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pinkslaystation · 8 months

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Ghost of A Connection

Ghost and Staff!Reader

In which you work at the nearest store at base, Ghost being your least favourite and unfortunately, most frequent, customer. Is there a connection there, or is it in his head? yALL - all these COD stories on tumblr got me hyped! So here I am tryna catch some clout ;) Be warned, this is possibly a very inaccurate version of military life, but then again, it's just a story. Word Count: 2.5k

Man, post-graduate life is hard.

Graduating top of your cohort of nearly 300 students in your masters degree within Psychology was impressive. Saving enough money from shadowing your senior Psychology professor and moving out to your apartment was impressive. Owing your own car was impressive.

What wasn't impressive though, was nearly hitting the 6 month mark of unemployment.

So here you are, stuck calling all your classmates for any open roles. You're so desperate at this point, you'd go for anything!

"Hey, Mahir! I know we didn't quite end of good terms...um-you know...when you asked for the mid-terms answers last year, and I- um...left you on delivered, and you had to retake the exams...but um, I hear you started working at the University as a Researcher and you're looking for a assistant? Well gee, don't forget how smart I a-"

Disconnected.

"Yooo, Josephine, it's me! From the Psychopathology group project! Yeah, I'm sorry I shouted at you for not doing your part on the project, and filing a complaint against you, haha...although, like, come on, it's your fault - you're 25, not a 5 year old bab-"

Blocked.

Wow. You were not liked.

So one evening, when you were on the phone to your childhood friend, Jordan Biggs, and had managed to slip out how desperately broke you were, he kindly offered a potential role at his workplace.

"Shop keeper? What, like a convenience store?" Remind me where you work again? Aren't you in the navy? What stores are you talking about?" You rambled, I mean a possible job - finally?!

On the line, Jordan chuckles, "Slow your roll, man. I've been been with the army for around 3 years now, I'm currently on a mission but we'll be home soon. Our base has a shop, that sells, you know, tactical gear-"

"GUNS?!" You interrupted.

Jordan laughs, then in shushed by, what you assume to be his teammate, "No, not any weapons. Just, tactical gear, MREs, bits and pieces of uniform. Sometimes you might be asked to clean the base, set up rooms for meetings. And ooh my favourite - work at the canteen. We serve the country, you serve us food." Jordan explains.

So you complied.

I mean, yeah, your degree isn't being utilised, but we're in a cost of living crisis, for Christ's sake.

And here you are, clad in a plain dark grey fleece, and straight black trousers, trying to look as professional as possible.

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

Your first day was silent. You found that you lived only 30 minutes away from the base, so you didn't struggle with the early shifts, working almost full days at the base, with a surprising decent salary.

You learnt you had replaced the previous worker, Katherine, a grumpy senior who quit, being fed up with the stench of these sweaty unkempt soldiers, and their rowdy behaviour after missions.

You also met your staff at the base, being the youngest one there gave you no surprise, with most your colleagues being double your age. You liked it. It was quiet, having met a few of the soldiers.

Your role was relatively simple. Consisting of various tasks such as ordering enough food to satisfy the recruits, more training equipment, when a recruit seemed to damage one. All in all, you were satisfied, especially when the first pay day rolled in.

You also noted that your colleagues, without fail, always seem to talk about a specific group of soldiers, such as Friday evening, when you all found yourself eating an early dinner.

"Soap is so sweet! He's always so generous when we talks to me, although I can't lie, I don't know what the fuck he says half the time." Your colleague rambles, shoving a spoon full of Friday's roast dinner into his mouth.

Another agreed, "Nothing beats the dilf of a man - Captain John Price. I may be chewing steak but that ain't the meat I want in my mouth, if you get what I mean-"

You choked, "Margaret, you're married with grand-kids, lord."

After a quiet but much needed conversation, you learnt about the most well-known team within the base, Task Force One-Four-One, lead by Captain John Price, forming of Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish, Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick, and the one you were most curious about - Simon 'Ghost' Riley.

"But like, why Ghost? If he's close to this Soap dude, why not call yourself Shampoo or something?"

Your colleagues laughed at your naivety glancing at each other.

"My dear, I don't dare to call him anything other than Lieutenant. He's entered a 10 metre radius of mine, and I've already pissed myself." One stated.

"I've heard he threatened to attack Katherine, just because she overcharged him, long story short, she quit." Another replied.

It seemed you didn't understand how feared Ghost really was...

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By the time you all had finished dinner, the staff split up, some going back to the canteen to prepare dinners for the soldiers finishing training, some going to clean up the barracks, and you found yourself going back to your designated shop.

Aah, this is peaceful. You mumbled, drinking your hot chocolate, whilst sorting out all the army boots on display.

As the clock strikes 10 p.m. though, the silence is broken and you hear a stampede of soldiers, once you assume had come back from a month long mission. The majority of them, from what you'd heard, sprinted to the canteen to rid themselves of their strictly MRE diet, and finally eat some home cooked food, whilst others ran off to their freshly cleaned barracks to get some well-deserved sleep.

Your little shop also seemed to be quite busy, a long queue waiting to buy water bottles, bandages, blankets, you name it. From nearby chatter from the tired soldiers, it seems most of the teams had arrived back from Afghanistan, a successful mission with no death and a few minor injuries.

An hour goes by and the queue dies down to around 6 people, with one at the till: Jordan.

"So a water bottle, that would be £1.50, payin- my God, Jordan?" You smiled, getting in front of the counter and pulling into a hug. He smelt like dusty and you joked that 1 bottle of water wouldn't suffice to rinse him of the smell.

"I haven't seen you in forever, it's been like 6 months? How's the job been treating you?" He enquiries, placing a kiss against your forehead. By now, the nearly empty shop turns to face the both of you, many assuming the situation to be a couple reuniting.

You and Jordan continue to catch up on everything - his mission, your job...Margaret's obsession with which positions she can take Captain Price in...

"Bro, she was going so in depth into the many ways she can contort her waist for, what she calls, the Price penis?!" You pull your most fake-disgusted face, as Jordan cackles loudly.

But his laugh falls short as a deep scruffy voice interrupts him-

"The only thing being wasted right now, is my time. Hurry the fuck up and pay for your shit. You act like we have all the time in the fucking world."

You jump slightly at the harsh words, although this is a military base, you should be used to this foul language.

"My guy, she said waist, not waste-" Jordan begins, before straightening his back and realising who he was talking to.

He turns around to face the man's voice, his back now turned to you, obstructing your view of the unknown soldier.

"Lie-Lieutenant. My apologies! Lemme grab this water and get out of your way," Jordan nervously chuckles, you can't see who he's talking to, but you can tell this was a man of higher authority, given how Jordan stutters. "Ooh, I see what you wanted to buy! Gloves, nice, socks, cool, Coc-Coco pops?!"

"My fucking God Biggs, the only thing big about you is your stupidity and your pussy attitude, grab your shit and go. Stop holding the fucking line, mate." The male's British accent is so prominent with every word enunciated, and you wish to never run into this stranger again.

"Sir!" Jordan turns to you, handing you a fiver and awkwardly side hugging you, "Have fun with this jerk wad." He whispers into your hair, before running out the shop, his water bottle still on the counter.

"Jordan your bottle-"

Holy shit.

After Jordan moves, your eyes feast before you, revealing a godly 225 lb man, standing at an impressive 1.89 metres, dressed in his dark and intimidating casual attire, his face hidden behind a skeleton mask, his piercing eyes squinted and penetrating into your shorter frame, his biceps bulging out of his sweatshirt, his shoulders broad, his trousers failing to hold his impressive bulg-

"Are you going to continue gawking at me like a fuckin' donkey or should I not pay for this shit?" He huffs out in disappointment.

Rude. Plain rude. Sexy...but rude.

Now you know why Jordan couldn't move a muscle when faced with this guy. Putting 2 to 2 together, you clocked. The way other soldiers left the shop as he entered. The way one look from him gets them to shut up so quickly. The skeleton mask-

This is Ghost.

"We- I- Um-" What the hell? Why can't you form a damn sentence?

"I- I- I don't give a damn. My shit, here." He mocks you, slamming his items on the counter. By now, the other customers have scurried off in fear. It's now you and Ghost in the shop.

You nod, humming a yes, eyebrows furrowing at his unkind words.

The next few moments are followed by near silence, the only sounds being the scanning of the items and your quickening breath. His foot begins tapping rapidly, as sign that you're taking to long.

It's uncomfortabl-

"The old hag before you's gone then."

Yes, Ghost, she is. And if you keep acting like this, I will be too. You grunt a response, unable to find the right words.

"£28.50" You say curtly, after a while. He hums in response, pulling his wallet to pay.

You watch him nervously, you did not expect to see one of the most respected soldiers in front of you so soon. Someone so handsome, someone so fucking sexy, but someone so fucking bitchy...

Oh. You said that last bit out loud.

Ghost pauses his actions, his head slowly craning upwards, his gaze drinking you in.

Your eyes meet his, quickly looking back at the counter, unable to meet his furrowed but amused glare.

"'m so bitchy, but you seem to love it, sweetheart. So red, like you're fucking in love with me or something." He scowls, slapping a £20 note on the counter.

"Maybe next time stopping droolin' over other men when you have your own cunt of a boyfriend." He mutters, before taking his shit and leaving. You don't fail to catch the smirk in his voice, as he exits your shop, loud footsteps booming behind him.

Oh my god.

You were at a loss of words. You were also at a loss of £8.50.

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

"Jordy, you don't fuckin' get it! Dickhead left the place, without paying the full fucking price, mind you." Frustration was evident in your voice.

"Bitchy and broke," Jordan snickers.

"And the audacity to call you my boyfriend? Bye." You huff in annoyance, whilst Jordan chokes on his spit. If anything, he was a like a brother to you!

A week has gone by since that first encounter and your conversations with Jordan at the shop, when he passes by, always seem to end up at the topic of Ghost. The way he glares at you as you walk past him in the corridors. The way he sees you struggling when you carry boxes upon boxes- oh he won't help you, by the way. When you ask, he simply scoffs, "You're getting paid and you don't even want to do your job?"

Since that day, you've met all of the Task Force members. Price was as Margaret mentioned, sexy. Soap, comical, Gaz, kind-hearted, Ghost...yeah, he's there.

