#i just hate 2 be seen its true. bud all of that will be fixed when i have my apartmenttt :] and in my apartment ill be buying the groceries

[itsalwaysdark]

ome day i will be so normal

[obae-me]

Recently found your blog and I absolutely love your writing!! Could I request head cannons of the brothers reacting to an MC who suddenly cries in front of them but is over it in a minute and acts as if nothing happened?

Thank you for your request, and I’m so flattered you like my writing! 

So...I’ll admit got a little carried away with Lucifer’s part, and I always do my best to try to make each brother’s part of somewhat equal length, but if I did that...there would be about 21 pages of words in one post, so, to make it easier for me to post and everyone to read, I will be doing your request in parts. I hope that’s okay! 

Part 2 (Mammon)      Part 3 (Levi)

The Demons Inside- Part 1

Word Count: 2070

He had requested MC’s presence in his study while he finished up his work for the night. The day had been particularly tedious, and while he wouldn’t mention it offhand, their presence calmed him and motivated him to always be at the peak of his performance. 

MC happily came down to give him some support, a sweet smile on their face, dressed up in comfortable clothes, ready for bed. Their eyes were bright as they talked about their day and gave him praise as well as compliments to drive him towards his lofty goal. He took them gladly, although he wouldn’t say it. But despite the attention, these last few worksheets and reports were giving him a migraine. So, he kindly asked if MC could bring him one of his special bottles of Demonus. 

MC didn’t quite approve of him drinking to help his problems, but he tended to be aware of how much he was taking. As long as he was responsible--which he always was--MC didn’t mind. They got up from their chair, one of the luxurious red ones in the middle of the room. They chose the seat closest to where Lucifer’s desk was, but they didn’t dare move it any closer, he liked to have everything neatly in its place after all. Like his furniture, all his bottles and glasses were neatly organized, each one sleek and pristine, much like the demon himself. 

“Which one would you like?” They asked him, scouring the many labels, many of them written in a language MC couldn’t even begin to identify. 

Lucifer sat hunched over his desk, so focused on his report that he almost missed MC’s query. “Whatever catches your eye, I’m not going to be picky about it tonight.” He bit his lip and almost cursed as he made a small mistake on his report. He questioned why he always wrote in pen, fixing mistakes in ink was such a hassle. “But make it quick,” he grumbled. 

He wasn’t ready for the sound of shattering glass, almost jumping in his seat. He immediately straightened, his instinct ready to yell and scold whoever dared to be so careless. The name ‘Mammon’ almost formed on his lips, but then he affixed his gaze to his invited company. MC had accidentally lost their grip on the bottle, shards and alcohol scattered on the floor. One look at their face showed silent tears flowing down their cheeks, unable to peel their eyes away from the ground where the mess pooled around their feet. 

He had never really seen them cry before, they had always kept their guard up, refusing to show signs of vulnerability. He had thought it was an endearing trait, one he often had himself. So, having them cry before him now filled him with panic. He was worried their sudden emotion was due to the fact that they were hurt. After all, they weren’t wearing any shoes at this hour, what if they had been pierced with the glass? 

He rushed to his feet, sweeping them up into his arms, placing them in a chair away from the hazard. Tears still fell from their eyes, and now MC covered up their face with their hands to cover their small sobs. He got on one knee and quickly checked their feet and legs for any signs of cuts, not having the heart tonight to tell them how klutzy they were. 

There were no apparent signs of injury, and he allowed himself a moment to breathe in relief. When he looked back up at MC, ready to comfort and calm them, they now appeared fine. Their eyes were dry, albeit a bit red, and they gently shooed Lucifer away from their body. 

“I’m so so sorry, it was a complete accident.” MC refused to look into his eyes. 

He got back onto his own two feet, lips pursed together in a thin line of worry. He was aware it was an accident, but for the life of him, he didn’t know why MC would cry over something like that. Perhaps, they were scared of getting yelled by him? Or was there something deeper, the accident causing their emotional wall to crack poetically alongside the glass bottle. He opened his mouth to address the issue, but barely managed to let a syllable out before MC interrupted him. 

“I’ll go get something to clean it up,” they assured him, preparing to make a run for it. He hesitated for a moment too long, his mind running on fumes from being overworked. His reactions dulled, distracted by the lingering pain in his chest as the image of MC’s tears refused to leave his eyes. By the time he called out their name, they were already gone. 

He sighed, almost falling into the chair he had placed MC in, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “This human…” He sighed. He tilted his head back, his eyelids shutting. The heaviness of them refused to open back up till he heard the sound of glass pieces clinking together as they collided and scraped across his polished floor. 

He raised himself out of his seat, his body groaning, gravity working against him as his very being ached to continue resting. But he couldn’t just idly stand by as MC swept up the glass by themselves. He only needed to take a few long steps over to them, grabbing the broom handle with one hand. It wouldn’t budge in his tight grip. 

“MC, allow me, with all the glass around I fear for your safety. You forgot to bring proper footwear.” Both he and MC glanced down at their bare feet. MC worked on tugging the broom back to their possession. 

“No- I mean thank you, but, it’s my mess, I need to clean it up regardless.” 

“MC-” 

“Please!” Their loud tone stunned him. It was a plea of desperation, their voice cracking. His hold on the item loosened, and they tore the broom away from him without giving him the opportunity to fully let go. They immediately went back to work, brushing shards across the floor as they glinted, the light from the fireplace shining off of them. He was again reminded of their shimmering tears, but the expression of budding despair had left MC’s face a while ago. Now they just appeared as exhausted as he was. 

“Very well…” He couldn’t afford to spend the last of his energy pushing them any longer. Sitting back behind his desk, Lucifer forced himself to finish the last of his work. More often than not, he kept looking back up at MC. Their eyelids were low over their eyes as they focused on clearing away the mess. Never once did they look back at him. Their usual smiling mouth now waned. He watched them sweep away the big chunks of glass into a pan, pulling out a clean rag as they got to their hands and knees to wipe away the excess liquid. “MC?” The sound of his own voice almost sounded distant to him. 

“Hm?” They hummed, turning more in his direction but keeping their gaze from him. 

“Has anything been bothering you as of late?” He rested his chin in his hand as he leaned forward, his arm crooked on the surface of his desk. They turned their head away from him, resuming the cleaning. Their nose crinkled a little as the strong scent of his Demonus filled their nose. 

“No, I’ve been fine.” 

“And the crying earlier?” He found himself asking, unable to ease his own worries. “Are you sure you’re unharmed?” He found MC staring at the soaked rag, losing themselves in the sight of it. But it wasn’t the fabric they were paying attention to. 

“It was nothing.”  They had said it so quietly, he almost didn’t hear their answer. Lying always rubbed him the wrong way, it always insulted him. Yet, this lie didn’t quite seem to be directed towards him, he was getting the impression that they were mostly trying to lie to themselves. As if to further encourage this idea of his, MC repeated themselves. “It was nothing…” 

Lucifer examined the last of his work. There was still a bit left to finish, and he couldn’t remember the last time he brushed off his duties, no matter how minimal. Tonight, just for tonight, he thought. Maybe it would be alright. The papers on his desk he put aside, at the same time MC disposed of the trash, the floor as pristine as it had been a few moments before. 

“It is one of my duties as a member of the student council to make sure your needs are met.” He wasn’t wrong, this was true. It was a known job of everyone looking after MC to make sure their stay was as comfortable as possible. It would reflect positively towards the program. MC had heard the line before, and while he truly meant it, the words almost sounded empty to their ears. Lucifer had to swallow some of his pride, it tasted like his own personal poison. “So, you can talk to me about anything. I am...here for you.” 

For the first time since they descended down here, Lucifer finally got a glimpse of their protective walls falling completely. Their eyes threatened to start crying again, but Lucifer saw as their throat strained to push it back. 

“That’s part of the problem,” they croaked. 

He blinked in confusion, caught off guard by the answer. “P-pardon?” He was unaware his support and protection could be undesirable. 

“You and everyone else is always there for me, always strong, always helping me. And-” Their voice broke again as a single tear broke free from the struggle and rolled down their cheek. They only blinked once and he was right in front of them. The papers on his desk rustled and fluttered from the speed of his movement. His hand raised from his side for a second only to lower in disappointment as MC brushed their own tear away. “And I hate being a--being a burden. A weak and powerless human.” 

His mouth parted, open in mild shock as he processed slowly the words they were telling him. “MC…” 

“How...how am I supposed to make you proud when I can’t even hold a bottle correctly?” With the last words, the dam conjured of pure will that had been holding the river of tears at bay, broke, and once more they were crying in front of him. 

No more hesitation, no more prideful priorities, he held MC’s face with both hands, guiding them close to his body as he gave them a hug. They felt so small in his arms. He almost let out a laugh, but kept it to just a puff in his chest. He had no idea that the reason why they were so flustered was because their pride was wounded. He should’ve been one to know. He would’ve been upset too were he to be in their shoes. 

He found himself stroking their head, enveloping them in his embrace as he looked absentmindedly at the clean spot where all this had started in the first place. How much longer would MC have kept this from him had they not accidentally lost their grip? How much longer would he have unknowingly put pressure on their shoulders? 

“I am proud,” he told them, and MC’s shuddering shoulders started to halt. “Proud of your strength. Proud of your patience to deal with my...eccentric siblings. Proud of your stubbornness...even if it does sometimes drive me mad.” He swore he almost felt them laugh against his body, it brought a small smile to his face that he was thankful MC couldn't see. “You are not a burden,” he assured them sternly. “There are things that, even without magic, you’ve been able to accomplish where no other living being has.” He took them by the shoulders and moved them back so he could look at their face. “Be prideful of the things you’ve done, of the person you are. And if you cannot…” He lifted their chin with one hand, and then pressed his lips to their forehead. His lips were warm, almost even warmer than the words that spilled from them. It left MC’s mind fluttering. They couldn’t remember why they thought he was ever so cold. He parted from them, but the touch from his lips still felt like it lingered. “At least know I forever will be.”

[haliyam]

interim (iii)

zeke x reader/oc

summary: You return to Liberio not long after the Warriors arrive home from their failed mission in Paradis and discover that things have changed. (Or they will, and maybe a little more with Zeke than you expect.) [Season 4 and manga spoilers ahead]

AO3 link | Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4

Hello! This came out longer than I meant it to be, but I enjoyed writing it. I admit that the chapter couuuld have gone without the middle bits, and I trimmed out a lot already, but this is purely self-indulgent fanfic and I love writing about the Warriors/the candidates, so I hope you enjoy it too.

Reminder that the Reader/OC is a cis-female Eldian character with a set background/surname, but please feel free to set the substitution for the Reader to your chosen First Name using the InteractiveFics browser extension if you’re reading through the browser! So on the browser extension that would be: Lucy = Your chosen First Name.

Chapter 3

If Zeke is going to shut his door in your face as soon as you try to enter, he gives no indication of it. Eyes to the ceiling, fingers barely grasping his doorknob, he doesn’t even look at you as you take one step closer, then two, only urging you to hurry up with a flick of his fingers. As if anyone else is still awake. With nothing for it, you step inside.

Zeke’s room is lit a warm yellow from the lamps standing next to his desk and sitting at his bedside table. It hasn’t changed much, save that he’s replaced his old bed with a much larger one. That makes sense, even though you hadn’t imagined he could get any taller as a child. The only other addition apart from his much fuller bookshelf is a pack of cigarettes on his desk. 

You can’t help but pick it up. “You smoke now?”

Closing his door behind him, he snatches the pack from your hands and walks past you, tossing it back by his desk lamp on the way. “Problem?”

You shrug. You’re surprised, but you suppose that sort of thing doesn’t really matter when you’re a Titan shifter. 

He pulls out the chair by his desk and takes a seat, crossing his arms at you with a brow quirked. Somehow, he manages to be intimidating in his pajamas—though that could very well be your guilt. “You wanted to talk,” he says. “So talk.”

The indifference in his voice makes your throat catch, but you steel yourself. “I’m sorry,” you say, one hand scratching at the other’s wrist. It seems your courage fell apart at his door. “I’m sorry I didn’t write for the last five years.”

“Why?”

“Because—because I should have.” You wrap your arms around yourself, tucking your hands under your elbows. “We were friends. You and Pieck were—are,” you hope, “my closest friends, and… and I left you hanging like that. Even knowing every year that the others hadn’t returned, how worried you must have all been… I didn’t write. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Zeke says slowly, irritated. His lip curls, and you feel nauseous. “Why did you stop writing back?”

Your nails dig involuntarily into your arms. “I was a stupid little teenager. I was upset.”

He scoffs, like he can’t bear the sight of you. “What did that have to do with me? ...With us?”

You swallow, eyes downcast, though they briefly flicker to his. “Am I secure here?”

Zeke glares at you. “Of course you are.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

His gaze softens just a little before the walls shoot back up. “Yeah.”

You nod. And then, after a long moment, you reluctantly begin. “Willy sent me to boarding school once I caught up with the necessary schoolwork. It was… well, you know. Boarding school was an entirely different world.” He does know - you had written them until the end of your first year. “And then summer came. Willy wanted me to spend it with them at home, and I did. The first week or so. But he had business to attend to, as always, and Mila invited me to her tour for the Foundation instead. Willy thought it would be nice for us to bond, and I thought…” You gnaw on the inside of your lower lip in embarrassment. “I thought she was finally giving me a chance.”

“Lucy,” Zeke murmurs. You can’t tell if it’s pity or disappointment, and you don’t want to know. You’re staring at his lamp, as if doing so long enough will burn out the memory from your mind.

“We visited Marley’s new southern nations at first. It was strange to be treated so well again.”

Zeke shifts in his chair. He has his cigarette pack in his hands now, fingers idly folding and unfolding the lid. “What did you expect? You’re Lucy Tybur.”

“I meant by Mila.” When he falls silent, you continue. “And then we visited Ulodana.”

Your eyes meet at that name. No reminder needed for that—Ulodana was the first country to which the regime deployed its new Warriors only months after they inherited their Titans. By then the rest of the unit had been informed of your true identity, and it was the brass’s idea to bring you along as a spectator. Imagine what more the motherland might achieve if the War Hammer were to join the fight, then-Commander Bruning had whispered to you, the mushroom cloud of Bertholdt’s transformation setting your eyes alight. 

“The nations in the south had had time to recover. Grow accustomed to Marleyan rule. But Ulodana was still... bleeding. For the most part, we stayed in the cities which had already begun to rebuild; ones with budding military bases and an increasing Marleyan population. But Mila insisted on bringing us further from the coast—places you and I had last seen as smoking rubble. The people there were… They were still so afraid. Many of them…”

You gulp, pressing your lips between your teeth to regain your composure as you remember the survivors. You can still see them, hear them, smell them. Feel their hands in yours. Mila had pulled you aside and scolded you when you first shed tears before them, saying it was not you who had a reason to cry. And she had been right.

“So many of them were Eldians; others non-Eldians too poor to join the earlier evacuations. They still saw us coming that day, and with no aid forthcoming, they thought the Foundation had returned to deliver the finishing blow. They were terrified, Zeke.” His fingers fall still around the pack as you say his name, but he wears no expression, only studying yours even when he reveals nothing. Even Mr. Ksaver had been unable to read him when he was like this, so you know better than to try. 

“Mila spoke with the people there, comforted them. It was jarring to see her so kind, but she was. And even then, it was hard. They aren’t exactly the regime’s priority, and the promise, even the swift arrival of aid with the Foundation’s help, could only do so much.”

Zeke’s gaze stretches far beyond the walls of his room, but he brings it back to you when you pause. “So,” he concludes, “you hated us for doing that to them.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple. You saw what Lady Tybur wanted you to see.”

Appalled by the lack of sympathy in his voice, you square your shoulders at him. “Mila didn’t conjure those victims out of thin air, Zeke!”

“That’s right, Lucy.” Zeke rises out of his chair back to his full height, reminding you that he only lets you glare down at him. “The Warriors destroyed their military, their cities, and their homes. And if there were civilians who were too slow, Bertholdt and I destroyed them, too. The ones you saw just weren’t lucky enough to die.”

He advances toward you as he speaks, stopping near enough to barely graze your chin with his chest, and it takes all of the girl from back then to stand your ground. But you can only bear so much, and the sound of the boy you once trusted entirely so remorseless as a man has restrained grief ringing in your ears. “Don’t say it like that.”

“How should I say it?” Zeke asks closely, head tilted toward you. Even with the reflection of his lamp shining into his glasses, his eyes, half-lidded with what must be disinterest, bear no light in them. “Should I be crying like you, acting like you know what it was like?”

“I’m not crying.” You fix another glare at him, but it doesn’t last long. Your vision is blurry and your cheeks are wet with runaway guilt, and you wipe them with the back of your hand. “I’m sorry, all right?” you raise your voice, speaking forcefully through your shaking voice. 

“I… I thought I’d seen everything here in Liberio, but that place was hell. And Mila said to me… She said it was greed back in Marley that kept things this way. The regime’s… but ours, too. To free the Eldians in the Marleyan internment zones, you… we... made things worse for everyone else in the world. I ate it up. I couldn’t bear to face those people knowing I had been a part of that, no matter our promise. It was easier to turn against the idea of you.”

Zeke is no longer looking at you. You feel like the earth swallowing you whole would feel better than the pressure crumpling at your chest, but there’s no way to go but forward. 

“So I did. Held onto that for months and had nightmares about Ulodana for twice as long. By the time I realized how pathetic, how stupid I was… I was too ashamed to write back.” 

The steel that has constituted Zeke’s bearing since your arrival has withdrawn. He seems exhausted, resigned as he sets his eyes upon you again. You watch each other for what feels like eternity, in the place where you first became friends, both trying to feel out whether a sliver of that bond between clean hands still remains between the two of you now. 

Whatever it is he decides, he asks, “If you knew better... why didn’t you visit? We all heard about Lord Tybur making trips here over the years. He never stopped sending his gratitude to my grandparents and Mr. Finger, either.”

You huff, not at him but at the thought of your older brother, even as you sniffle. “Willy wouldn’t let me. I became… too willful.”

 Zeke raises his brows at that.

“When I figured out Mila’s true intentions, I realized just how much the Tyburs were at fault. They hid it all from me when father died, but… I learned everything. Our relationship with the regime most of all.” 

You’re grateful when he doesn’t ask you to elaborate, because despite everything, you don’t want to tell him the whole truth about the Tyburs. If there’s anything that might make him hate you for good, it might just be that. You know that certainly did it for you in spite of Lara’s good intentions.

“We knew. My ancestors knew about Fritz’s vow and still refused to speak out for Eldians, didn’t protest the development of the Warrior program when it happened. I mean—” Your hands rake through your hair, stopping only when they’re caught in the end of the half-ponytail you’ve been wearing. “Child soldiers? We always knew Marley was vicious, but we—Marley—sent children to Paradis on a recon mission, alone! I didn’t realize it until I saw my niece. She’s eight now. A baby. At that age we were slogging through the mud, learning to assemble weapons, to kill! What kind of monsters would allow…” 

Your hands slide down your face and cover your mouth as your head shakes on its own. You’ve said this all before, to Willy, to Lara, to Pieck, and you’re exhausted. You both know the answer to that question, anyway. 

“The Tybur family doesn’t get involved except to play the benevolent Eldians to the world’s devils, all to soften Marley’s image to the world. It doesn’t care that Eldians abroad are even worse off than we are here because of our Titans. It doesn’t care that Marley draws that debt on Eldia’s name,” you murmur, voice fluttering with emotion again, “not its own. Willy didn’t appreciate how angry I was and wanted to keep me at the estate until I could calm down.”

You only realize you’ve been rambling when all you hear is the cracking of your knuckles beneath your thumbs at your sides and the low hum of the lamps around you. Biting your tongue, you venture a glance up at Zeke, who has his back to you on his way back to the desk, hand in his hair. You don’t know if it’s worse than seeing what he must think.

“But I really am sorry,” you take a step, another after him when he doesn’t turn to look. “You all deserved more. I… I understand if...”

Zeke whirls just before you touch the hem of his shirt, seized instead by a thought. “Why let you choose to study here, then? Magath’s summons?”

At this point, you practically leap at the chance to respond, hands raised slightly. “No. It was Lara. She convinced him to let me, when she saw how much I’d studied. Actually studied, you know,” you chuckle, nervously when he acknowledges it with only a tilt of his head. “And by then I had learned enough of Mila’s game to pretend I had given up.”

“Oh.”

You barely just catch the disappointment in his tone.

“And I missed you,” you scramble to add, obviously. “I missed you all so much. I swore to be on my best behavior just so I could come back.”

A hint of warmth fills Zeke’s deep blues, but he glances away with a familiar eyeroll. “Good save.”

You frown. “I mean it. I just didn’t know it had to be said. You were my first friends. I didn’t exactly make many in boarding school. They were too different.”

“So you were just lonely.”

“Not just lonely,” you say, prepared to launch into another passionate speech about how much you ached to see your friends again, how much of your pride you sacrificed to pester Willy to let you go with the promise of Liberio’s impressive own medical program, when you catch the slight amusement tugging at Zeke’s mouth. “You—are you—” you sputter, embarrassment seeping in cold, before you manage to close your mouth. “You… are awful.”

Zeke smirks. “Even if I forgive you?”

It’s infectious, and you have to resist the urge to both laugh and cry at the very concept of his forgiveness. Eyes wide, you watch him carefully. “Do you?”

He crosses his arms again, sitting back against his chair. “I can put you through more hoops, if you’d like.”

“No!” you gasp, the heat of indignation taking over the chagrin, only to sigh when you realize you’ve given yourself away. “Well, I wouldn’t blame you. You have all the right to be angry.”

“...I was a pretty angry teenager too,” Zeke shrugs. “Then a spoiled little girl had to come and keep disturbing me because if she couldn’t get any sleep, then neither could I.”

Your jaw drops. “That is not how that went. Besides,” you raise your head, every inch the Tybur, even as you slowly make your way to the edge of his bed and take a seat, “that girl was the reason you have any friends at all. I… I bet you missed her.”

“Sure. Now where did you put her?” The full familiarity in his voice has you smiling now, or maybe it’s the grin he openly wears. “Only figured out it was you when I realized there could only be three Eldian runts Magath would ever care to acknowledge.”

You stare at him for a beat and then make to push yourself off the bed. “Anyway, I’m going to sleep now that I’ve apologized.”

“Aw, come on,” Zeke laughs, reaching for your arm, and you squint at him as you dramatically tear it from his grasp. Still, you fling yourself back upon the edge. He leaves his desk to occupy the space next to you, one knee drawn up over his sheets. “Honestly? I was more surprised they’d let anyone in Magath’s office with such a messy armband.” He reaches over and adjusts the pale one wrapped around your arm, pulling out the edges folded in. “You know you don’t need to wear this at home, right?”

For some reason, your breath catches as the heat of his fingers gently press through the cloth of your sleeve. You recover with a cough and a quick oops. “Force of habit. That was the one thing boarding school was stricter about than the military.” You smile at him, leaning away from his touch. “Thanks.”

Zeke suddenly withdraws his hands, now watching you instead of the sleeve. “...Yeah. Just make sure you check it before you leave the house tomorrow,” he says sternly. Not a tone you’ve ever heard from him in private.

Regarding him strangely, and desperate to bring you both back from this alien tension between you, you sit up straight and stiffly raise your hand to your shoulder in salute. “Yes, Warchief.”

Zeke responds with a blank look in his eye, mostly, save the tinge of humor kindled by the upward tug of your lips. You can tell he’s about to kick you out of his room.

“I’m kidding.” You lower your arm, sensing the return of that comfortable familiarity. “I haven’t congratulated you on your official promotion, either.” 

His mirth fades. “Do you hate me for it?”

“No. No,” you stress, as though he has no reason to ask. “You’ve done what you’ve had to.”

After a long inhale, Zeke sighs as he nods. This time, it is he who fills the silence. “Uh—I’m sorry again about your father. So he was the...”

“Yeah.”

He gives you a once-over, as if to search for Titan marks. “Are you…?”

“No, I’m not.”

The slight bitterness in your voice draws Zeke’s gaze back to yours. You shrug before he can say any more of it and try to put it out of your mind. Those are, after all, matters for the Tybur estate. You’re here now, and Zeke has forgiven you. In spite of everything else, the thought makes you giddy with relief, and you rear your head toward him with a smile. 

“So… is there anything you want to tell me?”

Zeke wonders who might have been chosen to inherit the War Hammer instead of its most obvious candidate, but mostly he’s glad it isn’t you. It’s a selfish thought he keeps to himself, but the idea of you living past your twenty-sixth year is one that does not fill him with dread.

Thirty-nine. He’s thinking about how you’ll live to be thirty-nine when your voice interrupts what he imagines you might look like by then. Your tone says you’re fishing for something, so he opens his mouth, meeting your gaze to tell you you’re not quite as much taller than Pieck as you think (he has one joke), nor is subtlety your strong suit, when the whole of you seems to come at him all at once. Your now messy hair, crinkled eyes, that expression he used to find both funny and irritating on your mouth—except the obnoxious grin that subsumes it as he lets the silence pass is suddenly... adorable. 

Huh?

Sitting back, Zeke abruptly presses his palm to your face and promptly pushes it away. “Don’t press your luck, Blanchard.”

You smack his hand off, face flushed as you cry out, “Rude!”

He’s already laughing, using your indignation to overcome the urge to gulp down the breath caught in his throat when you suddenly lean back on his bed and raise your foot. You kick it into his side with a strength he absolutely remembers, sending his ribs knocking against his footboard with a groan. “Ow! You—get out of here and let me sleep already!”

You smile to yourself as you lower your legs to the floor, feet searching for your house slippers. “I chose not to go for your face, you know.”

“Are you seriously studying to be a doctor?” Zeke mutters, rubbing at his side. “You haven’t changed at all.” 

You chuckle through a yawn, hand over your mouth as you ease yourself to your feet. “Okay.”

He rights himself quickly when you’re crossing his room toward his door already. “Lucy, wait.”

You stop, lean against his desk with a small smile like it’s your room. “Hmm?”

Zeke pretends to shake his head at your audacity, letting you grin a little longer before he asks, “Do you want to meet the new Warriors tomorrow?” You blink, and he starts to regret the question. “I just figured—”

“I’d like that.” You open your mouth, ostensibly to say more, when both of you hear movement from down the hall. Footsteps by the stairs. “I should go. See you tomorrow.”

