t know, he’d never been tased before. And it’s dark as all ass in his cell. What was happening?

There’s a weird smell, tangy and potent. The soles of his feet feel sticky, and so do his hands. He doesn’t realize just how bad the situation is until red light lits up his surroundings, and cold horror stabs through his chest like ice.

He’s not in his cell. He’s in some hallway, one he’s unfamiliar with. And there’s pools of something dark on the floor, briefly reflecting the light until it goes out again. Chase’s breathing quickens, panic rising within him. He doesn’t dare move, wide eyes staring out into the darkness, waiting. He doesn’t know what he saw. He has to make sure, make sure it was all a trick, this couldn’t be real, this couldn’t be happening—

The light comes again. And this time, he can’t mistake the shape of the bloodstains on the floor (footsteps, his, his, his feet are covered in blood and his hands and his face and it’s everywhere), the path weaving through pools of dark red at the end of the hallway and oh my god there was a human hand poking from behind a corner someone was there dead dead dead there was a human corpse right there

Chase wails, breaking down into messy, hiccuppy sobs when the weight of reality crashes down on him. He screams and heaves, convulsing as he loses what little he ate this morning (morning, no sun, evening, no clock, time was broken, time was broken). Everything smells of blood and bile, and he can hear the distant sound of a crowd running towards him.

“I didn’t kill them,” he sobs, rocking back and forth as the footsteps come closer and closer. Many, and heavy, the clicks and groans of guns and heavy protective gear. “I didn’t, I didn’t. Not me, wasn’t me. Not me.”

Laughter echoes in a corner of his mind. He screams, hoping to drown it out, but it doesn’t stop. It never does.

**********

ey @beerecordings you wanted feral chase right-

but yeah anyway i got inspired by the possessed!chase idea and wrote this in four hours and not its 6am and im bout to die byyyyyyye

[clairenatural]

I think about this all the time and I know that there are other people who would be much better at putting it into words than me, and this is going to be very long (sorry) but like. there’s a very clear narrative that Dean is fed about his parents his whole life, which is: 

- His dad is trying his best. His dad just wants him to be strong, like a man, to protect Sam. Everything his dad did was for his own good. He should be grateful to his dad. He should want to be his dad.

and

- His mom is a mythic figure. She is warm, and soft, and perfect. She exists in the memories that he has of her, where he associates her only with being safe and taken care of, and in the stories his dad tells him, where she is flawless. She is not a real person, she’s an idea--a symbol of the life they could have had. She is why they do everything that they do.

And Dean’s entire character arc from the very beginning is set up to have him break away from these thought patterns--from season 1 we see Dean idolize John, but then see John behave in ways entirely undeserving of that praise. He wears John’s coat. He drives John’s car. But as early as 1x09 Home we start to see that John is not the idol Dean talks about him as. 1x18, Something Wicked, is one of the more heartbreaking episodes when we see just how much John expects of him at age 9, both how much he has to take care of Sam and also how angry John gets when he accidentally puts Sam in danger. In 1x22, when John is possessed, Dean realizes it’s Azazel because “John” tells him he’s proud of him. Literal yellow-eyed demon Azazel overestimates how good of a father John is. And it’s a little later, but it’s still fairly early on in the series (3x10) when Dean has his “he wasn't fair! I didn't deserve what he put on me” moment (and it also has the “daddy’s blunt instrument” line). Like this was clearly set up, from the beginning, from Eric Kripke’s hand himself.

But it’s interspersed with these moments where John sells his soul for Dean, or has uneasy reconciliation with Sam, where it’s possible for the audience to stop and go “Wait. Maybe he....cares about them in his own way?” It’s supposed to be confusing because that’s why it’s so hard for Dean to break away from it, too. John sells his soul for Dean and Dean thinks, okay. He wasn’t bad. He did love me. I can’t be mad at him, because that would make me bad and ungrateful, etc. My dad was brave and I should want to be like him. And the cycle continues.

The problem! The problem is that a huge amount of the audience, and even a chunk of tptb, also buy into this narrative. Huge amounts of people believe exactly what Dean was told, even though the whole story is designed, from the beginning, for Dean to realize that’s all wrong--so the result is that there’s never any narrative closure. The audience is continuously told “John Winchester was an abusive monster who really fucked up both of his kids. Except, no, he was a Good Man and the boys need to forgive him and Dean should want to be a Good Man like him” which is also the message that Dean gets, which means he can never break the “Dad was abusive, except no, he was a Good Man and I should be like him” cycle.

This also happens with Mary, which is potentially where this post gets more controversial. We also start to see the “perfect mother” façade of Mary being dropped fairly early, when it’s revealed that she was a hunter and that she made the deal for John in exchange for Sam. But, obviously, the “perfect mother” ideal is fully deconstructed when she comes back in s12. 

I do think there are valid criticisms of Mary and I think they could have done parts better, and she does go on to betray them, but on a basic level Dean’s first instinct is to be angry that she doesn’t fit his perfect memories, not any of the other stuff. This leads to actual character development--to start to heal from his childhood, it’s important for him to realize that the mom he had in his head that he was Doing It All For wasn’t really a full person--just the idealized stories from his obsessive father and his own memories of 4-and-under, drenched in childhood nostalgia and the warmth of the only stable home he’s ever had. 

For some reason, Mary doesn’t have the untouchable status of John, so they’re actually allowed to grapple with this a bit and she and Dean are able to have the face-to-face “I am your mother, but I am not just a mom. And you are not a child.” “I never was.” conversation, which is heartbreaking because they’re both correct. I have not-so-positive thoughts about how the narrative holds her more accountable for simply not fitting into the idealized version of Mother Mary that her sons hold than it does John for being actually abusive, but that’s not this post, and ultimately they do move forward with the storyline of Dean coming to terms with it.

But people got so angry. I’m not talking about the people who have valid criticisms about how her character could have been more interesting, or how she does betray them, or any legitimate stuff--I’m talking about people being mad specifically because she “abandons” her sons again, and being mad that she didn’t just appear in the bunker’s kitchen baking endless pies. Those people have fallen into the exact same trap that Dean did--they idealized Mary and are angry when she’s a real person and not just a fantasy mother. 

This is a really long post but my point is that: when we meet him, Dean believes a set of fake truths about both his parents, which the narrative then tries to deconstruct. But, for some reason, a good chunk of the viewers (and, at least on John’s part, at least some of the production team) have also fallen for those fake truths; they think John was misguided but not abusive and ultimately was a good father, and that Mary was a perfect, pie-making mother. The end result is that John is never allowed to be held accountable, so Dean can never heal and grow, and Mary is absolutely demonized the moment she strays from that paradigm. And I just. Don’t know how to end this post but I think about this a lot. And it’s interesting. And I wonder how the show would have been allowed to go if it hadn’t happened like that.

[nichtaufgewacht]

A little bit of love - a Paul Landers One Shot

Berlin. Dorotheenstadt Cemetery. On a cloudy, cold October day. 

A little bit, a little bit of love

Goes a pretty long way

Take a look at where you started from

And where you are today

As Paul is walking on the pathway, his black boots make the leaves on the ground under his steps crunch. He’s wearing a knee length, dark blue coat. A scarf around his neck, with tiny little symbols around it. He’s looking around, looking at the monumental graves on his left and on his right. He’s going to a particular bench, that’s where he’s supposed to meet with his other Berliner friend. He’s taking advantage of the two coffees in a paper cup he’s carrying in his hands to warm up. He’s used to the cold, to the rain, yet he does prefer his city during the cold, sunny winter days. 

He’s getting closer to the bench, which is in front of a dark green marble grave, that sits near a beautiful elm tree. It’s majestic, even if it’s losing its leaves to the season in full swing. In the few meters that are left between him and the bench, he stops for a moment. There’s a woman.

She’s crouching near the tombstone, cleaning up with her hands. She had a tartan raincoat, and long brown hair that went under her shoulders, resting on one of her sides. Paul can hear her talking, and a little smile sits on his lips as he does so.

“And that’s pretty much it. Then they said that if I wanted to advance I would have to leave Berlin, and I can’t leave here.” She sighs, with dead flowers in a hand. She has brought fresh ones, that are now in the vase near the grave. “This is everything I’ve known! So I’ve…I’ve come here. I don’t know, maybe I’d…I’d like some advice. Or something like a ‘go’ signal.”

The woman stands up, and blushes a little at the sight of the stranger. She does speak out loud to herself at times, but not when there’s people around. The world doesn’t need to know how weird she is. Without a word, and with the dead flowers still with her, she goes to sit on the bench. It’s slightly damp, but she doesn’t mind. There’s a couple of moments of silence, in which Paul’s steps echo on the ground. It’s wet, and full of leaves. She’s not looking at him anymore, looking down at her feet, and then again at the grave. Paul tries to wear his friendliest, honest smile. He’s a pro at that.

“Sorry.” He speaks, now near the bench, on the other side to where she’s sitting. She looks at him, without turning her head. “Can I sit here?”

“Sure.” She answers, kindly. Paul can tell she’s uncomfortable, as her leg bumps quickly up and down signaling her restlessness. Paul smiles again, and sits down on the bench. He lets down one of the coffees, since he’s sure it won’t get cold. He takes a sip, and sighs, contently. His hand mindlessly goes up to his earring, playing a little around with it before crossing a leg on the other and relaxing. 

“Thank you.” 

They sit in silence for a few minutes. The only noises hearable are the leaves falling and some gentle wind in the trees around, and the very distant noise of a car passing on the roads beyond the cemetery, the city of Berlin very much awake at that hour. Paul drinks again from his mug, the hot beverage going down his throat. He tries to look at her, trying not to make her uncomfortable. She’s looking at her shoes in the mud and grass, her hands on the bench, gripping onto it. All of a sudden, she shrugs her shoulders and lets a very shy, silent chuckle out. 

“I’m sorry you had to hear my ramblings.” she says. “No one ever comes here, so I thought I was alone.”

“You can continue. It doesn’t bother me at all.” Paul says, sincerely. He looks at her with a smile, but she wasn’t looking at him. His free hand turned the other mug of coffee around on the bench, the paper making tiny noises on the wood. He lets out a breath, that made a cloud in the cold air.

“I’m visiting a friend. With another friend, actually.” he decides to say. “That’s…that’s who the other mug is for. I’m not a caffeine addict.” he says, with a little smile. He looks at her again, and sees that she has let herself go to a tiny, shy smile. Success.

“Oh.”

“Do you mind me asking why you’re here?” he speaks again, sipping on the coffee. He sees how she lets out a sigh, and points at the dark green tombstone. 

“That’s…that’s my mom, actually.”

“Oh. Condolences.”

“No, no.” she chuckles, shily, once again. “She’s…been here a while now.”

Paul drinks again, and looks at the tombstone. The picture of the woman on it is beautiful, in a sepia filter. There’s a sentence under her name, saying ‘No one dies on Earth, because they keep living in the heart of those who remain’. He finds it sweet, and sighs, softly. He glimpses at his watch for a second, wondering where his friend is. 

“I come here because I…I like to talk to her. Whenever…whenever I have a bad day.” She says, out of the blue. Paul looks at her hands, seeing how she nervously holds onto them and moves her leg up and down. He decides to wait a little, before saying anything else. He looks up at the tree, at the colours of autumn around him.  

“So, is it? A bad day?” He says, leaning forward and uncrossing his leg. He looks at the woman, her gaze not encountering his. She holds tighter to her hands, and looks at the grave. Paul swears he can see her lower lip tremble a little bit. She’s trying her best not to explode. As he sees a silent tear leaving her eye and hears her sniffle, he puts his hand in his coat’s pocket, and finds a pack of tissues. He gets one out, and hands it out to her. She slowly looks at him, and puts away her pride. 

“There.” Paul says, kindly, holding out his hand. She takes the tissue, and uses it under her eyes. Paul’s heart is feeling warmer, yet he wishes he could do more for that stranger.

“Thank you.” She says, with another sniffle and then looking at him. “Haven’t I already seen you somewhere?”

“Me? Nah. I don’t think so.” He scoffs, touching the other mug again to check if it was still hot. 

“Oh. Okay.” She replies, trying her best to smile. “I thought I had seen you somewhere.”

