#gobble doom

[thatsbelievable]

[awkwardarmadildo]

im rereading lockwood and co for the however manyth time and im just sat here screaming to myself about how mad i am that thwy canceled the show and also how fucking desperately i need the books from lockwoods pov hhajzjzjzbbsbsbsb please i am dying i dont know how to search in tags for a good retelling of the books in his pov i am fucking BEGGING i need to read all of the books from his perspective all five no changes in the narrative or the story just gimme all of it from his perspective i need to read how madly and deeply he is gone on lucy (and goegre i am a fucking sucker for throuple fics give george all the kisses if lucy and lockwood domt kiss him I WILL) P L E A S E I AM BEGGING I NEED IT I NEED TO READ LOCKWOODS THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS I NEED TO EAT IT TO FEEL IT IN MY BONES TO WRITE THE WORDS ON MY SOUL BRO

en ee wayz

anybody got any fic recs ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა

(bonus points if its a throuple fic i love lugeorgewood)

[fieriframes]

[Single sentence like that meant doom.]

[seresinhangmanjake]

Could we please get Feyd x reader where they have an arranged marriage with feyd and the House Harkonnen expects her to be replused by him . But instead reader is completely obsessed with him and finds him so hot because he is lol and he can do no wrong. LOVE YOUR FEYD STORIES 💌

Unexpected

Feyd-Rautha x Reader

Notes/Warnings: None, i think. I mean, arranged marriages? That's not really a warning though. Anyway, i fear this kind of sucks. My writing has been messed up lately. Hopefully, you guys still enjoy it anyway.

Words: 2100

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

They��ve been chattering for what has felt like hours—going on about dresses and parties, servant boys they find particularly interesting—and at some point, your mind could no longer take the dull droning, and so you drifted onto thoughts of him. 

You know everything about him, read everything about his family. You saw his face in an updated textbook about the Great Houses, drawn in what you hope is a perfect likeness, because if it is, then he’s absolutely stunning. You’ve never seen anything like the Harkonnens, but then again, they look like no one else. They’re wholly unique and you want everything to do with them—well, specifically, everything to do with Feyd-Rautha. 

“I can’t believe they’re marrying you off to him,” one of your friends—the daughter of House Wallach—says.

You snap out of your thoughts, wondering when the conversation turned toward you and your soon-to-be husband. You hum in question, needing more time to provide an answer that won’t induce raised brows and dropped jaws. 

“Yes,” the other says—Duke Leto’s daughter, whose bedroom balcony you’re currently sitting on. “How can they do that to you? You’re their only daughter and they are giving you to a murderous House.”

“We’re all murderous Houses,” you quickly say, and from receiving the blank stares you’d hoped to avoid, raise your teacup to your lips to hide your blush. You take a sip, then continue. “What I mean is, history states we’ve all dealt with bloody hands. That’s how our families are where they are.”

“Well, the rest of us don’t kill anymore. Our families are praised, worshipped.”

“So are the Harkonnens.”

“Out of fear,” Wallach reminds you. “The Baron is vile, as if you don’t know, and he trained Feyd-Rautha to be just as insane.”

Insane. That word has been used a lot lately. Your mother shouts it at your father for his willing agreement with the Baron. Your servants whisper it amongst themselves when they think you cannot hear them. That boy is insane, they say. She’s doomed, they say. But you don’t see it that way. You’re not scared of Feyd-Rautha. You’ll admit you don’t so much care for the Baron, but that’s because you’ve heard of his treatment of your future husband.

People claim Feyd-Rautha’s a lapdog—you don’t believe that. From what you’ve learned, you see no puppy in Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. You see a lion on the prowl, biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike from below. You see a man hunting his dinner. You hope upon meeting, he gobbles you up as well. 

“Aren’t you terrified?” Atreides asks. “Don’t you think about your first night with him?”

You certainly do. Another sip of tea hides another blush. “I’m not worried.”

Wallach blows out a huff of breath. “Maybe you’re as insane as he is.”

Yes, you think maybe you are. 

—

Your mother struggles to hand you over. You’re the one who has to pry her gripping fingers from your arm so you can step forward and bow to the Baron. When you rise, you sneak a peek at Feyd-Rautha just to his uncle’s right. He’s as beautiful as his picture depicted. His eyes are just as glazed over with steel as you imagined. He looks at you, and the steel melts ever so slightly. His brow pinches. He swallows hard. 

“I trust my daughter will be well taken care of,” your father says, a puff expanding his chest. It makes him look no more menacing than he is. 

The Baron chuckles. “In the hands of my nephew, you can expect no less.”

You know it’s a lie. One corner of Feyd-Rautha’s lips quirks upward. He has plans for you—good. You like plans. You have plans of your own. 

He steps down the staircase that has held him above you and your family and takes your hand in his. He presses his lips to your knuckles. Your blood zings throughout your veins. If this is all it takes for you to feel this way, you can’t imagine what more will do to you. The thought of his lips in new places, his tongue in new places, makes your eyelids flutter. 

“My Lady,” he says. His voice is intoxicatingly low. 

“My Lord,” you say back to him. 

When you smile at him, the smirk drops from his face and his head jerks back. Cold, blue eyes scan your features for falsities, as if you wear a mask he can remove to reveal a frown. He watches that frown fall into place only when your mother comes up behind you. 

“Oh, my sweet daughter,” she cries, whipping your body around so she can properly hug you goodbye. “Don’t let them change you,” she whispers in your ear. “You’re too lovely for them.”

“I’ll be fine,” you tell her. You’ll be more than fine. This is the most excited you’ve been in years. And you knew it would be. That’s what he brings out of you…already. 

—

He likes you. Well, he likes you in a way—he likes the look of you—but it’s hard to say if he likes the rest of you yet. He sneaks glances where he can, but he doesn’t often allow you to be in his presence for long. He removes you from his training sessions when you peek in to watch. He leaves once you join for dinner, which you’re less than a fan of, considering it leaves you to his brother and uncle’s company. He does not come find you to say goodnight. 

Don’t you have better things to do, he’s often snipped at you when he finds you close by. You’ve assumed he means in preparation for the wedding in a week, but you told your new servants and planners to do whatever they want. You don’t care what the damn wedding will look like. You don’t care what you’ll look like. You just want him. You want to be around him. Watch him fight. Watch his muscles tense and shift and strain in the war of death. You want to see his body shine with sweat and his eyes harden with a murderous glare. But he won’t let you.

The closest you’ve been able to get to what you want is by sitting in the stands of the arena, where you have to observe his skills from a decent distance. And while it is wildly exciting to see the man you’re going to marry covered in the blood of enemies, you wish you could be closer. You wish you were close enough so he could grin at you as men’s bodies fall off of his blade. You wish he wanted you close to him because it’s killing you to be so far away. 

After days, you still don’t understand the separation. You figured your smiles at him would be enough to get the message across that if he likes you in any sense of the word, then he should be going for you as much as you would him if he’d permit it, but no. He keeps his space between you. Unfortunately for him, you’re sick of it. 

—

“I’m tired of you avoiding me,” you call as you chase after him down the darkened hallway. You’d been waiting outside his training room for hours, hoping his keen senses couldn't pick up your unsteady breathing as you prepared yourself for this exact confrontation. 

His steps stutter at your words and he pauses. He turns on his heel, and with narrowed eyes, advances on you. His form towers over yours, and in any other situation, you might detest the abuse of power, but here, now, you feel a sharp thrill. You try not to let his lack of shirt affect what more you intend to say, but it’s hard. You’re already swallowing saliva. You’re core is already throbbing. 

“Do you have a moment?” you ask.

Feyd’s muscles tighten and bulge as his arms cross over his chest. He huffs. “I don’t understand you. You’re like a little rodent, you know,” he says. “Following me around as if I drop crumbs for you.”

A lump catches in your throat. He hasn’t spoken much to you since your arrival on Giedi Prime, and you know cruelty runs through the Harkonnen bloodline, but you didn’t know he could cut so deeply with words. “I’m not a rodent.”

“You’re as annoying as one.”

“Because I want to be around you?” you ask. “Because I like you–”

His arms fall away from his chest and your head flinches back from the finger pointed at your nose. “You do not like me,” he snaps.

His voice, though low, bounces off the walls of the hall, an echoey repeating of those words that you almost can’t believe you’re having to hear. You’ve not given any indication that what you’re telling him could possibly be a lie, so you don’t see how he could come to that conclusion. Unless there are whispers in his ear. 

“Yes, I do,” you say. “I’m marrying you. I want to marry you.”

“You are not supposed to want that,” he spits.

“Well, I do!” you spit back. 

“Then you don’t make sense!”

You don’t know what that means, so you just stand there, staring at one another as you wait for him to explain further. He doesn’t, and you tire of the waiting, so instead, you take a risk by stepping closer, and with cautious fingers, you raise your hand to his chest. Your palm plants firmly against his skin, and then you feel it. His heart beating rapidly. For a second you think it’s from the training. But then you look up at him, at how his jaw clenches and how he struggles to meet your eyes. And now you understand.

“I like what you are,” you tell him. “I like that you’re strong. I don’t care that you kill. I don’t care that you crave the feeling it gives you.”

“You should care,” he says, still avoiding your gaze. “You’re meant to be a precious little Lady. That’s what I was promised.”

“And that is what you wanted for a wife?” He doesn’t give you an answer. “I’m sorry if you’re disappointed–” he snorts, irritating you further. “I’m sorry if that ruins whatever fun you intended to have with me. I know the Baron has been eager to see what you’ll do to me once we’re married.”