He waves, content to watch you hurriedly leave his room. When he hears the door to yours open and click shut, he goes himself and catches his grandmother still sleepily making her way out into the low lit corridor. Her hands are searching for the stairway light switch.

“Grandma?” he asks, coming over to set a supportive hand along her upper back. “Why are you up so late?”

“Zeke,” she smiles in greeting, yawning. “I was just going to get some water.”

“Let me. I’ll get new glasses for you and grandpa, so go back inside.” When his grandmother thanks him, he heads for the stairs, bounding down the steps with sudden enthusiasm. 

Your words will stay with him long after you’ve forgotten them, and perhaps not for the better—but for the moment, Zeke feels inexplicably light. 

--

So do you when you awake the next morning. Of course you’re still sorry for all you did, or didn’t, do, and you know you deserved all the guilt, the anxiety, being on tenterhooks about your friendships for all that you left Zeke and Pieck hanging. But now that their forgiveness is a certainty, you feel utterly content. Now you can start making it up to them. 

Then again, you are so pleased that you could lie in bed all morning and hardly feel guilty. 

But you have miles to go, so you roll out of your blankets and get yourself ready for the day. Briefly, you wonder if Zeke has gone ahead again, but you find the answer you wanted as you open the door to the dining room downstairs. 

He’s chewing on a piece of bread as he waves at you, the last bite in his hand. “Morning. Breakfast?”

He really has forgiven you, and everything can go back to the way it was. “Morning,” you beam, though you decline as you pass him on the way to the kitchen. “No thank you. I ate too much last night.” You pour yourself some water instead. “Did you have some of the blueberry pie?” 

“Yeah. The Galliards always make quality stuff.” He dusts his uniform off as he stands and heads for the sink with his plate. “Though I could tell who cut it because she left the side with the slightly burnt crust in.”

“It’s crispy, and you know that’s my favorite part,” you huff, leaning against the counter next to him and handing him your empty glass. “That was part of my apology.”

Zeke grins, eyes to his task. “Yeah, yeah.”

You refrain from elbowing him and move to start cleaning his crumbs off the table and the floor. “Where are Mr. and Mrs. Yeager?”

“Market day. Oh—bring a book. We can drop in on the candidates come lunchtime.” He glances over his shoulder. “Or did you have other plans today?” 

“I wanted to pass by the university and find the general book list for the first years, but after the line I went through yesterday... I’m not in the mood. I’ll bring a book.”

“Good.”

The two of you head out once the dining room and the kitchen are spotless. The sky is overcast this morning, so the zone takes its time waking up for the day, even with others already on their way to work. 

It starts to properly stir on your way to the gate. The view of the zone coming to life is something you once enjoyed watching on break days, especially compared to the lonely silence of the estate and eventually to the rigid rush of boarding school, but you don’t get to see all that much today—Zeke purposely avoids the larger avenue coming to the gate and leads you through side streets and alleys instead. Something about avoiding the morning rush. 

You don’t mind. You’re still waking up, too.

--

Eldians have no real hope of rising through military ranks, save those sacrificed among the Warrior unit, so Zeke’s office is quite impressive. He has his own mahogany desk, an entire bookshelf packed with volumes, yet more books and maps stacked against the wall, and his own gramophone. Not to mention the view outside the window behind his desk. He even has a cabinet to the side for his own alcohol, tea, or coffee—the latter of which he offers to you once you two arrive.

“Coffee, please,” you say, on one of the pillowed seats surrounding the coffee table at the center of the room. Sitting back, you throw an arm over the backrest to peer at the bookshelf behind you. “That’s quite a selection. I can’t believe you have your own office now.” You grin, turning back to watch him quietly preparing you a cup. “Zeke?”

“Coming right up.”

His response seems a little muted. When you question him with a tilt of your head, he jerks his in the direction of the gramophone.

Ah, you mouth. Even the Warchief can’t have his own office without being tapped. Par for the course when there are Eldians about, you imagine. That explains why the guards at the front gate delayed you with meandering conversation as soon as Zeke mentioned taking you to his office.

“So what kind of work do you do anyway, Warchief?” you continue far too seriously, absentmindedly flipping through your book for your marker. 

“You know that’s top secret, Miss Blanchard,” says Zeke, who of course plays into it. “Unless you’d like to join the ranks again. You’re certainly welcome to.”

You sigh. You never win when you try him like this. “Commander Magath told you?”

Zeke chuckles, walking your coffee over. “He mentioned hoping you might still be interested in our line of work.”

“Was he mad?” Regardless of your feelings about the regime, you have always remained conflicted about your former drill instructor. There was a time you were certain he wanted you dead, and you won’t forget what he and Commander Bruning put the rest through even more than yourself, but there were flashes of kindness you saw from him that you’ve never witnessed from any other Marleyan as Lucy Blanchard. You still don’t know how to feel about him.

Zeke snorts at such a childish question, pulling out several folders from his desk drawer as he takes his seat. “Should I ask him?”

“Of course not!” 

He chuckles in response, and then starts to ignore you completely for his work. Grumbling incoherently at him from behind your tilted cup for good measure, you turn to your book and begin to read.

--

Your coffee is long finished next to a similarly empty glass of water by the time you start yawning. You’ve read the same page thrice now, and that’s when you know you need to get off your ass and take a little walk around the room. 

Zeke yawns as you start a cross-arm stretch by the door. “You’re so noisy.”

“The nerve of this man, inviting me to his office and then complaining when I breathe.”

He smiles. “Breathe more quietly, then.” Slamming the folder he was reading shut, he follows you to his feet and pulls at his sleeve to check his watch. “Almost lunch time. Want to go check on the candidates?”

Your deadpan stare at his earlier remark remains until you feel just how empty your stomach is. Skipping breakfast was not your best idea, but you prefer it that way before you have to see the poor children who will one day replace your friends. “All right.”

The two of you wind your way through the complex and out to the courtyard, where the sun remains blessedly hidden as you watch the children at the far end doing their loaded running for the day. You hear them more than you see them, panting as they do their best to earn the honor of that red armband on Zeke’s sleeve.

Zeke catches your doleful expression and lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I do not miss those days.”

You grimace at him. “My body hurts just remembering them.”

“Don’t remind me. I was dead last in my class before I built any endurance.” 

You don’t comment on the real story behind that. The children are coming closer to your side of the courtyard, though they don’t appear to notice you, and Zeke points them out: Udo, a boy with glasses whose family moved to Liberio from Marley’s new southern territories; Zofia, a girl with a heavy fringe who reminds you strangely of Annie; Falco, a blond boy who—Zeke cuts himself off when the last candidate pushes past them all with a yell. That one is Gabi Braun, Reiner’s younger cousin. 

“Cousin? Extended families aren’t made honorary Marleyans?”

“I was a special case, for obvious reasons,” Zeke answers your real question. “And yeah. Otherwise there would be too many of us, right?”

You frown, starting to fall into deep thought again when a familiar bark makes you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Hey! No Eldian civilians allowed on base!” 

An older man is jogging over, almost comically shaking his fist at you. It’s as he comes up to the building that he notices Zeke on your other side, and now he peers more closely at your face, head cocked forward. 

“You—” he starts. The years have been kinder to him than to Commander Magath, so there is no mistaking him. As his footsteps slow, his posture shifts from indignation to surprise, and then finally settles on diffidence. “Is that you, Miss Ty—”

“Blanchard,” Zeke coughs.

“Miss Blanchard?” he finishes.

“Instructor Marras.” Among the three who assisted Magath with Warrior training, he was probably the most bearable, if only because he left you to your own devices. He was much kinder when he discovered your true name, which was a shame. “What a pleasure.”

“We didn’t think we’d ever see you again around here,” he smiles widely, briefly acknowledging Zeke. “What brings you back around this end of Marley?”

“This and that,” you say, not quite in the mood to get into it when you can see the children still running. As though he’s read your mind, Zeke steps up next to you and signals toward them. “Isn’t it about time for lunch?”

Marras follows his gesture. “Ah. They got a little mouthy since I’ve been going easy on them, so training has been extended. But,” he says, attention back to his visitors, “you rarely come to check in on the new candidates, and you visit us even less, Lucy!”

Waving at you to wait just a moment, he barks at the children to come over. They’re even smaller than you imagined up close, just like your niece Fine, panting as they clutch their replica rifles for dear life. They do their best to salute Marras, but very obviously find it difficult to keep their composure when they see Zeke. 

“It’s the Beast Titan,” Udo yelps.

“His name is Zeke Yeager, dummy,” Gabi nudges him with what she must think is a whisper.

Zeke raises his hand in a bland wave, “Hey, kids,” but you can’t help your delighted chuckle. Fine is a very reserved little girl compared to these excitable children. Wide with effort and at a real Warrior’s arrival, their eyes all dart to you, and Gabi’s in particular squint at your armband. “I thought civilians weren’t allowed in HQ?”

“And I don’t remember asking if you had questions, candidate,” Marras snaps in his Instructor Voice. The children straighten up at once.

“Sir, sorry, Sir!” Udo and Gabi yell out. Zofia and Falco quietly exchange glances.

“Hello. I’m Lucy,” you cut in with a smile. “I was a Warrior candidate in my time, just like you.”

You can all tell that they’re itching to ask why your armband is grey instead of yellow like Porco’s was until recently, but Marras doesn’t let them. You find yourself grateful to him for once. “It’s thanks to Zeke and Miss Blanchard here that you’ll get an early lunch in spite of all that yapping earlier. So thank them, get changed, and get your sorry asses to the mess hall.”

“Thank you, Zeke! Thank you, Miss Blanchard!” They mix up whose name goes first between the four of them, but Marras doesn’t bother with a correction and nods. The children salute, all of them a mixture of suitably chastised and utterly relieved. 

“Dismissed!”

Nodding and offering you and Zeke grateful little smiles that make your heart melt, the four walk as quickly as they can to storage to deposit their load. Gabi nudges Zofia on the way, challenging her to a race, and the boys bump each other to catch up while Zofia chooses to keep her own pace, simply shaking her head.

Marras sighs, hand over his stomach. “I should get going myself.”

Zeke agrees, “Don’t let us keep you.”

“All right. But you should drop by more often, Miss Blanchard,” says Marras. “I’m sure the Commander would be pleased to see you. He worries. About all of you,” he adds, nodding toward Zeke.

Neither of you replies to that when Marras departs. In fact, you pretend not to have heard it as you both stare into the courtyard. “They seem like sweet children,” you start after a while, “though I don’t remember being that boisterous.”

Zeke breaks the mood with the most disgusting snort as he bursts into laughter. “You? Sure, Lucy. All right.”

You peer up at him, refusing to dignify such a violent reaction with one of your own, even if it does please you to see him laugh so much around you again. “You know what I mean. Maybe I was insolent, but I wasn’t boisterous.”

“Maybe, is it? Well, all I know is I’d grown out of all that by the time you and Pieck were selected.”

“Apparently not enough, Yeager, if you think Marley pays you to tour civilians around HQ.”

You and Zeke whirl in perfect sync to raise your right hands at that imposing voice, except you manage to swing yours right over your ear to pretend you were tucking stray hair behind it just in time to meet Commander Magath’s lifted brow. Behind him stand a surprised Porco and another Warrior candidate, much older than the eight-year olds you just met.

You clear your throat at once, hand falling to your side. “About yesterday, Sir...” 

Magath nods at Zeke in acknowledgment before waving at you. “Don’t mention it, Blanchard. It’s a choice for a reason, and really it was supposed to be the briefing.”

That’s as much of an apology as you’ll get around the others, so you nod. “I understand, Sir.” You lean a little on your right side, trying to steal a peek around the corner. “So Pieck has already gone?”

“Not that you need to know, but yes.”

You try not to flinch at the reprimand. Force of habit. “And Braun, Sir?”

Now Magath peers at you. “His debriefing ends today, if you want to see him that badly. Yeager, I’ll leave that to you since she’s your guest.”

“Yes, Sir.”

With a nod of dismissal at all of you, he continues down across the courtyard, leaving Porco and the candidate behind.

Porco glances between you and Zeke. “Friends again, huh?”

Zeke stares at him. “Problem?”

You don’t know it, but that’s Zeke’s Warchief Voice, one Porco has never heard outside of training. He immediately shrugs. “Just curious.”

“All right. Lucy, we might as well have lunch first before you go see Reiner.”

You nod, and gesture unsurely at the two before you. “Would… you like to join us?” 

“I’m good. Got errands to run for the Commander since Pieck is out and you’re too good for chores,” says Porco, gambling a glare at Zeke in jest. When Zeke chuckles, he sighs. “See you around.” Giving the quiet candidate next to him a light smack on the shoulder, he heads back the way they came.

By now the Warrior candidate looks very confused but also very familiar to you. Luckily Zeke has decided that it’s finally time to introduce you, a former Warrior candidate yourself—and then the boy, who cannot be older than fifteen. “This is Colt Grice. Falco’s older brother, and the new Beast Titan candidate.”

“Oh.” It feels like a weight has settled in your stomach when you realize that it is about time they selected the candidate meant to inherit from Zeke, who received the Beast Titan around a year ahead of the rest. Seeing the children just made you… complacent, think that there was more time. “I guess it makes sense that they chose someone a little older, too.” You smile, slightly guilty about his obvious unease after your reaction. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Colt.”

“No, it’s my pleasure, Miss Blanchard,” he says politely, shaking your hand.

“You can call me Lucy,” you insist, and then jab a thumb over your shoulder. “The children left for the mess hall, by the way.”

Zeke raises a hand to correct you. “Colt doesn’t need to know that. He’s not made to babysit them like I was.”

“Really?” you ask Colt, who nods in affirmation. “But that was half the fun.”

“She means half the torture,” Zeke says to Colt, who chuckles nervously at his superior. “No, I figured he could take on other responsibilities. Like letting the barracks know that Reiner’ll be having visitors after lunch, and then meeting us at the mess hall. Right?”

“Yes, Sir,” says Colt, clearly eager to please. He gives you another smile before he runs off.

“Falco’s older brother,” you repeat, when the boy is out of earshot. “This isn’t like Marcel and Porco. Why is Falco in the program?”

Zeke clicks his tongue. “The Grices are nephews of one of my parents’ co-conspirators. They need to prove their loyalty, for their family’s sake.”

“After all these years. Poor things.” Not that you’re surprised. Marley has a long memory, however false. “Did you have a hand in choosing him?”

“Wouldn’t that make the brass suspicious? It was the commander’s choice alone.”

“Huh.”

“They’re good kids, Colt especially. Now come on—” he nudges you forward with his elbow as he passes you, “you should eat before you see Reiner or you’ll lose your appetite for good.”

“...That bad?”

Walking ahead of you, Zeke only shrugs. You don’t know if that should worry or comfort you, so you follow suit.

--

Reiner is in his own room in the barracks, resting, when you visit him. He’s just finished eating his lunch when you arrive, and your shock at seeing him is a perfect reflection of his at seeing you. You last looked upon him as a boy, and though you know he only turns eighteen this year, he is now, most undoubtedly, a man. Almost everything about him is unfamiliar to you. His height, for one, his broad build, the slight stubble he’s neglected to shave for the past few days. His demeanor as he stares at you.

You thought Pieck spoke of growing up in general when she compared the two of you having become completely different, but it’s only now that you understand what she meant. Long ago, try as you might to deny it, the two of you were, with Porco, the most boisterous Warrior candidates in your generation. You left no challenge, even your superiors at first, unanswered; Reiner was certain, no matter his rank among you, that he would inherit before the Paradis operation; and Porco was quick to remind you how stupid and ridiculous you both were. 

But that was many years ago. Porco failed but has remained mostly himself, and you failed and realized the sham that is Tybur pride. Between the three of you, only Reiner achieved his dream—and yet you are more similar with one another than with Porco. Even amid his utter shock, the shame in his gaze as he meets yours, though unfamiliar on Reiner to your eyes, is one you’ve intimately known for some time now.

“Lucy?”

“Reiner,” you greet.

Reiner smiles in spite of himself. You do too. You were never close, but if nothing else, you were still Warrior candidates together. “You’ve... grown.” His voice is deep now, just like Zeke’s, but his is… gentle. Another unexpected development.

“That’s an overstatement, compared to you,” you chuckle. He smiles just a little wider, almost shy, but only for a beat. He remembers swiftly enough when he is, just like you.

“How are you, Reiner?” you can’t help but ask. Wrong question. You quickly follow it up with, “I’m glad your debriefing has ended. You deserve to rest at home, with your family.”

“I…” He appears to disagree, lowering his head at once. For one heartbreaking moment, you wonder if you see a shimmer beneath his lashes, but he only seems curious when he blinks up at you again. “Thanks, Lucy.” His voice is steady. Maybe you were imagining things. “I can’t believe I haven’t seen you since you were called home.”

You don’t complain about the change in subject. “Yeah… I always wished I could have seen you all off,” you murmur, even if part of you is glad you didn’t have to witness Pieck’s sorrow firsthand. Seeing it in Reiner at the mention of the operation, though, you add, “Oh, actually—I just got back a couple days ago, not too long after the rest of you. I’m enrolling in the medical program at Liberio University.”

“Oh?” He considers your words. “So you didn’t…”

That is the question of the century about you, isn’t it? At least among the Warriors. But then who else really knows who you are? “No.”

“Ah.” Reiner nods, more times than is really necessary. You know he doesn’t know whether to congratulate you or to apologize. “The medical program, though. That’s… unexpected.”

“Why does everyone say that?” you laugh. “Is it really so strange for me?”

“Uh—no,” he replies with an apologetic rush. You realize just how much you dislike it in his tone. Zeke says you were always last to say sorry, if you did at all. The same went for Reiner. Where is that obnoxious little boy you knew? “It’s better that way. You’ll do great.”

“I hope to,” you admit, but this visit isn’t supposed to be about you. “Anyway, Reiner… I just wanted to see how you were doing. I missed you all, and I’m really glad you’re back home.”

He’s too slow to conceal his surprise this time, or the way he blinks away coming tears. He always was a bit of a crybaby. To a child who desired to live up to her family name, that was a weakness. To a woman who knows better, you wish you could have told him it was all right. “We… I missed you all, too. It was…” he swallows. “I...”

The truth is you were a crybaby too, just not in front of the others, but you can’t help it when you hear the tremble in his voice, so grown and yet still the same. The first familiar thing of his that you’ve witnessed. Flicking a knuckle at your nose, you nod when he trails off. “You don’t have to say anything. Pieck told me the little she could.”

“Yeah?” he asks innocently enough. And then his voice shifts into something just a little tougher. Maybe harder. “What did Zeke say?”

“Zeke? We didn’t really…” It comes to you as you say it. “...talk about it.”

Of course you didn’t. You were busy talking about you, and he quite literally pushed you away when you tried to ask. But that doesn’t seem to be what Reiner is searching for in the first place. Not with that look on his face—another familiar expression, but not because you know it from your own heart. It’s familiar because you saw it just last night.  

“Should I be crying like you, acting like you know what it was like?”

Zeke’s eyes as he said those words were recalling a memory you can never understand, you know now, because it’s the same with Reiner. Whatever he went through in Paradis for years will only ever be a tale to you. Your shared memories ended before you turned thirteen. 

Still, the resentment that you saw in Zeke remains in Reiner’s golden eyes; only this time you don’t believe it’s meant for you.

You reach out to him, clearly elsewhere as his fists clench over his knees, but stop when your hand rests on the edge of his bed. “Reiner?”

“Sorry,” he blurts out when he returns to his senses. Somehow, he seems more tired than he already did. 

“That’s all right. I should let you rest.” When he nods, shoulders still slumped in apology, you put on a reassuring smile. You understand Reiner even less than you did before, but somehow he also feels more like a kindred spirit than you remember. “When you’re well enough to return, maybe we can have lunch with Pieck.”

Reiner visibly hesitates, but he nods in the end. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”

You bid each other goodbye, though you tell Reiner to stay seated when he tries to walk you to the door. When you close it behind you, glancing around, you assume Colt has been sent on another errand. Only Zeke now awaits you along the wall outside, one hand in his pocket as he smokes a cigarette, gaze once again far beyond the buildings ahead. 

When he isn’t playing up his irreverence to deflect or get on somebody else’s nerves, Zeke has always been aloof in public. In that way he hasn’t really changed, but you realize now that you were a fool to think things could just go back to normal between the two of you. Not that they haven’t, on the face of it; he seems perfectly happy to return to your old dynamic, and maybe all this strangeness is just in your head, or a natural consequence of growing up. 

Seeing Reiner, though… you realize maybe you were a little too hasty trying to go back. Just like you, just like Reiner, Zeke must have changed. You wonder how; wonder what he could have done, apart from suggesting the debriefing, that would make a now gentle Reiner wear such resentment. You have some idea, but you brush it aside before you can dwell on it. 

“If you want to try smoking,” Zeke chuckles, “all you have to do is ask.”

You blink, cheeks tingling with embarrassment and a sheepish smile when you realize he’s caught you staring. He holds the smoke out for you, but you wave his hand away. “No thanks.”

“So?” He pushes himself off the wall, putting the cigarette out under his shoe. “What do you think?”

You fall into step with him and take a deep breath. “I think maybe he just needs more time to rest. Grieve properly.”

“Generous evaluation.”

“I think it’s more… it’s not my place to say.” 

Zeke regards you with an indecipherable look, but it disappears as soon as you try to capture it. He only shrugs. “Okay. I need to get back to work. Want to stay, or will you be going home?”

You pretend to give it some thought. “I can stick around your office a little longer.”

“Good. Just try to keep it down.”

He chuckles at your eyeroll and starts to head back to the offices with you in tow. You stare at his back as he turns a corner ahead of you until he glances over his shoulder, ensuring you’re still with him. You give him a smile, brows raising with a question he answers with a shake of his head. But he’s smiling too, the one you got to know past that wall of apathy, and you know that he can’t possibly have changed all that much.

Zeke is still your best friend—the only one who knew everything about you, and the one who trusted only you with everything about him. You’re sure of it. 

/////

I mean, obviously, aside from Mr. Ksaver. Do I think Zeke was the guy whose only friends were younger kids he was forced to interact with for his own survival? Yes. His best friend in canon and the only important person he trusted in his childhood/adolescence was his father stand-in, and even if as he grew up I'm sure he became more sociable (and likeable/'admirable' to Marleyan Eldians as a Warrior), Zeke's existence is a lonely one in my eyes because of the way he viewed life and the lives of others. There would have had to be certain circumstances to gain his absolute trust I think, so feel special, Reader/Lucy. Haha. I swear I love Zeke even if I see him as this sad and lonely bastard.

Also, I know it's not obvious, but I don't dislike Porco. I actually like him a lot (except when he's like -that- to Reiner) and he influenced/es Reader/Lucy more than he knows. And I know I didn't mention Bertholdt in this chapter but that would have been a sensitive topic for Reiner, so Reader/Lucy knows to avoid it for now. (I just wanted to make that disclaimer because I love Bertholdt and I miss him a lot.)

Thank you for reading! I would love to hear what you think so far.

[ghostmartyr]

how a life can move from the darkness [7/?]

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

Summary: Two drug addicts (Eren and Historia) meet in group and decide to be roommates to make their  living situation slightly less weird. From there we do the slow burn  found family dance mixed in with the struggles and agonies of recovery.  Heavy on friendship feels, especially EMA. Eventual yumikuri.

Eren’s first thought was that something was wrong with his taste buds.

He took another bite.

Light and fluffy, with enough crunch to be satisfying, the cookie melted in his mouth with the chocolate chips it was spotted with. Sugary, somehow warm despite living on a table for an hour, and… good. The cookie tasted good. Even with the small scorch marks.

“What do you think?”

Petra was hovering. Almost vibrating with how long she’d held the question back.

“They’re… good,” Eren said. “Really good. What did you do?”

Petra’s face flushed with joy, complete with a happy smile that warmed the whole gym like unfiltered sunshine. “I bought new measuring cups.”

Eren grabbed another cookie. “What was wrong with your old ones?”

She grimaced. “I was using my mom’s measuring cups and spoons. She never told me, but she got them from a bargain bin sale because none of them were labeled right. My father came by for a visit and pointed it out.” Petra sighed sadly and snagged a cookie off the plate, but that smile still shone on through. “That’s what I should have opened today with: the wonders of communication.”

“It’s good you got it sorted out.” Eren hadn’t planned on saying anything about it ever, but Historia had stopped taking the cookies after the last week’s made her throw up.

For him, he had the problem of food starting to taste like food again. He wasn’t sure how many more times he could have eaten Petra’s cookies without wanting to rip out his tongue.

Petra held out the entire plate to him. “Consider these your reward for supporting me all this time. No one else here is going to touch them, so you and Historia can take them home with you. Maybe use them as an excuse to drop by those friends you’ve reconnected with. Or that brother of yours,” she added. “He might have a sweet tooth to exploit.”

Eren took the plate and cut off eye contact so he wasn’t actually frowning at Petra. She’d had enough of that from him. “Aren’t you the one who said not to push everything at once? I just started talking to Armin and Mikasa again.” His thumb ran along a chip in the porcelain. “And it isn’t like everything changed anything between me and Zeke. It’s always been like this.”

“That’s not true,” Petra said, and before Eren could point out that she’d never met him so how would she know, she continued. “You used to never bring him up at all. I think you mentioned him five times today. By name.”

Eren hadn’t noticed that.

The corner with its folding table and loud clock he barely heard anymore felt cramped with just him and Petra. Historia was across the gym, suffering through Daz. Him trying to befriend the feral cats who hung out in the same alley his dealer had before their arrest had somehow turned into her problem.

She’d said she was a heroin addict today. Then she sat down and didn’t talk the rest of the hour. Apparently that marked her as accessible.

“It isn’t a recovery thing,” Eren said. Leaving out the shadow of Mikasa that lived in his mind and reminded him that he’d never gone and dealt with the dad part of what happened. People lost parents. Normal, healthy people. They got over it eventually. He didn’t need an extra boost of support just because he’d lost theirs so violently. Thinking he did was how the pills started. “Zeke’s just Zeke.”

Baseball-obsessed, hard to thank, hard to hate, hard to love.