"But you don't get it man, he's so big- like over 6 foot! And those eyes- man those eyes. So condescending...but so hot..." you continue.

"Damn Margaret wannabe, we get it." Jordan jokes, drinking his can coke - which he didn't pay for. You'll tell him later.

As you both converse, loud footsteps enter the store.

Ghost. Again.

Did I mention he's been in here every day since the first time?

8 a.m. sharp, the moment you clock in for your shift, and 10 p.m. on the dot. Fucker's so annoying, he'll stay around the shopfloor, lazily looking at the various protein bars, even after you state the shop is already 10 minutes past closing.

But you don't mind. His silently stares at you, as if trying to remember the exact location of every beauty spot on your face, the consequent reddening of your cheeks, the slight touches of his rough callous fingers brushing against your own. All this unspoken tension, leads to your every thought being consumed by Simon Riley.

And when he enters the shop, wow. Buys the most random unnecessary shit ever. You notice how he walks in and purchases his singular Coco Pops cereal bar, day after day. This man isn't sick of them?

I mean, come o-

"Your obsession with me is flattering." He states.

Oh, forgot to mention, he's still an asshole. But at least after rehearsing to yourself in the mirror, you can actually speak up for yourself.

"Guh- buh- we- u-" Fuck's sake.

But he actually laughs this time. A loud imploding chuckle exits his mouth, and you actually smile a little at this unfamiliar emotion.

You can't tell what his face is doing under the mask, but his voice suggests a small smile rests on his face, but it soon disappears before he coughs awkwardly.

"Your boyfriend's in the infirmary by the way." He looks away, emphasising boyfriend a little too roughly.

You stare in confusion. Boyfriend? He picks up on this.

"Biggs. Rolled his ankle or some shit. Dunno why he can't just man it up. I've had worse injuries." He mumbles, smiling under his mark slightly, assuming Jordan isn't in fact your boyfriend.

Your eyes widen, "Jordy? Wha-who-how?"

"He-" But before he can answer your question, you're running out the shop to the infirmary, stealing a snack from the shelf for Jordan.

You fail to notice that you'd left a dejected Ghost at the counter, who'd picked up 2 coco pops instead of 1 this time, his smile faltering, as he planned to give you the 2nd, as a token of apology for his impolite behaviour.

In the end, he realised he'd been holding onto a ghost of a connection, overshadowed by the presence of another man.

He winces, being left alone at the till, hoping to actually strike up a conversation with you, as he gathers his (unpaid) belongings and walks out the door, off to shout at any rando that dares get in his way.

yALL its 2.30 a.m. and i'm craving coco pops-

#ghost angst #simon riley #call of duty #task force 141 #simon riley angst #simon riley fluff #cod #john price #ghost

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akirakirxaa · 2 months

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UPDATE: I am closing my commissions for the time being, I will be starting my day job next week along with FFXIVWrite being next week. Rest assured that all commissions I currently have will be completed, but until I'm out of training for my day job I don't feel comfortable taking more and ending up with longer wait times. Thank you. <3

Hey everyone. I am really struggling right now. As many of you that have been around know, I made a big move to another state a couple of months ago. I'm so excited to be here, but my husband only just got a new job and I'm still out of a traditional job, and between us we currently have eight dollars to our name until we get paid next month. For full transparency, the most urgent bills are:

Car insurance: $180 Cat food: $25 Dog food: $25

If you would like to donate to help out, my p@ypal is @/LauraWrites without the slash, or if you're not comfortable sending directly through paypal, you can reach out to my Kofi [link], though I do ask if you do to please use paypal there too, as it processes payments much more quickly. The animal food money I need within the next couple of days, and the car insurance needs to be paid by the 17th or my husband won't be able to get to said new job.

However, I'm not here to only beg for money for nothing in return, but to offer some new commission slots for a few different things. So, let's get into it! Beta Reading/Editing:

I do indeed have a degree in writing (particularly journalism but between you and me? Almost the same thing just with some extra media related classes) and I would love to help you with your project! If you'd like me to look over your transcript, my rates are as follows:

Proofreading (grammar only): $15 per 1000 words Content editing (grammar + feedback and editing on content): $40 per 1000 words

Gear Upscales

Frustrated cause your favorite niche piece of gear doesn't match the body you normally use? I can help with that! I can also apply the Chocochomps teeth resource to your head of choice if your favorite hasn't been ported yet publicly. At this time I will only offer upscales on chest pieces as they are both what I have the most experience with and what I've had the most success with. I will also not port anything to the Eve body. Sorry. No IVCS/Skelomae conversions either, as I do not currently know how to do that.

Chestpiece Gear Upscale: $20-$40 depending on the complexity of the piece, contact for more details Chocochomps Application: $10, please have in mind how sharp or dull you want the various teeth. Additional teeth options on the same head will add an extra $5 per teeth set (eg, you got flat teeth but you also want vampire teeth, that would be $15)

Single Pose Gpose:

The classic and my most popular commission choice is back! For ease due to my new variety of commissions possibly taking up more time, I will now require a .chara or a .mcdf file in order to pose your character. If you are console or do not want to run the crime tools, a friend can also grab .chara files for you using a software such as Anamnesis. Please keep in mind that any NPC that didn't appear in DT did not get the new face bones, so facial posing for other NPCs will be limited.

GIF set:

My most popular unofficial option, I am finally codifying making a GIF with your very own characters! Like the single pose, I will require an .mcdf or a .chara file, so please have that ready. Due to the limitations of some tools still being offline, I will be at the mercy of vanilla animations + whatever exists as a working mod.

Single Character, 1 GIF: $20 Single Character, 3 GIFs: $50 Additional Characters: +$10

You can find my commission section on Kofi [here] or you can also message me directly either on Kofi or here on Tumblr. (Or if you're in one of the discords I frequent, you're welcome to send me a discord message.) Due to the subjective nature of upscales you will always have to message me first for that, since I'll have to look at the piece in question to determine the price.

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope to hear from you soon! <3

#ffxiv #commissions #commissions open #and urgently so #this is my only job right now so I need to make some magic happen #gpose #reshade #gifs #editing

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askagamedev · 4 months

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As a dev, what type of feedback grinds your gears? From the player side, I can't imagine how annoying it is when there are feedback threads and people are suggesting features or themes that would essentially create a completely different game.

After being collectively yelled at on the forums for so long, I've developed a thick enough skin that none of the feedback really bothers me anymore. I don't get the emotional engagement with it much anymore. To me, there's really only two kinds of feedback - actionable and not.

If the feedback is actionable - if it's actually within the realm of possibility to do - then we'll consider it, figure out how much work it will take, prioritize it, and put it in the backlog to get worked on if/when we have time. Actionable feedback would be things like "Pastrylord doesn't feel very engaging to play", "The Buttery Doom ability feels overpowered", or "The Cappucino Plateau is a boring area". These are issues we can legitimately investigate and try to address.

If the feedback is not actionable, then we'll probably file it away somewhere. Some of this feedback is pretty obvious, but there's also some feedback that will never go anywhere. Trying to assign blame among the developers or our business partners for some shortcoming in the game, for example, is never actionable. Asking for a complete redesign of the game (or major game systems) is almost never actionable. Giving us unsolicited content ideas (e.g. posting a design a dungeon for the game you like) is not actionable for legal reasons. Realistically, little will actually come from this kind of feedback - we can't do it in the current game we're working on and we have plenty of our own ideas for things we want to do in other/future games. Never say never, but often say "probably not".

[Join us on Discord] and/or [Support us on Patreon]

Got a burning question you want answered?

Short questions: Ask a Game Dev on Twitter

Long questions: Ask a Game Dev on Tumblr

Frequent Questions: The FAQ

#player feedback #how i do it

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kaihuntrr · 11 months

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part three: birds of a feather

The main couple of the fic finally see each other again <3

here's the cover for this arc, i very much enjoyed working on it >:D

To read the tumblr version, check out the read more!

It was good to be back.

The feeling of solid ground underneath Martyn’s boots and the crowds greeting him gave him a warm feeling. These were the people he’d given his life to, the reason he was out on the wild seas to do what he does; to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. He’d live and die a hunter, he remembered promising to his parents, and he’d stick to it.

Buildings wedged themselves around the port, many stalls and stores at the forefront to serve the returning ships. This left the entrance to the town narrow and filled to the brim with people walking and talking. Ships of all shapes and sizes docked by the entrance along the pier. The rhythmic hum of engines was one of the first things people could hear upon entering.

Martyn ran through the streets, passing different buildings and people as he followed the familiar path.

Almost there.

It was never a dull moment in this town; children ran and played in the streets, older folk bartered with sellers, and hunters like the Canaries came by every so often to deliver their goods. But there was one place in particular Martyn frequented; the local tavern, The Golden Apple. He was very familiar with this tavern’s owner. He ran out of breath, panting as he stopped at the entrance.

Steady breaths, Martyn. Breathe in. Breathe out.

The building had a sturdy stone base, cobblestone pillars for support with walls made of spruce with a roof partially covered in moss and overgrowth. Vines of flowers spiraled up the sides, neatly trimmed bushes lining the little courtyard, tables and benches sat neatly arranged outside. It was uncommon to see buildings with so much greenery, but that just made the place all the more special. People walked in and out of the place, and Martyn took in a deep breath and smiled before opening the door.

Everything was the same, just as Martyn remembered it. Big barrels were mounted on the walls, holding all sorts of alcoholic beverages. Lanterns hung from the ceiling as jeers from the second floor rattled the interior balcony. Tables and chairs were scattered across the room, strewn with bottles and mugs and plates full of freshly cooked food. Wooden beams held up the inside, with people lying or sleeping against them as their hands gripped their drinks. People bustled around, carrying drinks and hot meals to tables and booths, sharing stories and toasting to whatever, some were dancing to the tunes the bards sang. Clinks of glass, coin, and utensils filled the air. The place was just as busy as usual.

The place was alive.

The hunters who saw Martyn greeted him with a smile, patting his back as he bowed and waved back to each one. Socializing. He’d missed that. He loved the crew, but even he could go insane if spent his entire life with them alone. But they were off preparing for the king, all he needed to worry about was Scott.

