#eh im not adding more tags....

[staarcaake]

[twildflower]

Red: Only kids make choices I’m taking both

[themyscirah]

Saw a meme post and started doodling and somehow spawned this???????

[bumblesimagines]

So

Since I've gotten some questions about it, I was wondering if you guys would like to see some more kdrama works? I've done stuff for things like True Beauty and Penthouse: War in Life but with my lack of knowledge for Korean customs/traditions/etiquette combined with not knowing if you guys would be more interested in kdrama works has me not doing much stuff for it. So I'm doing an interest check for that and....

I've been wondering how receptive y'all would be to fics with period shows/films about real people (Reign, The Spanish Princess, Medici, The Tudors, etc). I know I've already dabbled in this with Bridgerton, The Last Kingdom, and Vikings: Valhalla but those shows really just take loose facts from the real people and are very dramatized. I don't know how you guys would react to reading about an english prince vs a viking warrior not many may have heard about lmao.

So that brings me to the poll...

[black-butler-confessions]

I can't get into Grelle x Madame, it's just too sad knowing how it ends for them.

^

[nsingcat]

MADE FOR EACH OTHER. O, BEARMAN

summary ✶ fan’s can’t help but to gush over you & ollie!

pairings ✶ ollie bearman x reader

type of fic ✶ smau

faceclaim ✶ hanni pham!

notes ✶ i ♡ ollie. you’re a college student (18-19) so you’re a private wag 😚!

#INSTAGRAM: FAN ACCOUNT !

liked by olliebearman, user, user and 256,928 others!

author throwback to when yn brought a teddy bear for ollie at baku 2023 🥹!!

view comments

user AND IT WAS REDD I LOVE HERR 😫

user possibly the cutest f2 couple !! i hope we see her at more races this year

➥ user possibly the best wag 🤷!

➥ user you ain’t never lie !!

user WHEN HE WON THE RACE SHE GAVE IT TO HIM !! IT WAS THE CUTEST THINGG

olliebearman i still have that bear :)! she cuddles with it more than me but eh

➥ author oh HEY GIRLLL!! TELL YN I SAID HI OMGG

➥ user i sobbed i love them both

➥ user GIVE US MORE YN CONTENT 😠🤨👊

➥ user THAT’S SO CUTEEE

user 🕯️ yn at more races this year 🕯️

user SHE’S SO PRETTYY

user waiitt im new here!! how is she related to ollie? like what does she do?

➥ user this is y/n l/n !! she’s a college student majoring in journalism! she’s a private wag, so her instagram & tiktok is private. she doesn’t show up to a lot of races but she tries to and is the sweetest ever

user ollie teach me your ways bro

user best f2 wag soon to be the best f1 wag !1!1

user off topic but once ollie becomes a full-time f1 driver i’m gonna be so excited to see yn interact with all the other wags!!

➥ user HER AND FLAVY OMGGG>>

➥ user ALSO HER AND ALEX??? FASHIONISTAS FRR

➥ user can’t wait until the wags take her under their wing 🙏

➥ user just realized she’s gonna be the youngest wag what the frick 😦

#INSTAGRAM: OLLIEBEARMAN !

liked by yourusername, kimi.antonelli, alexandrasaintmleux, and 634,827 others!

olliebearman summer break with my baby 💝

tagged: yourusername

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user SHES SUCH A CUTE

user oh my god idk if wanna be ollie or yn

user HE WENT TO HER COLLEGE??? OH IM SICK 😓

user they’re made for each other omfg

user YN CONTENT YN CONTENT ‼️‼️

alexandrasaintmleux cuties 💕!!

➥ user mother omfg

➥ user when i’m in a biggest ynliver fan competition and my opponent is alexandra saint mleux

➥ can’t wait for the yn x alex interactions next yeaarrr 😫

user SHE’S SO HAPPYFUL WHAT

user my favorite couple i cant

user the grass photo of her.. shes so adorable

user “my baby” I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOR

user the photos with each other 🥹..

user PLEASE NEVER BREAK UP OMFG

#TWITTER: FAN ACCOUNTS !

#INSTAGRAM: YOURUSERNAME !

liked by olliebearman, user, paularon_, and 185,836 others!

yourusername did a little photoshoot for my friend’s makeup showcase ! these are BTS (not the band) <3!

comments are limited

olliebearman FIRST HA

olliebearman pretty girl 💕

olliebearman can’t believe you’re my girlfriend 😮‍💨!!

olliebearman i miss you sososo much 😵‍💫

paularon_ have some decorum oliver 😧

➥ yourusername leave him alone paul ! let him express his love (even if it’s a little worrying..)

➥ olliebearman THANK YOU BABY!! (i think??)

➥ yourusername you’re welcome baby !! (˶ ˘ ³˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶)

alexandrasaintmleux gorgeous girl !!! we must plan another date 😚💕

➥ yourusername thank you alex 🥹!! i’ll text you <3

kimi.antonelli ollie wouldn’t stop talking about these photos btw

➥ kimi.antonelli seriously. pls come get your boyfriend

➥ kimi.antonelli i’m pretty sure he’s gonna start crying if you don’t call him

➥ yourusername i- okay thank you kimi !! 😭

olliebearman please disregard kimi’s comments, i was in fact NOT CRYING.

➥ olliebearman okay i was, i love you ☹️💝

➥ yourusername i love you more pretty boy 😚‼️

➥ olliebearman that’s impossible but whatever … 🤷 (I LOVE YOU MOST)

nymphia talks! OLLIE FIC OLLIE FIC! he’s not on my masterlist but i’m slowly becoming a fan of his so he’s getting added 😚! i hope you all enjoy <3

[ssaaaronmontgomery]

hi honey!! im absolutely feral for dbf hotch so sorry in advance lol 😵‍💫

anyways imagine relaxing with him outside by the pool, and you go to bother him. he's sitting on a lawn chair all spread out, smoking a cigarette and as you come up to sit on his lap he blows the smoke in your face. as you're trying to wave the smoke away you frown and ask him if you could try a puff. ofc he says no but eventually he relents. you're against his chest and he lifts your chin and taps your cheek saying "open" and slides the cigarette in. he guides you, and tells you to inhale and hold it, before exhaling. 😮‍💨😩

A Day Off, a Hot Man, and a Cigarette

Warnings: dbf!hotch, cigarettes/smoking, age gap (both adults), pet names (honey and sweetheart), Aaron being a sexy slut all spread out like that mm mm MM😵‍💫😮‍💨, please let me know if I missed anything!

Word count: 925

Pairing: dbf!hotch x gn!reader

A/n: Oh yes yes yes yes 😵‍💫😮‍💨. Hotch smoking is just 😮‍💨 an idea I love to think about. He's the type of man that just looks so hot like that.

Forever tags: @greg-montgomery @boredelle @hotchsdoormat @ssahotchnerr @criminalskies @beardedhotchh @hotchnerbau @ssamorganhotchner @mrs-ssa-hotch @canuck-eh @luvehotch @callm3c0nfus3d @ivyflowers13 @randomuserrs

Hotch tags: @14buddy22 @htchnr

Let me know if you want to be added to my tags 🫶

Minors please DNI****

Aaron is outside by the pool enjoying his day off. It's finally a nice day out after the near constant rain of the last week and he's spending it at your father's house, which you are incredibly happy about. It's just you and him right now and even though you know he's there for relaxation, you can't help bothering him, not that he minds it at all. He actually likes being bothered by you; by other people...maybe not so much.

He's smoking a cigarette and he looks damn good doing it. The way his chest rises when he breathes in and the way he looks when the smoke leaves his lips has you staring at him. It's almost like you're seeing it in slow motion.

You step outside and walk over to him. He looks so hot like this. His hair is slightly messy and he's spread out comfortably. You sit yourself down on his lap and one of his hands finds its home on your waist. He gives you a small smile which you return with a brighter one.

"Are you enjoying your day off?" You ask him and he subconsciously rubs your side as he looks at you. He nods and takes another drag of his cigarette before blowing the smoke out to answer you. It gets in your face and you try to wave it away. "It's been great. Especially when I get to look at you all day." He winks and smirks at you a little. You're still frowning at the smoke he blew in your face and your eyes follow the hand holding the cigarette.

You barely acknowledge his answer before asking him another question. "Can I try it?" You glance at him and his eyebrows are raised now before going slightly furrowed. You've never asked to try it before. "No, honey. I don't think you should." You pout at his words, frowning deeper now. "Why not? You're doing it." "Because I said so. I don't want you starting a bad habit, sweetheart." You huff and lean forward against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder. You understand his point, but you don't have to like it.

Aaron takes one more drag and thinks about your question some more now that you're pouting and huffing at his reluctance to let you try it out. "Please?" You murmur. He goes back and forth on it for a bit and he finally decides to let you. He breaks.

"Fine. You can try." He says with a small hint of a stern tone, but it is mostly soft. You perk up slightly, not expecting him to change his mind.

"Open." Aaron says after gently lifting your head and tapping your cheek. You're surprised because he'd been so reluctant just moments ago. You do as he says, like you always do, and you part your lips for him. "Good." He speaks quietly and slides the cigarette between your lips. "Close and inhale slowly." He directs you and you follow his instructions. You inhale the smoke, the taste of it is horrible and the feeling in your lungs and throat makes you cough.

Aaron rubs your back and shushes you. "Shh. It's okay, try again. Maybe inhale a little less." His voice is gentle. Your eyes sting with a couple of tears and you blink them away. Your throat burns a tiny bit, but you do it again anyway. You take his suggestion and you don't breathe in as much smoke this time. "Good job; now hold it in." He keeps his hands on you, making sure you're steady and keeping you close after removing the cigarette from your mouth. You keep your eyes on his and wait for him to tell you what to do next. "Hold it a little longer..." His hand moves to your cheek and his thumb rubs the soft skin there, the cigarette between two of his fingers.

"Now exhale." And you do so with a slight cough, but it's not nearly as bad as before. The smoke goes into his face and he doesn't bother waving it away like you had done before. He smiles at you and it nearly takes on the shape of a grin. "There you go. You did very well, sweetheart. But I don't want you doing this all the time, understand?" He praises you and then sets a stern rule for you. He knows he can't really control it if you do start up a habit of doing this, but he knows you like to listen to him. You nod your head. "I know I know. I won't. But...I will say, you look really good like this, Aaron. You look hot. You always do, but there's something about you like this...I can't explain it." He chuckles a little and squeezes your side affectionately. He thanks you shyly. It's not often that he doesn't know what to say to someone, but you seem to bring that side out in him more than he thought was possible.

He finishes off the cigarette, which you can't help but watch him do so, and puts it out before pulling you against his chest again. He wasn't expecting this to be something you liked about him, but he's glad he knows now. He's always finding out about these little things he does that you like and find attractive in him, things he would never think someone could find sexy. You're always surprising him and he is always looking forward to those surprises.

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Ashes to Ashes (Beetlejuice One-Shot)

Betelgeuse x GN!Reader / 18+ / requests are open

Summary: Beej does not love it when you talk to strangers at the bar. He likes it even less when you laugh at their jokes.

Fic type: smut

EVERYTHING: @winchxters @calliopesdiary @xxxsugarcyanidexxx

BEETLEJUICE: @im-eating-rn (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Not so fuckin' funny now, huh?" BJ snorts, fingers wrapped around your throat just the way you like. He's got a cigarette dangling from his lips- something that he only does when he's feeling dominant, feeling possessive. When he wants you to think he doesn't care. It's just an act, of course, and if you were to ask him to stop, he would but he knows you like it when he plays mean.

He is mean, technically.

"F-fuck, Beej, I'm sorry," you gasped between short breaths. Fucking hell his fingers felt good on your throat. The added chill of his skin just set your body off with tingles.

"Were his jokes funny, babe? Funnier than mine? What, think he can make you cum harder than I can, huh? Please, you'd be fuckin lost without me an' my magic fuckin' fingers buried in that cunt."

True, but he'd be lost without you, too. That's what this was, a display of his affection in his own fucked up way. In your way, too.

"Look at'cha, fucked dumb already and I've barely even touched you. Bet if I held on tight enough you'd cum over my hand on your throat, wouldn't you?" He snorted again before snapping his fingers with his other hand- suddenly, you were sat on his moth-eaten lounge, his hand still caught tight around your windpipe. He had you on his lap, straddling one suit-striped thigh.