Hard to have a full conversation with.

Their last one had probably been when he was six, and Zeke was explaining what was so great about a game where you spent most of it standing around doing nothing. He’d patted his helmet onto Eren’s head and carried him around the baseball diamond on his shoulders instead of partying with his division champion team.

Dad had offered to drive them. Zeke turned him down.

“You’re never doing nothing. You’re always waiting for the right moment, or creating the right moment. You watch your team and your opponents, and you think about the right pitch to throw, the right out to make—and if you watch them carefully enough, and practice hard enough, when that moment happens, you’re invincible.”

Eren had held on to his big brother’s buzzed head. “Mom says no one’s invincible.”

“Your mother wants you to stop picking fights.” Zeke looked up at him. “If you thought them through a little more carefully, maybe you’d win more.”

Eren remembered sticking out his tongue.

“You can’t win if you don’t fight.”

Years later, Eren glared at the plate he was holding and its chipped rim.

Petra was smiling at him with laughter dancing in her eyes.

“Recovery’s about us, Eren. Not what we did or what we got hooked on. Who we are as people. Just because it never technically broke doesn’t mean you can’t want it fixed.”

Eren didn’t know if he could have asked Mikasa, or Armin. Or Historia, because that answer was obvious and unhelpful. The question was all of the things he never should have let himself turn into, and it curled around his tongue like acid.

But he could ask Petra. He could ask the woman who’d made his mom believe in him a little by giving him the will to stick out every meeting when all he wanted was to burn everything he knew to the ground.

“Don’t you ever get tired of trying to fix things?”

Petra let the laugh out and squeezed Eren’s wrist.

“The secret to that,” Petra said, “is that’s what all those people you’ve already fixed things with are for.”

----

Eren taped a bagged cookie to Zeke’s apartment door.

An hour later, he had a text.

Outsides were a little scorched. You shouldn’t leave them in that long.

---

they weren’t even my cookies. i didn’t cook them, petra did.

what does he know about scorched

the first ones she made tasted like charcoal briquettes

these were so much better

like food

but go off i guess

In retrospect, spitting out a bunch of angry texts during Mikasa’s class hours and expecting it to help wasn’t the smartest thing Eren could have done. When his phone finally told him she saw them, he could practically hear the concerned silence reaching out his way and asking if someone needed to call someone for him.

I’m not on drugs, Eren clarified. Slightly less annoyed and remembering that Mikasa wasn’t used to non sequitur rants. Usually Armin got those. Because usually they weren’t about Zeke.

Mikasa finally type a response. I believe you.

Zeke’s just an asshole

               Yes.

petra worked hard on those cookies she bought new measuring cups

[…] […] Who is Petra?

friend

               Why did you give Zeke one of her cookies?

it was supposed to be therapeutic

               Oh.

Eren had known Mikasa for enough years to see her eyes tracking back to the beginning of the conversation and to know she was hearing all his words in exactly the intonation he’d stamped them out with. That was why he usually texted Armin. Armin’s judgment was in quiet sighs that passed quickly. Mikasa’s stuck around with the reminder that some people had no problem being their best self every second of every day.

               […]                I have time. If there are any cookies left, I could come over and take some for myself and Armin.

No offer of Eren coming over to their place, which used to be his place. He didn’t know if the tightness in his chest was frustration or gratitude.

really?

               Yes.                Your friend’s efforts should be appreciated.

[…] thanks i’ll let her know you love them

A grand total of one personal growth point coming from trying to reach out to Zeke, and it came from bonding with someone else over how badly it was going. Eren held his phone to his forehead and did the breathing exercises that didn’t work.

At least Petra had been right about the secret trick to it. Even if it wasn’t much of a secret. Eren’s friends had always been better than him at getting him out of the holes he dug himself.

----

“Is that real?”

“Pinch me, right?”

“No, I mean is that…”

“Yeah.”

“She’s…”

“I know.”

“I didn’t know she could do that.”

“You’re both assholes,” Ymir said. Doing nothing to change the surreal scene playing out in front of them. Her comment barely touched it. She was still bent over her bike, water bottle still held by nothing but her teeth, phone still in her hands, smiling. Genuinely. Not smirking. Not snarling or cackling or leering. Smiling.

It was one of the most unnerving things Eren had ever seen.

That covered a lot of ground.

“I thought… She’s fighting with Historia?” Eren asked.

He’d called for a break, and the first thing Ymir did after vaulting off her bike and pulling at her phone at the speed of sound was announce to the entire trail, “Eren, your jackass roommate just called me unromantic and shallow.”

Reiner was grinning like a maniac. For a guy who’d almost fallen over getting off his bike, he looked downright perky. Eren had worried he’d pushed things too far, but the bounce in his step when he flipped his water into his hands said otherwise. “She is.”

“But she’s smiling.”

“Yeah.”

“She looks happy.”

“She does.”

Someone Reiner’s size shouldn’t have been capable of giggling, but Ymir was already breaking Eren’s sense of reality. Reiner joining in wasn’t that different, and at least Reiner looking happy was something Eren could appreciate well enough for it to spread.

“What about Historia?” Reiner asked, letting his voice carry with a more direct grin at Eren. “How does her side of the fighting go?”

Eren had trouble thinking about the ongoing argument seriously without remembering tears and track marks. He couldn’t see the lighthearted moment staying if he brought that up. Ymir helped him out for once and didn’t rise to the bait. She rolled her eyes and took a sip of water by bending her entire head back instead of sparing a hand from her phone. “Historia? That’s really her name? Who hates their kid that much?”

Moment ruined anyway. “Don’t message her that,” Eren said sharply.

Ymir’s fingers had been waiting, not typing, but they stopped anyway. Her responding look saw through Eren and any past lives he or anyone in his general vicinity had lived, and Eren hated to admit it but he liked the smile more. He glared steadily back.

Her eyebrow quirked up. She tilted her head back for another drink. “Someday,” she said, “I’ll meet drug addicts who don’t have parental problems.”

“Eren likes his mom,” Reiner said, impervious to the tone shift.

“Sometimes.”

When he’d gone over to the house for dinner, she’d told him his hair was getting too long, and he should do something about it if he planned on running around so much.

“Now watch him not ask about the other times,” Ymir said.

Eren’s hackles rose. “There’s nothing wrong with my mom,” he said. “She’s the best.”

Ymir rolled her eyes so hard they practically landed in the back of her skull, and Eren didn’t know what was going to come out of her mouth next, but he’d probably want to punch her for it, and he needed to find somewhere safe for his helmet if that was how this was going to play—but they were both interrupted.

Her phone buzzed again, and the bizarre, reality-melting snap of joy that flashed over her face made Eren feel weirdly guilty about imagining what it would look like with a bloody nose.

He flopped his damp hair out of his eyes and slumped over his bike, watching a bird hop along the trail in front of them with a deep scowl that was fake enough to only make it through the third hop and the bird pecking at a piece of bread larger than its head.

That was a kind of happiness he could get. Hunger and feasting on things he wasn’t supposed to.

Eren swiped away more of his hair and looked down at the ground underneath his feet instead.

Reiner’s feet, done stretching, padded over the dirt, and his massive shoulder nudged Eren’s.

“You work at Steady Rock, right?”

Eren glanced up, because topic changes with Reiner felt safer with eye contact. “Yeah?”

“We got our hands on some coupons and wanted to know if it’s cool if we drop by during one of your shifts,” Reiner said, leaning further into Eren’s personal space than he was used to when they had somewhere larger than a cell to roam around in. “My little cousin is really into climbing right now, and she’s coming out for a visit in a few months. Scouting out places that might keep her attention is a pretty high priority before she gets here.”

Eren asked the obvious question. “Your family’s letting you watch her?”

Reiner didn’t quite look at him, and Eren wasn’t enough of a bastard to force it. “Her parents are coming along,” he said. “We’re only getting a few hours with her. But we want to show her a good time, you know? Convince them to let her back.”

Eren had spent every moment at work since Hannes’ latest discount series wondering how hard it was not to spend forty minutes of a promised hour falling off things and screaming about it, but Reiner would at least let him get a word in before he sped up a wall and got stuck. He snapped his helmet back on and shrugged. “Customers are customers,” he said.

Reiner chuckled. “Yeah, just… you know.” He cleared his throat and the next words sounded like they came out of one of the countless recovery books they’d both been forced through before their release. “Trying to respect your boundaries.”

They both looked Ymir’s way. She didn’t snipe anything back, too busy glowing.

Eren checked his watch to see how close to ending their break time was, pausing when he saw the clock over the running timer. He looked back up at Ymir, and the glint in her eye that said whatever was putting it there was ongoing.

“Time to head out?” Reiner asked.

It was a little early, but Reiner was breathing easily, and hadn’t gone after his water like the ravenous wolf he’d started out on these expeditions. “Yeah,” Eren said, one more quick, curious frown at his watch before Reiner called out to Ymir to cut her flirting short.

Weird.

He’d figured bad weird, since neither of them really knew how to talk to people and their starting point was all the yelling Eren wasn’t supposed to do anymore.

He slipped out his phone for a fast text, then put it away and got back to work, a little spark of okay beating out the worry and lightening his pedals.

----

i can’t text you during class, but ‘melancholic genius’ crystal wick can?

She doesn’t have my number. […] She was using Twitter.

----

It wasn’t because of what Ymir said.

Not really.

He would have done it anyway, eventually. She just brought it up when he was stable enough to do something with the reminder instead of stew in sad, guilty feelings that planted visions of pills in his head.

Eren scuffed his shoes on the welcome mat.

“The Doctor is Out,” it read, a sad smiley from a waiting room pain scale next to it, “But You Can Come In!”

Zeke had bought it. Eren had whined about how much time their dad spent at the office. The next day, it was on the doorstep, and his mom was telling his dad that they’d get rid of it when it stopped being accurate. Eren had said that wasn’t right, because they never told the people who knocked on their door to come in.

His mom never got rid of it, and it was back to being accurate. The doctor was out.

Before Eren could drown himself too deeply in that and why the mat wasn’t there when he came over for dinner, his mother opened the door.

“Eren,” she said. “This is a surprise.”

She looked worried behind her welcoming smile, but the kind of worried that made him want to stomp off and find a mud puddle to splash in out of spite. That kind of worry he could handle, even if it always ended with her trapping him in the laundry room and explaining how to get stains out of his clothes.

Eren rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Sorry. I can call ahead next time.” His shoes crunched over the welcome mat. “I didn’t know if I had to. I still have my key and I’m not here to…” He sucked at this. Worse than any text to Historia about which chart smiley she’d pick out for her mood of the day. His ears hurt listening to himself.

“I thought I’d patch up my bedroom,” he said. “I was going to do it even if you weren’t here, so I didn’t call.”

His mom raised her eyebrows at him. “You never need a reason to call your mother, Eren.” Before the barb sunk in enough for Eren to come up with a retort, she swung the front door the rest of the way open. “Did you bring tools with you, or are you borrowing?”

Eren followed in, the bag he’d brought along swinging from his shoulder. “Borrowing for anything that needs paint. I thought I’d use what’s left in the garage for that.”

“And this isn’t going to be like the last time you tried to fix the house by yourself?”

Eren’s ears and the rest of him went a very fine red.

He and Armin had lost an action figure down a sink. They knew if Zeke wasn’t the one watching them, there wasn’t a good chance of anyone deciding that the toy’s fate was anything but sealed, so turning up the volume on the movie that had inspired the soldier’s sink dive, they’d searched the house for a saw to crack open the pipe they were sure it was stuck in.

Eren could still feel the weight of his soaked t-shirt as he tried to hide Armin behind him in the puddle they’d created, his mom’s hurried footsteps rushing down the stairs at their yelps of surprise.

The main puddle showed up because they’d tried to fix the first without anyone noticing. Armin had slipped and almost hit his head when he had the idea that they could probably find instructions in a book somewhere, and if they were really fast…

They weren’t fast, and they weren’t quiet, and Eren’s mom had rolled in like thunder.

“Never,” she had said, holding him by the chin while his wrench clattered to the floor and the pipe kept spewing water all over the three of them. “Eren you listen to me. You are never to use tools like this by yourself. You find me, or your father, and if something needs to happen, we will use them, or show you how. You never try something like this on your own.”

Most of his parents’ ‘nevers’ didn’t last long. Loopholes or exceptions followed Eren around like weeds.

That one stuck. For Armin. The first time they’d had a problem in their apartment, they’d called home, just to double-check, before getting to work. It stuck worse when Eren’s mother snatched the phone from his father, who’d picked up, and told them to talk to their landlord before they took another step.

Which had come up before she shouted it into their ears. But then they’d had diagrams, and measuring tape, and Mikasa loaned them a hammer, and they could probably fix it by themselves.

The landlord hadn’t agreed.

Walls weren’t so hard, though. Patch jobs were one of the first home improvement lessons Eren’s dad put him through. He’d thought the house could use fewer holes, and taught Eren early. Eren could tackle walls alone. Even if they were his, and he had to walk by a closed door that made his heartbeat hit deafening and his breathing fall short to get to them.

Five minutes in, standing in the gaping mausoleum of a room that didn’t have any of his stuff but had scars all over, Eren wasn’t alone.

His mother, recently changed into what she called her work clothes, entered the room and went for the spackle.

“Mom,” Eren said. “What are you doing?”

“Putting my house back together,” she said.

“It’s my room.”

“You don’t live here anymore.”

“Yeah, but it’s my room. My—” damage. Everywhere. The holes from the fist he’d put through the wall, the hole from Zeke’s baseball going through the wall, the cracks from all those holes spiraling out and trying to link together, the tiny bits of plaster on the floor… Eren had stopped remembering his room had ever looked another way, but he knew those things weren’t supposed to be there. That was why he was patching them up.

His mother didn’t seem concerned with any of the emotional progress being waged. “I have a right to participate in my own household chores, Eren,” she said.

“You haven’t done anything about this for months,” Eren said. “You left it out for me to clean up.”

“Because,” she approached a crack by Eren’s elbow that hadn’t come from a punch, just a bad nightmare that felt like it cracked his skull just as badly, “any man I raised should expect to have to come back and clean up his messes.”

She ran her fingers over the mark before taking her putty knife to it. When she looked up at him, Eren realized he’d stopped working to stare. He realized it a second too late to escape the nudge of her hand on his arm, prodding him along.

“I did think you’d be along sooner,” she continued. “Am I that far down your list?”

Eren’s face burned.

He could feel her smiling next to him, and he wasn’t surprised when the next nudge was his mother reaching up to tweak his ear. “Or,” she continued, “am I not on your list because I’m your mother, and you don’t think you have to apologize to me?”

“I know you like apologies,” Eren said defensively.

“And I know how much you love giving them to me,” she said.

The rebuke was as gentle as she bothered with, but it still stung. Eren’s hands stopped again, and he stared into the wall, the crack he’d have to tend after the hole acting like a window into a whole different dimension. One where the only reason he knew he saw his mother that day was because he could remember shouting at her.

“Mom,” he started, all the good intentions and work ethic bleeding out into guilt. “I really—I...”

The words felt as hollow as his room did without pieces of him taking up the space.

“Fix the walls,” his mother instructed. “Then you can stay for dinner and tell me how Armin and Mikasa are doing. They stop by even less often than you do. Or that roommate of yours; we’ve hardly spoken. Frieda seems to be the only one of any of you who can remember her social niceties.”

“Mom.”

----

Petra would tell him that there was nothing wrong with starting out easy.

He didn’t know where to start with his brother? Mother was in the same ballpark, and as long as he kept taking steps forward, he’d get to where he needed to be in the end. There wasn’t anything wrong with baby steps.

There was maybe something wrong with thinking of his mother as one. He’d never been a great son.

Eren, stinking of paint and supposed to be going to wash off before dinner, was stuck in front of the closed door marking the center of the upstairs hallway. The midway point between Eren’s room and his parents’. The office.

Otherwise known as the gateway to most of Eren’s fits when he was younger.

“But why. Dad has two rooms I can’t go in, why does he get two?”

At the funeral after-party, the door had been open. No one had bothered closing it after his dad changed his mind and agreed to come along to the MMA tournament finals. Eren had told him he needed to see it, because he was going to come in first place for the first time, and maybe after he could talk to Mom and change her mind about how rough it was because it wasn’t really that bad…

His dad was the one who decided if the door was open or shut. He’d left in a hurry, so he wouldn’t be late. So the day of the funeral, it was open.

Eren had slammed it shut with his crutches.

Baby steps. Closing up walls. Cutting off some of Ymir’s ammunition.

Eren watched his spackled, paint-covered hand reach out and turn the doorknob.

On slow feet, he took a step in.

He immediately wanted to step back out. The blinds were drawn. They were thick, wooden shades designed to tell the sun its service was not wanted, and the entire room was plunged into night despite it being the middle of the day. Light from the downstairs windows was still bouncing its way upstairs.

None of it touched the office.

It smelled like dust. Eren could feel his shoes leaving prints in the carpet.

He’d never been allowed inside without his father’s permission, so by the time he was five, he knew the ins and outs of the room better than any other place in the house. He knew before he could reach which certificate on the wall stood for which achievement, even with every inch being covered. Whenever his dad received an award, Eren would talk him through which spot of the office had the most room to put it in.

Armin had hidden under the desk with him. Hide and seek. They were willing to risk it when Zeke was sitting for them. Then he’d turned that back on them and found them the second after he was done counting.

Eren wouldn’t fit under the desk anymore. It was big enough for one man and the work in front of him. Plus the piles on either side. There wasn’t much extra space. The picture frames on it were pushed all the way to the edge of the wood.

It might have fitted more if the back of the desk was against the wall, but his dad had liked it in the middle of the room, his chair facing the doorway. Eren had figured out, staying up late and listening to all the different footsteps in the house, that he liked it that way so he could stand up and pace in front of the window.

Baby steps.

Eren breathed in through his nose, exhaling slowly. His legs wobbled like they were trying to go back to the last time he’d entered the room. He was, but not like that.

In, out, dinner.

He passed the desk and went over to the corner, where the largest filing cabinet in the room stood. Without stopping to think about it, he dropped to the floor, cobwebs and dust joining the paint. If it was the other way around he’d have to come back and wash the floors.

Back in the far corner of the shadows, there wasn’t enough light for anything to glint back at him, but he’d always had what his mother called an overactive imagination. Nothing close to Armin’s. That defense had never worked.

He reached his hand into the dark and flicked off whatever bug tried to latch onto his fingers, groping around until his palm connected with a piece of cold, round metal.

Eren almost yanked his hand back out without collecting it. A flinch wracked his body like a shiver.

He grabbed it, and pulled his arm back into his chest, the rapid thump of his heart covering up all of the other sensations that came with it. His forehead was clammy, bangs sticking to it like glue.

He stayed on the floor for a few more minutes than he meant to.

Long enough for his ears to catch a different thump.

The lamp in the opposite corner of the room flicked on, and after an aborted pause that Eren could feel, his mother stepped over the threshold.

“Eren? Did you hurt yourself?”

“No,” he lied, into the dusty carpet.

She sighed, but didn’t walk any closer. The floorboards creaked under her stationary feet. Eren’s fist clenched around the object in his hand, and he made himself push his body back up, taking a string of cobweb up with him and blinking under the new light.

His mother did step forward when she caught sight of the new collection of dust all over his clothes. “Eren.”

“I already had to change,” he said.

She shook her head and pulled a dust bunny out of his hair. “You really do need to get it cut.”

Eren would blame the environment for why the only thing that he could think to say, and successfully made it out of his mouth, was, “Dad had long hair.”

She fixed him with a look that he had spent his entire childhood rebelling against. “Yes, and your father took care of his,” she said, coaxing strands of his hair apart with the tips of her fingers. “If you don’t know what to do with it, having more is always a mistake. All that exercise you do; doesn’t it get into your eyes?”

Eren crossed his arms and avoided eye contact. Longer bangs helped.

Only the angle he put his head at meant he was staring straight at the photos his father kept on his desk.

The dust blurred the images, but he didn’t have any problem recognizing the candid shot Mikasa had taken at graduation. Of him and Zeke grinning at each other, the summer sun beating down on both of them while Eren wielded his diploma like a relay baton.

Eren’s folded arms fell to his sides, the cold weight in one starting to feel hot enough to burn.

“I wasn’t going to stay in here,” he said. The words rang. He fumbled his grip and held the object out to his mother. “I wanted to grab this. In case you wanted it.”

His mother, full of smiles and competence for him all day, froze. She didn’t need any of the seconds Eren had when he’d raged into the room and found it waiting on the desk. She recognized the polished shine instantly. The watch she’d given her husband for their twentieth anniversary.

The one he’d died wearing, while his son listened to the ticking clock and stopped trying to be sane.

The one his son had picked up and thrown into a dark place no one would ever think to look.

His mom’s hands shook, taking it out of Eren’s hands. He didn’t think she saw the cracks in its face. She couldn’t know to imagine the blood entangling its joints. She just took up the watch, and held it the same way she’d held it out to Eren when she picked it up from the store. Asking for his opinion while Eren shrugged and told her to bother Mikasa with stuff like that, it looked fine.

“It was already broken,” Eren said. “From the accident. I didn’t help, but… it stopped working in…”

She looked away from the watch and up at his face. Eren bit the inside of his jaw, staring at the picture of him and Zeke and thinking about how hot that day had been and how no one except Armin had been interested in a color that wasn’t black for their robes.

Then he wasn’t staring at the picture, because his mother’s hair was in the way, and her arms were wrapped around him. She tugged his head down to meet her shoulder, and she smelled like sweat and paint and mom.

The tears couldn’t make it past his choked throat.

“I told Frieda I couldn’t even miss him,” Eren whispered. “I was too busy thinking about myself.”

His mother’s soft laughter buzzed his ear. “You got that from him.”

Eren would have pulled away if that didn’t mean leaving the hug. He didn’t think he was strong enough to ask for another. “What?”

She laughed again, kissing the side of his head and rocking him slowly back and forth. “Your father,” she said, “was a passionate, driven man, and he’d get so caught up in what he was doing I sometimes think if he didn’t sleep better in his bed he’d never have come home at all. It was always the next step, with no reason to look back.” Her head turned towards the desk. “That’s why he never made things right with your brother. He thought he failed so badly, there was no reason to repeat it all. Instead he tried to move forward with the damaged parts they had left, and…”

She sighed so heavily Eren wished he’d been the one to start hugging her. She pulled away slightly, tenderly smoothing back his hair and curling it around his ears. “I like to think we both had a part in raising that out of you, no matter how little you enjoy apologizing to your mother.”

“Mom,” he said, “I am so—”

“Eren,” she interrupted. “You have never been an easy child.” She cradled his cheek in her hand. “It is always something, even when you’re supposedly a grown man so far above our responsibility.” She sighed at him again, displacing the glinting tears in her eyes and using her thumb to rub away his. “I can’t say I’m happy with how you chose to be difficult this time, but… your father was a wonderful man, and truth be told, I don’t know how to be without him either.”

Eren fell forward, holding her as tight as he knew how and hiding his eyes in her paint-stained shirt. “…You’re doing better than me,” he mumbled.

“I’m your mother,” she said. “That’s my job.”

[next]

[blackasteriia]

A List of Reasons Why I Hate the ‘Sea Salt Family’

AKA It’s Sunday Tuesday and I’m back at it again at Krispie-Kremes

(Abuse tw; violence tw; salt tw; suicide tw)

I have mentioned, in passing, my problems with the prevalence of the Sea Salt Family in fandom and my problems with it. I’ve never written a comprehensive post on it before. It’s Sunday though, I have the salt, so let’s do it. 

The Sea Salt Family is roughly presented, but not explicitly laid-out, in canon. At the end of KH3, Xion, Roxas, Lea, and Isa are shown sharing ice cream on the clock tower together. Since the introduction of Xion and Roxas’ character, ‘sharing ice cream’ has been a declarative statement of friendship and camaraderie. It was the origin of their friendship. Thus, the inclusion of Isa is a signal of his admittance into the reformed friend group. The intention of this scene was to show the reconciliation and unification of these characters. To cement this, it seems that Nomura has bundled Roxas, Xion, Lea, Isa, and the Twilight Trio, into a shared plot. They are mentioned in Re:Mind, by Riku, as searching for Sora through Roxas and Xion’s memories.  

Common fandom interpretation takes this one step farther. The assumption is that Lea and Isa have adopted Xion and Roxas. This puts Lea and Isa in a parental role over the kids. Often times, this is done in a shipping context for Lea and Isa. Sometimes Lea and Isa have a good relationship, with two lovingly adopted children. Other times Xion and Roxas become contention points for the main ship-- Isa’s punishment for being a jerk is taking care of the kids. 

Fandom does take into account that the canon scene itself in KH3 is flawed. Lets overview Lea and Isa’s relationship, with both of the kids. 

Roxas spent the majority of 358/2 Days oblivious to the machinations going on around him. However, he identified a rift between Axel and Xion that developed in the midpoint of the year. He recognized that Axel had done something to estrange her and by the end of the game, blamed him for it. He was also angry at him for attacking Xion the first time. When Xion ran away for the second time, Roxas confronted Axel and forced the truth. Axel had been lying about Xion --sometimes intentionally to assuage Roxas’ concerns-- and then attempted to justify his actions to Roxas.The revelations of Axel’s lies --and outright manipulation, diverting Roxas from finding the truth-- causes Roxas to leave the Organization. Axel later attacks Roxas (twice) when Xemnas orders him to do so. At this point, Axel makes no attempt to find an alternate solution. Axel is enraged at Roxas for leaving and even forgetting him (which is a weird thing for an adult man to feel about a child, I might add). He is mocking of Roxas’ confusion in the data Twilight Town. Axel then attacks Roxas with the implicit intention to kill Roxas. Thus, we see that Axel’s relationship to Roxas is manipulative and built on lies, instead of trust. Axel also shows little regard for Roxas’ autonomy (”You’re coming with me, conscious or not.”). Roxas knows that Axel will lie to him. Roxas knows that Axel will assault him. If Roxas enters the post-KH3 relationship with no reservations then he is an oblivious moron. 