The man he was hoping to see was across the room, talking to people Martyn would rather have him not talk to.

The two hunters had their backs turned, seated on bar stools, but he knew one of them, Mythical Sausage. Not him! Sausage was a piece of work; narcissistic, rude, and a braggart. He always found ways to annoy people and had such a smug grin while he did it. The long-haired blonde beside him was probably a lackey of his. The two wore contrasting clothes, Sausage in light blues while the blonde in red, but both had a long yellow cloth hanging from their waist.

Kestrels.

Martyn didn’t want to think about it. They were loud, mischievous, and a bunch of spoiled rich brats. Sure, they were a decent faction, but this crew in particular grinded his gears. He grit his teeth.

Scott was seemingly happy in his conversation with those two, smiling and giggling, before his eyes locked with Martyn’s and his smile grew wider as he waved Martyn over. Oh boy, this was going to be something.

Scott tilted his head, Martyn was sure there was a slight tinge of red on his cheeks. “Martyn! I was wondering when you were going to return. How’s my favorite hunter doing out on the seas?” Scott always knew how to make a man blush. Heat rose in Martyn’s cheeks as he stammered, Scott resting his head on his hand as he leaned closer from the counter.

Martyn scratched the back of his head, “I’m- I’m doing great! I missed you a lot–” Scott giggled, making Martyn more nervous as his eyes looked at everything else but Scott. “The- the normal amount of missing someone.” Oh, he was messing everything up already. So much for a decent entrance and welcome back.

Scott smiled, placing his hand out on the counter, inviting Martyn to put his hand on top. He did and Scott closed his hand around Martyn’s. Scott rubbed his thumb over the hunter’s knuckles, his eyes focused on their hands before looking up at Martyn. “I missed you too.”

Sausage cleared his throat, much to Martyn’s annoyance, “Are we interrupting something, or is he cutting our conversation short?” There was clear venom in his voice, and the man’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Martyn. Martyn narrowed his eyes back and growled. He did not want to deal with them.

Scott glanced between the two Kestrels and Martyn before looking back at Sausage. “I think you are. We’ve been chatting for a while, and I’d like to entertain this one now,” he smirked, raising an eyebrow, “No hard feelings, yeah?”

The blonde Kestrel sighed, hunched over on his stool as he glared at Martyn, “Why even bother? This little songbird’s not going to fly forever, you know.”

Martyn’s grip on Scott tightened unknowingly. His eyes narrowed and he snapped, “I’d keep my mouth shut if I were you, Kestrel.” Scott placed his other hand over Martyn’s, making him flinch and loosen his grip.

Scott was here, looking at him. Martyn shouldn’t make any rash decisions. He didn’t want to cause a scene. He didn’t want Scott to have a bad opinion of him.

Just keep your mouth shut.

Sausage pushed himself off the stool, the metal screeching against the floor causing people to start staring at them. He placed his hands in his pockets, tilting his scarred face with a grin, “Fighting words for someone who used to be one, eh?”

Stay quiet.

Sausage raised his voice. “A songbird so cowardly he couldn’t fight with his crew, especially when they needed him.” If only a few people were watching earlier, Martyn was sure more had their eyes on him as Sausage spoke.

That was a long time ago. Martyn wanted to forget; thinking about the Kestrels made his head hurt. He didn’t want to live through all of that again. There were some good memories, but those final moments were…

Martyn groaned, he stared at the floor. His hands trembled, fist clenched. His eyebrows furrowed. He did not want to deal with this. With them. Too many bad memories.

Scott seemed to notice his discomfort.

Scott gave Martyn’s hand a pat, causing the blonde to look at him. Scott smiled at him before turning to the Kestrels. His smile dropped and he raised his voice, “Enough. Sausage, Joey, get out of here. I don’t want to hear about this from either of you.” Scott pulled his hands away from Martyn’s and crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows at the two of them.

It seemed like he didn’t want to deal with them either.

Sausage’s confidence dropped. He faced Scott, his brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, “Scott–” Scott placed his hands on the counter, glaring at the two Kestrels. “I said, get out,” he grinned with insincerity, leaning up towards the taller man, “Or do I have to repeat myself?”

There was an edge to Scott’s voice Martyn didn’t understand, as if the man was growling at Sausage.

The blonde, Joey, placed a hand on Sausage’s shoulder, shaking his head. Joey looked at Scott and narrowed his eyes with a sharp sigh, “Fine. We’re leaving.” Scott leaned back, his eyes still locked on the two as they retreated. The tavern was silent.

If only people could mind their own business.

Martyn looked away from the two Kestrels as they left. Joey paused close to Martyn, but neither of them looked the other in the eye. “This isn’t over, songbird.” Joey hissed. Sausage huffed and shoved Martyn against the counter. Martyn grit his teeth as the two left the tavern.

Hopefully they wouldn’t see those two again.

The tavern slowly filled back up with sound and jeers. Better than the silence from earlier. Why were they there? Talking to Scott out of everyone in here? Martyn glanced at where the two were seated, noting the lack of food or the intoxicating smell of alcohol. They were just there to talk. Maybe they knew Martyn came by this area, and this was all some scheme to guilt and taunt him back into the Kestrels. Maybe he was going crazy thinking about it. The Kestrels had left a sour taste in his mouth, and he wouldn’t want to go back to that. To them. To him. He wouldn’t go back to his ghost.

That was years ago.

Martyn flinched when Scott placed his hand over his clenched fist. Scott looked at him, his eyes narrowed in a look of worry, “Are you okay?” Martyn glanced at Scott, seeing his concern, but he turned his eyes back towards the empty stools.

He hated how much his mind focused on them.

It was spilling out of his head too, he started thinking out loud, “Why did they even come here? They didn’t even drink anything.”

Scott chuckled, rolling his eyes as a smile formed on his face. Martyn raised an eyebrow and Scott motioned to him, “You don’t drink, but you come here.”

Martyn hummed. He shrugged, giving Scott a little smirk, “Fair point. That could change though.”

Martyn was a lightweight drinker. A horrible lightweight. He never really drank, despite all the tragedies that enveloped in his life he never felt the urge to drink. The taste was awful. But Martyn could indulge himself. He was in a tavern, talking to its owner, and everyone around him drank. What’s the worst that could happen?

“It won’t change the fact that you’re a lightweight, hunter.” Scott winked at him, causing Martyn to blush. Scott raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

Martyn hesitated. A quick shot or two won’t be so bad, right? Something to ease all this tension should be fine enough. Martyn smiled and nodded. Scott pulled out a shot glass from the bottom rack and one of the many whiskey bottles from the shelf behind him. A small ‘pop’ sounded from the bottle as Scott poured the contents into the shot glass and offered it to the hunter.

Yeah, just a couple would be fine.

Scott watched as Martyn took a sip out of his glass. A few might be fine, but drinking a shot all at once was a little too much for him. Scott closed the bottle, placing it on the lower counter as he faced Martyn. “You didn’t answer my question, though,” he leaned forward, “Are you okay?”

Martyn took another sip. Yuck. The burning sensation in the back of his throat was so weird. How are people able to drink all of this at once?

Martyn sighed, mindlessly swirling the liquid in the glass. “Yeah, I’m… I’m fine.” He took a third and final sip, chills running down his spine as he swallowed. “...I just don’t like them.”

That was simplifying. He wasn’t sure how he felt about them at all.

Scott hummed, glancing at the shot glass then back at Martyn, “Anything I should be concerned about?”

Martyn shook his head. He didn’t want Scott involved in all of that. That would probably confuse his mind even more. He stared at the ground, “No… not yet. I just…”

What was he supposed to say? Talking about the Kestrels was weird. It was like a scab he desperately wanted to scratch off, but he knew scratching it off would make him bleed. But he had to talk about it eventually, it wasn’t something that would heal on its own.

Scott popped the bottle open again, filling the glass with the weird, burning liquid, “You don’t need to say anything you don’t want to, got that? We can talk about something else.” Something else. Something else was good. Scott handed Martyn the glass, smiling, “Like how you’ve come here without any bandages this time; I’m impressed.”

Martyn laughed. He couldn’t tell if his face was heating up from either Scott’s compliment or the alcohol invading his system. “Well, a certain someone kept telling me to look after myself, so I did.”

He took a sip out of the drink. Scott snorted and giggled, and god, his smile was so pretty.

Scott rested his head on his hand, his mismatched orange and blue eyes focused on Martyn. “Do you need someone to tell you to take care of yourself?”

Scott had such pretty eyes. Martyn had never seen anyone with such vibrant eyes, he hadn’t even known someone could have both of those eye colors at once. Scott’s eyes were really pretty.

Scott was really pretty.

Martyn paused, his reactions slow as he registered the question. Martyn took another sip from his drink, formulating an answer in his head. “Yes? No– maybe? Uh…”

Wow, this alcohol was strong. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he was here with Scott. What was he so upset about earlier?

Scott laughed, a charming, adorable laugh, “Ah, it’s a bummer you don’t need anyone to do that,” he smirked, “Maybe if I tell you to take care of yourself more often, I can keep you all to myself.”

Scott moved in close to Martyn, their faces so close Martyn swore he could feel Scott’s warm breath against him, purring. He didn’t even notice Scott moving the shot glass from his hand to the lower counter.

Scott had such kissable lips. His eyes glimmered and his expression was playful and cute, the only thing running through Martyn’s mind was how this beautiful man kept flirting with him. Martyn tried to flirt back but he’d always end up a blushing mess. He probably was one at that very moment.

Martyn smirked, chuckling, “Oh, I’d like that.” He reached his hand out, wanting to hold Scott’s hand. Scott glanced down and giggled, placing his hand on top of Martyn’s and holding it. Scott had such soft, fragile skin. It felt oddly comforting next to his own, rugged hand. “Give me some time,” Martyn smiled. “Then I’ll be all yours.”

Scott sighed, leaning away. He crossed his arms. Did Martyn upset him? Scott’s eyebrows furrowed, “How long would that be?”

Martyn hadn’t thought of that. He wasn’t sure how long it’d be until he completed his goal, his purpose being a hunter. More than a protector.

Scott shook his head, “You can’t keep me waiting forever, hunter. This could be the last time you see me.”