They sit silently, again. Then, Paul talks. He can’t help it. 

“You can keep talking to her. I don’t mind it.” 

The woman sits quietly, her hands brushing on the dead flowers next to her. 

“I do that too. When I have bad days.” He adds. “I come here, I wander around the cemetery and enjoy how these…these beautiful people listen to me. A friend of mine showed me that once, because it helped him clear his brain.”

A few more tears left her eyes, and Paul’s chest is invaded by a wave of empathy and worry for her. He decides to grab the other mug in his hand, and gets closer to her. He lets both takeaway mugs on his left side, and feels how she twitches a little as his leg touches hers. 

“I know it’s really, really dumb for me to say this.” He says, with a tiny smile. “But bad days…are a part of life. And I bet your mother would agree.”

“Yeah. She would. She was full of these old wise sayings that made me mad every time she said them.”

“I ran away from home when I was young. So I guess you should feel lucky because you had your mom imparting you these…life lessons, I would say.”

“It’s just…it’s a really, really bad day.”

“Whatever it is that’s bothering you, I bet it will resolve itself.”

“It’s actually up to me, if and how to solve it. It’s a take it or leave it situation.”

“Yeah, so…”

“Also, my car broke down. I’m waiting for a call from my mechanic, because he’s fixing it right now. And my husband…”

“Yes?”

“He wants to…he wants to go into therapy.”

“I think you could see it as a positive thing though.”

“I don’t…I don’t know.”

“He’s trying. He wants to try. See it that way.”

“Look at me.” she says, her face buried in her hands. Paul can hear her sigh from behind them. “I’m…I’m telling my problems to a complete stranger.” Paul chuckles a little. It’s true, actually, yet he really doesn’t mind it. Have you ever felt like helping someone out? Because that’s how Paul Landers is feeling at the moment. 

“I’m Paul.” he says, holding out his hand for her to take. She lifts her head up and actually smiles a little.

“Astrid.” she says, with a weak voice. “So you’re not a stranger anymore?” 

“Yep.” he replies, widening another smile to her and shaking her hand. She’s terribly cold. “It’s…it’s okay to crumble. It really is.” 

At that sentence, the woman can’t actually hold it in anymore. She lets a hand down, and puts it on Paul’s leg. He can feel her shaking a little, and he’s almost tearing up at seeing her like that. So, he puts an arm around her shoulders. Her rain coat being a little bit wet. He brings her in for a hug. His other arm goes around her, his chin gently resting on the top of her head. He can feel her giving in to the sobs, as her free hand reaches his arm and gently squeezes it, feeling his presence. He’s done it before. He’s been there for a lot of people, and a lot of people have been there for him. His son, his daughter, his wife. His bandmates. He’d seen a lot of people just collapse and give in to whatever life was throwing at them. And he had collapsed because of what life was throwing at him. So, in that moment, he really connected with Astrid. ‘You’re everyone’s guardian angel’, Richard had said to him once. And he had been proud of that ever since. 

“I’m…I’m sorry.” after the longest 5 minutes of her life, Astrid finally lifts her head up. Her deep hazelnut eyes are red, puffy, tired. She takes the tissue that Paul had given her, and brings it to her eyes. She dries them with it, and takes a very deep breath. She glances at her mother’s tombstone again, and lets a corner of her mouth open up in a smile. Paul slowly lets go of her, and he feels better as he sees her calming down. He keeps watching over her, just like an angel would do. 

“They tell me I give good hugs.” 

“You do.” she replies, with a little chuckle. Paul is extremely happy of the fact that he has made her laugh. Then, he feels like doing something else for her. He turns around, and grabs the coffee cup he had taken for his friend. He holds it out for her to take. 

“Soy cappuccino.” he says. “Still warm. My friend thinks he’s lactose intolerant, so yeah.” 

“I…come on, it’s for your friend. He’ll be here any minute.” 

“It’s fine.” he says, taking her hand up and making her take the cup. “I’ll just get him another one. Also, he’s late.” Paul smiles again, and Astrid can’t help but take the offer. She actually doesn’t know what put that man on her path on that day. But she sure is glad that she met him. 

“Thanks a lot, then.” she says, taking the cup and drinking from it. It’s still warm, and it’s really helping in soothing her soul. From her pocket, she can hear her phone vibrating. She takes it out, and looking at the caller ID sees that it’s her mechanic. She answers, still sniffling. “Ja? Oh okay. Good. 100 euros only? Oh man, that’s great. Thank you. Thank you again, I’m on my way. I’ll be there in 30 minutes.” she closes the call, and puts the phone back in her pocket. She sits there for another minute, and looks at Paul, with a lot of gratitude in her eyes. 

“See? I told you. It will sort itself out.” Paul adds, as he drinks some more of his coffee, looking at her with the corner of his eye. Astrid chuckles again, and Paul knows he’s done it. Again. She decides to do something she would have never done with a stranger. But this one…this one’s different. She knows. So she stands up, takes her bag and the dry flowers, and then leans down to leave a long, grateful kiss on his cheek. 

“Thank you, Paul. You’re…you’re a blessing.”

Paul smiles again at her, and watches as she starts walking away. 

“Say hi to your friend for me.” 

“I will.” Paul says. He waves goodbye, and smiles again to himself. Her steps echo on the ground, as she finally leaves ‘their spot’ and disappears on the path, behind the trees. After a handful of minutes, in which Paul mindlessly looks around the cemetery and embraces the content feeling in his heart, he heard lazy steps on the ground. He turns his head and sees Richard coming towards him. Tracksuit pants and sneakers, his favorite black and white hoodie with a dark green camo puffy jacket over it, and messy hair on his head. He looks kind of sleepy, a hand in his pocket and the other one - as always, - with a cigarette between his fingers. What a sight. 

“I bet you woke up like thirty minutes ago.” Paul says, standing up from the bench. 

“Actually,” Richard says, with a playful smile that ends up in a yawn. “45 minutes ago.” He can still see the woman walking away, and sees how Paul is looking at her. “I bet that was my cappuccino leaving.” Paul looks at Richard, and pats him on the back. Richard pats him back, and then lets his arm slide around his, and they start walking like that on one of the cemetery paths, the one that leads on the complete opposite side of where they are at the moment. 

“I’ll get you another one, sleeping beauty.” 

“Are you going to tell me about what happened here?” Richard asks, curious. His blue eyes looking at Paul. Paul scoffs and smiles again. 

“It happened…” Paul thinks about it for a second. Then, his mind goes over what had happened with Astrid, and he feels warmth in his heart. He squeezes Richard’s arm a little tighter. “You know that song I sing all the time during rehearsals?”

“Hm.” Richard says, letting out a puff of smoke. “A little bit of love?”

“Yeah.” Paul says, contently. “A little bit of love…goes a pretty long way.”

Richard smiles, and nods. He agrees with his friend, as they both walk their way through the cemetery. He looks up at the clouds, menacing rain. He looks at the trees, and at his friend Paul. It was true, actually. A little bit of love really goes a long way.  

A little bit, a little bit of love Goes a pretty long way Love is really like a wonder drug Let's medicate And say goodbye To the drama It's a beeline To Nirvana If you're looking for the words to say A little bit of love goes a pretty long way

[kashimos-hajime]

twenty questions (7/8) | r.b.

summary: No, he refuses to lose someone else. Not again, not you. Never fucking you. Or, after four years, Reiner meets you once more.

WARNINGS: angst, just conversation, a bit of violence, mentions of trauma, children ummmmm yeee, jean also appears <3 true king pairing: reiner braun x fem!reader word count: 8.3k

a/n: reiner returns!! welcome to the penultimate chapter and thank you for being on this journey with me :) again, song is not mine! it’s the wellerman sea shanty hehe

masterlist

crossposted on ao3 x

Morning streams through the curtains.

You part the billowy white fabric, pushing open the window breathing in the late morning air. As always, it’s warm and ripe with the aroma of the fresh bread from the bakery you live above, and as you lean on the windowsill, you hear the door below you chiming with new patrons. You smile to yourself, resting your chin on your hand.

Even still, you can’t help but admire how beautiful it is, especially in the streets here, far away from a industrial zone. The Liberio interment zone is small, yes, but it’s no less beautiful. The architecture of brick and glass all hold an austere beauty, and when the sunset is upon you, the shadows they cast and the warmth that embraces the stone is something you’ve never quite seen before. There’s a church, and you’ve sat inside day a few days before, watching the light stream through the stained glass in amazement.

A knock at the door takes you from your thoughts and you let out a sharp noise of surprise, gaze ripping away from the busy streets. A tremor shoots through you and you swallow harshly, waiting in bated breath.

“The shop’s busy as bees, today!” your landlord admonishes on the other side. You let out a relieved sigh, relaxing a bit. “If you want, I can still save you a loaf!”

“No, thank you!” you shout over your shoulder, reaching to close the window and get ready for the day. Sliding a warm vest onto your shoulders, you adjust the hat on your head and grab your bag from the counter, your bare fingers a bit cold and numb.

You burn at the thought of Reiner. You don’t want to see him, even if you live in the same city now, but all the same, it’s hard to avoid him. After all, it’ll only be so long before you’re forced to confront your past, push yourself into his way because how long, really, can you stay away from him? As you slide the white armband onto your bicep, your heart tightens. You’ve seen the man he’s grown into—handsome, tired, lonely. That only reflects in you.

Pulling your arms through your jacket, you stare at the woodgrain beneath your feet emptily.

Why am I even here? 

Coming to Marley, of all places. Some days, you can’t wrap your head around it, before you’re reminded of the reason. It all has a purpose. You just have to keep going—keep moving forward.

Continuing through your loft, you shove your feet into boots and head out for the day. The festival’s tonight—you have lots to do before then.

.

Night slips in.

Reiner frowns when he realizes he’s walking back to the stage. He’s been trailing after the sound for a good half-hour, but considering they stay relatively nearby his final destination, he’s never felt the urge to detract. 

He still can’t place the tune that’s been hummed, whistled, sang gently and leading him on, and as the sky darkens and the crowd noise grows louder, he realizes that his trail is slowly growing colder and colder.

“Hey, Reiner!” His head swivels to find Gabi waving at him and he meanders over, frowning a bit. “Where’d you go? The others said you wandered off.”

“I took a walk to clear my head,” he says dismissively, ignoring her frown deepening. “I see you’ve recovered from your food coma.” Immediately, Gabi’s frown turns into a pout and she rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel fine.” He snorts, turning to survey the area. The others are milling about. Zeke and Colt are talking by the bench, and Pieck and Porco are off together, as usual. They’re not half as inconspicuous as they think they are. Finding Udo and Zofia, his brow wrinkles when he can’t catch sight of a certain blond boy. 

“Where’s Falco?”

“He ran off earlier, saying he saw someone he knew,” Gabi says, waving it away. “He’s always being so weird. Who else could he know besides us?”

“What, are you jealous?” he teases, ruffling Gabi’s hair and she lets out a squawk, smacking at his hand. Chuckling gently, he surveys the area again as they walk towards their seats. Zeke and Colt give him a nod in greeting, one he returns. 

“Why would I be jealous?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?” he replies distantly. His eyes keep searching, a ticklish feeling at the nape of his neck. He doesn’t know if he’s imagining it or if he can really hear that tune still at the edge of his hearing, nagging for his attention. Sighing, he crosses his arms over his chest. “What Falco does during his free time isn’t on your need-to-know basis, Gabi.”

“I know. I’m just saying—he doesn’t even have any friends besides us,” she says pointedly just as someone calls his name.

“Mister Braun!” Falco skids to a stop in front of him, his forehead gleaming with sweat, even in the cooler night air. Panting, he leans forward on his knees, meeting Reiner’s eyes, and Gabi tilts her head, confused and agitated and betraying her previous aloof words.

“Where the hell did you go?”

Ignoring her, Falco continues to try and catch his breath, barely punching out, “Can you come with me?” before looking down at the floor again, his shoulders rising and falling so quickly Reiner almost feels bad for him.

He frowns. “Right now?”

“You’ll be fine,” Zeke assures. The two look at the older man who glances at his watch. “It shouldn’t start for a few more minutes.”