When it comes to Xion I do not give Axel the benefit of the doubt. Axel is introduced to Xion, by Roxas. At the beginning of their friendship he does not see her face. He becomes aware that she is a replica but decides to give her a fair shake, due to his experience with Repliku. Eventually, he does see her face. They seem to get along for the first part of the game. However, when Xion goes to Castle Oblivion to learn the truth about herself-- Axel moves to block her. He gaslights her (’there’s nothing to see here’) and grabs her to stop her (a violation of her physical autonomy btw). She goes on into the castle and Axel does not mention the incident to Roxas (a lack of transparency and honesty in relationships). Xion is missing for almost a month. She returns, speaks with Roxas (who also grabs her and violates her physical autonomy smh), and is then attacked by Axel. Axel kidnaps Xion and returns her to the Organization against her will. Xion did not want to return to the Organization. Roxas requests that she return with him and she moves away from him. Before Axel attacked her she was going to leave. (Later, Nomura attempts to feebly justify Axel’s behavior by saying Xion is glad he did this. We’ll call that Xion attempting to assuage Roxas’ worries). Xion later goes to Axel for advice about what to do. Axel implies that she’s ‘stealing more than her share’ from Roxas. We are, as a reminder, talking about Xion killing herself here. Later, Axel lets her leave, and then still follows Xemnas’ order to attack her and kidnap her again. I do not believe there is any love loss between Axel and Xion. He betrayed her, gaslit her, attacked and assaulted her, kidnapped her (twice), and showed a cruel disregard for her autonomy. There is no reason for her to trust, or even like him. Their ‘friendship’ ended around day 255 in Castle Oblivion, and any attempt for Nomura to convince you otherwise is deliberate attempt to write over the real trauma that Axel caused her. 

Saïx and Roxas have few interactions. However, I read Roxas and Xion as child soldiers. They are slaves, they are working for no payment. Saïx is the man in charge of them. He hands out the missions. We are shown that Saïx primary concern is their efficiency in collecting hearts. Roxas and Saïx interactions include Saïx telling him what his mission is, and how to prepare. Saïx, however, outright pits Roxas and Xion against each other. Even at one point, attempting to have them murder each other. (If you read the manga, and want to consider it for analysis, Saïx even attacks Roxas). Their relationship is cold, hostile, and interlaced with the knowledge of Saïx obvious emotional abuse of Xion. No reason for Roxas to trust, or even like, Saïx. 

Take everything above about Saïx and double it for Xion. The profesional and cold demeanor of Saïx is stripped away to reveal an openly hostile, cruel personality. Saïx insults and degrades Xion (”You were a mistake we never should have made”.) Xion refers to him with fear and wariness, often fearing his retribution for failures. He misgenders her and disregards her personhood. He does this out of a self-stated jealousy. He sees Axel growing close to the kids and then lashes out at the easy targets. Saïx outright abuses Xion, and the threat of harm is as effective as the actual action of doing harm. Saïx wanted Xion dead, and as best as I can tell, she knew it. I have no reason to believe that his opinion of her would change from 358 to KH3. It does not make sense that Saïx after KH2 would attempt to ‘save’ Xion. He doesn’t remember her and he wouldn’t remember her all the way until the Keyblade Graveyard. Vexen’s notes would not include Xion’s personality or any of her relationships, she was, at best, two weeks old when he left for Castle Oblivion. Saïx is not shown interacting with Xion in any manner in KH3. In fact, the ‘Xion’ introduced in the Keyblade Graveyard is not Xion. Xion is in Sora’s heart. So, not only is their relationship confusing in KH3, it’s also not meaningful. Vexen mentioned Saïx wished to ‘atone’ but we never hear Saïx true intentions from the horse’s mouth. Or, if he just did it to make nice with Lea. He still refers to the kids as ‘Lea’s friends.’There is no established development between Xion and Saïx proper. Xion would have no reason to believe that Isa no longer wants to kill her, and Isa would have no reason to no longer want to kill Xion. 

Despite all of this, Nomura wants us to believe that all of these characters are reconciled. The text offers little to believe that this is the case. There is not a single scene where any of Isa and Lea’s past behavior is addressed, or an apology made. Nomura’s reading of his own text fails to recognize the abuse and trauma that he wrote Xion and Roxas’ experiencing. He has a fundamental lack of understanding of the consequences and psychology of his own characters. Furthermore, he believes that the friendship they built in the Organization stands on its own. Even though Axel: gaslit, assaulted, kidnapped, and manipulated both. For example, Nomura reads his threat to Xion (”No matter what, I’ll always bring you back.” = ”I will always return your to your abusers, regardless of your wishes, even if I have to assault you to do so.”) as a promise and declaration of friendship. Why else would Xion tell Roxas that Axel kidnapping her is a good thing? Nomura believes that the Organization -- even though we’re talking about the group of people who abused, enslaved, and murdered them-- is good for Xion and Roxas. Why else would the ‘symbol of their friendship’ be the Recusant Symbol in Re: Mind? Thus, their friendship with Axel is good for them. Why else is it romanticized in KH3? Therefore, there is no reason to confront or discuss previous acts of abuse, manipulation, gaslighting, or assault. 

The story of 358/2 Days is not a story of two children shaking free of the shackles of their abusers and oppressors as they grow into their own, independent, unique personalities. It is a story of two children who are abused and manipulated by the adults in their lives. Who are then murdered and discarded as soon as they hold no use for the plot. Xion’s entire character is written with the intention to motivate Roxas to leave the Organization. That is why 358/2 Days was created as a game. That is why her character was introduced. The systematic stripping of her autonomy and personhood is present in the text itself, and the meta-text. She is fridged, and then that death is milked for man pain of Roxas and Axel. Nomura’s own sexism created and destroyed her character. So, much to the point that when fan consensus demanded she be brought back: he gave her no lines and no personality. He couldn’t even muster the spine to give her an original moveset for her Re:Mind data fight-- she’s just a copy of Roxas. That’s all she is to him and that is all she will ever be to him. 

And the fandom seems, for the most part, to be in concurrence with Nomura. We have asked Xion and Roxas to be in a healthy relationship with the two adults who have overtly abused them. The problem is not the writing of the Sea Salt Family. That trope, on its own, is fine. The true problem is the fandom’s failure to address the abuse in the Kingdom Hearts story. 

 Saïx actions, as poignant as they may or may not be in the rescue of Xion and Roxas, do not absolve him. Saïx used his position of authority and power over them to cause them tangible harm. Emotional abuse hurts as much as physical abuse and the effects are long lasting. Especially, when we know that Xion and Roxas were completely subject to Saïx. As far as Xion was aware, if she disobeyed or failed him-- her life was forfeit. What Saïx did in KH3 was take the first step of reconciliation. He fixed his most obvious mistake which included being complicit in the murder of children. Good for him. Now, he has to make tangible changes in his behavior. He must make apologies that shows he understands what and how he was wrong. This apology should be voluntary and not forced by Lea, or whittled out of him by the kids. He must take responsibility for his actions and preform further restitution. He can’t shove blame on the kids, he can’t say ‘Xemnas made me do it.’ No, Saïx caused them harm, and he has to be responsible. Anything less is in an incomplete, false apology that does not match the severity of his actions. And even if he executes a perfect apology, guess what?

 Xion and Roxas do not have to feel grateful to Saïx. They do not have to forgive him. They do not owe him anything. He was their abuser. If they do not feel ready to forgive, they don’t have to. Furthermore, forgiveness and healing is a process. One and done will not realistically fix the level of trauma that these children have experienced. I have seen the expressed attitude that of course Xion and Roxas would forgive Isa. They’re good kids! To which I ask, would bad kids not forgive their abuser? Xion and Roxas would still be good kids, even if they don’t forgive the man who abused them. That’s not how this works. They are the victims here, they have been done harm, and they deserve the space to heal. If they do not want Isa in that space, then that is their right. Maybe, Roxas and Xion decide to forgive Isa, maybe it takes time, maybe they never do. It depends on how they work through their pain and trauma. Of course, repeat all this with Lea. Because as much as the fandom likes to give him a free pass for his ‘good intentions.’ Those ‘good intentions’ still hurt Roxas and Xion. You could say his actions are justified given his circumstances. That does not change their impact. Xion and Roxas know --based on Axel’s own behavior-- that he will throw them under the bus if it’s convenient. They have not met Lea. They do not know him. They have no reason to trust him. It is Lea who must do the work to fix that. Not Xion, not Roxas, it is Lea who has to prove himself trustworthy again. 

It’s alright to draw Xion, Roxas, Isa, and Lea having ice cream together, or living a happy life. However, it is also necessary to address the problems. How does Xion feel living with Isa, who misgendered and emotionally abused her? Does Roxas feel at all threatened by Lea, knowing that he once attacked him? How did Lea and Isa work to address their mistakes, and reconcile with the kids? How are they addressing the real trauma that Xion and Roxas have experienced, especially the stuff at their own hands? Most depictions of ‘The Sea Salt Family’ skip past all the hard work and jump to the fun part. We’re shown Lea ‘forgiving’ Isa, when it is not Lea’s place to do so. We’re shown Lea bringing Isa, Roxas, and Xion, into his home, with little regard for how this may affect the kids. I feel as though in most depictions, Xion and Roxas are accessories to Isa and Lea’s romantic relationship. Another point of conflict or a source of fluff. This ignores the autonomy of Xion and Roxas, it ignores their struggles and character. Worse yet, it echoes Nomura’s own erasure of their trauma. Don’t write Lea and Isa adopting Xion and Roxas if you’re not prepared to talk about everything that comes with it. 

Also consider that Xion and Roxas are extremely vulnerable. They have between them, total, two whole years of experience. They have never gone to school. They have never had friends outside of the Organization. (The Data Twilight Trio are not their actual ‘friends’ and Nomura makes no sense, I’ll die on that hill). I cannot state how easy it would be for Lea or Isa to continue a pattern of abuse with them. You say, Lea and Isa would never do that! To which I say, they have done that, and we have little canon proof that they wouldn’t do that. 

Are you catching my problem here? 

Do you see why having Roxas and Xion get a happily ever after with their two abusers is not a good idea? Because Nomura did not write a true redemption arc for either Isa or Lea, we do not see any fundamental changes in their character. Axel has been showing willing to commit cold blooded murder. Can you show me how he is now prepared to take care of two extremely vulnerable, traumatized, and abused children? Maybe, in your own writing you don’t think Lea is prepared to take care fo the kids. Okay, that’s fine, there’s some nuance-- but do you still write him taking care of them? Why do you think that is the best situation for Xion and Roxas? Because they have nowhere else to go. How is that acceptable? Knowing that the two children who have been abused have so few resources available to them that they have no choice but to stay with their abusers? Maybe, as a fandom, we need to stop caring so much about Isa and Lea’s feelings, and start caring about their victims. 

I don’t want my reader to leave this essay and think, ‘I can’t write Sea Salt Family.’

You can write Sea Salt Family, but you have to order some nuance. 

Think about the best Redemption Arc in living memory: Zuko. Zuko was shown kidnapping and attacking Katara in Season 1. Yet, I am perfectly fine with Zutara as a ship, why? 

1. Katara is shown capable of standing-up to Zuko, defending herself, and challenging him. In Siege of the North Part 1, she is shown equal to, if not superior to, him in skill and power. Katara can kick Zuko’s ass and he knows it. By the end of Season 1, there is no longer a power imbalance between them. Abuse requires a power imbalance and Katara and Zuko are shown standing on equal footing.

2. Zuko and Katara then have a change in their relationship. Zuko has his change of heart in Ba Sing Se. In the crystal catacombs he shows empathy to Katara that she responds to. He even takes this point to issue his first apology. However, he betrays this budding trust by following Azula in attacking Aang. 

3. Zuko reconciles with Katara and builds a friendship with her. This includes Zuko apologizing for his past actions. But also doing what he can to fix his mistakes. He works to understand and listen to her anger and pain. He helps her find the man who killed her mother, on her request. He allows her to take the space and time she needed to address her trauma. Not just what he did to her, but what the fire nation did to her. He shows a clear change of behavior and remorse for his past actions. Katara and Zuko, by the end of the series are friends who trust each other. I can believe it because of the intentional work and time the show put into the relationship. 

Now look at the above. You tell me where Isa and Lea did all that in canon?  Think about point 1, Katara and Zuko are pretty much the same age, as two years of difference between adolescents is not a significant age gap. Xion and Roxas, are literal toddlers, and Lea and Isa are in their late-twenties. There is a natural power imbalance between these characters caused by age and experience. Which means it’s even more on Lea and Isa to take responsibility. Furthermore, what about point 1 or 2? Xion barely has any lines in KH 3. We do not hear her story, we do not hear her experience, and we do not hear her accepting the apology Lea did not make. Canon is flawed in its execution of the Sea Salt Family. Fandom has a real chance to step-in where Nomura failed and succeeded. Yet, over a year since KH3′s release, I have seen few attempts to do so. 

Abuse in relationships can be addressed. Abusers can take responsibility, apologize, and make amends for their actions. I do believe that Xion and Roxas can forgive Lea and Isa, if and only if, Lea and Isa earn that forgiveness. I believe that in theory the Sea Salt Family could be a wonderful example of found family, forgiveness, love, and healing in media. However, in practice, most examples of it fall short. The challenge there-in, is to write and portray the nuance, complexity, and triumph of a real relationship. Not a superfluous, weak, or shallow one, that looks pretty and is heartwarming, but instead a deep story, that is deserving of the characters it attempts to represents. 

[whitecatindisguise]

Give Him A Chance To Mend 2

To tell you the truth, I wanted it to be a fluff chapter. My mind had a different idea, so we start up with angst/whump at the beginning, before the fluff comes in.

And let me just say, I completely adore both Hector and Varian, and I can totally see them bonding over animals.

Anyway, enjoy~

------

Chapter 2: When Can We Do This Again?

It’s been two weeks since Adira and Hector decided to move in with Varian and his dad. Quirin and his son finally stopped freaking out at every sound coming from the house whenever they were together, adjusting to the fact now there were four people living in the house. 

The former Brotherhood members adjusted to the new life quicker than expected. Adira was always willing to help out the villagers in menial tasks, whether it was fixing the broken roof or simple collecting of crops. Hector, obviously, was quickly recognised as an animal person, and was often called for when the villagers needed help. He also served as a kind of scarecrow, scaring away wild animals before they can damage the crops. Although, he was generally seen talking them out, instead of actual scaring. It didn’t matter, really, as long as the village was safe. 

Varian himself was… trying. With Andrew sent away, far from the boy, he could finally relax and focus on healing, both physically and mentally. While his visible injuries healed rather fast, the wounds inflicted to his mind refused to do so, leaving scars that didn’t want to heal. Not once Quirin, Adira and Hector were woken up in the middle of the night, was it either by anxious Ruddiger or cries of the boy. 

Usually it was fairly easy to calm down the terrified alchemist, after he woke up from another dreadful nightmare. Sometimes, however, they spent the better half of the night, consoling the trembling boy. These were the times Quirin could see how broken his son really was, how the man who pretended to be his friend hurt him, if only to satisfy his own desire of justice. 

These were the times the man held Varian in a warm embrace for hours, whispering soothing words, feeling his small frame trembling under the pressure of his past. 

And these were the times both Adira and Hector hated how much time it took to travel to the Dark Kingdom and back to Corona. Hated, how long it took them to find the trail. Hated, how late they were to find their nephew. And hated, how long the boy was subjected to Andrew’s twisted ideas. 

It was the morning after exceptionally vivid nightmare. It took the three of the adults and at least fifteen minutes of constant shaking and calling, before the boy finally woke up, sweat-covered and wide-eyed. His breaths were short, whole frame trembling from the night visions. He didn’t speak of what he saw, and he didn’t need to. None of them fell asleep that night.

Hector was strolling through the village, his bearcats trailing behind. Villagers claimed before they moved in, wild animals almost every night threatened the village, stealing the cattle, destroying crops, scaring people half-to-death. Truth be told, Hector couldn’t fathom how much of it was true. Since he and Adira started living in Old Corona, he’d seen maybe two or three wolves. The only ‘wild’ animal he saw on the daily basis, was the little raccoon his nephew kept as a pet. Clever little thing, he must admit. 

Speaking of which, his trained eyes spotted the blur of grey on one of the apple trees. The raccoon snatched two apples from the branch, before climbing down and setting on Varian’s shoulders. The boy looked up from the book he was reading, seated under the tree, and smiled gratefully. 

“Thanks, bud.” He ruffled the raccoon’s head and the animal bumped against it, craving for affection. 

“You trained him well.” Hector spoke up, approaching the boy. Varian startled for a moment, relaxing when he saw his uncle. 

“I didn’t exactly train him.” He replied, smiling sheepishly and scratched the back of his neck. Hector rose an eyebrow, surprised. 

“You can’t expect me to believe you didn’t teach him to do that.” The man crossed his arms and looked at the raccoon, happily munching on his apple. 

“I didn’t.” Varian repeated and shrugged. “I always shared food with him and took care of him. I guess he just learned to do the same for me.”

As if to confirm the statement, Ruddiger chittered and pawed at the boy’s cheek. Varian laughed at his uncle’s surprised gaze.

“He always does that when he tries to comfort me.” He petted the animal gently. “I guess, we just learned to understand each other without words.”

“Interesting.” Hector hummed and grabbed his chin in deep thought. So his nephew didn’t train the raccoon in any way, and still, the animal acted like a well-trained dog of some sort. 

His train of thoughts was interrupted by the most peculiar sound he’d ever heard. It sounded like… well, he didn’t know what it reminded him of, but he could feel the vibrations behind the sound. His green eyes looked for the source, and he was shocked to see it came from his bearcats.

The two, usually wild and aggressive if not put into place by the man, laid curled up against the boy, one of them unceremoniously showing its belly, which the alchemist was rubbing with a smile on his face. never before had Hector seen them acting like that. 

“What… what are they doing?” He breathed out in shock, mouth agape. Varian turned to meet his uncle’s eyes and cocked his head in question.

“Um… I do believe it’s called purring.” He said, stopping scratching, only to earn a playful pat in the hand, claws hidden. He chuckled and resumed his previous actions. “And this one just loves belly-rubs, don’t you?” 

The bearcat barked in response, a content smile on its face. Hector stood frozen, wondering what has happened to his animals. 

“What did you do?” He questioned. Blue eyes stared at him in confusion.

“Nothing? I think they saw how I pet Ruddiger and got jealous.” Varian answered. 

The raccoon in question jumped down from his shoulders and positioned itself against the other bearcat, both animals sighing in content and continued purring. Hector must have stared for too long, because Varian looked at his in puzzlement again. 

“You want to..?” The alchemist asked and it took the man a moment to realise he was asking if he wanted to pet the animals. The wild and dangerous animals he trained himself. The same animals which laid sprawled on the grass, looking like simple pets. 

“You shouldn’t spoil them too much.” He grunted, stepping closer and sitting down next to the boy. His hand hovered over the other bearcat, finally gently falling on its fur, moving gently. The purring intensified and it startled Hector and caused Varian to chuckle at his expression. 

“You never did that before, did you?” The boy asked as Hector once again slowly moved his hand against the fur.

“Not really. They don’t act that way around me.” He replied truthfully, a small smile creeping up his lips. “It’s nice, though. I never noticed how soft it was. The fur, I mean.”

Varian nodded and picked up his book again, one hand still rubbing the bearcat’s belly. They sat for few more minutes, before Hector got an idea.

“Have you ever ridden a rhino?” 

Turned out Varian never rode a rhino. He knew the basics of riding a horse, so at least he knew how to sit in the saddle. It took few minutes for the boy to adjust to the rhythm of the animal. Ruddiger sat on the alchemist’s shoulders, the bearcats running along. Hector sat behind his nephew, his arms securing him in place, making sure he won’t fall off. 

The man could sense the exact moment Varian finally got a hang of the riding. His shoulders relaxed and his grip on the man’s arms loosened. He took a deep breath, before turning his head slightly to face his uncle. 

“Can it go faster?” He asked and Hector grinned. 

With a quick ‘Hold on tight’ he clicked his tongue an the rhino shot forward. He could hear a gasp of surprise, before Varian laughed. They ran through the forest, trees and rocks swishing by. The boy spread his hands and laughed, enjoying the wind pulling on his hair. 

It was two hours later, when they finally got back, both grinning, adrenaline pumping in their veins. Hector got down first, Varian jumping down soon after. His legs wobbled and he swayed, the man steadying him quickly. 

“That was fun.” The boy smiled brightly at his uncle, pushing away and this time, he managed to stay on his feet. 

“It was.” Hector replied and patted the rhino. It growled and went towards the stables, where it slept. 

“I… thank you. I really needed that.” Varian scratched his neck and looked away. “Can we do this again?” He asked, eyes looked up to him, sparkling, a smile on the boy’s face. 

“Anytime you want, nephew.” Hector smiled back. He was probably getting too soft. But he didn’t mind that at all.

[takingcourage]

Additions: Part Six

Here’s a link to my masterlist if you need to catch up! 

Pairing: Jaime x MC

Word Count: 3,600

Summary: The Lewis household prepares for the arrival of its sixth member. 

Note: Thanks for your patience, friends. I’m sorry this update has been so long in coming. Grading took all of my brainpower (and most of my free time) toward the end of the year, and it’s taken some time to get back into the habit of working with words for fun. 

Only an epilogue left to go!

July, 2028

“Can I ask a personal question?”

Arden came to the end of the line she was reading and raised her head slowly. Sophia traced every movement, mouth tugged to the side like it always was when she was trying to gauge reactions. 

It was almost frightening how skilled the teenager was at picking up on nonverbal cues. In the year they’d spent together, Arden had learned more about her own body language from her daughter’s thoughts than she had in over decade of working in television. 

Realizing she still hadn’t answered the question, Arden bobbed her head in assent. “Sure.” 

“Are you pregnant?”

Arden sucked a breath. It was hardly the question she’d expected. 

“Yes…” she began tentatively, then set the packet of coffee on the counter. Ignoring the bag of grounds, she turned to face Sophia. “We were waiting until after Family Day to tell you and the boys,” she offered by way of explanation. 

Her daughter dumped another spoonful of granola into her morning yogurt. “Makes sense.” Sophia paused to meet Arden’s eyes before resealing the container. “I don’t think they’ve noticed anything, but you’ve been acting weird lately. Drinking decaf coffee and taking pills and stuff. My second grade teacher was always complaining about that when she was pregnant.”

Ignoring the glimpse into her daughter’s past, she motioned for her to follow into the dining room. “Sophia,” she began, sitting so that she could look the girl directly in the eyes. “I know you probably weren’t expecting this when you came to live here. Jaime and I weren’t either. But I need you to know that won’t change anything about how much we love you and your brothers.”

A glint of uncertainty passed over her daughter’s face, but it vanished quickly. “Well, no. I know that,” she insisted, forcing a laugh. 

The pit in Arden’s stomach loomed at the unnatural sound. This is exactly what I was hoping to avoid. How do I fix it? 

The girl avoided her gaze and picked up her spoon. When her eyes rose from the woodgrain of the table, Arden could just see the glisten of unshed tears. 

“Sophia...”

“I’ll be okay,” she insisted, dropping the spoon and nudging her bowl a few inches forward. “It’s kind of a lot though.” 

Tell me about it, Arden considered, heart wrenching as she watched her daughter battle with her emotions. “Jaime and I are excited, but it’s a lot for us too. We’ve loved having a family of five.” 

“Yeah.”

“And we’ll figure out what it means to be a family of six.” She might have missed the solitary tear on Sophia’s cheek if she hadn’t seen the hand she raised to bat it away. Arden opened her mouth in reassurance, but Sophia cut her off before she could speak. 

“Don’t worry -- I’m okay. I’m fine.” The tremor in her voice suggested otherwise. 

Arden considered challenging the assertion, but thought better of it. “I’m still getting used to the idea. It means adding onto the house again and figuring out a lot of things with work. Things may get tricky.”

“I can share a room with the boys again, if it helps.”

Arden mentally kicked herself for bringing up that aspect of their preparations. Of course her people-pleasing daughter would want to volunteer anything she could think of. “Absolutely not. No one’s giving up any bedrooms. We’ve got it figured out.”

“Okay.”

“And not to pressure you, but this baby is so, so lucky to have you as an older sister. You’re pretty incredible.”

“Thanks,” Sophia muttered, pulling her breakfast back within reach. “I’ve gotten lots of practice with the boys.” 

Arden slid her palm across the table with emphasis. “Think you can handle one more?”

Sophia’s free hand stretched toward her until their fingers met in the middle. “Probably.” Fresh panic drained all color from her features, and her brow worried itself into knots. “As long as it’s not another brother.” 

Laughter sprang to Arden’s lips as she drew her hand back. “I’ve been hoping for a girl too. It’d be nice not to be outnumbered anymore.” 

“Good.” The syllable floated across the table almost conspiratorially. “I don’t want to be like that princess in Cordonia. Three brothers is too many.” 

"Three brothers is a lot...but maybe don’t tell the boys that I said that?”

Sophia smirked around her spoon. When she finished the bite, the expression had turned to a smile. “I won’t tell them anything. Promise.” 

_____

August, 2028

This definitely doesn’t fit anymore, Arden determined, standing before her full-length mirror. In most outfits, no one would even realize she was pregnant. At four months along, she was still getting by with wearing looser clothes and staying away from her trademark pencil skirts when she was at work. This particular garment was an aberration. 

The “safe” bathing suit she used for family outings had made a lot of sense at the time of purchase more than a year ago, but the additional fabric now meant that the entire top was embarrassingly tight.

“Damn, Arden. Your body is amazing. ” 

She treated her husband to a small reflected smile and untied the straps behind her neck. “Amazing or not, I’m definitely not going swimming like this.” Jaime helped to ease the fabric over her shoulders, fingers skimming her ribs along the way. She shivered at the contact and leaned back against his chest. 

“I would hope not. If we ever decide to go skinny dipping again, the kids are definitely not invited...” he trailed off upon noting the tension in her shoulders. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

Arden leaned forward to dig through the open drawer, wondering if she could pretend not to have heard the question. He squeezed her side with a gentle hand. 

“It’s just... I keep thinking about next summer. We’ll have the baby’s schedule to work with and we won’t be able to take off and do fun things with the kids whenever we want to...” The words ended in a sigh as she met his eyes in the mirror. 

Jaime’s brows knit together. “You’re worried?”