Martyn’s shoulders slumped, his voice low, “That’s… That’s a depressing thought, Scott.”

It was a thought Martyn was familiar with. The feeling of uncertainty, being so far away that he couldn’t imagine how the other was feeling, what he was doing, or if he was even alive. It was a punch in the gut to remember how much time had passed between when they could see each other.

Scott shrugged, “I know, but these are just things you need to think about. Have you ever thought about it? Staying for a while?”

The winter months were coming, so they could spend time together then. Though if he remembered it right, Scott would be busy with something during the winter months. What that something was, however, Martyn didn’t know.

He thought about the months after winter. There was no guarantee he’d stay on land longer than a few days. There were always beasts to kill, always something new to discover, and more people to protect. He couldn’t risk being out of service for too long, even if it killed him to admit that. He was still deep into his passion for hunting, but his heart always sang a different song.

A piece of him wanted to stay, but another called to the open seas.

Martyn’s eyes shifted away from Scott as forced a smile, “Yeah...” Not now. Later on, maybe. But now? It wasn’t possible. Martyn shook his head, a dizzying feeling beginning to twist his mind as he smiled at Scott, genuinely, “I promise. One day, I’ll have a final hunt. When I do, and I come home, I’ll stay with you.”

“And what does the legendary hunter, Martyn Woods, want for his final hunt?”

Martyn looked Scott dead in the eye, his eyes widening and his smile dropped, “...A sea prince.”

Scott’s head tilted, his eyes narrowed. He didn’t say a word. Martyn stared back, equally as puzzled, “What? I’m serious!”

It was a dream of his since he was a young boy. The idea of finding and hunting such a mythical beast has been embedded in his head for a very long time.

Sea princes were folktales Martyn heard as a kid; he’d been raised with the stories his whole life. Sea princes were larger than any beasts ever seen or documented, shaping the ocean however they desired. They commanded armies of beasts to do their bidding. They bleed in glittery silver and gold, and they guarded a treasure so legendary and powerful one glance could turn any human into a god.

He wanted to prove they were real.

Scott giggled, waving his hand, “No, no, don’t worry about it.” He placed one of his hands on his hip, the other resting on the counter. “It’s just… very outlandish? Very fitting for you though.”

Martyn grinned, smiling like a little kid telling his parents he accomplished an impossible task, “Trust me, I have a whole speech planned and everything.”

Scott looked like he was about to laugh, but Martyn could tell it was because of his passion for things like this. It never ceased to amaze Scott just how much Martyn knew about the sea prince stories, the horrors they gave, and the promises of power under the waves.

Martyn puffed out his chest. “I’ll walk up to the prince and go all,” he placed a hand on his chest, his tone theatrical and playful, “The sea can finally be free of one of its biggest threats. Give up your life now, and we can start living in the new world.”

The alcohol was definitely getting to him.

Martyn paused, trying to remember the rest of his speech before Scott sat on the counter, a smirk forming as he raised an eyebrow. “Oh, and you’re sure you can kill me, a powerful beast of the ocean? I could crush you here and now,” Scott lifted Martyn’s chin, holding it in his hands as he moved closer, whispering, “Or I could eat you. You’d be like sweet candy to me, dear hunter.” He winked, sending shivers down Martyn’s spine.

Oh.

Oh he liked this.

Martyn laughed, holding Scott’s wrist, “You can’t kill me, I’ll kill you, and I’ll bring your body to shore to show all humankind that we can take down an ancient evil.” This sounded fun to play. Sea princes don’t talk though, but the thrill of it was something else.

Scott blinked and moved away from Martyn. He was back to looking confused, “...You’re serious?”

Martyn tilted his head, “Yeah? Did I say something wrong?”

He was so stupid for drinking those shots. Was Martyn supposed to play as a helpless victim then? Maybe it was better to think of that later, if they were ever alone. He realizes doing this in public is definitely a bad idea, a blush appearing on his face.

Scott shook his head, sliding off the counter, “You’re fine. I just didn’t realize how handsome you’d look while saying all that. Charming.” He winked again, giggling.

No hard feelings then. That was good. He hoped the next time they did something similar, Martyn would get it right.

Martyn nodded, internally breathing a sigh of relief. “I try to be,” Martyn hummed, thinking of what else to add. Oh, right! “Ah! I wanted to show you something, let me just get my–” He opened his satchel, only to find his sketchbook missing. He could have sworn he’d placed it in his bag. The Canaries teased him for drawing on it all the time. He knew he kept it on him. He shuffled around, checking his pockets if he placed it there instead.

Where did he put it?

Scott looked on as Martyn started to dig more furiously through his bag. Scott called out to him several times before snapping Martyn out of his thoughts, “What’s wrong?” Martyn paused, looking around before turning to the door. He turned to the empty stools.

The forceful push from Sausage. The push would’ve made him unable to notice the sketchbook being slipped out of his satchel! He should’ve really closed it. A lesson learned, but not one he wanted to learn from those Kestrels.

Martyn groaned, his face in his hands. “Those two,” Martyn huffed, Scott raised an eyebrow, tilting his head. Martyn sighed, “They took my sketchbook. I wanted to show you what I did...”

Martyn loved to show Scott the little drawings he’d of the events that happened over the month, though he would skip all the pages he’d drawn Scott on. Martyn would sometimes sneak in some live drawings when Scott was busy working and not paying attention to him. He was really, really pretty to look at. Could he be blamed for wanting to draw a pretty figure over and over?

Actually, it was a surprise Scott had been entertaining him for this long. He should’ve been called to do more work by now, but it didn’t look like a priority for him. His other workers seemed to have it covered.

Scott cooed, a blush rising to his face, “You’re sweet. I’ll get it back for you, promise.” Martyn shook his head. He could do it. Sure, he’d hate having to confront them, but it was his sketchbook. Scott shouldn’t be the one covering for him on that. The blame was on Martyn for forgetting to close his bag properly.

Scott didn’t budge. His eyes narrowed, “They make you uncomfortable, Martyn. Let me do this.” He raised an eyebrow, gently tapping Martyn’s shoulder, “Let’s just call this an ‘I owe you’ kind of deal. So you’ll owe me a favor.”

Martyn could sense something stirring in Scott’s head. A deal sounded interesting to say the least, especially from Scott, “What kind of deal would it be, then?”

“I don’t know, maybe something…” Scott glanced at the ceiling, his voice trailing off. Martyn leaned in and Scott smirked, “...special, for the two of us. What do you think?”

“Deal.”

Martyn had never agreed to anything faster than that.

Scott giggled, but his eyes landed on the door as it swung open. “Good– ah, just in time. Your hunter is right here, mostly in the right headspace.” Who was he talking to– oh.

Martyn looked behind him to see Grian and Joel, glancing between him and Scott. Martyn gave them a small wave.

Joel’s eyes widened as he looked at Martyn, “Scott, did you give him alcohol?” Scott technically didn’t give Martyn alcohol, at least he thinks so. Martyn asked for it, Scott shouldn’t take the blame for it.

Scott shrugged, “Only a little. He needed to loosen up a bit.” He raised his hands up to his chest, “Entirely on me and free of charge, don’t worry about it.”

If Martyn wasn’t such a lightweight, maybe he would’ve been able to drink a little more…. Didn’t he hate the taste of alcohol? The burning feeling sucked, but spending time with Scott made it oh so delicious and addicting.

Grian nudged Martyn’s shoulder, chuckling, “Don’t say anything stupid when we’re at the castle, Martyn.” Grian looked at Scott and smiled. Martyn didn’t know much of Grian and Scott’s relationship, but Grian would sometimes drink, if not for fun, then….

There are so many things not to think about.

Grian waved at the tavernkeep, “We’ll see you around, Scott. It was good to see you again.”

Scott nodded in response. Grian and Joel each held one of Martyn’s shoulders as they brought him out. “You two as well,” Scott called after them, “Safe travels!” Martyn looked back to see Scott waving at them, a grin forming over his face as he winked. Martyn blushed, smiling back. Oh, he had missed Scott. He had missed him a lot.

#the sea prince au #sea prince chapters #limited life smp #limited life #life series #life smp #trafficblr #majorwood #mean gills #coral kids #scottyn #scott smajor #smajor95 #smajor fanart #dangthatsalongname #martyn inthelittlewood #martyn itlw #inthelittlewood #inthelittewood fanart

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ash-says · 6 months

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How to tackle Fragmented Sleep/ Sleep disruptions :

This post is inspired and geared to help @thisisneededfmr .

Also to every one of those who are going through similar issues. It becomes extremely taxing when you can't sleep peacefully at night. You keep on waking up in between after some hours if not then suddenly you are half asleep which according to me is even more annoying. Being an insomniac or nightmares can make this condition even worse.

Sleep fragmentation can be described as frequent interruption or disruption in the normal sleep cycle. It can cause various chronic health issues as well as have repercussions on mental health.

Ways to tackle Fragmented Sleep:

1) Develop a sleep schedule:

Instead of being a night owl jump into your bed and try to sleep. It will be difficult at first but slowly and steadily you might fall asleep. Count numbers?? Try to sleep at the same time everyday. Because once it becomes a habit you will automatically feel sleepy.

2) Avoid Caffeine or any foods that result in hyperactivity:

Coffee is infamous for making you feel nervous and jittery. So avoid it before bedtime hours. Any kind of foods that result in a hyperactive nervous system cancel them out.

3) Practice relaxation techniques:

Listen to calming music, do breath work, meditate, read a nice book before you fall asleep. This might help in calming your nerves.

4) Exercise regularly and do yoga before sleeping:

The benefits of exercise are well known to us. I don't want to waste my time in convincing you about it. There are some specific yoga asanas you can do before sleeping and trust me it works like wonders. One of my friends when I used to live in a dorm made us do it and the sleep after that was just a chef's kiss.

5) Limit screen time before bed:

The radiations emitted by the phone or electronic devices disturb your sleep cycle. So try not to use your phone before you fall asleep. In fact at my home this is a rule we never sleep with the phones near us. They are kept at a great distance so that the quality of sleep is not disturbed.

6) Try not to do work or other activities in bed:

I read it somewhere on Tumblr long back please if anyone knows the blog kindly tag them in comments so I can give the reference here. It stated that you should only use your bed for sleeping as it will automatically signal your brain to sleep once you are in there.