His head swivels back to yours. “He found enjoyment from the idea that you’d be repulsed by me,” he says. “And so did I. So you shouldn’t feel so comfortable.” He latches his fingers to your wrist and jerks your hand away from his body. His hand leaves yours. It falls back to your side and you instantly feel a chill without him. It won’t do. You see a glimpse of your marriage—a loneliness, a cold side of your bed. He begins to turn away from you. 

“You don’t now?”

He stops. “What?”

“You said you did find enjoyment in it,” you repeat. “Do you still?”

You can see his teeth grinding with the shifting of his jaw as he contemplates continuing this conversation. “They said you wouldn’t like me,” he finally tells you. 

“But I do,” you say. “I read about you. I liked you before I met you.”

He groans. His hand runs down his face. He steps back to you, an iciness penetrating your stare. “I had plans for you. Ones you weren’t going to enjoy.”

A smirk curls your lips. “I had plans for you, too. Ones I fully intended to enjoy.”

He sucks in a breath, his chest puffing. His eyes narrow as if searching for your lies. 

Without another thought, you reach up again and, placing your palms on his cheeks, raise onto your toes to press your lips to his. It might be idiotic of you. It might be the stupidest move you could make. He might gut you for the act, marriage alliance be damned. But the only interest you have is in getting your point across. 

His lips are soft—probably one of the few soft spots on him—and they taste of salt from the sweat of his training. He’s frozen for a few agonizing beats, but then nails are digging into the skin of your hips, the fabric of your dress doing nothing to keep the sharp sting at bay. Lips move in tune with yours. You’re pushed backward. You hit the wall, trapped between hard surfaces of stone and body. 

You ache for the man you’ve felt you’ve known for longer than you have. You ache for the heat of him. You knew it would feel like this. 

When the kiss breaks, you smile. “You’ll like me,” you tell him. “I promise.”

He sighs in defeat and says, “I know.”

[earthtoharlow]

Don’t Like The Lights

Sequel to Flashing Lights series, must read Flashing Lights first to understand

Series Masterlist

19. L’amour De Ma Vie

Noah and London were now six months old, and doctors gave Jack and Maryse the go ahead to start introducing them to baby food, and today was the first taste. Jack had Noah and London strapped into their high chairs, armed with tiny spoons and jars of baby food, while Maryse chatted with her manager Coco on the phone in the next room.

“Alright, Noah, London,” Jack grinned, holding up a jar of banana baby food. “Let’s see if you’re ready for the good stuff.”

He scooped a tiny spoonful of the banana mush and held it up to Noah, who eyed it curiously before opening his mouth. Noah’s face lit up the moment he tasted it, and he reached out for more, babbling excitedly, kicking his feet. 

“Looks like someone’s a fan,” Jack chuckled, spooning another bit into Noah’s mouth as his son happily gobbled it up.

Turning to London, he offered her a taste with equal enthusiasm. But the moment it touched her lips, London made a face of pure disgust, wrinkling her nose and letting the banana mush dribble out of her mouth. She gave Jack a look as if to say, “How could you do this to me?”

“Oh, not a fan, huh?” he laughed, grabbing a napkin to clean her little chin. “I thought everyone liked bananas!”

In the other room, Maryse overheard the commotion and chuckled to herself as Coco paused mid-sentence. “Sounds like things are going… well?” Coco asked with a smirk in her voice. 

Maryse laughed, glancing over to see Jack trying to win London over. “You could say that,” she said, “Noah’s loving it, but London… not so much.”

She leaned against the wall, watching as Jack continued his adorable efforts, gently encouraging London with another tiny spoonful. “Come on, girl, just one more bite. It’s not that bad, promise.”

But London pursed her lips defiantly, giving him a look that left no room for negotiation. Maryse smiled, knowing she was witnessing the twins’ little personalities shine through already.

As she balanced her phone between her shoulder and ear, Maryse listened to Coco running through her upcoming schedule. “Since you’re back in the studio again things are definitely about to pick up. They want you to perform the national anthem at the closing ceremony for the Paris Olympics….”

As Maryse listened to Coco on the other end of the line, her eyes widened. “Wait, Coco, are you serious?” she asked, barely able to contain her surprise.

Coco laughed. “Yes, I’m serious! The committee wants you to sing the national anthem at the closing ceremony of the Paris Olympics. It’s a huge honor, and they’re thrilled at the idea.”

Maryse’s mind started racing. The Olympics… in Paris. A massive global stage, and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. “Wow… I don’t even know what to say,” she breathed, glancing over at Jack, who was still amusing himself trying to coax London into another spoonful of baby food.

Jack noticed her expression and raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?” he mouthed.

Maryse held up a finger, smiling in disbelief as Coco continued. “Look, it’s big, but they want an answer soon. Think about it, but know they’d be honored to have you.”

“Okay, I’ll talk it over, but… yeah, wow, Coco. Thanks for telling me. I’ll get back to you soon.” She hung up and paused in the doorway, her heart melting at the scene in front of her. The twins were facing each other in their high chairs, babbling in what sounded like a secret language only they understood. Little giggles and expressive hand gestures filled the room as they looked at each other with wide, curious eyes.

Jack turned to Maryse with a grin, whispering, “I think they’re plotting against us. Look at them.”

Maryse laughed, leaning into him. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” she replied, watching as Noah’s babbling grew louder, and London responded with an enthusiastic clap.

Jack grinned, “We’re doomed.”

Maryse laughed again, leaning into him. “If they team up to take us down, we don’t stand a chance.”

They both let out huge laughs, after coming down Jack squeezed her hips, “So what’s the big news?”

“So… they want me to sing the national anthem at the closing ceremony of the Olympics,” she said, letting the weight of it sink in.

Jack’s face lit up, a huge grin spreading across his face. “Paris? Babe, that’s huge! You have to do it!” 

Maryse laughed, her excitement mixing with a touch of anxiety. “I know, it’s… I can’t even wrap my head around it. But performing live, on a stage that big… it’s kind of terrifying, too.”

He stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her. “You’re gonna kill it. If anyone can own that moment, it’s you. Besides,” he added “You performed at the Super Bowl while pregnant.”

“I did do that, huh.” She said with a smirk as she looked up at him. 

As Maryse soaked in the excitement, her expression shifted. “Wait…” She looked up at Jack, a flicker of worry crossing her face. “Isn’t that the same weekend you’re booked to perform in Saudi Arabia?”

Jack’s smile faded as he did a quick mental check. “Oh man… yeah, it is.” He ran a hand over his head, realizing the dilemma. “I completely forgot they overlap.”

They looked at each other, both trying to piece together a way to make it work. “We’re gonna be on two different continents,” she murmured, disappointment settling in. “This is huge for both of us, though…” 

She glanced at Noah and London who were busy with their baby food. “And… who’s going to watch the babies?” She looked back at Jack, concerned in her eyes. “We’ve never left the country without them before. A couple hours away sure but…”

He nodded, the same worry flickering across his face. “I know. We’d need someone we trust completely.” He thought for a moment before adding, “Maybe my parents could stay at our place? They’ve handled them for weekends, and the twins love them.”

Maryse sighed, still looking uncertain. “Yeah, they’d be in good hands, but it’s so different knowing we’ll be so far away.”

He put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “I get it. I feel the same. But if this is something we both need to do, we can make sure they’re safe and loved. And we can be on FaceTime constantly.”

She nodded, finally letting herself smile a little. “Alright, if we can set up everything for them, maybe we can make this work. And you better believe I’ll be FaceTiming every chance I get.”

Jack pulled her close, reassuring her with a warm smile. “Look, as soon as I’m done in Saudi Arabia, I’m heading straight home. I’ll pick up the twins, and we’ll all meet you in Paris.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really? That’s a lot of traveling…”

He nodded, squeezing her hand. “Yeah. I don’t want you missing them that long, and I want us all together. Plus, the kids’ first trip to Paris? Gotta make it a family thing.”

She laughed, her face softening. “You really think of everything, don’t you?”

“Only when it comes to you and them.” He grinned. “It’s all planned out—we’ll be cheering you on in the crowd while you blow everyone away with the anthem.”

LIFEOFMONET

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LifeOfMonet: STUDIO SCHMUDIO

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user: we readyyyyy

user: BOUT TIME!!

user: side note you and Jack’s home studio is so nice

user: show us the twins !!!

dojacat: Hell yeahhhhh

jackharlow: I took these

user: that hair tho 😍

As they loaded her bags into the car, Maryse held Noah and London close, her eyes welling up with tears as she kissed each of their heads. “I hate leaving them. They’re just so little…”

Jack gently grabbed the twins from her and handed them off to his parents, then put his arm around her, pulling her into his chest. “Babe, it’s only a couple of days. And they’ll be right there with you soon enough—probably before you even start to miss them.”

She sighed, leaning into him. “I already miss them. I just feel like…like I should be here.”

He stroked her back, keeping his voice soft. “You’re doing amazing. They’re happy, they’re healthy, and they’ve got everything they need—especially with you as their mom.” He wiped a tear from her cheek, smiling. “And, you’re allowed to do something for you, too. We’ll be right behind you before you know it.”

She sniffled, nodding, and glanced back at the babies, who were both smiling and babbling away in his parents arms. “Promise?”

He chuckled. “Promise. I’ll see you in Paris with these little ones soon, and you’ll rock that performance. We got you.”

With one last kiss to each of them and a deep breath, she climbed into the car, waving as she pulled away, her heart tugging—but feeling a little lighter.