Reiner debates it for a moment. Then again, it’s not like he’s the number one fan of this show. His presence is for appearance’s sake at this point, and if Falco insists, then it must be something important. Sighing, he nods and Falco takes off again. Telling Gabi to explain his absence to his mom should he not return in time, he walks after the sprinting boy, his mind a whirlwind on the possibilites of why he’s in such a hurry.

Falco stops past a blue curtain that’s near a residential building and points at the arch, smiling. His entire face is flushed and Reiner cocks an eyebrow, approaching closer before hearing a soft voice singing. It only grows as he passes by the blue partition, and his heart picks up as his eyes widen.

“…The Captain's mind was not on greed… But he belonged to the whaleman's creed… She took that ship in tow… Soon may the Wellerman come to bring us sugar and tea and rum. One day, when the tonguin' is done, we’ll take our leave and go…”

He knows that tune. The sailors sang it in the port city after Fort Slava. It’s one of their sea shanties—it’s rare to hear them anywhere except by the water, and when he reaches Falco, searching for that voice, his eyes fix on a figure leaning against the archway underneath the building.

The woman in purple.

Falco runs up to her. A hand is on her bicep when she shifts to look at the boy, and Reiner’s throat swells as his legs move on their own accord. Time seems to slow as Falco turns around, mouth open in words that go in through one ear, and out the other. 

The woman says something, and Falco twists back, frowning a bit, but she only nods encouragingly, and off he goes, running on ahead, down to the end of the pathway out of Reiner’s sight.

A strangled noise leaves his mouth as the blond slips from his view.

The woman in purple’s head snaps up at the sound, and Reiner’s entire body locks when he finally recognizes the face that searches his impassively. The white armband is covered still by her fingers, but when she pushes off the wall, it’s almost as if she bewitches him to come even closer.

And he does, his hand lifting up to reach for her. Reach for what has to be a ghost. No…

No, it can’t be. No. No, I’m seeing things, I am, I—

You lift your hand off your armband, and when his fingers meet your palm, he feels your warmth, the way your skin slides against his as he interlaces their fingers, and he chokes, entire body burning from the inside out as you fold your fingers over his palm, yank him into the shadow with enough force to unbalance him. You side-step and fling his hand off, let him crash to his hands and knees. Pain shoots up his joints and his eyes widen when he realizes his skin has scraped off on the stone.

“Hello, Reiner,” you murmur. He draws himself up, and there’s a strange lifelessness as he looks up to a face barely illuminated by light. You unbutton your jacket and crouch before him, arms on your knees. His skin steams and stitches itself back together and he swallows through a dry throat as your eyes flutter to the white wisps. There’s a raw damage lingering on your face, haunting like ghosts that should be long dead, before you blink.

Your long coat brushing the floor covers black armour, harnesses criss-crossing your legs and body. Your expression is severe, lips pressed in an impassive line, dark shadows under your eyes. The armband around your bicep is slathered in dark red, staining the symbol.

So that’s what you were hiding from Falco.

Reiner half-wonders who’s blood it is. If it’s the owner of the clothes you wear, or someone else’s entirely.

You lift your head, staring at Reiner properly for the first time in years. Clenching your jaw, you only look. You do not speak, you do not move. It’s terrifying. It reminds Reiner eerily of Captain Levi, with the same chillingly placidity, and he remembers how you used to smile so wide you’d complain your cheeks ached, how you would lean against him, clutching your gut ‘cause he made you laugh, and he had never heard a sound so perfect—

The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop himself. “What are you doing here? Are you insane?” 

You barely move. Only tilt your head mockingly. “Probably.” 

Four years has changed you into a taller, leaner, stronger soldier—and he can only soak that in. You’re…

His breath catches in his throat. 

You’re beautiful.

But you’re crouching right in front of him, and you’re in danger. If Marleyans were to approach now, he’s not sure if he could lie his way out and that blood. How can he explain the blood on your sleeve?

You’d be left for dead, hanged for the crows. 

The image flashes through his mind like cold dread, a trickling drip of an icicle hanging in his mind and freezing his spine.

No, he refuses to lose someone else. Not again, not you. Never fucking you.

It is why he demands again through a hissed breath,“What are you doing here?” Why he stands up quick enough that their heads nearly collide, and you straighten up as well, smoothly running your hands over your coat.

You only look at him deftly as if he is as inconsequential to you as a roach. You don’t even twitch as his hand reaches forward, fighting through the searing ache in his chest. “You need to leave. You shouldn’t be here. I can smuggle you back to the port and take you home, I—.”

Your stare paralyzes him and his hand falters. “I don’t take orders from you. You are not my commanding officer, and I do not need you to tell me what I need.” Your fingers dig into the bloody armband at your bicep and Reiner’s eyes widen as you tear it off, planting it on his chest hard enough his lungs spasm and he lets out a sharp breath. Your fingers spread out over his chest, you step closer. “I don’t need you to save me. Not from Marley. Not from myself. And not from you.”

His hand comes to cover yours, but you slip out before he can touch you, and he’s left with an armband in his palm. Clutching it in a tight fist, he stares down at it for a moment before shoving it in his pocket and turning around.

Your name comes out of him without even thinking as you walk past him, and it must still hold something because you pause, head turning slightly to look at him. “I want to explain myself,” he chokes out, and the corner of your mouth curls into a hollow smile. “Please.”

“Follow me, Reiner,” you order softly, and without question, he falls half a step behind you, eyes trained on the ground. His head is swimming at your presence, and his knees are gummy, stomach convulsing as he tries to come up with what to say. Or maybe, what to say first. He’s had four years to come up with a proper way to say it, and he reaches for his breast pocket, where the letters he’s folded away rest, with shaking hands.

“Please…”

“I don’t know what you think begging will get you.” Something stony falls upon your face. “I’ve had four years to get over the fact that you used me. Now, I think I just don’t care anymore. I’m sure you have your reasons, but I don’t know if it’ll be the truth. You’ve had no problem lying to me before in the past.”

“That’s not true.” He doesn’t know to which part of what you said he means. The last part, every part. “I never lied about how I felt about you.”

“Right. Like I wasn’t just some pawn on your chessboard. Some lonely girl you could use to entertain yourself.” Your pace doesn’t slow, but your tone is laced with anguish you try so hard to cover. “At least Bertholdt had the courage to look me in the face and tell me he was going to kill me.” You stop by a crate, labelled as supplies for the play. Maybe they contain masks, or costumes, and Reiner stops, his shoes skidding against the stone as you reach into your coat.

Pulling out a knife, you wedge it into the crate and pry the lid off and Reiner’s entire body numbs when ODM gear gleams in the straw. It looks refashioned, sleeker, and in two parts, and he catches your hand reaching for the harness. 

Weapons, here.

You aren’t stupid enough to take on Marley on your own, which can only mean—

Shit, shit, shit. 

Dread trickles through his body.

“What are you two doing—Oh, Vice Chief Braun!” You slam the lid shut and press your left arm flush against Reiner’s body, covering it up as someone on their right approaches. Your hand tightens around the knife still wedged between the lid, and Reiner sets a hand on your shoulder, dragging you so he can cover you up better and as a warning.

Don’t do it. You’re stiff against him despite the easy expression on your face, and he sets a harsh glare on the intruder. Let go of that blade. Your entire body is rigid with a hot energy he doesn’t recognize as your fingers only tighten around the hilt. Don’t do it—

“Sorry to interrupt, but those are one of the crates we need for the play. It contains some costumes—“

 The performer looks stricken as you flash him an easy smile and Reiner’s blood freezes when the stranger seems to blush, voice fading.

“I actually work with Lord Tybur,” you explain easily with a tiny laugh, betraying the strength in your fist. “He wants to inspect it briefly before I return it. I think it contains the Helos costume? Gotta make sure every detail’s to his liking!” Your tone, innocent and cheery, floats through the distant sound of the crowd, and Reiner only stares at the performer who seems to shrink in his skin. Your fingers twitch when he hesitates.

“Oh, of course.” He scratches the back of his head, and you give him a gracious nod before he’s walking away.

You watch him go, and Reiner feels the way the air shifts when your smile fades away as soon as it came. You step away from him, loosening the knife from the crate. His hands burn as he reaches for your shoulder again, but you jerk back.

“You know,” you begin quietly, staring at the lid, “all this time, I thought I had actually found people again, you know. I thought you actually cared about me, but really, I realized all you’ve ever done is lie. Even after everything. Even after Marco died, and I told you how I felt about you, you just kept lying. Lying and painting yourself to be a knight in shining armour.”

“I tried—I tried to stop myself from caring about you,” he whispers raggedly, hands rolling into fists tight enough that his nails dig into his flesh, “but it happened anyway. That part of who I was was never a lie.”

“So you never saw me as someone you needed to protect? As this poor, lonely girl who loved you? Who fed your ego and—”

“Of course I wanted to protect you! I loved you, too!” he snaps and distantly, he recognizes this is the first time they’ve ever confessed that what they had… that it was somehow real and too good for him. It nearly makes him shatter. “How could I—“ He closes his eyes, teeth gritting as the flames inside him roar, consuming his heart. “How could I just stand back and watch you get hurt by the consequences of my actions? It’s because of me you were forced to leave the farm, leave that girl. Because of me you knew Marco and Mina and Thomas. You could have been so much happier if you never met any of us—I knew that—I just thought I could somehow—”

“Happier if I never met you,” you echo blankly before nodding to yourself. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds about right.” He flinches but you continue on, “In the end, it doesn’t matter, though. I’ve learned to not let the what ifs haunt me, because my time with you… it still means everything to me.” You shake your head. “That’s the truth. You dropped a building on me and broke my bones. Truth. You left me alone in those walls with Bertholdt dead and Annie comatose, and you did so knowing you are the last damn person I’ve got that I’d kill for. Truth.”

Reiner’s eyes widen as your words sink into his skin like a vicious poison.

So that’s it then. Bertholdt is dead and Annie… Annie’s still alive?

You don’t give him a moment’s breath to ask as you take a step forward. On reflex, he steps back, hands raising, and your eyes flash to his palms. One wrong move, and a Titan will overtake the square. He’s sure he can read the thought in your eyes, but when you look at him again, he only sees cold indifference.

“You nearly killed me, Reiner. So tell me…”

Metal flashes and a breath stalls in his throat as a cold knifepoint digs into the bump along his throat. It bobs when he swallows, lips parted, and you meet his eyes, every inch of agony he’s forced upon you glaring back at him reforged.

“Why shouldn’t I repay the favour?”

His breath stalls, and he looks down at your fingers, wrapped tight around the hilt, nearly shaking. He doesn’t know if it’s because you hold the weapon that tightly, or if you’re just as afraid as he is.

Either way, it doesn’t matter.

“Do it, then,” he whispers. “I’m the reason this all happened.”

Your eyes, wide, search his beseechingly and his heart crumbles to dust. Even after all this time, you still hesitate. Why? Because you think he’ll come back? That he’s… redeemable somehow? 

Reiner envies that—he wants to believe that there is still good. But there isn’t. He knows it.

“I have a thousand questions,” you murmur achingly, as if the words are wrenched from your throat. “Over the years, I’ve tried to come up with some incomprehensible list. I couldn’t decide which was the one I wanted answered the most, but I thought why did it matter? After all, it wasn’t like I’d ever see you again. But here I am, now.”

As you lower the knife, the tip of the blade scratches his skin, light enough only to leave a white trail until it falls away, just like when he held you at blade-point four years ago, the tip of a sword digging into your sternum. 

How poetic that he finds himself here, his life in your hands. This is your retribution, he supposes, and your mercy, fighting for control of your arm, but you sheathe your knife again with a sharp, smooth thrust at your hip. There’s a soft scrape before you set your hands atop the lid, sighing softly.

A terrifying glint lives in your eyes as you smile at him faintly, and hoist the crate into your arms. 

“So, Reiner.” You tilt your head, gesturing for him to follow you down the pathway to a set of stairs that must lead to a deeper cellar. Somewhere he can’t transform in. Smart. You always were, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell you he’d never hurt you again, especially when he’s already done so much to prove that his words are empty. Yet, nothing is more important than protecting you, and Gabi, and Falco, but— “What do you say to a game of twenty questions?”