7) Address your mental issues:

Most of the time sleep fragmentation is caused by psychological problems. Is there something you are trying to escape from? Or are you in a stressful environment? Depression? Anxiety? Adhd?etc you get my point right. Try to fix those issues. Your problem might be arising from there. Who knows.

8) Check your medicines if you are on any:

Literally!!! I am not kidding. It's really serious. Some medicines put your nervous system in hyperactive mode resulting in fragmented sleep. Check with your doctor and share these things with them. If the problem has started after you started the dosage maybe it's responsible for it.

From here the suggestions are based on personal experience with no scientific data to back it up. Use your own discernment.

9) Hug someone or something and sleep:

This works for me sometimes. If there's someone you are close to then try asking them if they would be okay to sleep while hugging you or holding you close. It's therapeutic. Plus it helps in relaxing the adrenaline in your body and brings you out of the survival mode.

10) Sleep in an open space:

Sometimes our bodies are not able to relax in a confined place. It's part of a phase especially if you have trauma related to closed areas. It can be triggering for your body and your brain might wake you up in between to look for danger. So sleeping in an open space like a balcony or something might work.

11) Keep a knife under your pillow:

I know this sounds ridiculous but it's a belief in our culture that doing it solves sleep related issues. Especially if you are having nightmares. And even if it doesn't work you have a knife to swing if someone attacks you in case. It's cool.

12) See a doctor:

When nothing of the above helps and even your own techniques that you might know it's high time you take professional help. It's not something you should ignore.

Being stated all that I really wish you a GOOD NIGHT SLEEP and pray that you overcome these issues. There are a lot of underlying causes that result in sleep fragmentation but the main one being Stress, Trauma, Emotional distress,etc.

So find a friend and vent it out if you are going through any negative state of mind. If you don't have anyone my ask box is always open. Drop a message and I will try to reach out to you as soon as I can.

Reminder: You are doing great given the circumstances. So keep fighting on and don't let anything have power over you.

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taylortruther · 2 months

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Idk if this is an unpopular opinion or more of an observation: this fandom is very much not normal about gay men. It makes a 100% sense that conversations about homophobia in the fandom mainly are about sapphic swifties, because they are a huge part of the fandom and face intense harassment. Men generally are less prominent within the fandom, so I see why people don't always think about how they are spoken about. However, because of this and the fact that "twitter gays" are enemy of the state for swifties on that platform because of their frequent dislike of Taylor, it can feel like homophobia geared towards gay men is a free for all. And I don't just mean the absolutely horrendous comments people leave on Twitter, but also the way people talk about Joe's "lack" of masculinity or make jokes about him being bi* in a way that reduce (male) bisexuality to something ridiculous. Even the anon you got after somebody said Joe would have been good in Challengers felt (unintentionally) dismissive of him potentially playing a gay role. Why is that? This might also be a tumblr thing where the demographic of the website is a bit different then on twitter, but the fact that one of the main groups that regularly get harrassed by Swifties are gay men is frequently ignored and that rubs me the wrong way, and I think it relates to how the fandom in general talks about gender and sexuality.

*addition: the assumption that Joe must be queer because of his quiet demeanor or the field he works in was huge in the fandom at some point and it has always felt icky to me and very much tied to traditional gender roles, which is something this fandom is very infected by. But this was also very en vogue in gaylor spaces, for obvious reasons, but there is also a convo to be had about how gay women don't always treat gay men with dignity or respect. (Their male privilege is not a catch all excuse.)

you're preaching to the choir here. it stems from the same issues of misogyny and homophobia as the anti-wlw sentiments though. like, it's wrong for women to express sexual desire over another woman, especially one like taylor, whose femininity is pretty paramount to her persona. and in comparison to uber-masculine travis, joe becomes "gay," just like josh kushner was called gay in kaylor circles because of his ~mannerisms~ or perceived lack of masculinity. there are many other things to say about this phenomenon but it should be very obvious to everyone by now that swifties (like the rest of the world, but it's highly visible in this fandom due to who taylor is and how she looks) have very intense opinions about what femininity and masculinity should look like. and if someone in the universe steps out of line then it's criticized pretty openly.

#tldr the fandom is overwhelmingly straight and not very progressive re: gender or heteronormativity

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wip · 10 months

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I'm finding lots of inconveniences with the Neue post format and on mobile compared to the old system. Primarily in how tags work. I have several long tags that I use semi frequently (once every week or two), but not daily, and I have to manually type them out almost every time (ex: +#I am crossover loving trash #my precious gem child [and show titles, ect]). Why aren't constantly repeated tags showing up in suggestions as I type? And do they have to make everything lowercase? it's quite clunky.

Answer: Hey, @lightanddarklove!!

So, first things first. The post format has nothing to do with tags. Instead, this seems like an issue with how tags are being suggested, which we already have folk behind the scenes looking into. We agree that this is not optimal—and hope to have this resolved sooner rather than later.

If you’re having trouble with Tumblr for Android, try the following:

Log out and then log back in.

Visit the Applications area of your device settings. Select the Tumblr app and clear the cache and data.

Reinstall the app, making sure you’re using Android OS 7.0 or higher. You can get the newest version at https://market.android.com/details?id=com.tumblr, but the Google Play store will offer you the latest version that can run on your phone’s particular OS.

Try both a cellular data connection and a Wi-Fi network to see if there’s any difference between the two.

If you’re having trouble with Tumblr for iOS, try the following:

Restart the app. Slowly slide the screen up about 10% until all open apps appear, then slide the Tumblr application upwards until it clears from the screen.

Log out of your Tumblr account and then log back in. You can log out by tapping the account tab (the little human), then the gear icon, then “General settings,” and then “Log out.”

Reinstall the app, making sure your device is running iOS 15 or later. Please note that iOS 15 or newer is required to receive the most recent updates. Find the latest version here.

If you’re still having trouble with the suggested tags, on either platform, then please send us a screen recording of the issue so we can check in more detail.

Thanks for your question!

#feature #NPE #tagging #mobile

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sailorsenshishitposter · 7 months

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Until it finds my dreams have disappeared

I've been debating about whether or not to post this for a while. Mostly because I use my tumblr to post dumb stuff or act as a distraction from stress. I'm getting kind of tired with people though. This isn't something exclusive to the Metal Gear franchise (far from it) but it's something I've noticed happening quite frequently. Metal Gear has many characters with horrible backgrounds that suffer from PTSD/CPTSD and many mental health issues. I can't help but notice that there's a trend in the younger crowd (isn't mgs exclusive) that whenever there's a heavily traumatized character (I've only seen it happen with male characters but I assume the opposite does happen) that they considere attractive, they will simp for them and post things unironically.

It's like they see someone who they think is attractive and start actually going "NO I CAN FIX THEM! THEY'RE JUST SAD LITTLE MEOW MEOWS". Like it's fine to make jokes but when you see posts that resemble those weird celebrity fan pages bordering on obsession I think it's time to take a step back. I get some people identify with characters which is fine but they'll completely ignore said characters actions and be like "sure they killed all those people but I'd totally let them cut me up if I had the chance to smash" when the person in question isn't even real. Or there will be a character that's traumatized so badly that they think that if you just cuddle a person like that and baby them then you can fix them. I guess I'm mostly just mad because I feel like usually these are young kids who still have a chance for a good life but they're very ignorant about how people affected by trauma can be.

It's not some cute, quirky thing. It changes your whole world and your beliefs, especially when it starts in childhood. You can technically put this for any character that meets the criteria but personally for me I would have to choose Monsoon from Metal Gear Rising. He grew up with no choice but to kill to survive and witnessed the Cambodian genocide along with working for the mafia and nearly dying from that. I don't really care if someone has a crush on a fictional character, personally that's none of my business. What I'm tired of is seeing frequent posts that range from "uwu my soft cinnamon roll baby" to all the graphic smut on here depicting tortue.

I can't speak for everyone but personally I find it demeaning when being coddled by others. Yes, I went through things but please don't treat me like a child. It feels insulting. I also have no problems with BDSM but I can only take seeing so many posts that basically allude to someone drawing a character about to be raped for their own personal enjoyment. It's especially bad when people make stuff of that for characters who have already been held hostage or enslaved (I'm looking at Vergil x Mundus shippers specifically).

Trauma is not something that you can help someone overcome. It consumes them and becomes your entire world regardless of how it came to be. In fact trauma is often passed down through genes. Though you may not have someone else's memories you will have the same reactions to traumatic situations that those before you did or your body will adapt to that kind of environment. Hypervigilance can be passed down through epigenic changes in DNA.

This is where things get personal for me. Though I've never met them, I know I come down from genocide survivors. I'm either third or fourth generation. I'm not exactly sure what they saw but from what I've read it was common to see various forms of torture. One method was to stick babies in the sand and then trample over their heads with horses... Based on the family I could find and knowing their location, they must have survived the death marches and I'm unsure if they were at the final killing fields or not. That's not even mentioning everything they had being taken away from them and seeing everyone they knew suffer horrible fates. To this day bone fragments will still rise from the ground, the bodies of the dead never having been put properly to rest.

I'm unable to travel there but if I could, I couldn't help but feel like I'm being swallowed by death. Why am I here but so many perished. Then on to my father. I don't know much about him and he passed away when I was a child. All I really know about his background was that he came from a wealthy family. It was common for his friends families to have guards outside their children's bedroom doors. We lived in a western country where it was "safe" (he wasnt originally from where I Iive) but I remember he wouldn't sleep at night and would seem like he was looking for something during the day. Sometimes he just stared like he was waiting for something to happen but nothing ever came. I don't want to say that he was an intentionally cruel person, just that I don't think he had the capabilities to act like a normal human being. I was raised with a mindset of being better than others. That is to say that I wasn't supposed to have weakness. It makes sense looking back. He survived having his body messed up and I was told he survived assisnation attemps (corruption is huge down there so it's not like police could do anything). Nothing was said after so I assumed he killed whoever was after him before they could kill him. Pretty much a kill or be killed mindset.