As Maryse’s car disappeared down the road, Jack let out a sigh and turned to find his mom giving him a knowing, sympathetic look.

“She’s been having a tough time,” he said, shifting Noah to his other arm as London reached for her brother’s hand. “She’s feeling all that mom guilt…like she shouldn’t be leaving, even for just a couple days.”

His mom smiled gently, resting a hand on his shoulder before reaching for Noah. “She’s a wonderful mom, and it’s completely normal. But you’re right here, and she knows you’ve got it handled.” She leaned down, softly brushing a hand over Noah’s head. “Give her some time. It’ll get easier.”

Jack nodded, feeling that bittersweet pride. “Yeah…I just want her to know it’s okay for her to have her own time, too. She deserves it.”

Back inside the house, they went into the living room, London sitting on his lap, his mom studied him for a moment before speaking gently.

“Have you thought about suggesting she talk to someone?” she asked, tilting her head. “It’s not easy to admit, but I think she might be dealing with some postpartum depression.”

Jack’s jaw tightened slightly as he glanced down at London, who was playing with his necklace. “Yeah…I’ve thought about it. She’s been up and down, and I know she’s struggling more than she lets on.”

His mom nodded thoughtfully. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. A lot of women go through it. I think it could help her, even if it’s just having someone to talk to outside of you.”

Jack sighed, running a hand through his curls. “I know you’re right. I just don’t want to make her feel worse by bringing it up.”

“You won’t,” his mom assured him. “Just remind her how much you love her and that it’s about making sure she feels her best, not just for the babies but for herself too.”

He nodded, a look of determination crossing his face. “I’ll bring it up when she gets back. She deserves to feel okay…better than okay.”

“And you deserve some credit too,” his mom added with a warm smile. “You’re doing a great job, Jack. She’s lucky to have you.”

Jack smiled faintly, bouncing London slightly. “We’re all lucky to have her, too.”

***

In his dressing room, Jack paced back and forth, his phone pressed to his ear. It had become a mini ritual of his to call Maryse before every show, even more so now that they were apart. He glanced at the clock. Luckily, Paris was only a couple of hours behind Saudi, so it wasn’t too late to call.

After a few rings, her familiar voice came through. “Hey, babe.”

“Hey,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. Just hearing her voice eased some of the tension in his chest. “What’re you doing?”

“Trying to figure out how to navigate the room service menu in French,” she joked. “I think I accidentally ordered snails earlier.”

He laughed, adjusting the chain around his neck. “Snails, huh? Fancy now.”

“Don’t start,” she teased, but he could hear the smile in her voice. “How’s it going over there?”

“Getting ready for my second show,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the couch. “You know I can’t go on stage without hearing your voice first. It’s my good luck charm.”

“Cheesy,” she said softly. “But you don’t need luck. You’re going to kill it, like always.”

He leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. “Yeah, but it’s different when you’re not here. I miss you. I miss the kids.”

“I miss you too,” she said. “But just think, after this, we’re all going to be in Paris together. You’ve got one more show, then you’re home to grab the twins and come meet me.”

Can’t wait,” he said sincerely. Then, after a pause, he added, “You good, though? For real?”

There was a slight hesitation before she answered. “I’m okay. I still hate being away from them, but I’m managing.”

He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “You’re doing amazing, you know that? Don’t be too hard on yourself. The kids are fine, and you deserve to have moments for you too.”

“Thanks,” she said softly. “You always know what to say.”

“Of course I do,” he teased.

Jack leaned back on the couch, phone to his ear, grinning. “So, how’s Paris? Are they treating you like the star you are?”

Maryse chuckled. “It’s been good. Oh! When I got to my hotel room, they had an Eiffel Tower made out of macarons waiting for me. It was so cute!”

“Macarons, huh? They know how to spoil you,” he teased, shaking his head. “What else? Did they roll out a red carpet to your room too?”

“Not quite,” she said with a laugh. “But rehearsals were good. And…Tom Cruise sent me flowers.” Jack could hear the smile in her tone. 

He sat up straighter, his eyebrows raising. “Wait, wait, hold up. Tom Cruise sent you flowers?” He exaggerated her tone, mimicking her emphasis. “Like, ‘Oh, Tom Cruise, action star, Mission Impossible, Mr. Hollywood’?”

Maryse burst out laughing. “Stop it! That’s not how I said it!”

“No, no, you said it like, ‘Oh, Tom Cruise,’ like he’s the one that got away or something,” he teased, shaking his head dramatically.

“Whatever,” she said, trying to suppress her giggles. “He was just being nice.”

“Nice?” Jack  smirked. “Looks like I got some competition’”

“Oh my gosh, you’re ridiculous,” she said, still laughing.

“And you’re over there fangirling,” he shot back playfully. “Bet you saved the card, didn’t you?”

She gasped in mock offense. “I did not!”

“Mm-hmm,” he teased.

“Jack, you don’t even need to worry, you’re the only white guy I'll ever love.”

Jack froze mid-laugh, his face breaking into a wide grin. “Wait, what did you just say?”

Maryse, barely holding back her laughter, repeated with a playful tone, “I said you don’t need to worry because you’re the only white guy I’ll ever love.”

He leaned back, pretending to look offended. “Oh, so I’m just the token white guy now, huh? Is that what this is?”

She burst out laughing. “I’m just saying, Tom Cruise has nothing on you.”

“Damn right he doesn’t,” Jack shot back, smirking. “I mean, he could never rock a curly mullet? 

“Exactly,” she teased. “You’re safe.”

“Safe?” he repeated, pretending to be wounded. “That’s not the kind of reassurance I want! I want to hear I’m your one and only forever.”

“Oh no I think my phone is breaking up!” Maryse started making noises into the phone. 

“M!” Jack said laughing 

“Love you, I’ll be watching clips later!” Maryse said giggling before hanging up.”

Jack smiles when he immediately looked down at his phone when a text came through from Maryse. 

“You’re my forever.”

***

Jack stepped off the plane, his face showing every bit of the exhaustion he felt. Noah was squirming in his arms, while London fussed in Urban’s. As they headed to the gate, Urban chuckled, “Man, I don’t know how you’re still standing.”

“I’m not,” Jack replied, stifling a yawn. “The only thing keeping me upright is the thought of getting to Maryse.”

They finally reached the luggage area, and Jack carefully placed Noah into the double stroller before Urban secured London next to him. The kids, already cranky from the long flight, began to whine.

“Alright, alright,” Jack murmured, crouching down to adjust Noah’s blanket and handing London her pacifier. “I know it wasn’t the best flight, but we made it. Let’s not start a scene, huh?”

Urban shook his head, laughing softly. “Bro, you really thought traveling with two six-month-olds was gonna be smooth?”

Jack groaned, running a hand through his messy hair. “I was hoping.” He glanced at the kids and sighed. “Man, I just can’t wait to get to Maryse. She’s gonna fix all this.”

“You mean you’re gonna hand them both to her and take a nap,”  Urban teased.

“Honestly?” Jack said with a tired grin. “You’re probably right”

They made their way to the car waiting to take them to Maryse hotel. As the driver loaded their luggage, Jack slumped into the backseat next to them, stealing a quick glance at his sleeping twins. “

“Finally,” he muttered under his breath, leaning his head back.

But as the car sped through the Paris streets, his exhaustion slowly shifted into excitement. He couldn’t wait to see Maryse’s face when he walked through that door—with her babies in tow.

Halfway to the hotel, Jack’s phone buzzed with a text from CoCo, Maryse’s manager. His eyebrows furrowed as he read it:

CoCo: Hey, just a heads-up—Maryse is at rehearsals, but she’s not really herself today. I think she’s missing you and the babies. You might want to swing by and surprise her. I think it’d do her some good.

Jack sighed, glancing at Urban, who was busy trying to entertain Noah with silly faces.

“What’s up?” Urban asked, noticing the change in his expression.

“CoCo says Maryse’s not acting like herself. Thinks she’s missing us,” Jack replied, looking back at the twins. “She said we should stop by rehearsals to surprise her.”

Urban smirked. “Man, you know she’s missing y’all. She’s been glued to those kids since they came out. Let’s do it.”

Jack leaned forward to the driver. “Change of plans. Can you take us to the venue instead of the hotel?”

“Of course,” the driver replied.

Noah started fussing again, and Jack handed him a bottle to keep him calm. “Alright, little man, we’re about to see Mama. No more tantrums, alright?”

London cooed from her seat, and Urban chuckled. “London’s the easy one. Noah? That’s your troublemaker right there.”

Jack shook his head with a tired smile. “They both have their days. Double trouble.”

As they pulled up to the rehearsal venue, Jack took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the long trip fade at the thought of surprising Maryse. He unbuckled Noah, while Urban handled London, both of them now wide-eyed and curious about their new surroundings.

“Alright, kids,” he said as they approached the doors. “Let’s go make Mama’s day.”

Maryse stood on stage, gripping the microphone tightly as she tried, once again, to hit the opening notes of the national anthem. A song she could normally perform in her sleep now felt like a mountain she couldn’t climb. She kept messing up—wrong key, missed breath, or tripping over a word. Each mistake sent a wave of frustration crashing over her.

“Alright, that’s enough for now,” she finally said, waving at the sound engineers. “I need five.”

She flopped down on the stage, her back hitting the floor with a dramatic thud. Throwing her arm over her face, she groaned quietly.

Why can’t I get this right? The thought played on repeat in her mind. Between missing the twins, worrying about the performance, and dealing with the guilt of leaving her babies, everything felt heavier than usual.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the soft sound of footsteps approaching until she felt a sudden, tiny pressure on her stomach. Her eyes flew open, and there, on top of her, was a smaller version of Jack—Noah.