.

You flip a page. The day’s labour has you sweating into your harness, but all you want to do is just finish this damn chapter. Pulling carts out of mud like a damn mule wasn’t fun, but at least it had you busy. But, God, did you just want to relax for an eternity now.

Even after four years, you’d think your body would grow accustom, but every day, something new tests you.

“Hello?” a voice by your door calls and you look up from your book, smiling automatically at the kid peering into your room. He’s one of the younger orphans who didn’t come from the immediate wreckage of the fall of Trost but rather just a few months ago, you had found him in the woods, walking away from one of the smaller settlements.

You don’t ask, let him come and tell you more, and although you know his name, you know it’s hard for him to talk about anything else.

What you do know is that he is one that still climbs into your bed when there’s a thunderstorm, and that he’s a sweet, yet studious child with a knack for trouble when the girls invite him to hang out with them. 

That doesn’t mean he’s any less attached. He’s probably the one who clings to you the most, and you get up, closing your book. Setting it down on the nightstand, you crouch in front of him and pat his head. 

“Hi,” he says again.

“What’s going on, Xavier?” His red hair is still damp. He must’ve just taken his bath and he shrinks under your hand, probably to protect the clean smell clinging to his skin and locks. Lifting your hand amusedly, you tap his nose. He breaks out into a gap smile. 

He lost his tooth just three days ago, and you remember how proud he was, bursting into the fields during study period to show you as you untied the horses from the plow.

“There’s a man who wants to see you.”

“A man?” You frown, looking over his shoulder. Placing a heavy hand on his shoulder, you pull him into your room, out of the way of the door. “Did he say what his name was? Or if he was military?” The kids know the military insignias. Praying silently to yourself, you glance uneasily at your nightstand where a gun is hidden in the drawer. You could probably arm yourself in time. Xavier tugs at your ear. You look back at him, eyebrows creasing as you glance over his shoulder. 

“He said his name was Jean and that you would know who he was. He’s waiting outside.”

“Jean?” you repeat sharply, standing. Xavier flinches, looking up at you, and you scoop him up before heading to the nightstand, yanking open the drawer and grabbing the gun. Arms worm around your neck, and you squeeze the child closer to yourself as you quietly slip out into the hallway, towards where the other kids’ room is.

“Girls, close the door and lock it,” you order quietly, as you walk into the . The two sisters—Alina and Anya who share the room—look up from whatever they’re doing, and Anya gets up from her bed, but you merely send her a warning look as you  “Everything’s okay. Anya’s in charge until I get back.”

She nods, and you set Xavier down but he doesn’t let go of your neck, hugging you tight to him. Letting out a strangled sigh, you slowly pull him away, cupping his face. Your heart is slow, steady, and you take a measured breath as Alina glances out the window that is right over their desk.

“I’ll be okay. I want to make sure we’re safe.” His eyes flicker over your face and you nod reassuringly.  “You know what to do. Listen to Anya, alright? Try to get some sleep.” The redheaded boy nods and you stroke his cheek with a thumb before he scampers towards Anya’s bed. You stand.

You leave the room, shut it behind you as Alina draws the curtains shut, and your mind is thrumming with ideas of who it could be.

Entering the kitchen, you head to the porch with a quick glance at the window. There’s a figure leaning against the fence, back to you, and your fingers around your gun tighten. Draped in dark fabric and ash-brown hair shining in the oil lamps hanging on the porch, you can’t make out a face as you step into the bracing night.

“What do you want?” 

The figure jolts to his feet, turning around. Edges dulled by the night, you can barely make out his features until he steps into the light, and your finger pad taps the trigger when brown eyes meet yours. Heart lurching, everything rushes back to you and you manage to control the sharp inhale, tempering it into a slow and steady breath that swells up in your lungs.

“It’s been a while,” he comments idly, and you swallow through the hard knot in your throat. Eyes flicking to the gun in your hand, the small smile that had been curving his lips drops away. “You’re a hard person to track.”

“How’d you find me?”

“It wasn’t easy, but Captain Levi saw that some of us were getting desperate.”

Four years.

Four years since you’ve seen any of them except Captain Levi, who only visits to make sure you haven’t been raided by bandits and killed in the months between his check-ins.

In that time, seasons have changed, you’ve sprained your shoulder, it healed; you’ve been thrown off a horse, and gotten back up. You had a period where you would write letters every waking second you were left alone in your room, debating whether or not you should destroy them or send them just for the sake of feeling like you had someone again.

All those letters are still wedged in a box under your bed, so there’s that answer.

Jean stands at the bottom of your porch and you nod, gesturing for him to come in. Your heart plummets as you do so. You don’t know why Jean even bothered.

He closes the door behind you, and you set the gun on the dining table before moving towards the stove, and you ask him if he wants any tea, gracious host that you are. He shrugs and you begin to boil some water. It’ll give you time to look him over as he sits down.

He’s grown the beginnings of a beard since you last saw him. And he’s taller. Way taller than you remember. He’s gotten more muscle, holds himself differently, he’s… still Jean, in all respects, but he’s…

Tired.

You’re sure that’s one word you’re looking for. 

Migrating to the hearth, you wonder if he’s doing the same to you. Studying you like you’re a stranger. 

You start a fire, feeding it freshly chopped firewood from the day before and stoking it before letting it feast.

You never liked doing that before. Swinging an axe down on wood, watching it split. Now, it’s the only time you get alone to your thoughts. You don’t have to focus on chopping wood. All you have to do is swing an axe until it’s nothing more than muscle memory. You can just… be. 

Maybe it isn’t so bad. Maybe it’s why Reiner liked doing it.

You sigh, and grab the iron poker, keeping an eye on the stove. You don’t know if Jean wants to skip the small talk. You do, but mostly because you don’t like it when your old life comes into your new one. You can make yourself believe you can’t go back when no one’s here to remind you, and that the guilt won’t gnaw you until you’re only bones. 

Absently, you remember Bertholdt used to like small talk—Jean seems less so.

“I have news. I don’t know if you want to hear it, but you’re still military.”

“Not labelled a deserter, yet?” you inquire dryly. Everything is moving so slowly around you, yet so quickly. It’s a terrible sensation. “I feel honoured.”

“Let’s cut the shit, alright. What the hell are you doing here?”

“No idea.”

“You disappeared! No one had seen you in weeks—we thought you were dead until the captain came back with strict orders not to look for you, but do you know how ominous that sounds?” Something bites at your gut as you stare into the flames, and Jean shoots to his feet, chair scraping against the wooden floor. “You were our friend!”

His words sink into your shoulders, but you only blink, staring into the growing hearth.

“Don’t you care? You left!”

“I don’t regret it. It’s not like I’m begging to become a Scout again,” you murmur, looking over your shoulder at him. A sort of tiredness pulls at your eyes, and you stand up again, walking around the table. “I don’t know what you want from me, Jean. You came to me first.”

“I want you to care. I want you to come back and fight. Aren’t you remotely interested in what’s going on?”

“I know we have a train, now.” The pot begins to boil and you move towards it, taking out a tin and small metal spoon. “Historia is doing well as queen. At least, that’s what people are saying. She’s expecting. If you ever see her, tell her I’m happy for her.” Scooping leaves into the teapot, you pour the boiling water into the porcelain and let it steep. 

Turning back around, your eyebrows rise when you see Jean has walked around the table. There’s not even a metre between them as he tosses something at you. Catching it, you realize it’s a rolled up newspaper and your heart drops. At his nod, you pry it open and read the contents, fingertips brushing over two rectangular slips of paper within stating a time and terminal.

“What is this?”

“Eren’s gone to Marley by himself. Probably to do something stupid. I have two tickets to go and rescue his scrawny ass.”

“And?” Dread knots at your stomach as Jean closes his eyes, exhaling softly. Pleading, then: “Jean, don’t.”

“You’re the least compromised out of all of us. None of the volunteers would recognize you or would have been able to relay information about you if they have allies back in Marley, and despite everything, I still trust you. Which is more than I can say for Yelena and the others.” You snap the paper shut and toss it onto the table. Shaking your head to yourself, you walk away from him, but Jean only grabs your arm. “You still have a duty to our nation.”

“Don’t try to plead to my sense of national pride,” you shoot back coolly. “I have other responsibilities.”

“What, like tending to wheat?”

“Everyone wants to kill us, so yes, tending to wheat.”

“If we don’t find Eren, they will kill us. He’s our one chance of getting out of this mess alive. As crazy as he is, he’s our one ticket to freedom and we need to find him.”

Turning around to face him, you pull your arm free of his grasp. The lantern hanging is glaringly bright, and something knots in your throat at Jean’s somber expression.

“I fought for our freedom and you know what I realized? There will always be more people out there who want to take that away from us.” You wish you could sound passionate, but you just sound rough and tired. The bite tastes different. “First, it was Titans, then, it was the people we called our friends. Do you think that we’ll ever be free? That we’ll be able to live without a sword above our necks. Levi told me we’re devils in everyone else’s eyes. What’s it matter?”

“Because we aren’t what they say we are. If you lay down and show your belly, why did you become a soldier in the first place?” You jerk back and Jean leans against the table, crossing his arms. “I thought you fought for a dream. Something. Anything.”

“I thought I did, too. I’m just…” A hissing breath, and you pinch the bridge of your nose, turning away. Images of the lake back from their cadet years flash in your head. “I’m just tired, I guess.”

“Tired?” he repeats icily. “You think the rest of us aren’t tired? We all haven’t had the luxury to sit down on a farm and escape all our responsibilities.” 

Head snapping up, your eyes find cold brown chips staring back. Bitterly, you grit out, “Excuse me?”

“Do you think there’s a day that goes by where I think about Marco and how I wasn’t there for him? We all lost someone. You’re not the only person who’s had to go through it. We’re all guilty of something, but at least, I didn’t give up! At least, some of us decided to do something about it!”

“Shut up!” A hand flies through the air but he catches your wrist and twists, pinning you down to the table. Another hand slams your other hand into the wood and you grunt as Jean wedges himself between your legs to stop you from kicking him. Eyes burning, you stare up into the face of your friend and in that moment, the sorrow overflowing spills into your chest as if you are a well and he is the flood. 

He sinks, elbows clacking against the table as he bows his head. His breath is rushed, cool against your face, and you search his features before uttering out a quiet, “Why did you really come here, Jean?”

His eyes widening, his hands loosen. You try to suck your tears back in, but your eyes are burning so intensely you have to let them fall anyway just as there’s a sharp gasp. Jean looks up before he jerks back as if you’ve really slapped him. Sitting up, you twist to look at the doorframe, and your heart drops into your gut when you see a redheaded boy, eyes shining with tears.

“What are you doing?” he cries, and you immediately launch yourself off the table, crossing the distance towards him as Anya appears over his shoulder, helpless. The brunette girl’s guilt punches through you and you lift Xavier up into your arms, hugging him tight before wrapping another arm around the girl and poking your head into the hall. 

Alina’s figure is a mere shadow at the end of the hall, and you sigh, gesturing for her to come. Taking off at a sprint, she charges down the hall and you bury your nose in Anya’s hair just as another body slams into you, latching onto your waist. You close your eyes as Xavier tries to snuggle even deeper into your neck.

“I’m okay,” you keep repeating. “Just a heat of the moment thing. I promise, he’s not here to hurt us. I promise.”

“Are you okay?” Anya murmurs, and you look down. The eldest girl’s pulled her head back to look at you. Her eyes are narrowed, perceptive as always, and her lips are upturned into a faint scowl. You smile faintly, running a hand over her head. 

“I will be. Why don’t you take them back to your room?” you advise, and her eyes wander from you to Jean again. Catching it, you brush your thumb along her temple soothingly. “Go.” Reluctantly, she lets go of you and turns to Alina who still latches onto you like a parasite, but you rest a palm atop her head. “Alina.”

A sniff, and then she steps back, rubbing at her face. Her older sister takes her shoulders, easing her away and you crouch down as Xavier silently grabs onto your shirt tighter in his tiny fists. 