Growing up I realized he was hard on us not to hurt us but because he thought it would make things easier for us in the future. I know it must have been even worse for him if he thought that this was being kind. Anyway he passed away when I was a child and long story short but for whatever reason my family couldn't get in contact with us so I never received my inheritance but that's for the best. I don't know how well I would have handled it at nine if I knew there was a possibility of being kidnapped or killed for the money or because someone had a grudge against my father.

I guess I always knew I was different but his death really solidified that. I was used to having to be tougher but it seems like my older sister and mother couldn't handle it. They already cried one time when we couldn't see him (which was often) and once the news broke I just remember everyone sobbing and screaming in agony. I didn't feel anything though. I realize now that it was dissociation but no tears would fall and I understood what was happening but it felt like I couldn't emotionally process it. At some point I have no memories up until a certain point. Whenever I have some sort of traumatic situation happen I suffer from dissociative amnesia. I'm not sure for how long, I just know that there are large gaps in my memory.

Right before my memories vanished I can remember not wanting to exist anymore. The day after I was surrounded by all the sobbing and knew that I couldn't let myself die. If I did I would just be trying to escape from my pain and would place it on my family. So for the last two decades I haven't really had a dream or anything to look forward to. I've just had a goal of trying not to die. There are many more traumatic things that followed which I won't get into but I dislike telling people my life story since they just give me looks of pity or seem like they want to ask how I haven't killed myself yet.

Unfortunately the kill or be killed mindset has been passed on. While I've never harmed anyone, I have recovered memories involving someone I trusted keeping me against my will and unspeakable things happening many times. I've had frequent nightmares since then and didn't know that my situation wasn't normal. By the time I was a teenager I found out that I didnt have to live my life in fear and allow abuse to keep happening. I've decided since then that I'll do whatever I can should I be faced with a similar situation in the future. I can only fight back to stop such a thing from happening again. It will most likely never occur again but it still affects my life everyday. I can't go out in public without someone I trust and even then I still scan the whole area and look for an escape route. I shouldn't have to feel like everyone around me is a possible threat to my safety and freedom.

I don't think people realize just how calming the rain can actually be. Not just the light stuff but heavy rain. It acts as a soothing white noise that drowns out your thoughts and feeling it hit your body also distracts you. I won't say when since it could reveal my location but within the last few years I was outside during a very bad storm that had frequent wet microbursts. It destroyed all the trees in the area and I almost died but I felt oddly calm. It was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. There was so much wind and rain that it resembled blowing snow and there was so much water hitting the ground that it would form waves that would zoom so fast and then crash only to repeat the process over and over.

I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm annoyed by all the sexualization of people with mental health issues. With the way some people act towards characters that don't exist, it worries me how they could treat real people going through similar situations. And on the other hand please see trauma survivors as real people. Many of us had to survive on our own and you thinking someone being terrified is just a shy/cute trait that makes them adorable is infuriating. I can't tell you how much I hate the latter. I'm so sick of people thinking that I need someone to spoil me with affection and protect me to the point where I feel like I'm being treated as a baby. It just makes me feel more weak and pathetic.

#kurapika #kurapica #nelo angelo #monsoon mgr #vent #tw genocide #tw trauma #metal gear solid #mgs #metal gear rising #metal gear rising revengeance #I feel like some of you didn't listen to the lyrics of the stains of time #ptsd #complex ptsd #tw ptsd #childhood trauma #abuse survivor #mgrr #mgr

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theros · 5 months

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because i follow the satyrkin tag, and toggled on the setting that injects posts from your followed tags into your dash, i frequently see posts by other satyr and/or faunkin while i'm scrolling

recently though, it's been showing me the same 4-5 posts from 2014

it's not that it's annoying me, but it's kind of... sad, i guess? I was on tumblr but hadn't awakened as a satyr back then. i wouldn't discover i was a satyr for another five years, and only after a severely traumatizing situation ruined my entire previous perception of myself and my identity and forced me to rebuild and rediscover myself from the ground up.

and all of the blogs whose posts i'm seeing have been inactive since 2015. so are the majority of other satyr/faun blogs in their notes.

and i know i'm not quite like other satyrs, as i've repeatedly said before. the part of my satyr identity that is grounded in a separate fictional source rather than mythology will always set me apart from my fellows, make it so that there's always at least one thing they can't relate to me about and i cannot relate to them about.

but there used to be several active satyrs in the community back then. serious ones, discussing their experiences in the ways that the alterhuman community has recently been begging everyone to return to. more talk of actual lived experience instead of moodboards and memes and gear (not that there's anything wrong with those things; having fun with your identity is just as important as serious discussion of it and i will die on that hill).

there used to be so many of us talking about what it was like being a satyr or faun or both. now there's a much smaller community, about half of whom i can't interact with for one reason or another, and the other half of whom hardly ever talk about being a satyr/faun.

even if i wasn't a different type of satyr in the first place, it would be a really lonely experience. it is a lonely experience.

#satyrkin #faunkin #alterhumanity #nonhumanity #otherkin #the body is whole but whispers splinter the mind

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kxizoku-ou · 8 months

Text

Welcome to kxizoku-ou!

This is a fic/headcanon/meta/whatever else blog for One Piece, run by an admin with far too many ideas to juggle, already. Though I imagine a good portion of my followers here will know me from my other, older blogs— my name is Liz, I'm 24, and I've been a reader-insert writer here on tumblr for about nine years now. I like angst, xenobiology, Aus, reader-inserts with dubious morals, pathetic men, rotten women, and putting characters through the worst suffering I can come up with!

I was originally in this fandom over a decade ago; I watched a couple hundred episodes in 2012 or so, researched everything else available at that point, and ended up getting sidetracked somewhere around the time Dressrosa was wrapping up in the manga.

The One Piece mood hit me again in August last year (in the form of Gear 5's introduction in the anime), and after giving it some time to see if it would last... yeah, I'm in real deep again. >.> Since I imagine I'm going to be in this pit for a while, it seemed appropriate to make a separate blog for it, rather than have the hype take over everything else on @phantasmiafxndom.

I write for a lot of other things. @invertedphantasmagoria is my main, while @arrancxr, @dixbolik-lovers, and @senjuushi are more of my notable fandom blogs. Due to mental health incidents and generally being a bit distractable, updates to any individual project/blog tend to be sporadic. If I'm quiet for a while, I'm not dead, I promise.

Lastly— consider this an open disclaimer that my writing frequently includes a wide variety of mature, dark, and disturbing topics. #Lemon is my general nsfw/smut tag, and I try to tag warn for common triggers as well, so please blacklist as needed.

LINKS

Rules | Ao3 | Au List (<—to be added)

#Admin #Links

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philliamwrites · 2 years

Text

SWYAATL 16: ətˈæk 0N tάɪtn

Pairings: Eren Jaeger x fem! Reader

Warnings: canon-typical violence and gore, angst, anxiety, flashbacks to loss childhood trauma

Summary: “Our story has just begun, right? It’s time we teach them a lesson, okay?” “Okay.” In that moment that changes the trajectory of your life, you realise three fundamental truths at the exact same time. Number one: For the first time in all your life you know you are more than what you fear. Number two: There is a truth to remember about Emil, and because you remember you are given a second chance to be with him. Number three: When you trace Eren’s name, it spells home.

Notes: [01] || [15] | [17]

Words: 4.8k

A/N: eren isn't the only one who's back. since there was SO MUCH AMAZING feedback this past week on tumblr & ao3, i decided to treat you all and upload today instead of sunday.

chapters might be shorter from now on and therefore hopefully more frequent. chpt.17 is already done, so hopefully that little headstart might help. if i manage to keep up writing despite the ridiculosu stressful time ahead at work, the next update is next sunday. if it's not, it'll DEFINITELY be in 2 weeks, promise.

16: ətˈæk 0N tάɪtn

When the break of a second passes and the gears of the world turn back into motion with a jerk, there is barely any time to draw your blades before a hot blast of steam hurls you off the Wall. Distantly, you hear screams as the world swirls by, the sky becomes the ground becomes the sky becomes the ground, until auto-pilot hijacks your muscles and you rip out your grip handles. The anchors wedge into the stone wall and you slam the handles to let the wires reel you in. The impact against the hard stone rattles from your feet all the way through your bones, snapping your jaw shut hard enough with a loud click that your teeth hurt. Shadows whirl past you—your friends. Only then do you notice the screams belong to you, tearing through your throat as you try to tell them to move move move!

Everyone’s instinct kicks in right on time and they quickly follow using their ODM gear. But one body keeps falling, falling, tumbling like a lifeless bag. In a flash, Sasha shoots past you, and saves who you recognise is an unconscious Samuel plummeting to his death. Her anchor ripping through his leg is no pretty sight, but she manages to break his fall.

“It’s the Colossal Titan!” Eren shouts a few feet above you. His blazing green eyes stand in stark contrast to his pale skin. “This is finally our chance to make him pay and end this!”

A messy, full-throated roar of memories rise. You quickly push them aside. There’s no time to break down, not here, not now, not when it could arrive at any moment—

A crack, loud like thunder. Like the earth is splitting in two, dying. Your head jerks down to the main gate of the Outer Wall and for a moment, all your horrors claw at your throat like wild animals as you wait for the Armoured Titan to march through the destroyed gate. But only boulders and debris hurl by like cannonballs and you’re weirdly amazed by how small it looks from up here.

“He’s kicked in the Gate,” you hear Connie mumble quietly. He’s manoeuvred closer; everyone has come closer to brief what to do next. Except Eren. He’s gone. An awful suspicion haunts you when you guess where to. “If we don’t stop them now, we’ll have Shiganshina all over again.”

“We have to report back to HQ!” Mina screams, her face locked in fear. “We have to find Garrison—” She falls dead silent when the watchtower’s bells go off in the distance. You’ve been drilled so often for moments like this, you know what is next: the evacuation of the citizens begins. Titans have breached the Wall.

Your gaze slides past Mina’s pinched face. The first Titan, a five-metre monster of flesh and teeth stumbles into the District, its mouth hanging open like a door hanging on broken hinges. And then another. And then another. You stare at them, throat tight, the cold sweat sensation of dread spreading slowly through your limbs. The taste of blood slowly fills your mouth, zapping your brain awake when you notice the pain in your bottom lip from how hard you are biting it. It clears the fog for a moment; it allows you to jam the emotions behind a basement door. You claw your hands into this sudden composure and drag it over your skin even though it feels all wrong and too tight.