“Aren’t you?” 

He thumbed the seam of her discarded suit, gaze dropping as he considered her question. I want this baby, Arden. 

“I want it too,” she assured, interrupting his thoughtful silence. “But so much is changing again and I just got used to it being this way. Our kids just got used to things and now we’re changing it all again.”

How many times do I have to tell you that we’ll solve this together? Please stop freaking out. 

His whispered thought cut through her escalating worries. 

“I didn’t mean to think that.” 

“I know,” she groaned. Thinking better of her initial response, she tried to lighten the mood. “But it’s true. We will figure it out...eventually. I just hate feeling so uncertain.” 

Tossing the bathing suit to the mattress, he held his arms open with invitation. For a moment, she pressed her cheek to his chest and tried to set her fears aside. 

“The kids are going to be fine,” Jaime asserted. "Will’s already started bragging about how he isn’t going to be the baby anymore, and you know Sophia is happy that she’ll finally have a sister. Alex is gonna come around sooner or later. He just needs more time.”

“That child always needs more time...” she muttered, turning back to the drawer to find a suitable replacement. “I love him dearly, but it’d be a lot easier if he just processed things as they happened instead of bottling them up.” 

Jaime’s brow quivered at the complaint, and it wasn’t long before Arden took his meaning. 

“Stop! I’ve gotten a lot better.” 

He took the fastenings of her new swimsuit and began working. “Yes, you have. Alex will get there someday too.” 

“I really hope so.” 

“Maybe even today!” he offered, something akin to a challenge in his eye. 

She brushed it off and directed her eyes toward the ceiling. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“And you love me for it,” he deduced, capturing her lips in a kiss as he released the fastened straps. 

“Very much.” She caught his eye in the mirror again, but this time the smile was genuine. They had every right to be optimistic, of course. This was just the latest in the series of hurdles their family had faced. If their track record was anything to go by, everything was going to work out...eventually. 

_____

October, 2028

"Last call for trick or treating!”

Will was testing out the length of his sleeves in the hall mirror, but Jaime’s announcement gave him pause. Seizing the subsequent chance to pester his brother, he darted into the living room. “Please come! We’ll get twice as much candy.” 

Alex burrowed deeper into the couch cushions and shoved another handful of popcorn into his mouth. 

“I’ll take that as a no,” Jaime deduced, trading glances with Arden. 

In the kitchen and out of Alex’s view, Arden gave him a small shrug. Their eldest son had been adamant that he was too old this year. In spite of his brother’s relentless cheer and encouragement, he appeared to be standing his ground. 

“I’ll bring you back some Skittles,” Will flourished his bag as if to make good on the promise. “Do you think Sophia’s getting candy at Ava’s house? I’ll try to get some extras for her too.” 

“That’s really sweet of you, bud,” Jaime encouraged, guiding him into the hall. “I’m sure she’d love that.” 

“Last call?” Will echoed in a pitiful refrain as he trudged toward the door. 

Mouth full, Alex murmured an approximation of, “I’m good.” 

“Have fun, you guys! We’ll stay here and hold down the fort.” After waving them off, Arden returned to the living room. “Ready to start this thing?”

“Sure.” 

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Alex’s feigned nonchalance. Like he hasn’t been asking to see this film for months, she quipped internally, mashing her thumb against the play button on the remote. 

The dull screen came to life, and a quick glance was enough to tell Arden that her son was much more engaged in the proceedings than he was willing to let on. Turning her attention to her own bowl of popcorn, she sorted through the pieces to find which ones had the most color. 

Stupid salt cravings.

Keeping one eye on the screen, she fell to musing. It seemed like she'd been measuring months for an eternity, fixated somewhat arbitrarily on the one-year anniversary of having the kids with them. Now that they'd passed it, time had started to fly. The fact that this was already their second Halloween together was baffling. Soon, they'd pass their second Thanksgiving, second Christmas, second New Year's Eve...

The doorbell chimed, yanking her back to reality.

Vaguely aware of the car chase taking place before her, Arden set the bowl aside and moved to answer the door. A strange weightlessness came over her as she stood, but darkness clouded her vision before she could move further. 

Arden woke slowly, floating and devoid of sense. Tingling returned in increments through her fingertips, creeping along the rest of her skin as she tried vainly to clear the cobwebs from her head. A firm hand gripped her shoulder, but it took several moments to place it.

"Arden? Arden, you okay?" Alex's voice was the most concrete thing that she could latch onto.

"M'fine," she managed around a cottony tongue. "I must have gotten dizzy."

With some effort, she trained her eyes on the boy. Sweat beaded across her forehead as her body attempted to reset itself, and she felt the flush run through her core and out over her limbs. 

"I think -- I think you fainted. I looked up and you fell over all of a sudden."

She blinked, mind too fuzzy to formulate a response. 

Alex stared back with pleading eyes, his worry etched in every crease of his brow. “Is the baby okay?” Please let my sister be okay. 

Even in her disoriented state, her throat immediately thickened. That simple shift from the baby to my sister spoke volumes. “Yeah, I just stood up too fast. Sometimes that happens.” 

“Do you need medicine? I can get it for you if you tell me where it is, or --”

Arden sat up straight, brushing a hand through the air in protest. “I just haven’t had enough to drink today. I’ll be fine.”

“Lemme get you some water.” 

Her head had stopped swimming by the time he returned with a brim-full glass. 

“Lemme know if you need more when that’s gone,” he offered, handing her the drink. “And are you sure you’re okay? I don’t...” the words trailed, but she heard the rest of the sentence: I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. 

“Alex, listen to me. The baby and I are going to be fine. We’re so much better already.” She made a show of drinking from the glass. “This is going to help too. I’ll let you know if anything changes. In the meantime, don’t worry -- okay?”

“Okay. But I’m gonna take care of all the trick or treaters from now on. You can stay on the couch and get better. We don’t even have to watch the rest of the movie if you don’t want to.” 

She took another long sip to counteract the sudden ache in the back of her throat. “Nope, I want to finish it. We’ve got to figure out what happens to those kids who got lost in the woods.” 

“Oh, yeah.” He tried to keep his eyes on the screen, but she felt him staring at her countless times as the film progressed. Quiet as he was, his thoughts spoke for him: nothing in the movie was going to scare him as much as what he’d already seen. 

That unspoken burst of feeling was all she was likely to get from her middle child, but it was more than enough to satisfy. As usual, Jaime was right. Alex was coming around after all. 

_____

February, 2029

The snow had just started to fall when Jaime pulled into the driveway. The morning temperatures had been just enough to thaw some of last week’s snow, and he knew it would only be a matter of time before the streets were coated in ice. 

“C’mon, let’s get inside before we freeze.”

“Do we still have hot chocolate?” Sophia asked, shutting the car door a little harder than she needed to. The force of the movement suggested she already knew the answer to the question. 

Jaime unlocked the front door, gesturing for the teenager to enter the house before him. “We’ll make sure to add cocoa mix to the list on the counter. Julie offered to run by the grocery store later this evening.” 

“I bet Alex drank all of it while we were gone.”

The offending brother was nowhere to be found -- a likely sign that he was in his bedroom. Will looked up briefly when they came in, but was soon engaged again in the round of checkers he and Harry were playing at the coffee table. 

“’Scuse me,” Harry offered in apology, pausing their game to follow Jaime toward the coat closet. 

Jaime faced his father in law with an easy grin. “Hey! Thanks again for helping out this afternoon. How’d it go?”

The other man pulled a skeptical face as Jaime shrugged out of his coat. “She’s trying to do too much. When we got here, she was unloading the dishwasher and listening to Will’s reading practice and everything. She thinks that baby carrier means she can do anything.”

With a sigh, Jaime eased the sleeves over the hanger. The image his father-in-law described came to his mind all too readily. He’d spent the past three weeks preventing as much undue exertion as possible, but there was only so much he could do. “Harry, I stopped trying to control your daughter a long time ago. We both know she’s going to do those things whether we want her to or not. The rest of us do as much as we can, but she got an extra dose of stubbornness from somewhere.” 

“That’s why we were here,” Julie cut in with a hand at Harry’s elbow. “I went and stayed with my son for two whole weeks when his wife had their first baby. The least I can do is come by every once in a while to help around the house.” 

“We all appreciate it -- truly,” Jaime assured. “I take it Arden’s upstairs?”

A door slammed from the direction of the boys’ room, and Alex’s voice spilled into the hallway, “It wasn’t me! There was still a packet and a half the last time I had any.” 

“Brothers are such...” Sophia censored herself as she passed the group of adults. At her pasted-on smile, Jaime raised an eyebrow before giving his focus back to his in-laws. 

“Last I knew, she took the baby up there to nurse. That was about half an hour ago, I think.” 

“I’ll go check in and let her know we’re back.” 

Jaime climbed the stairs, cautiously testing the handle of their door before swinging the whole thing open. He’d interrupted their daughter’s naps just a handful of times, but they’d been enough to make him wary of doing it again. 

Arden stirred as he came in, her voice quiet, but fully awake. “What time is it?” 

“A little bit after 4:00. Did I wake you up?” His wife was in the center of their bed, body curled protectively around the weeks-old infant that lay inside. 

“No, there was some noise downstairs.” At Jaime’s sigh, she continued, “ It’s fine; they didn’t know. I didn’t mean to fall asleep in the first place.”

“I’m still sorry you had to wake up to a fight about hot chocolate packets.”

“At least it’s a change of pace. I don’t remember the last time I woke up to something other than crying.” 

“Me neither,” he agreed, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. From this position, one tiny fist was visible. The rest of the newborn’s body was shielded from view, but the glimpse was enough.

Their baby was perfect. So perfect, in fact, that Jaime knew he could go the rest of his life without making anything that could ever compare. Each exquisite feature, from her thick crop of dark brown hair to the slender toes he knew were curled tight beneath the flannel of her pajamas, proved that their daughter was a work of art.

He’d never put much stock in blood relations. The few family members that he vaguely remembered from childhood had disappeared from his life long ago. 

And even though he didn’t love this baby any more than he loved the three kids downstairs, this love was a little different, somehow. Already, there were traces of Arden in this child -- traces of him. Their family had never felt like it was missing anything, but none of them could deny how much more complete it felt now that Lindy had entered the scene.

“How was the concert?” Arden asked, startling him from his musings. 

“You’ll have to ask Sophia about it later, but I’d call her pre-birthday celebration a success.”

“I’m sure she loved it.”

“I am too,” Jaime beamed, remembering how intently their daughter had watched all of the proceedings onstage. “And she loved getting to stick around and meet the musicians. Tony said to tell you hi, by the way.” 

"Did you tell him hi back?” she inquired before her mouth was hijacked by a yawn. 

“Of course. How have things been here?”

“Fine when I came up. Dad’s been telling me not to do so much, but what else is new?” 

“And Lindy?”  

Arden hiked a hand through her hair and arched her back, rolling toward him so that he could see the sleeping baby clearly. “As happy and sleepy as always,” she whispered, eyes following his to watch the sleeping infant. 

“We got so lucky.”

Arden smothered another yawn against her hand. “You know that saying that is practically asking for trouble, right? She’s not even a month old yet.”

“Look how well she’s fit in so far. Besides, it’s kind of hard not to think she’s perfect when she’s got your cute little nose and eyebrows.”

“And your toes, unfortunately…” 

Jaime shoved out his chin in retaliation. “Maybe she’ll have long fingers like me too,” he wondered, reaching out a hand to brush the hair from Arden’s forehead. “You’ve always complained about how short yours are.”

“They’re terrible for typing and playing instruments. Why do you think our band never worked out?”

“There were a lot of reasons...” he reflected. With the pad of his index finger, he followed the dimpled line at Lindy’s wrist. The baby continued to sleep despite his intrusion, her serene face turned toward Jaime’s body. 

“What are you thinking about?”

He rubbed his jawline with a wry smile. “I’m pretty sure you know what it is already.” 

“Maybe,” she evaded coyly. “Humor me anyway?”

“That you’re still my best girl, but you’re not the only girl in my life anymore. And that I’m pretty damn lucky to have three amazing ladies in my family.”

“The boys are pretty great too,” she reminded with a fond smile, allowing both eyes to flutter shut. 

“Arden?”

One eyelid rose. “Uh-huh?”

“I think we might have the best family ever.” 

She grinned at the absurd statement. “We’re so biased. But I think you may be right.” 

[cruzrogue]

Roomies PARTII

#Fictober19 @fictober-event

————————————————————————

for fanfiction:

Prompt number: 22 “We could have a chance.”

Fandom (AU if applicable): #arrow fanfiction #olicity #Flommy

Rating:PG13

Warnings/Tags:  There might be adult language

Summary:   Roommates enjoying a nice mid-morning conversation after a hectic Finals Week. Tommy and Felicity land up talking about Oliver.

Notes: This is a three-part with its own prompt story Part I Felicity/Tommy conversation. (The are past lovers/ but current best-buds)

Part I Felicity/Tommy friendship Prompt 21- “Change is annoyingly difficult.”

Part II Oliver enters the scene (Future tense Oliver/Felicity relationship) Prompt 22-“We could have a chance.

”Part III Fallout of the Gambit situation… Prompt 23-“You can’t give more than yourself.”

Part 2 of the dynamic that is Tommy w/Oliver and Felicity.

~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~sp@ce~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~

Roomies PARTII on A03

Felicity is dashing around her bathroom trying to look presentable. Darn Thomas Merlyn for the jerk called her out. She hates that he knows how she feels for his stupid friend. She really doesn’t want to like Oliver Queen as much as she does. She really doesn’t. The problem is that her head and heart aren’t aligned right when it comes to this particular guy.

She doesn’t want to be one of those girls that gushes over a guy like him. He’s got the most beautiful baby blues she has ever seen. She remembers having to shake herself out after seeing them and being slightly embarrassed at how she caught him observing her. At least she didn’t go overboard with a babble to make her run for the hills. Tommy just introduced them for a slight brief moment. This is when their relationship wasn’t as defined as it is now. So much gray area to work with.

Looking at the mirror as she finishes applying her eye makeup. It’s her normal smoky look. If Tommy is being truthful and Oliver actually does like her, she wants him to like her for who she really is. Hearing the doorbell, she peeks outside the bathroom to make sure Tommy at least closed her bedroom door.

Gosh she feels the butterflies in her stomach like every other time this wretched guy is near. How does he do it? Walk around and make girls hearts flutter? Sighing out loud she really dislikes that she is being like this but she can’t deny this is the boy of her dreams… literally her dreams.

She gets goosebumps thinking of the things she would love to do with him. Wondering if he is the kind of role playing guy as she’ll love to dominate but in the same sense of the word be his submissive lover. Her mind is now going overboard and she hasn’t even seen him yet. Her body flushed. Maybe thinking of bedroom antics with him isn’t the best idea because her panties won’t survive this encounter.

Glad that all these visits Oliver has had to Boston he’d stay at a hotel there be no way she could live with him in this residence with her. She’s hid in her room all the time. Taking a last look at herself in the wall mirror she readies herself. Maybe things won’t be so awkward and they’ll all survive unscathed in this lunch thing they are about to have.

Tommy is chuckling as he hears a curse come from her lips. He gets up from his comfy spot on her bed. For a girl who loves the Goth look it is surprising that she has a teal bedcover and some floral designed pillows on her bed. Mildly surprised there have never been any metal or hard rock band posters on these walls. Instead she has Buddha and other Zen like stuff sprawled out in her room. If she didn’t carry her heart on her sleeve he’d have no idea that she is so sweet and nurturing. The saying about don’t judge a book by its cover, she is falls into that proverb easily. The girl excludes leave me alone but is a soft sweet bunny who gives really nice hugs.

He won’t even mention how feisty she is in bed because that is of the past. Giving that up has been hard but it’s for the best especially if he’s trying to fix his two best friends like some sort of cupid. Finding out by Oliver in a roundabout way by asking by him questions that always pertain to Felicity. He started catching on to that side of the equation and then finally seeing how Felicity shows her telltale signs of arousal. She’d deny it if he pointed those facts out. Doesn’t she know he’s slept with her and gotten to know her well. She’s really remarkable.

As for being the guy to bring these two lug heads together he wouldn’t try if he knew Oliver was going to just use Felicity that wouldn’t fly with him. As for Felicity well she can be seen as heartless that is just because she shots for the truth and sometimes its seen as cold and calculated but the girl is so pure in spirit she’d never wrong people like that. Knowing there is a true spark between them he’ll play this match-maker game. Sometimes true love needs a push.

As predicted the doorbell rings and he goes to open it and allow Oliver to check out his new residency. Oliver is a proactive student so he’ll be taking some summer classes. Tommy knows his best bud is wondering what Felicity thinks of him moving in. Being he hasn’t told her yet he wants to spring this surprise on her. Catch her real reaction and not the cool thought out response she’d give. Those two will be here alone together. He’ll be back in Starling because his dad wants to show him the rope to a certain division.

“What smells so good?”

“Like you don’t know.” Oliver laughs as he walks in with the takeout.

“You made sure there is no nuts in any of this?”

“Yep, told them in a monotone fashion about a deadly reaction to tree nuts. Even made sure to look through.”

“Wow! I didn’t think you’d be that careful.”

“Tommy? You said she’s deadly allergic. She is, right?”

“Yes. Though the extra thoughtfulness into it was a sweet gesture.” Moving to the dining room.

“Well it be a disaster if I try to kill one of my roommates before I even move in.” Oliver places the two bags down and begins to ruffle through taking the containers out.

“Especially if you have the hots for the girl.”

Oliver sways his head. “Can it. I don’t want to spook her. I don’t think she likes me anyways.”

“Dude, I said she has those doe eyes for you.”

“Yea, yea. Whatever. It doesn’t mean she likes me in that way.”

“Guess you’ll find out.” That only makes Oliver blow out some air. “She’s getting cleaned up for lunch. She took out some cutesy lounge pants but I doubt she’ll wear that.”

“Have you been teasing her?”

“You bet your ass I have. Just like I’ve been getting you all riled up. There is some love in the air.”

“We don’t really know each other.”

“I know you want to know her. I also know you’ve held off your…” Tommy uses his index fingers as he says, “Get into your panties charm” Tommy dropping his hands, “In those moments she’s around so I’m telling you there is potential here.”

“Okay, I suppose we are about to find out!”

Both guys turn to face where the sound of Felicity’s bedroom door is opening. Tommy makes the first move as he whistles. Felicity wants to tell him to knock it off but with Oliver here she doesn’t want to sound like a prude. Tommy has a smirk as he bumps his best friend’s arm and tells Oliver to collect his jaw from the floor loud enough for Felicity to hear.

“Well true introductions are in order.” Tommy walks to Felicity who is at a standstill just before entering the dining room. “Felicity? We don’t bite.” A sly smile shows on his face because the arched eyebrow of hers tells of a different story. “You know what I really mean. Come on.” He takes her hand and begins to lightly pull her towards Oliver.

Tommy is perplexed by both of their behaviors; neither have ever shown this reluctant side. His Oliver would have already introduced himself and his girl Felicity would have had added some snarky intro to the mix. Yet, neither really are doing anything but bashfully looking at each other. These two are really filling in for all the stereotypes he never thought these two would exhibit. Guess it be more work for him but payback could be a toast he’d give at their wedding. He inwardly shrugs that thought is way off kilter now that these two haven’t said a word to one another.

“Guys, introductions start with hi, hello, or some other lame wordings but this psyche thing you two have going on is weird so come on. Talk!”

Oliver shakes his head at Tommy’s words he’s just been in awe and it’s not that he doesn’t know what to do he’s just overanalyzing everything and maybe that is the problem so he takes a breath and finally talks. “Hi, I’m…”

“You’re Oliver Queen, and I’m…”

“Felicity Smoak, Tommy’s roomie.” She just nods to his words.

“Damn, you two are killing it.” Tommy rolls his eyes. These two are beyond pitiful even though the way these two are looking at each other it does look like their having a wordless conversation.

“I brought a favorite dish Tommy says you like.” She finally moves up to where Oliver grabs her food container as proof. “I made sure there is no allergenic ingredients in there.”

“Thank you.” Her hands shoot out to take it and Tommy just watches the scene as he grabs his food and just sits down to witness what can be a disaster in the making or a match made in heaven. Right now he leaning at 60% in favor of future nuptials.

“You’re welcome.” The smile he gives her is a smile Tommy has never seen. Like where did that smile come from? He’s known Oliver which kind of feels like forever and that boy has different sly smiles, endearing ones, and plain goofy ones but now he has a certain one just for Felicity Smoak. Shit, Felicity is going to own his best buddy’s ass. No doubt in his mind he’ll be whipped by the end of summer… what is he saying? The ‘there is no woman out there for me Queen’ will be whipped by the end of this lunch date. Tommy is witnessing the end of an era where Oliver will even notice another girl. Okay, maybe he is being dramatic about this but in his bones he just thought Felicity would push him to be better. Now he gets the feeling his best buddy is going to bend over backwards to change. Oh the boy is doomed being he’s is moving in where the object of his affection will be staring at him through thick and thin times.

Felicity sits by Tommy’s side where she feels comfortable as Oliver just sits directly opposite the two. It’s quiet at first as they take in their meals. Tommy finally having enough, starts talking about hobbies.

“Felicity, here as a thing for painting little acrylic statues she buys with fingernail polish. The girl has loads of polish in her room.”

Felicity doesn’t know if her first instinct to stab Tommy with her fork would be bad table manners as she’s chewing the inside of her cheek while envisioning his doom.

“You like to paint? I wish I could draw but I butcher it in ways I never thought possible.”

“Really? Drawing relaxes me. It’s my go to when I just don’t feel like reading.”

“Oh the girl loves to read. Just this morning she was…”

“Tommy! There is no need to list all the things you know about me.” She gives him a hard stare.

“Pfft.” Tommy says back. He knows her agitated looks but he’s not backing down and keeps talking about the book she is into. Describing the woman who is passionate about her hunk of a man. It leads to him getting kicked under the table. “Ouch!” He gives her a what the hell look.

Oliver is taking in the two before him. They are very comfortable in each other’s presence. Knowing of their shared romantic past is a little tricky. How easily Tommy can wave off her annoyance and the daggers she can give him but still holding a nicety that comes from creating deep emotional bonds.

He can’t say he isn’t envious. When his best friend mentioned her as a possible catch for him. He thought that his best friend was just being absurd. They aren’t ones to share past girlfriends. Though since every time afterward he would mention this Felicity girl he only met once and for a brief moment. His friend always saying something nice. It was strange at first but then he just enjoyed the Smoak bits he’d get and man his buddy had so many pics and videos on his phone. From a distance he got to see some quirky moments of hers and he bets she doesn’t even know of any of this.

He’s already intrigued by her mannerisms. She’s got amazing eyes that held him in a deadbolt stance as he just enjoyed looking into them. It didn’t hurt that she has such a lovely face. Her eyes pop even more with the smoky eye makeup. He can’t forget how perfect her lips are with the deep rich color she chooses to emphasize those kissable lips.

Living here will be interesting in the least. He’ll see the true dynamic of his best friend and the girl Tommy is trying to hook him up with. With his best friend’s stipulation that he doesn’t date anyone while in this transition. He agreed. If it doesn’t work out he’ll go back to socializing and if it does work out well than maybe Tommy will get to be the best man. Oliver just lightly sighs at all the possibilities. Which gets Felicity’s attention as her piercing eyes search his and he thinks she finds what she’s looking for before she turns back to her food. He then notices a second pair of eyes observing him. Oliver just nods before digging back into his own food. It’s quiet for a long stretch of time. Other than pleasantries of handing napkins or little food etiquette. Each one in their own thoughts periodically looking at each other but letting the comfortable silence consume them.

“Either of you have plans for later?” Oliver asks looking between the other two people at the table. “I have a late flight but otherwise I’m in Boston for the day and my hotel room is quite boring.”

“Thought we would hang near Yawkey Way.” Tommy supplied. “The stadium is renting out to this group that does individual fitness games. It quite cool. Felicity got me into it last year.”

“Thanks Tommy, I only heard about it and then told you about it.”

“Yep, went with few of the guys I know and watched. It’s an all-out fitness regime more than I can handle but I enjoyed being a spectator.”

“Okay that sounds cool. I don’t know a lot about the Red Sox either maybe we can check out some merchandise especially if I’ll be living here soon.”

That gets Felicity’s ears to perk up. “You mean living in Boston? Or here, here?”

Tommy mums his lips for a second before he answers for Oliver, “Oliver is coming to live with us. Starting this summer.”

“Oh!”

“I probably should have told you but anyways surprise!”

Felicity just bobbles her head. A part of her wants to scream but that would be overkill. She just looks at her friend and wonders what she can do to make him sleep uncomfortable tonight. Maybe go hunting for some slimy wiggling things to put between his bedsheets.

Tommy can feel the displeasure radiate from her. Not because Oliver is moving in but how the conversation of Oliver coming to live here has come about, “Let me tell you a warning Oliver… When she gives you this look you know she is super annoyed.”

“No offense Oliver but I just can’t believe Tommy here kept this information from me.”

“Tommy has a way with words or sometimes a lack of it. Known him all my life. He loves to surprise people.”

“Oh, goodie. I would hate to think he would do this just with me.” Her eyes bare into Tommy’s and he finally shrugs.

“This would be one of those times if we were in a relationship I wouldn’t be getting lucky latter huh?” She gives him a dirty look. “Okay, defiantly would get a happy ending later.”

Oliver laughs at the two. “I am going to enjoy living here.”

Tommy squirms as Felicity’s finger is poking at his side. He answers his buddy,  “Yea, you’d defiantly will even when this one is angry at you.”

Felicity turns to Oliver and all the shyness she’s held onto this point evaporates as she states the house rules, “No bimbos, no narcotics, and the toilet seat in the shared bathroom better always be down!”

Oliver turns to Tommy for a story and Tommy just shakes his head. “Long story!”

That is how these three come to live with one another.

~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~sp@ce~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~

>>>>>>>>>Time Jump Over a YEAR<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~sp@ce~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~

Papers flying in the air as Felicity pushes whatever she can as she looking for a flash drive, she had on this desk just this morning. She has had a lot on her plate as she has taken a co-op to be a mentor to what was upcoming freshmen. The summer was hectic for sure. They weren’t able to get away after the ceremony where they declared their love to each. Now that summer is almost coming to an end Felicity will be back in full-mode student and Oliver will be working at a Queen Consolidated branch in the city.