“Xavier,” you soothe. “I’ll be back in just a moment, okay?” You tilt your head. “I promise.” Wiping at his tears, you wait for him to let go of your shirt on his own accord, and when he does, you brush his hair back from his brow and plant a kiss on his forehead. Anya calls his name softly down the hall, and he lingers for a moment more before walking away, head still over his shoulder so he can watch.

You stay crouched until he’s gone and then you let out a soft exhale, head dropping, eyes closing.

“We need you more than you probably need us,” Jean acknowledges quietly, and your eyes open again to look at him. He’s straightened himself up, watching you with softer eyes. He visibly swallows, and you wonder if it’s pity or jealousy in his eyes. “But, we’re outnumbered in trusted senior officers in the Survey Corps. You’re one of them.”

Quietly: “I shouldn’t be.”

He falters for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, I suppose not.” He grabs the newspaper again. “But somehow, you are. If Captain Levi trusts you, then so do I. Bertholdt is dead. Annie’s a frozen log in a basement somewhere, and Reiner’s still alive. So are you.” He extends the paper to you. “This is what guilt got us. So what are you going to do about it?”

“Then, how about we go back to my hometown? There’s water nearby. We can go in the afternoons, eat all this food you’ve never had before.”

You haven’t seen a lake in who knows how long. Not since your cadet years, it feels like. Your heart yearns for the blue expanses, to plunge into the cold depths and gasp at how cold it is. You thought you’d given that up, but just there mere thought of it sends your mind spiralling into the images you’ve dreamed of since you were a child. 

“Regret begets regret—don’t have any when you go, and maybe you’ll live a life happier than most.”

You know you’ll never forgive yourself if you never take the chance to see him again. Heart peeling in your chest, you grab the newspaper from him.

“They call it the sea, don’t they?” you finally ask. Jean nods. “A lot of water and there’s… there’s animals in there.”

“Yeah. They live in this salty water and… they eat seafood a lot in Marley. I don’t know if you know.”

“Reiner might’ve mentioned it before,” you say. You look down at the newspaper in your tight fist and swallow. All at once, one door closes and another opens, and you look at Jean, the date and time of the ship already burned into your memory. “He said he thought I’d like it. I guess I’ll keep that in mind when we go.”

Jean’s eyes widen as you hand the paper back to him, your palm scalding as you shove the ticket into your pocket. He says your name softly, but you only hold your hand up, eyes fixed on the floor.

“I’ll meet you there, I promise.” You turn towards the shadows of the hall. In the silence of the night, you hear the hushed whispers of the children you’ve dedicated your life to and your heart disintegrates in your chest. “I just… I need some time to figure everything out.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.” Jean’s feet shift along the floor. You look over your shoulder for a moment to find his eyes on you. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” you reply. “Feel free to stay the night. It’s already late.” He nods, and you flash him the weakest smile. 

Then, you walk down the hall to your children. You have a lot of explaining to do.

.

You stubbornly try to ignore the tears tracing down your face as you reach into the compartment on your pants containing the letters. Reaching for it, you pull it out and crack it open, wondering if it’s even possible to bring yourself to read it.

“It’s not your last question,” Reiner had noted warily as they stood at the top of the stairs.

“Yeah. I guess we have to put a rain check this time.” You had set the box down, looking at him. You couldn’t recall feeling so warm, so empty. So convinced that there was something wrong with how much you still felt for him. “One more question, then?”

A nod, almost hungry for it. “Please.”

“Did you really, really love me?”

The gentlest of sighs, his warm yellow eyes. He had reached out for you, then second guessed, and reached for his breast pocket instead, extending the tin to you. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you.”

The entire cabin is quiet as you stare at the ring nestled at the bottom, atop the stack of letters that are wrinkled and must’ve been refolded so many times it’s begun to permanently crease in multiple lines. 

No one’s dared to speak since Sasha died and you look up at the others before back down at the ring again before pinching it between your fingers and lifting it to eye level. You’re not sure what it means to hold it, but you gently close the tin with your other hand, feeling it click shut, and slide it back into your pocket.

The band is silver, rather simple, but it’s pretty, too, in a refined sort of way. There aren’t any gems, but there are simple engravings, lines that curve the metal, causing ripples along the surface and, without thinking, you stretch out your left hand in front of you, trying to gauge which one it’ll fit the best.

Sombrely, you slide it down your ring finger, and let it sit there, lowering your hands and curling them into fists and raising your shoulder, hearing a bone crack. 

You’re exhausted. 

The ODM gear feels strange on your body. It’d been a crash course to get you familiarized with the updates, and you hook a thumb on the strap on your rib cage before glancing at the others. Connie sits with Mikasa and Armin, and Jean is at the back by himself, rubbing at his face hard enough that his skin is beginning to turn red.

You don’t know what to say.

What is there to say? Four years have left you strangely numb.

Jean’s lips pull back into a vicious snarl and his head snaps up to find you looking. Then, everything seems to soften, and he looks away sharply, almost as if to hide his tears.

So you don’t say a thing. Instead, you walk on to the back of the ship, past him, where the prisoners are being held, and you open the door without a noise, first noticing the blond boy. Falco. He looks up at your entrance, eyes wide, and you give him a slight smile as you close the door.

You wish you could hate children for the part they played in killing your friend, but in this moment, you just feel nothing. Not even sadness. You had seen what Marley’s done in the friends you’ve lost.

“Hello, Falco.”

“You lied to me,” he whispers. “You and Mister Kruger—Eren,” he corrects himself. “You used me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” you tell him, looking at the walls. It seems like a supply area, and you grab the bucket and rag that’s been left by whoever checked in on them last. There’s a few clean rags and you walk up to them, crouching before the blond first. He seems to flinch back and the brown-haired girl lunges at you.

You have no problem pushing her aside and pinning her down.

“Don’t touch him!” she yells. “You don’t get to touch him!”

“Calm down,” you tell her calmly. “I’m not going to hurt him, and you are in no position to be making demands at me after you killed my friend.”

Her eyes widen. “You’re a devil. So was she!” she spits as you slowly wet the rag and dab at the blood cracking underneath Falco’s nose. It’s clear whoever was here before only used the bucket and rag as a taunt. Probably telling them they could piss in here if they wanted. A coy coil of disgust wraps around your gut. “Don’t touch him. You’re tainted! You give all of us a bad name!”

Your nose wrinkles as the girl squirms under your hand and you let go of her. Cupping Falco’s face, you continue to wipe at his cheek. The water is cold. You hope it soothes what must be a flaring face.

“I don’t understand,” he murmurs dully. Exhausted eyes find yours. “Why?”

“I’m sorry. I have no idea why kids are suddenly soldiers in an adult’s war.” You reach to rinse the rag. Dipping it in water, you begin to wring it out when suddenly, there’s a sharp gasp, and you turn to look at the other child—Gabi. She stares at your hands, eyes wide enough a ring of white is around her irises and you frown. “What?”

“Where did you get that ring?” she asks, voice shaking, and you look down at your hands. “That’s… that’s Reiner’s ring. Where did you get it?” You don’t answer, simply stare at her for a moment, and her breath comes out quivering. “He doesn’t let anyone know he has it. It’s for someone special. That’s—he wouldn’t even tell me. He doesn’t know I saw him with it. He… he —it’s supposed to be for someone!”

“Gabi—“ Falco grabs her arms as you regard her softly, and you have just an idea of what’s going in her head as she points at you. “Gabi, calm down—“

“Why do you have it?” she demands ferociously. “It’s not yours! Give it back!” You drop the rag back into the water, and sit back, drawing your knees up to your chest and resting your arms atop of them lazily as tears begin to trace down the child’s face. “It didn’t even cost that much! You won’t be able to sell it to, you know! Give it!”

“Gabi!”

“You have no idea what that means to him!“

“Stop—“

“You spawn! You devil woman!”

“Are you done?” you ask her quietly, fingers twisting the ring and Gabi inhales raggedly as you look at her flatly. Her eyes widen even more if possible, and she allows Falco to pull her back. Her wet gasps fill the silence and you swallow, tilting your head at your hands. “If you really want to know, I don’t really have an idea why I’m wearing it.” You sigh, dropping your hands and letting your head fall forward. “As for how I got it, if you ever see Reiner again, why don’t you ask him?”

Falco’s eyes widen as you look up and finding him staring at you with a strange scrutiny, and your eyebrows furrow as he lets go of Gabi and straightens up from where he’s sitting.

“Mister Braun didn’t even hear what I said when he saw you,” he murmurs, brow furrowing. “Like he’d just seen a ghost. You and…” He struggles for words, voice unsteady. “Eren said you guys were all old friends. But… but, if he gave you the ring—“

“Shut up, Falco!” Gabi beseeches, grabbing his arm, but Falco only stares at you. “Are you even hearing what you’re saying? You’re accusing my cousin of treason! He wouldn’t!”

“He stayed with you for so long,” he continues, as if in a trance. “Even Eren wondered what was taking so long. He… called it a lover’s quarrel. You…”

“I think you two should get some rest,” you interrupt, pushing yourself to your feet and ignoring the smokey feeling clogging up your chest as tears slip down Gabi’s face and Falco’s face pales at your blatant dismissal. “It’s going to be a few hours until we land, roughly. You’ll want to get used to being somewhere warm before they transfer you to some sort of prison. It’ll be a lot colder there.”

Taking the bucket and the rag, you return it back to its spot before walking out the room and closing the door shut behind you. 

You find the spot you once were standing at now occupied with Floch and his comrades, and then you turn your head to see Jean still leaning against the wall, arms crossed, expression burning the metal floor.

You amble over to him without a word and lean in beside him, sinking to the floor.

[hyunverse]

BUNGA (FLOWER) | FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

gender neutral.

summary; you’re megumi’s dream person.

note; i wrote this bcs my birth name is actually a type of flower ugh the self indulgence also i like butterflies. also inspired by a song called bunga by masdo. i recommend listening to the song while reading. bunga means flower in malay!! also pls open the gif for better quality.

YOU REMIND MEGUMI OF A FLOWER. white orchids; they symbolize purity. and that’s exactly what you are to him.

fushiguro megumi remembers this one day when he and tsumiki had went to a flower garden together. he didn’t know why tsumiki suddenly felt like visiting a garden, but he followed anyway. he observed as his sister looked at the flowers around them, a smile never leaving her face and her eyes were practically sparkling. it felt nice to see his sister actually enjoy herself, especially after their parents got up and abandoned them, leaving tsumiki with all the house chores.

“look at all these flowers!”, tsumiki caressed the petals with her fingers, thumb gently gliding over the flowers, “they look so nice, don’t you think so megumi?”

megumi didn’t reply, he opted to stand beside his older sister. tsumiki explained the symbolisms of the flowers she knew of. the raven head looked stoic, as if he wasn’t listening to any of her words but the truth is, he was. he found the symbolism behind the white orchids particularly interesting. it suited the orchids’ physical appearance. white and innocence just made sense.

as the siblings chatted (though it technically was one sided on tsumiki’s part), a cat walked towards the duo. the ball of orange fur purred and nudged it’s head on tsumiki’s legs, immediately getting the teenage girl’s attention. she kneeled down, her previous smile growing wider.

petting the cat, she looked up at her younger brother, “aren’t cats so adorable?”.

“yeah,” megumi uttered. a lie. he wasn’t a big fan of cats, he found them annoying. dogs are better, that’s what he believed in but he didn’t have the heart to say that to his sister. not when she looks the happiest she had been in a while.

“and the weather’s really nice today!”, she added, eyes glancing up at the sky. the sun was glaring right into her eyes, so her pupils shrunk. she didn’t mind however, she had always loved sunny days. the sunlight shone right above their heads, and megumi didn’t like it. he could feel drops of sweat trickling down his back, causing his shirt to cling onto his skin. megumi much prefers when it’s cloudy, shades of grey in the sky, the perfect weather for staying at home and reading books.

even so, he just nodded, “mhm.”

shortly the sun started to set, spreading orange hues throughout the sky. flocks of birds returned to their nests, and so the fushiguro siblings made their way back to their abode. on their way tsumiki stole glances at her brother, letting out a dry chuckle everytime she notices the lack of expression on his face.