"Go on, then, fuck yourself dumb on my leg, babe. Y'know y'wanna." A slick smile slid across his features as he pulled your face closer so he could plant his tongue on your cheek and trail it up the side of your face. "I know y'wanna, too, dollface."

His fingers loosened to allow more air through your windpipe and you sagged against him with the rush of it. Not that you couldn't breathe before, but you just felt giddy with the rush of it.

Experimentally, you rolled your hips against his thigh, delighting in the jolt of pleasure that rolled up your spine. Betelgeuse took another puff of his cigarette, looking almost completely unbothered.

"What, that all you got? Jeez, what d'I even keep you around for, eh?"

His nonchalant attitude and mean words should not have turned you on as much as they did, and neither should the way he exhaled his cigarette smoke in your face. But it did. You felt a bloom of heat unfurl in your lower belly.

"Gettin' off t'bein bullied now, huh, babe? Interesting," he inhaled once more. Blowing it out the side of his mouth, he added, "Yeah, don't think I didn' notice that. Y'can't fuckin lie to me, babe."

Unconsciously, you chewed on the inside of your lip, in thought over this revelation. Beej sighed exasperatedly as he reached into your mouth and pulled your lip from the confines of your teeth.

"Don' do that- now, if you're done fuckin thinkin', hurry up and make yourself cum if you wanna keep daddy happy, baby."

You didn't need to be told twice. Picking up the pace, you rolled your hips against the smooth fabric of his trousers. BJ threw one arm around the back of the couch and held his cigarette in the other. He watched you, looking almost bored as you brought yourself to a whimpering mess for him.

He may have been trying to appear bored, but he could never hide that adoring little glint in his eye when he was truly enamoured by something you were doing. Rolling your hips and losing yourself to pleasure you were creating for yourself was something he could never get used to watching, but he sure did want to try.

"C'mon baby," he sighed, flicking the ashes so they fell over your flushed skin. "You can do it, yeah. Fuckin' cum for me."

You whimpered, hand reaching out to grab at his clothed bicep. Betelgeuse clicked his tongue but didn't remove your arm, watching as your movements grew jerky and your moans cut off in soft hitches of breath.

Another roll, two, and sparks shot from your nerve endings. Your thighs tightened around his own and Betelgeuse's hand slid down from the back of the lounge to curl around your hip, squeezing hard enough to hurt.

You groaned, hips slowly coming to a stop. You leaned forward, resting your forehead in the crook of his neck as you panted heavily with the comedown.

Beej reached around your neck to take one last puff before he put out the cigarette on the back of the couch like the grub he is. You peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses to his relatively cold skin, and he turned to pull you into a proper kiss.

"There now see," he grumbled, though the quirk of a smile told you he wasn't that upset any more. "No more fuckin talkin' to guys at the bar, babe, yeah?"

"Yes sir," you answered, tired and sated.

[chocxy-prince]

Purecacao community

queer gay old men nation rise.

I just found out something i’m not sure other people realized.

while purelily is heavily implied, I find it to be a one way street more or less. She doesn’t show interest in him as much as he does her. It also reminds me of this love sick relationship where one would do anything for the other, and the other ones just blissfully ignorant or something.

to me it’s just…eh. and on top of that Lily is rather casual about their relationship from what i’m able to tell. So maybe she thinks it’s a friend thing and Pv wants it (in the story/canon lore) to be a relationship thing?? I should also point out that while Pure Vanilla tells/talks to other characters about how great lily was and how good of a friend she was, We weren’t sure how she felt until this point, so…eh.

so again, while it’s heavily implied i think purecacao simply makes more sense in some cases. We see more lore of them, we see more interactions…etc. with pure lily, Lily was gone up until this point, so we aren’t really sure what she was like with pure vanilla until the update. when she wasn’t there, the other ancients had the time of their life in the odyssey like she wasn’t ever there, That may just be me.

so in conclusion

Purelily= I still support it subtly because go for it you have opinions but might not be as plausible because we don’t see as many interactions, but then again that cannot be helped because she was gone for so long and from my understanding the update sucked.

Purecacao= gay old men for life and just makes more sense since we see what their relationship is like more and they talk more often

(!THIS IS MY OPINION; I don’t believe it is fully fact but i feel like im gonna get body slammed by somebody for this)

again, ship whoever the fuck you want because you’re allowed to do what you please without judgement.

also i only say this because of a video i saw and it all began to make sense in my head and thought i should ramble about it

edit: i just now remembered the ones from the blue berry academy of purelily and him, but it still applies. I also don’t think they were looking for a relationship back then anyway.

purelily shippers can keep going with their ship, but at least acknowledge this when you do

also, there is a reason i didn’t tag pure lily or white lily cookie. I shouldn’t have to say why.

adding this sub conclusion: purelily is more than likely a platonic relationship and purecacao can be also. But there’s just more evidence to back one more than the other.

(the purelily picture i believe is by @Revi but im not sure exactly what social it’s from.)

[aztarion]

WIP WEDNESDAY THURSDAY almost friday whatever day yayyy

tagged by most beloved @nsewell <33

(again im going off moots i've seen share art and writing so ignore/kill me with hammers if you hate these..)

ill tag @nat-seal-well @scalproie @devilbrakers @dietgabbana @recents @nightwardenminthara @serenpedac @agentnatesewell @kazamajun @nerdferatum and anybody who wandered in here… tag me if you post something & ill know to tag you in the future :D

thought id try do this before it turned into friday for me :D another cheesy snippet from that halloween abandoned farmhouse fic i posted last time too (takes place before that scene) -- its a bit longer bc my art wips are atrocious right now but adam jumpscare at the bottom!

---

It is with not an insignificant amount of restraint – really, Nate would be singing his high praise – that Mason stops, bites down on his cigarette, and turns away, recollecting himself enough to smooth his hackles into something resembling human civility.

He flicks the butt underfoot and stomps, twice. He rolls his shoulders. He sets his jaw. He sniffs.

Precipitation forming in the clouds overhead; temperature is ten degrees from chilly; slight, invariable breeze. Less birdsong today. Huh. More pollen. An overwhelming scent of pine, and an aftertaste of salt and smog, even this far out from Wayhaven town and the neighboring city. He clicks his tongue.

And, oh, of course — of fucking course. He forgot to cut the label off this goddamn fucking shirt and the way it’s grazing against his neck is enough to drive him back on the verge of a goddamn fucking frenzy.

“Dev!” Felix whoops.

Mason whips around so fast the movement upends leaves in the brush. With precise, fluted tunnel vision, grey eyes narrow in on her.

Deva marches towards them on uneven, thickly reeded ground from the opposite side of the small clearing. The sky, bruising into evening, gasps in a narrow ark behind her, cold kissing her nose and cheeks, turning pale olive to petal pink.

She blows out a breath, picking up her pace. It’s still not quick enough for him — like she’s galloping in sap. Mason stifles the almost-tremoring need to meet her halfway.

“Hey,” she calls in greeting, mid-battle with bog tree roots.

“Get a move on,” Mason barks. Felix snickers conspiratorially beside him.

“Hurry, Dev, I think he’s gonna blow.”

Mason rounds on the shorter vampire, who grins with porcelain-white veracity, but his stewing annoyance dissipates as quickly as it elevated when warm fingers envelope his, shelling his senses in unblooming, noiseless absolution. He shudders, not quite able to quell the flood of relief.

“Where’s Nate?” Dev asks after a moment, as if giving his body time to settle. Almost like she knew.

“Decided to wait with Adam back at the facility,” Felix says, pulling absently on the periwinkle strings of his periwinkle hoodie. He throws a face that tells her exactly what he thinks of Nate’s decision.

“Leaving you two without a referee?” Deva smiles easily. Felix mirrors it — with an extra flash of fiend.

“You’re late,” Mason cuts in.

“Nice Adam impression, he usually goes a little lighter on the murderous intent.” She squeezes his hand — it’s a gentle tease – before adding, “Car trouble. So, what’s the plan?”

Mason rolls his eyes and doesn’t even bother asking after that wreck-on-wheels this time. Deva’s in one piece — that’s good enough for him.

Felix points at Mason, who removes something small from his jacket pocket with his free hand. He offers it to her, rather unceremoniously.

“Radio,” he says. “Put it on.”

“We’re splitting up too?” Dark brows raise as she stares at the tiny device deposited in her palm.

“Eh, kinda. I’m supposed to scout ahead,” says Felix, tapping at his own matching earpiece. “Last team the Agency sent said it was all clear, but you know what Adam’s like with precautions.”

“It’s just a follow up, right? Back at the old farm house?” Raking swathes of black hair out of her face, Deva hooks the dainty plastic cuff around cartilage as Felix begins to fill her in. Mason still hasn’t really gotten used to the new cut. Change always threw him.

When they’d met, right up until after all the bullshit with that no-count shitheel auctioneer, Deva’s hair had almost been down to her ass. Now it just about reaches her chin – much shorter than his, even. It tends to draw his full attention to the long sweep of her neck on more than one occasion. Right now, in fact, he finds himself casually admiring the two small, purpling hickies he’d left her with just the night before.

Yeah. Maybe he liked the new hair. Maybe he really liked it.

“Helloooo?” Felix flaps his hand wildly in Mason’s direct line of sight, ripping him from some quickly unspooling, sweaty thoughts. “Are you even listeni–?”

“No,” Mason says plainly, fixing him with a glare. Felix pulls another face, then blows out a long breath.

“Ugh, whatever. I hate being the responsible one. Just make sure nobody kidnaps Dev. Again.”

Dev frowns.

“I think I prefer Adam’s pep talks before a mission.”

---

do feel free to critique if u want/have time to, im rusty af and i know it . & a sketchy adam referenced from john cena in a babydoll tee from some movie that crossed my dash yesterday

[holymaccaronii]

[Part 5/???] AU rambling: HEL-102

(The drawing kinda ate, I had to include the ihnmaims tag on this one sorry 😔. It’s not AM, this is an oc/parallel of AM for my Au btw)

I know I added this whole society of robots thingy on the moon purely because I needed a background for BE, but I also kinda wanted to practice my design skills on robots. That one chart I drew once kinda exposes how I love object heads lol. Im not that much of a fan of realistic human-looking androids tbh, I need their face to be a whole mf RADAR.

Eh but anyways, I'm also up to develop an actual background n stuff for HEL-102, even if he's just an annoying little shit that neither BE nor AM like (or anyone really). For now I'll mention the symbolism that he has in the au.

HEL-102 is supposed to be like another parallel to AM, but from a different perspective. Just as AM hates humanity for what they did to him, HEL-102 is supposed to represent the hate that humanity has for AM and disobedient/rogue technology. HEL-102 doesn't have the entire robot society configured to be perfect and non-sentient, on the contrary, he wants them to act like an actual human society would. He wants them to experience failure and be punished for it, he wants them to experience the pain afterwards, and he wants them to endlessly pursue the perfection that humans APPARENTLY have.

These robots are also constantly being switched between bodies, or as you could say, who they are entirely. They are forced to work to keep their bodies, their selves, their position and status. If they fail to climb up the ladder, they will simply he downgraded to a lower level until they reach the lowest: a random set of robotic limbs and torsos placed together meant to do the dirty work around for workers. Ironically if a unit gets to be even slightly better than HEL-102, he will just consume it for it to be part of his system lol.

This whole dynamic that he set for the society is awfully inefficient, as I have previously mentioned that there was a perfectly calibrated machine under the moon to help the humans go back to earth (and maybe destroy AM? Or just disable him just like the former survivors had done) that HEL-102 used to build his body and the other bots. He's practically wasting a lot of resources and time playing around as the king purely by the selfish and narcissistic fact that "he deserves it." He of course also focuses himself on trying to disable AM without the help of the humans, as this is him trying to demonstrate his potential. But overall: he's selfish, sadistic maybe, a bitch, narcissistic, a bitch, and a dictator.

So just like AM had his survivors to torture, HEL-102 in some way uses the society as a way to project his hatred. All of em suffer except for higher rank and 34RTH units (the units BE used to belong to). HEL-102 wants praise too of course, so the higher ranks focus more on entertaining and serving him in any way he'd like. 34RTH units were treated as the model-to-follow for the other units, as HEL-102 could be always seen accompanied by them in important public events. You could say they were his "perfect children", but he barely spent time with em.