“Noah!” she gasped, sitting up in shock as Noah leaned forward, his tiny face scrunched in determination as he planted the wettest, sloppiest kisses on her cheek.

She laughed, not even caring about the drool or the mess. Her arms wrapped around him instantly, holding him close as tears threatened to spill over.

“Oh my god, Noah!” she whispered, covering his little face in kisses of her own.

When she sat up fully, still clutching Noah, her eyes lifted to see the rest of her heart standing just a few feet away. Jack stood there, holding London, whose chubby cheeks lit up with a grin as she reached out for her. Behind them was Urban, a diaper bag slung over his shoulder, grinning like a proud uncle. 

“What—how—” she stammered, standing up with Noah in her arms. “I thought I wasn’t going to see you all till later tomorrow.”

“Surprise,” Jack said, his tired eyes softening as he handed London over.

Maryse took her daughter eagerly, pulling both babies close as she blinked back tears. “You must be so exhausted!”

“You were missing us, weren’t you?” Jack asked, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “CoCo might’ve snitched.”

Maryse let out a watery laugh, holding her babies tightly. “You have no idea how much I needed this.”

“We do,” Jack said softly, stepping closer to wrap an arm around her waist. “And we’re here now. All of us.”

In that moment, everything else faded—the pressure, the stress, the guilt. She was with her family again, and that was all that mattered.

The hotel room was finally quiet, the chaos of the day melting away. Maryse lay on the bed with Noah and London sprawled on her chest, both in deep sleep for the first time all day. She gently rubbed their backs, her fingers tracing soothing circles as she stared off into space, lost in thought.

The bathroom door opened, and Jack walked out, his hair damp, a towel slung low around his waist. Maryse’s eyes flicked to him, and she couldn’t help but bite her lip. Despite her exhaustion, a part of her couldn’t deny how much she missed him, in every way.

Jack caught her staring and smirked as he sat on the edge of the bed. “You good over there?”

“Sure,” she replied, her voice low. “But you’re gonna need to put on some clothes because I’m already distracted.”

He laughed, shaking his head as he stood to grab a pair of pants. “Fine, fine. Can’t have you losing focus.”

Once dressed, he sat back down and leaned toward her, his expression soft but serious. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Maryse’s  brow furrowed. “Okay… What’s up?”

He hesitated for a moment, his thumb brushing over the bedspread before he spoke. “Have you thought about maybe…talking to someone? Like a therapist?”

Her body stiffened instantly, and her guard went up. “A therapist? For what?”

“For you,” he said carefully. “I just… I’ve noticed how hard things have been for you lately. You’ve been overwhelmed, and with the twins, the performances, and everything else, I think it could help to talk to someone.”

Maryse gently placed the twins on the bed so that she could sit up. “I don’t need a therapist. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Jack sighed, his voice calm and patient. “I didn’t say there was anything wrong with you. But you’ve been through a lot, babe. Pregnancy, postpartum, leaving the kids for the first time—it’s a lot. You’ve been carrying it all, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to do that alone.”

Her eyes softened, but she still shook her head. “I’m fine. I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“You’re not fine,” he said gently, reaching over to place his hand on hers. “And that’s okay. It doesn’t mean you’re not strong, and it doesn’t mean you’re a bad mom. It just means you’re human. I just want you to be okay—for yourself, for me, and for them.” He glanced down at the sleeping twins, his voice laced with emotion.

When she stayed quiet, he continued. “You never really talked to anyone after the stalker broke into our apartment either. You just kept going like it didn’t shake you, but I know it did. You’re carrying all of this stuff, and I just don’t want it to get heavier.”

Maryse’s defenses crumbled slightly, her fingers brushing over Noah’s hair. “You really think I need to talk to someone?”

“I think it could help,” he said honestly. “You don’t have to decide now, but just think about it, alright? For me?”

She nodded reluctantly, her voice softer now. “Okay… I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Jack said, leaning in to kiss her forehead.

Backstage at the closing ceremony, the air buzzed with energy as Maryse prepared to step into the spotlight. Jack sat in the corner, gently rocking the stroller back and forth, his eyes locked on her. Urban snapped candid shots of her as she adjusted her all-white suit, brushing a hand nervously through her hair. Jack could tell from her small, fidgety movements that she was feeling the weight of the moment, but he also couldn’t stop marveling at how breathtaking she looked.

The crisp white suit fit her perfectly, exuding elegance and power. It reminded him of a future he’d been quietly dreaming about: her walking toward him in a different white outfit, down an aisle, with the same mixture of nerves and confidence.

She turned toward him, crossing the room to check on the babies. Her lips found Noah’s forehead, then London’s, as she murmured a few soft words to each of them. When her eyes finally met Jack’s, she noticed the way he was watching her—intense, unblinking, and full of admiration.

“What?” she asked softly, a nervous laugh slipping out as she straightened her suit jacket.

“You’re just… so beautiful,” he said simply, his voice low and steady.

Her cheeks flushed, and she ducked her head, fiddling with the buttons on her cuff. “Stop staring at me like that.”

He smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Why? I like making you nervous.”

She gave him a look, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re perfect,” he countered smoothly.

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile that followed. “I’ll be back in a bit,” she said, brushing a hand over Noah’s tiny fist before walking toward the stage entrance.

As she disappeared from view, Jack chest swelled with pride and love. She might’ve been nervous, but to him, she looked every bit like the star she was born to be.

***

AN: 🥹 hope you all love this

Tag List

(message me if you'd like to be added or removed)

*recently made a new tag list so if your name is missing please let me know*

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[mostlysignssomeportents]

Social Security is class war, not intergenerational conflict

Today, Tor.com published my latest short story, "The Canadian Miracle," set in the world of my forthcoming (Nov 14) novel, The Lost Cause. I am serializing this one on my podcast! Here's part one.

The very instant the Social Security Act was passed in 1935, American conservatives (in both parties) began lobbying to destroy it. After all, a reserve army of forelock-tugging plebs and family retainers won't voluntarily assemble themselves – they need to be goaded into it by the threat of slowly starving to death in their dotage.

They're at it again (again). The oligarch-thinktank industrial complex has unleashed a torrent of scare stories about Social Security's imminent insolvency, rehearsing the same shopworn doom predictions that they've been repeating since the Nixonite billionaire cabinet member Peter G Peterson created a "foundation" to peddle his disinformation in 2008:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I.O.U.S.A.

Peterson's go-to tactic is convincing young people that all the Social Security money they're paying into the system will be gobbled up by already-wealthy old people, leaving nothing behind for them. Conservatives have been peddling this ditty since the 1930s, and they're still at it – in the pages of the New York Times, no less:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/10/26/opinion/social-security-medicare-aging.html

The Times has become a veritable mouthpiece for this nonsense, publishing misleading and nonsensical charts and data to support the idea that millennials are losing a generational war to boomers, who will leave the cupboard bare:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/10/27/opinion/aging-medicare-social-security.html

As Robert Kuttner writes for The American Prospect, this latest rhetorical assault on Social Security is timed to coincide with the ascension of the GOP House's new Speaker, Mike Johnson, who makes no secret of his intention to destroy Social Security:

https://prospect.org/economy/2023-10-31-debunking-latest-attack-social-security/

The GOP says it wants to destroy Social Security for two reasons: first, to promote "choice" by letting us provide for our own retirement by flushing even more of our savings into the rigged casino that is the stock market; and second, because America doesn't have enough dollars to feed and house the elderly.

But for the New York Times' audience, they've figured out how to launder this far-right nonsense through the language of social justice. Rather than condemning the impecunious olds for their moral failing to lay the correct bets in the stock market, Social Security's opponents paint the elderly as a gerontocratic elite, flush with cash that rightfully belongs to the young.

To support this conclusion, they throw around statistics about how house-rich the Boomers are, and how much consumption they can afford. But as Kuttner points out, the Boomers' real-estate wealth comes not from aggressive house-flipping, but from merely owning a place to live. America's housing bubble means that younger people can't afford this basic human necessity, but the answer to that isn't making old people homeless – it's providing a lot more housing, and banning housing speculation:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/06/the-rents-too-damned-high/

It's true that older people are doing a lot of consumption spending – but the bulk of that spending isn't on cruises to Alaska to see the melting glaciers, it's on health care. Old people aren't luxuriating in their joint replacements and coronary bypasses. Calling this "consumption" is deliberately misleading.

But as Kuttner points out, there's another, more important point to be made about inequality in America – the most significant wealth gap in America is between workers and owners, not young people and old people. The "average" Boomer's net worth factors in the wealth of Warren Buffett and Donald Trump. Older renters are more rent-burdened and precarious than younger renters, and most older Americans have little to no retirement savings:

https://www.forbes.com/sites/teresaghilarducci/2023/10/28/the-new-york-times-greedy-geezer-myth/

Less than one percent of Social Security benefits go to millionaires – that's because the one percent constitute one percent of the population. It's right there in the name. The one percent are politically and economically important, but that's because they are low in numbers. Giving Social Security benefits to everyone over 65 will not result in a significant outlay to the ultra-wealthy, because there aren't many ultra-wealthy people in America. The problem of inequality isn't the expanding pool of rich people, it's the explosion of wealth for a contracting pool of rich people.