“Get Eren back down here,” you tell Connie and Thomas. “We’ll retreat to HQ first and wait for orders.”

“B-but the Titans.” Mina points down where the first wave begins to spread out in search of people.

“Nobody should be at home at this time anyway, they’ve announced drills this morning, remember?” It’s a sobering thought, provided at the right time—you’ve always worked well under pressure. You hope your brain doesn’t stop now.

“We have to get Samuel to safety, too,” Sasha adds, casting a worried glance down to where he’s hanging upside down, passed out.

“More reason to retreat,” you insist, glad that Connie and Thomas zipped up to the top of the Wall. Right then, a group of Garrison soldiers swarms out from behind the buildings, engaging the Titans. Two aimed for you, another two continue further up, and you feel immediate relief at the sight of senior soldiers taking control of the situation.

Transporting Samuel to Headquarters at the centre of Trost is no easy task, but when you hand him to the paramedics, it’s one thing less to worry about. Good timing as well, because that is when your forced composure decides to crack like the brittle thing it is. The emotions you trapped before are clawing at the basement door, all the pictures swarming before your eyes—the Colossal Titan, the smaller Titans marching into your city, Eren vanishing into the white steam—you cackle with a shrill pitch that borders on hysteria and bend over, your hands braced on your knees, as though you can barely hold yourself upright. Your breaths come in tight, short bursts. The air won’t fit down your throat. You squeeze your eyes shut as though that stops you from engaging with reality, mumbling to yourself, “He said he’d come back. He’ll come back. He’s gotta come back. Emil—No, Eren. He said he’d come back. He’s gotta—”

The angry voice cutting across the yard is like a sunburst after a stormy cloud. The encroaching darkness dissipates with Jean’s voice, and suddenly you have no problem clawing your way out of this darkness and fear. Jean’s insistent voice is like an anchor; from childhood on you have grown to respond to it. To rise from bed when he called, to run to help him when he brawled with the other neighbourhood children.

Your body stumbles over to where he is holding someone—not just someone, Eren—by his shirt collar. You don’t even know what he’s screaming about, only that he is there; they are both there.

Jean speaks with such anger, such a tangled mixture of dread and fear and hostility that you want nothing more than to reach out and comfort him. But there is no time. Whatever he sees on your face when he notices you approaching, it immediately silences his onslaught of words—and gives Eren a chance to retaliate.

He shoves Jean against a pillar and holds him there until his struggling ceases just enough for Eren to talk. “Never forget the three years we poured our blood, sweat and tears into,” Eren hisses. “We’ve nearly died so many times over the past three years. Some people actually died … or gave up halfway. But we survived. We survived. And we’ll get through this, again. You’ll survive today, and tomorrow, you’ll head off to the Interior, right?” He shakes Jean, hard, as if to rattle all the cobbles loose that might bar the path to realising the obvious.

Jean jerks free. A muscle in his jaw clenches, as though he is chewing on his words before he speaks. Finally, he breathes, “If you kick the bucket, I will fucking kill you, Jaeger.” He shoves Eren off him, rounds the pillar catches your eye. Jean juts his chin forward—telling you to follow him. But for now, your whole attention is anchored in Eren. He answers with one of his own forceful stares that always leave your skin on fire as if he put a red-hot poker against it. As if pulled by an invisible hook, you two close the space between you.

“What he said,” you say quietly. “Try not to get yourself killed, okay?” You wonder if he notices how desperate you sound. “Or I will come after you and kick your ass.”

Eren leans over and puts his hand on your shoulder. Even through the fabric of your jacket, you feel every one of his fingers pressing into your flesh. He speaks in a low voice. “I finally get the chance to slaughter those pigs. Do you really think I’d do something stupid and just die here?”

“This isn’t dummy practice.” Your throat is dry. You feel like an animal trapped against a corner. Suddenly, everything goes blurry. “This is real.”

“It is. And that’s exactly why we can’t lose heart. We’ll show them. We’ll show them we can fight back.” He holds his head slightly lowered and looks at you with his green eyes from under thick, dark lashes. “We’ll get through this. Our story has just begun, right? It’s time we teach them a lesson, okay?”

You swallow hard as your senses return. Drop by drop, like water filling a cup, your thoughts fall back into order. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Eren releases your shoulder and raises his hand to brush his knuckles against your cheek—so lightly you think you might have imagined it. Too startled to say anything, you stand in silence as he turns and leaves, marching with straight, rigid shoulders towards Mikasa.

When you meet her eyes, you don’t know how to read her expression. Is it concern? Does she have a problem that Eren shows you this platonic affection in public when she doesn’t even get a pat on her shoulder; not even a promise that he’ll be careful and come back.

You walk backwards, barely understanding why you have to look at them for such a long time. To memorise their faces. But Mikasa is strong, and if Eren stays by her side, nothing will hurt him.

Jean is waiting at the other side of the courtyard with Connie. Some people get the shakes after an adrenaline surge. Jean gets pissed. When he helps make sure Connie’s gear and gas cylinders are in order, Jean pulls at Connie’s harness so hard as if he’s trying to mug him.

Standing right next to Jean, you want to close your eyes and lean against him, even for just a moment; you want to pretend it’s just another practice drill, that by the end of the day you will meet with everyone for dinner, and you’ll laugh because like always, Sasha and Connie stole Jean’s kills and then the boys will try and predict the next day’s weather depending on Bertholdt’s sleeping position.

Rough hands yank you back from this pipe dream, tugging at your ODM gear. Jean is checking on your equipment next, and you’re kicked back to when you two were thirteen years old and he had tugged on your clothes just like that, checking for injuries after you had given the butcher’s son a bloody nose for dunking Jean’s head into the river.

“Who’s in your squad?” he asks, his voice quiet and rough.

“Karl, Daz, and Franz.”

Jean pulls a face. His hands are restless as he double-checks your equipment. “Listen, if you see a Titan, you move your ass in the opposite direction, okay?”

“You heard Captain Weilman.” Like a well-oiled machine, you turn around, allowing Jean access to check your back. “Desertion is punished by death.”

“So you’d rather a Titan eats you?”

“I—”

He doesn’t let you finish. “I know what happens when you’re scared,” Jean says, and stops. He grabs your shoulders and spins you around, jerking his head down to glare at you. “I’ve known you all my life. If you don’t run, you freeze, and we both know what that means here. Today.”

“I can’t run from it forever,” you reply, quietly.

The breath he exhales is a quiet huff, fanning over your cheeks. His eyes are raking over your face anxiously. You can sense the tension in him, a thrum just under the skin, like the fast-beating heart of a bird. “Running means you’ll stay alive. I need you—” Jean swallows. “—alive.” He almost stumbles over the last word.

“You won’t get rid of me, don’t worry.” If you press into his side and he presses back, it’s only your business. Jean takes a reluctant step back. He catches your fingers with his and gives them a quick, hard squeeze before letting go. When he is already halfway to his squad; he turns and looks back at you. You meet his eyes for a split second. Then he is gone.

You find Karl, a guy you’ve rarely interacted with during the last three years apart from quick nods and polite smiles, and give Daz a wide berth. He’s still sickly pale and you turn away when he starts to dry-heave as though he’ll be sick all over again. Franz is fidgeting with his spare blades, but he looks up when you approach and manages a wobbly smile.

As you check that your gear is working and everything is in place for yourself, your mind is on Jean and the look you’ve shared when he left. It was the first time you’ve watched him leave, knowing you might never see him again. It is something that is hard to accept, and you aren’t sure you want it to become part of your life. To live with death as a constant companion, a cold breath down the back of your neck. But such is the life of a soldier; such will be the life of those who join the Survey Corps.

As though you have the luxury to think about it. You have a mission now: join the support squad and take the middle guard to defend Wall Rose until every citizen is behind the Wall. Stop Titans advancing further no matter the cost. Once the evacuation is done, soldiers from the rear-guard will meet you on the roofs and hand out new gas cylinders so you can all retreat on top of the Inner Wall for safety. That’s the plan.

When you head out, you try not to think about it. Just follow orders, move with your squad. All those years you’ve been talking about protecting the people, saving them so no one ever has to lose someone they love like you did. Finally, you can walk your talk, but every reasonable thought gets pushed back by sheer suffocating, overbearing emotion: you’re scared. You’re scared shitless to face the monsters of your childhood. All these years you thought you had banished them, that come time you could face them—older, different, stronger. But all this time you have deluded yourself. Still a little child, still unable to do anything. Maybe nothing ever changes.

You follow Karl towards Main Street. Captain Weilman tasked your squad to take position in the tailor’s borough, which gives you an excellent opportunity to check on the Kirschstein’s residency. Your home. You don’t allow your thoughts to spiral into what happens if you would find Ida and Felix in any status other than safe and alive. They depend on you; so many people depend on you. You force yourself to steel your fear into rage, into desperation, into resolve.

Karl lands on the roof of a copper-stone house, surveying the area through squinted eyes. “We’re taking position here,” he says. “Doesn’t look like they managed to head this far into the District yet.”

Daz stumbles a little, his foot stuck on a roof shingle. “We shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t fucking be here, what are they thinking?” he mumbles to himself, shuddering terribly as though plagued by a done-deep cold. “We’re just canon fodder. We’re just here so they can snack on us while everybody else books it behind the Walls.”

“Daz,” Franz says. He has his blades out, and even though he’s gripping them hard enough his knuckles are white, you can see them shaking. “Shut up.”

“Don’t fucking tell me to shut up, it’s the truth!” he snaps, whirling around and whipping his blades out. Franz takes a startled step back. Too close to the roof’s edge, he barks Daz to watch out where he swings them around.

“Won’t have to worry about Titans if that maniac kills us first,” Karl mumbles, scanning the streets. He gives you a quick once-over, judges you either sane or capable enough compared to the other two, and draws closer, pointing to one end of the street.

You follow his outstretched arm. Your heart stops for a second.

Two or three bodies lie in the street already—a man, half his lower abdomen is buried under the ruins of a collapsed house. You know that corner; you’d recognise it anywhere: the seamstress’ shop behind the Kirschstein’s residency where you had worked before enlisting into the military.