“Oliver, have you seen my red flash drive?”

“No honey. I haven’t.” He comes out of their shared bathroom still brushing his teeth.

“I swore I left it here before bed last night.” She can see a spark of delight cross Oliver’s face. He loves this whole new setup. He’s now a graduate and still living in Boston to be near Felicity. She still has a few more semesters till she’s completely done.

From the moment of that lunch scenario that led him to moving in. They hit it off. Thomas Merlyn knew them to well it seems. Their friend may now be back living in Starling, they remain here together.

“Hmm… well weren’t you also looking at our wedding photos taken in Vegas?”

Felicity places her hand on her head in an argh fashion wondering why she forgot. She was looking for one where both her mother and mother-in-law were by her side. The marriage happened on a whim and well the Queens and anyone else who was relevant made it to their impromptu wedding. She just nods even though Oliver can’t see her as he is back in the washroom rinsing his mouth.

“I promised your mom I’d find a picture to give her for one of her society pages.”

He walks back out again and this time makes a beeline to her. “Okay, though you need to relax babe.”

“Oliver?” He gotten to know her way to well and even so he is always learning something new about her. He already tipping her chin up as he’s looking down with fascination. He is married to this intelligent beauty.

“You are about to tell me that you slept enough, have an exercise routine, and all the other things to placid me on worrying.”

She really doesn’t like him worrying, “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”

“Why don’t you get finished dressing up and I’ll look for this flash drive.”

“Okay, thanks.” He leaves her to go to where she was hunting through a bunch of photos that got taken. Neither expected to have that many pictures. Looking around the small box he sees nothing until he moves the comfy pillow she used as a backrest. The drive partially stuffed into the side cushion. Taking it, he is relieved that she won’t go in a freak mode tearing the place apart for a small thumb sized tech gear. He also notices the picture she will send his mom and picks it up. He is overjoyed that these three women show elated smiles. He was worried a bit when he called his parents and told them he was getting married that upcoming weekend while visiting Felicity’s mother. No one said it outright but everyone thinking there is a bun in the oven. Unfortunately for all their assumptions they didn’t get married for that reason because for one; neither him or Felicity have any clue if that is on the table. He knows they’ve been careful so he doubts it very much.

As Felicity comes out of their bedroom she jumps in a certain joyous fashion as she takes the drive from his hand. He can see the stress melt off her. He supposes this is the best time to talk to her about something. He would like to go with his dad on the Gambit. Though he wouldn’t fathom going without her by his side. As newlyweds his mere thoughts are on her and being without her for two weeks would never suffice.

“Felicity?” She still in cloud nine and just nods waiting for him to continue. “There is a three-week time span that’s coming up and I was hoping you and I could get away.”

“Away?”

“Think of it like the honeymoon we never got.”

“Oliver, school will start not too soon after I’m…”

“Honey!” He takes both her hands onto his. “We could have a chance.” He gives her his best puppy eyes. “A real chance to have a nice getaway. The Gambit taking off to China.”

“It would be weird to be lovey dovely with your dad on board.”

“Felicity, we’ve been married for a short time I can’t leave you for two weeks. I guess I’ll just have to tell my dad it was a nice offer…”

“You’re really adding this guilt trip on me?”

“Only if it’s working?”

“Ah! Fine. I’ll need to bring some equipment with me but I don’t want you to miss out on spending quality dad-son time.”

“You are the best.”

“That is only because I love you but once we get to solid land, we are taking a plane back. Not missing one class.”

“Okay, okay.” He happily kisses her. “The plane situation sounds great. I love you.”

“Fine, you can tell your dad we’ll embark on the Gambit with him for this trip.”

To be continued on next prompt…

tag:  laurabelle2930

[littlebitoffanfic]

Touch

Fandom: Little Nightmares Characters: twin chefs (Dee, Dom), roger Relationship: twin chef/reader, Dee/reader Request: I saw you wrote a Roger one from little nightmares, but would you consider doing one of the twins? I think you called him Dee in your one. Yeyyy, im so excited. Maybe the readers a servant and its busy while the guests are there and she takes a smoke break and see dee on his and they have some nice moments with the others. I love your angsty stuff so if you can slip some of that in there, I’d really love it. Sorry for such a long request. AN: I renamed the second twin from Dum to Dom. This will also be a 2 parter Slipping out through the side door, you took a moment to allow yourself to breath. It was busy. Very busy. And with the lady overlooking much of the day, you had barely had a moment to breath. But now that the guests had gorged themselves and most had passed out in their rooms, you could breath again. Slipping further outside, you saw the hulking mass at the end of the walk way. The drop was deadly, and it always made your head spin, but it was the easiest place to sneak a cigarette. The area around was hollow and empty, allowing the smoke to drift up and eventually go to the entry point at the mouth of the maw. And when it was completely under, it would gather until your re-emerged. Your sore feet made next to no sound as you approached the man and saw the smoke rise above him. you were more of a ‘social smoker’. And by ‘social’, you meant only with Dee. You had smoked hear and there before coming onto the Maw, and when Dee had announced he was taking a smoke break, you had followed. It was rare, yes, but it was nice. You got to spend some time alone with him. “Can I have a draw?” you ask, and you saw him jump just a little, startled from your sudden appearance. But he held the white stick out to you with no question. Taking it, you took a small draw from the cigarette before offering it back to Dee. “You can have the rest.” He waved you off, turning his head away to cough slightly. “Thanks.” You smile, taking a deeper draw and allowing the smoke to slowly leave your lips. You slipped down to sit on the edge of the walkway, your feet dangling off the sides. You felt like your feet were on fire and your back hurt but it was only for a little while, then it would back to normal. When the Maw was under and you weren’t needed by guests, you spent your time as more of a general assistant to anyone who needed it. Sometimes Roger needed help with maintaining the lower quarters and sometimes the Lady asked you to clean her quarters. But most of your time was spent in the kitchen with the twins. even towards the end of the visit to the surface you would be seen in the kitchen when you weren’t upstairs. You would help with the dishes mostly and while you hated doing them, it was the company that kept you sane. Dom, the youngest of the two, was rather sweet and somewhat innocent. He just wanted to please people and didn’t really like being yelled at. you found he responded well to you if something had went wrong because you would explain to him why it was wrong and what he could do to fix it or avoid it happening again. Unlike Dee or Roger who would instantly get frustrated and snap at him. You didn’t blame them. The lady was a strict woman. You had all covered up for Dom at some point or another to protect him from her wrath. Even if Dee was frustrated and angry, he would rather take the fall for his brother than hand him over to the lady if she was angry. Dee, on the other hand, was rougher around the edges. He had a dry wit about him with a heavy dose of sarcasm when needed. At first, you couldn’t tell when he was joking, but now you were more comfortable with him and even if he was serious and you misjudged it, you could get him out of a mood. Most of the time, at least. Both twins were nearly double your height and wide, which had made them intimidating as all hell at the start. You saw them hauling massive bit of meat like it weighed nothing and although you never admitted it at the time, you found it rather attractive. Something drew you to the twins, more specifically to Dee. Maybe it was some silly girly thought of a man being able to pick you up like you weighed nothing or maybe the more primal need to seek out the strongest to protect you. whatever the reason, you gravitated to Dee. “Busy?” he asked, drawing you from your thoughts. “Very.” You nodded, taking one final draw before stubbing it out before dropping it in the small bowl the two of you used for the buds. It was nearly filled, but you would empty it tomorrow if you remembered. “Have you eaten?” Dee watched as you pushed yourself up to stand and the two of you walked back to the doorway as you shook your head. “No, I’ll grab something after-“ You were about to list a few things you wanted to do but Dee interrupted you. “I’ll make you something now.” His voice carried an air of authority that sent a tingle down your spin. You knew better than to argue with him. You followed him into the kitchen, past the pantry where Dom was re arranging the produce that would go out of date quicker. You waved to him and he returned your greeting but continued on with his work. the large kitchen was hot, but not unbearable by any means. Dee nodded to the table at the other side of the kitchen and you instantly understood. You normally sat on top of a box or two if your feet were sore while working. Or if the three of you were eating. But it had been so busy that you barley saw anyone for longer than 10 minutes. Even your smoke breaks were few and far between. You walked over and pulled a box out so you could sit atop it. The counter top was rather clean, with a few items like carrots and such littering the area around it. Dee stood at a pot, holding a bowl as he used a ladle to pour some soup into it. He set the bowel on top of a large plate and then grabbed some small rolls to pu ton the side. Dee bought the plate over to you, picking up a spoon on the way. “Sorry it aint much, doll.” He places the food in front of you but you shake your head. “No its perfect.” You smiled gratefully before grabbing a roll and pulling it in two. “I don’t know how much I could eat right now. Watching them all stuffing their faces kinda put me off a big meal.” “Yeah, that’ll happen. First time Dom went up, he didn’t want to eat any meat for a few days.” Dee nodded, understanding. Dee moved over to stir a few things that were cooking while Dom came in and out of the kitchen, swapping out some of the ingredients. It was nice, just sitting watching them go about their duties. You heard a creak from below and a door open. “Rogers coming.” You called to them, not looking up from your food as you dunked your bread in. you heard Dee chuckle before getting a similar plate and bowl ready for the janitor. Sure enough, Roger came in, grumbling a little. You asked what was wrong, but he waved you off as he climbed onto the table. “Just washed that table.” Dee growled from the other side fo the kitchen and Roger grumbled but moved to sit on a box similar to yours. “Can we eat yet?” Dom called as he poked his head in the room, obviously noticing the gathering crowd at the table. “Suppose we’d better join you’s.” Dee nodded to his brother who was quick to gather bowls and plates for him and his twin. Soon enough, the four of you were sitting round the table. Dee had dragged two chairs over for him and Dom. The boxes supported you or roger, but you doubted they would hold the brothers weight. You didn’t mean that badly. Both Dom and Dee were able to eat through their masks, which concealed their true faces. You had only seen glimpses. Grey skin with sharp teeth. It fascinated you to no end. Everyone ate in a comfortable silence. In fact, you were all very tired and sore from the days hard labour that you doubted you could hold a lively conversation. During the time between visits, the servants of the Maw ate together rather frequently. Roger might only join for evening meals and not talk a lot, but you think he must like the company. And while the time between starting and finish the meal was quiet, the evenings were spent with a nice conversation before you all parted ways to go to bed. Tonight, the phrase ‘the food never touched the side of the bowl’ was the first thing that sprang to mind. Everyone was starving so the soup and bread was quickly eaten. You had passed through earlier in the day and grabbed a plain roll just to eat in the elevator on your way up, but that had been it and you were sure the others weren’t much better than you. you pushed your empty plate and bowl away so you could lean on the table and rest your head in your arms. You were tired, but unlike the others who would be able to sleep till tomorrow, you would be required to get up if a guest rang for you. you felt yourself starting to doze on the table, only drawn in and out by the conversation between Dom and Roger once they were finished. Apparently, Roger needed to fix something, but it was a two person job. You felt the eyes of all three of them flash to you before Dom offered to help instead. you drifted in and out, hearing the faint sound of movement but nothing to make you look up or draw your eyes open. Not until you felt a hand on your back. “Come on, love. Can’t have you drooling on the table.” Dee spoke softly to you, adding a small chuckle at the end. You liked it when he spoke to you like his because it seemed to be a tone reserved only for you. “How do you know I haven’t already drooled?” You called through your arms, your voice crackling a little from lack of use, but you were still audible to make Dee chuckle. “Then you’ll be cleaning it up.” Dees hand retreats from your back as you heard a few from the table being moved. Looking up, you saw the others had left. “Wheres the others?” You asked, sitting up and stretching. You saw Dee had taken the bowls and placed them on the side to go to the dish room. “Went to replace a pipe or something.” He shrugged. “Left about an hour ago.” “An hour?!” You sat bolt upright, your voice going high as you stared wide eyed at Dee. “You should have woke me. Oh god, im sorry. Did-“ You started to ramble, quickly getting to your feet but then you felt suddenly dizzy from standing too quickly. “Whoah.” Dee was in front of you in a heartbeat, his hands on your shoulder and steadying you. “You want water?” you shook your head, holding one of your hands on your forehead to try and steady yourself. “Im fine. Just dizzy.” You look up at him. “Yer looking a little pale.” Dee sounded very concerned as he crouched down a little, so he was on eyelevel with you. “im fine, I promise.” You smile, reached over and placing your free hand on his hand that rested on your shoulder. You squeezed it, thankful that you had someone who seemed to genuinely care for your wellbeing. “Still, maybe you should stay down here for a bit.” He then goes to grab a chair and brings it over for you. “No, its fine. I can sit on the box.” You look to the side at the crate you had been sitting on but Dee was having none of it. “And what if you have a little fainting spell? Fall back and crack your head open?” Dee asked you, obviously meaning for it be rhetorical but you shrugged. “don’t worry. I’ll clean up my own blood.” You smirked at him but sat down in the chair nonetheless that he had placed down behind you and now stood with his hands on the frame. Reaching over your shoulder, you placed your hand on top of his own. “Thanks, Dee. you’re too good to me.” “You have no idea.” He chuckled but moved away as if burned suddenly. When you turned, he had busied himself with walking round you and picking up the final bowl that seemed to be his own. He called over his shoulder to you. “What do you want tomorrow?” “Sleep.” You called back. “Food.” He replied with one word as you had, making you laugh as you pondered your options. “Could you make that stew I like?” You ask, wondering if it would be too much prep for him. The thing was that you all had your own kitchens apart from the twins. Your own quarters and rogers both came with small kitchen that were meant for you to use for all your meals, with full use of the ingredients in the kitchen. In theory, Dee and Dom could tell you to cook for yourself. But they never did. “’course.” He nodded, a small chuckle seemingly indicating that he had some kind of idea about what you would want. You couldn’t help but smile as Dee stood at the large pot that was heating at the back of the room. He stirred it a few times before adding some carrots he must have chopped up while you were sleeping. Standing up, this time a little slower than before, you crossed the kitchen to him. “I’d better get back upstairs.” You reach out and rest your hand on his arm. “Be carful.” Dee instantly said, and you understood. A guest or two had been known to chase you if they saw you at night. They thought you were just a tall child or something to eat. “I will.” You smile, touched by his concern before you started to walk to the elevator. You heard a slight huff and then footsteps. “I’ll walk yah back.” Dee’s voice called to you and you paused to let him catch up. Once he was beside you, you only moved away from his side to press the button for the elevator. The two of you stepped inside and he pressed the button for the level up. Your quarters were located just before the guests floor, between the kitchen and dining area. It was small, about the side of an apartment with a bedroom, living room and kitchen. The bathroom was connected directly to your bedroom which made you feel like you had more of an en suite than a bathroom. The elevator pinged and Dee stepped out first, glancing around before you followed. It was unlikely a guest would even find their way here, but you were thankful that he was willing to check for you. “You’re incredibly sweet, Dee.” You smiled as you followed him out. You reached out and placed your hand on his broad back. “simply returning the favour.” He stepped to the side, allowing you to slip past him and into your living room as you let out a yawn. “Get some sleep, love.” “You should take your own advice.” You called over your shoulder as you made your way to your bedroom. But you paused just as you reached for your handle. Turning around, you walked back to Dee. he started to ask what was wrong, but you silenced him by throwing your arms around his shoulder and resting your head on his chest in a hug. “Thank you, Dee.” you whispered to him as you felt his massive arms engulf your body and his warmth made you sigh contently. “Aint a problem, love.” His voice was soft and quite, seeming to break a little as he held you. Touch had always been such an important thing to you. the physical contact made you feel safe and secure, and no one offered it better than Dee. Pulling back, you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, his eyes closing at the contact as he sucked in a short gasp of air. He turned his head so he was face to face with you, his lips only mere centimetres away. You could his true ones under the mask, and you couldn’t help yourself as you leaned forward. But Dee apparently had the same need, closing the gap and meeting you half way. His lips pressed against your own in an almost timid fashion but once he felt you kissing him, his lips moved against your own with more need. His hands pulled you flush against his body a soft but deep groan left his throat. One of your hands travelled up with the intention of touching his cheek, but you felt your fingers brush over the edge of the mask. Curiosity forced you to do it again, this time you fingers slipped under the mask, touching his skin. His real skin. it was warmer than the mask, and rough to touch but seemed to send a shock through him. Dees hand gripped your waist and pushed you away from him, causing you to stumble back suddenly. you were both panting and now staring at each other in shock. He was shocked by your touch and you by his sudden actions. Dee was the first to pull himself together, standing up and turning away from you. “get some sleep.” He called over his shoulder as he moved back to the elevator, but it sounded more like he was snapping at you. like it was more of a demand rathe than out of concern. “Dee?” you called after him, your voice trembling as the full weight of what had happened hit you. and you realised what you might lose. he didn’t respond, entering the elevator and pressing the button with a shaking finger. “Dee?” You called out again, moving to the elevator in a panic. Just as he turned to look at you, the doors slammed shut and he was gone. You were left alone and terrified of what was to happen. Was everything ruined now? All because of your touch?

[bakudekuficlibrary]

So I know you received this ask before but I would like to know if you have come across more fanfics about Izuku and bakugo staying as friends. If not that is okay :D

Hello! Here are the rest of all the fics where they never stop being friends! (Here’s a link to the Pining Best Friends BakuDeku list for anyone interested!) 

-Ellie

22 Works.

not with those shoulders, darling by Disney_Princess_Izuku( T | 30,133+ | 15/? )

Whoever asshole that said “Midoriya Izuku is a quirkless loser” was a liar, and Bakugou Katsuki would love to introduce them to his fist. Repeatedly.

[Abandoned] On The Run by Justaperson1718 ( E | 159,534 | 29/30 )

(Based in an AU where All Might loses to All For One)

Follow Izuku and Katsuki as they fight together for their very survival and mature through their experiences with each other, on the run together from the League of Villains with no one to depend on but each other. The two will have to work out their differences if they want to continue to live and escape the villains.

Izuku will have to become stronger to finish what All Might started, meanwhile Katsuki will figure out his feelings for his new companion while slowly overcoming some of his bad habits.

[Major Character Death | Underage]

[Abandoned] Call Accepted by Attack_Of_The_Flying_Dekus ( M | 13,784+ | 8/? )

When the screen was clear of lag and static, Katsuki looked at the screen… and froze. The boy was an angel. A halo of green hair sat atop his round face, the curls framing wide eyes and freckled cheeks. The boy on the screen gaped at him for a moment, his mouth parted in a soft ‘o’ before he gave a sweet smile that made Katsuki’s heart beat faster.

”H-hi, Kacchan.”

The Rarity by bittybitt39 ( E | 24,926+ | 7/? )

Midoriya Izuku had been promised at the age of four to his once dear friend, Bakugou Katsuki. Their mothers thought it smart to betroth the two in the hopes that Izuku would be protected and taught in the safety of the guards Mitsuki could provide until the day he was old enough to come to the south kingdom. After all, it was not everyday that the rarity of a male omega was born within these times.

Izuku grows up knowing he is promised, and has vague memories of his alpha from his younger days. He is also gifted, in more ways than one when his teacher Toshinori confronts his mother with Izuku being named as his successor. But a war breaks out between the kingdoms of the north and east, and the betrothed are separated far longer than the royal family would have hoped. But the war raging keeps them separated besides a few letters that are received from those that were brave enough to run through the war lands.

I’ll Be Your Hero by bakudeku ( T | 2,536+ | 4/? )

Katsuki wants to protect Izuku. He wants to make sure Izuku never has to cry again. Maybe this was his chance to fix everything, to make sure he didn’t make the same mistakes as before. If this really isnt a dream, if Katsuki really is in the past, then he’d do anything his little body could to keep Izuku safe.

This time, he’ll stay by Izuku’s side.

Dekus and hairbows by LunaLavenderSkies ( G | 2,266 | 1/1 )

Everyone always knew that Izuku and Katsuki were childhood friends but they never really understood the weird relationship between them…Fem!Izuku / Fem!Dekukinda katsudekuSometime after the sports festival ark

By Design by EtherealBeing ( E | 7,513+ | 2/? )

As time went by, Izuku found it more and more difficult to reconcile his perceived quirklessness with the ever-growing permanence of his imaginary friend, Kacchan. This boy he’d created, whose very existence was designed to balance out his own shortcomings — he couldn’t always see him. Hear him. Feel him.

Kacchan, this boy whom Izuku made as an extension of himself — he wasn’t always real.

Yell It From The Top Of Your Lungs by estupidaval ( T | 2,897 | 1/1 )

Being seen as weak by many is frustrating. Even so when it’s almost everyone who looks at you.

-

At this, Izuku sheepishly lowered his gaze, and said “Strong people cry…”

At this, Aizawa smiled again, “And what are you doing right now, Izuku?”

“Crying,” He replied as he picked at his finger nails.

Aizawa decided to keep pushing, as Izuku knew what he was implying, but wouldn’t budge.

He raised an eyebrow and spoke up once more, “So, you are…”

And ‘Ah, there it is.’ Aizawa thought to himself as a smile crept it’s way onto the boy’s mouth. Izuku lifted his gaze once more and looked back into Aizawa’s eyes,

“Strong.”

like grass, or something by TayTei ( G | 3,634 | 1/1 )

Everyone has their own stupid stench, but Katsuki doesn’t mind Izuku’s so much

I literally have no idea how to write summaries, end me plz

SeriesPart 1 of Life is stupid, but we can make it work

Big Mistake by Aizawx ( T | 2,452+ | 3/? )

Midoriya is a teenager who has a crush on his childhood friend, and it turns out he likes him back. When they kiss they forgot to check if they door was closed. It wasn’t.

Hisashi does not approve of his son being gay, so Izuku is kicked out of his home with no where to go.

Until a teenager with black shoulder length hair comes back into his life

Childhood friends knows too much by cosmiictea ( T | 1,904 | 1/1 )

Bakugou Katsuki and Midoriya Izuku are childhood friends that has so much dirt on each other. Everything escalated from 0 to 100 real quick when one of them spilled the beans so it’s a war between two childhood friends and rivals on who could make the other cringed so hard that they shudder from hearing what they did as a child from the other’s mouth. That’s basically it.

SeriesPart 1 of BakuDeku: childhood friends

Magnolia Dreams by ElopeToTheSea ( T | 7,098 | 1/1 )

“Kaachan!” Deku’s voice. Sweet and cheerful, like a midday breeze. He was looking at him with those big bright green eyes, holding a flower crown in his hands. “Look what I did!”

“What’s that, Deku?” he asked. He was five, flower crowns weren’t something he was familiar with.

“Mom taught me how to make them,” he replied, placing the flower crown on top of his head. “They’re called flower crowns! I made mine of Magnolias!”

“They’re so lame,” he snickered. The field they were sitting on was covered in flowers. From white lilies to purple orchids. They all bloomed in spring. “A true crown is made of metal, idiot!”

[Major Character Death]

The Childhood Friend by Fuyuzashi ( T | 13,123+ | 4/? )

Friends are a big influence in one’s life, especially to Izuku who literally spends 2/3 of his whole life with Katsuki. Usually, friends can pick up each other’s habit if their relationship lasts long enough for the change and after ten years of friendship, Izuku started to notice the change.

—

Basically, this is just a fic where Izuku and Katsuki kind of became real friends instead of a one-sided friendship where Izuku follows Katsuki around and gets bullied. Spoiler alert they fall for each other in the end.

For Years and Years… by Shadowolven ( G | 1,447 | 1/1 )

Ever since Katsuki first laid his eyes on Izuku, laid eyes on that blinding, innocent smile, Katsuki felt an odd connection to the other. Even if Izuku was the plainest one out of the entire village with no notable qualities to speak of, there was still something about him that tugged at Katsuki’s heartstrings—at his very soul.

They soon became friends and made fond memories together, but then Katsuki began to recall fragments of memories from a different time, from another life.

SeriesPart 4 of On a Whim

20 Kids and a Teacher vs. the World by AlexInfinite  by AlexInfinite ( T | 12,970+ | 5/? )

Once upon a time, the world was terrible, and two kids who grew up together ran away in order to fix it. Two years and a conversation later, their party grows from two 15 year olds with the lacking of self preservation skills to a party of 20 insane kids and the poor teacher they brought along for the ride. Finding a legendary civilization in the clouds in order to stage a revolution shouldn’t be too hard, right?

Izuku, ever the pessimist of the original two, begs to differ.

Instinctual Love by ChestnutPatronus14 ( M | 2,191 | 1/1 )

Is it instinct or love that drives him to protect the Deku? He’s always been protective of him, no one gets to hurt him. But in a world where Deku is the only dragon without the ability to transform, it has never stopped him from following the prince around. So when he gets hurt, is it instinct that drives him to find him? Or is it love?

Part of Katsuki Bakugo Week 2018.Day two (Instinct/Love)

SeriesPart 2 of Bakugo Week 2018

a world without you (is isolation incarnate) by lovedbyshadows, PotatoGhostHaley ( Not Rated | 5,367+ | 2/? )

“And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.” - Khalil Gibran.

Matters by QueenOfArcher ( E | 6,992+ | 3/? )

“Just be yourself, even if the whole world turn their back on you, hate you. I’ll be there, standing tall and proud, shout to the world that I’m yours. So come back to me. Promise that you’ll stay with me.”

“I…can be myself? And you won’t hate me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I promise.”

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

Bloom by anontigg ( M | 1,955+ | 2/3 )

Midoriya Izuku is in love with his childhood friend all his life. He thought keeping his feelings hidden would be fine…until his life is on the line.

(Basically a hanahaki disease au fic…and I suck at summaries. forgive me TT TT)

20th of April by Mariko014 ( G | 1,686 | 1/1 )

It’s Katsuki’s birthday and he decides to confess his love to his childhood friend.

A Letter From A Friend by LocalTrashBin ( T | 1,638 | 1/1 )

Do you remember the day we first met? It was spring. The flowers were budding and the air smelt like pollen. It was the day my mother and I first moved into the neighbourhood. Your mom made us a casserole.