If conservatives were serious about limiting the grip of these "undeserving" Social Security recipients on our economy and its politics, they'd advocate for interitance taxes (which effectively don't exist in America), not the abolition of Social Security. The problem of wealth in America is that it is establishing permanent dynasties which are incompatible with social mobility. In other words, we have created a new hereditary aristocracy – and its corollary, a new hereditary peasantry:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/19/dynastic-wealth/#caste

Hereditary aristocracies are poisonous for lots of reasons, but one of the most pressing problems they present is political destabilization. American belief in democracy, the rule of law, and a national identity is q function of Americans' perception of fairness. If you think that your kids can't ever have a better life than you, if you think that the cops will lock you up for a crime for which a rich person would escape justice, then why obey the law? Why vote? Why not cheat and steal? Why not burn it all down?

The wealthy put a lot of energy into distracting us from this question. Just lately, they've cooked up a gigantic panic over a nonexistent wave of retail theft:

https://www.techdirt.com/2023/10/31/the-retail-theft-surge-that-isnt-report-says-crime-is-being-exaggerated-to-cover-up-other-retail-issues/

Meanwhile, the very real, non-imaginary, accelerating, multi-billion-dollar plague of wage theft is conspicuously missing from the public discourse, despite a total that dwarfs all retail theft in America by an order of magnitude:

https://fair.org/home/wage-theft-is-built-into-the-business-models-of-many-industries/

America does have a property crime crisis, but it's a crisis of wage-theft, not shoplifting. Likewise, America does have a retirement crisis: it's a crisis of inequality, not intergenerational conflict.

Social Security has been under sustained assault since its inception, and that's in large part due to a massive blunder on the part of FDR. Roosevelt believed that people would be more protective of Social Security if they thought it was funded by their taxes: "we bought it, it's ours." But – as FDR well knew – that's not how government spending works.

The US government can't run out of US dollars. The US government doesn't get its dollars for spending from your taxes. The US government spends money into existence and taxes it out of existence:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/14/situation-normal/#mmt

A moment's thought will reveal that it has to be this way. The US government (and its fiscal agents, chartered banks) are the only source of dollars. How can the US tax dollars away from earners unless it has first spent those dollars into the economy?

The point of taxation isn't to fund programs, it's to reduce the private sector's spending power so that there are things for sale to the public sector. If we only spent money into the economy but didn't take any out of the economy, the private sector would have so many dollars to spend that any time the government tried to buy something, there'd be a bidding war that would result in massive price spikes.

When a government runs a "balanced budget," that means that it has taxed as much out of the economy as it put into the economy at the start of the year. When a government runs a "surplus," that means it's left less money in the economy at the end of the year than there was at the beginning of the year. This is fine if the economy has contracted overall, but if the economy stayed constant or grew, that means there are fewer dollars chasing more goods and services, which leads to deflation and all kinds of toxic outcomes, like borrowing more bank-created money, which makes the finance sector richer and the real economy poorer.

Of course, most governments run "deficits" – which is another way of saying that they leave more dollars in the economy at the end of the year than there was at the start of the year, or, put another way, a deficit probably means that your economy got bigger, so it needed more dollars.

None of this means that governments can spend without limit. But it does mean that governments can buy anything that's for sale in their own currency. There are a lot of goods for sale in US dollars, both goods that are produced domestically and goods from abroad (this is why it's such a big deal that most of the world's oil is priced in dollars).

Governments do have to worry about getting into bidding wars with the private sector. To do that, governments come up with ways of reducing the private sector's spending power. One way to do that is taxes – just taking money away from us at the end of the year and annihilating it. Another way is to ration goods – think of WWII, or the direct economic interventions during the covid lockdowns. A third way is to sell bonds, which is just a roundabout way of getting us to promise not to spend some of our dollars for a while, in return for a smaller number of dollars in interest payments:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/08/howard-dino/#payfors

FDR knew all of this, but he still told the American people that their taxes were funding Social Security, thinking that this would protect the program. This backfired terribly. Today, Democrats have embraced the myth that taxes fund spending and join with their Republican counterparts in insisting that all spending must be accompanied by either taxes or cuts (AKA "payfors").

These Democrats voluntarily put their own policymaking powers in chains, refusing to take any action on behalf of the American people unless they can sell a tax increase or a budget cut. They insist that we can't have nice things until we make billionaires poor – which is the same as saying that we can't have nice things, period.

There are damned good reasons to make billionaires poor. The legitimacy of the American system is incompatible with the perception that wealth and power are fixed by birth, and that the rich and powerful don't have to play by the rules.

The capture of America's institutions – legislatures, courts, regulators – by the rich and powerful is a ghastly situation, and to reverse it, we'll need all the help we can get. Every hour that Americans spend worrying about their how they'll pay their rent, their medical bills, or their student loans is an hour lost to the fight against oligarchy and corruption.

In other words, it's not true that we can't have nice things until we get rid of billionaires – rather, we can't get rid of billionaires until we have nice things.

This is the premise of my next novel, The Lost Cause, which comes out on November 14; it's set in a world where care and solidarity have unleashed millions of people on the project of maintaining the habitability of our planet amidst the polycrisis:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865939/the-lost-cause

It's a fundamentally hopeful book, and it's already won praise from Naomi Klein, Rebecca Solnit, Bill McKibben and Kim Stanley Robinson. I wrote it while thinking through and researching these issues. Conservatives want us to think that we can't do better than this, that – to quote Margaret Thatcher – "there is no alternative." Replacing that narrative is critical to the kinds of mass mobilizations that our very survival depends on.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/intergenerational-warfare/#five-pound-blocks-of-cheese

This Saturday (Nov 4), I'm keynoting the Hackaday Supercon in Pasadena, CA.

[goodnessgraves]

Old farmhouse I love.

Part 1!

Warnings: DBF!Graves, pining, suggestive language, sexy graves, i am drunk and refuse to proofread, age gap, i write funny jokes into these, somebody match my freak 😔

18+ MDNI

You drive up onto the old ranch you love more than life itself, having grown up there with nobody but your Ma and Pa, but as you pull into your old parking spot, a white Ford F-360, sits there. Okay, whatever. You park on the right of it.

It looks extremely out of place on the old ranch, but maybe your old man got a new truck? (You highly doubt it. That stubborn bastard would drive his truck until it exploded with him inside.)

You hop out of your old yellow Volkswagen Beetle and step onto the dirt, taking in the smell. Something is a little off.

Walking to the front door you knock three times before your dad greets you with a big hug and you mom joins in. The familiar comfort reminding you of how you used to come home from school Nostalgia flooding your senses, but it’s different. There’s a spectator.

Phillip Graves. The gorgeous bastard he is. Too beautiful to be a hardened soldier, his eyes are too sweet and mesmerizing, his shirt slightly unbuttoned and his blue jeans held up with a belt, a ridiculous buckle on it, is boots are weathered- oh shit. You were staring.

Eventually he chuckles, looking you dead in your eyes. Theres that fucking smirk again, the things you wouldn’t do to slap it off his stupid, smug, sexy, defined face.

“You look… different.” You say, justifying your staring, but it just makes his smirk turn into a smile. Son of a bitch.

“It’s been what? 5 years? It’s been too long, darlin’.” He pulls you into a welcoming hug, he smells like leather and cigarettes, you could drool. At this point, your brain is melted. All it takes is a hot southern man who smells good saying something he would say to literally anyone else to get you wet? You are doomed.

After a while of chatting amongst him and your parents, he helps you bring your stuff in from you car. There’s not much, just a few suitcases and a few bags. He places them neatly on the bed and shoots you that smile that makes you weak in the knees before leaving and running down the stairs to go bother your father in the kitchen.

God damn it. Now you’re stuck between a rock and a wet place. Yeah, he’s your dad’s best friend, but also, you’re 25, you’re a grown woman, plus he’s only in his 30’s. (Probably)

The dinner bell rings and your Ma calls you to wash your hands and eat your dinner. You happily oblige, nearly tumbling down the stairs before sitting down and gobbling up your food.

His eyes never left you.

You sipped your wine? Eyes on you.

Took a bite of the best Brisket you’ve ever had in your life? Watching.

He was watching, and you loved every second of it.

After dinner, you help clean up and go out to the porch, hopping up on the old wooden chair swing, nuzzling into it with your glass of wine. After about 10 minutes, Phillip steps out into the porch, sitting next to you.

He’s spread out and grabs a cigarette and lighter out from his jeans pockets, lighting it up.

This felt… right.

[tummytimee]

pred that sets up a haunted house where there's a monster as a part of the haunted house. the haunted house workers, as a part of the act, accidentally release the monster that was originally just there to rattle it's cage. the pred gobbles up the staff, taunting the haunted house visitors while they chase them. finally the prey fall into a trap at the exit, where the pred's mouth is wide open, just behind the exit door. the pred's (nearly)vacant stomach and the muffled cheering of the haunted house staff on the outside tell the prey that they were doomed from the moment they stepped into the building. the staff they gobbled up were spat up behind the curtains as the other staff rushed you forward. The observers tricked the prey into thinking they were victims, and now they are nothing more than the monster's food

[demonic0angel]

EDA, I just found out there's a ship for Talia AL GHUL/Jazz Fenton... *Eats the ship and gobbles it up* delicious. (No fics for it tho but it's very interesting Yuri, OR DOOMED YURI.)

-A.E. 👻

Ooohhh, I thought of this ship before!! Mostly bc I wanted Jazz to be Damian's mom lmao, but I've thought of it before!!

Something something two beautiful women who are deeply protective of their children and WILL kill for the ones they love...