“you should smile more you know, megumi”, she ruffled his erratic hair, “you won’t get much friends if you keep on frowning like that”, she teased.

he grumbled, “i don’t care if i don’t have friends.”

megumi thought it was ridiculous. why would it matter, anyway? he’s fine being alone. people are bothersome; they’re too loud and they stress him out. especially the stupid punks in school who thinks they could do whatever they want. megumi simply shrugged and pushed his sister’s words out of his mind. scratch smiling and being likeable.

yet here he is, smiling at you. over no particular reason too.

currently, he’s walking along a beach with you. you; dressed up in a white sundress, a pair of sandals in your right hand. the sand burns under fushiguro’s feet but he couldn’t feel it over the fast thumping of his heart, he couldn’t feel the heat when his whole skin is tingling. he trolls behind you, walking over the footsteps you made. your sundress flows to the rhythm of your walk, flying slightly up when the wind blows your way, exposing the plush skin of your thighs. fushiguro looks away from your figure, his fair complexion tinted with blush.

you’re his best friend, he’s not supposed to look at you like that.

“it’s so nice here, megumi!”, you call out to him as you stand at the edge of the sea. waves crash, they trickle up to your toes. with a smile you hold up your hand for megumi to hold.

bashfully, megumi walks up to you and takes your hand in his. he’s reluctant, for he dislikes his hands. they’re cold and filled with callouses. so when you grip his hand as though you didn’t intend to let go, when your thumb rubs against his, he feels less insecure of his hands. the sensation of your hand in his is hot, it burns; however it feels nice.

megumi fushiguro hates warmth, but if it’s your warmth, he’d enjoy burning in heat.

the sand by the sea doesn’t feel hot on your feet. the waves get bigger and bigger; till they reach up to your ankles. you giggle because it tickled, the sound of your laughs reaching megumi’s ears. he turns to his side to see you crouching down, collecting the water in your hands.

that’s when megumi concluded, your whole existence screams purity.

a week later megumi meets you again. sometime at 11pm, by an oak tree—your usual meeting spot. the oak tree is large, it’s impossible to miss it. you stand under the oak tree, allowing dried leaves to fall onto your head, getting stuck in your hair. you know megumi would get all the leaves out of your hair. he does it everytime. he’ll pick out all the leaves out of your hair while lecturing you, though his words enter one ear then out from another. no matter how many times he says “i can’t do this all the time”, even he himself knows he would.

from afar megumi watches his best friend run around the flower field, chasing butterflies. your hair gets swept away by the wind as your hands stretch up to the sky, desperately trying to get a butterfly to land on your hand. you’re wearing a jumpsuit, the white color of the material truly brought out your skin tone. your complexion is glistening, and it makes megumi’s heart throb.

“they’re scared of you, y/n,” he finally says, putting both your hands down. the butterflies fly away from your sight, and you pout.

“but they’re so pretty,” you sigh, watching as the butterflies choose to fly anywhere but on your fingers. and then one lands on top of megumi’s shoulder.

your eyes widen, holding the sides of megumi’s figure to make him stay still. megumi could see sparks in your eyes when you admire the blue butterfly. soft is the expression you wear on your face. he likes it on you. that cute expression of yours makes megumi fall five times harder for you even when he knows he shouldn’t.

“you’re like a flower ‘gumi. it likes you.”

ridiculous, he thinks. you’re the flower. it’s obvious by the way your body moves under the moonlight, and how insanely beautiful you are.

fushiguro megumi doesn’t say anything in return, as always. he rarely does. if possible, he wants to avoid you from finding out just how in love he is with you.

after that day, you never show up under the oak tree, a few minutes distance from jujutsu high. he’ll wait for hours long only to be disappointed.

--at least not until his birthday comes, about a few months later. his face turns pale once he spotted you. you wait by the jujutsu high gate with a wide smile on his face, as if you didn’t ghost him for three months.

"glad to see you doing okay," the apple of your cheeks seem more prominent when you smile, megumi feels an urge to kiss them.

"i haven't seen you in so long," megumi mumbles, "happy to see you here today."

you grin and hold up your hand for him to take per usual, and didn’t mutter anymore words until the two of you reach a café in the outskirts of tokyo.

“nice café,” the raven comments , glancing at you. you’re wearing a puffy sleeved white blouse now—honestly, do you only own white clothes?

“found it on instagram”, you mutter, “i thought you’d like it. happy birthday, megumi.”

megumi smiles for the first time today. as a jazz song plays, he eats the birthday cake you purchased for him quietly. the cake tastes delicious (to be fair, anything you buy him is perfect) because it’s not too sweet. the fact that you remember his preference makes his smile grow a little wider.

you hum to the song and rest your head on his shoulder. it seems like the two of you are the only ones in the café—a much needed privacy. you’re usually touchy with him, and he prefers affection to be private. typically they make megumi blush, and he doesn’t want people to witness him all flustered.

“did you miss me, megumi?”, he replies to your question by nodding and placing his hand on top of yours.

serenity is this feeling, megumi thinks.

at the corner of the café stands an antique grandfather clock. it’s sounds are so loud, they resonate the whole environment. megumi suddenly becomes hyper aware of the sound, there’s a pounding in his head. the sound becomes louder and louder, to the point where megumi couldn’t feel your skin under his. he shuts his eyes close, an impossibly bright light glares his eyes.

“fushiguroooo!”, an annoying voice yells. itadori’s voice, megumi is certain.

the pounding in his head slows down. his sapphire eyes flutter open, and he realizes the light he saw was sunlight rays peeking through his blinds.

“seriously fushiguro, we’ve been calling you for an hour now. hurry up, we’re going out to eat in five. to celebrate your birthday”, megumi looks up to see nobara standing behind itadori. 

they’re both leaning against his door frame. itadori is dressed in a yellow hoodie, while nobara rocks a coat over a turtleneck. the female sorcerer holds her toy hammer tight in her grip, her eyes boring through megumi’s figure. by her posture, megumi guesses she was about to hit him with the squeaky hammer if only he didn’t wake up sooner.

fucking menaces, they could’ve left him to sleep for a little more. he hasn’t seen you in so long, he wanted to sleep in to spend time with you.

finally rubbing his eyes awake, the boy looks at the vase of orchids sitting on his nightstand. he sighs before standing up.

megumi will find you someday, he promises. if you’re a flower, he’ll gladly be the butterfly.

✉ taglist: @aliteama @dearsukuna @cybergoo @hanniemilk @ariasann @soulasdarkascoffee @okusetomura @eidotheiapriv @maat-the-prescriptive @etoilezone @elipres @scarednekozz @iridescentkitsune @crapimahuman @nectar0sw33t @hq149 @bluedelphinium @bokutos-babyowl @behan @tdntu0 @sunaluvs @guardianangelswings @fairywriter-oracle @inu-makki @erinisbadger

tagging; @candleohappiness , @haru-senji <333

[descendantsramblings]

Style Headcanons

So basically, I’m a big hater to the way the costume team worked on them. The whole “All Isle kids wear Leather” and “Auradon Kids always look like they’re on their first kid and on the way to the country club” thing drives me crazy. It sorta feels like they made costumes before giving them personalities (The leather on Carlos  and Evie feels like it clashes with their personalities. Lonnie’s dresses in the first movie doesn’t fit the personality we see, even though she didn’t have much of a personality until movie two. Audrey dressed like a thirty-four year old mother who just picked up her kid before going to the country club. Ben’s only good outfit was his swim trunks.) So here are some personal headcanons and pictures of what I imagine for them. (I started making them at 1am last night lol)

Villain Kids 

Evie

As someone raised to want to be a princess, she wants to dress like how she imagines a princess would.

She loves pastels and is no stranger to pairing pastel blue with a neutral red or bright white. 

The only pants she really wears are either athletic shorts or those little flowy elastic shorts, otherwise she’s all skirts.

She’s sorta a prep but not in the same way a character like Audrey would be. 

Evie has respect for most aesthetics, even though she doesn’t fully fit just one. However, she hates crocs and those little pastel shorts that white boys wear, she will announce it often.

Wouldn’t be caught dead in neon colors. 

owns a blue fur coat (it’s fake fur, obviously)

Carlos

Baby boy is a total softie

You know that one gay little sweater in movie one, that’s where they went right, more of that.

He’s into the soft boy aesthetic and only strays from it for formal wear

loves layering sweaters over button ups

Cuffed jeans, always because ya know, bisexual 

Owns a floral button up from Jay, normally he hates patterned button ups but it’s his favorite shirt. 

Loves striped sweaters, he owns about 6 variations of them in different colors (all include red, white, or black of course)

Jay 

In theory, Jay doesn’t really have one aesthetic, he’s willing to try on just about anything

Most of his clothing was bought by Evie or Carlos, especially his formal wear

The only clothes that Jay will buy for himself is athletic wear

He doesn’t really see the point of buy clothing that he can’t go straight to practice in. 

Still has the beanie,  but he owns one in just about every color to match it to his outfit.

Listen, we know Jay’s main color is yellow/gold, but why did we always see him with more red/blue in the movie? What type of snow white aesthetic were they trying to give him?

Jay owns a button up that he write on, he refuses to wear it actually buttoned though

Mal

She loves the grunge/alternative aesthetic, she thinks it makes her look more like she belongs to the Isle

She wouldn’t wear skirts until after she and Evie became friends, Evie bought her her first skirt (a purple plaid one) and she fell in love with it

Mal has a whole jewelry box of just chains, both necklaces and ones that attach to clothing 

Owns a pair of Demonia Swing-815 boots (black patent) and a pair of Demonia Camel-203 boots (holographic purple) 

100% owns one of those studded hot topic belts. 

Has a headband with little horns that symbolize her mother’s horns 

Instead of the leather half gloves from the movie, she has those little fishnet gloves and covers her hands in rings.

Uma

Her style is similar to Mal’s because if Mal is going to do something, Uma will do it better.

Uma only wore outfits that were super Fem and had skirts until Mal started doing it

Then it was Uma always wearing pants, because of her love for plaid skirts she owns a whole collection of plaid pants

the only jeans she owns are black or dark wash. 

Her first ever large purchase was a pair of Doc Marten 1460 Zip Tartan Lace up boots (they’re green, black, and blue plaid) 

She and Harry bought matching Doc Marten Jadon platforms (his are more shiny though)

Isn’t as into chains as Mal, more into chockers. 

Harry 

When the E-boy aesthetic came out, Harry was all over it 

Harry definitely has one of those chains with a little lock on it. 

I’d like to imagine he has baby gauges

the before mentioned platform doc martens, he definitely treats them like his baby

Even though Harry dresses like an e-boy,  he always has his pirate hat on

Definitely wears cloth masks as a fashion piece he actually would wear his in the pandemic though, unlike some people who wore them before but not for safety 

Harry is actually really good at graphic liner, he owns a gold, red, and white eyeliner to add color to the outfit if it’s mainly black

gold>silver 

Bought plaid pants because Uma did, he want’s to match with his captain

Gil 

As we know (maybe you don’t) it’s in the canon that Gil’s mother taught him to sew and he enjoys it. 

So Gil doesn't dress in one aesthetic or even close to being in one, he wants to try out everything, both making and wearing them.

He does stick to a monochrome color scheme though, mainly shades of brown with white or black thrown in. Sometimes he adds a little red or yellow though to “honor” Gaston

Most of his clothing is more comfortable than anything

Only owns three pairs of jeans, the rest are different types of pants (he loves corduroys) 

Owns a pants chain that harry bought him but he only really wears it when Harry and Uma are wearing one so he won’t feel left out on it. 

Dizzy 

Baby girl has seen the Isle steal the childhood innocence from people, she dresses in kidcore as a way to keep hers

Her outfits always has at least 4 different colors in it.

No stranger to neon colors, she has a pair of overalls that are neon rainbow and covered in gummy candy and she only wears them with a neon green tee, Evie and Carlos hate this outfits, Jay loves it because of the disappointment it brings to the two fashion fans 

Dizzy’s outfits in the movie were colorful obviously but they should have been just more over the top

She loves patterns and has no fear of pattern mixing

definitely owns some funky earrings, clay rings, and  statement necklaces

puts beads on her shoe laces, especially on her converse (they were white ones, she drew all over them) 

Auradon Kids 

Ben

Okay so Ben’s animated and movie outfits were bad, you can’t convince me of anything else

Why was Ben not dressed in the soft boy aesthetic? You’re trying to tell me that Belle’s son wouldn’t be a soft boy?