[Major Character Death]

Heiwa, The True Symbol of Peace… by trans_guy101 ( T | 1,876+ | 2/? )

In which Izuku has a quirk and it is as pure as the adorable cinnamon roll and his best friend is Bakugou Katsuki. They soon fall in love but then they add one more to their relationship…

[carmineclock]

Why Don't You Do Right

Snowman 11:10 PM

> Fade from black before Scratch's desk. "James.  We have a situation."

Scratch 11:13 PM

> You look up at her with eyes strained from reading. Why cant it ever be good news. "Oh good, Id begun to worry the quiet would last." > Sit up and prepare for the worst.

Snowman 11:14 PM

"Diamonds Droog's daughter is dead.  Three has killed her."

Scratch 11:17 PM

> Your first thought is that shes not really his daughter, but they never see it that way. "Trace has. I knew he shouldnt have been left alone. I assume hes on his way." > Youre actually a little impressed. Pissed, mostly. But still.

Snowman 11:21 PM

"Yes. Three, Five, and Seven here are on their way here. I will also call for Nepeta shortly. Five has known of it and has been covering for Three, perhaps since it occurred." > You light up a cigarette. "You know what this means."

Scratch 11:24 PM

> You stand and stretch, joints popping dully as you shake the exhaistion from your bones. "It could mean quite a many things, my dear. War, being the foremost."

Snowman 11:30 PM

"Diamonds torched the scene of the crime--a lashing out quite unlike him. Trace has brought war to our doorstep." > Take a deep drag. "It's only a matter of time before the Crew comes to our doorstep as well. Time we have lost a precious amount of while these...fucking imbeciles tucked tail and hid the truth from us to avoid consequences." > Blow the smoke at the ceiling. "If this were the old regime, they would be culled and recycled for parts the moment they walk through these doors. This is the last straw, James."

Scratch 11:37 PM

> That brutality is one of the many things you love about her. And she has a point, in this being the last straw. "A fair point, though humans are far more difficult to recycle than carapaces." > You set about making tea, strangely calm despite the slowly building rage. Maybe its shock. "We'll have to be ready, though preperations for defense can wait until I have all the details. The grievous misstep was in waiting to say anything. Selfish man, we'll have to do something about that terrible personality."

Snowman 11:44 PM

> You lean against the ledge of his desk, arms crossed, as you consider the back of his head. "I do not know all of the details myself.  So far as I was aware until a few minutes ago, there had only been a shadow magic fire that took out a funeral home in the Crew's territory.  I had Three and Five investigating--god." > Click your tongue distastefully. "They lied to me.  To my goddamned face.  Fin made some excuse, said Trace was still... I bet they never even left the comforts of their room.  I cannot... And to tell Clover before me.  Who else have they told?  What were they thinking."

Scratch 11:54 PM

> That pulls a frown across your previously placid face. That wont do at all. "That will be our opening, I should say. Whatever the war ahead brings, the lying must stop." > Your hand grips the kettle tightly, anger rising as steam billows around your face. Lies, deciet, fear, and cowardice to top ot all off. You should have nipped this in the bud before. "How is it such a small man can cause such large problems."

Snowman 11:59 PM

"By getting off as easily as we've been letting them." > You ash your cigarette and nearly miss the tray. "Should have broken every bone in their miserable goddamned bodies after all the backsass and trouble they've been giving us. Especially together..." > Chew your lip. "If only your lot were as easy to reprogram as my lot.  That would solve these issues in less than a heartbeat.  But it never should have gotten to this state in the first place.  How did it come to this?"

Clover 12:00 AM

> Knockknock, knockknock.

Scratch 12:02 AM

> Tea done, you call for him to enter. Though you werent expecting him first, you were expecting him. He likes to get involved,even when he shouldnt.

"Its true, there is something to be said about the faulyt of unruly soldiers lying in thoer commamders. I blame myself as much as them."(edited)

Clover 12:04 AM

> Let yourself in and close the door behind you, hands hooked behind your back and a rather somber expression on your face.

Scratch 12:06 AM

"Stay quiet, stay calm. If you make a scene, youre out. Understood?"

Clover 12:06 AM

"Understood."

Crowbar 12:16 AM

You lead the way to Doc's office. The door is cracked so you announce your arrival and let yourself in, standing aside so Trace can go ahead. You're both surprised and unsurprised to see Clover. You acknowledge him with a nod.

Trace 12:18 AM

> You're on your way, tailing right behind Crowbar. Time for the walk of shame. You pass him, and when you spot Clover on the way in- Urgh. Here you thought your heart - or you, for the matter - couldn't sink any lower. You enter and quietly wait in the middle of the room. Quiet, but far from calm. A stress headache is pounding in your head and being stared down by all three bosses and the guy next to them that probably hates you the most does not help in the slightest.

Fin 12:26 AM

Your face is still red from the slap you got from Snowman. You get inside the office  noding to your bosses and wishing you could hug your husband. Clover is completely ignored for now as you stand right next to Trace hands behind your back

Nepeta 12:31 AM

You finished quickly  throwing on some clothes and trying to wash your tears away. Water doesn't hide your bloodshot eyes though, or the fact that your hair hasn't seen a brush today so far. You look like a mess, fitting to your mental state. You briefly glance at Fin and Trace as you enter the office but quickly look at your bosses instead. Less painful.

Snowman 12:36 AM

You remain poised, leaned against the edge of Scratch's desk, arms crossed tight over your chest.  The cigarette between your lips is smoldering, filling the air with its smoke, but it is not near so smoldering as the glare you send around the room.

Clover 12:39 AM

Fin is likewise ignored as he enters, but for Trace you briefly glance to his eyes before tearing your own away. Nepeta, though, is given a sympathetic look and an attempt at a tiny smile.

Scratch 12:54 AM

An absolute party, and you, the ever gracious and gentle host, will be the one to kick things off, as it has always been. "Now then," You say, standing behind your desk. "Lets start with the facts, only. We can deal with emotions later. As it stands, and as I have it, Trace has taken it upon himself to end the life of Diamonds Droogs adoptive daughter, one Aradia Megido. Resulting in a funeral parlor in crew territory being burned. After this, an investigation of the events was carried out by Trace and Fin. Those are most of the facts, but we are missing some." Deep breath, steady eyes, looking around the room slowly. " Snowman, Crowbar, when were you notified of Traces actions, and by whom. Trace, how many days has it been since you killed the troll girl. Fin, when did the investigation of the fire take place. Nepeta, what was your roll in this. All facts we must add together to have the full picture."

Crowbar 12:58 AM

You stand in front of the door like a sentry, holding your crowbar behind you. "I found out moments ago, sir. I instructed Trace to inform the rest of the Numbers promptly before being called into your office."

Trace 1:11 AM

More people enter, first Fin, and then Nepeta. You turn your head just enough to recognize her, then fix your eyes back towards the front. On the desk, not Scratch himself. You can't stand to face anyone right now, but least of all your lovers. You've managed to drag them even deeper into this. Great. You collect your thoughts to answer to Scratch. "I have killed her on New Years Eve." (Which would be maybe a day ago. No more than a day and a half. This should be the evening or night of the 1st, considering Trace didn't want to wait too long after talking with Kankri.) With that, your response to Doc should have been finished. He's not looking for more words from you just yet, you know that. But if there's any time left to do stupid mistakes, it is now. Quickly, before anyone else can speak up, you continue. "When given the order to investigate, I knew it would be too dangerous, with police and crew about and surely watching the scene. Green would have been more than a bad look. So I told Fin to stay put while I figure out how to approach you with this topic. Nepeta has purposefully not been involved in any of this. The plan was mine, and mine alone."

Fin 1:24 AM

After Trace finishes you clear your throat and answer " I did not follow Snowman instructions of investigating the burned  building , I wanted to give Trace time to talk about the truth to all of you and because as Trace mentions it was a dangerous thing to do"

Nepeta 1:37 AM

You do look at Trace when he speaks, even though it hurts. He wants to talk for you and you aren't sure how much you appreciate that right at this moment. You know he means well but it leaves a small frown on your face. You speak up on your own anyways. "I was unaware about all of this until the day after, when Trace confessed to me.  I should have immediately contacted you but..." But you didn't want to rat them out, even after they hurt you. You don't think you have to spell it out. "I only told Clover. I'm sorry."

Snowman 1:51 AM

You clutch tighter to the inside of your elbow, eyes leveled between Trace and Fin both.  "I knew of the fire shortly after it happened, and had tasked both Three and Five with investigating it, should it prove to useful to us.  I found out about the murder a few minutes ago, when Clover called me and forced Fin into a position to confess to me."

Clover 2:42 PM

Discontent and distaste boils in your stomach as you watch all of them, though still all your expression shows is a deep worry for Nepeta. She's the worst hit here, and she never deserved this. You wish you could help.

Scratch 4:20 PM

You let each of them speak in turn, waiting patiently, logging the information to write down for later. The timeline is slowly filling in, giving you a much better picture. "So there it is, all the facts are out in the open. The deed was done a day or so prior, and it was only today that any of those with actual power found out. Very interesting." You let that sit for a moment as you pour yourself some tea. "So, then, as it stands, of the three of you, none of you are without fault. Nepeta, yours is the least, only in that you told no one despite having the information. For that, consider this your second strike. Im sure Traces actions will find a way to punish you further. Fin, your fault is almost equal to that of Traces. You knew of his plans, allowed them to take place, and not only that, when given an express order from your superior, you ignored it in favor of your lovers instructions. If it was dangerous, if it was a bad idea, then you should have blamed Trace for whatever may have occured. Instead you decided not to follow orders because you knew. You knew what would happen. You should be on your knees, begging for forgiveness, because Snowman will be in charge of your punishment, as it was her order you shirked." Your eyes turn to Trace, thin, icy, a muted rage in their depths. Your gut had warned he would do sometging stupid, but you trusted him.

"As for you, Trace. You dont get hand out instructions. How dare you contradict Snowmans order. If something befell Fin in this investigation, then he should have suffered the consequences doing his duty. The plan was yours alone? Are you an idiot? Did you really think your actions wouldnt effect others around you, especially those closest to you? If you needed time to approach us, all that tells me is that you knew what you did was the wrong move. Nepeta was left out of it? Really? After eveeything shes been through with Droog, you think this incredible offense wont effect her going forward far more than it will you? Cruel, cowardly man, to bring ruin on your own partners" Your tone turns darker. "Worst of all, Trace. Worst of all, is that you left it for us to find out. Fearful of the reprecussions? You dont know fear. But you will. A man who knows fear does not make fruitless mistakes for the sake of his own vanity. It seems our last talk left less of an impression than Id hoped. So let me make this clear. You are going to lose everything. The specifics will take time, we will have plenty of time to go over them. Snowman, please escort Fin and Nepeta out of my sight. Crowbar, stay, I will have need of you."

Crowbar 2:26 AM

You can't help but swallow, your collar feeling tight around your throat as Doc speaks. Even though he deserves it, you empathize with Trace. He is your friend at the end of the day. You fear he will not be the same person for very long. Stepping aside, you leave room for Fin and Nepeta to exit.

Trace 2:30 AM

You listen with quiet horror. Of course, not even a day was good enough. Of course all of it is getting turned against you. When the strike for Nepeta is mentioned, you go as pale as your green skin can. You open your mouth in protect, but you don't say anything. Bullshit. That's. That's not okay. That's not fair. Your mouth closes as Scratch continues with your own repercussions, almost numb to what you hear. A loud ringing takes over your senses. Fuck. You're frozen to the spot. He didn't say that you're dismissed yet. Even if, you're not sure if your legs could carry you with how weak in the knees you feel. From the sound of it, your first punishment may be delivered by Crowbar himself. Great. Not like threatening and punishing your lovers was already bad enough.

Fin 2:38 AM

Your eyes are ringing with the blood that is flushing when you hear about Nepeta's strike. This was not the way you two intended things to go, even with Trace assuming all the blame you know you were there to encourage him and offer him help so obviously you are partially to blame for what happened too but she didn't deserve this at all. You almost miss the moment when Scratch dissmisses you as you were too tense and that shows in the way your shoulders slouch once you have to walk out of the office. As you get escorted outside you take a second to reach for Trace's hand and touch it for a second, you wanted to say so many things but you just softly whisper that you will be waiting for him.

Trace 2:56 AM

Your heart skips a beat when you feel Fin's touch, but you don't dare looking up at him, nor at Nepeta when she follows him. You don't need to see their worried looks. You know them well enough to imagine how concerned they might be about you, the idiot that got them into this, while the guilt over the trouble you caused them is already quickly eating away at you.

Snowman 10:34 PM

You feel nothing much beyond, perhaps, pity for the part of Nepeta, though even that is minimal in light of the circumstances.  Though you are curious to know what will lie beyond this door once it closes behind you, you have other things on your mind: namely, the man already slinking out of the door ahead of you.  Nodding to James, you take Nepeta lightly by the elbow and steer her out of the room, eyes fixated on the back of Fin's head as you walk.

Clover 10:53 PM

Some part of you deeply wants to get up and bolt out the door to follow her, to protect her, to be her lucky charm- but you know there's nothing you can do until this is through. You watch them go until the door closes, and then you watch Scratch alone.

Scratch 1:17 AM

Silence takes the room as they file out, and you find a sort of solemn sadness taking the place of anger. Youd trusted Trace. Of course he was always going to be an idiot, but you never expected...well, it doesn't matter now. "So here we are." You say quietly, in almost a whisper. "You know, however it may seem, Ive always had high hopes for  you, Trace. Youre strong, and  fiercely loyal." Thin, gloved fingers trace the rim of your teacup idly. "It had been my hope to one day groom you for leadership. You have everything youd need, except the brains. Youre not half as smart as you think you are, Trace. You dont know, but you act like you do. Did the thought ever occur to you that I might actually want the girl dead? That there were ways to take her out that may have benefited us all? I hope you understand that youre not being punished because you killed her. Its not so simple." You sigh, looking up to Crowbar and beckoning him over with a sharp flick of the wrist. "You need to learn to think before you do, Trace. That the things you do effect other people. That there are other ways than your ways. I know you hate me, I dont pretend to be kind or pleasant, but I do know what Im talking about. Its why Im in charge, and have been for longer than youve been alive. When I call for your respect, its not because I think Im better than you, its because I have experiences that can help you be better and I want you to learn, I all but begged you to learn. Unfortunately now you have to learn the hard way." You move around your desk, standing in front of it now. "Its going to be a slow, painful process, but with any luck, youll come to understand why this has to happen. Come here, hold your arm out, place your hand face down on the desk."

Trace 3:39 AM

Suddenly the room felt much quieter, despite the fact that barely anyone but him has talked the whole time. Maybe it's also just your senses your senses going more and more numb by the second. What a lecture, all these wonderful backhanded compliments, just as he's about to give you probably the worst time of your life. You're left with a sour taste in your mouth when he mentions all his grand plans. Groom you for leadership. God, just what you need, a job you hate even more. You try not to look around the room much, eyes still fixed on the desk, the very platform that's about to become your scaffolding. You do take notice that Clover didn't leave the room yet though. Does he really want to watch this? Boy, does he hate you that much now. You welcome any thought that distracts you from what's about to happen, but this train of thought leads you to even more unpleasant places. Makes you wonder just how flippant his feelings are, or if he ever really cared about you if he is so easily swayed. You know what is expected of you and step forward. You briefly consider which hand to offer since it hasn't been specified - they're your most important tools after all - but decide on your right one, keeping the one with the ring safe, if at all possible.

Crowbar 8:33 AM

If you're nervous, it doesn't show. You take a swift breath and approach as you are motioned to do. You stand by Trace, a chill running through your veins to numb any sense of sentimentality. You have to distance the personal from the business. Looming over Trace, you turn your attention to Doc, awaiting further instruction.

Scratch 7:42 PM

"Nothing to say? You pleaded so nicely for Fin and Nepeta, nothing for yourself? The bravado died rather quickly once your lovers left, you may want to think about why that is." From your jacket pocket you pull out a dark green marker. Such a damn shame. Not only do you have Trace's mistakes to clean up, you also have to ruin a perfectly nice suit. Whatever his flaws, the boy has has style. You step over to his outstretched arm, eyes wandering up until you find a spot you prefer. Its so hard to stay classy when doing dirty work, but you do what you can. You mark the middle of his arm, drawing a fat line across his sleeve. You think the instructions speak loud and clear, so you pop the top of the marker back on and tuck it back into your pocket. Now you'll see what Crowbar's word is worth.

Trace 8:38 PM

You stay quiet. No, nothing else to say. What would even be the point? Beg for forgiveness? There's nothing that will sway Scratch from his ruling, and frankly you had it coming, right? And the last thing you need is talking yourself even deeper into trouble. You purse your lips and close your eyes, preparing for the pain. You don't need to watch that, you'll be feeling it soon enough. If anything, you're sorry for Crowbar having to do this.  He's stern and hard-working, sure, but still caring at his core.

Crowbar 8:42 PM

You watch Scratch carefully and when he watches you, in turn, you know it is your time to step forward. Gripping your crowbar tight, you focus on the line drawn on Trace's arm. Your heart gives a single empathetic squeeze before the cold steals away your remorse. A job is a job. You plan to do yours well. Without a word, you raise your weapon up and bring it down with a sickening crack.

Clover 8:45 PM

You flinch, just a bit, as the weapon swings down. You don't have the job that he does for a reason- you don't know how to willingly remove yourself from someone you've spent so much of your life with. You didn't watch.

Trace 8:57 PM

A sharp excruciating pain shoots through your arm. You do your best to hold back your reaction lest someone out there hears you. It's not quite a yell, but an agonized grunt escapes you. As the pain dulls, your head starts getting dizzy and you slowly sink down onto your knees before your body can force you. Last thing you want is to pass out right here. You pull your arm close to your body, lean against the desk for some support and wheeze heavily as you wait for further instructions. God, he better not plan to break any more bones.

Scratch 10:09 PM

Your eyes never stray. You watch the crowbar hits its mark, the way his arms snaps like a biscuit under the weight of the blow. This is your order, and you'll see it through. Theres no room to flinch, or to look away, not for you, not for Crowbar. He did well. In a world of self serving men, you're glad for someone like him. "Well struck, Crowbar." You compliment easily, eyes moving down now to Trace as he falls. You have more to say to him, but not here. Not on the showroom floor. "Though I really should  have the other one as well, we'll let that stew for a bit before taking any more. Please escort Trace down to the  holding cells."

Crowbar 10:12 PM

"Yes, sir." You slip a hand under Trace's good arm, hoisting him up to his feet and placing him between you and the door. "Come on, Three," you say, an almost gentle tone hiding beneath the stern command, "You know the way."

Clover 10:24 PM

It's been some time since you felt your heart pound with so much raw emotion that you can't even pin down what it is. Your chin is tilted down to the floor, and you await your father's comment or command.

Trace 10:39 PM

You go along with Crowbar. You have little intention to resist any of that, but his support certainly helps getting up and walking out of the door. Off to the cells, huh. Sure will be an unpleasant night, it seems.

Scratch 10:48 PM

So the curtain falls on another show, well performed all around. The only one who reacted differently than you expected was Clover, but you have your own reasons for wanting him to be here. You turn to him as they leave, stepping between them and him as the door shuts behind them. It was important for him to be here, as far as you're concerned, there was more accomplished here than just the breaking of bones. "My, that was certainly exciting, wasnt it?" You say cooly, tilting your head towards him. You wonder if it was worth it for him. You wonder if he was glad to be here.

Clover 12:20 AM

"You could call it that," you reply with a shrug. Your expression is something around the ring of neutral, and you lean against his desk. Your heart cries at you to chase Trace down to the cells, to tell Nepeta everything as soon as possible. You silence it.  "Word I'd use is tiring."

Scratch 9:19 PM

"Tired, are you?" You move back around your desk and pull out your notebook and a pen. "It seems to me the tiring times are only just beginning. Especially for you and your position so delicately balanced between the factions." You start writing. It will be easier for you to remember all the information if you write it down for later. This is just one of many outrages you have documented.

Clover 9:23 PM

"Shocker, right?" You shoot him a lopsided smile, stare up at the ceiling. "Everything I've worked for is going to have to be rebuilt."

Scratch 9:40 PM

"Hmm. Can it be rebuilt? Thats good to hear." Youre only half listening now, trying to recount things as they happened. You still have to clean Traces room out and also go and see him in the holding cells. "Do you regret being here when it happened, or the part you played in it all?'

Clover 9:46 PM

You consider it for a fair moment, as you often do before you give him his answers. Would you have rathered someone else in your place? Would you have preferred that you didn't act as you did? "....No."

Scratch 9:55 PM

Interesting. Such a complicated boy, this one. Even though he didnt watch, he still preferred to be here for it. "They certainly wont thank you for it." They meaning Trace and Fin, if you have a proper understanding of their relationship, that is. But youre glad he was here, and that he stayed. It shows them how much more hes like you than them. "Ah, just for my own curiosity, when did Nepeta tell you about all of this, and how long after Fin explained the situation to you did you involve Snowman?"

Clover 10:24 PM

"About an hour and a half or so ago I spoke with Nepeta, then immediately sought out Trace. Once I had spoken with Trace, I left him to make the decision if he was going to inform Crowbar of the situation as he should himself and sought out Fin. I found him not long before this meeting was called and called Snowman shortly after confirming he was complicit in the plan."

Scratch 4:18 PM

You make a note of it. An hour isnt bad at all, timing is everything in these matters. In most matters, really. Not that you would honestly know how to punish Clover if he did make the wrong move. Lucky for both of you he's smart enough to know better. "Right. If thats all for now then, you're dismissed. Please keep in mind that Trace is not allowed visitors." Except for you, but you're the exception to all rules, considering you make them.

Clover 4:24 PM

"No hug or gossip?" > Little smile. "I s'pose you've got a lot to do."

Scratch 4:31 PM

You smile, taking a pause in your writing. "Unfortunately you're right, theres much to do. In any event, I didnt think you would be in the mood for a hug, everything considered. Last I recall you were rather close to those three."

Clover 4:41 PM

"You'll get it eventually," you say, the tiniest hint of teasing in your voice.

Scratch 8:55 PM

Honestly, you're not entirely sure what he means. Whats there to get. "What is it I'm meant to be getting?"

Clover 9:03 PM

"Me, of course!" > It's on that note that you turn to leave, humming.

Scratch 10:01 PM

You dont go back to writing right away. Why do you feel like he got you? Did you just get got? Whatever. You have too much to do, and as always both too little and too much time to do it.

Trace 12:57 AM

Shortly before arriving at the cells, you stop. It's hard to think or remember much of the conversation through the fog of pain and shock, but parts are slowly coming back and one hits you especially hard. 'You're going to lose everything.' It's hard to imagine the extent that Scratch means, but if he says everything... you have little doubt that he very much means everything. "Crowbar. Can I- can I make a request."

Crowbar 1:01 AM

You pause. Take a deep breath. Doc might not appreciate you showing hesitation or concern in this situation but he isn't exactly around. Can't hurt to hear him out. You ask, "What is it, Trace?"

Trace 1:05 AM

You wince a little as you let down your broken arm, now without support, as your other digs into your pocket. You pull out a little bundled tissue, inside the rings from your most recent engagement. You hesitate for a moment, not sure if you should really dare to ask. But you're not sure what else Scratch got planned for you and you don't want to put these at risk if you can avoid it. "Could you... give these back to Nepeta?"

Crowbar 1:09 AM

You furrow your brow, taking the tissue and inspecting the rings. Your mouth opens and closes as your mind conjures up conflicting responses. Cold, warm, understanding, curt... You can't decide. With a heavy sigh, you tuck the rings safely into your breast pocket. "Anything you'd like me to tell her?" you ask.

Trace 1:20 AM

That's actually more than you expected. You think for a moment, trying to find the right words. "That I trust her. I want to trust her. I really do." You blink a few times as tears are welling up again. You wanted to tell her yourself, but you're not even sure when you'll get the chance for that. "Thank you.."

Crowbar 1:24 AM

You nod, patting the rings hidden away on your chest. You keep your words of sympathy to yourself but you feel it goes without saying. You continue on your way, regardless of your heavy heart.

Trace 1:25 AM

You follow, at least one little worry lighter, but still too many remain.

[k-l-neidecker]

One Person’s Take on what the Infinity War Pitch Room Conversation was Like — K. L. Neidecker

One Person’s Take on what the Infinity War Pitch Room Conversation was Like

A week or so back, I finally broke down and watched Avengers: Infinity War.

It took me a long time to get around to it. I’m not sure, but I think, perhaps, I’ve seen the requisite number of superhero movies one must watch to be considered a happy and productive human in modern society. Check that box, one piece of being an American consumer fully in place, now on to the next strange trend…

Not that I hate comic book movies. In fact, I enjoy them. Just, hey, a few dozen a year is more than enough, thanks! And let’s not even mention that we are stuck with Marvel movies as DC seems to be having…trouble…making movies that don’t suck since the third movie of the Nolan Batman series.

So, considering the spoilers about Infinity War which assaulted my eyes for months, and the fact I knew what was going to happen…the supposed “big moment”…I simply felt no great rush to see it. Sure, I’d see it sooner or later, but it was way down on the the list of things to do—somewhere below a visit to the proctologist and spraying out the inside of the garbage cans.

But, hey, I figured it would be fine for a movie night.

And from minute one, I knew I made a terrible mistake, one which proves karma is a bitch and in a past life I must have been a terrible person. Maybe Attila the Hun’s third cousin twice removed, Bob the Hunnish.

I’d like to present to you my imaginings if what the pitching and brainstorming room must have been like as they planned Infinity War out.

Neon lights flicker and highlight nicotine stained drop ceiling panels. The energy is high, the air buzzing with electricity, though that could always just be the faulty wiring buried in walls which have been privy to so many great ideas in better days…

“Ok, so me and the boys have been talking,” Jim said, gesturing to a pile of sock puppets discarded in a dingy corner, button-eyes staring blankly into the distance, “and we got some ideas for the next Avengers movie.”

The writer’s room hushed in anticipation. A head writer for Iron Man 2, an artichoke heart pickled in brine, wetly rolled from its perch.

“Ok, so we open with a battle! Action is good, right? People love that stuff.”

A cricket farted in the distance, the mating call falling on dead ears.