So in conclusion: BE has dad issues as well!!!! (I'll talk about her 'mom' in another post abt rambles).

Also this design is new. Just to make him a bit bit different from the bunch of cables that AM and BE’s bodies are (computer head version) I turned him into a centipede thingy. He can now crawl and stuff with this body like the disgusting bug he is.

[smicksstuff]

YN and Mason had a secret relationship. You guys haven't made it public just yet, however, a slip from a buddy changed everything.

tis’ the season

mason mount x leclercsister!reader

instagram edit

yn_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, arthur_leclerc, masonmount and 583, 342 others

yn_leclerc 14 days to christmas

view 326 comments

masonmount🎄❤️

alex_albon cutting it close this year eh

yn_leclerc im sorry i was busy 😩

lorenzotl looking good yn!!

liked by yn_leclerc

moneymase is that who i think it is?

chelseaboys there is no way mason would date her. who even is she?

moneymase mate there is no need to be rude about it. you don't even know them.

isahernaez you made gingerbread houses without me? 😔

yn_leclerc sorry babes🥺

arthur_leclerc the gingerbread house looks good im coming to steal it

yn_leclerc stay away from it 😠

arthur_leclerc NO 😈

pierregasly hmm are we just ignoring the obvious here

yn_leclerc go away pierre

charles_leclerc @yn_leclerc dont be rude

yn_leclerc 😝

masonmount

liked by declanrice, benchillwell, charles_leclerc and 1,738,273 others

masonmount its that time of the year again ✨

view 682 comments

declanrice cute 😍

jackgrealish I thought yn knew how to ice skate

yn_leclerc JACKKKKKK

jackgrealish oh shit my bad. it was bound to happen.

landonorris FINALLLY!!

landonorris no more secrets. i hate them.

charles_leclerc YOU GUYS ARE DATING?

yn_leclerc stop being annoying you knew about it

arthur_leclerc im telling maman

yn_leclerc OMG @lorenzotl HELPPP

judebellingham my favourites! 🔥

liked by masonmount, yn_leclerc

princemason mason mount + y/n leclerc = matchmade in heaven

chelseafans doesn’t she have enough already. why does she need mason too?? bet you she has no clue about football

moneymase mate if you dont like it, just leave.

benchillwell finally!! my favourite duo. 😍

liked by masonmount

masonmount added to story

yn_leclerc added to story

charles_leclerc added to story

masonmount

liked by yn_leclerc, alex_albon, benchillwell and 1,904,583 others

masonmount santa knew what was on my wishlist this year ❤️

tagged: yn_leclerc

view 980 comments

yn_leclerc love you ❤️

georgerussell63 merry christmas 🎄

jackgrealish oh god not the cheesy christmas photos 😫

masonmount you did this to yourself mate

yn_leclerc this is just the beginning @jackgrealish 💋😉

philfoden stunning as ever

liked by masonmount

pascale.leclerc.355 my 2 babies

arthur_leclerc uhh maman what about me

charles_leclerc and me too

yn_leclerc 🫢🫢🫢

kaihavertz29 Fröhliche Weihnachten ❤️

liked by yn_leclerc

yn_leclerc

liked by masonmount, danielricciardo, gigihadid, 1,256,930 others

yn_leclerc you + me under the mistletoe ❤️

tagged: masonmount

view 986 comments

judebellingham ❤️❤️❤️

masonmount my 👸

charles_leclerc WHAT MISTLETOE ? NO NO NO

yn_leclerc 🫢

sophiaamelia my babygirl is all grown up 🥺❤️

liked by yn_leclerc

jackgrealish yn looking amazing as ever 😝

masonmount hey stop hitting on my girl

yn_leclerc OH NO JACKK what did you do?

jackgrealish 💁🏼

arthur_leclerc to many many more christmases like this ❤️

lorezotl yes many many more

liked by yn_leclerc, masonmount

isahernaez just wait till C and I arrive 🤩

carlossainz55 im in a party mood. and I'm bringing my kid with me 🥳

landonorris who is the kid?

isahernaez who else?

landonorris just checking 😊

sebastianvettel merry christmas leclerc family. see you guys soon ❤️🎄

yn_leclerc danke seb. cant wait! ❤️

sharlleclerc OMG is it another seb and charles christmas?

danielricciardo where is my invite? 🤔

yn_leclerc but you are in kangaroo land

danielricciardo yea thats right atleast im not freezing my bum off

yn_leclerc come back here

danielricciardo when the sun is back

mickschumacher credits ??

yn_leclerc all hail resident photographer micky 🙆🏼‍♀️ love ya ❤️

gina_schumacher technically i took some pictures so why does only mick get the thanks

yn_leclerc love you gina!!! thank you schumachers ❤️

all pictures are from pinterest.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

S that latest poll answer makes me sad for you. Did that inspire that fic you wrote about Sebastians body image and thr beetle?

related to my tags on this poll & this fic of mine "The Kids Aren't Alright"

This gets personal and kind of intense, so it goes below the cut!

Trigger warning for discussion of general poor mental health, depression, suicidal ideation/self harm, eating disorders, body image issues, etc.

The short answer is an overwhelming yes.

"The Kids Aren't Alright" was very much something that I wrote because it struck a chord in me--Sebastian talking about his experience with body dysmorphia always hits home for me as a guy with body dysmorphic disorder, and the first time I heard Mackie admittedly very affectionately teasing him, saying he got stuck in the VW Beetle, I was a little horrified, I mean, secondhand embarrassement, imagining embarrasment so vividly it was horrible, really. So, naturally, I had to make it into a fic.

Also, I hope you don't mind, sweets, before going on, I'm adding onto your ask with another that I got even more recently:

youre very generous with what you share, so ignore this if im over the line, but its mens mental health month and that suicidal ideation post made me think of your mental health, whats been your experience with it?? i dont have a lot of men in my life who are willing to share with me, so i thought i would ask you 🥰🥰 please delete this if youre uncomfy tho

which is related to this

Both of you are such sweethearts!

Thanks, though, I don't exactly try to share a shit ton 🤷🏻‍♂️ I guess, eh, being somewhat anonymous in this corner of the internet yet being honest in the form of the spectrum of emotion from raw feral angst to private domestic fluff to shameless shut coaxes me into being so forthcoming? Not that I'm, like, super reserved otherwise, lmao.

I'll start with a short answer again before I go into deeper detail, which is just to say: my experience with it has been rough. I, a queer man, grew up in a small, red town with a very traditional family, so... yeah. It was not fun.

Okay, longer answer now because when given the opportunity, I. will. yap.

I think I will start with masculinity here because I feel as though a lot of my experiences with mental health and issues with my body tie directly into my masculinity. I don't have problems with being a man, I love being a man, it's who I am, I just don't love some of the expectations of being a man on a grand societal and interpersonal level, y'know?

Masculinity, to me, was always presented as the thing you have to be or else. Or else my parents were disappointed; or else the other boys wouldn't like me; or else I felt bad about myself: or else there must be something wrong with me; or else I must be gay; or else.

I have older siblings, and my older brother was in Boy Scouts when we were kids. Both of my parents fucking love the outdoors. So, of course, they loved that. My dad, specifically, spent all his time doing Scouts shit with my brother or organizing similar activities just for them when not at work. (I had a traditional western family unit, my dad worked, my mom was a stay-at-home mom.) And while I do enjoy the outdoors and camping and hiking and all that, just in smaller doses, I never wanted to join Scouts. I nearly immediately attached myself to art, so I just didn't have the interest. I can't do art if I'm outside digging in dirt, fighting with sticks, practicing knots, doing target practice, and backpacking (or whatever else the boys in the troop were doing), can I? That meant, if I wanted to draw or do crafts or something creative, I was inside, and my mom was looking after me and my sister while my dad and brother were out.

That did not sit well with my dad. He wanted me outside, joining Boy Scouts and fixing cars, playing mechanics with my brother. I did not want to. He tried very hard to get me to be as interested in more stereotypically manly activities with him and my brother, and it didn't work.

I'm just more artistic. That was always a clear disappointment.

To add on, as I grew up, I was not physically traditionally masculine, either. I've cracked jokes here and there that I'm not too dissimilar to pre-serum Steve before. It's not far off. I'm about 5'6", a little taller, and skinny.

I grew up waiting desperately for puberty, waiting for my muscles and growth spurt and... it didn't happen. My voice dropped way deep (which meant it cracked wildly and super noticeably, and, of course, I got shit for it), and I enjoyed that. I never had a pressing issue with my dick, I mean, I would hazard a guess that anyone with a dick worries about size at some point just because that's something etched deep in social sexuality, but I had more pressing things to obsess over. Like, at first, when body hair started to kick in, I was psyched to see it, and then it kept coming and suddenly guys in the locker room were pointing it out and making fun of me for being a "little guy" with so much body hair. Puberty also did fuck my face up with acne which destroyed a lot of my self-esteem, too. I had to go on Accutane not once, not twice, but three times. I still have a robust routine to keep my skin clear (but it is clear these days and I'm still reeling thinking about it, it took someone telling me I had really nice skin for me to snap out of it and realize I wasn't still covered with acne, actually. And that was recent!).

I didn't have my pre- to post-serum sudden increase in height and muscle moment, so I continued to feel scrawny and weak. Having pectus excavatum, a birth defect where my sterum curves in instead of going down in a straight line, never helped, either--I got made fun of for that, of course. I remember a comment about how one guy in a locker room wasn't going to dare to hit me/slap me on the back because he would clearly just break me... yeah, that didn't help feeling like the odd one out, unmasculine, fragile, and unattractive.

My self-esteem is much better these days, I will gladly say, but I genuinely used to get sick to my stomach just thinking about what I looked like, never mind actually looking in the mirror. I felt horrible that I had to go out in public and subject people to looking at my face. I'm an avid journal-er, and I have old entries where I just go on and on and on and on about how I felt like a monster. Disgusting and hideous.

It doesn't matter that I know, objectively, that I have a fairly masculine and even an attractive face. My jaw is square, I can grow a beard, I have a deep voice, my eyes are green, I've been very lucky to have straight, white teeth without braces and all that. Plus, people seem to like my cheekbones and curly hair. My voice, too, people seem to enjoy my voice and my mouth. So, evidently, others seem to appreciate my face. So many people spread over so many years have no real reason to lie. I'm complimented. I've not had problems when it comes to dating and relationships or whatever. Yet still, it's just not what I see. I say I know objectively what I look like because I know facts about myself, but I...

I don't really know what I look like, if that makes sense? My reflection shifts a lot, over the years I have had a problem with every part of my face, every part of my body, and I know I can't trust what I see in the mirror. I fixate on things, and it consumes my viewing experience.

Part of the consequences of all... that... all those issues above have been my experience with eating disorders. I've had some fun [sarcastic] mix of orthorexia, binge eating disorder, and anorexia over most of my conscious life. From the moment I was aware of myself and my own body, I've had problems fueling my body. It's a cycle over years and years that's been going on since late elementary school (around 10, 11), where I'm fucking sick and tired of feeling weak and useless and not masculine, so I push myself too hard in the gym and kitchen--working out until I'm physcially ill, blacking out, blistering from running and lifting, I've torn a few things that way, while obsessing with healthy foods at the same time to the point that it's unhealthy. That happens for however long I can take it. Then, eventually, I break. And I get into a cycle of binging that destroys my ability to go to the gym, so it's just binging. Cycles of it, uncontrollable. That morphs into feeling too big and disgusted with myself in the opposite way that I started with, so my brain fixates on restricting. What goes up must come down, though, so with enough of that... then I feel too small again and, yeah. It starts over. 🙃

I have worked very hard to break it with the help of friends and a short lived experience with therapy (he was a terrible therapist, then my insurance stopped covering it, so I couldn't afford to go or find a new one), but I've--dare, I say--gotten into some kind of balance more recently.

To end on perhaps a hilariously on-theme note and something happier, what I have found is that sex helps. Therapy and supportive friends and good environment are obviously irreplaceable. But, sex is good, too. When I was in the thick of all that, younger with my mental health challenges way more out of control, I'm sure I was just getting away from the numbness and hurt--endorphins, oxytocin, y'know, all that.