The only reason I haven't explored it yet is bc I keep looking at Anger Management and it's staring at me in betrayal... 😔

[jjkamochoso]

The Perfect Fit

Story Overview: Levi Ackerman begrudgingly finds himself falling in love with the Survey Corps’ seamstress. Will they be able to own up to their feelings for each other? Or is their love doomed to fail before they discover the truths of each other’s hearts? This slow burn reader insert story will be filled with angst, yearning, and a bit of mystery as we slowly unravel the truths behind Y/N’s past… and explore her and Levi’s future!

Chapter 2

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1 linked here

Chapter 3 linked here

Levi Ackerman x female reader

Warnings: cussing, mentions of blood and pus (not graphic)

You decided it was in your best interest to listen to Levi’s advice and go see the medic to get your fingers treated. You knew they couldn’t do much for blisters but getting bandaged up, at the very least, would prevent infection and further damage. Even with the aid of your new sewing machine, you couldn’t risk your hands being out of commission since you had no other means of making money. So, before the sun rose too high in the sky, you walked to your small stable, ready to unleash your horse from her confines to take you back to the Scouts. However, when you greeted her, she didn’t look too good.

“Aww my poor thing, are you feeling alright?” you asked, petting her snout and coaxing her to eat a sugar cube, but she refused it.

She probably worked too hard yesterday dragging that cart in the heat, you thought to yourself, a frown forming on your face. You became increasingly worried when she began to cough and you knew that was a bad sign pointing to illness. Trying to stay as calm as possible, you made sure she had plenty of food and water for the time you’d be gone and after you gave her snuggles, you started the trek into the forest on foot.

As you got deeper and deeper into the woods, you realized the risk you were taking. Titan sightings had been on the rise everywhere and here you were without a horse. You couldn’t imagine them infiltrating Wall Rose, but anything was possible. If you were unlucky enough to run into one of the giant beasts, you’d be their dinner in no time. Thankfully, your place was only a 10 minute walk to the former Survey Corps HQ, but today, it felt like a lifetime. You picked up the pace, breaking into a light jog. You were so on edge the entire trip that you couldn’t appreciate the birds chirping and flying away, too fearful that it could signify something was headed your way to gobble you up. Your anxiety didn’t cease until you spotted the castle. The slightly crumbling walls never looked so beautiful to you than in that moment. Catching your breath, you straightened out your disheveled outfit. As you approached the gate to enter, you were questioned by two young soldiers who were on the lookout tower.

“Who goes there? State your name and business” one said, clearly deepening his voice in an attempt to seem older and more intimidating. His comrade, unamused, elbowed him in the stomach. They began to quarrel and any other day you would’ve found their antics endearing, but you were in a hurry.

“My name is y/n L/n, Captain Levi told me to see the medic here.” You held his note in your outstretched hand. The boys stopped bickering as the taller one came down the tower, leaving the one with the buzz cut above. The gate was opened barely enough for you to squeeze through as the boy read over your letter. Satisfied with its contents, he nodded and handed it back to you.

“Here you go, miss, the medic is-” The boy suddenly stopped, a look of realization dawning on his face. “Wait, y/n L/n? The seamstress?”

When you nodded yes, he broke out in a huge smile.

“No way! You’re a legend around here!” He yelled up to the boy on the tower. “Connie! She’s the seamstress!”

Connie smiled eagerly as he waved and shouted, “Thank you for all your work, Ms. L/n!”

You felt your heart pang with sadness. These kids were so sweet, yet you knew they had to face so many horrors in their short lifespan. You were just glad to bring them a bit of joy in an otherwise bleak existence.

“No problem, Connie!” you yelled back, giving him a wave. “Thanks for all the hard work that you do!” You let out a laugh when you saw him clutch his chest and pretend to faint. Your attention was turned back to the boy who was still next to you.

“So, you need the medic? You know where to go or can I escort you?” he asked.

“I have zero clue where to go, but is it alright that you leave your post? I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Connie’s got it,” he sputtered out, but quickly returned to a more poised version of himself. “Besides, I wouldn’t want a pretty lady like you to get lost around here. Name’s Jean.”

You tried your hardest not to giggle as he led you to your destination. These kids were truly something else! You were glad they hadn’t lost their teenage “charm” to the cruelty of the life around them, but if Jean kept flirting with you, it’d be a bit awkward.

“What do you guys do for fun around here?” you asked, keeping the mood light.

“Fun? I mostly train while the other soldiers slack off. I could show you a few of my moves if you’re around after my shift at the tower is over,” Jean said, not-so-subtlety flexing his muscles. You sighed. You had to put an end to this, now.

“Hey Jean? How old do you think I am?”

He took a moment, obviously thinking hard. “You don’t look a day over 20.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” you replied, “but I’m definitely older than that. Think Captain Levi’s age.”

“Wow, that’s old!” he exclaimed, a surprised look on his face. “You’re only a few years younger than my mom.”

You weren’t sure what his response would be, but you certainly weren’t expecting that. You weren’t in the mood for conversation anymore. Luckily for the both of you, you had arrived to the infirmary and Jean begrudgingly took his leave (he wasn’t sure if you’d be able to find your way out but you finally convinced him that yes, you’d remember to make a left at the end of the hallway and walk in a straight line back to the gate you entered). Getting your fingers bandaged up felt really nice and you wondered why you didn’t do it earlier. Right, you couldn’t afford gauze. Thanking the medic for being gentle yet speedy, you hurried back toward the gate. Little did you know, a certain raven haired man was watching you like a hawk.

As you approached Jean and Connie once more, you heard a familiar voice.

“Oi! Brat!”

The three of you whipped your heads around to see Levi walking your way.

“The woman brat, not you two. Back to work,” he barked, and the boys saluted quickly, not wanting to get on his bad side.

“Where’s your horse?” he questioned you, arms crossed and scowling. Was he always so serious?

“She’s at home.” You wanted to explain yourself further but he spoke too fast.

“You mean to tell me, you what? Walked here? Tch, you’re stupider than I thought. I’m taking you home.”

You understood how he rose up the ranks to captain because he was very good at bossing people around.

“Captain!” you hurried to catch up to him since he was already almost to his horse at the stables. His legs were short but he was lightning fast!

“Captain! Please, it’s alright. I got here fine, I’ll get home okay. I don’t want to cause you any more trouble.”

“You’d cause me more trouble as potential titan food or robbery victim. Quit your whining and get on the damn horse.”

It was no use arguing with him and you needed to get home fast anyway since your client appointments were coming up soon. When you found yourself with your chest pressed against his back, legs touching, you felt your heart begin to race but you couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. Levi’s horse bucked forward a bit and you struggled to keep yourself upright, having nothing to hold onto.

“You can wrap your arms around me, you know. I don’t bite.”

“Somehow I doubt that’s true,” you muttered, hesitantly resting your arms on his apparently sculpted abdomen. Little did you know your comment coupled with your closeness caused Levi’s lips to quirk up in the smallest manner.

The horse ride to your place was quiet, neither of you in the mood for idle chitchat. It was nice to see the world from the view as a passenger on a horse for once. Usually you had to pay close attention to where you were going, but today, you felt a sort of freedom for the first time in a long time. You were the safest as you’d ever be, riding with humanity’s strongest soldier, in a quiet forest. Was this was heaven felt like? Being in the presence of nobody but the trees, a handsome man and a galloping horse?

Wait.

Did you just call Levi handsome and envision your dream life with him?

You shook your head, trying to shake those thoughts from your mind as fast as possible. You just met the man a day ago, for crying out loud, and the only reason you were catching feelings was because you were touch starved. Definitely not because he was extremely cute, was super helpful to you for no reason in the past day you’ve known him, and was eyeing you from his turned around position on the horse, wondering what the hell was wrong with you, why are you daydreaming like an idiot—

Oh yeah. You must be home.

You blinked a few times, hoping it would be enough to wipe away the sin of dreaming about a man you could never have.

“Huh? Oh yeah, sorry. This is me.” You let go of his waist and he dismounted, waiting for you to do so as well, and he tied his horse to the pole you had in front of your house. You were confused by his action, thinking he was going to leave after dropping you off, but you didn’t mind his company so you invited him in. As you entered your house, you hoped the captain wouldn’t notice all the structural damage and rot your residence had. You didn’t think you had it in you to take any more of his criticism. You thought that too soon, however, because Levi immediately got to examining your workshop like some sort of crazed policeman scouring a crime scene for the last clue needed to solve a murder.

“Thanks for the gift, by the way. It’ll be very useful,” you said, breaking the silence and nodding to the sewing machine.

Levi rolled his eyes, temporarily pausing his inspection. “I got it for you because I didn’t want your nasty blood and pus filled blister fingers all over everyone’s clothes. And so there’s no more favoritism in whose uniform gets the best treatment, especially if that person was Hange.”

“Does that statement stand if I decide to make you the person to receive special treatment?” you teased, while Levi shot you a glare. You busied yourself with arranging the measuring tapes and other equipment needed for your clients who were bound to be there at any moment. You noticed Levi was still stalking around your workshop and he answered your unspoken question of what he was thinking about.

“This house is a mess, inside and out! It’s one titan fart away from getting blown over. How can you work in such a shithole?”

Ah, so he had noticed. You averted your gaze, not wanting to irritate him further. “Commander Erwin found this place for me and without it, I’d have nowhere to live. The Scouts are my main source of income but I take on civilian jobs for supplemental income. I’ve been saving my money to rent a house in one of the local villages or fix this place up but I… my horse is sick and she needs to see a veterinarian. I’d gladly live in this shack or worse as long as she gets the help she needs.”

“How do you determine the fee for your work?” Levi suddenly asked, “Is it by item or size of the tear?”