“We’re too late,” you breathe. “They’ve reached the middle guard.”

“Some survivors might still be down there,” Karl offers. He does another 360, spots no Titans, and nods. “We should go and check.”

That’s all you need to hear. Using the house rows facing each other as anchor points, you zip down to the ground, hearing Karl bark to Daz and Franz to warn you two in time if they see Titans approaching.

Down on the ground, you feel like a little doll in a huge play world. Only someone has thrown a temper tantrum and kicked in houses, punched a colossal fist into stores. Broke the people as though there are nothing more than little toys.

Tentatively, you walk closer to the destroyed building, too scared to take a closer look at the man in fear it might be Felix. Something else catches your eye—red like so many things beautiful and disastrous. Who told you that red was the Gods’ favourite colour?

Her lower abdomen torn in half and lying on the other side of the road, you recognise the young woman by the colour of her blue tunic. She’d always worn it because it had made her big, round eyes stand out even more. The only moments you remember of Mirabelle, your former co-worker of the shop, are despicable and full of loathing for a person who had bullied you without any reason—and yet … seeing her like this, like a doll that’s been ripped apart, half of her intestines hanging out of her body, her vacant blue eyes staring off into the sky unblinkingly… this is a death you don’t wish on anyone. Not even someone you disliked.

“Know any of these people?” Karl asks beside you. You gather your courage. Look at the man, who is not Felix, thankfully. Look at the woman hanging out of a window, the rest of her stuck inside the collapsed building—her hair a vibrant red. Not Ida.

You exhale slowly and force the tension from your muscles. “No.”

“Then we shouldn’t hang around here too long—”

A scream echoes from the roofs—Daz’s voice. Karl and you share a short, panicked look before launching off into the sky and towards your squad members. You can hear Karl mumbling something like “He’s gonna get us killed, I swear.”

You can hardly disagree.

When you ascend over the rooftops, you see the source of Daz’s distress.

Even though it has been seven years, you recognise the Titan immediately. Black hair to its chin, big, coal-black pinpricks for eyes—nothing about it has changed. Like seven years ago when it picked up that woman and devoured her, the Titan has returned today to finish its feast. The way it stares you down, you almost get the feeling it might remember you as well. But that’s impossible. It must smell the fear radiating off you, and like a hound scenting prey, it zeroes in on you. You can taste the terror you’ve felt when you first saw a Titan. The taste is sharp and coppery on your tongue like old pennies.

Move, your mind screams, but you can’t. Your muscles have locked up; a high whine of terror fills your head. You’re trembling with the wait, the helplessness, the stillness, your thumbs pressing so hard to the buttons on your handles they go numb. Faintly, you’re aware of voices. Out of the corner of your eyes you catch movement, and then Franz moves towards the Titan.

A hand leaps at him. Franz whips his blades up and outward with an almost frightening speed; both sink into the fleshiest part of the Titan’s hand, between its fingers. The Titan hisses and strikes at him, knocking him aside the way a cat might bat aside a kitten. Franz lands on another roof, rolls and gets to his feet, but you can see from the way he’s holding his arm that he’s hurt.

That is enough for Karl. Darting forward, he lashes out at the Titan with his blades. He cuts into the Titan’s peach white skin, blood welling from two thick open folds of skin. The Titan ignores him, keeps moving towards Franz.

With his uninjured hand, Franz changes his blade. His mouth quivers as he mumbles to himself, a prayer maybe. From this distance, it looks like he’s mumbling someone’s name. A familiar name.

He raises his blade as the Titan looms up before him; he looks impossibly small in front of it, a child dwarfed by a monster. Franz starts crying as the Titan reaches for him. Karl, screaming, targets his grappling hooks at the Titan’s neck, sailing towards it but missing. Instead, his blades cut into its shoulder, sending blood in a thick spray across the air.

The Titan strikes, its trunk-thick fingers reaching down for Franz. He staggers back, but he is unharmed. Something has thrown itself between him and the Titan, a slim shadow with a gleaming blade in his hand. Karl.

The Titan whines—Karl’s blade has pierced its skin. With a snarl, it strikes again, fingers striking a vicious blow that lifts him off his feet and hurls him against the far wall of a house. He strikes it with a sickening crunch and falls to the ground—four stores down where his head hits the hard pavement, cracking open like a ripe fruit.

Franz screams Karl’s name. He doesn’t move. Lowering his blade, he starts to run along the edge of the roof towards him. The Titan, turning, catches him in a hard grip that makes Franz cough blood until its knuckles turn white and with a squeeze, his bones breaking, Franz lies limb within its grasp as the Titan closes his mouth around him, ignoring his brutal, blood-churning screams. The sound of a dying animal.

It all happens within a few minutes. Two of your teammates—one friend—dead. Just like that.

It felt like hours.

Hours where you don’t move, you don’t think, you don’t feel. You just watch the Titan bite Franz clean in half and swallow the lower part of his body. Either unsatisfied with the taste or bored with the easy game, the Titan drops the rest of Franz and turns, fixing its coal-black eyes on you. The distance between you is barely a stretch of its long arm.

Emil had been wrong, you realise. Freedom is not the ability to do as you please.

Freedom is nothing but the distance between the hunter and its prey.

The Titan closes a fist around your body, tenderly almost. As though it knows how scared you are, and that the last grace it can give you is to grant you a swift, painless death. That can’t be real. You remember how the woman seven years ago had screamed her lungs out. How Franz screamed before those razor-sharp teeth cut him in two.

The Titan cradles you in his hand, bends over your tiny doll-like body in his giant fingers. Its smile is vacant, its eyes dull like a dead fish’s. No compassion lies in those soulless orbs. No begging or praying would save you; monsters know of no mercy. They don’t know of conscience and love.

How could Emil have ever felt compassion for those beasts?

Emil. When had he shown compassion to Titans? When had he ever seen a Titan?

An image flickers before your eyes—A line of trees with thickly leaved branches breathing out cool green-scented air. There are bushes hung with glossy berries, red and purple and black, and small trees hung with oddly-shaped fruits you’ve never seen before. You exhale. “It smells like …” Springtime, you think, before the heat comes and crushes the leaves into pulp and withers the petals off the flowers. “Home,” says Emil wistfully, “to me.”—no, not this moment. After. Something happened after. Something that uprooted everything you thought you had known about Emil.

Something hot splatters onto you, the searing pain clearing the fog of memory that dulls your mind. The liquid immediately begins to evaporate. Steam rises off from the side of your face, and you realise it is the Titan’s blood from an early wound Franz or Karl had inflicted.

Blood.

A Titan’s blood.

Titans bleed.

They bleed just like you.

Men bleed and die. Therefore, it must be logical that when Titans bleed … they die.

It means you can kill them.

They are not invincible.

Only that thought matters—a truth you’ve always known, and yet it has never struck you as important as right now. They bleed, they bleed, they bleed. They hurt, they hurt, they hurt. The monsters from your childhood bleed and hurt, and therefore, you can kill them.

Through the fog of your helplessness, you can still see those cold, lifeless eyes and yellow, rotting teeth waiting for you, and all you can think is, This can’t be how it ends.

It is not what you have expected to think as you stare death in its hungry eyes. It’s not hopelessness, it’s just pure stubbornness. Not even so much a will to live as a refusal to die. Not yet, not now, not here, not when you have so much left to do. Thank Ida for the gloves she’s knitted you last Wîhe Naht. Thank Felix for the birch box he’s built for your trinkets as a graduation present. Spend a last day with Jean and Marco and the rest of your Corps before you go separate ways. Figure out the jumble of memories where Emil hides. Find Eren. Tell Eren that you can kind of, sort of, maybe imagine spending the rest of your life with him—and oh, what a thought that is. What a thought holding so much gravitas, so much everything that it is a miracle the Titan doesn’t drop you right then and there from the weight of that revelation.

“Our story has just begun, right? It’s time we teach them a lesson, okay?”

“Okay.”

In that moment that changes the trajectory of your life, you realise three fundamental truths at the exact same time.

Number one: For the first time in all your life you know you are more than what you fear.

Number two: There is a truth to remember about Emil, and because you remember you are given a second chance to be with him.

Number three: When you trace Eren’s name, it spells home.

You stop thinking.

Wedging your blades between your body and the fingers curled around you, you pull with all your strength, feeling the blades slice through flesh, cut into bone, break in the process. One edge grazes your leg, but you don’t feel anything—adrenaline pumps hot through your body, drowning fear and pain.

With its hold around you loosened, you wiggle out of the Titan’s grasp, quickly twisting your body to find a stable anchor point on another roof. You launch into the air—high, higher, so high that the world spins around you, leaving you dazed, but when your eyes land on the Titan, so much smaller from up high, your body knows what needs to be done.

As though it can’t follow what just happened, the Titan is still staring at his now empty hand. Steam rises from the clean cuts where his severed fingers remain unmoving.

As you change your blades, your hooks wedge into the soft spots in its neck. Slice through the nape, 1 meter and 10 centimetres. You’ve done it often enough during practice, you know exactly where to cut.

Soaring through the sky towards your target, you know it is finally time to rip up the flesh of your fears.

For your parents. For Karl and Franz. For Emil. For yourself.

The flesh yields to your sharp blades like butter to a warm knife. More blood spurts from the wound, running down the Titan’s back like a waterfall as a huge chunk of flesh falls and lands with a loud splat on the ground. You quickly manoeuvre up to a roof. The moment your foot lands on stable ground, your right leg buckles under the weight of your body—the gash in your skin from where your blade cut into your leg burns as though liquid fire spill from the wound.

Pushing aside the throbbing pain, you quickly turn and see the Titan fall face first onto the street, steam evaporating from his neck. It lies there, unmoving.

Dead. Just like that.

A shudder rips through you.

Ah. So that’s what it feels like.

Finally, you have become the hunter.

taglist: @arisu003, @brooki, @prttyangelbaby, @honeylmnade, @berriesandcrem, @im-just-star-dust, @rui-0836, @thefangirlhasarrive

#eren x reader #eren x you #eren x y/n #aot x reader #aot x you #aot x y/n #phill.swyaatl #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x you #eren jaeger x y/n #eren yeager #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x you #aot reader insert

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