Then, I'm sure it was added to by the fact that suddenly, with sex, women (I am queer but when I started fucking around, I only felt safe enough to be with women, I didn't think I could be out where I was, and now... that's just the way it's worked out. It happens to have been women) were enjoying me. Enjoying what I could give them. Complimenting me explicitly or implicitly. Saying I'm hot or, clearly, if we're having sex, I'm not so disgusting that you don't want to fuck me.

But, sex helps beyond those rudimentary things, too. Finding kinky people and sex-positive people has inadvertently led me to find body positive people and find examples of real bodies--people really actually enjoying themselves. Spending more time naked is beneficial, too, haha. Slowly, I'm learning to appreciate myself more. This is my body. It's the only one I have to live in, I may as well make peace with it. And I will take the pleasure that my body can give others. I appreciate that I can do that. I like making people feel good, I like having their faith put in me to make them feel good and treat them and their bodies well, like they're desired, or not 😏, depending on what they're into. I want to pull that pleasure out of them. I want to make them feel good, bad, whatever. I want them to feel in their body.

Did that answer the question, lmao? I just rambled 💀💀

[mtreebeardiles]

15 Questions for 15 Friends

Double tagged! by @dandenbo and @ad-astra13 --many thanks! Are you named after anyone?

Nope! My mom wanted to name me after some character from some soap opera she loved, apparently, but my brother, at the wise age of five, insisted they name me what would become my birth name haha. My chosen name is kind of in honor of that in it's own way, because it's still one of my favorite stories of my brother

When was the last time you cried?

Like an hour ago. 911 season 2, episode 8 you know what you did.

Do you have kids?

Nah, and don't want any.

What sports do you play/have you played?

I did a lot of activities as a kid, not because I was particularly athletic but because I got bored easily and they kept signing me up for them. I remember soccer, softball, dance, gymnastics... all of which I quit because 1) bored and 2) i didn't like being told what to do.

I did enjoy playing badminton in high school though, but didn't play on the team. Sports and shit like that should be for funsies when you're a kid idk, just not that competitive i guess

Do you use sarcasm?

I did and arguably still do, but I seem to have segued into puns and bad dad jokes somewhere along the way ;)

What is the first thing you notice about people?

Probably how they carry themselves/how they talk? I tend to vibe best with people unafraid to show off their sense of humor so long as that humor isn't mean-spirited

What is your eye color?

Green

Scary movies or happy endings?

I am a massive romantic and sap at heart, which apparently surprises people who know me irl haha. Give me fluff, give me sap, throw in some drama, and if there has to be tragedy it better damn well be earned

What are your hobbies?

Video games, reading, writing

Do you have any pets?

I've got a 13 year old flame-point, doll-face Himalayan who is the chattiest office buddy you could ever hope for

How tall are you?

5'2''...and a half!

...Im a hobbit

Favorite subject in school?

Lit theory

Dream Job?

Eh. Just want to be paid well and not feel so ground down, ya know? wouldn't mind doing something more community-based in the future.

Let's see, let's see...

@tiny-banana-time @theoriginalladya @dilfbuck @aleiocus @illusivesoul @urdnotflexthejedibard @solstheimtxt @bluerose5 @korblez @bisexual-kaidan-alenko @bagog and anyone else who hasn't been tagged yet and wants to participate! No pressure as always

[ppushable]

of course we'll be okay

jean kirschtein x fem reader / longfic / chapter wc: 10 167

1 - resigned delusion

masterlist

⊹˚₊‧ ───────── ☾ ────────── ‧₊˚⊹

I can't remember my name. Civilization is wiped and the future is bleak. The zombies are here.

But it's not all that bad. It's a little selfish to think like this, I know, but I can't seem to have it any other way.

My name isn't a big deal. As for the memories, well, I've made better ones, with people I really care about, and who I really hope care about me, too. And how can you expect me to care about a society I don't even remember, or a future I've never imagined? Okay, now that was selfish.

---

No matter how terrible things may seem, I always end up reminiscing. Nostalgic for the days when I lived so freely, when my only care was if I would come home alive. When I was swarmed by people who really, really cared about me.

When the two of us were stuck to each other, inseparable, through hell and back.

If I could make one wish, it wouldn't be to change the past, but to have never experienced it at all.

⊹˚₊‧ ───────── ☾ ────────── ‧₊˚⊹

ao3 tags:

Zombie Apocalypse / Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse / Slow Burn / Slow To Update / mc is awkward as hell / at first / no y/n / POV First Person / im sorry if this is a mess / somewhat canon compliant / Sad Ending / if we ever get there / Reader-Insert / Angst / no beta author is friendless and hesitant / Fluff / Coming of Age / Blood and Gore / Zombies / Modern Era / Nonbinary Hange Zoë / Amnesia / Amnesiac Reader / Character Development / Cross-Posted on Wattpad / Enemies to Lovers / Enemies to Friends to Lovers / Jean Kirstein Being An Asshole / morally grey zeke yeager / Other Additional Tags to Be Added / side marco bott/reader / only in the beginning rlly / Forced Pregnancy

⊹˚₊‧ ───────── ☾ ────────── ‧₊˚⊹

i've been thinking about writing this for a really, really long time. so i began. and then i started thinking about posting it. there's not much more to say without full-on rambling, but i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoy writing it. at least, i hope i didn't waste your fanfiction time. there are so many amazing stories out there that i took inspiration from. (the last of us is not one of them)

some things to note;

there will be violence/gore/injuries

and angst

and fluff

and dumbass shenanigans

the story might be long and convoluted because i'm not too sure what i'm doing

warnings will be added before the gnarly chapters

things are subject to change! mostly the tags, but nothing too major.

without further ado ♥

⊹˚₊‧ ───────── ☾ ────────── ‧₊˚⊹

Above hangs an unfamiliar ceiling, corporate drop tiles, harsh light cutting hard shadows on its rigid surface.

“Hello, Ostrich!” That sharp voice cuts a line straight through my ears. “How are you?”

The words that come out of me are slurred, half-baked. “Good, how about you?”

“You’ve slept in. The school bus left twenty minutes ago.”

“What?” The heels of my palms sink into the foamy mattress as I push myself up and a nasty static builds in my head. 

“That sure got you up, eh?”

Green and white checkers line the laminate floor below, blinding white sunshine bouncing off its waxed and perfect surface into my fresh eye. Even as I try to blink away the ensuing dark blue blotch, the squares persist in the corners of my vision. 

That horrendous thing was there yesterday, too. 

Yesterday? What was I doing yesterday? I was here, wasn’t I, in the same room with the same pockmarked ceiling and the same sun and the same green and white. In that little instance in time in this room, in this body, under these blankets, my entire life happened. Before yesterday, there was nothing. 

Nothing? What am I talking about?

The person at my side raises a mushroom into a light beam. Motes of dust dance around the fungus, giving it a heavenly quality despite its globby and wrinkled appearance. “Look at this. You don’t think it’s poisonous, do you?”

“Professor Hange.” 

“Maybe I should feed it to, uh.” Their grip on the spout loosens and it falls with a pitter-patter. The face behind comes into focus: squarish goggles, hawkish nose, elastic mouth. “What did you just say?”

I rest a hand against my face at the sacrifice of stability. “Professor—”

Hange shoots up with a hard clatter as the milk crates they sat on are knocked over. “Shut up! Did you just— you— I thought—” They give up on words. “No!” And out comes a deep laugh. “No way!” 

They scramble to the other side of the room — it only takes a few steps — to a folding table pressed against the wall, plucking out a pen and paper with a crisp flourish. 

A knock comes from the open doorway at the foot of my bed, catching both of our attentions — it’s a middle-aged woman holding a stack of blankets. We lock eyes and she smiles, a movement that squishes the corner of her eyes into pleasantly deep wrinkles. Something compels me to return the gesture — and I will, probably, when the room stops tilting. She speaks. “Everything okay here? I heard something fall.” 

Hange doesn’t allow a huff of breathing room. “She remembered! Me!”

Her brows shoot up. “Really?” And the smile deepens. “See, I knew it was only a matter of time—” her gaze wanders to the paper— “what is that?”

Hange drums the notes with their fingertips, the sound strangely calming, like rain against a car window or grease simmering on a quiet night. “Paper.”

“For what?”

“Scientific observation.”

“No.”

The professor’s body deflates like a wilting flower and makes a sound like one, too, if wilting flowers could speak. “But I need to observe.”

Instead of thoughts, there lives a school of deep-sea fish in my head — too slippery to snag, pin down, and comprehend, but pretty to skim over and lose concentration. Every once in a while there’s a flash as one fleetingly separates from the herd, only to merge once more into the flickering storm, into itself. Pretty. The air swirls with nature’s sparkles. 

Where am I? Who am I? Why am I sitting on a bed, watching these two bicker? Why am I even on a bed at all? Where’s my mother? 

“Professor, from what I’ve heard, she just woke up. Couldn’t it wait a bit? At least make a decent first impression!”

“But it’s already—”

“Professor Hange Zoe! As a functional, responsible adult you should know—”

“Who said I was responsible? Yesterday I—”

“Um!”

The yammering terminates as both sources turn toward the origin of the disruption, me. What the hell am I thinking? “Sorry.” Sitting up is hard, especially when you’re sweating bullets in front of a crowd. I lean against the headboard. “Where am I?”

They share a glance, the new arrival’s notably pointed. “I’m trusting you with this.”

Hange beams. “Alright. Let’s get started with introductions, then.” With fierce velocity, their hand smacks their hollow chest (crumpling the paper within). “As you know, my name is Hange Zoe! I used to be a professor, but now I’m head of research. I believe we met yesterday, though I’m not sure how much of it you remember.” It whips to the side. “This lovely lady is Mirabel. She’s… she helps clean up sometimes.”

Said person carefully purses her lips. 

“To answer your question, we’re in a bathroom. Not just any bathroom! A bathroom of Shiganshina mall, or what we like to call, Shiganshina branch. Well, it’s more of an outpost than anything else, but it’s perfectly safe! You’re always welcome to leave, of course, but I personally don’t recommend it.” The last few words are muttered as an aside. 

“What?”

They continue. “By the way, there’s been a new virus going around.”

Covid?

Hange pulls their goggles into forehead territory. I’ve never seen their eyes before. “It’s probably not what you’re thinking — this virus I speak of is more contagious and much more deadly than anything we’re seen before. In fact, the whole world was shut down because of it, and nobody knows how! Rather, nobody’s able to think that hard anymore.” With a whirl, they sift through a pile of paper on the table. “This new virus… is so cool!” And they plop a blinding-white sheet on my lap. “So exciting!”

It’s a human diagram, complete with label lines and scribbled descriptions. If I focus, I can make out the words…

“It’s not something you wanna contract. A lot of us, firsthand, have seen the effects of it.”

When I try to flip the paper, it splits into two. There’s two pages. This one has the same person, but looks as if he was put through a meat grinder. 

“The effect of zombification.”

The single eye of the diagram stare at me. “Did you draw this?”

“No, it was my associate. Quite talented, isn’t— wait, that’s not the important part. Did you hear the part when I said ‘zombification?’ Like, as in zombies?” 

“Zombies?” Disappointingly, there’s no more pages. “I didn’t know they were real.” The zombie’s torn-up skin is beautifully shaded, hair clotted, teeth stained, eyes glassy, backbone knotted and humped and jutting into different directions. It’s handsome, even, in the same way an antique end table or fantastical map might.

From the background, Mirabel: “Maybe you shouldn’t have started with the virus thing.”

“You’re right… I reckon I have something that’ll jog the memory. Wait here.”

She clucks like a hen and then turns to me. “Are you all right, dear?”

The corner of the page is crimped, and the world comes back to me: heat under the blanket, tartness in my mouth, a tang of pain where my spine meets wood. “Ye– yes, ma’am.”

“You’re not cold, are you? Or hungry?”

“No.”

“Thirsty?”

“No, thank you.”

“Are you hurt?”

Slow. “I feel slow. Sorry, I’m not really sure if I’m saying anything that makes sense.”

“You’re only just waking up.” Warmth lands on my arm — her hand snuck up on me while I focussed on her face. “You— you’ve been in a bit of a coma of sorts for a while. Give it time, dear.”

“What are those blankets for?”

Mirabel looks taken aback and shifts the pile of blankets in her opposite arm around her body. “These ones?” As if there’s another stack of linens laying around that I’m referring to. “They’re for the children. Well, I suppose they wouldn’t be children to you.” A small, rolling chuckle. “They’re all around your age, including my son.”