You tried to gauge what Levi was thinking but he wore his trademark unreadable expression.

“Both, but mostly how big the tear is. For example, a cheaper fix would be an undershirt with a small hole and something pretty expensive would be a cape with a giant hole. I usually-”

You were interrupted by Levi unclasping his cape, grasping it firmly in his hands, and ripping the fabric in one fell swoop. You stood there, dumbfounded, as he placed the mangled textile on the table next to you.

“I would like this back by tomorrow or the next day, if that’s alright.”

The captain turned to leave while you were left struggling to find your voice.

“Tomorrow evening works,” you managed to squeak. “Drop off or pick up?”

“Pick up is fine. See you around closing.” He shut the door behind him and you were left wondering—

What the hell just happened?

Chapter 3

[thegleampt3]

i think what frustrates me about the now common discourse of "the climate crisis isnt YOUR fault, its xyz big corporations fault" is like, well yes, thats true to an extent and these companies are without a doubt manufacturing demand, YOUR lifestyle will still have to change pretty dramatically if we want to not doom ourselves. like u should not be able to enjoy the imagined freedoms of automobility. u should not be able to eat beef 5x a week. there shouldnt be new iphones and game consoles coming out every month that u are gobbling up. u should not be able to eat seasonal tropical fruits on the other side of the world during their off seasons. overconsumption in the global north is a massive problem and people's individual and collective behaviors do need to undergo a massive change. like we publically execute all those oil execs and then what happens? if ppl wanna keep driving their gas guzzling private vehicles everywhere, absolutely nothing. millitaries (especially the us millitary) are massive polluters, yes, and millitarism is often in pursuit of resource extraction and maintenance of neoliberal hegemony that those in the imperial core ultimately benefit from. saying "its not my fault so im just going to live my luxurious life guilt-free" is not the answer.

[blueishspace]

Last Life with divine domains

Part 3: Session 3 & 4

Fandom

"Galaxy duo" was used as a duo name for Scott and Pearl only after Double Life so yeah, @shortystack75 is right: their name is going to be Season Duo or something. Also, Empires is at the point in time where Scott gets his powers so people start connecting the two series.

And yeah, the Southlands are going south and just because of Mumbo...really makes you think.

As for @easily-distracted-by-fandom they sure love the Bdubs analaogies: From Bdubs being icarus AND the sun to Bdubs being the light that blinds Grian's eyes.

(Also, I found a good song for White Winter Scott, It's Freezerburn by T!LT:

"You always used to freeze the things I loved the most, I never understood it was a sympton of loss. I wonder if your father did the same to you and if the bread inside your fridge has a little more chew... as well. Now I always seem to freeze the things I love the most, they last a little longer when they're covered in frost. The muffins on the counter always get gobbled up and they grow stale...")

Also also, Scarian Third Life followed by Redscape Last Life...we just need a Grumbo Secret Life and we'll have them all.

Session 3

Lizzie is still the Boogeyman, Grian is made aware of there being one boogeyman.

After Scar got killed by Pearl last session he has the chance for revenge by linking Pearl and Jimmy for this session.

Martyn is given these 3 rules to choose from for this session: Everyone must wear a chicken head. Nobody is allowed to chests. Everyone must set their game language to pirate speak. I was undecided between first and third as I feel Martyn would choose one of them because they are kinda funny...so I rolled and pirates it is.

The sugar cane escapades happen in this timeline as well so Mumbo didn't lose much by choosing Scar over Grian... Jimmy is discovered by Joel like in canon and also has to run off without sugar cane.

Scar goes out selling crystals and his bonus gifted life, as in our timeline Grian brought a "soul" pretty willingly I think he actually buys the life. By session 3 Scar has given 2 of his bonus lives to Grian and one to Mumbo.

Lizzie tricks Pearl to get her boogey kill and suceeds getting cured... And dooming Jimmy to red lifeness 3 sessions in. Jimmy is forced out of the Southlands so uh... The Southlanders are really going south.

As Joel and Bdubs both bet on Jimmy being out first get 2 lives each from Tango.

Pearl and Scott find a zombie villager and hide it under their base for now.

Then Grian drops Yellow Snow in lava, becomes enemies of Magical Mountain and lets Joel burn their walls. This all happened in canon but yeah Southlands? More like Murphy's law...-lands.

Lives

Scar has 5 lives.

Mumbo, Tango, Joel and Bdubs have 4 lives.

BigB, Etho, Lizzie, Ren, Grian, Pearl, Cleo, Impulse, Skizz and Scott have 3 lives.

Martyn has 2 lives.

Jimmy has 1 life.

Session 4

The boogeymen for the session are Ren and BigB, Grian knows there are two boogeymen.

Scar ...well, Bdubs did try to steal the enchanter and Grian killed his horse so... Bdubs and Grian are linked now.

Martyn gets 3 rules to chose from: Everyone must gift a life to another player. Nobody is allowed to kill mobs. Everyone must whisper everything... I uh I'm going to say he choses either 2 or 3 as 1 is a big risk.. so randomizer says 3.

Bdubs in canon gives Scar a life for the enchanting table though Scar hasn't lost it this time around so he just takes it...

Lizzie and Scott separately get villagers for their respective alliances.

Predicting Jimmy is... difficult when it comes to him as a red life. He tends to be very erratic at that point, especially alone... However if we look at Jimmy's actions after being exiled I can tell that the Southlands are his first target. I don't think anyone dies from it as the traps are only placed later in the session but Jimmy definitely raids the Southlands.

Meanwhile the boogeymen do their thing, Skizz dies to Ren's trap and BigB kills Cleo... Cleo joins the Scottage and changes alliances.

Scar probably tries to sell his bonus life to someone but as the Magical Mountain has a lot of resources I don't think he finds something worth the life... So he probably gives it to Mumbo or Joel... I think Joel.

As Joel isn't red he also doesn't shoot Grian off the Nether bridge... Cleo's death is avoided for the same reason...

Grian not being shot doesn't change much as Bdubs falls to his death in the nether and causes Grian's death in the process... at least he isn't red.

Lives

Scar has 6 lives.

Joel has 5 lives.

Mumbo and Tango have 4 lives.

BigB, Etho, Lizzie, Ren, Pearl, Impulse and Scott have 3 lives.

Martyn, Skizz, Cleo, Bdubs and Grian have 2 lives.

Jimmy has 1 life.

Fandom:

Here we are again people, can't hear what your thoughts are on this one!

Previous part

Next part

First part

[blueyluu]

howl jenkins pendragon x gn! reader

The living castle chugged steam from it's tall engines, emitting smoke up into the crystal-blue sky after every lanky movement. With each savage huff that escaped the living home, you teetered across the rugged wood floors.

You were busy cleaning away at the lonely rooms, each inhabiting disparate articles of knick-knacks and eye catching souvenirs. It was like caring after a bunch of children really, Howl and Markl always on the move and not bothering too clean up after each other.

Perhaps that was just the reason the fire demon had 'hired' you too clean up this place.

You had spent long, atrocious hours sweeping away at each room, shooing pesky soot gremlins that had found their way into silent corners. The hard work was appreciated from Calcifer, the occasional coal stirring praises from his flame-coated mouth, but was quick to be destroyed when Howl came dragging himself through the house.

You perked up to see Markl bounding after his mentor per usual while the blond dragged a green substance across the mostly-clean floors, now stained with goo.

"Now this won't do, Calcifer keep the castle headed west, down to the folding valley." You corrected the direction before throwing the demon a hefty stack of wood that he eagerly gobbled into the flickers.

The trip running up the stairs and down - twice - was a brief exchange. You had croaked out directions to the child and a full Calcifer. Going as far as to draw a steaming bath in the nearest lavatory, next rushing a sticky Howl into the room.

"Well then, I'll need you to cooperate if this is going to work out. Arms up-" The only noises that left his mouth were strangled mumbles about god knows what, but it was obvious in the way he sank against the rim of the tub that he was out of it.

"You only get like this if one out of two things have happened," you huffed into the steaming room, busy putting your elbow into scrubbing off the green liquid from his person "you've bitten off more than you can chew or someone's rejected your feelings."

You could tell by the way he grumbled on cue that it was the latter. Occasionally some foreigner, man or woman, would whisk Howl away to keep their minds (and bodies -) busy for a while. But in the end, he was always the one sulking about passionate feelings and the strands of hope he had clung on to for a relationship that was doomed to break. Sometimes you'd wish one of these failed flings would knock some sense into the hopeless romantic but the next thing you knew, he was smitten for the first vixen passing through.

Regardless of the repetitive broken hearts and sob stories that he spewed out from pretty-pink lips, you were always there to calm the storm, wiping salty tears from his face.

"Don't waste your tears on that woman, Jenkins, she was no good to begin with." You usually quipped up a response with honeyed words and embraces but you were honest with him this time 'round. "She doesn't deserve your heart, so don't bother dwelling on what could have been. It's best to look past that and move on, dove."

Anyone could tell you it was easier said than done but you had already heard that over the many break-ups and each time, you reluctantly soothed him.

In the end it was you and him in a steam-filled bathroom, wind-chimes twirling up against the high windows to fill the silence, along with the swirling waves of bubbles that pooled over the rim and leapt in crashes. You had a puffy-eyed Howl leaning up against the edges of your shoulder while he sniffed away remnants of his story, hands tugging at the hems of your white sleeve. He was dramatic, truly, but you let the emotions reel on.

The negative aura seeped out of the room after his last tear fell, the crystal arching over his cheek before leaping into the unknown. By then you had cupped his cheeks into your hands, thumbs brushing away the evidence from his skin.