“I mean, just some fighting, on a space ship. In space! Bunch of stuff happens. Sure, it will be confusing, and maybe some viewers will wonder, hey, did I miss an entire movie or something, because this scene feels like it’s part of some larger whole…

“And then we kill off some important characters! Yeah, baby, yeah! That will get people invested.”

A murmur of assent rippled through the room, taking the form of various belches and the whisper quiet rustle of a nostril mined for ore by a probing digit.

“Ok, and then the Hulk enters the picture, a being so powerful he’s been sent into space because of how dangerous he is to have around…but Thanos mops the floor with him. And guess what? That’s the last time we see the Hulk for the rest of the movie!” Jim leaned back and placed dirty boots on the table, grinning.

He continued, “So, no Hulk, because hell, who needs him anyway, and it fixes the plot hole where he would simply own Thanos early on, end of movie.

“Then, we add in every Marvel hero we have into the mix. So many, in fact, that they all only get five minute snippets on screen, and we just keep cutting between everyone fast enough to send a third of our viewers into epileptic fits. Thank goodness for CGI because we need a half-thousand sets to marionette these characters over.

“Thor, even though he’s been around multiple earthlings over a bunch of movies, will act dumb as hell and confused about words like ‘moron’”

Moron twitched in his sleep, the sound of his name nearly pulling him out of his comfortable dreamland.

“Also, some of the best characters in our universe, the space cadets from Gargantuans of the Galaxy or whatever it was we made a few years back, will run into Thor at random in the almost infinite reaches of the unfathomable soul sucking emptiness that is the ever expanding universe. Good timing!

“Let’s see…ah, right, Thanos just keeps winning non stop, and our heroes simply throw the same tactics at him over and over to no avail. You know, like punches and missiles and some Kung fu or some shit. Hey, the dude owned Hulk, so why wouldn’t Captain America try punching him in the gob?”

Tim, the newest writer, one not yet broken in by Marvel and not yet fitted out for his Marvel Brand Gimp Suit™, broke his silence when he could take no more. “Hey, uh, this all sounds great and all, but don’t you think—“

“No, I try not to, Tim. Thinking is the direct cause of migraines and bed wetting. Ok, so, we have wizards doing the circle things with their palms, some space folk bopping around almost disconnected from the rest of the story, Avengers not calling other Avengers even though fifty percent of the life of the entire universe hangs in the balance…damn, what else was I going to say,” Jim grasped a bong like an infant would a bottle and ripped on it before smashing it on his own head in victory.

“Right. The love story. Every great tale needs a love story: Romeo and Juliet, Ren and Stimpy, all the greats. So, we have a budding relationship between Vision and whatsherface. Let’s make the viewer care, get them invested.”

Tim nodded, “Right, that’s a solid idea man, sounds—“

Jim cut him off, “Of course, with fifty main characters and a two hour runtime, we won’t actually see any of this love or whatever. We’ll just hint at it a bit, you know. Gotta save screen time for purple ballsack, er, I mean Thanos, to wax laconically about how nice a bro he really is on the inside.”

“Hey, no, I don’t think—“ Tim stuttered.

“Good, my man, good. I think you’ll fit in here with that attitude. So, then let’s kill of all the fun characters. Let’s start with the people of color. First scene to last scene, let’s off some green folk, dissolve some Wakanda heroes, let’s go for broke.

“Again, no Hulk. Just Bruce in a CGI suit, so it’s kinda like the Hulk but suckier. You know, we wouldn’t want that actor to actually be in the movie or anything. Just CGI his ass at all times. Note to self, can we just completely CGI his likeness and not have to have an actor at all?

“Let’s have Dr. Strangelove or whatever his name is willingly hand over the one item his entire order was formed to protect… You know, stay true to the characters.”

The sounds of shattering glass echoed from wall to wall as two writers leapt naked through the windows, fist-bumping one another and shouting, “Brooooooooo!”

“See, Tim,” Jim said, “that’s the kind of energy we need here. Get your shit together. Ok, and lastly, let’s dissolve all the interesting characters we have left. Black Panther for one! Oh, and did I bring up the White Wolf? No? Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have an arc in the movie anyway. Hell, no one needs a character arc here. It’s only half a story, after all, and doesn’t need to stand alone or anything.”

Joseph the Randy Donkey brayed a lonely song at the water cooler before defecating a sad pile on the floor.

“Damn, I love that donkey,” Jim said while cleaning his left ear with his right big toe. “So, you see where I’m going here, right? For year people have complained we are formulaic, but look at us being all badass and breaking the mold! We will take a decade worth of characters and squash them together, making half a movie that means nothing on it’s own, simply designed to set up our next million dollar movie in a year, needlessly kill off dozens of the best characters in a way that means nothing and will be reversed within the first quarter of the next movie, dabble in romance sorta, and wipe out half the life in the universe to save everyone from running out of food and stuff!”

The room erupted in cheers and whoops. Three men dueled to the death in celebration, Moron awoke from his long slumber in time to vote in the midterms and drive without using his blinkers, seven Hollywood executives took time away from sexually harassing the donkey the stamp and squeal in delight, a motley mob of slatterns boxed with a dusty group of heroin addicts in a mock Walmart, and the seventh seal was opened in the distance.

But a hush fell on the room like a smothering pillow as Tim cleared his throat.

“Hey, um, if Thanos can control time and matter with a mere thought, wielding enough power to kill fifty percent of all living things at the blink of an eye…why doesn’t he simply will infinite resources into being instead of killing untold trillions due to limited resources?”

The silence in the room laid so thick in the air that a large housefly, fat and well fed on over-ripe Hollywood movie drech, collapsed like a crumpled piece of tinfoil from the mere pressure in the room.

Lucky for the brave writers of Infinity War, there was a handy and already broken window to defenestrate Tim from before calling the seventy-five actors and warming up the computers for modern CGI magic.

https://klneidecker.com/2018/10/22/one-persons-take-on-what-the-infinity-war-pitch-room-conversation-was-like/

[queerofcups]

could u do all the numbers for with plans with you and because we are fools if it's not too much trouble? i'm curious :)

Party!

Because We Are Fools

1: What inspired you to write the fic this way?When I first started hanging out in the fandom I had lots of theories about potential relationship structures DnP might be in that were way more complicated than “they’re together and closeted”. This was one of those theories.

2: What scene did you first put down?Dan creating the wedding invite.3: What's your favorite line of narration?Literally any moment where Dan’s like “this is fine. this is fine. i’ll just pretend i’m not in love with him!”. Because girl, what? 

4: What's your favorite line of dialogue?There’s like...not a lot of dialogue in this fic? Proportionately? But for someone that doesn’t do humour that well, I think this is pretty funny. C 

Dan drags a hand through his hair. “Ok. Um. Shit, do I care that they know?” 

He glances at Phil, who’s nonplussed enough to go back to whatever he was doing on his computer. “Phil! Do we care?”

“Care about what?” Phil asks, looking up and pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his knows. Dan just wants to crawl back into bed with him, honestly. “Oh no, stress quiff.”

“That they know,” Dan says, gesturing to the phone with his other hand. “Fuck the stress quiff.”

“That we have sex?” Phil shrugs. “I thought they all already knew. Also, you remember that time you accidentally got jizz everywhere and we fell asleep and my hair was all weird in the morning? I don’t think I should fuck the stress quiff, Dan.”

“Wow, so they probably also hear that,” Dan says, distressed. “They know we’re fucking and that you’re a fucking oddball.”

“We knew that already,” Louise’s tinny voice says from the phone. “Not the sex thing. The other thing.”

Dan takes a deep breath and focuses on the phone. “Louise. You’re allowed to talk about the sex thing but just with the people you’re with right now. I don’t want this all over youtube. And don’t talk about the other thing at all.”

“The jizz in the hair thing?” Louise asks.

Dan closes his eyes. “Well, it’s too late if I was talking about that. No. The,” he lowers his voice. “the love thing.”

5: What part was hardest to write?Keeping them from just talking about their feelings and getting together, or not, too soon. Because its not a miscommunication fic. Its a fic about people keeping things from each other out of fear, and out of obtuseness, when it would be so much easier (but a much shorter story) to just let them talk and decide if they’re going to date or not. I had to lean super hard on Dan being like, ok but what if he’s not in love with me, despite it being really, really obvious that Phil was. I still think that part is one of the weakest parts of the fic.

6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?It’s the longest thing I’ve written and posted and will be until my PBB. 7: Where did the title come from?From Denitia and Sene’s song Because We Are Fools. That alternate title is also from that song “Why Do We Fall in Love”As for the chapter titles: ch 1 - Frank Ocean - Ivy, ch 2 - Trampled by Turtles - Midnight on the Interstate, ch 3 - The Front Bottoms - Peach, ch 4 - Iron&Wine/The Talking Heads - This Must be the Place, ch 5 - ...i actually have no idea.8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?Well I mean. DnP and the other youtubers and TATINOF.9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?Not really. There were versions where they got together sooner. 10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?I hadn’t yet pledged my allegiance to kickthefire.11: What do you like best about this fic?I have a lot of affection for Fools! It’s the second fic I posted ever and ended up being 20k, like bitch what kind of confidence? I think its an interesting story to read from my perspective because there’s a lot of things I did in this fic that I’d never do again, and some stuff that pops up pretty often.12: What do you like least about this fic?Ok, so I actually don’t think Fools is that good of a fic? I don’t think the characterization holds up all that well (admittedly I feel like DnP have been very open with us in 2017 and I was like, brand new to fandom when I wrote this) and ultimately I think the way I dealt with the “will they, won’t they” is actually a pretty weak narrative. Like there wasn’t enough conflict to warrant the word count. 

Also its unbeta’d which means that whenever I try to reread it, I always end up wanting to go in and fix all the errors.13:What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn't listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

Yeah! I almost always have little playlists for my fics that I sometimes share.Denitia and Sene - because we are fools.Iron & Wine - This Must Be the PlaceDua Lipa - Thinking 'Bout YouChildish Gambino - Terrified The Front Bottoms - PeachChairlift - Get RealShura - What's It Gonna Be

14:Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?15:What did you learn from writing this fic?

With Plans, With You

1: What inspired you to write the fic this way?I was going through a big big queer punk phase at the time and I find fandom’s depiction of punks to be interesting but not really accurate to my interactions with folks who identify as punk/experience identifying as a punk(....?). A lot of it was also that I was into a queer punk band that was just about to break it big on the mainstream so I was thinking a lot about what it means to be a “sell out”. They ended up not doing so, but that was a big influence.

2: What scene did you first put down?The image of Dan and Alex talking about being sellouts while Alex gets a tattoo. I don’t tend to write stories very out of order.

3: What's your favorite line of narration?I think Dan being really aggressively protective of his identity. I know that I’m constantly on high alert for misgendering and people being even a little weird about trans and gender nonconforming people and, when it happens, immediately being like nope, you’re cancelled, we hate you now. So that felt super true to life (except the part where Phil immediately picks up on it and apologizes. That’s generally not how that part goes, unfortunately).4:What's your favorite line of dialogue?So, context, Dan’s a trans dude and he and some OCs are in a punk band that’s just about to break into the mainstream. 

When they finish, he tilts his head. “So, I take it there’ve been a lot of pregnancy scares among the band?”

Alex glances at Dan, who nods almost imperceptibly, and says. “Nope, just Dan.”

“Yeah?” Phil asks, turning to look at Dan.

Dan shrugs. “Before T, yeah. They knew me pretty well at the clinic. ‘s why I went off dick for a while.”

“Yeah, you did,” Alex says, winking at him.

“Huh,” Phil says, and Dan knows that voice. That is the voice of “I was interested in you, but then figured out what your deal was below the belt”. 

Dan fucking hates that voice. 

Alex seems to pick up on it, juts their chin out a little. “We’re not afraid to talk about queer shit, or trans shit. Dan writes our lyrics, and that’s his life. If I was writing them, I’d probably write about genderqueer shit. Lalala fuck you, I’m not a ma’am.”

5: What part was hardest to write?Probably the opening tattoo scene just because I knew it was going to be a shortish piece, so I had to get the exposition of the whole AU, where the band was, what the relationship between Dan and Alex was all in that first scene.6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?It’s probably the one that’s most of me? Like I have a lot of tattoos, I have exes I’m friends with, I go to a lot of shows and sometimes identify as punk, I’m genderqueer, I use they/them pronouns, I wanted to be a music journalist for years, I was listening to the bands that wrote the songs I lifted for this fictional band. I wouldn’t say its the most personal thing I’ve written (that’s everybody told me it was bad to do), but it was the most things lifted from my life.7: Where did the title come from?90% sure it’s a modification on Priests’ amazing song Modern Love / No Weapon, which is my favorite song of theirs, holy shit.8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?Yeah. Like I said above, I was super into this queer punk band that was about to break into the mainstream and of course had lots of people talking about whether they were sell outs or not. They didn’t break the scene because of some stuff, and I’m glad that stuff happened and the scene turned their backs on the band, but there’s a real sense of wow, we really could have had it all. But that’s all extra stuff that happened long after this fic.9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?Nah. I think about continuing it out into a proper fic, but its so closely tied with me really falling in love with that band that didn’t break the scene and the reason they didn’t break the scene had to do with one of their members doing something really violent and it just hurts to think about now. And I don’t think I could really extricate the fic from those magical few months of loving that band so. Yeah, furthering it existed in my head but I doubt it’ll ever happen. 10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?So I think its obvious why I chose DnP, but I’ll also say the reason I had Dan be in a band with his ex, an ex who’s also his best friend, is because lol that’s pretty true to what I’ve seen in the queer community. There are only so many of us, even fewer when you start factoring in gender stuff, so its hard to just let go of relationships when you break up.

11: What do you like best about this fic?I think the band is a riot and make a perfect greek chorus for DnP’s budding relationship.12: What do you like least about this fic?That I can’t finish it tbh.13:What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story?Or if you didn't listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

Unsurprisingly, a lot of punk! I listened to a lot of The Front Bottoms, Priests, Ought, Modern Baseball, PUP, Girlpool, Childbirth, Chastity Belt, The Spook School, Ramshackle Glory. And two other bands that I won’t rec, but will say that consent is everything folks, and if you don’t ask for it, you deserve to lose your music career!

14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?Uhm. That punk is 1000% fewer spikes than you think and way more people in ripped jeans and bandshirts and sticknpokes singing about their feelings.15: What did you learn from writing this fic?Ugh, that I need more queer punks in my life. 

[ncmagroup]

By Andrew Draughon

Turkeys and polecats are natural enemies.

(Polecats are European weasels, by the way.)

  So how do you imagine a mother turkey responds to the sight of a hungry polecat threatening her young?

If you guessed squawking, clawing, and gnashing of the beak—you’d be right!

In fact, in an experiment by animal behaviorist M. W. Fox…

Turkeys flew into an uncontrollable rage and attacked their lanky predators in self-defense…even when the “polecats” in question were actually fake, stuffed replicas.

Which makes sense, right?

Turkey sees polecat-looking shape—turkey becomes alarmed and enraged!

Well, here comes the twist…

What do you think happens when the researchers place a recorder playing a baby turkey’s “cheep cheep” call inside the stuffed polecat?

Shockingly enough, the mama turkeys welcome the toy instead of attacking it.

They would even get on top of the stuffed animal to protect it, just like they would a baby chick.

So what’s happening here?

Well, an animal behaviorist parlance, this is what’s called a “fixed-action” pattern, which is essentially a sequence of automatic behaviors initiated by a specific queue.

In turkeys, their “fixed-action” pattern to accept and protect their young is triggered by the “cheep cheep” auditory queue made by their chicks.

…even if the sound is emitted by their natural enemy and predator—the polecat!

Now, we humans fancy ourselves above such instinctual, “robotic” behavior.

But just how correct is this belief?

Read on to find out!

Persuasion is the product of hardwired psychological triggers

Humans are funny.

Or, at least, we should try to be!

Here’s why…

According to cognitive neuroscientist Scott Weems, simply watching comedies after a major surgery can cut your need for pain medication by 25%.

Additional research even indicates that using humor as a stress-relief mechanism significantly cuts your risk of heart disease and stroke (by up to 40%!), and can even prolong your life by up to four-and-a-half years.

Impressive right?

Studies like these demonstrate that while humans have sophisticated hardware between our ears (especially in comparison to a turkey), we also have a number of innate psychological triggers that profoundly influence our thinking and well-being.

…often without our knowledge or consent!

Which, in many instances, is a wonderful thing (like in the case of humor).

And let’s be honest…

People often need a firm nudge to act in their own best self-interest

Think diet and exercise, for instance.

As we proceed, you’re going to learn a number of “persuasion hacks” that powerfully influence people to do what you want.

Now, it’s critical to use these methods ethically.

And not in a creepy, “cult-leadery” way, which certainly isn’t cool.

When marketing on the internet, as entrepreneurs looking to add value to people’s lives, our main concern should be to persuade our prospects to change their lives for the better.

And this is going to mean overcoming the objections, which are keeping them stuck.

How are we going to do this?

Well, it all starts with…

The Seven Principles of Ethical Persuasion

I first learned these principles from Tim Erway—my mentor in all things related to copywriting, conversion, and influence—who also happens to be our CEO here at Elite Marketing Pro.

It’s important to note…

What you’re about to discover is based on decades and decades of clinical research conducted by Dr. Robert Cialdini of Arizona State University, whose seminal work, Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion, is a MUST READ for all marketers.

In fact, Cialdini begins Influence with the story of the turkey and the polecat…

With the strong implication that we’re not as different as we’d like to think of our favorite holiday feast.

So without further ado, let’s dive in!

Imagine a close, personal friend comes over for brunch.

I’m talking someone you feel connected to, a person that gets you, someone who understands and looks out for you.

Now, this friend tells you about a positive new change in their life, which is the result of a new product or business they’re involved with.

Either way, he or she says…

“Hey, how would you like to try it, too? I’d love to hear what you think. There’s no risk—you get your money back if you don’t like it.”

Your knee-jerk reaction is probably to say “what the heck, sure!” right?

You don’t need a long, drawn-out ‘spiel’ to buy from someone you like and trust.

That is the law of connection at work.

Its core idea is that we only buy or do business with people we have a certain level of trust with.

When we’re talking about buying a can of coke, that level is understandably low.

But once large sums of money are on the line, you need a MUCH stronger connection, especially when marketing on the internet.

Ultimately, trust trumps everything.

If you have enough of it, people will do business with you…even without “board certified” credentials, results, or credibility.

I mean, think about it…

If you’ve got chronic back pain and your best bud says…

“Hey man, I thought I was going to have to fuse my disks until I found this ultra-low frequency emitter that sends out these signals that relieve pain and inflammation. Works like a champ. Now I don’t need surgery anymore. It’s a miracle!”

Sure, you might be a little skeptical—who wouldn’t be?—but chances are strong that you’ll be compelled enough to take a closer look and purchase the trial.

You WANT to believe (and hey, I know I do too!).

Now here’s a trick…

When marketing on the internet, you can invoke the law of connection in your business by crafting a relatable story—and simply opening up.

Be vulnerable; share yourself; let people know and see the real you.

That way, people will FEEL a connection.

Even if they’ve never seen you in the flesh!

This is the “simplest” one of the bunch.

It’s all about our natural instinct to move away from pain and towards pleasure.

Because that’s what desire really is…

A force that compels action by showing a path to less pain or more pleasure (or both).

Having said that, this principle is simple, but it’s also difficult.

To influence people with it…

You’ve got to forget about your wants and focus on what others want when you’re marketing on the internet.

That’s counterintuitive to human nature—so you need to stay keenly aware of what others truly want.

And what happens when you don’t?

Well, let’s think back to the infamous Coke fiasco.

In April 1985, Coca-Cola introduced a new formula for its world-famous soft drink.

The product was called New Coke.

In blind tests, people preferred it to Coca-Cola Classic and Pepsi by a HUGE margin.

It tasted the best, so naturally, it eclipsed all other soft drinks when it was released.

Right?

Wrong!

The executives didn’t understand that what people desired from Coke wasn’t the best taste.

People craved the old, familiar taste they grew up with.

Coke ignored principle #2 and New Coke is said to have cost tens of millions of dollars.

Ouch!

Fortunately, Coca-Cola brought the classic flavor back (and, as you know, recovered just fine).

So here’s the lesson…

Unless you can afford to make mistakes like that, remember:

Influence is about focusing on others’ desires, not yours.

And it doesn’t matter what you think they should desire, only the market can decide that!

Even the most ridiculous fad products make people rich.

As long as they get popular enough.

Don’t believe me?

I mean, I know you do—but here’s a story to prove the point, anyway…

In 1975, Gary Dahl became a millionaire by selling pet rocks.

His product was silly, but people were persuaded to buy it simply because it was popular.

That’s how social proof works.

You “prove” that your product or organization is legitimately using the power of popular opinion.

To invoke this principle, highlight your results.

For example, at Elite Marketing Pro we can say…

We’ve got over 10,000 active members

Our top affiliates make multiple six figures

We’ve generated several hundred thousand subscribers

We serve people in over 100 countries

So when a newcomer reads those facts, they instantly know—this is a serious business that makes people money!

On an instinctual level, it persuades them to trust us and our advice.

This is why testimonials are so powerful when you’re marketing on the internet.

They are proof!

And you can do the same thing by drawing attention to your own results.

Again, the principle of social proof helped a guy make millions off selling pet rocks…

Imagine what it can do for you with an actual, life-changing, valuable product!

Imagine you walk into a car dealership.

A self-satisfied slob in an ill-fitting suit saunters over to you.

He smiles, leans in and whispers…

“Have I got a deal for you today, friend!”

How would that make you feel?

If you’re like me, you’d be pretty repulsed!

And I should know…it’s a recent, true story.

Everyone hates this kind of selling—and you probably don’t want to be on the giving or receiving end, either.

The solution is giving people value so they want to come and buy from you.

Here’s a real-life example…

LeBron James is worth over $300 million and has a (rumored) $1 billion contract with Nike.

As you can imagine, his manager is doing quite well financially.

And who’s his manager?

Not some big-name sports agent.

LeBron’s manager is Rich Paul; a guy who selflessly hooked him up with two throwback jerseys LONG before he even made it to the NBA.

Rich gave genuine value with his gift, and that was the key to beating out every other sports agent who wanted LeBron.

Now, you don’t have to give people physical gifts—that’s not quite the point.

The idea is to lead with value.

Here at EMP, we teach what’s called attraction marketing.

The idea is that we freely give away lots of valuable content, in the form of blog posts, monthly webinars, Facebook Live presentations, etc.

And once you’ve consumed enough of our content to get value, produce results, and come to trust us…

You’re going to want to do business with us by buying our products and services.

To invoke this principle for yourself, simply find a way to demonstrate value before asking for the sale.

Share your knowledge freely, and be friendly and helpful—even a kind word is valuable and goes a long way towards influencing people.

Adlai Stevenson once introduced John F. Kennedy with the following anecdote…

In Ancient Greece, when Cicero finished speaking, the people said, “How well he spoke.” When Demosthenes finished speaking, they said, “Let us march!”

Now, I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be likened to Demosthenes…

The guy that persuades people to take immediate, decisive action!

After all, business is about getting paid, not being pretty, right?

If you agree (and maybe even if you don’t)…

You’ll love this principle, which directly persuades people to agree with you when marketing on the internet.

You may have heard of the “yes ladder” method, where you ask questions in which “yes” is the natural answer?

It works like this…

After a while, folks get comfortable agreeing with you—and open up to your suggestions.

Examples of “yes ladder” questions include:

That’s fair, isn’t it?

Sounds good, right?

Nice day, huh?

Isn’t that great?

Don’t you agree?

You might even notice that I ask you to agree from time to time, right?

Now, it doesn’t matter what you ask—what matters is that people say “yes” to you.

This is one example of the principle of consistency.

The idea is simply getting people to say multiple “yeses” to you on minor things.

Once they get used to that, you’ll have a much easier time with the bigger “yesses.”

Einstein’s famous formula states that something can’t turn into nothing.

Energy and matter can turn into each other, but they don’t just disappear.

Instead, when energy is released, an equivalent exchange happens—even if we can’t see it.

The same law applies to human behavior.

Humans hate to just take something without giving anything in return.

It’s not in our nature.

Instead, when people receive something, they want to pay back.

It can be with a kind word, a positive thought or money—but there’s always an exchange.

That’s what the principle of reciprocity is about.

When you give something away for free, people want to pay you back.

Charities know this, which is why they give out stamps, name labels, gifts, etc. when asking for money.

You can do the same thing by giving value (see Principle #4) first.

Don’t be afraid to “pay it forward” when you’re marketing on the internet

Make the first move, and you’ll see that people will want to reward your efforts.

Have you noticed that new iPhones sell out each time…

Even before they’re released?

For example, the iPhone 6s and 6s Plus received over 10 million pre-orders and yet were out of stock days before the September 2015 release.

Now, why does this happen?

Apple is one of the most valuable companies in the world.

It’s not like they can’t make enough phones.

So what’s this really about?

Well, it’s all about scarcity.

This principle states that people want what they can’t have.

They want the exclusive; the limited; the forbidden.

Apple is a huge success, in part because their products are launched with scarcity.

You can do the same thing to influence people in your favor.

Just don’t lie about it—people hate that!

A simple way to add scarcity is with one-time offers that only appear once.

Another is with expiring offers that run out at a certain time and date.

We use both here at EMP.

And when it comes to the rationale behind scarcity, it’s honestly “anything goes.”

For example, you could say…

“I wanna work with leaders and decisive action-takers. If you’re not ready to act, you’re not the kind of individual I want on my team.”

Or you could say…

“If you don’t take action today, how will your life be different a year from now? So to help you move forward right now, this offer is only available for the next hour. After that, the price doubles.”

In the end, it doesn’t matter—so long as there’s scarcity, and a logical reason for it.

Okay, that wraps up our 7 principles!

Here they are again…

Connection

Desire

Social Proof

Value

Consistency

Reciprocity

Scarcity

Until next time, Andrew Draughon Director of Content Elite Marketing Pro

Now, each of these principles Andrew talked about is contingent on one thing…

You first must capture your prospect’s attention

That means you need to learn more about marketing.

  Go to our website:   www.ncmalliance.com

The Seven Principles of Ethical Persuasion By Andrew Draughon Turkeys and polecats are natural enemies. (Polecats are European weasels, by the way.)