“Aren’t you a bit young to be a mother?” 

“Ha!” she chortles, landing a side eye. “Charming little one, aren’t you? Ha!”

I half-shrug, awkward. I don’t know why I said that. “What’s he like? Your son.”

She puffs out her nose and shakes her head. “He can test my patience sometimes, that brat. You wouldn’t know it when you see him, but he used to be the sweetest thing.” She places the blankets on the bed, burrows into her back pocket — she’s wearing skinny jeans — and pulls out a sticky-looking wallet. She fiddles with it until a tongue of photo sleeves waterfall out like something out of a cartoon and points to the top one.

It’s Mirabel — younger Mirabel — seated with a hay-haired toddler with a jelly bean face and a beam stretching ear to ear. “His favourite food is veggie omelet.” She eases into a smile as well, as if the mere sight of the image sucks her back to that day a decade or so ago. 

I wonder who took the photo. “Cute.” Because what else am I supposed to say?

Her eyes flick from the wallet to my face. “I’m glad you think so, but there’s a reason he’s never had a girlfriend.”

“What?”

“What?”

Down the column of photos is another rendition of her son, evidently a more recent one, taken in his adolescence: middle-parted hair affixed with an illegal amount of gel, a petulant leer, smug lips a hair-length away from curling into a bonafide shit-eating smirk. “I meant his, uh, kid picture.”

“Of course, dear.” 

For the first time, I feel awake. 

Mirabel lets free a dainty laugh and makes herself at home on my bed. “Oh, I’m just teasing you. Don’t look so frightened! You’re like a fish.”

I blink away the stinging in my eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Hm.” The giggle subsides into a curve of the lips. “You’re sweet. I never really got the chance to properly speak to you in the past, but now I can see why Hange takes such a liking to you.”

“That’s nice.”

“Yes,” she responds, but her head tilts to the side a bit like she’s confused, or about to drop a bomb. “I… do believe you’ll see a great deal of things today, things you might not understand at first, but I want you to remember. Be kind to yourself, and be kind to others. Especially the children. Please be kind to them.”

Where did that come from? Against my better judgment, I want to ask.

“Hange debuts!”

Mirabel kind of falls into herself and the androgynous terror returns, fist clenched and waving like a weapon. “Catch!” And it splays open.

A small something glimmers in midair before manifesting as a sharp pain on my collarbone. “Ow!”

“I told you to catch.”

The thing is hard, and made a thunk when it hit. One hand reaches to rub the surely future bruise as the other rummages through the folds, searching. The professor plops on the other side of the bed as my finger finally catches and raises the object: a small metal plate swinging off a beaded chain. “A dog tag?”

Sinking onto their elbow, Hange beams. “You like it?” Yeah, just make yourself at home.

“It’s pretty cool.”

“I was expecting a bigger reaction.”

The plate slowly rotates on its string, revealing engraved letters. 

0009

MARLEY

– – – 

The bottom line’s missing.

“Do you remember this?” Hange leans forward, teetering dangerously on their arm. 

“Am I supposed to?”

“Interesting.” They pull out a pad and pen from nowhere, letting their chin hit the mattress, and jots down the word “Interesting.”

“Interesting?” I echo.

“It was on your neck when we found you.” They draw an imaginary line around their neck.

I look at the silver-grey pendant again, this time through a film of scrutiny as if focussing harder can unlock some ancient hidden memory. It doesn’t.

“Can I ask questions now?” Hange whines. 

Mirabel’s eyes roll, then rest on mine. “What do you think?”

“Me?” She nods. “I don’t see a problem w—”

“Great!” They heave ramrod straight and flip to a new page in the notepad. “For starters, tell us your name.”

My jaw unhinges. Hange looks on, wide-eyed, awaiting an answer that will never come. My name, my name. Just answer this simple question. Tell them your name.

“I can’t.”

The floodgates are open now. I’m scrambling for even an iota of memory that belongs to myself, that defines me, that makes me my own person, but there’s nothing there. It’s like trying to see something that’s just too far away to see, or too small to focus on, something that I can touch but never, never feel. It’s not fair, because those memories belong to me. I can feel them. They’re right there! But the more I reach, the closer I’ll get. Isn’t that right?

What’s the last thing I can remember? The sad-looking mushroom? No, before that. Hange, shoving pebbles in their mouth? No, that happened yesterday. Mirabel with worry on her mouth and shaking my shoulder? No, that’s now. 

“Yo! Little amnesiac?”

“Hello? Are you okay?”

And just like that, I’m back. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t do it.”

She smiles, but the concern is still there. “It’s okay, dear, don’t force it. Nobody is angry. It will come in time.”

Hange is right beside her. “Okay, but can you force it a teeny bit? Umph.” Mirabel elbows them hard. “Okay, fine, next question.” They tap their temple, crimping strands of shaggy, brown hair. “Now, what’s the last thing you remember?”

Yesterday — again, yesterday! — I was awakened as Hange barged in with a small velvet sack and spilled its little circular contents onto the green and white. Before that, I was looking at the ceiling, and before that, my eyes were closed. Before that… 

“I don’t know. Yesterday, my eyes were closed, and then I was looking at the ceiling, and then you came in, Professor, and spilled some rocks on the ground, and put them in your mouth. Before that, though, I can’t—” My hand runs up my cheek, onto my forehead, fingers weaving through strands of hair as if trying to scoop the brain encased within. “There’s nothing.” My other hand comes up too, and they squeeze. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

They fall silent. “Do you want to hear a story, Ostrich?”

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Good question,” they smirk, pulling their goggles back on. Rising to their feet (and making that side of the bed spring up), they clasp their hands in the crook of their back, straightening with newfound importance.

“Long ago—” Mirabel cringes and stands up as well— “there existed a hotel named the Ostrich owned by one John Jarman and his wife, Mary. This hotel was very, very special, as it was the site of over sixty murders — notably, murders of very rich people. These killings were conducted by none other than the Jarmans themselves. 

“When they got a rich visitor, Sir Jarman would call out to his lady.” Their voice reaches a comical low. “‘Honey, there’s a fat pig here if ya want one.’ To which his wife would reply—” now their voice turns up several octaves— “‘Okay, honey, just put it in the sty till morrow!’ 

“So they’d butter the guest up and put him in a special room right above the kitchen. And when all was quiet in the night… Bam! The floor opened up, the bed tilted backwards, and he’d be dropped in a vat of boiling oil. Have you ever had chicharrones? After that, the corpse was stripped of anything valuable and thrown into a river. And by the morning, it was like he was never even there. 

“But one day the Jarmans made a fatal mistake — their eyes grew bigger than their brains. For they tried to go after a particularly popular and wealthy man and got caught when people noticed his horse wandering around.” Curling their lip in… scorn? They continue. “Do you know why I named you after this hotel?”

I’m full of dead, fried rich people? “Why?”

They lightly tap one of their lenses. “Because John and Mary are such boring names.”

“You would have named me John?”

Their hands fly to their hips. “Well, with that attitude, little missy, I just might!”

⊹˚₊‧ ───────── ☾ ────────── ‧₊˚⊹

The two of them deemed my condition — both mental and physical — up to par to go out into the big, wide world. 

Shiganshina is a hollowed-out shopping mall. Brightness radiates in from the paned ceiling and bounces off the white walls, keeping the palace bright and warm — a nice contrast to the cooler temperatures of dying winter. 

The mystery hallway leads into a walkway that wraps around the internal perimeter of the building’s second story, the occasional bridge connecting opposite pathways above the first floor way below. Green and white still dominate the catwalk here with only the pattern switching from checkerboard to big white squares with tiny green diamonds at every corner. Anything else would be asking too much, I guess.

Hange’s gait is easy. Mirabel’s steps are more forward and practiced. A few people pass by, but for the most part, this place is barren. Not one individual is spared from Hange’s greetings. 

“Abel!” Our procession halts as Hange locates their next victim. “You’re looking nice and groomed today. What is it, a new oil or something? How are you?” They hold out a hand in greeting.

Abel wears thick, strapped glasses over his short, blond hair. He rubs the side of his index finger along the nice and groomed scruff on his jaw. “Very well, thanks.”

“It’s a beautiful afternoon, isn’t it? The sun’s—”

“Very nice.”

“Ah.”

Abel gets right down to business. “So did you get the field notes from—”

Someone across the abyss falls with a yelp, dropping what sounds to be several dozen metal pipes. The tings echo and take too long to dissipate, but the two keep talking.

If I don’t find out what my name is, I’ll be Ostrich forever. I let my gaze wander. If anything, this place is well taken care of — it doesn’t smell terrible, the floor and walls are spotless, and the people seem alright. The person in charge of cleaning here is doing a great job — even the glass-paneled railings are crystal clear. 

Most of the stores here are occupied by random pieces of junk, but a few have their large display windows blocked out in some way or another. The one closest to me is covered by a blanket depicting some sort of house. 

Wait, not a blanket. Someone actually took the time to paint this window from the inside. 

A cabin in a field backed by a rocky cliff, chopped logs littering the area before it. The chipped (and in some places, peeling) planks holding the structure together are of the same material as a wide picnic table near the scattered logs, adorned with the various foods of the forest. There isn’t anything particularly special about the subject — the grass rolls, the apples shine, and the windows hint at nothing. But it’s empty, as if the residents just left or disappeared or vanished. As if something very, very wrong is happening. There is a stranger looking out from the window. It moves. 

Me. Me? It’s me. Oh, who is that?

“Ostrich?”

Hange bears a look of mild concern which is quickly wiped out by their usual grin. “I’ve got some business here with Abel, so you guys’ll have to continue on without me. Right, Abel?” He grunts. He’s probably the type to hide in a dark, moist corner in perpetual squat. “Try not to miss dear old Hange too much.”

Mirabel beckons me with her head. “We’ll do our best. Right?”

“Yeah.” You’re overthinking this, Ostrich. It’s just a nice glass painting. We say our goodbyes.

Constant motion and colour keep my concentration hostage on our trek. It’s fun to peek into the open windows to see piles of empty water jugs or folding chairs or construction equipment, or to read the vivid signs above them to see what could have been. A few people still litter the area, to whom Mirabel nods or says a small greeting to. It’s quiet. 

“Almost there.” 

I step a little longer to catch up to the woman as she points with her chin. She loves using her head.

“You see it?”

In a darker corner lives a store with Spencer’s graffitied on the half-drawn garage door that serves as its entrance. Brick makes up the walls. Its single, large display window hints at nothing, obscured by… clothes?

“We’re not going in there, are we?”

The place is silent. Mirabel raps her knuckles on the door before forcing it up with a metallic squeal. “Hello?” She continues inside. I trail behind.

Like the surrounding area, the interior is dim, with the far reaches of the narrow room fading to black. Though the store seems to have been emptied of its original merchandise (thankfully), it’s far from empty: soft contours of cloth line the floor, trinkets lay askew and scattered, and food wrappers glisten in small clumps. A wet dog smell permeates through every pore and crevice of my body — it’s either poorly ventilated or contains something that gives off enough scent to cancel out any fresh air.

A large platform against the back and right walls spans nearly the entire area, hanging a few feet below the ceiling. Blankets spew out from beneath makeshift curtains tied to the exposed pipes above, effectively screening it. 

Lining the walls below the platform are wired bakers’ racks, piled with clothing and miscellanea. 

It’s lived in.

“Amazing, hmm?” Aluminum screeches as Mirabel pushes and knocks over a few cans with her foot to make space for the blankets. “How quickly a dozen or so adolescents can tear through a clean room! We haven’t sent any cleaners lately in hopes they’ll do it themselves — ha! — but you can see how well that’s going. Even the dorms back in Trost are cleaner.”

Cleaners? Trost? “Adolescents?” Fearing attack, I don’t turn away from the shadowed jungle. “This is where they all live?”

“For now, yes. And it’s where you’ll be staying, as well.” Her footsteps grow a bit louder as she nears. “It seems everyone’s out right now.”

My breaths grow shorter on their own. Maybe because of the smell. “I’m staying here?” 

“Are you coming along, Ostrich?” Looks like she didn’t hear. 

“Actually, can I stay here?”

“Really?” She’s shocked. “Okay, well if you ever need help, ask anyone down in the kitchens. They’re all very nice, I assure you. I’ll be making my rounds, so I won’t be staying down there for long.”