"Thank you," Howl spoke in his lilted voice for the first time in that interaction, throat bobbing when he swallowed down the pained emotions.

In reality you had cleaned away the gooey mess from his body, but you'd also stripped him of the grief weighing him down. Giving him a chance to breathe.

[supernormalblogname]

thinking about a scaary in.k.fish who plays turf wars not to win them ... but to hunt. and they're Really good at it. an in.kfish who sets up all sorts of traps, lurks around in ink to snap up prey, knows the best routes in all the maps they play. who's prey are Doomed as soon as they have them in their sights, & who methodically targets and gobbles up enemies until the Entire opposing team has "disappeared." Being their teammate is dead easy! being on the opposing team to them... is not.

[endoscopebrain]

Those who explore these unknown realms may find themselves gobbled up by a monitoring monster known as Serosa. Instead of exploring this forgotten place, they will instead be doomed to explore the depths of Serosa's guts. Their origins are unknown as the realm they inhabit, but what is known is if she swallowed you that you will be sent back. And not quickly either. But you will survive it. And she will be more than happy to put an end to such vanity attempts to explore this place. She may even hope they keep coming back, so many methods of capturing and containing these intruders to try!

[anothersoulless]

Two Sinners Can't Atone From A Lone Prayer {Reiner Braun}

Reiner Braun was a warrior, a proud man of Marley. But maybe he wasn't so proud, maybe he didn't like Marley at all. Maybe he despised his home, his family, himself. Maybe he just wanted to die, to avoid all this guilt and shame.

Content wraning: Suicidal thoughts, AoT typical violence and Trauma, Reiner Braun being Reiner Braun

He had spent his life living for anyone but himself. Reiner Braun, the son loving his mother so much he would die for her. Reiner Braun, the son who became a warrior for his mother. Reiner Braun, the child sent to war to protect his mother. It was no surprise that by the end of his 13 years he wanted to die. It was no surprise he wanted to choose how to go out, and yet, he had been denied that sweet release every single time.

He had seen wars and blood and death, had killed more people than most in the world when he was still a child. He had been tasked with genocide of an entire civilization when he was 12. Most other children would fawn over cars and races and get into fights with the neighbours kids about some girl they liked and get home to an angry mother and fresh food, and he was strategically plotting how to doom an entire nation, in the name of peace.

Of course, he didn't know then, that it wasn't peace. It was fear, it was war. He was a slave, a slave to anyone who gave him orders. It wasn't his fault, of course, it was the fault of the world, the people around him. It was the fault of Eldia, Marley, his mother, the soldiers… When Marcel died they should have returned, but he pressed on. They weren't about to throw away their chance at 'peace' just because of one death. It was his fault of course, the horror, the dread he felt when he had seen the overgrown titan leap out of the ground, seen Marcel get caught by the titan, seeing him get stuffed between his teeth, the sound of bones as they were crushed, heard his screams upon the pain Marcel felt. He was frozen. What could he have done? Marcel was the leader, he was suited far better for this entire job than him. Maybe Porco had been right, he didn't deserve the Armoured Titan. Then they broke the first wall, a team effort just for a chance to mix under the people — no — the monsters who caused all this suffering. The monsters who followed their leader, the founding Titan, who worshipped him, who praised him…

And they screamed. Ran. They behaved like… Like people. Getting eaten, crushed, trampled. They tried to save their dogs, cats, horses, their children, their wives. They didn't look so different. He enrolled in the Survey Corps with only one intention but at that point. Everything had already started to shift. He had dreams of being a warrior, dreams of being a soldier, and everything seemed to muddle up. Until, eventually, he wasn't Reiner Braun, the son living for anyone but himself anymore. He had become Reiner Braun, the friend and soldier finally making his own decisions. But it was fleeting, like a beaten dog always returning to its owner for food, he always found his way back. Escaping. Into this false reality where Eren wasn't a threat, a reality where he could just be what he was — a teenager, even if he was very mature and enrolling in yet another military. It was an escape, a dream, a wish.

And then they stood on that roof, discussing their plans, before they realized their fatal mistake: Marco. Reiner didn't think. At that moment, he was a warrior. Anything for his success. Everything was only for his success. No matter what or who he had to sacrifice. Marco was a sweet boy, nice and forthcoming, the exact opposite of these “monsters” he had been taught about. He felt with Annie when she hesitated, as he held him down. And then, he stood there, watching Marco getting gobbled down like a small snack. And he fled. How? How could he do this? Marco was his friend, no, his enemy, but what enemy that forgave him? It hurt, in his chest and in his brain, so he shut everything down. And then-

Wait, why was Marco getting eaten?

The second breaking of the wall was a plan. A return to the trauma he experienced. He knew how much damage he'd done. He'd seen the way they screamed, ran. Escaped for naught as they got caught and eaten and trampled and thrown. It was so similar. It was calculated and carefully crafted, but yet, there was a panic inside of him. He did his job, but by god, if there was one, how he just wanted to run. To die. They were just humans, just like him, his family, his mother, like all those who looked down on eldians, there was no difference. Not when they ran and screamed, terrified of the giants invading their home, their sanctuary. What was he doing, torturing, killing innocents? Children, people the farthest away from responsible for the crimes of their ancestors? People oblivious to their criminal past? Who was he, who were they to play judge?

And then, there he was — Eren, a Titan, no, not just any Titan. The Attack Titan, their goal, their mission. This was their objective, yet still his heart seemingly stopped beating. Eren was their mission. But the boy was reasonable, was he not? He was a Titan shifter, they definitely could talk to him, he hated Titans as much as they did, they could argue, he could convince him, he certainly could. So the next plan was set in motion. And from then on, everything seemed to fail miserably. The kidnapping backfired, Annie got captured, they nearly died, so then, Reiner made a decision.

Maybe his next decision already was one of tragedy, the stupid idea he had to tell Eren, tell him in front of basically everyone. The few feet of distance, what would they do? He didn't want to risk Bertholds life, yet he did, and his as well. A risk he took, a risk he nearly had to pay the price for. Precious seconds the difference between his death and survival, yet he survived. Maybe, he would ask himself later, maybe that already was the point where he wanted to die. The first attempt at a suicide, possibly. In the end, it all clumped together in his memory, a haze over his intentions and experiences, yet they still stung as clear as day. What was he doing?

Berthold died alone. And it was his fault. He couldn't protect him, he wasn't even there for him. No. He had to be saved, he had to be carried away, after loosing three titans, of which they only got back one, loosing a fourth was not an option. Reiner had failed. As a leader, a friend, a fighter, a warrior. He had failed Marley, failed to save his family, he was cursed with failure, and he was destined to forever be the symbol of incompetence. So they returned to Marley, while he grieved his only real friend. He was miserable. Reiner had failed at the easiest of tasks, he was supposed to be one of the best warriors of Marley, of the world, yet maybe they had been right. He wasn't prepared. He wasn't fit for this role. If only Marcel would have been alive. If only he would have died instead.

Marley was miserable, just like on Paradis, they lived in a cage, unlike on Paradis, he was a caged dog on a leash, a slave for war. He was home, yet he didn't feel farther away from home than he felt on Paradis. The fights, the senseless rage that Marley instilled into the next generation of warriors, it was nonsensical, complete lies fabricated in order to boost this way of thinking in black and white, their worldview. It was brainwashing at its finest. And now, as he was older, with what he saw himself, it seemed so clear, how could he have fallen for these blatant lies? The blatant propaganda? Marley was loud in such a different way to Paradis. The amount of times he wished he could just die, it was ridiculous. Yet somehow, he survived. He had been so close so often, rifle propped against the floor, the icy muzzle pressed into the wet cavern of his mouth, leftover gunpowder mixing with his saliva. Adrenaline pumped, his finger on the trigger. In less than a second, it all could be over. It would be over.

And he didn't shoot.

If only he had been strong enough to pull that trigger, he wouldn't have had to face Eren. Of all people, that boy a little bit too much like him, he may not have been a boy anymore, yes, but yet again, Reiner found himself begging for death, and again, he was not to be granted the release he so desperately sought. Again he was denied, and again he saw screaming, crying, running. Death. Another battlefield. Another detestation. Another Nightmare to add to his list.

The last mission. For one last time, an attack on Paradis. Return the Titans, stop them. That familiar haven, the familiar city and walls, years spent, wasted here, the place of his failure, the place of his sorrows. And finally, he was on the floor, he was ready to sacrifice himself, save one of the children, die at least in a meaningful way, he had surrendered. He was prepared. He had said his goodbyes, as there were none left to say. And then. Of course, even with his armour undone, his flesh nearly bitten through, there was something bound to get in his way. Another friend, another teammate lost.

Why was he surviving? Why was he the one everyone chose to safe? Why, why, why?

God, how he hated himself. How he wished he had pulled the trigger before meeting Eren again. If only he had accepted his fate. If only his mother wouldn't have pushed him. If only he wasn't born an eldian. If only he wasn't born at all.

And in the end, 80% of humanity had died. And he was still standing. So many of his friends were dead, his family was dead. Annie survived. God, how he had hated her at the start, how he had despised her way of icy rebellion. And now, they stood side by side and there was nothing he wanted to complain about. Reiner wondered if it had all played out differently, if he wouldn't hate himself so much if only he had been born on Paradis, together with his… was he allowed to calm them friends? He has betrayed them, attempted to kill them, was he really in the right to call himself a friend? The others didn't seem to mind, yet even after they decided to return to Paradis, he still couldn't shake, couldn't comprehend.

Why was he the one to survive?