He has a jean jacket with his father’s beast symbol painted on the back

Absolutely loves graphic crewnecks, often layers them over collared shirts

He and Carlos go shopping together often in their free time

Lover of funky crew socks,  ones with paintings, patterns, logos, whatever. But his socks always match

After he and Mal started Dating, he bought a white jean jacket and let her paint it, he wears it all the time even though it didn’t match his original clothing, he bought more clothes in her color scheme to match it

He owns like 6 pairs of high top converse (light blue, yellow, white, navy, black, and Purple after getting the jacket back from Mal)

Chad

Listen, out of everyone he was the closest to how I imagined he should be, that being said, he had a little soft boy thing going on in some movies that I don’t think fit his personality

Polos and button ups are basically all he owns, but he does have some of those pastel simply southern esc graphic tees (Southern people probably know what I’m on about, all the guys who act like Chad at my school have like 5 of them each)

Owns 6 pairs of those horrid little southern boy pastel shorts in different shades of blue (plus 1 white pair)

Will not wear jeans, ever, the only pants he owns are khakis

All over the shirts that have logos embroidered into the shirt over the chest. 

Definitely gets asked if he’s on the way to golf/ the country club, the joke is that he is, he has to meet his father there after school

prep.jpg

Audrey 

Listen, I’m not an Audrey stan, but they did her so dirty in the first movie

She should have been the stereotypical mean girl outfit wise, I mean, mini skirts, all pastels

Owns a pink teddy coat, and a white one, she actually cares about if they get dirty though, takes good care of them

definitely has a collection of tennis skirts, pairs them with sweaters/crewnecks or blouses that have a slight puff to the sleeve

The type of girl to wear rufflely rompers on her birthday every year, pink, white, or baby blue obviously

loves those tiny shoulder bags

preppy and looks good in it. 

cropped polos and tube tops

Jane

This account is a Jane should have been cottage core/ fairy core fan page, her outfits were almost there, just not there, she’s literally a fairy but can’t use magic nor did they let her dress like one, I hate it here

Baby girl loves gingham and floral patterns, some of her dresses are a little more to her mother’s taste than hers (her mother bought them) but as long as it’s a pattern she likes she will wear it. 

Cardigans are her best friend, she owns one in multiple shades of pink and blue, plus a white one (all of her clothing fits a pastel pink/blue/white color scheme)

Babydoll dresses her a her favorite style of them (the one I put in the top right corner is what I imagine her birthday dress as) 

People try to mockingly ask if she’s on her way to a tea party/picnic (like they do with Chad and the country club) if the answer isn’t actually yes one of her friends still say yes, no one can be rude to her about it 

She owns a corset (Evie bought it for her, it made her nervous at first but she loves it) 

Owns kitten heels and flats mainly also two pairs of mary janes (in white and blue) 

has one of those little pearl purses that aren’t really useful but they’re cute 

Lonnie

Last but not least, our funky little lesbian (she is, Jay is just her emotional support queer man) Lonnie, she sticks to the teal, blue, and pink color scheme they gave her in movie one

She mainly wears sweats (or athletic clothing) otherwise it’s graphic tees tucked in (many of them are from the men’s section) 

Only wears sneakers, she has places to be but also collects them (also owns 1 pair of pink crocs, Evie tried to burn them)

Carlos and Ben talked her into wearing a collar shirt under a graphic tee once (they bought her a sleeveless button up which she hated at first) and now she does it anytime she wants to look like she put effort into her outfit. 

Wears a lot of necklaces and rings (she loves to layer necklaces, she thinks it makes her sweats look less boring) 

Uses a mini backpack instead of a purse, easier to carry more things.

Has two pairs of custom painted air forces. 

Hates wearing bracelets but always has to have a hair tie on her wrist so they don’t feel empty .

[gyllenhaalstories]

CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS — SUGAR DADDY!ZEMO

summary: a series of unfortunate (or fortunate, depending whose side you’re on) events brought you to mandripoor seven years ago. it was fun, dangerous and exciting for the most part. a lot has changed, but you are back in high town in the hope of purchasing a rare monet painting, and reuniting with an old flame.

warnings: tfatws spoilers, alcohol, established sugar daddy x sugar baby relationship, smut (daddy kink, dom/sub/switch dynamics, choking, hair pulling, blowjob, fingering, both degradation and praise kinks, spit kink, cum play, marking, unprotected sex). 18+ MINORS DON’T INTERACT.

word count: 2685

gif credit: pedropcl

notes: this (very long) fic is brought to you by zemo’s #1 hoe. for the sake of the fic, zemo’s daughter and wife have never existed. i get it zemo is the bad guy daniel is not your typical hottie but let me live my fantasy and reclaim my crown as the original zemo fan. listen to off to the races by lana del rey and let no man steal your thyme by the pentangle if you want to fibe with me! i hope you guys will enjoy it!!! <3

“If you keep staring at me like this, I’ll mistake you for the Mona Lisa.” You took the last sip from your glass, which was immediately filled by the man standing behind you. You had felt his familiar presence a long time ago, but you were too mesmerized by the rare painting trapped in a cage of glass to bother notifying him. “Your glance has followed me around the room. In other circumstances, I’d find it creepy. Now, it’s just very flattering.”

You heard him laugh through his nose. You saw his reflecting in the glass, lit up by flashing blue and pink lights and vibrating ever so slightly to the sound of the loud music.

“You’re like a Monet painting. From afar, you are clear as cristal and easy to read like an open book. From up close...” You marked a pause and stoodby straight. Your eyes never leaving the work of art you had been scrutinizing for the past hour. Water Lilies in Bloom, it was called, an incorrect translation that always brought a grin to your lips. “You are a mystery.” You swallowed thickly the bubbly liquid, recognizing the peculiar taste of champagne.

“It is arrogant but right to think of myself as the pure definition of mysterious.”

You chuckled, throwing your head back in disbelief. Some things never changed.

“After all these years... I managed to find my way back to you. Now that’s a mystery.”

You turned on your heels as you spoke. “Is it, though? Tell me, Daddy. Is it really that hard to believe you’d recognize your property even after all these years. I heard they put you in a pretty little cage. Didn’t have much else to think about than what you missed most?”

He took you in, just how ethereal you looked under the colourful neon lights. You had your arms pressed against your chest, the shiny material of your matching bracelet and necklace twinkled. He squinted slightly, his lips curled into a smirk while he looked down your body, the one thing that kept him sane after all these years in jail (that and the thought of destroying symbols like super soldiers and make the world a better place once and for all). “Nice dress.”

“My Sugar Daddy got it for me.” You did a twirl, showing off your outfit innocently. “You like it?”

He reached up to his neck and pulled on the collar of his purple sweater, like it was a tie he could loosen up. “So you received everything I sent you.”

You clicked your tongue. “Not everything...” Your head turned to look behind you, where your most priced possession was glowing in its full glory — soon to-be yours, you should say.

“Use your words, Princess. Say it and it’s yours.”

It was your turn to analyze him, to take every ounce of cockiness and pride. “You’re playing with fire.” You walked closer to him, erasing the distance but increasing the tension between the two of you. “All the money in the world won’t get you everything you want.”

He was quick to move, his soldiers instincts never left his body, clearly. His delicate hand wrapped around your throat so effortlessly. It tightened, forcing you to manage your breathing. “Money got me everything I wanted already.”

“What is it, Daddy? What is it that you want so badly?” You clenched your jaw, holding his glance which was filled with lust, instead of rage and grudges.

“You never looked so beautiful.” He leaned closer too, whispering the words to your ear. It was liked the loud club music turned into white noise. He could not care less about the stares and the words strangers exchanged as they witnessed the scene. High Town was not his playground.

But you were his plaything.

*~*~*

History repeated itself, in one way or another. Icons rose and fell. Symbols mattered and vanished into oblivion. Originality turned into plagiarism. Winners would lose it all, losers would dig their graves deeper into the abyss.

History repeated itself. The sight before your eyes was the same one as seven years ago, when all that was on this man’s life before meeting you was this stupid Mission Report of December 16 1991. You met him at a party like this, in High Town before he was banned from the land. He caught your attention doing his ridiculous dance moves, sharing his knowledge about the art pieces showcased around the room. Then he brought you to a hotel, the ones so fancy they had multiple rooms and a vintage record player as part of the decor. Only, it worked, and he put on his favourite Édith Piaf records. Rien de Rien, Le Petit Homme, La Vie en Rose, song after song, you were diving deeper in your memories.. He was popping yet another bottle of champagne open and pouring some in flutes you would never touch for the rest of the night. The same night, seven years ago, it changed your life. At the second you regretted setting foot in Mandripoor, he changed your mind and gave you the best months of your life. You would ride around Europe in vintage cars, dine in gigantic mansions you called castles. You admired the old paintings of his royal family members while he brought you a silk bathrobe to change into after a steamy shower.

You’d get lost in your thoughts, he’d get lost in his ambitions. You two were one and the same, in one way or another. That affirmation sent shivers down your spine. You could not tell if it was a good or a bad thing, a shy voice in your head was reassuring you it was the former.

“They call me Baron again, I guess I’m not doing too bad after all.” His voice snapped you back to reality. He was still wearing that obnoxious trench coat. You hated it, it made him look like a pimp. Although that was not too far from the truth, as the mountain of luxurious jewelry and clothes in your closet proved.

“Do you like being back here?”

“I love it here.” The emphasis on the last word was audible. You nodded in agreement. This place was heaven on Earth for some people, hell for others. For both you and Zemo, it was somewhere in between.

“You’re certainly not here for me.” You laughed, setting the still full glass on the nightstand.

He shook his head, mouthing a negative response.

“What is it, this time? Mission report February 32?”

“Something like that.” He answered, after another silent laugh.

“If only you had made me your mission, your life would have been easier.”

“Yours would have been, too.”

You shrugged. You agreed, but you did not need to say it. He knew. The two of you knew that this warmth washing over your bodies was the answer to all of your problems. Yet, you were fighting the urge to surrender and give in.

History always repeated itself.

All it took was for him to set his hand on your exposed knee. You got flashbacks of the numerous times his hand rested there while you two drove deeper in the country side, in some old Chevrolet, Ford, or any other European brands he could find and buy.

“Say it, Princess. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

You swallowed thickly and fell on your knees. He sat straight, as straight as he could on the comfortable mattress, and spread his legs wider. “I want to go back in time.”

He leaned foward and you opened your mouth, your tongue poking out. He spit in your mouth, and you swallowed. The giggle that followed your actions sent blood to his hardening cock. “Just as eager as I remembered, right? You’d do anything to please me.”

“I’d do anything for you, Daddy.” You repeated, the confession left you breathless.

“That’s my good girl.” He brushed your hair with so much tenderness for a moment, you let out a content moan. He changed the mood real quick when he pushed your head closer to his crotch and unbuckled his belt at lightning’s speed.

Your mouth was watering at the sight, a sight that was tattooed in your memory forever. Whatever relationship you two had went beyond fancy presents and sex, it was a connection that tickled your souls and left you a different woman than when it first started. You wasted no time, stroking him a few times as you spit on his blushing tip. You smeared the spit over his sensitive spot and pulled the sweetest moans out of him, which grew louder and more intense when you finally wrapped your lips around his head.

No one compared to you, to your attention to details, to the way you were taking him all in, inches by inches like you were made for his cock and his cock only. No one compared to how blissful you looked pulling back, choking on your own saliva and the lack of oxygen. “You look so beautiful, Babygirl.”

His praise made you bat your eyes, hoping to receive more compliments. You flattened your tongue, licking him from the base to the top before you deep throated his cock again. You never left him untouched, your hands were massaging his walls or exploring his thick thighs while your mouth almost brought him to the edge.