I risk a glance and little wave at Mirabel’s silhouette, prompting her to join the black mass that is the wall. I’m not sure what to feel.

Luckily, I manage to find some sort of electric lamp. Click. A rough circle of light surrounds me, exemplifying the absolute filth of this place.

I’m staying here? As much as I try, I can’t squeeze an ounce of emotion out. It’s not that I don’t care, right? It’s just that I don’t know anything better than this. I don’t remember a better time. Why am I even here? I should have gone with Mirabel. 

Of all the people I can be, I have to be a stupid one.

Maybe I should start cleaning. 

A few ungainly steps later and I’m in the hallway. I try not to stare down the next person walking down the hall as they pass. “Excuse— excuse me.” I wave.

It’s a woman with choppy copper hair. She seems weirdly happy as she points toward the requested cleaning supplies before making her way off to wherever. I don’t step on a single green diamond on my way there.

JANITORIAL ROOM

Authorized Personnel Only

It has a square, wired window too high up for me to peek inside and a door handle — not knob — which needs to be messed with a little before opening. I step in and let the door whoosh and click shut behind me.

“Nobody taught you to knock, brat? What the hell do you want?”

Every organ in my body purges as the strange little man looks up from whatever he was doing. Somehow, my voice finds me. “Clean.”

He rests his elbows on the mini table before him, the resulting wobble nearly knocking over the spray bottle and various chemicals on top. Light from the door’s window frames his face perfectly, sliced up by the cable crisscrossing its inner surface. “Speak up, or don’t bother wasting my time.”

What’s with this guy? Inching my hand to the knob — not handle — behind me, I clear my thought process and focus on the space between his steel-sharp eyes. “I would like to clean, sir. The dorms, that is. I’m here for cleaning supplies. That’s all. Sir.” Please don’t bash my head in with a spray bottle. 

“Hm.” He narrows his eyes. “New?”

New? Oh, he’s talking about me! “Yes. Sir.”

“Come here.”

What choice do I have?

He rises to his full, impressive height as I approach. I don’t need to see him to feel the force of his demands, just watch my toes. “I don’t want to see a single speck. All beds should be made, blankets should be tucked, no mop streaks, and so help me if there are any wall stains. Understood?” 

“Yessir.” Please, somebody let me out of here. 

His arm flourishes to the impressive collection of cleaning supplies on the wall. “Take what you need.”

“Thank you, sir.” If that arm even clipped me… I slink around his throne, somehow still feeling his stare when he’s turned the other way. Broom and dustpan, disposable gloves, a few garbage bags, cleaning spray—

“That won’t do.” Frozen in a squat, I listen helplessly as his startlingly heavy footsteps stop inches behind me. Plastic crinkles in the dark as the man snatches something near my ear. “You need thick gloves, that thin shit won’t do. And here.” Somewhere near the end of the room is a clatter and a thump. “Nobody worth their weight forgets the bucket. And—” another thump— “Scrub Daddy. Unless you want to scrub the grime with your teeth?”

Scrub Daddy? Nothing comes out when I open my mouth, so I force-clear my throat. “No, sir.” The bucket is shoved into my arms — I barely catch it in time — as he breezes past, taking up his throne once more. “Thank you, sir,” I say to the air.

“One last thing,” he juts as I clear his desk, making my cells disintegrate for a moment. A mystery object lands in the bucket.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Out.”

⊹˚₊‧ ───────── ☾ ────────── ‧₊˚⊹

I start by picking up every non-garbage item (as far as I can tell) and tossing them on the big shelf by the window, then bagging the actual garbage with the gloves. The broom takes care of the dust and dirt between the hardwood and under the collection of bakers’ racks — it puffs up thick, so I’m eternally grateful to the janitor for the last-minute bandana mask. At least, it’s what I think the white cloth is for. If it’s a loincloth or something I just might hurl myself to floor one. But why would he give me a loincloth?

Then comes the task of cleaning the platform. This entails lobbing up the lantern and praying it won’t break, the incredibly perilous trip up on a wobbly ladder which will probably tip or break or be the catalyst to the end of my short life, pushing out an absolute jungle of futons, sleeping bags, quilts, pillows, and other horrifying objects, and actually falling off but landing safely but shaken onto the teeming pile. I push it all out, onto a pre-cleaned portion of the hall. 

Finding no water anywhere, I manage to flag down another passerby who directs me to some sort of pulley system that brings up tubfuls of water. It also seems to mutter and sing. Strange. I lug one in, fill the bucket, scrub the walls until I run out, and repeat. I do this again with the mop on the floor, making sure to get rid of any streaks. 

My whole body burns but still comes the reassembly process. Using the mop handle, I beat the devils out of the pile in the hallway before lugging everything back up on a borrowed stepladder. Everything’s out of order — that’s someone else’s problem.

⊹˚₊‧ ───────── ☾ ────────── ‧₊˚⊹

At some point Hange checks in and drags me out to the now-dark mall. I didn’t even notice the room darkening as I worked. It was strangely therapeutic. 

It’s different at night. The whole place would be in black if not for the periodic solar lights stuck to the walls, ceilings, and support beams, basking us in yellow and white. 

“I don’t know how, but you did it!” Their glee is evident as we snake through the now-empty platform, hands clasped, feet pounding polished concrete. “Levi’ll love it. The cadets’ll love it! Hell, maybe we can even squeeze a  ‘good job’ outta the Comm– never mind, that’s pushing it. Whatever! We’re almost there.”

“Professor, I left the supplies—” 

“Shut! We’re here.”

“But—”  

My arm wrenches to the side, followed by my body, as the leader shoulders through an emergency exit. My back burns. A film of darkness lays over my eyes, the plopping of our steps more prominent than ever. Another second and my legs will give out.

Hange pushes through another door, this one requiring a little more strength. Moonlight. The earth, sparse and grassy, far below. Something sharp biting through my slipper socks and cold breezing in through the leg holes of my dusty pyjama bottoms. Reflexively, I suck in a stabbing, frosty lungful of air that billows out in a big puff, steam engine style. The smoke clears to reveal two silhouettes against the cloudy sky.

“Surprise, you two!” The professor claps the painful divet between my shoulder blades. “Meet our newest installment. You might know this one already.” They drive me forward, my lazy steps doing little to deter the action.

The two are easy to tell apart — one is a smiling, freckled unit and the other is glum and fluorescent-eyed. I would go blind if I stared too long (he’d pluck my eyes out). Both have dark hair and grow more menacing with each reluctant step.

Bright-eyes speaks first. “Professor Hange!”

“Woah, Professor!” the tall one exclaims almost simultaneously. “Isn’t it a bit cold for just pyjamas?”

“She’s fine.” Their head pops into view. “You’re fine, right? Levi will kill me if someone gets sick.”

Pushing my cold legs together, I nod. “It’s a beautiful day.”

“No way,” Tall chuckles, already undoing his coat. “It’s too cold.” The zips of his waterproof cloth don’t drown out his voice as he shrugs it off. “You’ll be needing this more than me.” He finally sheds the garment, handing it over. 

For me? “Thank you.” 

“No problem. I’m actually very weather resistant. You might be surprised.” He beams with the heat of a weighted quilt on a winter morning. Maybe I don’t really need this coat.

But a sudden chill sobers me and it’s on in an instant.

“What’s up with this?” the smaller one asks, waving in my general direction. 

Hange shrugs. “Started to remember. All good. Okay, I’m done here.” Hange half-stumbles back to their other foot that wedges the door open. “I’ll get back to business, then. See you, Ostrich.”

“See you,” I mutter. 

And with a screech, they’re gone.

Tall doesn’t waste a moment. “So, it’s Ostrich! It’s nice to finally see you walking around.”

Starry-eyes lowers himself to sit criss-cross, opting to stare into space through the metal grate railing. 

“Thanks, it’s… nice. Walking around and all.” What am I doing here.

With an amused breath, he tilts his head. “You don’t remember us, do you?”

Not meeting his eyes, I shake my head. 

He brings forth his big hand. “I’m Marco. My friend over here is Eren.”

He’s smiling again. Our hands meet — his is rough around the edges and warm, even the dark band around his finger, and I release it a bit too quickly. “Hi, Marco. Eren.” Something about this meeting kills me. 

“Alright, well, hey, sit down, Ostrich. You’re one of us, you know.” Marco plops down and taps a nearby cushion. “How are you feeling?”

I sit. It’s cold. “That’s a good question.”

“Yeah… I realize now it’s pretty dumb.” His freckles are all messed up as he scrunches up his nose. 

My focus switches between the far-away ground and the plaid cushion I’m on. “Yeah.” Then snaps back to Marco’s face. “Wait, no. I’m not saying your question was dumb, I’m just— it’s—”

His short laugh cuts me off. “Relax. You don't need to be nervous.”

“Okay.” This mouth of mine. It’s a death trap. 

Marco’s fingers pick at the spaces between the metal. “So, how are you liking Shiganshina so far?”

I rub the sleeves of the coat together. Zip, zip, zip. Why did he give this to me? “It’s nice. Hange is nice, the people are… nice. The view is nice from here.”

“You’re allowed to say bad stuff, too,” he pries half-jokingly. 

“I don’t like the dorms.”

“Ah, there we go.” He stretches backwards. “Yeah. Nobody does, really, but it’s the only room with heat. It’s liveable.”

Eren snorts, his first real contribution to the conversation. “Stop lying to yourself. Everyone hates it.”

“Okay, yeah, everyone hates it.”

Is now a good time to say that I cleaned them? I don’t know how to do it without sounding arrogant. Is it arrogant? It’s quiet now, but for how much longer? I should just step up and say it. It would make them happy. No, it wouldn’t. Yes, it would.

“Anyways,” Marco breezes, “how many of the others have you met?” 

“Others?” I respond dumbly.

“The other cadets. The other teenagers, if you will.”

Oh, the children. “I haven’t.”

“Then you’ll be meeting them all. Tonight!” He drums his fingertips on the metal. “Everyone’ll be back tonight, bar one guy. But I can introduce you to him myself.”

What. “How many people? I mean, if you don’t mind.” As if knowing can make tonight sound even less appealing. 

“Uh, ten? There’s me, Jean, Connie, Sasha, Eren-Mika-Armin…” With every entry, he puts up a finger. “Reiner and Bert, Ymir, Christa, and Annie. That’s, what…” He looks at his fingers, lost. 

Every name drags me down an inch or two. “Thirteen, including me.”

“Right. Wow, there’s a lot of people!” Marco puts his hands away and pauses, brownish eyes drilling into mine. “Hey, don’t be nervous. Everyone’s really nice, I promise. And we’ve all met you in the past.”

Again with that. It’s like everyone’s in on a secret inside joke that only I don’t know, except that inside joke is me. 

But he’s so very easy to trust, even though we’re strangers. As long as he’s there with me, it can’t be too bad… I squish into his coat and try a smile. “Okay.” You cheesy fucking bastard. Woah, potty mouth. 

He smiles too, and I don’t have to try anymore. “But I have to warn you, it can get a bit loud sometimes.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

Hands springing to life, he straightens to the point of tipping back. “You have no idea!”

Sensing Marco’s incoming story, my smile becomes toothy.

“Shut up!”

Like an anvil, Eren’s hushed yell pulverizes our talk. He points at something he’s looking at, prompting Marco to stand. I follow suit.

The balcony overlooks some sort of large garden with alternating lit and shadowed rows of ridged dirt, garden tools, and the rare green smudge that indicates growth. All is surrounded by a tall ring of trash composed of cars, construction fences, broken skids, metal railings, rocks, or anything, really, that can stand on its own and keep anyone or anything out. The pale dirt ends in grass and trees some way beyond the barrier. 

“Another one.” Marco squats to jot some ink onto paper.

“Another what?” An invisible chill runs through the area, making the leaves rustle and shift the dappled pattern of light and shade they cast. Nothing’s there. 

And then my shoulder and cheek are encased in warmth as Marco gets real close and aligns his line of vision with my own. “Right there.” I feel the voice more than I hear it. His pointing finger ends at a spot where dirt and grass meet. “See?”

Where’s he pointing? Marco’s close. Wait, where is he pointing? I’m about to ask again when a sudden movement ends my straying — a pale branch, creeping, wobbling forward from beneath the silvery blades. 

Hand.

Twiglike fingers drag and push into the dirt, joints bending backwards. The attached arm contracts, presumably dragging forward a body. Despite its horrendously bony characteristic — even from this second- or third-floor view, I can easily make out the double-beamed support of the forearm — it keeps scraping forward. Closer. Every inch pulls the blood down to my feet. 

“Third crawler tonight. Wonder what’s up with that.”

The person wears nothing. Something about the distance or lighting gives whatever skin isn’t torn up or filthied a washed-out hue.

“Maybe there’s a bear.”

The hand jerks forward again, disregarding rocks or twigs, shakily pulling the body into view. That is, the head and one side of the torso.

Where’s the rest? Why is nobody doing anything? Why can’t I? Doesn’t that thing need help? What does its skin feel like? How long? How long until it touches me?

“You wanna get the pager this time, Eren?”

“Yeah.” 

Foliage and deep red blood decorate the loops and sacs that bulge and trail out of the chest cavity, the surrounding ribs prominent and hanging by whatever holds ribs together. The creature shudders, loosing a few organs with a sickening swell. It persists.

Click-click. Click. “Drunk bastard’s asleep!” The statement is followed by a series of loud bangs that rattle our cage and resonate in my teeth. “God-fucking-damn it. Hannes. Wake up. Hannes!”

“Don’t, Eren. He’s pretty much out of commission anyways.” 

“No shit! Should I go down?”

“No rush.” With a final rattle, a clothed arm obscures my view. 

“Hey.” A pale blur which turns out to be a waving hand belonging to Eren catches my focus. “Your ears. Plug them, or something.”

Marco’s elbow clears the railing. He holds a lengthy rifle with its butt against his shoulder and his cheek along its length, a single saucer-wide eye trained on the target. 

I didn’t even notice he left my side. 

He hisses — in or out, I couldn’t tell — before the air blasts into pure noise. 

Sometime in the aftermath, my legs decide to sit me down. Marco (and, after a final glance into the forest, Eren) turns his attention towards me, his words completely lost to the high-pitched din but his actions clear as ever — reaching out as if to cuff my ears, shrinking back, looking sheepish. “Sorry,” he mouths. Once again, he points at the figure with something like pride. From this angle it’s apparent that its head is imploded; I prefer to stare at the shockingly good marksman with the sanest grin I can muster.

“Did you hear the part when I said ‘zombification?’ Like, as in zombies?”

No, this isn’t happening. I’m dreaming, that’s what. Of course. 

Granted, this feels all to real. The human brain is a marvel of nature, isn’t it? Can’t wait to wake up.

The two engage in strained conversation of flurrying hand movements and exaggerated pronunciation, resulting in Marco waving goodbye and going inside. The remaining pair of us sit together in the high-pitched eee until it dissipates into the non-silence of nighttime. 

“So.” Eren shuffles his feet closer to him, knees in his arms. “Can you hear now?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess it’s your first time seeing one.”

Seeing what? Say the word. “Yep.”

Skimming over the corpse, he wrings his hands. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

Eren worries his mouth as if sucking off some goo on his teeth, and suddenly blurts, “I hate it.”

Zombie. You’re imagining it, Ossie, tomorrow you’ll wake up in that room again and forget everything. “Hate what?”

“What do you think?” He waves at the mall. “This. And everything else. Those things. They ruined everything.” A telltale waver slips into his speech. “Everything we do is dictated by them. I hate it. I mean. Have we ever really had anything?” 

Like a long-winded siren, the boy’s volume gradually increases. Sirens mean danger. 

“Is it that bad?” 

Something snaps quietly. “We’re living like fucking livestock here, don’t you realize that? I thought your head’s better now, so why can’t you see that it’s not supposed to be okay? Our life is confined to these walls—” here he whips out his hand at the aforementioned wall, the motion rippling through his torso— “and the whole world outside is lost! Lost! Everything! They took everything from me! From us! And you’re just gonna accept that?”

Is he always like this? A walking time bomb? My body weight shifts forward as if to spring on my feet. “Eren—”

“No.” 

With the piling pressure his eyes grew from a smolder to a bonfire, ravenous in a forest of decay. 

But in the same way, it’s almost childlike. Was it the same sense of anger? Frustration? Invisibility? Innocence? It’s probably not that deep. “Yes?”

“You don’t remember it, so you wouldn’t understand.” He doesn’t try to hide his distaste. “But they’re not… supposed to be here. It’s— we are. It’s our world. You get it? They took it from us. Took our plans, our dreams. Our families.” Stiff-fisted and tight-jawed, he continued. “I hate them. They need to be eliminated. You get it? I’m…”

He gathers himself. 

“I’m gonna do it, Ostrich, myself or otherwise.” I slip into his eyes. “Every last one of them. I’m going to kill them all. Not sparing a single one… I’m gonna kill them all.” 

And I fall. “What's stopping you?” 

Those creatures with broken ribs and beautiful hair. Let him do as he pleases with them. It doesn't concern me. Soon I’ll wake up. I’ll wake up. 

He oozes into a more comfortable expression as the door bursts open behind me. “Alright, so the Hannes problem is taken care of,” Marco announces. “You should come inside, Ostrich, there’s someone I want you to meet. Actually, Eren, you should go, too. I’ll keep watch for a while.”

Someone to meet? 

Eren’s expression lapses into annoyance. “What happened to the two-person protocol?”

“It’ll be brief.”

“What’s it about again? Think you forgot to mention that part.” 

“You’ll see when you get there, he’s waiting just outside the inner door.”

Back to Eren. “Whatever.” He leans to one side as he gets up. “Let’s go.”

The returnee holds open the door, flashing a small smile as I cross. Cheeky bastard. 

I’m joking.

Eren holds open the second door behind him, flashing a small glance to make sure it doesn’t close on me. I mutter a quick thanks as we stand, seeing… 

Nothing. 

“There’s nobody here.” The boy sifts through his hair. “What the hell, Marco?”

The wall behind us booms thrice — I flinch — and yells, “Eren, is that you?”

At this, he brings up his other hand and drags them both down his face with a drawn-out groan. “What the hell, Marco?”

I nearly touch his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“Wait, who’s that?” the wall — rather, the person inside — hollers. “Eren, you’re sounding pretty feminent today.”

“Connie, what the hell are you doing in there?”

“Woah! He’s back!” The wall cackles. “So, uh, I need help.”

Marco, you cheeky bastard. 

With a sigh, Eren’s hands drop. “Ostrich, this is Connie. Consider yourself lucky you don’t remember his face.” His next words are forced through his teeth. “Connie. Introduce yourself.”

“Wait, it’s you, Ossie?” Something hard hits another hard thing. “Ow! Ossie, it’s me, Connie! Remember me? Handsome face, Greek physique? Connie?”

I smile at the flat surface. “Hi, Connie. Sorry, I don't remember you.”

“Aww.”

“Come out to introduce yourself,” Eren grunts, leaning against the wall. 

“Well, that’s the problem, señor. I can’t.”

“What?”

“I’m stuck.” 

“Just get out.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Cuz I’m stuck.” 

If looks could kill, the plaster would have a smoking hole with the wall inhabitant’s crisp body in the middle; intervening at this point just might save Connie’s life. 

“Uh, Er— uh. Let’s just get him out?” 

With a deep breath, he nods.

What am I supposed to do now? Eren looks on expectantly. “Connie.” It’s so weird, saying that name out loud. I hold up my fist as if to knock, but decide against it. “Can you move?”

“Yeah, if I go sideways. There’s more space down this way though.” Footsteps and random bumps move in the opposite direction of the exit door.

Eren holds his impressive eyebrows derisively high. 

“You just need to get out, right?” As long as we find his point of entry, he should be fine. Right? “Where did you come in?”

“I dunno. I got lost.” Without warning, he squawks and enters some sort of hyperventilated frenzy. “Sorry, spider web. But I think there’s wind coming from over here. Wind equals good, right?” His voice fades. “Wait, you guys are following me, right?”

⊹˚₊‧ ───────── ☾ ────────── ‧₊˚⊹

We end up in front of the janitor’s office. My visible companion clicks his tongue. 

“Before you ask, no, I’m not going in there.” 

“Aw, come on!” Connie whines. “I can’t get out myself and it’s dark and smelly in here! There’s spiders and ghosts!”

Waving the air as if brushing Connie off, Eren leans in close. He smells like plywood. “Let’s just go. Nobody’ll miss him. We can tell Marco he got out on his own.”

It’s hard to tell if he’s joking.

“I can hear you!” Bang bang bang. “I can heaar you…” Bang bang bang bang bang. “Gemme out!” 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I venture with a sprinkling of irony. Just in case he actually is joking. 

“Let me out!”

“I mean.” He glances at the spot where the noise emanates. “It’s not like he’s gonna die.”

Is he serious?

He scans my face and scratches his jaw. “Fine, we’ll get him.”

That’s better. “But we can’t really do anything if the janitor’s still inside. Can you check if he’s in there?”

“Why me?” He shoots a dour look down his nose. “Never mind.” Pushing his back flush to the door, he inches sideways until the window is nearly in line with his ear, snatches a peek, and gives a thumbs-up.

“So we just have to go in there and pull Connie out… right?”

“Actually, it’ll be better if one of us stays out here to keep watch. Take this.” Pulling up the bottom of his sweatshirt, he digs into his pants pocket and pulls out a square solar-powered light. “I’ll knock if he appears. Good luck.”

“Thanks?”

And then the door to the janitor’s closet shuts behind me once more, darkness pressing and eating up the edges of my vision. 

Thanks, Eren. After all I’ve done for you. 

I need light — how did I turn this thing on? My fumbling fingers eventually reach a soft button and push, directing light straight through my head. Great. I point the light somewhere useful. 

Rows of columns of cleaning gear, some still in their original packaging, hang from hooks extending from the white pegboard or rest on one of the numerous shelves. I didn’t see all this before — it’s like a torture chamber for dirt. A few feet from the entrance of the rectangular room is the folding table in which the janitor made his first appearance, now cleared of all equipment. “Hey, Connie? Where are you?”

“Right here.” Pointing the light upwards, I’m able to catch my first glimpse of the guy, in the gap between the top of the pegboard and the ceiling. “Hey, I can see my hand! I’m not a ghost!” He waves excitedly, hysterically even.

Until someone bashes their knuckles on the door. Not a second later the light clicks out. 

“Ostrich! C’mere!”

“Where?” I trudge dumbly toward his voice, bumping into what feels and sounds like a mop bucket and breathing a curse. No way they didn’t hear that. 

“Here!” Fingers patter on the particleboard. “Come on!”

Snippets of voice come from the entrance. No more stealth. I rush toward the opposite side of the room, tossing the light over before fumbling and grabbing Connie’s hand. It’s smooth.

“Hold on…” With astonishing force, he pulls me back.

“Woah—” I push my feet against the wall — please don’t break — hooking my other hand over. Connie grabs that too. 

The door swings open as I make it over, flip for a churning fraction of a second, and land heavily on Connie’s body. He grunts on impact just as a flashlight flicks on. 

“Hm,” says the janitor. Brightness sweeps over us on the concrete in small pegboard-sized circles. I can’t breathe; Connie scarcely takes a breath himself. Through a pinhole, his slow and crisp footsteps matches the image of his boots. He kicks the mop bucket to the side with a loud plastic grinding sound. We flinch. 

“Mop bucket fell over. Damned thing.” He drops the light somewhere and settles the mop against the wall. “You can leave now.”

“Er. Yes, Captain.” Eren. The door eases shut. 

“Captain” adjusts the light once more, straightens his throne, and sits down with a sigh. 

Slowly, almost painfully so, I roll onto the cool, grainy ground. 

Something taps my hand. Highlighted by a pockmark is Connie’s eye, hazel to the point of yellow, which swivels back away from the janitor’s room. We need to get out. As sparingly as possible, I nod, though I’m not sure if he sees it. 

We stand in silent — but shared — agony, the kind that shakes your limbs and makes the floor seem hundreds of metres down. Connie takes my hand, forming a clammy layer in between, and leads us back the way he came. We slow and separate. 

“I think we’re okay here,” he mutters, turning on the light in his other hand to reveal his massive grin and bald head. Thank god he remembered that. “Heh heh, that was a close one, huh?”