That was when he pulled on your hair and demanded you went back up on your feet. “I bet you’re soaked. All you need is to see a cock to wet your panties.” You nodded as one hand reached up to cup your face, the other to cup your core from under your dress. He could felt the ever growing wet patch. He discarded of your panties in one effortless pull and pressed his pointer and middle fingers against your sensitive clit. He circled it, studying your reaction.

“Daddy...” You breathed out. “I need you.”

“I’m proud of you for using your words,” his finger slipped inside of your entrance, you moaned out his name. “So greedy and needy and easy for me, like the good whore that you are. Is that right? You’re Daddy’s perfect little whore?”

He was two fingers in, all the way to the last knuckles. He pumped in and out of you slowly yet roughly. You smirked when he finally touched that spongy spot inside of you. “I’m Daddy’s. I’ll always belong to Daddy.”

“That’s right.”

He brushed his thumb over your clit, his fingers stopped fucking your hole to abuse the bundle of nerves until tears started to pool in your eyes.

“Be a good baby.” You looked at him with doe eyes, sucking his thumb between your plump lips. “Do what I want.”

And you reached your high. You had nothing to hold you up, except for your shaky legs that threatened to give in under your weight and the intensity of your orgasm. You sucked on his thumb harder, hoping to quiet some of your moans but your screams escaped your parted lips.

In a blink of an eye, you were pushed against the bed and bounced against the body that blocked your every movement. His pants were nowhere to be found, just like the rest of your respective clothes. Your finger tips brushed over the skin of his shaven cheeks, down to his neck and chest. The intimacy, you had craved it all these years.

“I bet that sweet cunt of yours missed my cock.” He spoke, chuckling mockingly when he pushed himself in your stretched hole. You both let out a long moan of satisfaction. He rested inside of you, adjusting to your warmth and tightness. “I was right.”

“You’re always right.” You flattered his ego, and earned a sloppy kiss in return.

His lips moved down to your neck where he sucked hickeys and left small bite marks as he picked up the pace of his hips.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, hoping to bring him that much closer, and deeper, into you.

Zemo pinned your wrists above your head and pumped his cock inside of your tight pussy like his life depended on it. “So fucking wet for me,  gonna make me cum, Baby.” He had tried so hard to hold back, not to mark you and claim you again.

“Wait for me.” You begged him, and he brought one hand down to your neck again. He squeezed it, choking you deliciously until your eyes rolled inwards. He tightened his grip ever so slightly and he felt it, he felt the way your walls fluttered around him.

He thrusted inside of you, his hips snapped against yours and the sound of your skin slapping echoed in the bedroom. “Cum for me, Princess. Cum with Daddy.”

And you did, your body exploded in fireworks when you felt his release planted inside of you. He kept moving, rocking back and forth. He leaned back, leaving your neck to rub your clit once again. He was a moaning mess, the overstimulation made it almost painful to keep going but he did not want it to stop, not until...

“Fuck, Daddy!” And a second wave of pleasure hit you hard, it left you panting and shaking even more than before.

Zemo had to pull away quickly, and already missed the feeling of being inside of you.

Your fingers reached between your bodies, dipping into your folds and moving up to your lips as they were covered in his seed. You painted your lips with his white cum, before you licked them and your fingers clean as he watched, completely amazed and mesmerized. “Taste just as good as I remembered.”

He laughed, he was always one step ahead of everything and everyone, but you always managed to take him by surprise. You were just that great, that perfect. He rolled to the side and fell heavily on the bed. His skin was glistening under the light of the chandeliers from the thin layer of sweat.

You pressed your legs together, clenching around nothing. You hoped you could keep his load inside of you, as a proof this had really happened and it was not just one of your daydreams where you two would be reunited.

“I missed this.” You boke the silence with a small voice. Your fingers brushed over the bruises on your neck, and you hissed at the sensitive skin.

He turned on his side, worried for a second that he went too hard on you. The smile and joy on your face proved him otherwise. “I missed you, Princess.”

“I missed you so much, Daddy.”

*~*~*

The sun hurt your eyes, he noticed. He slipped out of the bed to pull on the curtains only to hurry back to you so you could lay your head on his chest. You were still wearing your bracelet, he started playing with it.

His mind was racing, just like his heart. You could feel it rumble in his chest like a loud engine. Something was bothering him.

“Oh, Zemo...” You caressed his cheek, looking up to study his features. “You can fool the smartest people in the world, but you’ll never be able to lie to me.”

“I’m coming home, Baby. I’m coming home now.”

You looked down again, taking a moment to answer. “Let me guess, you’ll take me to a fancy house like Rebecca’s Manderley and Jane Eyre’s manor at the Rochester’s. You’ll show me around, make me feel like I belong. And you’ll leave, high and dry. Again. All the money and presents from your people won’t erase the pain I felt. Not this time, not ever.”

He pressed his thin lips together. Pain, suffering, he was used to it. He had his fair share of it, caused even more to other people. The thought of hurting you, however, was unbearable.

“Every kingdom needs its king...” He paused and moved you, so you were resting on your elbows and your face was closer to his. “And an even greater queen.”

[parkers-gal]

maybe a cute little blurb about tom and the reader announcing they’re engaged to their parents/families?

enjoyyy :)

requests are open

wc: 1.5k (sorry, went overboard with this)

—

Tom gave you no option, really. You had no choice but to love him, to fall for him as hard as you did. Oftentimes, you thought about how inevitable it was, how inevitable he was. You knew his trap was inescapable, but you were too exhilarated, too thrilled with the idea of being his, that you let him trip you. You let him, let him trip you until you fell hard.

If Tom had fallen any harder, he was positive he’d break his nose for the fourth time in five years. But no, he definitely fell, but he didn’t hit rock bottom. He’d fallen for you, and that was the scariest thing in the entire world to him — losing you, falling so hard and fearing if you’d leave. He knew if you did leave, he’d never recover, never truly live the same way.

So he’s asking for you to be his, for forever. Granted, forever is a long time, and that’s almost what Tom loves most about it. He loves calling you his, knowing you’re connected at the hip, in the mind, with your hearts. But he also loves having the security of everyone else knowing it, too.

You love it too — you love what the ring symbolizes. Your Tiffany & Co. ring, a dashing 1.27 carats. You love Tom, and the way his mind works — he didn’t go the traditional route in getting your parents��� blessing and buying a ring. Instead, he’d asked you casually.

“Hey, love.” Tom walks into the kitchen, sitting on the counter beside the stove where you’re heating the kettle for some tea.

“What’s up, baby?”

“Do you… wanna go shopping today?”

“For what?”

“A ring.”

You freeze, glancing up at him with shocked eyes, eyes full with pleasant surprise.

“A ring?”

“For… you. For us- for… marriage?”

“Tommy…” You lean back, mouth open slightly. You can feel tears starting to form, starting to wet your eyes. It’s love — you can feel it — it’s love that’s wetting your eyes, your cheeks, your face. It’s love that causes these happy tears. “What’re you saying?”

“I’m saying…” He jumps off the counter, grabbing both of your hands after coming closer to you, filling up the space between you and him. “That I want you to be mine for… the rest of my life.”

“Tom,” You pout. “I don’t know what to say.”

“That you’ll let me?” His eyes are more hopeful than they’ve ever been in his entire life. Even more so than when he’d auditioned for Spider-man. He’s practically on his knees for you, sacrificing his heart in return for yours. “That you’ll let me be yours?”

You break into a smile, arms wrapping around his neck, lips by his ear as you whisper your response, feverishly and softly and passionately. “Of course, I’ll let you. You’ve always been mine.”

That day, the two of you went into Tiffany & Co. together, pointing at the jewels and bands and accessories with smiles wider than the Grand Canyon. You had a feeling, later on, that perhaps every store worker was watching the two of you, watching your love bounce off the walls of the fancy shop. They were watching you with jealous eyes, with proud eyes, that you were taking this large step together, and decided to include them in just a small piece of your journey together.

It’s been a month since then, and for the first time ever, you’re wearing your ring out in public. You’re having dinner with Tom’s family and your own family. It’s your parents’ anniversary — at least, last week it was, but they decided to celebrate with connected family later on — which means close family is gathering for a small dinner party.

“Don’t get cold feet on me.” Tom’s chin rests in the crook of your neck as he hugs you from behind. You’re looking in the full-length body mirror, adjusting your clothes as you slip the engagement ring on your finger like you’ve done so many times when you’re alone.

“Never, Tommy.” You return his smile, turning around in his arms and leaning to give him a soft kiss. It’s not a peck, but it’s not messy — it’s passionate and intimate and everything you’ve ever wanted. It’s what you’ve dreamed of, fantasized, read in every romance novel you could get your hands on.

It’s easy, being in love with Tom. It’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done and the most difficult thing in the world. It’s hard when everybody wants to be in your place, when everybody wants to be his. But it’s easy, knowing that he’d never trade his place for anything in the universe. If he’s not by your side, then he’s betrayed everything he’s ever told himself.

He’s complete by your side. That’s cliche, and even he knows it, but nothing has ever felt so true to him. Nothing has ever felt so right.

You lock the front door, holding your potato quiche with two hands as you make your way to the car. Tom sets the gift bag in the backseat before opening the passenger for you. You smile, thanking him, and he steals a cheek kiss before closing the door. You chuckle, setting the quiche on your lap as you buckle your seat belt. He does the same, buckling his seatbelt and shifting the gear, leaving the driveway before offering you his hand.

You accept it, interlocking your fingers. He blushes at the gesture, giddy inside. There’s something so intimate about affection in an act as simple as driving or even cleaning the dishes. There’s something so knee weakening about needing to feel someone against your skin in the simplest of acts. Against your skin in a raw way that isn’t animalistic, passionate yet not feverishly or greedy. There’s something so butterfly-provoking about displays of love in settings that aren’t even romantic.

It’s suffocating yet addicting at the same time. He’s addicting, but not as much as you.

As you get closer to the front door of the Holland household, you find yourself covering your hands with the sleeves of your hoodie. As you enter the house, you’re too caught up in greetings and hugs and food and people to realize you haven’t let the piece of jewelry show.

Dinner hasn’t even been served yet and you’re already growing hot and sweaty. You’re sipping wine, leaning against the fireplace with Tom’s arm around your waist. He’s calmly sipping beer, fingers ever present on your skin. As he leaves yet another kiss against the underside of your ear, you feel urged to ask to make the announcement now, rather than during dessert.

“Can we… tell them now?”

“Really?” He pauses his latest kiss against your neck, whispering back to you. When you nod, he smiles and mirrors your headshake. “May I take your jacket then, kind lady?” He puts on a Victorian accent and you giggle.

“If you insist.”

As your arms are stripped of the hoodie, you hand it off to him for safekeeping in the coat closet. When he returns to your side, your hands are behind your back, waiting for Tom to gather everyone’s attention.

“Hey, everyone, there’s uh- there’s something we’d like to talk about with everyone.”

As Harry raises a brow, he makes eye contact with his twin who hollers for Nikki to come in from the kitchen for a moment. Your parents are bewildered, as is your sister and Harrison.

With a final look at Tom, you smile as Nikki settles onto the arm of a chair Dominic is sitting in. You hold up your left hand, proudly showing off the newest ring to your collection. Your mom gasps first, and Nikki stands up quickly when she realizes what she’s seeing.

Paddy looks at Tom for positivity on what this means, and he can only smirk with a blush brighter than the star he named after you. All in a matter of seconds, your mothers are running towards you, Harrison and Sam and Harry screaming in excitement, in congratulations. Tom is hugging your father, shaking his hand nervously.

Your sister is next to see you, pulling you into her embrace with a teary smile and happy eyes. “You’re… gonna be married.”

You laugh, nodding as you try not to cry too. “Yeah.”

“So he’s the one, huh?”

“Yeah,” You eye Tom, who’s talking to your mother and your sister’s husband. “He’s… the only one.”

When you turn your head back in your sister’s direction, she’s looking at you with soft eyes and an adoring smile. You try not to get flustered, but when you look at Tom again, he’s looking at you already, all the way from across the living room.

He’s smiling in a way he never has before, looking at you as if you’re the only person he’s ever laid eyes on. Goosebumps raise on your skin, a chill sent straight up your spine, and suddenly, you know you’re meant to do this for the rest of your life.