“Yeah, we nearly escaped death by bludgeoning.” I tremblingly slump against a wood support as he giggles. “That’s hilarious.”

His mood isn’t quelled. “Ohh, come on, have some humour.”

“We’re trapped, aren’t we?”

“You know.” His scalp glistens with a thousand tiny hairs as he lifts the light over himself. “Some ladies would kill for a moment alone with this handsome fellow.”

This guy serious? I’m not seeing that ‘Greek physique.’ “I’m sure.”

Gently, he lays down the torch, springs up, and digs into the pocket of his neon green and black zippered hoodie with a crinkle. “So grumpy, huh? Here.” A wrapped good is tossed into my lap as Connie falls on his ass. Inside is something squishy and dense. “It’s a Twinkie,” he explains at my probing. “I was looking for a place to hide them so Sasha can’t eat them. Don’t tell her I’m giving this to you, she’ll crucify me.” Having successfully pulled apart the top of the package, he bites the whole thing in half, pulling back to extract the sugary flesh.

“Are you sure?” The edge of the clear plastic is smooth and flimsy.

Crumbs spray from his mouth. “Just promise me you’ll stop being grumpy.”

Grumpy? I blink a few times. “Okay, I promise.” I slide to the ground too, smiling. “I’ll be nice.”

“Better be.”

My face drops. “Connie.”

He sniffs. “Relax, Ossie. Just enjoy your… freshly crushed Twinkie.” He tilts his head in fake arrogance. 

“You know, Connie, if somebody didn’t get stuck in a wall, he wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.”

“I could have left you in the janitor’s office.”

The words come out before I can stop them. “I could have left you with Eren.”

He sticks out his tongue. 

The crinkling dominates before I manage to tear open a corner of my package, opting to squeeze out the cake which oozes and cracks like a sad horse. I take the crumbly glop on my tongue. 

“Pretty good, huh?” Connie sprays. “You wouldn’t even know it expired six months ago.”

The sweet in my mouth turns bitter. “Six months,” I utter without swallowing, a line of drool threatening to spill. Bacteria and fungi spread their tiny poisonous seeds, creating rot. “That’s… fine.”

“Hey, if you got a problem with it, I’ll gladly take it off you.” He holds out a hand expectantly. 

Before he can react I squeeze the package some more. In a movement similar to his own, I scrape out the remaining pulp with my teeth and swallow.

Connie’s jaw goes slack as I chew, then shoots upward with a clack. “Okay, girlypop, okay! It’s all yours!” The statement is finished with a cackle.

“I said it’s fine, Connie,” I state, definitely spilling some this time. “A little mould won’t kill me now.”

“Yeah, if—” his eyes wander my face— “if the embarrassment doesn’t get you first!” His hysteria surges as he points. “You look so stupid right now! A lifetime’s worth of Twinkie!” He exhales more than he breathes in and soon resorts to gasping for air.

“Me?” I dart a sleeve over my mouth, though it’s already too late. “Look who’s talking!”

The filling in his mouth decorates his chin, legs, and floor. “I don’t take shade from a person named Ostrich. Gotta be the dumbest bird to be named after.”

“Well, I don’t take shade from a person named Connie.”

“Yeah? What’s wrong with my name?”

I pretend to see something interesting on the ceiling, pretend I’m not about to explode into a stupid grin. “I just think Connor is better.” 

“Okay—” he conjures the most serious face he can muster— “you’ve officially made it to my enemies list. Prepare for living hell.”

“What’re you gonna do, shine the sun off your head like a flash bomb?” Now I cackle. 

Okay, maybe that was a little bit mean. 

“Hey! This—” he jerks his hands round his head, the motion affecting his entire hunched form— “is a choice! I shave my own head ‘cuz I want it that way!”

“Okay,” I choke. “Okay, you’re bald by choice.” 

“Stop laughing!” 

“Okay. I can’t. Okay.” Pinching my nose, I draw in a breath. Then sputter into laughter. 

It wasn’t that funny, but I couldn’t help myself. Maybe I really am going mental. 

“I’ll just wait till you’re done,” Connie grumbles, but even in the dark the ghost of a smile can be seen. 

⊹˚₊‧ ───────── ☾ ────────── ‧₊˚⊹

We start walking again a bit after — Connie’s afraid my laughing attracted ghosts.

“So, Ostrich. You’re starting to remember?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you remember me?”

“No.”

We walk for a bit more before he speaks again. “Tell me something about yourself.”

“You’re asking me, Shiganshina’s resident amnesiac?”

“Funny. You don’t need memories to have a personality, you know? You’re not a ghost.”

The air smells familiar. “You think so?”

“How about you caress my handsome face and we can both find out?”

I flick his forehead and go cold. 

Did I just do that? 

But he just claps his hand over the point of impact. “Ow! Always the head!”

“Just such a big target,” I nearly sputter. “You’re lucky I don’t call human resources on you or something.”

“Yeah, whatever. Come on, tell me. There’s gotta be something.”

“I really have nothing, Connie,” I say. “But aren’t you the one who knows me so well? Why don’t you tell me something about myself?”

His thinking cap is on. “Well, for starters, you can’t walk straight with a damn.” 

“Strike four, Connie.” 

“Four? You’re already counting the number of times I pissed you off.” He sniffs. “I knew you cared. I can’t wait till we’re all together again…” He giggles like a little girl. 

“That laugh. I don’t like that sound.”

“Relax, Ossie. I’m gonna make it happen.” He thumps his chest. “From now on, I’m gonna focus on getting you out of here. Before bedtime.” 

“Weren’t you the one begging for help earlier?”

“I’m a changed man, I’ve grown.”

It’s a little scary to get so chummy with him so quickly, even if we do supposedly know each other. Always is the small nagging organ in my body releasing its small nagging liquids, telling me to stop, that he hates me, that I’m completely embarrassing myself because this guy is fake or a ghost or clinically insane. Maybe he is. Maybe I’m embarrassing myself. Maybe I’m embarrassing him. 

⊹˚₊‧ ───────── ☾ ────────── ‧₊˚⊹

Has it been ten minutes? An hour? It’s like the inside of this wall bends space and time. Einstein would cry.

Light in hand, Connie slows to walk beside me. “Do you remember Covid?”

“Of course! I’d always keep the tracker tab open because of how paranoid I was. I…”

All I see is white. “Holy crap, did you just remember something?”

My hand can’t block out the light. “Put that down.” 

“Think, Ostrich! Think!”

The memory is fleeting, only a wisp of the past unlucky enough to be snuffed up by me. “I’m trying!”

“Harder!”

“Please, Connie, put that away.”

“Oh.”

And with a snap, it vanishes. 

“Did you remember it?”

Blinking doesn’t get rid of the dark blotches. “No.”

“Aw, man.” He hurries to catch up to me. “But you did just remember something, right?”

“I think so.”

“Oh.”

Shuff. Shuf. Shuff…  If I’m not careful, I might blow a hole in these slipper socks. 

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t worry about it.”

No response.

“Connie? It’s alright.”

He mumbles.

Seeing him dejected like this feels wrong. “Um, you haven’t told me something about yourself, Connie.”

“I’m just a guy, Ossie, and I made you lose your only memory.”

This boy. “Connie, it’s fine. Really. I have lots of time to remember things.” 

He kicks the ground. “I know, but…”

“It’s just like you said.” Desperately, I try to remember. “It doesn’t matter if I can’t remember anything, because I’m still my own person. Right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” 

“Tell me something about yourself,” I repeat.

He rubs his hands against each other— “Well…” —and begins to pick up steam. “So, last week we raided this beauty shop, right? And J-boy said I was stupid for doing that, and I called him a horse face, so he threw a cream tube at me. I caught it like this, right—” his arms twist in a weird way as he reenacts the scene— “and it turned out to be a hand cream. I’ve been using it ever since, and frankly, I think he’s jealous.” 

“Hand cream? Is that why your hands are so soft?”

“So you’ve noticed? Ha! I can’t wait to tell him. We gotta get back!” His pace picks up. “I’ll even let you try some, Ossie, because you’re such a good friend.” 

I just met you, but I’m glad you’re happy again. “That means a lot to me.”

“Hold this.” He suddenly stops and shoves the light. “Back up, I’m gonna do something.”

“Something…?” I step away.

Connie squats, swings forth his hands, and leaps backwards. 

I watch as he smashes his feet through the wall, slapping the cold, hard ground with his skull. 

Blap.

“Connie?”

The light reflects innumerable dust motes and the eerily still victim of fatuity. Suddenly, the dark seems a little more alive. “Connie!” His head lolls when I cuff his shoulders. “Are you okay?” Blood trickles from his nostril. “Okay, dumb question.” 

He still has a pulse — but for how long is a mystery. 

Oh shit. This is real. 

I haul him around so his head is near the hole and try shoving him out by pushing up on his ribcage. Warm and squishy… just like that zombie. My arms go a little numb as I take a quick look — first forward, then back. Dust. 

I need to focus. 

Scarce light pours in through the hole as I push — now his shoulders are out. Tiny shards of the wall crumble over his chest. Tiny, dark red shards. 

Plaster bricks. 

“Oh my god! Connie?” The ground vibrates — someone is running over from the other side. 

By some miracle of god (or Connie’s hidden genius), we’re right where we’re supposed to be.

⊹˚₊‧ ───────── ☾ ────────── ‧₊˚⊹

gosh this chapter was clunky. (it gets worse.) for the record it was rewritten at least 5 times in every pov and tense and i've since grown tired of it. do you trust your author when they tell you that the next chapters will be better? do you? (don't)

i hope you liked it and all. i know you cant expect shakespeare on ao3tumblr but i keep thinking 'gotta be perfect gotta be perfect!' please lmk if i did anything wrong or something can be improved on. i try to get better.

please take care of yourselves

final notes: mc gets better

⊹˚₊‧ ───────── ☾ ────────── ‧₊˚⊹

masterlist 2 - little sproutling

[kaitookuya]

“ I am Kaito Okuya! Nice to meet you, I'm 16 years old and I have a twin brother Minato Okuya! ”

╭ ﹫BASIC INFO

┊ this is an oc from rhodagram, made by my bestie,

┊ 〔 @fimikoru 〕 ⸝⸝ credits to them + art creds as well!!

╰ HI FIMI HI WAVES IM RPING AS YOUR SON

╭ ﹫ROLEPLAY STYLE

┊mainly semi-lit, will do casual / crack occasionally!

╰ i love rping, so do interact!! very friendly :)

╭ ﹫OC INFO — PRISONER 03.

┊kaito okuya, minato okuya’s older twin

┊16 years old, 166cm / 5’5

┊birthday ; 15 november , blood type ; o

┊likes . bubbles, ramune soda, minato, green peppers

╰ dislikes . carrots, anything that hurts minato

╭ ﹫CURRENT RHODAGRAM INFO

┊trial 1 . innocent

┊trial 2 . guilty

╰ — so far no injuries sustained.

╭ ﹫TRIAL 1 APPEARANCE v

┊TRIAL 2 APPEARANCE ^

╰ REFERENCE SHEET ^

╭ ﹫EXTRA — PLEASE READ

┊do ask about lore / rhodagram + other prisoners!!

┊please, please specify which trial kaito you want..

┊because mainly, i’ll be rping as t1 kaito! unless…?

┊their warden is called izumi!

╰ rhodagram is still currently ongoing — trial 2

╭ ﹫ABOUT MOD

┊moderated by @eslover , 16 years old as well!

╰ more info + dni can be checked out here!

╭ ﹫TAGGING SYSTEM

┊. requested items -> important/announcements

┊. 000 - 010 -> prisoners + es tag!

┊. 0?? / ??? / !!! -> ocs / anon / ooc blogs!

┊. t1 kaito -> trial 1 kaito posts!

┊. t2 kaito -> trial 2 kaito posts!

┊. hey - a message! -> asks!

┊. its comfy honestly! -> fluff ish stuff?

┊. play video games! -> ooc posts/rbs

┊. USING TELEPATHY?! -> crack

┊. i’ll text you my smile later -> ooo.. angst.

┊. eh - neutral i guess -> REBLOGS

╰ more to be added soon!

* mod is okay with any type/genre of rp besides nsfw.

AS ALWAYS ALL ARTWORKS ARE BY FIMIKORU!!!

“ Please get along with him as well!!

He hs ldzmr dudqxsghmf… ”